A seven-year-old I’m helping to improve reading skills called them ‘vinaigrettes’. I haven’t figured out if he has a tendency to gloss over words instead of actually breaking them down and sounding them out, or since we’ve been covering odd words — (If how, now and cow rhyme, what the heck is going on with tomb, comb and bomb? as an example of how confusing the English language can be to a beginner)– he simply applied a word he knew from speech.
Like a vinaigrette, embarrassment leaves a slightly bitter after-tang on the tongue, so this week could be told in vinaigrettes. In fact, I think I shall do so.
My daughter was gifted with a large number of plants to grace her new three-and-a-half acre yard. She readily admits she can kill a cactus, so in an effort to save their lives she gave them to me. That meant hubby and I worked furiously to get three loropetalum, eight large lilies, several day lilies, two English dogwood, five types of iris, two pine cone ginger, four crepe myrtles, two palms, a gardenia, a walking iris, and a partridge in a pear tree into the ground before it rained. He dug holes, I set and filled in. It took burying the end of my braid in cow poop laced soil for the third time before I finally stomped inside for a hat to shove it under. Hubby swears his snorting was because a bug flew up his nose. I remain suspicious, so I hope it was a big fuzzy one.
We have puppies. Their nursing is becoming a drain on their mother. So I’ve been crushing up dog food and soaking it in warm water with powdered milk to help wean them to solid food. They’re very intelligent puppies because they wander nearer the back door than dog house every feeding time. Started out, bowl of puppy food soup in hand, and tangled up with Cochise. The biggest puppy decided to storm the ‘supply closet’ and ran inside. His siblings followed. Ever watched a furry wave, six members strong, come at you from across a yard and have only one foot free to try and fend them off? It’s not like you can punt them or anything. So you put the bowl in the yard, run back in and dig furballs out from under furniture and appliances. Then start over because the big dogs found puppy food soup quite tasty.
Speaking of tasty. Planned on making tuna casserole for supper one night. Cooked my noodles and tossed them with a few other ingredients. Opened the cabinet for the tuna. All six cans were gone. Tyler loves tuna, and must have struck during his stay here for spring break. While searching for the tuna I noticed one of two cans of tuna flavor cat food I had in the cabinet was missing as well. Along with a packet of gourmet crackers. I have no intention of asking because I don’t want to be ill, but I can’t help it. My mind keeps wandering that way.
Hubby’s MRI came back with some problems. Being male he’s stubborn about keeping the grass cut with the riding mower, even though he’s laid up for three days afterward. Son-in-law dropped off a stand-behind mower for him to try, since he’d be able to flex his knees and possibly absorb some of the shock to relieve pressure on his back. My office looks out on the front yard, and I was distracted several times while writing. STEAM PUNK! STEAM PUNK! STEAM PUNK! flashed in my brain each time hubby whizzed past the window, looking like some slash-sleeved, sun-glass-wearing, do-ragged villain/gladiator riding the skid-plate of his high-handlebar mechanical chariot.
From an earlier post you know my daughter’s exercise equipment ended at my house. So I’ve been using the treadmill since it’s here. With my knee recently replaced I worried about maintaining pace with the speed, but it has the cutest little clip on a cord you attach to your clothing. If you can’t keep up, it pulls the key free and stops the machine. The one time I didn’t use it . . .
Don’t know what possessed Cochise to try to get on the thing with me, but that bowling-ball-between-the-knees thing he does with his head made me stumble. My feet squirted out from under me but I managed to grab the handrails on the way down. Didn’t dare let go until the dog scrambled free. Unfortunately, the few seconds it took him to roll clear, the belt snatched at my elastic waisted flannel shorts. Hubby ran in with the crashing and yelling, but I found his singing “White moon of Mississippi keep on shinin’ . . .” to the tune of Blue Moon of Kentucky during rescue totally unnecessary. And yes, thank you, the friction burns on my thighs from the ‘specially manufactured, industrially surfaced, slip-resistant, continuous action belt’ sanding me while I clung to the handrails are healing quite nicely.
I’m tossing in a pic with this post. It’s the good thing that happened this week. My PLEASE DON’T FEED LOUP-GAROU sign was finally planted in the yard. Told the guys to make it eye-level. Keep forgetting the grandsons are taller than I am now. Had to stand on a bucket to take the shot! lol The neighborhood kids get their parents to drive them back and forth in front of the house after dark because the eyes, muzzle and fangs reflect when headlights sweep over them. From the excited squeals we hear they must think it’s pretty scary stuff! Hope you have as much fun with it as I do!