~ Broken Bone # 1 ~

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Yesterday I received a call about 4:15 in the afternoon from the boy’s after care program. He apparently had taken a flying leap off of a playground structure – no doubt pretending to be a character from Star Wars – and ended up in a heap on the ground, landing incorrectly on his wrist.

So, I picked him up and took him for an x-ray, just to be on the safe side. As you can see, he wasn’t all that happy, but he wasn’t all that distraught either, which made me think that it wasn’t broken. But….he was doing that whole protective thing where he would hold the damaged wrist with his good hand to stabilize it. So. X-rays were a must. Just for my peace of mind.

Verdict: He has a slight break in one of the bones, and has to wear a splint for the next three weeks.

He’s been a champ through it so far :-} I’m thankful it wasn’t worse than it is. Boys will be boys, so broken bones and scraped knees are to be expected. It’s one of their more charming {if a bit expensive} qualities :-}

From Herbert Hoover:

“You can absolutely rely on a boy if you know what to expect. A boy is Nature’s answer to false belief that there is no such thing as perpetual motion. A boy can run like a deer, swim like a fish, climb like a squirrel, balk like a mule, bellow like a bull, eat like a pig, or act like a jackass, according to climatic conditions. The world is so full of boys that it’s impossible to touch off a fire cracker, strike up a band, or pitch a ball without collecting a thousand of them. Boys are no ornamental; they’re useful. If it were not for boys, the newspapers would go undelivered and unread and a hundred thousand picture shows would go bankrupt. The boy is a natural spectator; he watches parades, fires, fights, football games, automobiles and planes with equal fervor. However, he will not watch a clock. A boy is a piece of skin stretched over an appetite. However, he eats only when he’s awake. Boys imitate their Dads in spite of all efforts to teach them good manners. Boys are very durable. A boy if not washed too often and if kept in a cool quiet place after each accident, will survive broken bones, hornets nests, swimming holes and five helpings of pie. Boys love to trade things. They’ll trade fish hooks, marbles, broken knives and snakes for anything that is priceless or worthless.”

~ Being a Tourist ~

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I don’t play the part of tourist very often, especially around here, where we get tourists all year long. Besides, I’ve lived here for 11 years, so I think by now I’m classified as a local.

A few weeks ago, my friends told me about a free tour of Ed Ricketts’ lab, which is not open to the public. I decided, for once, to be a tourist., so I went on the tour over the weekend {and it didn’t last three hours!}. It was pretty neat to see where he lived and worked and learn about the history of the building.

rusted chair

holding tanks

PBL label

I think I need to read Cannery Row again. And be a tourist more often :-}

A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us. ~ John Steinbeck

~ More Cooking ~

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I am cooking this weekend for friends {again}. I do love to entertain, though Martha Stewart I am not. I love making people feel comfortable and I love to feed them good, tasty food. There’s just something about watching people eat food you cooked – kind of gratifying in a way {I’m struggling for words on how to explain this}. I like knowing that people leave my table full of good food and feeling the cozy effects of good conversation and a shared meal.

So, I am making Chicken Fried Steak {this recipe looks delicious, though I’ll probably make it with roasted fingerling potatoes instead of mashed spuds}. I grew up both cooking and eating this meal and I know it’s delicious, even if I’m at the helm of the stove.*

click image for source

And just look at that plate. Look. At. That. Plate. Is it not a beautiful specimen? And the steak, and the potatoes and the gravy? Oh, my stars, the gravy. I can’t wait to make this meal.

* I try to have a sense of humor about my cooking, because sometimes…my cooking is really really bad {see references to elk steaks and the infamous Sahara chops}.

 

~ Old Favorite ~

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Occasionally, I like to read poetry. I have one of those books that lumps together a whole bunch of dead people’s poems and sometimes I leaf through it of an evening. I came across this one last night:

It’s a bit sappy, yes. But I put a photo of a cabbage flower behind it {using the ever awesome Image Blender} to soften the sappiness {cabbage flowers aren’t really romantic, are they?}.

Anyway, it’s always been one of my favorite poems. Those folks who lived way back when certainly had a way with words.

~ Meet Prudence ~

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Y’all, meet Prudence. The chicken. Prudence, please meet everyone.

Prudence was a gift from my parents – I’m impressed that she survived the trip from the snowy mountains of Colorado to the sunny {it’s way too sunny right now, we need some rain, but I digress} California shores. Thus, Prudence has proven that she is sturdy and resilient and able to travel long distances without cracking.

Part of the reason for this gift is that we almost always had chickens when I was a child {except for that time when the dog decided to kill them all}. Every girl needs a chicken, and Prudence is now guarding the kitchen from her home on top of the ice box. There she will remain.

By the expression on her face, I think she’ll be a good guard chicken, don’t you?

So, I’m glad you’ve met Prudence {or Prudy McPrude, if I’m feeling plucky}. She may serve a further purpose at some point, and I’ll be sure to keep you abreast of the situation.

*Puns always intended. No doubt you’ve found them already. And yes, they are definitely a stretch.

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