A little of this, a little of that...
I've gotten quite a few recipes off Pinterest, and have been trying them out as the mood and taste buds strike. I dumped a chuck roast and various ingredients into a crock pot at 10:30 this morning, and the house smells amazing. It's weird, but I never used my crock pot when I was a taxpaying American (read employed), but now that I'm a kept woman and literally have ALL day to cook up scrumptious gourmet meals from scratch, I've suddenly bought into the merits of slow cooking. If this recipe tastes half as good as it smells, I will post it on Roadkill. (Update: waaaaay too salty. Whooo! It has potential, though, so to paraphrase, I'm not going to throw out the roast with the crock water...yet.)
What is it with brides and thank you notes these days? We've been to two weddings recently and still have yet to receive any kind of acknowledgement for the gifts we sent. I will wait a bit longer, and then employ that old stand-by where I contact the mother and inquire if our gift got delivered. This tactic fools nobody, of course; I might as well just flat out tell her that her bride or bride-in-law has no manners.
When I was in Lubbock a few weeks ago, I got to see the apartment complex my daughter will be moving to in the fall. The complex is brand new, so the girls won't have to put up with grungy carpeting, greasy appliances, or furniture that gives off a funny smell. It's a four bedroom, four bath, fully furnished place. It's right across the street from the football stadium, and next door to the hotel where we like to stay when in town. Here are some photos I took of the model apartment:
During the tour, I got to reflecting on my college years at Texas A&M. Back then, A&M was the fastest growing university in the United States, a distinction it held for a good portion of the 1970's. Dorm space was more valuable than gold, and if you were one of the fortunate few to get a dorm room, like moi, you kept it until you graduated. These days, the prevailing attitude is that if you are living on campus past your first year, there is something seriously wrong with you; and so, since no one wants to tempt social suicide, freshmen start hunting for an apartment or house barely weeks after the beginning of their first semester. Personally, I liked living on campus. I didn't have to deal with driving to class, trying to find a place to park (usually way on the other side of where I needed to be), and I could cat nap in my own bed between classes, instead of sprawling uncomfortably in a chair in the library.
Richard and I worked in the yard last weekend; or rather, he worked and I told him what to do. I don't mind mowing, edging and weed whacking, but getting my hands in the dirt and planting stuff doesn't hold the same appeal. We pulled up the straggly pansies and put in begonias, caladiums, celosias, and two kinds of yellow flowers that are supposed to attract butterflies. The jasmine is blooming, and the crepe mrytle trees appear to have survived their very brutal scalping; Richard sometimes gets a bit too saw-happy when things need pruning. Best of all, we finally got the stupid stump ground up, the ground leveled and sod placed, so it no longer looks like a bomb went off in front of our house.
My kitchen has been looking much like I imagine Enron, WorldCom and Lehman Brothers must have looked in the last days before all hell broke loose. I've been shredding old papers and files for weeks, starting with my parents' tax returns from the 1950's. I thought my mom was a packrat, but apparently so was my dad, at least where important papers were concerned. It was interesting looking at the figures from 60 years ago. My mother, for example, worked full time for one of the Deans at the University of Denver and earned a lousy $1500.00 for an entire year. Her granddaughter can easily make 10% of that in tips in one afternoon working as a cart girl at a local golf course. How times have changed.
The management at my mother's apartment complex sent an email saying that they are having a mandatory K-9 inspection for pest control this week. I have heard of dogs being trained to sniff out pests, but wasn't sure just what they were trained to smell. Roaches? Silverfish? Mice? I Googled it and it seems that it is bedbugs the dogs go after. I'd like to see this canine version of the Orkin man at work, but apparently these dogs are just like their human counterparts in the service industry: they show up anytime between 9:00 AM and 5:00 PM, go figure. Next, they will be demanding mandatory Milk Bone breaks and health insurance and ten paid holidays a year.
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