Kakahead

Summer in Michigan is my very favorite salad dressing.  Say what??  I mean, you just can’t beat it!!  All the yummy stuff is making its way to the Farmer’s Market, and for some pretty reasonable prices you get some absolutely dynamite produce.  On the other hand, you have some fingers I hope, and maybe even a few treats your Mom (Mom Nature that is…) left outside for you, free of charge.  Reminds me of when I’d go on a scavenger mission for just such delights during lunch and bring them back to share with my friends.   Things they’ve never heard of before, much to my amazement.  I’d go out with a little container, and when I get back from the trek, I’d have about a quart of tasty morsels.  My mother always stold me that if you are eating candy or other such treats, it’s very impolite if you don’t share.

So I would.  I’d offer to anyone that passes by with a cheerful, “hey, want some?? Don’t worry, I have plenty.”  Some folks dive right in without hesitation, saying things like, “mmmmm!! Thanks!”  But others look with squinty eyes and say, “ummm no thanks! What are those?”  When I hear such a reaction I secretly shudder inside at the poor soul who has gone way too long without experiencing the joy of free, natural dessert.  Mom (Mother Nature again…) has quite a spread out around this time of year for those who know where to look.  Yummy, yummy berries are coming on strong around these parts of Podunk.  I’m talking about raspberries, folks.  Are there really people who don’t know about raspberries??  I mean, this I cannot believe.

Dunno if berry picking is a lost art or what… but even the folks who are very aware of raspberries are surprised at the variety I bring in from a nice walk.  It’s not unusual to find yellow, black, and of course the traditional red raspberries.  Just because the “black caps” are ready doesn’t mean the blackberries are ripe though… they won’t be coming along until much later this month or early August.  Unless we get no rain, in which case we may only get mummified blackberries.  And those kind don’t taste so good.

On the other hand, in addition to more fingers, you have mulberries.  These are largely ignored by just about everyone I know.  Birds sure do love them though… and they do a great job of spreading the seeds around in their poop.  There are two types around these parts, white mulberries and the dark purple ones.  Seems like the purple ones are much more common, but both are truly delicious snacks.  Plus, they have the added bonus:  NO THORNS!!  Mulberries are grown as a fruit crop all over the world.   Mulberry leaves are also grown as food for silk worms.  The trees were even imported into North America in the early 1700’s with the intent of starting a silk industry.  The mulberry trees have spread far and wide on their own, but the silk industry didn’t do so good.

I’m very OK with people ignoring the mulberries.  That leaves more for ME!!
Now here’s a Berry of a very different sort… one of my favorites too… but this one plays a guitar….

I had a flashback on Wednesday!!  No, not the psychedelic kind… a vivid memory accompanied by warm fuzzy happy stuff.  The Farmer’s Insurance zeppelin was cruising the Muskegon skies, and I got to see it twice.  One of the ladies at work breezed past my office and blurted, “if you want to see the Farmer’s blimp, you better come to the window!!”

I ran.

There it was off in the distance!!  A beautiful example of technology that seems really weird but actually makes a lot of sense.  And definitely a blast from the past.  Then I got a closer look on my way home as it was cruising around in its huge, cigar shaped glory.

Technically, the Farmer’s Insurance “blimp” is not a blimp at all, it’s a zeppelin.  The difference (I just looked it up) being that a blimp is a dirigible, basically a giant gas bladder filled with helium.  A zeppelin, on the other hand has a frame or at least a partial frame that is used to keep the shape constant and also to mount motors in the back.

The flashback I mentioned earlier was sparked by the sight of the Farmer’s Insurance zeppelin.  I was maybe 6 or 7 years old, our family was living on Long Island at the time.  I remember playing outside and hearing the drone of some aircraft motors.  That was not unusual in those days, because when I was a kid the majority of commercial aircraft traffic was still being handled by propeller type airplanes.

However, these motors seemed pretty close to the ground, judging by the noise.  I also distinctly recall the shiver that went down my spine as I saw this huge dome shaped nose cone rising overhead above the trees.  I also remember a panel of lights with words scrolling along the bottom of this strange craft.  It was the Goodyear blimp!!  I had seen film of it on TV but here it was flying straight above me!!  From what I’ve read, typical operating altitude for such craft is about 1,000 feet, although they can go as high as 8,500 feet.  When you’re a kid and you see something that big, it seems much closer.  I’m pretty sure it was cruising at a much lower altitude than 1,000 feet, but that was a very long time ago.

So the magic of a zeppelin sighting brought me back to a very happy childhood memory.  Exactly what I needed… work has been a bit of a pain this past year.

So thank you to Farmers Insurance for sponsoring this wonderful craft.  I would have loved to been lucky enough to score a ride, but I didn’t get much advance notice.  Besides, I didn’t have a spare $536 lying around for a one hour zeppelin ride.  Ah well.

Oh, and and thank you Goodyear for keeping up the tradition also.  Goodyear has been making blimps since 1925!!  I never knew.  Sounds like they intend to keep doing so, and that the “new” designs will be zeppelins!

Are those things cool or what??
 
Speaking of flashbacks… this was made in 1953. We used to watch newsreels like this in school!
 

When we were kids on Long Island, we ate a lot of fish.  During the ‘60s there were plenty to be had, and numerous places to catch all kinds of wonderful things for dinner.  Crabs, flounder, blowfish, weakfish, bluefish, snappers, clams, and other delicious creatures were abundant in those days.

I remember once Dad took my brother and I fishing for snappers.  We used long bamboo poles and frozen minnows; and as I write this I fondly remember that such simple tackle proved very effective.  I also have a distinct memory of Dad trying to unhook an eel I caught.  I couldn’t have been very old, because I remember being rather frightened by this snake-like animal wrapping its body around Dad’s arm as he tried to unhook it.  He let it go, and I don’t remember ever catching another eel since.

Some time after The Great Eel Incident, I lost focus with the strange creatures.  Then, a magical thing happened.  Dad brought home some hard smoked eel from one of the local fish stores.  HOLY COW THAT WAS GOOD.  I only remember having it once, but the flavor was amazing.  Fast forward many years, and the only eel I’ve been able to find is at sushi bars.  A bit mushy and not very smoky.  Wet snake fish, if you ask me.

So anyway there I was, 10,000 feet in the air, no plane, no parachute… oh wait, there I go again… scratch that…

So there I was, minding my own business on a winter’s afternoon.  My beautiful girlfriend (a.k.a. Mrs. Wife Person) was at work and I was vegging out in front of the TV.  One of our favorites, Scandinaving Cooking, was on the local PBS station.  And lo and behold, the guy was talking about hard smoked eel!! I could almost smell it, and my mouth started watering.  Apparently it is still a favorite in Norway and other Scandinavian countries.  Something churned deep inside me and I embarked upon a mission to find smoked eel.

Michigan is not a place to find seafood.  That is, of course, if you want something other than shrimp or lobster.  I called one of my local favorite fish stores and asked if he could get any eel.  “You want what now??” he asked, quizzically.  “Hard smoked eel,” I said, carefully enunciating each word.  “Never heard of it… people eat eels?!?”  “Nevermind,” I sighed, and thanked the guy for his time.

Next, I tried looking up a more “regional” seafood distributor in Grand Rapids, the closest big city.  When I called Superior Seafood, I first asked if they sold to the general public.  “No, we are wholesale only,” the nice lady said.  Then I asked if they could even get hard smoked eel, and she said, “Why don’t you try Forest Hills?”   “You mean the grocery store?”  I asked.  “Yeah, they have a nice selection of seafood.”

I called Forest Hills grocery, and got the seafood department.  “Hi, can you folks get any hard smoked eel?” I asked.  “Huh??  Hard smoked eel?  I dunno lemme check a minute…”  I heard some queries being directed to his peers.  “Nope, can’t get that,” he replied.  “Any idea who to call?”  I asked.  “Try Superior Seafood,” he said.  “Oh, well they sent me to you,” I returned.

Tried a few more local yokels with no luck.  Then I decided to cast my net a bit farther, so to speak.   After several tries at plunking “hard smoked eel” into Google, I came up with only European sites.  So, I dropped it down to just “smoked eel,” and stumbled upon an outfit in New York called Delaware Delacacies Smoke House.  I called and left a message.  Ray, the owner, actually called me back!!  Got him live and in color on the phone today, and he said, yes, he had smoked eel, and it’s $20 a pound, extra for shipping and handling.

I asked, “is this hard smoked eel?”  “Not sure what you mean,” he says.  “Well, I mean it’s not like the mushy stuff they have at a sushi bar is it?” I queried.  “Don’t know, never been to one,” he said, with a tone in which you could visualize a bit of a shrug.  He went on to say the consistency of the meat is “like trout.”

Then I said, “well that sounds wonderful.  Let me talk to my boss and I’ll get back to you.  You know, the one I’m married to.”  “Yep, I get it,” he said.

I related this to my lovely girlfriend / wife / boss person and asked her if I could please get some could I huh could I please huh could I??  SHE SAID YES!!

So, the happy ending is that I’m gonna save my pennies and pay $20 a pound for some snakey looking delicious fish. YUM YUM!!

On the other hand, you have Eels, but not the same kind…

Hello, and thank you for tuning in to this week’s antenna ranching installment.  Work has been removing my capillaries again, and although I was in a bit of an emotional slump recently I’ve decided to staple feathers to my dog’s pajamas and anonymously send ice cream to the corporate headquarters via parcel post.  Surely these stress relief methods will result in at least two or perhaps even seventeen new buttons on Mrs. Jingledweeb’s radish basket.

Huh??  Not to worry… just a little stress relief there…

Those of you who know me are aware that I am a geek by trade and a gardener by passion.  The geek boy role pays the bills, the garden feeds my soul (and also my family!). In other words, computer support is what I do, but it’s NOT who I am. Today’s economy, however, can make one wonder what the future will bring. For the first time in my life I’m learning what it feels like to focus WAY too much on my job.

Lately, my job has become rather huge.  Too much to do, and I could literally live at work and never get it all done.  This situation is certainly not unique to me, many of my coworkers find themselves in the same boat.  “Agility,” they call it.  That’s a euphemism for “we’re gonna whittle the number of employees down to the bare minimum (or less) but all those who are left get to have all their work.”

The upper echelon has absolutely no clue what we peasants are going through… they just keep saying things like “right-sizing” and “cost effectiveness.”  We working folk look up the corporate ladder and see an upper crust that is getting their pockets lined nicely each year; but we’ve had no raises for at least 4 years now.

And guess what?  This is a worldwide phenomenon over which I have absolutely no control.  I’ve been taking my job way too personally lately.  I’ve been trying to manage an unmanageable workload, and then I go home in a somber mood.  “I just can’t keep up… people must be getting impatient,” I tell my lovely wife.  “It’s not your fault,” she reassures me, “you can’t help it that when the other guy retired they didn’t replace him.  Try not to be so negative… it just invites more of the same you know…”

Yeah, I know.

SO!  I’m not afraid to admit that I broke down and shed a few tears of frustration last weekend.  Hey, it doesn’t happen very often but I know how to cry if I need to… it’s a release that has probably kept me from completely losing my mind over the years.  After letting it out, I got some good reminders from my darling girlfriend (who, conveniently, is my wife) and several other very close friends.

The reminders all basically boiled down to these simple guides:

A)  Don’t sweat the small stuff.

12)  EVERYTHING is small stuff.

7)  Maintain some boundaries – balance the job with your real life.

p4)  Don’t take this work stuff too seriously, and

*@)  Try to smile.  It is much more pleasant than frowning.

I’ve been reprogramming.  Funny how the older I get, the less I know.  If I can stay in that frame of mind, I can survive this work stuff by learning new ways to cope.  I can let go of the things I simply can’t control.  I can have a life outside of work even!  I can raise a nice garden and get my hands nice and dirty!  I can take time to laugh!  I can even stop using so many exclamation points!

Or not!!

And, I can include a video that gave me a smile when I was much younger.

It reminds me of those silly bosses up there in Rich Kid Land, who, by the way, likely will never be invited to our place for dinner.

Summer isn’t officially here in beautiful West Michigan, but around here summer “begins” on Memorial Day and starts slipping away after Labor Day. We’ve had some 90 degree days already and a good amount of rain. Needless to say, the vegetation has exploded all around us.

The garden is a-kickin’ in…

Friends and family know that organic gardening is permanently embedded in my soul. I always fuss because I get the planting done “way too late;” then I fuss some more when the kids go back to school and all the harvesting has to be done.

I simply love all of it to pieces.

I’m a bed planter. No, that does not mean that I dig really large holes and put bedroom furniture in them. What it actually means is that, because I like to make the most of my miniature farm, I do a lot of companion planting in beds about 2 feet wide rather than many single rows. Companion planting involves a little “reminder research” each year; during which time I read up on what plants like to live with each other.

Rows are nice and tidy, and relatively easy to maintain. However, I can get much more “production” from beds once they get established. Of course, bed planting also invites weeds, and for the first few weeks of the garden season it can be a challenge to keep the “uninvited guest” plants out.

Most of you call these uninvited plants weeds. I guess a weed, by at least one definition, is a nuisance plant. Many weeds are useful and even edible, however. My Dad introduced us to “sour grass” when we were very small. It’s actually called sheep sorrel, and is sometimes used as a salad green. Dad also got us into wild berries and fruits, so of course it’s not uncommon for us to think of him when we are chowing down on some wild strawberries or blueberries.

When I left home, my interest in natural foods grew and I started gathering books on native plants and such. Friends still think I’m a little off when I stop in my tracks and pick some wild greens for munching. One of my personal favorites is lambs quarters, which is actually quite nutritious. Actually tastes pretty darn good too. Then our friend Pam introduced me to purslane, another common “weed” that is packed with nutrients including omega 3 oils.

But while weeds can be yummy and useful, I have to admit that my gardening focus has been primarily set on keeping “weeds” like lambs quarters and purslane OUT of the garden. Hey, I figure if I really want to eat them, all I have to do is do a little weeding, or else venture outside the garden a bit and find all I want.

Recently however, our lovely, tree-hugging daughter (the nuts don’t fall far from the tree, so to speak) informed us that she spent $4.50 on a one gallon bag of lambs quarters at a local organic produce market. Upon hearing this, I had to chuckle a bit.

“You bought lambs quarters?!?!?” I snickered. I’ll have a bunch soon… how much can I get for them? “Yeah,” she said a bit sheepishly. “It’s the only fresh greens they had.”

Yesterday I called her while I was weeding out in the garden.

“Hi, this is K&K Hansen Farms calling. I have lambs quarters coming, I can sell you them for $2.50 a pound. I have a produce scale in the shed… just weigh up what you want and leave your money in the jar.”

After the joking and poking, I asked seriously if she wanted them (for free of course).

“I’m weeding right now… if you want some of these I’ll forget to pull them out of the ground and save them for you.”

So I did. And I did something historic: I ACTUALLY MULCHED AROUND THE LAMBS QUARTERS TO HELP THEM GROW BETTER. Never in my living life would I have guessed that I’d be mulching “weeds.”

Here’s a photo to prove it!!

I mulched these "weeds" for cryin' out loud!!

Then to make things even more interesting, we brought some rhubarb to one of our favorite local restaurants, Mia and Grace, and were talking to our server. A nice gent, probably around the same age as our lovely daughter. He mentioned that he enjoys eating both lambs quarters and purslane.

Maybe I’m on the cutting edge of a burgeoning market!! Planting could be pretty simple next year. Just make my planting beds and water, then watch the food sprout!

OK, maybe I’ll grow some beans, corn, and squash and such too just for the halibut (we also love fish).

Now here’s a way to prepare vegetables that I’ve never really thought of before…

Due to family fun this weekend, I didn’t have time to compose anything Happy for Friday.  So, I’m going to cheat and let you kick back and enjoy some of the cool things I (we) grew up with.  Let’s hear it for glorious Black & White!!

Well OK, I was only a year old when Dean and Jerry were on the Colgate Comedy Hour. But even though we still had black & white TV when this one came on the Smothers Brothers show… it was still a lot of fun.


One last time for the glorious Black & White: I admit I had lust in my heart for this gal when I was a kid, even though she was a cartoon character. One of my favorites though…

Here in West Michigan, it’s the height of planting season.  We had a wet, cold spring this year so I’m a bit behind getting stuff in the ground.  I did get my plants in pretty early though.

“Gotta get yer peas and potatoes in by Good Friday,” Grandpa Bunny used to always say.  Well I didn’t quite make it.  Just a week before we had quite a bit of rain.  Since we live in Bear Swamp, I knew full well that tilling the garden would be very much like running a rototiller in ankle deep chocolate pudding.

So I waited a bit.  Went to Weesies just before Mothers Day to buy my plants before the rush came.  Around here, all the veggie plants become slim pickin’s by Memorial Day.  Of course, if you let your peppers, eggplant, and tomatoes sit in those little tray thingies for very long they get root-bound.  Therefore, each year I “commit sacrilege” by putting my frost sensitive plants in the ground before Memorial Day.

I love to share my adventures in the garden  When I tell my friends I’ve had my peppers, eggplant, and tomatoes in the ground for almost three weeks, their eyes get big and they shake their heads and say things like:    “Aren’t you worried about frost??”  “I thought you weren’t supposed to put anything like that in until after Memorial Day!!”  I reassure them that it’s very OK so long as you have enough “hot caps” to cover each one if there’s a danger of frost.

“Hot caps??”  they ask quizzically.  “Yeah, you know, buckets,” I explain.  “Keep them handy so you can put them upside down over the plant before you go to bed.  That way when the frost comes they don’t get killed.  But make sure you take them off first thing in the morning or your plants will get roasted inside those things.”  They’ll say “OOoohh…” but I can sense they are wondering whether I’m OK in the noodle or not.  Of course when they hear I went to Dollar General and spent $50 on buckets they may really think I’m nuts (at least they were made in the U.S.!!).  Seven buckets at $1.75 each and 13 waste baskets at $2.25.  The guy at Dollar General said, “you must have a lot of trash!!”

Hot caps or no, there’s nothing quite so unnerving as carefully planting your baby tomatoes, etc. and waking up the next day to find a decapitated stem with its head lying next to it.  It’s happened to me… but only once.  The stupid pest didn’t even have the decency to eat the leaves that fell to the ground!!  Here’s a picture of the culprit:

A cutworm... photo by Neil Phillips, UK

It’s called a cutworm.  It’s not a worm at all, but a caterpillar; and after it devours the stalk of your baby plant it curls up just under the soil and takes a nap.  Then off it goes later to search for another.

Well I learned about cutworm collars after one of my babies got decapitated all those seasons ago, and I’ve been using them ever since.  Very easy to make, I simply cut the bottom off of a paper drinking cup.  I use paper coffee cups from the vending machine at work.  I simply flatten the cup and cut about 1 ½ inches from the bottom and turn it upside down over the plant.  Then I press it into the soil just a bit so the wind won’t blow it away, and also making sure the leaves of the plant are above the cup.  Here’s an example:

Paper Cup Cutworm Collar

Something like that.

Well, enough of this monkey business.  This video has absolutely nothing to do with cut collar worms.  I’ve never grown Black Eyed Peas, but in my professional opinion, this video of theirs is a lot of fun.  So there.

Our acquaintance first began when we were both just 17 years old.  Sociology class in high school.  I remember that she said she was from a big town, Detroit.  I was from Long Island and our family had relatives in Brooklyn.  Two “city kids” (ok, “suburb kids”) transplanted at different times together to Rhinelander, a dinky town in northern Wisconsin.  I have no idea what the premise was.  I do remember being in front of the class and asking her some question that related to having been yanked out of a rather urban environment.

Fast forward into the last half of senior year, which brought a new set of classes and a new study hall which met in the cafeteria.  The study hall teacher was convinced that if he placed us boy / girl in alphabetical order that there would be very little talking.  Senior year and the boys and girls don’t talk to each other?  Anyway, I lucked out and this “city kid” was planted right next to me.

We became friends pretty quickly.  We sometimes commiserated about how the little hick town of Rhinelander took some getting used to.   Mostly I acted like the silly person I still am today, writing silly stories and sharing them at school, acting weird, making her laugh.  I admit though, that I was a bit dumb about dating and it basically took a clunk over the head with a big stick for me to get a clue.  That came in the form of female attire:  she switched from blue jeans and smock tops to dresses and make up.

I remember being mesmerized by this lovely lady and exclaiming to myself, “OH!  I get it now!  SHE LIKES ME!!!”

Fast forward again to May 19.  The “big day.”  By this time we were more than friends… no kissing or anything yet…  However, each of us were going steady with another.  Her beau was in the Navy and my sweetheart was in a suburb of Chicago.  My new lady friend wrote her Navy man a “dear John” letter (poor guy).  My dirty work was done face to face:  she was due to come “to the cottage” for the first of her family’s annual northward treks.  We met during one of her family’s summer stays and wrote gooshy letters when she had to go back home.

So on May 19 I hopped on my Honda CB-175 and rode to Holiday Acres to let my long distance sweetheart goodbye.  Not fun, but business, as they say, is business.

That day was, no fooling, the first day of the rest of my life.  May 19, 1972.  My new love and I rode to the fire tower and climbed to the top.  One could see for miles from up there.  Back down we went, off to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream, and basically just burned up the daylight enjoying each other’s company.  Upon nightfall we hopped back on the Honda and buzzed back to the fire tower to catch a glimpse of the small town lights and thousands of stars.

I drove her home, again no smooching yet… just two youngsters falling in love and loving life.

We got married the following year and are still smitten with each other to this day.  Sure, we’ve had good times and bad.  Marriage has given us many “growth opportunities.”  Nearly grew apart a few times… both of us have indulged in shenanigans that could have destroyed our relationship.  Fortunately for us, The Divine Committee Upstairs apparently kept smiling on us and gave us the ability to work out our problems.  Our marriage is very good.  Not every day is happy happy joy joy mind you.  We’re into reality now.  If you’re old like me you might remember a bumper sticker that read:  REALITY IS FOR PEOPLE WHO CAN’T HANDLE DRUGS.  Well, guess what?  We’ve handled more than our share of drugs and we much prefer reality.  Sometimes reality stinks and puts us in a bad mood; which helps us say or do stupid and even hurtful things.  We still butt heads occasionally; but a “fight” that often lasted days or even longer now gets shrugged off in less than an hour.  Most of the time.

We are still very much in love and tell each other so every day.  We even have that same 1970 Honda CB-175 motorcycle… it sits patiently in our shed waiting for both of us to get skinny enough to be on it together again.  Hasn’t run in years but hey, it’s a Honda… we’ll get it going.  Life is good.  We have each other, a nice home, cars that actually run and don’t even leak oil.  We are blessed and very grateful for it.  She even lets me kiss her!

May 19, 1972.  We celebrate it every year.  I had a crazy work schedule yesterday so not much celebrating except a kiss and hug and a “Happy First Date!”  I made up for it today; I picked lilacs for her.  Then I picked some asparagus from the garden and made asparagus and bean wet burritos.  Now that’s living!!

Oh by the way, please don’t tell anyone about the fire tower, I don’t think we were supposed to be up there.

Our favorite songs from all those years ago still conjure up some rather blissful memories. We both still love “Strawberry Fields Forever” but alas, the song’s video shows the Fab Four doing some rather weird stuff. Hey, it was the ’60s for crying out loud. So I found a much nicer video. Although my favorite Beatle is not necessarily Paul, this song still brings warmth to our hearts when we hear it.

Holy Hemoglobin, Batman!  There are vampires lurking outside!!  I narrowly escaped having every last corpuscle removed.  I ran to the garlic patch and yanked off some of the greenery and stuffed it into my face.  Chewy chewy chewy… “ooooey gack” you say?  Well, I don’t mind a little pinch of garlic between cheek and gum now and then.  As Grandma Loftus used to say, “it’s good for what ails ya.  And if nothin’ ails ya, it’s good for that too.”   And vampires are supposed to be repelled by garlic, right??  But in spite of my ingestion of Instant Vampire Be Gone, many of those little boogers kept coming back for more blood.

I’ve recorded the horrible sound they make and have put it into this here Frappy Hiday for your conjugation.  Just click right hereVAMPIRE!! Give it a moment to load, then play the horrifying recording.  I hope you can still sleep at night after listening.  That is the taunting noise they make while trying to suck the life force out of me.  It’s like they can smell me from miles away.  And I even bathe once in awhile!!  Honest!!  I’m convinced they have some sort of signaling network…

Calling all vampires!!  Dinner is served!!! He’s out here in the garden with shorts and no shirt on!  COME AND GET IT!!!

So you know what I do? Foist of awl, I pretend I don’t notice them.  Maybe let a few of them start to feed on me to get their confidence.  Then:   I smack them. I kersmoosh them into my skin. They bleed my blood. They die. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha on you, you lousy rotten vampire pigdog jerkface monsterheads!!  Sure, maybe I should drive a wooden stake into their hearts to make absolutely certain they are dead.  That’s what they do in the movies to get rid of vampires.  But judging by what’s left of their kersmooshed bodies, I don’t think they’re going to slurp any more type A negative from the likes of me.  Or anyone else, for that matter.  Besides, do you know how tiny the wooden stake would have to be on this particular breed of vampire??  Every try to drive a toothpick through the heart of a mosquito??  Or maybe a gnat??  First you need a very small hammer…

Oh jeez, I gave it away. Ah well, it’s likely you already guessed I was talking about those doggone bugs!!  Man I hate those things.  When we were kids we used to douse ourselves with OFF or Cutter’s or some other DEET spray.  Well, after learning a bit more about that stuff, I don’t like to put poison on my skin to repel those stinkyheaded dirtmonkeys.  Sometimes I use that Avon Skin So Soft, and it does work pretty well.  Much safer than DEET.  I read somewhere that eating garlic will make them less interested in you.  Seems to actually work, although not completely; so I end up getting nailed a few times.

So far I have my tomatoes, peppers and eggplants in the ground.  No, not the vegetables!!  The PLANTS, you ninny!!  Some folks think I’m nuts for putting these plants in so early, but global warming has brought a strange benefit:  I’ve been putting tomatoes and such in the ground in early May for several years now.  Just need to keep buckets ready to cover them up when the frost comes, because although it was about 80 degrees today, we’ll probably get at least one more frost before summer is official.  I can remember when putting tomato, pepper and eggplant seedlings in the ground before Memorial Day would be considered pure lunacy.  Knot enny moor!!

Got my peas and potatoes in this evening, along with some beets, Swiss chard, spinach, lettuce, and onions.  All those are way late but hey, a few weeks ago we had so much water my garden soil was like chocolate pudding.

Along with this wonderfully strange, early summer weather we’re having here in West Michigan comes bugs.  Lots of ‘em.  Of course, the fact that our house is literally on the edge of a swamp gives all those nasty flying blood suckers a really nice place to settle down and raise a family. And they are all very hungry.  And some of them had dinner on me tonight, and I have the itchbumps to prove it.  But I also smooshed quite a few of those flame headed wombats.  Dirty rotten vampire bugs!  Now they are dead.  Or are they??

Anyone have some toothpicks and a teensy-tiny hammer??

So… I was hunting for a vampire video and looky here what I found!! Boop boop e doop!!

Dear Ninks and Semmerflubens,

I am writing to all of you from the back yard where no children are stuffing bread into the worm holes.  This week has been especially stressful at work, and a lot has been going on in the news.  Therefore, in the interest of clam flavored desserts, I feel the need to remove my corporate tortellini.  Those of you who know me are aware that some stressfully sprinkled donuts prompt me to write letters to fire hydrants.

Let this past century of my work week be no Oldsmobile to that incubation.

I was walking through the factory the other day, scowling inside my rib cage and doing my darndest to ignore all the noisy dirt.  Soon I found myself saying, “hey Self!  For why you are so poofely??  Don’t you agree that your employment status brings gas to your table and puts food in your car?  Are you not, indeed, a very fortunate person who no longer requires adult supervision at most Twinkie eating contests??  And c’mon man!  Get with the gratitude awreddy.”

My Self agreed that grouch makes ouch.  I decided I really ought not allow this job to remove my ventricles or extinguish my lapis lazuli.

The following morning, I smiled and decided not to be El Groucho inside my brain world any longer.  At least not for 27 minutes, then I could reevaluate and perhaps even continue another 14 milliseconds.  By golly, that may have actually worked.  I tried hard to not take work too poisonously.  Sure, since my friend Reebo has retired and I inherited an extra work load my job has become inflamed with large pickles that fly violently in all directions.  And yes, there is really no way to keep up with the demand, unless I find a way to successfully clone my onion rings before Hubert The Closet Painter arrives from Denderflaven.  If he gets here before the sauerkraut capsules are fully declawed, there is absolutely no guarantee of the existence of any newly sharpened Jell-O forks.

And we all know what that means!!

So, I’ve decided to just be happy until I feel grouchy again, which seems to come quickly when people at work allow their children to surf the web on their work computer, and then they come crying to me because they can’t get their computer to do anything except offer to fix horrible computer problems that don’t exist, and then I get to spend many minutes trying to kill the bugs when all they had to do was forget to allow their kids to surf the web with their work computer, and then I end up blasting the hard drive anyway so I can write run-on sentences with increased vigor and lengthy applesauce.

After all of that new grouchiness, I start my day over again with a new happy and grateful attitude.  Then I get grouchy once more, but a little less, and keep practicing the gratitude thing.  Then I go between buildings and sing happy songs like:

Leave me alone or I’ll bite you.

Your ears are made of sticks.

Why do you talk to ME like that??

I’ll send you cat logs in the mail.

This of course is sung to the tune of “Leave Me Alone Or I’ll Bite You.”

Then I laugh at my silliness and life is once again refreshing and full of new opportunities to enjoy fruit and perhaps even the occasional flying insect.

Sometimes I restart my day 479 times or more.

So, how was YOUR week?