The Minority Opinion from the Kittehs

Corycat here. Angeline is incommunicado these days as will become clear.

I simply don't understand The Woman. It's not enough that our peaceful existence is periodically disrupted by That Child (though I must confess That Child has learned not to pester us. I even occasionally allow her to stroke my back--a little) but now The Woman has brought in a round-the-clock nuisance, a whirling dervish of a dog that she calls Jenny. 

The Nuisance sleeps in Our room--she has her own bed and I have stood firm (hissing, growling, cursing, and taking the occasional swat if she gets close enough) against allowing her on this one. Angeline--who has taken to spending much of her time upstairs or under the bed--still emerges at night to sleep here. But every night, before the lights go out, The Nuisance puts on a hunting dog performance, slithering under the bed in search of Angeline, emitting disgusting little yelps all the while, or howling at me while I look on with distain from the security of the marble-topped chest.

Oh, I still pursue my avocations--working on my life list . . . keeping The Woman up to par with her door duty and bowl filling jobs . . .

And I suspect that The Nuisance and I will reach détente soon---she's beginning to pretend she doesn't see me when we meet going in or out the door. I will make sure she remains wary of The Mighty Paw.

But I still don't understand The Woman's motives. Perhaps I'll poop on her pillow to express my annoyance . . . no, that would be undignified. A stoic indifference is perhaps my best move. I could ignore The Woman. . .but I already do that most of the time.

I'll think of something.

 

Pumpkin Bread with Applesauce

 

Pumpkin Bread w/ Applesauce (2 loaves)

 

The applesauce I used was homemade with the leftovers from a bowl prepared for an apple galette made the previous week. Golden Delicious apple wedges (unpeeled) dusted with sugar, powdered ginger, and lemon zest. Simmered with a little water till saucy. Excellent applesauce! (Particularly if, like me, you prefer ginger to cinnamon.)

 

3 ½ c. flour

2 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. nutmeg

1 ½ tsp. cinnamon

¼ tsp. ground cloves

¼ tsp. ground ginger

OR instead of these spices you can use 2 tsp. Tunisian Five Spice (my favorite, from U Simply Season))

1 tsp. salt

4 eggs

2 ½ c. sugar

½ c. canola oil

½ c. apple sauce

2/3 c. water (my applesauce was rather liquid, so I omitted the water. With store boughten applesauce, I’d add it.)

15 oz. pumpkin puree (1 small can, NOT pumpkin pie filling)

Preheat oven to 350 F.

Prepare two loaf pans—grease/spray interiors. I also add waxed paper cut to fit the bottom.

Mix together dry ingredients.

In another large bowl, beat the eggs with an electric mixed on medium high for 3-4 minutes. You want them light and fluffy. Add the sugar; beat another minute.

Add the oil, apple sauce, water, and pumpkin and stir till combined.

Stir in the dry ingredients till just combined and no flour showing. It may look lumpy.

Divide between the two pans and bake 50-60 minutes till a knife or skewer or whatever you use as a tester comes out clean. (My grandmother always plucked a straw from her broom to use.)

You can let cool in the pan before turning out as the original recipe suggested or you can live dangerously and turn it out at once and enjoy warm.

Fading Glory

 

That Which Doesn't Kill You . . .

Whew! Jenny is a handful. Her potty-training is rather imperfect therefore I'm taking her out Very frequently for little walks. And I'm up before the sun these days, hoping to forestall an accident. I don't dare let her off leash yet--certainly not till the collar with her name and phone number arrives. However, a few days ago when I wasn't watching, her lash broke (she'd chewed through it) and she was briefly free, running in circles like a madwoman.

She did, however, come to me when I called, which is a great relief. She knows her new name and responds to Jenny--about as well as Josie responds to my demands, which is to say, eventually. In fact, the two have a lot in common, wanting what they want NOW, needing constant attention, wanting to eat all the time . . . at least Josie's housebroken now.

On the up side, this regimen of frequent walks (including middle of the night forays) and dealing with a long leash and my walking stick are, I think, acting as a kind of physical therapy. It's been not quite a week but I actually feel a bit stronger and more limber. (Needs must.)

The cats will have something to say next week, if I can get some pictures. 

Oops, while I was writing this, I became aware of a chewing sound. Jenny was eviscerating a throw pillow . . .

No, Jenny!

 

Beauty Before Me

 

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Butterfat

 More and more these days I find myself saying "Oh, for god's sake" at some inanity. Yes, I'm a grouchy old lady and some of what annoys me, on reflection, probably shouldn't.  But this particular article, its headline shouting FREEDOM to decry public schools' ban on whole fat milk (inspired by the prevalence of childhood obesity,) had me shaking my head.

 Unsurprisingly the article is from a trade journal aimed at dairy farmers. (We got on their mailing list years ago when we had a milk cow and filled out a USDA survey attesting to same.)

But the above headline--what with Veteran's Day and all--got me thinking. What are the American freedoms, the freedoms those vets served and fought and died for? What about the freedom of those children to choose Coca-Cola instead of milk? I'd hazard a guess that some of the same dairy farmers behind this campaign wouldn't see that as a freedom.

 I'd also hazard a guess that many of them wouldn't see freedom from hunger as an American freedom, worthy of support with their tax dollars.

Throwing about a term like "American freedom" in service of an industry is worrying and all too common. In these uneasy days when idiots storm the capitol to overturn a free election and those same idiots claim the name of patriots, when the American flag and the flag of the traitorous Confederacy can be seen in unironic juxtaposition on too many pickup trucks, when too many of our flag-waving politicians seem to have joined a cult, working for the approval of their Dear Leader rather than the good of the country, when far too many of our citizens reject science in favor of Fox News and Google, I find it challenging to be proud to be a US citizen.

And the more headlines like this I see, the more challenging it is. I love this troubled country and still have hope that her better angels will prevail. Without waving flags.

Settling In Nicely

 

Onward!

Fifty-eight years ago we were married at St. John's Episcopal Church in Tampa, Florida. John had just turned 21; I was 20. We had been a couple since 1959 and high school.

Ahead lay: a couple of years on a Marine Corps base; John on a tour of duty in Japan and Vicki back to Tampa where she taught at Berkeley Prep,  John out of the Marines and  getting his BA at University of South Florida; Vicki still teaching at Berkeley Prep and getting her MA at USF; a year of grad school for John in Iowa City; disillusionment with religious studies and a three-month motorcycle tour in Europe; return to Tampa area and building a small house on a lake in Odessa, Fla.; teaching in a new independent school (the hippie school, as some parents called it) in Tampa; birth of our first child; followed by a longing for land and dissatisfaction with Florida; a move to the mountain farm in 1975 . . . and, another son, two daughters-in-law, a granddaughter and numerous dogs and cats later, here we still are.

I think of how young and strong we were back in 1963, and how the horizons seemed unlimited. And I remember a line from Tennyson's "Ulysses."

Though much is taken, much remains . . .

Happy Anniversary and all my love to my co-conspirator and enabler.

 

Through a Glass Darkly

                                                  

I recently re-read a beloved book from my childhood--The Middle Button by Kathryn Worth. It's the story of young Maggie McArn, middle child of a brood of eleven, growing up in the post-Civil War South. The daughter of a well-to-do Presbyterian minister/plantation owner, she has the outlandish dream of becoming a doctor.

It's a terrific feminist story(well, feminist for 1948 which is when it was published) as this strong-willed girl battles her family's traditional mindset--marriage or school-teaching the only acceptable paths for a female, not to mention riding side-saddle-- and the descriptions of everyday life are beautifully vivid. I had looked forward to sharing it with Josie someday.

But . . . as I read I realized that the parts of the book dealing with the tenant farmers--formerly enslaved on this same plantation--and the language used, even an occasional N-word, pretty much ruined the book as something to share with a child. 

Yes, that was the way people talked back then, even 'nice' people. And while the depictions of the tenants were probably accurate, the question arises--why were they ignorant? I know now what I didn't know when I read the book as a child--that in much of the South during slavery it was illegal to teach enslaved people to read--and when the war was over, education was still all but impossible for them to attain. 

As  I think of it, many of my childhood favorites are undoubtedly equally problematic.  No, they didn't turn me into a right-wing hater of the Other or an apologist for White Supremacy. But now I realize just why it was that it took me so long (till college and the Civil Rights Movement) to see  and feel the injustice of the segregated society I grew up in, to wonder why my grandmother's maid addressed my six-year-old brother as Mr. Frank, why there were different drinking fountains for Black and White, why we stood for "Dixie" at high school football games, why, why, why . . . 

This sweet book, like many of my childhood favorites (Uncle Remus, Tom Sawyer, Miss Minerva and William Green Hill) is what I'd call 'soft racism.' And it's insidious in that it normalizes injustice rather than calling it out. And I grew up, feeding on these stories, absorbing this world view. Unconscious or sleeping racism . . .

A recent piece on McSweeney's online magazine confronted (humorously) similar problems in The Little House on the Prairie (Link HERE.)

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

1 Corinthians 11 and 12.

(I shan't even try to address the inherent sexism in this well known and generally apposite quote.)

                                          

The Game's Afoot!

We had an unexpected early call yesterday from the shelter to say that Ginger Jenny was ready to come home so John and I set out.

I mentioned she was skittish and she Did Not want to get in the car but once she found a safe spot on the backseat floor, the trip home was uneventful--except for a massive upchuck I discovered at the end of the ride. The road is very winding and I'd throw up too if I rode on the backseat floor.

She is settling in well and approves of the food She also likes Bobadog. She's seen and ignored the cats and explored most of the house. 

I hope to get better pictures soon--she rarely stops moving. Her hound nose is busy every second in our smell-rich environment.

 

Water Is Life

 

The Next Adventure

If all goes well, this lovely girl will be added to our household sometime next week. I'd been on the lookout for another dog and Ginger's picture on the Yancey County Humane Society website caught my eye. (I've always loved hounds.) After filling out a lengthy online application to adopt (references required,) I got a call saying that they thought I'd be a good match for Ginger.

 Unfortunately, she has a bald patch on one ear which they're treating (could be ringworm but they don't think so) and they don't want to release her till the treatment is complete.

So I took a drive over to meet her. She's a pretty thing, maybe a Beagle/coonhound mix, somewhere between one and two, and a moderate size--around 30 pounds. She was a stray--probably dumped-- and is very skittish in the shelter environment--but she responds well to bacon-flavored treats. She seems to like other dogs and ignore cats. I'm hopeful that our quiet house (and lots of bacon treats) will do the trick. 

I hope to go pick her up next Wednesday or Thursday when we'll have a long weekend to get to know each other before introducing Josie into the mix. I anticipate the pup will have to be leashed for walks for quite a while, till we're confident she feels at home.

I'm thinking the name Jenny will suit her better than Ginger. We'll see.

And by the way, the Yancey County Shelter is an AMAZING operation. Kudos to all concerned.

 

November Scenes