Well, Dang It

I made this swell chicken dish for supper tonight and didn't take its picture.  My renter and I

agreed that we wanted to get together for supper and have a cookout.  It rained.  No, that's not right, the sky opened up and ALL of the rain poured down accompanied by boulder-rolling thunder and cracking lightning.  Dandy.  So instead of adjusting the recipe to grill the chicken (Mr. Renter's job) and cook down the marinade in a saucepan (my job), I followed the directions and baked/roasted the chicken in the marinade, added the halved cherry tomatoes, and finished baking it.  While it baked I zapped 5 ears of Sunny Hill Sweet Corn in the microwave, shucked it, then wrapped the cobs in foil and stuck them in the oven to stay hot until the chicken was done.  Here's the recipe:  https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/240631/roasted-balsamic-chicken-with-baby-tomatoes/. My version wasn't as pretty as the picture but it sure was tasty.  The corn was good too.  I made a batch of roasted red pepper hummus with cucumber slices, kohlrabi slices, a few carrot and celery sticks that disappeared.  And the scoops of ice cream with warmed up cherry preserves were a big hit too.  No photos of any of that.

I was amazed to see three (3!) Bluejays at the peanut wreath today.  Watching I realized that the one on top of the platform feeder was a young one because it kept fluttering its wings like all baby birds do to lure an adult to feed it.  It got no takers.


 


The jelly dish was empty so I filled it and that brought one of the young Orioles back almost immediately.  There's a trio of them and they tag team on and off the feeder, sometimes chasing the House Finches away, other times tolerating them, but just barely.



 

There was a happy surprise waiting for me in the garden today.  I moved a potato plant aside to find that the shallots have shallot-ed, grown and split into cloves, and might be ready to harvest.  I am ridiculously pleased with myself and them.  Now to find a recipe that calls for shallots...




Part of my morning was spent replacing the boring old shoelaces that need to be tied with elastic ones that stretch and contract so this lazy old bag can slip her shoes on and off without needing to tie a bow.  What am I coming to?

Here's my new camera wearing an old strap that I yoinked off my film Canon AE-1, Durwood's zoom lens, and his camera bag which I like much better than the backpack-ish one that came with the Amazon bundle. (have I shown you this? I can't remember and I'm too tired to scroll back)  That one I can't even figure out how to put on, the old one I know to sling over my shoulder.  Simple.  That zoom lens is going to let me take much better hummingbird pictures if one ever shows up and stays longer than a split second.  Maybe as the season changes and they start to prep for migration.  Watch, that'll be when I'm in Yellowstone in a couple weeks.  Oh well.


I spent a lot of today doing stuff.  I got mower gas, went to the post office twice and the corn stand three times (don't ask), took my bike to have its tires filled by someone that I sold a snorkel mask to years ago but he remembered me (is that good or bad? I'm choosing good.), screwed too short bike hooks into the garage side wall (grrr), and tidied up a bit, washed a sinkful of dishes, peeled and chopped and marinated, whipped up a batch of hummus... yeah, that's about it.  

07 August--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

We spent an entire Saturday at the annual art fair in Simpson.  I had mentioned that I wanted to go and even offered to drive, but Abel insisted that he would drive so he picked me up at nine o’clock in the morning.  We drove into town and parked in a lot across the river from the fair.  Abel whistled and a pedi-cab appeared.  Propelled by a cheerful middle-aged woman, we were whisked across the bridge and into the hubbub of the art fair.

Irresistible smells wafted from the food area, music came from three different directions, and all around were booth after booth of all kinds of art.  Paintings, watercolor and oils, glowed next to buttery soft wooden bowls and boxes, jewelry, weavings, pottery, photographs--artists of every discipline displayed their best efforts for all to see--and buy.  Abel said that our first stop had to be the cotton candy booth.

            "You can't be hungry," I said, "it's barely 10 o'clock."

He had the grace to blush.  "I've been dreaming about this day ever since we started dating.  You, me, a sunny summer day, and all this art."  He handed me a cone of the shimmery pink treat with a flourish.  "Sweets for the sweet."

It was my turn to blush.  "You've been planning this day for months?" I said around a mouthful of the flossy sugar.  "Tell me how the day's supposed to go."

"Well, so far it's going exactly according to plan.”  He took my elbow and steered us down the first aisle between the booths of art.  “It's a beautiful sunny day, not too hot, with a nice breeze.  We found a good parking place, and on the west side, so I could treat you to a pedi-cab ride.  And you didn't argue too much when I bought the cotton candy."

           I had to smile at the pride in his voice as if he were personally responsible for the beautiful weather and good parking place.  I tilted the melting cone of cotton candy toward him.  “Have some.  I don’t want to be the only one with sticky fingers.”

He gracefully unwound a huge tuft of the candy.  “Just so you know, I planned ahead.  I’ve got a little bottle of hand cleaner in my pocket.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?”

The arrival of a swarm of bees, attracted by the candy I carried, forced us to find a trash bin to dispose of the tattered remains of the sticky treat.

We slowly moved up one side of the aisles and down the other admiring the art offered for sale.  Couples and families walked around us and jostled us as we took our time admiring each display.  I paid special attention to all the paintings, while Abel was attracted to the turned wooden bowls.  At the end of each aisle, an artist in a larger booth gave a demonstration.  There was a potter working his wheel, an acrylic artist painting fantastic flowers on a huge canvas, a woodcarver carving spirit faces in pieces of driftwood, a spinner making yarn from wool shorn from her own herd of alpaca, and a blacksmith hammering small hooks and decorative hangers from red-hot iron.

I'm so sorry that I didn't write a scene with Gail and Clara the next morning after Clara saw Abel and Gail necking in his truck.  I'm so sorry.  I'll get right on that.  Later.  T the trainer tomorrow morning and Botanical Garden concert tomorrow evening.  In between I'm hoping to do a little weeding and maybe a little sewing.  Wish me luck!
--Barbara