He brings home the bacon,
Fries it up in a pan,
And never lets her forget,
She’s a Wo-wo-wo-mannn!
Yes dear folks, I’m just that good, a regular legend in my own mind. In truth folks, Dave fried up the bacon. I was out bicycling in the park. I had laid out the bacon strips in the frying pan and since the boys were still asleep, covered them and then left. Later, Dave gets up, sees the bacon and starts cooking it. Anne tells Dave to text Dad [me] and tell him that there is bacon. Dave mis-hears and texts Dan. Dan, Dad, what’s the difference? Anne then texts me. Fortunately, I was back and was standing in front of the house, talking with a neighbor. So, no bacon was lost [by me], in the making of this little vignette.
I really am doing most, but not all of the cooking. Anne made the cranberry sauce, so she can truly claim, “And I helped!” She has been bearing the brunt of the holiday cooking for decades now, so this is a well deserved day off. Actually, I’ve really gotten into this whole holiday food-fest-feast thing. I was up at dawn picking pomegranate seeds out, for our salad. Life is short and uncertain and usually I recommend eating dessert first, but Joanie wasn’t bringing dessert until later. So, in that quiet hour of the morning, picking out pomegranate seeds was like Zen meditation.
I managed to squeeze in a bike ride today. The park was full of similarly athletic minded people, so the bike path was mobbed, but since all the regular extraneous car traffic wasn’t there, riding in the streets was a joy. I swung by Charles the Great Horned Owl’s favorite pine tree, to see if he was there. He was not. Worse, the tree died during the summer drought. There are other pines next to it, but this was his favorite. I’ll keep you posted on his return status.
On the way home, I passed a guy on roller skis. They’re like roller-blades, except longer. He was doing the cross-country skiing thing, poles and everything as we both climbed Wydown. As I passed him, I asked if he was ready for snow? He said no, he doesn’t like shoveling snow, and this exercise was good enough.
When I was fifty yards ahead of him, I heard a crash. Looking back, I saw him topple over. I continued on, keeping an eye on him, he sat up, but stayed down. I circled around to check on him. He said that he had hurt his hand and I was all over that. Other than a few scrapes, it looked OK. he was able to move all of his fingers and he was also massaging his hand. I asked, if he was close to home, he laughed, no, but then said, “It’s after the election and besides it’s Thanksgiving, someone will give me a ride.” On my bicycle I certainly couldn’t, besides I had a dinner to cook. He wished be a Happy Thanksgiving and I wished him a better rest of his day.
Sorry about co-opting Pooh’s pomegranate comment. I have no idea why it cracked me up so much. I do get the zen of various kitchen / food prep tasks — that’s why I hand-wash dishes [grin]. I bet Pooh’s hand injury is one reason you are doing a lot of the holiday cooking and I hope it’s healing. And laughing about the bacon story!
I forgot to mention the photo. There are a couple of these half tree eaten warning signs around the Forest Park golf courses. I think that the sign eaters are all Beeches. I have some firsthand personal experience about the dangers of flying golf balls. They leave nasty bruises.
I just found out that when Carl seeds the pomogranate, he frequently strips down to a safe (non-light colored clothing) level.
I like to fly without a net