Driving Amigo – and vice versa

We enjoy road trips, Amigo and I. A simple trip to La Petite’s apartment takes over two hours, and we make it a good time. Part of today’s trip was Saturday’s Public Radio line-up. We left the house to What ‘Ya Know with Michael Feldman, and we arrived in the Lake Community to the closing of Car Talk. We took a short break during Feldman’s town of the week to pick up a quick lunch, and then hit the road again.

Picking up lunch was a treat in itself. We stopped on a Strip to end all Strips and, lured by clever advertising, looked for a KFC. We wanted to try their Go Cups in the minivan. The results were favorable; both Amigo and I liked our chicken and potato wedges. It beat the heck out of the golden arches for taste and quality – and fun, too.

Let’s look back a few years. Amigo went to the DMV to get his state ID. As he tapped his white cane across the lobby, a teacher aide called out a greeting. “Hey, Amigo! What are you doing here?” My boy answered without hesitation; “I’m taking my driver’s test.”

Picture the poor teacher aide with her jaw dropping to the floor in her driver’s license picture. When you’re done laughing, come back.

Revving up the engine!

Revving up the engine!

The jalopy pictured was part of an informal gathering in a tavern parking lot. It wasn’t a strictly regulated “Don’t touch anything!” It was more of a “Come on up close and explore!” The car owners saw Amigo’s enthusiasm along with his white cane and invited him in. This one saw potential; he ushered Amigo into the driver’s seat and showed him how to start the car. Vroom!

When we plan our Route 66 journey someday, maybe he can spell me at the wheel.

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Halloween or a Full Moon

As heard on Halloween Day —

“I am the Count from Sesame Street. ONE timeline portfolio graded! TWO timeline portfolios graded! Bwahahahahaha!”

“All I can say is there had better be chocolate at home. Wait – it’s Halloween! There IS chocolate at home!”

Why yes, I do work with teachers. Need you ask?

Trick or treaters in costume looking over the pit next to the porch — “Hey, is someone buried there?” No, it’s just yet another step in recovering from last spring’s disaster: the porch sank in the saturated ground. Contractors came yesterday to build up the foundation.

And so it goes, Halloween at the O.K. Chorale.

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Compost generates heat. Believe it.

Disclaimer: this is NOT my garage.

Charred spot formerly known as Compost

Charred spot formerly known as Compost

My dear, darling brother sent this picture along with a warning and a story. It’s not his garage, either, thank goodness.  One of his friends sent it around.

“Small fire on the back side of my garage. Learned that the compost pile shouldn’t be that close to the garage and that old ashes from a fire pit should never be put in the compost. Fire captain said even 3 weeks later. He also said he has seen where a cigarette butt weeks later in mulch can catch fire.”

Wow! Bummer, indeed. I have dumped fireplace ashes on our brush pile and occasionally in the big compost bin. I always think, “these are cold ashes, no heat at all.”

The big bin isn’t up against our garage. It is, however, rather near my neighbor’s woodpiles. I guess we’d better give this some thought. Ashes to compost, safe or not? Readers, what kind of experiences have you had with fireplace and fire pit ashes and compost?

 

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Predictions and Picks – NFL picks

She has a system. Or, I should say, we have a system for her. It’s ridiculous, and it actually works sometimes.

Back up. Reverse, restart. I’m talking about NFL predictions. My family makes picks each week before the Thursday night game. I used to be pretty good at this, but I’ve been outscored recently by (drum roll) our rabbit.

The column on the right has her total.

The column on the right has her total.

Buttercup the rabbit “has” a system. We write down her picks according to the team mascot and whether a rabbit would like it or not. For example, she’ll pick the Cowboys over the Lions and the Broncos over the Redskins. If the team name represents a species that hunts or eats rabbits, she chooses the other one. She always picks the Packers. If the Falcons play the Eagles, we’re really out of luck.  

Another week, another set of picks

Another week, another set of picks

I won that time; Buttercup tied with the dear sweet man of the house. Amigo, surprisingly, isn’t doing well this year.

Chuck won last week.

Chuck won last week.

Amigo and I tied last week, and not for first. Who knows what’s next? So far this week, I’m in the lead. Come on Packers, do right for me!

 

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Making a Cube a Home

I “borrowed” this from a FB friend.

Think outside the boxIn my line of work, virtual schooling, there’s quite a bit of creativity – all born in cubicles. It helps that we can personalize our fabric cubes.

One way to proclaim my NFL allegiance

One way to proclaim my NFL allegiance

My paper clip holders give a nod to a classic Wisconsin book.

My paper clip holders give a nod to a classic Wisconsin book.

Confession: I haven’t been there. I bought the tin cups at a rummage sale.

The bookshelf displays remind me of what I do.

The bookshelf displays remind me of what I do.

And the photocopied cartoon reminds me of who I am.

And the photocopied cartoon reminds me of who I am.

 

 

 

 

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Shelter from the Frost

I found this on Pinterest. Someone else has the same mini greenhouse I have! And they must not have a bunny, because they can use all the shelves! And…and… they have a whole big harvest of green tomatoes, too!

Tomatoes!

Tomatoes!

Yep. Just like me. Almost.

Two things money can't buy --

Two things money can’t buy —

True love and fried green tomatoes!

True love and fried green tomatoes!

 

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Autumn Garden Chores

I’m looking forward to spring. I know, it’s not even winter yet, but autumn is the season when I pull apart the fading foliage of my garden and take steps to prepare for next spring. Chuck got into the thick of it this year. Take a look.

Straw bales and repurposed boards

Straw bales and repurposed boards

Another Angle

Another Angle

Rather Awesome, I'd say.

Rather Awesome, I’d say.

Yesterday and today I took to the task of harvesting all tomatoes that could ripen indoors. The herb pots are already inside. Next, I pulled all the tomato plants and tossed them on the brush pile at the back of our yard.

We’re adding leftover potting soils to the new patch as I deal with most of the containers. If weather permits, I will dig out compost from the base of the brush pile and from the base of the compost bin and fill in what I can of the new patch. It’s going to be a raised bed, built inside the repurposed lumber that Chuck assembled so nicely. Whatever I don’t fill this fall, we’ll build up next spring.

It’s another experiment: straw bale gardening. As long as we were expanding the once-triangular plot, we decided to try the bales. A year from now, when the growing season is done, the straw-based soil will become compost for the future. Planning ahead, we are.

But stay tuned, folks. There are still piles and piles of green tomatoes ripening indoors. I’m sure there will be stories.

So, readers, what kind of autumn tasks have fallen your way? Leaves? Lawns?

 

 

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Everything old is new again

It was field trip day at the virtual school! We actually get out of our cubicles, go someplace fun, and meet some of our students and families. This was a field trip to an old homestead in Plymouth, Wisconsin, called the Wade House.

We climbed many stairs to the third floor, a large common room surrounded by small bedrooms containing only the basics: bed, chair, dresser, and a few necessaries. Necessaries? Pitcher, bowl, and chamber pot, of course. The common room sported two small stoves for heating, one on each end, and a piano for entertainment and enjoyment.

We came down one flight of stairs and once again I noticed stoves installed in several rooms, including one set up like a nursery. I thought this was a sign of wealth. After all, these stoves had to be shipped to the small town, carried up stairs, connected to a chimney, and then fueled by coal or wood. The  tour guide said no, the stoves were actually quite typical of the time. The Wade family was middle class, maybe upper middle class.

I’m still skeptical. This requires more research.

I came in armed with information from my family tree. A Hattie Wade, born in Kansas City in 1844, married into my family. Her husband was my mother’s great grandfather. Got it? Good. Tour guides, again, did not know of any Hattie, and assured me that in while the family of 10 children had arrived in this part of Wisconsin in 1850, most of their relatives were still out East in Pennsylvania.

I took their information at face value, but didn’t take it as fact. At least one of the Wade daughters was Ellen, a name that turns up in several generations of my line. This piece also needs more research.

As we left the kitchen, with its indoor well and large cast iron stove, I spotted herbs drying. At that moment, I felt right at home.

So readers, can you identify the herbs?

So readers, can you identify the herbs?

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Gol’ Dang Varmints

Pears. We have pears! The Dean of Students brings plums and pears to work, and we inhale them as though they were… never mind.

Pears! I bartered a handful of rhubarb for pears from Green Girl. These delicious fruits became a big pot of sauce with cranberries in it. Yum.

Pears! Pears! Chuck’s coworker sent home a third – yes, third – bushel of pears from his own overproductive pear tree.

I made a delicious pear sauce. It was the consistency of applesauce, but made with pears, and just a little cinnamon sugar. A trip through the food mill took out the hard pieces and the skins, and we had a simple and fresh fruity side dish.

But then – oh, come on, readers, you must know there’s a “but wait!” in this story. Pears in quantity attract fruit flies. Fruit flies fly around my kitchen and spread their fruity equivalent of urban sprawl to other rooms, too. We set a large bowl of the sweet treats on our deck. Not on the deck itself, of course not. We were well aware of tiny furry creatures that could look absolutely adorable until they steal the carrots or dip into the dill. The bowl of pears went on the almost- top shelf of my mini greenhouse shelves. They’d be safe there, right?

Wrong.

grrrrrr

grrrrrr

This is not the work of something small, furry, and adorable. This is the work of a furry bandit with opposable thumbs. First the compost, and now the pears? Get out of my yard, punk!

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Amigo – and why his blog name is Amigo

Long ago, when Compost Happens was in its infancy, I nicknamed my family. Amigo is short for Amigo de Animales. He’s friend to animals, and they love to make friends with him.

These two are no exception.

Both Echo and Q want his attention.

Both Echo and Q want his attention.

Echo, on the right, is a service dog for Amigo’s friend. Q, a former breeder, is now a pet. Both are big, beautiful, and friendly as can be. This is the only picture that turned out; the others were all blurry as Echo and Q fought for Amigo’s attention.

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