Tonight’s Dish

In the 1970′s, we ended weeknights around 10 p.m. by watching the Johnny Carson Show, MASH, or other network programming which brought conversation and guest stars or story lines from studios in California and New York into our living rooms–rooms which usually had a slime green lava lamp percolating on an end table (next to the plastic covered, flower-powered sofa) and TV trays scattered in front of us, bowed down with opaque Tupperware tumblers filled with Tab and floating ice cubes.  You might also find an empty tin tray from a Banquet frozen dinner of meatloaf, corn, and mashed potatoes, a mood ring,  and a magic “8″ ball on mine.  By that time of night, I had already tuned in to see what Marsha was wearing and drooled over David Cassidy from the Partridge Family.

Our dog, Dawg, a fawn colored sheltie collie mix, would be curled up on the floor while I  finished doing my homework when the commercials came on.  If there was a television special or a big game on at the same time, then I would stop being me and start being my father’s remote control.  His feet would be propped up on the ottoman (that’s what we always called it) and he would hit me up to unlace his shoes, take off his socks, and rub his feet–or clean out his toes if I was lucky.   My mom would be in her nightgown, sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a cup of coffee and a good book.  If Dawg jumped up and went into the kitchen, then Mom was slipping her some treats or treating her to leftovers.  Either way, they both couldn’t be happier.  Sometimes the treats were ours when she would pop us some popcorn on the stove top.   My brother was a year younger than I and he would watch with us for a little bit and then go off to race his Hot Wheels on the orange tracks and loops that he pinned together with flat, red plastic thingies.

Now that Honey Boo-Boo and (un)reality TV has taken over, my new final destination each evening is Facebook.   It is fluid:   I can find decorating ideas, engage people in “conversation”, and read about interesting tidbits, recipes, current events, and new ideas.   With Facebook, I don’t have to endure commercials for erectile dysfunction and periods or suffer through wet, sloppy soft porn scenarios or extreme violence.    American family life and family values are mixed, matched, and shredded on television which left me searching for other outlets that are more in line with who I am and aspire to be. 

On the Internet or Facebook I can learn about sharks and asteroids and book reviews and bee keeping and philosophy and making a skirt and traditions in foreign countries and what other people think and  skydiving and knitting and history and humor and community events and collecting marbles and religion and making a salad dressing and business strategy and yoga positions and lions and tigers and bears, oh my!   Do you see the problem?  

Of course I have rituals.  On Facebook, Words With Friends must be checked and then I move on to my home page to post a comment and see if I’ve gotten any reaction or shares from previous posts.  The news feed is where I end up losing hours (and sleep) looking at landscape and wildlife pictures or jokes and funnies posted by others.

Here’s tonight’s dish:  I saved a slew of random pictures in a file called, “Things I Grew up With” …..because why?  Because I can.

 Now, if I can just find that picture of Speed Racer…

Mmmm…Bacon Taters

INGREDIENTS

1/4 pound bacon, cut into 1″ pieces

2 medium onions, diced

2 lbs. yukon gold baby taters, halved or quartered

1/2 lb. cheddar cheese, thinly sliced

add butter, salt, and pepper and sliced green onions

DIRECTIONS

Put a liner in a crockpot or spray sides with Pam for easy clean up

Layer the ingredients and dot with butter

Cook on low for 6-8 hours

NOTES

Recipe can be doubled for company

I would precook bacon a little bit in the microwave, on some paper towels, just to get some of the fat off

May substitute pepperjack or any other cheeses or toppings you might like

Full Mount Musk Ox

Years ago my husband came home from another man’s cave and couldn’t stop talking about a full mount musk ox that was on display.  In some sort of primal bonding ritual, he took our sons there to see it too.  They all became inflicted with musk ox must-have disease.  Sure we had some nice whitetail racks and a turkey among John’s coveted cave prizes, but nothing close to matching the absurdness of a full mount musk ox.  Until now.

Nunavut (Pronounced None-of-it) , Canada Enterprise Star Date March 2013

The frozen tundra reads 31 degrees below zero (at least).

John rents caribou skins for outerwear and has Cabela’s rush him a set of Herman Munster over boots.   Throw in an 11 hour, bone jarring sled ride behind a Yamaha snowmobile, primitive living conditions, blinding snow, and a seal hole.  Good times.

We’ve got a spot in our trophy room for Wilbur, the full mount Musk Ox, who at harvest was 10 years old and only had six teeth left.  His hooves were worn down to the pads and the guides told John that he would have starved this coming winter; a good bull to take.

John said the most surprising thing to him

was that there were no stars in the night sky.  

Nunavut is above the arctic circle and is populated with seals, musk ox, arctic fox, polar bears, snowshoe hare, wolverine and wolves.   Most of the pictures where he is walking on flat surfaces is actually him walking across the frozen ocean.  It breaks open for about one month during the year.

The sled he honkered down in for 11 hours had no suspension and was crudely constructed out of wood.  Biting wind speeds and negative temperatures tickling 50 degrees below zero tested his tough.  The question isn’t, “Are you going to get a musk ox on this trip?” but rather, “Can you survive the pounding ride out to the herd?”  He said that it was brutal.  He ate musk ox meat and probably did all sorts of other manly things that men do on these adventures and I already know too much!

Inquiring minds want to know:  Nunavut is both the least populous and the largest in area of the provinces and territories of Canada. One of the most remote, sparsely settled regions in the world, it has a population of 31,906,^[3] mostly Inuit, spread over an area the size of Western Europe. Nunavut is also home to the northernmost permanently inhabited place in the world, Alert. A weather station further down Ellesmere Island, Eureka, has the lowest average annual temperature of any weather station in Canada.

Mission Improbable

The doorbell rang and the delivery fairy dropped off a heavy, flat box that was supposed to be a nightstand.  No where on the order form did it say “assembly required.”   Allrighty then.

In an unprecedented move, I decided to sit down and read the whole “destruction” manual before beginning any hands on assembly.

All these flat pieces of wood are supposed to end up as a three dimensional, fully functional nightstand with two drawers and a shelf.  Final determination:  This project may require alcohol.

The booklet indicated that assembly should take 30 minutes, tops.   Then I saw it.

The parts bag.

Just kill me now.

I had a meat tenderizer for a hammer and no power tools.  After two hours of dinking around,  I discovered that I was better at banging than screwing.  After a lot of ups and downs, it eventually came together.   All I needed was a cigarette.

(Wait, I don’t smoke.) 

Somewhere in China there is a guy who is laughing at me.

Now…if I could just get this stupid lamp put together!

Roosevelt’s Cowboys

“Sinewy, hardy, self-reliant, the cowboy’s life forces men to be both daring and adventurous, and the passing over their heads of a few years leaves printed on their faces certain lines which tell of dangers quietly fronted and hardships uncomplainingly endured.

They are far from being as lawless as they are described; though they sometimes cut strange antics when, after many months of lonely life, they come into a frontier town in which drinking and gambling are the only recognized forms of amusement, and where pleasure and vice are considered synonymous terms. On the round-ups, or when a number get together, there is much boisterous, often foul-mouthed mirth; but they are rather silent, self-contained men when with strangers, and are frank and hospitable to a degree.

The Texans are perhaps the best at the actual cowboy work. They are absolutely fearless riders and understand well the habits of the half wild cattle, being unequaled in those most trying times when, for instance, the cattle are stampeded by a thunderstorm at night, while in the use of the rope they are only excelled by the Mexicans. On the other hand, they are prone to drink, and when drunk, to shoot.”

–1885, Theodore Roosevelt’s “Hunting Trips of a Ranchman”

 I could listen to this song 100 times straight and never tire of the lyrics.