MORE BLOOMS

 The ornamental pear trees are beautiful at a distance, especially as they contrast with the plum trees (lower left).

Up close, their white blossoms are not as showy.

Still, a nice harbinger of Spring.

BLOOMS

 By the looks of things around my neighborhood, Spring is truly making an effort to arrive.

A couple of ornamental plum trees.

A little closer . . .

And *really* close.

The ornamental pear trees are also blooming.

I'll try to post some pictures of them tomorrow.

THE FRIDAY FUNNIES

 Well, what a week it's been, eh?

Rain, sunshine, cool days, warm days.

Springtime in the Rock....well, not quite the Rockies, but fairly close.

Some baking, then a mention of Rumpole brought my housemate to prominence and the adoration came from all over.

So it's been a somewhat satisfying week.

Now let's bring it to a resounding finish with . . . well, you know.

I think I'm beginning to understand why that gang never made it back to Earth.

They weren't *allowed* to return!

Well, since you Gentle Readers are already here, let me teleport you into an excruciatingly wonderful weekend.

And always remember to keep laughing!

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

HER ROYAL HIGHNESS

 When I asked SWMBO what she'd thought of my blog post yesterday she had a fitting comment.

And since I *always* let her have the last word . . . here it is.

"And I've got the mug to prove it!"

THE HITS JUST KEEP ON COMIN'

 My wife, the all-knowing SWMBO (She Who Must Be Obeyed), keeps telling me "Oh. give it a break, willya, your readers don't need to know about all the food that gets eaten in our house!"

But, although I usually obey her orders, on my food-blogging I tend to go my own way.

However, you can echo her if you like and tell me to stop.

But until you (all) do, here's the latest from the Taylor Family Bakery.

The recipe, from Genevieve Ko in the New York Times, says they're called Chunky Chocolate Cookies and incorporate chocolate chips and mini pretzels into an already rich chocolate dough.

I didn't have any mini pretzels so I chopped up some walnuts and substituted them.

And SWMBO can't keep her hands off of them.

They're rich, they're sweet, they're good.

Now to skew things slightly, I'm not sure I've ever explained where I came up with the name She Who Must Be Obeyed for my lovely wife.

It dates back a number of decades when we became fans of a British television series that was aired on our local PBS station in Arizona.

It was "Rumpole of the Bailey" and it featured the late actor Leo McKern as a blustering British barrister (attorney) named Horace Rumpole.

But at home, he was ruled by his wife, Hilda, played by the late actress Marion Mathie.

When she would get after him about one thing or another, Rumpole would mutter under his breath "She who must be obeyed."

We would both laugh but Judy never suspected that one day in the future I would brand her with that sobriquet.

So now you know where it came from and know also that it's used with loving kindness and a twinkle in my eye.

Sort of like Rumpole.

PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE

 

This is NOT a cow pie!

It's actually a loaf of Brown Irish Soda Bread I made the other day to go with Judy's Corned Beef Hash and Cabbage.

It WAS St. Patrick's Day, you know.

TO THE IRISH EVERYWHERE

 

SPICE BUNDT CAKE

 I tried a new recipe yesterday and it was only a partial success.

It's a Spice Bundt Cake.

I didn't do a good job of preparing my bundt pan so I had a dickens of a time getting it out, even after it was completely cool.

Some of the top and sides came off but the glaze would cover that , right?

Except that I didn't get the glaze thin enough and instead of running artfully down the sides of the cake, it just kind of glopped onto the top.

I took this next picture with the flash on my camera so you could better see the consistency of the interior of the cake.

'Course then you can see the glaze (more like frosting) piled on the top.

As you can see, artful it ain't.

But it tastes pretty darned good, especially this morning after resting and mellowing a bit during the night.

Every time I do something in the kitchen I learn a little bit more.

Now if I can just live to 150!

THE FRIDAY FUNNIES

 Yesterday was PI Day.

You know, 3.14 yada, yada, yada.

I read somewhere that a man in India memorized Pi through 70,000 decimal points.

I'd say he had too much time on his hands.

But then, of course, I read it on the Interwebs and you know you can't believe anything there.

At any rate, we finished Judy's delicious Lemon Sponge Pie the night before last so I didn't even get any pie on Pi Day.

Oh well, Sunday is St. Patrick's Day and I'm holding onto a recipe for Guiness Cake but I'm not sure if I'll make it.

All of these holidays can get wearing, you know, especially for we retirees.

I mean we don't even get a day off!

So, it's back to work to present to you this week's drollery.

And that's all I can do to improve your moods, Gentle Readers.

Now venture forth (or stay in your recliner) and try your darndest to have a mind-numbingly fine weekend.

And always remember to keep laughing.

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

THROWBACK THURSDAY

A number of years ago a blogger who went by the name of "Willow" created an exercise among a number of other bloggers called "Magpie Tales".

Each week she would post a photo and invite the others to write a story, a poem, an essay that came to their minds from the prompt.

Willow, after some years, unveiled herself as Tess Kincaid and some time later she moved from the American midwest to England where she had fallen in love with one Robin Gosnall and where she lives happily today.

As I was looking for something else, I discovered a short story I had written as one of her Magpie Tales and having nothing of importance to blog today, I decided to present it again. 

It begins with Willow's photo prompt.

The only clue was a black wooden walking stick, capped with silver. There was engraving of some kind in the silver but it was impossible to determine what it said or what it meant. The stick had been left leaning against the the white-washed wall of the room. There was nothing else.

Montclair had lived in this room since arriving in St. Elys three weeks prior to his disappearance. He never left it in the daylight, only slipped out in the dark of night wearing a black trilby hat which matched in color the cape he also wore. No one really saw him leave or knew where he went. He was just a ghostly shadow passing by. Wherever he traveled, he was always back in his room by morning light.

His meals were left on a tray outside the door to his room and though no one saw him open the door, the empty and soiled dishes appeared back in the same place some time later.

This went on for three weeks. Then the food dishes weren’t picked up one day. The landlady knocked repeatedly on the door and called Mr. Montclair’s name but there was no answer. Finally, after calling the town constable to her establishment, the two of them unlocked the door and cautiously entered.

There was nothing. No sign that anyone had ever been living in the room. The only sign of anything out of the ordinary was that silver-capped walking stick leaning against one wall. Montclair was gone. With the exception of the walking stick he left behind it was as if he had never existed, never been there.

The landlady has kept the walking stick, waiting for its owner to return or to write or to call, asking for it. But all these years later, the request has never come. And the man in the cape and the hat known only as Montclair remains a mystery to this day.

THE SKY HAS LOWERED

 Yes, I had to blather on about Spring almost being here, didn't I?

Our temperatures have dropped somewhat today and it's been in the 50's.

And it's raining.

As evidenced by our very wet patio right now.

A week or so ago, a big fat robin landed on the edge of our tomato barrel and then flew to the top of one of our patio chairs and glared in the window at us.

He seemed to be saying "Okay, I'm here! Where's that blasted bird bath?"

Apparently that and the warmer weather we'd been enjoying prompted Judy to dig it out and clean it for the coming season.

Yesterday I put it in the tomato barrel as a temporary spot because Judy said it would be easier to get the ice out of it if it froze overnight.

I filled it with water but I guess that wouldn't have been necessary since the rain has been filling it today.

I just have to remember the lyrics of an old song "Those April showers may come your way, they bring the flowers that bloom in May."

And it isn't even April yet.

SPRING IS NEAR

 This year Spring officially begins a week from tomorrow, on March 19th.

The Almighty Google tells me that it always begins on March 19th, 20th or 21st but because this is a Leap Year, February got an extra day and the Vernal Equinox comes a little early on the calendar.

Of course for people in the Southern Hemisphere, i.e. south of the Equator, this date marks the beginning of Autumn.

As we took a short drive today we saw signs that nature and people were rushing the season a bit.

Judy said "The trees are budding."

When I reminded her that she said not to plant flowers and herbs until after her mid-May birthday, she replied "That's for tender plants. The trees know what they're doing."

We saw people out in their yards, raking up old leaves and at least one yard had a flower box with fresh plantings.

But the most certain indication that Spring is on the way was at our nearby Urban Lakes Park.

The town had drained one of the two lakes to seal and repair leaks in the dam.

But it's all filled again as we found on our drive around town.

Way off on the far side you might be able to see a man standing at the water's edge.

He's a fisherman trying his luck.

But on our side of the lake, the water was teeming with ducks and geese.

They seemed happy to have their playground back.

And it appeared Spring had produced thoughts of romance to many of the creatures as they chased each other around their corner of the lake.

Spring is a time of year for growth, it is said, and perhaps too for starting a fresh family!

THE FRIDAY FUNNIES

 TCB: To all of my dear friends and Gentle Readers here at Oddball, let me thank you for your shock, shared grief and condolences over the sudden and irreparable demise of my Coconut Cornbread earlier in the week.

To Ellen D. - I *did* get a tiny piece for a taste, following the lead of my mentor, SWMBO, who dug a sliver out of the top in spite of my horrified statement that it was probably full of tiny pieces of glass.

But you know me.

If she did it, then I wanna do it.

It was a disappointment because I think the piece (of cornbread, not glass) was too tiny to even get a sense of the flavor.

As for those of you who commented that I deserved a Piña Colada after that tragi-comic experience, I will say that I have not had one yet.

I have the rum but not the pineapple juice.

And for those who have encouraged me to try again, I'm still dealing with my loss.

But I did make a couple of loaves of English Muffin Bread and a huge round flattened loaf of German Farm Bread at mid-week.

Next time I make that latter bread though I'll put it in a couple of loaf pans and not try to make the rustic round loaf I was trying to accomplish.

The dough is just too liquid.

So now that I have Taken Care of Business, let me get to the business of the day: FUN!

All right then, my work here is nearly done.

I hope you've enjoyed it.

If you found anything you liked, feel free to pass it on.

Now coming up, whether you bake bread or not (and you non-Arizonans may not have time for it since you're going to lose an hour), have yourselves an absolutely gobsmackingly fine weekend.

And always remember to keep laughing!

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

( . . oh, isn't that just great to know . . )