GOURD HARVEST

 Our gourd plant was stripped of most of its leaves the other night by an unexpected hail storm.

That, accompanied by a couple of nights of frost, convinced La Senora de las Calabazas (aka the Lady of the Gourds) to cut the gourds from the vine and bring them into the house for drying purposes.

So here they are.

If you happen to be a gourd-ophile you will observe that the fruit of this particular vine are what is known as Birdhouse Gourds.

Supposedly once they have dried out, holes can be drilled in them and they can be hung from a branch to entice our tiny avian friends to inhabit them.

I think these, however, will just be turned into some other kind of craft project.

I should note that in my eagerness to photograph the objects, I had propped a large one up and it promptly rolled off the counter, hit the floor and it's head broke off.

Once the air between SWMBO and myself becomes less icy I shall suggest some Gorilla Glue artfully applied to cover my faux pas.

In the meantime, the injured party (third from right) shall keep it's back turned to the lights of show business.

AUTUMN COOKING

 My wife's daughter, the legendary BRD, has often proven a thesis of mine, that skills are inherited.

The artistic gene has come down through the generations.

And there's strong indications that the craft of cookery is also evident in the blood line.

This recipe may go back to her grandfather and probably beyond as he migrated to Indiana from his ancestral Virginia.

And you know what they say about the South.

Good cookin'.

So it came as no surprise when the BRD sent over a photo yesterday of her latest kitchen creation.

Spoon Corn Pudding

On this chill morning when the temperature is hovering in the 30's, "it looks good enough to eat right now!"

And as you can see, the chef has dipped a spoon into one corner to make sure it's as luscious as it looks.

But wait!

Just after I posted the above I got another email from Her Nibs, which said: "Since the oven was hot I threw this together"!

(Catalyst is moaning, "awwww, man".)

THE P WORD

 Continuing our theme of music . . . (sorta) . . .

OSCAR SEASON

It's time for another of my musical interludes.

(Once a disc jockey, always a disc jockey.)

Tonight, and it's always night for this guy's playing, I'm featuring a Canadian jazz pianist who I, many decades ago after listening to a performance of his on a record, said this guy has the fastest hands in the world.

He's doing a pretty much solo job here though he is backed by the great guitarist Barney Kessel and the bassist Niels Pedersen.

It was recorded in 1974 and it's about 8 minutes long so sit back, get comfortable and watch and listen to a master at the keyboard.

For the record, Peterson died in 2007 at the age of 82.

THE FRIDAY FUNNIES

 It's a very grey, overcast day in the Central Highlands of Arizona this morning.

I guess the Weather Gods want me to shine a little light onto the landscape.

So here goes.

So that's it, friends and neighbors; that's my contribution to the betterment of humankind for this week.

Now the rest is up to you.

Stop that insane laughing for a minute and listen up.

I want you all to have an absolutely splendiferous weekend, full of feasting and drinking and dancing and . . .

Oh, never mind, just try and make it to Monday.

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

(YIKES!)

STALKER

 I took a photo through my window of the back yard yesterday.

Something attracted my attention.

Do you see it?

Here, I'll crop the photo down and run it through my editing software.

Now you can see him, if you didn't before.

This Siamese visits from time to time, though he's too nervous to be approached.

On this visit he was definitely in stalking mode.

We speculated whether he was after a bird or a grasshopper or a snake.

I tapped on the window and asked him but he wasn't telling.

Eventually he crept all the way across the yard, up onto our patio and underneath a chair.

But finally, seeing nothing in his path and growing tired of the game, I slid the door open.

He darted back across the yard, up on the wall and away.

Only then did his prey appear.

It was just Matty, teasing the invader as he stopped in for his morning snack and nap.

A TEST

 How well do you remember Sir Connery's accent?

That's key.