The rains have arrived.
So far we've avoided severe storms here but there have been some which have hit the area with high winds, heavy rain and hail causing some damage.
This was the sky toward the East yesterday evening.
The rains have arrived.
So far we've avoided severe storms here but there have been some which have hit the area with high winds, heavy rain and hail causing some damage.
This was the sky toward the East yesterday evening.
As I have noted many times on this blog I was born and raised in northwestern North Dakota, about 50 miles south of Saskatchewan and around 90 miles east of Montana.
My father was a typical duke's mixture of someone whose family line went back in this country a few hundred years: English, Scotch, Irish, whatever.
My mother, however, was pure Norwegian.
Her grandparents both came over from Norway.
Since she did most of the cooking, our food tended to be rather bland.
Oh, it was good and we all loved her baking of breads, cookies, pies and cakes.
But our diet tended to be on the mild side.
And that was my taste for many years.
When I reached adulthood my idea of a great meal was a steak fried to medium well done, never any of that red showing, and a huge baked potato.
But since then I've lived over half of my life in Arizona, where Tex-Mex food predominates.
Excuse me, it's not true Mexican food, no matter what the hundreds of cafes advertise.
And I lived nearly five years in Mexico itself, where I found out the difference.
My wife makes a mean meat loaf but over the years she has expanded her expertise to master Oriental food and stir-fry meals.
And over the years my tongue has changed somewhat.
But now in our later years she's grown tired of cooking and, perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not, she says her palate can no longer handle spicy food.
So if I want something "sparked up" a bit I have to do it myself.
Which led me to purchase a bottle of what passes itself off as Indonesian hot sauce.
I use it on scrambled eggs, only a teaspoon or so and with a glass of ice water close at hand.
The ingredients are listed as red jalapeno and habanero peppers, garlic, cane sugar and a few other things.
When Judy's son was out here a year ago he asked for some hot sauce on something we had served him and he tried this sauce.
He said it was sweet and later I could see what he meant.
I suppose the cane sugar gave the heat a sweet edge.
I should point out that he does most of his own cooking and he likes his food spicy HOT.
So there's your cooking tip for the day: Sambal hot sauce.
And remember the slogan printed on the bottle's label: "Pain is Good!"
Here's something you don't see every day.
Well, if you don't live in Arizona.
I suppose locals who (foolishly) go out for hikes in our 100 degree heat on a daily basis probably see plenty of them.
I, suffice it to say, am not one of them.
Now Judy, aka SWMBO, claims to have seen one of these critters in our yard before but I believe it's a new sighting for me.
So don't allow me to leave you in suspense for another second.
It's the Wily Roadrunner, paying a quick visit.
I'm cheating.
I'm actually putting this together on Thursday night.
But it's because I'm still revved up over the Phoenix Suns victory in the second game of the NBA Finals.
For those of you that don't understand or don't care, that's American basketball.
And this is the end-all of the season.
Whoever wins 4 out of 7 games wins the title of National Champions.
For one year.
And Phoenix has won the first two games.
It's a really big deal.
But not quite as big a deal as these moments of risibility (a word I just learned this week. Look it up if you don't know it.)
Y'know what?
I think that's enough.
If you aren't holding your tummies in glee by now . . . you're probably groaning in agony.
So let me wish you an angst-free weekend full of glorious ecstasy.
And don't ever forget: keep laughing!
Here, kitty-kitty . . .
Scanning some of my blog colleagues work today I decided it was time for a little update on our gardening efforts.
So we examine the back patio tomato barrel.
Get the bird books!
We've got a new species!
It resembles the Cowbirds that frequent our back yard but this one appears to have a blindingly white beak.
I've never seen one like that so it must be something new.
Let's blow this photo up a bit and get a better look.
I know I'm growing old.
After all, I was born in 1940.
But apparently that word has gotten out.
I received what I would call a "spam" email this morning from an entity inviting me to take a virtual tour of what they call "11 Beautiful Cemeteries" around the world.
Now I have no fear of my onrushing demise but I'm not encouraging it either.
So I declined the invitation to visit famous resting places.
I have been to the gravesites of my parents and my grandparents and I have seen a photograph of my great-grandparents tombstone.
But there's one place I probably will never visit but would like to.
It's now called the Taylor-Bray Farm and it's on the original site in what is now Yarmouth Port, Massachusetts where my 7th great-grandfather, Richard Taylor, settled after arriving from England in 1639.
He built his home near a large rock and became known as Richard "Rock" Taylor to distinguish himself from another Richard Taylor who had come over the pond at the same time.
The farm stayed in the Taylor family until the late 1800's when it was sold to George and William Bray, who farmed there for another 50 years.
They had a stone plaque installed commemorating the first Taylor's founding of the site.
Banana Bread (with Walnuts and Coconut).
To those of you who join me in being confused about what day it is, it's Friday.
Once again.
And I and my crack team of humorologists have been hard at work excavating some items from the Inner Web to titillate and amuse you.
So let us proceed.
And with that, fine friends and fanatic followers, I shall finalize this week of friskiness and folly and put a "finis" on it.
Now, let's all get out there this weekend and have a Fabulous Fourth.
Well at least those of y'all in the Yew-nited States of Amurrica.
I invite the rest of you to also have a great weekend.
Here, kitty-kitty . . .
The birds that visit our back yard are a constant source of pleasure and ofttimes amusement.
For example, this sequence involving one of the doves.
I first spotted him on the wall contemplating a brief flight to the birdbath for a drink.
I grabbed a camera and was rewarded with this shot as he changed his mind, midflight.
Rather than landing, he aborted his mission and flew back to the wall.
I'm not sure what frightened him but a bit later I saw another dove marching around on the ground and the sight of a potential competitor may have been the reason.
At any rate, he sat on the wall for awhile before flying away.
Dare I ask if his mien depicted consternation or embarrassment?
Firefighters are slowly, very slowly, getting a handle on the Raphael fire north of here.
We are in no danger except for the incredibly smoky skies.
Here's what it looks like this afternoon.
We had a visit recently from Judy's firstborn, Scott, from Indiana.
We often say that he looks different each time we see him and this year was certainly no different.