Never let it be said that rural areas lack for cultural entertainment. Last night, when I should have been home blogging for my devoted 5 or 6 readers, I took the 4-wheeler over to my neighbor's place and joined the rest of the locals. We sat on his fence, drank beer, and watched the boys chase the pigs around the pen. Throw your sniffer in the air if you will, but I'd take last night over most opera and all poetry-reading any day.
My neighbor is boarding seven pigs which will eventually be divided up among the neighborhood. We're boarding the cows, which should be arriving this weekend.
A note to future country-dwellers who plan on raising their own food: When a seasoned country veteran (such as my mother-in-law) tells you that you DON'T want to be home when the meat processors come out to do their job...listen. I made the mistake of ignoring this advice several years ago when we raised a few heads of cattle and some pigs. Butchering is not pretty. However, I discovered that if you close your eyes and chant "Ribeye" enough times, you get over any discomfort rapidly.
Today I was in the car running endless errands and doing my best to ensure job security for retail clerks statewide. When the sales lady at Marshall Fields told me, "You could save 35% if you purchase two or more," I said, "In the name of George W. Bush, tax cuts, and all else that is holy...I will buy a second blender. I guess I could put it in The Senator's room and he could play 'Saddam Hussein' and throw his GI Joe figures in there feet first."
Maybe George and Laura will invite me to Easter Brunch at the White House next year. I'm doing my part.
Tomorrow's schedule should allow for additional blogging. The Senator is off to a birthday party in the afternoon, and if I can time The Governor's nap correctly...I'm looking at AN ENTIRE HOUR AND A HALF of uninterrupted computer usage.
Unless my father-in-law decides I did a crappy job mowing the lawn (I did) and makes me clean up all the spots I missed. No problem. I'll just slap some Band-Aids on the bleeding calluses (you didn't think I used the riding mower, did you?) and get back out and finish the job. Blogging to resume when the entire 5 acres looks like Wrigley Field on a Sunday afternoon.
Posted by Cathy at May 27, 2004 10:45 PMThe Chairman will recall my cousin, Ernie, who was like St. Francis among animals, which is why his two hogs had become quite tame. They'd run to visitors and grunt to have their ears scratched; they once flipped the latch on their pen and were found at the end of the driveway, waiting for the school bus. When it came time to butcher the hogs, neither Ernie nor his brother, Maurice, could do the deed. The Chairman asked, "...so you kept them as pets?" "Oh no, Cathy," replied Ernie, "you can't afford to do that on the farm. We got a neighbor who was not so emotionally involved." Remember not to name what you plan to eat, because it's soooo much more refined to dine on rump roast than it is on a chunk of Freddie's butt.
Posted by: The Professor at May 28, 2004 09:59 PMI loved that last line, Dad!
Posted by: Cathy at May 29, 2004 09:15 AM