Well, it’s September in Texas. Which means ragweed season. It’s also hot as blue blazes.
side note: I have no idea what blue blazes are, I just remember hearing about them from my mom when I was a kid. I am my mother’s child.
Apparently, September in Texas also means that it’s time for WallyWorld to break out the Christmas crap.
side note: I’ll never forget my hairdresser in Atlanta in the 90s, ranting about the grand opening of yet another SuperWalMart (bigger than the one that opened the month before). He said (and this is a direct quote): “Great. Just what America needs. Another canister set with fucking geese painted on them.” I loved that hairdresser. I digress.
Sunshine killed another wild pig last weekend, and we got it butchered this weekend. We would not have gotten it butchered this weekend without the help of the new lady, whose name I shall not reveal–she shall hereafter be known as the Kitchen Magician. I could have cried with gratitude for her help with that, but crying is a luxury I can’t afford. My hammered shitness was showing its ass, and I was pretty much no help at all. I sat in an air conditioned kitchen, struggling to breathe. I labeled freezer bags and helped a very wee tiny bit with the grinder making ground meat for chili and such, but I really did not contribute much at all. Thank you Kitchen Magician!
side note: if I don’t get to feeling better within a couple of days, I will be carrying my ass to the clinic in town for some professional help. My COPD means that I don’t dick around too much when I think I’m developing a respiratory problem.
I did a minor closet clean-out this week, before the hammered shitness set in. I realized that, even though I pretty much loved every garment in there, I didn’t wear a lot of them and I should probably get them out of there. It was usually a slight fit issue that kept me from reaching for certain garments, and they were fit issues that couldn’t be altered away by a skilled seamstress or tailor. It isn’t even bothering me that I don’t have that many garments left in my closet; I always reached for the same ones time and time again. Why keep the unused ones in there creating clutter when I have such a microscopic closet to begin with, right?
Our 5 (yes, five) new baby kittens are starting to get brave and crawl out of their box to explore their little world inside the laundry room. I’ve been taking the box outside for a couple of days now, except when Mrs B is here with her giant spazzy pitbull (sweet dog, just spazzy when it sees small creatures–like cats, squirrels, chickens, etc). I can’t exactly ask her to lock that giant ball of energy in a kennel, especially when the laundry room will keep the baby kittens safe. I’m looking forward to turning them loose in the grass, though. Every kitten we’ve brought here has acted so funny the first time they try to walk in the grass. I’ll try and remember to post pics when I finally can put them in the yard.
Mr B had truckload after truckload after truckload of gravel delivered here and to the big property to make proper driveways that will allow his small island nation on wheels RV to drive in. Now we just have to find a skid-steer/bobcat/bulldozer type machine to rent to spread the gravel out.
side note: one year after Mr B started buying up properties out here in the middle of buttfuck nowhere and we are still renting tractors and shit. I digress.
My little raised garden bed seems to be on track to produce some peas and squashes for us, and the Kitchen Magician has brought us some seeds for plants that will thrive in cold weather, like asparagus and spinach. Which is cool, because asparagus and spinach ain’t cheap at the store.
The boss at work has been sending me home with fruits and vegetables that we can’t sell and really can’t be eaten by humans. He’s sent us with mooshy cantaloupes, too-ripe watermelons, inedible ears of corn, mooshy eggplants, moldy berries, and tomatoes that have gotten so ripe they’ve split open. Sunshine puts quite a bit of it out to bring deer and wild pigs to the back of the property. What Sunshine decides not to give to the wildlife gets added to the compost heap. (Which reminds me, I probably need to get out there with my pitchfork soon and turn the compost heap.)
It’s mostly been a good week here in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. I’ll take it.
final note: we somehow broke the kitchen sink in the pink house while butchering the pig. When I say “we” I really mean Sunshine. Well, the sink didn’t break, it just broke loose from the countertop and started sagging dangerously. I did manage to drag my ass down to the scrap lumber pile and bring some bits of 2X4 up to the kitchen for him to prop the sink up with until Mr B can approve a renovation plan for the kitchen.