Just when I think I’ve heard it all here in Wilson County, they surprise me. Last week I subbed in a class where the lesson led to a discussion on underage drinking, alcoholism,etc.  One girl piped up and said that her daddy only drinks beer…..and a little moonshine.  I laughed because I didn’t think she was serious.  Moonshine?  Then one after another the kids added their comment about where their family buys moonshine. I just kept saying, “Seriously??”.  The kicker was when a girl asked, “Mrs. Pullen, have yu ever tried moonshine pickles? Ohmygosh they’re so good! They’re kind of sweet, but they burn.”  I honestly didn’t know if I was supposed to shrug this off or report them to the nearest revenuer.  I went straight home and told Mickey.

I had almost forgotten about that disturbing conversation, until today in an entirely different class of entirely different kids….someone mentions moonshine again! No kidding.  A young lady was telling tales about a field party where one of the libations provided was moonshine.  I had to interrupt. I had to.  Because I’m out of the loop, in fact so far out of the loop that I’m not allowed to even mention the loop, I asked, “Are you talking about real moonshine? Like, homemade, hillbilly, corn likker?”  I thought maybe it was a cute name for a new beverage.  They all just looked at me, shrugged, and said “Yeah.”  I can’t believe it.  Moonshine.  Sometimes I can’t believe that I live here. Sometimes I imagine that I’m in a hostage situation. Don’t get me wrong, we live in a beautiful area and the people are nice. The women down here care a great deal about appearances and big houses,big diamonds, and big hair make them happy. But apparently there’s some sort of underground moonshine railroad that is thriving.  I mentioned my finding to a teacher that I admire and respect, and she didn’t bat an eye. She just told me her moonshine story. That’s it.  If they start serving possum stew in the cafeteria I’m putting a for sale sign in my front yard.

All tuckered out after a long day.  Sweet Tater and Mickey kicked back to watch a little television.

Since I knew that today would be devoted to Wilbur T. it was a given that I wouldn’t be putting a lot of time and effort into dinner.  I decided to go with one of Mickey’s favorites and one of the easiest dishes in my arsenal.  It’s good enough to share and if you’ve got a crock pot you can make it happen.  It’s a delicious, versatile chicken dish that we use as fillings in tacos or burritos. You can come up with your own favorite way to eat it. Tonight we’ll be having it in taco shells with fresh veggies and a little dollop of sour cream.

The ingredients are minimal:

4 to 5 chicken breasts  (I used boneless, use what you’ve got)

1 can of Rotel (I use mild)

chicken broth -the original recipe called for “two cans”, I just use whatever it takes to cover the chicken

2 packages taco seasoning

That’s it. Dump it all into your crock pot and make sure the taco seasoning gets stirred in - plug that sucker in and forget it.  If you have all day then cook it slower, if you want it done in 3 or 4 hours, crank it up to high.  When the breasts are cooked through, take them out and shred the meat with a fork. *I pour almost all of the broth from the crock pot into another bowl and set it aside.* You can leave about a cup of broth in the crock pot. Toss the shredded chicken back into the crock pot and let it soak up the broth for another twenty or thirty minutes while you prepare your tortillas or whatever.  Serve that yummy stuff up any way you’d like. It’s twice as good the next day for lunch!

**Once that extra broth has cooled, you can freeze it and use it as a base for a delicious soup later. Taco soup, chicken tortilla soup, etc. Mmmm!**

Do you remember the first time that you read Charlotte’s Web? I don’t know about you, but I could almost smell the hay in Zuckerman’s barn and hear the animals. It came as no surprise to me that the animals had meaningful conversations. I would have gladly taken Fern Arable’s place in that story.  Although the tale is bittersweet, the sweet innocence of Wilbur and the whole circle of life lesson stays with you.  Do you recall when Charlotte first began to leave messages in her web and she wrote “Some Pig”?  That one always makes me smile.  She followed up that message with “radiant” and “terrific”, and finally “humble”.  Why, that’s everything you could ask for in a pig…….or a pug. Yep, we brought our puppy home today and he is indeed, “sooooome pug”.  That’s why he is officially named Wilbur T. Underfoot.  The T is for Tater, which is what he’ll get called the most - Tater Tot, Sweet Tater - you get it. But since he’s just one small vowel away from being some pig, we felt that Wilbur was a fitting moniker for the newest member of our menagerie.  We brought him home around noon, and we’ve romped in the yard, cuddled and played, and now he is sacked out in his kennel.  He boldly introduced himself to Boxcar Willie who blinked twice and rolled over on his back, but the indoor cats are walking a wide circle around him. They’ll adjust - they’re used to living with a dog. So am I. And I couldn’t be happier. He’s some pug.

Things are getting boring around school. Everyone is tired and grouchy, they’re all just shuffling around like zombies, counting the days until break.  That’s when I get into trouble.  I find ways to amuse myself. My favorite thing to do is to hijack the school’s public address system.  Oh, I don’t do it personally. I do it by feeding false information to others.  When I worked in the library I enjoyed having fictitious people paged over the intercom. There was one secretary who never caught on. It made me laugh.  “May I have your attention please,  Paige Turner please report to the library..”  Come on, it’s good clean fun.  Jim Schortz has been paged to P.E.  and it seems the nurse needed to see Ivy Dripp in her office quite often.  Today was one of those days.  The following students have been or will be paged to various parts of the building today:

Lauren Order

Isabelle Ringing

Saul Wellingood

Barbara Seville

Ahmal Shewkup

Ike Arumba

and because I mean no harm,

Noah Fence

I don’t know why this stuff makes me giggle. I had freshmen yesterday and didn’t write my name on the board.  When they asked I told them my last name was Amerigo….and all day long when they’d raise their hands and say, “MzzAmerigo, can I go to the bathroom?” or “MzzzAmerigo do we have to turn this in?”,  it sounded like they were calling me Miss America. I don’t know about them, but it sure made my day more enjoyable.  Usually when they ask what they should call me I’ll just tell them “Your Majesty is what I prefer, but Your Highness is fine too…” and the smart ones use it.  It’s no small thrill when you can get a room of twenty-five teenagers to address you as “Your Majesty”.  If you’re not having fun today, go ahead and make a little of your own. I believe that it was Milton Berle who said, “Laughter is an instant vacation.”… and couldn’t we all use a vacation? Treat yourself to one today.

I worked just half a day today and decided that a half day is just long enough. Now I’m home, I’ve played with the chickens, and I’m thinking about fixing a little lunch. How’s that for a mighty fine Friday?  It’s gorgeous today so I think I’ll open a window or two and get a few chores done.  It feels like a good day to strip the bed and get everything washed. I’ve also got to finalize my Thanksgiving grocery list and make sure I’m good to go in that department.  I’m working Monday and Tuesday next week which seriously cuts into my prep time, but it’s nothing I haven’t done before.  I’m anxious to get things started. My favorite thing to make is the cornbread dressing. It’s scrumptious from beginning to end. The second that you start to saute the celery and onions you know that the holiday season has arrived.  My menfolk count on all of their favorite dishes showing up and I really love how much the enjoy it all.  I haven’t decided on desserts yet. I suppose I could go traditional and make a pumpkin pie and a pecan pie….although the boys seem to prefer fudge pie. But I saw a recipe for darling little carrot cakes made mini muffin tins with a dollop of cream cheese icing on top. They were just the right color for the meal.  Not that any of my guys would notice. I have visions of a beautiful pear crisp or a caramel pumpkin gingersnap cheesecake, but noooo. They want something dark brown and sweet. That’s okay. I’m going to pretend that all of the cooking is a tremendous undertaking and no lone woman should have to do it all….and just when the triptophan haze makes them weak and they’re feeling a little guilty, I’m going to make them all go see A Christmas Carol with me.  There’s no such thing as a free lunch, my friend.  : )   Now I have to make some lunch. This blog entry made me hungry.

I’m off to the brain mines today. I’ll do my best to chip away video games, text messages, and YouTube videos (seriously, that’s all they store up there) and attempt to shove in a little useful information.  I know from experience that it doesn’t always work -otherwise why would my head be full of 70’s song lyrics and completely void of Algebra?  I’ll just have to do my best and let them know that I understand.

I’m hoping that the garbage men arrive before I leave for work.  For some strange reason I feel like the thumbs up from guy #2 is good luck or something.  I just feel better if I get it.  I remember one day that I wasn’t working and heard the truck, and out of habit I dashed to the front door to watch.  I was in my nightie. I felt hidden from their view by a large Bradford Pear tree in the front yard, but for some idiotic reason felt the need to make sure it was my regular guys out there.  I bent way down to take a peek under the branches just as guy #2 bent way down to see whose feet where at the door.  Our eyes met and he gave a HUGE grin and I got a thumbs up.  I’m sure the nightie, bed hair, and look of utter surprise on my face was as much of a thrill for him as the weekly thumbs up is for me.  Glad to be of service.  I’m starting to feel like that “special” kid that everyone high fives. Oh well, they’ll be happy today because there’s hardly anything in our can.  I’ve noticed that there’s considerably less garbage when Mickey isn’t here.  I don’t get it, but you can’t argue with the facts.

I’d better slap on a little war paint and get to school.  I have a new lipstick which excites me so much more than it should.  It’s in a sassy,jeweled tube and the shade is “Celebrity Meltdown”.  With a new lipstick and a thumbs up from my garbage man I’ll feel invincible. Those kids better brace themselves, I feel some book learnin’ comin’ on.

Last Friday we went to Books a Million and poked through the books and magazines.  Imagine my surprise when halfway through an issue of American History magazine I turned a page and saw…..my sister!  It’s not really her, but it sure looks like her.  I showed the picture to Mickey and asked him who it looked like and he immediately responded, “Cathi”.  It’s actually silent film star Florence Lawrence.  Her name makes me giggle.  I had to buy the magazine just so I could bring it home and scan the picture to send to Cat.  It’s her doppelganger.  The beautiful eyes, the rosebud mouth, the porcelain skin, even the hair…. they could be twins. I may have to learn more about this Florence Lawrence, I feel like we’re related.

I love a home remedy. If I had a nickel for every home remedy or homemade spa treatment I’ve tried over the years…well, I’d have a lot more nickels than I have now.  I’ve put everything from avocado to mayonnaise to honey on my face and hair.  I’ve exfoliated with everything from brown sugar to sea salt. Some of it worked, some of it didn’t. Most of it just made me hungry.  Yesterday I tried one that worked… kind of.  Let me start at the beginning.  As we age there are changes that we can’t do a darn thing about. But there are some things that we can fix, or at least prolong the inevitable.  I don’t think it’s healthy to be vain, but I do believe that you have to do the best you can with what you’ve got.  It was that thought that made me take a good, long look at my hair.  It ain’t what it used to be. Oh, parts if it are.  It still has a mind of its own, it’s still a better weather indicator than any doppler radar, and it’s still thick.  But I’d noticed that it was no longer glossy or healthy looking. It’s been happening slowly over the years but it seemed particularly obvious yesterday.  After deciding that it couldn’t possibly be a result of the torture and stress I’d inflicted upon it for the last decade (denial folks, denial) I was determined to figure out what was wrong. Was it a vitamin deficiency?  A follicular disease that would eventually render me bald?  I researched.  I googled and read and googled some more.  And there it was……hard water. We have hard water out here and use a specific detergent in the dishwasher to ensure sparkling clean plates and glasses.  Of course, it’s the water. Now I’m sure that there are any number of hair products and clarifying shampoos that will rid your hair of all sorts of build up, but this was a beauty emergency and I simply didn’t have that kind of time.  I went straight to my cupboard and pulled out a jug of apple cider vinegar.  I’d read somewhere that pioneer women used to give their hair a vinegar rinse to make it shiny. Worth a try, right?  So I showered and shampooed and then doused my hair with vinegar before rinsing it well. The result? Shiny hair!  Seriously, it made a huge difference. I feel like tossing my hair and running my fingers through it. It’s shiny and soft again.  Oh sure, I may smell faintly like a kosher dill,  but a few cents worth of vinegar turned back the hands of time.  And I’m just kidding about the smell. It rinses out, I swear.  I think I may try doing a vinegar rinse once a week and see if the results continue.  Yep, I do love an inexpensive home remedy.  Between vinegar and Bag Balm I may just have this aging thing licked.  Okay, I might smell like pickles and teat cream…. just stay downwind of me and enjoy the view.

I’m ready to put this Tuesday to bed.  It was a long one.  I feel guilty if I complain about a trying day because there are people out there enduring real difficulties and all I have are gripes about a few snotty kids getting under my skin. In perspective, I’m still living on Easy Street.  I’ll just say that I’m looking forward to tomorrow.

I subbed all day for a Government teacher and when I exited school at 3:30  I barely took the time to enjoy the chilly weather. I made a beeline for my car and home.  Now it’s just turning six o’clock and I’ve already spent some happy time with my hens,  had a steaming bowl of soup, put on  my jammies, and turned on an episode of The Investigators.  I probably shouldn’t be viewing true crime stories knowing that my senses will be on high alert at bedtime again.  I may have to cleanse the palate later with a little romance.  Hmmmm…Doris Day or Vivien Leigh?  I’m leaning toward Doris Day and Cary Grant in That Touch of Mink but who can resist Rhett telling Scarlett, “You should be kissed, and often. And by someone who knows how.”  Swoon.  I don’t think I’m willing to make the emotional investment that Gone With The Wind requires. Not tonight. Maybe I’ll just take a long, hot soak and read. That’s the ticket.  I find that the time needed to soak away the day’s cares is equal to the time it takes my fingers to get pruney.  By the time I’m waterlogged my soul will be at peace.  At least until I hear a strange noise.

Max found his morning sunbeam.

The house is so quiet that I can hear a clock ticking in the living room. It’s perfect….during the daytime.  I have discovered that as much as I complain about Mickey’s snoring, whistling, and mumbling at night - it does serve a purpose.  Last night I stayed up later than I should have, waiting for Mickey to call once he arrived in Sacramento.  Early in the evening I was happily typing away, letting the creative juices flow and talking to myself and the cats. So far, so good.  Later I popped popcorn and watched Jane Eyre. Pure estrogen paradise. Later still, I was stretched out on the couch, wishing Mickey’s plane would land already and watching a show on conjoined twins.  It was fascinating. I love anything conjoined. I once saved two fused Cheez-Its for a month before some wiseguy fed them to Kirby. Anyway, sweet Mickey finally made it safely to the west coast and gave me a call. Bedtime. I turned off every light in the house, cautioned the cats to get some sleep because they had a full day of napping ahead, and crawled under the covers.  That’s when it started.  You could have heard a pin drop in the house. Normally I’d hear the occasional tinkle of the wind chimes, a dog barking down the road, even a late night car going past. All of those things give me something to think about. Are the wind chimes singing because rain is moving in? Is that dog barking at an intruder or a possum? Is the car a weary father returning home from a late shift or a teenager coming in past curfew?  While my mind creates a story for each sound I normally drift off to sleep.  But last night was unusually still. Unfortunately I still suffer from nocturnal mom hearing, so my bionic ears pick up the tiniest noise.  First, I heard what sounded like a burglar in the kitchen enjoying a snack. A crunchy snack. I tip-toed down the hall and flipped the kitchen light on to discover Henry the Crack Cat fishing a crispy onion skin out of the garbage.  He actually gave me a dirty look for interrupting him. Have I mentioned how much that cat annoys me?   Back to bed and under the covers. I was thinking happy thoughts, designing a ball gown in  my head, and feeling the pull of sleep. Then I heard it.  A sort of “rushing” noise. I sat up and cocked my head….was it water? air? What if something had burst in a wall and I was about to experience a homeowner’s nightmare while Mickey is thousands of miles away? Thank goodness Corky Cross, our State Farm guy, just mailed us a refrigerator calendar - at least I won’t have to look for his number. Is it just the heat coming on? No, no…sounds like a pipe under the house.  I started walking around the house, ear close to the wall, trying to determine where the noise was located.  Found it.  It was the fan in one of Mickey’s latest Tivo/Roku/DVD/Space Lab/Time Machine pieces.  A little fan. Not a big problem as I’d imagined.  So it  was back to bed where I decided that no matter what I heard next, unless it was the smoke alarm, I was staying put.  Turns out that Mickey’s snoring serves a purpose.  A quiet house and an active imagination are not a good combination, so fate sent me a partner that rumbles like a bear all night to take my mind off any mysterious sounds.  A perfect match.

But now the sun is shining & this quiet house is cozy and warm. Blue skies are begging me to come outside and enjoy the day and yesterday’s pot of chicken soup will make a fine lunch when I’m ready. It’s also a  mighty fine day to write. I’m planning to work on my little witch story, but suddenly have some very good ideas about things that go bump in the night.  Imagine that.