Mute Monday:Work/ workers

Be a Winner!

I got this email note:

"Did you see that X*X*X* was an Olympic sinner?"



No. I ain't seen that event. ( I know I know!! I'se unreliable and a cheat-I did see some of it them games.)

Of course, what my correspondent meant was "winner", jes' hit one key down, heh heh.

I'se in misery. Deadline hell. Cain't play wif' mah blogger folks--dang it!

So I thought I'd spread the misery around some. If I gotta write, least ya'll can do is keep me company. Okay?

Please leave me a limerick --'member last year's contest??

I DID award an actual prize (not a cyber prize) and will again send some token of mah esteem, to the sinner...ah, that is, WINNER.



A limerick refresher course: a five line poem where the first, second and fifth lines rhyme, and the third and fourth lines rhyme, hence the rhyming line scheme of AABBA. Typically the first "A" lines (first, second and fifth) have 8-9 syllables and the middle couplet have 5-6 syllables. The key is that all three "A" lines is best when they have the same number of syllables, and the couplet ("B") lines should have the same number of syllables. The rhythm is as important as the rhyme.

Here's examples plucked from the net:

There was a young lady from Hyde,
Who ate a green apple and died.
While her lover lamented,
The apple fermented,
And made cyder inside her inside.


In choosing words, some are verbose
That render their wit adipose
Give me tight-writ precision
For verse of concision
And make every word serve the best prose.



Now, as in them Olympics, ya' can increase yore score by choosin' a limerick of higher difficulty. Extra points if yore limerick reflects what we know of ya' from your own blogger profile--here is an example that would apply to Big Shamu and Java Junkie:

I prefer living my life adagio
Doing nothing more strained than intaglio
Or a book at compline
With a glass of white wine
And some artisan bread and fromaggio.


or, fer extry points, spin a limerick about any recent blog topic:

A pesky chattering squirrel,
I shot wif mah derringer of pearl
He lost his prized nuts
And 'bout half his guts
Now he sings like a little girl.


Ya' can be a wee bit risque,
limericks is funnier that way
but please doan overdo
it disqualifies you
thas' what Uncle tole me to say.

Now iffin' ya had a lot of fun, enter as many limericks as ya' please. Contest open until Midnight Sunday Aug 31, PST.

What the Wind Blew In

NOTE:New Post on Back Porch



Ya'll heered I reckon that we had the Hurricane Fay blowin' by us'uns... an' she left more than torn tree branches in her wake.

An ole acquaintance showed on the Front Porch when she came to check on her kid sister who done moved heah a week afore Fay gathered her skirts and sashayed up the state.

We's never what I'd call "friends"--we had different interests, but she was kin to friends and ya' know how that goes.


After the first two glasses of lemonade she sighed an' said, "Belle, can I talk wif' ya straight? I doan wanna scandalize ya none but..."

"DeeDee June, I wish't I'se ignorant enough to be scandalized by anything a human ever done."



Her haid was hangin' low, but I seen a wry smile. "You ain't changed much has ya'? Well, then, alright, I'll jes git mah story out, an hope youse got some idea what I oughta do...'

An hour later she took her leave, a wee more light hearted I hope. Another post-modern confused cynic who has recently wondered if she's been sold a pig 'n a poke. Life ain't easy an' it never was.


Ain't never met nobody wif'out scars. Once ya' know that every good moment ya work fer and appreciate is a gift, not an entitlement, it sure changes yore angle of view.
Make somethin' beautiful when life seems to take a ugly turn. Plant a daisy, write a poem, sing a song, do a good deed.


Makin' the most of our days is our own job, seems to me. An that means lookin' fer what is good, not jes' catalogin' what all's gone wrong. Cheerfulness can be heroic.

Fay Comes Callin'

New Post on Back Porch: Afghan Women




I'se expectin' a big blow today.

Hurricane Fay is jes' a tropical storm, but ya know--the weather-folks need somethin' to make they jobs excitin'. I wis't they'd save it up fer the Real Thang. Reckon we'll git one of them soon enough.

When them weather hysterics go to hand-wrinngin' over silly squall, why folks dash out to stand in line to fill they cars, play bumper cars wif' they grocery carts, careenin' around snatchin' up ice and water and flashlight batteries.

Oh bother. Get a bottle of wine and some chocolate. Light yore fragrant candle of the day and read a good book. Or make soup. I got a new recipe fer calabaza soup. (Thas a big old squash near to pumpkin but different taste...ya make this soup wif ham and garbanzo beans.)

Taxpayers, ya need to know that public schools panicked. Them folks closed down the schools!! Yep. Disney World and shoppin' malls and movie emporiums is all open and doin big bidness (wif' all the kiddies out of school ,what's a poor parent to do but to Go To The Mall), but the schools *had* to close down? Had to. Matter of public safety. Aw, heck, I reckon teachers wanna make soup too.

Mah trouble of the day is worse than Fay. Mah computer is old and cantankerous. Screechin' about havin' no more memory. (wait--is that the computer or Aunty I'se describin'???) I done deleted all I could, but Bessie ain't happy. Natcherly, I got deadlines and am in a real panic--this ain't no time to figger out what kind of computer I want next.

Sigh....leave me a nice word or two ya'll, mebbe yore favorite soup recipe. I'se not sure when I'll git back. If I poke mah haid in to see ya, it means the confounded machine finally let me kick its beauty-tocks.

Mute Monday: Songs/singers/songwriters

Jellies git Belle in a Jam

Li'l Mackie Jenson wandered over t'other mornin' in his PJ bottoms. It were early and so the back porch door was open on account of Uncle bein' out to refill bird feeders.

"Ya' got any toast?"

Me: "Mack-man, honey, is yore daddy up yet?"

Mackie eyed the biscuits and nodded his sleepy haid.


Uncle: "Do yore daddy know youse up?"

Mackie jes' stood gazin' at the table. "Biscuits are good wif' jelly."


Me: "Fix the chile' some biscuits and pour him some milk, Aloysius. I better git on upstairs and thrown on some clothes afore Mitch comes huntin' the boy." ( I was in mah customary batiste, which, in mah view, is the proper vestment fer ladies afore 9 a.m. on Saturday unless ya got a row to hoe afore the sun is up. [for more on adventures in batiste nightgown, see archives Jan 2007 "What thrillin' lives do ya'll lead"] )

Weren't long til I heered another male voice.

"I'se sorry Aloysius fer the bother. The boy jes' slipped out when I was out in the buggy barn."

Uncle: "No harm a'tall... he's a fine young'un and we's charmed to have him. But, Mitch, lemme ask ya somethin'. How many kinds of jelly ya got open at yore place? Looky here--see? That woman has six, S I X, jars of jelly open at one dern time! Mackie as't fer grape jelly, and I go ter lookin' in the icebox and danged if Belle ain't got a half a store's worth of jellies. Beats the dawg outa me how she can be so wasteful."



















I washed up Mitch's cawfee cup, cleared little Mackie's place and tunned to glare at Aloysius.

Me: "Whas' in that refrigerator is MAH bidness, not yor'n. Does I rummage in yore tool box and declare thar's too many screw drivers? An' doan never refer to me as 'woman'."



Uncle: "T'aint the same Belle. Ain't no call fer such waste."

Me: "Youse showin' yore ignorance of decent cookin' and provisionin' then, thas' all I can say."

Uncle: "Why doan ya say WHY youse got so many open jars? What excuse does ya have?."

Me: "First, Aloysius, I doan need no 'excuse' fer how I run this kitchen. But to humor ya' and fill the gapin' holes in yore culinary edoocation this here is the reason fer multiple open jelly jars:

There's apple jelly fer givin' a purty glaze to things I bake, the hot pepper jelly goes in yore pork loin marinade, the guava jelly is what Miss Mattie Lou brung us cause ya' tole her it put ya' in memory of yore granny, and when she brung it, we opened it and had it with cream cheese and crackers. The mint jelly is what I mix into mah own fresh mint and vinegar sauce fer the leg of lamb we had last week, the blackberries is from our takin' the clan babies pickin' then we made some jam to put in the blackberry trifle we served the pastor last Sunday, and the peach preserves is from yore Aunt Winnie's orchard up in Georgia an' what ya love the most and had on yore own biscuits this very mornin'. Got all that? Now's ya' satisfied? "

Uncle: "Thar's no grape jelly. Mackie wanted grape."

















.

Jes' Peas, please.

Note: New post on Back Porch




A thunderstorm passed through in late afternoon, scrubbin' the air clean. I love that. It leaves what we'uns call The Green Light. I stood on the back porch lookin' at the green air hoverin' over the shrubs and the bird feeder. The back gate clanged so I knowed someone was comin' round back.

"Hey theah Belle!"

It were young Raleigh Jenkins wif'a bushel of acre peas what had been shelled already--an' thas' gold! I'd be half the night blanchin' and freezin' these beauties. Ain't talkin' about cow peas, or purple hull peas, but them itty bitty white acre peas--thas' akshully light green.





"Oh, Darlin' youse a Prince Charmin'!! " I bubbled.

We doan even imagine a Thanksgivin' wif' out them peas. Cooked wif' ham hocks of course. Not many outside the South knows of these wee peas. Lordy, thanky fer makin' us'uns Southern!!
(I is sorry ya'll is so underprivileged...really.)

Mute Monday:West/ Westerns

Beach Backroad

NOTE: New BACK Porch post: From Russia With Love

Hey ya'll

'Member them Morning Sunrise photos two posts back? Well, I took the backroads home from the beach...and thought ya'll would like to see another version than ya' see on the Florida interstate highways. Folks along the back roads make their livin' out of the city and it is interestin' that it can still be done by ornery independent individuals.


Does ya see this critter behind the sheep pen?

The fella next to the sheep farm sold goats--


(yep, me an' uncle eats goat kids--an' iffin' ya'll ain't tried BBQ kid, or Greek style goat-kid, or even Central American Cabrito , doan say nuthin' til ya' have a go at it!)




Now this here is a fella what has in his home warehouse THE finest 18th century furniture ya'll will find in all of Floridy--no kiddin'. He has columns and highboys and linen presses from Virgina plantations. He has Vermont desks and corner cabinets. Mercy, but this fella has purty things--way way way back in the woods a'tween the ocean and the higher sandy ground. Sigh...iffin' I wuz a rich Cracker Lady, I'd buy him out!! But I'd have to elbow out the tony types from SoFlo.



One of mah favorite thangs is when a storm is brewin'. In the Palmetto scrub land that lies between the St. John's River and the Atlantic ya can see the storm a'comin' from fer off---


and the clouds that form ain't like nowhar' else.

And the whole show brings out the birds...


An' look at this beauty hidin' from my camera--see it? The blue beauty behind them red berries?

Ah....it's hot and humid, but ya'll Florida is gorgeous!