Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Where's the still, Otis?

A follow up is always in order for some stories.  ... remember last week when kid 2 and I had a parental exchange about his negativity when he said the garage door was gonna fall on him and smash him flat?  Turns out the kid is indeed still negative, but he's apparently also a soothsayer.... a fortune teller, a predictor of all things future - like falling garage doors.  Because as he loaded his french horn into the back of the car Monday morning, 4 days after his chilling prediction... the door actually did come loose from the motor thing and crashed to the ground right behind the very spot where he and the french horn stood.  And had I not already been in the drivers seat yelling at them that they were gonna miss the bus, I would've totally thrown my body between him and the falling door.  

But all is well.  And from now on I will listen closer to kid 2's death predictions.  But husband thinks this is just another plan to get a new garage door. Because ours is super ugly.  The ugliest one on the block.  Or maybe the entire neighborhood.  Possibly even the whole city.  And he knows that I can be borderline obsessive compulsive when I get my mind on something..... like wanting a new garage door.  And he suspects that I'm capable of stooping to all sorts of lows to get one.  Like that time about 11 years ago when we had a terribly unfortunate peach toilet in one bathroom and a tornado sky gray one in the other.  And both were old and they smelled.   A smell building since 1956 when they were first installed in our home.  And which,  my pregnant, about to give birth at any minute body couldn't stand.  So the gods of new and improved toilets saw to it that the peach one sprung a giant unrepairable leak and had to be replaced on a Sunday afternoon interrupting football ..... followed soon thereafter by a surprise crack in the water tank of the gray one.  Which I had absolutely nothing at all to do with other than wishing for a crack in the tank so we could get a new one.  And husband still thinks, and mutters under his breath when angry about assorted things, that I hatched some sort of diabolical toilet plan in that deal.   

That being said, he suspects foul play in the ugly falling garage door situation.  But I'm just gonna wait this one out and let time take its toll.  New door here we come... 

And one last thing, ... I tried making crock pot plum butter.  Turns out 3 and 1/2 pounds of plums will yield a whole lot of mess and very little jelly.  And someone out there who shared this recipe on the internet was playing a big joke on us wanna be jelly makers. With all equipment either invested in or borrowed, I spent about 20 hours with the smell of fermenting plums in our house to end up with 1 and a half jars of dark purple bitterness.  Like sour mash.  

Remember the episode of The Andy Griffith Show where Andy and Barney try to get Otis to tell them where he gets his moonshine?  Where's the still, Otis?  They never could find it.... because it was probably in a housewife's kitchen simmering in the crock pot like mine.   

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