Tuesday, February 10, 2015

My village was fogged in this morning. A gray sort of thing, holding the crispness of spring and filling my thoughts with ambitions of summer work. Any work, of course, to a retired person is pleasure – up to a point, that is.

As the day progressed the sky turned pristine blue, not a wisp of cloud violated the pale blue bowl overhead. And it turned hot. Hot enough, in fact, that I opened the house to air out the winter mustiness and actually ran a fan for half an hour or so to blow out a couple of rooms I wasn’t ready to open windows in, and to air out a couple of closets.

Somewhat later I was treated to a daring bird gracing my area with song. What the dickens he as doing out there this early calling for his mute mate I haven’t a clue. But he was telling the world.

I wax. I shouldn’t. I have reduced myself to beans and rice. And  no bread. I’ve not gone to the grocers since a week before Christmas and have become interested in how long I can make it without caving into the craving to stock my shelves. A thing from the past; which is getting hard to control, but which I’ve turned into a game.

It appears, without un-due stress, that I invent games to fit my mentality – small things others would not dream to play.

Shortly after feeding Dog this morning, I thought of my own breakfast and decided lunch or later was adequate. But of what?

One can of beans (Great Northern), one can of tomatoes (Mexican. They are stewed, diced, and onions added), three of the country ribs (boneless, pork), and a half can of water (I washed out the bean can doing that) and one half cup of minute rice, all stirred up well in a glass bowl and popped into the nuclear nuker.

I craved, you bet, that which I have not, so I turned to the fridge and found several cans of biscuits (of which I keep a number about for those times I don’t have bread). So. I nuked a small can of biscuits (normal, not sour dough, for which I was eventually grateful, because the sweetness of the biscuits complimented the rest of the frying pans contents wonderfully).

A ladle full poured over two of the biscuits and there it was: A relatively good stew I peppered well. And some salt also.

I created several meals – as long as I don’t eat more than what my stomach wishes. And enjoyed it enough to share it with any reader silly enough to think I might know how to  cook.

I do make a hellaofa bowl of macaroni and cheese, as long as it comes together in a package.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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