I'm pretty sure that bacon was created just to test my patience. Why, oh why, does it take so long to cook? And the whole time it's cooking? It fills the house with its delicious, tempting aroma. Teasing me: Ha, ha, I'm raw! You'll get trichinosis if you even try to eat me before I'm done. Back off! But not too far off, because I need to be turned regularly. Bacon is spiteful like that. Instead, it makes me wait another 28 1/2 minutes before its done enough so I can eat it. Oh, and if I dare turn up the heat so it cooks just an eensy bit faster, what happens? It fights back. It spits. It burns. Yeah, it's not nice that way. Cooking bacon is fairly close to torture. But worth the wait. Sometimes (can you tell I'm still mad at it?).
All I wanted was to get a spatula out of the overcrowded utensil drawer. That's all. It's not asking too much, was it? So I very nicely tried to open the drawer. It opened about a quarter of the way. If I wanted I could stick my fingers in (I have long fingers) and grab the measuring spoons. But I didn't want the measuring spoons (unfortunately), I wanted the spatula. So I tugged the drawer harder. It didn't budge. So I reached in and tried to figure out which of the unruly utensils was jamming it up. Aha! The culprit was the rolling pin. And so the fight began. Tugging and some minor cursing and skinned knuckles and a wounded innocent bystander (the whisk) later, and *finally* the drawer opened. It was an ugly fight, and I'd like to say I won, but I think the rolling pin got the last laugh when the spatula was in the dishwasher...
The Pretty Mama
|Taken by Mr. W|
This mama mourning dove is nesting in one of our pine trees. She actually has two babies, but one of them is hiding in this shot. They hatched last week, and they're already out and about. I can't believe how fast they grow! Pretty, isn't she?