This And That. (Alternate Title: My Importune Pal)

Sugar Shaker

This is a sugar shaker that resides in our home.

It was purchased in antique shop in England over fifty years ago.

(And no, I am not the one who purchased said shaker. Since I am only forty-eight.)

Actually, Steve’s parents bought it when they lived in England and have had it around their house all these years. During our visit to their home for Christmas, Vernie brought it out and asked if we would like to have it.

It’s quaint. It’s a conversation piece. Steve uses it every afternoon to add sugar to his “spot of tea.” And it matches the colors of our house.

What’s not to love?

Camera

Still practicing with the new camera and taking pictures of everything in sight. Such fun.

It’s especially fun when a certain little guy appears in the photo. A cute little guy. An endearing little guy.

Dog

Well, Snowy is endearing except for one thing. One little ol’ thing that I mentioned in an earlier post.

Sir Snowy has now become convinced that 4:30 am is the Happiest Time! of the Day. He also believes that 4:30 is the Perfect Time! of the Day for Mom to sit in her chair with him and do her Bible reading and blog writing.

So here’s the early morning scene at the Smith House.

I am sleeping. Soundly. At 4:30.

Suddenly, in the midst of my deliciously drowsy dreams, I hear a polite little, “scratch, scratch, scratch” on the bedroom door. I groan and mutter muttery things under my breath.

Thirty seconds pass.

“Scratch, scratch, scratch.”

Then a polite and helpful pause.

I can just picture Snowy putting his paw back down, post scratch, and then sitting sedately back on his haunches and waiting with great delight for what he knows will eventually happen should he just continue to practice his own patented brand of canine importunity. (Importunity is a word from the Bible that means “not giving up.” And since Snowy is a Pastor’s Dog, he tends to think in those terms. I think.)

Finally, when I realize that he’s really. not. going. to go away, I fling back the covers, stomp across the bedroom floor, and throw open the bedroom door with less than loving thoughts percolating in my heart.

And then I see this face.

Snowy catching a glimpse of me in all my early morning, disheveled crabbiness does nothing to dissuade him from the glory that is his life. As soon as he spots me, he goes into a veritable paroxysm of delight, flinging himself around the hallway, wagging his tail frantically, and panting and smiling with a tumultuous display of the happiest kind of joy.

And I know just what he’s thinking. “Mom decided to get up and spend time with me! I am so happy! I am so excited! Life is so grand!”

Yeah. It’s grand all right. If 4:30 a.m. can possibly be referred to as a grand hour.

And so Snowy and I have become early morning buds. I let him outside, feed him, and then the two of us just hang out in the peaceful, pre-dawn hours. (Although I do realize I could go back to bed after taking care of him, I figure 4:30 is right next door to 5:00 and 5:00 is actually a fairly reasonable getting up hour. And so I usually just stay up.)

And just because he really is pretty cute, I’ll close with a few more pictures of my importune pal.

Andy. Thrift Store. Windmill.

Yesterday I took a slightly chilly, fairly enjoyable, mid afternoon, mid winter walk.

I’d much rather ride my bike than walk but when it’s 30 degrees outside, the wind whipping past one’s face on a bike makes the experience a little less than ideal. And so I walked.

In Manteo, the main road (Hwy 64) bisects the north end of the island; it passes by a few restaurants and businesses and then when it gets near our neighborhood, the businesses give way to mostly residences and the scenery becomes rather lovely.

As I trundled merrily along the lovely bike path that runs parallel to the road, I made myself a new friend.

His name is, um, Horse.

Horse looked at me, put one hoof up on a board and started tapping it over and over. I’m not sure if that meant he was counting (like Mr. Ed) or if it was some sort of Horse Language that basically meant, “Hey there, Lady! You got any carrots for me?”

I think horses are incredibly magnificent, amazing, beautiful creatures but I was still not quite willing to go over and pat him on the nose. Or the forefront of his head. Or whatever that place is called that people are prone to pat. (Can’t you tell that I am incredibly educated on this subject?)

I just decided I should keep my distance since I didn’t know if my good friend, Horse, was of the nipping variety or not. And my plans for the day most certainly did not include any sort of Horse Nipping Encounters.

So I bid my new friend a cheerful good-bye and left him to ponder who the strange woman was with the silver box in her hand. (Can’t you tell that this animal is truly in Pondering Mode?)

After my meet-n-greet with Horse, I spotted Mister and Missus Cow. Or maybe it was Missus and Missus Cow. I’m not sure if Mister Cows are kept out in the same field as the Missus Cows, or if they hang out in a separate place specifically designated for Mister Cows. (Yes, another subject about which I am abysmally ignorant.)

But at any rate, there they were. Two cows (of indeterminate gender) who were nice enough to pose themselves beautifully between the tree, um, trunks? Limbs? Thingies? (Have we found yet another subject of which I am ignorant? Yes. It would appear so.)

As I continued along my way, I thought about the advice that fitness experts are wont to give concerning the necessity of swinging one’s arms vigorously while one is walking. Unfortunately, I was unable to perform that particular maneuver because I had to use one of my hands to hold the front of my coat closed. That particular coat appears to be one of my clothing items that has mysteriously shrunk (shrank? shrinked? shranked?) over the last year and now it can’t be buttoned. Which means I have to hold it closed when the arctic wind swoops in and threatens my very personhood. Which also means that I can’t swing my arms and burn up extra calories so that the coat will fit better.

Which seems like a pretty unfair deal, all in all.

I then thought that I would take a picture of these . . . um . . .twig thingies. I just think that twig thingies look especially lovely when framed against the sky. In fact, if I were ever to make this picture into a Big Framed Art Display to be hung in the Smithellaneous Section of the Smithsonian, that’s exactly what I would entitle it.

“A Trio of Twig Thingies. Against The Sky.”

Doesn’t that title just speak to you? No?

Okay. Moving right along . . .

In this shot, I thought that the juxtapositioning of this barn-ish type building framed by the tree trunky thingies was rather attractive.

Then I came across this unusual looking contraption which unfortunately failed to allow itself to be neatly pigeon holed into any of my (woefully inadequate) descriptive phrases. And so I just stood and stared at it and pondered it, trying my utmost to look profound even as I pondered.

The word on the street seems to be that this is an old windmill that will be reconstructed on this site once the weather warms up.

I think it would be really great to live just up the street from a windmill. I mean, we already live less than a mile from Andy Griffith’s house. And we’re one block from a thrift store. To have a windmill in our neighborhood, too? Too cool.

Andy. Thrift Store. Windmill. Doesn’t get much better than that.

Heading back the way I came, I spotted Horse again. He proceeded to studiously ignore me since obviously a woman who carries a silver box instead of a bag of carrots is of absolutely no use to him. Or her. (Sorry. Didn’t take the time to peer at the pertinent parts.)

And then I was on the home stretch and gazing upon things which make me happy every time I see them, things that I never dreamed could exist in this magnitude just five minutes from the ocean.

Trees!

Tall, tall trees! How wondrous is that?

By about that time, my mid afternoon, mid winter walk had made my cheeks red, my nose run, and my legs wobbly. So I headed myself toward home where I was greeted by this sweet sight: a little doggy patiently waiting for a certain Mom to sit down with him so that they could get going on some blog writing. You’ve never seen a more faithful co-writer in your life.

Which brings me, in closing, to a brief Snowy Report.

Snowy is doing so well that we can hardly get over it. He’s gained all his weight back, is eating like a champ, running around the house like a perky puppy, inviting us to wrestle with him, playing happily with his favorite chew toy and basically acting happier and healthier than we have seen him in a long, long time.

And that makes this mama heart very, very joyful. Plus ecstatic.

The end.

To The Vet

I heard back from the vet who said that since Snowy is eating very little and has been vomiting, she really needs to see him. He also doesn't seem to be urinating very often and that's the last thing we need right now.

I'm taking him in at 3:45.

Sigh. He's asleep again. Still snuggly in his red coat.

Recipe and (Non) Rambling: Six-Week Muffins

During a lot of the recipes I post, I do a good bit of rambling between the recipe directions. Today though, I shall spare you from that scary, rambly part of my brain and just post some pictures and the recipe itself. (Don't worry. The rambling will be back in the next recipe!)
This recipe is one of my favorites because you can keep the batter in the fridge for up to six weeks (hence the recipe’s name) and just scoop out the batter you need. Which basically means you can have made-from-scratch-fresh-from-the-oven muffins with very little effort. How wonderful is that?

Here are a few pictures of the process. The complete recipe is at the end.
















6-WEEK MUFFINS
15 ounce box Raisin Bran or bran flakes
2 1/2-3 cups sugar (Could cut the sugar quantity quite a bit, if desired.)
5 cups flour
5 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups Crisco or 1 cup vegetable oil (for lighter muffins)
4 eggs
4 cups buttermilk
1. Combine the first five ingredients, mixing together until large lumps remain.

2. Add Crisco or oil, eggs and buttermilk. Stir together well but do not over mix.
3. Place in a sealable plastic container under refrigeration until ready to use (or overnight).
4. When needed, scoop out the amount required and ladle batter into greased or sprayed muffin tins. Fill any unused muffin wells 1/4 of the way with water. If batter becomes too thick, stir in milk, buttermilk or melted butter until a good muffin batter consistency is achieved.
5. Bake at 375°F degrees for 20 minutes or until golden brown. You can also bake these in mini muffin pans for about 12 minutes.
Makes four dozen or so muffins. Batter will keep for several weeks in refrigerator. (Note: After a couple of weeks, the top of the batter will turn dark; just stir the batter before putting into tins.)
You can add a variety of toppings before baking: Brown sugar, raisins, Craisins, chopped pecans, walnuts, peanuts, macadamia nuts.
I add nuts to some (which Steve and I love) and sprinkle cinnamon on others.



Yesterday I made the muffins for Sunday lunch and tried to think of something Christmas-y to sprinkle on them.
“Voila!” thought I. “I shall sprinkle green sugar on top of a couple muffins so that I can usher a festive muffin look to our table.”
And how did that work out? Not so much.
I was taking the muffins out of the pan when Sarah walked by. She stopped dead in her tracks and said, “Mom! Those muffins have mold growing on them.”

Since that wasn’t quite the effect that I was going for, I think it’s safe to say that the green sugar topping can probably be nixed.
Enjoy!

_______________________________
Before I close, let me give you a quick update on our “third child.”
Snowy continues to not feel well; he’s thrown up, been shivery on and off, and still has that “I don’t feel good” look in his eyes. (You know, that particular look that mothers everywhere can recognize in a single split second.)
He’s still drinking way more water than usual and drinking it in a frantic manner, like he just can’t get enough of it.
It’s just going to be a long two weeks while we wait on the follow up visit and the vet’s prognosis. In the meantime, we will spoil him (even more than he already is) and treasure the moments.
Oh, and one more thing?
Snowy asks if you’d please continue to pray for him and for our whole family. 'Cause we're all a little sad right now . . .

Tough Times for Snowy.

Three weeks ago, Snowy was diagnosed with a urinary tract infection. The vet also said that he had fairly significant anemia, a couple of smallish/medium kidney stones, and some blood in his stools. She gave us an antibiotic and said to bring him back in three weeks to be re-checked.

We took him back today and got good news and bad news.

The good news is that he doesn’t have a urinary tract infection anymore.

The bad news is that he’s lost over a pound in three weeks (he only weighed six pounds to start with), and the stones in his kidneys have grown from medium-ish to “huge.” He also still has anemia and in addition, is now showing blood in his urine.

Is it just me, or does my darling doggie not look like he feels well?

The vet said she doesn’t have any idea what is going on and doesn’t know what would be causing those stones to grow so quickly. (You may remember we had a very bad experience with bladder stones around this time last year and almost lost Snowy after an emergency surgery.) She did tell us that, for Snowy at least, the kidney stones are even more serious than bladder stones.

Over the next few days, she’s going to contact the State Veterinarian University and talk to some of the doctors there to get their input on Snowy’s situation.

Obviously, we are worried. (In fact this afternoon, Sarah and I had a mother/daughter hugging and crying session.) Blood in the stools, blood in the urine, unexplained weight loss, and rapidly growing kidney stones don’t add up to real great news. And the thought of spending a couple thousand dollars on surgery doesn’t add up to real great news, either.

We have an appointment to take him back to the vet in two weeks. (We’ve been told to make some changes in his dog food in the meantime.) He’ll arrive first thing in the morning and be closely observed for eight hours; also while he’s there, urine and blood tests will be repeated, in addition to more x-ray’s. We should know something pretty definitive by that point.

While he was at the doctor’s office today, Snowy also got groomed. When he got home (with his new shorter hair) he seemed kind of shivery so we assigned Sarah the job of Putting The Coat on the Dog. (I have not yet been successful in accomplishing this task so I’m glad Sarah is so good at it.)

To cheer myself up after getting somewhat distressing doggie news today, I thought I would post a few fun pictures of The Coat Putting On Process.

Sarah starts it all off with a confident smile, which is much different than how I would look when faced with such a daunting task.

And the battle begins . . .

I absolutely LOVE this picture. Sarah’s expression is of a woman who has triumphed in her mission. Snowy’s expression is of a man who is saying, “I am macho doggie and I will NOT go down without a fight!” (Too bad the fight’s already over, Snowy!)

Sigh.

And sigh again.

Sarah has a little talk with Snowy to apologize for having to put the Big Old Bad Coat on him. (Although the pictures don’t really show it, he always loves it when he gets that warm, comfy coat on—especially right after he’s been groomed.)

Daughter and doggie—forever friends.

179. 603.

A numbers post. What a unique idea!

I hate numbers. Never liked them before. Never will like them. Have no plans to ever, ever like them. Ever. Not to mention, never.

Numbers are boring. I mean, you write a number and nothing happens.

15.

See? Did anything happen? Were you moved? Inspired? Entertained?

I think not.

Fifteen does not have the power to move anyone.

No way. No how.

On the other hand, let’s try this:

summer afternoon

Suddenly, you have been transported from wherever you are sitting right this moment to a summer afternoon memory from some long forgotten time and place.

Can a number do that for you? (All together now! “Nooooooo!”)

I guess I also hate numbers because numbers transmogrify themselves into math problems. And we all know that math problems are evil. Math problems have only one answer.

Well, maybe I should say they have two answers. The right answer. And the wrong answer.

And during the course of my life, I have always shown an amazing propensity for choosing the wrong answer. It’s a gift!

But with words?

No right answer. No wrong answer.

If I said, “What does the word ‘mayonnaise’ mean to you?, I could get seven thousand responses and all of them would be correct.

How can you not love that?

But if I were to ask you, “What does 5+7 equal?” and you don’t say “12” (um, it is 12, right?) then you are just so completely and absolutely wrong that it’s downright depressing.

So having said all that, why would I be writing a numbers post? It’s because I have a couple numbers to talk about.

179

The first number is 179. (Did anybody feel any wonderful emotion or any little “soul quiver” when you saw that number? I rest my case.)

I am talking about 179 because that, my Smithellaneous friend, is the number of comments generated by A Great Idea post. I have read every single comment and have smiled and nodded my head, and pondered and said, “Hmmmm,” more times than you can count.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to each one who jumped into the conversation and wrote about the place you live and the things you love about it. I feel like I know you all a lot better today than I did even a week ago and that is a wonderful feeling.

Before I knew that the post would get so many responses, I had said that I would tally everything up so we would know which state had the most readers. However, I got just a tad intimidated by that large number (see, there’s the number thing again) and figured it would take me until I turned 78 years old to get it all figured out. So scratch that idea.

However, from what I could ascertain as I was reading through everything, there seem to be an awful lot of readers from the St. Louis, MO area. Although I’m not quite sure why so many readers are from there, I do know that if I ever have a National Smithellaneous Readers Convention, I will most certainly go to St. Louis to do it!

So that’s all I have to say about 179.

603

And the 603?

As of today, that’s how many posts I have written for Smithellaneous since April 2009.

At first, I was all impressed with myself for having written that many posts. But it only took about 4.5 seconds (anyone at all moved by the 4.5 number? I didn’t think so) for me to realize that who I am really impressed by is all of you! Those of who you have read those posts! Those of you who have taken precious time out of your busy day to stop by this blog and actually read the words I have to say.

I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you guys; I don’t take lightly the privilege you’ve given me in providing such a wonderful audience for my meanderings, and thoughts, and recipes, and essays, and humorous pieces and pictures. (Not to mention, all those Snowy Stories.)

So I will close this post about numbers with words--words of appreciation.

Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life—wherever you may live.

_______________________

Smithellany . . .

1. Stefanie from (you guessed it!) St Louis left a comment asking how Snowy’s tail is doing since it was injured several weeks ago.

I am happy to report that Snowy is doing stupendously; you could never tell he’d had a problem with it..

2. Sarah made a cute video to a song that I posted here if you’d like to stop by and see it.

3. And speaking of Sarah (and Snowy) I ran across a couple pictures of them taken about a year ago. What a cute pair.