humor


molly and her cohortsIt’s just one of the many things I am culinarilary (just made that word up- I like it)  dependant on. 

It takes up my counter space and requires constant cleaning.  (Why can’t ANYONE put paper-towel or a napkin over what they are cooking????  Including me:()

Like a magic black box- (sometimes considerably brighter than me) it heats everything from spaghettios to cold coffee-it has faithfullyu served.

In addition- as a SAHM- it is one of my few and much trusted friends/co-workers. The microwave- has just been so close to me- being in the kitchen and all— where I spend so much of my waking LIFE!) (along of- course, with the washer-dryer, the  stove, dishwasher and fridge- we also chat- but they tend to be more reserved.)

At least- it was. Until Sunday night.

When my microwave gave up the ghost. 

We (ok- maybe it was just me)  quickly went through all the phases of grief:

Shock- (WHAT? Something is wrong with my microwave?)

Denial- (It’s just a fuse- it’ll be fine) 

Bargaining- (Maybe, if I clean it- it will work…)

Guilt- (maybe I worked it too hard…I should have cleaned the vent more often.. it’s all my fault.)

Anger- (I can’t believe I ever bought such a piece of crap!)

Depression- (I have no microwave. *sniff* )

Acceptance/hope- (I can get another microwave… maybe it will even be better!  I CAN live without a microwave!)

By Monday night- I could stand it no more.  There was no popcorn… I am incapable of cooking vegetables on the stove-top and I had a pile of pans with burnt spaghettios begging to be cleaned (that part isn’t true- I swear FlyLady!- but sounded funny) …so I trudged off to Walmart- in search of a replacement.

I stood in the microwave aisle like a deer caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic.  I had no idea there would be so many demands on me so soon after my grief.  Overwhelmed, I looked from shiny microwave to shiny microwave. 

There were: White ones.  Black ones. Stainless steel ones.  Microwaves the size of my first car.  Microwaves barely big enough to make a bag of popcorn.  Microwaves with grilling capabilities and microwaves with more buttons and options and computer memory than my laptop.

I settled on a (cheap) stainless/black model with a grilling capability.  (Which I will probably never use- but- my kids (probably to bring green army men to a painfilled, melting doom) will.

As you can see in the pic above- she now proudly sits on the countertop.  Maybe, a little too proudly.  Although, she’s already proved competent in the cooking of last nights green beans, I have a concern.  She seems to be glaring at the toaster and cavorting with the coffeepot.  I think she is unhappy with the cultural diversity on the countertop. 

Apparently the toaster is not of their “ethnicity”.  White plastic is frowned upon by the much  prejudiced stainless crew.  Too bad.   It’s my house.

I like cultural diversity.

I think I need to get out more.

Instead- I’ll distract you with my  shiny pretty current knit:

flowerbasket shawl zephyr wool/silkIn a fit of unoriginal hat overload  rebellion- I cast on a new piece of lace that I plan on wering for Christmas. 

 It’s the Flower Basket Shawl- from Fibertrends/ interweave press. A very simple 10 row repeat.  I love the yarn- Zephyr silk/wool laceweight- 2 strands held together- Ruby and Garnet.  I’m knitting on US size 5 Addi Turbo Lace Needles.

Maybe this will calm my Christmas cleaning- shopping nerves…. more pics are on flickr.

Personally- I think it’s mis-named.  To me- it looks like angels with their wings raised over their heads…. like this-  but then- I think I need to get out more— or maybe use less fumey cleaning supplies;)

And now- to work on painting the trim where the bad cat has scratched away the wood AND the paint….

The hunters enter with a glint in their eye. Their faces are set, in determination.

There is also a small glimmer of hope, at the corners of their eyes, both that they will today catch the hunted, and that the hunted will escape, to be hunted again.

They are prepared for battle. They carry their weaponry proudly, in the same manner as the generations that have gone before them. The elder hunter teaches the 2 younger hunters how to read animal signs and prepare for the hunt. Traps are set- further weapons are readied. Together, they search out the hunted. Every fiber of their beings- tense and waiting for action.

They are not on an African Savanna, They are not deep in the jungle or in a forest of untold age and depth….. they are in my garage. They are hunting mice. Not exactly big game. However, you’d think they were slaying dragons the way they proclaim “ANOTHER ONE!” With pride.

They are ridding the world of field mice, one mouse at a time. And they are driving me nuts. It has meant- 3 trips to Home Depot for traps of varying types and prices… nearly a full jar of peanut-butter (The little guy suggested adding jelly- as he prefers PBJ’s to plain peanut butter;) And a number of fake smiles, as I pretend to be thrilled with the results of their “hunt”. At least they aren’t trying to make me look at it…. they just want me aware of their “score”… At the moment I believe it is 6.

Although, I’m a little concerned over their enjoyment of the sport, I’m also quite glad this isn’t one aspect of Spring cleaning that I have to take care of. My approach would be to attempt to catch the mice alive- and let them go-somewhere far, far away– which would involve my physical proximity to said mice–putting them into some kind of chew-proof container- and then DRIVING them to the “country.” Not gonna happen.

I think I’ll leave this one to my guys.

All hail the conquering heroes!…..Hunters of mice.

No pic today, as I just don’t have the heart to post mousey cuteness…. it’s too sad.

*****every spring the mice try to move into the garage…. every spring it results in mouse carnage of domestic proportions….will they never learn? Apparently, not.

PS—- men are weird.

Today is TUESAY—- So, you know— I’m posting at LACED WITH GRACE…… today’s post?
“My Martyrdom?… or Not. ” A little clue— the answer is NOT.