Gift-wrapped!

Today I decided to warm up the kitchen by making a googled recipe of "Persimmon Cookies" to give away. I'd run a 1/2 bucket of them through a tomato-juice-siever-thingy and had about 3 cups of orange speckled goo. These things rapidly turn from a solid to a liquid in a short amount of time, ripening quickly-- some might think when you pick one up, that those speckles might be fly poop! I just worry that a pack-rat or possum might have licked one, so I'd rather pull one off a tree...

I am bemused every year when the first frost hits...my mom always extends her arm with a little ripe persimmon cradled in her palm and offers: "It feels just like a little boy's testicles!"

No, she's not some type of pervert tackling neighborhood youth to the ground to grapple their nutsack up the leg of their loose summer shorts. There is no other adequate way to describe a totally ripe persimmon and those of you who have changed a toddler's diaper would understand. Sometimes you have to just cradle/move/ adjust those fragile little jewels in order to clean up a messy behind! So think of very tissue-thin wrinkly skin that contains some little oval seeds and jelly inside...and if persimmons are still unripe, the testicle theory still stands, but more like a little boy that's been out playing in the snow--firmed up, yet shrively. (Are you protectively covering yours at the moment?)

All this has reminded me of one of our first summer USATF track meets in Emporia when Briggs was probably an 8th grader. A very handsome, well-built, gorgeous young man with long dark curls had been running hurdles, then a sprint, after which he proceeded to pull the top of his 1 piece singlet down over his impressively sculpted biceps.

I think everyone (female, of all ages) in the crowd was trying (not) to look at this spectacular speciman and he was disqualified from the 100m due to 'disrobing on the field'. This caused an outcry, as he'd only pulled down his shoulders (if it would of been someone else, no one would of noticed!) ....but as he was walking off the track and in front of us, we overheard 2 little white-haired old ladies, say: "My! Look at that Package!" We were trying hard not to let them hear us laugh and I must say I felt much better since THEY were ogling and MUCH older than I.

Briggs and I had different opinions of their use of "package". I felt they were referring to his overall striking good looks; Briggs thought it was the obvious, well-defined area protruding forward in his tight singlet. Hmmm. I wonder...
Anyway, later on when I told Brigham that AJ Beaudry had won 4 gold medals in 2a State the next spring, he had no idea...until I said..."You know, The Package!"

Persimmon Cookies
Rating:
Mediocre-- Not 1/2 as good as fresh persimmons or AJ Beaudry.
1/2 c butter
1 c sugar
1 egg
1 c persimmon pulp
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt, nutmeg
2 c flour
1 c nuts/raisins

powdered sugar w/lemon juice drizzle

Sluffin' Off...

Haven't been blogging in a while--just reading them and reading a book called "The Physician", which includes quite descriptive passages pertaining to the 'medical field' in the year 1021 ad, beginning with a housewife giving birth in a barn filled with strawy manure--the half-drunk midwife has just wiped her hands on a filthy apron... "from her pocket she took a vial of lard already darkened with the blood and juices of other women. Scooping out some of the rancid grease, she made washing movements until her hands were well lubricated, then eased two fingers..." Barf. Well, naturally the housewife develops a horrid infection and dies. Her little boy, which witnessed this event, grows to travel Europe in search of better medical training.

So between reading, working at basketball games/wrestling tourneys, and going to my mom's to help my brother stack firewood/rake leaves...I have been falling asleep early! So sorry...

We've been talking quite a bit about 'nothing on TV to watch' with all the reality shows; I think the most eye-opening for me was to come home from work and see a couple teens enthralled by 'Flavor Flavs Flavor of Love' and the equally (demeaning/ridiculous/nasty) compelling 'Bret Michaels' Rock of Love'. Barf.

C'MON! What kind of girl/young lady/woman would debase themselves to crawling-on-my-knees-skank-level antics to vie for attention from either one of these near 50 year old has-beens? The scanty wardrobe shows off their bodies to a (dis)advantage when they get close to cat-fightin' or merely close to Flav or Bret. I simply cannot believe that these shows are popular enough to rate a 3rd season. Barf again.
Pardon me while I sigh; I'd rather read my icky book and learn of the crude advances in a dismal era...

Ladies, would you kiss this mouth? I think I'd toss in a cherry bomb!

'Oliver'

There's a little guy hanging out by one of our stores whenever I go in the evenings—I used to run into him when I'd ride down on my bike after work and he'd be on his bike too-- just leaving or riding aimlessly around the parking lot...first we'd nod, then a few days later we'd say 'hello'...now we speak full sentences to one another and sometimes he even comes inside the store and talks for an aisle or too.

He was there tonight when I ran in for some catfood, so I always make it a point now to smile and ask him a couple questions and listen carefully. I was struck (after I left) with incredible sadness-- I'd been thinking lately of a good friend of mine that had committed suicide many years ago. I remembered hearing that this little guy had lost a parent that way a year or two ago, and I wondered if anyone was ever at home (and I've heard not too often).

Was hanging by the store the only way this youngster was ever touched by humanity at any level? How bad is it to watch families-parents-kids going/coming/ laughing together/ jumping back in their vehicle to go home to a hot meal? What is it like for him when no one is there after school to ask you about your day? To see if you need a jacket? To put your clothes in the wash? Just to see if you're alright? How long has it been since he's had an arm around his shoulder? Months? Years? Ever​? I think I'll drive myself into a depression right now if I dwell...so I will make sure I talk more to him next time...

Texting Woes (I don't really feel left out!)

I was randomly reading blogs the other night and came across one about the prolific amount of cell phone texting by teens; that today's youth are closer to peers than parents; they are now committing more suicides due to peer rejection than the parental rejection theory of 50 years ago...if you're not included in so & so's circle of friends you are probably just a nobody anyway, so go die. Good grief.

Furtive text messaging under the covers at 2:00am with boyfriends or friends (besides leading to sleep deprivation) often results in miscommunication and stress-- you can't always detect the nuances and attitudes in leet speak and God forbid you actually call and use your VOICE. I guess you spend the next 3 predawn hours crying your eyes out cause dad just confiscated the cell anyway and you'd just inferred you'd possibly been dumped or something...

Faster than a speeding bullet, the letter/number jargon has far surpassed us old fogey capabilities in most cases—I was thinking about Thomas Murray, the Language Professor at KSU, who taught us this 15 years ago...[again, from a previous blog] that the English Language is not a constant, the English Language is forever changing.....technology will have extreme influences on tomorrow's youth, ...etc...

Coincidentally, the next morning's newspaper had an article about him entitled: A KILLER READ.

4 k][113/Z /Z34l)

Yeah. Like I really typed that book title correctly! I have no desire to learn 1337. But I probably will read the book about the man who murdered his wife and I bet it WAS written in proper English!

Puff.

Early this morning I went to get some inexpensive items at the grocery store in Manhattan—it IS worth the gas to drive over...but I'd arrived too early so I sat in the vehicle roasting in the morning sun.

Others arrived so I began to take notice—a darling little oriental tot and her parents all spiffied up for church, an elderly couple, construction (looking) workers.

I observed a 'being' behind a steering wheel, head obscured in a thick cloud of smoke. Holy Cow! By then my window was down for some cool air—this person proceeded to engulf themselves completely in a white fog, opaque as milk, then suddenly popped the door and slunk out into the world, still intent on suckin down that cancer-stick with all the might her throat could muster....

You could tell immediately by the half-lidded, covert eyes that people were trying not to stare...

Scraggly jet-black, artificial-looking shoulder-length hair with thick 'little Dutch Boy' bangs, long hideously scrawny legs/bony knees like an Auschwitz victim, dirty feet, bruises....and that early morning irritable glower of a crack-whore needin a fix... (Now, I've never seen a crack-whore needin a fix, only a high-pitched, jittery one jonesin for free coffee in the back of Waialua Sugar Mill's T-shirt shop that was promptly told to leave, but I have a vivid imagination... so in my mind....well, anyway....)

Probably close to her mid-30's (maybe she was 16), she suddenly crossed her chicken wings around her chest exposing a frontal bump which had been hidden by her overlarge tee—oh dear.

She was pregnant. You could almost hear the customers' thoughts. Sigh. You have to feel sorry for her/it—the baby. Oh no. The world is filled with too many little un-cared for children; neglected, alone, fending for themselves—food, drink, attention, love... rare occurrences for them at HOME. However, to discuss all this sadness on such a beautifully warm day...I will save it for another blog...

In the meantime...enjoy the link!