Leftover soup, as promised, for Melissa. I rang the bell and her Daughter7 yelled out through an open window, “Come in!” I said, “Come out and get the soup!” “Come in!” “Come out and get the soup!” “Come in!” “Come out and get the soup!”
I’m still leery about germs. The soup is minestrone, and this batch turned out divine.
I woke up yesterday to the chilling realization that someone had been in the house. I know they were there because I found two mysterious garden zucchini on my kitchen counter. I called the police to report the crime. Apparently, there’s been a rash of break ins, where hooligans, tired of all the zucchini in their gardens, have been breaking into people’s homes to unload their abundance of vegetables. Little old ladies are afraid to be home alone. People have been getting pit bulls. The whole town is in an uproar. They’ve been complaining to the mayor about their electric bills. Having to run the oven in 90 degree heat, because you have been forced to make zucchini bread, is a real hardship on our central a/c units. And in this economy, too! Pray for us.
Apparently, the police do not help clean up crime scenes, so I had to deal with the zucchini on my own. I joined my beleaguered neighbors in making zucchini bread. Turns out that there was enough zucchini for 6 batches.
Once I got all the ingredients in the bowl, I wasn’t sure how I was going to stir it.
In the middle of baking the zucchini bread, Boy7 called me outside to take pictures of flowers.
And then he showed me that the tomatoes were red, so I picked them.
Do you see the one lone tomato on the plant? I have two tomato plants, and I have two lone tomatoes. The plants managed to create one tomato each, and then they gave up the ghost and died. They’d been wheezing for a few weeks now. Apparently, you’re supposed to water the plants in your garden. As if anybody knows stuff like that. It’d be nice if they’d tell you these things at Walmart when you buy your plants. I guess I should have nabbed myself a hooligan and roughed him up for gardening tips.
Darling Husband was smart enough not to take the car with the faulty car horn to work. He left it in the driveway. Where it started beeping at about 5:20 this evening. One long beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Did you know that car horns are really, really loud? I mean, really, really loud.
My next door neighbor was both a marine and in the army and recently served a year in Afghanistan. He heard the klaxon sound of the car horn and came bursting out of his house, his eyes wild. Unfortunately, he seems to spook easily. I scared him last fall with the flash from my camera one evening, which is when he informed me about all the ammo he keeps in the car.
Anyway, the noise from the horn was so loud that even though I shouted, “Can you get the fuse out?” I couldn’t even hear myself. Fortunately, they teach you how to read lips in the marines and how to remove fuses from cars in the army. Good thing, because I would have had to yank out all of the car fuses. That’s assuming I could have found the secret panel where they keep them.
Darling Husband came home exhausted from work and wanted to go out for dessert. We went to the Lincoln Diner in Gettysburg. Darling Husband got cheesecake. I got fish and onion rings.
This is what I usually have to work with with Darling Husband:
If you can tear your eyes away from photo bombing Darling Husband, you can see the train that was running past the diner windows that I was trying to get a picture of.
But then he decided to do something different and “model” for me. It turned out nice enough. I can’t tell whether his unkempt hair better suits his IT Guy persona, or his Professor persona.
There it is. My day in pictures.