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{August 3, 2011}   Hey mister, I’ll trade you a nickel for that whetstone.

1) I feel like I’d be way happier if I was sitting at my desk, sharpening my knife on a whetstone today. The sound of the knife scraping along the stone would be so Zen. What? Don’t judge. I think this photo, given to me by the lovely Leslie, best sums up my feelings about today:

2) I had some delicious ass food last night. G deep fried some fresh-from-BFF-Lauren’s-Mom’s-garden eggplant while I sauteed up some brussels sprouts and fingerling potatoes and tossed them in dijon mustard and fresh squeezed lemon juice. We topped the meal off with G’s cuppa cuppa cuppa peach cobbler still warm from the oven. It was heaven. All that wine I drank while/during/after cooking didn’t hurt either. Here’s some photos:

3) Thanks to increasingly good friend RouxBarb, I fell head over ass over ulnar nerve in love with The Bloggess this last week. I think I want to be her when I grow up. Except I can’t, because I’m just not that funny. Seriously. I snorted. A lot. And leaked out of my eyes. A lot. As a result, I now have my very own slightly murdery chicken, Persephone.

My chicken will cut you.

4) The new topic I’ve been obsessing over/discussing ad nauseam with everyone who will listen is: Are readers born or made? I’m a reader. I always have been. I even remember the first book that made me cry (A Dog Called Kitty by Bill Wallace) that I bought at the Book Fair in elementary school). My nephews, however, are not readers. This makes me sad. I want to them to be readers. At minimum, I want one of them to be a reader. To this end we always have reading time when they are at my house and I keep buying them books. I just got an awesome one for my oldest nephew (Touching Spirit Bear by Ben Mikaelsen) and I’m really hoping it will be the book that pushes him over the edge into readership. Fingers crossed.

Now, about that whetstone…

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rouxbarb says:

I’m disappointed you didn’t bring me some brussels sprouts. Because I’m just that greedy. And also, I was NOT born a reader. I pretty much hated it. But in 3rd grade my mother came up with the idea of letting me stay up 1/2 hour longer each night IF I spent that time reading = my metamorphosis into a voracious reader and years of getting in trouble for reading under the covers with a flashlight. In retrospect much of the resulting trauma/drama/late night shouting matches could have been avoided…Why not just take the flashlight away, hmmm?



fairbetty says:

I was definitely a born reader… could recite Peter Rabbit word for word by age 3 and was put on display for 4th graders as the kindergarten freak show who could read better than they could… (made for some awkward growing up)… I love me a good book.

Also… the Bloggess is quite awesome, but… I have had kitchen poultry longer than she has, I imagine… the latest iteration is a giant ceramic turkey (cookie jar/candy hole) named Phil. He’s been with me for some years now. I’ll post a pic sometime… ❤

Oh, and Rouxbarb, I'm so impressed that you felt gypped over not getting any brussels sprouts (never been a fan personally) and yet there was COBBLER… but perhaps she brought you some of that? If so, color me green with envy….



[…] couple of weeks ago, on this blog, I introduced you to my new chicken, Persephone. What none of us knew then was exactly how obsessed […]



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