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PET PEEVES

 

If you know me; like if you really know me; there is no way you believe that this list will be short.

 

pet peeve

noun

informal

plural noun: pet peeves 

                                      something that a particular person finds especially annoying.

1. Using the word "like", like every other word, like using "like", adds emphasis to, like, something you really like, like the word "like" really means like.

   2. Peeple who have a peace of paper the prooves someone taught them something assuming because I dont have a peace of paper that prrovves some one taught me somthieng makes them some how supeerior.

   3. Bad grammar and spelling. Poor grammar you idiot! I am always doing that. Getting better, because now I cringe as this is coming off my tongue, instead of not realizing it has done so.

   4. Run on sentences that do not use the awesome semi-colon; the colon is seldom used as well: not like the overused comma.

   5. Floating obliviates- you know what and who you are. Maybe you don't?

   6. The guy, you know who he is, who is always talking about work-life balance and how he keeps it all together. Because, chances are good, he is the reason your work and life is now out of balance.

    7.

   

    

   
   

    8. Words that have consecutive "u"s in their spelling: continuum, for example. I mistruust them. And do youu have any idea how many there are in the English Languuage? And do youu know how hard it is to write words like this in cuursive!?! I always seem to end uup with 3 or 4 "u"s, like, youu know, continuuuuum.

    

    

I Had A Feeling - Deep Down In My Gut

Shamrock and Thistle Farm, 5:30 AM
Somewhere in the middle of Blast Furnace, Arkansas



Up early is the only way during this time of year. Work until 10:00 AM. This is when the too-close Sun breaks the top of the trees lining the eastern border of the property and begins to try the resolve of those humans and animals still living, or mostly living.

I was able to plant 60 feet of green beans in our slowly-being-renovated garden. I meant to take some pictures to post but as the sun cleared the trees, the batteries overheated; chemicals raised in increasing amounts of agitation, boiled over, rendering the electronic device obsolete. It occurs to me that, back in the day, when picture taken relied on mechanics, optics, and the inverse square law, batteries were not required. The chores were done and some staging for some night time projects completed, I surveyed the farm just to check up on some things. The cross garden is coming into shape and the tomato plant located there, which had given us our first tomato of the year, picked too soon as it always is, had turned two more smaller fruit that had turned a deep salmon color and felt soft to the squeeze. I almost picked them - almost, but remembering the tartness of the first I decided, against something in my belly telling me to go ahead, to give them one more hot day to ripen fully. I went inside, got some things in the house accomplished, a big breakfast gulleted, the nap time she comes and goes, and then, the time being fulfilled, I go outside to pick our tomatoes which should be very ripe and ready to eat.


Apparently something got to it before I did. An eyewitness described a Female, Black and White barred, rose come, slightly pink legs leaving the scene while they were closing the gate of the garden. A warrant was issued for the apprehension of the alleged perpetrator. It will be served tonight. A trial will be commenced. Due to the egregious nature of the crime, the proceedings will be without a jury and I will be the judge. The hen will get a fair trial, then I will incarcerate her in solitary confinement for a period no less than 3 days. If this hen doesn't lay 2 eggs during the 3 day sentence, she will be executed at dawn on the fourth day...

It's Okay - I'm From Arkansas

I was standing out on the front porch the other evening.

Smoking a cigarette.

In my boxer shorts.

Peeing.

When a shiny Cadillac pulled up along side the road. The electric windows powered down revealing a well decorated blue haired lady.

"You should be ashamed of your self! We shouldn't have to look at that! Don't you have a bathroom?!?"

I shook it, flexed at the knees like we men always do and stowed it away again. I took a long draw from the smoke, blew out a puffy cloud.

"Naw! I ain't got a bathroom! But it's okay. I'm from Arkansas
!"

It's Okay - I'm From Arkansas

I had the idea for a series of very short stories I would call "It's Okay. I'm from Arkansas" a few years ago on an ill-fated "family reunion" we "good" Hutchinses held in Branson Missouri. There were 12 of us on the trip. Mom, Dad, my sister,  Patt and me, and our three boys, and my brother and sister in law and their two lovely daughters. After a weekend of shopping and a "Hee Haw" type musical show, it was left up to us (Patt and I) to decide where to eat one last time before heading home.

We decided on an Irish Pub located around the Promenade there in Branson, much to the chagrin of my mother and sister. I checked with my brother to make sure it was okay if Patt and I ordered a pint of Guiness. He said he didn't mind. I was worried that our drinking a beer would cause an uncomfortable situation with he and his daughters. It did not...an uncomfortable situation with my sister and mother was, of course, inevitable. "What are you drinking?" they asked. "Root beer", I said.

We had all finished eating our meals. Every plate was still half full. Mine because I ordered too much, my sisters and mother's because they would not admit they liked it even if they did. The waitress came out to present the check and asked if we would like "To Go" boxes for our left overs. Mom and Sis said "no" because we were going to be driving 6 hours home.

Patt and I said yes. But since no one else wants their left overs, we would take them all. "Just bring out a garbage bag. We'll fill it up to feed the pigs when we get home." The waitress smiled and said "Sure!"

I glanced down the table  at Mom and Sis to be met with looks of incredulous disgust - shock really. I looked at them and said in my most reassuring, sarcastic laden tone:

"It's okay. We're from Arkansas!"

Time is Out of Joint...

Time is out of joint, Oh Cursed Spite! That I was born to put it right. - King Hamlet of Denmark



Today was like....



...Nailing a raw egg to the wall.
...Trying to dribble a football.
...Trying to put an over-stuffed pillow into a sandwich bag.
...Untangling a box of coat hangers.
... shoving a wet noodle up a wildcat's butt.
... watching a streaming video on a dial-up modem.
...pushing a square rock up hill
...being stuck in rush hour traffic when you have to pee.
...herding house flies.
.... stepping on bubblegum dropped right by the car door.
...locking your keys in the house
...getting paged as you walk in the house
...Dan Akroyd in a santa claus suit in the rain
...and then, my sister-in-law stopped by with my nieces for a tour of the farm, my wife made me dinner, the asparagus got weeded and mulched -Finally!, the sun started going down, the air conditioner is off, the Razorbacks beat LSU, my list for Saturday is long but doable, Patt's making smoked pork chops for breakfast, and all is becoming right again.

You Can't! Farm Widsom from Shamrock and Thistle Farm

Amid all the chatter one hears in the media, from teachers and coaches and parents, who say silly things like, "You can do anything - If you set your mind to it." Here are some things you can't do. Sorry to burst your bubble.

You can't reason with a goat.
You can't herd a chicken.
You can't milk a rabbit.
You can't kill bermuda grass.
You can't keep a set of wrenches complete and intact after the first time you use them.

And When You Pray - The Tim Tebow Collective

And when you pray, you shall not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Truly I say to you, They have their reward. 6But you, when you pray, enter into your closet, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father which is in secret; and your Father which sees in secret shall reward you openly. 7But when you pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking. …Mt 6:5-7

Thank you fellow Christians. Thank you for ruining a promising career; for once again demonstrating to the world that we too, are much like the world, seizing credit here on earth – cha ching- and foregoing those promised heavenly awards. Thank you for showing the world, blind, stupid, described at times as children of darkness, that we, the children of light are as lost and as wayward as those we try to convert. Thank you for overestimating our level of persecution in America. Thank you for inviting the wrath of the God we stand up and fight for. Let’s take America back for Jesus, because, obviously, according to us, Jesus was unable to keep it for himself. And let’s start this new crusade to turn the circus of Rome into a Christian circus of Rome. Rather than being essentially part of, yet distinct from this world of corruption, let us take the corrupt things of the world and white wash the sepulcher with the veneer of holiness; after all, we are American Christians and have the right to Christian Football, Christian Spy Movies, Christian Pornography, and Christian Rock and Roll.

One should not blame Mr. Tebow for the whirlwind of controversy that surrounds him. He is, after all, simply openly communicating his faith, albeit in the fiery, immature way a young Christian feels obligated to do. I was once that brash person who caught fire at a glimpse of the truth and wanted everyone to feel the joy I had. That period of a young Christian’s life should be tolerated, encouraged even, because eventually they will settle into a long period of peace in the knowledge of their Christ, where words play little part in the witness of this truth- the Truth is communicated more in deeds borne out of a confidence that what one believes about the universe is, indeed, true. This does not diminish the joy.

The blame follows closely upon the cult of followers that Mr. Tebow has unwittingly and, probably, unwillingly collected. Yes! We finally have an openly Christian athlete who puts it in the face of the world. Dare I say, we finally have Christian football and a player who does what most of his followers lack the courage to do. Make it known through words, deeds, and the peace he shows that he is one of the followers of Christ in whatever stage of life his God brings him through.

There is a time to boldly correct the world with Scripture. But, more commonly, the time is for quietly standing by and demonstrating, amid the chaos, the peace that passeth all understanding. I, for one, share something in common with Mr. Tebow. But I have never found it appropriate, nor required, to communicate this point of commonality on a grand scale. I believe I can develop a much healthier and effective relationship, for instance, with a homosexual person if we never discuss his or her sexual inclinations. I would rather not know. In fact, this stance seems to be one of the calling cards of Conservative Christians – the Don’t Tell, Don’t Tell stance. But when it comes to Mr. Tebow we applaud him for openly proclaiming his virginity. For me…Don’t Tell, Don’t Tell on this point too. Afterall, the Scripture is conspicuously devoid of apostles walking around the Holy Land proclaiming, “I am a follower of Jesus and a virgin. You can be too!”

As for the open yet prayerful (according to the Scripture heading this column these are mutually exclusive by the way), celebrations that spawned the Tebow-ing phenomenon, players have been doing the kneel down prayer after touchdowns for years. And, I am afraid, Mr. Tebow, may be receiving his reward here on earth and foregoing the eternal rewards promised for those who, without fanfare, pray and give thanks where and when no one can see. But I can make no comment on the purity of his motives in this.

What I can comment on is the complete train wreck American Christians, immature and fanatical, like the world, have made of this young man’s career. What good could he have done, quietly, on the grand stage of the National Football League if he were being allowed to play? And why is he not finding a home, even with his home town football franchise? The drama, fanaticism, and hatred shown by the Cult of Tebow, in all their Hannity-esque Hatred Equals Truth brutality. And then the persecution complex is bandied about. Wake up Cult of Tebow. You are not being persecuted for your faith. You are being persecuted (if that is not too strong a word) for being obnoxious.

God makes it a point in the Scriptures to explain why he chose the nation of Israel to make His mark on the world. It was because they were small, backwards, lacked any kind of industrial skill – they were the underdog. And He used this unlikely of all people to change the world.

What if God were trying to make a point with Mr.Tebow like He did with Israel? Tebow is alone. He lacks the skill for his position, he is the most unlikely quarterback in the league to find success but through hard work, perseverance, and dare I say, faith, he had overcome. Now, because of the Cult of Tebow, he may never get that chance again and the world, once again, mocks us as Rome did in the circus. 

One final word, if you don’t mind. If we as Christians enjoy football after church on Sunday, then enjoy football after church on Sunday. If it is not causing you to sin- Enjoy! We have no mandate to claim football for Christ. I imagine, Christ is less concerned about the Christian-ness of football than the Christian-ness of those who are called by his name. And besides, would anyone really enjoy a Christian Football League?

No one person would agree on all the rules, hitting too hard would be sinful, we could not keep score so as not to offend those that did not do well, our pastors would insist on being the coaches, the deacons would just have to be the quarterback and they would always change the play in the huddle, the worship leader would have to perform at half time with the choir marching around the field to “Just as I am” – all 192 verses, and the cheerleaders would be our short skirted, vamped up teenage daughters, touchdown celebrations will be over the top, timeouts would be used to pass the plate or conduct an alter call, “Sinner up the middle, down to the five, he knealt down at the goal line, no! he’s over for the soul saving touchdown!”. At least one thing would not change with the game though, the bickering between teams, the backbiting, the rancid attitudes, and the spectacle of grown men and women playing a game, trying to convince themselves, the game is life itself.

1st Spring Chicken Poppers

There are several things throughout the seasons that I really look forward to. The first batch of Pasta Fresca, a creamy bow tie pasta with fresh tomato, basil, and garlic sauce, topped off with chunks of mozzarella. Pair this with cold white grape juice or a Vouvray, and it is the very picture of a midsummer meal. The first cold front blowing through, at or around, September 14th every year is another one of those seminal moments that remind you what the heat of summer is really for - to prepare you for fall. I think one would not appreciate the fall so much without a blazing August. The first snow fall or the first morning when a wood fire is absolutely necessary but you didn't realize it until you get up that morning- and the feeling once the fire really gets going as you sit in front of it thinking "yes. this is it."

In the spring, for me, it is the first shoots of asparagus, for sure, but even more than that, it is my first batch of Chicken Poppers. This is a delicacy little known to anyone. I think it is an old family recipe from my Grandma Hutchins, an austere, frugal woman, who never wasted anything, and who also always filled me with fear when we visited.

We had a hen get broody 3 weeks ago. She refused to leave her nesting box like the other chickens, so we set her aside in her own maternity-ward/range shelter, placed a dozen fertile eggs beneath her, kept her stocked with food and water, and 21 days later 8 baby chickens hatched.

Patt wanted to raise them up to eventually put in our freezer or to replace some of our older hens eventually but I convinced her to let me try something a little different. Chicken Poppers. I share the recipe with you now. I hope you enjoy!



This recipe is really simple and can be easily scaled to the amount of chicken one has. There is no prep work for the chicken at all as it is cooked whole.The best taste comes from fresh chicken off the farm, but you can source the bulk of the ingredients from a local Tractor Supply or local Co-Op/Feed Store.

In a large cast iron dutch oven bring 6 cups of oil to a boil.
 Dredge the chicken in egg yolk mixed with milk and flour to create a simple batter. You may salt and pepper it to taste if you like, or even add some cajun seasoning.

Much like lobster or crawfish, the best flavor is acheived by gently placing the chicks into the hot oil while they are still alive. Don't worry, at one or two days old, they do not feel anything.

Remove the one or two day old chicks from under the mother hen and drop them into the oil. Deep fry for about 3 minutes or until the chicken begins to float to the surface. Remove with a slotted metal spoon and place on a stack of paper towels to drain.

The outside (feathers and skin) of the baby chicks will become very crispy while the insides stay nice and moist and cooked through. When cooled, place the Chicken Poppers on their backs, on a decorative plate with feet sticking up. These provide "handles" eliminating the need for toothpicks, etc. Simply pick one up by the feet and pop it into your mouth like a lolly-pop, close your lips around the Popper and pull. The handles pull free and you are in Chicken Popper heaven.

We have always found that these Hors d'oeuvre are the topic of intense conversation at parties where we have served them. So people must really like them. I know we do. We need to have another one of those parties again, it has been such a long time. So I hope you enjoy the recipe...

(This article is rife with satire and should not be considered the truth at all. That's kind of what satire does. If you are of that unfortunate group that can not mentally process satire, I apologize and probably should have made this disclaimer at the beginning of the article.- the author)