We had to say "goodbye" to our old faithful "Coop de Ville". The engine had an issue that was going to cost too much to repair so we sold it to some sort of a dismantler from Riverside. She had 233,000 miles on her and served us well. It came into the program in 2007 with 18K miles on it. It has been replaced with another Freestar that had 88K when we picked it up in Boise.
Well....Jiminy Cricket! It’s December already! Doesn’t that just make you want unload all your ejective fricatives and quit the “Mickey Mouse Club”?! I still can’t believe we’re looking down the throat of a new year! Ugh! Anyway, here’s what’s happening at the rancho.
Things are “moving along” here at our peaceful little fishing village
of Springville, CA, US of A. Perhaps it’s more of an almost fishing village considering that the old folks still have a
huge pile of fishing gear, fishing tackle, and a boat but none of it has been wet yet (wonder why).
This ought not to be. Old people shouldn’t be treated like this.
You could even say that we’re “sailing along” (albeit at a
few knots slower than usual). But, you have to keep in mind that we’re dealing
with a lot of “Covid Crazy” in these parts. It’s made worse when the neighbors
are always showing up asking us is we have any “Flintstones Chewable Cocaine”
on hand or if we have any “Chivas” left (not sure why they think we even had any
to start with). We’re gently trying to convince the good folks that our country
will only work through this crisis when everyone isn’t crazy all at the same
time. I’m starting think that we are in great need of idiot control in
our state. *SIGH*
Anyway, fishing or not, we’re still keeping both oars in the
buttermilk (this is an English lesson on non sequiturs) and making sure that
Mr. Starbuck is put to work first thing in the morning. Mr. Starbuck is my
friend.
The great chorizo
caper: man does not live by bread alone. No siree; he does not. He has to
mix it up a bit. He needs to have biscuits and gravy, cowboy beans and bacon, refried
beans, tacos, and chorizo. Yep: chorizo. That’s the really good Mexican soft sausage
that is spiced up to taste really good This is to say, just eat the stuff and
do not: I repeat; do not read the label lest it put a dent in your dietary
Datsun. It’s just too good to pass up. Sometimes the Ol’ Rancher just has to
have a dose (a really big dose) of that red-colored (colorado, if you must) stuff
to make his day.
This isn’t the harder Spanish chorizo and neither is it the
harder Mexican longaniza. It’s not all that solid but is rather like mushy clay
in texture until you cook it; then it falls apart. Myyyy, but is it tasty! You
can eat it straight in a taco, mix it in with scrambled eggs (huevos con
chorizo), mix it with fried potatoes (papas con chorizo), or use it to season
your chili.
On no few occasions Señor Ran, the Chorizo Man, has been
known to use it to make really great huevos rancheros (hey! I live on a
rancho!) using this marvelous mystery mush meat. It’s quick, easy, and muy bien
sabroso (which is right down my camino).
Well….the other day (when lots of things happen around
here), it was “dia del chorizo” at the rancho. It was late morning so the Ol’
Rancher’s hunger had well set in. A quick trip to the Rancho Freezo for a chunk
of chorizo, a few papas, a couple of pans, and a potato peeler, and the stage
was set. With a tad of oil in the pan, the smell of victory was already in the
air and the saliva glands were ramping up to warp speed in record time. It was
a good day to fry (bet you didn’t know Lt. Worf was a cook, now, did you?)!
But, from out of nowhere, an un-welcomed mystery surfaced.
What on earth could be mysterious at breakfast time? Uh…..where the heck did the chorizo go? Folks,
just how does a 10 ounce chunk of frozen chorizo disappear in a normal sized
kitchen while being attended to by an adult (who was being supervised by
another adult)? About that time, the Ol’ Rancher was looking for his iPhone and
ready to hurl a few high-speed emoji into the ether.
After wondering around the kitchen and garage like a kid searching
for Easter eggs for too long and after looking everywhere imaginable, it was
time for “Plan B”. With a sigh of disgust, another tube of breakfast was hauled
out of the freezer. A quiet thought was entertained to determine just how long
it would take for the lost meat to present itself to Connie while she’s working
in her kitchen. Would this thing betray its hiding place by simply rotting in
place? That would be…interesting.
In about a half hour after breakfast, Connie the sous chef,
advised that she found the escaped chorizo. It must have been fearful for its
life because it was hiding in the large slide-out pan/skillet drawer. UGH.
Silly old people.
“Graveyard stew” anyone?: speaking of good food, how
about graveyard stew for breakfast? Some of you are already headed for "Wikipedia" while others are headed for a barf bag. Actually, graveyard stew is rather
simple and innocuous on all accounts. But, my! Is it good!
It’s a depression era dish that was invented out of
necessity. While consisting of nothing in particular that you could use for an
advertising campaign, it really is pretty good stuff. It’s simply hot milk
toast. It’s along the lines of cold milk or buttermilk, cornbread, and sugar
that our grandparents and great-grandparents regularly ate during the
depression. The difference is that you heat the milk and you don’t add
sugar/sweetner.
Another example is what Connie the Canner’s granddad called
“whibbet”. It was milk and crumbled up crackers. It’s easy to imagine lots of
impromptu meals being eaten during that harsh time. As a point of reference,
you may want to check out the YouTube channel called: “Great Depression Cooking”
hosted by a lady named Clara (who is now deceased).
The ingredients for milk toast couldn’t be much simpler.
Just brown up some toast (use extra dark or you’ll be cheating yourself out of
a heaping helping of umami) and butter. That’s it. However, use real butter or
I’ll track you down and paste a sign on your forehead that reads, “Gourmet
Dummy of the Year”. Do not use plastic
butter!
Another key element is to insure that you use really hot
milk. You don’t have to scald it but getting it close to that temperature will
help your taste buds know that you really like them.
Cut 4 slices (unless you’re a goofy ol’ rancher dude then
you can use 6 slices) of (dark) toast
into 1” squares, toss them into a larger bowl, pour in about a cup of hot milk,
then stick a fork into the stew and git after it!
When we did have time, there simply wasn’t any spizzerinctum
left in our barrel to get it all done. So, we had to take a couple of naps to
be able to pull through the final days. It all just had to wait until our one
duck could get in a row. It finally happened with the last small round up of
stuff on the front porch being accomplished just a couple of days into
December. The Minnicks have moved back
in.
“Work Day” at church:
one day per month is our “Work Day” at the church. Some of the folks get
together and spiff the place up and Ol’ Pastor Ran wields a screwdriver,
hammer, vacuum cleaner, ladder, or what all with which to do his part.
This time around, the ladies and gents cleaned the place
then we all got together to erect the Christmas tree. They all did a great job
of decorating and stringing the lights.
After that, we went home for a long-awaited nap. It has been
a long week and it was nap time at the ranch. Naps are our friends.
The Wedding: from
time to time, the Ol’ Preacher Dude officiates at a wedding or funeral. This
time it was a wedding. It was a really nice wedding complete with real humans
and everything. The church had been nicely decorated the day prior and was all
set.
The event was set for about 6 PM so that left much of the
day for us to get prepared. Well, that’s cool because Ol’ Ran is an old Boy
Sprout so being prepared is right up his alley.
That meant that there was time to include a nice big Mexican
food lunch with Spanish rice and refried beans (of course). Now, somebody didn’t bother to
think that through. Beans for lunch? Hey, Ran. How long have you been on the
planet? You’re headed for a wedding armed with a Mexican combo plate hiding
under your belt? What...were...you...thinking?!
At 6:00 PM, there really was a Russian Roulette moment. The
Ol’ Preacher was sweating bullets and praying that his refried beans wouldn’t hit bottom at
6:05. This disaster was easy enough to envision; someone releases a silent weapon
of crass destruction that leaves the groom wobbly-kneed and the bride reeling
from the evil vapors. Just like that….I would be banned from all future
weddings for life!
You can imagine the relief experienced when the service was
completed without casualties. There weren’t any injuries from a fleeing crowd or even watery eyes!
There’s a what in my
Steam Vac?! Abbie treed our Hoover Steam Vac the other night while it was
sitting mindlessly on the back patio. It was immediately obvious that her foe
was one that she could easily defeat. Nevertheless, it made sense to me to not
alarm Connie the Carpet Cleaner about the matter. She would have insisted that
the cleaner be completely disassembled to be cleaned and disinfected. As I
stood, there I could just see her handing me a screwdriver.
At Abbie’s stentorian insistence, I gave the Steam Vac a
couple of good shakes which prompted a small mouse to abandon his unstable
environment. It dashed straight at Abbie but I reckon the sight of a huge
canine maw with its unyielding set of fangs immediately made it change its
mind. A lightning-fast course change was made back to the Vac and to presumed
safety. Well, that didn’t last long. Another quick shake and the tiny critter
made another dash for home. That didn’t last long, either. Abbie was on him in
a flash. No mas rata! Abbie: 1; Stinking rata: 0.
Because their menu and ingredients haven’t changed much in 60 years, neither
has some of their clientele. In other words, lots of their business is from
people like me who used to eat there back in the ‘50’s and 60’s (albeit, at the
original location at Olive and Jaye St.).
Their steak sandwich has always been a favorite of many and
it certainly is a favorite of mine! So, the sandwich combo meal was ordered. Connie
the Canner ordered her usual Coleman burger combo basket (though I urged her to
try the steak, she insists that she prefers the burger). We’ll be back!
Big hairy deal:
you would think that barbers and hair dressers would be considered “necessary”
to the public. The government (the “geniuses” who feel that they are entitled
to run roughshod over the ignorant, unkempt, unclipped, and unwashed masses)
seems to think that no one will need a haircut for a year or so. So, no;
barbers and hair dressers are not a big deal. Only, yes! It’s a big hairy deal!
Without the proper attending of his locks, the Ol’ Rancher
turns into a big curly-haired fuzz ball capable of frightening the neighbors. Sure;
getting old means that there are certain changes to human physiology
and physique and you learn to deal with them. But, Ol’ Fuzzy Wuzzy doesn’t
think that he is required to look like Mark Twain on purpose. He also doesn’t
think that it’s necessary for the neighbors to call the sheriff’s department
because they think that William Saroyan’s doppelganger has ousted the Minnicks!
In fact, Ol’ Fuzz was also getting tired of having to buy that 90 mile-per-hour
extra-hold hair spray (available at a Wal-Mart near you) so that he could avoid
the dog catcher.
What to do? Well, you call upon Connie the Clipper to bail
you out of this dilemma, that’s what. She gathered her electric shears, her
scissors, and a comb or two and got to work. With a here-a-clip, there-a-clip,
everywhere-a-clip-clip, she had the 220lb chunk of troll fur looking fairly
human again! That’s a twenty dollar bill saved, too! Maybe I should raise her
pay, eh?
Re-fuzzing: Abbie
did it again; she treed another brown ground-loving hole-digging fuzzer in the
next door neighbor’s drain pipe. It was like deja vu all over again. So, we
re-enacted the fuzzer removal plan; she trees, the Ol’ Rancher grabs the water
hose, the fuzzer flees for its life, and Abbie nabs the nasty, no-good, ne’re
do well brown bane. I may charge the neighbor for fuzzer removal, next time.
The pooch hootch:
speaking of our indispensable dispenser of doggy love and prodigious propagator
of puppy pranks and shameless shenanigans: it’s winter time now and steps need
to be taken to keep our short-haired corn dog warm during the cold mornings. As
was established in previous winters, she now has her own small heater in her
Abbie mansion to keep her warm and comfortable.
This is not to say that she’s unappreciative of the
continued spoiling, but during the daytime, she up and drags her doggy blanket
out of the hootch and parks on it out front. This led me to conclude that my
doggy doesn’t spend much time thinking things through. *SIGH*. We’ll keep an
eye on this dog trick to see how long it lasts.
A “Hot Heels” Thanksgiving Day: Turkey Day was a bit different this
year at the old folks’ home. Instead of Connie the baker, cooker, boiler,
fryer, and sauté’er whomping up a huge
meal, we just relaxed for the day and pampered the tired home dwellers (yes. I
think our home is tired, too).
Darlin’ Connie did do something was absolutely marvelous,
though! She baked up a fresh loaf of hot homemade bread! Ooooooh, my! I’m not
sure that too many other things can grab you by the nose and lead you to the
kitchen any quicker than a fresh hot loaf of bread! As soon as she advised that
the bread was ready. I had a knife in my hand! The (real) butter was on the table and
the knife started sawing. After a healthy slather of butter, the gnawing
started and didn’t stop for a while. We will do this again…soon!
Omar Kayak:
that’s what I’m going to name my new kayak when I get one. Friend and client,
Gary Oscenas, is a kayak’er who loves to take his boat out whenever he can and the weather is accommodating. Sometime
ago (but longer than the other day), he advised that he would take me out for a
spin in a kayak. When he called and asked if I could make it to the lake the
next day, the answer was a resounding, “Yes?”.
He has two kayaks and extra oars and such so when we got to
the lake (only 5 miles from here), we were pretty much ready to go. We tossed
the boats into the water and with a couple of hints on using the oars, we set
sail on "Stuck Duck Pond" (what we call Success Lake when the water is at its lowest).
We departed the east boat ramp by the marina and paddled
across to the west side then south toward the spillway. After that, made a
beeline back to the ramp. It didn’t seem far but we had been on the water for
over an hour. Since it was my first time, I had had about enough exercise for
the day. It was work but it was a very enjoyable work.
It’s easy to see why folks love to kayak. During some
journeys, it’s peaceful and quiet. Gary said that, when the lake is up, it’s
like sailing through a forest when you are near the mouth of the Tule River. We’ll
do this again, no doubt.
Coffee is our friend:
“If you’re not shakin’, you need another cup”. Well…maybe so. But this old
coffee sipper is not really into shakin’ all that much (though, in his younger days, there was a whole lot of shakin' goin' on, don'tcha know). But, he is really into
enjoying the taste of good freshly-brewed coffee. That’s particularly true when it comes to coffee
lattes, cappuccinos, and macchiatos. Sure; I understand that there may be
better ways to deliver a jolt of “wake me up” to one’s system. But, there’s
just something about sipping a hot latte in the morning and letting the
caffeine work its way up the ladder that is especially satisfying.
There you have it: another short episode of the long
happenings at Rancho Relaxo, home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority
(the previous one died), home of a retarded duck; home of Connie the Canner
(world's greatest side-kook): where the air smells like freshly-canned pomegranate
jelly: where alliteration reigns supreme:
where things can get...interesting: where it’s all news to me: and, where...you
just never know.
