Well….it’s May, June, July, August, September, and October….again….and it’s sort of quiet on the creek for the time being. Even a hurricane can last just so long.
Sorry for the previous six months being “Rancho Relaxo” free. I reckon the Ol’ Rancher was a tad distracted. A lot of that was due to an irrecoverable hard drive failure which set me back a really long time. After that weeks-long grueling rebuilding event I'm still not finished!), I suppose there was a half-cup of discouragement that set in (OK...maybe a cup and three-quarters).
And, there was no way to confirm that anyone was even reading the Rancho Relaxo Report. Part of that was the “hit count” provided by Google showed that only a dozen or so of the 100+ contacts had even read it. Thanks to the mini class reunion, some of the classmates encouraged me by advising that they missed reading it and how they enjoyed the adventures we shared. That did help….a lot! So, here ‘tiz.
That is, of course, not to mention Abbie, the princess doggy, who still has yet to understand that we are in charge of things around here and not her. She’s still her happy, well-fed. healthy coon doggie self who contends that she isn't being spoiled enough (princess pooches are like that). We will likely find a special friend for her to romp and cavort with because she’s bored now that Fuzz-ball isn’t here for her to boss around. I think that their constant wrestling matches have helped her to stay happy and healthy. Stay tuned for updates.
TIP O' THE DAY: Always buy the expensive toilet paper...always (trust me on this).
And now, a word from our sponsor:
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Moving along.........
No more chickens …..well….sort of.
We are enjoying not being chicken sitters and not having a
hog heaven. But, there are four hens who have managed to not get caught and
hauled off. It’s not too bad having them here but they are useless for now and
they are experts at….ahem…fouling the back porch. That’s a huge “NO! NO!” for
Connie the ex-huevos canner who prefers that there not be so many obstacles to
step in or over when she visits the patio. There is a plan in the making to fashion a simple cardboard box trap with a stick and string trip mechanism. We'll stash them in the now-empty coop until we can find them a good home.
We wouldn't mind a few fresh eggs but they are rather selfish and only show up for table scraps and keep the egg stash a secret. The good news is that the brother that we gave our flock to brings us fresh eggs now and again and we never run out! Zowie!
Breakfast not as usual.
The piggies, Piglet and Squealer, have been converted to something more useful and far less noisy and stressful. This is to say, they make great sausage! We did have to rename them to “Link” and “Patty”, though. They were invited for breakfast and were paired with Connie the Baker's hot biscuits and gravy. I must say that this is the areas in which they excel! It does help to ameliorate the punishing job of raising them. I’ll keep eating and let you know just how much amelioration there has been. Can’t be too sure. Not in a hurry.
Time off, fun on:
Not long ago, but longer than the other day, we took a couple of days off! Hallelujah! We’re pretty sure we felt the ground move a little bit under us! Anyway, it was to attend a mini class reunion in Morro Bay, CA. We hadn’t been there since August of 2023 when we knocked over “Jocko’s Steak House” in Nopomo and “Pismo Fish and Chips” in Pismo for grits and grins (https://elranchorelaxodetortuga.blogspot.com/2023/09/).
It had been a long long time since the previous formal class
reunion (2017) but, even then, many of the “kids” couldn’t attend that one. It was a bit of a shock to realize that it had
been (gulp!) 60 years since I’d seen some of them!! If there is a formal reunion,
it will be the 60th in 2027 (are we feeling old yet?).
We met late Tuesday afternoon at “The Pizza Port” in
downtown Morro Bay. It was super nice cool day so we were outside on the patio.
We ordered our pizza and set off to the patio to meet and greet the chums of old. Of course,
pinning names to faces was a bit of a chore for all of us. After a couple of hours, we headed back to our motel which was only a few blocks away.
Side note: our motel was the same one that I have been going to since the late 1990's. It has changed hands and names a few times, of course. It was surprising to see that they had completely overhauled the rooms! They were much nice and were new all over! The real surprise was the rental was truly reasonable. We were only 500' feet from the ocean!! If you head over there, it's the Blufftop Inn & Suites. It has a higher rating than the "Best Western" motel across the street (4.6 vs 4.1). This place is a bargain and we'll be back!
The Next Day.
After a fish and chips lunch at the “Great American Fish Company”, we retired to one of the gang’s home there in town. Most folks just floated around and joined in on whatever conversation was in progress. It really was a great to get to seem them all again! Of course, we had all changed. We all shared stories and such and how we got where we were. Some were still in Porterville while some were scattered across the state. I don't recall if any of the others came from out of state, though. I probably wasn't paying attention.
Classmate, Carl Carter, an aerospace engineer, filled me in on a mystery that has haunted me since 1961 when we were in the 7th grade at Burton School. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember our teacher. That may not seem like a big deal but I also couldn’t remember a single classmate other than him!! Even after he told me some of the names, I was unable to place any of them. Strangely, I remembered the 8th grade teaching! I attended one month of my 7th grade year in Fort Scott, KS and remember the teacher quite plainly. Yet, after almost the full school year at Burton School in Porterville, I have yet to remember anything about that class including the teacher! Carl found it amazing, as well.
No. It wasn’t a traumatic year that I can recall. I suppose that moving between the first month of my 6th grade in Rawlins, WYO, then to John J. Doyle school to complete that year and then moving again to start the 7th grade in Fort Scott, KS then back to Porterville could have had something to do with the matter. But, I don’t really see that at all. I seemed to relish new things and places (still do). So, it’s another mystery that will just have to be ignored.
After a great time of more than three hours of chatting and getting re-acquainted, it was time for the old folks to call it a day. After our "good-byes", we headed back home.
Home at last.
Because of the 3.5 hour drive, it was decided to depart reunion somewhat early. Since it was our day off (Hallelujah! X 2), there was no need for speed so we just dawdled our way home. This method actually diminishes the stress of driving somewhat. Works for us.
The plan was to unpack and hit the rack when we got back to the rancho at about 8:30PM. But, we were beat pancake thin when we rolled into the driveway. It was a good beat, though (maybe a tad of rationalization here). Unpacking had to wait until the next day.
Upon waking up the next morning, it was found to be a chore to get all body parts marshalled and headed in the same direction at the same time. Talk about being worn out! I felt like a tennis shoe that had be re-treaded 5 times. It turns out that Connie the Canner felt the same way. It wasn’t like we had climbed Morro Rock but we were nonetheless wrecked.
After a few groans, Connie asked if I was OK. I respond affirmatively and that it was a positive thing that the pain wasn’t just coming from just one place. We made it to the sofa and thought about passing out the Ibuprofen. After a few minutes of commiseration, we decided that, if there was any way for us to get up off the sofa, it would be to call a neighbor to come over and ring the doorbell so that we would be forced to answer the door. At least would be up and moving. Not sure how but we did end up kick-starting the day.
Hot heels! My, but they’re good!
I don’t recall the first time that I ever had a “hot heel” from a freshly home-baked loaf of bread. But, I also don’t recall ever not wanting another one. It may have been around 1964 when my mother baked a loaf. Having a hot heel isn’t just a flavorful event; it’s an outright taste bud detonator! Imagine walking into the kitchen and the smell of freshly-baked bread smacks your smeller smooth into the back of your skull!
With that in mind, the other day (when lots of things happen around here), Connie the Baker deemed that it was “hot heel” day at the rancho. She decided to haul out the new-fangled automatic bread maker (she’s not lazy; she’s just convenience oriented) and make some fresh bread. She hadn’t taken that contraption for a spin in many o’ moon so she figured that it was time to do so (reckon she loves to figure). Well, bless her heart and all her vital organs!! The aroma in the house was almost enough to make a man drown in his own saliva! Then, she rang the dinner bell!
Not many things can bring a smile to the Ol’ Rancher’s mug like a hot heel and a slab of real butter! Man, oh, man! When she whacked off the heel of that hot loaf and handed it to me, I was happier than a coon dog with a quart of gravy!
If that doesn’t just grease your buggy, we had thick hot toast with breakfast the next morning! She’s already planning another round of goodness in a few days! I think I’m spoiled and I think I like it that way!
Pizza Factory vs Eating Factory
Speaking of food, the other day (when lots of things happen around here), we accompanied some friends to our local “Pizza Factory” lunch buffet. I’m a bit ashamed that it didn’t take but one prompt to get me on board with the idea. It’s a given at the git-go just what and how much will be eaten by the Ol’ Pizza Slayer. This is especially true when it comes to their steak-cut potatoes. The bloody things are addicting which is precisely why they have them. You fill up on the cheap stuff and they don’t have to prepare as much expensive pizza. It’s a sneaky plan and…it does work. They have great pizza, too!
After lunch, I sort of patted my stuffed self on the back because I didn’t eat until I made money (uh…to be truthful….I did get a significant discount). It was also a good thing because Connie didn’t need a wheel barrow with which to haul me to the van. We don't go there often so I can assuage my conscience for misbehaving in the name of "getting my money's worth". *SIGH*.
Speaking even more about food: Beans beans the musical fruit.
It has been well documented around here that man does not live by bread alone; he has to have beans and ham hocks. I think it's a DNA thing. I'm the son of a CIO (California Improved Okie). That means that the Ol' Rancher has a heritage of eating certain foods for so long that they become part of his persona and DNA. That's why I think that there's "bean liquor" in my blood though it has yet to show up in any blood samples so far (I don't trust their testing). And, I've never met a bean that I didn't like. Pretty compelling, if you ask me.
Think about the protein combination. The science works well with this lowly legume and the equally lowly pig hock. You have a nutritional symbiosis that can hardly be beat. You get two types of protein and just enough fat to make it especially tasty while supplying enough grease for your universal joints. It’s an unbeatable combination especially when paired with (and you know where this is headed) hot cornbread! Whooo! Doggies! When that hock-flavored bean liquor hits that cornbread, the magic happens and you have to hold onto your eyeballs to keep them from rolling up inside your head! Then, when your bowl is empty, your wife has to elbow you to keep you from licking the bowl clean! Can I get an
Amen!" ?!
However….however....there is an obvious caveat and some chemistry involved here. There is a scientific phenomenon to be dealt with when approaching this scrumptious nutritional combo. It has to do with the improper digestion of said legume the reaction of which produces an unwelcomed and yet curiously hilarious "musica" result.
Now, we adults understand such "scientific" things and have established our own argot about the matter. But, whilst in mixed company lets set a parameter or two. We certainly know the colloquial euphemism that men use. Yes...that one particularly. Well, that's what men do. But, women don't do that; they "poot". See? It's much less offensive even though the "poot" may be of the same large caliber as the men's (though rarely and not that any man would acknowledge).
Now, woman handle this as an embarrassment: something to hide. They aren't proud of a case of the "vapors". Men, on the other hand, have little thought about ending life on earth by ripping a vile smelly hole in the space time continuum. In fact, some of the guys seem to find it hilarious for some reason.
Science class is over. The moral of the story is that you eat beans and ham hocks at your own risk and eat them as often as you can.
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