|8/8/2017 11:52:00 AM|
Bull by Bull
By Judy Bull When I offered to help out the Anglea family - a clan of foodies - I was asked to provide dinner upon their arrival home from a cross-country U-Haul trip. For me, that about ended life as I knew it. After a sleepless night, I came up with a game plan, which included two of my favorite people contributing a smoked pork roast and a batch of the best homemade cookies in the world. I felt sure I could handle the side dishes and wine, and I wouldn't even need to take my printer out of the oven.
I Googled '53 Dodge pickups the other night, looking to see what I remember about Red's gray six-windowed truck, lo those many years ago. When I saw photos of the cab, I realized I'd probably only ridden inside a couple of times. Rain or shine, we were always in the back feeding out.
Some of the yummiest meals I eat, I eat standing at the kitchen sink: Costco chickens, oranges, just-made potato salad, PB&J sandwiches ... all with a big glass of ice cold milk. I can still see 10-year-old Jayson Berray sitting at my table, long years ago, oooooohing and ahhhhhhhhing over how cold Judy Bull's milk always is. One of the best cooking compliments this non-cook has ever received.
Vernon always kept a pump-action shotgun next to his bed. And a machete. When he found out he couldn't have a firearm at Bend Vanilla, he bought one of those pump-action mops, which sounds amazingly like a you-know-what.
My 1946 Toastmaster toaster toasted its last two English muffins a few Sundays ago. Though the outside still shined as bright as new, upon examination, my friend John told me I was really lucky it hadn't burned down my house. As beautifully made as it was, it was too lightweight to serve as a door stop, so I planted daisies in it. It is the perfect centerpiece out on the picnic table.
Either I can't read as fast as I used to or subtitles appear and disappear more quickly than ever. Some people - much younger than I - speak so fast that I cannot even begin to keep up with their conversations, let alone do I know of what they speak. Along these same lines - lost - I was in a high-end, glass-and-metal, new-car showroom the other day. I just don't know how people choose one car over another: gray, grayer or silver.
One hundred and one elk moved in on my north fenceline last fall. Now, a practically invisible, 10-foot-high, elk-proof fence parallels my 28-year-old humble, somewhat sagging Montana X=X=X=X fences. It's been very entertaining watching the ways of these huge animals move through their lives. Not at all surprising, the bugling bulls have quite a repertoire, to be sure.
I get TV reception the old-fashioned way: an antenna on my roof. I receive seven channels, including two PBS stations. Enough choices for one evening.
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