One thing and another

It's amazing how often I wake up at 3 AM or earlier, these days.  Sometimes when I head for the coffeepot, Gabe sleeps on for an hour or so longer, closed in his (borrowed) cage.  When that happens I leave him alone until he lets me know by whining that he's ready to get out of there.  We go straight to the front yard, of course, so before I let him out I make sure I have my coat on and leash in hand, with flashlight handy.  He doesn't take long doing his business, although once in awhile he's distracted by a cat.  He is going for longer periods before being taken outside and hasn't had an accident in three days, I believe.  I still don't trust him to let me know when he needs to go out, though.  

I take him down to our nearest woods on the leash and then turn him loose, with no cats or livestock nearby to lead him astray.  He runs in circles, down hills, and back again, always touching bases with me and eventually settling on the ground up against me, chewing contentedly on a stick or some grass.  So that forces me out into the sunshine and fresh air and gives him some time of freedom.  Let's not talk about the beggar-lice I have to clean out of his coat when we come back to the house.   Oh, and if it's the least bit muddy outside, he has to have those fluffy white feet washed off when we come in.  The fur on his feet is a dirt magnet.  I picked up some wet wipes to keep inside the door for his feet.  He's worth it.  

I mentioned in the previous entry that Cliff and I had an intestinal virus last week.  At some point on the afternoon of the worst day, after forcing down water all day and eating nothing but a cracker or two, I suddenly realized I needed 7up.  I knew that was the only thing that would help me!  And why?  Because that's what my mother gave me to soothe an upset stomach when I was a small child.  I told Cliff, "Man, I want some 7up."  

He offered to go to our town Mini Mart and get some, but he was as sick as I was.  Besides, I had my doubts that little store would carry 7up; do people even drink it these days?  And then his efforts would have been in vain.  I finally messaged the grandson's wife and asked her to please get me some 7up on her way home from work.  It was like a magic elixir in my aching belly that evening.  She brought me a whole six-pack, of which I drank two.  The other bottles are stored away for the next bellyache.  I just remembered I never paid her for that.  ::Note to self::  

My mom's doctoring technique was made up of four items always in the medicine cabinet... five if you counted aspirin, but that was only a last resort, because she didn't want us to get "hooked" on aspirin.  I'm serious!  That's how she felt.

First on the list was Vaseline, which was great for all manner of galding, chafing, and heat rashes.  Second, for first aid, was adhesive tape, which Mother thought was curative in its own right, and would place it placed directly on a cut; forget about using a guaze pad with it, because she was confident there was some miraculous healing virtue in the sticky side of that tape.  This reminds me of how happy she was if a wound was bleeding profusely, because then, she said, it would "heal good".  I'm sure this kept me from being afraid of bleeding at a young age.  Blood is a good thing!  That means it's going to heal!  

Another of her remedies I've mentioned many times on this blog is Vicks or Mentholatum, the latter being her choice, I think.  That stuff does more for a coughing cold and chest congestion than anything else I know of, and when I'm rubbing it on my chest, I still remember how soothing it was when Mother applied it.   

And last, for stomach problems, 7up.  Back then their advertisements even said, "You like it, it likes you."  It was right there on every label, so I knew it had to be true.

OK, so enough about my mother's miracle cures.  On to the present, and my favorite subject:  Food! 

We began this round of cutting calories (again) on my birthday, of all times... July 7.  We've had ups and downs, but mostly it's gone pretty well.  Every once in awhile, though, I obsess over home-made biscuits or corn bread.  With just two of us, the only way to handle that sort of thing is to eat one or two servings each (one, at present) and freeze the rest.  This works great, but makes it terribly easy to get a biscuit out of the freezer, thaw it, and have it for breakfast.  You just can't do that every day.  One thing I've started doing with corn bread is to cut the recipe by half.  We want corn bread baked in a preheated cast iron skillet to get that nice, dark, crispy bottom crust, and I happen to have the right size skillet for a half-size recipe.

Here you see the half-sized skillet compared to the one that holds a full recipe.  That larger skillet, which my mom handed down to me when I got my first apartment, is also what I use for biscuits ever since a Kentucky friend suggested that during my search for "Biscuit Nirvana".  Folks, when you want the best biscuits, talk to ladies from the south.  I think they must have invented biscuits.  I wonder how it would work to halve the biscuit recipe; there surely wouldn't be a very big hunk of dough to knead, though.

Last weekend I made the first batch of biscuits since before July 7, a whole batch.  I knew I shouldn't, and that we'd eat too many, but I wanted them to go with the chuck roast I fixed in the Instant Pot, not to mention the mashed potatoes.  All is well, because the grandson and Heather came over and helped us get rid of the roast, potatoes, and the biscuits in fine style.  All is well.

Peace.