May the Forks Be With You

Baby Bird Update: No longer ugly!We rejoice!

      I don't really remember the first time I cooked an entire meal, but I'm sure it was magical. Finally there was something I could handle all by myself. It didn't take much skill to follow a recipe or to clean up, and soon I became skilled at both. Somewhere along the line a tradition started, and I was cooking for a group of very appreciative adults. This group can vary from 6 people to as many as 20, but it always includes the core 6. These core six also happen to be my parents. How can I have six parents? Your guess is as good as mine, but one day I looked up to notice that I had 4 extra parents.
     Some people gain extra parents through divorce and then marriage, legally binding them to those extra parents. Mine aren't legally bound (Gary and Arlene were once upon a time but then I hit 18 and should something happen to my parents they were no longer responsible for raising me), they just kind of ended up as extra parents. When I was still in high school I would usually end up going out to eat with my parents, and subsequently this would also include Gary, Arlene, Randy, and Julie. The same goes for going to the movies, or even just going to supper at someone's home, they were all there. Somewhere along the way they all molded into one parental unit and have remained that way ever since.
     Now that you have the still very confusing back-story, it's time to learn how the parental meals go. First I am asked in a roundabout way if I would be interested in making a meal for everyone. I am always extremely flattered that they want me to cook, but it's really funny how someone will bring up the subject of me cooking. It usually goes something like this:
"So Kersti, would you be interested in making supper some night? I could bring something!" And the other parental units usually chime in that they will also bring things, and then comes the next step: selecting the menu. This is my favorite step because there are just so many possibilities. I drag out my favorite cookbooks and look through them, writing down recipes that sound good. Once I've found a main course that will suit the occasion I try to find salads that will accompany the meal tastefully. It doesn't always work, but I try to make it sound fancy at any rate.

Visible Lack of Pain=Smart Brain

    Once the meal is selected and the proper grocery items are purchased it is time to start cooking. I number the menu items from most prep time to least prep time and get to work. I love having one thing cooling in the fridge while I'm working on throwing together another item, I feel so efficient, like some kinda robot. The only thing that is not fun about all this cooking, it that I always forget NOT to stick my face right next to the oven door that I am opening. Somehow I forget, each and every time, that the first blast of air is very very hot. I think I just get so excited about seeing what is cooking in the oven, that my senses leave me completely and I end up with a singed face. Burned face or not, once the cooking is done the real fun begins.
    With all my parents gathered around the table I begin the process of serving them food. Handing my carefully arranged food items to them I watch as they appreciatively spoon cucumber salad onto their plates. Once the food has made it around the table I whisk the plates back into the kitchen and await the parents' reactions. Whenever I cook meals for them I inevitably select a recipe I've never tried, and that always makes me nervous. This time it was the honey mustard chicken, and I was worried my combination of spicy brown mustard and honey would end up tasting awful. Sure they would've faked it if the food was nasty, but my extensive experience with tv sitcoms has heightened my awareness of fake food appreciation(aka: fake tasty face). The chicken ended up being quite tasty, the fruit salad was refreshing, the cucumber salad was just seasoned enough, and the lemon meringue pie was one of my best deserts yet. Yes, I did just compliment my own cooking but I have no regrets. It was a tasty meal and I'm owning up to it, which I'm allowing because it's almost my birthday.
     After the last bite of pie was long gone, it was time to clean up the dishes. Being the anal retentive chef that I am, I had washed all the dishes used during the cooking process as soon as they were empty. No matter how hard I try, there are always more dishes to clean once a meal is eaten. Cleaning up is not nearly as bad as people make it out to be, how bad is splashing around in soapy water? And the feeling of satisfaction once you take a look around a spotless kitchen is unmatched. Yes, I realize I have a sickness...but I'm using it to feed other people so this is making my birthday exception as well.

That's my Star Wars Face...I'm working on it.

     Finally(and to the awesome tunes of the Mamas and the Papas) I had cleaned all the dishes. The parents try to help with things in the kitchen, but I always refuse them. Apparently I really enjoy being independent, or maybe just in control. I think my cooking report card would say: "Does not work well with others." After I had put away the last dish I joined the parents on the porch. We sat outside enjoying the nice weather for a while, but then it got dark out. Julie looked at Randy and they got up and headed to their pickup. Randy came back by himself and kicked Gary out of his chair, telling me to sit there instead. I cautiously sat down and was told by Randy that I must close my eyes. The rest of my parents started laughing as I closed my eyes. It felt as though I was at an Ouija party because he asked me if I felt any different on this night. He also told me to trust him, and that it was going to be okay. Then I felt someone standing by me and Julie placed something in my hand and made me whip it around. The thing was buzzing and when I moved it a "Swoosh" noise came out of it. Randy handed me an envelope and told me to open it, with my eyes still closed. After successfully opening the envelope I was allowed to open my eyes and behold all that was previously unseen by me. I was holding onto a glowing blue light-saber and a Star Wars birthday card that played the theme when I opened it. The card was supposedly from my actually father and mother, and it explained that they were finally okay with the fact that I was born a girl and not the longed for boy to carry on the family name. I was laughing so much that I had a hard time holding on to my light-saber.
     Later on when Gary, Arlene, Randy, and Julie climbed into the pickup to leave I stood at the end of the sidewalk with my light-saber in hand. I turned it on and waved it at them, and was met by a chorus of "May the force be with you!" I can't be too sure, but I may just be the only almost 20 year old who cooks for her six parents and is given a light-saber for her upcoming birthday. It's just a guess, but I may be solo in that category...maybe even Hans Solo(birthday pun exception....deal with it!).

Birthday Pun Exception: WIN!

   

Not All Babies Are Cute

THE HORROR!!!!!

    I'm fairly certain there is a saying that all babies are cute, but I have to wonder if that is supposed to include ALL babies. Today I was outside painting a fence that desperately needed my help, and as I was making my way to the middle of the fence I saw something horrifying and really repulsive. Looking closely at it my suspicions were confirmed and I recoiled in horror. Perched on the top of the fence post was a very small bird's nest filled with some of the ugliest babies I have ever seen. Their pointed little beaks flung themselves wide open like a book, a very scary and extremely ugly book. One of the books at the library that no one has touched in years and it has mildew and water damage, and probably some spit and 80 year old food bits stuck in the cover. That is what I saw, and it creeped me out.

Knowing smirk, right there

    Generally I am a fan of babies. What's not to like? They are a tiny version of something else, and tiny things are usually very cute. Personally I enjoy shopping at stores and coming across tiny things, like the tiny umbrellas you put in drinks to make them look fancy. Some more delightful tiny foods include tiny club crackers(they make me feel like I'm a giant),little smokies(or as I call them teeny weenies), bite-sized cereals, and so many more magical things. I don't know what it is about these tiny objects that capture my affection, but they catch my attention faster than a knowing smirk thrown by Clark Gable at almost any point in "Gone With the Wind". I used to love this Winnie the Pooh treehouse I had because it was stocked with little tiny furniture and tiny little Winnie the Pooh characters. Now a regular sized Winnie the Pooh is adorable, but a tiny one is can't-stand-it enchanting.

They are cute, it's true

     Back to the topic at hand. It is now time to discuss the fact that other species have way cuter babies than humans do. Take puppies for example. Puppies are cuter than babies, and that might be because with puppies you can put them in their kennel when they poop on the floor. With babies you have to clean it up...and you CANNOT put a baby in a kennel, you just have to pretend like it was the most fun in the world and watch as the baby tries to jam the remote in its' mouth...and probably stop it from doing that. Then there are kittens. Those tiny little balls of fluff(unless you get one of those hairless cats...that's your own problem then) are just so cute. Their tiny little mewing noises and kitten shenannigens make you feel all warm and fuzzy. Regular babies also make noises, but they are not always fun to hear and that is a point against human baby cuteness. This hurts me to admit, but even baby skunks and raccoons are cute. Regular sized skunks and raccoons are a huge pain and both of them smell awful. But baby skunks are cute AND they are called kittens...so that's a point for the skunk babies.
      I've been dancing around this subject but the time has come to call out the ugly babies. Now I'm not talking human babies, because all human babies are, in fact, cute. With their tiny little feet, baby hands, and teeny little baby noses you just have to admit that all babies are cute. Some babies are cuter than others, but we don't need to get into that whole mess. Now for the list of ugly babies:

Supposed baby platypus: Not cute

1. Mice babies: regular mice suck, and their babies suck even more because they are hairless and really gross
2. Snake babies: I hate snakes, even the tiny ones. They freak me out with their slithering.
3. Anything that comes out of an egg: Maybe platypus babies are cute, but I kinda doubt it.
4. Woodchuck babies: Stupid woodchucks
5. Possum babies: They have ratlike tails, pointed faces, and beady eyes, at no point will they be cute.
6. Fish babies: According to what I learned from Magic School Bus, baby fish are really freaking looking.
That's it for the list of ugly babies. Now I'm sure I missed a few, so this list is probably more of an ugly baby honorable mention compilation.

Painting the fence can wait

     As for the ugly bird babies I encountered today, I did my best to leave them alone. I painted as quickly as I could around their nest(I am really confused as to why the bird placed her nest on a fence near a very accessible area but that's her deal), and absolutely did not touch anything. Being completely terrified of nature attacking me I kept a broom close should the mother bird decide I was in her way. No worries though, it would've been a gentle swat to her at best, and only in self defense. Luckily, I didn't have to use my broom and I have a report from my dad that the mother robin came back to feed her ugly children. Somewhere down the road there will be several robins flying around who once lived the life of an ugly baby bird, and I look forward to that day very much.

Chemical Warfare...with Wasps

My weapon of choice

    Now that winter has finally given up its death grip, I decided that this afternoon would be best spent on the porch. With some minor pestering by my very friendly dog Alfred, my time on the porch was off to a peaceful start...until I heard a loud buzzing above my head. Quickly looking around myself I saw the culprit, and let out a sigh of distaste. Slamming the door shut behind me in anger I asked my Mom if we had any wasp spray, and I was directed toward our machine shed. Being unreasonably fearful of everything in our yard (we have snakes, and who knows when Diablo will come back from the dead?), I ran across the lawn and walked timidly into the machine shed. Browsing over the cans of toxic chemicals I chose my weapon, a can of Raid hornet and wasp killer, and it was on.

Rubber Gloves=Sheer Awesome

    Most of my day was spent with toxic chemicals. It began with an hour long fling spent with a can of refurnishing polish on my new antique bed frame(it's new to me anyway). I had to wear plastic gloves, but the chemicals kept eating through them so I had to switch over to heavy duty super awesome rubber gloves. Slipping those big black gloves on my hands made me feel like a super hero, or maybe a super villain, these gloves have a lot of potential. They are really difficult to function with, but their coolness makes up for it. After my lovely tryst I thought I was finished, but then I felt the need to take out every wasp who dared to come near my porch. Perched in the corner rocking chair I held the can closely, ignoring the slight drip in the sprayer that caused my hand to burn ever so slightly. The can boasted it could spray up to 22 feet, meaning I didn't have to leave my chair to protect the free world. Aiming carefully I would catch wasps in mid flight, watching them fall to the ground writhing in agony. I felt some pity for them, until I remembered how horrifying it is to walk outside and be dive bombed by a wasp. Holding up the can I glared at the wasp and took my aim, but it was all for naught as I had run out of spray. Dejectedly I gave up my post and moved on to the next chemical.

The closest I'll get to graffiti 

    Our wicker porch furniture was in desperate need of painting. The cats had favored it for a scratching post, as well as a therapy couch because most of the paint was worn away in cat shaped spots. Holding the spray can in my hand I began to shake it up, feeling like a hooligan. I've never vandalized anything with spray paint, so I had to pretend the chairs were some form of public property...I can't decide if that means I have a vivid imagination or a very depressing life. At any rate I spray painted the chairs with the vigor of a rapscallion, when the chemicals let me down again. My can ran out of paint halfway through giving the couch a new life. Feeling abandoned by all the chemicals in my life I told my mom the bad news, and she pointed me back toward the light. I was to go on a journey to replenish my chemicals. With a smile on my face I went to the store and bought not only spray paint, but a can of wasp spray.

A different kind of WASP
(Women Airforce Service Pilots)

     Back at home I finished my paint job and returned to my battle station on the porch. Watching carefully I saw the wasps moving freely about, thinking that I was still out of ammo. One wasp dared to position himself above me, and then I struck. Closing one eye I lifted the can and shot the wasp out of the air. He lay on the porch writhing in pain. Not being completely heartless I decided to put him out of his misery and step on him. (Lest you think I am into animal cruelty I will kindly remind you that these are insects and they could very well harm someone. I have no problem with wasps who live away from places I need to go, but once they move in on me it's war, and also...I just really hate wasps.) Clutching my can close to my side I leaned back in the rocking chair, taking in the warm Spring air. Letting out a deep sigh of contentment I closed my eyes and smiled knowing that I had won the battle.

My Epic Battle with a Vacuum Cleaner

    It started out as an ordinary day, well, except for the fact that it was my first real day of summer vacation. All those months of effort had finally paid off to four glorious months of freedom...mixed in with frenzied money making attempts. I had just returned from a peaceful walk with my faithful companion Alfred, and I was ready to clean out the huge tractor sitting in front of me. Little did I know the horror that awaited me

Naptime...it is good.

   Since my classes got done last Friday I have been recuperating from my very hectic move-out and move-in. The good news is I am finally moved into my house...the downside of that is I am living at home for a month until my job starts so I won't really be enjoying my new room until June. At any rate I had the very accomplished feeling of getting all my stuff placed where it should be, leaving me plenty of time to enjoy the world around me. I partook of the unplanned naptime (3 hours of sheer bliss), no make-up Monday (the first Monday in a very long time), hours spent watching television(more than I care to admit), and of course going for a walk on something other than a treadmill.

9 feet high...It's tall anyway

    With the pleasant memory of my chilly springtime walk fresh in my mind, I sauntered up to clean the tractor so patiently awaiting me. My dad had begun to prepare for Spring planting and asked if I would clean out the cab of his tractor because it had gotten rather dirty over the Winter. He had said I could use the air compressor to just blow out all the dust and bits of corn that were left over, but I decided to do him one better and vacuum out the tractor cab. Now, tractors are very large things, and the cab of this tractor has to be a good 9 feet off the ground. I thought that the shop-vac would have a long enough reach, after all, it had an extension for it that seemed to be never ending. Coupling this amazing extension with an equally awesome long extension cord, I figured there would be no problem reaching the dusty nooks and crannies of the tractor cab...but oh were there problems.

Why must it hate me?

    Initially, the vacuum extension did a good job picking up chunks of dust and old corn...but it couldn't quite reach behind the seat to all the dust along the back window. I pulled on the vacuum extension hoping it would stretch just a little further, instead, it decided to come out of the vacuum and leave me with a screaming vacuum. I hurriedly turned off the vacuum and reattached the extension. Moving the shop-vac closer to the tractor cab I tried again, only to pull out the extension a second time. Spotting another one of the vacuum attachments I connected that to the extension and tried yet again, this time the vacuum angrily tipped over and shouted vacuum profanities at me from its position in the dirt. Hopping out of the cab I picked up the howling vacuum, turned it off, and dragged it up the tractor steps. It was protesting my every movement and pinned me up against the door on my way into the cab. Yanking on the vacuum I managed to get the extension hose underneath the body of the vacuum. This was bad news because the cab was so tiny I had difficulty making any maneuvers, let alone a hostile attack on a stubborn vacuum. Mustering all my strength I lifted up the vacuum and managed to pull the extension free. Breathing a sigh of relief I turned on the vacuum and all hell broke loose.

We've all been there

     From the second I turned on the vacuum to the moment I turned it off it was absolute chaos. Dust began to swirl around the cabin as I moved the hose toward the remaining piles of corn and dust. Thinking I was going to survive I let down my guard...a most deadly mistake. The vacuum began to wrestle with me and I fought back with everything I had. Instead of me conquering the machine, it conquer me and grabbed hold of my ponytail. I eventually freed my hair from the unrelenting machine and ripped off the vacuum extension. I'd had quite enough of its shenanigans and I was ready to show it who was boss. Throwing the extension on the ground I turned back into the cab and made it sparkle. Well...it didn't really sparkle, but it did look a lot less gross. I hoisted the vacuum onto my hip and climbed down the ladder. Angrily I dragged it back into the shed and threw it on the floor, dusting off my hands in triumph. Looking over my shoulder I gave it an icy glare, and I swear that vacuum glared right back because it knew that I had won this round.