Word of the Day

Mittsquinter - A ballplayer who looks into his glove after missing the ball, as if, somehow the cause of the error lies there.

I was making a batch of stew for Gypsy yesterday and was reminded of a time when my Grandparents came to stay with us kids while my folks were in New York City. It always amazes me how little things remind me of something that happened in the past. I mean, here I'm cooking up a huge pot of stew to freeze in portions for Gypsy and then I'm remembering when my Mom decided to cook up some wormy noodles and scraps for our dogs, Mitzi and Patsy. Of course, I don't use wormy noodles, but, if I had any wormy noodles, I probably would use them for Gypsy. Waste not, want not. Just a bit more protein in the mix. Heck, the meat that I used in the stew this time was freezer burnt beyond what HTP and I would eat, and the carrots had seen better days. However, Gypsy doesn't mind. She loves her stew. Mitzi and Patsy loved their stew too. Only, Mom kept the pot of dog food stew in the fridge. She didn't think to tell her Mom that this pot of stew was for the dogs before she and Dad headed off to New York. Grandma, being Grandma, tasted said stew and decided that it wasn't fit to feed her Grandchildren. *Blink* She tasted it? EUWWWW!!!! Wormy stew?! None of us kids knew that she'd tasted it or we would have stopped her. We KNEW what was in the pot in the fridge. Dog food. We weren't consulted. When my Mom and Dad called from New York to check on things, my Grandmother (tactfully, I'm sure) mentioned that the stew in the fridge wasn't very tasty so she decided to cook up something different for us kids. My Mom, horrified, explained that the stew in the fridge was for the dogs. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when Grandma found out that she'd eaten some wormy dog food. Some things like that just stick in your mind and make you laugh.


Murphyism of the Day

Handy Office Excuse - Number Ten

I'm so busy, I just can't get around to it.

Noteworthy Quote of the Day

Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.

- Henry David Thoreau (1817 - 1862)