Kaput!

Being of the retired variety, I have the time to do just about anything I want, that does not require more than nominal pecuniary funds to defray the cost. Cooking falls under that category, mainly because so much of what GlutenFreeMama and I eat comes from the farm. Besides, I kind of have to cook anyway. 

Oh, you too?

Kale to the chief!

I posted some pics this morning from last night’s quiche, inspired by the bountiful bag of kale that was dropped off here the other day by HeadSodBuster. I know it was not so very long ago that I posted photos of a quiche inspired by the bok choi that we received in similar manner. I cannot tell a lie: I eat quiche.

I will even have a small glass of white wine, if there is no red to be found. There, I said it.

I must also confess to finding joy in cooking, as long as I am not exhausted. That sound you are hearing is the snickering of countless moms everywhere, trying to remember the last time they cooked a meal when exhaustion was not a key ingredient.

Again, retirement allows me to pick and choose the times for my assigned duties each day. Yesterday found me doing battle with our too-powerful-for-my-own-good quad, around mid-morning, after I had had my way with a pitchfork, over a twenty-by-six-foot tract of front yard.

I fought the quad and the quad won. Again. 

I was attempting to haul home-grown compost out of the orchard to put on my sunflower bed, using the quad with its little trailer. Up until yesterday, all hauling of compost to all sites, had been done by five-gallon bucket. Unfortunately, I view my relationship with the quad going the same route as that of the chainsaw: We won’t be seeing each other anymore, or if we do, it will be only as friends. 

I am now in a relationship with a spatula, one that has never tried to either cut off my foot, or make a deep impression in my head. My spatula has no moving parts.

I fought the quad and the quad kicked my tush.

Yesterday, while towing the little trailer up the slope, about two-thirds of the way filled with compost, I glanced over my shoulder to see it sailing merrily backwards and picking up speed, until it became one with a massive pile of branches and manzanita burls, destined to be burned. The trailer was exhibiting a certain flair, or joie de vivre. I took some comfort that the trailer’s bolt for freedom did not include me doing another 360. 

Parking the quad for the final time, I directed my feet stage left, into the house, for a quick dose of my meds after first refreshing my trusty bong. I would like to point out that my bong also has never tried to amputate a foot or flip me over its bowl.

As I was rinsing it out, my somewhat fractured attention was lassoed by the kale that HeadSodBuster had dropped off on Friday. Kale also has never-

[Editor’s note: Ahem…]

I moseyed into the other room and confessed to GFMama that I was finished-kaput-outside, and no fork would prove me wrong. I was ready to do some damage to that innocent kale, beginning with the dicing up of some scallions, leeks, sweet peppers and mushrooms.

In a collaborative effort, reminiscent of Black and Decker, GFMama and I put that quiche together. I did the mindless chopping and dicing, while she made it all come together with her usual magic. She added a cookie tray of roasted potato pieces, her own blend of spicy goodness blanketing them, and we traded in the Giants being thrashed by the Diamondbacks (10-4, over and out), for a light-weight film.

I managed to get into and out of my recliner, without incident.