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Friday, September 15, 2006

It's going to be a long day

I have never run across a recipe that called for raw pumpkin before. Usually they want you to bake it first so that the meat can be removed easily from the flesh. But not this one, this one wanted fresh raw pumpkin. I stared at the whole pumpkin for a minute trying to think how I should go about doing this. Cut it in half, scrape out the seeds and string, then cut out the meat. Simple. . . sure. I sliced open my thumb. I whimpered and cursed, though not as much as I did when the rooster bone pierced my finger, no sailors were made to blush. But I did discover something that I wish to share here.

PUMPKIN JUICE BURNS IN AN OPEN WOUN
D

Similar to pouring salt on it. I pleaded with myself to stop this torture. Forget the pumpkin, you don't have to preserve it. But I didn't listen to myself, I had to continue. Every few moments I had to run my thumb under cold water to relieve the throbbing burning, and Pokemon band-Aids did nothing to help me. The sticky Squirtel {Pokemon character if you didn't know} had to be removed, it was only hoarding little pieces of pumpkin meat up against the cut. After what felt like years, I finished slicing and pureeing the meat and spiced it, mixed it in a bowl and placed it {covered} on the table to set out, room temperature over night. This morning I will finish making the pumpkin butter. I must remember when I write up the recipe that you need to add a drop of blood into the mixture to enhance the flavor.

I also woke up this morning to find my cabinet above my stove ajar. I know I didn't leave it that way. Upon opening said door, I discovered two smash loaves of French bread and a third half eaten. Either I have some very large rats roaming around this house, or my cats got a sudden craving for day old bread.

Speaking of rats. We have field mice that invade our home in the winter. They like to take up residency in my oven. Last night, like so many nights last winter, I turned my oven on to bake some pizzas for dinner. And there was that smell. I caught a mouse on fire again! It was worse than it normally had been, or maybe it was the same and we just forgot how bad it was since the suicidal mice had been on hiatus these past few months. The house reeked of burning hair and flesh, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. Dinner was late due to the fact that no one wanted the burnt mouse smell/taste on their pizzas. I told them they were missing out on a delicious delicacy, that got me blank stares and vomiting noises from the balcony. The mice do however provide us with hours of entertainment during those long cold winter evenings. If you leave a dirty spoon on top of the stove, they will attempt to drag it down through the burners. The spoon is too large, so you hear the rhythmic clinking as they try ever so hard to make it fit. The cats and dogs do a decent job keeping most of the field mice out, but there is always one family that makes it in.

And what is this about being a long day, you ask. Because of the placement of my debilitating wound. The small knife cut {small but deep, me a wuss} is placed in just the right spot to make things miserable. I opened a bag of cereal this morning, and tore the cut open. Had to hide the blood or my son would not have ate his breakfast {no I didn't bleed on his food.} I went to take the laundry out of the dryer and bled on a towel. I think my standard rooster has blood lust, and he could smell it on me. As I went to feed the chickens this morning, I was attacked {gggrrr...rooster!} I still need to finish morning chores, clean coop, place litter down in the nursery { litter as in bedding, not kitty} preserve food {doing some jerky today...SALT!} and house work, not to mention playing with my children. I wonder how much blood I will lose doing all this. Of course my husband laughed at me when I was whimpering about pizza sauce in the cut. He showed me the burn he got yesterday while working on a motorcycle. "I didn't complain when this happened." That's because you're a boy, and the cooddies prevents you for acting normal. And then I stuck my tongue out at him, it made me feel better.

3 comments:

Bug said...

Jeeze girl! Sounds like you had quite the little clusterfuck going there yesterday *chuckle* I hate getting those cuts in really bad places...makes everything ya do ten times as hard and ten times as painful. Hope it heals up soon!

alrescate said...

I wouldn't have stuck my tongue out at him...I would have hit him a large, heavy object. Perhaps more than once....

Hope it heals up soon! (And heals up before you cut yourself again.)

alrescate said...

I just noticed the goats in the sidebar...I like them!

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