I’m wondering if they give a Nobel Peace Prize in the category of food. If so, I think I may have it locked up with my solution to the problem of world hunger!
It came to me like a bolt out of the blue as I was driving to Nashville last week to visit my son. It’s a long drive and my mind wandered all over the road as I tried to prevent myself from dying of boredom.
About the time I crossed the Tennessee line I began to notice the kudzu vines that were running rampant over trees, telephone poles and even an occasional house or two. It was almost a beautiful sight to behold. The vine formed mile after mile of bizarre sculptures I renamed “Kudzillas.” If I squinted my eyes slightly, I could make out all kinds of images – a cowboy riding a horse, a green wedding cake – and one even resembled my mother-in-law.”
I once read that kudzillas can grow a foot a day during the summer months traversing a full 60 feet in one growing season.While it’s become Continue reading →
I finally gassed up the mower and gave the lawn a needed clip today. After about ten minutes of dodging 100 mph ankle height, mower-fired acorns and sticks and pushing that little metal beast up and down my hilly nightmare of a yard I began to feel a little less than fresh.
I was sweating buckets and coughing up the dirt and specs of grass my machine was blasting right into my face. I started to notice my heartbeat a little more than usual and my internal dialogue was filled with thoughts of angioplasty, gym memberships, and long abandoned resolutions from January. The double bacon and cheese “big mouth” burger from Chili’s that had served as my Sunday brunch wasn’t helping matters either.
An afternoon of web surfing in my climate controlled command center turned up something even more damaging than burgers and sedentary living though. Have you heard of chicken fried bacon? Frank Sodolak of Sodolak’s Original Country Inn in Snook, Texas is the man who let experimenting with the deep fat fryer go a bit too far.
Any cardiologist with a lick of sense should be looking at property in Snook. Words don’t do it justice, so here’s the video proof:
What a day for a festival. I’d planned to whip up a batch of lye soap (I bought a book on how to do it) then heard about the Cotton District Arts Festival. It’s been growing each year into a major attraction for my region. The weather was perfect – the low 70s. It demanded a sojourn outdoors after weeks of inclement weather.
Several of my “boomer” friends and I ventured to the festival, intent upon staying no more than 30 minutes. Five hours and 15 mintues later, we returned home carrying bags of interesting objects d’art and wiped out from too much sun and fabulous food. The music and art (all bonafide originals – no kit made anything to be seen) were superb.
We spent an inordinate amount of time in the kid’s village since we had one boomer’s grandson with us. The interactive percussion corner was a big draw for us as we admitted to each other we had always dreamed of playing the drums. The organizers finally had to run us off so the four-year olds could play.
My friends Barbara (at left) and Marie (right) discovered they had hidden talent.