Monday, October 25, 2010
Yes, if you want more adult conversation on this blog, please comment. But remember--the children are reading it too. Let's keep "talking bigfoot." WHY? Because we want to make it COMMONPLACE! So have a share. We would like to know what you think. ... LNP
Original photo: photoxpress
We get few storms that include thunder and lightening, in the area that Joey lives, in Oregon. Baby cried and Jenna made Joey hold her tight. The couple agreed it was good they weren't staying the night in their outdoor cube.
Make bigfoot cookies!
Here is a simple cookie recipe.
1 cup of peanut butter
1 cup sugar
Mix together and drop on cookie sheet. Cook at 350% for 12 to 14 minutes on top rack of oven.
Important! Important! Important!
The recipe above makes soft tender cookies. For a bigfoot cookie it needs to be firmer, so add oatmeal until batter is firm. Squish together the dough on the cookie sheet until it looks like a bigfoot's foot. Use raisins for toenails and cover in a yummy frosting.
Wouldn't these cookies make a great gift to your family or friends? Please do not use the oven without supervision. Talk to your parents about helping you if you are too young to use the oven.
An off and on southwest wind swished the treetops. Plump raindrops splashed onto the windshield just as the car crested the hill onto the Apple property.
“Don’t bite! Ouch! It’s trying to bite me. Mom! Hey, quit it!”
“Take my purse. Give the animal to me. Get in to the house.” Deborah raised a hand in greeting to her mother, standing in the doorway of the screened porch. “Great!” she mumbled to herself, “this situation is going to be awkward.” Being overly concerned with cleanliness, her mother allowed no animals in the house.
She thought of the sturdy dog carrier they stored in the barn. The strong little animal, wrapped tightly in her arms, was finally quiet and still.
Bobby, disobeying his mother’s orders to go to the house, her large purse still clutched under his arm, caught up and ran alongside her. “Where’re you taking it? It isn’t dead is it?” he yelled so that she could hear him over the now constant wind and rain.
“We best put it in the barn. You know your grandmother―animals in the house and all; might as well avoid trouble.” She glanced at her watch again; the animal still bundled in her arms.
The dog carrier was perfect. “Son, now listen to me, I’ve got to get to work.”
“What are we going to do with it? What about the broken leg?” Bobby’s eyes darted from his mother to the small, ape-like creature.
“Hand me that magazine, the larger one. I’ll set the leg and tape it to this.” She held the magazine up, and
then slammed it down, missing her target, a humongous spindly spider.
“Run to the house and get some milk and a towel for a diaper. It’s a she by the way.” Mrs. Apple had removed the blanket to inspect the animal and discovered it female.
“Is it dead, Mom?”
“Asleep.… She’s just asleep. I don’t know how though, with a broken leg. It’s got to be painful. Hurry now! I’ve got to get to work.”
The thought was strong to take it out, dispatch it and bury it before her son returned. She was still certain the little thing wouldn’t last through the night. If only she weren’t scheduled to work today, she could stay with it. And better yet, she could take it to the animal shelter. “Oh good, you’re back and you found a bottle.”
“Grandma’s going to be coming out here if we don’t hurry up and get back!” Bobby’s words burst out in a rush of urgency.
“I really doubt that,” she sniffed.… “And did you tell her what we have here?”
“Yeah, I did. She said the barn was just the place for it. Gross!… What’s that nasty smell?”
“What do you think? She needs to be cleaned. Where is the towel?” Bobby pinched his nose and helped with the diapering by keeping out of the way.
Mrs. Apple, gently but firmly, pulled the broken leg-bone back into place and taped the leg to the tightly rolled magazine with silver duct tape.
Eyes clamped shut, the animal’s oversized orbs moved slowly side-to-side and up-and-down under the thin skin of her eyelids. Her thick black lips suckled noisily on the bottle’s rubbery nipple. A cluster of milky bubbles popped and ran into the fuzzy fur of her chin.
It was now time to leave the animal.
“I don’t want you coming back here until I get home. Do you hear me? Bobby, now listen to me. I don’t believe the animal will live very long. So don’t become attached to it. If it does live through the night,
tomorrow we’ll take it into Animal Control, the pound.... Hmm, wherever one takes baby animals found along the road. Promise me, you won’t come out here?”
“Yeah, Mom, I promise,” Bobby mumbled reluctantly. And in his next breath he pleaded, “Mom, can we keep it?”
Mrs. Apple waited to answer until they were leaving the barn. With both their heads bowed into the wind, she yelled back, “This family doesn’t have extra money to be spending on a badly injured animal.” She stopped, realizing this was no time for a lesson on family finance. And besides, her son had heard the lecture many times and could recite apt zingers himself.
Often she’d heard him say: “People, it is people we need to share with. It is the poor and the hungry, those without clean water who need us,” he’d sighed and continued, “and there are so many people that are needy.” (These words, of course, were his father’s not young Bobby’s.)
“I have money.” He interrupted her thoughts.
“Not enough you don’t. Take your shoes off. Umm, something smells d–e–l–i–c–i–o–u–s.”
“Where’s Rex, Grandma?… Grandma!”
Deborah’s mother, Mrs. Ida May Twinny, lifted her shoulders and furrowed her brow. “Bobby, he’s been gone all afternoon.” The TV clicked on in the living room.
“Not too worried about his dog is he?” Mrs. Twinny addressed her daughter as the young woman passed her on her way to change for work.
“Mom, keep him in the house. Don’t let him go to the barn.” In lower voice she added, “I don’t think it will live through the night.”
“Where in the world does one get an injured monkey?” Mrs. Twinny said to herself, but loud enough for her daughter to overhear.
She stood at the stove, teacup in hand, where she stirred a shiny pot of bubbly, spitting stew, steam spiraling up thick into the noisy exhaust fan.
“It’s a long story. I’ll have to tell it tomorrow,” her daughter said from her bedroom, then added, “Hank
“No he has not,” she shook her head and laughed quietly. “And what’s more, I’d of told you first thing if that rogue of a husband had called.... You know that.”
“Yes, I do, Mom, but with the excitement of the monkey, I just thought you might have forgotten. That’s all.” Now, back in the kitchen, she kissed her mother on the forehead and called to her son to come give her a kiss, bye.
Each Monday a chapter from this book will be published here on Ballyhoo. Enjoy. ... LNP
Anonymous has this to say:
Setting the record straight: No one in our office has ever told anyone that Sru Lake was not closed at different periods of time. That would not be true and we are not aloud to give information out on lake and road conditions over 24 hrs past. Now that the first big storms are coming we always tell people to use extreme caution when traveling USFS roads. ML was right when he/she said that Sru has been closed several times in the recent past. I can not comment on the conditions that prompted these closures. I can say I personally know Emery and know of his work in the area. I will not comment on his photos and diagnostic samples results from that area presented in the last month or so.
These comments, ML and this one, are in answer to the person that said something like, "I live near Squaw Lake and it has never been closed." Thank you ML and Anonymous, above, for your comments. ... LNP