Like Death and Taxes....

Good day, Sunday through Saturday Slackers,

You are probably wondering what I've been doing that's so much more important than blogging, aren't you? Wrangling raccoons? Pestering possums? Menacing moles and voles? Read on to find out....Above you'll see Cara (my niece), Molly, Amy, (Molly's friend) and Nancy. Yesterday we were all in Kansas City living it up. We dined outside at the Cheesecake Factory on the Plaza. Nancy, Teresa (Amy's mom) and I went to a most thrilling shopping shopping destination (only in Nancy's mind): a huuuuuuuuge Forever 21 . Nancy was overjoyed to walk out with a bagful of up-to-the-minute fashions which were priced right (aka "cheap") and guaranteed to go out of style by the time they are washed once and fall apart. ..After a day of frivolous shopping, eating, and touring around Kansas City, I suddenly remembered a gloomy prospect that only comes around once/year: I have bunco at my house Monday night! Like paying taxes and dying, hosting bunco duties do arrive once every 12 months. Now you might say, "Oh, Tizzie/Liz/Mom/Tizmom/Tiz/Elizabeth, surely you have that figured out by now. You must have trademark recipes that you pull out every year to impress your friends. They must all say, 'Well, tonight we'll surely have that yummy________ that she always fixes us with such flair.'"
Ah, if only that were true. No, every year I scramble to recreate myself in the cooking/hostessing department. I can create no crusty breads that turn out just right. Or soups that make everyone demand my recipe. Or any hot cheesy dips that are all the rage. The last time I tried to make a pie - crust and all - was in the 1970s. The experience was so traumatic that my therapist demanded that I never try again. No, each year I scour my cookbooks in search of the perfect simple -yet elegant- recipes to feed my friends. When Teresa (a bunkette) asked me yesterday - while sitting in the breeze shooting the breeze - what I was doing for bunco, I made a huge mistake. I told her. My biggest accomplishment so far has been to Google "Bunco Recipes". I found a great website called "Meredith's Recipes" and I am making just what's on that lady's list for bunco gatherings. I announced that I was making Rolo pretzels and almond bark popcorn. Well, now Teresa can't wait, and I must actually make those things. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut??? In the meantime, I will once again blame the person who is responsible for my lack of cooking skills. Who? Aren't I a grown woman in charge of my life? Well, who else? My mother, of course! Even though she is 99 1/2, she must still shoulder the blame. Instead of learning to cook at her side, I was off doing who knows what -- hanging out with my friends, talking on the phone, reading movie magazines, riding around -- things I'm still quite good at, mind you. No, no one ever showed me how to cook, so I must somehow endure this public humiliation that comes a few times/year, usually at Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, and, of course the worst of all (since it's my friends not my family to whom my faults are exposed) : Bunco! ..Oh, well, in 48 hours, this will all be over and I can get back to my old habits of reading any website but a cooking one ...

Whining but not shining,
I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

Keeping Up with the O'Connells

Good day, Saturday Slackers,

I would say "good morning", but most of you probably aren't up yet. I am home, but not alone this Saturday. Tim and Megan are asleep downstairs; Bob is asleep upstairs. I have finished my newspapers, so I guess my next time-wasting activity is YOU. That's right. This is YOUR blog, not mine. So, I'll answer some of your burning questions. Did Bob capture Rocky's mate Roxy? (If you don't know what this question means, you need to go back and read the previous 2 blogs) No, but he did capture Polly the possum. I would have provided a photo of her, but a certain person didn't allow the time or opportunity for me to do that adequately. Furthermore, it was dark and I don't have a clue how to set my camera up for nighttime pictures. I tried. Anyway, Polly really did "play possum" as when Bob went to release her at Twin Lakes, she refused to get out of the cage. He had to yank the bedspread all the way off and shake and rattle the cage to get her moving. No doubt, she traumatized some early morning joggers there. At least Yorktown Drive is safe from one more wild creature (I don't count)...How are the taxes going? Well, I'm still "working on them". While it's a fact that we are dollarless and euroless, we must prove to Uncle Sam that we reached this state legitimately, not just through our own wanton behavior. Uncle Sam allows $165/day for our Irish pursuits. We just have to explain what happened to the rest of the dough. Surely, my wheelie cart is deductible? We'll find all this out when we face our accountant this week. Bob just stopped by and deemed this blog "sickening". He says that I don't let up, and that the whole thing could have been said in 4 words: Bob caught a possum. Maybe that's true, but then your slacking time would be cut way too short. .
Anyway, I guess he wants me to play possum, so I will. Also, I must go do what I hope you've already done: set my mousetraps! (I put that in there for Nancy as it drives her nuts. What are mothers for?)

Rattling cages every day,
I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

Bob K.O.s Rocky

Good morning, Friends and Frenemies,

While you've all slept, we've had a most exciting morning. Rocky Raccoon succumbed to the smell of peanut butter-topped carrots and found himself in the predicament you see above. When I went out - at great risk to myself and also defying a husband who hissed out the window nearly causing me to create a scene in my jammies -- to snap this photo for you, he was wondering what had become of his rooftop dance partner who was nowhere to be found. He hissed and raised up as Bob threw the blanket on the cage. Bob is now off taking him to a "better place". Don't worry. Rocky will live to see another day... er I mean night. Bob saw our young sturdy neighbor Kurt leaving for work in his pick up truck. He offered him the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be a neighborhood hero and to take Rocky to his construction job out of town. The young man politely declined. Therefore, Bob has trekked off to Grindstone Nature Area to let Rocky be with his own kind. Bob is outside now hosing down the cage which really makes me fear for the state of my trunk...At any rate, Yorktown Drive is a safe and quiet street once again. Bob reports that Rocky made threatening noises during their journey. And one always wonders just how smart animals are (could he possibly get out of the cage?). Nonetheless, it appears that the mission is accomplished, and Bob is the neighborhood hero. I only wonder what Rocky is writing in his blog today...

Always cagey,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

Dancing the Night Away

Good day, Blogophiles,

You must think that I've been living it up since I haven't bothered to blog lately. If only that were true. I did manage to escape one night of hard labor by slipping off to Houlihan's with Jody and Dawn while Bob unwittingly got elected to fix dinner for Nancy and her 3 roommates. I also managed a trip to the farmer's market with Teresa where we purchased and consumed black raspberry cinnamon rolls so scrumptious that my stomach was upset the rest of the day. But they were worth it. And I suppose a person who ate just one wouldn't have had a problem... But real life has intruded. At night Bob and I have heard strange noises overhead the past few weeks. Bob even thought someone might be walking around in our attic. We then considered who or what might be doing such a thing. The attic door had been opened briefly to retrieve a pair of crutches for Bob. Could something have flown, crawled, jumped or sneaked in in that brief time??? Could it have hatched something large enough to be wandering the attic now? Were we living in the Twilight Zone? On Mysterious Island? What could it be? Well, last night Bob learned the answer. I was sound asleep when the rooftop dancing began. Bob bravely took the billy club flashlight outside to investigate. And what did he discover?? Probably the relatives of a visitor we had several years ago....two fat furry raccoons dancing with abandon on our roof. He did what most men -- but no women, in my opinion at least -- would do: he set a live raccoon trap. Yes, we just happened to have one handy for just such an occasion. Of course, no woman would do that as just what would you do if you actually managed to catch a live raccoon? Last time this happened we mostly caught live cats, but maybe we'll be luckier (?) this time. I don't hear anything howling out there yet..At any rate, there is a bright side to this situation. After 2 months, I finally have a comeback for Bob incessant praise of all things Irish: "Well, you can't do THIS in Ireland!" (editor's note: longtime Blog from the Bog readers know, of course, there ARE no raccoons in Ireland.)... So, I guess I must now warn you to look out for yet another rodent lurking in your yard (mole), grill/car/garage/desk/house (mouse) and now even on your roof!

Tracking rodents dead or alive every day,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth