Complete!

               My two commissioned book boxes are complete! I showed you the front covers last time but I’ll show you again as a refresher.

           My beautiful, feisty, redheaded neighbor, and best girl, Miss Rosie, had a basal cell cancer taken off her nose this week. Basal cell is the best kind of skin cancer you can have if you’re going to have skin cancer. It’s one hundred percent curable by taking the cancer off. Don’t take me to school on this, it’s what the news said last night because our President also had a basal cell cancer removed from his chest.

Thinking Miss Rosie may not be in the mood to bake anything for their dessert for a couple of days, I decided to make an orange cream cake, a recipe that came up on my Facebook feed.

The day before the surgery, the Kipps headed off to Johnson City, New York. There’s a specialist up there that could remove the cancer in layers and not butcher her tiny little nose in the process. The weather was expected to be bad so they went up and spent the night in a hotel — with a pool. And Lamar was happy about that. He’d be able to do something he doesn’t get to do very often. Go swimming.

Mike and I went shopping the morning of her surgery. I took pictures. The first stop was the carwash to get all the mud and dirt and salt off the car.

 

          We were heading for home when the call I’d been waiting for finally came in.

          “She’s all right,” handsome Lamar said. “We’re going to get something to eat before we head for home.”

          I needed a box of orange cake mix to make the orange cream cake and Walmart didn’t carry it.

          “Can we stop at Connie’s?” I asked.

          “What for?”

          We’d just been in three different stores, so I could understand why he asked. “Because I need a box of orange cake mix and Walmart didn’t have it.”

          Our little hometown grocery did carry it. I was surprised and pleased. I made a quick trip around the store picking up the other things I’d need for the cake.

          “Think the Kipps’ll be home?” Mike asked when we pulled onto our road.

          It had been around two when I got Lamar’s call and it was after four now. Yes. It really is a five-to-six-hour trip when we go shopping. “Maybe,” I said.

          Going past the Kipps’ house we could see that they weren’t home yet.

          “Robins!” I exclaimed as we passed Vernon's field. “Look at them all!” Mike was already past them before I could get my camera up for a picture. “Can you back up?” There’s at least eight of them in this photo and I know you can’t tell they’re robins but take my word for it, they are.

          Then we pull in our driveway and see a few more.

           “I didn’t have to back up for you,” Mike said. “They’re right here.”

          Making the cake took my mind off Miss Rosie, for a while anyway.

          “Make the orange cake according to the directions on the box but use milk instead of water,” the video tutorial said.       

          I don’t know what difference milk instead of water makes but even on the box it said you could do that. So, I did.

          “Bake and cool. Once it’s cool, poke holes with a wood skewer,” the lady said, but I don’t have any skewers. I went digging in my utensil drawers and came up with a straw.

          When I was done poking holes, I pinched the straw and squeezed out the cake for the little garbage-truck-trip-hazard that waits at my feet for me to drop something.

          Next, I poured orange Jell-O over the top and frosted it with a topping made from mandarin oranges, pudding mix, whipped topping, and coconut. Chill several hours or overnight.

          Around five I called to see if the Kipps were home yet. They weren’t.

          Five-fifteen I called again and they still weren’t home.

          “Mike, I’m worried about the Kipps. They should’ve been home by now.”

          “Do you think they got in an accident?” he asked.

          “I don’t know, but I think they would’ve called if that happened.” Unless they couldn’t, but I didn’t say that part.

          I tried their cell phones but they went right to voice mail. It was around five-thirty, and just before I was getting ready to have a full-blown panic attack and start calling their daughters, when Miss Rosie picked up the house phone.

          “You didn’t have to worry,” Miss Rosie said. “We couldn’t pick Tux up until five so we were just killing time until we could get him.”

          It wouldn’t’ve been prudent to come home and run out an hour later to get Tux considering the distance to the kennel and the cost of gas. Especially since they drive right past it on their way home.

          The next morning, on our daily love call, I told Miss Rosie, “I made you cake.”

          “Aww, you didn’t have to do that,” she said.

          “I didn’t think you’d feel much like baking. How about if we come down around two after Gunsmoke’s over? Will you be up for a visit?”

          “Sure,” she said.

          The snow was gone and the afternoon was mild. “It’s nice out,” Mike said. “You wanna go for a ride up to the well site?”

          I glanced at the time. It was one o’clock. “You’re not watching Gunsmoke?”

          “Nah. Let’s go check out the well.”

          I made a cup of travel coffee, grabbed my long lens, and off we went.

          “They must’ve taken a full sandbox off and he’s waiting for an empty one,” Mike said. “I’d like to see that.”

          We waited and nothing was happening.

          “Let’s go up on the hill. We can see the whole pad from up there.”

          It was interesting watching the men move about, watching the water and sand trucks coming and going.

          I saw the dumpster was almost full and wondered what kind of trash they were throwing away.

          I watched this guy climb up the back of a tank, lift the lid, and put the dipstick in to check the level of whatever was inside.

          After he checked this one, he checked the one right behind it, too.

          “Are you about ready?” I asked. “We have a two o’clock date.”

          We were heading out when we see a forklift with a sandbox loading the truck Mike wanted to watch them load. By the time we got to where we had a good view, it was done.

          “They have to be locking them in,” Mike said. “But I don’t see how.”

          “There’s something there because he’s walking around doing something.”

          We get home, I run in to pick up the cake, and we dash off to the Kipps.

          Miss Rosie had a big ol’ bandage on her nose.

          “I want to see what’s under it,” you say.

          I know, right! Me too! But Miss Rosie thought it would be better not to do that today.

“How are you?” I asked.

          “Not too bad,” she said. “I’m taking ibuprofen for the pain.”

          She was awake for the whole thing and she told us how they cut a flap to use as a graft. “And they said I might wake up with my eye swollen shut this morning, but it wasn’t.”

          I cut the cake I’d brought and we chatted as we ate.

          “It’s good,” both Kipps said.

          I’m not crazy about it but it was something new and different to try.

          “While you’re here, do you want to take a picture of the bird you made for me?” Miss Rosie asked.

          “Sure. Where is it?”

          “We hung it by the bathroom door.”

          So, this is the cute fat little guy I made for Valentine’s Day. With a little luck, I’ll get a few more made and passed around to friends before next Valentine’s Day.

          “Even though Valentine’s has come and gone, you’re still gonna make them?” you ask.

          I am. I don’t think anyone will complain when I give them one, no matter what time of the year it is, and we can laugh about my lateness.

          I left most of the cake with the Kipps and took enough home send a piece down to West Virginia.

          I have to laugh. The last time I sent a piece of cake was when I made the pecan cake. I put it in a plastic container thinking it would be protected from being smushed. And it was. But it didn’t protect it from being shaken and stirred. This is what it looked like when it got there.

          “It was still good,” Trish said.

          This time, I’m trying to figure out how to keep it better intact. Maybe wrapping it in foil before I put it in the container? Packing the container the rest of the way full with stuffing? I’ve got a full bag here that Raini and Bondi have been making for her.

          And I made a couple of other glass pieces this week. I made my chief editor a pretty bird.

          And for Trish I made a rubber duckie. I gave him a Roman nose on purpose. I think it makes him look more regal. However, I’m having second thoughts. What do you think? Do you like it or should I take it off and make it more traditional?

          Both these guys still need their eyes painted on.

          Another recipe came across my Facebook feed that looked interesting.

          “What now?” you ask.

          This time it was for Oat Fudge. It sounded simple enough to make and I had all the ingredients. I had it in my head I could use that as filler between the cake and the lid of the container in the package I’m getting ready to ship off to West Virginia.

          The recipe says, and I quote, “...pour into a greased eight-inch square baking pan that has been lined with parchment paper.”

          Why would I grease the pan then put in parchment paper, I wondered, tumbling it over in my mind. Then I read it again. Maybe it means to grease the parchment paper?

          I called Miss Rosie and read it to her. “Why would you grease it then add parchment paper?” she mused.

“I know, right! That’s the way I read it, too. But I think you could read it another way, too.”

“It seems to me that the parchment paper is to keep it from sticking, so why grease it? When I make my fudge, I just use butter to coat the pan and don’t worry about lifting it out. I cut it right in the pan.”

I didn’t care about lifting it out either so I just buttered the pan.

I was following the directions and it says, and again I quote, “...bring to a boil. Boil three minutes and remove from heat.”

          S’kay.

It starts to boil and I waited until it was a full boil (as my beautiful mama calls it) before I start timing it. Three minutes, I take it off the heat, stir in vanilla, oats, nuts, and pour it in the buttered pan. It was starting to set up and that’s when I knew it was overcooked.

Friday night, Miss Rosie calls me. “My brother just saw a white cardinal with red on the tip on his cone, wing, and tail.”

“It sounds like an albino cardinal.” I’ve heard of them before.

“But wouldn’t an albino be all white?” Miss Rosie asked.

“No. It still has some color.”

Once the Oat Fudge cooled, I cut a piece. It’s hard and crumbly. I tasted it and I’m not impressed. Nonetheless, I had to taste it three more times just to make sure I didn’t like it.

Saturday morning, on my morning love call, I read Miss Rosie the directions and asked for her interpretation.  

“I think when it comes to a full boil you start timing it,” she said.

“That’s what I thought, too! It’s overcooked and not that great, but I’ll bring you a piece anyway.”

“We have to change my bandage this morning. You wanna see it?” she asked.

Boy, did I! I tried to contain my excitement. “What time?”

“Probably after Lamar comes back from walking Tux. Around ten?” she said.

I printed pictures of albino cardinals, dished up some of the fudge, and just before ten we headed for the Kipps. I gave Miss Rosie the pictures I’d printed as we sat down at the table.

“That does look like what my brother described to me,” Miss Rosie said.

She had her bandage off and I took pictures of it. It doesn’t look too bad.

“How many stitches did you get?” I asked.

“He said twenty-five, I think.”

“What’s that in your nose?” I asked. I hadn’t seen it before.

“It’s to keep my nose open while it heals and to help me breathe,” Miss Rosie said.

“Does it feel like you’ve got boogers in your nose?” Trust me to get to the nitty-gritty.

“Not too bad. And besides not bending over, I’m not allowed to blow my nose either.”

“Do you leave the bandage off so it can get some air?” I asked.

“No and as a matter of fact, they want me to put Vaseline on it and keep it covered so it doesn’t dry out.”

Mike handed Lamar the fudge to taste.

“Tell her how you like it,” Mike prompted.

“Why?” Lamar asked. “She’s already made up her mind about it.”

“I don’t like it,” I said putting my hand on my chest for emphasis. “What do you think of it?”

“It’s not too bad,” Lamar said.

“Boy, have I got some fudge for you!” I was thinking I’d be tossing it out to see if the birds would eat it. It’s got the oats and nuts in it that the birds should like. But if Lamar likes it and wants to eat it, he can have it!

Miss Rosie goes back in ten days to get the stitches out. Not ten days from now, ten days from when they were put in, but I bet you knew that.

We’re winding down this week’s jibber-jabber and I’ve only got a few little items left to share with you.

Raini got another box to tear up. She does a good job, doesn’t she‽

I actually don’t mind. It keeps her busy doing something she likes to do.

And Raini is so smart! She sees everything and remembers.

When I go out to burn the burnables, if the weather is halfway decent, I take that time to clean up the dog poop from the yard. I wasn’t aware of it being a habit because I don’t think I do it every time I burn the papers but it must be often enough.

I burned the papers this week. Brought the cans back to the patio, and when I turned to get the rake and shovel from the wall, there was Raini waiting for me.

I laughed.

“You silly girl!” I told her.

She tries to help but grabbing the rake isn’t really all that helpful, and considering what I use it for, I don’t really want her putting that dirty thing in her mouth.

“Stop!” I tell her and lift the rake out of reach. That only tempts her to jump for it and I don’t want her doing that either because she still limps and hops on three legs. I have to scold her several times before she knows I mean it.

The very last thing I want to tell you this week is something you may already know about me.

“What’s that?” you ask.

I like happy endings. I don’t care what anyone says. Sad or ambiguous endings aren’t for me. I want a movie that leaves me happy, where I don’t have to guess what happens, where love wins out, and good triumphs over evil.

This week we watched a movie from 1974 with Lee Marvin and Ronnie Howard.

About halfway through, Mike says, “This isn’t going to end well.”

And it doesn’t.

Are there really people out there who like movies like this?

Oh wait! That wasn’t the very last thing. I decided to look through the file where I put the pictures for this week’s letter blog and I found this one.

“What is it?” you ask.

This, my loves, is the very first Red-winged Blackbird that I’ve seen this year.

“They’re a better sign of spring than the robins,” Miss Rosie told me once.

I guess spring is on the way!

Let’s call this one done!