Notes from the Hitchin' Post

Well hello readers! Sorry it's been so long! I'm as good at blogging as I am at keeping a journal. Well, better, considering I've now written TWICE. Where to start... where to start. Things are... blooming. And growing!  Relationships are hard work! But worth it, especially when you're with someone as glorious and forgiving as Will. Take last night,  for example. We stayed up way past midnight watching season 3 of "Dexter". (The season with Miguel Prado!) "Dexter" is about a very moral, good-hearted serial killer. It is a phe-freaking-nominal show, but sometimes a little spooky. Which is why I thought it would be funny to sneak into the pitch black living room and crouch behind the front door, so that I could jump out at Will when he came back inside from letting Bailey out.  (He thought I was in the shower.) And... Wow! I've never heard a grown man scream with such guttural ferocity. I think I may have found this way more hysterical than he did, gauging by my goose-honking and his slightly annoyed half-chuckle. But he totally forgave me when I choked out my apology between honks. He's a good guy, that Will. Slightly afraid of the dark, but hey, who isn't? 

What else have we been up to? "Shear" pleasures. Literally!

What a handsome boy he is! Oh yes he is! Oh yes he is!

Here's all the fur. There was a lot, fur sure.

And here's what you look like after giving your boy a haircut out on the porch when you live in a state that is actually hotter than the surface of the sun:

Bailey was shearly delighted with his new do. So we decided to shear the love and get Will dandied up, too.

I made his stylist a little nervous with all the picture taking. This is Will laughing when she asked if she should be worried about me. When you laugh, it tends to relax your victims. 

Here's all of Will's fur. There was a lot, fur sure. Furtunately I got this picture. So nobody will ever furget. 

Will did so well at the hair salon that I thought we needed a treat.

 

I do love me some Culver's. Best caramel cashew sundae in the land, mmm-hmmm.

Will likes the turtle sundae.  

Which is not made with turtles.

Which reminds me of how Will always saves the lives of turtles he sees ambling whimsically across the road. It is an extremely endearing trait. Here's one he reached too late, tragically. Notice the despair on his face. I don't think he's ever gotten over it.

But back to ice cream. Can you believe, loyal reader, that there do not appear to be any homemade ice cream shops in Joplin, the hottest city on the face of the earth? I had this great idea to open one with Will. We'd call it "Ike and Zeke's" after our twin boys, Isaiah and Ezekiel. Flavor ideas literally DANCED in my melon. "Rock, Chalk, Jayhawk" would be comprised of strawberries, blackberries, lemon zest, and sea salted caramel chunks. (!) Real maple syrup would make a dramatic appearance with Grape Nuts and cinnamon glazed walnuts... Oh, it was a grand, grand idea. Local musicians playing every Friday,  local artists' work adorning the walls... An organic cow with a purple kerchief in the kitchen that Will and I would milk each morning before sitting down to our piping hot oats... BUT. Will doesn't think opening an ice cream shop is his forté. And I'm not sure my math and business know-how are quite up to par... yet. So it is a dream deferred. For now. If any of you would like to come help me launch my dream, just ring. No, don't do that, I won't pick up. Send me an email and I will write you back. No really, I will! Speaking of a dream deferred, did you know that Langston Hughes was born in Joplin? I can't seem to find any landmarks, but apparently there is a street named after him. I will try to hunt it down for you. 

Have I mentioned how much I love Bailey? He goes with me everywhere. Everywhere! Last week we went to the farmers' market in Webb City. It is proudly hailed, Webb City.

The farmers' market wasn't too shabby. Nothing organic, but... here's hoping the produce wasn't too contaminated with gene-altering chemicals. Rest assured, I always soak my produce in 91% ethyl alcohol, so we should be all good. Here are some more pictures.

If you can believe it, these guys were playing the old Beastie Boys classic, "(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (To Party)".

Which, by the way, is simply beautiful on xylophone.

Near the farmers' market, Bailey and I caught wind of this crazed trolley. It must've been going 120 mph. Later we heard there'd been a bank robbery in town and the robbers had gotten away by... you guessed it! (That's actually the same exact train car President Lincoln spoke from in 1863.)

 

If it hadn't been for all of the garlic and basil in our arms, we'd have jumped aboard and captured the bandits who'd hijacked Lincoln's train. But we exchanged pleasantries with this kneeling miner instead. 

He warned us to tread lightly up the path, for we mustn't awaken the sleeping giant who lives in the hill behind the train tracks.

Too late! We ran for our lives! All the way home!

Where I made stir-fry with all my new vegetables.

Have I mentioned how hot it is in Joplin? Even the sun refuses to vacation here- claims the temperature is "too oppressive". Which is why I decided soup would be a great thing to make for dinner a few nights ago. Bailey was all, "Are you out of your bleeping mind? Soup? Really? Really?"

I explained that it would cook itself and we wouldn't even have to light the stove. He hurrumphed, and offered little in the way of a blessing.

I'd been wanting to make dal for quite sometime. Lentils are tasty, tasty little creatures. Mark-to-the-Bittman had a bewitching post about an experience making dal last week, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I'd also stocked up on a bunch of Indian spices from Savory Spice before leaving Denver, and was fonchin' at the bit to use them. Here's my first ever batch of dal. It was DALicious.

I also made this garlic naan by hand!

Okay, not really. I got it from this great guy in Santa Fe. His name's Joe. And he's a Trader. I wish he'd move to KC or Denver, I really do. Wistful sigh. He makes some damn good garlic naan. You won't be NAAN-PLUSSED by it at all. So about that... Megan, Jenn, Sun-Young, Carrie and my traitorous boyfriend, Will, ALL claim that the saying is "non-plussed". Jenn even heard George Stephanopoulos say it once, and immediately texted me to gloat. My entire life I've used the phrase, "non-pulsed". Even in kindergarten. I told Mrs. Beaver (real name!) that I was non-pulsed by her animal crackers. Doesn't it make more sense than non-plussed? If you're non-pulsed by something, your pulse isn't beating because you are that non-excited by it. How non-excited? Your heart can't even muster a beat! Hence, non-pulsed.  Get it? I mean, what's a non-plus?

 A truly bad description for something you don't like. Of that, I am certain. In fact, I'm pretty non-pulsed by it.

You know who isn't non-pulsed? Will the Go-Getter. Look at this amp cabinet he made in ONE DAY. He woke up, expressed a desire to go to Lowe's, bought lumber and tools, and six hours later he'd hand-crafted this  beautiful, sturdy cabinet for his amp. He is such a rock star. And he did it all on a Saturday that was so hot the drill bits were melting, even as they lay in the shade of the porch.

Notice my leg? I worked diligently, offering invaluable tips, advice, encouragement and support... from the sofa. It was hard work, but that's what it takes to succeed, my friends. I am driven.

The finished product!

Will rocks on with his bad self. AND his fly amp.

Can you find the amp making its debut at band practice in this picture? There will be prizes for the first three correct responses!

So, that's the story for now, loyal readers. There are a few more details, like this cherry chicken salad I made one night:

But Will wasn't a fan. Here's Bailey imitating Will's reaction:

Harsh! But all's well. We are a happy family. We walk.

We nap.

And dream up our adventures for tomorrow!

Until next time, loyal readers! I'll soon be reporting from the mystical land of Kansas City.  May your days be filled with more moments of joy than Carter's got pills, and we'll see you 'round the hitchin' post!