Sunday morning I woke up early, looked at my clock, told my bladder to go back to sleep and quit whining and I passed out for a few more minutes. My bladder didn't stay asleep long, and when I opened my eyes to check how stinking early it was, I noticed that there were no red numbers on my clock.
I turned and looked at Rob's. Nope. None. Our electricity was out. There was not a new foot of snow and gale force winds were not whipping through the trees. Hmmm. Why? Unfortunate, methinks.
We have a well. And electronic ignition on our stove and furnace. No electricity = no heat, no water, NO COFFEE!!!! This is serious.
Fortunately, my bladder woke me so we could possibly get going, arrive on time, and still get coffee in us.
Unfortunately, I didn't plan for the electricity to take a powder and didn't know where the nearest flashlight was. Fortunately, there was just enough light that I might be able to read the power company's phone number. Unfortunately, dim lighting and font the size of insect footprints was not a good combination.
Fortunately, the others knew where a flashlight was. Unfortunately, we all needed showers (did I mention coffee?). Fortunately, 23 was pet-sitting at two houses, and she had to go to one of them anyway. She packed up her stuff (including her snacks for her Sunday School Valentine's Day party) and headed out. She gave us the keys and the alarm information for the second house. (Does this foreshadow anything for you?) I grabbed personal items and shoved them into a bag while Rob did the same. Unfortunately, this house was the one I grew up in and I knew it only had one shower. (Don't know how the five of us did that.) Fortunately, we were both wide awake and no one was likely to sleep during shower time. Fortunately, the alarm has this sweet key chain with four buttons. One you don't push unless you've been kidnapped or hijacked. That's the red button. 23 made sure to tell me multiple times about the red button. "Do NOT push that one!"
To be continued. Hey. I have to go to work.
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Sanguine is the next temperament I'm going to attempt to squeeze into a mere kitchen tool.
Sanguine is the party personality, the stay out late and sleep-in, pass the chips and dip temperament. Easily distracted, but oh-so-much fun. Short projects, tiny deadlines, things requiring direct, positive and to-the-point details, sanguines are your team cheerleaders.
So I've decided the kitchen whip is my best picture of sanguine.
Whips are used to froth, fill with air, fold and usually make some awesome party food. A meringue? You gotta whip it. Souffle? Ditto.
You aren't going to use the whip for comfort foods like stews and sauces or casseroles. You won't need a whip when preparing dinner or for grilling out. But, the whip brings color, sweetness and fun via sides and desserts. A party isn't a party without something fluffed or folded. Not essential to the basics or life and death issues, but essential for life as it is designed to be lived with colors, spices, scents, laughter and joy.
Kind of makes me want to go hang out with a sanguine. Just for a fresh breath, a new way of looking at things. Whip in the new and whoosh out the old air, quit looking at the clock and the deadlines and responsibilities for a bit.
For the moment, I'm disagreeing with Forrest Gump's Mama. Life isn't like a box of chocolates.
It's more like a high-stakes interactive video game.
While attempting to go from Point A (home base) to Point B (work) I believe I wracked up about 10K in points.
This is how.
Iowa Road Escapade, the game.
Rules:
1. Try to dodge obvious items on road. This can be people, animals and debris.
2. Try to avoid the hidden openings that will grab tires and, if you hit enough, will take you to another level altogether. The hidden openings are often referred to as potholes. Many are a foot deep and some will spread nearly across the entire lane of traffic requiring the driver to use evasive stunt-driving techniques or to just grit teeth and brace for contact.
3. The lives you get depe
nd on your tread, car size, wear and tear and how darn deep the pothole is.
Today's game:
While dodging potholes, hidden under chunks of snow, along the edge of roads, at apexes of driveways and disguised like simple black ice, I encountered a gaggle of turkeys. ( I was unable to take a picture due to the extremely dangerous encounter. But I am NOT kidding.)
Turkeys which I had to avoid.
This was not easy as they were meandering across one of our busier main through-ways. When I say meander, I mean meander. Slow turkey shuffles. An obvious entourage of one understudy male, a handful of adoring females and one alpha male with tail in full fan.
Yeah.
After the turkey encounter I dodged and weaved making it to work with only one direct hit.
Got to love Iowa roads. And I'm just thankful I'm not way northeast of here.
So. I've decided that there are probably kitchen tools (also other types of tools, but since I'm a woman and I spend lots of time in the kitchen, kitchen tools it is.) that fit each type of temperament and describe the pros and cons of each type pretty darn spot-on.
Since I'm very familiar with Melancholy, and this particular kitchen tool, we'll start there.
A slow-cooker aka Crock-Pot is a fabulous tool. I use all three of mine often. And I also have two teeny-tiny ones because you never know when you might need to simmer a small portion of something or other. I use my slow-cookers in the winter and fall. Spring and summer just don't quite cut it. Too many delicious and crispy green things, I guess. But in winter and fall, this little buggar is my right hand.
The beauty of this fabulous tool is that you can throw so many parts and pieces into them and shut the lid and then forget about it. Low for hours and hours and hours can bring forth the most tender meat and the best soups and sauces you'll ever let past your lips. Frozen, odds and ends, scraps, all of these tossed in to one of these ends up making a meal. Christmas Eve is soup night at my house and I'll sometimes start a soup on the afternoon of the 23rd just so the flavors marry and mix into true deliciousness. Chili and Pizza Soup. Stew. Hamburger/Potato soup. Spaghetti sauce. All of these scream for a slow-cooker.
But. Here's where the melancholy and slow-cooker collide. What's true of the slow-cooker-magic and not-so-much-magic is true for the melancholy. Melancholy's tend to take in all those odds and ends in life, things like comments, a non-verbal sign, interpretations, hurts -- and they pack them in their inner thoughts and kick on the heat. Sometimes, if the ingredients are good for a stew, what comes out is a very, very good thing. But other items make for a very, very bad combo and the length of cooking time can be death to relationships, not just an overcooked mush of a meal.
We melancholy's need to occasionally go outside ourselves and look for a nice salad. We don't need to pick up everything we see, every thoughtless comment, every issue outside of our control, every hurt, misunderstanding and slight and put it in our little Crock-Pot brain and cook it to death. There is a big world beyond what we can see and smell and taste and understand. Use your little slow cooker for good. It's a wonderful tool but it isn't appropriate for all meals or all seasons.
Put that in your pot and simmer it.
I've been thinking about personalities and personality conflicts of late.
Excuse me for a moment.
(Stop it...I'm not talking bout you, and you know who you are!)
Back to regularly scheduled comments.
I'm prone to melancholy, especially when I've had a run in with either a super melancholy, which leaves me wadded up in a corner like a much used bath towel, or a choleric which makes me feel a little like a pin cushion.
Let me give an overview of the four temperaments (Based on disgusting body fluids, mind you.) (Gag. Blood, biles and phlegm, should you want to know this information.)
Sanguine is the life is a party type.
Phlegmatic is the grown up first cousin to Sanguine. Has a lot of the even tempered sweetness but is a little more dependable and able to get right to the point when needed and the job done.
Choleric, well, these are your Type A classic first-borns, my way or the highway kind of people.
Then the melancholy's, those who wrestle with their thoughts, and others thoughts and sometimes spout something grand, but often are seen wearing black, brooding in the corner and writing poetry by the light of a candle. (I can poke fun since my bad days are spent here. and because it's my blog. ) : )
So. Think about this. I'll be back with more tomorrow. Not through running the thoughts through my Melancholic brain, or was it that I just saw something that looked like it might be more fun?
