any molds. Fact is, I come from odd stock. They're really nice, entertaining
people; just odd, but I digress...
Sunday we went to morning church in Eli and then joined the church my
parents go to in Merriman Sunday evenings. My eldest cousin, Brett, had a
life-transforming conversion to Christ a couple of years ago and I still get
a strange, though good feeling watching him play fiddle for worship. He and
his wife, Diane, don't miss church and are very vocal about how Christ has
completely changed their lives. Watching a quiet, gritty cowboy like Brett
(he even has the black handlebar mustache) praise God with everything he is
is a beautiful sight.
Out here, everyone has to drive quite a distance to get to church so people
often bring food for church and Bible study so you can have a bite of
snack/supper afterwards. This week there was a wonderful chicken/cheese dip
with nachos and a BBQ sausage dish. I took some of both. It was obvious that
the sausage in the BBQ dish was some sort of venison, though my hunch came
from texture alone since it didn't have a tell tale gamey flavor. On the
ride home, my dad looked at mom and said something to the effect of, "I'm
not sure what the whole possum dish thing was about." POSSUM!!! Now I can
add possum to the list of odd foods I've encountered in my life. I must say,
I prefer possum to bear or moose...at least that particular recipe.
This week has been a rather hard one for my mom and grandmother in
particular. The end of last week my mom's cousin died very suddenly from
complications arising from a routine check-up. Joni was only 52 years old
and was the youngest of my mom's cousins. I didn't happen to throw in
anything appropriate for a funeral, though I probably should have since I've
gone to a funeral six out of the last eight trips I've made back home. Of
course my mom had tons of patterns and extra fabric she keeps on hand, so I
spent Monday afternoon making a black skirt to wear to the funeral on
Wednesday. It was easier and took less time to whip out a skirt than drive
into town and hope there was something decent for a decent price. You gotta
love living in the middle of nowhere.
My parents always have a bunch of cats hanging around. Of course, lots of
cats mean there are always MORE cats with each new litter. Right now my
folks' cat population is down to on tom and one female who are both from the
same litter. Since dad is kind of concerned about having dumb cats because
of inbreeding, he decided to get the tom cat neutered. My uncle Rich offered
to do it for free, but considering the fact he's about as much of a vet as I
am, dad figured it would be more humane to take "floofball" to an actual
vet. Ian, being the animal lover, opted to go with dad and console floofball
on the 45 minute trip to the vet and then back again. He told my mom he'd
never seen an actual animal doctor and really wanted to. It was an
educational day for Ian as the vet is of the retired variety and does his
vet work out of the back of his pickup truck. I think I now understand why
they usually keep animals for "observation" after they do stuff like that.
Floof looked like a dead cat for about four hours. It was starting to get
concerning. He's such a nice ol' cat and the thought of losing him over
something as stupid as a simple neutering job was not one mom and I were
liking. Finally, after about four to five hours, he started twitching his
ears to get the flies off and eventually woke up enough to close his eyes
and sleep like a normal cat. (He laid rigid with his eyes open that initial
4 to 5 hours. It was a little freaky.) This morning my dad found him
sleeping in the box with the two turtles the boys captured. I guess he was
lonely. He seems none the worse for his horrid experience, though the
kittens don't like him anymore. Poor floofball...
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