lenny

This is Lenny.  Lenny is our cook.  And as you know, I like to give people nicknames to protect their anonymity, if they so care.  So, why did I name him Lenny?  A book, I've alluded to before, Of Mice and Men, has a character named Lenny.  And you see, Lenny is...special.  He's big.  Like our Lenny.  And he has this bad habit of loving things a little too...roughly.  Which means, when he's holding a bunny, he ends up killing it.  Our Lenny?  He has that effect on kitchen utensils.  He loves them.  He really does.  He just loves them a little too...much.

The other thing about our Lenny?  He almost didn't get hired here.  Why?  Ellen couldn't hear a word he was saying.  Oh he's not quiet.  He's just...distracting.

Let's start at at the top and work our way down.  

First of all, he's got this on his neck.  What is it you ask?  It's a deer skull.

It wraps around to his head.  Apparently he did wear a cap to his interview.  He wasn't sure whether the hat would be worse manners or showing the tattoos.  Apparently it didn't matter.  Ellen still knew they were under there and couldn't focus.

 

Even with long sleeves, this leopard shows his spots.  

But really, he's more recognizable with this - a bottle of Jameson.  His signature drink.

  

This arm is pretty neat.  You see, Lenny is a man of many talents.  While he makes his "real" living by owning a couple of bars in California, his passion is as an "exotic" animal trainer.  And the full zoo can be found on this arm.  When you have some time, you can explore all the animals that collide with each other.

Now, you might also notice the cast on his hand. You can blame us for that.  Yep, sure can.  Lenny is not afraid of animals, obviously (he's trained lions and tigers and bears, oh my!), so we've been teaching him to ride.  Except that when we were loping, and I turned around to let him know that the people in front of me were stopping, he pulled his reins back and to the left.  Cimarron (her real name), did what he asked and stopped to the left.  Except Lenny continued going right.  Right over the side.  In the process, his middle finger got caught in the reins.  And broke it.  

Broke it good.  

But those surgeons fixed it good, too.  Like the pins?

Fortunately, he forgave us.  And he still loves us.  And still cooks for us.  And for that, we love him.  Ok, so we love him anyhow.  But I just wanted you to know we love his cooking.  A lot.

So this is him in all his glory.  In fact, this is his self-imposed uniform.  I think the most I've ever seen him vary from this is black jeans.  He had to get some new ones, since he ripped a pair.  

There you have it.  Just like last summer, once Georgia leaves, I realize I haven't done any meet 'n greets.  So I'll get going on them.  And they'll be farewells instead of meetings!

the three little...

!!!!PIGS!!!!

Remember a few weeks ago (ok, let's be honest, it was about two months ago), I promised you a surprise?  And then it didn't happen?  Well, a month ago, it did!  (The dichotomy of a blog?  The more you have to blog about, the less time you have to blog!)

Here's the story.

I have always wanted a pig.  At least I can remember being 7 and wanting a pig.  You see, they have what they call a  greased pig contest at the Lincoln County Fair every year for girls of a certain age.  I'm pretty sure starting at 7 and ending around 11.  And for those of you who know me, I'm of a slight build...always have been.  But some of those farm girls are pretty stout.  So I never caught one.  I'd be happy when I had grease on my hand to prove I'd touched one.

My dad almost bought me one, but somehow, he changed his mind.

20 years later (please don't do the math...), I still wanted one, which means I've been working on Dan for over a year to get pigs.  But it wasn't until Dow came into the picture, that Dan finally caved.

But let's get this out there before you read any further and fall in love with the pigs.  The only way I was getting a pig, with my dad and or Dow, was that we would eat them when they're full grown.  And it doesn't take pigs long to get full grown.  So there you have it.  Yes, we are going to eat these pigs.  I'm sorry.  -- Check back in about 6 months and I show you some great pork recipes!  (Was that too much?  Sorry.  Sometimes city and country humor just doesn't cross over...)

The first night they got here, they were scared to death, but within the first week, they became friendly.

So without further ado, let's meet the three little pigs!

This is Sally.  She's the runt.

And Miss Piggy.  Original, I know, but I couldn't come up with anything else.

Finally, Brutus.  The original name.  You see, before we got the pigs, I cleverly gave them Shakespearean names.  And Dow told me they'd be males, so one was "Oedipig Rex" or Rex for short, and "Eat you, Brute?" or Brutus for short.  (My dad was just glad that one was Pig Latin.)  But we ended up with two females and only one male, so I had to come up with names on the fly.  Don't ask me where Sally came from!

And if there's any doubt in your mind where the term "being a pig" came from, check this out.

But you have to admit...they're undeniably cute!

Not to mention a dream come true!!!

guilt

I'm thinking that maybe I should consider becoming Catholic.  Guilt comes so naturally to me!  It's been darn near a month since I blogged last and I'm not sure if I should feel guiltier about that or about the fact that I haven't run since that last blog.  I just hope that my body is as forgiving as you are!

I've got two blog posts started from a month ago...which hopefully will get posted soon.  Hopefully, right?

But let me tell you, in the meantime, what has kept me so busy since then.

I kept one of my tutoring students and she brought on a friend for the summer.  Uff!  Remind me not to do that again next summer if I'm still dude ranching!  This job is really a job and a half, without adding anything else to it.  Anyhow, last week was their final, which means crunch time.

And...now Floridian friends, please do not kill me on several accounts (here comes the guilt again...).  I was in Florida last week.  Why, you ask?  Because my roommate up and got married on me.  And moved out.  Seriously.  Dow and I discussed my options and we decided that I wasn't comfortable enough to have random Craigslist strangers in there without anyone I knew there to supervise.  I mean, all of my stuff was there for goodness sake!

Sooooo...we flew down, painted the crazy wall. 

Made it the same neutral color as the front room.

Packed everything up, sold what we could (including the piano).  Pressure-washed the exterior of the house.  Shoved everything into a storage unit.  And turned it over to the property manager who will hopefully rent it to a retired couple who has nothing better than to take care of their house and yard.  A girl can dream, right?

And the only people who knew we were there was Little Jessica, my Florida dad, and my friend who lent us the pressure washer.

May I just tell you that I think we worked harder in the 5 days we were there then we do here...and we work darn hard here!  We're exhausted.

So, if you will, please forgive me, so I can go on with my life.  And I'll be guilt-free...

...until my next confession.