Name Those Eggs! “Pilgrim”; Photo Contest Part 3; Snicklefritz? Lutefisk...

Okay, here is a breakfast identification question. Look carefully at these before and after photos (Wednesday’s breakfast here at Ty’s Diner) and tell me the name used for this delicious treat in your home and where that was. For the visually challenged, these are eggs fried in a hole in liberally buttered bread. The rectangular holes are also fried in butter and then liberally plastered with jam, jelly, honey or preserves. In my house in New Orleans, the eggs were called “toads in holes”; in Suzanne’s house in West Chester, PA, they were called “peek-a-boo eggs”. I’m interested in finding out what other names they were given, and in what parts of the country. You can comment on the blog, or if that doesn’t work, simply email me at ftgiesemann@aol.com and I’ll provide a summary in a day or two. 

“Pilgrim” in the blog title doesn’t refer to a movie by John Wayne, but to a song about finding your true self, by the incredible Irish singer Enya, which I am listening to as I type. It is my favorite song, and if you haven’t heard it, I hope you will listen to it. “Only Time” is also a winner, and when you hear it, you will likely recall hearing it in the days after 9-11. (See Enya’s album, A Day Without Rain, which is spectacular.) Some people consider her music New Age, but I think it is “for the ages”...  

Okay, contestants, here is Part 3 of this week’s Photo Contest:

Photo #5: What ship is this, what war did she fight in, and where is she now? 

Photo # 6: Where is this woman, and what the heck is she doing?  

I was insulted today. My good friend Terri from the Frozen North sent me a missive calling me a Snicklefritz and accusing me of "talkin' smack" about her fair state of Minnesota. Snicklefritz apparently is a Pennsylvania Dutch word for a mischievous or overly talkative child. As I read on, she discussed the "hot and horribly steamy summers" in the Land of 10,000 Lakes. She sent some photos of flowers on her deck and some tiny lake named Superior (isn't that a rather presumptous title?) that must have been taken in warmer climes, but worst  of all, she mentioned the local lutefisk, and implied that I was "Fish Challenged". (She broke my heart with this barb.) 

Okay, Sweetheart, gloves are off. Let's talk fish... lutefisk! “A Norwegian Treat”... that is how Terri's Minnesnowtan favorite, lutefisk, was described to us when we visited the Sons of Norway Hall in the Norwegian town of Poulsbo, Washington. For those unfamiliar with lutefisk, it is white fish prepared with lye. (Yes, lye.) Here is the abbreviated recipe: soak fish in cold water for 5 days, then in a water and lye mixture for 2 days. It should now be a jelly-like consistency with a pH of 11-12, caustic, about the same as ammonia. (Doesn’t this sound revolting?) 

Wash in water for a few more days, then, finally, cook with birch ash, cool, and spread layers of salt over the fish and serve to guests along with large amounts of grain alcohol. Never serve with silver, as the lutefisk will destroy silver. Make sure to remove all traces of lutefisk from plates and pans before going to bed, as lutefisk will corrode all metals known to man in a matter of hours, and on china will become impossible to remove if left overnight. (Imagine what this does to your stomach lining!) Legend has it that the Vikings’ use of lutefisk as a biological weapon of mass destruction caused whole populations of Central Europeans to flee in terror. When it was used in England, the Saxons thought it was delicious. (That is why there are no English restaurants outside of that country.) Here is what Garrison Keillor says about lutefisk: "It looks like the desicated cadavers of squirrels run over by trucks... it is not edible by normal people."

One of the best uses of lutefisk is to drive a family of raccoons from underneath your house. However, you run the risk of a family of Norwegians taking the place of the raccoons. 

Quiz Info; Ice Flower; Photo Quiz Part 2; Sushi and Kirin! “Take 4 Pills Before Sx...”

Okay, I’ve started getting some quiz responses, which means that I didn’t make one point clear: please hold your answers until the last day and then send all 10 answers to me directly in a single email at ftgiesemann@aol.com. If you post them on the blog, you may be giving out some hard-earned points to other players.

Also, yesterday’s flower picture is not part of the quiz. I just didn’t know what they were. I thought they might be pansies, and that flower got 4 votes (Terri, Jennifer, Lynn and Flo), but Bob thinks they are Johnny Jump Ups (viola cornut).  I didn’t keep any samples for analysis by the Horticultural Society, so the final decision is up to The Big Gardener in the Sky, and He/She hasn’t spoken up (down?) yet. Here is the photo again for info. 

As an aside, I wondered how Terri from the Frozen North knew flowers, since the permafrost up in Minnesnowta doesn’t melt until July 31^st, and freeze-up usually occurs around August 3^rd, not giving flowers much of a season. I have heard anecdotally that there is one subspecies of flower, Flora frigidus Minneapolis, that can actually bud and bloom during the state’s 361 day winter; regrettably, it hasn’t been sighted in a decade or so because of the perpetual snowdrifts covering the state. Fortunately, there are several photos from the archives of the National Horticultural Museum and a few hardy specimens struggling to survive in a hothouse in St Paul. (This photo is actually identified as an ice flower, even though the rest of the information in this paragraph could be called apocryphal.)

Photo Quiz Part 2: Here are Photos 3 and 4 of this week’s 10-photo, 5 part quiz. Don’t forget that a few descriptive words (whether or not they are correctly related to the photo in question) will probably help in this contest. Imagination could well be the tie-breaker!

Photo # 3: Who is this, where did he live, and why is he famous?

 

Photo # 4: Where is this location, and what are these rock formations called?

 

Last night was a treat - we had sushi and Kirin Ichiban beer during a delightful dinner out with Michelle and John Uss, folks from Connecticut who are staying in The Villages for a couple of months. They have wintered down here since 2008, and are looking forward to finishing the W word (that’s spelled w-o-r-k... c’mon, all you retirees out there remember what that was, don’t you?). Michelle had attended a talk that Suzanne had presented to the Virginia Trace Ladies Club; then Michelle and John attended Suzanne’s S.O.A.R! Workshop last week. It was great getting to know them both; Michelle is a gifted pianist, but has a day job as a realtor. John is Michelle's paperwork gopher, sign poster, and all-around dog'sbody. Oh, and he has a realtor's license as well, but he is really a sailor. I don’t often get to hear sailing stories anymore, and John had some good ones, like when he got hit in the head with the sailboat’s boom. That’s why it’s named that, John. We will overlook who had the wheel when this incident occured. It didn’t seem to affect his sense of humor, but he did have this little twitch that worried me a bit.... This photo is of us and Uss’... (I know they have never heard that one before...) 
 

I will close with a brief recounting of my recent discussion with a cute, young, buxom nurse at the dentist’s office.  “Sir, you have to take these antibiotics before your procedure. Here is the prescription.” “Thanks, Buffy, let me make sure I can understand the directions... let’s see, take four pills before sex? Is that right? Ha-ha... snort...”  Lovely nurse Buffy instantly mutated into Nurse Diesel from "High Anxiety", gave me a withering look and said, “Sir, Sx is an abbreviation for surgery, not sex.” “Oh. Sorry... I’ll just see myself out...”  (I related this episode to My Lovely Bride, and strangely enough, not only didn't she laugh, but she threw a shoe at me. Women... I will never understand them.)


 

Loudmouth! Photo Quiz Part 1; Flowers; Kerfuffle

While w-a-l-k-i-n-g Rudy and Gretchen in t-o-w-n today, I was almost blinded by the bright colors of a shirt and shorts being worn by a visitor to The Villages. Dan, a resident of West Palm Beach, is obviously used to the brighter, more flamboyant lifestyle and dress code of the Miami area than the staid, “quaint” style here in The Villages. I’m not sure if he chose this color pattern because (1) he was afraid his golfing partners in the scramble might not be able to see him, thus risking being struck by an errant Srixon golf ball; (2) when he’s not on the golf course, he’s out bird hunting with former Vice President Dick Cheney, or (3) he is color blind. In any case, his two partners were chuckling about my asking if I could take his picture for the blog, and they were quick to step out of the camera’s field of view, probably since they were dressed like normal people (but what is "normal", really, but “boring”, like Your Faithful Correspondent). My hat is off to Dan, who said that I could get a set of shorts like these from www.loudmouth.com . (Thanks, Dan, but I’m afraid they’re not “me”... but I did like the looks of a set of mini-skorts... not for me, but for Corvette Chick!) 

This week’s quiz is a bit different than normal... but then isn’t everything on this blog? I guarantee that it will be easier than the last one. We start today with 2 photographs. There will be four more sets of photos, for a total of ten (10) for those who are arithmetically challenged. Your objective, should you choose to play, is to identify each photograph with a simple description (max of 20 words, please; we don’t need the Great American Novella here.) If you don’t have a clue as to its identity and/or location, then just make something up. There will be two winners: the one with the most correct answers and the one with the most original answers, even if they are totally wacko.  And yes, you can have a mix of the two, so you’d be crazy not to enter!

Okay, Photo # 1. Here is a hint: it is NOT in Europe. 

                                                                     And now, Photo # 2 (the bird, not the tree): 

Flowers of the Day: I wanted to add these just because they struck me as beautiful. I don't have a clue as to what they are, since I never grew flowers. If any would like to identify them, just drop me an email at ftgiesemann@aol.com.  

Our word for the day is kerfuffle n. U.K. a noisy disturbance or commotion (informal) [Early 19^th C. Origin uncertain: perhaps from Gaelic car “twist” + Scots fuffle “fuss”, similar in meaning to "getting your knickers in a twist".] Example of use: “My goodness, Margaret, that American chap is creating a kerfuffle at the front desk.”  “It’s simply shocking, Louise; these colonials just don’t know how to behave in polite society, do they?” (Actually overheard by My Lovely Bride in reference to a disturbed American at the Cooper Island Beach Club, British Virgin Islands, 1999. The American in question was subsequently identified as Your Faithful Correspondent.)  

Senior Chief Terrell Horne, USCG

This is a very sad post. The latest hero in the war against illegal drugs fell recently when murdered by Mexican drug smugglers off Southern California. Senior Chief Petty Officer Terrell Horne, US Coast Guard, was in a small rigid inflatable boat (RIB) chasing a larger go-fast drug smuggling panga when the smugglers turned and rammed the Coast Guard boat head-on. The panga rode over the Coast Guard RIB, striking Senior Chief Horne in the head with its propeller, killing him, and throwing the crew into the water. The RIB was from the 87 foot cutter Halibut, and Senior Chief Horne was its second-in-command, and beloved by the entire crew. His widow was expecting their second child.  



Under the kinder and gentler policies of the current administration, the Mexican smugglers/murderers were subdued with pepper spray and apprehended when they ran out of fuel, rather than being shot on the spot. They will be tried in a US court with all of the rights of US citizens. They may spend a few years in prison, but will have cable TV, a weight room, free medical and dental care, spiritual advisers, and get a college degree before being released early on good behavior, and then will probably apply for US citizenship, job placement and/or welfare. Mrs. Horne will have to raise her two children alone, without their father to help cut out funny pumpkin faces, hold them on his lap, or watch them graduate from high school. 

The so-called "recreational" drug users who paid these drug smugglers/murderers will continue to enjoy their marijuana and not give a second thought to Senior Chief Horne and his family, who will have precious little recreation to console them. Shame on them. And shame on our society for allowing this unspeakable evil to exist.

A Standdown Day; “I Would Prefer...”; “Ma’am, Step Away From That Stove”

My Lovely Bride had what in the Navy is euphemistically called a “standdown day” after her full day on her feet at her S.O.A.R! Workshop. We had late reveille (0745), a healthy breakfast of granola and strawberries (darn, I was hoping for bacon and eggs), and then a “mellow bike ride” for MLB to regain her strength. Then off for an hour-plus hike through the woods in afternoon heat at Carney Island County Park near Lake Weir. (“But what about my nap, Sweetheart?” “Stop whining, Ty, and get your boots on!”)  

Those of you who have attended Suzanne’s S.O.A.R! Workshop know that one of her points is learning to avoid demanding specific behavior by others by saying “I would prefer that (the obnoxious driver who just cut me off hadn’t done that)”. Another is using the phrase “Isn’t that interesting!” rather than having a negative reaction to external events not under your control.  One of her attendees just reported the following dialogue over dinner: Husband: “Darling, I would prefer that we have sex every night.” Wife: “Isn’t that interesting!” (Upon hearing the report of this exchange, I almost lost a mouthful of coffee through my nose.)

While on our hike, we saw tracks of deer, raccoon, and coyote, but no wildlife. (I think they were catching up on lost sleep...) Then I looked up, and Eureka! There was a beautiful bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus, Greek hali = salt/ocean, aeetus = eagle, leuco = white, cephalis = head) soaring far overhead. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my good camera with a long-range zoom lens on the hike, but it was positively identified as our national symbol. 

Bald eagles are one type of sea eagle, and the state of Florida is blessed in having the largest population of bald eagles outside of Alaska. Bald eagles build the largest tree nests of any species ever recorded. Here in Florida, eagles prefer pine trees and even nest in mangroves down in the Keys. The eagle’s eyesight is far better than ours; they are able to spot a rabbit moving at a mile away. For blinking, they have an inner eyelid called a nicitating membrane, which slides across the eye from front to back, wiping dust and dirt from the cornea.   

I have a particular affinity for eagles, because the radio call sign of USS JOHN RODGERS (DD-983), the Navy destroyer I had the privilege to command, was “SEA EAGLE”. 

We have a lawyer friend who shall go nameless (for the moment) for her protection from global ribbing (and mine to avoid a lawsuit) who is purportedly “not a cook”. When invited to meet her and friends for dinner, Suzanne asked if we were eating at her house. The LIQ (lawyer in question) replied, “Well, I guess I could try to cook.” Suzanne replied in a stern voice, “Ma’am, step away from that stove!” The LIQ tells a story about preparing her first-ever dinner for guests years ago; after marinating the chicken for several hours, she baked it in the oven, and just before serving it, dumped the original marinade with raw chicken juice over the chicken for extra flavor... how do you say “salmonella” in Latin? (Maybe Martha Stewart should be given a chair as Guest Lecturer at Georgetown Law to broaden the horizons of our elite barristers; she could advise them on preparing gourmet cuisine as well as avoiding felony convictions.)

“My Dad Wanted a Boy”; SOARing in The Villages; Ruffled Feathers; Blimpie? It’s “Silver Bells”, Dad Gum It!

As a father of two beautiful girls, I never understood how some guys had this fixation about having a son to carry on their name, play baseball with, etc. I could not have been happier with my two daughters. Today girls have just about every opportunity boys have, and maybe even more. Psychologists say that girls are even smarter than boys. (Around our house, My Lovely Bride falls into a subcategory, the “smarty-pants or smart-alecky” girl. More to follow on that...)

Sorry, I digress... back to my story... I felt sorry for the young woman I met recently whose name was Harveyella; I commented on it being an unusual name, and the woman replied rather caustically, “My Dad wanted a boy...” Well, it’s not as bad a name as that given by the government to an Icelandic teenager, Stulka, which means “Girl”, because her parents had named her Blaer, which means light breeze in Icelandic. Why does the government insist that she be called Stulka? Because Blaer isn’t on the short list of bureaucrat-approved names. (You gotta love Socialism...)

Suzanne gave her highly-lauded S.O.A.R! Workshop on Thursday to 87 energized attendees at Unity of The Villages. Bev Garlipp and Mary Wyatt volunteered all day to complete the registration process, man the book table, and brew gallons upon gallons of coffee. Rudy and Gretchen made cameo appearances and were treated to lots of love and affection. It was a great, Love-filled day! 

While My Lovely Bride SOARed, I was on a photo assignment for a friend. While driving around, I stopped by Lake Miona Park and caught this Sandhill Crane (Grus canadensis) preening his feathers. This fellow stood almost four feet tall, and I made sure I was out of range of his sharp beak!

Here the two cranes are foraging for seeds.  As I have mentioned before, they are quite noisy, and this pair was no exception; I heard them calling to one another a good quarter mile out while still on their approach path to the LZ (landing zone). They make quite a handsome couple, don't you think? 

Right at dusk, I happened to glance up, and there was this blimp! No, not a chubby guy with a basketball under his shirt and pasty-white legs from Hackensack, but a real blimp, you know, a non-rigid airship. You of course know that a blimp has no rigid structure inside it, while a dirigible has a metal framework to help the airbag maintain its shape (you may recall the German Zeppelin Hindenburg, which caught fire and burned at Lakehurst, NJ, in 1937; it was a hydrogen-filled dirigible, whereas modern blimps are usually filled with inert helium). 

Now, back to the smarty-pants comment from the first paragraph. You all know that I have a cross to bear, and that her name is Suzanne. The latest issue between us arose the other day when I noticed that we were running perilously low on my favorite candy treat, Hershey’s Silverbells. I dutifully wrote “Silverbells” down on the grocery list, and when I picked it up the next day, My Smarty-Pants Bride had crossed out “Silverbells” and written “Hershey’s Kisses” in its place. What insolence and disrespect! That may well be the candymaker’s name for this scrumptious milk chocolate delight, but everyone south of the Mason-Dixon Line (where we now live, of course) knows them as “Silverbells”.  Suzanne thinks she has superior, insider knowledge because her grandmother lived in Hershey, PA, up in Yankeeland, where they are made. Also, her dad was actually Milton Hershey's personal assistant. (I don't think I'm gonna win this one... Harumphhhh!)

“The Fighting Spiders”? A Sake Bar? A Canine Dental Ordeal; Free Range Chicks

My post the other day about the Fighting Okras hit a chord with Lynn Spence, who commented that “the only way to defeat them was to fry them”; Lynn also mentioned that her husband Bailey was off the hook (temporarily) for having the most ridiculous college mascot. He is a grad of Richmond University, whose Fighting Spiders were named after baseball pitcher Puss Ellyson’s long arms and stretching kick back in the 1890’s. Here is their game mascot, WebstUR, with two of his eight arms around a couple of smiling UR coeds. (No, Ty, don’t go there...) 

When we were stationed in Japan, sake, Japanese rice wine, was very popular among the Americans, since hardly anyone had tasted it before their assignment there. I enjoyed it, but My Lovely Bride actually won an award at a sake tasting - she was the only gaijin (often used for "foreigner"; sometimes used as a synonym for "barbarian") along with only two Japanese out of nearly 100 to correctly identify 5 sake varieties in a blind taste test. (Don’t get too excited... the big award was a bag of seaweed). 

Imagine my delight when I saw a sign on Highway 301 for what I thought was a new sake bar selling high quality, barrel-aged rice wine. (They are common in Japan, and there are a lot in California, but Oxford, Florida?) I called Suzanne and told her the good news. 

She asked where I was, and after telling her, she burst out laughing... “Go look at the storefront, My Love...” "Primitive Home Decor"??? Are you kidding me???

Rudy had a hard day on Tuesday. He has been to the vet for three rear knee surgeries (no, he doesn’t have five legs, the first surgery on his right knee had to be re-done). So he really doesn’t like going to the vet, although they do love him there. So today, when we walked into the vet’s office at 0730 for his first ever dental cleaning, he started crying... at eight years old, it was time, as failure to keep a dog’s teeth clean can cause canine heart disease. (We brush our puppies’ teeth every night, but like people, they build up the evil plaque over time.) Dogs have to be sedated, so when we got the call at 1300 that he was fine and would be ready to go home in an hour, we were relieved. He was one happy puppy (with beautiful teeth!) when we picked him up and took him home.  I asked him to open his mouth and pose for this shot... Look at those pearly whites!

A friend of ours recently told us about their trip to a local farmers’ market. Now I must say up front that I believe in supporting our local farmers, but when they said that they had purchased a dozen free range eggs for $11 and one scrawny free range chicken for $22, I burst out laughing. “You did what? Are you crazy?” We love eggs and chicken, but frankly, I’ve never met a chicken worth $22. Especially not one like this!