I’m sorry, friends-who-enjoy-photos-of-chicken-guts. I have failed you. Our chicken-killing company arrived before we were even finished setting up and I completely forgot to get the camera. On the plus side, though, they were very impressed with our skill and efficiency, and very grateful for the gift of having the live chickens in their truck turned into packaged, ready-to-be-frozen chickens in their cooler. This is not a gift many people will offer to give you. For, perhaps, obvious reasons.
On Friday, we went to the first Knights of Columbus fish fry they’ve held since Lent. Even though the menu is not the most nutritious, the Knights do a lot of good work in our community, and we like to support them when we can. In my delicate condition, though, good nutrition is of the utmost importance, so I prepared by eating a nice salad for lunch. And I packed a thermos of chocolate milk to take with me. I just couldn’t bear skipping the milk.
We arrived and paid for our meals at the door, and I set my thermos down on our table. The fellow who runs the fish fries was sitting nearby, watching me. “Watcha got in the thermos?” he asked.
“Chocolate milk,” I replied, then joined the rest of the rest of the family in the food line.
He was still there a few minutes later when we returned, heavily laden with fish plates. I dished up appropriate servings to all children under his watchful eye, and as I prepared to pour myself a cup of milk, I noticed two empty lemonade cups beside my thermos. I glanced over to find Rosie and Penelope looking at me hopefully, so I divided the milk evenly between the three of us.
Just as I began to pour, Fish Fry Guy’s eyes opened wide. He exclaimed, “It really is chocolate milk!”
Davey turned around in his seat. “Next time, she said she’s bringing a tablecloth and candles, too.”
And definitely more chocolate milk. Along with a thermos full of something a little more scandalous.
In other news…
Our well pump is not functioning properly, so we are without water this morning until the well guy comes. I woke him up yesterday (Sunday) with my urgent plea for help. I perhaps should have waited for a more decent hour, but quarter-to-eight seems pretty late in the day to me. Shouldn’t everyone be up by then? And last year, his phone book ad advertised 24 hour, 7 day emergency service. It didn’t mention that this year, but I figured he meant it to. And a pump that will not shut off seemed pretty important to me. He said he’d be out Monday (today) and that we could just let it run so we had water for the day and turn it off when we went to bed. So I made sure there were no lingering dishes and that we all got showered and that there were a few gallons of fresh water available for whatever we needed it for. (I haven’t changed out our stored water in over a year. Bad me.) We have a spigot that runs off the neighbors’ well just in case, and I’m sure they’ll let us use the pool shower if this drags on longer than today. Only laundry will be an issue. But I’m sure we’ll back in business today. God wouldn’t be so cruel.