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Things around our house have pretty much been the same since trawling season began. My husband gets up at 2 a.m. (yeah – ya got that right) and heads out to the boat to load up ice chests for the catch during the day. Unfortunately, I am woken up at that time as well because he has a habit of not setting his alarm correctly and I have to set mine as a backup. I am beginning to resemble an old hag with the bags under my eyes from interrupted sleep. Did I mention that I don’t do interrupted sleep very well? I am talking about alligator bags and not the pretty ones you buy in the store!

Hubby took what he refers to as the “geriatric” group (a group of older men he is friends with) trawling! What’s that movie? Grumpy Old Men! To be a fish in the sea today! He’s letting a blind friend drive the boat. Mr. Nick is cool. We’ve picked him up on foggy mornings and offered to let him drive because no one else could see either.  He may take us up on our offer one day. Ummmmmmmm.

My husband loves trawling season. He is bone tired by the end of the day, but happy as a clam so I guess I can’t complain. Fortunately, at this point in the season, our freezers are full so he gives most of the catch away. He has been keeping the small shrimp, boiling, and drying it. I’ve mentioned this before and have concluded I may need to explain it a little further (for you Northerners and Easterners and Westerners.) I do not want anyone to have the idea that I have a pantry full of dried shrimp.

First of all, it would stink (in my opinion) to high heaven as they say; and second, well, I don’t know a second other than it stinks (in my opinion.) I hate coconut but definitely prefer a coconut kiss as opposed to a dried shrimp kiss. That’s how bad it smells. To digress a little (well, a lot) we went on vacation and I got a whiff of something VERY yucky and I could not for the life of me figure out what it was. I should have looked at my husband to begin with. He had this stupid little grin on his face and I knew that something was up (he knows I hate the smell, especially in a closed car!)

First of all, (yes, another first) he snuck the bag on vacation, and second (this time there is a second) he quietly opened his little ziplock of putrid smell and put it in his mouth. That particular trip we were on our way to pick up our daughter in Georgia. The first stop we made was at a candy shop for him to load up on hard candy. He was on a sugar high for the rest of the trip and a little crazy (everyone in the car agreed, AND in my opinion.)

Back to the present (well, last week). My husband loves his dried shrimp. He also loves to give it away (yep – lots of people love that stuff around here.) He is also very proud of his little establishment on the back patio where he has set himself up for drying shrimp. He loves spending time on the back patio playing in his shrimp. He is so funny. The dogs just sit there waiting for accidental (and I mean accidental) drops of shrimp. Tongues hanging out and tails a waggin’.

I got sidetracked (an annoying habit or so I’m told) and forgot to explain dried shrimp. This is not the shrimp we freeze (fresh) and the two are not to be confused. To dry shrimp, you first boil them in crab boil seasonings with lots of salt. Hubby has this thing down to a science (and he’s a proud Cajun.) Once the shrimp are cooked, he spreads them out in the sun (high up so the dogs cannot reach) and lets them dry. They become all dried and shriveled. Then, he puts them in a little sack (my sewing contribution) and beats the hell out of them (or pretends it is someone he is aggravated with.) Once the beating (slapping around on a hard surface) is complete, he transfers it to a sifter he made with screen. The screen is just large enough that the dried shell falls through leaving the shrimp behind. He looks like someone panning for gold (which he considers dried shrimp to be) when he does this task. He then bags the shrimp, labels it, and sits back and smiles at his accomplishment. Oh! He also brags again, about how he has it down to a science.

I hosted a giveaway of the book, “Cruelty to Innocents: The 911 Abductions” which by the way, is a great suspense book. The authors even posted on my blog.

My blog received three different awards. That was an honor. It is always nice to know that someone appreciates the work you put into writing the blog. The only thing is I received all three within one week’s time; so that probably means my blog may go unnoticed for a long time. Actually, that may be good. I had a difficult time coming up with seven facts I wanted to share. I even used the same seven each time. Any more awards and I may have to really dig deep and start revealing things I do not want to reveal.

I am on our parish’s (I live in Louisiana) Planning Commission. We had a meeting this past Thursday night. Thought we’d have to referee a little (big) misunderstanding (maybe not so misunderstood) between a few people. The meeting ended peacefully.

Next week (the 9th) Jessica (BFF) and I fly out to New York to visit with Katie-Beth (daughter) and Jude (son-in-law) for a week. Jessica has been planning her wardrobe for two months now! It is so funny. I am just going to throw seven pairs of identical jeans and seven white shirts (not identical. (Although why people cannot see the difference is beyond me) in a bag along with shampoo and makeup and be good to go.) I may even live dangerously and throw in a couple of shirts of color! I just love my jeans and white ironed shirts. I am always in the mood to wear white. She laughs at me for doing that. I promise you that each shirt is different. They are just all white.

We were talking the other day about what we were packing and when I started to tell her my list, and actually said that I might pack a couple of colored shirts, the smartass ended my sentence with “and seven white shirts!” Some people know me too well. At least if I get lost, she’ll remember what I was wearing in order to give the police a description! There is some logic to my madness (just because no one else sees it doesn’t make it not so.)

When I relayed the conversation to another good friend, as she always does, she made me feel perfectly normal. She told me (and I quote) “Gene Pressman, the head of Barney’s in New York, wears only black jeans or slacks and pressed white shirts. Everything identical. When I asked what was up with that, he said that he can’t be bothered with trying to figure out his clothes every day. He found something he liked. That’s it. End of story. Time saving. And now a signature look. I cracked up. He’s one of the smartest guys I know. And you are in that league too!” And you can take it to the bank, if B says it, it’s true (that’s all I’m saying.)

I have also been practicing wearing shoes all day long (yep, that’s what I say.) I never went barefoot in my life, and then I moved to the country. Now, I rarely put shoes on my feet. I knew there is no way I could walk the streets of New York City barefoot so I had no choice.

Then, I had myself a little chuckle today. Hurricane predictions came out. We are having hurricanes this year. A meteorologist genius told us so. My question is, “Ya think?” We have hurricanes every year. We know there are going to be hurricanes. They predict the number of hurricanes every year; and when the predictions do not live up to or exceed their expectations they change their predictions. I don’t know about everyone else, but that sounds a little strange in my world. I have an idea. Let’s just predict that this hurricane season will no doubt follow the preceding years and there is always the chance that one or two of these will be Cat 3-4. That is a pretty accurate prediction and one that will not have to be revisted. And, that’s the weather according to Lucy.

Next on this agenda are my dogs. What is up with them? If you follow my blog, you know that I have German Shepherds, a 4 month old and a 3 year old. We only need one bone or one ball or one fill-in-the-blank here because they only want what the other has, even their food. When my husband feeds them, he locks Ryka in the kennel with her food (because she is more likely to leave and chase something) and he puts Calypso outside the gate with her bowl. He then turns and walks away and they eat.

Now, it’s not that easy for me. I like to sit there with them while they eat and visit (just call me the dog lady. There’s a cat lady so why not?) I decided (after hubby reminded me enough times that when we go on vacation, the person coming to feed them just might not want to sit and visit) that I would try his method. I think he’s fibbing (my opinion) because Calypso turned and walked away with me while Ryka sat on the steps watching me from inside the kennel. They did not start eating. See what I mean?

Therefore, this afternoon, I was back to visiting with them while they ate. I guess I digressed again there, my apologies. The two stinkers looked at their bowls, then looked at each other, and then looked at me. Then, as if by some unspoken telepathy going on between them, they walked over to the other’s bowl and started eating. This would not be a bad thing (because they ate) except that Calypso is eating puppy food and Ryka is eating big girl food. I have tried every combination I can think of to remedy this and nothing works. I have mixed Ryka’s food half-and-half. I have sprinkled big girl food on Calypso’s food. I have given Ryka her own bowl of puppy chow in the mornings. I have tried switching the bowls part way through feeding. This works sometimes but it is not the answer. I guess if that is the only dilemma I have, I’m doing pretty good.

I did come up with a semi-solution to Calypso’s tail chasing escapades. I have started making her sit in the swing with me. It works for a while, then the temptation is too great and she wants down. That damn tail just keeps following her and she doesn’t know what to do with it. Maybe if I hang a bell on it………….