It’s upon us again ... Holiday Season! And I am glad!
Last year, about January time I couldn’t bear to hear one more refrain of “Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly tra la la la la.” Nor could I stand to look at one more recipe for 150 ways to use left over turkey.
Oh, but we are a fickle lot!
But, now? The struggle with holiday food begins! Yes, I am a foodie, and I love the recipes for all the wonderful holiday celebrations.
Have you noticed the piles of candy staring at you from the shelves as you first enter the door into the grocery store. “Take me for a ride,” they seem to say. “Take me home! I’m cheap!” “Come, come now, let us reason together”, they whisper; no SHOUT, as you fight your way to the fruit and veggies!
It truly is a time to throw your padded body over the top of the cart, and push feverishly to the lettuce and carrots!
Now, granted, there are many good things to eat, and we have been fed a host of misinformation about what we should and shouldn’t consume. However, we are like sheep. (“We are poor little sheep who have lost our way. Baa, Baa, Baa.”)
We know which foods we should always eat; those in their natural state, right? Remember our ancestors. They ate potatoes, yams, meat, vegetables. They ate sugar, but proportionately to today, very little sugar. Too much sugar is poison.
Oh well, let’s not beat a dead horse. That’s me. A dead horse. Moving on.
The activity of wild, vicious animals continues at our house. Our cats, Mama, (the once-feral, now totally spoiled rotten grey mother cat) and Belle, (fatso) meow vociferously at the back door for food every morning and night. They stare me down though the sliding glass door, just in case I might forget! If I don’t look at them, then Belle, fatso, sits on the outside window ledge over the kitchen sink watching me.
I once thought that if anyone or any thing attacked me at home, that Belle, and Mama would jump on the perpetrator and claw his/her eyes out. No. They would rub against the evil doer’s legs, yowling for food.
There’s a cat door in the “garage” or “cat condo.” The cats own their very own, separate beds – with pillows – in the corner. The food dish sits close by. But in the mornings lately, there are cat food bags torn to pieces, feed dishes dragged across the floor, and every cupboard opened.
Whose dexterous fingers did this? Yes, you got it. Raccoons.
We nailed the cat door closed. The cats can leave the garage, but nothing can enter. I remove the cat food nightly, and I make certain the cats are inside at bedtime. We will win! We will win. (clicking our heels together).
We are still using our friends’ (thank you friends) raccoon cage/trap. This week alone, we have trapped five raccoons! We sweep up the piles of raccoon pellets from around the cage, load the cage into the truck, and Fred releases each creature into desolate areas about 40-60 miles from here. I know. I hear they come back. No, Fred doesn’t drive that far for the raccoon. He takes it when he is going to Hays or Wichita.
Soon he will be known as the “Raccoon Guy.”
The armadillos are torturing us too. Someone out there in newspaper land please give us some tips on catching these filthy, ugly, prehistoric creatures? We do shoot them. And don’t suggest we eat them. Really? Do people really eat armadillos?
Squinty little peeper eyes. Long ugly claws. Scales. Little ears. So, so ugly, and they tear up our yard. Holes everywhere.
Oh well, we may not have grass next spring, but we sure will get rid of grubs.
I know. Maybe these creatures that are pestering us will eat some of that candy on the shelves in the stores right now. I hear it’s poison, right?
So, what do you think?
Judi Tabler lives in Pawnee County and is a guest columnist for the Great Bend Tribune. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or juditabler@awomansview.