TARYTERRE: June 2021

Wednesday, June 30, 2021

Mira the Rest of the story

Mira the Rest of the Story.

by Tary Brown

Mira was our steadfast companion and best friend for the past 18 years. She was there to help us wipe away our tears when our health issues seemed unbearable. Or to hold our hand with her little paws, squeezing tightly to let us know everything would be alright. She’d listen intently to everything you said and took it all to heart. I believe she understood every word. Everyday at 4pm she would wait for me to call my mommy so she could talk to her and listen to her voice. It was beyond endearing. She was an old soul who seemed to have a deeper understanding about the universe. She had a sixth sense. She loved to balance herself on the top edges of chairs like a dare devil walking a tight rope. She’d sit there gleefully content while we fussed she might fall off. She was always underfoot to the point of distraction and we found ourselves trying to avoid stepping on top of her, which was exhausting. If she found a spot she liked it was hers and you better figure out how to get around her cause she refused to budge. When her sister passed a year ago Mira helped my hubby and I find a new normal. She’d wait each night to jump up into bed with us, getting frustrated, if we didn’t do it at a reasonable hour. First thing in the morning her blankie was a mess from me tossing and turning but Mira would be clinging to it waiting for me to straighten it out. I’d give her a big hug scooping her up to fix it. And she’d give me kisses. When she went blind it didn’t deter her. She plowed forward using her whiskers and nose to guide her where she wanted to be. Life was good. And we were inspired by her chutzpah. Then she went blind in the other eye. She became disoriented. But muddled through with our prompts to be careful, so she wouldn't walk into things. But fate dealt her a blow that stopped her in her little tracks. Her back legs refused to operate the way they were meant to. And her kidneys and bladder failed. She stopped eating. But her little face would still try lapping up water in her dish. At this point we thought she would pass sooner rather than later. But she refused to let go. Her determination was more than admirable. She somehow, someway found the fortitude to force her little legs into a standing position and walk a few feet here or there before collapsing onto the floor. She’d pick herself up and do it again and again. She’d listen to my mantra as she was tackling the impossible. She needed to rest, all her strength was being tapped. I’d tell her to be very, very calm and breathe breathe breathe. And she would purr as she entered a kind of hibernation mode. She would lay very, very still listening to the celestial music I played for her. Overwhelmed with emotion, one night I played Amazing Grace on my cell phone, instead. Her little ears twitched as we all listened, tears pouring down my hubby's and my face. When the song had reached it climatic conclusion, I reached down to caress her head and couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a tiny smile cross her lips. The song had touched her. I was glad. That knowledge was her gift to us, at the end. When she woke up later, I cradled her like a baby. But it became clear it was time for us to let her go and for her to let us go. She passed the next morning. Mira you were the best kitty in the whole world, in the whole universe. We loved you with all our hearts. You will forever be etched within our memories. You were a good girl. Let your spirit soar. You can run and play free from the shackles of your ravaged body. Be happy. You are now reunited with your sister Dara. And one day, mommy and daddy will meet you there too, on the other side.

REST IN PEACE

Monday, June 21, 2021

A Boy, a Man and Chicken Feet

When my husband was growing up back in the 1940’s, his parents owned and operated a poultry store. It was messy work. They often brought him to the site because he was too young for school and because they had nobody else to babysit. As a young tyke he innocently looked on as chicken’s necks were broken, throats slit and they were beheaded and dismembered. He saw dead chickens and smelt the stench of fresh blood and burning feathers. At home after work, they ate the remains of the chickens his parents had slaughtered, that weren’t sold. Every part of the bird… heart, stomach, liver, etc was edible in their house. His mother would take all parts, except the feathers of the deceased bird, and throw them in a big pot and often make Chicken Soup. My husband said nothing was more delicious, than a big bowl of that soup. He added one of his famiy’s favorite parts of the bird were the boiled chicken feet. Hubby said they were a delicacy, like caviar. I seriously doubt anybody else would compare chicken feet to fish eggs. Back when the caviar was more affordable, I’d sprinkle it in salads for it’s salty taste. I never considered it fancy, or high brow. Nowadays it is. Chicken feet however, seemed like a bottom of the barrel kind of thing. Something you don’t eat… like the lungs of blue crabs. Hubby told me when making ends meet, folks had to be frugal, creative, so everything was edible, back then. I couldn’t imagine seeing body parts like feet, floating in my soup. And I’d be more than a little afraid to choke on one of the toes if it broke loose. My husband said it was never an issue. I smiled and told him I was grateful chicken feet would NEVER be on our dinner table. He chuckled and said never say never. Although I make chicken soup from scratch, I never throw in all the ingredients his mom did. It’s good for what ails you though. Now… that the worst of the pandemic is behind us… the supply chains that keep us fed are fracturing. And the prices of meat are skyrocketing at the grocery store. Looking carefully through the selections for bargains… imagine my surprise, when I saw a whole section for… you guessed it, CHICKEN FEET. Something old that’s new again. What goes around comes around. Did you eat FEET as a kid? Or have you made them for your family? Any recipes besides throwing them into a pot of boiling water for flavor???? Standing there in the supermarket, I picked up one of the packages and carefully looked at it. The contents didn’t look too meaty to me. All scrawny bones. Got to have something to bite into when chowing down. Package called them Chicken Paws, not feet. Is that a cutesy marketing strategy to move them into people’s carts??? I put ‘em back and snapped a picture, to show my hubby. He was tickled a new generation was embracing the ‘feet’ to help feed their families. If push comes to shove I might have to too.

I'd much prefer 'below' without the feet, though.

Friday, June 18, 2021

It's DAD's Day

It takes someone special

to be a daddy.

To my dearly departed father

To my husband, brother,

cousins, blog buddies,

and all those other guys

who step up to the plate

and help raise the

next generation..

HAPPY FATHERS DAY

Enjoy your weekend.

Enjoy your special day.

YOU DESERVE IT.

Monday, June 7, 2021

Nature, Antibodies, Eggs and Hot Sauce

Hubby and I drove out of town the other day. Weather was nice. Imagine that? No rain. Wanted to take a ride in the country. Commune with nature. We enjoyed our early morning escape. We decided to throw caution to the wind and have breakfast in this little small town, Mom and Pop café. Nobody was wearing a mask, except the restaurant staff. And people were sandwiched together kind of close in the booths and tables. At first we were hesitant. But we’ve been given a stamp of approval by our doctor. Our antibody tests came back with great news. The vaccine worked. We have a high number of antibodies. Which means, drumroll please… we are IMMUNE from Covid 19, at least for now. So, we seated ourselves... as the sign said and took advantage of the chance to be normal again. Hubby ordered a breakfast bowl and I got an omelet, spinach and cheese. When the orders were delivered to the tables, a short while later, they looked delish. We couldn’t wait to dig in. But first, my hubby asked the waitress for some HOT sauce. He likes to gingerly smother it all over everything. She left to get it and we mused whether the bottle would be empty, or new. New bottles can be a pain because the establishment usually wants you to open it. And with arthritic fingers, that can become quite a chore. And we usually b!tch about it. On the other hand, if its almost empty, the bottom of the bottle has the hottest part of the spices in there. It’ll bite your tongue right off. Hot sauce is one thing, but the heat generated at the bottom can damage your mouth permanently if you ain't careful. Seldom... in all the years we been getting the condiment to compliment our food, have we gotten a bottle, half filled. So we waited to see what would happen here. We were NOT prepared for what did. This teeny tiny waitress came over to the table with this HUMUNGOUS bottle filled with hot sauce. My hubby chuckled. “So this is the bottle you pass around to all your customers", he asked. She smiled and said they had one for every table. I stifled a giggle as she left. My hubby checked the label. It was 1 pint plus 8 more ounces. Quite a lot of Hot Sauce was in that bottle. It was a very impressive size, given the fact most bottles are considerably smaller. Hubby could barely lift it, to dabble some on his eggs. Sorry, I jest. He did lift it, but being as hefty as it was... he did feel out of sorts. This adds a new twist to the Hot Sauce saga in our lives. It made us smile, laugh and even cry when the sauce kicked in.Thought you’d like to see a pic. Here it is, right below. Needless to say it made for quite a memory. Have you ever put a GIANT bottle of Hot Sauce on your table???

Or been someplace that has???