Getting ready to drown in gumbo

No, not that ministry

I ran across this screenshot I look last month of the WKOW webpage featuring their list of upcoming events. Someone or some algorithm or AI chose a fine picture for the Ministry-Gary Numan show at the Sylvee.

 

 

Someone doesn't like industrial, perhaps.

Judge Dee’s Mystery

Netflix is now showing a Chinese TV series called Judge Dee’s Mystery. It's based on the 18th century detective tales that come to us English speakers as Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee, which I read back in 2012.

I have only watched the first episode and found it to be a lot of fun. It takes place during the Tang Dynasty, I believe, but I am unsure of the exact year. The Tang Dynasty lasted from the 7th until the 10th century so there's a big time frame here. Our hero, Di Renjie, was a real Chinese magistrate who lived in the 7th century so perhaps that's when it takes place.

So far he has demonstrated some superior fighting skills as well as a preternatural ability to observe his surroundings a la Sherlock Holmes. There is a trio of sidekicks and we've had a small dose of supernatural wuxia. Lots of Steadicam and/or crane work as there is an abundance of smooth camera movement around the big sets. I think each mystery takes 3 or 4 episodes to solve so I have barely dipped a toe in the water.

Russian roulette...with jelly beans

I was recently given a BeanBoozled recently.

You spin the, uh, spinner on the right and then grab a corresponding jelly bean. Each color/type comes into 2 iterations: one tasty and one disgusting.

For example, the brown ones with off-white splotches could be cappuccino flavored or it could be liver & onions.

I have discovered that most of my co-workers are a bunch of unadventurous chickens.

Imperial Radler?!

New Glarus Brewing has announced their spring beer line-up and there's an Imperial Radler in the Thumbprint series along with a Milk Chocolate Stout.

 

 

Since a radler is usually 2%-2.5%, does that mean an imperial version will be 4% A.B.V.?

 

It's nice to see the return of both Kid Kölsch and Pilsner.

 

 

Throw in Two Women, a Landbier(?), and there'll be a lot of fine lagers on store shelves this spring.

Iron Maiden wants you for dead!

The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society's Dark Adventure Radio Theatre has a new drama out: The Iron Maiden.

It is an adaptation of Prosper Mérimée's 1837 novella La Vénus d'Ille.

"Just a few years after being hired to teach at Miskatonic University, young Nate Ward uses his summer vacation to visit the Isle of Wight and examine some curious ancient ruins. While there he makes a surprising discovery on the estate of a local landowner. Will it bode well for the family, or has he unearthed inexplicable misery and woe?"

I am thinking the latter.

The more I look at it, the more I like it.

Beat, the new band featuring Adrian Belew, Tony Levin, Steve Vai, and Danny Carey, are going on tour where they'll play 80s King Crimson.

They'll be here in Madison at the Orpheum Theater on 3 November.

Rick Beato recently interviewed them about their little endeavor:

The Corona Diaries Vol. 110: Afterimage

(late September 2023)

(Watch the prelude.)

In the first couple days after Grabby’s death, Piper acted differently. I suspect she realized that her sister was gone. Piper seemed more sedentary, that is, she seemed to lie on the couch more instead of her usual peripatetic routine of hanging out there for a bit before wandering over to the cardboard bed and then to the cat house to grabbing a snack in the kitchen and then circling back to the couch. Grabby’s body lay wrapped in a towel inside a cat carrier, just as it was when I brought her back from the vet. My Frau was not quite ready to bury her.

Eventually we chose a spot in the yard and I dug a fairly deep hole to keep local carrion scavengers from digging Grabby up. We buried her one very warm evening, her loss hanging in the air just like the oppressive humidity. I now want to have a little marker made. She’s buried next to the deck and I’d like to have a wooden plaque hung on the stringer above her grave.

The Frau and I are adjusting to not having Grabby around any longer. We miss petting her extremely fine fur – the softest fur I’ve ever encountered on a cat. I no longer wake up to her staring at me when breakfast is a minute late. Her appetite was never satisfied and she would jump on our laps while we were eating or, at least, get as close to the human chow as she could and stare at it. Sometimes she’d drool. 

Grabby quickly learned the sound of a cat food can lid being removed and she came running into the kitchen whenever any can was opened, whether it was her chow or soup, tomato sauce, beans, or any other non-feline food. Now I open cans and look down reflexively to see Grabby at my heels but she’s not there.

She'd come into the bathroom when I was in the shower and hang out on the counter. Upon opening the shower curtain, Grabby would be there staring at me impatiently for, after I'd dried off and dressed, she'd jump on my shoulder and curl around my neck and I'd take her for a ride. She kept my neck very warm in the winter. The only way to get her off was the promise of treats. I still expect to see her there on the counter when I brush the shower curtain aside every morning.

Cat food and litter stocks are depleted at a much slower pace these days and I have less scooping and cleaning to do at the litter boxes. I call Piper Grabby by mistake sometimes.

There are just a million little routines and habits that have yet to change or disappear. However, I do not miss her farts. The lymphoma or whatever ailed her guts gave her the worst gas. She'd be lying on your lap peacefully relaxing and without betraying the slightest hint that she was trying to kill you, this miasma would engulf your head. Waving your hand in an attempt to disperse it was futile and only seemed to make it worse. And Grabby would just lie there as if nothing was happening, although I suspect she was gleefully chuckling to herself on the inside with feline schadenfreude.

For my part, I found myself going to the movies a lot.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, my first visit to the cinema after Grabby’s death was to see this:

Cat Video Fest is just a bunch of people’s cat home movies/cell phone videos strung together. There were kittens sleeping on their backs with their little bellies exposed, cats attempting to jump on a counter and falling woefully short, cats spinning on ceiling fans, and cats casually knocking dishes and vases off of hutches. Plus much more.

Just good fun.

Next was John Carpenter’s classic commentary on the Reagan era, They Live. It screams the 1980s. I chuckled at some of the ladies’ Aquanet-drenched coifs and the men’s mullets. But it has that classic cinematic slugfest featuring our nameless drifter hero coming to blows with his co-worker Frank in an attempt to get him to put on the glasses that allow the wearer to see who the aliens are and exposes their subliminal messages.

A highly enjoyable blast from the past.

Perfect Blue is a bit more serious than the previous couple movies. It’s anime and follows a singer named Mima who leaves the music business to pursue an acting career. She is beset by a stalker and this is followed up by the murder of several people around her. Soon Mima shows signs of psychosis and the movie takes on strong Phildickian tones with questions of identity and what is truly real.

I’d rented this on DVD last year so it was nice to be able to see it in the theater. Not only did it look better, the big screen heightened the sense of the uncanny that this movie traffics in.

This is a wonderful little love story. I really enjoyed how the tension between the two main characters slowly builds before they realize they’ve fallen in love with one another. Their desires are so bright, so hot yet they remain unfulfilled. This is one of the most intense love stories I’ve ever seen.

And the cast of characters that inhabit that apartment building they live in are funny, especially the ones in the regular mahjong game.

I’ve read that this is the second film in a loose trilogy so I must seek out the other two.

********

On a recent afternoon my Frau, a friend of hers, and I made a quick trek up to our beloved Lapacek’s Orchard. We were just shy of a month into apple season so I expected a fair variety of them to be available. Luckily they had this handy dandy analog tool letting you know which one are available(red), which ones are coming soon(green), and which ones are done for the season(yellow).

I was rather surprised at how many yellow apples there were. Some varieties do not sit on those shelves for long, especially ones with “strawberry” in the name.

Next to the availability indicator was a tub full of gourds.

Of course I went to see the goats. I love petting them. Look at this cutie!

Lapacek’s has the perfect Halloween/momento mori chair. (Grabby! ☹)

Lots of apples for sale inside. The Frau bought a couple half pecks, with a peck being a quarter of a bushel or 8 quarts. Silken and Wolf River, I believe.

Out back, the flora, including some very tall sunflowers, was still looking very nice.

Lapacek’s has a lot of barn cats. Some will let you pet them while others are cagey and prefer that humans keep their distance, like this one. She was OK with letting me watch her do a bit of grooming but pets were strictly off-limits on this day.

We went home with more apples than we knew what to do with and will have to find a way to eat them all. Sauce? Pie? With pork? The possibilities are endless.

If having to figure out what to do with a peck of apples wasn't enough, my Frau's friend bestowed some ground cherries on us from her CSA box. While I'd seen them at the farmers market recently, I had never had them before. Synchronicity!

At one point, I figured they’d sat in our refrigerator long enough so I pulled them out, removed the husks, and washed them. I popped one into my mouth and found it to be sweet, at first. A bit like a cherry but with a tomato element to it. As I swallowed, the sweetness wore off and it took on a more vegetal flavor. Very tasty.

Now what? Ground cherry clafoutis!

It was quite delicious. I am not sure what else there is to do with ground cherries – maybe put them in salsa? – but I am content with more clafoutis.

********

Bonus photo. Earlier this month I spied this classic Chrysler New Yorker outside a diner in nearby Cottage Grove.

I was touched by Touch of Ukraine

A friend and I dined at Touch of Ukraine last week. It was the first time for each of us.

The pelmeni, not pictured, were served with a generous dose of butter, forming a shallow pond at the bottom of the dish. The little dumplings were very tasty with the dough being al dente. My only gripe was that they came with a paucity of sour cream. You wouldn't think it possible in Wisconsin.

The chicken cutlets, seen above, were moist and delicious. The roasted broccoli was perhaps a bit underdone, but still good. The buckwheat was great even though I wished I had saved the butter from the bottom of the pelmeni dish for it. The groats were light and fluffy and had a lovely, mellow nutty flavor. A couple dollops of pickled carrot and beet were the perfect complements.

11 Years of Piper!

Happy birthday, Piper!

She is 11 today and was her usual, "Get that camera out of my face, human!" this morning.

My mancrush on Craig Blundell grows ever stronger

Prog legend Steve Hackett, mirabile dictu, made a tour stop here in Madison last week and of course I was there.
https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/hackett-madison.jpg

This was another date on his Foxtrot at 50 tour which I caught in Chicago back in November. Taking my seat at the Orpheum last Thursday night, I found that I was to enjoy the show next to a lovely young woman, a rarity at such a concert. Truth be known, I wasn't sure if she was even of legal drinking age. At first I figured someone, say, her father or a nerdy boyfriend, would appear and sit down next to her but that never happened. Good for her, I say! Glad to see a young woman taking matters into her own hands to administer a heavy dose of classic prog.

This show wasn't dramatically different from the one I attended last autumn. A couple solo songs were dropped - "Ace of Wands" and "The Steppes" - and replaced by 3 songs from Steve's latest album, The Circus And The Nightwhale. This showed a strong confidence in the new material, something aging proggers generally lack in concert these days. I am not familiar with most of the new album but have to say that "Circo Inferno" was just great live. It has a vaguely Middle Eastern feel but mainly it just rocks, including some great sax from Rob Townsend, and gets things moving early in the set to fire up the crowd. Plus, it has a whistle that both hearkened back to "Willow Farm" and foreshadowed the second set.

Craig Blundell once again turned "The Shadow of the Hierophant" into a resplendent set closer of transcendental beauty. That guy is just amazing and I don't just mean a great player. I mean it in the original sense of the word: I am filled with wonder and astonishment at his playing. The guy just plays parts that are intriguing and his fills are melodic, leaving me wondering where he's going next. He did the same thing during "Apocalypse in 9/8" and I laughed aloud at myself as I failed epically to bob and move my head in time with his beat. It just wasn't possible.

My eyes welled during "Ikhnaton and Itsacon and Their Band of Merry Men" ("waiting for battle!") and I felt the tears slowly fall down my cheeks until they were handily soaked up by my rather bushy beard. They did so again during Steve's extended solo that closed "Supper's Ready". Rather than fading out like the studio version, he gently lead us towards boundless joy for a few minutes.

I was hoping for a song or two from The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway during the encore as Hackett is set to celebrate that album's 50th(!!) anniversary on a tour later this year but, alas, no. Still, he's got a fantastic band behind him and decades of songs to play. There is something magical for me in hearing songs live that I have known and loved for nearly 40 years. They've become just like old friends and it's always a pleasure to spend time with them.

Some video from the show has been posted on Youtube.

Robert Fripp joins OnlyFans

I never thought I'd see the day but it has arrived this 1 April 2024. Luckily this teaser does not show, shall we say, the entry of his chameleon.

The Corona Diaries Vol. 110 - Prelude: Grief

A city cat goes country

I went to see A Cat's Life because I'd seen the trailer a couple times and just couldn't pass up the chance to see all those cute kittens on the big screen.

The opening scene introduces us to our tabby protagonist, Lou, and his siblings who were all interminably cute. They, along with their mother, live in an attic of an apartment in Paris. An adult stray wanders in through an open window and this stirs the curiosity within Lou who starts climbing a bookcase in order to get to the window. His 3 siblings would sit there on a derelict chair and watch him like a Greek chorus, their big kitten eyes telling us that Lou's headed for danger.

 

Oh, mama! My CU (cuteness unit) meter was pegged in the red throughout this whole opening scene.

After mom sadly is lost, the kittens are adopted by humans. Lou is taken in by a girl, Clémence, who lives in the apartment beneath the attic. Ever the doting cat mom, she enjoys watching Lou be all cute and playful and also becomes extremely concerned when he wanders out of the apartment in wide-eyed curiosity.

Lou gets his first dose of country life when Clem's family vacations at their cabin in the woods. While he encounters some danger in the form of a lynx that calls the forest home, he mainly hops from the ground onto fallen trees and back onto the ground as he navigates his new environment. I could have watched those close-ups of his little feet walking on moss and fallen leaves in close-up for hours.

We meet an old crone type character, Madeleine, who lives in the woods with her very large dog endowed with ginormous jowls after she rescues the extremely curious Lou.

Clem's family returns to Paris where her parents decide to ignore the admonishment of Melissa Kearney and seek a divorce. One last trip to the cabin to empty it out in preparation for sale sees Lou escape into the woods again. This time, he does not return to Clem. While she is heartbroken, he goes on adventures dodging hungry owls, meeting up with some fellow local ferals, and chasing a very pretty lady cat. At one point, he goes in pursuit of a mouse(?) and gets stuck in some wire left behind by some ne'er-do-wells who think the forest is a garbage dump.

Chasing rodents as bad karma is a motif in the movie as, not only does it get Lou snared in wire and so tangled that he cannot escape, but it was pursuit of a rat that led to an accident for his mother and her disappearance.

Lou is held fast by the wire and helpless for a some time before Madeleine rescues him. Clem and her mother return only to find Lou in bed and hooked up to a little kitty IV. The vet said he was not expected to recover.

Thankfully he does and Clem learns her life lesson as she lets Lou, who has seen his lady cat outside and is now scratching at the door so he can get some, free. Something got in my eyes during this scene and they welled with tears. Stupid ventilation system.

While I have no doubt that this type of tale about a girl growing up has been told countless times, A Cat's Life was still a boatload of fun. The English dubbing was annoying and unnecessary but cinematographer Dan Meyer did a great job of following the rambunctious felines and capturing kitten faces in close-up. There's always a cat ear or a tail or some whiskers somewhere on the screen. And who doesn't want to see cat feet traversing a mossy log in close-up?! Editing this movie must have been pure joy.

 

The soundtrack is full of meows and purrs and squeaks and just all manner of cat noises. I suffered cuteness overload within 30 seconds of the movie starting because teeny tiny kittens suckling at their mother's teat is just adorable, wholesome goodness.

These are the ones (I was looking for)

So I bought some Blue Öyster Cult this weekend. 

I know Mirrors very well but Cultösaurus Erectus is largely foreign to me. These albums get short shrift in the popular narrative about the band's career. "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" and "Godzilla" and arguably the peak of their career came just before these albums while Fire of Unknown Origin and "Burnin' For You" are soon to come.

But we've got a couple songs written with Michael Moorcock, "The Great Sun Jester" and "Black Blade". And, I would argue, those laid back California vibes made for a nice change of pace on Mirrors. "In Thee" is a very beautiful song, for example. Plus, "A mirror is a negative space with a frame" is just a classic B.Ö.C. line.

Some great music here.

Citra? Simcoe? Mosaic? What are those?

A couple recent beers that I've had.

I've got mixed feelings about the function and the form of The Signal

I enjoyed The Signal, on the whole. The ending was done well as it was rather neat and explained a mystery or two while others were left unsolved. But getting there was something of a mixed bag.

I'm trying to find a nice, concise way to explain the element or elements that left me less impressed. How's this: The Signal is a mix of sci-fi first contact a la Contact and some paranoid conspiracy thriller and the first one that comes to mind is Enemy of the State. Nothing wrong with that but I wish that it had been more of the former and less of the latter.

The enigma of the signal itself was downplayed - even got lost, at times - in favor of Earthly conspiracies and betrayals and the story of a family. I wish the events on the space station hadn't been shown so explicitly in the same way that what happened on the plane was kept shrouded in mystery for most of the show.

I guess I wanted to be tantalized by the signal itself more and see less of Sven and Charlie running from authorities.

The Corona Diaries Vol. 108 - Postlude: Grabby

(Read entry #108.)

So Pekka and Jukka had been drinking in the wilderness for two weeks...: Sahti by Giant Jones Brewing

...during a very cold winter.

Back in their home village, their friend Matti began to get worried about them not returning so he decided to send a trained dog to rescue them. He attached a barrel of vodka to the dog and asked it to find his friends.

Pekka and Jukka were sitting around a camp fire, drinking, when the dog found them. Pekka shouted: “Oh there is the rescue, our best friend coming towards us... But, hold on, what an earth is attached to it?”. “Can't you see?”, answered Jukka, “It is Matti's dog!”

Several years back when I first started to investigate Scandi-noir, I noticed that police stations in Finnish shows such as Bordertown - see above - were these late-20th century bunker-like affairs. Dark, shadowy places with not a window to be seen so there was no natural light, just the fluorescent stuff. A bit like the Humanities building here on the UW campus. This stood in stark contrast to a French cop show called Spiral that I watched around that time where the cop shop was in an old building with open windows everywhere letting in plenty of sunlight and venting all the cigarette smoke as a "Voltaire slept here" sign hung from a wall in the background. 

Finnish cops, when not sitting in a sauna, were always dressed for the cold and snow and seemed ready to defend themselves from murderous reindeer. French cops, on the other hand, were mostly a bunch of bon vivants who wore berets and dipped baguettes into their wine as they puzzled out the next steps of their investigations and quoted Sartre at one another. Finns were serious and taciturn, if not outright dour, while the French were convivial and determined not to let a little thing like murder get in the way of a good time. Plus the French weren't as pale.

But it is the Finns who give us the beer that is sahti. Filtered through spruce boughs and generally made with bread yeast, it smacks of the Finns' boreal homeland and its hardy, unpretentious inhabitants.

A few months back in December I reviewed Giant Jones' Norwegian farmhouse ale, Kornøl. I noted then that Giant Jones also had a sahti on offer and that I hoped to be able to sample it. Well, I finally managed to do so. The thing about Giant Jones' beers is that they're all rather potent so, if you buy some that was bottled in August but don't get around to drinking it until several months later in March, it'll still be good.

Sahti seems to come in the 8%-10% range in its homeland, though there are certainly less potent variations. Rye is common but not all sahti brewers use it. Hops, from what I can tell, are minimal to non-existent. Spruce branches are traditionally used when filtering out the grain but I have read that juniper branches are also used. Sometimes branches are left out completely and berries do all the work. And so Giant Jones had lot of leeway when brewing their Finnish-style ale.

When I think of farmhouse type ales, I think of something unfiltered because it's beer brewed in primitive conditions for immediate or near immediate consumption. This sahti had the right look, to my eyes, with a substantial haze taking the shine off of the yellow liquid. (It appeared gold in the thicker part of the glass.) A tiny white head didn't take long to disappear while I spied a modicum of bubbles through the haze.

The aroma was like a hefeweizen with a prominent banana scent joined by a bit of bubblegum. A hint of something piney hovered in the background.

Beers with a cloudy appearance and/or having a lot of alcohol tend to have heavier bodies but I found the sahti to have a nice medium-light one instead. Fizz was of a similar intensity so it was rather smooth. The aroma bits swapped places here with bubblegum becoming more prominent than banana. There was a bit of rye plus a peppery tasting hoppiness to offer spicy counterpoint to the fruity yeast flavors and the (tempered) grainy sweetness.

Upon swallowing, a pine flavor came through - the stuff was filtered through spruce branches, if memory serves. Not strong but instead deliciously subtle. The yeast and grain flavors departed quickly allowing those peppery hops to take over and make for a rather dry finish with a modicum of bitterness.

I found that, when drunk cold, Sahti has more of a hefeweizen character minus the wheat. Those yeasty banana/bubblegum flavors had center stage. However, as the brew warmed, it lost some of the lighter, fruitier flavors and took on mellow, earthy ones with the hops, rye, and spruce coming together for a taste that was heartier, more redolent of a farmhouse.

And it was this flavor triad that makes Sahti such a great beer. They all came in just the right amounts and melded together just perfectly.

Junk food pairing: Crank up the Sibelius, pour a glass of Sahti, and grab a bag of Gardetto's Roasted Garlic Rye Chips.

The Corona Diaries Vol. 108: That file powder isn't going to use itself

(early September 2023)

(Listen to the prelude.)

The day after our trek out to Heartland Farm, the Frau and I went out to the North Side Farmers Market on yet another overcast day. It and the Monona Farmers Market, which we visit sometimes as well, don't have the spectacle or variety of the Dane County Farmers Market, but they do have the virtue of being less crowded. It's more easy going so I don't feel rushed and I never get that Orwellian feeling that there are people behind me surreptitiously looking over my shoulder at the same bunch of arugula that I am eyeing up.

The fall harvest season is in full swing and the stands were overflowing with nature’s bounty. I am not sure how many vendors grow in a greenhouse but I suspect it's few to none. These vegetables are genuinely seasonal, I'd bet.

It is prime eatin’ time! I know that with California, Florida, cargo planes, and whatnot, my supermarket will always have fresh produce available. But I still love the notion that I am eating something that popped out of the ground ripe not too long ago and was grown by, if not exactly a neighbor, then by someone who at least lives in the same county I do. And that the vegetables weren't grown and picked in some kind of Harvest of Shame scenario.

While not everyone at the stands at the farmers markets are farmers, you do run into one occasionally. Look at their hands. Are they calloused? Or all delicate like mine from typing and mousing for a living? There is something rather neat about buying food from the person who produced it, who got their hands dirty from digging in the earth or from delivering a calf. I realize that cities have throughout history depended on rural areas to feed them (and rural areas on cities to buy their food) but there's just something more genuine and fulfilling about buying tomatoes at the farmers market from a farm 10 miles away than ones grown in California or Peru or wherever the ones at the supermarket are from. Plus, the local ones are actually ripe, more flavorful, and pesticide-free.

While harvest festivals these days are more about local farmers having a good crop and being able to stave off creditors instead of a town celebrating that it won't starve over the winter, I still love them. For me, they are, amongst other things, a reminder that food doesn't just magically appear on the supermarket shelf.

Now, aren't these colors just wonderful?

I think those little things in the husks are ground cherries. Never having had them, I was intrigued.

Look at those lovely flowers!

It’s scenes like these that make me wish I had a green thumb. Even more satisfying than buying chilies from the farmer who grew them is harvesting ones you grow yourself.

In addition to all of the colors, there were the smells, including some mighty fine aromas coming from this stand selling Afghani food.

I bought a couple of those samosa-like stuffed pastry thingies. They were delicious!

The allure and (some of the) aroma of New Orleans drew me to this stand.

Rue Bourre is a restaurant in-progress owned, I believe, by a couple from Louisiana. It is to open on the east side not too far from us and not far off the path from Acewood Park so it could become a post-hike lunch location. In the meantime, they’re at the farmers market with warm beignets and chicory coffee along with containers of frozen gumbo and jambalaya. I like gumbo. I like jambalaya. And so I brought some of each home with me. That gumbo file on my spice rack isn't going to use itself, after all.

I’ve had various preparations of gumbo over the years. Some were soup-like with a thin broth meaning little to no roux and I was simply incredulous at bowls of these gumbos. I have always been told that, when it comes to Cajun cooking, “First you start with a roux.” (I am not qualified to engage in a debate about the role of okra in imbuing a gumbo with the gumbo essence. However, I was once told by a resident of Houma, Louisiana with a very pronounced Cajun accent giving him a voice of authority that a gumbo with no okra is not gumbo.)

Others had an abundance of roux and were thick and stew-like.

Rue Bourre splits the difference. The broth has clearly consummated its relationship with the roux but it isn’t stew-like. And it tastes positively toothsome! You’ve got those tasty Maillard reactions from the roux, porcine andouille goodness, the Holy Trinity, thyme, bay – this is great gumbo.

While I enjoyed the jambalaya, it tasted odd to me because it had no tomato and I am used to jambalaya having tomato in it. That acidic fruitiness cuts the starchy-grainy onslaught of the rice in a pleasing way. Good but not great.

I also bought some corn and cooked it the next day on the grill along with some fish.

I love grilled corn! While I may not eat particularly seasonally, I look forward to indulging in fresh sweet corn every August.

********

A few days later, my Frau went up north to attend a wedding so it was just me and the cats. Our eldest, Grabby (a.k.a. – Marilyn) wasn’t feeling well. She was diagnosed with intestinal issues back in 2020, if memory serves. Likely lymphoma, according to the vet. After the diagnosis, she was put on steroids and had been doing well. Occasionally, she’d have a bad couple of days but then whatever it was would pass before long and she’d be back to eating twice her weight in food every day and more spry than most 10 year-old cats, much less ones her age, 16-17.

I kept an eye on Grabby and gave Piper extra treats. Grabby was accustomed to sitting on my Frau’s lap and sleeping on her hip at night. With the usual relaxation spots gone, I got some extra lap time with her which was really nice because I was worried about her. Would she get better? Had her time come?

One morning I drove out to Phil's Woods, a county natural area west of Madison, to take a hike. It’s nestled in the hills dotted with farms that mark the beginning of the Driftless Area.

The Phil in the name refers to Philip LaFollette, son of "Fighting Bob" La Follette. The progressive firebrand represented Wisconsin in Congress as a Representative and a Senator as well as being our governor. His son followed in his footsteps as Phil served as governor of our fair state for three terms. After his death, his widow donated the land.

The county parks website says the plot was too small to be a state park. So, while it wouldn’t be a long walk, it would provide some beautiful scenery. I hit the path.

The trail was hilly but nothing too steep.

At one point, it brought me to a corn field and skirted it along one side.

As I continued, I came to another corn field just as the sun had risen above the tree line. It was simply gorgeous out. A blue sky filled with puffy clouds looked down as a layer of gold settled on the trees.

There was a bench along the trail here looking north towards the bluffs of Baraboo some 15 or so miles in the distance. However, they were not visible owing to the tree canopies. I guess a return trip in the fall or next spring is in order.

All too soon, my short hike was over. It was mid-morning and I drove the backroads home to enjoy the scenery and slower pace.

When I walked in the door, I didn’t see either of the cats and so I sought out Grabby to check in and found her lying on a bed. She was listless and I noticed that her food dish, normally licked clean, didn't appear to have been touched. Since she’d been this way for 2 or 3 days, I decided to bring her to the vet to see what was up.

********

Bonus photo. Here’s a picture of the hazy sky from last month. Not only was the sun dimmed by all that smoke from Canada, the air smelled of it too. It brought back that apocalyptic feeling from a few years back during lockdown when it seemed like we were doomed to feel nature's wrath.

 

 

 (Go view the feline postlude.)