Author: lbeth1950

lbeth1950https://nutsrok.wordpress.comNow that I'm done with the bothersome business of workday world, I am free to pursue my passion, capturing the stories I've loved all my life. The ones you'll read on my blog are good old Southern stories, a real pleasure to relay. Here in the South, we are proud of our wacky folks. I've preyed shamelessly on my family, living and dead, friends, neighbors, and acquaintances, often changing the names to protect the innocent and not so innocent. My mother illustrates my blog. I come from a rollicking family of nuts, hence the name of the blog Nutsrok Enjoy.
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Not Another One

Long before the advent of “Karens,” I was in a burger place with my kids many years ago and overheard a mother critiquing the burger her young son was half through eating. “Oh no! That’s not done!” Outraged, she asked for the manager. “This is disgusting. Look at the burger! You could kill somebody!”

The manager was polite. “Yes ma’am. Let me get you another.” He quickly replaced her son’s meal.

She sniffed her disdain and snatched the proffered burger. She presented to her little guy who dug in. Again, he finished off about half when Mom pronounced with outrage. “This one’s not done either.” She snatched his burger and tore into the manager.

Soon she was back with another burger. When she unwrapped it for her son, he beseeched her”Mommy, please take this one back. I can’t eat another one!”

Work

In what ways does hard work make you feel fulfilled?

Growing up on a farm, I was introduced early to hard work. I didn’t like it a bit. My dad had a favorite saying,”Time for the friendships to end and the work to begin.” He thought he had to antagonize us to motivate us. His methods did motivate me to educate myself so I’d never again be under anyone’s subjugation.

Fortunately, as I matured, I learned to take satisfaction in doing a good job, being pleased with my efforts. Good work is a fine companion.

This is not me

Chicken Poop Tea For Two

Why don’t men just say what they mean?  Bud and I have been married forever and I still don’t know how he thinks most of the time.  You need a little history here.  My niece generously gave me a garbage bag full of chicken poop.  I’d been coveting her chicken poop for a while, but hated to come right out and ask for it.  If you’re not a gardener, you probably have no idea what a precious gift chicken poop is.  Ferns love it.  There is nothing better than a delicious dose of chicken poop tea for your flowers and vegetables.  They practically slurp when they get their weekly dose and seem to fairly jump up.  I hurried home with my prize before she could regret it, with the intention of making myself a big batch of chicken poop tea.  I dug around is Bud’s shop and found a nice five gallon bucket.  He agreed I could use it.  It never occurred to me to mention what I wanted it for.

I divided that precious poop between that bucket and one of my own and filled both three-quarters full, covered them and left them to steep, one on the front porch and the other near the back patio.  In a week or so, I had a strong brew.  The lid prevented the smell from permeating the area.  It was potent.  I doused my ferns and other hungry plants weekly.  They loved it, competing to green up and put on new growth.  Adding water each use kept it coming.  The stuff was all I hoped it would be.

Then Bud started badgering.  “When are you gonna pour that stuff out?  It stinks!”  You can’t keep it here in that bucket.”

I wasn’t getting rid of it.  “Hannah, gave me this.  I need it for my plants.  I’ll move it away from the patio, but I’m not getting rid of it!”

”That s—— stinks.!  You need to pour it out.” He had the nerve to actually call it s—-!

”I’m not pouring it out!”  He stomped off.  He better have the good sense not to mess with my chicken poop tea! 

This went on for three years.  Several times a summer, we discussed my tea.  He never quite had the nerve to dump it, though he threatened several times.  That was a wise decision.  Chicken poop doesn’t grow on trees.  By now, this was prime stuff, very valuable to me.

This May, we were having guests.  I was fatigued, having spent several days getting ready.  Bud started up again, seeing my weakness.  “What are you gonna do with this bucket of s—-?”

I lost my resolve.  “I guess I’ll  throw it out!”  I thought he’d be ashamed and stop me.  He didn’t!  I gave my plants a final treat and emptied the buckets on my compost heap.

Yesterday as we dawdled over Sunday coffee in his shop, I spied that same blue five gallon bucket by Bud’s saw, full of lumber scraps.  “Is that THE bucket?  I didn’t think you’d still use it after it stood full of chicken poop for three years.”

”Why sure.  It’s a good bucket.  Why do you think I wanted it back?”

“You mean all that complaining was over the bucket, not the chicken poop?”

”Well, yeah.  It’s a good bucket.  I needed it back.”

”Why in the world didn’t you tell me?  I would have gotten you another bucket and kept my chicken poop? Buckets are cheap!  Chicken poop is priceless!”  Was this the same man who agreed to share all his worldly goods only forty-eight years ago?  I guess that didn’t include “good buckets.”

Chcken s——-!

My patio

 

 

Jokes

The Cannibal Supper Table Cannibal Husband-I don’t like your Mother. Cannibal Wife- Try the potatoe

Cannibal Cookbook Cannibal Wife- Honey, why did you think I wanted a subscription to People Magazine? Husband- Oh I’m sorry dear I thought it was a cookbook.

Cannibal Soup? Two cannibals were having supper. “Your wife makes great soups” said one to the other. “Yes” agreed the first, “but I am going to miss her terribly.”

Leftovers Joke “Oh no! not leftovers again!” complained my older sister when she saw the leftover meatloaf on the table from last nights supper. “Young lady” responded my father sternly, “do you know how many people would love to have a delicious supper like this?! You should be ashamed of yourself! Now before we start eating I want to hear you say grace thanking the Lord for this delicious meal!” “Thank you Lord for this delicious supper”, muttered my sister submissively “….again!”

Horse Joke Jack strode into ‘John’s Stable’ looking to buy a horse. “Listen here” said John, “I’ve got just the horse your looking for, the only thing is, he was trained by an interesting fellow. He doesn’t go and stop the usual way. The way to get him to stop is to scream heyhey the way to get him to go is to scream Thank God. Jim nodded his head, “fine with me, can I take him for a test run?” Jim was having the time of his life this horse sure could run he thought to himself. Jim was speeding down the dirt road when he suddenly saw a cliff up ahead “stop!” screamed Jim, but the horse kept on going. No matter how much he tried he could not remember the words to get it to stop. “yoyo” screamed Jim but the horse just kept on speeding ahead. It was 5 feet from the cliff when Jim suddenly remembered “heyhey!” Jim screamed. The horse skidded to a halt just 1 inch from the cliff. Jim could not believe his good fortune, he looked up to the sky, raised his hands in the air, breathed a deep sigh of relief and said with conviction “Thank God.”

Ewwwwww!

Not long after my cousin started dating Joey, she decided to treat him to her specialty, pancakes with sugar syrup. In case you’re not familiar with sugar syrup, it’s equal parts sugar and water boiled up and perhaps flavored with vanilla or cinnamon to taste. It’s actually very good on pancakes.

She served him up a tall stack of hot buttered pancakes, referring him to the pot of sugar syrup on the stove. He served himself and dug in, instantly spewing out the mouthful. “This is horrible! Is this some kind of sick joke!”

Joy was furious! “What was wrong with him?” Then she looked and saw he’d mistaken a can of bacon grease for the syrup. To make matters worse, he was Jewish.

Prayers for Charley

Mother was a forty-year member of her Sunday School Class. She’d grown close to her class members and could be counted on to be in attendance. One Sunday as they made their prayer list, Mother asked for prayers for her four-year-old grandson , Charley, because he’d gotten his foot stuck in a cash register. That broke the composure of the class. Once they stopped laughing, she explained. He was playing with a discarded cash register from his other grandmother’s restaurant when he jammed his chubby little foot in one of the cash slots. His howls brought everyone running to extricate him.

Lazy

My house is messy. I can see the sun shining on dog hair in a couple of spots. It’s not pretty. There are two throw pillows on the floor by Bud’s chair. A plant has dropped a couple of leaves in the garden room. The plants are crying to be fed and watered. The glass table top is smeared.

Then there’s the kitchen table covered with mail. Croc has slopped water and food on the floor. I need to either mop or planr a garden. Something cooked over on the stove. The countertops and sink need scrubbing.

I’ve been devoting myself to whining and haven’t even made the bed yet. I think I might just make my side, so I don’t mess up my lazy streak. It’s such a mess I’m almost proud.

Worst of all, I won’t be able to get any help out of Bud. He’s working on his jeep. If anyone feels like cleaning house, come on over. I’ll make coffee and teacakes. We’ll have a good visit.

Oh well. I’d better get started.

Friendly

What’s the trait you value most about yourself?

I enjoy people. I am open and friendly. I can’t help talking to anyone who catches my interest: oldies, babies, dogs. Sometimes I talk to flowers. “Oh, you pretty thing!” I make a point not to talk to traffic. Bud takes care of that!

Of course I talk to myself. “I’ve got to clean this refrigerator today!” I even talk in my sleep.

Well, Black My Eyes!

This post might not make sense to you if you’re not from the South, but I had a near calamity today.  I had a taste for black eye peas, so I got my trusty cast iron pot out and started washing peas.  Bud made a pass through and nearly swooned with true love when he saw how lovely I looked washing peas, and the garlic, celery, and onion waiting on the chopping block.  There would be unhappiness in our home this evening if no peas and ham were forthcoming.  After seasoning and starting the peas, I went to the freezer to find the meaty hambone I’d squirreled back a couple of weeks ago.  I think to a Southern Cook, the hambone is more important than the ham itself, a delicacy to be hidden from nosey freezer plunderers at all costs.  In fact, I have been known to threaten bodily harm when a home-wrecking guest asked Bud, not me, for the hambone after a meal.  I put a stop to that hussy then and there!

At any rate, the precious hambone has to be retrieved at the perfect point of denuding.  Too much meat on the bone is wasteful.  Too little just leaves the pea soup a bit anemic. I knew I had the most darling hambone hidden away in the freezer awaiting its rendezvous with my peas.  I reached in the freezer for my hambone and found………..nothing!  Well, actually I found ground beef and pork, chicken parts of numerous vintages, several kinds of sausage, vegetables and fruit a plenty, but no hambone.  I panicked.  Earlier in the week, I’d asked Bud to get the frozen meat trimmings and scraps to the trash.  God forbid?  Had he mistaken my foil-wrapped hambone for scraps. Worse yet, had he sneaked it out to another woman? I was almost too shattered to look, but finally found my hambone shoved to the back of the bottom shelf behind a bag of ice.  Never has a hambone been so welcome.  The peas breathed a sigh of relief when I dropped the bone in.

Our marriage was saved.

2 1/2 cups black eyed peas
8 cups water
1/2 tablespoon salt or more to taste
1/4 tablespoon black pepper
1 medium onion (whole)

1/4 c diced celery if desired
Nice hambone

1/4 teaspoon vinegar (or pepper sauce)

Simmer all ingredients in large cooking pot on stove top burner on medium heat. Use cast-iron pot if you have one.

Cook 40-60 minutes or until peas are tender. Do not allow water to evaporate entirely. If peas are dry they will burn quickly.

Serve with hot cornbread