Lions and Tigers and Goats, oh my.

It was a hot, quiet afternoon and I was holed-up inside having just come home from work. The quiet part was changed instantly by a knock on the door. The furkids (still need to introduce them) erupted into their "I'm going to eat you/pet my tummy" canine opera. Still haven't posted that "my dog eats every third salesman, the second one just left" sign on the front door, yet. The salesman stated he was selling great steaks at very reasonable prices. I don't buy meat from the back of trucks in August in Texas, I tell him. He nervously laughs and says "no, we take orders and bring it out to you". I wondered why he was fidgeting and as I followed the glance he made over his shoulder, the reason became apparent. Buddy the goat had followed him from the neighbor's house.

We now, ironically, have unpackaged meat on the hoof chasing a meat salesman. The rather burly manly-man says in a voice that was, by now squeaking, "I don't do goats, make him go away". Buddy, at that precise moment, happily clip-clops up the stairs and onto the porch. He wanted to play with the nice man, like he does with his human 'Daddy' at home. I have watched Buddy and his Dad play and charge each other with lowered heads, without ever once striking each other. However, cheap-steak man knows nothing of this ritual and sees himself about to become goat chow. I grabbed Buddy's horn and let the man make a hurried dash for his truck. I, evilly (who ME), let go of said goat horn. Did you know that a goat can outrun a salesman; even if the salesman is given a headstart?

The man would have made a promising football player (or ballerina)- the moves he made were executed with style and grace. Both arms stretched out fully in front, with fingers widely splayed trying to fend off the wildly bouncing demon goat. All the while, his cute butt (hey, it was) was stuck fully out the opposite way. To his credit, no girlie-scream was ever emitted while he did the goat dance- the only sound heard was me snorting the held back laughter. He dived into the passenger side of the truck, slammed the door and thereby, saved his own meat so to speak. I escorted Buddy safely home, all the while chuckling and murmuring thanks to him for the delightful respite he provided on a hot August day in Texas.

Pesto Recipe

This is a recipe that I modified to fit the ingredients I had on hand. I had never made it before and was very brave (or stupid) because I took it to Patsy's B-Day Party. I had a request for the recipe...uh, I didn't follow a recipe. Just a splash here and there. Amazingly, my brain had not yet deleted the file. It is a nice pesto but very pungent- so a little goes a long way.

SAGE PEPITO PESTO

• 1/3C. Fresh Sage Leaves (do not pack)
• 2C. Spring Greens (pack lightly)
• 1/8C. Pepitos (roasted/hulled pumpkin seeds)
• 1/4C. Blue Cheese Crumbles (a blue brie would work)
• 2-3 Garlic Cloves (3 if small)
• 1 TB Balsamic Vinegar
• 1 TB Red Wine (whatever you like)
• 1/8C. Olive Oil (to start, if too dry- add a bit more)

Add all, except the oil, through the food processor shoot and finely mince. I don't have a good one- just a blender attachment. I have used the blender but it becomes pablum, tasty, but too smooth. Lastly, add the olive oil through the shoot, process until blended. Serve with a crusty bread or roast a chicken with the pesto glazed under the skin.

Two for one Sunday Edition

Furkids 101 was to be the class today. But... Wonder of wonders, last night I actually found myself somewhere besides work, WalMart or a gas station. I had the priviledge of attending a party to celebrate the 70th birthday for Patsy- a dear, talented Art instructor. She has been my Pottery teacher at Northlake College on Saturday mornings for several years. Her Monday thru Friday gig is at Booker T. Washington where she teaches Sculpture.

I had never been to her house and was in reverent awe as I entered the door. A state that enveloped me for the entire evening- I thought I had been transported to public art gallery not listed in the points-of-interest-guide. Everywhere one looked there was art. Beautiful flowing fibers, glass/metal sculptures, signed editions of 2-D, pottery and even the walls of the bathroom were art. She had designed the wallpaper for one bath and made the sink for the other. She has traveled extensively and has brought home treasures besides the perfunctory photos. Gathered about her that evening were the products of her life's work- people. Those who were touched by her journey through the multi-medium canvas that her life has been. Well done, Patsy. It is an honor to know you and to have been your student.

Tomorrow I will post the yummy Sage Pepito Pesto recipe that I took to the gala.

Still trying to find my blog legs

While I'm still a newbie and considering my options regarding blogging, these missives will seem a bit fuddled. Do I write for myself or for an audience? If just for me, recipes, products and any minutiae details regarding lifewhisks would be already known to me, the author. Well then, I must consider penning for an audience and it's a given that I already write for "the Audience of One", to quote from author Randy Alcorn. Abba Father is always the first to read my heart's blog, even before pen is put to paper (or fingers to keyboard). So with that having been said: come with me or dismiss me. But with or without an entourage, I am going to continue to whisk my life into being.

First day--timid but stepping out.

to blog or not to blog. I purchased an old whisk with a flaking painted handle at an Antique Mall, planning to set it aside for viewing only. It whispered, "Use me. Let me show you that old and scarred is still capable." Needless to say, I found it to be the best I have ever used. So this site will be about whisking in the bowl of life. Cooking, furkids, pottery and faith on ¾ acre in a country setting - whatever topics that might need to be agitated for the perfect melange to take place. I can not promise Pulitzer posts, correct punctuation, nor proper grammar- but I will endeavor to make good observations as I whisk about in my life.