Miscellany

This is completely not food related. But I could include some pictures of tasty-looking things, just for kicks.

Here's a lovely cake, for example. Mmmm... cake....

And, some sort of sandwich... sliced apples in there, I think.

Anyway, moving on...

We live in a weird house. That really shouldn't be worthy of comment, because we are weird people and purposefully choose houses that have "character." But this one... sheesh. Ok, we'll back up a bit for some history first.

We are renters. Some day we'd love to buy, but as Army nomads, it just hasn't been practical. A few houses ago, in South Carolina, we almost bought. We thought we'd be staying. Thought hubby would be getting out of the Army, too. He wasn't sure what he wanted to be when he grew up, though, and when re-enlistment time came, Bush had made sure the job market was in the shitter, to ease hubby's decision. He re-enlisted and we moved.

But that house loved us. It breathed an audible sigh of relief when we moved in... knowing it finally had someone who cared. It had obviously been loved for a long time, and remembered what that was like, but then had become a rental house. Houses don't like being rentals. That house had the remnants of extensive gardens, thoughtful details, dark wood embellishments... the sorts of things that never survive renters. The house wanted us so much that we almost succumbed.

On we went, though. To an old house in a non-existant town in Kansas. It was big in all the wrong places and had a tiny kitchen, but we had the idea of buying in our heads... and were tempted once again. Instead we moved on post. That was a good house. Small, but safe. The yard and neighborhood were the best things there.

And now... our weirdest house yet. The house itself has been a rental for so long that it doesn't have a soul left. Like a very old tree, it has gone to sleep. We have no plans to wake it up. But there are so many strange little things. We've found 3 broken cell phones and a fork in the backyard. I can only imagine what treasures we could find if we scraped the top 3 inches of yard away. Then there's the dead bees that keep popping up in the washing machine. Do I want to know how they get in there? The birds in the chimney were, apparently, a rather common problem here. But the lights in the house are strange. Despite having electricians sent out, the ceiling fans don't work, the lights flicker, and a couple only turn on if the switch is "just so." Bulbs burn out very quickly, too.

And finally... well, I hope it's finally... we've only been here two months... the dishwasher. I don't like the dishwasher, and he doesn't like me. That's right, "he." I've named him Herschel (we end up naming all our appliances.) Herschel does a pretty good job, despite his age and small size, but absolutely refuses to wash anything that had a pork product on it. The other dishes in the load will get clean. But not those that held pork. Not even the forks or spoons. It's not just a grease issue, either, as hamburger grease, butter, chicken fat, and coconut oil all come clean.

He just won't touch pork.