Hounds, Hydrangeas, and Horrible Storms

I think I have forgotten how to blog.
It's been almost a month.
This one may take awhile, so it's a good thing it's Sunday.

In the month since last we met, pretty much nothing has happened.
Well, not entirely true.
We agreed to be foster parents for this young fellow:

He is a handsome young Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, a Blenheim,
and he was surrendered by his owners to Cavalier Rescue
for placement in a new home. (Not ours; we are foster parents!)

He was so big and furry when we got him, 

that he reminded us of Sasquatch, the Abominable Snowman, 

so we nicknamed this boy Dogsquatch.

Then we had him groomed, and had all the old fur and mats 

(there were a lot) cut off, and he became Nakedsquatch.

Normally Cavaliers are not clipped, but when a coat is neglected badly, there's no alternative!

Not only does he look better, but his grooming transformed him;
before, he was standoffish, didn't want to be touched, 
didn't want to see a dog brush!  Not a happy boy.

There were mats hiding under his big coat - and they had tightened up
close to his skin - so being touched or petted or brushed hurt.  A lot.

Now he's a happy guy!  He's cuddly and charming,
his true self emerging from his pile of fur.

Look how much younger
and happier he looks,
from before (l) and after (r).
Happy Nakedsquatch.
Now that's a change!

So, what about those Hydrangeas mentioned in the title?

Well, we have 3 regular ol' mopheads, in our upper border.

Most of the time they bloom like gangbusters.

This year, the total number of blooms among all 3 bushes is . . . one.

And this is it:

One lonely little mophead blossom.

I don't even have the heart to cut it and bring it in to dry.

But around the corner, along the side of the house, 

there's a stalwart lacecap Hydrangea.  She does not disappoint.

Beautiful pink blooms. . . 

and on the same bush, blue blooms!

How goofy is that?

I love Hydrangeas, and am disappointed at the lousy showing
of my three ladies in the border.
I will have to find out what went wrong.  Their foliage is gorgeous!
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What is not gorgeous is the pile of giant tree limbs that's right in front of That Old House.
Last week, a fierce fast storm whipped through, short and violent, and
ripped off top branches from the two big maples in our front yard.
They covered half our street, and posed quite an obstacle for motorists.

We've had some funky landscaping in our time, 
but this one takes the cake.

I told you that I was rusty in putting together a blog post.
I began this one early afternoon on Sunday; it's nearly 10:30 at night, and I'm just wrapping up.
Okay, I did do other things in between: dinner, watering potted plants, sorting through
some linens in the dining room . . . but yikes!  I need to get back in blogging shape!
Have a lovely week! -- Cass

For info on Nakedsquatch's life with That Old House's resident canines,
you can visit Dylan DiPoochy on Facebook.
Yes, my dog is on FB.  Not me.  Go figure.

And I am joining Susan's Metamorphosis Monday blog party,
at Between Naps On The Porch.  Click here!

Gobble Gobble When? And Howard's Hieroglyphics, Part Two

There it is, in big bold type, right at the top
of this blog post.  10 days until Thanksgiving.

So what is this Happy Frank's Giving Day I keep hearing about?
 Is there really a giant roasted parakeet involved?

Ten days, people!

Woo-hoo!  Now it gets interesting.  :-)

(I work best under pressure.

In fact, I pretty much only work at all under pressure.)

For a look at this year's original TBDBT list
 click here!

On Sunday, while I was working my dealer day at

Somerville Center Antiques, my dear hubby oiled

our soapstone counters.  Bless his heart.

I can tick that off my TBDBT List.

Sigh . . . I wish they were always so uncluttered.

But part of this whole deal is putting things you took off, back!

Of course, that also means you can sort, give away,

toss, and tidy, so it's all good.

Really, Jaba the Hutch does not always look this crowded!

Sometimes, it looks worse.  (Ba-dum-dum.)

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I use vintage flatware at the holidays,

which always needs polishing beforehand.

Click here, if you want to know my Lazy Lady's system,

whereby you can shine up your silver in a jiff, using stuff you

probably already have, while you relax with your feet up.

No kidding -- it's the easiest-ever silver polishing, and it works.

I bet that if you, too, are hosting Thanksgiving,

that you, too, are focusing in on what needs to be done,

and not the things on your To Be Done By Thanksgiving

list that are, well, optional.  Like, curtains!

This is the fabric that's waiting to be made into new

dining room draperies.  I just need to overcome my fear of

my new sewing machine, which now is a year and a half old!

Daughter Anne has sewn miles on my "new" machine;

I'm counting on her to get me going, and shepherd me through

this project, this week.  I've already got the panels cut out!

Anyone taking bets on this?

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And . . . a followup to my October 11th post

about Howard's hieroglyphics -- now revealed.

In that post, I offered a million dollar reward

for a full and accurate translation of H's chicken scratches.

My pretend million is safe; no one got it right!

What did he scrawl?  In English?  Here goes ...

Scarlett

Dean

Graziano

Tues

Men Cook

Pastor

Butler

100th

Believe it or not, I understand what he meant by this.

But I'd never have been able to read it!

  -- Cass

P.S.  We took Dylan Dog to Petco on Saturday to get a new collar

(he came with a PINK one -- How humiliating for him).  

Dylan cut up so badly at the store, biting his leash and whirling, 

that Howard toted him around the aisles in what we refer to as 

"The Carry of Shame."  

That's our Dylan.  A work in progress!

A Dock, A Dylan, A Dearth of Trick Or Treat

Since last Monday's monster storm, we've been
wondering how our family beach house, out on
the North Fork of New York's Long Island, fared.

On Sunday, my sister and her husband managed to snag a full tank

of gas, and headed out.  She sent me a couple of phone pictures.

Our dock stretches out into an inlet off Peconic Bay,

and at the end there are steps down to a floating dock.

Well, there used to be steps.

What happened was, the tides and winds came through,

raised the floating dock up to or above the level of the

stationary dock, twisted it, and tore off the steps.

Otherwise, except for water in the crawl space, and signs that there

had been water in the garage, and lots and lots of

flotsam and jetsam on the lawn . . . all's well.

Even the power was back on.  Lucky, and grateful.

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After several years of having geriatric dogs in our house, 

it's a bit of a surprise to have a young, energetic pup.

At 3 years old, Dylan's got a lot of goofy in him.

Sometimes his plans don't quite pan out.

A little pictorial:

 "What do you mean - the back of the sofa
is not a good place to nap?"

 "See?  I'm hanging on . . . just fine."

 "Well, so maybe there is a little slippage."

 "Uh-oh.  I see what you mean."

Dylan is giving us a lot of laughs, and is well on his way to
walking nicely on lead, and to having acceptable house manners.
Fifth day with no belly band!

He naturally tests his limits, but he is a quick study,
and - like most dogs and husbands - he is lucky he is cute.
And what's even cuter?
Dylan, and a husband!

It's hard to get good pictures of Dylan.  He is so dark,
and moves so fast that often pictures of him turn out blurry!

Well, even though this is New Jersey's official
"Halloween," I have not seen hide nor hair of any
Trick or Treaters.  Sad.  Now, whatever will we do
with all those 3 Musketeers Fun Bars?  -- Cass

Holy Turkey Day, Batman! And a Cake. Of Sorts.

3 weeks from yesterday, we'll gather 24 people
at That Old House, to celebrate America's 
favorite family holiday - Thanksgiving.

Is my T.B.D.B.T. List done yet?  Nope.

Have we had other fish to fry,

more important than sewing dining room curtains?  Yup.

Am I panicked?  Not yet.

Plenty of time for that later.

There's always room for Jello, and there's always time for panic.

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We have so much to be thankful for, even while we
weather some recent challenges and trials.

There's a new boy in our life, 3-year old Dylan,
a 13 pound bundle of energy and passionate affection
whom we adopted on the Sunday before Sandy
from Cavalier Rescue.

Dylan's first days at That Old House involved a lot of rain.  Yes, he was damp.

***********************************
And, today, I ordered a really gorgeous looking roasting pan - 
one that can handle any turkey my husband decides to haul home.

I may regret this.
I emailed Howard and told him I'd ordered a great big roasting pan.
He answered: "You have thrown down the gauntlet, my dear."

Howard, 2011, with a bird he considered
woefully inadequate.  In my defense,
 I roasted two of them!

Since my husband has been known to hunt out 32-plus pound
turkeys on the day before Thanksgiving, even though I didn't have
a large enough roasting pan to cook that big a bird,
I may, as I said, regret this.

********************************
. . . and now for something completely different.
A Cake.
At least, it's billed as a cake in any recipes I found.

Anne made it, and she says "It was odd, but delicious.  Too sweet."

So here it is, something called a Dump Cake.
Because you take 3 or so ingredients, and dump them,
bake them, and then . . . eat them.

You need:

Yes, boys and girls, we used canned apple pie filling, and discovered
that it is wicked sweet.  So -- in went some big squeezes of lemon, a
pinch of salt . . . and still too sweet.  Like scrunch your face sweet.

Hmmm . . . what to do?
We happened to have a can of tart-sweet whole cranberry sauce in the pantry.

Plop - plop - plop - dump.  Right onto the apples.

 Next step -- the cake part.
You dump the cake mix right over the fruit.
Yup.  That's it.

Dumping layers.  Apples.  Cranberries.  Cake Mix.

Then comes the odd part.  Butter.
Our recipe said two sticks of butter, cut up and distributed over the cake mix layer.
Anne and I thought, "Yikes, two sticks?"  She did a stick and a half.

Into the oven.  350-degrees, preheated.

 For . . . until it's done.  It took awhile.
About an hour.  Maybe a little more, as we wanted the top nice and brown.

The sugary fruity parts got nicely caramelized.
But you can't cut this like a cake.
Well, you could, but it would be a holy mess.
Anne scooped out bits, topped them with whipped cream,
and served her grateful parents.  In bowls.

It was good. More like a cobbler than a cake.
But eventually, it all disappeared.  Like Magic.


Join Michael Lee West at Rattlebridge Farm
for Foodie Friday.  Click here!

And enjoy!  -- Cass