The Sadistic Doughboy is one of our oldest grandson’s monsters. I can still hear him cackling at my protest.
The Sadistic Doughboy
This was drawn when he was 12. I particularly like the “I’m with Stupid” shirt with the arrow pointing up.
I miss that little kid, but the man he grew into is also awesome and cool.
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Take an iconic figure and write it as the opposite of its intent.
Our youngest grandson is in the habit of only wanting to eat “noodles” at our house. It’s a tradition. By “noodles”, he means Ramen. He likes “noodles with trees”, which means Ramen with the seasoning packet mixed in, the “trees” being the green bits of seasoning. How those bitty bits got to be “trees”, I don’t know, but they are.
ANYWAY, the other day, he didn’t eat all the noodles I made, and the leftover noodles sopped up the leftover broth and it just wasn’t appetizing. But would I toss it out? Oh, no, I wouldn’t! I make a frittata.
The Kitchn has a method, but OF COURSE I can’t do it quite the way they say I’m s’pozta. Mostly, yes.
No meat, for one thing. I minced carrots, celery, and mushrooms and cooked them in olive and sesame oil, then mixed them with the noodles. Put all that back in the pan and poured lightly beaten egg over it.The Kitchn says to put it in the oven to bake, but I don’t have a baking skillet, so I flipped it. I might also have put a lid on to make a makeshift Dutch oven.
It came out delicious, anyway.No, it doesn’t have cheese in it; the orangey bits are just the yellow of fresh egg yolks from free-range chickies.
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: A character makes something out of a “worthless” scrap.
I’ve been called upon to rescue another critter. Not a turtle, this time, or a snake, but a newt (I think).
The crazy little feller had hopped into a plastic pan filled with water and couldn’t get out. If I hadn’t heard his silent newtonian screams, he’d have been a goner. MomGoth to the rescue! Yay, me!
Ain’t he a cute li’l skriggler?
ALSO: I was cutting sweet potatoes on my mandolin and I nicked my thumb. So I am hurted. But not very very hurted. Charlie came to my aid with an adhesive bandage (or, for my British friends, a sticking plaster).
Speaking of friends, I got a wonderful phone call from Beth (Moore) Johnson, a friend I’ve known for a month or so longer than I’ve know JANE! I know, right? She’s kept in touch through the years by means of an annual letter, and we’ve friended each other on Facebook. We talked for an hour, and could have talked for any number of hours more, as if we’ve never been apart. That’s friendship.
AND: I’ve been putting together a collection of my science fiction short stories, which will probably be released fairly early in 2015. I’m thinking of calling it THE WOMAN WHO WASN’T A SHAVETAIL, after one of the stories in it. All but one of the stories have been published previously here or there; the final story in the collection hasn’t been published anywhere else. What do you think of that title?
It being Tuesday, I’m posting at Fatal Foodies on the topic of the tail end of the farmers’ market.
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: A character is called upon to rescue someone or something often thought of as icky.