A friend of mine is in Nashville and I don't know where he found that picture but he sent it on to me and I just had to post it here. It would almost appear to me that Dolly's sexual attraction(s) has overcome and overpowered even the magnificent Jagger, sending him seemingly back to an awkward place in his puberty.
Perhaps I'm reading too much into what might have just been a less-than-perfect photo of the Jagger.
I have searched but I don't seem to be able to find a photo of Keith Richards and Dolly Parton but part of me thinks that if there were, it would be an even cooler picture but you know me.
I am prejudiced.
So. Today has been a lot better. This morning I went out and walked a good four miles and it felt fine but DAMMIT TO HELL! I didn't apply any Body Glide and once again, my thighs are just this side of broasted. What is broasted? Like broiled and roasted? I would assume.
Nope. Just looked it up. It's a method of cooking using a pressure fryer.
So yeah, that works too. My thighs are almost broasted.
Y'all, it's still so hot.
But we do not have a hurricane headed our way at this second so I'm not complaining, I'm just reporting the facts.
Anyway, the fact is that I did feel and do still feel much better after I stretched my legs over the hills and under the oaks of White House road and I saw a hawk and a pileated woodpecker and lots of vultures who were ripping apart some sort of road kill and who, when I passed, rose up in the air with a sound like fifty umbrellas opening and closing, opening and closing.
"Hey, y'all!" I said. They waited until I'd gotten a little ways down the road and then drifted back down to their meal. I cannot bring myself to hate vultures. This planet would be one big old mess if they weren't around.
Well, Florida would be.
I don't want to pet them but I respect them.
I decided to make another "real" recipe today, attempting to change up the menu plans around here. I found a recipe in the Williams Sonoma slow-cooker cookbook that Mr. Moon bought me about ten years ago for chicken with shallots and balsamic vinegar. I don't know if you remember but I harvested a huge crop of shallots this year and still have millions of them. It took me at least half an hour, maybe more, to peel this many.
The recipe called for two pounds and I'm sorry, life is not long enough for that mess. And these may be small but they are potent. I cried and I cried and I cried.
So I've got the chicken cooking with the shallots and the vinegar and wine and salt and pepper and that's all that's in the whole recipe. I hope it's decent.
I also finished up Maggie's dress. I hemmed it according to the measurements Lily sent me and I also spent about four hours (I am not making this up) embroidering the outline of one of the pigs on the bodice.
Of course all of that was nothing but an excuse to sit on my ass in the air conditioning while watching Parts Unknown.
I could be out feeding the homeless or holding babies in the NICU or helping out teens in crisis but no. I am sitting in my house outlining a pig with chain stitch on a dress I made for my granddaughter.
It is pretty cute though, isn't it?
I think this might be one of my favorite dresses I've made for Maggie and I am going to make August a pair of shorts from the material I have left over so that he and Maggie can be matching. The boy's been begging me to make him a dress as I have mentioned before and I do intend to although I have to admit that I have some reservations about that which means that I am far less gender-cool than I thought I was. In theory I have no problem with a little boy wearing a dress at all. But in reality I'm not quite sure about it. But dammit, the child wants a dress and I am going to make him one. I wonder if he really wants a dress or if he just wants me to make him something like I make Maggie? He loves for me to sew buttons on his shirts which I do frequently when he comes over. We have a lot of fun picking out just the right button and he shows me where to place it.
I keep remembering a friend May had who was absolutely one of the most gorgeous young men I've ever met. He was stunning and seemed to have no idea that he was. At May's wedding to her first husband, this guy wore a skirt and I have to tell you that every woman from young to old at that wedding not only thought that was A-OK but sort of swooned and got the vapors when they (we) saw him.
I'm not sure what the men thought but we women did not care in the least. We all knew what we thought and we thought that it was awesome.
And no, it wasn't a kilt. It was a damn skirt. Like some sort of Balinese man skirt. So shut up!
And I keep thinking about that and how nice it is to wear a dress which is cooler and freer in many ways than a pair of shorts and also, that this is a good opportunity for me to practice what I preach.
DRESSES FOR BOYS! If they want them, of course. And August does.
One more thought on this subject: What does it mean that women feel free to wear pants but only the Scots and the truly bravest of men wear skirts?
And of course, there is always this.
I just sighed a deep sigh. I'm going to go cook the rest of the supper to go with the chicken and many shallots. I only got three eggs today and I am actually thinking of keeping the flock in the coop for a day or two so that I can determine how many hens really are laying.
Want to lay bets on whether or not I actually have the disciplinary fortitude to do that?
We shall see.
Tip for today: Take your walks and don't forget to use your Body Glide! Appreciate the buzzards.
And men in skirts.