Cozie Blog

Soon, very soon, my blog will always and forever be solely on www.CozieBlog.com.  Just so’s you know.  And ignore the template.  I need to find time to revamp in a majorly Cozie way.

I am a very neglegant blogger, which I do not apologize for in the least.  My weeks have been busy, but very good and have contained the following key words: Florida, Illinois, Ziplines, Cool Alaskan Relatives, Changing the car oil and wiper blades, building a very cute planter, fixing the electric fence, buying stuff and more.  You’ve probably read most all about it on my momsie’s blog, though.  I’m always two steps behind.  Life goes on.

Tip of the day: Do not tell the fellows at Tractor Supply loading the 200+ lb. roll of fencing not to worry about scratching your car.  They will take you literally.  Not only are the armrests on the back doors cracked, but my overhead cab light can’t decide whether my doors are shut anymore.  I just blinks and flickers confusedly.  But I got it home, and that’s what matters.  Pictures will probably follow sometime in the future.

So ironically, the morning after I wrote a splendiferous report concerning my tea maid, she failed to make me tea.  And the funniest part is that she was in the kitchen the whole time making pancakes and she said she didn’t know I wanted tea.  I always want tea in the morning.

I had no other choice but to instate a new tea maid, but of the less maidenly sort.  When I asked Emmi last night, "Soooo, you do plan on getting up at 5 and making my tea while I’m the shower, yes?" and she groaned, "Can Bobo do it?"  I had my doubts, but Bo stepped up to the challenge on the condition that I let him sleep by my door.

When my alarm went off this morning after a night of awfully light sleeping, and I mean that in two ways since it was a full moon and there was a light in the dining room for a new chickie, I was actually angry that I was alive and someone had the nerve to invent 5 o’clock in the morning.  So I woke up my tea-knight and reminded him of his adventure.  He mumbled something about flaming azaleas and I knew I wouldn’t get my tea that morning.

But lo and behold.  Somehow my little knight is very chipper during the early morning hours.  When I came out of the bathroom,  not only did I have a cup of tea sitting on the table, complete with a napkin, but a plate of "breakfast".  Two leftover pieces of pepperoni pizza, which were unevenly heated.  Funky.  Halfway through it he saw a piece of pineapple on the plate and said, "Oh, I see I didn’t conceal the fact that that was Hawaiian very well.  I remembered that you don’t like pineapple on your pizza and I picked them all off for you. <grin><grin>"  Disturbing.

When I had six minutes before I had to leave, he announced that he was going to read the Bible to me.  He ran and got it and then proceeded to read James 4 to me in a very speedy manner.  Before I left I went to give him a hug and then I almost cried because he’s getting taller and his head doesn’t rest gently under my chin anymore.  It practically comes to my nose.  That’s not right.

Notice how I wrote "tea" in practically every sentence?  Ok, time to sign off — I need a cup of tea before bed.

My lack of sleep and MOM’s increase of pain has made me funnier (in person anyways.  my blog post probably won’t be very entertaining).  There is something adventurous about mom commanding me not to make her laugh because it hurts her kidney.  But she did just inform me that she was happier now that I’m home from work.  I replied, "Me, too."  She didn’t believe me, so I said, "I am" and then turned to look at her and smiled ever so charmingly until she laughed and then scolded me.

So anyways, I’m completely addicted to caffeine.  Preferably in the form of Tazo Awake or Bigelow Vanilla Almond tea.  If I don’t get my cup of tea in the morning, I will get a splitting headache and will consume any form of caffeine I can find.  This usually consists of the Standard brand coffee at Home Depot made for redneck contractors that can’t tell how bad it tastes through their mouthful of tobacco.  Yet I digress.

When you are addicted to tea, and haven’t the time to make it yourself, it is especially helpful to appoint yourself a tea-maid.  Here is mine:

She also doubles as a goat maid turtle killer.  But she puts up with my oddities, because she’s neat like that and I am quite particular about the way my tea is made.  It has to steep for 10-15 minutes.  It can be made in one of two cups, which are exactly alike in shape and size, but have different designs.  She tried putting it in another mug once, and I had to dump it into "my" cup before it was drinkable.  It has to be filled nearly to the rim.  Oh. My. Heavens.  One time Ryann made my tea and it was about 1 inch below the rim.  My obsessive compulsive behaviour which I *try* to keep under control flared up and I about had a heart attack.  I fumbled around for about two minutes saying, "Um…I don’t think I can drink that.  No, really.  I can’t."  I had to heat up more water and add that 2 tablespoons before I could drink it.  Pathetic, I know.

This post is pointless, eh?  Just more random info about me.  I need to go to bed.

I’ll start with pleasant news and then move downhill from there.  First off, JAYNEE was the winner of the tote bag contest, which I completely forgot about [shame on me], but am now ready to mail out.  So if you’d be so kind as to email me your address Miss Jaynee, I’d be happy to send it out. [fellowrandomone @ gmail.com]

A couple days ago at work I spotted an older couple picking out some patio furniture, so I went over and asked if they needed any help, and then got them to sign up for a Home Depot card so they could get $25 off.  It took longer than usual due to computer issues, but they were very kind and gracious.  In an attempt to keep them entertained during the wait, I made note of the fellow’s pen, which he insisted on using instead of the cheap-o one I offered him.  His wife started bragging about how he made it and then she showed me the ones he had made for her, all out of wood.  They really were pretty, and I jokingly declared, "*I* want one!"  Their card finally got approved and I waited through line with them to make sure they got their discount and then I walked their very cozy new rocking chair out to their vehicle.  The fellow stopped me before I walked off and opened up a case full of pens he had made and then handed me one to keep.  I told him I couldn’t take it, but he insisted, saying it was his ministry and then he informed me that it was made from olive wood which came from Jerusalem.  They were just so kind through the whole thing and I almost cried.  I gave the wife a big hug and shook the man’s hand.  So maybe that wasn’t as touching to you as it was to me, but I sure liked them a lot.

Now onto the goat butchering news.  You didn’t think I would actually skip it, did you?  I’ll start off by saying that I did edit some of the pictures so they are not so gruesome, and I am even putting warnings on them before you click so that if you don’t feel like seeing a goat being gutted and carved up, you don’t have to.  Also, I don’t post these for the fun of it.  I don’t want to be accused of being heartless;  I’m just showing information.  If you’re a meat-eater, no ranting.  It’s how you get your meat.  If you’re a vegetarian, you deserve to rant, because I’d be grouchy if I was grounded from steak, too.  On to my story.

The great ROY Family came over so that Mr. Roy could show us how to do it.  Now, the fact that *he* was teaching us made it a bit more stressful, because he prefaced the whole day letting us know how a certain friend of ours (a boy) was grossed out and couldn’t hardly get himself to gut the deer he shot with a *machine gun*.  So I knew from the start that I had to be very un-girly about the whole process, or I would be in his next story.  And let me tell you, I thought I was ready until I was in the kitchen and saw my dad and him putting up a rope.  I suddenly had  a feeling that my head was rolling off my shoulders.

After eating a very large cheeseburger, I was told, "Annie, get your gun."  Again, I thought I was prepared for everything as we led two goats out to the "square", which is a bit of pasture across our pond.  I put two bullets in my gun, one for each.  Big mistake.  Always load more than what you think you need.  Let’s just say that I got a little woozy, my bullet didn’t go high enough and Mr. Roy had to grab the gun from me, shoot, reload quickly and then kill the other one.  With that bit of hysteria over, it was time to gut them.  That meant deep breath, act like you’re not grossed out, and put on that fake non-chalant smile.

A lot of "Now, take this…."  "Umm, ok, keep going?"  "Yes, keep going…."  "Ummm, deeper?"  "Yes, deeper, but don’t puncture that!" and other such things went on.  Dad held the goat up while I did the dirty work and our instructor explained that he was exactly that: instructor only.

above: gutting Z

above: gutting J

above: finishing the gutting on J

After that, we loaded the empty goats into the quad-trailer and tried to start the quad.  We have to pull-start it, like a mower and it is exhausting.  Dad wore himself out, Ryann tried it, Mr. Roy tried it.  After literally 15 minutes of this, I remembered that I had left it in reverse and it has to be in nuetral to start it.  I said in a quiet voice, "Um, is it in reverse because I backed into this spot and *thought* it popped back up, but maybe not."  Dad looked down, popped it up, and started it with one pull.  Everyone but dad about died laughing.  I felt bad, because he was sore for the rest of the day.

Anyways, after getting back to the house, Mr. Roy and dad strung up the first carcass and started skinning and cutting.  Once we got started, I was in charge of getting the meat off the legs and shoulders while they got the back straps, tenderloins and ribs.

This next picture really isn’t that gross, but it does have a carcass in the background, so I’m putting up the caution thumbnail just in case.

And, me getting meat.

We got approximately 30 lbs. of meat.  We are cooking some up right now.  I snuck a piece and it is some of the best stuff I’ve ever had.  I think I can do this whole goat-eating thing.

Is it just me or is Duluth the funniest name ever for a city?  Anyways, when we first got here, I thought it rather mean of Rosetta Stone to send us to such a state.  It looked rather cold and gloomy, and I thought everyone would be angry (whenever we go to Michigan, which is cold and gloomy, half the population looks like they forgot their morning cup of caffeine and they don’t plan on being good-natured any time soon).

But I’m actually enjoying myself here and everyone is extremely friendly, and their accent is charming.  I keep slipping into it as I talk.  I should have known everyone would be like that, because the wonderful Mrs. Johnston is from MN and she’s VERY VERY friendly and enthusiastic.  So yes, thumbs up to Minnesota.  I’d hate to live here, but I’m sure glad you’ve welcomed us so heartily.

And, as an extra bonus — we are actually making money!  And it’s pretty easy!   Just tiring.  And if I have to demonstrate lesson 1 in Rosetta Stone spanish again, I think I’ll go crazy.  Maybe I’ll try French tomorrow, because I’ve actually been catching on to it while others try it.

Golly, I like this gig.