Meet the cast, part three: Friends edition

The friend I've probably mentioned the most here is Allison.

My pot luck dorm roommate turned friend for life. She just always has outrageous stories, and is probably one of the most entertaining people to have a conversation with. And, due to all her outrageous stories, many people don't realize how smart she is. But it's true. As much as I hate to admit it, she totally smokes me in natural intelligence.

Anyway, I've told the story of how we met, and she's the one who caught a fork on fire in her apartment. She was also the first to ask about the cat, and the first to know I had finally removed a cactus thorn from my leg. She has her own blog here, too.

Then we have my hometown girls, Nicki:

And Lindsey Gail:

They're the reason I was so excited to see Aaron Watson that one time. Nicki has been my best friend since 7th grade. Lindsey joined us in 8th grade. But we all started Kindergarten together, so really, it was building all along.

Now, Nicki likes to take lots of pretty pictures (hire her!) and Lindsey is in her second semester of teaching kids how to write and play basketball. I wrote about Lindsey turning 24 last year, and Nicki, too. They're those kind of people I can go weeks without talking to, months without seeing, and still pick up right where we left off.

We used to always say we would end up being The Golden Girls someday. We decided Nicki would be Dorothy, due to her dry humor; Lindsey would be Rose, due to her gullibility; I would be stuck with Blanche, which I was never all that excited about, due to all her running around with men, but she was the only one left.

There are a few more people we've mentioned casually, like Jamie:

And Jake:

And I'm sure this list will continue to grow. I just can't remember anyone else I've mentioned specifically so far...

Meet the cast, part two: Brandon's family

This brings us to the in-laws. I really hit the jackpot marrying into this family.

These are Brandon's parents:

They are probably most famous for not getting angry after we put a calf in their laundry room, helping me retrieve cactus from my backside, and packing my elk to the Jeep. Without them, we would not have drinking water or clean laundry. Which are just a few small reasons we appreciate them.

Brandon's older brother, Justin:

So, I just realized we'll have to tell a Justin story soon. But just so you know, this guy can quote lines from just about any country song written since, oh, I don't know, 1940, and any movie produced since, let's say 1970. Seriously. Looking for entertainment reviews? Ask him. And also, he's a master at winning those radio contests. The only movies I've seen since moving here have been on free tickets he won. He tells me to "just let him know" when I hear of a concert I want to go to, and he'll win tickets. Not try to win tickets. He'll just win them.

And rounding out the family, there's Brandon's younger sister, Amanda:

We talked about how she and I set a really good example for a troop of Boy Scouts, how she just knew we didn't have a washing machine yet, and how I went to visit her in the Midwest. I probably could not have found a more appropriate picture of this girl, even though she'll probably want to lynch me.

Meet the cast, part one: Katie's family

I feel the need to introduce a few recurring characters in some of our stories, even though the people I'm introducing are probably the only ones reading anyway.

I'll begin with my lovely family. Meet the Boyers.

My parents:

Pretty cool cats (even though there was I time I didn't think so). These people hauled me Sunday School, basketball practice and cattle shows. For some reason, the older I get, the more I appreciate them. My dad has been mentioned here and here. We also talked about my mom's fear of scorpions, love of the desert and suggestion for a bird net.

From these two people came four children (I know, they were crazy). I'm the oldest. This is my younger sister, Calli:

She's the one who helped me beat my brothers in basketball and was a victim of Brandon's pepper spray attack. In just one week, I have to give a speech at her wedding, which is just plain crazy to me.

And then there's my not-so-little brothers rounding out the brood:

This picture is a year-and-a-half old. They've both grown half a foot and fifty pounds since then. Trust me. Their favorite thing to do while I'm in Texas is pick me up and carry me around like a sack of potatoes. And I'm absolutely defenseless. Morgan's (front) debut story was our family basketball game, but since Mason (back) lived with us for a month this past summer, we talked about him here, here, here, here and here.

No, we didn't wash away

Last week, in a matter of two days, we received nearly half of our annual rainfall.

And let me tell you, these desert people really have no idea what to do with all that water.

The weathermen "braved" the big storm to report live from the wind and rain, like it was a category 5 hurricane or something. With all the gasping for breath, hanging on to a wind-blown tree shouting through the rain. It felt like home.

A few highlights from the storm:

• Our Internet was down for four days. We had a mini storm come through on Tuesday, which messed something up at our house. I really think our Internet goes out every time it sprinkles. They couldn't fix it until Friday, after the huge storm blew through, and then the big tower was down.

• Our front yard is probably six inches tall. It needed to be mowed before it got 3.5 inches of rain water. The day of the first rain, we tried to get it done before the skies opened up. I was running around the yard picking things up, and Brandon was pushing the mower at lightning speed. But, by the time he made two rounds, we were both soaked and had to give up. It might be dry enough today. If not, we'll just bring over the swather and baler later this week.

• Our cows are walking through a foot of mud. The old show cow I brought from Texas is shut in a pen with a bull right now; in a sloppy mess after the rain. When we were feeding yesterday, Brandon said, "Look, I bet she thinks she's back in Texas."

• I saw an actual running river for the first time since I moved here. They are typically just a dry riverbed.

• We ended up with only one flooded field - and it's the only one that doesn't currently have a crop. So the farm lucked out.

• We were able to spend lots of quality time together. Which means Brandon is finding every little thing he can tinker with in the shop this week, just to have something to do away from the house. Or maybe I just suggested he do that?

The philosophy of grocery shopping

I do all the grocery shopping at our house. In fact, I can only think of four times since we said "I do" that Brandon stepped foot in a grocery store.

I don't really mind at all. Because the way I see it, if I'm doing the shopping, I get to buy the things I like. So we drink two percent milk (Brandon prefers whole), eat crunchy peanut butter (he likes creamy better), make sandwiches with whole wheat bread (with his white bread rarely on the shelf) and keep Light Miracle Whip in the fridge (which he says nearly makes him lose his "man card"), along with mostly everything else in a reduced fat/sugar free/low sodium form.

I'm not any sort of health nut or anything — I make his beloved fried steak, gravy and mashed potatoes more than once in a blue moon — I just like the idea of cutting corners where I can.

And this typically isn't a problem. Brandon says he would rather drink two percent milk (or "water," as he calls it) than do the shopping himself. The only time it bothers him is when he packs for a hunting trip with the guys and has to take the Light Miracle Whip. So we get along pretty well.

Then there's the pantry. This is where our "philosophies" differ.

I buy three cans of corn/beans/peas at at time. I do not buy more of these things until there are either one or none left. I keep one bag of rice, one box of pasta and one or two jars of spaghetti sauce.

I just don't like having a ton of things in there. I like it to be organized, where you can see everything.

Brandon, on the other hand, would like to have a pantry that looked like we were some of those people back in 1999 who thought Y2K would be the end. Seriously. He would like to have more than ten cans of each vegetable on hand at any given time. For two people. He hates it when we run out of creamed corn, even if we have fifteen other things we could eat instead. Creamed corn is like right up there with his pinto beans.

And really, we rarely run out of everything. I typically make a weekly meal plan, buy everything we need for those meals, keep a couple (just not twenty) of staple canned goods and quick substitutes like a frozen pizza in case something comes up. And with just two people, a one-week meal plan ends up lasting two weeks anyway.

But still. He doesn't like "not being prepared". Because eight cans of baked beans is the definition of prepared.

We were talking about this just last night, and he finally said, "You and I just have different philosophies on grocery shopping. You want to go once a week and get what we need for that week. I want to go once every six months and pile up."

"So what do you do about things like milk that we run out of or vegetables that go bad?"

"I would buy four jugs of milk and not eat fresh vegetables."

And that's why I do the grocery shopping. Even though I might have a bad philosophy.

Who knew there even was a philosophy for grocery shopping, right?

You people

A couple nights ago, we wanted a quick and easy supper, so we threw together burritos with some prepared taco meat I had on hand. I knew Brandon would want a little more than meat and cheese, so I inspected our canned goods, and asked him if he would like pinto or black beans on his burrito.

He wanted pintos.

I said, "Man, you people out here like your pinto beans, don't you?"

And I say that because, seriously, if anyone in this state serves you a bean, five bucks says it's a pinto bean.

He replied, "You peo-ple? What does that mean? I guess just like you people like your crawfish...and your gumbo...and rice...and red beans..."

So, just another example of our regional — almost cultural — differences.

But I'm pretty sure his Arizona boys didn't have a bit of trouble polishing off the crawfish served at our rehearsal dinner.

I mean, do these boys look like they're missing pinto beans to you?

A normal people weekend

Last weekend, we had to take turns irrigating every couple hours all weekend, along with some shovel work, moving cows around, etc. No big deal. This is pretty much the picture of every weekend for us. Actually, it was probably a mild one.

During one of the shifts where we both ended up at the house at the same time for a bit, I asked Brandon what "normal people" did on the weekends. Because I'm fairly certain our weekends are not "normal", but they're all I know as far as spending them with a spouse. (And by "normal people", I guess I'm just talking about non-farmers.)

He replied, "I don't know...watch TV? ...Eat?"

Then I reminded him we didn't have TV, nor did either of us particularly enjoy camping out in front of one anyway (which is why it doesn't bother us one bit to not have one). And, I feel like we both put in our fair share of eating, without spending a whole day doing it.

But as this weekend came to a close, I feel like I can answer my own question now. We had what I would classify as a "normal people" weekend.

Sure, we had to wrap up Sunday with a few light farm chores to prepare for the massive storm system that's supposed to pound the desert all week. But for the most part, the forty-eight hours between Friday night and Sunday night were spent enjoying each other and taking some time off.

So, what did we do on our "normal people" weekend?

When Brandon got home, I was in the middle of preparing some baked potato soup for supper. Brandon checked his email, his top three weather sites, and CouesWhitetail.com, then helped me finish up (he scraped all the potato insides into the pot and added some seasoning). After supper, we settled in with the laptop to watch the new episode of Grey's Anatomy that played the night before, and turned in early.

Saturday morning, we woke at the crack of dawn to drive out into the desert and do some critter callin'. We quickly found the desert to be overrun with city folk escaping into the mountains with caravans of Jeeps, four-wheelers, Rangers and such, which put quite a damper on our calling plans. We finally found a road clear of the general population, and Brandon was able to call in two coyotes on one stand.

I didn't see the first one until he was running away. I heard Brandon getting his gun and figured he was too far away from me, so I just sat back and watched. And yes, I caught a lot of flack for this later. Brandon's first shot spooked out the second coyote, but they were both running fast, so we didn't end up with any dead-critter pictures.

After our morning of calling, we watched the Cardinals lose with some friends, then played a couple of card games.

Sunday, we made breakfast, went to church, did some laundry, washed dishes, and cleaned up all the cattle-feeding areas before the rain came today.

All in all, a well-rounded, well-rested, normal people weekend: a few chores, football, friends, a TV show and nothing rushed or hurried about it. Don't tell me if I'm wrong.

Brandon was sure to inform me on Sunday he was currently "banking time" with me while the farm wasn't super busy. In other words, take advantage of these normal people weekends while they're available, because they are limited in quantity.

A Christmas miracle...

If we've ever seen one, this would be it:

Alive and well.

Brandon is still telling everyone, "You really have no idea how crazy it is this calf is alive. It was as good as dead when we found it."

My mom's vote for a name is "Grace". Brandon's dad suggested "Suds," you know, since we brought it back to life in their laundry room and all. Any other votes?

Nurse time with friends at Rocker 7 Ranches headquarters:

How to kill a spider

Monday night, I was cooking supper and Brandon was checking responses to his bobcat-killing story on CouesWhitetail.com (check it out if you're into dead critters; it's a pretty neat story). I approached the computer and asked if I told him something, would he promise to not be upset about it.

He asked why I didn't just preface everything I said with that little introduction.

"Okay, so, you know that picture I sent you of that giant spider in our kitchen about five days ago?"

Said giant spider:

(I was not exaggerating with "giant", right? I mean, "gigantic" or "humongous" or "outlandishly large" might be more fitting for this thing.)

"Well, I haven't exactly killed it yet. I've tried. Probably six times I've tried. But it keeps escaping, and it's in that tiny hole, and it just runs away behind the counter before I can get it good. I did chop off a leg once, but that's as close as I've gotten. Basically, what I'm trying to say, is we've been living with that huge spider next to our stove for five days."

So he rolled his eyes and followed me to kitchen, where I tried to show him the situation: a) the spider's habitat was in the tiny space between our stove and countertop b) the spider only came out occasionally, which does not provide many opportunities for killing c) the spider could escape behind the countertop quickly.

He said, "Well, you've just got to find something to stick in there and get it."

I showed him what I had used to attempt to kill the spider:

(The same spatula we used to cut the stromboli for supper that night.)

He said, "No, that won't work. You need something thicker to take up more space in the hole...something like this."

And he gets out this wooden spatula:

Then holds it on the end to demonstrate:

"You see? This will really get in there and get him."

I mean, Brandon really is the expert when it comes to finding the proper tools to eliminate our home invaders, with his scorpion-killing pipe wrench and all. And he left it that.

While leaving the kitchen, feeling manly and proud I guess, he said, "Now we have to tell everyone I had to teach you how to kill a spider. Geez."

The trouble is, our spider hasn't come back out from hiding since I got a lesson in spider weaponry. So yeah, it's still there.

Shake it, shake it

We always spend Christmas Eve with my MeMe (see here and here). And, it's usually always entertaining for one reason or another.

This year, my favorite MeMe story started with her gift to Mason.

She gave him one of those rain-dance-shaker-things. It's a decorated wooden tube that makes noise when you move it around.

When he pulled it out of the bag, she started hollering at him, "Shake it, shake it, shake it. Shake that stuff."

So I asked her, "Shake that stuff, huh, MeMe?"

To which she replied, "Sure. I'd shake that stuff if I had it."

In just two months, she turns 89.

A few of our favorite things

In the past year-and-a-half, there are a few things I've learned about living with Brandon Leister. Some of them I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to share. So I won't. Just yet, anyway.

But, here are some items I've learned I must have on hand as long as I live with him:

• Tortillas
• Honey
• Orange-Pineapple Creme cookies
• Miracle Whip
• Beans (pinto and black, preferably, with a few baked thrown in occasionally)
• Brown sugar (it's a necessary ingredient for anything you might be cooking)
• Ro-tel
• Grated cheese (we call it "sprinkle cheese")

In the same respect, he knows we will always have the following items in stock as long as I'm around:

• Blue Bell ice cream
• Milk (2%, not whole like he would prefer)
• Rice

He says he has eaten more ice cream and rice since he's known me than the rest of his life. Which, at this point, is saying something. Because he lived quite a few years without me.

One more year in his twenties

Brandon turned 29 today.

And so we embark on the six months of the year where there is a five-year age difference between us.

One of the first things I asked him this morning was what it felt like to be 365 days away from 30. He said, "It feels like I'm 25."

"Oh, so almost my age then?"

And later, when he was laying in bed stretching, and I told him he was about to roll off, he said, "No. I have the balance of a cat. A 25-year-old cat."

Oh, really...?

I stumbled upon a recipe for Orange French Toast Casserole yesterday evening, and knew I had to make it for him this morning. He has this thing with anything that is colored/flavored/scented orange.

Luckily, it's one of those things you mix up, refrigerate overnight, then throw in the oven in the morning. When he found out what I had baking in there, he said, "Hmmm. It sounds gross. But it sounds like a Brandon breakfast. Good job."

And here we have Brandon's 29th year in pictures:

The flood of 2010

We said 2009 was the Year of the Bird here at Rocker 7 Farms. I'm already thinking 2010 might be the Year of Water for me.

Two days before the New Year, I covered our brand new bathroom in water.

New Year's Day, I flooded our entire property.

I was in charge of irrigating the pasture we have divided into four "pans" on the almost four acres out back, as well as our yard. No big deal. It was probably the twentieth time I had done this (so maybe that's exaggerating a little, but I've done it a bunch).

I'm really not sure how it happened. It seemed to me like I followed the same procedure as previous irrigations when everything went smoothly.

Brandon, however, rattled off a list of reasons why this happened, as he ran around the yard with a shovel, then started sending water to a neighbor. I can't seem to recall them now.

Anyway, this is what I did:

Yeah, all that water? It's only supposed to be on the grass. Which is all on the other side of the house.

A Brandon breakfast

Brandon and I both had some book work to do this morning (him: invoicing, me: year-end employer tax reports), so we actually had a real breakfast. In our house, this means it wasn't a frozen waffle or peanut butter sandwich. Yes, even cereal classifies as a real breakfast, since you can't snag it on your way out the door; you have to sit down and eat it.

I decided to get a little creative, and thumbed through some breakfast recipes in my Taste of Home cookbook. I settled on French Breakfast Puffs. Trust me, it sounds a lot fancier than it is. It's basically a sweet muffin you roll in butter, then sugar and cinnamon.

I called Brandon to the kitchen when they were ready. And asked if we wanted bacon or anything to go with his breakfast puffs.

"Why, are they bad or something?"

"I don't know, I haven't tasted them yet. I hope not."

So he picks one up and takes a bite (i.e. consumes three-fourths of a muffin). With his mouth full: "Mm-mm. These'll work."

So I take a bite. I'm less enthusiastic about the breakfast puffs, and tell him they're just "okay".

Him: "What do you mean? They're like a snickerdoodle muffin. They're good. Don't ruin it for me."

Again, I ask what I can make to go with his breakfast puffs.

Him: "What do you usually eat with a muffin? ...Nothing...right?"

Me: "Well, this just isn't really a man breakfast, so I thought you might like something with it."

Him: "Does it have sugar?"

Me: "Yeah."

Him: "Then it's a Brandon breakfast."

The dangers of grilled cheese

Over the weekend, we enjoyed a lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup — a favorite for both of us.

I'm not so sure it will continue to be a favorite for Brandon.

He was in the middle of chowing down on his two grilled cheese sandwiches when there was a loud crunch.

"What is that?" he asked. Then started fumbling with the half-chewed bite in his mouth to find the crunch culprit. He pulled it out and held it up.

"Katie. I think it's glass. In my sandwich."

"No way! How would glass have gotten into your sandwich?"

"That's what I was planning on asking you, actually."

So we continued on with lunch, both carefully inspecting our grilled cheese for more glass shards.

Brandon ended up with a total of four pieces of glass on his sandwiches, one of which was quite large.

My sandwich, oddly, was glass free.

Brandon asked, "You didn't go get a life insurance policy on me or something, did you?"

Later, we were trying to figure out where in the world the glass came from. I really had no idea.

Then Brandon asked a question that sparked my memory, "Did you drop it [the sandwich] on the floor where you broke something and didn't get it cleaned up good, and then just put it on my plate?"

About 20 seconds later, I had an epiphany. "You know what? I didn't drop your sandwich on the floor. But last week, I pulled some butter in a little glass bowl out of the fridge and had it in the microwave about 12 seconds to melt it some, and the bowl cracked. I just poured all the butter into a new bowl and kept using it. I used the last of that butter on the griddle today."

...Brandon just shook his head.

[By the time I decided to share this story, Brandon had already thrown away the glass shards we had on a napkin, so I couldn't take a picture of them. But I assure you, one of them would have done some intestinal damage.]

What it takes to get some good luck around here

After supper on New Year's Eve, and tucking Brandon into bed for a short nap before it was time to venture into the cold to change water (again), I headed out in search of my New Year's Day feast.

Brandon's parents were kind enough to give us a Honeybaked Ham (yum!) for Christmas, so we fully planned on digging into that. But, I still hadn't picked up my traditional black-eyed peas and green cabbage.

No big deal, I thought. I'll just run to one of the two giant grocery stores five minutes down the road, pick up a head of cabbage and bag of beans.

Not so much.

Last year, every time I mentioned eating peas and cabbage on New Year's Day, my Arizona friends and family all asked, "Why? What for?"

I, not realizing, this is a regional tradition, would kind of smile and say, "Come on, you know, luck? Money? New Year's?"

And I was met with many blank stares because they had no idea what I was talking about.

Apparently, the tradition caught on out here this year.

I went into Fry's (same as Kroger, Texans) first, since they usually have a little better produce. There was not a single head of green cabbage on the shelf. I just stood there staring at the lone cabbage leaf left behind, not believing it.

Then, I tried the peas. I dug through every bag of beans, rice and peas left on the shelves, and came up empty on black-eyed peas. So, I thought I would just settle on the not-as-good canned peas.

Nope. The black-eyed pea section was wiped out. And not just the store brand. Every single can from every single company. Gone.

Slightly nervous about my holiday meal, I went across the street to the Super Wal-Mart. I saw the green cabbage as soon as I walked in the door, and felt a little relief.

But once again, no bags of peas. I dug around, checked the top shelf, looked behind the lentils and 15-bean soup. I was wondering if this was already a sign for my 2010, and didn't like it one bit.

Again, I made my way to the canned vegetables. At this point, thinking any sort of black-eyed pea was better than no pea at all.

There was one other woman in the aisle, studying the thousands of cans. A minute later, she made a move in front of me, and saw she was reaching for exactly what I was in search of: she had found the black-eyed peas.

I told her, "I'm so glad you found these. I just came from Fry's and they didn't have a single black-eyed pea in the store."

She said, "I just thought it was a Southern thing. They're out of the bagged peas here. I'm glad you told me that, because I was headed to Fry's next to look for them there."

Me: "Yeah, I checked for bagged peas first, too. I'm from Texas, and when I was talking about eating this stuff last year, everyone thought I was crazy. I surely didn't think I wasn't going to be able to find it this year."

Turns out she was from Georgia and had experienced the same lack of tradition in her circle of friends. And, turns out Georgians eat greens instead of cabbage for money.

So, we wished each other well, and parted ways, good luck in hand.

Our not-fried bathroom

I had Brandon read the story about how I washed the new bathroom, mainly so he could see the pictures immediately following the aftermath, since I had it mostly dry by the time he got home.

I was washing dishes, and he yelled, "Ka-tie!"

Me: "Yeah...?"

Brandon: "You did not tell me the outlet made a 'buzz' and then a 'snap' and then 'was quiet' yesterday. You just asked if I thought the water had damaged the outlet, and I told you no."

Me: "Oh. I thought I followed that question with, 'Even if it makes a sound after the water hits it?' And you said no to that too."

Brandon: "No, that second question definitely never happened."

Me: "Oh. Oops."

Brandon: "So do you think that's what happened to the light bar switch too? Was it working before you hit the water?"

Me: "I don't know. I didn't check it until after..."

So he set off on a mission to determine whether we had a working electrical outlet and light switch. He did something outside, and had me "reset" the switch, then check it with my blow dryer.

When he first told me to check the outlet, I was a bit apprehensive.

"Are you sure it's not going to shock me when I turn it on?" I asked.

"Positive," he said.

"And I have to use my blow dryer? My curling iron would be cheaper to replace."

"No. It has to be the blow dryer."

"And it's really not going to shock me?"

"Just plug it in!"

I am happy to report both the light and electrical outlet have been restored to working order. And even happier to report I did not experience any electrical currents during the process.

The glass is full alright

One night a couple weeks ago, I was preparing supper when Brandon came in. After chatting a bit, I asked him to pour me a glass of wine.

Well, he poured one:

When he handed it to me, I said, "Whoa, that's a glass of wine alright. Holy cow."

He replied, "Well, you know you're going to drink that much. I don't see what the point is in pouring two half-glasses when you can just pour one full one and be done with it."

And I'm sure any man would agree with him.