Captive Once More...and Enjoying It

So our second week of Fall Works has begun. Yes, I am once more a slave to the kitchen. Tied to the sink. Bound to the stove. Tethered to the stacks of dirty dishes. Anyone taking pity on me yet?


Hmmm...I didn't think so. Sigh. Once more I am flying solo in this venture, but hey, it was worth a try!


Please excuse my attitude. Sleep deprivation affects me that way. Once our children had navigated the waters of babyhood, I thought I was free and clear of sleepless nights. Actually, my nights are not exactly sleepless now...they're just not long enough! 3:45 AM is just a tad too early to be rolling out of bed.


I know I gripe and moan about my long hours in the kitchen, but truth be told, I do enjoy it. Certain aspects of it anyway. I enjoy that the men look forward to a good home cooked meal. I enjoy doing my part and being a help-meet to my wonderful husband. I enjoy sharing the leftovers with the sweet family at North Camp. I enjoy finding new recipes to add to the menu. I enjoy the sparkle in the crew's eyes when their favorite dessert is dished out. I enjoy the groans of contentment from the crew when they push themselves away from the table. I have even been blamed for popping the button off of someone's britches. LOL!

It's one of the wonders of life that I ever even learned to cook at all. My Mama is a great cook, but growing up I didn't want any part of the kitchen. I even weaseled my way out of taking Home Ec in school. Woodshop was more to my liking. I can scarcely recall how I survived college and poor DH really took a chance because his Mama is a good cook too and I didn't have a clue how to make a pie or a biscuit or much of anything that was edible. My apologies to the crews I fed in those early years and to my sweet husband.


Thankfully, the good Lord stepped in and took control and today I can whip up a mean batch of rolls! I'll bet He had a good laugh or two while I was growing up and scoffing at kitchen utensils.


I don't think I'm a great cook, but I do like making a good home cooked meal that people enjoy. Others have fabulous, fulfilling careers, but I find comfort in keeping the home fires burning. Better the home fires than the biscuits, although truth be told - I've scorched my share!


There is something to be said about the gathering of good food and good friends and with a cowboy crew, there is never a shortage of good (albeit, wild) stories. I have heard tell that storytelling has become a thing of the past. Not so. Cowboys are doing their part to keep the last bovine escape...the wildest bronc ride...the funniest roping tale...the great trailer debacle...or the most reckless colt account alive and well and I dare you to keep a straight face during the telling. It's entertainment at its finest. The first 5 minutes are filled with only the clinking of ice, the buttering of biscuits, and the scraping of utensils against the tin plates. It's awfully quiet, but not for long. Soon you hear...'One time I'...and they're off on their next adventure.

Well I had better scoot off to fry up another chicken fried steak and pop another batch of biscuits in the oven before the next round of wild tale tellers arrive!

I leave you with a special prayers of thanks to God for keeping the lid to the vanilla closed when it chose to fall into the mashed potatoes this morning.