PICKING MY FIGHTS

I am always up to challenging myself, be it a painting or piece of art, writing or cooking or something around the house that needs help. Recently I have been looking for a challenge in any of the areas mentioned and it came to me by accident. TLW (The Little Woman) does the food shopping and I do the cooking. Last weekend she brought home some small, baby peppers, yellow, orange and red and left them in the refrigerator.

Now I don’t ask her to buy anything, she just buys what she thinks she will like and leaves them in the cupboard or refrigerator and I figure it out. Baby peppers I never cooked before. So I went for a walk and thought about it and came up with a recipe that I hope she will like. Hoping is one thing, making it happen is another thing.

I could have just cup them up and put them in salad, or I could have fried them and that would be easy too, but I started to think about those cheesy Jalopeno peppers you get as appetizers and it inspired me to try a special version of spicy baby peppers with onion and cheese. If it turns out good I’ll give you the recipe.

Dad was another guy who liked challenges, especially with my mother’s patience. Once many years ago, we were having my older sister Fran’s new boyfriend coming from Connecticut one Sunday so Dad spent the whole of Saturday giving the house the once over, painting some trim on the outside of the house. Dad always liked to paint the house, either in or outside, and was happiest when he had the paintbrush. He happened to finish all the trim that day and decided to take it a little further. Dad was a lot like me, an enthusiastic come what may, let’s rock and roll type. I do it with my eyes closed resting, and he did it with a paintbrush. So what did he do, you wonder?

Well my sister Fran was washing dishes that night and could look out the kitchen window that overlooked the backyard, and could clearly see dear old Dad. Suddenly there was a scream.

“MOM! TELL HIM TO STOP!!!

Dad was painting the trunk of the big old oak tree white. I was watching the whole thing and wanted to see out of curiosity how you really do that and where do you end it, or do you cover all the branches too. Of course I was laughing so hard from the vantage point I had in the dining room.

Mom came into the kitchen to see what Fran was screaming about.

“Anthony, put that brush down and come inside!”

“I just got a little bit more to do…”

“NOW!”

Now I am about to wet my pants from laughing so hard, my mother is really mad at Dad and now turns to me.

“And YOU, why didn’t you stop him?”

To this day that tree stands proud and tall in the backyard, just over the cesspool, reminding us of that fatal day Dad decided to paint the vegetation.

Trees

 

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,	5
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.	10
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918