24 hours ago, hubby invited me to take a ride to look at some river bottomland that was for sale. "What's your vision?" I kept asking him as I stumbled around the wet field, sick with a nasty virus, thinking of floods. Then, Holy Yodel, he finally came up with something to entice me, planting sugar maples for a sugar camp. Not that either of us would ever tap a tree, but maybe our sons or grandchildren would.
Home, fell into bed exhausted. Two hours later, Holy Yodel, I'm awakened with the report that Ricky twisted his ankle and is cold and clammy and in lots of pain. Spent two hours with him in ER. Came home with crutches and an air splint. No fractures, just a painful sprain.
Dinner is tomato soup and peanut butter (on crackers and celery) plus an orange. Holy Yodel, I need to go to the grocery store.
Then I spend several hours on the relational database for the garden at Gene Stratton Porter. Holy Yodel, that's a lot of data.
Sleep, blessed sleep. Drive boys to school because Ricky is uncertain on crutches. When we get there, Holy Yodel, he decides to leave the crutches in the car, but I drop them off with the school nurse just in case.
To the grocery store. It's Tuesday. And, Holy Yodel, here's a benefit of being an older mother: you get the 6% senior citizens' discount to help feed teenage boys. Not very many places give the discount at 55, but I'm on a mission to find them. Lots of produce. Decide not to buy bread, but will bake instead since it is cold and snowy.
Holy Yodel, the bread is dense, dense, dense, with whole wheat flour, 12 grain flour, oat groats, oat bran, and flax seed, but sweetened with honey.
Then, Holy Yodel, the sun is out. Let's take the daily cruise with the dog around the old homestead to see what's new.
Back inside to punch down the dough and decide to make a special (low carb) dessert to go with the flank steak that's marinating in oil, wine, garlic and herbs. Holy Yodel, inspiration hits and a lime mascarpone cheesecake made with Splenda without a crust is in the oven now.
Yes, I'm tired of Holy Yodel too. You see, my husband read the expression yesterday and has been using it constantly...with an Amish accent.
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