FAMILY NIGHT!

Sunday night was family night at Bob's. Our Cow Town family gathered 'round the chuck wagon table for some finger licking grunts.

Yummmm eeee!

Chicken stew. Enchilada pie. Salad. Dessert.


Daughter Dawn and Hosebund Keith.

Son Scott and Old Bob never made it into any of the pictures taken last evening. Guess we would have done broke the camera.


Always Ready For A Picture Grace.

She learned to pose at age one and has never stopped posing.


And Zoe? Always ready and always hopeful for a dropped morsel of food.


This from Dave Lieberman at Food TV .com. It's what was for dinner last night.

HEARTY CHICKEN STEW

"This is the most delicious and vibrant take on chicken soup, the get well classic, that I could come up with. Lots of hearty pieces of chicken meat, a sweet broth with lots of bright veggies. I add a touch of heat with hot sauce at the end to get a little sweat going to get all those evil sick bugs out. Make it ahead of time and just heat it up at my friend's house.

4 small onions, quartered
6 cloves garlic, peeled
1 pound carrots, peeled and cut into -2inch chunks
2 pounds chicken thighs, skin removed
Handful thyme sprigs
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 1/2 pounds red bliss potatoes, washed and quartered
2 handfuls green beans, trimmed
Hot pepper sauce, to taste
In a large pot, combine onions, garlic, carrots, chicken and thyme. Season with salt and pepper. Add cold water to cover. Bring to boil then reduce heat to a simmer. Skim and discard any scum that may come to the top.

Simmer until the meat of the chicken falls off the bone with almost no pressure from a fork, about 1 to 1 1/2 hours. Remove the chicken pieces to a plate. Use 2 forks to separate the meat from the bone. Add the meat back to pot. Add the potatoes, cook until fork tender, about 20 minutes. Add green beans, cook until crisp-tender, about 3 to 4 minutes. Remove from heat, add hot sauce, salt and pepper to taste."

Make sure you taste as you cook. We found that this dish needed some extra spices which were added.

It's back to Cow Puncher Valley today. A keyboard and mouse that I bought may help me to more frequently post to this blog while there. Don't you just hate working on the keyboard of a laptop? The words just don't flow.

From one Veteran to all the others out there - thanks for serving our country and keeping America The Home of the Brave and the Land of the Free.

IF YOU COOK THIS THEY WILL COME

My grandmother's cranberry relish. Fit for a king. Fit for your Thanksgiving dinner table.

Cook this.

And they will come.

GRANDMA'S CRANBERRY RELISH SALAD

Both my mother and grandmother would grind each ingredient in a meat grinder which they had set to grind on coarse. We use a food processor.

1 apple with skin and cored

1 or 2 oranges with skin

1 package fresh cranberries

1 cup of miniature marshmallows

1/2 to 1 cup of sugar (or 1/2 a cup or more to taste)

3/4 cup of walnuts

Place everything in the food processor except the sugar. Process and then mix in the sugar. Best made the day of the dinner.

GRACE IS FIVE!

Grace's fifth birthday was earlier in the week. The party was yesterday at the local gymnastics "palace".

Kids played.

Parents gossiped.

The wife, Grace's mom and Auntie Dawn hovered to make certain all went well.

I stayed home, drank beer and watched NASCAR. Why screw up a perfect day with a bunch of wild kids high on sugar?
It won't be long where Grace won't have any front teeth to show off. Those pearly baby teeth are not long for this world.

Grace is the youngest student in her kindergarten class. She may be the runt of the litter but Grace can run and keep up with the best of her friends.


One of these kids is zonked out from sugar and probably thinking, "Where am I? What am I doing with all of these snotty nosed kids? Three pieces of cake made me feel funny."


The joy and appreciation of a day like this had to be all about:

Friends.

Celebration.

Good times.

Great memories.

When you're five years old it doesn't get any better than this.

Let's Get In The Christmas Spirit!

I know it's November and that I may be barking up the wrong tree . . . but Christmas really is around the corner.

IF IT'S SATURDAY IT'S TIME FOR PIZZA

If you're following What About Bob you know that Saturday night means pizza for dinner. Always.

Mom started the tradition of Saturday pizza. A box of Contadina pizza mix. Throw on some veggies and some other stuff.

Bake it. Eat it. Saturday night was complete.

Next morning while I wrapped 100 Sunday newspapers for my route I ate left over pizza. And when I thought that I could get away with it I'd toss down one of dad's beers.

When you're 11 years old cold beer and cold pizza was definitely the perfect way to start the day.

I'm tired of making dough from scratch. I now buy a frozen pizza crust. No fuss. No muss.

Wham, bam, pizza mam!

No pizza is complete without tomatoes, pepperoni, onions, bell pepper, mushrooms, olives, cheese and anchovies.

Anchovies will kill off stomach worms, head lice and cure ED. Twang!

Putting anchovies on pizza will stop any one else from eating your pizza.
If this ain't a picture of beauty I don't know what is. Poetry in motion. Pizza perfect.

It's Saturday night. Better think about pizza.

Now where did I put that last can of anchovies . . .

I WANT THAT NAME!

Real deal.

I got a call today from someone whose name is Dee Funk.

It was time to step over the line. There was fun to be had with someone with a name like that. Like no one ever did that before.

It was Friday. What the hell. I was stupid on the phone with Ms. Dee Funk. But whatta great name.

Hello. I'm from Consumer Reports and my name is Dee Funk.

Hello. I'm with the the Democrats to Elect Douche Bag for President (also known as Hillary) campaign and my name is Dee Funk.

I want that name.

I fired two people today. Through both processes that I sat through the saying, "You are what you eat". kept running through my brain. If I stopped eating bagels would I be a kinder, gentler boss man?

Or if I ate more red meat. If it is true you are what you eat I'd not wanna be a cow headed for slaughter.

Moo.

I love my dog. It's Jilli. Next to Candace and Grace, Jilli is the love of my life. Loving a dog that much? How stupid is that. Unless you've loved a dog there's no appreciation for such a statement.


I sleep with my tongue hanging out. I learned that from Jilli. It's a Zen thing.

Try it. You'll sleep a lot better.
Well hell. It's Friday. I want to sleep throught the night. A little Blue Saphire. A little red meat. Garlic bread.

If I am what I eat, bring it on.

NOT FUNNY!

This job is sucking the life out of me. Don't feel like being funny.

Plain run out of witty things to say or write about.

Only thing I can come up with: What has no arms and no legs and floats in a swimming pool?

BOB!

There are times when it feels like I am drowning. Yes, I am Bob floating in the swimming pool of life and drowning when in fact I can swim life a dolphin in a sea of sharks.

Me drowning in the bull shit of life.

Me drowning in people who don't know shit from Shinola or their ass from a hole in the ground.

Me drowning in people who are incompetent and who are paid a fat wad to completely fail.

I long to be free again. Free of the 5 day work week that still yields 60 plus hours of being on the job. Free of being the kick ass boss that I am who has no fear of any employee who walks this earth and who years later still shoots first and asks questions later.

I want my life back.

I wanna be me.

WHO NEEDS AN ALARM CLOCK?


I have an internal alarm clock. There's been no need to set the alarm to wake up at a certain time for years.

If I tell myself to wake up at 5 o'clock I wake up at 5 o'clock.

In my new environment I feel like a Dr. Pepper commericial. Remember those? Have a Dr. Pepper at 10, 2 and 4.

There's a logging truck driver who lives behind where I live. Every weekday morning at 2 a.m. he fires up the logging truck, much like the one in the picture and let's it idle for 20 minutes.

Brrrrrhummmmm. Brrrrrrrhummmmm. Constant noise from the truck permeates the walls of the house and into the bedroom. For 20 minutes. Then the truck pulls out and all is quiet.

Until 4:00 a.m. Then the fellow who lives in the duplex ahead of mine fires up his truck. Let's it warm, just like the log truck driver, for 20 minutes.

Brrrrrhummmmm. Brrrrrhummmmm. After 20 minutes this guy gets in his truck and leaves.

Me? I'm wide awake. There's no going back to sleep. Like Dr. Pepper leaving out the 10 p.m. drink - there's 2 and 4 left to consume.

I think about sugar in the gas tanks. I think about ice picks applied to the tires. I think about parking my truck outside their bedroom window and let it run all night. But diesel in Cow Puncher Valley - today, mind you - is 3.60 a gallon. Not worth the cost.

So I think about moving somewhere else. And I probably will in time. Some where the buffalo roam and the deer and the antelope play . . . where seldom is heard . . . trucks warming up at all hours of the night!

I need a nap.

FALL COLORS

Out the backdoor of the Cow Town house is an ornamental pear. It's telling us that winter is coming.


Then out the backdoor of the Cow Puncher Valley house are three large willow trees. Could not resist this shot.

And yes, I have writer's cramp. Wanna make something out of it?

And then for dinner in Cow Town we had

And no one mentioned HOLE beans!

HOW DO YOU SPELL THAT?

It was back to Cow Town today. The wife and I celebrated by going out for a Mexican lunch.

Server: Hey guys. How's it going?

The wife hates being called a guy. Less than 3 minutes in the restaurant and we're already off on the wrong foot.

The wife orders. Then it's my turn.

Me: I'd like the combo plate chicken enchilada and carne asada taco.

Server: Would you like refried beans or hole beans?

Me to the wife in a quiet voice: She just asked me if I want hole beans. What the hell are hole beans? Are they like beans that have been run through someone and recycled?

Wife: Right. This is just great. Not 10 minutes back in Cow Town you're already screwed up and you're thinking W.H.O.L.E is H.O.L.E. My gawd, is there a diesel exhaust leak in your truck and you've fried a few thousand brain cells? Get a grip, Bob. You're back in civilization. Straighten up! It's WHOLE beans and not HOLE beans.

Me: Well, it sounded like HOLE beans to me and I want no part of that! The server should have spelled it for me.

Wife: Pipe down and eat your HOLE or WHOLE beans.

In Cow Puncher Valley we don't have to worry about whether the beans are HOLE or WHOLE.

While I was sitting there eating whatever those damn beans were a song ran through my mind.

Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam, and the Beans and the antelope play . . . .

I AM AN IDIOT

I was there. The Summer of Love. San Francisco. Free everything. Free for the asking or the taking.

I move to Cow PuncherValley. Kisses cost 4 bits. I leave the free love of San Francisco and now pay four bits for a kiss.

I am an idiot.

But I have to say that four bit kiss ain't half bad here in the Valley.


I am an idiot. I can't find my way home in the dark. The house marked unit 5 is set back a hundred yards from the street. If it's raining. If there's no moon. If I have my head up my rear end. There's no finding this place.

So I light it up - the outline of the garage door because I am an idiot who can't find his way home in the dark.

Last week when it rained cats and dogs? I missed the turn into my driveway three times. Do you have any idea of how that feels? I am an idiot who can't find his own driveway.

From the road you can see the blue lights of the house. Now there's no missing that turn. Unless I have another brain cramp.

I am an idiot.

YOU DON'T REALLY KNOW

You don't know. You really don't know.

Life in Old California is way different than your life where ever you live.

This is the Old West.

Life here is similar to how life was lived 100 years ago.

And if you think I'm shitting you, come here.

Live the life. You'll find out.

So for all of you gifted idiots out there. Pray tell. What do you think a Cow Cop is?

Okay, I'll call on the idiot up front, middle 40's, wearing his cap on backwards, two earrings, one in each ear, wearing a t-shirt that says Save The Redwoods - Vote for Hillary and Bill Clinton.

So, idiot, what's a cow cop?

Duhhhhhhhh! I dunno.....

Real deal. I saw this plate today. Took a picture of it. Talked to the owner when she asked why I was taking a picture of the tail end of her 1997 Dodge truck.

What's a Cow Cop?

Someone who checks the brands on cows and see if the brands are authentic, "forged" or if the cow has been listed as stolen.

There are cow cops today. Lots of them.

Unlike crimes of like merit, cattle rustling is a felony. 100 years ago, you'd be hanged by your gonads for cattle rusting. Today Cow Cops put violators in jail. Judges in the New Old West hang your finances and not the offender.

I love living in Cow Puncher Valley. Even though the old west has faded, many of the old values still remain. Here, more than a few families own close to or more than 1,000 acres of land. They live the life. They walk the walk of the old west. Got values? Check into Cow Puncher Valley. We got 'em.

You've seen Cops on TV? I want Cow Cops. Mooooo! Stay tuned.

COWBOY SPELLING CONTEST

Hey buckeroos. Kan youse spell?

Can youse spell ballot? Can you spell ballet? Does this box have something to do with the ballet?

Don't see no tutu's around this place.

Cause in Cow Puncher Valley there ain't no such thang as the ballet. Unless it's election year.

When it comes to an election, remember: Vote early and vote often.

Oh yeah. Hillary Clinton. I would like to see Hillary be president of Darfur. She's so damn hot to change the world why not start somewhere that really needs that.

Hillary for President. Of Darfur.

I LIVE HERE

For the next 8 months I'll live here.

Rain. Snow. Sleet.

For the good. The bad and the indifferent. Win, lose or draw. This will be my home.

Picture one. Leaving one valley - where I live and climbing mountains into Cow Puncher Valley. This is the view going up.

Picture two: The view out the backdoor of the little house I live in. Could there be a better view? Who am I kidding? A better view would be sitting at the bar in Hooters.


Picture three: One more view out the backdoor. Yes, there is another view better than this. Some of us boys never grow up.
And then there's the view overhead. The geese or is it the goose's? They be flying somewhere for the winter. I forgot to check if they were flying north or south.

The next best goose can be found in . . . you guessed it, Hooters.

Damn, I love being 14.

I THINK I'M BACK

A year ago the wife and I were in Hawaii. Almost to the day.

Turtle Bay Resort, the land of milk and honey and don't forget to leave your wallet at the door. Expensive for what was given back in return. Can't say I'd recommend a stay at Turtle Bay.

That said, Turtle Bay is located on the northern end of Oahu. It's rural. Few tourists. My kind of place.

The wife says, "Look like you're having fun. I want to take your picture." She always says that. On the inside I'm always having fun. It doesn't always look like that on the outside.
This is the day we got lost in the jungle. The wife says, "Follow me, I know the way." Yup. Last time I'll do that.

The TV series Lost? We hiked in the area where Lost is filmed. And I can see how Lost got lost. We went around in circles. The so called right path was not.

We found our way back to the hotel. And I'll never ever be a follower when someone says, "Follow me, I know the way."
There are lots of plants and flowers in Hawaii that are not seen on the U.S. mainland. Like this one.

So I'm back. Internet was installed in the little house I'm renting in Cow Puncher Valley. There's telephone service, too. Did I mention my satellite system is up and working. And there's cold beer in the refrigerator. Hell, am I living in paradise or what?

Look for pictures of the Valley and Bob's digs soon.

The wife is visiting this weekend. She brought the girls. Zoe has problems with the kneecap on her left rear left so she's resting. Jilli wants to go outside and explore. She also is game to take on the black Lab who lives next door. You just have to love bravado.

Gotta run. It's time to head out for Saturday breakfast and a little exploring.

Later, gators!

Say Hello to the Cow Puncher Valley Jug Band!

Damn, I just love a good jug band!

WHEN THERE'S NOTHING ELSE TO DO . . .

And then I go throw up.

It's how I keep from gaining weight.

BOOZE, BULLETS, BEER AND LOTTO

I'm living 20 miles west of Cow Puncher Valley. Driving to work every morning brings wide open spaces and sunrises like this.

And yes, I've neglected this blog. No Internet in the RV park like promised. Someone ripped off the WiFi repeater. The park owners didn't think it was worth replacing.

The Internet at work is filtered. Blogger is at the top of their "don't even think of going there" list. So much for fooling with this thing while working.

You're reading a new post because I'm home in Cow Town this weekend.


There's a convenience store down the Cow Puncher Valley highway from where I'm living. This sign sits atop the building. It pretty much sums up what Cow Puncher Valley is all about. Don't you think it's kind of old west? Back in the day there was nothing in this valley except beer, booze and bullets. Some things never change.

Damn, I love this place.
For the past two weeks I lived here. For a while I thought it would be just fine to spend the winter in my trailer.

Then last Saturday night the pipes froze. One more little voice came into my head to whisper, "Time to find a house, Bob. . . there's no spending a freezing winter at 4600 feet in this tin can."

It's going to freeze. It's going to snow. I've found a house to live in.

The house has just been remodeled. I've signed up for Internet. The satellite is already up and working.

The man I've replaced died last Sunday from brain cancer. Of of necessity I'll be here until June or until the trustees find a replacement. Sad story.

The wife visited the RV park a couple of times. She brought the dogs.

Jilli loves to travel. Nothing bothers Jilli. Zoe hates change. New places freaks out Zoe and she: (1) Sits down and refuses to move, or (2) hides in a corner, or (3) heads out in one direction and refuses to stop, look or listen.

Here's Zoe sitting in the middle of the road in the RV park.

Confucius say: small dog equals small brained thinking.

You'll not hear from me until I'm either home again or Internet has been installed in the home away from home.

If you're reading this thanks for hanging in there. There will be lots of stories forthcoming about Cow Puncher Valley.