Bow Tie o’ the Day and I have been playing with both the new and old computers today. Suzanne transferred my old computer’s contents to the new computer last night, and I’ve been comparing various files to make sure everything made it to the new machine. So far, so good. No problems. And the new machine is quick, I tell ya.
This photo shows my computer’s desktop screen, which is a picture of one of my fave summer meals Mom made for me: asparagus and pickled asparagus. Mom planned to make me creamed asparagus over toast too, but it was July— and way too hot to eat creamed anything. Still, it would’ve made an even better photo.
As a kid, I spent a great deal of my summer on my bike, prowling the county’s ditch banks for asparagus for Mom to cook. It kept me out of trouble, and it generally kept me on her good side. I lost track of time one day, and when the sun went down I found myself and my bike out on the ditch banks of Sugarville. There were no cell phones back then, of course. And I was so young I didn’t know I knew anyone who actually lived in Sugarville, so instead of knocking on some “stranger’s” door and asking to use their phone, I hauled my butt back into Delta as fast as my cowboy boots could push the pedals. Darkness falls fast in the desert.
My bike basket brimmed with perfectly fat asparagus. I was sure the ton of asparagus would save me from Mom and Dad being miffed at me for being AWOL all day and after dark. It did not.
When things were settling down in the Ron and Helen Wright household that night, Dad said I should think of my asparagus hunting as deer hunting. I should think smart. He said, “You can hunt asparagus anywhere you’re not trespassing. You just have to tell us which direction you’re going, so we know where to find the carcass when you don’t come home.” Message received.