And Good Morning,
It’s kinda cold here, but not as cold as it is in the northern part of our state near the Canadian border. That is where my husband and adult son are heading for a long weekend of fishing.
Feeling cold is not something that bothers my husband. Let’s call him Sven. Formerly tall, blonde and husky. The problem with Sven is that he thinks nobody minds getting cold. Fortunately, my son is up for the challenge. I was invited to go too, along with Son’s girlfriend, but we declined. I’m pretty sure I would spend much, if not most of the time wrapped in a blanket on the couch in the cabin wishing someone would make me a cup of tea and bring me a hunk of chocolate. It wouldn’t even have to be quality chocolate. Anything.
So one of my dear friends invited me to join her for a hamburger someplace this evening. Her husband is also in the north woods, but he is out trying to shoot geese. To eat.
Sven did that once with one of his brothers. He actually shot a goose and brought it home which literally made me gag when I saw it. It was right in time for Sunday dinner that we were going to share with my father and his brother. They both were in their 70s and recently widowed.
My husband loves to cook so I was more than happy for him to deal with the goose. The presentation of the goose at the table surrounded by little roasted potatoes and corn, (the only vegetable my father would eat), was nice. Sven had done a nice job. Our two kids who were fairly young at the time thought it was gross looking.
We dug in to what looked like a really nice dinner. Am I saying it was nice too often? Maybe.
Out of the blue, my uncle shot up out of his chair and yelped. Out of his mouth and onto the plate came the bullet (buckshot?) followed by a tooth. Oops. I guess Sven missed removing something that was very important. Don’t you hate when that happens?
We laughed about that dinner at the time and still do. And of course, that was the last of Sven’s goose hunting. Goose is kind of greasy anyway.
Have a great day!