Which Came First...the Chicken or the Egg?

Which Came First…The Chicken or the Egg?

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved to work for chicken feed

Those of you who read my blog on a regular basis have come to expect a certain amount of intellectual wisdom gained through years of repeating the same mistakes over and over.  Some even look forward to the broad picture as seen through the declining eyesight of a near septuagenarian.  Today I shall combine philosophy with architecture as a visual means to enlighten those who can’t find their reading glasses.

First to address the age old question:  which came first the chicken or the egg?  The answer is not complex at all. The first to come would be the chicken pen for without the chicken pen there would be no chickens or eggs due to marauding critters.  Just as civilizations are judged by the architecture that is left behind, so can our civilization be judged by the architecture of the chicken pen which, as I said before, had to come first.  Even city dwellers have begun to have backyard chicken pens, also known as coops.  Cages have been designed for apartment dwellers.  Following the philosophy that free range chicken eggs are best, apartment dwellers have been encouraged to turn their patio birds out to roam freely on the balcony for a few hours each day.

The ultimate evidence that bird architecture has been taken to new heights is the Trump Chicken Condos also known as the TCC on the Worsham 35 acre semi-plantation in lovely downtown East Texas.  The plan started out as a simple roof structure enclosed with chicken wire over an existing concrete slab.  Security questions came into play and chain link fencing was added on top of the chicken wire.  Recycled French doors to provide light along the north wall and added a certain classic charm. Turned sideways, the doors were  raised to provide protection from the wind and rain.  The coop would need to be wired for electricity so that a ceiling fan could be installed to provide coolness in the summer and of course the pre-requisite radio to provide laying music.

 The coop plan was then expanded to include a covered outdoor area with a natural grassy space for that free-range element.  To live up to Trump standards, a covered antique brick inlayed porch would allow for Gator parking while unloading feed and lawn chairs for bird watching.  Silver painted laying nests attached to a wall with a private entrance for each chicken would give that chic loft living feel.  A large porthole would provide easy access for the chicken and allow her to observe the rest of the community while laying her egg in cedar and hickory scented sawdust.

If any of you are interested in investing in a  Trump Chicken Condos or our lease-to-own chickens , you may contact me at jodyworsham@gmail.com  There are a few condos still available but they are going fast.  Next week Egg-onomics or the Faberge Knockoffs.

When A Good Culture Goes Bad

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved to pay for Culinary Insurance

 Recently I was following an actual recipe that called for sour cream.  I was in luck.  I had some in the refrigerator.  I know because two months ago when I was cleaning out the refrigerator, I saw some.  Now at the insistence of my friends, my insurance company, and the hospital staff at “Good Lord, She’s Cooking Again”, I have learned to consult expiration dates on anything currently in my refrigerator that I, the family, or any seemingly healthy wild animal might consume.

But here’s the thing.  When does Sour Cream go bad?  I mean the very name is a contradiction …Sour…Cream.   The carton bore no expiration date, only a Sell by Date.  Is there an assumption that if the sour cream is not bought by a certain date then it will what? Go sour? Or will it remain freshly sour indefinitely?   Do they assume that if you buy it say after six months of being on the shelf, then you will use it before the thing sits in your refrigerator for the next six months?  Well, they don’t know me.  Still…how do you know if it is safe to use? 

Well, I e-mail my friends and they reply, quickly.  One suggested that if the dog refuses to eat or bury it, it is probably bad.  Another thought that fuzzy green/black stuff growing on the top would be a good indication to toss it.  Still another loudly admonished me “IT’S SOUR.  IT’S SUPPOSED TO SMELL BAD.”  My southern friends hold to the belief that if you are going to cook with it, there is no statute of limitations on sour cream.  A more intellectual friend gave me a long discourse on milk cultures, bacteria, the making of cheese, sour cream, and the very cultured Elsie the Cow at the opera.  I don’t think my Sour Cream is cultured.  I caught it watching WW Wrestling while sitting on my counter.

Still, I didn’t want my insurance premiums going up again, so I decided to substitute something else for the sour cream.  I went to the freezer.  I figured the electricity hadn’t been off that long during our last storm to cause any real damage…or growths.  I found a box of Creamed Spinach.  Ok, that’s cream and if the electricity had been off a little longer than I had thought, that might make it sour cream.  I continued reading the label, you know, just in case there was this limitation on thawed creamed spinach.  As I read on I discovered that it was made with artificial cream with a long list of totally unpronounceable additives and other assorted chemicals.

 Problem solved.

 I continued following my recipe substituting the artificial and chemically preserved creamed spinach for the questionable sour cream.  You can’t go wrong with USDA approved preservatives and fake, possibly sour, cream.

 After all, we are still eating those left over Twinkies from my 1962 graduation party, but don’t tell Blue Cross.

And I Couldn't Wait for School to Start!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Geritol and orthopedic roller skates

The start of school must be like childbirth (or so I've heard.) When you have a strong desire for another child, you forget the morning sickness, mood swings, and the 96 hours of labor during which time you questioned the legitimacy of your husband's birth.  How quickly we forget; and how quickly we remember.  

3:30 a.m.  I’m awake.  Might as well get up; it’s 5 o’clock somewhere.  Hey, it’s quiet.  Time to write, after I put on a load of laundry.

6:00 Make lunches and breakfast, in that order

6:30 Get kids up, fed, dressed

7:20 Leave for school

8:05 Return home.  Now what?  Oh, cleaning, cooking, reset smoke detector, cooking again, Wal-Mart, laundry, errands.

1:00  Walk the I’ll –take-care-of-it-you-won’t-ever-have –to-do-anything-for-it-please-please-Dog. Eat lunch; look on blogs for a much needed laugh.

2:00 Pack snacks for after school

2:40  Leave to pick up kids

3-3:30   A blur of snatched snacks, “Sign this”, “Here’s a note.  It wasn’t my fault.” “Look. I got one right!” “This is the (worst, best, coolest, yukkiest) day of my life”.

3:31  Arrive home, throw out uneaten portions of lunches, kids eat “hold me till supper, supper.”

3:36 Start on second grade homework with second grader

3:37 Call second grade teacher for explanation of math assignment.

4:35  Finish with second grader, start on sixth grader.

4:36  Call sixth grade math teacher for help.

6:30  Send starving sixth grader to kitchen for supper while I Google algebra, composite numbers and www.u-b-dumb-n-math.com

7:31 Sixth grader informs you she needs map colors for map assignment due at 8a.m.

7:32 Leave for Wal-Mart to purchase map colors.

8:15 Arrive home, make peanut butter and jelly sandwich for starving second grader’s second supper, give map colors to sixth grader.

8:17 Send second grader to the showers, throw his favorite-must-wear-tomorrow shirt and shorts in the washer.  Rewash 3:30a.m. now dried and semi-sour laundry.

8:23 Call out spelling words to second grader while he is in the shower.

8:30 Sixth grader starts on solar system cut and paste project.

8:31 Google recipe for homemade paste.

8:50 Hold the solar system up in the air to dry as wet naked second grader runs through the house looking for a clean towel.

8:51  Dr. Hubby asks “Need any help?”

8:52   Shotgun located, now searching for shells.

8:59 Give up on locating shells, throw pajamas on now air dried second grader and send him to bed.

9:10  Hand near dry revolving solar system to sixth grader with instructions to pack backpack and go to bed.

9:20 Eat five chocolate cupcakes with a Chocolate Tru-Moo milk chaser.

9:30  Make more chocolate cupcakes

9:45 Reset smoke detector.

10:00 Breathing near normal, blood pressure  278/167 down 89 points.

10:15 Shower, brush teeth, tell Dr. Hubby it is safe to remove flak jacket.

11:00 Sleep

11:45  Jump up and put the favorite-must –wear-tomorrow shirt and shorts in the dryer along with twice washed 3:30 a.m. load

12:00 Sleep

3:30 a.m.  REPEAT with few variations.

I can do this.  I can do this.  Only 175 school days until summer!  It's the most wonderful time of the year.

It Was a Four Cupcake Night

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Math-a-Diabetic Counseling

The biggest challenge in raising a prepubescent tweenager is not the hormonal fluctuations that at times can register a 12 on the Richter Scale or dealing with the tragedy of having to wear jeans that do not have slits and slashes in them or even keeping track of all the BF’s (that’s text talk for Best Friend) that can change hourly.  It isn’t even raising a child when there is a 57 year age difference.  No, the real challenge is helping with sixth grade homework.

And it isn’t even helping with all homework.  Cutting and pasting the solar system on construction paper, I can handle that.  I can outline Texas on the map so she can color it with map colors for social studies.  Heck, I even know the shape of Rhode Island.  When it comes to sentence structure, I can definitely help with simple subject and predicate.  But what sends me to the chocolate cupcakes faster than a Jenny Craig drop-out is math.

Granted, it’s been 40 years since I was in a math class, but you’d think 2 +2 still equals 4 but today’s
sixth graders are way beyond dealing with just  plain numbers.  They have PRIME numbers and COMPOSITE numbers and evidently numbers that aren’t even real.

After an hour of screaming and crying and shouting “When will this ever be used?” the tween-ager sought help from a much calmer Dr. Hubby while I got chocolate cupcake number one and tried to breathe normally.  Five minutes later Dr. Hubby said he would assume the supervision of the second grader’s homework AND buy me a condo on Maui, IF I would continue helping with the sixth grade homework.  Cupcake number two!

Math and a right brained person do not mix.  They are not simpatico. They do not speak the same language, not on the same page, different worlds.  Problem:  8 divided by 2 X (3-2) to the second power minus 4 = ?????  To the math teacher’s credit, she did provide a mnemonic device to help with tonight’s homework and this right brained elderly parent.  This is good.  I can deal with mnemonics; after all, I learned to read music with F-A-C-E and Every Good Boy Does Find, at least the treble cleft part.

To help in solving the problem, she gave us “Pass the Potatoes My Dear Aunt Sally” which stood for the order of the steps you follow to solve the problem:  Parenthesis, Power, Multiply, Divide, Add, Subtract. “ Ok, get rid of the parenthesis first so that’s 3-2, which is 1 then exponents ok that’s still one, so on to potatoes…no that’s Dear… Abby … no wait….” After the second hour my neurotic device was “Panicked Parent Malfunctioning During Arithmetic Session.” We needed a break.  Chocolate cupcake number three.

Now with an additional 1500 calories under my stretch pants and chocolate endorphins coursing through my brain, I was sure we could finish the assignment before morning… or I had to bake more cupcakes.   I was mumbling “Now that’s 8 divided by 2 cups of flour on the harmonica times 1500 calories to the tenth power…” when I heard the tweenager say  “Never mind, I got it.  While you were licking the icing off your cupcake, I called my teacher and my study partner.  You were doing it all wrong, but thanks anyway.”

And that’s when I ate chocolate cupcake number four!