Busy Day

Busy day. Early breakfast with The Old Goat. Time on the land doing hand-to-hand combat with privet. Shower. Then off to LaGrange for coffee and some time with the Federalist Papers. Then, all hell broke loose. While checking several websites that I normally troll, I found, lo and behold, there are jobs there! Excitedly, I spent the rest of the afternoon applying. Naturally, it was all done on-line – letter of interest, curriculum vita, references, and writing samples. I applied for three jobs before dinner. I will apply for another two this evening. All total, then, I have six applications hanging – four in Montgomery, one in Chattanooga, and one in Atlanta.

Over the weekend, I accompanied my bud, Sambo, on a hike up a mountain. It wore me out. At the time, I was drenched with sweat and my legs felt like jello. But, the next day, I felt wonderful. I concluded that the strenuous exercise was good for me. Battling the privet causes me to sweat like a field hand but it does not tax my heart and lungs. So, I looked up hiking trails near to Welch. Bingo. The Pinchot Trail, 35 miles along the spine of the Appalachians a few miles north of me. So, tomorrow, instead of whacking privet, I plan to drive to the trailhead and hike for a couple of hours. The plan, then, is to do that three times each week. Sambo says we need to put the Appalachian Trail on our bucket lists. There is no way I would even consider it without a fair amount of training. Perhaps this is the start of such an ambitious undertaking.

While with Sambo, I once again enjoyed the fine cooking of The Deb. She so impresses me that for dinner tonight, I prepared a baked fish, killer salad, and baked garlic potatoes. I think The Deb would be proud. She is the best cook I know and she always gives me inspiration to eat healthy. Lots of vegetables and fruits and whole grains. The Old Goat and Tinker seem to be impressed by the new fare although you can tell that they are suffering deep fried withdrawal. Tinker and I were shopping the other day and he said that he wanted to get a box of Hamburger Helper. I shrieked. No way in hell that is going to happen. Since then, control of the dinner menu has been a bit more contentious. Tinker makes distinctions in the degree to which a food item is fried, as in, “it ain’t fried too much.” When I told him that I intended to bake the fish tonight, you could tell that part of him groaned. I guess you can take the boy out of the country but you can’t take the fat-back* out of the boy.

*If unsure the meaning of the term fat-back, ask any Southerner.