Another Birthday, Tons of Soup, Fancy Feet and a Wee Bit of Rabbie Burns

October 10 - Howard would have had another candle added to his ice-cream cake, but there was great fear of the Big  Melt, so we kept it down to a sparkler to usher in his 62nd year.

 

And me? Well, I'm back into fall weather, which results in servings of soup. Some of them were a bit thick, as the spoon in this bowl of potato and corn chowder proves. Oh well, it was tasty, and this is from the place that I suspect waters down their soup when the bottom of the pot becomes visible. If I had been a couple of hours later getting my soup, I would probably have been able to suck it up a straw.

We had a week of foggy weather, as this view from Surrey Central sky train station will attest. This was taken while waiting ages for a train on my way to work - third time in less than a month there was trouble with the tracks. Makes me dread winter - the first year and a half I commuted from Surrey, there was no problem at all with the train service, but I don't have much faith in the following months. Guess the track, like some of us, is getting worse for the wear.

However, it IS indeed great soup weather. I made two lovely batches, actually. One of them started with the stock I made from the Thanksgiving Turkey, and was made delicious by adding sauteed ground beef with onions and celery, a can of mixed beans, and some frozen veggies courtesy of the green Giant feller. Thinking at the end it needed a bit of a pop to really please the taste buds, I added a bit of paprika and a bit of chili flakes. Too much of a bit, rather. A can of diced tomatoes helped by very little, no matter how many 'smrt' internet sites suggested that as a remedy. However, I did find out that eating strawberries after a bowl of this soup was a great way to calm down the fire in my lips. And honestly, the soup was one of the best ones I've ever made. It's just that I'm only now in my life getting used to pepper, let alone spicier condiments.

The sky train remains The Place to see strange things - I find if I turn the sound off on my phone, I can take silent pictures without the subjects realizing it. I'm sure this footwear won't become very popular in the Vokey household.
 
Back to soup - the bone from the Thanksgiving Ham became my wonderful pot of Pea Soup, which was also admired by all. Besides the ham bone, peas and onions, which of course are the main ingredients, I added celery, chicken bouillon cubes, my favourite giants veggies, and a spot of paprika. Oh so yummy. I don't mean to brag, but I think my soups would be right there alongside my muffins on the World's Best List.

And now, to change the subject and close the moment, this little feller was sunning himself in front of the store one afternoon last week when I closed up. Sad to say, he passed away before the morning. 

Thank you Rabbie Burns. Couldn't say it better myself ... in fact, I'm having a bit of trouble saying it at all ...

 Ode to a Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi’ bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee, Wi’ murd’ring pattle! I’m truly sorry man’s dominion, Has broken nature’s social union, An’ justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An’ fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave ’S a sma’ request; I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave, An’ never miss’t! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin! An’ naething, now, to big a new ane, O’ foggage green! An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin, Baith snell an’ keen! Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste, An’ weary winter comin fast, An’ cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell— Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro’ thy cell. That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter’s sleety dribble, An’ cranreuch cauld! But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy! Still thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me The present only toucheth thee: But, Och! I backward cast my e’e. On prospects drear! An’ forward, tho’ I canna see, I guess an’ fear! .