patience and grilled cheese.

Talk to any of the people that know me well, and they can assure you, with extreme sincerity, that I have NO  very little patience.  I know this, and try to work around it, with limited success.

Well, sometimes I need a nudge, I guess.  When I lived in my apartment, I had a lovely stove (cough), with two settings.  Flames of Hell, or off.  And, I later found out, this was one of the better stoves in the complex...

But anyway, I learned, more or less, to make grilled cheese sandwiches on this monster.

Most of the time, they even came out looking not too much like charcoal.  I was cooking for myself, so, meh, get out a butter knife, few scrapes, dinner.

Then I was married, and didn't think I wanted to treat Husband to Continually Blackened Sandwiches.

I don't know why, but I could not get my temp right.  It was a struggle, and several times, I really had some blackened messes.  Husband was a trooper, and I always tried to get the really bad ones on my plate.

But still, the problem remained.

So, Christmas before last, Husband bought me some super-duper-mega-woo pans.  Non-stick, glass vented lids, the whole "WE ARE A CHEF NOW" deal.  And in the instructions, it mentioned that the coating didn't take high heat (as in, don't put it on max and let it sit there.)

Huh.

Okay, so I decided to try a sandwich.  Put it on medium heat... And wait.  Is it ready?  Hmm.

Now?  Not really.

Can I flip the silly thing... No. Hmm.

Finally, I see a crisp, golden brown. NOT charcoal, hey, presto, I can flip it without grimacing, and get the other side, after what seemed an age or three, to golden, not crappy.

This is nice!  Husband noticed, too.  So, I tried to remember what I did for the next time.

IT WORKED!  It doesn't need to be on "Butane Flamethrower" to make the sandwich!

Then I tried making my sandwich with Gouda.

Um.  I think I may have created a monster.  A more patient monster, but a monster, nonetheless.

R is for Racoons, rabbits, and... No, not happening...

My reputation as a country kid followed me when I went to college.  I suppose it was when I tried to raise corn on the window sill that it was cemented in that I liked nature.  (Or that I was a nutcase, but I like to think the other...)

This was a two-edged sword, as I was then the "expert" for any animals roaming about.  Especially those that managed to get in people's apartments.  We had a period of time when the landlord was working on people's bathrooms, thereby leaving holes that would lead outside.  At least if you were four footed.  Or not...

Also, quite a few folks, during the spring and summer, would leave the front door, or the back window open during the day.  This lead to my helping someone get a bird to leave... This one was pretty easy, had them turn off all the lights, then open door and window.  Then walk toward bird.  Bird took off, pooping as it went, which upset the person.  I shrugged, explaining, it's what birds do.  I found out she started telling others that I was some sort of  'animal expert'.

I went on to help someone remove: a cat, a couple rabbits, and one opposum.  (You'd be amazed what you can do with a cookie pan and a large blanket.)  A raccoon was a bit more tricky, we managed to do that by closing the door to the bathroom where it came up, and getting some stinky food, (cheese?  I don't remember, but it smelled...) and putting it by the vent nearest that bathroom.  Sure enough, about 10 or so minutes later, the furry bandit's nose was twitching 'round the corner.  After a nice lunch for the critter, we started blocking vents.

Thought we had blocked them all...

I was doing some homework, when there was a knock on my door.  A tiny lady that lived at the end apartment asked if I would help her with an animal in her tub.

Uh, sure...

We walked back to her apartment, one of the last ones to be repaired, and in the tub, nearly as long AS the tub, was a boa constrictor!  Please note, I am not afraid of snakes.  However, this critter was big, and I don't know how to handle large snakes.  I turned, and told her that this was a time to call the police.

I kid you not, she looked at me like I was nuts, and said, it's a snake, not a burglar.  Nonplussed, I replied, yes, but the police know who to contact for animal control.

Oh...

It was rather a good thing we did call the police, as someone a few houses away had called that their pet snake had wandered off while sunbathing.  (!!!)  So, I waited with the lady, who WAS afraid of snakes, and didn't want to be alone, if it got out.  We waited by her front door, until the police, and animal control arrived, soon to be followed by the owner.  This parade went in, the owner came out with said animal.

That's when I decided to tell the landlord I was going to start charging him for animal removal if he didn't get all the holes plugged up in the apartments!