So, we went for a ride the other day, on the side-by-side, and we travelled waaay up into the bush, as a matter of fact we went right to the end of the road. Literally, the road went no further.

 This lake isn't the end, we went about another hour past this, and even though its a place that Steven goes hunting now and then, there are never any signs of anyone else...no fresh tire tracks, no empty bottles or fire pits. We always feel sort of smug, and think that it's "our" spot.
We stopped for a rest and to stretch out legs, I hop out for pee, and what do I find?

Really?

One potato, two potato....

 I should pay more attention to my oven. Or my nose. Or both. *sigh* here's what happened: I made baked potatoes about 10 days ago and that should be the end of the story. Meanwhile, I thought maybe something was wrong with my electric frying pan (which I love, and would be lost without) because every time I was using it, I was smelling an odd "burn-y" smell. (I usually use both the oven and the electric frying pan during the prep of meal. Well, maybe not usually, but often.) I knew it wasn't anything in the oven because I opened the oven door and used my eyes to look inside. I'd put a pot or dish in there, and continue on my culinary adventure, running down the basement every now and then to make sure that things weren't burning down there. All was well. So, tonight I was roasting some asparagus, and when I pushed the cookie sheet into the oven I heard  rustling noise. This time I actually bent over to look inside, and lo & behold...a silvery nugget of burned potato was smooshed up against the back of the oven. When I unwrapped it, it looked like a black truffle, and when I touched it, it was hollow and hard and crumbled away.  What can I say? When you check your oven, bend over and check it properly. Or count your potatoes.

Three things

As I was doing a bit more cleaning today I decided to share three things with you.  The first is this beer can holder, and what a great idea this is. Nothing is worse than holding a cold can of beer in the winter, your hands get so chilled, and nothing is worse than holding a cold can in the hot summer 'cause then your beer gets warm. So here is the perfect invention, it so appeals to my sense of whimsy. I know you can get those "beer cozies" but it's harder than you would think to try and jam a cold & clammy can into a tight fitting cozy. They are actually called "coozies", but that just seems like a dirty word to me. Anyhow, stuffing your can into a coozie (see? Doesn't that sound vulgar?) is not unlike Ross trying to get  into those leather pants in that infamous "Friends" episode. This is much more fun.                                                       
Next are the wonderfully tiny Milk Bones® (I just learned how to make the Registered symbol, so I had to use it) These are only 5 calories each, and since we seem to have a lot of friends with overweight dogs, they are perfect to carry around with me, as well as small enough to fit in a jean pocket. (Because yes, I am the type of person with a pocket full of dog treats, as opposed to the type of person with a pocket full of Werthers™ (I can also make the Trademark symbol, not sure which is the correct one to use, but I impress myself with knowing how to make any and all of them) I'd rather run into people with dogs in the forest than people with children.) (can you use brackets within brackets? Does anyone care?)
And finally,  I found 2 lotto tickets that my Dad bought 6 months before he died. I'm not going to ever check the numbers because they expire after, I think, a year and can you imagine if they had been huge winners? Yikes! I hid the last number just in case any of you are curious (as I would be if I were reading this on someone else's blog) I don't want to know....instead I have tucked them in my wallet as good luck tokens. Maybe I'll use the numbers the next time I buy a ticket. Wouldn't that be sweet if they won something? My Dad always said two things about the lotto...one was it was the best "bang for your buck" ever...he said where else can you get a weeks worth of dreams for a dollar? I like that thought, it touches me. He would buy a ticket once a week, for the following weeks draw, and he would plan all the things he'd do if he won. "A weeks worth of dreams." The other thing he told me was a bit funnier. He would check his ticket during the TV draw (I don't know if they even do that anymore) but he would stand in front of the TV with his ticket and watch the winning numbers be drawn. He always said he would probably have a heart attack if he won, so he'd tuck the ticket under the rug in front of the TV as he fell, so he told me to make sure I checked under the rug when I came to his home, once he died.
    And you know what? When I went there, I looked around, feeling somewhat foolish, and said "Just following your orders Dad..." and I peeked under the corner of the rug, I found what I expected, which was just a dust bunny, but I always did what my Dad told me too.