4th of July - 2024

When we cranked up the car to go to the family 4th of July barbeque feast, the car said it was 104 degrees.  Though it was probably exaggerating a little, it was probably not far off.

It.

Was.

Hot.

We took a pasta salad, a big pot of chilled, sliced watermelon, and the cake.

Oh, the cake.

This is how it was supposed to look:

This is how it looked when it came out of the baking pan:

The cake rose up over the pan and pooled up along the rim.  It would not come out of the pan until I sawed off the crusty edges that were fused to the pan and ran a knife around the whole loaf.  It was a bit of a cake-wreck.

I sliced it and poured ganache over the whole business.

It tasted good.

There were at least half-a-dozen other desserts at the dinner.  I brought the left-over cake home, but I'm creeped out about eating it.  You can't have a 4th of July dinner without flies.  As soon as folks quit eating, I covered my cake up, but it kept getting uncovered, and it was probably too late, anyway, to keep it from getting fly spit on it. I'll probably rake it into the garbage can in the morning.  

Nanny rode to the shindig with us, and on the way, she said that she had seen worm poop on the ground under one of the tomatoes but never found the worm.  When we took her home after the "do," I went out to the garden to see if I could find it.  I found three nearly as big as my finger.

There is a sort of twisted satisfaction in the way they pop when you step on them.  ;)

(A few years ago, I bought a black-light flashlight that was supposed to make tomato worms fluoresce.  I'd go down to the garden at night, hoping to find worms, and never found one. Wonder whatever happened to the flashlight?

I picked 4 more squash, made Nanny take half of them.  This year, I planted only 4 hills of squash (I usually do 10 or 12) because I ran out of seeds after 4.  I keep intending to plant more - there's a new pack of squash seeds in my purse - but I don't know how they'll do in this heat.

The A/C repairmen are supposed to come again tomorrow, after 3.  Maybe I can squeeze in a little gardening time between them and the Friday night margarita. 

It's 9:30 at night, and the neighbors - all up and down the road, apparently - are shooting off fireworks.  It sounds like a war zone around here.  I hope they run out of ammo pretty soon, 'cause I'm about ready for bed!