There’s nothing I love more than a warm bagel with soft inner core and a slightly toasted crust, with a healthy serving of cream cheese. Last year I started baking more and one of the first things on my list to try was this doughy little delight. I thought it would certainly be a tricky project, but as it turned out, the process was pretty simple and one that I caught on to quickly.

I will say, like with most things for me, my first try was much better than my second (what these photos feature). Just luck, I guess. Also, the first time I made these I skipped a step (we’ll get to that) and the bagels turned out better.

And before anyone asks — no, this is not some family recipe. You have to go back 80 generations before you find our Jewish ancestors and I can promise that no one in the Johnson family has made their name baking bagels. The recipe I use belongs to John D. Lee and I’m so impressed that it will take a mighty good sounding one for me to try another.

First you’re going to knead that dough. Have I told you how much I love my dough hook? It’s changed my life. Really.

I have the smallest kitchen imaginable. Okay, wait. My great-grandma Lily’s kitchen felt smaller because it was so narrow, but I do promise that I have no more than one square foot of clear counter space. That fact makes me cry sometimes.

First world problems.

Then you’re going to separate that dough into balls and let it rest for 10-20 minutes. Here’s the deal (that’s my saying, if you haven’t noticed) — this is the step that I skipped the first time and my bagels turned out a lot better. Do what you will with that fact.

In the meantime, boil some water. Oh, and make sure your oven is preheating to 425.

Then you’re going to roll the dough into little snakes and join the ends to make our circles. Let them rest again for another 20 minutes while your water is boiling.

Dump those suckers in! Boil one minute on each side then remove and place on an oiled baking sheet (make sure they are dry before putting them on the baking sheet).

I like to make sure that they are all lightly-coated with oil before placing the baking sheet in the oven.

Bake 10 minutes, turn them over, and bake another 10. Tada! You’ve made bagels. Easy as can be and so much tastier than anything you’ll buy at the grocery store. Work at it long enough and I’m sure you’ll be craving these over your local bakery. Enjoy!

This is dedicated to Becca, who has waited patiently for goodness knows how long to hear about how I made these things. And of course I post it right after she goes gluten-free. Stay strong, my friend, and let me know how these things taste gluten-free.

I saw this cranky bird at the OKC Zoo when we visited a few months ago. Look at him, observing those who pass by with little more than a squinted eye. Clearly he’s unamused. So am I. A little.

• I think I’m experiencing a case of gastritis. Ouch.
• I’ve never had to take legal action about anything before, but it’s looking like that is about to happen.
• Once I asked my dad if he would bail me out of jail if I ended up there. I was in a weird phase and he knew that I really meant, “if I am arrested and jailed for protesting.” Since that is the only thing he could imagine me going to jail for, he said no.
• He’d rather me sit in jail and think about what I’d done than take responsibility for a protester.
• I don’t think anyone has a CLUE how close I came to going off in front of NEWS 9′s camera at that Sarah Palin book signing fiasco. But I had to get to work and couldn’t feel my rear end or my fingers (it was THAT cold).
• I despise Waiting for Godot.
• My Tietze’s Syndrome is acting up again.
• What would this blog be without a random self-diagnosis from time to time?

Once upon a time, there was a castle little white house in a small city and it was covered with a thick blanket of beautiful roses a bunch of nasty weeds and tree branches. A fair princess suburban housewife lived inside with her handsome, devoted, and brave prince husband. The husband fought off many fire-breathing dragons tackled the yard work and kept them safe inside their home.

The husband worked to cut away all the branches so that sunlight would once again shine on their house. A great pile of wood grew in the backyard. Higher and higher every day. Bit by bit, the housewife and the husband cleared away the pile but never seemed to make any headway. The housewife grew uneasy because she was originally from the country and she knew what was drawn to woodpiles — critters.

But surely there would be no critters in the city…right?

First, there was a possum.

Then a rat in the garden.

And then another one of those fire-breathing dragons a snake.

In the dark of the night the husband summoned the housewife to the drawbridge porch. There on the cement slithered the snake. He sought her country expertise in creepy crawly things. That, and her ability to hold a flashlight.

The snake looked suspect and no chances could be taken with their prized stallion terrier mix living in the backyard. The husband took a whack at it and disabled it. Then the housewife took the shovel and chopped off the snake’s head.

And then they frantically searched the tomes in their library the Internet to see if they’d killed a poisonous viper or a harmless, helpful creature.

Does anyone know what this is? (WARNING: Don’t click on this link if you’re sensitive to photos of snakes with their heads cut off.)

Crud. Looks like he was one of the good guys.

If you leave the OKC metro area and head south on I-35, after about an hour you’ll be in the middle of the Arbuckle Mountains. Down there just south of Highway 7 running through Davis, is a little place surrounded by vehicles. At least, I haven’t figured out a time to visit that it’s not surrounded. Officially known as Smokin’ Joe’s Rib Ranch & RV Park, but more affectionately referred to by its many patrons as Smokin’ Joe’s or just plain “Joe’s.”

I’ve never been much of a barbeque person. That’s got to be a surprise to some people, given my upbringing. It’s not the barbeque itself that I don’t like, it’s the nasty sauce that often accompanies it. It takes a very special barbeque sauce for me to put it on what I’m eating. Nothing too sweet, nothing to vinegary. Joe’s has some that I really like even if it isn’t my favorite.

But it’s not the sauce that’s so special — it’s their food. Joe’s is the first local place that I’ve really liked. And I like it. A lot. You won’t go wrong with their chopped brisket (though you might want to skip it if little puddles of orange grease frighten you), the ribs, or the sliced brisket. I’ve seen someone order the smoked bologna, but if you know my history with that then you know I won’t be having it any time soon. My dad enjoys the smoked chicken (which I’m thinking of trying this weekend) and he and my mom usually split one of the 2- or 3-meat dinners. You’re still going to bring home 1-2 lbs of food, so be prepared. The portions are huge.

Don’t go during peak hours unless you’re willing to wait and battle a crowd. Twelve to 2 and 5 to 7 you’re looking at a decent little wait and the possibility that there’s no place to sit. Go on a nice day when you might not mind sitting on their front porch or in the bed of your pickup.

(Did I really just suggest that?)

There’s another thing you need to be prepared for — the table stake out. My mom sure enough doesn’t want to sit outside in the heat when we visit Joe’s, so as soon as we order, we start watching. It’s all in the body language. And the amount of visible plate. You can tell when someone’s close to being done. And the minute they start to move it’s VITAL that you get close to that table.

Laughing, talking, having a big time? Nope. Staking out a table.

Then you have to be ready to be neighborly. In a place like this you can’t sit down with a group of four at a table that seats six and expect no one to join you. On this particular visit we were joined by a couple (the gentleman half of the couple is the man at the end of the table in the above photo) that used to go to church with my aunt and uncle 30 minutes away from our hometown. While this restaurant is 30 minutes in the other direction. Of course, didn’t know who they were until we got out to the truck and finally asked my mom. Because that’s how I roll.

Smokin’ Joe’s — bringing folks together.

And, hey, Ree? I know your farm is in southern Oklahoma and you’ve mentioned the county a time or two. So, by my calculation, this lovely little spot could be right on your way…or a small detour out of your way. I’m thinking since Marlboro Man is a guy and he’s from Oklahoma, this could be right up his alley. Once you’ve eaten just hop back on 7, head on over to 81, and you should be back on track in no time. And you can call me Tom-Tom.

So, the next time you’re down in Davis, tell them I sent you. And then they’ll give you a funny look because the good people of Joe’s have no idea who I am.

I don’t like blogs that make fun of people. But this post might make you think I do. Fair warning.

Robert and Zane, this is dedicated to you guys.

You really can’t take me anywhere. I almost always have my camera and I behave very much like that dog from Up!, (SQUIRREL!) getting a shot of whatever catches my eye. Usually I take a picture of whatever I’m going to eat. Food is just so stinkin’ nice to look at. When we go to a more upscale location I do leave the camera at home. Oh, is there ever reluctance.

I especially like to have my camera around when Kevin and I go home for the weekend to visit my mom and dad. Yes, I still call it home. City life is for the birds. Gimme that countryside. You just never know what you’re going to see.

So, I teased the other day on Twitter that I was going to be challenging The Pioneer Woman on my blog. Well, that’s tomorrow. TODAY, I’m giving you a sneak peek of the place that serves The Best barbeque in Oklahoma.

Mostly it’s a celebration of rat-tails though.

I covered their innocent faces. Kevin’s ear is not innocent and received no such treatment.

Isn’t that amazing? Don’t come near me if you have a rat-tail or a mullet and you don’t want your picture taken because I WILL. Now, try not to risk life and limb if you do this and make sure to turn off your flash. Seriously, you shouldn’t have it on in the first place. I hate flash more than I hate the city. No lie.

Come back by tomorrow for detailed directions and the name of this glorious place nestled in the hills.

I went to Freddy’s this afternoon and ate a ton of food that I am not supposed to have. Ah well. Living a little before the school year gets started.

Kevin chose moderation and had a hamburger and fries.

I…did not. I had a hamburger and fries and a chili dog. *hides face in shame*

But I have no regrets. Tomorrow is a new day, fresh with no hotdogs…err…mistakes in it.

I’ve requested my last meal. (We’re going to get it here in a bit.)

I have no plans for the rest of the day.

Other than the pile of laundry that needs to be folded, the bathroom that I’ve been meaning to deep clean all summer, and the dishes that I’ve let go for a few days.

But after we have lunch (and drop off some recycling, take Kevin to vote across town, and take me to vote a few streets over) I’ll be back in my chair, kicking back, taking a nap, and dreaming that I’m back home like last week. Cause there’s no where else I’d rather spend my last day.

I have no idea how many ounces this thing is, but it’s too much, too late at night.

Pretty sure the rules of blogging say that 10:38 on a Tuesday night is the worst time to publish a post, but I’m doing this for the people. Not for whoever makes up those rules.

• How much do you spend on groceries each week? One Week of Food could put that into perspective for you.
• Very interesting essay on the manipulation and reuse of images in culture.
• The Calorie Police (Do you think the ACLU would defend my right to consume calories in whatever form I please? Just asking.) There’s a double standard here, folks.
• Micah’s post discussing “slow parenting” was eye-opening for me. It’s exactly what I hope to do someday. My parents raised us that way, to a certain extent. While it was not always on purpose (I know that much), I do appreciate that we were allowed to pursue our interests within reason and that we weren’t on the road every night of the week.
• Mango Slaw with Cashews & Mint (This is a recipe for you, Heather)
• Chagrin chagrin chagrin. Chagrin? Chagrin. CHAGRIN. Chagrin. (thanks, Rammi )
• I’m linking this post because Misti is talking about guys named Make Time and Cob.
• “Because I think the world knows just how much NBC, home of Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow, among others, has been in the tank for George W. Bush for lo these many years. Their relentless cheerleading for the former president, his domestic initiatives and his foreign policy has made them a laughing-stock among serious news organizations and a network no serious-minded person would admit watching.” – The Friar

Oh, and Clare got a haircut!

Oh, hi, Matt. And Tim.

. . .

My one word for Season 3: Transition. I’ve been told all along Season 3 is where the series really starts to get … confusing, if you will. I was content with the first two seasons. Sure, there were a few more questions raised in Season 2, but compared to Season 3, most of them seem … unimportant. I don’t want to say irrelevant because the smallest occurrence could have a significant impact on future events. Plus, the questions posed by this season seem … deeper. Like there’s more to them. It’s hard to put into words. Though I’ll certainly do my best… (more…)

In light of this weekend’s patriotic celebrations, I thought it would be a good time to share a more sobering experience I had recently.

While we were back east a few weeks ago, we visited Arlington National Cemetery. It was my first time to visit and there are few experiences like it.

We saw the Tomb of the Unknowns and were able to watch a few different groups lay wreaths there for the fallen.

The memorial for the victims of the Challenger explosion was something I wanted to view. Some of my earliest memories are of this tragedy being on TV and my family talking about it. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I wasn’t yet 2-years-old when that happened.

Both Kevin’s Pop-Pop and my Uncle Mike served on the USS Forrestal. Pop-Pop was aboard during the tragic fire that killed so many men. I got a picture of Forrestal’s grave before we were removed from the grass. Silly us, we didn’t know that you weren’t allowed on the grass unless you were there for a family member. It certainly wasn’t listed in any of the information we picked up at the visitor’s center.

Luckily, one of the graves that Kevin wanted to see was accessible from the path. This is the grave of Audie Murphy, an actor from the post-WWII era and the most decorated US soldier from WWII.

We had come to Arlington for a reason though. I have an uncle buried there and he was in the same section as Audie Murphy. We had found his section and grave number before going to the cemetery and Kevin and his parents waited while I trudged down the rows looking for his number.

It was hotter than blazes that day and I don’t handle the heat that well. I was glad that the first row I tried was close to his number.

268, 269, 270…

I skipped the big monument and went to the next single because it seemed logical to me at the moment.

287…What?

I couldn’t figure out what I’d missed. The only thing between the two single headstones was that big monument. I walked around the other side.

And there he was.

You see, my uncle, William Henry “Bill” Arnold, was on a plane about to head home. It crashed before they made it out of Vietnam. Wasn’t shot down. Just crashed.

He and 15 other men are right there. Together in death as they had been the last moments of their lives.

He was 29. Never married. No children. My mom was just 5-years-old when it happened, but she remembers being told.

And as far as we know, I am the only person in our family to ever visit his grave. (Not by choice, certainly, but distance makes it difficult.) I can’t help but be a little sad about that.