A crabby day

All was going so well. No snow to shovel cuz the previous evening's forecast for a few more inches was a bit off. No precipitation coming down, so no reason to worry about whether or not to put the horses out in the morning. No cold temps. A little bit of slippery ice but not bad.

The papers didn't come on time, but that's happened so many times over the past couple of months that my high expectations have diminished, and I've learned to be flexible with the time devoted to that second cup of coffee while reading the Bee and the Spokesman. The papers came later after I finished the second segment of barn chores.

The rest of the morning and afternoon went well. I went to town with to with a list of grocery items for Mother. I think I even scored 100 percent at getting everything on the list, the right sizes, brands, etc. The dogs and I once again went snow shoeing during the afternoon sun.

Still, it turned into a really crabby day---my first ever.

Now, before those of you who know me gasp so loud in disbelief it scares the beejeebers out of my Annie Dog, I'll tell you I've never gone to an Alaskan King crab-leg feed until last night.

I've mentioned the Raihas before----their creative Christmas trees, their New Year's parties, etc. Our families have known each other for nearly 40 years. The friendship started even before Rauno owned the Pend Oreille Sport Shop and my dad hung out down there to share his hunting and fishing tales with a bunch of other storytelling regulars.

Margarete and I got to be friends shortly after our house burned down in 1984, and we've been good friends ever since---through kids growing up, kids getting married, and lots of lunches, dinners and New Year's Eve parties.

Well, this year Rauno and Margarete were feeling a bit under the weather on New Year's, so they postponed their usual in-home extravaganza, which includes food, wine, food, wine, off-key Christmas carol singing (except for some who can carry a tune), boiled-lead predictions just after midnight, champagne, more food and a whole lot of conviviality.

In lieu of the party, they invited us to their home for dinner last night, cuz those crab legs were waiting. I asked Bill, the Louisiana seafood expert, what we would have to do to eat our crab. He said something about nutcrackers, and I said, I'd just sit back and watch before making a total fool out of myself.

Bill had instructed me on seafood pig-outs once before. That was about three weeks after I first met him 35 years ago. He invited me to come to his home in Louisiana while I was on a trip to Dallas. He told me that during my visit there'd be a "bowled shrimp" feed.

Now, up to that time, I'd had boiled food and generally it was okay, but, to me a confirmed ranch-raised red-meat eater, somehow the thought of meat of any kind--especially seafood--being boiled or "bowled" sounded a bit revolting at the time.

"You won't have to do much work," he assured me. "You're a guest, so they'll peel your shrimp." Even the thought of people waiting on me, the country potatohead, had little impact on my dread of what it was gonna be like to eat "bowled" shrimp without throwing up right in front of my hosts and potential in-laws.

Once there, I lived in fear of the day when "Ain't Fan," "Ain't Irma," sister Margaret, Ora, Edgar, Bill and I would gather for the shrimp feed. Bill had told me about "Ain't Fan's" special sauce which added the frosting to the shrimp, and he assured me that as squeamish as I appeared to be about seafood, I would like "bowled shrimp."

He was wrong. I didn't "like bowled shrimp"; I ate "bowled shrimp" like a pig and LOVED it. Couldn't get enough of the stuff and couldn't wait 'til the next time we went to Louisiana and when I'd have to peel my own shrimp after becoming a member of the family.

We feasted on "bowled shrimp" in Louisiana several times while Bill's parents, his Ain't Fan and Ain't Irma were still alive----so much that I asked Ain't Fan (a fellow high school English teacher) for her sauce recipe. It's among our moving boxes somewhere, and we haven't exactly had an opportunity to sit down for a shrimp feed over the past couple of years. One of these days, though . . . .

Knowing my positive experience with the shrimp, I rather looked forward to the crab feed last night. I was pleasantly surprised that the ever-hospitable hosts had already planned to make digging that meat out pretty user friendly. Ron had the job of cracking open the sides of those nearly foot-longers. Meanwhile, everyone else waited on us as if we were royalty---that's the way it is at the Raiha house.

We sat down to our feed, I tasted my first bite of crab, dug from the leg bones, dipped in real butter and announced that this WAS good. I must have fed on about half a dozen legs along with tossed salad, bread, champagne, chocolates, raspberry mousse, coffee and an after-dinner wine. All the while, we caught up with nearly 18 months of visiting since our last gathering at Dan and Tina Raiha's wedding.

To say I savor a crabby day is an understatement this morning. It's always fun to try something new, and to have the experience at the Raiha home makes it even more special. It also puts me in a good mood on this Monday morning just thinking about the fun and fine food last night.

Happy Monday to all.