Harbinger of Death

Another fun filled family extravaganza. We had Thanksgiving over at the Baron's mother's house. It went fine. There's always plenty of food, plenty of laughter, lots of family, and many bottles of wine.

But the Baron's family has one tiny little quirk. They don't talk about bad stuff. Ever. They don't acknowledge a lot of things, and prefer to ignore the elephant pooping in the corner of the room. You all know me. I have no filter. Pour a few glasses of wine in me, and it's like truth serum.

This leads to a lot of uncomfortable moments. Particularly with Auntie C. I love Auntie C - she's kind, sweet, caring, and very sensitive. But the family really only gets together for holidays, so Auntie C, her husband Uncle E, and their kids get left out of the loop during the year.

You see where this is going, right? Me in tears at Easter 3 years ago telling her that we had lost our first baby, BT. Me in tears at Thanksgiving 2 years ago when she said how good I looked for 6 months pregnant, explaining that we had lost our second baby, MP a few weeks before. Her in tears this past Easter, when I explained to her that the Baron's father passed away a few months before (while everyone else cleared out of the kitchen, I was left consoling her).

And today. Explaining that we had to leave early because we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow helping my Mom move out of the house. The second I said it, I saw the look on Auntie C's face. She looked confused. She wanted to ask why my Mom was moving. But history has taught her not to ask me the tough questions, even though it was killing her.

For the first time in my life, I took the easy way out. I put on my coat and refused to make eye contact. I wasn't going to be the one to tell her anymore bad news. I couldn't do it. I watched her corner my Mother in law in another room a few minutes later and ask her.

Nothing like a family holiday to once again make me feel The Harbinger of Death.

Nevermore! kaw, kaw

Happy Thanksgiving!

This is what I do every holiday morning. I always intend to make pies the night before, but get lazy and wind up making pies for my family and the Baron's family first thing when I wake up. And for those who are curious - oh yeah, I got mad baking skillz. That's my pie, not a random photo. Homemade crust.

The funny thing is... I don't like pie. It's 3 hours worth of work, and I don't even take a piece. It's just my job for the families, I enjoy the process, I enjoy being a little special - The Bearer of Pies. I learned how to bake apple pie from my Grandmother, and it's been my role for about 10 years.

What I do love about baking a pie from scratch... Little Sisters. Sillies - I don't mean relatives, I'm an only child! It's a family tradition, born from Depression Era grandparents - how to ensure you use every last bit of usable food. You take the leftover dough from the pie crust, roll it out long and thin, slather butter on it, sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon, roll it up, cut in to little cookies, and bake for 10 mins.

The upside to always putting the pies off until the holiday morning... we always have Little Sisters for breakfast.

Pic below was taken approx 30 seconds after they left the oven. I put the pan on the stove, grabbed my phone to take a pic, and half of them were gone already.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving, and hope it's filled with all of your favorite goodies!

Always Look on The Bright Side of Life...

Pretty much sums it up these days. I know, I know... I haven't returned emails, phone calls, but it's taking pretty much everything in me to get up and shower in the morning.

Here's what's going on. Gram was in the hospital for a week with pneumonia, heart attacks, and her general declining health. Both of you who read the blog know that I deal with all of the phone calls when it comes to her health, and tried to be a good girl and visit every other day, taking Mom with me several times. Not fun. She was at the same hospital Dad died in. Mom did okay, but it was really tough on both of us Gram made it through, and she's back at the nursing home.

Meanwhile on the homefront, the Baron and I had a complete relationship meltdown. Epic proportions for a few days. I was having anxiety attacks for a few days, and wound up working from home at least once because I thought I was going to stroke out.

Oh yeah, and if you watch the news, read the paper, or don't live under a rock... you also know that the company I work for is in serious jeopardy - not a good time for me not to be putting in my best performance at work. Terrified I'm going to lose my job.

So I backed off from Mom and Auntie for a few days, trying to straighten my life out and get my head back together. Mom was so good about it, but the visits to the hospital to see Gram really through her out of whack. Flash forward a week, and Mom hadn't really slept or eaten since I saw her 6 days ago. Not good. We hugged, we cried, we took medication, finally got Mom to sleep, with the promise that she wouldn't stay alone in the house for a few days, she'd go down to my other Aunt's house to stay.

And yesterday when I talked to her (3 days after the meltdown) she had been at my aunt's a few days.... and she's decided that's it. She's not sleeping at her house ever again. She's officially moved. I knew it was coming, but I just didn't expect it to hurt so much. My parent's house is never going to be my parent's house again. Pretty soon she won't own it any longer. I can't stop crying about it. I may be pushing toward 40, been on my own since my early 20's, but dammit, Mom and Dad's house was always home! I won't be able to just swing by when I have a bad day. I won't be able to just let myself in and raid the goodie cabinet.

And the worse part is, the part that my head still can't wrap around... I'll never see Dad sitting on the oversized chair watching t.v.. I'll never see him at the computer playing his games on Pogo. I'll never again kvetch with him about work acquaintances, or how the whole place is going to hell in a hand basket. I'll never see any of his tacky Christmas decorations hung all over the house. It all finally seems real, and I can't stand it.

All this whining, and that stupid Monty Python song is ringing in my ears. Come on everybody, whistle along with me...

Mixed Tapes

Most of the people who may actually peek in on this blog know that I love mixed tapes. Hell, most of you have received a mixed tape from me (I know, I know, they're cd's now - but they harken back to the angst of my teen years, and will forever be mixed tapes, regardless of the format). So this post from RoseHawk made me think about a new mix.

I've been thinking for a bit about a mix that reminds me of Dad, but it's just a little too soon. So I'm going back a little further. Back to when we lived in the tiny apartment above my grandparent's. Back to the 70's. Back when there was very little drama or grief in my life. We were poor, but I was a kid and didn't notice, everyone I knew was poor. Gas shortages meant a nap in the car and singing with the radio while we waited in line. There was always music playing. Saturdays were devoted to house cleaning while dancing around and singing (a habit I still have today, while the dog barks ferociously at me - he has no concept of how good my voice sounds in my head).

Anyone want to help? I usually have a bit more of a theme when I make my mixed tapes - so if you're a child of the 70's do you have any songs that you still can't resist singing along with if you happen to catch it on the radio?

Feel free to make the comments anonymous if you can't face the shame of knowing all the lyrics... there's more than one on this list that makes me cringe posting for all the world to see

Pina Colada Song - Rupert Holmes
Copacabana - Barry Manilow
Love Will Keep Us Together - The Captain and Tenille
Rock the Boat - The Hues Corporation
Bennie and the Jets - Elton John
You're No Good - Linda Ronstadt
Here You Come Again - Dolly Parton
I'm A Little Bit Country, I'm a Little Bit Rock n Roll - Donny and Marie
Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard - Paul Simon

Step away from the crockpot...

I just went through my fridge to determine what I need for this week's grocery shopping, and there are 11 full meals in my freezer! Mac n cheese, chicken soup, bigos, and meat sauce. I'm doing a little happy dance here... I don't have to cook every single night this week! AND there's a chance I might actually make it to the gym after work. It's sad, but there is true joy at the thought that I might not be racing around after work every night this week to put dinner on the table.

Anyone else have a few small joys in life to celebrate this week?

Just a little giggle over names

Second post in a day - what's the world coming to????

All this talk about the Baron's family being very Polish, and mine not so much brought back a funny memory. Addressing wedding invitations. Honest to God - one side of my family has Smith the other has Jones for last names. No big shockers, maybe the occasional unusual spelling of a common first name.

Baron's family? - Lord help me, I would call and ask people to spell things out very slowly for many, many hours. They had to think that he was marrying a moron. Oh, there's the pre-requisite "-ski" in a few of the last names, but there is one that has M, L, J, D, Z, N, K and at least 5 vowels. I still couldn't spell the name today even if there was a gun pointed at my head. Funny thing is... every time I talked to a different family member, I'd get a different spelling (or at least I wrote it down differently every time!). My apologies continue to go out to the family, many years of marriage later, I can pronounce it, but I have no clue how to spell it.

Even the first names were difficult. I distinctly remember looking at Baron one night and asking "What's a Ginzi?" Mr. or Mrs. ?

Anyone have a favorite family name that they want to pass down through the generations? Or a name that they believe to be an evil joke?

Personally, I'd never hyphenate a child's first name. Seems to have been a small trend in the 70's, that has thankfully passed (it's not really evil, just a bit traumatic filling out paperwork in school when you don't have a middle name).

Recipe of the Week

My husband, hence forth known as "The Baron" , is 3/4 Polish 1/4 Irish. Cabbage and cured meat runs in his blood. Polish food is something that he grew up with at the nightly dinner table. He grew up in the heart of central CT, in neighborhoods that still have all the shop signs in both English and Polish. Coleslaw is present at every holiday. His Mom makes Golabki every New Year's Eve. Easter brings the joy of two kinds of kielbasa from Martin Rosol's - fresh and cured. And yet... I'm the one who LOVES Polish food. It's smoky, exotic, salty, tangy, and I put on 3-5 lbs every time I sit at the holiday table. The Baron could take it or leave it. I beg to go to Staropolska at least once a month, but he just doesn't get that excited about it.

To put it in perspective for you - while his family is primarily Polish, mine is... well, American. Homogenized. Typical melting pot. I'm Scottish, English, Irish, Welsh, French, Portugese and French Canadian. I have no idea how many generations back my family has lived here in New England. There was the great migration down from Maine and Massachusetts, and for the last few generations we've been in CT. No one is fresh off the boat - I think the closest thing I had to a relative that was 1st generation was my great-grandfather, but he moved from New Brunswick to Maine - not really a tumultuous trip to Ellis Island. We don't really have any traditions that go back to the Old Country. We don't have an Old Country. We had potato farmers and a few odd Portugese traditions (I'll save the one tradition that I know is Portugese for Easter - but it involves hard boiled eggs, and an unhealthy sense of competition - somebody please remind me to blog about it in the spring!)

Old World, traditional meals intrigue me, and I crave the strong, earthy smells and tastes when the weather turns cold.

This week's experiment is another one for the crockpot. It is NOT Weight Watchers friendly. In fact, it's going to require a very light lunch and some serious time on the elliptical machine, but I'm betting that it's going to be worth it. I give you... Bigos (also known as Hunter's Stew or Poland's National Dish). I can't wait to get home tomorrow night for dinner, I think I just gained 2 lbs typing this post!

Bigos
1 onion -- chopped
1 clove garlic -- minced
2 tablespoons butter
1 pound cabbage
1 quart sauerkraut -- rinsed and drained
1/2 pound mushrooms -- sliced
1 pound boneless pork butt -- cut in 1" cubes
1 pound boneless veal -- cut in 1" cubes
1/2 pound Polish sausage -- sliced 1/2" thick
1/2 cup beef stock
1 cup chopped tomatoes
2 tart apples -- diced
1/2 cup pitted prunes
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/2 cup red wine

Brown all the meat. Layer sauerkraut, fruits and veggies, meat. Layer again. Pour in beef stock wine, spices. Cook for 8-10 hours on low. Can absolutely be frozen, everything I've read says the taste is actually better after a few days.

If there's a heaven, I hope it looks like this

I didn't post a lot about the trip once we started to head out of Orlando and to the Keys. All I can say... difficult. It was an extremely tough trip. I know we did the right thing. I know Dad would have been so proud of us for figuring out a way to get to Key West to spread his ashes. But it wasn't easy.

There were moments when I swear he was with us. That's a big deal for me to say - I want to believe in an afterlife, I want to believe there's something else, but I have no proof, and dammit, I don't believe ANYTHING that I don't experience for myself.

There were songs that played on the radio at highly coincidental moments. The second we were crossing on to the first Key, Oye Como Va by Santana started playing. Mom and I did our best to ignore it, don't make eye contact, don't cry, don't mention it. Doesn't sound like much - but Dad loved Santana. He definitely rocked the "Latin flava". I used to joke about it with my friends, there were some older women at work that would practically bat their eyelashes at him. There was one woman (no longer there, but if you ask me offline, I'll tell you who - Chey prolly remembers) that we used to call Cujo. Gentle as can be *insert rolling of eyes and gagging* - which is how she earned the nickname when we were trainees. Yup, she and Dad were buds. Woman would rip me a new ass in a meeting, and go home and bake a cake for him. No lie.

Where the hell was this post going? Oh yeah. The Keys and messages from beyond. There was another song that came on right when we went by the state park that my parents went kayaking in. I won't name the song out of respect for Mom's privacy. But if there is an afterlife, if he can communicate at all - it was Dad trying his hardest to let her know he's there.

We let him go the night we arrived in Key West. We found a beautiful spot by where the big cruise ships dock, right as the sun was sinking in to the ocean. Every night when people clap, cheer, and toast the sunset, they'll be celebrating Dad. And as we left his final resting spot, we realized all of the power went out on the island. As S* said when I told him about it... "Where the hell did you guys drop him? You know he can't be unsupervised around electricity!"

Gotta love that town. Power out, 90 degree heat, clothes clinging to the tourists from 100% humidity, all the restaurants and shops closed, but the bars were still open. Candles on the tables, couldn't serve anything with carbonation, but they found us some chips, salsa and killer martinis. We say goodbye to Dad, and then toasted him until we were stumbling and had to call a cab to bring us back to the hotel.

That's about all of an update I can handle for now. I feel better that he's where he truly wanted to be, but it hasn't eased the sense of loss. I still miss talking to him every day, and still turn quick when I hear a voice that sounds like his, or see a head that looks like his 5 aisles away. But I know we did the right thing. I'm grateful that the timing worked out. Seriously, if it had been a month later, with the way the economy is going, there is no way we could have swung it. But I'll deal with that in another post. For now, I'm just going with grateful.

I know, I know, I'm still not returning emails or phone calls in a timely manner. I will, I promise. Still having that head-stuck-up-my-ass problem. But it's getting better. I'm starting to try to reach out again. Of course, with the current economic shitstorm, I can't afford to go out to dinner with you guys, but perhaps a night of Guitar Hero and homemade margaritas is in order soon? Muah! Love to all my girls...

Decent Crockpot Recipes? Anyone? Anyone?

I'm back to cooking again. 8 days away from home left me with a complete craving for real, homemade food, and a desire to join Weight Watchers again... what can I say, I'm a woman full of dichotomies. In order to not put too great a strain on my marriage, I've agreed to experiment only once a week and stick by the tried and true recipes the rest of the week. This week's experiment, Chicken Paprikash. It sucked *ss. Tastes like mush with a kick. Blech. Can't wait to see what S* thinks of it. The good news is... I made the entire bag of egg noodles so we can have noodles and butter after he tastes it :)

Anyone have a favorite crockpot recipe they'd like to share? 'Cuz this one wasn't it.


Chicken Paprikash

Serve this dish with egg noodles, orzo, rice, or mashed potatoes. Use preshredded carrots to speed up preparation.
Yield

6 servings (serving size: 1 cup)
Ingredients

* 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
* 2 pounds skinless, boneless chicken breast, cut into 1/2-inch strips
* 2 cups chopped onion (about 1 large)
* 1 1/4 cups fat-free, less-sodium chicken broth
* 1 cup chopped red bell pepper
* 1/2 cup shredded carrot
* 2 tablespoons Hungarian sweet paprika
* 2 teaspoons bottled minced garlic
* 1 teaspoon salt
* 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
* 1 (8-ounce) package presliced mushrooms
* 1 1/4 cups reduced-fat sour cream

Preparation

Combine flour and chicken in a medium bowl; toss well. Add chicken mixture, chopped onion, and the next 8 ingredients (through mushrooms) to an electric slow cooker. Cover and cook on low for 8 hours.

Stir in sour cream.
Nutritional Information

Calories:
316 (25% from fat)
Fat:
8.8g (sat 4.5g,mono 2.2g,poly 1.1g)
Protein:
40.6g
Carbohydrate:
17.3g
Fiber:
3g
Cholesterol:
114mg
Iron:
2.3mg
Sodium:
627mg
Calcium:
123mg

The Definition of the Best Mom in the World

Well, Day1 of the conference. I was supposed to go to a networking event from 6-8 tonight. But Mom and I had dinner at Shula's, and had 3-4 martinis each. So Mom wrote me the above excuse note.

Yes, the names have been removed to protect the lushes.

To Whom It May Concern,

Please excuse my daughter, *Moosh* from tonight's get together as she had a little bout of Bubonic Plague. This was aggravated by the alcohol we consumed at dinner. She will be fine for Tuesday night's event.

Thank you,

Sincerely,

Mrs. *Moosh* (Moosh's mother)

You gotta love the woman. Particularly after martinis.

We're on a Mission From God

It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it.

Okay, that quote is a HELL of a lot funnier if you could actually see that we were in Blues Brothers hats after having a fantastic dinner, and a couple Swamp Waters a piece at the House of Blues in Downtown Disney this evening. And yes, it's a very crappy cell phone picture - but it's worth it for the joke.

Day 1 of relaxation is going well, tomorrow looks like Epcot and Aquatica. Hope to have many more bad pics. And yes, Dad made it safely through the airport. Hurdle number one complete.

I'm Going to DisneyI

Well, in 12 short hours I'm headed to the Magic Kingdom. Before you get all jealous... it's a working vacation. And I'm bringing Mom. I think we both need to head out of Dodge for a little while, and this is just fortuitous timing.

I'm headed to a conference, which will be 3-4 days of sheer madness. Straight work. The last conference I went to was a lot of fun, but there's a need to be "on" 24/7 - attending presentations, constantly logging in to work, networking, trying to get the most of out of it all, and make sure they don't regret sending me... but of course, the networking events usually have alcohol, and I have no filter, so I have to work really hard during the daytime events to make up for my behavior at the evening events. What can I say? It's a lot of pressure being me!

Anyway, we head down tomorrow afternoon, and have Sat night and all day Sunday to relax before the conference and tough work starts. The conference ends on Thursday, and Mom and I will be driving down to Key West. Sounds tough, right?

Well... then we do the really tough part. We say good bye to Dad. His will listed out all of his advanced medical directives, and on the back of it he hand wrote several instructions. He didn't want a wake. He wanted to be cremated. He wanted a memorial service that was full of music and a celebration of his life. And then he wanted his ashes scattered either in Rhode Island or Key West. The places he was happiest. Where he kayaked and had great memories with Mom. The places he was at peace and was able to just sit back and enjoy life.

When we get to Key West we'll be dispersing Dad's ashes. Saying a final good-bye, and making sure he's resting where he always wanted to be, in the warm waters of the Florida Keys. I'm eerily calm about the whole thing. I expected to be very anxious and fretting, but there's a certain comfort in knowing that we're following his wishes. Knowing he'd be happy that we figured out a way to get there.

It's been less than 7 weeks since he passed away. I miss him terribly. Not a day goes by that I don't think about him, wish I could hear his voice, miss just chatting in the aisle at work. I said good-bye to him in the hospital, but it was just words. I don't think I've let him go yet.

I remember a conversation with him last summer. We were chatting out on my parent's patio about all the crap that had gone on over the last few years, losing the babies, Gram's health, his surgery, and how all the different members of our family handled the stress so differently. I remember telling him that I couldn't ever regret having the babies. I couldn't keep getting myself worked up or upset by how sick he had been before the surgery, because I couldn't believe in the world as a dark, cruel place. I had to still believe in joy and beauty of the universe, and for those reasons, I was grateful I had BT and MP. I loved them. They left us too soon, but I was grateful for the precious moments I held them. I was grateful that Dad was so sick that we knew to take his condition seriously, and that the surgery had saved his life. It was the only way to still see the world that I wanted to be a part of.

I still want to believe in that world. If Dad were here now, I think he'd remind me to look at the way things have worked out - we have the opportunity to get to the beach, the warm weather, try to relax a little, and say a proper farewell. There is something good flowing through the universe. Even though our hearts are broken, there's beauty and wonder if you look for it.

Here's hoping there's a little beauty and wonder in it for everyone this week.

Kitty Hobo!

Yes, it's true. The Kitty Hobo has returned! I came home from work, put down my laptop bag in the rec room, and caught sight of something orange out of the corner of my eye. NOT inside my house. This is not one of my orange tabbies. This is the same guy that tried to break in to the house 2 nights ago. The pic is taken from inside my house, looking out the rec room slider. I can't help but wonder... is he casing the joint and just trying to look casual? And is it true that criminals always return to the scene of the crime?

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

I suppose I should write something deep and profound about grief, loss, and having your whole life put in perspective. But I've got nothing. My life is consumed by mundane tasks. Get up, go to work, talk to Mom, come home, make dinner, space out on the couch for a few hours, talk to Mom again, try to make conversation with S, go to bed. Rinse. Repeat. Over and over and over. Pretend everything is normal.

But it's not. Dad is gone. Mom is a mess. I'm not dealing with it at all. Something funny, annoying, trivial will happen at work, and I'll pick up the phone when I get home and call my parents house. And after the last ring and just before Mom says hello...

I remember. I can't share that joke with Dad. I can't tell him about my awful day. I can't talk shop with him. I'll never hear his voice again. Mom answers the phone, "hello?", and in that split second it all crashes around me. She will never be the same again. Her heart has broken in two. All of their hopes, dreams, and plans for the future have smashed in to pieces. My family will never be whole again. There is no man that loves me unconditionally, just for being me. The Kid. I'm alone. And so is she. I have to catch myself and not ask to talk to him. It happens almost daily. "Hi Mom, just checking to see how you're doing. Did you eat? Did you get any sleep? How was your day?".

I don't know how I'm doing. I am glad you keep asking. I think about my friends a lot. I love you guys. It's not you, it's me. I just don't know how to do anything but Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

Kitty Hobo Signs???

My darling husband is away at a training class. The house is quiet. I came home tonight after another exhausting day at work to just relax and veg. I have the sniffles and a headache. I went to my Mom's on the way home to feed her ferrets, grabbed something quick to eat, took care of the dog, and sat down to surf the Net a little bit after opening up the sliders and windows to let some crisp fall air in to the house.

Mind you, it's getting dark earlier now, but I'm used to summer daylight, so I didn't turn on the lights in the rec room. The house is quiet, empty, and dark. I'm sitting upstairs when I hear this awful noise coming from the rec room.

It sounds like someone is trying to break in.

To the dark room with the windows and slider door open.

I very cautiously go down the stairs. With my oh-so-brave-dog cowering behind me. One of my cats is 3 feet away from the screen of the open slider door. Screeching. Hissing. Growling. I'm terrified. There is still a noise coming from the outside - something is trying to get in to the house through the screen.

The dog is smart enough to have stayed in the hallway, looking on with curiosity at whatever might happen to Mommy. The husband is in a hotel room in another state. I have to be brave and scare off whatever intruder is making it's way in. I go up to the slider...

And stare at a thin orange tabby trying to claw his way through the screen in to our house. NOT one of my two orange tabbies (note that I said it was a *thin* cat).

WTF??? Are there kitty hobo signs on my house? All I can think of is depression era cartoon cats carving fish symbols on our siding. "Good food and fat cats here".

How's that for supportive?

About 8 months ago, my husband stopped drinking. Life was getting hard to manage, our marriage was in a terrible state, and we were both running from our problems in different ways. His involved a lot of drinking. One horrible night it all changed. But it's changed for the better. He decided to stop drinking entirely. No easing off a bit, no cutting back. Not a single sip of alcohol in over 8 months.

I'm very proud of him. It takes a lot of courage, and he's done it with grace. He still hangs out with people who drink, he never tries to make anyone else feel bad about their drinking. He not preachy about it. He just sits quietly and drinks soda.

I've tried really hard to be supportive of his choice, and not add to his stress level about it. I generally don't drink around him. It's had the side effect of my not drinking much at all. Generally 1 or 2 drinks out with friends, and then I'm done. We don't hang out at bars together, and I try to encourage him to go out to activities that don't focus on drinking (while his dart league is at bars, it's still an activity he can focus on rather than just drinking). We don't have beer in the fridge anymore, and only wine that I use for cooking.

Anyway, there's a point to this story. I thought I'd been a good wife, doing all the right things to support his decision. And then he comes down stairs this morning.

Husband: "That new soap in the bathroom... it doesn't smell like pink grapefruit".

Me(slightly irritated, why doesn't he like the freakin soap, it was on sale!!): "Yes, it does. What do you think it smells like?"

Husband: "It smells exactly like Southern Comfort".

Me:(really irritated) "No it doesn't. But if you want, we can switch it with the one in the kitchen."

Husband: "No, seriously it does. I'll prove it". Goes to the cabinet, pulls out an old bottle of SoCo, and makes me smell it... at 9am.

Me:"Oh God! I can't believe all these months of sobriety, and I'm sabotaging it with the hand soap!!!!".

It's true. Method brand hand soap, pink grapefruit scent smells exactly like Southern Comfort. Eeeek! That poor man, I've been sabotaging him all week with his greatest weakness... the scent of SoCo. Bad wife, bad, bad, bad!

Lists

I'm a list person. So are most of my friends, Exhibit A: First comment on my blog, listed 1-3, gotta love the logical mind! I have random lists all over my house and at work. Grocery lists, to-do lists, home improvement lists, self-improvement lists, some are random things to remember. Occasionally I find lists that are months old floating around that have completely lost their context. My favorite was a few years old on my desk at work:

1)Fear
2)Surprise
3)Ruthless Efficiency
4)An almost fanatical devotion to the Pope

Today's list is a little less ambitious:

1)Write blog
2)Vacuum!!! (They can no longer be called dust bunnies. They're woolly mammoths)
3)Visit Gram at the nursing home
4)Lunch with Mom and Auntie to talk about Gram's health care. Remain calm, mediate, do not get emotional.
5)Weed the front walkway
6)Laundry
7)Log in to work and finish estimates
8)Find a new recipe or two and plan out dinners for the week

Item 4 may actually require fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency...

Just for Cheysu...

Ta-da! The creation of a blog. Unfortunately, I have not written a single item that I've been proud to put my name in approximately 10 years. Worse still...I highly suspect that the journals/stories/articles I wrote then were quite bad. I was young, and full of angst that all seemed so very important, but now feels extremely mundane. When, I ask, WHEN did I grow up, lose my flair for the dramatic, and become such a boring person?

Oh well, I guess I'll give it a try. 30 days of blogging to see if I can find my voice again. It's got to be easier than Sudoku, right? Right?