Friday, September 25, 2009

My Mind is Gone and So Am I

          I went to a writer's conference yesterday and got a great quote from Anita Stansfield: 
"As a writer you spend most of your time in the minds of people who don't exist which is the definition of schizophrenia."

--A gem.  This explains a lot.

Doggy Daze


             Three months ago I dreamed that my husband asked if we could get another dog.  In my dream I said, “In your dreams!”  My husband begged with puppy dog eyes, but I was resolute.
            What you should know is that my husband is not a dog lover.  At best he is a dog tolerator.  I am usually, no always, the beggar when it comes to pets.  I woke up thinking, wow, if Ric wants a dog, this must be really important.
            When I reminded him that he came to me in a dream begging for a puppy, he denied all recollection.  My question is, why would I dream that when he’s not a dog lover and I didn’t want another dog in the first place?  That is when I decided to give him the happy news that I had changed my mind because I am that kind of person.  You know the unselfish mother, always putting everybody else’s needs ahead of her own.  So I told him, since it is sooo important to you, we can get a dog.  He was speechless.
            Flash forward 2 weeks.  My son’s girlfriend’s sister’s dog who is the daughter of my son’s girlfriend’s dog had puppies.  (See pedigree chart of people and dogs at the end of this blog) and lucky me, I got to be there because I enjoy watching this kind of thing except I get a little gaggy when the mom eats the placenta.  But then again, I’ve never tried placenta, so who knows?  I wonder if I was not the fortunate beneficiary of modern medicine and had given birth crossing the plains or in the outback, would some natural animalistic instinct kicked in and would I have eaten placenta???  I doubt it.  How can you eat placenta when you are busy, screaming, throwing up, and yelling at the husband?
            In all honesty, newborn puppies are about as cute as naked mole rats.  Okay, I lied.  I just googled naked mole rats and puppies are a bit cuter, but not much.  (BTW – don’t you love Google?) 
            After I saw the puppies, then of course my children wanted to see the puppies.  Then we had to visit once a week, taking pictures to document their rapid growth.  All very scientific of course. 
            Then, that animal mind-speak thing started to happen.  Only, it wasn’t me speaking to the animals, it was the animals speaking to me.  The little white male of the litter started saying things like, “Look at me.  Aren’t I cute?  I will be your BFF.  I will make your children better children because having a pet makes them responsible and sensitive individuals.  I will lick up all the crumbs on your floor and you will never have to sweep again.  I will protect your family from harm and strangers, all four pounds of me.  I will wake you in the night if there’s a fire.  When your children have no friends, I will be that friend, forever.  I will only poop little tootsie-roll poops that are oh so cute and will just melt away. . .”
            Flash forward again, several weeks.  It is midnight.  Everybody is asleep except for me and McCoy, the mind-speaking, white, fur-ball.  He is not tired, so we are playing.  This is when I start thinking that his idea and my idea of a BFF are not the same.         
            It is now two weeks later than it was two weeks ago.  I have not gotten anything done.  I am tired from chasing him every waking moment.  My old BFF asks how my “baby” is and if she needs to bring me dinner.  I laugh and say no, but that is not what I’m thinking. 
            Finally, McCoy is asleep.  He is cute, especially when he is sleeping.  Most of what he mind-spoke to me was true, but he left a few things out, like:  “I will totally dominate your life.  I might pee on your leather couch.  My favorite pass time is digging holes in the carpet, I will be too little to go up and down stairs for awhile, so you will have to carry me, a lot.  (BTW – if there’s a fire, will you get me out of the house?)  I will probably find gum when we go outside and get it stuck all over me right after you’ve given me a bath.  I will wake you up early every morning, but I will look adorable.
            Next time the husband asks for a dog, I might not be so nice.

Family/Girlfriend/Dog Pedigree Chart illustrated by a lame genealogist


Thursday, September 3, 2009

The Naked Truth

I just had a thought.  Maybe that bread recipe doesn't work for anybody.  Maybe everybody is too afraid to tell the Deals to Meals Lady that it is a flop.  Maybe this whole incident is like the emperor's new clothes but with bread. . .

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

What are the chances?

What are the chances that I would see the Deals to Meals lady in the parking lot at Costco the day after posting my horrific, bread making experience?  100%.  I know she recognized me because when I went to the "Save Money, Eat Better, Build Your Food Storage rah, rah, rah class," I sat next to her and said, "I don't recognize you.  Are you new to the group?"  She replied, "No I am the teacher."  I thought, how can you be so young and so smart?  Only she is (young) and she was (smart) except for she doesn't know much about bread or fools. 

Just for the record, I did not send her a loaf of spit-on-bread.  Thank heavens.  I did not spit on her or anything else in the parking lot.  I did not chew her out about her recipe.  I did not say hi.  What I did do was concentrate really hard on my feet.  That will show her.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Bread, Freezer Jam and Spit

            I just finished making four lovely, tan bricks.  I’m not sure what I’ll do with them, but I’ve got a few ideas.  I could tie them to my cookbook and throw them in a lake;  I’ve got this door that won’t stay open, or I could get a couple of colorful sharpies, add some highlights, and pass them off as fruitcakes in a couple months.
            I got this recipe from the Deals to Meals Lady.  Apparently she has given it to hundreds of people in 5 different states and it is foolproof.  Until now.  I happen to be very good at ruining foolproof recipes.
            My friend taught a class on how to make strawberry freezer jam.  She said, “This recipe is foolproof.  I’ve only ruined it once when I was making it with Jill. . .”  I thought my jam was okay.  So what if I had to drink it instead of spread it. 
            My sister-in-law makes strawberry freezer jam to die for.  My children all request their own bottle for their birthdays.  On the way home with the coveted freezer jam from my domestic sister-in-law goddess, I had one child eat the whole thing with her tongue and bare hands.  This way, she would not have to share.  Not that I would stoop to anything so low.  Not that this sister-in-law and I have ever locked ourselves in a room and downed a whole container of Ben and Jerry’s so we wouldn’t have to share. 
     The sticky, (then 14-year-old) in the back seat of the car is not the only one who has a difficult time sharing.  I have seen the aunt’s freezer jam in our fridge bearing a sign that says, DO NOT EAT.  I HAVE SPIT IN THIS.
            Spitting in food dates back to when our children were quite small.  One night while sitting at the counter prolonging bedtime by slowly eating dishes of ice cream, my husband said, “Five more minutes, then the ice cream is mine.”  Without conversing, they simultaneously spit in their bowls.  That is pure, natural, raw animalistic instinct.   What else could it be?  We didn’t teach them that.
            Anyway, I am sure my bread will not need a sign that says, “Do not eat.  I spit on it.”  In fact, my children are doing a small victory dance and chanting, “Store-bought, white bread! Store-bought, white bread!”  The husband is silently gleeful. 
            I think I will spit on the loaf and send it to the Deals to Meals lady.