Family Recipes

So here I am, today.  I haven't blogged in a while (while not due to lack of interesting musings, more to misplacement of time into a box of good intentions).  Perhaps we shouldn't dwell on it.  The point is, today I have most of the day off, a rarity, and while I was at work this morning, I received a text from my beautiful, lovely mother with the following question: "Do you have a favorite from me...the recipe I make...?"  I saw the text as I was leaving and smiled.  I mean, recipes are attached to memories, no?  She may as well have asked if I have a favorite movie (all my number 1 choices are equal, and there are legion).  So in order to answer her question, you all have to deal with me processing the information here (sorry not sorry).

So it's been like a few years, but here's a song for you.  And here is the same artist, performing one of my mom's favorite songs. I put it up top, in case you want to hear it as you read (both instrumentals).

The first recipe that popped into my head was my mother's taco salad; a dish almost exclusively served in a crystal starburst bowl, and one of the earliest I remember.  But I don't really LIKE taco salad.  It was brought to many a potluck or Sunday dinner in between church services, and at different ages, I had different problems with it.  When I was 4, I didn't like the kidney beans.  When I was 10, I wanted Ranch dressing on it.  When I was 15 I hated the phase she was in that I lovingly call "the black-eyed pea rebellion," but at least I ate the kidney beans.  Looking back on it, she started using more black eyed peas after my southern great grandmother passed away, solidifying my belief that recipes are no more than train physical mementos of transient memories, bringing back a moment with a lost loved one.  Perhaps this is why I have always been enchanted with hand written recipe cards and church cookbooks.

In the end, this is why I want my mother's ever changing recipe for taco salad; so that I can live those moments as a child, sitting on a piano bench on Sunday afternoons, stuck between the kids' and adult's tables, seeing people at the age I remember them best.  The smile of my piano teacher, who was nearly another mother to me, full of encouragement and discipline.  The way her long, slender fingers gracefully passed the bowl to my mother while she inhaled and made a nearly imperceptible click in the back of her throat that I heard a million times as she sat next to me, fumbling over the piano keys as I did.  The pastor's daughter, who thought I was such a cool older kid and wanted to be like me, her fiery hair alight in the sun as we crunched on the chips together, me feeling somewhat superior because I had a fan.  Captain Awesome, enjoying the very same taco salad on my mother's patio just last summer, raving over the flavors, bringing him into my taco salad memory bank.  The point is, you don't always ask for recipes because they taste good; you ask because it was a staple of your life that turns into a deposit in a memory bank.

Secondly, I thought about her Chicken Spaghetti recipe that she discovered the year she home-schooled my brother and me, I think from his home economics textbook.  It was wildly expensive to make, and the only time I remember Velveeta being used in our home, but for that year, it was THE DISH.  It was also very flavorful, and reminded me of how I didn't love red sauce on my spaghetti, and my mother would saute noodles in butter for me...I was a difficult child, who didn't like my food touching and I wish I could say I grew out of it.  I would love that recipe, but would I ever make it?  Did we eat too much of it and burn out?

Thirdly, I favor her pumpkin cookies, for which I have a recipe already, tucked away in my handwritten book of favorite recipes.  Same with the Dilly Bread and her wedding cake recipe, which I will NEVER endeavor to make, but I think about the edges she cut off the cake to decorate it, and how we were allowed to eat those (the BEST strawberry shortcake ever in the history of the world), and how she always kept things in the oven for storage, forcing us to check before turning it on after we moved into town (and how the oven in the house until I was 13 was finicky but she knew how to time it right).  And how transporting wedding cake was always a family affair, each kid holding a layer, lifting it off our laps as we ran over bumps when we knew they were coming up in the road.  See? Recipes were never about food.

And then, Last summer she revisited egg rolls, which I remember helping with before I was 10, then don't remember for a long time after.  I was visiting her in Michigan, and she needed toasted sesame oil.  I had gone to Trader Joe's on my way out of town to bring her delicacies, and had on impulse bought a bottle of toasted sesame oil for myself.  It was (literally) the only thing I left at home, because I didn't see myself dragging it all over the Midwest for no reason.  She and I must have gone to 6 different stores looking for it, and couldn't find it.  We made do, but all I could think about was that stupid bottle of sesame oil, sitting in Minnesota being useless.  But man those egg rolls were good; I made a sweet chili sauce to go with them, which turned out not too bad.

I don't know how to answer this question from my mother.  I remember her shepherd's pie, with mashed potatoes piped on top.  I remember bags of hush puppy mix we had to keep in the freezer, in order to make the delicacy in our Michigan home.  I'm drooling right now thinking of her decadent Texas Sheet cake, with crunchy peanut butter and fudge frosting.  She taught me to make cinnamon rolls on the kitchen table which I always imagined my grandfather made, but probably didn't.  I remember her teaching me to make sloppy joes; how I left the ice cream bucket filled with flour sitting on the adjacent burner, her face in slow motion, silently begging me not to pick it up, even as I lifted it off the element and watched the bottom stay on the coils as pounds of flour escaped onto the floor and into the air.  Hours and hours of peeling potatoes for one reason or another, and how only philistines use peelers.  How could I possibly answer this question?

I know it's crazy that all these memories came from one text, but these and dozens other flashed through my brain in less than a second, one leading to the next, on and on, standing at the cash register as I checked out.  So, in answer to this question, I'm going to go completely tangent and say I think...enchiladas.  Is that weird?  I started out talking about taco salad.  Anyway, if the question is a favorite dish, I can't even.  :)  Hope that helps!

A Bit of Christmassy Goo, But it Gets Better Toward the End :)

As you may know, I have a very dear friend who lives far away (like most of the close people in my life...don't cry for me...Argentina?  Are there countries with 4 syllables to which I have actually been? Stop wasting time, back to the post).  Anywho, I've written about her before, but the gist of what you need to know right now is that we are old lady souls.  We prefer hand written letters when corresponding, the only email I got from her in the last 6 months was a virus (this is to show you she didn't actually email me), and I'll never see her on Facebook.  I'd be surprised if she sees this blog, but miracles do happen.  If we have urgent news, we text, but neither of us will allow abbreviations or text speak to darken our phones (which still flips open Zoolander style for ONE of us :P).  Otherwise when there is something to tell her, I rush home, new pen in hand (I love college bookstores for pens!), and sit down to write my tale.  I'm pretty sure it looks like a snail in a hurry; nose out, hands pumping fast, moving about .2 miles an hour with twitching antennae...is that why they call it snail mail?  Huh.  A gummi word makes sense, for once.  We did try to Skype once, but we were both too awkward.  We didn't speak for months after.  She actually commented it nearly destroyed our friendship, but I didn't know that :)

She married a lovely man from India and goes there from time to time to see his rather large family.  When she does this, she writes a journal to me which she keeps for about 2 years after, continually meaning to scan it and re-read it in preparation for her next journey to the land of whiplash (there is often so much happening, one could crane their neck watching the activity).  The last time she went to India (which was in October, if you're curious), she texted me asking if I could read her last letter and tell her the medicines she reminded herself to bring this time.  I obliged and she was on her way.  Once she got to the airport, she texted that she had a new notebook and pens for the journey, and rather than say something trite like, "I'll miss you," or "have a good flight," we took on a sort of blessing war.  It went something like this:

Me: Travel well my dearest friends, enjoy the trip!
D: May all the mosquitoes in Northern India die before my arrival.
Me: May you find the right number of ripe mangoes so as not to cause stomach illnesses.
D: Amen.
Me: May you be as content as a mongrel dog with hemorrhoids. (this makes sense if you read her letter and saw the drawings)
D: ...Always with a big bright smile on my face!

This went on. And it could go on because we both enjoy older versions of dictionaries and the formality of writing to each other not seen for 100 years (I couldn't really tell you the time frame, but "Old Timey" just doesn't cut it in this instance.  I know I think of the first World War era, so I think you should too).

So I started blessing people in my life (hey, what's one more quirk?).  It definitely makes me feel better when I am annoyed, and they get over the fact that I speak like I just moved to America from Downton Abbey (let's not talk about season 3 until I get a chance to see it, shall we?).  But sometimes I am at a loss for words.  So (stay with me here), I have been finding random blessings showing up on my Pinterest page, and some of them are quite lovely.  I am really taken with the blessings written in the letters of the New Testament.  They take so much hope and propel it out to others, and I just want to make these little good energy balls and blast them at other people.  I came across one this morning that made me want to write this post before work (oh, hey, I might be late today).  So I'm going to share it with you, get over it :) (ZAP!)  This person (I assume it is actually my 2nd cousin, Braelyn, who pinned it originally in this shape and drawing), put it in a Christmas theme, but it is so full of hope and good vibes, I had to share it.  I am now interested in pinpointing blessings and making a collection. I mean, it is Bright Side Blogs, no?

But seriously, that's enough for now.  I am really going to be late for work. Yup.  There it is.

Here's the song of the day, a Christmas song made amazing by the addition of hope and climbing octaves. :)  I  LOVE this song.  "The hope of every heart comes alive in Emmanuel!"  What a great thought.

Oh Wednesday...Here We Go Again

For those of you who are avid readers of my blog and have been without an entry since 2011, I give to you the most vile of all days, another Wednesday installment. If you also follow the Song of the Day, you will see that this post is a direct lead in from the last Wednesday post ("here we go again" is a line in the chorus of that song), which was a typical Wednesday.  But sometimes, SOMETIMES, a doozy comes along and you have to remind yourself that it is only a day, it can only last so long.  So let me present to you this week's experience, with some background (those of you who watch movies with me know I do not relish back story; however it is often a necessary evil, as in the case today).

It has been cold in the land of the frigid north.  Not the normal, Midwest cold, but the kind of cold that makes your fingers hurt inside gloves and freezes your boogers in 12 seconds while you bury your face as deep in your coat as humanly possible.  Like medallion hunting cold; the kind where you go out in it anyway, because there's $10,000 in the snow somewhere in St. Paul, and you hope no one else has the fortitude to be out in it. It has not been above 0 for 6 days, and the wind chills feel like really bad acupuncture; a slight numbing effect, but mostly needle pricks (turns out this windchill is about 16 below.  Surprised you didn't know that).  This is the kind of weather that makes me realize Prarie life is very low on the enjoyment totem pole, and I miss the effect of the Great Lakes.  No wind, just lots and lots of snow to play with.  But with the stinkin' prarie, all you get is wind that blows the snow you do get somewhere else.  It's a lose lose situation.  But I digress.

I also have the added benefit of living on the bottom of a long, steep hill, so when it's so cold that salt doesn't melt the snow and ice, a two wheeled Camry that is 16 years old, if not reliable, struggles somewhat to summit the trek.  She has made it, but the hill was the catalyst for the courageous decision I made last weekend to trade in my lovely, wonderful Camry named Paikea (Pai) for a newer, decked out, fully loaded Jeep named Sofie.  I had such a hard time trading in my reliable Camry with 220,000 miles on it, that I teared up a little, and they threw another few hundred dollars onto my trade in.  In an act of chivalrous gift giving, Captain Awesome had the Jeep paid off and insured within minutes, and I have been enjoying heated leather seats ever since, about 4 days.  I have been keeping Sofie a secret because I wanted to drive her to Michigan and surprise my parents knowing they wouldn't recognize my car.  But between their travel plans, my work schedule, 2nd annual cookie parties and a Norwegian Klub and Rømmegrøt party, I wasn't sure when it could happen (though I want to stress to my mother that I was aiming for sooner rather than later).  So far nothing screams Wednesday, right?  OK, I think we are caught up.
  

So, this particular Wednesday morning I got up early to finish up some work, went to work at my scheduled time (wasn't even late!) and parked up front because no one knows my car yet, I've had her 4 days.  And it was cold.  As I walked into the store I had this sense of foreboding like someone might hit her, or an animal would curl up on her hood because she was warm; I don't know, something.  But I told myself I was just worried because it was Wednesday, and things would be fine. I went about my day dealing with crabby customers, doing my work and writing company Christmas cards to our loyal shoppers.  I stayed late to finish and was looking forward to my 4 wheel drive, heated ride home.  I pulled out of my spot (spotted by a forklift driver, darnit) and started down the lot.  Suddenly she felt like a lumbering beast, storming through the lot with no power steering and blowing cold heat. What's cold heat?  Exactly. I pulled off into an abandoned gas station and called Capitan Awesome.  Wouldn't you know that it is at this time that wandering lemming-like people poured into the gas station, presumably thinking it's open because I am there, when it has been closed since February and gas is still $2.21 a gallon?  Really, people?  Really?  I thought I could drive her to Vroom, where the guys always take really good care of me, so I started over that way.

 It quickly became apparent that I was going to build up some ripped upper arms trying to steer her, and my phone rang 3 times while I was unable to take both hands off the wheel.  It was C.A. telling me that if she hasn't died yet, she will, it's a belt of some kind that no one could see coming, and doesn't light up any scary lights.  So I turned her back into the store lot and let him call the tow truck. I also learned a valuable lesson that I should have learned when I was 4; not keeping gloves and winter items in a car and depending on it for heat is stupid.  Thanks, Wednesday.

At this point the only thing warm was my butt (thank you, Sofie), because the heat also stopped for some reason, so I kept shoving my hands under my thighs to keep them warm on the heated leather seats.  I hid the keys in the vehicle and made the quarter mile trek back into the store to call a cab.  While I was on hold for 7 minutes (no one ever picked up, actually) and waiting for the feeling to come back into my fingers and toes, a coworker with a generous heart said she'd take me home.  How relieved was I?  As I hung up, I made a comment about Wednesdays, and the Harry Potter looking kid next to me said, "I like Wednesdays," with a ridiculous grin on his smug little face (I take it back).  This is where I learned that people expect me to always be sweetness and nice because all I said was, "Shut up," and they were all, "whoa, I've never seen you like this," and "let's not let that happen again," and "I hope you have a better day." Seriously? :P  

So the coworker who drove me home was having some issues with her car, and at this point I felt like a cooler (in the negative cold, so a supercooler) and that her car was next to fail, but thankfully we made it home, where all I could think about was a hot shower before my next activity.  As I stood in the lobby waiting for the elevator, the wonderful Betty in the office called out, "No water! Pipes are broke!"  So there's that.  I ended up drinking a bit of straight rum to warm up, but it didn't really do the trick.  Maybe I should have had more, but last night was a very important lab the week before finals, and since there's less than a week left of the semester and it's THURSDAY, I don't care who knows it. I was able to borrow C.A's truck (now that I know how to drive a 4WD vehicle), and she did well for me.  How exhausting.

So, as all vile days must, Wednesday ended.  Thursday brings a new day of joy and bright sidedness, and hopefully news on Sofie's belt (preferably that it costs very little).  The water is back on and it's hot, my coworker has arrived safely to her destination, exam prep has started, and I have to figure out what to cook for the 2nd annual cookie party.  I did not cry, which shows my Wednesday resilience.  Before you say anything, I will talk to the dealership also, but it sounds like you can't really see this coming, and the belt may have just slipped.  I may have been a little too excited to park on a snow bank also.  Who knows, it's a new day, maybe things will go my way.  I'm doing a lot of rhyming today (anybody want a peanut?).

Today's song of the day is a Christmas song.  'Tis the season, no?  I am rejoicing in the day, because it is not Wednesday.  :)  Plus it's got a fun beat, you can move to it.  Have a wonderful Thursday, everyone (and God bless us, everyone :P)

PS:  If you are wondering how everything turned out with the Jeep, the belts were all fine.  The power steering fluid was almost empty, and the coolant was a GALLON low, so I have no faith in Walser Jeep's ability to perform an inspection that they listed on CarFax.  There were NO leaks. Not one (well, there was a loose clamp on the coolant hose....should have caught that, Walser).  So at the end of the day, as Tony put it, "I won't charge you an arm and a leg today....just a tow."  Oh Tony!  Other than that they love her.  They drove her all day trying to get her to act up and she didn't.  So now my "Ghost car" will have her fluids checked more often.  And to all a good night.

Born Is The King (It's Christmas) - Hillsong 

To the GYM! The Saga Continues

As many of you know, I have a gym membership that I have had since 2004.  It's gotten to the point where it was so cheap, I kept it, even during my unemployment of 2009.  Last year I wrote about how if I went 12 times a month, my insurance would pay me $20, making my health insurance cost $100 rather than $120, and the gym membership free.  You may also recall from previous posts, that my boss was quick to point out, "that's like every other day."  Well, a lot has changed in the gym arena, and I thought you might like to hear the tale.

Firstly, my boss is no longer my boss.  You'd know that if I wrote more often.  I was promoted in May, and we were no longer limited to the company policy about fraternization.  We immediately quipped, "we can hang out together now!"  She has been asking which gym I go to, and trying to get me to switch to LA Fitness for the last year or so.  I go to Bally's, and due to above explanation, was not willing to switch.  One of my guests (we'll call him Fred) often came in to the store and would immediately talk about how he works out 2 hours every afternoon, and how much he loves his gym.  He would always end up insulting me without realizing it, and I chalked it up to his being from Jordan, or a neighboring country where the customs were different, especially between men and women.  Conversations would go like this:
"Hi, Fred."
"Hi, have you been to the gym lately?  I am about to go for 2 hours."
"Yes, I've been 2 times since Monday."
"Oh.  You should change gyms.  The clientele at LA Fitness is much better.  Do you like your gym?"
"It's affordable, it works for me."
"Ah.  How much would you like to lose?"
"Um. Some?"
"Well you have to stop drinking pop, and absolutely no sugar.  Absolutely none.  Sugar just makes things look like they do here and here and here (he says, pointing to my body)." Does he know I don't drink pop?  Yep.
"What can I help you with today, Fred?"
After I finish helping him, he invariably hands me a card, either a gym referral card or a handyman card (this man only knows the home improvement that I have taught him over the last year (Lord help him), but the card is cool, because it has little magnets in it.  It kills me when the ones who don't know what they're doing have the coolest cards.  I've begun looking for the bad advertising to find a good service :) Anyway, this kind of conversation went on pretty regularly, and I always somehow managed to feel bad after!

I got used to my gym, and went to yoga every week for a while (and still hit it sometimes).  It took 8 months, countless phone calls, letters, emails, threats of reporting to the BBB, more letters in bright envelopes and me actually using the phrase "I'll hold" twice, but Bally's FINALLY got my reimbursements correct through my insurance.  It was one of the more frustrating situations of my life, asking Bally's to fix a typo, but we don't need to go in to that.  This is a happy post :)

On December 6th, I received a letter in the mail that stated that Bally's had been sold to LA Fitness, and all the Minnesota locations were closing, save for 2, which were to become LA Fitness locations.  This change would take place on December 1st.  I was annoyed, but not surprised.  I mean, 8 months to fix a typo?  Telling me they sold 5 days after the fact?  Classic Bally's.  My location was one that was staying open, and I was told I had the choice to pay $30 a month and be stuck in my own club location, or pay $30 a month and go to any location I wanted.  Since my former boss (we'll call her Gwen for the rest of the blog) and Fred (boo, Fred) both went there, I upgraded to other locations.  This is all just a really ridiculously long explanation for what happened this week.

This week, I told Gwen that I updated my account, and can go to any LA Fitness, because Bally's is dumb.  She got really excited, and we both agreed we should workout.  You may recall she is tall and athletic, so this is a bit of an unnerving idea for me.  She said she hadn't worked out all year basically, and suggested we go walk on the treadmill for 15 minutes.  OK.  So we got to the gym, and things got embarrassing for her pretty quickly.  It went like this (all me). and I will let you guess which comment was found the most inappropriate:
"Holy big."
"The pool is twice as big!  And the tiling for the lanes is straight!!!"
"My whole gym, including the pool, is the size of the lobby!"
"Wait, none of these machines are out of order?"
"There's no rust on any of these machines!"
"Is that sauna only for women!?!?!?!?!?!"
"Oh my gosh! Look at this locker room!"
"Those lockers are twice as big.  They have wooden doors.  There's no rust in here!"
"Zumba at 4:30?  Can we go? Can we go?" (jumping up and down)

You get the picture.  There are some definite differences between the two locations.

So we started our 15 (20) minute treadmill walk, and Gwen immediately started looking around.  She was most impressed by the guys in the courtyard below doing pull ups.  I think that's a goal of hers.  The guy next to me ran the whole time we were on the machines, and so she ran for bursts of 3-4 minutes.  I may or may not have accidentally hit the emergency stop and had to start over.  There's no way to know for sure.  After that, she let her competitive side out (she played 3 sports in high school.  3 sports.  Who does that?), and thought we should do 20 minutes on something else.  So we did the bikes for 20 minutes.  I may or may not have tried to adjust my seat while pedaling and made a horrendous noise, as well as become suddenly, drastically uncomfortable. There's no way to know for sure.  Then, we should of course do some strength training, so we did the hip something-or-other, where you lay down and allow weight to be put on your elevated feet, and you push.  I kept thinking I was going to hit myself in the eye with my knee, and that this must be what childbirth is like for some women, knees up, pushing, all the midsection having to be misplaced somewhere.  Terrifying. :()

Last night we went to Zumba.  Half the class was new.  That was nice.  It was fun, you dance for 3-5 minutes per song, then take a break while she finds the next song.  The music is fun, but clearly out of Miami.  The dances are fun; there is Cha-Cha, Salsa, Meringue, Ballet, Hip Hop and a lot of hoochie mama moves.  Those felt the most unnatural for me.  The instructor was this cute little clubbie (a girl who likes the clubs) looking like NSYNC up there, and I felt bad for watching her butt to try and figure out what she was doing with it, exactly.  I could not get the pumps and the thrusts quite right.  The lady in her 50's next to me was doing pretty good, but I felt like John Cusack before he was cool.  I got a lot of other stuff down well, but those hoochie mama moves just don't come easy for me.  I guess that's a good thing, but it doesn't do much for the old self esteem :)  It was fun.  Next week I'll try spinning.  And I think I'll do Zumba again.  There was one lady there who got certified in Zumba on Saturday, and she was very excited, but she left after 2 songs.  Not sure what to do with that.

So, the quest for fitness continues; won't Fred be pleased.  I haven't seen him since August, when he told me he had a brain tumor and I wouldn't see him for a couple of months.  I hope he's well.  Perhaps I will run in to him one of these days...at the gym. :)

Hopefully we'll get the insurance figured out, now that I am spoiled by a large gym.  One lady said this location was small!  I will need to do some more investigating.  It is a very open layout, and every body can watch everybody else.  But they have racquetball courts, and I think I may invest in some of that equipment.  Good times.  Must wear better shoes. :)

The song of the day is in honor of my recent moving it experience.  Actually there are two today, because I can't decide which one to use.  One fast one, one not. :)  You all know I am full of paradoxes.  I blame it on being born in Northern Lower Michigan.  That's when it all started...

Officer Wednesday, Can't You Let Me Go with a Warning?

You may not know that I am abhorrently hated by Humpday.  I guarantee, if anything bad is going to happen to me, it’s going to be on a Wednesday.  I don’t know why this is; it’s a case of the Mondays multiplied by 10.  Most weeks I get up, get ready for work, and don’t realize it’s Wednesday until I drop something in the toilet, or people are driving while putting on pantyhose.  Suddenly it hits me like a bus; “Is it Wednesday today?” I ask aloud, with a hiss in my voice and an emphatic first syllable. Sadly, it usually is.  Arrest me, Wednesday.  I'm guilty of waking up on YOUR day.  

Yesterday I was astutely aware that it was indeed Wednesday.  I decided to not let it win.  I got up, made myself an amazing lunch (fruit salad and a Black Forest Ham sandwich on whole wheat with horseradish mustard and Muenster cheese), packed it up, and left early for work so I could stop at Sam’s club.

Immediately out of the driveway, I looked both ways to make sure I could cross the intersection at the yield sign.  It looked clear.  It looked clear, because I did not see the white car in the snow and with the sun in my eyes, zooming toward me.  I was sure an accident was imminent.  I braked, missed her by about 2 feet, and she decided this was a perfect time to stop her car and scream at me for about 30 seconds, while the guys at the bus stop looked on, amused at the stupid women.  I get that it was my fault, but I made the monkey sign, like, “clearly this was my fault, and I’m really sorry” with big hand gestures, and that just wasn’t good enough.  So she blocked the intersection and screamed at me, and I went on my way; I may have started to cry.  There’s no way to know for sure. 

I got to Sam’s, still shaking, parked next to a car that was well in my spot and expected a ding on my door,  and loaded up my cart with 9 items.  I know this because at Sam’s they count your items and match up your receipt because due to the lack of bagging supplies, they assume you are stealing everything that is loose in your cart.  As I was walking up to the counter, a man with one package of butter (one package, at Sam’s Club??)  and I let him go first.  As it turns out, my single item friend was really there to pay off his entire Sam’s card.  He had 7 different checks to accomplish this.  And, as luck would have it, the cashier was new.  After much debate and conference with his fellow employees, the credit card was paid off.  This only took about 10 minutes.  I happened to notice (because at Sam’s, all the information comes up on a monitor now, and the buyer is not able to read it, but the rest of the line is) that he paid off $10,772.00.  This is exactly, to the dollar, how much debt I have, which I am trying to not have, and on days such as this seems to be ruining my life.  I think I actually let out a groan. I mean, what kind of guy actually goes first, then takes 15 minutes?  A non chivalrous, boring, middle aged, balding white guy, that's who.

The gentleman then started his transaction for the butter, but could not figure out the card swiping machine, and every time he signed his name, he hit “cancel” instead of “accept.”  So that was fun.  It was fun 4 times in a row!

I got back in my car, which miraculously did not have a ding in the door (it was probably the single man in front of me), and drove to work.  I took the backroads because….well because it was Wednesday, and that’s really all there is to it.  As I came up to the building from the back, I went to turn left in to the parking lot.  I was stopped with my left blinker on, waiting for the opposing traffic to turn right into the lot.  I hear this noise, and think, what is that?  I know that noise…it’s a screeching eel from the Princess Bride.  They always grow louder when they’re about to feed on human flesh.  I looked in my rear view mirror and saw (in slow motion, of course) an old, beat up silver Buick literally careening (yes, carEEning) behind me, about to hit me, but trying to swerve.  I floored it and cut off the person turning right, and very very very narrowly avoided getting rear-ended.  I did glance up just in time to see him flicking me off, so that was nice.  At least I admitted it was my fault when it was.  That’s when I parked (I don’t even know where) and called Captain Awesome with one whiney sentence, all screechy and teary: “I (snurgh) hate (snargh) Wednesday!!!”  He responded with, “It’s all uphill from here.”  Which is very funny if you’ve seen Due Date; Zach Galifinakis says that, and the RDJ corrects him, “Uphill?  No it’s all DOWNhill from here.”  “But nobody wants to be down, they want to be up…” I cried for a minute or so, then walked inside, ready to tell my fabricated story of how it’s SO cold, my eyes were watery. 

I got in the store, and instantly a woman said, “excuse me,”  and I thought good gracious, I’m not even on the clock, I still have my coat on, and already bombarded.  But, to my surprise, she said, “are you the one who almost got killed by that maniac?  You were sitting there for the longest time with your blinker on, and he just came around that corner like a crazy person!!!”  Turns out she was the one I cut off, but she didn’t even care.  She actually stopped, hoping I’d turn in and not get hit.  So that was the best Wednesday in a while. 

After I left work, I couldn’t find my car, being so flustered when I parked.  I tip-toed across a pool of ice, and stepped over a snow bank to get to it, and as soon as I thought I was in the clear I stepped on another patch of ice and fell.   And there were witnesses.  “Are you OK?” they asked, “I’m fine.  It’s Wednesday, and that’s really all there is to it.”  

Since my Wednesdays bring on a case of the Mondays, today's song of the day is:

I think I need a nurse...

I'm sick.  I know this because....well because I am admitting it.  I never admit when I'm sick. Also, last night, my neighbors had a massive Pot Smoking festival, and the smell made me so nauseated, I knew I must be sick.  Normally when Marijuana seeps through the walls, I get the munchies.  I've had no interest in food and still don't.

It started off as a mild Sinus irritation I attributed to all the dust at work, but yesterday exploded into a high fever and dizziness (actual dizziness, not blonde dizziness).  I had Captain Awesome come get me early from work (he had a fever too), and we were asleep by 4pm.  It was sleep, but that frenzied, fever sleep, you know?  My whole body was shivering, but my lips were on fire.  I could not speak, and all my thoughts were in Shakespearian English, and I think iambic pentameter to boot.  In my delirium, all I remember is thinking something like, "I do not condemn your family, but your treatment of them, the very basis of which gives rise to your villainy."  I think I was talking to Liam Neeson.  I could not, for the life of me, form any modern sentences.  This is a big deal because typically my stream of consciousness flows in Jane Austen speak, not Shakespeare.  To be fair, I did just watch "Much Ado About Nothing" last weekend.  I woke up with my pillow soaked around my head, and I think my fever had broke somewhere in there.

I am not at work today.  My plan was to go in and try to get through it, because my boss is out of town, and I knew things would be bare schedule wise.  Last night I called another one of my bosses, and we worked out a plan.  For this I am very grateful.  I did not realize how ill I feel.  I have been up for one hour, and am presently returning to that bastion of rest, my bed. That's the update from the ole' homestead at the moment.

Now Here's the Story All About How...

...My life got twist-turned upside down...Wow. I can't say I have woken up with the Fresh Prince of Bellaire theme song in my head since 8th grade. I know it's 8th grade, because I was sitting in Margo Sirrine's English class (which I LOVED), and we had one of those directional/trivia sheets to get to know each other at the beginning of the year. The items were numbered 1-20, and some were questions, and some were directions. The first one said, "Read this entire page before you answer anything." One of the other questions was, "What show comes on Tuesdays (or whenever it came on)," and I started to write the Fresh Prince, when I remembered the instructions said to read the entire page before answering. So I was one of 2 people who only filled out my name and turned it in because the last item said, "Write your name on the top of this paper and only do #1." Yay me. This has absolutely NOTHING to do with why I write today. How is that for a stream of consciousness? Any psych students doing case studies? No? Well, you are now. :)

I write to tell you the tale of how Captain Awesome turned a boring, particularly cold and frigid January into a month of luck and fortune. I can see you there, on the edge of your seat. Let us begin.

The year started out like any other, excepting that out of sheer exhaustion, New Year's Eve was spent doing laundry and in bed by 10. Two people cold, bored, and unsatisfied with their life at the moment (go to work when it's dark, come home when it's dark) had only the St. Paul Winter Carnival Medallion Hunt to anticipate with any glee. This tradition, however, did not begin until January 22, and that seems like an eternity in the frozen tundra that is the East Metro.

On January 6th, on my way to work, I happened to hear that there was a pineapple hunt sponsored by Sun Country Airlines and KS95 that was happening at that moment. The winner received a trip for 2 to Mexico (Mazatlan, to be exact), and a slot as a judge for the Ugliest Hawaiian Shirt Contest the following Tuesday (this winner ALSO won a trip to Mazatlan). I thought it might be nice practice for the medallion hunt, and called Captain Awesome to tell him about it. I didn't think much of it until I got a call at 4pm while I was at work, and he was at the Mall of America, sure the pineapple was there. He stayed until 8, and we met at home. No luck. The next day we took off work a bit early and went back to the MOA to search for it. We knew it was on the East side of the Mall, and was either in Nickelodeon Universe (an amusement park in the mall themed in Spongebob Squarepants) or Underwater Adventures. Our guts told us it was in Underwater Adventures, but to go in, you needed a ticket, and we really didn't believe we would have to pay to find the pineapple. There was a guard standing at the escalator, and we wrote it off.

At about 3:58pm, KS95 read the final clue: The pineapple was at Underwater Adventures, and if you said the password ("Mazatlan or BUST!") you could gain access to it. We ran and called the password over our shoulders as we passed the guard. We went around the corner...and just missed the winner by about 3o seconds. Facebook had the clue 2 minutes earlier than the station, and I did not have the notification sent to my phone. Technology spoils another hunt!!!! We went to Bubba Gumps and told the bartender we were in great need of consolation, which arrived in the form of some fruity Beachy drinks with umbrellas, on the house. That was nice. We lamented our loss and the fact that we were not rule breakers, or we would have found it first. After a couple of fruity drinks, I sent a text message to KS95. It went like this: "FYI, we wanted to look for the pineapple @ Underwater Adventures, but the signs prohibited us. And Facebook beat you with the clue." I felt satisfied, and we went home.

About 7pm I got a text. It was from Sun Country Airlines, which had received my forwarded text. The sender was apologetic about the confusion, and in consolation for second place, she offered us 2 first class upgrades for free on any Sun Country flight. I thought that was actually really cool, though I had no travel plans. It's always a good thing to have in your pocket. I thanked her profusely, and went to bed consoled with umbrella drinks and a future flight in First Class. I dreamed about what Ugly shirt I might wear, bought of course at a thrift shop I had yet to visit. The contest was the following Tuesday, and this was Friday, but I had plans to sweep it.

Monday, January 10th, I went to work and was accosted by cranky Minnesotans who, in their winter blubber have forgotten all manner of manners, including a simple "hello" or "excuse me" before bombarding me with questions, aimed at my back. It was a particularly rough day, finished with a teeth scraping dental appointment, and when I came home, Captain Awesome tossed a piece of paper at me. It was very cryptic. It was bulleted and had odd half sentences. "Teri has a crush on her chiropractor." "There was a dream about a baseball player." I stared at the sheet, not able to make any sense out of it, my eyes burning from my long day and the exhaustion. He began to tell me that the same radio station, KS95, was having a contest, and if you could answer questions about what they had talked about all day in between songs, you could win a trip to Cancun, Mexico (through Sun Country, of course). He listened all day. He called. It rang for over 6 minutes. The first three people missed the first question. He was caller four. He gave all the answers in a matter of fact, academic tone. "That answer would be..." When he answered the last question, the DJ's rejoiced!!!! And the air was dead. It went like this: "Hello??? Do you have a pulse? You just won a trip to Mexico, you realize that, right?" And there he was, cool as a cucumber, pulling a Korbin Dallas from the Fifth Element: "Yeah. Thanks." I told him that's a DJ's nightmare, and I could picture them in their studio, putting their mikes on mute and SCREAMING. Then I asked (very selfishly), "Can we still go to the Ugly Shirt Contest tomorrow?"  I had the shirt you see in the photos....Hibiscus flowers and Woody Station wagons decorated in American Flags?  HOW COULD THAT BE BEAT?!?!?

When he told me, I didn't believe him. A) that he had won, and B) that he was so cool about it. It wasn't until the next day I was driving to work and I heard the promo on the radio. "Call in and play Know The Show and win a trip to Mexico!!!" They played little blurbs of previous winners, there was Captain Awesome in the promo saying, "Well that answer would be 7." Then it started to sink in.  I needed to get to the gym and a tanning bed, STAT. :)

We went to the Ugliest Shirt Contest on Tuesday. We didn't care if we won. We were hoping to come in third, and win a first class upgrade so we could travel first class both ways. I had gone to Goodwill and picked up 6 choices, and we chose some doozies. We accessorized with coupons, brochures, sunscreen and my 35mm digital camera on a strap around my neck. Suddenly I got really cold feet. Just like (my mother reminded me) when I went to audition for the Nutcracker and chickened out at the last minute because there were so many dancers there when I was a kid. I chickened out again. There were some truly horrid shirts, and I didn't feel like I had any right to take any pictures. Nobody was talking to anyone else, it was awkward. Captain Awesome bought me a mojito and talked me into it again. I clumsily got in line, and there was no audience anymore...everyone who was sitting was now waiting to strut their stuff on the catwalk.

So here I am, standing in line, watching those before me do a little dance (which I did not know we were doing until this moment), when this woman walks up to me. "Hi," she says, "I am with Sun Country, and I noticed you have a pretty nice camera there. The guy I hired is not taking any pictures, and I'd like to hire you. I'll give you 2 free first class upgrades, how does that sound?" My face immediately turned red, and I think I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. I instantly turned into a photomaking machine. A machine, I say. I took about 300 pictures over the next hour. AND, I made the top 15, thanks to my Napolean Dynamite dance (why I didn't Riverdance that second time, I will never know...I couldn't decide how to move, so I went for stupid). I took some fun pix of the winner, who can now, FINALLY go on a Honeymoon, though he has been married for years. He did go all out with a grass skirt and paint his belly. Take a look, at the OFFICIAL Sun Country Facebook Page. All mine. And they even gave me photo credit. We spent a bit of time with them after the show, and we shared our good fortune and told them C. Awesome had won a trip the night before. The winner's wife instantly flew into a frenzy. "That was YOU!?!?!? I wanted to slap you!!! You were SO cool, SO cool, like, 'Yeah. Thanks." Ohh, I was screaming at the radio, I want to slap you right now, but I won't! Oh! Oh! I bet those DJ's were pulling out their hair behind their microphones!!!!!"

So there it is. The next Thursday we went and picked up our information from the radio station, called Sun Country and asked if we could put the upgrades I earned towards the trip he won, and they set everything up. We went Feb 3-7, and that, dear ones, is another entry entirely.

For now, the Fairy Tale pauses. More to come soon, dear readers. Good Night.

PS: We didn't find the medallion this year either. We were WAY off, which is actually a consolation. The last 3 years, we've literally been within a foot of it, or walked right over it. Right over $10,000