Hello one and all,

I opened my blog and see that I have not been blogging much lately. December is simply a lost cause.

But the new year is approaching faster than Robby running up the staircase. I feel the urge to start blogging again regularly.

I just made the lumpiest Cream of Wheat of all time. Oh, happy day.

BJH, hi there. Okay, so you don't see comments I answer to other people, but do you see the comments I answer to your comments? I'm asking here because it won't do any good for me to post a comment back to you asking if you see my comments to you in the comment section, if my comments are not registering. It seems to me that I can read people's comments but no one has ever seen my comments back. How is that for a sad commentary?

Germany was fabulous, and I will be sharing the highlights of this trip soon. The bad sad weather only delayed us one day, but it was a day seared into my memory, I can still feel the singe.

Love you all and have a super happy Christmas. Christ, the Savior, is born! Now THAT'S a happy day!

KEM

After eating leftover spaghetti for Thanksgiving dinner, I have this to offer:

DTD (texting): Do you want a $100 gift card for Crate and Barrel?

KEM: Of course. Why?

DTD: Cause I don't want it and want the cash...why?

KEM: Ha ha. I was dumb enough to think u were just giving it to me. Who gave it to u?

DTD: Uh...you...lol.

KEM: Oh, for crying out loud.

DTD: Im kidding.

KEM: U r not kidding.

DTD: I had gotten something for my apartment but then returned it cause I found something else I liked better.

KEM: Does this go back to the 12 days of Christmas tree?*

DTD: Possibly...

KEM: OK u can have the dough.

DTD: Thank you :)

KEM: Anything 4 the darling one.


*A little clarification: Last year for her birthday I gave DTD an ornament tree from Crate and Barrel called The 12 Days of Christmas. Haven't I told you about this? After all, her birthday is 12 days before Christmas and my sister said DTD really like this tree when they were browsing the catalog.

Of course, the ornament tree went smack back to the Crate and they handed DTD a $100 gift card in exchange.

Which she apparently still has nearly a year later, after returning whatever she used the original gift card for her apartment and getting another $100 gift card.

So, in essence, I guess I didn't EXACTLY give her the $100 gift card. But that's how it sure sounds to me. Talk about coming full circle, with a couple of loop-dee-doos.

I hope no one wonders why all relatives under the age of 40 are going to get cold hard cash for Christmas/birthday/any occasion requiring a gift.

And anyone over age 75 is going to get flowers. Hey, this is getting easy.

Today at the vets (yes, we are still fooling with Jazzi's right ear) I walked out behind a rather enormous man. He stopped at the door and reached into the basket where they keep doggy treats. He didn't see me at first, but I saw him. He took a couple of massive fistfuls of doggy bones and left the basket bare, minus a few crumbs.

At this point he noticed me. My jaw literally dropped wide open when I saw he had cleaned it out and there wasn't even one left for Jazzi, which is her main point for going to the vet.

He quickly said, Oh, here. And handed me one and a half bones. Then he explained himself. He said he couldn't go home and have his dogs smell the vet on him without lots of treats. But, he says, I wouldn't let that little one (Jazzi, not so little) go without.

Geeze! I never!

Did everyone have a nice Thanksgiving?

OSpaghetti,
KEM

Tonight we went to eat at DTD'S restaurant so we could, you know, see her. She kept traveling over to our table from her hostess station. I didn't know what to order (never do) and she suggested fried clam strips, I guess clam strips are fried, right? Well, clam didn't appeal to me so I said, I'm getting fried codfish fingers. And that didn't appeal to her. See, she likes to snitch things off our plates, like French fries and clam strips and hunks of upside down pineapple cake. Boy, I love up upside down cake. That was the one good thing my school cafeteria used to serve. That and tuna fish sandwiches. Oh, the memories made in lunchrooms. My friend Cindy didn't like tuna sandwiches, nor did other people apparently, because I would end up with my plate piled to the ceiling with triangle half sandwiches every other Friday. And I could eat every last one of them. Cindy liked Shepherd's Pie, which I could not abide. People would heap their S's Pie on her plate, this huge gooey grayish mound, it was completely repulsive. Remember, to this day, whenever I'm nauseous, Keswick's Shepherd's Pie is my first and only and ongoing thought. Not real pleasant.

When I told DTD I was getting fried fish she quipped, Heart attack in a basket.

It's probably true. And this, being my 400th blog, is a good place to bid adieu.

Adieu,
KEM...until tomorrow...

Oh rats, my main commentor does not receive my comments in return. I think that's what she was saying. BJH, ask your brilliant cousin what to do. This is all very distressing, trust me.

SPEAKING OF BJH, she is now absolutely and completely WORLD FAMOUS! You heard me. I get an email from my friend who says, Look on the front page of the TASTE Section in today's St. Pete Times! Since I hadn't looked at the TASTE section yet, which comes out on Wednesdays, I rushed to the table and fumbled through the papers, and boy, was I in for the treat of the week.

BJH, there she is in living color on the front page (of the TASTE). Just gorgeous! She has a smile to light up all of NYC. See, what is happening, somehow she became a Wishbone Turkey Student, they call it something like that. People get to come because they want to make the perfect Thanksgiving dinner but, for some reason, feel like they have things to learn. Reasons like not taking the bird out to thaw until an hour before dinner time, good reasons like that. I think it's called University, actually. So they have professional chefs come and teach you (the group of 10 or so) everything you need to know to turn out a Thanksgiving dinner like Aunt Bee, or someone equally capable. Then they write up a big article with pictures and everything and everyone passes with flying colors. It's really great and they do it every year, I think this is the 4th year. I'm not sure how you get selected, I guess you write in how desperate you are and why you, of all people, deserve to participate.

Now, the funny thing here is, and I can promise you, BJH is the cook to end all cooks. I have NO CLUE why she would need or want to go to University. No stretch of my imagination produced anything a' tall. Listen, I've eaten once in her home where she prepared every delightful morsel known to man, positively outstanding, I was ewwing and ahhing to beat the band. Of course, there are some women going to Turkey School (which is a one day event, I think) who are dismal failures within ten feet of a stove, as suggested above. Or maybe someone is trying to impress a mother-in-law the first time around and is scared silly, things like that.

So, really, when I read what BJH went for, I busted up. Because it would be the same thing (and more) I would go for! And that, my dear readers, would be pasty mashed potatoes, the nemesis of an otherwise fine spread. Oh, this is too funny. I have BLOGGED about pasty mashed taters. BJH could have read my blog from last year and been done with it. But seriously, she was having way too much fun at Wishbone. She was even voted student with the biggest heart. I'm so proud of her.

Of course, in my blog I probably didn't give the wherefore's of how to whip taters instead of letting them whip you. Much more likely I was just bemoaning my fate with them, those nice fine firm tubers turned into slick white paste under my delicate tutelage. There is nothing I despise more than pasty mashed potatoes, and apparently the same for BJH. I mean, Thanksgiving really NEEDS light fluffy perfect mashed potatoes. Let's face it.

Well, it's a good thing my friend gave me heads up on this article and picture. Because I'm sure if I'd seen the picture with no warning, I would have gone out and turned somersaults on the yard or something. It was just SOOOOO exciting.

And the day before that, I forgot to tell you, but I researched that you do NOT have to rinse your chicken before you use it. Have you ever heard such good news? I didn't think so. I always rinsed my chicken or turkey and made a big pink watery mess and patted him dry. And then worried the rest of the night we would suffer cross contamination. Now they are telling us that all that washing the poultry accomplishes (besides the mess) is to spread the bacteria around on the bird. Now, we can't have that, can we? Listen, anything that involves less work, I am sold. Let's just let the good old bacteria huddle at ease, let well enough alone and all that good stuffing. I mean, stuff.

So, now, I hope we don't all get food poisoning from dirty birds this Thanksgiving. I shall leave this washing business up to your own personal and brilliant discretion. Wonder how they did it at Wishbone?

Last night I couldn't blog because you know what happened...Mildred Migraine showed up for a visit. I had to rush to bed, literally. But then I stumbled back down the stairs to give Jazzi her three pills, some of which involve chopping in half and other cute things like the one half flying and scuttling across the tile floor.

THIS MORNING, when I came down to dispense the pills again, Wa-Lah, now there are only two bottle of pills, when last night at midnight there had distinctly been 3 bottles of pills. The missing one was Prednesone. Hmm. This is not good. KEM looks high, she looks low, she looks to no avail. She wonders if she should call DTD and ask if she's seen them.

Then she remembers crashing sounds in the night. As in Robby crashing sounds. Oh dear! Don't tell me we have a Dryer/Microwave/Pills kitty on our hands. Still, I tried to think where Robby might roll a little (CDW and I adore the word little, it fits in with everything and embellishes it so loverly) bottle of pills he knocked off the counter.

It didn't hit me until the Bug Man came. The Bug Man comes every two months, but it may as well be every two days, 'cause it seems like there he is every time I turn around. He squirts his little magic potion in corners of windows, bathrooms, etc. I plan my whole day around the Bug Man. So, when we were in the kitchen...AHAH! I'll bet you I know where the pills are!

And I'll bet all my bloggees do, too.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about the the cute little old man and little old lady I chatted it up with at Bed, Bath and Beyond. Where I escaped after narrowly avoiding buying a sleeper sofa at Ethan Allen, which I only did because my friend had an emergency and couldn't meet me for lunch. Way up in Citrus Hill or wherever it is. But I met her for lunch, if you know what I mean. That's because I don't know how to CHECK MY CELL PHONE OR MY LAND LINE for messages. I only checked my email before I left home and didn't check my cell phone until I was turning off the exit. Boy, I think I have a bunch of marbles rolling around up there, probably why I get migraines, huh?

I had more to say, but time to go eat a pumpkin chocolate chip muffin and call it quits. And besides that, I forgot what it was I was going to say. Speaking of these muffins, I asked my stepson if we would like to take some home. He said, Sure. I said, How many? He said, Five. FIVE?!?!? He is handing them out in his department at work, so he can be the big guy, I guess. Makes a stepmommy proud.

Until we meet again,
KEM Ha, ha, guess how you really spell Prednesone? Prenisolone. I can't believe it!

The Amish live simply and unpretentiously. It says so in my little Amish cookbook. And they cook like they live, simply and unpretentiously.

I'm going to give these recipes a whirl. Tonight it was bar-b-q chicken. Even had frozen Amish chicken thighs in the freezer. Very easy recipe, you stir a few sauce ingredients together and poor over chicken and bake. The Amish are so unpretentious that they don't even brown the chicken first. So, I was just pretentious enough to do that. Wonder if it made any dif. The finished product was very good. Not a lot of clean up and gave me leftovers, too.

Oh happy day! At the grocery store I spotted sandwich creme cookies as I was passing by the gluten free section. DTD likes gluten free, but I don't usually buy it. Yesterday I bought Gluten Free Has Never Tasted So Good Chocolate Covered Donuts. And you wanna know sumpin'? They were gooooooood! I'm hardly a worthy judge of gluten free products, so I can't stamp up and down and scream, Gluten Free NEVER tasted so good! So, I went ahead and bought these Glutino Gluten Free Vanilla Sandwich Cremes. As to date, all sandwich cremes have failed me. I came home and ripped open the bag and, first taste, DEEEEEEELISH-OUS! Four cookies later...still DEEEEEEELISH-OUS! So delicious, in fact, I had to immediately sit down and email the company, singing their sandwich creme praises. Their motto is not Never Taste So Good, but it's true, and they should come up with an equivalent jingle.

The chocolate donuts were only delicious after the first bite. The first bite was kinda weird. Read my cherry cupcake blog and you will find I am not a big fan of rice flour, which was the big ingredient in the donuts. So, but once the first ricey bite was out of the way, the adjustment cure was complete. Loved the rest of the donut.

My poor parents' dog went to doggie heaven today, so sad day.

Oh, I knew I had three things to tell you about food. GAD sent me to http://www.stilltasty.com/. It is my favorite website just about, certainly very useful. It tells you how long you can eat your food before you should chuck it. This is all well and good IF you know when you opened something. I don't know about you, but I'm constantly not knowing if two months or two years have passed since I opened the A-1 steak sauce or jar of pickled relish.

Well, I decided to check if my Maraschino cherries were little red bombs of destruction or still good. Stilltasty said they can last 6 months to a year. Oh, rats. I can't remember when I opened them, it's been a while, that much I can vouch for. Oh yes, the light snaps on. AND, this is a big unplanned coincidence in this blog. DING, DING, DING, DING, DING! Last December I made DTD rice flour cherry cupcakes for her birthday. BIG FLOP. They just crumbled into a pile of fine dust, in looks and taste. Ha, ha, now I love this, having just mentioned rice flour above and now the cherries, I remember when I opened them, going on a year ago. But do I really want to eat something opened for a whole year, Stilltasty notwithstanding? It gives me the eebie jeebies. I like FRESH food, I seriously do. Someone I know has had the same herbs and spices on a rack that was a wedding gift...DECADES AGO, as in half a century ago. Plus.

So, Stilltasty is great, but I have to be greater. I am now taking my handy dandy label maker and printing a label every time I open something. Like tonight, the liquid smoke (how many times am I going to use liquid smoke, People?) and the Worcestershire sauce. This way, 3 years from now, when I go to grab the liquid smoke for some obscure recipe, I will say, Hmm, let's check Stilltasty and see if a bottle of opened liquid smoke is still kosher after 3 years.

And I'm not stopping there, I'm labeling leftovers and jazz that goes into the freezer. NO MORE guesswork. My label maker is one of those things that was going to change my life, like my digital timer. And this is BIG, you watch. Label maker resides in little basket on computer desk that Robby steps on to get to the corner speaker shelf to get to the windowsill to get behind the Venetian blinds. Then he reverses it to come down, after sunning himself and watching the world go by.

I feel so Amish today. Am back to reading my Amish novel, after reading poor Dewey. There's another cat book out, Homer's Odyssey, about a poor blind kitten. Homer is a marvelous cat, but I can't take any more EMOTION right now. Give me the dull and the drab, please.

Tomorrow I meet a friend for lunch, we meet halfway. I have been carting a series of 3 Amish novels around in my car for months and months and can never remember to hand them to her. The idea of writing this in the blog is to make me remember tomorrow.

I'm terribly afraid that I bought a second Amish novel when I already own it, for the second time. In fact, I need to go look in my car trunk right this second and verify my hunch. I wonder if the Christian bookstore would believe me twice. Umm, hello dear Christian bookstore people, it's me again. I did it again. I bought a book I already have. It's my favo pastime, buying duplicate books. Will you sweet babies please let me exchange it for a book I don't have? (I call everyone and everything baby.) Oh dear, oh dear. See, I was looking for a pamphlet in my bedside table drawers last night. It made me crazy because I couldn't find what I was looking for. I looked umpteen million times. This is when I found the duplicate book. Also, I can't find this wonderful chocolate cake recipe my friend gave me. And I bought Reduced For Quick Sale Buttermilk, just to make this recipe. And the buttermilk gives up the ghost after tomorrow. Gads, I'm loosing it.

Checking Out,
KEM

The other day my sister texted me that she had just eaten a black rotten avocado and felt sick, deathly ill, as a matter of fact.

I wondered how this could happen. How do you eat a rotten black avocado?

It happens like this:

You order a sandwich at a well known sandwich restaurant, and it's not Panera Bread.

You eat it while talking to someone, paying not a lick of attention to what you deposit in your mouth.

Until the end...when you glance down. And what greets your innocent eyes but black mushy awfulness oozing from the sandwich.

Upon closer examination, you see what it is and you know what you have done. Your world has just been rocked.

You immediately become sicker than sick and text your sister.

Then you run to the health food store for a remedy. You tell the hilariously fun salesgirl that this wouldn't happen to your sister (KEM) because she carefully examines every forkful. It has to have A+, # UNO rating before the fork slips between the lips.

You live, but you have a VERY BAD memory. And you certainly can't be an improved version of yourself, swallowing such horror.

THE VERY BAD END.

So, wow, that really make my flesh crawl. It just so happens that the night before I had had a perfect avocado, a rare gem of an avocado. So, my sister's story was all the more poignant.

You wanna know something? I can't tell you how many people have made fun of me for checking out my food. Like I think I've told you before, this same sister was laughing me all the way to the Funny Farm while I was picking through a salad once. And then I found a fly, non living, in my salad. Which made her laugh even harder. But this sister is joining the ranks of Looks Before You Swallow. You'd better believe it.

Okay, dear ones, I must shut it down tonight. My eyes are burning due to extra late bedtimes. Today I was going to spend 4 hours sifting through the old newspaper piles in the dining room, but I have completely run out of time, even without going to exercise class. I done give up on exercise class. Cleaning the shower, washing the dog, changing the sheets, doing a load of laundry, taking dog to vet, walking dog, going to grocery store and cooking dinner and doing my chores. Wow, it seemed like so much at the time but on paper it doesn't look so hot. But the truth is driven home, A woman's work is NEVER done. Oh, and I did exercise AT HOME.

I had many things to blog about today, but Pftt!, they have dissipated.

Robby Boots has just come to visit. I hope he doesn't require leg braces. No, he doesn't, I just kid, he is a doll! Did I tell you he jumped into the microwave, which is installed over the stove? When my nephew heard the story of Robby in the Dryer, he said, Be sure you don't let him in the microwave. Now, weeks later, my nephew writes a birthday thank you note. Hi!, he says. I heard you put the cat in the microwave like I told you not to! Haha! Poor cat.

Somebody stop the planet, I'm getting off.

KEM P.S. It is very difficult to eat a hamburger on a hot dog bun. This is why there isn't such an animal as a ham dog.

BJH is my new best friend. I love the comments she leaves on the blog. She is a cheerer-upper. (I can tell you right now that spellcheck is going to paint a big yellow blob over the word cheerer.)

BJH, do my comments I write back to you come through? I think they do because I think you referenced something in one of my comments. Let's hope so.

Announcement. I have replied to every single comment I have ever received.

Hey guess what? Someone in Russia looked up my blog. Mike showed me this, he can look up fancy information like that. The bad part is that they only spent 0.00 seconds reading my blog. I guess they don't read English.

Something interesting happened in church today. This adorable young couple I know sat in front of me. I noticed they were very touchy feely (they always are) and he seemed very solicitous toward her condition. Which was? Then she got up and left for a while. During that time I glanced down into her purse, which was unzipped. It wasn't my fault I saw the contents of her purse. They were exposed for all the world to see, all the world being me. But we had to stand for the Scripture reading so what is a body named KEM supposed to do? It's only natural to study the pew in front of you.

Well, in that purse was a Ziplock bag of saltine crackers. Further clues...unnecessary.

So after church I said to her, You know, I haven't been in church much lately, did I miss something, some kind of announcement maybe? She kind of giggled, that's all. I persisted. Are you expecting? Yes, she is, but it's a secret until Thanksgiving.

So why did I just publish this on my blog for the whole world to see, even all the way to Russia? Because no one in my church reads my blog, that's why.

I am very clever at leaving names off, too.

I just love Robby's hind legs. They are bunny rabbit feet. He's slightly pigeon-toed. (Are all cats slightly pigeon-toed?) I find terrific amusement in watching him walk away. So little of the foot is actually used and what is used is turned inward. He looks so sneaky with his back feet. He just does.

Boy, hope he doesn't need corrective shoes, like I had to wear at 5 years old because of bunions. Really, I need to contact Guinness World Book of Records on that one: Girl Sprouts Bunions 9 Decades Early. I have pictures to prove it, too. Except that might humiliate DTD. I got a complex at 5 years old having to go to Saltz Shoe Store downtown and get these hideous bulky, stiff saddle shoes or whatever they were (they've been zapped from my mind forever) instead of NORMAL kids shoes. It was so deflating. Well, we just won't go there.

I really can't blog tonight because I spent my blogging time watching The Talk of the Town Again. I'm glad I can thoroughly enjoy watching a movie or reading a novel more than once, even back to back. I knew a lady who couldn't do that. One time, she's done, honey. On the other hand I once knew a teenager girl who had read Gone With the Wind 9 times. Or was it 14 times. Whatever it was, it was drastic.

How come hot chocolate never tasted so good in the BEAUTIMUS birthday mug my CDW gave me? That was my prelude to Talk of the Town. Aaaaah.

Oh! My favorite line in Talk was when Mr. Colman, the stuffiest law professor ever, comes a day earlier than he's expected to rent Jean Arthur's house and she hasn't quite finished tidying it up yet (it looks perfect except for finishing hanging the drapes) and he tells her, I have never seen such monumental inefficiency. That just cracked me up to no end. I'd hate to hear his compliment about my housekeeping. He is no BJH. There was another line that slayed me but...need I say more.

So, since I can't blog, here is a quote that you will just love. I did.

Every day that is born into the world comes like a burst of music and rings the whole day through, and you can make it a dance, a dirge, or a life march, as you wish. ~ Thomas Carlyle

I think I'm somewhere in-between life march and dirge. How 'bout you? This quote kind of jarred me...in a good way. And it's so pretty to think of each day being born. That is very musical, indeed.

Oh, Robby played fishing pole during the entire first half of The Talk of the Town. I was the one holding the fishing pole. So, I have to tell you, I bought Robby a Krinkle Tunnel at Target. It's a long tunnel that krinkles. I'm so brilliant. He adores running through it. And there's a hole in one spot in the middle that I can drop the tail-less muskrat down. Nice to know I picked a winner for a change. That blue plastic donut/bedpan from the yard sale is still sitting on the floor, being a nuisance.

The other winner is his blue plastic egg with adjustable holes all around it. You put treats in it. At first you make the holes big, so the treats kind of fall out automatically, until he gets the hang of it. Then you twist the holes smaller and make it more of a challenge. He loves rolling that egg along the floor and watching for a treat to drop out. More times than not, I put 5 little treats in there, yes, that is the norm. Today I grabbed six treats out of the bag and just put all of them in there. Robby only ate 5 of them. Too funny.

I love how animals perfectly understand English. Every time I say, Jazzi, let's go out back. Robby is there at the door. When I say, Let's go play tunnel (and the new added game, Sheet), Robby runs and jumps on the bed. Now, this is not Krinkle Tunnel, this is Pillow Tunnel. When I roll the hair off the bed, I pile the pillows to form a tunnel. Then he waits for my hand to shoot through the tunnel and scare him and he comes pouncing after my hand as I withdraw it back into the tunnel. Rolling the hairs, which is my version of making a bed, now takes 10 times longer.

Oh yes, and when I say to Jazzi, Here's your treat for going potty, Robby comes running now, wanting his blue egg. And furthermore, when I say, Robby, let's go clean the bathroom, Robby is there. He loves to swipe at the paper towel as I swipe it around the toilet rim.

I keep writing even though I'm not blogging tonight because I can't remember what I was really going to tell you about Robby understanding English.

When my German friend comes to watch the house (which I've managed to confuse everyone as to the dates of the trip), remember, she wants an organizing project. She's just begging for one. I was telling my neighbor this today. Cheryl said, Well, you should really let her do it! (Cheryl knows how I really live, maybe she's worried the clutter is going to start creeping across the long toward her house). I said, Yeah, maybe I should suggest she do the whole house, top to bottom. Well, that would be a lot to ask, so I did think of one thing, and that would be the pantry. I'll bet she will whip that baby into shape and when I come home I'll study her handiwork and say, Now, why can't I be so clever? I'm very excited about the prospects.

Needing to go to bed so I can wake up to the new born day before it's over,
KEM P.S. Spellcheck really let me down and didn't swipe yellow over cheerer. But it did over feely. P.P.S. Now that I think about it, I never see a newborn day, it's always middle aged by the time I face it.

Tonight I washed Robby's two litter boxes outside...by the light of the silvery light bulb. I was supposed to wash them in the afternoon with real live daylight. But it worked out just fine at 9:45 PM, and the air was a lot cooler, too.

Watched the movie The Talk of the Town. Tons of fun. I have to watch it again because it took me two weeks to watch it just once and I want to get my money's worth before mailing it back to Netflix. Really entertaining movie starring Cary Grant, Jean Arthur (my fav) and Ronald Colman. I didn't watch a little bit of the movie every day for two weeks. It sat in it's little Netflix envelope for two weeks, is what I mean. I'll bet you knew that.

I'm going to have a campfire and burn all my sports bras. (Hope no men read this blog besides Mike.) Down with sports bras forever!!! When I was at exercise class Monday night, my dumb new sports bra was TOO TIGHT. It shifted all my bones and muscles to the wrong spots. The next morning I woke up in agony because the pain went straight through from my upper left back to my heart. My heart is still out of kilter.

And not only that, but one day I wore one of two new sports bras that I bought that are the long style that covers your stomach. I had one on under my t-shirt all day. Then I wondered why my back was tight as a drum and tied up in knots. I ripped that straight jacket off and instantly felt tingles, like life flowing back into the...back.

This, my girlfriends, is why I am having a bra burning session. Sports bras, that is. Three strikes, since we're talking sports. Well, I'll see if DTD wants them, she did take the yellow one from exercise class already. Said it was pretty. She was funny, when she was stealing my rolls of paper towels, she came out of the laundry room, which is my "garage," and said, Are you throwing this away? She held up a black Champion sports bra that I had thrown in the good-bye pile because it was old and the elastic in the bottom band was all loose and ripply. Know what I mean? DTD didn't care, she stuffed it down the tube of the paper towels and off she went.

WHY? Why do I try anything at all besides eating and sleeping? And playing with R and J? Anything new and different, like Stretch and Strengthen, turns out very badly. So, this exercise class is no longer one of my pickles.

Yep, I read in the AAA Magazine that the best way to learn to manage your time is to think of a jar of pickles. The author said there were 415 million or so results when she Googled Time Management. Have you ever? So forget everything you ever read and go pickles.

Big fat pickles are your main and most important objectives for the day. You can have 3 or 4 at the most. Well, rocks. Next, you throw some pebbles in the jar and shake them down around the big dills. Pebbles are other but lesser things you would like to accomplish that day, at least a couple of them, like email and blog, heh, heh. Then you add sand which is your chores and other daily stuff. Then you pour in water and that represents family and you time.

The lady promises if you think pickles, you will learn effective time management.

I'm going for it because it sounds too easy.

You know the other day when I read about small houses and decluttering? One lady said that we own 50% more stuff than we need. Honest to goodness, I've said that many times myself. It was fun to see if verified in print by an organizing expert. I enjoy that kind of validation for my loopy ideas.

My good friend BJH commented on yesterday's blog. If you go back and read her comment, she tells you how to...comment. CAE, I want you to try this and see if you can comment. I will be looking for your comment. Good luck with trying to comment. Hey, I'm starting to sound like Bernard P. Fife. But JEO told me she left a comment last week and it never came through, because I never saw it...the comment, that is.

Looking forward to my Sunday afternoon nap,
KEM

Hello there.

A cat's tongue can cover some ground. 3 feet in one second.

Also, your blood travels 4 million miles a day.

The first fact is factual. I read in the newspaper today how a cat drinks, which is very elegantly.

And the second one, I believe that is what my exercise lady from church read from a book while we were resting on the floor after strenuous exercise. It sounds a little far fetched, doesn't it? 4 million miles? But with God in charge, that would be nothing to Him. Still, don't quote me because my brain may have been strained after exercising. But that's what she said, I know it.

Robby does not like to play with his muskrat on the fishing pole much these days. He had the new muskrat and ate the long tale off in short order. I wasn't too happy. He also plucked the dragonfly off the carpet scratcher in no time flat. And I can't find either one of these severed items. Robby has a new game. He sits on the bed and I toss the sheet over him and it billows down slowly all around him. He loves that.

Animals sure have a lot of down time, don't they?

This is short tonight because I had stomach problems today, which started yesterday. You can see how stomach problems and a short blog would go hand in hand, can't you?

Is everyone ready for the holiday season to begin? I'm not especially doing the holidays this year. It's such a relief to know I have no expectations this year. Then, anything I do accomplish will be pure bonus :)

I have some friends saying they left a comment, but the comments didn't show up. And another friend doesn't know how to leave a comment, apparently it isn't obvious how to do it, or she would be doing it. She said I would be able to tell her how, but that is essentially untrue. It's a good thing I don't blog for a living.

KEM, the blogging flake

Hi.

Old age is ruining me.

The lovely German girl who is coming to watch our pets, she is one of those who finds organizing to be therapeutic. She is OCD, did I say that right? Today I emailed her and said I hoped she didn't mind a little clutter and dust. She wrote back that she didn't mind at all and that I should leave her an organizing project to do, because that would be therapy for her, not work. This wonderful person needs to move in next door. I really need someone like her in my life.

She also promised I didn't need to worry about my frying pan walking off. She would guard the gates and supervise any coming and going activity and be sure my possessions did not escape under the radar. I'm not worried in the least, with her in charge. She's under 30 years of age and 1,000% capable and nice. And all she wants for all this is some German cheese and sausage.

Anyway, I feel better that maybe my house doesn't have to be perfect for her. I don't know, I'm so sick and tired of my slovenly little self. And I'll bet you are, too. Maybe I won't talk about it anymore. It's a disease.

Yesterday when I got my hair colored, I asked Celia if my hair was long enough for an updo. She busted up laughing. In short, my hair is not long enough for a do of any kind. But we might try a faux do. The owner of the salon (she used to do my hair, kind of embarrassing!) said I needed to come in and let them do my make up and hair (fake French twist or something) and then go get a picture taken. Well, she is right, and I hope they do the do.

I forgot what I was going to blog on tonight. So this is why you are getting mishmash. I did read about living in itty bitty houses and decluttering today. Oh, and what else is new?

Why can't I write about Quik Chik and 8 Layer Cake? 'Cause I'm too tired, that's why. Women over 50, PLEASE tell me there is HOPE!!!

KEM of the Konsumption P.S. My avocado was perfect tonight. Remember my blog on how I can't spell avacodo? That must have been a year ago, at least!

S & S blog tonight (Short and Sweet).

If you haven't seen the Youtube of the singing of the Hallelujah Chorus in Macy's, this is what you might like to do. Go to Youtube.com and where it says SEARCH, type in Hallelujah Chorus at Macy's. What it is, is a 650 voice choir (composed of many choirs in Philadelphia). But it just looks like Macy's is having a good turn out of shoppers that day. The organ (the largest in the world, 28,000 pipes, for Corn's sake) is playing a nice piece and then, without warning, you hear the familiar strains of the Hallelujah Chorus introduction. I immediately got the chills when the voices came in. Really and truly, to me the Hallelujah Chorus is THE most magnificent song on the planet. How can all souls not help but rise up and worship the living Christ when this music sounds forth?

This "performance" was part of a program called Random Acts of Culture. Isn't that super cool? And good for Macy's for participating. I'm all for innovative ways of stirring some passion for classical music. But this was so special because it exalted the Lord. I was thinking, Wonder how long before the ACLU sues Macy's. Then I read a bunch of the comments on Youtube and someone else expressed the same sentiment. Well, praise God, I felt this idea was very hopeful and inspiring.

And, when the music started, guess who came trotting up, meowing, and jumped on the computer desk? Not only that, I played the video a second time and guess who came trotting up, meowing, a second time? I should figure out which instrument to start Robby on.

Then DTD appeared. Then she disappeared into the downstairs hallway and then into the laundry room. She reappeared with her hands full of rolls of paper towels and TP. Glad to oblige.

DTD is insulted that we fly to Germany on her birthday. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking having a baby in mid-December. December 13th. It's hard to pull off Thanksgiving, DTD'S birthday and Christmas, all in your basic one fell swoop. Last year for her birthday I got her an ornament tree called The 12 Days of Christmas. My sister said she and DTD had seen it in a Crate and Barrel catalog and DTD seemed smitten with it. I thought, Perfect! Because there are exactly 12 days from her birthday to Christmas.

She took it back.

I'm supposed to get my 15 minutes of sun between noon and 3 PM. Mike's nutritionist said so. Rats. At least there is sun on the back deck at that time. You are supposed to expose as much skin as you can, too. Just sayin'.

Worried about cleaning the house because our German friend is going to stay with the pets while we are in Germany, and Germans are famous for being CLEAN FREAKS!!! I am in deep trouble.

In DEEP,
KEM

Now. You know I am trying to get my 15 minutes of Florida sunshine these days, to boost my Vitamin D absorption. This is easier said than done...as is everything with KEM. Back in the pleasant days, before I knew of the D Deficiency, my sister said, Anyone living in Florida cannot help but get enough sun. Meet KEM. I live in my house, which happens to be in Florida. I am a hermit. When my sister said that, I assumed the amount of sun filtering into the house or car was going to do it for me. But of course it did not. Here I am, a resident of a state and city that are peninsulas, sunshine galore for the taking, and I never even get to the beach except the week after Christmas when my sister visits. And I get there once, just to be sociable. Let's face it, I do not DESERVE to live in Florida.

Now. Today I read that 8 out of 10 Americans have low Vitamin D levels. This means, dear blogee, you very well may be one of them. Then I read on Debra Lynn Dadd's site (she is the green lady, expert in all things chemical-free) an interesting discussion on...our favorite buddy Vitamin D. The best kinds of Vit D, the best tests to see where you're at (throwing in some good English here) and what to tell your doctor. HA! I don't have the nerve to tell my doctor anything, unless he asks. Oh, Doctor, did you know I need this other blood test for my levels and not the standard one? Fortunately, I have a wonderful doctor who is a gentleman and might just tolerate such insubordination. But I guess docs don't know everything. My grandfather held the opinion that if a doctor told me my head was on backwards and needed to be chopped off and turned around, I'd say, Why, sure, go right ahead.

Which is to say, I guess if your intuition is telling you to challenge, or at least suggest, to your doctor that you are worried about overdosing the dear good vitamins, then go ahead and spit it out (throwing in a little elegance here).

So, all that to get to the punch line. As many of you know, I am nocturnal. Which means by the time I roll out of bed and do my little afternoon routine and it's finally time to bask in the sun for 15 minutes, the sun is about to go sleepy-bye, especially since the time change, the time change doesn't suit me AT ALL. In the late afternoon I have found a 2 x 2 square of sunshine right by my front door, but today I was so late, even that speck had been swallowed up in shadows.

So, being resourceful (and desperate), I dragged my moldy white plastic chair (which I'm leaving by the curb in hopes someone will swipe it), Jazzi on a leash, Robby dangling from my arm and my cell phone in my hand (so I can register the 15 minutes and call my sister) to the neighbor's driveway, which had that elusive patch of sunshine. After getting situated, which took some doing -- getting the best angle for the sun, getting Jazzi's leash pinned under the chair leg, squeezing a squirming cat and concentrating on not dropping the cell phone (my specialty), I finally plopped down in the Moldy White Plastic Chair (not as appealing sounding as the great children's book, Lily's Purple Plastic Purse).

And what to my wondering eyes should appear, when I glanced down at the grass at my feet?

Either a VERY LARGE mouse or a rather smallish rat. A mouse/rat that had seen better days. A non-living mouse/rat. A mouse/rat that has become a feast for flies. A mouse/rat basking in the waning sun, but hardly able to enjoy it. I wonder if he was short of Vitamin D and had the same idea I did, but was too late and merely collapsed in valiant effort, too exhausted from the sunshine search, his last drop of vitamin D used up, forevermore (getting a little absurd here).

Now. It took a while but Robby finally looked down and spotted it (I think Robby is too intrigued by the outdoors in general to be rat-specific at this time). He did a little start. I have to say, that Robby is a doll. You know he wants to jump down and run in the worst way; he sits and stares out the French windows ev-e-ry day (I should fashion that into a poem). And even with a smokin' hot stinkin' dead rat, he was obedient and stayed put in mommy's arms. Mostly.

I'm just saying. This was a KEM ONLY. ONLY KEM could pick the last spot of sunshine in the sunshine city (St. Petersburg's official nickname) and about sit on top of a dead rat, all the while juggling the aforementioned items and people. Getting my Vitamin D is a dangerous risky enterprise. Who would have thunk?

On to lighter fare. Tonight I was practicing, and Robby just loves to stare behind the music rack and watch the hammers move, I've told you this. I wish my former piano pupils had been so rapt. Well, he was curled up in the corner, on the treble keys, and had his little face peering through the music rack. It was way too adorable, and I was forced to pull a "miracle." I grabbed my cell phone and SOMEHOW took a picture. I've never taken a cell phone picture before. Only by accident.

But desperation is truly the mother of resourcefulness (see above), because I quickly started pressing buttons, any old buttons, until I was told I could take and save a picture. Robby, hang on, don't move! I took two, because, I'm telling you, I'm sending it into the newspaper where every Wednesday they print these adorable pet pictures, with captions. The newspaper asks for submissions, If your pet is being cute... Oh boy, Robby Cute Mader is going to have his 15 minutes of fame if his mommy has anything to say about it. What could my caption be? Robby...an American Rachmaninoff. Cat bears resemblance to Chopin...check out the profile.

Umm...maybe you all should help me out here. Clever captions, anyone?

Sharing the last slice of sunshine with a smouldering ratty mouse,
KEM P.S. Mike and I don't agree on the use of cloth placemats. He says they are for spilling on. I say they are for trying NOT to spill on.

Mike was going to comment that we didn't see the bomb coming because our eyes were locked over dinner. Well nice try, Mike. Robby landed practically in the middle of the table, and I'm glad he narrowly avoided landing on the dinner plate. He landed in a full sitting position. Very strange and shocking, I'm telling you.

Robby's new favorite place is our walk-in closet, on the ladder we leave set up in there. He climbs to the fifth step and then steps up to the paint can shelf, which extends out beyond the steps. This shelf has a circle area where you set your can of paint. He sets the main part of his body in this round area. Pants are draped over the top of the ladder and hang down by this paint shelf, making it all too cozy to resist. It just slays me. Robby takes naps up there all the time, it's always twilightish in that closet, just-right darkness. I think he likes the feeling of superiority that comes with height. And control. He is King of the Land up there. Plus, we leave the closet door open and this gives him the perfect view to see anyone entering the bedroom. The cats have it.

I'm still reeling from Zenyatta's near miss. Like I said, I have no business watching sports.

In the interest of going to bed early tonight, this is all she wrote, folks!

KEM

Tonight while we were scarfing down our hamburgers (why go gourmet when you can be just as happy eating real food?) a big black bomb landed on our dining room table. It came out of absolutely nowhere, I'm telling you, and landed with an earth shattering THUD. Scared us to pieces and we about gagged on our burgers. This bomb had the superlatives of Superman.

So, I guess the moral of this story is Mike and I are losing our peripheral vision. Make that, lost. As you figured, Robby was the big black bomb. Now, I've seen him do this once before, but it's an entirely different matter when it happens when you're not prepared for it. Maybe I told you how Robby can get on the room divider between the kitchen and dining room. The top of it is like a shelf, it's about 3.5 feet from the floor. From this perch, Robby takes his time studying the rather wide distance to the dining room table. It's one giant leap and he puts a lot into it, rocketing through the air and landing with a splash. Let's put it this way, if you want to enter a room discreetly and unnoticed, this would not be the way to do it.

So, not I, and not Mike, saw this coming. We only saw the splash. It was quite incredible. Out of thin air, as they say. Robby is big enough, at 6 months, to make a statement, and, boy, did he. Now you don't see me, NOW you do. I truly wish all of you were eating hamburgers with us tonight, so you could understand how startling it was. I mean, wow, if we had at least seen the last few inches of his flight, but no, just the package dropped out of the blue, only we witnessed none of the drop. This is getting repetitive, in my effort to translate. Moving on...

I'm really craving a big bowl of lumpy Cream of Wheat. But I want to make the most of this extra hour of sleep, too. The theory is, you can have lumpy Cream of Wheat any time. But you only get the extra hour of sleep once a year.

Since I said I am low in Vitamin D, others have said the same. In fact, someone said that a huge number of women are deficient in Vitamin D. Anybody have an explanation for this epidemic?

Oh dear, that marvelous lady horse lost today by a nose. The Breeder's Cup. She had won all 19 of her previous races and was going to break the record today. It would be something because she was racing against the boys today and normally she sticks to her gender. Also, she doesn't race on real dirt, just fake surface, but this was where the Kentucky Derby is held, what's the name of that track? It was so exciting, she was dead last for 4/5ths of the race, I guess that's how she is used to doing things, coming behind from last in dramatic fashion.

And then, rounding the corner to the home stretch, here she comes, breaking through the pack of gentlemen, somehow. Miss Z made it so close it was practically a tie. She just needed two more strides and she would have won. I was so sad. Really, I take things too hard. The jockey was so devastated he couldn't be interviewed afterwards. He had won so many consecutive races with Miss Z. Which made me nervous because how many races can you win in a row, you know? But to lose by a couple inches, you have to wonder what you could have done differently, just one little split second thing. Really, I have no business watching sports. Did anyone else watch this race? Were you sad, too? Anyway, they said Miss Z was the greatest and this race takes nothing away from her, she was awesome and made it thrilling...she certainly did. Miss Z is the most popular horse just about ever, it's like a cult following. We saw a cartoon poster with Mizz Z all decked out in a princess outfit, sitting up, it was hilarious. But this was her last race, boo hoo.

Okay, that was a ramble. I guess I had a boring-ish day. My favorite. Do you know how to spell L-A-Z-Y? That's what CDW always used to ask me. She just told me to go to Germany and not worry about the house, as in cleaning it. Then she suggested it would be nice if Don Aslett himself would come and clean my house. Agreed. You know, a couple of times I have risked all and left town without cleaning my house, you know, hang it all, guess what? Someone asked to spend the night in it. And another time, Mike brought a couple of ladies to see the house, because they had always wanted to see it. Mike got into town before I did and gave them the royal tour. It's a wonder they even speak to me anymore. And the man who wanted to spend the night, we had to cut our vacation short and rush home and I had to clean like a mad woman. And I was, mad in more than one sense of the word.

KEM, the worthless P.S. The horse is named Zenyatta (isn't that pretty, for a horse?). And the rink is Churchill Downs, everyone knows that. (I just played Google.) Off to lump up my Cream of Wheat.

How a great big cat like Robby can squeeze himself between the blind slats is beyond me. I just sit here and watch the show. He really enjoys sitting on the window sill behind the closed blinds. Getting out from behind the blinds is usually more the problem, and he is more successful in his escape artistry some times more than others.

I have the distinct feeling the previous sentence made no sense. But that's okay, you can blame it on homemade pizza. Tonight I made homemade pizza, salad and pumpkin custard. My dad said maybe I could sell pizza. Well, yes I could if the general public would be willing to pay $10 a slice. Because, you see, it takes me HOURS to make two pizzas, salad and pumpkin custard. And when you sprinkle organic cheeses on the pizza, actually, you would be lucky to break even selling it for $10 a slice. No, I do not think I'm cut out for selling pizza on the sidewalk.

And just so we are all clear on this, pumpkin custard, Martha Stewart's, I believe, is exactly precisely pumpkin pie without crust. But it's good. I always appreciate the added decadence of crust though, don't you? I would never put whipped cream or ice cream on top of or next to pie. BUT, I would most certainly lay a crust under it, and, if it's apple pie, over it, too. Same for any fruit pie. Now, meringue is another story, compared to ice cream and whipped cream. Meringue on custard or cream or gelled (word?) pies is quite the ticket to sheer bliss.

My friend, who is whip smart, just gave me a recipe for sinus sufferers. She studies herbs and ailments and matches them up for a cure. Here's what you do. You mix 1 teaspoon garlic powder, 1/4 teaspoon cayenne and 1/4 teaspoon vitamin C powder. You mix up several portions at once. Then you take one teaspoon of the mixture and mix it with RAW honey. Then, my friends, you try to eat it.

After one dose of this fire ball, I'd say it does more than clear the sinuses. I got all flushed, watery eyes, throat red hot and basically was hanging on to life by a thread. I had to guzzle a whole bottle of water to douse the fire. Mike said, I don't think this is for you. It's supposed to give you energy, too. I tried it a second time, which was today. The first time was yesterday. Maybe you become accustomed to it once your tongue, throat are all burned up and your nerves are history?

The funny thing is, my friend says to take the fire ball every two hours. Well, some things in life I can guarantee you are never going to happen. And making a full time job of incinerating myself is one of those things. That is never going to happen. I believe in moderation. Or less. WAY less.

You know what? I was reading Don Aslett's book How to Clean the Moosehead and 99 other weird housecleaning questions. Something like that. That's another thing I can guarantee you is never going to happen, a moosehead hanging over the mantel. Or anywhere. Anyway, I skipped to the back of the book, ha, ha, and read the section About the Author. That Mr. Aslett, I've always loved him. He is the funniest thing going, love all his books. Someone asked him if he still cleans after all these years. And you know what he said? Every chance he gets. Now why isn't that my philosophy? He said that nothing restores dignity and order to the human existence more than cleaning and taking care of the things we use. Something like that. Now that is just food for thought, plain and simple. Mr. Aslett is a fine man and his wife must be some lucky lady.

Mike's boss invited us to Germany in a few weeks, for a few days. Just found out. Now I need someone to stay at my house and sit with Jazzi and Robby. But my house is not dignified nor orderly, which means I'm not either. I wonder if I can whip myself and my house in shape before we go. So someone can stay in my house with dignity and order. Hmm, this is going to take some serious thought. Actually, it's going to take more than serious thought. WAAAAAAAY more.

Now I'm in a wad. Time to close shop.

I love BJH, she left a COMMENT! Hark! I just saw JEO left one, too. Now, we are clicking! Thank you, thank you! This calls for an immediate white bread, mayo and salami selebration sandwich. My dad can't live without meat on a pizza, so I bought salami and pepperoni. It was from the health food store.

The thought occurred to me that JEO and KEM both have E for middle initial. And they are both highly unsual middle names.

Wishing you all a beautiful fall weekend,
KEM

Hallo. If anyone remembers me, I'm back. Actually, LivingDust is back by popular demand (all three of you, thank you CAE, Betty and Crissy).

My sister and I love our Cream of Wheat lumpy. The lumpier the better. There's a fine art to making lumpy Cream of Wheat. It needs to be sufficiently lumpy and those lumps must vary in size. Great big monster lumps and dainty little itsy lumps and many graduated sizes in-between lumps. The first rule is to not follow the directions, which insist you stir the wheat into the hot water gradually, whirring your spoon constantly. This is not a problem for me because I forget to follow directions and lump, I mean dump, it in the water all together. And the wheat smolders and fumes and...wha-la!...you have gorgeous lumpy cream of wheat. Nothing like biting into a cream of wheat lump. There are just no words, so you shall have to try it yourself. Go ahead, live a little.

Speaking of living a little. This is what happened last Friday when I was jaunting about town but shouldn't have as I was mid-way through sinus junk. I was going down an avenue and passed a sign that said, YARD SALE. I did a U-bie because it was a house I've always thought looked neat and tidy. And...you just never know...

I was the only customer and the lady seller was very friendly. But I didn't see anything to buy (which always makes me want to slink away invisible like). Until I noticed this big bright blue plastic...thing. It looked like a bed pan, if the truth be known. So I said to the lady, What is this? "This" was a chip and dip bowl. It was round, of course, and then there was a smaller round elevated indentation in the middle for the dip and the chips would lounge below in the big circular area. Ha, wonder what you are picturing. But, the long and the short of it is, it reminded me of a cat toy I have resisted buying at the pet store, my second home. The cat toy is a circle where balls roll around and the cat spins and chases them, around and around. Supposedly. Well, this chip and dip had the circle element since the chips would lay around like in a tire, with the dip part up in the middle. Oh, I already said that. So, I could put these noisy rattle plastic balls for Robby right in there and he could chase and chase.

Man, I am rusty here, I simply can not describe this. Moving forward...

So, I said to the lady, How much? She said, I'm selling it for a friend (figures I pick an item that's not the lady's) for 50 cents. I said, Well, I may as well live a little and get this for my cat. She said, That's right, take a daring moment, make a bold move. I said Yeah, and if I don't like it, I can put it the garage (even though we don't have a garage). She said, Or you can sell it at your next yard sale (I gave up selling my junk on my lawn ages ago).

Well, we got to laughing about all this. And I handed over my hard earned (Mike's hard earned $.50) and marched down her driveway with a neat new toy for Robby.

I came home and washed it out. Mike said, What's that? Duh, what do you think??

I sat it down on the floor and put two rattle balls and one small soft foam ball in the rink. And waited for action. Robby! I called.

Robby ran up, took one look of sheer disdain, and kept on going. He appeared not even remotely enticed and seemed to sniff, Can you possibly be serious? And that was the end of that. This blue freaky plastic donut object has now been sitting on my floor for a week. Every now and again I go by and give the balls a spin. Just for kicks (yeah, I want to kick the blue donut to the curb). I guess by Saturday I will stuff it into my Goodwill bag-in-waiting. Balls and all. I guess I can be glad I didn't buy the Deluxe Pet Store Circle Chase Version. Which would have emptied my pockets of $.50 multiple times over. Yes, I am glad indeed.

So, you might say this blog cost me $.50.

Now, I have my LUX digital timer, I'm sure I've talked about this in the deep recesses of the blog. Yes, I know I have, it was going to drastically alter my life for the good. Well, I dropped it off my night stand onto the floor. And then it wouldn't work anymore. I was afraid it took some freaky little button battery, which I don't even know how to buy, and also, I was afraid to get the back cover off to get to freaky little battery would leave me with half a head of hair, you know, if it entailed working with eyeglasses itsy bitsy screwdriver. So, I let it sit and gather dust for a while. Finally, I ventured forward. I discovered, upon bold and closer examination, it took a baby battery, but a normal looking batter, only miniature. Then I realised you merely yanked off the battery cover (which was disguised behind a magnet to plaster timer on fridge) and it was all very easy. We even, no way, had the right battery. So, I changed out the battery, thinking maybe I killed the old one in the drop. But still, no life on the LUX screen.

So, now what, that timer was a good $10. And I'd hardly had it anytime at all, ha, ha. So, there was only one thing left to do, and that was to drop it again. So, I dropped it real good, with the original battery in it and everything.

And now it works just dandy. You may take this information and do with it as you please.

Okay, I'm about to end this post, but I KNEW there was one more pertinent topic. I have finished reading the book Dewey. Of course, KEM'S normal is to jump to the end of the book and read the final pages when the moment strikes. So, about half way through Dewey, a few weeks ago, I jumped to the end and read. Bawled my eyes out. BAWLED. I may have told you this already. But there is more.

I went back to the middle of the book and read straight through to the end. Which meant the other night I read the ending again. And BAWLED my eyes out. OUT!

THEN, two nights ago at dinner I told Mike the end of Dewey. And bawled my eyes out. BAWLED! Mike said, STOP THAT, you're making me cry.

Now, there is something to be said for a book that can make you bawl equally well all three times you read or disclose the ending, and all in such close proximity. I don't doubt for half a second that if I picked up the book right now and read the ending again, that I would bawl my EYES out! Again!

The author, I love her. You will love her, too, when you read Dewey. Vicki Myron is her name and making you cry is her game. She is a sensible, salt of the earth, wonderful mid-Western woman and I just love her and want to be her friend. I might have to be obnoxious and visit Spencer, Iowa (Iowa that marvelous state that just exercised great wisdom with their judges in the election) and see the library where Dewey lived. Forget Lancaster County and the Amish, I'm on my way to Deweyville.

Okay, tomorrow I must write about Quik Chik and the 8 layer cake, or I may forget what happened and have to make it up. And I wouldn't want to do that because what really happened cannot be beat.

My blood is good except my vitamins D and B12 are drastically low. How a person living in Florida can be low in vitamin D, the sunshine vitamin, I should love to know. Leave it to KEM, who stays cloistered in her 4 walls. Really, I need to make drastic changes in myself. This morning lying in bed I thought about how deficient I am in vitamin D for the bones and I truly felt all my bones turning to ash on the spot. My sister understands this exactly.

Oh, DTD was over here today. I went upstairs to shower and dress for choir rehearsal. When I came down I was wearing black jeans, a dark brown top with a white tank top underneath that showed a little and a long roomy blue, brown, green and cream floral sweater with sleeves down to the elbow. Oh yeah, and my rain shoes, which are black soft clogs, hideous in the extreme.

I kind of slunk by DTD and gave her a funny look. I had a bad feeling. I asked, Do I look like a dork, or what? She said, with a funny look herself, which bode no good, Actually, I thought you look cute, you look like you didn't just roll out of bed and throw on any mismatched clothes.

WELL. Now, this was a surprise, I thought I looked like a total dud. Honestly, I need a complete and expert makeover. I gravitate toward the plain Jane of everything, clothes, colors, hair style, make up, jewelry, you name it, except you don't have to because I just covered it all. Normally, I don't wear anything loud and busy like that sweater. And, to tell you the truth, DTD'S expert opinion notwithstanding, I don't like that sweater. I don't feel good in it. How can this be? I don't feel good about the right things maybe? I feel good about Dullsville stuff? I need psychiatric help. I need to learn how to live a little, beyond buying a used blue plastic chip and dip at a yard sale.

Better end today's blog or it may run into tomorrow's blog.

Nice chatting with you, my friends, except that it feels like a monologue. Someone, some day, should leave a COMMENT. Hint, hint. I do thank Deb, who has left several comments in the past. Thank you, Deb. I think Mike left one once, too. And Veronique about the Curious George post. And a couple of others. But, hey, listen, I've written 387 posts, as of tonight, and I can count on both hands the number of comments. Ugh. Depressing. Oh, I did love the comment from some cute young stranger guy who liked my post on Crest White Strips. Now that was great. But that was a million years ago. And if any of you are really following this blog, maybe you should own up to it and become an official follower, eh? I would like to double my number of followers from three to six. Seriously, I KNOW at least six people read this blog at least from time to time. So why not live a little and do something bold and drastic and sign on?? It won't even cost you $.50. Turn my :( to a :) You have the power :))

Pesky Lil' KEM

Hear ye! Hear ye!

Tonight we watched our Netflix movie. The one we've had for 4 months. Making it a rather expensive movie. Funny how Netflix doesn't call you and say, Hey, do you remember you have a movie out...for 4 months? Of course they don't do that!

It was so worth it though. You simply HAVE HAVE HAVE to see this movie. I cannot wait to watch it again. It's slapstick a lot but, in my humble opinion, absolutely brilliant and hilarious. Pure delight. It's crazy, loud and has the famous Automat scene, which is unreal. I told Mike, It must have been exhausting for the director to make this movie. It doesn't hurt that my favorite star ever, Jean Arthur, is the leading lady. And also stars other character actors loaded with personality. A total screwball with catchy dialogue and fun, fun, fun! The best. I thought. Must watch a few more times to catch all that, ahem, catchy dialogue.

Not a good day, folks! Sinus infection on the prowl. An accident in the family.

But on the good side, my stepson got a promotion at work, GOOD FOR HIM! I was able to get antibiotics, but it took some doing. My nephew turned 15. And we watched the FABULOUS movie.

What a weird day. EXTRA weird.

Nighty night,
KEM

It's Alexander Scourby. Not Scorby. And finding his picture on Google, he looks nothing like what his voice led me to imagine. I think to listen to the whole Bible takes 80-some hours. Less than 4 days. Pretty impressive, huh?

I'm hoping my fingers don't find Google tonight and punch in Barbara Billingsley. Last night on Yahoo I started reading comments. I was looking for the spot where I had left off last time. The spot never showed. I read all 481 comments. But it was time well spent. I have discovered that I am not the only person who believes mothers, if possible, are better off trying to run the home and not distributing their resources too thin(ly).

My favorite comment was a man who said back when he was a kid he would have run through fire with gasoline pants, just to not miss an episode of Leave It To Beaver. Something like that.

The bottom line is, Barbara Billingsley/June Cleaver charmed the world. She is hands down the favorite TV mom of all time. And that's saying something because she had some pretty stiff competition. Almost everyone is yearning for those simple times when common courtesy and a good dinner on the table were the chief objectives in life. I could live with that, couldn't you?

The other day AOL had a fantastic article on a new problem facing young adults. Homelessness. Some 2 million of them. There was a video of this young man who was homeless, had a horrible upbringing ("I loved my mom but she didn't love me back, really") and suffers with kidney malfunction. Oh, brother. He lived through adults on drugs, abuse, shuffled from home to home, the whole ball of wax.

This not only made me weep, but got me to thinking about fostering children. It's a thought I've carried through the years, but sometimes I forget about it. So, I texted my sister to read this AOL article, which was a nice change from their usual drivel.

She said, Funny, but just this morning I was thinking of fostering children. Then she said she and our mother had talked recently about this lady my mom knows who has fostered many children over the years.

I showed Mike the article. He says I can't take in a foster child until I lead a normal schedule for a year. Rats. But it's uncomfortable to sit by in a nice house and all I need and more when there are 18 year old kids roaming the streets after aging out of foster care.

Well, then, you know, I went to get my blood work done the other day, right after all this foster talk. Remember, but they didn't take my blood work. The point is, when one of those women came up to the desk, she announced to the other woman that she was sorry to take so long but she was handling a call on foster care. WHAT? Those were the first words I heard her speak. She is becoming a foster parent, taking a neighbor's foster kid because of various problems. I couldn't believe it. I read the AOL, talked to my sister who wants to foster, and then a complete stranger says FOSTER. What does it all mean? It has to mean something! I also have a notice posted on my fridge for several months. It was from the church bulletin, FOSTER PARENTS NEEDED. It gives all the info to get started.

Well, the blood work woman started telling me way more than I wanted to know. She kept saying, Now don't tell on me, will you? I think she took one look at me and didn't think I looked fit to foster. You have to be tough. You have to be mean. See, she is taking in a 17 year old boy. But she can handle it 'cause she grew up rough, she knows the speak. I assured her I had no intention of taking a wild and crazy teenager, that I would take a small well behaved child. Ha, ha.

Now, I do have some experience with foster children. Granted, not very much. Two hours a week at AWANA for a year and a half. Several foster children. This one family of 3 siblings, whoa, the girls were so sullen and angry, and only 3 and 4 years old. But they had excellent foster parents and their whole demeanor changed within a few months. The foster parents adopted all three kids, it was a beautiful story.

I'm not saying I will ever actually foster. But I am saying, What can I do? What can we do? We can go into the public schools after hours and teach the Bible through CEF Clubs. We can financially support underprivileged children. We can get involved in countless other organizations and mentor and tutor. Which reminds me, I used to mentor a child, need to get back on it. BTW, that was quite a chapter in my life. Nothing like a unique and lively child to shake up your status quo. Fortunately, I wrote down a lot of things that were said/happened, both with this child and in AWANA. Priceless stuff. I think CDW was the main recipient of that literature. HA!

Oh brother, when I was at the vet for Jazzi's ears to be lasered (yes, you heard that correctly), I read a brochure that said you shouldn't kiss your pets. I'm doomed.

Okay, Quik Chik. I have to be in the mood. I wasn't tonight. Maybe tomorrow? My mom asked me the name of the place I ate in Folkston, GA. 'Cause I raved so about the 8 layer cake they might just pass that way when they drive down to FL. Somehow, I don't think this little joint will spin my mother's wheels. She will need to wear blinders and focus on the cake.

Cakey KEM

It's really too bad Barbara Billingsley died. I read a lot of comments people posted about her and she was universally loved by all, a rare feat. Everyone wants to be just like her or at least have her for their mom (besides our own moms, of course :) She had that something special. It's always hard for me to watch the old shows when one of the main characters dies in real life. Somehow, it's just not quite the same. At least not for a while until I adjust. But my new plan is to work for two hours around the house and then watch an episode of Leave It To Beaver. I will behave like June Cleaver for two hours and then I will reward myself.

Tonight I roasted chicken. Here is a KEM tip. A while back I saw these silicone rubber bands for cooking at Tuesday Morning or somewhere. They went in the drawer at home and stayed there. For a long time. Tonight I thought of them. Well, they deserve the highest accolades. For once, a modern gadget that works. I tied up those little chicken legs with two twists of the silicone band and it was too easy and too perfect. We are talking two seconds flat. No more fighting with twine and lacers and sharp metal pokers or whatever they are, which all fall apart just when you think you finally "got" it. Talk about improvement, these bright beautiful stretchy bands. They are washable and reusable, too. On a scale of 1 to 100, this product gets 100+. And what could be easier, simpler or more useful? Come one everyone, we need to think of something so brilliant and watch the dollars roll in.

Now don't everyone tell me you've been using these bands for the last 15 years. There are a variety of uses for them, too. I shouldn't have thrown out the package that tells you how fabulous they are. Well, just remember, they can stand up to 600 degrees heat, so whatever you need them for, go for it. I do think it said not to use on open flame and something else, too. Uh-oh, what was it?

Everyone's talking about pumpkin chocolate chip muffins. So, I Googled them, and on Joy of Baking found the recipe that appealed to me (mainly because I had all the ingredients and it used butter instead of a keg of oil). Boy, oh, boy, march yourself to Joy of Cooking and you will not be sorry. Best muffins I ever made, hands down.

I could not blog a real blog tonight because cooking does me in. But, now I have food for the next two days, yahoo! Love having food, real food, in the house.

Quik Chik tomorrow or bust.

KEM