Ethel-Val's cupcakes are influencing people. Sweet Tulsa says, I just read your blog! Now I want cupcakes, and I'm going to the grocery store!

CDW wants Eth's recipes because she thinks making these cupcakes for her daughter's wedding, a cupcake tier, or something, might be just the answer. I second that.

Eth, way to go. Oh, and Eth is brimming over with ideas. At Bed, Bath and Beyond yesterday she pointed out a great big unsigned painting. It was a bird standing on one leg, like the big white birds we have down here in Florida. It was very pretty, kind of impressionistic looking and a beautiful turquoise background. Eth says, You buy this and hang it up at home, but sign it, like a real artist, then no one ever knows it came from B, B & B. I have to say, it was a temptation. I told Eth she could sign it "Ethel M." Lots of people do this, I betcha. Once I admired someone's beautiful painting and she laughed and said she got it at Michael's or somewhere. See, it's the EYE. I don't think I have the eye, but who needs it when you've got Eth?

There is only one word for all this cupcake business . . . GROOVY! Don't tell DTD I said that.

Sorry I'm out of cupcakes,
KEM

Remember how I said things come in 3's? Well, today Ethel gave me three cupcakes. Two for me and one for Mike. Wow, she found the recipe online from a cupcake place in New York City, well, she found the cake recipe from one cupcake spot and the frosting from another. Put 'em together and we are talking gorgeous delicious cupcakes, white icing on white cake. I have to say, I THOROUGHLY enjoyed those.

I should have told Eth that I was coming at 2:00-ish because I didn't get there until 1:37-ish. 1:37 would have been to the left of two-ish, making me early for a change, instead of EGGSTRA late. But, of course, we know that is never going to happen, getting there early. I think Eth already knows my number. As a peace offering I brought her just squeezed orange juice from oranges off my parents' little orange tree (note orange X 3). Not to mention I had promised her cookies from my freezer, I made them, but then they crumbled to death and I could hardly hand her a sack of crumbs. Plus, she feeds me all the time, including a sack of Chia seeds, which I'm sure I'm mentioned before because how could you not mention those? I expect any day to sprout into a Chia pig, especially after cupcake time.

Then we went shopping and I bought a noise machine. Before I have always used a fan to soothe my jagged nerves, but the current fan, which is new, likes to play scary electric games. It might turn on, but it might just as well groan in pain for a minute and then whir into action. What's wrong with it? It acts like a real person.

So, I'm going to see if listening to the ocean all night will be the ticket to waking up feeling good. I'm tired of feeling crummy my whole life. If the ocean fails, there are the waterfalls or the rain or the rain forest. I think I'll skip the human heartbeat button. But there is always summer night. Of course, I might be returning the machine in the morning.

Oh, and I bought lids to my new pans. They are glass lids with steel rims, which of course I examined all the lids to find the elusive scratch-free ones (not a good sentence). Eth also picked out a metal plate holder for my cabinet, so I can stack dishes better, now that I have FW Lemongrass salad plates, but nowhere to put them (another bad sentence). Again, we choose only the sharpest. So, we go to check out and the very nice young girl packs everything I bought into one giant sack. That's right, metal scratching on metal, a thought never given. I am bothered. So, after some time, I demurely say, Would you kindly please mind placing these metal things in each their own separate sack? (was that bad sentence # 3?, good enough). So she did. On the way to the car, I say, Wow, Eth, can you believe that girl put all that metal stuff together in one sack, where it would slide and scrape and scratch, after we worked so hard? Eth says, I was wondering when you were going to say something to the girl! I said, Eth, you did not read my blog from yesterday. It was Asian leg massage deja vu, at least in spirit.

And, speaking of 3's, I forgot to mention yesterday about my visit to the bathroom in the doctor's office. Get a load of this. No tp. No paper towels. No soap. That's pretty dern sad. I was forthright with the receptionist. The excuse for no paper towels was that patients throw them in the commode, which leads to unpleasant consequences. I guess.

CDW wrote me today that she is going to make the beef stew. She is sure now that she is highly likely to forget to pat the meat dry, like KEM, because, after all, her mind is like a sieve, easy in, easy out. I will be interested to hear if her meat hits the fire soaking wet . . . or not.

Now you see the cupcakes, now you don't,
KEM

Today was meek and mild. I spent time with a wonderful family friend who is at the age where she could use some help. It's so pleasant to be with her. She's one of those people who rides the waves of life well, and her life has been one big tsunami, so to speak. I really admire her indomitable spirit and her old-fashioned manners and graciousness. When we were riding in the car to her appointment she said, I like being with you, you make me feel good and safe. I thought that was sweet and amusing, and it reminded me of something Annie the cook had said about me years ago. So I asked, Do you remember Annie? Of course she did, she had eaten Annie's Famous Leg of Lamb (still talked about by anyone who was lucky enough to taste it), confessing she had made an embarrassment of herself, Annie's cooking was so good. I continued, Annie said I was like the balm of Gilead. This friend looked at me so surprised and asked, Why?, did she think you were fiery and crackly? Now I'm looking at her surprised so I repeated myself, Balm of Gilead. She said, OH!, did you say B-A-L-M? I thought you said B-O-M-B, the BOMB of Gilead. Listen, it was pretty funny, I have to tell you.

So, we get to the doc's office and have to wait an hour. I mentioned that my niece had made First Chair Violin in the District All-State Competition. My friend looked at me. Allstate?, she asked? Oh dear, she said, I had so much trouble with Allstate. And she did, in an accident from several years ago. She was so relieved to hear that All-State was not Allstate and that Allstate did not sponsor All-State. At least that's what I led her to believe. Now I'm all confused. What do I know anyway?

Since funny things, and things in general, happen in 3's, I anticipated the punchline. Sure enough. I said, Wow, your hair is such a pretty color. She said she hadn't had her hair colored in 30 years because the last time she had it dyed the hairdresser put her under the dryer and it got scalding hot but she didn't say anything, she sat and burned quietly. She just sat there to The End. And The End result of that was her scalp was fried and she had to have spots surgically removed. But what got me, is the same thing would have happened to me!!! My friend and I are TOO meek and mild. My whole head could have gone up in flames and I'd sit there smiling and nodding, not wanting to put anyone on the spot, not ruin their day. I've been in many situations where I've suffered in silence, like when the Dead Sea people buff my nails to the finish and it starts burning because they are on a joyride. "Just Grin" is my motto. Or the time the pedicurist "massaged" my legs. She was a little Asian gal, but her finger strength was unequalled. She was KILLING me, but I didn't pipe up, Could you kindly stop, it hurts? Oh no, Take the Torture. When I got home I took a look-see. I kid you not, right above my ankles, all the capillaries were busted, it looked like well-veined red marble or a fine red tassel spread out. Should have marched right back there on my damaged ankles and demanded my big bucks back. Boy, what is wrong with this picture? Where's my gumption? Why don't I holler something like, KNOCK IT OFF, YOU IDIOT, OR I'LL CHOP YOUR BLOCK OFF! See, that's why, I don't know the middle ground approach, do I?

Then I read something in reference to global warming that amused me: Steve Ellis of Taxpayers for Common Sense said, "Congress should be shaking the couch cushions looking for change, rather than spending cash for everybody to go to Copenhagen." Yeah, that's right, they went and partied on your and my dime. But I loved the picture in above quote. I love it when people paint a picture that hits the nail on the head.

Back to pot roast. It went something like this. Of course CDW had brought to my attention once again that the meat must be patted dry before browning. Not only that, but I wrote in giant pencil letters, PAT MEAT DRY, right on the top of the recipe, so I couldn't possibly neglect this step upon which the whole result hinged. In fact, it even tells you in the recipe to pat the meat dry (see, things in threes). I told her, If I forget to pat my meat dry, just shoot me. Well, I start gathering what I need for the recipe . . . the phone rings. Deal with that. Regain my concentration . . . the phone rings. Drat! Back on task . . . knock on the door. I have visitors! EGADS! So, with all the distraction, trying to converse and cook, the next thing I know, I'm chucking my chunks of beef into the frying pan, one, two, three! Oh, HARK! I never patted them dry. I do a tizzy dance right on the spot. I expect to hear a shot ring out. It really is too late to retrieve those hunks, I do have my limits, so I'm left with patting the remainder dry. Have to be content with that. Hardly.

Then the recipe called for 1 medium herb bouquet garni, where you get to wrap a variety of herbs and smashed garlic and jazz in cheesecloth and tie it up and throw it in the pot. Yeah, right. You can BE SURE that my cloves and rosemary, etc., did not suffocate in cloth but rather got to swim freely in the murky waters of wine, beef broth and tomatoes.

Well, then I don't think I want to make mashed potatoes, too much work, plus, we had them the last two times stepson came over. So I say, Rice. Not long ago I threw out a half used bag of rice because it was many moons past the Best By date. Didn't feel like sewing bean(rice)bags either. So, I have another opened bag in the fridge. I'm afraid to look at Best By date, but I do. Best By: 22Jan10. WHEW! Close call! We finished the leftovers tonight, so that was directly under the wire.

Then I opened fridge to get cabbage thinking cole slaw would be the right touch with pot roast. Then I spy the broccoli I bought the other day when I bought the roast. Phooey! Well, when I bought the cabbage that morning, I also bought cauliflower because, you know, it looked so fresh. But I had forgotten I had broccoli sitting at home. Just recently I decided that each week we must have either broccoli or cabbage or cauliflower, good little roto-rooters. Well, dopey me, now we have all three in one week (see, things in 3's). This is exactly what happens every time you don't STICK TO YOUR DAILY GROCERY LIST and only buy what you need for THAT day -- Trouble In KEMVILLE.

But when my stepson pronounced the roast, Melt-in-your-mouth, it was all worth it. I'm telling you, that young man has really turned out nicely. He's my new favorite person, starting at Christmas when he gave me Wizard Chop. And he has also started writing his thank you notes without harassment. WOW! Take heart everyone!

BTW, when I had leftover pot roast tonight, I swallowed a whole clove.

I leave you with CDW'S latest BOB, Bits Of Brilliance:

KEM Dearest,
Yes, how do those women who work come home and make a meal from scratch? I just read in the Burlington paper this week about the Cook of the Week. She has worked some 20 years in Chapel Hill (30 minutes from Burlington says KEM-In-The-Know, KEM used to live in Burlington) and has come home every night and made a fabulous meal for her son and husband. They rarely go out to eat. She works with fellow nominee, Patricia (remember Eric and Patricia from years ago? [yes, KEM certainly does remember her, she's a lot of fun])...both women got raves from their husbands how they work all day and then come home to make super-duper gourmet meals like Horseradish-Crusted Tuna with Soy Ginger Glaze and Wasabi Aloili....whaaaa? Mouth gaping open with rather dumb look on my face. How the heck do they do such things? I am in the same boat as you...I'm here all day... and can barely pull off a meal of leftovers! :)
OK...must hear about your roast beef meal...and how it smelled and tasted.
Working on the last teacher luncheon details today...tomorrow will be my last duty at Eastern for awhile. :)

Horseradish-Crusted Tuna Envy LOVE,
CDW

CDW slays me. She acts so pitiful and yet she can pull off these extravaganza luncheons for the teachers where her children go to high school, fully decorated according to theme and everything, every week, it seems. They're the talk of the town, I'm telling you. However, I, in my friendly duties, have persuaded CDW that she must give up the luncheons and throw her mighty efforts behind her daughter's upcoming wedding. I've told you how brilliant are the bouquets she made up for the wedding party. CDW is pure Brilliance.

Oh, one last thing. Eth-Val-Toad and I are getting together tomorrow. She has homemade from scratch cupcakes awaiting me -- she doesn't have to ring twice. We discussed the time I should arrive. Well, cupcakes are best taken in the afternoon. Not that that matters since I rarely roll until noon anyway. So I suggested I would come to her house around 1:00-ish, mighty early, but the cupcakes beckon. She wanted to know if 1:00-ish might mean I come at 12:30, perhaps. Perhaps not. I explained that in KEM'S Book of Definitions "ish" means to the right of the hour, never to the left.

I'll bet that old Patricia makes 10 bouquet garnis every night, and in cheesecloth, too. Well, tra-la, I don't even like gourmet food, it tastes like After Shave. Give me ordinary common-sense meals every day of the week, 3 times a day. So there. Besides, my darling OK friend sent me a recipe today where you make little individual potato gratins. It is sliced potatoes, green onion, Swiss cheese and heavy cream. Now that's what I call the salt of the earth kind of FOOD. You make them in muffin tins, just layer, cover with foil and bake at 375*, then tip out. And rather than call them gratins, I think I shall call mine Piles of Potatoes, Two Each. Just like I call Pot Roast, Pot Roast, and never Julia Child's Beef Bourguignon, which I can't even pronounce --trying to roll that off my tongue would be an act of futility.

Bitter herbed KEM who needs the cupcakes to sweeten her up

Yummy, yummy, yummy, I've got love in my tummy . . . meaning . . . pot roast, of course! The full details of this project will be disclosed tomorrow, because of lots of reasons. I will just say that I have new found respect for that Julie who cooked all of Julia Child's recipes in one year. Mission Impossible. This said after my cooking JUST ONE of the recipes, and not even the real deal, I found an abbreviated copycat version on the Internet and totally skipped the 24 pearl onions bit. After just getting the roast prepped and in the oven, the idea of peeling the skins off 24 itsy onions made my toes curl, more than they already do naturally. Not to mention I still have the bag of sprouting pearl onions leftover from Thanksgiving sitting on top of my washing machine. Really, the pearls are now empty, just the shivery skins and scary sprouts, like a super model, only empty inside but not as pretty on the outside. Like a papery prune. Anyone who does that does not deserve a fresh crop of pearl onions. AND, I don't work full-time like that Julie. What is the woman made of, for crying out loud??

So, just trust me on this, I cannot strike another key, in fact, after just rereading what I wrote above, it makes scant sense.

KEM, no Julia Child, no Julie either

A couple of my friends were very helpful today. Ethel-Val suggested rubbing my temples with lemon rind and then posting a massive strip of rind across my forehead, well-concealed by a bandanna, of course. This because of my migraine headache (fancy timing E-V should come across this tip just today). Well, this idea reminds me that once my University Chancellor said in chapel that to cure motion sickness (he got my attention) you place an ordinary brown paper bag on your stomach. You do? I should keep an ordinary brown paper bag in my glove compartment or purse, because whenever I'm car sick, where is the ordinary brown paper bag? Not at my fingertips, nor anywhere on the planet, rest assured. I've proposed this idea to several people over the years and the 100% guaranteed response is merely a look that says, You've got to be kidding. You know, chin tipped down so eyes can roll up and give you the murder stare, words unnecessary.

Then, CDW was emailing about my Julia Child pot roast. CDW and I always end our emails with some kind of LOVE. Like, Cozy Cabin in the Woods LOVE, which cabin we intend to escape one day with good books, old movies and comfort food galore. Or whatever is appropriate at the moment LOVE. It can get pretty crazy. I've actually saved all our emails because you can only think of all these kinds of LOVE once. Maybe someone will want to read them one day, you know, like the whole world. Here is an excerpt from her email:

Just read your blog...yes, dear...I am having troubles with motivation. I could sit and stare all day...really, I could. I washed Lauren's sheets and they are in the dryer...just washed some sweaters. They will have to dry on large beach towels strewn all over my bed. I hate that. I wish I had room for the old drying racks I used to have. Whatever happened to those things? Probably sold them in a yard sale years ago.

Tell me how the Julia Childs roast turns out...would love to cook like that. I need to own that movie and get inspired again. I LOVED Meryl Streep as Julia...wonderful job. Mary and I love how they cook and EAT in that movie...love how Amy Adams eats and talks...looks mouth watering for some reason...as she eats and talks at the same time. :) Not many people can carry that off.

OK...talking about food has made me hungry. I think I will have a roast beef sandwich with carrots and broccoli and hummus. Not the kind of food we were talking about...but it will have to do.

Patting your meat dry LOVE,
CDW

So, you can see why CDW'S emails are so marvelous. She UNDERSTANDS; she is unmotivated, too. Somehow, that motivates me. And when I get motivated, then she gets motivated in return. It's a dandy, non-vicious circle. Then, she sheds sparky material on my material. I loved the bit about Amy Adams chewing and jabbering at one and the same time. I, KEM, for one, could not pull that off, oh no, I'd have tads of food shooting out like nails from a bomb and sticking on everyone's face or, worse, into their mouths. That's just the way it is.

Well, also, haven't you had things disappear with only a misty recollection, like the sweater racks? Recently, I wondered what happened to my big bulky dining table protector pads (emphasis on big and bulky). They are probably hanging out somewhere with CDW'S sweater racks.

But. But the best thing CDW said was, Patting your meat dry LOVE. Yes, when I watched the movie and whoever talked about patting the roast dry before browning and how crucial that was, the whole recipe hinged on that, yes, I think I read an article in the paper, too, when the movie came out about pats dry, well, me thinks, OH, this movie was worth it for that tip alone --now I shall NEVER forget to pat the meat dry. NEVER. Correction: I shall never forget to pat the meat dry UNTIL I actually finally get around to browning the roast, lo, these many months later, the defunct Mr. Meatman making it even later. It's true, until I read CDW'S sign-off, patting the meat dry was as far from my thoughts as winning a gold medal in figure skating in a couple of weeks. That's pretty far, people. So, I have CDW to thank for completely saving the roast, and thus the day, the day being tomorrow. Even saving my mind, because my self-disgust would know no limits if I failed to pat my gorgeous hunk of meat dry. Not that it's wet, is it? I don't wash beef, do you? At any rate, CDW, THANK YOU VERY MUCH LOVE, KEM. How could I possibly have forgotten something so vital, the whole point of the movie??

Eth-Val is also great because she has offered to come help me clean out my closet and make fun of all my clothes as we go. Well, that is a superb idea except I cannot let her in my house to see what a slob I am. So, the next time I go visit her and we eat more cinnamon toast and examine the latest choppers and bury more frozen toads, I will produce a bag of my clothes, whisk it out from behind my back, and she can tell me right on the spot, Yay, or Nay. I have a sure feeling the Nays will have it. Ethel has very good facial expressions, so I am looking forward to this. I think I will bring a pair of tongs so I can lift the articles of clothing directly from the bag and drop them straight into the fireplace. This time, I will spare the Goodwill.

Today I had a thought that I should drastically downsize my life and daily expectations. I decided that I exist in a constant state of anxiety because my vision of accomplishment is so grandiose and thus impossible to attain, thus leaving me in a constant state of deflation. If my ideas are diminished, then isn't that just THE ANSWER? I really believe it is. It's so simple, why didn't I "get" this before? They do say old age is good for something. My sister says it's good because less hair grows on your legs, patches become hair-free. Bring it (old age) on.

Coming to the end of today's blog . . . ahem . . . My husband is very lucky to be married to me. Here are a few things that make me happier than happy: a new bar of soap; clean sheets (which happens tonight); egg salad sandwiches; The Andy Griffith Show; diamond dust earrings; taking the cooperative Jazz on a walk; emailing. Boy, I'm a piece of cake to get along with, homemade layer cake another happy thing. Which reminds me, I have the best chocolate layer cake recipe, it's called Easy Does It Chocolate Cake, and it is Ethel-Val's recipe from years ago. Hmm, maybe that sounds good with JC's pot roast, but I don't want to go nuts, you know. Or I could use Eth's pot roast recipe, which is easier than JC's and Eth promises it's delicious, which I have no question. Then I would have time to make cake, like Aunt Bea. Good thoughts are just oozing out of my migrained head tonight. Bring on the lemons, too.

Concentrating FULLY on patting the meat dry,
KEM

Monday has come and gone and I have absolutely nothing to show for it. Besides watching a reality tv show about the ice skater Johnny Weir. Oh, and when I took my friend to the grocery store, I spied then picked up a gorgeous hunk of meat to finally make the Julia Child pot roast on Wednesday. So there. I have the meat two days ahead of time and it had nothing to do with Mr. Meatman. Mr. Meatman is a wispy, curling foggy vision of the past, wafting away into nothingness, about as good as gone as your breath on a cold night. Speaking of which, it is cold here again.

And I did discover that chicken pot pie over toast is not nearly as good as chicken pot pie under crust.

And I have a washed dog.

Oh, and you know how things interest me? Well, I read in the paper who won the Golden Globes. It interested me to see that the only two movies I've watched in the past year, more or less, both won best actor awards. Meryl Streep for Julia Child and Robert Downey for Sherlock Holmes. My grandfather loved Herlock Holmes, who doesn't? But for a period of time of great length when I was a kid, he insisted I read The Hound of the Baskervilles. He gave me the book and everything. I never read it. One of my great regrets in life, because he didn't ask much and I feel I let him down. Even worse, after I had to keep saying, No, to his question, Have you read the Hound?, or fudging, at which I am terrible, I finally lied and said, Yes. I can't remember, but he probably asked questions and I probably changed the subject. Okay, true confessions. Do you think if I read it now, that would do any good? Yes, I think I must read it soon. Wonder where it is.

So, I guess you could say the dailyness of life, or the awareness of such dailyness, has ground me to a perfect halt. Can't get motivated for anything for two consecutive days. If anyone wants to tell me what this is all about, I'm all ears.

Another thing, I'm SO HUNGRY all the time. Cold weather is definitely not good for my figger. What can I go eat?

Shall we try this again tomorrow?

We shall,
KEM

Why don't we hear from Benjamin Franklin tonight, since we haven't heard from him lately. And also because KEM likes to give you the gift of a quickie blog every once in a while. And also because she is too poo-poopey-doed to write anything original tonight. Yeah, so the truth worms its way to the sunlight. She's pooped from going to bed at 5:00 AMish the last two nights. And also from watching USA Figure Skating Championships. Anyway, Benjamin wrote a very nice little poem:

Hide not your talents, they for use were made.
What's a sun-dial in the shade?

KEM probably would have written it like this:

Hide not your talents, for use they were made.
What's a sun-dial in the cotton pickin' shade?

I think my version has more rhythm, my apologies to Mr. F. Of course, I would never have come up with a smart little poem in the first place, so easy for me to improve upon Ben's brilliance.

Speaking of cotton pickin', I may just skip all my cotton pickin' little chores tonight and start fresh tomorrow. Like they say, The chores ain't goin' anywhere. I think Monday should be my big cleaning day. I'm tired of having the grim thought every day of the week, Umm, I didn't get my housework done yet. It'll probably kill me to do it all in one day, but the trade-off will be mental freedom -- Ahh, the house is clean and now just light maintenance. Isn't that a thought to hold tight to? Of course, if I'm killed off, mental freedom probably won't be doing me a whole lot of good.

Okay, don't forget to bring forth your talents to the light of day, just like the little worm of truth. I don't suppose the worms froze to their demise in our chillinesss, do you? They were cozy deep underground.

COZY, SHADY LOVE,
KEM