In my neighborhood there is a Crime Watch Lady. She gets the scoop. She tours the streets. She's on the prowl 24/7 and she is on a mission. That's because a few years ago her husband went to get in his car to leave for work, he's a doctor, and was met by armed robbers. Who then stormed into the house holding everyone at gunpoint, including a little niece who was visiting. I guess they got rid of the wretches by promising them anything they wanted and begging them not to shoot. Wow, way to start off your day. This hit the newspapers.

Well, of course this lady was totally traumatized. But instead of folding up (as KEM would have most likely done), she got busy. She organized a Neighborhood Watch. She got in her van and took charge. She approaches hoodlum drug boys. They're afraid of her. She writes newsletters and tells us to turn on our porch lights and arranges for educational meetings and plans block parties with K-9 dogs for entertainment. I'm telling you, she's a whiz. I even rode on patrol with her one time. I think, after being with me for two hours, she got the idea I wouldn't be very good at shaking my finger in the faces of delinquent teenagers, 'cause I only got invited to ride one more time, and that only because someone else bailed. Thank goodness I couldn't make it the second time, not my cup of tea, trust me.

But that one time I did ride, and it's a ride, I found out her entire life story, including that she makes a mean pot roast. And furthermore, this lady only has one leg. That's right, she's an amputee. That oughta scare the drug gangs silly; when they see her torpedoing straight ahead on one leg, waving her crutch, they'll scatter like a startled school of minnows, never to gathered as one again. The woman has that certain something . . . presence. Which we know KEM does not have, she can't even get by the Dead Sea Cosmetic Kiosk in the mall. I'm so scary the drug gang would make mincemeat of me in two one hundredths of a second (Olympic talk here).

Well, since I have recently started taking my poor neglected dog on long walks, like we did in the day, we run into the Crime Watch Van. Crime Lady loves to hand out Beggin' Strips to all the dogs she sees, which we are talking plenty of dogs, like the book, Go, Dog, Go! Well, Beggin' Strips are not, in high likelihood, organic. My little Jazzi is so SENSITIVE, just like her ridiculous mother, me. So, I don't really want Beggin' Strips, of perhaps questionable ingredients. But Jazzi wants them. In the worst way. One time I held the Beggin' Strip in my hand and got Jazzi to walk an extra mile, following and panting my Beggin' Strip-laden fist.

Well, Jazzi is the Treat Queen, a little background here. Mike takes her to the bank and the dry cleaners and they hand out Milk Bones. Jazzi scrambles across the car seats and hangs out the window, her little paws a goin', when she realizes she's at the dry cleaners drive-thru or where have you. She positively hyper-ventilates. With her daddy she knows she has a pretty good chance of a daily trip to one or the other. Seriously spoiled. Not to mention she gets treats at home for anything and everything: going potty, being bored, doing a serious walk and not a sniff walk, getting a bath at home, getting a bath at the groomers, going to the vet, going to the pet store where they lavishly hand out new and exciting treats and it's way better than the bank or cleaners, having workmen and guests give her treats so she won't kill them, looking cute, breathing, etc.

Well, tonight the Crime Lady broke up a whole big Beggin' Strip into tiny little pieces, since Jazzi is a tiny little dog (not as tiny as she should be, thus the long walks). She, the Crime Lady, even waited at the stop sign while we walked the half block to the van. This gave her the time to snap up the Strip. But remember, even while I appreciate her kindness and utter devotion, I do not necessarily approve of Beggin' Strips for Jazzi. So, to please her, the Crime Lady, and to please the other her, Jazzi, who is crazy dancing, she catches on fast, I gave Jazzi one little piece. Then I stood and talked while Jazzi did more attractive little dances to get more Strip out of my fist. But I did not buy.

So as we walked home, I was like Hansel and Gretel, dropping pieces of Beggin' Strips on the parkway, very discreetly so Jazzi didn't realize. I'm sure all the neighbors are thrilled about that, ha, ha. The squirrels are gonna have a heyday. Jazzi was convinced that if she hurried home she would get millions of nibbles of Beggin' Strips (I just LOVE the name Beggin' Strips). This is why she was too preoccupied to see her mean mother dropping the treats left and right, like we were lost and would be rescued as police followed the Beggin' Strips Trail. Right to my front door, almost. I sincerely hope the Lovely Crime Lady does not find out my dastardly deed. But she will, she is on it already.

Well, until that third to last line, this story was not a literary exaggeration. It was the whole truth and only the truth.

Had ice skating break tonight. I like a break, I needed it. When the men skated, I became stiff as a board, every muscle tightened to the max. These things just make me so nervous. Once a girl who grew up in Mike's church became Miss Florida and was in the Miss USA pageant. Oh my, I was a 100 car train collision, a personal wreck. She finished in the top 10, and should have won, of course. This, my friends, is how I do competitions. Not real smoothly. NOT like Apollo Anton Ohno. Oh, no, not KEM.

So, tomorrow, which is today, I am all juiced to see more ice skating, now that we have one gold medal under our belt, courtesy of the charming Mr. Lysecek. I think my nerves can calm down some.

Man, I am starving. I am going to go eat an avocado dolloped with mayo and squeeze some orange juice. Here's a good tip: DO NOT BUY Butternut Cookies from Rollin' Oats. They are delectable and you cannot stop eating them, even when they are intended for your neighbors who just moved in next door two weeks ago. Or maybe three.

Crime is under control, but Beggin' Strips and Butternuts are not,
KEM

KEM is dudding out with a headache. The stress of the Olympics is just too much.

Evan Lysacek is even better off the ice than on. Wow, if we could all be so gracious to our "enemies." I can't believe the Russian's comments, maybe it's a cultural thing? Whatever, Evan is one smooth kid.

I'm rooting for Belbin and Agosto in ice dance. My favorite performance tonight in compulsories, though, was by the Canadians. Gorgeous. They are in 2nd place, if you didn't know. Belbin and Agosto in 4th.

For an up-to-the-minute Olympic update, just check in with Living Dust.

Reporter KEM

Well. The men's ice skating tonight was pretty fabulous. GO USA!!! The skaters delivered the goods, a real treat. My favorite music was in the short program, though, where a Japanese contestant skated a Flamenco dance. Now that's sassy and appealing. Much better than some of the funeral dirges I've heard. Really, why not skate to something that's winsome? I remember when Gordeeva and Grinkov skated a Flamenco and it was the cutest thing I ever saw.

I enjoy that Flying Tomato person. Tonight in an interview he said that if the White House were watching, he would enjoy an invitation to meet the president, he would be very inclined to accept such an invite. Pretty funny. Flying Tomato has such a happy little face.

I've had a good week, getting to spend time with some extra nice people, very classy and gracious. It refreshes the soul. I always enjoy spending time with people who are nicer than I am and who have their act together. I feel like such a little worm in front of them.

Okay, being true to blogetting during the Olympics, see ya later. And I hope something very charming happens to everyone reading this, happens soon.

Flamenco KEM

Mike informed that he does not like stretchy pancakes, either.

KEM

Hey, I just lost my blog. Something different happened. It didn't register.

Thank goodness it was just a blogette, which I shall recompose tomorrow. Rats. I don't like it when this happens, not one pretty little speck. By tomorrow I won't remember just how I said it, if I remember it at all. But too tired to write twice tonight. It's 2:16 AM.

Going to soothe my jagged noives with cinnamon toast,
KEM

Mike and I have an irreconcilable difference. He won't eat pancakes for dinner. I love pancakes for dinner. I love and adore pancakes for dinner, and he doesn't want breakfast for dinner. PICKY! I'm set to try out Pioneer Woman's Perfect Pancakes. But I will also be trying CDW's pancakes, she invented her own recipe and included brown sugar...'nuff said. Also, CDW's kids preferred their mama's cakes to PW's. May the best pancake win, which of course will be CDW's, I am very partial.

So, there are a lot of pancakes in my near future. Wonder what Mike will do. It's so great that Log Cabin now boasts NO HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP on the label. It's about time. I love thick pancake house kind of syrup but didn't buy it for years because of bad old ingredients. I love pancake house pancakes. They are stretchy. Once I asked at International House of Pancakes, or someplace, What's your trick for stretchy pancakes? The waitress said the trick was to beat the batter for an hour. Oh, and to add 7-Up to the batter, or something like that. All this amused me, as every pancake recipe I've ever read says, Do NOT over beat the batter, leave lumps. Well, I like my pancakes at home, but they are definitely not stretchy texture, they are more crumbly. As far as 7-Up, I really don't know what to do with that. Howard Johnson's used to have terrific pancakes, so did The Garden Cafeteria. I even wrote a letter to the editor about The Garden's pancakes and the whiff when the waiter brought them to the table and lifted the silver dome with his white gloved finger. Oh, I can still smell that wafting cakey steaming aroma. And the syrup smell, love it. You know, you open the door to any place serving breakfast and what do your lungs inhale? Syrupy air particles, of course.

Well, the reason I wrote a letter to the editor is because the newspaper printed an article about The Garden's famous murals painted on the walls. Banyan trees with monkeys swinging from them. It was truly fascinating. Now they want to take down the building, but what to do with murals painted on the cement walls? Since some of my fondest childhood memories are associated with The Garden, I had to write and express myself. I don't do well with change. Bad change. My mother knew the children of the cafeteria owners so I wanted her to ask if they still had the recipes. But of course they did not. Honestly. This place had a fish pond with a bridge over it. And, being called The Garden, it had plants everywhere. Truly, it was like dining in the jungle, except the waiters had white jackets. The lines on Sunday after church would wrap around and around. Sometimes I ate there twice in one day. My grandparents took us kids for breakfast so other people could get ready for church in peace, and then again for lunch.

Do any of you know how to make stretchy pancakes? Please give it up, if you do. I was just telling CDW today that some women do not share their recipes, I've had it happen to me. Gads.

One of my best friends growing up did not pour syrup on her pancakes. Where was she coming from? Or maybe she didn't put butter on them, either way, my thought processes could not be reconciled to that.

I think I will be doing a series of blogettes while the Olympic games are playing. I feel a little burned out, not sure why.

Kafeteria KEM

Hope everyone had a blessed Sunday and will have an extra good week, including me. My head hurts from the cold weather and we are getting MORE cold weather right away. Today I looked on a world map and was astounded at how Russia is so high north, I mean REALLY high. Wow, I can't imagine the cold. Those people must have a lot of fortitude. Siberia and all.

With the Olympics I learned that 90% of the population of Canada lives in cities in southern Canada, close to the USA, because it's so cold any further north. Well, think about it, Minnesota sounds frigid to me and Canada is above that. But in Russia everyone has to live in the cold because where else are you going to go and still be in Russia, if you are Russian. And it's all about as high or higher than Canada.

Okay, this is a very pointless blog,in fact, it's stinky, inky, inky, so I'm quitting and trying again tomorrow. I think I'm disturbed that the Canadian pair that fell and gave a flat performance got such high scores. Is it all rigged, or what? But I loved that the Canadian guy with the brother who has Cerebral Palsy won the mogul, first Canadian gold medal at home ever. Very cool.

What am I now? An Olympic recap newsperson? Or, worse, a weatherwoman? Gag.

Not moving to Russia anytime soon,
KEM