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.