Hallo Again, CDW has the floor: I was reading about your perfect tomato, cramped counter space (can SO identify!) and mopping (inspiring, btw) and then I see CDW down at the end and her dreaded word...panties. Amen to that. Hate it. Underwear...by all means, unless I just want to be silly and use that disgusting word just for an unwholesome effect :) KEM here, I told you CDW doesn't like the word panties. Let it never be said KEM did not tell you how her pot roast turned out tonight. Normally when I cook, I go, Rats, this tastes pretty much like nuttin'. However, tonight was different. The pot roast sent me into a state of delirium and I started bragging about it to anyone who would listen, which would be Mike, stepson, DT-s-D, Jazzi and Robby. Yes, we had a full house for a change. Even Robby was back from the hospital and his surgery. Robby being gone for 3 days is a very bad and lonesome thing. At the vet's he hisses like a wild animal plucked from the jungle, he growls and makes scary sounds I've never heard before. It all started on his first visit when he went under the bench in the examination room and the vet tech reached under there and grabbed him by the scruff. Imagine that. It was complicated by a board running under the bench, you know? He had to be extracted from the back corner and maneuvered around the board. Robby has never been man handled that way and that was the end of being Sweet Lil' Rob. When they went to draw blood he went completely ape and scratched the tech and there was lots of blood...from the tech. They had to give him (not the tech) funny gas to actually get any blood. Robby loves his mommy and daddy and has little use for mean old vet people. Ain't that sad. Stepson wants to know what we do to our pets that makes them not like other people. But that isn't even true. It depends on the person, any cat or dog knows that. When the techs came to pet him in his cage the last three days, he pulled out his vocabulary again. They couldn't get near him. But when I picked him up today he was pleased as punch and no naughty sounds. I stuck my finger in his cat carry case and he just let me pet him and looked pleased. The doctor watched and I was very proud. Were we talking about pot roast once upon a time? Okay, first off, Sweetbay Supermarket has lovely meat. Just gorgeous. I get the enticing looking roast that has a yellow blazing sticker: $3.00 OFF. That is the roast for me. You bring it home and cook it on the last possible day...why not enjoy aged meat, after all. Get out your Le Creuset, I hope you have one. If not, that is what you want for Christmas, go jot it on your calendar right now. That's what I got for Christmas once, from my dad and sister. Priceless. Mine is a medium yellow oval and weighs about two tons. But that's okay, after you taste the pot roast. Then you brown it in olive oil...slowly, the recipe in the meat package tells you. Oh wait, first you pat flour all over the roast. THEN you brown it in olive oil. Brown it on all sides. Throw in some sliced onions and near the end of the browning, some garlic. Take that baby right out of the yellow pot. Put him on your wonderful cream colored Fiestaware platter. Now, pour in 1 and 1/2 cups vegetable broth plus 1/4 cup Balsamic vinegar. Heat it up and scrape up the savory meat morsels stuck on the bottom of Le Creus. Sprinkle in 1/2 teaspoon each of salt and pepper. Oh yes, while you are at it, dump in the bacon grease left over from yesterday's BLpT, pT standing for perfect Tomato. Get that hunk of meat back in the pot. Cover with the matching lid. Stick the whole mess in that 325 oven and let it go for 2.5 hours (for a 2.5 pound roast). Now, when the house is smelling so good you can hardly stand it, put that tender beauty back on the washed FW platter. You can reduce the liquidy sauce in the pot, but I didn't have time, since dinner is always an hour late around here. You know, dodging the Christmas china and all. So, I sliced the roast and sloshed gravy all over on the plates, right at the stove. We are not civilized around here and put serving dishes on the table. Look. I am not at all about extra work, refinement be hanged. I'm half zonked by the time the food is ready anyway, then you get to clean up. This is usually why our own cooking doesn't taste so hot. Get it? Then there was Creamy Parmesan Risotto and sauteed mushroom (with bacon grease, again, onion, lemon juice, salt and pepper, be sure and slice the mushrooms thick). Now, I can't help it, but to me this was the perfect pot roast. It melted in your mouth and the sauce was SOOOOOOOOO good, better than with wine. I'm sorry Pioneer Woman, but the meat package recipe was better than when I tried your recipe. I'm sorry Julia Childs...ditto. BTW, I didn't exactly follow the package recipe. They wanted to add chopped dates and go Mediterranean. I didn't have any dates. And they nary said a word about bacon grease. DT-s-D can't believe I cook with butter, oil and grease. Sorry, dry salads are not the answer to the world's problems. Also, recipe wanted shallots, but I had none, so garlic went in. And do you notice how SIMPLE this recipe is? My theory in cooking is that fewer ingredients = better food. Not to mention less work. Win-Win. Okay, it is raining, raining, I'm so happy. We went one LOOOOOONG stretch with no rain. Rain is pure joy, rain, and pot roast. BTW, I know you all cook fabulous pot roast, have for years, but I wrote this in my blog so I won't forget what I did, heh, heh. The cut was bottom round roast. Hey, when my Baby Portabellas came out of the package tonight, they were slimy. And the use by date was smeared so I couldn't read it, don't you just love that, isn't that how it always goes? I noticed the slime in the first instant. So I Googled something like Slimy Baby Portabellas. And sure enough someone else had the same problema back in 2007. And there are such nice people out in this here big world who answered the poor lady. The consensus was 1,000% to Skip the Slime. So Mike and Nick got to run to Rollin' Oats and get a new box of mushrooms. They looked a little over the hill, Mike only checked three packages back, but you know what, they smelled okay, I always poke my nose down deep in the bottom of the box. The Slimies had a strong odor. Anyway, they turned out DEEE-licious. Bragging KEM Hey, can you believe my paragraphs melded again? Something must be done, what is wrong with this machine? Time for some Orangesicle Yogurt. I don't think I spelled Orangesicle right, and hey guess what? Spellcheck isn't working. Maybe my blog site is mad at me for not posting forever. Wait a minute, now Spellcheck has decided to chime in. Orangesicle is striped in yellow. When I clicked on it to get the correct spelling, guess what Spellcheck suggested? (no suggestions) Really, if they can't do any better than that, why bother? Sassy KEM

KEM, the former blogger, is making a ghost appearance tonight. Have you ever had The World's Perfect Tomato? I did. Tonight. It was one of those Ugly Tomatoes from Sweetbay grocery store. It was so marvelous that I concluded life can go on. The tomato was the "T" of the BLT's we had for dinner. I've decided sandwiches are IT. When I was trying to assemble everything I kind of lost my cool. There isn't a lot of counter space in my kitchen and my lettuce was drying in a towel by the sink and ended up spilling into the sink. Trying to clear a spot for the plates...not easy. Tomato juice was running rivers all over. Bacon grease spit here, there and everywhere. And where on earth can I set the jar of mayo? So, finally, I announced to Mike, I am having a very hard time over here, this kitchen is so stupid, there is no counter space, no place to work. He says, If you put the Christmas china away, you would have more room. I say, It's easier to holler about no space to work. He says, I know. Besides, my Christmas china (not really Christmas, it's my better china that I got for $35 at The Garage Sale Store, and it includea a fabulous lidded soup tureen, but normally it only gets hauled out at Christmas, hence, it is Christmas china) is not on the counter anymore. Eleven days ago it got moved to the top of the stove because it got used for my mother's birthday dinner. It got used for birthday because, after all, there it was, and I couldn't have Christmas china hogging the counter when I was having company for dinner. This is because my house is an open floor plan, and whoever invented the open floor plan is not my favorite person. No interior walls, you walk in the house and you see the whole thing, every room, every mess, every counter piled high with Christmas china. The china is not puttable awayable at the present moment because it is only rinsed, not washed. So, there it is, rinsed and stacked on the stove, enjoying all the activity. I promise you, I lead a very busy life. Who has time for small potatoes like stowing Christmas china? Some day I want to tell you how I lost my wedding band in Rollin' Oats. How it just slipped right off my finger and I didn't even know it. Then DT-s-D and I were driving to another store and I looked down and BOOM! Heart attack! NO RING. We sped back to Rollin' Oats and we started cruising the aisles. And there was my ring, sitting in the middle of the aisle in front of the frozen meat case. Wow. I had noticed my fingers would get cold and shrink and I could slide my ring up and down my finger, over the knuckles and everything, with absolutely no resistance. I had actually noticed that in Rollin' Oats not five minutes before the ring fell off. Weird I didn't even feel it. Or hear it. And weird no one found it, there for all the world to see. Except all the world didn't see it, in fact, no one saw it. And it's a wide band, chunky and meaty, ha, ha. My grandmother always kept her eyes to the ground when she walked down the street. She found more coins that way. SHE would have discovered the ring in front of the meat case. She also liked to check the pay phone for change left behind. Or maybe that was me. It's hardly a get-rich-quick scheme, but it's fun. Boy, I don't even know when is the last time I saw a pay phone, do you? Do they still have them? You know how even in the poorest third world countries everyone has a cell phone? They may not have a toilet, but, by golly, they have that phone. My missionary friends told me this. They are in Guyana. I no longer need to tell you my story about my wedding ring hitting the pavement in Rollin' Oats. 'Cause I just did. Speaking of rings hitting the pavement, I no sooner got my class ring at boarding school than I dropped it on the pavement and a chunk of the gold was knocked out. It doesn't pay to play with rings. Feel free to believe me on this very sensitive subject. Okay, time to tackle my midnight chores. I added something, a quick mop with Swiffer mop (the kind you can use dry or wet cloths). It's so much fun. AND, I am here to tell you, that dry mop picks up so much crud I nearly went into a state of shock after using it for the first time. How can it be? All the crud? I vacuum every other day and dry mop the in-between days. It's really shocking, and feel free to believe me. KEM P.S. Just so you know, I had paragraphs in this literary masterpiece. When I came back later to edit it, it had mysteriously melded into one long run-on paragraph. It really ruirns the effect, but I'm not about to correct it at 2:12 AM and still having Swiffer & Friends to party with. BTW, "ruirn" is one of my favorite words in The Help. But please, never use the word "supper" with me. And whatever you do, NEVER use the word "panties" with CDW. It's UNDERWEAR, Ladies. Feel free to tell me the words that make your skin crawl. Thank you. P.P.S. Minny uses "ruirn" in The Help, and the first time I picked up on it was not the first time Minny used it. See, I am rereading and already have found it where I didn't notice it the first time Minny said it. I believe it's used 3 times in the book, but I will let you know for sure, because that is a Vital Fact for your spare brain cells. Reading books twice is a stellar idea.

Mr. Mole makes me nervous.

The brick men showed up early, as in 8 AM early, and started this obnoxiously loud machine that pats the dirt down smooth. I think water was involved. Remember, this is Saturday. I think I'll be making Cherry Cupcakes to distribute to the neighbors every Saturday for the rest of my life.

I look out the bathroom window a few hours later and see Mike standing where the cement part of the driveway ends and the bricks are supposed to begin, where we park the cars. He stands there so long looking down and also talking to one of the men, that I decide I had better throw on some clothes and high tail it down there.

Guess what? The "seconds" bricks that came in from Ohio, all 90,000 of them (really, that's how many the landscaper bought, we use a fraction of those, just a thousand and some), they are diverse sizes. Meaning. Meaning, when you try to do a herringbone pattern or a basketweave pattern, you are in big trouble because the short bricks leave great big gaps here and there (because the shorter bricks are randomly laid). There were several sample patterns laid out and it was not pretty, trust me.

They were going to finish all the brick work today. Instead, we stood around and discussed a long time what might be some options, because, after all, what do you do with huge crates of bricks sitting not only in your yard, but mooching off the neighbor's yard, too? Mike and I and the main brick man talked. Because the Landscape Guy, the Ultimate Authority, is in Colorado hunting. Seriously groovy.

They could lay the bricks like a brick street, just linear. BORING. Not only boring but kindergartenish. Then we thought of laying them linear but diagonally. WEIRD. Don't know if I could embrace that...ever. Of course, being weird is my specialty, so I might have to sleep on that one. Then I thought of extracting the red bricks and doing the driveway with them. And then another color for the sidewalk. Because all the reds are the same size, at least, and all the oranges are the same size, but not the same size as the reds, etc. Several shades of bricks going on, including blueish gray. This way I could still have the far superior herringbone pattern. But it would involved a lot of sorting of bricks and I get the drift the guys wouldn't exactly adore that. They just like to grab the next brick and lay it down. I was informed that one of the helpers could lay 1,000 sq ft of bricks a day and another could lay 1,200 a day and the third guy wasn't as good as the other two. WHO KNOWS.

So, the men had to leave because we have to see what Landscape Guy has to say. I'm guessing he won't want to ship 8,000 tons of bricks back to Ohio. Wouldn't you guess the same thing?

Okay, so all this happened at 12 noon and my day was a big zero from then on. And, of course, that was when my day started, 12 noon. So there you go. This is called, in NC, a Flaw In the Slaw. Frankly, I've very curious to see what LG has to say. I told the brick man to go to the beach for the afternoon. He's from Brazil, btw, and he is all business. I tried to make him laugh and was only moderately successful. He said, I want to work, I was going to finish this job today. I said, Maybe LG will give you a bonus for this surprise FItS (Flaw In the Slaw).

But I like man from Brazil. Yesterday DT-s-D came by when I wasn't home. She tramped through the dirt the long way to the front door. I know this because when I came home there was a nice pile of dirt on the doormat. But we've all been leaving our share of the earth all over the floors, actually. I also noticed a full roll of paper towels positioned by the front doormat.

So I called Mike, Why is there a roll of paper towels by the front door? I don't know, he says, Maybe Robby put it there. Now, obby does like to attack paper towel rolls, but this roll was standing on end, intact, and no claw tears in it. Honestly, Robby did not put that roll there, just absurd. I like to know why a roll is sitting there, 'cause I'm always afraid someone wee-wee'd in the grout.

Next, I call DT-s-D. Hi, did you set a roll of paper towels by the front door? Yes. Aha, what do you know? She said, I was swiping them. Oh. I suggest, I thought maybe you were going to wipe off your dusty feet. She replies, Oh no, you should just be happy I took my shoes off. So I am, so I am.

But that was a bunny hike. DT-s-D also mentioned that the workmen looked at her like she was a Martian yesterday. And here is why I like Brazil man. In-between discussing seconds bricks that, btw, I was told would have variations in color, which is acceptable, size variations, which is not acceptable, never being breathed, he said, Was that your sister over here yesterday? (Boy, that was a bad sentence.) Heh, heh, heh, we won't mention this to DT-s-D, will we? It's not a disparagement of her anyway, but still... I said, No, that was my daughter. He said, She looks like your sister. Maybe he should have put it another way, You look like her sister. Older sister, mind you. By only 30 years.

I might be coming down with something, me is too tired behind the eyes and ultra grouchy. I'm saving my Dr. Deb story for tomorrow, it's kind of a classic. This brick thing, naturally, has me partially disturbed.

You know what a blog really is, at least my blog? A diary. That's just exactly what it is. And a diary for public consumption, no less. Thank goodness only a handful of people read it, and you're all my friends. Whew!

Heck, how come it's already 1 AM? Need to go make a dent in The Help, I sort of only read about a page a day lately. I'm halfway through, and have been for some time. Help!

Buried In Useless Bricks,
KEM

Mr. Mole has been asked to please wait. I had no time for him today. But there is a very good reason for that, which I shall elaborate upon tomorry. If has to do with the fact that my friend Dr. Deb and I should, under no circumstances, ever become anyone's social secretary.

I will never have to worry about someone engraving on my tombstone, SHE WAS A GREAT HOUSEKEEPER. Do you hear that, Mr. Mole? I know you are trying, but I just want you to comprehend who and what you are dealing with.

I'm typing all my letters backwards, so that means time to pack it all in.

Have a splendid weekend everyone! KEM

Hi. My Moleskin(e) Diary told me to wash the dark clothes today.

Okay, so I get them ready, squirt whatever needs to be squirted, and load them into the machine. But I don't start the machine yet because I need to wash the dishes first. This has something to do with not running two appliances at once because our hot water pipe is too skinny, thanks to our handyman. Besides, this gives the squirt time to molder.

Later, I go to start the washer but first I notice more black clothes in the bottom basket. See, I have these four baskets that slide on a rack, one stacked on top of the other. Can you picture this? I'm not real sharp tonight, you're on your own.

Now, I know that I had emptied the black clothes basket. I don't know much these days, but I do know that. So, my reasoning is, A) Mike threw a black something in there while I wasn't looking in the last few minutes. Or B) Mike threw a black something in there while I wasn't looking in the last few minutes. And so on.

Next, I go to grab the black something to add it to the wash. But the black something comes alive and turns its little self and I see a surprised white face.

Robby, none other. I promise you, when he is curled up asleep, none of his white shows. Not his paws, they get tucked underneath. Not his face, it's buried in his neck. Not his underside, either, it's all wrapped up in black. If he's on something black, like his supposed kitty bed that he uses once every 3 months, you simply cannot see him. At all. He knows how to become one with the background. No, he doesn't blend in, he becomes one with it. Like I said, you can't see him. At all. He may as well not be a Tuxedo when he's sleeping. Because his white is as good as not there...utterly concealed.

Well. I think I made that point. But, just so you know, when I was typing, Not his underside either...I had a thought pop into my head that was to be the next sentence. But then a second thought popped in on top of the first thought and since the second thought went with the sentence I was currently writing, I decided to finish that, the part about all wrapped up in black. And just that fast, I lost the first thought that was to be the next sentence. It's killing me, I can't get it back, it's gone for good, and it was way better than all wrapped up in black. It had something to do with the white hair, which is swallowed up in black. Oh, right, I made that point.

My Moleskin(e) was busy telling me what to do today. This is the first day I used it. I made my list in Mole the night before. It went as follows:

Dark load (done, see above.)

Put china away (not done, this is Christmas china, BTW, sitting on the kitchen counter since...Christmas, taking up prime real estate.)

Remove tablecloth (done, I am switching to placemats because I'm tired of tablecloths -- but Robby thinks placemats are great landing pads, 'cause they slide, those placemats {and Robby} were on the floor in two seconds flat -- plus, I want to see my pretty birch wood table for a change.)

Take green tablecloth and cupcakes to Mom (done, see, I have this green tablecloth from Target that my mom admires over and over, then I made the significant discovery that the very same soft green tablecloth, sort of like an almost tiny check pattern, is on the Andy Griffith show, in the later color episodes, it's identical, I'm so proud -- however, this cloth is too short for my table, I use a table leaf, two of them {I said it that way 'cause I didn't know if it was leafs or leaves} at all times 'cause I don't know where else to put them, so my mom, who has been wanting a cloth, is getting it, which is easier than me sewing on ribbon or something to make it long enough for my table, which would never happen in a million years, me sewing.)

Hangers to cleaners (done and Jazzi got two Milkbones in the process.)

Pile papers on desk (done, now I no longer have a collage but rather one neat orderly pile...dealing with the neat orderly pile goes on tomorrow's Mole.)

Copy CDW emails (oops, not done, transferred to Morrow's Mole, I WUV U, CDW.)

Mop kitchen floor (done if I ever finish this blog.)

Cupcakes to new neighbor (done, I'm way ahead of schedule, he moved in only 2 months ago.)

Isn't Mole wonderful? I do what the Mole says. Well, I do most of what the Mole says. As punishment for not doing ALL the mole says, I must start my day tomorrow attacking the Christmas china. That's right, it's a fight and the china has me hidden in a bunker in fright. I have to vacuum and wipe down the open shelf over the refrigerator where this china sits all year except for Christmas dinner and then the however many months on the kitchen counter until I rally my troops. Then I have to rewash the china, because, after all, it's been sitting there collecting dust EXACTLY two months. All of this, the enemy, intimidates me.

I'm sure most of you are dialing the psychiatric ward as you read.

Tomorrow is scary, not only is Mole standing over me with a stick for the china, but Mole says I must vacuum and put away our suitcases from the trip to Germany, which was OVER two months ago. If that made your jaw drop, this will make your teeth fall into your lap...my suitcases from my trip to see my sister in September are still hanging around with their mouths gaping open. And these are NOT the suitcases we took to Germany. Our suitcases are very chummy with all the huge wasted floor space in master bedroom. Robby enjoys napping in them. Suitcases are black and so is Robby, 'member? Robby can go incognito at any given moment.

Okay, Mole made me a half-way success today. AND, I did something not on the Mole list. I ground the coffee beans Mike doesn't like and he took them to work to share with all the unsuspecting. That, my friends, is one less item on the kitchen counter. And I've almost got the coffee grinder cleaned up, I do it in stages. First, I tap out the remaining grounds. Then I go check my email. Then I get a brush and whisk out more grounds. Then I go tend to Mole. Then I still have to get a damp paper towel and wipe out the residue. I looked this up online and found the instructions, 'cause I don't know where my Owner's Manual is. I was very proud of finding a downloadable Owner's Manual online. Now, you know I've cleaned the grinder before, but it's been a while. And I was right, you can't immerse it in water. But I'm the type who machine washes pure wool sweaters and they come out like dolls' clothes.

Anyway, I am learning to break chores down into micro steps. It works for me.

This is the weirdest blog. I'm TIRED because every day while I'm still sleeping, I'm really anticipating/waiting for the sidewalk workmen to show up. After their Buzzy Bee Monday, not a whole lot has happened. On Tuesday two men dug a hole for a couple hours, including lunch on the back of their truck. Wednesday...a total vacuum (I just must love that word), meaning, no one showed up. Today, six white plastic pipes were deposited on top of the dirt. Please, grab the smelling salts. People...tomorrow is Friday and we all know what that means.

I'm hoping to dream of the sentence that poofed into my mind and then poofed out again, like a genie. Lost thoughts, it happens to me A LOT.

LOT A LOVE,
KEM

How is it that at 10:20 PM I am sitting here at the computer, all chores completed hours and hours ago, and all that is left is to peel hard boiled eggs?

Furthermore, how is it that I did all this, all this including washing the dog, cleaning the shower, changing the sheets and washing the litter boxes outside, among other things, but those I am the proudest of, on exactly 1 hour and 30 minutes sleep last night?

And, I visited my parents and Muffy AND supervised (meaning, I had one eye on it all day) the demolition of our now former gang plank walkway (YAY! for history), railroad ties (Roach Motels), wall surrounding ug-ee patio off the dining room (at front of the house, naturally) and inferior quality shrubs and decorative trees (eyesores one and all).

The day started like this. Got in bed around 4:30 AM, I'll tell you why in a minute because it is not my usual reason I go to bed when the rest of the eastern USA is fixing to get up. Stared at the same page of The Help for about a half hour. Gave up and tried to sleep, but stomach hurt.

Finally fell asleep at 7 AM. At 8:30 AM Mike comes rushing upstairs to announce the work crew is here and that I should get up and see to things. Now you have to understand, we weren't told exactly which day the work crew would show up.

So, trying to bury the fact that I just had 1.5 hours of sleep, I peek out the upstairs bathroom window and see trucks galore up and down the street and Hispanic men swarming the yard like flies on your picnic hamburger.

The next thing is, they are tearing up the yard. HARK! We can't swing doing this whole project in one fell swoop and have divided it into Part A and Part B. I'm here to tell you, we are starting with Part A, the hardscape, and the crew was delving into Part B, the landscape. Totally backwards and months out of synch.

Well, good, how great will this be, to have a dirt naked yard for the next 9 months?

So luckily, Mike comes back in and I order him back out there this instant and tell them to knock it off. Then I call Mr. Todd, Landscaper Extraordinaire, rated A+ by BBB, and say, Hello, your crew is tearing up our yard.

And that's how my day, on 1.5 hours sleep, started.

But I was not deterred. Sleep was impossible now, not only due to the noise factor but because I had to have that evil eye on. I've mentioned several times to various people wandering about, DO NOT CUT DOWN OUR CAMPHOR TREE (which only MAKES our house, it's front and center in the yard, huge and impressive and beautiful) AND DO NOT CUT DOWN OUR OAK TREES (lined up along the edge of yard and alley and simply essential to my well being).

So, I jumped into work and kept at it and here I am. I'm sure you're not believing this.

BUT, last night, see, Mike and I made a deal. I want a new kitten so Robby can have a playmate (since my initial idea for Jazzi and Robby to be pals hasn't materialized, really, in animal years, Jazzi could be a young grandmother to Robby).

So, guess what? Mike says, You can have a new kitten IF you clean and organize the whole house. That's right, the WHOLE house.

So (love that word), I stayed up all night and started organizing and cleaning the whole house, the first three hours of which involved sorting and reading ancient newspapers.

Mike thinks he's so clever, he knows I will never get a new kitten now.

But he'd better think again and think fast while he's at it. He'd better wipe that smirk off his face and reorganize his confidence, 'cause it's gone take a beating. That's all I got to say (reading too much of The Help, I'm gone start talking like them 1960's colored gals, it's very catching -- don't yell at me, that's what they call themselves in the book, it's how it was).

All right, I've left my eggs too long, they gone be tough to peel.

Hey, you oughta see Robby having his new harness fitted by me. It ain't working out none too good.

Tomorrow is another day, I take it.

Til then,
KEM

Today I'm pulling into the bank following a black car that looks vaguely familiar. A Solera, I've heard of those once upon a time. Even the license plate looks like I've see it somewhere before. It has a Florida Gator on it.

Aha! It is Mike's old car which DT-sD now drives. So she pulls off to the side of the drive to gather her wits and banking materials. I pull up right next to here, stop and roll down the window. HA! Nice little surprise! I suggest after her banking transaction she come to the house to pick up her mail, which includes this dirt cheap jewelry she orders online, to the tune of .25 cent earrings. How you make a living selling that is quite the mystery. Why don't they just pay us to relieve them of their earrings?

Her mail also includes a solicitation from Bob Jones University. They want money to transform the dining common. DT-sD wants to know why they didn't have such a modernized dining room and food when she was a 9th grade academy boarding student several years ago. Beats me why they didn't.

She wonders why I bother handing her a letter from BJU, it hits the trash faster than even the postcard reminder from her former dentist, my childhood friend. The postcards remind that DT-sD might want to consider coming in for a cleaning appointment since it's been 1 year, 2 years, 3 years, etc. since the last time she had her teeth cleaned. To no avail have I tried to tell the dentist's receptionist that DT-sT has moved on.

Then she has an invitation to rejoin her monthly hair care products club. And a something or ruther from the bank.

Also in her mail pile, for lack of a better place, a blue beads on elastic bracelet that was part of a bunch of blue beaded bracelets on elastic I gave her for a Christmas present. This stray one I discovered recently, this little set came from my gift box. DT-sD scorned these bracelets many moons ago. But this year after opening her Christmas presents she announced, What do you know, I like everything you gave me this year. She even liked one of the gift bags. She was as shocked as I was. Even though I love to spill beans, I refrained from telling her the beloved blue beads on elastic bracelets were her rejects from long ago. Now they are fashion recycles. He, he, he.

She has been having this sinus trouble for a month. Yet she worked the lunch shift at the restaurant. She said the tables look at her funny when she opens her mouth and sounds like Darth Vader. She has been spending the night with friends to avoid inhaling mold fumes in her sleep. Always sumpin', right?

Hey, guess what? I remembered the brand I wanted to tell you about the other day. I found a great new product. Bottled water. Bottled water you can actually OPEN the top without permanently gnarling your wrist in the process. I tell you what, I'd had it with some of these dopey bottles. One brand, to save money and the earth, no doubt, made their caps so small you could barely find the it much less get a grip and...hello...open it. These caps are clipped on so tightly it's beyond absurd. I'd have ten monkey fits three times a day, just opening my bottles of water. Seriously, life is too short for this kind of nonsense.

So, I saw a new brand of water at Sweetbay grocery store. Kelley Springs. Looked good to me, pure spring water from right here in Florida. But boy, when I got it home and gave the usual death grip to the lid, I was in for a MORE than pleasant surprise. This cap just spun off like a charm, so easily, in fact, I wondered if the seal had been broken. But all the bottles are like that. It's because they only have about three points (instead of the usual 20) where the plastic is attached, you know, the perforated little plastic nibs. BRILLIANT! Even my mother could open it, and that is the grand test of all. It's effortless, I'm telling you. It even feels good, try it.

I can tell you this much, Kelley Springs is the only brand I buy from now on. Period. And there is actually a swimming hole at the springs, too. (Probably not the point where they bottle the water). My mother was great to take us to visit the Florida springs when we were kids. Nothing like jumping in an ice cold natural pool of the purest clearest water. Somehow, though, we never got to this spring, and it's right near Apopka, I think, where we went to boarding school.

Of course I had to Google Kelley Springs, this is how I found out about the swimming. I was Googling because I wanted to THANK them for saving wrists and tempers everywhere. But I couldn't find the exact website...somehow. Now I shall have to telephone instead.

So, I am spreading the word. And just you watch, when I go to Sweetbay tomorrow, there will be no Kelley Springs bottled water and they will tell me they stopped carrying it, in my honor.

My house look so bad that I told Mike he could not bring his visiting boss over here or he might lose his job. Gads. I feel the mood descending to turn into a whirling dervish. But first, tomorrow is my friend's CAbi clothing party, which I wouldn't miss for anything. The refreshments and her house are too fab.

Then I have to pick up a painting I commissioned for Mike's boss. It's a picture of his product can. That's one thing I figured he might not have. Man, I hope he likes it. It's a thank you for the Germany trip he gave us. The artist, my friend, is hoping I like it, too. Jeepers, I hope I do like it. We went out to dinner and we got home there was a message that she wanted to drop it off at our house because she was eating dinner on our side of town. THANK THE LORD we were not home, NO ONE can see my house right now. Not even you.

Okay, run out and buy Kelley Springs water and save your wrists. PLUS, it tastes wonderful, better than any of the others. Robby and Jazzi love it. Robby has been a wild man lately, totally insane, the little sweetheart. He has learned to open the kitchen cupboard doors. Rats.

Good night, my blogging babies,
KEM

JEO says she has no use for restaurants that have their tables two inches apart.

I love someone who doesn't mince words.

Here is what DT-sD had to say when she calls tonight and sounds like she's dying. (Don't you just love when your kids call you late at night and sound like they were just shot or run over and with their last little lift of a finger are calling to gasp their farewell words?)

All raspy and breathless-like, with a lot of commotion in the background, she exhales, If you still claim to be my mother, why didn't you give me your curly hair instead of sinus trouble? (Remember, she insists she is adopted, but I have sad news for her, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.)

Well, that's what I thought she said, so I repeated it back to her and she agreed that that's what she had, indeed, said.

I suggested she move out of her moldy apartment, since she's had said sinus infection for a month. And she does live in a moldy apartment. She can have her old room back here at the house, as long as she doesn't paint it.

Then she wants to talk to Mike. And guess what? Remember that French restaurant I told you about and JEO referred to above? Where we ate for our anniversary 3 nights ago, 5 days after the fact?

Well. It was a cold night and as we left the restaurant, we saw all these people seated at tables outside. And it was chilly, I'm telling you. Now I know why they were eating out there, it was roomier.

But guess who two of those peeps were? DT-sD and her young man. But we didn't see DT-sT and her young man. We were too busy heading up the street to go visit DT-sT at the restaurant where she works. Three blocks in the cold later we are informed she is not working tonight.

So back we go, three blocks. We end up in the French Bakery next to the Cassis restaurant and buy a chocolate eclair because Mike needs change for the valet. Then we slip into our car with our little sacks of French morsels and off we go. TOTALLY unsuspecting.

But in actuality, DT-sD and young man have watched this whole scene unfold. Yes, they have observed our every step while we were in sight. We have never met young man, even though he's been around for 8 months, in and out. Thank the dear Lord my hair looked good that night (for me). It's very unnerving when someone meets you but you don't meet them, even when you find out about it 3 days later. I feel like I was a player in a movie or something. Pretty tricky of them, wasn't it? And now I've lost my big chance. I mean, not two days earlier I asked if we could meet him one of these centuries.

And if this isn't ridiculous enough, I texted DT-sD right when we got home. I said, We stopped by your restaurant to see you tonight. She replied immediately, I didn't work today. I said, We found that out. Then we chatted how she wants a big house and will never have one and I said, Who needs a big house anyway, and then she said, Me. Then I said, Well, be sure you can afford a maid then, and btw I'm reading The Help.

Now, you think about this for a second. She was probably sitting at the very same spot where we walked by not 17 minutes earlier. And I'll just bet you they were laughing all the way to the bank...or whatever.

Now young man is back up north. Can you even believe this? I hope I get invited to the wedding...when there is one...if there is one.

Speaking of The Help, the author is not afraid to have one of the main characters regularly taking the Lord's name in vain (I had to look up how to spell vain in Exodus 20 just now, remember way back when I blogged about the three spellings of vain, but I could only think of two and forgot there was a third spelling until my mother spelled vain for me and I was surprised to find it was spelled not my two ways, I really have a hang up with vane, vain, vein). Hey, maybe that character gets saved in the end.

Anyway, it is definitely not THE HELP who swear like that, they are church going women who have respect for God. Still, it really takes away from the book for me, TOTALLY UNNECESSARY to swear using Jesus and Christ like that. In fact, it curdles my blood. I hope Kathryn Stockett, who is otherwise a brilliant author, is reading this. There, my piece, peace, peas is spoken.

And with that, my friends, I am out of here. You know what? I had a day where I woke up feeling rested, even after small sleep. And not only that, I made chicken salad, felt good all day, my back didn't hurt and I got a lot done in general. I was calm and happy even though my mother got her cast soaking wet...again. And I picked out bricks for our new walkway we have to have installed before someone trips on uneven boards or rides a board to some region under the earth and we get sued. I picked these out with minimal fuss. Fuss, yes, but minimal. AND I feel totally confident about my decision. Will someone please tell me what on earth is going on? This person I just described is definitely not moi (I use moi because I never know if I should use me or I in these situations, so I play dumb). Thank you.

I suddenly have a sore throat. Please pray this is not a you-know-what. Oh dear, I was excessively grouchy yesterday and positively giddy today. This is not a good sign...at all.

KEM

Hi Strangers,

I think you could safely say I am a Blogging DUD right now.

But thank you Dr. Deb and BJH for your helpful comments. Dr. Deb wonders why I didn't heat up my baked beans. L-A-Z-Y, is why. Her family likes Bush's Baked Beans, but she personally doesn't "get" the combo of beans and sugar.

BJH had never heard of comparing baked beans to houses before. Hey, I wonder if that is an idea original to the Universe so far, baked beans and houses.

Mike and I celebrated our anniversary tonight at Cassis, a French Brassario, or whatever it is. I am far from sophisticated in foreign things. When BJH and I were looking at condos recently, we went in this one ultra mod townhouse stlye condo, in a high rise, too. The owner was there and it turns out he is none other than the owner of Cassis, too.

Now doesn't that just beat all, as Barney Fife would say? There are literally hundreds upon hundreds of condos along Beach Drive and we go in about six of them and Mr. Cassis is there. This is interesting to me because for Christmas my dear church friends gave us a gift card for Cassis. And we hadn't used it yet but were saving it up for our anniversary.

Mr. Cassis, does he really live there? By all practical appearances, No, he does not. Nor does his wife. The place was so spotless you could have taken a magnifying glass to the shower door and not found one speck of a dried mineral marring the sheen.

So the Realtor said, This place is so clean it doesn't look like you live here. Mr. Cassis says, in a thick French accent that allows me to completely lose the essence of what he's saying, You are either clean...or you are not. I know he said this because the Realtor translated later. So, I'm assuming they take showers.

I will not be inviting Mr. Cassis to my house anytime soon.

So, at the dinner tonight, where the tables are pretty much stacked on top of each other, which is the French way, I guess, well, when one table of four two inches away from our table got up to leave, I told Mike, QUICK!, say something romantic before the next people land. There was still the other couple on the other side of our table, two inches away, but we had already exchanged pleasantries because she had stolen my napkin before we arrived, which I didn't know yet, and I was looking all over for it. Then she 'fessed up. Was that as clear as French Onion Soup?

Okay, so Mike said, Thirteen years of wedded bliss I wouldn't trade for anything. I said, Even though I'm not the world's greatest housekeeper? And he said something like, Small taters. I wish I remember exactly what he said because it was very sweet and freeing (he may live to regret saying it), but by then the romance was over as we were surrounded again.

But the food is very good, and I'm pretty sure the kitchen is clean, rather than not clean. Mr. Cassis himself was running around enjoying himself, but I didn't say, Hey, remember me?

Today was fun. I went in Borders and all their calendars are $1.00. So what that the year is half gone, I helped myself to Mensa calendar, the kind you tear off a page every day. And each page has a puzzle. This ought to be good. And then I scooped up the tear-off-a page Joy of Cooking. I had that cookbook once upon a time, but it was too deep for me. Too bad I find out now that it is THE cookbook of and for all time.

But I succumbed to the JOY calendar because on the back of the box it showed a cast iron flat pancake griddle, the exact kind I bought at Crate and Barrel with my gift card, which I told you all about in the blog that disappeared. JOY says, How to make the perfect pancakes. So, I bought her calendar, too.

Then there were the little Moleskin date books, miniature ones, adorable. I bought two of those because, after all, they were originally $9.95 for $1.00. One is a monthly calendar, which I bought just for looks, and one is a page for every day where I plan to "journal" houses tasks I need to get to. Maybe if I write it in this sweet little moleskin booklet, I will actually do the jobs, so as not to let Mole down.

I really had something to say besides everything I just wrote. I thought of it while I was vacuuming. And it has to do with brands. Brands of what, Please, somebody tell me. It must be the French banana split freezing my brains. The waiter said he doesn't eat sweets. I always ask the waiter what to order, and he couldn't help me with dessert except to say root beer float. Heck, I can make that at home.

People who don't eat sweets are a breed outside my realm of comprehension, btw. He said he was born like that. Whatever.

One night I was driving around looking at houses in the dark. And I found the perfect bungalow on the perfect street and I was, once again, all moved in.

I drove by the next day, in the daylight of all things. The bungalow had gone from white to yellow in that short span. So I moved out.

Hope I remember what I was going to blog about by tomorrow.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY pretty soon.

Frenchy KEM

Some days a thought just strikes me and I want to start recording these. Wish I had all along, but some of them will come back to me, because they are very practical, like the one below:

Never again will I eat canned baked beans...especially cold ones.

I just won't do it. Why? Because I seriously don't like them and why should I self-torture? They are so BLAND and the texture is unappealing. They don't even taste good.

Now, doctored up baked beans, the kind my mother is famous for at all the neighborhood picnics and outings to the beach, the Better Homes and Gardens 1950's recipe, that is when I will eat canned baked beans, because they don't resemble the original, not even slightly. But plain beans out of the can, nope, nope, nope. Been there, done that, and never again.

I don't know about you, but I am desperately behind on all things pertaining to the house. So, I'm going to bed early in the hopes of getting up early and digging in.

Oh, but I went with BJH yesterday to look at houses. And the bungalow I had myself moved into, based on the darlingness of the exterior, HA! It was as disappointing as canned baked beans on the inside. MORE SO. It reminds me of a story my growing up friend Brooke used to tell me (she loved this story). Her grandfather was once driving along and spotted a girl walking down the road. He could just see the back of her and she had the most gorgeous flowing red hair in the world. But when he got to where he could view her face, it was badly disfigured and he about drove off the road, it was such a shock. He expected breath-taking beautiful to go with the hair. Yeah, that's what I expected of this bungalow.

Well, good to see it and knock it out of my system. The house had waves and dips, cottage cheese ceilings and a super quirky unworkable kitchen which, BJH wisely pointed out, you could see the whole side of the fridge from the front door, through the living room and dining room, no less. Now, isn't that totally super groovy and charming to boot?

AND, all the wood floors were in an abused state. AND, there was some weird tiny half bath added onto the back of the house, off the master bedroom. It didn't work AT ALL. Nice try, folks! (Not to be mean or anything.) We figured out a bachelor lived there. Looking at houses is way too much fun, and I mean that, even though my dream house turned out to be canned beans.

Nothing like moving out of your dream house before you even move in. Moving on to the next fantasy (hear Mike groan).

We have a new member in the family. My parents got a new little Maltese named Muffy. It should be named Precious, 'cause that's what it is.

Have a SUPER weekend, my friends.

KEM

My friend, Dr. Deb, read about my last blog and how I lost it, remember?, Googling Chef Tell to see how many "L's" in Tell? She said she loved that I did my research (my sweet friends always try to look on the bright side of blogging blunders) because that is what makes us interesting, that we look up and read (and hopefully remember) fun little facts. It spices up conversation. Well, thank you, Deb, I would have to agree with you. She is one of the most fun people there is, period.

BJH informed today that the lady yesterday who had the perfect house and is moving to Topeka? Well, she also has perfect penmanship because she wrote down something for BJH. I told BJH I'd heard enough and we can't talk about this perfect lady anymore. It's thoroughly demoralizing. JK...kind of.

Mike comes in after a rehearsal tonight. He asks, Could you please heat up some of that turkey pot stuff (which my dad had made and I went over to collect some of it today...funniest thing ever...what happened)?

Anyway, so I heated it up.

Then I ask, Do you want some cake?

He sure does. So, I give it to him.

I wrap up what's left of the cake.

Then, Can I have some more cake?

Sure you can, but you should have asked me sooner, I just wrapped it all up in plastic.

So, he gets his second helping of cake. Meanwhile, I'm making blueberry pancakes (wanted to use up the sour cream). I'm trying the cast iron griddle again. This time they didn't stick so much, but they didn't cook through, either. Don't you think raw-ish pancakes are one of the bigger culinary disappointments?

But I sit down and eat a plate of four medium pancakes. Yum, raw notwithstanding. There are four more medium pancakes cooling on a plate, except they are covered by the last pancake, which is gigantical, as my friend likes to say. My last pancake of the bunch can be any size whatsoever. It merely depends upon how much batter is left in the bowl. This time it was enough to make two medium pancakes, but you don't know that until you start pouring the batter in the middle of the griddle, and then it's too late and that is how you wind up with gigantical.

Honestly, I can never judge amounts. Like when you have leftovers and you pick a bowl or dish to store them? Well, I have a set of graduated mixing bowls, 9 of them. I am always so far off in the size I choose it's like a comedy routine. Each time I'm thoroughly amazed that I could put a tablespoon of mashed potatoes in the biggest bowl. Or, far worse, you pour soup into a bowl, right up to the rim, with some to spare. How is that going to manage itself in the fridge, besides sloshing itself here, there and everywhere? I just can't stand to dirty a bowl for nothing, so rather than pour the soup into an appropriately sized bowl, I will gingerly slide the overflowing bowl into the fridge. I know, it makes no sense whatsoever. Is anyone as weird as I am?

I decide to eat that gigantical pancake because...why not? Then there are still four mediums left for tomorrow. I also poured all the rest of the syrup I'd heated on that baby. Because...why not, I really don't like to pour leftovers back in the bottle, do you?

Then Mike chimes in, I might just have to have a blueberry pancake.

I said, WHAT?, you just had two pieces of chocolate cake. He said, I didn't eat much today.

So he goes and grabs one of the four with his fingers and carries it over to the table. I said, Now I don't have any syrup left, you should have spoken up sooner, and not only that, I wouldn't have eaten the gigantical pancake, you could have had it, because I just ate it for kicks.

He said about the syrup, That's okay, I'll just use your plate because the syrup left on your plate is enough. Unless you licked the plate. Did you lick the plate?

Since I'm grouchy today, I squawked, WHO KNOWS??

Mike hollers, YOU DID LICK THE PLATE!, "WHO KNOWS?" means you did!

Me...Silence.

Mike totally busted up and used my plate. And that's all I'm saying.

Besides I only have three pancakes for tomorrow. Hmm, my fingers just slipped and punched some keys and now we are italics. I haven't used italics in ages, this is fun.

What is not fun, what is a tragedy, is what happened in St. Petersburg today, which everyone knows about because it is all over the news. God bless those police officers who gave their lives today that we may lay our heads down at night in peace. And, dear Lord, please comfort and care for their families.

So, so sad. I can't stand it. I hope the third shot officer will be all right.

Isn't each day a gift, pure and simple?

Love you all,
KEM

Let me just say that it's a good thing the Steelers won tonight. Or I would be living with one VERY GROUCHY husband. He has his terrible towels waving and his Steeler tie draped over the TV and he's wearing his Steelers sweatshirt and he draped another Steelers sweatshirt on the back of a chair for Robby to cuddle up in with additional sweatshirts gracing the sofa. There are Steeler hats and mugs and blankets. There is even a peel off Steeler sticker on the bathroom mirror. It's been there since the last time the Steelers won the Super Bowl. We have a picture on the wall with a little boy kneeling at his bed. He prays, And please God, let them win this one. It really is a cute poster.

I gave Mike the Steelers tie when we were dating and he doesn't remember that. No Brownie points there, let me tell you.

Today was simply marvelous, glorious. A beautiful nippy winter Florida day with clear blue skies. GAD treated BJH and me to brunch at the club, where I could have eaten at least 7 Belgium waffles, one made-to-order after the next, but that might have attracted too much attention. I didn't want to embarrass GAD and BJH by being booted from the club.

Then we took the afternoon and toured the Old Northeast neighborhood, my favorite, my old growing up stomping grounds. I found the house I want, in the process. Not that we're moving or anything. Not yet anyway.

The funniest thing was when BJH commented that the club didn't have their fancy logo finger tip napkin/towels/things in the bathroom anymore. Just plain old paper towels. BJH said maybe the club was reducing expenses. And clever GAD said, Maybe I'll reduce my dues then. He, he, he. I think if the club is smart they should stash a private stack of elegant towels just for BJH and GAD.

We went in one house that was so minimalistic, neat...spotless, actually. So perfect we thought no one was living there and the house was staged to sell. No junk, just the necessities. The lady said she doesn't like to clean and the solution for that is not to have much to clean. Ain't that the truth, pure and simple. That lady has the courage of her convictions, which is more than KEM can boast. She, not KEM, is moving to Topeka, KS, where I'm sure good old-fashioned common sense is the order of the day. My CDW is from KS, and if she is a sample of KS folk, then KS rules!

BUT, there is something to be said for the lived-in look. That look, I have mastered.

I socialized myself silly this week, loving every second of it. Now it is time to prepare for the second day of the week. I always forget that Sunday is the first day of the week. What an odd thing. Guess I want to chunk the whole weekend into the same week.

Maybe tomorrow I can reconstruct the blog I wrote and lost a few days ago. That will use up some brain cells, which I haven't done lately. Besides trying to take a sample Mensa test, ha!

Cheeri-O!
KEM

Ape is crawling back out of the hole. Not quite ready to be absolutely ape-y, though.

Hey, last night Mike came in the door from choir practice. First thing, he shouts, Did you know Robby was sitting outside by the front door???

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT????????????????

Pardon me, but Holy Smokes!!!!!!!

Now news like that will wake your liver up. (Probably should be wake up your liver, but sometimes the wrong way just sounds better.)

Here's how it happened. Three minutes earlier a strange man came to the front door. Now, I don't like a strange man coming to the front door -- especially when it's dark outside. So, I'm trying to talk to him through the closed front door, it's glass. Jazzi of course is barking up a storm, so I bend down to scoop her up. The man insists he has important papers he's delivering.

So, I open the door a crack so he can hand me the papers. Dumb, dumb, dumb, I know.

I shut the door and walk back to the kitchen, thumbing through these papers. Then I hear that Mike just pulled in the driveway and he is talking to the man out front.

After that is when Mike comes in and asks his dumbfounding question. He said Jazzi was on the inside and Robby was on the outside, and they sat there staring at each other through the glass.

Apparently, when I opened the door a crack to get those confounded papers, Robby made The Great Escape, I didn't see it AT ALL.

BUT, the GOOD news is that Robby is a perfect doll. That poor baby could have run away, but he sat prim and proper, waiting to be let back in. He is brilliant, I tell you. A whole lot more brilliant than his mother!

We've noticed that the last couple of weeks he seems more interested in escaping, like when I open the door to reach for the mail, or when I let Jazzi out back. Which makes it all the more interesting to me that he decided to stay by the front door and not run away.

THANK YOU, LORD. I was kind of numb for a while after this happened. Especially since I'm the one who typed labels for the doors, WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT LET THE CAT OUT. Which DT-sD thought was extra stupid. So who lets the cat out? Moi. And believe me, the labels weren't intended for moi. They were intended for all the other careless people in the world who wouldn't know if a cat slipped out. Funny how things come back to haunt you.

BJH wants to know what I was saying about Chef Tell in the blog that disappeared two nights ago. BJH, that is an excellent question. I will have to think long and hard. Maybe tomorrow I can try to reconstruct that blog. It won't be the same, that's for sure. I can only hope the second edition will be better, right?

The movie Paris When It Sizzles positively puts me sound asleep every time I watch it (so why do I watch it?). I watched it for the second time tonight in recent history (third time in my whole life), having watched it two weeks ago, mainly so I think I'm getting my money's worth for having it from Netflix for 8 million weeks. Anyway, the second reason I watched it again was so I could see if I accurately quoted Gabriella's comment about going ape. I was close. When she wakes up to a whole other day, she goes ABSOLUTELY ape. I went ahead and made the correction in the original blog about that. But you wouldn't know that, so I decided to enlighten you here and now. But I do love the apartment and the clothes in this movie. Half the fun of a movie to me is a gorgeous apartment and clothes.

Listen, some of the new movies coming out, and television. WHOA! Things are getting more and more awful really really fast. I read things and reviews and Christian activist organizations let me know what's up. Let's all join in praying for our kids. This trash is so available 24/7, so thrown in their faces, that they begin to believe it. It's really Satan's great tool, the sexual, evil modern culture. It makes me so sad. Even some kids raised with Christian values, they can't distinguish right from wrong. The new fad is that what their parents say the Bible says, well, that's open for debate, you know, you can interpret the Bible differently. Really? Like premarital sex is just fine? Really, since when, how do they come up with that? It's the saddest thing ever. They probably want to justify what they see their contemporaries doing on TV shows.

Please do lift up these young people to the Lord, that they would learn to love God and have the strength to say NO! and not be sucked into a vortex of degradation that's just going to bring them down, down, down. Sorry to get on this, but I've suddenly realized that the situation is far worse than I realized. Lord, have mercy on us all. And may we parents truly set a godly example, in word and action. And forgive us, Lord, where we have failed. While I'm at it, the churches could be preaching against sin a whole lot more. My church is a Bible-believing church but you don't hear much about sin. Wow, we need to hear it! Loud and clear. God's mercy is abundant but there seems to be a coddling effect going on, really, there are no morals left, hardly. Anyone who speaks up is going to be unpopular, but so be it. The loving thing to do is warn young people to get off the broad path that leads to destruction and get on that narrow path that leads to life everlasting. Even if they don't want to hear it, they have GOT to hear it. Hopefully and prayerfully it will save them soon.

I take responsibility for this, too. I could be A LOT more serious about my walk with God. I'm one of those where the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak indeed. Watery gruel weak. That's me. Well, this has got to change. I appreciate your prayers, too! God is bringing us to our knees, one way or the other. Our children our too precious not to supplicate the Lord daily and ferverently. And, Lord deliver me from giving lip service but having a heart that is far from God.

Soapbox KEM

This is not fun. I just wrote a very long blog and it did not publish. I cannot find it.

Wait a minute...I have an idea. Nope, idea tanked. I can't believe it, I Googled Chef Tell to see if his name had one "L" or two "L's." And when I came back to my blog, it was gone. This is turrible.

So, now I only have time to tell you one thing, besides that BJH is doing it...going ape!

Here's one little juicy piece of information I forgot to mention from the lady of five hour lunch fame. She commented her daughter gave her a COACH purse for Christmas. I am not making this up. It's true.

Oh, I told you all about Robby and his laser toy and also my Crate and Barrel Shopping trip. I'm gonna cry. Ape disappears in hole and weeps.

KEM PS Chef Tell has two "L's."

The lunch today, where I still didn't have a gift? I rummaged up a gift...from home. My first thought was THE ADORABLE infant-sized pewter heart box, you could fit four of them in the palm of your hand, they'd be perfect for one pair of pearl earrings. This I bought last summer in a Black Mountain gift shop. My sister spotted it and exclaimed, Get that for Cheryl's Valentine's party! My neighbor throws these Valentine parties second to none. But last year was the first year she didn't have it because she works full-time and it was just a little too much. Boy, like we can't all relate to that! She invites her same friends each time, with a new lady or two, because Cheryl has a knack for friends. It's just a ball.

So, I bought the heart box that has beautiful designs stamped and woven all over. This is for that gift exchange where the gifts keep changing hands, like you can swipe someone's gift they chose, if you feel good and ornery and selfish. But watch out, someone can make you miserable, too. I bought it in good faith that Cheryl will spring for the party again. And she is, she said recently she was going to have it and I should invite my sister to come down...which took me about 10 seconds to do that.

Therefore, if I gave the heart box to my friend at lunch, which is so tiny it would take up no space in her house, which is a consideration for someone who never met clutter, I am back to Square One for a Valentine party gift. Which is not where I want to be, especially since I love this heart box so much I am already planning on swiping it back. Really, this gift exchange is like a contest, which gift will be THE gift this year? If no one ooh's and aah's over your gift, you sink into the sofa cushion and act dumb and hope your face isn't too red. There are no names on the gifts. I have been mysterious several times. Once they even discussed who brought a gift and pegged it on a lady who had already gone home. But it was my gift. I never said a word.

One year I took home the cute nightie I brought, marched right home with it. My announcement to the crowd was, It is my anniversary today, I must have this. It was pale pink with little black fuzzy hearts all over it. Just barely fuzzy, like velveteen. You know what I mean. Teensy hearts. I still have it but I never wear it because a strap came loose and I lack the industry to fix it. Seriously, I need my NC girlfriends, CDW and CAE would take pity on me and do all my mending, they are both seamstresses extraordinaire. CDW made DT-sD a little darling white hand-smocked gown as a baby gift, that she hand-smocked herself, for crying out loud! CAE made DT-sD and her little friend matching dresses to wear to church, they were pale blue with pink roses and the trim was pink and white stripes. Oh, boy, she made them matching hats, too. CAE also made doll clothes for DT-sD's baby doll, too cute for words. Wow, I'm so blessed with my friends. Don't you just feel the same way about your friends?

Okay, so somehow, I have no recollection how, but I noticed in my kitchen cupboard where I keep my nicer things that I had this vase I'd never used, with stickers still on it. It's handblown and very sleek and pretty. I had bought three of these to have on hand as gifts, well, I think I was planning on keeping one myself because I liked it so much. It's very slim and a darkish bluish green, just right for a single rose or a couple of daisies. I found it last night by accident.

This, I figured, would be perfect for my friend because her house is sleek and modern. She seemed quite pleased when she opened it and said she never buys herself things like that. I interpreted that in the complimentary way and not the other way you could take it, heh, heh. I felt good because I parted with this vase reluctantly, I liked it so much I wanted to keep it. That's the test for me. I feel good giving gifts that I covet.

So...all worked out well and the lunch lasted a measly FIVE HOURS. I kid you not, we sat and gabbed for 5 straight hours. Mike couldn't even believe it, this was some sort of record. Good grief, it was getting dark when we finally left. But I was rapt at her every word. Her birthday was not today, it was earlier January, but, okay, got it for next year. It's on the calendar already.

Speaking of gifts and friends, a lovely friend gave me a copy of the Mayberry Cookbook for Christmas. I've coveted that cookbook many a time, whenever I see it in country stores or gift shops. But some things you show restraint...just because. I'm so happy. Aunt Bee will guide me into happy dinner land.

Another friend commented on my blog that it's nice someone in the world besides herself has the same thoughts. I like that. That's what this whole blog is all about. It's about the elimination of freaky feelings of isolation. You and I are not alone, the next person has the same thought as we do. I find extreme comfort in that, the companionship and commonness of humanity.

Well, tomorrow is a new day. I want to be like Audrey Hepburn's character in Paris When It Sizzles. When asked about her philosophy of life (or whatever it was), she said, When I wake up each morning and realize there is a whole other day ahead of me, I just go absolutely ape! Now THAT, my friends, is a fine attitude.

Going Ape,
KEM PS It's a good thing we went to Germany, which forced me to buy some new clothes. 'Cause now I have something I can throw on and wear to a 5 hour lunch. Black velveteen pants, so warm and cozy, and purple ribbed turtle neck top, it hugs you so toastily, from Eddie Bauer. YUMMY! I must be on a spree, I normally don't shop this much. The spree had better flee.

Hi. I was noble today and decided to save money by coloring my hair myself. Not to mention it was too late to get an appointment in time for my lunch tomorrow. Not to mention I've had a box of hair color languishing on my bathroom shelf, for, lo, these multiple decades. And just one of these days I'm going to clean out all my bathroom drawers and closet and it will be nice to have one less thing to demoralize me when I do get around to it.

The color on the box said and demonstrated (via picture) Light Brown. Good. But, as we all know, that means nothing. Absolutely less than nothing.

My next concern is the age of the hair color itself, which, although unknown exactly, is no less than ancient. Will I have hair when the process is complete? Or will I have to adapt to the shaved look?

Finally, and worst of all, I wonder where the stray droplets of hair color will land this time. Every time I color my hair, which hasn't happened lately, I am positive I have been so careful in application that it is impossible that any colorful specks went anywhere but on my head, their direct and final destination. HA! Who am I kidding? So, today I am not quite so naive, I am prepared. I just hope the strays don't land on my nice cushy white bathroom rug. Please! In my eyes? NEVER! The wood floor is not a good choice either (hence I didn't remove the white rug, that and indolence). These and a million other undesirable landing spots.

So I glopped all the color on and sat around for 30 minutes reading package inserts and directions that had been littering the bathroom counter, lo, forever. Things like the new thermometer and Blink and Clean Eye Drops and KISS ME Mascara (which is tubes going on your lashes). Umm, I had originally typed Blind and Clean Eye Drops, good grief. I always get my d's and k's reversed. And reading another chapter of How Do I Clean the Moosehead and 99 Other Worthy Housekeeping Questions. Something like that.

Now the buzzer goes off and into the shower we go, where more drops of color can fly, but at least this time they are diluted with HtwoO.

The color itself turned out very monotone and dark brown. In other words, BLAH! and just short of hideous But that's okay because I like drab and boring, I cannot stand highlights, which a couple of hairdressers have pawned off on me, on me. I look like an idiot with highlights. Also, we know that within two washes of the head, the color will automatically lighten from drab to something a little more palatable.

Now I'm drying my hair and there it is! The naughty little drop. And I don't need to tell you where it is. It's squarely in the grout line. We've hashed this out before, how grout has magical properties that suck any airborne particle of naughty, like grease or hair color, right into its greedy little jaws. You know, it would be one thing if grout had the area of the Grand Canyon. It just slays me that a thin line can beckon and all willingly comply, with no resistance whatsoever.

I immediately scoured the speck with toothpaste. Then, since that didn't work, I squirted Tilex, which helped. I scrubbed with the German toothbrush we got on the airplane to Germany. But, it's still there, fainter, but there.

THEN, after thinking, There is always a price to pay for saving money, I found a big bad bloblet of color on the wood floor, over by the wall. I dabbed that up, but now the wood floor has a big bad fat dark brown freckle...for good. The wood floor in the bathroom is a nice honey color, sorta like my hair was supposed to turn out.

How I blogged about this, I'll never know. I'll have to save my pitiful Crate and Barrel story for tomorrow. Meanwhile, I'm sorry I didn't buy the adorable honeycomb soaps at Marshall's tonight for my friends birthday present at lunch tomorrow. Her birthday is in January, that is all I know. But I need a gift because she was a doll and gave me a gift on my birthday. I have a one in 31 chance that her birthday is actually tomorrow. It was her idea for lunch but I picked the day.

Yup, I think I'll be flying by Marshall's on my way to this lunch because, really, what do you get the lady who has everything she wants and is the perfect housekeeper (I've blogged about her) and has very high and particular taste if you don't get her adorable honeycomb soaps? Believe me, I tried to find something and I talked myself out of everything. Like I said to myself, I can't get her fancy guest soaps, she probably only uses pump dispensers, because that is neater (even if it's not cuter). And I can't get herAnnie B's Homemade Caramels because she doesn't eat sweets (that's no fun). And I can't get her the cute little purse I got for Crissy because she might carry only COACH (well, she might). This gal doesn't suffer fools gladly (she also has a GREAT personality, I love her). When I got home empty handed, Mike says, It's the thought that counts (meaning, WHY didn't I get her SOMETHING?).

I don't know why I didn't get her something, I was in a daze, a franticky panticky daze. You know me and last second birthday presents! Even though I was looking the night before for this gift, it really counts as the last second because I can only arise early enough tomorrow to allow the exact amount of time I require to get there in just about one piece. And, trust me, that does not include swooping by Marshall's, which is in the direct opposite direction. Because, of course, how do I know if the Marshall's right next to where we are having lunch will have the cute little honeycomb soaps?

Good night, see you tomorrow!

KEM PS The caramels are REALLY good!

Why, since I am reading through the Bible in a year, am I on May 27? Hint, it's not because I started with May 10th on January 1st.

And why, when I have a $100 gift card to Crate and Barrel, can I browse the store for 1.5 hours and find absolutely nothing I want?

And why is Robby's new fishing pole toy, a hot pink and black striped bug, still in one piece? Normally, Robby pulverizes those insects dangling on the string in exquisitely short order. But this black baby with the hot pink eyes and three rubbery strings that pose for legs on each side of the body, so it crawls right creepy-like, has all it's members intact after a week. Although two of the left legs are decidedly shorter than their matching counterparts.

Life is so full of mysterious questions.

Hey, I made tuna salad sandwiches for dinner. I decided to cook like my friend, Miss Orcas. Well, tuna salad is hardly cooking, unless you count I toasted the bread. Still, Miss Orcas can mix all sorts of herbs and spices and nuts and good things together and make instant glorious concoctions. So, this is what I did. Tuna (Robby now gets first dibs at licking the can, then Jazzi gets the rest -- this is only fair, considering). Pepper and marjoram, can't do tuna without marjoram. Bits of onion. Dried cherries, to which I'm now addicted. One little bag is around $8 but they are SUPERIOR. Some kind of seeds, little ones. The seed bag is now in the trash which is now in the curb container which is now in the rain. I think I'll pass on fishing for that one. Oh, btw, glorious rain!!! Thank you, Lord. We have been perilously dry here in St. Pete.

Okay, mayo. Then on toasted bread I spread mango chutney. Slapped all this together and wow, I've turned into Miss Orcas. Well, not quite, but it was fun. And tasty, too! Even texturized. (?)

Have I told you that my dear friend sent me a link, which is now one of my favorites and I use it several times a week. I think I did tell you, but in case you missed it, it's http://www.stilltasty.com/. Yes, I've told you. But, for instance, it came in real handy when I wondered if my mango chutney, opened on Christmas day (2010), was still safely edible. It was, as long as it hadn't sprouted the gray fuzzies or something. It's good for 1 - 2 months. And Christmas was less than a month ago. Made me feel real good.

Speaking of all this, at this New Year's party we attended, we sat around talking about food and ingredients in the dainties we were eating and how long we keep junk in our fridge. This one lady said her grown kids had just raided her fridge and chucked anything with expired dates. My friend was appalled, it was her stuff and as long as it smells and tastes fine, expiration dates be hanged. But her kids went about their business paying no heed to her.

This got me to wondering about the components in her Bisquick sausage cheese balls that I was shooting down the hatch like so many ping pong balls raining down on Mr. Moose. I think she sensed my apprehension and she assured me that the sausage balls ingredients were all brand spanking new. Whew.

But I became violently ill 33 hours later. It wasn't the sausage balls. I think it was the milkshake from a fast food joint in the mall. 'Cause Mike said his milkshake tasted funny, but I'm not one to let a really bad milkshake go to waste. Are you?

I do not have a stomach lined with iron. Mine is more lined with organza or something. So I may never eat out again. I will have to sip tea when I meet friends for lunch. This is a sad state of affairs. Think about it.

Perhaps I can answer my mysterious questions in tomorrow's blog. 'Cause my eyes are burning. 'Cause I fell asleep after 5 AM this AM. I had been going to bed (4 nights in a row) in the near vicinity of midnight, always a few after, of course. Then I fell off the cart and went to bed super late the next 3 nights. Crime doesn't pay. Whenever I go to bed between 4:30 and 5, I feel crummy the next day. Really my curfew is 2 AM, then I can survive.

So, I'm supposed to me in bed by midnight tonight, but it will be 1:00, which is still 4 hours better than 5.

Therefore, I bid you good night. And I guess I'm missing the SOMA 15 additional % off online sale, today only.

Thinking of all the money she just saved,
KEM

If I was ever going to start blogging again was in serious doubt. HOWEVER, a new fabulous kitchen gadget has snapped me out of the doldrums.

Two weeks ago I hit TJMaxx, looking for a 50th birthday gift for my friend, whose surprise party was exactly three hours away, two hours of that being driving time. I only operate under panic situations.

So, my first impulse had been to buy her a purse. You all know as well as I do that purses are the first thing when you step through those double glass doors into Candy Land.

But instead of saucing my way directly to the purses, I turned left, because I wanted to buy Mike some nice undershirts. Along the way to undershirts I found Almond Brittle, cashews, lovely note cards and an exercise DVD. And Organic Lemon Honey Hard Candies. And peds. HEY! This is great to recount this. Because just last night I was staring blankly at my TJMaxx receipt trying to figure out everything I bought from those two long weeks ago. They just tell you vaguely that you bought something in beauty or ladies hosiery. That, my friends, tells me nothing. I look at a string of numbers, like 402513, and try to piece together my shopping trip. This trip I bought 19 things (6 of those being gourmet food items, like potato chips). Well, I could only remember half of what I bought...very disturbing.

So, then I found the undershirts and roamed my way to kitchen, where I found the gadget in question. But before I tell you about that, I will tell you I found a FURemover Lint Brush. Robby is a black cat who loves to sleep on my light tan microfiber sofa. This is a soft rubbery bristled number, and I'm hoping for magnificent results (better than an hour trying to vacuum off long black Robby hair). I have yet to try it...postponing failure, I imagine.

Then there was a stuffed pink pig for Jazzi. This pig was great, he was like a shag rug. Robby loves it.

Then I bought something else in stationery, no idea what. For 3.00.

Next was beauty where I found a really cool sleep mask, suggested for those who party hard and need to sleep in sometimes. Me, I stay up all night, that's why I need it. It doesn't press into your eyeballs, smart design. I've used it several times and have suffered only semi-claustrophobia as a result. I am a girl who enjoys total and complete freedom...in everything. Ha! That reminds me I should relay my experience with an "OPEN" MRI. Maybe I did already.

Okay, I found hair lotion that makes your hair curl. I need hair curling lotion like I need whiskers on my chin. I'll probably wind up using it for cream to shave my legs.

Then I found the cutest shoes ever. Me Too is the brand. But I couldn't get them because they were patent leather and the heel was scratched. Far be it from me to buy damaged goods. But in that neck of the woods, I found more peds. And more peds. I now have a lifetime supply of peds to go with my lifetime supply of exercise DVD's that I keep snatching up here and there for a couple of bucks. I am set. I will be even more set when I finally crack open the case to one of those DVD's.

You know something? My computer is acting up two nights in a row. It doesn't want to type the letters I press. And then it will take an "s" and zip out 15 of them, like this: presssssssssssssssssssssssss. Annoying.

Now, having wasted all this time roaming the whole of TJMaxx, I am truly in a panic because I have no birthday present, even though I considered many things along each aisle and nothing screamed, I AM IT!

So it's on to purses, even though I also obviously placed another beauty item in my cart, my receipt tells me so. Wonder what it is.

I go up and down all the colors of purses and look at CLEARANCE, too. NOTHING! I'm breaking into a cold sweat. So I pray, Dear Lord, help me to KNOW it when I SEE it! And not one minute later I behold this adorable purse, absolutely gorgeous. And the price represented one dollar for every year of my friend's life (minus one penny), which I thought was purely appropriate. Not only that, it was screaming, I AM IT, I AM IT!

So I snatched it up and rushed to check out, which was very crowded. But never fear, they inssssssssssss(ssssssssee?)idiously line the long wait corridor with all sorts of irresistible goodies, like those potato chips cooked in avocado oil (and they are MAAAAHVELOUS). And then there were organic brownie bites.

Anyway, the conclusion of this tale is that by speeding 80 MPH, we got to the party on time, and I was very happy with the purse and so was my friend. In fact, she told me it was the nicest purse she's ever had. Now, you can't beat that.

Also, I have two items left on my receipt that I don't know what they are and they total $7.99.

Now, back to the purpose of this blog entry. This kitchen gadget. It is a corn stripper. All my life I've wanted a corn stripper, one that works, that is. Especially since the time I lived in Burlington, NC, and the good folk there all had homegrown gardens and they would have us to dinner and serve corn off the cob. I found a recipe for stewed corn in my Southern Living for Two Cookbook (LOOOOOOVE that cookbook, I manually added all those O's). And through the years, I have tried an assortment of corn strippers. I started with just a regular knive. Too dangerous and messy. Besides, corn flies everywhere. The fine ladies of Burlington can wield a knife on a cob, but not KEM. Be sure that my bowl of corn nibblets will have finger tip nibblets mixed in, if I use a knife. Very gross, I know. I need to tell you about the new knife I just bought at Crate and Barrel, with DTD'S gift card that I gave her and had to buy back, a year later.

BTW, DTD is, for the next 10 years, going to be referred to as DT-sD. Ain't that gorgeous? If, of course, stands for Darling Twenty-something Daughter. Never again can she be referred to as DTD, Darling Teenage Daughter. Someone issue me a tissue.

But, first, back to corn stripping. I don't like eating corn on the cob. Your face smells like butter for days on end. And I cannot tolerate the smell of buttery flesh. So, I've found and tried various assortments of corn strippers, like the one with a round saw and big long metal handles. You slip the round saw over the tip top of the corn and force it all the way down. Supposedly in one fell swoop you are left with a naked cob and a whole mess of corn kernels. Too bad the saw bends out of shape on the first try, not to be repaired. Chuck it on the Goodwill pile.

Then there was the one William Sonoma bragged about online. But when I went to the store, then never heard of or seen it (bad English).

Then there were others along the sorry way, but this blog is getting very long. AND, I can't remember then exactly, I would be making them up. But they were there, trust me, and all dismal failures.

So, two weeks ago, in the clearance kitchen junk at TJ, I spy a corn stipper by XOX. Or is that OXO? Now, we all know that OXO is a very fine and reputable company with very worthy kitchen gadgets of every description, like the essential salad spinner. Their corn stripper looked unlike any I'd every come across. So, I had to have it. Hmm, spinners and strippers, this is sounding borderline risque.

Then (word for the night) I found corn on the cob at Rollin' Oats. So, tonight, Mike is watching the Steelers make a stunning comeback in the playoffs. I am in the kitchen stripping corn, just trying it for the first time with my new friend, OXO. The Steelers win and Mike is downright giddy. I joyously announce, I may just have to blog about this tonight.

He was so happy, thinking (delusionally, not a word) I was compelled to blog about the Steelers. But that is not what I meant a'tall. I was going to blog about my corn stripper. BECAUSE. It is fabulous. It is simple. It is safe. It is EASY. It WORKS. You never saw a happier camper. And I may just have to write OXO and sing its praises. With no fuss whatsoever, you position the not-too-sharp teeth at the top of the cob. You grab the nice rounded container where the kernels wind up and you slip your way down. Slip in as no sweat, not slip as in, My mother slipped on the ice. Slip 'n Slide, but all in a good way. You catch my drift?

You are then holding a small container full of trimmed corn. And it doesn't trim so deeply that you get the root of the kernel, with that little dark spot. Am I the only person in the world who would even notice such a thing? I'm afraid so.

So, you just go around and after each couple of trims, you turn it upside down and the corn falls out in your big glass measuring cup. Being new at this, some of the kernels fell out on the counter, but that's small taters, trust me. It was only my first time.

There is NOTHING like a kitchen gadget that actually performs. Mike should remember this the next time he thinks I'm going to blog about his sports team. But, hey, GO, STEELERS!

THERE! I wrote a blog, with more material exposing itself along the way, so I should be able to write for the next few days, anyway.

You know something? I was deathly ill the first week of January. Food poisoning? Not sure. That's why the year 2011 did not start off with a big blogging bang. I've been trying to pick myself up ever since.

Hope you all are having a fun new year, or at least a non-eventful one!

This blog is especially for BJH.

Your Blogger,
KEM