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