The side affect of eating better!

I am convinced that everything is addicting:  sugar, fat, caffeine, frosting.  It is all addictive.

And, there is no substitute for frosting!

Occasionally, I dream about eating cake, with frosting of course.

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Blogs, politics, lists and CAKE!!!

I was killing time this morning, like I have so much extra to kill, well, I really do, I just don’t want to do what I should be doing with it.  Somehow, I think this sentence has way too many commas in it.  I copied and pasted it to MSWord and they are not offering any corrections, so any editor/agents out there, just pretend I meant to do that—Stream of consciousness thing and all.

 

 

 

Anyway, in killing time this morning reading all the neat blogs about Sarah Palin and now I have added an Alaskan blog *Mudflats* to my daily read.  Who could resist this information?   Okay, now that’s another thing you agents/editors need to ignore—my politics.  I was actually going to write about an email I received from a friend, who is so stressed out about the state of politics, I fear for his sanity, but then I remembered that I am not supposed to write about anything controversial.  Ooppps!! Too late for that.

 

 

 

Anyway, again, I only got as far as C’s, in my daily blog troll.  *Cranky Fitness* provided this morning’s blog inspiration with her list.  First, I have to say, who can resist a blog with cupcakes as its banner?  Okay, a nice piece of wedding cake might be better for us cake connoisseurs.  Since her blog is about fitness, I’d say this whole cake thing is off limits; except on your birthday.  Or when you go to a wedding.  Or on the Ides of March. Or—–

 

 

 

This, cakes and lists, is something I have in common with *Pollyanna Rainbow Sunshine and the Needles of Doom*.  This is the team who has a whole blog, nearly  (I haven’t read the whole thing yet) made up of lists; and, I know for a fact that one of them would join me in my cake quest or possibly in doing many unmentionable things to Viggo Mortensen.  

 

 

Back to the lists: I find I do get more things done when I make lists. When I was doing Body for Life faithfully, I think it was the fact of having a chart to fill out for exercise and also for what I ate. Those were lists that kept me on track; and away from cake.

 

 

 

Now-a-days though, my lists look something like this.

 

1. Six am  do dishes- no room for dishwasher in this blasted house.

2. Seven am wake boys

3. Feed visiting rabbit and clean the poop out of her food and water dishes.  What is her problem?

4. Water dog, then take her for a walk in the yard and to water the garden.  Talk lovingly to baby watermelons. We will be so drowning in watermelons at some point.  Tomatoes are just starting to get red.  I may go on a tomato and watermelon diet.

5. Call the class ring company and order a replacement for JRockGuitarMan’s class ring.

6. Remind JRock that I will have his hide if it ever disappears from his finger again.

7. Tell EMT Boy he looks good in suit of visiting son, Starky

8. Tell Starky he looks good in cowboy hat, boots, shirts and jeans of EMT boy.  (Hey, they get worse as Halloween gets near.  One year we gave them a box of costumes for Christmas and it was their favorite gift.)

9. Go to mom’s town tomorrow: see vet (for dog pills, not for me), go to license bureau (for mom’s handicapped tag), help her with pacemaker check by phone (which she can do on her own), out to eat (always) grocery store, farm stand for tomatoes and watermelon since mine aren’t ready to pick yet. (never buy a watermelon at Marsh — worse one I ever had). 

 

 

 

I have stretched my limits of punctuation and patience in this blog, so am off to work on my novel to bed.  I shall put my headphones on and listen to Harry Potter yet again.  I have been listening to the CD’s for three years now.  Since memoiries from my last visit in Wyoming roll around in my head too often at night.  The CD’s only put me to sleep because I have them memorized by now. So, new books on tape only work when I am painting or throwing pottery and want to be reading.  Music doesn’t work either.  Both of them just make me stay awake to hear more.  But, my brain calms right down with the soothing voice of Jim Dale.

 

 

 

Sleep well!

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Wedding Weekend #1

I am writing this at midnight. Why? 

I have no idea. I will get up in the morning and see what I have posted and go, WHY? I don’t believe I did that. I usually write in WORD, correct spelling, edit, post, re-read, correct spelling, edit —–

Well, you get the picture, but this is random listings of this weekend’s wedding.

The bride, grand-great niece, is an individual and, as such, wanted her own unique wedding.  Her gown was a deep red and her hair was spiked on top of her head and she walked down the absolutely fantastic staircase in their house and, I swear, it took my breath away. She looked that great. 

Her seven attendants each wore their own choice of a black party/formal dress. All of the wedding party was going to go barefoot, but a cold snap headed into Wisconsin.

This was their wedding cake. The bride picked it out and the groom’s mother baked it. She was a professional baker, as I understand it. I ate two slices and Yummm!

The bride looked and looked for a unique top ornament for it but never found the right one. Perhaps a groom and bride sliding on top would have worked, and been in keeping with this funny, great couple.

It was an outdoor wedding with a string quartet, readings on love and marriage by relatives, acknowledgement to all religions, and self-written vows.

With that in mind, the brides uncle brought up the fact that why in the world do we have to have the bridal couple with their back to the crowd during the ceremony? I think it’s a good point. I would much rather see their faces, than their backs.

Both my grand nieces, who are marrying this summer, have found the greatest husband/husband-to-be. The guys each have a good sense of humor and are kind and considerate. 

Now, as far as me- I drove eight to ten hours each way, slept little, ate too much and had a really good fantasy in my head, on the drive home. It involved camping on a hill , comets, Viggo Mortensen, a campfire, stars,  and him singing the song he did at the end of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy; which without reading the words for it sounds more like a love song than any song I have heard. Guess the weddings put me in the mood for romance. What better way to spend an eight hour drive?

All that was missing was cake.

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Younger boy – The struggle

Younger boy lived with us from birth till he was three, then came to live with us again at age thirteen. At three he was a hand full and a half of charging bull. At sixteen, he’s Mr. Cool one day and Mr. Country Singer the next.

Younger boy turned sixteen today.  (Actually, it was yesterday. Imagine my surprise this morning, when I found out I had put up a different blog–oops!) His request was for steak, mashed potatoes and corn (those two go hand in hand at our house) and German Chocolate Cake, which is really quite easy to bake (from scratch) but taking a cake from a hot oven to an overly air conditioned counter causes it to burst like a punctured balloon. The boys have decided I should recreate this treat every time as then you get more of the goodie filling and less cake.

He had a lot of catching up to do, at thirteen, when he entered public school for the first time.  He was reading at a second grade level and did math at third grade level.  He had not been taught any history or geography and the only science he had was when he watched his younger brother being taught how to make Gak. Hence, my insistence, and I think it is a good idea even for good home educators (and I know quite a few good ones), that home schoolers should have legislated testing every two years. No child left behind folks, means all children.

Because of not being taught to write at the proper age, youngest boy has a writing disability and takes a laptop to school with him. He has a pass to go to the Learning Resource Center and get help with his tests, as he is slow at reading (He may have them fooled on that one. He can read Harry Potter just fine, even if it is slow.) Thank you, J. K. Rowling for interesting him in any reading at all.

He does write and every time, when I take the magnetic grocery list off the fridge to copy it into my laptop for a store list, I say, “What does this mean?”

He comes, looks and says, “I don’t know.”

I say, “Well you wrote it.” as I look at cat scratches that resembles skinny dictation marks.

He says, “Doesn’t mean I know what it says.”

When he was one and a half, someone looked out a window and saw a ceramic cat go flying across the yard. It’s the kind of thing where you sit there and say, “That’s strange.” Then, when the second one goes flying by, you run. Yup, there he was, standing at an open window and emptying his mother’s cabinet out the window. He had a nice little pile of broken knick knacks, outside.

By the age of two, he was missing one day, and found on top of the refrigerator, having eaten half a tray of brownies, which were hidden on the refrigerator for a reason (So he wouldn’t eat them.). No one is sure how he got up there. The chair to the counter was easy, but how did he get from the counter to the top of the fridge? It was quite a stretch. 

After the boys and their mother moved in with stepfather, things got hairy. His mother being terrified to be alone at night, kept a container of mace on the dresser; twice he sprayed himself in the face. He was playing “Toro, Toro”, as in bull fights with his two other “blanket holding” brothers, not airplane crash Toro, and, being the bull he was already, charged and knocked himself unconscious on the corner door frame. To the hospital again, we go. 

Then, Christmas arrived and youngest boy took to crunching Christmas tree lights. You could hear the glass crunching as he walked through a room and the nearest adult would run their finger through his mouth and remove the end of the bulb, and as much glass as possible, then feed him bread. The nurse hotline knew us by voice. When the lights were removed from the bottom half of the tree, he began taking apart flashlights and eating their bulbs.

He’s broken his ankle since he’s been living here and wrenched a shoulder but mostly he’s searching for his identity.  This week it is boots, ripped jeans, camouflage vest and Dundee hat, with a swagger. Some weeks, it’s pure cowboy. Other times it is the lamentable ripped off sleeves southern Indiana, hillbilly wannabe look. Those weeks, I nag.

Happy Birthday!

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