Thursday Thoughts

Kid Fix
I’ve been missing all of my grandkids like crazy, so I was happy that I got to spend some time with a few of my great-nieces and great-nephews yesterday. I called Bec in the morning to see if she wanted to meet for lunch. She did, but there was one caveat. She had agreed to pick up her 10-year-old granddaughter Mackenzie at the school bus because her school had an early release and Mom and Dad have that pesky thing called a job. Could she tag along? Duh. Of course. Because I love nothing more than seeing the world through the eyes of our grandkids. We let Mackenzie pick the restaurant. She chose Johnny Rockets. As we waited for our food, the server brought us this…..

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If you look carefully, somewhere in there are eyes, a nose, a mouth, and – what? – maybe a bow? Cute.

Mackenzie was given the choice of either a milkshake at JR’s, or a cupcake from Caketini’s around the corner. Without hesitation, she chose the cupcake. For the record, I would have picked a milkshake any day of the week. Nevertheless, this was what she chose, and I must say that watching her eat it made me realize that she made the correct decision…..

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But the highlight of our noontime experience was at Bath and Body Works, which has, as you know, about a million fragrances of bath products, causing my eyes to roll back in my head as I try to select one or two. As for Mackenzie, she took considerable time selecting a variety of some antibacterial lotions that come in lovely fragrances. Apparently the kids attach them to their backpacks and it’s a THING. Her eyes didn’t roll back in her head…..

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I had to make sure I was home by 2:45, however, because I had agreed to watch Jen’s grands, Austin and Lilly, for a couple of hours between the time that Maggie had to go to work and Mark got off of work. They came over to our house. We spent time at the park, with an emphasis on hide-and-seek. As you know, usually when you play hide-and-seek with a 3-year-old, you pretty much can look in the same spot each time. However, Miss Lilly has been known to hide from her mom and dad in their house, and has the ability to maintain perfect silence for long enough to make them get anxious. Despite her age and size, she is a masterful hider. So I made sure to keep one eye open as she hid, not wanting to have to explain to her dad that she was lost.

When we got home, she and Austin – just like Peppa Pig – jumped in muddy puddles……

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So I had a great day all-in-all, but I’m afraid I still miss my grandkids.

Booger Candy
When our Vermont family was visiting over the Christmas holiday, they had the opportunity to play a game in which the point of the game is you had to choose one out of two candies that looked the same. The catch? One of the candies might taste like root beer and the other candy might taste like vomit. Though we declined over and over, the grandkids finally made their papa and I try it. Twice. Because God is good, we each lucked out and both of our candies were good ones. But that experience explains why when Joseph and Micah Face Timed us to thank us for their Valentine’s candy jars, the first thing Joseph said was, “Nana, I was so glad that my skittle didn’t taste like boogers.” Indeed.

Ciao!

Wolf Calls

You can count on random, somewhat odd commercials in two situations – during late-night television and during afternoon television, especially on certain networks. Since I can’t remember the last time I watched late-night television (but I’m pretty sure it was back when my 36-year-old son was an infant and still making it his personal goal to keep me from getting more than three hours of sleep at a time), I must have seen this particular advertisement on daytime television. Perhaps sandwiched between endless episodes of Law and Order: SVU and Criminal Minds.

The commercial that caught my attention was for a campaign to save wolves being sponsored by Sierra Club: Take Action to Save Wolves. We’re being asked to call our senator and/or congressman to ask them to pass legislation to protect the wolves.

I’m not anti-wolf. I’m not a wolf-hater. I’ve never even seen a wolf except in a zoo. And unlike that above-mentioned 36-year-old son who, upon my inviting him to go for a hike once in the mountains with me, soundly proclaimed, “I hate nature,” I don’t hate nature. I like nature. Nature is good. It’s very natural.

But even if Sarah McLachlan herself was singing songs about saving wolves as pictures of wolves in traps flashed on the screen, I wouldn’t take one single action to save one single wolf.

mom-photo-1-2Why? Because my mother would come down to earth and haunt me.

My mother was a tiny little thing, especially during the last 10 years or so of her life. She stood a proud 5’ish in heels, and weighed in at 110 pounds soaking wet. But to say Mom had strong opinions is like saying the Incredible Hulk had a bit of a temper.

Small, but mighty, that was Mom.

So, one afternoon when they still lived in Dillon, Colorado, her doorbell rang. She answered the door to find a couple of outdoorsy-looking young people, who enthusiastically announced that they were collecting donations to protect the wolves.

Well.

My mother grew up on a farm in central Nebraska. Anyone who is, was, or is acquainted with a farmer knows that farmers don’t like wolves, nearly as much as they don’t like prairie dogs. Wolves, you see, are predators that will hunt and then eat any small animal within their reach. So my Mom’s family had lost many a calf to a hungry wolf.

And Mom commenced to telling these two young nature-lovers exactly how she felt about wolves and how they “killed the little helpless calfies on the farm” and how it would be a cold day in hell before she would give a single nickel to help save these despicable animals that should not be allowed to live a free life on God’s earth. As she got more and more animated, the two young folks were slowly backing up and getting ready to make a run for it before she pulled out a 12 gauge shotgun and began firing like Annie Oakley.

I must remind you that I don’t hate wolves. I really have very little opinion about wolves whatsoever. However, as I perused the website for Take Action to Protect Wolves, it did occur to me that it was interesting that the website designer chose to use this photo of adorable wolf pups…..

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Instead of this photo of an angry adult wolf getting ready to attack, well, maybe little calfies?…..

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By the way, the second photo is one that my husband printed out and placed on the dashboard of his car in our Denver driveway when he noticed that the neighborhood foxes were climbing on his car at night, leaving footprints. Believe it or not, it worked.

I’m pretty sure our neighborhood foxes would also be against saving the wolves.

I Heart You

When did Valentine’s Day get to be such a thing? You know, a THING, with capital letters.

When I went to the grocery store yesterday afternoon, I noticed that Fry’s actually had a circus tent set up in their parking lot (making many, many really valuable parking spots unavailable, which made me feel downright unValentiney) featuring nothing but items for people to give their significant others to show them just how much they are cherished. Primarily flowers.

To my surprise, the tent was full of mostly men desperately searching for flowers that would satisfy their loved one and not break the bank. I’m not sure those needs were mutually inclusive.

Valentine’s Day existed, of course, when I was small. I clearly remember bringing little Valentine’s cards to give to my friends and classmates. Our room mothers brought in Valentine treats, probably homemade sugar cookies or cupcakes because these were the days before anyone worried about too much sugar consumption and gluten or soy allergies. The little cards were handed out right before school let out, so we brought our cards home and perused them on our dining room table, challenging one another to see who got the most Valentines.

Though, being a cradle Catholic, I was well aware that Valentine’s Day was named after St. Valentine, I didn’t recall much about him. I went to that Mecca of All Things True, Wikipedia. I learned little, because frankly little is known about the man. There are stories that had him marrying people while in prison. There is one legend that says he cured the daughter of one of the jailers, and then sent her a goodbye note shortly before he was executed in which he signed it Your Valentine. Awwww. The only thing really known about him is that he was martyred, and for the life of me, I couldn’t find out how. It says a lot about me that I was hoping he was stabbed in the heart.

Many years ago, about a year after I graduated from college, I went to work in the regional office of Miller Brewing Company. While there, I worked with a young woman, perhaps in her 30s, who had been married to the same man for five or six years. Every year, when Valentine’s Day came around, she would get a beautiful bouquet of red roses from her husband. I was envious because, well, red roses. One year, as she was walking past my desk with her flowers, I noted how beautiful they were, and added that her husband must be a terribly romantic man. To my surprise, she laughed heartily and explained to me that annually since they married, about a week before Valentine’s Day, she would call the florist and order flowers for herself and have them sign her husband’s name on the card.

“That way I get flowers for Valentine’s Day and don’t have to get mad at him,” she concluded.

There seems, of course, something flawed in that logic, but it worked for them so who am I to argue?

Since we’ve been spending winters in AZ, I have annually sent some sort of treat to our grandkids for Valentine’s Day. One year I got the notion to have fancy cookies delivered to them as a Valentine treat. That was a costly endeavor, as fancy cookies cost a lot, and it was abandoned thereafter. One year I baked a variety of cookies and sent each family a box. While I can’t confirm it, my belief is that they were mostly cookie crumbs by time they arrived. This year I filled Mason jars with candy and decorated the tops festively…….

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I wish you all a happy St. Valentine’s Day, and I hope you get to spend it with someone you love. Plus, I hope you’re not martyred via being stabbed in the heart, though admittedly, nothing says love like a good execution.

Childhood Treats

When I was growing up, I was in somewhat of the minority among my friends as my mother had a job outside the home. It’s true that she wasn’t someone’s secretary or didn’t sell shoes at Monkey Ward’s (though that was the job she DID have when she met my father). But once my dad bought the bakery from my grandfather (and to be honest, I’m not entirely sure how old I was when that transpired), she helped my dad run the business. Dad ran the back end (which included the baking) and handled the finances; she ran the front end and handled the staff. At least most of them.

Bill’s mom was a full-time homemaker, and so Bill talks about her fixing lunch every day for himself and his siblings. I don’t think she fixed anything fancy – maybe a turkey sandwich or a sandwich made from what he proclaims was the BEST egg salad ever known to man. And he always adds that she peeled the skin from her tomatoes and cut the celery really fine. For years, I thought that Wilma was trying to be fancy like Martha Stewart who probably not only peels her tomatoes, but likely turns them into rosettes. Eventually it occurred to me that she suffered from the same stomach ailments as I, and probably peeled her tomatoes for the same reason I peel mine – to avoid the fiber.

Anyway, as I try to recall my youthful years (not an easy task because I can’t even recall what’s in the Tupperware bowl that I put in my refrigerator last night), I’m certain that there was a time when Mom was home with us kids most of the time. But nearly all of my memories are of the times when we were old enough to stay alone and make our own lunches.

As I pondered this reality, I began wondering just what it was that we made for our lunches. My siblings might correct me, but I recall a lot of bologna or salami sandwiches on Dad’s yummy white bread, and opening many cans of Campbell’s soup or Chef Boyardee’s spaghetti or ravioli. Spaghettios had not yet been invented, but let me tell you, once those made an appearance, they were my very favorite lunch. That lasted until — well, frankly, I still secretly love spaghettios. Hold the little weinies and the meatballs. And don’t even try to give me the ABCs. I like the tiny little circular pieces of pasta.

As for Campbell’s soup, my very favorite was Bean and Bacon, but running a close second was Chicken with Stars. There was just something about those teeny tiny little stars that brought Chicken with Stars soup a notch up from regular Chicken Noodle soup.

A year or so ago, I ran across an Italian deli that sold little circular pasta called annelletti. Well, I immediately purchased the pasta, thinking that I would certainly be able to find a recipe to make spaghettios from scratch. I did, indeed, find such a recipe, and then scarcely gave it another thought. Every once in a while I would come across the pasta in my pantry and think, “I should make spaghettios,” but didn’t. The pasta moved from AZ to Colorado, and then moved back to AZ, still unopened.

In the meantime, I was recently at Superstition Ranch Market, a store at which I shop solely because they have the Stewart’s Diet Orange Cream sodas that I love. Remember this post? In addition to Stewart’s sodas, they also have a fairly acceptable selection of Italian products, including pastas. What do you think I found? Pasta shaped like little stars, called stelline.

Which made me think, “I can make homemade Chicken with Stars soup!” And which then inspired me to take out the the well-travelled annelletti and make homemade Spaghettios as well.

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I made the Chicken with Stars first, and later that week I made the Spaghettios.

The result?

The soup was a home run. The recipe, as you can see, is basically a regular recipe for chicken noodle soup, but uses the stelline in place of noodles. As for the Spaghettios, I was sorely disappointed, and here’s the reason why: Chef Boyardee’s Spaghettios are sweeter, which is why kids (and I) like them. I tried adding more sugar, but it just didn’t taste the same. If I’m going to have Spaghettios that don’t taste like the Chef’s, I would just as soon not have my base be tomato sauce, but instead, make a good red sauce of my own.

Here are the recipes….

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Chicken with Stars Soup

Ingredients
1 T. olive oil
1-1/2 c. diced onion
1 c. diced carrots
1 c. diced celery
1 clove garlic, minced
8 c. chicken stock
2 c. chopped cooked chicken
2 bay leaves
½ t. dried rosemary
½ salt
½ t. dried thyme
½ t. black pepper
1 c. dried stelline (or other small pasta)
Process
Heat oil in large Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion and cook for five minutes, stirring occasionally, until translucent. Add carrots, celery, and garlic, and saute for 2 minutes more, stirring occasionally. Add chicken stock, chicken, bay leaves, rosemary, salt, thyme, and pepper, and stir to combine.

Bring mixture to a simmer, the reduce heat to medium and stir in the pasta. Cook until pasta is al dente, stirring occasionally. Season with additional salt if necessary.

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Homemade Spaghettios

Ingredients
15 oz. can tomato sauce
2 T. milk
½ t. onion powder
½ t. garlic powder
¾ t. salt
2 T. sugar
1 c. uncooked star-shaped pasta, or other small pasta

Process
In a small saucepan, mix ingredients (except for pasta) and bring to a boil over medium high heat. Reduce to a simmer and cook on low until the butter melts completely. Meanwhile, cook pasta per instructions until al dente (or to your liking, remembering that the pasta will soften up more as it absorbs the liquid). Drain pasta and combine with sauce.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: ‘Tis the Season

Bill has been hard at work preparing our 2016 taxes. If I were in charge of income taxes, I would be high-tailing it to H&R Block so quickly you would just see a blur, but I think Bill sort of enjoys it. He does love himself a challenge. He spends entire days staring at Turbo Tax, and emerges with a cheerful smile, saying, “Little by little, I’m getting closer to being done.” His secret wish is to not only get a refund, but to get a refund large enough to buy an island in the Pacific.

As for me, this says it all……

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Have a great weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

Brown Thumb
So a while back, I mentioned – bragged, actually – that I had purchased some herb plants and since this is AZ and the weather is so mild, I was going to plant them and feast on fresh herbs from my own herb garden while my friends in colder weather were eating herbs from (gack) the grocery store. Well. While the thyme and the parsley have fared quite well, and though the lettuce is thriving to such an extent that I used it for my burger bar last Sunday, the basil has taken a turn for the worse, and cannot be saved at this point. I am therefore waiting until I know the nighttime temperatures won’t get into the 40s, and then I will purchase a new plant and put it in the warm ground……

Good plant - left; current plant - right

Plant when new – left; What I’ve done to it – right

 

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Toesies
I finally went Tuesday for a pedicure. I hadn’t had one done since November, and my feet were sorely in need of some tender loving care. I warned the nail technician before I even took off my shoes. She seemed to take it all in stride, not even saying one Vietnamese word to the technician sitting next to her. As usual, two things occurred: 1) It felt really good. I mean reeeeally good; and 2) I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that I never needed to do pedicures as I simply cannot stand to touch feet. Not even my own, really. It would have been a bad career choice.

Point and Shoot
I continue to learn more and more about my telephone. Last night, as I lay in bed thinking about everything I didn’t know about my phone, it occurred to me that I haven’t seen hide nor hair of a GPS. My old Galaxy 4S had a reasonably good GPS that you could turn on or off. But I hadn’t seen anything vaguely looking like a GPS turn-on button on my iPhone. So I mentioned that to Bill yesterday morning as we took a walk in our neighborhood park. When we got to the car, he poked around a bit, in that Bill-like way, and eventually said that the GPS must be installed because the map program knew where we were. So there’s that. I also am trying to figure out my camera. I know how to point and shoot, but I’m pretty sure it can do trickier things than that, but I’m not quite sure what they are. Baby steps. The first thing I need to do is figure out how to make calls and send texts.

Better Than the Cigars
It has been established that Bill is a big fan of the sandwich, and I am not particularly a fan at all. But when Maggie invited us over for dinner to compensate for babysitting duties I will have tonight (she doesn’t need to do that), and told me she was making us Cuban sandwiches, I thought, “Hmmm. That sounds muy bien.” And man, were they ever! She made the shredded pork in her crock pot using a recipe supplied by Jeff Mauro from Food Network, and lined a hoagie bun with the meat, some Swiss cheese, some ham, pickles, and lots of mustard. She told me that you can buy day-old bread from Jimmy John’s for 50 cents, and that’s what she used for the sandwiches. We wolfed ours down, making yummy noises, and each took a sandwich home for lunch today. Scooooooooooooooore!…..

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Ciao!

Hello? Is Anybody There?

We live in a society exquisitely dependent on science and technology, in which hardly anyone knows anything about science and technology.  – Carl Sagan

Well, it’s happened. I’ve drunk the Kool-Aid. Day before yesterday, I bought an iPhone 7.

searchI held out for as long as I could, but the time came when I felt I simply had to buy a new phone. My existing phone was on its last legs. Its coughing kept me up at night. But I was reluctant to buy an iPhone for several reasons: A) The Android phones are less expensive than iPhones and I’m a cheapskate; B) I have had a version of an Android phone for as long as I’ve had a cell phone so I’m used to how they work in general and I’m scared of learning new technology; and C) being the daughter of Margaret and Reinie, I am stubborn, and not in a good way. I’m stubborn in the way that keeps me from reading the Harry Potter books because everyone else is reading them, or from buying a gas range because everyone on Food Network says you simply can’t be a decent cook without a Viking gas range and REALLY GOOD OLIVE OIL. So, I’m the kind of stubborn that keeps me from buying an iPhone because it’s what EVERYONE ELSE has.

But I’m sad to keep coming home to six or seven missed FaceTime calls from Kaiya and/or Mylee who can’t understand why Nana doesn’t answer their FaceTime calls despite the fact that I have explained that I can only answer FaceTime when I’m next to my iPad. So now I can answer FaceTime calls when I’m standing in line at CVS Pharmacy, which will annoy Stan and Irma from Murdock Lakes, Minnesota, who are standing behind me in line. They will be annoyed that is, until I show them Mylee’s cute face. “Oh, ya, talk all ya want to that cutie pie,” they will say to me. Right.

img_0013I bought the white phone with the rose gold back, and a pink protective shell. Go big, or go home. It pales in comparison to my pink Kitchen Aid mixer, but it is pink nonetheless. I could have chosen silver or gold instead of what they call rose gold, but I went for the gusto. I found myself justifying my choice of the pink protective shell to Bill, despite the fact that he didn’t say one single solitary word about my selection (and, in fact, encouraged me to buy the rose gold version of the phone). But while standing in line awaiting my iced coffee at Starbucks to kill time while the smart people at T-Mobile transferred my information from old phone to new phone, I sternly told myself, “Kris, you chose pink all around because you are a fan of pink and there’s no reason to apologize for that. Neither Barbie nor my great niece Lilly apologizes for their fondness of the color.” So my apologist tour was short-lived.

But then I got home and found myself staring at the phone with total and complete terror. “Think of it as a little miniature iPad,” Jen told me when she learned of my purchase. It’s good advice, except here’s the thing: my mind is very compartmentalized, and one of its compartments was focused on how you work a little piece of technology that is six inches high and three inches wide, and that resulted in my poking nonexistent buttons on my iPhone which HAD existed on my Galaxy 4S and which I’d been poking for five years or so.

Little by little, I am learning more about the phone. What I have learned thus far is that there are things that I will miss on my Galaxy 4S and things that I will love on my iPhone. When I was at the Apple store a week or so ago waiting to meet my sister Bec (who ALSO recently purchased an iPhone and an updated iPad; her old iPad was run by little hamsters on a treadmill), I noticed a class that consisted of new Apple technology users about my age being taught by 17-year-old Apple employees  with pimply faces who kept pushing their glasses up their noses. A class like that might await me. Those youngsters seemed nice, if a bit wet behind their ears.

In the meantime, if I don’t respond to your texts or voice messages, give me time. I will figure it out.

Hmmm. Voice messages. Our kids don’t even know what those are. Steve Jobs is rolling in his grave.

Farewell Football

To paraphrase Shakespeare, Goodnight sweet football. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

And those flights of angels are the New England Patriots.

Last year on Super Bowl Sunday, Broncos Nation was agog with excitement because its beloved team was playing in Super Bowl 50, and they subsequently beat the Carolina Panthers in a great game. Well, a great game if you’re a Broncos fan.

But yesterday, John Elway was doing the same thing as I, eating queso in front of the television and trying to figure out why companies would pay so much money for such ridiculous commercials. Seriously, Spam? Von Miller was out feeding his chickens and gathering their eggs and trying to convince his hens that roosters were, in fact, “dope,” as he had proudly stated last year shortly before he was named MVP of the Super Bowl. The Bronco’s new head coach – young Mr. Vance Joseph – was reading the text messages he was getting from Elway stating things along the line of Hey V, I’m making hotel reservations for next February in Minneapolis; hope you’re figuring out how to make sure they don’t go to waste. And Coach Joseph was telling his wife, “Honey, let’s wait a year or so before we put in a pool.”

Well, Broncos or not, we celebrated the Super Bowl in joyous fashion in the same way that our family celebrates most things: with lots of food and libations. I chose to root for the Falcons, though I have only been in Atlanta a total of one time in my life, and that was for a period of four hours or so, just long enough to visit the Coca Cola Museum and then head off to visit Bill’s brother in Birmingham, Alabama.

My choice of being an Atlanta-Fan-For-A-Day was not really so much FOR Atlanta, but more of an ABP (anybody but the Patriots). I feel a touch guilty for saying that, because I’m sure to the extent that our Vermont family are football fans at all, they are Patriots fans. And there is, after all, this adorable shot of our grandson Micah…..

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But the sad truth is though I understand why Micah and Joseph are fans, I’m not. Still, at the end of the day, the better team won. Enough said.

But back to what really counts, which is the food.  When it seemed our Super Bowl party was going to consist of only Bill, Bec, and me, Bec was going to bring pre-made hamburgers from Whole Foods to munch during the game. To my delight, the party expanded to include my brother and two of his three daughters and their loved ones. So I made my own burgers, Bec made her delicious potato salad, Dave made jalapeno poppers, and we all drank beer and Bloodys.

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Bec made us Bloody Marys that were yummy.

poppers

Thanks to Dave for the poppers.

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And for cooking the burgers.

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Bill and Blake enjoying game festivities. Blake, like Joseph and Micah, is a Patriots fan, but also like our grandsons, we love him anyway.

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Jenna and Lexi are taking a break from fun to eat their burgers.

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Jenna and Lexi love their Aunt Jessie.

Farewell Sweet Football, until we meet again in August.

This post linked to Grand Social.

Thursday Thoughts

Cookie Time
Every year about this time, I begin seeing signs of the start of Girl Scout Cookie season. Cute little girls hawking their wares in front of the grocery store. What does that mean for me? It means that given the fact that I have not one but two granddaughters who are Girl Scouts, very soon my freezer will be full of cookies. See last year…..

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Kaiya’s sales pitch is very fancy, with her own cookie store web site (click here for cookies). I, of course, ordered four boxes of cookies from her web site. And then I emailed Jll and asked her if Maggie Faith had a Girl Scout cookie web site. “Nope,” Jll admitted, “but you can buy cookies by telling me and we will make sure you get them!” Old school, but effective. So very soon my freezer will look exactly like the photo from last year. I like many of the cookies, but I will tell you that the Savannah Smiles are totally addicting. Bet you can’t eat just one. Or at least I can’t.

Pink Nightmare
This past weekend I did some baking for my sister’s birthday. I realized it was the first time I’d baked since we arrived in AZ. I knew this because I had to drag my beloved Kitchen Aid mixer out of the garage. And, as usual, I had a start when I unwrapped it and saw the bright Pepto Bismol pink mixer. It works fine, and since I bought it off of Craig’s List, I didn’t have much choice about color. But the pink is quite pink. Paraphrasing Ralphie’s dad in A Christmas Story: “It looks like a pink nightmare.” The photo doesn’t do its pinkness justice….

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Lemon Tree Very Pretty and the Lemon Flower is Sweet
January and February are the beginning of citrus season here in the Valley of the Sun. So at church last Sunday, a number of people had dropped off bags of lemons – the citrus fruit currently being harvested. The church allows them to bring the fruit and invites other parishioners to take them home.  And I did so happily. So this week we’ve had lemon shrimp, many Caesar salads, and Barefoot Contessa’s lemon chicken. I love lemons, and these are so juicy and delicious. I will get more next Sunday if I can, because, well, I can…..

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Tiiiiiiiiimberrrrrrr
My niece Maggie and I were at lunch yesterday, and as usual, Lilly joined us with her bag of McDonald’s Happy Meal. She was very proud of her little make-up compact that was the giveaway that day. And she kept herself quite content playing with it. Maggie and I were enjoying our bowls of soup, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lilly lean back and put her legs on the table. I promise you, she didn’t know what was going to happen, but the next thing we all knew, the entire table tipped over, causing a loud crash as bowls and condiments hit the floor. Just like in the movies, the restaurant went completely quiet. As for Lilly, she was sitting back staring down at the floor with big, sad eyes. In true Gloor fashion, Maggie and I both had grabbed our bowls, thereby preventing them from falling to the ground. Save the food first. At the same time, one or both of us prevented the table from falling completely to the ground. At the end of the day, only a couple of little glass condiment holders broke, though there was a heck of a lot of water and spilled soup on the ground and many, many chopsticks. The server (who I believe is the owner) couldn’t have been nicer, and needless to say, he got a generous tip. Maggie’s pretty darn sure he won’t be eagerly awaiting our return.  And, by the way, Lilly told him, “Sowwy.”

 

Lilly, NOT knocking over a table of pho.

Lilly, NOT knocking over a table of pho.

Ciao!