Gorge Much??

No one told me that having two teenagers living in the house would require us to take out a second mortgage just to pay the grocery bill! This is not meant to scare anyone who has little future teenagers. But maybe you should think about downsizing to a tent, or getting a second job as an orthopedic surgeon or something that pays equally well. I’m just kindly warning you.

Butterfly came home from school famished. All the text-messaging she did in the car on the way home apparently caused her to burn a lot of calories. She cooked a box of macaroni, then added half a stick of butter and 7 shakes of the Parmesan cheese can. Rock Star, smelling the feast, joined her in the kitchen, where he helped himself to half. “I’m making chicken enchiladas tonight. We’ll be eating them in two hours. Don’t ruin your appetites!” I warned. (As if I should worry.) The two of them ignored me. They finished the macaroni, helped themselves to a whole grapefruit apiece, and then drank cups of hot chocolate loaded with marshmallows. This is a typical after-school snack. Which came a few hours post-lunch, which came shortly after the mid-morning snack, which followed a hearty breakfast. After tonight’s dinner, they’ll have bowls of cereal before bed. They’re like little Hobbits.

I don’t know where all of the calories go. Neither are overweight. Maybe it’s a Family Tape-Worm thing. I don’t know. But my grocery bills have increased by a quarter over the past two months. And it ain’t because Super Hubs and I are snacking!

Cheers!

Allow me, for a moment, to whine about wine. There are just too many choices out there today! It’s baffling. It’s like sending Super Hubs to the Clinique counter with the request to buy me a lipstick. He’d freak out under the pressure of multitude selections!

We were invited to a Wine Party this past weekend. The invitation instructed us to bring a bottle of wine to share, either our favorite or an unusual variety. Sounds simple enough, right?? So very WRONG!! I am actually fairly wine literate, and some people consider me to be a bit of a connoisseur. I once hosted a wine-tasting party for my friends, after I did a little research first. I enjoy guzzling I mean sipping wine responsibly on a frequent I mean occasional basis. I know my Reds from my Whites from my Blushes. And some of the Reds do make me blush! I am utterly confident that I can choose the perfect wine to go with Beef Wellington. (A soft Bordeaux.) Or chicken with curry. (A dry German Riesling.) Or pasta with bolognese. (Pinot Noir or Sangiovese.) (Now I’ve gone and made my stomach growl.)

I went shopping for my bottle of Party Wine with the self-assurance of the naive. I was bound and determined that I would not choose a boring and ordinary Merlot or the usual Pinot Grigio. I would find a bottle that was not only tempting to the palate, but fascinating, besides. One that had some pizzazz! One that presented me as an Expert of the Vine. A Woman Who Is Always Current. So I went to a store that prides itself on selling many global varieties. And I stood there, in the midst of all the shiny bottles, and nearly had a panic attack.

Wine covered every inch of the shelves. The bottles were organized according to country: The United States, Italy, France, Germany. But South Africa? Canada? Switzerland?? And who knew that Portugal produced good wine? Or Hungary? I was thoroughly overwhelmed, and it did not help that Little Squirt kept throwing random bottles into my cart.

So I found the store’s Sommelier, and asked for his assistance. Would he help me pick out a nice and unusual bottle for my party that evening? The patronizing Sommelier peppered me with a bazillion questions: What variety of grape was I looking for? Did I want sweet and served chilled? Or dry and served at room temperature? Semi-dry? Rich? Complex? Or did I want a blend? What vintage? And what flavors did I like? Was I interested in cherry or currant or oak? Musk or melon or mouse or something? It was all too confusing and by now my self-confidence of the wine expertise sort was completely deflated. I wanted to crawl into the fetal position and detox from all the choices! I began to only hear, “Blah bla bla blah blah blah," and I wanted to yell, "STOP WITH ALL THE QUESTIONS! YOU'RE KILLING ME!!" Until finally I interrupted him, “Can you please just find me a bottle with a pretty label? Any kind will do.” And so he did.

I left with a lovely Malbec from Argentina that was, I don’t know, red and delicious. And, even better, on sale. And I went to the Wine Party, where I enjoyed much relaxation with good food and good friends, and I had a fabulous time. After all.

Beauty Sleep Needed

T M B

I just love technology!!
While one of my BFF’s had surgery today, I sat with her husband in the hospital waiting room. I ate complementary banana muffins and drank complementary coffee, while occasionally watching an electronic board that gave frequent updates on all the patients, such as: “In Pre-Op”, “In Surgery”, “In Recovery Room”, “Awake and Using Bedpan" and "Patient Eating Orange Popsicle." So every minute of the wait, you would know exactly what your loved one was doing behind the mysterious “Medical Personnel Only” doors.

My friend’s husband was given a pager, just exactly like one you’d receive at Chili’s when waiting for a table. And when the surgery was over, it buzzed and lit up, indicating the doctor wanted to consult with him, but my first impulse was yell, "I'd like to order an Awesome Blossom and margarita, please. And hurry!"

And then I was able to Text Message people, letting them know that our friend’s surgery went well and she was safely recovering. Yes, Blogosphere, I have moved into The World of the Cool. I now have Text Messaging, and I know how to use it! Yesterday I sent and received exactly 31 Texts apiece. I am as excited as when I finally got “Baby Tender Love” for Christmas in kindergarten. Texting is my new favorite hobby. I am taking great pleasure in annoying my friends with inane and useless messages, just so they will have to reply to me and then I can be excited that I am receiving messages back and feel important.

So now I am cramming to learn Texting Shorthand, so I can be Beyond Cool. And tonight is our weekly Date Night, so Super Hubs and I will enjoy a delicious romantic meal out, hold hands across the table, and text each other back and forth, just for practice. GGN. TTYL.

Certain That I'm Uncertain

I am officially stress-eating. I believe it’s because of my N.D.E. and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder related to it. (I am a sensitive soul.) I impulsively picked up a bag of English Toffee on the way in the grocery store this morning, and had the entire bag finished by checkout. I did pay for the bag, post-humus-ly. I don’t actually know if you are officially allowed to eat food before you’ve paid. Maybe it’s illegal according to the Grocery Store Bylaws or something. But nonetheless, I did do that, and no security guards roughed me up or cuffed me or anything. Maybe they could tell I was feeling tense and felt sorry for me.

But it gets worse. On the drive home from the grocery store, I tore into the bag of cheetos and ate several handfuls. And this was all before 9:00 in the morning. A half a pound of English Toffee and 23 cheetos! Not exactly the “Breakfast of Champions.” But at least I’m not slugging down vodka.

I’ve never been one to turn to food for comfort. If I need soothing, I will usually call a friend. Chocolate is not my friend, it is a mid-afternoon treat. Not a Grocery Shopping Companion. Until today. English Toffee and Cheetos were my pals. One provided love; the other, solace. Temporarily I felt filled up and didn’t have to feel my fear of the unknown, as I traveled back through the icy roads.

Then I drank two cups of green tea, in hopes that the antioxidants would cancel out all the chemicals. But what it didn’t do was cancel out the assurance that life is uncertain; that we never know what is around the corner.
“I stand amid the roar of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand, grains of golden sand-
How few! Yet how they creep through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp them with a tighter clasp?
O God! Can I not save one from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream?” (Edgar Allen Poe)

Navel Gazing

In light of my N.D.E. (Near Death Experience) of this past weekend, I am in a rare, introspective mood. Usually I try to avoid introspecting because it gets in the way of my having fun. But then, I also try to avoid N.D.E.s, because they get in the way of my……..well, peace of mind. But because of them both occurring consecutively, I’ll introspect for a bit. About my N.D.E.

Introspecting away now. Get ready. Here goes.

I’ve been given a second chance at life, is how I am seeing it. So. What should I do about that? Hmmmm. Well, today I cleaned out my linen closet and a kitchen utensil drawer. It felt right, somehow, but a bit empty. I guess it’s a start. Hmmm again. The start of what? Should I start cleaning up some other things? Deeper things? Like maybe some relationships that haven't been working well? Or perhaps my goals for the future? Or even my pale pink purse with the trendy heart-shaped key chain??? No. No and no. I hate cleaning and avoid it at all cost.

I think possibly I am supposed to develop a new zest for living. Yes! Make the most of every day! Become annoyingly optimistic! I’ll share my mantra with everyone who will listen: “The glass is not only half-full, it’s continually flowing over.” I’ll inspire others with my rose-colored view of every situation! No. Noooo. I don’t want my friends to roll their eyes behind my back. I want them to like me. And people don't like Pollyannas. Forget optimism.

Perhaps I’ll vow to celebrate life! I'll travel to see the Seven Wonders of the World. I have no idea what they all are but they sound intriguing! And interesting!..... And expensive. Very expensive, and Super Hubs would not like that in lieu of my recent on-line ordering from Sephora. No. We don’t have the budget to travel the world right now. (Or order more makeup from Sephora. He's banned me from that website.)

So maybe I’ll better myself mentally. I’ll become a fabulously interesting person by memorizing the “Letter X” of the Wikipedia or something. People will invite me to all their dinner parties because of my incredible, interesting head for knowledge! I’ll be not only entertaining but inspiring in my quest for facts and spurring others onto higher education! No. No again. I deplore memorizing. And facts. They are not fun. And besides, nobody likes a “Know It All.”

Maybe I should become an amazing humanitarian like Angelina Jolie. (Without the gorgeousity and world-famous husband.) I could visit orphanages and refugee camps in warn-torn countries! I’d attract people to doing good for others! I’d be a modern day Mother Theresa! (With a slightly better wardrobe. No offense to her. But I don’t look good in white. I’m too fair.) Yes. The life of a Philanthropist is definitely for me!.... Except that I have three children to take care of. Three children with ties to this city and no desire to be uprooted to various countries at present. Okay, forget the altruism at this time. Maybe in later years.

I don’t know. What do I do with this N.D.E. and second chance at life? I guess I’ll keep introspecting. When it’s convenient and I'm less tired. Right now I am pining for a glass of wine and spaghetti dinner. So maybe for tonight, I’ll just enjoy the ordinary, and celebrate that I am having a delicious meal with my beloved family.

Thank you, Angels!

The view from our country Iowa Bed & Breakfast

Going Home?

I imagined that today I would write about my Girls’ Weekend trip to Iowa to visit our friend, Sandy. I thought I’d share about the 4 hour car ride there with three of my girlfriends, which included much laughter, story-sharing, and an extended lunch at a charming Irish pub in Galena. I pictured blogging about our great time over the weekend and the Mongolian dinner we had. And I definitely intended to share in detail about the lovely couple from Sandy’s church, who put us four strangers up for the night in their beautiful, homey farmhouse and fed us a hearty breakfast. Their incredible spirit of hospitality made us feel so welcomed and cared for.

Instead, I want to write about angels. I believe in them, more so now than ever.

We planned on driving home from Iowa today. But a winter blizzard was predicted to begin at midnight, with freezing rain headed straight on our path back to Chicago. So we made the decision to leave last night after a church service. We figured we’d be on the road before 8pm, and then home by midnight, when the storm was supposed to begin. A praying woman from the church we attended last night grabbed us right before we left for the ride back, and prayed for God’s protection over us. And we were off.

During the last hour of our journey, freezing rain began to pelt our car and the roads. It was about 6 miles from home when we hit a patch of black ice on a two-lane highway and lost control of the steering. The van slid as if on roller skates, sliding toward the guardrail, then hydroplaning perpendicular to the road. Oncoming headlights were in the distance, heading our way as my friend, Chris, frantically gripped the wheel, trying to right the car. The van slid back and forth in a terrifying dance that went on for about 20 seconds. My heart in my throat, I thought of my three children as I prayed “Please, God!” and waited for the moment of impact.

But I believe in angels. Because finally, finding firmer ground, Chris regained control and put us back in the right lane, just as some oncoming cars flew past us. We were safe, which was truly a miracle. Badly shaken, we drove the rest of the way home on roads covered with ice, seeing cars spinning and landing in ditches.

I believe that God sent his angels to watch over our car last night, in response to prayer, to protect and preserve us. And I think of my family, and of the families of my friends in the van, and I am so grateful that we are okay for them.

To Iowa Or Bust!

It’s been a hectic week. A crazy-busy week. But a good week. I’ve had meetings every night, mostly with my involvement on a Drama Team. On Monday we performed a drama, on Tuesday night we trained and rehearsed for another drama. And last night, I assisted with (got in the way of) a Video Shoot that was so much fun it shouldn’t have been legal.

I was born a creative child who lived to sing and dance. I frequently organized theatrical productions with my friends; putting on productions for the neighborhood. I painted, drew and loved to create beauty from nothing. I spent hours laboring over poetry and writings on my manual typewriter. But my family of origin either did not recognize or did not value any artistic bent that I had. So I decided, at some point, that I was no good at creating.

When I turned forty, I decided to pursue some of my first loves. Hadn’t I cherished the arts when I was young? I vaguely remembered that. So I auditioned for a Drama Team. And I began to write again. I am now blessed to have opportunities to do acting and writing. And someday, when I have time, I want to try to my hand at some of the visual arts. Perhaps painting. Or photography. I believe there’s an artist inside everyone, because God is the ultimate artist, and we are created in His image. It’s just about figuring out how you can personally make a little piece of your world more beautiful.

Today I am heading to Iowa for a Girls’ Weekend with some of my Drama Team friends, to visit another friend who recently moved there. My Drama Team girlfriends are all very talented artists, and I love the encouragement we give one another. And they’re so darned much fun! I suspect there will be much joviality and merry making. I’ll let you know.

Happy Valentine's Day!

When I was single and living in the city of Chicago, I was asked out for a date by a really nice guy. He happened to live in an apartment directly across from my place of employment, Children’s Memorial Hospital. I worked there as an R.N. on the top floor, a pediatric oncology unit. This man and I developed a signal where, when working the night shift, I’d go to the window at midnight. I’d look down into his apartment window, and I’d shine my penlight down on him, and he’d turn a flashlight on and off. We called it our “Thinking About You At Midnight” signal.

For our second date, he invited me to his place for dinner on Valentine’s Day. I wore a red corduroy skirt and sweater and carried a tin of homemade chocolate chip cookies. He picked me up, then dropped me off at his apartment while he tried to find parking. I admit to snooping that evening. I walked around his home; opening drawers, picking up pictures. I wanted to find out more about this man.

He cooked veal piccata and vegetables with rice. We had vanilla ice cream with a topping of Bailey’s Irish Cream for dessert. We shared a little wine (very little, for I had to work the night shift) and watched “Casablanca.” He gave me roses.

On our third date, he told me he thought I was beautiful and that he was in love with me. I was a little taken aback. It seemed so quick, and I was certain he’d fall “out of love” as soon as he got to really know me. But he didn’t. In fact, he kept pursuing me. He’d stop by my apartment frequently with little gifts and cards. He’d walk me home after work, usually with a single flower in hand. He was so loving and so giving and incredibly kind.

I decided that I would need to break up with him. He was way too nice, and I was feeling suffocated. So I took my best friend out for a drink, and asked her advice. How could I kindly let this guy down, who was clearly so smitten with me?? I didn’t want to break his heart. But it was impossible for me, I felt, to continue a relationship with a man who was so decent! My friend, never one to mince words, told me I was an idiot. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to you!” she declared.

She was right. So I let myself fall in love. And then I married him a year later. Tonight we will celebrate our 21st Valentine’s Dinner together. And he’s still the very best man that I know. I am really lucky.

I wish you, My Readers, a very happy Valentine’s Day. Whether you are married or single; whether you will celebrate with someone tonight or alone, think about all the people in your life that you love and who love you. I’m sure there are many. And be grateful!

What Is "A Camel?"

This is a tad “X-rated”, so if you are easily offended, please read no further. Perhaps you’d like to peruse some of my cleaner posts. Consider yourself warned.

Little Squirt is a diligent helper. He loves to “assist” (term used very loosely) me in my housework. He takes the windex and squirts all the glass tabletops, all the mahogany furniture, and all the furry mammals. He vacuums the fallen hamster shavings, the fallen hamster droppings, and, nearly, a few times, the fallen hamster.
You get the picture.

Today we were emptying the clean laundry basket together:
“Here’s the socks for Daddy’s feet.” He handed me the socks.
“Here’s the the t-shirts for Rock Star.” He handed me the t-shirts.
“Here’s the thing for Mommy’s humps.” The what?? I turned and looked at the item.
“Here’s for your humps, Mom!” he repeated. And handed me my bra.
So I realize an anatomy lesson is in his near future. And possibly one in zoology?

Take "Five"

Things are looking up.
1.) I have reconciled with my friend, so my heart is lighter and the ##*# Heavy Brick has been shown the door with a good swift kick on it’s bottom. It spent way too much time with me last week, and I’m hoping it doesn’t return for a visit any time soon.
2.) We had dinner last night with old friends that make me laugh so hard my Endorphins competed with my Raging Hormones for first place occupation, and I have declared the Endorphins the winners.
3.) I’m working on a drama, to be performed tomorrow night. And anytime I get to pretend I’m someone else for an evening is a very good thing. (Just for an evening. Then I’ll want to be ME again.)

Speaking of the drama, I was rehearsing my lines and blocking today at home, with Super Hubs’ help. And Little Squirt was sitting in a chair, observing. Which is a difficult thing for him to do, because he’s such “action guy.” He always knows my lines better than I do, with that five-year-old brain of his that absorbs everything like a sponge. So he watched me rehearse, but whenever I’d say a line a little different than how it was written in the script, he’d yell, “Cut! No, Mom, you say it like this!” And by gosh he was right. Everytime. He drives me harder than my Director! But it’s nice to know that, should I come down with the flu tomorrow night, I can dress him up in high heels and a blond wig, and I’ve got myself a cute little Understudy.

Heavy Brick For Sale

Sometimes I wish I was a left-brained person, who thrived on analysis and charts and graphs; able to keep her emotions in check and her feelings to a minimum. Analyze-schmanalyze and move on. Instead, God gave me a temperament type in which I feels emotions in bright colors and wear my heart on my sleeve; tender and vulnerable to the pokes and prods of the world.

I had some conversations with a friend early in the week which left me feeling misunderstood and frustrated. And I have carried feelings of hurt, anger and disappointment like a Heavy Brick into every compartment of my life all week long. This Heavy Brick has accompanied me to my drama rehearsal, the grocery store, and even to breakfast with friends. It’s joined me in bed at night, and shoved its way into a few of my dreams. I’ve asked it to leave me alone, but it keeps showing up everywhere.

And along with the carrying of the Heavy Brick, it's the time of the month when I've had hormones raging throughout my body, like gnats on speed. You know what I’m talking about. So I’ve wanted to take this Heavy Brick and sail it through the window of the grocery store when I found the cucumbers to be soft and over-priced. And I fantasized about taking the Heavy Brick and knocking it upside the head of the Idiot Security Guard at my daughter’s school, who wouldn’t let me drop her off at the side door when the front parking lot was flooded with cars backed up because of snow and a school bus accident. For the love of God, People! If a woman is PMSing and carrying some emotional baggage at the same time, JUST BACK OFF!! And provide fresh produce! (These are the times when I firmly believe in very strict gun control laws.)

I’m hoping the Heavy Brick will not tag along tonight, as I head out for dinner with Super Hubs to our Date Night. If it does, it comes uninvited. Hopefully, after a couple of glasses of wine and words of comfort from my loving husband (who just brought me home yellow roses- I’m feeling better already), the Heavy Brick will lose some of its weight and power. We’ll see. It’d be great if I could just leave it at the bar.

Welcome Aboard!

It’s just insane, this weather. We’ve had something like a billion inches of snow this winter. So a friend and I, lamenting about our hatred of all things cold and wet, began talking about cruises. And how much she loves them. And I listened and nodded and pretended to agree. But I have a confession, just between you and me. I really hate cruises. And I know that sounds odd, because every person that I know loves cruises. But here’s why I hate them: I had a bad experience once, cruising the South China Sea.

We spent a month in Hong Kong a few years ago, when our first two kids were young. Super Hubs was sent there to teach a college class, and we decided we’d go over as a family. Every day we’d see the cruise ships come into the harbor from our high-rise hotel, so on our very last weekend of the trip, we decided to indulge a little, and take the kids on a 24 hour cruise of the South China Sea. I thought it’d be like sailing on The Love Boat. It sounded so exciting and romantic, and I also figured I’d get a lot of mileage out of the story for years to come at highbrow cocktail parties. “Where did we cruise to? Oh no, Dahling, not the Caribbean! That’s so ordinary! We decided to cruise the South China Sea.” (Not that I go to many highbrow cocktail parties. I actually don’t go to any. Yet. Maybe some day I’ll be invited.)

The cruise began well, before the ship actually took off. Or drove? No… swam. (Whatever cruise ships do.) It was a Norwegian cruise line, yet we were the only Anglo passengers, which I found excitingly interesting. We took a tour of the ship, which had every amenity known to the East, including a live performance by The Famous Eric Wu. (??? I had no idea who he was, but if you do, please tell me.)

I was a little apprehensive, because the forecast had predicted a monsoon. And sailing in monsoons generally makes me nervous. The sky was gray, and it began to rain buckets as we first boarded. The weather did not deter my children in the least. They ran like banchees into the pool and down the water slides. They played video games, had their caricatures done, rode up and down the elevators, and had an outstanding time overall. They thought the rain made the cruise fun! I however, felt sicker than a dog from the moment the ship swam. No…..sailed. Yes, sailed! The monsoon arrived, as predicted, which caused ferocious waves, hence making the ship rock back and forth so much that our dinner plates fell off our tables. And I walked into walls. I began to feel, not only extremely queasy, but extremely terrified. I was certain we were going to die. And I did not want my children to die in the South China Sea.

So I decided I would go find The Captain, and warn him that I had a premonition that our ship would sink like the Titanic. Was he aware that sailing in a monsoon was potentially dangerous?? Maybe he should think about turning back! Certainly we should adorn ship-sinking-emergency-wear! Or at least alert the Chinese Coast Guard! I was sure The Captain would need my advice. So after dinner, Super Hubs took our kids to watch a movie, and I went down to find The Captain. After receiving numerous directions from passengers and crew who spoke worse English than I speak Mandarin, I found the Captain’s Bridge. And behind a glass window, I could see The Captain, holding the wheel and conning the ship. He was a tall, blond, distinguished-looking man with a beard; a Nordic “god” in uniform. The look on his face was one of total peace. He was a man in control, and wasn’t a bit concerned about the thrashing waves or the roaring wind. He turned to look at me, and could see the terror in my eyes. We communicated without words. He smiled and nodded, and gave me a “thumbs up.” And I felt waves of relief rush over me. (Please pardon the pun.) My fear was gone.

I thought about him all night long, as I lay wide awake in my bottom bunk; the boat continuing to tip back and forth, my stomach clenched in pain and queasiness. I pictured The Captain in control, at the helm, steering the ship safely through the storm.

I’ve gone back to that image, during times that I feel I will not survive the “storms” and chaos that life sometimes delivers. Moments when I am overwhelmed by fear. Or hurt. I think of God as being like that ship’s Captain; tall and beautiful, steering the wheel of the ship that is my life, giving me a “thumbs up” sign. “I’ve got it all under control, Kel. No worries. >Trust me.”

Our ship survived the monsoon, and the sun came out the next morning, just as we were docking. I was never so glad to see land! I ran off the ship and kissed that beautiful Hong Kong soil, much to the embarrassment of the demure Chinese.

So, that was my story. It pretty much ruined the cruise experience for me. Friends tell me I should give it another try someday, and bring lots of Dramamine. I don’t know. I think I prefer to vacation on land, where, if running into a monsoon, I can hide in a dry basement or something.

But I ask you, Readers: Why do you like to cruise? I’d really love to know. Please don’t be shy. Come out of lurking and be known. I’d love to hear your comments, and then maybe I’ll reconsider the cruise thing.

Peter Brady

My daughter's hottie crush. He's aged well since the Brady Bunch days!

Hey Sports Fans!

Well, I watched a bit of The Super Ball yesterday, believe it or not. I am not a huge sports fan, and sometimes drive Super Hubs crazy with my ignorance. I don’t know a polo mitt from a field hoop. But I do know how to make a mean chili con carne, which is about the extent of my usefulness come Super Ball Day. So I made chili, then watched a bit of the game. My daughter has a huge crush on Peter Brady, the hot pennyback or something for one of the teams, so she was rooting for the New England Tories. I, however, have a heart of compassion for the underdog; so I was cheering on the New York Ogres.

Then I got bored with the game and annoyed with Super Hubs and his constant “shushing" of me as I wanted to discuss our Valentine’s Day plans. I mean, one can watch the game while listening to my ideas for romantic intent, can they not? It’s just multi-tasking, People! So I went upstairs at around the 4th or 5th inning, to watch a marathon of “The Closer.” That was definitely more my kind of show. I got “updates” on the game whenever I heard the boys yell that someone had scored a homerun. And apparently The Ogres ended up winning!

Sports were never my thing. I was on the Track Team during my first year of high school, because I could run and was actually good at it. But what I didn’t like about running track was that running made me winded. And tired. And sweaty. And my calves got sore. So why bother, when I could just be watching t.v. with nary a leg cramp?

I was not gifted or even competent at any of the ball sports. I could care less and had no competitive spirit. I mean why, really why would I actually want to run to a base on the rare occasion that I hit the ball with a bat?? I just didn’t care enough. I was good at the very odd “sport” like pogo-sticking. And I could balance on a bongo-board until infinity if I wanted to. I just didn’t want to. I was athletically challenged, and that was fine with me. I viewed P.E. as a waste of time and/or social occasion to catch up on the latest gossip.

So The Super Ball is now over for a year, and it’s time for me to try to bond with Super Hubs over another sport. I hear spring-training for La Crosse is beginning soon.

Sharing Date Night

My Favorite Things to ward off The Winter Gloomies:
1.) Indulge in reading part of a fabulous book every day.
2.) Buy new make-up.
3.) Drink spicy Bloody Marys. A friend of mine re-introduced me to them, and I’ve been making a virgin one every day to sip in front of the fire.
4.) Nightly scented bubble baths.
5.) Cooking comfort food.
6.) Dinner Club.

I hosted the Dinner Club last night; a gathering of four couples who meet monthly to share a meal. So I got to incorporate 4 of my 6 Favorite Things all at the same time. I cooked for the Dinner Club while drinking a Bloody Mary and wearing my new makeup. Aren’t I industrious? I just couldn’t figure out how to read the fabulous book while bathing while cooking……I guess there’s no perfect plan.

I thoroughly enjoy cooking, if I have the time and the space to make something really delicious for people who will appreciate it. It completely relaxes me; lingering over slicing and dicing, hearing the sizzle and pop of the food as it sautees, appreciating the various aromas and textures. I play soothing music, sip a glass of wine or the aforementioned Bloody Mary, light a candle, and it does my heart worlds of good. I especially enjoy making dinner for friends. For me, its a way to show them love. I relish setting an attractive table, preparing the food and welcoming people into my home.

Last night was not without its preparation issues. As I was setting the table, I noticed three of my wine goblets were missing, and they have yet to make a re-appearance. All of my family members, when quizzed, deny breaking/losing/ or hearing of the wine glasses sprouting legs and boarding a bus to Toledo. Now how do goblets just go missing, I wonder?? The answer remains a mystery. And then Little Squirt spilled my glass of red wine all over the table cloth, just as the guests were arriving. It was not the look I was going for.

So all was not perfect, but that’s okay. These are some of my best friends; who make me feel joyful and encouraged and known, and somehow a little bit less melancholy, in spite of the bleakness of the weather. It was an excellent way to welcome February.