Public Service Announcement: Grill Safety

With Labor Day coming up, I just thought I would offer a friendly, neighborhood reminder to clean the grease trap and bottom end on the grill once in a while. 

I turned around for just a moment to put something down after loading the grill with 16 burgers and 8 hot dogs from a butcher nearby that specializes in high quality, grass fed beef. When I turned back to the grill, it was all literally in flames, the temp gauge was maxed out, the flames were reaching about 4 feet above the grill surface (threatening to ignite the siding on Mimi's house), and I felt like Shadrach, Mechach and Adednego trying to salvage anything edible out of the conflagration. 

It was not a happy making event. There might have been a singed arm fur hair or two. Close to a Code Brown moment.

I'm Surprised...

 ...that this hasn't become the latest Tik Tok challenge or whatever the kids are doing these days since Tide Pods became passe`.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love me some mac and cheese. I make it home made from scratch. In a pinch, a box of Kraft cheese powder sauce for nostalgia purposes is good comfort food, but I draw the line at the bulk bucket o' creamy pasta. I don't even know who would buy that. One of the people from my 600 Pound Life?

Why Can't I Get Sick in Peace?

I had to go to Las Vegas for business last week. I flew out on Sunday and came back Monday.  I didn't go play in any reindeer games although I was tempted to drop the lone $1 bill in my wallet on a slot machine just so I could say I lost all my money in Vegas.

While I am there in Vegas tending to business, I start to pick up a little bit of  nasal congestion and scratchy throat. Allergies thinks I. I'm not used to a climate involving dry air and show girls on the street corners. Speaking of things I'm not used to, Vegas is probably the only place in the country where you can have a marijuana "dispensary" next door to a gun range next door to a wedding chapel next door to a world class buffet. When they say Sin City, they ain't just whistling Dixie buster. The restaurant proudly displaying a sign that said "over 350 pounds eats free" was just icing on the decadence cake.

So, any post nasal drip, I come home very late Monday night. I get off the plane hungry not having had time to grab food before departure in Lost Wages. Dallas Love Field is borderline ghost town at 11:30. By the time I made it back to my vehicle and out the parking garage, it was past midnight. The Queen didn't help matters by tempting me with Facebook videos of a deep dish, stuffed crust, double three cheese blend with an extra side of cheese pizza dusted in grated Parmesean.

So, naturally, I go looking for pizza. Surely, in Dallas, there would be a pizza place open until at least 1:00 AM. I go Googling. Nothing near the airport claimed to be open. Not that such would have been my first choice. It's a 30 minute drive from the airport back to the house. Cold pizza is not nearly as enticing as hot pizza. What about near the house? Surely my humble suburb had a Domino's open late? According to their website, yes, they had a location just a few miles from my house that was open until 1:00AM.

Huzzah. The tired traveler is saved from starving to death.

Not so fast garlic sauce.

I call the number. It's 12:06 AM. I sit on hold for 8 minutes while a lovely computer recorded female voice tells me about all the wonderful employment opportunities available to me at Domino's and someone will be with me shortly to take my order. How freaking busy can a Domino's be on a Monday night just after midnight? Did the Marijuana Growers Convention come to town and no one told me? I grow a tad impatient and hang up. I tried calling back at 12:14AM. Same lovely recording. I have no moved from impatient to peeved. Perhaps some twit is talking to their significant other or playing Pokémon or whatever it is Domino's employees do when they should be answering the PHONE!!!!

Calm down. It's just the hunger making you rage. Their probably all just busy...at midnight...on a Monday.

I call again at 12:21AM. Now, I was expecting at the very least the same cheerful recorded voice saying someone would eventually take my order. The website said they're open until 1:00AM. I expect someone to take orders until 1:00 AM. Or, at least answer the phone and say sorry, last order has to be in by 12:45 or something. So, you can imagine my puzzlement when a new pre-recorded greeting reached my ears proclaiming that Domino's was now closed for the evening.

Oh really. Do tell.

Some smarmy bugger went and flipped a switch rather than take an order. Since this location is on my way home, more or less. I decided to swing by for a little looksee.

You know, it was really tempting, when I arrived at the location at about 12:36 AM, to drive my truck through the front window when I saw no less than 4 Domino's employees standing around doing not much of anything.

A plague of flying monkeys engaging in deviant behavior with footballs upon your store Domino's. I shall never grace your business with my money again.

So, Tuesday dawns. I decided that working from home made perfect sense in light of my late night misadventures. I work in an office where I report to no one directly, and no one reports directly to me. My phone was already forwarded to my work cell phone. As long as I logged in to my computer and answered the phone, no one would know or care where I was.

Wednesday, saw me back at the office. The sniffles and cough had started to settle in for a long winter stay. I kept foolishly thinking it was just allergies. Thursday didn't go any better, and my voice made it known that it was going to make a break for it before the end of the day. By Thursday evening, it was clear something in the viral/bacterial family had gotten a hold of me. It was early to bed after dinner. Unfortunately, it was not a restful night's sleep.

Nausea and a glorious bit of acid reflux woke me up in the wee hours. I spent some quality time in the restroom trying to decide which orifice was going to win the honors of expelling the demons. Since my upper respiratory tract was busy coughing up a lung and waking up The Queen, the traditional exit won the coin toss. I eventually made it back to bed. I assume The Queen did as well. I was beyond caring at that point.

Friday morning dawned with me sleeping through all my alarms and waking at 9:30 AM to a massive headache, more coughing, sneezing and a low grade fever. I texted the boss that work from home was going to be attempted and proceeded to slog through my work day as best as I could manage. I have a vague memory of cooking chili for dinner before collapsing into sleep early again.

Sometime in the night, I relocated to the recliner. I'm not sure that did any good, but it was worth a shot. I could breathe slightly better through one nostril in a semi reclined position as opposed to no nostrils in the fully supine position.

Saturday morning dawned with me back in bed again. The Queen allowed as how she felt like garbage too. Great. Misery loves company. For the last several years, I have been unable to fully enjoy my customary illness remedy: pulling the covers over my head and sleeping for three days. The reason for this is that The Queen has a tendency to get ill at the same time as I. Dreadfully inconvenient since I am her caretaker.

To make matters worse, we were out of drinking water. Yes, we are water snobs. I say "we" referring to the household as a collective whole.  I am more than content to swill tap water when necessary; however, I can easily discern the difference in flavor between filtered water, Fiji water and the taps from several municipalities in our area. So, we buy our water by the 5 gallon refillable bottle. We had 6 of those suckers at one time; but, through attrition and misfortune, we are down to 4.

By the by, water weighs in at about 8 pounds per gallon making one of those bottles, when full, about 40 pounds of  dead weight. Ever try lifting 40 pounds when you have a massive headache? I'm pretty sure that's what a stroke feels like just before it happens.

So, after a slight detour, back to our story. Saturday sees us headed off to the local Whole Foods to refill our water stocks from their carefully filtered sources (don't go there...just don't, there are things I do for love that you will not understand). I suggested to The Queen that a rotisserie chicken and some mac n cheese were ideal options for dinner saving everyone some trouble since I had no bloody intention of cooking. The Queen, in her infinite wisdom, acknowledged that this was a splendid idea.

We returned home at which time I crawled back into bed in a futile attempt to continue with my traditional illness remedy. Dinner was inhaled at some point. The Queen and I watched a couple of movies to distract ourselves. A snack of leftover chili was had. The Queen reported feeling better. I, however, was not.

Which brings us to today. I've been stuck with the same low grade fever. Still coughing and sneezing. Fortunately, the headache has receded from massive to minor inconvenience. The Queen and I have enjoyed a restful day in bed plucking away at our laptops. Until just before 5:00 PM when I received a call from my father in law, Opa.

It seems Opa had taken Oma out for a little drive and his vehicle sprouted a flat tire. Bear in mind, it's 50 degrees outside with the temperature dropping as the sun goes down. I'm the only one in the house capable of changing a flat tire since my father in law has a major hernia issue, Oma wouldn't know the difference between a lug nut and a tire if her life depended on it, M&M hasn't received proper training on vehicle maintenance yet, and The Queen is still on the gimp from injuring her foot a few weeks back.

That leaves me. I get dressed in warm clothing not wanting to make matters worse. Ha. That's funny. I make sure my truck is topped off with fluids (since my truck has all the tools in it and will carry my 3 ton floor jack without a problem). Good thing too. The radiator was a wee bit low as was the oil, and it turns out Opa's vehicle had a jack but no tool to cause the jack to actually do jack about jack.

I prefer my floor jack any way.

I arrive to discover Opa's vehicle parked way, way, way at the back of a new subdivision. They've paved the streets and alleys, but the rest is mud. Somehow, Opa managed to find his way down one of these recently paved alleyways which were not strictly open to the public nor completely finished as the storm water drains had just recently been installed. The Opamobile is parked in an good spot for a tire change thankfully. I get out to inspect the problem and discover that the passenger front tire is completely separated from the rim after getting punctured in the sidewall, and a good bit of the rim has been chewed up and broken off. That's a dead donut right there. No chance of salvaging either rim or tire.

As near as I can tell, Opa didn't see the fact that the recently installed storm drain was sitting neatly inside a formed hole in the concrete paving of the recently paved alley which left just enough room between the pavement and the storm drain for one SUV tire to drop in neatly and off camber enough to get punctured by a wooden stake holding the concrete forms in place. The reason Opa didn't see this is that today's rains had left a muddy pool of water covering the area of the as yet uncompleted storm drain.

Before I had arrived, Opa had managed  to pull the spare tire out of the wheel well. It's a full sized spare for an SUV. Remember Opa? The one with the hernia condition? I appreciate the attempt at helping, but don't kill yourself old man. That's my job.

Anywho, I get what's left of the dead donut off and wisely check the spare before installation. Wouldn't you know it? Not even enough air to register on the tire pressure gauge. Fortunately, I came prepared. My truck is pretty well stocked for a clunker. I grabbed the air pump; and, a few minutes later, we had a properly aired up full size spare.

By now, the sun is down, and I am both chilled and sweating at the same time. Neat trick that. You should try it sometime. I'm out of  breath too. I should really give up this getting sick business since I can't seem to die in peace.

Lug nuts get tightened as much as I'm willing to do without dragging out the torque wrench. Opa gets back in his vehicle and promptly can't find the keys.

[facepalm] You've got to be kidding me.

We search high and low even resorting to frisking poor Oma (you just can't take any chances with those Alzheimer's folks). The keys finally turn up between the center console and the driver's seat where an inadvertent elbow must have knocked them off to (why Opa put them on the center console in the first place is a mystery to me...that man's logic escapes me sometimes).

Now, I'm back home recording this for posterity after consuming some really good Mediterranean food. I'm going to, once again, attempt to pull the covers over my head and sleep.

Good night.

Oddities: Lingerie

I present this without further comment:

The Queen, however, mentioned something about Pez dispensers.

A Little Mockery Goes a Long Way

My office is like many workplaces these days; and, by that, I mean that it has embraced the "enlightenment" that comes with having a Wellness Committee. And, by "enlightenment", I mean the draconian push to eliminate "unhealthy" things from the lifestyles of the gainfully employed under its domain. 

Word is that, once upon a time prior to my arriving at this place of employment, every Thursday was donut and muffin day with boxes of sweet delights being brought in for the huddled masses to enjoy. At some point, probably the result of increasing health insurance costs and the "encouragement" of the health insurance companies, it was decided that free range fatties should be discouraged from enlarging themselves on the company dime. Some people in the office still have the email with a picture of a donut and captioned "RIP". 

Well, enough is enough. I have decided to embark upon a campaign to recapture the freedom of the common man from the tyranny of health insurance company profit motives. 

I am establishing the ANTI Wellness Committee. 

Our motto is Carpe Donut!! 

Offsite meetings are to be held weekly at Krispy Kreme or Dunkin' Donuts. We plan on publishing a news letter with articles about ways to increase your cholesterol and blood pressure, how to be a lazier couch potato, find good deals on hammocks and recliners and generally promote vegetating in front of the TV as a form of exercise (it is, after all, a path to getting into A shape). 

Join us. You know you want to. 

Randomness

I'm hoping there are still folks out there in the ether seeing this. I've gotten used to the comments, and it'd be a shame to start over whistling in the wind to no one. The excuse/explanation is the same...kids, wife, life. 

Before proceeding with the post, I'd like to welcome the two newest members of the congregation. Maddog of Maddog's Farms and David from Musings Over a Pint decided to check their sanity at the door and swell my ego by hitting the follower button. Welcome both of you. I'd say help yourself to anything in the fridge, but pickin's are slim. I need to go shopping for groceries. 

First in the random, stream of unconsciousness mental musings, I have a question for my Colorado acquaintances: Just what the heck is up with Rich Wyatt at Gunsmoke in Denver? I've been watching American Guns for a while...'cause it's about guns. Duh. But, asking $3000 for a Springfield Armory 1911? Letting your teenage daughter out in public looking like a hooker? Seriously??? Someone needs to explain what he is thinking. More importantly, what are people who pay these prices thinking?

Next up, I present the following...

Here, let me help you get a closer look...

I'm not sure this falls into the crimes against humanity category, but it was definitely distinctive. Also, I didn't get a look at the owner, but I'd be willing to bet that her body had some work done to it as well. Oh, and it had metal flake in the paint. So, it SPARKLED in the sun. Like Edward Cullen. Or so I'm told. 

I saw a guy riding one of those Can Am Spyder's the other day in rush hour traffic with no protective gear whatsoever. Not really abnormal around here. What drew my attention in the first place was the pair of crutches strapped to the back. Okay. I can see that. Then, upon closer inspection, I noted the reason for the crutches....an above the knee leg amputation. Oh. Dear. Lord. You're missing half your leg, and you are going to ride around DFW in traffic with no helmet. Dude, there are easier ways to commit suicide. 

I had to take a day trip to Houston the other day. The client offered to pick me and my senior claims rep up in Dallas...in their corporate jet. I have a photo taken by the iLeash that really does not do it justice. There is a great photo on the net that I don't want to use as it belongs to someone else. Do a search on Cessna Citation CJ2+ on Google. That was my ride for the day. It beats flying commercial with an ugly stick any day. No TSA. No perv-o-scan. No taking shoes off. No cockpit door between me and the view out the front. Hated every minute of it. If you believe that, I have some lovely beach front property for sale that you might be interested in. 

So, the other night, The Queen and I were lounging around after a long, hard battle getting The Banshee to bed. A couple of hippies decided to invade the castle and start talking about how great New York is and other liberal twaddle. The Queen and I looked at them like they were the unwashed heathen that they were. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Then, The Banshee cried out in her sleep. The Queen and I snapped, and it was on like Donkey Kong. They needed killin' is a valid defense here. Of course, we had to eat the evidence anyway. 

They won't be coming around here anymore.

Mini Me has an adult tooth coming in surprisingly enough. Two weeks after surgery. Ain't that something?

The Banshee continues to be a living, breathing testament for birth control. She has her precious moments like last night when we were leaving the restaurant after dinner. She was dead tired. I stroked her cheek. She closed her eyes and looked positively angelic. I stopped stroking. Her eyes popped open. Lather, rinse, repeat a few times. Then, she leaned her head into my hand. It was priceless. In case you are wondering, no, it does not make up for the the screaming and shrieking. 

M&M remains as adorable as ever; however, the roller coaster ride continues. Birth momma's momma has now come out of the woodwork claiming she wants M&M and has wanted her since she was born. Uh huh. I'm buying that. It's REAL convenient that she just happens to surface a couple of weeks after the birth parents find out that their first choice is out of the picture. Where the heck has she been hiding the last eight months? God will have to handle this part too. If He leaves it up to me, things might get messy. I don't want that. It's kinda hard to explain to your daughter why her bio parents vanished from the face of the earth for no apparent reason and keep a straight face. Or so I've been told. 

Other than all that, life continues to treat me better than I deserve. I continue to wake up in the morning. People pay me good money to do what I do. I have a roof over my head and food on the table. I have a wife who loves me despite the fact that I'm a goob. I got blessings a plenty and not much really worth complaining about. 

Here's hoping your life is the same.

Followers and Other Stuff

I think I've beat my record for lack of posting. As of today, it's been 33 or 34 days since I posted (unless you count "The Ever Evolving Wishlist" page I added two days ago). I sincerely apologize. In my defense, things have been a bit busy in real life. In the past month, I've had two serious claims that required "drop everything and get there now" travel. The Queen managed to wrench a muscle in her back which has really hampered her child care taking abilities. When I'm done doing stuff at the end of the day, it's generally late and I'm too tired to look at a computer.

Bad me.

Before I go further, I'd like to welcome a couple of new followers. A Girl of A Girl And Her Gun has graced this humble space with her presence. I've been following her for a while now. She has an inspiring story for those who have not yet come into contact with her. I would encourage anyone with even a passing interest in self defense to check her out. She takes her training and personal protection seriously...as we all should. Also, someone blogging at Encourage One Another has decided to hang their hat here. Welcome. Feel free to let me hear from you.

I also received a message on Facebook from a girl I went to high school with who told me she's been reading the blog. It still amazes me when folks I know actually show up here and read my stuff. Welcome, Tracy. Not one word in the comments about my 80s mullet. Zip it. That goes for you too, Tena.

Now, in the midst of life swirling around me the last month or so, I had an email exchange with cyber friend Kymber who came up with an even BETTER name for Little Miss Cobra. Kymber called her the Banshee. So, I am shamelessly stealing her intellectual content while silently cursing myself for not thinking of it sooner. From now on, LMC will be forever known as The Banshee. With her brother, they are Mini Me and The Banshee. Sounds like an interesting name for a band if you ask me. Thanks, Kymber.

While on that subject, Mini Me and The Banshee are still with us. We are making some progress with The Banshee's noise making tendencies. She no longer howls and screams when getting her diaper changed. Huge plus at 7:00 AM when I am trying to get ready for work. Trust me. Car rides are more pleasant too. She still wails like a tornado siren when she is not being held and feels that she should be which is pretty much anytime she is awake and active. Those magical times when she has just eaten or is interested in something like the tassles on my dress shoes are wonderful though, she seems almost angelic...then she turns into Jack Jack at the end of The Incredibles.

We continue our efforts to instruct Mini Me in the fine art of honesty. Please allow me to share a brief scene with you from this past Sunday's Father's Day Dinner at The Cheesecake Factory.

The setting: Mini Me next to me. The Queen across from me with M&M sacked out on the bench cushion next to her. The Banshee plotting revenge in the high chair between The Queen and I. Dinner arrives. Mini Me was ordered grilled chicken, mashed taters and steamed carrots...all things he has eaten previously and liked but not what he wanted to order (hamburger and fries).

Mini Me (after poking at his food): I got a 'tomak ache.

Me: Are you sure? I think you just don't want to eat what you have in front of you.

Mini Me (nodding his head): My 'tomak hurts.

Me: Well, here's the deal. If you really don't feel well, you don't have to eat anymore. BUT, that will be your breakfast tomorrow.

Mini Me: Well, maybe I can eat some now.

Me: Mini Me, you know what you just did don't you.

Mini Me (nodding head): [mumble, mumble]

Me: What's that?

Mini Me: yes, sir.

Me: That's right. You lied. [The Queen], since Mini Me said he was sick, I think we should take him to the emergency room. What do you think?

The Queen: I think that's a great idea.

Mini Me (face draining of all color, water works beginning, sobbing): NO! Don't take me to the doctor. I'll never lie again. I promise.

I wish I could have taken a picture of the look on his face. It was priceless. He HATES going to the doctor. Despises it with a passion. The fear in his eyes was genuine. He wasn't sure we weren't going to take him to the ER until we pulled into the driveway at the house. Yes, it was evil, I know.

While I'm thinking about it, I received a genuine honor recently from fellow blogger, GunDiva. She invited me to be a contributor to a blog she runs called The GunDivas. I haven't had a chance to post anything there yet, but there will eventually be content cross posted here from there. Or vice versa. We'll figure it out. One of the contributors there is a real life, "I get paid to do this", published author by the name of Tara Jansen. So, I am in good company. Hopefully, I can live up to the honor.

There was apparently some confusion amongst the readership on the subject of M&M. She remains in our care. Prying her out of The Queen's hands for a little daddy time is becoming more of a challenge though. She is almost ready to crawl. She is up on all fours and rocking back and forth. She scoots around surprisingly well. She also has a couple of teeth breaking through, and she's started on baby foods. She has a "delightful" habit of "motorboating" while she is being fed resulting in all around her getting splattered with food. It's hysterical until it gets in your eye.

There is a court status hearing scheduled for next week. It is our understanding that a trial on the parents' rights will be set at that time. Such a trial is not likely to occur until the fall at the earliest and could be as late as December. We have some other news on that front as well that I, unfortunately, cannot talk about in detail here yet. The short of it is that the out of state cousin is no longer in the picture. The Queen and I were shocked to say the least. If I ever can post details here, you will see that it really was a miracle and answered prayer.

In the meantime, I am going to try and get back in the swing of posting here more regularly again. I have several ideas for posts. There's the Magellan Award to discuss, there's some thoughts about a political theory I've been kicking around, thoughts about the current state of goverment at all levels, thoughts on cars I've owned and pets that have owned me, and I still haven't gotten around to posting about learning to fly and other things from my murky past.

All in do time.

Random Photos and Other Things

I've been away for a little while, but I'm back now. The Queen and I were away from the world for a while keeping the Feast of Tabernacles with our church. We really didn't want to come back. So, I thought I'd ease back into blogging with some randomness.

The end result of a game of "telephone" with several young children: "Pickles have farts."

Filbert the Fish keeps a close eye on Spanky McCloud.

Warm feet...cold floor.

Five year old on a zip line. Fearless little girl.

The Queen holding a contented passenger.

Word of warning...41 year old knees and ultimate frisbee in an unlit field marred by water runoff ruts at 10:30 at night are not a kosher combination.

The chili recipe I posted here is now an award winning chili recipe. It won first place out of eight entrants. Seven if you don't count the Indian stew entry. Six if you don't count the Yankee White Chicken Chili entry. Not bad considering I had to use a crock pot and a hotel kitchenette to make it.

Pet Peves

I will be the first to admit that I can be a bit picky from time to time about certain things....like how the laundry gets folded or how the dishwasher gets loaded for instance. The Queen says I'm "anal retentive" about such things. I always remind her that I poo quite well thank you very much. I just tend to be rather set in my ways when it comes to menial tasks, and it's not like I try to force others to do things my way. If you want to help out (as my mother in law is want to do from time to time) and fold the laundry the way you've done it your entire life, I will gladly thank you for your efforts, take the stack into the bedroom and quietly refold it my way.

Ditto for loading the dishwasher. If you happen to prefer a haphazard approach, fine. I will simply come in and adjust things to my liking when you aren't around. Simple. No hard feelings. Everyone is happy. 

There are, however, some things that I cannot overlook. Take, for instance, refrigerator manners. Here again, I admit to being a tad set in my ways. The Queen and I have a pretty basic larder that I replenish with regular shopping trips. Everything is fine and dandy as long as we don't get too many unannounced and unplanned for visitors. I know what's in the fridge because I stocked it, I cook the meals, and I stash the leftovers. If I'm in the mood for a snack, I know more or less how much of what I've got to work with.

Until the aforementioned unannounced and unplanned for visitors arrive. Such as my oldest niece. She is a wonderfully sweet girl (who needs to post something to her blog) who is in her first year of college after graduating from high school a year early. She also is sharing an apartment with a friend. An apartment where she gets bored from time to time. So, she comes to visit Auntie Queen and Uncle Shepherd. For several days at a time. Which is fine in and of itself.

Now, before I go much further, I really must disclaim any ill will towards niece Juju as The Queen and I do enjoy her company. I just have a bone to pick with her fridge manners. I've already addressed this with her directly. So, rest assured, I'm not talking about her behind her back. 

You see, my niece - who freely admits to being a moocher, is a grazer. She will open up the fridge and spot a likely item for noshing and go to town. This is not the problem. I don't mind her eating a half pound of deli roast beef at a sitting or the left over spaghetti.

I mind her putting one, solitary, forlorn slice of roast beast back into the fridge all by its lonesome  (which she adamantly denies and blames on my father in law) or just a tablespoon sized dollop of spaghetti sauce (which she freely admits to). 

Seriously. What am I supposed to do with a half shredded piece of deli meat or a spoon full of cold spaghetti sauce? The LAST half shredded piece of deli meat and dollop of sauce I might add. It's not enough for a sandwich or a saucer sized portion of noodles much less a plate full. They won't even dull a mouse's appetite as a snack. The dogs would love to have a bit of beast or spot of sauce, but I can't give one a taste and not the others. Splitting it all up into thirds, and they just look at me like "Where's the rest, dad?"

Juju and I have had a little set to about this a couple of times now. She will take what she wants from the fridge (which is fine) and put back the rest...no matter how minuscule that amount may be (not fine). I've asked why she just couldn't eat that last little bit of whatever. Her responses so far: "I was full" and "I didn't want it." 

"I was full" I can understand; but, trust me on this, that last little speck of roast isn't going to make you explode like the fat man from Monty Python. However, "I didn't want it" is not something I can really grasp. You mean to tell me that the other 3/4 of a pound was scrumptious, but that last .00001 of an ounce just turns your stomach? I don't get it. 

Anyway, I told you that to tell you this. I have to admit that Juju has been outdone.

We had a guest over the weekend who traveled in from Houston to spend the weekend for the purposes of wooing a lady friend. Or at the very least spending time with said lady friend as he's not really sure he wants to pursue the wooing any further. It's all very confusing. He's a really nice guy, and The Queen and I enjoy his company when he's here (since we don't get to Houston much anymore).

So, this morning, our friend got up early to hit the road back to H town. He fixed himself a bowl of cereal for breakfast since he's been here more than once and knows where everything is. That, and it was before my wake up time to make him breakfast. So, when I do make it into the kitchen this morning to make myself a bowl of cereal, I find this:

...in the fridge. There might be a half an ounce worth of milk in the bottom of that bottle. 

I will give our friend the benefit of the doubt here and assume that he didn't know where we wanted empties put, whether we recycle or not, that sort of thing; but, for the love of all that is holy, just finish off that last drop of milk. 

Miscellaneous Bullet Point Update

Today's my birthday, and I'm just not in the mood to do a long post. So, instead, I'm just going to do a quick bullet point update.

• As of Tuesday night/Wednesday morning at 1:45 AM, I have officially applied to the law school at Texas Wesleyan University in Ft. Worth, Texas. 
• I was the walking dead yesterday because I didn't finally get to sleep until 3:00 AM.
• The Queen is "encouraging" me to also apply to SMU's Dedman School of Law.
• Whether I apply and get accepted to SMU or not, I will likely choose to go to Texas Wesleyan for two reasons: 1) TW costs $50K less than SMU over the life of the program and is unlikely to provide with $50K worth of value above what TW will provide me over the life of my career, and 2) SMU made me mad when I visited their campus...bunch of snobs.
• We heard back from the vet today about the Yakmaster's test results. No diabetes, no worms, no viruses, no obvious anything. He's slightly anemic and has a slightly elevated white blood cell count. The vet thinks he's got an intestinal flora imbalance. Bottomline, we have to find the food he WILL eat and get him fattened up while giving him some probiotics. 
• The Yakmaster hates probiotics.
• I hate spending $250 to find out the Yakmaster has an upset stomach. 
• Gunshow Sunday with number one follower Ken in Ft. Worth. One and all are welcome to join us (I'm lookin' at you Bob S.).
• I'm really, really, really wanting to come home with a new armory addition from the gunshow...
• ...but my bonus doesn't hit the bank until Tuesday.
• After Tuesday, it will be home improvement time to get Castle Erickson ready to sell 'cause I'm not taking care of a house and a wife while attending law school.
• Fortunately, the main necessary tasks involve tiling floors. 
• Unfortunately, The Queen wants to do more than just floors.
• I'll make you a really good deal on a nice 2300 sq. ft. house with 1600 sq. ft. workshop on 1 acre in a Dallas suburb in a great location.
• Today, for the first time ever after uncounted attempts, I finally won a round of advanced, four suit spider solitaire. Woohoo.
• I really need to get back into a better shape. The shape I am in is no good. I'm the heaviest I've ever been. I just had to buy a pair of 38" waist jeans (up from the 29" waist I had in high school). I joke that I have 12 pack abs.
• The sad thing is that it's no joke.
• I hate exercise. 
• I hate feeling overweight. 
• I love food.
• I am so screwed. 

Have fun. 

Redneck Kitchen Skills

I have another car review post in the works for the Hyundai Elantra that I rented earlier in the week for a roadtrip to Beaumont, Texas. Hopefully I'll have some time to finish that up tonight or tomorrow. 

In the meantime, I have to take a quick moment to share with you all what transpired earlier today. As most of you know, I have the privilege (sometimes curse) of working from home. The Queen, due to her health circumstances, is also a stay at home person. My mother in law, father in law and grandmother in law all live here as well. We also have frequent visits from the niece and nephews on The Queen's side. My sister...the devil doesn't seem to trust me with her kids. Perhaps that will change when they are old enough to drive. 

Like most of the country, the suburban realm where Castle Erickson is situated fell under the influence of Old Man Winter late Monday night/early Tuesday morn. Tuesday morning found the area waking up to a solid sheet of ice thanks to the rain we received Monday night being flash frozen by the artic front that came in pushed by wind gusts up to 45 miles per hour dropping the temps to subfreezing levels faster than a politician drops a campaign promise after the election. So, it was a bit of a surprise when last night, E., the oldest nephew, skated his way over to the Castle from the suburb to the west where he lives and goes to college...in his spiffy little rear wheel drive manual transmission Chevy Camaro no less. I give the boy bonus points for getting here in one piece with not much more traction than a sugared up three year old on a slip and slide. I might have to listen a little closer to find out if the clanking noise coming from his pockets is loose change or something else.

Anyway, putting E. and The Queen together is a recipe for interesting things to happen. After taking to the frozen streets for a little sledding in the dog's swimming pool (which had only been relieved of a 4 inch thick block of ice moments before), E. and The Queen decided to take a whack at making butter...from scratch...in the clothes dryer. 

Uh-huh. That's what I thought too. 

I had stepped out of the command center/man cave here at the office to go in search of a snack or water or something to find my Queen pouring over a recipe book and looking slightly guilty. She inquired if I knew what she and E. were up to. I responded that it looked like she was in the midst of making the Butternut Squash soup she had been talking about earlier in the day. She affirmed that, yes, in fact, she was in the process of doing that but wanted to know if I knew what else they were up to. I allowed as how, no, I did not have a clue what was afoot. After some poking and prodding in (not so) appropriate places, the butter plan was revealed. 

The Queen and E. came up with the idea to churn the butter by putting liquored cream in a jar that was tightly tied in a pillow before being tossed in the dryer for a cool tumble. I haven't sampled the results yet, but the jar is full of roundish looking butter balls.

Blink, blink....Who'd 'a' thunk it? 

It's pure genius I think. I'm a little annoyed that I don't think I would have ever come up with the idea myself, but it's pure genius nonetheless. I dare one of those froo froo cooking shows to try that idea. 

Miscellaneous Stuff

Alright, I know it's been a week or so since my last post. Okay, more like 10 days or so. Hopefully, you've had a chance to get the mental picture of catfish eating manatee poo directly from the source out of your heads. Oops...sorry. Or, maybe I'm not sorry. I've never been a fan of catfish.

Oh well...and now...on with our story.

When you last heard from our hero (that would be me...grant this little illusion of grandeur for a moment...thank you), he was in the midst of taking some well earned time off after leaving his laptops (work and personal) behind with barely a "so long, suckers". I apologize for failing to advise you, my loyal readers, of my travel plans (travel is probably the wrong term for hiding out in various, secret locations in the same general geographic location as where you live).

While I was gone, Monda at Easy Street Prompts choose my post about racial issues as a winner for September's edition of the Block Party. That makes for four selections in four attempts. One of these days, I need to sit down with her and give her a sanity check. 

As per the rules, I am required to post a link to the block party submission form. Done. It was supposed to be done within 7 days. Y'all will forgive me, I hope, for the delay since I wasn't near my laptop and all.

In other news, the diety of all things food related has smiled on my little corner of the world. A Rudy's has opened up (today, in fact) in South Arlington not 15 minutes from Castle Erickson (or should I be calling this the parsonage since I claim preacherhood in this little corner of cyberspace...nah...). It is some truly good barbeque. They serve it by the pound. You have your choice of turkey, lean and regular brisket, chops, prime rib, sausages, chicken, ribs and the usual fixin's. Yes, I had dinner there this evening. No, I am not getting paid to advertise for them.

Today was another milestone of sorts. The Queen, as some or all of you are aware by now, has been fighting several health issues for about four and a half years now. She started having initial symptoms in June 2006, and things were really in the toilet by December 2006. One of the issues we discovered was that  the dental work she had done in August of 2005 was causing her severe trouble. She had cavities on eight teeth filled at the same time. The dentist used composite resin filings which are not supposed to be a problem; however, he also used a "desensitizing" compound called Gluma which contains glutaraldehyde as its active ingredient. Gluma is used to disinfect the cavity and act as an insulator of the tooth to prevent cold/hot sensitivity. Turns out that glutaraldehyde and The Queen do not play well together. It causes The Queen to seizure. Violently.  We know this for a fact based on careful testing by her new dentist.

So, for the last three years, we've been having The Queen's new dentist work on clearing out her old fillings (along with the Gluma) and doing some other neat and interesting dental magic to get The Queen's teeth from causing her neurological difficulties. The last of the old fillings got drilled out and sucked up today. It is too early to tell how much, if any, of an affect this will have on her overall health, but The Queen and I are cautiously optimistic that progress is being made.

That is all the news that's fit to print for now. If I think of anything else, I know where to find y'all.

Food for thought. You are what you eat. If you ever need a reason NOT to eat catfish, go to the Dallas World Aquarium and watch them line up at a manatee's pooter port getting a side of soft serve on the go. Mmmm. Yum.

A Friendly Heads Up To Restaurant Goers

Last night, The Queen and I were out and about following her regularly scheduled doctor’s appointment. It was past dinnertime when we finished with the doc, and we were 30 minutes from home meaning that it would be an hour plus for travel and cook time if we were to try and return to Castle Erickson for our repast. That was a clearly unacceptable option, and we set about trying to locate a suitable location to eat.

Unfortunately, eating out is a challenge for The Queen as she is HIGHLY allergic to gluten (which is a protein found in wheat and other grains…and it’s in a whole more stuff than you might expect) and has a lesser allergy to soy (which is in just about everything else). Add to that the fact that The Queen can be somewhat…indecisive…about what she wants to eat, and we have a recipe for disaster.

Unusually for her, The Queen actually had a strong opinion about what she wanted for dinner: Barbeque. Believe it or not, barbeque, in and of itself, is normally gluten and soy free. You just have to be careful about the sides, sauces and marinades. Near the doc’s office was a Colter’s Barbeque; however, as is frequently the case, The Queen didn’t want Colter’s barbeque. She really wanted barbeque from a hole in the wall, family owned shack. Unfortunately, we did not know where to find one in the area where we were at that time of night. Strike One. We went by a Spring Creek Barbeque location as a second choice; however, we arrived too late as they were closing their doors for the evening as we were pulling into the parking lot. Strike Two.

We remembered that there was a place reputed to serve barbeque not too far away from the Spring Creek location, and so we set out to see if they were still open and what they had to offer. Now, this particular “barbeque” place is part of a chain with several other locations. The Queen and I had gone to a different location of this same chain in Dallas about 10 years ago with friends from church…and we don’t remember anything being amiss from our visit at that time.

Well, times…they have apparently changed.

The Queen and I walked in the front door of this establishment, and the first thing I noticed was a display of T-shirts on the wall in front of me extending to the left. I like T-Shirts. I wear a lot of them given the fact that I work from home. I especially like funny T-shirts. The Queen had one I’d like to find in an XL. It had a picture of a monkey with one arm wrapped in bandages while the other arm held a lit firecracker. The caption read: “Slow Learner.” One T-shirt in particular displayed on the wall caught my eye. It read: “Blondes…the other white meat.” Amusing, but odd. Some might say a little dark. Some might also call this a clue.

Then, my attention was drawn to the hostess’ stand on the right since The Queen and I needed to peruse the menu and ask allergy questions. There were two young ladies there to greet us and ask us how many in our party. Being focused on locating a menu for The Queen’s perusal, the fact that these young ladies were dressed…skimpily…didn’t immediately register on my thick skulled brain. Perhaps I’ve become a little TOO conservative. Perhaps I’ve reached that “old fuddy duddy” stage. I’m not sure; but, here again, my initial reaction was that these ladies’ choices in clothing was an odd choice for work attire.

And then I noticed the rest of the wait staff…all clothed in similar fashion as the hostesses.

That’s when it hit me…I was in the barbeque version of Hooters…if Hooters were to insist on even LESS clothing for their uniform.

Now, I am a fan of the female form. It’s one of the things that I enjoy most about The Queen. I am also, however, a very happily married man and have absolutely no need to see young women barely clothed in not much more than what a bikini would cover. I especially don’t need to have that scene paraded in front of me, assaulting my senses, while trying to have dinner WITH MY WIFE!

As you will recall, I mentioned that The Queen and I had visited another location several years before. We both remember having a nice meal with friends from church. Neither The Queen nor I remember seeing the wait staff at the other location being undressed in the fashion we saw last, and I can guarantee we both would have remembered.

The Queen and I were tired and hungry last night. So, it’s understandable that we would be a little slow on the uptake. Once all the hints finally sunk into our low blood sugar addled brains, we swiftly made the decision to exit stage left and go back in search of alternate food establishments.

So, as a public service to my readership, if you are offended by scantily clad women serving you food…you might want to avoid Bone Daddy’s House of Smoke.

Your 1 Year/100 Post Warranty Has Expired

Good morning all you happy people. Well, it’s official. With this post today, I hit two major milestones. As of today, I have been blogging for exactly one year; and, with this post, I have posted exactly 100 posts. I just seemed appropriate to combine the two milestones into one occasion.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you who read my “stuff”. Looking back over the previous 99 posts, I realize that some of it is pure crap. However, I hope you have found some gems amongst the poo, too. I’ve learned a lot about myself and the process of writing in the past year, and I’d like to think that my ability to convey a coherent thought is improving. I’m not anywhere near the level of skill I would like to have; but, then again, I suspect that is true of most anyone.

I would also like to give an extra special thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment on my erratic efforts. I have always had comment moderation enabled on this blog; however, truthfully, I’ve never had to block a comment. I originally chose to use comment moderation because I had no idea what I was in for, and I wanted to make sure nothing unseemly found its way onto the comments page. I have left it enabled for purely selfish reasons…I like getting a sneak preview of what you all have to say. It also helps me respond to your comments quicker because I think this process should be a dialogue; and, if you’re going to take the time to comment, the least I can do is respond.

I envy those of you who have the time, skill, diligence and/or whatever else it takes to post just about every single day. I’ve averaged a post every 3 and a half days even though some of those posts were nothing more than a photo, a link to a news article or a silly joke. I don’t think I’ve gone more than about 10 days without posting which is too long in my opinion; however, as most of you know, life and work have a way of getting in the way. Especially here at Castle Erickson.

I had thought about trying to do some sort of giveaway to celebrate these two milestones, and then promptly decided against. Well, “decided” is probably a strong word to describe being too busy to give it serious thought and thus having the time to act on any decision. Besides, giving away 1 item or even a couple of items would leave some people leaving empty handed.

But wait…that doesn’t mean I’m sending everyone away empty handed. In fact, quite the opposite. I got to thinking that blogging is really about sharing a piece (or several pieces as the case may be) of ourselves, and everyone loves food (okay, okay…everyone except the anorexics and bulemics). Food makes us happy. Right? So, why not share a couple of my favorite recipes with everyone? That way, I can give everyone something special (well, special to me at least…hopefully you will think so, too) to make them happy.

First, I’d like to share my all-time favorite cookie recipe. I love me some cookies. I have a reputation to uphold of being able to sniff out a bakery in under 15 minutes in just about any city in which I happen to find myself. Seriously. The Queen can run into people she knows just about anywhere in the world…I find the bakeries. Some of you might be expecting another (roll your eyes here) chocolate chip cookie recipe. No. Don’t get me wrong, I am not in the habit of passing up chocolate chip cookies. They’re just not my all-time fav. The cookie that has that honor is the humble cinnamon cookie.

Cinnamon cookies baking in the oven smell simply divine. They fill up the whole house with the aroma of cinnamon. Mom used to bake these for us occasionally when I was a kid, and they never lasted long. Sometimes, they had trouble making it from the baking sheet to the plate (cooling racks are for rich folks and professionals…this was strictly an amateur lower middle class affair). This particular cookie comes from my grandmother’s World War II era Victory Cookbook. I had hoped to have photos of this extremely well worn cookbook to share with you; however, my sister…the devil has been holding it hostage for several years and keeps “forgetting” that it’s my turn to care for it for a while. It’s neat because a lot of the recipes have patriotic themed names, and I think there are tips for menu planning to help the war effort. At least, that’s what I remember since I can’t fact check myself thanks to my sister…the devil.

Victory Cookbook Cinnamon Cookies

2 Cups Sifted Flour

¼ Teaspoon Salt

2 Teaspoons Baking Powder

2 Teaspoons Cinnamon

½ Cup Butter (melted)

1 Cup Sugar

1 Teaspoon Vanilla Extract

2 Eggs (beaten)

Sift the dry ingredients together. I like to use a quart size plastic yogurt container, throw everything in, put the lid on and shake vigorously for a few seconds. Beat the eggs in a mixing bowl (don’t ask me what the eggs did to deserve a beating…but I would imagine it had something to do with throwing the “good” eggs at someone’s house). Add the melted butter, sugar and vanilla to the eggs. Mix thoroughly until smooth. The original recipe doesn’t mention melting the butter first, but I have found that the butter mixes much easier when melted and it makes for a much smoother dough. Fold and mix dry ingredients into the mixing bowl (about a 1/3 at a time). Mix until dough is smooth (Hint: don’t try to use a hand mixer…use a spoon or a counter top mixer). An optional step I take is to divide the dough into thirds, wrap the thirds in wax paper and put them in the fridge for a little while to firm up the dough. Bake on a cookie sheet in an oven preheated to 400 degrees for 10 minutes. Makes about 3 dozen.

The next recipe is my chili recipe. I know, I know. Everyone has an opinion about chili. My sister…the devil thinks that any chili that has beans in it is a stew. I, of course, have a differing opinion. Then there was the time I was invited over to someone’s house for a chili dinner. They were from Wisconsin, and the “chili” tasted just like my mother’s stew. They thought it was hot and spicy. Go figure. My recipe was something I cobbled together for a chili cook off at work a few years ago. It won second place out of six or seven entries. I think it beat the first place winner taste wise, but the voting was based on popularity and the winner came from a team with more supporters. Philistines.

K. Erickson’s Chili Cookoff Recipe

2 Pounds ground meat (chuck, sirloin, buffalo and/or [insert favorite game meat here])

1 medium yellow onion, chopped

6 cloves garlic, crushed or minced

1 15 ounce can pinto beans, rinsed and drained

1 15 ounce can kidney beans, rinsed and drained

1 15 ounce can black beans, rinsed and drained

1 12 ounce bottle of dark-ish beer (J.W. Dundee’s Honey Brown, Shiner Bock or Ziegenbock)

1 14.5 ounce can beef broth

3 8 ounce cans tomato sauce

1 6 ounce can tomato paste

1 4.5 ounce can chopped or diced green chiles (can substitute fresh jalapenos if desired)

2 teaspoons coarse ground black pepper

2 teaspoons sea salt

2 tablespoons (or more) chili powder

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

2 teaspoons ground cumin

2 teaspoons ground red pepper

2 teaspoons Tabasco sauce

2 tablespoons fresh lime juice

You will want to use a stock pot for this recipe since there is a lot of stuff to go in. Brown the meat over medium to high heat until the meat crumbles. Drain the fat. Add the onions and garlic, and sauté over medium heat until the onions start to change color. Add remaining ingredients and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for three hours or until thickened. You can also add ¼ cup of Masa flour or a 1/8 cup of corn starch thoroughly mixed with a ¼ to a ½ cup of water for thicker chili (I normally don’t bother with that step).

Thank you all again. I hope you enjoy the recipes.

Good Food, Good Times

I think I’ve already mentioned a line I once read in a book which really stood out to me, but it’s worth repeating here. It went something like: “I love to cook, I love to eat, and I’ve won awards for both.” I haven’t won any awards for eating yet mainly because I haven’t entered any eating contests. Not that I ever will, mind you. I find the concept of trying to eat mountains of any particular food faster than the next guy to be utterly repulsive. In a projectile vomiting kind of way. I did, however, win third place in a cake baking contest once for my Black Forest Kirchen Torte.

The fact I learned not only to cook well but also learned to enjoy the process of cooking is nothing short of a miracle. I learned to cook when I was rather young. I wasn’t forced to learn how to cook, per se, like some kids were; however, it wasn’t exactly an optional experience either. Learning to cook became more or less a necessity for survival in a single parent household in which the parent, mom, was busy earning a living and going back to school to finish her degrees.

I can’t remember exactly how old I was when I first learned to cook, but I know I learned to make a fairly basic spaghetti sauce sometime before I was eight years old. By the time my parents separated when I was eight, I was fully capable of managing most basic meals.

This early introduction to the culinary arts came with some interesting side effects. Most notable was the occasional odd menu choice. Leaving a pre-teen with a sweet tooth in charge of meal planning and cooking is not always wise. Fortunately for me, my mother had the prerequisite combination of desperation/insanity/lack of choices which allowed me to make what others might consider to be, shall we say, unwise dinner selections. I remember one dinner in particular which consisted solely of uncooked chocolate chip cookie dough. In my defense, I did ask her what she wanted me to fix for dinner to which she infamously replied, “I don’t care.” I don’t recall her protesting very strongly when she was presented with her bowl of dough either.

While my mother gave me a good grounding in the basics of cooking, she never really had the time or inclination to teach me about cooking for the shear joy of it. I was to learn the finer points and the love of cooking for the sake of cooking from others. From my grandmothers, I learned the fine art of baking. Mother’s mom had a way of making biscuits that was just divine. There was no better breakfast that her biscuits with cream gravy and a little (read a lot) of butter. To this day, I can’t match her biscuits which she managed to get done with a high degree of consistency sans recipe or measuring cups/spoons. I also got my cinnamon cookie recipe from her Liberty Cookbook of which my sister currently has custody. T., if you are reading this which you admitted you do, that cookbook is long overdue for a stay in my kitchen. Hint, hint. Then there was great grandmother’s carrot cake recipe. Mmmmmm…..(slobber, drool, smack). It’s no wonder I can’t pass up a bakery without whimpering and drooling like Pavlov’s dog.

However, it was really my uncle Don (mom’s brother) who taught me the finer points of cooking from a truly Epicurean point of view. To him, food was not merely a means of sustenance. Food was an experience. He was of the opinion one should only consume food and beverage of quality and skillful preparation. To his way of thinking, the ingredients of a sauce which had cooked for less than an hour hadn’t really gotten a chance to get to know each other yet.

It was also because of him I never had to worry about other people drinking my beer at college parties. While most college kids are more interested in a cheap drunk using Milwaukee’s Best or Keystone Light or whatever else was on sale for under $10 a case, Don taught me to enjoy beer that actually tastes like beer was meant to taste instead of the watered down, purified rat urine most college kids swill. As a result, I usually went home more or less sober with enough beer left over for the next party.

That’s not to say, however, my cooking skills are without their limitations. For instance, while I am fairly successful at cooking well timed meals for a small group of people (no more than six people), I find myself intimidated by pulling off meals for larger groups. I think this comes from an experience I had in high school. I was dating a girl who wanted to introduce me to her parents. She suggested I make a batch of my now famous spaghetti for her parents and sister. She asked me what would be required, and I gave her a shopping list based on an expected audience of five diners. I arrived at her house to find out I was cooking for ten. There’s nothing quite like being surprised and put on the spot to go with the nervousness of being a tall, uncoordinated 17 year old meeting a girl’s parents for the first time to throw you off your game and put a damper on your joy of cooking. I suppose I shouldn’t have been all that surprised. This was the same girl who introduced herself to mom as a recovering drug addict and alcoholic. At the ripe old age of 17 no less.

So, when the Queen informed me we were hosting Thanksgiving dinner this year, it gave me a moment of pause. The kind of moment where one of your eyes twitches uncontrollably and coherent speech is temporarily impossible. After all, I was at a business meeting in mid October when I received a phone call from the Queen advising me of her royal decree. No discussion. Just (Surprise!) “We’re hosting Thanksgiving this year.” That would be the Royal “We” apparently. What else is there for a good slave to do but hear and obey?

To quote the famous infomercial announcer guy, “But wait, there’s more.” As loyal readers are already aware, the Queen’s health issues result in her not having the energy to really assist in the meal preparation. Add to that my mother in law’s complete lack of interest in cooking. She claims to be allergic to the kitchen, and her idea of cooking is to put a pot of beans on the stove to be served as bean and mayo burritos. There are times when I really do feel sorry for my father in law.

I don’t want to give the wrong impression that my family is without its culinary ineptness. There is one story involving a certain family member’s first attempt at roasting a Thanksgiving turkey which bears relating here. I am withholding the identity of the guilty party by request in good faith. I didn’t even solicit a bribe for this one.

As the story goes, our intrepid Turkey Toaster was fairly young, newly married and clueless as to the secret arts of the kitchen. Not one to be shy about asking for guidance, our would be chef put in a call to an older and wiser family member who instructed said neophyte to begin by “bathing” the bird and to call back when done. Having no other experience in the matter with which to compare and taking the words of wisdom somewhat literally, picture a young person merrily drowning and scrubbing a turkey in a sea of warm water and Ivory liquid soap suds.

It’s my understanding that the subsequent phone calls to the older and wiser family member involved much more explicit instructions after the initial shock and laughter wore off. I don’t know how well that particular turkey tasted as it was before my time; however, the story does not involve any trips to the hospital for food poisoning. So, I assume everything turned out well.

So, you see where this is going right? Me, who is not real comfortable with the whole cooking for a large group idea, cooking for no less than twelve people. We actually wound up seating 14 for dinner. It was almost 22 at one point. Fortunately for my sweaty palms and nervous ticks, the friends with a family of seven politely declined.

All in all, despite my aversion to cooking for large groups, we had a good Thanksgiving dinner. No one went home hungry, and leftovers were kept to a minimum. My brother in law and his family brought several side items, wine, chocolate chip cookies and a chocolate cheesecake for dessert. I managed to bake a batch of cinnamon cookies, roast a turkey, cook a brisket, make homemade cranberry sauce, make fresh hot sauce, make cream cheese Rotel dip, cook a pot of mashed sweet potatoes and whip up some cream gravy more or less on time.

The only thing that didn’t turn out right was the attempt at homemade barbeque sauce. It was one of Grandma Erickson’s recipes I had never tried before. It was bad. I mean gag a maggot bad. It went down the drain before anyone had a chance to realize how bad it was.

I’ll have to try that recipe again. Maybe with a little Ivory soap next time.

Health Food

Insurance adjusters typically have a love hate relationship with being out of the office, and I've been out of the office quite a bit lately. In fact, between time off, computer failures and attending mediations, I've only been IN the office about 5 days for the entire Month of October. That's serious when it typically takes about 2 days to recover from every day you spend out of the office in this business. In just the past 10 business days, I've gone to mediations 6 times. Some of which were a complete surprise to me as my inbox overfloweth. Yes, I'm completely screwed.

Among mediators, as with other professions and industries, some are better than others. One thing that almost all mediators try to do is to create a comfortable environment and provide snacks and drinks to their captives...I mean clients. Mediators actually have no power to force people to do anything, but they've learned that adjusters with low blood sugar get cranky and put a serious dent in their settlement percentages.

At Tuesday's mediation, my attorney and I had just had an awesome lunch at Chuy's Tex Mex. We waddled into the mediator's office for our afternoon mediation and were greeted by the above pictured 2 foot square bowl of chocolate and sundry snacks. Now, I have been accused of having a sweet tooth, and I have a well documented love affair with chocolate. However, at that particular moment with Chuy's Elvis Green Chile Fried Chicken still making a valiant effort to convince my brain that my stomach was full, I could not bear the thought of another morsel of food. Not even for chocolate. Had it been a plate full of fresh baked cookies, that'd be a different story. But, you have to draw the line somewhere.

Then my attorney said, "Hey, look. It's a salad for fat people."

After I finished laughing, my brain started arguing with my stomach.

Stomach - Salads are healthy, right?

Brain - It's chocolate, stupid.

Stomach - But, it's a salad.

Brain - No, it's not.

Stomach - I'm hungry. Can I have some salad?

Brain - No, you're not; and, no, you can't. We just ate.

Stomach - How about just a little bite?

Brain - No

Stomach - Yes

Brain - No

Stomach - No

(Mmmm [smack, lick], this is good)

Brain - Yes....hey, wait a minute.

It was some good salad.