Ok...so I have been making chocolate chip cookies since I was 15. I remember when & why I started to make them. My mom & dad played cards on Saturday night with friends. My dad & his friends made the mistake one day of flattering me on my cookies. HUGE mistake. So each time they played cards at our house, I made the bloody things. It shortly became a hobby.
In my little head I had a goal. There was a cookie shoppe (of course) in the Galleria of downtown Portland which had amazing cookies I thought. Me being still of adequate self esteem, figured I could make them. I think that 6 years ago, I achieved the same taste. Yes, I have been making these cookies for 28 years. I can imagine that there are derisive snorts out there regarding such a hobby. I can honestly say that my popularity was increased by these cookies.
I remember my mom finding a recipe for me which had coriander in it. I remember this because mom told me she remembered a cousin's sons names because it was "Cory, and errrrr". Did I mention I love my mom? Moving forward. I tried an amazing amount of recipes. I remember one time in my early 20's when the sales paper which then came in the mail had a section on chocolate chip cookie recipes, and a bunch of us went through them to decide which ones would be THE ONE. Secretly, I knew the coriander recipe would be well short of the ONE but it truly was great to hear the enthusiasm.
My grandmother was an amazing baker. Not really a sweet person, but knew it all. I suppose that everyone at my age or older had a grandmother like that. No wonder where I got it, but Gran was ascerbic, pushy and ALWAYS right. One day she told a friend of hers "John, my granddaughter is a bitch!" I looked at the ever so diplomatic John and without a second thought I said "John, genetics suck!". I will say I am the chocolate chip cookie guru of my sphere of influence. So, my grandmother gave me tips leading me to the successes I am enjoying today. 1) leave your eggs out to be room temperature 2) never beat the eggs more than they need to be combined or you beat them down 3) butter will make the recipe more cake like where margarine will make it more flat (I may have miffed this but it still sticks with me...no pun).
When I lived in Seattle (but worked in Bellevue) I began to make the cookies for people. Mostly for birthdays and such. I wrapped them in 2's in saran wrap then put them in a zip lock baggie. I remember a that time I offered nuts or no nuts. I was adament that I would not use walnuts....too bitter, I would command...only PECANS for my cookies. They became almost urban legend how good they are. People started demanding them. Serious..."Hey, why did you give Lisa cookies and I didn't get any??" I was truly amazed at the brazen audacity of some. Especially those I didn't like. Am laughing. Rules were formed about the cookies 1) You never ASK for the cookies 2) You don't TELL people you have them 3) I can always come & take one. I was making 6-7 batches a month, rules were a necessity. A friend once said that they are good because I make them with love. In my more bucholic of times, I agree. Logically I say it is the full page recipe and directions I have labored over which does the trick.
My mom didn't care for them. My sister does now, but I think that has come with time. Funny thing is who does or doesn't like them. A dysfunctional relationship I was in (yah like you weren'y ever) he hated them. Was wierd...so I never slept with him. LAUGH....sorry....I can feel my sister's anger right there...it wasn't happening regardless of the cookies. Oh...that was funny. My dad ate them regardless of the recipe I think to be a good dad.
Here are the pecularities of the recipe. It started out as the Guittard chocolate recipe. I, in my obsessive climb to greatness, augmented it:
If I really think about it, I use 1 cube of margarine and 1 unsalted butter...at room temperature (if I am running late & microwave the butter, cookies taste like shit).
DARK brown sugar...I really feel like it has a richer taste.
Room temperature eggs.....you didn't argue with Gran about this stuff. I STIR them in to the creamed sugar mix ONLY UNTIL COMBINED...Gran is right!
Imported vanilla....don't even mention imitation to me.
3 3/4 HEAPING c of flour. I don't want to talk about what a pain in the ass it is to find a 3/4 measuring cup. They don't exist. Right Shawn??
Shake of salt
3 c chocolate chip MIX...yes mix! I take 1 bag of semi sweet chips, 1 bag of milk chocolate chips, 1 bag of mini chips & 1 bag of dark chocolate chips. For some DAMNED reason, they don't sell mini chips in many places in Utah. 2 stores carry them consistently. I mix all of those together and then 3 cups.
Cook them on aerated pans. I got a set for Christmas from mom 20 years ago and I have swiftly berated previous roommates or current spouse for putting the $4.00 pizza on my $20 pans. 2 years ago, I found another 2 in a sale bin WITH a spatula for $10, I felt like that woman in the IKEA commercial......START THE CAR. They work. Look em up.
I only cook them until the tips are brown.
Take them immediately off the pan and put them on a brown paper bag. Don't ask...nearly 30 years...again you suck I rule!
A friend and I had a bake off one time. We both went around the call center with our cookies. He used FLAVORED chips....white chocolate mix....amateur. Was hilarious. NO ONE had the guts to choose. "If I was just having one I would eat his, if I had a jug of milk and in front of the tv...yours". Chickenshits everyone!
So, why am I not sure how to feel? I made some today and I offered them to a rep. He looked at me and said "Are you adopting?" I was worried he meant dogs as I am kinda in puppy mode. I asked for what? He said "You know a family...me, wife & kid" I didn't get it. "You have the gramma thing DOWN". I felt the world looking at him like he said the Venus de Milo was ugly...and everyone knew he was right. It truly did get silent....God was waiting.
I thanked him. In my head I realized this was an awesome Gramma thing to have down. I figured wow....this isn't all that bad. But I told him "Sure, but I don't like kids". Again, Gran was never wrong!
Be great to you!
H
Monday, January 26, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
One small thought...
Well, as small of a thought that I can give.
Why does an Ambulance have the word Ambulance on the front of it spelled backwards? OK OK...I see all the hands raised...I know you know...as do I.
It was done like that so that when you are driving you will be able to identify what vehicle is behind you. So lets look at that. You are driving down the road....and you hear this ROAR...not of noise but I am sure 8 cyl & a HUGE engine coming up on you. Forget they have a siren that was made to shake you up even OVER my cd of MY Perogative at volume 40, but there are friggin LIGHTS.
So I ask again....why does an Ambulance have the word Ambulance on the front of it spelled backwards. I may be over symplifying it...but I don't really give a shit what it is. At 15 (of whenever permits are given out now, one of the first rules you learn is regardless where you are or what direction they are coming, you pull safely to the side of the road when you see ANY Emergency Vehicle. EMT, Fire Truck, Police Car, Ben & Jerry delivery truck (sorry, my own Emergency vehicle)...you friggin move. You don't wait until you can read the damn word, you just pull over.
I can imagine the conversation which would occur when the officer tickets you for NOT pulling over for an Ambulance..."Well, I thought it was an Ambulance, but wasn't sure. I was WAITING to read the sign to see whether it was an Ambulance, THEN I would have pulled over". Right! I guess the lights, the speed AND the siren take AWAY my need to see the bloody (no pun intended) words over the grill of the vehicle.
Then don't get me started for those dumb asses who DON'T move. I watched at one point a Fire Engine trying to make a turn from the far right hand lane because the people in the left lane wouldn't move. I pointedly watched the driver's face. I was impressed not to see him mouthing vulgarities! Just get out of the damn way regardless of the vehicle.
Nuff said.
Be good to you.
Why does an Ambulance have the word Ambulance on the front of it spelled backwards? OK OK...I see all the hands raised...I know you know...as do I.
It was done like that so that when you are driving you will be able to identify what vehicle is behind you. So lets look at that. You are driving down the road....and you hear this ROAR...not of noise but I am sure 8 cyl & a HUGE engine coming up on you. Forget they have a siren that was made to shake you up even OVER my cd of MY Perogative at volume 40, but there are friggin LIGHTS.
So I ask again....why does an Ambulance have the word Ambulance on the front of it spelled backwards. I may be over symplifying it...but I don't really give a shit what it is. At 15 (of whenever permits are given out now, one of the first rules you learn is regardless where you are or what direction they are coming, you pull safely to the side of the road when you see ANY Emergency Vehicle. EMT, Fire Truck, Police Car, Ben & Jerry delivery truck (sorry, my own Emergency vehicle)...you friggin move. You don't wait until you can read the damn word, you just pull over.
I can imagine the conversation which would occur when the officer tickets you for NOT pulling over for an Ambulance..."Well, I thought it was an Ambulance, but wasn't sure. I was WAITING to read the sign to see whether it was an Ambulance, THEN I would have pulled over". Right! I guess the lights, the speed AND the siren take AWAY my need to see the bloody (no pun intended) words over the grill of the vehicle.
Then don't get me started for those dumb asses who DON'T move. I watched at one point a Fire Engine trying to make a turn from the far right hand lane because the people in the left lane wouldn't move. I pointedly watched the driver's face. I was impressed not to see him mouthing vulgarities! Just get out of the damn way regardless of the vehicle.
Nuff said.
Be good to you.
Don't ask ME what BCS stands for!
I grew up with sports kinda foisted upon me. All weekend was spent with any kind of sports. The thrill of vistory and the agony of defeat all without a remote control
I struggled with it growing up. I tried to find a favorite team (Redskins....why NOT Thiesman...dude even now he is an appreciating view of a man). Of course I was born (in my adult eyes now, in the shadow of the Oakland Alamedia colasuim, so I did feel accepted by my dad being a Raiders fan. It was one of the few pasttimes we enjoyed together. My mom & I steered away from full fledged immersion. Mom read all Sunday. My mom played up her lack of interest....her team was the Rams because she liked the helmets. LAUGH....god bless her.
So I say this note to point out that when I was growing up through before my marriage I was not an atheletic supporter (of course I had to!). The love of my life is a sports enthusiast. I think that is understating it, but I move on. He gets about 10 minutes at a time during a game from me. I will watch the Fox sports show because Howie is on it as well as Terry (he does have a cute butt!). We watch that. I have actually started reading the Sporting News before Mike does.
When we vacation, I try to research which MLB parks we can go to and "tag up". Mike, Shawn and I are still in competition with eachother on who has been to the most MLB parks. I think I have one more than Mike (Camden Yards...7th row, 3rd base line during the LAST season for Cal Jr. brief prayer). When we met Shawn in Chicago, we had tickets to see the Cubs (Wrigley friggin field...the IVY!) and the Sox before we had hotel reservations. Cubs I was in awe of the pure American history in the building. God forbid the nostalgia that is found in a Chicago Dawg. Though without the history and nostalgia, I could only stand like 5 innings in the White Sox stadium.
This brief note because I received a comment about the Sugar bowl & other college "championship" games. I hadn't the ability at the time to refute that. Let me state for those in the know, that I live in Utah about 5 miles from the stadium where the (undefeated) University of Utah Utes play. I do have support for the team. I also attended the University of Oregon (PAC 10) so I follow their games. Stating that, I feel again those in the know are nodding with why I didn't respond to the College bowl game comment. After the bruhaha died down (the game AND the commentary was replayed here a week after the Utes won), I felt anger (as I did when the Ducks were denied 4 years ago). I still am laughingly supporting Mark Shurtleff who is attacking the BCS's monoply over college football in the courts (Go with god Mr Shurtleff!).
So, how do I feel about college bowl games? Like everyone else who bleeds for a team in the Mountain West, PAC 10 and other disenfranchised NON South areas.....it is lame and not a competition. It is voted on by sports casters and there is no set play off. If you have ever been to a college sport game, it is the TRUE passion of the sport. And instead of WORKING for a title, the opportunity to play for a facade of a championship is VOTED to you.
That is why this illiterate non-sports fan will NOT support the bowl games. Watching the Utes dominate their game and come out 4th in one poll (note even rated in the Sporting News poll, which I told Mike to cancel his subscription for their assinity). I guess my thought is any entity which cannot with consistency and surity NAME their champion, is sad.
Be good to you!
I struggled with it growing up. I tried to find a favorite team (Redskins....why NOT Thiesman...dude even now he is an appreciating view of a man). Of course I was born (in my adult eyes now, in the shadow of the Oakland Alamedia colasuim, so I did feel accepted by my dad being a Raiders fan. It was one of the few pasttimes we enjoyed together. My mom & I steered away from full fledged immersion. Mom read all Sunday. My mom played up her lack of interest....her team was the Rams because she liked the helmets. LAUGH....god bless her.
So I say this note to point out that when I was growing up through before my marriage I was not an atheletic supporter (of course I had to!). The love of my life is a sports enthusiast. I think that is understating it, but I move on. He gets about 10 minutes at a time during a game from me. I will watch the Fox sports show because Howie is on it as well as Terry (he does have a cute butt!). We watch that. I have actually started reading the Sporting News before Mike does.
When we vacation, I try to research which MLB parks we can go to and "tag up". Mike, Shawn and I are still in competition with eachother on who has been to the most MLB parks. I think I have one more than Mike (Camden Yards...7th row, 3rd base line during the LAST season for Cal Jr. brief prayer). When we met Shawn in Chicago, we had tickets to see the Cubs (Wrigley friggin field...the IVY!) and the Sox before we had hotel reservations. Cubs I was in awe of the pure American history in the building. God forbid the nostalgia that is found in a Chicago Dawg. Though without the history and nostalgia, I could only stand like 5 innings in the White Sox stadium.
This brief note because I received a comment about the Sugar bowl & other college "championship" games. I hadn't the ability at the time to refute that. Let me state for those in the know, that I live in Utah about 5 miles from the stadium where the (undefeated) University of Utah Utes play. I do have support for the team. I also attended the University of Oregon (PAC 10) so I follow their games. Stating that, I feel again those in the know are nodding with why I didn't respond to the College bowl game comment. After the bruhaha died down (the game AND the commentary was replayed here a week after the Utes won), I felt anger (as I did when the Ducks were denied 4 years ago). I still am laughingly supporting Mark Shurtleff who is attacking the BCS's monoply over college football in the courts (Go with god Mr Shurtleff!).
So, how do I feel about college bowl games? Like everyone else who bleeds for a team in the Mountain West, PAC 10 and other disenfranchised NON South areas.....it is lame and not a competition. It is voted on by sports casters and there is no set play off. If you have ever been to a college sport game, it is the TRUE passion of the sport. And instead of WORKING for a title, the opportunity to play for a facade of a championship is VOTED to you.
That is why this illiterate non-sports fan will NOT support the bowl games. Watching the Utes dominate their game and come out 4th in one poll (note even rated in the Sporting News poll, which I told Mike to cancel his subscription for their assinity). I guess my thought is any entity which cannot with consistency and surity NAME their champion, is sad.
Be good to you!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
The REAL holiday
Ok....so my family is everywhere and encompasses alot of somebody's not related by blood (thank GOD!). I am blessed by the inclusion I enjoy into many families to create a more robust feeling of comfort, home and love. I grew up as a Navy brat so my view of family has boundaries which have become mecurial. What an amazing feeling it is...so thank you if you have put your hand, heart or homes out to me!
Now, with that said....the Creitz family has a holiday. I feel pretty strong about this being important throughout the time I was growing up. I can guarantee it is a time revered by many Americans, but in our household there was a different excitement and enjoyment which gave our day a more holiday feel. Funny, but the man I married comes from a household which celebrated very similarly. Whereas my mother collected her Thanksgiving cut outs with which she would decorate walls and tables, my mother in law has a cache of footballs, goal posts and pom poms which she uses to festoon festivity into her household on that oh holy of all days...SUPERBOWL SUNDAY!
Banal I am sure many of you are mouthing. Yet it truly is a day of hedonism and a relentless exercise in WOOOO HOOOOOOO! There is a feeling of freedom during the Super Bowl. There are no traditions to mindlessly adhere to, there are no rules save for those you treasure, and everyone will enjoy some aspect of the day. It is truly an American holiday....bone crushing sports, nauseausly huge media coverage, extreme consumption levels, and rooting for your choice of winners. So this year, we are celebrating!
For THE holiday, we are flying in a most welcomed and necessary participant....my sister in Philadelpia. She will show up with her GEN-U-INE NFL jersies and her appetite for sports and the true spirit of football. In Utah, we need an infusion of professional sports enthusiasm to build up against the GO UTES ferver building for some bowl game in New Orleans! Go Utes!
With each holiday there are steadfast traditions. Food being the most important for the Creitz (and now Davidson) household. Unfortunately I approach ferver level when it comes to this. In Faye's honor, we have California dip (onion soup mix & sour cream....lifeblood of any party) with ridged chips, and 7 layer dip. Now in our house, 7 layer dip tends to vary on the number of layers and the ingredients of those layers based on 1) who is making it and 2) who is eating it. I am not a fan of guacamole...whereas my husband is a huge fan, so that is a "side". In the past I got fancy with my 7 layers and would use marinated chicken, but as time has passed, I find comfort in plain old hamburger.
In another homage to Creitz food, I have made (with Shawn's expertise) Lumpia. Shawn & I are pretty infamous for our Lumpia. It is a Philipine egg roll that my Canadian mom learned how to make before I was born. In other families, recipes are passed for generations to make sure it is made the same....Shawn & I have certainly walked past where Faye was and emboldened ourselves to become Lumpia effiicianados....but I digress.
In years past, I have brought in the makings for individual pizza's as well as mini hamburgers (slammers as the bar folk say). Our celebrations are fairly limited so this is easily managed. Many years ago when I partook of the grain, we would have jello shots in the colors of the team (augmented of course with various alcohol) and for each touchdown, you would "do" a shot. That one year, we became desperate enough to celebrate at each possession.
Again, I digress. What I have neglected to mention so far was football. In my mind, the SuperBowl starts with the All Madden team. Born within cheering distance from the Oakland/Alamedia County stadium, I teethed on the Raiders and next to Santa, John Madden was the next important portly older man in my life. His philosophy on football was remniscent of what the sport was meant to be....heart, fight, blood and dirt! I still tear up at the sight of Mike Singletary being nominated to the All Madden team as he came out of a play with a chunk of grass in his helmet & the WILD Singletary focus to kick some ass!
The more modern part of the Super Bowl festivities has become the commericals! They are certainly a shot game in their own right. YEARS AGO when commercials started to become more interesting than the game itself, I recall leaving the room to restock my plate DURING the game only to run like hell back to see the commercials. I remember first seeing "You have just won MVP of the SuperBowl, what are you gong to do? We're going to Disneyland!" Now it is just like the game, it is a time of too much money, too much ego, and too little regard for the true love of the day.....and commercials have exceeded themselves in their importance.
The game. It is hard as of late to truly become involved in the game. I remember in the last two games that the tear jerker stats were to the point of being contrived. Are they looking to pull in the female viewers by including heart? Are they working to find the long lost true "underdog" that they dig to find which player has had the most recent family loss? I think as with the withering patheticism of the half time show, that interest in the game is waning....and the producers of the event are just that...desperate engineers paid to re-inflate flagging interest in an over inflated contrivance of a once precious time.
So, regardless of how the rest of the world will celebrate February 1....I am looking forward to eating well, checking out cute butts, and criticizing lame commericals! To each his own....thank God!
Be great to you!
H
Now, with that said....the Creitz family has a holiday. I feel pretty strong about this being important throughout the time I was growing up. I can guarantee it is a time revered by many Americans, but in our household there was a different excitement and enjoyment which gave our day a more holiday feel. Funny, but the man I married comes from a household which celebrated very similarly. Whereas my mother collected her Thanksgiving cut outs with which she would decorate walls and tables, my mother in law has a cache of footballs, goal posts and pom poms which she uses to festoon festivity into her household on that oh holy of all days...SUPERBOWL SUNDAY!
Banal I am sure many of you are mouthing. Yet it truly is a day of hedonism and a relentless exercise in WOOOO HOOOOOOO! There is a feeling of freedom during the Super Bowl. There are no traditions to mindlessly adhere to, there are no rules save for those you treasure, and everyone will enjoy some aspect of the day. It is truly an American holiday....bone crushing sports, nauseausly huge media coverage, extreme consumption levels, and rooting for your choice of winners. So this year, we are celebrating!
For THE holiday, we are flying in a most welcomed and necessary participant....my sister in Philadelpia. She will show up with her GEN-U-INE NFL jersies and her appetite for sports and the true spirit of football. In Utah, we need an infusion of professional sports enthusiasm to build up against the GO UTES ferver building for some bowl game in New Orleans! Go Utes!
With each holiday there are steadfast traditions. Food being the most important for the Creitz (and now Davidson) household. Unfortunately I approach ferver level when it comes to this. In Faye's honor, we have California dip (onion soup mix & sour cream....lifeblood of any party) with ridged chips, and 7 layer dip. Now in our house, 7 layer dip tends to vary on the number of layers and the ingredients of those layers based on 1) who is making it and 2) who is eating it. I am not a fan of guacamole...whereas my husband is a huge fan, so that is a "side". In the past I got fancy with my 7 layers and would use marinated chicken, but as time has passed, I find comfort in plain old hamburger.
In another homage to Creitz food, I have made (with Shawn's expertise) Lumpia. Shawn & I are pretty infamous for our Lumpia. It is a Philipine egg roll that my Canadian mom learned how to make before I was born. In other families, recipes are passed for generations to make sure it is made the same....Shawn & I have certainly walked past where Faye was and emboldened ourselves to become Lumpia effiicianados....but I digress.
In years past, I have brought in the makings for individual pizza's as well as mini hamburgers (slammers as the bar folk say). Our celebrations are fairly limited so this is easily managed. Many years ago when I partook of the grain, we would have jello shots in the colors of the team (augmented of course with various alcohol) and for each touchdown, you would "do" a shot. That one year, we became desperate enough to celebrate at each possession.
Again, I digress. What I have neglected to mention so far was football. In my mind, the SuperBowl starts with the All Madden team. Born within cheering distance from the Oakland/Alamedia County stadium, I teethed on the Raiders and next to Santa, John Madden was the next important portly older man in my life. His philosophy on football was remniscent of what the sport was meant to be....heart, fight, blood and dirt! I still tear up at the sight of Mike Singletary being nominated to the All Madden team as he came out of a play with a chunk of grass in his helmet & the WILD Singletary focus to kick some ass!
The more modern part of the Super Bowl festivities has become the commericals! They are certainly a shot game in their own right. YEARS AGO when commercials started to become more interesting than the game itself, I recall leaving the room to restock my plate DURING the game only to run like hell back to see the commercials. I remember first seeing "You have just won MVP of the SuperBowl, what are you gong to do? We're going to Disneyland!" Now it is just like the game, it is a time of too much money, too much ego, and too little regard for the true love of the day.....and commercials have exceeded themselves in their importance.
The game. It is hard as of late to truly become involved in the game. I remember in the last two games that the tear jerker stats were to the point of being contrived. Are they looking to pull in the female viewers by including heart? Are they working to find the long lost true "underdog" that they dig to find which player has had the most recent family loss? I think as with the withering patheticism of the half time show, that interest in the game is waning....and the producers of the event are just that...desperate engineers paid to re-inflate flagging interest in an over inflated contrivance of a once precious time.
So, regardless of how the rest of the world will celebrate February 1....I am looking forward to eating well, checking out cute butts, and criticizing lame commericals! To each his own....thank God!
Be great to you!
H
Monday, December 22, 2008
Elvis got us a Christmas present!
I have 3 dogs. Bo, Luke & Daisy. We are very heartful about pets in our home. Now don't get me wrong, they are dogs. They sleep not in our bed, they don't get people food (much), and I can leave them outseide without guilt. But we are heartful about pets.
One morning before I left for work, our three angels, went NUTS. That kind of bedlam was reserved for the garbage/recycling man. Mike went out to look. There was a beautiful American bull dog (may be a pit) but well cared for and certainly a loved member of a family. Me being over 40, could NOT read his tag. We got the numbers from Elvis's tag. Mike tried to call. I text one of the numbers "Elvis has apparently left your building and is hanging with us". Mike left a message.
I get a call from Mike. He had put Elvis out in the back yard with our group and they were playing. Then I heard Mike "Daisy, leave Elvis alone. Daisy NO BITE. Daisy....I gotta go". Apparently all 12 pounds of Daisy was either enamoured or pissed off at Elvis. Let me go through the 3 dogs: Bo....just like me...fearful of everything until he has someone with him or time passes. Luke...the old man of the group....he was fostered for most of his life & we think was abused by aggressive dogs. He knows how to bob & weave! Now Daisy....she tends to go after big dogs. One time in a soon-to-be abandoned "obedience class" Daisy had to be faced AWAY from the 120 pount pit as she would go after him (at 9 pounds & 4 months). Mike told the class "Just like her momma, always looking for a bar fight"....not sure how to respond.
I received a call from Elvis' owner. 19 year old kid. I gave him Mike's number & let them work out the delivery details. It turned out, that the mom & dad owned a pretty popular steak place. I threatened Mike NOT to ask for a gift certificate as payment. Apparently the kid's father was struggling with Lukemia & the mom truly appreciated the thought & care we afforded Elvis.
For the next week, the dogs would go NUTS in the middle of the night....Elvis was here. Apparently, Elvis would push his way into the back yard looking for the kids to play with. It just so happened to be 4 in the morning. We would call the kid. One time we brought him into the house, all 80 pounds of him. He jumped up on our bed kinda making himself at home. He was quite endearing. He sat at the door of the guest room where we had coralled our darlings. Pandemonium ensued. I figure the kid was playing video games & absently put the dog out & went back to life. We found out later that Elvis would jump up on the trampoline & would come to search out the Dukes of SLC. Mike offered to have Elvis visit & play, but that never came to fruition. We figured Elvis would trap himself in our yard as the gate only swings in. One morning, I went to let the dogs out and I was bringing Daisy out (who has to go out seperately due to her own stubbornness) and I opened the door & there stood Bo. Apparently during the night Elvis had entered the yard, when he coudn't find the Dukes, he pushed his way out of the chain link gate doors. Elvis had left the yard. We haven't heard from Elvis in a while which is a mixed blessing...no more frightening barking alarms, yet no bouyant beefy face looking to play!
I took a half a day of vacation & there was a bag with a bow hanging on the door. I left it as I thought it was from the neighbors. I left it for Mike to open. The card was to "Elvis' friends from Elvis". There were puppy treats & human treats as well as a picture of a tail wagging, tongue lolling Elvis. Now we have no idea of the numbers any more, nor did we really share names. But we helped someone out by giving a dog the care we would want our dogs given when they are lost and we got the greatest surprise! Thank YOU!
Unfortunately when Daisy has gotten out and they tell me what an amazing dog she is, I hesitate from blurting "SOLD". Because on some deep.....deep....way deeper level, I would miss her. As a matter of fact, I was in Northern California for business last year & received a few voicemails that Daisy had been found. It turned out that she had been turned over to the animal control for the weekend. I was livid with Mike. "You go back in there & get my baby! She is in a cold kennel without the boys & has no pillow. I am SURE she is scared." I continued every so irrationally "This is the weekend before Christmas, she is a cute dog...if someone adopts my baby because YOU didn't get her out, YOU WILL PAY!" Mike kept mumbling "I hope she learns a lesson being in jail over the weekend". Not sure who was more delusional.
Sigh...yes, I do laugh about it now. First thing Monday morning, Mike went to the pound, paid the fee, and took possession of our baby. He called me with "I got Daisy. They gave me her picture with her number and her paw prints they took!" I fell for it. Like she needed smokes in her weekend in the doggie slammer. I really don't think this dog, nor Elvis, could be redeemed, but they are a pair to draw to!
Be great to you!
H
One morning before I left for work, our three angels, went NUTS. That kind of bedlam was reserved for the garbage/recycling man. Mike went out to look. There was a beautiful American bull dog (may be a pit) but well cared for and certainly a loved member of a family. Me being over 40, could NOT read his tag. We got the numbers from Elvis's tag. Mike tried to call. I text one of the numbers "Elvis has apparently left your building and is hanging with us". Mike left a message.
I get a call from Mike. He had put Elvis out in the back yard with our group and they were playing. Then I heard Mike "Daisy, leave Elvis alone. Daisy NO BITE. Daisy....I gotta go". Apparently all 12 pounds of Daisy was either enamoured or pissed off at Elvis. Let me go through the 3 dogs: Bo....just like me...fearful of everything until he has someone with him or time passes. Luke...the old man of the group....he was fostered for most of his life & we think was abused by aggressive dogs. He knows how to bob & weave! Now Daisy....she tends to go after big dogs. One time in a soon-to-be abandoned "obedience class" Daisy had to be faced AWAY from the 120 pount pit as she would go after him (at 9 pounds & 4 months). Mike told the class "Just like her momma, always looking for a bar fight"....not sure how to respond.
I received a call from Elvis' owner. 19 year old kid. I gave him Mike's number & let them work out the delivery details. It turned out, that the mom & dad owned a pretty popular steak place. I threatened Mike NOT to ask for a gift certificate as payment. Apparently the kid's father was struggling with Lukemia & the mom truly appreciated the thought & care we afforded Elvis.
For the next week, the dogs would go NUTS in the middle of the night....Elvis was here. Apparently, Elvis would push his way into the back yard looking for the kids to play with. It just so happened to be 4 in the morning. We would call the kid. One time we brought him into the house, all 80 pounds of him. He jumped up on our bed kinda making himself at home. He was quite endearing. He sat at the door of the guest room where we had coralled our darlings. Pandemonium ensued. I figure the kid was playing video games & absently put the dog out & went back to life. We found out later that Elvis would jump up on the trampoline & would come to search out the Dukes of SLC. Mike offered to have Elvis visit & play, but that never came to fruition. We figured Elvis would trap himself in our yard as the gate only swings in. One morning, I went to let the dogs out and I was bringing Daisy out (who has to go out seperately due to her own stubbornness) and I opened the door & there stood Bo. Apparently during the night Elvis had entered the yard, when he coudn't find the Dukes, he pushed his way out of the chain link gate doors. Elvis had left the yard. We haven't heard from Elvis in a while which is a mixed blessing...no more frightening barking alarms, yet no bouyant beefy face looking to play!
I took a half a day of vacation & there was a bag with a bow hanging on the door. I left it as I thought it was from the neighbors. I left it for Mike to open. The card was to "Elvis' friends from Elvis". There were puppy treats & human treats as well as a picture of a tail wagging, tongue lolling Elvis. Now we have no idea of the numbers any more, nor did we really share names. But we helped someone out by giving a dog the care we would want our dogs given when they are lost and we got the greatest surprise! Thank YOU!
Unfortunately when Daisy has gotten out and they tell me what an amazing dog she is, I hesitate from blurting "SOLD". Because on some deep.....deep....way deeper level, I would miss her. As a matter of fact, I was in Northern California for business last year & received a few voicemails that Daisy had been found. It turned out that she had been turned over to the animal control for the weekend. I was livid with Mike. "You go back in there & get my baby! She is in a cold kennel without the boys & has no pillow. I am SURE she is scared." I continued every so irrationally "This is the weekend before Christmas, she is a cute dog...if someone adopts my baby because YOU didn't get her out, YOU WILL PAY!" Mike kept mumbling "I hope she learns a lesson being in jail over the weekend". Not sure who was more delusional.
Sigh...yes, I do laugh about it now. First thing Monday morning, Mike went to the pound, paid the fee, and took possession of our baby. He called me with "I got Daisy. They gave me her picture with her number and her paw prints they took!" I fell for it. Like she needed smokes in her weekend in the doggie slammer. I really don't think this dog, nor Elvis, could be redeemed, but they are a pair to draw to!
Be great to you!
H
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Just My Thanksgiving
So....my mother has passed. My follow up quip is that "I hate to say I have lost my mother, as I know where she is. She is in a canister on a shelf in my brother's garage."
As I type that it really seems not funny. Thanksgiving was one of her holidays. I don't know what happened to them, but she had a cache of 30 year old (at the time)Hallmark cut outs of cute Pilgrims and Indians. Then over the years, she added Indian corn, a conrucopia, and other festivus effluvia of the season. Since her death, if my sister was not with us, my husband and I have been graciously adopted by friends. My husband was raised in a family where Thanksgiving was huge. The two of us are lost this time of year without our birth families.
I can still feel how Thanksgiving day started at my mom's house. As with all of the memories in our pudgy household, it starts with food. Bacon, fried potatoes and eggs. Eaten while watching the parade, mom loved the bands. THEN the stuffing had to be made. Call it what you will, but my mom had control issues. For years she would "teach" me to cook and part of that wisened tutealage was creating the base for the stuffing. I close my eyes and can still FEEL the small blackened cast iron frying pan (older than myself) where I would put a cube of butter, a chopped onion, leftover bacon, and celery. Added to that, I would sprinkle in (only under mom's expert eye) poultry seasoning & paprika. That is how our day started. What a joy!
Over the years, mom got creative with the turkey. NEVER with the dressing. We had standard side dishes, and of course pies. My sister and I faithfully recalled this year how my mother would scare everyone away from the food, yet it was HER who would take a tiny slice of pumpkin pie to taste it. The awesome maternal part was her feigned indignance at being caught. The regal distaste was stunning. How dare we question that she had the right to taste her pies. I think later in life she just said "I don't give a shit what you think, I wanted a piece". To her credit, that bravado had nothing to do with the cancer, I think she just wanted what she wanted.
The hilarious part of this holiday is that mom was/is Canadian! Yes, the Canadians do have Thanksgiving...though I do doubt that Alexander MacKenzie stopped in his explorations to share maize and pheasant with locals as he searched to plunder the North in search of the Northwest passage for his employer. But I digress. This young, new wife arrives in America and somewhat soon after is abandoned in Navy housing as the brash brave husband goes to war. My mother claimed that she learned how to cook from the other Navy wives in the complex in Hawaii. I can also imagine that women in California helped the funny, petite and engaging new arrival in the neighborhood.
So my mom really did kind of embody what Thanksgiving originally is attempted to be replicated after...new arrivals, in a new area, without comforts of home, learning from the people who were there already. Now my mother was not a Puritan, nor did she encounter dysentry, or spread small pox over the Bay area, but she was definitely pioneering with all of the other wives who were alone together. Before my mom is canonized, I know she learned quite a bit with either a bottle of wine or a rum and coke in her hand....definitely housewarming.
With my sister, we became adept with mom at whipping through the list of Thanksgiving tasks. The end of the day is the meal. I think my mom sat down to most dinners last and motioning everyone to go ahead and eat. But mom being mom, would load up her plate and eat....nothing. Yup...nothing. Can't say why, but she would just not be interested in eating what she slaved over. The meal was NOT the event, the event was the day...the preparations, the traditions, and most assuredly the finely pressed linens! But never the food!
There was the Thanksgiving where mom put the cooked turkey out one the porch to get out of her miniscule kitchen so she could finish. What was happening as we continued with the meal was my brother's two lab puppies were eating as much as they could before they were caught. As my brother and his wife drove home, whining and a horrible smell eminated from the back of the truck. When they had stopped, they noticed the results of the rich meat which had ravaged the pup's systems. We laugh about that. Then there was one of mom's last Thanksgivings where we were told to turn the turkey over 2 hours into the cooking. This was my brother's first adult situation with my mom's turkey creativity. He looked at the 25 pound bird which had been in a hot oven and wanted to know how to turn the "fucker" over. Hiding in the kitchen, the three of us offered a fairly adept yet overly dramatic interpretation of the turkey turning with mom being NONE the wiser that the bird hadn't moved.
So, we sat with our adopted family over this Thanksgiving offering them thanks for including them into their stories, traditions and holiday! Yet still being reminded that ALL families are full of the same stories, siblings and food!
Be good to you!
H
As I type that it really seems not funny. Thanksgiving was one of her holidays. I don't know what happened to them, but she had a cache of 30 year old (at the time)Hallmark cut outs of cute Pilgrims and Indians. Then over the years, she added Indian corn, a conrucopia, and other festivus effluvia of the season. Since her death, if my sister was not with us, my husband and I have been graciously adopted by friends. My husband was raised in a family where Thanksgiving was huge. The two of us are lost this time of year without our birth families.
I can still feel how Thanksgiving day started at my mom's house. As with all of the memories in our pudgy household, it starts with food. Bacon, fried potatoes and eggs. Eaten while watching the parade, mom loved the bands. THEN the stuffing had to be made. Call it what you will, but my mom had control issues. For years she would "teach" me to cook and part of that wisened tutealage was creating the base for the stuffing. I close my eyes and can still FEEL the small blackened cast iron frying pan (older than myself) where I would put a cube of butter, a chopped onion, leftover bacon, and celery. Added to that, I would sprinkle in (only under mom's expert eye) poultry seasoning & paprika. That is how our day started. What a joy!
Over the years, mom got creative with the turkey. NEVER with the dressing. We had standard side dishes, and of course pies. My sister and I faithfully recalled this year how my mother would scare everyone away from the food, yet it was HER who would take a tiny slice of pumpkin pie to taste it. The awesome maternal part was her feigned indignance at being caught. The regal distaste was stunning. How dare we question that she had the right to taste her pies. I think later in life she just said "I don't give a shit what you think, I wanted a piece". To her credit, that bravado had nothing to do with the cancer, I think she just wanted what she wanted.
The hilarious part of this holiday is that mom was/is Canadian! Yes, the Canadians do have Thanksgiving...though I do doubt that Alexander MacKenzie stopped in his explorations to share maize and pheasant with locals as he searched to plunder the North in search of the Northwest passage for his employer. But I digress. This young, new wife arrives in America and somewhat soon after is abandoned in Navy housing as the brash brave husband goes to war. My mother claimed that she learned how to cook from the other Navy wives in the complex in Hawaii. I can also imagine that women in California helped the funny, petite and engaging new arrival in the neighborhood.
So my mom really did kind of embody what Thanksgiving originally is attempted to be replicated after...new arrivals, in a new area, without comforts of home, learning from the people who were there already. Now my mother was not a Puritan, nor did she encounter dysentry, or spread small pox over the Bay area, but she was definitely pioneering with all of the other wives who were alone together. Before my mom is canonized, I know she learned quite a bit with either a bottle of wine or a rum and coke in her hand....definitely housewarming.
With my sister, we became adept with mom at whipping through the list of Thanksgiving tasks. The end of the day is the meal. I think my mom sat down to most dinners last and motioning everyone to go ahead and eat. But mom being mom, would load up her plate and eat....nothing. Yup...nothing. Can't say why, but she would just not be interested in eating what she slaved over. The meal was NOT the event, the event was the day...the preparations, the traditions, and most assuredly the finely pressed linens! But never the food!
There was the Thanksgiving where mom put the cooked turkey out one the porch to get out of her miniscule kitchen so she could finish. What was happening as we continued with the meal was my brother's two lab puppies were eating as much as they could before they were caught. As my brother and his wife drove home, whining and a horrible smell eminated from the back of the truck. When they had stopped, they noticed the results of the rich meat which had ravaged the pup's systems. We laugh about that. Then there was one of mom's last Thanksgivings where we were told to turn the turkey over 2 hours into the cooking. This was my brother's first adult situation with my mom's turkey creativity. He looked at the 25 pound bird which had been in a hot oven and wanted to know how to turn the "fucker" over. Hiding in the kitchen, the three of us offered a fairly adept yet overly dramatic interpretation of the turkey turning with mom being NONE the wiser that the bird hadn't moved.
So, we sat with our adopted family over this Thanksgiving offering them thanks for including them into their stories, traditions and holiday! Yet still being reminded that ALL families are full of the same stories, siblings and food!
Be good to you!
H
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Hypocrite!
Years ago the word HYPOCRITE was thrown out as an insult. HOW DARE YOU...that is horrific to criticize what I do when you do the same without any thought towards remorse.
In college my friend & I just owned it...we sat in our dorm room & decided...yup...we ARE happily hypocritical. We felt relieved. Honored. Pious. Why not? We were willing to admit that YES you are an idiot and I am going to mock you for what you do even though I do it as well. Beyond pointing out how wrong it is that you are doing it, we are going to ENJOY mocking you for it. People were shocked. I still look back & wonder at either our egoism or naiviate. But we felt justified point out flaws because we OPENLY ADMITTED that we had flaws. It just seemed logical.
Things haven't changed over the years. I know I have rationalized the attitude over the years! "I see stupid people. They are everywhere but they don't know they are stupid!". So it feels like a public service now. To qualify, I was raised in a home where you would have an option to mock or be mocked. I mentioned to someone yesterday that it truly was an Olympic event. As we got older, the sphere of mocking extended to cousins. It became a global event if you did not mention an incident first. I can't think of any of my early exploits which were training events for my mocking....but I am sure many of them came when I began drinking at 19. Before anyone becomes outraged, my mom was Canadian. The drinking age in British Columbia is 19. SO with all of my eager cousins, we would commute to the Vancouver suburbs and LEGALLY drink.
One situation that comes to mind is my first school reunion. I went to kindergarden in the town where my mom grew up. Now this town is sooooo small that they didn't have high school reunions for specific classes, they simply had annual school reunions. So I was eligible to attend. I cannot recall what I drank...but the 15 hour drive home was brutal. 2 hours before we arrived home, I crawled out of the back seat to drive. My brother & my mother mocked me because I was so hung over I only drove 2 hours. During the time my family drove, they competed to see who could drive the longest at 90 & 100 miles per hour. I get behind the wheel & 30 minutes later, I am pulled over & ticketed for driving 67. Yah. Needless to say it was a quiet ride home. Arriving home, my brother gleefully told of how he drove so fast & that I got ticketed.
It was a stupid thing. But we celebrate it. So I feel enlightened to mock others. Now my sister has a MOCKER dance. I cannot describe it. But even thinking of it now, I giggle. She embraces the ability to mock people. It is a celebration of our greatness....and a minimizing of yours. Every so often I feel a twinge of guilt when I see the bumper sticker which states "Mean people suck"....to be truthful I do, but that has no bearing on any relationship other than mine & my husband's. But I digress....I feel I am NOT mean pointing out the blatent humor of the lesser people in my world. The guy who was so mad that I passed him that he (doing 60 mph on the freeway) leaned out his door to flip me off. How can you NOT mock him? Come on, you snicker at stuff like that.
I will not mock people who are legitimately challenged, in pain or suffering. That is not fair. But if you are able minded, able bodied and within my realm doing stupid things....YEEEE HA! Sometimes I even wait for you all to catch yourselves. We were talking one day at lunch about Sweedish fish. A friend (who indeed is blonde) said "How do you fix those?". I paused. Hoping she was setting us up for a joke. My conversation companion & I waited for the qualifier from her acknowledging she was joking, but alas none came. SO we dove in. "Well, Jeff....do you cook yours with lemon & dill?". "That is good Heather, sometimes I put them on the grill". Everyone was laughing as we did this. Then my friend figured it out & was almost contrite. But come on.....who doesn't know what Sweedish fish are? No one is safe.
Nor am I. I know that I have tons of things to accentuate my stupidity. I don't have the time to share the yarn about my car's cd player in Hip Hop mode so it skipped more. I admit the stupidity of it....as a trainer, I have shared that story in at least 50 classes. HAH....I do it before anyone else can. I celebrate my stupidity! Why shouldn't I celebrate YOURS?
Be good to you!
H
In college my friend & I just owned it...we sat in our dorm room & decided...yup...we ARE happily hypocritical. We felt relieved. Honored. Pious. Why not? We were willing to admit that YES you are an idiot and I am going to mock you for what you do even though I do it as well. Beyond pointing out how wrong it is that you are doing it, we are going to ENJOY mocking you for it. People were shocked. I still look back & wonder at either our egoism or naiviate. But we felt justified point out flaws because we OPENLY ADMITTED that we had flaws. It just seemed logical.
Things haven't changed over the years. I know I have rationalized the attitude over the years! "I see stupid people. They are everywhere but they don't know they are stupid!". So it feels like a public service now. To qualify, I was raised in a home where you would have an option to mock or be mocked. I mentioned to someone yesterday that it truly was an Olympic event. As we got older, the sphere of mocking extended to cousins. It became a global event if you did not mention an incident first. I can't think of any of my early exploits which were training events for my mocking....but I am sure many of them came when I began drinking at 19. Before anyone becomes outraged, my mom was Canadian. The drinking age in British Columbia is 19. SO with all of my eager cousins, we would commute to the Vancouver suburbs and LEGALLY drink.
One situation that comes to mind is my first school reunion. I went to kindergarden in the town where my mom grew up. Now this town is sooooo small that they didn't have high school reunions for specific classes, they simply had annual school reunions. So I was eligible to attend. I cannot recall what I drank...but the 15 hour drive home was brutal. 2 hours before we arrived home, I crawled out of the back seat to drive. My brother & my mother mocked me because I was so hung over I only drove 2 hours. During the time my family drove, they competed to see who could drive the longest at 90 & 100 miles per hour. I get behind the wheel & 30 minutes later, I am pulled over & ticketed for driving 67. Yah. Needless to say it was a quiet ride home. Arriving home, my brother gleefully told of how he drove so fast & that I got ticketed.
It was a stupid thing. But we celebrate it. So I feel enlightened to mock others. Now my sister has a MOCKER dance. I cannot describe it. But even thinking of it now, I giggle. She embraces the ability to mock people. It is a celebration of our greatness....and a minimizing of yours. Every so often I feel a twinge of guilt when I see the bumper sticker which states "Mean people suck"....to be truthful I do, but that has no bearing on any relationship other than mine & my husband's. But I digress....I feel I am NOT mean pointing out the blatent humor of the lesser people in my world. The guy who was so mad that I passed him that he (doing 60 mph on the freeway) leaned out his door to flip me off. How can you NOT mock him? Come on, you snicker at stuff like that.
I will not mock people who are legitimately challenged, in pain or suffering. That is not fair. But if you are able minded, able bodied and within my realm doing stupid things....YEEEE HA! Sometimes I even wait for you all to catch yourselves. We were talking one day at lunch about Sweedish fish. A friend (who indeed is blonde) said "How do you fix those?". I paused. Hoping she was setting us up for a joke. My conversation companion & I waited for the qualifier from her acknowledging she was joking, but alas none came. SO we dove in. "Well, Jeff....do you cook yours with lemon & dill?". "That is good Heather, sometimes I put them on the grill". Everyone was laughing as we did this. Then my friend figured it out & was almost contrite. But come on.....who doesn't know what Sweedish fish are? No one is safe.
Nor am I. I know that I have tons of things to accentuate my stupidity. I don't have the time to share the yarn about my car's cd player in Hip Hop mode so it skipped more. I admit the stupidity of it....as a trainer, I have shared that story in at least 50 classes. HAH....I do it before anyone else can. I celebrate my stupidity! Why shouldn't I celebrate YOURS?
Be good to you!
H
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