Keep F’in Canopies
over the speakers too!
Keep F’in Canopies
over the speakers too!
I love trying new foods, experiencing unique dishes and learning about other cultures. I enjoy egg rolls, devouring fresh shrimp and discovering new restaurants. All that said, The local Korean restaurant I found last weekend was a gem and the flavors were amazing but spring rolls are not for me.
Initially, I couldn’t get past the visual presentation. I even thought it might be a joke. Perhaps I was on that show ‘Punked’ or Candid Camera? Clearly. Clearly someone had wrapped my fresh shrimp in a condom.
Initially I just stared. It took me about 10 minutes to even consider taking a bite. The wrap wasn’t like anything I could have imagined. The consistency was even worse. When the shock wore off, I thought about what to do next. I did what any nice girl would do. I ate the meat and left the wrapping on the motel floor.
I mean restaurant table.
I know spring rolls aren’t a new concept for most but this was a raw dining experience for me. I will go back to this otherwise delicious establishment. I’ll return for the Pad Thai, pork vermicelli and Pho. I just won’t order any phalic items that prompt me to visualize other parts of our culture. There’s a time and place for everything but when I go out to eat, don’t spring a surprise on me. I’d rather roll over and go to sleep.
This girl is on fire!
Just found this in my drafts from early 2016:
My mother-in-law is the sweetest and most generous woman.
The only problem is that she’s also the mother of my husband.
What does it mean when she gifts me a housekeeping book?
Stop drinking only water, and use a little wine because of your stomach and your frequent illnesses.
I Timothy 5:23
So it is so.
Wet, cold and weary.
Tea and hot fire waiting –
He melted my heart.
She whines so much, we refer to her as Beaujolais.
My husband had an early shopping day with our daughter on Saturday, so I decided to surprise my parents and enjoy my eggs and toast at their house. It’s only a three-mile drive but my timing was off. My father had just finished his own eggs, bacon and oatmeal and my mother was already enjoying one of her favorites – an ice cream cone breakfast. While we didn’t enjoy a meal together I thought our 1×2 time could still be special.
I started to tell my mother about my journey home from work on Friday night. I explained that I sometimes take a different route home to learn the area around the new office.
My mother responded after finishing her cone:
Knowing that was just her catchphrase I continued…
I was only telling you because my GPS said there was a Goodwill in the area. I knew I had her attention now because it is one of her favorite places to thrift. It was my hook.
I didn’t even get to add the punchline that I followed the map for an extra six miles and learned the store no longer exists in that location. Feeling incomplete, I had to at least finish my sentence. I cut to the chase and told her that I found a new shop that I liked in that neighborhood anyway.
Mom. I know you’re excited for James to take you to the casino but you’re not listening here and now.
Yes, it’s like you can only focus on my brother. I get it though. I know you’re just excited about the trip. My comment seemed unappreciated but it registered and she snapped out of it.
“What time is it in Nashville?”
They are only an hour behind us mom. It should be around 8 AM. Why?
“I’ve been sitting here waiting to call your sister Twyla. I mailed her a package and wanted to know if it arrived.”
Well that explained more. I decided not to take her uninterested comments personally. I also realized it was my brother she was irritated with, not me. He had told them he would arrive between 9 and 10 but it was now 9:10, so she considered him late.
My mother reached for her flip cell phone. I asked what time she was going to call my sister? Her response was curt and quick.
“The hell with her. I guess I’ll have to risk waking her up.”
My sister Twyla couldn’t sleep up to or past 8 o’clock if she tried. Although she’ll wish she had when she answered the phone. The unwritten rule is that you called when a package arrived, so my mother didn’t worry that her gifted parcels were in oblivion.
The heat was off James and I and onto her but she didn’t even know it yet.
“You’re up.” was the start of my mother’s conversation.
I could only hear one side of the call but her next comment was, “well, there’s not much going on here.”
I jumped on the other extension. Really mom? I thought your other daughter was here visiting?
Knowing how sensitive I am, my mother quickly acknowledged my comment:
“Oh, shut up.”
Then to Twyla:
“What do you mean several packages have arrived and you don’t know if one of them is from me?”
My sister works so hard she probably hadn’t read any of her mail from the entire week yet. Regardless, she was now required to look through the stack while my mother was on the phone. She was going to be in trouble either way. If it was there, she hadn’t reported in to the Mom tracking system. If the package wasn’t there, it would also be her fault simply because the post office had assured my mother of a Friday delivery.
Based on my mother’s mood, I was now glad the attention was not on me.
“What? I can’t hear you, Donna burnt some toast and it smells awful.”
I know noses and ears are somehow connected but I didn’t realize my carbohydrate carbon smell could impact my mother’s hearing aids.
I ignored the comment as I thought ‘Whatever’ in my head. I broke my yolk to match my heart and slopped up the bright yellow gravy, picking up the emotional pieces. I washed my dish and gathered my coat and keys.
My father came back in the room and asked why I was leaving so soon?
I just thought I’d stop in on my way to getting groceries. Twy is on the line. Have a good day with James.
“If he gets here. It’s almost 9:30.”
My morning visit was complete. We did not enjoy a meal together, the timing was off and it could have been special.
Even though it’s a comfort food from when I was a child, I sometimes forget how much I like pot roast. It is a Yankee culinary delight. Richie basted this one in our crockpot last Monday. The meat cooked so slowly, it quickly melted in my mouth. The carrots, Irish potatoes and onions swam alongside in the delicious gravy on my plate. Yankee me couldn’t get enough, even after several pot roast dinners last week. I am comforted as the cold weather approaches; warmed by the wood stove, a crock pot and my man.
Brimfield Flea Market is host to antiques, industrial salvage, oddities, miles of fields and food vendors as well as paintings, porters and dealer personalities. These antique dealers stage their tents awaiting sales while buyers scope the huge territory waiting for just the right item. My September visit demonstrated both sides of that vintage coin. A dealer’s display of this little guy stopped me in my tracks. What is he waiting for?
– a glass display box?
– the next onlooker reaction?
– better eyeware fashion?
– someone to purchase him?
– his next meal?
I know, perhaps:
– an undertaker?
It seems the taxidermist left him in the dark and feeling a little stuffed.