Random Thoughts To Start the Week

Someone asked me the other day why I don't post a million pictures of my children on my blog. My reasoning is quite simple - because they are mine and not yours and I won't share. And there are a lot of freaks in the world. I don't want them seeing my babies.



I have shingles for real this time. A year ago I was misdiagnosed with shingles when what I really had was an abscessed tooth. I complained that it was my tooth to absolutely no end. Finally, a dentist believed me and a small portion of my jaw bone was removed on my 34th birthday when my tooth was repaired. That was fun. I cried while my family ate Kentucky Fried Chicken in front of me. Now I have real shingles, and I cried last night when my pain medicine started to work.

It is not necessary to have a backyard to have fun playing. Our new backyard is just a patio and a flower bed. We are going to fill both with our patio furniture and sunflower seeds. Lee is bring his BBQ over soon. We shall celebrate all our family's upcoming birthday celebrations with all that great grilled Caribbean cuisine that Leonarrrrrrrdo is so good at.

Fat old labs can't be retrained. I have decided that my Dixie is just an old dog with strong ideas about who needs to be chased and where it is most pleasant to relieve a lunch's extra nutrients...if you know what I mean. She is loud when she bothers to bark, has a thing for bicyclists and thinks that if she randomly offers to shake hands that chocolate cake will be given to her at will. She smells, but we love her. She has rolls on her rolls and her neck even looks fat, but we love her. She ate her dog tags and so we need new ones since we live in the Borough. But she slept on the floor next my place on the couch the whole time I came back from the ER with my Shingles. I even woke to her licking my head at one point. Either I had chocolate in my hair or she really loves me. It's a toss up. She has an addiction problem, so her motivations are all mixed up.

Fall is coming. It has been excessively hot and humid here lately - like one of those summers I spent in Oklahoma City visiting my grandmother in her big Victorian home. Those were the summers of biscuits and briskets and lots of laughing and sitting on the oversized porch in rocking chairs. Anyway, this home reminds me of that one and this summer often finds me mentally going back to hot Southern summers with Virginia-Lee dictating my chores in the kitchen and around her big old house while my brother explored the servant's quarters with my little sister. Recently, I had lunch with Grandma and I reminded her of that home and noted how I was always amazed that no matter how many funnel clouds threatened us there each summer, her house was still standing. "Oh, they (tornadoes) don't blow down everything. Just the weaker places." When I told her I had made sun tea in my backyard she was rather proud. "Now don't forget to add the lemon. It is so much better with lemon."

Ukrainian Independence. I am not Ukrainian. My ancestors from Eastern Europe are Russian and Hungarian. Jews and Gentiles - but by far mostly Russian. However, they all moved to the US from Ukraine. True story. So this weekend, while it felt as though someone was randomly shoving a pen in my left ear (Shingles), I decided it would be an excellent idea to go to Ukrainian Fest after Divine Liturgy. My Puerto Rican husband was quite skeptical of the fun potential of this. But he drove us and my much taller little sister to Ukrainian Fest. We pseudo danced to accordion music, ate bags of chips because we came without enough money for Perohys. We bought two Psanky and I am actively wearing a rubber arm band that reads, "SAVE THE DOMES!" An old man's church is loosing its onion domes unless I donate my one available dollar. We met a Russian Icon dealer. True story. He was highly unfriendly and wanted to bargain actively with me in Russian. I pretended only to speak Spanish. It was fun. We were tempted to jump into the pool with all the happy young Slavs, but instead we drove to Rita's and ate copious amounts of Italian Ice. We promised next year not to show up an hour before the festival ends when all the old ladies are wrapping up their hand painted tea glasses and embroidered shawls.

Today we go to the library. The books I checked out last week are all duds.

Oh, and the most exciting news of the week? I unloaded all my goofy thrift store accumulated cookbooks this past week! I found the 1950's one that suggests all manner of dinners made from Cambell's Soup. It is dedicated to, "Mrs. Homemaker who spends many a happy hour creating family cuisine from convenience foods!" True story. I am going to make a recipe from it every week. I am even going to try the "Happy Husband Souper Lunch Pack!" menu that lists a different soup and weird hearty sandwich for each work day for a full month. I warned Lee last night. He seemed mildly interested in Cheese Soup Served in a Wide Mouthed Vacuum and Swiss on Rye with a Fruit Cup.