Random Bits'n'Pieces

My brain seems to be on vacation this summer. Not thinking that's totally bad though. After all, at least some part of me is on vacation. It just that lately I haven't finished anything I've been writing. It's just sitting there. That's when it occurred to me that I could do a “random quarter” post with these unfinished pieces.

“What's a random quarter?” It's a post with 25 items. These items, or entries, or whatever you wanna call them, can be anything. Ideas, rants, stories, secrets, etc. RANDOM, if you will ;-) (I totally stole this idea from jenn over at Quirky Pickings. She's smart, snarky, funny, a great writer and supportive bloggy friend. You should visit. After you read the rest of this post, though.)

You know that little stand on restaurant tables? It usually has sweeteners, salt and pepper, maybe a drink or dessert menu, etc. They need to put magnifying glasses there for when people of a certain age forget their reading glasses and can't see what's on the menu because her arms have gotten too short...not that I've experienced this personally, or anything. Just an idea that came to me when I was last out to dinner...ahem.

I have a DMV story...my parents moved to CO when Jake, now 14, was only 8 months old. Dad went to get Colorado plates for his big, GREEN pick-up. "Needs a VIN verification. Don't show your face around these parts 'til ya'll got that sucker verified." Or some such words. I went with Dad to the emissions/VIN verification place because it was on the way to where we were playing golf, and we sure didn't think it would be any big deal. We get in line, get the guy to come out, and he checks the VIN. (By the way, why is it that some dude who does emissions tests is more accurate at reading a number than, say, the owner? Or the lady behind the counter at the DMV? Just asking.) Anyway, guy says, "What color is your truck?" While standing in front of it. Dad is puzzled but says “...green?” Guy says, "Looks like a blue truck to me!" And proceeds to fill out the paperwork for a BLUE truck. So folks, as you can imagine, we had some trouble BACK at the DMV since, "Obviously, you took a different truck. This other paperwork all says GREEN...)

Are you a “leave the tag in” person, or are you a “cut the tag out before wearing or it will drive me insane molecule by molecule as it cuts into my skin, brushes by my skin, or tickles-like-a-spider-my skin.” Guess which one I am...But I do read them before I cut them out. Some of them I save, because I'm such a total dork about clothes and mostly (seriously) buy them at Walmart...(Don't tell Best, she's trying to reform me, one gorgeous wardrobe piece at a time...with little success...I still haven't spend any regular amount of money on clothes, though I cherish the boutique pieces she has found for me and then bought for me...) So if there's a tag that's a real brand-name, I save those. Really. They're in my jewelry box. Both of them.

Is it obnoxious to provide your own laugh track to ramblings, like I did above? Yeah, I thought so. Sigh.

Ok, so another tag thing. This one was from my bathing suit. The first new suit I've bought in 12 years. Yes, really. I have witnesses! Anyway, it said “wash in cold, gentle cycle, hang dry, iron if necessary.” Ok, first of all, why would I need to wash it in cold water if it's already been in a hot tub? And c'mon, how many of you have ever ironed a bathing suit? I mean that, if you have, please speak up. I promise I won't hassle you. Very much.

Why does my pharmacy have signs for a blind person (blue background, white “walking man” holding cane) and another one that says, “Braille instructions available.” Not sure the market they're aiming for are able to um, read, those signs.

Why do so many customer service workers hate customers and don't want to provide service? Seriously. If you hate people, work in some other sector. We'd all appreciate it. And you managers? If your aforementioned employee screwed up my order, just give me what I actually ordered, don't reach into my bag, grab the one that was wrong, and throw it in the trash can next to me. What does that accomplish? I mean, which story would you like repeated for millions (I wish ;-) of blog readers? A: Arby's is so great, they gave me a free NON-cheese-slopped sandwich, or B: Arby's can't get anything right and wastes food.

Some faithful readers might remember “Ketchup Packet in the Compost”. Goes well with the previous tidbit. Only better written, I hope ;-)

Why do plants you want in your flower bed slide out of the dirt like a knife through butter, while weeds that you don't want have to be dug out with great effort, and even if you manage to get them out, just return in less than a week. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Oh wait, it was. And then they ate the apple...

Why is it that kids will spend HOURS using a computer program that builds Lego models with an auto-cad type interface, instead of with the MILLIONS of actual Lego bricks gathering dust and creating road hazards all over the floor?

If I were going to be stranded on a deserted island, I'd want Sawyer instead of Jack. I know I'd be out a doctor, but I'd never be bored with the con-man. And no, his perfect physique and gorgeous eyes have nothing to do with this issue. Really. Now if I could have two people, the other would have to be Locke. He's the most McGyverish of the bunch. Yes, I'm one of those Lost fanatics. And no, I didn't understand the ending. But I've certainly spent enough time trying to figure it out.

We moved into this house eleven years ago. I have several boxes and a huge hope chest still packed full that I've never opened since then. Not curious enough to take on this project in this heat. Maybe ever. I haven't needed that stuff yet, so why now?

Yes, you counted right.  There aren't 25 items.  There are 12.  When I said I was stealing her idea, I of course have to tweak it a bit.  Not to mention the fact that YellowBoy wants to watch Lost re-runs.  I miss Sawyer, so I'm ditching you guys and heading for netflix streaming.  One of the best inventions ever!

Exploding Pasta, Anyone?

They used to joke that I couldn't even boil water. They did have grounds for that accusation, but that's a story all by itself. If I forget to write it, remind me by saying, “Tell us the one where you made your own molten lava.” This week, I learned that I also can't boil oil. It explodes.

I've only been cooking for about nine years, which when you're 46, isn't really that long. I've mostly learned how from cookbooks and cooking shows. I'm a complete Food Network addict, and I've learned chopping techniques, how to bloom spices, why dips and guacamole and the like need to “marry” and how to perform that ceremony, and I have a lot of fun, easy recipes that are staples.  But about once a week I like to try something new. This week I wanted to make aglio olio sauce. I've had it in the legendary Blue Parrot in Lafayette, CO (nearby town, only about a ½ hour drive.) It's an olive oil and garlic sauce, so I figured it would be pretty simple, but I didn't know the ratios.

I read several recipes, but settled on one from cooking.com. Not Joe Blow's recipes, but kitchen tested, expert approved REAL recipes. I read the directions and thought, huh, pour water into boiling oil, that doesn't sound right. After all, when I'm done with the griddle after cooking bacon and then pour the grease into a ceramic bowl (once it's completely cool, emphasis on COMPLETELY cool) it will splatter and hop around if there are ANY drops of water anywhere near it. So I'm DOUBLE checking the recipe, and it truly does say, “Remove oil from heat. Gradually stir in one cup of water.” Well, alrighty, I'm no expert, so let's try just a ½ teaspoon of water. It bubbles, it bubbles over, it catches the gas stove flame on fire (we're talking CONFLAGRATION here folks) and I reach for the lid to cover it up, and then it EXPLODES. Garlic slices flying, oil taking off for outer space, splitter-splatter ALL over my kitchen. I'm up against the fridge, still waiting for that chance to cover the, um, problem. That time doesn't come. About ten minutes later, after nothing has exploded for a while, I reach over, turn off the burner, and cover the pot.

I will say, it was a damn good dinner, all things considered. We didn't need the full cup of “sauce” at all, I just poured about a half of the half that was left, and the pasta (angel hair) was just fine. The zucchini I'd steam/stir fried with Vidalia onions was equally delish, and the grated asiago over all of the above mentioned parts sealed the deal.

After doing the dishes, I wrote a scathing review of the “Sure To Explode” Pasta. My unfortunate cleaning teenager had to deal with the grease spot on every cabinet, counter, and floor space. Yes, I tipped her.

The motto my friends is, “Trust your instincts” and certainly NOT cooking.com. Just sayin'.

What's your worst kitchen disaster? Please share. I'll be back with more, because though this one was entertaining, it certainly wasn't the worst thing I did in a kitchen.

Guest Post @ Tossing It Out

I'm thrilled to have been invited to guest blog at “Tossing It Out”. Arlee is the originator of the April A-Z Challenge, and along with a faithful group of fellow bloggers, made this such a successful endeavor. Please head on over there and say “hi”. AND, there's a totally serious sorta-challenge/give-away for those not opposed to waxing mathematical in cyber space.

Playing Hooky

Yesterday I took the day off. It was lovely, and I'm considering making it a weekly treat. How can a mother take a day off? Not easily. It requires sticking to the plan no matter what, firmly and consistently saying, “No. Sorry. It's my day off.” It also requires that the mommy-guilt switch must be disabled. After that, it's a breeze.

The idea came to me yesterday morning as my migraine was pounding while I was bending down to load the dishwasher. Fellow migraine sufferers know that to change the position/orientation of your head causes even more pain than just sitting there trying not to barf. I thought to myself, “Wouldn't it be great just to crawl back in bed? So I took a shower, and did just that. As my boys went about their business, which in the summer is Halo, Halo, and begging for just one more level of Halo, they soon discovered me in my room.

“Whatcha doing in bed, Mom?”

“I'm taking a day off.”

“Will you still be my mom? Like make me lunch?”

“Yes, if you need help. Try to do it yourself, though.”

“Fine, whatever, can DearFriendWhoMovedAcrossTown come over? He broke his arm and can't ride his bike will you pick him up?”

Now technically, that would not be included in the “taking a day off”. Taxi service was supposed to be suspended for the day. But I love this kid, and I of all people know what a total pain a broken arm is, so I relent. I leave my PJ's on, since I'm not getting out of the car. Fetch wounded child. Go back to bed.

“Mom, will you make us lunch?”

“No, sorry. You traded taxi service for lunch service. Go away.”

“Are you OK, Mom? You never take the day off.”

I was rather surprised by that statement, because as you know, in the last 18 months, I've spent plenty of time on doctor ordered bed-rest. But I think instinctively, they realize, like I did, that CHOOSING to stay in bed and be lazy for a day is way different than being FORCED to stay in bed. Besides, mandated bed-rest usually comes because of some nasty ailment far worse than a migraine. Yes, such a thing does exist.

I watched a movie. I knitted. (I'm two baby blankets behind. All of a sudden three friends were having babies, and three friends' KIDS were having babies. Yes, I guess I'm that old...but it's a bit freaky, let me tell you. I don't feel ready to be a grandma. They didn't either, but at least their kids were married and ready, whereas Jake is 14...I think I have a few years left to get used to it. But I digress, as usual.) I napped. Lovely nap during a lightning storm. Safe and cozy. I visited blogs, I wrote the beginning of this post.

Of course, all good things come to an end, and I did have to get up and presentable for a family function. But it was a refreshing day, both physically and mentally. I think I'll have to do it again soon.

What would you do with a day all to yourself?

For a Season

Hello Faithful Followers,

Wow. Summer has really re-arranged my priorities. not only the BuNoWriMo challenge, but my blog life in general. Silly me, I had imagined the summers when I was a single teacher. Lying out by the pool (this was before skin cancer was everywhere), working out, hot tub, popcorn for dinner, sappy chick-flicks into the night. Sleep in. With that schedule, I could have fit writing and blogging into any of the mentioned time slots. Well, not really. There was no internet back then. I am NOT kidding.

It doesn't go that way now. It goes like this: “Mom, get UP! You promised you'd make bacon today!” Make bacon. Feed children. Go garden until fused wrist and needing-to-be-replaced hip protest loud enough for me to hear. Shower. Oh look, it's lunch time. Lunch. Wow, I'm so totally tired from that gardening, I need a nap. Nap. Wow, it's dinner time already??? Make dinner. Dishes. Family sci-fi event du jour. We're currently watched all the old Star Trek episodes. 


 Kinda hard to fit blogging into that schedule. No nap you say? Blasphemy. I'm a napper, always have been, always will. Greatest luxury on the planet. Besides, it's like a re-charge for the evening ahead.

Yes, I could of course fit what I want to do into what I'm currently doing. I've always said that you have time for what you want to have time for. Lately the urge to write hasn't overtaken my urge to spend time with my kids. So instead of them grabbing a granola bar and heading out on their bikes, we sit down for breakfast. They help with the gardening. Fourteen-year-old boys are mighty strong and that's what you need when that pesky root just won't give up. My particular eleven-year-old boy like to cook, so we make lunch together frequently. Another time to sit down and connect. By the time I'm napping, their neighborhood friends have been freed from their chores and homework. Oh, and did I mention that both boys are still in school? That's what happens when Mom says, “Oh, it's fine if you don't want to do that now. We have access to the online school all summer long!” I didn't really think they were going to take me up on it. But dammit, they did.

Yes, I want to write. Yes, I'm co-hosting a challenge. I am out there visiting a lot of blogs, but I'm not writing so much. I realized earlier in the month that this wasn't the month for me to do 50k words. A month for that will come. But for now, I'm sitting here smelling of chlorine and sunscreen from a day at the pool with my boys and their two closest cousins. It was a good day. Life is Good.

If you're here visiting from the AZ Challenge, the linky list is first in my sidebar.  If you're new and not familiar with the AZ, there's a button for that too.  Happy visiting!

Deep Cover, Shallow Graves

2065

The dark clad man hiding behind the dumpster doesn't see the other dark clad figure approaching, or notice the “drunk” undercover operative stumbling down the sidewalk. The streets are slick with icy drizzle. His muscles are cramped from crouching, the burn becoming almost unbearable. The teen years of biathlon training which have helped him on other assignments is of no use in this gravity. Lungs searing from the decreased oxygen on this God-forsaken planet, he tries to gasp for air inaudibly. Silently cursing himself for failing, for losing his edge, for ending up in this hazardous position, he sends one more thought to her. “I'm so sorry, Leah. So sorry.”

It's over in a few seconds. The operative slumps all the way to the ground as the assailant calmly walks away from the scene, nods to the “drunk”. Mission accomplished.

@@@

When the body of the European terrorist hits the humble cop's car, Leah jolts to attention. John has been trying to convince the police that he isn't an insane pranker, and the only one who believes him is Abe Lincoln. But not until that body crunches the hood do others believe. Leah's been trying to convince the whole world that she's a trained soldier whose mission is to serve and protect colony residents, and the only one who knows the truth is Ian. Is he really the only one? Now that she's gotten her groove on, she starts humming. It's a nameless tune, and she's mostly unaware of this habit. Only one person ever asked about it.

“What song is that? You hum that when you're thinking hard.”

“I do? What are you talking about?”

Lon hums the tune. She smiles.

“I guess it's my thinking song. My Grandma used to hum when she worked. It made me feel safe. Even when I couldn't see her, I could hear her in the apartment, and I wasn't so scared.”

Why is she telling him? She never reveals personal information. She's been undercover so long it's an ingrained habit. This bit about the tune just slipped out. She has to be careful. Instead of going back to her work, she heads to the kitchen.

“Need anything?”

“Nah, I'm fine.”

Leah isn't fine. As she did then, she needs a shot. Grabbing the soy sauce bottle out of the fridge door, she guzzles some smuggled in Jack Daniel's. Surveying the meager inventory available, she also grabs the tub of cheese product and the imitation wheat crackers from the cabinet above the cook top. Tomorrow, supplies.

She moves to the floor between the coffee table and the couch, downs several snack packs. Cracker-cheese goop-cracker. Shot. Cracker-cheese goop-cracker. Shot. As the familiar warmth slithers into her system, she grabs the timeline.

If someone else did find out the truth, when could that have happened?

@@@

Ian is worried. More worried than he's been since Leah left for Spartan, and that's saying a lot. They “met” just briefly, over closed chat, way back when she first began her undercover work.

“So I hear you're my new ward.”

“Yeah. Just so you know, I don't like this. I don't like the daily reporting requirement. At all. I can take care of myself. How 'bout I contact you when I need you? Wouldn't that save everyone a lot of hassle not to mention budget credits? Don't you have more important things to do than babysit me?”

“Your mission is of high importance. And since you're new, and in a level 4 OP, you get daily. SOP. Nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal is just fine by me.”

“Ok then, I'll either hear, “I'd like a beer” or “I'd like a shot.” You do remember which is which, right?”

“Don't appreciate the sarcasm, your supreme highness, but yes I do remember. Beer means trouble. Shot means fine. I'm not stupid you know. Many cadets drink during training camp. It ought to be allowed. Would save the agency a hell of a lot of money in enforcement.”

“Well believe it or not, the agency values human life over regulations. We'd prefer that all personnel have self-discipline. It was a one-time blunder, right?”

“How many times do I need to grovel? I've lost count. You'd think no one around here went to school, got stupid, puked on someone important, and embarrassed themselves.”

“Point taken. Good luck, Leah. You'll need it.”

“Ok, Ian.”

She'd have to get used to the Leah.

@@@

She knows Ian is worried, but that's nothing new. She doesn't understand how he can hold this job and be such a worry-wart at the same time. Throughout her training, she never came across a man who cared. Sure, there were men who cared about the mission, or the expensive equipment, or their covers, but that's not the same as caring for a person as, well, a person. A person who can get hurt or killed at any time during the OP. With whom they're going after, she's lucky to have gotten this far in one piece. Well, a put back together piece. She rubs her shin where the titanium tibia aches, despite it's lack of nerves. Stupid phantom pain. The irritation gets her back on track, though. She was lucky to have made it out of there alive. Aches and pains can be tolerated. Failure cannot.

@@@

Some of you might recognize the characters of Leah and Ian.  For BuNoWriMo, I'm working on the sci-fi piece I started in February.  If you care to go back and read, it starts here.  I'm finding this challenge quite challenging.  But the way I figure it, even if I don't make it to 50,000 words, I'll at least be further along then I was in May.  Oh, and keep in mind, this is me spitting out words, no editing done yet.  I hesitate to put raw stuff in Bloggyville, so I keep reminding myself of my purpose.  It's in the header: Wanna be writer seeks place to vent, practice, and share.

Back to Reality

Prologue:

My idea was to jot down events and such as triggers so that once I had the chance, I could pull them together into cohesive posts which captured our vacation. This is how I started:

Vacation is:

Road trip part 1:

(and here would go those pieces)

Ocean City, Part 1, Part 2

late night “watch just one more” on YouTube

swollen feet, with ice-cubes and arnica therapy

Star Wars, the real ones, made before the digital age

cousins n cousins

cousins tolerating cousins

cousins helping cousins

cousins ENJOYING their cousins

popcorn (but it's pretty much the all-popcorn all-the-time channel if I'm along)

sand

sweat

sunscreen

sunburn

people watching

sand

Thrasherfriesfunnelcakespopcornpepsicottoncandydeepfriedoreos (I kid you not on the oreos)

sharing drinks

realizing that we're getting old. They all look like kids

Did I mention sand?

Wedding

um, yeah, never put anything here

Briarpatch

memories

countless memories

same view, bigger trees

a new generation of crabbers

a new generation of crab pickers

teaching the next gen how to pick be the next generation of crab pickers

policing them while picking the crab so as not to waste a single morsel of Maryland Blue Crab goodness

eating crab, hour four

showering at night, not in the morning

kids old enough to shower themselves, thank God and at last!

though those kids still haven't quit mastered the arts of wet clothes rinsing and then hanging up those clothes AND the towel

sigh of contentment

this gentle breeze through this perfect view, I'm alone, and my man is busy catching me my dinner for a second night

looking forward to seeing a long lost friend (not so much lost-lost, just as in we lost touch through the marriage-family-kid thing, aided by the 1700 miles of separation, but through the magic of facebook, have “found” each other again)

And that's all the further I got. Silly me, once again I thought that while on vacation I'd be able to catch up on all things: reading, knitting, writing, journaling. Every year I forget that even though it's vacation, I'm still the mom who needs to cook, launder, referee and do dishes, all in unfamiliar environments, and also while trying to keep track of four people's possessions in 8 different overnight places. Kinda funny (but not!) that the most important thing lost was MY iPhone charger. Grrr. That's a whole post by itself, in that it illustrates not only what sleep deprivation can cause, but also the consequences of bad training, so that customer service employees understand neither customers nor service...another sigh.

We've been back three days now, and I'm still hopelessly behind in every aspect of life, motherhood, and all those assorted associated tasks. To top it all off, I have gone insane and not only created that challenge where I visit 1282 blogs over the summer, but also am participating in BuNoWriMo. Yup, gonna finally write that book. First draft. Just spit it out. That's what they said...and my competitive nature cannot back away from a challenge. Wish me luck and stop by to see my word count.  If I can get that gadget started...having issues.