Middle Age Spread

I have decided there is more than one meaning of the term "middle age spread." While my butt and hips have indeed spread over the years, there's so much more to it than that. Your stuff spreads, too. What I mean is as your kids leave the house, you start moving your stuff into what used to be their space. For example, I have taken over all the closets in the basement. I shower down there, so it is logical for me to dress down there, right? Well, now my that my daughter is once again living with the "roommates she had in high school", she feels she needs some of that space back. Once upon a time I was amazed that my mother could live by herself and yet still have all the closets in a house that used to house six people completely full. I no longer wonder about that. It is so easy to do. Even if you don't have any more clothes than you ever did, you still need more closet space. (Maybe it's the other middle age spread contibuting to that.)
My daughter has moved into the room that usee to belong to my son. It is bigger and has the bathroom connected to it. (Also, she had been gone for 4 years and her bedroom kind of became a storage room. I don't know why she couldn't sleep with a Christmas tree on her bed!) Anyway, along with the larger room is the larger closet. So my clothes were removed from the larger closet and stuffed into the closet of what used to be her bedroom (confused yet?). And when I say stuffed, I mean STUFFED. Now, all my clothes are taking up about 1/3 the space they were previously alotted. Not only that, but her things are still in that closet as well. She has many items she has acquired for the day when she is living on her own like towels, dishes, etc. Those things are all stacked in the closet I am now using. What this means is that not only do I have about 14 inches in width to hang my clothes, But I also have only about ten inches in length before it is folded over in half. Apparently, my closet is only good for hanging socks and panties.

Over it

Okay, I feel better now and the pity party is over. I listened to my big sister and got up off my butt and did something constructive. That's why she's the big sis and I was born last.
I took a shower and was getting ready to slip on my new sandals when it came to me...why was I throwing a pity party when it could be so much worse? I could be out shopping for God's sake.
First of all, let me explain that I understand I am not your stereotypical woman. I don't carry a purse if I can avoid it. I hate virtually all domestic duties and I'm really not a big fan of chocolate. I don't really accessorize much and do not change my purse with my outfit. Most importantly, shopping is something you do when you need something, not something you do for fun. I would rather be drawn and quartered and dragged naked through the streets than just wander aimlessly through a random store with no intention of buying anything.
This brings me to my next subject. Shopping with someone who has a very narrow scope of what they want. I was shopping with my mom earlier this week and I was looking for white sandals (everyone needs a pair of white sandals). For me it was-I want them to be white and I don't want my free loader toe to stick out the side (that's another whole issue for my therapist). Those were really the only requirements. For my mother it is more like, I am looking for a pair of brown shorts for a trip she is taking this summer. Sounds easy enough, huh? WRONG! What she doesn't say is that they must be a particular shade of brown. They must be a certain length. They must be a certain style. I see a pair of brown shorts. "No, those are not brown enough." (Not brown enough??) Another pair. "No, I don't want any elastic." ok... Another pair, "No those are too long." Another "No those are too short."
What she didn't tell me was that they had to be exactly 11 centimeters from the center of her kneecap, they must be exactly three shades from the crayon brown, they must, in effect, look exactly like the 27 other pairs of shorts she already owned. Oh, did I mention they had to be a certain fabric. "No, those are seersucker."
I might also add she was looking for sandals at the same time. Brown of course because they had to go with her "Color Palatte" of greens, browns and tan. (After all, she didn't want to have to change her purse every day!!) These sandals also had to be a certain shade of brown, but they also had to have the correct height of heel. "No heel, I want flat sandals." "Those are too flat." "I said no heel." Etc., etc. etc.
So while I may have spent my evening and morning alone, it definitely could have been worse!

Loser

Okay. I am officially a loser. It is a holiday weekend and I am sitting home alone on the computer! What is wrong with this picture?
I spent my Saturday night sitting in front of my TV watching Forensic Files. I called numerous people (who apparently have lives) to see if I could find someone to hang with, only to find they weren't at home. (Yes, I already figured out that is because they have a life and I don't.) I spend my holiday weekend working. What really sucks the most is that in all actuality, only about two hours was spent actually working. However, those two hours prevented me from going to the cabin and visiting with Captain Morgan.
I am a double loser because not only am I home alone, but I am a lazy bum. Some would take the opportunity of being home alone to get something done around the house. I could be cleaning my sty (which used to be my home), doing laundry (the song Ain't No Mountain High Enough keeps running through my head) or planting the plants that heve been sitting on my porch since mid-April. But no. I have been vegetating in front of the TV (does that count as planting something?. Oh, and throwing myself a pity party.
All this alone time has given me time to ponder...
Everything in life is about perspective. For example, today I am throwing myself a pity party, feeling lonely. Most of the time, I really enjoy my own company (I mean who wouldn't enjoy hanging out with me? Ha. Ha.) But, it's all about perspective. Another example: My daughter recently graduated from college. At a get-together after graduation, I overheard one of her friends asking her what she was going to do now. Her reply? She laughed and said, "I am just going to live with the roommates I had in high school." Now that's perspective. Some people would think, "Man, I'm an adult child moving back in with my parents and living in their basement." What a great perspective!! Actually I'm kidding. Having my daughter live with us again has been nothing but a joy. I have really missed her the last four years and am relishing the fact that she's back, if only temporarily.
Actually, my perspective is brightening just thinking about hers. I may just get up and do something constructive!

just thinking...

Okay, I am buzzing. I really feel like I am about to crawl out of my flesh. Let me explain... I got up this morning to find NO COFFEE!! In my world this is equal to a typhoon, earthquake, avalanche, etc. (Of course, never having experienced any of these things, it is easy to make these obvious comparisons.) In other words-disaster.
I went to the other office I work out of and finally deciding I couldn't stand the lack of caffeine, I decided to go across the street to Sonic and get a cup of coffee. On my desk, there lay a coupon for Java Chillers for 99 cents. Being the cheapskate that I am I decided to get one. Once there, I thought to myself, "Self, what if you don't like a Java Chiller and find yourself still without caffeine? Obviously that woukld mean disaster to the second power, so it was not even an option. I decided it was better to be safe than sorry, so I ordered a Java Chiller and a cup of coffee just to be safe. WOW!!! I don't know what is in a Java Chiller, but they are not only delicious (think dessert), but they give you a serious kick in the butt! (I suspect there may be an illegal substance in there, but I'm not telling! Anything that good must be illegal.)
Now, since my mind is racing, it gave it me time to ponder gifts from God. (The Java Chiller being one of them.) When God is handing out gifts such as brains, beauty, talent, etc. are there lines? I mean, I can kind of picture lines for each of those things. "The line for looks is at the far end of the building...talent is around the corner...brains in the southeast section..." That would explain so many things, but yet leave other questions unanswered. Did some people just keep crowding in line? We all know those people who are gorgeous, talented and brilliant. We want to hate them but can't because they are also the nicest person on the planet. Is that fair???
Then we also know the person who is sadly unfortunate looking, dumb as a box of rocks, unpleasant and perhaps even stinks. What happened with them?? I don't know. Just something to think about. One thing I know, when the line formed for a sense of direction, I got lost. Sadly, I have been ever since.

Slip Slidin' Away

Slipper slides scare me.
Several years ago (okay, a couple of decades ago), my sister Cindy and I decided to take our respective (though rarely respectful) kids to the park to play and have lunch. I sweetly volunteered to drive if she would fix lunch.
The day started out well enough. It was a beautiful day in late April, and it had rained the night before, so it was rather cool. I decided I better wear long pants, (mainly because I hadn’t shaved my legs since November) so I pulled on my brand new, straight-legged jeans(hey, it was the 80s!). I grabbed my Coca-Cola jacket and packed my kids in the car.
The park looked fantastic. The grass was that bright, verdant green you only see in the spring. We could still smell the rain from the night before, and the air hung thick with humidity. The park had all kinds of equipment: climbers, swings, merry-go-round, tires, and slides.
Cindy and I watched the kids play for a while, but I just couldn’t resist going down the slide a few times. I guess I should have stopped at once.
I chose the tallest slide. I was a grown woman after all! It just wouldn’t do for me to go down some puny, little kid’s slide. I discovered that the darn humidity had made the slide of my choice kind of sticky. That was no fun!
I hollered, “Hey Cindy! The slide is sticky! Do you by any chance have any wax paper in the lunch so I can slicker it up?”
“ No. I’m sorry,” she replied.
I was far too ingenious to be deterred, however. I thought it would be a good idea to slide down on my satiny jacket. That would slick it up! I sat at the top of the slide on my jacket and screamed, “Whee!” as I flew to the bottom.
My feet landed in the sand and stayed there. Unfortunately, the rest of my body did not take the hint and kept going. I heard a sound like a stick breaking and looked to see that my right foot was on backwards.
“Oh my God! Cindy! I think I’ve broken my leg!” I yelled.
Cindy walked over nonchalantly and said, “Funny. Get up.”
“I’m not kidding!”
“You did not break your leg. Get up!”
“Cindy, look at my foot!” I nearly screamed.
She looked down and her face turned to ash. “Oh my God! We have to get you to the hospital!”
I looked at my Fred Flintstone-like car parked about a football field away. This very conscientious park had curbs about 15’’ high and placed the equipment far away from the danger of parked cars.
Cindy called the kids and helped me to my feet…er, foot. I hopped about three times in excruciating pain, then realized that was not going to work. I would pass out before I got ten feet. The next option was crawling. Down I went on both hands and knees; broken, dangling, foot held up. This worked just fine until my four-year-old son hopped on my back.
“Give me a ride, Mama,” Ryan squealed.
My head spun around like Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist, and a deep, guttural, demon voice screamed, “Get off me!”
My little redheaded boy’s big, blue eyes filled with tears and he jumped off yelling, “I’m going back to play then!” Off he went. My oldest niece, Nicki, chased him down and brought him back.
Eventually, a kind man ended up carrying me to my car. On the way, I said, "Sorry I'm not smaller." to which he replied, "Me, too." Cindy drove my Flintstone-mobile to her house to drop off the kids.
We stayed in my car because I was not about to hop from car to car. Note to Hyundai owners: If you are ever broken, this is not the smoothest riding vehicle you could wish for!
Immediate Care was a welcome sight after the debacle in the park and having winced in agony over each of the seventeen billion bumps. Cindy ran in to get a wheelchair for which I was eternally grateful. I did not relish the idea of crawling across the asphalt on the parking lot. With my luck, I would be run over. I transferred from the Flintstone mobile to the wheelchair. Cindy pushed me into the building and we patiently waited our turn.
Up to this point, I had been very much in control. I did not cry or moan or curse loudly, because I didn’t want to scare my kids or my sister. Perhaps it was because the nurse finally looked my way that my tiny, little brain decided that it was no longer just my problem. The medical staff would take care of me. Whatever the reason, as soon as the nurse looked at me, I went into shock.
Boy, those folks move fast when they see a dangling foot and the body attached to it shivering uncontrollably. They rushed me into a room. The nurse said, “Let’s get these jeans off so we can x-ray.” That was easier said than done. My one and only pair of straight-legged jeans would not go over that foot. They tried and tried, then cut my brand new jeans off
my body, exposing my furry legs.
Off to x-ray! I figured it was bad when the nurse put my x-ray pictures up and sucked air through her teeth saying, “Ooh! Come here and look at this,” to her colleagues. Even after hearing that, I still thought they were joking when they said, “You need to have surgery.” I had broken both the bones in my lower leg.
Next thing I knew, I was flying down the hallway that connected to the hospital. I was in a drug-induced haze by then. Once at the hospital, I was taken to a room called the "manipulation room." I'm here to tell you that is a euphemism for "torture chamber."
While in the torture chamber, a group of sadists continually pulled and pushed on my leg telling me it was to try to align the bones (yeah, right!). The doctors then turned to my husband and asked him if he was ok!!
Since my ordeal, I now have an irrational fear of slipper slides, parks, sand, straight-legged jeans, and Coca-Cola jackets. Oh well, what are a few more phobias?

Bathroom thoughts

Okay, these are just a couple of observations I have made in the last couple of days. One day, I used a restroom designed for the handicapped (oh, don't judge. We've all done it at some time or another.) While in there, I couln't help but notice my feet were dangling from the stool without actually touching the floor. Now as I'm only 5'2", this came as no surprise. What I did find surprising was that the toilet paper dispenser was under the stability bar. What this means is that from your perch on the edge of toilet, you must bend yourself in half, standing on your head to retrieve toilet tissue. I have decided either businesses should go back to just having rolls of toilet paper or perhaps have the big toilet paper dispensers installed upside down in the handicapped stalls.

On the other extreme, I was dining in a resturant on Mother's Day and had to tinkle. I used the restroom (not the handicapped stall) and found to my dismay I could actually see up into the toilet paper dispenser! I actually had to reach up an arm's length to grab a few sheets. Surely there's gotta be a happy medium! Homes can do it, why can't businesses? (Never mind, I know--I have never been to a home with a toilet paper dispenser. Good Lord, it's hard enough to get anyone in my family to put a new roll on, much less if they had to actually install toilet paper. My guys firmly believe there is a toilet paper fairy.)

First Try

First of all, I work for a small community newspaper. One of the ironies of my job is that I write a cooking column., The irony is--I hate to cook and basically suck at it. This is anarticle I wrote one time when I was desparate and had no one who was willing to do be featured that week.


I find myself in the position of having no cook this week and I seem to have run out of friends, husbands, anyone who owed me a favor and everyone I have ever threatened. Therefore, you, the readers will have to make do with my own brand of baloney. Today, you are invited to come into my kitchen; and a scary place it is.
After two years of writing this column, I have to ‘fess up. I truly worship those people who cook or bake (or broil or grill). Though I very much enjoy eating, I don’t really cook. When I began this job and told my family about this column, there was uproarious laughter from my mom and sisters (to say nothing of my husband and kids). During a lull in the hysterical guffawing, my sister gasped, “I guess you don’t have to actually cook to do that, huh?”
This week’s “Come Into My Kitchen” column is written for those of us who call ourselves cooks only in the broadest sense of the word; those that compare the task of cooking with cleaning the toilet or scrubbing the floor - a necessary evil. Me, I cook with what can best be described as “home assembled” recipes rather than “homemade.” (By the way, I despise baking, so there will be no recipes for baked goods. Cookies are made by the Keebler elves and sold at Dillons. If you want donuts, go to Noah’s.)
I used to actually bake birthday cakes for my poor, unfortunate children when they were little (before they were old enough to laugh, be embarrassed or know what cakes were supposed to look like). Their birthday cakes inevitably looked like they had been dropped in the street and either kicked or run over by a car. They were truly the ugliest cakes you have ever seen. In my own defense, they did taste okay. (That is, if you could bring yourself to put it in your mouth!)
I am putting in today’s column several recipes for the “gastronomically challenged” as well as some helpful tips I have learned the hard way, to help you get through your meals.
First tip: Learn the phone numbers of all local restaurants. Put them on speed dial if necessary.
Second: Everything tastes better with ranch dressing. (At least everything I make does.) After extensive research, my daughter and I have determined that almost every meal can include ranch dressing. Not only does it top a salad, but it also makes an exceptional dip for almost anything. You can dip veggies, chicken or pizza crust into it. It makes fish sticks edible as well as covering up a host of culinary blunders.

Did you cook that hamburger a tad too long? Put a little ranch on it and that charred taste disappears. Out of salsa sauce (another kitchen staple)? Tortilla chips are great dipped in ranch and it can even be put on breakfast burritos.
Third: Take advantage of all convenience foods. It is nothing to be ashamed of to use spaghetti sauce out of a can or jar. Frozen foods are one of the major food groups. Hot dogs and macaroni and cheese can be a meal if you’re feeling low on cash or ambition. I’m sure it is nutritionally sound. After all, you have your bread (the bun), meat (so to speak), and milk groups (in the mac and cheese). All you need is a veggie or fruit. Open a can of corn, pears or peaches and be guilt-free. Actually, a hot dog with everything probably already has the veggies. I mean isn’t relish a little chopped onion considered vegetables?
Fourth: Use lots of cheddar cheese! Cheddar cheese goes on top of just about everything. (When you see my recipes, you will no doubt notice a pattern.) Cheddar also helps give that “homemade” look. Cheddar cheese sprinkled on a frozen pizza looks like maybe you made it yourself.
People are always commenting, “You must love getting all those recipes.” Well, as you have probably realized by now, I rarely use any of the wonderful recipes seen here. While I greatly admire those people with the ability and/or desire to cook, I personally would love it if I never had to cook another meal. (If there was a cooking fairy, I would beg him or her to live at my house!) If I had the money, I would eat out all the time or hire a cook or have all my meals catered.
I do give one of my sisters all the dessert recipes, however. She thinks she hit the mother lode! She loves to bake and does it to relax for goodness sakes! (“What are you doing?” “Oh, just baking 73 dozen cookies. I’ve had a rough week.”) Personally, I think she is just sick, sick, sick.
The spaghetti recipe I included is called “The World’s Fastest and Easiest Spaghetti.” I defy anyone to make spaghetti any faster or easier using real noodles. (No frozen or canned spaghetti allowed!) If anyone knows an easier and /or faster one, my hat goes off to you!
The recipe for “Breakfast Burritos” makes an exceptionally fast and simple lunch, brunch or supper. I do doctor them up a little more for supper by adding onions, peppers, mushrooms or whatever. My kids leave off the eggs and just have cheddar wrapped in a tortilla. Nothing beats a 30-second snack.

Another meal we like, though it is more time consuming, is burritos. They are a favorite of the kids and I usually have leftovers even with a teenage boy in the house. You know what leftovers mean? An even quicker lunch tomorrow!
Other quick and easy meals we have are tacos, tater tot casserole and in the summer, salad. (You can buy salad in a bag! Just add tomatoes and of course, cheddar cheese.)
By the way, there is nothing wrong with paper plates. Why would you want to spend more time doing dishes than you spent fixing dinner?
Obviously, you don’t have to be a chef to be featured in the “Come Into My Kitchen” column. (For those of you who say, ‘I don’t cook.” Bull. Every household has someone who cooks (even if they don’t like it!).
To save yourself from future visits into my kitchen, volunteer to be featured as the cook. You could also volunteer a friend, a neighbor or an acquaintance. One of your siblings probably did something to you in childhood that you owe them for. Give me their name and I will call them to be the cook. I can be reached at The News, Monday through Friday, 555-5555.

Favorite Recipes

THE WORLD’S FASTEST &
EASIEST SPAGHETTI
1 can spaghetti sauce (or jar)
1 pound hamburger
1 handful spaghetti noodles or linguini
(about 1-inch in diameter)
Onion, diced (if desired)
Mushrooms (optional)
Cheddar cheese

In a big pot, bring water to a boil. Put in raw hamburger, onion and spaghetti noodles, broken into thirds. Boil it all for approximately eight minutes. Pour contents of pot into a strainer to drain, then into a baking dish. Add spaghetti sauce and mushrooms and stir together. Put cheddar cheese on top. (I think about a ton of cheese is the right amount!) Put in microwave for five minutes. Eat it.
This can be served with bread sticks from Dillons or bread and butter.

BREAKFAST BURRITOS
3 eggs
2 tortillas
Cheddar cheese


Break eggs into a bowl and beat them. Scramble them on medium heat. While they cook, put cheddar cheese on tortillas. Heat tortillas with cheese on them for 30 seconds each, until cheese is melted. Put eggs into tortillas. Can add salsa or ranch dressing. Roll it up and eat it. Makes a great lunch especially if you are in a hurry.

BURRITOS
1 pound hamburger
1 pkg. tortillas
2 cans refried beans
Cheddar cheese
Taco seasoning
Salsa and sour cream if desired

Brown hamburger and drain grease; rinse. Add refried beans and salsa sauce to taste. Add 1/2 package taco seasoning. Spread mixture onto tortilla and sprinkle with cheese. Roll it up. Continue until you run out of stuff. Bake at 350 degrees approximately 15 minutes or until hot. Can be put in the microwave if you’re in a hurry.