I Quit Sugar!

I quit sugar!

Sure I did. In my dreams. I am eating a lot, lot less of it these days but if you live in America and eat out ever, you are gonna eat sugar - salad dressing, marinara sauce, soup, ketchup.  Oh it's there.  Hiding in everything.  Virtually all processed foods also include the white stuff.

The first thing that happens when I go cold turkey is that I get a headache. It lasts for three days. I realize that this is withdrawal but that doesn't make me feel better.  Headaches are no fun at all.  

Next I have strong cravings. I crave lots of different foods but what they all have in common is sweetness. This is excruciating because a stalk of celery is not satisfying when what you really want a big bowl full of Breyers and I can't even put peanut butter on it because - you guessed it - mine has sugar in it.

It takes three full weeks before I realize something amazing is happening. My food now tastes delicious and flavorful. Fruit tastes sweet. Really sweet.  Some foods taste saltier too.  Really salty.  I didn't expect that.

Finally, I understand when people eat a bite of dessert and say, “It's too sweet to eat.” I always thought that these people were twisted show-offs needing attention. I now realize I was probably born addicted. I feel liberated.

But this is America. Here we celebrate with junk food. Halloween comes. I eat three mini-Snickers and a Butterfingers. I try not to beat myself up. The next morning I don't feel so good. Hmmm....

I'm a slow learner.  Thanksgiving comes. Pie.

Airport candy bowl

Christmas is THE WORST. My sister comes and makes homemade peanut brittle. I cave.  

Summer's here.  The holidays are long gone. I've been back on the wagon a while but lately I've been eating a piece of very dark chocolate after meals for its “health benefits." Still, it's only one piece.  And it's supposedly healthy for you.  See how easily I can rationalize?  It's a talent, really.

Dove came out with a dark chocolate dipped dried cherry. I bought a bag at WalMart. I told myself I'd only eat one piece a day after a meal.

In the parking lot, I ripped open the bag. I ate three pieces. The next day, I look at the nutritional information on the side of the bag. It says there are four servings inside. I look inside the bag. There is one cherry left and a few chocolate shards.

So much for quitting sugar.

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Welcome, Baby!

According to my sister, mother of five boys, it's the third child that is the game changer.  "Because you only have two hands," she says simply.  

On Sunday at 10:52 am, Jessica's game changer, Parker David, made his grand entrance into this world.  Weighing in at precisely seven pounds, he was an impressive twenty-one inches long.  And cute.  Need I even mention that?  (Was there any doubt?)  

We're crazy in love with him already!

On Sunday afternoon, Jerry and I took the boys to meet their newest brother.  They were suitably impressed - especially because he brought gifts for them.  The boys thoroughly enjoyed their afternoon, spent alternately admiring the baby and playing with their new Ironman Smashers with accessories.

When it was finally time to go, Brody turned to Grayson and said, "Don't leave any pieces at the doctor hotel."  Then, after a moment of thought he turned to Grampy and said, "This IS a hotel, isn't it?"

Just three more boys and Jessica could bump my sister off the top of the "number of offspring list" and seize the family record for most sons as well.  I'm totally in favor of that but, with boys now ages four, two and zero, it might be difficult to sell my daughter on the obvious merit of the idea.  

Maybe I'll wait a few weeks before I mention my plan.

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Embarrassing Moment, Number 33,756

My sister shortened the straps on this cami for me
 - but obviously not enough!

THIS is what I saw when I walked by my mirror on Monday afternoon ~ AFTER I'd finished entertaining a new friend, spent about a half an hour talking with two neighbor guys (how could they keep a straight face?) AND waved at several friends who were driving by.

MADONNA meant to show off HER bra, but I was totally clueless.

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You be the Judge

My daughter says I write too many stories about my grandsons. I say it's a miracle I write about anything else, I'm so crazy-in-love with them.

This week when they came to visit, Grayson, the two-year-old, arrived in his full Spiderman regalia, including, but not limited to, a red nylon hat with an eye shaped mask attached.  Soon Brody and I began to feel our wardrobe choices for the day were lacking, so we decided to remedy that by taking a trip to the costume treasure chest.

Brody, in a regal mood, was busy digging through rainbows of feather boas, looking for a crown. Meanwhile, I chose the monarch butterfly wings. He picked up my twinkly Glinda (the good witch) wand, evaluating whether or not it met his royal criteria.

He looked up for a moment, saw me flapping around the room and said,
“You're beautiful.”

Too many grandson stories? I think not!

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Cooking Class

“I cracked the coconut earlier today and removed the meat,” said Santhoshi, the young Indian woman who was to teach our cooking class. Michelle and I were the first two pupils in her first class and she was sweating she was so nervous.
“Really?” Said I. “How'd you do that?” I asked. She indicated a large mortar and pestle sitting on her counter. 

Right then I knew that recreating the Indian meal that she had tailored specifically with my dietary guidelines in mind and was now going to spend the evening teaching me how to make was going to be impossible for me to execute. MY mortar and pestle is the right size to crack a walnut and my first thought was to use a chop saw. How do you get the meat separated from the hull? I have no clue. Maybe it just falls off or maybe you need a pry bar for that.

Santhoshi and Michelle cooking korma

The class continued. Santhoshi also had prepared a paneer dish that had marinated all day. Turns out it wasn't something she usually fed her family because it came from another part of the country. She felt, though, that all Americans expected it with their Indian meals. 

On to korma, the mouth-watering focal point of our Indian dinner. Lots of chopping is involved - it's full of veggies. I estimate the end product, which smelled beyond terrific, takes basically two-and-a-half hours to create - that does not factor in the time it takes to crack the aforementioned coconut or cut and marinate the paneer referenced above.

She also made Jeera - a savory, cumin-flavored rice - plus a sweet milk dessert called payasam. This dish included saffron, that deliciously expensive thread from the crocus flower. I've had a jar of saffron threads for longer than I've lived in South Carolina, but never found occasion to use it. That was about to change.

In our class environment the meal took a bit longer to prepare, largely because I kept butting in and asking irrelevant questions but also because we laughed a lot. Cooking classes can be fun!

Two hours into our class, I realized that neither of the students were helping do any of the work. That probably slowed us down a bit, too. I should have at least offered to chop the onions. I do that all the time at my house. Now it was time to fry the paneer.  I helped by stirring it. It was approaching 8:30 and I usually eat hours before that. Michelle and I began sneaking bits of extra coconut. I never realized how totally yummy raw coconut can be.

The Korma - I call it "heaven in a pot!"

The paneer smelled divine. Santhoshi had made a lot of it - an entire skillet plus some skewers that she put in the oven. We tried it. Then, the two students ATE the entire skillet of fried paneer. Wow! I didn't even think I liked the stuff. What was in that marinade?

Now comes the highlight of the evening. Time to try the meal. Our instructor plated the food with some naan (because naan is the world's best flatbread) and gave us a hearty serving of flavorful rice, about a half cup of korma and some of the oven-baked paneer. I began by sampling the korma and it was just sooooo tasty.  

Santhoshi had left the dining area to get her husband a plate of food (and that's a whole different story, believe me) and I asked Michelle to sneak us each another scoop of the korma. She complied. I ate that. My Lord, that stuff was downright divine! Then, as I was gobbling up the rice and cheese, our teacher left again. This time MICHELLE added more korma to our plates. It was seriously good. We could not get enough of it! I wanted to take home a giant doggy bag and eat nothing but korma for the rest of the month. 

When Santhoshi reappeared, she served us each another heaping cup of korma. Remember - we had already eaten a skillet of cheese and nibbled on coconuts and eaten THREE SERVINGS OF THE STUFF! 

We both ate it all. Every luscious bite. Neither of us were hungry at all now. In fact, by the time we'd finished, I was Thanksgiving full - but it was the best Indian meal I've ever had in my entire life.

I received the recipes in my email but who are we kidding here? Our sweet teacher even invited me to take a road trip to the Indian store to buy the more exotic ingredients. I optimistically bought a coconut from Harris Teeter that's already been scored for easy opening.

I need more instruction, that's what I need! I am thinking I will just enroll in the same Wednesday night class until I feel like I really can do it on my own. (That's code for never.)

Seriously, if you live in my area, take this class! At the end of it, you will eat the best Indian food of your life and that's totally worth the wait. Totally.  And if you learn how to make vegetarian korma, invite me for supper. Often.

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Excitement on an Airplane

Last week, I posted a story about going to Ohio to our friend Chris' wedding. Getting there was another story.  Of course we obviously did, so that's a happy ending, but if you've ever flown you can totally sympathize with our angst because of our pilot's lack of bedside manner.

Here are the texts of the actual event.  It's a study in everything a pilot should not say:

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Our Breakfast Surprise

THE MAN'S STORY:

I'm thinking about an old buddy - a guy I used to work with in two different companies  - and feeling kind of bad that I haven't kept in touch. This friend lives in South Carolina and hasn't visited Northeast Ohio in years.

I hit the gym early and decide to grab breakfast in Boston Heights to catch up on some paperwork before I start my work day. I sit down at a corner booth and begin writing. The table directly in front of me is vacant.

Soon someone is seated. I look up and there is a couple talking to their waitress. The man looks kind of like the very guy I was just thinking of and I begin to entertain the idea of covertly snapping a pic on my cell and sending it to my friend.


THE COUPLE'S STORY:

We once lived in Hudson, OH, and arrived yesterday to attend the wedding of our friend and former next-door neighbor.  Our schedule is packed.  We are trying to cram seeing as many people as possible into a few day's time. The woman we'd planned on visiting this morning ended up taking a quick trip to California so this is the only block of free time we have in this entire trip. We decide to go to Boston Heights and eat a leisurely breakfast at this fun place we used to enjoy on Saturday mornings.  

I was poking around, taking my old sweet time getting ready when my husband urged me to hurry up.  I thought to myself, "Why? We have all morning," but I finished quickly and we were on our way.

A few minutes later, we enter the restaurant.  Little has changed in the years since we last dined there.  We normally choose a booth and there are plenty available today but for some reason when the hostess asks where we want to sit, we say we don't care so she puts us at the table directly in front of this handsome guy who is looking down, quietly writing.

The waitress greets us. 


OUR HOLLYWOOD ENDING:

The man at the table hears the couple speak to the waitress.  He gets up, walks over and says, “May I join you?”


THE WRAP UP:

That is how we ended up having breakfast with an old friend that we hadn't planned on seeing, during a time we didn't know we'd be available, in a city where we normally wouldn't even have been.  Coincidence?  I prefer to think otherwise.

Jerry and Dave enjoying breakfast

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Descriptions

Be nice!

Remember how your mother used to say, "If you can't say something good about someone, don't say anything at all?"

Here's a handy list of word substitutions to use when describing me.  

Sometimes I like to pretend
I'm Cher and try on wigs.

Instead of:                   Use:

Old                           Seasoned
Nosy                         Inquisitive
Cheap                       Thrifty
Talkative                   Articulate
Short                        Short (Because I am.)
Bossy                        Assertive
Wired                        Energetic
Self-Centered             Free-Spirited
Rude                         Sassy
Irresponsible              Carefree
Odd                           Eccentric
Loud                          Enthusiastic
Weird                         Quirky


Thank-you.  I feel better already.

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The Dress

Jerry and I married when we were mere children and so we've grown up together. Over the years, we've come to see pretty much everything eye-to-eye.

Or not.

I first saw THE DRESS on my FACEBOOK feed on Friday afternoon. The caption read: What Color is this Dress? The first comment was from a famous Hollywood actress. She said, “It's white with gold trim, you idiots!”

The dress I was looking at was far from white but this actress is a gifted comedy writer so I thought she was joking. 

The DRESS kept popping up everywhere all day long. Later I heard it even made the evening news. Same picture - a vivid blue dress with black trim that some people were saying was white. Is this an “Emperor's New Clothes” thing? I mean, come on! How can anyone mistake white for blue?

Our youngest daughter sent us a text. “I have seen this dress 300 times today and it's WHITE and GOLD!”  What?

It was then I began to believe that two entirely different pictures were being circulated, same dress - one blue and one white. That's easier than thinking something's wrong with your own child's eyesight.  I asked her to text me the picture she was looking at.  She did.

When Jer got home from work, he said, “What was Kate talking about?” After I told him, he said he hadn't seen THE DRESS and so Kate shared the picture with the entire family.

Jer looked at the photo. “It's white and gold,” he said. I thought he was kidding which annoyed him and he began trying to convince me that the dress was not blue. “The dress is white, Chris. White like the woodwork. White like our sheets. White like a blank sheet of paper.” 

By now I GET that he sees THE (blue) DRESS as white. Both our daughters agree. But to me (and my son and daughter-in-law) it's blue - and not a sweet, pastel, baby blue either. It's vibrant, vivid, bright blue.  My husband was unable to persuade me that THE (blue) DRESS that I was seeing with my own eyes was white, but I admire him for trying.

The upside of THE (blue) DRESS question was that we'd spent so much time discussing it that it was way past our normal suppertime. We were hungry so we decided to eat out. (Yay.)

We were at the restaurant waiting to be seated when we realized the young couple behind us was arguing about the color of THE (blue) DRESS.
Best to find out early in your relationship that there are some things you are never gonna agree on.

And that's okay.

                             
                                                         * * *


If you are among the roughly 27 people in America (or the U.K.) who didn't see the photo of THE (blue) DRESS, here it is. 

(Photo:  Swiked/Tumblr)

Interestingly, those who seem to see THE (blue) DRESS as white/gold are early birds and the blue/black group are night owls.  This is from research I, myself, conducted by scientifically polling five people.

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Snow Day, 2015!

Yesterday I was looking forward to attending a cooking class on preparing Indian food. Jerry was in Georgia to attend a college career fair, so it was the perfect night to venture out of my comfort zone.

Then I received this text: Winter Weather Advisory in effect for York Cnty/Zone, SC until Thursday at 7:00 AM EST. 

My cooking class was postponed, Jerry's event was canceled and we found ourselves at home, deciding upon what to do with our evening. 

And then this text arrived: 
From TC City Mgr: Inclement weathers expected to reach totals of 8"-10" of snow by midnight. Please stay off roads. Dial 911 for emergencies including downed trees

An irrelevant aside:
I was a bit peeved by the “weathers.” Why does texting excuse people from using punctuation? 

Back to the point:
It wasn't snowing yet and I felt the evening would be best spent visiting our grandsons, whom I hadn't seen since Monday. That falls under the category of emergency, right?  Apparently not, because both Jerry and Jessica vetoed my idea. They knew the roads were dry, but bad weather was obviously on the horizon and why take a chance?

By midnight, there was a dusting of snow. The storm had begun.

Today I awoke to the sound of whooping and hollering, the happy noises of children sliding down the golf course hill behind our house. I looked outside and, sure enough, there they were - sledding on the wet grass.

They say that 90% of what we worry about never happens. I think the percentage is higher when you're talking about weather.

Happy snow day!

A Different Millers Tale

This week, I have a special treat.  Jan Miller, my funny friend from across the pond, has graciously consented to be my guest blogger.  Here's her Valentine's Day story:

A Different Millers Tale - All True, it could only happen here....

I woke up February 14^th a bit excited, we’ve been married 32 years this year but I would still describe my personality type as hopeful. Steve bought me tea in bed with my favourite biscuits, a card that’s got lovely sentiments (I’m wearing my "Wonderful Wife" badge now) and an inside joke inside! GSOH* -  very important.  

I eventually located my card for him - better than Christmas when my card for Steve just disappeared in a menopausal moment. (If you got the “Dear Husband” card in December instead of yours please let me know and I’ll stop looking.)  

Anyway, I’m not good in the morning and who would have thought the card I wrote and hid in my knickers drawer only last night would have fallen down the back of cabinet so I had to remove the drawers to find it, knocking over the tea in the process? 

We got everything sorted, read our cards .... and then there was a knock.  We wondered was it our front door?   Steve opened the window to check why Postie wasn’t using the bell, leant forward into the frame  and his glasses tumbled from his face... down the porch roof, bounced over the gutter and landed on the driveway, our good mood all broken down with a loudly -swearing semi-naked hubby dashing about putting on his trousers to go downstairs.

Wow, what a lovely surprise – the cutest Flowercard has arrived from our very good friends and the scratches have almost polished out of the glasses!  

*GSOH  Guy with sense of humour 

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Weight and Exercise

This morning I weighed myself.  I went downstairs and put in a load of laundry then vacuumed.  When I came back upstairs I weighed myself again.  I weighed a half a pound more.  Proof positive that if you want to lose weight, you should avoid housework.

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My Superhero

Grayson, my two-year-old grandson, hasn't voluntarily worn a stitch of clothing since late last September.  The fateful day occurred when his family went the Disney store to pick up Halloween outfits.  It was right then that he discovered his new passion in fashion:  COSTUMES!  He walked into that store as Grayson but left as Buzz Lightyear of Star Command.

The first costume

Generally, his ensemble includes fingerless gloves, green rubber boots and, for special occasions, wings that attach to the back with Velcro. At first it was all Buzz, all the time but as the days turned into weeks, he expanded his repertoire to include Spiderman and Ironman.  Now his wardrobe also boasts The Hulk and Wolverine.

Wolverine at the Zoo

Spidey is a favorite

Even his pjs are costumes

The last time I visited, he was running around inside wearing just a pair of spidey undies which he had on backwards so he could see the picture.

"Aren't you cold?"  I asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Want to get dressed?"

"Where's my costume?" he eyed me suspiciously.

As I was helping him into his Ironman outfit, I said, "Grayson, you are my secret superhero."
He faintly smiled as he paused a minute to give this statement some thought.  Then, he raised an eyebrow.

"Tell me more," he said.

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The Middle Ages

My mom once told me that she could tell how old a man was by what he talked about.  Her story went like this:

When men are young, they talk about women.  Amongst themselves, they discuss the cute gal at the gas station, the sexy one who works at the post office, the waitress with the nice curves, how some chick flirted with them at the restaurant - you get the picture.

Middle age arrives and the conversation shifts to food - where you can order a fantastic steak, the best diner, the greasy spoon with heavenly lemon meringue pie, the fabulous Thanksgiving meals Gran used to make…

Old men talk about their ailments - diseases, operations, aches and pains, medicines they are taking, side effects of medicines they are taking, doctors they see, doctors they want to see, upcoming office visits, warts, moles and cloudscapes*. 

(*Autocorrect felt colonoscopies couldn't possibly be what I meant, so she graciously changed it to cloudscapes.)

The Zimmermans in our native habitat - a restaurant booth. 

I was thinking about this conversation the other day and what I hear these days validates my mother's theory.  I even see it in myself. Although I'm not gonna admit that my husband and I are solidly middle aged, I will say that now we go to the grocery store and impulse buy for fun.

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Brrrr!!

I have a common cold. I pretty sure I feel worse than most people though because for them it's business as usual and I didn't even get out of bed for two days. My husband has taken to sleeping on another floor because my barking is keeping him awake. It keeps me awake too. It may even be keeping the neighbors up because I'm pretty sure I'm rattling the entire house with every coughing fit.

Somewhere while I was wrapped snugly in my own little cocoon of mini-misery, 2014 turned into 2015 and now we're in the middle of an arctic blast of frigid air. I know this because the National Weather Service keeps sending me alerts. Judging from the number of emails I've received, our local utilities company is quite concerned about frozen pipes as well.

I want to get back to my normal routine so this morning I decided to go for a walk. Neither of my walking partners cared to join me although one did text me to “Bundle up. It's cold out there."  

Never one to ignore good advice, I did just that: I put on two pair of pants, an undershirt, tee shirt, sweatshirt, polar tec fleece, hat, mittens and my real winter coat. Toasty warm, I headed off into the winter weather.

Northern girls layer

Out of nowhere, a dog lunged at me. This dog has allowed me to pass by many, many times so I can only attribute his behavior today to the fact that he mistook me for an Ewok. 

Another walker passed me. She said “We're the only ones brave enough to be out today. ” I asked her where she was from. “Virginia,” she said. “You ARE brave!” I replied and she smiled.

I was beginning to feel feverish so I removed my hat and gloves. As I was taking off my coat, I realized that I couldn't even see my breath. How cold can it be when you can't even see your breath? Maybe I'm not feverish! Maybe I'm overdressed.

When I got home, I decided to check the official temperature. “37 feels like 33.”

Sub 40. This IS serious cold.

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Flip Phones

Among the gifts our grandsons got on Christmas were two plastic flip phones. 

The boys were both extremely pleased with these presents and during the day we watched as they took imaginary pictures and stopped what they were doing to have make-believe conversations on them.

As we were leaving, I noticed that Brody had stuffed his phone in the elastic band of his pants. “In case Spidey calls,” he told me.

Who can argue with that logic?

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Jason, Kate and the Ugly Christmas Sweater

Kate's boyfriend Jason is quite competitive and he loves to win prizes. Last weekend, he set his sights on becoming the 2014 Ugly Christmas Sweater Champ of his social circle.  Kate was attending the party too, so naturally she felt pressure to find herself the perfect outfit.

Please ignore my hair
and focus on the sweater. 

She went to Goodwill on her lunch hour and bought herself a sweater. Apparently it wasn't ugly enough though, because she brought it to me that evening as a gift. She told me repeatedly that she had purchased it as an ugly sweater entry but the more she looked at it, the more it reminded her of me. Hmmm...

A more fashion-conscious woman might have been offended, but not me. I adored the hand-knit sweater the second I laid eyes on it. I am totally in love with the "reduce*reuse*recycle" motto so her purchase gratified me on many levels. 

The next evening, Katie sent me a picture of herself with Jason in front of the Christmas tree. Of course she looked darling - no surprises there.  And Jason?

Jason looked to me like he was wearing what should become the winning entry.

How could that outfit not win?

Whoever was judging thought so too, because Jason went home with a trophy.  

Better luck next year, Kate.  


P.S.  I think your sweater vest is kinda cute.  (Hint. Hint.)

      

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Weight Loss Success?

This past Easter I made the decision to stop eating refined sugar.  It's hard to believe, but after about three weeks cravings stopped and fruits and veggies began to taste delicious.  I know it's shallow, but as the weight melted off, I felt proud.

Last evening I was playing on the floor with my grandson when he poked me in the stomach like I was the Pillsbury Doughboy.  This angelic look came over him as he said, "Grammy, is there a baby in your tummy?"

"Pride cometh before a fall."

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Held Hostage!

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Focus, Focus!

My friend the "Frau of Focus" called me, the "Disorganized Ditz," on Sunday afternoon, just to catch up on family news.  During the course of the conversation, it came out that she has not only decided what she is going to make for Thanksgiving, but she has also written menus for the entire weekend and has started assembling ingredients for various dishes in her butler's pantry.

Next she casually lets slip that she has already set the table for Thanksgiving.  I did mention that this was Sunday, right?

It will come as no surprise that she has also started decorating her house for Christmas.

My world is a little more casual than hers.  I have a vague idea about what we will be eating on Thursday and after that things get a little more nebulous.  Pretty much anybody who wanders in and expects to eat at my house this weekend will be holding a paper plate, of that I am certain.  

If this were a contest, I would have conceded years ago but there's one tiny area where we might be able to shine this year.  My friend lives up north and it's been snowy there lately so she probably hasn't gotten her exterior lighting up yet.  Weeks ago, Jerry put up itsy bitsy white twinkle lights on our deck and under our patio umbrella.  I'm planning on keeping them up all year but to assuage my ego, just for today I'm calling them Christmas lights.

I'm not gonna say that I envy The Frau's organizational skills (although I do).  Instead, I'm just gonna say "Happy Valentine's Day, Renée!"

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Parenting in 2014

I marvel at parents today.  They just "get it" so much easier than we did.  Here's an example:

I was in my daughter Jessica's kitchen watching my two-year-old grandson Grayson eating a carrot. He leaned over and got some dip, took a bite of carrot, then chewed.  He chewed and chewed and chewed and then -- when he was good and ready -- he spat the finely chewed carrot out.  Then he took another  carrot, got some dip, took another bite and repeated the entire sequence.  A little mound of chewed carrot was forming on the table in front of him.

Spit.

Dip.

Chew.

Grayson was oblivious to me and so as I watched and laughed (inside), the carrot "eating" continued. Soon my daughter passed through the kitchen, glanced swiftly at her son and his carrot mound and said, "If you want to eat the dip, just use a spoon."

I rest my case.

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Temptation

Isn't she the picture of innocence?

I met Christina Fluet Cockey last night at a Pampered Chef party that my daughter Kate was hosting.  We hit it off right away.  She's cute.  She's fun. She's energetic.  Turns out she's also the Picasso of the cookie world. 

She came in carrying a box of cookies, and, although the packaging was lovely, I didn't pay much attention to the contents because I've been on a diet for, well, ever.  Weirdly, my newest lifestyle changes ~ which I've been following since Easter ~ are actually delivering results and I'm now the LIGHTEST WEIGHT of MY ADULT LIFE.  I'm gonna pause now and bask in the glow of happiness that surrounds me. Ahhh….

We are laughing and cooking and then it's time to eat so we wander over to the food area where Christina holds up:

Curryously Coconut (dark chocolate, coconut, curry)

I know what you are all thinking.  That I caved and gobbled up that scrumptious looking piece of art.  Well, you're wrong.  I passed that up -- as well as one called Apple Cider Sangria that everyone was raving about.  My downfall was the Chocolate Chip M&M cookie.  Comfort food!  As soon as I held it in my hand my resolve began weakening but I still planned to take home. Planned.

My cookie is on the counter.

While I was filling out my Pampered Chef order, I decided to nibble on a piece of cookie, just to make Christina feel happy.  Who am I kidding here?  On a good day my willpower is the size of a gnat and I was holding a cookie.  Once I had a taste, I was hooked.  It was like eating the seven deadly sins all wrapped up in one delicious cookie.  I savored every morsel of that tasty treat. 

Today I'm back on my bandwagon.  Do I regret eating that cookie?  Nope.

I could have done without the knowledge that VanDoughs, Christina's cookie company, ships though.

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Amy Grant

Who doesn't love the Christmas season?  Everyone seems happier, there are parties and presents, and music -- the lovely, lovely Christmas carols -- fills the air with love and joy.  I smile and start humming just thinking about them. And, it turns out, I thought about them a lot more than usual this year.  

Last fall my sister gave me an armload of Christmas CD's.  She's totally into technology and, apparently, CD's are relics from a bygone era and I'm just hopelessly behind -- I have an entire closet shelf of cassettes and a chest-of-drawers full of VHS tapes too, so maybe she's justified in thinking that.  

I decided to listen to the CD's in my car and popped the first one in.  It was "A Christmas Album" by Amy Grant.  Perfect title, if you ask me.  I don't drive very often and when I do it's usually not far so it took me a while to hear all the songs.  About half the carols were contemporary which meant I couldn't sing along, but Amy's gorgeous voice is easy to listen to so I didn't mind too much.  

I just realized that this album is from 1983.  We had CD's back then?

In the blink of an eye, it was March and the Christmas CD was still playing. None of the songs seemed "new" to me any more and so to entertain myself, I would try to harmonize.  It was probably best that I was alone in the car. 

The great thing about Christmas music is that it's uplifting.  There aren't any negative lyrics and the tunes are happy and catchy.  Around May, it did occur to me that I was still listening to Christmas carols, but by then I knew every single word to every single song and I liked them all.  Plus it was the only CD in the car -- or at least that was my story when anybody asked.  

And then it was July. Christmas in July is a legitimate thing, right?  By August though, I started turning the music off whenever anybody was going to ride with me.  I didn't want them to think I was weird. 

When September came, I officially decided to listen to only this particular Amy Grant CD for the entire year.  It was about then that track nine started stuttering and skipping.  Instead of ejecting the disc and cleaning it, I just fast forward whenever it gets to that part of the album.  Problem solved! 

My favorite carol is entitled, "Love has Come."  The music is beautiful and the lyrics are haunting.  I often listen to it several times in a row … Or, sometimes, for the entire car ride, no matter how long it may be...  The song always puts me in a good mood.  

While the car was running this morning, I rolled down my window to talk to a neighbor.  "Oh, no!" she said.  "Not Christmas music already!"

Now you and I both know that it's not already, it's still, but after I heard that I realized I'm almost home free.  November starts at the end of this week and then every store in America will be playing Christmas carols non-stop.  

As soon as that happens, I won't be weird, I'll just be quirky.

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