You'll Eat It, You'll Like It, and You'll Be Happy

In one of the last postings I promised a story as to the birth of the monthly menu, and in light of the season of new beginnings, I thought it might be helpful. After all, it's kept my marriage - and the kids - happy.
In the beginning, there were two people who sorta kinda were in love. One was a seasoned young man and the other a starry eyed young girl who really didn't know a lot about much. They honeymooned in the Laurel Mountains, which grew foggy, restricting the ability to do anything other than what they could do at home, so they decided to save the extra money and returned home to their little apartment.
A word about the apartment. It was on the Main Line of Skunk Central (every evening skunks would walk through the side yard. Sit on the front porch at your own risk sort of thing.) It was on the second floor of a duplex, and the large living room window was in a direct line of the town's fire whistle. Our landlords felt so sorry for us that sweltering summer they brought us a window air conditioner for the bedroom - the rest of the apartment was like sitting in a steam bath.We loved that apartment!
I decided to take my last personal day, but DH went back to work to save the day for another time. I went food shopping and bought: 2 steaks; 2 frozen dinners; 1 pound of kielbasa. There might have been a box of mac and cheese. I was totally in my comfort zone. I learned to cook some things from Mima, like roast beef, spaghetti, and some easy things like that. She made stuffed peppers (yuk) and something referred to as Swiss Steak (highly tenderized beef cooked in tomato sauce - double yuk). Apple pie. Pie crusts in general - got that nailed! Well, DH came home from work and I asked which of the delectable treats he'd like for dinner.
His jaw dropped to the floor with a thud. "Is that all you bought?"
Me: "Well, yeah."
DH: "Didn't you look in a cookbook?"
Me: "Huh?"
He sat me down and said, "I will cook for the first three months." And, he did. We never repeated a meal. Turns out we owned cook books (who knew?) and the man can cook. The only meal I balked at was meatballs in some cream sauce. I argued there is a reason Jewish people don't mix meat and milk. (We're not Jewish, but there is a lot of merit in that belief!)
The new phrase was: "You'll eat it, you'll like it, and you'll be happy."
I did not eat the meatballs. Okay, I tried them, but they were just as awful as it sounded, at least, to me.
At the end of the three months, he said, "Now we'll each take a turn. I'll cook one week, and you'll cook the next." Somehow, after thirty-one years, it's come down to me cooking all the time. Guess I've done pretty well or he never would have handed it over. We came to writing down what we'd have that week to what we'd do for two (which is how long it was between pay checks), to making it out for the month so we wouldn't repeat anything.
The method to the madness? Designate a chicken night, a beef night, a pork night, a pasta, and a soup in the winter, salad in the summer. Allow for leftovers (which Moink refuses to eat. So much for eating, liking, and happiness!) That's how we do it. So far, it's worked out just fine. It makes it easier to write out a shopping list. Sometimes meals have to be switched out because of schedules, but there's always something waiting in the wings. (Sometimes you just have to order wings and get take-out!)
I swear by the monthly menu. Christmas falls this week, and that's always standing rib roast and Yorkshire pudding, my favorite meal of the year. I'm going to try a new recipe for Parmesan roasted Brussels sprouts, and Morticia likes mashed potatoes. Ms. Business likes asparagus, so we'll have that, too. Everyone should be able to find something they like. The hardest part was finding out who's coming for dinner and it looks like the whole clan will be here.
If you celebrate Christmas, may the peace and joy of the Christ Child find a place in your heart. If you don't celebrate Christmas, may you find peace in this season of slowly lengthening days, and be sure to come for another visit to the Stress Pool.

Where's Waldo - I mean, Mima?

So, another week has passed and we're still floating in the pool. Hubby announced that in most blogs, the husband is referred to as DH, as in "Dearest" or "Darling". I thought that would also work for "Dastardly" or "Devious", as he can often be both of those, too. Therefore, Hubby will now be referred to as DH. We'll fill in for the 'D' when necessary!
By the way, he did not like the Whiskey-Peach Chicken, and neither did Moink. I thought it was divine, and a good thing, too, because that's what I ended up taking for lunch the entire week. Big Brother and DiDi (his girlfriend) liked it, so three out of five people gave it the thumbs up, which is better than half. Next time we get invited to a gathering where we need to bring a covered dish, I know what I'm bringing.
I took my mother grocery shopping this morning after church. Mima is eighty-one years old, has had one knee replacement and a pin in one hip. She's going to the doctor this week to see about getting the other knee replaced. See where I'm headed? Mima is pretty inactive, meaning when she spoke with the cardiologist a few months ago and he inquired how much she walks, she said, "Up and down the hallway, sometimes twice a day."
But, give that woman a shopping cart, finding her in the store is like trying to find Waldo!
I see her at the end of an aisle, and by the time I get to there, she's disappeared. No sense trying to call out to her. People standing at the bus stop a mile away would hear me before she'd turn around. Many of the employees know me because I used to work there - almost twenty years ago - and they'll ask me if I've lost my mother or if I've forgotten where something is. (And, since they moved the ENTIRE store around, the latter is a distinct possibility! That's another posting - the insanity of marketing techniques and the effects on those with senior moments!) The twenty minute stopping at the store actually lasted closer to an hour before we even got in line. Three deep. Shopping carts overflowing with food. I count fifteen items in my cart. Express is 12 or fewer. I choose what looks like the lesser of all the evils, but the cashier is chatty and slow, and at the end of the order in front of me, tries to ring in a coupon for another store. This market doesn't accept competitor coupons. I finally say something after the third time she tries, because even the customer doesn't realize it's for another store! At this point, I fear there is little hope for me getting out alive, because I have some things separated from the rest of my order - they're for school. I explain how they need to be scanned separately, but apparently I've slipped into that foreign language I occasionally use in the classroom (the one where they look at me with blank expressions before doing the complete opposite of what I've just told them to do) I have to stop her, get her to see what I mean, and then she says, "Oh, I didn't understand!"
No duh.
I've survived yet another shopping experience on a Sunday before a football game. Someone remind me why I dislike going to the store on Sundays the next time!
By the way, I did find my mother, helped her get the rest of the things on her list (which were at the beginning of the store!) and got her safely home. I went to my house and went straight for the coffee pot.
Ah, coffee. Nectar of the gods. What a great way to relax.
Thanks for dropping by, and see you next time at the Stress Pool. Bring your favorite mug and your swimsuit - might as well jump in with the rest of us.

What's for Dinner?

I was a little shocked to see when the last posting was - mostly because it often feels as if time has stood still, while I know it hasn't. Sometimes I just can't think of anything to say - hard for those of you who know me to believe! So, when I mentioned this to Hubby, he said, "Why don't you write about the dish you're making for dinner tomorrow?"
I've always had a love/hate relationship with cooking. I do okay - there's a great story from when we were first married 31 years ago, but that's for another time - but cooking takes a bite out of one's day. And, working people, here's your chance to agree with me - when you get home after a long day of working, the last thing you want to do is stand over the stove. Much easier to pop leftovers into the microwave. Of course, that means you have to have previously cooked something, and well, there you have it. This brought on the birth of the Monthly Menu.
The Monthly Menu consists of an entire month's worth of what's for dinner at the Kelly household. The children have come to live by it - they know when they want to be here for dinner and when they don't. It also provides an opportunity for the best friend of Miss Business, Sweetie-Pie, to pop in and decide what night she would like to come over for dinner. (Consequently, I never know how many people will be here to eat a meal!)
So, every month I pull out the 'Kelly's Good Eats' binder of collected recipes, or one of the many cookbooks we own, and construct a month's worth of fabulous dinners. Since I do most of the cooking, I've been making the menu. Now, to the crux of why Hubby said I should write about the wonderful Sunday dinner I've planned. It's a dish from the Pioneer Woman's cookbook called Whiskey Peach Chicken. Made my mouth water on that cold, November day. What's so special about it?
Whiskey makes Hubby sick.
Well, since we're not drinking the sauce, I'm not too worried. The fun part was buying the whiskey. Since we don't drink it - ever - I had no idea what to buy! It took me over half an hour to pick one out, and it seems to have been met with approval from Hubby. The dish has been made and is in the oven right now - and boy, does it smell good!  Serving suggestion is to put it on a big heap of mashed potatoes - is your mouth watering yet? Mine is. I'll have to let you know how it turned out. One of these days, when I get a website up and running, I'll share the monthly menu with all of you. It really helps out with planning the shopping trip - another favorite. (Loud rolling of the eyes)
Thanks for visiting, and come back for another dip in the Stress Pool soon!

Passion in the Pool

The Stress Pool isn't as crowded these days, but it still carries the same amount of trouble as always. Moink is quite sad that his sister is away at school because now he is the focus of all the attention. As an only child, I remember receiving all the attention and desperately wishing there was someone else to blame something on - anyone! I usually blamed one of the parental units. Yeah, that worked! So Moink wants to know why we're paying so much attention to him and what he's doing. It freaks him out, so maybe it's worth doing anyway!
Ms. Business is going to get a name change. It appears they read a book for freshman forum about finding one's passion. Marketing isn't her passion, but she isn't sure exactly what it is. I would challenge any nineteen year old to identify their passion - holy cow, I'm still honing mine and I'm way past nineteen!
Speaking of passion, we're coming up on November, also known as National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo to those of us who choose to have no lives that month. No matter that it's riddled with holiday preperations - not to the true Nano. Time to work on the skills of my passion - writing. Whether or not it will get me anywhere, it calms my inner child, and she needs some serious calming down! What a brat she's been lately. Perhaps if I name her, give her an identity, we might come to an understanding. Of course, that might give someone the idea I'm crazier than they think.
Maybe it's all the proof anyone needs. Name searching it is. Meanwhile, on to the novel.

Sunning by the side of the Pool

What a summer it's been.
Sometime in the late spring, something snapped. Nothing like a bone or a rubber band, but a little switch inside my head, and it clicked me into reality.  When the school year ended and I'd brought everything home (in boxes and bags with every intention of attending to them), I was all set to write. And paint. My favorite things to do.
But, that's what I've been doing for the past few years, and while satisfying, not really. Other things were lacking. Maybe it was the speck of dust on the television stand. Maybe it was my youngest moving on from eighth grade, or Ms. Business getting ready to leave for college. Maybe it was the back porch, my favorite place to hang out in the summer, which hadn't been set up and enjoyed last year.
Maybe it was being sick and tired of feeling dead. Five years of shuffling through the days with a pasted on smile wasn't cutting it anymore.
I spent the summer outside, and asked the kids to help build out the patio. What we didn't know was how much field stone and clay the earth could actually hold! We built a retaining wall (one more row to go!), and the 15' long patio looks so much better! Listening to chirping crickets at night and singing birds in the morning has been refreshing.
Now, Ms. Business is deposited at college, a little nervous, but we're confident she'll be fine.  And, the youngest has completed two days of high school. He's managed to make it home both days, and is relatively happy, except for learning how to be the only child in the house most days.
And, I'm no longer dead. I'm the happiest I've been in a long time, and that's saying a lot.
Time to get back in the water, but this time I'm not treading, but actually swimming.

Sinking in the Stress Pool

Remember sunny days at the pool when you were a kid?  Pinching your nose with one hand and diving in, feet first, closing your eyes and letting the cool, clear water cover you?  And, each time you might try to go deeper than the last until your feet touched bottom.  Then, you'd bounce back to the surface, gasping for air and pushing hair out of your face.
I did that this week.  Pinched my nose and dove, feet first.  There was no reason not to, nothing to fear.  I even joked about it.  The car was in for inspection, and I had scheduled an annual physical and a mammogram.  I'm relatively healthy, so there was no worry.
Until the doctor called the next day about the bloodwork.  It seems that the diabetes leech that sucks on my family finally found me on this dive.  So, life will change a little.  And, I thought I did okay with salads at lunch!
Tonight, I realized I'd missed a call earlier from the mammogram center.  Seems they want a call back.  I hope it's becasue I dropped something that was found and I just have to pick it up.  Guess I'll be calling them tomorrow.
When I spoke with the nurse practicioner to schedule a time to talk about the diabetes thing, she asked if I've been dealing with any stress lately.
Apparently, she hasn't read my blog!
And, I'm still trying to touch the bottom.  Wish me luck!

Sometimes the Water is Murky

I've not got a good memory.  There are times Hubby and I are out, and someone stops to talk for a few minutes.  After parting, I wait for it, and the question always comes. "Who was that?"
My standard answer:  "I'm not sure."
So, when I went into the office supply store this evening for a printer cartridge, I ran into a similar situation.  The cashier asked if I had my rewards card - you know, the ones that give you coupons for things you'll never use - and of course, I didn't have it with me.  He was able to look it up using my phone number, and my name popped up on his screen.  He asked if that was me, and then said, "Well, of course it's you, I know who you are."
Well, I shop there maybe two, three times a year tops.  Now I'm searching his face.  Do I know him? Then my other downside kicked in:  I misunderstood what he said.  I thought he said we sing together.  I sing in two choirs, and knew he wasn't in the local church choir - could he be in the larger one, the one with 80 members?  So, I said, "We sing together?"
"No, I don't sing," he said.  Now he was confused.  Good, I wasn't the only one.  "I said, I think."
Good.  That's a good sign.
 He said he recognized me from when I've been in the store.  Smiling, I said I was sure that was it, took my ink and walked to the car, all the while thinking how difficult it can be having a face that looks like so many others.
Who, apparently, share my name.
Until next time, keep smiling!