Catch Up, Sort Of

I just received a request for my pretzel warfare experience to be expounded on in a blog post but I'm a bit behind in my posting priorities so it may have to wait a day or two. I'm having the same blogging trouble that I've always had and probably won't go away anytime soon. I write all my posts in my head while I'm running and somehow my brain does not see fit to print out a replica upon my arrival at home. This may be to the readers' (Mrs. A help with that apostrophe please!) advantage because a lot gets done in my head while I'm on a run. And people think I just run to get away from Vinnie!

So I still need to recap and finalize the Love Dare (Aren't you curious?), a tidy Lenten related post might be nice too but maybe I should wait until Lent is over and the etching on My Lenten Cross has been rubbed smooth. I had a great post about the Star Bursts my mother was trying to poison my kids with all wrinkle free in my mind but I'm trying to Change My Heart during the next 40 days and need to love my mother's efforts even if I would rather scream.

Tomorrow I head off to U of M with my "responsible driver" (I'm wondering if they will give her some type of responsibility test to determine her level of dependability, not that I think she would fail, but how do they KNOW? Do they size her up, ask her to flex, or just Google her name?) to have some small sections of my muscle biopsied because Lupus might have found a friend called Myopathy or Dystropy but we don't think so. We're just checking to make sure he isn't hanging with the wrong crowd. And if he is there will be hell to pay because I. Don't. Have. Time. For. Something. Else. I can't eat for 6 hours before which may be more torture to me than having the muscle "nipped" from my deltoid. My blood sugar and I don't get along well either, it likes to dip too low when it does not have a constant input of fresh, whole foods (Er, read: chocolate.) therefore, the business of fasting never goes well. I hope my trustworthy driver will be patient, especially because my a.m. coffee is not allowed either.

And maybe, just maybe, U of M should not be so organized and forthright because after reading the Needle Muscle Biopsy procedure handout I'm not looking so forward to my twilight sleep. It states: "You may sense the deep stab of the instrument and feel the little nips the instrument makes as it snips off samples from within the muscle. The nurse can give you a more pain-killing medication by vein. The doctor will usually penetrate the muscle in a different direction to get samples from another part of the muscle." I'm not aiming for a natural, unmedicated birth here people! They better pump that "a more pain-killing medication by vein" BEFORE the nips are made. And Panera better be serving up something yummy tomorrow because my dependable driver has been instructed to take me there immediately following the procedure.

Why I love to Read

Because sometimes the author writes about me and that leaves me feeling pretty good about myself, even if the author makes me sound a little quirky:

"She tired to figure out her own life philosophy and came up with something she once heard a rock star-Eric Clapton, she thought-say in an interview about not being a big fan of, uh, people. She wasn't either. She preferred-as ridiculous as it sounded-being with herself. She like reading and watching movies without commentary. She couldn't handle men and their egos and their constant boasting and their raging insecurities."


When I read that particular passage in my latest book it made me sit up a bit higher and open my eyes wider. It was the same type of realization that hit me when I discovered most people don't hate clothing (Just a few select "special" people are hindered by wardrobe sensitivities.) It was freeing in a way because I always assumed I was, well, bitchy for lack of a better term, for not seeking out oodles of people to spend my time with. I'm just not a fan of people and that is o.k. Why I sought out a degree in social work I have no idea, or maybe it was because I could usher my clients in and out and do what I could to offer them assistance without more than a professional committment. I wouldn't have to take them home for early morning conversation when I prefer to have none.

As a child, my home life was peculiar in many ways but one that stands out frequently in my memories is the fact that we must have been trained from an early age not to speak in the morning. Unless you were trying to claim you were too ill to go to school (In which case you were allowed to state your symptoms and wait dutifully for mom to ask if you wanted to go to school.) the expectation was shower, clothing, breakfast and out the door. All without a peep. My siblings may have different perceptions of this but whenever we happen to be together for the night as adults none of the three of us speak in the morning. And I'm not just referring to early morning, if you really want to have a conversation with me try and hit me up after noon where you will have a short window of opportunity before I revert my brain to hermit mode.

For those of you that I frequently find myself in social situations with and appear to be enjoying myself, I really am, but you may want to consider if there is something special about you or if you are quirky too.

The Weekend Was Fine

Even Maybe played hard! And I, I skied alone 2 days in a row. It was as close to Heaven as I could imagine while still on earth.

Don't Question My Love

All anyone needs to know is that not one negative word was released from my lips after my farmer husband hauled a load of beans to the elevator today and did this to my yard:

Damn Facebook

I'm convinced nobody is updating their blogs lately because they are too busy on Facebook letting people know that they are letting their dog out to pee. Yeah, I'm guilty too. But I don't even stop to let the dog out, she has just been peeing on the floor.

It doesn't help that is has been winter here. W.I.N.T.E.R. As is cold, windy, snowy. Depressing. And just when I finally had a day of running on actual pavement and not ice/snow covered roads it is snowing again.

So, now that my life is complete because I have reconnected with my fourth grade boyfriend (Come on people!) I've decided to get busy in the kitchen.

The Buchtie Babes
L to R: The famous Aunt Mary, Marie and myself

Buchtie: still hot and pipping on the baking sheet. And no, I can't share the recipe because only someone that has been making them for 80+ years can get it right.

Apparently this was a crucial step.

Cleanliness is very important at all times!

Guacamole anyone?

The featured item at Sunday dinner:
Smoky Tomato Salmon Chowder