For two months I've been silent -- not writing, not reading, not doing anything that I always do. I have, in fact, been doing a lot of things that I've never done. I'm not sure if it's an effort to ignore the parade of dead people that stand in a circle around me as if waiting for me to do something.
Five people in three years, five family members gone forever. For two months I've felt like they were waiting for me to say something about them, but I couldn't. And it seemed rude to write about anything else without acknowledging their importance in this world or their importance to me.
And so it was easier to write about nothing.
Instead I bought a spinning wheel and started making yarn. I sit for hours and watch the fibers pull themselves into the wheel and twist themselves into something beautiful. It's a soothing addiction, mindless, peaceful and it seems somehow productive and important.
The dead sit patiently by while I spin as if they understand that I'm about to wake up -- in just a while it seems like I will be back to my old self. We are getting used to each other, I guess, and I can think of them without feeling sad and paralyzed.
I guess that is "healing".
November 19, 2010
September 1, 2010
Mmm, Bacon
I have always said that most things in life are better with bacon. It's a topic that the family and I discussed tonight while I was cooking some bacon. It was one of those nights where nobody could agree on what dinner should be and the Beef Stroganoff that was planned didn't seem to be exciting to anyone in the family, so it became an impromptu free-for-all planned by the 7-year-old in the family. This explains why the menu tonight consisted of BLT(una)s, BLs, a plate of tamales and a big plate of something Rob ate that I didn't look at because half of it was covered in celery which makes me vomit.
As I was working on the bacon the following conversation ensued:
Me (to Rob): You want some bacon?
Rob: I'm not having tuna. Or bacon. That's just not... I don't know. That's not good.
Me: Of course it's good. Bacon is great. Bacon goes with everything. Like... even orange and bacon sorbet or bacon and raspberry lemonade. I thought guys love bacon. You know, like that commercial...
Me: In fact, I should make homemade soap out of this bacon grease. I mean, why not? It will drive men wild.
Rob: Right
Julius: Can I have some bacon? It smells so good.
Me: See?
Later I was lying in bed cuddling Julius for a few minutes before he was to drift off to slip. He snuggled against me, his head on my chest and breathed a big, cozy, happy sigh.
A few seconds later he says, "Mom, are you wearing PERFUME???" (I never wear perfume.)
"No."
He breathes in deep again and says, "Mmm, it smells like you have on perfume."
I pulled the neckline of my shirt up to my nose and took a big whiff. "It smells like fabric softener to me. And maybe bacon. Fabric softener and bacon."
He leaned in tentatively and sniffed. "OH MY GOSH MOM, IT'S BACON!" He scooted over to the middle of the bed and had a horrified look on his face that he'd been busted snuggling his bacon-scented mother and liked it. (You can bet I'm saving this story for future girlfriends.) "DAD! DAD! Come smell mom, she smells like bacon!"
And from then on the snuggling was over and I had to hear a lecture from the 2nd-grader now lying far across the bed giving me a lecture on how I should only cook bacon in old house-shirts.
"Admit it," I demanded. "You love the bacon!"
"Mom, you're so weird."
"I know it. Totally." Then I kissed him on the forehead, tucked him in, and turned out the lights. Good night!
As I was working on the bacon the following conversation ensued:
Me (to Rob): You want some bacon?
Rob: I'm not having tuna. Or bacon. That's just not... I don't know. That's not good.
Me: Of course it's good. Bacon is great. Bacon goes with everything. Like... even orange and bacon sorbet or bacon and raspberry lemonade. I thought guys love bacon. You know, like that commercial...
Me: In fact, I should make homemade soap out of this bacon grease. I mean, why not? It will drive men wild.
Rob: Right
Julius: Can I have some bacon? It smells so good.
Me: See?
Later I was lying in bed cuddling Julius for a few minutes before he was to drift off to slip. He snuggled against me, his head on my chest and breathed a big, cozy, happy sigh.
A few seconds later he says, "Mom, are you wearing PERFUME???" (I never wear perfume.)
"No."
He breathes in deep again and says, "Mmm, it smells like you have on perfume."
I pulled the neckline of my shirt up to my nose and took a big whiff. "It smells like fabric softener to me. And maybe bacon. Fabric softener and bacon."
He leaned in tentatively and sniffed. "OH MY GOSH MOM, IT'S BACON!" He scooted over to the middle of the bed and had a horrified look on his face that he'd been busted snuggling his bacon-scented mother and liked it. (You can bet I'm saving this story for future girlfriends.) "DAD! DAD! Come smell mom, she smells like bacon!"
And from then on the snuggling was over and I had to hear a lecture from the 2nd-grader now lying far across the bed giving me a lecture on how I should only cook bacon in old house-shirts.
"Admit it," I demanded. "You love the bacon!"
"Mom, you're so weird."
"I know it. Totally." Then I kissed him on the forehead, tucked him in, and turned out the lights. Good night!
August 13, 2010
Wendy vs. McDonald's, Round Two
A little over a year ago I posted about a crazy interaction I had at a McDonald's drive-through. I thought, at the time, that it couldn't get much weirder than that, but it turns out I was wrong.
Yesterday I went through the drive-through again to get a quick snack wrap before a meeting I had to attend. Just a little fat and protein (okay, well a LOT of fat) to keep my brain cells active so I didn't do something embarrassing like slide out of my chair in a sudden moment of blood-sugar narcolepsy.
I ordered a bacon and Angus beef wrap which is basically a tiny, overpriced tortilla with half a beef patty, a slice of bacon, some pickles and a piece of fake cheese that the dairy industry calls "American" cheese. I love pickles but not on a snack wrap so I asked if they would substitute lettuce for the pickles. She said it would be no problem at all and I drove around to the window.
While I waited for my food I looked at my receipt because I find that to be less disturbing than looking inside the restaurant to see what's going on in there. I noticed as I perused the list that there was a line item on there that read:
Lettuce .20
Huh. My brow must have been all squinchy because when the girl handed my drink to me she said, "Something wrong?"
"I don't know. Did you really charge me 20 cents for lettuce?"
She nodded. "Yeah, they charge for lettuce."
"But I said I wanted to substitute lettuce for pickles. Wouldn't you think it would just be a wash?"
She shrugged. "It's weird. It sometimes depends on how you ring it up, too."
"Really?"
She nodded again. "Yeah, like mayonnaise. They charge if you add mayo to a sandwich but if you ask for it at the window we give it to you for free. Here's your order. Is there anything else I can get you?"
"Yes, I'll take some free mayonnaise."
She paused and looked at me for a moment. I think she was trying to figure out if I was kidding or not.
I added, "And while you're at it, throw in some ketchup packets, too."
By gosh, I was getting my 20 cents worth back.
* * *
Just FYI, I was curious to know what cost more, lettuce or pickles. I suspected the pickles but went online to see if I could find something more substantial than intuition. I found a very amusing sandwich price calculator. You should check it out.
Not only does this site prove that in bulk sales McDonald's is totally ripping you off by keeping your pickles at the same time as charging you for lettuce, but also proves that many people on the Internet have a lot of time on their hands.
Yesterday I went through the drive-through again to get a quick snack wrap before a meeting I had to attend. Just a little fat and protein (okay, well a LOT of fat) to keep my brain cells active so I didn't do something embarrassing like slide out of my chair in a sudden moment of blood-sugar narcolepsy.
I ordered a bacon and Angus beef wrap which is basically a tiny, overpriced tortilla with half a beef patty, a slice of bacon, some pickles and a piece of fake cheese that the dairy industry calls "American" cheese. I love pickles but not on a snack wrap so I asked if they would substitute lettuce for the pickles. She said it would be no problem at all and I drove around to the window.
While I waited for my food I looked at my receipt because I find that to be less disturbing than looking inside the restaurant to see what's going on in there. I noticed as I perused the list that there was a line item on there that read:
Lettuce .20
Huh. My brow must have been all squinchy because when the girl handed my drink to me she said, "Something wrong?"
"I don't know. Did you really charge me 20 cents for lettuce?"
She nodded. "Yeah, they charge for lettuce."
"But I said I wanted to substitute lettuce for pickles. Wouldn't you think it would just be a wash?"
She shrugged. "It's weird. It sometimes depends on how you ring it up, too."
"Really?"
She nodded again. "Yeah, like mayonnaise. They charge if you add mayo to a sandwich but if you ask for it at the window we give it to you for free. Here's your order. Is there anything else I can get you?"
"Yes, I'll take some free mayonnaise."
She paused and looked at me for a moment. I think she was trying to figure out if I was kidding or not.
I added, "And while you're at it, throw in some ketchup packets, too."
By gosh, I was getting my 20 cents worth back.
* * *
Just FYI, I was curious to know what cost more, lettuce or pickles. I suspected the pickles but went online to see if I could find something more substantial than intuition. I found a very amusing sandwich price calculator. You should check it out.
Not only does this site prove that in bulk sales McDonald's is totally ripping you off by keeping your pickles at the same time as charging you for lettuce, but also proves that many people on the Internet have a lot of time on their hands.
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