I *Can* Cook

Though to hear my kids tell, not well.  Whatever.  They wouldn't eat anything but macaroni and cheese and Ramen noodles anyway.

When Mrs Mom and her husband and the BrownEyed Cowgirls visited last weekend, I stole RCC's chicken parmesean recipe and attempted it all by my lonesome.  Lest you all say you don't believe it, here is the photographic evidence.

Okay, so I'm not a food photographer; it doesn't look as good as it tasted.  I surprised even myself pulling this off.  I told RCC over and over again not to worry about it, I couldn't screw it up too badly (even though I didn't truly believe that I could do it without screwing up).  You know the phrase, "fake it 'til you make it"?  Yeah, that's exactly what I did.

I've always made RCC make this before, but since he taught me how to do it, I can now do it whenever I feel like it!

How Did I Miss This?

Seriously, how did I not ever pay attention to the cool little "Stats" button at the top of my screen?

Really, GunDiva?  It wasn't until I saw K.'s car review today that I even found out about the Stats button.  See how observant I am?

I've just wasted an hour digging through my stats for each of my blogs.  How cool is that?  My most read post for this blog is "Epiploic Appendagitis Sucks", followed closely by "TST: A Shocking Story".  Sorry, RCC, but your illness seems to be my biggest draw - think you can have another attack so I can boost my stats?  Or maybe we should go for a walk in the TP aisle again?

I was pleasantly surprised that besides Google, the URL that refers most readers my way is "Jack Sh*t Gettin' Fit".  Thanks, Jack Sh*t :)

I knew I could spend hours on StatCounter.com (and have), but now I've got a whole new time waster to play with.

A Moment of Levity

Grandma's death has dragged on and on and on.  She died last Thursday, but because of other factors, her funeral won't be until Friday.  Yep, a full week and one day after she died.  It's dragged out the grieving process so that it's almost unbearable, but only a couple more days...

Anyway, back to the "fun".

Last night we had a "reading rehersal" for those of us who will be doing readings at the funeral.  I was handed my reading and on the top was written "to be read after the first reading".  No problem, that makes my reading the second reading, right?

One would think so. 

However, there was another reading handed out that said "second reading".  So I asked, "when do I do my reading?"

Answer: "After the first reading."

Me:  "Okay, but this other one says it's the second reading."

Answer: "It is the second reading."

Me:  "How can that one be the second reading, if I'm supposed to read after the first reading?  Doesn't that make mine the second reading and that one the third reading?"

Answer:  "No.  That one's the second reading, but you go after the first reading."

To borrow from Momma Fargo, *blink* *blink*

It was like "Who's on First?" all over again.

The worst part was that only my cousin C understood where I was coming from.  In my crazy family's mind it made perfect sense that the passage that I'm reading after the first passage was not considered the second reading.  So C and I decided that the actual first reading is 1A, I'm reading 1B and then we'll get to the second reading.

On A Happier Note...

I found this picture of me and Nebalee at the cabin when I was looking for pictures of Grandma.

I'd forgotten we had this up there, but do remember spending lots of time with it.

Mary T. Gallegos 6/14/20 - 10/21/10

Grandma Mary laid down for her final sleeping kitty this morning.  Dad went into wake her up this morning at 6 am she wanted to sleep some more, so he left her to sleep in.  When he went to wake her again at 9:30 this morning, she'd recently joined Grandpa Moe in Heaven.

While I'm heartbroken that she's not here anymore, I know that the last few months, ever since her stroke, have been really hard on her.  She never complained - that wasn't her way - but I know she was frustrated with being wheelchair bound and unable to care for her family; others had to care for her for a change.

Death is always hardest on those left behind.  The kids took it as expected: Ashinator lost her mind right off the bat; Digger shored up and shed very few tears (he'll lost his mind at the funeral when it's real - kinda like his mommy); and Monster got angry and shut down.  Me?  I've been busy rounding up the kids from school, driving to Wyoming to pick up Digger, and dealing with family drama. 

I'm not sure when I'll finally let down; for now, I'm at peace with her death.  Grandma Mary and I were very close, she often told me that I was like a daugher to her, rather than a granddaughter.  That's a hell of a compliment from such an amazing woman.

The thing is, I know how hard it was on her to be dependent on someone else.  I know how much she hated not being able to go about her daily routine and to have the physical therapist come and torture her every day.  And I know how much she missed Grandpa Moe every day.

She had a good day yesterday; Dad and my Uncle took her out to lunch, she spent the evening with her kittens on her lap and howling - literally - with the dog.  According to Dad, she and the dog had quite the chorus going and then she'd laugh and laugh.  When I talked to her yesterday afternoon she was in good spirits and was a jabbermouth.  Only, after her stroke, when she got excited she tripped over her words and you had to glean her meaning simply by her tone.  Her excitement told me she was having a great day.

So while I'll bawl my eyes out at her funeral and I'll miss her every day, I'm at peace with her passing.  She had a great day yesterday and died in her sleep this morning. 

I'm okay with that.

TST - Wedding Dinner

It's time for my second favorite day of the week!  True Story Tuesday, hosted by Rachel and Mr. Daddy (who should look just ravishing in his new Dress Barn dress).



Twenty-three years and four days ago, Bill made perhaps the biggest mistake of his life.  And I'm not talking about marrying Mom and her four heathens.  No, the biggest mistake he made was allowing the four heathens to choose where to have their wedding dinner.

Now, I was 16; Nebalee was 13; Deejo was 11; and Junior was 7.  He really thought it was a good idea to let us decide where to have their wedding dinner?  I'm not quite sure where he thought we'd choose, but I'm pretty sure he didn't expect us to come up with Casa Bonita.

Yup, just the quiet, romantic place he envisioned spending with his new family, I'm sure.  But he was a good sport and off we went after the wedding.

We had a blast!  Well, at least we kids did.  Mom and Bill were kind enough to pretend they had a good time.

Over the years, it's become a joke that Casa Bonita is our "fancy dinner" restaurant - reserved for special ocassions.

You know, the really special ones, like... a twentieth wedding anniversary.

Oh, yes, we did.  We made them return to the scene of the crime for their twentieth.  Of course, by this time, the family had grown to include spouses and grandchildren.

Mrs Mom and her DH are coming for a visit this coming weekend.  Guess where we're taking them?

I invited Mom and Bill.  Bill declined, saying by his calculations, he's got another 17 years before he has to return.

A Trip Down Memory Lane

A couple of weekends ago, RockCrawlinChef and I got a wild hair up our butts to go for a drive to see the fall colors.  We put a lot of miles on Ripley, crossing up over the Continental Divide and back.  We found some amazing colors; at one point, we rounded a curve and I gasped at the scene before us.  Amidst all of the pine trees, the mountain was shimmering gold with Aspen.  It was seriously a "Heaven opened up and Angels sang" moment with the sun shining directly on the Aspen.  Travelling at highway speeds, we were past them before I could come to my senses enough to scramble for the camera.

This is one of the pictures I took, but it doesn't do the trees any justice...

I love the broken down old cabin nestled in the trees.

Since we were (sorta) in the right neck of the woods, on the way home, I took RCC by the cabin where I grew up.  I have so many fabulous memories of the cabin.  Mom and Dad built it from the ground up and we spent every spare minute there.  Even though we lived in town and Mom and Dad built us a great house in town, my favorite place was at the cabin.

When it was our cabin, it was harvest gold and the bottom wasn't enclosed.  It was up on stilts and we used the space beneath the floor to store our canoe and firewood.

It was two giant rooms; one was the kitchen/living room/dining room and up a couple of steps was the bedroom.  The bedroom - if I remember correctly - was big enough for two full-sized beds and two twin beds, plus up a ladder was a space big enough for a couple of small children to sleep, lounge, read, draw on the drywall, whatever.

The floors were bare plywood, requiring socks or slippers at all times.  The wood-burning stove served to keep the cabin toasty warm and heat the water for our baths.  Four small children in the mountains get very dirty and we became champs at taking baths in an oversized cook pot.  I have a picture of Deejo taking a bath around here somewhere...

We didn't have running water, so we'd have to stop at the well pump on the way in and fill our 10-gallon water jugs.  We also had a very fancy two-holer outhouse that had a space heater in it, so that when we turned on the light switch in the cabin and beat feet out to pee the seats weren't frosted over.  'Cept at night, we kids didn't use the outhouse.  Instead, we had a Folger's can in the closet that we'd use so we wouldn't be bear or mountain lion bait.  And trust me when I tell you that if you had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, you prayed that you had to go before Nebalee.  That girl could not hit the can to save her life.  She'd sit on it, get the beautiful Folger's ring-around-the-butt and still pee everywhere except the can.  Mom said she always knew when Nebalee beat any of the rest of us to the can because we'd wail, "Ne-ba-leeeeeee!".  In her defense, she was really little.  And I'm pretty sure she got blamed for Deejo's aiming errors as well.

This is the lake where we learned to ice skate in the winter...

The water would freeze so clear that you could see bubbles frozen in the ice that I was just convinced that they came from the fishes.  After learning how to ice skate outdoors on a lake, it was a culture shock to skate on a smooth indoor rink when I got older.

At the bottom of this lake rests a fishing pole and tackle box that our dog, Michael, helped put there.  Michael used to like to go out in the canoe while Dad was fishing, but one day decided to jump out of the canoe, capsizing it. 



I loved the cabin; it was perfect in my eyes.  I have so many amazing memories from the cabin: the "helicopter" rock; my "horse" (a tree limb just my height); being pulled behind the truck on a sled; sledding; 4th of July pig roasts; the mountain lion who took up residence under the cabin; and the first time I saw a bear up close and personal.

Unfortunately, my memories have been tainted by my Dad's bad temper.  I don't remember him and Mom fighting much when we were little, little, but he became quite an abusive bastard who would line all of us kids up on the couch in order of age while he beat the tar out of Mom.  I spent many a lifetime (or so it seemed) sitting on the couch, plotting ways to get out of the cabin, run the mile and a half into the village and get help without Dad noticing (or turning his anger to the other kids).

Mom is a tough woman, she stood up for herself, kicked Dad out of the house and embarked on life as a single woman.  The saddest part for me, now, as an adult?  I missed the cabin a whole lot more than I missed Dad.