The Birthday Cake

Daughter Susan neglected to order a birthday cake from the bakery for Pete’s 5th birthday. It was Friday and his party with a Mega-Heroes theme was Saturday afternoon. She wanted a cake with Batman on it. The local grocery deli couldn’t do it on short notice, so she went to Wal-Mart, but they said they couldn’t do it either. They offered to sell her the Batman trinkets for the top and a cake, and then she could do it herself.
As she was trying to figure out what to do, the lady said, “It looks like you’re in a jam. I’ll go ahead and decorate a cake for you.” She sprayed on the Metropolis background and put in the Batman and Batmobile and asked if Susan would like a name on it. Susan was delighted, and she said, “You’ve just made a mother very, very happy!”
The baker said, “You know, that’s interesting. Recently I’ve become very unhappy in my job. I don’t like the hours. I don’t get any recognition for what I do. I want to be home with my kids in the evenings. Last Sunday our pastor gave a sermon about doing our best. He told us that we never know when something we do for another person is going to mean a great deal to them. Therefore, we should always do our best. I guess he was right.”
Being kind and always doing our best are truly things we should practice as we try to be Christ’s hands and heart in our world.

Large Economy Size

Eons ago I was cooking for what seemed like a large family, although in reality it was only 3 kids and 2 adults. So whenever I bought something at the store, I bought the large economy size.
Habits are hard to break, and I find myself continuing to buy the biggest size of dill pickle chips, mustard, catsup, etc. But recently it occurred to me that there's just hubby and me here, and we really don't eat through those large economy sizes very fast. Besides, the big jar of pickles only fits on the top shelf of the refrigerator with the milk, tall bottles of syrup, and big bottle of catsup.
So, much as it will pain me, I'm going to buy those small sizes from now on. And maybe I can finally get the two gallon-size jugs of milk to fit on the top shelf.,

Emergency Response

Fortunately I've never been physically attacked by a mugger or rapist. Sometimes I wonder what I would do if I were. On TV shows and in books, the muggee screams. I've tried to figure out if I would be a screamer, and I don't think I would. When other little girls were screaming as they played, I wasn't. I've never understood what makes little kids scream as they come out the school door for recess. Maybe there are some non-screamers in there, people like me, but it seems that most kids enjoy screaming and relish the opportunity to do so without criticism from adults. I remember when teen agers were crowding stages with the likes of Elvis performing, and they were screaming their lungs out. Ain't no way you would have found me there! Yesterday as I was driving down the alley on my way to pick up Hubby at the back door of the Print Shop, a black van came out between two buildings. She was turning right toward me, and she was on her cell phone. I could feel and hear the crunch that was about to happen. What did I do? I didn't scream. I didn't toot the horn. I said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA!" As luck would have it, the woman saw me just before we made contact. She turned more sharply and missed me and I continued on to the print shop, albeit a little weak in the knees. The driver turns out to be the phone answering lady at the plumbing shop (I talked to her yesterday to get someone to come out to fix our waterheater), and she actually went up the alley, turned around, and came back to apologize. I was still pretty shook up, so I said, "Just don't talk on your cell phone when you're driving!" If I were writing this incident up in a novel, I sure wouldn't have had my heroine say "Whoa" and "Don't talk on your cell phone when you're driving." And I suspect that if I were attacked, I would say something just as stupid and insufficient. Maybe I should find some place to practice screaming.

My New Picture

For a long time I've had as my blog photo a picture of myself that I like. Now I'm changing it to one that I find hilarious. The caption that goes with it is, "It's been a tough year...but I made it!" I feel like I've been there a couple of times myself.
Humor is a strange thing. Aren't we glad that God chose to insert a funny bone into humans? I think I read that the only other creature that God gave a giggle to is the chimpanzee.
One of the traits I prize the most in my friends and relatives is the ability to laugh. My mother was the best laugher in the business, and telling her a joke was one of life's finest joys. I fell in love with my husband the first time I met him, because he was so funny. He always had a quip and kept everyone laughing.
At one time I wanted She was wise engraved on my tombstone. Now all I want on there is She laughed a lot. When I'm gone, I hope my family and friends will remember me as someone who loved funny jokes, hilarious cartoons, and genuinely humorous stories.
There have been some rough times, but I've made it through them and I can still strut my stuff and laugh!

Smalltalk

I just finished reading the latest Sue Grafton book, U is for Undertow. That Kinsey Milhone is my kind of woman!
At one point she admits that she doesn't do smalltalk, and she admits that that may be why she doesn't have many friends. I totally understand.
I've never been very good at smalltalk. I really don't care about the current celebs, for example. To me they all look alike and they live like trash. I don't talk politics with anyone unless I know they agree with me. (That's because I don't think fast enough to argue with them.) Comments about the weather only lasts about ten seconds. I don't know anything about current fashion and styles (except that for the most part, I don't like them). So there's nothing to talk about.
One of the problems with Face Book is that most of it seems to be smalltalk. People write such small stuff that it's often one cryptic word. I hardly ever know what they're talking about, but that's probably because A) I'm old, and B) I don't know how to do or decipher smalltalk.
The one exception to this is if the person I'm talking to is a teacher (or was ever a teacher). THEN we have something to talk about! But I don't class that as smalltalk. That's interesting, important stuff!
Kinsey's right. It's hard to have many friends if you don't have anything to talk to them about.

Lemon on Lemon on Lemon

I can't get enough of lemon. Lemon meringue pie, lemon whippersnap cookies, lemon-pecan no-bake cookies, lemon frostening, lemon anything at all.
It reminds me of my favorite cake to take to a pot luck: lemon cake mix, poked while warm and drizzled with lemon Jell-O, covered with lemon pudding, frosted with lemon frosting with a drift of lemon zest on top. Is there a way to add more lemon to this thing?
Also reminds me of the time we were in El Paso, TX. I wasn't feeling all that well, and we decided to eat in a big cafeteria place where I would probably be able to choose something that would not rile my stomach up any more. There was something that looked like it was made with lemon Jell-O, and I asked the server, "Is that Jell-O?" She said, "Si, it is jello." Well, it wasn't as lemony as I thought it should be. Later, we were shopping for guyabera (sp?) shirts for Jim, and I told the clerk I would take two of them. She said, "Do you want this jello one, too?"

My father, Bob Ludwig, grew a huge garden every year, and he was especially fond of growing weird things. Someone sent him some cotton seeds one year, so he grew cotton. He grew peanuts and let his grandkids dig them up. He got some experimental popcorn from the Lab where he worked, and it was the greatest stuff ever! The kernels, instead of being tooth-breaking rocks, were like styrofoam. It got so we wanted the kernels to only half-pop so we could eat the "old maids." Bob didn't know the seed's specific name, and he could never grow any more of it.

One of the veggies that he introduced to us was kohlrabi. It's a strange, other-worldly looking thing. It's a round lime-green ball with leaves sticking out from the ball. Looks like you'd expect Sputnik to look (for those of you who are old enough to remember Sputnik), or maybe like something in the Jetsons (for those of you a little younger).

We peeled off the green skin and sliced the thing thin. I usually soaked the slices in ice water to make them extra-crisp. The taste is something between a turnip, a potato and a radish. This month's Arthritis Today Magazine has a bit about kohlrabi that I didn't know: you can saute the leaves in oil and garlic and eat them, too!

So this next spring someone in the family has to plant kohlrabi. Maybe I'll even plant some in my flower bed. Who'd guess it wasn't some expensive and rare flower?