She's At The Mall

This is a great photo of my daughter Sheila and her 17 year old son, Cyrus, my best friend and the most perfect person now living.

I love Sheila and her husband and their daughter Arianna too of course, but they are a bit strange. All of them are a bit strange. They are charming, they are pretty, but they are strange. I'm not sure how to explain this conclusion, but I'm going to try.

My son in law is from the middle east. He grew up here in the US from the time he was a child and lived with his mother and grandmother after his dad passed away. The rest of his family are still in the middle east.

When his grandmother passed several years ago, the family would still call Sheila and her husband about once a week to see how grandma was doing. It seems Sheila and her husband decided that it would be best to break the news of grandma's passing at just the right time.

The right time turned out to be about a year after her death. Until then, when family members called from overseas, they were told that grandma went to the mall to shop.

About two years later, my son-in-law's mother also died. She was a lovely woman and we were all heartbroken to lose her. Again, when family members called, they were told that mom was at the mall. I think six months passed before the family was told of his mom's passing.

When I call to speak with my daugher, and my son-in-law says "Oh hi Linda! Sheila went to the mall", he's never understood why I insist on speaking to Cyrus RIGHT THEN.

I'm just sayin...

Confession - Good For the Soul

Confessional Friday

Terry, the HFMB Queen, sent me to Glamazon Mormon Mom so that I could unburden myself for this weeks sins. I'm not really sure how this works, (but when did that ever stop me?).

I'm sure that confession will be good for me, after all, I was raised Catholic so it's not a new concept.

I wrote a post today talking about being a good cook. I am a good cook, but I suffer from the sin of pride because I am showing off. I don't feel really bad about it, but I do know it's a sin.

I ate all the biscotti and didn't even save one for my husband even though I know he loves it.

I took two baths because I was really cold and because I just really like bubble baths. This is during a draught in California so it really is a sin.

I blew off physical therapy yesterday and went to lunch with a friend.

I gave the dogs the left over steak my husband was saving for his breakfast tomorrow.

I lied about how much I weigh on a BMI form.

I didn't put my clothes on until after 2 PM today.

I threw away underwear that I just didn't feel like dealing with. (No, I will not go into more detail than that.)

Now, don't I feel better? Uh, no, not really. So why did I do this again? I'm so easily led astray! Because Terry said to do it, I just did it. Well, she is the HFMB Queen, so I figure she must know something!

Beef Bourguignon

It's what's for dinner!

I grew up in the new era of tv dinners, fish sticks, and Kraft macaroni and cheese. My mother really didn't cook, and it took me until I was in my 30's to finally figure that out.

Mom was not the only one. The advent of the wonderful tv dinners and other frozen offerings just made it much easier for housewives to feed their families without much effort.

I remember having boyfriends over for dinner when I was in my 20's, and serving them hot dogs, canned green beans, and a sliced apple for dinner. I just didn't know any better.

In my mid-30's, I had a boyfriend who actually cooked. He taught me and I've never looked back. There is something absolutely magical about preparing delicious food! I love the preparation of it, the serving and presentation of it.

I find it fun to set a table with a linen and lace tablecloth, linen napkins, tall white taper candles, fine china, sterling silver and crystal wine glasses. I'll work for hours on just the perfect menu.

There are so many options that are not really difficult but healthy and tasty and beautiful too. I am forever trying to convince my friend Nelson to try some of the easy recipes I have but to no avail. He settles for a microwaved entree. Sad really.

There are so many things that take so little effort and turn out so wonderful. Vietnamese pork chops marinated in soy, honey, ginger and lemongrass, jasmine rice, carrot and cucumber salad can take no more than 20 minutes from start to finish. And so much better than anything prepared, frozen and stuck in a cardboard box to be microwaved.

Mock abalone! Dang! Just soak think chicken breasts in clam juice for 3 days, dip in egg, flour, and 5 minutes on each side in a hot pan. Looks great, tastes great, and takes so little effort.

Homemade French Onion Soup! About the easies, tastiest, and and best things you can eat. Add bread and a leafy green salad. So simple and wonderful on a rainy night.

I'm lucky to have a great organic produce mart very close to my house. I buy my produce fresh every day on my way home. The meat, poultry and fish are the same, close and fresh! And we have a fabulous bakery where I can get a bagette that rivals what I've had in Paris.

It actually costs us less to eat better than it does to compromise on taste and quality. All I needed was a little basic motivation!

Talking Dirty

I have always loved me some raunchy language. I taught my kids to love raunchy language too. (No, no, I don't expect an award for that, so let's move on.)

When my kids were very young, we started to use the word "shamunga" for poop. Shamunga sounds so much dirtier than poop. When John was about 3, he would call me and say "Sheila needs her diapers changed! I smell shamunga!" When we saw dog poop on the sidewalk, it would throw is into fits of laughter as we pointed and cried out "Shamunga!".

Really disgusting things, like scrambled eggs dropped on the floor were "Hairy Muffins". Anything we could not identify but looked nasty was a "Hairy Muffin".

Although I do slip an occasional "shit", I actually prefer shamunga! It just sounds worse!

I never use the words "bitch" or "ho" because they are pedestrian and used by really unimaginative people. The word I kind of like is "c*nt". Yup, rhymes with runt. That word is one to describe a very important person who deserves a powerful word. You don't use that casually, but it's a good word, particularly if you call someone a "C*** of Death"! How great is that! It's a compliment as well as a power statement! (I never use that particular phrase in the supermarket though.)

My husband uses PMF to describe handsome men. The first word is Pretty. I'll let you guess at the other two words. I never fail to laugh when he says "I saw the PMF this morning."

I thought I was kind of a bad word queen until yesterday when I encountered the most powerful and amazing bad words ever! Terry over at "Oh For Pete's Sake" used this phrase in her post yesterday:
"Holy Fucking Monkey Balls". We have a new Queen. I bow to her!

Awards From A BFF

Scott Free is an astounding young dude with more talent than should be legal at his age. He also has amazingly good taste! (Plus, he's so cute that all 6 of my granddaughters are now his groupies. Oops! I only have 4 granddaughters, but I get confused because of my age!)

If you haven't made Scotty's acquaintance yet, I strongly suggest that you do so. View some of his stimulating and engrossing films! Read what he has to say! You won't be sorry!

Scott has passed on a couple of just wonderful awards to me! (God! I love it when that happens!) I'm getting an award called the "Humane Award" as well as one called the "Sunshine Award". I just couldn't be more pleased. Scott, himself, has been the recipient of these awards so I know they are good ones since he is about as humane and sunshiny as it gets!

Thank you Scott! You the man! (er, young man!)

My Date With A Boxer

This photo is a little misleading. I did date a boxer (a real one, the man kind) once in the early 1980's.

Miguel had been a Golden Gloves middle-weight champion about 5 years earlier. I met him when he was working for a moving company. He passed me several times in the hall of the apartment house I lived in, and I thought he was kind of cute.

The other guy who was working with him kept calling him "Champ" and I asked if that was his name. That's when he told me he had been a boxer. We chatted a bit and it was pretty clear that he was interested in me.

He came to my apartment door after finishing moving a neighbor in to an apartment on my floor and asked me if I'd have dinner with him. I had a few reservations, (no, more than a few) but I said sure! Pick me up at 7. I've always like boldness and Miguel had that going for him. Plus, I mean, hey! The guy had a job! That's always a good sign. (Uh, yes. I was hard up.)

Anyway, I didn't take it as a good sign when 7:30 rolled around before Miguel arrived at my door. I said something about not being sure he was going to show up, and he replied that he needed to have a few drinks first to calm his nerves. Well, he was only weaving slightly when he came in.

He got into a boxer stance and started throwing play punches toward me, telling me to unwind! Loosen up! Let's have fun! By this time, I was in a full-fledged panic attack. Dear God!

Miguel had looked great in working man's clothes, with the big shoulders and biceps, etc. It had not translated that well into a suit that was way too tight across the shoulders with pants that can only be called "floods". His slicked hair looked greasy and he was pretty sweaty in the face. Uh huh. Loosen up, Linda!

I suggested that we go to my favorite Chinese restaurant around the corner. I was smart enough not to get in the car with this man. He said, why don't we have a drink first and I said fine. I think I had a bottle of cheap white wine in the fridge.

We went to the Chinese place and ordered. Miguel spent half of the time in the bathroom. My fortune cookie said to watch out for surprises which I considered to be ominous.

Miguel walked me home. At the door to my apartment house, he came in for a kiss, shoved his tongue down my throat while grabbing a boob with one hand and my crotch with the other. I gently pushed him away and told him I had a great time. Miguel assured me he would call me soon so we could do this again. Oh joy!

Personal Protection Units

I'm a cop's daughter. I learned how to handle a gun when I was about 12. Dad took me to the range and we practiced with his service revolver until I could hit the target, load and unload a gun, and clean the revolver.

I'm not afraid of guns. I don't really have much use for them either unless it's for target practice at the range. When used for home defense, guns take thought and that thought can be your undoing. Would I honestly point a weapon at a person and pull the trigger? Maybe, maybe not. But I wouldn't do it without thinking about it no matter what the situation is.

I very seldom feel nervous about security. My back door is frequently unlocked and even open. I live in a relatively safe area, but crime can happen anywhere.

If I need protection, I have the kind that doesn't require any thought at all. My dogs are protective. They don't analyze. They don't hesitate. Walk in at your own risk. A cable guy did just that one day. It took me and my husband to get Harry off of him. He was pinned in the corner of the room with the dog at his throat. The cable guy had thought for some reason our house was an apartment building and just walked in the front door. Not a smart move on his part.

He wasn't injured, but he was badly frightened.

The dogs are not friendly unless someone comes in with me or my husband. They are playful and polite then. Just don't walk in without one of us. Ever.