Tuesday, March 18, 2008

My Kentucky roots

My mom's mother was from Kentucky. She could cook good home cooking that we all love. One thing she could make that I loved was biscuits and gravy. Mmmmm, good.

My grandma lived with us for several years before she passed away. About a year or so before she passed away (I was about 13 at this time), she got so sick that she became bedridden. She slowly lost her appetite throughout this year.

One time when she and I were home alone, I got a taste for some biscuits and gravy. I knew how to open a can of biscuits and cook those, but I had no idea how to make sausage gravy. I asked my grandma how to make it and she gave me instructions. Then she said that she wanted some when it was ready. I told her that maybe she should wait until I see how it turns out since it was my first attempt. She insisted that I make her a plate when it was ready.

I tried my best and used her instructions, but despite good intentions it did not turn out well. At all. But, my grandma still insisted on a serving. She loved it and praised it as the best tasting gravy she's had. As I scraped the rest of the gravy into the trash, I thought to myself that my poor grandma was really sick--she couldn't tell the difference between gravy and glue.

Now fast forward a few years. My friend, Monica, and I went to West Virginia to see her friend get baptized. We stayed in some cabins that Monica's friends rented for a family vacation. One morning, we decided to go out for breakfast. We went to the nearest town and went to the small cafe for breakfast. There were about 5 of us and we sat at the counter. Monica sat with her friend at one end of the counter while I sat with others at the other end.

Since the only breakfast food worth eating is biscuits and gravy, that's what I ordered. Monica and friend ordered the same. Our order came as most restaurants serve it--2 biscuits on a plate with a bowl of gravy with it. I begin to eat and as any biscuits and gravy aficionado knows, you break your biscuits into bite sized pieces, place them in the bowl, and eat everything with a spoon. Monica and her friend began to eat theirs as most non-biscuits and gravy eating people eat it--slice the biscuits, place on the plate, spoon gravy over them, and eat the whole with a fork and knife. So proper and precise.

Unbeknownst to me, Monica and friend were snickering at how I chose to eat my breakfast. They were making fun of me tearing my biscuits and eating it all with a spoon. Suddenly, next to Monica, an older man asked her in a thick country accent, "Ya ain't frum around here, ar ya?" Monica politely answered, "No." He continued, "I kin tell. Ya don eat ya biskits n gravee raht." Monica asked, "How are you supposed to eat them?" Then my hero explains the proper way to eat this breakfast, "Ya tear up yer biskit into yer bowl and eat it all wit a spoon. That's the only way to eat it."

I may not have learned how to make this breakfast dish at 13 years old, but I knew EXACTLY how to eat it! Take that, city-girl!

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

My Crush

Just in case you didn't know, I have a crush. Yep...me, a 30 something woman has a crush. Orlando Bloom makes me feel like a 13 year old. I feel giddy when I watch him in Lord of the Rings. I get breathless when watching Pirates of the Caribbean. He's younger than I, but he's within my 10 year rule...barely.

So, here's a picture of my cubicle (can it be called a cubicle if there are only 3 walls??) at work. Notice the Orlando pictures? No? Let me point them out. One large poster, two pictures on my metal cabinet, one calendar, and large face picture. Yeah, I'm a boy crazy teenager.

Because of my obsession, one of the guys at work would always tease and joke with me. Each month when I would get a new Orlando picture on my calendar, he would post something funny on it. Usually something about how young Orlando is. If you notice on one of my metal cabinets, you see some other things besides Orlando's face. Thanks to Scott, Orlando has been defaced.

But one of the best practical jokes ever played on me was done by this co-worker. Around Christmas one year, he began asking me if I had received anything "special." He kept asking periodically and wouldn't answer any questions when posed. Finally, in mid-February, I got a "special" delivery at my desk. Scott had signed me up for a year's subscription to Tiger Beat magazine. And guess who was in it??? Yep, that large facial picture was the first issue I got. Hilarious! Each month, I got to be 13 again. Of course, I wasn't really 13 because unless Orlando was in it, I had no idea who these kids in this magazine were. I would take the issues to church and give them to my 12-13 year old Sunday School class girls. They knew these teen idols and loved the magazine. Sadly, when the subscription ran out, so did my pictures of Orlando.

I recently had a meeting for my church calling. While there, one of the counselors handed me a folder--with Orlando all over it! She said she and her daughter were out and saw that and just had to get it for me. This same daughter gave me a framed picture of Orlando a few years ago...I still have it....next to my autographed picture a friend got me for Christmas one year. I'm so pathetic............

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

What time is it???

Living in Indiana, I've never had to change my clock for Daylight Saving Time. Just not something I've had to worry about. Now I had to keep track of it since I had to know if the temple was on the same time as us or an hour ahead. But otherwise, I could care less about DST.

Until my mission. Bulgaria changes their clocks for DST. So, one morning as I was in the shower, my companion got the phone call from our District Leader to change our clocks. After my normal 30 minute shower, I emerged to an enraged companion. Apparently I had taken 90 minutes to shower and not 30 minutes! She ran to take her shower as I pondered what had happened. Did I fall asleep and not realize it? Did I do more than a normal load of laundry while in the shower (I had to hand wash all my clothes since we didn't have a washer/dryer)? I was very confused and troubled. I could not account for an hour of my day. What was I to do? Did I need to see a doctor or something?

I then got a phone call from some sister missionaries to remind us to change the clocks. As I glanced at my watch, I noted the time I should change it to. This sister gently reminded me that no, it's only 1 hour difference. So I looked at the clock on the bedside table and repeated what time I thought it should be. Again, this sister reminded me it's only ONE HOUR difference. When I then checked the clock in the kitchen, I was thoroughly confused. Not only did I lose an hour in the shower, now all the clocks weren't showing the right time.

When my companion got out of the shower, I told her of my confusion and troubles. As she began to snicker and then to just laugh uproariously, I realized that I had been had. I didn't know how I had been had, but I had. She then told me what had happened. She had changed that clocks in every room and decided not to tell me. For the rest of the day, I was off about an hour. My brain could not grasp the concept that the time had changed.

After my mission, I was home one morning when suddenly I awoke at 6 am. I was disoriented and knew that DST had started. So, as I looked intently at my clock, I tried to figure out what time it was. I called a good friend and as she sleepily said hello, I asked her what time it was. When she informed me it was 6 o'clock IN THE MORNING, I then asked, "No, I mean what time is it really?" She then snarled that it was 6 AM--Indiana doesn't change our clocks! I then sheepishly wished her a good morning and quietly hung up.

Now, Indiana has decided to join the rest of the world and change its clocks. This past weekend I knew that DST would start. While I was in the shower on Sunday morning getting ready for church, I realized that I had forgotten to change the clocks. So instead of it being 8:40, it was 9:40--almost time for Sunday School. I had missed the first hour of church.

I think I need to move to Arizona.