Nevergirl’s

We were going to roast chicken for dinner, but we realized we had neither an oven nor a roasting pan. How sad is that? Married, with two kids, and without an oven or a roasting pan.

I don’t know why the hub and I are taking this absence of a culinary equipment as a sure sign of delayed maturity, but it seems to us we should have an oven by now. And, a roasting pan. We were born to roast, demmit! We were born to roast chicken on Tuesday nights when we have absolutely nothing to do that in comparison, making an elaborate family dinner (and a mess in the kitchen, as a result) seems like a GREAT idea. We were probably born clutching an oven and a roasting pan in another lifetime.

So, anyway, because we couldn’t roast chicken, we had grilled T-bone steak and pochero instead. Pochero is a local dish that tastes like a smaller waistline – at least, that’s how I imagine a smaller waistline would taste. Of course, I can’t tell you what it’s made of or how to make it; that’d be like asking me to name at least 50 World Heritage sites without googling! And, because I really can’t cook anything that doesn’t involve scrambling and eggs, the husband cooked while I organized the fridge.

Look at how clean and middle class our freezer is.

I’m proud of the icicles I clobbered, and I told the husband so over this:

While we ate, we discussed road trips, deadly canned food, Charlie’s 1st birthday this September, our next foray to the beach, the baby’s new tooth (she has three now), and the sister’s 23rd birthday this August.

Life is, at turns, both good and better when you live with your little family, two nannies who are almost family, and your brother and sister.

Happy Tuesday, boys and girls!

Posted in Playing House | 3 Comments »

“Thank God I’ve a Blue Advantage,” my friend Nice (yeah, yeah, her name is Nice… and she’s nice) shuddered.

We were talking about the life and times of klutzes, and how and where we usually sustain injuries. According to Nice, if she were to pay for all those times she rushed to the ER, she’d be broke as a joke. But Blue Advantage has her covered – they take care of the fees; she provides the bruised body part. “Sounds almost like a jingle!” she hooted.

I don’t know about you, but if you think all women age 19 to 91 walk about graceful as a swan, then you’ve obviously never met me. I don’t “glide,” as our teacher in high school told us all young ladies should do. Heck, I don’t even walk!  What I do – if it could be called that – is lumber and take down a lot of casualties as I go along. One time, it was a vase. Another time it was a picture frame. Usually, it’s just my shins or my head. Here are the three things I often end up bruising myself on and over.

Door jambs. Hips, hands, elbows… you name it, I hit them against the door jambs with nearly fanatical frequency.

Headboard. I’m pretty sure if I were to examine every surface of our poor headboard, I’d find dents where my head butted into it. I don’t know why I rotate like a helicopter when I sleep, but I do. And, it usually takes head contact with the headboard to make me snap to normal sleeping position – and by normal, I mean arms and legs NOT akimbo, head or arms not dangling on one side of the bed.

Dressers. I don’t know why my dressers connect to my hands with alarming frequency, but I’ve a bruised finger to show for it and an orphaned hand that can’t do much right now, except tap away on the keyboard with two fingers.

Is it so hard to believe one human being could be this accident-prone? Perhaps, if you haven’t met me. But ask someone who has spent an entire day with me and you’ll know for a fact I, Chin, am a natural enemy of edges and hard surfaces.

One time, I even sat in the office with blood tricking down one leg… but I wouldn’t have known it if Vet hadn’t told me so.

Posted in Blathers | 1 Comment »

I woke up from my afternoon nap to a wool gray sky and heavy, humid breeze wafting through the bedroom window. Lately, I’ve been feeling as cloudy as the sky, although I’m sure I’ve no business being all glum and gloomy (even though I don’t have life insurance and don’t have a city named after me). I kid, I kid… but not about the gloominess.

I don’t know what it is about wool gray skies that depresses me.

Overcast, yes, that’s the word for it. I’m sure no one calls it wool gray. The weather stations call it overcast, and they should because that’s what it is.

But yes, skies like this make me feel sad and reminds me that

• my soul will always have empty spaces I can’t fill.
• there will always be bumps in the road I won’t be able to steer clear of or around.
• I have lists I haven’t even scratched a single item out of.

Of course, as cloudy as the sky may be today, I know the sun will show up again one day, if not the next day. It always does. More importantly, the weather can’t – and shouldn’t – change the way I live my life.

It’s just a very good excuse to wear boots.

Posted in Big Sad | Comments Off