Corningware and the Shiny Spoon

25/05/2013

It’s early like 5:45am early.  The kid heard me coughing  and was convinced it was the get up and go siren.

Today is The Ladies Event in Crucita.  If you are lucky enough to live here and are a girl you get to go every month to The Ladies Event. We celebrate the last Saturday of every month.  You can even come to “The Event” if you are visiting Crucita.  We are sweethearts and always on our best behavior. Ja Ja (spanish for Ha Ha)   If you’re here for anytime at all you know that is not entirely true.  But we try.

To be admitted you should bring a covered dish, this is not a requirement but a good idea.  Now this covered dish is expected to look yummy and smell good.  That way you get kudos and the girls want you to come back next month.  We share white elephant gifts towards the end of this get together.  You would be so impressed to see what gets exchanged and you soon learn who your friends are.  You better not get something good or one of those selfish women will take it away from you.  They are sooo sweet.  I hate to do this but, there it is, you know what’s coming, I really like what you have I want to trade.  Maybe we should call this The Mean Girls Event.  I hide my stuff.  Sometimes I hold it at my side and if it’s really good just sit on it.  No one wants it after you sit on it.

As I’m cooking a giant apple pie for this fun get together I remember another event I cooked for.  Well first the apple pie thingy.  I guess it can be called a pie.  I peeled pounds of apples, used a juicy, fragrant lemon from a friends tree.  It is the kind of smell that starts your mouth watering.  You have to do steps like this so your thinly sliced apples that you stood for hours peeling don’t turn brown.  I have now sprinkled generous amounts sugar, nutmeg and canela all over those puppies and me.  I’m showing off, canela is cinnamon and you didn’t think I knew spanish!  Since we all like to eat it is a 13X9 pie, we’ll see.  When you get to the pictures you will see some cute embellishments on top.  I made little roses out of pie crust.  I learned, if you make it cute, even if it tastes like crap they don’t notice as much.

 

This story  is the truth so help me.   My Grandmother never thought I would learn to cook.  Now if you knew my Mom you’d  know why.  One time when my little girl was in school the teacher was talking to the squirming children about Christmas holiday.  Teacher says something like, “I know all of you are excited to be with you families and eat grandma’s good cooking.”  Well my little baby raises her hand really high and waves it around like she’s trying to swat a fly so the teacher is sure to take notice.  There are other parents there too because this is the Christmas Party for the class.  Remember back when the Home Room Mother would call. You never ever wanted to be the Home Room Mother.  If you were you had to pester the other Mothers who swore they would help if you would be the HOME ROOM MOTHER.  Back to the story I get distracted easily. Tavia now has the full attention of the class and parents because with that much hand waving it must be important.  Then she does it: as truthful as can be tells our dirty secret. “We don’t eat my Grandma’s cooking.”  There it is, YUK just about covers it.   My Mother is an awful cook and my grandmother is terrified it may be inherited and God forbid she may be right.

Our oldest boy has just joined The Boy Scouts of America in our new hometown of Tyler Texas.  We are fairly new to the area and I want the other scout mothers from The Boy Scouts of America to like me and my cooking so I get a recipe from a new friend.  It sounded scrumptious, looked pretty in the picture and I was sure it was going to smell good.  This one recipe contained all of the ingredients for an invite back and kudos.    I’m on a roll now I think to myself.   The one time I did not taste was my demise.

I get all gussied up and  with my pretty food baked in my big, beautiful, expensive corningware dish with the special spoon and off we go.  You know the spoon don’t you?  It’s the one nobody better scratch up or dig with.  This one shines and looks good with the corningware.  We are called by table number to enter the serving line.  The line is a river of Boy Scouts, Scout Leaders, families and Mothers of Scouts hoping to get kudos.  I decide not to get any of my prize because I want to all the other people to enjoy it.  Even my big, expensive, corningware dish couldn’t feed everybody, but I wanted as many as could to get some.  I smile and make small talk in line then scoot back to my assigned spot at the table.  I am happily eating and smelling everything on the plate, hoping the cook will recognize my kudos.  I glance at the plate next to mine and notice the lady is not telepathically giving kudos.   In horror I see her stirring something with a fork, the  look of disgust and fear is unmistakable.  It is my prized, kudo’s getting dish, scooped from the big, expensive, corningware by the shiny spoon.  I give her the Oh what’s wrong look and say sweetly good food huh?  She looks back, still stirring the offending food I brought and says ”Did you get any of this?”  I put on my best disgusted look to match the one I’m seeing and say “Well no, it didn’t look good.” She says “OH MY GOSH IT”S AWFUL! IT IS THE WORST STUFF I EVER TASTED!”  Now I’m scared.  What if someone saw me put it on the table?  Would anyone recognize I brought the dish with the shiny spoon?   I am smiling and looking around the room and everybody is stirring it with a fork.  I don’t know if they were trying to figure out what was in it or kill it. I still, to this day don’t know what the heck happened I just know it must have been inherited.  So now the dinner is over, thank goodness.  I wanted to cry and it’s time to go home.  Well Better Half shakes a few hands and starts heading to the table to retrieve the big, expensive corningware and shiny spoon.  I tackle him like a linebacker.  Is he crazy??  Why in the world would you let anybody know I brought the scary food? I tell him if he even looks in that direction he is dead and there will never ever be any more sex ever.  Well that scared him and he made a military type turn off to the car we went.  

Pies done and it’s time to go to The Ladies Event.  Want me to save you some?

How to Taser a Rooster

 

How to Taser a Rooster

23/05/2013

I have been on every search engine trying to find guidelines for “How to Taser a Rooster.” Not even e-help had directions.  I really need to find out how far, is a safe distance, to be from a sizzling cock.  Tasering a rooster is not to be taken lightly.

I bet you are saying to yourself  ”What the hell!”  So let me back up a day or two.

Friends, Mary Ann & Steve were in Crucita for a couple of weeks.   They live in Florida and have great plans for their future in Crucita. This is where the story begins.  Mary Ann is a hoot and husband Steve has a special bond with our  youngest child so, we are like family.  And you know, you are always willing to help family.

There’s a tall condo at the end of the South beach. Beautiful palm trees are growing out front, sparkling pool to the side, fabulous vistas from the condo and THE ROOSTER.   This is where our family is staying.  A few days after their arrival Mary Ann mentions: I am so tired; I have been up every night for several hours.  WHY? I’m thinking maybe Steve has something to do with it.   Well to my surprise it’s a rooster.

THE ROOSTER is a confused good for nothing or else he wants to get an early start; who knows why they act like that.  Well any way, he gets up at 3:30 in morning and starts with the cock-a doodle-do.  I guess he doesn’t know girls need their beauty sleep.  Mary Ann is being waked every morning at 3:30, and I’m just relieved it’s not Steve. 

I’m sorry they are crowed awake at that hour and selfishly think yikes I’m glad it’s not me.  I also know if it was Gary he would think it was an opportunity of some sort, so we need to get this rooster thing under control before we move to the South beach. 

Several days later there is no relief in sight for the family.  Steve is lurking in the shadows of the balcony.  His job is to find the offender at any cost.  Alas, he is only met with darkness and the reverberation of the cock-a- doodle-dos.  We have decided sound travels up.  It must be a trade off for being above ground level. 

Now, if you’ve never been to the South beach in Crucita you wouldn’t know, but we have quite a few good for nothing roosters.

I have been witness to the bully next door.  He was stalking a young boy and when the mood strikes he tears off after this little guy.  The unsuspecting child spots him coming and starts running for his life.  The boy is yelling, the rooster is squawking, the dogs are barking and I’m thinking yikes, glad it’s not me.  Now it’s not because I don’t have compassion, it’s that I can’t run and yell at the same time as heading down the beach.  Wouldn’t that be a sight; a fluffy Gringo hoofing it down the beach, being chased by a good for nothing!  Living next door to this feathery beast I try to be friendly.   I tell him from a safe distance, in the car, with the window down, how special he is.  “You are such a handsome guy look at all those feathers.”  Now, that isn’t the truth, because his legs are pretty ugly.  One leg has feathers around the ankle, only not like real feathers.  They look like an art project gone wrong, some this way and some that way.  The feathers look like they were put on with hot glue and will be falling off at any moment, but I tell him he’s purdy knowing all the time I’m lying. It serves him right for chasing the kid.

A little further down the lane live several more of these good for nothings, so it is difficult, as Steve pointed out, to know who is doing the doodle at 3:30. 

We looked for sleeping pills for Mary Ann, but the Tylenol PM was gone from the medicine cabinet.  She was so sad.  I knew I had let family down and now, on my shoulders, fell the responsibility to find the offender.   I am not sure how to help so I think hum, we’ll leave it for next time.   Then from out of nowhere Steve has the answer!  They have left us their Taser gun.  Mary Ann and Steve have never used it, but are quick to encourage us to dig it from the red suitcase.   Fondle it, get to know its strengths and let it be your friend.  I think they want the problem gone before they return in September.  Do these things come with batteries?  Can they get my fingerprints of this thing? I’m wondering if there is safety class for Tasers!

After they leave, Gary and I discuss the ramifications of Tasering a neighbor’s rooster.  That is why I was looking for directions on the web.  Well, not finding any has led me to believe it may not be a good idea to Taser the good for nothing. 

Mary Ann & Steve, please bring ear plugs.

It’s a beautiful life!

.PS.  I went to take a picture of the good for nothing next door but he is no where to be seen.  Think someone else has a Taser?  

 

 I did however find a picture I thought you would enjoy!

 

 

Honk Hop Wave

22/5/2013 

Blogs, I wondered why people wrote them and why others would read them.  Now I know the secret!  A blog is a reality show on paper made from your diary.  You want to remember everything and share it. I don’t want my family and friends to miss a moment of Ecuador.

In case my life doesn’t flash before my eyes in my last moments of life I will have it in writing.

Ok let’s start with the date.  I may be dyslectic but that’s how you write the date in Ecuador.  I knew my stateside friends would need an explanation.

I will transgress later but for now I’m going to tell my diary about TODAY May 22, 2013. 

We still have one boy at home, Sanford.  This youngest child is the four legged kind and is the most demanding of the five.  He doesn’t listen to a thing and it’s a toss-up rather to contact Dr. Phil or Cesar Milan.  I need a whole new set of parenting techniques for this one.

We are up before 6AM because baby says so.  It’s time to walk the back roads, smell every leaf and wet on each one that deserves it.  With a sharp right turn we stroll down the road that runs in front of the sea.  I’m grateful that today this was his path.

I was walking high, looking down the beach to the fishing boats.  Crafts are gliding up to the sandy beach from a long journey.   In the distance a sea of souls are mingling and in the air hoards of birds are dive bombing. They look as though they are on a suicide mission but pull up at the last minute like they thought better of it.  Even from my distant point I can see the excitement in their movements and the flurry in the sky.  I rush my youngest back to the condo and exchange him for Gary, my groom of more than 30 years.  We have to go to the beach below and see what the hubbub is about.  It makes no difference what langue you speak; you know when it is something good!

We trudge throw the heavy sand that sinks several trucks on a daily basis.  Sooner or later someone pulls them free.  There are more hand movements than used in sign langue as they decide whether to dig, pull or push.  Always in the middle of the dilemma someone on the road stops and with a whistle they are on the beach pushing or someone on the beach is pulling until our friends are free.

We make the sharp right turn and off we go. We walk quickly for a short distance, because now we are older and a little goes along way.   We do make the effort and promise to walk every morning, well at least today we promise.

We are navigating the beach and making sure, when honked at, we act accordingly and jump out of the way. We have been warned that we are going to be passed.  Did you know there are unmarked traffic lanes on the beach? Trucks and motorcycles wiz by and we hop. Unlike road rules with blacktop, people do not have the right a way on sand.  If you are the driver of a gas powered vehicle you have the absolute right away and permission to honk at will.  It is imperative though, that you are driving on the packed sand. 

This morning the beach is for the fisherman, the boats, the dogs, the birds and the fish laying on the beach for sale. We are the intruders in the most wonderful circus of life and it is spectacular!  As we get closer I hear in my mind the church choir singing “Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

The ocean mist is covering me in a veil, slowly dropping the curtain on the world outside the beach.  The noise is just as I imagined from the road.

The boats are lined up on the shore.  I can read the names painted on the sides, most are female names. I wonder, are the names wives, mothers, girlfriends or lost loves?  The colors on the boats are the same, though some are faded from bright blue to pale turquoise.  The yellow is still pretty bright and the masts sit high and proud yelling”Hey look over here!”

To my right the men are huddled in group’s admiring the catches and barging.  One of the fishermen is selling the fish by how many will fit on his flip flops that are sitting side by side.  I hear some yelping and the dogs are in tussle over a fish that has been dropped.  I peek into a barrel and peeking back is a big black eye.  Squid! Of course I think about NGWILD and wonder if this guy is friends with the nasty Humboldt I’ve watched on TV. I hope it doesn’t spring to life and grab me.  The fisherman is now sure that gringos are a little wacky after I poke it with one finger.  Big black eye doesn’t move, I’m safe.

I am now hearing the click click click of knives as they hit the wooden tables.  Thousands of fish, piled it seems, to the top of the huts.  At each table the profusion of bodies is being cleaned with knives or small machetes.  I’m not sure which, but the sound is like an orchestra, click click click.

I see a new assemblage staring intently at the ground.  Not wanting to be left out I scurry over and try to pretend I’m not an outsider.  We follow the gaze, and at the bottom, I’m staring at BIG swordfish.  NGWILD hasn’t had anything on killer swordfish so I’m safe.  Now I’m thinking about all the perch I’ve caught in my life. You know not one of my perch can compare.  I feel left out I don’t have a big fish to lie on the beach for someone to admire.

Honk, hop and wave.  Almost didn’t make that one. We got in the wrong lane.

 A small hammerhead shark and some of his friends are at the next gathering.  I did learn how to say in spanish what is it called. Answer Dorado.  If you are wondering about Spanish not being capitalized, you don’t cap the s if you are referring to the Spanish langue.

Some birds are busy stealing fish that have been dropped while the others swoop the fish carried in conbons on the shoulders of men; thousands of fish in conbons off to the cleaning tables.

We’ve walked far enough that we are out of the circus and it’s time to turn and go home.  What a beautiful life!

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