Family Reunion

Ahhhh! The second Sunday in June is upon us. This brings the absolute orgy of food and family called the Stultz Family Reunion. I will be taking 6 pounds of the greatest country ribs this side of Memphis, a big dish of old-fashioned mac and cheese, and a lovely (?) plastic bowl of the famous Grape Salad.

I will come home with indigestion, warm fuzzies, and guilt for not getting together with these people more often.

There will be photos.

This is my new icon for the unfiction forums. You've got to try this place out if you like puzzles and games.

http://forums.unfiction.com/forums

Welcome to my friends

The Youngest suggested that I post the address to this blog on my MySpace page. So if any of you are slipping over from there, I just want to welcome you and assure you that you are in the right space, even if it does say Lovely Lilly instead of sudsysuzy.

The Youngest spent some time with me yesterday. Very nice afternoon talking life and knitting. Who would have known that your own children would grow up to be such nifty people, people that you would really like to have as friends! Such irony. I always thought I was screwing up bigtime when I was trying to raise them. What a pleasant surprise.

Grocery Shopping

I should have married an urbanite instead of my poor old country boy. Then I could live in a high rise apartment, ride the elevator to my underground parking space, and order my groceries online and have them delivered.

But the joy of living with my man in the rural outback of Virginia means that I must make the dreaded trip to the 'Food Puppy' every other week.

I'm sure that somewhere, in some forgotten ghost town, the Food Puppy is bright and shiny and clean and spacious. In the real world, every one I have been to is decorated and maintained for the trailer trash crowd.

What do I mean? The prices are good but not the lowest. The produce is okay. The meat is normally cut by some alien butcher from parts that never appeared on a cow in my neck of the woods. The selection is solidly mainline. The floors are perpetually dirty. The clerks spend an inordinate amount of time on their cell phones. The local weirdo/drunk/panhandler has a reserved seat on the handicapped cart parked in front of the store.

I long for the spotless aisles of a web-based supermarket, well-stocked with quality products. If I want to prepare veal piccata, I don't have to wait for a week for my local alien butcher to order a veal loin. My store would have veal cutlets ready and waiting. They would call a round steak a round steak and not '2D Lower Roast for Braising'. I could order diced pears in light syrup instead of settling for pear halves in heavy syrup from some unknown manufacturer. I would create my menus and know that everything was there unlike my Food Puppy where I have to rework my dishes based on what they decided to stock this week. A lovely online shopping cart would complete my order without loudly chewing gum or chatting with friends. There would be no marathon trips back and forth from the back of the car, around the house, in the side door, up the stairs, up the stoop and into the kitchen.

Do I ask for too much? What part of my peaceful rural existence would I have to give up to have a decent grocery? Why do shoppers put up with the likes of Food Puppy and Wally Mart?

I can but only dream. And next week I will make the pilgrimage and worship at the altar of the Lion and once again come away unfulfilled.

New Research

I am going to submit a request to the Federal Government for a research grant. The central premise will be:

Changes in Anatomy and Physiology of the Human Brain Occurring During the Nine Minute Snooze Alarm

I think it will fly.

What is it about those 9 minutes of sleep after whacking the snooze bar that is so magical. I seem to have the clearest and most bizarre dreams during that time. Is it my mind hovering on the verge of 'awake', half in and half out of the real world? Does my body react to knowing another damn day is about to start? Interesting project.

Meno What?

Menopause. Yeah, right. I am anxiously waiting for the pause. Just a small resting place to slow down and take stock of my life. Which way is it going? Where has it been? Who am I and why am I in this handbasket?

When I worked for The Man, I did my 50 hours and came home, made dinner, and cleaned. My question is - where did all those dust bunnies come from? How can such a small house be so dirty with just two people and a cat? I spend more time with my vacuum cleaner than with my husband.

Yes, just a small pause in my busy day. But what would I do with it? Take up yoga? Contemplate my navel? Maybe just sit and watch the dust bunnies flourish.