Saying Something

I don't like being told to smile.  That's nothing novel - many people don't like being told to display an emotion that does not currently resonate with their mood.

Now, to be fair, I have pretty severe resting bitch face.  It's made worse when I'm anxious or concentrating on something challenging - which, at that point, I guess it's no longer resting, but you get the idea.

I have these lines between my eyes that will occasionally form a triangle, or as I call it, a tri-anger, because it typically appears with a scowl because I'm mad.  Not mad-crazy, just mad-mad.

Someone told me to smile while was on camera in class the other day, and so I leaned way into the laptop camera and gave a large, fake grin. Be careful what you wish for, is what I am saying.

It's not that I'm not happy - I'm, as my father used to say, in Hog Heaven sitting with Pig Jesus.  Whatever that means, it's not kosher.

I am reminded of a time in my Frosh year of college - visiting a boyfriend at his college and sitting in a dorm room.  Some guys were going to order pizza, and one of them said, "Ok, no pepperoni."  Another said, "Why not?"  And I piped up from a corner, "Because it's trayf."  No pepperoni boy said, "Marry me!"

Maybe I should have.  I ended up breaking up with the boyfriend about a month later.  I wonder what his name was... hmmm.  

I kid.  I clearly ended up where I belong, and a relationship founded on a basic smattering of Yiddish is not really what makes marriage work.  Plus, I like pepperoni.

I went to a wedding this weekend.  It was sweet.  Short ceremony, short, informal reception.  Punch.  Cake.  Punch needs to make a resurgence.  I love punch.  This one was heavy on Tang and Gingerale, and it was delightful.  All hail punch.

The cake was equally delightful.  The bride was smart and avoided fondant.  Brides.  Avoid fondant.  Really.  Buttercream is where it's at. This was an almond buttercream and it was amazing.

En route home from the wedding, we stopped and visited my husband's uncle for a few hours.  He is 88 years old, soon to be 89.  He keeps saying his memories are fading, but then recounted where he was when he heard on the radio that Pearl Harbor had been bombed.  He remembers his travels, the time he shared with his lovely wife, and their adventures.

Up until about a year ago, his High School class would meet each month for breakfast at a local diner.  They stopped because there are just two of them now.  

He may think he's fading.  I think he's sharp as a tack.  He reads, he has visitors, and he is in charge of his late wife's cats.  He pretends to hate them, but we all know better.  Their names are Goldie and Gray.  I bet you can't guess what colors they are.  I like the cats.   I like the uncle.  It was a good day.

Goldie and Gray, the Kitten Years

Yesterday, we finished repairing, replacing a section of fence.  It looks great, and more importantly, Piper can run around some.  She's into that.

The next item on the list presented itself this weekend - we believe we have a faulty baking element in our oven.  We have ordered the replacement element, and it should arrive this week for repair.  The bad news is, we had to botch a pan of brownies to realize that it wasn't working.  The good news is, a pan of undercooked brownies is never a problem.  I know how to make it work.  

Meanwhile, it's starting to get dark earlier.  I'm going to have to get new batteries for my grill lights.  I bought these magnetic lights that will stick to your grill so you can see what you're doing if you're attempting to make dinner in the dark.  One of the many benefits of living in the south is year round grilling.  Woot!

Putting on the Ritz!


Christopher said…
Several years ago I shared a story with my writing group that had the word goyim in it and that's how I discovered about a fifth of the people in the group were Jewish because they were so amused by it. There are a few Yiddish words that everybody seems to know--sometimes without even knowing they're Yiddish--but a word like trayf still stands out.
I wonder if the uncle's mental acuity is helped by his cats. Reading and having regular visitors probably doesn't hurt either.
I'm also very intrigued by how you rescued the botched brownies. It's not hard for me to guess, though--at least I know what I'd do with them.