21 November 2008

Words Of Wisdom

A good friend shared this with me recently.  Enjoy...

To my friends who enjoy a glass of wine... and those who don't.

As Ben Franklin said: In wine there is wisdom, in beer there is freedom, in water there is bacteria.

In a number of carefully controlled trials, scientists have demonstrated  that if we drink 1 liter (2 pounds) of water each day, at the end of the year we would have absorbed more than 1 kilo of Escherichia coli, (E. coli) - bacteria  found in feces. In other words, we are consuming 1 kilo of poop.

However, we do NOT run that risk when drinking wine & beer (or tequila, rum, whiskey or other liquor) because alcohol has to go through a purification process of boiling, filtering and/or fermenting.
                  Water = Poop,
                  Wine = Health.
Therefore, it's better to drink wine and talk stupid,
than to drink water and be full of crap

There is no need to thank me for this valuable information: 
I'm doing it as a public service.

Disclaimer:  The above information is not entirely scientifically accurate. :)

14 November 2008

A Friendly Reminder

In a waiting room at a local free medical clinic I fumble through a stack of magazines.  It appears the most popular are those directed at house wives, such as Better Homes and Gardens and Good Housekeeping.  While I appreciate the advice given, typically I find them somewhat of a bore to just sit and read.  I was about to give up when something sparkled beneath the drab blanket of better housekeeping.  The glossy cover was sprinkled with bold, bright pictures of India. I can't for the life of me remember the name of the magazine, but I could not resist its colorful allure.

I nestle back down in my slightly cushioned seat and flip the cover over to the first page.  It's an ad for jewelry draped around the neck of Catherine Zeta Jones. The next page is an article whose contents I cannot recall and another ad.  This time for Porsche.  The next ad was for more jewelry. Then a stunning picture of a Bentley.  

I find myself intrigued and compelled to keep flipping the pages to see ad after ad after ad of things way out of my income tax bracket.  Tom Brady, with his shoeless feet propped up on the arm of a leather seat in his personal NetJet, invites me to purchase one of my very own.  Wow!  Suddenly I feel the urge to leave this free clinic, run down to the NetJet dealership and buy my own personal aircraft. Since that is not a realistic option, I continue browsing.  A few ads later there is one for an airline that offers, not just first class seating, but a bedroom with a five course meal and your very own TV and DVD player.  

I'm dying to share my findings with someone when a poor unsuspecting patient sits down two seats over from me.  Leaning over the arm chair, I hold the magazine up with the picture of the Bentley and say, "Isn't this irony?" She glances at the page and looks at me like I just asked her for a handout.  "That's nice," she says and casually turns in her seat.  Feeling quite awkward I do the same and suppose this conversation is a dead end.

Huh, 'that's nice' she says.  Nice isn't the word that I thought of when I realized that the magazine I was so immersed in was aimed at a demographic so far above my financial class that to them I'm virtually a peasant.  What a cruel joke someone played when they planted that magazine on the rack at the clinic.   Don't take my remarks as complaining.  Long ago I accepted my social status (or should I say lack of) in this world and have been content to remain in the upper to middle lower class.  However, to receive such a reminder of my status while I'm waiting for free healthcare, because I can't afford it anywhere else, is quite frankly disheartening.  

My husband, who hates going to the doctor, rushes out from the back office and mutters, "Let's go." I smile up at him, grab his hand and walk out beside him.  My thoughts trail back to the glamorous images in the magazine.  Each of those things are presented as though they would bring me greater happiness and add meaning to my life.  But a very wise teacher once said that 'even when a person has an abundance his life does not result from the things he possesses'.  And truly neither does happiness.  I suppose then that I should be grateful to whoever left that magazine as a friendly reminder.  I squeeze my husband's hand and he smiles at me. That is happiness. That is life. 

10 November 2008



It is one of the oldest prepared foods.  For countless centuries mankind has mixed, kneaded and baked bread of all sorts.  Leavened, unleavened.  White, dark.  Whole wheat, whole grain.  Rye, pumpernickel.  Marble Rye....mmmmm.  Now that sounds delicious.  There are quite literally hundreds of different types of bread.  If it is tasty and can be eaten, then most likely it can be baked into a loaf.  

For instance, here is a recipe for Rosemary Olive Bread that sounds lovely and simple, not to mention scrumptious.  There is also Sally Lunn, Cinnamon Apple, Zucchini, Cranberry Orange,...I'm sure I could go on, but you get the idea.  

So considering the many wonders of bread and the happiness that comes from eating it,  why do you suppose someone would choose to railroad themselves by making only two kinds?  Both of which must weigh at least five pounds and make you feel like you have just eaten a baby walrus.  

My father-in-law finds great joy in making, baking and eating bread.  The same kind of bread...all the time - Cinnamon Raisin with Walnuts.  And if you don't eat it, well, you might as well say you just shot his dog because he will be just as heartbroken.  

If though you do like to eat bread so heavy it could crack a skull, then I would be happy to procure a loaf.  After all, he bakes a new one at least every other day.

09 November 2008

Good Morning!

This morning I found an excellent example of the deterioration of my sanity.  This poor fellow was a little trinket my step-mother carried back from NY for me.  Nothing terribly sentimental, but a gift nonetheless.  I had carelessly left it lying on the couch downstairs, much to its demise.  The rat-dog claimed it as its own and promptly removed the poor thing's eyes.  This event occurred months ago.  

What I stumbled upon today was far, far worse and rather gory.  I suggest you avert your eyes if you have a weak stomach.  

Ripped to shreds - what a pity.  Anything left downstairs has the possibility of being confiscated by someone or something.  Nothing is sacred.

07 November 2008

Every story has a beginning...

Until eight months ago, if asked, I would have said that my life was exactly as exciting as I wanted it to be.  I have a darling husband,  parents who love me, two very dear sisters and too many real friends to count.  All of this is topped by a very strong faith in God.  The latter is to what, for the last eight months, I attribute my sanity.  My husband is a very close second.

The reason for my near insanity is complex and yet can be summed up in one simple statement:   I live with my in-laws.

Welcome to my world.  Swim in a sea of ham and beans,  bask in the glow of the immortal boob tube and fear the mighty bark of the prehistoric rat-dog (watch out! she pees).  In my life, love must conquer all.