Brain Floats

Have to admit, my brain is floating around more than usual today. Sharing:

My precious -and- very talented – friend, Meg, officially launches lesueur interiors this evening. She has a beautiful website and blog. Check her out at You won’t be disappointed, you will be inspired! Champagne all around!

Is it just me or should Gleeks be campaigning for Justin Timberlake to appear on Glee? He looks very much like he could be related to Matthew Morrison, “Mr. Schuster”. And he can sing. Just sayin’. (Obviously from photo, I’m not the first to think of these two together; but I saw the photo after I thought this, so there!)


I was in Whole Foods the other day when I was struck with a notion. It’s a cool place, I shop there, maybe I should apply for a job. As there are plenty of attractive female employees there, it occurred to me I might be able to cop a job if I grew a beard and had some piercings. Ears already pierced! Beard not a good look. Meh! Before I could wallow in self-pity, a young woman walked in the store. She looked like this:


The drawing resembles what would be called the “fat” version of the woman I saw. First, I felt like crying for her as she was beyond anorexic and that is such a horrid disease. If I had to estimate, she might have weighed 75 pounds and stood about 5’6″. As I left, I said a prayer that Whole Foods had heart paddles in case hers said, “I quit” in the vegetable aisle. (Am very familiar with anorexia so no rants, please.) Then I was reminded of my former husband. He could qualify as a manorexic but it’s from extreme exercising. He was a triathelete when we first married and I told him then he looked like Jesus hanging on the cross. A couple of weeks ago, he came by to pick up my youngest daughter and her boyfriend. When I saw him, I said, “Good grief, former husband, eat some food!” Then being the bossy pants I am, I told daughter and beau to take him to the gas station and put the air hose in his mouth until he filled out a bit. Yikes!

Flipping totally over to the other side of the coin, I’ll leave you with a recipe that sounds so gross and is so yummy. I preface this with the fact that I don’t eat anything like this on a yearly basis, but you gotta go crazy sometimes! Really, the mixture of these ingredients will repulse, but the finished product will be gobbled up. Promise!

Tamales and Chicken A La King

12 Johnson’s Colorado tamales

2 cans Swanson’s Chicken A La King

1 12oz can evaporated milk

1 4oz can chopped green chiles

grated cheddar cheese

Heat oven to 350-degrees. Grease 9×13 pan. Unwrap tamales and place on bottom of pan. Mix chicken, chiles, and milk. Pour over tamales. Cover top with generous amount of cheddar cheese. Cook for 45 minutes or until bubbly.





Splitting Out Bons: My Kids Said the Damnedest Things

The little angels …. College Girl and Miss Peach

Yes, “damnedest” is a word; I looked it up.

 Making my way through one of my piles o’ stuff that threaten to put me in the lead as the next “Hoarder“, I came upon a box.  It was filled with stories and artwork produced by College Girl and Miss Peach when they were young.  Specifically preschool through second grade. “Oh, how sweet”, I said to myself as I opened the box of memories.  Then I remembered. 

This box contained all the evidence of a group gene fail. Yeah, yeah, every family has the funny relatives and ours isn’t short on them.  Some of my California cousins have amazing tattoos, they live in California, duh!  And my hilarious cousin, MSuey, worked at a bingo parlour on an Indian reservation one summer.  And I did have an uncle who thought Beach Blanket Bingo was a porno movie.  But never in my wildest dreams did I consider that my darlings would publicly expose us as lunatics so early in the game.  Guess it was that family mantra, “Oh well, what the hell!”, combined with a strange sense of humor, a cup of spill-your-guts any and everywhere, gallons of high drama, and an upside down take on most everything.

 Preschools LOVE to hang kids’ art all over the walls. At one parent function, we all admired the childish masterpieces created around the theme, “What are you thankful for?”.  Amidst all the adorable, loving tributes to mommies, daddies, flowers, babies, puppies, and kittens – both daughters – independent of each other and over two separate years – answered this sweet question with the exact same words:  “I am thankful for fried chicken.” Granted, there were a few other strannge tributes such as, “I love $$$”, “I hope my dog never dies”, and “I saw a rock sink”, but really, FRIED CHICKEN?  The darlings had a definite food vibe going; each had recipes published in a local magazine.  Peach’s concoction, Fried Shrimp Soup, consisted of some shrimp, vegetables and hot water, cooked for 10 minutes and then “stored for a day you need it.”  CG and her friend came up with a recipe for French Toast; the ingredients were “stuff you sprinkle, lots of bread, and 4 oil pours. Say the blessing.  Cook the bread for 8 minutes at 12-degrees.  Sprinkle stuff on it.  Put in 2 oil pours.  Even if it doesn’t taste good, the dog will eat it.” YUMMY!

When Peach was in first grade, her story was posted  – again on the wall – for Parent’s Night.  She wrote an essay about her senses which began and ended with, “In my home, I can smell bread and perfume and dirty socks.” A proud moment. 

Her Mother’s Day composition was published in the school newsletter. She said, “I think my mom is the greatest because she has two jobs and two little girls.  She wears funky fashions from all over the world.  She has a very messy closet but that doesn’t matter because I love her.”  This one also liked to answer the phone.  If the call was for me, she would say, “My mom is having a nervous break” and hang up.  She was absolutely correct.  But if Miss Peach was opening up our can of worms for the world to view, College Girl slashed the tin in half and threw the contents as far as the eye could see.

 Her preschool story of life with Mom was succinct:  “My mom lies in bed and watches TV all day.” (This was NOT true, I was working my ass off; I don’t think I even saw a TV that year).  Her recipe for – uh, fried chicken – was printed:  “Get a chicken from the store, heat it in the microwave and eat it.”  Obviously, not homemade as mom lies in bed all day. 
 Just yesterday, College Girl had her first article published in the same newspaper where my first piece was printed.  She was paid, I wasn’t. Nevertheless, I’m proud of her.  She’s come so far since she authored an essay on Thanksgiving:  “It was the feirst thacksgiving and the tercee was so bony that you cood not tack a bit to it witout splitting out bons.”
 Oh well, what the hell.  So what if we are genetic malcontents, branded for eternity as a pack of fried chicken-eating, TV-watching, bedridden maniacs.  We will be remembered as the colorful relatives, just sittin’ around splitting out bons.
 Could be worse.  Right?