my missy

for my great-aunty. who left me her beautiful life-size lioness, missy, because six years ago i refused to walk around her house and mark her things with my name on a piece of masking tape.

My only Great-Aunt Elaine,

It is spring. Although the air is cold and biting where I am sitting, the frosty white petals of the cherry blossoms softly whispering of snow on the tips of twigs, spring really is here again. Somehow I think that all of the cold is not just the wind this year. Many, many hundreds of miles have separated us throughout the years, and yet I am reminded of you every morning when I wake up. Even in the still quiet darkness when all the world is sleeping, I can see the silhouette in the moonlight of a graceful lioness, her green and steady eyes always watching near my bedroom window. Missy is safe, here, in her third home with us.

My children have thrown pillows at her feet by the fireplace and read stories. The littlest ones, barely walking, held onto her strong back, creeping around her stillness, standing nose-to-nose and hugging her fiercely about the neck. The older ones draped their arms off the end of the couch and absent-mindedly rubbed her head and back while they read. I have removed sloppily-dressed cowboys from her back more times than I can count, and really, you would laugh at all the hats she has worn. She still looks dignified, even with a purple clown wig tied with a pink scarf while sporting a sparkling rainbow cape. Trust me.

As the winter winds warm, and the leaves burst out of buds, green and new, the days will grow longer and deeper. I will remember reading and drawing in the sticky afternoons on your deck and sitting under the umbrella on the patio. I will remember long walks around the neighborhood in the setting sun, up the tall hills, pausing sometimes to listen to grownup chatter along the way. I will remember how the crickets came out to sing, the fireflies came out to dance. I will remember the deepening night sky when we would watch with muffled gasps and wide eyes as the raccoons invaded the yard from miles around to eat the loaves of stale bread you gave us to scatter for them. I will remember the way you would proudly play any of your beautiful music boxes on request and set your Woodstock chirping in the kitchen window.

I have a little piece of you embedded in my heart. And really, that is all anyone could ask for in the end.

atypical, really

so, like, it is a typical saturday. by 5am, there is a line so long, i can’t actually see the end of it. and more passengers are pouring around the corner to join them every minute that ticks by. there are a couple of passengers acting weird, so we are keeping an eye on them. i’m making announcements and checking IDs against boarding passes. some people are ticked at the long wait in line. some people are just sour people to begin with. some people are bored & sleepy. some people are begging me to make “them” move the starbucks onto the other side of the checkpoint. as if i’m that awesome. if i could do, i already woulda did-done. some are pleasant and wide-awake and really don’t need that second coffee, from as far as i can tell. and some people just are.

i’m checking an ID against a ticket and noticed that they are pre-selected by the airline to undergo additional screening. as i’m explaining the highlighter on the ticket to the dude, who has a very striking face (that i’m sure i’ve seen somewhere, but i can’t quite recall why i think that), my co-worker strikes up some idle conversation with him and we learn he is in a band from seattle that played john-hopkins on friday night. my head snaps up and i look directly at him, the name on his ticket, and then behind him and sure, enough....my lips form the name of his band as he’s speaking it to my co-worker.

it was everclear. i personally signed their boarding passes. how friggin’ cool is that?

why is it that i am sooooo intent on maintaining a cool professionalism, that i never think to ask for an autograph or something? why?? maybe it’s because i’m afraid the person will get all snooty and say no, like jack nicholson does. i suppose it’s because deep down, i guess they are just people too, and who wants to be pestered all the time? they got through security without anyone else so much as batting an eye at them. i waited until they were long gone and at their gate before mentioning it quietly to anyone else. they were probably glad to not have to deal with screaming throngs of people at 6am in between transcontinental flights between shows. (because they were coming back from seattle to the east coast again the very next night.) i just want a little something for me. maybe next time i can ask discreetly.

*memo to self: get small notebook to keep in pocket for next celebrity run-in.*

eating it with a big fat spoon

let's see...generic downplay.....i've wanted to get this off my chest for a while. so here it is. in an ice cream dish. because today, it got sweeter.

i had a screaming match with a co-worker last month. i called him an asshole. he is an asshole. he always seems to be in a bad mood and he takes that funk and spreads it around to everyone working with him. he belittles the passengers. he can't seem to figure out how to stand up straight, (ie, he is always leaning on something, anything nearby that can support his weight. and i'm not saying he's fat. he's not.) he is frequently sighted walking away to talk on his cell phone (which no one is supposed to carry with them anyway) and sometimes someone has to go looking for him when he is needed and can't be found. once, i asked a person of management why he is so grumpy all the time and she simply stated, "he is miserable here." well. that makes one hell of an excuse for surliness, doesn't it? i have tried being more sympathetic with him but it is really hard to be nice to someone who is snarling and asking you to do their job for them at the same time, while walking away.

on the day of the aforementioned tantrum, we were working with two other individuals. these two don't often work with us, as they are "overnighters" pooled from several different stations and rotated around the airport as needed, or so i understand it. these two people were berating passengers to their faces, purposefully making fun of them and their clothing, being loud and obnoxious and the three of them put together made for one helluva lousy work environment. by the time we got our breaks, i had had enough and needed somewhere to vent. i informed my supervisor of their unprofessional behavior before i went on break. in the break room, i let a bunch of people know that i had spoken to the supervisor about the demeaning attitudes of the overnighters. a few people nodded in agreement and voiced their opinions about their conduct at that time. in a low voice someone mentioned mr. surly and his usual helpfulness in holding up the metal columns. that is when i opened my big fat mouth and said, "he's just being an asshole. that's normal for him."

i could have said jerk. i could have omitted the first sentence and made a non-committal "psh. yeah." i could have stuffed a mouthful of oatmeal in my maw and nodded furiously in agreement. but i said asshole. and all hell broke loose. see, i didn't know he was in the adjacent room.

he came screaming around the corner, demanding to know what makes him an asshole. i proceeded to tell him. did i mention that he's about 15 inches taller than me? he interrupted me often, not letting me finish one sentence, (thereby not actually hearing what made him an asshole) until it boiled down to him stating an ominous "let that be the last time my name comes out your mouth," with his arms raised over my head. yes. i felt threatened. six people watched him leave the room and immediately said, "yeah. i saw that. yeah. you can use my name." one person continued to eat her breakfast in silence as if she hadn't seen a damn thing. and i'm OK with that too, i guess.

ten minutes later i went to find him to try to talk calmly to him and apologize for shooting off my mouth. i don't like bad blood, no matter how it starts. he was already filing an incident report. and the overnighters? every other sentence out of their mouths in my earshot was, "don't act like an asshole. nope, can't be an asshole here. no assholes on this lane. are you being an asshole?" and on and on and on it went. at least i had the decency to swear in private, not in front of the passengers. no wonder we have a bad name, right? no, nothing was said or done to those two.

i was asked to provide a written statement. i did, including all of the things that qualified mr. surly as an asshole in my book (as stated in paragraph one). i got a talking-to. i was told i would get some sort of punishment because they have to do something when a complaint is lodged, if for no other reason than to say, "see? we did something. we washed her mouth out with soap" i never got to see his statement.

until this past weekend.


he pulled the race card.

may i be permitted to say, "asshole?" just one more time? just once?

needless to say, i did NOT sign the letter admonishing my behavior. i told them i refused to be accused and take responsibility for actions that did not take place. i also said i had six witnesses that were just waiting to be called upon, if necessary. there is more. but i am unsure about what i am allowed to say, since the "more" is currently wrapped up in a neat little bow a few desks up from my supervisor.

on to today and my big fat spoon.....

mr. surly has had an exceptional past month. always on time. rarely seen on his phone. running bins back and forth and almost anticipating when he's going to be called to help out with something. gee, it's almost like he's doing his real job, for real! i have been working OT as often as i can, just so i don't get assigned on a part-time lane with him. i can ignore someone to a point. when we have to communicate, we do. succinctly. i asked to be assigned somewhere else (not on his lane) this morning, and i am so glad i did. i think he has reached his limit of goodliness. four separate complaints were lodged against him today (TODAY ALONE!) for being off-site when he was needed. FOUR. and none of them were from me. he had to be hunted down (guess where he was hanging out? with his two buddies, maybe??) twice yesterday as well.

my supervisor's sup has taken note of my professional behavior both with the passengers and with my co-workers, including mr. surly, in the past month. none of my behavior has changed at all. well, except that i look around the room very carefully before i open my mouth to say anything while on break. not even "how is the weather?" he has also taken note of mr. surly's behavior. i feel like a little kid gloating, "you're gonna get in trouble...you're gonna get in trouble..." but i am actually just letting him knock himself out. and you know what? because i'm generally a nice person (who happens to swear a lot) i almost *almost* feel bad for him.

but i am not a racist and i never will be. that will stick in my craw for a good long while. so go rot, mr. surly.

seriously, an inch thick every week now

Dear Responsible Credit Holder,

We have been digging around in public financial records and discovered that you have excellent credit, including many high revolving balances, on-time payments and early pay-offs. Even though your current account managers send out worthless pieces of paper once or more often every year vowing to withhold your credit information from other credit providers, like us, there is a line of small print in the many pages of legal rambling allowing them to share this information "with other parties of similar interest." That would be Us.

Since we already know about you and your fabulous record of making purchases and making timely payments, we would like to offer you the opportunity to share your paycheck with us as well, in the form of "low" interest rates for an unspecified period of time, but less than the time it would take you to pay off such a line of credit. We will offer you in return a little plastic picture of your choice with a long string of numbers on it, miscellaneous finance charges, the threat of lawsuit should you pay us one day late, and we will of course, reserve the right to send your financial information to other parties of similar interest. This includes any and all charitable organizations operated by for-profit call centers, which are not banned from using the "Do Not Call List."

Please take a moment to fill out some of the little boxes in this pre-printed form, like how much money you actually make, so we know how high to set your credit limit. We want to make sure you are spending every liquid asset you have every month. Gotta keep up with the Joneses, right? Please provide a valid email address and phone number so we can send you spam and call you repeatedly to offer you more credit while you are eating dinner or tucking your children into bed.

If you decide not to reply right away, we will start mailing these letters twice a month to you and the other responsible credit holders at this address. That way you will know how dedicated we really are to getting our grubby fingers on your cash. We look forward to seeing your checks in the mail and watching your balance rise every month.


Sincerely,
Every Major Credit Card Operator In The United States Of America

soup & bread on a coooooold day

Ham & Navy Bean Soup

1 C dried navy beans
1 meaty ham bone
1-2 bay leaves
minced garlic
onion (to taste)
salt & pepper to taste
1 C chopped potato
1 – 1 ½ C diced carrots & celery
1 C chopped ham

1 – Soak beans in cold water overnight OR bring beans & water to boil for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let soak, covered for 1 hour.

2 – Drain and rinse beans. Return to pot with the hambone and cover with water. Bring to boil, reduce heat and simmer 45 minutes to1 hour, until beans are desired softness. ( I like squishy bean soup.)

3 – Measure out 6-8 C of the bean water into the crockpot, adding more if necessary (1 use a ½ C ladle and just spoon it hot into the crockpot). Place minced garlic and bay leave(s) in the crockpot, season w/ salt & pepper. Add chopped veggies, beans and ham.

4 – Cook on high for 4 hours, then reduce to low. Add water when reducing heat, if needed. Discard ham bone and bay leaves, tearing off chunks of meat and adding them back into the soup. Mash beans a little to thicken just prior to serving, if desired.

*Note: All measurements are approximate. Keep in mind that I have a 6 qt crockpot and make 8+ servings, so halve if necessary for your fam! Serve with hot fresh bread or rolls.

Sour Cream, Onion & Chives Bread (2# bread machine)

1 lg. egg, room temp + enough water to equal 1 C liquid
¾ C room temp sour cream
2 Tbl oil
2 ¼ tsp salt
2 T sugar
4 C bread flour
1 ½ Tbl dehydrated onion
2 Tbl dried chives (4T fresh)
2 ¼ tsp active dry yeast (I think that’s 1 pkg)

Layer in your bread machine pan according to its instructions. Set on the regular / basic / white bread cycle and wait. I love my bread machine!!!

house-hunting in the UQ

for those clamoring for another united queendom epistle: i dedicate my words to you.

for new readers: you can enjoy it too.

The new-ness of staying in a hotel wore off rather quickly. After staying in a hotel stateside for a good three weeks prior to shipping out, we now had to dine in the hotel dining room during specific hours accompanied by probably the worst examples of parenting I have ever met in person. We had no real place to relax, aside from lounging on the bed and watching tv. Everything there was to be seen in walking distance of the hotel was done in less than a week. And I was itching to prepare my own food that had actual taste.

The chef was completely boggled by my request for pancakes for breakfast; toast, baked beans, and broiled tomatoes just don't cut it for me. In France, pancakes are a fruit- or chocolate-filled dessert, not a breakfast food. Frustrated, I brought in a "just add water" Aunt Jemima pancake mix from the commissary and proceeded to teach the four-star chef how to make my breakfast. It was OK. He added too much water and they turned out like rubbery blintzes. Because that's how the French make pancakes. *sigh* So I really really wanted my own place again.

We hired an estate agent to show us some rental properties since there was a waiting list to live on post. Apartments, or flats, were really hard to come by, and in most cases were too far away from post to be worth the hassle. We wanted a house. Our estate agent had a nasal twang akin to Julie-Andrews-meets-Fran-Drescher that just set my teeth on edge, but she had several properties that might interest us. Based on the notes I took and their *ahem* distinct "charms," we gave them each their very own name.

the "red room" house. An older three-bedroom bungalow, one of three properties between two farms just outside of Welbourne. Newer carpeting throughout most of the house featuring an attached dining room, double-glazed windows, a spacious sitting room, and a newly-fitted power shower. A power shower sounded heavenly compared to the hotel tub baths torturing my long long long hair. (Power showers are electric-powered, gas- or electric-heated wall-mounted shower systems that do not rely on gravity to pull the water through the pipes.) No improvements to the property allowed. No shelves or pictures allowed on the walls. Nice house. BUT.... one of the three bedrooms, coincidentally the one big enough to hold the master bedroom furniture, was red. Red carpet. Red walls. Red ceiling. Red door. Red fixtures. Blood red. I was creeped out just peeking inside the room from the hall. I bravely walked inside, turned slowly in a circle and then ran out clutching my child to my breast and holding the rising scream in the back of my throat, fearing that blood would rain down on my head.

notes: the Red Room. NO.

the house of the locked door. This beautiful gem is nestled away in a field, about eight miles from the post. Mature poplars line the property, creating a beautiful backdrop and windbreak across the farmlands. There is a circular drive from the carriageway (highway), so no backing out into high-speed traffic required. The carpeting leaves a little to be desired, but with a toddler in arms and planning for a second baby in mind, old carpet is good carpet, so long as it can be steam cleaned. It is a two-bedroom bungalow and it looks like our California King bed set will not only fit through the door, but we might even be able to fit a wardrobe or two (because we found no closets in British bedrooms) alongside. BUT..... at the end of the hall was a locked, nay, BOLTED door. It had steel plates securing it closed from the inside of the house. Ummmm. Excuse me. Explanation please?

"Oh, right, that's the laboratory," (pronounced la-BOR-a-tree). Oh, right, the laBORatree. Of course. Ah-what? "There is a stipulation that this door stays locked because the owner lets this room to a scientist. He can't get in the house. You'll be perfectly safe. He just does his work here occasionally. He has his own door and his own drive, even; he'll never bother you. You won't even know he's here." Sure enough, outside there is a little dog-leg off the circular drive around back to this little room. A pair of wellies, a pile of used rubber gloves, a bucket, and a box of odd-shaped dirty glass bottles sits outside this door. We can't even peek in the window to see what kind of "work" is being worked upon.

notes: mad scientist next to m-bedroom, locked room. 2 big b-rooms, beautiful prop. TREES!! 8 miles. NEXT.

the dog house. A large, beautiful, stone two-story house with three bedrooms and a study, located a twenty minute drive from the post. No visible neighbors. Large garden in the front and an obvious dog run in the back. Bay window in the front sitting room. Large electric appliances in the kitchen, washer and dryer included. BUT....it was a former kennel. Dog hair was so ingrained into every carpet in the house, that after having been cleaned, it still looked like dogs had just rolled on every surface. The whole place smelled of dog ass. We were told that close to twenty dogs were kept in cages inside two of the four bedrooms. It was obvious that the cooker was seldom-used because there were puppy-sized hunks of fur inside the oven and burned to the cooker's burners. Every cabinet in the kitchen was furry, inside and out. We've had dog fur before. In fact, every year, we find another Dino-Dog hair on the Christmas tree since he left us in 1998. But that.....was disgusting.

notes: dogs. pretty, but smelly. maybe a prof. cleaner?

the skinny house. This bright white plaster three-story town house is located on the corner of High Street and Church Lane in South Kyme. The property consists of just enough space to park an Austin Mini on the pavement, without actually blocking traffic, and a clothesline from a second story window to the next-door neighbor's fence. Sits across the street from the chip shop (read: fried fish stink) and one must drive over a quaint, one-lane wooden bridge into town, visible from the third story. Front door opens one step down from street level into a sitting room barely large enough for a settee (loveseat). Eat-in kitchen boasts a traditional refrigerator under the counter (you read that correctly: three-feet high, including the freezer) and hot and cold running water. (Wow hot AND cold??) all that lovely detail... BUT...stairs to the upper floors were 18 inches high. You read that right too. There were 2 giant steps up, turn; two giant steps up, turn; two giant steps up, second story: one bedroom, one bathroom. Repeat to third story which housed only the master bedroom - and it even has a half-closet.

notes: no room to breathe. no.

the village house. Our sponsor got a lead on a three-bedroom duplex in the village just off-post. We met with the estate agent (not ours) and fell in like with the property immediately. It was on the very end of a friendly cul-de-sac with a fully fenced (odd-shaped) yard, bordering on a horse farm complete with chickens, ducks and a pond visible from the master bedroom. It was newly painted, came with most appliances and a hookup for a washer/dryer unit. It had a wall-length wardrobe in one of the bedrooms. It had an unattached garage at the end of the shared driveway. The grass in the large landscaped garden was over two feet high. We determined that we could wrangle our mattress up the stairs. Our tiny dining room table just might fit with the microwave cart in the dining room. And we could, in all actuality, make do with a refrigerator in a closet under the stairs on the other side of the dining room from the kitchen, if we wanted a bigger fridge. We took it. There ended up being only 29 giant black yard bags full of grass. We lived there for a whopping six months before the cold wind whistling through the cat door in the kitchen froze me out and we finally got to the top of the waiting list for base housing.

Now THAT was a house. It even had real closets.

creamy skillet chicken

a lipton recipe!! i can no longer find lipton soup mixes, so their recipes are gone, too. i have been using knorr dry soup mixes and they have worked just fine in all my lipton recipes.

4 chicken breasts, cubed
1 envelope dry vegetable soup mix
1 C milk
1 C water
4 oz cream cheese, cubed

1. Brown chicken in canola oil in a large skillet. Remove from heat & keep warm.
2. Blend soup mix with milk & water. Bring to a boil.
3. Stir in cream cheese until melted. Add chicken back into skillet and cook until hot, about 5 minutes.

Serve over hot cooked noodles or rice, or with biscuits.

*usually i add some frozen mixed veggies or broccoli before i stir in the cream cheese because, let's be real, the dried veggies in the soup mix are in no way any kind of vegetable serving!