“I’m like old wine. They don’t bring me out very often, but I’m well preserved.”

— Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy (1890 – 1995)

(i turn 43 this weekend. What??? wm)

Now let’s see… what haven’t I run? My grandma’s Banana Bread recipe. (Extra-good with chocolate chips.) (What isn’t?)

Granny’s Banana Bread

1/4 cup shortening or butter
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 med. mashed bananas (or substitute shredded zucchini for zucchini bread — one cup or so?)
2 cups flour
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 cup buttermilk or milk
1 cup chopped nuts (optional)
1 tsp. vanilla

Cream shortening or butter. Mix well. Add eggs and bananas and mix well. Add salt, baking powder, soda and cinnamon to flour. Mix. Add to creamed butter, sugar and bananas. Mix. Add milk, vanilla, nuts and mix (but don’t overmix). Pour into two loaf pans, and bake at 360 degrees for about 45 minutes. Test with toothpick in middle.

Bon Appetit!

WM & her Granny

The last few months have been bleak for me (if you’ve been reading me much, you knew this already). But I feel like I’m getting past it. Finally. And I’ve figured something out.

The happiest moments — you rarely know they’re the happiest moments when they’re happening. It’s only later when you realize “That,” you think to yourself, “That was happiness.”

The way the grass feels under your feet, and the way the apple blossoms look on the tree, early in the morning.

The way you are (were) adored by your dog.

You just have to grab ahold of life and love it, okay? Even when you hate it.

“Many people hear voices when no one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”

— Margaret Chittenden, writer

Dear Internet,

Are you out there, or what? Why no comments? WTF? I mean, really — WTFF? (My mom’s favorite expression: “What the fucking fuck?” Yes, she says this in front of my children. “Ouch, my freakin’ ears!” — “The Simpsons.”)

I’m e-mailing agents. Rather, I’m compiling a list of all the agents who have previously rejected me, so I don’t bother them again.

It’s a fairly long list. I need to change my strategy. You know what I’m thinking I need to do? When I talk on the phone with my granny, I need to write down every freakin’ thing she says, and get that published. (more…)

My dear Mallory tagged me. As she knows I love memes.

Without further ado:

7 Random Facts About Me

1. I have many secret crushes — all of them innocent. Crush #1: The UPS guy.

2. Crush #2: The Fed-Ex guy.

3. Crush #3: All the blogger kids. This is infatuation, more like. Some people do aromatherapy, I go to Amalah, Mrs. Flinger, Y from the Internet (Joy Unexpected), Zoot, Rockstar Mommy’s and Dooce’s sites and admire their kids. Even when they’re older kids, looking surly, like Mallory’s kid, here. I like kid pix! (I read a ton of blogs, sorry to play favorites. But these are my comfort blogs.)

4. Speaking of RSM — She and Ty need their own reality show, doncha think?

5. That’s not really a random fact about me, that’s a random fact that speaks to what a geeb I am. I have a crush on RSM! And her husband! No, I don’t swing. That’s another fact:

6. Hockey God and I do not swing. So don’t bother asking.

7. Right now, I am having lunch (macaroni & turkey salad and an iced coffee) while the kids play in the yard. The yard which is nicely mowed. Thank you, all bow down to Wacky Mommy.

It will be Monday morning. You will be mowing your lawn and weeding. Because you were too busy reassembling the house Saturday and cooking, doing laundry and dealing with a vomiting kid on Sunday (Happy Father’s Day! Arf.) to mow over the weekend. Also, you wanted your husband to have the weekend off, but instead you worked him like a dog and put him in charge of vomiting kid.

You might feel a little bad about this. Or you might not.

“No, you can’t have mac and cheese. Let’s see if you can keep the toast down, first.” (Moments like that I adore my husband. I had no idea what love was until the first time one of the kids caught the flu and he took care of them.)

The neighbor dog will be yipping at you. You will be a little concerned that the crazy door-to-door salesman (“Ma’am! I’m not selling anything!”) who came by last week and refused to leave your porch will return.

Salesman-Who-Is-Not-Salesman: “This is my job.”

You will be wearing your husband’s sweats and a stinky v-neck white T-shirt (Hanes) and the lawnmower will start smoking and there will be four guys from the City of Portland (“The City That Works!” The city that works my frickin’ nerves, make that) and they will be parked on their fat asses on the neighbors retaining wall at the end of the street, checking you out.

You will ignore them.

They will continue to take a break and stare. For 20 minutes they sit there, bs’ing and staring.

Apparently sweaty housewives cussing at their lawnmowers are all the rage.

“The most powerful prayer, one
well nigh omnipotent, and the
worthiest work of all is the
outcome of a quiet mind.”

— Meister Eckhart

“If You Should Meet a Crocodile”
(anon.)
If you should meet a Crocodile
Don’t take a stick and poke him;
Ignore the welcome in his smile,
Be careful not to stroke him.
For as he sleeps upon the Nile,
He thinner gets and thinner;
And whene’er you meet a Crocodile
He’s ready for his dinner.”

Dear Hockey God,

You are grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreat! Thanks for all the lovin’.

WM, WG & WB

My son likes band-aids. Don’t we all? But he really, really adores band-aids. He thought he’d put one on his blue piggybank. Which we couldn’t find. He was sad. Little sad-faced Wacky Boy. Because he had the band-aid all ready.

“Mom, we don’t want to waste band-aids.”

No, son, we don’t.

So I find his dad’s piggy bank. It was a wedding gift. It’s a purple elephant with blue polka dots. (Don’t ask. To this day I don’t get the joke.) It’s full of foreign coins. They Could Be Worth Money. Wacky Boy plasters the band-aid on the elephant. All good. Then later, he finds the blue piggybank. (It’s shaped like an actual pig. Go figure.) He has it in bed with him when I go to check on him.

“Look what I fouuuuuuuuund!” he sings out. Another band-aid. We’re good.

Now it’s ten p.m. I’m tired. More tired than my children. My daughter has started another Boxcar Children mystery, the one she just finished was not enough for her.

Clink.
Clink.
Clank.

It’s Wacky Boy. He’s pulled the stopper out of the elephant, there are foreign coins everywhere. I’m too tired to pick up.

“Show those to dad tomorrow, he’ll love that.” (Smart mommy, no? Then he can pick them all up — a Father’s Day gift!)

“Baby, wash your hands. Those coins get dirty — they go everywhere. All around the world!” His sister puts the book aside; flips off the light. He scoots into the bathroom.

“Coins are everywhere,” he tells me somberly, “Even in your underwear.” I’m laughing. He’s serious — no smile.

“God, please, go. To. Bed!

“God is everywhere, Mom, even in your underwear.”

I’m really hoping God is not in my underwear. It’s fine with me if he’s everywhere else.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, ALL YOU DADDOs OUT THERE! Party on.

Love,

WM

Hockey God forwarded me an e-mail from our Minneapolis buddy, Big T, with a DVD recommendation. And their fashion tips.

They’re cracking me up here.

wm

Big T: Today I’m wearing dark chocolate slacks and a sky blue power shirt. Brown shoes. I got my head shaved last weekend, and I am pert and bouncy in my step.

Hockey God:
Re: Today’s fashion glimpse
Me: earthen green pocket T, faded black jeans, scuffed black slip-on shoes. I haven’t shaved all week, and I need a hair cut. (In other words, I look like shit.)

Big T: What do you mean? That is a good color combination, and you’re growing a beard. The amazing thing to me is that many formal clothes cost less and are more comfortable than “casual” clothes. Case in point: denim jeans. Way too hot, and they cost astronomical sums.

(He’s right! And the DVD pick? The Third Man, with Joseph Cotten and Orson Welles. I can also recommend Jesus Camp and the Naked Brothers Band. OK, those look odd, grouped together. Nonetheless, have a delicious weekend. wm)