Big Rock Candy Mountain

I saw this on Facetube today and I started to chuckle.

Cinnamon Rock Candy.

Our Aunt Betty used to make it every year.

Maybe she still does, but I haven’t had it in years.

It’s yummy, it’s spicy, it’s delightful.

And it conjures up one of the most hilarious memories I have bopping around in my bulbous head.

Long, long ago, I somehow convinced my sister to get an apartment with me.  I know I’ve shared with y’all before how reluctant she was to leave the parents but her precious Steve was all for it!!!  He knew it would be easier on him if she had already cut those apron strings before they got hitched.

We had us a big ole time in that apartment.  We are different as day is from night but we somehow made it work.

One evening around the holidays, Molly decided to make some candy for her co-workers.

What a nice thing to do.

She’s thoughtful that way.

I, on the other hand, have never, ever had that thought.

{Of course, I don’t feel bad about that because one of my co-worker-buds has a candy shop with her husband and they keep us stocked with the goods.  Thanks, Rhonda and Mark!}

Any-ole-way, my little blonde-headed sister was working away in the kitchen making her cinnamon candy when she realized that she needed some muscle to get the job done.

Sadly, all the “muscle” available was me.

So while she tipped over the pot of boiling cinnamon candy, it was my job to scrape the concoction into the pan so it could harden up.

Easy as a pie!

What she did NOT anticipate was when she tipped over that pot of molten candy, the steam smacked her right in the face.

And right on up her nose!!!

It was steamy.

It was cinnamon-y.

It was cinnamon-y steam!!!

She commenced to hollerin’ something awful then right out the door she went.

Right out into the cold night.

When she finally came back in, she had tears running down her face and that girl had not one nostril hair left.

Yep, hot cinnamon steam will clean you right out!!!

You may want to keep that in mind this winter season…….

~Mish~

I Got Water

When Shelby was little, she would sometimes come to Mom and Dad’s for the weekend.

I always tried to be there because she was just so darn cute and so much fun!!!  Molly & Steve were usually there and we had lots of laughs with that little fella.

One time I remember we were going to a Gospel concert.  I’m not sure what concert but Shelby was along for the fun.

On the way, we stopped for supper at Frisch’s.  Shelby just LOVED the Big Boy that stood out in front of the restaurant.

Marti did too at one time but that’s a story for a different day.

If she doesn’t kill me dead.

Which she probably will.

And that makes this my Farewell Post.

Thanks for the memories.

Anywho, after Unkie let Shelby talk to the Big Boy, we went inside and ordered our food.

When the waitress brought our drinks, she gave me a chocolate shake.

She gave Dad a chocolate shake.

She gave Mom a chocolate shake.

Shelby’s drink was in a child’s cup with a lid and that precious girl took a big ole drink.

Her eyes got big.

She turned to Mom and said……….

“I got water”

Bless her little heart!!!!

That baby watched all of us be presented with chocolate shakes and Mom had gotten her WATER!!!

She didn’t pitch a fit but I will never forget the look of disappointment on her little face.

So when she comes to stay the weekend with me, she gets whatever she wants!!

Sprite

Mt. Dew

Pepsi

Chocolate shake

Twizzlers

Chips & dip

ANYTHING!!!!

I thought of poor little Shelby today when I went to Wendy’s for lunch.

I’ve been trying to eat better these days so I ordered a small water.

Now, for some strange and odd reason, Wendy’s has decided that it would be great fun to have ONE machine dispense about 172 flavors of drink.

I don’t know why they did this but it gets on my ever-lovin’ last nerve!

For one reason, when the dude in front of you finishes getting his drink and you stick your cup in the machine, whatever sugary yuck he was getting now is dripping on YOUR hand!

Nasty!

I don’t want someone else’s drip on me!

So today I remembered to let it drip a minute before sticking my hand in there.

Smart thinkin’.

When it appeared we were drip-free, I put a little bit of ice in my cup and selected “Water”.

And, sure enough, water came out.

But why was it reddish?

Dump that out.

Try again.

A little ice.

Water.

Now it’s pinkish.

Okay, so not only do these machines drip on you but you also get whatever gross drink the dude before you selected that’s still left in the hose.

I don’t even what to think about what all else is up in that hose!!

Next time I’ll be as smart as the Mr. and bring my own drink!!

Or just get a Frosty. 🙂

~Mish~

 

100 here I come!

Well, the day is almost here.

I can deny it all I want but it’s coming.

THE day.

FIFTY.

How can that be????

So now I’m trying to decide……….

……………..how do I want to express my mid-life crisis???

Of course, the Mr. likes to point out that we are BEYOND mid-life.

Really???

That’s so hateful.

I may live to be 100.

You don’t know!!!

I’ve narrowed it down to two things:  a mini tattoo OR a radical hairstyle change.

It’s tough because one of those choices is more painful than the other.

I mean, have you ever tried to grow out bangs?????

PAIN…..FUL!!!

The Mr. suggested that I go completely blonde.

He’s so full of helpful thoughts.

But I vetoed that right quick.

I’ve got plenty of yellow-headed people in my life.

Plus, blondes don’t have near as much fun as they provide entertainment for the rest of us brown-headed folks.

I’ve got a ton of stories about my blonde sister but I’ve got to share this one about my friend Erica.

Erica is one of the Fierces and we’ve had lots of laughs over the years.

Like the time her chest butted me out the door of our office right into a crowd of Amish folks.

Or the time Jane and I teamed up to scare her (at work, of course) and she screamed and put her trashcan on her head.

That girl is a hoot and a HALF!!!

Anyway, one day we were headed down the hallway at work, and our boss stopped us to ask for some information.  She had a big-wig attorney with her and we were all trying to put on our most professional demeanor.  Well, when she asked Erica for something, Erica told her she would get it right away, turned and walked right into the wall.

I mean, she WALKED into that wall.

Hard.

When she bounced off the wall, we all just busted a gut.

Did I mention that we worked at a hospital?????

We’re so very professional.

But before you get the impression that only blondes do silly things, let me tell you about Mrs. Gore’s daughter.

Mrs. Gore writes a blog that I thoroughly enjoy.  I even follow her on the Facebook.  She’s got 4 precious children and another on the way.  If you get a chance, check out Mrs. Gore’s Diary.

One of her kids (a brunette of all things) does so many dingy things that Mrs. Gore has nicknamed her “Oh Honey”.

Now if you’re from the South, you know what that means.

Kinda like “bless her heart”.

One day my blonde sister pointed out that my little blonde Winston was the Oh Honey in our family.

And I do believe she’s right.

The Mr. and I have decided that enough is a dag-on ‘nough of these barking, begging dogs at mealtime.

I mean ENOUGH!!!!

Taj is usually the problem while Winston just sits there waiting for us to respond to Taj.

But we did some online research about breaking the habit and decided that the Dog Whisperer was on the right track.

Now when we eat, there is no talking to the dogs, no eye contact and no physical contact.

That is, of course, until the Mr. can’t take any more and yells QUIET at the top of his lungs, which is NOT how you whisper to dogs.

It’s working like a charm.

So Taj is finally getting the hint and he will stay somewhat quiet.

But Winston has decided to take up the slack.

He just doesn’t get it and he barks and barks until he gets himself choked up and then he coughs and coughs.

The other night I had to put a stop to it!

So I got up from the table, walked into the dining room with Winston following me.  I doubled back and closed the pocket door before he could come back into the kitchen.  I sat back down and sure enough, the barking continued.

That little cutie barked and barked.

And then coughed and coughed.

And then barked and barked.

The Mr. finally looks at me and says, “Does he not realize that he can come around to the other door?”

Apparently not!

Oh Honey.

~Mish~

 

 

Mystery in the Forks

Next week is a milestone for the Mr.

Yep, he turns the big 5-0.

I asked him one day how I ended up married to such an old man.

He quickly informed me that I would be joining the elderly ranks just a few short weeks after him.

He sure knows how to burst a girl’s bubble!!

Anyway, as time is quickly marching on, I’ve noticed that the older we get, the more like our parents we become.

The thing that bugs me is that we don’t get to pick the characteristics of our parents that we get.

Did I get the never-ending patience that Dad has?

Did I get the warm, hospitable kindness that Mom displays?

That would be a big, fat NO!

What I did get is the crazy, jump right to conclusions side of…….one of my parents.

Now, I’m not dumb enough to tell you WHICH parent does this but just know that if any of us were ever late coming home, ONE of my parent’s would be sitting in the dark kitchen with a phone book ready to call around looking for us.

Because she (OR he) was sure that we had wrapped our car around a tree.

That one came up quite often.

Never mind that traffic may be heavy.

Never mind that we lost track of time.

This parental unit would jump straight to “car wrapped around tree”.

It used to be kinda funny…….back before I started doing the same thing.

Woe be unto the Mr. if he is late with no call or text.

Yep, must be wrapped around a tree.

Heaven forbid the boys be a little late coming home from work.

Wrapped around a tree.

But even though I know I do it, I just can’t stop my crazy mind from going there.

And yesterday, it happened once again.

It all started last week when I completely flaked on my hair appointment.

Christi (my cousin) told me she could do my hair on the 11^th.

What did I write on my calendar????

The 17^th.

Senior moment.

So we finally got it worked out that I would come to her shop yesterday at 2:00.

I get to the lot and see Christi’s car there.

{And thankfully, no other car because I don’t like to share my Christi time.  If someone else is there, how are we to gossip catch up????}

So I go to the door and it’s locked.

Or is it??

I’m not the strongest person in the world so I tried the knob again.

Yep, definitely locked.

Now where could that girl be????

It’s the middle of the bloomin’ day!!

So I knock.

No answer.

Then I call her cell.

No answer.

This is strange.

Her car is right there!

Now, I’d like to say I immediately thought that she may be out with someone else for a late lunch or that she’s having a private potty moment and locked the door so a crazy woman didn’t just walk in, but, oh no, I went straight to MURDER!!!

Yep, there I stand, banging on the door and calling her cell phone while my sweet cousin is laying in the shop all kinds of hurt or dead.

What do I do????

I don’t have her husband’s number.

But I do have her sister’s number.

I’ll call Judy.

Or should I call Uncle Raymond??

I mean, Uncle Raymond can come bust down the door.

Of course, if I’m wrong (though I’m probably not) I’m liable to get the infamous McLean Brother Side Eye.

If you’ve never seen it, it’s the look that says “you’ve completely lost your mind and how can we even be related?”

No, I better stick with Judy.

She can get one of her boys to come and help.

Just as I’m looking up Judy’s number, a car pulls in.

Nope, not Christi.

I’m thinking that now I’ll have to explain to this customer that poor Christi has been murdered and the murderer locked the door behind him when he escaped.

Suddenly, another car pulls in.

The driver waves.

CHRISTI.

Hallelujah, she’s safe.

She’s also in Suzanna’s car.

Now, I think it’s important to point out that this all happened within a span of about a minute.

She got there at 2:01.

Silly me.

I think I need to ease up on the murder shows on TV a bit.

And I definitely need to give myself the Side Eye!!

~Mish~

 

3 Milks

I love recipes.

I love to read them.

I love to watch them being made on TV.

I love the video recipes that pop up on Facebook.

But making them????

No thank you!

As I’ve told you before, I come from a long line of wonderful cooks but in my family, I usually contribute chips and drinks.

No muss, no fuss.

My immediate family has a Facebook page where we post recipes of all kinds for later reference and I post probably more than anyone.

Why??

Because I figure if I post enough recipes, Marti will take the hint and make me something.  🙂

{I’ll let you know if that ever works}

Anywho, my brother-in-law (aka Twin) loved to try new recipes.

But unlike me he actually cooked them himself.

He was never skeered to try something new and if it didn’t work out, well then, he just wouldn’t make it again.

No biggie.

Many times when the family has gotten together, Steve would make something to share with us.  He used to always bring this dip that he loved from New York.  I’m not sure what exactly was in it but it looked like puke!

Really.

Not even exaggerating.

Literal throw up!

But if you were brave enough to try it, it was very tasty.

It was his favorite and I think he purposely made it look like that so we wouldn’t eat it and he could have it all himself.

Sneaky!

One of his favorite places to get new recipes was from the Pioneer Woman website.  We all watch her Food Network show and drool over her recipes.

And quite honestly, if it was made by Ree Drummond, you KNOW it’s gonna be good!!!

So one girl’s day, Steve decided he would make dessert.

Yes, that’s right, I said girl’s day.

And, yes, that’s right, Steve came to girl’s day.

He figured out that when we got together there was always food so he decided to join us.

And once Steve jumped on board, the Mr. decided he could stop lurking in the shadows, stealing our cookies and become a proud participant in girl’s day too.

Steve told us he had a Pioneer Woman recipe he wanted to try but had never made it before.  According to PW, it was delicious!

So while the girls watched Downton Abbey, my Twin was in the kitchen making the world famous Tres Leches cake.

We couldn’t wait.

If you are like me and struggle with the English language, you probably have no idea what Tres Leches even is.   Apparently, it translates to “Three Milks” and it, surprisingly enough, has three milks in it.

Sounds good, right?

Well, that boy cooked and cooked and cooked some more and finally, FINALLY that cake was done.

He served us all up a big ole slice.

Friends, I’m here to tell you that 3 milks is apparently too much for one cake.

That thing was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.

I tried to put on a yummy face.

The Mr. tried to put on a yummy face.

Molly???

Not so much!

She didn’t even try to pretend.

She told him exactly how it tasted.

In the words of my grandfather, “barely better than nothing”.

Poor Steve.

He tried.

And, bless his heart, he took it like a champ.

Which is a good thing because he was teased to no end over that nasty cake.

Sadly, the Pioneer Woman’s cred dropped a few notches that day.

Thankfully, Steve redeemed himself (and PW) with her Flat Apple Pie.

It was super yummy!

~Mish~

Marcus, Marcus, Marcus

When I was a kid, I loved watching the Brady Bunch.

It was one of my very favorite shows and I even share a name with the beautiful older sister.

But even though people have always, ALWAYS, come up to me and said “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia”, I didn’t identify with the popular Marcia Brady.

No.

I’m Jan…..all the way!

I didn’t want to BE Jan…..I just was.

I’m a middle child.

And like Jan Brady, the middle child is never considered the smartest, the most beautiful, the funniest, or the ANYTHING.

We’re just there.

In the middle.

Between the perfect oldest child and the sweet, precious baby child.

Except in my family, we have TWO baby children.

Molly likes to pretend sometimes that she’s a middle child but oh no!

She’s definitely a baby.

Child.

A baby child.

Did I just call her a baby???

Oops!!

Anyway, since Molly was the baby for six years until Marc came along, she quickly decided that she was NOT giving up her baby status for no BOY!

Hence, two babies.

Children.

Baby children.

Oops!!

And just in case you think that the curse of the middle child goes away with age, let me assure you that it does not.

Not by a long shot.

Just this very last month the Jan Brady Syndrome reared its ugly head.

My brother, Marc, came to town for a few days and so the Mr. and I decided to go to church with him at Mom & Dad’s church.  This is the church I grew up in so I know most everybody.  But recently, the church hired a new youth minister and I thought of this right as the service started.  I leaned over to Mom and said “Which one is the new youth guy?”  She told me that he and his family were behind us a couple of rows.  I figured I’d goon at him after service and then I just kind of forgot about it.

When the service was over, we turned around to gather our stuff and Mom said to the youth pastor, “I want to introduce you”.

So I grabbed the Mr. by the arm and told him to hang on.

Mom’s introducing us.

That’s when my sweet mother said “This is our son, Marc.  He’s a youth pastor in Arizona.”

Hello.

Hello.

Pleasantries all around.

Now it must be my turn.

Yep, time to introduce your daughter.

The daughter standing right here.

Right here beside you.

Remember her?

Your kid???

Your MIDDLE kid????

Nope.

Nothing.

Not a mention.

Not a nod.

Not even a look that says I have a clue as to who you are.

So what’s a Jan Brady to do when she’s been dissed by her very own mother???

She looks at the Mr. and says, “Yeah, we can go.”

Sorry that you missed out on meeting me, New Youth Guy.

I’m really a very nice person.

Just ask anybody.

Well, maybe don’t ask my Mom.  🙂

~Mish~

My Old Kentucky Home

I love Kentucky.

I mean, I really do.

Some of the most beautiful country you’ll ever see.

Some of the best food you’ll ever eat.

Some of the craziest people on God’s green earth!

I saw one of them today.

Well, I didn’t actually see the dude, just his truck.

But that was enough to know that he is all kinds of whackadoo!

I went to lunch, per usual, and then on my way back to work, this truck cuts me off.

What’s that???

Something is hanging down from the trailer hitch.

Something BIG is hanging down from the trailer hitch.

What could it be??

Oh my word…….

It’s a head.

A HEAD!!

Hanging down.

From the trailer hitch.

Of course, as soon as we stopped at a red light, I had to snap a picture.

‘Cause who would believe me otherwise????

I guess it’s true what Julia Sugarbaker once said….

In the South we don’t hide our crazy people.

We bring ‘em right out and show ‘em off.

Gotta love Kentucky!

~Mish~

Scenes from the Pic Pac

Grocery stores and I have a love/hate relationship.

I love that there is food there but I hate that I have to go hunt for it, pay for it, load it in my car, unload it from my car and then find a place to put it.

And most of the time I hate that I have to prepare it.

I know…………what a whiner!

As much as I’d love to say I like cooking, I just don’t.

I love to eat.

I love to read recipes.

I love to plan food for a party.

I especially love watching food videos and Food Network.

I’m just not a fan of the actual cooking!

Of course, with such good cooks in our family, there really has been no need.

The Mr. likes good food, too, but he sees mealtimes as a big hurdle to get over so he can move on to other things.

It’s a chore.

Yes, the Mr. is looking forward to the time when we take a pill to satisfy our dietary needs.

He’s very sci-fi that way.

But my sister, Marti, is completely different.

Cooking is her gift.

Cooking is how she shows love.

Cooking is a joy for her.

And, boy, is she ever good at it!

Man, oh man, that girl can cook.

Not only can she follow a recipe, but she can make stuff up.

She just adds this and that and, viola, a delicious meal.

She can even taste something and tell you what’s in it and what it needs to be better.

It’s crazy!

So when our family gets together to eat, the Mish usually gets assigned chips or drinks or paper products.

And I’m fine with that.

Last night was no exception.

We were getting together on Marc’s last night home before he and Mason head back to the desert.  The plan was tacos.  YUM!  I could eat tacos every single day.  Love ‘em.

And what was my assignment????

Cheese and sour cream.

I’m all over it!

So after work, I head on over to the little grocery store downtown.

I like this store.

It smells like fried chicken.

And they sell groceries.

Not lawn furniture.

Not clothes.

Not books.

Not camping gear.

Groceries.

And I don’t have to wait for a tram to pick me up at my car, meander through the lot while taking me several miles to the front door only then to have to remember that I’m parked in Scooby Doo 2.

{Old Kings Island reference, in case you missed it!}

I park in one of the 15-20 parking spaces; I go in, get my stuff, and get out!

So that was the plan.

Cheese and sour cream are right there together.

I got this.

Of course, nothing is ever that easy and there are several people crowded around the dairy section.  So, not wanting to be pushy, I kind of hang back and look at other things while I wait for the folks to move along.

That’s when I hear them.

“There’s one; she works here too.”

It was a young-ish woman walking with a pre-teen who was losing it!

That poor girl was sobbing.

I mean, there were gut-wrenching sobs coming from this little girl.

Next thing I know, the weeping teen goes up to the worker (who was doing her own shopping) and said “I’m sorry.”

The worker told her “Just don’t do it again.”

Well by this time, Mish is all ears!

What in the world is going on?

Bless her heart.

This child is heartbroken.

This child is humiliated.

This child is hysterically sobbing…….loud, guttural, wailing sobs.

Then, as they walked away, I hear the mom say “I ain’t raisin’ no thief.”

That’s when I smiled.

That’s when I knew that this mother was teaching her young daughter a valuable lesson.

A hard lesson, for sure, but a lesson she apparently needed.

This girl won’t soon forget how her mother marched her through that store, making her apologize to every employee for stealing from the Pic Pac.

Bravo, mother, bravo!

{Still, bless her heart.  She was sure tore up about it!}

~Mish~

The Wonderful World of Fashion

I fully realize that I am in no way qualified to give advice on fashion.

I mean………..in NO way.

So I’m not going to give advice.

I’m just going to share my feelings on what appears to be a fashion craze in America.

Yes, we’ve lived through bell-bottoms and shoulder pads and grunge and whatever in the world we had in the 2000’s, but this latest obsession is getting a little on my nerves.

Quite possibly, it’s on my nerves because it’s not for every body.

But more than likely it’s because everybody seems to think it IS and my eyes just can’t take much more!

If you haven’t figured it out by now, let me just tell you that leggings have gotten OUT OF CONTROL.

They are everywhere.

My Facetube feed is filled with all manner of leggings.

I can’t escape!

Now, don’t get me wrong, leggings are a comfortable alternative to actual pants and, on some people, they look great!

But if you have short little Vienna sausage legs, not so much.

{I’m not naming names……..but I know who I am!}

And they have some super cute options.

Cute little stripes.

Adorable florals.

You know what I’d look like in those???

A couch.

A big, comfy couch!

Let me assure you, though, that I have tried out this phenomena myself.

I have a pair of plain black leggings and when I wear a long shirt, I do indeed wear those snug britches.

But let me tell you, I pull and tug on those bad-boys all the live long day!

In full disclosure, I feel compelled to tell you that I  have found a pair that I desperately would like to have.

My fear, though, is that they’d look less like a tiny Pomeranian….

…..and more like a giant Chow!

It’s gonna be cold this weekend, put on some pants! 🙂

~Mish~

Indians, Bumper Stickers and Tattoos

I had the best grandparents.

I mean, the BEST!

In the world!

I have many wonderful memories of all my grandparents but today I want to share a Me-maw memory.

Every summer B.M. (before Marc), Me-maw would take us girls to Old Fort Harrod in Harrodsburg to see the outdoor drama.  Back then, it was the Legend of Daniel Boone.  It was the story of how Daniel Boone came through the Cumberland Gap and stumbled upon the land of the bluegrass.

It’s not just music, people.

It’s Blue. Grass.

I know, looks green to me too, but they say that there is a blue-ish flower on it when it is allowed to grow wild and it makes the field look blue.

I’ve never seen it, but it’s on the interweb so it must be true!

Anyway, it was always very exciting to go to this outdoor theater and as we waited for darkness to fall, the anticipation would build until finally, just at dusk, these half-naked Indians would appear at the end of each row of the audience and I would jump out of my skin!!!!

(via Ragged Edge Theatre)

It was the scariest and most thrilling thing I had ever seen and it got me every year.

Now, before you fuss about me not calling them Native Americans, let me just say, I have issues.

I know…..you’re surprised!

Yes, the Indians were here from the beginning; hence, Native.

But so have I.

No, not the beginning of America but I was born and raised here and, therefore, I am indeed a Native American.

Apparently from the tribe of No Pigment.

Palest Indian tribe EVER!

But back to my story…..

Once those Indians scared folks to absolute death, we would settle in to the sort-of-boring play until the final battle scene at the end.  By this time, it’s completely dark and there are Indians and Settlers running all around.  There’s yelling and wah-wah-wah-ing and hatchets and rifles and gunpowder and smoke and burning forts and it was GREAT!!!!!

It was always the highlight of our summer.

But one year, the Old Fort Harrod folks messed up.

One year, they went too far.

One year, Me-maw got right ticked off.

After the show, we went out to the car, where low and BE-hold, some overzealous park employee had put a bumper sticker on EVERY CAR!

Every.

Car.

Even the Me-maw Mobile.

She was fit to be tied!

I have never seen her so mad but thankfully, the sticker hadn’t been on that long and she was able to get it off.

At least I think she did.

My little kid brain didn’t really process that part.

But now as an adult, I totally get it.

My car is bumper sticker free.

I just don’t understand putting a bumper sticker on your car.

I mean, cars are so stinkin’ expensive, why would you glue something to it that won’t come off?

And I REALLY don’t understand folks who put bumper stickers on the PAINT of their car.

Really????

On the paint????

And what happens when you want to sell your car but nobody wants a car with a failed politician’s very-outdated bumper sticker on the paint????

That’s just craziness!

Bumper Stickers are like tattoos.

You gotta be sure you want it/love it/support it cause it’s gonna be around a LONG time!

Of course, when it comes to window stickers, it’s a whole different ballgame

I’ve got one all picked out:

I just need to decide if I want the window decal or the tattoo.  🙂

Happy 2017, everybody!

~Mish~