Plots and Prey: Fly on the Wall

 

Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, and I invite you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, at our writing desks, and in our worlds. Come on in, buzz around, see what we've been up to. Bet you laugh! 

I had a bit of a harrowing experience recently. I was home alone, so I'd had a leisurely morning. Having finished my coffee, I was about to take a nice hot shower. Making sure the water was just how I like it, I jumped in and closed the glass door.

Well, I didn't exactly close it like I'd planned. When it was about 5 inches from being closed, it broke. Wouldn't budge, either way. And I was in there. Naked. Did I mention home alone? Picture that.

Actually, don't. You can take my word for it.

My leisurely morning had gone to hell. I was trapped. And phoning a friend wasn't an option.

Neither was shutting off the water (which was dripping onto the shower matt and floor), and standing in there naked for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately necessity was not the mother of invention this case, but desperation being what it is, I was finally able to jam the door open a few more inches and squeeze my way through. Into the puddle on my bathroom floor.

I may be, for the foreseeable future, taking nice leisurely baths for a long while now. After all, what could go wrong?

Don't answer that. 

It's baseball season! Or for me, Red Sox season since that's the only baseball I watch. I'd mentioned in the past that for Mother's Day, PurDude buys me a subscription to all the Red Sox games. That includes the pre-season games.

We'd been watching a pre-season game, where many different pitchers were trying out for a spot once the season started. After an outing, one of those pitchers was asked about a change in his form. He explained that the coaches had been working with him on how he starts his pitches, in an effort to keep his arm attached to his body.

I'm thinking that it's probably a good thing, athlete or not, to . . . you know . . . keep your arm attached to your body.

When one of the newer players came to bat, the announcers said his name and we were confused. They put his name up on the screen as he stepped into the batter's box, and we were still confused: Jhostynxon.

Now my name is Karen, so believe me, I'm not one to make fun of people's names. But the announcers said that the player was asked about his name and said that his parents couldn't decide between two names, so ended up taking letters from both.

Say what?

First, those parents should have their parent cards revoked.

But second, can you just imagine him in first grade, when all the kids are first learning to write their names?

Little Bob (working hard at forming his letters): B - o - b

Little Sue (working hard at forming her letters): S - u - e

Little Dan (working hard at forming his letters): D - a - n

Little Jhostynxon: I quit.

Watch what you say . . .

Saying "talk to the hand" is an insult that can hurt. But did you know that talking about the hand in an insulting way can boomerang that hurt right back to you?

I know. Now. 

I used to have my nails done regularly, but for years now I've just been doing them myself. I generally keep up with them. I was going through my Insta feed and saw a few people posting some really pretty nail art, most spring inspired.

 

I looked down at my own nails and was mortified. I was way overdue for a touch-up. Clearly they'd been peeling for I don't know how long.

So I posted a picture with a snarky comment about how beautiful {{cough, cough}} my hand looked.

 

that line at the bottom of my hand is just shade from the window treatment slats, btw

I guess my hand took offense, along the lines of "you think that's horrible? Oh, honey, old my beer."

By the time I realized that I had an infection under my rings, the whole finger was so swollen I couldn't get the rings off. It was painful, and my whole hand was becoming involved. It was an excruciating process, but I (with the help of a few medicinal shots of Patron) bit the bullet and ripped the rings off of my finger so I could treat the infection.

But I will never, I mean never, body shame an appendage again. Lesson learned. 

Hubs: These salmon patties are delicious.

Me: When I grilled salmon for dinner the other night, I made extra so we'd have leftovers. I think the grilled salmon makes a difference in the flavor.

Hubs: Are you going to put this recipe on your blog?
Me: Yes, since we are both happy with how they came out.

Hubs: I don't see you taking as many food pictures as you used to.

Me: Well, I used to post 8 to 9 times a month, now that I'm only posting once a month, I don't have to come up with as many new recipes.

Hubs: Now that you're only posting one a month, they have to be really good recipes.

Me: Are you saying I come up with not good recipes?

Hubs: Umm, quick question: will it work out better for me if I go out and buy you flowers? Or have them delivered?

Grilled Salmon Patties

The holidays came (very, very) early for College Boy. I was in our bank accounts and noticed he had 2 credits of almost $2300. When I looked at them, it made no sense to me, he always has a healthy balance on his account.

I asked him about it, and he had no idea what it was about. He can’t remember ever having had an issue with insufficient funds, and would absolutely remember (who wouldn’t?) if he’d ever been hit with a $2000 fee.

It was a weekend, Monday was a holiday, so he called the bank on Tuesday for clarification. They told him the deposits were legit, but couldn’t tell him what they were about. They offered to connect him to another department for more information. College Boy accepted, but hung up after holding for 40 minutes.

Now I love mysteries, you know that, but I greatly prefer for them to have an answer at the end. If not, it leaves me hanging, trying to come up with feasible scenarios in my head. Well that and, in this case, the hope that whatever did happen would happen to me too.

So I’ve been diligently checking my own account about 5 times a day, hoping that free money fairy might put $2300 in there too, for no apparent reason.

So far, no such luck.

But I do have a new earworm, that old Dire Straits song . . . "get your money for nothing . . ."

 

Not having learned my lesson after taunting the hand, seems a comment I'd made was taken as an insult (or a challenge) by Mother Nature.

 

I was saying, and it was true, that Florida had gotten more snow this winter than we had in the Midwest. 

 

Once again, I'd be treated to an "oh honey, hold my beer," moment.

 

It started to snow. And snow. And before you knew it, we had Florida beat. By a mile. 

And you know who everyone I'd originally joked with was blaming, right? Yup, me. 

If only I could use my power for good instead of evil.

 

 

So, it had been snowing. Yes, again. Apparently Mother Nature can really hold a grudge. Anyway, we were watching a basketball game, after which Hubs was going out to snow blow the driveway.

 

Me (pulling out a bottle of wine): I'd ask if you want a glass of wine, but I don't want you to be drunk blowing.

Hubs: {{blink, blink}}

Me: OK, that may not have come out right.

Hubs: I think maybe you're the one who should lay off the wine.

 

Yeah, he could make a case for that. 

Next thing you know, my neighbor is . . . well . . . lawn blowing.

So maybe that whole drunk blowing actually is a thing.

Finally it looked like the weather was starting to change. The sun had come out and we were starting to see some bare concrete on our front deck. In fact, the left side, that got more sun, was completely clear.

That afternoon, the Fed Ex guy made a delivery. Where do you think he choose to throw the album?

Did you guess?

 

Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border

Grilled Salmon Patties

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

NOTE: this recipe requires the salmon to be cooled after grilled, so be sure to have a few hours between grilling and preparing the patties. I usually grill the salmon the night before.

Ingredients:

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp pepper

1/4 tsp paprika

1/8 tsp cayenne pepper

3/4# skin on salmon fillet

1 green onion

2 eggs

1/3 cup seasoned bread crumbs

1 cup corn flakes, crushed

1 TBSP oil

1 TBSP butter

OPT: sliced lemon or tartar sauce for serving

Directions:
*Mix together the salt, pepper, paprika, and cayenne. Sprinkle onto both sides of the salmon fillet.

*Heat the grill to medium. Place the salmon on the grill, flesh side down, and cook for 3 minutes. Flip the fillet over and grill, skin side down, until the fish is fully cooked and flakes when a fork is inserted into the center. How long it will take to cook will depend on the thickness of your fillet.

*Remove the salmon from the grill, remove and discard the skin. Chop the fillet and refrigerate in a bowl until cold (I refrigerate overnight).

*Chop the green onion. Mix the cooled salmon with the green onion, eggs, and bread crumbs. Using your hands, form into 6 balls.

*Individually, press each ball into the corn flakes to coat, flattening the balls into patties. Turn the patty over and coat the other side. Place wax paper onto a plate or tray, and refrigerate the patties for an hour.

*Add the oil and butter to a large skillet over medium heat. Once it starts to bubble, add the salmon patties. Cook for about 5 minutes, until the bottom is browned. Flip the patties over and turn the heat down a little if necessary. Cook another about 5 minutes until browned and the centers are warm. 

*OPT: serve with lemon slices and/or tartar sauce.

Peanuts and Clown Pants: Fly on the Wall

  

Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, and I invite you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, at our writing desks, and in our worlds. Come on in, buzz around, see what we've been up to. Bet you laugh! 

I love the woman who cleans my house. But we do sometimes have a communication issue. I try to text her in Spanish, but it takes some effort for me to try to figure out how to say what I want to say within the boundaries of the Spanish words I know.

I've used a translate app before, but that takes time too. So if I'm in a rush, I'll just text her in English. Which sometimes works . . .

Me: Hi, G, hope you are well. I haven't heard from you, do you know when you'll be cleaning my house next?

G: Thank you, Karen! Feel free to write to her later.

. . . and sometimes, not so much.

Hubs had been on the phone with College Boy in the afternoon. Later, as I went to start dinner:

Me: Will College Boy be here for dinner?
Hubs: I don't know.

Me: You asked him when you were talking to him earlier, I heard you.

Hubs: I don't think so.

Me: Listen, either you're getting senile or I'm hallucinating.

Hubs: I think you're hallucinating.

Me: I think you're getting senile.

Could be we're both right. Yeah, getting old is a lot of fun.

Hubs walks up when I'm taking a picture.

Hubs: What are you doing?
Me: I'm taking a picture.

Hubs: Of your peanuts? You usually only take pictures of food you cook, why the peanuts?
Me: These are not just any peanuts, that one in the middle is symbolic.

Hubs: Symbolic? A peanut? Symbolic of what?

Me: That there's one in every crowd.

I was watching a commercial for a medication. They're quickly listing off the possible side effects. Then they get to a bacterial infection between the anus and the genitals.

And I have to wonder, at what point do you think you'd be better off just having the disease?

PurDude called. I was up in the kitchen and talked to him for a while. Hubs was down in the man cave, so when I finished talking, I brought my phone down to him.

He comes back upstairs as he's wrapping up the call, says "good-bye," and hands me my cell. As I go to close it . . .

Me: What did you do to my phone?
Hubs: Nothing, I talked on it then handed it back to you.

So, I look at my phone. Facebook is open, my settings are open, some emergency thing I've never seen before is open, my bluetooth has been turned on, and my wifi connection has been turned off.

Ugh, that man . . .

Crispy Pan Fried Flounder

Hubs has a habit of creating piles of stuff, paperwork for the most part. He rarely even looks what's at the bottom, just keeps building the pile until he decides to start a second one. I'm constantly having to make him go through them and get rid of what he doesn't need. Which is about 90% of what he's got piled up.

One afternoon, it was clear he was starting a second pile on the coffee table in the man cave, so I told him he better not dare do another thing until he got rid of whatever he didn't need.

Later, I had gone down the stairs and nothing had changed.

Me: I can see your junk.

When, from the top of the stairs I hear my son, who I hadn't realized had come in the house:

College Boy: Um, maybe this is a bad time.

Me (running up the stairs): No, not that junk!

Did my kid just hear me tell my Husband I could see his junk? Well, yes, yes I did.

 

In the spirit of taking the bad with the good, I had some comments on my last blog post:

Comment: Too good, all of it. Thank you for sharing your world with us.

and another:

Comment: I enjoyed your Fly on the Wall, several chuckles . . .

and one more:

Comment: It's just so fun to explore your world for a while every month. Thank you.

I love knowing that my post is entertaining, knowing I can bring a chuckle to someone's day is so satisfying. But no time to relish in a job well done, when the next comment showed up:

Comment: What a long post, I read most of it before my mind going numb and my eyes just looking at the screen taking nothing in. Anyway . . .

Yeah, what was I just saying about there being one in every crowd? I'm just hoping there's only one.

Each Monday we watch for the college basketball rankings to be posted with the hopes of a good spot in the top 25 for Purdue. They'd had some pretty amazing seasons, frequently falling into the #1 spot, but this year they'd lost some key players. They stayed in the top 25, but not at the top. In the past few weeks, they'd been climbing.

So on this particular Monday, we anxiously checked out the new ranking. We were both pleased and perplexed.

It seems they were reporting Purdue rising 2 spots from #11 to # 10.

ESPN may be a great resource for sports lovers. But clearly can't be counted on for any basic math.

In the vein of "he who smelt it, dealt it," and "silent but deadly," I was unfortunate enough to have been taught a new saying recently: 

Colon music.

Ever heard it referred to as that? Now you have. No need to thank me.

I love living in the age of the internet. It's so satisfying to have answers to many of my questions right at my fingertips. No checking encyclopedias or waiting for the library to open, just type in your question and voila.

Well, mostly.

We'd been watching a basketball rivalry. Purdue was playing Indiana University. The players on the court were wearing their uniform shorts, but many players not going into the game had on their warmup gear.

And I had questions. Ones I don't think Google (or an encyclopedia, even) could answer.

Like who the hell decided it was a good idea to dress the basketball team in clown pants?

 

Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border

Crispy Pan Fried Flounder

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

3/4# flounder fillets

1/4 cup milk

1/2 cup flour

2 TBSP corn starch

3/4 tsp salt

1/4 pepper

1/2 tsp paprika

3 TBSP butter

2 TBSP oil

OPT: lemon slices or tartar sauce for serving 

Directions:

*Cut each of the flounder fillets into thirds.

*Place milk in a bowl. Mix together flour, corn starch, salt, pepper, and paprika on a plate.

*Dip each piece of fish, individually, into the milk, then coat all sides with the flour mixture, and move to a plate covered with wax paper. Refrigerate for 1 hour.

*In a large skillet, over medium heat, heat the butter and oil until hot and bubbly.

*Add the fish to the pan. Cook for about 2 minutes, until the bottoms are brown. If they start to get too dark, lower the heat just a little.

*Flip the fish pieces over and pan fry for just another minute or 2, until the other side browns. Pierce with a fork to be sure the fish is cooked through and flaky.

*Remove from pan to paper towels to drain.

*OPT: serve with lemon slices or tartar sauce.

Creative Solutions: Fly on the Wall

  

Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, and I invite you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, at our writing desks, and in our worlds. Come on in, buzz around, see what we've been up to. Bet you laugh! 

We still have cable TV. We hate it, but we've had our internet hacked so many times we've already lost one provider, and we're afraid if we go to streaming and lose internet, we'll end up with both no internet and no TV. So for now we have to use a VPN on all of our electronics, and continue to (over)pay a cable company.

One afternoon, our cable was out. Hubs got the login and password from me so he could go onto the site and see what they were saying for timing of the service returning. He got on, checked it out, and signed up for text updates.

A short time later, I got an email from the cable company titled "Account locked," and started off "so, heads up, we had to lock your account because security flagged some odd behavior." 

First of all, "heads up?" Second, you locked my account AFTER allowing the "odd behavior" access to my account? Ever heard of closing the barn door after the horse is gone?

So now I can't get into the account. In order to get back in, I have to either upload a selfie to them, or upload a copy of my license.

What? No, and no. 

You have my email address, send me a code. You have my cell phone number, send me a code. News flash, cable company: there are no national secrets in my Cox account. You are not the CIA, you're a freaking cable TV company.

Apparently, one whose website I'll never be using again.

I thought I was teaching my son a lesson about perspective and perceived worth. I think he taught me a lesson right back.

When PurDude was here, I made all of the meals he loves. The night we celebrate Hanukkah, I make Prime Rib, his absolute favorite. I make a large one because he takes the leftovers from all of the meals home. This year I bought a 5.5# prime rib roast.

There's a new pizza place in town, a NYC chain and their pizza is supposed to be delicious. We talked about getting it, but I was shocked to find out that 2 large pizzas were $65. I balked, found that absurd, ultimately we did end up deciding to try it, and it was absolutely delicious.

After PurDude was back home I texted him about the pizza. I didn't want him to think I was being cheap. I told him it wasn't about the money, it was about whether 2 pizzas were worth that much. They are, after all, bread, sauce, cheese and a topping. To put it into perspective, I told him that that those 2 pizzas cost the exact same amount as a 5.5# prime rib.

I thought he'd say something about how, for the money, we should have made another prime rib.

What he actually said was that from his perspective, those pizzas fed 4 people and cost about what he would spend on 4 takeout meals in Boulder.

And I get it. But next time I still think I'd go for another prime rib. 

A few years ago, on Thanksgiving, I had a mortifying accident. I cook the turkey in those huge tin foil pans, I double them.

Somehow, towards the end of cooking, when I was basting the bird, I punctured the pans. I don't even know how it's possible, but I did. An inch of butter and fat poured out everywhere. All over the floor of the oven, the oven door, down the wall to the second oven, all over the floor, and it even splattered on the side of the fridge.

It hurts just to think about it. It took me forever to clean up the greasy mess, but I cannot get the streaks off of the inner glass of the upper oven. I've tried everything, they're a little lighter, but they're definitely still there.

Fast forward to this year's prime rib dinner night. 

I had scored and rubbed the prime rib about a day and a half in advance. It was a beautiful piece of meat. That day, I brought it to room temperature, then stuck it in the oven.

After I had the prime rib in the oven for a while:

PurDude: I can smell it, smells delicious.

Me (calling PurDude over and turning on the oven lights): How does that look?

PurDude (trying to look through the splattered oven door): Looks like a crime scene.

Not the reaction I was going for, but he's not wrong.

I had called mom and was telling her a rather long story about something we'd been going through here, I wanted her advice. Most of the way through my story, my cell rang with an incoming call. I checked the screen to see if it was something important, and what I saw made no sense. It said the incoming call was from mom.

Figuring the caller had hung up, I went back to mom to finish my story, and the phone stopped ringing. At some point I realized she wasn't reacting anymore. After a few "hello, hello"s, it was clear she wasn't there. 

So I called her again. She told me that we had been disconnected just after I started the story, she tried to call back but I didn't answer.

So apparently I told most of my long story to no one, stopping briefly to decline the call of the person I was telling the story to.

Yeah, I know, I'm a genius.

Hubs' boss sends us a box of designer chocolates at holiday time. This year's box had come and was on the counter when College Boy walked in. He went for the box:

Me: Nope.

Hubs (to College Boy): You know no one touches the box of candy until mom picks out her favorite.

College Boy: But her favorite is my favorite, and I never get my favorite.

Hubs: Listen, there are certain absolutes in life: death, taxes, and mom always gets the chocolate raspberry candy.

Me: It's not like I'm being selfish. And just to prove it, I'm giving you both first dibs on the broccoli.

College Boy (rolling his eyes): Well, that sounds fair. NOT.

Yeah, he was a lot easier to fool when he was little . . .

Turns out the broccoli was delicious. And I only know that because they're a little more generous with the Crispy Greek Air Fryer Broccoli than I am with the chocolate raspberry candies.

Crispy Greek Air Fryer Broccoli

During the holiday season, I'm always trying to think up new pumpkin desserts, they're a favorite of both Hubs and PurDude, and I rarely think of using pumpkin as an ingredient in the spring or summer.

I had tried a Cinnamon Chip Pumpkin Spice Cake with Spiced Cream Cheese Frosting, and stuck it in the fridge to serve after dinner.

I went to the fridge in the afternoon and 3 pretty big pieces were gone.

Me: Where did all that cake go?
Hubs: You should thank me, you were shirking your responsibilities.

Me: What?
Hubs: Don't worry, I picked up the slack.

Me: What are you talking about?
Hubs: Don't you always say it's the chef's responsibility to taste the food to be sure it's OK?

Me: Well, yeah.

Hubs: But you didn't try the cake. Don't worry, I tried it for you.

Me: Three times?
Hubs: You see, I tried it.

Me: And?

Hubs: It was good. But then I thought I should have another piece to be sure.

Me: And?
Hubs: That second slice was even better. 

Me: And?

Hubs: Then I had to test out my theory that the more you eat the better it gets.

Me: With that theory of yours, I'm lucky you didn't eat the whole cake.

Hubs: True. And now we're back where we started: you should thank me.

 

I’ve mentioned before that PurDude and I text every day. Sometimes it's just a quick hello, but I like to briefly (he's often texting from work) let him know what's going on around here, and hear what he's been up to.

On the day of New Year's Eve, he texted me his daily hello. And I responded with 

my New Years wishes for him.

Me: Wishing you a happy, healthy, productive, prosperous new year, filled with many trips home to see your mom.

Because trips home to see your mom is clearly right up there among the priorities for the upcoming year. And who would know that better than me?

We have a lot of white carpet in our house. It certainly wouldn't have been my choice, and I should have replaced it long ago, but it never hit the top of my home to do list.

In most of the rooms, the carpet is in good shape, but in the room College Boy uses as a sort of warehouse, the carpet's almost black. Replacing it at this point would be a monumental task as the room is quite full and he has it all organized.

Me: We really need to do something about that carpet, it's disgusting.

Hubs: He should vaccume it.

Me (looking at him like he's nuts): Umm, he does. Regularly. He's even used that powder cleaner.

Hubs: What do you want to do?
Me: We need to rent one of those . . . what do you call them?
Hubs: Zambonis?

Me (rolling my eyes): Zamboni?

Sometimes I have no idea how that guy's mind works.

I've said all this before, have even written multiple blog posts about it: I love that our house backs up to the woods, it's not only private and peaceful, but we see so much wildlife: deer, turkeys, hawks, fox, to name a few. And although we love birds, some of them can be destructive. We, all of us in this neighborhood, have been paying a fortune replacing siding on our homes due to woodpeckers. Many of us had some of our siding replaced in areas the woodpeckers like best with composite planks (made to look like wood and painted to match our house).

Just a few months later, we had our windows replaced, and recently we had workers out to the house to address the few issues we had.

When they were done, one rang the doorbell:

Worker: Did you know you have a hummingbird problem? 

Me: A hummingbird problem?

Worker: Yes, on the side of your house.

Me: Oh no, do you mean woodpecker?

Can't tell you how much I was wishing we had hummingbirds but, unfortunately, he did mean woodpeckers. He showed me a few new holes on the front and side of the house. He did recommend we hang plastic snakes on those spots, or put a plastic owl on a stake in the area. Both will scare them away.

Yeah, I'm sure hanging plastic snakes from the siding of my house will go over really well with the Homeowners' Association.

Coincidentally, just a few days later, College Boy called us to show us a large owl hunting from our neighbor's roof:

I was saying that although that was a really cool sighting, I wish we could see him a little better.

I guess he heard me, the next night there he was, in a tree just off of our back deck.

Now I wonder if I could convince him to sit on a stake at the side of the house.

 

Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border

Crispy Greek Air Fryer Broccoli

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups fresh broccoli florets

2 TBSP Greek salad dressing

1/4 cup pitted Kalamata olives, haved

2 TBSP crumbled Feta cheese

Directions:

*Toss the broccoli florets with the salad dressing and set aside.

*Preheat air fryer to 375 degrees. Place the florets into the basket, leaving a little space between them. Cook for 5 minutes.

*Flip the florets over and cook another 5 minutes until it starts to get browned and crunchy.

*Place the broccoli into a bowl, toss with the olives and sprinkle with the Feta cheese.