Dent Practice

I've laid in a supply of good viewing for the week, team. At this very moment, Englishman is recording The Wind In The Willows on Masterpiece Theatre. Today I dropped off Six Feet Under, Season 3, Episodes 32-34 at the library and came home with Vera Drake and Warm Springs. I very nearly added Whale Rider to the stack but knowing that Six Feet Under, Season 3, Episodes 35-37 is in transit from a network library to mine, I didn't want to get too greedy. I should have some knitting news and photos to report here very soon. Stay tuned.

Thanks to Easter treats, my dent capacity has increased in a way that's helpful to competition; not so much to those New Year's Resolution cholesterol and triglyceride numbers. Too bad. I'd rather expire slightly early, happy and full of ham, cheesy potatoes, caramelized sugar-glazed sweet potatoes, and lemon-buttered asparagus than elderly and cranky from having choked on a lethal quantity of celery. I'm sorry if that's harsh but it is the truth.

The Easter treats were divine, team. Dove milk chocolate eggs. Mini malted speckled robins' eggs. Aged peeps (all celophane wrapping removed at least 36 hours before consuming, thank you very much!). Oh! And how do I love thee, Vanilla and Lemon Panna Cotta with Blackberry Sauce? Let me count the calories!

It is with some sadness that I must report no eggs were bedeviled in the Coach's house on Easter Sunday. Coach was, well, let's say otherwise indisposed by a Bellini or three. When life gives you peach nectar (for ham glaze), make Bellinis* (with the ample unused leftovers). Words to live by.

* 1 champagne flute + 2 oz. peach nectar + 1/2 oz. lemon juice + 1 oz. grenadine + top with fizzy white wine = bliss. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Good Friday

Aren't they all?

We'll be celebrating the holiday with a viewing of episodes 7 and 8 from season 3 of Six Feet Under. Seems appropriate, doesn't it?

Tonight we boil the eggs for tomorrow's dyeing process. I bought 2 dozen this year. I want deviled eggs, dammit! I've got the stupid deviled egg dish with all the little half-ovoid indentations that successfully corral the slippery eggy devils. It only gets used once a year. Seems like I've been compelled, doesn't it?

Saw a great bumper sticker today. Oval and about the size of one of those ferry stickers. Printed in black lettering over a pink Breast Cancer ribbon, it read "Save the tatas". Well, here, I'll just google you up a picture. Gotta get me one of these.

The Meetup Knitting Group I attended Wednesday night was fabb-o! The founder of the group is from Newfoundland. How cool is that? I've never met anyone from Newfoundland but it seems such a fabled, romantic place. Kathryn's as sweet, soft-spoken and friendly as you'd imagine someone from there to be.

Meeting her reminded me of a work-study student assigned to the Study Abroad office at Boston University back in the days when I was an employee. When he asked me where I was from and I replied, "Wisconsin," he got hysterical.

"No way!" he said to me.

I was curious. What could possibly be so extraordinary about being from Wisconsin. He explained to me that a friend and he had argued in a High School philosophy class that the state of Wisconsin did not really exist because neither of them nor any of their acquaintances had ever met anyone from Wisconsin. Since there were no eye-witnesses to its existence they proved, therefore, that the place was mythical.

"No! You've got it all wrong," I replied. "It's Delaware that doesn't exist." First in the nation, indeed. By Work-Study Student's reasoning, in addition to the fact that I could never bloody ever remember Delaware when having to list all 50 states, I concluded way back in childhood that either the place didn't exist or it was so insignificant, it possibly shouldn't. We used to spot state license plates on our interminable family driving vacations back when I was a whippersnapper. We actually even saw a Hawaii plate one year, attached to a car driving the Gallatin valley of Montana along route 191. Never, ever in all our years of (Dad) fly-fishing the west did we see a Delaware license plate.

But if Newfoundland can actually exist off-map to the extent that it produces sweet people like Kathryn the knitting group founder, then there's hope for Delaware yet.

And, yes, she was knitting a big thick wool jumper.

I Know, I Know!!!

Edited to remove utter incoherence.

I really had no business doing it. I have vowed to fit back into my 3-months-not-pregnant-enough-for-maternity-clothes-yet jeans (yes, it's that bad folks). I even have been getting up at 6:25 am to Nordic Track* 3 days a week to discourage the seams of aforementioned jeans from imprinting themselves to a depth of 1/4 inch into my orange peel flesh. I gave up wine for almost an entire two weeks. I mean business, people.

* That's the verb tense of Nordic Track n. the apparatus. Nordic Track v.to use the apparatus as designed to obtain physical fitness. Nordic Track adj. as in "I hung your laundry on the Nordic Track hanger."

It's not really my fault (well, yes, it is) that the hollow milk chocolate bunny made by Nirvana Chocolates, purchased for an exhorbitant price at Whole Foods, and destined for Jujube's Easter basket leaped off the top of the refrigerator last night and broke into several large pieces. It was too wrecked to pass off as a treat from The Easter Bunny and I am fresh out of chocolate glue. There was nothing for it. It had to be eaten. Last night. All of it. In one bliss-filled, face-stuffing, finger-smearing sitting while Jujube received her nightly ablutions from Daddy, and Mommy enjoyed her daily 30 minutes of solitude.

Did I then or do I now feel the slightest twinge of guilt? No freakin' way, Dent squad. That's why God made paid employment. I can just go buy me another one. Erm, I mean, buy her another one. Mmm... yum... smack, smack.