What do your dishes say about you?

The Blue Willow Bowl

 

Thanksgiving Central, the “war room,” otherwise known as my kitchen. In the place where it all begins each year, I search for a mixing bowl that hasn’t yet been soiled and sent to the sink.

Nothing.

Oh, wait. Here’s that Blue Willow bowl I never use, the one Grandma gave me . . . when was it? Seems like it was right after I married. I recall her voice when she asked, “Don’t you need a good mixing bowl?”  

I lift the bowl and examine it. How many foods have been made and served inside this cobalt blue and white heirloom? Probably thousands.

My fingers trace the rim. Still chipped in two places—just like the day she gave it to me. Otherwise, I see no cracks. Not any unplanned ones, at least. There’s a crackle glaze that’s rather pronounced around the love birds painted near the bottom. Hmm. Love birds. I hadn’t ever before noticed these.

Now, where is my banana nut bread recipe? Well, it’s not really mine. Actually, I got that from Grandma too—indirectly. For Christmas, one year not long before she died, she gave me a cookbook published by her church. Grandma’s contribution to the book had been her banana bread recipe. She was already up in years when she’d provided those instructions. So she accidentally left out the flour from the list of ingredients. I’ve penciled in the correction. 

I stir together the flour, sugar, eggs, and lard. Yes, lard. That’s how she made it. It’s one day a year. I’m probably not going to kill anyone with cholesterol. I mean, it wouldn’t be her recipe if I substituted canola oil.

Mindlessly, I stare at the blue and white china.

I miss her.

It hits me. I am here, stirring the banana bread that I will serve my family tomorrow, and I am mixing the same batter in the same dish that my grandmother used to blend her baked goods decades before this.

So who cares if the bowl is chipped?

Some day, I will look at one of my daughters and ask, “Don’t you need a good mixing bowl?” When I do, I hope she appreciates the significance.

I pour the batter into a loaf pan and turn on the tap to rinse the bowl.

Water pours. The blue willows weep. And tears flow.

Everybody needs a good mixing bowl.

 

www.TotallySkewed.com

Deedee Divine on Sacramento & Co., News 10

Happy to be home today! Deedee Divine made a trip to Sacramento to appear on a morning news program. See her in action here:

http://gannett.a.mms.mavenapps.net/mms/rt/1/site/gannett-kxtv-3334-pub01-live/current/launch.html?maven_playerId=sacnadcofrntplayer&maven_referralObject=1328377429

 

 

 

 

Deedee Divine’s Totally Skewed Guide to Life named finalist in National Best Books 2009 Awards

Deedee Divine’s Totally Skewed Guide to Life  is a finalist in the “Humor” category of the National Best Books 2009 Awards! Winners and finalists were announced today.

To read the complete list of award-winners, visit usabooknews.com.

 

                                   

Should have never left him home alone with the remote

I Shouldn’t Have Left Him Alone With the Remote   

 My first mistake was hinting that I wanted an upright freezer. My second was leaving my husband home alone, bored and recovering from spine surgery.

 “I might as well tell you,” he confessed, “I did something bad while you were gone.”

 Visions of 65-inch TV screens and credit card bills large enough to threaten our mortgage payment flashed through my mind. “Wha-a-a-t?” I gripped the kitchen countertop for extra support.

 “Well, you know how you said you were planning to get a freezer?”

 “I didn’t say I was ‘planning’ to get one,” I corrected. “I just said I needed more freezer space and wanted to price a few.”

“Yeah, well, anyway, I figured you were serious about getting one, so I bought us something to go in it!” hubby exclaimed.

 ”I already have something to go in it . . . the overflow from the existing one,” I reminded.

 “Oh, wait until you see the steaks I bought!” said my mystery shopper. “They’re awesome. Not the crappy kind you’ve been getting from the grocery store, either. These are big and juicy and taste wonderful!”

 “Someone came to our door offering steak samples?” I asked. Man, the economy must be worse than I’d thought.

 “No. But I saw them.”

“Huh? Where?”

 He ducked his head low and peered up at me. “On QVC.”

 “You bought meat off the TV?” I gasped. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

 “Hon, they are going to be SOOOOO good.”

 “How do you know?”

 “Because I SAW them!”

 “And you think you viewed the actual steaks you’re going to receive?”

 Hubby shrugged.

 I jaunted to our side-by-side unit and, because I wasn’t wearing hard-toe shoes, gingerly opened the freezer door. With one hand, I rubbed at my forehead and counted to . . . well, at least two. “When are these steaks suppose to arrive?”

 “Soon,” he said.

 “How soon?”  If I threw away the ice cream bucket wedged between the pizza and the burgers I hadn’t yet compared to the most recent recall list, maybe I could make room for a sirloin or two.

 “I don’t know.”

 “Have you looked in here?” I motioned to the refrigerator. Then I remembered he’d been eating mostly soft foods and taking pain meds. “Okay,” I said, faking renewed calm. “Just tell me exactly how many steaks you ordered. Four? Six? Eight?”

 “Twenty-four.”

 I’m not sure where we’re heading with health care reform, but I need family medical insurance that includes QVC protection.

Deedee Divine’s Budget Guide to the State Fair of Texas

 

Deedee Divine’s Budget Guide to the State Fair of Texas

 

The State Fair of Texas, hosted annually in Dallas, is famed for its deep fried debuts. Previous notables have included corny dogs and fried Coke. Among this year’s heart-stopping (perhaps literally) fair contest winners is fried butter. But the costs of sampling such indulgences can far exceed indigestion. Even if you’re not dumb enough to eat battered butter, the fair can break your budget.

 A day at the State Fair of Texas could consume more cash than an all-night poker party. So for those who would rather not spend a fortune, I’ve devised my unofficial guide to the State Fair of Texas—a no-nonsense, frugal way to get the most for your money, and possibly someone else’s, when attending this extravaganza.

 If you follow my advice, not only will you spend less, see more, and avoid long waiting lines, but you also just might leave the fairgrounds with something in your pockets besides dryer lint.

 I’ve patterned my fair guide after those “Disney in a day” tour books, except this one is really doable.

 Arrival

The fair opens at 10:00 a.m. Because you’ll want to arrive early, you may need to search the sofa cushions and empty your coin jar the night before.

The cheapest way to get to the fairgrounds is to make friends with a delivery truck driver on his way to Fair Park. Otherwise, take the DART Green Line train. Visit any local area Kroger store to purchase a $16 combo ticket that includes train transportation, fair entrance fees, and perhaps renewed appreciation for solo travel.

If you drive your car to the fair, plan to spend $10 to park and at least half your shoe tread to hike from the nearest self-parking lot to the fair entrance. Or you can wait for the free tram, provided you hope to see one before your bones are discovered.

Fill your tote bag or purse with snack items prior to arrival. Otherwise you’ll be tempted to purchase meals with coupons that cause you to lose track of both costs and common sense.

 Upon ticket office approach, ask any accompanying children to slump their shoulders forward and bend their knees slightly. Children under 48” tall receive a reduced general admission rate of $11. 

 Park Entry

Cash is NOT accepted for food, beverages or rides, so proceed immediately to the nearest coupon vendor to purchase $40 worth of coupons. If funds are low, use your debit card and hope for the best. (Note: It can take extra days for the transaction to clear, which provides additional time to sell some scrap metal or pawn your Nintendo.)

 In order, follow the list below:

1. Go to the Food Court Building and eat lunch at 10:30 a.m. to avoid the crowds.
2. If you are traveling with family members, you should now be out of coupons. Send any children in your party scurrying around the Food Court to search for tickets dropped by others. (Yes, this happens frequently.) Should you come up empty-handed, you’ll need to purchase more coupons.
3. Hang out on the Midway and consider the irony as you watch gals who shouldn’t tell their weight pay someone to guess it out loud.
4. If a trip through the Midway with your brood seems too threatening, spend tickets to board the Texas Skyway, a gondola ride that spans the entire Midway. Tell the children they’ve now seen an aerial view of the whole shebang and there’s no need to return to this section.
5. Head over to the Automobile Building and make a game out of seeing how many cars inside will truly run on 87 octane gas. (There’s a reason they call them “premium cars.”)
6. Double back to the icon Big Tex and keep your eyes on the ground. Picture takers often lose their coupons in front of this landmark.
7. Tour the Creative Arts Building to cool off.  On the way out, conduct a family pit stop. Men, check the chain attached to your wallet. Ladies, make sure your fanny pack isn’t sitting on its namesake.
8. Catch the pig races in the Pan American Arena (free) and get alternative income ideas.  
9. Grab a glimpse of the star boar in the Swine Building, which may lack visitors because of flu assumptions. See, first-hand, the difference bad carbs can make.
10. Quell the urge to buy another scratch-off lottery ticket tonight and watch the free games at the Texas Lottery Show.
11.  Because you probably can’t afford to plant your own fall garden this year, take those autumn photos at one of the many floral themed exhibits scattered throughout the park.
12. Introduce the kiddos to international cuisine by letting them sample chocolate jalapeno peppers in Cotton Bowl Plaza. This should eliminate all further requests for candy. Afterward, have the little ones wash away the burn at nearby water fountains.
13. Adults visit the Pepcid Mobile Tour for free samples.
14. Wander through the Food & Fiber Building and grab any freebies. Don’t forget to gaze low for lost goodies.
15.  Share a turkey leg on a stick and split a basket of curly taters.
16.  Sprint to the nearest restroom. Do not look for more coupons. Just run.
17.  No refunds are provided for unused fair coupons. So head over to the Main Entrance and offer your NASCAR keychain, Dallas Cowboys cap, or designer knock-off shades in exchange for coupons any exiting patrons possess.
18. Visit the Children’s Barnyard, as frequently as needed, for free anti-microbial cleanser.
19. Stay for Illumination Sensation, an outdoor light, music, and fireworks display, and prolong your energy savings at home. (As long as you’re watching THEIR lights, you won’t be burning YOURS.)
20. Before you leave the fairgrounds, wander over to the ONCOR exhibit for more energy saving ideas. You just might find a few to help you better afford next year’s State Fair of Texas!

 

If you found this guide useful, please share it with friends!

 

Read more about the State Fair of Texas in Deedee Divine’s Totally Skewed Guide to Life, by Diana Estill. 

 

Hooray! The Recession is Finally Over!

According to Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernake, the recession is “likely over.” Yes, I know you may feel otherwise, so let me interpret Ben The Visionary’s remark. What he really means is this: The recession is over for those who invest in the U.S. stock market, especially the financials, but live somewhere else, like, oh, say maybe Mumbai.

For the rest of us, Ben says to expect a “jobless recovery,” because, of course, like I just said, any newly created jobs will, in all probability, be outsourced. 

American consumers who once represented 70 percent of the nation’s GDP will no longer be relevant in the now recovering economy. The future drivers of our country’s economic health will be stock and commodities speculators and executives with obscene bonuses. 

It doesn’t really matter whether you’re employed. As long as tax burdens are shifted to behemoth corporations and “rich fat cats,” whatever you once paid the IRS is, quite frankly, now of little significance. Especially since you’re looking at years of unemployment or underemployment ahead. Already you’ve been squeezed for about as much as can be gained from you. It’s time to put the tax burden on someone else. 

To summarize, the recession is officially over. The man who precisely called the beginning of this downturn—give or take a year—has spoken. So please resume your normal life concerns and forget about your broken savings accounts, lost careers, abysmal home values, and, most importantly, your government representatives’ responsibilities.

 

 

 

www.TotallySkewed.com

Don’t give ME the senior plate special!

 

I can’t tell you exactly when it happened. Probably it occurred sometime between that first chin hair and my transition to stretch-fit jeans. But somewhere along the way I started to look my actual age, as opposed to behaving like it. This became painfully evident one Sunday morning while I was having breakfast at a place I now call “I-STOP,” as in “I stopped eating there.”

“What’ll you have,” a waitress asked me.

“I’d like the carb carcinogen combo,” I replied.

“And you, sir?” she said turning to my husband. With her pen she scrawled something on a notepad the size of an index card.

“I’ll have the monster meal, with the eggs scrambled,” he replied.

“Oh, doesn’t mine come with eggs, too?” I inquired. If so, I needed to let her know that I didn’t want a sunny runny embryo on my plate.

The server looked at me for a split second before she answered. “No. There aren’t any eggs on the Senior Plate.”

I froze momentarily and tried to rewind the audio. Did I just hear her say SENIOR? One glance at my spouse confirmed that I had. He now appeared to be searching for a safe escape route.

I checked my attire, but that helped explain nothing. Am I not wearing flare-leg jeans? Is this not a hip looking shirt? Aren’t my earrings dangly and sterling? What is wrong with this woman? Do I look like a blue haired, penny-saving, don’t-bring-me-none-of-that-boysenberry-syrup senior customer? And how come she didn’t ask hubby if he’d ordered the senior portion? 

I felt my face grow flush. Or maybe it was just another hot flash. Did I forget to apply my concealer this morning? Can she see my roots from where she’s standing? How would that be possible, given the lighting in here is one notch up from an appliance bulb?

“I didn’t order a senior meal,” I politely corrected.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Then, yes. How do you want your eggs?”

Briefly I considered saying, “On your face will be just fine.”

 

We didn’t talk about it while I sawed at my cold French toast and hubby chased congealing hashbrowns across his plate with a fork. It felt as though something tragic had just happened, something so fresh and raw that to speak of it would have been almost life-threatening, especially had the first comment come from my baby-faced partner’s lips.

We paid no further mind to the rude, undiplomatic and obviously sight-challenged waitress. Though I might have enjoyed it, it simply wouldn’t have been right to have made fun of someone who warranted her own telethon.

The drive home from the restaurant was exceptionally quiet. Minor chitchat dominated what little conversation took place. But when I entered the comforts of our suddenly geriatric looking home, I turned to my spouse and said, “Did you hear that waitress call me a senior? Am I really a senior now?”

My man bowed his head and stared at the floor tile before replying, “Yes.”

“I am?” I cried.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Gosh. I didn’t think we looked like seniors,” I said slowly succumbing to reality. “I mean, she didn’t even mention the senior meal to you.”

“I know! And I was hoping she would, too,” said my breakfast companion, “because I wanted the discount!” He thought for a second and then with a grin added, “You know, I got carded this week when I bought a bottle of wine.” He gave a conceited horselaugh.

If I’d had a walker, I’d have clobbered him with it.

I paced the room for a bit. And then I remembered something about space travel, which, on the surface, might not seem related to feeling old. However, given the way my mind works, this was relevant. “Well, Einstein had a theory about time and travel,” I said. “He believed that if people could just go fast enough—faster than the speed of light—they could stop or even reverse the aging process.”

Hubby furiously churned his feet and pumped his arms.

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m trying to go that fast!” he explained. Then he clutched his chest and gasped. “But I think I better go lie down.” He heaved a deep breath and sighed. “I wore myself out.”

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s not safe for seniors to overdo it.”

 

www.totallyskewed.com

Diana Estill is the author of Deedee Divine’s Totally Skewed Guide to Life.

International Space Station toilet repairs

 

 

On the 40^th anniversary of man’s first walk on the moon, a commode on the International Space Station flooded. This just proves what I’ve always suspected: Even if you spend $19 million on a toilet, it’s STILL going to malfunction. 

According to news wire reports, astronaut plumbers repaired the toilet today. It’s rumored that a crewmember remarked, “One small flush for man, one large plumbing bill for taxpayers!” 

Prior to the commode repair, 13 space station crewmembers shared one lavatory—which is a better than tenfold increase in the ratio of women’s stadium toilets to females attending rock concerts, so, really, the astronauts should recognized their good fortune. 

Earlier this morning, space station director Brian Smith indicated that, if the latrine wasn’t fixed within six days, the broken commode might become a more serious matter.  Presumably, the crew is now grateful to know they won’t need to cancel “enchilada night.”  

The flow goes on!

 

 

 

 www.TotallySkewed.com

From High School Dropout to Humor Author – Page 2 – MORE Magazine

The author of Deedee Divine’s Totally Skewed Guide to Life describes how she became a humor blogger and award-winning writer.

View >>

Code Red Apple: Why I May Never Retire

 

 

Code Red Apple 

On a Friday morning I read the newspaper and culled through the sale ads until two words caught my attention: “Red Apple”. My pulse quickened. I exhaled slowly, sighing.

 I could not afford to spend another dime on anything that wasn’t an essential need. Not in this recession. But this was the summer clearance sale of the season, a signal for women to drop everything and meet at Macy’s, the equivalent of deer season opening day for hunters—only with a much higher sense of purpose.

Like any addict, I did the responsible thing. I called a friend, someone who would encourage me to remain strong while battling my inner demons.

Recently my neighbor and I had bemoaned our vows to curtail discretionary spending and save more money. So I knew exactly who to telephone.

“Macy’s is having a Red Apple Sale,” I said as soon as Colleen answered. She could, no doubt, hear the dread in my voice. “And shoes are SIXTY-FIVE PERCENT OFF!” I cried.

“When?” she asked.

“NOW! Right now! And they have the cutest sandals in their ad. I’m feeling like I might go,” I confessed.

“I wear a size 8. Call me if you see anything good!” she begged.

So now I had to go because I’d assumed a responsibility to report findings.

Inside Macy’s, I crouched between shoe racks sorted by size but not style. There truly was something here for everyone, from hoochie mamas to soccer moms. Four-inch stilettos? Yep, they had some. Rainbow print platforms? Uh-huh. Smart career pumps? Yes! Granny grips? Them too. And, of course, sandals!

I tunneled my way through rows of six-foot tall racks, peering deeply into the recesses of the bottom rungs. Patiently I waited for other hunters to snare their picks before I skillfully plucked off styles they’d surely missed.

Ah-ha! Yes! I found a 7 in this one! Ee-ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Within a few minutes I’d snagged my quota. Well, okay, maybe more than my quota—seeing as how my self-imposed limit was NONE.

Next, I wandered over to the size 8 section. Colleen was in luck! I found a flashy turquoise (her favorite color) patent leather sandal in her size. With my free hand I flipped open my cell phone and called her.

“You’ve got to come see this shoe! It’s an extra 10 percent off the sale price, so that’s like 75 percent off, until one o’clock. I’m not good with math, but I think it’s marked down to 12 dollars!”

“I’ll be right there,” she said.

By the time Colleen arrived, the crowd had increased in both number and collective euphoria. Four shoe clerks were about 10 short of being enough to service what appeared to be the most congenial shoppers in the world. Ladies who’d never before met one another now compared shoe finds and offered guidance.

“Where’d you find that style?” one woman asked.

“Right over there!” replied another.

“I saw that one and thought about it. It looks so cute on you, now I’m going to go back and get it,” a stranger said to Colleen. The lady returned with a size 10 in the same style that Colleen had been modeling for two other women.

A female past a certain age sat in a chair, fondling two unmatched pumps. Each shoe sported a 3-inch heel that looked like it could wreck hopes for an active retirement. The rest of us eyed her suspiciously. Surely no one her age would wear those bunion builders!

“Oh, nooooo. I still love my stilettos,” the woman cooed. “I wear ‘em to church and then take ‘em off. But I do still wear ‘em,” she explained. “I don’t care if they hurt. They look good on my feet. And I wait all year for Calvin Kleins to be 20 dollars! So I will sit right here as long as it takes for that lady to find the mates to these.”

“Do these two leopard print ones look too much alike?” Stiletto Lady’s pal said to anyone who’d volunteer an opinion.

“No,” said three customers standing nearby.

“Yes,” remarked Senior Stilts.

These two must have been related. I’m pretty certain only a relative would try to talk you out of a good shoe that’s been marked down 75 percent, which is exactly why I hadn’t called any of my kin.

At the cash register, a sales clerk asked, “Would you like to donate three dollars to Reading is Fundamental today?”

“Yes,” I enthused. And then I silently thought how sad it would be if I couldn’t read. Why, I wouldn’t even know that a Red Apple Sale was in progress. And then look at all the fun and camaraderie I’d miss.

Oh, sure, I might save more money by skipping the sale. But I’d rather have a few less dollars in the bank than wear raggedy shoes on my feet.

Apparently, I’m not alone.

 

 

Diana Estill is the author of Driving on the Wrong Side of the Road and Deedee Divine’s Totally Skewed Guide to Life, and the owner of way too many pairs of shoes.