The Didn'ts

This weekend, at least for me, was all about the stuff that didn't get done.  Sir was incredibly productive - he taught a men's study Saturday morning and gave the sermon on Sunday at our local chapel.  He went for a 4-mile run on the mountain trail just outside our home.  He watched all manner of snowy German channels on the TV and could accurately describe to you the circumstances behind at least six commercial airline crashes from the German National Geographic channel.  He watched half of Iron Man 2.  He napped.  He ate yellow cake with chocolate icing.

I, on the other hand, didn't get the bank account reconciled, didn't get the package mailed off to my brother, didn't win one of the coveted shiny candy apple red mixers in The Pioneer Woman's weekend giveaway, didn't sort out all the piles on my desk, didn't make bulgogi for dinner because I didn't remember to buy carrots, and didn't manage to find us a house or apartment in which to live in Virginia, although I spent so many hours looking at rental sites that I could probably pass the realtor's exam.

Also, I didn't get the promised book review/giveaway post written, and it ain't happenin' today either, because I'm about to run out the door on extremely important errands which happen to be eating lunch with Monette.  I cannot confirm or deny that I will also be buying carrots and the 84 other things I forgot at the commissary on Friday even though I had a list with me and we will not even comment on the pitiful thing that used to be my memory.

Although I can perfectly, perfectly remember the most random and odd things, like how I love typing the word carrots, because it reminds me of my Grandma Dodds, whose handwritten recipe for potato soup is one of my treasures.  She spelled carrots with two "t"s, and for some reason, that's precious to me. I can't see the word without thinking of her. 

 And I can perfectly remember the look on The Girl's face the first time I tried to feed her baby food carrots out of a jar.  I have never seen a young child look so insulted.  I am vindicated, because at age 22, The Girl is a carrot-eating machine. Who knew?

What was I talking about?

 Oh, yes, things I didn't get done.  Um...I can't remember.  Must not be important, then.

Winner, Winner, Tomato Dinner

Well, the homepage at Random.org, which I have seen used for drawings on other blogs, was so technically challenging that I gave up, stuck my head out in the hall of our stairwell apartment building, and yelled, "Somebody pick a number between 1 and 6!"

"Four!" came echoing back at me. 

And, comment number four belongs to our only male commenter this round, who (disclaimer) happens to be my brother!  I'm happy for you, Roy, although I suspect Dee will get to use the nifty knife more than you do.  Here's hoping it keeps the Spaghetti Monster at bay.  :)

If I were a hugely popular blogger with thousands of readers, I'd accept that someone might cry foul and say I was guilty of nepotism; but the fact that I can't even claim tens of followers makes it obvious that if you win one of my giveaways, you have a good chance of being in my family!

In other news, I made barbecued chicken in the oven for supper, along with fresh broccoli with cheese sauce, baked beans (Sir's fave) and a packaged rice mix I got at Kaufland, one of the local grocery stores.  It never fails to make me laugh that I buy these things and then stare at the back of the package because I CAN'T READ GERMAN, therefore I have to use Google Translate in order to know how to cook whatever it is. 

I had planned to photograph the packet for you, but Sir needs the laptop to work on a presentation he's giving Saturday and his sermon for Sunday.  This never happens.  The man hates the computer and never touches it outside of the office; unfortunately he needs a quote from a Dutch Reformed theologian and he can't find the dusty tome of a textbook from his seminary days in which it resides.

So see you tomorrow, with another giveaway!

Nekkididity

As if the challenges of language, traffic oddities, customs and currency weren't enough, I had to add adventures in medical care to my list of Traumatic Life Events. 

Let me begin by saying that I am so happy to have military medical care, and that we've been blessed for the most part with excellent providers.  Hiyevah, our little community is gradually transitioning to close down, and so for some issues we are sent "on the economy" to German doctors.   I can't even describe how different it is!  For example, I went to an endocrinologist who wanted to do a scan - so she grabbed her machine and did it!  No referral to a lab, no separate appointment, no lab tech - just "Pleez ligh down now and be vehly still."  Blood work?  No problem - right in the office.  These things I like.

And thennnn we have The Orthopedic.  "Vee do ex-hlays now.  You vill take off please your clozzinks and valk down zis hall mit me." 

Oh, yeah.

No  hospital gown, no changing booth, no sheet, no drape, just me and my panties and three x-ray technicians whose combined age does not come close to equalling mine, and who were probably (as I would have at their age) begging the Lord above not to ever let them disintegrate into looking like that cottage-cheese covered, basset-hound resembling old American lady who fought the gravity and the gravity won.

They rolled me over, they stood me up, they walked me back and forth across some sort of gait-measurer, as I pretended, like any good European, that they weren't seeing things that would frighten a grown man.  (There's a good reason for candlelight and the fact that vision declines in one's 50s, or I wouldn't have gotten married.)

Humiliation 1  Me 0.

So today I went to the dermatologist on our army post, and the first thing his capable assistant did was give me the cutest little blue paper drape thingy to put on for my exam.  I could have kissed her.  I cannot tell you how close I came to PUTTING IT IN MY PURSE AND TAKING IT WITH ME when I left.

The Early Bird Special, and a Giveaway

It's Monday at 6:30 a.m., and I have a batch of cupcakes in the oven, ingredients laid out for a hot appetizer to be taken to a friend's house later today, the laundry sorted and ready to go down the 736478364926489 stairs to the basement, Sir packed up and bundled into his car with a bag lunch and hot coffee for his trip a few hours down the road to teach a class, and all the dishes done.

WHO AM I?

I know.

I'm the girl who stubbornly believed there should be only one 6:30 in a day, and it would NOT be the early one; the girl who stumbled through the mornings of her teaching, working and childraising years awakening  this early and functioning, but with neither a clear head nor a willing heart.  I'm the girl who would calculate exactly what time I had to be somewhere and how many minutes it would take to get ready, including (gasp) putting my makeup on in the car while driving, in order to determine down to the last possible SECOND how long I could stay in bed.  The girl who stayed up till 2 a.m. watching movies and catching up the ironing and reading thick, irresistible books.

And then I married a soldier.

A soldier who believes that the best part of his day is arriving at the gym at 5:10 a.m., and then coming home to a hot, huge breakfast at 6:42 a.m.  (We are nothing if not precise around here.) 

I die.

A soldier who is nodding off on the couch by 8ish p.m. but who will not surrender his pride and actually go to bed until 9 p.m. 

NINE P.M.  About the time I'm starting to feel creative, energetic and productive.

I struggled with this and still do because how do you change your entire lifetime body clock for about two years, but since I can't pull Sir over to the dark side (the Army frowns on late sleepers,)  he's slowly nudging my owlish tendencies toward the lark side.  Last night I was tucked in the flannel sheets at 8:37 p.m.  The thick, irresistible books I adore are very, very gradually being replaced by a 6-oz Kindle (the movers and packers are going to like me a lot this summer) and a tiny flashlight; it's a drowsy paradise with  the end result being that waking up at 5 is actually not that hard anymore. 

(WHO AM I?)

So, warbles the disgustingly chipper early riser, it's a perfect morning for a giveaway!  In my last post I mentioned my little love affair with Swiss and German paring knives.  (My true love affair is with French chocolate tortes and raspberry linzer cookies, but I can't send you those.)  I visited our little local gourmet shop last week and picked up a few of these handy little fellas to share with y'all.

Awful photo.  What we have here is a better photo that I actually borrowed from http://www.victorinox.com/.

I have no idea if I'm allowed to do that.  I'm so incredibly proud of myself for figuring out how. 

ANYWAY, the saleslady called this a "tomaten knife" - obv. a tomato knife.  I use mine for absolutely everything, though ironically not for apples, because I prefer a non-serrated blade for apples.  It and its counterpart, my little paring knife, are hands down the most used tools in my kitchen. 

So today, I'm giving one of these brand new knives away.  All you have to do is leave a comment below.  I will use random.org to choose a winner on Thursday this week, and your sweet Victorinox will be on its way to you. 

Because this post is so hurriedly and poorly written, I'm not going to offer bonus entries by twitter and facebook, although that will come with the next giveaway, (next week!) which will be a book I was asked to review.  Fun, fun!

Good luck!  Winner will be announced Thursday, but probably not at 6:30 a.m.

I think I'm going back to bed.