Birthday Bashes [RANT]

Just a reminder that my substack has gone live with paid posts. You can subscribe for free and get all the free posts delivered to your inbox or pay a little and get every post sent to you. I priced the subscription as low as possible and have been posting at least twice a week. Summer has kept me busy, so most posts have been poetry, but I have high hopes to get more short stories out in the fall. In the meantime, wish me a happy birthday by letting me know what strikes your fancy here or there.

My brain keeps refusing to let me sleep until I address its need to write poems about various dark creatures. If I didn’t have an angel on the other shoulder prompting me to write light pieces, I might be concerned. have been posting these sweeter pieces for all subscribers because the world needs more light. I guess that means we pay for darkness. Seems valid.

The rest of the week has been devoted to pre-birthday celebrations. I have eaten cheesecake and Italian food. I have been carefully working through the freebies that find their way into my inbox. I have to get something for letting different places send me propaganda almost daily. 

Even better, my girls continued their camp happiness this week. Yesterday was their last day of camp, so they performed a cute little hula show for us. Of course, my brain thinks it is funny and halfway through a song about “hula hands”, it decided we were singing about Major Hoolihan from “M.A.S.H.”, so I apologize to my husband and friend who were sitting next to me for my snickers. I didn’t limit them to that song as I dropped my phone directly on my face while trying to make video to share later, preferably with shy boyfriends who are already terrified of me.

Clearly, I will not be taking up videography as a job any time soon, but I still think I missed my calling as baker. Luckily, I get to bake cakes for some of my adopt-a-family. I also keep forcing people to eat delicious brownies because otherwise I will eat them all myself. Please don’t let me eat all of the brownies myself. I do not wish to buy new clothes.

Anyway, my birthday swiftly approaches and we’re supposed to be celebrating again today with a little family trip to eat Italian food. Yes, I might be addicted to deliciousness.

Paying Attention and Happy Campers [RANT]

Most of my inadvertently sugar-free pie may be currently waiting for me in my freezer. Even I couldn’t eat most of three pies before they went bad. A friend let me have some pie that he remembered to put sugar in on Sunday, so it was a pie win weekend. Add that to spending the Fourth with some adopt-a-siblings and the whole weekend proved fun. The cousins all played happily and the tiny humans who weren’t mine didn’t want to leave despite the fact that it was way past everybody’s bedtimes and potentially homicidal cats awaited them at home.

The smaller humans didn’t even give watching fireworks over the trees much of a go until around ten. Their arrival did inspire us to wander into our neighbor’s driveway which provided a much better view of the proceedings. Up until that point , we were in my driveway, spinning around in circles every time we heard a promising pop from any direction.

Saturday morning was less satisfying. I volunteer at my local FamilySearch Center so people can come in and look up their ancestors. We have many volunteers but not enough to man the center more often than every Saturday. As they are donating their time, volunteers tend not to be available around major holidays, so we don’t open our doors those weekends.

I was amazed that I woke up by the time I would normally head down for a shift. My tiny bosses woke up early as well, so we were watching “Thundercats” together when a friend called to ask if anyone was supposed to be at the center. Apparently, a volunteer missed that the Fifth of July was listed closed on the schedule that I send out periodically and made an appointment for someone to get help that day. Anyone else feel like people don’t pay attention to information they impart?

This week was the first week of camp for my darlings. Their camp lets them learn to appreciate how musical theater can help them to express themselves. The directors picked a Hawaiian theme this year, so we prepped by watching “Lilo and Stich.” Hopefully, they get to hula like Lilo.

Mom camp has involved trying to make dents in messes throughout the house and keep writing. I owe my substackers some stories, but no one has crossed over to being a paid subscriber and it feels like the only views are me, so I will ease into assigning myself deadlines.

If I can resist my other hobbies, my writing goals might go easier. With my little monkeys eating at camp, I found myself with a bevy of overripe bananas. Now I have almond banana blondies, banana pudding cheesecake, and banana foster cake to rehome to my belly, unsuspecting friends, and my freezer.

Communication and Service [RANT]

Today is a holiday: the first one celebrated in my head this month. Needless to say, I have been thinking of patriotic pie and burgers and small children racing through my yard chasing each other to something exciting. What exactly that is remains to be determined, but we have pie: cherry, dutch apple, and blueberry, oh my!

Of course, the world outside my food-obsessed brain marches onward and multiple people have enlisted my skills this week. The first was a situation of my own making. When my kitchen was out of commission, I attended a White Elephant Gift Brunch with some friends from church. Since I couldn’t just bring brownies, I presented a gift certificate for baked goods. The recipient still hasn’t quite redeemed her gift.

Another couple of friends is leaving us for the west and the same hostess offered up her house for a farewell party. Seeing my friend in the same environment reminded me that I have not yet fulfilled my obligation from December, so I sat down to see what type of baked delight might appeal to her. She responded by asking if I could make lasagna. I can and I have, but it has been a while, since I learned to make it in a giant turkey roaster and the only person in my house who will eat is me. 

Technically lasagna is baked, and, as we talked, my brain reminded me that not everyone is addicted to sugar, so I spent half of yesterday chopping and browning and baking lasagnas, since I figured she wanted a smaller portion of lasagna than a roaster pan. I also decided to use the no cook noodles, which apparently get uncooperative if the top layer isn’t held down by a massive amount of sauce, so now I know that for the future. I hope she appreciates her gift because mine was delicious, but I didn’t put as many noodles in mine, so it wasn’t mysteriously crunchy.

Another young lady at church wanted my help getting started on her family history. The missionaries informed me of this and said they would set something up. Then they asked again and gave me the sinking feeling that perhaps these young men might need to work on their organizational skills, so I started communicating with the young woman, which I should have done in the first place. 

We decided to meet up Monday at six at her apartment. I made her aware that I might be late. She seemed to understand that. I did end up leaving my house around six instead of before six. I saw that coming and gave her a heads up around 5:40. Having not heard anything to the contrary, I drove toward her apartment.

Halfway there, I got a message telling me we needed to reschedule. Another message followed explaining that her landlord didn’t like her to have guests after 6:20. I proceeded to turn around and head home as it was already 6:18. 

So clearly, I need to gather more information before I agree to anything. Communication is important, people.

That is why I must sadly confess to my guests today that I forgot to add sugar to two of the pies I made. Clearly, this was not a good week for me to bake. Nothing turned out quite right. But I tested the pies and the addition of ice cream definitely sweetened them up. What does this tell us about ice cream?

That it’s delicious. Calm down. I scream for ice cream.