I feel sorry for Martha.

I do. I really feel like Martha got shafted. The executives at Enron are still flitting about with their millions while Martha– who allegedly only lost her own money is being publically pilloried. I’m sure she’d be burned at the stake on Pay-Per-View if it was more socially acceptable.

Anyhoo. Martha’s helped most of us regain our enthusiasm for cooking/cleaning/housewifering. In honor of her I’ll give you all the recipe for my favorite casserole. It doesn’t come from Martha’s kitchen but from Lady, my mother-in-law’s kitchen… which means it could have come from anywhere since she’s admitted all of her (our) favorite recipes originated elsewhere.

Foolproof Chicken Casserole.
1 box of Uncle Ben’s Original Recipe Wild Rice. (The box is orange.)
1 can of cream of chicken soup
1 can of cream of celery soup
1 soup can full of wine. (I like red wine in it. Or something dry.)
chicken breasts or tenders (Lady uses chicken pieces with the bones still in them but I think it cooks fastest with the chicken tenders.)

Mix up the soups with the rice and seasoning packet and the wine. Cover the bowl (If you didn’t use a bowl then this really isn’t foolproof…) and put it in the fridge over night.

The next day butter a casserole dish, and pour in the gloppy rice mixture. Put the chicken on top. Cover it. Bake it in a preheated oven at 375 for a half hour. Take off the cover. Flip the chicken pieces over. Keep baking it until it’s done. I can’t tell you when that will be. Usually within about 20 minutes. The longer it cooks the more brown and delicious the edges and top get.

Bon Appetit. And lay off of Martha.

Terri Finally Catches Up to the Rest of You

I read a lot. It’s been a long established rule of mine never, ever to leave the house without a book. Our local Taco Bell drive-thru line, for example, is always good for at least 6 or 7 pages…

So it came as quite the surprise from my sister when she discovered that I had never read To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Somehow it slipped through the classics crack… Jane Eyre did, too. I never read them in school and I think I had a fortunate public school education. I met Jane Eyre the spring my Dad died. It was nice to find such an engaging book that year. It made me think that there would still be happy surprises.

Sister Trish is not known for reading anything too heavy. I tease her about her Danielle Steele library but that was just a phase she passed through. She’s too busy to read much of anything. Between her job and the girls and the lives led by the girls she’s lucky if she can get through an InStyle now and then… Her reading is somewhat limited to her vacation time. On a recent cruise she worried that she’d run out of books so she picked up a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird in the airport shop. Once she started it she had trouble putting it down– and then went through the agony of not wanting it to end and pacing herself out at the last pages (I know because her copy is all dog-earred where she’d start and stop.)

Beaming, (and ridiculously tan), she announced, “Finally! A book we can talk about!” only to find that her little sister hadn’t ever read it. She promptly assigned it to me and I found it just as wonderful. What a great read– easily one of the best 5 books I’ve ever read. (Though I don’t think I’ll pull a Demi Moore and name this gestating little creature “Scout.” Too pretentious.)

And the best part? I think the two of us are possible the last two people on earth NOT to have seen Mr. Gregory Peck’s star turn in the movie.

Thanks, Trish for the great book. I’ll pop the corn if you’ll bring chocolate shakes…

Whompa whompa whompa whompa…

Okay. For the three of you regular readers out there who HAVEN’T talked to my mother-in-law… yes, it’s official. We’re expecting again. (Please note that it’s Robby and I are that expecting and not my mother-in-law and I as that might have implied.) Today marks the end of the first trimester. Our odds improve. Woo! Woo!

Our dear Dr. Boo Boo is back for the honors and tribulations of this very anxious pregnancy. He was kind enough to schedule an ultrasound at 6 weeks that proved to us that something indeed is in here. An early ultrasound doesn’t show you that much (and then again it showed us everything)– the highlight is the happy little flashing of the heart. “Look,” we cried, “it’s our own little nebula!” We have pictures of the flashing heart. I don’t show them much. It’s bad enough when people thrust a later ultrasound image at you. But we’re very proud of our little heart pumping away.

So today we go back to Dr. Boo Boo where kind nurse Clara goes over the bloodwork results with us. Robby & I high-five each other when we learn that there’s no syphillis. Clara is already used to us. She might have even been amused. And, despite all the images I’d had of her saying sternly, “Uh– yes. Let’s watch that weight gain, okay?” I was a little more than shocked to find out I’d lost 4 pounds. Huh. Four pounds in 6 weeks. It’s like I’m Jared. (Without the lack of social skills…) “But stuff isn’t fitting right anymore..,” I splutter. Clara, always patient, explains that my uterus will grow and body will change regardless of actual weight gain. Oh. We’re new at this.

When Dr. Boo Boo makes his appearance we are relieved (me, especially) that there’s no exam required… just a nice chat and then belly goo and the chance to hear the heartbeat. First there is just a steady whoooomp. Whooomp. Whooomp. That would be me he explains. And then a ringing phone. Well that’s rude, I thought– if the kid has a phone the least he could do would be to call his mother… but oh. That belongs to the good Dr. “It’s the ER. They call then put me on hold for five minutes. Well they can wait.” (Yes! I think gleefully, let them wait. Wait. Unless it’s ME in the ER. Then answer it.) More whooomp. Whooomp. Whooomp. And then there it is– whompawhompawhompawhompa. We love you, too, kid.

Everybody keep good thoughts, okay?

The Great Cheese Puff Stuff Off of 2004

I went to conference this week– cavorting with the usual suspects of the Midwest Open-Air Museum Coordinating Council… and it only took 48 hours for the most highly intelligent group of museum professionals to degenerate into cheese ball stuffing miscreants.

I know. I stuffed.

It all started when, out of idle curiosity (and a few cans of domestic beer), it was wondered aloud how many cheeseball puffs our friend Gordy might get into his mouth. Turns out he could get in sixteen.

That seemed impressive. The next one up, Finch, managed to get in 17… besting Gordy and establishing that the once impressive 16 could be beat.

And from there it all went downhill. As the room filled with the smell of beer and Faygo and cheeseball breath, we anxiously watched while the numbers crept upward and the “rules” (it never takes long before there are rules to impose) were soberly explained.

[Should you wish to start your own friendly competition the rules are: 1) No chewing. 2) No excessive time wasting. Cheeseballs will eventually disolve. Excessive time wasting is simply chewing by default. 3)Only one puff at a time. 4) The Bowl Holder is the official judge. And 5) No crushing of the puffs.]

When Rick stepped to the plate (bowl, actually), he brought the number to 25. The crowd’s cheering was at a frenzy now. Twenty five puffs. And, we noted enthusiastically, that Rick was able to talk all the while in rather clear tones.

Other competitors brought the numbers into the 30s– defying the odds, indeed. A seperate category for women (chicks) sprang up– the women easily beating the original Gordy number and topping out (thank you Ericka, from women everywhere) at a respectable 27 cheese ball puffs stuffed. Finch and Gordy were both beat by their wives, causing Gordy to reenter and top out at 35.

When the boy category hit 42 the crowd had become insatiable– and yet realistic that this couldn’t possibly be bested. Forty two cheese puffs is a lot of cheese puffs. Short of removing one’s teeth (yes, it was considered in the heat of battle) there really wasn’t all that much room in one’s mouth. Glurg, who’d managed this homerun sat down confident that he would take the honors home to northern Michigan. (Those of us from Michigan felt it our duty to explain to those bested in the rest of the midwest that northern Michigan gets really, really cold and tourist-less for the winter… really there’s not that much to do in Grayling come January unless you have access to a snowmobile or skis… For all we knew Glurg may have spent weeks in preparation for this otherwise spontaneous competition…)

And then, with our hopes pinned on him Rick stepped back to the bowl. I imagine that it must have been like this when Babe Ruth stepped to the plate– the crowd hushed and breathless, waiting to see if another miracle might come out of his bat. Somewhere a little gimpy child in a hospital bed listened to his radio to see if Babe would come through for him… Rick began stuffing while Pete counted 11…12 and the room awaited to see if he was champion or chump…29…30… still his voice was somewhat clear and resonating… 37….38….39… Glurg began to chuckle nervously but his eyes stayed glued to the mighty jowls of his opponent…. 43…44..! We all counted in a chant now, urging him onward to yet unseen heights… 48…49…50…. and then he slowed. Fifty, we thought. Fifty! Surely this score will stand for the ages… and then Rick took on one more then two then three. “Fifty three!,” we screamed.

There are days that you will tell your grandchildren about. Days of glory and honor. Days that, in one’s memory, will evoke the really foul aroma of cheese puffs. I was there when the Cheese Puff Stuff Off title went to Ohio.

Oh. And, by the way, I got in 19. So at least I beat Finch.

Mrs. Terri Stewart TiVo Pudding

I feel I must express my devoted love to pudding. Snack cup pudding. Jello cook & serve pudding. Homemade pudding. Huge industrial cafeteria vats of pudding. Running, drippy French Mont Blanc pudding.

How I do love it all so.

Almost as much as TiVo.

Eh?

I will forever be dumbstruck that a simple border can make such a freakin’ difference when it comes to the grocery store.

We went to Canada this weekend with our pal Nat to ski at Searchmont (near the Sault) and, apres ski, stopped off at the local A&P so that I could stock up on the necessities not available in the land of the free… like Horne’s Custard powder and hot caramel pudding mix and wheat biscuits and Kinder Eggs.

God Bless America but why can’t we have a half aisle near-devoted to the Cadbury company???

Sigh.

At the end of the tour there will be time for questions

Can’t seem to concentrate today. (Well, other than an intense wish to be curled up in my comfy feather duvat on the verge of sleep…) I keep looking around me at my office in some vain attempt to flee. Here’s a tour…

In front of me is my computer of course. It’s a Dell monitor and not nearly big enough. Pagemaker is a pain on a little monitor… but I’m only part-time so there’s little hope in any improvements there. Stuck on my monitor, on the edges are two photographs– one of me with pals Kara & Sue in 1860s garb; the other of the Piper Swale out in Maryland. A tiny little arrow says “I am here.” It’s a pretty place. Two fortunes from chinese take-out are taped on the monitor, too: “Say hello to others. You will have a happier day” (How bland of a fortune is that?) and “You will receive a surprising gift very soon” to which I added underneath, “A 19 ” monitor???” (This dates that fortune. A 19″ monitor. Sheesh.) A chunky label reading “Bunky” (our name for our maintenance guru) and a post-it note reminded me that I still want “My own font. I’ll call it ‘Twiggly.’”

To the left of the monitor is a phrenology head. It’s covered in mini post-it notes reminding me of computer short-cuts and phone numbers. A wee little glittery starfish toy is balanced on top from the accountant who went to the Islands and left us to rot here.

To the right is an IKEA wipe off magnetic board. The magnets range from an ear of spongey corn to a Burpees Annual repro to a little black dog humping a sock monkey. (I have friends with sick senses of humor.) A picture of our 19th century Farm Lane is adorned with my Mammy magnet and Friend Speedy as his Super Alter Ego “Underpants Man.” (Don’t ask.) The Brady Bunch holds up a photograph of a street sign reading “Maryland” with a big arrow… pointing to another photograph with of a tree from Middlekauf near Sharpsburg. A green, green picture of the Manassas battlefield has “This Umbrous Silence” tacked to it. It’s a phrase I read somewhere and love though I can’t remember where I read it now. Two other pictures are from Gettysburg… one of me and Speedy and Jim and the other of the Hardtack Society at the 24 Michigan Monument a few years ago. A yellowy clip of the VAIO TR1A laptop (wishlist) and silly quotes adorn the rest of the board… including Rhonda’s yiddish lessons (“alta kakker,” “schmarta,” and “meshuggna”) and a quote from Ericka Mason, ” a skunk in a bucket” which– while admittedly taken out of context– still makes no sense whatsoever. (Unless they carry buckets of skunks in Canada?)

A photo collage from several years ago has a group of coworkers hacking down Christmas trees “The great Hillside Christmas tree massacre” for a program. It was my first experience with a chainsaw. And my last. It was painful.

The big bulletin board is a mess. Buried letters and notes, picture postcards… Philbin, Robby, my nieces, and the last conference at Mackinac Island…work memos and a calendar… a moon rock, Survivor tally (when they’re voted out they get a big number written across their faces…)… an eiffel tower ornament, chopsticks, wee little birch canoe, sanddollar, a photo of the Withington mansion, and a tiny voodoo doll with strategically placed pins.

Other than a Camp Snoopy angry Lucy Van Pelt mug, a Barbie pen and an “Ella on a stick” head that’s about the brunt of it.

Still wish I was back in bed.

Belated Oscars

Despite the fact that we were within two hours of the Kodak Theater on February 29, we missed the Oscars. TiVo took care of my Oscar Watching Needs by recording them for me to watch at my leisure… allowing me to zip past a lot of the Lord of the Rings hoopla. (I still haven’t seen any of the movies, nor have I read any of the LOTR books unless you count The Hobbit which, apparently, most LOTR fanatics do not.)

The Best Moments:
1. Billy Crystal’s opening movie bit. Always clever. Always the perfect goofy counterpart to the yearly seriousness on the part of the Academy.
2. Jack Black & Will Ferrell’s little “You’re Boring” song set to the theme played by the orchestra when a speech runs too long. Priceless. And the unexpected kicker when, announcing the best song nominees, Will Ferrell whispered “Stinnnnng” in a hushed, awed Elf-like way. Ferrell is genius.
3. Adrian Brody’s Bianca. It was tongue-in-cheek. Good for Brody.
4. The Kate Hepburn tribute. Nicely done. (Except where was the moment she took off her bonnet as Jo? Also the Bob Hope tribute.
5. The silly animated/short subject acceptance speech by the still-unknown schmuck that thanked people in the orchestra every third thank you “for coming in late on playing me off”… Usually the Academy and I don’t care for the Little People trying to be cute and funny– but this time we made an exception.

The Worst:
1. What in the blue blazes was Uma wearing? Ugh.
2. Liv Tyler– who, I usually adore– simpering through her introduction. Ugh. Speak up. And do something with your hair.
3. Diane Keaton’s revival of her Annie Hall get up. Could somebody dress her in something other than trousers and jackets? SOMEbody?
4. The Pink Panther inspired crash with Blake Edwards. It was uncomfortable. Not funny.

Thank goodness for TiVo… and the end of the LOTR trilogy. (Yes, yes, I’m sure they are wonderful. I’ll see them eventually. Let it go.)

Wha? Bu? Wha???

Poor Jeff Probst. He stood there just sputtering during the Outburst of Sue Hawk the other day on Survivor.
What was that?

And, thanks to Kathy, I have a new phrase to populate my conversation with, “I don’t appreciate being drawn into your inner core of hatred.”

What is not to love about this show???

Tergoogle?

This thought comes to me today while I’m talking to Erickafriend on the phone… that it would make me happy to have a search engine, powered by me with only my interests at heart.

So, for example, my friend Saundra might type in some cerebral entry looking to do research in historic patents and what would pop up would be something like my favorite Mexican restaurant in East Lansing. (El Azteco for those of you that met me five minutes ago.) Or maybe my sister would do a search for new khakis but what she’d get would be a link to “I Capture the Castle” (which, because the world is cruel I STILL have not seen…).

Tergoogle wouldn’t be helpful necessarily but it might be more fun.

And it’s probably the inevitable technological advance on my long ago fervent wish to have my own radio station that would play “24 Hours of What Terri Wants to Hear– If You Don’t Like It Turn It Off” (“Dear God– is that Waltzing Mathilda again!?”)

Sigh. I try to make the world a better place….