The Three Things I Learned in Home Economics Class

Yesterday, I was thinking about my 8th grade home ec class. This was a required class - it or metal shop. I took home ec only because I have an intense dislike of fire, and so shop was out of the question.

I'd best get to the point and enumerate said three things.

1) I learned to sew and stuff a pillow, and I learned how to make a short-sleeved shirt. I still have the pillow, so I guess that's a "deliverable" from home ec. The shirt, well, I'm not sure where that went. I know I wore it to the spelling bee in 9th grade, so perhaps that spelling bee memory is what made me think of home ec. I have since, sadly, unlearned any sewing tricks of the trade; I have no natural talent to carry me through in this regard, either.

2) I learned how to make pudding to please my spouse. Chocolate, no less. Might I expound on how much I despise pudding? Really, I despise it. I'd much rather clean cat litter for an hour. I have always despised pudding, and so making pudding FROM SCRATCH was not exactly a pleasant experience for me, but it was obviously memorable. I'm sure I have repressed any pudding-making skill I might have acquired.

3) Ah, the big one. I learned that Del Monte peaches are of higher quality than generic, store-brand peaches. Wow! Isn't that a revelation? A 13 year-old girl needs to know these things. Someday she may have a family to feed.

I espouse the peach theory purported by my home ec teacher, though. The generic ones were ratty looking and possessed a gravelly texture. The Del Monte peaches were oh-so smooth and delectable. Mmmm.

Thus concludes your home ec lesson for the day. Incidentally, I learned to cook at home, and I'm quite good. I learned to clean by default; my mother wanted every surface of her home "plate" clean. Yes, that means it could serve as a plate in a pinch. It's just that sewing thing...

hln

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Oh, THAT Appointment

Today was the yearly visit to every woman's most necessary doctor. And, yes, it should be at least once a year. There are so many humorous things to impart about this experience that I'm not exactly sure where to start.

But start I must. My gynecologist's name is Dr. Mormol. Yes, that rhymes with normal, and he is. I once had a Dr. Patterson, and he was one of the jumpiest individuals I've ever met. I'm not sure how he was able to stop bouncing long enough to perform an exam. I always used to bump into him at the grocery store, too, and then have to explain to my shopping companions, oh, that's my gynecologist.

Before that, I had a Dr. Walker, I believe. I change doctors when I move to different cities, so this explains the veritable doctor palette; it's not a gynecologist for every mood. Dr. Walker made every woman who came to see him, regardless of reason, take a pregnancy test. Men, you may know this, you may not, but the easiest pregnancy test is a urine sample. So, that's what you did before you saw the doctor - you filled your cup. Me, I had it easy. They were always happy to see me. This is from my pre-marriage years, so my maiden name was Igert, and they put the initials on the cup. Heather + Igert = HI. Ah, the friendly urine sample. Dr. Walker also put big posters that said "RELAX" on his ceiling. I suppose this was meant to calm you if you stared at them long enough.

But, today, there I was with Dr. Mormol, and we were talking bikes. Bikes are good - we have that bike ownership thing in common, so you really don't even notice anything else when you're carrying on a "well, how many times have you fallen because of those blasted toe clips" conversation. It was as if we were discussing our common experiences while sitting on a bus or a Metrolink car. But, no, of course, that was not actually the case. Didn't matter, though. By the time I realized everything was complete, Dr. Mormol had left me to go do doctorish things while I dressed myself.

And after I had accomplished the clothing feat, I found myself with extra time before the good doctor returned. What kind of trouble can I get in, you ask? Well, it became time to check out the literature for the Nuvaring method of contraception. I mean, we're talking piles of literature and pictures in this exam room. What's a girl to do?

And what do you think of this thing? First thing I think of is, it looks like a gummi worm. Can you imagine your small child consuming your Nuvaring? Hmm, ewww. Look, mommy, gummi! I believe there is some BrianJ lore that would support childhood consumption of mother's birth control pills, but I may have that confused with his consumption of the family's jade plant (or two). Also, can't you (if you're female) imagine all the guff you'd get bringing that thing home. Random men probably scoff, beat their chests, and call themselves Lords of the Ring.

So that was my adventure of the day. It beat the code I conquered, and, thankfully, I'm healthy, so I'll likely not repeat it soon. I don't get the intended response from the lovely kissing folks graphic, either. What I think about is, ewww, in a moment she'll be chewing on her hair.

hln

Posted by: hln at 09:28 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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The Search for the Sympathy Card

My Aunt Lee died last week, or perhaps it was late the week before, but I don't mean to steal and permutate (is that a word) a line from The Stranger, so I will continue. I didn't really know my aunt Lee, having probably last seen her when I was 7 or 8. She was my Uncle Dick's wife of many years, my uncle being my father's older brother. I have a very small family, and the thing to do here is to send a sympathy card to my uncle, correct?

I begin this task late on a Sunday evening, in time to place the card, which will be of course difficult to write, into Monday's outgoing mail. I retrieved my card stash out of the credenza, and here's what I found.

1) I found a sympathy card. It was addressed to me, though, so it wasn't quite what I needed or expected.
2) Enough Christmas cards to last me until 2007. I have them from the American Heart Association. More from the Humane Society. Some purchased Shoebox cards.
3) A postcard of a family of five on pogo sticks (each on an individual stick). Why?!?
4) Two orangish grey kittens on cards that say "Thank You."
5) Cards depicting Native Americans with horses. Where did I get these and why?
6) A St. Patrick's Day card (with tacky green envelope) that says "On Reilly, McManus, Male and O'Malley" and depicts reindeer pulling leprachaun Santa and a pot of gold.
7) Finally, a card that says "With Heartfelt Sympathy" and a gentle message.

Just what is our culture's obssession with greeting and other cards? I suppose it's not really proper to call a sympathy card a "greeting" card. I'm not really big on them, but for a person who professes that, I sure do store my share of them for several occasions.

Now, I just need to decide who gets the pogo stick postcard. And find the right words for both.

hln

Posted by: hln at 07:54 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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And MORE Mail

This one is dated "Wednesday Morning." Any and all Wednesdays. It starts:

Dear Mrs. Noggle, I don't want to believe you've abandoned the Republican Party, but I have to ask...Have you given up?

Why, yes, I gave it up for lent.

Our records show we have not yet received your 2003 Republican National Committee membership contribution!

Your records would be correct, sir. I bet if your computer took the time, it would notice that it didn't receive 2002, didn't receive 2001, etc.

As the Treasurer of the RNC, I know our Party's success depends directly on grassroots leaders like you, Mrs. Noggle.

Diggity-do! Really? I like my leadership role. I don't send money; I occasionally give you my vote, actually, more often than not. You send me letters that feed me grapes all the while chastizing my poor performance as a cash cow.

So I am surprised and concerned because I know how generously you have helped in the past and how instrumental your support was to our historic victories in 2002.

Lovely. My vote counts.

So, while you're at it, Republican party, please stop sending correspondence to the Nobbles. I promise they don't live here. And President Bush, since you're "counting on me," perhaps on Thursday morning you can give me a call and we'll discuss the country. I'll be waiting.

Oh, I almost missed this gem:

With our majorities in the U.S. House and Senate razor thin, the Democrats and their liberal special interest allies will obstruct and delay every chance they get. We cannot allow them to succeed!

How does one obstruct a chance or delay it? Oh, and, yes, the rallying cry. Earth will be ours!

hln

Posted by: hln at 09:44 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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More mail! Cooking Club of America

DON'T SEND MONEY. It's not necessary.

Yet. Buhahahahaha. I love these little scolding letters with their tones of "you bad dog if you don't join/send us [more] money."

Directive: "Just mail your Acknowledgement (notice capitalization - deified!) in the postage-paid envelope. Then put the enclosed card in your wallet."

And, just what happens if I defy this order? My wallet refuses!

Warning: "If you don't let us know within 14 days, Club rules require me to remove your name from our membership roll. So please do it now."

Hmm, really. Is that so. Is there a reason, then, why my refrigerator sports two previous magnets from your "charter" club that I have never joined. Smirk along to the music now. The third magnet is just itching to join in.

It's important you red this entire letter

Oh, obviously. Cooking Club of America - you will save the world, no? Donate a few pineapples in my name, please.

The rest is just drivel in cookingese. I'll not bore you. Let's go on to the next piece of mail.

hln

Posted by: hln at 09:07 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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dressbarn - Mail to Brian

I'm a dressbarn customer. I admit it. I even have the credit card. So, whyowhy did these bozos (read: dressbarn's computer system) send the $10 off coupon to BRIAN NOGGLE.

I fear this. I'm certain he would look smashing in some pastels, though. Perhaps we'll go to the sale together.

hln

Posted by: hln at 07:34 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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