Deseption at the Church dinner....

   On quite a few of the blogs I follow, there have been discussions on the dinners and socials at the church.  You got to admit the food is really good there.  All the ladies bring the dish they are famous for. 
   I have been blogging all my Mother's collection of recipes at my other site.  She had recipes she collected since she got married in 1956.  Quite a lot of them given to her by relatives and the Ladies at church. These recipes are bring back a lot of memories for me.
   I just finished typing up a few of the gelatin salads that she has and it reminded me of those family get togethers and church dinners.  We always had great fun at these occasions and we ate a lot.  As kids our favorite part, of course, was desert.  All those cakes, pies, cookies, brownies and if you were real lucky homemake ice cream.  There was always a jell-o salad or  two as well.  Like Bill Cosby always said "There's always room for Jell-o".
   Little did we know that those sweet little ladies where about to play a cruel trick on us.  Behind those sweet smiles lies the evilest of plots.  They looked at us with kind eyes and suckered us right in.  What,  you might ask, did they do?
   Well, let me tell you.  They served this....

 And they served this...

 You tell me which one has the whipped cream and fruit .... and which one has the mayonnaise and vegetables.


   Yes, I know they are both delicious, and I like both of them.  But when your a kid ... and you have your mouth all set for desert ... and bite into mayo and vegetables.... Let's just say their was a lot of yucky faces and spitting going on.  And some of those sweet old ladies ... Laughed.
   To this day I always wait for someone else to take the first bite, to see which one it is.  I just don't trust those sweet smiles and kind eyes on those little old ladies.




   By the way the orange picture above is an Ambrosia Mold... the lemony one is a Holiday Waldorf salad.  Did you  guess right?

Mountain thinking...

   With all the heat this summer, we have been doing some serious thinking about moving to the mountains.  It has always been a dream to wake up in the morning pour a cup of coffee and look out at this...

                                      The Blue Ridge Mountains

Or maybe this....

                            Rocky Mountains in Colorado.

How about this one....

                                    Volcano at Lake Clark in Alaska


Maybe not that last one... too cold and too scary.  The only thing I want smoking around my house is this...

                       A nice cozy fire in the fireplace.... Where it belongs.

I use to hate my name...

   When I was a kid I hated my name... or at least my full name.  I had no problem with Pam or Pamela.  Jo was kind of cool, I was always a Tomboy. I didn't even mind my last name.  So whats the problem, you may say.
   The problem was the whole name together. It meant I was in trouble.  How much trouble depended on wether it was Pamela Jo or Pamela Jo H...
   The longer the name, the slower I came.  I knew I was going to get it.  I had to have time to find a good excuse ... or at least a way to switch the blame.  After all the proof was circumstantial.  There where no eyewitnesses, or at least no innocent eyewitnesses...I hoped.  Besides parents are old, maybe they would forget by the time you got there, right.  Wrong.
   The longer you took the madder they got.  And trial law has nothing to do with MOM law.  In the eyes of MOM law you were guilty until proven innocent.  The snitch was give a lesser punishment for being truthful.  Being the oldest, like I was, made it worse.  I can't tell you how many times I heard "Your older.  You should know better."  Dang how could you argue that one.  I did know better, I just did it anyway.  And in MOM law punishment was swift.  There was no appeal process.
   Yes when I was young I really hated my full name.  But, I know my Mom loved me and was only teaching me right from wrong.  She helped form my brothers, my sister and I into the people we are today.  And though she is no longer with us, she is still in my thoughts.  So if I even think about doing something I'm not suppose to I hear her voice saying quite clearly...Pamela Jo H...

                         I'm Sorry Mom....He did it... Help...anyone???

Kodak, power cords and Shakes...

   We finally got our Kodak digital camera charged and working again.  After almost 2 years, yes 2 years, of looking for the power cord. I found it the other day.  I knew we had packed it when we moved from the farm.  I just could think of where I put it.  Then I found it in last place I expected it to be.  In the camera case with the camera.  Yes, there it was in the outside pocket. I know I looked there at least a dozen times.  I think Deb and Barbara are right, it must have gone on a secret mission and just returned.  If I spoke power cordese I would ask it, for a future blog of course.  That to find out if it had seen the printer cord.  Yes, I looked in the box...again.
   But now I have a camera to use again.  So in honor of this occasion I have been playing around with the Kodak picture gallery site and taken a picture of our dog Shakes. 

   Look at that sweet face.  I dare you to look into those eyes and not fall head over heals in love.  Is it any wonder she can charm me out of being mad at her.  Now if she would just stay out of my peppers.

Thank goodness it's Friday...

   TGIF.  It's Friday and all over people are getting ready to go out.  Lots of people are performing their Friday rituals.  Call friends find out where everyone is going.  Leave work.  Stop at the ATM.  Run home shower and change into their club clothes.  Run through the drive-thru to get something to eat.  No time to make something or sit down you got places to be.  Get to the club before 8pm so you don't have to pay the cover charge. Woo hoo let the good times roll.
   If your really low on cash that week, you change at work and hit happy hour.  A lot of the clubs lay out really good buffets.  In fact, you could eat dinner almost every night for the price of one drink.  When I use to teach dance, the teachers did this a lot.  We could tell you what clubs served meatballs in barbecue sauce and nachos, and who served steaks and crab legs.  Needless to say we tried to hit the latter the most.
   I am not a big drinker, so I was the designated story teller.  While others would drink, I would watch.  It never failed a friend would call me the next morning and ask what happened the night before.  Did I really do what so and so said.  Boy, the things you see when you pay attention.  It's  a whole new show every night.  You always saw some girl falling all over some guy (usally when his girlfriend wasn't looking).  Some guy was hitting on every girl he could, and how they looked depended on how late it got.
   It never ceased to surprise me how brazen both the men and women could get.  I once had a guy come up to me while we were watching a couple of really good dancers on the floor.  He said their good.  I said yes they are.  And then he said want to come home with me tonight.  I said nope, bye, and he left.  I wonder if that ever worked for him, I mean he didn't even ask my name. 
   Another time I was with a friend of mine who's husband was in the band.  A really drunk girl came up to us and said I just want you to know your husband is coming home with me tonight.  My friend didn't even bat an eye.  She looked at her and said just tell him his clothes will be on the front lawn.
   Those are only two of a million stories, but I think I'll save the others for now.  I mean it's Friday and you've got places to go.  So just remember when you go out this weekend, it's a lot more entertaining...and less painful to be the designated story teller.  Why not try it.

                             There bound to be some good stories here...                               





If you got some time why not check out my other blog.  Grandmom's Recipes.