Gone but NEVER Forgotten

Buenos Dia de los Muertos! 

Today, for those of you unfamiliar with Dia de los Muertos, is the day we remember (and celebrate) those people in our lives who are no longer with us here on the mortal plane. It's a day we pay homage to those important people who are gone...but will never be forgotten.

I'd like to pay tribute to my grandparents today. Sadly, they are all gone from this world. I was blessed with a WHOLE PASSEL of grandparents--7 to be exact. And, I was given the opportunity, not only to get to know most of them REALLY well, but also to spend time with most of them--LOTS of time--not only through childhood, but well into adulthood as well. 

I'd like to share some of what I remember of each of them...to have each one here with me now--if only for today.

My Maternal Grandfather 

His name is Arlington Elmore Hearrell Hanes FryBarger (what a mouthful!). I call him Pa-pa, or Pop for short. He is my mentor. He is the most intelligent human being I've ever had the honor to know. Bar none. He is a big part of why I'm a writer. He, too, was a writer. A great one. I used to love sitting and listening to his stories. He was the consummate bard. He spun yarns that could transport anyone, lucky enough to hear them, to magical places. He wove captivating tales like the one of him, as a young boy who, from behind a tree, would secretly watch a band of Habisky-tan gypsies dance like whirling Dervishes around a fire in the moonlight.

When I was in college, I got to spend an entire summer with him. He would fix breakfast every morning (usually a bowl of "Post Toasties" with fresh figs from the tree outside their house). Then, he'd find some project for me to work on--gardening, washing windows, or working with him on restoring antique clocks or refinishing furniture. Then, in the afternoon, we'd sit in his back room and he'd tell me stories. I tape-recorded as many as I could. My mom is now working on transcribing those gems. In the evening, we'd have a light supper--usually of homemade soup--and we'd play Scrabble. I loved playing Scrabble with him. His vocabulary was unparalleled. I learned very quickly NEVER to challenge any word he put down. Ever. 

He held many jobs, and wore many hats throughout his life. He was a scientist, a builder/architect, a writer/journalist, an Olympic-level swimmer, he could fix bicycles and create wonderful things out of wood, and he was a very enthusiastic cook. I still have one of the chess sets he made. He cut all the pieces out of a single block of wood...and they all fit together like a puzzle to reform that wood block. It's quite unique. He loved restoring antique clocks. At one point he had over 100 of them in his house...and they all worked. And chimed. And not at the same time. 

I still have 2 of his clocks. One that he and I restored together, and one that was his favorite--therefore my favorite. It has 3 different chimes that you can choose it to play--Westminster, Whittington, and St. Michael's chimes. Pretty impressive!

He was a health nut--a vitamin guru. He was so far ahead of (what was then) current trends in dietary supplements. His understanding of pathophysiology was impressive to say the least. Decades ahead of the curve. 

He was also quite the impish prankster. He loathed shopping. He'd accompany my step-grandmother (Elsie) to departments stores, but would get bored quickly. When he was bored, he'd start having full-blown conversations (out loud) with the store mannequins. He'd sit and flirt with them and hold their hands. He'd do this until Elsie finally got embarrassed enough to abruptly finish her shopping.  

He also liked to torture his grandchildren (my younger cousins). He played a game where he would administer a fiendish little quiz about...relationships. He would ask..."If your father is my son, and your father's sister is Aunt Dian...and Torrey is Aunt Dian's daughter and your cousin, and you are Aunt Dian's niece...then who am I to you?"  He'd have the kids so confused they would forget who they were. I, of course, had no problem figuring out the answer...but it sure was fun to watch my cousins struggle. HAHAHAHAHA.

He always wore suspenders--a pair that was decorated with red chili peppers. When he died, and I was asked what of his I would like to have to remember him by...I chose his chili pepper suspenders. Here he is in those wonderful suspenders!

What I learned from Pa-pa was the importance of education, whether formal or independent...and the necessity of having an excellent vocabulary. He also impressed upon me a sense that I can do or be whatever I choose to do or be. He liked to tell me, "YOU, are the captain of your fate and the master of your destiny!"...and he told me that...A LOT.

My Maternal Grandmother

Her name is Muriel Grogan FryBarger Potter. I call her Grama (prounounced GRAW-ma). She was a FIERCELY independent and intelligent woman. Fiercely. She was a teacher, and owned/operated her own private school in Dallas, Tx--The FryBarger School. It was an early-education center for pre-Kindergarten through 2nd grade. I remember visiting her, when I was little, during the summer and having to do daily mimeographed worksheets of English and arithmetic before I was allowed to play. Every day.

She loved to travel, and when she was in her late 50s/early 60s, she embarked on her travels around the world. She swung on vines in the Amazon, and rode on Elephants in India. 

She was a good cook, but didn't tolerate anyone in her kitchen very well. And, when you'd ask her to share her recipes, she'd conveniently leave out key ingredients or she'd write down enigmatic amounts of things like: a dash of this, a smidge of that, a dollop of the other. It made recreating her dishes...challenging. 

She loved playing cards--Bridge, Canasta, and Solitaire were here favorites. She played Solitaire so much, she literally wore the spots off her cards. I remember playing countless games of "Texas Canasta"--a game that uses 6 decks of cards. We played so much it made the cards (as she put it) fluffy--foxed edges and well, fluffy.

I remember her as being a quintessential Southern Lady and a "stern" grandmother figure. When I was young, she was not a very warm and fuzzy person. She was all business and order. But, in her later years, she softened. To this day, whenever I smell the fragrance "Youth Dew" by Estee Lauder--I think of her. That was her signature fragrance...and she wore it every day.

What I learned from Grama was that a woman can be whatever she wants to be. I also learned how to polish furniture.

My Paternal Grandmother

Her name is Zelda LaVerne Brown Diggs Alexander. To me, she is Grammy. Grammy was the personification and embodiment of love...and she loved me, unconditionally. She was not a scholarly person (unlike my mom's parents). I don't think she made it past the 8th grade. But what she lacked in formal education, she more than made up for in lessons from the school of life. She was a single mom and raised my dad and my aunt by herself--during the time when it wasn't commonplace like it has become today.

During WWII, she worked in Gates Rubber Co. that made tires and fan belts, and other assorted rubber things--all for the war effort. She also worked as a cook for many years in various diners and institutional settings--like at the National Center for Atmospheric Research (NCAR).

She loved cooking. And, she was GREAT at it. She was not a high-falutin' chef. She was a home-style cook. She didn't fix fancy schmancy things that required specialized silverware to eat...hers was food that warmed your soul and stuck to your ribs...and then added padding to those ribs.

She is the person that taught me, not only how to cook, but to love to cook. 

I used to spend weekends with her and she and I would cook, non-stop, all weekend. She taught me the fine art of home cooking....candies, pies, cakes, noodles, potato salad, and fried chicken. There was no low-fat, low-carb cooking in her house. Nope. Never. I can't tell you how many batches of peanut brittle, fudge, noodles, and fried chicken she and I made over the years.

She loved to go on picnics up in the mountains. She would cook up fried chicken and at least a gallon of her delicious potato salad. Then, we'd all go up to the Peaceful Valley campground, and picnic--all day. We'd play Triominoes or cards, take walks in the woods, or just dangle our toes in the icy waters of the Colorado streams. She loved playing Cribbage, and taught me as soon as I was old enough to add up to 15. We played hundreds and hundreds of games of Cribbage. 15-2, 15-4, 15-6, run of 3 for 9, etc, etc. 

She adored crocheting, and she tried (valiantly, and patiently) to teach me how. For years, I fumbled with it, terribly. I just couldn't master the hook, and never got beyond a simple single chain. I would watch, in wonder, as her fingers literally flew--effortlessly twirling, hooking, looping, and pulling the yarn--like a spider deftly spinning its web-- into wonderful afghans, tablecloths, dolls, hats, sweaters, car seat covers...you name it, she could crochet it.

It wasn't until I was about 30 when (on a whim) I picked up a crochet hook one day and lo-and-behold...I could crochet. It was as though her spirit had entered my fingers and all her skill was therein channeled. And now, I can crochet--effortlessly...any stitch...no sweat.

My aunt Sherry said that when my Grammy died, she was sitting on her sofa...that she had finished the item she was crocheting...folded it neatly up in her lap...and just passed away. 

Quietly. 

She recalls the amazing sense of peace and light she felt when she discovered her body. 

What I learned from Grammy was love (and how to cook and add to 15), but mostly...Love.

My Paternal Grandfather

His name is Ellis Wayne Diggs, Sr. I call him "Granpa Diggs". He went by "Sam"--a nickname "tattooed" on him when he was in the Navy. They called him "Sailor Sam"..."Sam" for short. I never got to know him well. At all. I was only able to meet him on two occasions. But, I do know that he was a coal miner--with hair as black as the coal he coaxed out of the mountain--right up until the day he died. He died of pneumonultramicroscopicsilicovolcaniconiosis...in lay terms--Black Lung Disease. 

He was also a baker. BOY HOWDY could he bake. I remember him making cinnamon rolls for us once...like 100 cinnamon rolls. I guess once you're accustomed to baking on a commercial level...it's hard to scale back! I also remember his chili. It was good...and plentiful.

What I learned from Granpa Diggs was that there is no such thing as too many cinnamon rolls...and it is impossible to make a "normal" size batch of chili.

My Maternal Step-Grandfather

His name is Claude Lee Potter. I call him Grananny. He married my grandmother before I was born, so to me...he is every bit my grandfather just as my biological one is. When he married my grandmother, he told my mom that he knew he would never replace her father...but that when she had children (aka me) that they were HIS grandchildren. Period.

Grananny left us when I was only 8 years old. He was barely 50 years old. So young. But, I remember him FONDLY. He was a soft-spoken man. Gentle. Loving. He was the perfect counterpart to my grandmother.  He softened up her hard edges.

He worked for Allegheny Ludlum Steel. I always thought that sounded like a company name you'd find in a Road Runner cartoon right alongside the Acme company.

I learned about kindness and patience from Grananny.

My Maternal Step-Grandmother

Her name is Elsa Margareta Lundberg FryBarger. I call her Elsie. She married my grandfather when I was just a baby. So she, too, is every bit my grandmother. Elsie was a nurse-anaesthetist...back when there weren't many of them. She was a pioneer in nursing! 

I remember talking to her about what is was like for nurses "back then". She told me how nurses NEVER questioned a doctor, EVER. And how they did WHATEVER they were directed to do. She spoke of doctors the way a commoner speaks of a King. Boy, I sure am glad I wasn't a nurse back then. I never would have made it.  

She liked to play Scrabble too. The three of us (Pop, Elsie, and I) would play the most cut-throat games you've ever seen. It was serious business!

She was a very religious person. She was a devout Lutheran, and was always participating in some bible study group or another church-related organization. I fondly remember going to church with her at Emmanuel Lutheran Church here in Dallas. It's century-old church that still stands (and is active) today.

I learned about Jesus from Elsie. I also learned how to strategically put down 2 letter tiles in Scrabble and gain 45 points. She was the QUEEN of teeny, tiny words with big score payout. Elsie also introduced me to rubber stamping and heat embossing--and the rest of that story is, as they say, history.
 

I miss my Grammy.

I miss my Grama.

I miss my Pa-pa.

I miss my Grananny.

I miss my Elsie.

I even miss my Granpa Diggs, though I didn't know him well. 

But, though their bodies are gone, their spirits (and love) will ALWAYS be with me. 

Always.

 

Ritualistic Mutilation

I was cleaning off a thumb drive today, and ran across this piece I wrote a couple of years ago. I completely forgot about this mis-adventure, but it made me laugh...until I remembered how painful it was...and now I'm grabbing my ear in remembered pain.

I thought I'd share it.

**************************************************************

Ritualistic Mutilation

 

So, yesterday (or was it the day before), I went Holiday shopping with my BFF, Jodi. She and I are like frick and frack--two peas in the proverbial pod. She’s one of my soulmates.

Ok, anyway, there we were at the local mall. We were on a mission. There was only one store we really aimed at hitting. So we walked past the multitude of booths that clogged the central corridor this time of year. I say we walked...it was really more like two rats negotiating a maze--a maze filled with traps. We made no eye contact with the vendors. We didn't want to see their wares. We didn't want to feign mock appreciation for their doo-dads as we oooh'd and aaah'd over their shiny baubles and trinkets. 

We were on a mission.

All of the sudden, a dark and mysterious woman with a thick eastern European accent jumped right in front of me-- blocking my egress from her domain.

Rats.

"Do you have natural nails?", she blurted out in a voice reminiscent of a character from an old Dracula movie. I reached up, unconsciously, and placed my hand to cover my exposed throat. "Yes, I do...bu-but I don't have nails to speak of…" I sputtered out as I dangled my other hand out to her for inspection. "See?" I said with a verbal shrug. Then she suddenly grabbed my hand in hers and started dragging me to her booth. 


Where was Jodi?

Jodi kept on walking.

Dang her hide.

There I was, being led to a booth of potions and what-nots by a creepy gypsy woman who had her vampiric vice of a death grip on my hand. She asked me if I was married. But before I could say anything, she cackled out..."You, dahlink, need MANY husbands...many, MANY husbands for you!!!!"

Oh joy, I was getting love advice from a gypsy vampire. I asked her if she meant I needed many husbands all at once...or one at a time. She smiled a toothy smirk and said "All now, all at once."

Well, personally, I think that would kill me off...in a very short amount of time. Then, she grabbed my hand and started rubbing some polishing stick on one of my nails as she continued to talk to me about how much passion she saw in me. 30 seconds later...I had one REALLY shiny nail...to offset my 9 other really dull ones. Then came the pitch..."This shine will not come off for one month!" she exclaimed. Whoopee, I thought.

From 3 booths away I heard Jodi calling to me, "Tor, we're going to be late!" That was my cue and my out. I apologized to Madame Zelda for my impending hasty departure as I pried my hand from hers. I thanked her for her "assessment" of me (or whatever it was) and ran like a bat out of hades to Jodi...who was standing there giggling.

We plowed through until we reached our destination. We made our purchases, then started back through the maze of vendors to get back to the car. On our way back, we passed by a piercing salon. I stopped in front of their display case. I grabbed Jodi's hand and said, "Come on babe...we're gonna do it...NOW." Jodi got a o.0 expression on her face. I didn't really give her a choice. I walked over to one of the clerks (who was displaying all sorts of piercings on her face) and asked her if they did piercings other than earlobes.

...

She cheerfully chimed, "Why yes, we do!" (remember...this is in the middle of a suburban shopping mall...it was not a seedy tattoo/piercing parlor downtown). We picked out the jewelry together (a pair that we ended up splitting)...and we signed the consent (which read like we were gonna get open-heart surgery).

Jodi made me go first. Ok, that's fair. It was my idea.
We were ushered into their inner sanctum behind the display counter...in full-view of all the passersby. Ok, ok get your mind out of the gutter. I know you're thinking we were getting something a little more...intimate pierced. NOT EVEN--and especially not sitting in the middle of a shopping mall like a fish in a fishbowl. We got the cartilage on the very top of our ear pierced--the helix. Sheesh.

So, I climbed up in their high little chair...which elevated me above the level of the counter (I'm certain it was done so on purpose so everyone could see). The clerk gave me a teddy bear to hold on to. She asked me if I had ever broken a bone before...I guess my eyes got big as saucers because she interjected, "NO, no, no!!! I mean it kinda sounds the same". Great. In a few seconds I was gonna hear snapping and crunching. .

She loaded the gun with my pre-selected earring and quick as you can say "Bob's your uncle who likes to wear pantyhose"...it was over. Not too bad. I've felt worse...like when I fell down the flight of stairs and broke 3 ribs, my wrist, and my right foot.

Jodi thought I was smiling. In all actuality, I was grimacing...through tightly gritted teeth...with curled toes. But it's ok that she thought I was smiling...'cuz it was HER turn in the torture chair.

I thrusted the now-squished teddy bear into her arms as we traded places. She held my hand through it...no, that's not right. She was not just holding my hand...she was squeezing it for dear life. White knuckles, digging into my palm. My hand now has a lovely "C" curve to it. 30 seconds later, we exited the piercing booth, each sporting a tiny new earring in the uppermost cartilage of our ear.

Things returned to their pre-pierced state as far as how it felt...until we got like 15 yards down the mall. Then, without warning, someone took a blowtorch to my ear followed by a vice grip and a wooden stake that had been driven through.

Ouch doesn’t touch it.

Here I am, a few days later...and it still hurts like a sonuvabeyoch. Jodi relayed to me that a coworker of hers (who had several cartilage piercings of her own) said that since we had our piercing done with a gun (as opposed to a needle) that we would be experiencing this level of "discomfort" for about a month or more due to the cartilage pretty much shattering with the force of the gun.

Great.

I think it just would have been more efficient had I purchased a scorpion at the pet shop 2 doors down and attached it to my ear.

When in Rome...

So, Jonathan and I are in (not so) sunny Florida visiting his parents. I thought Florida was supposed to be warm.

Apparently, I was wrong in my assumption.

It is absolutely FREEEEEZING here. I even had to scrape ice off the windshield. What's up with that? I want to go to the beach so badly...but there is NO WAY. I would end up with Popsicle toes, a runny nose with snot that froze on my cheeks, and pneumonia.

That is SOOOOo wrong. I mean, Pensacola has the most gorgeous sugar sand beaches.

'sigh'

I am holding on to hope, however. According to the weather forecast, it's supposed to be 70 on Saturday. And if it does reach temps above 60...I'm dragging Jonathan to the beach.

In the meantime, I've been sampling some "local" fare. I discovered a lovely soft drink called Cheerwine.

I had never heard of it.

Ever.

That is before last week when I started reading the "Mitford" book series by Jan Karon (they're quite entertaining). They drink Cheerwine in the book. It sounded so refreshing that when we were in the grocery store and I spied it on the shelf...I was tempted to get it. Then, a young man zipped right up to it and grabbed a 2 liter bottle of it. He exclaimed, "YESSSSSSS!!!! They have it!!". I asked him what it tasted like and he said it is as unique as Dr Pepper...but better.

That decided it. Jonathan and I grabbed a bottle to take home. (and a few days later, we picked up a 12-pack of cans to bring back to Texas).

It hails from North Carolina. And (according to the can) has been around since 1917. That's a long time. That's around the time of Model T cars, electricity in the home, and the invention of the wheel. Heck, that's even before my mom was born (oh she's gonna kill me).

I like the name. It's happy. It conjures up images of barefoot kids in overalls, sitting on the wooden steps of a country general store after a long, hot day of fishin' at the swimmin' hole. Except in my image, they aren't drinking it out of a 2-liter bottle, they're drinking it out of glass bottles.

It's a pretty shade of burgundy (probably why it has "wine" in the name, duh). It tastes like cherry with a hint of Dr Pepper and a splash of Pepsi. Mostly cherry. I like it. A lot. Darn, just when I was giving up soda altogether.

Another thing that is popular down here are boiled peanuts. These just sound nasty. They've been around even LONGER than Cheerwine (says so right on the label).

1838.

In retrospect, after having tasted them, I don't think that date is when the company was founded. I think that's the actual date these things were canned.

They look sort of appealing according to the label...

But in actuality, this is what they REALLY look like. Nothing like "truth in advertising", eh? Margaret Holmes (whoever she is) can keep her old "bahled" peanuts. Yuck.

I think they should be called Swamp nuggets.

To say they are disgusting is an understatement. They're beyond salty. They are more briny than the Great Salt Flats of Utah dissolved in the Dead Sea. I'm not kidding.

Not only are they pure sodium, they are waterlogged to the point of being mealy. Now, in my book, peanuts are supposed to be CRUNCHY and roasty toasty...not saline-ified mushy blobs.

Jonathan loves them. He bought 5 cans of the darn things.

I won't fight him for them. They're all his.

So, I guess that means I flunked being a Floridian, but I pass being a North Carolinian with flying colors!

Confessions of a Boomer-aged Gamer Chick

This is how I imagine it, if I close my eyes.

In the basement of an average neighborhood church, members of a seemingly normal-looking group of Boomer-aged people are sequestered away…for some secret meeting. Glancing at this gathering of people, one might not immediately discern their relationship to one another. There’s a lawyer, a plumber, a retired nurse, a teacher, a domestic engineer, an IT technician, a retired career Marine Sergeant, and a grandpa . They all have one thing in common.  The retired nurse pushes herself up into a standing position -- causing her folding chair to make a horrible metallic scraping noise on the linoleum floor. She takes a deep breath, holds her head high, and announces, “Hi, I’m Torrey and I’m a gamer chick.”  The group responds in monotone, 8-bit unison, “Greetings and salutations, Torrey!”

Yes, my friends, I’m here to tell you that the world of video games is NOT limited to those under the age of 20.

I am a gamer chick from, well…from the very dawn of the video game. I was there when the primeval video game Pong™ (insert registered trademark symbols behind everything I list from here on out) first emerged from its primordial ooze. Yeah, we had one. In fact, we were the ONLY family on the block that had one. This made me a very popular girl. I can’t tell you how many HOURS we spent gleefully staring at those two little vertical lines and moving, bleeping blip. That is how it all started.

By age 17, I was spending most of my weekends (and thus my allowance) at the only “arcade” in town. It was adjacent to a pizza parlor. It was there that I discovered a macabre, but totally addicting game called Death Race. It was a game where the player operates a little “car”. The entire object of the game is to intentionally run over as many pixelated “pedestrians” as possible. The challenge was that once you hit a person, a little gravestone would pop up in their place. If you hit a gravestone…it was “Game Over”. I know it’s wrong, but I loved that game. And, I was good at it.

From there sprang iconic games like Pac Man, Space Invaders, Joust, Frogger, and Qbert. I was in HEAVEN. Then, with the advent of personal game systems, these arcade games started to finger their way into the home market.  And, I was right there. The first game system I invested in was the Intellivision by Mattel.

It. Was. AWESOME.

Just look at these quality graphics! (she says sarcastically)

Those are buildings and lakes on the left, and islands on the right, you have to use your imagination.

 

Now, instead of hanging out at the arcade, my friends and I could huddle around a giganto 17-inch TV and play wondrous games like Utopia, Shark Shark, Snafu, Bomb Squad (the code, THE CODE!!! Figure out the code!), and my all-time favorite Microsurgeon…in the comfort of our own homes! We would lose all track of time. Looking back, this would have been  today’s  parents’ dream…teenagers, safe at home, spending time with one another, laughing and having a blast without alcohol, drugs, violence or sex. We were nerds. We didn’t care.

Over the years, most of my friends stopped playing video games. Most of them traded in their Intellivisions, Ataris, and Commodores  for “grown up” things…like cars, boats, getting married, having kids, buying houses. 

Not me.

While my friends were graduating from college, I was graduating from Intellivision…to Nintendo. And, to this very day, Nintendo is still my game system of choice. Today, I could open my own personal Nintendo museum. I have ‘em all…from that original grey box Nintendo to the Wii (and every other iteration of Nintendo in between). 

I still have all their games too, and they all still work. And yes, I did graduate from college (with high honors I might add), and I got a car and got married, but that is beside the point.

I was happy in Nintendoland for many, MANY years. Link, Mario, Luigi, Yoshi, and Toad…they are my brothers.  Then, a wonderful thing happened. The video game world evolved, yet again. Suddenly, with the exponential growth of the internet, a new generation of video games was created 

(cue an angelic chorus laced with synthesized music).

The MMORPG

MMORPG…Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game. 

I cut my MMORPG teeth on a cute little game called Maplestory. It’s innocuous enough—cutesy little 2-D virtual world where chubby little player-controlled characters go on a mindless (and endless) pursuit of their ever-elusive “next level”. It got really boring. I got tired of the grind. I craved better quests. I longed for awesome graphics. I hungered for more dimensions—3, to be exact. 

Enter…WoW (cue legendary, EPIC music).

 

I started playing WoW (World of Warcraft) about 7 years ago. Maybe 8…I’ve lost track. WoW was so amazing to me when I first started playing. I mean, it’s an ENTIRE 3-D WORLD! 3 DIMENSIONS!!!  Let me see if I can illustrate the difference in an analogy. I like analogies. WoW is to Pong, as Michelangelo’s Pieta is to a 3-year-old’s drawing of a 5-legged dog.  ‘Nuff said.

I love WoW. Sometimes I need a break from it for a few months, but, I always manage to find my way back. WoW has gotten me through some tough times in my life. Without going into great detail, it is a great distracter that allows me to place my focus away from pain. It’s a pretty powerful painkiller. WoW is also (as strange as it sounds) where I met my husband. We really did meet there about 5 years ago. Heck, I even got my 76-year-old dad to play (and we’re even in the same guild). I know there are many other MMORPGs out there. But, for me, my battle cry will always be, “For the Alliance!!”  If nothing else, for less than $15/month, I have one incredibly affordable form of entertainment.

A couple of weeks ago my husband and I were cleaning out our garage. He opened a big pink plastic storage tub. Inside was my Intellivision system with all its games-- all complete, all in their original boxes. We brought it in and spent awhile on the internet trying to figure out how to hook it up to our “modern” TV. After a quick trip to Radio Shack, we had it all hooked up. I pressed the “ON” button, and that familiar, tinny 8-bit music filled our entertainment room. It immediately whisked me back to my youth… to where this journey all began, decades ago. I have come full circle and have returned to my “video” roots. Yep. I’m a gamer chick to my very core, and I will be to my dying day…only then will it be...

Game Over. 

Get Your Cookie On!

Today I got up early to finish my Christmas baking. This is the time of year I pay ABSOLUTELY no attention to what I eat.

None, whatsoever.

My holidays are filled with ALL the good stuff...butter, sugar, nuts, more butter...more sugar, chocolate. I decided a long time ago that life is short, and that we're all gonna go at some point no matter how good our diet is. Besides...I have no other "vices". I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't gamble, I don't do drugs...but what I DO, is enjoy eating. Eating and cooking.

A lot.

This is why I am round. This is why my hubby is getting rounder (he likes what I cook). But I do declare that I AM in shape.

Round...is a shape.

Anyway, mom volunteered to help me finish the baking this morning. Thank goodness. I was pooped. I was up until almost midnight last night making Oreo truffles (both regular and mint). Two days ago, Jonathan and I were up until almost midnight making Spritz cookies. We made 2 kinds...regular butter, and lemon. The butter ones turned out fine. The lemon ones...not so much.

I wanted to leave them plain "white". Jonathan, said they just wouldn't be the same unless they were colored...that they taste different. So, we colored them. Pink, green and blue. They are colorful, I'll give them that.  The lemon dough was SO dense it wouldn't go through the press. It was (I kid you not) the consistency of Playdoh. And, being that we colored the dough...it looked exactly like Playdoh too. So, we scraped all the dough out of the presses and rolled them out and cut shapes out of them. They're pretty substantial (ok...REALLY substantial)...I am considering re-tiling the bathroom floor with them.

Here is a list of what we made this year:

• Lemon Spritz Santa-shaped bathroom tiles
• Butter Spritz cookies
• Rolo/pretzel turtles
• Oreo truffles
• Mint Oreo truffles
• Raspberry thumbprint shortbread cookies
• Apricot thumbprint shortbread cookies

It made for a nice assortment.

So, back to me and mom this morning. Today was thumbprint cookie day. They are my favorites, hands down. After we mixed up the base dough, I tasked mom with making the dough balls. I decided I wanted to be all precise this year and have each dough ball be exactly the same size. So, I set mom up at her dining room table in front of my digital scale. I had her measure out exactly 14g of dough before rolling it into a ball. Jonathan would be proud at how precise we were being.

As mom was forming the dough balls, I took them with my left hand and dunk them in egg white, then toss them into a bowl of chopped pecans. With my right hand I rolled the sticky dough balls around until they were coated, then plopped them on the silicone baking sheet. Then, I smushed my finger into the center of each one to form the area for the jam. So, technically, they are fingerprint cookies.

I spooned jam into a ziplock sandwich bag and snipped off the corner to use it as a piping bag. It was SO much easier than trying to spoon little bits of jam into the center of each cookie.

 Here's what the apricot ones looked like after they were baked. MAN my house smells good.

After they cooled, Jonathan and I boxed all the goodies up into decorative tins and we're on our way now to hand them out to our friends and neighbors.

Don't you wish you were our neighbor????