All The News I Can Muster Through This Headache

This past week in the news, I heard all manner of coverage on an array of topics.  Probably the most interesting was the Today Show's coverage of former Secretary of State, Madeleine Albright, in her civilian life.  She's releasing a new book which chronicles her discovery of a direct family connection to the Holocaust: her parents never told her they were survivors.  Partly because the general public had a difficult time accepting that she never knew this family history, she wrote a book of the journey which led her to this revelation.  Interestingly enough, it was just before she began her famous work for President Clinton that she even learned that her parents were Jewish.  She was 59 at the time.  "Prague Winter: A Personal Story of Remembrance and War, 1937-1948" will make it's way into my personal collection.  Of this, I feel quite certain.  We can never know too much about this era in world history.


Somewhere in all of that important coverage, smaller stories were kicked about and wriggled their way into my gray matter.  One seemed a very good idea for a city that never sleeps.  There's a shop in New York City called "Insomnia Cookies" which delivers freshly baked cookies until 3AM!  I Googled them to see if they offered Oatmeal-Raisin but couldn't find any info on cookie selection.  However, it does appear that they orient themselves around universities; maybe even on campus. I counted 21 stores in places like Michigan, Pennsylvania and Ohio.   Hey, now, I know several people who'd give that a whirl . . . and a cup of milk or coffee to boot!  And let's not leave out tea and hot chocolate.  Oh, goodness.     


On the flip side, one less than stellar fact stepped into the light of TV land, which, most unfortunately, burned horrendous images onto the retinas of my imagination.  It seems the number of men getting bikini waxes is growing by leaps and bounds.  Hmmm.  I envision men leaping and bounding AWAY from the wax.  But seriously, where does it stop?  Don't men typically have an abundance of body hair from top to bottom.  It seems like that strip of hairless flesh near their crotch would only draw attention to all the hair they sport elsewhere.  I don't know.  It just doesn't gel with my version of a manly man.  I'm happy to report that those men are nowhere in my circle of family or friends.  I'd hate to inadvertently have a REAL horrendous image burned onto my ACTUAL retinas.  Ouch!


In other news, the entire gaggle of Earth Divas (or Wart Divas if one goes by the over-zealous iPhone text correction on my daughter's phone) reunited for a day in Chattanooga so as to hang out with Sarah in her college town.  We thought we would have years-worth of future visits to the UTC area to support Miss Sarah and encourage our love of food and fun exploration, but there was this little matter of a marriage just over a month ago which changed all that.  Some of us were feeling a bit off for different reasons, but whatever universal pull of light and cheer and likeness is stirred into being when the four of us step into the same space on the planet brought us all into harmony with ourselves and made for a darned good time.

 Reunited and it feels so good . . . 

 I really love this glass-bottomed foot bridge leading to the art museum.

That is, I did before taking note of the missing panel now replaced

with unbolted plywood!

 I really do think I could live in Chattanooga.

 An elevator for dinosaurs wishing to visit the museum.

 Spotted on the side of a beer delivery truck.

 Impressive old vine: wisteria or trumpet vine?

We ambled through the sculpture garden near Rembrandt's Coffee Shop.

Art must arouse some emotion to be considered good.

Well, I was quite disturbed by this one.  

 Melissa-inspired giggle outburst!

Take two: composure!

 The ever-popular M.C. hand pose.

 Harley Dude with Cigar: a portrait through car window.

Seen on the return trip.

Sun and shadow having it out on a hillside.

Fantastic!

As if that wasn't enough, last night was my turn in the neighborhood Bunco game hostessing duties.  I cooked and cleaned my little fanny off.  Well, not quite!  I wish.  I must declare that it is indeed difficult to live up to one's own reputation for putting on a heckuva shindig year in and year out.  Topping oneself starts to lose its appeal.  I just about gave up on the idea this time around, opting instead to pair up foods I've made before (for the most part) to create a taco salad/quesadilla/nacho bar.  The marinated skirt steak and chicken breast agreed to grill to perfection for me: I was most grateful as were the ladies I love to spoil with my efforts.  A black bean salsa with dried cranberries was a nice counterpoint to the shrimp-avocado dip with jalapenos, tomatoes and red onions.  And the subtle flavor notes in the ginger-lime-coconut cupcakes delivered just the right amount of sweetness to the occasion.  Sarah came home to help and consume the goodies; Ashley selected an economical sauvignon blanc that turned out to be a home run.  But at the end of the evening, it wasn't my satisfaction or the pleasure experienced by my Bunco cohorts which which topped the happy scale.  Nope.  I think it's safe to say that Hank the Wonder Pup managed to have the last happy laugh of the day!

 Our small band of ladies.  

We know how to make some noise, however!

 Remnants of a meal enjoyed.

 His nose was at the plate of meat,

periscope UP, just seconds before this shot.

He'd been tortured by the sights, smells and sounds all evening

from the confines of his kennel due to his excitement levels.

 I felt he deserved to lick the plate clean as a reward.

Until I released him, he listened to my "LEAVE IT" command.

For more than 30 seconds.  

Good boy, Hankie Mutt.

As my brother, John, once said, the luckiest day in this dog's life 

was the day when he met his mama -- ME.

I think he knows it, too!

And with that, I bid you a fond farewell.  Until next I write.