Holy Mackerel

We lived in a large brick house in the centre of town, with a tiny backyard and a carport that my dad built because he did everything himself, and without a building permit too! I'm still amazed that half our house didn't fall down around us, knowing the kind of work my dad did. He was very proud of his work, don't get me wrong. Only problem is, he kind of cut corners a lot, and always because he knew "a better way". Often, that meant extra holes drilled, and lots of screws and bolts left without a home. My dad bought this house in 1962, and I grew up in there. It was my home. I guess you could call my dad frugal. He worked very hard for his money, and didn't spend it frivolously. I remember when he would get paid, out would come the budget envelopes, and in each one he would put a certain amount to take care of the bills each month. The rest went into the bank. What my dad also did was rent out the rooms upstairs to people who needed a place to stay and who d...

If you want a great love story to read with all that free time you've got (and I know you all do, as do I), go to one of my fave sites: http://thepioneerwoman.com/ . Then click on "Black Heels". This is the ever-so-romantic story of blogger Ree Drummond and her match made in heaven with Marlboro Man. It's a great read, gets your heart going in a good way, and is better than any Harlequin I've ever even tried to read. Not only that, but it's reality in a sort of unreal kind of way. Romance at its best. The entire site is chockfull of great stories about living on a ranch, as well as amazing photography and lots of very very good recipes for very very fattening meals that are very very tasty. Take a gander, and let me know what you think!

Do you remember your dreams? Maybe one? Maybe none? I often remember at least one a night, often in vivid colour. Mr. Handsome claims he doesn't dream. Whatever. I know he does because often he swings his arm and it handily hits me on the nose. Or he mumbles things like, "No, the train can't stop here!" or "Please get that cigarette out of my mouth," or this, "Stop Marg Helgenberger! I'm married!" I had a really cool dream last night that brought me back to my childhood, as my dreams often do. I dreamt that I ended up back in the neighbourhood of my childhood, and I saw quite a few of my buddies, the girls I hung out with back in those days. It was such a feel-good dream that I wish I could go back there every night for the next month. I met Jill, with whom I grew up. Jill was a fun friend, but could also be mean (as we all could be). We had a blast together, spending whole summers on our porches, talking, singing, or swimming and riding our bi...

So, I thought today I'd describe what life is like living with me. Are you still there? Good. I promise not to be full of myself (well, maybe just a little bit), going on and on about how wonderful I am, how amazingly considerate I am at all times, how generous I am with my time and love, and how gorgeous I look even first thing in the morning. And my breath smells like roses. That was fun. Now the real story. I come from a broken, Polish family. And not just any old broken, Polish family. Those are a dime a dozen these days. No, mine is different. Special. One-of-a-kind really. Actually, I can't believe I just wrote that. Of course no family is a dime a dozen. Don't listen to a word I say. My parents met on a blind date back in the early '50s, after they both arrived on separate ships from Europe in an attempt to start their lives over after the Second World War. They both ended up in Germany once the war ended, my mother with the family of a German judge, my dad in a ...

Is it just me, or has anyone else ever broken a tooth on a grain of cooked rice? Yo, Dr. Sam! Here I come again!

It's a wonder Mr. Handsome and I have been together this long (21 years and counting). After all, I love perogies and regular ruffle potato chips WITHOUT any dip, going out for tea and dessert in the Market (I could do that pretty much every day if I had the money and time), writing and drawing, helping people, being with my friends, making new friends, and the Bee Gees, as well as about a thousand other musicians and types of music. Mr. Handsome, on the other hand, hates perogies (they're gross, apparently), finds that regular ruffle potato chips have no taste whatsoever, says going out for dessert in the Market is a total bore and a waste of money, doesn't believe he can write, and we all know he can't draw (unless you're talking stick men, and even then...), he likes to be by himself, and he loves the Moody Blues and nothing else. Well, maybe Neil Diamond. Maybe. I wanted at least two children, he could have lived quite happily without any (although I know he...

My meatloaf is going down in history as the absolute BEST meatloaf EVER MADE. Yes, I stand by that. I would love for you to try my meatloaf recipe and deny that to my face. I dare ya. This is the story behind my meatloaf. When Mr. Handsome and I were just hanging out, mooning over each other, head-over-heels in smoochy woochy, I decided to make my mother's meatloaf to fully impress him and MAKE HIM MINE forever and ever. So, one day I announced that I was making him a dinner that he was sure to love. Mr. Handsome asked what I was making, and I told him: meatloaf. He grew pale and softly asked, "Are you sure?" I assured him he had never had a meatloaf like this one, and he trusted me. Thank god, because this meatloaf has gone down in the annals of the Moore household as THE BEST meatloaf ever. This recipe is not for my veggie friends (sorry, Pickerel and Nancy Pants), but hey, sometimes you've just gotta have some REAL MEAT. But it COULD be for your friend, Mary, when ...

I had a shower and stupidly looked in the mirror and noticed that my ass has become totally FLAT. As in pancake. As in the Flat Earth Society. As in I am as old as the sun and my ass has no lift left in it. As in I am ready for ass implants. Shall I go on? Didn't think so. Yes, that's right. Me, ready for ass implants. Me, the one who has vowed never to get a facelift or any other "adjustment" or "improvement" of any kind. Ever. Yes, I want ass implants. And I want them yesterday. My ass was never my best feature. Ask anyone who knows me. It's never been plump and rosy, like J-Lo's or Halle Berry's. Man, if I could look even a quarter as good as Halle...My "better" feature would be my legs, or at least they WERE my legs until I hit my 40s and my body as I knew it left this earthly sphere and was replaced by some alien's varicose-veined, cellulited, hairy and not-so-shapely shape. I now have the body of an eggplant, but somewhat hair...

Me: Did you talk to Sarah today? Dennis (blushing): Yes. She asked me where I'd been the last 2 days. Me: And what did you tell her? Dennis: I told her I was home...sick. Me: Oh. And? Dennis: And she said home sick? Where is that ?!? (long pause, shaking his head and rolling his eyes) Girls, girls, girls...you know how they can be sometimes...

"Borrowed" from WikiAngela , this is the "Bold the stuff you've done" list. Copy this list to your blog (or a wiki if you like) and bold the stuff you've done. Why, you ask? Because it is pointless. 1. Bought everyone in the bar a drink 2. Swam with wild dolphins 3. Climbed a mountain 4. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive 5. Been inside the Great Pyramid 6. Held a tarantula 7. Taken a candlelit bath with someone 8. Said "I love you" and meant it 9. Hugged a tree 10. Bungee jumped 11. Visited Paris 12. Watched a lightning storm at sea - from the shore 13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise 14. Seen the Northern Lights 15. Gone to a huge sports game 16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa 17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables 18. Touched an iceberg 19. Slept under the stars 20. Changed a baby's diaper 21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon 22. Watched a meteor shower 23. Gotten drunk on champagne 24. Given more th...

I found out the other day that our neighbours put their little baby in a foster home. And my immediate reaction shocked me, and made me feel very ashamed of myself. Carole had her baby last winter, and I knew something was up when the ambulance pulled up to her house late that night and drove away with her on the stretcher. Ten days later, I saw her husband Ed on the street, and I asked about the baby, whom they had named Patricia. Apparently, the cord was wrapped around the baby's neck about six times. As well, as luck would have it, the cord had prolapsed, so that it was coming out ahead of the baby, which is never a good thing. What it meant was the baby was deprived of oxygen for a long time. Brain damage ensued, resulting in cerebral palsy. Carole and Ed didn't know at the time how extensive the damage was, and were in a wait-and-see limbo, which I assume can only be described as the worst hell on earth imaginable. As time went by, they realized Patricia was going to be se...

This photo was taken at night at the Parade of Lights Parade at Disney World, in Orlando, Florida. This was a fish float.

Blowing spit bubbles and eating paste. Those were the things that attracted me to Brian, my first crush, the love of my dreams. What? Not discerning enough, you say? I certainly thought it was enough, enough to assure me he would be the perfect husband and future father of my children. That is, until I met Mario Lozano in high school who never failed to amaze me with the size of his crotch stuffed into very tight jeans as he made his way down the corridors at lunch hour. But I digress. I met Brian in Grade 3. He sat behind me in class. Olive-skinned, dark-haired, extremely handsome, and smart. He would also stick straight pins through his skin, AND...AND...he would blow these amazing bubbles with his saliva. And he ate paste. All the qualifications I required in a man. Lots of kids did the pin-through-the-skin trick, but Brian went that much farther. He would stick numerous pins through each finger, and then leave them there while he did his schoolwork. How cool is that?! He would also...

I just finished reading one of the most touching websites ever. http://www.alesecoco.org/ If you want to read something that both hurts and heals, this is it. This girl's story is unbelievable in terms of the faith she has in her beliefs, and the strength she holds through her five-year struggle with cancer. It's also an inspiring story of the power of family and friends. Alese's story hits me hard because reading it was like reliving the past with Dennis. What happens when you live through something like a bout with cancer is that it changes you forever, and slowly -- very very slowly -- melts into the back of your mind, and over a long stretch of time, you can go through the day without even remembering that you or your loved one had cancer. It took me over two years to be able to function relatively normally again after Dennis' situation had stabilized and we felt he was going to be okay. I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder at one point because I cou...

My question to all of you is this: Do we really need hormones? I ask you this because, let's be honest, hormones are the main reason for most women's problems worldwide. The range is vast, from menstrual cramps to emotional rages, hysterectomies to heart disease and breast cancer. I'm sure many marriages and divorces could also be chalked up to the rise or fall of a woman's hormones. We could talk about raging men's hormones here as well, but I won't. Women's raging hormones are enough, thank you very much. So, I've been going through what I'm pretty sure is perimenopause since this summer. Perimenopause is that great and wonderful stage between full-blown fertility, when our breasts are firm and perky (unless you've nursed a child or two, and then they are more like deflated little water balloons), to menopause, also known as incredible decrepitude: bedraggled, broken down and decaying. Everything starts to fail you. Your breasts sag below your ...