Valentines Horror Story

Yes, there is the feeling of dread, once a year, when some make their way through aisles of cards, candies and flowers, hoping to find the right one to convey their feelings. They know from February 15th of the previous year that February 14th, Valentines Day will come again, but they wait and it starts all over again.

But...

Nothing, nothing can compare to the horror that occurred in my very home on Valentines day a few years ago. I hesitate to even tell you this story. I shudder to think that it is a true story! And I.. well, I dare not say more...

Reader beware! The color will drain from your cheeks and you may run from the room screaming, but know you have been warned, if you choose to continue reading. It's only by writing this, that I can purge it from the collection of nightmares in my mind....

I aquired the name Mimi from my grandkids. Stephanie, coined the name and it has stayed with me. On this Valentines day, Stephanie and her younger brother TJ had slept over. And of course, it being Valentines day, I wanted to make them a fancy breakfast before they went to school. I had it all planned. I own a waffle maker that cooks up heart shaped waffles. Perfect! Strawberries, whipped cream and real maple syrup would give them something to talk about at school. Oh, they would just love their Mimi and her special breakfast.

The waffle iron was heating and giving off that hot grease smell. The indicator light would turn green just as I finished making the batter.

I have made waffles for years, barely even needing a recipe. So, I grabbed flour, baking powder, a pinch of salt and a handful of sugar, mixing all the dry ingredients together. I don't even need to measure any more. Like any seasoned cook, I just eyeballed it, estimating the proportions.

The wet ingredients next.. eggs, milk and oil. The batter would turn out soft and thick and make waffles that were puffy light inside and crispy outside. (You can tell I just love waffles, can't you?)

I reached up in the cupboard, selected the oil and opened it, pouring in just the right amount. Next would be the milk and eggs.

When I opened the refrigerator, there was an odor of something bad. What was that?! Wow! Did I need to clean the fridge?! I sniffed and sniffed, wondering if there was hamburger that had spoiled, though there was no meat in there. The smell invading my senses was of tainted rotting meat. It was overpowering actually. What was it?! I decided that I would thoroughly inspect the fridge after breakfast. I needed to get going because the kids had to get to school.

Bleah. Still smelling that malodorous smell.

When it happened.

I turned to add the milk and the eggs to the batter and I saw it.And I screamed and screamed and screamed! Omigawd!!!!!

Inside the very bottle of oil, was the bloated, grey matted body of a mouse!!!!!!It had swelled so much it's drowned body nearly filled the entire bottle!!!

How the hell did it get in there!!!!Omigawd!!! I kept screaming! And the kids tried to run into the kitchen to seeBut, I wouldn't let them see! Holy crap! What if I had made this batter and cooked deadly waffles that would have killed my grandkids!

I kept screaming! I threw a dishtowel over the bottle. Still the kids persisted in trying to look.I couldn't, wouldn't let them. I was like one of those people who panics and needs to be slapped back to consciousness!

I called their grandfather at his work. Hysterical.He thought someone had been murdered.

I rinsed out the bowl and threw it in the trash. I picked up the dishtowel wrapped bottle of mouse oil andpromptly threw it in the trash.Tying up the trash bag immediately, brought it outside.

Stephanie said, "Mimi, I don't think I'm hungry anymore" And I wasn't hungry anymore either. We settled for peanut butter toast, barely getting that down with a glass of orange juice.I still have no idea how a mouse got into a closed bottle of oil. It sickens me to think of it now.

Valentines day will never be the same. No amount of chocolates, candies, flowers or romantic cards will take away the memory of that day.My grandchildren will recall for the rest of their lives.It will be a story told several times at my funeral.The Valentines day that Mimi almost made the deadly waffles.

Afterthoughts.. we have made waffles that are tender on the inside, crispy on the outside and made with love. And, flour,sugar, baking powder, salt, eggs and milk.

And a bit of oil, from a well inspected bottle.

Served with strawberries, cream and some real maple syrup

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Tribute to Davy Jones

This photo album generated with Smilebox

The Most Delicious Pear I Have Ever Tasted

I have written it down

told the story more times than my fingers can count

recalled with fondness

the memory

of the deliciousness of you

The first year

not knowing what to expect

I remember moving from one experience to the other

just trying to follow the order of things

Ahh, but the second year

I knew what to do

so I could relax

and let myself take it all in

the experience of

Silent Retreat

Not far from home, really

but seemingly, so far away

another world..

of quiet

Save for the thirty minutes daily

that we could visit with one another

our time was spent listening

Listening to lectures

Listening to scriptures

Listening to music

Listening to nature

and the very sound of our breathing

For a couple days..

revelling in the sound of silence

Shhh.....

The very quietness itself

awakened my senses

The sounds in my mind as I thought

about the readings,

listening to what God was saying to me

to Me..

But I remember so vividly

the taste of the food

Prepared by the Carmelites

Soup.. vegetable, brothy, simple

yet a symphony of flavors and textures

Bread.. warm, earthy, speckled with seeds

nurturing, sopping up the broth so as

to not miss a drop

Water..clear, no hint of bleach or chemicals

flavorless? Maybe flavor filled with taste of life

But it was the pear

the single succulent pear

whose taste I best recall!

Fat, green and freckled

not perfect by any means

the skin wielding to the touch

of my fingertip

oh so ready

for that first bite

Juice trickles down my chin

The graininess of the flesh sticks to my teeth

the fragrance, so fresh permeates my nostrils

and the memory of that taste

is pleasantly burned into my mind

Focusing with all my senses

on that one piece of fruit

Taking my time to enjoy the pleasure of each taste

touch, smell, look,

listening to the sound of mmmm

The totally sensual delight

I had never tasted deliciousness like that

in a simple pear

Nor will I ever again.

Thank you, God

for that gift.

Poem...The Bath

The Bath


Submerged under the steam,
I steep until the water tastes of me
me tea
By my own hand,
using the stuff from ballerina tutus of long ago
and mountains of foamy bubbles
I slough off
that which has had most sensual contact
with the day
Why?
Like an oil slick
there I am
individual cells of me
floating on the very surface
trying to make contact
with me again
before they exit,
lifeless.....down to
mingle with cells of countless others
never ever to know one another
John Updike said it best,
"As in sleep we need to dream,
so while waking, we need to touch and talk
to be touched and talked to.."
now I wait
the new me
all pink and soft and ready
just waiting for tomorrow
for you
to fill my senses
Touch me, talk to me
let me breathe you in...
I won't bathe until
you have sunk all the way
down deep
into my heart
where no water or cleanser or bubbles or scrub brush
will ever... ever... ever
wash you away.

How do you take your coffee?

Ahhh, that first cup of coffee in the morning.. The rich earthy smell of freshly ground beans, measured precisely, cold water up to there, poured into the top of the machine, water in the well already hot and dripping through the grounds to make that cup of coffee strong, but not bitter. Elixir that awakens my senses. I'm even fussy about the mug. I can't just grab anything to pour the brew into. I like an old pottery mug, maybe even has a chip or crack in it, but it has a great feel in my hand. Just a dash of half and half if I'm lucky, but most days, it's a spoonful of creamer. Funny, I don't like coffee with milk in it, especially skim milk. My grandfather always used the powdered creamer. It was kept in a small brown jar on the counter. After he died, that was all I wanted..that little pot of creamer. The powdered stuff is not so great, it's the memories.. I used to like to sit on the big porch at the house and listen to the world wake up. Now, I'm the toast and coffee girl for the elders at 5:45am, so after they've gotten their early morning cups of java, maybe I can take mine and head out onto the courtyard to embrace my cup of coffee and the early morning wake up calls, too.
Several years ago, my husband and I gave each other almost the same gift for Christmas, for the very same reason. We gave one another journals. Why? What would life be like if all of a sudden we couldn't communicate anymore. Would anyone know our likes and dislikes? How would anyone know that I hate sugar in my coffee?! Would anyone know that I love new age music, but I hate grating classical that sounds like a bad piano lesson? Think about it. What are your likes and dislikes? Would anyone know how you would want things if you couldn't talk or communicate anymore? Write them down. Put the list or the journal somewhere where a special person can find it and make your life as normal for you as possible. Tell them how you take your coffee.