Brad & Heather's Journal

Deliciousness Has Landed

2006-10-06T22:35:00.000-07:00

I think I might have an addiction and it’s kind of an embarrassing one. I’m addicted to Goldfish – yes those oh so delicious cheese crackers. It is so bad that I can only buy them in the snack packs. If someone were to give me one of those huge containers like they sell at Sam’s Club or Costco, I’d be doomed. I mean, it’s not a small problem. If there are Goldfish in the house… I will eat them. And not just a few. I will eat them until they are gone. I don’t know what it is… I can refuse any other crackers or chips, but cheddar Goldfish…(And don’t try to sneak by on those Dolphins or whatever the off brand Goldfish is… they are not the same.) Off brands. Who decided to that Goldfish were too expensive and that the world needed another aquatic animal snack that was more affordable for middle America. I always love that the off brands try to have tricky names so maybe you won’t notice. Some of them are really bad though. Like “It’s Not Butter,” and “Dr. Thunder”.

I have to go. There is still one snack pack of Goldfish left and I can hear its siren call.
Heather

Happy Birthday, Heather

2006-09-10T18:46:00.000-07:00

The fact that tomorrow is Heather's birthday has me thinking about memories of birthdays from when I was a kid. I know people now who make it really elaborate--hire magicians and clowns, hire "birthday organizers" (by the way, my favorite suggested title for a sequel to Snakes On A Plane is Spiders On A Clown), but it was never like that for me. Cake, pointy hats, blow out the candles, open presents, take some Polaroids, and you were done. I once did a pirate-themed birthday for my son Lucas, but mostly because it allowed me to be dressed as a pirate the entire day. And that was a do-it-yourself....no organizers were hired. I remember when I was about eight years old, and Ty Lang, the kid next door (who I now think had a pretty cool name), had a party. His mom had this bizarre and cruel game whereby you had to stand over a Coke bottle and hold a clothespin on your nose, then release the pin and have it go inside the bottle. I found this to be impossible to do, and I wanted to do it because anyone who could do it got a new Hotwheels car as a prize, which was pretty amazing when the typical prize was something like an uninflated balloon. But I couldn't do it. I kept trying, even after others had moved on to the cake and ice cream portion of the festivities. I was so frustrated, that I left. I mean, I just watched the last clothespin glance off the side of the bottle, and I walked out the back door and down the street to my house. I didn't wait for presents, didn't eat any cake, didn't tell Mrs. Lang I was leaving. I just bailed. Really, who could blame me? Most birthday memories are better than that, though. The best birthday I got a pair of stilts....a pale substitution for the unicycle I wanted, but still pretty good. My daughter Alex every year asks for pet food and pet supplies for her birthday, which she then donates to the local shelter. I think that's a great idea, one I wish would spread. Anyway, happy birthday to you, Heather. Just for fun, see if you can drop a clothespin into a Coke bottle....

Brad

Wanting Something to Happen

2006-09-07T20:11:00.000-07:00

Okay, I know I shouldn’t be vague like that. It’s in the ambiguity that the universe gets you. I think I’m just having that in-between-seasons blues. I mean, it’s not summer anymore… school’s in, it’s past Labor Day, it’s not a thousand degrees out, but it’s not autumn either (see, I like autumn – it sounds much more fancy-pants than fall). There aren’t any leaves changing yet. There’s no crisp feeling in the air. No pumpkins in the grocery stores. They don’t even have the Halloween candy out yet. (Now, that’s weird). I guess it’s also because my birthday’s coming up. And, because of the date – I can’t even be that excited anymore. I mean, because I was born on 9/11 and then five years ago everything happened, suddenly I can’t be pleased it’s my birthday. Don’t get me wrong. I feel all the same things everyone else feels on that day. I feel shock that it happened, sad at the senseless loss of life… but I want to have just a little bit of happy for my birthday. It’s selfish, I know, but there it is. So, I’m sitting here, waiting for something to happen. But, I’m going to try to be a bit more specific because “something” might mean something bad and I don’t want that.

More later,
Heather

12-step program

2006-08-13T20:26:00.000-07:00

The more I think about it… the crazier it seems. Okay, I know I’m obsessive, but it’s become a bit obscene. I guess I should start at the beginning instead of in the middle…Here are things you need to know about me before I can tell you the thing I’ve been obsessing about.

I grew up in Texas. If you grew up in Texas, you can skip down to number two because you know what I’m going to say. Girls and women in Texas are forever messed up. (I’m sorry, but it’s true. It’s not anti-Texan to say that.) Here’s what I mean. Under no circumstance are you supposed to sweat. You may glow. You may perspire, but not sweat. Under every circumstance you should be well-coiffed. That means… hair, make-up – all of it. Your clothes should be pressed, should match, should be slightly stylish, and should be dressier than you think you should be. I did this fairly well – until college. That takes us to number two.
I spent my college days pretending to be a hippie. I say pretending only because I did not go to college in the 1960’s, so therefore, I can’t be an actual hippie. I was a vegan, I joined Greenpeace and PETA, I drove a tiny purple car with a big Grateful Dead sticker on the back. I only wore products by Skin Trip or some other sufficiently organic company. I hiked. I camped. I rock climbed. I mountain biked.
After college, I threw myself into triathlons and working (bakery and library). So, again – not much use for anything other than a hairbrush, some sunscreen, a couple of bathing suits, a couple pairs of jeans, etc.

Okay, now that you know my history, you must understand something else. My mother and my sister actually have style. I mean, they know how to apply eyeliner and that people with my skin and hair color shouldn’t wear light pink or brick red. They know about finishing creams for your hair. They know things…. I don’t. So, here’s the creepy part. I have mostly avoided knowing things by following these rules….I have a good hairdresser … I just check my sister’s lipstick color and buy the same for myself. I wander through her closet and borrow things at will. And, for the creepy part…. I’m sorry…. I think my entire closet is slowly morphing into a J. Crew store. I think I may be an addict. I mean, I have my reasons, but I sound defensive even to myself. I wonder if there is a support group for recovering J. Crew addicts – not that I am in any way recovering. Maybe I should start one. Although I suppose “That Ed Guy” probably likes J. Crew, so maybe I’ll have to rethink this. More later.
--Heather

"The Ed Guy" and me

2006-08-12T21:45:00.000-07:00

I forgot to mention that I had my cable turned off. (I don’t know what I was thinking…) Well, actually here is what I was thinking… We don’t watch it that much, it costs way too much… But, here’s the thing. A night like tonight. I have nothing to really do, I am way tired, my brain is too tired to read, think, write this actually… so what do I do? Well, I should flip on the television. But, there is no television now. I’ve actually discovered that while my television watching habits are pretty thin, there are certain times in my week where nothing else will do. I’ve even tried magazines or “light” reading. I’ve gone through all of ebay about four times now and shopped around on all my favorite online stores (shhhh we’ll save that for another day), and now I’m lost. I am starting to think that after only two months, maybe I was too hasty with this whole television decision. I have a daydream now that Suddenlink (formerly Cox Communications) is going to call me up and tell me about a great deal for customers looking to sign back up with them. I’ll play coy of course. “Well, are you sure that’s the best price you can manage?” But, in the end I’ll relent. I want to be the kind of person who doesn’t need any television, but I’m just not.

Okay, cool thing that happened to me this week. I’m in Starbucks, sipping on my half-caf (cream, one Equal) and I look up and coming through the door is that guy on Ed. I mean, it’s Ed. I’m trying like mad to think of his real name, but all I can come up with is “That Ed Guy” – which I’m sure he loves. But, see here’s the thing. I had a big time crush on his character in the show and so here he is in front of me and my half-caf and I feel like I’m running into some guy I had a crush on in high school. Until it dawns on me that “The Ed Guy” is probably wondering if I’m a bit off because I’m staring at him. I want to tell him that I’m not emotionally deranged, but I’m sure the look on my face and the fact that I seem to be blushing is what makes him walk a bit faster as he comes past my table. Oh well, it could have been worse. I could have spilled my coffee down my front or on him. Why is it that no matter how old you get, sometimes you still feel like you’re a little kid on the inside?

More later when I’m rested and making more sense.

--Heather

PS. His name is Tom Cavanagh

In the dark

2006-08-01T14:03:00.000-07:00

I lost all power (well, the city where I live, not me) last night at midnight. First off, it was really hot, with no a/c and no fans, so I had no chance of sleeping. I walked outside around the town at 4:00 in the morning, and it was very weird.....you forget what no-light looks like. No lights from stop lights or from the bank clock (I live downtown in my little town) or from apartment windows or TV sets or store displays or EXIT signs or from anywhere. No cars. And in some strange way I haven't figured out, sound must be connected to light in ways we don't even notice, because it was also more quiet than I could imagine. When one car finally did go by, the engine sounded like this huge intrusion, and the headlights looked like steel spikes. Everything looked dead, and spooky, and cool. I have a good building for gong dark, if you like spooky, because it's a hundred years old and used to house a funeral home, and they embalmed bodies in the basement (there are still a sloped floor and drains down there). Everything looked different, and sometimes that's all you want to see, something different. Then I think there were others who couldnt sleep because of the heat, because I started to see the flickers of candles in apartment windows, which made the whole building look like a giant jack-o'-lantern. A few people with flashlights coming out of the buildings, the occasional glow of a cellphone. I didn't really sleep, until 5:00, and that ended at 6:00 a.m.....when the power came back on and suddenly my entire place was one giant alarm clock....the TV came on, and all the lights, and the a/c, and the computer. The answering machine told me, in a human voice, to press the review key for setup instructions. Not the best way to wake up, not when some spooked part of your brain thinks it's the voice of the basemented dead, speaking so clearly. I think I need a nap.

Brad

New cat

2006-07-28T19:49:00.000-07:00

Why is it so incredibly hard to make flight reservations anymore? I mean, it’s supposed to be easier now that it’s all technologically superior, but I end up spending hours of my life trying to save myself what ends up being about three bucks. And, of course it never crosses my mind that I could actually be doing something else with my time. My favorite trick is when one of the travel sites gives you a quote on a flight and in teeny tiny print at the bottom it tells you that you have to stay overnight in – let’s say Anchorage or Bangor (not that there’s anything wrong with either of those places… I’ve spent the night in both airports because of difficulties way too long to go into here) – BUT, it says… your flight is only going to cost you two jillion dollars rather than two jillion and six dollars. Sigh… I am old enough to remember when all you did was call up the airline or your travel agent and say “I want to go to San Francisco on April 10th and come back on the 14th and about three days later the tickets would arrive in the mail. Okay, the paperless tickets are cool. The only thing that freaks me out is the self-check in machine that knows my full name. (I know – but still it’s a little freaky to have it printed there in black and white.

So, tomorrow we are going to get a new cat. After all of the deaths in our family… two cats, three tadpoles, a fish… (all in one year – no… it wasn’t me) we decided it was time. We are going to Dallas to interview our cat. Well, I actually think he is going to interview us. They had to have three references and then call my vet. And, they called the references. That’s more than most employers I’ve ever had. It seems bogus though. I mean, who is going to list someone that is going to say something bad about them?

“Hello, I wanted to ask you a few questions about Heather Hepler.”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, she is interested in adopting a cat…”
“WHAT?!? Are you crazy? They have a pet cemetery in their back flowerbed. It has a new gravestone every week.

Well, something like that. Wish us luck. What if he doesn’t like us? That might mess with me for years.

Heather

A mouse in the house and a dog on the porch

2006-07-02T21:26:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure why it is, but most of my posts are about animals… Well, this one is no different, so stop reading if you’re tired of hearing about my “issues” with our four-legged friends or our two-finned friends, or….
So, there’s this dog.
She’s on our porch.
She thinks she lives here now.
It’s my fault.
Okay, confession number one. I am the BIGGEST sucker in the whole world when it comes to animals. This puppy comes running up to me yesterday and she’s really thin and smelly. It’s about 100 degrees out, so my first instinct is water… go inside fill up a bowl, come back out…. Lap lap lap. Then lots of petting and tail wagging and… .did I mention she stinks? Did I also mention she’s thin? So, I think … hmmm…. We have hot dogs on the freezer that will just get thrown out because my son and I are vegetarians… So, here’s the deal. I can’t have a dog. I don’t want a dog, but until I can figure out what to do with her, I guess I have one.
Confession number two. I think I have a mouse in the house. My raw lasagna noodles that I had left over from (well, duh) making lasagna, had holes in them -- tiny little holes. Then, I found a tiny hole chewed in my bag of flour. Sigh… so it’s off to Wal-Mart tomorrow to buy one of those “animal friendly” traps.

No. Don’t even think it. I am not keeping a mouse.

--Heather

No more cars

2006-06-11T20:31:00.000-07:00

Somehow I got myself into it and it’s weird really because I am not really the activist type. I mean I have opinions – lots of them and I am extremely pig-headed when it comes to my way of thinking, but my ideology is mostly about me. I live my life the way I think it should be lived and try to leave everyone else alone – unless they are doing something illegal or throwing trash in my yard or something. So, like I said starting a movement is pretty out of character for me, but I did. I started the Friends Don’t Let Friends Drive – meaning for the whole month of June anyone who signs up parks his or her car in the garage and leaves it there. It’s tricky… even after only a week and a half, but here is the weird part. Besides the obvious (saving gas, treading more lightly on Mother Earth and all that) it is making a real difference in my life. Walking is a revelation. I walk everywhere now. And, you notice so much more when you aren’t rushing by at 55 miles per hour or 30 miles per hour. I see people out working in their gardens. I notice that a house has a new coat of paint or that my neighbor has a lawn gnome. I can take the bus too – and have. Some places are too far away, but it’s making me wish that I lived somewhere without a car. I wish I could just walk to everything I needed and be done with the whole driving thing. It’s funny – when I was 15, I wanted more than anything to drive. Now, I want to walk…. Weird.

Heather

Fight Club

2006-06-09T06:21:00.000-07:00

I just renewed my (very cheap) membership at my gym. This is one of the oddest places I have ever seen. It's very un-gym-like, at least the way most gyms are now...there is no carpet, no A/C, no lockers, no showers, no bank of TV screens. The only mirrors on the wall are ones that used to be sliding doors on someone's apartment closet (you can still see the little wheels at the top). If you have seen the movie "Fight Club," you get a good idea what it's like. Dark. Lots of exposed beams with nails sticking out, the back room (free weights) with a concrete floor dimly lit by bare lightbulbs hanging down on black electrical cords, a few fans spinning lazily around--the big industrial kind of fans. In short, it looks like a good place to get murdered. But I like it. For a long time, I liked it because it was really cheap and really convenient (right across the street), but now I like it for its oddness. I like that old guys come in there to workout wearing jeans and flannel shirts, like that the most muscle-bound guy there steps outside between sets to smoke cigarettes, like that the reminders to replace the plates are on hand-lettered signs duct-taped to the wall, like that the attic of the building has a boxing ring formed by a piece of clothesline. Sometimes I wish I belonged to a nicer gym, wish that we had more equipment or that what we have would stay fixed. But I also like to think of this place as one strike against sameness. You know, the way every mall looks alike, every Wal-Mart, every McDonalds, every new house, every new singer, every new band. Sameness abounds, and I guess people find comfort in the generic. I don't. In fact, it creeps me out, like the whole country is turning into a Stepford Wife. So, even though the nice gym five miles away sometimes beckons me, I think I will stay with my small, crappy one. I might even take boxing lessons.

Brad

Pet Deathwatch

2006-06-02T09:52:00.001-07:00

Okay, I can’t have frogs anymore. Cats, fish, cockroaches… I can handle. For some reason the care and rearing of tadpoles and frogs seem to elude me. We now have a serious graveyard in my backyard, of course all commemorated by Popsicle sticks tied together with ribbons. Every morning I stumble into the kitchen and peek into the fish bowl. I’m sure I’m giving him an anxiety disorder the way I have him on deathwatch. The Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches seem fine too, although I’m not sure I would know if they were ‘not fine’. How can you tell is a cockroach is sick? See? I’m obsessing.
The other thing I can’t stop thinking about is the fact that summer is now here. When I lived in Maine, I used to get so excited when the flowers would come out and the berries would start to grow. Now that I live in Texas, I feel a sense of doom hanging over me. I know soon it is going to be a kajillion degrees outside. When I was little, I remember it being so hot here that the rubber gaskets around the car windows would melt, sending little rivers of black goo running down the glass. I think I have reverse SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). Instead of getting down when the cold sets in, I find myself moping around at the end of spring. By September I rally a bit. Once October hits and the leaves start turning and you can get awesome apples and Halloween is just around the corner, I am good.
Guess I had better go check on the fish again.
Heather

2006-05-14T20:17:00.000-07:00

Time: 2:30pm
Location: Barnes and Noble Tyler, Texas
Mission: promote the book

It begins with me nervously watching a group of girls looking at “Scrambled Eggs”… while of course trying not to look like I’m looking. I’m craning my neck… are they smiling? Are they laughing? One of them tucks it under her arm and moves down the row. One of the other girls – this one brunette, pink flip-flops, nose-ring picks up another copy and looks at it. Puts it back… (I try not to look disappointed. I mean, I’m checking out the latest issue of Yoga Journal – not much to be disappointed in there.) Two more now. One is a guy – baseball cap, cargo shorts. He picks it up, reads the back – nods and hands it to his – girlfriend? – she reads the back… I think I might be holding the magazine upside down. She nods and puts it in her stack. I duck behind the magazine as they pass. I think briefly about offering to sign their books, but panic. The baseball cap guy and his – definitely girlfriend (the hand on the lower back was a dead giveaway) pass by. I smile. She smiles – says hi. Here’s my chance. “Ummm. Do you want me to sign that?” I ask. Uh oh.. confusion is all over their faces. “I mean, I am ummm. I wrote that.” Whew – this is way harder than writing a novel. Now there is a flurry of pages turning and then she holds up the book, looking from it to me and back to it. (I’m nodding and I’m sure my face is crazy pink now.) “Oh my god…” the girlfriend says and then in a voice waaay to loud for B and N… “Stacy, come here.” Now there are four of them… all around me, asking questions and smiling and pushing their books at me. (Even baseball cap guy)… I smile and answer questions. One they’re gone I head to Starbucks. I think I earned myself a coffee… Whew.

Stay tuned for more awkward moments….

Oh and check out a great review and interview at Cynthia Leitich Smith's site...

Bye for now -- Heather

The postman may only ring once

2006-05-13T18:11:00.000-07:00

Okay… so today I was so tired and I had to get up and do a running race… early. Then more commitments… Finally I had to lie down (for just a couple of minutes) on my bed. I didn’t even have sheets on my bed because I was washing them. So flash forward two hours later and I wake up in one of those panics, like I’ve lost something or forgotten something. And I have creases on my face from the mattress pad and my eyes don’t quite focus and there may be drool on my cheek. (I know – ewww.) I spend about five minutes stumbling around my house, trying to figure out what it is I’ve forgotten… And it’s this. I was supposed to put food out on my porch for the mail carrier food drive. I check the clock, peek out at the mailbox. There’s still time… so I go into the pantry and start pulling things out. Can of pumpkin, some tuna, a bag of brown rice…. water chestnuts (who put those in there?), a box of pasta, a jar of tomato sauce. Then I hear him at the door, putting mail into my box… Now I’m running/tripping to get to the front door… “Here,” I say, opening the door. “Um, thanks,” he says. He’s looking at me for longer than he should. Then he rubs his cheek … still looking at me. No, at my face. “Oh,” I say, putting my hand up to my cheek and feeling the lines there and maybe some drool residue… (I know… ewww!). “Thanks,” he says and it seems like he is in a bigger hurry than usual to get back to his truck. So, now I’ve done it. I’ve scared my mailman. The UPS guy already thinks I’m a lunatic, but that’s a story for another day.

Heather

snack foods

2006-05-02T08:07:00.000-07:00

A week or so ago, I stopped at a convenience store with the kids, and my daughter Alex picked out snowballs as a snack....you know snowballs, the kind of round cupcakes covered in coconut? Here's what I don't get....when you buy snowballs, you now have two choices: white or pink. I don't understand the pink. I mean, it's supposed to resemble a snowball, the white ones, right? In the world of snack foods, I think this passes for cleverness. But there are no pink snowballs in the real world, unless there's massive bleeding involved, and I don't think they want us making that connection when we eat their food. So, maybe they just wanted to add some color, to really shake up the whole world of packaged cupcakes, but why pink? Why not light blue? If you think about, real snow kinda looks light blue sometimes, especially at night. The only choice worse than pink would have been yellow....a yellow snowball. They also still make candy cigarettes and bubblegum cigarettes. When I was a kid, the gum ones were always covered in powdered sugar which you could blow out the end, and pretend you were smoking. I can't believe those are still around. It's like if they made candy heroin or something. And no one believes me, but they used to make chocolate-covered Twinkies. No, not some Twinkie imitator....real Twinkies, with a chocolate topping. Now I never see them....I mean, what? People were concerned about their health and diet, and so just decided to stick with the plain Twinkies?

Brad

Second Breakfasts

2006-04-29T07:33:00.000-07:00

Okay… I’m really trying to think if there is anything better than Saturday mornings. I mean it…. Sleeping in a bit, second breakfast (more about that later), cartoons… Now I know that not everyone has Saturday morning on Saturday. I used to work every Saturday, but then I made Monday my Saturday, but at this point I am confusing myself, so let’s just consider Saturday a concept. Maybe I could make up a new way of using that word. When someone is really relaxed, you could say, “He’s totally Saturday.” Or when something is just mellow and delicious, you could say, “I love the Saturdayness of these cookies.” (I know – always about the cookies…

Okay, second breakfasts. Usually on Saturday there are two breakfasts at my house – the one you have right when you get up because you are STARVING. This is usually an apple, a piece of toast, etc… The second one is the important one – this one can be eaten at home – homemade biscuits, waffles, coffee cake and bacon, omelets. Or you can go out – Cracker Barrel, local diners…. Man, it just doesn’t get any better.

I need to get the cinnamon rolls out of the oven… Have a Saturday day – even if it’s Monday.

Heather

I'll admit it....

2006-04-26T19:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'll admit. I've been remiss. I also need to admit something else. I just ate a bowl of Count Chocula while standing at the kitchen sink. I have two things to say in my defense... maybe three if I can think of another. One, my kitchen is completely wrapped in plastic. I am having the awful-buzzing-makes-you-think-you're-going-crazy lights taken out and nice-soothing-makes-you-feel-all-warm-and-fuzzy lights put in. Hence -- the cereal at the sink. Two, the whole time I was eating it, I was practicing tree pose... it's something I do in the kitchen when I'm at the counter. Paying bills -- tree pose. Chopping vegetables -- tree pose. Flipping pancakes -- yep, you guessed it. Okay, I don't have a third thing to say. So, you might be wondering why I have Count Chocula at my house. And to be honest I am too. Everything else is all natural/no preservatives/whole grains. Mighty Bites, Envirokids, etc. But, we were at the grocery store and my son points to the box of CC on the shelf and I say “Man, that was my favorite cereal when I was a kid.” So as much as I would have liked to stuff those words back into my mouth and buy some Koala Crunch, CC went into the cart. The bad thing is that they aren’t the same. And not just because I am way older, but because they changed them. The cereal part used to just be kinda chocolaty, but now it is glazed with this sugar coating. I mean, did they just need more sugar in there? Sigh. I think I had better go brush my teeth. I can almost feel them decaying as I type….

--Heather

dreaming

2006-04-12T06:27:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamt (dreamed or dreamt? lit a match or lighted a match?) that my kids and I were walking through the middle of this busy, bright, neon downtown of some major city, and there was a sidewalk game where you put in a dollar and this giant checkerboard unfolded from the wall, then giant checkers shot up into the air so that you could catch them and play a game. I thought it was the greatest. The thing is, I probably would think it was the greatest. I love boardwalks full of tourist shops that sell seashell refrigerator magnets and goofy t-shirts and those birds that tip over into a glass of water. I love the fair, love hidden pockets of large cities and out-of-the-way diners and junk shops. Don't get me wrong...I grew up playing in the woods, in the creek in the woods, and going fishing, rowing a boat across the lake, camping by myself. I still love to hike, to be outdoors, still love the water. But I think I love the other stuff more. This is hard to admit. Recently, Heather and I started a novel that was set in western British Columbia, in the rainforest there, about a search for the Spirit Bear. The novel was to be ecologically aware, full of stirring passages and Deep Meaning about the majestic wilderness and Man's place in it. We bailed after two chapters. And here was the hard thing to admit....We're just not that noble. So now we are working on a book that features corn dogs and the county fair. But I don't think it's a bad thing, really. I think we find our meaning not in the grand forests full of 1000 year old trees, not in the sweeping vistas of nature, but in regular people, being their regular selves. Meaning is in the everyday, in the ways people try to connect, try to live inside their own vulnerable hearts with a little distraction thrown in. And nowhere do you find people being more themselves than when they are playing Whack-A-Mole and eating a funnel cake. Or maybe that's just me.

Brad

2006-04-09T19:52:00.000-07:00

So, I'm feeding our animals ... gave water to the cat, sprinkled fish food in the Beta's bowl, sliced up a grape for the Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches and then the tadpole. Okay, I know it shouldn't have come as a surprise. I mean, something was clearly wrong with him. The booklet said that he was supposed to turn into a frog within three to four weeks and he had been with us since Christmas and still only had tiny legs and a huge tail. But to see him lying on the floor of his tank belly up was more than I could handle. I mean here I was getting emotional and I still had to break the news to my five-year-old, who has become very attached to Swimmy. Fast forward an hour later -- lots of tears and talk of Frog Heaven -- which must exist. And burial practices of most Judeo-Christian cultures. And materials that we might use to contruct a memorial (Two popsicle sticks, a rubber band, a magic marker, and a bit of ribbon.) We buried him in the garden under the hydrangeas. We said a few words and talked about how much Swimmy meant to all of us. Okay, so here's the thing. This was a tadpole we had for three and a half months. I have had my cat for thirteen years....I am not even close to ready to think about that one. Must sleep.

Heather

2006-04-06T06:47:00.000-07:00

Well, first of all, if there is going to be something called the pan sandwich, you could really just call it the "panwich." And seventeen isn't so old for a cat anymore, not with today's scientifically advanced cat foods and cat workout routines....seventeen is the new thirteen. Okay.....as for quesadillas, I believe the definition is just two tortillas with cheese in between, along with anything else (chicken, salsa, etc.). "Queso," of course, means cheese. I mean, I took high school spanish, and I remember how to say "cheese" and "shoe," so I know this. I am all set if I go to Mexico and need to ask for a cheese shoe. Anyway, there is no caveat about the kind of cheese, so who's to say I can't use dill cheese? I could use string cheese if I want to, though I think I would draw the line at cottage cheese and cream cheese. But maybe not. In fact, this brings up the larger point....I think Heather should really be encouraging--in fact, applauding-- this kind of culinary experimentation. Without that pioneering spirit among chefs such as myself, we might never have had, say, the corndog. Someone--some genius, I mean--first thought of putting a hotdog on a stick and deep frying it in batter. Do I even have to mention the deep fried pickle or the deep fried Oreo cookie? Really, everyone should be thanking me. So, to that end....you're welcome.

And yes, there are deep fried Oreos, and since I know Heather wants to try one, I will post the recipe here. Good day.....

Brad

Deep Fried Oreos
1 cup buttermilk pancake mix
3/4 cup ice water
1 quart vegetable oil
14 Oreo cookies
Powdered sugar

Freeze cookies for three hours. In a heavy-gauge 3-quart saucepan heat oil to 350 degrees. While oil is heating, set up a cookie sheet with paper towels for draining. In a medium-sized mixing bowl stir water into buttermilk pancake mix until thoroughly combined. As soon as the batter is smooth, dip each cookie, one at a time, into batter and smooth batter, making a thin coat completely around the cookie. Place coated cookie carefully into hot oil. Repeat for each cookie. Fry on both sides, turning over once until golden brown. Remove fried cookie from hot oil with metal tongs and drain on paper towels. Dust with powdered sugar. Let cool slightly (about two minutes) before serving. Note: Success depends on the batter, which insulates the Oreo from direct contact with the oil. If the battering of the cookie is done right, it will become a delicious, edible shell and protect the melted cookie.

2006-04-05T10:29:00.000-07:00

Okay, Brad and I just had our first argument. He said that he made a quesadilla with cheese with dill. (Yes, I had to look up how to spell quesadilla). So, here's my thought. Quesadillas are of a specific national origin or type of cuisine -- Mexican, Spanish, S. American, etc. In no recipe that I have ever seen is there call for dill. (Now, I may be wrong -- and have been many times as Brad likes to point out), but if it has dill in it, it isn't a quesadilla, but something else. I am now on a quest to find out what that something else is. If I can't find anything, I may have to make up something. Pan sandwich? Okay, I'll keep thinking.

I'll have to post more later. I think I hear my cat throwing up in the next room. Probably all this talk of dill is making him sick. Actually he is pushing 17 and deaf and and and, so the puking pretty much is a daily event now. Other than a weak constitution, he's still pretty great.... giant though. He's a Maine Coon Cat -- and is I think despite all the puking still around 16 pounds.

Off to get some paper towels and the carpet cleaner....

Heather

You have to start somewhere

2006-03-07T20:52:00.000-08:00

Heather and I just had our first experience of teaching together, and we had a great time. We taught a workshop on character in fiction, and we also talked with different groups about writing something together and about writing for teens. The first question we get asked when we talk about writing together is always, "Did you have a lot of fights?" We kind of wish we could say "yes," and have some great story about some huge battle we had while working on the book, but the truth is we really didn't. I don't know exactly how interested people are in the way the book got written, but if they are, I hope our readers will ask some questions. We're ready to answer.