Yeah.

~
One of life’s truisms: if there is ice to slip on, I will find it. Let the chiropractor visits begin.

Ouch.

On the bright side, we had a blast at Kay & Bob’s last night, followed by a visit to an area watering hole to help Seamus & Hannah celebrate the anniversary of their first date. Fun to chat with some people we haven’t seen in awhile.

Now off to find the Aleve…

Have I mentioned that people have toddlers in their 20s and 30s for a reason? Or maybe it’s just that we need to get in shape. Actually we know that’s it. That’s why we went out last night and bought this dandy looking treadmill. I say dandy looking because I haven’t tried it yet. It’s still in a heap on the basement floor; after the Thriller and son Lars hauled it in and down the stairs (by the way, thank you Lars sweety), we lost one little black circle washer thingy, and until we find it or replace it, there’s no treadmilling for us. And do you THINK we could get our hands on the Thriller’s big honking rechargeable flashlight? Nowhere to be found. The thing’s as big as a pipe wrench and weighs five pounds — and we can’t find it. Using a little mini-mag and my cell phone light just wasn’t cutting it, and we decided to wait until daylight.

So we spend major green on this huge, fancy contraption, only to be reduced to standing there looking at it, which burns not a single calorie. I know — the purists are saying, “Just get out and run on the sidewalk!” Yeah well, thing is…

I will not walk outside when it’s dark (if you’ve ever broken your ankle, you know the reasons), and I won’t walk if it’s below 45 degrees or raining. That takes up a lot of Ohio days. Too easy to make excuses if you’re a slave to the weather up here. So we removed that excuse. It’s going to really help us both. Our schedules are polar opposites, at least during the school year, so we can both use the treadmill as much as we want and not worry about stepping on someone else’s time.

The thing has an MP3 player dock, and since it’s located downstairs in the Thriller’s office, I have TV so I can watch the early morning news. Cuts into the blog time, but I’ll just have to make up for it. I mean, I’d rather write than exercise, but you know…gotta keep this sassy old chassis moving somehow. I have the 4 & under crowd to keep up with at the park.

Time to go get ready for school. Now if I could just get up. Oi.

Creak Fink

Yesterday was our faculty potluck lunch at the high school, where everyone brings in goodies to share. After rehearsal Thursday night, I baked up 28 of my Devil’s Food Cake Truffles and took them in Friday morning. After picking up my serving dish at the end of the day (there were two truffles left, yay for the Thriller), I checked my mailbox in the office and made my way down the hall. Several teachers were talking near their classroom doors, and one called out to me that I’d “won the prize” for the snazziest dessert of the day. Then she told me there was some discussion over the lunch table as to the “homemade” authenticity of my truffles. Whoa! I was simultaneously flattered and flummoxed. Did they really think I’d buy pastries and try to pass them off as my own? After another colleague walked by and teased, “Nice fakejob, Jax,” I thought “Hmmmm…mebbe so.”

I told the Thriller it was like trying to convince the doctors at the asylum that I really, honestly, truly wasn’t crazy. Hilarious. So as I drove home, an idea popped into my nut. “Why not go foodie blogger for a day?” Since I’d had two teachers ask me for the recipe, I figured it might kill two birds by posting photographs of me actually making the things. So, without further delay…

Devil’s Food Cake Truffles

You will need:

Devil's food cake mix, eggs, oil, melting chocolate (I use Merckens milk)

Bake the cake in a 9 x 13 pan according to directions on the box. If you’re making the icing/filling from scratch, mix together the following:

• 8 oz. cream cheese, softened
• 5 T. butter, softened
• 2 t. vanilla extract
• Mix above ingredients, then stir in 2 to 3 cups sifted confectioner’s sugar (I eyeball it)

Otherwise, you can buy a 16-oz. plastic container of ready-made whipped cream cheese frosting.

Now the fun part…

Claw out the cake and crumble it into a bowl. Eat some.

~

Add the cream cheese frosting you made while the cake was baking.

~

Mix, knead, pummel. But wear gloves, because no one knows where your hands have been.

~

Roll, roll, roll, roll. Then put them in the freezer for about 15 minutes.

~

Melt the chocolate slowly. I like to use a double boiler, but you can make it work in the microwave, too.

~

Smooth, creamy, thumbs-up yummy.

~

Puncture each chilled truffle with a toothpick...

~

...then swipe it through the chocolate bath. Don't dip for too long, or you'll be fishing cake crumbs out of the mixture. Tap to shake off excess chocolate.

~

Before the chocolate dries, carefully unscrew the toothpick and remove it.

~

Grab a clean toothpick, dip it in the chocolate, and paint over the hole left by the original toothpick. A picky step, but it makes them prettier.

~

Another extra step: put some chocolate discs in a plastic pastry sleeve, microwave to melt it, then snip off the end.

~

Draw pretty squiggles. (Hopefully better ones than these.)

~

Délicieux chocolat.

~

See you guys? My name was even on one of the pans. Would I ever cheat?

About this, I mean?

That, and eat more chocolate.

So, Mavis and I are in the test-kitchen phase of our new business, as many of you know. We got together last night to bake three different recipes in an effort to arrive at *just* the right taste for our Chocodoodle base. (We’re almost there.)

I have a small Sunbeam stand mixer — certainly not industrial grade, but strong enough to get the job done. And boy did I do a job on it — and it on me. Behold the result of my trying to scrape the bowl with a spatula, and getting the spatula — and my hand — caught in the beaters:

Natch, it was my right hand, too. The one I’m having x-rayed on the 7th after my little fall in the school parking lot three weeks ago. HA. Rat Fink, Rat Fink. What a donkey.

The upside? Our first major business purchase:

And I do mean *major*. Ouch. 200+ beans. If I get a paw caught in that bad boy, I won’t be talking to you for awhile. But it works like magic, and we’re glad to have it.

Me, I’m just glad to still have my hand. What a dope. The real downside is every muscle in my right arm feels like it’s been pulled out, swung around, stomped on, set on fire, and put back on sideways. Other than that, I feel great.

But hey, the Js are coming to visit Grammie today. Is that an upside or what? Yippy for me! And I’m on vacation. What’s to complain about? (You know me; I’ll find something.)

Then we thought: What do we want here? Do we want our own luscious creation, or do we want a Chocodile knock-off? It didn’t take us long to decide for “A.” So, it’s Cake, Part Deux.

Instead of a sponge cake (Twinkie), we’re going to try several different types of standard cake. Our goal is a moist, tasty creation that will hold both the filling on the inside and the chocolate on the outside. The Test Kitchen remains open for business. This is going to be a long process. And a fattening one. HA

Three more days of school, three more days of school, three more days of school…

Right now, our little two-person company, Mavis and the Bird, is experimenting with recipes. Our Chocodoodles (we are in the process of trademarking the name — surprisingly, no one’s licensed it yet) are the first order of business. [We also know that "chocodoodles" are a rather obscure variation on the snickerdoodle cookie, but we feel there won't be that much confusion. I mean, I just bought chocodoodles.com, and every variation -- .net, .biz, .org, etc. -- was available as well.] At present, we’re using Hostess Twinkies as our sponge cake base, but we won’t be doing that for long. We’ve happened on some good cake recipes, to which we will add our own special touches. When that’s done, we will switch over to the homemade cakes.

We’ve always loved to play around in the kitchen, Mavis and I. Over the years, our family have said on numerous occasions, “You should sell this stuff!” We’d always agree and say, “Yeah, we really should,” but then time would march and we’d forget. Well, this time, we decided to remember.

Chocodoodles

In all my research, there hasn’t yet appeared a bakery or confectionery that uses chocolate covered sponge cakes with cream filling as their specialty. We plan to make it ours. All the major holidays, office parties, birthday parties (why not serve individual Chocodoodles instead of baking a cake?), craft shows, baby showers, mail-orders all over the country…it’ll hopefully keep two old ladies busy. Mavis and the Bird have high hopes of being the next Harry & David.

Well maybe not. But we’ll at least be available for anything local.

And we know that Chocodoodles are not health food. They’re an occasional indulgence for a special day or event, and that will be the crux of our marketing strategy. Still, we will use only the best ingredients available. Our cake will have about eleven ingredients — less than half that of a Twinkie.

There’s a lot to think about. But if you don’t think big, you’ll never climb out of the foxhole, right?

Happy Sumday. Time for some coffee and thinking about chocolate things.

Heh.

Something about “Bishop” Eddie Long doesn’t hit me right. And I put “Bishop” in quotes because it just seems so incredibly out of character for the Baptist Church.

Mavis and I were raised in a strict Baptist home. Dancing, card playing, social drinking and the like were all generally frowned upon. (I came to call it the Religion of “No.”) We were always taught that “self” means nothing, and that promoting one’s position in the church or setting one human being above another was prideful; a sin. Yet, there is a section of the Baptist Church machine that features this human hierarchy – bishops and the like – and I must confess, it hits me wrong.

I was going to give Eddie the benefit of the doubt — after all, he didn’t set up the ladder that apparently leads straight to heaven — until I read excerpts from an interview with the Atlanta Journal Constitution:

“We’re not just a church, we’re an international corporation, ” Long said. “We’re not just a bumbling bunch of preachers who can’t talk and all we’re doing is baptizing babies. I deal with the White House. I deal with Tony Blair. I deal with presidents around this world. I pastor a multimillion-dollar congregation.”

Well good boy, Eddie. I’m sure Jesus is proud.

I guess I should still be in the giving-the-benefit-of-the-doubt phase. I mean, nothing’s gone to trial yet. And maybe the four men leveling the accusations are in cahoots to extort him. I wouldn’t know why. He’s just a humble pastor.

OK, OK. Stop being a snooty wonk, I know. I confess: I’m just jealous of his Rolexes and bling and thousand-dollar suits and mansion and fast cars.

Speaking of lucrative vocations — I have to get ready for school. Yay! It’s almost the weekend.

If you’re too lazy to click over to the last one to look at the rules, I’ll reprint them here:

Rules of the Game

1. Only add a few sentences at a time — but you can add on to the story as many different times as you like.
2. Don’t click the “Reply” link following the first commenter’s post. Just start a new comment altogether (scroll down to “Leave a Reply”). That way, the story will read down the page, and we won’t nest ourselves into a 1-centimeter-wide column.
3. The Fink gets the last line of the story. Because Kody will simply write, “Everyone died. The End.”

When the tale is told, I’ll write the end and close the comments. Ready, steady, go! I’ll begin.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, the medicine must really be working.

And now for something you’ll really like: EIGHT DAYS till the Route 66 Odyssey. And it’s Finkday. Candy will be eaten.

FO

I’m talking about having my memory stolen.

On Tuesday of this week, I went in for an endoscopy/colonoscopy. Nasty tests, and I’m glad they put you “out” for them. I recall the nurse telling me, “We’re going to start your medication now.” I’m like, “Go for it…I don’t want to know what’s going on anyway.”

The next thing I remember is being at home, almost four hours later.

OK, recap. At 10:30 a.m., a lady was talking to me in a dark room. Then, blackness. When the world comes into view again, it’s 2:00 in the afternoon and I’m walking to the sofa in my living room.

Here is a list of things I (reportedly) did after the procedure:

1. Met with the doctor
2. Chatted with the nurses
3. Signed a release form
4. Got out my phone and put a follow-up date in my Droid’s calendar
5. Got dressed
6. Walked to the car
7. Conversed with the Thriller on the ride home

Now I’ve had a total of 13 different surgeries in my life. I am no stranger to the effects of anesthesia, and I’ve had all kinds of knock-out drugs. But I knew something about this was totally different. It wasn’t Valium or Demerol, and it obviously wasn’t Propofol (the drug on which Michael Jackson overdosed) because there was no anesthesiologist present. So what went on?

When the Thriller told me all the things I did, and got to the part about me putting a date in my Droid, I didn’t believe him. He said, “Get out your phone and look.” The horror I experienced when I saw that I had indeed done it is difficult to describe.

Well, that evening, a nurse from the doctor’s office called to check on me. After the pleasantries, I asked, “Hey, I’m curious. What kind of sedative was I given for the test?” She said, “It’s called Versed [pronounced ver-SED].” I told her I hadn’t heard of that before, and that it’s strange but I have absolutely no recollection of anything after being brought into the endoscopy room. She chuckled and said, “Yes, Versed causes amnesia; it’s kind of like the date-rape drug,” meaning rohypnal, or “ruffies.”

(Oh, really. Then that explains why, when I was being admitted, the nurse asked me, “Do you trust the person who drove you here today?” I said, “Well sure…he’s my husband.” I thought to myself, what an odd question to ask someone. She went on to instruct me — and she said it at least twice before I started the prep session — “Do not make any important decisions today. Do not sign any legal documents or make any large transactions.” Whaaat? Well, it’s clear to me now, since the fog has lifted.)

Anyway, I was gobsmacked after the “date-rape drug” reference. I made some fool comment, I don’t know, about having to ask my husband five times what the doctor said he found in the test, thanked her, and signed off the call. I can’t describe to you how I felt. Well, yeah I can. I felt violated — like something was taken from me without my permission. I decided to shake it off, but the curiosity lingered, so I did some research. Turns out Versed isn’t the happy la-la juice people might think it is. I know everyone reacts differently to medications, and I was one of the fortunate ones who did not experience the horrors many others endured — namely, the waking up inside your head in excruciating pain, but not being able to wake up your body to scream out loud. Right there is what every surgical patient fears, I think.

Now I’m not a Chicken Little, and I don’t believe everything I read on the Internet. But having gone through this experience myself, I can see where these people in the above post are coming from. Moreover, to some, it may not matter that there is a black hole in their day. But the fact I said and did things I don’t remember (one of them rather embarrassing, involving me saying something about my husband in mixed company that I would never say normally) bugs me. Really bugs me. Taking away my self-control is not funny to me.

So there it is — a rare “serious” post from the Fink. But in the public interest, I thought I ought to bring you up to speed, so when it’s your turn to have these tests — and if it isn’t yet, it will be one day — you’ll know what to ask. This drug was not mentioned anywhere in the pre-procedure paperwork that I signed. Nowhere in the document did I see the phrase, “You will have no memory of large blocks of time.” Well I can tell you that it’s not going to happen again.

Next time I have one of these tests (and I will have more…the joys of being over 50), I am going to insist on another medication, or even on having an anesthesiologist there and going the Propofol route. Anything other than Versed. Anyone who knows me knows that I am firmly against anything that steals people’s joy. I have been largely a joyless creature for the past two days, and I’m ready to quit it. It wasn’t altogether harrowing, and nobody died, and the world goes on, and the sun is shining and life is good…but the Versed thing ain’t happening again.

I read on one blog that people who object to Versed are “pansies.” I wear the badge proudly:

Now let’s have a good Thurgsday, shall we? Jake and Justin this morning, then lunch with Rae, dinner with the Thriller, and at some point, shopping with Mavis. I’m going to “forget” about the bad stuff.

Ha — he’s right, actually. Now where’d I put that photo of the 2011 Mustang…….

It’s a good thing to want stuff. Mother always used to say that. If you had everything you wanted, what then? Where’s the joy and expectation in life — the wanting to work for something cool? I think Mother also said it to keep Mavis and me “grounded,” so we wouldn’t feel entitled or spoiled or selfish. That was a big thing with her.

Anyway, back to me.

After talking with Helen on Sunday, I have decided to run with the Barnes & Noble nook. $149 and free shipping. That purchase will be made today. But the other thing, oh my. I must have one of these, and soon:

The Mr. Coffee Café Frappe.

Actually, I’ve never had a Frappuccino at Starbucks, because I could think of happier ways to spend 140 calories in the morning (and that’s the sugar-free variety). But to make them myself, anytime, with only the ingredients and amounts I want, and the size I want? That sounds like fun.

Want, want, want, I want this. It’s good to want things.

So, what’s on your want list this day? Only six months till Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa, ya know. Time to get bizzy.

FO

OK. Your job is to look at the pictures (if you know the site where I got these, please don’t reveal it — I’ll tell everyone tomorrow) and come up with the pithy/punny/silly slogan that goes with it. Here’s a couple of for-instances:

and

Git it? OK, your turn.

#1

#2

#3

#4

#5

#6

One regular-sized, delicious Hershey bar for each correct answer given first. If you’re not in Finkville, I will send it to you. (Ask Suzanne — have I sent chocolate to the Netherlands? The Fink makes good on the candy.)

A couple of my favorites:

Hahaha

Go ahead and give it a shot. Have some pun with it.

Happy Tunesday!

Ship of Fools.com is an irreverent (smart-aleck, actually), wittily-written site from UK, dedicated to forcing believers to have an honest look at the “religion” part of their faith, and to slap themselves in the back of the head once in awhile for being pompous or idiotic. Humor figures in heavily within sections such as the Caption Contest, the Fruitcake Zone, and my personal favorite, Gadgets for God (the Apps of the Apostles, hahaha).

Though I rarely speak/write publicly about it, those who know me know I have some issues with organized religion. Raised in a strict Baptist home, I know my bible pretty well, and I know the wages of sin. I also know that some churches shoot their wounded — either as euthanasia or punishment — instead of pull them off the battlefield to give comfort and help. That’s as far as I’ll go on that, but suffice it to say that I was grateful to find a “religious” website full of believers who take a realistic, and often funny, view of themselves as faith-based beings. Refreshing.

I also found interesting the reports from the Mystery Worshipper section, featuring folks who show up at various churches for worship, then report back on their experience.

OK, now I’m going to make the coffee. Then maybe read some more. Good stuff! Happy Sumday.

FO