The Chicken Story

The Chicken

When my daughter was seven years old, she and my husband went to Florida to stay at my in-laws for a week. It was not a good visit. My in-laws had no interest in varying their routine and my daughter was not comfortable in their house and had no idea how to occupy herself. My dear husband was clueless.

Jamie called me many times a day in distress. Food was the main problem. There was never enough or there was food she was not familiar with. One conversation went like this:

“Mom, we’re having something disgusting for dinner. Do I have to eat it?”

“What is it?” (My MIL is an old-school hard-core Italian cook. I’m thinking tripe or pig’s knuckles)

“I don’t know but it’s kinda white with bumps all over it and it’s the grossest thing I have ever seen”

“Put your father on”

“What’s up?” He asks (clueless, as usual, that there is a crisis).

“Jamie is tramatized about the dinner food.”

“The chicken?”


“Yeah, Grandma’s making roasted chicken.”

“Put Jamie on.”

“So I don’t have to eat it, right Mom?”

“Jamie, it’s roasted chicken just like we eat all the time.”

“But your’s isn’t disgusting like that.”

“Honey, mom buys it already cooked from the deli. Grandma is going to cook it herself.”

“Yuck, that’s what it looks like before they cook it? I’m never eating chicken again.”

I wore pink to the Biker Expo.


Not sure what I was thinking. Guess I wasn’t. There I was… standing amidst a sea of black and chrome and suddenly it occurred to me… pink was a strange color choice to wear to the biker expo.

I expected to be the only one without a tattoo. I even expected to be the only with blond highlights but it never occurred to me that I would be the only one not wearing black. Could have gotten away with navy or brown but nooo… I decide to wear pink. There was one other person there in pink… my daughter.

As we walked proudly past the Hell’s Angels’ recruitment table, I thought to myself, “That’s right, you wear your colors and we’ll wear ours.”

I am such a rebel.

What I Really Look Like (Sort Of)

The Real Me

The Real Me

Ok, so I posted a good photo of myself last time. Wouldn’t you?

But it was the only thing the women at work talked about. “Hey, you look really good in that picture.” “Wow, you look great” “I can’t believe how good you look!”

What they really mean is… “That doesn’t look like her at all.” “Can you believe she posted THAT photo.” “I hardly recognized her.”

OK, I get it. It’s not my normal look. So today I took some new photos. Now when you look at this photo, keep in mind that I have no make-up on, haven’t showered in two days and, oh yeah, I had surgery yesterday. Just in case the flaws are not obvious enough, I have labeled them. (I hope you all think this one is more appropriate for my blog.)

Since we are being honest… here is what you can’t see: there is a stain on my shirt, my teeth need work and I should be on a diet. AND this was the very best photo I took today. I will not post the really bad ones. Would you?