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Talking about Sex with the Mama

Yesterday the mama asked me to explain something she was reading in an AARP flyer. It was a short article about what a woman can do about vaginal dryness so that intercourse isn't so painful. Uh. The mama is a voracious reader. She likes to learn. Both things I didn't know until the husband and I became her roommates several years ago. English is not her primary language, and I would say on a scale of 1 to 10, her English reading comprehension is about a 4, more or less. She doesn't let complicated or unfamiliar words get her down. If she's interested in a story, she plows through it. If she's really interested in what words mean precisely, she asks me. So, she asked me.  Hoo boy. The mama hadn't even taught me about sex when I a kid. The only instruction I received that came closest to the topic was the afternoon of getting ready for my senior class prom.  She showed me a gigantic safety pin, then put it in my purse, saying something like "In case you need

Recipes to Try

Today, I read a recipe for sunflower cupcakes by Megan Berry at her blog, Fowl Single File , that had me drooling. Her cupcakes are not made of sunflowers, but I'm sure you could probably add sunflower seeds or sprouts to the batter. They are chocolate cupcakes with yellow cream cheese icing edged around an Oreo cookie middle. Yummm. They look like sunflowers. See for yourself!  Be sure to come back and finishing reading here. Click. Did you notice that she used a pastry bag to get the sunflower look? I've never used one, even though I have one, because I feel kind of scared about using it.  But, those cupcakes look so tasty, I'm now willing to conquer the fear.  No scaredy cat me! That, in turn, got me thinking about recipes I've bookmarked from food/craft blogs that I like to read, but haven't tried making for one reason or another, including being lazy. Not anymore. Before the beginning of winter, I will have made the sunflower cupcakes and these recipes. I don&

C'mon, Rebecca!

The little old lady walked slowly, slowly, painstakingly slowly across the street. The grandpa waited impatiently for her to cross completely pass his car. "C'mon on, Rebecca," he muttered from behind the wheel. "Do you know her, Grandpa?" asked his young, earnest grandson. "No." "How do you know that's her name?" "They're all Rebecca," the grandpa said. "All little old ladies." C'mon, Rebecca. The earnest young grandson was the husband. He told me this story (of course not exactly in those words) after our first time sitting together in a car waiting for a little old lady to slowly, slowly, painstakingly slowly do something. I say "something" because I don't remember what it was, though most likely the little old lady was in her car, and we were waiting for her to turn left or right, drive across the intersection, or edge into a parking spot. C'mon, Rebecca. We have maintained the husband'

Finding Things

Don't you just hate it when you can't find find what you want? And, you know it's where it ought to be. Back in April, I wanted to start reading Craig Ferguson's memoir, American on Purpose: The Improbable Adventures of an Unlikely Patriot .  ( Click on that link and it'll bring you to Amazon. Just saying. ) It was one of the books that the husband and I got for ourselves last Christmas. He finished it at the beginning of the year and placed it on my pile of books to read that I stacked on the recliner in the bedroom. Because I got tired of feeling bad that he had to move all the books onto the bed when he wanted to sit on the recliner to read, and then back again when he was done sitting, I thought I'd switch the books elsewhere. I did in February. I brought the pile into the office and wrote a blog post ( not an link ) about what I was not reading.  I must have been still in a got-to-be organized mood because I stacked them neatly away somewhere. I

Maybe Not Like the Mama

If you want to know what a woman will be like, look at her mother. That's what I overheard a friend say to the husband long ago.  He had said it with a goofy smile and a mix of pride, exasperation, and complacency. I had met his mother-in-law. If I believed in such a saying, I would still be running to get far away. If that saying is true, then one day I would be picking up leaves off the ground, as I gripe about the neighbors and their messy trees and growl at the the wind for carrying the leaves into my yard. I would also be sweeping the ground everyday, while the dust gathers even deeper inside the house. On the plus side, if I ended up looking like the mama, I would finally be svelte, which would go better with my petiteness. Sometimes I wonder if the husband looks at the mama and shudders because he thinks I may end up with some of her more crazy habits. Like mine aren't so crazy.

Up on the Roof

When I was a single gal many, many years ago, I lived in a funky one-bedroom apartment on the top floor, which was the third floor, on Walnut Street in San Francisco. Across the street was the Jewish Community Center, but that is and was neither here nor there. It's just a reference point, mostly for me. I liked, no, I loved my apartment. My solace. The one place that was mine. It was the place I looked forward to after a hard day's work. It was the place I holed up in during my bouts of unemployment. It was the place I began seriously writing. It was home. Sometimes I would let the phone ring and ring. Sue, when are you going to get an answering machine? Sometimes I would just unplug the phone. Hard knocking. Open the door. Sue, plug your phone back in. Sometimes I wouldn't answer the knocking at the door. Good habits continued onward into years later with the sharing of space, wherever it may be, with the husband. Today, that is the second and top floor of the mama's

A Great Big LOL!

Do I have a mind-easer for you?  It's the "Screamin' Bean" game by Simon Panrucker.  You may never look at beans the same way again. Here's the link . Thanks to Jessica Jones of How About Orange for bringing it to my attention.