Showing posts from September, 2011

Finger Painting

A friend told me about today & I was reeling to get home to investigate. What fun!

Gluten Free Country Fried Steak? Yes, please

My mom makes AH-mazing country fried steak. Once, she was hosting a world renowned French chef... and his mother. What do you cook for the man who has become a legend in his own time?

Country Fried Steak- back in the gravy, of course.

As Philippe consumed more red wine, and his mother did not speak a stick of English, he said with every bite, "Angsh, Angsh- 'dis is so f*ucking good." "Angsh, Angsh- do you know? Si-vous! Si-vous! dis is so f*cking good." "My... oh... my... 'dis is...." you get the idea.

Honest to Betsy.

Losing CFSBITG is a little like losing a grandmother. Comforting, warm, wrinkled-y, and freezes well, this is truly one of the best things she makes.

Until now. I might not have any more grandmothers left, but BY GAWD, I've got CFSBITG.

Allow me to present to you gluten-free readers....

4 cube steaks, cut in half and/or thirds
GF flour blend (I used GF Bisquick and then used Pamela's Products. Two thumbs up on PP)
1 onion
3 …


9:03- drop off LMC at school

9:05- start recon for parking spot

9:10- no parking spot, reluctantly relocating to parking meters


9:11:30- illegal u-turn to hold up traffic

9:13- still in the illegal u-turn

9:14- start parallel parking

9:23- still parallel parking

9:24- parked.

9:26- walking at a faster pace than driving

honest to betsy

I can type with my left pinky... on its side. My right hand will just have to be over used for a few day. This is some kind of stuid.

... yeah, I saw the typo, but cut me some slack, I am not working with a full deck...

Right, the pinky.

Last night, Husband was cooking hamburgers on the grilling pan due to the rain. To keep them warm, he pulled them off our glass top stove and into the oven. He placed my GF bun in the same oven and asked where his was.

They are ight behind you.


Here, I'll get it.

I walk around the corner, stick my leg out to stop LMC from running around the bend and smack into the hot open oven. Leaning over the door, my left hand is extended onto the stove for blance to reach over aforementioned hot oven to grab the buns






ON the hot eye, my hand held the weight of me. My leg in the air and body over the hot oven prevented me from removing it just shy of instntly.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?!

My fingers stayed in glass of ice water …

Calling on geniuses

What kind of knife is this? Inez would have been about three. And the marks are attributed to both a jeweler in Brooklyn and a silversmith in NY, if that helps with anything.

So easy, a monkey could do it.

So... we got the glass for the mirror. How hard could it be? The directions were so clear, there were no words-- just pictures. 

My interpretation was as follows:

Step 1: use a chisel to remove broken glass
Step 2: spray with rubbing alcohol
Step 3: place mirror in frame
Step 4: Reattach

What it should have said:

Step 1: Throw the damn thing out the window
Step 2: Wait for a truck to run over it
Step 3: Know that it would take less time and produce better results than Step 1 of the aforementioned instructions.

Based on this information, Husband & Wife fish around our tool cabinet to remove needle nose pliers, a flat head screwdriver, and a pair of vice grips. Shards in the air, hit the wind and were gone. Tiny little fragments reflecting the sun were not called successes, but rather, a large fail. Creativity striking us in the early afternoon, we step outside the box.

Tossing the tools aside, the bathroom cabinet holds the professional jewelry steamer. 8 ounces of water and a button on the t…

Martha Stewart, eat your heart out

I learned how to iron. Seriously, I’m 30 years old and until recently thought all American Express cards were gold & all gas stations were full service. Cooking is a hobby- not a chore.... and this life of privilege seems anything but. Ironing? That is why God gave us dry cleaners (and dryers with a wet rag when in a serious pinch). I own an iron. I own an ironing board. I’ve placed a hot iron on clothes, napkins, and the like, but my ironing is always concluded with someone else fixing it.  Our last trip to Augusta found a new project in my lap. The back bathroom found the Martha in me. Mama & Daddy have all kinds of cool things in boxes and drawers- so, I have taken it upon myself to find homes where these items can be seen and admired. Mama’s linens are nothing short of amazing. The woman who cannot sew a button or a hem inherited the most beautiful whipped stitched bridge clothes, hand something-or-other doilies, and pieces that are nothing short of breathtaking. (which is a…

I've been accused...

Of talking too fast. By my grandfather, "Sugah, just slow down. You're talkin' too damn fast."

I've been accused of not having a Southern accent-- mostly due to my talking too fast.

I have, for the most part, always made myself clear.

LMC and I were at a pre-pre-school play date last week to meet the fellow moms and babes. The moms were discussing Halloween costumes and I made the comment, "Last year, I saw a bride and it gave me the willies."

Deadpan. Nothing. Usually, that comment gets a "Oh, that's weird!" Not this crowd.

A mom said, "You mean like Pitt?"

Me: Hunh? Oh, no.

A different mom said, "How'd they dress up? In silver with a big top?"

A totally different mom said, "A what?"

Me: A bride. It was creepy-- and not like Frankstein's either, like a straight up, normal, bride.

Them: A what?

Me: A bride. You know, white dress, veil, flowers...

Them: OH! A bride. I [we] thought you said BRAD.

It appe…

Catholic, not Gypsy

Husband and I were born 12 days apart. We both have brown hair and, while I claim 5’4, he claims 5’8- but we are really more like 5’3 and 5’6. When I buy him sunglasses, I put them on my face first to see if they will fit him. We share socks and t-shirts. Long story short, we look alike. Especially now that my hair is pulling out some curls. It is really nothing that crosses our mind- it is, simply, what it is. There have been some oddities though, especially now that we have a very tow-headed baby. Going to the hospital for an induction, Husband was not with me initially as he had call an hour away.  My mom was with me. When Husband showed up the next day, the comments started... “What a close family you have, Mrs. Cagle. To have your brother here with you while your mom is in the waiting room...” seriously?  -OR- “Are y’all brother & sister?” Catholic. Neither gypsy nor royalty. This blood line ain’t blue. -Wish I was exaggerating- “Dr. Cagle, you and your sister look just alike. It’s u…

Wait, Birdy! Wait!

My family has a beach house that my grandfather bought in the early 1940s. It is where my parents went on their honeymoon, where Husband stopped being Boyfriend and became Fiance. It was two separate apartments with a garage and is now two large apartments with two large kitchens and four bathrooms. It is where my father taught me how to cross the street (three times, look left, right, left. It’s clear. Cross). It is where life changes and chapters started anew. It is a lovely cottage that we call home and, as a family, make memories. Ford calls it “Woo-D’s beach house.” Martha calls it a girl’s weekend. I call it a memory. For the past four years our beach cottage has been living in my mind with a husband too busy to take a weekend for ourselves- but rather, sacrificing for the family and spending time either together or with either set of parents accomplishing any much needed project around the house. My pea pod walls, 1950s stove, awesome folk art and white hospital bed have only be…