Straight from the Tiny Cat Pants Test Kitchen

It’s really too bad that the Tiny Cat Pants test kitchen is in California while I am in Tennessee, but I guess it goes to show that for all the convenience of the modern internet age, there are some drawbacks.

Still, Magniloquence has put together some recipes that she found here and sent me pictures of the results. Here we have the Diva’s spice cookies and Peg’s shrimp and corn chowder and a birthday cake (not that we had any particular birthday cake recipe here, but I couldn’t let it pass unnoticed that Mag had had one).

My Parents Stay at a Fancy Hotel

My parents are staying at the hotel the Butcher works at, because he got them a nice discount (which means they’ll only be spending one night with us!).  Aside from the few nights my dad spent out at the Opryland Monstrosity, this is the nicest hotel my parents have ever stayed at.

As you might imagine, they are unimpressed.  For one, there’s no complimentary breakfast.  For another, they’d have to pay to park and make some decision about whether to use the valets.  You’d think that deciding whether to use the valets or just parking would not be a monumental problem, but y’all, instead of making it at all, they’ve had the Butcher bring them over to the hotel every night, drive their van back here, and bring it over to them in the morning.

Which, come to think about it, is a lot like having the valets park your car, but for free and your car is much further away.

Today they wanted me to get up and come over and have breakfast at McDonald’s with them.  I politely declined.  I recommended instead they try Bread and Company.  Neither of them drink coffee, but they were very concerned that it was going to be one of those places that charges five dollars for a cup of coffee*.

But the best was when they checked in, there was a bottle of vodka and some cranberry juice behind one of the chairs and my dad, who doesn’t drink, called the Butcher and made him come over and get rid of it a.) so the maids wouldn’t get in trouble for not seeing it and b.) so that no one would assume that my parents were drinkers.

Heaven forbid!

 

 

 

 

*Y’all may recall that we met the Shill and Tiny in a Starbucks, which was my parents first, and only, trip to one of those and they are still outraged about how much everything costs.

Let’s Take Off Our Shoes and Dance the Blues

Y’all, I have kicked off my shoes.  I have put on a little Memphis Slim playing the “Cow Cow Blues” and though I have no idea how one might dance to it, I’m happy to try, especially if it means I get to feel your arms around me and hear you humming to yourself right in my ear.

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Giving the Park the Chance to Work Its Healing Powers on Everyone

I took my parents to the park this morning to walk the walk Mrs. Wigglebottom and I walk to soothe our souls and wear out our bodies.

There were a few blue jays and some cardinals, but otherwise, it was pretty cold and quiet.

I don’t know if it worked or not.  We’ll have to see.

We aren’t going to the funeral.  I’m not sure why.  We were going to talk about going but we never did and now we’re not.

I’m almost done talking about this, I promise.  I just need to move through it and leave myself some record of having moved through it. 

Grieving is like being dumped in the middle of a lake with no rescue coming.  You’ve just got to keep moving, slowly at first, but there’s no other way.  That’s how you get through it.  You start to move in the direction you need to go, even if your heart isn’t in it, even if you can’t remember why you need to go there.  You just keep moving.

So, that’s what I’m doing.  Just moving.