Today, The Boy had to have an * emergency* root canal done. One can imagine the pain that he has gone through before we took this step. Why, he could not even play his very new and decidedly good PlayStation game for the last two days.

It is very odd. He goes to the Dentist every 6 months, has since he sprouted teeth. About 3 weeks ago, he had a terrible toothache on the left. I arranged that he would see both the Dentist and the GP. GP ( a new one, and another story entirely…) gave a poofed up version of aspirin and the Dentist said come back in a month.

A few days ago, a molar on his right side started acting up. He could not eat, the veins on his forehead were popping out, he had a fever. Yesterday, for a while, it calmed down and we all went out for pizza. But as evening came, he felt so poorly he went to bed early ( what ? It’s vacation !) and I could not drag him out of bed this morning- I have a standing order from The Boy to wake him up at 11- he slept until 2pm. When he awoke, he curled up in a fetal position on one of the couches in the front room and was a picture of misery.

There is nothing so hand wringing as seeing a child that you love in pain. From what he told me- through blubbery lips- he did indeed have a root canal done. But, lisping through it, he managed to go on his PlayStation this evening.

Since the day that he was born, The Boy has loved seeing how far he can push me. At times ( although really not that often, for one learns to simply block it out), he does manage to push all of my buttons, maybe once, twice a year.

However, today, I was glad to hear his chatter once more, inane though it is at times. I was just so very glad that he feels better and can enjoy his vacation.

I hate FaceBook and I loathe Twitter .

There. I have said it. I am hoping that it is out of my system.

I miss people writing.

Oh well, I suppose that I am very * yesterday *.

I am, most likely, the only fool around who managed to loose 5 pounds during the Holidays.

People often laugh at me, because I eat very slowly. I have this thing about food, that it should be enjoyed, savored even. You would never catch me walking down a street and stuffing my face at the same time. Nope, for me, eating is truly something that I take a long time for and enjoy every bite. If I cannot do that, I would rather not eat, save my eating for another time.

And so I made this huge cold buffet for us, Christmas Eve. All kinds of fish that we love, little shrimp, big shrimp, smoked salmon, eels ( ok, it’s a Dutch thing), tuna, a sort of potato salad and coleslaw, in short, our fridge and freezer were stuffed to the gills, so to say.

And being so busy passing out gifts and trying to keep them in the correct order, I could hardly eat at all.

Ok. It happens.

The next day, Christmas Day, we went to visit family. They had a buffet as well, but, as persnickety as I am, I could barely eat anything. There was a range of foods, but I am a devil to feed. There were two soups, a Dutch pea soup – which I loathe, I do believe that something like hog cheeks are used in it- and an asparagus soup. Ok, went for the asparagus soup. It had been thickened with a roux which didn’t work and there were lumps of boiled flour floating around. I pretended they were little gnocchi and slurped that down.

I next went for the chicken ragout, which was to be eaten on thin slices of french bread.

Enough said.

Yesterday, I ate like a hog, I was just so hungry after these fine holidays. I bought myself a loaf of sour dough bread and an evil looking french cheese. I scooped up the leftover cole slaw, chomped into some lettuce with the leftover potato salad, and, after finding myself feeling tired after cutting some bread the other day, finally felt that I had some energy once more.

I know, you should have my problems.

But tomorrow, if The Boy feels well, we are going out for pizza. Pizza is one of my favorite foods, and watch out, I shall gain everything back !

Do I mind ? No. At 52, after years of being concerned about being overweight- which I never was, just thought I was- I can now and then find myself falling into the underweight category.

I know, you should have my problems.

I am out of here until after The Blue Fairy arranges everything for The Holidays-

Best wishes to you all-

Ho, Ho, Ho !

Age is indeed withering me.

I have always slept with a fan blowing full blast upon my face and the windows wide open. Even back when I lived in Massachusetts and at times we were three feet under snow.

My Father and Mother did the same, and each wore hats at night ( Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap), Dad a Greek sailor sortof thing and Mom with a fancy Irish cable knit cap.

But it has been cold here for the last few nights and I am not sleeping well. And for the most odd reason : my nose feels so cold that it might just decide to fall off. I clamp myself against The Father’s back, hoping that my nose will defrost.

Cozy, but I am not sleeping well at all.

Age has withered me, the window closes today.

One of the more interesting things about growing older, is that suddenly, some of one’s patterns of behavior are as clear as ice.

For example, I have always been attracted to men with dark hair and fair eyes. Oh, I had beaus with blond hair, but for some reason ( sounds like a bad joke) I could never take them seriously. Boy Toys, dontcha know.

There are certain days that one always remembers, you know, like watching those two planes crash into the towers, Why, I even remember watching that long and solemn march of Kennedy’s funeral, sitting in the basement ( next to Bucky’s lavender bedroom) all by my little lonesome, perhaps when we lived in Minnesota ( blink, then we were gone).

And I remember so very clearly and yet, at the same time, so vaguely, the day that I was told that Clarence died. In my memory, it was in December, and I lived in Germany.
I was visiting some neighbors, Lord knows why, all of their kids were half my age.

But according to The Wall , Clarence died in February, 1968. I probably did live in Germany then, which hangs so very strongly in my memories of hearing that Clarence had died.

Sounds right, but doesn’t really matter.

Sortof like The Wall saying that Clarence was born in South Carolina. Shoot, I’ve always known that Clarence was from Tennessee. Then again, I was born in North Carolina. Shows, doesn’t it ?

When I was a few weeks old, my family moved to Germany . We lived there for 5 years. I suppose that Clarence was my father’s Sargent, I don’t really know. I do know that he was my Father’s best friend and that I adored Clarence. I have heard stories that he would tease me until I was in tears. Before I was 5, I made a hickey on my shoulder, just playing around. My parents saw it and immediately asked if Clarence had done that.

I was very frightened. I had only been playing around. But the fact that they would ask if Clarence did it tells me how much I loved that man. And that my parents knew how close Clarence and I were.

I remember leaving Germany, when I was 5 years old, and simply straining my eyes to keep the tiny village that I had lived in all of my life in sight. I knew, even then, that home is where you hang your hat, a movable feast, and that I would never see these people again. Army life.

We did see Clarence again, somewhere in America, I can’t remember where, for we seemed to move every 3 months when we were in The States, following Daddy’s trainings, education, whatever. I do remember that by the time I was in fourth grade, we were back in Germany once more. And I remember playing with Clarence’s daughter, who frightened me, for I have always been very small and she was very tall.

Clarence left me with a love of old country music. I know all of the words to songs that I can barely remember, know, somewhere deep in my mind who should be singing that song.

Clarence was tall, in my mind, lanky, with dark hair and fair eyes.

We often say, here in Casa Kitchen, that The Girl has yet to meet a potato that she does not love.

What is now becoming equally true is that she has yet to find any direction in her education. Nope. The Girl has yet to find a school that she loves.

She was in a plan that would eventually lead her into a fashion academy, you know, work for Daddy, something that I do indeed think that she has a flair for. Very creative and all, our Girl. Fashion conscience , must be genetic, didn’t get it from me.

Last night, she says at the dinner table that she wants to go into either book keeping or become a secretary.

She loathes both.

But I was – very politely- asked to keep my mouth shut and so I did.

At times being such a biased Mummy Dearest is very hard indeed.