The Baby can sing like an angel. She is really good at country western stuff. At times, I feel very guilty, how can such a young girl sing such sad songs ? She has to watch those high notes, she cannot do them.

She is caught in a scam right now. How on earth can I explain this to her ?

I have tried.  Where is that book about having kids ?

What did I say ?  Well, if they want money up first, this is questionable. Anyone remember those little matchbooks, become a famous writer ? This is the same thing. I explained to her that recording companies want to make money. It is a business. If she can sing, she does not have to pay, they have to pay her.

Oh jeepers creepers.

Oh Gosh.

Opa is a mess.  I have no idea how to deal with this.

I was there on Friday, and all that he does is cry. It has been 5 months and he simply cannot see a future.

I was going to make him dinner, but there was not even enough for me to fake it.

He has given up.  His highlight of the day is walking about 300 meters away to Oma’s grave site. Every day.

He does not want to move forward. I understand this. He wants to pretend that she is out biking or something. He wants to keep the house, as a sort of mausoleum.  He wants to live there until the day that he dies. Fine, fine, fine. But then ( I am going to swear now)  do f*ck sh*t  to help yourself. I called him today, invited him for dinner tomorrow. It will be very Dutch.  Really, I do Dutch very well.

I called my Dad today. One does lead to another. Daddy was very sad about the whole business. He has been there, done that.

The Father found a place that will deliver warm meals. Opa will not accept taking meals from this place, 5 euro per meal, it all looks really good, and better than what he is eating now.

It is horrible to say, but no one wants to deal with him any longer. He plays Blanch Du Bois, and one simply has a dreadful time  being with him.

He has become an infant once again.

I have 2 dinners ready for tomorrow. If he is coming, let me know.

I have never been accused of being a saint.

Panko is a very interesting idea.

I have some really good shrimp ( I could live on shrimp). It is called something  like brown shrimp, from India. I do not really care for , oh, dear, what is it called ? Tiger Shrimp ?

So, I wanted to have fried shrimp tonight, not very creative, I know, if one can go around the corner and simply buy it, but I have never done it before.. And I wanted to *butterfly *it. This was really easy, and I saved the shells, I have room in the freezer to do so.

Now, for years, I have made my own bread crumbs.  Not that I am a great chef, but they add that crunch factor. And I never use flour for fried foods : flour seems to make everything steam up. I use a mix of my bread crumbs, and two others. Bread crumbs, egg, bread crumbs.

I simply chop up the leftover bread in cubes, put it on a tray and in the oven.

I usually do not even have the oven on , for I simply loathe flies, as they never wipe their feet.  If I have done something in the oven, when it is done, I slip the tray of bread cubes back into the oven. This works for me.

That coarse grit works.

And I use every kind of bread. But then, we get really good bread here.

This will work.

I have always cried when The Sint comes into town on his very CO2 Friendly Diesel powered steam ship. Really, I have done this for 17 years, since the Girl was in a baby bag, hanging on my chest. I always knew that this day would come .

No one wanted to go, on Saturday, to see the steam ship. Oh, times change, I was told.

The shoes are still out, but we are moving on.

Opa had another heart attack yesterday. I know what brought this on.  And there is stink poop that I can do about it.

But let me say this : when you cut an Alpha Male’s balls off, he will die.

This is a given.

Every single day of the week ( excepting Sundays), I trudge into Town with my little shopping bag and buy the daily food. We are spoiled by the bread in Town, and I simply can not plan a week´s menu : it depends upon the weather and what I can get in Town.

Once a week, The Father and The Girl go to a BIG STORE and buy the heavy stuff :  all of that Diet Coke, the things that I cannot get in Town. I make a list.

Last week, I put potatoes on the list. As only The Father and The Girl like potatoes, I usually get 2.5, maybe a 5 kilo bag. They brought home 10 kilos of potatoes. Actually busted the potato drawer in our kitchen.

So now, I am trying to work my way through this ton of potatoes. I spent all day yesterday using up 2 kilos to make a double batch of gnocchi. Today, I picked the smallest ones to throw into the Goulash Soup. Tomorrow, much to The Girl’s delight, we will be having baked potatoes  ( yup, I am doing triage on these spuds), and on Wednesday, Salmon Cakes.

No, I cannot feed them to the dogs. Spuds are not really good for dogs.

Potato pancakes might work, though… any tips =

Trouble is brewing here at Casa Kitchen, sortof an OK Corral is coming up.

For you see, I am an Atheist. I have been one for a very, very long time. My life would be easier, I guess, if I were not an Atheist, but so it goes. The Father is not an Atheist, we discussed this a long time ago and decided that we would respect each other’s points of view. We also decided that we would raise our children the way that we were raised : in the Catholic Church. They even go to Catholic schools. I would not want my children to think as I do.

The last time that I went to church and went through all of the rituals, believing in them, I was 15. It was Ash Wednesday. As I stepped out of that little white church in Concord, MA. ( alone, for I always went to church alone), a smudged cross on my forehead I knew that I would never go to church again.  I have no idea why I felt that way, I just knew it. It was a very sunny day.

Since that day, I have only gone to church for funerals, weddings and the children’s religious rites of passage. I have always been the only one in the whole church who did not go to communion.

The Father respected this. The only time that he had to choose between Oma and me was when she insisted that I had to go to communion, to be part of the group, to be gezelig. I flat out refused and he took my side.

I had to go to communion at Oma’s funeral, for we were in the first row, how would it look ? And this was really important for Opa, for what the fudge does Oma know, now ?

I have no idea if  I am an anomaly, but I am a Catholic Atheist: one does not take the sacraments lightly. It is an insult to all Catholic believers, to the long heritage of the Catholic church and, no, we are not going to talk about the Inquisition right now.

I talked to my Dad about it : Daddy, I said, they keep making me go to church ( my Father, although it has never been said, only implied, is also an Atheist). Well, he said, just go to church. Dad, they insist that I go to communion. Well, he said, just go to confession and do it. They don’t have confession here, Daddy. Silence on the other end of the phone.

I have now gone to communion three times, for Opa. I had to go on my birthday.  I was told that this was not about me, it was about him. So, I did it. Here I am going to be really rude : the last mass, they had a simply hideous choir, the mass took twice as long. I did the communion bit, feeling overwhelmed by my  sense of hypocrisy and disrespect. But that choir just went on and on and on. I whispered to  the Father, oh, that thing on the left, do you think the one on the right is Mary Magdalene ( Hey, I read The DiVinci Coda) ? I also whispered that I thought that I was sitting next to Typhoid Mary.  The choir continued. I actually whispered to The Father, what is this ? A  f*cking Pink Floyd concert ?

Yup, I whispered that.

I am supposed to go to Church again tomorrow. I told The Father that I was not going. I got the whole * this is not about you, this is about Opa*  sh*t again. I looked at him and said, I will do anything for this man, he and his dog are welcome here for dinner every day of the week, he can live here, but I am not going to church and communion again.

His response startled me : Well, he said, you are an agnostic, just like me. I am guessing that my jaw dropped open, for he has known me for 30 years. No, I said, I am not an Agnostic, I am an Atheist. And every time I have to go to communion * for Opa* I feel like the biggest hypocrite on this earth and so terribly disrespectful of the other members of the congregation, sitting there with their eyes shining, hanging on  every word spoken by the priest.

But if I don’t stop it now, it will just go on and on and on, this pretense.

My take on it would be, well, why not just tell Opa the truth ? Nope, it always has to be lies, for being a female Atheist is right up there with  peddling your ass on the street.

I respect all people who are religious, whatever their faith might be. I am an extremely moral person, although- at times- I have a bit of a potty mouth. I know right from wrong. I am kind to Jehovah Witnesses, in fact, I envy them. I have higher degrees in Theology.

Why do I have to hide under a barrel ? Why is it so very shameful to believe in nothing, except today , to do good where I can ?

Carpe Diem.