A Nearly Dead Dog and a Recipe

I sincerely thought I was going to kill my dog this morning. He's just lucky he didn't commit his crime the day before yesterday.

Today is S's 13th birthday and our family tradition is to start the day off with a birthday cake breakfast. Not just any cake, though. It has to be Cynde's Cinnamon Flop. This cake is ridiculously simple (it has to be--my mom usually sucked as a baker) and amazingly delicious. And my mom made it for us for our birthday breakfast (and loads of other times) every year I can remember. One year she made two for my brother Brent's--one for the 5 of us and one just for him. He took it to his bedroom for safekeeping.

So I thought since S was a teenager now (OMG), I would make him his own. He LOVES this new tradition! He cut his in half and ate it in record time. Meanwhile, I sliced a piece of the other one and took it upstairs to read my morning blogs and snuggle with Annie. Yes, I left them both on top of the stove, but I put one of them (S's) behind some sheet pans and the other one behind a heavy flashlight. I thought they were safe.

S's "slice." Note cinnamony-brown sugar goodness

Then I heard a crash.

But did I think anything of it? Nope. I just assume S broke something and trusted him to clean it up. Until about 20 minutes later when I heard his "Uh-oh."

Here comes the dead dog.

The Pyrex round dish that my mother used every time she made the cake was in a thousand pieces on the floor with the all-but-one-slice whole cake GONE. I felt MURDEROUS. "WHAT DID YOU DO?????" was about the only thing I could do/say. Of course Muttel looked contrite/guilty. Of COURSE they tell us he has no real idea why I was angry because he is a dog. But I honestly think he did know and I was really annoyed to not get an apology. At least he didn't eat the Birthday Boy's cake. At least he had the decency to not lick his lips.

From now on it will make me sad to bake Cynde's Cinnamon Flop in something other than that pan. A little part of me will cry inside the first time I have to. But that cake is so good I won't stop baking it for sentimentality's sake. It's that good.

Right, Muttel?

Cynde's Cinnamon Flop

deceptively delicious, *wildly adaptable


2 cups flour

1 cup sugar

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

About 1 1/4 cups milk

3 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cubed

1 tablespoon cinnamon, or more to taste

1/4 cup brown sugar, or more to taste


Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spray a 10-inch round Pyrex (*sniff, weep-weep*) pan, or something comparable if you don't have one *gulp* like I don't anymore, with Pam.

For best results, get a pan like this. Well, not exactly like this.

Combine flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in a large bowl. Pour in milk gradually, stirring to combine. Batter should be easily stir-able, but not soupy. Pour into pan.

Dot top with butter bits, sprinkle with cinnamon and brown sugar (really good if some of the brown sugar is in chunks) and then swirl a little with a knife, or better, with a finger (yum!).

Bake for 30-40 minutes, or until a pick comes out clean. Let cool (in a safe place) for 15-20 minutes and then serve. This is best if eaten soon after baking because it gets breadier as it cools (not that that's a bad thing!).

Baker's note: I realize there's no vanilla in this. I think the origins of this are some sort of "war cake" so it's pretty humble. I've tried it with vanilla and, believe it or not, found it too cloying.

But that's just me.

*Variations: Add any or all of the following, either sprinkling on top or mixing in:

--Coconut

--Chocolate Chips (or any kind of chip--my kids like it topped with M&M's!)

--Berries (may take a little longer to bake, especially if berries are frozen)

And, believe it or not, my mom has made it without the sugar, topped it with butter and cheese, and served it with chili!

I would LOVE to hear if anyone out there makes this--and makes it their own with some funky add-ons. Cynde would be so proud.

February 3

This date is an important one to me. Two of the most important people in my life died on this date, nine years apart. Ironically, those two people were my maternal grandmother and my mom. I could get all weird (and if you know me, you know how easy it is for me to go there), I might think that this will be my death day too. Who knows? If it is, I just hope it's a long long time from now. At least I would be in awesome company.

At first I hated this day. Losing my grandmother was so hard, the fact that I lost my mom on the same day was almost unbearable to me. On the first anniversary of my mom's death I decided to combat the sadness by having some of my favorite and fun friends over for a brunch. Everyone wasn't sure what to think of that, I think, but I still laugh remembering Gina breaking the ice. Someone had brought some flowers and was mortified when they realized that there was a Super Bowl pick with a football in it. I laughed and then almost peed myself when Gina said "Well it IS the Super Bowl of death anniversaries!" Excellent.

Now, every year I go about my day, knowing my yartzeit candles are burning in the sink at home. Those stupid 99 cent candles are such a comfort to me. In Judaism, the death anniversary is very important but not for morbid reasons; we're supposed to celebrate the life that person achieved. Of course I do my share of crying, but I've tried over the years to be happy for those tears because crying for them just shows me how much they meant to me, how much they affected my life, and how lucky I am to have been a part of theirs.

SO, I want to introduce you to these two amazing women and very briefly share what they meant to me...

This is me with Marjorie Jeanette Artz, or Mommom to me, Mother to her kids, and Margie to everyone else.

This picture kind of says it all. Hugging close, smiling big, with a cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The only things not visible are the spike heels and amazing amount of costume jewelry that were part of her everyday attire.

My mommom was FUNNY. When I was upset Steve's parents wouldn't accept me not being Jewish, she told me she didn't understand since I was "Jewish by injection." !!!

She was a party animal in her day.

She was beautiful and savvy but only went to the 8th grade.

She used to tell me, with complete love in her voice when I was 2 years old, "You are JUST so GODDAMN cute!"

She called me her Angel and gave Steve the nickname Honey Bun.

She took him on as a grandson not only because she was sad he didn't have any grandparents but because he was mine.

And to her, whatever I did, no matter how inconsequential it was, was wonderful.

And just LOOK at that outfit. How could she NOT be fun??




My mom and I were also extremely close. I have no regrets about our relationship and believe me, that was a real comfort when she died. But being close also meant complication. Her opinion was more important to me than my own at times. I can remember coming downstairs when I was a teenager and asking her if she liked my outfit. If all she said was "It's fine," I'd have to change to make it better. It wasn't her fault I was so sensitive to her. It was all me. It didn't really abate once I was older either. Sometimes I must admit to feeling some relief that I don't have to worry anymore that I'm going to disappoint her in some way. I'm sure a psychologist would have a field day with that!

Like her own mother, my mom was a LOT of fun. She taught me the value of being silly. She was always chasing me around the house, tangoing with me in the kitchen, and laughing with me about the silliest things. It was great to grow up knowing that it was more than okay to laugh at life--it was necessary.

My mom was also beautiful and a tremendous flirt. She did not pass that talent on to me and laughed that I became good at flirting only after I married the guy. That's her on her wedding day in the very mini wedding dress.

My mom was easy to talk to. I told her (almost) everything and knew that even if she got angry about some of it, she was glad to be told.

She was so proud of me as a person and told me often that she was proud to have been the one who raised me. I try to tell my kids this often.

She was cool and interested in things I was. She used to make us stay in the car until "Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin was over. AND, at his first dinner at our house when Steve replied "Smoke what?" to her question "Do you smoke?" she didn't bat an eye.

She was a wonderful Granny to my kids. Even though they were only 5 and 8 when she died, they remember all the fun and crazy things they did with her, like having ice cream for dinner and being allowed to pee outside.

She trusted me to make all my own decisions from an early age and told me, right before I walked down the aisle, that she was proud of every single one.









On my wedding day everyone was healthy and happy.

I've finally been tagged for something! Thanks, Laura. And I'm actually relieved that the book I have to quote from isn't one for teenagers.

The Rules:

*Grab the nearest book.

*Open the book to page 56.

*Find the FIFTH sentence.

*Post the text of the next two to five sentences in your blog along with these instructions.

*Don’t dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one; pick the CLOSEST.

*Tag five other people to do the same

So here it is:

Your brother?

Rooster was great too, loves LA, the weather. You should see him tooling around in his convertible, Mr. Hollywood agent. Yep, Rooster's great. Everything's great, it really was. Bruce said to say hello.

It's from I Smile Back by Amy Koppelman and I heard about her on Whatever because she's Jennifer Koppelman's sister-in-law. Because I love Jennifer, I splurged (I'm so crazy!) and bought it on Amazon along with her newst novel and the book that Amazon said most people buy with it (I fell for their sales ploy). Unfortunately, I'm having a really hard time getting through it and decided to reread those teen books instead of finishing it.

Essentially, it's a story about a woman who is married to an adoring husband with two adorable kids in the "perfect" neighborhood who also has a secret drug and sex addiction. Sounds good, right? Except *shocker* it's really depressing. Instead of feeling sorry for this woman I find myself wanting to spank her (and not in a fun way). I'm going to try it again after this month's book club selection just because I've invested in this author and am annoyed with myself.


How's that for a review?!


Now for the tagging:


Jozette

Lucy

Jessica

Kelli
Jules

Friends Don't Let Friends Go Off Drugs

from here

I'm trying right now to pull myself together. I feel like I'm going to either a) burst into tears, b) bite someone's head off, or c) do both at the same time.

I stopped taking my medication for 5 days because my doctor was remiss in calling in my prescription. Yes, I could've hounded her and yes, I should have, but I didn't. I will next time. This is horrible. I have to force myself to go to work instead of crawling under the covers.

I certainly won't let this happen again.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

I haven't done much blogging because, quite simply, I am a boring person lately. Don't know if it's the winter dulldrums or what but all I want to do is lie on my bed, preferably in my oh-so-alluring polar fleece zip-up robe, and read. Are there projects that could be done? Yes! Is there a desire to actually DO those projects? Always. But the wanting to do and the doing don't seem to be talking to each other lately. Ugh.

All I can think about (besides wanting to somehow turn my myself into a "compassionate" vampire before my skin really starts to sag) is whether or not I'll get into the masters program I applied for. I've never wanted something for myself so much since starting a family. It's exciting thinking about something for me that also has the benefit of, well, benefitting my family too. I can just taste those juicy tuition benefits, people. They're mouth-watering. And the idea of not wearing stained chicken pants and clever t-shirts to work is thrilling. I realize that one is all about me. I want more responsibility. I want more of a grown-up position, while still being able to work within a vibrant, youthful atmosphere. That sounds incredibly cool to me.

So I'm waiting. And reading. And trying to motivate myself to exercise and eat right. And waiting..

Let's Hear it for Good Enough!

Now I just have to get in!

Even with All the Holiday Eating, I Still Feel Pretty Good About Myself

Thanks, Donatella.