my mom's orange, such a bother

My mom cuts her oranges into segments.  I peel my oranges and then eat them.  My mom fights with her orange skins, hoping they come off and losing half the orange in the process.  My way is better.  And I don’t think she cares, because there is more than one way to peel an orange.

my orange, brilliance

Now you may be wondering why there is so much orange eating at my house.  My Great Uncle Bud sends us a box of oranges every year for Christmas.  He lives in Florida.  Oranges are better in Florida.  I wish I could share Uncle Bud’s real name with you all, because it really is an amazing name.  I have to confer with Matt, but I may just name my first child after Uncle Bud.  But back to the oranges.

These oranges are delicious and juicy and make me want to winter in Florida.  But since my family is doomed to a Pennsylvania winter and no fresh oranges, we all look forward to getting Uncle Bud’s oranges once a year.  And the package is such a wonderful reminder that, in a world where oranges can be bought 12 months out of the year, fresh oranges picked at the peak of the their season taste better.  The end.

Well not quite the end, because my mom still cuts her oranges and I prefer to peel them.  And then she wants to share.  And I have to fight with mom’s oranges and wish I had just peeled the stupid orange.

Happy Eating!!!

Emily

Frosty the Snowman puts on that magical hat and what comes out of his mouth – “Happy Birthday!”  After this week, I kind of understand where that silly statement came from.  When you have been in a complete netherworld of college for 4 and 1/2 years and the anti-climatic end of it all occurs and you return home to your room painted that same rose color that your mom painted it for your 13th birthday and then you finally catch your breath after shopping for Christmas presents and bringing your poor old laptop back to life, when life just throws you into a whirlwind and everyone would love to know how it feels, the words of Frosty ring especially true and Happy Birthday seems entirely relevant and almost certainly apropos.  For you see, you know whatever just happened deserves celebration, but you are not sure entirely what kind of celebration.  And it’s sort of awkward with all of those people staring at you expecting the words out of your mouth to be something mind-blowing and fresh.  College grads are supposed to be the ones with all of the new and exciting and fresh things to say, right?

Well I have nothing.  My capstone project that I spend hours on has an error on line 1069, and my professor has not fixed it.  This means months of work were for nothing.  My room is a pile of things that fit into my apartment, but somehow really don’t have a place anymore.  My laptop – basically my life – died from a virus on the last day of the semester.  I think it was rather symbolic, considering I told it many times that it just had to continue running till I was done.

And my Pappy, who I told you a while ago was diagnoses with mesothelioma(link), may not make it till Christmas.  My mom asked me today while we were out shopping, “what do you get for someone for Christmas who’s dying ?”  We settled on pajamas and searched for sets that came in a size smaller than a small.  The girl at the cash register didn’t seem to know what to say when my mom explained the pajamas were for her dad who was dying of cancer and terribly thin.  My mom called it, thin as a pickle, when she was on the phone with her sister last night.  Her voice cracked even saying it.  There really is nothing fresh or new to say to your mom when her dad is dying and its Christmas.   I’m afraid even, Happy Birthday won’t do.

So I am done with college.  I worked my tail off for 4 and 1/2 years, and life goes on.  All of that knowledge.  All of that work.  I loved every minutes of it.  And I can not wait for the happenings of the next 4 and 1/2 years.  But do I feel different.  No actually I feel like I have just been in a dream world and now I am back in reality.  The magical hat has given me a voice and somehow all I can say is Happy Birthday.  It is terribly ironic, don’t you think?

Happy Eating!!!

Emily

Today Scruffy wiped his face on the floor to dry it off. I think he understands Wednesdays.

Every Wednesday I get out of class a little too late.  I dig in my bag for any bit of food that might be leftover from the day.  Tonight it was 7 peanut butter M&Ms.  Why 7?  Well I can only fit 7 into my hand, and lord knows I had no where else to put them, while balancing my bag and my thoughts on the bus.  I actually had trouble balancing the 7, because the bag of M&Ms was tied with a hair tie and I didn’t want the hair tie to drop so I was balancing that as well.

After the bus, I begin the mad rush home.  My thoughts normally range from – why didn’t I go pee before I left? – and – goodness gracious what will I eat?  The bathroom dilemma is easily solved as I enter the apartment, but the dinner problem ugh that is hardly easily solved.

I knew one possible part of my meal tonight, shaved steak leftover from my steak sandwich I ate for lunch.  Unfortunately I don’t think that really helped my meal problem, more like aggravated the problem.  What does one make with steak meat?  Crunch time came two minutes after I walked into the room.  I put on a pot of water and boiled some noodles.  Then I dug out some nubs of cheese in my fridge.  A tiny bit of smoked Mozzarella, some Parmesan that may or may not have had an unknown white substance on it that wasn’t cheese.  I told myself it wasn’t mold and grated it in.  A handful of Mexican shredded cheese that had not been opened.  I smelled and analyzed it before throwing a handful into the pot.  And then came the milk.  I knew the mac and cheese needed milk.  So I looked in the fridge.  A carton I bought before leaving for Thanksgiving stared back at me.  I looked at the expiration date, 11/29/10.  I smelled it, sweet; I smelled again looking for a sour note.  Then I poured some into the pot.

The plastic container of steak sandwich meat sat next to the pot of what was becoming mac and cheese.  I added salt and pepper then poured in the meat.  Without so much as a taste for seasoning, I poured half into a bowl and the other half into the same plastic container the meat had been in.  The meal possibly tasted like hamburger helper.  I can’t be sure on that since I have never tasted hamburger helper, but it was probably close and possibly less safe (curious cheese and outdated milk).

5 minutes later I was full and happy.  The odd mixture of cheese and the tender seasoned steak sandwich meat melded together in a way maybe only a college student could appreciate.

I love Wednesdays.  From searching in my bag for a possible bite to hold me over to finally resting and checking my email, I can’t help but feel blessed.  I had cheese in my fridge.  I had milk.  I had noodles.  And that silly bit of steak meat.  All of those wonderful things made a meal.  Of course I’m also glad Wednesday only comes once a week.  One can only mix scraps and bits together so often before you run out of ideas.

Happy Eating!!!

Emily