With the news of the death of Easy Bake Oven Inventor Ronald Howes, I think Ive figured out my aversion to cooking.
Most little girls are given toys that they can use to be good housewives and mothers later in life like vacuum cleaners and lots of baby dolls.
As a child I had an electric Porsche, always the hottest and must-have toys, and a closet full of the latest fashions, but what I never had was an Easy Bake Oven.
I did have a Fischer Price kitchen though. I didn't use it for a kitchen though, I used it to play restaurant. I was trying to be an entrepreneur at a young age.
Growing up I was more a tomboy than anything else, yet I managed to play with Barbies and dolls here and there to at least hone in on my less than perfect mothering skills, which most likely, and fingers crossed to spare all of humanity, wont be put to test with real offspring.
If I had asked for an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas or my birthday, I bet I would have grown fond of being domesticated. The only time I put an apron on now is to use my new espresso machine that I got for Christmas.
Why put on an apron to make espresso? Well, the answer is simple. I like to dress for the part. When I make my coffee products I make sure the apron is on just like the baristas wear them at Starbucks.
Two years ago I didnt even know how to boil noodles.
Yes, I was the girl who in trying to make Velveeta Shells and Cheese threw the shells into the un-boiled water.
Its sad, but so true.
Now I know enough to boil the water before putting the macaroni in. Picked up that life lesson real quick.
Maybe if I was given an Easy Bake Oven I would have grown an appreciation for baking and cooking. Personally, I dont see the point in putting so much time and effort into a meal when it takes only minutes to inhale it.
It's not that I CAN'T cook it's that I DON'T want to cook. Those are two completely different things. I can easily whip something up from a box, or my following a simple recipe. One of my bucket list items is to successfully cook a Thanksgiving dinner, although I'm really not ready for that task just yet.
Recently, Ive been cooking here and there and baking. Im trying really hard to unleash my domestic diva from within, but its proving to be more difficult than it looks.
Maybe for my birthday Ill get that Easy Bake Oven to practice and hone in on my skills. Ill keep my fingers crossed.
Thursday, February 18. 2010
Black Sheep, A Few Shades Lighter
By: Karen White-Walker
Like payments on an expensive purchase, this is the last installment on my writings about Uncle Giuseppe. If theyve bored you I havent done Biggie justice, because you never yawned when he was around, more like you got a migraine because he always operated on high C.
Papa, my gentle grandfather, had to wait till almost the very end of his life to witness his sons goodness. To think, Papa worried all those years, and for what? Giuseppe passed the final test---scoring points that can only be calculated in heaven.
In his 86th year, Papa suffered a debilitating stroke that left him bed-ridden. Mama kept wringing her hands and sobbing, Get-up, get up, Papa, we-a only had 62 years-a together, thats-a nothin, nada. Im-a selfish-a pig. I wanna more. I know I gotta bigga mouth and drive-a you crazia in the head, but I love-a you. And if-a there was no-a God, no-a children, you would be-a first.
Papas failing body cringed at the sound of no-a God, that could never ever be. Family and friends came and went and paraded passed Papas bed. Just because the dear man couldnt talk, they assumed he couldnt hear, too.
Hes gonna die! wailed my aunts, and my uncles smacked their smothering hands over their sisters blubbering mouths. Yes, many people came and went, but only one stayed---one. And he stayed around the clock with his mouth and hands going every minute.
If you think Im going to just sit here and watch you rot, Pa, youre wrong, warned Uncle Giuseppe. Theres still life left in you and Im giving you a jump-start at getting it going again. Hey Pa, all men need a jump-start once in a while, huh? he devishly grinned.
Uncle Guiseppe gave Papa three vigorous rubdowns every day. Biggie couldnt sing a lick, but he belted out arias that would have made Enrico Caruso cry, not from joy, but from regret at how an Italian could crucify such majestic music. Papa tried to smile, but he looked pained, and pretty soon he was struggling to speak, if for no other reason than to say, Giuseppe, shut-up-a your face!
Strength slowly came back into his limp arms and legs and suddenly, there was bold Biggie, leading Papa around the backyard. He became his fathers human walking stick, and Papa never stumbled. Papa eventually learned to talk again, but it was difficult for them to reminisce about the good old times, because after all Giuseppe had pulled in the past, things were best left unsaid. Besides, Papa believed you dont go back, only ahead. For Mama it wasnt so easy.
I used to no trust-a you this-a much, and she measured less than half an inch with her thumb and forefinger.
Youre not bringing THAT up again? and Giuseppes eyes rolled back into his head.
You were like-a snake, son. I pray-a for saints and what do I-a get?
You get a snake, Ma, mumbled her son.
I pray-a for saints and I get-a sinners AND a snake, shame-a shame.
Leave-a the kid alone, begged Papa.
Please Pa, Im 60 years old; I dont need my father fighting my battles for me.
Whos-a fighting? asked a surprised Mama. I was just-a remembering when---that reminds-a me, dont remind-a me.
Giuseppe gave his father his last shave and Papa gave his son his final smile that reflected true love, gratitude and inner peace. Papas waiting was over.
To read more of Karens previous articles, please visit homegrownharvard.blogspot.com
Like payments on an expensive purchase, this is the last installment on my writings about Uncle Giuseppe. If theyve bored you I havent done Biggie justice, because you never yawned when he was around, more like you got a migraine because he always operated on high C.
Papa, my gentle grandfather, had to wait till almost the very end of his life to witness his sons goodness. To think, Papa worried all those years, and for what? Giuseppe passed the final test---scoring points that can only be calculated in heaven.
In his 86th year, Papa suffered a debilitating stroke that left him bed-ridden. Mama kept wringing her hands and sobbing, Get-up, get up, Papa, we-a only had 62 years-a together, thats-a nothin, nada. Im-a selfish-a pig. I wanna more. I know I gotta bigga mouth and drive-a you crazia in the head, but I love-a you. And if-a there was no-a God, no-a children, you would be-a first.
Papas failing body cringed at the sound of no-a God, that could never ever be. Family and friends came and went and paraded passed Papas bed. Just because the dear man couldnt talk, they assumed he couldnt hear, too.
Hes gonna die! wailed my aunts, and my uncles smacked their smothering hands over their sisters blubbering mouths. Yes, many people came and went, but only one stayed---one. And he stayed around the clock with his mouth and hands going every minute.
If you think Im going to just sit here and watch you rot, Pa, youre wrong, warned Uncle Giuseppe. Theres still life left in you and Im giving you a jump-start at getting it going again. Hey Pa, all men need a jump-start once in a while, huh? he devishly grinned.
Uncle Guiseppe gave Papa three vigorous rubdowns every day. Biggie couldnt sing a lick, but he belted out arias that would have made Enrico Caruso cry, not from joy, but from regret at how an Italian could crucify such majestic music. Papa tried to smile, but he looked pained, and pretty soon he was struggling to speak, if for no other reason than to say, Giuseppe, shut-up-a your face!
Strength slowly came back into his limp arms and legs and suddenly, there was bold Biggie, leading Papa around the backyard. He became his fathers human walking stick, and Papa never stumbled. Papa eventually learned to talk again, but it was difficult for them to reminisce about the good old times, because after all Giuseppe had pulled in the past, things were best left unsaid. Besides, Papa believed you dont go back, only ahead. For Mama it wasnt so easy.
I used to no trust-a you this-a much, and she measured less than half an inch with her thumb and forefinger.
Youre not bringing THAT up again? and Giuseppes eyes rolled back into his head.
You were like-a snake, son. I pray-a for saints and what do I-a get?
You get a snake, Ma, mumbled her son.
I pray-a for saints and I get-a sinners AND a snake, shame-a shame.
Leave-a the kid alone, begged Papa.
Please Pa, Im 60 years old; I dont need my father fighting my battles for me.
Whos-a fighting? asked a surprised Mama. I was just-a remembering when---that reminds-a me, dont remind-a me.
Giuseppe gave his father his last shave and Papa gave his son his final smile that reflected true love, gratitude and inner peace. Papas waiting was over.
To read more of Karens previous articles, please visit homegrownharvard.blogspot.com
Wednesday, February 17. 2010
PETA AND FUR!
By Klew
Some people would think that these two words are in direct opposition to each other .but in my world, that is not the case and I am a card carrying PETA member.
(A topic for a future blog!)
This morning, I was taking a final look at myself in my full length mirror and
gave the thumbs up on my fashion choice gray blouse, black skirt, black leotards and black suede boots!
When I arrived at work, I was met with my peers giving me the once over and handing me a lint brush! I had white fur all over my leotards and boots!!! I removed enough fur to be designated a "kitten"! While this would bother most people, I realized that I was
lucky enough to have cats that love me enough to want my undivided attention no matter what I am doing or what I am wearing!!! Purr-fect little bundles of love that love unconditionally and without reservation. They love me even when I take them to the vet for physicals. They love me even when I have to force feed them medications and have to stick my fingers down their throat. They love me even when I do not clean up their kitty litter box immediately. They love me even when I feed them dry cat food instead of their favorite artisan inspired meals. They love me even when I don't retrieve the catnip filled mouse that they swatted under the stove. They love me even when I allow my friend to bring over her puppy and her grandkids. They love me even when I try to dress them up for holidays. They love me even when .
And they know that I love them even when they cough up furballs (usually on the carpet instead of on the tile!). I love them even when they jump on the forbidden territory of the kitchen counters when I am preparing meals! I love them when their curiosity knocks over a keepsake and it becomes two keepsakes! I love them when they decided to use the kitty litter box immediately after I clean it. I love them even when they
stick their furry little paws into the fish bowl terrorizing my poor little fish. I love them even when out of the blue, they swat me causing me to have to pour peroxide on the wound in fear of contracting "cat scratch fever".
So it's mutual .unconditional love .. now if I could only find that kind of love with a man!!!
Some people would think that these two words are in direct opposition to each other .but in my world, that is not the case and I am a card carrying PETA member.
(A topic for a future blog!)
This morning, I was taking a final look at myself in my full length mirror and
gave the thumbs up on my fashion choice gray blouse, black skirt, black leotards and black suede boots!
When I arrived at work, I was met with my peers giving me the once over and handing me a lint brush! I had white fur all over my leotards and boots!!! I removed enough fur to be designated a "kitten"! While this would bother most people, I realized that I was
lucky enough to have cats that love me enough to want my undivided attention no matter what I am doing or what I am wearing!!! Purr-fect little bundles of love that love unconditionally and without reservation. They love me even when I take them to the vet for physicals. They love me even when I have to force feed them medications and have to stick my fingers down their throat. They love me even when I do not clean up their kitty litter box immediately. They love me even when I feed them dry cat food instead of their favorite artisan inspired meals. They love me even when I don't retrieve the catnip filled mouse that they swatted under the stove. They love me even when I allow my friend to bring over her puppy and her grandkids. They love me even when I try to dress them up for holidays. They love me even when .
And they know that I love them even when they cough up furballs (usually on the carpet instead of on the tile!). I love them even when they jump on the forbidden territory of the kitchen counters when I am preparing meals! I love them when their curiosity knocks over a keepsake and it becomes two keepsakes! I love them when they decided to use the kitty litter box immediately after I clean it. I love them even when they
stick their furry little paws into the fish bowl terrorizing my poor little fish. I love them even when out of the blue, they swat me causing me to have to pour peroxide on the wound in fear of contracting "cat scratch fever".
So it's mutual .unconditional love .. now if I could only find that kind of love with a man!!!
Posted by Karen Lewis
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Friday, February 12. 2010
My Experience Curling
I received the confirmation text at 11:08 a.m. Thursday, Feb. 11.
I was on the team. I was on the team!!! I was actually picked for a team!
What team you may ask?
Answer: Star 102.5s Curling Team, which was composed of Rob Lucas, morning show host, Justin Swain, traffic guy, and me, a producer and fill-in for one of the guys from WGR who had other obligations to tend to.
We were up against WGRZ Channel 2s Daybreak Team, made up of Jodi Johnston, Andy Parker and John Beard. Heather Ly filmed the festivity.
Next week, during the 2010 Olympics, the Daybreak Team will be airing different Olympic type competitions between various other morning show ensembles.
When I heard the news, I went out to purchase sneakers, I got some with treads, and immediately looked up online to see what curlers wore. Looking up what the whole sport was about was important, but not impending like the fashion aspect of it was. Good ol Wikipedia helped me there.
Jodi had the best outfit though for curling. It even contained many articles of jewelry.
I was psyched and pumped. I was more than excited. With my passport in hand I bolted out of my house to arrive at Robs house to carpool to the Niagara Falls Curling Club, located just over the border in Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada.
Both teams were greeted by Murray, the curling coach of Brock University. When we entered the curling arena we were asked to clean off our shoes in this machine that used a spinning wheel to get the access debris off before entering onto the pebble ice.
Murray went over the instructions, the equipment and asked us to give hurling the rock down the ice a try. The ice isnt as slippery as a skating arena, but it does have its moments.
I was the last one up trying and it was fun. You use the broom to balance as you push off from a track like mount and ride on the handle of the rock until you let it go before reaching the hog line.
Sweeping now that is a different story. You get winded sweeping harder and faster. Its pertinent to also outrun the rock, which is difficult at times to do considering your running on ice with sneakers. With sweeping you can definitely feel it in your arms.
In my younger years, I watched curling here and there and it looked easy. The college students who were there helping Murray made it look so easy.
When you take part in certain activities you realize how challenging it is. You realize how hard these athletes work to be the best they can be. You get an appreciation for the sport when you participate in it. Murray and his team of students, when they talked of curling, were so passionate and engaged with it. You could definitely tell they loved it.
After we tried our hand at each part of curling, we commenced our game.
Each of us threw the rock twice. My rock actually landed in a scoring spot, until Jodi knocked it out. But her's was a really good shot. Everyone was good at it, despite all of us being novices, although Andy did have some experience.
Although I cannot tell you the outcome of the competition, as you have to watch it during WGRZs Daybreak show from 5 to 7 a.m., I can tell you that it was on-the-edge-of-your-seat exciting.
All in all it was an amazing, one in a lifetime experience. The 2014 Winter Olympics have six great backups if they need them. Check out the video on WGRZs Daybreak during the Olympics.
The only disappointment of the experience was not getting my passport stamped.
At Niagara Falls Curling Club they rent out lanes, just like bowling. Maybe, I'll suggest that activity to my friends.
Read Jodi's blog here
Wednesday, February 10. 2010
Be Still My Heart
The Beatles crooned it best, Love, love, love
.
Although I am a sappy romantic deep down, I rarely like to let on that I am. Not letting on allows me to keep my barriers up and avoid getting hurt.
In high school, girls would anticipate the coveted carnations sent from sources fawning over them during homeroom on Valentines Day. I never got one. I was never bitter about not receiving one, nor wished I did get one.
Girls would walk down the corridors adorning red and pink accessories and carrying their stuffed animals, balloons and flowers from that weeks fling. I wrote them off as tokens of a guys love for them for that one day.
To this day, Ive always withheld the philosophy that two peoples love for one another should be displayed and shown in little ways each and every day and not just once a year in a big way.
One day should not echo your quantity of affection toward your loved one.
People deem me a skeptic or a cynic or say I have these opinions toward the holiday because I am single. This however is not true in any sense of those accusations.
I just happen to find Valentines Day and Sweetest Day to be a collaborative effort from card companies, florists, jewelers, chocolatiers and restaurants to gain extra income between the slow parts of the year. Its all a farce.
I dont get what all of the hype is about.
Life is too short to wait to tell someone you love them once a year. Tell your special person every day. Celebrate it. Embrace it. In the end, the little things count more
Although I am a sappy romantic deep down, I rarely like to let on that I am. Not letting on allows me to keep my barriers up and avoid getting hurt.
In high school, girls would anticipate the coveted carnations sent from sources fawning over them during homeroom on Valentines Day. I never got one. I was never bitter about not receiving one, nor wished I did get one.
Girls would walk down the corridors adorning red and pink accessories and carrying their stuffed animals, balloons and flowers from that weeks fling. I wrote them off as tokens of a guys love for them for that one day.
To this day, Ive always withheld the philosophy that two peoples love for one another should be displayed and shown in little ways each and every day and not just once a year in a big way.
One day should not echo your quantity of affection toward your loved one.
People deem me a skeptic or a cynic or say I have these opinions toward the holiday because I am single. This however is not true in any sense of those accusations.
I just happen to find Valentines Day and Sweetest Day to be a collaborative effort from card companies, florists, jewelers, chocolatiers and restaurants to gain extra income between the slow parts of the year. Its all a farce.
I dont get what all of the hype is about.
Life is too short to wait to tell someone you love them once a year. Tell your special person every day. Celebrate it. Embrace it. In the end, the little things count more
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