Weapon: Funnel / Arsenal: Chicken Soup

Well, I am two days late on my Life is Funny post. I hope that earns back my claim to randomness in your eyes, NtG. Okay, seriously, I am late with my Life is Funny post because I wanted to do the birthday post for Nick, and then I was hoping that somehow yesterday's post would work out. I mean, isn't it funny that I found Polish Dancers in the library. LIVE dancers, actually dancing, not a video, or book or something. I was amazed and had a great time, but my research at Panera spoiled that, and I couldn't rescue the post for Life is Funny no matter how hard I tried. So you are going to be subjected to a story which took place when Bob and I were first engaged...


Yesterday, I was making homemade soup for my family, and I remembered the first time I made homemade soup for my Bob, who at the time, was Mine to be Bob. He had contracted pneumonia just before New Year's, and I decided to tend to his ailment. Of course, chicken soup was essential. Homemade Chicken Soup. My Momma's recipe. Now, you need to understand that growing up, I had terrible bronchitis. Grown Hungarian men visiting Daddy would cry when they'd hear me cough. You need to understand that the only thing to make a grown Hungarian man's eyes water is saying goodbye to his mama for the last time. Otherwise, their emotional repertoire is joy and anger. There isn't much else they feel comfortable displaying. But a three year old almost coughing up a lung crossed that line. They even gave my mother permission to switch to a nonHungarian doctor *gasp*, since our (meaning Mine, Mom's, Daddy's, Daddy's Hungarian friends) had been unable to prescribe anything to soothe me. As a matter of fact, he stopped writing prescriptions, and told them they'd have to live with it. Did I ever mention that my sister died of bronchial pneumonia as a baby? Now might be a good time to throw that in, just so you can truly understand their panic.
My momma made chicken soup for me every day. Well, she probably made it every other day, but I ate it every day. While it didn't cure my bronchitis, I do believe that Mamma staved off the pneumonia single handedly until they finally found Dr. Goldberg, when I was almost six. (No internet in those days. People found good doctors by word of mouth. And you didn't just want to switch willy nilly. You wanted to switch because the doctor had a good reputation in treating more or less the same ailments you had.)
So anyways, I was worried about Mine to be Bob, and brought the ingredients for chicken soup to his house. I didn't surprise him. I told him that I was coming over to take care of him and make him well..
Well, he sees the chicken as I unpack my bag....
Bob: What are you going to do with that?
HRM: I thought I might need someone to talk when you took a nap. What do you think I am going to do with it? I am going to cure you with it!
Bob: How?
HRM: (I place my hand on my hip) By rubbing it all over your chest, silly. Take off your shirt.
(long pause)
HRM: My, you really are feeling poorly. Homemade chicken soup, dear...
Bob: I don't like homemade soup. I prefer Mrs. Graas.
HRM: Good to know. When we have a casual lunch in the future, she'll save me a lot of work. I'm sure she makes fine soup. But this is my Momma's recipe for Chicken Soup. This should chase the pnuemonia right out of you.
Bob: Helen, I don't like homemade chicken soup.
HRM: But you never tasted...
Bob: Helen, I'd rather you didn't..
HRM: Okay, here is how it is going to be. You are going to eat two bowls of homemade chicken soup twice a day, even if I have to wait until you nap, stick a funnel in your mouth as you snore, and pour it in! Am I clear...
Bob: That was not the picture I had in mind when you said you'd take care of me.

Well, I didn't have to sneak up to him with a funnel while he napped. He was a most cooperative patient after that.
His reaction to the soup.
HRM: Well. Now that you've tasted it, what do you think of Momma's Homemade Soup.
Bob: It's okay.....
HRM: Dang straight. And you will be to, provided you keep eating it like I tell you to....


No. I wasn't threatening him again. I was testifying of the power of the soup. I couldn't have been too mean. We did get married afterwards, after all....


How about joining my friend Wendy's blog carnival with your own post about how your life is funny?

Garage, Leaves, Polish Dancing, the Library, and Research Billly Coffey Style: A Full Sunday Afternoon In Deed

(This picture isn't of the actual performance I saw, but the costumes look similar. There were lots of other costumes though, with lots of other dances. Click here to see the website of the group which performed, and pictures of some of their costumes.)

I had a great day on Sunday! We usually try to have someone care for mom once a week so that we can get out of the house together. We tried to keep it low key. We finished cleaning the garage well enough that my car will actually go in, took a ride through the forest preserve to the Des Plaines Public Library, where I was surprised to find that they had a special presentation of Polish dancers. They even did a czardas, as this region had been near enough to Hungary to be influenced by the dance and music. After the presentation, I roamed the library, picked out a book and some CD's, and met up with Bob. Then we went to Panera Bread for dinner.
That was not so much fun. Oh, the soup, salad, and sandwich half were great! It's just that while Bob went to the washroom, I ended up with an opportunity to do some research, Billy Coffey style, only I wasn't too impressed with what I was hearing.
Two young women, sophomores from a nearby university, were verbally making fun of a young man they considered awkward.
"He's always complaining about the food in the cafeteria. No body forces him to buy it!"
"He talks so loud!" (Unlike them, who I could hear at the next table without even trying...)
""He was like that in High School!"
"Someone should tell him nobody likes him."
"I'll tell him, I don't care..."
And other things that I don't care to recall. You get the gist.

It seemed from the conversation that the young man's crime was trying too hard. I suppose I saw it that way because I perpetrated similar crimes when I was in High School. I am not sure if by college, I had changed, or was surrounded by more mature people who were willing to put up with me until I was comfortable enough to let my guard down, and not try to impress anyone. I do know that when an acquaintance from High School started gossipping about me, my college friends put her in her place. (That'd be a story worth telling someday....Someone remind me when I complain on twitter that I don't know what to write about...)

I wanted so much to go up to those girls (I can't call them ladies) and give them a piece of my mind. But I didn't. I figured that they wouldn't listen to me anyway. And I was in the wrong for eavesdropping. I'm not particularly proud of this, but I did find another way to let them know how they sounded.

(My husband returns to the table.)
HRM: OH BOB, I AM SO GLAD YOU ARE BACK!
Bob: (concerned, because I usually don't greet him like that after a potty break) Is everything okay? Did something happen?
HRM: Oh NO! It's just that I was sitting here ALONE, with nothing to read or focus my attention on, and couldn't help but hear those two Caucasian girls' (there were two Asian girls talking to each other in a dfferent language nearby) to the left shallow conversation! I can't remember the last time I was subjected to such idiocy! They've been ripping apart some poor guy for being socially awkward. It must be nice to be so DANG perfect!
Bob: (slight smile) I think they heard you..
HRM: Good. Then maybe they have an inkling of what it feels like to be judged by someone who never even bothered to get to know them!

From the look on the face of the girl more or less facing me, I could tell that she heard me. Perhaps I handled this underhandedly, maybe even cowardly. My defense is that I was so angry, I could see a direct confrontation escalating to something really ugly, but would have been unable to live with myself that evening if I had not somehow say something.

What would you have done? It's okay to tell me that I should have filled my Diet Coke cup with ice, and thrown it in her face. It's also okay to tell me that I don't know the boy, and maybe he was worse than socially awkward. Don't worry. My friends have nothing to fear. I allow my friends the privilege of disagreeing with me, or even proving me wrong.

Happy Birthday, NtG

The acronymn NtG stands for the moniker "Nick the Geek". He chose this name for himself, so I am not being rude to call him that. NtG likes his anonymity. He is a Youth Pastor, techie, comedian, prankster, and fun person. But mostly, he is a Christian, in the very best sense of the word. He wouldn't be so dang good at forgiveness if he wasn't.
My first cyber exchange with NtG was a misunderstanding. Long story short, I gave him a hard time for something he didn't do, and refused to believe that he didn't do it. (How can this happen in cyber space with someone you never met in person. It's possible...especially when you share a blog with twenty other people :-) I only believed he didn't do it when I checked out his blog for the first time months later, only to find that he was every bit as adamant as me on the subject. He was telling the truth: he was challenging the pic, not posting it...(Sorry if this is overly vague, but if you were around for the early days of fottsp, you couldn't have missed my tantrum, and if you weren't, please let I was WRONG and he was right suffice...)
I apologized, and NtG readily forgave me. We became facebook friends, and followed each other on twitter immediately afterward. Since then, we have kidded each other a lot, but I have come to have the utmost respect for him.


It was Nick's recommendation a few months ago that I watch the movie, "The Princess Bride". I believe he said it was one of his favorite movies. Watch it I did, and I loved it. My fave character was that Enigo Montoya guy. Before checking out the video, I ought to warn you that Enigo calls someone an SOB, but doesn't use the initials. If you can bear that, this is one of my favorite scenes in the movie.



Oh, and Bun Bun Rabbit wanted to send his best as well...

(Be glad I couldn't find a singing monkey patooty)
Click here to wish my friend Nick a Happy Birthday on his blog!!

Saturday Morning Caption Contest

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