My "Dog", Murphy

I feel a little guilty having written about Muffin when I haven't mentioned a word about Murphy our house cat, so let me make up for it in the following blogs.


About five years ago, I was living with some of my friends and I decided it was time to get a pet. I found a lost dog and I suppose that inspired the idea. I couldn't locate his owners so I decided that I should keep him and that I would make him my own.


I bought him some food and a collar, a leash and some toys. I even named him Sam. But despite all that I did for Sam, he didn't want anything to do with me. In fact every chance he got he tried to slip away.


I couldn't keep him in the house so, I boarded up the back fence and I attempted to keep him in our big backyard. But Sam wouldn't have it. He always seemed to get out somehow.


I spent most mornings chasing him down the street, calling out his name, finding him and walking him leash in hand back to my house. I couldn't let him go for a minute because he would take off. That should have been some indication for me. There were plenty of hints but I convinced myself that he was mine.


One morning, Sam had gotten out like he always did and I went racing out to go find him. I think I may have been in my pajamas. I called his name as loud as I could without disturbing the neighbors and hoped no one would come out to find me looking like a complete lunatic. Then, I heard someone calling....another name (I can't for the life of me remember what). Curious I walked barefoot further down the street to find a woman searching in bushes and peaking between houses. I asked her what she was looking for her and she lets out a sigh and says her dog is missing. Well not "her" dog but this dog they found the other day.


Hmph.


I ask her if the dog has black hair and two golden brown spots above his eyes that look like eyebrows. Is he sort of short?, I ask. Like a weeny dog but has the look of a German Shepard?
Is he in the habit of always running away?


I can't believe I thought Sam was mine.


It turns out Sam had been spending time with her family too. He wasn't their dog. They found him just like I did. I guess I realized at that point that Sam wasn't all mine and that he was in the business of being everybody's rescued dog. Maybe he was always running off to be found by someone else. Maybe he was used to having people buy him a leash, food, dog dish and toys. Maybe mine weren't good enough for him. Maybe he was hoping for something better.


I called it quits and walked home with my dog leash and no dog.


Once Sam was gone, I knew I better go find my own dog.


Of course I looked at all my options. I was a regular at the pet store on Hardy Street. I guess that's the polite way of saying I was pet stalker at the Pet Store. I was there at least three times a week.


Everytime I went I got the same "oh it's you again" wave because they started to recognize me. I had no shame. I would give them the smile and nod and I'd point to the room with all the dogs and I'd spend some time searching for the right one.


But there never was a right one. I never got a dog. Turns out my roommate was allergic. Get a cat, she told me. I hadn't thought of that. So the search began for Murphy.


I was still doing my regular visits to the pet store, but decided to check the newspaper for any ads for kittens. There was a woman not far from our house who was trying to give away kittens so my friend, Bowman and I went over to check it out.


When we got there it was just as I expected. A mom (calico) cat and dad (tuxedo) cat on this woman's porch with several 6 week old kittens squirming around.


Some were gray and fluffy with matching grey eyes. Smoky, they looked like puffs of smoke to me.


There was one that was the worst calico mix I had ever seen in my life and one in the far corner of the porch, a tuxedo cat.


The woman was babbling on about how she thought her cat was neutered when she got it and then the next thing that she knew she had kittens in her closet. She tells me that the father is this tuxedo cat. She points at him. He's ours too, she says like I should know that the daddy isn't just some male cat off the street, that what we have here is something really domestic. she points to the calico kitten and says that nobody wants that one because its so ugly.


And it was.


I stood there staring at the ugliest cat in all the world. There wasn't a single patch of pure color on its little body. It's orange, white, and black hairs were mixed together like a mixture of creole seasoning.


I should have felt sorry for it. But sadly, I didn't.


It wasn't Murphy. I could tell that right away.


I think she thought her comment would spark empathy but I was really only interested in the loner tuxedo kitten on the other side of the porch. I walked over to the tuxedo kitten stationed off in the corner and crouched down beside her. I tried to pet her. Instead of a soft purr, she turned sharply around and glared at me. She let out this bark that I didn't even know kittens could make. Her eyes weren't sweet, they were cross. She was aggravated. A little ball of fury. How dare I pet her. She wanted to be alone. She moved a few feet to get away from me. And that's when I knew she was mine. Crabby little kitten. How could I not love her.


More on this later. :)

Tin Can Pepper

Grocery shopping.
One of my jobs in our house is to do our grocery shopping. When assigning who does what that's what I raised my hand for. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.
I used to really I hate it. The truth is that before Jason, grocery shopping was not something I did much. I never made a list. Never made a budget for it. Never could tell you what was on what isle.
But things have changed. I'm a new person. I am grocery shopper. I'm actually a pretty good grocery shopper.
Like most things I take on, I researched it. I googled coupons that I've never used. I tried to find a list of staple items. Something tangible to make my first grocery list. I found nothing of the sort.
You can't google a grocery list. It's just not how it works.
Apparently its all trial and error. And I really hate trial and error.
You might be asking yourself why if I hated grocery shopping did I raise my hand for it? It's simple.
I'm the bargain hunter and Jason is the package shopper.
If the bargain shopper goes shopping the monthly bill is less than $200.
If the package shopper goes shopping it will be $200++++++ and all they have to show for it is four or five of the best products on the market. Some ribs, and some steaks.
Why?
A bargain hunter = a person who buys the item that is the cheapest on the shelf
A package shopper = a person who looks for the coolest looking product.

I didn't even know there were package shoppers until I met Jason.
There were tell tale signs in the beginning.
A bottle of wine with an extravagant label.
Chips in in a beautifully constructed bag made to look like it had been recycled a hundred and fifty times over.
You could open the cabinets at his apartment and find products with beautiful labels. Cursive letters, bright colors, elaborate packaging. Phrases on them that said, "organic" "100% tastier"
I knew when I saw these things at Jason's place when we were dating that something was up. Confirmed it when we went shopping together.
For every cheap store brand item I picked up. Jason's picked up the most expensive, nicest looking product. "Look," He would say, "Now doesn't this look nice." His eyes would sparkle with excitement. A big smile on his face.
In those days, I let it go. It was his money.
But now. It's ours.
So a few nights ago, when Product Shopper asked me Bargain Huntress if we could have a grocery store date, I should have known what was in store for us....ha "in store"!
He called me at work and offered to ride over to the store with me. Asked me if I had a grocery list.
Nope, cataloged in my head, I say. (I lied.)
There's silence on the other line. (I know he's contemplating staying home because this could take longer than he hopes for.) I need to lasso him back in and fast.
You see as a bargain huntress, I know a great deal when I see it. I see a great deal all wrapped up in one. I see a grocery cart pusher, a grocery bagger, an grocery loader, and best of all a grocery UNloader. I need to keep him interested or I could lose all of the above.
"You know, I know exactly what I need. And it should only take a hour at the most. (more like three hours, really who knows...I forgot to make a list so it could take forever)." I'm trying my best to sound convincing.
A package shopper doesn't shop for three hours like Bargain Hunters do. They wouldn't waste time. They are in and out of the store in less than fifteen minutes. It's not unusual for this breed of shoppers. They can spot a good product in seconds.
Bargain hunters? Not so much.
"Oh okay, I'll go, but an hour, okay?." He says.
"Yep just an hour. :)" And we are set to go.
We get to Wal-Mart----I know---the dreaded Wal-Mart, I don't know why I skipped out on Casey Jones, my market of choice. I immediately remember why I don't bring my husband with me to the store. Why I choose to shop alone. Why I choose not to have someone challenge my Great Value and Equate purchases.
It all starts with pepper and its down hill from there.
Jason's been loading the grocery cart with some things he's been needing for some ribs he plans to cook later this week. Pepper is one of those things he needed.
I wasn't really concerned about any thing he's been throwing in the cart until the pepper.
"Hey, what do you think about this pepper." He says.
(Oh no.)
I glance around my shoulder at the pepper he's holding up for me. I walk over and sure enough its one of those metal container peppers jars. I'm kind of a sucker for those too, so I halfway understand why he's interested in it.
It has a black label over a gold tin can and nice bold lettering. It looks (....very Saints-like) antique and vintage. It screams "hey I'm the old-school" pepper. It looks.....more expensive than regular pepper.
I look at him and say "okay where's the other pepper you had?"
He reaches into the cart and pulls another tin can pepper. Maybe they all come like this...I starting to wonder whether I have I ever bought pepper. Do they even make Equate pepper?
Suddenly I too am fascinated by tin can pepper.
I quickly pop back into reality, "Well I say (thinking about bargains again) what's the price difference?"

"Its a dollar more...BUT it has two more ounces."
This is the problem with the bargain huntress, she can be adamant in her ways, eyes on the prize, ever focused on the bargain, but this can be no match for the package shopper who can become just as convincing as the product he is infatuated with.
I'm too tired to do the math. I'm sold. But wait---
"Okay well where is it made?" Shouldn't that have some factor? I can't let him win. Not over pepper.
We start scanning the fine print.
Minnesota and then the other can - Minnesota.
Both are Minnesota.
Pepper Competitors.
Okay you win, Jason.
But that wasn't the end, it was the beginning. For every Equate brand I went for, there was Jason's fancy brand. I tried losing him in the store but it only worked for a little while.
At one point, I suggested we split up. Go our separate ways. Makes sense, I say. We are shopping for different things.
Truth is I need to get away. And fast. I need to buy my Equate, my Great Value.
Once I'm on my own I pull myself together. I turn down a new isle and I try to remember my mentally cataloged grocery list. Then I scan the isles for the cheap stuff. I make my way down the isles and as I turn, I see him.
Standing beside a display of something jarred. Looking at labels.
I throw the grocery cart in reverse and almost pop a wheely trying to backtrack to the isle I came from. It's too late.
"Look Carrie. It's..."
Nope I'm gone.
By the time we finished I had enough of the cheap stuff and Jason had enough of the fancy products to make us both pretty happy and satisfied with our trip.
And the pepper?
I admit it's some pretty tasty pepper. Much better than Equate and the Great Value stuff. :)

It's Mardi Gras Time!!!!

We had four parades that passed on our street this weekend and Jason's family and my friends came over to watch them with us!!! We had a blast! :)

Wolverine's girlfriend, Barbie

I'm writing this post in celebration of my brother, Jason's birthday. Today, he's turning 28 which means I'm not far from turning.....27. Jason and I were born fourteen months apart. So when he was five months old my mom discovered she was pregnant with me. Can you imagine!

In honor of his birthday I will tell you one of my favorite memories about us growing up.

____________________________________________________________________

When Jason and I were kids we could play for hours and hours with our toys.

Jason's toys- X Men

Carrie's toys- Barbies

I had millions of Barbies but unfortunately only one Ken. And one New Kids on the Block, Joey Macintire doll.

(I was horrified by the New Kids on the Block doll, I can't remember which one, whose hair was all plastic except for the rat tail in the back which was more like Barbie's hair. Yikes!) My Barbies weren't interested in those New Kids so fortunately I got Joey who was more clean cut and all American. Just Barbie's kind of guy.

Mostly my Barbies dated Joey because his arms were bent like Barbies and it was alot easier for them to dance or walk arm in arm. Ken was a lost cause with his straight arms that rested on Barbie's shoulders. It was nothing personal, its just that life was easier with a man with bent arms than it was with those straight armed fellows. Most the time Ken doll stayed in his tuxedo suit he came in and sat at home in my 3 story Barbie mansion while my Barbie dolls ran around town in the Barbie Ferrari with Joey.

That is until the X men came to town.

When the X-Men came to town, things were different.

There were more men in town. I guess Barbie was getting tired of Joey and his stupid red letterman jacket.

When the X-Men came to town, it just meant there were more men to choose from. Who cares if they were half her size?

They were impressive.

Alot more impressive than Joe.

Wolverine had claws on his hands. Gambit could throw cards that exploded. Cyclops had the nice sunglasses. Not designer, but Barbie didn't care.

What was Joe good for?

Singing. Oh. right. A boy band.

When the X-Men came to town all Barbie thought about was dinner dates with Wolverine.

But I can tell you that that was the farthest thing from Wolverine's mind.

He was fighting battles of course, that Barbie could see from the 3rd story of her Barbie Mansion.

Barbie needed to scheme her own plan of attack.

Hopping in her Ferrari she sped over to the scene of an X Men battle.

While the battle was going there, came a moment when Wolverine was finally on his own. Barbie attacked. Like a eagle swooping down for its prey, she raced her car over and threw Wolverine in the passenger seat and floored it. Wolverine didn't stand a chance. Even his adamantium claws were no match. Not even Professor Xavier could have seen it coming.

As Barbie sped off she was happy she had wolverine all to herself. She started telling Wolverine all about their date that she planned. :) Wolverine didn't have much to say, in fact he said nothing at all. That didn't matter much to Barbie who was quite the talker......

"CARRIE!!! Where IS MY WOLVERINE!!?" Jason barks from across the room. He's been consumed with X-Men battles and has finally noticed his absence.

I turn around slowly to Jason, my hand still on the Barbie Ferrari, strategically blocking my brother's view from the inside of the my Barbie mobile.

"I haven't seen him" I lie. This could ruin everything for Barbie.

He doesn't trust me. He rolls his eyes and He walks over to me. He glances down at my Barbie car. I glance sheepishly up at him.

"What are you doing!" He snatches Wolverine out of the car and takes him back over to the battles on the other side of the room.

I sigh.

Barbie puts the car in gear and heads back to the Barbie house, back to bent arms Joey and straight arms Ken.

Professional BMX Bike

In order for the second part of my story to make sense I need to provide you with some background information. Let's take a trip back in time twenty three years ago to New Hebron, Mississippi. To a time when when my husband wasn't my husband but a silly little boy of about eight years old with a big time imagination and a knack for exaggeration.


I'm not sure if that's changed - the part about the exaggeration, I mean. :)


I'm going to tell you about two pretty impressive friends J had as a kid. The first one, just because it's funny and the other because he makes his way into my present day story.


When J was a kid, he had a pretty tight friendship with a man named Echo. When J's friends came over they got more than an ear full of stories about Echo who lived in the woods just behind his house. It seems that J had a pretty consistent correspondence with this man who was---did I mention?----a monster. Okay he wasn't a monster. It would sound better if he was. He was just an everyday guy with a bad temper.


Anyway, J would often yell at the top of his lungs to Echo. And Echo would ---you guessed it--respond with the exact same thing that J screamed out to him.... just a few seconds later. J's friends were warned that they could only scream out to Echo in moderation, because if you overdid it, you could make him very angry. If he was mad he would come out to get you and believe the eight year old J you did NOT want that to happen.


I guess Echo got pretty tired of always repeating everything and maybe doing this a few times every once in a while was all the talking he was up for. Who knows what his beef was. As far I know he never came out to get anybody but I don't think anyone ever dared to test him.


The other friend of J's was a little nicer. J's friend, professional BMX bike racer (No name needed here) was a good friend to have. Not that Echo wasn't---let's not cross him---but BMX racer was super generous. So generous it seems that he had a BMX bike specially designed for J. Probably according to his height and weight. More than likely had special wheels put on it too and all the necessary parts to make J a mini professional bike racer. I'm guessing J's professionally made bike was the talk of the town and the other kids wished they had a friend like that.


Now lets jump to present day - December of 2009 - Christmas time.


J and I are planning our first Christmas together. We decide this year we will be our last year to buy Christmas presents for each other so we did our best to surprise each other. I got J a Nintendo DS and and J, I was convinced got me a Kindle.


If you don't know what a Kindle is, I'll tell you. It's an electronic book. You can download books to this little device and you can read them without turning pages.


How did I know I was getting that?


Well, because I'm pretty clever that's why.


Okay the truth is, is that one day J was looking at an ad for a Kindle and at the same time he brought up Christmas gifts. That's how I knew. I'm getting a Kindle!! Not so sneaky after all, J.


Here's where it gets embarrassing...


Not only did I think I was getting a Kindle, I told everyone I was getting one. Everyone at work. Everyone in the line at the Casey Jones. A woman at Louisiana Products where I stopped to get lunch. My family. My neighbors. And believe me it wasn't just one conversation with some of these people. It was multiple conversations. Yes, we talked about what they do, what the new features are, what books I should download. You see where I'm going with this...


I didn't get a Kindle.


There I said it.


If you are reading this and you wonder why I haven't talked about my kindle since Christmas, its probably because it wasn't my Christmas present.


Here's how it went on Christmas morning...


My eyes pop open. I jump up and scream "let's go see what SANTA left us!!!"


I really said that.


It was really exaggerated with a huge emphasis on the word, Santa. I get ready to race down the hall and J catches my elbow before I catapult my body out of the room. He tells me to sit still and wait.


Excuse me?


Apparently he didn't wrap my present and he needs to go into the living room and do that real quick. I give him an "are you kidding me" face. Didn't wrap my present!?


it's a KINDLE.


It's SMALL.


It would take no time to wrap. I could have wrapped it. What a slacker.


Then I hear the front door slam and I hear him walk around the side of the house. Did he leave it the car. Come on, Really?! Didn't even bring it inside. Whatever. I lay there with my arms folded. Minutes go by and I'm growing impatient. Finally the door opens and closes and he's back in the bedroom. Okay, it's ready. he says, a sly smile on his face.


I trot down the hall and then I stop.


What is that?


Yep, you guessed it, not a kindle.


BUT ........... a beautiful blue BIKE!


The bike I've been dying for!! (I gave my old one away and so I've been bikeless all this time...) "Holy Cow, You got me a bike?" I say. I'm so excited my words come out like squeals. I hug J and I say, "I thought you got me Kindle!! and he says, "What's a Kindle????"


*Sigh*


So the bike is really awesome and its a commuter huffy. As I'm inspecting it J is briefing me on all the specifics... he had them put fenders on it and a thing for a basket. "Well actually," he says with a funny grin on his face, "I had them MAKE it for you according to your height and weight." He says this like he's expecting me to laugh but I'm so impressed! "Wow," I say. "You did this all for me?"He has this look on his face like he surprised by my reaction. I hardly noticed it though because I was so caught up in the bike and the fact that it was made for me that I never thought to question it.


So now I have this bike that was MADE for me.


Let's jump to a few weeks later. J's birthday is fast approaching. With all the thousands of "I wish I had a bike" hints he had been dropping I knew that a bike would be his birthday present.


Besides I had this cool bike that was made for me and he needed one too.


Here's what my problem was. I was worried they wouldn't be able to make it in time for J's birthday which was a week and half away.


How far in advance would they need to know his height, his weight?


I needed to act fast.


I figured I should call the Petal Shop to give them the heads up that I was coming down there. I find the number and give them a call. A man answers. I explain that I need the bike pretty soon and he says that they are out of stock. This doesn't faze me because I know that it has to be made anyway and and that's all that I'm thinking about. He tells me I can order it over the phone but I tell him I want to come down there to talk to him about. He says okay but there's hesitation in his voice and I hang up the phone. Geez, I need to go over there and tell him all details to make J's bike for Pete's Sake.


On the first Monday I had off of work I drove over there. I walked in the store and head to the back where the registers were. I wave over to the sales guy and he walks over to speak with me.


"I called over here a couple days ago," I say. "I spoke to someone about getting a commuter huffy for my husband."


"It was me." he says, he looks tired or annoyed or both.


"Well," I say. "I came in to tell you all the specifics....My husband is 5'9 and I think he's about 160 pounds."


"Excuse me?"




"He is 5'9 and 160 pounds." (Does he not need to be writing this down some where?")


He just stares at me and I fumble over my words.


"Because, don't you need to know that for the bike"


"Um..."


"Because the bikes are made according to your height and weight??"


He is looking at me like I have left my brain at home. And I'm starting to feel like I might have.


I start grasping at straws, "Wait a minute. You don't make bikes to fit the person that rides them.?"


"No mam we don't. That would be weird."


"and the fenders? my husband said you added the fenders and the basket thing for me."


"It comes like that."


"Huh?"


I'm embarrassed. I write a check so fast and ask him when the bike will get here.


"Two weeks," he says.


Great.


I paid for J's pre-made bike and I jet out of there.


Oh, and by the way I'm mad.


But I can't tell J yet. Nope that would ruin his birthday surprise. :)


That Friday, we go out to eat for his birthday.


We decided to eat at Tony Mandina's because every time we go its closed, but we think might luck out this time. It's raining when we pull in and a nice man in a big yellow raincoat runs over to my side with an umbrella to walk me to the door. When we pop in I'm surprised at how pretty it is in there. I guess because its seems like such a rough exterior that the inside, with its candles and soft music, is a pleasant surprise.


We walk in and --I'm guessing Tony?-- and his wife run up to us like they know us and thank us for coming in. They're celebrating their anniversary and Tony motions over to the bar to a the biggest bouquet of long stem roses I've ever seen. We smile, congradulate them and follow the waitress to the table.


As we settle in for dinner I'm thinking about how funny it will be when I bring this up and I sort of can't wait.


Two glasses of wine and pasta dishes later, he's ready to open the card I brought with us. Since I couldn't bring a bike with us to dinner and it was still in California anyway - being made in a factory for the---uh, general public man of any height and weight-- I decide to draw a picture of a bike on his birthday card. It's barely discernible by the way because I was in a hurry.


When he finished reading the card and he's figured out what the drawing is he is thrilled.


"A Bike! Wow I had know idea"


I don't believe that....all those "I want a bike" hints.


I tell him how happy I am that he's happy. I lean in and give him a hug and a kiss.


And then....


I slide the card across the table and I take a sip of my wine.


"J, you have some explaining to do.."


"Huh?"


"Well," I say. "I went to get your bike last week and when I got there I waltzed in and told the salesman your height and weight, that you wanted fenders...."


J said, "Oh God...."


J bursted into laughter. We both did. So loud that all the tables turned to look at us.


I tell him the whole story and we are in tears laughing. He tells me how he tried to make a joke about having my Christmas bike made, because of the story of his BMX bike. A story I had heard a dozens of times. He wonder why I hadn't laughed when he told on Christmas day and decided just to let it go because I was so caught up in the bike.


Me, well I felt a whole lot like Lucy in I love Lucy - where she takes something and runs with it. And in the end Ricky and her have a pretty good laugh about it.


Good old Lucy. At least I'm not the only one. :)


P.S. I love comments! So feel free to comment. I have no idea who reads these!!

Meringue Powder

Yikes it's been a long time since I posted anything! I've been working on a couple of other things at the moment so there hasn't been much time. I started the following blog post a few weeks ago and I hope you don't mind me posting it. Maybe you're still in the mood for sugar cookies or still in the Christmas spirit. I don't know.

Here it is a few weeks late:

With Christmas just around the corner I thought it would be a good time to blog about a sugar cookie recipe I found that is perfect for the holiday season. I found this recipe in the Good Housekeeping book and I used an icing recipe I found online. Before I tell about my sugar cookie adventure I think its important to tell you that this is not one of the recipes that just happens. What I mean by this is, is simply that in no way shape or form will you make this with perfection unless you are God or Martha Stewart. (Keep in mind I made these cookies on the Monday before Thanksgiving)


In my mind, I pictured the following scenario:

(No exaggeration)

I made the cookies wearing a super fabulous apron. I didn't spill a thing. My hair was perfect. My makeup was perfect. Christmas songs played in the background. I say along to the songs in a voice that was unrealistically harmonious, kind of like Ariel in the Little Mermaid. I cut leaf shaped cookies out and they cooked perfectly in the oven. I painted them in fall colors with homemade icing I had dyed. The icing went on smooth. It was glorious. Jason came home from work, kissed my forehead, and tasted the cookies and said they were delicious.Why wouldn't they be, I made them. I placed them in cute bags, labeled them with tags that said "Happy Thanksgiving! Love, The Yarbroughs" and tied them with neat perfect bows, because I'm an excellent bow tier so this would make perfect sense. I delivered them to my neighbors and family who were delighted by them. It was magical. ____________________________________________________________

Here's how it really went... I'll start from the beginning. Filled with the spirit of the holiday season I decided to bake some sugar cookies and ice them with homemade icing with the above mentioned scenario in my head. I really believed it would be effortless and it would take me an hour at most. I used a sugar cookie recipe from the Good Housekeeping book and an icing recipe I found further down the page that called for Meringue Powder. What the heck is meringue powder?! Of course, I didn't have it and had never heard of it anyway so off to the Casey Jones (our local supermarket) I went.


SIDENOTE: Have I told you how much I love our Casey Jones? I can't remember. Well I do. I love it. It's not like Wal-mart where I dodge carts like I'm in a bumper car cage and people ram into you like they're on speed. And God forbid you actually fall over because at Wal-Mart they would roll their cart right over your body. People at Wal-Mart scare me. At the Casey Jones its like you stepped into Mayberry well a different kind of Mayberry anyway. People know each other there and ask about your family and how your tomatoes plants did this year. Once when I was there, a woman hollered down the isle, "how's your mama" and a girl yelled back, "she's good, she's in jail." and everyone smiled and chuckled a little. Local New Orleans grocery stores. I wouldn't change a thing about them.

Back to the main story: So I'm here at the Casey Jones and one of the managers comes flying by with a very big mission, who knows what. I say excuse me, I can't find meringue powder and he drops everything he's doing. Meringue powder?.....he scratches his chin. He's walks one way then he walks the other way. He scans the shelves. More determined then ever he calls over other employees. Suddenly I felt like I was on a battlefield where troops were being dispatched to war-ridden area by the general. He barked out orders 'John! miscellaneous baking goods isle!" "Frank! isle 8!" The manager takes off on his own mission and I am left standing there blinking. I follow John to the miscellaneous baking isle and begin scanning shelves. Turns out none of the store's troops could find it. Finally we give up and the manager comes flying over with pages in hand. "Here", he says handing them over to me. "I googled it." Pages about Meringue powder and what to use instead. He apologizes for not having it and tells me some stores to check. If they don't have it come back and I'll order it, he says.

Wow.

This is customer service. :)

I go home and flop myself on the couch, not defeated but amazed.

After alot of thought, I decided not to go with Meringue powder (which seems to exist only on Google) but I googled a pretty great icing recipe that seemed to work just fine.

On the day I finally made the cookies, it took the WHOLE day. I was covered in flour all over my super cute apron, my face, my baseball cap that covered my not so cute hair. I made a horrible mess of the kitchen. I played Christmas songs but I sang them with no hope of a singing career. The cookies tasted awesome but God love them they didn't look like leaves and the icing colors were too bright to be considered fall colors. The icing was a mess, I had a tough time painting it on the cookies and I ended up with more on me than on the cookies. In the end, I ziplocked bagged them, I never attached a cute note to them and I never distributed to my friends and family, because I was pretty tired of looking at them. And Jason? Jason came home to my wonderful cookies. My wonderful mess. It turns out he thought they were perfect. And me, I think I'll buy cookies from the store next time :)


The Recipe for Sugar Cookies -

Ingredients:

• 1 cup(s) (2 sticks) butter (no substitutions), softened
• 1/2 cup(s)sugar
• 1 large egg
• 1 tablespoon(s) vanilla extract
• 3 cup(s) all-purpose flour
• 1/2 teaspoon(s) baking powder
  
• Ornamental frosting

Directions:

1. In large bowl, with mixer at low speed, beat butter and sugar until blended. Increase speed to high; beat until light and creamy. At low speed, beat in egg and vanilla. Beat in flour and baking powder just until blended.
2. Divide dough into 4 equal pieces. Wrap each piece with plastic wrap and refrigerate 1 hour or until dough is firm enough to roll. (Or place dough in freezer for 30 minutes.)
3. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. On lightly floured surface, with floured rolling pin, roll 1 piece of dough 1/8 inch thick. With floured 3- to 4-inch assorted cookies cutters, cut dough into as many cookies as possible; wrap and refrigerate trimmings. Place cookies, 1 inch apart, on ungreased large cookie sheet.
4. Bake cookies 10 to 12 minutes or until lightly browned. Transfer cookies to wire rack to cool. Repeat with remaining dough and trimmings.
5. When cookies are cool, prepare Ornamental Frosting if you like; use to decorate cookies as desired. Set cookies aside to allow frosting to dry completely, about 1 hour. Store cookies in tightly covered container (with waxed paper between layers, if decorated) at room temperature up to 2 weeks, or in freezer up to 3 months.

Recipe for Sugar Cookie Icing:

Ingredients:

1 cup confectioners' sugar 2 teaspoons milk 2 teaspoons light corn syrup

1/4 teaspoon almond extract assorted food coloring

Directions:

1.	In a small bowl, stir together confectioners' sugar and milk until smooth. Beat in corn syrup and almond extract until icing is smooth and glossy. If icing is too thick, add more corn syrup.
2.	Divide into separate bowls, and add food colorings to each to desired intensity. Dip cookies, or paint them with a brush.

Muffin

Some call her Snow White. I call her Muffin. Jason calls her Cotton. Whatever her name really is -- she's the neighborhood cat.

I don't remember when it was exactly that she began to grace us with her presence. Maybe four months ago? That's seems about right. She showed up in our neighborhood as if she had always been there. As if she had always owned this street.

I admit when I first met her I felt sorry for her. She was a mess of fluffy white cotton hair caked with mud and specks of leaves and sticks tangled throughout her coat. Her big yellow green eyes drew pity out of any one who locked eyes with her. She couldn't have been a whole year old, maybe six months. Her skinny little body made you wonder just how long it had been since her last meal.

I decided to take her on. I grab two bowls from inside and filled one with water and the other with some of Murphy (our inside cat)'s food. Jason couldn't believe what I was doing and said that before long I would become the neighborhood cat woman. But she's could die, I told him. She would starve, no one is taking care of her...

That's how is started. That was Muffin in her first days in our neighborhood. Over the next few weeks a unique transformation took place...

At first I noticed a love or a hate for muffin from our surrounding neighbors. She ate their plants. She harassed their dogs. They sprayed her with hoses. Some had adopted her as their own. Some had even named her Snow White which I thought was a ridiculous name. She was not Snow White and I would never call her that. One week, a pink flea collar showed up on her neck from the neighbor two doors down that's when I realized that Muffin's visit to our neighborhood was more permanent than anyone had hoped for.

Once Muffin knew she had us, it all went down hill from there. One day I was driving home from work and as I neared our house I saw her walking down our driveway. She'll move, I thought. Cat's are good about dodging cars for the most part. As I pulled my car into the drive. She didn't move. In fact she wouldn't budge. I honked and she sat there staring at me. Finally, I threw half of my body out of the car door and fussed at her. She moved alright, but only after minutes of fussing went by and aggravated drivers lined their cars up behind mine.

That wasn't the only thing.

The ragged washed up Muffin from the early days was no longer visible. Muffin was looking good. Her once tattered coat was a puffy fluff of pure cotton. She was beautiful. But noticing the change in her appearance made me notice something else just as important - her stomach.

Muffin's stomach was growing at an alarming rate. Is she pregnant, we wondered. We - meaning all the neighbors were noticing it too. Muffin's possible pregnancy was the topic of conversation among the neighbors for days. We wondered how many kittens she would have, we wondered where she would have them, and we wondered who had claim to which one of the kittens she would have. Would they be all white like she was or would they look like the father whoever he was. It never dawned on us that she wasn't pregnant.

Muffin's fat belly was the result of her dining habits. One weekday night when the neighbors sat on their porch swings and watered their gardens the truth came out. As one neighbor placed a bowl of food for Muffin on her porch it started a "You feed Snow White (Muffin)?!, well so do I!". Muffin had been making the rounds. Literally. She started on our side of the street in the mornings and crossed the street to hit up some houses in the afternoon.


I knew all to well the guilt she caused. I too had fallen victim. Every morning since she had shown up in our neighborhood, muffin would meet me on my porch. Her shrill cries were enough to send me running back into the house and back out with bowls of food. One day I had had enough, I rushed out the door and patted her on the head and said 'Not today Muffin I'm going be late'. As I pulled out the driveway I tried not to look at her but she glared at me. I pulled into the street and turned in the first u-turn to make my way to the bridge. Glancing back at the house, I couldn't believe it. Muffin had never left my porch. Her eyes followed my car as it moved down the street. The farther I got away the more pitiful looking she got. At that moment the guilt swept over. Before I could even really think about it I was u-turning again, jumping out of my car, running into the house and throwing food into Muffin's bowl. Everything I had in my arms (my lunch, my purse, my keys) fell all over the place. You know what she did? She took a sniff at it, realized it was a new kind of cat food and trotted back down the porch steps. And me? well I was late.

That's muffin. No matter how much she aggravates, no matter that she harasses your dogs, no matter that she almost peed on your neighbor's kid because she doesn't doesn't care where she goes, you love her because she is after all the neighborhood cat and I guess that means she ours.