So, today my eyes keep leaking. Tear-bursts I think. Saw on the news that there’s a 100% chance of those passing through all day.

And no, it’s not because of that damned contact malfunction from yesterday. But thanks for the concern. Nor is it related to the somewhat testy discussion I had with Mr. Weiner last night.

Yeah… rough night for him. Pro tip: If your spouse ever had THE. WORST. NEWS. EVER. Delivered to her by phone, after several hours of delay because she was not reachable by cellphone you would be advised to keep yours on and to always be available for her calls. NO. MATTER. WHAT.

Just sayin.

So, anyway, we’re all on the same page now, it’s not that stuff. That stuff passes. Again, because there’s no such thing as a 24 hour Divorce Attorney or Court who’d hear the case in the middle of the night.

Which is lucky for Bob indeed.

Er, anyway… the gratitude I keep oozing is because of the changes life has handed me. Changes that in the beginning I didn’t think so highly of. Changes that I initially regarded as almost as welcome as some sort of social disease. Like Chlamydia. Or Head Lice. Or the overwhelming feeling of gratitude that overcomes me whenever one of the dogs carpetbombs the Guest Room.

Yeah, gratitude just like that.

Okay, now that I’ve given all of you a screaming case of the heebee jeebees… you’re welcome. I’m a sharer like that. Because all of you are my favorites. Yeah.

Anyway, so this whole gratitude thing I’m feeling today? Well, the amazing part is that I’m actually voicing gratitude for stuff I initially hated. Stuff that happened to me/us that I/we weren’t initially sure I/we would survive.

But sometimes it’s the really bad things that happen to you that end up being the best things in your life. Once- that is- you survive them. Once you figure out you’re going to live. And I know this only because I’ve been handed things like that many times in this crazy life of mine. Things I thought were going to surely kill me at the time. Things that are now blessings, when I look at them in a different light. A light that shines bright, like survival. Because these awful things are the things that made me stronger and more of who I am today.

Better, smarter, stronger, happier. Yeah, all of those things. And more.

So, G-d, whichever one’s in charge of the ineffable plan, if you’re reading today, then I hope you read my words of thanks. Yes, thanks for the disasters. For the tragedies. For everything I cursed you about in the past. Because all of those tragedies are part and parcel of me, all of them made me better, and every one of these tragedies resulted in gifts I never expected.

For example, without the tragedy of Eddie’s death I would have never been given the gifts of Bob, Chrissy, Steven, and Micah.

And even June, but we won’t tell her that, mkay?

And then I look at the disaster that happened in 2009, when Bob lost his previously secure job at Travelers in Knoxville. The disaster that found us in a moving truck three months later and me returning home to life in Lakeland. Let me tell you, the gifts from that one continue to roll in. The return of old friends that I hadn’t had in my life since 1982 and the whole new world of people we’ve added. All part and parcel of what we saw as the most disastrous turn for the worse that we had ever seen. In some ways a change that we weren’t sure we could survive as a married couple. But, remarkably, we did. And really we’ve gone far beyond survival and thrived. Because our life, with all these wonderful people – new and old – in it is now beyond rich, and we consider ourselves blessed to have all of them, and this life today.

But no list of disasters is complete without bringing in the oldest one in my life. The disaster I made of my young life that resulted in my son – Ryan. And the blessing I got when I found him again last year, and learned that he is a child that any parent would be proud of. A child who is a credit entirely to the two wonderful people who raised him, but also a child I am so proud to say is mine as well. After all, we all know that one could have gone any way…

And that’s where I have to add that truthfully I would have loved him no matter what, because that’s what you do with love, and life. You handle it. And that’s the thing about love too. It happens… “no matter what”. Life and love and disaster are things that just happen, and we can’t control the circumstances. All we can control is how we deal with all of them.

Because how we handle these disasters in life and love is what determines who we are as people. And, when I look back from that viewpoint I guess Bob and I must be doing pretty good. Because we’ve both taken the absolute worst situations and turned those disasters into the best life we could ever imagine.

For example, leaving Chrissy in TN… er yeah, so not what we wanted to do. But now I feel like we have a better and stronger relationship with her because that relationship isn’t enforced by a court order and nobody feels like that relationship is somehow contrived or invented. Instead today it’s a relationship that the three of us choose to have, as adults, who love each other, who are family. So the disaster of separation turned into the goodness of a strong adult relationship with our child.

So kids, today’s lesson, besides being grateful for the bad and the good, is that disasters don’t always stay disastrous. Sometimes it takes badness to make something good. Sometimes it takes anger and pain to create happiness and love in our world.

So today take a moment to look around your own lives and I think you too will find things that you never considered a blessing at the time, that are now counted as exactly that. And when you recognize that disaster as the blessing that it is today, you’ll know you are living and loving – no matter what.

Blessings. In disguise. For which I’m grateful today. Count yours too. There’s more than you think.

Blessed and loved, beyond my wildest dreams… that’s me.

And grateful. For all of you.

Every day.

Thanks.

What a weekend! And not in the “Tequila and Fertility” manner.  No, this weekend was calm, quiet, peacefulish, and destructive as hell to my diet.

Diet? You’re on a diet?  Really?

Mkay, you over there, you need to shut up.  I’m trying. Well, I was trying.  Until this weekend.  I was trying really hard until then.  But then there was this weekend when I got caught up with all my friends, and every catch up involved food of some sort.

And, yeah.  It was like that.

So today I’m starting over.  We’ll see how it goes.

But there’s some other stuff…

Who exactly wears clip-on earrings these days?  And more importantly, why?  And even more importantly, how have they kept their ear lobes from being amputated because of gangrene?  Because I bought these really cute ones at Coldwater Creek after Christmas and I just love them.  But I’m nearly positive that they’ve part of some torture plot devised by Ann Taylor Loft to keep me from ever buying anything from Coldwater Creek again.

Yeah, could happen.  Def. could happen.

Anyway, I’ve now survived two wearings of these things and I’m not sure whether I’m brave enough to try it again. Tips, tricks, and suggestions welcomed… my “Imagine” earrings longevity depends on you… but no pressure or anything.

And, for those of you who follow me on Twitter/Facebook, you know that Sunday’s breakfast was Nutella Pancakes.  Drizzled in Maple Syrup.  Sprinkled with Bacon crumbles.  And doused with the tears of real Angels.  Okay, I’m kidding about the Angel Tears, sort of.  Maybe.  But the rest of it was all there.  And it was amazing.  And surprisingly easy.  Which may come as the biggest shock of all.  I just used my usual Aunt Jemima Buttermilk Complete mix, then after I did the initial mix I added in two heaping tablespoons of Nutella and mixed well.  After that it was standard Pancake prep with butter, syrup, and a sprinkling of Bacon.  Easy Peasy.  And yummy.

Very yummy.

But now it’s today, and I’m trying to not do things like that today.  Today I’m trying to do better.  You remember better, right?  Well I’m trying to do it that way.  So I’m not on Pinterest (damn you Pinterest and your good food pictures) looking at stuff I shouldn’t eat.  Instead I’m on here typing, and I’m trying not to let this wonderful cup of coffee get cold.  That’s a problem for me.  Distraction in all forms causes the waste of much coffee.

Ooohhh! Shiny Squirrel!

See?  Happened again.  Damn.

Anyway, enough mumbling for today.  I’ve got a list of stuff to get done… including a butt-ton of homework that’s all due on Tuesday night at 11:59 pm.  Yeah, I’m exact like that these days.  Smooches sweeties!  Hope your week is The. Best. Ever.  And as for mine?  Well, if it doesn’t include any emails that start with “Lorem Ipsum…” then I consider it a GIANT WIN!!!

Inside joke, or tragedy, and it may be a bit of both so it’s probably be Greek. Regardless, because of certain legalities I can’t go into the whole sordid tale.  So we’ll just leave it at the standard “people were blamed, accountability was avoided, ridiculousness ensued, no resolution has been determined”.  You know, the usual workplace mayhem?

Yeah.

Yay Tuesday.  Bring it bitch.  Tomorrow.

So, yeah, today is my Son’s Birthday.  Ryan officially turns 24 today – or tonight if we’re splitting hairs.

You know I do that… split hairs that is.  Just like you know I remember that day in too. much. detail.

Okay, way too much detail.

6 pair of Underpants in one day.  Clearly there was an issue.

Er. Yeah.

And that night, the issue became really apparent, in the form of a red, screaming, blue eyed boy, pulled out of my stomach, against his will, and my own, because that was the end of my mothering of him.  He would get the rest of that requirement from another woman, and man, that I chose to do what I could not.

Or at least that’s what I thought.  Scared, young, overwhelmed. I did what I thought was best.

Oh, and PS, I always knew he was a boy.  Even though no one else could confirm that medically.  I just knew.  I’m magic like that.  And he was.  If you need me to guess the sex of yours I work pretty cheap.  Cupcakes are a pretty good payment.  Wine works too.

Only not right now, I’m trying to stay on this diet.

But anyway, this year, unlike the last 23, I got to do something new on this date.  You know, this really big date.  The date when I became “somebody’s Birth Mom”.

This year, instead of my yearly silent “Happy Birthday” wish to him that only I heard, I sent that wish on the Twitter.  A simple wish.  That this year would be his best.  Because it should be.  Because when you’re his age each year should be better than the last.

And now I can say it here, because now I know where and who he is.  Happy Birthday Ryan Clarke.  You are loved.  You are special.  And I’m still very glad that I made the choice I did.  Because to me you turned out perfect.  I’m not sure I could have done so well.  But know this.  I knew you first.

I was very much there when you very forcefully kicked “War & Peace” off of my much oversized baby bump.  A literature fan you were not – at least not of Tolstoy, despite my having read to you almost daily.  Because some crazy baby book said that this was important.  At least I didn’t play Mozart thru a paper towel tube.  I wasn’t that crazy.  But I thought about it.  Of course, then there was the day that  I learned you were breech and immediately burst into tears at the thought that I had possibly blinded you because I had been poking you in the head for a month after you took up residence in my ribcage. Yeah, I was that idiotic.  Not surprising.  I had no idea how well protected you were in there.  Also not surprising.  BTW if you love Strawberries, Watermelon, or Marzipan, you’re welcome.  That’s another of my little gifts to you.  And your fashion sense?  Oh that started with the Christian Dior “Going Home” outfit that I picked out for you, and BTW you were adorable in it.

I know.  I saw the pictures.

I watched from the distance.  I hoped for the best.  And I got very lucky.

So enjoy today Son, and know that you are always that to me.

My son.

My child.

Meaningful words.  For someone who means much to many.  For someone who means the world to a few.

My son.

24 years ago you were the center of my world. And the center of my body.

My son.

There are no words more magical to me.

My son.

So, I’m trying to make an effort to write something, anything, at least 4 times a week.  One of my many “Live better” resolutions for this year.  Apparently another was to watch more TV and not get on my Treadmill… who knew that would be successful.  Damn you Downton Abbey!

Anyway, tonight is my first class of the New Year – Business Law.  And, despite the plethora of Lawyers in my family, I can freely state, with no hesitation, that I would rather be flogged in Munn Park every Tuesday night for the next 5 months than take this class.

Yeah.

But, despite that strong dislike, I’m going.  I have to have the damned thing for graduation.  It’s required.  From this point everything I take will be.  So no fun and distracting basketweaving anymore, we’re down to serious shiz.  I hate this part.

Yeah, I admitted it.  I hate this part.  Even if I do have a pretty good grasp of what I’ll be learning.  I don’t really feel it.  But I just want to get done… so I’m doing it.  Grumbling, kicking, and howling… but doing.

BTW… did you notice? Yeah, oxford commas rock.  Heh.

Yes, indeed I should be an English major.  But I’m not.  Because I have this amazing facility for Accounting.  Which I hate.  Oxford Commas are so cool they’re a song.  Not Accounting.  Nobody’s singing about straight line depreciation.

Not yet anyway.  And if a song comes out about it, somebody owes me royalties.

But, regardless of this blather, I’m off to this ridiculous class in Business Law.  Which I am worried sick about.  Because I really don’t want my GPA f’d up, and I think it has the potential to do exactly that.

Hold my hand on this one.  More than my participles might be dangling afterward.

Yikes.

Because, after all, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger… right?  Right?

Cough, cough, or cray-zay-zay, cough, snort.

Yeah, that’s what I thought too.

But, yeah, today marks the beginning of a new semester, which I started on 5 hours of sleep.  The beginning of my “live better in ’12″ resolution, which I began by oversleeping and putting treadmill time off until this evening.

Not a roaring start.

But I’m also resolving to do better tomorrow.  We’ll see how that works out.  Because so far today appears to be a Monday.  Yay.

But, there is the refrigerator, stocked with healthy food from grocerying last night.  And I threw away the last of the Chex Mix last night… over half a bag.  This morning my Green Monster Smoothie (made with Spinach for a change) is yummy.  And there’s a box of Blueberries calling my name in the office right now.  So, at this point I’m calling a draw.

Some good, some bad – isn’t that the sign of a well-balanced life?

Oh, and I also threw away half of a Heath Bar that I found in the car, and I didn’t get coffee this morning either.

Sleepy doesn’t begin to tell the story.

But if good intentions do indeed pave the road to Hell then I might be close to finishing 6 wide lanes with no tolls and lots of rest stops.

Need a ride?

Yeah, I thought so.

Anyway, here’s to new beginnings.  Here’s to not doing my two ten page term papers on the same long night, right before they’re due.  Here’s to having a better plan.  For today, and tomorrow.

Here’s to me.

Yay.

Now, can I take a nap?

The letters tumbled out of the worn envelope, thin and frail, as translucent as the delicate skin of your wrist, where your body might be the most fragile. The words, however, written in an odd combination of both strong and spidery delicate script, were of a stark blue that appeared as strong as the lifeblood that flows underneath your skin. The envelopes, thin and translucent as well, whispered with their stamps and markings, of a time long ago, of people who are long gone, of a time that has passed on. But stamped as they were, with Nazi symbols and Germanic script, they foreshadowed a history that chills, even today, seventy years later, if you remember what these words and symbols signify. If you know, like my husband’s family does, that those words represent, in a phrase, “…the road less traveled…” that indeed “made all the difference”.

With wonder in my voice, holding them in my clumsy and ill-suited 21st century hands, I asked the question that I already knew the answer to and yet dreaded the confirmation of…

“what are these?”

And with a small exclamation, my utterly American Mother-in-Law told us. These were letters from long-dead relatives, sent to her parents, from camps with names like Dachau, Tereszinstadt, Auschwitz, and other cogs in the Nazi Death Machine that so cleanly and efficiently consumed most of her family in the 1930s and 1940s. These delicate lines, traced on paper as thin as their own, were the only links left for her to people who were very much a living part of her life. Until they were not. Until she took a boat, together with her mother, to another world, and life.

They did not take that boat.

Instead, they took a train, a freight train, herded like cattle into a pen, to a place that meant a fate worse than death, or a mercifully fast death… if they were lucky. Some were. Some were not. And in explaining these fragments of her history, she told us of her semi-charmed life, and reminded us of how lucky we all were that her path led to that boat. That new world. That road less-traveled.

She told us of her girl cousin, who wrote from the camps, letters of love and reassurance, until she wrote no more, because she could not. Of her Uncle, a strong and handsome man who looked much like her father, who left Europe to prepare a place for his beautiful wife and children in America, and who lost that same family to the Nazi death machine right after he left.

“Snatched away”. How do you live with that? How?

She spoke of her father, who did not take that boat ride with her, who went to Dachau, and then survived to rejoin his family in America and die an old man of 91 in the southern California sun. The grandfather who my husband remembers as a dichotomy. Who I’ve seen in pictures as alternately smiling and playing with his three grandchildren and as quiet and pensive, possibly haunted forever by the spidery words he still read. Letters from people he loved and lost because of events he could not control and beliefs that he could not change.

History. Their history. A history I do not share by blood, but that has become my own through my marriage to her son. A history that became mine because she took that boat. Because she grew up to bask in the California sun and then to marry a strong and handsome young man named Mitchell. Another survivor of his own personal European tragedy. Because they had three children, two daughters and a single son- my husband Robert. A child that lived, in a family that lived. In the midst of death.

They lived.

And with those words, those letters, that paper, those memories, I now know what six million represents. What six million means to us. Those are not just numbers. Those were my family. Those were her family. They were and are a part of us all and they always will be. These strong and yet fragile words are their lifeblood. These words are how they live on. Forever.

The memories. The stories. They live as long as we keep them alive. As long as we do not forget.

Spidery, frail, yet strong, pulsing and alive. They survived the atrocities done to them. Not physically, but in a far more permanent way.

As words. Words that cannot be exterminated. Words that cannot be killed.

Words.

They live in their words. And our memories.

We can never forget.

Never forget.

Words.

Yes… yes it is.  Right now anyway.  As I sit in my Living Room, wearing a Christmas tee and my Mickey Mouse Christmas PJ Bottoms, sipping on today’s first cup of coffee, and admiring the sparkly glow emanating from our Christmas Tree.

Yes, the Weiners finally got the tree up.  Be amazed.

And, let me tell you kids, it’s gorgeous!  Thank you Ergel Farms for growing the perfect specimen.  Which we hunted down in your extremely picked over land and chopped down ourselves.

I like doing that… feels nice knowing my tree is a Florida tree… and of course I’m buying local and helping a Florida farmer by buying from him and not some random guy in North Carolina.

Nice.

But that’s not the entire point of this post.  Although it does make a nice sidenote. No, the point is that sitting and reflecting this morning is nice.  Comforting.  Needed.

We’ve got company… the kids are here and my Dad & Step-Mom have been visiting this week. My quiet little house has been a whirlwind of activity.  And we’ve had the added concern of daily checking in with Mom as she has dealt with Jimmy’s Bypass Surgery. BTW he’s doing great and I thank all of you for your kind words and thoughts during that debacle. According to the Facebook he was  up walking yesterday and he’s off oxygen, so hopefully these are signs that his recovery won’t be an ordeal.

Hopefully.

Then, of course, there was my Graduation.  Something I wasn’t even that interested in truthfully.  Something I’m really glad now that I did.  It really was a big deal.  Neither of my parents finished high school.  Both of their children have now graduated from college.  That’s big.  That’s certainly not the rule in east Tennessee where we come from.  We broke the rule.  Yes, it took a while, but we broke the rule.

I like breaking rules.

But now all that’s over.  And it’s time to just sit still.  Reflect.  Know that this is all good.  Ponder the meanings.  Know the love in your heart.  Say my thanks to whichever G-d is in charge this week for making my life so full.  So blessed.  So charmed.

Thank you.

For the love of family – the people I don’t get to pick out who have to love me regardless.  For the love of friends – the nicest gift that my road back home has given me.  Never say that you can’t go back home… I have, and it’s wonderful.  I can’t think of any place on Earth that I’d rather be than here, with this life and these people.  And my husband.  The second miracle in my life.  The best (albeit occasionally unwilling) Partner I could hope for in this adventure.

It’s nice to take a moment to slow down and see all this,  feel it, and know that this life is something special.  Even if I wonder whether I’m going to wake up one day and find out it was just a glimpse*.

I hope not.

Anyway, thanks to all of you who still read this for continuing to come back.  Thanks for still liking me.  Thanks for understanding when I go a little while between posts.  This wonderful life is crazy, yo? But know that I’ll always come back.  As Michael Silence says “they always come back”.  Yes, yes we do.  Us bloggers.  Not for money or fame.  Just for the love of words.  On a screen.  Well-written.

Words.  So powerful.  And the most powerful of all?

Thank you.

Aggravation that is… since they just keep coming I might as well get bendy and make some room.  Not that I’m getting options on that, right?

Yeah… right.

But today?  Well, today there might or might not be a body in my attic.  Or under my house.  At this point I’m not entirely sure about the exact location.  I just know there’s an odor.  Of something mildly deadish.  And garlicky.  Which is exactly what you want in your house when you’ve got 40 tons of company coming.  And, of course, since I only used glue traps for the Chupacabra all I can conclude is that the odor is related to the dead lightbulb in my hallway and that there might be an electrocuted creature in the attic.

Either that or a dead Vampire perhaps?  Or perhaps the Chupacabra got ahold of a bad clam at his last supper at Olive Garden?  Because, hey, Chupacabras don’t eat good Italian food, right?  They’re eating from the big buffet out back.

And those Glue Traps?  Yeah, I consider those an epic fail.  Since, after all that effort and haranguing from Bob, all we managed to catch was one of the dogs.  And last time I checked Lulu wasn’t able to jump on my countertops and poop.

Yeah.

However, if you need a smile today, picture our Boston Terrier attempting to walk through the house, with one foot covered in rug fuzz so completely that it looked like she had on a tiny dog-sized fuzzy slipper, and the other foot still firmly affixed to the glue trap.

Yeah, um, you might want to swallow your coffee before you read this in the future.  I’ll wait while you go get a paper towel and clean up that mess you just made by snorting coffee at your screen.

Okay, anyway, of course it doesn’t end there, my life of fun and excitement. Because my Stepdad – Jimbob – is having a heart cath done this morning.  Something silly like Angina for TWO MONTHS that he’s been ignoring!!! Yeah, me too, that’s exactly something I’d put off.  After all, it’s not like it can KILL YOU or anything.  Right?

And the three of you who just mentioned my recent random symptoms… shut up.  It’s totally different.

Totally.

Anyway, of course, because this is my life, the uproar continues… my Dad and Step-mom are on their way down here as I type.  And they left east Tennessee this morning with only transcribed notes on how to find our home but NO GPS or city map!!!

I know, seriously?  Do people still drive without GPS?  How?  Probably explains all those Silver Alerts, right?  Yeah.

At this point I will consider it a roaring success if they find Florida.  And yes, I know that Florida is pretty hard to miss if you’re on I-75… but with the luck I’m having, and given that a damned Black Cat that ran out in front of my Dad last night… well, you just never know.

But, then again, since he’s coming to a house with a dead body somewhere in it, it might be better for him if he gets lost.  Maybe.

So, there’s the week so far.  And that brings up my burning question… does anybody else’s life look like this?  Because I live with a daily dose of crazy that makes most mental health crisis centers look like bastions of sanity.  And I never hear you guys say that your lives are nuts like this.  But mine?

C   to the             RAZY!!!  All.  The.  Time.

So, enjoy your weekend… in your own personal bastion of sanity.  And think of me.  If you hear about someone being Baker-acted near Lake Hollingsworth… don’t be surprised.  I’m needing a vacation… and that might be the only way I get one.

Maybe.

As in “there’s a very large Rodent living at Casa de Weiner”.  As in, “no, I’m not kidding”.  See also “we have a new pet”.

Yeah.

And now, knowing how big this thing is, I’m thinking that Little Dog isn’t as mental as we previously thought.  Because we thought she was getting into fights with her blanket during the night but now I’m wondering whether she was seeing our other Roommate… or perhaps it tried to steal her covers.

Ick.

And before you suggest it, I bought traps.  Those big ones, with lots of glue, and put them right beside the Chupacabra Door under the Dishwasher.  And you would not believe the grief I got from Bob over that.  He said it was like something out of the Holocaust.  He also got all sad when I put said trap down last night, and basted it liberally with Ketchup… because we hear rodents like that.

And then, after a pretty restful 5 hours of sleep, there was this morning, at 4am, when I found the trap, with quite a bit of fur in it, some extra whiskers laying on the floor, a couple of ketchupy footprintsl… and nothing else.

The damned thing is big enough to get free from the glue trap.

And when we saw the size of his feet… ohholyshiz!!!!!!!And that’s when Bob started channeling his inner murderer too.  He said that we don’t have a rodent issue.  No, according to him, something that big getting into your house qualifies as a home invasion.

Complete with orders to “shoot on sight”, you know, because Shiz is getting’ serious, yo?

And to my friend who told me that this wasn’t Mickey Mouse in my house… sorry but you might be wrong.  From the size of his foot it could indeed be Mickey… but I’m damned certain that our house is not going to be “the happiest place on earth” for him.  Because we found “evidence” behind our couch yesterday that’s making us think he might be living in that vicinity.

OHMAHGAH!!! He’s everywhere!!!!!

So today I’m sleepy, squidged out, and studying all the rodent literature I can find to determine the best possible way to kill him.

The Rat, that is.

And after he dies, I intend to hang his ginormous carcass outside, where the other neighborhood Rats can see him, as an example of what happens to creatures that come into our house illegally.

Unless he gets us first.

For today his Door has been duct-taped up… but by tonight there may be wire and a board nailed over that hole.  After I throw poison down the hole.

Yes, I am indeed serious.  And we’re going mano a ratto…

May the best sentient creature win.  (ps, that’s me.)

Roasted Brined Turkey
Greenberg’s Smoked Turkey
Sage & Italian Sausage Stuffing
Chive & Creme Fraiche Mashed Potatoes
Green Beans with Carmelized Balsamic Onions
Salad w/Roasted Autumn Vegetables, Goat Cheese & Candied Pecans
Mama Stamberg’s Cranberry Relish
Yeast Rolls

Yes, I know, not a damned casserole on it, and for that I might be thankful . But whatever you eat, share it with people you love. And know that no matter how bad things are, for someone else they might be worse.

We wish you peace… and perspective… and love,
The Weiners