4th Quarter Katie

I don’t know what it says about me that I am spending a portion of my Monday pondering Bundt cake.  This morning, I was asked, “What is bundt cake?”  That led me to ask myself, “What IS bundt cake?”  To me, it is plain dry cake.  It is the kind of food that I imagine people in medieval times forcing down their gullets because it’s cheap to make and thanks to its brutally slow metabolic rate, it only requires one to eat 8 or 9 times per year.

And which came first, the Bundt cake or the pan?  Was the fancy pan created to dress up this nasty dry cake or did someone create a pretty pan leaving the actual cake as an afterthought? I tend to lean towards the later.  People are crazy about their Bundt pans.  There is literally a Bundt pan for everything.  Having a tailgate party?  Why not make a Bundt cake in the shape of a stadium?  Going to the beach?  You’ll be pleased to know that you can take with you an ocean-themed, dry, nasty cake!

At some point in Bundt cake evolution, someone realized that their edible works of art weren’t being consumed (inevitably at a pot luck.  Have you ever noticed that people get downright hostile if there food doesn’t get eaten at a pot luck), so in an effort to tempt would be diners Bundt Cakeurs decided to add flavoring and/or icing to their dense confection.  you can now find all kinds of flavors of Bundt cake.  There’s cinnabundt, banana pudding bundt, chocolate whiskey (because I always put those two flavors together) bundt, gingerbread pumpkin pear frappachino latte bundt – actually that one isn’t really a flavor, but I am willing to bet that it would be just as dry and gross as all the other flavors. 

I guess like all time-tested oddities, the bundt cake will not go quietly into the cold dark night.  It persists forward like mullets, plaid, and black denim.  It issues its silent battle cry as it sits in untouched stoicism at the center of the dessert table, garnished with berries and fresh flowers.  Inexplicably, Bundt cake will be, forever.

And now for your viewing pleasure, I give you Bundt cake:

As most of you will recall, about 5 and 1/2 months ago, one sick morning, not only did I lose the previous nights dinner, but also my kitchen.  (Could I possibly fit another comma into that sentence??)  You can go back and find the post if your sweet little heart desires; however, I don’t care to rehash it in this post.

Five and a half months (most without use of cooking supplies) later, I am finally back in business.  I have lamented and kicked dust about the lack of a microwave, stove, and dishwasher (or even a good sink to wash dishes in), but I would never allow myself to gripe about my circumstances.  I could try and claim a noble reason for my tight lips, but I won’t.  Let me be completely honest.  This kitchen.  Scratch that.  This GORGEOUS kitchen, only cost me $500.  I will allow you a moment to reattach your jaw…

Okay, now that your jaw is back in place, I will explain.  $500 was the cost of the deductible.  The kitchen nearly cost me over $10,000.  It would have if the damage done had been just about anything other than burst pipes.  I thank God for saving my ass in this one.  (Actually, he saves my ass all the time, but I always notice the financial hiney savings most acutely).

So without further adieu… here is my new kitchen (and 1/2 bath!)

Over the past couple of weeks I have collected more than a couple curious cases of WTF. (What the *bleep*, for those of you who aren’t up on all the text message acronyms).  My adventure into all things random began one lazy morning when I entered the elevator of Ag North to give my legs a much desired (not so much needed) reprieve from stair climbing, on my way into work.  As the doors closed behind me I realized that I had the smallest riding companion I had ever encountered.  A cockroach.  I side-stepped to the left to give the other passenger a liberal amount of space and pondered which floor he/she might be heading to.  My question was answered on the third floor when my new friend proved that he/she wasn’t heading somewhere as much as he/she was just along for the ride.  It headed for the crack between the elevator and the door and disappeared into the dark void of the elevator shaft.

My next encounter of the strange involves the evolution of a hospital parking guard.  Construction in the parking structure of the VA hospital 3 to 4 weeks ago.  To stop our dear veterans from trying to force their way into a closed structure, the VA administration decided that the best way to prevent this awkward situation would be to place a guard next to it’s entrance to redirect traffic.  The ordeal began with a lone guard standing in the sun and approaching cars as they attempted to enter the structure.  Clearly this was an exhausting and uncomfortable situation, so in the following days a rolling office chair and bottle of water appeared.  This solved the problems of back aches and dehydration, however that pesky sun persisted in its blazing.  Our champion the parking guard evolved in realizing that the VA parking sign would provide a bit of shade if the chair was placed directly behind it.  However, what is a gentleman to do when he needs to use the facilities?  Within days, a porta-john appeared.  So with his bottle of water, VA sign, porta-potty, and rolling chair, our favorite guard was briefly contented.  Unfortunately, a few days later, Lexington got really hot.  I walked by one afternoon to discover that a collapsable shelter had been erected over the sidewalk and a sports cooler of water had been furnished.  For weeks this elaborate setup seemed to do the job.  Well, until today when it hit 93 and at least 90% humidity.  No amount of shade and water could provide the much deserved comfort of the humble sentry.  Today, a van, complete with air conditioning was gifted by the powers that be.  I giggled in delight as I saw the hero enjoying the icy breeze of motor-vehicle AC-goodness, the plush, spacious cushiness of the middle row of van seating, and I am sure, the sultry tunes of 104.5 the Cat or 98.1 the Bull.  I figure it can’t be too long now until a hut complete with electricity, running water, and cable pops up.

And the final experience I will relay, occurred this morning.  As Beth and I finished our sweltering morning run we approached a corner and witnessed a rare moment.  Across the street a young man was behind the wheel of a yellow VW Bug.  This is odd enough, I know.  However, to really add flare to the abnormal, this young man was eating a banana.  A boy in a Bug eating a banana.  We cocked our heads, looked at each other, and laughter ensued.

Based on these recent events (and others), I have decided that you don’t find the most memorable moments in life; the most memorable moments in life find you. Have a great weekend, and may you too be blessed with an abundance of unique memories.

I’ve suspected it for some time now, but today I am sure of it… I am the human equivalent of an iPhone App.  Over the past 6 months, people have approached me with increasing frequency with their random questions and needs.

“Do you know where so and so’s office is?”  

“Do you have a key to the door across the hall?”  

“Do you have a dime?”  

Today, it has been hilariously relentless.  It began with three consecutive phone calls regarding financial documentation, which wouldn’t be so funny had I not hired Celeste a month ago for that.  It continued with a random key request.  I wasn’t able to provide a key; however, because I have been asked for said key so many times, I was able to tell the requester exactly where to find it.  Later I left the relative protection of my office to check my mailbox.  As I rounded the corner to the mailbox hall, a woman approached me and asked, “Do you know where Darlene is?”  I chuckled and said, “On a mail run perhaps?”  I had no clue.  Back in the office, I  giggled and shook my head as I speculated with Celeste about the invisible-to-me sign on my forehead that tells people to direct their inquiries in my general direction.  She gave me thew “you’re weird” look that I so commonly get from her and wandered back to my desk.  Not 5 minutes later, a woman walked into the office and asked, “Do you know where So-And-So’s office is?”  Of course, being the collector of almost useless information, I was able to direct her to the place she needed to be.  Celeste and I laughed and laughed at my point being proven.

It’s just that I don’t want to tell you.  Well, some of you, that is.  My time as a blogger has grown me and changed me and mostly, shown me things I never knew before.  I am very aware of the fact that I have developed a very unique following.  My family, my friends, acquaintances that want to know what I am doing because they care, and acquaintances who want to know what I am doing because well, they just want to know what I am doing, and probably several readers who have never met me before.  Prior to starting a blog, I was unaware the negative aspect of blogging.  I shared my life freely and shunned caution in opening up to my readers.

Over time this has changed.  I am acutely aware that a blog is another way for people to check up on you.  I love this benefit for my loved ones.  Even with certain acquaintances I don’t mind.  The people that care, deserve to know about my life.  But for the first time, because of a fairly recent event that involved my blog, I am finding that I no longer feel comfortable sharing so much of my life.  I have spent weeks thinking about how I should move forward.  I could password protect the blog, thereby confusing my parents and any other less technically savvy readers or I could move my blog yet again, but it is really hard to name a blog!  I could stop writing, which has basically been the ticket to this point; or I could again throw caution to the wind and put my life out there, for better or worse (to which my mother would once again scold me by telling me that a blog is like a street corner and that I am just shouting my business for the world to hear.  Which is mostly right, except I don’t think that most of the world really cares about my business.).

I know that I don’t want to quit blogging; I love it and miss it, and it is now a part of me (like running and lactose intolerance).  I think I have decided that at least for the time being, my posts will be pretty general.  Fewer stories from my personal life (although they have been wicked good lately ) and less time spent on rants, raves, and what it means to live inside this head. (I know you all are terribly disappointed.)

This is probably the way I should have managed my blog in the first place, but sometimes there is no way to learn besides just going through it.

So tomorrow on the blog… an in-depth perspective analysis on what it means to be Paris Hilton’s wardrobe manager.  Aren’t you so excited?? 

28 years ago today three lives changed dramatically.  Emphasis on the drama.  ;)  Twins entered the world.  I guess Mom shouldn’t really have been surprised – her due date was in the month of Gemini’s and her husband’s name means twin.  Surprised or not, willing it to be or not to be, the little duo of chaos came to be.

Mom and Dad, if I do say so myself , you did and are doing a great job!  On the way back from New Orleans, I saw a pair of twins who couldn’t have been older than 4.  They were the cutest little firecrackers you ever did see!  I looked at the weary smiles on their parents’ faces and thought about you both.  Twins: the double blessing and the double curse.

Jeannie’s life also changed on June 4th, 1981.  She went from being the only child for 7 years to being the older sister of twins.  Sisters who would forever take each others side and harass a teenager as she got ready for school in the morning.  Somehow though, through all the obstacles, harassment, and frustrations, she has managed to be an incredible role model and find humor in her position as a sister to younger twins.  She has guided us through the milestones of life, offered comfort, support, and the occasional wine cooler  in times of sadness and distress, and she has learned to let us be ourselves even if it involves a messy kitchen after a night of baking with the girls.  Jeannie – you are the best sister a set of twins could have.  I speak for both of us (because I am actually communicating with Beth in my head) when I say, we love you.

And to you my wombmate (pun intended), I feel like the luckiest girl alive to have gotten to share every moment of life with someone who I can say, is exactly like me, because we are, at least genetically.  You are my best friend, my soul mate, my teacher, and my student.  You get all of my stupid jokes, you humor my crazy whims, and to you I am the best person you know, even if your opinion may be biased.  I only wish that everyone could experience the kind of relationship we have.  A relationship completely free of judgement and utterly saturated in love and affection.  You are my safe place.  I love you so much and am honored to call you my twin.  Happy Birthday Tweedledee!