Leftovers

If you're lucky, you willl have leftovers. If you went to your mother's house and every relative you have was there and they all are incredible pigs who eat everything set before them, you won't. Have leftovers. And you are a sad panda.

But if you have leftovers, I have some ideas for you!!!

Leftover Turkey: How about some TURKEY and LEEK PIE!!!


Leftover Stuffing: You could use it to make This Decorative Craft! (get it? stuffing? Nevermind.)


Leftover Potatoes: Those should be saved for Home Improvement Projects.


Leftover Cranberry Sauce: Save it for next Halloween and make This Lovely Ensemble.


Leftover Gravy: who are we kidding here? there's never enough gravy. And you know it.


Leftover Pumpkin Pie: We already discussed this. I recommend the Mask.

Leftover Sweet Potatoes: This is a really good one and my own original idea so there is no link. Put them inside a snowball and throw them at people! Imagine their consternation! Pelted with sweet potato! As we are expecting a huge blizzard tonite, I'm really looking forward to this.
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Thank you Debi for making me laugh.

My good friend and former roommate sent this to me today. I loved it and hope you will too. I take absolutely NO credit for this, but I couldn't resist sharing.

Greetings All,

For those of you who are coming to my place for Thanksgiving dinner,
Martha Stewart ain't gonna be here! I'm telling you in advance, so
don't act surprised. Since Ms. Stewart won't be coming, I've made a few
small changes:

Our sidewalk will NOT be lined with homemade, paper bag luminaries.
After a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done,
rows of flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect.

Once inside, our guests will note that the entry hall is not decorated

with the swags of Indian corn and fall foliage I had planned to make.
Instead, I've gotten the kids involved in decorating by having them
track in colorful autumn leaves from the front yard. The mud was their
idea.

The dining table will NOT be covered with expensive linens, fancy
china,or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match
and everyone will get a fork. Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will
refrain from using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins
from last Christmas.

Our centerpiece will not be the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that I
promised. Instead we will be displaying a hedgehog-like decoration
hand-crafted from the finest construction paper.
The children assure me it is a turkey.

We will be dining fashionably late. The children will entertain you
while you wait. I'm sure they will be happy to share every choice
comment I have made regarding Thanksgiving, Pilgrims, and the turkey
hot line. Please remember that most of these comments were made at 5:00
a.m. upon discovering that the turkey was still hard enough to cut
diamonds.

As accompaniment to the children's recital, I will play a recording of
tribal drumming. If the children should mention that I don't own a
recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming sounds
suspiciously like a frozen turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them. They
are lying.

We toyed with the idea of ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the
start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional
method. We'll just holler, "come and eat."

We've also decided against a formal seating arrangement. When the smoke
alarm sounds, please gather around the table and sit where you like.
In the spirit of harmony, we will ask the children to sit at a separate
table. .....in a separate room......next door.

Now, I know you have all seen pictures of one person carving a turkey
in front of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. This will not be
happening at our dinner.

For safety reasons, the turkey will be carved in a private ceremony.
I stress "private" meaning: Do not, under any circumstances, enter the
kitchen to laugh at me. Do not send small, unsuspecting children to
check on my progress. I have an electric knife.

The turkey is unarmed. It stands to reason that I will eventually win.
When I do, we will eat.

I would like to take this opportunity to remind my young diners that
"passing the rolls" is not a football play. Nor is it a request to bean
your sister in the head with warm tasty bread.

Before I forget, there is one last change. Instead of offering a choice
between 12 different scrumptious desserts, we will be serving the
traditional pumpkin pie, garnished with whipped cream and small
fingerprints. You will still have a choice; take it or leave it.

Martha Stewart will NOT be dining with us this year.
Next year is not looking good either.

HAPPY [EARLY] THANKSGIVING
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Epic Family Stories Chapter 1: My ankle hurts.

My ankle hurts because I'm old. And because I have some serious arthritis going on.

But mostly because Luke Skywalker ran over it with the car.

It was many years ago, when he was a little tiny three year old. And it's an exciting tale. Every family has these epic tales that add spice to our lives. So I share it with you today.

I had just made a quick run over to the school for some reason, and I had to go somewhere else in just a second, so I left the van parked uphill on the wrong side of the road in front of our house. At the curb. In PARK. I promise. The kids were all in the backyard playing, supervised by the ever-responsible Thing One.

I ran into the house to grab something: the bag of aluminum cans hanging from the doorknob in the kitchen. And ran back out again. In the house for less than one minute. Didn't stop to use the restroom or feed the chickens or anything.

When I stepped out the door, I saw the van starting to roll down the street.

Luke Skywalker is standing up on the drivers seat.

Panic (just a wee bit, mind you).

What do I do? Continue running. Down the sidewalk. Chasing the van as it rolls backward downhill hugging the curb. I'm pretty sure I dropped the cans at some point. I played basketball in high school and college, and I don't think I EVER ran faster. Thing One comes into the front yard to find the missing Luke Skywalker, sees what's going on, and offers the useful contribution of screaming at the top of her lungs.

The neighbor across the street (not the one who spent the better part of a month painting the mortar between the bricks of her house with a craft brush and craft paint, the other one) who is out front pruning her roses, hears Karen screaming, sends her husband after me and calls 911 (I especially love how she didn't wait half a second to see how it would turn out -- she prepared for the worst). Her elderly husband tries valiantly to catch up with me and the van.

Me? I'm able to catch up with the van because I'm amazing. Then I try to open the driver's door. Which I actually succeed at while running sideways now. The transmission is in reverse. Thank you Luke Skywalker for changing the gears for Mommy. We had just had a new transmission put in, and I recall thinking "Crap. New tranny. Must save kid from certain death. To hell with the tranny."

Have you ever tried to change gears in an automatic transmission while it is rolling downhill and you are running sideways outside the vehicle?

I don't recommend it. I don't really think it can be done.

You'd probably just trip and fall. Like I did.

I hung on to the steering wheel, and proceeded to be dragged by the car down the street. Left hand gripping the steering wheel, both legs under the car. Right hand? Put that on the foot brake and stopped the car.

Yep. I'm amazing.

Except the car stopped on me, the tire having rolled up my foot onto my ankle.

Ow. Quite a lot of ow.

The two elderly neighbors caught up with me (another saw what was transpiring and joined Neighbor One in the chase) and then pushed the car off me. Luke Skywalker wasn't even slightly unnerved by the adventure.

The paramedics, a police car and a fire engine arrive. Did I mention we live one block from the fire station? Very convenient. Allows you to be humiliated in front of ALL your neighbors so much more quickly. They check me out, diagnose me with "lacerations and contusions," and a little bit of road rash. Since I can walk okay, they chose not to transport me. They do recommend that I see a doctor if the ankle gets any worse. And then they blessedly leave quickly.

Thank the burly neighbor men who pushed my van, and Neighbor One's quick-thinking wife. Start the car, drive it home and park it in the driveway. Reassure Thing One that she is not a failure at babysitting, Luke Skywalker is just an unstoppable holy terror. Calm the kids down, and start counting the bruises.

Fifteen minutes later, my INSANE PSYCHIC MOTHER calls. "Is everything okay? I was just feeling kind of worried about you." What's up with that? This is not the first time Insane Psychic Mother has done this. Gave her the run down, everyone is okay, no worries. "But what about the baby?" Oh, he's fine. Just fine.

"Not him, the new one?"

Holy Crap.

I forgot I was preggers.

Four months along, three high risk babies with history of miscarrage.

"I guess I could call the doctor and get checked out."

There's an understatement.

I spent two months in a giant black velcro walking boot. Eclair was born 5 months later, and I still wonder if maybe Pervasive Developmental Delay can be caused by extreme levels of stress and anxiety? We'll never know.

Alas, no good lessons were learned. Luke Skywalker? He learned that it's easy to put the car in reverse (new cars you have to push the brake pedal to change gears from "park" so this lesson no longer applies), and if you run over your mom with the mini-van FIRE TRUCKS AND POLICE COME TO YOUR HOUSE!!! Thing One? She learned that you can't take your eyes of that kid for even a fraction of a second. So instead she went on babysitting strike. Had to take that little ornery boy everywhere with me.

Why do I share this today? Because Luke Skywalker just turned 13. He's a teenager now. Almost old enough for a learners permit.

Not in a million years, buddy.
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What I did this week instead of blogging.

I kinda burned out there, blogging every day in October. Karen wanted to do it again this month because of the whole "Blogging Month" thing, but I said no. Unless she wants to post everyday instead of me.

I can't do it! I is bizzy! I has lots to do! I'm a responsible adult, after all.

So here's what I did this week instead of blogging:

VOTED -- please see previous post.

Edited 14 BILLION photos: family portraits mostly, and also Lovely Whit's engagement photos.

That Aussie fiancee of hers was all squinty in all the photos except the ones where we were under the bridge. Aren't they cute!! They're getting married in January. So, yeah. Pitchers. Lots of them. ALmost all edited now, only about 300 to go. Seriously. Out of over 1600 frames over the last four weeks. It's Taley's fault, she gave me a new 4gig card for the camera. Shot until it was full.

In other news, my two insane daughters decided to switch rooms this week. So they emptied all their crap into my formerly clean living room. All of it. They have too much crap. Way too much crap.

See? And there's still furniture in the rooms! Tons of it! They started last Sunday night, and a week later my living room still looks pretty much like that. GET TO WORK, LAZY GIRLS!!! Finish the job. If they think they are getting any new clothes for Christmas, they are sadly mistaken. I now know how much they already have. They don't need ANYTHING.

Also, I spent a lot of time cleaning up from Halloween. Taking the paper down from the windows, recalling all the borrowed costumes, and cleaning up the crafting mess I left behind me on the dining room table. That's where I discovered this:

Which of these things is not like the others? Which of these things just doesn't belong? I tell ya' what -- tha's what happens when you buy da google eyes at the dollar store. There was a billion in there, so I shouldn't complain.

The high point of my week was when I was SOOOO tired and SOOOO not paying attention in the shower.  I am sick, you see, and not at my best. Thing Two has shared some kind of plague with me, and I feel like I'm going to cough up a lung. My head hurts. My throat feels like I swallowed a bottle brush. I am achy and swollen, and hungry but not at the same time. It's pretty horrible, really, probably because I haven't been sick for a very long time. Probably more than a year. So I'm really being wimpy about it. And I hadn't put in my contacts yet. So in the shower I was presented with some choices when it came to hair care:

Hokay - so all are pink, and all are.....bottles of soapy stuff. So I probably shouldn't have chosen the one right in the middle. 'Cause I don't really have a problem in need of "HAIRBALL CONTROL."

WOULD SOMEONE LIKE TO EXPLAIN TO ME WHY THERE IS CAT SHAMPOO IN MY SHOWER? The cats get bathed like what? Once every six months? So maybe we could keep that under the sink instead. And then I won't have to worry about "Hairball Control" shampoo being my option for today.

Thank you for tuning in.
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Why I hate PTO

I don't hate PTA. I love PTA. It's PTO I despise. Some unaccountable organization that collects (I should say mercilessly hounds parents for) donations, with little or no accountability. No time-tested proven organization with fantastic programs providing opportunities to interact on a local, state and national level. No system of  working checks & balances.....just a bunch of mom's who could run off with the money and buy a new washer/dryer with our funds (wait - actually, maybe I could be treasurer for a little bit? I do need a new dryer, actually). And they come up with the most incredibly insane ideas for unrealistic fundraisers.

I was deeply involved in PTA at the other elementary school across town, where we lived until the year Luke Skywalker started Kindergarten. I helped out with everything, organized activities, and was always around to do the grunt work. They even threatened to make me PTA President one year. We had great fundraisers with good value exchanged for donations when we organized silent auctions and the like. We asked for donations from local businesses to take the pressure off of parents as well.

Eclair brought home the flyer for the "Old Fashioned Country Carnival" fundraising activity that is to be held this coming weekend. I swear to you that I am quoting this verbatim (with one obvious exception) and not altering it in any way. THIS WAS ACTUALLY PRINTED AND SENT HOME WITH EVERY CHILD. I can only assume they intend to carry out this plan:

COWPIE FUNDRAISER:

To make donations fun1, we're selling candy cow-tails for $10 each2. When you buy a cow-tail, you get to pick a square on the (I'm afraid to mention the actual name of the school because my poor Eclair has to go there) field. On the night of the carnival we'll let a cow onto the field3. The square where she leaves her "pie" will be the grand winner4. The prizes for the grand winner will be......(etc. etc. etc.)....we will sell 5 cow-tails for $45 or 10 cow-tails for $90.

This is so wrong on so many levels.

1. There is nothing "fun" about poop.  I have potty trained five children. And cleaned up after one dog and two cats. And seen the monkeys at the zoo. I am here to assure you that excrement in any form is not "fun."

2. $10 for one cow tail. $45 for 5 cow tails. $90 for 10 cow tails. Wow. It's a good thing I'm a millionaire and have nothing better to spend my money on in this present horrid economy. Wouldn't want to waste my money feeding and dressing my child when there are activities like "Westerly Precipice Elementary Idol" to be funded. Or the ballroom dancing for fourth graders - Eclair would be truly deprived if that happy activity met the chopping block.  ***addendum: I have discovered that the prize for the "grand winner" is valued at $45. So why would I want to spend $90 trying to win it?

3. Cow. On the field. Where children play. And more children gather for 489 soccer games on Saturdays. And  -- the cow is being brought there for the express purpose of making a "pie!"  In order for this to be truly "fair" the cow would have to be turned loose in order to select the "square" in which she will choose to deposit her "pie."  Loose cow. That could mean anything from "wild cow roaming the field out of control" to "belligerent stubborn cow who refuses to move and commences pooping in the parking lot." 
 

4. I'm curious to know what they are going to feed this cow in order to ensure that the will be only one pie. Or is our devoted PTO President (now in her sixth year in that capacity) going to be standing ready with some kind of plug to prevent excess pie dispersal?

Seriously folks, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Anybody got the number for the Health Department? They just might be interested in this. Maybe they'll make a donation!


*****UPDATE****
Okay okay! Lots of you like PTO! I just liked PTA soooo much better, and the PTO at Westerly Precipice Elementary couldn't care less if I lived or died and cow pooping as a fundraiser is a stupid idea. That's all. No more angry comments because I'm an idiot. You already knew I was an idiot, right?
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Now I've Seen Everything.

My neighbor. Not the one with 8 kids. The other one with 8 kids.


Mr. Neighbor is cleaning out the mini van.


Not with a vacuum.


But a leaf blower.

Now why didn't I think of that?

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Namin' Yer Baby

I've been giving a little thought to names lately. I've got friends & family expecting new babes, meeting new people, and creating accounts at work. New & interesting names have been thick on the ground.

So let's say you're looking to name something or someone. Got a few ideas about that.

TOP TEN BABY NAMING TIPS

10. Remember Pat? The gender ambiguous star of SNL? Steer away from those names. Pat, Chris, Tony(i), Jo(e), Sam, Dee, or Terr(i)y are pretty hard to determine over the phone if  she is a low alto or he is a high tenor. "Ma'am, could you spell that first name for me? Oh, I'm sorry SIR!"

9. Beware the big name. When your last name is Remingtonstonewell, don't burden the kid with a big ole first name like Paddington Fitzwalter. Go with Bill. Or Max. They're going to have a hard enough time, don't make it worse.

8. Don't make up a name. Like Shaniquabelle. Or Treshawton. Or Renesmee. Not only is this poor kid going to have to spell his name out for the rest of his life, anyone who hears this name will think YOU are some kind of freak.  Don't ruin a perfectly good name like Jasmine by "making it unique" spelling it in some freakish way like Jazmynn. Which leads me to my next suggestion.

7. Steer away from names like Bambi, Jazmynn, Electra, Bunnie or Trixie. Bambi ain't going to law school. Jazmynn won't be aspiring to be a doctor.  When Bunnie, Trixie & Electra graduate from high school, they will be voted "most likely to become a pole dancer."

6.  Similarly, Elmer will grow up to be a janitor. Buddy will be feeding rabbits in a pet store. Spike is all set for a lifetime career at the Seven Eleven. And Cody is doomed to a life of rodeo. Please, plan ahead for your poor child. If you want your kid to have a shot at becoming a lawyer or a doctor, you need at least two middle names here. Good ones. Like Emerson Randall or Miranda Grace.

5. You better really like your kid's name. You're going to be using it for a long time. Try yelling it out your back door 23 times before you truly decide. 'Cause that's what you're going to be doing for the next 18 years. Srsly.

4. Remember that your child will only be a child for a relatively small part of their entire life. Little girls in pigtails who go by Tiffany Crystal may feel like they have outgrown such a moniker when they are staring at the wrong side of 40. I kind of feel like just having a name like that can cause brain damage....

3. Don't name yer kid after food. Apple. Moon Pie. It's a freaking birth certificate, not a menu.

2. Strike the balance between "dime a dozen" and "what the heck were you thinking?"  Use a popular name, and you risk having your son be one of seven "Jaxon's" on the soccer team. But think of poor Moxie CrimeFighter Jillette. Yeah, her parents are nut jobs  and she doesn't have a chance.

1. The classics are always best. When in doubt, look to your scriptures and find a great name. One that is appealing, and easy for all to pronounce.... A name that will inspire and give the child something to live up to.... A name still relevant in today's world.



Like Agrippa or Bathsheba.

Yeah, baby. That's the ticket.
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My advice column.

Not many people know this, but I am excellent at giving advice. Just because it is unsolicited, doesn't mean it isn't good advice. Really!

Today I'd like to share with you some advice about cleaning out the refrigerator. I have much to offer on this particular subject, because my fridge is  a giant mess and in desperate need of cleaning all the time. Thus, I am an expert on refrigerators that need to be cleaned, right? Here goes.

Dear Ms. Know-it-all,

I recently found some yellow fruit in my fridge. I have no recollection of buying yellow fruit, but I have bought limes in the last 6 months. What do you suggest I do with them? Throw them away? 

----- Perplexed in Provo

Dear Perplexed,
Heavens no, child! Your limes have achieved a higher state! When life gives you lemons, make lemonade! By no means, though, would I recommend actually drinking the lemonade.

Dear Crazy Woman who offers advice,

My mother recently gave me a sealed container of chicken soup base. I noticed today that the expiration date on the package is March 2009, well over a year ago. Is she losing it, or is this perhaps an attempt on my life?

----- Murdered by my mother?

Dear Murdered,
Of course it is an attempt on your life! And the lives of you husband and children also! She was suggesting that you cook, and even without expired soup base your family's lives are in danger! Go get some take-out pizza instead, and live another day.

Dear Whoever you are,

I am sick to death of cleaning up spilled chocolate syrup in the fridge. The kids never close the lid all the way, and they shove things in the fridge all willy-nilly, and it's always getting knocked over and wasted. Any suggestions?

----- Cocoa Cleaner-upper

Dear Cocoa,
MAKE THE EVIL CHILDREN LICK IT UP. Wasting chocolate is a cardinal sin.This will probably never happen again.

Dear What's 'er name,

I have trouble with uneaten leftovers going to waste in my fridge. How do you label your leftovers so people can readily identify them and use them up?

----- Wanda Waster

Dear Wanda,
I use a very simple color-coding method. Blue mold is vegetables.  White mold is cheese. Black mold is bread.  Green mold is fruit and/or meat. Really, its just a matter of making sure your husband and children understand the color code.

Dear I don't really care who you are please answer my question,

What. The heck. Is this?

--- Really, really scared.

Dear Scared,
RUN!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!! It's either Jimmy Hoffa's head, or a Tomahawk missile. Either way, hang this handy sign on the fridge and NEVER OPEN IT AGAIN.

A little trip to the thrift store.

I love to thrift shop. Seems like everybody does. It's all I see in the blogiverse. People thrift shopping and finding the MOST AMAZING STUFF. Name brands. Designer clothes. Antique treasures.

I thought perhaps that I would share with you a few recent finds I discovered while waiting for Screamapillar to try on clothes (because apparently 4328 shirts is not enough). I apologize in advance for the inferior quality of the photos -- I was using my cell phone. If I had known I would find such incredible things, I would have brought the DSLR.

Let's start with this lovely couple. Aren't they priceless? Actually, they'll cost you a pretty penny since they are so unique and collectible. And they are bookends, so they are actually quite useful as well. $7.99 anyone?

I'm afraid I must pass. Wouldn't want the children having nighmares with these two "angels" staring blankly into space...at nothing....but thinking...."as soon as the child closes her eyes, WE ATTACK!!!"

And this lovely piece of ......objet d'art....Cowboy boot with broken spur....Cactus on a field of amarillo emblazoned with what appear to be Christmas lights.....could it possibly be?

YES!!! OH YESS!!!!! A SOAP DISPENSER!!!!!!

Ever wonder what is would look like if you could spin unicorn barf into yarn?

Yes. This atrocity would be the result. Hurry now, hurry to the next photo....

This, this I almost considered laying out some cash for. BECAUSE IT IS MORE TRUE THAN ANY OTHER HOKEY SIGN I SAW. And I saw MANY.

A truer statement was never uttered. Or lovingly hand painted onto a piece of scrap

and then donated to a thrift store.

OOOOOoooooo! SHINY!!!!!

But does that color really go with ANYTHING?

I think not. Pass again.

What about this little PETA nightmare? LOOKS WARM!!!

I think I have pictures of my brother-in-law wearing such a fashion statement in 1972. 

Are you glad also that it is no longer 1972?

Look at the lovely selection of lamps from 1492! The big green one on the left? We had that one when I was a kid. Two of 'em actually, and they went to a thrift store JUST LIKE THIS ONE many years ago.

The big ugly one on the right? Look for it soon on some insane lady's blog after she "finds" it and spraypaints it makes it into a .....I don't know! I can't think like those uber-crafty people! Okay, a funeral urn!

Well.... Um.....This......

I'm sorry, I have no words.

(does anyone know what happened to this poor lady's face?)

This is truly priceless. But the photo really doesn't do it justice.

Demon laser-eyed baby on a plate. Can't leave without this one!

But I must share with you the best item of all. The one I paid money for and brought home with me. The Unusual  Priceless Vintage Collectible   Antique  item that I will never be so lucky to find again! It's truly one of a kind!

And here is Thing One to model this spectacular find for your enjoyment.

And now she can never show her face in public again.

The End.

Sometimes I'm stupid.

Sometimes I do stupid stuff.  Or say stupid stuff.  And then I feel stupid.

I then I remember that I'm not the only stupid person out there.

Sometimes people are even stupider than me. Hard to believe, but yes, it is so.

I answer the phone for a living. I have done this for many years in many capacities. For WordPerfect, I did tech support. I could rewrite your config.sys and make your computer fly like the wind. For American Express, I made angry people happy, giving them free Delta miles or Membership Rewards points or even cash (people really like cash). For Provo City, I explain that no, you didn't pay your bill and that's why your power is off. For other companies I estimated your printing costs, arranged for your Bernoulli box to be delivered, etc., etc., etc.

As for feeling stupid, at least I'm not completely dim. While working for AMEX I overheard another agent explaining one of the card benefits -- Purchase Protection -- covers an item for 90 days against accidental damage, loss or theft, with this exception explained by my co-worker:

"It doesn't cover perishable items....like a dog."

Okay, that's not a dog, it's a chicken. Specifically Orange Chicken. Yes, we name our pets after food. But under the rationale that dogs are perishable, chickens must therefore also be. Perishable, that is. Okay, I couldn't find the cute picture of our dog, so you get the chicken. Learn to live with the disappointment okay? Just another example of how I can be stupid. But I must say in my defense that if you asked me for a list of perishable items, I WOULD NOT MENTION DOGS.

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A few amusing vacation photos

I have to post these today, before Screamapillar comes home from camp. When she sees this, she will kill me.

Really and truly.

Because she's almost 16 (there is no such thing as 15 to a teenage gril. She's either 14 or almost 16).

And the photo you are about to see is.....unflattering.

Wait! That's not her, that's Thing Two. Nice backside photo.

Oh, that wasn't it either. Stupid uploader.  But I think you might be starting to see the trend here. I stand around, not helping anyone, aiming a camera instead of lending a hand.....

YEAH! There it is! That's the one! Isn't she just beautiful in the morning? I love her.

She hates me.

As well she should.
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Bacon!

Once upon a time, we went on vacation. We actually try to go on vacation every summer. Some years are more successful than others. Some are epic, others of little note.

ANYWAY.

On this vacation, we found ourselves in the city of Sioux Falls. And we wanted to see the falls. And perhaps have a picnic lunch there. So we wandered about lost for a little while, then pulled into a helpful motel where we were given a map and directions. Good directions. Thank you, desk clerk at moderately nice motel.

On to the falls.

On the way, we were tempted by the most lovely aroma. Ahead, we saw a large building with the words "John Morrell" on the side.

"LOOK KIDS! That must be where they make the bacon! Can you smell it?"

And we rolled down all the windows to better enjoy the lovely smell of bacon.

(I must remind you at this point that my childern are bacon freaks. Luke Skywalker once ate 12 plates of bacon at a buffet in Mesquite. He ate his actual weight in bacon.)

And then it all went horribly wrong.

The smell of bacon morphed into the most rank, foul, disgusting, horrible stench I have ever in my entire life encountered. It really defies words. Let me say then, instead, that what we had encountered was the bacon plant and slaughterhouse.

Yes, slaughterhouse.

We couldn't get the windows up fast enough. The stench had instantly permeated everything within the car, and still seemed to be coming in through the air conditioning vents. The childern were making retching noises from the rear of the vehicle. I drove like a bat out of h-e-double-hockey-sticks in my effort to get as far away as I could as fast as possible.

And then we arrived at the falls.

For some reason I cannot fathom, no one wanted to eat lunch.

"Ham sandwich?" "No, thanks."

Most of us have (three years later) finally recovered. Two of my children have been forever scarred, and have never eaten bacon since.

So if you're ever in Sioux Falls, and you see the Morrell Plant, TURN AROUND AND FIND ANOTHER WAY.

And for heaven's sake, don't roll down the windows.
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