silly me

So, last night I was sitting here trying to create a crossword puzzle (long story) which, it turns out, is a lot more fun than actually doing crossword puzzles.

I was surprised at how much graph paper I was wasting. I had to switch to pencil.

The coming up with clues - that's the instant gratification part. It gets one geared up for the fitting-all-the-words-together part.

Seeing as I don't believe in having any black squares or spaces in a crossword (though, admittedly, I never do them - crossword puzzles - I don't like them), the second part was trickier, not as fun, but more like science (almost).

Or like math. Math using letters. Which is ok. So, a few hours had gotten away from me. I noticed that the sun went down, but I continued working by the light of the window anyway. I just didn't want to stop and mess up my momentum.

Eventually I was working in the dark, but by then my eyes had adjusted to the light from the street, and, really - it didn't matter. I could (by then) feel via instinct where the squares were. Then my boyfriend called. To see how I was. And we spoke for a few minutes. About this and that. His day, my day, bla-di-bla.

And, finally, he said something about the sandwich. Which was a relief. Because I really wanted to reiterate that I felt it was a bland sandwich. That, in no way, was that sandwich what I had intended (and would like another chance), etc, etc.

He argued this point with me a bit. He said that he thought it was a good sandwich. And I think he meant it. But then he said something about mustard.

I hadn't thought of that.

Mustard.

Of course.

mayo

Holidays. They're all in our heads.

Today, for example. Today is observed as perfect-turkey-sandwich day. And with it all the stress, expectations and controversy of any other holiday.

Case in point. I used to use Miracle Whip.

Don't get mad. Used to. I used to use Miracle Whip. Used to.

I've stopped. And it is due to peer pressure that I've stopped.

It seems that people have very strong feelings when it comes to Miracle Whip.

That is, that Miracle Whip is NOT mayonnaise. And never will be.

In my research (and in no way was it my intention to make this my research, though, rather, it was imposed upon me as a study) I've found that Miracle Whip (being such a point of contention between people, even chefs, even casual sandwich makers, and probably scientists) brings out the very worst in people.

I have been met with nothing short of incredulousness on this topic.

I have also made these (incredulous) people a number of sandwiches in the past. Sandwiches where I employed Miracle whip as a dressing.

And I heard nothing but raves about said sandwiches.

Miracle Whip. What's the big deal?

It started when I was very young. A few sandwiches (actually four) had made it into our kitchen. These were sandwich from the outside. Sandwiches from my grandmother's kitchen. Made from Thanksgiving leftovers.

Made with a little olive on stick (the stick meant to hold the whole thing together, of course, as it was a many tiered sandwich). Made with a tiny bit of horseradich. Made with love.

Made with Miracle Whip.

These sandwiches were intended for the next day. For Friday. Sandwich day.

We hadn't even taken off our coats when these sandwiches were taken out of their parcel (also stuffing, cranberries, potato pancakes, petit-fours, waffles..)

We lacked discipline.

But I didn't care about that. I was wondering why it seemed that this was how a sandwich was supposed to taste (and never did).

I wanted to know why.

Really. The figuring out why something was better than something else. So as to achieve the better result from that point on - a life long habit.

This upset my mother. She didn't want to answer any of my questions.

I know now that this was due to the fact that her family used mayonnaise.

And families that use mayonnaise do not use Miracle Whip. Nor do they, for that matter, ever talk about Miracle Whip.

They behave as though Miracle Whip doesn't exist.

Then my father walked into the room and informed me that it was Miracle Whip.

Miracle Whip was why I liked this sandwich (for once). It was what was missing from every other sandwich I'd ever had, yes, and (he added) no, we would never have Miracle Whip in this house. Ever. Because my mother was against it. End of discussion.

Enjoy your sandwich. Go to bed.

In that order.

This is a true story.

is this thing on ?

A-hem.

I used to like my blog.

I believe the first thing I ever posted regarded Thanksgiving Hangover 2004.

Times were different then. But aren't times always different?

Consider:

1967 - 1974
* Fell and scraped my knee. Was administered a band-aid.
* Became upset with a sibling due to some injustice.
* Was sent to my room without dinner.
* They had stuffed peppers, hot rolls and a salad.

1975
* Moved to the suburbs
* Barbie dolls
* Beef stroganoff, beets, and rye bread (with apple butter).

1974 - 1990:
* Went to school
* Got a job
* Started to mess with the color of my hair.

1990 - 1993
* Mexican food and eye-liner.
* Windex (also lightbulbs; household items)

1993 - 1997
* Exercise
* Fun clothes
* Money
* Vodka

1997 - 2003
* School
* Not much money
* Some vodka

2004
* Started a blog

2006
* Polish sausage, kraut (with brown sugar, apples, horseradich, caraway seeds, black pepper, and a very nice Hungarian mustard), acorn squash, warm bread with Danish butter.
* Pain in abdomen

Etc, etc.

I could go on and on..