Kitchen Timer

I received this smoke detector for Christmas. I was told it is a kitchen timer. I considered this to be a direct affront to my cooking skills. Now that I've had some time to think about it, maybe it's not unfounded after all. Ever since we married, Keith has serenaded me with "Something's Burning" whenever I putter around in the kitchen. In The First Edition's version, what was burning was love - in Keith's version, it is my cooking.

I was reminded of my culinary insufficiencies this past holiday. I have long since stopped trying to make breads and cakes from scratch, so the boxed Cinnamon Bread mix should have been easy enough to prepare. My temperamental oven turned into a blast furnace and, long before time to take out the bread, the aroma of burning crust filled the air. I managed to salvage most of it and Amanda concealed the top with glaze.

Then there were the Sausage Wads (what others call Sausage Balls). No matter how much time and effort I put into shaping them into perfect spheres, they always come out distorted. Let's not forget the Peanut Butter Fudge either. I had to answer the door during the crucial "stir until thickened" stage so the candy set up in the pan. I was barely able to scrape it into the dish. The top of it resembled corrugated cardboard.

So perhaps I should accept this gift in the spirit in which it was intended, but I will never forgive him for getting my dad a bicycle bell for his walker.

Winter Wonderland

I have to show you this shot of our driveway that I took yesterday. It sure doesn't look like this now. Keith went to work this morning then Amanda and I went shopping. When we got back, my car got stuck in the driveway. I'm not one to admit defeat so I tried every trick I could remember. I rocked it, went from reverse to drive and vice versa, backed up for a running go - it still stuck at the same place every time. After several attempts, sliding, spinning, and getting sideways, I managed to back up all the way to the road. I looked at Amanda. She was texting her boyfriend, perhaps to tell him Goodbye. I put the car in low gear and gave it gas. It spun all the way up the driveway but it kept its forward motion. The new load of gravel that we had put down last week is now scattered all over the top of the snow, but my car is at the house. I won.

Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge

As we were traveling on US-17 north toward the eastern side of Charleston, I realized we were getting too close to this bridge. I told Jim we weren't supposed to cross the bridge before we exited. There was no exit. We had no choice but to go on over to Mt. Pleasant. We turned around at a service station. We crossed the bridge again and found a southbound exit to Morrison Drive which took us downtown. We toured the beautiful historic homes and had lunch at a local restaurant. On our way out of Charleston, we headed northward on US-17, crossing the bridge again to Mt. Pleasant. We visited Fort Moultrie and the Charles Pinckney plantation site. We were ready to get back on US-17 toward Myrtle Beach. Jim missed the northbound entrance to the highway so, once again, we crossed the bridge. We exited in Charleston and had to drive around for a bit before we found an access to US-17 north. Crossing the bridge for a fifth time, we were finally on our way to our supper destination.

Linda said when anyone asks her if she has seen this bridge, she's going to tell them she has crossed it several times and if they say, "Oh, have you been to Charleston a lot?" she is going to answer, "Nope. Once."