Obladee, Obladah, Life Goes On

I've pretty much gotten over some of the stuff that made me angry last week. Even some of the things that raised my hackles this week. (Glad that B-52 with the nukes didn't fly over my house!)

One thing that sticks in my craw is the Democratic National Committee's announcement that Florida will be uninvited to the Democratic National Convention unless they find a way to pick a candidate other than the primary that was moved to January 29, a week earlier than the February 5 mandate for the first primary vote other than New Hampshire (so goes the nation). Will Michigan suffer the same fate? Will the Republicans slam the hammer down on both states? Is there time to build an alternative? Will Florida Democrats be screwed again? Why didn't they see this one coming? What happens if we have a caucus before Iowa? Do we get nuked?

Gosh, that's the second time I've mentioned nuclear weapons. Wonder if that has anything to do with being born in the shadow of the bomb or if the real reason is because I was over-exposed to radiation twice at the dreaded day job. After my skin started doing strange things and my hair (all over my body!) started falling out, I quit.

Now you know more about me than most of my friends. Want more?

Today I decided to bake some Swedish Limpa bread. Sometimes I get a taste for it. There was a bakery in Elk Grove Village, Illinois, that made the best Limpa bread this side of Sweden. Sure hope it's still there. We're visiting sometime in the next few years so my current larger half can meet my ex and I can visit the Art Institute again, have a real Italian beef sandwich, a Lou Malnati's pizza, and maybe visit the band shell on the Fourth of July (it's a must-do experience!). There's a Lou Malnati's not too far from the bakery (or at least there used to be) and we might have the best tastes of Cook County all in one day.

Ooops! Got derailed. The recipe looked a little funny. 5 1/3 cups of rye flour and 1 1/3 cups white? Sounds a bit on the heavy side. Even though I substituted a bunch of white flour for some of the rye, the dough would not rise. We're on the last rise now and there's a chance we can cut the loaves to make hockey pucks.

Not to fear. There's another recipe sitting on my printer. Maybe in a week or two there will be some bread that breathed. (Remind me to tell you about the French bread.)

I'm writing a cookbook so these recipes are important - and fixing them is vital. I'm also writing a gardening book about living - or not - with weeds.

With luck the kid next door will mow our lawn on Sunday. He's only 14 and missed it last week for some reason. There was no excuse why he couldn't do it tonight but tomorrow he's visiting his father in prison. That's the main reason he got the job. He's the man of his house right now and needs to learn some responsibility. My larger half would love to take the kid under his wing and be a mentor or a grandfather figure. Too bad the big guy works two jobs, has a bad heart, bad ankles, a bad back, two bad shoulders, and a knee that needs replacing. Furry Murray (his name, not my idea) could certainly use a protege.

There may or may not be another installment next week. Monday I pick up my plastic choppers to bring to the dentist on Tuesday when the rest of my teeth get yanked. (I know, TMI.) Friday I fly to LGA to be at my grandson's 3rd birthday party on Saturday. Hope there's enough time to make the train (he loves trains!) cake and run to the store to buy him something that wouldn't fit in a carry-on bag.

BTW, after my grandson lost half his Thomas cars to Chinese lead paint, he's getting German train cars now. But he can get Thomas the Tank Engine clothes made in the Dominican Republic.

Don't we make anything in the United States anymore? Check your TV, your microwave, your car (yes, your car!), your closet. Well, I'm living proof that we make bread that can become door stops or hockey pucks - or maybe bread.

I'll let you know how the hockey pucks turn out.