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Hey everyone!  I was going to post a technique today, but T needs a few laughs, so I thought I’d share a story.  This one’s for you, T! 

Late one fall afternoon, as I walked into the apartment I shared with my boyfriend, a sense of dread and foreboding washed over me.  I knew instantly that trouble was a-brewin’.  Was it my sixth sense, my woman’s intuition?  NOPE.  It was the sight of my boyfriend, bending over his Li’l Smoky BBQ grill, getting ready to prepare the night’s dinner.

“Oh, are you grilling tonight?” I ask, hoping against hope that he’ll JUST SAY NO.

“Yup, sure am,” he beams, holding up some chicken and a jar of BBQ sauce.

“Great,” I say, trying hard to show some enthusiasm.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s great when the man in your life likes to cook.  The problem lies in the fact that said man is under the impression that he is THE GREATEST GRILL COOK EVER.  He was also under the impression that he was THE GREATEST SAILBOAT CAPTAIN EVER, and we all know how that turned out (see Sailing Vacation From Hell posts if you’re new to the blog).

As the boyfriend readied the grill, I heard a few select curse words waft in from the balcony.

“What’s wrong?”  I ask.

“We’re out of #%$$@ lighter fluid,” he replies.

“I guess we’ll have to cook it inside then,” I say, trying not to sound too excited.

“Wait!  I have an idea!” he exclaims, and runs into the bathroom, then dashes back out to the balcony. 

“I really think that’s a bad idea,”  I tell him.

“Oh no, it’ll work fine, just watch!”  he declares.

“I really, really think that’s a bad idea.”  I repeat.

“Trust me, it’ll be great!” he claims.

Five minutes later, flames are shooting up out of the grill and the boyfriend turns to me with a look of vindication on his face. 

“I told you it would work,” he says triumphantly.

“I wasn’t worried about it not catching fire,” I say.  “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Thirty minutes later, the boyfriend appeared with a big platter of BBQ chicken, and we sat down to eat. I took a big bite of the BBQ chicken and immediately gagged.  I couldn’t get that chicken out of my mouth fast enough. 

 “What’s wrong with the chicken?”  he demands.

After rinsing my mouth out with a few swishes of Chardonnay, I asked him why people added mesquite chips to the coals in the grill.

“Anyone who grills knows that you put mesquite chips on the coals to add flavor to whatever you’re grilling,” he says indignantly.

“Well then,“  I say, “what do you think happens when you dump an entire bottle of Ice Blue Aqua Velva on the coals?!?!  You get Ice Blue Aqua Velva flavored chicken, you idiot!” 

aqua-velva.jpg

Well, the boyfriend just would not admit he was wrong, and ate the chicken anyway.  He got sick later that evening, but kept insisting it was the wine.  I’m sure it was the BBQ/Aqua Velva chicken.

My tastebuds have been forever scarred by the incident, and I haven’t had BBQ chicken since that fateful night in 1989.  

Why is it that important, meaningful promises are often broken, and some silly, insignificant ones are kept fiercely?

There were once four girls who made a decision to spend a summer at the beach.  They each had their own reasons for going: a change of scenery, the opportunity to make some hard-earned cash, maybe even a little romance.    They signed a four-month lease on a small cottage, and headed down in May.  Eventually they found jobs, but only one was lucky enough to find one that met her expectations.  The others floundered around a bit, changing jobs a few times here and there.  

Somewhere along the way, one of the girls met Sean, a gorgeous young man with a cool convertible, and they started to date.  He would come down every weekend with his best friend, and squire the girls around town in his sky blue rag-top.  Their nights were spent clubbing, and their days were spent recuperating on the warm sands of the beach, the surf pounding in the background.  Eventually, one of the other gals started dating the best friend, Frank, a sweet funny guy with his own cool convertible.  Was it true love?  Not really.  Sure, he was nice, polite and thoughtful, but mostly, he was convenient.  You see, she worked six nights a week that summer, and really didn’t get out much to meet decent guys.   After spending so much time together, it just seemed like the natural thing to do.

As the summer came to a close, the young men learned that their company was transferring both of them overseas.  One night, during their last weekend together, Frank pulled his girlfriend aside.

“You know, I’m leaving for Germany next week, and I’ve put most of my belongings in storage,” he said to her.

“I know.  You’ll send me a postcard every now and then, right?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, “but I have a special favor to ask of you.  I have something very special that I’d like you to take care of for me while I’m gone.”

Crazy thoughts began to whirl in her mind.  Was this relationship more serious than she had thought?  Was he going to try and plant a ring on her finger?  How do I get out of his? She took a deep breath.

“Ok, Frank, what is it?’  she asked.

“Wait right here, I’ll go and get it, he said, scrambling to his feet.

He came back into the room with a bag, and inside the bag was….  

The Pig

 Yep, a ceramic pig.  Lovingly made for him by his grandmother. 

He proceeded to explain to her that she had given it to him as a little boy, and it was one of his most prized possessions.

“I’m afraid to ship it to Germany, and I’m afraid to put it into storage, “  he said.  “I would be devastated it if somehow got broken.  Could you please, please take care of it for me?”

Of course, how could she let him down?  She told him she‘d take care of his precious pig, and promised to guard it with her life.

That was twenty-two years ago, people!!!!!  And yes, I still have the darn pig!!!!  What was I thinking when I agreed to this?  And what was Frank thinking when he gave me the darn thing.  I know what both of us weren’t thinking- we weren’t thinking that I would end up moving seventeen times.  Oh yes, this pig has been a busy pig.  So far he’s had:

Nine Maryland addresses

Three Delaware addresses

Two Georgia addresses

Three Pennsylvania addresses

He’s managed to come through all of these moves with flying colors and nary a chip.  And yes, some men have come and gone.   Some of them have told me just to throw the darn thing away, but I can’t.  I made a promise.  So, poor piggy has been sitting in my basement for the past seven years, carefully wrapped in paper, ready to go in case his rightful owner should appear. 

Frank Moore, if you’re out there….PLEASE COME AND GET THIS DAMN PIG!!!!

What better way to celebrate than with a new blog post?  Actually, a big bottle of Chardonnay would be my choice, but it’s still a little early in the afternoon here!  I know, I know, I’m sure you all are saying “Where the heck has Rebecca been?  Surely the pool has closed by now and she’s not bathing kids 24 seven!”  Well, I have two words for you:  school and soccer.   Two kids in school and two kids in soccer means two, yes, two times the fun!   I have also had all kinds of other crafty things happening, so strap on your seat belts and here we go!

My pal Robin has started her own blog, Pearlesque.  Robin is the Director of Education at Ranger, and is incredibly talented.  She is my crafty mentor.  I owe so much to her, and love her to death!  She’s going to post great techniques every week, and I think she’s even giving away some stamps.  Stop by and say hi!

After scheduling and rescheduling many times, Margot and I actually got together for a play date!  We coughed and shopped till we dropped at the antique stores near her place and found some really cool stuff.  I can’t wait to see what she does with it.  If you haven’t checked out any of her books, get busy!  If The Impatient Beader can’t get your jewelry –making mojo going, no one can!

A really cool magazine called Creative TECHniques is actually giving me a shot at a regular feature.  I think it’s going to be a lot of fun because the readers and website visitors will go online to vote on some products, and when the voting is over, I have to make something out of the products that are chosen.  Tentatively, voting is scheduled to start Nov. 20th, but I’ll give you all of the details as soon as things are firmed up.

My card is on Ranger‘s home page this month!  It’s the rust and blue one! 

The wonderful folks from Fiskars (yep, the orange scissors) are flying fifty of us to San Antonio for an all-expenses paid crafting weekend in November.  How cool is that?  I cannot wait.  It is going to be a total blast I’m sure.  The only drawback is I have to make 60 tags for a tag swap.  I’ll be the gal at the airport with the extra bags under her eyes, yeehaw!

Now it’s time for a public service announcement (this may also fall under the category of too much info, but here goes):  Do your monthly breast exam and go get a mammogram!  Yep, I had a bit of a scare a couple of weeks ago when I found a lump right before I was scheduled to go for my mammogram.  It ended up just being a cyst, but it was a little scary not knowing for a week.  So please, please, gal pals, take care of yourself.  I don’t want to lose any of you to this horrible disease.  Early detection is incredibly important! 

 Whew!  I’m tired just writing about all of this stuff!  It’s good to be back, and tomorrow we’ll talk about pigs!