It's National Pie Day! And I've added other things that I felt the need to share...

Tammy, over at The Pink Magnolia is hosting a "National Pie Day Recipe Exchange" (who'd a thunk such a thing as "National Pie Day" existed?). As I believe I've mentioned before on numerous occasions, I. Do. Not. Like. To. Cook. Nor am I particularly good at it. But behold. I have found a pie recipe that even I have mastered. Probably because no actual cooking is involved. It is, however, generally made in the kitchen so that has to count for something on the "I am Wonder Woman of the Kitchen" scale of life, right? I got the recipe from my niece's childhood friend, who got it from her mother. I begged for months to get this recipe. (See? When I ask for a recipe, nobody takes me seriously!) Anywho, it is so easy to make and it tastes absolutely delicious! This recipe makes two, count 'em TWO, pies and I'm telling you, when you serve one of these babies, people will think you really know what you’re doing in the kitchen! (If you knew the true state of my culinary skills, you'd understand why that statement is, indeed, so powerful). So here it is...the recipe for a

MILLION DOLLAR PIE

Ingredients:
1 20 oz can of crushed pineapple
1 15 oz can of mandarin oranges
1 15 oz can of diced peaches
1 14 oz can of condensed milk
½ cup lemon juice
2 8 oz tubs of Cool Whip®
2 regular graham cracker crusts

Pour fruit into a colander. Drain well (best to put the colander in a bowl and set in fridge. Fruit will drain faster and better in cold temperature – I actually drain mine overnight). After draining all juice, put fruit into a bowl with condensed milk and lemon juice. Mix gently. Fold in 1 tub of Cool Whip®. Spoon into crusts. Top with remaining Cool Whip®. Place in fridge (or freezer!) until ready to serve. Simple as that. The only danger comes in your knowing that this puppy's sitting in your fridge or freezer just waiting for someone to come along and appreciate it's near rapturous glory. (And by "someone", I mean ME!) Ahhhhhh. Hey you know what? I have to make a Wal-Mart run today anyway...I think I may have to purchase the ingredients for this. I usually only make it once or twice a year because, well...as I'm sure you've guessed, I have absolutely NO will power. But will power's for monks and rockheads, am I right? Yes, my leetle chickens, I am.

The rest of this post is totally unrelated to the love of pies so if that's all you came for, you might want to skedaddle before your eyes begin crossing and you start questioning the whole concept of blogging as a whole (my ramblings have been known to have that affect on some, particularly members of my own family - which should speak volumes about just exactly how much rambling I actually do!). Now that the "Public Health Warning" is out of the way, let me tell you about something that happened to me yesterday. I had engaged in what is commonly referred to as "therapeutic shopping". I went to Target and Ross's and Kohl's and Rack Room Shoes...mainly buying for my granddaughters' Easter boxes (boxes instead of baskets because they live in Okinawa and if I sent the stuff in baskets, most of it would probably fall out before it even reached California, you know what I mean?). I had a mahhh-velous time. Then my foot started to hurt, mainly because of the crappy shoes I was wearing. While I love those shoes for their ease of access (they're slip-ons), they'll never win any fashion awards and their comfort only lasts for about 2 hours before my right foot starts threatening to grind its way up to my nasal cavity. (I have some sort of something or other on that heel that I've been meaning to get fixed since 1996, but the stupid doctor said I'd have to wear an orthopedic shoe on that foot for 6 weeks after the surgery and who wants to do that?) Anyway, I ignored my feet for another couple of hours after the outset of "the throb" until I'd reached the point of knocking some poor elderly woman out of her little motorized scooter. That's when I decided I'd better do something. By then, I was at J.C. Penney's so I headed to the shoe department. (Hey, I wasn't done with my therapy yet...I needed new shoes in order to continue). Well. As it turns out, they were having a bit of a sale. Buy one pair, get the second pair half off. And at their prices, that half off turned out to be fairly substantial. So I had no choice really. I bought two pair. And immediately put one pair on so that I could continue with my quest. I found Maddy Moose 3 more shirts and then I found one for myself. I loved it...thought it was bee-u-t-ful! So I bought it. Now we're at the point of the story (I told you I rambled, quit complaining!). I head on up to the check-out station (which, by the way, when did Penney's start doing an Old Navy type of check-out - you know, an entire row of registers, instead of the "register in every department" old way?). Anywho - the cashier dude, who had about 4 different colors in his hair and was wearing an argyle sweater over a funky pair of pants, took one look at me and the shirt I was buying and yelled "Wow! You ARE LOUD!", all the while laughing in what I considered to be a totally unprofessional manner. I mean really! This walking kaleidoscope was commenting on my fashion sense?? After I progressed past the urge to smack him around a little, I realized...he might have a point. There I was, wearing this shirt:
While carrying this bag (which is HUGE):
While purchasing this shirt:
Loud? Well...yeah. Maybe. I guess so. Oh all right! I know so. I think I may have become one of those older women that people point at in crowds. lol My BFF Susan always said I liked gaudy stuff and I guess she was right. Because I love the shirt I was wearing, I positively adore that purse and I'm pretty darn smitten with my new shirt, too. I have to confess...just the thought that there's people out there who would rather wear a burka than be caught wearing a shirt like the new one just makes me SMILE because damn, people! It's bright, it's happy and it feels GOOD to wear it. Take it from me! Stop pointing at oddballs and just become one (if wearing something like this is the new standard for "odd")! And there is one undeniable upside to dressing in things like this....Randey can always find me in a crowded room. We don't need no stinkin' cell phones, he just has to look up and he can spot me from a mile away! ha (Now stop smirking at my shirt, Susan, because I bought you one, too! ha,ha,ha,ha...okay, just kidding. Relax.)

So to celebrate my new-found realization that I am LOUD, I asked Randey and Jacob (Kaleb was working!) out to dinner at a Mongolian Grill (my gosh! talk about D-lish!). After dinner, we got our customary fortune cookies.

Randey's said "You will soon be awarded a great honor". Jake's said "Life is a series of choices. Today yours are good ones". Mine? Mine said "Your judgement (sic) is a little off at this time. Rely on friends". Rut-Row! Surely this isn't referring to my new shirt??????? Naaaaa. That'd just be freaky.

Finally, I'll finish this book...er, I mean post, with some pictures of Sydney the Wonder Dog. While I was shopping yesterday, I came across this little doggy bed for him. He already has a bed, but it's usually kept downstairs and I've long thought that he needed one for upstairs, too. And guess what...he loves it. That's the beauty of Sydney...he loves all his new toys and stuff and acts like it's the most wonderful thing in the world when he gets something new. Unlike my actual children, who have sometimes shown little or no appreciation for my choices in fashion, etc. that I've brought them. And no, before you even think it, I have never tried to make them wear clothes even remotely similar in color and/or shape to mine. Except for that one time when I bought Nick the green shirt and green pants. I thought they looked great. And my sister bought my nephew the same outfit, but in purple. So who do you think came out worse in that deal? Yeah, that's what I said. Nick should have been grateful green was my favorite color and not pink, right? Anywho...gaze upon this beautiful and perfect specimen of Chihuahua.

But look, after taking about 20 pictures, even Sydney seemed to be trying to hide his face from me. Go figure.
Okay. All done. I'm going to make a serious effort to not write posts this long in the future. Except for that tag I just got from Jennifer at Dust Bunny Hostage. Seven random things. Sheesh. I spill my guts on here all the time. Coming up with 7 things that you guys don't know about me is tough. I was supposed to do a tag of five things last month and couldn't come up with even that many. Seven may tax my "expression of the truth". In other words, I may have to resort to lying! lol

Martin Luther King Day

I had a great teacher in high school - one of those guys that really makes you think. You could tell that he truly loved teaching kids and that he wanted us to learn. Mr. Holland is one of those teachers that leaves a lasting impression on a person. Here's something he taught me:
The races of this world have long been identified by color...the "black" man, the "white" man, the "yellow" man, the "red" man, etc. It's a rather simplistic way to separate people because while everyone "gets" that skin color can be different, they don't "get" just how little a difference there truly is. It's a classic case of not being able to see the forest for the trees. Let me demonstrate (and this is very similar to how Mr. Holland demonstrated his point for us, his students, way back in 1979). This is a picture of a so-called "black" woman, Maya Angelou.

Look closely. Yes, her skin is dark. But black? Not hardly. This is the color black:
This next picture is of a person of Native American descent. A so-called "red" man (or woman, in this case!). Does she look red to you? If you said yes, look again.This is the color red.

Here's a picture of a person of Oriental descent. Remember the politically incorrect '70's when Kung Fu was on the air? Every week you heard the term "yellow man" (usually spoken by some wild, wild west sort of character with a huge chaw of tobacco in his mouth. lol). Well this little girl doesn't look all that yellow to me.
This is what I call yellow:This is a picture of a so-called "white" person. Now I've seen a lot of pale people in my time, really I have. My BFF Susan's oldest daughter for one. That girl's darn near the color of milk. But still... She's not quite as white as, well..."white". Like this is.
So what's the point of all this talk of color? It's simple really. We may call ourselves and each other by all these chromatic names, but it won't change the true fact and that is...
We're all really just different shades of brown.
So go ahead and define the world in terms of pigmentation. It won't make you any more white or black or red or yellow. You are now and will always be, simply a shade of brown. Just like the rest of us.

This "philosophy" on color is something I've passed on to my children. I want them to know and understand that you cannot and should not judge a person based on what shade of brown they are. It's what's in their hearts and minds that matter. Be it good or be it bad, that's what you should base your opinion of someone on. How will we ever learn to accept one another if we're always looking to high-light a difference so ridiculous as skin color? I promise you, I do not care how dark you are or how light you are...you're still brown, I'm still brown, the guy standing between us is still brown...so let's move on and solve the world's real problems together.

If I subscribe to this magazine, does it come with a years free airbrushing for ME, too?

See the picture on the left? I found it on the website for "O" (Oprah's magazine). It's from the November 2007 issue. See the picture on the right? It was taken at the premier of Denzel Washington's movie "The Debaters" during the first week of December 2007. Am I crazy or does Oprah look a little less svelte in the second shot, which was, in theory, taken around the same time, give or take a few months? I'm thinking either Oprah had one heck of a Thanksgiving dinner or somebody got a little too enthusiastic with the airbrushing for that magazine cover. If anyone were to wonder why women all over the world have such a bad self image, this just might be a clue. I wonder if any cover of any magazine (outside of National Geographic!) shows a "true" image of anybody. Somehow, I doubt it. I would dearly like to know why someone with a "nice, normal figure" has to be airbrushed into "perfection". What purpose does it serve? Besides to keep the diet industry rich. And my mirror covered.