Second runner up...

So I showed my co-worker the picture of my glorious trifle and he showed me what he made last night:
"I'm a regular Chef Boyardee," he says.

You be the judge as to who wins...

Pumpkin Gingerbread Trifle!

I'm really not one to brag about my cooking. Yes, I can cook. Yes, 99% of the time, I produce something that does not make me (or anyone else) gag (ok, salmon rice balls excluded). And yes, I do pride myself on being a better baker than cook. In any case, tomorrow night I am having dinner with my girlfriends from the U -- you've heard me talk about them before, we do it about once a month, each bring a dish, blah blah blah.

Well -- I finally get to bring dessert. Last time we met I was also assigned dessert, but had to deal with a vegan theme, ergo my dessert wasn't as glorious as I knew it could be.

Until tonight. Though we haven't yet had dinner and I haven't yet presented the ladies with the glory, I am pretty proud of what I crafted tonight. And yes, I can vouch for taste, as I pulled a Paula Dean and was about to sneak a taste before decorating the top.

So I present to you, my Pumpkin Gingerbread Trifle:Here's how to make one yourself...

1 package gingerbread mix
1 box vanilla pudding
1 (30 oz) can pumpkin pie filling
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 (12 oz) container whipped topping, thawed
Cinnamon sugar for dusting

Bake gingerbread according to package directions; cool completely. Prepare pudding according to package. Stir pumpkin pie filling, brown sugar, and cinnamon into pudding. Cut the cooled gingerbread into small squares. Scatter 1/2 gingerbread on bottom of trifle bowl. Pour 1/2 pumpkin mixture over gingerbread, then cover with 1/2 whipped topping. Repeat each layer. Dust top with cinnamon sugar. Refrigerate overnight.

Here we go again...

Two summers ago, the doctor came into the waiting room and brought my dad, sister, and me into a little room. “The only thing you’re going to remember when you leave this little room is cancer. Cancer, cancer, cancer.” And he was right. This past Wednesday, as we sat in the waiting room while my dad was in surgery, I told my sister, her boyfriend, my mother, and my grandma, I didn’t want to go back into another “bummer room”. Two and a half hours later, instead of the thirty to fourty-five minutes the doctor told us, the doctor came into the waiting room and led us, yet again, into another bummer room.

“The only thing you’re going to remember when you leave this little room is cancer. Cancer, cancer, cancer,” he said. I thought to myself: he’s said this before – the same exact thing – they must take a class on this shit and actually have a script. My dad, this past Wednesday, was diagnosed with cancer of the tonsil and neck.

At the age of 52, my dad had his tonsils out. Not fun for someone that age… most people have their tonsils out (if needed) when they are little, 10 maybe. Not my dad. 52. His throat is sore, it hurts to swallow, he is bloated from the medications (expected, says the doctor, but very uncomfortable for my dad), and has been on a liquid, cold liquid, diet since Wednesday last. It seems he is now eating lukewarm mashed potatoes, sans salt, jello, ice cream, and applesauce, but the man must be dying for a great big juicy steak.

Next steps: meet with the doctors later this week after he’s had some time to recooperate from the surgery. Take out the stiches from his surgery (he now has a scar that, together with my mom’s, makes one giant ring around the neck), get the results from all the biopsies to ensure the cancer has not spread, and then meet with the chemo and radiation doctors to see what those processes will entail and for how long.

We are all hanging in there, doing the best we can. My dad’s spirits are high and he is determined to “beat this thang”.

I ask you to please keep my family in your thoughts and prayers as we venture down the cancer road… again.

Here we go again, we said… here we go again.

My dad...

Two summers ago, my mom was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer. She found a lump in her lower neck area while at a dance lesson with my dad. She had it checked out, they removed it, and found cancer. She had a huge, solid six-hour surgery, had her thyroid removed, as well as bunch of fatty tissue and lymph nodes, underwent radioactive iodine treatment, and beat it. My mom has been cancer-free for just over two years now.

Yesterday afternoon, I got a call from my dad. He waited until later in the afternoon to call, not wanting to stress me out all day (also not knowing of my coworker’s father-in-law passing). My dad found a lump under his left ear. From what he told me, it’s about the size of a ping pong ball, but flat, under his left ear, kind of back by the muscle tissue. He too had it checked out. He went into Urgent Care, who sent him over to see and ENT (ear, nose, and throat doctor). The doctor thinks it’s just a cyst, but did a CT scan to take a better look. No results until today or tomorrow. Either way, my dad is having the lump removed at the end of the month.

I know – think glass half full, but it’s hard. It’s hard to think back to the last time I encountered and ENT, a lump. I think back to sitting in that little room, the one everyone in the waiting room dreads being led to, hearing the doctors tell you the surgery went fine, but… But. The worst part of any sentence when you know something is coming next, probably not pleasant. Cancer. The doctor told us the only thing we’d remember walking out of that little room in cancer. Cancer, cancer, cancer. And he was right. That’s all we remembered.

However, two years later, my mom is cancer-free.

My dad’s lump, g-d-willing, will just be a cyst. They will remove it, biopsy it, and it will be nothing. In any case, please keep him in your thoughts and for those of you who have or say them, prayers…

Stay tuned for an update…

Ridiculous...

One of my boss’s father-in-law died last night in a car accident. Her nephew works here also… on our team. We called him this morning to tell him not to come in; we would cover what he has going on and he should go be with his family. When my favorite person came in this morning, we told her he wasn’t coming in to work today and she flipped out. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t come to work. He has a lot going on here and we really need him. Forget his aunt’s husband’s father just died… there is work to be done!

PLEASE.

I looked up at her and didn’t hold back – as I probably should have. I asked her if she was really challenging whether he should be at home or at work. Come on – his aunt’s father-in-law just died – he was part of the family too.

Good lord, woman – have a heart.

I am just going to put my headphones on and pretend she’s not even here. I can’t even look at her right now.

Heartless.

Awkward

Talk about an awkward lunch! I just got back from an hour and forty-five minute lunch with she-who-shall-not-be-named. Why we went to lunch just the two of us at one of the most amazing Petters-affiliated dining abodes, I will never fully understand, but we did. And awkward it was.

First I shall detail my meal, as Redstone deserves all the credit in the world. I had a rotisserie chicken chopped salad consisting of fire wood pulled chicken, cornbread croutons, grape tomatoes, golden raisons, and sweet corn, tossed in a honey lime vinaigrette. It was a decent salad (though does not even come close to the amazing Chopped Salad at Tucci Bennuch). Then I also had a slice of the cornbread with maple butter. Now, I think I’ve detailed this cornbread once before, but good lord is it amazing. I could have had that and my diet coke and been happy. She had a bowl of chicken-tortilla soup and a flatbread pizza, as well as a slice of the cornbread and a diet coke.

The meal, delicious. The lunch itself, awkward. We really don’t have much to talk about at all. We made small talk about high school (she’s going to her 20-year reunion this weekend) and she asked about my love life (what the hell?), I made a joke about hers (take that!), and we talked about the bridge collapse. I knew she was holding back, I knew she wanted to talk about work. And finally, after they cleared our plates and the check was paid, she did. She asked about my work with the other team, I answered very little. She can’t really know yet. She asked about my current team, what I liked, what I didn’t like. I again answered very little. She asked about her, what I liked, what I didn’t like. Again, I answered very little. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut – that when I open it with her, it comes back and kicks me in the ass later. So I was pretty quiet. She asked my opinion of two other temps – two we are trying to decide between. I said very little. I know she could tell, but I didn’t really care. I knew she wanted more details, to know what I was really thinking, what I am really doing with my job and what I have in store… up my sleeve, but I was wise – didn’t say much.

Finally she gave up. We left. The ride back to the office was strange too – we both were pretty quiet. I know I’ve used the word one-too-many times, but it was awkward. Plain old awkward.

Morning rant...

I know it’s been a while and though a rant is not what I’ve been meaning to post, here comes a quick one:

Please, for the love of pete, give me a little more direction when giving me projects. I understand we are all busy, but when I am not involved in the original meeting and get not one, but two new projects with little-to-no information and direction, whatever I do produce will not be even slightly close to what you’re looking for. We both know this. It has happened before, and you know it will happen again. So let’s save each other a little slack and bitching and complaining and just put it all out there right away. Ok? Ok.

Oh, and when I ask for more direction, don’t look at me like I should know what you are/were looking for. I wasn’t in the meetings, I wasn’t part of the discussions, and thank g-d, I am not inside your head. If you want it done a certain way or there is something specific you’re looking for, write it on the creative brief so I know, send me an email, have a quick conversation with me, or for goodness sake, do it yourself.

Ok. Done. I feel better. Thanks.

Now – I probably owe it to myself (and those of you who like to read up on me) a review of my birthday extravaganza… I hope, I really do, to get it out there… if things would only slow down a little…