Where do you go after "hoarse crack"? Now there's a question you never thought you'd hear, huh? Well, I'd never really anticipated such a question either, but then again, I never really anticipated someone telling me I've got hoarse crack. But, regardless of expectations and anticipations, that's the question of the evening.
Hmmmm...what do you say we talk about my cooking? Sad that the term "hoarse crack" makes me think of my cooking, but, well, if you'd ever ate something I cooked, you might see the connection.
You think I kid, don't you? Think I'm being rough on myself? Well, let's see. Come with me. You'll have to be really quiet, because we're going to spy. Spy on who? Well, my toughest critics: my children.
Let's have a look:
It's a Friday evening and my kids have become a little too accustomed to "convenience foods." But, like Old Mother Hubbard's cupboards, mine were looking pretty bare, so I resorted to cooking from scratch. This alone raised suspicion, but desperate times call for desperate measures, so scratchin' I did. I can't recall right now just exactly what I made, but it was nothing bizarre and really wasn't a flop. Now, admittedly, it was also NOT gourmet, but we aren't exactly the silver spoon set, so we don't see much gourmet, anyway.
The girls took their dishes and headed to the living room to watch some tv while they ate. I was still doing something (again I don't remember what) so I remained in the kitchen...which actually was open to the living room. It was one of those "great room" setups. So I wasn't sitting with them, but I could hear them and see them. Now listen closely and you can hear them, too.
Allison: Pray! (Allison's command for "saying Grace".)
Megan: (quietly) We'd better pray that this stuff is edible.
Do I really need to say more? Probably not, but I'll give you another example. Again, it comes from my toughest critics.
This summer we were visiting family in Montana. My mom, my sister in law, my brother and I were sitting in Mom's living room. My niece said something about someone's cooking being good. Then she said something like, "Well all three of you are good cooks." I chuckled and said, "Well, Faithie, technically I'm not that good." And as she sweetly smiled at me, my daughter tried coming to my defense by saying, "Well, Mom, you don't really cook. You microwave."
With "friends" like these....
Ok, one more case in point. Within the last month I again was doing some real cooking. I asked the girls what they thought of whatever it was I'd cooked and Allison looked at me and said, "Not bad for a beginning cooker, Mom."
So there ya have it...my cooking naturally follows the subject of hoarse crack.