Just Like Jesus

I took my first class in carpentry this week. It was a three-day intensive learning course, and we each built a sofa table. HOT DIGGITY DAMN! I can build shit now! Just like Jesus.

As fate would have it, I recently signed up for a local Freecycle yahoo group. Freecycle is a network of people who have useful things they don't need, and other people who want them. It could be a 4-pack of AAA batteries or a set of living room furniture. The theory being, rather than throwing it into our over-flowing landfills, give it to someone who will use it. It sounds very green.

I noticed something disturbing though; everything I have given away has been retrieved by someone driving a large, comfy, SUV. It seems to me, that if you're going to make an extra trip to pick up a free pack of baby-wipes in your 8-cylinder Excursion, while the kids, safely tucked into the air-conditioned back, play MurderDeathKill XII on the entertainment center, you aren't scoring too many carbon points. Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose?

But I digress...

During the lunch break on day two of carpentry class I came home and checked my email. Holy crap, some guy was giving away a jointer! For those of you that haven't taken a basic carpentry class, and now know everything about all tools, like me, a jointer is a table saw that makes bent wood flat. That's a really cool thing and they start at like $500 for a new one! Who cares if this thing is 20 years old and has a broken table? It was free, and once I sink $600-$700 into it I can build that Master Suite we've always wanted.

So I load up the kids in the SUV and we head down the street to pick up my free, broken jointer and who is laying on the guy's front porch? Flash, his "off duty" seeing eye dog. How cool is that?! It's not often you get a chance to rub a service dog all over, so I did. He's a big, sweet, lovable Black Lab that willingly gave me his belly. I think I liked that even more than getting a free saw or building a new table.

Overall the class was a lot of fun, and I really did learn a lot. Not to mention that my dove-tail joints are better than anything Jesus could have made, Craftsman Jigsaw or not!

Sins of the Flesh

You know what grinds my gears? The octogenarian at the gym who insists on dragging a bench out from the relative isolation between the lockers to the sinks, where he proceeds to prop up a foot and dry himself off in the main public area of the locker room. WTF? Why must we watch as he lifts burlap sacks of silly putty, that once functioned as skin, to pat his moles and skin tags dry? It's a horrifying display of equipment that hasn't functioned since Nixon was making audio mixes. So why do it there, where everyone who enters or exits the room has to bear witness?

I know, I know, I know. One day I'm going to be old and my skin is going to turn on me too. I can already see the signs in my graying hair, my relentless spare tire and the delightful melody of snaps, crackles and pops my bones make when I get out of bed in the morning. But I can guarantee that when I have mashed-potatoes for balls I'll know to stop drying my brown eye with the electric hand dryer that hangs on the wall near the door...

And that's what grinds my gears.

What Passover Means To Me

20 Friends and Family
Food and Wine for 50
An attempt by all, to consume all

It's like Thanksgiving with a reading assignment.

The company was great
The food was delicious
The cake was a hit

Thanks Emily!

Honey Cake

Saturday is Passover and as Ken's shiksa I was asked to make a Honey Cake, which is a traditional Passover dessert comparable to Fruit Cake at Christmas; you have some, but you don't like it.

I tried two different so-so recipes for the standard Honey Cake and then I stumbled onto a recipe for Chocolate Orange and Honey Cake. The ingredient that caught my eye...

1 1/2 Pounds Semi-Sweet Baking Chocolate

I think any cake recipe that calls for pounds of chocolate is just really super and must be made. This year I'm going to bend tradition; pass the insulin please.

Roscoe Joins The Pack

We have a new puppy dog. Actually, we've had him for a couple months. He was a "foster dog from an organization in San Francisco, Rocket Dog Rescue. We found the rescue through a newspaper article about the founder. After a fairly tragic life, this wonderful woman rescued a dog off the street and the bond she developed with him gave her the strength to pull herself up, dust off her knees, and rebuild her life. Rocket Dog Rescue was born. Their main mission is to visit local shelters, take death row inmates at the 11th hour, and find homes for them.

Since I'm not working regularly right now I decided to find a volunteer activity to fill my time. I wanted it to be something that I was passionate about, and dogs seemed the logical choice. After seeing the article WE decided to become a foster home for dogs. I say “we”, but truth be told, I didn't give Ken much of a say in the process. He knows when it comes to dogs and me, don't get in the way. He once asked me: “If Tasha and I were falling off a cliff, and you could only save one of us, who would it be?”. Of course it was a rhetorical question. Sorry Babe, I've known Tasha for longer, and she doesn't talk back as often.

Anyway, on a beautiful sunny day in San Francisco I met with Kay from Rocket Dog and was introduced to Rascal (who became Roscoe).


Nobody knows his story; he was found wondering the streets of SF and only three of his legs work. The vet thinks he's probably 10-12 years old, and believes he was injured many years back and never treated. He can move the leg at the “thigh” but can't bend it at the “knee” or “ankle”. It winds up being this “wing” sort of thing that is always in the way. It's sad and yet comical to see. He's obviously used to it because it doesn't slow him down in the least.

As I do with all dogs, we bonded immediately. I don't know what it is with me, but I haven't met I dog I don't love. And they seem to love me too. I think it's because we can relate to each other. Deep down (maybe not that deep), I'm just another flea-bitten hound.

Of course I agreed on the spot to foster “Rascal” and brought him home. Upon arrival Tasha and Frankie greeted him with their usual barking, growling, sniffing, humping and running around. Roscoe couldn't have cared less and began his quest for the holy grail of dogs, the food bowl. After who knows how long on the streets he doesn't miss an opportunity to eat!

Now it was time to introduce him to Ken. The big lug is just as much of dog lover as I am, even though they always love me more. Ken was very skeptical of being a foster home, being worried about my ability to give up a dog I had bonded with. Please, like I'm that weak. I knew what I was getting into. This is to help as many dogs as we can, not just one. As part of being a foster home for Rocket Dog you agree to bring your foster pup to adoption fairs that the rescue holds each weekend. I agreed to a minimum of two a month. I made it to one.

Long story short (too late), we've decided to make our house Rascal's new permanent home. I'll let you know what Ken thinks about it after he reads this blog and finds out. He won't be surprised, he knows me too well!