Southern Mother

Most of my siblings have lived at home while they completed their undergraduate studies at Southern Utah University. I have followed on that path and am currently residing in my parents' basement while I am attending SUU. Living at home has its perks: free housing, free utilities, free laundry facilities, free Wi-Fi, four blocks away from campus, a yard, and free food (I know that these aforementioned items are not free, but they pretty much are for me in the situation I'm in).

Food.

I believe in the universal language of food. Well, and music, but let me talk about food on this post. Everyone eats. Sure, we all have different preferences, but when all is said and done, every human being eats, myself included (this should dispel unfounded rumors that I am a robot). Do you know who else eats? Poor, starving college students. Albeit, they may not be starving, but they sure don't eat well. Ramen noodles with Easy Cheese does not count as eating well. I have given many of my friends the label of "PSCS" or Poor Starving College Students and I try to help out with at least one of those letters. The S.

Whenever I have a group of friends at my house, it is usually an eclectic group, and one thing we all have in common is food. So I cook for them. And I love it. I desire to cook for them. I want them to eat. I want them to be comfortable. I want them to have some nutrition in their PSCS diet.

This strong urge to feed people has been called Southern Mother Syndrome, because nothing in the world can trump Southern Hospitality. While I was serving my mission, I cannot tell you the number of times I was invited to cookouts while walking the streets of the hood, or traversing the lanes in suberbia. (I can't tell you because I don't want to look it up in my journal, and my memory is too bad to remember. But it was at least three times). Southern people are just so hospitable.

I am now called the Southern Mother to many of my friends. If it wasn't for the situation I am in of living at home, I wouldn't be able to fulfill my "motherly instincts."

So please, make yourself comfortable, and let me feed you.

And y'all come back now, ya hear?

The Fruit of My Labours

Tonight I had my nieces and nephew over while their mom, Tandy, went out on the town with one of her old buddies. While she was out, I was in charge of feeding the little rascals. The kids went fishing yesterday at kid's pond and Lexi and Braeden both caught trout and that's what they were going to eat. Since they were going to have fish, I decided that I should have some fish, too. In the freezer I found some delicious halibut from mom and dad's trip to Alaska last year. Nom.

As I started preparing the fish, both Lexi and Braeden were disgusted at the things I was putting on it. I told them to trust me  and not worry about it and to trust me, that I know what I'm doing and I know how to cook. Then I put their fish, wrapped in aluminum foil, on the grill. Second shelf. Low heat. Then I started making french fries (Lexi is the world's slowest potato cutter). The kids loved those. After that, I started dipping my lovely halibut in batter and frying. The kids were mortified. They were convinced that what I was doing was the must disgusting thing ever. After they devoured their trout, I made Lexi and Braeden try some of mine (Ella would take no part) and they both liked it. Lexi ate quite a bit.

So, in commemoration of the 2012 London Olympic Games, I had delicious fish 'n' chips. So good!

Nom! Photo credit: Lexi.

Lucky You

I've decided to do more frequent, smaller blog posts.

You're welcome.

Do you ever meet someone for a very short period of time and then they run off and yell, over their shoulder, "Add me on Facebook!"? That happens to me frequently. Sure, those few minutes of brief introductions were great and we're basically best buds, but unless you write down your name for me/shoot me a text message, or you add me, I'm going to totally forget your name. Over the past week or so, I have been quite the socialer... socialist. [Yeah.... we'll go with that ;-)]... and I have had the opportunity to meet so many great people who at the last moment of contact yell, "Add me on Facebook." I would love to add you on Facebook, dear-potential-best-friend-whose-path-I-might-never-cross-again-if-we-don't-set-something-up-via-Facebook.

But.

I forgot your name.