Thursday, September 30, 2010

¡Ninguna Manera! ¿Es Hoy? ¡Gatos Santos!


HOW MANY DAYS, SMARTY PANTS?

Can you guess what object bears this 0?
(Hint: We are so happy that Sean is coming HOME!!!)

This 0 also represents the number of hours of sleep I got last night. BTW, have you ever noticed how quiet and creepy a house can be at 2:00 a.m.? How about at 3:00 a.m.? 4:00 a.m.? 5:00 a.m.? All I can say is that there came a point during the night when sleepless me wished for some of that knock-out powder used in those 1950's detective movies. Either that or a healthy clunk on the head from a low-hanging cabinet door. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz. Ah. But no such luck.


Since I'm such a nice guy, I'm going to give you a second go at the 0:

What could it be? What? What?








TIME'S UP! MAKE YOUR GUESS NOW
OR FOREVER HOLD YOUR PEACE.











Yay! It is our

HOME
SWEET SEAN'S
HOME!


See if you can spy the nifty Honduran flag peaking
out somewhere in this photo.





¡¡¡Sean returns today!!!
At 11:38!
In the p.m.!
On a Boeing 737!
Comayaguela to Atlanta to Salt Lake!
Seat 31D!
Economyclassnonsmokingthankyouforflyingdeltahaveanicedaynow



Well, I've got to dash. Important stuff to do, you know! Bye!

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

¡Un Día!



CODE BLUE! CODE BLUE!
GET THIS WOMAN A PAPER SACK, STAT!
Breath in; breath out. Breath in; breath out . . .


Oooooooookay. I think I'm stable for the time being, but let's make this fast because I don't know how long I'll be able to hold out.



Now for the big question:
HOW MANY MORE DAYS UNTIL ELDER SAGERS RETURNS TO THE PLACE WHERE HE IS LOVED BEST?
But first!

(Sung to the tune, "One" from A CHORUS LINE):

One singular sensation
Every little step he takes.
One thrilling combination
Every move that he makes.
One smile and suddenly nobody else will do;
You know you'll never be lonely with you know who.
One moment in his presence
And you can forget the rest.
For the guy is second best
To none,
Son.
Ooooh! Sigh! Give him your attention.
Do...I...really have to mention?
He's the
One?
Thank you! That concludes our short cultural Broadway interlude.



So how many days? Huh? Huh?

I'm going to let you in on a little secret about this clue: The object bearing this 1 doesn't technically belong to Sean, however, it contributes to something that Sean absolutely adores. OK. Go! Hey you! Are you thinking? Are you even trying? C'mon! I've got things to do; people to see; places to go! Guesses? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?










HALT! GO NO FURTHER UNTIL YOU HAVE GIVEN THIS YOUR BEST MEASURE OF THOUGHT (heehee)











Hallelujah! I thought you'd never get it. Great effort, everyone!



Today, this little measuring spoon helped me create a homecoming treat for Sean, one that he went gaga for before his mish. Perhaps he will find these blissfully rich brownies a touch too sweet for his palate after being away from the sugar-aholic USofA for two years, but no matter. I want him to be welcomed with a fabulous home cooked meal and a big hunkin' helping of chocolate love upon his arrival (even at 1:00 a.m.). Just so you can hate me in the morning, I'll give you the recipe and let you wallow in the goodness as well:










DECADENT BROWNIES
aka Sean's Version of Heaven

One 9 X 13 pan baked brownies (I use a box mix)
4 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped
1 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup pasteurized egg substitute
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar, sifted
4 cups mini marshmallows

While the brownies are baking, make the frosting. Melt the chocolate and butter in a medium bowl in the microwave on high for one minute. Stir. Return to microwave for 30 second intervals, stirring until smooth and completely melted. Add the egg substitute, vanilla, and sugar. Stir with wooden spoon until completely incorporated. Stir in marshmallows; they will soften but not melt completely. Spread the frosting over the still-warm brownies. The frosting will set up when the brownies are completely cooled. You've basically slapped a huge slab of chocolate fudge atop a huge slab of brownie. Mmmmmm, hallelujah!

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

¡Dos Días!



THINGS ARE GETTING SERIOUS, FOLKS!
HOW MANY DAYS UNTIL T.C.E.E.* GIVES HIS MAMA A GREAT BIG YOGI-BEAR HUG FROM WHICH SHE NEVER LETS GO FOR LIKE, WEEKS?


*T.C.E.E.=The Coolest Elder Ever!


We're down to the wire, here guys. Get your thinking caps on and have a go at what you think might bear this 2. (Oh, wow! Two! Two days! Sheezam! My boy will be home in two days!!! SHRIEK!) Okay, sorry about that freak-out, but now I'm back. Cool as a cucumber, that's me. SHRIEK!!! Oh my. So! I'm going to give you a clue on this one because it's a Tuesday, and we all know that our brains don't really get ramped up until Wednesday. So, here's your clue:

~Sean drives the girls
cuuurrrraaaazzzzy with this!~






WHOA, NELLY!
STOP! (You may also want to LOOK!, and LISTEN!)







Make your guess about that mysterious 2 before you skitter on down to the next picture.
And now, some words to motivate and inspire:
"Think, think, think." --Winnie the Pooh








Yeaaaaaah! That's what I'm talkin' about, right there!

Did you get it? Did you use my not-so-clever clue to guess that the 2 is on the gear shift of this little death trap in which Sean likes to gad about town? If so, you are correct! Congratulations! Well done. Well done, indeed.


By the by, just how long are 48 hours, anyway? When one is counting every single minute, every single second, "enduring to the end" shimmies perilously close to "pushing one over the edge." That's how long 48 hours are. Just sayin'.




I can, and I will endure.

Monday, September 27, 2010

¡Tres Días!


Oh my goodness!
Oh my goodness!
Oh my goodness!
How many more days?
(Clues above and below)
This is Sean's ___________.
(You know this is the part where you're supposed to play along and fill in the blank, right? I know, I know. I'm super giddy with excitement so just humor me with all of this nonsense and play along.
¡Gracias, amigos!)


HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE!

Do not try to sneak down to the bottom of this post until you have taken a stab at guessing where this 3 might be displayed.

I'll wait. Still waiting . . .
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. (Snicker.)










Woo hoo! Did you guess Sean's
alarm clock? Yes?!
Ooooh. Sorry. Better luck next time. But thanks for comin'!!!










This is Sean's nifty Nixon Rotolog watch which I insisted he leave at home.

If my suspicions about his "after the mission stories" inferences are correct, I'm pretty sure Sean is going to be thanking me that he still has a left hand attached to his arm:

Nice watch eyed on the bus? Check.
Machete whipped out? Check.
Whack, whack? Check.
You're welcome, Seanie.




Sunday, September 26, 2010

¡Cuatro Días!




HOW MANY MORE DAYS?
LET'S SAY IT ALL TOGETHER:

Can you guess what object in Sean's bedroom bears this 4?

STOP!

Now, now, boys and girls. Remember the rules.
No scrolling until you've ventured a guess!
Whad'ya think?













Ta da! Sean salvaged this license plate after we moved to Utah as a memento of his cherished years in Illinois. He has it hanging on the wall near his bed.


So! Who guessed correctly? You guys! Try harder next time!




P.S. Just wondering about something. Do butterflies in your stomach make it as hard for you to go to sleep as they do to mine? Cuz . . .

Saturday, September 25, 2010

¡Cinco Días!




Whoa-kay, boys and girls! The countdown has begun!
How many days until my precious boy is home and can give me a ginormous hug? (CAUTION: I'll be bawling like a baby. Just puttin' that out there right now. Just so ya know. I don't want to alarm anyone with my boo-hooing.)
This is a picture of one of Sean's possessions that he has not seen for two years.
See if you can wrack your little brain to figure out what it is. Go on. Take a guess!

STOP!

Don't scroll down until you've made your guess.
Have you chimed in with your guess yet? No fair peeking; you are on the honor system here cuz I can't monitor everything you do--I only have so much time in my day, don't ya know.





K. Are you ready? What's your guess?
Scroll down to see if you get a gold star slapped onto your forehead.

















This is Sean's beloved Fender FM 212R ampleeee(oooh, loud! loud!)eeeeeefier,
just one of his many ampleeee(earplugs!)eeeeeefiers)

Did you get it right? Try harder next time. There might be a prize.

*I'm dying to see whether Elder Sean eventually gets back to using his amplifiers again. If so, my guess is he will only crank them up to blast some great Mormon Tabernacle Choir melodies through our walls benefiting our backdoor neighbors. I know they'd just love that.

"Hey, Myrtle! It sounds like that Sagers boy is back home. Glad to hear "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," but I must admit I do kinda miss his Led Zeppelin tunes now and then. It kept my pacemaker in rhythm, what with that thumping bass guitar and all."

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Oh, Shoot!

This is the edition of my childhood


When I was a kid, my brothers and I would huddle on the floor in our living room and play round after round of Chutes and Ladders. (Well. Now that I think about it, perhaps it was just one round per go. I'll freely admit that I was a whiner, and big brothers can only take so much of a little sister who is a whiner before they lose all grip on sanity and lock the little whiner out of the house while they crank up some good Black Sabbath. Hi Gwyl! Ahem.)

Anyway. I clearly remember being deliriously happy with my good fortune whenever my beat-up and bent-in-half cardboard character would land on the mother lode ladder and I was able to walk my little character up to the top of that ladder, rung by rung, straight onto space "84." (That space is where sweet little Nurse Betty receives a gift from her very young and apparently parent-less patient after she puts a lethal tourniquet {too tight! too tight!} on his leg at the bottom of that mother lode ladder on space "28".) Ha! Look at me! Almost to space "100!" Until. Ooooooooh too bad. The spin of a "3" just dashed my little six-year-old hopes to smithereens. Whine.

It wasn't until very recently that a ginormous light bulb blinked into the "on" position over my head as I realized it wasn't "shoots" but "chutes." Holy cats, how many years have I been operating under misguided propaganda?! (Twenty is all I'm copping to.) But, holy cats! This rocked my whole world! It's "chutes?" Really? Not "shoots?" Jiminy.

So, I'm wondering, have you had an epiphany like that? One that suddenly hits you like a cast iron pan to the forehead (CLANK!) when, after many years (but twenty is all I'm copping to, right?) of thinking one way, you suddenly go, "Duh-uh! I. am. such. an. idiot."

Huh. Shoots vs. chutes. Get out!

By the by, the reason this revelation even came to bear is because I yet again forced Dave and Christian into servitude and demanded asked with a lot of honey in my voice that we all play a rousing game of Shoots, er Chutes (sorry, old habits die hard) and Ladders as part of our weekly Monday Evening Sagers Family Gala and Soiree. (Formal attire requested but optional.) Praise the Lord that both Dave and Christian have a high tolerance for whining, otherwise I'd for certain be banging on the door pleading and begging to be let back inside before Old Lady Clax* sics her dog on me out there in the dark--just me and my little beat-up and bent-in-half cardboard cutout self.

This is the edition I whine over now

*Another revelation! True story: It was only a month ago that I found out from my mom that Old Lady Clax is spelled "Old Lady Clax" and not "Old Lady Clacks." After all these years, that discovery just about blew my brains out. Wow.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

While You're At It, Don't Forget About Weeping Willow Day!




And how about Quaking Aspen Day? Oh! And, don't blow off Crabapple Day, Birch Day, and Magnolia Day! Don't forget those!


Do you see it?





How about now?





Images courtesy of KSL 5 News from a recent
newscast regarding an incident that happened on F-R-I-day

*Okaaaaaay. All who think that I need an intervention, please raise your hand. And for those of you who are raising both hands and jumping up and down screaming, "get a grip, girl!" I know that I'm out of control here. I hear ya. So, is there a 12-step program for someone who is drawn to finding typos against her will? "Hello. My name is Deon, and I am a dork." It's not like I am Grammar Gertie; any 1 who reads my blog nose that I ain't so grate at puttin' out purfect righting sampels. See? Sheesh. My friend, Jeanne, feels my pain. She writes, "Gifes grater meening too reeding the knewspayper!" Jeanne! I think we're seoul cisterns!

And I think I need help.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Pinky Out! Remember: Pinky Out!



Since Miss Manners was apparently booked elsewhere (I'm thinking perhaps at Snooki's?--you know what a classy act she can be . . . ), our local tribe of fourteen tween-age girls asked me to (mis?)inform them on the do's and dont's of table manners. Why would they ask me? Me! Of all people!? Most likely it was because I am such a stellar example of the "dont's" of good manners, and we all know that it is as important to witness what NOT to do as it is to understand what one SHOULD do. I'll bet the leaders told those little girls to simply ignore much of my "do's", whispering to them throughout my presentation: "Pssst! Just ignore that part." "Pssst! That's waaaaay wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong." "Pssst! She doesn't know what in the high heck she's talkin' about. Just humor her until she hands out those chocolate bonbons. Then we are so outta here!"


Of course, I instructed them on the usual: Don't shoot peas through your drinking straw (or your nose--something might get stuck up there, and well, that's just gross); no elbows on the table (feet are sorta optional); wait for your hostess to leave the room before you surreptitiously jab your fork into your Uncle Herbert's thigh to get him to stop snoring and snap his head back up; and so forth.

The girls felt very grown up and all hoity-toity, but after a while, I could tell that if we didn't wrap up soon, the novelty would quickly wear off, and they would be back to flinging their garlic mashed potatoes into their best friend's ear. (Aaah, I can so relate to that. I'm still washing the pepperoni smell out of my hair from our little guy's latest rant at Chuck E. Cheese. He so, so, so wanted to ride that mechanical pony, but the manager very clearly and succinctly stated, "nuh uh." Whoa. Look out! MAJOR MELTDOWN THAT DAY!!! . . . okay jk about that. But it COULD HAVE happened--he does like his mechanical ponies, I must say . . .)

I wanted to inspire these little princesses to seek their extraordinary potential, so I left them with this thought:
A true princess isn't a diva;
a true princess recognizes that she is a
daughter of God and acts accordingly.



That goes for our little prince too. Right, coughdavecough Buckeroo Boy?

jk about that Chuck E. Cheese meltdown. But just TRY to deny him his nightly dose of Lucy and Ricky and Ethel and Fred--then you really would see more than just a meltdown; you just might see a grown buckeroo cry.

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

For the Serventless Cook



Do you see the hand on the hip?
Always on the hip. Right, Julia?





Okay, okay. OKAY! I get it! We can't all be Julia Child. But that doesn't mean that we aren't allowed to put our hand on our hip (always on the hip) and talk with that wonderful throaty droll as if we had mashed potatoes in our mouths, now does it?

Soon after buying Julia's cookbook, a purchase inspired by the movie, Julie & Julia, (read about that loopy exploit here), we three wizards of the culinary arena decided to take a crack at one of the (not-so-simple) souffle' recipes.

(Sidebar {and you knew there would be a sidebar, cuz this is ME blogging}: After a recent second viewing of that darling movie, I was reminded of how narcissistic blogging truly is--or can be. That Julie character was just a touch (read: a lot!) annoying to me, what with her self-centered need for people to read her blog and all. Anyway! Enough about me and what I think. Let's talk about you. What do you think of me and my blog? yuk. yuk. Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . . )

I can't really recall how we came to settle on this particular recipe, all I know is that there were a lot of spoons and hands in the pot. "My turn! It's my turn! Let me break the eggs! Wah! I wanted to whisk!" Geez, Dave can be such a pill at times.

We quite surprised ourselves with our first attempt at a Julia Child recipe. And that's sayin' something because, honest to pete, those recipes are not for the faint of heart nor for the "serventless cook," as they claim. As it was, had we used a proper souffle' dish, I'm quite certain we would have given Chuck-A-Rama a run for its money. Pause. Blink, blink. Pause. Well, let's just say that no one had to call poison control. Now, I call that a raging success! (You would call it a success too if you had poison control answering your multiple calls with, "Dave? Christian? Is this you? Again? I thought I told you to keep her away from that blasted kitchen! We're running low on antidotes this month, and it's not fair to the other poisonees!")

Here then, I offer up SOUFFLE' DE SAUMON (pronounced in a charming French accent and as if one's mouth was overflowing with russets):
The souffle' is served!






Luv her.


And, the humiliation never ends for Dave and Christian. However, I, for one, think they look like a pair of Dapper Dans in their toque/miter/bonnet thingys as they try to keep me as pacified as possible.


Sunday, September 05, 2010

I'm Guessing Her Family Was Surprised!


My most constant source of lively entertainment (my local newspaper, remember?) served up a feast on a silver platter Friday:


The caption reads:
Nathan Osmond jokes with his grandmother,Olive Osmond, on stage at the Onion Days kickoff on Wednesday at the Peteetneet Outdoor Amphitheater in Payson.


Unfortunately, Mrs. Osmond (bless her heart) passed away in 2004. 2004, guys! Even more unfortunate, most of her offspring, off-offspring, and off-off-offspring (there's a lot of them!) live in this valley, thus most likely making up a huge portion of this very newspaper's readership. Um, until now, I'll just bet. Oh, snap.

*Being the responsible newspaper consumer that I am, when I phoned and spoke with the executive editor of the paper for clarification (oh, yes I did), he was none to happy to be called out on the issue of the undead. Or maybe he had just eaten some bad Chinese food. I couldn't quite tell which. Needless to say, I didn't inquire after his family or his pets--get in, get out is my motto when things turn icy like that.

Thursday, September 02, 2010

Packin' (and Packing)!



And speaking of Mormon missionaries (and we were, weren't we?) . . .



Apparently, due to the {quote} UNRELIABLE BUSES* {unquote} in Honduras, Elder Sean's return date has been delayed two days so that he isn't required to travel on the {quote} UNRELIABLE BUSES* {unquote} without another elder with him. k. Can't get that boy home soon enough. And I highly doubt I'm reading too much into what Elder Davis from Sean's mission office said to me on the phone yesterday about the {quote} UNRELIABLE BUSES* {unquote}. I mean, seriously. You guys didn't forget about this, did you?:
Sean's packin' heat, as we say in the biz


Anywho!
Elder Sean returns on
September 30!!!

*"Unreliable buses" has gotta be code for "extremely unsafe and, in fact, highly dangerous buses," as in never, ever, ever let your Rolex and/or your Louis Vuitton man-bag garner too much attention while traveling without a posse of at least seven to nine other elders by your side. What you might be doing on a rickety bus in Honduras while wearing/carrying a Rolex and/or a Louis Vuitton man-bag is another story and beside the point.