Scrumptious Reuben


This Reuben will go great with a side of love.

Yes, Reuben is a sandwich.

Reuben is also our new little puppy we’ve welcomed into our home. This one has plenty of meat, but a lot less Russian dressing.

Natalie wanted a dachshund or a small terrier, but I overrode her desires and chose a mutt rescue dog who (the rescuers think) has some golden retriever in him.  I made the decision without really consulting the kids, because I wanted to be more sure we got a friendly, non-yapping, sweet and trainable breed.  Because I did so, I let them name him.  Quid pro quo.

It took awhile.  They all liked “Felix,” but Guy said it reminded him of a cat.  Garrett liked “Axel” but Luke simply didn’t take to it. Luke liked “Amos” but Garrett said it sounded like “anus,” which, yes.  I see his point.

The moniker “Reuben” sounded soft to the kids, and kind somehow.  They thought a “Reuben” might be aristocratic.  “Dude, he’s so majestic, you don’t even know,” I overheard Garrett telling his friend Zack.

Majestic?  Well, you can see him – what do you think?  I think he looks more beer and pizza than duck rillettes and champagne.  More I think I might eat my own poop than pardon me, do you have any grey poupon?

But so far so good.  I mean, he’s a puppy. His cuteness goes a long way.  We’ve had him in our house for 14 hours.  He slept a solid 7.5 hours in his crate last night, so today I’m awake and willing able to be vigilant with housetraining.  We wore the poor little guy out this morning with our walking and playing and constant quick exits to the lawn ‘just in case.’  God, wouldn’t it be great to know what he’s thinking?  These people seem nice, and some of them smell very good, but they gotta give me a break, I’m ten weeks old for crying out loud.  Throw me a bone here you mega-humans!

I admit, he’s got a pretty energetic family to keep up with.  Tomorrow I’m taking him to Camden to meet a friend I haven’t seen in 6 years for lunch (HI CARRIE-ANNE, you sexy beast!), and on Sunday to a Babe Ruth game.  I want a dog I can trust to be around lots of people in lots of different situations.  They say the way to get that is to put him in those situations with those people.

Let the fun begin!



Smelly Pickle

Once in awhile, Natalie declares ‘game night’ at our house.  This week, Monday night was Farkle night.

In case you have never Farkled, wink, wink, snort, snort…it’s enough to say it’s a dice game that anyone over age 4 can play.  You should know it’s very fun, because any time someone rolls the dice and does not earn points, anyone at the table who feels the spirit overtake him or her gets to yell “FARKLE!” at the top of their lungs, which at my house is the quietest of noise from around the game table.  You can ask my mom, who lives next door.

In addition to the constant occurrence of farkle after farkle, mostly by my inability to roll a 1 or a damn 5, our kids thought it was hilarious to sing songs about a smelly pickle.

I don’t even know.

And I don’t have to know, and I don’t have to understand, and mine is not to wonder why.  When a song begins, and the tune is catchy, and the lyrics don’t make you want to either let it go or come in like a wrecking ball, I will tell you what you do:  you sing along.

Thus was our Monday night.  It was deliriously awesome.



I am hosting the greatest dinner party of all time.  It’s a good thing I live in a sprawling home with a gourmet kitchen.  Ahem.  I encourage you all to invite a few of your most favorite favorites of all time, no limit on numbers.

I begin with my very own list:

1.  Freddie Mercury

2.  Dorothy Parker

3. Johnny Cash

4. Carrie-Anne Frances White Thayer

5.  Harper Lee


So.  Which people are you going to add to the list, friends?  Need some guidelines to help you get started?  Begrudgingly, here you go:

1.  Guests can be alive or dead, I don’t care either way.  And I guess they can be real or completely created in literature or film (or your own pretty little head, if you’re so inclined.)  Go ahead and invite Jay Gatsby if you’re looking for that kind of vibe, just be aware his liver is completely fictional, and we should probably consider quadrupling the size of the bar.

2.  I do insist that you not choose any family members to be on your list,  that’s too obvious.

3.  And you can’t choose people who might set the world on fire. Again. –Lizzie Borden.  Sid, Nancy.  Bonnie, Clyde.  Al Capone.  Stay away from the likes of Jeffrey Dahmer.  Don’t be gross.

4.  Make it the most raucous, rip roaring dinner party in the history of the world – in the absolute best possible way. Let the room be full of the greatness that has come before, or is unfolding now.  Let it be bigger than you, so you can – do what?-  bite out a piece of their soul and sew it into your skin, bring them to life in a new and vibrant way.  With words, of course; use your words, people.  I said no cannibalism.

5.  Be smart.  Don’t put people who would have hated each other together at the table.  No one wants this brilliant moment destroyed by flying steak knives. Feel free to invite Steven Spielberg.  If you do, keep Hitler deep underground.  Should you choose Crazy Horse to join the foray, ixnay the invitationway for General George Custer.  You catch my drift?  We don’t want a scene here on Cedar Street.  We don’t want to catch the attention of the neighbors.

6.  Let us also all agree, if you don’t mind:  Jesus (or Buddha,  Brahma, Allah), Elvis, Mother Teresa, Gandhi, and John Wayne have a standing invitation.  As in:  they need no invitation at all.  They’re the reasons the rooms are clean and made up fresh and they can stay as long as they wish.

7.  Lastly, don’t worry if we run into repeats.  Create your list and send it off.  I’ll create a massive list at the end.  I can’t wait to see what you all come up with!






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