Conversations On Children

Me: "Adrian's starting to show. I think she's getting excited about it. I told her not to worry. I would do more than enough worrying for her."

Benjamin: "Why do you say that?"

Me: "Because I totally feel overwhelmed for her? Besides, she just got married, which is already a pretty big change. Now everything for her is going to change. And IS changing, actually."

Benjamin: " I don't see why you think about it like that."

Me: "Well, if you were about to gain 20 lbs and get stretch marks and go through all sorts of physical changes and then have a baby and stop working and have a child to take care of permanently.... do you think you might find that overwhelming? It's not like you can get tired of the baby and give it back a year later."

Benjamin: "Well, yeah."

Me: "That's why."

I don't know about you, but it makes sense to me. Maybe Benjamin can be the stay-at-home dad when we get around to having kids. He doesn't seem daunted by parenting at all. Brave you parents are. Very brave. Talk like Yoda I do sometimes. Scared stiff of children-having I still am. :)

Making History

It's been a long time -- at least 10 years. Maybe more. Every year I ask my mom to make me "gumboats" for my birthday. But she never does. It's not because she doesn't love me. She has good reason. 1) Plums, a key ingredient, aren't in season in October. 2) They take a freaking long time to make. 3) It was really a dish Opa used to make. So while she may know how, it's not like it was HER tradition to make them.

However, this past Sunday I decided I had waited long enough. I wanted those precious plum dumplings (called "gombocs" in Hungarian). And I wanted them soon. Well, the stars finally aligned because plums were in season and I had the wherewithall and time to do them myself.

The making of them was quite an experience, as cooking with any of my mother's self-written recipes is. The fun began as I started to read her instructions. My mom's cooking instructions are often a little confusing, or missing helpful details, or containing some instructions in a nonsequential, unorganized manner which is other than what one might otherwise have expected. Unless, of course, you were expecting a recipe from my mother.

The hilarity continued as I tried my darndest to follow the instructions. Once you've mashed all the potatoes (the base ingredient for the dough), you're supposed to add 3 cups of flour. I had halved the recipe, so I had set out 1 1/2 cups of flour to work with initially. The instructions said to "work as much flour as you can into the potatoes". As instructed, I worked as much flour as I could into my mashed bowl of potatoes -- about 3 to 4 cups worth. Uh oh. Maybe I mis-measured my potatoes? In the end, I figured as long as it looked like potato dough, I should be good. Right? Right. Moving on...

Then there was the advice column. "You don't want to put too many into the pot at one time. Sticking them together is a tragedy, and having them split open is another!" Tragedy?!?! I did't want tragedy. No way. Only perfectly nonstuck, non-holy, yummy dumplings were coming out of MY pot!

Well, try and try as I might, I had tragedy with about 1/2 of my dumplings. Holes everywhere. Note to self -- don't lay the dumplings on top of each other in a bowl as you're waiting to add them to the pot. Lay them out separately on a flour-covered counter top. You live and learn, I guess.

My other favorite instruction, "You may want to lift one out and taste it, which usually won't be any big sacrifice, to determine if the batch is ready." I did in fact taste a holy dumpling and was grateful to discover it was no sacrifice. And it didn't end up being as tragic as I was expecting. Apparently "tragedy" is a relative term in this recipe.

Reading the recipe was almost like having my mother in the kitchen right there with me. It was delightful and hilarious -- very accurate for working with my mother in any kitchen. And below are pictures for evidence of this most delicious Hungarian family tradition. I may need some practice with this dish. And while it may take a while to make them, I also consider this to be no big sacrifice. Yum Yum Gumboats!

Post Family Reunion

Just to alert everyone, Jefita and I are now back from the family reunion and are now just slacking off from writing on the blog.

The Family Reunion

So, just to alert everyone and all...the gathering of Neu's is taking place starting on Sunday, so the blog might be a little slow or not updated....but rest assured we will remember all of you that read this little blog (all 3 of you that is! :)

Checking In

It doesn't take much to ruin your efforts. In my case, I almost threw away my dedication and hard work in a mere 2 days. Thank goodness I took a turn for the better at the last hour and thwarted failure. I finally got myself to the gym at 8:20pm, which is before closing time(9pm), and ran my 4 miles as quick as my legs would carry me so I didn't have to stop before I'd finished. If I hadn't gone running yesterday, I wasn't going to get in my 3 days this week. And that would totally ruin my progress and training. Ok, maybe not totally. But it would have created a crack in my confidence and dedication to the goal of training. And self-doubt is incredibly toxic.


I have been keeping a log of my marathon training for the past 4 1/2 weeks. In that time, I've logged 56 miles. While this is skimpy by normal marathon training standards (most training programs recommend you run 25-50 miles per week),I find it encouraging. Already, I've run well over 2 marathons!

I also have been diligently caring for my plantaar fasciitis. I found a new kind of stretchy sports tape. The previous tape I was using started to fall off from the increase in humidity out here, making it somewhat ineffective and incredibly annoying. The new tape sticks to my legs while I run, but doesn't stick so well that it takes my top layer of skin when I take it off AFTER I run (I especially appreciate this feature). And my ankle, even after a 10.5 mile long run last weekend, seems to be feeling really good. Not cured. But good.

I'm not burnt out on my goal. I rather enjoy the running. I haven't suffered any feelings of dead legs or a feeling of dread in anticipation of running. It seems to me 3 times a week isn't a hard regimen to keep up with. But it's easy to get out of rhythm. And I almost didn't make it a priority the last couple days. I was SUPPOSED to go running Monday. But then I fell asleep and the next thing I knew the gym was already closed (curse their summer hours). It was almost a repeat on Tuesday. Thank goodness for the almost -- I would have been so sad!

This has brought to light the longevity in focus required to meet this goal. I'm coming on 5 weeks of consistent training, or 10 if you wanna be generous and include the weeks I was running regularly and gearing up to train. But I have all the way to November 1st to get to my goal!! That's another, count 'em with me, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16 weeks! Seriously? I could fall off the wagon any NUMBER of times given that many opportunities.

I have some hope. In training, I've so far had to make some accomodations and concessions which make evident the existence of some dedication and staying power on my behalf. I've had to wake up at 6am and go running several times, just to fit it in. I've conceded to fitting in 1 day of cross-training to compensate and provide sufficient fitness training for my lower mileage training regimen. And I've found myself willing to run innumerable hills -- because that's all Fairfield, Ohio has to offer me if I want to run outside. These are my sacrifices that give me confidence. I place my offerings at the altar of the marathon gods in hopes they may find them pleasing and satisfactory. If I'm willing to do this (and believe you me when I say I really HATE running in the morning) I just might reach the marathon. I just might.

I mentioned that I almost failed, but I realize failure can have many definitions. I am running for a purpose, but that purpose is not to win a race. And it is not to run a marathon even. It is yet to be seen if my ankle will last. But it's pretty clear that the goal to run the race has been set and the entry form has been turned in. All that need not fail is my effort and dedication in reaching that goal.

If my body or life should thwart me, that's ok. Just don't let it be because I'm a slacker.

The weekly word/phrase: "The Peanut Gallery"

So, as those that may have come to know me a bit might know, I tend to spout out random ridiculous crap sometimes. And now that I am YM pres in my congregation, I get to spout out even more random ridiculous crap. And that has lead me to this weeks weekly word/phrase.

During Priesthood today, the boys, which provide men endless means of enjoyment, (mostly because I can mock them all day, and they seem to think that is affection, which is great, because they love my sarcasm :), were making large amounts of noise and obnoxious comments. That allowed me to utter the phrase...."Quiet in the Peanut Gallery" which was wonderfully poignant I thought. And then, as kids do all too often, they asked "What is the Peanut Gallery? What does that mean?"

Now me, I had never looked up the phrase peanut gallery. Who looks up that phrase? On top of that....who doesn't know what it means? I mean really, this is basic English or so I thought. So, I started to spout of at how at theaters, the cheap seats were called the peanut gallery because the poor people sat there and they served peanuts as food, and if they didn't like what was going on or were just drunk and disorderly they would throw peanuts and their shells! And alas, just to cover my **** (those four asterisks are for the word "self", but it makes it much more intriguing if you don't know what the word really is).

So alas we have our word/phrase for the week:

"The Peanut Gallery"

1. The hindmost or uppermost section of seating in a theater balcony, where the seats are cheapest.

2. A group of people whose opinions are considered unimportant: "Pressure is building ... to force ... Alan Greenspan to cut interest rates and pump up the money supply. [He] has politely ignored these catcalls from the peanut gallery" (H. Erich Heinemann).
3. A peanut gallery s an audience that heckles the performer. The term originated in the days of Vaudeville as a nickname for the cheapest (and ostensibly rowdiest) seats in the theater; the cheapest snack served at the theater would often be Peanuts, which the patrons would sometimes throw at the performers on stage to show their disapproval. The phrases "no comments from the peanut gallery" or "quiet in the peanut gallery" are extensions of the name.

In the late 1940s the Howdy Doody show adopted the name to represent their audience of 40 kids.

So, there you have it folks...the Peanut Gallery! Enjoy!