Fluffo, In The Gay Kitchen Canister / Fluffo En El Bote Gay De Cocina

La versión español está después de la versión inglés.

San Geraldo has been doing some Christmas baking. I’ll of course tell you about that and share photos, but today I want to talk about Fluffo. While San Geraldo was looking through his mother’s old recipes, he found a pie crust recipe that called for “3/4 cup Fluffo.”

I had never heard of Fluffo, which was a type of shortening (it’s apparently still sold in Canada). But the name made me laugh. Then, San Geraldo, looked it up and found an old TV commercial, which made me laugh even more. We don’t have Fluffo, but our kitchen canisters are of course gay.

San Geraldo ha estado haciendo algún horneado navideño. Por supuesto, te contaré eso y compartiré fotos, pero hoy quiero hablar sobre Fluffo. Mientras San Geraldo estaba revisando las recetas de su madre, encontró una receta de masa de tarta que pedía “Fluffo 3/4 de taza”.

Nunca había oído hablar de Fluffo, que era un tipo de manteca (aparentemente todavía se vende en Canadá). Pero el nombre me hizo reír. Luego, San Geraldo, lo buscó y encontró un viejo anuncio televisivo, que me hizo reír aún más. No tenemos Fluffo, pero nuestros botes de cocina por supuesto son “gay.” (En inglés, “gay” solía significar “despreocupado, alegre, brillante y vistoso“.)

I know for certain my mother never used Fluffo. If she had, she would have saved every gay canister! / Sé que mi madre nunca usó Fluffo. ¡Si lo hubiera hecho, habría salvado todos los botes gay!


Teaser: What San Geraldo has cooking at the moment. / Teaser: Lo que San Geraldo tiene cocinando en este momento.

Less Mess, More Memories

Since our return from New York late September, I’ve been trying to get the apartment more settled and organized. We finished most of our renovations months ago and never got around to putting things completely back together. Then My Mother The Dowager Duchess took her final bow and we returned with memories of her. What we carried home with us was followed months later by some furniture, art, and other things we didn’t have the heart to part with.

We also shipped back from South Dakota dozens of framed family photos we had left with Linda and Tom (Jerry’s sister and her husband) when we moved to Spain. About 10 boxes. They were supposed to go through the photos, keep what they wanted, share with the kids, and then get rid of the rest.

Somehow, in the emotions of our departure, Linda and Tom missed that point and thought they were simply storing boxes of papers! So, in September, we whittled the 10 boxes down to 4. We’ve now got a lot of framed photos and not a lot of wall space. I’m doing what I can, while turning what I had hoped would be a minimalist apartment into a Victorian-looking collection of clutter.

I’m trying to keep the clutter under control and, I must admit, we both love seeing so many family photos back on our walls (thanks, Linda and Tom) along with original artwork, including paintings and sculptures by The Dowager Duchess.

We used to have close to 200 photos lining a hallway or stairway in every one of our [more spacious] homes in the States, plus dozens displayed on tabletops. A few dozen is all this place can handle, I think. And each one requires me to drill a hole into the concrete wall. So, if I measure wrong, that’s where it stays! I still have to figure out permanent homes for all the additional sculptures and knick knacks that are strewn on most surfaces.

Mess makes me crazy.

(Click the images for a better look.)

OF COURSE, DUDO…
… AND MOOSE MONITOR MY PROGRESS.

Peacock, My Ass

When I was first out of university and looking for a job (with my degree in Art with minors in Psychology and English), my mother’s friend, Leah Meis (name changed to protect the unkind) insisted I meet her son-in-law to see if he had a job for me. He interviewed me in Leah’s bedroom (and, no, I didn’t put out) and offered me a job in the mailroom of his factory-of-some-sort in New Jersey. I didn’t like him much (nor did I like the offer); I thanked him and turned him down.

The next day, Leah arrived at my parents’ apartment and demanded I take the mailroom job. I told her I was looking for something a bit more challenging and interesting.

Leah said, “Get the feathers out of your ass, Mitchell! You’re not a peacock!”

Once I was gainfully employed, I walked into Saks Fifth Avenue and bought myself a very expensive, hand-painted, silk necktie. One spectacular peacock feather on a scarlet background.

(After another 15 years, Leah Meis retired to New Jersey and my mother, having finally decided she’d endured enough nastiness, refused to visit her.)



Dudo’s Peacock Feather
On the subject of peacocks, when our niece Lindy’s parents were visiting last month, her mother, Debbie, brought a bag of toys for the cats — two of each item. Included were a pair of peacock feathers from their own farm peacocks. Dudo and Moose were (and are) ecstatic.

My Ass
In preparation for our move to Spain more than 5 years ago, I finally retired that very old peacock feather necktie. I’ve at times considered having a peacock fan tattooed across my entire back (emerging from the crack of my ass).

(Click the images for a closer look… at Dudo, not my ass.)

DUDO AND HIS PEACOCK FEATHER.
SOMETHING FLEW BY.
WAS THAT AN ENTIRE PEACOCK???

Another Reason To Stay In Southern Spain

My sister-in-law and brother-in-law were driving the other day from Minneapolis, Minnesota, to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. This was their view on the four-lane highway as the day progressed.

(Click the images to make things more clear — Well, at least, the last three images.)

[NOTE: THAT’S NOT FOG; THAT’S SNOW!]

These were my views as the day progressed.

The Best Little Cat House In South Dakota

If you think Matt and Lindy are soft touches when it comes to cats in need (yesterday’s post), you should meet Lindy’s parents! They have a farm outside Pierre and have both farm and house cats. I can’t remember how many exactly — perhaps 15 inside the cool and stylish house and that many (or maybe 50, I get those numbers confused) on the farm. And, yes, they all have names.

If we lived closer, we probably would have begged to take a couple home with us!

(Click the images for a closer look. Go on. I know you can’t resist.)

WE HAD FARM GUIDES.
THE BOUDOIR. IT IS A CATHOUSE AFTERALL!
INSTANT AFFECTION. HE MADE OUR HEARTS MELT.

THIS ONE STUCK A FLOWER IN HER HAIR TO SEE US OFF.
“ARE YOU OFF, THEN? SO, WHAT DID I MISS?”