An Ode to the Census Taker

It was a Monday night

When a knock of might

pounded on my door

and in stocking feet I skidded across

our entry way floor.

I needed to see - oh who could it be?

Could it be someone selling trees?

Maybe someone collecting canned peas.

I opened the door and what do I see?

But a a man with a badge,

a pencil in hand and

wearing pants that slightly sagged.

He smiled and said, "I hate to nag

but your address has been tagged

for non-return of the census form."

And as a swallowed a mouth full of corn.

I silently wished he been selling porn

(not really, but it rhymed)

He said, "I have a couple of questions

I need to ask,

a few minutes of time and I'll be done with my task.

I also will also tell you

I am bound by the law

to keep your data confidential

no matter how big

or how small.

The Q and the A took roughly 5 minutes

anything longer would have pushed

my patience and my limits.

So our misdeed corrected

Our data protected

I was shaking hands

with the man

The government had selected

to reach out to those who had neglected or

whose sentiments about

the census...be damn.

It would have been nice if his name had been Stan,

but not everything can rhyme.

His name was Ron.

I went back to eating my dinner....some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

A Great Chicken Parmesan Sandwich and 30 Hello's

On Tuesday, I had the pleasure of speaking to a group of residents at Highland Springs Community about my New Years Resolution and Blog. In tow was Grayson - she hurt her ankle at volleyball practice and we had to go the doctor later in the afternoon. I knew it was going to be an excellent experience when the person I met was the receptionist whose name is Donna (there aren't too many of us) and then we met Barbara who was our host/tour guide - she is "Julie, the Cruise Director" (her actual title is Resource Coordinator). WOW....what a great group. Everyone instantly made Gray and I feel as if we were family. There were handshakes and hugs even before I spoke to them. I spoke about my "Hello Project"; my quest to meet a stranger a day, shake hands, how I decided to do this and some of the more memorable people I have met along the way. They were such a great audience that for a couple of minutes I felt as if I was talking to my own grandparents. When I finished, we had a quick q&a and I think it was Herb who asked me if I had been to a tattoo shop yet. I said, "Not yet, do you and I need to go get tattoos?" That garnered a chuckle from audience. Pictures were taken and we were invited to stay for lunch. We followed Barbara's lead and had the lunch special for the day - Chicken Parmesan Sandwich, chips and a drink. I think it was the best Chicken Parmesan sandwich I have ever had. We ate with a great group and learned about all the outside activities (ballgames, symphony, horse races), in house activities (computer classes, Bocce ball, movies), the indoor pool, the spa, the exercise room, the bank, the greenhouse, bistro, poker night, the state clubs (the Kansas club, the NY/NJ club, etc.). I want to live here, but I don't meet the age requirement yet.....have to be at least 62. We also found out that some of the residents are former big band members, a retired FBI agent, a former actress, WWII vets, artists (even one who makes creations out of bones), transplants from London, Hawaii, and almost every state in the union.

I was not smart about meeting everyone - I didn't have them write down their names. But I want to acknowledge, I truly enjoyed meeting each and everyone of you including: Bobbie, Herb, Donna, Eldora, Doris, Dick, Evelyn, Lillian, Monty, Bill, Jody, Marijo, Doreen, Trudy, Barbara, Irene, Walt.

What a great community....so many people, so many stories, not enough time in one visit and one great Chicken Parmesan sandwich - Grayson and I couldn't have asked for a better lunch bunch.

Fried Chicken or Fried Prairie Dog - You make the call......

Here is the chicken update that a few of you have asked about......

I started at 10:30 am, making sure I had a couple cups of coffee in me, and two (yes,I said two) hours later I was finished. The longest part was cutting up the crazy chicken. I thought for sure somewhere deep in my genetic coding that once I picked up the butcher knife, I would be able to figure out how to cut up a chicken like I had been butchering chickens since man created fire. I was confident...to me it seemed like the legs seemed like a no-brainer, the wings were a given and everything would have a "natural fat line" that I would follow to finish. I started with the legs although mine seemed to be a bit longer than what the Colonel serves. Next the wings, cut and folded - easy. Onto the the body and looking for the "natural line." HA....not so fast Miss Transplanted Southern Belle. Where the hell is the natural line - I don't see anything that would give me the faintest idea of what and where to cut next. So I started hacking and sawing trying my best to re-create semblance of a chicken that would be bucket worthy. Some pieces ended up with no bones, some pieces had no skin, one piece ended up having a long tail, and another that looked liked I had fried a prairie dog. It was a mess - the chicken was really cold, I could barely hold on to the knife because my hands were so slippery, I was doing my best "HazMat" impersonation trying to contain the chicken juice so that I wouldn't cross-contaminate anything. And to top it all off, Grayson kept coming in the kitchen every time she heard me mutter under my breath or when the rogue curse would escape my lips. She just shook her head and rolled her eyes. At one point she said, "This doesn't look good at all." I agreed. It looked like WWII had descended upon the poor chicken. Took me 1 1/2 hours to cut up that poor bird.......and with the bird pieces parts piled in a bowl, I washed my hands and got ready to fry.

Flour - check. Lard - check. Salt and pepper - check. Here is where I should interject a pearl of wisdom.....don't try to flour dredge your chicken on a small paper plate. Flour goes everywhere and I mean everywhere and you can only flour two pieces of chicken at a time. It is here that I seriously begin to reconsider my efforts. No, I have gotten this far - I am going to finish - come hell or high water (which I was feverishly wishing for both). Cast iron skillet out and lard melted. Legs, wings and assorted pieces parts go into the skillet. The only thing that I would suggest is to resist the temptation to flip the pieces before they were ready......I held my patience and waited until a good crispy coating had formed. All pieces fried and draining on paper towels....I was drained as well as covered in flour and splattered grease from my fingertips to my elbows. What a hot mess - and I mean literally.

The kids and husband test taste the chicken and the following were their comments:

Mason:

1. "It is good except for the unexpected bone or tendon when you don't expect it" and;

2. "I underestimated the size of that one piece - there was so much chicken - I couldn't even finish that piece."

Grayson:

1. "Oh dad, you should have heard the words that were coming out of the kitchen when she was cutting it up";

2. "It looks a whole lot better fried and it tastes good."

Chris:

1. "What the heck is this piece??? It looks like a couple of pieces fused together."

And of course my mom wanted an update and I explained all of the above. She then tells me:

1. "I used to put the flour and spices into a paper bag and shook it up. That will keep you from getting flour everywhere and then you just throw the bad away." Nice to know - afterwards.

2. "It shouldn't have taken that long to cut up a bird of that size." Yup - even I figured that out about an hour into it.

3. "Now when I do fried chicken, I buy it already cut up - it is much easier." Uh huh....next time that pre-cut bird has my name written all over.

4. "I can't believe I never taught you how to cut up a chicken." Well, if you taught me to cut it up to look like a chicken from Chernobyl - than you did. If it is suppose to look like a chicken from the Colonel - then you must have taught Sondra or I was definitely not paying attention.

I am glad that I did it, but the next time I get a whole chicken (feel free to laugh here), I am going to cut it straight down the back and bake that bad boy just like Tina told me to do. And just a shout out to my grandma (God rest her soul) - thank goodness you didn't trap and skin buffalo....who knows what kind of mess that would have been.