Gluten Free Diet = Quinoa?

A household, it seems, is a constantly evolving creature. Mine has evolved yet again. Changes have occurred in the culinary department as my wife is in the process of becoming gluten free.

The obvious question is, why? The answer is simple. My wife has discovered that she is allergic to gluten.

This is a major problem. Everything, and I mean everything, contains gluten. You name it. Hot dogs, hamburgers, sausage biscuits, pancakes, cereal, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and everything in between. You know, the entire food pyramid!

Oh, yeah... Except fruits and vegetables, of course. I'm still trying to figure out what those things are and where one would locate them and how they fit into that triangle thingy. I've heard they grow on trees...

The hardest part of this gluten free thing is going out to eat. As long as I'm cooking, I pretty much know what to do. The challenge is figuring out what the restaurant has done.

Is it fried, breaded or baked? Does it contain wheat product? Does it contain preservatives, or MSG's?

Salads are generally okay, depending on croutons and salad dressing.

We have Mexican food mostly figured out. This is good since Mexican is a staple for my family. Thank goodness for La Hacienda! Ole!

Other places are not quite so simple. Bruster's Ice cream could neither confirm nor deny gluten in their product. Teenagers. So helpful.

On top of all this, I find out gluten is not just in food. It's also in vitamins, medicines and even hand lotions!

I called the customer service line on the back of the Jergens brand hand lotion bottle. Like the Bruster's teenager, the rep could "neither confirm nor deny" whether her product contained gluten or not.

Now we're trying all sorts of new foods around my house like seaweed, oat crackers and hummus. What's a hummus?

And quinoa. What's a quinoa? Is it really edible? Is it a plant or an animal? How do you even pronounce that?



Sprouted Quinoa Trio? Looks like bird seed!

Most potato chips, I'm happy to tell you, are gluten free.

Spin Cycle's Not for Dogs

Only eleven days into the new year and it's time for a status report. And, if the first week and a half of 2014 is to be any indication of what's to come, it's going to be an off-kilter, oddball kind of year!

It took a barrage of medical tests to determine that I was running a temperature and regurgitating for seemingly no reason. I am happy to announce that I've managed to shake off all illnesses, imagined or otherwise, and am currently in good health, as best I know.

Sadly, though, we are not all in good health in my happy, little household.

Mr. Volvo, who has actually been ailing for quite some time, is currently in a coma at the side of my house. His pacemaker, or alternator if you're a mechanic, simply gave out.

My car showed me that it cared by waiting until I was in the middle of nowhere. That's when it kicked the bucket and began powering down. I was trucking down an unlit, two-lane road in Randolph County at the time. I managed to push the dead vehicle the last 50 yards safely into a parking lot.

My school has already proved to be no exception to the weird epidemic that seems to be going on around me.

Car rider line has proven to be a dangerous venture these days. One parent tried to nail me with his car this past week! Luckily, metal and concrete pole number one performed its job remarkably well. It brought the car to an abrupt stop.

It was mentioned later that the driver was merely trying to avoid the speed bump and 'accidentally' hit the pole. That scenario is possible. However, my writer instincts tell me he was aiming for the deceptively handsome first grade teacher assistant.

The epidemic of weird has spread to the fuzzy, black dogs, as well.

Lilly, our littlest fluffball, disappeared recently. She was in the house when my son and I left. But, when we returned, she was gone.

We looked outside. We looked inside, both upstairs and down. My wife even joined in the search since Lilly is considered 'her' dog. (We each have our own assigned dog, of course.) I looked in the kitchen cabinets while my son looked under the sofa.

I ran a quick assessment of the situation. We obviously didn't see her. It seemed like we could smell her, but then my entire house sometimes smells like a dog. While I've never shown any psychic tendencies, I just felt she was near. Perhaps what I was experiencing was a psychotic moment, instead.

"I hear her," my wife yelled. "I hear her! She's in the laundry room!"

Women! Obviously the dog wasn't in the laundry room! That's where we keep the dogs when we're not home. I had looked there first. No dog.

Simply laughable. If the crazy dog was in the laundry room, she would have had to have been in the...

It was a tight squeeze, but it only took me 15 minutes to safely pull the little dog out of the upright washing machine.

All I can say is that 2014 can only get better from here!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year from us and all our fuzzy, black dogs in all their glory!

Special Moments Make Christmas Unforgettable

My son and I decided to start the holidays with a bang. We, meaning he, slammed into the side of a car in the grocery store parking lot.

It's possible that he may have been distracted by the nearly life-sized Santa belted in the back seat. Or it could be the passenger who yelled out, "Hey! Is that your grandmother over there?" In my defense, I was slightly mentally incapacitated from previous events.

You see, I picked up a virus approximately four days prior to Christmas. I had a regular feel-bad check up. I had an x-ray. I had blood work done. I had a nasal swab. I had a shot in the rump for nobody knows what since the barrage of tests showed up nothing.

What I can tell you is that I had an allergic reaction to the steroid shot. In addition to the fatigue and weakness I experienced, I also suffered a little "cognitive impairment," as my son so quaintly put it. Hence, my outburst which distracted my son right into the broadside of another car.

The second bang (BIG bang, as there have been many little ones due to 'cognitive impairment') occurred before Christmas dinner. That was when we decided to take our family photo. 

We forgot the tripod. We didn't bring any extra lighting. We even forgot the camera. Some of us don't like having our pictures taken. Others of us don't have patience. At least one of us suffered psychological imbalance due in no small part to both sickness and being administered the wrong medication for Lord only knows what!

Immediately following the cry, "thank God we have Photoshop," came the sound of soft paws hitting the floor. We also heard the wet thud that followed. It was noted that both sounds came from the kitchen and the dogs had gone quiet. It's amazing how quietly a dog can eat, as long as it's not dog food!

While the self-taken, family fiasco... Photo, I mean, was in progress, two fuzzy quadrupeds (NOT mine, actually!) decided the turkey was fair game.

Here are the offending animals, Roxie and Bear.



Offending dog number one, Roxie.



Offending dog number two, Bear.

Luckily, they are not as quick or sneaky as mine and most of the bird was salvageable.

It has been said it's the little things in life that make it memorable. With my family, Christmas is usually downright unforgettable!

Holidays Are About Forgiveness

I've actually had a few first-graders, and even some second-graders, ask me to weigh in on the virtues of Santa Claus. Some believe. Some don't.  Some seem to look at me as an easy target and just ask me.

"I believe in Santa," is my usual response. This is immediately followed with "I don't believe Santa's going to help you with that worksheet/math/writing (or whatever the students are working on) right now. Now get busy." Then I 'get them busy' with what they're supposed to be doing.

Once upon a time, Santa Claus was a sore subject with me. I actually held a grudge against the jolly old elf for a few years.

You see, my early aspirations in life could be considered by some to be unsavory. Little me was certain that when I grew up I would be a thief, an arsonist, a con, a pirate or some type of criminal, albeit an extremely successful and rich one.

The way I saw it, I needed to cover my bases and try out several career paths before determining which would be most successful for me. My sisters encouraged me to move on when they found I'd discovered the hiding spots they created for their allowances. Again.

So the next logical place to go from petty thievery was piracy. And seeing how close it was to Christmas, I thought it would be easier just to go to St. Nick than my parents for the tools of my new trade. I wrote Santa a fairly detailed letter that year. I used my considerable writing skills so as not to alarm Santa to my actual plans.

...a Frisbee, black powder, a Slinky, a deck mounting cannon, a basketball, 5 pound lead cannon balls, a disc sled, a boarding axe...

I was really looking forward to getting that cannon. I had planned to test it prior to mounting it on my father's 14-foot, fiberglass sailboat. The kaboom would be so cool.

Needless to say, there was no kaboom. The cannon never came. Santa did NOT come through for me! I harbored a grudge against him, as I said, for several years.

Somewhere along the way, I changed paths completely and dedicated myself to good. Had I received a cannon at such a young age, there would have been a high probability of me blowing myself up.

So I've written Santa, yet again, to set things right. Old grudges have been forgiven and he needn't have any fear of coming to my house. Of course, I'm sure he's forgiven me for trying to stay up Christmas Eve with my air pellet rifle trained on the fireplace...

Parenting Advice for Fathers: Teenaged Boys

In honor of my son's 16th birthday today, this posting will be for all the fathers of teenaged boys. As I have never, nor will I most likely ever, have a teenaged girl, those fathers are simply out of luck! For now, anyway.

The first thing... Scratch that. The main thing that you, or anyone, for that matter, need to know about teenage boys is that they simply don't make sense. Really. They just don't.

Very seldom will you understand what it is that they're talking about. Even rarer will be the occasion that you understand what they're doing or, God help you, why they're doing whatever the heck it is they are doing!

Just today, I noticed my newly 16-year-oldized son standing in the kitchen door bouncing sideways in the door frame from shoulder to shoulder, making burbling sounds with his lips.

"What are you doing," I asked him.

"Nothing," he responded.

"Well," I responded, "you're doing something. It's kind of annoying."

"That's the point."

"What's the point," I asked.

"To be annoying."

The conversation deteriorated quickly.

Most importantly, I broke my golden rule of parenting a teenage boy -- if you don't acknowledge it, then it didn't  happen. If you don't talk about it, it's not there. I find this philosophy to be effective and useful about 97 percent of the time with my son.

Be sure to save your energy for that three percent of the time when the real parenting skills you have learned and acquired thus far will really be needed!

Regardless, I did perform the proper follow through to the non-acknowledgement rule stated above. Proper follow through protocol dictates a lengthy, silent look. It should be an appraising look, as opposed to a menacing look. Nod your head twice and meaningfully utter the phrase, "You know, I believe there's a pill made that fixes this."

And that's it! Simple, huh? There may be a post in the future where I throw some wild guesses out on how to deal with teenaged girls. After all, they can't be that different from teenaged boys, right?

Good Behavior Provides Christmas Inspiration

Dear Santa,

Thanksgiving is well past and we've finally worked off the turkey. We're well into December and my thoughts have begun drifting to you and what is soon to come. You know what I mean. A certain (wink wink) gift-giving occasion that is just around the corner.

With that having been said, this would be a good time to mention that I've actually been pretty good this year. In fact, if you overlook certain key moments (like the pudding shots incident and the mimosa fiasco), I've been pretty good so far this whole decade.

Now, I won't even mention the Karmann Ghia or the "Mean Scream Dream Machine." You know all about those from previous letters I've sent you. As always, just let me know if you need any details...

Regardless, this year I wanted to impress upon you my stellar behavior, as well as offer some shining examples. My only motive for sharing is to provide inspiration, not try to boost the quality or quantity of my Christmas loot. Gifts, I mean.

There were a couple of times earlier this year that one of my fuzzy, black dogs had some accidents indoors. Like the good dog owner that I am, I dutifully cleaned the mess. I was certainly NOT muttering nasty, murderous euphemisms towards my sweet, fuzzy pups!

This year has been interesting with my not-so-little son getting his drivers permit. I've learned the power of prayer as a passenger in my own car. He'll be 16 within the week. Need I say more?

I have even been a really good son and brother during the past year! I have not even pestered my family. Well, not too much, anyway, Santa. But you know, everything's relative, and I'm mostly certain that they'll back me up on this one.

My wife is still in the process of getting her Masters in education. Now Santa... I've been by her side the whole time with a fresh cup of coffee ready when necessary. You know how many pots of coffee I've made? Me neither! But a new coffee maker might not be a bad thing, St. Nick.

And as her personal writing coach? I've been pretty good in that capacity as well. I only fuss because I'm so passionate about good grammar.

If you should need to verify this information, have your elves email my wife. Her name is Wilma Betty Flintstone. Her email is gOtnOemAil@nanobot.zpt. 

Don't worry, Santa. I can provide other family names and contact info if you need any more verification. Just let me know.