Potluck Post

Who doesn’t love a good potluck luncheon? Okay, I don’t either. I am always brought back to my childhood when I was playing with all of the neighborhood kids and we ran into Schmarla Schmistiansen’s house (name altered so as not to offend because I am sure that the neighbor from my childhood who is probably now like 80 is reading this post. I doubt that she would ever be able to figure out that I put a ‘Schm’ in place of the real letters of her name.) We all had been playing outside and doing kid things [sweaty, stinky, mud pie making, booger smearing things, I’m sure] when we decided to run through the Schmistiansen’s house. I knew that there were always the Schmistiansen’s 30 cats wandering and destroying the neighborhood. My parents resorted to the trick of sprinkling our trash in the cans with Tobassco sauce. Word of its’ efficacy spread through the neighborhood like wildfire. It was the hot topic amongst my mom and her friends. They had to ban together. Who has time to clean up the contents of entire trash cans every morning? Now, as a mom, I can see how annoying that must have been. The Tobassco saucing technique, however, was much more humane than what the Schmorgenson kids did (with permission from their parents) to the cats. It shall remain unmentioned on this blog, because there have been enough psychological studies done in the last 20 years to know that children who did that to animals have most certainly grown up to be mass murdering cannibals. And heaven forbid they are reading my blog right now. Not that they could possibly de-code the “Schm”. It’s way too complex a system, for even the most cryptic minds.

Anyways, back to the running of the kids through the house. We entered. It was my first time in the house. I had been around the house and knew that it was unkempt. But in the house was a whole different story. The cats. For every one of the 30 cats I had seen outside there were four inside holding down the fort. They were EVERYWHERE. I distinctly remember Schmarla making dinner for her brood of many children. Instant potatoes. I had never seen potatoes in a box before. It was so intriguing. One of her daughters suggested I try some, and then a cat jumped off the counter into her waiting arms. Then three other cats stood around the bowl waiting to see if I loved the potatoes as much as they did. I hesitated because it was against the rules to eat at the neighbor’s houses. It was rude. I also hesitated because I was in shock at the number of cats walking on, lying on, purring on and probably somewhere in the house, birthing on every flat surface in the Schmistiansen home. There was cat hair everywhere and I was feeling really funny inside. But the potatoes beckoned and at the lead of two of her children (one of whom had a huge cold sore or Impetigo) and two other neighbor friends, I did it. I did what they did and scooped out a handful of potatoes and partook. And I knew that if that was wrong, I didn’t want to be right. In that moment, I thought that the 12 Schmistiansen children were the luckiest kids on the block. Maybe in all of Utah County. Instant potatoes were my new dream, now come true. We all must have felt that way because before we knew it the giant bowl was empty. The five of us and the three cats all sat there wanting,no,needing more.

And here begins the Schmistiansen correlation with potluck luncheons. Every time I am at a potluck, I can’t help but think of the cats on the counter and wonder if there is a Schmarla hiding among us, serving up her best grub. When, in reality, if I had any idea what was really going on in that kitchen, I’d throw up in my mouth. I can’t help it though, I always fill my plate. And I almost always find a hidden treasure in the spread of colorful food. Like Schmelly Schmoddard’s creamed corn. Heaven. On. Earth.

At the beginning of this post I intended to make a quick reference to potluck luncheons because I was going to present my week to you and I was certain that it would feel like a potluck luncheon. Mostly boring blandness possibly sprinkled with a gem or two. And then I got carried away and told you way more than I intended. It's stories like this one that make me realize why my parents always gave eachother "the look" when I began telling them a wonderful rendition of a simple event. I have tendency to complicate. Anyways, last night I attended a rocking 80’s themed party. I stayed up until 1:00 a.m. and now I feel hung over. As I type, my head is throbbing and my pictures of the week to upload are in Ryan’s car which he has taken to play a quick game of football before General Conference starts. I’m going to skip the recap of my week. Maybe I’ll finish tomorrow. I’ll give you some appe-teasers though (in keeping with the food theme).

Monday, positive affirmations and the affirmations vs. the truth. Tuesday, a text to melt my heart and annoy my husband. Wednesday, urgent care and some stitches. Thursday, a field trip and realization that dads work through pain, just like moms and don’t get enough credit. Friday, the party. Saturday, well I won’t make you wait for today. I’ll leave you with a picture of me in my current state. I don’t know if you’ll be able to tell, but I washed my hair last night after the party and there is still a streak of pink and remnants of too much teasing, in spite of the oil treatment I applied at 12:30 a.m. I washed my face and there is still a trace of hot pink lip liner, and teal eye shadow. It was that good. But now I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I’m too old for late nighters. Happy Saturday. I’m off to watch conference. And if we’re still on the subject of food, conference is no potluck luncheon. It is a schmorgesborg (no spell check for that one), chuck full of amazing recipes that were made in the cleanest kitchens around! I can’t wait!!!