Beached Whale

There is a rumor going 'round that I am growing more like my mother every day. (R.B., I know what you are saying about me!!!!) It all, at least I think it all, has to do with my addiction to yarn. So...I decided to plagiarize once again. Almost a plagiarist. My little electric pocket dictionary defines the word as "use of words or ideas of another as if your own" I ask permission of the author of the following words to use them on this blog. He gave me permission. I added a couple of pictures. One is of him that I took from Facebook. The other is of him blowing out candles during his last birthday celebration while two of his four children are sitting on his lap. Even having been described as a "beached whale" (his own description) he would have a hard time putting his other two children on his lap. The other two are a girl who will be 21 y/o on the 18th of this month and a son who just celebrated his 18th birthday on the 3rd of this month. The daughter may be about 5/8" and the son may be about 6'4", maybe, and still growing. He may have topped his dad by now.

In case you might be wondering, this is the family of my youngest daughter. The wonderful "beached whale" is my son-in-law who loves me. I am blessed



FISH TACOS
Wednesday, August 20, 2008 at 8:31am
You have no idea of the depth of my addiction. It was

Summer 1994 with a handful of pesos bouncing around

in my working pants' pocket. A warm, sunny day at a

tiny white taco stand during a mission trip. Etched in

the deepest recesses of my mind... this glorious white

shack rocked gently on a small hill at the back of it so

it leaned toward me diagonally caddy-corner on a quiet

dirt yet paradoxically noisy alleyway (as barefoot kids

kicked up dust with a soccer-ball in background) in

Ensenada, Baja. That angle may have called me or

possibly fish sizzling on a skillet with a light white

smoky aroma; I'm not sure, through counseling I now

know that the absolute addictive lock has something to

do with a magic chemical reaction between green lime

juice and a super secret tangy white sauce; it alters the

taste-bud brain-cells permanently. Anyway, nineteen

pesos later into the dusk of that fateful evening the

locals tagged me with a nickname that I'm pretty sure

loosely translated is "beached whale." I was thereby

doomed forever to never have spare change or a

skinny waist again.