It consists of milk, sugar, rice, and vanilla extract in descending amount order. Horribly simple. It probaly won't turn out quite right though. Because I'm not doing it in a cast iron pot over a gas burner (that leaked a little).
Of course, given that she got this recipe from someone else when she got married, it's possible that she lamented that it just didn't taste the same when it wasn't cooked in a cast iron pot over a coal pile on a spit.
The woman *was* 102, just shy of 103 when she died. Born in 1896.
And *man* was she miserable by the time she died...
I'm in this bizarrely chipper little mood. Slurping coffee to give it a nice edge. I've been reading Moving Pictures, one of only 2 pratchett books that I've yet to read (and the newest one.. can't remember the name..) and I'm suprised that it's as good as it is.
He's very hit or miss.
And while this isn't *hilarious*... it's certainly not dead on its feet either.
Still horribly worried about my phone bill. I don't know how it's going to get paid.
Well... I know... I just don't want to close out my account. I keep hoping for the Fed to get off their ass and send my check. In fact, I need to check the date on when I filed so I can see if it's been 6 weeks or when 6 weeks will fall.
If it's before March 4th, I will be a happy chick.
Tomorrow is president's day.
So my father is off work.
I've been getting an odd tension off of him lately. This edge that leaves me nervous. Which is nothing unusual, I'm just usually more able to find the cause. The only thing I can think is that it's finally sunk in for him that those papers my grandmother sent mean something is right around the corner.
You don't write up power of attorney papers with instructions for pain management and heroic means of resusitation if you think you're going to be bouncy and spry for another 20 years. And this were drawn up in June and she just got around to sending them a month ago. Which is just like her, of course... it's just like him. Never admitting an infirmity. Never seeking help. Which leads to never giving any.
I don't know my grandmother. I've had a few odd phone conversations with her (one where she got pissed and hung up on me... ) that felt like talking to a shakey voiced stranger. She gave me a blanket once and she's responsible for my christmas stocking. Other than that... she's made no impact or impression on my life in any way. Just like her former husband. Neither of them had anything to do with me or my siblings. ::shrug:: which is fine.
Neither of them are particularly interesting, kind, intelligent, or loving.
So I don't have any sort of grief clouded images.
And maybe that's why it would seem odd that my father does.
Time to stir the rice pudding.