Crawfish or Mudbugs?

My neighbor, the one we call the Cranky Cajun, did his annual crawfish feast this weekend. This is the 4th year we've done this and after 25 years in Texas, I'm finally getting adept at cracking those things open and eating the good stuff (I DO NOT SUCK THE HEADS). I grew up in Iowa and in Iowa, one does not eat crawfish under any circumstances. They are bait. Pure and simple. You would no more eat a crawfish than a a peanut butter stink bait ball. (Its exactly what it sounds like...old cheese and peanut butter with some stale wheaties and a can of corn thrown in). Imagine my disgust and surprise at my first crawfish boil. However, I've gradually come around to the southern way of thinking. I've also managed to convince the Cranky Cajun that sausage, corn and potatoes aren't the only things to be boiled with crawfish. A few years ago, he let me throw in some mushrooms and asparagus (although he made me put them in a pantyhose leg so they wouldn't mix up with the other vegetables). The other neighbors, even those who do not eat the crawfish, asked for a repeat the following year and another tradition was born. These get-togethers inevitably bring up the subject of what people call these evil looking fish (Are they fish?) It seems divided along state lines. The Louisiana born folk usually call them mudbugs, especially those from the northern part of the state. The Texans among us usually call them crawfish, with an accent that cannot be imitated by someone like myself who grew up in corn country. Another thing about those Louisiana folk, they don't mind playing with their food before they eat it. The Cranky Cajun usually walks around with at least one crawfish attached to an earlobe, or shirt pocket or back jean pocket. All the Louisiana people want to examine the coolers of crawfish before they eat, because the degree of muddiness in the water means something to them about the flavor of the mudbugs. They allow their children to each pick one, name it and then race them. Since all of them inevitably end up in a pot of boiling water, you'd think this would permanently damage the children in some way, but I watched several children between the ages of 4 and 12 argue over whether the one they were currently tearing apart was Gerta or Boudreaux or Rocky.

I'm finally far enough from having a three year old to appreciate one!

Its been many years since I gave birth to my three kids. I did it the hard way too...3 in 18 months. (My twins were born when my son was 18 months). I came home from work via Wallyworld today, and after making my weekly deposit comparable to the national debt, honked my horn when I reached the driveway. My kids all know that is the signal mom gives when she wants help with groceries and they all came running, even the one home from college for the weekend. The surprise was that the little girl next door, who just turned a very cute three, also came running. She "helped" unload the car and then "helped" load the pantry, fridge and freezer. Her mother, who came running after her, assured me she does NOT help at home and even told her mom the last time she went shopping that the bread was too heavy and she couldn't carry it. Isn't it amazing how helpful kids are at other people's houses? And isn't she too cute for words?

What's wrong with this picture?

No doubt you've heard of many stories of phonies....phony policemen, phony doctors, etc. This one takes the cake! Click Here. Not only did the man con women into letting him perform breast examinations, but it seems he was only caught because he did not put on rubber gloves before performing a genital exam???? Your first thought, since its in Florida and Florida is known for its geriatric population might be that he was conning senile old women. That was my first thought. But no, this man managed to con at least two women in their 30's. Are we not educating our young women better than this? A door-to-door, breast examining doctor?

My First Ramblings.....

Blogging. Its something I've been thinking about, playing with and finally decided to do. Remember the first time you rode a bike (mine was a turquoise Schwinn Sting-Ray with high-rise handlbars, banana seat and a white basket with daisies on the front) and your dad let go of the back and you yelled "I'm doing it by myself!"? That's how I feel now.

I've been reading many blogs for the last several months and recognized the value in each...not just for the writer, but the readers and commenters as well. I've hesitated to start my own because I wasn't sure anything I had to say/write would be valuable in any way, but I've decided that is just crazy and like most things, I'm over analyzing. So here it is. Of course, even now, I'm reading back over this and wondering where the valuable part is. Hello blogging world!