What happened next, you might wonder? Well, I bought my grandmother a brand new box of chocolate covered cherries, made fifteen copies of the emails, and went to Scranton. I passed out the emails, did a dramatic reading for my entire family and presented my grandmother with her missing gift. And, as expected, everyone was hysterical laughing. My mother got the candy from her hiding place and still refused to let anyone try them, and my grandmother interrupted the reading to point out that she never got the pretzels either. It was quite a heart-warming Knott family moment, and there was no ill ill. After all, it was about the chocolate, and none of us are really sharers.
Do you have a crazy mother, or are you working towards being one yourself someday? Do simple family holidays degenerate into madness at the hand of the head matriarch? This is your moment to share - not your chocolates, god forbid, just your stories. From what I hear from my friends, Joyce is not the only nutjob out there to have ever given birth. Take it away, readers!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Joyce's Mother's Day Heist: Part II - the deed is done
Once again, if you did not read JMDH part I, here's the quick story. I mailed both my mother's and grandmother's gifts for Mother's Day in the same package. Each gift was clearly labeled as to who got what, but they weren't wrapped. I assumed my mother would give my grandmother her gift. My mom emailed me to thank me, and the following madness ensued.
Email #1:
From: Joyce
To: Laura
Thank you for the card and ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS candy. I told
Grandma you sent her candy when we talked last night. I will bring it
to her the next time I go for a visit.
Email #2:
From: Laura
To: Joyce
i'm glad you liked the candy. does grandma like chocolate covered cherries? i always remember eating them at her house, but i don't remember if she liked them. i remember she liked maple though, but the cherries took up the budget.
Email #3:
From: Joyce
To: Laura
I must confess, I ate the cherries bec. carmel is not one of my
favorites. Hopefully, it is one of hers!!!
Love you, J.
Email #4:
From: Laura
To: Joyce
sorry, i couldn't remember besides the pretzels what you like. doesn't grandma have dentures? i don't think she can eat carmels if she does. i hope you didn't eat ALL the cherries on her, and if you did, you'd better tell her that they were meant for her! if neither of you can eat the carmels save them for me.
Email #5:
From: Joyce
To: Laura
I didn't eat all of the cherries since I only got them yesterday and
decided to ration myself to one a day bec. they are soooo good and it
would be nice to let that great flavor linger for a few weeks. What a
great treat!!! I will give grandma the caramels and the pretzels and
ask her if she wants them, if not then you can have them and I can pick
up something else from Gertrude Hawks for her.
Email #6: this is where I foolishly cc my dad, thinking he can help
From: Laura
To: Joyce
CC: Jim
JOYCE ANN, YOU SHARE THOSE CHERRIES!!!! i mean it! the pretzels and the carmels were supposed to be for you, as the placement of the cards clearly indicated. if you want to barter with grandma who gets what, that's fine, but you'd better let her have some of those cherries if she wants them. boy, that'll teach me to send multiple gifts in one box. you are a crafty crafty little woman.
i am alerting dad by cc so he can enforce the fairness of this trade mission.
Email #7A: my dad responds to me, but does not cc my mom
To: Laura
From: Jim
I am a little confused here. I assume your mother received some food that
she is hiding and/or hoarding. This is the first I'm hearing about it. You
should know by now she doesn't share when it comes to delicious treats. She
has always hidden food in the bedroom when she doesn't want to share. Your
grandma is on her own, your mother never did listen to me anyway. I guess
we will be seeing you in a few weeks. Take care.
Email #7B: my mom responds to me, having not seen my dad's email to me
Why are you telling on me? Your father never even saw the candy bec.
it's hidden in my bedroom. Boy, I can't believe you are doing this. I
DON'T WANT TO SHARE THE CHERRIES!!! This is just awful.
Email #8:
From: Laura
To: Joyce
you just made me laugh right out loud. i KNEW you were probably hiding them in your room. you're lucky grandma doesn't have email, or i'd tell her too. in fact, if i had uncle walter's email with me at work i'd tell him so he can tell grandma, just in case you knock dad off in his sleep before he has a chance to talk. uh oh, now i realize i put dad's life in jeopardy. well, hopefully all those years of private investigator shows will give him some tips on survival.
Email #9:
From: Joyce
To: Laura
I hate to tell you this but your father is not going to do anything to
help you because a long time ago he HAD to live with you but now he HAS
to live with me. Because, I'm the one who puts a smile on his face (it
has to do with sex) he will not upset the applecart and my dear, whether
you realize it or NOT you are living in another state. On the serious
side, I did not eat another choc. cherry so there is only one missing
from the box. BUT I still haven't decided if I am going to give them to
grandma yet and you CAN'T make me. If I decide to act like a grown-up
then she will get to taste a few but if not, they will remain hidden in
the bedroom and she can struggle with the caramels. You just gave me an
idea. Now that you know my hiding spot, I may have to look for another
one!
J.
Email #10:
From: Laura
To: Joyce
re: dad smiling - gross. i did not need to know that.
re: chocolates - on second thought, i'd better not reproduce because i hear insanity skips a generation and i'll probably just have the luck of birthing some child who will some day stab me in the back and steal my mother's day gift.
Happy Mother's Day to all you honorable women out there, who will one day be thrown under the bus by your own spawn!
Email #1:
From: Joyce
To: Laura
Thank you for the card and ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS candy. I told
Grandma you sent her candy when we talked last night. I will bring it
to her the next time I go for a visit.
Email #2:
From: Laura
To: Joyce
i'm glad you liked the candy. does grandma like chocolate covered cherries? i always remember eating them at her house, but i don't remember if she liked them. i remember she liked maple though, but the cherries took up the budget.
Email #3:
From: Joyce
To: Laura
I must confess, I ate the cherries bec. carmel is not one of my
favorites. Hopefully, it is one of hers!!!
Love you, J.
Email #4:
From: Laura
To: Joyce
sorry, i couldn't remember besides the pretzels what you like. doesn't grandma have dentures? i don't think she can eat carmels if she does. i hope you didn't eat ALL the cherries on her, and if you did, you'd better tell her that they were meant for her! if neither of you can eat the carmels save them for me.
Email #5:
From: Joyce
To: Laura
I didn't eat all of the cherries since I only got them yesterday and
decided to ration myself to one a day bec. they are soooo good and it
would be nice to let that great flavor linger for a few weeks. What a
great treat!!! I will give grandma the caramels and the pretzels and
ask her if she wants them, if not then you can have them and I can pick
up something else from Gertrude Hawks for her.
Email #6: this is where I foolishly cc my dad, thinking he can help
From: Laura
To: Joyce
CC: Jim
JOYCE ANN, YOU SHARE THOSE CHERRIES!!!! i mean it! the pretzels and the carmels were supposed to be for you, as the placement of the cards clearly indicated. if you want to barter with grandma who gets what, that's fine, but you'd better let her have some of those cherries if she wants them. boy, that'll teach me to send multiple gifts in one box. you are a crafty crafty little woman.
i am alerting dad by cc so he can enforce the fairness of this trade mission.
Email #7A: my dad responds to me, but does not cc my mom
To: Laura
From: Jim
I am a little confused here. I assume your mother received some food that
she is hiding and/or hoarding. This is the first I'm hearing about it. You
should know by now she doesn't share when it comes to delicious treats. She
has always hidden food in the bedroom when she doesn't want to share. Your
grandma is on her own, your mother never did listen to me anyway. I guess
we will be seeing you in a few weeks. Take care.
Email #7B: my mom responds to me, having not seen my dad's email to me
Why are you telling on me? Your father never even saw the candy bec.
it's hidden in my bedroom. Boy, I can't believe you are doing this. I
DON'T WANT TO SHARE THE CHERRIES!!! This is just awful.
Email #8:
From: Laura
To: Joyce
you just made me laugh right out loud. i KNEW you were probably hiding them in your room. you're lucky grandma doesn't have email, or i'd tell her too. in fact, if i had uncle walter's email with me at work i'd tell him so he can tell grandma, just in case you knock dad off in his sleep before he has a chance to talk. uh oh, now i realize i put dad's life in jeopardy. well, hopefully all those years of private investigator shows will give him some tips on survival.
Email #9:
From: Joyce
To: Laura
I hate to tell you this but your father is not going to do anything to
help you because a long time ago he HAD to live with you but now he HAS
to live with me. Because, I'm the one who puts a smile on his face (it
has to do with sex) he will not upset the applecart and my dear, whether
you realize it or NOT you are living in another state. On the serious
side, I did not eat another choc. cherry so there is only one missing
from the box. BUT I still haven't decided if I am going to give them to
grandma yet and you CAN'T make me. If I decide to act like a grown-up
then she will get to taste a few but if not, they will remain hidden in
the bedroom and she can struggle with the caramels. You just gave me an
idea. Now that you know my hiding spot, I may have to look for another
one!
J.
Email #10:
From: Laura
To: Joyce
re: dad smiling - gross. i did not need to know that.
re: chocolates - on second thought, i'd better not reproduce because i hear insanity skips a generation and i'll probably just have the luck of birthing some child who will some day stab me in the back and steal my mother's day gift.
Happy Mother's Day to all you honorable women out there, who will one day be thrown under the bus by your own spawn!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Joyce's Mother's Day Heist: Part I - the beginning
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Specifically, it was the time my mother switched out the Mother's Day gift I got her for something better - for something I had gotten for my grandmother, in fact. Confused? You're not alone. There was no one more confused than me at the time - confused, shocked, offended, and secretly impressed. Ask any of my friends and they will agree: ain't no story like a Joyce Knott story.
The following are actual emails sent between myself and my mother in the year 2003. They are unedited. This story is completely true. There is no poetic license. There is no James Frey I-meant-it-as-a-memoir crap. This is totally Will & Grace style ..."JUST JOYCE!"
By way of background, in the year 2003, I did not return to Scranton, PA for Mother's Day. Because of this, I sent two gifts of boxed chocolates to my parents' house - one for my mother, one for my grandmother. Each was wrapped with ribbon and had a card attached noting the beneficiary of said gift, but no wrapping paper was involved (my fatal flaw).
By way of further background, the Knott family sweet tooth is legendary. We are not big on food. Food keeps you alive so that you can wake up another day to eat chocolate. I STILL have to physically restrain my adult (may I say OLD) parents from diving into the pumpkin pie prior to Thanksgiving dinner. It is perfectly acceptable, and even praiseworthy, to show up at a family dinner with a half eaten dessert. Well, at least we shared, didn't we? You're welcome!
It was a strange juxtaposition then, to marry into my husband's Italian family. To people who behave as though cured meats and aged cheeses are exotic treats. To people who can taste, smell, and consequently discuss at length the quality difference between different brands of extra virgin olive oil. {You didn't notice it, but I LITERALLY just capitalized "olive oil" as I was typing, and had to fix it - as though I had just typed "God" or "President Bush" or "Tuesday".} To people who put hours and courses between themselves and dessert. On purpose! And then when dessert finally does come, part of it's nuts and fruit. NUTS AND FRUIT. What the hell kind of crazy joke is this? You mean you don't spend most of your waking moments trying to destroy yourselves with fat and sugar?? You mean that just because fruit tastes sweet and good that is counts as dessert??? AND YOU CALL YOURSELVES AMERICAN????? Oh wait, you don't. You call yourselves Italian. Der.
Here I stand, ten years later, a foot in each food world. I've largely adopted the Italian way of eating. Frankly, it's just better. Vegetables, when not from a can or in a casserole, are not a type of punishment. Meat, when properly seasoned and prepared, can taste wonderful. And most importantly, there is an enormous difference between brands and styles of olive oil. Seriously. If that's not enough to convert, it's also acceptable during these meals to drink fantastically excessive amounts of red wine! Woo-hoo! If you are not Italian (or some other culture where food is a big deal) please do yourself a favor, and fix that immediately.
But does nurture ever really win over nature? Can we as humans be more than the sum of our genetically predetermined components? Maybe you can, but I can't. I can eat relatively well most of the time, but if you sit me in a restaurant with a menu, a slight variation of the following meal will be ordered: gigantic piece of medium rare red meat, mashed potato, token vegetable to be ignored, carafe of house red (keep it comin!) and dessert - always chocolate, usually prefaced by "triple" "death by" or "flourless". The only acceptable fruit involved are reduced in a sauce and drizzled artfully over the chocolate, with maybe one tiny piece garnishing the whipped cream. And so help me Jesus, if you try to pass off some frigging cobbler, or pie, or some shit like that as dessert, I swear on my life I will KICK YOUR ASS.
Perhaps now the events of Part II in our drama will make sense. Please proceed, but with caution.
The following are actual emails sent between myself and my mother in the year 2003. They are unedited. This story is completely true. There is no poetic license. There is no James Frey I-meant-it-as-a-memoir crap. This is totally Will & Grace style ..."JUST JOYCE!"
By way of background, in the year 2003, I did not return to Scranton, PA for Mother's Day. Because of this, I sent two gifts of boxed chocolates to my parents' house - one for my mother, one for my grandmother. Each was wrapped with ribbon and had a card attached noting the beneficiary of said gift, but no wrapping paper was involved (my fatal flaw).
By way of further background, the Knott family sweet tooth is legendary. We are not big on food. Food keeps you alive so that you can wake up another day to eat chocolate. I STILL have to physically restrain my adult (may I say OLD) parents from diving into the pumpkin pie prior to Thanksgiving dinner. It is perfectly acceptable, and even praiseworthy, to show up at a family dinner with a half eaten dessert. Well, at least we shared, didn't we? You're welcome!
It was a strange juxtaposition then, to marry into my husband's Italian family. To people who behave as though cured meats and aged cheeses are exotic treats. To people who can taste, smell, and consequently discuss at length the quality difference between different brands of extra virgin olive oil. {You didn't notice it, but I LITERALLY just capitalized "olive oil" as I was typing, and had to fix it - as though I had just typed "God" or "President Bush" or "Tuesday".} To people who put hours and courses between themselves and dessert. On purpose! And then when dessert finally does come, part of it's nuts and fruit. NUTS AND FRUIT. What the hell kind of crazy joke is this? You mean you don't spend most of your waking moments trying to destroy yourselves with fat and sugar?? You mean that just because fruit tastes sweet and good that is counts as dessert??? AND YOU CALL YOURSELVES AMERICAN????? Oh wait, you don't. You call yourselves Italian. Der.
Here I stand, ten years later, a foot in each food world. I've largely adopted the Italian way of eating. Frankly, it's just better. Vegetables, when not from a can or in a casserole, are not a type of punishment. Meat, when properly seasoned and prepared, can taste wonderful. And most importantly, there is an enormous difference between brands and styles of olive oil. Seriously. If that's not enough to convert, it's also acceptable during these meals to drink fantastically excessive amounts of red wine! Woo-hoo! If you are not Italian (or some other culture where food is a big deal) please do yourself a favor, and fix that immediately.
But does nurture ever really win over nature? Can we as humans be more than the sum of our genetically predetermined components? Maybe you can, but I can't. I can eat relatively well most of the time, but if you sit me in a restaurant with a menu, a slight variation of the following meal will be ordered: gigantic piece of medium rare red meat, mashed potato, token vegetable to be ignored, carafe of house red (keep it comin!) and dessert - always chocolate, usually prefaced by "triple" "death by" or "flourless". The only acceptable fruit involved are reduced in a sauce and drizzled artfully over the chocolate, with maybe one tiny piece garnishing the whipped cream. And so help me Jesus, if you try to pass off some frigging cobbler, or pie, or some shit like that as dessert, I swear on my life I will KICK YOUR ASS.
Perhaps now the events of Part II in our drama will make sense. Please proceed, but with caution.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Question of the Week: Stink Bugs
In order to be a reputable and information oriented gardening blog, I've decided that I need to do a "question of the week" segment - or question of the month, as is more likely the case. This is the part where I field legitimate questions from my loyal readers so as to spread my wit and wisdom far and wide. The only catch will be that the answer to said question is likely to be filled with a few random facts surrounded by fantasy, exaggeration and outright lies. Sound good? Come on, let's play!
In a previous comment, Andy writes:
"Are stink bugs real, or is this another one of Tom's personalities?"
Excellent question, Andy. Stink bugs are in fact real, and do indeed stink. According to Wikipedia, stink bugs are also called shield bugs, and are in the Hemiptera order of the Heteroptera suborder. According to me, they are strange prehistoric looking insects with ridged backs and inferior reasoning abilities. They are in the phyla of bugs that feel the overwhelming need to slam themselves repeatedly into light fixtures, not quite realizing they can never go into the light, as they are all instructed to do by the bug version of the creepy "Poltergeist" lady. If that's not annoying enough, they fly as though piloted by drunken five year olds, and as a result, I've caught a stink bug to the head on more than one occasion. The good news is that they are so loud when they fly, that you can usually hear them coming and duck.
However, stink bugs in general seem to prefer plodding around morosely to flying. I once described a parade of Mummer style stink bugs marching around my house, but really, the Mummers are way too "up" for a stink bug. I imagine the internal monologue of a stink bug sounds a lot like Eeyore, with some depressed mutterings about not being able to get into the light ... again.
Oh yeah, and the stink part. They emit some gross type of defense-mechanism stink when faced with aggravation, which is likely why my idiot cats won't bother them - that and the fact that they move so slowly, they are of no real interest to chase down. Not that the cats COULD chase anything down - Captain seems to be reaching Jabba the Hut capacity and will soon need to be hand fed from his permanent throne in Sophia's beanbag chair, and Tennille is much too busy following me around howling for treats and trying to trip me.
Although Tom does have many personalities, some of them as of yet unnamed, I am not embarrassed to admit that stink bug is all me. Although I do not fly drunk or slam my head into my desk lamp, I highly recommend to all the married ladies reading this post some defense-mechanism stink factor to avoid, uh, nightly extracurricular activities. A weekend of gardening and no showers works every time!
YOU are welcome.
In a previous comment, Andy writes:
"Are stink bugs real, or is this another one of Tom's personalities?"
Excellent question, Andy. Stink bugs are in fact real, and do indeed stink. According to Wikipedia, stink bugs are also called shield bugs, and are in the Hemiptera order of the Heteroptera suborder. According to me, they are strange prehistoric looking insects with ridged backs and inferior reasoning abilities. They are in the phyla of bugs that feel the overwhelming need to slam themselves repeatedly into light fixtures, not quite realizing they can never go into the light, as they are all instructed to do by the bug version of the creepy "Poltergeist" lady. If that's not annoying enough, they fly as though piloted by drunken five year olds, and as a result, I've caught a stink bug to the head on more than one occasion. The good news is that they are so loud when they fly, that you can usually hear them coming and duck.
However, stink bugs in general seem to prefer plodding around morosely to flying. I once described a parade of Mummer style stink bugs marching around my house, but really, the Mummers are way too "up" for a stink bug. I imagine the internal monologue of a stink bug sounds a lot like Eeyore, with some depressed mutterings about not being able to get into the light ... again.
Oh yeah, and the stink part. They emit some gross type of defense-mechanism stink when faced with aggravation, which is likely why my idiot cats won't bother them - that and the fact that they move so slowly, they are of no real interest to chase down. Not that the cats COULD chase anything down - Captain seems to be reaching Jabba the Hut capacity and will soon need to be hand fed from his permanent throne in Sophia's beanbag chair, and Tennille is much too busy following me around howling for treats and trying to trip me.
Although Tom does have many personalities, some of them as of yet unnamed, I am not embarrassed to admit that stink bug is all me. Although I do not fly drunk or slam my head into my desk lamp, I highly recommend to all the married ladies reading this post some defense-mechanism stink factor to avoid, uh, nightly extracurricular activities. A weekend of gardening and no showers works every time!
YOU are welcome.
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