Mickey Hadick

Cabbage rolls are an ethnic dish. Very ethnic. Just the name evokes numerous cliches, and even sounds funny because of the "k" sound (which, according to Neil Simon's The Sunshine Boys, all funny words contain). To smell them is to know, immediately, what the word ethnic really means.

My mother used to make them, and we loved to eat them. A cabbage roll, if you're not familiar, is ground beef, ground pork, and rice mixed together, spiced up a bit, balled, and rolled inside a leaf of cabbage. Dozens of these are stacked up in a roaster, and then more cabbage and tomato juice is piled on top. These are cooked together, and the result is both an olfactory and culinary delight.

I've started making them myself. I'm shocked how easy it is to make a small batch--about 40 minutes of preparation, including the clean up. The crock pot has been going all night, and the house reeks.

Tomorrow I'll tell the story of how cabbage rolls damn near killed my father, and started a war.

Labels: mistake

I'm sure I'll have an interesting blog entry about this subject in the future, but, for now, just know that my son is trying to sell his Wii, and it may not go very well. I'd hoped to keep it in the family, but the forces of nature are not cooperating.

I have it gathered together, ready to pack and send. but the price better be right.

Labels: administrative, mistake

My neighbor made a mistake the other day, and I was happy to help the fix the problem. They went away on a Saturday morning with the intention of not returning until late Sunday. Their mistake was in forgetting about their dog, who was left alone in the house. When they called, I was happy to help.

I stopped by in the evening on Saturday night and again around midnight. In the morning, I returned. Each time the dog was thrilled to see me, wanted to play, but spent only a the minimal amount of time necessary to pee outside. Somehow, I thought the dog knew what he was doing.

I meant to return around 1 PM, but, feeling sick, had lain down for a moment and fell asleep. This almost made me late for my daughter's choir recital, so I did not have time to let Tucker, the dog, out until after the recital.

I returned around 4 PM, and discovered that the dog had pooped all over the front entranceway of the house. There was a massive pile right by the door, and then splatterings along the hall right into the kitchen. It took me half an hour to clean the mess, and it stunk to the high heavans while I did so.

Still, I felt good about the situation. I had mostly helped my neighbor, and hadn't stepped in the mess. I returned home disgusted, but somewhat satisfied.

My own two dogs were thrilled to see me. On my second step inside, however, the floor gave way. I looked down to discover that I had stepped in a pile of my dog's mess. A few inches from that was a pile of vomit, to go along with it. I'd like to think I could learn from my mistakes, but I think I was just snake-bit on this one.

Labels: mistake

I spent this past weekend with a head cold, stuffed up sinuses, and sniffling and sneezing. What bothers me most about being sick is the lack of energy, and feeling tired, but not being able to sleep, but not being able to try because sometimes (most of the time) life goes on. I was at soccer games and music recitals, drove the kids to other appointments, and went visiting.

The "went visiting" part is probably the dumbest, because I've shared my germs with the world when, in that moment, I didn't need to do so.

The best part was the legitimate excuse to drink Dimetap elixr. It's the purple drink for children that is both anti-hystamine and decongestant. It works wonders for me, but makes me a little on the drowsy side. I love the taste. To me it's grape Kool Aid, and I believe it would be the perfect basis of a mixed drink, like the Flaming Moe.

However, I get very strange dreams when on it. I can't describe them, but suffice to say that I was overwhelmed with a creepy dread. It's funny that I'm surprised that pouring chemicals into my body might have an effect on my mind.

Labels: story

I am staging my return to blogging with a presentation of old Xmas letters. Back in 1996, we sent these short missives out with the Christmas cards, and I tried to be funny. Now, re-reading them, they are painfully moronic. My sign off messages are particularly sad. I think the author was an idiot.

Still, they were very popular with friends and family, and so I was encouraged to continue. I still write them, and will post them all for posterity sake. Perhaps some young family will read them some day and decide not to write any such Xmas letter of their own.

My style has changed over the years, and, once I have them all online, a careful reader may detect a particularly bad year. It was something of a bellwether for the writing.

Xmas Letters Part 1: The Idiot Years.

Labels: memoir, mistake