I'm On Vacation. Don't Hate Me

Welcome to my summer vacation.
I fully intend to do some new writing over the next eleven days off...okay, more like eight days now. I have pictures from a local small boat messabout. I have thoughts swimming in my head regarding my upcoming birthday. I am notes for a short story.
I promise you, there will be new and original posts upcoming. 
But today, I must make a traditional family snack to take to a swim party, and when my daughter found out I was making this particular treat she asked in her tiny four year old girl voice, "can I get some of those....?" 
This particular snack is not one handed down from my German forefathers. But it is my contribution to my family's handful of iconic foods. Right up there with my Mom's fried chicken and French Cookies, German Grandma's Springerlies and French Grandma's pies. I found the recipe in Seventeen Magazine when I was around 14 years old. Which means I have been making them for forty years. 
Wow. I could have gone a long time without doing that math. 
But, I digress.
So, without further ado...

It's Scroodle Time!

What follows is the original post I wrote in 2012 on Scroodles. 
Enjoy!

 Suck It Dr. Atkins!

So, not only am I devoted to getting people to see the weird and interesting in their everyday life. I am also dedicated to getting people to eat the weird and interesting as well. Food, that is, not people. Calm down, that's not what I meant either, this is not THAT sort of site...

Anyway... I have always been an adventurous eater and have happily raised a family of the same. We were enjoying hummus WAY before it was hip. Which leads me to the introduction of one of our favorite snacks: Scroodles.

These are boiled then fried corkscrew macaroni. That's right. Boiled. Then fried. And then liberally doused with garlic salt. The trifecta of dietary no-no's. Totally white flour CARBS – fried in CRISCO – the covered with SALT.

Yum. 

its like my arteries on a really hot day...

Oh, and Sorry about the Suck It, Dr. Atkins. That was really just an attention getting ploy. I am sure Dr. Atkins was a wonderfully delightful person, who before he became all Anti-Carb would have enjoyed Scroodles. God Rest His Soul.

 

Scroodles. Or, the crap they pull of out or your arteries.

PS - didn't Dr. Atkins actually die of a heart attack? Perhaps if he had re-examined the joy of deep fat fried noodles... 

As a note - I recently made these with Brown Rice Noodles, because that's what I happened to have in the house. Not only were they even better than the plain noodles, they have the added benefit of being GLUTEN FREE! 
Ha! Take that diet!!

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

Happy Fourth of July!!!

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

This is how I have taken to responding to anyone who wishes me a Great 4^th! I am not sure why. It just seems the thing to do this year. Honestly, I don't remember ever being wished a 'Great 4^th' as many times as I have over the past few days. 

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

I sort of like it.

I'm not sure if it has to do with everyone here on the Coast of Illinois being so happy and grateful that it finally stopped raining. Or that, constitutionally, there is actually a little reason be proud of our government. Or the fact that we are all getting a little bit older and long for the carefree days of youth when people were free to play Jarts with real pointed metal ends, not the wimpy plastic ones out there now. 

 

Old School Ice-Cream making at Grandma and Grandpa's farm. When else would you get the chance to eat rock salted ice chunks? Please note the bare feet - mine. And the milk carton under my Dad's hand. It is a frozen junk of ice which he is preparing to smash with the ball-peen hammer, next to my little brother's feet. GOOD times. (DO NOT take note of my overalls, or my hair. Please.)

 The Fourth of July has been something of a secondary holiday around our house. We always tried to do holiday themed activities with our kids when they were home. You know, BBQing dogs and brauts. Watching the neighbors as they shot off fireworks. Taking bets on who was going to wind up in the hospital with second degree burns from sparklers.

We had many happy evenings watching fireworks from the Arch grounds, then Jefferson Ave, when the trees got too tall and the crowds too large. 

This was taken just a few years ago, from the top floor of a fancy riverfront hotel The ONLY way to watch fireworks!

There was a super fab year when we braved the Midwestern Migration to Destin, Florida with some friends and were treated to 2 hour drives to get exactly 4 miles down the road to dinner but the fireworks over the bay more than made up for it. (That and the trouble THEY all got into for having a water gun fight from our fifth floor balcony with people in the parking lot. And the trouble SOME PEOPLE got into while allowing their children to play hide and seek, unattended in the hallway of the condo. Seriously, we were on vacation. Our kids NEVER got into trouble and they were thrilled to be the 'bad kids' for once!)

I was saddened at our semi-successful attempt at croquet, not easy in our sloping, bumbey backyard. I grew up on a flat, cornfield-infested farm. My sister and I spent HOURS playing croquet as kids. I could slam that striped red ball through a wicket, bumping her striped green ball from it's perfect set-up shot, from 100yards. Of course, she was a wiz at blackballing me into the garden. (That's where, as a penalty, you get to set your ball next to your opponent's, steady them with your foot and WHALLOP your ball, thus, through physics, sending your adversary's game winning shot down the proverbial toilet.)

Our kids never quite got the feel. We played barefoot – it was important to learn precision. Our kids were pampered. They never left the house without light-up sneakers on.

I ask you, where is the motivation to not slam a swinging mallet into your baby toe???

Anyway.

As everyone in the house aged the Fourth of July has become less of a big deal. I was the only one scrambling from window to window to catch a glimpse of neighborhood explosions. Brauts and dogs were replaced with more healthful tilapia.

It just felt right that this year I bring back a little of the fun that was the 4^th. Thus my awesome Fourth of July greeting.

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

Yet, while out shopping with my daughter on Friday, she gave me the fashion-appraisal once over, then did a self-eval and noted that we were both very 'patriotically dressed'. She in a faded red t-shirt and jeans, me in a faded red/white jersey and jeans. Her shoes were blue, mine white.

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

This morning I dumped my yogurt and fruit into a bowl and noted:

I swear, this had to be subconscious. Also of note, the bowl is sitting on my kitchen table which sports a Fleur-de-Lis, the universal symbol of guillotine wielding Frenchwomen and St. Louis, MO.

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

Perhaps the Fourth of July never really lost it's significance after all.

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

Have a safe and happy Fourth of July!

From the Coast of Illinois

~Ker-Pow!! Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

Okay, one more family photo. Me-Dad-Grandpa holding my brother, my Sister leaning in. All of us in front of a car which could sleep 10 comfortably.  I am going to just embrace the overalls. I believe they actually had a little skirt attachment, for wearing to church or other formal functions. Also, they had not invented 'hair product' so I was stuck with Dippitey-Do and pink hair tape. My hair laughed at this. As did everyone else.