The Confession

When you live in a small town, every body knows your business and your name, kinda like that song says from Cheers.  They know who your folks are, what you do for a living and where you rank in the social status, in other words; how much money it looks like you have.  If your shoe size was interesting, they’d know it too and pass the info around so that anyone with a foot fetish could become your sole mate.

When the news came to me that I had an inheritance of a house with running water and a sofa that wasn’t about to be repossessed, I decided to pack up my car with what was left of my dignity and come back to Big Thicket.  I left a slew of problems where I came from and these problems were what I have been determined to keep my mouth shut about.

But since I am now spilling my guts on the World Wide Web, I have to figure out a way to be myself and not tip my hand at what’s up my sleeve.  So please understand when I tell you that I am not real.

 I’m just a Fig Newton of my own imagination.

Big Thicket isn’t real, but the town I live in is.  These people I am going to tell you about are real; it’s just that their names have been changed to protect the boring, the innocent and me. What you are about to read on this blog is what I lived through.  You’ve heard about the witness protection program?

I could have used the protection but I didn’t qualify.  Hell, I couldn’t qualify for the Jehovah’s Witness program though a few of them tried really hard to get me in.

Now that I have confessed my sins, I am going to go out in the back yard armed with a tall glass of red wine and say a few "Hell Yeahs" till I feel forgiven!

Rancho Wrecko

Meet Rancho Wrecko. This is not a photo of my house, but almost.  I can’t show you my real house because it’s still not wise to reveal my actual location.  (Only Google knows exactly where I live.)

I have been in this house for a little while now.  I have most of my boxes unpacked.  I didn’t have too much because when I married Ida Man the 4th(the last man I will ever marry, and you can quote me on that!), he had much nicer things than me, so my crappy stuff ultimately had to go.

You know how that is.  I would bring in a perfectly good knick-knack and place it on the book shelf next to one of his collector items (collected on his travels, not from the discount beanie baby table at the antique mall, either, but from a market in Zimbabwe or Zim-some-where).  Anyway he would get that pained look on his face.  Oh you know the look, the one that looks like he has need of some Prilosec or Excedrine.

My stuff really wasn’t good enough to cozy up to his.  I though he was going to faint when I brought out my shabby-chic crusty-rustys.  You would have thought I was introducing the Klingons to the Romulans instead of faded rose toile to modern sterile. 

I tried ya’ll.  I fought for the loves of my life; my wire baskets, my mismatched china, the old silver plate, but he brought in the big guns.

Now I can’t name names here, but I was waylaid, over ruled and de-cluttered down to my distressed linens by an interior designer with pointy shoes and a fake accent.

Her work has been shown in magazines.  What work?  Did she sew the cushions?  Did she lay the expensive carpet?  No, she waltzed around spending my ex-husbands money buying art work that made no sense, making me feel stupid for owning my grandmothers footstool.

Here at Rancho Wrecko, I am the interior designer, the dust bunny catcher and the decision maker.  Oh, god, didn’t George Bush say something to that effect?  When I start quoting W, it’s time for me to go lower my blood pressure. 

I usually do that with an adult beverage.  Ya'll have a happy Saturday!

Broke Down in Big Thicket

Well, here it is: My next blog post.  Hooray.

The jury (I guess that would be you, my readers) is still out on whether this blog will make it.  My friend said I could do this but she is also the same one who said I should be Big Thicket’s Martha Stewart…and we all know how that turned out.  Here’s a shout out to Martha, “Hey Martha, I forgive ya!”

I declare I almost ran away with myself again

Run away is what I am real good at.  I’ve been either running toward something or running away from something all my life.  Finally, I’ve decided that I am tired of all that huffing and puffing and I am going to sit still for a while.  And to tell you the truth, I don't have a lot of choice at the moment.

It just so happens I run out of steam and money in Big Thicket, Texas; Population 22,492.  There’s nothing wrong with Big Thicket, if you like peace and quiet.  Except for the crickets, the hoot owls and the neighbor’s dog down the road, the only sounds I hear some days are my own thoughts whirling around in my head.  (Not good.)

One of my husbands was from here.  He is no longer with us and due to some snafu on the paperwork I inherited this house from him long after he stopped speaking to me.  Well, he no longer speaks to anybody since they planted him at the Holy Rest Cemetery at the quiet end of a red dirt road.

I went to his grave site and thanked him for remembering me in his will, but I know in my heart he was turning over and over like a chicken on a rotisserie spit when he realized it was me wading through the pine straw to come see him.

I never knew about this place while my ex was alive.  My ex was the silent type. You almost have to be if you stay around me.  The house belonged to his aunt.  When she died, he was his only heir and since I was still listed as his sole surviving relative, it came like a miracle from above to me.  Don’t ask me if it is all legal.  I am not looking a gift house in the plumbing.

Let me tell you, I am grateful.  I have a roof over my head, but just barely.  Home ownership ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.   I got back taxes to pay, a sewer system that needed replacing in the ‘70’s and a kitchen oven that I use for storage.

I put some of these Azaleas in my hair until a spider climbed down my forehead.

Don't you love snap dragons?  Makes me think of that line, "But there be dragons in them hills..."

By the time you see these photos, these beauties will be gone.  I think Spring should stay longer.  Somebody make a note.

I kinda sound depressed and I don't mean to be.  My friend told me we are supposed to remain positive when we write on our blogs.   So I 'm going to make myself a little sign to share with you and we'll both feel better.

 

I Love Miracle Whip

Yesterday I started this blog and I gave ya’ll the recipe for Ida Clare’s Done Good Potato Salad.

Ya’ll write me back after you make it and tell me how your Ida Man! liked it.   We can’t control the Ida Man! in our lives, even when we try.  But most men will eat any thing that you serve to them while the television is on.

I know you’re gonna like it cause the recipe calls for MIRACLE WHIP.  Kraft, the maker of Miracle Whip has got this advertising campaign going on where celebrities take a stand on whether you love it or hate it.  

photo by Defekto

But before I get into a hot debate and have to explain why something called Miracle Whip kinda turns me on,  I might need to tell you just who’s little ole blog you’re visiting and how I came to be a local celebrity.

Well, obviously you know because you can read that my name is Ida Clare, but not too long ago I was given what I thought was a great idea.  Since I am crafty, brilliant, a great cook, not afraid to voice my humble opinion and really need to bring in a six-figure income to support my wicked ways, my friend told me I needed to be the Martha Stewart of Big Thicket.

Photo by Cleveland Leader 200

Sure enough, when I looked in the phone book, there wasn’t a Martha Stewart listed, so I decided that is just who I would become.  Unfortunately, Martha’s lawyers didn’t think much of my friends’ idea and threatened me with a restraining order. 

You know, Oprah has a sister now.  Why can’t I be Martha’s short voluptuous younger cousin?  She’s the one who’s been in prison, not me. 

Well, since I didn't have the money to get to Connecticut anyway, (hell if you could go around the world on two dollars, I couldn't get out of sight) I just told all my friends that I  was going to become a celebrity on my own.   

Note to self:  Don’t blab about meeting celebrities till you actually meet them.

 


Now about Miracle Whip.  It’s the best.  I love the taste. 

•    Great for a fold over sandwich on white bread when you’re starving and too lazy to cook. 

•    You can use it to get Double Bubble Chewing Gum out of your hair when you fall asleep with it in your mouth instead of sticking your wad on the bed post.  

•    You can slather it all over your hair and use it as a conditioner. 

•    Miracle Whip will remove tar and feathers if a mob shows up in your front yard set on revenge.  

I bet Martha doesn’t even know about that.

Leave a Miracle Whip comment.  You know you have one.

Sign Me Up

When about the tenth person told me I should start a blog to tell my story, I decided to finally pay attention.  Now I don’t listen to any and every jack ass that has an opinion; if you knew me at all you would know that.

I have a better system.

I pay attention to signs.  I’m not talking about signs on the side of the road, though I do give them their due to, especially if they say Bar-B-Q up ahead.  It is hard to mess up Bar-B-Q, unlike potato salad.  What is the deal-ee-o with potato salad?  For gods sake and mine, please either mash the potatoes or cook the little bastards long enough so they aren’t crunchy.  Nobody wants to eat a crunchy potato unless it’s been fried.

I declare I’m already off the subject.  (But I am gonna give you a good potato salad recipe so maybe we can get some of that excuse for potato salad off the market!  Are you with me?)

I was talking about signs.  I’ll tell you some more of my favorite road-side signs later, but now I’m talking Signs with a capital S.

Girl, you got to pay attention to signs.  They’re everywhere.  Who knows, what I am telling you right this very minute might be a sign you been needing to notice for a long time.  Is the hair on your chiny-chin-chin standing up?

I was at the library (Yes, I do read books.  We’ll talk books later.  Be thinking of ones you like and we’ll trade book titles like boys trade baseball cards.).  Like I done said, I was at the library and this woman was giving a talk about blogging and I got confused and thought she was saying hogging and since I know somebody from Pig Holler, I thought I might better listen and I found out she wasn’t talking about hogging at all.

So I took it as a sign and here I am.  Blogging with my favorite potato salad recipe.

Ida Clare’s Done Good Potato Salad!

•    Put three or four eggs on to boil while you are hunting the potatoes in your cupboard.

•    Wash and peel some potatoes.  Cut off the sprouts and dig out the eyes.  They don’t taste good no matter how much you boil them.

•    Peel more than you think you need.  (This is a rule.)  Why?  Well, it is obvious SugarBugar, if you make my potato salad there’s going to be some hogging going on.  I am basing this recipe on about 5 cups.

•    Cut up the potatoes in similar sized pieces so they will get done at the same time.

•    Put them in a pot.  Cover with water and boil the little devils until you can stick a fork in them and they come apart. 

•    Drain all the water off and leave the potatoes in the pot.  Mash the bejesus out of them.  This counts as aerobic exercise and will allow you to feel righteous when you are hogging more than your share.

•    Chop up your boiled eggs.  It tastes better if you peel them first.  I like to use a cheese grader and grate my eggs, but that’s just me.  Big hunks of eggs don’t bother me.
•    Use lots of Miracle Whip.  There is no substitute.  (Start out with about a half cup.)
•    Mustard is good by the tablespoons.  Don’t overdo
•    Sweet pickle relish
•    Tablespoon of vinegar
•    Salt
•    Pepper if you insist.  Just makes me sneeze.  And that’s just rude to sneeze in the potato salad.
•    Sugar is the secret ingredient.  About three tablespoons should do it.

Have a taste-testing of your own in the kitchen to get it just right; cuts down on the hogging on your part and keeps you looking like a lady in front of the company.  Mix all this up and put in a bowl if you can wait that long.  I like it warm, but it is good cold too.

Happy Potato Salad
Ida Clare

Welcome To Ida Clare's Blog

Happy Spring. Today seemed like an auspicious day to get the blog ball rolling. Welcome to my attempt at finding my way on the Inner-Nut.

I spent some time today looking a 4,628 blogs or nearly that amount and I have to tell you I am screwed. If anyone finds this little blog amid the millions of blogs that are light years ahead of me, that are beautiful, well written, and crafty as Martha on steroids, then I will be forever humble…well maybe not forever.

I have been served one blog too many so I’m gonna take a little nap ‘til I sober up.