To Thine Own Self, Be Food

I have suffered only one breakdown/panic attack in the almost-week I've been in Iowa.  That one occurred on Friday when I felt compelled to tidy up the laundry room...and became completely and utterly overwhelmed by the amount of, pardon my French, shit my family and I have managed to accumulate over the years.  The piles of clutter were insurmountable and I felt like I would never be able to conquer them.  Ever. So I hyperventilated.  I panicked.  I cried.  I freaked out on my husband. It was a very sad Friday, indeed.  But, I managed to pull myself up by the shoestrings on my Asics and get on with it.  And I ended up having a great weekend. Of course, it helps that it was, like, an unseasonably 82 degrees here in Iowa...which allowed me to do this: Brent and I have decided to do our grocery shopping biweekly, as opposed to once a week.  Perhaps it seems like a waste of time, but we found we were dealing with more spoilage or menu items not being used, etc.  You know, f

I'm sure that is the burning question on everyone's mind: What kind of culinary chaos did Heather come home to after five months? Let me say...frankly...it wasn't so bad.  I was expecting worse.  I was expecting my shelves to be exploding with Hamburger Helper and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, etc. etc.  However, I appeared to have rubbed off on my husband somewhat - hurrah! All of the pictures below need a context.  Here it is:  I have three children: one in high school, one in middle school, and one in elementary.  The high schooler and middle schooler are in cross country and soccer.  The elementary kid is soccer only.  Then, my boys are in Cub/Boy Scouts while my daughter (the middle schooler) is on Student Council.  Suffice it to say that fall is a very busy time for our family and there is a lot of taxiing that goes on...of which Brent has been shouldering the sole burden of since April. So...can you really blame the guy for what you're about to see?  I think n

And I don't care how great your product is. But first, cue "Time To Say Goodbye" by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman.  Yesterday, bright and early, I took the first ferry boat off of Mackinac Island...thus bringing to an end my time in Michigan.  In what may be construed only as an "adult educational field trip", Brent and I decided to drive home to Iowa by way of a few Michigan breweries.  We learned that in addition to liking the Weissbier/Hefeweizen style of beer, we also tried and liked Brown and Tripel Belgian-styles of ale, too.  So, hurrah for learning. And here's something else.  I don't care how great your product is, if your customer service is shoddy, I won't buy it.  And I probably won't leave a great tip either.  And I'll probably leave a negative review on TripAdvisor while I'm at it.  Power of the small consumer here, people. Anyway.  Michigan has this reputation for being one of the best beer states in the US. 

So.  Four days left here on the island.  Hard to believe five months in this unbelievably crazy surreal world is about to come to an end.  A world of no cars, constant horse clippity-clopping, clear blue waters and an out-of-the-ordinary workplace...and I am soon to leave it. And there is nothing like looking for a job to jolt you back to the painful world of real reality. First of all, my internet connection is sketchy at best, but mostly possessed by Satan.  Hunting online for jobs is a slapdash, exhausting process.  Then, there's the filling out of an application and tracking down phone numbers and addresses of former employers and references. And have I ever been convicted of a felony?  Am I legit to work in the US? No and Yes. And then it becomes a waiting game, right?  The game in which I try to read my potential company/employer's mind and then guess at Why...why in the hell won't they just call me?  Doesn't anybody want me?  Doesn't anybody love me

Let the countdown begin.  I am just a shade under two weeks until my employment here on the Island is finished.  And then, I dunno, I gotta get, like, a real job and stuff. So, my restaurant of choice this week is the Woods Restaurant .  This place is the shining gem of the Grand Hotel dining complex, and is tucked away (in the woods, natch) in the far northern corner of the island.  I suppose that's one of its draws - away from the craziness of the downtown area, peaceful, secluded, etc.   The description on the website states "opulent Tudor with Bavarian charm".  Indeed.  Feel like you're entering a funhouse a bit, yes? I sat in a vaulted-ceiling, animal-head heavy dining room.  The walls were a vibrant red and the chairs were red-and-white checked gingham (sorry I didn't get a picture here, but click on the link, you'll get the idea).  It could have all been very cheesy and over the top, but somehow the restaurant manages to pull off 'elegant