Bonjour

My nickname at home was Madame Jambon. I earned it. I ate the shit out of that ham. I ate it on yeasty rolls for breakfast and lunch and I ate it straight from the fridge for snacks. It was salty and sweet and porky. It was bliss. I should have photographed it, not that I had a hard time making my quota of ten photos for the week, but because a love like that wants to be documented.

I took a reasonable number of photos over the break but I left my camera cradle at my mom’s house, so now I have to wait—have to stave off gratification—before I can download and organize and print. My camera might as well be flipping me the bird. The whole point of a digital camera is instant gratification but I’m waiting.

Ham as a carry-on got me a lot of attention. It was wrapped in red foil and then in black netting. The netting was fashioned into a handle eliminating the need for a tote so I carried it out in the open. It was Christmas; I had a ham; it didn’t seem weird to me. As it went through the x-ray the security guy stopped the belt and stared at it for a while before shouting out loud: It’s a ham! I wanted to say something sassy—wanted to match his tone and to up the ante with some wit—but I kept my comments to myself because it seemed the civil thing to do (Christmas spirit and all) and because those guys at security can do anything they want to you and I know better than to pick on a giant. As I was getting on the plane a man from Texas, with an embroidered longhorn on his baseball hat, said, “You got a pretty good deal on that ham!” I smiled in return and soon we were talking big oil, big money, and where to buy the best meat. He did most of the talking but I enjoyed the conversation because he reminded me of my father-in-law. When I got off the plane a man turned to me and said in a low voice, “Nice ham.” I told him thank you. He made me smile. And at my destination, the Minneapolis airport, a women several paces behind me shouted, “You still have your ham! I saw you in the Anchorage airport!” She must have thought I was going to eat it in-flight.

The dog managed just fine. But I can tell she’s glad to be home where she belongs.

Happy New Year

New Year Resolutions:

Take 10 photos every week
Make photo book at the end of the year
Floss at least six times each week

I'm flying home in a few days, with a ten pound ham in my carry-on, to see my mom and brother and wretched sister-in-law. We'll board Dasha for the first time. I have a box sitting in the dining room that's full of portioned kibble in baggies labeled with her name--one baggie for each day plus an extra just-in-case, a bag of dried beef tendon labeled with her name and feeding instructions (1-2 per day), and I think I'll add a baggie of peanuts with the instruction: Small Treats for Good Behavior or Any Occasion You Can Think Up. Per a suggestion from a woman who works at Dasha's daycare she's off wheat and her poop is much more respectable.

The ham was a gift from work. They gave us turkeys at Thanksgiving--really nice birds: natural, fresh, and from a boutique meat purveyor. But I never cooked mine. Two weeks after the holiday it went in the trash and froze before trash day (Monday). It was too big, I didn't have a pan, and we don't eat much meat at the house so I was without an external motivator to push me to the place where I wanted to roast 16 pounds of meat. We ate Tofurkey for Thanksgiving. I poached a chicken once. Mark was out of town and I wanted curried chicken salad. I wanted it bad. It was delicious but made me realize just how much mayonnaise is in chicken salad. I loved the salad, but I've never eaten it since.

The ham is spiral cut and my Grandma will go ape-shit for it. I'm glad it won't go to waste.

I'm back on Retin-A. My insurance doesn't cover it because I'm over 25. Six weeks ago I declined the $103 price tag, but decided to splurge with Christmas money from my in-laws. In all honesty it's a money laundering scheme--I bought the drug with Christmas money but I'll get reimbursed from my pre-tax medical savings plan (one of the benefits at work) and I'll put that check into the bank where it will disappear into the ether: food, mortgage, and kibble. It's a nice way to feel like I treated myself to a gift without the guilt of spending money on myself instead of the group.

Mark took me out for Sushi tonight. I should have taken pictures of him eating my food in a vintage wool military coat and ear flap hat.