Life – Page 80 – Nourish-n-Cherish

Where is Mrs Lis?

The day was yesterday. I was all set to publish a piece of Fiction that my daughter had written up for her school homework. I found the narrative style amusing and wanted to boast a bit about it on the blog. Of course, before doing anything and after doing something, one must waste one’s time wandering up and down one’s Facebook feed. One must not mess with the process, so I grazed lazily over my feed.

It was then that I read a post doing the rounds on my Facebook feed about how we chip at children’s self confidence one Facebook post at a time. Apparently, we find the fact that they can’t pronounce something right when they are 3 hilarious . We then go ahead and Facebook it for posterity. But when the 3 year olds go back and read it when they are 23, they might not like it.

I don’t know where they are going with this, because I remember the first thing my uncle told the husband (my then fiancé) when he met him was that I was a lovable child. Having caught the strapping young son-in-law’s attention, he went on to regale an entertaining tale of me at the tender age of one. The uncle giggled and laughed through the tale and thoroughly enjoyed the telling of it. I saw the husband flinch (The tale had a Eww factor as most tales of one-year olds do.), but he still gallantly married me. The fact is that my uncle did not have Facebook or even access to a computer then: he just remembered. Facebook or not, embarrassing stuff from your childhood has a way of living on, often with elements of creative exaggeration added in.

Yet, this seemed like an educational opportunity. I broached the topic with the daughter and asked her what she thought of things I write in my blog. She looked at me seriously and said, “I don’t mind, since it really is funny stuff amma. I only mind when it is something informational.” She was careful enough to enclose “informational” in double quotes. With that, she went back to reading Harry Potter, while I was left pondering on the “informational” content in my blog. To be sure, there is hardly anything informational about it, is there? Or maybe, I should try to be more informational, but for that I need to be more informed… By this time, I realized I had already analyzed this thing past its prime time, and I found my daughter had buried her nose in her Harry Potter tome once more and was not to be disturbed. After a while, she looked up and said, “By the way Mrs. Lis** came back to class today, and she read our fiction pieces. She said she liked mine. ”

Her class teacher, Mrs Lis, was out for a few days and they had a substitute teacher who asked them to write a piece of fiction on where Mrs Lis had gone. That is what I had wanted to put up on the blog, when I was side-tracked. So, here it is:

Where is Mrs Lis?

Mrs.Lis is gone. Aaaaaahhh! Where is she? Is she on the other planet? Is she on the moon? Is it a family emergency? What if an alien ate her? Is she on vacation?

I’m pretty sure she is on vacation. There’s another problem. Where did she go for a vacation? Did she go to India or Hawaii? Don’t forget Disneyland and Russia. What about Scotland, London or China? I think she’s most probably in Hawaii since its relaxing. Just what she needs after teaching us.

Hold on. I just thought of something .What is she doing? Is she lying down on the beach with a drink in her hand? Is she snorkeling or splashing in the waves? I got it. She’s doing all of that. I know where Mrs Lis is.

I asked her what the most popular theme was for guessing Mrs Lis’s whereabouts. Apparently, a good percentage of them thought she had been abducted by aliens. I am not sure Mrs Lis would like to read her welcome back packet, if half of them thought she was off trooping with aliens.

** Not her real name

Buckle Bo & The Mystical Orb

One day, I saw the daughter hard at work writing an entry for the Young Authors Contest in her school. Usually, when she thinks of a story, unicorns, horses and ponies, leap across continents and worlds to establish their roles in them. If there is a human element involved, that person would have just moved to the countryside and gotten a horse as a gift. The horse could then become a unicorn and shall reveal itself under special circumstances or continue along life as a special horse with powers almost magical to behold. I glanced at the story, and surprise of surprises: there was a unicorn, a mother unicorn and seven sibling unicorns. I was a little tired of this arc, so I asked her to try something else for a change. A dash of encouragement, and some coaxing later, she agreed to try. The tale that emerged this time, I was thrilled to see, was one where the protagonist was a duck battling an evil raven, and not only that, the duck had a noble purpose: to save all plant life. So good so far.

(Note to self: I should have taken a picture of the book title at least, but I forgot. I could have pasted it here *facepalm*)

I was mildly proud of myself. I had truly inspired her enough to try different stories. I swelled at the thought and every time I saw her working on the story, or drawing a picture for it, I would smile a little. There is something else that I should probably mention here. Recently, I spent an afternoon in her class reading out one of my stories to them, discussing the elements of writing and such. It was a golden afternoon in my mind. I had the time of my life discussing moral dilemmas, morals, plot devices and narrative styles with them. Children can be precocious and highly engaging when they want to be. In that class, it was hard to think that these children are the same ones who will double up and laugh at fart jokes. The discussions were so animated, intelligent, and lively. It was like floating in a hot air balloon above some fuzzy, golden clouds on a full stomach.

Obviously, when I met her friends at School later, I asked them whether they were going to write as well. Some eagerly nodded, while others skulked off. Her friends, who did try, told me their titles. I don’t know about the stories, but the story titles made you want to snatch a chair and settle down to read: The Adventures on Mount Whirldoom, The Mystery of the Missing Phantom, Buckle Bo and the Mystical Orb (that was the daughter’s title). Very fancy, I tell you. Very fancy.

One of them hinted that she picked up some tips from my discussion in their class the other day while writing her story. I was so happy to hear that, I beamed. Clearly fishing for more compliments, I asked them why they wanted to write: did they think it will be fun to construct a plot?

Now, I don’t know what devices hot air balloon makers use to deflate their devices, but I needed none of that. Their answers were enough.

‘Oh! That. No. Usually, there is a pizza party for participants.” said a Jane Austen.

“Hey, don’t forget we also get ice-cream.” a Mark Twain piped up.

“And brownies.” said an Enid Blyton.

My hot air balloon crash landed on the lawns nearby, and I fumbled out.

Buckle Bo & The Mystical Orb, if you please!

New Year Resolutions

I think New Year Resolutions are over-rated. Take mine for instance. I had two:

The first one was: no strong tea or coffee. This rash one came to me at 4:35 a.m. on 1st Jan 2014, when I was struggling to fall asleep. What happened was this: I was enjoying a perfectly lovely New Years Eve party and eating steadily through the evening. Of course, I got carried away after all that food and excellent conversation during the party and reached out for a strong cup of tea at about 10:30 p.m., forgetting that I was not a teenager anymore. I could not safely drink tea just before hitting the sack and snore like a tiger.

I had my mind buzzing with things irrelevant, fantastical, impractical and downright nonsensical till sleep finally allowed me into the crowded room at 7 a.m. the next day for a couple of hours.

So, I said rashly that I would not drink strong tea or coffee.

My “resolution” was sorely tested in less than 10 hours. The next day, after a lunch with our friends, I found myself yawning widely and had to amend the damn thing right away. I said that I will not have strong tea or coffee after 6 p.m. That sounded more reasonable didn’t it?

It was around 6 p.m. that evening when I had to go in for the second amendment. You see, all that lack of sleep meant that I was walking into people, or walls. So, the husband and I went in to a coffee store for a spot of coffee. I was true to myself and chose something that had a low level of caffeine in it. The husband scoffed and went in for his grande, double shot , extra hot or whatever he goes for usually. Everything was fine till my coffee came. Mine tasted like muck – it was watery and smelled every bit like strong coffee. I pushed the thing away and laid my head down on the coffee table and emitted a mild snore. The husband threw his mind around to the problem of getting me out of the store and into the car. He may joke about being the hero, but when it comes to carrying his heroine to cars, he draws a firm line. So, he gallantly switched his coffee with mine. I drank about half of his before I gave up that too. It was simply too strong. But the damage had been done.

I was up till 3 a.m. with my thoughts for company. It was then, that the second one came to me: Maybe I should meditate everyday. Meditation will help me relax and put myself in a calm state of mind. I reached for my phone to jot down the profundity of the moment. Then, facebook-ed for a while, checked emails for a further while, switched on the light, read and fell asleep again.

My thoughts during this activity period also managed to convince me that the tea/coffee thing was not exactly a resolution, since it was a wild thought that came to me when I was most anti-caffeine. Therefore, I have knocked it off my list.

I am now having fun with the Meditation one. I have a blog coming up soon on its progress.

Resolutions or no, may your days be filled with love, laughter and life! Happy 2014 to everyone.

I fancy a cup of tea now. So, I shall take leave.

Miss Goodie Two Shoes

In an act of rare wisdom, the daughter and I bought ourselves matching boots. We squealed uncharacteristically in the store and paraded in front of the distraught husband (Don’t ask me why, but the husband always looks distraught while shopping. He has a lost, resigned look that we don’t like, two minutes into entering a store. After that, it is all downhill, unless there is a stop at the food court involved.)

The shining boots came home and occupied positions of honor on our shoe shelf. The daughter was found peeking at her boots discreetly every few hours. The next morning, we were running late for school and the daughter in her usual manner dismissed all panic by saying it was only 8:09 a.m. and there were still two minutes in which to linger about the home. ( “We will even have time to show my friends the new boots if we leave at 8:11 a.m. Appa – relax!” After all, what is a post about the daughter without one of her quips?)

Turns out, there was a bathroom emergency involving the still-being-potty-training-toddler in the house just then. We looked at the right clock and it was 8:13 a.m. Now, we looked like ducks running around looking for their chicken feathers. The daughter screamed that she would put her shoes on in the car and charged with her boots into the car. I flung the school bag after her. The lunch box was caught mid-air, the homework bowled into open windows and the car left for school with heads hanging out the window screaming to one another to have a good day. The drama I tell you.

It was probably an hour later, when I was taking out my own boots, that things looked odd. The shoes looked too right. I mean two right. I mean, there were two right boots gleaming at me from the shoe shelf. Two right shoes of different sizes.

I don’t think there is any point in saying anything or trying to explain, so I moaned a low, hollow groan and picked them up to inspect. I tried to say that she deserved it for being a smart boot, but did not have the heart. How was the child supposed to manage with her right foot in a larger left shaped boot the whole day?

So, off I went to the School office armed with a pair of sneakers and the strangest request I’ve ever made of authority figures.

I walked into the School office and said, “I am sorry, this may sound strange, but my daughter wore two left shoes(one larger that the other) and came to school today. “ Then, I burst out laughing looking at the bewildered look the lady behind the desk gave me. She looked like she’d seen it all, that lady. So, I told her between bursts of my own laughing and blushing, that if she could call her out during recess and give her the right shoes, I’d appreciate it.

The kind lady looked at me and said, she will call her out of class then itself because it might be hampering the child, and then twinkled her eyes kindly and said, “Don’t worry dear. We’ve seen much worse haven’t we Mrs. Dee?” To which Mrs Dee replied most graciously that this was not the strangest request she’d heard in all the years she has been teaching. She assured me it was a tame one compared to some wild requests she’d seen.

Really, what goes on in Schools?

On that note, I recently read Miss Read’s “Tales from a Village School”, and had the time of my life laughing about her tales. If you haven’t read it, please give it a try. (http://www.amazon.com/TALES-FROM-A-VILLAGE-SCHOOL/dp/0718100700/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1387484159&sr=8-1&keywords=Tales+from+a+Village+School)

The Cal-Oh-Rie Boss

I remember feeling as a child waiting to grow up and see what I will do. (I knew it was great fun being a kid, but I was curious about the future). Naturally, I asked the daughter what she thought about life as an adult. She said that our lives were cool. Among other things that make our lives cool, was a point mentioning that we got to boss our kids around. That was news to me. I felt like the bossee more than the boss so often.

While having this riveting conversation, we walked past a pastry shop that sported all things cream and sugar in those sparkling windows and the daughter wondered whether we may stop in for a snack. Really, all that cream and sugar could not bode well for the body. So, I used my skills of persuasion and said we want to go for something healthy and moved towards a Starbucks (I know! But it was the only one in sight that had a semblance of a trail mix pack in there) instead.

I walked in to the coffee store in my usual state, you know? Calm and collected. The moment I walked in, I knew I was fighting a losing battle. There, gleaming from the confectionary box were those blasted cake pops looking like dynamite balloons. I was trying to convince the daughter not to go for those, but everybody knows by now that she only wanted cake pops. I was wondering whether to belt out my healthy-eating-talk or not, and decided against it. We had stepped out for a Holiday afternoon after all. I caught the billing clerk’s eye and she saw my moment of resignation and was there a smirk to her face? Or was she simply smiling at me? I wasn’t sure, and I wanted to be the mom-in-charge and the cool mom all at once to impress Lydia (I think that’s what her name tag said, but it could have been Lysha)

So, I tried again with the daughter, “This is nothing but sugar, do you want to try something a bit more healthy?”

The daughter looks at me and says, “Amma. You said to look for cal-oh-ries too right? See all the things with healthy stuff in them like this pumpkin slice or this apple slice all have more than 400 cal-oh-ries, but the cake pop is only 150 cal-oh-ries. So, it may be all sugar, but it is less sugar.”

There was no point: I gave in and slumped my shoulders a bit.

Then I remembered that I recently saw an article in which the speaker asks us to ooze confidence and fresh from the reading, I oozed. I acted like the totally-in-control-of-daughters-diet mom and said “Hi. I would like a cake pop please.”

“Good job Amma. Maybe you should get yourself something healthy too.” said the daughter smiling in that sly fashion.

So I bought two cake-pops.

“Is that all?” Lydia (or Lysha or Lyma) asks.

“Yes.” I said meekly and then ‘Yes!”, a little stronger.

We stepped out smartly before any more judgments could be passed by Ly-dash, and picked up the threads of the conversation where we’d left off.

Cake Pops Are Dynamite
Don’t Mess with Dynamite

“Like I was saying, it must be totally cool to boss your kids around and do whatever you like. Like you just walked into Starbucks now instead of that pastry shop.” said the daughter.

Having exhausted my conversational brilliance, I agreed and bit into my cake pop like an obedient mother.

Lord Love a Glove : CIM Relay 2013

The toasting weeks of the summer are just giving way to the crisp days of autumn, when we say, “Maybe we should sign up for the California International Marathon Relay. “ (Henceforth referred to as the CIM Relay folks)

There is little (if any) resistance to the suggestion: after all, what greater joy than going for a run in the cool morning air and getting to be part of the relay?

No points given to guessing who came up with our team name: Rainbow Dashers.

The misgivings start later, much later. It is when the trees are barren, having shivered all their leaves off in the cold, when the winds are vindictively fierce and the nose feels like it has just visited a dreary corner of the freezer in the refrigerator that one begins to doubt the wisdom of undertaking a run in these conditions. A run, not only threatened by abysmally low temperatures, but also requiring the exchange of a toddler between the runners.

When we headed out to Sacramento for the CIM Relay, I remember thinking that we must be nuts to do this. However, that feeling has never stopped us from doing things. Even so, the temperature forecast was showing a bleak 24 degree fahrenheit, and the winds whipping around us the previous evening were not friendly. The next morning, we headed out to start the car with a very sleepy toddler weighing thrice what he normally does because of the layers he was wearing and sat in the car for a good ten minutes before the defrost button could do its work and show us the path ahead.

By the time I started my run, the sun was out. I took the chip from the husband and handed the toddler over to run. (There was a deja vu moment here when we realized we had switched the daughter as a toddler at the same point before) The deceptively bright day meant there was ice on the road and that made running slippery. Hmm.

Then something amazing happened: There was little chance of my slowing down because if I slowed, I would freeze. So I ran, and then I felt a soaring happiness in my heart, a certain nimbleness to my being. My soul leaped and my mind took in the people, the signboards, the cop cars, the fruit trees, the beautiful houses along the way. I ran along listening to people chat to each other while running. Crowds energize me more than I realize and I increased my pace. I batted the cold away and in this elated state, senselessly took off my gloves. Within minutes, my fingers were numb and I could not use my hands to put them back on. What an idiot I must be? I worked up quite the sweat before I got feeling to creep back to my fingers, and then resolved to take in the beauty of the surroundings with the gloves on. Lord love a glove.

All too soon, I rounded a bend and saw that my turn was over and I had to hand the chip over to the last runner in the group. All I knew was that I could have just gone on. The Rainbow Dashers put up an impressive show both at the relay and the buffet afterward.

Go Rainbow Dashers! (Not doing this -> So doing this -> What was I thinking? -> Just do it! -> Gotta do this again: the CIM 2013 )

I am waiting to do it again. Thank you Rainbow Dashers Team (Viv, Sri, Sur & Self).

Solvitur Ambulando – It is solved by Walking

We all know that exercising has all round benefits and yet, it is good every now and then for an article to bump us into action, or merely to reinforce the importance of an active lifestyle.

This article talks about what the author wants her daughter to know about working out:

http://wellfesto.com/2013/11/19/10-things-i-want-my-daughter-to-know-about-working-out/

There have been times when I have come into the house after a stroll in the neighborhood at night, breathless with cold, a slight sweat from the swift pace I have tried to keep, only to bundle my daughter up and take her out so she can enjoy the enormous moon or listen to the leaves rustling or watch the stars on a clear night. I know the moon is a beautiful object for her, and she shares a liking with the husband for the night sky. I want her tales of imagination to leap from it and they do, often surpassing my expectations.

I love telling her stories from my childhood as we take walks. She knows it is the best time to ask me for one, because I am so willing then, not trying to do a dozen different things all at once. I am there enjoying my time with her walking and swapping stories. I grew up in a place almost magical to describe. There were heavily wooded Eucalyptus groves, tea estates in the horizon not to mention the crisp mountain air. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that I love a good walk that can heighten the senses and sharpen one’s thinking.

The article describes a good workout, and I have mostly written about walking because it is my favorite form of exercise. Another one of those gifts from my father who enjoys his 3-5 miles almost everyday. I find it to be a stress reliever, a soother, a pacifier, an exhilarator, an ideator and a mediator of internal conflict.

Many greats before us have extolled the virtues of a good walk:

http://www.linkedin.com/today/post/article/20130829191440-143695135-hemingway-thoreau-jefferson-and-the-virtues-of-a-good-long-walk

I quote: Solvitur ambulando — “it is solved by walking.” Words by the Greek philosopher Diogenes

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solvitur_ambulando

I am extremely thankful also to have family, friends and colleagues who will take a walk with me every now and then.(You all know who you are :))

The NaNoWriMo Adventure

The month of November has been a wonderful trip to another world. It all started one blustery autumn evening when I decided to brashly sign up for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) adventure with encouragement from the husband and some friends (Krishna Srinivasan in particular). What has happened since is amazing. I had a target count to achieve for daily words written. Give me something like this, and you will find me walking around with the flame lit till done.

In the first week, I must admit things were harder than I thought. I found I had practically finished all I had to say by Chapter 3 (I exaggerate as usual, but you get the drift.) That would not do, would it? So, I expanded the story line, and brought in little snippets from the past and built back-story. In short, I had the time of my life. Inspiration is a funny thing, for it graced me when I showed up everyday, and struggled and it graced at me at the most unlikely of times (Read 2 a.m., and that would keep me awake planning the next day’s writing till 4 am. and of course, do a poor job of it the next day.)

The funny thing is that I have achieved the target of 50,000 words in 25 days, but I have not finished the story arch yet. I think I need at least another 10,000 words for the first draft to finish. Nothing panned out the way I visualized – the story yanked me from under my navel and pulled me along like a tug boat headed somewhere uncharted and all I could do was hang on and write the best I could. Even the novel heading started out as something else, but I think I have a better title now.

2013-Nanowrimo-Winner-Certificate

I have visualized the end, but as I write, I will know whether it is a suitable end or not. I have always been fairly regular at writing, but the necessity of doing a minimum word count everyday was another marathon altogether. Like running a marathon, this is a journey just worth finishing, for no one can take the joy of the journey from me.

nanowrimo stats

PS: Just to give it perspective, a typical blog post is about 300-400 words, and I had to write approximately 2000 words everyday.

Dining At Home Discounts Maybe?

“Maybe we should go out and have dinner tonight.” says the husband clearly intending to help. In any other family, a simple statement like that will either be met with a simple acceptance or a refusal. I am sure no more would have been said about it. Of course, in our family, a statement like that wrenches the spanner into the corner of the brain where the horrors of restaurant eating reside and ply it open.

“Do you remember what happened at that Italian restaurant?” I ask. “I mean do you still want to go and press our company on restaurants. I say we take the broad minded view of ‘Live and let live.’ ”

The husband looks at me like I have a point and agrees. What happened was this: We found an occasion to dine out, and took polls to see what kind of cuisine was most voted for. It did not help that the toddler in the house thought it was a game and stuck both his arms up for everything. A vote was taken, numbers counted, tallied and thrown out the window. We settled for Italian which had one vote (the daughter’s). So, off we went looking for an Italian restaurant. Just before we entered, I checked their hair and told them to behave. It was one of those places that I’ve heard people gush about. What I had not expected, was for us to enter one of those snooty, high eyebrow places with a touch of hospitality, not overdone and a spot of hauteur, quite overdone.

I wanted to scramble and flee, but summoned the warrior spirit and pressed on. The maitre-de came up with a gleaming suit, coattails and all, looked us up and down and asked us how he may help us. I have never understood this. Would I be standing there in the luxurious lobby of a restaurant wanting to be helped with goading a herd of sheep into a waiting truck? No. I want to be seated for a meal. Thank you.

There was some brow lifting and all this while, the toddler is sitting quietly in his chair and not saying a word. The daughter is playing with him, and the two of them present a picture of a serene advertisement to entice more humans to procreate. The maitre-de, in the meanwhile, decides that he does not really need to spoil the atmosphere of a good dining experience for his patrons and comes out wearing a thin look (He may have been trying the apologetic expression, but thin is what I thought at the time). The toddler smiled at him and said, “Tar?” and showed him a toy car.

No reaction.

“I am extremely sorry Sir and Ma’am. But there is a half an hour wait for tables at the moment. Would you like to be kept waiting?”

The choice of words really! What a clever man he was too. Not wanting to take the good behavior picture, but not wanting to let us in and find out either. Could be a diplomat that man.

We said we don’t like to be kept waiting and turned our back on the man in a dignified silence. “Come children!” I said and they came. We stepped out the door and then expressed all of our relief and anxiety at once. What if they had seated us? Maybe this is for the best. Let’s go for a family friendly place. Nothing fancy.

We proceeded to a familiar restaurant. The cashier there smiled at us and welcomed us. He has seen us there often and still manages to smile when he sees us. That is the kind of place I like. The fine dining can wait for a decade. I breathed freely in there, sat down and looked at the husband and asked “Where is the boy who behaved so well?”

The husband points under the table and there he is: playing with his toy car. Things may have been quiet for possibly 3 minutes or maybe 4 after the food arrived. We never make it to a full 5 minutes. There was mayhem. The toddler had put his hands into the spicy curry, and I sent the water cascading over the table while pulling the napkin underneath to wipe off the toddler’s hands before he rubbed his eyes with it. He did not like that, One would think his life’s dream was to dip his hands in spicy curry and rubbing his eyes with it, and I, the evil mother, stepped in and squashed his dreams. He screwed up his face and turned a valve that let loose a torrent of very loud tears.

The husband tore out of the room carrying the toddler and stood outside in the cold for a good 3 minutes before bringing him back again. We gobbled the dinner as fast as we could and came back, shaken a bit by the smile the cashier gave us. Maybe he needs time before we pay him another visit.

The next day, the fates decide to show this news item to me. Apparently, there are restaurants that offer well-behaved-children discounts.

http://moms.popsugar.com/Restaurant-Offers-Well-Behaved-Children-Discount-27335732

I think I would like to be kept waiting on that discount. I am not sure I am strong enough to try them just yet. Dining-at-home discounts maybe?

The Kitchen – Part 2

The parents left last week leaving me to raid the kitchen pantry to assess inventory levels, come up with reorder lists etc. No more of asking for grocery lists and shopping for them on the way back from wherever I went.

So, I snuck in there wearing my ‘Back to Work’ expression, lighted a few scented candles to keep me company and throw me light and joy and all that. It was so close to Diwali after all. I must tell you, the brain felt a bit dim like wanting to curl up with a good book and coffee. However, work is first and I persevered.

I remember the mother running a factory in there a week before she left. Give her a festival like Diwali and throw in a few grandkids and that is all she needs. She was set to run away with the menu and make twelve different types of snacks. I had to put up a valiant fight and stop her at (one moment, I am counting) eight. Good Lord! She made EIGHT different snacks in 5 days and I ate them all. No wonder I feel like I have a tractor in my stomach. I told her not to knock herself out. Sigh. I really am not as efficient as I think am I?

Anyway, back to inventory management, I noticed several different kind of flours and powders that I don’t even know the use for. Apparently, they are what gave flair and flavor to whatever I so gratefully ate in the past few months, For instance, I now have about 4 pounds of rice flour in the kitchen (I rattled my brain and found that I might use about 100 gms of rice flour in all the recipes I knew)

What am I supposed to do? Give a person a problem like this and it could have them flummoxed for days on end. Not me. I have always been known to be a problem solver. So, I deftly picked up the rice flour, and all the other packets that looked alien to me and threw it into the freezer. It can be dealt with when the matriarchs visit next, or if I find the expiry date has been reached before then.

If, in the meanwhile, anyone has recipes for using rice flour in a risk-free, short and easy manner, please shoot them recipes to me.

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