The Press-Dispatch
Issue link: https://www.ifoldsflip.com/i/862179
The Press-Dispatch Wednesday, August 16, 2017 D-1 HOME LIFE TO ADVERTISE: Call: 812-354-8500 Email: ads@pressdispatch.net Visit: 820 E. Poplar Street, Petersburg Deadline: 5 p.m. on Monday Build your own dreams, or someone else will hire you to build theirs. FARRAH GRAY Katiedid vs... by Katiedid Langrock Brighter Side by Janice Barniak Time for tears A new kind of beach bum LindaFolsomHomes.com Cell: 812-779-9293 Linda Folsom BROKER ASSOCIATE F.C. TUCKER EMGE REALTORS ® 3918 S CR 225 E, Winslow 3 bedroom, 1 bath ranch home sitting on 0.58 acres $99,900 MLS# 201737547 NEW LISTING! COUNTRY LIVING! PUBLIC AUCTION Sat., August 19 • 9 am (CDT) Location - Johny Ray Auction & Realty Located at 114 E. SR 68, Lynnville, IN 47619 Estate of Bernie & Mary Sue Spindler 812-598-3936 Lic. #AU10800006 Lic. #RB160000284 For auction details, call Farm Consignment Auction • Saturday, Sept. 16 at 10 am is is just a sneak preview of this outstanding sale. is auction will include Farm Machinery, Tractors, Tools, Toys, Home Furnishings and much more. Bernie and Mary Sue were well known in the farming and pulling community and you won't want to miss this sale. Check auctionzip. com for details and listing information. New photos will be added almost daily. FROZEN CHOCOLATE MONKEY TREATS By Monica Sinclair Need an easy summer dessert to make or need something fun for the kids to do? I found the answer this week with this recipe. A couple of weeks ago, my husband bought frozen bananas dipped in chocolate, and they were quite good. This week, I found out how to make them myself and it doesn't take much at all! Enjoy! INGREDIENTS 3 medium bananas 1 cup (6 ounces) dark chocolate chips 2 teaspoons shortening Toppings: chopped peanuts, toasted sweetened shredded coconut and/or colored jimmies INSTRUCTIONS 1. Cut each banana into six pieces (about 1 in.). Insert a toothpick into each piece; transfer to a waxed paper-lined baking sheet. Freeze until completely firm, about 1 hour. 2. In a microwave, melt chocolate and shortening; stir until smooth. Dip banana pieces in chocolate mixture; allow excess to drip off. 3. Dip in toppings as desired; return to baking sheet. Freeze at least 30 minutes before serving. Source: tasteof home.com Share your favorite recipe! www.facebook.com/mealsinminutes Monica's Meals in Minutes PO Box 68, Petersburg, IN 47567 mealsinminutes@pressdispatch.net FACEBOOK MAIL EMAIL a MEALS IN Monica's MINUTES HOUSE FOR SALE 210 N. 8th St., Petersburg, IN 47567 Nice Home Call Prent Stafford for details, 812-582-8994 2 bedrooms, 1 bath, laundry room, kitchen, 3 closets, car port and out building. Very Clean. I'm a crier. When I was 3 and my arm was pulled out of its socket, I cried because the doc- tor was going to have to cut the sleeve off my fa- vorite dress. At 7, I cried tears of joy when the rocks I had planted spouted into rock-trees. (They were weeds.) At 14, I cried from the heartbreak of having to sev- er ties with my first imagi- nary boyfriend. Rumors had spread around junior high that Matthew was, in fact, not real. A young imaginary re- lationship can't survive that type of intense scrutiny. I cry at every movie, at every greeting card, at ev- ery love song and at every- thing Bryan Adams has ever sung. "Summer of '69" gets me choked up every time. I'm a crier. And perhaps because I'm such a crier, I've become a non-crier at times that make the most sense to cry. During those moments when even pre-Christmas-ghosts Ebenezer Scrooge would have fallen to his knees and wept, I become … distracted. Call it survival of the weep- iest I have been reassured many times over the years that when my husband pro- posed, he performed a veri- table monologue of love affir- mations, com- plete with lines that rival Shake- speare and be- long in muse- ums. Not that I can confirm any of this. The moment that man's knee hit the ground, my attention went to the sea lion barking nearby. What is it, boy? Are ya hun- gry? Is there a shark near- by? Did Timmy fall down the well? I'm fairly certain that the sea lion's "arf arf arf" trans- lates to "Stop paying atten- tion to me and listen to that boy's proposal." Just a hunch. During my wedding vows, I looked about as stoic and dead inside as Cruella de Vil. Same goes for the birth of my children. As I held my new- born daughter to my chest, the doctor said, "You're so quiet up there. You're mak- ing me nervous. Are you OK? What are you thinking about? " I was thinking about na- chos. My brain shuts off in big emotional moments. It dis- associates, and I wind up crying about the event later – usually when I'm alone in my car, just before walking into an important meeting at which I am the key speak- er. This is why I don't wear mascara. Recently, I've decided to become more present, and what better moment to try this new skill than on my son's first day of elementary school? A perfect smorgas- bord of maternal emotions. I was determined to cry. It was practically on my to-do list: Teenage Mutant Ninja Tur- tles backpack? Check. "Star Wars" lunchbox? Check. Tears streaming down my face as I cope with my baby's growing and my own inevita- ble mortality? I had intended to cry at my son's preschool gradua- tion a few months back. I'd really wanted to. I had even prepped my tear ducts by thinking sad thoughts be- forehand: the first time my son got his shots, Ryan Gos- ling in "The Notebook," that time I had to break up with Matthew. I'd wanted the tears to roll down my face as a good mother's would. Alas, an evil 2-year-old had other plans. More yappy than that horrible sea lion at my proposal, a younger sister of a fellow preschool graduate had insisted on taking to the graduation line and disrupt- ing the affair. I had tried to cry. I really had. I'd sung all the words to "Summer of '69" in my head, but not a drop fell from my eyes. For the first day of pre-K, I would not let myself down. I would be in the moment. I would look embarrassingly weepy and hysterically un- dignified if it was the last thing I did! As my husband drove to the school, I flipped through first-day-of-school photos moms had posted on Face- book, tears streaming down their faces. But when it came time for that sacred sob-fest and hug goodbye, my son simply said, "See ya, Mom." Then he skipped off to his seat. And it was over. Four days after school be- gan, a mom I know took pic- tures of her kid wearing her first-day clothes and holding a sign that read, "First day of school." She said it took her a while to get her act together. This is my new mission in life: to re-create the scene when I can get my act decid- edly un-together. I wonder whether the hos- pital will let me pretend to birth my pre-kindergarten- er for a photo-op? Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.face- book.com/katiedidhumor. Since I left the cushy pharmaceuti- cal travel industry, with its free gym membership perks, the only kind of yo- ga I do is when I occasionally spray tan. If you've never spray tanned, I'll make it easy. Just imagine doing yoga poses inside a fluorescent coffin while being sprayed very slowly with a gar- den hose full of dye. There are endless considerations be- fore you get in the coffin, too. First, before you go, you have to bathe and shave as if you're planning to commit murder and the cast of CSI: Miami is taking on the case. ( Why is it never CSI: Owensville, by the way? Is it so hard to imagine crime in a small town? And what about the Real Housewives of Haubstadt? I'd watch that.) Anyway, so you shave and scrub off all your dead skin cells, because any- thing on your skin could keep the col- or from being even. Then you get in your pajamas—not your nice ones, (in my case, the Star Wars set with match- ing Yoda sleep mask), but your actual flu-season attire. Then go straight to the salon, be- cause inevitably while you're looking homeless, you will definitely see some- one from your high school graduating class or your ex and their new main squeeze. Go straight there, trust me. The salons let you choose your lev- el of brown; the one I pick is the col- or of the pre-cooked rotisserie turkeys from Schnucks that I get in the check- out lane when I'm feeling lazy but fan- cy about dinner. When you finally enter the tiny spray tan room, you have decisions to make—you can wear your bathing suit to get believable beachy tan lines or you can go in as goosepimpled and bare as a plucked chicken. No one is there to judge. The last time I went sunless tanning, they had stickers on the table outside my booth. They had hearts, swirls and other designs to be tastefully picked through, the idea being, I suppose, that you can have a reverse tattoo by hav- ing a beachy body with one blinding- ly white heart peeping out. The idea was so ridicu- lous I had to share it with my husband, but this isn't something to be explained as much as experienced. So I did what any wife would do. I covered my quite am- ple bottom in a confetti of stickers. It was like the lucky charms list–hearts, stars, clovers, horseshoes and blue moons. This, I told myself, would be a work of art...and anything's an improve- ment on the abstract array of post-ba- by stretch marks I usually sport. I giggled for 20 minutes while plac- ing the stickers, which was fine, be- cause 3 p.m. isn't peak spray-tanning season. (Don't go at 7 p.m. or lunch; it's like doing a Black Friday sale at the beach). So I hop in and do my poses. The first is "mountain chicken." You face forward, feet apart and crane out your neck so there are no folds, and then you spread your fingers apart, but in claws so the dye will hit the lines on your knuckles and between your fingers. Then you take a deep breath, hold it, and find your place of complete inner calm, because if your face is lined at all when that slow noz- zle full of dye hits it, you'll have lines on your face. Pose two and three are "Egyptian Diana Ross" pose, first to one side then the other. You put out your Stop-In-the- Name-of-Love hands, one forward and one back, holding them one up and one down like an Egyptian wall painting, and you give it a little bit of lunge so your inner thigh will be covered. A fter those, it's a quick turn to the back for a spray of the "grocery bags in one trip" pose. You hold your elbows way out from your body, like you're car- rying enormous grocery bags so that the back of your arms and armpits get covered. Because no one wants pale armpits. Then I finally peeled away my stickers with high hopes of the funny effect. At first I was not wowed. The tan is like a slow-de- veloping Polaroid, you start out kind of bronzed, and then, over the hours, it darkens. The sticker art, though, did not darken in correct- ly—it was more Picasso than Mona Li- sa. Maybe because I was forced to sit on it in the car on the drive home. Even when it finished darkening, it was mottled like trying to find the Madonna and child in the pattern on a piece of toast. I grew to like it, though, turning this way and that to see what, exact- ly it could be. Like trying to make pic- tures out of clouds or seeing the pic- ture in a Magic Eye poster. My husband didn't notice the art, which is fine, since the effect didn't turn out well. I'm hoping to keep trying different levels of bronze to see what actually works with the stickers, since someone must be using them effective- ly or the salon wouldn't offer them. Maybe I'll bring my own stickers and try to write "Happy Birthday," when his birthday comes next year, and get a good laugh at his reaction. A fter all, it was his idea I get tan. The great thing about marriage is you never have to keep track of what's wrong with you; someone does it for free. My husband has always thought my stomach is pale, but it's been the easiest to correct of all the little things a person could be annoyed about. He's got my goofiness on that list too, but frankly, as anyone who knows me could have told him, there's no hope of eradicating that one. Maybe I'll write that on my behind as a reminder. PUBLIC AUCTION Saturday, Aug. 26 • 10 a.m. EDT 1/4 mile west of Otwell, IN on Hwy. 257 To consign or for more information, contact: Hill's Auction Center WM Keith Hill IN #AU01020879 (812) 789-6367 or Jason Keeker (812) 354-2419 2011 JD "Gator," 4x4, Dump Bed, 1-Owner, 120 hrs.; JD Z920A, Zero-Turn Mower, 1 Owner, 320 hrs.; JD "60" Tractors, P.S. 3-pt., 1-Owner; JD 855, Compact Tractor, 1-Owner, 4x4; Ford 3000 Utility Tractor; 2015 18' Corn-Pro Car Trailer; 1985 25' Motor Home, 43,000 miles; 1981 32' Coachman, 5th Wheel Camper, 1-Owner; 200 VW "Bug," 103,000 miles; 2006 Toyota Avalon, Loaded, Nice; 15' Bat Wing Bush Hog, Hay Equipment Mowers. Auction service www.hillsauctionservice.com