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New Year’s Resolution Re-Boot

I’m not big on New Year’s Resolutions, but for the last few years, I’ve been setting goals for each year.  Usually one or two around physical fitness (number of workouts, number of miles walked for exercise), one around finances (save X amount of money), and others about balancing relationships, hobbies, work and home responsibilities.

One of my goals for 2017 was to “cook” something 40 times.  Anything counts.  Baking.  Making an appetizer for a family function.  Making a meal.

I was doing really good towards the beginning of the year, keeping track of my progress.  But, somewhere around the time I changed jobs, I quit counting and I no longer even know how many I had when I quit counting.

Now 2017 is winding down – I made a trip to the mall today and stocked up on my annual calendars (one large grid calendar that hangs downstairs in my home gym, that I use to track my workouts; my annual Hello Kitty calendar that I use to track my weight; and this year I decided to ditch my dry-erase board and use regular monthly calendar for the fridge so my husband doesn’t have any excuse for not knowing my schedule)… and I realized I had totally blew off my goal about cooking more in 2017.

I thought about shrugging it off, and re-starting in 2018.  BUT.  The thing is, this goal wasn’t for me, really.  It was really for my husband.

As much as he complains, when it comes right down to it, Tarzan is happier when I spend time in the kitchen.  It’s true that we have very different tastes in food.. and he’d like me to cook differently than I do, but there are a few things I make that he likes, and in general, I think he just enjoys the “homey” feeling of me being busy in the kitchen.

So I decided, rather than postponing my goal for next year, I’ll re-start.  I made a new goal for myself, to cook 40 times between now and the end of 2018.  And now is a good time to start, since I’m going to be home for a few weeks this month, not traveling again until December.

I was already ahead of the game because I started vegetable beef soup in the crockpot this morning (which is one of the things I make that Tarzan will not eat… I don’t know what’s wrong with him).

So, in the spirit of doing something that I thought Tarzan might like, I checked out the pantry to see what we already had for ideas, and found a can of pumpkin.  I thought, maybe I’ll make pumpkin bread?

I found this recipe online, printed it and checked to see if I had all the ingredients.  (Am I the only one this happens to?… when I find a recipe and discover I have every single thing needed to make it, I feel weirdly “grown up”.)  I stuck it on the fridge, and when Tarzan saw it he got all excited.  I had actually thought I’d make it later in the week, but he was so excited I went ahead and made it this evening.

I would call it a success!  I made it exactly as the recipe was written, but in my case it made 4 mini-loaves (not 3 as described in the recipe).  Which was convenient, because my loaf pan is actually 4 mini-loaves set in one pan, so it just seemed “right” that it used them all.  Tarzan was on the case just minutes after they came out of the oven, and has already devoured half a loaf.

So all is good in our house this evening.  🙂

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The Mineral Spirits Incident

This entry reminded me, in some ways, of my childhood.  In that, having brothers who were so much older than me, it was kind of like I was an only child.  She refers to her brothers as her “safety net”, which prompted this memory…

I had to be at least 10, because Brother #2 had already moved out of the house, married.  I know it was summer time, and considering I spent most of the summer before I turned 10 with my grandparents, I’m going to guess it was the summer I turned 11.

Anyway.  I get bronchitis nearly every year, and I think this may have been the first time I had it.  I had this horrible dry cough.  All I did was cough.  Cough medicine didn’t really help.  It had gone on for weeks.  It was admittedly annoying, especially to my father.

We had recently adopted a long hair cat, named Jodie.  Being a long hair cat, she occasionally had fur balls.  She slept with me at night, and my dad decided that maybe I had inhaled too much cat fur.  Essentially, he diagnosed me with fur balls.  (This is a 100% true story, I swear.)

So he looked on the package of the fur ball medicine to see what the main ingredient was.  The main ingredient of fur ball medicine is mineral oil.

We were home alone.  My mom was at work.  I don’ think this would have happened if she’d been home…

He took me to Wal-Mart and he bought mineral oil.

Now this part I don’t know how it really happened – I don’t know if he was saying “mineral oil” and I heard “mineral spirits”, or if, possibly he was saying “mineral spirits” when he meant “mineral oil”?  I’ve thought about this a lot, because I kinda doubt at that age I knew what mineral spirits was?  However it happened, in my mind, I got “mineral spirits” twisted up with “mineral oil”.  I do know, however, that I didn’t know what either of these things really was.

We got home, and he administered to me two tablespoons of mineral oil.  It was awful.  Like drinking baby oil.  In fact, I bet baby oil is made of mineral oil. It was really, really awful.

He made me drink two tablespoons of mineral oil, and then he went out to cut the grass.   The phone rang.  It was my brother.

“Dad made me drink mineral spirits!”  I told him.

“Dad did not make you drink mineral spirits.”

“Yes!  Yes he did!”

“Ginger.  Dad did not make you drink mineral spirits.”

“He did.  He said it would help my cough.”

“Ginger.  If Dad made you drink mineral spirits, you’d be dead.”

Even before he said that, I was pretty sure I was dying.  Now I knew I was dying!

I heard a deep sigh on the other end of the phone.  Like he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know the answer to the question he was about to ask, like he was pretty sure he could just hang up the phone and never think about it again, but in the off chance… 

“Why would Dad make you drink mineral spirits?”

“Because he thinks I have fur balls.”

I could almost hear his eyes roll through the phone.

“Why… would…  Dad… think… you have…  fur balls?”

“Because he says my cough sounds like Jodie’s cough when she has fur balls.  So he looked on the fur ball medicine and the main ingredient is mineral spirits!”

“Not mineral spirits, Ginger.  Mineral OIL.  Two different things.  You’ll be fine.”

I was not convinced.

“Mineral spirits is like alcohol.  It would have burned a hole in your throat.  You can’t drink mineral spirits.”

Then, I heard laughter through the phone, when he put it together and realized, yes, it was very likely that Dad did make me drink mineral oil, “He really made you drink mineral oil?  You won’t die, but I bet that was pretty nasty!”

That may be the closest he’s ever come to feeling sorry for me…

 

 

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How I Found Out I Might Actually Be a Robot

Today, I was an “extreme early riser”.

For the last several years, my work schedule/commute required me to get up before God.  This let me off the hook when it came to things like Morning Workouts or Morning Meditation.  I was already getting up at 4:30 a.m., no reasonable person would think I should get up earlier.

Now that I’ve settled into my new routine off working (sometimes) from home, it occurred to me that maybe I, too, could become a Morning Exerciser.

My Fitbit One died a few weeks ago.  I’m pretty sure I lost it at Wal-Mart, which coincidentally is where I think I lost my last Fitbit One.  I had a Fitbit Zip for a while, which, while cheaper, was a pain because you have to replace the battery every few weeks.  And I was always losing the little battery-removal tool, and I was worried about the ensuing domestic violence that might occur if I continued to have to seek Tarzan’s help getting the back off my Fitbit to replace the battery.  (Domestic violence on my part, just in case you somehow stumbled across this blog not knowing… well, not knowing… ME.)

(This is relevant, I’m getting to it.)

I decided I was tired of losing Fitbits at Wal-Mart, and did not need further temptation to abuse my husband, so I invested in a Fitbit Alta HR.

OMG.  I love it.  The feature that’s relevant to the story is its “silent alarm” feature.  You set an alarm and it buzzes on your wrist.  This is particularly handy if you are sleeping with someone who does not need to get up before God, and would really prefer that if you are going to set an alarm clock to go off that early in the morning (or late at night, whichever) that you please not hit snooze 12 times.  So anyway, with the silent alarm feature, it buzzes on your wrist, which does not wake whatever non-God fearing person you’re sleeping with… you can even snooze it, if, in your sleepy, God-fearing state, you can remember the magic combination of taps that will snooze it rather than turn it off…

For reasons I can’t explain (well I can, but it wouldn’t make sense, and face it… you don’t really care) I decided I needed to get up at 4 a.m. this morning.  And miracle upon miracles… I actually DID it.

Mostly the reason I actually did it was because I had a semi-important self-imposed deadline that required me to get up this early (I wanted to impress somebody, okay?)… I really did want to get up this early… and I tried to snooze my Fitbit, but I accidentally turned it off, and then I had to either get up or go back to sleep and sleep until Tarzan’s alarm went off.  So it was on purpose that I got up at 4 a.m., but also… a little bit of an accident.

As a result, I had my first official experience with “extreme early rising”.  Which I think is a thing.  A new fad or something.  I don’t know.  I think my nephew is reading a book.

I have to admit, I had a really productive day!  I completed the TPS report I needed to complete in time to impress the people on the west coast that needed impressing… I felt that I was working much more on-task and focused for a greater portion of the workday than usual.  I’m thinking, there may be something to this!

Then, it’s time to do my timesheet.  At the new job, you have to include comments on your time entries.  As in, you have to provide a summary of what you did with the time.

And… when I went to do my timesheet, I realized I had no idea what I did with the last 4 hours of the day.  And I had no idea why what I did with the first 4 hours of the day took FOUR hours.  And then I realized that actually, it was 2:30 p.m. and in reality I needed to account for TEN hours.

So as I’m pondering this, I remember that I wanted to log into a FTP site to start a large download, that I realized sometime during the day that I needed to do, but decided to do it at the end of the day, so I could just leave my laptop to the downloading and it would be ready in the morning.

It’s approximately 2:33 p.m. when I first start the process, by logging onto the FTP site.

I enter my email address and enter my password.  It takes me three times before I realize I’m entering the email address from my old job.

I enter the correct email address and enter my password.  That password is not correct.  I check, yes, it’s the password I’ve written down.  I try again, maybe it was just a type-o.  Nope, still no good.  I try another common version of my password, in case I wrote the password down wrong.  Now I’m locked out, too many failed log in attempts.  I must wait 15 minutes and try again.

It’s now 2:47 p.m.

I set a timer for 15 minutes (yes, I actually do this).  I go get a snack.  At 2:50 p.m., my Fitbit buzzes with a “reminder to move”, so I walk to the mailbox.  I get back inside, I read the mail.  Enter some stuff into Quicken.  The timer goes off.

I enter the correct email address and what I originally thought my password was.  It still doesn’t work.  I enter the correct email address and the same version of the password I tried earlier (I don’t know why, I might have typed it in wrong the earlier – you can’t see what the hell you’re typing)… That doesn’t work.  I enter the correct email address and the granddaddy of all passwords that I only use when no other password will work.  Now I’m locked out for another 15 minutes.

I click to RESET PASSWORD NOW.  It tells me I cannot reset my password now, I’ve had too many failed attempts.  I must wait 15 minutes.  I wonder, is that 15 minutes on top of the other 15 minutes?  I don’t know.

It’s now 2:58 p.m.  I set an alarm for 15 minutes.

I go get a snack.  I think of something to say I did all day today and I do my timesheet.  I play Words With Friends.  The alarm goes off.

I click to RESET PASSWORD NOW.  It sends me a link to my email.  I open my email, click the link.

I have to prove I’m not a robot.

It shows me a picture, subdivided in grids.  It tells me to click on all the grids containing street signs.

That sounds easy enough.

I click on grid containing a stop sign.  Oh look, the edges of the stop sign are outside that grid.  Do I click on the grid with the edges, too?  Yes, probably.  Click click click.  Got all the edges.

I wonder if you click on the post that the stop sign is on, too?  Why the hell not.  Click click.

I hit “submit”.

I have not convinced Them that I’m not a robot.

Another grid of pictures pops up.  Again, click on the pictures containing street signs.  It’s a picture of like a residential street.  There are signs that are literally street signs, they say the name of the streets.  I click on all the grids containing those signs, and the posts.  Then there’s a sign on one of the houses, proclaiming the house number.  Does the computer consider house numbers street signs?  I do not know.  I decide no.

I hit “submit”.

I have not convinced Them that I’m not a robot.

Another grids of pictures pops up.  More street signs.  I say to hell with street signs.  I click on the “Give me another test” button.

Now I get a bunch of separate pictures, with the instructions to click on all of the pictures containing cars.  Cars.  Ok, I can do this.

There are pictures of cars parked on the side of the road.  Click click.

There is a picture of a shiny new car in a dealer’s showroom.  Click.

There is a picture of a Hot Wheel…. Are you kidding me? 

There is a picture of what appears to be a child’s drawing of a house, with a car in the driveway.  I can’t even.

It is now 3:38 p.m.  I have spent nearly an hour and I haven’t even figured out how to log into the %$#@! FTP site.

And now I guess understand why it’s necessary to get up by 4:00 a.m. to be successful in life.

This is my testimonial.  Extreme early rising.  It might really be the answer!  And, also…

OMG! You guys…!  I MIGHT BE A ROBOT!

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Why I’ve Never Been to Chicago

If you knew me really well, you might be surprised that I work in a profession that requires as much traveling as mine does.  When I was younger, I had a pretty marked aversion to travel.  I would sometimes decide I wanted to go somewhere (like to to Vermont for summer camp) but right before I was set to go, I’d back out.  (The Vermont camping story could be an entry all it’s own – even though I never actually went…)

My last two trips to Pittsburgh had layovers at the Chicago Midway International Airport on the return legs.  I’ve flown in and out of Midway many times, but, as I mentioned to the passenger next to me on my return flight Thursday night, I’ve never actually been to Chicago.  I almost did once, though…

When I was growing up, one summer my mom planned a girls’ trip for us.  I think it was the summer between fifth and sixth grades, but it might have been the summer between sixth and seventh.  She was going to take me to Chicago.

I did not have any particular desire to go to Chicago.  It sounded like a very Big Place.  Then I overheard her talking about talking to someone she knew who had been to Chicago, who was giving her advice on whether the hotel we had chosen was in a safe area, etc.  This put me on high alert.  I deduced that if we needed to be concerned about finding a “safe” place, then there must be a lot of “unsafe” places in Chicago.  At this point in my life, I had not yet been exposed to many situations where I was aware of needing to be aware of the safety of my surroundings.  Now, of course, as an adult, I get it.  But then – the very fact that we had to consider safety told me this was not a place I thought we needed to go.

So I objected.  I told my mother I didn’t want to go to Chicago.

She was disappointed.  She really wanted to go to Chicago.

Instead, we went to Iowa.  We visited an Amish colony.

I have a feeling on the thrill-a-meter scale of zero thrills to ten, a visit to an Amish colony in Iowa is about equal to a visit to Chicago.  *shrug*

And with that, here’s Waylon Jennings, singing about all the places he’s never been:

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The 5 Love Languages

I understand if you aren’t in the habit of taking relationship advice from a person who’s been married three times… maybe I’d be better at writing an entry about “what not to do”, but recent events reminded me of a pretty good book I read years ago.  I think it’s worth reading, and it did change the way I looked at my relationship.  The concept is that each of us expresses love primarily in one (or maybe two) ways:

  • Words Of Affirmation
  • Quality Time
  • Receiving Gifts
  • Acts Of Service
  • Physical Touch

And, if someone expresses love to you in a language that’s different than your primary love language, you might not recognize it for what it is.  You might go about feeling unwanted and unloved, when in fact, the other person has been trying to show you love all along.  Thus, it behooves you to learn your partner’s love language, both so you can recognize when they are expressing love to you, and so you can return the favor by expressing love in a way they will recognize.  (It would also behoove your partner to do the same, but hey, we all know that we can only control our own behaviors, right?)

My primary love language is quality time.  Secondary, probably receiving gifts (that’s become less and less important to me as I’ve gotten older, I suspect less so in time as I’ve gotten more and more self-sufficient – nowadays, if I want something, I buy it for myself!)

My husband’s is acts of service.  He expresses his love for me by fixing things, building things, and keeping the outside of our home nice.  I once asked him how he knows I love him, and he told me because I put his medicine out for him every week.

Lately, things have just been going on.  Nothing bad, but we haven’t been spending a lot of time together (remember, that’s my love language) and I’ve been feeling a little… well, neglected!  (He of course, doesn’t notice anything wrong, because that’s not his love language.)  I suggested to him over the weekend that we go for a bicycle ride.  He didn’t want to. I slunk away, feeling rejected.  Then I thought, well, he didn’t recognize my request as an attempt to reach out in love, because… it’s not his language.  So, later that afternoon, I suggested that he teach me how to cut grass.  (Yes, it’s true, I have somehow lived to be 40 years old and never learned how to use a riding lawn mower.)

He looked at me like I had two heads, but once he comprehended that he heard me right, he was right on it!  He had to hurry up and get the lawnmower going, before I changed my mind!  We spent about half an hour with him coaching me, and then he went back to the garage and worked on his current “project” (the one that’s taking all his time away from me) while I cut a big portion of our back and side yard (we have about 4-5 acres of grass total that he cuts, so it took a little bit of time).

He didn’t complain (much) about the results, he took pictures to prove it happened, I got some attention, and (I think) he felt loved.

What’s your love language?

 

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Why I Might Have to Become an Uber Driver

So I’m getting ready to travel to a new Big City for work, one where I’ve never been.  Everyone at the new job says they prefer Uber and Lyft rather than cabs, and it seems that management encourages that, because the cost is quite a bit less.  So I downloaded the apps.

Except, when I was setting up my Uber account on the app, I accidentally told it I want to “drive for Uber”, rather than that I wanted to be a passenger.

Now I’m getting about 5 emails and texts a day from Uber, wanting me to complete my registration to become a driver.  And telling me how excited they are that I’ve decided to become an Uber driver, and how much money I’m going to make and how this decision is going to Change My Life.  And testimonials about other Uber drivers and how wonderful their lives all are now that they’ve decided to take control of their futures and drive for Uber.

It’s all pretty convincing.

I’ve figured out how to stop the emails, but I’m still getting the texts.  I’m afraid the only way I can get it to stop, is just to sign up.  As my friend Jasmyne suggested, then, when my fares ask, I’ll have a funny story about How I Became an Uber Driver.  Maybe they’ll feel sorry for me, the way I was forced into the trade… and leave bigger tips.  I don’t know.

And then, after I make a million dollars, and my life has been changed, I can write a testimonial about how I became an Uber driver just so they’d stop sending me texts.

And I guess… this can be Plan B in case the new gig doesn’t work out.

Recipes

What Happens When You Marry A Man Who Won’t Eat Vegetables

Last night I made one of my all-time favorite meals.  The problem, of course, is that Tarzan won’t eat it.  Because of this, I’ve only made it maybe 3 times since we’ve been married.

*sigh*

This is one of those things, that I can’t fathom why he doesn’t like it.  It’s sooooo good.  He tried it once and he won’t even bother with it anymore.  He had peanut butter and jelly and bacon for dinner instead.

Here’s the recipe:  Vegetable Beef Skillet.

I make it pretty well exactly as written.  This time, I used a 12 oz bag of frozen broccoli and cauliflower (I let it thaw in the fridge for a couple days ahead of time, but if you aren’t an obsessive planner like me, I might suggest you zap the veggies in the microwave a few minutes before you add them, otherwise they might not be tender enough for some people) and since I had a can of diced tomatoes that included onion, I didn’t add the onion the recipe calls for.  Also, I’ve never seen plain “nacho cheese” soup, but you can find “Fiesta Nacho Cheese” soup usually.  I’ve never seen it at Aldi, but you can get it at Wal-Mart.

So… this is what I’ll be eating on the rest of the week.  No complaints, it’s really good!

Recipes

Make Your Wagers Now

Tarzan announced the other day that he’d like some ham and beans soup.

Anytime he says something like this, what he means is:  I want [fill in the blank].  But I don’t want to make it.  I want YOU to make it, but I want you to make it the way I would make it, if I were going to make it.

This is exhausting to me, since he and I do not have the same taste in food (have I mentioned that?).  He doesn’t want to eat it my way, I don’t want to eat it his way.  I feel like whoever’s making it should get to pick.  Unless it’s your birthday or you’ve been sick for days and this certain thing, made this certain way, is the only thing that sounds good enough to eat.

*sigh*

The problem with ham and beans is, he likes it soupy.  I don’t really like it at all, but if I do have to eat it, I like it a little thicker.

I only tried one other time to do this, but I cheated and used canned beans.

I have carrots and celery left over from making buffalo-chicken chili two weeks ago (which was good, not great – I only used about half the chili sauce and hot sauce it called for, I think I may have undershot it a bit – but I will say it was pretty good over the leftover spaghetti noodles from the week before)… and I have a thing about REALLY wanting to “Use Things Up”, so I decided to try my hand at ham and beans, for real.

I started with this recipe for inspiration.

  • 1 lb dry great Northern* beans
  • 6 cups of chicken broth
  • 1 ham hock
  • 1 cup chopped carrots
  • 1 stalk celery, chopped
  • a bit less than 1/4 cup of dried chopped onion
  • 1/2 teaspoon minced garlic
  • 1 teaspoon ground mustard
  • 2 bay leaves
  • 2 cups chopped ham
  • 1/2 teaspoon black pepper

I soaked the beans in the crockpot overnight (no, I didn’t turn the crockpot on… duh, I was just saving some bowls to have to wash).  In the morning, drained off the water, then threw all of the ingredients in the crockpot and turned that sucker on LOW.  It was done in about 6 hours.

Again, in the spirit of wanting to Use Things Up, I have some chicken bullion cubes that just won’t seem to go away, so I’ve been boycotting buying chicken broth until they’re gone.  So I just heated 6 cups of water to dissolve 6 cubes, in lieu of using canned chicken broth.

I tried it out a little while ago, I was pleased.  I’m trying to stay optimistic… this morning when he saw me assembling the ingredients, Tarzan whined, “I thought you were going to make real ham and bean soup?”  (He was alarmed by the presence of bay leaves.)

We shall see.  Make your wagers now.

*Why is Northern capitalized?  I don’t know.

Lifestyle

Logos and Keystone Habits

I’m excited that soon I will be adding my very own, custom-made logo to the blog.  I may also be making some color scheme changes.  Once I get that all lined out, I plan to take the blog’s Facebook page live as well, which I’m also super-excited about.

I created a design contest on designhill to make the logo.  I was apprehensive about it, especially the part where you have to pay up front, not having any idea if you were going to get what you wanted from the service (they do have a money-back guarantee, but I’m always so skeptical).  But, I got a lot of really great submissions, and it was a lot of fun!  I just now, minutes ago, selected a winner, and we’re in the final revision/ handover stage, so I’ll have to wait and give my final review on the service once it’s all finished, but I don’t anticipate any problems.

So… stay tuned, I can’t wait to see how it will look once it all comes together!

In other news, I subscribe to Amy Lynn Andrews‘ weekly “Userletter”, which is mostly about blogging, but also usually mentions one or two other cool lifestyle tips, etc… I’m really enjoying it.  This week’s edition had a link this article about “Keystone Habits”.  No spoilers… but I’m feeling pretty smug because I can honestly say I have instituted 5/8 of those habits on a pretty solid basis.  I don’t know about #8, though.  I’m not sure I would consider willpower a habit?  Anyway, it’s worth a read.

I hope everyone has had a great weekend.

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The Things I Do For Fun

As I say all the time, Tarzan doesn’t like my cooking.

Well, let me rephrase that.  I don’t think my cooking is the problem.  He doesn’t like what I cook.  As my friend Lynn would say… “same, same”.

Anyway, as far as meals go, my stand-by Make Tarzan Happy meal is spaghetti.  It’s also the best bet for the grandkids, although they are historically much (much much) less picky than Tarzan.

Spaghetti was also one of my favorite things my mom made when I was growing up.  I do not like anyone’s spaghetti but my mom’s, except my own (which is just like my mom’s.)

I remember being at a friend’s house for dinner once, and they were having spaghetti!  It looked just like the spaghetti I knew and loved, and I helped myself to a nice big plate!  I discovered too late that it was full of onions and green peppers!  And those chunks of red that looked like tomatoes?  Red peppers?!  And the sauce tasted… sweet?  What in the world?

That was when I first realized that different people make the same dish differently!  That wasn’t a concept I was familiar with at the time.

Anyway, I don’t do anything fancy with spaghetti.  Just a pound of hamburger meat, a jar of meat sauce from Aldi, and noodles… the thin ones.  Our grandkids’ mom says that she spends all day simmering her special spaghetti sauce… and she tries not to get her feelings hurt that her kids appear to prefer my version, made with noticeably less “love”.

The trick is getting the right noodle-to-sauce ratio!  I never get it right.  What I have to do is make way more noodles than I think, and then add the noodles slowly to the sauce until it looks right.  Then I use the remaining noodles for other things (for instance today I ate some cold noodles with my current favorite side dish, a broccoli and mushroom recipe I got from emeals).

So this evening I googled “noodles to pasta sauce ratio”, and according to most sources, the right combination is a pound of pasta to 24 ounces of sauce.

Well, not at the Dalton’s house, it isn’t!  That would be waaaaaay too many noodles.  This last batch I made I cooked about 10 1/2 ounces of noodles, but probably only used a little over half that.

Oh, and I love the pot-sized spaghetti noodles, when I can find them.  You have to really look for them in stores, I always tend to overlook them on the shelves, I guess because the box is a different size/shape than I’m expecting?

Some day, I’ll remember to weigh the uncooked noodles, make a note… then before I add the cooked noodles to the sauce, weigh them… then weigh the remaining unused cooked noodles, once I get the sauce-to-noodle ratio to my taste… and back into the calculation of how many ounces of uncooked noodles that would be.

Yes, that’s the kind of thing I do.  For fun.

If you think you know the answer, if you think you know the right number of ounces of uncooked thin spaghetti noodles per 24 ounces of pasta sauce (plus a pound of hamburger meat, if that matters), go ahead and let me know.  But know, you’re ruining  ALL my fun.  😉