Archive for the 'Dreams/Nightmares' Category

Jan 14 2005

The one with all the CAPITAL LETTERS.

Published by under Dreams/Nightmares,The Fam,The Man

Hold on to your hats, kids.  I’m all over the place today.  And there is way too much content centering around my bird feeders.  WOO, I bet you can’t wait to read it all now, can you?!

MOSAICS FOR FUN AND PROFIT

My new craft project is making mosaics.  According to all sources on the Internet, this should be “easy and fun”, but it is not.  It is not easy and fun.  It is hard.  Actually, only one part of it is hard – the grouting part.  Most of the web sites I’m using for reference have this to say about the grouting process:

“Spread grout on evenly, making sure to completely fill the cracks until grout is level with the tiles.  Wait approximately 20 minutes, then remove grout residue from tiles with a damp sponge.”

That sounds pretty easy, right?  WELL, IT’S NOT.  I have done two projects now, and both of them involved a lot more than wiping the excess grout off gently.  The second one I did I ended up taking a craft stick and chiseling the grout off of the tiles.  A damp sponge was doing NOTHING for grout removal.  And then, even when I get the excess off, the remaining grout – the stuff that is actually supposed to stay behind – looks all nasty.  Not smooth.  Not pretty.  Nasty.  So, I am asking for help from the Internet community.  If any of you have done mosaics, give me some pointers.  I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.  I try to scrape off as much grout as possible from the tiles before the grout “sets”, but it doesn’t really help much.  Maybe I am using too much grout, or setting
the tiles too far apart, or something?  Should I sand the whole thing when I’m done?  Will that make the grout look better?  Currently I am using pre-mixed grout, so it’s not like I didn’t add enough water or too much water, or something like that.  It’s frustrating, because when I’m done gluing the tiles on, it looks really nice, like it will be a pretty project, but then, OH THEN, the grout massacre begins and I end up with crap.

Bah.

UPSIDE DOWN BIRDS

In other news, it is very cold here.  Very, very cold.  Our garage door was frozen shut this morning, and Chris could not get his car out.  So, he called into work.  I was kind of worried, because my car was also in the garage, but The Man used his big brain and salted all around the base of the garage door.  Hey, presto! the door opened and I got to go to work.  Oh wait. . . that’s not a good thing.  Crap.

I got a nice chuckle this morning, though.  My sister gave me a new bird feeder for Christmas – it’s an “upside down thistle feeder”.  For those of you who don’t give a shit about bird food, thistle is what finches eat.  Anyway, the premise of this feeder is that the perches are ABOVE the food holes, meaning the birds have to hang upside-down to get at the food.  It seemed questionable to me. . . I mean, I wouldn’t want to eat my double cheeseburger upside-down. . . but my sister assured me that the finches would be Crazy Go Nuts for this feeder.  I finally got it filled and hung up about three days ago, not expecting much.  For one thing, it takes birds awhile to find a new feeder.  For another, I haven’t been feeding thistle all year, so I assumed all my finches had decamped to the neighbors.  But this morning, when I opened the curtains, there were finches on my feeder!  AND, they were hanging upside-down!  So weird!  Do they do this in the wild or something?  I watched one finch land on the new feeder, sit there for a minute, and then lean forward slowly until he flipped over and was dangling from the perch.  Freaking hilarious.  It was like watching the avian version of the parallel bars in the Olympics.

The birds I really like are the chickadees because they are friendly and chatty.  They will let me get really, really close to them before they fly away.  And it is pretty amusing to hear them ‘talk’ to each other and to me.  When I come to take their feeders away to fill them, they will scold me like “HEY LADY, I don’t know if you realized this but WE WERE EATING THAT.”  And when I bring them back, full to the brim, they start calling really loudly like “That Girl Who Feeds Us brought the food back.  New food here!  Come and get it!” and then all the chickadees in the neighborhood fly into our yard to eat.  You think I’m exaggerating, but it really happens like that.  I let the feeders sit empty for two days once, and there were no birds around at all.  I filled them up, and waited for about five minutes.  One lone chickadee showed up, grabbed a seed, ate it, and then flew up in the cedar tree and started calling REALLY LOUDLY.  Pretty soon, answering calls were heard from the orchard across the road, and a big ass flock of birds swooped in.  The next day, the feeders were empty again.  I have some damn hungry birds.

STUPID SQUIRRELS

Last week or so, The Man and I worked from home because we had Uber Snowstorm to deal with.  However, we were out on the front porch in the pre-dawn light, smoking a cigarette and basically chilling out.  One of the bird feeders was dancing.  And it looked full, which was weird, because it was not full when I went to bed.  When we went to investigate, we found a squirrel inside the feeder, running in very small circles, trying to escape.  I’m sure that doesn’t make sense, but our bird feeders are pretty roomy – they look like this.  The squirrel had apparently gotten the top off, thought “BONANZA!”, and went inside, allowing the cover to fall down on top of him.  We put the feeder on the ground and opened it, but it still couldn’t get out, so The Man had to up-end the feeder and dump the squirrel on the ground.  I should have left it in there for a few minutes while I got my camera, but if I had posted a picture of that, I’m sure I’d have militant animal-rights people coming to my house and throwing red paint on me for mocking the plight of captured woodland rodents or some such nonsense.

However, my trapped squirrel story does not compare to Dr. Mom’s.  She has the regular tube-shaped bird feeders, and her squirrel went in head first and became trapped.  By the time she found it, it was frozen squirrel carcass.  I don’t know what I would have done if I’d had to dig a dead squirrel out of my feeder, but I’m sure Dr. Mom just dumped it out and put it on their Pile Of Dead Animal Parts for the bald eagle to come and eat.

BACKWARDS BEDTIME

The Man put up the bookshelves in our bedroom a couple of days ago, which meant we had to put the bed on the other side of the room.  This change is really freaking me out, because where I used to lay on the left side of the bed, and face left to sleep, NOW I lay on the right side of the bed and face right to sleep!  The first night, I was apparently all over the place, trying to get back to my rightful left-side position.  Or at least, that’s what The Man tells me, but we all know he’s a dirty liar, capable of manufacturing all manner of untruths to make me look bad.

Last night, I managed to stay in one place, but I had the wackiest dream.  And though there is nothing as boring as hearing about other people’s dreams, this is my journal and I can make you suffer at my whim.  OK, here’s my dream:

In my dream, our basement had a drop ceiling.  Every time I went to the basement, I would get overwhelmed with terror, because apparently someone had been killed there a long time ago or something.  And, being someone who naturally attracts the spirits of the restless undead, this murdered soul would torment me every time I went to the basement.  Finally, one of the times, I got the intuition that this dead guy wanted me to look in the ceiling.  So, I moved a tile aside, and pulled out a dessicated, mummified corpse.  Fantastic!  It was about 4 feet long, so this was either a child or a Little Person who was brutally slain so long ago, and SHOVED IN THE DROP CEILING.  I mean, in the dream, it was understood that this murder happened like, a hundred years ago.  I don’t think they had drop ceilings in 1900!  Did the drop-ceiling-installers just shove this corpse up there for no good reason?  Shortly after that, I ‘woke up’ in the dream, and was describing to The Man this weird dream I’d just had about a murdered dude in our drop ceiling.  Then I woke up for real and didn’t want to go in the basement EVER AGAIN.

I’m just glad Vicki didn’t show up with her rampaging animals and kill my cats into the bargain.  That plus Ceiling Mummy would have made for the Worst Dream Ever.

That’s all I’ve got, kids.  Leave your mosaic tips in the comments.

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Nov 29 2004

The Wedding.

Well, it’s not a very good picture, but it’s all I can give you right now:

Once we get our 17 disposable cameras back and once the photographer has time to do his thing on the professional shots, I will post some more pictures of the wedding.

I really don’t know what to say about my wedding day. It went by in a total blur, which I hear is normal. Anyway, I’ll try and give the run down:

I woke up at Grandma’s house at about 8:30 AM because I was having a nightmare. The nightmare was basically that we were having the wedding on a cruise ship and the ship personnel wouldn’t let half the wedding party or the DJ on board. Some lady from the ship was basically playing any old music she thought of and other passengers were wandering in and sitting down, hanging out. The guys didn’t have their tuxes so they were wearing khakis and button-down shirts. No one thought anything was a “big deal” except for me, who was freaking out.

Once I showered and did my nails it was time to head to the mall to get my hair done. I drove around the mall parking lot for about 20 minutes and couldn’t find a space. I finally just parked somewhere and hauled ass inside – it was raining fairly hard and I was pissed off. I had no idea how I was going to get back to my car without ruining my hair. Vicki was already in the salon getting her hair done, but I was so upset that I just nodded at her and started dialing the cell phone. My nightmare had freaked me out and I had remembered that the DJ had never actually confirmed that he was going to be there. I called Chris and asked him to call the DJ and confirm. Several minutes later The Man called and said they couldn’t get a hold of the DJ and his number was disconnected. You can imagine how good this made me feel. The stylist could see that I was freaking out, and she told me she had a friend who DJed all the time and could play our wedding. Luckily, it turned out that we didn’t need to call in the reserve troops; the DJ we hired called us and confirmed that yes, he would be there. Somewhere in there, Mom showed up for her appointment, and she sat with me as I was getting my hair done. My stepdad went and got my car and picked me up at the door so I didn’t have to run through the rain. It took me an hour and 20 minutes to have my hair put up; once that was over I headed to the hotel.

View of the hotel from the golf course.

I met Mackers and her man (J.) as Vicki’s man (Scot) was helping me unload my car. Mackers and J. went up to my room with me and watched me chain smoke. Vicki and Scot came up a little later and brought me a stromboli and a litre of Pepsi. Apparently, The Man and his groomsmen showed up a half-hour early so Vicki and Scot let them take over their room so they could get ready. It was still only 4:30. I couldn’t believe how time was flying and dragging.

Nothing much happened between 4:30 and 6:00 except that the rest of my entourage arrived and pretty soon there were girls all over the place, doing their makeup, pinning up their dresses, shaking excess glitter out of their hair – Shawnsie’s stylist apparently mistook the statement “A little glitter would be good” for “How about a TON of glitter?” At around 6:00 my sister came in and told me the photographer wanted me downstairs and how come I wasn’t dressed yet? I hustled into my gown, the girls picked up their flowers, and we all trooped down to be photographed.

After that was over, the girls and I were hustled into a conference room because the guests were starting to arrive. It was cold in the room, but it felt good to me. I’d been sweating ever since 5:00 PM when I had been shut in the bathroom with Vicki and Mackers. The temperature had jumped to about 80 degrees in that one little room, and I had been wearing a fleece. Stylin kept popping in to see if we needed anything – he brought me some water, which probably saved my life. The photographer stopped in to take some “candid” shots, but pretty soon the doors to the ceremony room were closed, we were lining up in the hall, and I heard “Songbird” playing inside – the guys cue to enter and go to the front.

A couple minutes later “Canon in D” began and the girls started walking in. I was standing with my dad, waiting for the cue from the ushers to go. Dad told me he loved me, we got the nod from the ushers, and we started down the aisle. I had a hard time walking without tripping over my dress. Everyone sat down and the ceremony began. If you’re interested in how the ceremony went, you can click here; I recorded it for interested parties. And though I just called our celebrant “Celebrant” throughout, he is actually Zuchiboy’s husband, a friend of ours. He did an EXCELLENT job, and took care of us very well.

After the ceremony and the receiving line, we had MORE PICTURES, but once that was finally over the DJ introduced the wedding party and we could join the revelers at the reception. I have to say, I was stunned to see how many people were actually there, and I was touched that so many people came to be with us on our wedding day.

The reception lasted for five hours, impossible to summarize. I only sat down a couple of times, and I ate no food. I didn’t have the time! Also, The Man and I spent most of the evening apart, talking to different guests and trying to make sure that everyone saw at least one of us. Later, we tried to remember if we had talked to everyone and we couldn’t. We just hope that we got to talk to all of our guests.

Finally, at about 12:30 we said goodbye to the last stragglers. Stylin went into SUPERMODE and took care of everything for us: he got the gifts in the car, collected the disposable cameras that we had put on the table, made sure that we had the marriage license, my bouquet, and a thousand other details that we probably would have forgotten about. In short, he went above and beyond and we were really grateful that he was there. This left us free to cut out, so we went upstairs, changed our clothes, and headed to Shawnsie’s room for the “after party”. So many people crammed into a little room! We drank and talked and had a great deal of fun. We got back to our room at about 3 AM and collapsed.

Both The Man and I agree, the ceremony was surreal. It passed in a blur and it didn’t seem to be happening to us. It was like we were watching ourselves. We concentrated on speaking when we were told to, and speaking loudly enough so everyone could hear. Between times, we tried to keep from laughing because we were cracking each other up. Later, we decided that everyone cried at our wedding except for us. We were too giddy to cry. Lots of people told us that it was one of the most enjoyable weddings they had ever been to; they liked both the ceremony (short and sweet) and the reception (no loud music, and plenty of good food and booze). Trust me, I was beyond happy to hear that everyone was having a good time.

Now the aftermath: we have gifts to put away, thank-yous to write, and I have to legally change my name. But other than that, the wedding is over. It was a long time in the planning, and a short time in the executing! We had a lot of fun, and if you’re reading this, and you were there with us, we really appreciate you coming to support us.

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Apr 09 2004

Peacekeeper, take your time.

THE BEATING OF MY HEART IS A DRUM

Last night I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep.  I tend to sleep on my stomach, so that’s how I was laying.  Anyway, I started hearing this annoying “click, click, click” periodically.  I thought one of the cats was doing something that was making noise, so I raised up my head and the noise stopped.  I lay back down and within a few seconds the noise started again.  Usually I heard only three clicks at a time, then a pause, then another three clicks.  Hmmm. . . I thought. . . maybe the bed is being moved or something.  So I made a VIOLENT movement to make the mattress shake and sure enough – click, click, click.  What the hell?  I was laying down again, and annoyed so I took a deep breath – click, click, click.  Buh?  After a few more minutes of experimenting, and laying very still, and paying close attention to what my body was doing, I realized that when I inhaled, my heart beat harder for a moment and consequently my HEARTBEAT was making the mattress move just enough to make the frame click for a moment.  Then, since I was getting tired, I started having one of those weird, almost-asleep fantasies that maybe my heart would beat so hard that it would explode.

When The Man got me up for work this morning, he woke me up from a dream that Lindsey Buckingham was yelling at me in French.  We were at a barbeque at a friend’s parent’s house, and he had apparently found out about something I’d done and didn’t approve of it.  And even though I don’t speak French when I’m awake, I understood every word he was saying in my dream.  Everyone else at the barbeque didn’t understand what he was saying, except for the occasional English phrase he tossed in to make a point.  He also didn’t let me get a word in edgewise.  That’s Lindsey Buckingham for you – hell of a guitar player, but he doesn’t want to hear excuses.  Personally, I think this is a sign that I’ve either been listening to too much Fleetwood Mac, or that the spirit of Lindsey Buckingham is summoning me to the next Fleetwood Mac concert so he can yell at me in person.  Maybe I’ll get a backstage pass out of it.

I GOT MY MTV

When I got home from class yesterday, our Dish Network had finally been installed.  I’m pretty happy with the service, but I’m not happy with where they chose to locate the dish — it’s hanging out in the yard between the house and the garage, and in front of the lilac bush.  It’s pretty ugly right there, but apparently because of the trees in our backyard, that was the only place they could get signal.

We also got the faux TiVo unit receiver so we can rewind and pause live TV, and record up to an hour of programming.  I broke in my new television service by watching hours of Daria on Noggin.  I was kind of pissed that they were having a Daria marathon on a work night. . . I missed a good five hours of Daria because I had to go to bed.  Unfair!

HOLIDAY WEEKENDS MEAN DRIVING AROUND TO BE WITH FAMILY

So, it’s Easter weekend and everything, but being the heathens that we are, we are only going to celebrate this High Holy Day by eating stuff.  Saturday we’re driving out to The Man’s mother’s Lower Peninsula residence to have a non-Easter family dinner, and Sunday we’re going to my grandma’s to have Easter dinner with my family.  I’m looking forward to seeing The Man’s mom, but I’m wary of her dinner, since she tends to serve rather fancier meals than I care for.  She is an excellent cook, but sometimes the food is so dressed up that it kills it for me.  My grandma, on the other hand, can be depended upon to serve the traditional Easter favorites:  ham, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, biscuits, green bean casserole, etc.  Yum.

AM I PROJECTING MY THOUGHTS?

The guys who sit across the cubicle wall from me JUST started a conversation about Fleetwood Mac, not 10 minutes after I typed up my dream story about Lindsey Buckingham.  What the hell?  They’d better not be rogue psychics who are reading other people’s thoughts illicitly.  I think Psi Corps might have something to say about that!

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Apr 08 2004

Try not to get any on you.

I’m tired of coming up with titles for my entries when they tend to jump all over the place.  So now I’m not even going to try.  The entries will all have random titles.

THEY’RE GRRRR. . . BAH

So. . .I’m not what you would call a “sports nut” but you’d have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to be living in Michigan and not know that the Tigers actually won their first game 7-0.  And to this I have to say, heartfelt and with tears in my eyes. . . who cares?

I FELT SO STUPID

I took my Business Law test last night and I honestly can say I don’t know where I went wrong.  I studied for a really long time (well, really long for me anyhow).  But several of the questions boggled my mind.  I actually sat there and stared at one of the essays, wondering if perhaps I had read the wrong chapters.  I only missed one class, is that when he told us that he was totally throwing out the book and testing us on crazy Icelandic law?  Or the laws of the Mohicans?  Usually I can spin off several paragraphs no problem, just winging it.  On this question I didn’t even know where to start.  I ended up blathering about compensatory and punitive damages, but in the back of my mind I’m thinking “Can you even sue over something like that?  Where was I when we covered that?”  I must have been at home, like a bad girl, skipping class.  And this is what I get for it.

After the test last night we started talking about personal property and how one acquires it.  It all sounds kind of boring to me.  I know how I acquire my personal property:  I buy it.  Or I steal it from children.  They can’t fight back very well.  That’s how I got my cool Dragonball zipper-pull and my Yu-Gi-Oh! pencil topper.  I don’t even know what those things are, but if the 8 to 10 year old set is stylin’ out with them, they must be pretty okay.

NICE TO KNOW YOU’VE GOT MY BACK

Why did no one tell me that I forgot to add the Cast List into my template when I switched over to the pink goodness?  What, are you all tired of doing your part here?  Come on people, I need team players.  Anyway, the Cast List is back, and I would like to point out to Chris that you were on it!  Mr. Yelling-At-Me-For-No-Reason.  Mr. I-Can’t-Be-Bothered-To-Verify-My-Facts.  You were on it all along.  So nyah.

MORE VOCABULARY

In a meeting yesterday I used the word “snarky”, not really expecting that I’d have to define it.  I mean, the first time I saw the word, I didn’t know exactly what it meant either, but come on.  It just SOUNDS like it means.  SSSSNNNNNARRRRKYYYY.  But I did have to define it and I found myself at a loss for words.  So I blurted out “Mildly bitchy and sarcastic!” which was not my finest professional moment.  Luckily I was among peers and not people who could fire me, and for the rest of the meeting, “snarky” was the word du jour.  I like spreading the goodness of the English language, even if my Franglais could use some work.

LANDSCAPING

When I got home last night, The Man took me on a tour of the backyard.  I know that doesn’t sound all that exciting, but while I was at school, he was a busy bee.  He leveled part of the big ass trench left over from the previous owners laying pipe for the well, he built a new and improved fire pit, and he ripped out five shrubs that were hideous and offensive to me.  And someone (I suspect Chris) vacuumed the house.  All in all, it was a nice homecoming.  Maybe I should go away more often.  If I go away long enough, when I come home all of the housework will be done, the remodeling will be finished, my plants will be healthy, dinner will be on the stove, and it will be summer.

VICKI KILLS MY PETS

I had another dream last night in which an animal that belonged to me died a horrible death under Vicki’s care.  I’m starting to wonder what this symbolizes.  Because you know, dreams always mean something very deep and profound.  Unfortunately, my little “dream wheel” that I got from a future sister-in-law doesn’t have an entry for “decapitated pet” or even “best friend allows animals to be slain”.  Maybe it means something good.  But what could the head of a domesticated animal represent?  Hmmm. . . Maybe it means that I am too attached to material things and I need to err. . . cut loose, metaphorically speaking.  Or maybe I need to ATTACK my problems like a frenzied, bloodthirsty hound.  Anyway, I don’t think I’ll ask Vicki to pet-sit anytime soon just in case it wasn’t a symbol but rather a prophecy.  Sorry, Vic.  Once you show my dream self that you can keep my animals alive through a whole night, then we’ll talk about restoring your pet-sitting privileges.  I’m sure you’re broken up about that.

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Jan 26 2004

Yucky dream and poundcake.

I had a most disturbing dream this weekend.  I dreamed that Vicki had asked me and The Man to petsit her dog, so we brought him to our house, except we were living in my Grandma’s house in this dream.  Anyways, the dog and our cats were in the office, and me and The Man were in the living room.  I hollered out for the animals to come here, because I was going to feed them.  The dog came, Destiny came, but Fate didn’t come.  I went into the office to see what was up, and discovered that the dog had RIPPED HER APART.  I’m not kidding — her head was in one place, her front legs in another. . . it was disgusting and horrible.  In my dream I was sobbing and screaming and the last thing I remember was picking up her head and holding it in my hands. . . then I made myself wake up.  When I woke up I had a crashing headache as if I had been crying really hard, but my face was dry so I knew I hadn’t been.  Luckily, Fate was sleeping at the foot of the bed, so I was able to quickly reorient myself as to what was reality and what was a dream.  I hate dreams like that.  They always stay in my head much longer than the good ones.

Nothing much went on this weekend.  We invited Michael over for dinner on Friday because I was going to attempt roasting a chicken for the first time.  Turned out okay — chicken, sweet potatoes, baked beans and biscuits.  Not a bad dinner.  Saturday was laundry.  I mostly played GameCube (Skies of Arcadia: Legends) while doing laundry, but I also baked a lemon poppyseed poundcake (recipe at end of entry), which turned out good.  Sunday I was supposed to go with Michael to look at a house he wants, but my Grandma called me Saturday night to tell me my mom was coming over, so I had to go to a family dinner.

As of this moment, there is no further word on the house or the underwriters or anything dealing with us moving.  I know you’ll all be glad when this is a done deal and I can stop talking about how frustrating it is to buy a house, but guess what?  After we close you get to read me bitching about WORKING on the house — stripping wallpaper, painting, installing dry wall. . . mmmm, the fun never stops here.  Luckily I had the foresight to save forty hours of vacation, so after we close I am taking a week off to do a lot of stuff.  That’s probably a good thing because I’ve never stripped wallpaper before and I understand it can be a daunting task.

You know what’s funny?  I haven’t been to the house in so long I’m starting to forget things about it.  It will be like a little surprise after we close and we get to go there again.  I wonder how long it will take for me to not feel like I am poking around someone else’s house?  I think the first thing I’m going to do is take the NRA sticker off the front door.  NRA stickers on houses always creep me out slightly.  Because what you are inferring is that there is an armed person inside ready to shoot-to-kill.  Not that that is a bad impression to give off to robbers or unwanted solicitors, but it doesn’t exactly say “Welcome to my home” either.

OK, as promised, here is the recipe for Lemon Poppyseed Poundcake.  For those of you (like me) who need very exact instructions, Clues for the Clueless at the end of the recipe — things I found out through trial and error.

Lemon Poppyseed Poundcake – Not for the Health Conscious
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
2 tbsp poppyseeds
1/4 tsp salt
3/4 c unsalted butter
1 1/2 c sugar (plus 1/3 c for glaze)
1/2 c sour cream
1 tbsp lemon grated lemon peel
1 tsp vanilla extract
4 large eggs
juice from two large lemons (for glaze)

Preheat oven to 325 F.  Grease and flour 9×5 inch loaf pan.

Grate peel from your lemons.  Recipe says 1 tbsp — I just grate both of them and use whatever I get out of it.  More is better than less so make sure you are using larger sized lemons.  Make sure you are grating this fine — you don’t want big chunks of peel.

Combine first 5 ingredients in medium mixing bowl and set aside.

Cream butter and 1 1/2 c sugar together in large mixing bowl until light — about 5 minutes.

Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.
Add vanilla and lemon peel.

Alternately add in flour mixture and sour cream, beginning and ending with flour mixture.

Spoon batter into pan and place in oven for 1 hour 20 minutes or until toothpick inserted in middle comes out clean.  (Near end of baking, combine lemon juice and 1/3 c sugar to make the glaze.)  Remove cake to metal baking rack to cool for 10 minutes.  After 10 minutes, remove from pan. Brush warm cake with glaze and allow to cool completely.

Clues for the Clueless:  Baking the Above Cake
Grate the peel from the lemons before you cut them to squeeze the juice out.  Trust me, it’s much easier that way.

Make sure your glaze is at room temp before glazing the cake.

When grating the peel, use the second-smallest holes on the grater.  Lots of the peel will stick to the grater, so you have to bang it around or get it off with your hands.  Fun.

Remove stray seeds from the juice before you make the glaze.

Glaze the WHOLE cake — top and sides.  You can pay more attention to the top and the longer sides, but the whole outside should be nice and sticky.  Don’t glaze the bottom, yeah?

I imagine you can probably freeze unglazed after the cake has completely cooled, but if you are not going to freeze, then store by wrapping in aluminium foil.  I leave mine out on the counter, but if you are in a hot climate, the fridge might be best.  If you freeze, you’ll have to make the glaze later using lemon juice (not necessarily fresh squeezed) and sugar.

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