the hermans

I will add my voice to the clamor (yes, Melissa, you all by yourself can clamor) and say that it is time to reinstate the Herman blog. We have added a member in the last month. Yeay Amy! And one of our number now lives on the very edge of the known world, far away from familial care and heckling. So lets do this. Gentlemen, you have been challenged to a duel of words. If you have forgotten the password, you need only humble yourself and ask. And of course, Mother can overcome her terror of first impressions and introduce herself.

For now, I would simply like to share a few happy and crappy thoughts:

Crappy:
Melissa is far away. I saw a woman walk into church last Sunday with a black top and a cute black and white skirt. She had short blonde hair. She was smiling. I thought, "Melissa!" And then I remembered and was sad, sad, sad.

I'm huge. I think I'm as big now as I was at 7 months with Addison. We have a long way to go, baby. . . Surely I am imagining this. Surely my belly is only holding one child. surely.

Happy:
I felt the baby kick the guitar several times last Sunday. It made me smile during prayer.

Jay and Liz survived the long hike up Long's Peak! I'm so proud of Liz I feel like her mother.

My brothers and their wives live within 5 feet and 5 blocks of me. :) This is glorious.

Your lack of posting is making me look a little bit desperate. You do realize that this is my third post in a row and that the last time someone other than myself posted was in MAY. Need I remind you that the whole herman conversation was Mrs Davy's idea. And then Mr Taylor-the-younger begged and whined until we included him. And I seem to remember that our revered Mother spent many months wheedling until I gave her unhindered access and yet she has never yet taken advantage of her free voice. Now it seems as though you have grown tired of our conversation. So be it. I will just continue this one sided monologue; I have never yet grown tired of the sound of my own chatter. If nothing else, I could take a true filibustering stand and just copy down an entire recipe book or transcribe the next State of the Union address. Just see if I won't.

...that after I post everything grinds down to an excruciating halt? First it was that super awkward Wonder Woman picture and now it is that scathing diatribe. Did I win the posting contest Jay recommended because mine was the last? And can someone please say something? If this persists then I am going to go behind everyone's back and give Mom the password just so that we can have consistent postings. I hate that it has come down to this, but you force my hand.

I worked for roughly thirteen straight hours. This will have to pose for my excuse when I say the following: Jay. I love you. But I only caught about one in three words that you wrote. My muzzy brain tells me that you said something about living in the Davy's basement. I am certain that another reading of the same passage with a few hours of sleep under my proverbial belt (or perhaps my head would be a more appropriate body part in this particular situation) will bring all things into the proverbial light.

That being said. Again, I beg your collective patience because my not-very-impressive tact has decreased at a proportional rate to my increased exhaustion. Mother: unless I am wrong, and I am never wrong (shout out to Prince Humperdinck), you, although as of yet only a spectator, are, shall we say, emotionally invested in this blog. (I apologize for the absurd amount of commas in the previous sentence.) Would your aforementioned attachment cause you to put into print what you have so often commented upon audibly? Namely: the at times lengthy pauses between posts? For if there is one thing that interferes with the continuity of a conversation it is the interjection that calls to attention the very fact that one or more of the parties involved has lapsed into silence. Until that point, it ought to be assumed for the sake of appearances that they are simply phrasing the nature of their reply very carefully within the silence of their own minds. However, if you can with some confidence promise to curb your impatience and limit your coercive tendencies in regards to this small matter, then I, for one, would not object to allowing you to pose as an ersatz herman. I may condescend so far as to whisper our secret password into your ear.

On the radar at this point is a well-written, heart-felt plea from a Mother who longs to connect in a more con-text-ual way with her offspring. It should be considered by all and then voted upon. If any single person is against the idea, that seems grounds enough to drop the issue, as this is a place where all hermans need to feel centered and at peace. If anyone has a better idea in regards to this topic, please do not hold back.

Second, the question asked innumerable times by all has finally been given a pseudo-final answer. Baun posed a legitimate question regarding approximate percentages of likelihood that the Mexican faction of the Herman clan would relocate to the lower level of his domicile. In response, the percentage of 2.5 and 90 was given in favor of the basement - contingent on the allocation of jobs, with the explicit understanding that it was our aim and desire to find permanent abode in the walls of said lower level.

Third, my wife is hungry.

It is April 6th. In exactly thirty days and roughly four hours I will be in Omaha. I will be wearing a pretty dress and ravishing heels. I will be sitting in the company of dear friends and I will be having my ears treated to untold delights. Wicked is coming to town! After years of speculation and rumors, it is finally happening. And I will be there. Opening night. Balcony. Second row. Middle-ish. Too good to true.

Until then (and especially after then) you will have to bear with me. I will be singing scraps of the musical and it will probably rival the rediculousness that occurred during Jay and Liz's wedding between Laura and me (or is it me? I confess I have become increasingly anxious about my grammar since Jay decided to become a spelling-and-syntax-nazi.)

PS: I took the liberty and went back through our oldest posts and assigned userpics to the appropriate postees. This will hopefully cut down on confusion when people are introduced to our blog and read from the beginning on.

excuse me. I hate to be harping on what may appear to be details. Herman. Did you not recently post about pollo loco? Did you not, with very little compassion for my sun-craved soul, describe a scene in which perfectly seasoned chicken is eaten in the land of my birth? I can't stand this sudden rash of expulsive language.

On another note, Ben and I were making plans for the plot across the street from us. See how this strikes you: Our porches could be across the street from each other. You could plant a garden, build a 4 car garage (so we could share it with you!), design your own child friendly domicile, bring us french press coffee in the mornings. Just sit on that mental picture for a while.

Due to poor grammar and the fact that you wrote a post that made me want to move to Nebraska more than just about ANYTHING, I've made the difficult and unpopular decision to vote you, the uncouth one, off "The Hermans." It was a unanimous vote of one, and unless you write a depressing counterpart to balance the tables that are currently completely in favor of Lincoln, I will have to make this decision permanent in the annals of blogosphere.

One should always take time out of one's busy life to stop, smell the roses, and spend one entire afternoon/evening/night/next morning over-indulging in food and decadence ;) For those whose interest is now peaked...I am referring to what my day yesterday entailed. You all have heard of wine and cheese night. I last enjoyed that in November with Amy at the, then, soon-to-be Beran household. Upon completion of that evening of enjoyment, the four of us realized that we really needed to do it again. Life, in the form of weddings and trips and schedule, got in the way :( Finally, a night was agreed upon. The event was put into everyone's daily planners, and care was taken to ensure that NOTHING would prevent us from completing the new wine and cheese night...and the night grew from there.

Last time, we started off the night with smoking cigars, while sipping scotch. From there, we headed inside to the fire place where Jan's couches were set up in front of his fire place and the night started in earnest. Three kinds of wine, paired with four different cheeses, put all of us out for the count in front of a roaring fire. The next morning, we all woke up when we needed too, and continued on our day :)

Instead of telling how the night grew into being, I will just describe to you the end result. On Wednesday, I dropped off two KC Strip steaks for Jan to do a marinade for. 'MY' two steaks were kept and thawed for one of my signature rubs :) Me and Amy showed up at the Beran residence around five in the afternoon, and we got the grill going. The reason for the steaks was me and Jan had been bragging about our steak preparation techniques, so we decided to do a "steak-off." Best thing about an event like this, is that there are NO losers...because it is ALL good. I don't know what Jan put in his marinade, but my rub consisted of a slap-dash of the following spices: jamaican allspice, garlic salt, onion salt, paprika, lemon juice, sage, and Tony's seasoning. Five hours of sitting in that set-up ensured a thoroughly seasoned steak. When done, all four steaks could be cut with a butter knife, and you could have gotten by with just using a fork. So, the steaks went down with a healthy lubrication of a full bottle of wine split by the four of us.

Next up was the scotch with cigars (I smoked my pipe). From there we went inside, started the fire, cut up the cheese, uncorked another bottle of wine, and got the chocolate fondue going :) For those interested, the fondue was made of german chocolate, butter, and Kalua (so even the lactard of the group need not fear it) The dippers were fresh strawberries, bananas, and marshmallows. Once the fondue was consumed, we all got comfortable on the couches, and talked for a bit while sipping on wine and eating three VERY good cheeses with two kinds of Triscuits. As the need arose, we fell asleep one by one.

Fast forward almost ten hours, and we all drag ourselves out of slumber, make up a hearty breakfast of eggs, orange juice, and fried potatoes...as well as an extra strong dose of french-press coffee :) As you can see...decadence and over-indulgence abounded yesterday. But it was EXACTLY what the doctor ordered. This weekend was so relaxing, so needed, and so perfect, that I am already eagerly anticipating the next time that it can occur :) I hope you all aren't too jealous...that your mouths are completely salivating...and that perhaps you all will be able to join in the next time :D

For those of you unable to enjoy a savory pollo asado on this lovely Sunday, I felt I should permit you the opportunity to live vicariously through me. I recently came upon a ridiculous sum of money in the form of sixty pesos, bequeathed by an over-zealous, under-appreciated, and over-forgetful guitar student, who, after agreeing upon a formidable arrangement whereupon he, being over, under, and over as stated earlier, will raise the previously decided upon price of 50 pesos per guitar lesson to a much more agreeable 60 pesos upon his inability to remember to pay me after said lesson. (Is it apparent yet that I am in the middle of a Dickens novel?) To not belabor the point, I found myself over paid for the third week in a row, and on this blessed Sunday, in the parking lot of Soriana, I chanced upon a friendly man in an apron of bright orange, holding a chicken of dark brown, recently spiced, grilled, and smoked to perfection as is the custom in these parts of the world, for the price of 7 and 50 pesos complete with tortillas recien hechos, cebollas asadas, y jalapenos. Viva Mexico!