Growing up Lutheran

In outer space, no one can hear you scrinch

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‘On Misophonia, Hyperosmia, and other fun syndromes’

God bless the New York Times. In just one issue (yesterday’s) there were articles about annoying noises driving people nuts, kids developing allergies because their parents didn’t feed them nuts, and one about couples married over 65 years having more sex than younger couples. Which is probably driving researchers nuts.

Now, these are all topics dear to my heart. But I feel I just have to start with the Noise Thing.

As one says when one is diagnosed with Misophonia, 'at least I am not alone'

As one says when one is diagnosed with Misophonia, ‘at least I am not alone’

It seems that researchers have identified a syndrome called Misophonia (‘hatred of sound’), which means, basically, that certain ‘selective sounds’ drive certain people, um, batty. The Times specifically mentions lip smacking, swallowing and ‘breathing sounds’. Don’t you just love that this is a ‘syndrome’?

Continue reading

‘Is it safe?’

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‘Mommy hit me with a plate’ and other dental tales

So. I was toying with an idea for a post involving Helen Mirren, whom I adore. But I’m smack-dab in the middle of getting a crown (and I don’t mean the royal kind), and dentistry is, understandably, on my mind. So Helen will just have to keep. Shouldn’t be a problem. She’s done very nicely so far (see awesome photo for proof):Helen Mirren, looking fantastic (of course)

Too bad we can’t see her teeth.

Speaking of which.  Continue reading

Larry and the Nose Holes

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‘A college boy learns his lesson’

I must have 8-year-olds on the brain. Last week, I wrote about how The Child learned about the Birds and the Bees. Now I’m going to tell you about the time my Favorite Sister went to college — when she was only in Third Grade.

See, I love my brothers. All three of them. But, as the Oldest of the Henry Clan, and the Only Girl for ages and ages, I really wanted a little sister. And, when I finally got one — when I was nine, for heavens’ sakes — I wanted her around me pretty much all the time. I even had my parents put her crib in my room. (Which I imagine didn’t take too much arm-twisting. Before that, the crib was in their room.) Anyway, here she is, in all her infant glory:

Clinging to my prize, flanked by two out of three eventual bros

Clinging to my prize, flanked by two out of three eventual brothers

We’ll jump ahead for the purposes of this story. To when I left home to go to college. University of Missouri, that was. So I could go to Journalism School and become Brenda Starr. If you (undoubtedly) have no idea who that was, click here to find out. But first, Continue reading

The Incest Mug

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‘Aha! So that explains it’

‘Incest’, eh? You might be thinking that’s a frisky topic for Lutheranliar. But I figure now is a perfect time to get this story out of my system, since almost everybody’s away from their computers doing their Christmas shopping. And all the other people not away from their computers are probably doing their Christmas shopping too.

So, hah. I’m thinking the chances of ruining my social standing and/or becoming shunned by polite society are fairly slim since nobody’s going to read it anyway. So, here’s the story.  Continue reading

Kissing Daddy Good-Night

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‘Korea. Worlds away from Kirkland, Illinois’

I don’t actually remember any of this, of course. But I grew up hearing about ‘when Daddy was in Korea and we lived at Gramma’s house’.

See, my Dad was a Second Lieutenant in the Air Force. I’m going to check with Mom, but I’m pretty sure he went to college via the ROTC. For you Whippersnappers, that’s the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps. Which means, essentially, that you trade getting some $$ to go to school for serving your country when you get out. Of school, I mean. Here Dad is at his graduation. Everyone in this picture, except me, is a Proud Parent. (Though I did eventually become one, as you know all too well.)

My Dad at his U of I graduation. He is holding me instead of his diploma.

My Dad at his U of I graduation. He is holding me instead of his diploma.

So, I had hardly even met my Dad when off he goes. To Korea. He was originally supposed to go to the Philippines with Mom, and me too. (We both got malaria shots in preparation for this; supposedly, one shot makes you impervious to malaria for a lifetime. I’m not eager to test this theory.)

But it turned out that some important papers Continue reading

Happy Ho-Made Halloween

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‘A Simple Costume can do the trick. And get the treat.’

I blame it on The Headless Horseman. This was a Halloween costume I thought up, oh, when I was nearing the end of my trick-or-treating career. Like, when I was about 11. Appearing ‘headless’ involved poking the ends of my Mom’s yardstick through the sleeves of her ‘borrowed’ raincoat and balancing said yardstick on top of my covered-with-a-scarf head. The dangling ends of the sleeves were safety-pinned to a pair of Dad’s utility gloves, one of which was attached (somehow, the details are a bit fuzzy now) to a carved Jack-o-Lantern, so it looked like the Headless Horseman was carrying his head. I mean, if you were very young and impressionable or old and almost blind it looked like the Headless Horseman was carrying his head. But that was good enough for me.

You see, we Henrys were a family of Costume Makers. As opposed to Costume Buyers. I don’t think my parents were the type to buy, much less encase me, in a teensy infant Devil Onesie. But maybe they did, and I was just too little to know about it. If they did, Continue reading

Dad Eggs and Ham

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‘Sunday-Night Supper at the Henry House’

As some of you may know from my ubiquitous FaceBook presence, I recently spent a most glorious Family Fall Weekend with my brother Roger and his lovely wife Nobody-Doesn’t-Like-Jenn. It was my favorite kind of weekend because, basically, we really didn’t do much. Looked at slides of my nephew’s wedding. Hung out on the Porch of Ill Repute with glasses of wine. Played with the across-the-street neighbor’s baby. (Hi, Olivia! Hi, Olivia’s Mom Amanda!)

Oh, and being Henrys, we also ate a lot of food. Like Roger’s chili, which he makes in large vats then freezes into chili-sicles for emergency guests-are-here use. (He also bestows these as gifts to neighbors. Move near him, if you can.)  Roger also continues to make the Peterson Christmas-Eve Oyster Stew, but I’ll have to wait to eat it. And you’ll have to wait to hear about it.

You do get to hear about Dad Eggs, though. Dad Eggs is a dish my Dad (in photo above) concocted to Give Mom a Break on Sunday Nights. See, Sundays were the days we went to (Lutheran) Church, then stuck around after the service to eat pastries and watch Pastor Kahre smoke, then went home to the main meal of the day, usually a large roast of some kind. (Remind me to tell you about ‘heart meat’; trust me, it’s in no way similar to ‘eye of round’).

So, since Mom had gone to a lot of trouble (gravy! remember gravy?), and we were all still kind of full when suppertime rolled around, Dad would go into his act. Continue reading

My Mom, the ‘Party Girl’

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‘Special Happy Birthday Edition’

Karl Malden — and his nose — will just have to wait. I was all ready to hit the ‘publish’ button when I realized that today is Mom’s birthday. So I’m putting Karl’s story into the blog equivalent of Tupperware, and writing a post about Mom instead.

Now I realize that you readers have perfectly good moms of your own. You might very well be asking ‘why the heck would I want to read about Lutheranliar’s mother?’

Well, she’s hilarious, for one thing. Once, while driving us all somewhere, she told my fidgety brother Roger to ‘get in the back seat if you want to wiggle your behind.’ Another time, she and Dad had to go out of town unexpectedly and she had to leave us on our own for a couple of days. (There were five of us; I was the oldest. Big surprise.) She puts a few bucks on the kitchen counter and says ‘Here’s some money. In case you run out of bread.’ My brothers hooted and called her a ‘beatnik’ (which was kind of like a ‘hipster’, in case you’re wondering).

Also, hilarious things would happen to her. When we lived in Memphis (see ‘That’s my Bob’ for colorful family detail), she kept getting weird phone calls. Guys asking her Continue reading

L’shanah Tovah, Rocky. Wherever you are

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‘Okay, so I got that phrase from a Macy’s ad’

Just because I didn’t grow up wishing my friends and family a Happy Rosh Hashannah doesn’t mean I don’t sincerely wish it today. I do! I especially wish it to the person who introduced me to feasting, fasting, and the dreidel song, my freshman roommate at the University of Missouri, Roxanne.

Now, you have to remember that my U of Mo stint took place back in the days when people didn’t mix much while growing up. There was exactly one person in my hometown who would have known, personally I mean, what the heck a Hanukkah Bush was. And he married a local girl, so I’m betting he put up a Christmas Tree like the rest of us, bless his closeted little heart.

So, anyway. Back to Roxanne. She was this Continue reading

To hell with kale

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‘An Ode to Corn’

Last night was the fourth night in a row that we did not have kale.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t like kale. Kale has its tasty uses (see yummy recipe at the end of this post for proof). It’s just that I love corn. Which is what we had last night–yes–for the fourth night in a row. I’m not talking Niblets here, people. I’m talking fresh-from-the-farm-stand corn-on-the-cob corn.

It would be hard for me not to love corn. After all, I grew up in the Midwest right in the heart of Corn Country. My Grampa Henry grew corn. My mother spent her summers detasseling corn. My dad spent his working in a plant that processed Green Giant MexiCorn.

Now I understand that there are a heck of a lot of kale-lovers out there. Enough that there are rumors of a Continue reading