From a Me to a We

I headed home last week, eager for some time off, armed with some fun news, and just a tad (ok quite a bit more than a tad) reluctant to be gone at this exact moment. I should say something grown up and professional, such as it's my uber busy career in finance giving me the hesitation to be gone for a while, but really it was something so much more fun than that.

A few select people knew my news in advance, but I was a little apprehensive to say anything to the parental units because that makes it so...real. A name. With the adjective 'boyfriend' in front of it. Big. Screaming. Deal.

My first morning at home, mom and I were wandering around downtown on search of post cards. I found one that was just right and got in line to buy it. My mom looked at me and said, "A postcard? Only one?" 'Yes, mother. One postcard.' "Well...whooooo...are...yousendingitto?"

I could have made something up, said Jen or Jess or anyone, but at the moment I realized I was ready for it to be real. I took a deep breath and said 'it's for my boyfriend, mom - Westley.'

My mother is one of the most prim and proper women you will ever meet - she could put Emily Post to shame. But at that moment, she could not hold it in - her emotion, for one of the first times in my presence, got the best of her and she started jumping up and down.

I suppose I could write a novel about how utterly embarrassing and horrifying it was to watch my 50+ year old mother act like the 3 year old finding the perfect toy in the cereal box but instead I smiled and laughed at my ridiculously cute mom finding joy in my crazy mixed up life. And when it came down to it, I couldn't find any fault in her response - I've been jumping up and down on the inside for quite some time now.

It's an amazing moment, to go from a me to a we. It's a small accomplishment, really, to say on a Monday "we just saw the most amazing show" instead of "I went to see a great band" but somehow that one little word changes the story completely. It's a fun place to be right now, in the early stages and its so wonderful to know, resolutely and definitively, that he's enjoying this crazy ride as much as I.

Speaking of a great show, WOW. Pretty much amazing. Obviously the company played a huge part in the enjoyment but the breathtaking skill of Dr. Lonnie Smith only further highlighted how amazing the guy sitting next to me is. Turns out Westley's not a huge jazz fan like me but had the foresight to pick this show, knowing I would enjoy it, in the amazing Blues Alley venue, starting off one of the best weekends of record in my world. I could keep going, but the gushing needs to be kept to a minimum. I don't want anyone to vomit on their keyboards and send me bills.

In short, my cheeks hurt from the smiling, my heart is light as a feather, and I'm as corny as Kansas in August. Dr. Smith's rendition of "Someday My Prince Will Come" just came on. Let's change that to did. La vita è bella.

And I'm telling you, I'm SO leaving

On a jet plane...tomorrow.

I should be packing right now. And finding my toothbrush. And filling up my shampoo bottle. And trying to figure out if I can survive on a five day trip with 6 pairs of shoes and 2 pairs of socks (let's keep those priorities in line kids...)

But instead I'm not. I'm checking my latest obsession... oh my heavens is it fun. You should join. Right now. Then, tomorrow at precisely 3 pm, you'll get the update that I have heartburn. Just what you've always wanted, I know...

I am leaving tomorrow though- back to Northern Michigan. On purpose. I checked the weather forecast for my time at home - highs of 75. Max. In full sun. This is the way summer should be people. It's a little odd to pack for a summer vacation and be more worried about sweatshirts and jeans than shorts and tank tops, but not when you head up north. Thankfully Klue is still at home with a closet she is happy to share (I hope...my suitcase is running out of room).

In my absence, enjoy my top 5 accomplishments from the weekend:
1. Went to a Nationals game with some awesome people and not only scored free tickets but managed to get free food too.
2. Stayed up till 4 am (fun), forgot to turn my alarm clock off (not fun) and was wide awake at 6:45 am (pure genius).
3. Took a nap by the pool (awesome) but didn't turn arms, body, or head - thus one side of my face is burned (not awesome).
4. Hooked someone new on The Office; was repaid in full by a new addiction to Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. I think this guy's a keeper...
5. Found the best Sunday night activity combination - pedicures, Tater Tot Casserole, and Fight Club. hot, Hot and HOT.

Quite the weekend. Only one more day of work, then a 5 day weekend. Huzzah.

Now I Understand Why Daddy Blocked MTV...

Last weekend was Projekt Revolution Tour Weekend. I do not have a single picture that does it justice. Enjoy my blurry taken-whlie-jumping-up-and-down pictures from my camera phone. You are welcome.

Linkin Park was awesome -- no surprise there. The one song I wanted to hear (One Step Closer) they played right at the end. I did momma proud; not only was I shakin' it and screaming right along with everyone else, but I totally took out the massive guy next to me with my not-so-straight-up-and-down jumping. He probably thought I was seizing or something...no no this is just Kate having a good time.

But I digress... the Big WooptyWho was a very saucy man named Chris Cornell. This is a better representation of what I saw on stage...the picture to the right is all I came away with...except the memories. Sweet, sweet, sweaty memories.
Mmm...wait what? Where am I? Oh yes.

When my family first moved to Michigan, my dad signed us up for cable. Awesome. We hadn't ever had full cable before and now, a solid 50-60 channels were at our disposal, keeping us in doors and up late every day of the year. Who missed the swimming pool when suddenly we had TBS and TNT and holy crap there's a channel all about food???

There was also a little channel called MTV. This channel didn't go over well when mom caught us watching something called 'reality tv' and a show called 'The Real World' which as far as we could tell had nothing to do with the real world and everything to do with Pedro just wanting love and not to die of AIDS. Mom didn't like us watching this but one show wasn't enough to pay the cable guy to come allllllllll the way back out to do anything about it.

Then, a little program playing 'music videos' started showing a band called Sound Garden. The band's new hit, "Black Hole Sun" was on hourly rotation for weeks. Dad saw this one time and before all the faces had finished melting, the cable guy had been summoned to our house to block MTV once and for all. After realizing Chris Cornell = Audioslave and also Chris Cornell = Sound Garden, I agreed to go to this concert just to hear "Black Hole Sun" one time.

Before Chris and crew even came on stage, they played the most beautiful string version of the song -- prompting me to think they weren't going to play it on stage since, duh, we all just heard it.

Oooooooh no. They played it. They played the crap out of it. It was amazing. It was unbeatable. It made the concert and pit ticket price completely worth it. After he finished his set, as he walked off the stage, a jazz version started playing as well. Seriously, a Chris Botti-esque version of "Black Hole Sun." 10 points for who ever can find these versions for me and send them asap.

I'm not sure if dad canceled MTV because of the video or maybe because he saw a glimpse of the man behind the baggy clothes and was worried about his three daughters lusting after this fine specimen of man (uh, yeah, my daughters won't be watching this either until they're much, much older) but I know I appreciated it a lot more now, seeing him live and in living color on stage. Or maybe it's because of what the song is actually about...oh yeah, that. Hmm. Good move, Dad.

Ponder Me This

On a scale of 0-50 pounds, how bad would it be to own this?

Is it wrong to pull my hair out while listening to coworkers wax poetic about the amazing acting prowess of Russel Crow in "Captain Ron"?

What is the statue of limitations on (still) being horrified when I run into I coworker whom I pulled on to the dance floor at last year's Holiday Party to show him my amazing sweeping abilities?

Is stealing and hording free food a bad thing or just good planning?

My boss just said "You and Kate are quite the dynamic duo" - does this mean my alter ego should expect to start receiving a pay check as well?

If someone offered to give you money if you donated your body to science upon death, who gets to spend your two dollars?

If I an employee is due in to work at 9 am, usually shows up around 9:30 am, but this day came in at 8:40 am, does this mean she can leave 50 minutes early? (Please?)

If someone tells you that you are the best grandma alive, but all of their personal grandmothers are currently alive, are you still the best?

Let's imagine your friend dates a boy whose name starts with the letter M, who turned out to be a Moron (an M word!), with Many Major Malfunctions (triple word score!) who you'd kinda like to Murder (yet another M word!) is ok to substitute his name in all conversations with Midiot?

Is it at all shocking to find the entire reason someone dumped you in a comic strip?

Should I be surprised that my life can be defined by a three frame comic strip?

From a trickle to an all out Waterfall

Back in April, I read Peter Sagal's blog about what makes a manly man like him tear up. I thought for a little while about what my list would be, casually thought about ripping off his idea and making my own list of "How to Make Kate Cry" then realized it would be an unbelievably short list, especially for a girl. Do I need to advertise my lack of emotion on the internet? Clearly, I do.

I'm not a big crier. Movies, music, good books, it takes a lot to get me worked up enough to really let loose. Once, in high school, I was hanging out with a friend who was introducing me to some new music. He decided to play a song called "Kentucky Rose" but before hitting play, he introduced it with "I never cry, but this song makes everyone I know cry. If it doesn't, there's clearly something wrong with you." I cannot tell you how hard I tried to cry during that song - but it just didn't do it for me. Joel was not impressed.

We're all affected in different ways and differently as time moves on. Movies that seemed so amazing and touching to me in college have much less effect on me now, but now I cry watching TV shows, something I never imagined I would do 5 years ago. My first year in DC, after my dad was diagnosed with Cancer, I lost it every week during "Grey's Anatomy" when the 'Meredith's Mother is Dying' story line was dragging out. And yet, I would re-watch the episodes, bawling right along with Mere in the supply closet, much to the exasperation of my ex ('if you KNOW you're going to be upset, why do you keep watching it???' "I don't know, I just DO!!!"). Watching "Rent" during that same year, I had to pause the movie to compose myself as Collins was singing goodbye to his love, Angel ("with a thousand sweet kisses, I'll cover you; when your heart has expired, oh lover, I'll cover you"). Seriously, snot, gushing tears, total mess until that song is over, and yet, I keep watching it and I c a n n o t f a s t f o r w a r d through the funeral scene.

Dad is on the mend now and everyone is healthy and happy, so thankfully my crying has definitely decreased to a more acceptable level. Kate the Emotional Rock is back. Even watching the "Sex and the City" movie this weekend, I teared up a couple times, but no Niagra effect on me, even while staring down all my worst fears and nightmares about single living/marriage/motherhood/etc.

Right when I'm thinking I'm back to being myself, TBS and all it's 'let's play a movie 4 times in a row and run it into the ground' glory happened this weekend with the killer of all tear duct movies - "The Family Stone."

"The Family Stone" is not a great movie by any stretch, but is solidly in the 'better than average' category. It has decent writing, a great cast, and an interesting (but overdone) plot. There was more political content thrown in than I expected, and good amount of eye candy, and then there's the last 30 minutes of the movie. Quick rundown of the plot: oldest darling child in well off New England family wants family diamond to give to girlfriend no one likes. Girlfriend pisses off every family member with her socially awkward/uncomfortable ways, mother of darling boy not only hates her but (surprise!) is dying and this is her last Christmas, which is only known by her husband until the very end of the movie. Let's just evaluate all the issues Kate identifies with here to understand her unnatural obsession with this movie: awkward girl faced with being alone forever, death of family member by cancer, perfect Christmas with SNOW, sister being constantly measured up (and found wanting) to her more adorable/well rounded/poised sister, being the outcast by trying to be helpful, and generally over reacting to everything/reading into everything/constantly playing worst case scenario/ etc. I could go on and on and on about why I identify with this movie, as painful as it is, but I think you get the idea. This is exactly the type of movie I should never watch. Certainly I should never re-watch it. And yet, I cannot turn away.

I saw on the On Demand menu the movie only had 30 minutes left before it was restarting. I remembered what happens in the last 30 minutes, and still turned to TBS to watch the end. Maybe I was testing myself a little to see if I could handle it now, or maybe I am just a glutton for punishment. As it turns out, I still can't handle it. As the final scene was starting when the family minus one was gathering around the tree, there I was, unleashing a torrent of tears onto my sofa, promptly turned from a strongly confident, emotionally grounded, independent woman into a blubbering mess of sobs and hiccups. Thank you, Sarah Jessica Parker, for opening up those flood gates.

Maybe I don't show enough range of emotion on a daily basis, but turn on a dying Diane Keaton and show me one scene of Coach and Rachel McAdams tearing up, and I'll produce enough tears for a year's worth of emotion. But now, it's time to go back to happy movies only. HAPPY. No death, certainly no CANCER. Time to rent Mary Poppins and The Incredibles and Fight Club to cheer me up. Yes, Fight Club. Nothing puts a smile on my face like Brad Pitt and Edward Norton with six packs beating the crap out of random guys and yelling "His Name Is Robert Paulson! His Name Is Robert Paulson!" Oooh yes. Happy, happy thoughts.

'hanks Mom

I've realized it's hard to really 'celebrate' Mother's Day when you aren't within shouting distance of your actual mother. Sure, you can send a card, or a gift, or a lanyard, but are you really celebrating? Somehow I think supporting Hallmark by sending a card is more of remembering. This year, I felt the need to celebrate.

While making lots of other amazing shopping decisions (there's a story for later...), I decided to celebrate my mom this past Sunday by cooking. Cooking a lot. Specifically, cooking things my mommy used to cook for me - chicken, beets, parsley potatoes, and homemade* biscuits.

First off, chicken - the Sunday Staple for most of my more formidable years. Although my absolute favorite chicken mommy used to make is actually flour chicken, I decided it was time to practice on the whole bird - something sure to make mom proud.

In honor of my little sister, I bought organic veggies AND hormone/drug free, range fed, hugged twice a day chicken. It was a little more pricey, and sadly came without the extra packet of goodies normal chickens come with, but the meat was unbelievably tender and amazing (although brining the chicken over night probably helped...)

Next, a vegetable, of course. Nothing makes me think of mom more than freshly boiled beets. I think I am the only other person in my family who would buy stock in Schrute Farms, I do love me some beets and these babies were HUGE. They also came with some amazing greens, so in honor of my dad (since he did help with the upbringing and all) I tried a new recipe - cooked beet greens. It was ... interesting. Dad would probably approve. They might have been a little funky, but they sure were pretty.

My absolute favorite side dish my mom has ever made is also the easiest - parsley red potatoes. It's not a very interesting process to see those made so sorry, no pictures. But they are sitting quite happily next to the chicken in the last picture.

In true Mom style, there is no dessert because don't you think you've had enough already? But really, I did have enough. I have 25 years of cooking lessons and observations locked away inside, I heard my mother tell me to stop adding butter to the veggies, even though I really wanted to, I had her lessons of setting the Sunday dining room telling me which side to put the fork and knife down on, and for heavens sake stop sitting on your feet at the table. I have enough memories, training sessions, and prep hours in the kitchen to really honor, respect, and celebrate my mom.

Nothing says I love you like a home cooked meal. In the end, the chicken was divine, the beets were perfect and sweet, the potatoes were almost as good as moms, and my little baby biscuits were taaaaaasty.

For all those lessons, 'hanks mom. You're the best.

He Blinded Me With Science

Zach's conditions upon me staying with him was my willing participation in many, many science experiments. For your viewing pleasure, here is the first one.



Thank you, Chuck Norris.

My Cup Runneth Over

I'm a pretty big fan of my dad - and now everyone who reads preaching.com can see just how cool of a cat he is. This is an article written by a church member and a good friend, Cliff Denay, about my dad's children sermons in church. Enjoy!

What's in the Box?

By Clifford E. Denay Jr.

I’m sitting in row seven watching Dr. Bob, our senior pastor, give today’s sermon for children. He raises a box and squints his eyes as though he is trying to figure out what is in it. Now most of us, children and adults alike, love guessing games. So, Dr. Bob calls his weekly children’s talk “What’s in the Box?” Talk about mystery. The kids love it. So do the adults. Especially me.

Next, Bob invites all the children to come to the front of the sanctuary. Sometimes a few brave adults join them, but not today. The children sit in a semi-circle with Dr. Bob as the master of ceremonies. Then I listen for the same question the eager ears have waited for.

“Who’s got the box this week?” Bob’s intonation makes the question sound brand new, exciting, fun and playful.

The gift-wrapped and much-loved shoe box is proudly presented by last week’s lucky kid. You see, children’s hands fly skyward each time he asks for a volunteer to hide something mysterious for the following Sunday’s service. So, the child who presents the “Sabbath-day secret” each week beams with the powerful knowledge of the sealed box. All eyes are fixed on the treasure cradled in his/her arms.

Even the adults lean forward in their seats, straining for a peek. I’m usually on the edge of my seat, too. Dr. Bob begins with a few observations designed to exaggerate his attempts to figure out what lies hidden under the lid. He lifts the box, shakes it and sniffs at it.

“It’s not too heavy. It doesn’t rattle when you shake it. I can’t smell anything. Nope. It’s not making any noise.”

Then, he stirs in questions: “What could be in here? Is it something you eat? Can you wear it, like a mask or a hat or clothes? Is it dangerous? Hmmmmm.”

I listen as the children answer each question with a chorus of “yes-s-s-s-s…!” or “no-o-o-o-o-o…!” And laughter. Lots of laughter. Giggling. Joy. One child jumps to his feet, shifts from one foot to another, anticipates the revelation. I feel the tension building. The grown-ups lean forward, chuckling, pretending they’re not being taken in by the ruse. But, they are.

Then, every soul in the congregation is fully engaged. Bob knows he’s got every child and adult in the palm of his hand. I listen to him launch into another extemporaneous sermon that he “hand builds,” without missing a beat, around the soon-to-be- revealed object. As always, his message seems to ignite everyone’s spirit this morning. Every child and child-at-heart is captured, “boxed in” with the word of God spoken by this precious pastor.

Is this children’s sermon, again, for this child of God? I wonder. I ask myself the same question each Sunday. And today’s answer is the same as always – yes. Dr. Bob’s message is for me, too. It’s for me every time.

I try to remember who told me to think outside the box. It’s what’s inside this box that counts.

On this day, two plush artificial kittens spring forth from under the cover – cute, cuddly and colorful. Dr. Bob tenderly raises them high so we all can see.

“These kitties are beautiful. They’re soft and furry. They’re easy to hug. They hold still when you want to hold them.” I study his eyes, watch him begin to frame his message. They sparkle. I’m watching an idea being born, God reaching out through this man.

He continues, “But, do these kittens need to be fed? Do they cry when they’re hungry? Do you have to clean their litter box? Do they lick your face?” The kids’ chorus answers every question.

I watch him carefully, wondering where he’s taking us.

"Are these kittens real?” he asks.

“No-o-o-o-o-o!” everyone answers. “They’re just play kittens. Real kitties would wiggle out of your arms,” one child declares.

“So, these kittens aren’t real?” Bob asks.

“Yes-s-s-s-s-s!” The chorus is stronger than ever. Their declaration is firm, convincing.

“Yes-s-s-s-s-s-s! They’re just play kitties!”

Dr. Bob eases into a short talk about the differences between “real” and “artificial” pets. His young audience joins in, offering their opinions, helping him understand. He graciously accepts their instruction. His smile widens. Staccato examples fly between the members of this altar-bound group.

Then, pausing, Dr. Bob gets to the heart of his message.

“Is God real or artificial?” he asks.

“God is real!” a little girl answers. “He’s real!” “Jesus is real, too!” another joins in. “He’s always real! He’s cool. Not like these kitties.”

Hands fly up. More affirmations follow, declarations regarding God’s reality are proudly pronounced, affirmed, supported. Then, the kids start to wiggle, sensing closure. Dr. Bob sits back slightly, offers a few more examples of what life would be like if God wasn’t real, if Jesus was a fake. Small heads nod vigorously. One boy stands and stamps his foot on the floor, his own signature of his belief in God.

For the closing prayer of petition, Dr. Bob asks each child to recognize the real God at work in his/her life, the real Jesus walking beside him/her every day in the form of friends and family members, precious pets and surprise secrets hidden in the box.

I slide back in my pew and consider his prayer. I think of Jesus’ promise, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age”(Matt. 28:20). Bob’s done it again. Is there a better “take away” from a sermon than this?

I know this message is for me.

So what’s in the box this week? The guessing game’s over for today. I know the answer. Stuffed, plush kittens. But, next Sunday, who knows? I’m confident and grateful that when the next secret peeks out from under the shoe box lid, Dr. Bob will use it to teach another spiritual truth.

“I want the children to recognize God in the things of this world, to see God all around them,” he told me recently. “If I can do that, God becomes real for them.”

"Yes,” I replied, “and for me, too.”

Today's Puzzle: Cause and Effect

I've been pondering the concept of Karma today. I was asked last night if I'm concerned about Karma biting my behind someday when I have my own kids. Will all my old habits and jokes come back to haunt me?

My sister is finding this true for her now. Other than her son telling her oh so sweetly to "go blow it out your ass" and asking "does mom have stupid written on her forehead?" he's a good kid. But sometimes, when pushed too far, he reverts back to his DNA, channels all the things his mother said at his age and comes up with zingers like this from last week: "yeah, well you never should have been a mother." Ouch.

I was a good sister. I wasn't too mouthy, I helped out with my chores and changed nasty dirty cloth diapers when Klue was a baby. I might have been a stubborn child but I had a heart of gold and at times a little too much time on my hands. There were a few episodes of pure genius, I mean small jokes (ok pranks) that maybe weren't always in the best taste but were always Hilarious. Who wouldn't want to:

1. Teach a 2 year old to say, in a pathetic and wimpy voice, "Help me! Help me!" when wanting attention.

2. Swap out the apple juice for lemon juice to see if I can make Klue's face stick permanently in a 'bitter beer' type look.

3. Trick the older sister to attend a tea party with the younger sister where the 'tea' being served is actually water a la toilet.

4. Train my darling blond younger sister to on command say "Thanks for the Refill!" whenever I blew in her ear.

Is that really all that horrible? Will my children be (brilliant, genius, and ridiculously good looking) deviants constantly putting whoopee cushions on my chair and Vaselining my door knobs?

I suppose I should expect nothing less, especially after teaching my nephew this song:

"Grandma, you don't have to turn on the red light.
Those days are over
You don't have to sell your body to the night
Grandma, you don't have to wear that dress tonight..."

Oh Karma, I think I'm screwed.

Card Shark

The holidays are an interesting time of year for families. For some, it means multiple celebrations, hours and hours of driving over the river and through the woods to random relatives' houses to see extended family, and eating a holiday meal two, three, maybe even four different times. For other families, it's a time to eat-sleep-shop-eat-sleep-shop-eat-decorate-sleep-shop. For my family, Thanksgiving has always been very low key. Other than a couple times of celebrating with my uncle's family down state, it is usually just our small nucleus, in our own home, with our stretchy pants, our own strange takes on traditional food and one final key ingredient - cards.

While some families stretch out on couches to watch hours of football, TV, and bad ABC Family holiday movies ("Borrowed Hearts" anyone?), my family breaks out the card table and prepares for a marathon day of Phase10, Cribbage, Pinochle, Kings in the Corner, Sequence...snack, bathroom break, and shuffle.

We are a game playing family. Grandpa Lueck was all about Phase 10 and Uno, Grandpa Carder (when he'd actually let us play with him) was all about Spit and Hand & Foot. We've been having family game night well before Milton Bradley made it cool. It started out innocent enough, with Candy Land and Memory, then moved up to MixMax and Yahtzee, and eventually progressed to the marathon games of 10,000 Rummy and Killer Uno. But my favorite games of all are speed games.

8th grade was the year I learned the game Speed. It's like two-person solitaire on crack. It's fast. It's furious. It's full of competition, scratched hands, and paper cuts from flying cards. But only playing with two people leaves everyone else out, no matter how fun I might think it is for everyone else in the room to watch me win. In high school, I was introduced to the world of Spoons.

Spoons is everything a card game should be. It requires strategy, timing, attention to detail, speed, and the willingness to fight to the death for a spoon. It's musical chairs, go fish, memory, and WWF all rolled in to one. I introduced this game to some friends earlier this year, while waiting for movies to begin at outdoor festivals. Our games attracted attention and admiration from fellow movie watchers. In Strathmoore we even made a new friend and added her to our game. And so at Thanksgiving this year, to interject a bit of Lueck Tradition to the Wilson Family Holiday, I suggested we play a friendly game of spoons.

Spoons is similar to the basketball game of Horse - after each hand has been played, who ever doesn't have a spoon receives a letter: S-P-O-O-N-S. Usually the game would end up with scores something like this:
Player 1: S-P-O
Player 2: S-P-O-O
Player 3: S-P-O-O-N-S
As seen here, usually it is fairly close. There isn't always a clear winner, someone has to lose, someone has to win, but everything stays fun and competitive.

Unfortunately, this was not the case this year in Battle:Spoons. Jen, Allen, and I decided to play, while Jen's mom and sister, armed with cameras, decided to watch the game. What started out as friendly competition ended up being more of a massacre. Here was the score after 5 rounds:
Kate:
Allen:
Jen: S-P-O-O-N

We decided to try to help increase Jen's chances of winning the next hand by moving the spoons very very close to her, basically under her elbows so she a) would notice when we went for them and b) would absolutely be able to grab one. The video below shows just how that worked out for her.



Yup. So much for our help.
Final Score:
Kate:
Allen:
Jen: S-P-O-O-N-S.

Thus endeth the card playing. But oh what a way to go.