I absolutely love dips and sauces. Which is odd, considering I grew up with salt and pepper as my only spices and the occasional ketchup with my McDonald’s fries.

Salt has always been my downfall. One of the first things I learned to cook on my own was boxed minute rice. And strangely, since they weren’t exactly cultural cuisine enthusiasts, the only sauce my parents kept in the cupboard was soy sauce. I would always drown my rice in this salty concoction.

My evolution of taste has mostly come late in life. Thanks to my husband and son, who, as I’ve stated before, are excellent cooks and grill masters, I’ve been introduced to numerous flavors and condiments I would never have thought to try.

For instance, I used to order my hamburgers completely plain, devoid of even one lettuce leaf.

But in my late twenties I got a wild fungus up my butt one day and requested mushrooms on my burger at a restaurant. Could it have been because I was pregnant? I’ll never know but damn, they were tasty.

Fast forward a couple of decades and I continued to order mushrooms – only mushrooms – on my burgers.

No cheese, however, and definitely no onions.

Those both mysteriously appeared on my plate last summer. Again, without any perceptible reason or encouragement.

Then a few months ago, my son brought me home a Chick-fil-A sandwich with pickles on it. I happened to be starving so I ate it. Never once had I put a pickle on any sandwich.

Beaming, he was proud of himself for introducing me to this American institution.

Most recently, I was out with friends and had a sudden gestational urge. I actually forgot where I was, but I ordered the ultimate burger – a thick ground beef patty topped with sautéed onions, mushrooms cooked in red wine sauce, barbecue sauce, and some kind of seasoned mayo.

Quite seriously, I was moved.

Since then I’ve actually gone out of my way to try new things. Who knew that it would only take half of a century for me to do so?

Which brings me to my top three favorite sauces and dips (in no particular order):

Top the Tater

If you’re one of the three people who haven’t discovered this delicacy, then you’re missing out. Must be eaten with Old Dutch Rip-L Potato Chips. Also should be a substitute for regular sour cream on any baked potato. Referred by my neighbor Brendan as “liquid gold.”

Bachan’s The Original Japanese Barbecue Sauce

My brother didn’t lie.

He gave a bottle to my son this past Christmas. Said he and his wife (who are both vegans) put it on just about everything. They ordered it online and they were, at the time, on their third bottle of the year. Less salty-tasting than plain old soy sauce, this heavenly juice pairs well with just about any meat, Asian food, or a plastic spoon.

Primal Kitchen’s Chipotle Lime Mayo (Real Mayonnaise made with Avocado Oil)

Simply put, this spread elevates any sandwich to the next level. A bit of zing without being overpowering, it compliments my go-to sammy of toasted bread, Canadian bacon, a fried egg, one slice of any cheese, and fresh avocado. (Yes, there’s avocado in the mayo but one can never have too much avocado, correctamundo??)

Terry Ho’s Yum-Yum Sauce

It’s orange and beautiful and disappears fast at our house. I’d eat this stuff by the barrel if I could. I put it on seafood, friend rice, and any meat my husband makes that I’m hesitant about eating.

Is there anything better than NyQuil? Even the thought of it makes me feel better.

I’ll take a shot of the midnight blue stuff at night and a swig of its equally as effective counterpart – DayQuil – in the morning and be loving life.

Even though I’m sick and feel like I want to die, of course.

When looking at a Gauguin Tahitian painting, you don’t merely see – but actually feel – the humidity and the greenness of the leaves.

God blesses me in small ways. Like letting Bill sleep quietly so I can listen to the rain outside my open window late at night, with the occasional car splashing by. Ducks quacking. Low thunder roiling as I lay on top of my covers clad only in panties…

I was at Easter dinner the other day with my husband’s family. Upcoming travel plans came up in the conversation and the requisite Vegas trip by one family member was discussed.

She said she’s seen all the shows and has no desire to see more, though her daughter and daughter’s fiancé have expressed interest in going to one or two.

“I hate magic,” I blurted out.

I really do. The audience all knows the magic is “fake”, that each trick isn’t borne out of some mystical or otherworldly force.

And yes, there are fans who sit and wonder “How did he (or she, though I’ve never seen a she but I’m sure they’re out there) do that?”

I don’t know and I don’t care. If you’re a performer and you’ve gotten to the point that you have a standing, paying gig in one of the biggest entertainment cities of the world, I’m going to guess the average bloke, like me, won’t be able to figure out how you “did it”.

And to sit and think about it is more work than I want to do when a) I’m on vacation and b) I’ve spent a good portion of my last paycheck on tickets to the performance. If I can figure out your sleight of hand, then you’re probably not that good.

Same goes with circus shows. I have to admit I’ve never seen a Cirque du Soleil show, and maybe if I ever do, I’ll be a changed person.

But I cannot get my head wrapped around the fact that the people performing are SUPPOSED to fly through the air and catch on or whatever to another person flying through the air. They’re SUPPOSED to twirl in the air and land on some other trapeze or whatever.

Over the years I’ve read about one circus performer or another whilst dying in an act. I feel bad and sad. But I also wonder, why were they even doing that? What possessed that person to think that sailing through the air with the greatest of ease both a viable and guaranteed mode of income?

But hey, if that’s your thing and you enjoy it, go for it. I get the appeal – the costumes, the non-9-5 office workday, the spectacular feats that average Midwestern people like me could never (nor want to) do. And I’m happy people are employed in these shows. I do not begrudge them. I applaud and support the performers, as well as everyone else behind the scenes, but I, as a person, have no desire to sit through 3 hours’ worth of “amazing feats”.

Then I remember my husband and son, both of whom are electricians. How many in their field of work die each year on the job, working to make money for their families?

More than I want to think about, for sure.

Our neighbors – and friends – across the street have two little girls, ages 5 and 3.

Looking out the window in my den, it’s like having a TV tuned into my own private channel.

The parents are a good 20 years younger than us, but we have a blast together. The dad, who loves the outdoors, has instilled his love of the outdoors into his children. Shine, rain, or snow (this is Minnesota, after all) the girls get dressed for the weather and play either outside or inside the open garage.

Whether it’s watching them ride their bikes or draw with chalk on a hot summer day or seeing them pull each other around in on a sled during winter, it’s a welcome break from my work or writing.

We gave the girls our daughter’s old trampoline (which was practically brand new but which she HAD to have despite on the cusp of being a child and a too-cool-for-school teenager). At first, our neighbors put it up in their front yard. Fortunately for me, the past couple of summers I was able to watch the girls have hours of fun jumping on it. When they moved it to their backyard I told them I was a bit bummed.

My kids are obviously past the stage of frolicking in the front yard and stomping in puddles. I loved those days of espying on innocent fun. I’m not even sure, however, to tell the truth, that I appreciated them as much as I should have at the time…

Right now I’m watching the girls across the street in their little raincoats. They’re picking up worms on one of the first all-day rain showers of the year. It’s as good as TV show as I’ve ever seen.

A lighted candle transforms any room into a cozy, intimate den and makes it a place in which you’d rather not be anywhere else.

Does anything smell more delicious, feel more invigorating, or look more foreboding than the first thunderstorm of spring?

Isn’t the point of crackers just the means to an end of the savory taste of the cheese put atop it?

Anything more annoying than people who eat on the phone while talking to you?

Quite simply, no.