1/2 cup shortening
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 cups flour
3 bananas
1 t. soda
1/2 T vanilla
Mash bananas until smooth. Beat eggs. Add shortening and vanilla. Fold all liquids into sugar, soda, and sugar. Pour into greased, floured muffin tins. Top with vanilla sugar. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Chicken Meatball Soup
Meatballs
1 pound ground beef
1 pound ground pork
2 eggs
1/2 cup seasoned bread crumbs
1/2 cup grated Parmesan
1 Tablespoon dried Italian seasoning
Soup
1 gallon chicken stock
1 small onion, diced
3 cloves garlic
1 Tablespoon lemon zest
2 cup carrots, diced
1 cup celery, diced
2 cups pasta
4 cups fresh spinach, coarsely chopped
1 cup fresh basil, coarsely chopped
Mix meatball mixture and form into small meatballs -- maybe 3/4" in diameter. Set aside.
Bring chicken stock to a boil, add onion, garlic, lemon, carrots and celery. Simmer until carrots and celery are softened but still firm. Add as many meatballs as you want -- calculate how many people will be eating the soup and average six meatballs per person (and then throw in a couple more for tasting purposes). Low boil until the meatballs are no longer pink on the inside. Add pasta. Continue to boil gently until the pasta is al dente -- on the hard side if this soup will be reheated (not served right away). Remove soup from heat and add the spinach and basil. Cover. Serve topped with shredded (not grated) Parmesan and fresh cracked black pepper.
1 pound ground beef
1 pound ground pork
2 eggs
1/2 cup seasoned bread crumbs
1/2 cup grated Parmesan
1 Tablespoon dried Italian seasoning
Soup
1 gallon chicken stock
1 small onion, diced
3 cloves garlic
1 Tablespoon lemon zest
2 cup carrots, diced
1 cup celery, diced
2 cups pasta
4 cups fresh spinach, coarsely chopped
1 cup fresh basil, coarsely chopped
Mix meatball mixture and form into small meatballs -- maybe 3/4" in diameter. Set aside.
Bring chicken stock to a boil, add onion, garlic, lemon, carrots and celery. Simmer until carrots and celery are softened but still firm. Add as many meatballs as you want -- calculate how many people will be eating the soup and average six meatballs per person (and then throw in a couple more for tasting purposes). Low boil until the meatballs are no longer pink on the inside. Add pasta. Continue to boil gently until the pasta is al dente -- on the hard side if this soup will be reheated (not served right away). Remove soup from heat and add the spinach and basil. Cover. Serve topped with shredded (not grated) Parmesan and fresh cracked black pepper.
Summer Pasta
Lemon Butter Sauce
1/4 cup white wine
juice of one large lemon
2/3 cup heavy cream
2 sticks unsalted butter
4-6 ounces mushrooms
12 ounces canned artichoke hearts, drained
1/2 cup capers
1/2 cup pimentos
Chicken and Pasta
Boneless, skinless, cooked chicken meat -- I used the meat from a chicken I had boiled to make stock, breasts and thighs.
1 pound of pasta -- whatever you have. I used orichette.
Heat the wine and lemon juice over medium heat, boiling slowly until the mixture is slightly reduced. Stir in cream and simmer to thicken. Add mushrooms, sliced into small pieces. Slice the butter into tablespoons and add individually, until fully incorporated. Add salt and pepper to taste. Remove from heat, add artichokes, capers and pimentos. Cover and keep warm.
Boil pasta in salted water to al dente. Drain and set aside.
Cut chicken into bite-sized pieces. Stir into sauce.
Put the pasta on a large tray and pour the chicken and sauce over the top.
Top with fresh grated parmesan and fresh basil.
1/4 cup white wine
juice of one large lemon
2/3 cup heavy cream
2 sticks unsalted butter
4-6 ounces mushrooms
12 ounces canned artichoke hearts, drained
1/2 cup capers
1/2 cup pimentos
Chicken and Pasta
Boneless, skinless, cooked chicken meat -- I used the meat from a chicken I had boiled to make stock, breasts and thighs.
1 pound of pasta -- whatever you have. I used orichette.
Heat the wine and lemon juice over medium heat, boiling slowly until the mixture is slightly reduced. Stir in cream and simmer to thicken. Add mushrooms, sliced into small pieces. Slice the butter into tablespoons and add individually, until fully incorporated. Add salt and pepper to taste. Remove from heat, add artichokes, capers and pimentos. Cover and keep warm.
Boil pasta in salted water to al dente. Drain and set aside.
Cut chicken into bite-sized pieces. Stir into sauce.
Put the pasta on a large tray and pour the chicken and sauce over the top.
Top with fresh grated parmesan and fresh basil.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Cheesecake
I am a cook. I am not a baker. I don't like baking because of the precision required and the multiple ways to mess up something that is, most likely, required for some special occasion.
Unfortunately for non-baker-me, my daughter has developed a taste for cheesecake. She loves it. She thinks about it often and asks for it regularly. For her 13th birthday last month, she wanted a cheesecake for her birthday.
I bought one.
Of course I took it out of the box and put it on the special birthday platter and told her I had made it myself. So what if I did? When you fancy yourself a cook and your daughter asks you to "cook" something special for her special day, you do it.
As far as she knows.
So I must be feeling guilty about that because this week, when we got a notice about that same daughter's Athletics Recognition Banquet -- requesting last names A-H to bring cheesecake, I decided to really do it. In all honesty, A-H could bring cheesecake or pie, but I had a bad pie experience this spring, too, at my friend, Sarah's wedding. I wasn't really all that interested in "doing" pie again yet.
Never mind that "CHEESECAKE" was an answer in today's crossword and I decided it really was destiny. So cheesecake it was.
I started, as I often do, with allrecipes.com. I compared a few different recipes to find a common thread, variations, and approximate cooking temps and times. Here's what I came up with and it turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. . . .
Heat convection oven to 325. Line a pan with aluminum foil -- this because I lent my springform pan to a friend last month and, though I have a vague memory of her returning it, I have no earthly idea where I put it. No big. The foil trick works just fine.
Crust:
One box of gingersnaps. Actually, I used the Girl Scout cookies that taste pretty much like gingersnaps. Since Girl Scout cookies are a rarity except for in January, I think I'll use gingersnaps next time.
1/4 cup butter, unsalted, softened
Run it in the food processor until it's crumbly. Dump the crumbs into the foiled pan and press down firmly. I used the bottom of a glass. Anything like that would do the job.
Filling:
24 ounces of cream cheese, room temperature
1 cup of sugar
Cream together in the mixer using the whisk attachment. I think whipping this part for quite a while is good. Lighter, fluffier = better.
Add 2 teaspoons of vanilla and a 14 ounce can of condensed milk. Keep whipping.
Add three eggs, one at a time, until JUST BLENDED.
One tip I got from allrecipes is that over-whipping the eggs is what can cause the the top of the cheesecake to crack.
Pour the filling onto the crust and bake for about 20 minutes. You want to pull it out while it's still kind of gooey and unset looking in the middle. It will continue to cook after it is out of the oven.
Let it cool in the pan, then lift it out and gently pull the foil away. I think I will top the part I take to the Banquet with canned cherry pie filling but the part we keep at home will remain topless.
My daughter, the purist.
Unfortunately for non-baker-me, my daughter has developed a taste for cheesecake. She loves it. She thinks about it often and asks for it regularly. For her 13th birthday last month, she wanted a cheesecake for her birthday.
I bought one.
Of course I took it out of the box and put it on the special birthday platter and told her I had made it myself. So what if I did? When you fancy yourself a cook and your daughter asks you to "cook" something special for her special day, you do it.
As far as she knows.
So I must be feeling guilty about that because this week, when we got a notice about that same daughter's Athletics Recognition Banquet -- requesting last names A-H to bring cheesecake, I decided to really do it. In all honesty, A-H could bring cheesecake or pie, but I had a bad pie experience this spring, too, at my friend, Sarah's wedding. I wasn't really all that interested in "doing" pie again yet.
Never mind that "CHEESECAKE" was an answer in today's crossword and I decided it really was destiny. So cheesecake it was.
I started, as I often do, with allrecipes.com. I compared a few different recipes to find a common thread, variations, and approximate cooking temps and times. Here's what I came up with and it turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. . . .
Heat convection oven to 325. Line a pan with aluminum foil -- this because I lent my springform pan to a friend last month and, though I have a vague memory of her returning it, I have no earthly idea where I put it. No big. The foil trick works just fine.
Crust:
One box of gingersnaps. Actually, I used the Girl Scout cookies that taste pretty much like gingersnaps. Since Girl Scout cookies are a rarity except for in January, I think I'll use gingersnaps next time.
1/4 cup butter, unsalted, softened
Run it in the food processor until it's crumbly. Dump the crumbs into the foiled pan and press down firmly. I used the bottom of a glass. Anything like that would do the job.
Filling:
24 ounces of cream cheese, room temperature
1 cup of sugar
Cream together in the mixer using the whisk attachment. I think whipping this part for quite a while is good. Lighter, fluffier = better.
Add 2 teaspoons of vanilla and a 14 ounce can of condensed milk. Keep whipping.
Add three eggs, one at a time, until JUST BLENDED.
One tip I got from allrecipes is that over-whipping the eggs is what can cause the the top of the cheesecake to crack.
Pour the filling onto the crust and bake for about 20 minutes. You want to pull it out while it's still kind of gooey and unset looking in the middle. It will continue to cook after it is out of the oven.
Let it cool in the pan, then lift it out and gently pull the foil away. I think I will top the part I take to the Banquet with canned cherry pie filling but the part we keep at home will remain topless.
My daughter, the purist.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
White Chili
Soak one pound of Northern beans overnight. Rinse, drain, put in large stockpot with seven cups of chicken stock. Of course, I think it should be homemade chicken stock that you had in the fridge, but probably that stuff in the cardboard can thing is fine. I mean, I see them using that on Food Network, so it's probably really fine. It's just not a big deal to make your own, and it's better, so why didn't you?
Anyway, turn the heat to high and bring those beans up to a boil in the chicken stock. Throw in some Celery flakes, salt and whatever kind of pepper you like. I go with a mix of white pepper and cayenne. We like spicy around here. Bring it up to a boil and then reduce heat to simmer, cover and let it go for three hours or so.
Sometime during that three hours, get out a saute pan and put a couple of tablespoons of vegetable oil in it. Heat it to medium-low while you mince four or five cloves of garlic and dice an onion. Toss them in the oil and turn to coat. Shuck the kernals off of four ears of corn and toss them in with the onions and garlic. The idea here is to bring out the natural sugars of the onion and the corn, so cook it low and slow for half an hour or so. Open two small cans of green chilis and add them to the corn mixture. I like to add cumin, dried oregano and dried cilantro, too. If you want to use fresh herbs, wait until later to throw them in. They tend to lose their zip if you cook them too long.
When the onions are beginning to soften, but before they begin to turn golden, remove this mixture from the heat. Put a lid on it and let it set. The corn will continue to cook a little bit -- and, don't forget, this is going to cook even more in the chili. Mushy corn is yucky, so don't overdo it right now.
When the beans are nice and soft -- with maybe just a little bite (remember, they're still going to cook another hour or so -- add the corn mixture to the beans. Add more broth if you like your chili soupier. Heat on medium for 30-45 minutes.
Finally, chop up about three pounds of chicken meat. Remember how you made chicken stock to use in this recipe? Well, this is the perfect opportunity to utilize that chicken meat. If you didn't make chicken stock (or if you've already done something wonderful with your chicken meat like King Ranch Chicken or chicken salad or burritos), quickly grill up a few pieces of chicken. Boneless, skinless breasts are, of course, the easiest. One big, whole breast is good. Add a couple of thighs, though. The dark meat has a slightly different flavor and will add to the richness of the dish. Cut the chicken into bite-sized chunks and toss it in the chili, along with all the juice that escapes when you slice it. Heat through, about 15 minutes.
I like to toss a cup or two of grated Monterey Jack cheese in, making the chili a little creamier. Up to that point, this is a really heart-healthy, low-cal dish. If you want to keep it that way, serve the cheese on the side, along with sour cream, salsa and sliced avacado.
On the side? Chili-Cheese Cornbread: Preheat the oven. Put your cast-iron skillet with a stick of butter in it in the oven. Take two boxes of Jiffy Corn Muffin mix, prepared according to the instructions EXCEPT use vanilla ice cream in place of the milk. Add two small cans of chilis and two cups of Colby-Jack cheese. When the oven is heated, pull out the skillet, pour the cornbread mix into it and cook according to the directions on the box. A little sweet, a little kick. Perfect!
Anyway, turn the heat to high and bring those beans up to a boil in the chicken stock. Throw in some Celery flakes, salt and whatever kind of pepper you like. I go with a mix of white pepper and cayenne. We like spicy around here. Bring it up to a boil and then reduce heat to simmer, cover and let it go for three hours or so.
Sometime during that three hours, get out a saute pan and put a couple of tablespoons of vegetable oil in it. Heat it to medium-low while you mince four or five cloves of garlic and dice an onion. Toss them in the oil and turn to coat. Shuck the kernals off of four ears of corn and toss them in with the onions and garlic. The idea here is to bring out the natural sugars of the onion and the corn, so cook it low and slow for half an hour or so. Open two small cans of green chilis and add them to the corn mixture. I like to add cumin, dried oregano and dried cilantro, too. If you want to use fresh herbs, wait until later to throw them in. They tend to lose their zip if you cook them too long.
When the onions are beginning to soften, but before they begin to turn golden, remove this mixture from the heat. Put a lid on it and let it set. The corn will continue to cook a little bit -- and, don't forget, this is going to cook even more in the chili. Mushy corn is yucky, so don't overdo it right now.
When the beans are nice and soft -- with maybe just a little bite (remember, they're still going to cook another hour or so -- add the corn mixture to the beans. Add more broth if you like your chili soupier. Heat on medium for 30-45 minutes.
Finally, chop up about three pounds of chicken meat. Remember how you made chicken stock to use in this recipe? Well, this is the perfect opportunity to utilize that chicken meat. If you didn't make chicken stock (or if you've already done something wonderful with your chicken meat like King Ranch Chicken or chicken salad or burritos), quickly grill up a few pieces of chicken. Boneless, skinless breasts are, of course, the easiest. One big, whole breast is good. Add a couple of thighs, though. The dark meat has a slightly different flavor and will add to the richness of the dish. Cut the chicken into bite-sized chunks and toss it in the chili, along with all the juice that escapes when you slice it. Heat through, about 15 minutes.
I like to toss a cup or two of grated Monterey Jack cheese in, making the chili a little creamier. Up to that point, this is a really heart-healthy, low-cal dish. If you want to keep it that way, serve the cheese on the side, along with sour cream, salsa and sliced avacado.
On the side? Chili-Cheese Cornbread: Preheat the oven. Put your cast-iron skillet with a stick of butter in it in the oven. Take two boxes of Jiffy Corn Muffin mix, prepared according to the instructions EXCEPT use vanilla ice cream in place of the milk. Add two small cans of chilis and two cups of Colby-Jack cheese. When the oven is heated, pull out the skillet, pour the cornbread mix into it and cook according to the directions on the box. A little sweet, a little kick. Perfect!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Auction
What do you do to make an impact when there is literally nothing new under the sun? I am working on a committee to raise money for local missions through our church and I am really pretty passionate about the cause and I love the people I'm working with and I really want this event to be a success.
But.
It's an auction. And I'm sick to death of auctions. And I think most people are sick to death of auctions. Really. What is out there that is exciting and fun and inspiring for people to bid value plus dollars on? Dinners? Tickets?
It does seem that people are more inclined to pay big bucks for experiences, not things. And I think that's good. It would be really good if I could come up with some great experiences. I'm jsut finding that really hard to do when I'm not excited about anything.
But.
It's an auction. And I'm sick to death of auctions. And I think most people are sick to death of auctions. Really. What is out there that is exciting and fun and inspiring for people to bid value plus dollars on? Dinners? Tickets?
It does seem that people are more inclined to pay big bucks for experiences, not things. And I think that's good. It would be really good if I could come up with some great experiences. I'm jsut finding that really hard to do when I'm not excited about anything.
Friday, February 11, 2011
In The Next Room
At the beginning of the school year, my son met a guy at school named Joe. Conrad and Joe got along great and, as they were both starting out at Bishop Miege without a huge bunch of kids they had gone to elementary/jr. high with, it seemed this was a great match.
Even more importantly, Joe's mom and I got along pretty well. That is a pretty big deal since I'm not great at meeting new people and I am really not great at thinking about spending the next four years avoiding my son's friends -- or impeding his social growth -- because I'm not comfortable with the mom.
So, Conrad and Joe do okay. They are not really close friends, but they hang out occasionally. The bad news is that I like Joe's mom a lot. I can kind of see myself hanging out with her more. Is that awkward for the boys? And do I care, really?
I haven't made any real effort to make any real friends for a long time. I've done lots of volunteering at schools and have room-mothered my way into everyone's peripheral, but I wouldn't say I've really taken a run at fostering a friendship just for me in over a decade.
In that same decade, when I look at it, I've also let other things that are (were) uniquely important to me slide. In an effort to be "that" mom -- and "his" wife -- I've lost me. I've tried ignoring that situation. I've tried drowning it. Now I'm facing it, head on.
I'm taking a writing class. I'm pitching a cooking class. I tried to take a painting class, but not enough people signed up. And I'm seeing a life coach. She's 80. I'm thinking about starting yoga next week.
All in all, I'm making a real run at being disciplined. And positive. And confident.
And it's hard.
Tonight I went to see a play with Mary (Joe's mom). It's called In the Next Room (or The Vibrator Play). It was excellent. It was nice to have a lovely dinner and a glass of wine with Mary. It was great to do something that I really wanted to do. And the play itself was great. In big, broad brush strokes, it was a bit of a tongue-in-cheek story of the man who invented an electrical stimulation instrument for the relief of hysteria in women, circa 1880. The subtext was hilarious. The crowd of septegenarian couples -- and groups of women -- some poking each other in the ribs and guffawing while others caughed and snickered discreetly was interesting, too, but the play itself was just wonderful.
Mrs. Givings (misgivings?) was a tragically sad and lonely wife and mother. Although her doorbell rang constantly with her husband's clients, she was unreachable and pathetically alone. She listened at the door as her husband pleasured other women (all very clinically and in the name of scientific research). She handed her newborn over to a wetnurse and watched uncomfortably as she saw a relationship build between her own child and a stranger. Throughout the play, she was jovial and pleasant to everyone, but so heart-wrenchingly sad inside.
Gradually, she faced her sadness and her loneliness and (and this is the part I really liked) she confronted both. She recognized that she was incomplete and unsatisfied. She recognized that she was missing love. And (drum roll, please), SHE DID SOMETHING ABOUT IT!
She went to her husband and bared her soul. She told him she felt empty and sad and she asked him to love her. As his job. All day, every day. Just LOVE HER. Just her. For her.
And it was empowering.
I felt so encouraged seeing this woman who is every woman -- well, a lot of women -- grow sick and tired of pouring herself into everyone else -- and putting on a cheery happy face all the while and actually take the first step toward changing that. She knew that she had to change and she did.
And if she can, so can I.
It's as simple as identifying what is missing and having the confidence to ask for it.
And it's that terrifying.
But it's just little steps in the right direction all the time that will get me there.
On the way home, I felt confident enough to say some pretty private things to Mary; and she to me. And it was nice. And a little terrifying. But nice. To say what I feel, without tears, is something I have lost in my effort to be the right wife and mother. I've lost my ability to be the right me. And once I regain that ability, everything will be all right.
Even more importantly, Joe's mom and I got along pretty well. That is a pretty big deal since I'm not great at meeting new people and I am really not great at thinking about spending the next four years avoiding my son's friends -- or impeding his social growth -- because I'm not comfortable with the mom.
So, Conrad and Joe do okay. They are not really close friends, but they hang out occasionally. The bad news is that I like Joe's mom a lot. I can kind of see myself hanging out with her more. Is that awkward for the boys? And do I care, really?
I haven't made any real effort to make any real friends for a long time. I've done lots of volunteering at schools and have room-mothered my way into everyone's peripheral, but I wouldn't say I've really taken a run at fostering a friendship just for me in over a decade.
In that same decade, when I look at it, I've also let other things that are (were) uniquely important to me slide. In an effort to be "that" mom -- and "his" wife -- I've lost me. I've tried ignoring that situation. I've tried drowning it. Now I'm facing it, head on.
I'm taking a writing class. I'm pitching a cooking class. I tried to take a painting class, but not enough people signed up. And I'm seeing a life coach. She's 80. I'm thinking about starting yoga next week.
All in all, I'm making a real run at being disciplined. And positive. And confident.
And it's hard.
Tonight I went to see a play with Mary (Joe's mom). It's called In the Next Room (or The Vibrator Play). It was excellent. It was nice to have a lovely dinner and a glass of wine with Mary. It was great to do something that I really wanted to do. And the play itself was great. In big, broad brush strokes, it was a bit of a tongue-in-cheek story of the man who invented an electrical stimulation instrument for the relief of hysteria in women, circa 1880. The subtext was hilarious. The crowd of septegenarian couples -- and groups of women -- some poking each other in the ribs and guffawing while others caughed and snickered discreetly was interesting, too, but the play itself was just wonderful.
Mrs. Givings (misgivings?) was a tragically sad and lonely wife and mother. Although her doorbell rang constantly with her husband's clients, she was unreachable and pathetically alone. She listened at the door as her husband pleasured other women (all very clinically and in the name of scientific research). She handed her newborn over to a wetnurse and watched uncomfortably as she saw a relationship build between her own child and a stranger. Throughout the play, she was jovial and pleasant to everyone, but so heart-wrenchingly sad inside.
Gradually, she faced her sadness and her loneliness and (and this is the part I really liked) she confronted both. She recognized that she was incomplete and unsatisfied. She recognized that she was missing love. And (drum roll, please), SHE DID SOMETHING ABOUT IT!
She went to her husband and bared her soul. She told him she felt empty and sad and she asked him to love her. As his job. All day, every day. Just LOVE HER. Just her. For her.
And it was empowering.
I felt so encouraged seeing this woman who is every woman -- well, a lot of women -- grow sick and tired of pouring herself into everyone else -- and putting on a cheery happy face all the while and actually take the first step toward changing that. She knew that she had to change and she did.
And if she can, so can I.
It's as simple as identifying what is missing and having the confidence to ask for it.
And it's that terrifying.
But it's just little steps in the right direction all the time that will get me there.
On the way home, I felt confident enough to say some pretty private things to Mary; and she to me. And it was nice. And a little terrifying. But nice. To say what I feel, without tears, is something I have lost in my effort to be the right wife and mother. I've lost my ability to be the right me. And once I regain that ability, everything will be all right.
Winter Memory
I'm a pretty good girl. I love God and my kids. I've never cheated on my husband. I am honest and respectable and kind. But I have sown my share of wild oats, to be sure.
My mom died about four and half years ago. My friend Angela lost her mom about the same time. Sometime over the holidays that year, Angela remarked that now her mom knew everything. We both kind of laughed -- as much as two grieving motherless-mothers can -- and went on celebrating the holidays.
But I think about that sometimes. And in my darker times, I think specifically about the times that my mother would not have been very proud. And sometimes I regret making the stupid decisions that got me into ridiculous situations back in the day.
And sometimes, I think of Ray Gorman. And I smile in spite of myself.
Ray Gorman was the winter of my senior year, I think. He was one night of that winter anyway. My friends/roommates, Jill and Jennifer, and I were at Gammons. Again. Still? Gammons was a cheesy college town disco in a bad run-down mall in Lawrence. We loved it. From Comedy Night on Tuesday, which we would attend so religiously we could do the opening act along with the professional, right through Drink and Drown on Thursday, all the way to closing time on Saturday night (Sunday morning) -- "you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!"
It seems like this particular night there was not the usual crowd elbowing each other for space at the bar and on the dance floor. If I remember correctly -- which I very well may not. . . -- most students were already gone home for Christmas break or perhaps not back yet for the new semester. However it was, Jennifer and I started talking to a couple of guys and we ended up going back to their apartment. After all, it was just down the street and they COULD NOT BELIEVE that neither of us had ever seen Brian's Song.
So, fast forward to a seedy college-guy apartment in the middle of a snowy Kansas night. Brian's Song is going strong in the VCR and Jennifer and her new friend are going strong on the couch. And it was freezing.
I complained and complained and for some reason, Ray Gorman thought it was a good idea to start a fire. In the fireplace. I thought it was, too. Unfortunately, Ray didn't have any firewood, and I didn't have any intention of giving up on the idea of Brian's Song, fireside. In a desperate effort to shut me up, he went into his bedroom and came out with an armload of wood.
His headboard.
We laughed and laughed and watched the movie and snuggled just a bit. Nothing else "hot" happened in or around that bed that night -- truth be told, it wouldn't have anyway. I knew that. I don't know if he did or not.
I figure someday I'll run into good old Ray Gorman around town and I may just get myself into a situation where I can remind him of that story. He probably wonders to this day what happened to his headboard.
Or maybe, he'll wind up in heaven before me and he can explain the whole thing to my mother. . . .
My mom died about four and half years ago. My friend Angela lost her mom about the same time. Sometime over the holidays that year, Angela remarked that now her mom knew everything. We both kind of laughed -- as much as two grieving motherless-mothers can -- and went on celebrating the holidays.
But I think about that sometimes. And in my darker times, I think specifically about the times that my mother would not have been very proud. And sometimes I regret making the stupid decisions that got me into ridiculous situations back in the day.
And sometimes, I think of Ray Gorman. And I smile in spite of myself.
Ray Gorman was the winter of my senior year, I think. He was one night of that winter anyway. My friends/roommates, Jill and Jennifer, and I were at Gammons. Again. Still? Gammons was a cheesy college town disco in a bad run-down mall in Lawrence. We loved it. From Comedy Night on Tuesday, which we would attend so religiously we could do the opening act along with the professional, right through Drink and Drown on Thursday, all the way to closing time on Saturday night (Sunday morning) -- "you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!"
It seems like this particular night there was not the usual crowd elbowing each other for space at the bar and on the dance floor. If I remember correctly -- which I very well may not. . . -- most students were already gone home for Christmas break or perhaps not back yet for the new semester. However it was, Jennifer and I started talking to a couple of guys and we ended up going back to their apartment. After all, it was just down the street and they COULD NOT BELIEVE that neither of us had ever seen Brian's Song.
So, fast forward to a seedy college-guy apartment in the middle of a snowy Kansas night. Brian's Song is going strong in the VCR and Jennifer and her new friend are going strong on the couch. And it was freezing.
I complained and complained and for some reason, Ray Gorman thought it was a good idea to start a fire. In the fireplace. I thought it was, too. Unfortunately, Ray didn't have any firewood, and I didn't have any intention of giving up on the idea of Brian's Song, fireside. In a desperate effort to shut me up, he went into his bedroom and came out with an armload of wood.
His headboard.
We laughed and laughed and watched the movie and snuggled just a bit. Nothing else "hot" happened in or around that bed that night -- truth be told, it wouldn't have anyway. I knew that. I don't know if he did or not.
I figure someday I'll run into good old Ray Gorman around town and I may just get myself into a situation where I can remind him of that story. He probably wonders to this day what happened to his headboard.
Or maybe, he'll wind up in heaven before me and he can explain the whole thing to my mother. . . .
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Nothing To Write
So, what do I write when I have nothing to write? Do I write at all? Does it matter? I guess it should, to me and me alone. My mom once said to me, "a writer writes." Not all that profound in the grand scheme of things, but she was calling my bluff that I was going to do something with myself -- creatively -- someday.
So, if a writer writes, here goes writing.
Today was the second snow day in a row, on the heels of a Christmas break that ran more than two weeks, preceding a Martin Luther King Day break of one day for one child and THREE for the other. Not to be hating on MLKJr. or anything, but really? Do we need a three-day observance? I'm not even talking about the fact that this is a private school in suburban Johnson County Kansas. Maybe a half dozen African Americans enrolled.
In all fairness, two of the days are not technically in observance of Dr. King. They are, in fact, some teachers' meetings or state school meetings or something that are just riding on MLKJ's coattails. Which would be nice IF WE HADN'T JUST SPENT MORE THAN TWO WEEKS OUT OF SCHOOL. Not even counting these snow days, which, of course no one could predict.
Least of all our meteorologists.
Anyway, the kids are at an age now where they can be left at home alone while I do my thing. If I, in fact, had a thing that I was dedicated to doing. Snow days are really a burdon on those moms who work, or work out or go out or something while their little ones are in school. For me, these days are just a good excuse for staying up late (spending quality time with Riley Jane watching Project Runway), sleeping late and eating out.
Some of my friends were thrilled at the prospect of snow days -- teachers (so they could get their bathrooms clean) and moms (because they just cherish all those lazy hours sipping hot cocoa and watching Disney movies with their little angels). I fall squarely in neither of those catagories and, on second thought, don't really know why those who do are my friends.
All that said, I'm looking forward to getting the kids back into a routine tomorrow, because with their routine comes the promise that perhaps I'll get into one, too.
And I have GOT to get to work finding some new friends.
So, if a writer writes, here goes writing.
Today was the second snow day in a row, on the heels of a Christmas break that ran more than two weeks, preceding a Martin Luther King Day break of one day for one child and THREE for the other. Not to be hating on MLKJr. or anything, but really? Do we need a three-day observance? I'm not even talking about the fact that this is a private school in suburban Johnson County Kansas. Maybe a half dozen African Americans enrolled.
In all fairness, two of the days are not technically in observance of Dr. King. They are, in fact, some teachers' meetings or state school meetings or something that are just riding on MLKJ's coattails. Which would be nice IF WE HADN'T JUST SPENT MORE THAN TWO WEEKS OUT OF SCHOOL. Not even counting these snow days, which, of course no one could predict.
Least of all our meteorologists.
Anyway, the kids are at an age now where they can be left at home alone while I do my thing. If I, in fact, had a thing that I was dedicated to doing. Snow days are really a burdon on those moms who work, or work out or go out or something while their little ones are in school. For me, these days are just a good excuse for staying up late (spending quality time with Riley Jane watching Project Runway), sleeping late and eating out.
Some of my friends were thrilled at the prospect of snow days -- teachers (so they could get their bathrooms clean) and moms (because they just cherish all those lazy hours sipping hot cocoa and watching Disney movies with their little angels). I fall squarely in neither of those catagories and, on second thought, don't really know why those who do are my friends.
All that said, I'm looking forward to getting the kids back into a routine tomorrow, because with their routine comes the promise that perhaps I'll get into one, too.
And I have GOT to get to work finding some new friends.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Major Purchase
Okay, it's done. It's on the record books and recorded in Quicken. We have made our first major purchase of 2011 and it's a biggie. A new mattress set.
It is NOT a mattress and box springs anymore, because box springs are to mattresses what PONG is to the video gaming industry. They just don't exist. If you run across a mattress salesman with a lifetime of experience under his belt, he'll get that kind of dreamy, faraway look in his eye when you mention box springs -- as if the very word hearkens back to a better day (or night, as the case may be). The newer guys just gloss right over the whole word, like a bump in the road. You say box spring, he says foundation. You say box spring, he says foundation. Next thing you know, you say foundation, he smiles and sells.
And sells, and sells. Man, can these guys sell.
In doing the least possible amount of research required to get my husband to write that four-digit check, I learned that mattresses differ from manufacturer to manufacturer (and from grade to grade) very little. If you rule out the Temper-pedic and other "sleep systems" and begin comparing plain old coil-spring mattresses, there's really not too many ways to skin that cat. The springs are individually wrapped or they're not. When pressed, most salesmen can't really explain why. There's a pillow topper or there's not. After that, it's just a question of preference.
Unfortunately for Bobby and me, we expressed a preference for one another, forsaking all others, in our wedding vows nearly two decades ago. Since then, our preferences have not often dovetailed. Somehow we have found a house we love and we managed to name our two children. Beyond that, not so much.
In early December, Bobby said he thought it would be good if we forewent Christmas gifts this year and planned to buy ourselves a new mattress. Now, this was difficult for me because I don't forego Christmas gifts lightly. Christmas is a pretty big deal and I, admittedly, want my share of the gift giddiness. But I'm a grown-up and the economy is what it is and I do hate our 15-year-old mattress -- thanks to those disgusting radio ads about the weight of the dead skin and dust mites crawling around in our current mattress.
So, we compromised on the Christmas thing (I got him an iron and some ties; he got me somethings, I'm sure. Admittedly, nothing is springing to mind, but I know there were packages with my name on them.) and we waited until the after-Christmas bonanzas to go mattress shopping.
An old-school traditionalist, Bobby recommended we start at Sears. Who's going to shoot you straighter than a salesman at Sears, right? Good enough for his dad's tools and his grandmother's icebox? Good enough for us! Besides, he could pick up some undershirts and a basketball-pump-needle in the same trip. Really.
The old man at Sears told us he'd been selling mattresses for 25 years and I have no reason to doubt that. He had a poly-blend shirt and a snow-white combover. He may not have left the mattress nook in that particular Sears in 20 years. He told a fair number of pathetic mattress jokes and then artfully guided us over to the high-end-end of the mattress showroom.
Rather quickly, Bobby and I agreed that we needed a firm mattress with a pillow top. At least I decided that and he said he could live with it and it doesn't usually get more agree-y than that with us. We lay down separately, we lay down next to each other. We tried falling into one side of the bed while the other closed his/her eyes to see how much displacement we experienced. I threatened to go get a book and a glass of red wine to simulate the old commercial.
Many of these tester beds are made with firm coils on one side and plush coils on the other. Half joking, we asked if we could get a bed made that way, in an effort to save our marriage. Combover just chuckled. He'd heard everything we thought was pithy and witty about mattresses before. Many times. Maybe many times that very day.
He gave us the name of the manufacturer we eventually chose, along with the style name, on the back of his card and sent us on our way. To The Mattress Firm.
Where we learned that, for comparison's sake, that information was basically quite useless. Each manufacturer manufactures mattresses under different names and varies the coil count from retailer to retailer. Between Sears and The Mattress Firm, therefore, there are no apples and apples.
Mattress Firm Sales Guy -- younger, more stylish and (to my eyes anyway) even sadder than Lifelong Mattress Man -- insisted he would match any price out there and began to speak disparagingly of other retailers. I felt like, after waving my way through lots of smoke and many, many mirrors, there really was no difference. By the time we were lying on the Mattress Firm mattresses, I had completely forgotten how comfortable I was (or wasn't) back at Sears. Truth be told, I couldn't even really accurately compare from one side of the Mattress Firm to the other.
They also had those one-for-all, all-in-one firm on one side, plush on the other demo mattresses. They also chuckled good-naturedly at the idea of buying one like that. Sometime after I quit listening, he mentioned a warranty to Bobby that seemed superior to what Sears offered and the pendulum swung.
Exhausted from lying on so many different yet similar beds -- none of them our own -- we headed home to deal with the information we had been given and the sticker shock that this was going to be a $2,000 purchase.
Then the issue went dormant for a few days. And nights.
Last night, around 8:15, conversation swung back around to this pending purchase. Let's go look online, he says. Let's check outlets in KCK, he says. Blech, I thought, as I smiled and followed him to the computer.
After Googling around for a few minutes -- and flat-out refusing to consider a used mattress from a warehouse on a service road in Wyandotte County -- we found Mattress City. Mattress City appeared to have what we were looking for, at approximately half the price. Can't be, couldn't be, let's give them a call.
So we do, confirm what we think we know about mattresses, and pile in the car for a roadtrip to Mattress City, baby! Mattress City is nestled between a jujitsu studio and a Kinko's. It has cinder block walls and sale tags. Lots of sale tags. And a sales manager named Glenn who seems even more bored with his life than I felt at the idea of his life.
"Does anyone ever come in here and go to sleep?" Bobby asked.
"Oh, yeah. A couple of times a month I'll have a guy come in after lunch and sleep for half an hour or so," Glenn reports.
Really. And I thought the guys who spent their lunch hour smoking cigars at The Outlaw had honesty issues in THEIR marriages. . . .
"Is it weird carrying on a conversation with people who are lying down?" I queried.
"Oh, yeah. I try to just stand back a little bit," Glenn replied with a shrug.
Nods all around; a few more jumps into and out of bed to surprise the other (like that will ever actually happen in our every day life) and a slightly more serious comment about the glass of wine. Then our stock comment, "if only we could buy one that's firm on one side and plush on the other."
"Oh, yeah. We can do that. But you can't get it delivered until Wednesday," Glenn says.
Free bedframe. Free delivery and removal of the old mattress. Locally manufactured. Five hundred bucks cheaper than Mattress Firm. All of these little juicy tidbits are being shared with us as Glenn loads up his briefcase and begins checking the alarm system on the store. He's SO over selling mattresses today. And something about his demeanor sealed the deal for me. He recognizes that his career is rather ridiculous and he's okay with that. Not what he dreamed of when he was a little boy, not even close. Okay. It is what it is. Buy it if you want. Or don't. I'm just going to clock out now. I like it
Okay, Glenn. We're sold. You had us at custom-made split firmness.
But I really wouldn't have minded a glass of wine.
It is NOT a mattress and box springs anymore, because box springs are to mattresses what PONG is to the video gaming industry. They just don't exist. If you run across a mattress salesman with a lifetime of experience under his belt, he'll get that kind of dreamy, faraway look in his eye when you mention box springs -- as if the very word hearkens back to a better day (or night, as the case may be). The newer guys just gloss right over the whole word, like a bump in the road. You say box spring, he says foundation. You say box spring, he says foundation. Next thing you know, you say foundation, he smiles and sells.
And sells, and sells. Man, can these guys sell.
In doing the least possible amount of research required to get my husband to write that four-digit check, I learned that mattresses differ from manufacturer to manufacturer (and from grade to grade) very little. If you rule out the Temper-pedic and other "sleep systems" and begin comparing plain old coil-spring mattresses, there's really not too many ways to skin that cat. The springs are individually wrapped or they're not. When pressed, most salesmen can't really explain why. There's a pillow topper or there's not. After that, it's just a question of preference.
Unfortunately for Bobby and me, we expressed a preference for one another, forsaking all others, in our wedding vows nearly two decades ago. Since then, our preferences have not often dovetailed. Somehow we have found a house we love and we managed to name our two children. Beyond that, not so much.
In early December, Bobby said he thought it would be good if we forewent Christmas gifts this year and planned to buy ourselves a new mattress. Now, this was difficult for me because I don't forego Christmas gifts lightly. Christmas is a pretty big deal and I, admittedly, want my share of the gift giddiness. But I'm a grown-up and the economy is what it is and I do hate our 15-year-old mattress -- thanks to those disgusting radio ads about the weight of the dead skin and dust mites crawling around in our current mattress.
So, we compromised on the Christmas thing (I got him an iron and some ties; he got me somethings, I'm sure. Admittedly, nothing is springing to mind, but I know there were packages with my name on them.) and we waited until the after-Christmas bonanzas to go mattress shopping.
An old-school traditionalist, Bobby recommended we start at Sears. Who's going to shoot you straighter than a salesman at Sears, right? Good enough for his dad's tools and his grandmother's icebox? Good enough for us! Besides, he could pick up some undershirts and a basketball-pump-needle in the same trip. Really.
The old man at Sears told us he'd been selling mattresses for 25 years and I have no reason to doubt that. He had a poly-blend shirt and a snow-white combover. He may not have left the mattress nook in that particular Sears in 20 years. He told a fair number of pathetic mattress jokes and then artfully guided us over to the high-end-end of the mattress showroom.
Rather quickly, Bobby and I agreed that we needed a firm mattress with a pillow top. At least I decided that and he said he could live with it and it doesn't usually get more agree-y than that with us. We lay down separately, we lay down next to each other. We tried falling into one side of the bed while the other closed his/her eyes to see how much displacement we experienced. I threatened to go get a book and a glass of red wine to simulate the old commercial.
Many of these tester beds are made with firm coils on one side and plush coils on the other. Half joking, we asked if we could get a bed made that way, in an effort to save our marriage. Combover just chuckled. He'd heard everything we thought was pithy and witty about mattresses before. Many times. Maybe many times that very day.
He gave us the name of the manufacturer we eventually chose, along with the style name, on the back of his card and sent us on our way. To The Mattress Firm.
Where we learned that, for comparison's sake, that information was basically quite useless. Each manufacturer manufactures mattresses under different names and varies the coil count from retailer to retailer. Between Sears and The Mattress Firm, therefore, there are no apples and apples.
Mattress Firm Sales Guy -- younger, more stylish and (to my eyes anyway) even sadder than Lifelong Mattress Man -- insisted he would match any price out there and began to speak disparagingly of other retailers. I felt like, after waving my way through lots of smoke and many, many mirrors, there really was no difference. By the time we were lying on the Mattress Firm mattresses, I had completely forgotten how comfortable I was (or wasn't) back at Sears. Truth be told, I couldn't even really accurately compare from one side of the Mattress Firm to the other.
They also had those one-for-all, all-in-one firm on one side, plush on the other demo mattresses. They also chuckled good-naturedly at the idea of buying one like that. Sometime after I quit listening, he mentioned a warranty to Bobby that seemed superior to what Sears offered and the pendulum swung.
Exhausted from lying on so many different yet similar beds -- none of them our own -- we headed home to deal with the information we had been given and the sticker shock that this was going to be a $2,000 purchase.
Then the issue went dormant for a few days. And nights.
Last night, around 8:15, conversation swung back around to this pending purchase. Let's go look online, he says. Let's check outlets in KCK, he says. Blech, I thought, as I smiled and followed him to the computer.
After Googling around for a few minutes -- and flat-out refusing to consider a used mattress from a warehouse on a service road in Wyandotte County -- we found Mattress City. Mattress City appeared to have what we were looking for, at approximately half the price. Can't be, couldn't be, let's give them a call.
So we do, confirm what we think we know about mattresses, and pile in the car for a roadtrip to Mattress City, baby! Mattress City is nestled between a jujitsu studio and a Kinko's. It has cinder block walls and sale tags. Lots of sale tags. And a sales manager named Glenn who seems even more bored with his life than I felt at the idea of his life.
"Does anyone ever come in here and go to sleep?" Bobby asked.
"Oh, yeah. A couple of times a month I'll have a guy come in after lunch and sleep for half an hour or so," Glenn reports.
Really. And I thought the guys who spent their lunch hour smoking cigars at The Outlaw had honesty issues in THEIR marriages. . . .
"Is it weird carrying on a conversation with people who are lying down?" I queried.
"Oh, yeah. I try to just stand back a little bit," Glenn replied with a shrug.
Nods all around; a few more jumps into and out of bed to surprise the other (like that will ever actually happen in our every day life) and a slightly more serious comment about the glass of wine. Then our stock comment, "if only we could buy one that's firm on one side and plush on the other."
"Oh, yeah. We can do that. But you can't get it delivered until Wednesday," Glenn says.
Free bedframe. Free delivery and removal of the old mattress. Locally manufactured. Five hundred bucks cheaper than Mattress Firm. All of these little juicy tidbits are being shared with us as Glenn loads up his briefcase and begins checking the alarm system on the store. He's SO over selling mattresses today. And something about his demeanor sealed the deal for me. He recognizes that his career is rather ridiculous and he's okay with that. Not what he dreamed of when he was a little boy, not even close. Okay. It is what it is. Buy it if you want. Or don't. I'm just going to clock out now. I like it
Okay, Glenn. We're sold. You had us at custom-made split firmness.
But I really wouldn't have minded a glass of wine.
Monday, January 3, 2011
First Post -- Mulligan
Okay, it's been a little over a month since my maiden voyage blog crashed and sunk. I spent an hour or so typing and copying a recipe and getting myself convinced that this is a good thing to do. Not because anyone anywhere might ever read it or care, but because it was a good, easy way to get me into the good habit of writing regularly.
I typed my original post on my laptop which, for some odd reason, chooses to delete entire passages at its own discretion. Sometimes the cursor just jumps to a spot of its own choosing; sometimes it takes large chunks of text with it when it goes. I have to watch it every minute to make sure I'm not starting a new passage in the middle of an existing paragraph and that's just not how I type. Mrs. Berry taught me years ago how not to look at the screen (of course, back then it was the paper in the typewriter) or my fingers when I'm typing and that old habit will die hard. Besides, when I look at what I'm typing, I am often overcome with this weird sense of self-doubt and discouragement -- did you really write that? why? who cares? why? why? why?
So, with that brief look into my psyche, I will just leave it at this: I don't like looking at what I'm typing as I'm typing, but if I don't my laptop will sabotage whatever it is I've written. So here I sit at the desktop -- basically making all my excuses for buying a laptop in the first place null and void.
I am going to try to write a little something each day. Ideally, I'll record some recipes here because I really do want to ultimately assemble a cookbook for some family and friends and I have never been in the habit of writing down how I do what I do in the kitchen. For today, I don't really have a recipe to record. I just wanted to start the new week and the new year on the right foot. I'm also using Weight Watchers and checking class schedules at the gym. Any or all of these resolutions may crash and burn at any moment, but for right now, I'm doing pretty well with 2011.
Ironically, I found a list of New Year's Resolutions in my Joy of Cooking last week. The list was from 2008. Many of them I still hope to accomplish in 2011. When I told Bobby I had found that three-year-old list, he actually burst out laughing. I guess he doesn't expect much from me. I hope I'll surprise us both this year.
Especially me.
I typed my original post on my laptop which, for some odd reason, chooses to delete entire passages at its own discretion. Sometimes the cursor just jumps to a spot of its own choosing; sometimes it takes large chunks of text with it when it goes. I have to watch it every minute to make sure I'm not starting a new passage in the middle of an existing paragraph and that's just not how I type. Mrs. Berry taught me years ago how not to look at the screen (of course, back then it was the paper in the typewriter) or my fingers when I'm typing and that old habit will die hard. Besides, when I look at what I'm typing, I am often overcome with this weird sense of self-doubt and discouragement -- did you really write that? why? who cares? why? why? why?
So, with that brief look into my psyche, I will just leave it at this: I don't like looking at what I'm typing as I'm typing, but if I don't my laptop will sabotage whatever it is I've written. So here I sit at the desktop -- basically making all my excuses for buying a laptop in the first place null and void.
I am going to try to write a little something each day. Ideally, I'll record some recipes here because I really do want to ultimately assemble a cookbook for some family and friends and I have never been in the habit of writing down how I do what I do in the kitchen. For today, I don't really have a recipe to record. I just wanted to start the new week and the new year on the right foot. I'm also using Weight Watchers and checking class schedules at the gym. Any or all of these resolutions may crash and burn at any moment, but for right now, I'm doing pretty well with 2011.
Ironically, I found a list of New Year's Resolutions in my Joy of Cooking last week. The list was from 2008. Many of them I still hope to accomplish in 2011. When I told Bobby I had found that three-year-old list, he actually burst out laughing. I guess he doesn't expect much from me. I hope I'll surprise us both this year.
Especially me.
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