Friday, April 26, 2013
Seeing how the truck was about fifteen years old and the only form of air conditioning involved rolling down the window - all were down and we were hanging out hoping nature would pity us and send a breeze our way. The job we were headed home from had been in a more "southern" clime and it was warmer than we were accustomed to on top of us being beat-tired and sweated through from work.
That was when we spotted the family off an old rickety boat dock. They had this shiny, pomaded up fiberglass boat sitting deep in the water, clearing her throat with guttural bursts. That's what caught our attention. That and the steady lurch of the truck as we had to almost stop to go over the dratted speed bumps and inevitable koi pond sized potholes that accompanied the same. While the driver cursed we watched and listened as the family readied a wanna-be-water-skier on the dock. A part of me had my jaw hanging thinking, "Oh man, that is so wrong, you got to start in the water..." Another part, most likely the demonic imp that dances on my shoulders just said, "Get ready to watch tis babe!"
The guy on the boat hollered back, "Are you ready Water King?" to which his brightly hued, life-vested, straw hat-wearing, ski-laden, adrenaline junkie - clueless in the art of waterskiing replied, "I am READY!!!"
And the boat took off. Full throttle for all she was worth, all 90-horses screaming, twisting water, sending the boating on a pell-mell course that ran not quite straight but jack rabbited a tad before the pilot got it under control and he spun it out into the open channel. The skier? Um, yeah. He was in the middle of the dock when the growl of the motor signaled all systems go and the fool bent his knees. From there he duck-stepped once, twice, then lost a ski in between the boards of the grey-hued weathered dock planking. Never letting go of the pull rope, he was jerked off his remaining foot, went sky-born for a brief moment, then skipped like a stone across the water as the boat did that odd jig-jag I noted...at that point the boat slalomed him across a sandbar where he lost the second ski - it popped into the air like a toothpick. As the boat caught it's pace - so did the skier - as a kite tail behind the bright skimming silverfish. The Water King never once thought to let go of the pull rope.
I don't know what was worse, the fact that no one on the boat ever looked back to see how he was doing, or that all of his friends on the shore were laughing as hard as us in the truck (who, incidentally almost wrecked said vehicle watching the spectacle). Yes, it eventually all sorted out, but the guy looked like he went five rounds with Ali.
Over the years I wondered, 'why didn't anyone tell him what he was doing wrong?' Was it because of the nickname? There are plenty of people who think they know everything, to the point where the only way to let them learn the opposite is to have them make their own mistakes. Was that it? But...why didn't he just let go? There was even a night where I had a dream where I was in the same position, every time the motor turned on - I dropped the line. On a lark I sat and meditated, put myself in that position... My first roadblock was trust. I don't have a wealth of it. Not for anyone. Certainly not in that type of situation. Given my dislike of water, it took a long time to get to the stage where I could re-enact the scene.
Anticipation, wanting something so much then having it within your grasp then - BAM! - shock as everything goes from standing still to instantly moving faster than perception can adjust, faster than the body can move. Breath burns, shoulders tear, body attempts to keep up - failure! Pain as one ski is ripped off. Then hit the water. Not a soft hit but like razors, the surface hitting the body with wet slaps and smacks a moment before rolling you across a dirt and sand riddled bar then tearing forward again, this time pulling off sections of skin from arms and legs and the head. All the while looking at the back of the boat, the instrument pulling you - something that was intended to be fun but what is now torturous - and wondering at all the averted faces...why haven't they looked back once? Has it been that fast? Or has it just seemed that long to me?
Now, are you ready for your decisions in life? Sure not everything needs thought out like the Water Kind should have done, but you'd be astounded how often small things should be given that kind of attention. You know, 'the butterfly effect'. Only I like to think of it as, 'are you ready Water King?' Well? Are you ready? Things are getting pretty real out there to make bad decisions let alone to hold on way too long.
Just something to think about while I work on type-type-typing.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Worst was, I couldn't play my violin, we have peeps in the pantry again...lol. Last week it was duck peeps, this week we are on chicken peeps - golden sonic and a variety of Chinese cuties that are simply darling, plus four Guineas. The ducklings have been moved to the bird barn, so no outdoor playing, I don't need to freak out the farm animals. Not yet at any rate.
So, here I was stressed like a kettle on boil with no way to let off steam and writing wasn't working. In a last ditch effort I called a friend who laughed and told me to "just make something crafty, you know, you are pretty creative..." Then it hit me, I could draw and do so many things! But I also had way too much energy to settle for that. Grabbing my Illustration Now! Portraits book I plunked down on the couch and dug in, looking for inspiration. Instead I found the peace I'd been looking for, and not a bit of inspiration as I filled some pages of a notebook with ideas with plotlines and characters and settings.
Tonight I thought to share with you some of the artists from the book in case you feel an urge to wander the 'net to have a look/see for yourself.
Lisel Ashlock has a wonderfully real texture to her work, the colors are vibrant, earthen, organic. Portraits always seem to have an element to them that an observer would see but dismiss until later when the nature of the symbol clicks with subject. Brilliant and beautiful.
In the work of Montse Bernal there are focal points within the portraits, highlighted by the mixed media: embroidery, pen, color pencils, collage. Lips are stained blood red, eyes kohl black, a shirt in vibrant hues, hair done in sausage curls - so many points of accent but never garishly so.
The pop surreal painting portraiture of Lesja Chernish - very much like Mark Ryden. My favorite in the book is that of the Sisters, the pair look so tranquil they'd be very much at home in a Verse Advice tale. Snaps to anyone who gets the reference.
When it comes to the portrait art of Alexandra Compain-Tissier, I have to admit a bit of a preference - in that for me, it is her pencil on paper art or nothing. She truly does seem to have a gift for capturing faces best in the media - at least to me, Infernal Affairs speaks for itself.
There are maybe five more artists in the book that can capture my attention for hours, but of those one of my favorites has to be Tomer Hanuka. If Hanuka has ever done an ink/digital combo that doesn't please the eye, I've yet to have see it. I can sit and marvel at The White Stripes and find something new to appreciate no matter how many times I return to it - it's outstanding. Kill Bill is just a work of freaking art.
When I'm not nearly mellow enough to create my own art, I seriously love to mellow out with these guys. Can't recommend getting to know them and their compatriots any higher. It's well worth your time.
Monday, April 15, 2013
... ... ...
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Given the way the reporters all pitied the man by disparaging how long he's lived with ALS beyond the average life expectancy, it's a wonder none of them suggested dragging him into the street like a mortally wounded animal needing put down. The rest just snootily condescended how we've managed to overcome greenhouse gas emissions with the latest technology and the like.
Um, hello?! Look at the Universe. Look at our planet. Look at the debris field in space and the size of the floating mound of crap in the Pacific Ocean and feel a wealth of pride. Never mind. What he had to say wasn't merely about pollution. It had so much more weight behind it. If you think on the scale of a Universe, then you have to think BIG. Now look at this world, this planet, think of the fragility of life, what it takes for life. NEEDS versus WANTS. For life you need air and water. Without air and water we as a species cannot survive, correct?
What will happen in the next thousand to perhaps ten thousand years? The process of the magnetic poles for the planet will begin reversing - at least that is the speculation based on the change in size of the planet and its revolution path. Something I've been tracking as fodder in one of the data folders for my science-fiction trilogy, Havoc. (Havoc's file is immense and fun for any geek to read.) Even if changes start small in a thousand years time, small changes will be catastrophic for living organisms. Meaning? Some speculate increased geothermal activity translating to shifting tectonics aka earthquakes, and upper atmospheric changes as well as rotation slows, but that is much farther into the future when the ice-walls build on the planet surface...you know, the next ice age. All of this could last a hundred years or a millennia, based on evidence found in the ice caps which show these periods of transition happen with regularity. Only it hasn't happened in a time since man emerged from the primordial ooze so we've gotten cocky. Face it. We ARE cocky. It happens since we're at the top of the food chain. And at this point I'm sort of aggravated and disgusted with my own species blind stupidity. Perhaps as Mr. Beagle once said in The Last Unicorn, (and I'm paraphrasing here) 'maybe one day when rabbits write books they'll think kindly on us.'
I've often wondered, after watching admirable people like Mr. Hawking tenaciously work on in their fields despite debilitating illness, if there wasn't something to the need to see your genes pass on. Why it's harder to kill some of us than others. Genetic imperative, sort of like the biological clock, the drive to preserve life. Why some last longer than others - proving even the "law of the fittest" completely and utterly wrong. Unless of course they can circumvent that, by pure deviousness and cunning and intellect. Not every village needs a swordsman.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Beyond that, here's your eye candy.
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Thursday, April 11, 2013
For some reason once the sun came out - the internet service died. We watched as our service bar was totally filled, yet a mysterious little yellow pentagon with an exclamation point just surfaced on the bottom of the screen, informing us that while we had internet, we didn't have internet.
So I took the time to work on my projects...and obsess on that damned little symbol in the corner of the screen thwarting me from doing what I said I was going to do. It was aggravating, irritating, and worst of all - frustrating!
Today on the way back from a doctor's visit, I was stuck in traffic (tis the season for construction), there was a big dust up about people feeling how they were being short changed in terms of service at a certain fast food chain. How the workers weren't happy, not greeting customers happily. That sort of thing. I cracked up. Just before going to the doctor I had a stop at a lab for blood work so I made to detour through a local drive-thru for something to eat. My blood labs can take a lot of vials so I tend to want to eat and have a bottle or two of water. Thank goodness mine are non-fasting! There was no line and I had some time so I thought, I'll just pop in. HAH! Twenty-six minute wait, got cold food when the girl remembered I was there, between trips to wherever she was haring off to and her gossipy friend and her manager watched the whole thing. Her comment? She could have made better use of her time by cleaning her station. Yeah. I don't think the greeting is their major malfunction. Sort of like my internet interruption there is another problem that needs exploring.
At least we managed to fix our problem by getting the dish realigned. Now, service again! However long it lasts...that is another mystery. But I am back peoples!
Friday, April 05, 2013
Now, I finally got that scene typed up in Trickster's Folly. Go me. So proud of myself. With no internet I didn't have anything else to do. Other than read 'Survivals of Roman Religion' for the umpteenth time, but only I'd enjoy that dusty tome that much, but I digress. Keep in mind, this is a quasi PG-13 clip and it hasn't been edited to my normal OCD levels. It's just a teaser.
Happy Friday, folks!
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Wednesday, April 03, 2013
Meaning I spent today walking around like a Turret's victim, pacing and tugging at my hair as I studied the catalog, but I couldn't seem to concentrate on it, I was also so easily distracted by every last thing. For some stupid reason I get like this when I'm really upset. Any outside stimuli suddenly - bang - has my attention and I'm hyper aware and can't focus on anything else until something else intrudes. Meaning while I clutched the catalog, music was playing - music I didn't really hear - as Facebook pinged - and the dogs barked - and I went to see what had them in a tizzy - and the neighbor drove by - then my stopped with a guy named Mike - and the computer pinged again, Facebook - and my cellphone rang, unknown number, ignore it - and my husband came home - to which he saw what I was like and promptly...the music was turned off, the cellphone was turned off, for an hour the internet was turned off, and he made me put the catalog down. After all, I looked like a mad woman wondering about with it.
In the end I picked a class on how to do mosaics. Really kind of happy about it. Hope it doesn't get cancelled too. I know how to do tile and stone and mortar and brick, so...Seriously, don't let this get cancelled. I can't deal with it.
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Given the recent popularity of the mini-series of the Bible on television, I decided to promote my faith-based erotic, Festival of Lights a wee bit. (Hey, the Bible has sex and violence. Think I'm wrong, just read it.)
To that end, here's a new blurb:
Torn by the tides of religious war yet again, ancient Jerusalem proved a dangerous place for rabbinical students. To save his son a merchant made a most unusual purchase, a female Scythian slave - horse and all. Return in time to the first Hanukkah to witness miracles of faith and love.
And a work safe excerpt:
Tuesday, April 02, 2013
I do mind, however, my idiotic lack of feminine finesse when it comes to clothes and shoes. Jeans, t-shirts and stripper shoes. *scratches head* Yeah, not the magic mix most would find knock-your-knickers-off-sexy but that happens to be my forte, oh and toss in my fetish for killer hats. Really, I dig hats. Anyone who knows me has seen my insane addiction to headwear, and I am not talking about baseball hats, either. But if I'm pressed to describe a lady's dress, you'll get the color and if it had puffy sleeves or strappy things or not. See, totally lacking. I had to drag out the Taschen costume Bible as well as a few catalogs to dig through.
The sexy stuff, no problem. I can rattle off sexual peccadillos blindfolded and ball gagged. How? Easy-peasy, sign language should push come to shove, or well, there are other ways of getting words across, you pick those up quick depending on the kink. Then there is my unfortunate urge to constantly self-edit from the beginning every time I sit down with a work-in-progress. The longer the story grows, the more irritating this becomes - I just wish I could write! Instead I obsess, "Did I really say that back there? I really meant to say this in that spot. Oh, no! I shouldn't have used this word four times in three paragraphs." And so on. All of this could wait for the end, but no, I do it writus interruptus in the middle.
But today none of that derailed me, I got a good 4,000 words in on Trickster's Folly and added another 2,000 to The Relation Chip, so it was all good. Maybe if things go right I can share that scene tomorrow or even share the opening to Leash Laws. Now to get rid of the low-grade headache and get some sleep.
Monday, April 01, 2013
For example, the other day I was cleaning my kitchen when I was utterly floored as I listened to the story of a local kid who successful had his parents dragged in by a child protective service branch (since I live in a border area not sure if it was WV/PA/OH/MD) because when the youth was being punished his parents dared take away his cellphone, video game system, computer and related paraphernalia. Um, hello, that is the definition of being grounded. To have things of enjoyment being withheld for a set period of time until positive changes in behavior are achieved. Instead this was considered 'cruel' and the preteen was being deprived of things his peers had making him the 'object of derision' also 'denying him enjoyment of his formative years.'
Oh for pity's sake. A preteen. As in not a teenager. I must have been the worst mom ever. My kid didn't get a cellphone until he was sixteen. Let's not talk about the video game system or the internet because if I do the federales will be tracking the origin of my signal to haul me away to Gitmo for waterboarding. Sheesh.
I remember the trips to Florida, when we had the money - not two or three times a year, let alone seasonally - and certainly not to the expensive realm of Disney. And on these long trips in a vehicle sans DVD player, we were to sit, feet on the floor, hands in our lap, and eyes steadfastly out the side-windows to report on anything of interest to either parent. By the way, we were fortunate to have an FM radio, which my father never played unless it was to drown out my mom's attempts to give him bad directions to wherever we were headed.
You'd be amazed at the things you see while looking out windows - like the man with the long greasy black hair, sunken eyes and pallid skin wearing a tuxedo and tall top hat, driving a blue Schwinn bicycle with a shiny chrome basket down the side of I-95. Trust me, that image stayed in my head from the time I was fourteen, he had the image of today's age-worn Alice Cooper without the cool stage make up. Even more interesting were all the signs for "No bicycles..." and the like on the road, yet there he was, and in such odd get-up. Like a mortician for roadkill minus the shovel.
There were other things, too. Like the carload of naked people driving down the road, carefree as you please. So many folks treat vehicles like no one can looks in, as if it's a brick and mortar world instead of a fishbowl on wheels, but there you have it. Even better were the billboards and animals. We stopped counting and memorizing all the goofy slogans and misspellings that made us laugh. Or how many "Pedro's South of the Border" signs there had to be - just too many to count. And I got to see a real black panther in along the side of the road when we cut across the state. Dad liked to go to wild places to take pictures.
I never noticed a lack of having "stuff" growing up, because there was so much fun. Miss Tactile Sensitivity, that's me I suppose. So when it came time to be a parent and I was presented with the problem of hardship, of need-versus-want I didn't want to just present things in terms of economics, but to show my child how life could still be fun, to inspire him to live and enjoy life to the fullest without lusting after all the crap his friends had.
You can eat a meal and talk to the people you are seated with.
You can watch a movie, focusing on it alone.
You can spend a holiday with your family without responding to the dulcet tones of a text.
The world will not end if the internet is disconnected for two whole weeks.
Just imagine the things you can learn about the world around you...or even about yourself, if left to your own imagination for that amount of time. The world spun for millennia without it in far, far better shape. Think on that, and ponder the possibilities and ramifications.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Hey, maybe one day someone here will tell me how to do one of those cut things so I don't clutter up my front page with walls of text (looks hopeful). Yes, I am that clueless.
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Friday, March 29, 2013
Todays words: negative, course, sputter, fill, descend, carcass
Negative thoughts filled the young man’s mind as he watched the thin stream of cold water course descend over the cooling bovine carcass to fill the chipped concrete gutter in the center of the floor with a thick runnel of blood.
With a shake, he returned to the task at hand. This beef need to hang. Time to focus on another. In this fashion he hoped to numb his emotions, preserve his sanity, dull his senses and keep a running tally on days, hours, minutes, and cows via steaks, chops, burger, and entrails. There was another guy, one with a missing eye who pulled his leg along like a puppy on a chain that dealt with head, hides and hooves. Let him face the faces and those horrors. The other man never really talked, he liked that as he was at his limit.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
In case you don't know why it is important to tell your doctor that you want 'brand necessary' checked on your prescriptions for chronic conditions, unless you're being ground under by the system like me: Crazy Meds
On the upside, my husband didn't know how bad my day was going and he brought me home an Easter gift early, six white Peking ducklings. They are sitting under a heat lamp in a special tub with a feeder system - cat proof, of course. It's indoors until they are ten weeks old, they're only a week old.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Used to be I'd take a notebook and jot down what I thought people were saying, or doing as I watched them. My own brand of alternate history. It was pretty popular for a while, I've lost track of some of the older creations on the internet bulletin board system. Would have kept them on my computer but the grey box did a pop and fizzle with a wicked virus a number of years back that killed a score of files. Every so often I challenge myself to do a story in conversation alone, like this:
“Sweetheart, I may not be allowed to sample the treats, but I can certainly appreciate the beauty that is the male animal.”
“That is so not right.”
“Aw, come on! I sit and listen to you complain about that woman at work who makes eyes at everything with a penis but you can’t indulge me?”
“It’s not that Tabby, it just seems wrong sitting here drooling over those guys.”
“Because I'm married?”
“Partly, but also because it’s all based on looks.”
“Hold that thought! It’s okay for you to tear down your co-worker based on her looks, but I can’t appreciate beautiful men? What kind of half-assed logic is that?”
“Fine! I'll be nicer to Betsy, but I just can’t stand to be around her. She makes a good target screwing up as much as she does.”
“Tracy you have got to be the biggest hypocrite. That woman doesn’t screw up, you set her up simply because she is fat and, as you said, makes an easy target. In order to judge her worth properly you have to use unbiased standards.”
“Why're you looking at me? Look at the guy over there. Yeah, that one with the dark curls. She just makes me want to gag. All she does is sit in that office and eat all day. Fritos, Crunch ‘n Munch, Twizzlers – you name it. She sticky fingers her way through the day with a saccharine smile – literally and physically. Being that big isn’t just disgusting, it’s positively unhealthy.”
“I forgot about your mom. Didn’t she die of heart disease complicated by obesity.”
“This has nothing to do with my mother!”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.”
“What do you think about that one…the one over there on the left with the long brown shaggy hair?”
“Tabby, I just don’t get it. None of these guys you are panting over looks anything like Carl. I mean, if this is what you look for in a guy, what gives?”
“Carl loves me and I don’t even love me. This is what I look for in fantasy land. You do know the place. You would have to since it been how long since you've gone out on a date...? Tracy? Hello over there.”
“No, you are right, I don't date. I do have fantasies. Just not over these guys.”
“As in really never? What the hell!”
“Not a big deal. Oh, sure I'm good enough to drink beer or watch the game with, but dating requires...Well, something a bit different.”
“Damn! You work in construction, you get to look at all those luscious men all day and you want me to believe that not a one has asked you out for a drink or maybe a “working” lunch?”
“Yeah, I’ve had those sorts of offers. Be still my beating heart! What romance, ‘yo, Trace, you wanna suck my dick and get some pizza?’ Thank you but no, Tabby.”
“I didn’t realize it was like that.”
“Tabs, I'm a mason. I lay brick for a construction company. The only other woman employed by the firm tosses back jelly doughnuts like a wino at nickel beer night. What do you think I get all day? I get, ‘hey there Trace, you can bed my bricks any old day,” or “lay me sweet mama.’”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Hello? Remember me? I don’t have a sense of humor.”
“There is a lot to love about you, the least of which is that delightfully sarcastic sense of humor. Look at you! You are in great shape!”
“Yeah, I guess fireplug is a shape. Short and squat. My arms are more muscular than most guys, and I got a working man’s tan. I look like a car door reflection, not a runway model.”
“You are so wrong, that assessment is so wrong. Oh, oh, oh! Love the buns on the blond! Okay, so these guys do nothing for you. Tell me then what is your fantasy man, Ms. International Fireplug.”
“You won’t laugh at me?”
“Out with it woman before I stab you with my fork.”
“Okay, okay, no need to get psychotic. I want a guy with perfect hands. They have to be strong but not clumsy or too big, long lean fingers that can hold me gently, but strong enough to hold me close. Not body builder stuff, but honest strength. He has to have a deep voice, not crackling or spooky movie deep, but a nice bass tone that makes you see dark nights and silk sheets just by whispering into your ear. He has to be taller than me. Damn it, I want a man that makes me finally feel like a delicate female that needs protected. I want to feel like a lady when I am with him, not a bowling partner. I want a partner and a protector, it gets old being alone. This female power shit is for the birds, coo-coo birds to be precise.”
“Damn Trace, you’re a romantic.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Tell anyone and I’ll break your nose, sissy-girl.”
“You wish, She-Ra. Hell, look at the time, I have got to run and get the kids. Stay single you really aren’t missing all that much, only the screaming and the crying and that’s while the kids are asleep.”
“Funny lady. Guess me and my make-believe man will just keep on going for now. Same time next week?”
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
1 lb. chicken breast cubed
2 tsp. curry powder
3/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
1/4 cup chopped onion
1 tbsp. vegetable oil
1 - 13 0z. can coconut milk*
2 tbsp. tomato paste
3 cups baby spinach**
1 cup diced tomato
Make enough white rice for your family. Your distance may vary. That's why I didn't give amounts, sorry.
In a separate bowl, sprinkle the chicken with the curry, salt and pepper - turn until well coated. In a wok or generous skillet, heat oil on med to med-high add onion and chicken, turning often until well cooked. Stir in milk and tomato paste, bring to a boil then reduce heat to a simmer for five minutes or until thickens. Add spinach and tomatoes cook until greens soften, 2 or three minutes. Serve with rice.
*substitute canned milk (sweetened condensed)
**substitute canned spinach or turnip greens, we're really fond of turnip greens
Monday, March 25, 2013
Words fail me.
There is a curse, "May you live in interesting times." Even if I don't live in interesting times, the way the world has shrunk so the internet touches every spot on the world in an instant...well, we're ensured we don't miss much of anything anytime soon. Which begs the question of how to create anything new or interesting to what must be jaded readers. Face it, if you can pop on the world of twitter, blogger, facebook and the like and inside a few keystrokes and be inundated with real stories of heroism or romance, debauchery or wickedness, how is a mere storyteller ever supposed to attempt to compete? Bad enough knowing the classics are out there, you know, myths and fables and tales handed down over generations - but to have every last impression and event shared over a day? Talk about overload.
So, what do you think. Do books and television shows and movies still provide a bit of alternative escapism, or has it come to the point where we as a society now expect so much more from authors that we hold them to an even higher degree? Or is it just me that seems to see authors in that light?
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Her: "Ehhh... Snow, again, snow. I wish it would stop. I'd much rather see buds on the trees than that crap on the ground. But at least it keeps the hubby busy shoving wood in the wood burner. What the hell is it with men and fire?"
Hubby: "Hey now, that was man's first job, taking care of the fire!"
Me: "Just like women's oldest profession was prostitution, and likely just as noble."
Her: "Gee, I can see it now. Did the first fire for man to tend start from the first profession being worked in the high prairie grass, you think? All that friction?"
Hubby: "Hell no woman, we figured that shit out to keep your cold feet off us and to get you gone after so we could get some sleep."
Me: "Yup, him and his chainsaw wielding skills are all mine."
We, the sniggering ladies of the room toasted and the guys just looked ill at ease, unable to fathom why we weren't out to directly kill my Neanderthal male. Why? He amuses me. That and he really does stock the wood burner, entendre included.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
I found my son. To be more specific, I found a slew of three minute movies my then, seven or eight year old son had made while his mom was doing the dishes or cooking dinner. In those days the young man would have been so busted. Now that he's in his twenties - the potential embarrassment factor is delicious! And seeing his sweet little face pop-up in the dark grainy screen with such cheesy dialogue...just cracked me up. No mom could possibly erase these 'precious moments.' Nope. I plan to save them. Maybe even send them to family members cell phones, once I figure out the cell phone thing well enough...
He didn't let me carry pictures of him in my wallet when he was growing up, because and I quote, "Mom, that is sooo embarrassing. Someone will see!" For as outgoing a child as my son was, things were strictly regimented to eliminate any possible extra attention. He was a bit phobic about being in the spotlight. As a result, anytime I tried to take a picture of him, he disappeared into the background faster than a ghost on fade. The only one permitted to snap a pic was a designated grandparent, because, "you know, that's their job." Make that make sense.
So for Passover this year, I'm going to be passing out copies of his epic, nine-part mini series filmed in my old bedroom, featuring the whisper voiced detective clad in his dad's Laser-Tag gear, as he assaults my old wicker rocking chair for posterity's sake.
Ah motherhood, the gift the keeps on giving!
Friday, March 22, 2013
But boy, oh boy, do I adore this recipe. So, I am sharing it today.
1 kg/2 lb ground beef
1 sliced onion
1 liter/1 quart of tomato paste
Some olive oil
2 spoons of sugar
You'll notice there isn't a lot of exact measurements. Yeah, about that, a lot of folks don't do salt or pepper and some aren't too keen on cumin - so it's to taste, same with oregano. I never realized a person could have a dislike of oregano until I got married. The male isn't too fond of the nicely scented green herb, it gives him heartburn if I don't pay attention. The flour is 'use until stiff' so if you buy/use fatty meat you'll use more flour than folks who cook with lean meat or venison. So, no amounts given.
Mix the meat with the eggs (raw folks, seriously this should go without saying but I didn't and a friend hardboiled them, it was the weirdest fiasco - ever), and add the chopped onion, the cumin, salt and pepper. Form into elongated balls and turn inside a bowl with the flour until firm. Fry the floured meatballs in the oil at high heat.
When cooked add the tomato paste and sugar, and let cook for another 10-15 minutes at medium heat. Serve with either rice or fries.
Now, you'll notice the 'some' on the oil, this is not an invitation to a deep fry either. This is a lightly coat the pan and fry the meatballs, just a bit more than sauté but not heart-attack worthy grease immersion.
Good luck and enjoy!
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Sound off and let me know. For those of you who are aware of where my live journal is hidden, I'm attempting to post there daily as well - those aren't for public perusal given the adult nature of topics. So Try to keep things here pg-13 suggestion-wise.
As for facebook, I seriously don't know what to do with that place. My internet service is via a satellite uplink, and we only have so many megabytes each day. Not nearly enough to deal with the bloated mess of that place. Not only that, but every time I go there it's rife with viruses and other problems. I know a lot of people love it, but really, I'm not one of them. And for the life of me I can't figure out twitter. Call me dense, call me stupid, I just can't tweet.
Hope to hear what you'd like to see :)