I'm back. It's been a long time and although it's a huge "no no" in the blogging world to quit blogging, I did it anyway.....
I watched Julie and Julia for the first time on DVD the other day and was inspired. OK, Julia is hilarious and all I want to do is have a cooking show just like hers. I went online and watched some of her old shows. What a hoot. Pies flop,food falls on the floor...I LOVED it. My chef friend came over and together "we laughed, we cried, she moved us Bob". Oh how I love Veggie Tales. But Julia can't even start to compare with Martha Stewart. Julia is so, so......normal. In Martha's world I feel like I need some sort of handwritten permission slip to see if I'm qualified to even think about making one of her creations. Some of you know what I mean - those of you who have inferior complexes like I have. When I was a teenager my piano teacher had a huge orange cat in the house that would sit in the corner of her piano room. It would perch itself on a shelf and stare at me while I waited for my piano teacher to arrive from upstairs usually with her hair dripping in conditioner - OK, that's another story - and wearing a velor sport suit with high heels - well, that's also another story. But this cat made me feel so awkward while it looked at me with his "if I had fingers, I could play WAY better than you" attitude.....OK, I'm revealing way too much about my inferiority complexes. Anyway, Martha does the same thing to me as that cat did. Despite my inferiority of orange cats and Martha, I've discovered that I AM Julia! Well maybe not exactly. I can't cook French food, actually I've never even been to France, I am not 6'2", I don't have a cooking show, never been to cooking school, and hardly know what she's talking about most of the time when she uses French food names. OK, I'm not AT ALL like Julia! Regardless, I decided to try some French cooking. I feverishly looked online for any recipes of Julia's that I could lay my hands on. I even tirelessly copied these recipes, watched some of her shows online PBS, looked for her recipe books on Amazon.com, and thought about growing thyme. OK, I was hooked. While online I found a guy who could help me - he had a pleasing voice who shared one of Julia's Baked Chicken recipes. I had a chicken in the freezer so maybe I could become a French cook - actually I had two that I bought from Costco. I'm sure I could be a French cook now. The chicken thawed in the sink while I dreamed of all the wonderful French cuisine I could share with my family. I only used the ingredients I had at home and unfortunately that did not include thyme. But I had a lot of rosemary in the garden so I determined with all my French culinary expertise that that would be just fine. I felt like a little French maiden in the fields of..... well, France.... and at that moment all I needed was a peasant dress with smock although I'm afraid I would have looked more like the Pillsbury dough boy. I've never really had a waist. None the less, in my flip flops and capris I went outside to retrieve my homegrown treasures. What fun to feel so earthy. I WAS JULIA. Back inside I went to work ready to delight my little family. I made the recipe just as he told me to - minus the thyme - and place my little unfeathered friend into the oven. The recipe called for watercress as a bedding for the cooked chicken. I've actually never knowingly eaten watercress and our little supermarket in town isn't as upscale as watercress so figured I'd simply substitute with spinach, another one of my French culinary expertise executive decisions - alas one bag of wilted baby spinach was all the our little French market in town could offer me so I opted for no greens. The bird is smelling delicious by now, I must say. I cut it up just like the little man told me to - except with a dull knife. At the table I served my French delicacy complete with potatoes (very French), and "jus". This is a new word I learned from the little man. My husband ignorantly called it dressing so I happily corrected him of which I'm sure he was pleased to know the truth. Sarcasm aside, I don't want you to miss the fact that he and my daughter actually loved this recipe and my husband really hates baked chicken. Even though I'll never have a career in French cuisine, I'm exploring new recipes and if I find another one will share that with you as well. Bon Appetit.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Wk2cYarjOI
Monday, October 25, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
My Pantry
So last week I was a puppeteer in a puppet show for the kids at camp. It's always a mystery what might happen during these events. We aren't professionals which is very clear to our audience, but rather we are all good friends working together for one common goal - to make each other humiliated. We each take turns achieving that goal. There are too many "goals" to reproduce here on paper so I will only share the ultimate "goal" which I believe cannot be topped. In this show there are puppets and "real people". You know, kind of like a "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood" show, except interesting. There are two puppets of which I am one. My husband is one of the "people" in the show. There is a basic script which we are to follow but according to the puppets is most certainly optional. The theme of the show varies day to day but always has a spiritual point. It often takes a while to get to the spiritual point because the puppets aren't very controllable, much to the "real people's" dismay. Now hopefully you get the gist of what we're trying to do here. On this particular day the script tells us that my husband, a "person", and another "person" are to rummage through a sack filled with snacks for the puppets and the "people" to take to a baseball tryout. Prior to the show I was given the task of filling the sack with snacks and items of my choice that we could take to the tryout. So at home I filled the bag with all sorts of interesting things that would spur on conversation between me, the puppet, and my husband, the "person", during the show. In my rush to fill the bag with worthy items I added in a bag of dried figs. Well, fortunately for the show and for me, I was in a hurry and didn't have time to look into this bag of figs because nothing could have been better orchestrated than what happened next. We are at the scene where my husband, the "person", is rifling through the sack of snacks, etc. He pulls out varying items I choose especially for that scene. Snacks that "just don't belong here" - Sesame Street style, things like cans of tomatoes, flashlights, books, chocolate chips - because the puppet likes to cook - you get the idea. Then comes the moment - the figs - my husband, the "person", looks at the bag of figs and questions me, the puppet, about the purpose in the figs. He gripes about the necessity of this kind of snack and "whatever the point may be" and then without me being able to see, because I'm behind the puppet stage, he decides to eat one of the figs. Now it became very clear to all of us that he had never eaten a fig, or for that matter never seen, smelled, touched or even handled a dried fig before. He ate it, thought it a little dry and shriveled, but carried on with the script. He was in a conversation with another "person" and as they were talking he reached into the bag and grabbed another one to pop into his mouth. It must have been so delicious he couldn't resist another. But before he could eat another delicious dried treat the other "person" looks down and cries out "Is that a worm?" Right there in his hand, crawling in and out of the fig, was a live worm. Here we must pause. OK, it is very clear to us that he had never eaten, seen, smelled, touched or handled a dried fig before because upon closer inspection and even distant inspection the fig was moldy, dried up, shriveled, crusty.....yum. My poor ill- cuisined husband. So here comes the response to this event. Initially there was a long pause from husband, the "person", then a look of illness, nausea perhaps, and finally an expression of "what should I do now, should I drink something or should I throw it up expression...." Unfortunately for me he opts for none of the above and makes his way over to the puppet stage, more specifically towards me. He peers over the side of the stage and glares down at me - may I add he also looks a little pale - much to my delight. I scream which makes the puppet look like she's having a delayed reaction to the oncoming of the "person". The dignity of the show was gone - if there even was any to begin with, but oh how I wish I could have been a "real person" that day because apparently the look on his face was "priceless". How we ever recovered from that scene, the Lord only knows. We've had many moments behind and in front of that stage but nothing will compare to that infamous day of fig eating, thanks to my well stocked and cared for pantry and my good humored husband.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Fourth of July
Happy Fourth of July!
What a privilege to enjoy freedom. I was reminded of that today so here's a little story for you. This morning we went to the 4th of July Parade in town. It had been raining all week so we weren't too sure if we would get rained out. As it turned out the weather was lovely - breezy, no hot Texas sun - great for sitting outside. But we live in a small town and small town parades, while lots of fun, can be a little cheesy. So this year didn't disappoint us. Some of the "floats" consisted of families gathered on trailers being pulled by trucks, others consisted of grown men and boys holding water hoses or other spraying devises used to pelt innocent bystanders and still others contained girls dressed up in pretty dresses waving like royalty.
But I must admit that by far my favorite part of the parade is always the tootsie rolls. I know it's pathetic, but this is how it works each July for me. I sit in my lawn chair watching this amazing display of patriotic creativity while children risk their lives as they run out into the street and collect the candy - the tootsie rolls get weeded out and promptly get handed over to me - I have quite a reputation so other people's children generously hand over their tootsie rolls to me too. It's a great set up. But I believe I reached a low point. There was a tootsie roll sitting alone in the street. How could such a nutritious, delicious snack get simply squished by oncoming traffic, I ask. So I did what any hero would do. I got up - I walked into the street, took the opportunity away from the small children and snatched the tootsie roll into my greedy little hand. I realize that's low, but unbelievable it got a little lower. The lowest point was taking place in my mind - I actually struggled with the thought of getting out of my comfy lounge chair and hauling my middle aged body into the street to "steal" the candy from the children. Too much work....In retrospect, I'm rather surprised I didn't order some small child to leave their candy retriving and run over to that tootsie roll, get it and make them give it to me! That would have been lower still. At least I had the "decency" to get up and steal the candy myself. I am probably the only candy thief in the states. O well, obviously I can't get bothered with those kind of details. One thing I'm incredibly thankful for is that the candy of the day usually ISN'T the tootsie roll. It's often some hard candy that I'm not enticed with, otherwise I'd look like a tootsie roll myself. But after that lovely time we left the parade and enjoyed some time at home - I made some peach jam, cleaned the house, had a nap and ended the day with a BBQ. It was a good old American holiday.
But I must get back to the privilege. While writing this I wondered what if the simple privilege of sitting on the side of the road watching a lame parade was taken from us? What if freedom of religion, freedom of expression and freedom of speech was taken away from us? Our little town in the south would certainly look different. So since we still have this freedom I'm thankful for the enjoyment it brings. Even the simple things need to be remembered as gifts from the Lord. He definitely gives beyond what we deserve. Have a wonderful weekend!!
What a privilege to enjoy freedom. I was reminded of that today so here's a little story for you. This morning we went to the 4th of July Parade in town. It had been raining all week so we weren't too sure if we would get rained out. As it turned out the weather was lovely - breezy, no hot Texas sun - great for sitting outside. But we live in a small town and small town parades, while lots of fun, can be a little cheesy. So this year didn't disappoint us. Some of the "floats" consisted of families gathered on trailers being pulled by trucks, others consisted of grown men and boys holding water hoses or other spraying devises used to pelt innocent bystanders and still others contained girls dressed up in pretty dresses waving like royalty.
But I must admit that by far my favorite part of the parade is always the tootsie rolls. I know it's pathetic, but this is how it works each July for me. I sit in my lawn chair watching this amazing display of patriotic creativity while children risk their lives as they run out into the street and collect the candy - the tootsie rolls get weeded out and promptly get handed over to me - I have quite a reputation so other people's children generously hand over their tootsie rolls to me too. It's a great set up. But I believe I reached a low point. There was a tootsie roll sitting alone in the street. How could such a nutritious, delicious snack get simply squished by oncoming traffic, I ask. So I did what any hero would do. I got up - I walked into the street, took the opportunity away from the small children and snatched the tootsie roll into my greedy little hand. I realize that's low, but unbelievable it got a little lower. The lowest point was taking place in my mind - I actually struggled with the thought of getting out of my comfy lounge chair and hauling my middle aged body into the street to "steal" the candy from the children. Too much work....In retrospect, I'm rather surprised I didn't order some small child to leave their candy retriving and run over to that tootsie roll, get it and make them give it to me! That would have been lower still. At least I had the "decency" to get up and steal the candy myself. I am probably the only candy thief in the states. O well, obviously I can't get bothered with those kind of details. One thing I'm incredibly thankful for is that the candy of the day usually ISN'T the tootsie roll. It's often some hard candy that I'm not enticed with, otherwise I'd look like a tootsie roll myself. But after that lovely time we left the parade and enjoyed some time at home - I made some peach jam, cleaned the house, had a nap and ended the day with a BBQ. It was a good old American holiday.
But I must get back to the privilege. While writing this I wondered what if the simple privilege of sitting on the side of the road watching a lame parade was taken from us? What if freedom of religion, freedom of expression and freedom of speech was taken away from us? Our little town in the south would certainly look different. So since we still have this freedom I'm thankful for the enjoyment it brings. Even the simple things need to be remembered as gifts from the Lord. He definitely gives beyond what we deserve. Have a wonderful weekend!!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
The First Post
Well, this is my first ever post on my own blog which is actually hilarious because basically I'm completely computer challenged, electronically challenged, anything that plugs in or out challenged.....shall I say more? My husband might have a stroke if he sees that I started this whole blogging thing by myself while he was at work without even a phone call, a text, an e-mail or a 911 call. Actually, a moment ago while writing this at the kitchen table one of my daughters asked what I was doing and almost needed CPR to revive herself after I told her. Wow, this IS a big day!
But I need to get down to business. This week I ordered a new sewing machine and took my old serger to the repair shop. I realize you need some background to appreciate the complexity of that statement. To explain the relevance of what I just said, I need to explain a few things. When I was 19 and newly married I taught myself to sew. I had received a brand new sewing machine from my parents and off I went. I tried sewing boxer shorts for my endearing husband, clothes of all kinds for myself - which I rarely wore, a bathing suit - wouldn't recommend it, and home decorating items. Well, I eventually graduated to sewing myself a royal blue suit, which I did wear and even liked.
Time rolled on and we had two lovely baby girls. I continued my sewing projects but now I had two little people who were fashion impaired to display my creativity on. All kinds of items were mercilessly forced on these two little creatures - pantaloons, underskirts, overskirts, hats, bonnets, taffeta dresses, cotton dresses, "you name it dresses", until one day it happened.
It was a day much like today. Cloudy with a chance of showers and a hurricane brewing nearby. We were shopping for clothes and there they hung. Two blue velvet chemise style dresses with an attached necklace. I'm sure I saw a spotlight with "Price is Right" style ladies coaxing the next "bidder" to them because then it happened. My little blond angels revolted against all my love and care and said "We want THESE!". What? They didn't want ruffles anymore, no more fluffy skirts, no more prickly fabric, no more underskirts and no more overskirts . Instead they wanted a long shirt!! A plain old regular dress that you can basically sew in two minutes and it looks like it took you two minutes - no creativity, no mix and match fabrics, no mix and match patterns - NO FUN. So after quite a tussle arguing my case, I lost. Slowly, I trudged to the front of the store holding the victory dresses in my hand while the little victors marched behind me. And that ended sewing for me for 10 years.
But why in the world would I purchase a new sewing machine if my old one has been sitting around taking up space for 10 years, you may ask? This new leaf of mine started a month ago when the littlest traitor, now 10 years older showed me a picture of a skirt. Out of the blue and completely out of character, I suggested I could easily sew her the skirt myself, "just like that". Actually the words were accompanied with a snap of the fingers to punctuate my confidence. What just happened here? Had I forgotten the betrayal and the scorn? Obviously I had. But there's more to this. 10 years ago this little girl's fashion opinion started with the blue dresses but had definitely developed into a well tuned and oiled fashion guru. She didn't want just ANY skirt. She wanted a specific style of skirt and no pattern was able to be found. So now after 10 years of nothing - skills are gone, confidence is at an all time low, and desire is even lower, I'm supposed to be a designer and seamstress of a skirt that suits the style she has in mind, will fit her and one she will actually wear. To get all three will take a lot more than I had to offer. I was determined not to spend much money, so off to Wal-Mart we went. I found $1 a yard fabric - actually quite nice - you may question my judgment, but we purchased this "fine quality" fabric and off we went to start our adventure. Unfortunately a few attitudes had developed by now. There was ranting and complaining, arguing and grousing. That was from my end.....But we started the project and eventually we came to some topstiching. The "I don't owe you much" sewing machine was performing definitely under par, kind of like it's operator. The seams looked horrible, so the unfinished skirt sits in a closet waiting for the day when my new sewing machine will arrive. I'm actually looking forward to completing it and possibly starting another project which is quite amazing considering my 10 years of "baggage". Incidentally, through this whole affair, I pulled out my infamous serger. But that's a story for another day.
So that concludes my first ever blog post on my very own blog site.
But I need to get down to business. This week I ordered a new sewing machine and took my old serger to the repair shop. I realize you need some background to appreciate the complexity of that statement. To explain the relevance of what I just said, I need to explain a few things. When I was 19 and newly married I taught myself to sew. I had received a brand new sewing machine from my parents and off I went. I tried sewing boxer shorts for my endearing husband, clothes of all kinds for myself - which I rarely wore, a bathing suit - wouldn't recommend it, and home decorating items. Well, I eventually graduated to sewing myself a royal blue suit, which I did wear and even liked.
Time rolled on and we had two lovely baby girls. I continued my sewing projects but now I had two little people who were fashion impaired to display my creativity on. All kinds of items were mercilessly forced on these two little creatures - pantaloons, underskirts, overskirts, hats, bonnets, taffeta dresses, cotton dresses, "you name it dresses", until one day it happened.
It was a day much like today. Cloudy with a chance of showers and a hurricane brewing nearby. We were shopping for clothes and there they hung. Two blue velvet chemise style dresses with an attached necklace. I'm sure I saw a spotlight with "Price is Right" style ladies coaxing the next "bidder" to them because then it happened. My little blond angels revolted against all my love and care and said "We want THESE!". What? They didn't want ruffles anymore, no more fluffy skirts, no more prickly fabric, no more underskirts and no more overskirts . Instead they wanted a long shirt!! A plain old regular dress that you can basically sew in two minutes and it looks like it took you two minutes - no creativity, no mix and match fabrics, no mix and match patterns - NO FUN. So after quite a tussle arguing my case, I lost. Slowly, I trudged to the front of the store holding the victory dresses in my hand while the little victors marched behind me. And that ended sewing for me for 10 years.
But why in the world would I purchase a new sewing machine if my old one has been sitting around taking up space for 10 years, you may ask? This new leaf of mine started a month ago when the littlest traitor, now 10 years older showed me a picture of a skirt. Out of the blue and completely out of character, I suggested I could easily sew her the skirt myself, "just like that". Actually the words were accompanied with a snap of the fingers to punctuate my confidence. What just happened here? Had I forgotten the betrayal and the scorn? Obviously I had. But there's more to this. 10 years ago this little girl's fashion opinion started with the blue dresses but had definitely developed into a well tuned and oiled fashion guru. She didn't want just ANY skirt. She wanted a specific style of skirt and no pattern was able to be found. So now after 10 years of nothing - skills are gone, confidence is at an all time low, and desire is even lower, I'm supposed to be a designer and seamstress of a skirt that suits the style she has in mind, will fit her and one she will actually wear. To get all three will take a lot more than I had to offer. I was determined not to spend much money, so off to Wal-Mart we went. I found $1 a yard fabric - actually quite nice - you may question my judgment, but we purchased this "fine quality" fabric and off we went to start our adventure. Unfortunately a few attitudes had developed by now. There was ranting and complaining, arguing and grousing. That was from my end.....But we started the project and eventually we came to some topstiching. The "I don't owe you much" sewing machine was performing definitely under par, kind of like it's operator. The seams looked horrible, so the unfinished skirt sits in a closet waiting for the day when my new sewing machine will arrive. I'm actually looking forward to completing it and possibly starting another project which is quite amazing considering my 10 years of "baggage". Incidentally, through this whole affair, I pulled out my infamous serger. But that's a story for another day.
So that concludes my first ever blog post on my very own blog site.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)