Summer Time!!

Southerners have a whole different notion of summertime.  Our weather turns much earlier than most folks, so a date on the calendar means little.  This year, our weather turned particularly early.  Already, it seems we've fallen into that pattern of a late afternoon rain shower.

But, all the signs are pointing to legit summer.  The farmer's market is open.  I've turned into that crazy, basil and mint baggie bearing monkey.  Summer ball leagues are taking to the fields around town. 

And, I've finally done the wardrobe switch.  No more socks until November!

The Most Enduring Lesson

A hundred years ago (if it didn't happen in the past two weeks, might as well have been 100 years ago), but more realistically 20+ years ago, I had an internship.  My internship placement was with a women's advocacy center.  My on-campus supervisor was a favorite professor.  This professor was a lesbian.  She didn't wear t-shirts proclaiming it, but she was genuine and honest about it, as it was just one of the many facets of her person.  My agency supervisor was also a lesbian, although much more subtle about it.  She would speak about her partner with a nonchalance that you might think she was speaking of a friend or neighbor.

I was at a young, impressionable age.  The Phenom and I were at the start of our relationship, and I was pretty comfortable using the phrase "my boyfriend" 100 times a day.

During a meeting between my two supervisors to discuss the expectations of the internship, they realized that they each knew, socially, the others partner, but had never met each other.  While watching this conversation, I realized that they both were talking about their partners in fairly generic terms, even though we were in a private office and everyone in the room knew what the situation actually was.

I was struck at how lucky I was that I could openly and freely talk about the love of my life . . . as the love of my life.  And, they couldn't.  Even in private, they were cautious and concerned that they might find themselves being judged or even attacked.

Twenty some odd years into the future, and my agency supervisor is open about her relationship.  She lives in a community where she is safe from close minded types.  But, she's lucky.

We need to vote down Amendment 1 . . . not because it opens a pathway to gay people getting married in this state (we have a long, long way before we get there) and not because the only people this amendment will truly harm are the most vulnerable amongst us and not because you don't use the constitution to deny rights to some that others gain by virtue of their birth.  But, we need to vote against this hateful legislation to tell people who live in daily fear of judgement and violence, we see you and we want you to be safe.

One of those "ask forgiveness" situations?

One of the first, fundamental, lessons I learned about being human is that sometimes it is better to ask forgiveness than permission.  Generally, I think that any situation covered by this rule is probably something you ought to think twice about in the first place. 

But.  There is always a but, right?

Last month, my backwards little community finally started curbside recycling.  I've been sorting trash like a champ since.  Last pick up, we actually filled our 96 gallon recycling container.  I was so proud, even if I didn't get an award.

Phenom thinks I'm obsessed with recycling.  On one hand, there seem to be some items, like copy paper, that he thinks it is unreasonable to recycle, but on the other, he is more than happy to leave all the cat food cans for me to peel the labels and wash out. 

This weekend, after making my first Saturday morning visit to our tailgate farmer's market (WOOT), I was making a big ol' salad with all the fresh veggies when I thought to myself . . . I wonder what Phenom would say/do if I got a composter?  We throw out so much in the way of compostables.  It would be nice to have my own organic compost for the garden. 

Perhaps if one follows me home from work one day, we can keep it?

First Lessons

On the Splendid Table, this morning, a caller asked Lynn what she should do to teach a group of college bound high school seniors to cook.

This immediately got my interest, because I've been tapped to teach the child of one of the SMLF to cook, one day.

I think I'd start the day with baking chocolate chip cookies.  This would teach about reading a recipe, recipe shorthand, and proper measuring technique.  Also, it would teach about using a mixer, folding, and using the oven.

Next, I'd move on to making Jambalaya.  This teaches to prep all your ingredients in advance, that you don't always need a recipe exactly, and how to saute.  After getting the jambalaya going, I'd continue the saute lesson to demonstrate how to saute a chicken breast and making a pan sauce.  The saute skill also covers cooking veggies and making quick pasta sauces.

Lastly, I'd talk about boiling and braising.  Boiling for noodles and rice and braising for meats.

I think those three skills could easily translate into 4 years of survival, don't you?

Hey you kids! Get off my lawn!

I'm feeling crotchety and feisty today.  So, a couple of rants.

One, when did we lose political savvy? You know how we're still getting scandalous details about JFK's bad behavior?  And, we all take it in with a dose of "yeah, we suspected he was a dog" with a helping of "nuh uh" ?   I kinda miss those days.  Days when politicians seemed to understand that the appearance of being a person of character was an important thing.  Those days when you had unsavory conversations about your motivations for drafting hateful legislation with your wife over the dinner table, ya'll knew that it would be imprudent to discuss those motivations or conversations with reporters.  When wanna be prezzies didn't bone some groupie 45 minutes after meeting her and then hire her for some made up job just to keep her on the campaign trail with you . . .. and you surely never never never made a video documenting your sexual encounters . . . because back then, you knew that eventually, the video would be found and made public.

Two, when did we become a society so undiscerning that we accept some one's two day old twitter apology?  I'm sorry .  . . if you publicly call some college kid a slut and demand videos of her sexual encounters, if there be any, in a national forum, and then spend two days riding the attention wagon you got from your rant .  .  . a twitter apology or posting some shit on your facebook page isn't actually an apology.  It's a plea for more attention and lame attempt to keep the story alive. 

Now, I have some bushes to hide in and a garden hose to point.

Allergy prevention, right.

I've been all itchy for the foods of spring and summer.  I have snipped back my basil already . . . my mint . . . I need to snip the oregano so I can start drying it.  The cilantro is ready for some salsa.  I have tiny little tomatoes on my plants . . . and this time next week, I'll be picking snow and snap peas on the regular.

But, our tailgate farmer's market hasn't opened for the season yet.  This morning, I rerouted my normal drive to the office just to see if anyone was doing business.  And, there was one lone old guy.  He had some plants and some pecans and jars of his home produced honey.  I bought a large jar.  As I walked back to my car, I thought "Huh, I'm too cheap to buy a new thermometer which would cost all of $2, but I'll happily pay $6 for honey to support my local farmers." 

I guess I know my priorities.  And, I should suck it up and get a new thermometer.

Super Pro

Today I witnessed someone being more than a professional.  It was a thing of beauty.

I stopped of at a grocery store to pick up more eggs and cream to make a second attempt on creme brulee for ESK's birthday.  (Yesterday's attempt didn't turn into custard.)  As I was in the only open check out lane, I noticed that the guy two people ahead of me was being very chatty with both the girl working the register and the guy in front of me.  It all seemed very small town pleasant.

As he stepped away from the line, I noticed him step over to a display near the door.  But, it really looked like he was just getting change stashed in his pockets and arranging his bag for a walk to where ever.  Then, he stepped back to the register and said loudly "you short changed me. . . I gave you a ten and you only gave me a dollar and change back."  The check out girl apologized and looked at her register.  It was high tech enough that opening the draw wasn't something she could just do.  Then, she looked back at the man and said, "if I can see your receipt, I can punch in the transaction number and open my drawer."  He handed her the bag and said it was in there.  It wasn't.  She helpfully suggested that maybe he put it in his pocket?  And he fumbled around, you could see a fair amount of movement as he was pulling the paper out of his pocket . . . and there, tightly rolled up inside the receipt was a $5 bill.  She smiled sweetly and said "oh, there it is" and he acted shifty and tried to explain he didn't know how it got into his pocket and away from the rest of his change, sure he'd been busted.  And the girl just said "I'm sure it was a mistake.  I could have made the mistake, too.  I'm just glad you got your change." and the guy left.

As she turned to my purchases, she looked at me and rolled her eyes.

What a pro.

Drama Karma

You know that completely helpless feeling of knowing someone you care for deeply is about to do something completely foolhardy and with life-altering results and you can't do any thing about it?  Well, you could, but it would require you to violate your own personal rules of conduct and ethics and would most likely make the situation a whole lot worse any way?  Yeah.  That.

At least, none of the dramas in my life are my own.

Summer Preview

I know, it's only April, but I cannot wait for the change of season.  I tend to cook seasonally.  I make meat heavy pasta sauces and chili and stick to your ribs type foods in winter, and in summer it's veggie-palooza!

One of my favorite local farms got in touch with me the other day to let me know that this weekend, they will have english peas at their roadside stand.  (YAY!!!)  And, the unseasonably warm spring has me already wishing the parking lot farmer's market would go ahead and open.

This week, I made a quickie meal that will likely reappear several times this summer.  Once I can buy from the farmer's market, we switch over to eating ratatouille a lot, using what looked good at the farmer's market that week.  (Well, except for those few weeks when I gorge myself on fresh corn.)

I chopped up yellow and green squash, bermuda onion, a red bell pepper, and crimini mushrooms and tossed them with olive oil, salt, and pepper and roasted them just 15-20 minutes at 425 degrees.  I also boiled just shy of a box of penne pasta for about half the box recommended time.  When the pasta was drained, I tossed it with a little jarred marinara sauce.  Then, mixed in the partially roasted veggies.  I mixed in a couple handfuls of grated cheeses . . . I had provolone, mozzarella, and smoked gouda.  It went into a casserole dish and was topped with another, light, handful of each of the cheeses and a little Parmesan cheese.  I baked it 35-40 minutes at 350 degrees.

It was yummy . . . easy. . . cheap. . . nutritious. . . and made enough we can have left overs tonight.  And, this summer, will be a regular on our table.

End of the Semester Conversations

Ah, the end of the semester and time to bid farewell to our interns.  Over the years, I've made it my policy to save the ickiest conversations for the end.  I usually start off with a big wind up of "I just want to throw this out there . . . I don't really want you to react, just listen and consider it some time on your own."  And, then I try to share the tidbit of wisdom I hope will let them know that I noticed them, and have concerns for their future.

One year, I shared the rule of "once you break up with someone, neither they, nor their friends, ever get to see you naked again."  You wouldn't think that this is the sort of advice you'd have to share with a soon to be "responsible and educated" member of society.  But, you'd be surprised what the kids are getting into these days.

Today, I took one of our interns to lunch, all by herself.  And, while she picked at the bit of steamed rice and avocado she ordered, I gently suggested that she spend time considering her eating habits.  I gave a pretty academic run down of the various habits I'd noticed over the semester . . . like her obsession with body building women (pictures she posts daily on her tumblr), her habit of rattling off every single food item she'd eaten in the past 24-hours, and her uncanny knowledge of the various attributes of the various diet schemes (Jenny Craig vs. Nutrasystem, etc), and her claiming to be a vegetarian/vegan when she doesn't actually eat vegetables.  (I didn't bring up her ability to recall content on various "pro-ana" web sites, she did.)  I ended it with the line that sometimes, girls hide an eating disorder behind radical diets.

She didn't deny it.  I hope that's a good sign.

Family Vacation

Our best friends are fond of saying, as we gather around the holiday table with them, that they love having ALL of their family with them.  And, yes, the wine and this statement, gives me the warm fuzzies.  After all, family is more than who you were born to . . . it's who you love.

So, this summer, we are attempting a family vacation.  Phenom and Me, and our favorite 10 year old and her parents.  Of course, we're going to NOLA.  Largely, because the 10 year old has been begging us to take her when we go.  (And, we need her to start learning her way around so she can push that double wheel chair from bar to bar once we're too old to walk ourselves.)

When we first conceived of this plan, we had this nice list of places we wanted to see.  We also had passing concern that we would need to keep the young one occupied during what had usually been prime drinking hours.  We're planning on seeing flying, swimming, and wandering type animals . . . we have a list of restaurants we plan to visit. . . we will embrace the tourist activities we've always ignored in the past . . . we will ride the street car up and down . . . and I suspect we will run out of steam and time before activities.  And, everywhere you go has go cups, so there are still hurricanes on the menu.

Yumminess

Because I'm easily distracted, and I had the annual budget due, I worked from home Friday.  I know this sounds like a scam, much like earning a college degree "online."  But, I surprised myself with my good behavior.  I was up and had the computer on by 8am, and was down to serious work very quickly.  To further the illusion of a normal work day, I even met the SMLF for lunch.  On the way back from lunch, I decided to pop into a store and pick up some limes and club soda for Friday evening mojitos.  The store had good avocados on sale, so I picked up a couple extra items for some guacamole.

Phenom was greeted at the door with a bowl of chips and quac and a fresh mojito, featuring mint from my garden.

Because I had a couple extra jalapenos, I decided that I'd mix up some pizza dough.  Tonight, I made pizzas.  Phenom had his new favorite is pepperoni and jalapeno.  I had tomato, motz, and basil . . . BECAUSE I COULD PICK BASIL FROM MY GARDEN!!!!  (It makes me incredibly happy to have fresh basil in the garden.)  The trick to this pizza is that I have fresh basil between light layers of grated cheese, and then when the pizza came out of the oven, I sprinkled some fresh basil on top.

I also tried a new experiment, iced coffee.  I mixed nearly a gallon of water with 5 oz ground espresso and let it steep on the counter about 9-10 hours.  Then, I strained it.  I mixed a test glass with a spoonful of sweetened, condensed milk and the cold brew.  It's pretty darn tasty.  I'm thinking a slug of Kahlua and it will make a delightful ice pop.

I blame Merle Norman

In the office the other day, we had a conversation inspired by a letter to some 3rd tier advice columnist.  The writer was concerned that her young daughter was feeling peer pressure to wear make-up.  And, young meaning 6-8 years old. 

We talked about how old we were when we started getting our own make-up collections.  I remember being given a "shrimp pink" avon lipstick by a kindly woman . . . as if giant pink monkey lips would help me blend in with you humans better (well, it was before the days of Melanie Griffiths).

Then, a couple years after the Old Folks took me into their home, I was taken to Merle Norman for a "make over" by the Old Woman.  This old lady with caked on make-up, powder, and 14 shades of blue eye shadow piled the make up on me.  I remember asking the Old Woman to take me home immediately so I could wash my face.  Which, looking back, is probably exactly what the Old Woman was shooting for.

I loved mascara and lipstick when I was younger.  Even today, I am never far from a lip gloss. 

When I graduated from college, I owned several mascaras, a couple eye shadows, and several lipsticks and a powder. 

Today, I have two bags full of liquid latex, fake blood, white and green and flesh colored stage make-up, all left over from the last zombie apocalypse dry run.

Memory Lane

I'm spending a lot of time in memories lately.  This was brought on by the memorial of my dear friend who died suddenly last month.  Driving 10 hours and spending an hour and a half at the service was physically and emotionally exhausting.  But, I think it's what I needed.  I also find it interesting that the style of worship I appreciate most is the silent worship of the Friends . . . given how much I talk otherwise.

I was pleased that it was standing room only at the service.  I think it must be comforting to his family to see that so many people made the effort to come spend time remembering this person we all loved.  And, unlike the funeral I attended a couple years ago for a work colleague that left me wondering why I'd never met the person who knew her more intimately knew, it seems from this memorial that we all knew, appreciated, and loved the same person.

Also, this past weekend, the sister of an old friend got married.  I knew this friend when she was a child.  She is the oldest of the children in her family, and it's been fun to watch these children grow up.

Yesterday, while washing strawberries in advance of a meeting, I was reminded of when the young woman, now a bride, was expected.  My friend, her sister, was too young to really understand the concept of gestation and waiting for the baby to arrive.  So, her parents told her that "when the strawberries are here, the baby will come."  Story has it, one morning, my friend came running into her parents' bedroom holding up two, tiny, green strawberries she'd found in the garden (apparently, a morning ritual her parents had previously been unaware of) and insisted that it was time to go to the hospital and get the baby.

I hope she had strawberries at her wedding.  Or on her cake.

Fanning Fires

I've mentioned that I've had a long standing flirtation with mail carriers.  It dates back to the days when I was first taken in by the Old Folks.  It doesn't matter if the carrier is male or female, gay or straight . . . although I have drawn the line at criminal and/or smarmy.  I suppose one could over think it and say something about the correlation between a nice human bringing me "gifts" and me returning it with overt kindness.  But, let's not.

A couple of years ago, the joke started in our office that the UPS guy had a crush on me.   He would linger in the office, make chit-chat.  Then, he started bringing me my home delivery packages when he had an office package.  Then, he started lingering on our doorstep with packages for Phenom.  Nothing creepy, but kinda sweet.

Last week, Phenom was off whacking tennis balls, and I was hanging out with Chester when the UPS truck pulled up in front of our house.  I knew it was the UPS truck immediately, because Chester always goes nuts.  I went around the house to see my favorite UPS guy in our front yard.  I had to sign for the package, and he joked that he should card me because he thought it might be wine.  I told him it was beer.  He looked at me sideways, and I explained that I'd given Phenom a "beer of the month club" membership for valentine's day.  I'm pretty sure the look on his face was a crush turning into pure love.

But, some how, I don't think Phenom has anything to worry about.  A dude in a uniform never really did anything for me.

Your moment of "awww"

This past weekend, Phenom treated me to a quickie trip to NOLA for my birthday.  Pretty much, we both needed a couple of days to just get drunk and eat and be unfettered by deadlines, email, and work.  It was lovely.  (And, I got a shiny trinket that catches the light and keeps me entertained.)

We are big fans of spending afternoons on bar stools and chatting up the bartender or other patrons.  We met a grandfather from Atlanta who was screamingly funny.  We met a young attorney from DC who had ducked out for a wander around his old college stomping grounds while his wife and 6 month old baby caught a nap.  The great majority of the folks we chat up are funny, interesting, and well worth the afternoon tab. 

We have one particular bar where we always have our "last drinks."  We have known the bartender, Glenn, for years.  He knows how I like my bloody marys.  On this last morning of drinks, we were seated with an older couple (and by older, I suspect they had at least 15 years on me).  They both seemed more than familiar with the staff and area, so frequent visitors to NOLA.  The husband thought himself quite amusing and would "crack jokes" loudly.  Thing was, he was more crude than amusing.  I really didn't need to hear about the mints he bought his wife to make oral sex tastier for her.  I didn't really appreciate (as I'm sure Glenn agreed) his observation as to how Glenn got to be so skilled at shaking drinks.

His wife feigned being embarrassed by his boorishness, but she tittered right along with him.  We pretty much ignored him, hoping that he'd get the message.

As we were leaving, the boor called out to the Phenom and asked if I were "wife or girlfriend"? 

Phenom said "both, and best friend" as he put his arm around me and we wandered out into the harsh sunlight and the taxi back to the airport.

Culinary Feats

Several of the SMLF are members of our local Jr. Service League.  Which means, I'm the proud owner of the Jr. Service League Cookbook.  While browsing through it, I was struck by how many recipes called for canned soup.  Thing is, there are very few applications in which I like canned soup, and Phenom doesn't much care for casseroles. . . so there is rarely canned soup in our house.

As a culinary experiment, I decided that tomorrow night, I will make dinner totally from the Jr. Service League Cookbook.  If you combine my food snobbery and Phenom's "selectiveness" this is a harder project than you might think.

Here's the menu:

Healthy Chicken Nuggets (I'm using tenderloins for ease) with honey mustard or spicy BBQ sauce.  Toss tenderloins in olive oil and press bread crumbs mixed with some Parm into the tenderloins.  Bake at 425, 10 -15 minutes.  I have some left over herbed bread sticks that I dried out in the oven and will make into bread crumbs and of course I have some decent Parm.

Steak Fries.  Peel and cut up several large potatoes, toss in olive oil, seasoning, and bake with tenderloins.

Broccoli Salad (classic southern fare)  Cut up 2-3 crowns of broccoli, chop a red onion, and mix dressing: 1/2 cup mayo, 1/3 cup sugar and mixing in one tablespoon at a time, 3 tablespoons of cider vinegar.  Mix all together and stash in fridge for several hours.  Just before serving, mix in some crumbled bacon and golden raisins.  (You can also add in cauliflower, but I'd let it sit in the fridge over night then.)

Easy Turtles.  Take several pretzel butter snaps (square, crosshatch design) and spread them out on some parchment covered cookie sheet.  Top each snap with an unwrapped rolo candy.  Bake 225 for 5 minutes and then gently press into each one a toasted pecan.  I made a test batch today, and I think I'll sprinkle a little sea salt on them after I put the pecan on.  I think they just need an extra hint of salt.  Let them cool some before eating . . . they will be messy otherwise.

Not So Deep or Dark Secret

The other day, in the office, ESK and Baby (the name we've assigned to one of the interns) and I were talking about upcoming events, and making note of when deliveries are expected to the office.  I mentioned that I have a personal item being delivered to the office.  And, somehow, we ended up talking about the days when I had something of an Ebay habit.

ESK and Baby were aghast as I described how the bidding on Ebay was too much like gambling for me to resist and how I tended towards vindictive bidding when someone got into a bidding war with me.  And, how finally,  had to close out my paypal account and just walk away, cold turkey.

Thing I found amusing was that ESK was surprised by this.  I mean, really, after 5 years this would surprise her?

But, since our conversation, all I can think about, today, is just checking out Ebay.  Just see what there is . . .

FINALLY

When we moved to this little culinary hell, we left a community with curb-side recycling.  This place . . . well a few years ago when the state mandated that certain recyclable items not be thrown away, they had to hastily set up two dumpsters for folks to use for those items.  They weren't emptied often enough and the openings for dumping into were well above my head.

And, last night, the city dropped off a curb side recycling container!!!!!  We have, FINALLY, joined the 20th century!  Of course, they gave no instructions other than a sticker listing the items they now recycle on top of the container.  Nothing about when pick up will be, or what have you.

But, now they will take the cornucopia of recyclables.  When I mentioned to Phenom to put the foil from tonight's dinner prep in the recycle bin instead of the trash, I got lip about how we don't want to go "too crazy" and "recycle too much."

In the words of the Old Woman, WHATEVER.

The Friendly Thing To Do

With a fair amount of sadness, I am preparing to attend the memorial service of my dear friend who passed away, suddenly, earlier this month.  In the first several days after his death, I checked his facebook page (and that of his mother's) several times a day.  Seeing the messages of condolence trickle in made me feel better that others were grieving the loss of our friend.  Some folks posted memories, others posted pictures.  Probably one of the best things about our electronic world is how memorials can be created for all to see and share.

One aspect of our early days, my friend and I, was our exposure to the Friends (or Quakers) as a religion.  His was much more formal than mine, but there was enough to set us apart from our peers and bind us together.  He returned to the practice as an adult.  My local Friends meeting is more oriented towards anti-war activism, a cause I believe in but isn't really what I need for spiritual retreat.  His memorial will be in the style of the Friends.

Everyone will have their opportunity to share a memory, words of calm and peace, poetry, music, or what moves them in the moment.  I expect it will be an afternoon both laughter and tears.

I've made a hotel reservation so I can spend the night.  I don't want to be rushed as I grieve and say good bye. But, I've also let my friend's mother know I have an extra bed if someone else needs a place to stay in order to attend.  I'm pretty sure my friend would approve.  And, selfishly, I really want as many people as possible to take the time to attend.  I want his mother, his wife, his children to know that we share their grief, that he won't be forgotten, and that we are a community for them.