Sometimes I am such a delinquent. Or procrastinator. Or as one of my friends says "slack tart."
Whatever term best applies, here are my thoughts on the Oscars and the Red Carpet.
First of all, huge props to the hubby for tolerating the pre-Oscars show with me. As I explained to one bored daughter that the Oscars are the Super Bowl of the movies. Thus it was imperative that we watch and see what all the stars were wearing. And I insisted that once Billy Crystal did the opening, we could watch something else.
It seems I lied. We managed to watch most of the awards show. I had a terrible time staying awake until the end though!
Best dressed? I'm certainly no expert on fashion. Heck, I have a closet full of black stuff because it makes getting ready every morning easier. But in my opinion, Penelope Cruz exemplified what a Hollywood starlet looks like. A very close second goes to Octavia Spencer wearing a gorgeous gown--not too revealing and not too much. Just classic elegance.
As for the men? I have sentimental favorites. George Clooney always seems to pull of the part of a debonair bachelor just fine. And this year Christopher Plummer gets a nod from me because he certainly made a statement in his navy velvet tux.
I didn't get a chance to see all the movies that were up for awards; I rarely do. But I have to say that I am pleased by the winners for best supporting actor/actress, best actor/actress and best movie. The fact that a black and white silent movie would win in 2012? It seems like such an unusual choice. Which means I must take the time to see The Artist for myself.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Quoteworthy
I used to just read books. Now I read and take notes as I go. Sometimes certain lines just jump out at me. . .like I need to write them down so I can remember them. Other times it is a line from a movie that resonates. Maybe it made me pause to think for a moment. Maybe it made me laugh.
I have a variety of little notes here and there, little snippets of paper with a quote that seemed important enough to commit to memory.
I stumbled across one today while cleaning out my desk. One quote written on the back of a to-do list from 4.5 years ago.
The quote?
"Sometimes we don't do things that we want to do so that others won't know that we want to do them."
It's from The Village. And how true is it? We can all think of times when we chose NOT to do something that we really wanted to do because we knew that if we did it, people would make assumptions or draw their own conclusions. And what if they did? What if they came to an absolutely true conclusion?
On a much lighter note, I often use this one on my kids when they make bad choices:
"The felonies just keep pilin' up!" It comes from the movie Just Like Heaven, which by the way is probably about my favorite movie ever. For a while I was watching it on an almost weekly basis. You should watch it too.
My list of great quotes goes on and on and on. I'll have to think about this some so I can narrow down the list to just a few really really good ones to share.
I have a variety of little notes here and there, little snippets of paper with a quote that seemed important enough to commit to memory.
I stumbled across one today while cleaning out my desk. One quote written on the back of a to-do list from 4.5 years ago.
The quote?
"Sometimes we don't do things that we want to do so that others won't know that we want to do them."
It's from The Village. And how true is it? We can all think of times when we chose NOT to do something that we really wanted to do because we knew that if we did it, people would make assumptions or draw their own conclusions. And what if they did? What if they came to an absolutely true conclusion?
On a much lighter note, I often use this one on my kids when they make bad choices:
"The felonies just keep pilin' up!" It comes from the movie Just Like Heaven, which by the way is probably about my favorite movie ever. For a while I was watching it on an almost weekly basis. You should watch it too.
My list of great quotes goes on and on and on. I'll have to think about this some so I can narrow down the list to just a few really really good ones to share.
Monday, February 27, 2012
The House That Built Me
I guess it's only fitting that I tell about the house that we lived in when I was a little girl. My first home was home for just 15 months; of course I have no memories of that one. But when I was 15 months old we moved into a 2 bedroom brick house just outside of city limits. For mom it was like moving out to the country. She was used to being in the middle of the city.
My sister and I shared a bedroom. I have vague memories of a patterned grey wool carpet in our bedroom. One night we slept on our mattresses on the floor just before we got new carpet in our bedroom. There was a spot on the wall where the paint had chipped off, or been chipped off by one of us girls? It looked like a crocodile's head. When it was time for bed we took the family dog in with us; he always slept with his head toward my sister and I got left with the back end. That was one point of argument; we were full of reasons to argue, like most kids. Supposedly my sister and I even argued in our sleep. I remember many nights turning in my bed so that my head was at the foot of my bed so we could talk. And then we'd get the reminder "go to bed girls!"
When I was really little there were ceiling to floor curtains in the living room. They covered one window, the rest of that wall, around the corner and over to the other window. My sister and I got caught playing in them once. Well, she didn't get caught. But I was stuck in the curtains and couldn't find my way out so I got the lecture on not playing in the curtains.
Our backyard was very well shaded. The driveway was lined with maple trees. The yard was fenced in and just to the rear of the yard there was a huge tulip poplar tree. We were able to play outisde all summer long and not get too tanned thanks to all that shade. Sometimes we played "Little House on the Prairie" dressing up in our long dresses and sunbonnets. The picnic table was our wagon and the reins were attached to a fence pole.
Once in a while my mom would make us a tent in the backyard. She'd put an old sheet over the clothesline and drive clothespins through it to hold the tent down on the ground. We'd put a quilt on the ground and have lunch in our tent. If the weather was rainy and dreary, Mom would pitch a tent in the unfinished basement. She had a clothesline down there too; she used grey tape to anchor the sides there.
For the longest time we had just one full bathroom--with a tub, no shower. I remember dad putting in the shower in the basement but I hated to use it because the basement scared me. My sister was supposed to stay with me but she would get bored fast and head back upstairs. (Hmmm, this sounds like something my girls would do) When my sister started high school my parents finished off the bathroom in the basement and added a bedroom for my sister. Having two bathrooms sure made it easier for us to all get out of the house in the morning.
My parents house always made me feel safe, secure and loved. My parents were very black and white about things and for the most part we could expect that whatever we were asked to do there was my parents way to do it or my parents way to do it. No need to ask questions. Just do it and be done. My parents tell the story about my dad telling my sister "you'll do it, like it or not." She was just a little thing but she looked up at Dad and said "I don't like it." But she did it.
My house and my upbringing fit me. Maybe it wouldn't work for everyone. But it gave me what I needed. I can only hope that my girls will look back on their homeplace and feel the same.
My sister and I shared a bedroom. I have vague memories of a patterned grey wool carpet in our bedroom. One night we slept on our mattresses on the floor just before we got new carpet in our bedroom. There was a spot on the wall where the paint had chipped off, or been chipped off by one of us girls? It looked like a crocodile's head. When it was time for bed we took the family dog in with us; he always slept with his head toward my sister and I got left with the back end. That was one point of argument; we were full of reasons to argue, like most kids. Supposedly my sister and I even argued in our sleep. I remember many nights turning in my bed so that my head was at the foot of my bed so we could talk. And then we'd get the reminder "go to bed girls!"
When I was really little there were ceiling to floor curtains in the living room. They covered one window, the rest of that wall, around the corner and over to the other window. My sister and I got caught playing in them once. Well, she didn't get caught. But I was stuck in the curtains and couldn't find my way out so I got the lecture on not playing in the curtains.
Our backyard was very well shaded. The driveway was lined with maple trees. The yard was fenced in and just to the rear of the yard there was a huge tulip poplar tree. We were able to play outisde all summer long and not get too tanned thanks to all that shade. Sometimes we played "Little House on the Prairie" dressing up in our long dresses and sunbonnets. The picnic table was our wagon and the reins were attached to a fence pole.
Once in a while my mom would make us a tent in the backyard. She'd put an old sheet over the clothesline and drive clothespins through it to hold the tent down on the ground. We'd put a quilt on the ground and have lunch in our tent. If the weather was rainy and dreary, Mom would pitch a tent in the unfinished basement. She had a clothesline down there too; she used grey tape to anchor the sides there.
For the longest time we had just one full bathroom--with a tub, no shower. I remember dad putting in the shower in the basement but I hated to use it because the basement scared me. My sister was supposed to stay with me but she would get bored fast and head back upstairs. (Hmmm, this sounds like something my girls would do) When my sister started high school my parents finished off the bathroom in the basement and added a bedroom for my sister. Having two bathrooms sure made it easier for us to all get out of the house in the morning.
My parents house always made me feel safe, secure and loved. My parents were very black and white about things and for the most part we could expect that whatever we were asked to do there was my parents way to do it or my parents way to do it. No need to ask questions. Just do it and be done. My parents tell the story about my dad telling my sister "you'll do it, like it or not." She was just a little thing but she looked up at Dad and said "I don't like it." But she did it.
My house and my upbringing fit me. Maybe it wouldn't work for everyone. But it gave me what I needed. I can only hope that my girls will look back on their homeplace and feel the same.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The House that Built Dad
I really wish I could remember more about my dad's house. I've been by it several times. It has grey siding and white trim. A quiet unassuming little home.
I have very distant memories of being in it just after my aunt and uncle moved out of it. The house was small. There was a large kitchen, a front room, a small bathroom and a bedroom. Maybe there was another bedroom upstairs? I don't even remember being upstairs.
Mostly I just remember the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling in the kitchen. And I remember a lot of aqua. Certinaly the whole house wasn't painted aqua but it is the one color that stands out from that visit. Perhaps the bathroom or the front room was a different color--pink or yellow?
In the early years of dad's life there wasn't a bathroom. They had an outhouse. That still amazes me.
My dad is the youngest of six children. Their father was killed in an acccident a few months before my dad was even born. His mama was left to raise her kids in a country that was still new to her even though she had been here some ten years by then.
When my dad's Mama died, everything in the house ended up going to my dad's brother. There are few items that the kids have to hold onto from their days in that house. I don't have any idea what happened to those few precious items. And I guess it isn't really all that important. It's just stuff. The one piece that my dad had in the attic for years was Mama's sewing machine. I hoped to get it one day. But he passed it along to his sister. One of her kids helped to restore it. I got a chance to see it the other day. It is beautiful now. But even better was the smile on my aunt's face when we were all oooo-ing and ahh-ing over it.
Just as my mom's house built her, my dad's house built him. The lessons were similar--work hard, do your best and pray. He learned that it's not the material things that make you. It's the way you live that makes you.
Humble beginnings. Strong life lessons. A prince of a dad.
I have very distant memories of being in it just after my aunt and uncle moved out of it. The house was small. There was a large kitchen, a front room, a small bathroom and a bedroom. Maybe there was another bedroom upstairs? I don't even remember being upstairs.
Mostly I just remember the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling in the kitchen. And I remember a lot of aqua. Certinaly the whole house wasn't painted aqua but it is the one color that stands out from that visit. Perhaps the bathroom or the front room was a different color--pink or yellow?
In the early years of dad's life there wasn't a bathroom. They had an outhouse. That still amazes me.
My dad is the youngest of six children. Their father was killed in an acccident a few months before my dad was even born. His mama was left to raise her kids in a country that was still new to her even though she had been here some ten years by then.
When my dad's Mama died, everything in the house ended up going to my dad's brother. There are few items that the kids have to hold onto from their days in that house. I don't have any idea what happened to those few precious items. And I guess it isn't really all that important. It's just stuff. The one piece that my dad had in the attic for years was Mama's sewing machine. I hoped to get it one day. But he passed it along to his sister. One of her kids helped to restore it. I got a chance to see it the other day. It is beautiful now. But even better was the smile on my aunt's face when we were all oooo-ing and ahh-ing over it.
Just as my mom's house built her, my dad's house built him. The lessons were similar--work hard, do your best and pray. He learned that it's not the material things that make you. It's the way you live that makes you.
Humble beginnings. Strong life lessons. A prince of a dad.
Friday, February 24, 2012
The House That Built Mom
My mom used to take us for a drive past the house she was born in. I never could quite get the lay of the land on those drives. The houses all looked alike to me. I remember one drive where she was baffled because the house she was born and raised in had a second floor--and she knew it was a one story house when she lived there. A man came out in the yard and invited her in to see her old house. But since he was a stranger, she just couldn't bring herself to go inside.
One day I went driving around for myself and I found her old house. It appeared to be vacant. It had the look of a sad old house that needed love.
Some time after that I took a drive past it again. This time there were people there--a small crew of guys doing renovations to the house. I told Mom about it and asked if she might like to go with me the next day to see her old house.
And we did.
In hindsight I realize just how crazy it was. My mom, pushing 70 yrs old, approached a man at the back of the house and told him "I was born in this house. Is there any chance I could take a quick look around?"
He hesitated, as he should.
Another man in the house heard the question and gave her clearance to look around. If I remember correctly, he hinted that it was probably not the best idea and that he could probably get in trouble since he wasn't he property owner but what the heck.
In she went. After a few minutes she came back out and then we both went in to look around. She showed me where the kitchen was, the bathroom, the room that she shared with her two sisters, the bedroom she was born in, and where the stairs had been added to give another 2 large bedrooms.
It was good to see the house where Mom was built. She was born during a flood and has a great a story about how they accidentally flooded the bathroom that day. Her parents were hard working German stock. Nana was musical and Papa was a hard hard worker who knew no limits. He had been injured when he was in his twenties and lost the use of his right arm. Yet his family always had a home, clothes and plenty to eat.
I've been by the house many times since that day with my mom. It was a simple house back when my mom lived there, certainly nothing flashy. Woodframe house with siding. Two "front doors" and a back door. In spite of the work done over the last ten years it still looks old and sad. It has old white aluminum siding and black shutters. It just looks like it needs a little facelift. But the lessons that Mom learned in that house--work hard, try your best and always say your prayers--those stand tall and strong even now. And those are the lessons she passed down to her own children and grandchildren.
One day I went driving around for myself and I found her old house. It appeared to be vacant. It had the look of a sad old house that needed love.
Some time after that I took a drive past it again. This time there were people there--a small crew of guys doing renovations to the house. I told Mom about it and asked if she might like to go with me the next day to see her old house.
And we did.
In hindsight I realize just how crazy it was. My mom, pushing 70 yrs old, approached a man at the back of the house and told him "I was born in this house. Is there any chance I could take a quick look around?"
He hesitated, as he should.
Another man in the house heard the question and gave her clearance to look around. If I remember correctly, he hinted that it was probably not the best idea and that he could probably get in trouble since he wasn't he property owner but what the heck.
In she went. After a few minutes she came back out and then we both went in to look around. She showed me where the kitchen was, the bathroom, the room that she shared with her two sisters, the bedroom she was born in, and where the stairs had been added to give another 2 large bedrooms.
It was good to see the house where Mom was built. She was born during a flood and has a great a story about how they accidentally flooded the bathroom that day. Her parents were hard working German stock. Nana was musical and Papa was a hard hard worker who knew no limits. He had been injured when he was in his twenties and lost the use of his right arm. Yet his family always had a home, clothes and plenty to eat.
I've been by the house many times since that day with my mom. It was a simple house back when my mom lived there, certainly nothing flashy. Woodframe house with siding. Two "front doors" and a back door. In spite of the work done over the last ten years it still looks old and sad. It has old white aluminum siding and black shutters. It just looks like it needs a little facelift. But the lessons that Mom learned in that house--work hard, try your best and always say your prayers--those stand tall and strong even now. And those are the lessons she passed down to her own children and grandchildren.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Great Scot!
I know I had a very good upbringing. I was safe. My parents instilled in me the appropriate fear of strangers without making me terrified. It was a simpler time.
When we were little kids my parents shopped at Great Scot in town. We had a store that was a little closer to us but we always drove into town for the week's groceries.
I loved going to Great Scot. They had a window where you would watch them decorate cakes. It was exciting to get to take a break from the drudgery of shopping and go watch the guys and girls make magic. They worked with such ease, even as a crowd would gather. They iced the cakes at lightening speed, smoothing it across the cake and leveling out the canvas that the cake would be. Then they got busy making flowers and writing the message.
What strikes me now about this memory are two things:
1) I don't know of a grocery store in town now that has a window for customers to watch as cakes are decorated. Pity.
2) My parents allowed me to separate from them to go to the bakery counter to watch them decorate cakes. Sometimes we'd ask to make the split just after we passed the soda aisle. . .and Mom would let us. A simpler time. A time when parents could feel safe letting their kids wander off to the bakery department and not worrying about anyone trying to snatch them.
When we got to the checkout, we'd look for Bonnie's lane. She was a gorgeous African-American lady (or should I say black? My friend Karen would say "black"). She was tall and a bit thick but she carried it so well. She always had a smile for us. It felt like she was a friend of the family.
Yup, a blessed childhood. Even the trips to the grocery store are remembered fondly.
When we were little kids my parents shopped at Great Scot in town. We had a store that was a little closer to us but we always drove into town for the week's groceries.
I loved going to Great Scot. They had a window where you would watch them decorate cakes. It was exciting to get to take a break from the drudgery of shopping and go watch the guys and girls make magic. They worked with such ease, even as a crowd would gather. They iced the cakes at lightening speed, smoothing it across the cake and leveling out the canvas that the cake would be. Then they got busy making flowers and writing the message.
What strikes me now about this memory are two things:
1) I don't know of a grocery store in town now that has a window for customers to watch as cakes are decorated. Pity.
2) My parents allowed me to separate from them to go to the bakery counter to watch them decorate cakes. Sometimes we'd ask to make the split just after we passed the soda aisle. . .and Mom would let us. A simpler time. A time when parents could feel safe letting their kids wander off to the bakery department and not worrying about anyone trying to snatch them.
When we got to the checkout, we'd look for Bonnie's lane. She was a gorgeous African-American lady (or should I say black? My friend Karen would say "black"). She was tall and a bit thick but she carried it so well. She always had a smile for us. It felt like she was a friend of the family.
Yup, a blessed childhood. Even the trips to the grocery store are remembered fondly.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
I love little baby ducks, old pickup trucks. . . .
Ah the good old days. Back when they wrote songs that made sense.
I love Tom T. Hall. The storyteller.
Tom T. Hall was always my dad's kind of music. When we would run errands as a family my mom and sister were always the ones to run in the store to pick up whatever we needed. Dad and I would sit in the car and listen to the a.m. radio. Almost always it was a country station.
What a sweet song, right? Who can argue with:
"I love honest open smiles, kisses from a child, tomatoes on the vine, and onions
I love winners when they cry, losers when they try, music when it's good, and life
And I love you too"
Of course you can't actually turn the song into a bedtime lullaby. You can't exactly sing "I love coffee in a cup, little fuzzy pups, bourbon in a glass. . . ." I mean, no matter how true it might be for you (and it isn't for me) I just don't think you can get away with bourbon as your lullaby.
But for me, Tom T. Hall singing "I Love" is pretty much like a lullaby. A reminder of days long past. When things were simpler. Days when my dad and I just hung out singing along to the radio.
Good stuff.
I love Tom T. Hall. The storyteller.
Tom T. Hall was always my dad's kind of music. When we would run errands as a family my mom and sister were always the ones to run in the store to pick up whatever we needed. Dad and I would sit in the car and listen to the a.m. radio. Almost always it was a country station.
What a sweet song, right? Who can argue with:
"I love honest open smiles, kisses from a child, tomatoes on the vine, and onions
I love winners when they cry, losers when they try, music when it's good, and life
And I love you too"
Of course you can't actually turn the song into a bedtime lullaby. You can't exactly sing "I love coffee in a cup, little fuzzy pups, bourbon in a glass. . . ." I mean, no matter how true it might be for you (and it isn't for me) I just don't think you can get away with bourbon as your lullaby.
But for me, Tom T. Hall singing "I Love" is pretty much like a lullaby. A reminder of days long past. When things were simpler. Days when my dad and I just hung out singing along to the radio.
Good stuff.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
I got my cow!!!
And it is awesome. I now have in my freezer a basket full of super lean ground beef and in the compartment next to that basket and below that basket are a variety of roasts and steaks. My parents went in on this cow with me so I don't have quite as much as I thought I might get but it's all good.
The trip to pick up the meat was a good one. Two of the kids got to go with us; unfortunately the youngest couldn't go because she had already made plans to go to her best friend's birthday party. She had a great time there and we promised her that we'll go back to the farm another time so she can meet all the animals.
Speaking of animals, the city slickers thoroughly enjoyed meeting the donkey, the four miniature horses and feeing the baby goat. The little goat wouldn't nurse so he is bottlefed twice a day. He wasn't due for a feeding but he got a two bottle snack anyway so that the girls could feed him. We also got to spend a little time with Lexie, the Siberian Husky. She was beautiful!
Back to the cow. . . we made chili using some of the super lean ground beef. It was awesome. I guess it's only polite to share the recipe we use, right?
1.5 lbs lean ground beef
1/2 onion, diced (optional--sometimes I use onion powder for flavor w/o onion pieces b/c kids don't like onion pieces)
2 cans diced tomatoes
1 large can or 2 small cans Brooks chili beans (you choose how hot)
1 small can tomato paste
1 small can tomato sauce
1 can Coke or Diet Coke
Generous amount of ketchup
liberal shake of chili powder
Brown the beef in a large pan. Add onion (or onion powder) along with diced tomatoes, chili beans, tomato paste, and tomato sauce. We put a litlte water in each can to rinse it but pour that rinse water into the soup. Add a generous amount of ketchup (I'm guessing 1/2 to 1 cup) and stir. Then add the chili powder. I can only guess at the amount here--probably a tablespoon? Once that is all stirred together, add the can of Coke or Diet Coke. Let simmer at least 30 minutes.
My girls love shredded cheese with their chili. One is especially fond of oyster crackers in her soup.
Nothing like a bowl of chili on a cold day. If only we were having some cold days. .
The trip to pick up the meat was a good one. Two of the kids got to go with us; unfortunately the youngest couldn't go because she had already made plans to go to her best friend's birthday party. She had a great time there and we promised her that we'll go back to the farm another time so she can meet all the animals.
Speaking of animals, the city slickers thoroughly enjoyed meeting the donkey, the four miniature horses and feeing the baby goat. The little goat wouldn't nurse so he is bottlefed twice a day. He wasn't due for a feeding but he got a two bottle snack anyway so that the girls could feed him. We also got to spend a little time with Lexie, the Siberian Husky. She was beautiful!
Back to the cow. . . we made chili using some of the super lean ground beef. It was awesome. I guess it's only polite to share the recipe we use, right?
1.5 lbs lean ground beef
1/2 onion, diced (optional--sometimes I use onion powder for flavor w/o onion pieces b/c kids don't like onion pieces)
2 cans diced tomatoes
1 large can or 2 small cans Brooks chili beans (you choose how hot)
1 small can tomato paste
1 small can tomato sauce
1 can Coke or Diet Coke
Generous amount of ketchup
liberal shake of chili powder
Brown the beef in a large pan. Add onion (or onion powder) along with diced tomatoes, chili beans, tomato paste, and tomato sauce. We put a litlte water in each can to rinse it but pour that rinse water into the soup. Add a generous amount of ketchup (I'm guessing 1/2 to 1 cup) and stir. Then add the chili powder. I can only guess at the amount here--probably a tablespoon? Once that is all stirred together, add the can of Coke or Diet Coke. Let simmer at least 30 minutes.
My girls love shredded cheese with their chili. One is especially fond of oyster crackers in her soup.
Nothing like a bowl of chili on a cold day. If only we were having some cold days. .
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Moooooooo!
I have to get my freezer organized. For years I have been telling my husband that I wanted to buy a side of beef or split it with another family. I tried to sell him on the economics of buying beef in a large quantity and not having to pay so much per pound at the grocery store.
Well, I finally convinced him when a cousin posted on her Facebook page that she had 1/4 cow that she needed to sell off. It is homegrown beef at an amazing price. Lots of good lean ground beef along with steaks and roasts.
It's a win win win in so many ways.
I get excellent beef from a farmer I know. It's hormone free. It is more or less local; I have no idea how far the cow in the grocery store has travelled before landing on my plate for dinner. Plus, it will be in my freezer so I'll be able to cut the weekely grocery bill. Along with the fact that the price per pound is way better than I could ever get at the grocery store.
I feel so lucky that everything came together so easily for this. I've never wanted to approach any of my farming cousins to ask about getting my beef from them. I just love knowing that I'm getting exactly what I want out of the deal. . .if I just went and got a side of beef, could I possibly know that it was hormone free?
So today's big task will be to get the freezer ready. I gave away a 23 lb turkey a few days ago to make room. But we'll have to move some things around too. I cannot wait to have the problem of too much cow in my freezer!
Well, I finally convinced him when a cousin posted on her Facebook page that she had 1/4 cow that she needed to sell off. It is homegrown beef at an amazing price. Lots of good lean ground beef along with steaks and roasts.
It's a win win win in so many ways.
I get excellent beef from a farmer I know. It's hormone free. It is more or less local; I have no idea how far the cow in the grocery store has travelled before landing on my plate for dinner. Plus, it will be in my freezer so I'll be able to cut the weekely grocery bill. Along with the fact that the price per pound is way better than I could ever get at the grocery store.
I feel so lucky that everything came together so easily for this. I've never wanted to approach any of my farming cousins to ask about getting my beef from them. I just love knowing that I'm getting exactly what I want out of the deal. . .if I just went and got a side of beef, could I possibly know that it was hormone free?
So today's big task will be to get the freezer ready. I gave away a 23 lb turkey a few days ago to make room. But we'll have to move some things around too. I cannot wait to have the problem of too much cow in my freezer!
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
We can't be this old. . .
Oy this is not a fun topic. But this week I have been reading obituaries. It all started when I saw condolences on a friend's facebook page. So I checked the obituaries. Saw another high school classmate's dad had died. And then another obit caught my eye; he was just 59. I know his son too.
We are too young to lose our parents. I say that knowing that 3 of my closest friends from my high school days have already lost a parent or two. But now the parents are slipping away from us at a faster pace.
And yet they won't be with us forever. They can't be. What a silly notion.
My parents are in their seventies. I cannot even imagine the day when they are not here. My dad has lost all of his brothers already. His sisters and all his sisters-in-law are still here. My mom still has all her siblings.
What will my world be without them? Frightening notion to say the least.
Today I have to stop in the funeral home after work. I don't want to do it. Who ever does. But it is important. And I know it. So I will go to see someone I haven't seen in years and try to find the right words.
And again tonight I'll be thanking my lucky stars that I have my parents. And praying that I get to keep them here for years to come.
This can't be happening.
We are too young to lose our parents. I say that knowing that 3 of my closest friends from my high school days have already lost a parent or two. But now the parents are slipping away from us at a faster pace.
When we were teens, we felt like we couldn't get away from them. . .and they would be with us forever.
And yet they won't be with us forever. They can't be. What a silly notion.
My parents are in their seventies. I cannot even imagine the day when they are not here. My dad has lost all of his brothers already. His sisters and all his sisters-in-law are still here. My mom still has all her siblings.
What will my world be without them? Frightening notion to say the least.
Today I have to stop in the funeral home after work. I don't want to do it. Who ever does. But it is important. And I know it. So I will go to see someone I haven't seen in years and try to find the right words.
And again tonight I'll be thanking my lucky stars that I have my parents. And praying that I get to keep them here for years to come.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Happy Heart Day!
Since we celebrate a birthday just before Valentine's Day it can be a struggle to get excited about another holiday. We have a heart wreath on the door. There are some red and white Valentine towels in the powder bathroom. And there are Valentines to send to school.
But it never was a huge holiday for me. I'm not a fan of flowers and especially not a dozen long stemed red roses on a made up holiday.
It's not that I'm anti-flower entirely. I like surprise flowers that are cash and carry on a Friday (for a lot less money!) I totally get the reason for flowers being so expensive for Valentine's Day. I just prefer jewelry. Pricey? Yes. But it lasts forever. (Except of course for that one ring I lost while pregnant--8 months pregnant and the ring slid right off my absolutely NOT swollen finger. Devastating. At least that was a ring I had paid for long before meeting my husband. He can't say that I lose jewelry he gives me). Flowers as a symbol of my "undying love" just makes me giggle. What happens to those roses in just a few days? They are withered and dropping petals all over the desk. Not fabulous.
On the other hand, jewelry gets expensive times 4 in my house. So I look for something different to do for my girls. Sometimes we do heart shaped pizza. Or we share conversation hearts with the right message. Last year I made my own conversation hearts to post on their bedroom doors. They had a series of compliments written just for them. They had fun reading through what I love about each of them. That one might be tough to top. . .unless it's jewelry of course!
At the moment, I'm not sure what Valentine's surprise we'll have at our house. Apparently my husband and kids have something cooked up for dinner tonight. We'll see. . .
But it never was a huge holiday for me. I'm not a fan of flowers and especially not a dozen long stemed red roses on a made up holiday.
It's not that I'm anti-flower entirely. I like surprise flowers that are cash and carry on a Friday (for a lot less money!) I totally get the reason for flowers being so expensive for Valentine's Day. I just prefer jewelry. Pricey? Yes. But it lasts forever. (Except of course for that one ring I lost while pregnant--8 months pregnant and the ring slid right off my absolutely NOT swollen finger. Devastating. At least that was a ring I had paid for long before meeting my husband. He can't say that I lose jewelry he gives me). Flowers as a symbol of my "undying love" just makes me giggle. What happens to those roses in just a few days? They are withered and dropping petals all over the desk. Not fabulous.
On the other hand, jewelry gets expensive times 4 in my house. So I look for something different to do for my girls. Sometimes we do heart shaped pizza. Or we share conversation hearts with the right message. Last year I made my own conversation hearts to post on their bedroom doors. They had a series of compliments written just for them. They had fun reading through what I love about each of them. That one might be tough to top. . .unless it's jewelry of course!
At the moment, I'm not sure what Valentine's surprise we'll have at our house. Apparently my husband and kids have something cooked up for dinner tonight. We'll see. . .
Monday, February 13, 2012
Happy Birthday Baby Girl!
It's been eleven years. I clearly remember walking out the back door of my house 1 day with daughter number 1 holding my hand. She was my mini-me. Very verbal litle girl who loved to be with her mama. And I remember thinking, what have I done? How will our world change when this new baby gets here?
Baby girl, oh my she was a big baby girl. We didn't find out what we were having until she arrived. We called her "Moose Baby" for the longest time. Made me feel terrible when the doctor told me: "It's a girl. Wow. She's a big girl too. Someboday weigh that girl!"
Oops. Moose isn't exactly the right nickname for a girl.
She was big. Biggest baby in the nursery for a few hours. Another girl from work had her baby that afternoon and hers was a whopping 1 oz bigger than my girl.
My baby girl started her time on earth with dark brown hair. After spending a week at the beach when she was a toddler, her hair was white blond. So pretty. But wow, did she stick out in the family pictures. All the rest of us had dark brown hair and then theire she was--shocking white blond!
She is fiercely determined. She is smart. She is a problem solver. She is a force to be reckoned with. Always has been. She has never been content to just sit and wait for things to happen. She works to make sure it happens. She is my grocery store helper, always willing to run errands with me and keep me on track. She recently started playing piano. She is a phenomenal little musician. I'm so proud of her.
As for her sister? She adapted. She's still my mini-me. But it turns out I can have more than one mini-me. They each have their own role in our family and their own little piece of my heart.
Happy Birthday Baby Girl!
Baby girl, oh my she was a big baby girl. We didn't find out what we were having until she arrived. We called her "Moose Baby" for the longest time. Made me feel terrible when the doctor told me: "It's a girl. Wow. She's a big girl too. Someboday weigh that girl!"
Oops. Moose isn't exactly the right nickname for a girl.
She was big. Biggest baby in the nursery for a few hours. Another girl from work had her baby that afternoon and hers was a whopping 1 oz bigger than my girl.
My baby girl started her time on earth with dark brown hair. After spending a week at the beach when she was a toddler, her hair was white blond. So pretty. But wow, did she stick out in the family pictures. All the rest of us had dark brown hair and then theire she was--shocking white blond!
She is fiercely determined. She is smart. She is a problem solver. She is a force to be reckoned with. Always has been. She has never been content to just sit and wait for things to happen. She works to make sure it happens. She is my grocery store helper, always willing to run errands with me and keep me on track. She recently started playing piano. She is a phenomenal little musician. I'm so proud of her.
As for her sister? She adapted. She's still my mini-me. But it turns out I can have more than one mini-me. They each have their own role in our family and their own little piece of my heart.
Happy Birthday Baby Girl!
Friday, February 10, 2012
So I read this book. . . and I think you'd love it!
I had this notion that I'd write about my favorite book.
As if I had a favorite book
As if I could narrow it down to one.
That's a task almost as hard as coming up with a top 5 of music!
Some books are amazing because they get you thinking. Others are amazing because they make bring understanding. Others are amazing because they let you escape from life for a while.
My most recent "amazing read" is a little book called What's the Economy for Anyway? It challenges the idea of a growing GDP as a sign of a healthy economy. It suggests that we need to look at what will give the greatest good for the most people in the economy. The authors look at Bhutan and their economic measure known as Gross National Happiness. I was so intrigued by that one I had to look it up. You can see it here.
I never saw the movie PS I Love You. But I did read the book. I loved it. I laughed. I cried. It reminded me that even when it's really hard to keep going and keep growing, that's what we have to do. Cecelia Ahern has become one of my favorite writers. Good common sense quotes pop out of her writing.
A list of favorite books would not be complete without Sundays at Tiffanys by James Patterson. It's about a little girl's imaginary friend. A friend who comes back to her after she is a grown woman. Beautiful story written in typical James Patterson form--short chapters but almost every chapter is a cliff-hanger!
If you love the imaginary friend concept, Cecelia Ahern's book If You Could See Me Now should be on your reading list as well. In this story the imaginary friend, Ivan, shows up thinking he is there for Luke, the little boy in the house, but soon learns he has been assigned to the Elizabeth--Luke's aunt. It's a sweet story but not sappy. It wasn't like PS I Love You but it had a great message.
So there you go. . .4 of my favorite books. Just 4 from a very long list of favorite books!
As if I had a favorite book
As if I could narrow it down to one.
That's a task almost as hard as coming up with a top 5 of music!
Some books are amazing because they get you thinking. Others are amazing because they make bring understanding. Others are amazing because they let you escape from life for a while.
My most recent "amazing read" is a little book called What's the Economy for Anyway? It challenges the idea of a growing GDP as a sign of a healthy economy. It suggests that we need to look at what will give the greatest good for the most people in the economy. The authors look at Bhutan and their economic measure known as Gross National Happiness. I was so intrigued by that one I had to look it up. You can see it here.
I never saw the movie PS I Love You. But I did read the book. I loved it. I laughed. I cried. It reminded me that even when it's really hard to keep going and keep growing, that's what we have to do. Cecelia Ahern has become one of my favorite writers. Good common sense quotes pop out of her writing.
A list of favorite books would not be complete without Sundays at Tiffanys by James Patterson. It's about a little girl's imaginary friend. A friend who comes back to her after she is a grown woman. Beautiful story written in typical James Patterson form--short chapters but almost every chapter is a cliff-hanger!
If you love the imaginary friend concept, Cecelia Ahern's book If You Could See Me Now should be on your reading list as well. In this story the imaginary friend, Ivan, shows up thinking he is there for Luke, the little boy in the house, but soon learns he has been assigned to the Elizabeth--Luke's aunt. It's a sweet story but not sappy. It wasn't like PS I Love You but it had a great message.
So there you go. . .4 of my favorite books. Just 4 from a very long list of favorite books!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Gonna take a sentimental journey. . .
A few days ago a friend commented that as she gets older, she gets less sentimental. Can't say I'm the same. I think I'm more sentimental now than I was a few years ago. My Nana's birthday was a few days ago; it's hard to believe she's been gone now for 9 years. I've been wearing her ring nonstop for the last few months. As though somehow it keeps her closer to me.
Nana was a character. She was a cleaning fiend. Mess was simply not tolerated. She kept her house so clean you could have eaten off the floors. Including the garage floors. Yup, she mopped them the same as the house floors. After all, the garage was attached so any dirt on the garage floor was going to be tracked into her kitchen and that was just not acceptable.
Nana lost her mother when she was just a child. She became responsible for helping take care of the family at a very young age. But it wasn't all bad for her. Her family had incredible muscial talent. Saturday nights the family would get together for a jam session. They had all the instruments covered. I'm told she played the bass fiddle when she was little. They all played "by ear." After her family was full grown she took piano lessons for herself because she always wanted to learn to read music. She could play piano and organ like nobody's. business!
"Hold That Tiger" was one of my favorites to hear her play. I guess she'd been playing that one since she was a kid. My best memories of her are from the big holiday gatherings where people would call out songs and she'd play them. They were all "old" songs by the time I came along but I loved them. The story goes that she was convinced to play at a family gathering. So she played several songs until one of my little cousins looked at her and said "Play Wheels and then stop!"
So I leave you with the Peter Posa playing Wheels. Not quite the same as hearing Nana play it on organ but it's a great piece of music either way.
Nana was a character. She was a cleaning fiend. Mess was simply not tolerated. She kept her house so clean you could have eaten off the floors. Including the garage floors. Yup, she mopped them the same as the house floors. After all, the garage was attached so any dirt on the garage floor was going to be tracked into her kitchen and that was just not acceptable.
Nana lost her mother when she was just a child. She became responsible for helping take care of the family at a very young age. But it wasn't all bad for her. Her family had incredible muscial talent. Saturday nights the family would get together for a jam session. They had all the instruments covered. I'm told she played the bass fiddle when she was little. They all played "by ear." After her family was full grown she took piano lessons for herself because she always wanted to learn to read music. She could play piano and organ like nobody's. business!
"Hold That Tiger" was one of my favorites to hear her play. I guess she'd been playing that one since she was a kid. My best memories of her are from the big holiday gatherings where people would call out songs and she'd play them. They were all "old" songs by the time I came along but I loved them. The story goes that she was convinced to play at a family gathering. So she played several songs until one of my little cousins looked at her and said "Play Wheels and then stop!"
So I leave you with the Peter Posa playing Wheels. Not quite the same as hearing Nana play it on organ but it's a great piece of music either way.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Flush away!
I think I have a new favorite thing in my life.
And I'm not being sarcastic. Remember, that's not me.
But recently my septic tank went on the fritz. For Super Bowl weekend.
Who wants to call a plumber out to check that on Super Bowl Sunday? Thanks to the neverending generosity of my parents we were able to get showers at their house. And we did laundry at their house. We were able to kill the environment a little using paper plates and plastic cups. And ahmmm, well we planned bathroom trips. Nothing brings a family together like "I think I'm going to head to the bathroom. . .anyone else? Who wants to go first?" so we could conserve flushes. And we saved some money by waiting until Monday morning to call the plumber.
I am undoubtedly a city slicker. Even though I grew up outside city limits and have lived all but about 4 years of my life outside the city, I have had city water and city sewer for the great majority of my life. When we built our house we were able to tap into city water but no city sewer. I was not happy. But everyone told me that a septic tank isn't bad. And since it would be a new tank, no worries. We'd be years down the road. . .maybe even dead before that septic tank had problems.
Sad to report that I have heard the alarm on the tank go off three times in the last eight months now. First time it was full. Second time indicated a problem. We called someone out and it was allegedly fixed. Until the alarm went off again just a few days later.
It's funny. You just don't know what you've got until it's gone. And not being able to use much water is a tough. I say I could live without electricity (yeah, right up until I don't have power then I'd rethink that statement). And I know I can live without any water coming out of the faucet because at least I can buy water at the store. But when you can't flush or do laundry or wash dishes or take showers. . .well, there's the proof that I never could have been Laura Ingalls Wilder after all.
And I'm not being sarcastic. Remember, that's not me.
But recently my septic tank went on the fritz. For Super Bowl weekend.
Who wants to call a plumber out to check that on Super Bowl Sunday? Thanks to the neverending generosity of my parents we were able to get showers at their house. And we did laundry at their house. We were able to kill the environment a little using paper plates and plastic cups. And ahmmm, well we planned bathroom trips. Nothing brings a family together like "I think I'm going to head to the bathroom. . .anyone else? Who wants to go first?" so we could conserve flushes. And we saved some money by waiting until Monday morning to call the plumber.
I am undoubtedly a city slicker. Even though I grew up outside city limits and have lived all but about 4 years of my life outside the city, I have had city water and city sewer for the great majority of my life. When we built our house we were able to tap into city water but no city sewer. I was not happy. But everyone told me that a septic tank isn't bad. And since it would be a new tank, no worries. We'd be years down the road. . .maybe even dead before that septic tank had problems.
Sad to report that I have heard the alarm on the tank go off three times in the last eight months now. First time it was full. Second time indicated a problem. We called someone out and it was allegedly fixed. Until the alarm went off again just a few days later.
It's funny. You just don't know what you've got until it's gone. And not being able to use much water is a tough. I say I could live without electricity (yeah, right up until I don't have power then I'd rethink that statement). And I know I can live without any water coming out of the faucet because at least I can buy water at the store. But when you can't flush or do laundry or wash dishes or take showers. . .well, there's the proof that I never could have been Laura Ingalls Wilder after all.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Sarcasm?
In my real life interactions I am sometimes told that I'm so sarcastic. And that it's hilarious. And I can be. I know. I had a student one time tell me that I was the most sarcastic teacher he had ever met. My response?
"Ya think?" Said with a smile and a little laugh.
For the record, I work with the big kids. The ones who drive cars, vote and have jobs. . .the ones who know everything and are quick to point out their parents' faults. They are the kids who are old enough to "get" sarcasm. They can appreciate it and laugh along with it. They are pretty good at figuring out when I'm serious and when I'm sarcastic. Sarcasm does not work with the younger crowd. Bless their little hearts, they need kindness and love without having to try to figure out "Does she really mean that?"
I would assume that any readers I have are old enough to "get" when I am being sarcastic as well. However, I am intensely concerned how the written word might come across to readers who do not know me. I have a quote from a book I read last year that I keep next to my computer "The written word is perilous, as you can't always guarantee your words will be read in the spirit in which they were written." (Jojo Moyes The Last Letter From Your Lover.) Some of the most successful bloggers provide sharp-witted sarcastic retellings of events in their lives. One side of me would love to think that people would be interested enough in what I have to say that they'd stop in daily to check on me and my life. But another side of me is concerned that we don't need another brash sarcastic retelling of life.
For that reason I'm willing to keep my sarcasm for real life and keep my writing here focused more on the positive things. Memories of my "Leave it to Beaver" or "Father Knows Best" upbringing. Recipes from my family. And my own reminders of my favorite things.
"Ya think?" Said with a smile and a little laugh.
For the record, I work with the big kids. The ones who drive cars, vote and have jobs. . .the ones who know everything and are quick to point out their parents' faults. They are the kids who are old enough to "get" sarcasm. They can appreciate it and laugh along with it. They are pretty good at figuring out when I'm serious and when I'm sarcastic. Sarcasm does not work with the younger crowd. Bless their little hearts, they need kindness and love without having to try to figure out "Does she really mean that?"
I would assume that any readers I have are old enough to "get" when I am being sarcastic as well. However, I am intensely concerned how the written word might come across to readers who do not know me. I have a quote from a book I read last year that I keep next to my computer "The written word is perilous, as you can't always guarantee your words will be read in the spirit in which they were written." (Jojo Moyes The Last Letter From Your Lover.) Some of the most successful bloggers provide sharp-witted sarcastic retellings of events in their lives. One side of me would love to think that people would be interested enough in what I have to say that they'd stop in daily to check on me and my life. But another side of me is concerned that we don't need another brash sarcastic retelling of life.
For that reason I'm willing to keep my sarcasm for real life and keep my writing here focused more on the positive things. Memories of my "Leave it to Beaver" or "Father Knows Best" upbringing. Recipes from my family. And my own reminders of my favorite things.
Monday, February 6, 2012
How do you thank someone who doesn't realize her importance? (aka "To Sir~~Um, Ma'm, With Love" part 2)
Last week I saw my vocal music teacher from elementary school at the grocery store. It's the only place I ever run into her. It always starts off as an awkward conversation that goes like this:.
Me: Excuse me. . .ahmmm, I think I know you. (Hmm, what am I supposed to call her? I know her last nane changed but never can remember it. . .and I sure can't call her Sara even though I know her by that name too)
Her: Oh?
Me: Yes, You were my choir teacher in grade school. I'm (then stumble to say my maiden name instead of married name) I was the younger sister.
Her: Oh yes! How are you? How's your mom?
We chatted for a while. I introduced my girls to her. (She said they didn't look like me which was so funny to hear since some people refer to each of them as my mini-me's) My girls have heard all about my choir teacher and they know what a great experience I had at my elementary school I tried so hard to tell her how much I appreciate all the work she put in all those years working on music programs for Christmas and in the spring along with the play every year. She just poo-pooed my gushing saying "It was so much fun. I loved the kids. We had a great team. It was fun. The kids were great and we loved every minute of it."
What on earth can you say to that?
Sitting here writing this I truly have a wave of emotions come over me. Because of this woman and the team of great people she worked with, I learned to waltz in third grade as part of a skit we did for music night. We were waltzing at Cinderella's Ball. She gave me the chance to play piano during one of the scene changes at one of the annual music nights. She let me sing a duet for the Christmas Wassail in eighth grade. And I still got a duet for Music Night my eighth grade year.
The hours she spent before school and after school and during lunch to get us ready for shows. . .it just amazes me. There was no extra money in it. She did it out of love of music and love of us kids.
It doesn't get much better than that. It can't get much better than that.
We parted ways that afternoon, me with a slight lump in my throat that I couldn't quite explain to my kids. I was so blessed to have good teachers who loved us and loved their jobs.
Bless you Mrs. H and your former teammates for giving us so much.
Me: Excuse me. . .ahmmm, I think I know you. (Hmm, what am I supposed to call her? I know her last nane changed but never can remember it. . .and I sure can't call her Sara even though I know her by that name too)
Her: Oh?
Me: Yes, You were my choir teacher in grade school. I'm (then stumble to say my maiden name instead of married name) I was the younger sister.
Her: Oh yes! How are you? How's your mom?
We chatted for a while. I introduced my girls to her. (She said they didn't look like me which was so funny to hear since some people refer to each of them as my mini-me's) My girls have heard all about my choir teacher and they know what a great experience I had at my elementary school I tried so hard to tell her how much I appreciate all the work she put in all those years working on music programs for Christmas and in the spring along with the play every year. She just poo-pooed my gushing saying "It was so much fun. I loved the kids. We had a great team. It was fun. The kids were great and we loved every minute of it."
What on earth can you say to that?
Sitting here writing this I truly have a wave of emotions come over me. Because of this woman and the team of great people she worked with, I learned to waltz in third grade as part of a skit we did for music night. We were waltzing at Cinderella's Ball. She gave me the chance to play piano during one of the scene changes at one of the annual music nights. She let me sing a duet for the Christmas Wassail in eighth grade. And I still got a duet for Music Night my eighth grade year.
The hours she spent before school and after school and during lunch to get us ready for shows. . .it just amazes me. There was no extra money in it. She did it out of love of music and love of us kids.
It doesn't get much better than that. It can't get much better than that.
We parted ways that afternoon, me with a slight lump in my throat that I couldn't quite explain to my kids. I was so blessed to have good teachers who loved us and loved their jobs.
Bless you Mrs. H and your former teammates for giving us so much.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Who knew? (I really want to make that "Cu Knew" but that wouldn't make sense until after you read this)
A while back the kids had school but we parents had the day off so we were able to enjoy a leisurely lunch at Biaggi's. We don't often eat out but I convinced my husband that he would love it. And he did. He raved about how good the whole meal was but he was especially pleased with the "cucumber thing." That meant I would have to find a way to duplilcate it. I don't for one minute claim mine is as good as theirs. But I can get kids to eat cucumbers when I make this.
Cucumber Salad
3-4 cucumbers, peeled, sliced, and seed removed
2-3 slices of onion (dice them)
1/4 c sugar
1/4 c vinegar
sprinkle salt and white pepper
I mix the sugar, vinegar, salt and pepper first so it can start blending while I slice and dice onions and cucumbers
.
Mix it all together and refrigerate. This is one of those things that is always better the next day. One of my girls has it as an after school snack, an addition to breakfast and even as a bedtime snack. Who knew fresh cucumbers and vinegar could be so good, even to kids?
.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
One Pot Lasagna
Sometimes we get stuck in food ruts. So I have to go searching for different meals for the family. I came across one that was called something like one skillet lasagna. I printed it off then went home and made something different. Oh I started to follow the printed recipe but I couldn't use celery or mushrooms and I didn't have all the ingredients on hand so I substituted here and there. What follows is our version of a One Pot Lasagna. We make it using a copper bottom stock pot. I'll warn you, the pan gets a little nasty everytime we make it but thanks to hubby and the amazing powers of both baking soda and a brillo pad, we get it clean again.
3-4 full size carrots, shredded
1 medium onion, diced
1-2 teaspoons of crushed garlic (from a jar and worth every penny I spend for it)
EVOO
Sautee the carrots, onions and garlic in evoo in the stock pot
When the onions are transparent add:
1 can petite diced tomatoes
1 large can "traditional" spaghetti sauce (Hunt's or Del Monte)
1 cup water
Spice it up. . .we put in about 1 tablespoon of sugar along with a teaspoon or so of crushed red peppers. You might also add oregano. I'l be honest here, for me, adding spices is about shaking some in until it looks and smells right. I give conservative estimates for you so you won't end up with something too hot to eat.
Once the sauce is good and hot, add your pasta. You can use regular or "no cook" lasagna. Break the strips into 1-2" long pieces and add to the sauce. It should be covered by sauce but do not mix it in thoroughly. Let cook for 12-15 minutes so the pasta cooks through.
Finally, reduce heat, stir the lasagna all together then add 1-2 cups of shredded mozzarella cheese. Cover so the cheese can melt.
We often eat this as a no meat alternative but if I happen to have some extra ground beef I will occasionally add it in when I put the sauce together. It doesn't look as pretty as a slice of lasagna on a plate but for the time investment, it's worth the trade off. This meal can be put together in about 30 minutes whereas "real lasagna" takes longer and means more dirty dishes.
Little secret--my mom hates cooked carrots. But she loves this meal. It's gotten to the point that I tell her at the beginning of the week what's on our menu so she and Dad can plan to join us. They rarely pass on this meal :-)
Friday, February 3, 2012
Super Bowl Snacks!!!
I was stumped. I'm really not a fan of football (shhhh, don't tell anyone that I said that!) And I'm on the eternal quest to lose weight. I've also put the entire family on a "healthier eating program" by making slight changes without telling them.
So what is a girl to do when she has a football loving husband and a family that loves any excuse to eat?
I turned to Google which led me to The Food Network. I am settling for these:
Since cucumbers are a hit with some members of the family: Cuke with a Kick Finger Sandwiches
And just for snacking on all evening:
Spiced Mixed Nuts
And likewise for snacking on:
Cheesecake Brownies
Yeah, that should do it. Along with some pizza. And nachos. Right?
So what is a girl to do when she has a football loving husband and a family that loves any excuse to eat?
I turned to Google which led me to The Food Network. I am settling for these:
Since cucumbers are a hit with some members of the family: Cuke with a Kick Finger Sandwiches
And just for snacking on all evening:
Spiced Mixed Nuts
And likewise for snacking on:
Cheesecake Brownies
Yeah, that should do it. Along with some pizza. And nachos. Right?
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Ahhhhhhhh! Nothing like a fresh clean soul!
A few weeks ago my youngest had her First Confession. It's a tough thing to do. . .go to an adult and admit your wrongs to receive absolution. And yet she was so excited about it. She couldn't wait for that "fresh clean soul" feeling. In talking with adults, lapsed Catholics and no-longer-believers, I have heard learned that many adults either never had that feeling after confession. How sad.
My daughter's teachers did a great job preparing her for her first confession. They talked it up. I talked it up. Hey, how else can you convince someone that it's a good thing to sit down face to face with a priest and tell him what you have done wrong?
But it is a good thing. It's hard. It's humbling. Sometimes there are tears involved.
And when you hear those words "You are absolved of your sins" it is like magic.
That was evident in the wide smiles and light steps of those little second graders as they each returned to their seats that day.
Those little ones understand how important it is to talk to God. God does not hold grudges. God wants them to recognize when they hurt themselves or others and make amends. God loves them.
Bless those little angels. May they remember confession as a good experience and choose to go frequently.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
I.Made.The.Cut. Yay me!
Facebook claims that it will not tell when you leave someone out--whether it's blocking from a status update or denying access to a photo album.
I call bull.
Once upon a time you could quietly hide your activity from others. There was no marker for the world to see when you did that. Just some people mysteriously got very little info on your life. Convenient? You betcha. Sometimes it's awkward to deny that friend request but you have no plans to share that much of your life with some people, right?
Then came a round of "improvements" from the world of Facebook.
Yes, "improvements."
Now for better or worse you can see just who all those status updates are meant for. . .not by a listing but you can see whether it was shared with "friends" or "friends of friends" or "public" or my personal favorite "custom."
I'll admit it, most of mine are "custom." Just because I accepted you as a friend doesn't mean that you need to know everything about me. Sorry. That's just the way it goes. Please don't be upset. Chances are I haven't shared everything in real life either--and chances are you would actually be thankful to know that you've been left out of some of it. It's not about keeping anything from you in particular. It's just no point in boring you with all of it.
When I see "Custom" it always makes me feel a little bit like Charlie Sheen. I may not have Tiger Blood or Adonis DNA but I can be Winning! If one of my friends has chosen to limit who has access to his or her life and I have made the cut, well, it's a cause for celebration. Break out the party music and sing along: "Celebrate good times, come on!"
I don't even care who was actually left out of the update. I don't feel superior to them. I just get great joy that I have been included in that little tidbit of someone's life. Maybe it was pictures of the family's new home. Maybe it was pictures of the kids at a program (aren't they precious!) Maybe it was pictures of your birthday cake~~and you let me see how old you really are. (Yay!! Celebrate every birthday you get to have!!!! Rejoice in another year with your friends and family!)
But I digress. I.made.the.cut. And that is a cause for celebration in my little world.
I call bull.
Once upon a time you could quietly hide your activity from others. There was no marker for the world to see when you did that. Just some people mysteriously got very little info on your life. Convenient? You betcha. Sometimes it's awkward to deny that friend request but you have no plans to share that much of your life with some people, right?
Then came a round of "improvements" from the world of Facebook.
Yes, "improvements."
Now for better or worse you can see just who all those status updates are meant for. . .not by a listing but you can see whether it was shared with "friends" or "friends of friends" or "public" or my personal favorite "custom."
I'll admit it, most of mine are "custom." Just because I accepted you as a friend doesn't mean that you need to know everything about me. Sorry. That's just the way it goes. Please don't be upset. Chances are I haven't shared everything in real life either--and chances are you would actually be thankful to know that you've been left out of some of it. It's not about keeping anything from you in particular. It's just no point in boring you with all of it.
When I see "Custom" it always makes me feel a little bit like Charlie Sheen. I may not have Tiger Blood or Adonis DNA but I can be Winning! If one of my friends has chosen to limit who has access to his or her life and I have made the cut, well, it's a cause for celebration. Break out the party music and sing along: "Celebrate good times, come on!"
I don't even care who was actually left out of the update. I don't feel superior to them. I just get great joy that I have been included in that little tidbit of someone's life. Maybe it was pictures of the family's new home. Maybe it was pictures of the kids at a program (aren't they precious!) Maybe it was pictures of your birthday cake~~and you let me see how old you really are. (Yay!! Celebrate every birthday you get to have!!!! Rejoice in another year with your friends and family!)
But I digress. I.made.the.cut. And that is a cause for celebration in my little world.
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