Category: My Husband Rocks

Stew Luxury

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Not many people like change. Very few people actually want to live outside of their comfort zone…at least not on a regular basis. Tonight’s dinner was all about reaching beyond the comfortable; moving beyond the typical. I don’t know what made me do it, but I wanted to make stew for dinner. I don’t make many soups or stews of any kind and I’m not exactly best friends with red meat. Like I said – way out of my comfort zone with this recipe. In addition, I did not want to make just any stew, but chunky, healthy, yummy beef stew since I haven’t been feeling well. No pressure! Thanks to the food network I made something I could dress up or down (read- make expensive or cheaper). Here is the luxury version and in parenthesis, the cheaper version. I went for a combination of the two. Kisa had seconds despite the fact he is a self-proclaimed squash hater.
Stew for You

  • olive oil
  • fresh, fragrant rosemary (dried)
  • flour
  • Spanish onion
  • fresh thyme (dried)
  • marsala wine
  • garlic, minced fine
  • butternut squash
  • sundried tomatoes, chopped (diced tomatoes)
  • beef broth (water)
  • stew beef cut into 2″ cubes, dredged in s&p and flour (cut into 1″ cubes)
  • portabella mushrooms, chopped (white button mushrooms)
  • parsley – fresh, chopped (fresh no matter what)
  • garlic bread

Butternut squash was an interesting twist, but you could go for standard-stew-inclusions like potatoes. I would like to try sweet potatoes in addition, or a combination of everything. I added the mushrooms even though they weren’t called for in the recipe. One other note – I would omit the salt in the beef dredge because the beef broth is salty enough (even if you use low sodium, which I prefer). Sop up the extra stew juice with the crusty garlic bread and enjoy a winter’s feast!

Wish You Were Here

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If I could sit beside you in a worn down diner, I would. We would sit at the cracked counter, balancing on wobbly, spinning stools and peer at the menu, already knowing what we want. Nowhere to put our coats and hats, we’d drape them over our knees. Before the day is over I would lose a glove, dropped to the snow-melted wet floor, trampled on before it’s even missing and missed. But, before then we would order plates of runny eggs and almost burnt toast. We’d let steaming cups of coffee sit untouched at our elbows, too hot to sip. Conversation would be silent because enjoying each others unusual company would be all we need. You would eavesdrop on the couple behind us, nodding knowingly; wise to their hushed argument about buying a bigger truck. The exclamation, an outburst of sorts, “but, it’s New England!” would make you smile small. The corners of your mouth would barely move, but the barely contained laughter would still show in your eyes. You want to say something, but would busy yourself with fixing my coffee the way I like it instead. You would even stop to test its temperature, your tongue knowing exactly how I can take it. “It’s cool enough” you would indicate with a small nod, pushing the cup towards me, eyes still laughing. Thank you, I would acknowledge you are right. Again. 
Getting up to pay the bill. That’s when I’d lose the glove. I wouldn’t notice it slide off my lap, bounce off the stool leg and land soundly in the cold puddle of slush created by my too-big black boots. Instead I would trudge my way to the cashier, my coat bunched under an arm. You hand over the check and wait for change. “Ready?” you would ask with your smiling eyes. Yes. And out of the diner we would go. If I could, I would.

Chourico Content

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For three months now I haven’t wanted to cook. I have come home feeling exhausted, worn down and depressed. Kisa asks a one-word question “pizza?” and my only response is another question “order out or make in?” I’m not feeling guilty about the laziness. We got a pizza stone and peel for our wedding and I truly enjoy making fresh pizza at home. But, but, but. It’s not what I consider cooking. I’m not really making anything when I lay down a crust with sauce and cheese.
Tonight, all that ended. I shook off the blues and I’m back in the kitchen. My first recipe to ring out the old year is chourico/turkey sub sandwiches in honor of the Saturday night Patriots game.
Ingredients:

  • chourico, red and spicy, stripped of casing and chopped small
  • ground turkey
  • sweet vidalia, chopped tiny
  • zesty tomato sauce
  • ruby red tomatoes, diced
  • crunchy, bright jalapenos (I cheated with jarred because I prefer my friend, Mrs ‘Fro), chopped smaller than small
  • dried oregano
  • sugar
  • black pepper (fresh cracked, of course)
  • tapioca
  • big black olives, sliced
  • monterey jack cheese, shredded
  • fresh, fresh, fresh rolls, guts taken out
  • crunchy tortilla chips (I like red hot blues)

I prefer to cook the turkey and chourico in batches, alternating between the two. End with a batch of turkey so it can soak up the crusty bits of chourico left behind. This method also gives the otherwise grayish turkey a deeper color. The whole thing stews for 6-12 hours so the flavors can have a lasting relationship and not just a one night stand. Serve with plenty of napkins and water for the wimps.

Seasick

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I want to say see you next year. I want to say maybe next time. I want to make promises I know I can’t keep. Life isn’t fair and Mother Nature is a cruel mistress. Next year my better half gets the call. I know what he will say. I know what he deserves to say. We aren’t going anywhere. It’s our turn to stay put. His family derves a merry christmas delivered on the right day, too.
I cannot make promises I shouldn’t keep. I cannot be unfair to my partner for life.
But, but, but. Know this – I was ready for you. I was ready to come back to you. For this first time in 15 years I was prepared to face all the haunts and hells of yesteryear. Just because it isn’t happening this year doesn’t mean I won’t be ready some other time. I will face you and I will win. Seasick or not, I will succeed.

Bright Lights

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This time of year is always so bittersweet for me. I ache for something I can’t really put my finger on. I have everything I need and get things I didn’t even know I needed. I am surrounded by love with every postage stamped surprise. Every house lights up the darkness with colors crazy and cheerfulness. I want to catch the lights, clutch them tight, and carry them through spring- carry them always.
That song about having yourself a merry little Christmas gets to me. “Soon we’ll all be together if the fates allow” is a sad line. The fates are cruel. Someone is always someplace else. Always. When I was younger I was selfish. I wanted every love of my life in one room, no matter what the cost. I was desperate to have my heart’s full, my soul’s content at Christmas. Greedy because I couldn’t decide. I wanted the best of both worlds and blood was not thicker that water, but just as equal as my essential life force. I needed them together.
Tonight we gathered with family. Twenty people young and old came together. Traditions celebrated and carried on. Did a sister know of the tears swallowed? Her gesture earned applause but really, really we wanted cry. We will not be all together ever again. Again, the fates won’t allow.

If Only

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On a paper place mat, in a restaurant in Rockland, Maine there was a story about never forgetting your loved ones. The place mat was scalloped edged and covered with squares of different ads in brown ink. Joe’s Towing Company (cartoon guy waving out a tow truck window), Andrea’s Flowers (drawing of roses in a vase), Fax It Fast! (stick figure running with paper in his balled hand), The Law Offices of Schwartz, Kaplan & Kirn (fancy scroll work around the phone number)…Hidden among the sales pitches were the words about not forgetting the loves of your life. Carry them still.

In the book I just finished, Boy’s Life, McCammon takes that place mat’s secret sentiment a step further, “I wish there was a place you could go and sit in a room like a movie theater and look through a catalog of a zillion names and then you could press a button and a face would appear on the screen to tell you about the life that had been. It would be a living memorial to the generations who have gone on before and you could hear their voices though those voices had been stilled for a hundred years” (p 346).
Imagine that for just a second, if you will. Imagine sitting in that dark, silent theater. The book of names on your lap. Before you open it, do you know who you want to see again? Do you know who shouldn’t be forgotten? Or, has it become too late and someone has slipped through the cracks of your memory and all you want is to be reminded again? Or, do you want to see someone you’ve never met? Me, I want to meet kisa’s paternal grandmother. I think it goes without saying that I want to meet my namesake. To hear her voice. There is a whole list of names I could push buttons for!

The place mat is long gone. The theater of memories doesn’t exist (yet). What will you do to keep loved ones who have been silenced alive?

Port

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I dreamed again of sailing away. I don’t know why cruise ships are my reoccurring objects of choice. Where am I going? Why can’t I stay?

Last night we argued about going, staying, returning. We weren’t really fighting, but rather frustrated. We weren’t angry just refusing to be audibly agreeable. There was no comfort in compromise because we wouldn’t come to it. Not without confrontation. Certainly not out loud. I know I say one thing and mean another weeks later. I know what I say is true for the moment the words are uttered. I know I frustrate you as much I frustrate me & myself. I know it sounds like lying when I change my mind to suit my heart.
When I said I didn’t want you there and that I would be happier without you that wasn’t a lie. Not at that moment it wasn’t. At that moment miserable me didn’t want to deal with unreasonable you. My understanding wasn’t adequate when arguing with you. Facing facts is hard when fixated on fantasy.

Today is a different story. I want us to sail away. Together. Let’s take that journey the best way we know how. Our plans are scattered, seat-of-our-pants as they say. Who cares? Coming. Going. Staying. Let’s play it by heart and see what happens.

This Old Post 12/8/95

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I want a love I can’t get from just anyone. To be hugged for no reason is a rare thing. It’s the little gestures. I could care less about gifts. I’m tired of it all and when I’m tired I tend to look at the should haves, could haves, would haves, if onlys. Oh Romeo, take me dancing. Keep me up for all hours of the night; make me feel I am worth all the late night hours. Have fun. Life as we knew it ended today. I want a drink. I want to make love to someone who whispers my name. I ‘d love a love so deep it forsakes everything else.

It is hard to believe 12 years have passed since I felt this, this…whatever. I don’t even know what to call it. The man I thought I knew admitted he was torn between love and hate of me. Yet, I stayed committed to being unwanted for no reason whatsoever. Even after moving on I was determined to play the fool.
What a difference a decade makes! I could kick my own self’s ass for being so silly. I could laugh in the face of such stupidity. Yet, those things were put in my way for a reason. Lessons to be learned and not lightly. Love is not to be awarded like a trophy just because you are gorgeous on the outside. Love is to be hard earned because you are beautiful on the inside. Instead of Work It Girl it’s Work For It. The relationships in my life didn’t love me like they should have because I didn’t. Respect didn’t walk in my door and own my pride. It took those silly, stupid moments for it all to make sense.

These days I have a love that forsakes all others. It dances me til dawn. I have it not because I deserve it, but because I earn it. Everyday.

Virgin Party

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This was my first time hosting something trivial, something small. The parties I have thrown in my life can be counted on one hand: a shower for my sister, my own wedding, my post race party and mom’s surprise party this past summer. Last night was different. It was the first time I had an intimate tv party for no reason at all.
Just the right amount of people came (the perfect people for such a party, I must add). It was fun to snack and laugh, saving the serious conversations for later. Just the right amount of food (although the meatballs with Parmesan crisps ran out). I loved making the pecan pie (my first) and Freezer Pie, but the sun-dried tomato/feta cheese ball was my favorite. Just the right amount of Merlot with beautiful but mismatched long stemmed wine glasses. Just the right amount of room in the cedar/pine scented living room (although we always have room for just one more). Just the right amount of coziness with the candles, candy and twinkle lights on the tree decorated with holiday cheer.
My mother-in-law brought her Brenda bag and I, my YouLookGuilty tee shirt (pic coming soon). We all hushed for the show but cheered for the Patriots (thank someone they won). As the night winded down, everyone was ushered out with a hug, chocolate covered pretzels and Mama’s Southern Pecan Pie recipe. Indy hid upstairs until every last guest was gone.
Finally, it was just kisa and I in the quiet. We cleaned the kitchen in tandem, taking turns opening and closing the dishwasher door; wiping down counters and hand-washing wine glasses.
As we turned off the Christmas lights, blew out the candles and turned down the heat I thought of Brenda when she said, “I don’t like it when I’m ordered to be festive.” Me neither so I’m glad last night was so much fun…naturally.

Christmas Waiting To Happen

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I want a real tree for Christmas – the smell of pine and cinnamon – traipsing through along the trails.
I want sequined soldiers and candy cane horses – twisting and shining on the limbs.
I want pastries warmed on the back of the stove – nothing sweet to catch fire.
I want my mother’s sweet potato casserole – you peel the potatoes, I’ll cut the apples.
I want giggling children excited by sleigh bells and flashlights – silly stories and big eyes.
I want warm blankets and fuzzy slippers to lose my toes in.
I want Silent Night sung by candlelight – a community drawn together by acceptance.
I want shadowy outlines of horses by dawn – their imaginary hoofbeats running over frozen ground, steam rising from flared nostrils.
I want to watch the winter surf with kisa by my side – my hand in his pocket, fingertips numb.
I want to count down the days – may they fly – by advent calendar of yesteryear.
To be HomeHome again. I’ll be there.

The Closer Getting Closer

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Just last night I was joking with the in-laws about the Closer House Party. I am nowhere near the House Partying kind of girl, but for what it’s worth, I’m getting excited. No one likes the Closer as much as my mother-in-law! She suggested a theme like chocolate…something about fondue. We were all giggles about a fondue fountain…and the fact that her bag looks exactly like Brenda’s.
Ironically, my Closer “swag” came today! The box included some really fun stuff: Closer napkins, Closer plates, Closer thank yew cards, a recipe for Mama’s Pecan Pie, a Closer Christmas wreath, a Closer tin of something yummy, A Closer DVD to watch before the show and…a “you look guilty” Closer tee shirt! The same thing I wanted to buy when it first came out! The whole package was a great surprise!

So now, I’m rethinking the menu. My father-in-law is an amazing cook. He’s offered to make something…I just might have to tell people to come hungry, hungry, hungry!

9 days to go!

Happy Thanksgiving

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Happy Thanksgiving!This will be short and sweet because I’m supposed to be mashing sweet potatoes right now. My father-in-law’s special request.

This is the time to be thankful for everything you have in your life and this is my list:

  • I am thankful for my husband. Kisa is truly my Knight In Shining Armor
  • I am thankful for my health.
  • I am thankful for my family (but miss them terribly).
  • I am thankful for my job as stressful as it is right now. I truly have my dream job, right dad?
  • I am thankful for my friends. I think I surround myself with the best of the best.
  • I am thankful for the music that sustains me.
  • I am thankful for my angels. You know who you are.

So, give thanks for everything you have in your life. In this past week I have learned that life is hard. Life can be a tragedy. The trick is to stay strong. Lean on the people who love you. Love the life you live and live it like it’s your last because you never know.

Dump

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Old stuffed animals, dog-eared books, ugly clothes, ill-fitting shoes, broken clocks, cracked wine glasses, faded photos, ancient journals, moldy pillows, unfashionable scrunchies, crusty paint cans, tangled wedding decorations, 80’s cassettes, warped bed frames, paint-peeled doors, cantankerous poster frames, clunker phones, ripped wrapping paper, lost-love letters, dark forever floor lamps, wax coated candle holders, tacky knickknack things, mismatched earrings, unflattering sweaters, I could go on and on.

Kisa and I worked in the basement for the entire day. Stripping away six years of collected junk. Hauling it up the stairs, throwing it on the lawn. Opening unmarked boxes, relabeling bins, finding old treasures. For every one thing thrown away another thing was carefully repacked. Everything in its place, either out the door or saved for another time.

It felt much like cleaning out the heart. I have held on to things for too long, much too tightly. My grip killed the reasons for keeping. I’m glad I let go.

I May Know

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There are those commercials that talk about depression. You know, the ones that describe days when you don’t want to do anything? You don’t feel like eating, there’s nothing good on television, no one you want to talk to (text maybe), no desires except maybe to sleep for days on end. I wondered aloud to my husband if maybe, just maybe, that was my problem. Maybe I was depressed. Or maybe just indifferent to my here and now. If I had to chose I would prefer indifference.
I have decided to let go of previous struggles. They just aren’t important anymore. Like hanging on to something under water. It grows heavier and heavier until finally I lose my grip. But. But, letting go is such sweet sorrow! The burden slowly sinks away, growing further and further out of reach. Couldn’t change my mind if I wanted to. Opportunity lost without caring. I think of Natalie’s “I May Know The Word” and how it is a song of indifference. She may know the word but not say it. I’m like that, turning my head, oblivious to what was once important to me. What was once sacred no longer sustains me. Does this scare me? A little.
I’m not heartbroken to let something in me die. Maybe it was beyond saving all along? Maybe it was so dysfunctional that dying is such sweet relief? When I told my husband I thought something in me just shriveled up and died, guess what he did. He smiled. Not caring is the equivalent of not hurting and that is a good thing.

All’s Fair

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I’m currently reading A Diary From Dixie and the narrator, Mrs. Mary Chestnut is a pretty funny lady. My standard way to “review” a book is to give a brief overview of the general plot, what I thought while I was reading it, some quotes that I found to my liking (for one reason or another) and finally, where in it belonged in the Book Lust Challenge. For A Diary from Dixie I have way too many quotes I will want to use. Really, what has been happening is Mrs. Chestnut’s comments are causing me to think about my life and how the quotes relate.  Two such quotes deserved their own blog.

“Only your own family, those nearest and dearest, can hurt you.” and, “They tell you all of your faults candidly because they love you so” (p 128).

There is a lot of truth tied to those two statements. Never mind that they were written in August 1861. Never mind that this country was at war with itself at the time. Mrs. Chestnut made comments about something so commonplace, so true, that it could have been written yesterday…by me.
What is it about hurting the ones you love? Where do you draw the line? You’ve heard it before – This Is For Your Own Good…This Hurts Me More Than It Hurts You…I Did It Because I Love You…She’s Family (she won’t mind)…
It’s been almost a month since I first felt the sting of “my own good.” I haven’t had the forgiveness to really say much about it until now. I sat and stewed in my own juices for all this time. Friends, kisa, and even my own mother, have jumped in the soup and offered words of advice. I’m grateful for every kind word uttered. I’m thankful they (at least) aren’t telling me how to feel. They know that’s worse than giving me a hundred flat tires. Right, Scott? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: when in doubt, ASK. When it doesn’t concern you, stay out. If you think it concerns you, converse with me, convince me. I’ll listen. It doesn’t matter what “right” you think you have, family or not, blood or water, I will listen.