Sure, it's been about a hundred years since I posted here. Give a girl a break and I'll fill you in to the happenings and shakings at 1313 Mockingbird Lane.
February, Mardi Gras.....and another year stuck in New Jersey. Knew it was time to sell the house. Knew it was one of the 'now or never' moments staring me in the face. All I really wanted to do was hide under the covers and wait for the moment to pass me by. I'm not really like that, ya know?? Pow wowed with Ivan and put the place on the market. 4 offers within 4 weeks!! Don't know if I can really count the offer made by the lady who then suffered a debilitating allergy to Max-i, though. It's not like she comes with the house, or anything like that..but, she took her almost offer and hit the CVS for an antidote.
Which brings me to the business of actually letting strangers enter your home and poke about your shit. I'm not the world's best housekeeper and it was painfully evident when you daily are 'on the market'. Don't leave a fork in the sink. Don't leave the toilet lid up. Don't leave your panties on the top of the laundry pile. Hope to god that Max doesn't yak up a hair ball in the middle of the living room carpet half an hour before the realtor comes. It was downright exhausting. You get to a point where you have to wonder if the house really won't sell because you neglected to empty the dishwasher, or if a potential buyer sees my toothbrush.
So, we accepted an offer from a nice young couple with a 4 year old son. I believe they'll be happy here. This house has wonderful karma from 18 years of good living. I have magnificent memories of life in this house. I did a lifetime of getting to know myself here. It's hard to walk away from that.
But, I've always dreamed to having a business of my own. I hate working for other people. I don't care to have people who can tell you how to get from point A to point B without really getting what is happening around you at the moment. All I ever wanted to do was feed people, and make them happy. I'm a pisces. It's what we do.
And so, this Thursday, Lou and I are flying down to New Orleans to find a place to live. We've been there every year in the past 8 years. We both believe we've lived there before. Even if that's nothing but a bunch of hooey, we do feel the ghosts of that city in our lives. It's uncanny, actually....you have to feel it, smell it, hear it, to know what I mean. We love it there.
The moving van is coming June 8th or 9th. My life will be deposited somewhere in New Orleans on June 14th. Eh Le Bah means 'hey, over there!". It's a cajun greeting. Laissez le bon temps roulle means 'let the good times roll'. How can I possibly do anything else??? This is me we're talking about, after all.
I'll land on my feet, I always do.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Too much snow to be putting out fires!
Hey, you thought I forgot you, didn't you?? Not true. I've spent the past 5 weeks or so simply putting out fires. My shiny fire truck arrives next week as a reward for my ability to douse flames that try to engulf my life and ignite my accomplishments.
Christmas was wonderful. Food was fantastic and the company was better. Those fires I mentioned started burning first week of January. They begin as little smoldering mounds and then next thing you know, you're battling a full blown conflagration of epic proportions with nothing but an eye dropper of water. All reminds me of that David Bowie song...putting out fires with gasoline. We at work all spent a nice quiet winter break, slowly preparing for our reopening at the beginning of the Spring semester (hard to believe there is actually a spring coming, what with 14 inches of snow out there). Days before our scheduled reopening one key production member notifies they will be out for an extended period of time. Another staff member notifies me the day before we open that they will be taking classes down the jersey shore, so they are no longer available. Another position where the staff member actually gave proper and appropriate notification of vacating the job was filled; but then the new member decided the job was too much pressure (seems to be a bit of that going around). Moved one person into that spot, refilling the newly vacated spot....and the owners of Craig's List have me on speed dial at this point. Hard to believe that in this tanked economy that people are more willing to stay on or put themselves on unemployment rather than challenge themselves. Ah, well....and so, the dust finally settled by the end of the month. The entire house is staffed with some kick ass players and once again, laughter and good cheer abound in our hallowed kitchen. Loathe as I am to quote a cliche, if it doesn't knock you on your ass and kill you, it brings you together and makes you stronger. I invented that saying , you know. Royalties coming in day after day for that diddy. Work is fine and it's almost Mardi Gras.
Speaking of Mardi Gras, I'd like to pose the question.....'who dat?' Lou took me to New Orleans for the first time when I was 40. We've gone back each and every year since then. Two trips before Katrina and another 5 after, one just 3 months after. My spirit was born and still lives in that city. I've taken to sitting and watching FQ cams just to get glimpses. I watch movies that are filmed there for the same reason. The Saints winning is icing on the King Cake. Who Dat? indeed. Naturally, the chef and I are working on a fitting tribute menu to celebrate Mardi Gras this tuesday. While I'd much rather be in the Quarter singing "I Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans" I'll settle for making a couple of king cakes and some magnificent etouffe and po boys. Lassize le bon temps rouller!! Throw me something, Mister!
It's also almost my birthday...get ready to throw money, too!
Christmas was wonderful. Food was fantastic and the company was better. Those fires I mentioned started burning first week of January. They begin as little smoldering mounds and then next thing you know, you're battling a full blown conflagration of epic proportions with nothing but an eye dropper of water. All reminds me of that David Bowie song...putting out fires with gasoline. We at work all spent a nice quiet winter break, slowly preparing for our reopening at the beginning of the Spring semester (hard to believe there is actually a spring coming, what with 14 inches of snow out there). Days before our scheduled reopening one key production member notifies they will be out for an extended period of time. Another staff member notifies me the day before we open that they will be taking classes down the jersey shore, so they are no longer available. Another position where the staff member actually gave proper and appropriate notification of vacating the job was filled; but then the new member decided the job was too much pressure (seems to be a bit of that going around). Moved one person into that spot, refilling the newly vacated spot....and the owners of Craig's List have me on speed dial at this point. Hard to believe that in this tanked economy that people are more willing to stay on or put themselves on unemployment rather than challenge themselves. Ah, well....and so, the dust finally settled by the end of the month. The entire house is staffed with some kick ass players and once again, laughter and good cheer abound in our hallowed kitchen. Loathe as I am to quote a cliche, if it doesn't knock you on your ass and kill you, it brings you together and makes you stronger. I invented that saying , you know. Royalties coming in day after day for that diddy. Work is fine and it's almost Mardi Gras.
Speaking of Mardi Gras, I'd like to pose the question.....'who dat?' Lou took me to New Orleans for the first time when I was 40. We've gone back each and every year since then. Two trips before Katrina and another 5 after, one just 3 months after. My spirit was born and still lives in that city. I've taken to sitting and watching FQ cams just to get glimpses. I watch movies that are filmed there for the same reason. The Saints winning is icing on the King Cake. Who Dat? indeed. Naturally, the chef and I are working on a fitting tribute menu to celebrate Mardi Gras this tuesday. While I'd much rather be in the Quarter singing "I Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans" I'll settle for making a couple of king cakes and some magnificent etouffe and po boys. Lassize le bon temps rouller!! Throw me something, Mister!
It's also almost my birthday...get ready to throw money, too!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!!
I woke up this morning like a 5 year old on a sugar cookie high! All my life, christmas eve is a much bigger deal than christmas day. Following the traditional sicilian meal of the feast of the seven fishes, it's an all on production line in the kitchen today.
First course is Ivan's shrimp cocktail (he's an accomplished cocktailer these days, superb sauce coupled with perfectly prepared shrimp). I know he's also bringing sausage, which is not traditionally part of the feast of the seven fishes, but how can I, or anyone, for that matter, possibly turn down succulent sausage???
Second course is crab and roasted corn bisque prepared by Miss Coco Dolly. She's another one getting fairly comfortable in the kitchen lately. Glad to see something other than my curly hair rubbed off on her. I picture the future with Coco eventually taking over the brunt of the holiday cooking at the point when her kitchen is bigger than mine.
Third course is angel hair fra diavlo with clams, mussels and anchovy, served with fried calamari and sweet pomodoro sauce.
Trying to recall the wines Lou and I paired with these courses .....a viognier and petit chablis.....I think.
Fourth course is seared sea scallops with pea puree and sauteed bronzino ( a mediterrean sea fish) with roasted butternut squash. We have a pinot noir for this course. So what it's a red....it's very low in tannin so it's just fine to pair with fish, so there!
Dessert is strufoli, christmas cookies and croquembouche, served with spiked eggnog, port, cognac and laced coffee.
I hope anyone who takes the time to read this knows that I appreciate the time you spend here. Thanks so much for permitting me the opportunity to entertain you. Merry christmas, be well, travel safely, eat heartily and laugh often.!!!
xxoxxoxo
First course is Ivan's shrimp cocktail (he's an accomplished cocktailer these days, superb sauce coupled with perfectly prepared shrimp). I know he's also bringing sausage, which is not traditionally part of the feast of the seven fishes, but how can I, or anyone, for that matter, possibly turn down succulent sausage???
Second course is crab and roasted corn bisque prepared by Miss Coco Dolly. She's another one getting fairly comfortable in the kitchen lately. Glad to see something other than my curly hair rubbed off on her. I picture the future with Coco eventually taking over the brunt of the holiday cooking at the point when her kitchen is bigger than mine.
Third course is angel hair fra diavlo with clams, mussels and anchovy, served with fried calamari and sweet pomodoro sauce.
Trying to recall the wines Lou and I paired with these courses .....a viognier and petit chablis.....I think.
Fourth course is seared sea scallops with pea puree and sauteed bronzino ( a mediterrean sea fish) with roasted butternut squash. We have a pinot noir for this course. So what it's a red....it's very low in tannin so it's just fine to pair with fish, so there!
Dessert is strufoli, christmas cookies and croquembouche, served with spiked eggnog, port, cognac and laced coffee.
I hope anyone who takes the time to read this knows that I appreciate the time you spend here. Thanks so much for permitting me the opportunity to entertain you. Merry christmas, be well, travel safely, eat heartily and laugh often.!!!
xxoxxoxo
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Christmas Cookies Are A Food Group
9 Inches of snow on the ground and it really looks like christmas now!! Gotta admit, shelling out a hundred bucks on Monday to the snow blower fix it faiery sucked on Monday. On Sunday, however, it's a whole other story! Primed and started in about 15 seconds, it was a piece of snowy cake out there this morning. It was helpful having Lou around as well. I don't think I could manage the snow blower on the steps, ya know..?
Three days of work this week and then off off off till January 4th. It's breaks like that that make the entire work venture worth while. So, you suffer a few weeks out of the year, then you get nice breaks in the scenery so often that it makes up for it. As it appears, however, these three days will be a colossal waste of time. With the expectation of approximately $400 in sales, it's hardly worth the effort. I'd just assume stay home and lounge about in flannel sipping coffee with eggnog and rum, nibbling on christmas cookies.
Big Feast of the Seven Fishes for christmas eve. You can take the religion out of the girl (or, as in my case, the girl can run as fast from it as possible) but you can never take the italian out of her. So, a big day of dining on the fruiti de mare and then a week of trying to get the house to stop smelling like a fish monger's cunny. Wish me luck. I do love this holiday, though. I always remember my kids' anticipation of things like the cookies, the tree and their special christmas plates, bowls and cups. I should probably give them those keepsakes now that they are older and have homes of their own...but I cannot bear to part with them. No, I think I'll keep them a bit longer, and display them with love. I'll even make them oatmeal and serve it in their bowls if only they'll put those bowls on the window sill later in the day -- in the hopes that santa will do a little recon work and notice they ate all their breakfast.
Thinking of going to Washington Crossing State Park on Christmas day to see a reenactment of Washington crossing the Deleware on christmas eve. prior to his march towards Trenton and those drunken Hessians. Weather permitting, and flask in hand, that's the plan.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The little train that could.........
Do you remember that story from years of yore?? Some little locomotive, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it's tasks sets out to fulfil those tasks....and with the innocence only children and derainged fantasy choo choos can possess, up the side of mt. krimpet (oops, wrong story) up the hill he went, whilst all along sing songing to himself as only maniacle choo choos can "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can....." When he finally reached the precipice, or just a whisp of steam away, he changed his tune to "I know I can, I know I can". Naturally, everyone lives happily ever after; at least until Choo Choo Charlie came along and forced him back up that track for nothing more than a few measly licorice bits.
The point of this tale?? That's how I feel this christmas on a few levels. Not being possessed of pointy ears, curly shoes or overly diminutive stature, I have found the cookie baking a bit on the daunting side this year. No darling daughter to assist with the cutting, rolling, sprinkling. No suave son to come in stealing the lovelies instead of the uglies. Just moi and endless reels of Nat King Cole's Christmas Song.. I am happy and pleased to report that all 13 varieties of cookie are present and accounted for.
The tree is a work of art this year. I leave it each day, taking a mental photograph in the event of the recently acquired possibility that I discover it in a glistening heap on the floor upon my arrival. Max-i cat, a frightened shitless scairdy cat if ever there was one, had finally agreed the tree means her no harm, nor will it attempt to vacuum the living room while she's taking number 45 of 98 catnaps. This acceptance of the alien thing that smells like outside means she's quite content to get up close and personl with it. Last night I was disturbed from yet another inane evening in front of the television by the tinkling and jingling of glass ornaments doing the hustle....Max-i, in all her big belly glory was gently batting at the glass baker snowmen. Eventually, she tired of that sport and returned to dead mother-in-law's favourite chair (now festooned with a bright pink blanket) to sleep it off. Exhausting work, this being a cat.
Here it is, Tuesday evening, 5:30 or so. I"m still dressed from work, yet all I want is a cup of tea and warm fuzzy pajamas. I'll get to present wrapping in about an hour. I'll watch the season finale of Dexter, because serial killers who also work for the blood splatter crime lab are precisely what most people won't be watching as they wrap presents. I've already watched It's a Wonderful Life (and getting that goddam DVR thing to work is truly going to be the undoing of my sanity, I kid you not), I've seen Miracle on 34th Street. We watched Elf just the other night. I'd like to watch A Christmas Story but, as I said, I don't know how to make my DVR work without crying in front of it while it silently mocks my inability to know which button to press or which lever to lift. Fucker. So, serial killer it is, all the while I'll be using my very own scissor to make lovely ribbon curls.
As the magi said to the star.....see you soon.
The point of this tale?? That's how I feel this christmas on a few levels. Not being possessed of pointy ears, curly shoes or overly diminutive stature, I have found the cookie baking a bit on the daunting side this year. No darling daughter to assist with the cutting, rolling, sprinkling. No suave son to come in stealing the lovelies instead of the uglies. Just moi and endless reels of Nat King Cole's Christmas Song.. I am happy and pleased to report that all 13 varieties of cookie are present and accounted for.
The tree is a work of art this year. I leave it each day, taking a mental photograph in the event of the recently acquired possibility that I discover it in a glistening heap on the floor upon my arrival. Max-i cat, a frightened shitless scairdy cat if ever there was one, had finally agreed the tree means her no harm, nor will it attempt to vacuum the living room while she's taking number 45 of 98 catnaps. This acceptance of the alien thing that smells like outside means she's quite content to get up close and personl with it. Last night I was disturbed from yet another inane evening in front of the television by the tinkling and jingling of glass ornaments doing the hustle....Max-i, in all her big belly glory was gently batting at the glass baker snowmen. Eventually, she tired of that sport and returned to dead mother-in-law's favourite chair (now festooned with a bright pink blanket) to sleep it off. Exhausting work, this being a cat.
Here it is, Tuesday evening, 5:30 or so. I"m still dressed from work, yet all I want is a cup of tea and warm fuzzy pajamas. I'll get to present wrapping in about an hour. I'll watch the season finale of Dexter, because serial killers who also work for the blood splatter crime lab are precisely what most people won't be watching as they wrap presents. I've already watched It's a Wonderful Life (and getting that goddam DVR thing to work is truly going to be the undoing of my sanity, I kid you not), I've seen Miracle on 34th Street. We watched Elf just the other night. I'd like to watch A Christmas Story but, as I said, I don't know how to make my DVR work without crying in front of it while it silently mocks my inability to know which button to press or which lever to lift. Fucker. So, serial killer it is, all the while I'll be using my very own scissor to make lovely ribbon curls.
As the magi said to the star.....see you soon.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Here Come's Santa Claus
Once again, mea culpa for being so lax with the quill. I am beginning to realize the only way I'm going to write anything after work is if I parachute to the roof outside the computer room, climb in the window, sit my ass down and start typing. This way, I'll complete bypass the siren song of the sofa. Either that, or borrow wax from Ulysses for my ears.
Thanksgiving has passed without overmuch stress. Once again, I have enough stuffing and sweet potatoes left over to choke a horse. All in all, I was just happy the event got off at all. See, I overindulged at the Gomorrah family reunion party the night before. To top it off, I returned home famished. I'd squirreled away half a sandwich from Clemente, figuring to eat it when I got home. In a state of maternal love I offered it to Coco, feeling bad she was staying home alone. I also knew she had squirreled away her own half from her sandwich, so I really didn't think she'd take me up on the offer. Fast forward to my drunken return to the homestead at 1:45am. There sits Coco, looking like she just ate the canary from the cage. I inquired after my sandwich to discover she'd indulged her hunger. I then inquired after her half. Seems that half went to a strip club with her. Who the hell takes half an italian hero to a strip club on the night before thanksgiving???? Sadly, with a refrigerator full of food for the holiday, all there was to eat at that hour was bologna and swiss on rye bread. Drunken women do not make pretty sandwiches. I remember slapping the meat and cheese onto the bread and squirting mustard (no one should ever type those two words in the same sentence, by the way) on one of the slices of bread. I had purchased a bag of kettle chips flavoured with jalepeno and aged cheddar. As a drunk, they were delicious. Crisp and crunchy, the perfect accompanimenet to the bologna. Reading this now, my stomach is churning. I have to say, on the entire planet, there really isn't a perfect accompaniment to bologna, and the least likely winner of that award is jalepeno and aged cheddar chips. I proceeded to eat 1/3 of the bag.
I got upstairs, got the cinilon off, got most of the jewelery off, and crawled between the sheets. At 6am my head was pounding and Max was nudging me for something to eat. I got some tylenol into my system, fed the cat and contemplated how difficult it would be to put off thanksgiving for a day. With barely enough time to form an answer to that question I was up the stairs and giving bourbon drenched jalepeno cheddar chips to the toilet bowl. And then I gave the bowl some more. Before I managed to find a few more remnants clinging to my stomach lining I found my sneakers and hit the road. Usually, when I'm in that kind of condition, a walk does me good. I walked for close to 2 and 1/2 miles. Returning home, I still had a turkey to get into the oven. Get it into the oven?? I couldn't even get it out of the fridge without serious help. But, with that help, I got it stuffed to the gills (do turkeys have gills?), slathered with olive oil and mrs. dash, and into the oven before the parade started.
It just so happens that sitting down to watch that parade was possibly the biggest mistake since eating jalepeno cheddar chips along with a bologna sandwich. Head clearing and parade watching don't mix. I felt like one of the giant balloons, careening from one side of the street to the other. Back up the stairs, only this time I seriously had nothing to give the toilet, though not for lack of trying. Again, thoughts of just how I was going to postpone this holiday for a day or two are banging around in my head. Clearly, there was no way to pull that caper off, so into the shower I went. 40 gallons of hot water later, I emerged feeling none the worse for wear, and actually feeling a bit better. There would be no hanging my head upside down to towel dry my long hair, but so what..? What's a wet head in comparison to pushing back a nationally recognized holiday for a day?
And so, by the time Santa, oh how I do love Santa, passed Herald Square for his obligatory laying of the finger aside of his nose I was back in the saddle. I was going a very slow gait, but I was going, nevertheless.
Some time in the afternoon I spied that bag of kettle jalepeno cheddar chips and insisted they be given to the garbage pail. I haven't seen the bag since, so I'm assuming Coco obliged. Either that or she ate them sometime when she was eating chocolate in bed, soiling the linens...but that's a whole other chapter.
And now, on to christmas, with thoughts of the feast of the seven fishes, christmas cookies, holiday festivities, and inevitable weight gain. It's my plan not to have to consider moving christmas to the 27 of december. Let's see if I can stick to that particular plan.
Thanksgiving has passed without overmuch stress. Once again, I have enough stuffing and sweet potatoes left over to choke a horse. All in all, I was just happy the event got off at all. See, I overindulged at the Gomorrah family reunion party the night before. To top it off, I returned home famished. I'd squirreled away half a sandwich from Clemente, figuring to eat it when I got home. In a state of maternal love I offered it to Coco, feeling bad she was staying home alone. I also knew she had squirreled away her own half from her sandwich, so I really didn't think she'd take me up on the offer. Fast forward to my drunken return to the homestead at 1:45am. There sits Coco, looking like she just ate the canary from the cage. I inquired after my sandwich to discover she'd indulged her hunger. I then inquired after her half. Seems that half went to a strip club with her. Who the hell takes half an italian hero to a strip club on the night before thanksgiving???? Sadly, with a refrigerator full of food for the holiday, all there was to eat at that hour was bologna and swiss on rye bread. Drunken women do not make pretty sandwiches. I remember slapping the meat and cheese onto the bread and squirting mustard (no one should ever type those two words in the same sentence, by the way) on one of the slices of bread. I had purchased a bag of kettle chips flavoured with jalepeno and aged cheddar. As a drunk, they were delicious. Crisp and crunchy, the perfect accompanimenet to the bologna. Reading this now, my stomach is churning. I have to say, on the entire planet, there really isn't a perfect accompaniment to bologna, and the least likely winner of that award is jalepeno and aged cheddar chips. I proceeded to eat 1/3 of the bag.
I got upstairs, got the cinilon off, got most of the jewelery off, and crawled between the sheets. At 6am my head was pounding and Max was nudging me for something to eat. I got some tylenol into my system, fed the cat and contemplated how difficult it would be to put off thanksgiving for a day. With barely enough time to form an answer to that question I was up the stairs and giving bourbon drenched jalepeno cheddar chips to the toilet bowl. And then I gave the bowl some more. Before I managed to find a few more remnants clinging to my stomach lining I found my sneakers and hit the road. Usually, when I'm in that kind of condition, a walk does me good. I walked for close to 2 and 1/2 miles. Returning home, I still had a turkey to get into the oven. Get it into the oven?? I couldn't even get it out of the fridge without serious help. But, with that help, I got it stuffed to the gills (do turkeys have gills?), slathered with olive oil and mrs. dash, and into the oven before the parade started.
It just so happens that sitting down to watch that parade was possibly the biggest mistake since eating jalepeno cheddar chips along with a bologna sandwich. Head clearing and parade watching don't mix. I felt like one of the giant balloons, careening from one side of the street to the other. Back up the stairs, only this time I seriously had nothing to give the toilet, though not for lack of trying. Again, thoughts of just how I was going to postpone this holiday for a day or two are banging around in my head. Clearly, there was no way to pull that caper off, so into the shower I went. 40 gallons of hot water later, I emerged feeling none the worse for wear, and actually feeling a bit better. There would be no hanging my head upside down to towel dry my long hair, but so what..? What's a wet head in comparison to pushing back a nationally recognized holiday for a day?
And so, by the time Santa, oh how I do love Santa, passed Herald Square for his obligatory laying of the finger aside of his nose I was back in the saddle. I was going a very slow gait, but I was going, nevertheless.
Some time in the afternoon I spied that bag of kettle jalepeno cheddar chips and insisted they be given to the garbage pail. I haven't seen the bag since, so I'm assuming Coco obliged. Either that or she ate them sometime when she was eating chocolate in bed, soiling the linens...but that's a whole other chapter.
And now, on to christmas, with thoughts of the feast of the seven fishes, christmas cookies, holiday festivities, and inevitable weight gain. It's my plan not to have to consider moving christmas to the 27 of december. Let's see if I can stick to that particular plan.
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