Più Formaggio, Meno Rapidità!

I learned two important things about cooking Italian from scratch tonight.

1. There is no such things as a thirty minute tomato sauce. Pureeing the shit out of tomatoes in a food processor to speed up the process is not the answer. It will only result in watery sauce, indifferent palates, and serious heartburn. Somewhere out there is an 80 year old Italian lady, laughing at my futile efforts to Rachael Ray-icize her blood, sweat, and tears.

2. Cheese can fix everything, especially fresh mozzarella. Some mistakes require more cheese than others. A lot more cheese. But it can be done.

Fear and Loathing in Pajamas

I don't know if it's a byproduct of the dark and dreary winter or what, but I have been in a serious funk for the past few days. Self-pity is really a slippery slope, because once you find something to bitch and moan about you kind of open the floodgates to more misery. If I'm already sulking around about one thing, I may as well at several other things to my list as well, and before I know it I'm on the couch all weekend in my pajamas with knots in my hair and holes in my socks, watching Lifetime movies for twenty straight hours.

I don't think that I suffer from depression by any means, and I know it's a serious disease that many people deal with every day of their lives. I've known some people with those kind of issues, and I wouldn't want anyone to think I'm making light of it. My issues are small, comparatively speaking. My stupid computer became infected with some bizarre Trojan type virus that wiped out all my music, photos, and writing that I hadn't gotten around to saving anywhere. My fault on that one. Our heater is having issues with the sensor or some other such nonsense and it's been in the 50s in here for most of the weekend. I'm terrified that we'll be hit with a $5000 bill to replace some ancient parts. Our kitchen pipes keep freezing and we need to replace the fridge, washer, dryer, and back door sooner rather than later. My job is wearing me out, mentally and physically, and I just keep questioning whether or not it's worth it to feel so unfulfilled for so many hours a week. When it comes down to it, there are a thousand things I can think of I'd rather do, but with the economy being how it is, I'll grin and bear it for as long as necessary.

I just think I've reached a point in my life where I second guess myself about everything. I question nearly every decision I've ever made, stupidly in fact, because it's far to late to change what's done.

I think a lot about that time after graduating college, and my decision to follow my then-boyfriend out of state, and how my move made me feel horribly alone and isolated in a place that seemed foreign to me. I think about all the hundreds of things I could have done instead, and what paths they may have taken me on. Why didn't I ever pursue a career in radio, despite the fact that I loved it and was damn good at it? Why didn't I stay in Delaware and spend more time with my Grandparents while I could have, or look into opening a cafe like I thought about, or gotten more serious about writing?

I know it's natural to reflect like this. It surely has something to do with the proverbial quarter-year crisis, which I'm probably too old for now anyway. I know that I have an amazing husband that I wouldn't trade for the world, and maybe it's true that if I had chosen another path, I would never have met him. Maybe it's true that all paths lad to Rome, and I would have met him regardless of what job I held, or where I lived. I'll never know for sure.

We talked a little this weekend about just selling the house and joining the Peace Corps. As a married couple we'll be able to serve together, and we'd be doing something outstanding with out lives. We kind of agreed to go to an information session, but I just don't know if the Peace Corps is the answer to my funk. For one thing, I'd miss my family like crazy, and with my Grandmothers getting up there in age I don't know that I can commit 27 months overseas. It would also push back our plans of having a baby, and although I'm still well within my fertile years, I don't know that I want to wait that long. We'd also come back with nothing really, other than an exit stipend you've given to return home with. Not enough to buy another house with, that's for sure.

I think maybe the way out of my funk is to start doing more of the things that make me happy. It seems simple, but at the end of the day, coming home at six pm after leaving the house a seven am, knowing I have to walk the dog and make dinner, the prospect of doing much of anything seems daunting, especially because my husband works late and I'd be doing these activities alone. My closest friends live far away so it's not like I have the best girlfriend that I call up every evening to get a mug of tea and gossip with. I wish I did, and maybe that's part of the problem.

I need to make a thorough list of things I want to try and then actually follow through with them. There's no reason why I can't join the radio station as a community member again. There's no reason why I can't grow a pair and start submitting my writing for publication. There's no reason why I can't take a pottery class alone, or join a book club alone.

In fact, I think I'm slowly talking myself out of my funk and onto the track of self-improvement. I'm giving myself until Monday to make not only my list of things to change, but an actual plan of attack on how to change them.

True, it's still gray and freezing and dreary. And I'm still typing away on my husband's computer for lack of one of my own, and my house is still old and falling apart before my very eyes. But I have a good life, and I have all the potential in the world to make it even better.

O

I don’t usually get political when I blog, because most people reading know me well enough to know my political affiliations. Posting about how happy I am to officially have President Obama take office would be just about as obvious as posting “ I sure like breathing, it makes my lungs feel good!”

Still, I’d just like to take this opportunity to say that today feels like a good day for our country. It feels so good, that I'm going to resist spending ten minutes carrying on about the giant bow that Aretha Frankin studded up with her Bedazzler and stuck on her head. (Although that thing was absolutely horrific.)

Today somehow feels lighter than yesterday, and not just because we have a new President, but because we have a new start.

We had an opportunity to make our voices heard, and we did so on Election Day, in record numbers. We had an opportunity to show the world what our values truly are, to chose hope over fear of the unknown, and to fight for something we believe in.

We had the opportunity to put our often spotted past behind us and canvas together, phone bank together, march together, rally together, cry together, cheer together, and vote together.

We did so not only because we were unhappy with the road our country has been traveling down, but because we were so full of hope and excitement about all the roads that are possible.

We are white, black, men, women, foreign born citizens and people whose families have hundreds of years worth of roots on our soil.

We are students and oil workers and doctors and artists and convenience store clerks. We are people who refuse to give in to fear-mongering, war-mongering, jingoism, and bigotry. We are a people acutely aware of what change means, and how desperately we need it.

We are America, and this is a good day indeed.

(Obama print brought to you by Deroy Peraza at Hyperakt.com . Free color prints are available for download!)

our house, is a very, very, very small house

I have to be honest. When I was a little girl and I imagined the home I would one day live in with my husband, I pretty much imagined living in a mansion. A hundred room mansion, to be more specific, preferably one nestled on 1000 or so acres of lush rolling meadows full of wild but friendly horses. My garden would rival the one at Versailles, with hedges trimmed into mazes and flowers of every color and ilk filled with butterflies where I could set up an easel and make my living painting wildlife. I would most certainly have an indoor/outdoor heart shaped pool, possibly with a water slide, and a garage full of DeLoreans and Lamborghinis.

Inside of my mansion, all the bedrooms would have giant King sized water beds and every bathroom would have Jacuzzi tubs. I’d have a marble foyer with a double staircase and several Grand pianos, white of course. I’d have fireplaces in every room, even the bathrooms, and a library with floor to ceiling shelves and one of those sliding ladder deals to help me navigate through my collected literary works.

In short, I wanted to live in an amalgamation of Buckingham Palace and the Winchester Mystery House. Is that too much to ask?

Of course, as a little girl I didn’t know about things like salaries, and mortgages, and carbon footprints. I didn’t realize that not only could I never afford a hundred room mansion, I’d never really need one either.

Our house, our little one story bungalow, is small. It’s just a little over 900 square feet, and in those 900 square feet is a living room, kitchen, small utility room for laundry, three bedrooms, and a bath. Each of our bedrooms are small. I think we could knock down the walls between them and combine the area into a single bedroom and still not equal some of the bedrooms being built into McMansions today. Maybe it’s not for everyone, but it works for us, and I think it has a lot of charms.

For one thing, living in less space is incredibly energy efficient. We don’t waste water with ridiculously long showers, because our tiny utility room doesn’t allow for a humongous hot water heater, and there is nothing worse than rinsing the conditioner out of your hair with chilly water. Don’t get me wrong, a giant Jacuzzi tub bath every night would be the THE BOSS, but I have an eco-conscience now, and I don’t know if it would ever let me use 100 gallons of water just to get myself clean. Another bonus is that we spend a fraction of what friends pay for heat and electricity, which makes me feel good about the minimal effect our lifestyle is leaving on the planet. If I lived in a hundred room mansion with 12 foot ceilings, chances are I’d be wasting a whole lot of heat, and a whole lot of money.

You know what’s really cool about living in just the right amount of space as opposed to way more than you’ll ever need? It kind of humbles you. Or house was built in the early 1950s, when people didn’t need space for computers or TVs in every bedroom (or at all). I complain that my kitchen doesn’t have enough counter space and then I realize it’s because I’m clogging it up with things that a family in 1952 didn’t own. A gigantic, multi-faceted electric mixer, a microwave, a coffee grinder and pot. No one needed to make an espresso right in their kitchen. They put the pot on the stove and percolated the heck out of it. Couples in this house raised two, three, maybe four children here, and they did their dishes like I do them now – with soap and water, in the sink, and then into the rack to dry. Our house has never had a dishwasher and unless we were thinking about putting it in the backyard, probably never will.

I’ve also been cured of any latent pack-rattery I may have possessed because we have no basement, and only a single closet in each bedroom (and by single I mean both the size and the quantity), and a coat closet in the entryway. I don’t buy things I don’t need, and when things have outlived their usefulness, we donate them.

This is the house that caused me to redefine my idea of living space - and how much I actually need. I can't host a dinner party with twenty people without us resting our plates on our laps, and when my husband and I are bugging the living shit out of each other we can't just hole up in different floors of our house and put each other on ignore. But isn't that better, in a way? Don't large houses tend to become impersonal?

I don't know if we'll live here forever. The day may very well come when we upgrade to something a little bigger, but for now this cozy, intimate little place suits me just fine.

You can't say 'pass the biscuit' or 'where's me hand grenade?', they just shrug.

Every once in awhile, I become complete fascinated with something for a bit of time. Actually, I’ll be honest, it happens almost constantly, sort of a revolving door of little enamorations. I think it’s completely possible that I am one of those people with a predisposition to obsessions, and I mean that less in a stalker-ish way and more in a fancy-free way.

For example, I’ll be completely gaga over an album for about a month, and I’ll listen to it so often that I bore of it and put it in the shelf to get duty for another year until I pick it up again. It’s not as if I stop enjoying the music, it’s just that something else moves in and fills up the warm little spot in my heart where it used to live. It doesn’t happen to every album, mind you, just the ones that I call little obsessions.

There are tons of things that have been life-long as opposed to fleeting obsessions. Things like writing short stories and putting ranch dressing on nearly everything. Things like the pair of brown and orange Sauconys that I’ve been wearing since college despite the fact that they’re no longer hip and it’s questionable as to whether they ever were in the first place. And, I’m still bug-eyed crazy about my husband, even though years ago, when we’d only been dating for four or five months, I was so starry-eyed that I told him we should run off and get married. And I was completely serious.

I think maybe it’s healthy to have these little obsessions in my life. If nothing else, it keeps things interesting and gives me a chance to explore avenues that I may not have crossed before. Like the time I saw a documentary on the history channel about Lizzie Borden and found it so intriguing that you would have thought I was aiming to be the world’ biggest Lizzie Borden expert. I checked out everything I could find in the library and read message boards and rented films until I got bored and moved on. Still, if there is ever a situation where you need to talk to someone who knows a lot about the Borden murders, you can totally call me! I could be your lifeline or something!

There was also time that I fancied becoming a jewelry maker and bought tons of beads and earring fasteners. I totally had this idea in my mind that I could be this bohemian hand crafter, making and selling earrings out of my tiny little studio filled with mosaics and incense. I could literally picture myself sitting at a workbench wearing one of those long flowing hippy robes threading beads onto a wire loop.

The problem was that after I made about three pairs and realized I sucked at it and that furthermore I really hate those hippy dresses and patchouli makes me want to gag. I tucked the supplies away into a deep dark spot on my craft table where they still are today. Now that I think about it, most of the items in my craft room are the results of my LOs. Soap making, scrapbooking, magnets, decorative boxes? Again, if you needed some wire or taupe colored yarn or organic perfume fragrance in a jiff, I’m your woman.

I’m hoping that maybe blogging about my LOs will make them stick a bit. Turn them from passionate but fleeting little loves into something more permanent. I made a sort of lose resolution for 2009 to follow through with more plans and ideas, so if nothing else maybe this will help clear my head a bit in order to make that happen. So, without further ado, here is this Tuesday’s edition of my five current little obsessions.

1. Lush Handmade Cosmetics. I am absolutely nuts about this stuff, and given how awesome my skin has been looking since I introduced my dermis to Lush, I think I’ll be riding out this obsession for years to come. They sell all- natural, cruelty free products for face, body, hair, and all the other parts I want shiny and healthy. Fresh Farmacy is a little chunk of pink heaven for day to day use, Angels on Bare Skin is a good twice a week exfoliate, and thanks to Enzymion, I’ve finally found a moisturizer that doesn’t make me look like Acne Amy of Garbage Pail Kids fame . Plus, their store smells awesome and you’ll leave with free samples and goodies each time you visit.

2. James McAvoy. I know, I know. I am WAY too old (not to mention married) to have a crush on an actor, but I just can’t help it. I loved him in The Last King of Scotland, and Penelope and over the weekend saw him in Atonement. I honestly don’t know what it is about him. He had a horrible 70s hairdo in Last King. He’s rather short. He has a slightly large nose, and although I’ve always thought big honkers were rather charming, he’s not classically handsome. That’s probably why I find him ravishing. Maybe it’s his accent, or his tousled hair. Maybe it’s his piercing blue eyes that stare STRAIGHT INTO YOUR SOUL, but he’s got something. There is this one scene in Atonement, and I won’t spoil it for you if you haven’t seen it, but he delivered it with so much passion that it gave me chills. And it wasn’t even a sex scene, so how about them apples?

3. Owning a bed and breakfast. So, being a boho jewelry maker isn’t going to work out for me, but I’ve always imagined myself owning my own business, or at the very least getting away from the 9-5. Most of the time I’m dead-set on my idea of a quaint little bookstore, but recently I got the B& B ownership bug. From a vitamin commercial of all things. The commercial shows a middle aged couple, owners of this huge Victorian B&B, as they cook breakfast and laugh together and chase peacocks through the hallways. The husband says something along the lines of “We have responsibilities, but we don’t have stress. Being here has added years to my life!” And for some reason I couldn’t stop thinking about J & I owning our very own bed and breakfast. How awesome would it be to spend time together instead of working almost wholly opposite schedules? We could make chocolate chip pancake for our guests and I could bake turnovers and serve tea and host Monopoly games in the parlor!

Just for fun, I Googled east coast B & Bs for sale, and nearly crapped my pants. There was nothing, and I mean nothing, for under $500K. I’m sure I could find a dump in a sheriff’s sale, but it’s taken us years to fix up our little bungalow and we’re still not done. How much time and money would it take to renovate a 15 room Victorian?

So, in short, if I win the Powerball tomorrow, I’ll be blogging to you on Thursday from a B & B I purchased somewhere in New England and filled with Lush toners and life sized cut-outs of James McAvoy. Heaven.

I seriously married the best guy in the entire world.

I came home from work to find the house filled with an amazing smell of dinner that he started this afternoon before leaving for work. In a lot of ways, my husband is a better cook that I am. For one thing, he's fearless when it comes to trying new things, and patient enough to let the meal do its thing whereas I poke and prod food I'm cooking so much that I probably give it anxiety.

Now the man who lived off of one pound family sized Hungry Man dinners through most of his 20s cooks me a supper of lamb, new potatoes, and peas in a dijon lemon sauce. Apologies to my vegetarian readers, but lamb is a damn tasty meat. We don't eat it often, and in fact I've never even tried to cook it myself, but when I do eat it I pretty much melt into a puddle of happiness.




As you can see, it was cooked perfectly. He's so thoughtful that he even put a place setting at the table. In true guy fashion, he used a paper towel as a napkin, and I thought it was so cute I just had to get a picture of it.



Please excuse the fact that our fruit bowl has zero pieces of fruit and is instead filled with three giant onions and more tomatoes than you can shake a fist at. That's just how we roll. But since this post is less about food, and more about how awesome my husband is, I'll leave you with a picture of him, chose at random by Flickr.

It was taken on a boat somewhere off of North Carolina. He's either doing the running man, about to pimp slap someone, or just caught really off guard.

God, I love food. I literally sit on the bus on my way home from work, trying to read over the growling of my stomach, anticipating whatever yummy concoction I'm dreaming up for dinner. This is why reaching my weight loss goal for the year, also known as Fit and Fine Two Thousand Nine, is going to be so difficult, like walking a tightrope over a vat of acid teeming with sharks. Acid proof sharks. Apparently.

It's going to take a little bit of finagling and a lot of culinary inspiration to see me through the next 359 days. If there is one thing I know about my love of all that is edible, it's that I can't deprive myself. I know that people lose a ton of weight cutting out carbs completely, or eating microwaved pre-portioned meals, and I think that's fantastic. I would just make me pull my hair out, which would make the fact that I was skinny mean nothing. Because I would have all these weird patchy hair spots. And possibly no eyebrows.

Nay, I say.My mind may know I'm on a diet, but if my taste buds get a hold of that information, we're in trouble. I know that the key for me is going to be substitution. Instead of greasy three egg omelets dripping with gobs of cheddar cheese and bacon, I'll have egg whites scrambled with a little lean ham and veggies. Instead of my afternoon Snickers pick-me-up I'll have something entirely nutritious and chocolaty like... those little 100 calorie pack chocolate muffin bites. Or, you know, some other nutritious thing I can't think of right now because I'm too busy drooling over the idea of a Snickers bar. Ohhh, nougat. I'm gonna miss you, buddy.

Yes, my friends, this will be a long and hungry path to travel, but I'm up for the challenge. My MO for this year is to make healthy meals that don't lack on flavor and can be prepared QUICKLY. Isn't that such a major reason why people eat total crap? Because it's cheap, fast, and convenient?

Tonight's dinner was a slam dunk, and it was actually something I'd made before, with just a few ingredients cut out to cut calories. It's a warm shrimp and wilted spinach salad that tasted even better than it smelled. Which, by the way, was freaking AWESOME.




Obviously, you can't capture taste in a picture, but this entire dish took me twenty minutes, start to finish. And that included peeling shrimp. Just saute about a pound of shrimp,two cloves of garlic, and one large shallot in a little bit of olive oil and then add a bag of pre-washed raw baby spinach until it wilts to your desired preference.

A side note for those of you not watching your figure (you lucky bastads, you) - try it sometime with the ingredients I cut out - namely, loads and loads of yummy, fatty pancetta and fresh mozzarella. Gah!

You can't see me now, but I'm totally kissing my fingers and flicking my wrist in the air like a cartoon chef.

Voila!

Who Left the Lights Off, Baby?

So, it's been almost five months since I've posted, and naturally a lot has gone on but nothing's happened. Here's a quick review with some photos so we can get that whole "catching up" thing taken care of, and move on. EDIT: I have no idea why my photos are acting so wonky. The entire picture is showing up, but with an annoying white area to one side. Weird.

September:

Threw my Mom and Dad an awesome surprise 30th Anniversary party. After most of the guests left, we moved the keg to their back porch and spent the evening catching up with old friends. Dad further surprised Mom with a trip to Ireland that they're taking this summer.

October:

Came and went, believe me, I tried to hold on to it as long as possible. Autumn is my absolute favorite season and I wanted to take advantage of every minute of it. We took some walks by the river, went to the orchard, carved a pumpkin, drank hot cider, and hoped against hope that a strong breeze wouldn't blow away all the beautiful leaves on the trees in our yard.







November:

Started to get holiday-ish. Perfected an awesome roasted sweet potato recipe. Finally got new living room furniture, slapped on a coat of paint that turned out to be a lot lighter than the beige raffia paint card promised, and ripped up the nasty old carpet to install wood floors.






And of course, we Baracked the vote. I stayed up late drinking beer and marking my maps with red and blue sharpies. My electoral college tally fell by the wayside as the beer continued flowing and the states kept turning blue.




December:

Decked the halls, volunteered to bring tidings and joy, and discovered the tree we bought a couple years ago didn't store well crammed into a little box in the attic. In fact, it was downright sad looking.




So we got a new one.




This all happened around the time of the Great Living Room Remodel, so I currently have no idea what to put in the corner that the tree has occupied. Which is one of the reasons it's still standing there. It's only January 5th. I have time before it's considered trashy, right?
We celebrated our first Christmas and New Year as a married couple, and tried unsuccessfully to take some picture to commemorate the occasion.
This was supposed to be a nice picture of us in front of the tree, but the dog jumped in front of my face and my husband put on his best Creeper face.


This shot was no better.



Whew.

How have things been in your neck of the woods?