Envious of her
physique, I assess my own. I would kill for her ass.Sigh. Elect
torture courtesy of a local gym, or find a superb plastic surgeon in New York? Contemplating my pizza, I resign myself to
hereditary genetics. Life’s choices.
nuisance, slaughtering her chickens. Once
ensnared, she slaughtered him. He simmers in a bath of red wine and spices. Vengeance
feels good. Wiping blood that has
trickled from her mouth, she licks the spoon. Revenge
tastes sweeter with pinches of salt.
of inquisitive eyes scrutinize as my kimono pools at my feet. I model. Damn goose flesh! Blushing, I avert my eyes. Rustling newsprint. Their eyes dissect me inch by unforgiving inch. Focused.
Determined to capture my essence in two dimensions.
It’s Monday, so it’s time to muse! Today I am rocking out to pure
nostalgia. Anyone who knows me at all
knows I am passionate about music, and if you know that much about me, you
might also know that I love movies and own a vast collection. This weekend I indulged myself and updated my
collection with a DVD of “Dirty Dancing”.
While I have the video cassette, I no longer have a VCR. Because of that fact, I have been steadily beefing
up my DVD collection with some of the titles I love that I have on VHS so I can
actually watch them again!
With “Dirty Dancing”, I get the best
of both worlds…amazing music and a coming of age romance that tugs at the ole
heart strings for the bargain price of $5.00.Now you can see why I couldn’t simply walk past this one.I LOVE
this movie.It was released in 1987, a
year after I graduated from high school.My daughter and I sang along to all the songs, and I find myself still
singing them today.I have them cranked
to full blast on Spotify as I write this.If you haven’t seen it, you must!If you have seen it, you must see it again.It is well worth the effort.
It was one lazy ass weekend at my
house, staying up late watching movies, playing cards, and sleeping in until
late into the afternoon. Saturday was made
better with a Notre Damewin, and Sunday was dominated with grocery shopping, dishes,
house cleaning, and laundry. I even
managed to get a bit of knitting done! Thanks
to 4-H and my tutelage, my daughter is quite the baker so while I cleaned, my
daughter made bread bowls which were filled more than once with homemade
steaming hot chili topped with melted cheddar cheese and then promptly devoured. I love weekends. There is nothing I look forward to more, and
unfortunately, there is nothing that passes quicker than a weekend.
Food. Everybody loves food to a certain
degree. We all eat it to survive. There
are others who eat it for pleasure. The
question is who cooks it? At my house,
that would be me. I take full chef
honors. There used to be a time when my
husband ruled as Lord of the barbecue grill, and my realm was confined to the
kitchen. My kids and I would wait, with baited breath
and growing appetites, for him to come home and cook something, anything, on
One day my
husband decided I needed to master the barbecue grill as well. The skill was on the list of things
that he should do and could do, but unfortunately hardly ever came home to do
and didn’t want to be bothered with when home.
If I wanted the taste of barbecued meat grilled to perfection, I needed to
learn. So I did, all the time with the
nagging thought in the back reaches of my brain that I was being prepared for a
life without him. Is he trying to tell
me something? Probably not, I am just a
tinge paranoid. I am a strong,
independent woman, whether I want to be or not.
This life as a trucker’s wife has made me that way.
up, it was the same scenario on the most part, since my dad was also an over
the road truck driver like my husband.
While he was away, Mom ruled the kitchen and did all the cooking. When Dad came home, he not only presided
over the barbecue grill, but also dazzled us with his skills in the kitchen. Crazy enough, it was my Dad that attempted to
teach me how to cook and insisted on me helping. He taught me how to cook breakfast: eggs,
pancakes, french toast, you name it. He
showed me how to make his spaghetti and his barbecue chicken. My Dad
actually had a huge collection of recipes that he began accumulating after my
mom died, and I got that little gold mine when he died in 2004.
though I watch “Master Chef” avidly and am openly in awe of Gordon Ramsay, and
secretly scared shitless of him, I have no delusions that I could compete in
the Master Chef kitchen, nor would I desire to.
However, we don’t starve, and there are a few dishes I am damn proud to claim
as my own concoctions. Yes, I cooked
that. My mantra has always been and
always will be: if you can read, you can cook.