in which the wedding guest makes a request

When the wedding invite says, dinner and dancing, please follow through with food substantial enough to be considered dinner.

Or, simply state "hor d'oeuvres and dancing" (dancing hor 'doeuvres?).

This guest would have been quite happy, at this point preferred, to feed herself in one of the many restaurants she passed on the way to the wedding location.

If you do serve hor d'oeuvres only despite the misleading invitation, please see to it that enough are served to accommodate all of your guests. As opposed to empty chip baskets and dip depleted bread bowls.

You could also have the wedding in a town bigger than a thumbnail so that your borderline hypoglycemic guests can order pizza past midnight.

Failing these requests? Your guest, in anticipation of a reception meal, might just

(1) eat very little by day 

(2) confidently slurp stout drinks 

(3) feel slightly feint at the sight of empty hor d'oeuvre platters 

(4) continue drinking with a vengeance because by now friends know her drink and are happy to retrieve from the open bar without being asked and, doesn't that feel nice? to be brought drinks without having to ask?

(5) make way to the dance floor, flinging toward only slightly willing partners (any pulse will do!) 

(6) attempt line dancing

(7) fail miserably

(8) realize through blurred vision that a meal never did follow the nearly non-existent nosh

(9) black out for an hour, or two (repeating #5-7)

(10) eventually find herself back at the hotel, stumbling through the corridors in search of vending machines and, finding nothing more substantial than a Twix bar, progress to the night clerk slurring, pith-zza? pith-zaa delibbery? only to discover there is no food delibbery within 40 miles 

(11) cry sloppy tears
(12) drink some more 

(13) wind up passed out drunk, face down on the end of her hotel bed, husband's lifelong friends meandering and conversing above her big ass, undoubtedly wondering why the furk, at her age, she hasn't learned to handle her booze and, probably, assuming it must be a Jersey thing.

Yes. So. Wedding planners? Meals are appreciated (but only if promised).

And bride in ballet dress and gold slippers?  You looked adorable. 

Which is all that really matters.  

monday's music moves me, too

Through A Daft Scots Lass I linked up with Xmas Dolly's Monday's Music Moves Me to share a few of my favorite tunes. Thought I'd pick a few less-than-likely-to-have-been-heard-before songs.

Great way to start a Monday, my way of thinking.

This song by Sun Volt, I first heard in my first house in Austin.  A true driveway moment.  These guys played on Austin City Limits, I just learned through the internets.




Another longtime favorite, Iris Dement, is an artist few of my housemates (read, family) can understand.  Sam was kind enough to sacrifice his ears take me to see her at one of my favorite Austin music venues, the Cactus Cafe, on the University of Texas campus.

When I listen to Our Town I picture myself sitting in The Corner Bar with my longest, bestest friends.  As she appeared on Austin City Limits (and no, I have never been there):




And this artist living in Austin since before I moved here, is one I never, ever get tired of seeing.  I've seen him at the Cactus a couple times, at Gruene Hall (Texas' oldest dance hall), Unplugged at the Shady Grove and Armadillo Christmas Bazaar (just now, had to look up the spelling of bazaar no less than four times).




Hope you've enjoyed and will return the favor by plugging some of your favorite artists.

you only think your spouse is an annoying housemate

Read these roommate notes and remember how bad it was back in college.

















We're starting out with light and cute and will move our way to downright nasty.  Priggish readers, you've been warned.

Although, who would complain about heat set at 60 degrees?  Or have I been living in Texas too long?

Now, this one below?  I sent to Sam because I know he would appreciate it.  

Backstory.  There used to be a friend of one of our kids who would use up a considerable amount of toilet paper AND clog the toilet on a REGULAR basis.  Even when excessive toilet paper was not involved, still the toilet would clog, requiring big burly arm strength to get the job done.  Very loud grumbling would accompany the brute force.  

What to do?  I couldn't imagine horrifying this child with embarrassment.  Let alone call the parent.  Good restraint on my part?  Or overly considerate?  You decide. 

I'm tempted to write this on my dishwasher at home. Except my teenagers have no such inclinations and would only put a greater distance between themselves and the appliance.

 I do like how this person thinks: 

And last but not least, I wish I had seen this back in my dorm days:

more novel synchronicity

Yesterday I chose a movie to watch instantly, Restoration, starring Robert Downey, Jr. Restoration takes place during the reign of King Charles II, mid-17th century England . I had never heard of this movie despite loving RDJr and old English period pieces. The Restoration Period, I learned from the internets, occurred during the second Reign of the Stuarts, the "first kings of the united kingdom." The Stuarts were restored to the throne following a brief, early period of parliamentary rule headed by Richard Cromwell.

So. In the midst of my internets history lesson, I came across this brief timeline of British rule:

1066 - 1154 The Normans

1154 - 1216 The Angevins

(The first Plantagenet kings)

1216 - 1399 Plantagenets

1399 - 1461 The House of Lancaster

1461 - 1485 The House of York

1485 -1603 The Tudors

1603 - 1649 and 1660 - 1714 The Stuarts

1714 -1901 The House of Hanovarians

1901 -1910 and 1910 - Today Saxe-Coburg-Gotha and The Windsors

My eyes settled on The Plantagenets. Strange name. Never heard of this family or tribe or whatever they were. Or if I had, it hadn't sunk in. But I corralled my impulse to go down yet another wormhole of TMI and instead resumed watching my movie.

Fast forward to later that night. I'm in bed reading my latest novel, The Quincunx, set during early 1800's England. About 30 minutes into my reading I come across the following description,

"My own people, the Bellringers, he went on with considerable bitterness, are connected with some of the most ancient families in the kingdom. The blood of the Plantagenets runs in my veins."

Bizarre coincidence or mystical synchronicity? Maybe not so bizarre considering my interest in early England, both in novels and film. But to have researched the who's who of the British throne the same morning as the Quincunx paragraph the very same night? (I'm typically not that industrious).

I think that is eerily weird. And as I've said before, this kind of synchronicity isn't all that unusual with me. It happens once or twice a month.

My husband, Sam, told me he doesn't want to hear any more of my mysterious mind events until they involve a long string of numbers. As in lottery winning numbers.

But of course I have to share. So the next day (this evening), I tell Sam my latest happening. And I give him the background of the rulers pre-Plantagenets, the Normans and the Angevins by way of timeline.

To which he gets a strange look on his face.

You're not going to believe this, he says.

This morning he had the very busy task of sitting at a remodeling client's house, the entire day, waiting for a city inspector to show up (who never did). In his boredom he picked up a National Geographic from the living room (friends of ours, these clients) and what does he read? A piece about historians' increasing understanding of the early Anglo Saxons, the early Angiven people, the Normans and ... Ok, no, not the Plantagenets. He doesn't recall reading that name.

But still. The Plantagenets were direct decendants of the Angivens.

Maybe not all that freakish, but pretty dang close, right? Random National Geographic read during a random day of waiting on an inspector in a random living room.

So what do you think, reader? Do I have some kind of special extra-sensory power I should try to harness? Or are we just a couple of nerdy, boring Anglophiles who read too much?

project to do lust

I was looking in my many cookbooks online for a chicken and dumplings recipe, a dish made to Daring Daughter's perfection by the mom of her BFF.  I can't seem to duplicate the dumplings to DD's satisfaction no matter how many different ways I try.  But try I may.

In the midst of my dumpling search I stumbled across Karen's Quaint Cottage.  I used her recipe for broth, give or take.

And here is the BFF mom's recipe for her amazing, magic dumplings:

2-1/4 cups flour

1/4 tsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

3-3/4 Tablespoons Crisco

1/2 - 3/4 cup ice water

Mix well and roll to desired thickness.  The original recipe says to chill the dough - I NEVER do that - and besides it's easier to roll the dough when it's room temperature.   Cut in strips/squares/rounds/ etc.... and put in boiling broth.  Cook til done. BFF likes them very thick and chewy.  They are super easy and super good!

Seems innocent enough, though, right?  A mid-morning search for a recipe?  Until I hit the scroll bar and saw Karen's many, many woodworking projects.  Projects that make me moist drool.  Projects I would very much like to build my hubby to build.

When we were dating, one of the things I was so taken by was Sam's carpentry skills.  That he had built tables and bookshelves and bed frames and even an armoire for his first wife, all of which she took with her in the divorce.  I listened to his sad tale of a lost love, of various attempts at marital therapy.  I saw the helpless, confused and devastated look on his face.  And the part that really captured my heart?

 Armoire. He can build an armoire.


Come to me, my preciousssss.

The fact that, twenty years later, I am still without a custom built armoire is of absolutely no consequence.

What. So. Ever.

Long years of love and loyalty and lollygagging on our living room couch count for something, right?

Using my psychologist expertise I have deduced that, in his mind alone, building one's wife an armoire is a certain precursor to divorce.  Bad karma.  Marital voodoo.  A case of CPTSD*.

So instead of merely focusing on dumplings I cannot perfect or the armoire I shall never have, I've decided to construct a list of other things I'd like to have constructed.  Things without a traumatic history.

Not a Bucket List.

A Build-It List.  A Project To Do Lust.  He will be so glad I found this blog.

1. simple wooden laundry hanger (emphasis on simple, right honey?)

2. simple wooden cabinet drawer for my baking sheets, cake pans, loaf pans, muffin pans, and assundry other pans I will use once every seven years.

3. simple wooden canvas art project  for my daughters' bedroom.  See? It isn't always about me.

And that is as far as I got.  Stay tuned.

An inappropriate disclosure:

I have always considered my self a "1" on The Kinsey Scale. Karen and her woodworking skills?  Bump me up to a 2.

Post Dumpling Review:  

Not so good.  Subtle eye signals exchanged between DD and Sam told me not quite right.  They did say they prefer broth with no onions,  carrots, or celery. (To which I think, what's the point?)  In my husband's words, dare he say it, like Mama used to make.   

No explicit pronouncement on the dumplings per se although I may have heard someone mutter chewy under their breath.  My son gave it an unenthusiastic It's alright.   Compliant Daughter doesn't like anything all mixed together such as soup or stew or chicken and dumplings.  She ate two bites and tried to sneak away from the table, undetected.  But I caught her by her belt loops and sweetly suggested she Sit down, clown. If one of us has to suffer through my dumplings we all do.  

*Carpentry Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

in which she mandates chick flicks and cute puppy videos

So many times in my personal life and in my office I get asked some version of the eternal question, Why is he so selfish? A wife or partner of a man tells me that while she is always thinking of his needs, he seldom recicprocates.

I hear things like,

I go to his action movies but he refuses to come with me to a chick flick.

Or,

For weeks I think of the perfect present for him but he barely remembers my birthday.

Or,

After twenty years of marriage why can't he remember that I don't like mayonnaise on my BLT?

Ok, so that last complaint is mine.

The point is, women are often frustrated and hurt by the lack of compassion and understanding they get from their men. The fact that lesbian couples are also frustrated by their partners for the same reason is besides the point and will be largely ignored for the purpose of this discussion. Big wink here.  

Why, I often ask myself, are there so many of these complaints? Are men less compassionate? Or are women overly needy and overly sensitive ? (Insert lesbian examples here.)

I type this knowing my question is largely rhetorical among so many readers but I ask so that I might suggest ... what we have long suspected...

It's in the biology.

Or so says Dr. Paul Zak, PhD.

So his PhD is in Economics. He's validating my long held theory so I'll take it.

According to the research cited by Dr. Love, as he has been dubbed, testosterone inhibits the release of the  cuddling hormone, oxytocin. I will say that again.  Testosterone inhibits the release of oxytocin.

Many situations contribute to the release of the bonding hormone.  Women release oxytocin when they breastfeed and when they have sex. Especially when they have sex. When we are moved to tears, when a small child snuggles against our neck, when we see, at the end of The Way We Were, Hubbell looking wistfully at Katie as she smooths back his hair.

It's that warm, grabby, squeezy feeling in the chest.  The feeling that makes us want to get close, to hug and connect with someone (or puppy), take care of, protect, soothe their hurts.

So, says Dr. Love, in the presence of testosterone, or extra testosterone, feelings of compassion decrease.  Administering additional testosterone to men also leads to them become "more selfish."  However, men who watched videos designed to elicit compassion were found to release more oxytocin.

Ok, so what is the practical advice here?  How can we oxytocin soaked wommens get our menfolk (or women partners) to crank up their oxytocin levels?  Take them to sappy, romantic chick flicks, that's how. Expose them to sensitive, caring pictures.  Videos that make you go, awwwwww.  Give warm hugs.  Show appreciation.  Compliment them, authentically, especially for loving deeds or a job well done.  And - always good couples therapy advice - cut back on the criticisms. Way back.

Oh, and one more... have sex more often.

Not a bad exchange when there's a chick flick in the bargain.

driving pet peeve number 328: aggressive courtesy

Like most people, I find the holiday season one of such mixed feelings. On the one hand there's the season of love and giving and Santa and of course the baby bejeebus (credit, Hokgardner), all combining to bring out our kindest selves.

On the other hand there is Christmas shopping and navigating a crowded parking lot.  This recent spate of frantic beat-the-rush browsing has brought to the fore one of my driving pet peeves:  Aggressive courtesy.

Or is that, courteous aggression?

Not sure.  I'll let you decide.

Yesterday was the latest and a typical example.  I'm in my car wanting to make a left into a parking lane.  There is an oncoming black truck with darkish windows.  It's drizzling* and his windshield is foggy.  With my blinker on, I'm waiting for him to pass by me, but he's not moving, he's ... what?  Waiting for me to cross in front of him?  Then I see movement through the windshield. I believe he is signaling to let me pass.  Not quite sure so I sit.  I don't want to take the risk, I can't really see for sure and anyway, he has the right of way.  If our fenders crunch insurance is gonna make me pay.  So I wave him on.

But now he waves harder.  Oh I see, another man driver insisting on playing the gentleman.  But I wave him on, thanks but no thanks.  He proceeds, gunning it.  And now he drives by me, waving his hand in a display of disgust, hand turned toward his face, jerking upwards, looking down at me, shaking his head, scowl on his face, as if to say... what?  How dare I not take advantage of his seemingly courteous gesture?  Even though doing would require that I trust a complete stranger, in the rain, in a monster truck the color of evil?

I have a hard time shaking off these exchanges.  They always involve a man and he is usually alone, often at 4-way stops.  It seems as if these courteously aggressive drivers insist on asserting some sort of power or, why else the angry gesturing when I don't comply?  Does a generous offering in a vehicle by a man (some men) demand the woman assent?  Because this you go... no, you go exhange happens with women drivers, too, but it never ends with them proverbially flipping me off with an angry wave.  So I don't get it.  I am left assuming it is some kind of chauvanistic ritual left over from the not-so-long-ago era we now know as Mad Men.

I used to wonder how the show got its name.  Now I'm pretty sure I know.

*Yes, we in the land of worst-drought-in-history (yes, I blogged about it, here and taken pictures of it, here) have been getting rain.  Several days of it.  Ground is soaked.  Thank you, thank you, thank you Mother Nature!

a little bit of texas (no football, promise)

Sam and I spent our 20th anniversary in San Antonio.  Some random pictorial highlights:

First things first.  Thanks to Karen for her restaurant suggestion.  Homemade hot sauce with roasted .. peppers or tomatoes, or both... was superb.  Cheese enchiladas... perfecto.  Margarita... excellentay: Sweetly sour, salt around the rim and stout.

A word about the corn tortillas.  When it comes to restaurant tortillas, Sam always orders corn and I order flour.  I don't especially like cornmeal unless comes wrapped in a tamale.  But here?  When I reached into the tortilla holder, I grabbed the flour tortilla on top.  Halfway into my soft taco Sam noticed I was eating one of his corn tortillas.  Thin and mashed very fine, I didn't taste the difference (the stout margarita might have had something to do with it).

I had an instant feeling of love in the women's room.  Lots of great prints by Mexican artists here and throughout the restaurant.

Sautillo tile floor in the bathroom, plastic slipcover on the couch.

In the ladies room stall.  Way to make a woman feel, well, like a woman.  I want this print in my home bathroom.

Because I've never taken a picture of myself in a mirror.  Good a place as any.

Husband Sam used to visit his grandmother in this house, King William District, back before it was gentrified.  It was a four-plex back then.  She lived in the upper right hand side.

The right sign out front.  I wonder who lives here and has a loved one overseas.

View from E. Guenther St. of the Pioneer flour mill.   Sam could see this tower when he looked out his grandmother's window at night. Used to scare him.

I could look at the King William District architecture all day.  Beautiful front porch made for sipping lemonade. Or margaritas.  

Love the board and batten siding and the standing seam metal roof.  Sam pointed this house out to me, said he thinks someone from New Jersey must live here due to the single candles in each window (my hometown tradition).

Relaxing back in hotel room.  Yes, that's prickly pear cactus juice in the pink drink.  I'm seldom without my prickly.

Holiday lights on the Riverwalk. Arched footbridge in the center of the trees.

Flags atop the Tower Life Building on the Riverwalk.  They've got their priorities straight.

Love the way the tower is lit up at night.

Flowering Spanish Olive tree beside the Alamo.

Fuzzy olives. Security guard said they sell the olives in the gift shop. Wish I had stopped to get some the next day, but then, you can't have your Alamo olives and eat them too.

View of lights as we sat shivering at Waxy O'Connor's eating fish and chips.

In case the night view wasn't clear enough, that's an Aggie flag atop the Tower Life Building.  Owner is a big alum.  One spring break a few years ago my husband and kids went to the Riverwalk.  We were invited to walk up on that octagon balcony at the top. Very cool views of San Antonio.  Can see for hundreds of miles.

Enjoying Texas Sized margaritas at Rita's on the Riverwalk.  Driver, Sam, ordered his Jersey Sized.   That's my high school friend in red and her daughter who were in town for a wedding.  Tempting picture of the margarita taken by Middle Age Mom, here.

Hope you enjoyed my motley crue photos of San Antonio.  I didn't take too many because it was (1) cold and (2) my anniversary (better things to do).

turkey may never taste the same

We interrupt the preparation of your family's Thanksgiving feast to bring you a special announcement.

Be it stuffing your turkey with oranges (like we do) or making a last minute grocery store run for parker rolls (like I wish we didn't do) or preparing a blender full of liquid fortification in anticipation of Aunt Martha, who, every year, without fail, puts on her unique version of the martyr syndrome, I want you to stop and hear what I have to say.

This evening at 8pm EST, on Kyle Field, the Texas A&M Aggies will meet the t.u. Longhorns on the gridiron for the 118th time and for what might be the last match up ever.

Here's my message: The Aggies want to keep playing the 'Horns.

No matter what you hear on ESPN, no matter how many times the announcers infer that the last game is due to the Aggies leaving the Big 12 conference, no matter what you read in the rag of a newspaper, know this:

Aggie head coach Mike Sherman has publicly stated he wants to play the Longhorns every year.

Longhorn head coach, Mac Brown, has publicly stated he wants to keep playing the Aggies.

The chancellor of the Texas A&M University system, John Sharp, has publicly stated he wants to keep playing the Aggies.

"We want to make it abundantly clear we will play the game anywhere, any time."

Even the Texas Legislature might get into the act and mandate the annual rivalry.

So who is responsible?  Almost single handedly, the t.u. Athletic Director, DeLost Dodds, is responsible for the end of one of the longest running college football rivalries in U.S. History.  DeLies Dodds is the one who insisted on keeping the Longhorn Network (LHN).

DeLoser's choice to sign a $30 million deal didn't just piss off Texas A&M.  It also pissed off Missouri.  They've signed to leave the Big 12, too

Insistence on keeping the Long Hate Network also blocked the 'Horns from moving out of the Big 12 and into the PAC 12.  PAC 12 said, in effect, no to LHN and no to UT.  The 'Horns, much to their consternation, were left holding the LHN bag, stuck in an ever diminishing conference.

Ok, that's it. We conclude this special announcement. You can now go back to your pre-turkey dinner preparations and your liquid libations.  Just needed to set that record straight.

Gig 'em Aggies.  Beat the hell outta t.u. This year and any other year t.u. feels up to the challenge.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

she jumps out of the recipe rut and into the frying pan

You could say I've been in something of a cooking rut. With three teens going three different directions, a dog (because there's always a dog, isn't there?), five chickens including three new young chickens introduced to the coop (creating a pecking order situation that has brought out my fierce, Inner Mother Hen), and one sorely neglected beta fish named Molly, I haven't had much time to think cook let alone experiment with new recipes.

Mention a new dish and I cringe at the thought of reading a recipe (heaving sigh), shopping for extra ingredients (deep groan), more time in the kitchen to get the recipe right (loud argh).

But, amazing for my track record, I tried two new recipes in the past week.

It started with fresh shrimp on sale at the grocery store and fresh tortillas in my cart.  Not having made shrimp tacos in recent memory (I know, and I call myself a Texan?), I went searching and found a recipe that included Lime Cilantro Sauce here at Life's Ambrosia.

Now, usually I skip a new recipe's sauce because I'm lazy but this one sounded way too good to miss. And it was. Really tangy.  Amazing on the spicy shrimp. Out of sour cream, I substituted with plain yogurt - still amazing. Add chopped avacados?  Lawd have mercy.

The second recipe venture started with wilting strawberries in the fridge. The idea of another banana berry smoothie sent me to the edge and then to the internet in search of something different.

Thanks to Cookies on Friday, I came up with this wonderful Fresh Strawberry and Cream Cheese Bread.  Adding walnuts and ground flax seed changed the look considerably but everyone loved it, including four girls at my daughters' sleepover.

So two new recipe successes in one week.  Pretty pleased with myself.  My family's palate is pretty pleased, too.

How about you? Tried any new recipes lately?