Those who know me for even a little bit of time quick come to learn that I don’t cook. Like, do NOT cook. Not at all. Other than heat a can of tomato soup on the stove or maybe make cheesy scrambled egg once or twice a year, I just don’t cook.
I realize that most people find this ridiculous, but keep in mind I have no children or husband to ensure receive nutritious food daily. I’m fine with toast or leftovers from a previous meal for breakfast, a huge lunch ordered at the office and then something simple like chips and salsa or cheese and crackers for dinner. Lots of times my coworkers will bring in their leftovers to share. And living less than two miles from five sets of aunts and uncles means lots of dinner invitations. Plus I am blessed with a gazillion friends who have adopted me for dinners as well. Take one look at me and you will know that I am not missing meals. It is just that I don’t know how to cook.
Enter Ree. You might know her as The Pioneer Woman and she has, quite literally, changed my life. No, I don’t wanna marry a cowboy and live on a farm (I am incredibly happy here in my beloved Pittsburgh). No, I don’t wanna birth beautiful babies (not physically possible). No, I don’t wanna basset hound (I love my German shepherd). I do, however, want to cook. The photos she posts with her step by step instructions make even me say, “I could do that.”
AND I HAVE BEEN. Me! Cooking! Happy girl sigh.
See, I’m a Cancer. We *love* food. We are nurturers. We are comfortable in our homes. While I adored my Mom, she was a terrible cook so I had zero desire to learn from her. But day after day for the past few years, ever since Britt was amazed that I didn’t have a clue who the Pioneer Woman was and sent me to her site, I’ve been watching Ree make phenomenal homey meals. And make them look easy. Easy enough for even me.
So I bought her cookbook as a Christmas present for two friends and picked up one for me. After looking at pictures of horses and her husband’s butt (sorry, Ree!), I closed the pretty cookbook and let it sit for over a year.
Britt and Jared came to stay with me for a month. They have two kids to feed and are on a rather unforgiving budget so we ate at home. A lot. Lucky for me, Jared enjoys cooking and experimenting. He heard me complain about wanting meatloaf after having a really bad one at a restaurant and remembered seeing Ree’s cookbook in my kitchen (it makes a lovely accent, too!). Damned if I didn’t come home from work one night this past September to a house that smelled divine. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes were hot and being served. Not just any meatloaf, but The Pioneer Woman’s bacon wrapped meatloaf. Those two pounds of meat didn’t stand a chance with our group. Devoured.
I was inspired. But not enough to really do anything about it. I mean, Jared was still there cooking all the time (even though his attempt at her brownies was a nightmare to look at, they tasted good enough to lick from the counter tops). And then when they left I fell back into what I have done my entire adult life…if I ate supper it was at someone else’s house if it was not chips and salsa.
But I kept reading Ree’s cooking posts. And one day, all alone, I cracked her cookbook. The call of that meatloaf was powerful. Powerful enough that I made a shopping list. And told people what I intended to do. Invited a guest over so I wouldn’t chicken out. Borrowed a little hand mixer for the mashed potatoes (yes, I had to borrow one!).
It. Was. Fantastic.
Ok, “fantastic” is probably a little strong. But the mashed potatoes were creamy and smooth and not glue. My meatloaf was juicy and flavorful. It was a damn good meal. Even if there was no other side vegetable on the plate. I was crazy proud of me. So happy and proud that I started making little things here and there. Baked brie. Bacon wrapped chicken with a little brown sugar. Chicken rice soup. Hard boiled eggs sauteed in reduced soy sauce. Yams. Split pea and ham soup. Baked potatoes. Cinnamon sugar French toast. Chicken breasts. Bacon Wrapped Filet Mignon (that turned out so good it deserved capital letters).
Guys, I am cooking. Not just cooking, but truly enjoying the process. Over on Pinterest I created a food board.
I get that I am rambling. I really do. And I apologize. But tonight I made Ree’s Brussels sprouts which weren’t just good, they were damn good. The only other time I was so happy with Brussels sprouts I was in Orlando at Cat Cora’s restaurant, Kouzzina.
What I am saying is I think Ree created a monster without even knowing it. My coworkers are seeing it and as a result gave me a hand mixer for Christmas so I don’t have to borrow one any more. My friends and family are seeing it and have offered little one on one cooking lessons, start to finish, any meals I want to make. (Did I mention that I am really only cooking one thing at a time, not entire meals? Totally am. Baby steps with simple food! Yaaaaaaaaaay for offers to assist in person!)
I like this newest shiny thing in my life. It won’t get old since I am starting at 40 and hello, yummy results. I won’t tire of it since the possibilities are endless and fun.
I’m just feeling really grateful right now. Thanks for the inspiration, Ree. Without even knowing it you gave me confidence in the kitchen that my best intentioned friends and family were unable to provide. Know that you and your little blog have made a difference in this wonderful world.
[I had every intention of inserting a few photos of things I have cooked recently, but the images were on my cell phone and really don't do any of it justice, therefore you simply must trust that what I am saying is true. BAM!]
Years ago I had a simple little sterling silver German Shepherd charm on a bracelet and lost it. Looked everywhere, and I do mean everywhere for that little guy. I felt silly praying for guidance to find it, but did anyhow. And then I still couldn’t find it. Then September 2004 had the stupid flood hit and my storage unit on Campbells Run Road got submerged under water for days. Problem was I could not even begin to think about it since I was busy throwing away most of my (now sopping wet with sewage water and ruined) possessions, mopping, bleaching, washing and generally trying not to freak the fuck out about no longer having a place to live. So yeah, probably was more like a week or two before I got to the storage facility since other priorities were on my mind.
The garage type door was barely half way on its way to open when BAM!, the stench hit. Sewage water that sits and festers? Not anywhere near a pleasant odor. I took a step back. Regrouped, if you will. Said a silent prayer for strength to get through another day of throwing possessions away. And repeated words I had been saying for days, “It is only stuff. I asked for Reilly and Ludo’s safety during this flood and I got it. My dogs are all I need. Thank you for their safety.”
I threw the door all the way open and backed up again, desperately hoping the fresh air would somehow mix with the awful smell and make it all better. After another strength gathering moment I stepped inside the tiny unit. Thick brown mud was on everything. Most items were unrecognizable as they sat under the disgusting substance. I was about to get overwhelmed and desperate not to lose my composure so I looked down at my feet. An inch in front of them sat a perfect, shiny little silver dog, surrounded by a tiny circle of clean cement.
How could a mud filled room possibly have a two inch perfect circle of clean cement on the floor? How could a totally brown room offer a pristine pup?
All I know is my dogs were safe and then up shows another dog I prayed for. I wholeheartedly believe in a higher being. Always have. Too many things like this happen to me for me to not believe. The timing of these tiny miracles is just the icing on the glorious cake.
[I linked to two old posts within this one. They contain the entire flood story, but are rather long posts. Just warning you!]
“I want to beg you, as much as I can, to be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart; try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms or books that are written in a foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers; they cannot be given to you now because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. You will then gradually, without even noticing it perhaps, live along some day into the answer.”
~ Rilke
The above was something Mom gave me ages ago, a piece that never got framed, just got shoved in a box and moved around a bit. Even somehow survived the flood in 2004. Fortunately the print and mat are wrapped in plastic so the dust and dirt of the years doesn’t seem to have impacted the piece itself. I found it a week or two ago and have read it at least once daily. Considering that my dear Aunt Sue is dying and today I head to Florida for a few days to hang out with her for the last time, this BE PATIENT and LIVE THE QUESTIONS NOW is hitting pretty close to my heart. The heart that is breaking for my cousin Jane because she soon will know this awful feeling of not being able to pick up the phone and hear her Mom’s voice. That is the worst for me…to not have Mom at my fingertips, to see me calling and happily answer any silly little thing I needed or wanted to know; to not be in my corner always.
This photo was taken about 10 days before Mom died. Aunt Sue is the one with the gorgeous silver hair, behind Mom. Before Mom had chemo and the cancer really took over, the two resembled each other a lot.
Aunt Sue loves the Lord and has lived a very happy life with Him in her heart. I am told she is looking forward to no longer being in pain and having the pleasure of gazing upon His face. Her faith and strength thrill me. But dammit, I am selfish and want her wonderful self here. I want to be happy for her, but my heart hurts. It hurts so hard.
And yet there is also a huge hurt that goes deep down to my core because I really want to ask her to tell my Mom a few things. Mostly that I am sorry for not being a better daughter while I had the chance.
Fuck.
The familiar alert that a new text had arrived interrupted my cooking so I ignored it a while. (Come on, your shock at the fact that I was attempting to cook should make you understand that there was no way I could break concentration, right? Moving on.)
Eventually stuff on the stovetop no longer needed constant attention so washed my hands and checked the beloved EVO’s messages. (I just realized that my phone doesn’t have a name. How the fuck could I have gone for almost a year and a half with no name for my phone? Eek! Suggestions?) ( Ok, where was I? I really need to write here more often in an effort to help lose some of this scattered brain. Sheesh.) My high school best friend had sent me a “Just found this pic of you and E at the zoo” message with this photo attached:
First of all, at first I didn’t even remember going to the zoo with little dude. Secondly, I am not even certain that I ever looked like that. And lastly, the child in that photo turned 14 this past March. FOUR FUCKING TEEN! (translation: I am old!)
Back and fourth our texts flew, mostly about how times have changed and all, but then she sent two more pictures from a long ago trip to South Park (I think it was South Park):
and
I was flabbergasted. Basically I have it in my head that I have always looked the way that I do now while somehow thinking that I still look exactly like I did then. I forget sometimes that I am 40 and was young once. (And apparently was at least 75 pounds lighter than I actually am.) My head has an awesome mashup of me and I kinda like it.
Anyhow, I asked how old she thought I was in the two images of me alone and when the reply was “22″ I just couldn’t believe it. Not that she has any reason to lie, but wow. 22.
22!
Might have to pull out the old photo albums. Was fun flashing back for a few minutes while dinner cooked. Kinda wanna check out the “reality” of pictures as opposed to trusting my memory. If I find anything fun perhaps I’ll slap it up here. Really has been too long. Don’t like neglecting this blog. I think I sorta miss writing here…
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First person to comment on my shades or Steelers shirt gets spanked. Same for the fact that I look like Yinzer Secret Service Agent or something. Also, commenting on the tight jeans with penny loafers and a t-shirt (and a scrunchie around the wrist!) shall result in spankings as well. Then again, I still have about a dozen white t-shirts that I live in and I don’t have a lick of fashion sense now so I guess not having it then is no surprise…
As so many of you know, this past month I had the pleasure of having Britt and her family park their RV in my driveway and park their butts in my house. It was fantastic! My tiny house was alive with energy (I’ve never heard so many questions before 8 AM in my life) and my dog thrived on the extra companionship. Coming home to the smells of a home cooked meal (Jared used my cookbook often…totally inspiring) and having coffee first thing with a great girl friend is something I had yet to do in this house. (Yes, I moved in back in December of 2004, hush.)
Point is, I was given a fabulous gift by having a terrific family stay with me. And I meant to give them a great gift back by showing them my beloved Pittsburgh. Problem is, there is so, SO much that I didn’t show them:
Don’t get me wrong, we obviously did *some* stuff over the course of a month:
- History Center
- Just Ducky tour / Station Square
- Backyard bonfires
- Pirates game
- Pitt football game
- Driving tour of Mt. Washington, South Side, Oakland, Downtown
- Carnegie Science Center
- Card and game night at my aunt and uncle’s house
- Dinner out with Podcamp friends
- Bowling in the most diviest dive that ever dove
- St. Anthony’s Chapel
- Saturday morning in the Strip District
- Blogger parties
- Shakespeare in the Park
- Cowboy boot shopping
- Tailgate party at Heinz Field before Pitt – ND
- Helped my cousin move
- Movie on Opening Weekend (Real Steel)
- Several family parties
- Lunch at the original Primanti’s
- Tour of Frank Lloyd Wright’s masterpiece, Fallingwater
- Evening of playing in the Water Steps and ice cream at Remember When
- Penguins first home preseason game from a Loge Box
- Driving tour of Squirrel Hill, Point Breeze, East End
- Theater District night out for Wicked
- Steelers game viewing parties at my Aunt & Uncle’s house
- Fishing (and lots of catching) at a friend’s pond
- Free drinks on date night at Church Brew Works
- A few crappy restaurants
- Tour of Ohiopyle State Park
- Play and exercise in Frick Park
So there was lots we did and lots we didn’t do. I like that they seem to want to come back and tackle some of the stuff we let work and school prevent us from doing. For the most part they got a good look at what life here in Pittsburgh is like. Emma cheered for the Pirates, Devin said he would love living here, Jared imagined his family visiting for a vacation and Britt smiled when talking of living in the Strip District. I know New York City is their dream, but I love that Pittsburgh is right up there on the list of places where they could be happy.
I mean, I did see lots of smiles…
At Las Velas after Britt spoke at PodCamp
Playing around after a baseball game 
Catching fish in a friend’s pond
Playing in the water steps on the North Side
Finding stylish items in the Strip District 
Showing off athletic maneuvers in Frick Park
Of course,having them around made me smile lots, too.
Teaching the kids how to appreciate hockey from private box was fun for me.
And watching the kids do yoga in the Water Steps and in Frick Park made me smile.
Speaking of smiles, when other folks stop what they are doing to appreciate those I love, well my heart just explodes with happiness.
So yeah, we might not have done everything there is to do, some might say I’m a bad hostess this time around, but I’ll just choose to say that I saved some smiles for a future visit. Can’t get here soon enough…or last long enough…
Ξ June 21st, 2011 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Uncategorized |
We’ll never forget. We’ll never stop hurting for our friend‘s loss.
I remember everything about September 11, 2001. The four planes were still burning and smoking when my company sent us home to be with our families. Mom had called and asked that I please come to her work (she was a cancer nurse at Shady Side Hospital at the time). Although the hospital was completely in the wrong direction, the sound of her voice made me immediately say yes. Traffic wasn’t bad yet because Pittsburgh didn’t officially give the evacuate order until a bit later so I arrived quickly in Shady Side. Mom threw her arms around me and burst into tears, relieved that her only baby was safe after she witnessed such horrific events. It was like she only believed it when she finally saw me. I stayed in the cancer center until the end of the day, following Mom home and spending the evening / night with her (Reilly and Ludo hadn’t come into my life yet so there was no need for me to go home).
Mom turned the television on as soon as we were in her home. The news kept showing planes crashing into the Twin Towers. I felt sick. But the part that made me feel the most anger, true and pure white hot rage, was when the cameras would show people in the streets celebrating. Dancing. Clapping. Smiling. I couldn’t grasp how someone could feel joy at the same actions that caused me such overwhelming sadness. My brain couldn’t think straight and I started trying to figure out where those folks were. If they were in Philly I was going to drive five hours at top speed and not stop as I plowed straight into their celebration. I wanted to then put it in reverse and drive my little 1986 tank Volvo over anyone I missed. Over and over again. But then the announcer told me that the celebration was happening in a foreign land, a place where awful people hated us. A place where my little car couldn’t take me to ruin their celebration.
Almost ten years later a local DJ announced on Twitter (hi, @fsmikey!) that our President would hold a press conference around 10:30. At night. On a Sunday. Everyone knew it would be a big announcement. The POTUS doesn’t just make speeches late at night on Sundays. I stayed glued to Twitter. I watched as speculation was thrown around on television. And then I saw President Obama officially declare that Osama bin Laden was dead. I felt relief. Huge relief. While I knew that it didn’t mean the war was over, I felt proud of our troops and Military Intelligence for finding bin Laden. Pure relief that finally he felt the wrath of our country.
Twitter didn’t seem to show relief. It exploded with joy and jokes and happiness. Political statements were thrown around a bunch. Some folks were wonderful enough to thank our troops, some reflected on how much we have lost in the past ten years, but my stream was mostly filled with celebrations. Even couch burning celebrations (way to go, WV).
This morning television, radio and Twitter were filled with the merriment, with joy. Yet I can’t join in the party. I still feel great relief that the leader of al Qaeda, his son and couriers/confidants are no longer breathing, but I can’t dance. War is ugly and this victory is fantastic. But to dance and party in the streets? Seems all too similar to the celebrations I witnessed on September 11th. Those revelers were happy to hurt the enemy. To them we deserved it. And now we party because they deserve it for being our enemy.
Just doesn’t seem right.
I want to hug our military. I want our troops to know how grateful I am for their sacrifice, their willingness to witness and perform terrible acts, their living in conditions I can’t fathom, their service to our country. I want the families of those who serve to know that I am thankful for their sacrifice as well.
But I don’t want to celebrate.
I hadn’t intended on writing a birthday post…didn’t even bring a laptop here to Florida. But this fancy schmancy new phone makes it possible. And I feel so blessed to be alive, so thankful to be me. So here I am, typing on a tiny keyboard in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping.
But I fell asleep on the couch with the TV still on and woke up to find a movie I first viewed with my Mom on my birthday (after a Chinese meal that left us both with sides that hurt from laughter and a serious appreciation of hot peppers). Mom insisted that even though she had already seen Thelma and Louise, it was still the movie we *had* to see that day. She wasn’t sure when our schedules would again make it possible for us to get to the theater together and it was important to her that we saw it on the big screen, larger than life. Mom loved strong women and felt strongly (absolutely demanded) that I needed to view Thelma and Louise. Despite the ending, we both left that theater practically bursting with joy at just being women, just being alive. It instantly shot to my top five list of favorite flicks.
Waking up a bit ago to find TBS showing Thelma and Louise on my birthday is yet another in my life’s incredible synchronicities. Especially when I throw in the fact that both women in the flick picked up new hats and this weekend both Britt and I also bought hats.
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One doesn’t hang out with Britt for any length of time without being forced to look in a mirror every once in a while. She is an inquisitive creature, always seeking to be the best person she can be, taking traits / habits she appreciates from those around her (whereas I just sort of stagger blindly though my life, content in the knowledge that I am happy, content and not hurting anyone, but never bothering to attempt to improve me).
So the questions come…do you have any insecurities, how did you get to be so confident, is being a strong (single) woman really about relying only on yourself, are you really that confident, etc. I never think of these things, but I have to sort of self analyze in order to respond and hold up my end of the conversation, otherwise there would be an awkward silence, ya know? Even if it feels strange to talk about myself all “wahoo, I fucking rock and you should all be like me, raise your kids to be like me and oh by the way, I have no fucking clue how I got to be the way I am” I find myself pondering questions that I never ask myself.
Today I realized (yet again…slow learner!) that it really all does go back to Mom and God. I will never be alone because God is always with me (I don’t need to be in a pretty building to communicate with him) and my Momma was a pretty damned tremendous woman who gave me gifts I never realized she was giving.
July 5th is my birthday. The one thing I want with all my heart is to hug my Mom tightly and say thank you. She not only gave me life 39 years ago, but Mom ensured I would live with a grateful heart and a happy song as my journey’s soundtrack. I miss her desperately.
Especially since she would have not only appreciated the creativity and talent that it took to make the stained glass effect Independence Day shirt I am wearing in this photo, but she would look at me with those Mom eyes and say I look beautiful (“on anyone else, no…but you? Absolutely beautiful!”).
May you all have someone who looks at you and always sees your best.
Got an invite from a friend to go on her friend’s boat for the evening. I haven’t been out on my beloved rivers in a boat in ages. This afternoon I feel all giddy, like a kid awaiting Christmas morning.
I’ll try to get some decent photos and post them.
Because Twitter just isn’t enough!
P.S. Yes, I post a bunch on Twitter instead of here. If you aren’t following me, why?
EDIT: Oh yeah…just like that, plans change. Seems the storms showed up sooner than we expected. Instead of being out on the water during the lightening show, we’ll do dinner and act like idiots elsewhere. See, Twitter would have been the better placce for this announcement. heehee
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