Hi. You probably know me as hellohahanarf from my years of commenting around the world wide internetz, yet never having a blog. Well my friends, that has changed. Welcome to MY site.
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.
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:
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…
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.
I have so much to share and yet absolutely nothing to to talk about. A while ago an ugly internet situation (which didn’t even involve me) reinforced how much this community of “friends” can turn on you if you make a mistake and people don’t agree with how you handle the aftermath. The power of the written word is mighty. I watched in horror as folks took to anonymity in order to slam and talk about a few others, saying dreadful things which didn’t even pertain to the original situation, all from the safety of behind their keyboard.
Most seemed to think that because two people blog and share lots that somehow they MUST share everything. It was as though because someone chooses to share about lots of good things and a few flaws that somehow they were expected to share every flaw…in detail. So many people not only expected it, but actually demanded it.
It wasn’t the first time I saw it happen. The first time crushed my heart and made me doubt that I would ever blog again. I wailed online about the injustice, the name calling, the bullshit of it all. This time? This time still broke my heart, but it also took a lot of wind out of my sails. More than I realized, it crushed my spirit.
So I guess I mentioned that situation and how it made me feel in some sort of way to explain why Midnight Cliff has been on the silent side. But yes, I am alive and actually quite happy. In the past month that I haven’t posted here I’ve been to a Bags, Bellinis and Brunch fundraiser where I bought a new license plate purse from Little Earth, I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with Coal Miner’s Granddaughter and Copasetic Beth, I’ve been enjoying the Penguins playoff series, I’ve had a trip to Nashville canceled as a result of the terrible flooding, I’ve had the pleasure of being gifted with a VIP ticket to the Wine Festival where I consumed wine with a price tag of over $600 per bottle, I’ve attended my favorite trade show and partied with some tremendous people, I’ve laughed so hard at Benihana that my sides hurt, I’ve enjoyed the 90th birthday party for my dear great aunt, I’ve had hot dates, I’ve spent incredible time outside with the dogs, I’ve dined with fellow bloggers, I’ve had followup testing to confirm that February’s surgery healed properly, I’ve started planning my 40th birthday adventure to Alaska for next summer, I’ve enjoyed the Kentucky Derby, I’ve booked a cooking class, I’ve been thrilled to hear that a friend was invited to speak at BlogHer, I’ve started planning my next adventure in Kentucky, I’ve had heartache, I’ve had questions, I’ve celebrated Cinco de Mayo, I’ve dreaded Mother’s Day, I’ve searched for contractors to put a new roof on my house and to rebuild my falling down fence, I’ve enjoyed time with family and friends, I’ve accomplished lots at work, I’ve considered painting my house, I’ve welcomed spring as over 50 robins worm hunting signaled it FINALLY arrived, I’ve dined on gourmet food, I’ve been involved with planning committee meetings for a fun raising golf outing and I’ve done lots more.
But none of it seems to make me want to write about it. There are some fun stories in those things that I’ve done in the past month. Twitter has given me an outlet to share some of it, but I just don’t feel like sharing here. Maybe because I know that no matter how positive I am and no matter how I try to do the right things, well, maybe someday the Internet will demand more from me than I want to give. Maybe the Internet will find some mistake I made and not agree with how I choose to handle it so they will decide to pick up their torches and pitchforks instead of just talking to me about it so that we can work through it.
I know I’m rambling, which is kind of funny for a post where I tell you I have no desire to write. Not sure what to do about that. Guess basically I’ll wrap up with this: I’m happy and healthy, enjoying life, but have zero writing mojo.
Hope it returns. I do still love this little blog.
If you follow me on Twitter you know that Monday night I took the dogs for a walk. Well, actually I took the German Shepherd for a long walk as his vet says his hips need the exercise, then I went back to the house and swapped Ludo out for Reilly as his beautiful little self loves to explore. After that, when I knew the novelty had worn off, I went back to the house and got Lou again so that all three of us could get out together. It was wonderful. And I learned a few things on this little adventure.
First, if I ever want to pick up men, just take the German dog with me. Not sure what it is, but damn, guys love a shepherd.
Second, not only am I out of shape, but so are both of my boys. Sheesh! All three of us were panting by the time we made it home. That photo up there is of them collapsed after our adventure.
Third, Pittsburgh is damn hilly. Ok, I totally knew that one already, but did I mention the heavy breathing? Yeah, there sure as shit was a reason. After the flood in 2004 that forced me to move and get new shit I looked for a place that wasn’t in any valley or near a creek (pronounced “crick”) and lemme tell you people, I fucking succeeded. If water rises enough to get me at the top of this hill, ya better have an ark.
Fourth, Finn also doesn’t like the phrase “you people” and it now makes me smile to sneak it in places. Like in that last paragraph. You should see the smile on my face. (Sorry, pretty lady!)
Fifth, the not quite all there/mentally disturbed guy that I was so happy to Tweet about the other day is friendlier than I imagined. While he smiles and waves when I do as I drive by, I have also seen him yelling at cars as he sits on the curb and smokes hand rolled cigarette after cigarette. Ludo and I walked up that far so I smiled and nodded hello as we approached. He smiled back. I stepped off the curb so as to not shove a German Shepherd in his face, but he held out his hand while still seated and asked if he could pet the dog. “Sure. Lou, be good, be nice. And behave, dammit!”
Dog made me proud, even extending a friendly lick hello. The guy remained seated, still smoking an unlit, half gone cigarette and complimented Lou’s behavior. Then he reached into one of the several bags beside him and pulled out something small which he held out to me. Looking down into his kind eyes I took the offering. It was a medallion, not even an inch long, made of a thin silver material and stamped “Italy” on the back with Mary on the front. I believe in Jesus and basic Christian principles, but I never could get into the whole pray to Mary thing…I talk to God, thanks. Regardless, I smiled and commented on it being Italian.
The guy was really nice, didn’t try to preach to me, didn’t ask anything of me, just gave me the small medallion and said that he hopes it brings me miracles. I went on my way with a little extra bounce in my step because some strange man wishes miracles for me. So I guess I am saying I also learned that strangers still can happily surprise me.
My Mom used to save all kinds of stuff to give to me when we would get together again. Maybe magazine articles, feathers she found, little items she picked up in her travels, etc. Didn’t matter what the pile contained, Mom called it her A Drive. When we would get together the first thing she had to do was “dump her a drive” and give me everything, telling me about each item. It usually drove me nuts because there was fun to be had and dammit she was slowing us down. Now? Wellllll, I miss it desperately. Which, of course, means that I am now picking up where she left off…prepare to be dumped upon…
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The other day the fantastic Heather (Coal Miner’s Granddaughter) wrote a post about breast milk cheese and cooking with breast milk. Human breast milk. I kind of surprised myself when I realized that I wasn’t all that grossed out at the concept. Not really grossed out at all, actually.
So while washing the dishes (I don’t have a dishwasher, I *am* the dishwasher) my mind started off on its own. That is usually a dangerous thing, but I tend to do some of my best thinking while doing dishes or showering. Maybe it is the water, maybe it’s the solitude with no tv or music. Ount know. Point is I started thinking of stuff that grosses me out. The highest on the list? Someone else using my toothbrush or me using theirs. BLECH! Even if I were on Survivor and the gorgeous Colby Donaldson offered to share I would have to turn him down. I’d rather use a branch and gnaw on that for a bit than share a toothbrush. Just can’t handle the idea. (Although Colby, if you are reading, I’d fuck you even without the toothbrush…call me.)
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I read about a guy who is going to be in the hospital for a long time and how his friends are trying to get him lots of mail. Immediately I grabbed a card and had coworkers sign it, addressed it and dropped it in the mail. Over the coming weeks I plan on sending this dude all kinds of silly stuff. You should consider it, too. Read about it HERE.
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On a totally different note, soon I will be on a plane to drink myself into a gutter for the HHD (High Holy Day = St. Patrick’s Day). My early AM flight will have me hearing the crack of dawn the morning of the 17th, but I plan to sleep the whole way to Alabama. The completely awesome Kim (from Live at the 205) will pick me up at the airport and then Birmingham should just look out because we might drink our faces off. The next day, once we find our faces, we shall drive south to Florida. I’m really looking forward to the getaway. She is truly an amazing woman and rumor has it other bloggers will also be joining us. Should be terrific. BUT, I’m not taking my laptop so who knows if I will be able to post. Sure, she is bringing hers, and it is a coveted Apple(!), but since I don’t know how to work it you might not hear from me for a few days.
Also, I can’t find my bathing suit so please send names of nude beaches.
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So, my friend Earl posted a video that cracked me up. Seems his friend made it. They want others to see and enjoy. So here ya go:
And if you have a blog, maybe consider posting it?
So the other day, on my beloved cousin’s birthday, I happened to mention finding a photo of her in which her hair was all WOW. But instead of saying her hair was all WOW and oh my fuck, I wish I could rock that, perhaps I said something in the comments like it was all “Edward the vampire” and totally adorable. Regardless, Janie was oh so not impressed.
Let’s not fight with her over the validity of the Twilight books and movies. Instead, let’s discuss whether or not she was 20 years ahead of Edward’s hairstylist:
(Yes, that is Janie on the far right. Be nice, she is my cousin and friend. I’ve been known to throw punches in her honor. (She doesn’t know about them. Shhhh.) Also? How could you not be nice to a crazy teenager in the 80′s? She is damn cute! (Fuck. She probably hates the word “cute” and yet I’ve been drinking so FUCK IT, I’m hitting publish, even with all of the commas and parenthesis, even without a proofread. COZ I CAN! God bless America. And the Internet.)
Catching fish in a friend’s pond
