Que Sarah Sarah

Driver's Training

2011-08-21T13:05:00.003-05:00

Years ago, I mean years and years and a really long time ago, when I was taking my driver’s training final exam, my instructor asked me a question.

Now. Up until this particular question, I had been proceeding through the training with ease, parallel parking and reverse zig-zagging my parent’s mini-van with ease. Nothing escaped my new driver knowledge. Until.

“What would you aim for if you had to run your vehicle off the road.”

“What would I aim for? How bout an empty field?”

“No, you have to hit something.”

What kind of question is this? My mind raced through the plethora of possible objects that may be found on the side of the road: garbage, flower beds, trees, Optimus Prime, people, lemonade stands, animals (once I even saw a headless horse on the side of the road! Of course, I instantly thought of The Godfather), 100-year old Sequoias, leaf piles, old sofas, mail boxes…

Leaf piles would probably be the obvious choice; I used to love driving through them, watching leaves fly up all around…until my mom reminded me of all the fun my siblings and I used to have playing in the leaves. A headless horse? You can’t do much damage to a headless horse, though your vehicle may suffer. Okay, how about flower beds? But all that work, love and care, destroyed by my uncaring tires…my mind settled on mail boxes, because they’d tend to give (unless they’re those giant brick mailbox monoliths waiting to leap out at unsuspecting passersby) and they’re easily replaceable. Yes, a small, innocent mail box is just what I’d aim for, If I had the choice.

“Well, if I had the choice, I’d rather aim for nothing, but since I have to hit something, I choose a mailbox,” I said triumphantly, proud of my logical, well-thought out answer.

“WRONG! FAIL! The correct answer is BRUSH PILE! You are the WEAKEST LINK!” she gleefully exclaimed.

A brush pile?! Who keeps a brush pile on the side of the road? Far be it from me to argue, though I did shoot her an incredulous look and my mom glared daggers at her from the back seat in solidarity. I fleetingly imagined plowing the car into a mailbox just to prove I was right.

Though now, thinking back, if I had a choice, I think I’d say Optimus Prime. No one can argue with that answer.

Moving Day

2011-08-01T08:10:00.002-05:00

So, Moving Day went off without a hitch.

BWAAHAHAHAHAHA! Did you believe me???

I awoke at 7:45. We had plans to get up at 8 to finish some last minute preparation before our help arrived at 10. As it turned out, Steven had been up until 3:45 am being Steven and so he slept in. At 8 something, our main helper, Trey, called to say his wife was in the ER and his buddy would bring the moving truck and Steven could pick it up at 10. Steven ended up sleeping til 9:50 and then (after I hurled some breakfast at him) raced out the door to bring back the truck. At 10, Reese, a faithful member of our church and all around fabulous guy (who’s in his 70s) arrived with his trailer to help begin the move. Reese and I managed to haul several loads down the SEVENTEEN steps and maneuver them into the trailer while we waited for Steven to arrive. We only lost one.*

Steven arrived with the truck.**

So we began loading the truck. Steven’s obscenely huge desk made its merry way down the steps and into the truck without incident.

Benny, yet another awesome church member, arrived with his van.

Couch, loveseat, bed and dressers to truck.

Gallons of water were consumed, rests were taken, pounds were sweated off.

The caravan commenced.

It’s about 40 minutes drive from the apartment to the house.

Caravan arrived at the house, my car was hastily unloaded and I left to procure nourishment in the form of delicious pizza.

When I returned, Troyce, Betty, Richard, Benny’s son Andrew and Andrew’s wife, Faith (all church folks) had arrived to continue the unloading.

It was awesome.

Faith and I may have ridden the lift on the truck like a carnival ride.

Pizza was devoured, water was drunk and huge sighs of relief were heaved.

Everybody but Benny, Andrew and Faith went home. Those of us remaining made one final trip to the apartment for one more tiny load and we were done.

And I broke the key off in the door.

What better way to say, “Poo on you, apartment” than breaking off the stinking key in the lock?

On the way back to the house, Trey called to say he was in our driveway (we have a driveway, guys!!!).

He left his finally stable, sleeping wife at the hospital*** to come and help us finish. These people are amazing!

Everyone left, we took showers, I threw a sheet over our bed and we collapsed (and were awoken at 4:45 am by a mystery noise, which turned out to be an alarm clock that somehow managed to get switched on in all the chaos).

We dragged ourselves out of bed in time for church (and woot! All the helpers were at church too, exhausted though we all surely were.)

I am still in love with this house. It has a lovely huge screened in patio. Like a Michigan room, I think. Also? A whirlpool tub. And so. Much. Space. Pictures will prove this once I find my camera. Two big, round gardens in the front yard and assorted trees (which someone will hopefully help me to identify). An added bonus? It’s on a dead end street. Dead end=no traffic.

As one of the helpers said last night, “Welcome to the country.”

*Reese was carefully guiding a load of boxes down with the dolly when he lost his grip and it went sailing down the steps. I was behind him (he wouldn’t let me walk in front, lest something like this happens, and praise God for it, otherwise I’d have been lying in a heap at the bottom of the steps, too) and reached out grabbing for him, thinking he was falling, too. Thankfully, all is well and it was nothing breakable.

** Trey is an appliance salesman/repair guy and has this fabulous truck with a nifty lift on the back and an awesome stairstepper dolly and all the bells and whistles. Which someone drove into a bridge. Apparently the driver misjudged the height of the bridge and plowed into it, shearing off a nice chunk of the roof. It may have looked funny, but it did the job.

***Prayer request for Trey’s wife, Tamera, who is recovering in the hospital.

A re-post...

2011-07-18T20:55:00.001-05:00

I wrote this 45 bajillion years ago and am now re-posting it as an attempt to get back into fiction...maybe someday I'll even finish Marcus' Story...

Let me know what you think...

No, really. Criticism is welcome.

--------------------

"Why don’t you tell me again how it happened. From the top.”

Opal glanced around worriedly. Her eyes swept past the police, the paramedics. Thoughts of Paul and his inevitable lectures about how a woman her age shouldn’t be driving filled her head. Ever since that little fender bender last year he’d been just unbearable. She hadn’t even been hurt! Just a few little bruises. Paul certainly had a temper.

The flashing blue lights of the police car snapped Opal back to the present. “He came out of nowhere!” She blinked back tears. It was true. Maybe she had been going a little too fast, and of course that curve was the site of many an accident, but the young man on the motorbike must have been invisible until the moment of impact.

Officer James sighed. Miss Opal was going to be in a world of trouble if that boy in the ditch didn’t pull through.

They both looked up as the paramedics loaded the man into the ambulance. One of them caught Officer James’ eye and shook his head slightly. It didn’t look good.

"Come along with me to the station, ma'am, and we'll talk more. And we'll call your son, too."

As he helped her into the patrol car, Quentin James thought back on his eight years in the Highway Patrol. Never had he seen an accident like this one. The motorcycle was actually embedded into the front of Opal's Cadillac. They hadn't been able to identify the boy on the bike yet but he hadn't been wearing a helmet. If he hadn't been thrown to the water-filled ditch, he would have surely died already.

Officer James looked up warily as a black BMW screeched to a stop in front of his patrol car. Must be the old lady's son.

"Mother!" The kid was out of the car and scuttling towards them, engine running and door open, barely stopping to put the car in park. He looked more angry than worried. "Mother! What were you thinking?"

Opal cringed, shrinking into the back of the car. "Paul, please..."

Officer James tried to keep the peace. "Son, your mother's had quite a scare. This isn't the time to be berating her."

"Officer, is my mother under arrest?"

Quentin didn't like the man's tone, but he was used to dealing with all sorts in his line of work. "No, sir, she's not under arrest. I do need to talk to her, though, and get this mess straightened out. How did you even know about the accident?"

"It's a small town, Officer." Paul looked at Quentin disdainfully. "Good news sure travels fast."

"Son, you can either come along to the station with me and help get this taken care of or you'll have to go."

Paul shot his mother an evil glare.

What kind of relationship must they have? Officer James was baffled at the malevolence in Paul's face. He really seems to despise her.

"She just doesn't listen!" Paul spat the words out, giving each one it's own sentence.

"Now just calm down." Officer James tried to diffuse an increasingly explosive situation.

Paul took several deep breaths and appeared to gather himself up.

Officer James' radio squawked to life. After a hushed conversation with the disembodied voice on the other end, Quentin turned back the Opal and Paul. "He died en route. Ma'am, you have the right to remain silent."

"Oh, no you don't!" Paul darted to his car, ruffled around in the glove compartment and turned back, triumphant, with a gun in his hand. "Leave her alone," he said. "I'll deal with her later."

Instantly, Quentin's own gun was in his hand. "Boy, you don't want to do this. Just think about what you're doing."

"I am thinking. You're going to arrest my mother! I can't let you do that." A wild look had come into Paul's eyes. The look of a man on the brink of losing control.

A light rain started, darkening the street around them and whispering through the trees.

"Put the gun down." Quentin spoke firmly, yet calmly.

Paul sighed enormously and rushed him, closing the space between them in five giant bounds, gun in hand.

A deafening roar.

Opal looked at Officer James, his gun still smoking. Paul lay in a heap at her feet, a pool of blood slowly spreading beneath him as the rain began falling in earnest. Silently, she began to cry.

Insert Fanfare Here

2011-07-02T19:20:00.004-05:00

We got a house! And not just any house. The most beautiful, gorgeous, perfect house of all time.

God loves us.

We move in on the 30th. I think it needs a name...any suggestions?

Moving again?!

2011-06-19T15:51:00.000-05:00

Yes, again. The powers that be have been so gracious as to allow us to remain in student housing though we haven't been students for quite some time now. Alas, we are now being kicked to the curb. And we have to be out by the end of the July.

Also, we have a week's "vacation" scheduled right in the middle of this mess. Actually it's a revival Steven's preaching up north. The dates were picked long ago and it's too late to change anything now.

I don't know how we can be expected to accomplish all that needs to be done in less than 40 days, while working a full-time job and managing various church events.

Here's another dilemma. Where the heck are we going to live? We are hoping to expand our family very soon and (I) don't wish to have a baby in an apartment (ie, I'd like to be settled down, preferably in a house, since I don't ever want to move again. Ever.) However, houses are very permanent. And much more expensive than apartments, at least month to month. If we get a house, I'm pretty much stuck in my job for the next 30 years. And I've always hoped that if we had a child I could stay home with it. While Steven could easily become a stay-at-home dad since he doesn't have a "traditional" job, I am already jealous of him for that.

I'm completely screwed, right?

I don't think there is an easy decision here, I guess I'm just looking for prayer and advice on what we should do next.

So it's official...

2011-06-08T21:36:00.000-05:00

Steven and I are attempting to become preggers. I'm stressed and emotional. Which causes me to further stress over the future, since pregnant ladies are (often) emotional wackjobs. So here's what I'm doing:

Blogging, to get my feelings out in the open.

Taking prenatal vitamins in anticipation of a future parasitic attachment.

Reading everything I can get my grubby little paws on regarding pregnancy and delivery.

I've been passively trying to get in shape but am now going to work in earnest. I refuse to change my diet, though. Dieting goes against everything I hold dear. Namely, delicious food in large quantity. If I want to eat cheese for three meals a day, why shouldn't I? Life is too short, right? (Of course, I'll be sure to eat balanced, healthy meals, but I won't deprive myself of delicious, comforting, luxurious food.)

Is there anything else I should be doing to prepare? No sex stuff, sillies, my mom reads this blog!

Meet Layne

2011-03-12T23:05:00.003-06:00

My newest nephew, Layney, affectionately christened by me as "Frog Legs." You're just meeting him now...he's already an old man but I make no apologies for my laziness. He's the sweetest, best baby ever. At least until the next one is born.

Love you, Layne.

Enormous Love

2011-01-06T17:53:00.000-06:00

This, my dear ones, is Natural Tunnel in Duffield, Virginia. The picture here hardly does it justice. We were looking down upon it from a great height. There is a ski lift that will take you down for a closer look. If you peer in closely, you can see a set of railroad tracks just big enough for a toy train. What I am saying is that this cavern is immense.

My parents and I went to visit it when Steven and I lived in Kentucky. I love going new places with my parents; they always have interesting perspectives.

My dad said (and here I am directly quoting) "If God picked up the earth like a bowling ball, that's where His thumb would go." My mom and I laughed, of course, but I have always remembered that...God's thumb hole.

What a big God we serve. What are our problems in the face of His awesome power? I say this to you, and to remind myself also. God made us, He loves us, and He's in control.

O come, let us sing unto the LORD: let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation. Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto him with psalms. For the LORD is a great God, and a great King above all gods. In his hand are the deep places of the earth: the strength of the hills is his also. The sea is his, and he made it: and his hands formed the dry land.

Psalm 95:1-5

He loves you, beloved.

Watching Him Work...

2010-10-03T12:46:00.003-05:00

Entering, I find a seat in the back and sit, presumably a darkly dressed melancholy girl, not to be disturbed in grief. Presumably invisible in a place like this.

He immediately sets to work, shaking hands, hugging necks, speaking words of condolence and remembrance.

I watch as he greets the family, murmuring and some of them even smile. Some even laugh.

He greets the funeral director, them in matching appropriate suits, dark and somber and dark blue/gray ties.

The service begins. Those who were smiling remember themselves, frown and sit. The tears begin.

He speaks eloquently. Words to help family and friends and acquaintances alike feel connected and loved and comforted. Words of promise and hope and eternal life.

A slow parade of people shuffle, hobble and creep past the casket. He speaks to each one in turn.

He prays.

Service concluded, people begin to come back to themselves.

My invisibility slowly wears off and I’m greeted, mostly with “Who are you?” and “Are we related?”

What do you say? "I’m the preacher’s wife. I’m here for him, not for you." "Sorry for your loss?" What good does that do? "It’s nice to meet you?" I’m glad your mother/cousin/family member died so we could have this occasion to meet?

No, I say none of that. I tell them I’m Steven’s wife. Everyone knows Steven, and nothing else need be said.

Life is Good

2010-08-21T14:28:00.005-05:00

I'm not dead, just drugged. Or at least I WAS drugged.

I have always been an introvert, a social-phobe, a hermit. I saw my doctor on a particularly bad day and she prescribed anti-anxiety medication. Other than causing me to gain about 30 pounds, I never noticed a difference in my behavior. Well, maybe some zombie-ism. My imagination dried up and blew away. Hence, no blogging. Also, no cooking (at least nothing to stretch my brain), very little reading and a lot of sleeping. Now, a year later, I am proud to be drug free. I am still shy, still socially awkward and still hyper-vigilant, but I'm here. Biking to try and combat this ridiculous weight and hoping to be back to blogging.

And I made delicious Italian Vegetable Stew today...

Morning Drive

2010-01-24T06:22:00.000-06:00

I guide Daisy along.
Next to me, Steven prays, preparing to preach.
Sweet sunrise, early morning mist on heron lake.
The sky on God's Day displays His artful expertise.

Daisy slows.
Country church.
Big-hearted, white-haired, quick to smile and easy to love.
Strong arms and soft shoulders.
Funny and wise.
We're home.

Brian Regan (aka Merry Christmas to me)

2010-01-16T08:51:00.000-06:00

Steven bought me tickets to see the funniest guy in the galaxy, Mr. Brian Regan, as a Christmas gift. Ain't he sweet?

Last night was The Event.

We started out with dinner at Abuelo's, a new (to us) and very yummy Mexican restaurant. We forced ourselves to stop eating after about 2,000 calories (1,200 of said calories consisting of beans) since we were looking forward to a night of uncontrollable laughs and not being escorted from the Orpheum on account of strange belly activity.

Heading to the show, I regaled Steven (and myself) with snippets from Brian's other shows:

I used to love peanut butter… still do. I saw something in the store the other day that I don’t understand, that peanut butter and jelly in the same jar. Is there a point to that? I mean I’m lazy, but... I wanna meet the guy who needs that. Some guy going, "You know I could go for a sandwich, but uh, I’m not gonna open TWO jars! I can’t be opening and closing all kinds of jars... cleaning, who KNOWS how many knives!?" If you’re that lazy, why not put croutons in there and get the whole sandwich on a spoon. You know, just scoopin’ it out... "Mmm...Oh, scrumptious! I think I’m gonna have another one. Uh, mmmmm... DELECTABLE! As was the first!" Or if you don’t wanna clean the spoon, you put it all in a squeeze bottle. "Mmmm! Lunch and no clean up! Can life get better? I submit that it can NOT!"

ooh, and this one:

They call it softball, makes it sound like it's harmless, you know. You ever take a line shot to the face with a softball? You don't go "Hey, that's Downy Soft. That was like a big ball of cotton! Hey, don't worry about that! That's Blood Light! We're playing softball, we're all going to float around like angels!"

Finally there. Another comedian, Tom Ryan opened up the show. He was funny but...

Here comes the Man. Luckily Steven was able to restrain me before I tossed any of my underthings onto the stage, but it was a close one.

And also? I found myself watching other people reacting to the jokes. People are weird. They laugh and rock back and forth and slap their legs and cry. I'm the type to hold my laughter in (lest I draw attention to myself) and then completely lose control and burst out in hilarity (which sounds an awful lot like a lamb being carried off by a bird of prey and bleating for all it's worth) and laugh and laugh til my cheeks hurt and I have to pee and everyone around is looking at me and somebody asks if I need a doctor and I do but I say no because I just want to keep laughing.

Mmkay, so I'm weird too.

It was funny.

We had a chance to meet him after the show and I said no because what can I possibly say that won't make me sound like a lunatic?

"You're funny, want my undies?" <---most likely to get me divorced

"Ughhhhh." accompanied by drooling. <---most likely to get me committed.

"TAKE LUCK!" or "The big yellow one is the sun!" or "I'm the two-plate guy! Who wants to spot me?!" <---All of which would make sense if you just watch the guy. Youtube is a wonderful place to start, my dears.

Resolutions

2010-01-11T22:19:00.005-06:00

So it's the new year. And what have we done? Well, Steven has decided to "simplify his life" by throwing out a lot of stuff. Most of which is mine. Slowly but surely we are working our way through our two-bedroom apartment and sorting out nine years of accumulated life. Who knew I was such a packrat?

Tonight while organizing our room for the day, "my" closet in "Steven's" study, I discovered 17 unfinished yarn projects. Seventeen, my dears. That's a one with a seven standing next to it. I crochet. A little. I knit. An even littler. But I'm still learning! What better way to discover new techniques than to try them, master them and then move on to something else? There are afghans-to-be and almost baby blankets and one sad little dishcloth waiting to be born. I am known far and wide as a project beginner, but a finisher? Not so much. Not anymore!!!

Be it hereby resolved that I will FINISH A PROJECT BEFORE BEGINNING ANOTHER! (Well, at least once.)

"My" closet is also home to my kitchen appliances and gadgets that overflow from the kitchen. I refuse to resolve to stop collecting them. (Whew, what a sentence!) A girl's got to have a hobby, right? Why not 12?

My iPod thinks it's so smart. Just because I listen to Jon Foreman constantly, it's slowly but surely deleting all the other music.

And so...

I will SEARCH FOR NEW MUSIC TO LOVE! Any suggestions? Jon Foreman-like suggestions?

Check him out!

And, since it's a New Year, the obligatory I will LOSE 20 POUNDS! If such a feat is possible while devouring chocolate cupcakes and eating butter by the stick. One of my 12 hobbies is discovering new recipes and then using my co-workers as guinea pigs. And then posting said recipes and pictures to accompany them and hopefully to make other folks drool and try them and then all the world will be fat and happy.

Que Sarah Sarah: Saving the world, one brownie at a time.

Mmm, tasty! (At least I hope it is!)

2010-01-10T13:18:00.002-06:00

I'm being roasted! Check it out, guys!

And now!

2010-01-07T10:10:00.006-06:00

...an update.

for a summary of 2009, here's an excerpt from my Christmas letter:

Oh, what can be said about 2009? We lost a grandpa and two dear members of our church family. We gained a sister and a nephew. We worked and played and traveled and visited family. We cooked and ate and went to church. We got root canals. We saw the real, live Topol in “Fiddler on the Roof” and enjoyed watching “The Wizard of Oz” at the Orpheum. We talked to crazies both near and far away. We gorged ourselves on Memphis barbecue and treats prepared by the church ladies. We blogged and played video games and read books and debated with anyone who’d listen. We played air hockey. We preached and taught Sunday School and visited people in the hospital. We went to a marriage retreat and got completely and utterly spoiled. We got beat up and robbed in a Meijer’s parking lot. But we’re okay! We celebrated nine years as an old, married couple. Nine years! Has is really been that long?

Above all, we’ve been tremendously and overwhelmingly blessed. Thank God for His mercy toward us.

---

The Wizard of Oz was great. We ate delicious salmon beforehand and the singing and acting and effects were very well done. No one beats Judy Garland, but that's beside the point. Happy anniversary to us.

---

I baked cookies and fudge and caramels for the church ladies (and church fellas, too). Fourteen hours in the kitchen yielded enough yumminess to serve the entire church. It was fun. Here's hoping nobody dies of food poisoning and I can do it again next year!

---

We went to Michigan to spend Christmas and New Year's Day with the family. A wet and rainy and slick holiday. A great time. Visiting with old friends, presents galore and bringing in the New Year with noise and food. Lots of food. And a Snuggie!

---

I got my hairs cut! I went from this:

to this:

I highly recommend it. What better way to start a new year than losing a quick couple of pounds?

---

Coming soon:

Brian Regan

and

A roast! Check me out Sunday over at Eddie Bluelights place. Little ole me is getting roasted. Hopefully I can smuggle in some ice cubes...

Reasons I Love My Husband (#1156)

2009-12-24T08:29:00.000-06:00

Best gift so far?

He's taking me to see my all-time favorite comedian, Brian Regan.

Love you Steven.

Mmm, crackers...

2009-12-19T08:56:00.001-06:00

In preparation for holiday baking (coming soon to a post near you!) I stole this recipe from Joy the Baker.

I skipped the poppy seeds, but only because I didn't have any. They would be extra good with the added texture.

Sea Salt and Poppy Seed Crackers

1 c all-purpose flour

1/4 tsp salt

1 tsp sugar

1 tbsp butter, cold and cut into 6 small chunks

1 tbsp poppy seeds

6 tbsp half and half

For topping the crackers:

sea salt

half and half

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees F. Sift together the flour, salt and sugar. Add the butter and, using your fingers, rub the butter into the flour until it is in tiny bits and dispersed throughout the flour mixture. (I used my food processor since I'm lazy.) (Also, please disregard the uber-feminine flannel shirt jacket protruding into the picture. I try to give the darn thing away and it just keeps coming back!)

Stir in the poppy seeds. (Or don't.)

Add the half and half and mix to make a stiff dough. Place on a lightly floured surface and roll out to about 8×10-inches. Cut into 20 squares. (Using a pizza cutter makes this easier.)

Place the dough squares on an ungreased baking sheet lined with parchment or foil. Brush sparingly with half and half and sprinkle with sea salt. (Penzey's. Mmmmm.)

Bake for 30 minutes or until crisp but still pale. Transfer to a wire rack to cool and store in an airtight container.

BONUS!!!

Check out that third picture. See it? The one with hands and a toaster and forks and stuff? There's a yellow-green Nerf ball type object. First one to guess what it is gets 12 billion blog points!!! (Hints forthcoming in a future post!)

This Just In...

2009-12-15T17:43:00.004-06:00

I had a crabby day. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Usually leaving the office and getting that first, glorious breath of fresh, non-crazy air is enough to improve my mood by about 120%. Today, however, the crabbiness tried to follow me home. Grumble, grumble, grumble right down the road. Traffic's clogged up, people aren't paying attention, the dj on my radio station won't shut up and play some music.

I stopped at a red light and took a breath. In: calming, life-giving oxygen. Out: negative, stress-inducing baddayatwork.

Made a list of things that bug me:

* People who can't get to the point. You make me resent you because I can't hang up while you ramble.

* Rubber-neckers (church ladies call them "lookie-loos." Folks who clog up traffic because they slow down to stare at accidents, police cars, stray dogs...

* Christmas music. I'll be Scrooge until December 24, just so you know.

And then I started thinking about things to be thankful for.

* Steven. He loves me madly and without explanation. And he buys me pizza after terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days.

* I have a job. As much as it stresses me out, I have an income while many around our country go without.

* God. He accepts me though I don't deserve it and forgives me when I lose sight of what's important.

* My family. One lovely thing about Christmas is time off to see this:

Thank God my blessings far outweigh my gripes.

Check out this video. It made me smile.

Reasons I Love My Husband (#1024)

2009-12-02T08:23:00.001-06:00

He loves me. We're off to see The Wizard!!!

Happy Anniversary, Steven.

I love you, too.

Today's a busy one...

2009-11-26T08:53:00.002-06:00

Take time to thank God for our many blessings.

Whether you're cooking for a crowd or dining alone, He has been so good to us.

Happy Thanksgiving.

God bless you richly, richly, richly.

The search for the perfect (swoon-worthy) sandwich bread...

2009-11-23T08:41:00.001-06:00

is still on, as it turns out. It was pretty and easy and decent tasting, but it didn't make me swoon.

I made this bread for some delicious sandwiches but wasn't too impressed. If anyone has a good recipe for sandwich bread, send it my way, okay? Oooor, maybe you've got tips for livening this one up a bit...

Check it out:

4 c flour
2 tsp salt
2 tsp yeast
1 cup warm milk
1 tbsp butter
1 tbsp sugar

Put the warm milk, yeast and sugar in the bread machine pan. Then get all the rest of your ingredients together while the milk mixture and yeast hang out together for a few minites. Put the rest of the ingredients in and set to a 2lb loaf size. Begin to knead.

When the mixing cycle is done, leave in in the bread machine pan to rise for an hour. After an hour, remove the dough from the bread pan and shape into a loaf. Put into a well greased loaf pan. Cover and let rise another hour or so. It should rise well over the top of the pan. If not, let it rise a bit more.

Preheat oven to 375. Bake for around 45 minutes or until golden brown.

Cool completely before cutting.

Eat in honor of my 200th post!!!

WOOHOO!!!

Amazing Grace and the Mall Cop

2009-11-20T11:25:00.001-06:00

Once upon a time there was a girl. She was kind, generous and loving. And uncommonly good-looking. To make it easier, (easier than calling her "Sarah: Short and Gorgeous") we'll just call her Sarah.

Sarah had a part-time job and a brand-new driver's license. She'd use any and every excuse to hit the open road, even when it included chauffeuring her younger sisters all around town.

Sarah loved to spend time with her sisters. They'd go to the mall together and get iced coffees from the Beanery (Sarah's treat, of course) and window shop and try on shoes and people watch and evade creepy guys. An all-around good time.

Sarah had a younger sister whom we'll call Patti.

One day after a nice, long mall excursion, Sarah and Patti found themselves at a stoplight next to a creepy guy. Creepy Guy revved his engine, drawing looks from both sisters. Sarah, never one to turn down a challenge, revved back. So what if she was in her parents mini-van? She would have this guy eating her dust in record time. Creepy guy grinned: challenge given, challenge accepted.

The light changed and Sarah floored it. The V6 roared, the van devoured the intersection and raced on towards victory. And yes, creepy guy was left behind to sit and cry. And gloat, as it turns out.

Cue the blue lights and siren. Cops! Sarah toyed with and rejected the idea of making a run for it. As much as she loved and trusted the minivan, she feared her parent's wrath more. She slowly pulled over. Creepy guy eased past, smirking. Curses!

Nervously awaiting the policeman and her fate, Sarah turned off the radio and readied her license and registration. Patti, ever a quick thinker, turned the radio back on and found a Christian music station playing hymns. What better time for Amazing Grace than now!

It seemed to take forever, but the policeman finally arrived at the window, face inscrutable behind his dark glasses.

"Ma'am, what was that?"

Sarah stammered something unintelligible.

In the passenger seat, Patti began to sing, putting on her best Southern hacking preacher voice. "Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already coooooome..."

Mall Cop, looking bewildered, now stares openly at Patti. Was she demented? In shock? What is going on?

Patti sang louder. "Tis grace that brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me hoooooome."

Mall Cop is dumbstruck.

Patti gives the song all she's got. "The Lord has promised good to me. His word my hope secuuuuuuuures! He will my shield and portion be, as long as life endures!!!"

Mall Cop walks away without another word. Halfway to his car he seems to remember himself and mumbles, "Slow it down, Ma'am." No ticket, no lecture, no threats or promises of justice.

Saved by Amazing Grace.

My new favorite song.

Left alone by the police but Patti still felt the need to share the story with their parents, who were not pleased. Not pleased at all.

The moral of the story: You can get away with anything if your little sister's a little loopy.

Such a place really does exist!

2009-11-18T09:25:00.000-06:00

There is a place. A lovely place where lovely things happen. Putt-putt golf, batting cages, bounce houses. And also, not so lovely things. Things like a girl whomping the pants off her father in a long-awaited air hockey match. Things like this same girl yelling in triumph for the entire state of Michigan to hear and wonder. Things like this girls mother (and this father's wife) taking pictures documenting this sad, sad day. Pirate's Park: A place where dreams come true. Well, for me at least.

The date: not so long ago.

The place: a near-neglected, disrepaired shack in Flint-town

The extras: Mom, devoted photographer of family feuds
Becky, apathetic sister, along for the ride
Kaeden, loving nephew, always roots for Aunt Sarah (and most determined giver of wet willies I've ever known.)
Mr. X, Park proprietor and all-around nice guy.

Here's what went down.

Though my dear father tried his level best to cheat (I had to REPEATEDLY tell him to "get your hand off the table before I break your fingers with the force of my awesomeness") I beat him fair and square with witnesses. Let the record show. Let the people hear and rejoice:

I AM VICTORIOUS!

And I thought I was a sore loser. He's already demanded a rematch (what's this now, best 51 out of 100?)

Oh, and plus? While my dad distracted Mr. X, Becky and I played on the bouncy things. Sorry, Mr. X! I know you said no adults allowed but we just couldn't resist!

Beans, beans the musical fruit...

2009-11-16T09:12:00.001-06:00

This is almost a guest post from my lovely and talented mom, but not quite. You see, she was recently at my house for a visit and made me this delicious bean soup (and homemade bread!) while I was at work and was kind enough to take pictures so I'd know how to make it myself. Sooner or later she's going to make her own blog, but for now, I'll just steal her recipes and claim them as my own.

Mom's Bean Soup

Get beans. Navy ones. Dump into a pot and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil and cook for 15 minutes. Mom's mom says this "gets the gas out." Mmm-hmm.

Drain beans, dump into a bowl and cover with cold water. Allow them to soak overnight. The water may turn funny colors. Fear not!

Put drained beans in a pot with fresh water and add some cubed ham and chicken broth and carrots and salt.

Simmer, simmer, simmer til the beans are soft and the carrots are done.

Eat, dunking in fresh and delicious bread to scoop up the beany goodness.

A Question. And an update, too.

2009-11-14T12:07:00.007-06:00

Is my brother-in-law's wife my sister-in-law?

-----

You may have noticed that I was gone for a while. Here's what I've been up to.

My parents came for a visit! Yay, parents! I whooped my dad at Wii Tennis yet again. Are you surprised? Also. Bean soup and fresh bread. Yum.

Steven's brother, Chris and Chris's wife, Amanda had their second baby. Welcome to the planet, Landin!

Steven's grandpa passed away, prompting a quick trip to Michigan. I knew him to be a good man. The first time I met him, he had my shy little introverted self sitting on his lap within about five minutes. He always remembered who I was even though we only got to see each other once or twice a year. I'll never forget his cry of "Sarah!" when I walked into his house after his wife died. That and his pipe. That ever-present, sweet smelling pipe.

Mini Thanksgiving dinner with the family. A lovely time.

My dad and I found a real, live, honest-to-goodness air hockey table! Yes, really! You've have to wait for the pictures of that blessed event. Mom?

Roughhousing with the nieces and nephews. Macaroni necklaces, sword fights and Little Shop of Horrors. Good times.

I am now officially...

2009-11-11T10:15:00.001-06:00

...the fattest I've ever been.

I've come to a conclusion. Life is too short to worry about dieting. I eat good food that is healthy and I also eat good food that is not so healthy. Chocolate and cheese and cream and pastry...

I cook meals from scratch six nights a week, bake my own bread, delight in new recipes and covet kitchen gadgets.

When I get to Heaven I'll be perfect and that's good enough for me.

In this vein, I present to you:

Sea Salt Frozen Custard

Stolen from recipezaar.com and tweaked for your pleasure.

2 eggs
2 c milk
1/3 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 c heavy whipping cream
sea salt (a coworker gave me a ton of French Grey sea salt and I am just loving it!)

Slowly bring the milk to a boil over medium heat, stirring occasionally.

Meanwhile, separate the eggs into two good sized bowls.

Mix the egg yolks and sugar until light and frothy. Slowly, slowly, slowly pour the hot milk into the mixture. I'm talking a teaspoon at a time, folks, unless you want scrambled eggs.

Pour milk/yolk/sugar mixture back into pot and heat on medium until it thickens, stirring often. Do Not Let It Boil!

Beat the egg whites until stiff.

Slowly fold mixture into beaten egg whites.

Add sea salt to taste. I used about 1 1/2 tsp for that lovely salty-sweet flavor.

Put mixture in fridge to cool.

Once cool, add cream and vanilla.

Freeze, following your ice cream maker’s instructions.

If you don't have an ice cream maker pour mixture into 1 or 2 metal cake pans and set in freezer. Let sit until edges become firm, then remove and mix. Repeat until uniformly frozen.

Eat. It's delicious, especially when you add a little honey on top.

One of these leaves is not like the others...

2009-10-21T08:39:00.006-05:00

I posted this photo in my last post. It contains a (devious) frog which has (deviously) disguised itself as a leaf. Okay, look closely. See it? No? Look really closely. Come on, get closer. Nose to monitor. See it?

Give up?

Okay look again.

There it is! Slimy little punk.

Que Sarah Sarah: home to games like find the frog since 2008.

Upon my death...

2009-10-16T08:52:00.001-05:00

I'm a little torn about how I should dispose of my body upon my death. I would like to donate my body to science. I'm also an organ and tissue donor and so I'm hoping there won't be much left to donate. Whatever little blobs of me are left should be cremated and then tossed in a compost heap somewhere.

It all depends, of course, on the manner of my death.

If I am killed by a heart attack brought on by my stepping on a frog and having it's guts squish between my toes, it's a whole 'nother story. My feet would have to be cut off, sealed into a bucket of hand sanitizer and then dropped into a cement mixer which will then be driven into the Pacific Ocean and never recovered. So sorry to the person waiting on a foot transplant.

What is up with these suicidal frogs, anyway? They lay in wait, disguised as leaves and leap out just as I'm walking past. They wait til my cars headlights are bright as the sun and then hop into the middle of the street to await their fate.

-----

Oh and also? Paper clips. Do the ones on the bottom get upset since they rarely get used? Or maybe the ones on the top feel they need a break. No really. This is something I really think about. So I vote that once a month we all do Paperclip Rotation Day and just mix things up a little. That way everybody's happy. Or at least I am.

-----

Picture stolen from Wikimedia...there's a frog hiding in there. Really, there is! Find it!!!

Wii Tennis Tournament

2009-10-07T09:07:00.000-05:00

This has been a long time coming.

In case you've been living in a hole or something, my dad and I have an ongoing air hockey tournament. We were supposed to play during my last trip to Michigan, but were unable to find a table. So we settled on Wii Tennis. Which is just the same, dontchaknow.

Just so you know, the air hockey thing is going to last forever. Whoever the current "loser" is is always going to want a rematch, so look forward to hearing about air hockey adventures for a good long while.

Ahem.

Here are some photos from MY RECENT VICTORY! Woot! I kicked his butt from Michigan to Timbuktu! Oh, um what I meant to say was: we had a jolly time of good competition and mutual respect. A grand old time was had by all persons involved.

Ok, so here are the pics.

Pic # 1 shows us just getting started. See how nicely we're smiling? Notice my "team-player" behavior? Yes, pic # 2 is my victory dance, how could you tell? He didn't cry. Too loudly. In pic # 3 I believe I was accused of cheating. Pic # 4 shows my reaction to said accusation.

Christmas is coming soon, Dad. Bring on the air hockey!!!

...and the angels sang...

2009-10-05T09:07:00.000-05:00

So I'm very interested in "old-fashioned" recipes lately. A few weeks ago I overheard a fella talking about his grandmas "Burnt Caramel" cake and was instantly intrigued. A little research led me here, where Suzanne creates lovely recipes, including this one (and she loves church ladies, too!):

This, my dears, is sugar in a skillet. Such a simple thing and yet somehow yields a flavor so incredibly indescribably delicious that your taste buds will leap for joy.

It's melting...melting, oh, what a world...

Now the sugar's completely melted and dancing a jig in the skillet with the water. This is the really yummy part.

Flash forward a little and you get this:

and then you get a full belly and an empty plate, but those are things better left unseen.

-----

Suzanne McMinn's Burnt Sugar Cake
1 1/3 cup sugar
1 1/3 cup hot water
3 c flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 c butter
1 1/2 c sugar
2 egg yolks
2 egg whites, beaten until fluffy (soft peaks)
1/2 c burnt sugar syrup
1 tsp vanilla
1 c water (minus 1 tsp)
3/4 c milk

Melt sugar over medium-low heat. Add hot water and stir. Set aside.

Preheat oven to 350. In a large bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt. Set aside.

In another bowl, cream sugar and butter. Add egg yolks and stir. Add syrup, vanilla, water and milk and stir. Gently fold in egg whites.

Pour batter into 2 greased 9-inch round cake pans. Bake 25-30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted near the center comes out clean. Cool in the pan 10 minutes and then turn out onto a cooling rack. Cool completely. Frost with burnt sugar icing:

16 oz powdered sugar
2/3 - 3/4 c burnt sugar syrup (whatever you've got left)
1/4 c butter
1 tsp vanilla

Combine all ingredients and stir until smooth.

Share completed cake at church potluck and watch all those lovely church ladies (and church fellas) instantly transported back to days of their grandmas...

The Run

2009-10-03T08:56:00.001-05:00

Me and my ten year old shoes. Broke in, broke down, falling apart.

Me and Bill* walkjogrun, leaving behind ringing telephones, piles of dishes, dirty laundry, questions and demands of a busy day.

Copper beetles congregate under the lampposts at each corner. I crush them, oblivious til their little bodies crunch under my feet. Stray cats run for their lives and tremble in my wake.

She, the germaphobe, sweats to the oldies and sometimes Roald Dahl comes along for a quick constitutional. James and the Giant Peach, The BFG, Fantastic Mr. Fox: the gang's all here.

Just me and the harvest moon and constellations I can't name but I still know like long lost friends.

Breathless, wheezing, exhausted but somehow rejuvenated.

----*Bill Withers, that is, cause ain't no sunshine when I'm gone.

Just like "Bugs Gone Wild"

2009-09-24T10:24:00.001-05:00

It all started with the ants.

Ok, wait a sec. This is Sarah. Not the crazy psychopath in Marcus' Story. No, really. The story is here. The following is true, as hard as this may be to believe.

So let's try this again.

Ahem.

It all started with the ants.

They came traipsing into our living room, acting like they owned the place. Heck, maybe they really do own the place. Nevertheless, we're bigger than they are and so we will kill them and claim it as our own. So the ants came marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah and ate our crumbs and walked over our computer screens and infested our carpet and we all went marching down. To the end. Of the earth. To get out. Of the rain.

And finally Steven had enough. He figured out where they were getting in (a teeny tiny hole at the bottom of our balcony door) and we crammed it full of bay leaves. So that stopped them. For a while. Then they discovered the front door. They crawled up the outside wall (two stories, remember) across the hallway ceiling and down to our front door where they weaseled their way in. Persistent little buggers.

So again, Steven had enough. He went to Wal-Mart, the source of all things evil (like bug spray) and came home with ant poison in a convenient aerosol can. He sprayed. He sprayed and he sprayed some more. Ants died by the bajillion. Staggering, hands on hearts, dramatically exclaiming "Goodbye, cruel world" before falling belly-up to be swept up by our vacuum.

And the Curtis' rejoiced.

And celebrating our good fortune, we sprinkled bay leaves at the balcony door the discourage any new freeloaders.

And noticed the wasps. They were building a condo on our balcony ceiling. Swimming pool, fully furnished, pets extra.

"Call the landlord!" I yelled at Steven.

To which he replied, "Okay."

While he was thinking, "I can handle this."

So when I went to work he knocked it down with a broom handle.

To which the wasps replied, "Meh, we didn't like that house anyway."

Which is why there are approximately 2,334,813,907 wasps on the balcony now and they're building the playboy mansion, wasp-sized on the side of our place.

Poo on varmits. At least they're not spiders.

Second Try

2009-09-18T12:59:00.001-05:00

A new story for your reading pleasure. Or not. There may be more or there may not. I haven't quite decided yet. Just read it, okay? And let me know what you think. Even if it's horrible.

Really. I can take it.

-------

It rained on the day I killed Marcus.

His grave looks almost the same as it did after I buried him. The kudzu's a little thicker, that's all. Sometimes I dream that he wasn't really dead when I planted him and he's slowly digging his way up out of the ground, earth deep under his fingernails as he claws his way free. But whenever I visit the spot, I know all is well. He's exactly where he belongs.

He'd had it coming for a while.

We were friends. Just friends, that's all. He wanted more, I didn't. Sometimes he'd push the issue and I'd push back, distance myself for a day or two. He'd sulk and then seek me out, laughing and joking, his old self again.

Sometimes he'd kiss me. I'd let him, if I was feeling particularly mellow, but I never kissed back. I'm not into that.

That's not why I killed him though. What, do you think I'm crazy or something? I killed him for running his mouth. He just wouldn't shut up.

Image via Wikipedia

There was an abandoned house where we'd hang out sometimes. It had some tattered old furniture and some rugs and stuff, nothing much. He'd dragged in this enormous cedar chest he'd found God knows where and we used it as a footrest in front of the sofa.

On our last day there, I waited until he went into the bathroom. A few weeks earlier, I'd put a deadbolt on the outside of the bathroom door. I got it from a door I'd found in the junkyard, so it wasn't all shiny and new looking. He probably never even noticed it. Yeah, this was premeditated. You can put that in your report. Premeditated.

He was looking at himself in the mirror. He was a good looking guy, and he knew it. Spent hours just preening and smiling at himself, making different faces: happy, sad, surprised. Yeah, he was asking for it.

His back was to me as he checked out his teeth. He saw me at the door and his reflection smiled at me. I smiled back.

When I got the deadbolt, I'd also found a half-filled container of lighter fluid. Now I'm no expert on accelerants and all that, but I figured that would be enough to at least get the party started. After that, it'd be up to the rest of the bathroom to continue my little blaze. Hair spray, toilet cleaner...that stuff's all flammable, right?

I'd dumped the little metal can of fluid into a short garbage can. Added an old sheet I'd found in the house. I think it was a painter's tarp or something. The sheet soaked up all of that lovely fluid. Pulled the sheet out. I went into the bathroom, smiling at him. As he started to turn toward me, reaching out, I draped the sheet over his head. He must have thought I was playing some game because he didn't struggle to remove it. Not at first. I lit the corner of the sheet. Watched flames begin to devour it. That fluid worked better than I'd ever expected. It took him a while to react. It seemed like he stood there for hours, just burning. Then he started to flail. Silently, his arms swiped at the sheet. I went out the door, slammed it and bolted it. It wasn't long before he got to the door and start pounding on it...

-----

As long as I stood there watching, he never screamed. Just that incessant pounding. Thank God the door was solid or he might have broken it down. Finally I left the house, stopping on the front walk to see the view from the outside. The bathroom was burning brightly now, great plumes of smoke pouring out the barred windows. As far as I know, he never made a sound. I wonder what he thought as he burned. Was he confused? Expecting it? Did he welcome death like some martyr? It bothers me to think he might have died hating me. I didn't hate him.

The windows exploded, glass shooting out towards me. I could feel the heat of the fire baking the side of my face. The fire had spread, moving to the living room and then to the kitchen. I could hear things breaking with little melodic tinkling sounds. It was actually kind of pretty, the house flaming, the black smoke and the roaring of the fire, punctuated by a sort of off-kilter music. I let my mind record it, painting a picture to save for the future.

Then I left.

Our place was in the middle of nowhere, so it could just burn and burn all day and no one would care. No one would know, really. I went to a movie. Some cartoon. It was stupid. Later, I went back to the house. It had burned completely down, just a few bright embers glowing here and there. I found what was left of his body. I think I cried a little. I lay down next to him, even though the rubble was still hot and smoking in some places. I got burns on me. I think I slept a little. I really did love him, you know. Even though he was a rotten excuse for a human being, I loved him.

Morning was started to lighten the sky when I finally woke completely up. Abandoned or not, sooner or later somebody was going to discover the rubble. And if they were a little bit curious, maybe they'd discover Marcus, too.

I went and got some supplies from the dump. Another sheet, a shovel. It's amazing what some people throw away.

I went back to Marcus' body, and got him in the sheet. That's something I'm not ready to talk about. It wasn't really him, it was just flesh. Burnt flesh. I wrapped it up good so I wouldn't be able to smell it, but I could still smell it. I can still smell it.

I already knew the perfect spot: there's a stream not far from our place where the ground would be nice and soft, easy for digging. Moisture equals quicker decomposition. Also, the kudzu. Kudzu's amazing stuff, did you know? It's almost impossible to kill and it grows so fast some folks call it the "foot-a-night vine."

I dug a hole. I wanted to make it six feet deep, a proper grave but water kept filling it in. I kept at it anyway, I got blisters, they broke and bled. I got to about 4 feet before I gave up. I was exhausted. Rolled him in, he splashed to the bottom. Shoved in the mud and dirt on top of him. Pulled up some of that kudzu and arranged it all around the grave. He would have liked it here.

I fell asleep again, curled up on the bank of the stream like a fox.

I'm Back, Baby!

2009-08-29T16:39:00.004-05:00

(said in best George Costanza voice)

Saturdays are my days to relax. Relaxation, to me, is leisurely sipping coffee, catching up on reading and baking/cooking/creating til my heart's content.

Lately I haven't felt up to it, but today...

It's my third Saturday back and I've finally got my cooking groove back. Today I made homemade apple butter and English muffins from scratch. There are no pictures because my camera has gone missing. Maybe the dunderheads stole it. I'm not mad, I promise. I've got my pity hat on now.

I came home and rejoined the ranks of the church ladies. Lots of our church folks have gardens and mini orchards and if I don't eat the produce, it'll go bad, I swear! Lately the fruits of their labors have been apples. Mmmmm, home grown Granny Smiths.

Step One: Obtain Wal-Mart bag full of lovely, non-pesticide treated apples from church ladies. Thank them profusely.

Step Two: Get home, pull off leaves, wash apples, quarter and throw in pot. (Leaving on skins and cores for flavor and natural pectin).

Step Three: Add two cups water and one cup vinegar (you could also use apple cider vinegar or just apple cider, but you'll have to adjust the sugar later.)

Step Four: Bring to a boil then reduce heat and simmer for about 20 minutes. Apples'll get all mushy. It's okay!

Step Five: Toss the whole kit n' caboodle into a food mill (or, if you're spoiled like me, dump it into your Kitchenaid grinder/strainer).

Step Six: Dump resulting apple puree into a heavy pot. Add sugar (about 1/2 cup per cup of apple puree), 2 tbsp cinnamon, 1/2 tsp each ground cloves and allspice. Stir, stir, stir.

Step Seven: Stand there stirring mixture until your arm falls off (about 2 hours at medium heat-don't you leave that pot!) Ooooorrrrr, stir occasionally with heat very low. Cook about 4-5 hours or until deep and dark gorgeous brown. You can even do this in the oven, again set very low or in a crockpot, though you'd want to leave the cover off to encourage evaporation/reduction magic.

Serve on English muffins or, if you're like me, scoop some into a coffee mug and eat it with a spoon. 'Cause we're so civilized around here, dontchaknow.

Home, home on the range...

2009-08-26T09:36:00.000-05:00

We left for Michigan on a Saturday. We arrived late that night, exhausted but glad to be home. Steven's birthday was Sunday and he was overjoyed to spend it with family. Monday, my parents and I along with my sister Becky and her son headed up to the land of grandparents past for a day of blueberry picking, cemetery exploring and pizza devouring. Mid-pizza slice, I received a call from my dearly beloved, telling me that a church member, Mr. Bill had passed away and that Steven was needed in Memphis. He left. I stayed. My dad's retirement party was Tuesday. Goodbye to General Motors after 45 years. I spent the morning shopping and the rest of the day cooking and trying not to mingle.

Mixed in were picnics with the family, playtime with the niece and nephews, church services and relaxation. Well, a bit at least.

Then on Sunday, my parents drove with me (since Steven had the car, remember) back to Memphis. Steven returned to Michigan on Monday morning to "finish his vacation" and my parents stayed with me in Memphis until Thursday morning. Confused yet? I sure am.

On Thursday evening, Steven was mugged outside a Meijer's store. Four guys in a car pulled up to him as he was walking to his vehicle and two of them jumped out and started beating on him. They touched not his money, nor car keys nor wallet. No, these brilliant overachievers stole my husband's groceries: a two-liter of Vernor's ginger ale and a package of CD-Rs. Oh, and some birthday wrapping paper. About $20 worth of miscellaneous junk. Well, except the ginger ale. I might knock somebody over the head for some Vernor's, too. After I hit "post" on this, I'm going to make a concentrated effort to stop being angry about this. I vow not to fly to Michigan and hunt down a carful of dunderheaded morons and rip their faces off.

*Sigh*

My dad and I didn't get to have our air hockey showdown. Instead, we settled for Wii Tennis. Which I beat him at. Soundly. I'm a sore loser but a really annoying winner.

Pictures will prove this feat, after I get my mom to email them to me. (Mom?)

In short, I'm back. I hope you missed me. I hope you noticed I was gone. I'm caught up on the six hundred or so blog posts that were waiting for me. God bless Google Reader.

Watch out or you'll be next!

2009-08-11T15:51:00.002-05:00

I'm not quite ready to rejoin the land of the living, but here's a little story so you'll know I'm still alive.

Today, I was talking to a patient and my brain combined "chart" and "file" and so I offered to "pull his fart."

Yes, I'm Sarah and I have a problem.

Things That Make Me Go "Huh?" (2)

2009-07-21T20:06:00.003-05:00

I went to the eye doctor today and she dilated my eyes. My pupils are huge! So my question is this: When your eyes dilate, where does the pigmented part go? Where's my brownish hazelishousness? Are my pupils like a black hole in space, sucking all matter into their doomed darkness?

Bring It On, Dad!

2009-07-13T08:27:00.000-05:00

My dad and I have a long-standing air hockey competition going on. It all began when I was bragging to him over the phone about how I had beaten an entire youth group full of air hockey playing kids. So he decided to knock me off my "high horse" and say he could beat me with one hand tied behind his back.

Challenged.

Here I am looking vicious. Here he is looking terrified. I'm going for a visit in August. I'm ready, Dad. Bring it on!

A Little Update...

2009-07-09T08:55:00.003-05:00

Mr. Jim passed away yesterday afternoon, thus ending a long, hard and painful battle with cancer. Praise God that Mr. Jim is in a better place and reunited with his wife and son. Please pray for his family and our church and also for Steven and I as we try to help in whatever way is needed. He'll be having a military funeral on Saturday...

Aunt Sarah Project

2009-07-09T08:36:00.001-05:00

I've written about Aunt Sarah (also known as "Caroline" a time or two before.

She traveled all over, teaching classes on linguistics, giving college devotions and learning languages, sometimes even creating a written language where none existed.

Recently, I came into possession of a box of letters that she wrote to her family along her journeys. Painstakingly saved by her mother and tied up with ribbon, the letters chronicle years of Aunt Sarah's life and travels all over the world. The idea behind this "project" is to put some order to this great jumble of words, to chronologically map out her voyages.

It's been a little more difficult than I had anticipated. I find myself mesmerized by her stories. What started out as little more than a genealogy side project has become something else altogether.

A kind of obsession. A kind of feeling like I know someone I've never met. Like maybe I'm with her as she talks to people in strange languages and with different customs than what I'm used to.

Sitting with her next to a fire, seeing her smoking a cigar and watching a sunset, pen in hand, waiting to describe it to her mother in a letter.

Riding with her over bumpy, potholed streets in places where yours is the only car. Everybody else walks. Later, the car will leave and she'll walk, too.

She laughs at the antics of the children who come to entertain her, showing off, doing cartwheels and trying to outdo each other, vying for her attention.

She wracks her brain for words when writing to her supporters, trying to sound dignified and yet still trying to raise awareness of the plights of some of the people she works with.

She's amazed by God's Creation.

She misses her family.

She's ravaged by cancer, but still determined to serve.

She speaks to at chapel services, too weak to stand but still beautifully eloquent in her love for God.

I don't know her but I love her all the same.

Take One.

2009-07-07T08:42:00.003-05:00

My first attempt at fiction! Inspired by an accident I saw a few weeks ago. Let me know what you think...

No, really. Criticism is welcome.

--------------------

"Why don’t you tell me again how it happened. From the top.”

Opal glanced around worriedly. Her eyes swept past the police, the paramedics. Thoughts of Paul and his inevitable lectures about how a woman her age shouldn’t be driving filled her head. Ever since that little fender bender last year he’d been just unbearable. She hadn’t even been hurt! Just a few little bruises. Paul certainly had a temper.

The flashing blue lights of the police car snapped Opal back to the present. “He came out of nowhere!” She blinked back tears. It was true. Maybe she had been going a little too fast, and of course that curve was the site of many an accident, but the young man on the motorbike must have been invisible until the moment of impact.

Officer James sighed. Miss Opal was going to be in a world of trouble if that boy in the ditch didn’t pull through.

They both looked up as the paramedics loaded the man into the ambulance. One of them caught Officer James’ eye and shook his head slightly. It didn’t look good.

"Come along with me to the station, ma'am, and we'll talk more. And we'll call your son, too."

As he helped her into the patrol car, Quentin James thought back on his eight years in the Highway Patrol. Never had he seen an accident like this one. The motorcycle was actually embedded into the front of Opal's Cadillac. They hadn't been able to identify the boy on the bike yet but he hadn't been wearing a helmet. If he hadn't been thrown to the water-filled ditch, he would have surely died already.

Officer James looked up warily as a black BMW screeched to a stop in front of his patrol car. Must be the old lady's son.

"Mother!" The kid was out of the car and scuttling towards them, engine running and door open, barely stopping to put the car in park. He looked more angry than worried. "Mother! What were you thinking?"

Opal cringed, shrinking into the back of the car. "Paul, please..."

Officer James tried to keep the peace. "Son, your mother's had quite a scare. This isn't the time to be berating her."

"Officer, is my mother under arrest?"

Quentin didn't like the man's tone, but he was used to dealing with all sorts in his line of work. "No, sir, she's not under arrest. I do need to talk to her, though, and get this mess straightened out. How did you even know about the accident?"

"It's a small town, Officer." Paul looked at Quentin disdainfully. "Good news sure travels fast."

"Son, you can either come along to the station with me and help get this taken care of or you'll have to go."

Paul shot his mother an evil glare.

What kind of relationship must they have? Officer James was baffled at the malevolence in Paul's face. He really seems to despise her.

"She just doesn't listen!" Paul spat the words out, giving each one it's own sentence.

"Now just calm down." Officer James tried to diffuse an increasingly explosive situation.

Paul took several deep breaths and appeared to gather himself up.

Officer James' radio squawked to life. After a hushed conversation with the disembodied voice on the other end, Quentin turned back the Opal and Paul. "He died en route. Ma'am, you have the right to remain silent."

"Oh, no you don't!" Paul darted to his car, ruffled around in the glove compartment and turned back, triumphant, with a gun in his hand. "Leave her alone," he said. "I'll deal with her later."

Instantly, Quentin's own gun was in his hand. "Boy, you don't want to do this. Just think about what you're doing."

"I am thinking. You're going to arrest my mother! I can't let you do that." A wild look had come into Paul's eyes. The look of a man on the brink of losing control.

A light rain started, darkening the street around them and whispering through the trees.

"Put the gun down." Quentin spoke firmly, yet calmly.

Paul sighed enormously and rushed him, closing the space between them in five giant bounds, gun in hand.

A deafening roar.

Opal looked at Officer James, his gun still smoking. Paul lay in a heap at her feet, a pool of blood slowly spreading beneath him as the rain began falling in earnest. Silently, she began to cry.

Happy Independence Day!

2009-07-04T07:50:00.001-05:00

I don't know about you, but reading this makes me all tingly. Cue The Star-Spangled Banner...

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IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776
The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America

Image by Montwerx via Flickr

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security...

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Praise God for men who were courageous enough to stand up for what they knew to be right. And for the men and women who fought (and still fight!) to keep us free.

Here's hoping you're all celebrating in your own way.

Happy Birthday, America!

With apologies to senior citizens everywhere...

2009-06-29T08:33:00.001-05:00

In honor of my love for all things antiquated, I'm expanding my vocabulary to include old person swears. Words like consarned, dagnabbit, gee willikers (sorry, Mom), dang and blast...you get the idea.

Oh, and molasses cookies.

Something about the old fashioned soft and chewy lovliness of these cookies makes me all warm and gooey inside.

3/4 cup butter
1 cup white sugar
1 egg
1/4 cup molasses
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 cup white sugar

Preheat oven to 375. In a medium bowl, mix together the butter, 1 cup sugar and egg until smooth. Stir in the molasses. Combine the flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, cloves, and ginger; blend into the molasses mixture.

Roll dough into walnut sized balls and roll them in the remaining white sugar. Place cookies 2 inches apart onto ungreased baking sheets.

Bake for 8 to 10 minutes in the preheated oven until tops are cracked. Cool on wire racks.

Eat, and if you're feeling generous, share them with old people. It'll make their day.

And then the lights went out.

2009-06-24T08:48:00.001-05:00

Last Friday night there was a huge storm here. Just as I got home from work, the rain began. I like rain and thunder and lightning, but this time the lightning was green. I wish I would have caught it on film but I didn't and so you'll just have to take my word for it. Rain like buckets of water pouring down on everything. Trees snapped in half like twigs. Wind whistling over it all. Green. Lightning. The power died.

I thought my life was over.

Then came calm. The tornado sirens faded to silence.

To the east, a rainbow. To the west, the most gorgeous, bright yellow sunset I've ever seen.

Powerless, we sat in the dark. Played Scrabble by candlelight. No tv (if I didn't actually see the Red Wings lose the Stanley Cup it didn't really happen, right? Right?), no air conditioning, no lights, no cooking.

We're fan sleepers, too, so try as we might, sleep evaded us. We played 20 questions in the dark and waited for sleep to take us. We crack each other up. Lovely to know we still like each other after almost nine years of marriage...

I wish the power would go out more often.

Why I Am a Baptist

2009-06-21T08:58:00.003-05:00

With no intention of preaching but just wanting to give a little insight as to the reason I am the way I am.

I was raised in a Full Gospel church. My uncle was the pastor, and his wife led me to accept Christ at a very young age. My family was (and is) very faithful to attend church whenever the doors are open. For a very long time, I didn't even know there were "denominations." Everyone was either Christian or non-Christian. Methodist, Presbyterian, what are those?

When I married Steven, the Baptist faith came along with him. Kind of a package deal. Steven was called in to the ministry at age 16 and he'd gone to a Baptist church since he was a little boy. I was a little resentful of being "labeled" as a Baptist upon our marriage, but being a good wife, I dutifully went along to church, teaching Sunday School, helping out at church functions, etc.

The more I learn (and I'm still learning, even these almost ten years later, and God grant that I never think I know it all) the more I believe that this is where I'm supposed to be. Let me say that I know people in many different denominations and I wouldn't presume to say they are wrong and I certainly wouldn't say that I am right in everything. I am still growing.

In my experience, there are good people everywhere. (Also bad people, but that's a post for another day.) I mean good people in many different churches. I have felt welcomed by many denominations and churches. The thing that stands out about the Baptists is the attention paid to witnessing. Yes, even door to door.

Here is the important stuff. I'll tell you the way I tell my Sunday School kids:

A-Admit to God you are a sinner. (Guess what. All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Romans 3:23)

B-Believe that Jesus is God's Son and He died to pay the penalty for our sins. (John 3:16. It's true, best beloved.)

C-Confess your faith in Jesus. (Matthew 28:19-20. Otherwise known as the Great Commission. If I know the truth, I am duty-bound to share it with everybody, right? If I believe I know the way to Heaven, how dare I not share it?)

And so I have.

If you're interested in what Southern Baptists specifically believe, here's a link to their website.

If you'd like to talk to me outside the comment section, email me at skennedy40977@yahoo.com.

The Curtis Side

2009-06-19T08:23:00.003-05:00

I've never really talked about Steven's family here, have I. Shame on me!

They came for a visit a few weeks ago and here they are. Hanging out at the Memphis Zoo. From left to right, Steven's mom (Karen), Steven, Steven's dad (Steve, known around my family as "Big Steve"), and Steven's brother, Billy. Billy will probably murdalize me for using his picture here in my humble little blog, but he'll get over it. Or I'll be murdalized. Whatever.

Here they are looking at meercats. I just love photographing people who are unaware they're being watched. Um, but not in a creepy way.

Well here I told them to row, but apparently everybody but Karen thinks I'm weird. Yeah, weird. That's it.

Not pictured due to not being present: Steven's brother (Chris) and Chris' wife, Amanda and their daughter, London. Ooh, and Amanda's preggers with baby number two, so yay for another niece or nephew. That I'll never get to see. Ah well.

Good people, one and all. Well, except Billy. (Just kidding, Billy!)

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And here's a big kitty using a fallen log as a scratching post. Ain't she cute?

Slippers You Say?

2009-06-18T10:57:00.001-05:00

These two wonderful, delicious loaves of heaven on earth brought to you by Recipe Zaar.

The purpose? Besides making an effort to make my own bread and becoming more of a food snob each and every day, these sandwiches.

Ingredients

For Sponge

1/8 teaspoon active dry yeast
2 tablespoons water (105-115 F)
1/3 cup room-temp water
1 cup bread flour

For Bread

1/2 teaspoon active dry yeast
2 tablespoons warm milk (105-115 F)
2/3 cup room-temp water
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 cups bread flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt

Directions

Make sponge: Stir together, warm water and yeast. Let stand 5 minutes, until creamy. Transfer yeast mixture to another bowl and add room-temp water and flour. Stir for 4 minutes. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let stand at cool room temp at least 12 hours and up to 1 day.

Make bread: Stir together yeast and milk in small bowl and let stand 5 minutes, until creamy. In bowl of standing electric mixer, with dough hook, blend together milk mixture, sponge, water, oil and flour at low speed until flour is moistened. Beat on medium for 3 minutes. Add salt and beat for 4 more minutes. Scrape dough into oiled bowl and cover with plastic wrap, until doubled- about 1 1/2 hours.

Note: Dough will be VERY sticky and full of bubbles.

Cut two pieces of parchment paper, approx 12 inches by 6 inches. Place on baking sheet and flour well. Turn dough out onto a well-floured surface and cut in half. Transfer each half to paper and form irregular ovals approx 9 inches long. Dip fingers in flour and dimple loaves. Dust tops with flour. Cover with dampened kitchen towel and let rise 1 1/2 to 2 hours, until almost doubled.

At least 45 minutes before baking bread, pre-heat pizza stone on lowest oven rack position at 425°F. Transfer 1 loaf, along with parchment paper, onto stone and bake for 20 minutes or until pale golden. Remove to cooling racks and repeat with second loaf.

For Steve's favorite sandwich: Saute onions (Vidalias if you've got them) in butter. Slice ciabatta in half lengthwise, top with roast beef and onions. Pile cheddar cheese on the other half. Broil until bubbly and delicious, taking care to remove it from the oven before it bursts into flame. Add mustard if you're feeling frisky.

Bad Body Image

2009-06-16T08:16:00.002-05:00

So I'm sure most of us have felt unhappy with our bodies at some point or another. I wonder if you can pinpoint the moment it all began.

For me it all began in sixth grade. The end of sixth grade to be specific. I was sitting in the auditorium at rehearsal for "graduation" and we were all alphabetized and nervous and excited when the boy sitting next to me felt the need to say, "Wow, you have really big legs!"

Now I know that kids are cruel and all of that. I also won't pretend that all of my problems can be blamed on a sixth grader, it's just a little strange that this moment is burned into my brain: one exact moment when I discovered I wasn't perfect.

I was raised in a home where we were taught that "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." Well, we were taught that but of course growing up as one of four kids, you hear occasionally that your odor is less than appealing or your face resembles the dogs' behind, but overall...

Here's the weird thing: in sixth grade, I wasn't even overweight. I was always comfortable with my appearance because nobody had ever given me a reason to feel otherwise. It's cliche-ish, but why do we feel that we need to package everyone into the same little mold? My dad likes to say that if you put two kids in a sandbox, they'll play. They don't care about skin color or religious affiliation, they just want you to share the bucket and shovel. So are we taught to judge people? How? And how can it be avoided?

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Ooh, something else. I've got a weird nose. I never knew it was weird until somebody told me, "You've got a weird nose." And I was reeeealy self-conscious about it until I discovered that it's not weird, it's my dads. (Sorry, Dad, you've got a weird nose.) And now I like it.

So I'm wondering when you discovered you weren't perfect. Or maybe you ARE perfect. Let's chat, best beloved.

Me and my dad and our noses. I'm okay with that.

Why Saturday Should Be A Day of Rest

2009-06-13T14:14:00.000-05:00

Saturday: Woke up at 7:44 AM

7:45 AM - Remember that I have to work today! Oh crap! I have to be there at 8:00!

7:46 AM - Put on yesterday's clothes, found lying on the floor. Bless my lucky stars for being a slob.

7:48 AM - No time for coffee. Run out the door. Drive, drive like my life depends on it.

7:50 AM - Red light! Take the time to brush my rats-nest-like hair.

7:53 AM - Arrive at work. A new record: five miles in eight minutes. Patients already waiting at the door!

8:00 AM - Clinic open. God help us.

8:15 AM - Doctor arrives, leisurely walking and cell phone talking. Takes no notice of frazzled, coffee-deprived receptionist.

8:20 AM - No time to pee when I woke up. Start potty dance learned in kindergarten.

8:25 AM - Weird call from patient about mysterious "soiled panties" found in her laundry. Don't know whether to laugh or cry.

8:45 AM - Pharmacist arrives. Patients cheer.

9:00 AM - Start sending out sniper letters. As in: pay your balance before I send out the snipers.

9:24 AM - Curses, patients! Leave so I can pee!

10:00 AM - Boss calls to check up on me.

11:30 AM - Doctor leaves. Darn you, college graduate!

11:31 AM - Potty break. Sweet, sweet relief.

11:35 AM - Wait for pharmacist to leave so I can lock up. Surf, surf the internet.

12:00 PM - Ravenous. Find ancient Riesens in desk drawer. Devour.

1:15 PM - Pharmacist leaves. Praise God.

1:17 PM - Lock up and jet before anything else can befall me.

Things I've Learned the Hard Way (Part 3)

2009-06-12T10:28:00.004-05:00

Part One is here. Part Two is here.

16. Old men love me. Mr. Jim thinks I'm "awful cute." I think he's awful cute, too. Steven always says if I ever leave him I'll head to the nursing home to look for husband number two.

17. Young boys love me, too. Nick wants to marry me. Which is wrong on so many levels. One, he's in elementary school. Two, he's my nephew. Three, he's just not my type. Oh, and I'm already married.

18. Ten or so trips up and down the stairs per day is not enough exercise to keep my hindquarters from swelling to the size of a Honda Civic. Honda Civic: Little for a car, huge for a backside. Wouldn't that make a great motto for them?

19. On a related note, Steve and I are Buttertons! Isn't that great?!

20. Nail-biting from recent Red Wings loss + late night cherry pitting = hands that look like they belong on a zombie in a cheesy horror flick.

21. Old people use a lot of toilet paper. It's true! Recently I asked the church folks to save cardboard tubes (ie tp tubes, paper towel rolls, gift wrap tubes, etc) along with coffee cans and spice shakers for a craft project I'm doing with the kids next month. Well the coffee cans and spice containers are slowly coming in, but I'm buried in mountains of toilet paper tubes! Seriously. Every kid in Memphis could have a toilet paper megaphone and I'd still have leftovers!

And now, a picture of my mother-in-law and I at the Memphis Zoo. Note how she exults in the suns' rays while I hide from them.

22. Yet another thing I've learned the hard way: the sun hates me. I don't tan, I burn, peel and become pasty again. Curses, fair skin!

Mac n Cheese

2009-06-10T08:19:00.001-05:00

Jesus loves me. This is why the good Lord invented macaroni and cheese.

This recipe has all the lovely flavor of homemade macaroni and cheese but without the grainy texture that you sometimes get when you melt cheddar cheese. The secret is adding part of the pasta water to the cheese sauce! AH HA!!! Now you know.

Recipe courtesy of Epicurious.

For topping:

1/2 stick unsalted butter
2 cups panko (coarse Japanese bread crumbs) or 3 cups coarse fresh bread crumbs (from 6 slices firm white sandwich bread) And lucky me, I had a partial loaf of homemade bread just waiting to be bread crumbs!
1/4 pound coarsely grated extra-sharp Cheddar (1 1/2 cups)
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano

For macaroni and sauce:

1 stick unsalted butter
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
5 cups whole milk
1 pound coarsely grated extra-sharp Cheddar (6 cups)
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
1 pound elbow macaroni

Make topping:
Preheat oven to 400°F with rack in middle.

Melt butter, then stir together with panko and topping cheeses in a bowl until combined well.

Make sauce:
Melt butter in a heavy medium saucepan over medium-low heat and stir in flour. Cook roux, stirring, 3 minutes, then whisk in milk. Bring sauce to a boil, whisking constantly, then simmer, whisking occasionally, 3 minutes. Stir in cheeses, 2 teaspoons salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper until smooth. Remove from heat and cover surface of sauce with wax paper.

Make Macaroni:
Cook macaroni in a pasta pot of boiling salted water (2 tablespoons salt for 4 quarts water) until al dente. Reserve 1 cup cooking water and drain macaroni in a colander. Stir together macaroni, reserved cooking water, and sauce in a large bowl. Transfer to 2 buttered 2-quart shallow baking dishes.

Sprinkle topping evenly over macaroni and bake until golden and bubbling, 20 to 25 minutes.

For maximum effectiveness, enjoy this hot while watching Harry and the Hendersons. Good times.

Oh, the places I've been...

2009-06-08T09:29:00.000-05:00

Actually, looking at this lovely map, I've only been to 30% of my very own country. I've been to quite a few New England states, but they kind of all got mixed together on a manic family vacation one year. Also: "drive-thru" states don't count!

Create your own visited map of The United States

1. Best family vacation ever: Hershey, PA. A chocolate lover's dream. Even the streetlights are Hershey kisses. Unfortunately, I was sick and all I could stomach was chocolate milk. *sniff*
Also on that trip, a tour of Gettysburg. I'm not much of a history lover but it was pretty incredible.

2. Best honeymoon ever: Savannah, GA. We stayed at the Hyatt Regency, which I've since learned is considered a pimple on the face of Savannah by the locals. We liked it just fine.
Essential dining experience: The Cobblestone Cafe, a hole- in- the- wall restaurant on the Riverwalk which has since closed down. Sucks to be you.

3. Best summer camp ever: Detroit Lakes, MN. Young Life's Camp Castaway. A rock wall, zip line into Pelican Lake, tubing, parasailing. What more could a 14-year old want?

4. Best non-family vacation ever: New Orleans, LA. Went with Senior Planning Board (aka Girl Scouts) at the tail-end of Mardi Gras. Did touristy sightseeing portion of trip (parade floats, eating alligator...) Oh and saw a mini-parade of naked men marching by our hotel. Good times...

5. Best Steve and Sarah trip ever: St. Louis, MO. Our very first all- by- ourselves camping trip. Our tent got broken into by raccoons. No, I don't mean, oops we left the door open and they got in. They BROKE in. As in, they made their own door. Ah, memories. Also, Union Station. Steve is the ultimate planner and I'm more of a fly by the seat of your pants kind of girl so we're quite the pair.

Up next (if I'm lucky):

Crater Lake, Oregon. With a view like this, who wouldn't want to go? Twenty million calendar pages can't be wrong, can they?

Crescent City, California. To see the giant redwoods. I know this area is protected, but how cool would it be to camp there? Just sleep there with nothing but the trees to canopy you.

Grand Canyon, Arizona. Preferably with a donkey. Though I'd probably feel sorry for the donkey and just let him walk unburdened.

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Click the links for image sources!

These Flowers...

2009-06-03T09:26:00.003-05:00

...are the definition of red. I saw them on the side of the highway on the way home from church: a flowing red and green wave stretching for miles. Red clover.

I was going to make them all fancy, punching up the color and such, but I like how you can see the dirt and grit of the highway between the flowers.

They've been growing here for years, battered by passing cars, exhaust and the elements, unaided by humans, and thriving nonetheless.

And arresting the attentions of people like me.

The Genius Speaks

2009-06-02T11:43:00.003-05:00

that is, Mom, the Quilting Genius.

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How to Make a Love Quilt (by Cherrie K.)

Step one: Go to the store and buy material, wash it, iron it and then cut hundreds (it seems like) 2, 3, 5, 8 and 1 ¼ inch strips.

Step two: sew them together:

Make 81 “A” blocks Make 64 “B” Blocks

Combine the “A” and “B” blocks to make “C” blocks

Make 7 “D” blocks

Make 7 “E” Blocks (I know it says F – but trust me on this one)

Make 1 “F” Block (see note on E block – trust me)

Make 1 “G” Block

Make 1 “H” Block

Step 2 Sew it all together – lay out on bed and admire so far….. (Translation, make sure dad has enough on his side so that he won’t think he doesn’t have enough covers……)

Step three: Add first border

Step four: Add folded border

Step five: add two more borders

Step six: add backing, and batting and pin together and quilt – you can utilize all the helpers that volunteer!

Step seven: Machine quilt (Stitch in the ditch) to make pretty designs on back!

Step eight: Stitch in the ditch on the right side to anchor the quilt

Step nine: put final border-binding on and declare “WHEW!”

Step ten: Enjoy!

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Happy late birthday, Dad, hope you've finally got enough covers!

So it's been a crappy couple of days...

2009-05-29T16:54:00.002-05:00

...which is why I haven't been around. I've got a post or two (or twenty) brewing, so I'll be back in a bit.

I just want to say thanks to the old man at Wal-Mart who restored my faith in the human race this afternoon. Sometimes I think God puts people in our path with the right words at the right time.

Thanks, God.

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It's time to let Mr. Jim go. He is steadily declining. He's getting more and more confused and they're transferring him to a rehab center (which he despises). Please pray that he'll die peacefully, painlessly and with dignity.

What A Life!

2009-05-17T21:35:00.001-05:00

Mr. Jim's not doing well at all. He's in the hospital still, recuperating from his broken pelvis, and now he's got to stay another five weeks due to his cancers getting worse. I'll spare the details, but suffice it to say they don't think he'll live long enough to get discharged.

It's a sad and pathetic thing. Mr. Jim's got the mind of a young man but his body is betraying him. He's 87 and has lived an incredible life. Joined the Army during World War II, earned a Purple Heart for being wounded at (but surviving!) the Battle of the Bulge, married, raised a severely mentally handicapped son, sold tires for Michelin until his retirement, cared for his wife until she died from Alzheimer's, cared for his son until his death due to his disability and now is living on his own with three types of cancer, which he's had for six years. All this and he still mows his own lawn and drives his own car.

Steve and I visited him tonight and he's barely recognizable. He's having surgery tomorrow to help deal with some blood clots. Please pray that God will ease his pain. I'll admit I'm a little selfish: he's the closest thing I've got to a grandpa and it's so hard to watch him suffer.

Through all of this, he's never hesitated to tell anyone who will listen about how God has blessed him...

Reasons I Love My Husband (#956)

2009-05-15T10:31:00.000-05:00

The chocolate covered strawberry he bought me at Union Station in St. Louis.

*sigh*

If a Poor Man Eats a Chicken...

2009-05-13T08:38:00.001-05:00

...one of them is sick!

For as long as I can remember, I have loved watching people perform. From the first time I saw a play, I was hooked. It was a stage production of Charlotte's Web at Flint's Whiting Auditorium.

I haven't had much opportunity to indulge, though.

One of the lovely things about living in a big city is the chance to see. Plays. Opera. Broadway meets Beale Street at the Orpheum.

Last Friday, Steve and I got all gussied up and Steven took me to see Fiddler on the Roof. With Topol. The real Topol. It was amazing. He was as brilliant as you'd expect if you've seen the movie. He can say more with a simple shrug or wink than you'd think possible. This man is 73 years old but that didn't curb his energy.

At the end, he bowed to the ecstatic audience as if he couldn't get low enough. Amazing.

If this is not enough, Steven has discovered that he enjoys plays and musicals, too. Though he's not ready to spend an afternoon vegged out watching The King and I, he's already said he'd be willing to see Wicked with me in June and he's been singing "If I Were a Rich Man" for the last five days!

blankies

2009-05-11T09:37:00.001-05:00

Have I mentioned lately that my parents are awesome?

My mom is a quilting genius. She and my grandma made each of my siblings and I a quilt when we were itty, bitty babies. They've all been through a million washes, re-stuffings, little fixes.

Mine is "The Princess Blanket." Isn't she gorgeous? Mine's the best. (I'm the favorite.)

A little aside about the princess blanket:

My dearly beloved is very manly. Except when it comes to my blanket. Then he dissolves into a puddle of gooey softness. Once upon a time, he was just finishing a shower when he heard a key in the lock. Knowing it was too early for my return from work, he wrapped the princess blanket around himself, toga style just in time to see our landlord entering the apartment accompanied by a pair of perspective renters!

"Oops, thought the place was empty," she muttered, shutting the door.

Anyway,

My mom has continued the tradition, making each of her grandkids a blanket, I believe for their first birthday.

Last Christmas, after eight years of marriage, Steve became an official member of the family and was presented with his very own quilt, "The Michigan Blankie." He's spoiled, don't you think? Yeah, he is. It's okay, you can say it. It's okay though, I steal it most nights.

For a wedding gift, my mom made us a picture quilt. It's huge. The left side is my family, Steven's is on the right, and the center strip is all about the wedding. When she showed it to me, I told myself I wouldn't ever sleep with it, only hang it up and stare at it.

I lied.

It's so comfortable! I can't help myself. Especially when I'm homesick, it's so nice to curl up with. Until I wake up to see my grandma staring at me, that is. Then it's just creepy.

I find myself breaking it out whenever visitors come around. What's better than a family photo album? A family photo album that keeps you warm while you look at it.

Adventures in Appalachia-Part Four

2009-05-08T10:39:00.001-05:00

Just a teeny tiny note before continuing: this saga, this chronicle of Kentucky life is already over and done with. We left Kentucky in 2006 headed for Memphis and haven't been back save for a few short days to attend Steven's graduation. I'd go back in a second if I had the chance.

On with the show!
----------
Part One is here. Part Two is here. Part Three is here. Catch up, willya?!

The duck. It just sat there. Day after day, gently bobbing in the rushing water. By this time in the year, it was getting cold again. Not cold enough for a jacket, but cold enough for you NOT to go swimming in Clear Creek.

Maybe you wouldn't go swimming, but I might.

I wanted to see that duck.

I took pictures, thinking I could zoom in and see what was holding it in place. Was it real? Was it stuck on something? I couldn't tell.

For days I watched it.

There was nothing else to do.

One day after work, snuck out to the creek bank. Furtively looking around to be sure I wasn't watched, I took off my shoes, rolled up my pantlegs and waded in. The water was freezing! The rocks were slippery, the current was fast, and I almost fell a few times.

Success! I got the duck. I got that darn duck. I guess it's some sort of decoy, though it's not like any I've ever seen before. Some hunter probably had it planted there and I foiled all his plans. At least I like to think so.

I took it home, stuck a marigold in its back and called it a planter. I've still got it. And I was sick for about three weeks after my little swimming trip, but we won't talk about that...

Kind of a letdown, huh?

Kentucky is a magical place. Besides the obvious things like the mountains and the hidden creeks and the glorious solitude, the people are amazing. I'm not naive. I know every place has its good folks and its bad, and I won't pretend some of the people aren't downright creepy, like the time I saw a group of old, bearded men sitting on a porch with shotguns. Another story for another time.

Everywhere you go, people wave. Driving down the street, a wave. Shopping at Wal-Mart, a wave. Passing on the sidewalk, a wave, a how's your husband and a hug if you've seen the person more than once.

I am normally not a touchy person but it's hard to break the habit once you get hugged and handshook a couple hundred times.

If you pass someones house around dinnertime, expect to be invited in for "a quick bite." If your house floods, somebody'll come to your rescue. If your neighbor's got a garden, you've got a garden, too.

If your church has a sing-in, folks from all over the holler will show up to participate. Banjos will be plucked. Fiddles will be sawed. Feet will stomp, hands will clap, shoutin' will commence.

I miss it.

I'm thinking that it's mostly the connectedness that I miss. The togetherness, okay? Yes, the waving and even the hugging. People in bigger cities (in my experience) just don't care about each other. I could run down the street screaming "Rape!" and people might look out their windows at me, but no one would do anything.

I miss our little church, our crumbling trailer, watching the sun set between the mountains. Seeing the people that have lived their for generations delight in the wonder on my face at the sight of mimosa trees covered in blooms. Especially seeing them re-realize the beauty of the things they take for granted every day.

What I wouldn't give to have it back.

Dinnertime

2009-05-02T19:38:00.000-05:00

Your minds can not fathom the realms of deliciousness that await you.

Saturdays are a magical time here in the house of Curtis. I can get up late, leisurely sip my coffee and cook til my heart's content. Or not. That's the lovely thing. Anything goes.

Grilled Ham Steak
Potato/Caramelized Onion Gratin (with slight adaptations)
Blackberry Grunt

I made the blackberry grunt waaaaaaay back here, so click the link if you want the recipe. You will not be sorry.

Here's the gratin, courtesy of Mr. Brown.

Ingredients

5 or 6 Yukon gold potatoes, peeled
2 or 3 Portobello mushroom caps, sliced thin (I'm not really a mushroom person, so I caramelized a few onions to toss in instead)
1 cup grated hard cheese such as Parmesan or Asiago (if you get a good quality cheese and grate it yourself, it'll be so much better, I promise! Avoid the green can!)
3/4 cup half and half
Kosher salt and ground black pepper

Heat oven to 400 degrees and butter a 9 by 13-inch baking dish and set aside.

Using a mandolin, V-slicer or the slicing attachment on a food processor, (or you could just slice them yourself like I did) slice the potatoes approximately 1/8-inch thick. (If you don't want to slice all the potatoes at once, slice them one at a time and build the gratin as you go.) Create the first layer by laying the slices in overlapping rows. Once the first layer is down, season lightly with salt and pepper, then scatter with mushroom (or onion) slices and a couple tablespoons of the cheese. (Don't over-do it on these layers, if you create a barrier between the adjoining potato layers, the gratin won't set.)

Continue building layers until you're out of potatoes or out of room to build, but be sure to save 1/2 cup of the cheese for the top. Pour 2/3 cup of the half and half over the gratin then spread both hands over the surface and push down to work the air out from the layers. Add remaining liquid only if half and half does not come to the surface when you push down.

Sprinkle the gratin with cheese, cover loosely with foil and place in middle of oven for 1 hour. Check for doneness by inserting the point of a paring knife straight into the gratin. If it goes through smoothly, remove the foil, return to oven, and turn on the broiler just long enough to turn the top golden-brown. Remove, and allow to sit at room temperature for 15 to 20 minutes before serving.

Eat. Enjoy. Rest. Repeat.

Things That Make Me Go "Huh?"

2009-04-25T09:33:00.001-05:00

Is it possible for something to be infinitely small?

Obviously the potential for infinite bigness exists (though certainly nothing infinitely big now exists since if it did, none of us would be here to enjoy it, having been crowded off the planet.)

A long time ago, a girl told me that if you suck a peppermint down to nothing, it doesn't really disappear, it just keeps getting smaller and smaller and smaller...

BUT. If something keeps getting smaller, won't it eventually be negative? As in a black hole, sucking all matter into it's nothingness?

Things that make my head hurt.

So, anybody know? Is this true? Philip, I'm looking at you. Philip, dear readers, is my genius older brother. The one I had to follow in school. The one that caused math teachers the world around to look at me, heads cocked and stutter, "Sarah. Kennedy? Philip's sister? But, but you're dumb as a bag of hammers! How can this be so?" I'm the one who inspired Mr. Jackson to Tourette's like exclamations of "Judas' Priest!"

Adventures in Appalachia-Part Three

2009-04-24T10:38:00.000-05:00

Part One is here. Part Two is here.

The Missionary Apartment.

It was nicely furnished inside, but Steve and I called dibbs on two twin beds and quickly fell asleep, holding hands between the beds. Later, our traveling companions came in to hug us goodbye, but I only remember this vaguely. I was still in dreamland.

At some point during our extended sleep fest, some workers from the school's kitchen came to visit. They knocked. No answer. They opened the door and cautiously came in. Startled at seeing us sprawled out in the twin beds, they quietly left food and drink in the tiny kitchen and crept out again.

We woke to find sweet tea (blech!) and some sort of meal which we wolfed down. We had no idea how the food had arrived and we didn't care. These people could have been cannibals or axe murderers and we still would have eaten their food. My Michigan co-workers had given me a huge basket of granola bars, hot cocoa mix, fruits and other treats as a going away present and so we devoured that, too.

That day was orientation. Steven. Left. Me. Alone. In a new place, knowing no one, with horrible cramps and worse homesickness, I was left. Later that day, they were finally able to plow the road to our housing area. Hemlock Heights, better known as Honeymoon Hill, due to all the people there being couples without children. Driving up to the little duplex, I noticed a note in the tape deck. It was from Becky, "Cheer up, Sarah, it's only for four years!" I cried, but later. Later I would curl up on my unmade bed and bawl like a heartbroken child.

For now, it was time to unpack.

There were six duplexes arranged in a U-shape. We were at the base of the U. Every couple there came out to help us move in. I really need to repeat that. Every couple came out. A woman who was eight months pregnant was lugging and carrying along with everybody else. Due to this abundant help, we were unloaded in no time. Steven headed out with a new friend to drop off the moving van and I started to put things in their new homes.

Steven started classes. He came home every afternoon and told me what he'd learned. We made friends with the people on the Hill. Christina loved to tease me for my northern accent and I'd try my best to sound more Southern. She was from Georgia and her husband from Mississippi. The couple sharing our duplex was Moses (yes, Moses, at a Bible college) from Africa and his wife, whose name escapes me.

Michelle (the pregnant lady) was leaving her job at the Kitchen and asked me if I wanted it. She'd put in a good word if I was interested. Heck yeah, I'm interested! We'd burned through our meager savings and were getting a little desperate for cash.

I started as a cleaning woman. I'd come in as the day shift was finishing serving lunch and clean up their mess. I was pretty good, if I do say so myself. The head kitchen lady, Barb, would always comment on how thorough I was. Before too long, I was cooking the evening meal in addition to my cleaning duties. More hours, more money. ($5.15 an hour is nothing to sneeze at, especially when I could take home dinner to Steven for free.) The guys at Kelly Hall loved me. If I'd prepared too much food, I'd let them take it back to their apartments for later.

Steven started working on the mowing crew. They'd mow (yup), shovel snow, keep up the grounds and whatever other heavy lifting jobs they could come up with. Including killing baby bunnies (accidentally, or so they say) and letting the black snakes live (they eat baby bunnies, dontchaknow).

When the weather got nice, I'd walk to work. About ten minutes of walking while staring, enamored, at the surrounding mountains. Often I didn't pay attention to my immediate surroundings. On such a day, I caught a glimpse of something brown and scaly slithering away. Had I almost stepped on a copperhead? Yes, folks, yes. I trotted the rest of the way to work and kept my eyes on the ground after that.

The end of my journey took me behind Kelly Hall and along the banks of Clear Creek. One day, I saw a duck in the middle of the creek. It didn't move. The next day it was there again. And the next...
---
picture is Kelly Hall (borrowed from the official website), which was the men's dorm when we lived there. It also contained the school's kitchen and a huge, gorgeous banquet hall, used for everyday eating and often for weddings, meetings and other community events.

Bagels for BYOB!

2009-04-23T10:12:00.000-05:00

I'm proud to report that I haven't purchased bread since starting the BYOB challenge over at the Baker's Bench. I found a great bagel recipe here.

Homemade Bagel Recipe
*adapted from John D Lee*
4 c bread flour
1 tbsp sugar
1 1/2 tsp salt
1 tbsp vegetable oil (Being out of veggie, I used olive. Good result.)
2 tsp instant yeast
1-1/4- 1-1/2 cups of warm water.

Mix all the ingredients in a bowl. The dough should feel stiff, but add the extra water if it's really stiff, or you can't get all the dry flour incorporated.

Plop the dough down onto the counter, and knead for about ten minutes, or until the dough is uniform and smooth. (I used my stand mixer for this, and only kneaded with the dough hook for about five minutes. Kneading dough is great for working out frustrations and building up those muscles. My arms are big enough, thanks.)

Cut the dough into 8 equal sized balls, and let rest for 10-20 minutes.

Preheat your oven to 425.

Recalling your childhood playdough fun, roll each dough ball into a snake. Once it's about a long as the width of both your hands, roll it around one of your hangs and join the ends together. The dough will adhere to itself easier if you wet your fingertips a little before the smooshing part. Practice makes perfect! (I really liked his description for the rolling...he's even got a video of it on his site...)

Let your bagels rest on the counter for about 20 minutes. Meanwhile, bring a pot of water to boil, and grease a large baking tray lightly.

After the 20 minute wait, your bagels will start to look puffy, and it's time to get them boiling! Add them as many at a time as you can to your boiling water without crowding them. Boil for about a minute, turn them over (use a fork or a chopstick) and boil for another minute. Take them out and let dry for a minute and then place them on your oiled baking tray. Repeat until all the bagels are boiled.

Add the tray to the oven, and after 10 minutes, flip the bagels over, bake for another ten minutes.

Let them cool for at least 20 minutes.

Add toppings after the boiling if you like. Onion, poppy seeds, pig droppings, whatever you want. I sprinkled on some sesame seeds and they look beautiful. Bake in the same way, turning bagels over halfway through baking.

Adventures in Appalachia-Part Two

2009-04-22T08:19:00.003-05:00

Part One is here.
It snowed from the second we hit Kentucky all the way down into the southeastern corner where we were headed. Snow is no big deal for three tough Yankee drivers. We laugh in the face of snow. As long as we're on flat, Yankee land, that is. Snow in the mountains is another story. We crawled down the roads, some of them hollowed out from the very mountains. Even in my exhausted and emotionally drained stupor, I still marveled over the beauty of the Appalachian Mountains. My first view of them I will never forget. They kind of creep up on you; you don't even realize you're climbing up until you catch a glimpse of the view through the trees. Trees and mountains as far as the eye can see.

Exiting the highway in Corbin, we saw a barbecue place and gas station or two and that was about it. Coming from Flint, which has a population of about 114,000 to Corbin, which has about 7,500 was kind of a shock. And we weren't even at our final destination yet. (Note: Pineville has about 2,000 residents.)

We continued along 25E, winding our way around mountains and slower moving vehicles, looking for salt trucks or even sand trucks to no avail.

Finally we reached Clear Creek Road, the road that would bring us to college and our new home. On the left were a group of trailers that looked like they had been dropped out of the sky and were haphazardly perched along the roadway. On the right was a golf course, snowed in for the winter.

We got to the school and were greeted by a man in overalls who was driving a little tractor with a snowplow attached to the front.

"School's closed for the snow," he called.

We parked our moving van and the two cars in the empty lot.

"You'll never make it up to your housing area in this!"

The tired, vicious snakewoman in me had a little inner monologue: Let us at least try! We've been on the road for 13 hours! Get out of our way! I will drag this van up the mountain!

The real me just stood there, staring at the snow covered mountains.

Overall man (later introduced as Mr. Fain) showed us into a little building just off the main school. A sign over the door proclaimed that it was the Foxes' Den. Inside were mailboxes, vending machines, and oh, sweet Jesus, couches. We all collapsed. Surely students and faculty alike came in and out while we rested, but we were happily oblivious.

Finally, the road to our temporary housing was clear enough for us to pass. Leaving our van at the school, we traversed the twisting road up to a little house set apart from the rest of the school buildings.

The Missionary Apartment.

Adventures in Appalachia-Part One

2009-04-20T09:07:00.001-05:00

Otherwise known as "How This Yankee Girl Came to Love Bluegrass"

Telling our families we were moving to Kentucky was hard. Our mothers cried to be losing us, and our fathers thought we were crazy to be leaving great jobs for Pineville, located in Bell Country, the "poorest county in the United States." It's actually the 82nd poorest county in the country. They understood, though. However they disagreed with our decision, God meant for us to go to Kentucky, and we were going.

The day we moved was a church day. We skipped church and huddled with our families in our emptied out apartment to pray and cry together. One more hurried look through closets and bedrooms to make sure nothing was forgotten and we were on our way.

We left after dark.

Steven's best friend, Bogie and his brother, Billy accompanied us, along with our friend, Ryan and my sister, Becky.

We had a huge moving truck, our old Cutlass, and our beloved Lumina, Antonio (RIP). We also had walkie talkies for ease of communication during our eight-hour trek.

The trip started out easily enough. We joked on the walkies, listened to music and speculated on what life would be like in the mountains.

When we got hungry, we stopped at a Waffle House. It happened to be about 3 a.m. in downtown Cincinnati. When we pulled into the parking lot, three of the waitresses ran up to the moving truck grinning and laughing. I felt like a celebrity. Turns out, they thought we were selling soap. I am absolutely not making this up. They asked if we had apple-scented soap for sale. When we said no, they were disappointed and walked dejectedly back into the restaurant. I hoped they wouldn't hold any grudges while making our food.

Inside, we were greeted and seated by a policeman wearing some kind of coveralls like you sometimes see on a mechanic. Yes, he was a policeman, complete with gun and handcuffs. Still, we sat. And ordered, no less.

Looking around the seating area, we saw a man with his arms around two scantily clad women, and few drunk guys boisterously chatting up the waitresses, and some truckers drinking coffee.

Sarah's inner monologue: Okay, we just need to drink our coffee and get out of here. Oh my God, that guy is looking at me. Oh, if he comes over here I'm going to lose it. Oh, he's walking over. I'm going under the table to hide. Oh my God!

Steven's spoken monologue: Guys, drink your coffee and let's get out of here. Hurry up, hurry up, here comes the cop!

Steven drank three cups of coffee and ate two waffles in about five minutes. Then he had to go potty, as often happens. The policeman escorted him to the restroom and unlocked the door for him. How helpful.

We paid our check and hit the road...

Mmmmm, Soup!

2009-04-17T12:26:00.001-05:00

The best thing about the Easter feast? Leftovers. I made a picnic pork shoulder roast with mushroom gravy. Mmmmm. When all the feasting was done, I had a lovely pork bone just perfect for making stock. I'd never made porky pig ham stock before, but I figured it couldn't be much different than making poultry stock and so I did!

Delicioso!

Pork Shoulder with Mustard-Mushroom Gravy

3 tablespoons vegetable oil
4 cups chopped onions
2 cups chopped peeled carrots (about 12 ounces)
1 1/2 teaspoons dried thyme
1 bay leaf
4 1/2 cups (or more) canned low-salt chicken broth
2 cups dry white wine
1 7 1/2-pound picnic pork shoulder roast, trimmed of rind and all but 1/8-inch-thick layer of fat
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) butter, room temperature
1/2 pound fresh shiitake mushrooms, stemmed, coarsely chopped
6 ounces crimini mushrooms, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup unbleached all purpose flour
3 tablespoons Dijon mustard

Heat oil in heavy large pot over medium-high heat. Add onions, carrots, thyme and bay leaf. Sauté until tender, about 10 minutes. Add 4 1/2 cups broth and wine. Bring to boil. Reduce heat; cover pot partially. Simmer 40 minutes, stirring occasionally and skimming off fat if necessary. Strain into 4-cup glass measuring cup, pressing on solids; discard solids. Add more broth if necessary to measure 4 cups, or return broth to pot and boil until reduced to 4 cups. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Cool to room temperature. Cover; chill.)

Position rack in bottom third of oven and preheat to 325°F. Place roasting rack in shallow roasting pan. Sprinkle pork generously with salt and pepper. Set pork, fat side up, on rack in roasting pan. Roast until thermometer inserted into thickest part of pork registers 180°F, about 3 hours. Transfer to cutting board. Tent with foil. Scrape pan juices into 1-cup glass measuring cup. Spoon off fat. Reserve juices.

Melt 2 tablespoons butter in heavy large skillet over medium heat. Add all mushrooms. Cover and cook until tender, stirring often, about 10 minutes.

Pour pan juices and 4 cups broth into mushrooms. Bring to simmer. Mix 4 tablespoons butter and flour in small bowl to form paste. Add mustard. Gradually whisk paste into skillet. Cook until gravy thickens slightly, whisking occasionally, about 5 minutes. Serve pork with gravy.

After da food, stick the bone in a pot of water with some salt and pepper and spices and seasonings of your choice. Boil, boil til the bone crumbles, adding water as needed to keep the bone completely submerged.

Strain, cover and refrigerate the liquid gold. Remove the layer of fat that'll gather on top before using. Freeze or use within a week.

Homemade pork stock + leftover mushroom gravy + a handful of carrots + a bunch of cubed ham + a cup of barley =

Steven actually said, "Doggone it, this soup is delicious, dear."

Much better, thank you!

2009-04-16T17:09:00.004-05:00

Had a poopity day today. There's only so long that I can listen to other peoples' problems before I just lose it. And so, I went hunting. For a greasy, fattening and utterly delicious lunch.

Sonic! I thought. Sonic has delicious greasy cheeseburgers AND cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper! Can life get better? I submit that it cannot.

Except...

I've been so bad lately. Eating junk food. Not wanting to cook dinner at night. What's up with that?

So I talked myself down. Topz! That's the solution! It's the guilt-free grill! One grilled ahi tuna burger and an order of baked, not fried onion rings later and I was feeling fine. (and $10 lighter, but that's beside the point, right?)

Yes, I took a picture of my onion ring while stopped at a light. Pipe down! At least I wasn't on a cell phone!

Bay, Bay for Everyone!

2009-04-14T21:04:00.000-05:00

We've already established that my parents are awesome, right?

Here is the lovely apron they had made for me when I mentioned wanting a "June Cleaver- type apron" one Christmas. Isn't it cute?!

(Pay no attention to the sumo- hairstyle. That's how I always look in the kitchen.)

But what's that weird plant- like alien life form on the wall? Oh that? That's just my bay leaf wreath. What? You don't have a bay leaf wreath? Oh, for shame. I pity the fool who doesn't have a bay leaf wreath. Bay is so good in so many things. Liiiikkkkeeee...

Mr. Brown's Tomato Sauce

You'll need:

2 (28-ounce) cans whole, peeled tomatoes (or you can use fresh. This is perfect for when your neighbor brings you twelve bushels of their leftover tomatoes.)
1/4 cup sherry vinegar
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 onion
1 carrot
1 stalk celery
2 ounces olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
3 tablespoons capers, rinsed and drained (no capers for me)
1/2 cup white wine (I use chicken broth)
Kosher salt and black pepper, to taste
Bay. Tons of bay. The recipe doesn't call for it, but I think it adds a little extra flavor boost.

In a sieve over a medium non-reactive saucepot, strain the tomatoes of their juice into the sauce pot. Add the sherry vinegar, sugar, red pepper flakes, oregano, and basil (and bay, if you're using it. And why wouldn't you use it?) to the tomato juice. Stir and cook over high heat. Once bubbles begin to form on the surface, reduce to a simmer. Allow liquid to reduce by 1/2 or until liquid has thickened to a loose syrup consistency.

Squeeze each tomato thoroughly to ensure most seeds are removed. Set the tomatoes aside.

Cut carrot, onion, and celery into uniform sizes and combine with olive oil and garlic in a non-reactive roasting pan over low heat. Sweat the mirepoix until the carrots are tender and the onion becomes translucent, 15 to 20 minutes. Add the tomatoes and capers to the roasting pan.

Place roasting pan on the middle rack of the oven and broil for 15 to 20 minutes, stirring every 5 minutes. Tomatoes should start to brown slightly on edges with light caramelization. Remove the pan from the broiler. Place the pan over 2 burners on the stove. Add the white wine to the tomatoes and cook for 2 to 3 more minutes over medium heat.

Put the tomatoes into a deep pot or bowl and add the reduced tomato liquid (minus the bay leaves) to the tomatoes. Blend to desired consistency and adjust seasoning.

Perfect for spaghetti, pizza, or whatever else your twisted little brain can come up with.

Where Dost I Write?

2009-04-04T17:10:00.004-05:00

Octamom asked this question, and I think it's an interesting one. It seems that mommy bloggers have a lot to contend with if they want to write. Me, I just sit down and type. Biggest interruption I get is Steven asking me for a cup of coffee. Here's my sanctuary.

Blogging, to me, is therapy. Most of what I write never sees the light of day. My dashboard is a smorgasbord of words, thoughts and ideas, most of which will be deleted. (kinda makes you wonder about my posting process, don't it?)

If I Were on Death Row...

2009-04-03T09:01:00.000-05:00

...my last meal would be:

Salmon Patties (made by Mother Dearest)
mac n'cheese* (the fluorescent yellow kind from a box)
and fresh delicious bread. White. From frozen bread dough, best beloved.

Though I'm kind of a food snob, my choices are oddly pre-packaged and predictably comforting.

And for dessert? Um, um Chocolate. Covered. Strawberries.

How bout you? Give me your death row meal, pronto.
---
*I originally typed "man n'cheese." Freudian slip?

I'm Not Preggers!

2009-04-02T09:31:00.002-05:00

Steve and I don’t have kids yet, but that doesn’t stop us from talking about what we will and won’t do once we do have them.

For example, we have names picked out (well at least for the first one): Katharine Elisabeth for a girl or Steven Duane III for a boy.

When we first married, Steve liked the name OJ Curtis. Yes folks, that’s Orenthal James Curtis. Also Jamie, but then I discovered he had a former girlfriend named Jamie, so that name went sailing right out the window. I liked Claire, but he is convinced that kids would tease her and call her Éclair. Which is so much worse than OJ, dontchaknow. I like original names, but once the public gets their talons into a name, that’s it. I have a nephew named Kaeden, which I thought was pretty original, but now everybody and their grandma is named Kaeden.

My mom insists that when I was born, there were no other Sarahs around and I was the only Sarah Elisabeth they’d ever heard of. Sure, Mom. That’s why there were three Sarahs in my sixth grade class and two of us were Sarah Elisabeth. And all of us were BFFs, which was occasionally pretty confusing. Now there are three Sarahs at my church, though we are very diverse in age. One works with me in the Kitchen Committee and the other is a student in my Sunday School class. Also pretty confusing.

I want to homeschool, I know that for sure. We both had public school educations and there is no way I’d inflict that on my kids. (Please don’t shoot me if your kids are public school kids. I’m sure your town has better schools than mine did. Actually, I can’t really blame the schools; I had great teachers, I just stayed bored.)

We disagree over whether or not to buy our not-quite-kids cars or to pay for their college education. I think once they’re old enough to have a job (like, say age 11) they should start looking for an apartment.

I tell you all of this to show you this scary glimpse into the future. World, meet Baby Curtis. It's got my dimples and Steven's eyebrows. And is that a beard?! What an adorable creature!

--
What your own devil baby? Click here!

I'm Sick

2009-03-31T09:13:00.001-05:00

and I think I've been hallucinating, so I apologize in advance for the potential lack of lucidity in this post. Or in any post. Well, at least the ones I've written. I take no responsibility for what those other folks write.

It all started with a sore throat and now I have no idea what's going on.

Sunday morning on the way to church I saw a truck make a u-turn on the expressway and come barreling towards us going in the wrong direction. Thank God I wasn't driving or we might have been killed. Yeah, the truck didn't exist. I'm not taking any medications or anything, so I'm not sure what's going on in my brain. I taught Sunday School, which seemed to go just fine, I sat through the service without any weirdness, we visited a church member in the hospital*, nothing out of the ordinary.

That afternoon, Steve told me to get some rest while he went to the evening service. I very rarely miss church, so I must be dying or something. Lying in bed, the ceiling started to move like one of those little sliding tile puzzles I used to play with as a kid. I started getting nauseous, so I went to watch some tv to keep myself from falling asleep. (Nightmares, dontchaknow.) Schindler's List. Just the thing to keep bad thoughts at bay. That and Ghost Hunters. Currently available for free on Hulu.

Now my sickyness has settled into a sore/scratchy throat absurd amount of mucus fest. At least I got one day off work!
---
* Please keep a man named Bill in your prayers. He's got Alzheimer's in a pretty advanced stage and doesn't really realize that anything is wrong with him. His wife, Rheta has been strong for him for the last few years but it's really wearing on her now. They've been married for over fifty years and lately he hasn't been recognizing her. Kind of puts my meager problems in perspective.

Look What I Found!

2009-03-30T12:30:00.001-05:00

Penzeys! Spices! Fresh ones!

Snooping through their catalog, I happened upon this recipe:

Apple Pancakes
1⁄4 c butter, divided
4 eggs
1⁄4 tsp vanilla
3⁄4 c all-purpose flour
3⁄4 c milk
1⁄2 tsp salt
2 medium baking apples, peeled and thinly sliced
3 tbsp cinnamon sugar, divided

Preheat oven to 400°. Divide butter evenly between two 9-inch pie plates and put them in the oven to melt the butter. Rotate the pie plates until the butter coats the bottom and the sides. To make dividing the ingredients between the two plates easier, we used a 4-Cup measuring cup as our mixing bowl.
Beat eggs, vanilla, flour, milk, and salt on medium speed for 1 minute. Toss the sliced apples with 2 tbsp cinnamon sugar. Arrange 1⁄2 of the apple slices in each pan so they cover the bottom in pretty much a single layer. Pour 1⁄2 the egg mixture over the apple slices in each pan. Sprinkle the remaining cinnamon sugar over the
batter in each pan. Bake until puffed and golden brown, 20-25 minutes. Serve right away, while still puffy, with warm syrup.

These were more French toast-like than pancake-y. Very tasty, though. The only thing I would do differently is grease and flour the pie pans instead of using just butter. These suckers were hard to get to get loose!

Oh, the humanity

2009-03-23T11:43:00.007-05:00

Steve and I had a fight this weekend. Okay, not a fight, maybe a tiff. Or maybe just a disagreement.

Okay, so we really can't fight. Things don't really bug me, so I have a hard time getting mad enough to raise my voice, let alone yell at my dearly beloved. And usually, when I try to be mad, I end up making myself laugh, imagining how my "mad face" must look.

So back the the fight. Basically, he thinks I'm a slob and he's right. Ahem. I am very creative in a multitude of ways. I'm doing an Aunt Sarah project, I cook, I scrapbook, I teach Sunday School. I have things strewn all over the house, food flying through the air, books lying all around.

Steven, on the other hand, is very neat and orderly. Things are put back where they belong. He's usually pretty good about cleaning up after me, but occasionally gets frustrated. Like when he picks up the same hair scrunchie eight different times in the same day.

So we discussed. And we resolved.

Let it be known that during the disagreement dated March 21st, 2009 at 2:30-ish in the afternoon, Steven did solemnly swear that he would be the keeper of the kitchen cleaning supplies and would henceforth scrub, wash, and otherwise toil in whatever means are necessary to keep his loving wife from having to do dishes upon her return home from work. Herein fail not under penalty of much nagging.

Oh, and I'll attempt to clean up after myself from time to time. Maybe.

Regarding the picture (stolen from Wikipedia, by the way) it's a spat! Get it?!

Love on a Plate

2009-03-20T09:25:00.001-05:00

Since I am B-ing my own B, I found this lovely recipe for Hamburger Buns. I was a little worried about the texture, since (in my own humble opinion) one of the wonderful things about homemade bread is the chewy yumminess, and commercial hamburger buns are generally softer and less flavorful (presumably to showcase the meat and fixins). These did not disappoint. The flavor was good and the smell while they were baking was hard to resist. They were a little crumbly, though, when weighted down with all the extras, so I think next time I'll substitute some bread flour for some of the all-purpose flour. All in all a good recipe.

ingredients:
2 cups warm milk (110 degrees F/45
degrees C)
1/4 cup margarine, melted
1/4 cup warm water
1/4 cup white sugar
2 (.25 ounce) packages instant yeast (I used bread machine yeast)
2 teaspoons salt
6 cups all-purpose flour, or as needed
Directions:
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. In a large bowl, stir together the milk, margarine, warm water, sugar and yeast. Let stand for about 5 minutes. Mix in the salt, and gradually stir in the flour until you have a soft dough. Divide into 12-14 pieces, and form into balls. Place on baking sheets so they are 2 to 3 inches apart. Let rise for 20 minutes. Bake the rolls for 15 minutes in the preheated oven. Cool slightly, then split them in half horizontally to fill with your favorite burgers.

If you're really hungry, try these with some homemade French fries.
(Caution: this is my "recipe" so there really isn't a recipe. Just fling things around the kitchen and hopefully some of it will land on your plate.)
2 or 3 potatoes
salt
water
vegetable oil (or some other oil with a high smoke point, like peanut)

Retrieve potatoes and skin them with very dangerous knife.

Prepare a bowl with lukewarm water and salt. I would say a handful of salt but some of you have giant Sasquatch hands and some have little pixie hands so use one of mine. I'll guess about three tablespoons. Mix it around so you don't have any salt-lumps. Cut potatoes (counting fingers before and after cutting for safety) into desired fry-shaped sticks and put into salt water for about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat the oil in a nice big pot. I like a Dutch oven, but you can use whatever your heart desires, best beloved. As long as it's metal. And heat proof. And big enough to hold all the potatoes. You may not have a nifty heat monitoring device like mine, but that's okay. We can't all be spoiled. See the red dot? See it?

When it's time for cooking, drain the potatoes and dry them thoroughly to avoid unnecessary oil turbulence. Yes, that is an AC Delco towel, and I'm not sorry.

Fry, fry til your heart's content. Or until golden brown and delicious. Um, that's the potatoes, not your heart. Remove the fries with a spider or a fork or whatever's handy and then devour in mass quantities.

This is love, best beloved.

Reasons I Love My Husband (#798)

2009-03-19T10:08:00.001-05:00

I mentioned that I'd like some ice cream. He came home with this. Kroger had a sale, Steven responded, Sarah lives in a chocolate-infused, almond-cheesecake-strawberry laced slightly chubby but blissfully happy daze.

Fractals

2009-03-18T10:59:00.000-05:00

Okay, back to The Shack. The character playing the Holy Spirit in this book makes a point of mentioning fractals and how much she loves them. If you're like me and have to use Wikipedia to figure out what the heck a fractal is, here's the definition: "a rough or fragmented geometric shape that can be split into parts, each of which is (at least approximately) a reduced-size copy of the whole." Like, I don't know, a snowflake? Have you ever looked closely at one? I doubt a human could come up with something so complex and yet billions of snowflakes fall daily and no one sees most of them except the One who created them.

What incredible structure and design for something so simple.

Or leaves. Or mushrooms. Are they made the way they are to please us or to please God? Or our own bodies. We're fractals, folks! Take a close look at your skin. Or our eyes. Did you ever stop and think about how amazing it is that we can see? If I ask him nicely, maybe my dad will share how awesome our eyes are. (He's got glaucoma and is enamored with the pictures that the eye specialist took of his eyes.) We are fearfully and wonderfully made.

I've been watching the BBC's Planet Earth and my brain is full of fractals. Now that I know what they are, I'm seeing them everywhere.

Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; but I tell you, not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these.
--Luke 12:27

Picture stolen from wikipedia. It's an eye scan, can you believe it?

To Be Read

2009-03-13T11:10:00.004-05:00

I'm pretty active over at paperbackswap.com. I've blogged about it before, but it bears repeating. Post a book, get a book. Free. That's all there is and there ain't no more. Burma Shave.

For your viewing pleasure, here's my list of books to be read. I will not go to the library until these are completed. I will not! No matter how much Larry Brown is calling me from amongst the shelves. Or how appealing the library scent is. Or how the librarians have probably forgotten what I look like. I WON'T GO!

Have you read any of these? Maybe someone has a suggestion of what should be first...

...or any that should be added. (I'm so weak!)

Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Amistad by Alexs D. Pate
The Bachman Books by Stephen King
The Best of Mystery: 63 Short Stories Chosen by the Master of Suspense by Alfred Hitchcock
~~Black and Blue by Anna Quindlen~~
Catch 22 by Joseph Heller
The Crucible by Arthur Miller
~~The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon~~
The Duchess of Windsor by Michael Bloch
~~Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons~~
Eragon by Christopher Paolini
Every Breath You Take by Judith McNaught
A Faint Cold Fear by Robert Daley
~~Fall on Your Knees by Ann-Marie MacDonald~~
From Generation to Generation: Devotional Thoughts Drawn from the Past by Peter Kennedy
~~Gap Creek by Robert Morgan~~
A Girl Named Zippy: Growing Up Small in Mooreland Indiana by Haven Kimmel
Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier
~~The Green Ripper by John D. Macdonald~~
~~Icy Sparks by Gwyn Hyman Rubio~~
The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling
Just Desserts: Martha Stewart the Unauthorized Biography by Jerry Oppenheimer
Lady by Thomas Tryon
~~Lasher by Anne Rice~~
Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Textbook Got Wrong by James W. Loewen
~~The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold~~
~~Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs~~
~~A Map of the World by Jane Hamilton~~
~~Me: Stories of My Life by Katharine Hepburn~~
Memoirs of an Unfit Mother by Anne Robinson
Moby Dick or the White Whale by Herman Melville
~~Off Keck Road by Mona Simpson~~
The Pearl by John Steinbeck
The Pilot's Wife by Anita Shreve
~~The Queen's Fool by Philippa Gregory~~
The Rainmaker by John Grisham
Real Women Don't Pump Gas by Joyce Jillson
~~River Cross My Heart by Breena Clarke~~
Saved by the Light by Paul Perry, Raymond A. Moody and Dannion Brinkley
Schindler's List by Thomas Keneally
Shadow of Cain by Vincent Bugliosi
~~Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn~~
Something's Alive on the Titanic by Robert Serling
The Sound and the Fury and As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
Soup and Me Robert Newton Peck
~~Taltos by Anne Rice~~
Tell No One by Harlan Coben
The Terminal Man by Michael Crichton
'Tis: A Memoir by Frank McCourt
The Tommyknockers by Stephen King
~~Vinegar Hill by A. Manette Ansay~~
~~A Virtuous Woman by Kaye Gibbons~~
The Visitation by Frank Peretti
Where the Heart Is by Billie Letts
Who Put the Butter in Butterfly? And Other Fearless Investigations into Our Illogical Language by David Feldman

(Okay, now I realize the Larry Brown comment sounds a little strange. Larry Brown was an author from Oxford, Mississippi [just a hop, skip and jump from here]. His books just suck me in and I can't stop reading them til the end. I always want more. And it's always nice when somebody writes about a place you've been. I always feel a little bit famous. Ooh, Silence of the Lambs! The first lady was kidnapped from Winchester Street in Memphis. I've been there!!! That's almost as cool as being tight with the Timberlakes.)

Every morning

2009-03-12T14:55:00.001-05:00

when I wake up, I've got a song in my head.

No, really.

The mood of my entire day depends on this song. I will walk to its beat, I am grumpy or chipper depending on its tone. This has been the case for as long as I can remember. I have no idea whether this is normal or not so why don't you tell me what your daily soundtrack is so I don't feel weird.

Lately, Amy Winehouse is in my head. How the frick did she get there? See! See that frick?! That's Amy Frickin' Winehouse! Of course, since Amy Winehouse is in my head, I guess it's a miracle that I'm even conscious.

Note to Ms. Winehouse: please don't hurt me. I think you have a really lovely voice.
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This next section I'd like to call "An open apology to the aliens who abducted me and who I inflicted great destruction upon while having a panic attack aboard the mothership. Autobiographical."

Really though? I tend to steal quotes, song lyrics, and pictures from all over the place and I rarely give credit where credit is due. That little quote above? That's from So I Married an Axe Murderer which never fails to crack me up each and every time I see it.

I am resolved to cite my quotes from here on out. Feel free to call me on it if you notice me plagiarizing.
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Also, I am resolved to eat better, to blog more often, and to exercise each and every day. This includes weekends, folks. Please help keep me accountable.
-----
On a sad note, Peter Furler is leaving The Newsboys. Please, please, keep your sorrow and outrage under control. On a completely mystifying note, Michael Tait (of former dC Talk fame) is replacing him. Michael frickin Tate?! They just got Jody back and now this!

Please excuse the frick. Out, Amy!

My Exeptional Driving Skills

2009-03-05T09:51:00.000-06:00

(with apologies to Smashmouth)

Yesterday there was disgusting traffic clogging up my evening commute. Folks are crashing into each other, other folks are straining their necks hanging out their car windows to gawk, it's just a really crappy scene, you dig?

Usually, driving is just an unwelcome annoyance standing between me and my lovely, quiet, no crazy people allowed evening. Yesterday, however, was every Nascar driving wannabe's dream. The radio in my head was cheering me on as I wove through the lanes: "Hey now, you're an allstar, go and drive down the road. Hey now you're a rockstar, oops you just killed a toad (all that glitters is gold, only shooting stars break the mo-o-old.)" Leaving bodies in my wake, horns blowing, fingers waving, babies crying and old folks cursing. I'm going home, son! Outta my way!

P.S. Check out this video my sister sent me. How cool is this?

The Perfect Job!

2009-03-04T09:46:00.000-06:00

After a particularly wretched day at work, I've finally found it!

(Cue trumpet fanfare)

I'm gonna be a hype man! Or, to be politically correct, a hype person. What? You don't know what a hype man is? He's the dude that hangs out behind a rapper and repeats some of the words to keep the crowd "hyped up." Sometimes he adds his own little pearls of wisdom, too, something like "Throw your hands up in the air and wave em around like you just don't care." Yeah, I can do that.

Anybody looking for somebody to stand behind you and agree with everything you say? I'm your girl. Yeeeah.

Funny. I'm searching Yahoo jobs and nobody's looking for a hype girl. Ah well, back to the drawing board. Maybe I can be a dog food tester or an oyster floater. Or maybe the guy who cleans sludge off the Mackinac Bridge...

Thicker

2009-03-03T09:56:00.000-06:00

For your listening enjoyment...

one of the lovliest songs I've ever heard. This cd was the soundtrack to my senior year of high school. Chasing Furies is no longer together, but the lead singer, Sarah MacIntosh has a Myspace profile in case you're interesting in hearing more.

Mom's Enchiladas (tada!)

2009-03-02T09:28:00.000-06:00

Ask and ye shall receive!

The original recipe came from a Michigan-Texan church lady named Debra Crane. My mom and another church lady named Connie (are you out there?) had a Texas cooking fest where Debra taught them the "real" way enchiladas should be.

From mom: "Last time I made it, I used 10 lbs of ground beef and two huge containers of enchilada sauce from Gordons, and just doubled or tripled everything. I knew when I made these, they would be passed around the church, and each of the kids' families would get one pan (at least) and we had to put one away for when I JUST DIDN'T FEEL LIKE COOKING! Now at least, when I make lasagna, if I didn't get the pans back, well, maybe they don't get any......."

Enchiladas

2 lb gr. Beef
1 lb. Sweet Italian Sausage
1 large onion - chopped
1 lg. green pepper – chopped
1 ½ tsp garlic powder
3 tsp. cumin
3 tbsp. chili powder
10 drops Tabasco sauce
2 tsp. salt
1 can Old El Paso enchilada sauce

Sauté above ingredients until browned and then drain off fat.

ADD:
1 or 2 Cans refried beans
1½ cup fresh mushrooms slices (optional) or a can of sliced mushrooms
2 tbsp. hot peppers (optional) – chopped

Roll meat mixture into:
flour tortillas – (approx. 15 large – however any size is fine) – have tortillas at room temperature, they will roll better.

Put a small amount of Old El Paso Sauce (about a half a can) on bottom of a lightly sprayed with Pam 13 x 9-inch baking dish. On work surface of cupboard, place 1 flour tortilla and put at least a couple of tablespoons of meat/bean mixture on tortilla. Fold over ends and roll up. Place in a baking dish.

Repeat until pan is full. Cover with rest of enchilada sauce. Top with both kinds of cheeses. Make sure to cover all of tortillas with sauce. Do not let any of the tortilla show.

Bake at 350 for about 30 minutes or until cheese is bubbly and hot.

YUM!

I usually make enough for dinner and several to freeze. Freezes well. Thaw completely before baking.

And a bonus recipe!

Salsa

¾ cup ketchup
¼ tsp. garlic powder (more to taste)
3 tbsp. hot peppers (more to taste)
1 28 oz. can stewed tomatoes
1 med onion, chopped (or to taste )
1 med green pepper, chopped
½ tsp salt

Combine above ingredients (except ketchup) in a blender and blend just a few seconds. Pour into a saucepan and bring to a boil, stirring occasionally.
Add ketchup, simmer and stir occasionally until thick, 2-4 hours.
Store in a glass container
Recipe can be doubled.

Since my mom almost never has a picture taken alone, here's one of her and my dad...

The Shack

2009-03-01T14:08:00.004-06:00

Church was canceled due to snow (snow! in Memphis! in March!) and I've learned something today. Or maybe I just realized something that I've known all along.

I'm at home all alone reading The Shack. My dad recommended it to me. He who doesn't read fiction as a rule told me it was a must-read. I'm only about a hundred pages in and this man has explained the Trinity in a way that makes so much sense I'm a little overwhelmed. Okay, a lot. I've been teaching Sunday School for about eight years now and I've taught the doctrine of the Trinity several times. Or tried to teach it. Try explaining to a group of second and third graders that God is one Spirit but three persons and watch their little faces as their brains try to reconcile that fact. How can I really teach something that I don't fully understand myself? Honestly, I don't think our puny, imperfect human minds can comprehend the ways of God. Maybe someday God will allow us to understand.

I've been crying, no weeping, for the last half hour as I try to come to terms with what I've just read. Jesus, though completely God and therefore completely free and all-powerful, chose to live as a human on a moment-to-moment basis. At any second he could have given up this wretched earth and returned to heaven but he chose to stay. For you and for me.

Speaking on the nature of Jesus, William Paul Young writes:

When we three spoke ourselves into human existence as the Son of God, we became fully human. We also chose to embrace all the limitations that this entailed. Even though we have always been present in this created universe, we now became flesh and blood. It would be like this bird, whose nature it is to fly, choosing only to walk and remain grounded. He doesn't stop being the bird, but it does alter his experience of life significantly.

Although by nature he is fully God, Jesus is fully human and lives as such. While never losing the innate ability to fly, he chooses moment-by-moment to remain grounded. That is why his name is Immanuel, God with us...Jesus is fully human. Although he is also fully God, he has never drawn upon his nature as God to do anything.

I'm not finished with this yet, not by a long shot. I'd recommend this book to anyone who's ever puzzled over the nature of God. You may just learn something.

Goodbye

2009-02-28T09:10:00.002-06:00

Steven has noticed that whenever we get together with my family, the conversation always eventually turns to my Grandma Kennedy. No matter how many times we tell the stories, they are always funny or sad or thought-provoking.

Somehow, most of my memories are connected with scents. Mom's lilacs, bread baking, a certain kind of shampoo which to me always means summer camp. Then there are the books. The ancient and musty and simply wonderful smell of books. My grandmas house was filled with books. She had shelves filled with them, piles everywhere they could fit and always had one or two within arms reach of her favorite chair. She had started school to become a surgeon but had to stop when she ran out of money. She became an elementary school teacher and loved it. Looking through old photos, we found that her students would often send pictures and cards to her, even many years after they graduated. Her love of teaching and reading were evident as she patiently taught her grandkids to read.

Not long ago, Uncle John gave Steve and I a set of commentaries that had belonged to her and I found this tucked in with them. I'm sure she didn't make it, as frivolities like this just don't seem like her at all, but someone probably gave it to her or Aunt Sarah as a gift and I'm sure she treasured it.

She's been gone for years now and sometimes I still forget. Something will happen that I know she'd love and I'll make a mental note to tell her before I remember that I can't.

Her family was from Prussia and they spoke German and English. She was so excited when I told her I was taking German in high school. I think the only thing I could say coherently was "hello, my name is Sarah" but she was still so proud. I can still remember her singing: "O tannenbaum, o tannenbaum, wie treu sind deine Blätter!"

She was a woman to be admired. A person who exuded grace, even in the midst of prejudice, injustice and loss.

Now all that's left are the pictures on the walls,
Memories and stories that are told.
The more often told the bigger they get
Create a legacy lest we forget.
--Plankeye "Goodbye"

Mary Katharine Gudschinsky Kennedy 1909-1999

Grandma would want me to tell you: God bless you richly, richly, richly.
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Photo fiddling done with Picnik.

And the awards go to...(finally!)

2009-02-27T11:43:00.012-06:00

Way back in the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred Tickety Two, I was graced with several awards. Dolt that I am, I didn't read any instructions that accompanied them. I was so excited at the prospect of WINNING SOMETHING! that anything else just flew by the wayside. Does this invalidate them? Eh, I don't care. You'll have to pry em outta my cold, dead hands!

I'm neglecting the rules a little, I hope you don't mind. I can't really see giving someone a repeat of an award they already have...

Mozi Esme gave me this one. These folks really do make me smile. Come and get it: Chrysalis Dreams, Retired and Crazy, (who's also very sneaky) and Ryan.

Here's one from Janet for: Darla and Missy. Click, guys. Darla posts often. Book reviews, pictures, stories. She's Brilliante. Missy's on a mission trip to Mexico and shares tales of her many adventures. Brilliante, I say!

Sherrie gave me this one since I'm a "a real person." Guess what, you're real too you guys! Tillybud (short but sweet, always makes you think, WomaninaWindow who you probably already know. Her posts are always awe-inspiring. Karla, a newbie blogger. Check her out!

Carol gave me this one for you Kreativ folks: Ron, Mother Earth Mender, Granny on the Web, and Jennifer.

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Enjoy, folks! Don't forget to pass them on. Now I'm off to clean my house. My in-laws are coming for a visit in April and I've got to prepare! Pray for me!

World, Meet Sarah

2009-02-24T22:07:00.003-06:00

No need for a secret identity. She'll kill ya six times before you hit the ground.

Thanks Suldog for this lovely pick-me-up.

Like a Rock

2009-02-21T10:58:00.008-06:00

Steve's head is hard. As in, hard as granite. Or maybe marble. Or diamond or titanium. Or maybe rhenium diboride. I have seen this man step out of the shower, slip on some water, smash his head into the doorjamb with enough force to shake the walls and get up complaining, my thumb hurts. (And complaining about my laughter as well, but to a lesser degree.)

We do this weird lion and antelope thing. I've already said that I know we're weird, but I feel the need to reiterate it before I go on. We're weird!

So last night I was preparing for sleep by reading in bed. I heard a noise and looked around. Nothing. Then I heard the LION growl. I looked around again just in time to see him flying through the air colliding his massive, titanium head into my face. He felt bad. He was just trying to pounce on my back and give me great sloppy lion-kisses before bed. He immediately got up and fetched me some aspirin. Came back and said, Oh crap, you've got a black eye! I got up and looked in the mirror only to see this:

This is how I always look, bonehead! Lion kisses + lack of sleep = dark undereye circles. Anyway, I slept good. I drifted off to dreamland thinking about the symptoms of a concussion. Good sleep is one of those, right? Nothing like head trauma to give you a good night's rest.
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On an unrelated note, my hyperlinks aren't showing up! It should just be a matter of changing the html code to a different color, but try as I might, I can't get it to work. Anyone want to help me? Puh puh puh please?

Once Upon a Time...

2009-02-18T21:17:00.006-06:00

I was a hugger. Let's face it: if you go to church, you're probably hugged. A lot. You can avoid the hugs if you want, lurking near the back of the building, hiding in the bathroom, but if you're in any position of authority, you may as well give in to the hugs.

I am not a touchy-feely person. People have germs and I prefer to avoid germs. However, it is more important to me to convey love to a person by giving them a hug than to make myself comfortable by just waving to them from across the room.

This is why the good Lord invented hand sanitizer.

Anyway, once a long, long time ago I was making the hugging rounds at church when I was stopped. A man refused to touch me stating that "men do not hug women." It turned into a long explanation of how there are right and wrong ways to hug women.

I'm scarred for life.

Basically, if your breasts touch a man who isn't your husband, it's BAD. This I did not know. I must admit, sometimes my breasts do things that I'm not aware of.

Therefore, I don't hug men. Unless they hug me first. The only one who doesn't have a choice is Mr. Jim. If he comes around, he's getting a hug, like it or not. Mutant boobies or not.

Yes, I'm a preacher's wife and I said "boobies."

Picture stolen from here.

I'm Back!

2009-02-17T11:39:00.012-06:00

Well, technically we got back early Sunday morning but with Sundays being crazy and Monday being a day for recovery from Sunday, I'm really back today.

What? You mean you didn't even notice I was gone?

Wait a sec while I pull the dagger out of my back.

Ok. Steve's brother Chris got married on Valentine's Day, which gave us a great excuse for a trip up north! Woot!

The most wonderful thing about going home (well, besides the time spent with family and eating all the food you've missed and catching up with everybody) is when your mom sends you home with homemade enchiladas. For free. I don't have the recipe. Or a picture, since as soon as I baked them they were devoured without a pause for blogging posterity. I'll see if she'll part with the recipe...

Anyway, this trip, and the resulting playtime with the nephews reminded me of Christmas, when there was even more playing.

Nick, Alex, Kaeden and I discovered a box. Not just any box. A Box of Wonders to Behold. I'm sure at one point it had contained some cherished item, but once that pesky thing was removed, the box reached it's true potential as a Box of Wonders.

So here's the part where I put them in the box.

And here's the part where they put me in the box. And wouldn't let me out. Come on, Sarah, get in, it'll be fun, we promise.

Then they attack. Giggling all the while, tickling through the handles so conveniently placed in the sides, jumping on the box and squishing their poor, defenseless, Aunt Sarah.

Cruelty, isn't it?

Reasons I Love My Husband (#473)

2009-02-07T16:27:00.004-06:00

I'm loved.

Call the Fire Department! Oh, and a recipe, too.

2009-02-06T17:37:00.009-06:00

I read about an interesting bread recipe at No Fear Entertaining. A little research led me to the original recipe and a lot more. This stuff is so stinkin versatile! So far, with a little bit of "boule," which is what they call the basic dough, I've made sandwich bread, pizza, and some sinfully fabulous pecan sticky buns.

I've been in search of the perfect pizza crust for quite a while and I think this is it. It's chewy, flavorful and delicious.

So anyway, I mixed up a batch last night in anticipation of making a lovely homemade pizza for dinner tonight. The oven was preheating to a slightly terrifying temperature of 500 degrees, the toppings were out and ready, and the dough was properly stretched on the board when I noticed smoke rising from the oven. Through the foggy glass of the oven window I could see orange flames glowing malevolently.

I opened the oven to be greeted by hissing, sizzling, smoky, smelly fire. I had time to think, "Well, I hope it's not a grease fire" before my hand reached out and grabbed my cup of water and tossed it in.

Dad, before you ask, the fire extinguisher you gave me is lost. I plan to purchase a new one ASAP. How does one lose a fire extinguisher? I have no idea, and yet, I've done it.

Cue the smoke alarms. I had never noticed that we have both alarms and sprinklers in each and every room, including the bathrooms and closets. How lovely. Luckily, it is a balmy 68 degrees here in Tennessee and when I came home from work, I had immediately opened the patio door and all the windows. I raced through the house, ripping out the batteries and waving my wet dishtowel at the shrieking alarms and praying that the sprinklers wouldn't come on. Many children were at outside at play with their parents nearby. I can imagine their conversations:

Kid: Mommy, what's that noise?
Mom: That's just Old Lady Curtis trying to burn down her apartment again.
Kid: Why is she waving that dishtowel at the ceiling?
Mom: She's "special." Don't look over there.

Did you know that smoke alarms can continue to squeal even when their batteries are ripped violently out?

Crisis averted, I sat down on the kitchen floor to wait for the oven to cool so I could clean it or for Steven to get home. Whichever came first.

I needed an excuse to clean that oven anyway. I hadn't cleaned it since we moved in about three years ago. Hey, don't judge me!

The Introvert Advantage

2009-02-05T11:55:00.003-06:00

This book was recommended to me by a friend who's got an introverted daughter-in-law. I'm reading it and I'm amening (if that's even a word) each and every page. Who knew I'm not some sort of freak for preferring books over people?

Some of us need action to "re-charge our batteries". Being with people, hunting for parties, flitting around to different places and visiting all sorts of folks. Others of us need to re-charge after being with people. We go home, curl up on the couch with a good book (or a computer) and just relax. We're more inwardly focused. Not self-centered, but introspective.

I write this because I've been thought of as stuck up, sick, anti-social. I'm hoping that more people will come to the understanding that some of us (25% of the population, according to this author) are hard-wired differently. We don't hate people, we are just overwhelmed by them on occasion. I always wondered why my sisters could go around with a gaggle of friends and I could barely stand to hang around with one or two. I'm supposed to be the big sister, the confident one, right? In every place we've lived, I've had one, or at the most two good friends. I just can't take more than that. I can manage small talk for a minute or two and then I've got to escape.

Does this sound whiny? I hope not. I wish I would print little quotes from the book out and paste them all over myself so folks can understand. She's not rude, she's an introvert!

It's not me, guys, it's genes! Blame my parents!

TV & Tuchis

2009-02-03T12:33:00.005-06:00

I've discovered The Sopranos. No, I'm not proud of myself. I have kind of an issue with delayed gratification so I have to wait until a show is off the air and get all the seasons at once so I can watch them in rapid succession. There is no waiting with bated breath around my house! I've been watching so intently (and also playing a new computer game, Westward 3, which is a story for another day) that the rest of my life is basically on hold. Which means I'm eating like a pig and not exercising.Which means my butt looks like the back end of my dad's old Cavalier. And there's almost no reading, which means I'm growing stupider by the second. See! Is stupider even a word? I have no idea!

Hopefully I'll be back with something worth reading when I'm done with the show. Or when I lose interest, whichever happens first. I'm only on Season Two, though, so it may be a while.

Car/butt picture stolen from wikimedia.

Oh, P.S. Mr. Jim is recuperating from a broken pelvis. He fell in his bathroom, spent a while in the hospital and then in a rehab center and is now at home with a live-in aide. Please keep him in prayer (and the aide, Brenda, who seems like a great person and so helpful) while he's on the mend.

Are you listening, Subway?

2009-01-23T08:44:00.006-06:00

Have you ever had a moment that was so surreal you thought you must be in a commercial or maybe on one of those hidden camera shows where you act like a moron and then get the joy of knowing you've been recorded for all the world to see you make a fool of yourself? Well who needs that? That's why the good Lord invented blogging. So I can tell the world my, "Hey, remember that time I acted like a dork?" story.

There's a sub shop down the street from my job. Occasionally I'll walk down there to have lunch if I haven't brought my own. So I go there, standing innocently in line waiting to order.

Pretty bland so far, right?

Then Mr. Bon Jovi comes on the radio singing about Tommy on the docks and Gina at the diner and I'm sort of dancing in place singing along. There are about ten of us (this is the lunchtime rush in a pretty heavily populated business district) waiting in line, our sandwiches in varying states of deliciousness, when the guy behind me starts to sing, too. Pretty soon, every person in line is singing. And when we hit the chorus? It got loud.

Whooah, we're half way there
Whooah! Livin on a prayer
Take my hand and we'll make it, I swear
Whooah! Livin on a prayer...

And even while I'm singing, I'm thinking How can all these people possibly know the words? What am I doing? I can't stand talking in front of people and now I'm singing?!

WHAT IS GOING ON?!

The song ended, we got our food and moved on, all slightly uplifted by a brief but strange connection with our fellow man. Well, maybe that was just me.

If you ever see a commercial with a group of folks singing "Livin' on a Prayer," I'm the short frumpy one with the bewildered expression on her face.

Over to you?

I'm Thinking...

2009-01-22T11:41:00.002-06:00

...it's a good thing I'm not omnipotent. Folks have been taking advantage of our church's benevolence. We've been robbed, had a car in our parking lot broken into during a church service and had liars come among us pretending to be in need in search of money. Don't get me wrong, if there is a genuine need, we are more than happy to assist.

Last night a girl came to the church saying that she needed money for gas. Steven, being the realist that he is, told her he would not give her cash, but he'd go to the gas station with her and purchase the gas for her. She agreed, saying she'd meet us there. We proceeded to drive, about 20 minutes out of our way, to have her never show up. We learned that her husband is a drug addict and she's swindled folks from our church before.

Part of me wants to call down curses on her and her kind. Part of me is saddened to know that there are people for whom nothing is sacred. Not the caring spirit of a group of people who want to help. Not the words of our God who tells us as Christians that we're to help those in need. How dare people take advantage of that?

Right now the cursing side of me is winning out. God grant me the ability to forgive those that do us wrong.

Things I've Learned the Hard Way (Part 2)

2009-01-16T11:59:00.005-06:00

Part 1 is here.

8. If you give a mouse (or a hubby) a cookie, he'll need a glass of milk to go with it. And another cookie. And another one. And some more milk.

9. No matter how many dishes you wash, there will always be one more, lurking behind the soap dispenser or hiding in the bathroom (ice cream, anyone?)

10. If your boss catches you blogging at work, you will suddenly find yourself with heaps, boxes, and buckets full of extra work. Just because occasionally my job gets put on hold when inspiration strikes doesn't mean I'm not busy as a beaver. (And my work still gets done.) Take that, Boss Lady!

11. There are a lot of James Dean haters in this world. You wouldn't believe all the emails I got disagreeing with my last blogs' vampire choices. I still think he'd make a perfect vampire, though. Please don't take Rebel Without a Cause too seriously. I know he was a little whiny in it...

12. Reaching the end of a good book is almost unbearably sad to me. I'm almost afraid to pick up my old familiar Steinbecks and Vonneguts. Even though I know the ending, it's depressing to know it's over. (I finally finished Twilight, can you tell?)

13. Church ladies are unbelievably patient and too nice to tell the truth when it's hurtful. Even if the dish you made for the church potluck smells like a wet dog that rolled in garbage, they'll eat it and say how yummy it is. Then they'll wash your dishes and THEY don't miss any!

14. If someone who is known to "hear voices" asks you if you heard it too, it's best to say no. Just when you're uttering the words, "You know, maybe I DID hear something..." somebody with a straitjacket will show up and drag you off to the funny farm. Or maybe your boss will just give you a look that asks if you need to be medicated.

15. My family lurks. I know they read this; maybe they just don't want anyone else to know. Come on guys, say something! (Uncle John, I know you're out there!!!)

Okay so forget all the rest. Maybe you'll respond to this:

Ain't they cute? You know you want to tell me about it!

Twilight Overload

2009-01-14T11:39:00.000-06:00

I finished the third book last night and sent my husband (recent survivor of phase one of a root canal, thanks for the prayers) out to purchase the fourth one at about 9:30. What, quit looking at me like that. He's perfectly fine! I don't feel the least bit guilty about him driving through freezing temperatures with a cold and wet driver's seat (from my earlier coffee dumping session) and looking at no less than five different stores for my coveted book. He didn't find it.

So I'm having some withdrawal symptoms, and I'm feeding my addiction by imagining who really should play Edward Cullen in the movie. I have no problem with Robert Pattinson, but he's Cedric Diggory, dangit! Yes, I am the world's biggest nerd. I'm okay with that. So my mom (who's also a nerd, sorry Mom) and I like to read books and then watch the movies and discover who the real perfect person for the lead role is. We're still working on The DaVinci Code. Tom Hanks. *shudder*

So here are my mind's other Edward Cullens. Tell me what you think.

1. Johnny Depp
I watched Cry-Baby last night and it was a little weird. Though I'm not sure if he could pull off 17 now, the younger Johnny Depp is a perfect match. Just look at those broody eyes...

2. Adam Brody
I don't know anything about this guy, but he does have a perfect face. Something kinda nonchalant and yet he really does care...

3. Tom Welling.
He's already a superhero, and his eyes are just about perfect.

4. Marlon Brando.
Now I'm entering the realms of Fairyland, but look at him! He's perfect! STELLA!!! It rhymes with BELLA!!!!!

Gosh, I'm really losing it.

5. James Dean. The hands down, no doubt about it, most perfect vampire of all time. He wouldn't even need makeup!

I'm really not obsessed. It just looks that way. Darn you, Patti!

Ok, so it's an hour or so later...

2009-01-12T17:03:00.003-06:00

and I come home to find him fast asleep. This is good-it means his pain meds have finally kicked in. Hopefully he'll sleep for a while, and now that I'm home and can attend to his little mewling cries, I feel much better. If his eyelids should begin to flutter I'll be standing by the bed with a cast-iron skillet ready to send him back into oblivion.

Since he's sleeping, I'm doing my best to creep ever so silently through the house. I came home from work wanting desperately to shower. Do you ever just need to wash the filth and disgust of your job away? So anyway, I crept into our room to get my shampoo and other shower items and made my way into the other bathroom. That's right, there are just the two of us and we have two bathrooms. I'll wait while you compose yourself. You know, envy is a horrible thing. Anyway, I took my stuff into "his" bathroom and what greeted me?

Okay, wait a sec. Sometimes I do things just to see if he's paying attention. Like while he's playing a video game, I'll call out, "I think somebody's trying to break in!" in my most horrified voice. Nothing. Or I'll slip something like, "I quit my job and am going to build a spaceship" into a conversation and see what he does. Nothing.

So anyway, the other day I really wanted to make some ice cream. Steve was asleep and I didn't want to wake him with the noisy ice cream maker, so I mixed up all the ingredients and hauled everything into the bathroom. What, you don't make ice cream in YOUR bathroom? Weird. I made sure to drip a few little splotches into the sink and onto the floor to see what he would do. I was hoping he'd think I had caught the bloody flux from some Wal-Mart chicken or something. Once the ice cream was done, I promptly forgot about it. Well, apparently, he never noticed it, or else didn't think anything of his wife leaving weird marks all over the bathroom. However...

when I stepped into the bathroom today I was horrified! I thought he must be bleeding internally or brushing his teeth too hard or having uncontrollable nose bleeds or...is that chocolate?

Yup, my plan backfired. I'll think before I try to freak him out again. At least until he feels better.

P.S. Root canal tomorrow afternoon. Pray for him, okay?