Kick-Ass Chili

KICK-ASS CHILI

1 lb. ground beef
1 lb. spicy hot ground pork sausage
1 lg. onion; coarsely chopped
2 garlic cloves; minced
1 lg. bell pepper; chopped
2 - 28oz. cans diced or chopped tomatoes
4 Roma tomatoes or 1 pint tiny tomatoes; chopped
2 - 27oz. cans kidney beans; drain 1 can and reserve the liquid from the other can
1/3 cup yellow corn meal; mix with reserved liquid from 1 can of beans and add into the pot
2 tsp. dried ground oregano
3 Tbsp. chili powder
1 tsp. ground coriander
1-1/2 tsp. celery seed
1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper
1 tsp. dried mustard
1 tsp. paprika
1 Tbsp. cumin
1 Tbsp. cocoa
2 Tbsp. brown sugar
Salt & pepper; to taste
1 Tbsp. tobasco
2 Tbsp. molasses
2 Tbsp. vinegar
1 cup strong coffee

Season meats with salt & pepper, then brown and drain. Add all other ingredients and simmer 30 minutes. Serve with peanut butter sandwiches. Yes, peanut butter. On white bread.

This recipe does require a ton of spices, but they will last through several batches of this chili.

My Baby's Babies

Well, here we are, still waiting and waiting and waiting for those babies to arrive. I think it may be even harder on the non-pregnant members of the family. At least Erica, our Mommy-to-be, has a clue as to what’s happening in there. All we can do is keep her calm and try to make sure she’s comfortable; not that she’s been comfortable in the past couple of months, but you do what you can. While I know she’s feeling rough and is very emotional, I feel for my son too. Nick has really grown up during this pregnancy. He has tried very hard to please Erica, taking the brunt of her mood-swings with a grain of salt, and has been supportive every step of the way, even while being told off.

I can’t believe these two young adults - still kids in my mind - are going to be bringing home two tiny babies. I’m certainly less terrified than they are, but I’m definitely scared. How do I teach her how to be a mom when I’ve had one baby at a time and always with the help of my own mother? I feel sorry for Erica. Her relationship with her mother is civil at best. Not that it matters much because her mom is married to a military man and currently lives in Japan. She won’t even be able to see her first grandchildren until sometime next summer. She has been harsh with Erica regarding getting pregnant, and has her in tears nearly every time they talk. I know that even though they don’t get along well, Erica must want her here. Doesn’t every girl want her mom when about to become a mother herself? She has gotten very close to me and has told me she feels like I’m her mom. They have invited me to go along to doctor’s visits and ultrasounds with them and she would like for me to be in the delivery room, but since only one person is allowed to be in the O.R. during a C-section, I’ll be waiting right down the hall.

I am the worrying kind, so I have to keep my mothering and medical training in the back of my mind, not allowing them out and able to make me lose sleep. I worry every day that something will go wrong or someone will be less than healthy. While I have no basis for anticipating anything of the sort, I think it’s probably human nature to think that way. I just want them delivered and to hear mother and babies pronounced healthy. Until then, I feel like I’m holding my breath.

All I can hope for is to be able to impart some wisdom and practical advice to the two of them and pray that they will be patient, loving parents to my little granddaughters. I’m only ten miles down the road if they ever need me for anything, so that gives us all some peace of mind. I have a lot of faith in them, and I think they are going to do just fine. It’s very strange to see my youngest child getting ready to become a parent. He’s a smart, responsible young man, and I’m very proud of him, yet every time I look at him I see that little blond-haired boy with the big brown eyes, hanging on to my clothes, wanting to be held and cuddled by his Mommy.

Mom...I need your help

Obviously, I have a problem with commitment. Not the married kind, but the commitment to blog every few days, the commitment to completely clean out the basement, the commitment to conquer Wii Fit. I tend to start lots of projects but I don't have a great track record of completing them. And, ok, to be honest, I do have quite an infatuation with the internet - Twitter, Facebook and the many blogs I follow take up a bigger chunk of time each day than should be allowed. I am aware of this and I will add it to my "See About:" list just as soon as I step away from the computer. Anyway, just when I thought this summer would finally be the one that would see me out riding my bike every morning and writing until dinnertime every day, my life - and more specifically the lives of my family - have gotten in the way. It seems my goals are needles in the haystack of family issues and drama.

Between going to doctor's appointments with my parents, I have my 6-year-old grandson and 3-year-old-granddaughter one day and night each week, I have been driving one son to and from college classes and appointments until he buys a car, and driving another son to work each night until he's able to fix his car. The taxi service I provide now is as busy as it was when the boys were younger. Along with the usual day-to-day tasks, in the past month, I have been to two weddings, have planned and pulled off one baby shower and I'm prepping for another baby shower in two weeks. If I think I'm tired now, I can't imagine what it's going to be like helping to care for twins. (Twins! Two little girls will be here around the end of October!) My son and his girl, E., have no children, have no experience with newborns, and will have very little help coming from family members - other than you-know-who. E's mother is married to a military man and is currently living in Japan, and she has no siblings to help her. I'm excited about helping out and spending time with the babies, but I'm also about to drop from exhaustion.

As much as I complain about being the go-to person for everyone around me, I can't imagine not being asked for my help, not being needed. I just have to learn to balance it out a little better. Then again, I could start charging them for providing my time, nursing care, psychological counseling, babysitting, general problem solving, cooking classes, etc. Then I could pay someone to do all of this for me! Why didn't I think of that before? I would definitely use the extra time to write, date my husband, and learn to cook more interesting recipes, but I don't think all of the time in the world will be enough to conquer Wii Fit. Ah well, you can't win 'em all.

DIY Cookbook

Let me be the first to say that I am not the best cook around. Not by any means. I've ruined enough dinners, meat in particular, to feed a small nation and not well I might add. You know how it goes though, you tend to like or at least think you like whatever you ate as a child. My Mom was the queen of frozen dinners. Every Sunday she would cook some awful concoction that only she and Dad liked, and my sister Jen and I had to suffer through it and clean our plates or risk going to bed while the sun was still shining outside. Mom would make things like Corned Beef & Cabbage or Swiss Steak and Jen and I brokered many an agreement to survive the meal and be allowed to go back outside and play. For years I'd happily eat her spinach or eggs and she would take care of my lima bean problem or any meat-on-the-bone. It worked well enough. We certainly had enough to eat and as I grew up and had my own family, I discovered how hard it must have been for Mom. She worked full time and took care of us every evening while our Dad worked second shift. I would have been the queen of frozen dinners too.

I had an interest in cooking and baking early on and when I discovered my grandmother's collection of hand written recipes and some old cookbooks, I felt like I'd found the Holy Grail. I would sit and read recipes for hours, I still do. When my boys were small I was happy to cook for them but my skills were pretty limited. My Mom didn't cook a lot, my grandmother lived in another state and the Food Network hadn't even been thought of yet. I bought a Betty Crocker cookbook and dove in. Many of the recipes were too advanced for me or the results were refused by my little boys, so 'beginner's basic' is what we ate. Very basic. I was glad when I finally learned how to make a few things that they would eat. My oldest has always been a good eater so he was no problem. My youngest, however, would only eat white and yellow foods. He pretty much still follows that diet.

These days the boys are grown up and live on their own and I now have two grown stepsons as well. While they were growing up, I had a small rotation of meals they would all eat with a minimum of complaints. Now I often get phone calls from the four of them requesting instructions on how to make their favorite meals, or asking me to teach their girlfriends the recipes. I decided to compile a list of all their favorites and write a simple, step-by-step, easy-to-understand beginners cookbook for them. I'll include before, during, and after photos of the recipes and the ingredients needed and will tell them where to find the items in the store. I remember the grocery store being an intimidating place when I had no clue where to find what I was looking for. God forbid if I forgot something, there was no going back. I'll still just be a phone call away if they get stuck or have questions. I just wanted them to have something from me that will evoke fond memories of us together and of the foods I cooked for them. Hopefully they will cook some of their favorites for their own kids.

What were your favorites as a kid?

Daily (even weekly) Blogging: FAIL

God, what a loser. I can't believe I haven't blogged for a month! Sorry about that. I'd be pissed if the bloggers I follow went an entire month without writing. Good thing that's not a huge issue in my case. At this time, I have no less than nine followers, and I love my nine followers, but... nine? They follow me and I follow them back and they always provide laughs, wicked recipes and cute pics. I, on the other hand, have spent more time finding and following interesting, funny people than I've spent trying to write something that will make you laugh.

I suppose I should scale back on my reading in order to kick-start some writing. I've always loved writing fictional stories and I spend way too much time in my head with ideas for them. I wish I had kept things I've written over the years. Then again, those stories might be just the thing that would convince me once and for all that I'm not in fact a real writer. Oh well, they're long gone now. I like to think of it as starting with a clean slate. As in "from now on, everything I write will be smart, funny stuff." I know, Good Luck, right? Just like my exercising-every-day vow. What can I tell you? It appears I'm a liar. And now, it's back to Twitter for me. I mean back to my book. Yes, the book, the book. I have to stop wasting time on the internets.

But she feels much better now

Poor Molly already can't take the heat. She may not like the rigging, and I would imagine she doesn't like us laughing at her and wouldn't appreciate having her photos put online, but she rarely gets on the computer, so she'll never know about that. At least she's much more comfortable now. Who needs a fancy, expensive groomer when you have a set of good grooming tools, some bungie cords and a few hours on a Saturday? Creative or Redneck? What do you think?

Big Sur, California

A pic I took of the stunning Big Sur coast.

It's a rugged, beautiful place.

I may need to live there.

Flying high... or not

Ok, I know everyone has their travel nightmares, airport stories, flight issues, etc. However, I have never had a flight issue like the one I lived today. Picture this: a week in beautiful Monterey, California, perfect weather, wonderful dinners and wine, and more time to spend with my husband than I thought I would have. Perfect, right? Well, all of that serenity I had accrued during the relaxing, desperately-needed weeklong trip was completely obliterated today when we got onto our completely full plane, packed with the requisite business travelers and families with little ones. First we were informed that our destination, Houston, was under fire from wicked thunderstorms and tornado warnings. Ok, I thought, that will pass and besides, it would take three hours to fly there anyway, right? Well, as I sat on my not-so-tiny ass in my tiny middle seat, trying to read a book and relax, the captain came over the intercom to inform us that we were officially grounded for at least the next hour. Ok, ok, that's not terrible, we had a more than two-hour layover anyway, so I was sure we would be fine to catch our connecting flight to Cincinnati. No big deal. After hearing this same announcement an hour or so later however, we started to rethink that connecting flight. Within the next hour, we resigned ourselves to the fact that we would have look for a different, later flight to Cinci. As we approached our third hour on the runway, sweating and frustrated that the baby a few rows up couldn't be pacified or medicated to shut it up, we were informed that our connecting flight, like many others scheduled to leave Houston today, was cancelled and that we were going to deplane for a while until hearing for more news from Houston. Since we were going to have to find an alternate flight to get us home anyway, we decided to go to the Continental desk and see if we could take a different route home today. We were then directed to another help desk where we were scheduled to fly with US Airways to LA this evening, on to Atlanta on the red-eye, and finally onto Cincinnati in the morning. While checking in at the US Airways desk, we were informed that the layover times between flights wouldn't work and we would miss the flight out of Atlanta in the morning. Once again we headed back to Continental to ask to be booked onto a flight we would have a chance at actually catching. We were then booked onto a Delta flight leaving at 6am Saturday morning heading to Salt Lake City and then finally onto Cincinnati. Now we had to book a hotel room, call for a shuttle to the hotel, and start all over again in the morning... very early in the morning.

Once we finally got to our hotel, we discovered that the only place to eat within walking distance was a Hawaiian-American restaurant nearby. I could only imagine it was going to be very coconut and pineappley, with waitresses in grass skirts. To my (very happy) surprise, it was a cool but elegant island themed restaurant and bar with cloth napkins, soft reggae music playing in the background and the most attentive staff I could have asked for. After a big plate of seafood pasta and a couple of pints of Guinness, all of the day's stress drained away leaving me feeling relaxed and drowsy. We ordered a couple of triple chocolate mousses (mice?) to-go and walked back across the street to the hotel. Even though we have to catch the airport shuttle at 4:30 tomorrow morning and then pray hard that Utah and Ohio are spared from killer storms, this extra, unexpected night here is turning out to be a pretty good one after all. I still hate to fly more than anything in the world and the anxiety and barely-contained rage are always just below the surface whenever I'm within ten miles of an airport. It could have been worse, I know, but this is my first travel nightmare and I had to vent all about it. I have to say, I'll take a road trip any day over flying, although swimming to go overseas is going to be a challenge.

Baby-steps

Normally I hate to leave the house. Not in the lazy, not wanting to change out of my pj's kind of way, more in the major social anxiety kind of way. I keep trying to talk myself out of preferring to be a shut-in, but just to go to the grocery store, I have to psych myself up and calm myself down. I know it's irrational, but I feel what I feel. Fast forward to a week of spending days alone in Monterey, CA while the Mr. is in meetings all day. There is no way I'm going to hang out in our hotel room, waiting for him to finish with work because I'm afraid to venture out alone. As in the Bill Murray movie What About Bob?, I've found that baby steps have worked well for me. Taking a walk down the street, camera in hand, hasn't felt weird at all. I'm completely invisible, just the way I like it. Maybe I need to be put into these situations more often so I can't hide out in my cave all day. I don't want to be one of those old ladies who hasn't left the house in a decade only to have her corpse found after the neighbors complain about the smell.

The times they are a changin'

Is it really that hard to put on real clothes before running down to the grocery store or taking the dog out for a walk? Just some jeans and shoes. I don't care if you're braless and wearing an ancient, stained Aerosmith t-shirt under your coat. It's just that I see a lot of people who seem to think that their pajama-clad asses are perfectly acceptable for public consumption. When paired with a pair of ratty old slippers, people convey that "I couldn't be bothered to wash and dress to come to the store and touch lots of food and things, and how can you even be sure I'm not to lazy to wash my hands after I use the toilet" kind of carefree look.

When I was a teenager in the 80's, (now is the point in the conversation when my kids would commence with the eye-rolling) we wouldn't have even considered going to the mailbox without first spending an hour and a half on full hair and makeup. Clean, sharp, tight clothes were the look of the moment and anyone seen out in their jammies was assumed to be on his or her way to the nearest ER, because something bad must have happened for anyone to go out looking like that. I wouldn't even take off my makeup before bed if I was spending the ngiht at a friend's house. I couldn't stand to think of anyone, friends or family to see me sans warpaint. I'm not implying anyone should spend an hour and a half on hair and makeup anymore, but a little bit of toothpaste, deodorant, a comb and some denim never killed anyone.

Karma Is a Bitch

I woke up this morning feeling pretty good. I was finally a little less sore from the new exercises I've begun, it's Sunday which means breakfast at Young's, and my husband was in a happy, joking mood. What's not to feel good about? Well, let me tell you... I missed a step coming downstairs, I nearly fell off the back deck since we have new steps there now and none where the steps used to be, and then this afternoon on my way to see my BFF, I got a friggin' speeding ticket, and I almost never speed! How he clocked me while he was talking on his phone and driving in the opposite direction I'm not so sure. The cop who pulled me over was about thirteen with a chubby babyface and a manner that was entirely too sweet for a lawman. My hand shook when I handed him my license and insurance card, which was strange since as far as I know I'm not currently on any wanted list. Hell, I haven't even been pulled over in more than twelve years. So, acting like the fugitive I'm not, I accepted the citation and said "Thanks." Really? Thanks? WTF? I had to then correct myself and said "Well, not thanks actually, but have a good day I guess."

I know it could have been worse. I could've actually fallen down the stairs this morning, or fallen off the deck due to the absence of stairs, or had an ambulance coming for me instead of a teenaged cop. I know all of these things could have been more serious than they were, but I have to wonder sometimes when I'm having an off day, exactly which of my transgressions are coming back on me. Which ones, specifically. I would just like to know for sure if the day is going to hold my punishment for not holding a door for someone behind me, taking a parking spot that's designated for pregnant women (I'm fat enough that you wouldn't ask, ok?) or for punching a girl in the mouth in high school. If it's going to be a small penance, I can proceed with my day without too much eggshell walking, but if it's going to be for a sin of the more serious variety, I'd like to know ahead of time so I can make sure I won't have to leave the house that day. I'll take a fall down the stairs in the comfort and privacy of my own home before busting my ass in the middle of a crowded grocery store. Know what I mean? Then again, since it all could have been worse, I wonder if today was just payback for something bad I almost did? Hmmm. This could get sticky.

Something strange is happening

I'm not exactly sure what the aggravating factor was, but for some unknown reason I started exercising four days ago and I've done it every day since. I'm actually looking forward to it each day. Now, if you know me at all, you'll know that's just weird. I do not enjoy exersize of any sort. I hate to sweat more than anything in the world. I'd choose pain over sweating any day. However, since Saturday, I've taken two bike rides, done Wii yoga or aerobics each day, and I've followed the instructions that came with my exercise ball and have done fifty crunches and fifty push-ups each day. I have also kept myself frome eating anything that's not good for me. I know! WTF? Believe me, I'm asking myself the same thing. It's like my body knows something my mind doesn't know. Man, I hope it's not a tumor or something. That would suck to get all fit only to find out I have cancer or something. Sorry, just thinking out loud.

Anyway, I have nothing new coming up, no events or reunions or anything like that, and I certainly had to get over the whole wearing shorts or a bathing suit idea years ago, so I don't know what's going on. I do know that I'm going to ride this wave for all I'm worth. This kind of thing doesn't happen to me often, or ever if I'm being perfectly honest. As a matter of fact, I think the only time I've ever had an energy surge was right before I went into labor, both times. Now, seeing that I made sure I'd never go through labor again, I'm not terribly worried about that being the culprit this time. Whatever is happening to cause this need to exercise can just go right ahead and do it's thing. I'm hoping the pain will start to subside soon, but I also wonder if that's why I'm only eating what I can get by on to survive. Getting a spoon into a pint of Ben & Jerry's should never be physically painful. That just seems wrong.

Happy St. Paddy's Day

Although Dublin must be absolutely packed this week, today especially, I'd almost sell my soul to be back in Ireland right now. Our trip there last year was fantastic and nearly unbelievable - nine out of ten days it was 60-70 degrees and sunny. I know! Sun - in Ireland! Who'd have thought it? It was the trip of a lifetime. I'd never been out of the US before and by the tenth day, I didn't want to return home at all. If money were no object, I'd be living on the coast in County Clare as I write this. The pint or two a day is dangerous of course, but I think as soon as my clothes got too tight, I'd have backed it down to one a day. After all, Guinness is good for you , right? I'll have an Irish boiled dinner or potato soup and a few pints tonight, and will continue to hatch my Operation Ireland plan. I hope the luck of the Irish touches you all today. Slainte!

Luck or deserved?

Reading a blog post by an author I follow, the recently married http://www.janegreen.com/ , got me thinking about weddings, marriage, and all the things that tie in with loving someone. I have been married before, long ago in what seems like a galaxy far, far away, and I am married again now. The differences in the 18-year-old me (playing the role of the bride) and the 34-year-old me (again as the bride) are shocking to me now. I was so young and immature when I married my ex-husband. We were 18 and 20. Can you even imagine? I could, and did. I imagined everything would fall right into place and we would be happy and raise a beautiful family together. I imagined we would be together forever. Again, I was 18. We did raise two beautiful sons together, but separately, and I will always be grateful to him for sticking around and being a good dad.

When I met my husband Tim, I was 31, divorced, working in a bookstore, and had just started college to become an RN. Dating was the last thing on my very crowded mind. His oldest son worked in the cafe at the bookstore and I found him to be a really nice, funny kid. One day he asked me if I had ever met his dad. I told him I'd seen him leave with his dad once or twice when he picked him up from work. He then told me that his dad had seen me and wondered if I was unattached. I told him I was and said he should introduce me sometime. That was the end of our exchange and I got back to work organizing and cleaning the kid's books department, without giving it much more thought. When the kid approached me again later that day, it was to ask for my phone number, at his father's request. Thinking this was kind of strange, I gave him my number anyway and wondered if I'd just opened the door to another weirdo, as I have been known to do a time or two. Tim called that evening before I even got off work. He sure was pushy for a guy who was to chicken to ask me for my number himself! He asked me out for that same evening but I told him I already had plans. He didn't need to know I'd just be home, in my jammies, giving myself a pedicure and watching some chick flick. I agreed to go out with him the following evening instead.

The following day, I wondered all day long if that evening was going to end up being a huge waste of time, time when I should have been doing homework. He came to my house that evening, was very nice, smelled wonderful, had good social skills (which surprised me, given the way we met), and it didn't hurt that he had the most intense blue eyes. We went for Mexican food and a couple of beers and then discussed seeing a movie. We decided to skip the movie so we could talk more. That talk became a seven-hour, fast-forward, get-to-know-you marathon. We enjoyed each other's company, learned a lot about each other, laughed a lot, and decided we wanted to see each other again soon. That was nearly ten years ago and we've been together ever since. It seems like it was just yesterday. It's hard to believe that we came together as a couple at all, both of us super-busy, single parents with two boys each (they were 17, 16, 13, and 12 when we met - yikes!), we spent a combined six years finishing our college degrees, we've gotten through a lot of minor complications and a few major, life-altering events, and have made it to the other side. Thank God.

It's just the two of us at home now, well and Molly the dog. It's that wonderful time when our kids are grown up but we're not even in our fifties yet, so we have lots of living still to do (Yay for young parenthood!) We have three very young grandchildren, which is fantastic (so much better than your own kids!), and hopefully the future will give us several more babies - grandbabies that is. We are lucky enough to get to take vacations every couple of years, we have dinner alone together every night, and we also continue to have those marathon conversations that last for hours. I know... I'm one lucky woman. I think he's doing pretty well in the luck department too actually. We are so comfortable with each other, it's like being with a lifelong best friend. I can be whoever I am on any given day. Happy, moody, pretty, fat, whatever the morning brings. We make sure not to get so comfortable that we forget about keeping it exciting though. Although "exciting" to me is an unplanned dinner at a favorite restaurant and "exciting" to him is a big bowl of my chipotle dip, a bag of tortillas chips, and being left in peace to watch a game. Excitement is in the eye of the beholder, right? Just so you don't think we've slipped into some dinner in front of the tv, sweatpants all the time, sad kind of life though, I'll remind you that the man took me to Ireland for vacation last year! Ireland! I stood on the Cliffs of Moher, had many pints of Guinness in many little pubs, and laughed my ass off every morning, noon and night with my husband, my best-good friend. I am so grateful for the life we have together. For our private little world we have created for ourselves, for our big blended family, and for the promise of many more years together. He sure was worth all the losers, wasted time, heartache, and other hard-learned lessons I endured along my way. He is everything I knew I wanted but wasn't sure existed. Luck indeed!

Wasting time

For some reason, I can't seem to 'find the time' to blog even though I'm at the computer for hours each day. Facebook is fun and Twitter is habit-forming. Of course I have to read cnn.com and people.com a few times every day, and I check out the blogs that I follow, so it's not all wasted time. It's a lot of wasted time though. My house could be used as a movie set, if the story were to take place in an old dusty, abandoned house. I'm conducting experiments with the grey stuff that's growing in the veggie drawer of the fridge. I have discovered that my husband and I own enough clothing to dress a small third-world nation, now that I actually can see it all piled up in front of the washing machine in the basement. And the thing that really almost bothers me are the tiny tumbleweeds of dog fur that blow across the floors every time the furnace comes on.

I have taken laziness to a level that I never knew existed, and that's saying something. I have always leaned toward conserving my energy, but all of a sudden I find myself living in a house that looks like it should have fourteen cats roaming around and a bent little old lady talking to herself in her old comfy chair (that would be me), and I am shocked and appalled. Soon it will be more than I can stand and the spirit will grab me one day and I'll scrub, vacuum, and dust every surface in the entire house. This normally happens roughly twice a year. By the time it does come over me, I can no longer get through a day without sneezing twenty times and bitching about my allergies... um, like to dust perhaps.

Of course, after everything is clean and perfect I will expect kudos and a smattering of applause from the other occupant of the house - my husband. He who doesn't cook, clean or go to the grocery, and only does laundry if I'm out of town. Although he is also the same dude who pays all of the bills, and buys me expensive dinners and sparkly things, so he is excused. I'm slowly but surely becoming embarrassed by the volume of dust that has accumulated on everything in sight, so I imagine my day of reckoning is near. Wish me strength and endurance.