Theme dinner anyone?
For me, cooking is a less than desirable chore at the end of the work day. Thus, weekday dinners tend to fall into one of three categories: cheap eat-outs, frozen, or quick mix. In the fall and winter I'm more likely to whip up a soup or try my hand at something with a few more ingredients and steps during the week, but I burn out quickly. Weekends, then? Restaurants. Failing that, cereal. Cold cereal. Sometimes an antipasto platter or bread with pesto and cheeses if I'm feeling really daring.
Last school year, though, I got my gumption up and tried to plan for more home cooked (thank you, Sandra-Lee Semi-Homemade) weeknight dinners and even some at-home date night suppers for the weekend. I can be creative when I want to be and one of my favorites was the Verona Night - a theme dinner. I spent snatches of time online all week looking up the traditional foods of Verona and planned a not-too-complicated menu including a traditional dessert of Juliet's Kisses (again, semi-homemade). We supped by candlelight and then went out to see Letters to Juliet. It was fun. I wanted to try it again.
A couple of months passed and Bruce's birthday was on the horizon. A local business supporter and semi-green person, he likes the challenge of shopping for all of our gifts locally. We have fun doing Christmas at flea markets and used bookstores. He had mentioned wanting to reread some of M.C. Beaton's Hammish Macbeth books. I found a few at the used bookstores and supplemented with a couple of new copies, wrapped them in green and blue plaid fabric and tied them with a green satin ribbon. I purchased a c.d. of bagpipe music (yes, I really did) and planned a Highland breakfast. Scotch Eggs (using vegetarian sausage), oat scones, carandash (I think that's how it was spelled - layers of real whipped cream with brandy - or in my case brandy extract - raspberries and toasted oats), and Scottish breakfast tea. It was so yummy and so very fun. I want to try it again.
As the school year gets started, I'm looking forward to the entertainments of the season: high school football games, school dances, ice hockey, band concerts, theatre, and the return of all the best autumn has to offer by way of cuddling opportunities with one's Honey. I'm also thinking that another Theme dinner might be on the menu soon. So, I'll be perusing the offerings at our local independent movie theater, the stage plays coming up, and all the free things our nearby university has to offer (thank you, Missouri State!), and even dvds we haven't watched in so long I've forgotten we have them. With a little invention, a little investigation, and a little investment of time and effort, our table will be set with a thematic flair once again.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Eat Your Heart Out Fraulein Maria!
Holding hands with my honey while we stroll around the neighborhood.
Strolling around the neighborhood with my honey and liking that he notices that when I walk I tend to be looking up and around while he tends to look down and around - I keep him from missing gorgeous cloud formations or the first colored leaf on the block; he keeps me from tripping on the uneven sidewalk or stepping on a caterpillar.
He always makes sure he has a quarter in his pocket when we go to the mall because he knows I'm a bubble gum junkie.
He sings a lot. Sometimes I know the song. Many times I don't. I've learned some silly songs from him that are mine now, too. And, sometimes when he sings I join in and he stops and says: "Did I say this was a duet?" Silly man.
He will watch It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown with me in the middle of summer if I ask him to.
We can be in different parts of a store and both zero in on a stupid song lyric playing overhead. When we meet up again, we almost inevitably ask, "Did you hear that song?"
He is a genius at making up jokes. I mean a real genius. I almost always know when he's setting one up, but it's not very often I figure it out. I groan LOUDLY when he tells me the punchline and he laughs that he can still "get" me.
Dancing in the living room.
Dancing in the kitchen.
Including the dog in a "group hug".
He tells me I look pretty and I believe he thinks I do.
He knows I'm going to cry at the same parts of the same old movies and he waits for it. He also knows when I'm going to cry in a movie we've not seen before and I catch him glancing at me in the dark theatre to see if he's right. He doesn't cry, but he doesn't make me feel funny about the fact that I do.
He likes that I'm tenderhearted.
He believes that if I had to I could survive without him, but he still does things for me that I could do myself just out of niceness. I don't remember the last time I pumped gas myself, but I do remember how.
He never lets me open my own car door. Never.
He stacks the clean towels so that he gets the rattier ones.
He makes the bed.
People who know us expect us to be together. When they see one of us in public they look around to find the other. Usually, they succeed.
We can go to the Library on a weekend night and joke about what losers we are. We don't really believe it, though. Well, not for that reason anyway.
He likes how I've decorated our home. He says it's our sanctuary. When he arrives home from work, he says, "Welcome to civility." I can't think of a higher compliment he could give me.
He lets me say, "I love you," to him a hundred times a day.
He tells me he loves me, too.
Thanks, Bruce.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Witness to Your Life
One of my favorite movies is Shall We Dance with Richard Gere and Susan Sarandon. It is the story of a middle-aged man who has become a bit bored with his routines. There are many things I like about the story, the first being that infidelity does not enter into it. The man loves his wife and family and he doesn't betray them. However, in his secret pursuit of dance, his wife has reason to become suspicious. She hires a private investigator to follow her husband. When ultimately she decides that he is not pursuing an extramarital affair, she terminates the investigation. Her conversation with the much-enamored PI leads to the question of why do people marry. His answer is the obvious one: for love. She refutes that and says rather it is because we all want a witness to our lives. In marrying, in making that commitment, we promise to notice. I like that.
The reason I thought of it tonight is that I was engaged in one of my favorite weekly routines with my husband: Sunday evening at Mudhouse with a bottomless and a book. I've been shamefully unable to engage with a book all summer. Inexplicably unable to engage. However, I picked up a memoir I purchased several weeks ago with a gift certificate given me by a couple of teachers in congratulations and goodbyes as I moved to a new school. It is called Here If You Need Me and it is the story of Kate Braestrup. I've never heard of Kate Braestrup. What made me pick up the book in the first place was the gorgeous cover. A tree branch all alight with autumn colors stretched over a lake reflecting a colorful hillside, an abandoned canoe at the shore and a single unoccupied Adirondack chair facing out toward the water and the distant shore on which you can see the white trunks of birch. I had to pick it up. Had to. When I discovered the true story was set in Maine, I was sold.
I started reading the memoir several weeks ago when I first purchased it. Unfortunately, the first time I picked it up was in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep. Not really the time to start reading a memoir. (More the time for reading The Shepherd, the Angel, and Walter the Christmas Miracle Dog - see a December post.) I was too tired to focus and lay it aside, forgetting it until today. I'm glad I remembered it.
Half-way through it now, I am considering the fortitude of this woman who, because of her conviction that genuine love means you take care of your family even in death, determined to honor her husband by taking care of his corpse herself. He was an officer killed in a car crash. She asked that he not be embalmed and that she personally take care of bathing and dressing him. She also asked to be present at his cremation from start to finish (which, according to what she was told by the funeral home would take four to five hours or more for a young and fit man such as he was). Her courage is unfathomable to me. She writes:
"I wanted to do it not because it would help me heal - healing was both indefinable and unimaginable - but because it was the authoritative command of an authentic love." The idea of caring for the bodies of your deceased loved ones is described as an "intimate privilege" that has been taken away from us by professionals.
I don't share these things out of horrified fascination or morbidity. I don't say this is anything I would even consider or be able to do myself. I'm not that strong and don't really want to be. But, I do find the depth of commitment extraordinary and remarkable. There's so much to be considered in regard to the link between physical and spiritual realms, the expressions of love, God's love, that is evident in creation, in emotion, and in spirit. How far reaching His love is. How far could my own reach if I would stretch it?
The reason I thought of it tonight is that I was engaged in one of my favorite weekly routines with my husband: Sunday evening at Mudhouse with a bottomless and a book. I've been shamefully unable to engage with a book all summer. Inexplicably unable to engage. However, I picked up a memoir I purchased several weeks ago with a gift certificate given me by a couple of teachers in congratulations and goodbyes as I moved to a new school. It is called Here If You Need Me and it is the story of Kate Braestrup. I've never heard of Kate Braestrup. What made me pick up the book in the first place was the gorgeous cover. A tree branch all alight with autumn colors stretched over a lake reflecting a colorful hillside, an abandoned canoe at the shore and a single unoccupied Adirondack chair facing out toward the water and the distant shore on which you can see the white trunks of birch. I had to pick it up. Had to. When I discovered the true story was set in Maine, I was sold.
I started reading the memoir several weeks ago when I first purchased it. Unfortunately, the first time I picked it up was in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep. Not really the time to start reading a memoir. (More the time for reading The Shepherd, the Angel, and Walter the Christmas Miracle Dog - see a December post.) I was too tired to focus and lay it aside, forgetting it until today. I'm glad I remembered it.
Half-way through it now, I am considering the fortitude of this woman who, because of her conviction that genuine love means you take care of your family even in death, determined to honor her husband by taking care of his corpse herself. He was an officer killed in a car crash. She asked that he not be embalmed and that she personally take care of bathing and dressing him. She also asked to be present at his cremation from start to finish (which, according to what she was told by the funeral home would take four to five hours or more for a young and fit man such as he was). Her courage is unfathomable to me. She writes:
"I wanted to do it not because it would help me heal - healing was both indefinable and unimaginable - but because it was the authoritative command of an authentic love." The idea of caring for the bodies of your deceased loved ones is described as an "intimate privilege" that has been taken away from us by professionals.
I don't share these things out of horrified fascination or morbidity. I don't say this is anything I would even consider or be able to do myself. I'm not that strong and don't really want to be. But, I do find the depth of commitment extraordinary and remarkable. There's so much to be considered in regard to the link between physical and spiritual realms, the expressions of love, God's love, that is evident in creation, in emotion, and in spirit. How far reaching His love is. How far could my own reach if I would stretch it?
Friday, July 23, 2010
Bring Back the Silliness!
Groucho has to be one of the greatest romantic heroes. Who can resist that greasepaint moustache and those waggling eyebrows? Not to mention the cigar. Silliness aside (well, that's impossible as long as we're talking about the Marx Brothers), I do love the films. And, formulaic though they may be, there are certain aspects I always look forward to and others I always laugh at - and heartily, just like the first time. I love to watch Chico play the piano. Harpo's harp playing is enchanting. I can't help myself when Harpo tries to explain through whistling and gestures to Chico that Groucho is being duped by a woman (though, Natalie could do without that - we've discovered she runs from the television whenever there's a screaming monkey and whenever Harpo does his thing). But, then, there's the inevitable wooing of Margaret Dumont. Whatever characters they play, the wooing is always the same.
Where has all the wooing gone? Swallowed up in sophistication and sobriety. Where's the silliness? I mean, after all, what in life can't benefit from a little silliness? It's terribly romantic. Think how great you feel when you laugh.
So, there's my prescription for the summer blahs: see Dr. Hackenbush for a healthy dose of absurdity and kiss me in the morning!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
An Ordinary Day
Today I was reminded of a simple yet important truth.
This morning Shellie and I visited a local farmers market. Not the height of the harvest season, but still plenty of good fresh produce to choose from. While we strolled up and down between the various vendors, we chatted with friends, farmers and each other. We pretended to be very knowledgeable as to what was best in fruits and vegetables. After a truly enjoyable time, we left with two large canvas bags of straight-from-the-farm goodies. Then this evening Shellie banished me from the kitchen while she prepared dinner. While I surfed on the world-wide she was busy chopping and cooking. The big moment, we lit candles, played soft jazz, and sat down to a wonderfully delicious meal of roasted vegetables, tossed salad, free range eggs, sliced tomatoes, hummus, and a mouth watering peach dessert. It was a feast for the eyes, nose, and palate. My only contribution was to light the candles, pick the music, and brew the black walnut coffee. Shellie was responsible for this culinary treat. Store produce can't even begin to compare. Our day was, in many ways, an ordinary day. But also extraordinary in its own right.
The truth I remembered was this, romance is often found in the ordinary. When you get to share your life with the one you love, any day can be memorable. Bruce
This morning Shellie and I visited a local farmers market. Not the height of the harvest season, but still plenty of good fresh produce to choose from. While we strolled up and down between the various vendors, we chatted with friends, farmers and each other. We pretended to be very knowledgeable as to what was best in fruits and vegetables. After a truly enjoyable time, we left with two large canvas bags of straight-from-the-farm goodies. Then this evening Shellie banished me from the kitchen while she prepared dinner. While I surfed on the world-wide she was busy chopping and cooking. The big moment, we lit candles, played soft jazz, and sat down to a wonderfully delicious meal of roasted vegetables, tossed salad, free range eggs, sliced tomatoes, hummus, and a mouth watering peach dessert. It was a feast for the eyes, nose, and palate. My only contribution was to light the candles, pick the music, and brew the black walnut coffee. Shellie was responsible for this culinary treat. Store produce can't even begin to compare. Our day was, in many ways, an ordinary day. But also extraordinary in its own right.
The truth I remembered was this, romance is often found in the ordinary. When you get to share your life with the one you love, any day can be memorable. Bruce
Guest Blogger: Bruce Foltz
Monday, July 12, 2010
That Must Be Some Good Ice Cream
Black walnut ice cream. My favorite. A couple years ago I bought Bruce a little book about unique places in Missouri. It's got listings of restaurants and things. Last summer he drove me to Stockton, Missouri just to get some black walnut ice cream from Hammons Emporium. It was worth the hour drive. So much so that today we did it again. It was better than I remembered.
On the way home we drove through Greenfield just to see what it was like, circled the square and noticed the old Opera house. We detoured in Ash Grove to see the site of our wedding 12 years ago. A one-time bed and breakfast that is now someone's very cute loft apartment.
I realize gas is expensive and I realize it's not a good thing to be mindlessly contributing pollutants to the atmosphere; but, may I recommend a good old fashioned Sunday drive any day of the week you can manage one? Second to a picnic, the Sunday drive is simple romance at its finest.
When Lucas was younger and we were first married, we tried to do family dates. That meant fun, but on the cheap. One of the things we used to have fun doing was a driving scavenger hunt. We'd make a list of several things we had to find, then get into the car and the first one to spot it got a point. Whichever of the three of us spotted the most got to choose which McDonalds in town we'd go to for McFlurries. I don't really remember too many of the things that made our lists, but I do know that some of the easier finds around Springfield were: "overweight man without a shirt mowing the yard"; "car with one headlight"; and "kid on a skateboard".
Romance is where you create it; the loving feelings it generates benefit the whole family. Sunday drive. Picnic. Scavenger Hunt. Dollar Dates. So many ways to spend time together and love each other.
On the way home we drove through Greenfield just to see what it was like, circled the square and noticed the old Opera house. We detoured in Ash Grove to see the site of our wedding 12 years ago. A one-time bed and breakfast that is now someone's very cute loft apartment.
I realize gas is expensive and I realize it's not a good thing to be mindlessly contributing pollutants to the atmosphere; but, may I recommend a good old fashioned Sunday drive any day of the week you can manage one? Second to a picnic, the Sunday drive is simple romance at its finest.
When Lucas was younger and we were first married, we tried to do family dates. That meant fun, but on the cheap. One of the things we used to have fun doing was a driving scavenger hunt. We'd make a list of several things we had to find, then get into the car and the first one to spot it got a point. Whichever of the three of us spotted the most got to choose which McDonalds in town we'd go to for McFlurries. I don't really remember too many of the things that made our lists, but I do know that some of the easier finds around Springfield were: "overweight man without a shirt mowing the yard"; "car with one headlight"; and "kid on a skateboard".
Romance is where you create it; the loving feelings it generates benefit the whole family. Sunday drive. Picnic. Scavenger Hunt. Dollar Dates. So many ways to spend time together and love each other.
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Gift
What says love more than four new wheel covers?
That's right - four shiny new wheel covers for my Echo. I am Queen of the road in my little buggy now.
That's right - four shiny new wheel covers for my Echo. I am Queen of the road in my little buggy now.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Facebook | Your Photos - No Penalty for Love Launch Party
At long last, the Launch Party Pictures! Facebook | Your Photos - No Penalty for Love Launch Party
Grilled Cheese by Candlelight
Yes, even the humble grilled cheese can be romantic. We have been eating out a lot lately - all through our Minnesota vacation and since we've been home I've cooked very little. We've had a lot of cold cereal suppers and lunches out. Tonight, the refrigerator being nearly empty, we had grilled cheese. But, this wasn't any grilled cheese. This was romantic grilled cheese!
Step 1: Make a pretty green salad - include fresh basil if you've got it because nothing tastes more like summer than fresh basil!
Step 2: Pick more fresh basil - it's going on the sandwich.
Step 3: Pour some marinara into a container to nuke.
Step 4: Set the table with cloth napkins and candles.
Step 5: Make two cheese sandwiches with basil leaves (I used Swiss cheese). Lightly grill one side, then flip. While the second side is getting toasty gold, lay another slice of cheese on top of the lightly grilled slice and top with another slice of bread (if this is getting to be too many calories for you, use light bread). Once the bottom is perfection, gently flip the whole thing over to melt that last slice of cheese and toast the top piece.
Step 6: Light the candles and nuke the marinara.
Step 7: Start the music (Bruce chose Josh Groban) and cut each sandwich in quarters. Arrange around a small dish of marinara. Garnish with a couple more basil leaves. Serve with a smile.
Dessert was a truly yum 100 calorie Skinny Cow Chocolate Truffle ice cream bar - so worthy of candle light. Simple, satisfying, sweetly romantic. Ahhh.
Step 1: Make a pretty green salad - include fresh basil if you've got it because nothing tastes more like summer than fresh basil!
Step 2: Pick more fresh basil - it's going on the sandwich.
Step 3: Pour some marinara into a container to nuke.
Step 4: Set the table with cloth napkins and candles.
Step 5: Make two cheese sandwiches with basil leaves (I used Swiss cheese). Lightly grill one side, then flip. While the second side is getting toasty gold, lay another slice of cheese on top of the lightly grilled slice and top with another slice of bread (if this is getting to be too many calories for you, use light bread). Once the bottom is perfection, gently flip the whole thing over to melt that last slice of cheese and toast the top piece.
Step 6: Light the candles and nuke the marinara.
Step 7: Start the music (Bruce chose Josh Groban) and cut each sandwich in quarters. Arrange around a small dish of marinara. Garnish with a couple more basil leaves. Serve with a smile.
Dessert was a truly yum 100 calorie Skinny Cow Chocolate Truffle ice cream bar - so worthy of candle light. Simple, satisfying, sweetly romantic. Ahhh.
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