Pasta Milano

I love this pasta dish at Romano's Macaroni Grill.  But I'm cheap and I'd rather eat at home than go to a restaurant.  So I tried to make a sauce that would replicate the dish in the restaurant that I could eat at home in my sweat pants.  Here it is: 

Start with:
1 onion - chopped
1 package of sliced white mushrooms
2 tbls of butter

Toss it all in a pan and start sauteing until the onions are soft and the mushrooms start to brown.

Add in:
1/2 cup of chicken stock
2 cups of heavy whipping cream
3-5 cloves chopped garlic (depending on how long after the meal you still want to taste it).
1 tbls chopped, fresh dill
1/4 cup julienne cut sun dried tomatoes (dab them on a paper towel to get rid of the excess oil)
1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese
salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

Stir the sauce and let it simmer while you get the pasta ready.  Serve the sauce over four servings of bowtie pasta and with garlic bread, of course. :)

Enjoy!

Pride worthy?

If while getting dressed in the morning I selected this necklace I'd be making the conscious decision to let people know that I am a Christian (I am, and I have one, but mine is emeralds).  The cross has become a symbol of the sacrifice of Christ, to pay for my sins, so that I can be with him in eternity.  There is no debate about this.  Regardless of your opinion about Christianity or Christ, it's commonly accepted knowledge what this symbol stands for.

Here is a symbol that evokes equally strong feelings, albeit negative ones.  The Nazi swastika is a symbol of hate.  The bearers of this symbol, both during the second World War and now, admittedly have an agenda of hate, racial superiority and dominance.  It doesn't evoke a lot of warm, fuzzy feelings, nor should it.  No debate necessary.

Now, what about this symbol?  The meaning of the confederate flag and the intentions of those wearing it has been brought to the forefront of American debate lately, thanks to the musical styling of Mr. Brad Paisley (who, as a side note, attends the church where Joel plays in the orchestra every week).  It's not a new debate but I wonder why it's a debate at all? It seems obvious that this should be a symbol of ignorance and presumed moral immanence. 

 

 

One of the things that I was most concerned about regarding moving to "The South" was that I'd be surrounded by a bunch of stereotypical red neck racists.  I bet money that I'd get lynched the first week I was here because I mouthed off to Bubba who was driving down the street in his compensation-mobile (otherwise known as a big ole pick up truck), complete with gun rack and confederate flag flying in the bed. I must say, I have been pleasantly surprised at the overwhelming lack of red-neckitude in Murfreesboro.  Perhaps it's the proximity to the city of Nashville, or the abundance of institutions of higher education in the area.  Whatever the reason, I've found that the only stereotype that applies to the folks (yes, I said folks) here is the one about Southern hospitality.  Everyone is very friendly, polite, well mannered, clean and articulate (due credit to Joe Biden on that last one).

 

I've heard the occasional person say that there is nothing wrong with wearing or displaying the confederate flag because it is just a part of history; an example of southern pride.  History, yes; pride, really?  The flag has historical significance and symbolizes a time in our country's history that, at best was sad and at worst embraced the willful, systematic degradation of a group of people. What exactly about that makes you proud?  It represented a time in history and a way of life that was inherently wrong.  To treat people as less than human, 3/5 to be exact, because of an accident of birth is asinine. And don't tell me it's about states' rights.  Sure, the Civil War was fought over states' rights.  But, the right that they were fighting for was the right to continue the enslavement of fellow human beings.  Is that what you are proud of?  Really?  Cause that's what the confederate flag symbolizes.  And if you ARE proud of that then you are a racist, an ignorant red neck (please forgive my redundancy) and a lot of other four letter words that come to mind.  I'm not suggesting that Brad Paisley is a racist because of his choice of shirt.  I suggesting that to put it on and walk around in it while smiling and acting as though you don't understand the outrage is annoying. 

 

The decision to wear a confederate flag should be no more an innocent choice than the decision of the KKK morons who intentionally propagate hate through the continued use of the swastika. It's history and as a result should stay as far away from our present as possible.  Sorry Mr. Paisley, LL Cool J rapping on your song doesn't lessen the stupidity of your wardrobe choice.  Seriously, next time just pick a plain black t-shirt.

 

I embrace Southern pride.  But may I suggest that we be proud of the way southerns act today, not the way they acted in the 1800's.

Thanks for the memories

Today was a beautiful day.  Clear, warm, breezy.  American flags blowing in front of houses throughout the neighborhood in honor of Memorial Day.  Gianna and I took a lovely walk and stopped to talk to several long time neighbors.  We passed by her school, which was also my school and my uncles' school. When we got home we raised our flag up the pole.  As I stood back and looked at the view, it made me start to think of the things I am most going to miss when we move.  I've been so busy thinking about why I want to move (also know as 'the stuff I can't wait to leave') that I haven't really taken the time to think about what I'll miss when we're gone.

• Family and friends:  Family is always first on any list of things that I value.  Friends fall into a close second. It's obvious why I'll miss family and friends and doesn't take much more explanation.
• Church:  We attend the most amazing church; I'm a little spoiled.  Truly, it's like an extended family.  I will miss the wise, intelligent preaching, the fabulous camaraderie, the commitment to service.  Big, big shoes to fill.  While I know that we'll find a new church home, there will never be any place else like Trinity Evangelical Free Church.
• Topography:  California is so vast and so rich in it's topography.  Anyone who has been on "Soaring Over California" has seen the stunning coastline and the spectacular mountains (REAL mountains...sorry Smokies.  5,000ft does not a mountain make), the beauty of the central valley and the stark appeal of our deserts.  From where I sit, in an hours time I can be in the desert, the forest, the city, the ocean.  The lack of options will surely be missed.
• The scent of orange blossoms.  'nuff said.
• The Redlands  Bowl: One of our favorite places to be every summer is on the south lawn of the Redlands Bowl watching the symphony or opera or annual musical.  This place has been paramount in the nurturing of my daughter' love of the arts.  Many, many treasured moments have taken place in the audience, picnic dinner in hand.  
• Dance Spectrum: When I was growing up at the dance studio in Yucaipa there was another girl, about five years older than me, who we all looked up to.  She was talented, graceful, poised and most importantly, she was humble and down to earth.  I grew up wanting to be like her on stage and for the last four years my daughter has had the privilege of taking dance lessons from her.  Pearl, you are wonderful and we'll miss what you and your staff have to share.
• Disneyland: I figured out once that I've been to Disneyland over 150 times in my life.  I know that place like the back of my hand.  Nothing else feels quite as magical as crossing the gates and making your way under the bridge and onto Main Street.  Every single time you do it a tingle goes up your spine.  Thank you Walt for your vision and for sharing it with the child in all of us.
• The University of Redlands: I never would have thought when I got hired a decade (wow) ago that the upscale, prestigious institution in my own backyard would be so welcoming and friendly. The bulldog family is as tight knit as they come.  If it weren't for this move I'm sure I'd have been a bulldog forever.  So many treasured friendships have been formed there and Gianna has grown up on the fields and sidelines of the U of R.  I will miss it immensely.....but I'll be back, breaking out the maroon and grey for homecoming.
• Oak Glen:  How easy it is to take for granted something as wonderful as Oak Glen when it is only ten minutes from your house.  It won't be the same without a trip up in the fall to eat apple pie and browse through Mrs. Laws' gift shop.  The old school house with its wonderful playground, the hiking trails at Los Rios and the petting zoo at Parrish, and where am I going to buy my Wysocki calender now?
• My hood:  From my front window I can see the homes of five families who have been neighbors my entire 34 years.  The Nelsons, The DeJagers, The Martins, The Carlsons and The Allens.  They are all people who I know and trust and they were a large part in the all American style childhood that I experienced.  I will really miss those long term contacts.  
• 33708: 40 years ago in October my grandparents bought this house.  And for 40 years it has been filled with laughs, yelling, food, family and love.  Some of my earliest and most precious memories take place in this home.  Riding the ATVs with Uncle Jon in the front yard--leaving for the beach to go body surfing with Uncle Jamie (at 4:30 in the morning...sheesh)--coming over for Grandpa's stuffed cabbage for Sunday dinner--putting  up ceramic pumpkins in the front window on Halloween night--looking through catalogs with Grandma--dancing with Becky in the living room--swimming all summer long with Amber--stepping on pecans and picking up the worms (seed pods that the tree drops) from the kitchen floor--my wedding--bringing Gianna home from the hospital.....this house is like a member of the family and it is the longest relationship that I've been in. Leaving home will literally mean leaving my home.

But for every thing that I'll miss, opportunity awaits to create new memories and form new relationships.  I know that God is in control of this whole process and that wonderful things await my family in Tennesse.  Most importantly, the move will offer the greatest gift of all....a whole, new stash of antique shops from which to purchase endless supplies of 'new' antique furniture.  See, there is always a silver (or in this case linen) lining.

Soon to be a Volunteer

Preparing to move away from the town (the house) that you've lived in your whole life makes you take pause and reflect.  I always thought I'd live in California, in Yucaipa forever.  I was never one of the people who was aching to get out.  I always liked it here and thought it was a great place to live.

It's funny how things evolve.  The changes that have made me want to move have been subtle ones, taking place over the course of many moons.  I think back over the years I spent admiring the orange groves from the living room window; the flickering lights of the smudge pots; the stacks of white boxes, organized by the bee keepers; the intoxicating scent of the blossoms.  All gone now.  In their place, acre upon acre of shopping center.  No longer do I see people riding their horses down the street.  No longer do I go to the grocery store and find an impromptu high school reunion.

Gianna will never get to experience the thrill of driving down the hairpin turn on the way to school or the fun of speeding through the dips on Ave. E, or D, or F (heck, Ave. F doesn't even exist anymore).  The fields I once rode through on my bike or an ATV with my uncles are now row upon row of houses that look exactly the same.   Buying an ice cream cone from Thrifty or yarn from Cornet, a t-shirt from T,G&Y or a letterman's jacket from Sport Shack....experiences that are shared with fewer and fewer people.  The charm seems to have faded from the city.  Perhaps that's the problem.  Yucaipa is a thriving city; no longer the sweet town of my youth.

Forever will I miss the Yucaipa of old.  But change is inevitable and so I will be making the biggest change of my life in 48 short days.  I will always be grateful that I grew up in this beautiful, green valley.  And the mountains' constant vigil keep are the memories I hold so dear.  The people I met, the places I went and the things I saw here as a young person have shaped who I am now, and for that I am thankful.  But I also want those things for my daughter - for her childhood to be filled with carefree days.  So, inevitably, a change needs to be made.

California, here I go.

Kung Fu Fat Kid

*1:26 pm - June 5, 2011- Note to self - Buy some hiking boots.

Today's Adventure - dun dun dun dun.....

Destination: Devil's Punchbowl.  Packed a picnic for the pre-trail festivities and away we go.  Beautiful day, perfect temperature, picturesque cloud formations, one mile trail.....this is going to be fun.  Walking, talking, pretending to be Ansel Adams, oh crap I just slipped.  Jeez.  This dirt is kind of, oh crap I just slipped again. Seriously?  We're only about twenty yards in.  Ok, better be more careful.  Pay attention to the walk not the clouds up in the sky (although I must say, they are stunning...totally fall worthy). 

Meanwhile, Gianna and Joel bound onwards scampering over rocks with ease; descending the soil covered path like professionals.   I follow and begin to get my footing, gradually gaining confidence with my new center of balance (thank you McDonalds). 

Ooh, water.  Pretty.  Sure we can hop on the rocks babygirl.  Whoa, dude.  I almost didn't make it onto that rock.  Must remember to jump more aggressively next time.  It must be my backpack filled with four tissues and some sunscreen that's weighing me down.  Walking, talking, psstch...Ansel Adams who?  Oh, you guys wanna scale that peak covered in loose loam?  Sure.  That sounds like a good idea.  Look at them go!  I'm so proud of my daughter.  She's way up there.  She's really pulling away....wait....am I going backwards?  Yes, of course.  I seem to have found the outdoor equivalent of a treadmill.  My legs are moving and yet I gain no ground?  Perhaps my selection of footwear (two year old tennis shoes, sans tread*) was not ideal.  You two go ahead.  I like it here, high enough to break something if I fall but not able to engage and gain any ground.  What's that you say?  No, I'm fine.  I totally meant to slip and slide down on my plethorically endowed rear.  That's my signature move.  Back to the trail?  Ok, if you say so. 

Ooooh, take a look at the Ranger station WAY up on that hill.  Yes, Gianna.  That's where we started. We've made it to the half way point.  I'm just going to snap a few more pictures for my portfolio and then we'll head back to the car.  What?  What's that Joel?  I can't hear you over the sounds of all this nature and the blood rushing through my ear drums.  Go off trail?  Hike up to the next ridge?  Splendid idea.  Just give me moment.  Before we press on it's safety first.  Must be sure that my shoe laces are tied and I've fully crested my myocardial infarction.  Ok, I'm good.  Here we go.  This is fun.  Walking, talking, oh, that bug flew right into my eye.  This seems to be getting easier.  I'm getting the hang of this.  Not bad, not bad. 

Check out my Nadia Comanechi move as I traverse this downed log/bridge.  Perfect 10. Beautiful trees.  Still loving those clouds.  Sure, following the creek back to the trail sounds like a great idea.  I love watching the babygirl with her daddy.  They're so cute up ahead.  And I'm having a blast.  Time for a ninja move.  I've seen Bear Grylls do this dozens of times.  Leap over the creek, land on the bank with just enough time to dive under that branch.  Easy peasy, 1-2-3.  Um, Joel?  Need some assistance.  This downed tree seems to have come alive Wizard of Oz style and grabbed onto my back pack loop leaving my defenseless and stuck.  Worthy foe.  I tip my hat to you tree.  Must press on.  Hop, skip, jump.  I've made lemonade from the lemons of stepping into the creek for my shoes now have a modicum of traction.  Oh yes, much better.  No slippage, better balance.  What a pretty little pool has been created from the collection of boulders at the base of that small waterfall.  Quick hurdle here and I'll be down.  Funny, I seem to be moving in slow motion.  Why are the trees upside down?  Tuck and roll!  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my impersonation of a turtle stuck on it's back (biggest regret of the day is not getting a picture of this). I love hiking.  Luckily I don't get embarrassed and thankfully I am not hurt, for my husbands chivalry knows no bounds, but there is no way he'd be able to carry me out of this valley.  Although, I must have hit my head harder than I thought because I'd do it all over again next weekend.

Tomorrow = a trip to Big 5.

A dying breed

Environmental activism isn't something that comes naturally to me.  But lately I've noticed a significant decrease in a certain population and I am increasingly nervous that, if something serious isn't done soon, we'll lose an incredibly important species forever.  I'm talking about men.  Real men.  Where have all the men gone?

There was a time in the not so distant past when men were men and they weren't afraid to act as such.  But starting with Rosie the Riveter and that broad with her fish driven bicycle we have spent the last fifty years undermining men under the guise of 'sensitivity' and 'equality'.  So it begs the question, 'what makes a man a MAN?'  We can rule out physical traits, such as ownership of a penis (because for $14.99 plus shipping and handling I can own one of those too) and assume that it is character traits that make one qualify. It seems that the inherent qualities of a man (work ethic, confidence, take charge attitude....all those wonderful benefits of testosterone) have been twisted into something negative and as a result we are left with a bunch of lazy, overly emotional, sniveling wimps who can't tell a torque wrench from a tea cozy. 

It's we women who have done it.  We are the ones who demanded r-e-s-p-e-c-t and turned good old fashioned chivalry into a mortal sin.  We are the ones who spent decades feminizing men, demonizing masculinity and 'talking' the toughness right out of them.  Newsflash ladies: Men aren't women, and when you finally get your wish and eunuchize him into one, you lose all respect for him.....as well you should.  Call me old fashioned (please, it would be a wonderful compliment) but I believe that the man should take the lead.  The man should be the provider.  The man should usher security and guide God into his family.  The man should be the man.  Go to work, fix the toilet, change the oil, repair the fence, open the doors, make decisions, take a stand.......be a man. 

While I consider myself a connoisseur of a great fart and I appreciate the art of a well executed groin scratch I am not advocating macho, ape-like behaviour as a prerequisite for manhood...but I also don't rule them out.  I would argue that, especially now, we need men to behave primitively.  We need them to get back in touch with their masculine side.  Certainly refinement is a desirable trait (I like a man who can put on a suit and enjoy and evening at the symphony with me) but I wouldn't trade it for the guttural, inherent, testosterone driven attitude that has compelled every single advancement in the history of civilization. 

So please, if you're living with a lad who is more adept at advancing the levels of his PS3 than providing a pay check....or who is content to have Paco do his yard work rather than get his hands dirty,  PLEASE, for the good of society, encourage your guy to man up.  And if he does, reward him with a b.j.   You'd be surprised what a motivating factor those can be....

A terrible pattern...

This was first posted last year but since it happened again today I thought it was worthy of posting again.

We descend the steps and place our things on an adjacent surface. Something catches his eye. The ground below our feet is hot but he is not phased as his swift pace keeps him from feeling the heat. As I proceed he darts back and forth, always a few steps ahead. I've decided that in spite of his warnings, his frantic warnings, that I must reach out and take hold of this perceived threat. My arm is nearly fully extended, my hand just about to touch what is hanging from the wall, when suddenly he crashes into my legs throwing me off balance. I let out a frustrated cry. "Relax. It'll be okay" I yell.


After what seems to be an inordinate amount of time I finally posses what is wreaking such havoc in the mind of my companion. I don't understand his apprehension. Why does this thing, this inanimate object create such a frenzy? It's merely a tool. But not to him. To see it through his eyes it is a dangerous nemesis; something that must be conquered sooner rather than later.

As I make my way his anticipation grows with each passing second. He tries desperately to knock it out of my hands. All the while letting out terrible ear piercing hollers. It's become a dance. He leans in, I step back. I step aside, he lunges across me. He's begun to circle me now in the hopes of...I don't know what? Frustrate me? Cause me to fall to the ground thus loosening my grip and allowing him to finally prove his dominance over this terrible foe?

I am vigilant. I must continue with my quest or our trip will be for naught. As I proceed, my friend has begrudgingly resigned himself to the position of usher. He guides me through the process with fast paced breath and a heart rate in the hundreds. It is almost finished. Soon we will be able to partake of the refreshing experience that has brought us here today. With one final stroke of the hand my job is complete. But there is no time to celebrate. I must still make way to return this tool. My friend senses that we are nearing the end and knows these moments mark his last chance for success. I move quickly hoping to end this confusing and difficult incident; understanding but not accepting the fact that it's actually not an incident but a horrible, horrible pattern and all will be repeated tomorrow

I've managed to take the lead and am in sight of my destination; my protector is circling me once again in a last desperate attempt to seek and destroy. But alas, I have won......

I've managed to replace the pool skimmer on the wall without Copper chewing it to bits. He runs full force at the wall and leaps through the air with all his might. Once he pounces off the wall and lands back on the deck he glares at the cleaning apparatus.

"Some day" he seems to say. "Some day I'll get you pool skimmer."