booandbunny

I read this book in a day (which is extremely unusual). Anyone who has ever been to New Orleans should read this book. Everyone who is oversaturated with media accounts definitely should read this book. This book will remind you of all that you loved and all that could be lost. It will take you to the sultry streets of Mardi Gras and the aromatic corners of a city that has given our country and the world scents and sounds that are often imitated, but never duplicated. Then, Tom Piazza will take you to a place no person should have to go: The molded over, hollowed out hallway of a home where books lie ravaged and keepsakes destroyed. He truly does explain in compelling fashion exactly why New Orleans matters. Fair warning, this book will make you cry, at least it did me.

I also got turned on to another relief effort, you might have seen it already. Food Network has done a recipe calendar to benefit the hospitality workers in New Orleans. And, finally, if you don’t know what you’re doing for dinner tonight and should decide to have a little celebration, check out their Fat Tuesday page for fun. If you have a favorite New Orleans culinary outlet please let me know, I’ll add it to the links here of places that are up and running and ready to welcome customers again.

And, speaking of food, Claudia tagged me, so here goes. Five food challenges for this year:

1. Stop policing what my kids eat. I feel I’ve done a fairly good job up to now encouraging a diversified diet without making food an overwhelming force in their lives. Now they are all old enough to know the difference between balanced and unbalanced, healthful and junk. Of course they enjoy their fair share of junk (we’ve been known to have frozen custard for lunch), but they also take fruit from the lunch line or as a snack after school. I just need to release the apron strings a bit here.
2. Only eat at mealtime, not while I’m preparing the meal. I shudder to think what a video of me making dinner would show … probably about 300 calories before sitting down to a 700 calorie meal. My best days are when I have breakfast after they leave for school and lunch around 1 … then I don’t snack at all.
3. Only eat off my plate. I’m getting so tired of seeing food wasted. They are old enough to serve themselves and we are encouraging an “Only take what you can eat,” policy that is not completely understood. So chunks of chicken, scoops of rice and, yes, green things are often left behind. Rather than throw these away I will munch them down. When I only eat at mealtime and only eat from my plate I’ve been known to drop 5 quick pounds.
4. Just say no to Oreos. And brownies and Dumbledore Dark Chocolates (a lovely, chocolaty, after-dinner drink I met at a viewing of Goblet of Fire) and that second snap of Scharffen Berger … the first snap of which actually could be healthy, from what I hear. You see when the lunar cycle and chocolate collide the healthy habits of the rest of the month just really don’t amount to much.
5. Help families come back to the table. A portion of my freelance work is concentrated on food writing. I love food writing … good food writing is an experience for all the senses, just as good food is. But, here’s my thing: Why does it all seem to be so fancy? In a country where a full two-thirds of families don’t have regular meals together why are food journalists so fixated on the fancy? So, my challenge here as I move back into the working world is to create a blog that will help people see that making a healthful family meal doesn’t have to be that day-long extravaganza it was for Gram. And it can save you money. And it’s awesome for your kid’s psyche. And, in a dream world, a media outlet would eventually pick it up and pay me to do it.

Happy Mardi Gras ... Laissez les bonne temps roulez!

There was a point where I really didn't want to finish writing about each day of the week, but I made myself. I had promised myself I would because it was offering me a new way to look at every day ... and a few ideas about how to break out of some ruts. Wednesdays continue to get better and better because my imagination is waking up more and more and I’m just handling things differently … thanks to new connections and reconnections. Thursdays might be busy, but I write a story in my head for each person I pass who leaves an impression (positive or negative) on me instead of letting them get me down or get me grumpy. Some of these are actually finding their way to paper. How long had I been holding them back? It seems I’ve been concentrating so hard on the work I can sell that I forgot to flex the writing muscle and use it just for fun.

But then I heard something from Mr. 4 that I had forgotten about. I taught him to say it a long time ago, when his brother and sister would make him more of a prop in their stories than a fellow main character.

“You’re not the boss of my imagination!” he blasted one of them and they didn’t quite know how to take it.

“No one is.” I used to say to him. “It’s your imagination, and as long as you make happy stories where no one gets hurt you can use it any way you want.” (Maybe I overthought this, but boys do add that element of violence to a lot of their games.)

So I’m trying now to stop bossing my own imagination around. Instead of racking my brain about where I might be able to sell this or that piece, I’m just going to write. No more I can’ts. Set it free and it might breathe on its own, the way an old favorite does.

Megg, my favorite books as a kid were Charlotte’s Web, all the Quimby’s and some other Beverly Cleary, all the Laura Ingalls Wilder and, of course, Judy Blume. Wilbur, Ramona, Laura and Margaret are actually in the bookcase behind me, should any of the kids want to read them. I also loved A Wrinkle in Time.

In the past eight years I’ve fallen in love with picture books, but still find myself drawn to particular authors: Rosemary Wells (Max and McDuff stories) Cynthia Rylant (who I plan to write more about soon) Eric Carle (Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar), Dr. Suess (mainly Horton, The Lorax and Oh! The Places You’ll Go), Mick Inkpen (Kipper!) and Valerie Gorbachev (Peter’s Picture is one of his).

I also try to keep up with (and ahead of) my voracious young readers, who read well beyond their age. Valerie Tripp does much of the American Girl historical fiction and they are wonderful. For J.K. Rowling there is no fresh way to describe just how much I love her work. Rylant has a whole series of stories created for older kids and then there are timeless works such as Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys. (I was the nerd who read both! Does anyone else remember tuning in to Parker Stevenson and Sean Cassidy on TV?)

I think it’s a shame more people can’t just plop down on the floor of the library as I got to today with Mr. 4 and dig until they find something worth exploring. There are fresh messages waiting for you in the pages of those old favorites, thanks for asking!

WEEKENDS

The beauty of Saturdays is that there are no alarm clocks. No classical blast. No yappity yap. A gentle tap. A whisper: “Can we turn on Jimmy Neutron?” Uh-huh. I hear the pantry door open and close downstairs as one reaches for the Pop-Tarts and another turns on the TV. By the time I come down an hour later they are all under one blanket on the sofa eying SpongeBob. Mmmm. Saturday morning in America.

The rest of the day is spent with the necessary evils … were it 80 degrees in July he would be cutting the lawn while I finished all the unfinished cleaning and errands. Because it’s 8 degrees and February, he helps me inside while the kids spend the day together. We’re able to eat every meal together. Getting rid of all these nuisances is the point of the week-end so the week can have a beautiful beginning.

It’s rare to keep a New Year’s resolution, but I’m doing OK so far. I decided that a great way to carve out some time for myself was to start blogging regularly and, on Sunday afternoons, to lock myself in my bedroom and call one old friend. This has been an amazing experience for me. These are women I have known at least 10 years, some more, but with whom I haven’t spoken for about half that time.

Seriously. My best friends. Hadn’t heard their voices in as long as, in some cases, five years. It was time to make some good old-fashioned phone calls. And you would think we never missed a day together. So gratifying. So energizing. I just love these new habits!

When I was in Brownies we were in a parade down the main street of the small southern Ohio town where I lived. We sat on that float and sang a four-line song for what seemed like an eternity as that tractor trudged up that little road. Etched in my brain thanks to that journey it has new meaning to me as I’m making this one.

Make new friends
But keep the old
One is silver
And the other’s gold.

As Regis might say … phone a friend. I’d love to hear how it goes!

FRIDAYS

Somehow every other Friday became Calzone Day. The sauce, 1 15-ounce can of tomato sauce, garlic and oregano, simmers over low heat about two hours. The veggies can be anything, but my ultimate has red onion, mushrooms, black olives, baby spinach and artichoke hearts. But the secret to my success is in the cheese. As many kinds as I can imagine. I mix together 16 ounces of the pre-packaged Italian blend with 8 ounces of grated provel. (It’s a St. Louis thing … anywhere else I’ve lived they have never heard of it. Extra provolone works.) And, on the veggie calzone, about three slices of pepper-jack cheese for some zing. Pillsbury crusts are good and fast! Here’s my full-proof Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook crust. One batch makes two calzones.

2¾ to 3¼ cups all-purpose flour
1 package active dry yeast
1 cup warm water (120-130 degrees)
2 Tbsps. cooking oil
¼ tsp. salt

In a large bowl combine 1¼ cups of the flour, the yeast and salt. Add warm water and oil. Beat with an electric mixer on low speed for 30 seconds, scraping bowl constantly. Beat on high speed for 3 minutes. Using a spoon, stir in as much of the remaining flour as you can. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead in enough remaining flour to make a moderately stiff dough that is smooth and elastic (6 to 8 minutes total). Divide in half. Cover and let rest 10 minutes.

Roll out on well-floured surface to about 10-inch circle. Put sauce and fillings on half. Fold dough over and press edges closed with a fork. Poke a few holes in the top to vent heat. Brush with milk and sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Bake in preheated 375-degree oven for about 30 minutes, or until crust is lightly brown.

Happy weekend!

THURSDAYS

When we got our first dog I read this book about training, trying to break him of his vindictive chewing when he was alone. I’ve always remembered a line from that book, which went something like this: Remember, your dog is a dog and basically exists to be with you. When he’s left alone all day he’s not thinking ‘Oh good. I can work on my novel now.’

So I thought about Thursdays as though I had laservision and could see what happens while I'm away. Here’s the silly rhythm I found, thanks to the ladies, Eva then Dusty.

When will they be back?
Why am I hear alone?
Oh ya, I can try to taste the cat!
Ouch my poor little nose!

They left? I didn’t notice.
I was fast asleep.
Today the dog went, too, a bonus!
Now no one disturbs my peace.

WEDNESDAYS

Every now and then I enjoy the bonus features on a DVD. Sometimes, though, I just want to watch an old favorite the way I remember it.

So it goes with the rhythm of the week. Sometimes I’m really good at changing things up, other times I fall in with an old, unpleasant beat. Wednesdays seem to be the make-or-break day for this. Bus, dinner, karate, gymnastics, homework on the run, showers, bed. There’s not much room for error (or free time) in the afternoon schedule today, which sometimes stresses us all out. Usually this is at some point when they should be eating but instead are screwing around. Enter ShrewMama, stage left. She is an unwelcome character in this 7-act play.

If you’ve ever seen Aladdin you’ve seen that evil genie at the end. That’s my mental image of ShrewMama. For whatever reason she just bursts from some tightly capped lamp way down in me and roars until …. well …. until she’s done roaring. Then, back down inside, back into the lamp, cap on tight in a dark corner of a deep chasm I wish I didn’t know was there.

The good news is that, in the past few years ShrewMama is getting fewer lines in this life production. What once was a recurring role is down to maybe, like, a guest spot once or twice a week (usually on Wednesdays). Cutting her lines hasn’t been easy, but certainly was necessary. I mean, what self-respecting superhero streaking across the suburbs in her silver mini-van wants her alter ego to be ShrewMama?

Here the refrain plays in my head. "You ain't never had a friend like me!"

Maybe she’s some important part of me: the part that holds on to all the little stuff that’s really annoying, but I feel silly saying anything about it. Maybe Wednesdays are just a straw that breaks the camel’s back (to go back to the Middle Eastern images). Maybe she just needs some controls, … the power to walk rather than burst onto the stage. Maybe then the rest of me might accept her role, even embrace her. After all, she does cram all that junk in her lamp so the rest of me doesn't have to look at it.

TUESDAYS

Once we allowed the kids to start exploring their interests the decision to limit each to one activity was a no-brainer for us. We’re the kind of people who need a bit of nothing at regular intervals. Nothing can mean five people in five different rooms exploring five different adventures or nothing can mean five people on one sofa watching a movie for the 500^th time. So activities now have us out three nights a week: karate, gymnastics and soccer. The body should be able to change direction at all times.

But, in the rhythm of the week our busy days have helped the kids appreciate free time. Lately on Tuesdays they come in from the bus and shout a few things at me as they shed the day’s weight before turning upstairs to play with Mr. 4, who has been waiting for them.

Then amazing sounds wash down to the kitchen: their laughter … the plot line of their collective imagination … a few skirmishes when Ms. 7 tries to get the pirates to marry the Barbies or when Mr. 6 tries to crush the pirates with his knights and strip the Barbies. But mostly they are just glad to be together. Every once in a while the skirmishes take over. They are kids. One great thing about them getting older is that they tend to work these things out themselves … or be sent to their own rooms. The greatest punishment I can give them at these times is to say that they can’t be together.

MONDAYS

There’s a rhythm to the week, whether you I like it or not. But, adding background music to the pounding of what “must” get done, I’m dancing more. “Stop wiggling your butt!” Mr. 6 said one morning as I was singing and making his lunch. “I’m shaking my hips,” I said in my maternal tone. “And don’t say butt, it’s rude. Say bottom or backside please.” (Really, truly, I’m not this prudish, but kids have to learn the power of their words, right?) At this Mr. 4 wrote a little tune, the rhythm of which I can't duplicate but the lyrics of which were quite simple "Shake the bootie. Shake! SHAke! SHAKE!) We all sang and danced until the school bus came.

So the rhythm is changing. (I don't know if they've ever seen me dance all morning before.) It started by hearing the title of this post to the tune from The Sound of Music. “Forge every stream. Follow every rainbow ’til you find your dream. A dream that will need all the love you can give, every day of your life, for as long as you live.” Where are those handcuffs I’ve been reading about?

So, laundry mountain rises from my bedroom floor every Monday morning. (Five people, seven days worth of clothes, just imagine!) Laundry mountain used to feel like more of a sandhill.

Not so much now. I love seeing how fast I can get through it so I can get to the good stuff. Today the good stuff means Mr. 4 and I are going to rescue the hubby from his cubicle and go to the art store. I love the smell of new art supplies at lunch time!

These are the simple moments when I wish I had a digital camera. I’d show the mountain range arcing my bedroom floor and then the stack of clean, folded clothes on my living room chair. That's what really looks like a mountain when all is said and done.

He’s usually already up and working out before my alarm even goes off. I never would have guessed that I’d ever be able to tune out what gets him up: The classical music station cranked at full blast through his clock radio at precisely 5:15 Central every morning. I guess my years of working until midnight or 2 a.m. conditioned me to tune it out. Nonetheless, my alarm goes off at 5:30 … but I’m a snoozer, not a riser. Eventually I give in, knowing that if I don’t work out or write or take that time to myself it will be lost until tomorrow. Basically its pure will power that pulls me up so early every day, otherwise I’d sleep ’til 8. He smirks when he explains how easy waking up is for him. I just sip my coffee.

I find it interesting because, just as I've tuned out his music blast, he can't hear the AM talk radio that gets me moving. What wakes you up?

I found myself starting to leave a couple of epic comments the past few days … it’s so exciting to find new people who help me find new ways to think. Instead I decided to just post.

Laini set the wheels in motion with her posts about daydreams and words to live by. Later I checked in with chestofdrawers and was lifted from my chair by the wonderful post about how more women need to take that time for themselves and let the beautiful insides out. Chasing the tag Alexandra started I found some amazing blogs, a long reading list and several posts about body image. “I couldn’t help but wonder,” if so many of us are in such similar places, why is it we feel so alone sometimes? Then I was thankful my hubby kept encouraging me to blog, because since I’ve been here I haven’t felt so alone so often.

The school bus pulled up and the routine kicked in. The update on life in first and second grade, papers, papers, dinner and homework. Part of my 6-year-old son’s homework this week has been the result of his involvement in karate. He started in August and just loves it. It’s helped him outwardly express something he always had inside: discipline.

Where before I’d nearly have to wrestle him to get him to do homework, now he does it as best he can (and without arguing) so that it’s done and he can move on to the next thing. He’s learned through the workouts that repetition really isn’t stupid, as he used to say, that it really does make you stronger, whether its school work or a workout.

And with karate it’s not just physical. He’s had to learn a good amount of Japanese vocabulary just to get through the workouts, as well as memorize his karate creed and now eight codes. We worked on the codes last night, and the posts I’d read yesterday echoed in my head.

A person’s heart is the same as heaven and earth.

The blood circulating is similar to the moon and the sun.

The manner of drinking and spitting is neither hard nor soft.

A person’s unbalance is the same as weight.

The body should be able to change direction at all times.

The time to strike is when the opportunity presents itself.

The eye must see all sides.

The ear must listen in all directions.

At 6, I know they’re not marking him the way they are me. It’s easy to see where they come into play in the art of karate, but they are so much more. In the back of my mind as we went through this were those posts and thoughts of how it is all so connected.

I was raised by parents who always did "what you're supposed to do" ... always strived to be perceived as "normal." (Think of J.K. Rowling’s Dursleys, without the mean streak.) Needless to say, dream chasing and tightrope walking were discouraged. Work hard at a practical job. By a suburban house, put a big TV in it and pay your bills on time. That was “what you’re supposed to do.” That’s what’s normal. So I grew up to be a creative beast caged by a hunger for validation.

I had my three babies in the space of 35 months. There was weight to lose, but I was always so tired. This pattern went on for five years. A few months back I realized that I also always looked tired, which made me feel even more tired still … as well as a bunch of other things. It was time to break out of the rut. I’d tried many times before (just ask hubby, who is always there to spur me on). This time, I was going to do it. The first step is always a doozy, but you have to plod on.

So in October I started doing 30 minutes of exercise three or four times a week. I felt better, so I wanted to look even better. Two weeks ago I totally changed my hair. (Why is that always such an exciting thing?) I felt better still, so I put new energy into blogging ... and look at all I've found and how you inspire me!

Feeding the creative beast is satiating the hunger for validation. (I don’t need that so much because I like myself more.) And isn't it funny how, when you work toward self-fulfillment you're able to give more to the people around you? Striving for fulfillment isn’t really that selfish … it allows you to offer things you might not have known you had to share.

Sure, I still have my canine mood swings, but the pendulum isn’t so wild. I’ve been able to approach my kids with greater patience and acceptance because I’m more peaceful inside.

A person’s heart is the same as heaven and earth.

With the physical muscle stronger, I felt energized. With new connections to my creativity and the creativity in so many others, I feel invigorated.

Instead of plodding, I feel like dancing.

“Hello, Kipper.” His best friend always greets him in a dry British style on the animated shows my older kids watched as toddlers. I loved this show because it always kept them calm and relaxed while I nursed the newborn. (Yes. They are close in age. Thirteen months between the first two, 22 between the boys.) Kipper’s images were soft and simple, his soundtrack was lovely, soft jazz and his stories were of imagination and friendship. When we packed up and browsed the library we found the books. I’ve been totally head-over-heels for Mick Inkpen’s Kipper ever since.

I especially like this story … and this picture I’m going to have on my blog now. Kipper always takes the time to notice what’s going on around him. He takes the time to imagine about the things that pass him by, to give them a story or solve a problem. And he always makes the best use of what he has. When the inflatable pool gets “a puncture” he patches it with his Band-Aid. When the rain stops and he needs to get across a stream, he floats in his upside-down umbrella. And he never gets upset about it, or makes a big tadoo.

I need to be more like Kipper. Mostly because kids need a model and I hope my kids can be like Kipper. I hope that they’ll look at life and say: “OK, today I must choose a rocky path or a muddy path. Which can I make the most fun out of before I get to the even road?”

I like the way these tagging games make me look at things. Thanks for these fun questions.

What were three things when you were little you wanted to be when you grew up?
The first woman to compete in the Winter (figure skating) and Summer Games (gymnastics)Secretary Veterinarian

You can live one day over again from your childhood. What day will it be?
If teens count as childhood I’d relive the day I decided to give up the clarinet. I’d keep playing!

You have two minutes (and a mover with you if you need heavy lifting help!) to grab 5 things from your home before it morphs into a polka dotted hobgblin and hops away. What will you take? (Food/drink/family/friends excluded!)
I’m assuming my kids’ most treasured stuffed animals would be clasped tightly in their arms, so I’m leaving the yellow lab, the orange tabby and the withered Pat the Bunny off this list.
1. The table my grandfather made out of his old base drum
2. My love letters to my children, aka scrapbooks
3. Our George Rodrigue silk screens
4. The hubby’s guitars
5. The computer part of my computer (screen, keyboard, etc., can always be replaced!)

You have to paint one quote on your kitchen wall. Whats it going to be?
"Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly."

What is one thing you want to have accomplished by the end of this year?
Finish painting the interior of my house.

You are moving to the moon for one year and can only bring one flower with you. What kind will you bring?
Any kind of lily … cala … day … alstromeria … any lily

You just received word that aside from one flower, you can also bring five books with you too! Your choices?
The Once and Future King—T.H. White
Does my Harry Potter set count as only one?
I borrow here the idea of a fat, blank book and a pen … good one!
The new, one-volume collection of Dr. Suess
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt—Anne Rice, because I haven’t read it yet

Four Jobs I've Held:
grocery store cashier
cafeteria worker
university instructor
copy editor

Four Movies I Could Watch Over & Over:
Shawshank Redemption
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
Good Fellas
Beauty and the Beast

Four Places I've Lived:
Illinois
Ohio
Missouri
Oklahoma (nothing like being a land-locked Aquarius!)

Four TV Shows I've Watched:
Amazing Race
Rescue Me
Sex and the City
ER/The West Wing (I count this as one because lately their styles have been hard to tell apart. Hello, John Wells!)

Four Places I've Vacationed:
New Orleans
San Francisco/Wine Country
Annapolis, Md.
SoCal

Four of My Favorite Dishes:
veggie calzone
stir-fried rice and vegetables
fudgy brownies
Oreo’s and milk

Four Sites I Visit Daily:
www.marvelousmadness.blogspot.com (where I found these tags)
www.pb-rock.blogspot.com
www.lifeinthedesert.blogspot.com
news.google.com

Four Places I'd Rather Be:
the library
Point Reyes Light House
a scrapbooking studio
Lake Tahoe

Been struggling at the keys this week, but on the way home from the grocery store I caught a nano-glimpse of a guy. You know, one of those houses you drive by all the time but you never see the people who live inside. Today he was outside, and that nano-glimpse inspired me.

The grill bowed under the pressure. He didn’t care. He just kept scraping.

What did she care how much he had spent? What did she care if any of the guys pitched in? He’d cleaned the bathroom, he’d cleaned the basement, stocked the bar, done all the shopping and was trying to get everything cooked. All she could do was yap, yap, yap.

It would be different if it were any other year. But what did she care then, anyway? These guys came over one Sunday a year and he always did all the work. He took a break to ash his cigarette, then turned back to taking out his marital frustrations on the rack in the smoker. By the time the wood was smoldering in there, his anger with his wife was down to a simmer. He turned back toward the house and took a deep breath.

“It’s the Steelers, fer Crysake,” he said to himself. He’d grown up loving them and now they were back in the big game. His college buddies came to his place once a year, and the wife always bitched about it because somebody always spent the night on the sofa.

“She’d better expect to see them all Monday morning if the Steelers win,” he thought. After all, it was better than the alternative.

Pre-game was in high-gear on the big screen as the guys trickled in. Keys clanked as she stood at the top of the basement stairs with the open helmet cookie jar. It was part of the tradition.

Because she spent the day with her Julia Roberts DVDs and her scrapbooking supplies, she was the only one not drinking. Every year she collected and hid the guys’ keys. Only she was allowed to decide who could drive himself home that night.

She stopped him as he made his way down with the ribs, smoked to perfection the day before.

“I know,” he said. And they lingered in the kiss. The pre-game hoopla had blown over again this year.