A quiet man is a thinking man...

A quiet woman, that's probably an angry woman.  Not always the case of course but in many instances, yes sadly tis true.

There are a few things that help an angry woman, and there are a few things that do nothing outside of anger her further.

Do's:
- Listen when she speaks
- Remain calm!
- Remember this too shall pass

Don'ts;
- Say girl are you crazy?
- Say you remind me of my/your mother
- Ask if shes on her period

Clams Unite

Why the fuck are there tomatoes, green peppers and carrots in my chowder?

INGREDIENTS
24 medium-size quahog clams, usually rated ‘‘top neck’’ or ‘‘cherrystone,’’ rinsed
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
¼ pound slab bacon or salt pork, diced
1 large Spanish onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
2 large ribs celery, cleaned and diced
1 medium-size green pepper, diced
2 medium-size carrots, peeled and diced Red-pepper flakes, to taste
3 large Yukon Gold potatoes, cubed
3 sprigs thyme
1 bay leaf
1 28-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes in juice, crushed or roughly diced
 Freshly ground black pepper to taste
¼ cup chopped parsley.
(Now if you really want a good clam chowder, scroll down and get the recipe for the REAL clam chowder )

I cannot in good conscious call myself a "foodie".  I've not the vast tastebud experiences that most "foodies" have, yet I have a very open mind and am willing to try almost anything once; if not twice.  As kids my mother did a great deal of cooking, baking, canning and pretty much everything she could to open us up to new experiences.  She was unmoving on her stance, "just try a spoonful" demeanor.  Looking back I am grateful that she did take such a stance with us.  I am also grateful that she schlep us out of the country and into the city to broaden our cultural experiences in the manner of not only the culinary but also into the realms of plays, music, and readings.

Still as open as I am to trying new things, and I did try this. Manhattan style clam chowder is so not my cuppa.  Clam chowder for a girl who spend half of her childhood, when not being spirited off to other countries and vacation sites in PEI; is a blessed bowl of goodness.  It's rich and creamy and loaded with potatoes, bacon, onion, and a healthy dose of cracked black pepper. (though I do prefer white pepper.  There just something about the flavour.)  There is however no carrots, tomatoes, or for the love of all that's good corn.  Don't put corn in my chowder if you want to live.

Cooking time: 15 mins prep time, 30 minutes cooking
8 servings       396 cals
4 slices bacon, diced
1 1/2 cups chopped onion
1 1/2 cups water
4 cups peeled and cubed potatoes
1 1/2 teaspoons salt ground black pepper to taste
3 cups half-and-half
3 tablespoons butter
2 (10 ounce) cans minced clams (I prefer fresh but go with what works for you)


Place diced bacon in large stock pot over medium-high heat. Cook until almost crisp; add onions, and cook 5 minutes. Stir in water and potatoes, and season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, and cook uncovered for 15 minutes, or until potatoes are fork tender.

 Pour in half-and-half, and add butter. Drain clams, reserving clam liquid; stir clams and 1/2 of the clam liquid into the soup. Cook for about 5 minutes, or until heated through. Do not allow to boil.

Enjoy

Almost a milestone

Hey Woman,

So happy early birthday.  I know I know we kind suck at remembering this day, but look at us now... a day early!  Might still be a dollar short but t's all good sugah.  We've seen some years pass haven't we?  Mid forties.  How the fuck we made it this far without greater head trauma, life certainly is full of mysteries!  So 40-something tomorrow.  I know you're right I still have to count it out to actually know our age.  Still doesn't mean a damn thing to us.  By all accounts, people consider you a fully grown, mature woman.  HA!  Morons, the lot of them.  Or are they right?  Have we actually hit full grown, mature woman state?  I mean we're not really great with the sticking to an exercise routine, and eating by 'the pyramid'. I'm not sure where all that wine fits in on the pyramid.

Unlike mother we don't wash our sheets each Monday, but ehy; it's just us sleeping on them.  We do refuse to stop renting as opposed to owning.  As grown as we are I just can't see us buying a house.  The stable relationships we have aren't of the romantic variety, but the're pretty damn fantastic nontheless.  Yes, we still throw our clothes on the floor when tired, and whe we do wear makeup we rarely wash it off before going to bed.  I know there always seems to be more month than money, but we've ome a few miles.  A few very rocky and ruff terrain miles and we are still standing.

We have figured out that "she's not our compitition," and that's pretty empowering.  No we still can't rock heels and the girl next door hair but we're doing okay.  We work hard, laugh harder, and love fiercly.  I think those should always be at the top of the plus coloum.  We've helped more than hurt and I think in many ways we'll be leaving this little rock a little better off than when we first entered it.  Plus look at the kids.  They are fucking amazing!!  Smart, funny, carring, compassionate, driven.  They've maintained friendships and jobs with equal zest and accomplishment.

So yeah, welcome to 40-something. The view isn't really that bad is it?  Tomorrow we'll be another year older, and no we're not where so many expected us to be at this time, but we're breathing on our own and have full access to our faculties.  The possibilities really are endless.  So tomorrow, when we want to roll our eyes at something daft we've done, stop.  Just stop for a moment and smile.  We've made it this far and we're still going strong.  We've some rather unique qualities.  Yes, they are a mixture of blessings and curses alike but they are ours.  Keep doing you and remember to drink more water.

Shine on.

Panic Mode Enabled

Waking up after a couple hours sleep to think you've slept through and entire day and into the next. Of course this is followed by panic, rushing around and crying thinking I've not fed the dogs 2 meals and failed to run them. Tripping over the babygate, cat and two pair of shoes finally slowing my paniced progress while Mattea shakes her head laughing at me, and trying to reassure me that I've only had a two hour nap.

 I might be overtired 😴

Do you?

“Do you fall in love often?" 

Yes often. With a view, with a book, with a dog, a cat, with numbers, with friends, with complete strangers, with nothing at all.”
 ― Jeanette Winterson, Gut Symmetries

Where the rivers meet the sea

Many moons ago, I lived in a remote town of Tejas. Old as the hills and dry as the desert sands. Lockhart, TX. A little “working town” outside of Austin, where men held doors and women knew what standing by their man, meant. We move a lot over the years, but this home became a pivot point in my life. When everything around me seemed to be in flux, and I felt at times to be in a free fall. The hub of a spinning wheel of thoughts and emotions as I made the transition from hopeful into realistic. It remains the most harrowing, and strangely romantic time of my life.

Walking out of work this morning amidst an early October chill, I smelled it again and my heart ached. That indescribable scent of the early morning dew beginning to seep into the earth beneath my feet as the sun fights it way through the clouds to greet us. It will always bring me back to The South. I long for the solitude and the pain of those days. Days when the whole world felt like an exposed nerve, so painful and so immediate that the future and the past became meaningless. The only thing that existed was the desolation of the moment. Clear skies tinged with oranges and reds, and the sounds of wind rustling the tall grass surroundingredients mesquite trees. The shadows dancing over ranch and surrounding outbuildings; the cattle at the edge of the field beckoning me to follow.

These days stumble on towards a future that I cannot see. Yet I know that somewhere at the end of these wanderings I will return. Return to a different time and place perhaps, but unmistakably to the South. Back to the silent musings of southern charm where I can breathe and watch the world change around me. The still point that stretches a moment into eternity and calls my name with a sweet longing and promise of more.

Rain Upon My Face

The thickened blanket of clouds send rain like unending tears. The drops land against my window, creating legs like wine on my glass. Gravity drawing the rivulets against their will relentlessly downward. Hypnotized by the patter, I hold my umbrella loosely, almost forgetting my stop. Puddling on the ground, the waters rise, and begin to flow taking my thoughts with them. Streams become creeks, creeks become rivers, rivers flowing onward to an invisible ocean of memory. In this dim half-light the line between wake and dreaming blurs. I long for a warm body to curl into. My thoughts trail off as the first splash from the skies land upon my face. Will it forever be this way? More importantly, does it even matter?