Martini Rescue Squad

Thanks to webegirls.com for posting a few Martini entries

A huge thanks to www.webegirls.com for running a few Martini entries over the last month or so.  This is a terrific lifestyle website "for the modern girl of every age," run by lovely people.  It's a pleasure to be posted here. 

 

Take a look when you have a moment and have a great weekend:

• You and Your Age, Rolling with the Punches:  http://webegirls.com/entertainment/you-and-your-age-rolling-with-the-punches
• Layover:  http://webegirls.com/featured/layover
• Like Me:  http://webegirls.com/entertainment/like-me

 

Kitchen Sink Gumbo

"Necessity is the mother of invention,” my brother Pat mused the other day.

True.  And it may also breed insanity.  Especially in the kitchen.

I don’t cook.  I can – and do for company – but on a day-to-day basis, I do not. Since college, my favorite cooking utensil has been my microwave.  Many of us would probably say the same.

The microwave is amazing with the powers it bestows us; it can enable us to become a frozen foods connoisseur, just as it equips us to extend our food’s useful life.

You don’t want to finish your whole plate of pasta at the hip new trattoria?  You can take it home and reheat it later or at work for lunch tomorrow.

We can hush the inner shell shock we still hear from our guilty conscience bombardments at the dinner table when we were kids –  the “Do you know how many children in (name anywhere in the world with less-than-fortunate circumstances) would be grateful for those peas?”es.

At the same time, we can doctor ourselves when we are sick and heat that chicken noodle soup, or brew that Sri Lankan andrographis paniculatabucachacha tea that no one can pronounce, but everyone at the organic store swears will heal our cold overnight.

And we can be the cost-conscious consumer who may stop by the market a few times a week for the take-out containers of prepared foods we can heat later.

But what happens when our microwave dies...Gives up...Kaputsky?

Oh God.

This is what happened to me a couple of months ago.  I came home from dinner one night and was simultaneously straightening things on my counter as I filled my water glass before bed when I noticed my fruit basket was on top of the microwave and not the toaster, where I prefer to put it.  Of course.

When I moved the basket, it seemed warm.  Hmm.

I felt the top of the microwave and it was hot. Very hot.

Uh-oh.

Part of me thought, “You’ve had this thing for 12 to 14 years...It’s still usable...Maybe unplug it and try using it again tomorrow.”

And the other, more rational part of me thought, “You’ve had this thing for 12 to 14 years...Maybe something in it shorted and it’s time to throw it away...Time to not risk having the whole thing blow up in your kitchen.”

Yup.  That made sense.

I hoisted that beast with magical powers off of the counter and promptly took it outside to the trash bin before I could change my mind.  Done.

“Eh.  Christmas is coming,” I thought.  “I don’t really need anything else.  I’ll tell my family a microwave would be great.”

“Oooh...Right,” I answered myself.

“What will you do about heating food until then?,” I asked, as I reluctantly turned my eyes toward my stove and my perfectly viable pots and pans.

“You dork,” I quickly chided myself.  “It will take only a minute or two longer to reheat things on the stove than it will in a microwave...and it’s about time you make more use of those pots and pans.”

I think that voice is the “children in (fill in the blank)”/peas voice’s older sibling.

And that is what I did for a week or two.  I would come home from the market with my cold packages of the rice, Brussels sprouts and turkey meatballs – or I would remove the same from my fridge – and would meet the moment of truth.

The moment when it was me and my innocent leftovers against that wily, neglected and bitter stove.

Slowly, respectfully, I would stir each element in its respective pan or corner of the pan until it was warm enough to be pleasant to eat.  Which also meant it was gluey, dry and...not so tasty.

After doing this for a few nights, I had the evolved realization a tablespoon or so of olive oil could help.

Sure, but that made the rice a little greasy and the meatballs a little olivey.

Hmm...what to do?

And then, one night at the market, a flash of genius struck me.

“I need broth!  Broth, broth, broth...Got it!,” I said as I rushed through the market to the soup aisle.

“Now, huh...Chicken broth, organic chicken broth with no added salt, French onion broth...Eh.  I’ll take a couple of each,” I resolved.

“Ooh, and shaved parm!  I need some shaved parm to top it all off!”

The excitement built with a couple more additions to my basket until I was ready to float out of that market.

Yes, oh yes.  In the last four or so weeks since that night, I have become a master of my own invention.  Kitchen sink gumbo.

You start with a cup-and a-half of broth – or of 1 percent milk if you know you will have trouble going to sleep that night.  Just pour either in your pan until it looks like what you think a cup-and-a-half would look like.  Bring it to a delicate boil.

Then, stir in whatever you have in your refrigerator; some steamed rice, the three tablespoons of leftover mac and cheese, the take-out mu shu beef, turkey meatballs or turkey loaf, the steamed kale, the creamed spinach, the ...you get it.  Everything but the kitchen sink.

If you don’t have a protein source in there, or you want more protein than your leftovers will afford you, just crack an egg over the mixture and voila!

Turn the heat down to medium and stir, gently and slowly, as the rice fattens while it absorbs the broth or milk.  Stir it for a few more minutes as you add herbs and spices to taste.

By now, the whole concoction should have thickened into what my Dad Pat and Dad Bob would call slop.   I prefer to call it “gumbo.”

Thicken to your preference.  Keep going and it will become more like a risotto, which can be tasty too.

Then carefully plate the dish, sprinkle on some shaved parm and there you have it.  Heaven on a plate.

That is how I described it to my brother Pat, who astutely replied “Necessity is the mother of invention.”

“Yes, but does it also breed insanity?,” we have to ask.

Kitchen sink gumbo is quite an invention.  One we have probably all created once or twice.  And it is the proper way to honor our left-overs or take-out so they will not have been prepared in vain.  None of it will go to waste.

It is artful, because we had to do something other than default to our microwave, or simply reheating it on the stove.

It’s a combination Mother Nature never intended – but probably would have if she knew how fabulous it would be.

And the wonderful thing is none of us will ever make the same one, because none of us will start with the same leftovers – each of ours will be a once-in-a-lifetime creation.  However I think all of ours will end up tasting more-or-less similar.

And it will be delicious.  It will be a triumph over circumstance. It will symbolize our new-found peace with our stove.  Our pots and pans will know they are loved again.  The gods of frugality, resourcefulness, creativity and good health will smile on this steaming glory.  It will be a win all around.

But will it be such triumphant deliciousness, because it’s what other people would consider tasty, or because it’s ours?

Necessity mothered the invention, but did it also beget the crazy idea that this dish tastes good?

As long as we enjoy it, and do not expect anyone else to, we probably don't need to care.

One Foot on Grace

It’s very warm. It’s very bright.  It’s a bit uncomfortable in Southern California – or uncomfortable for anyone who is ready for the late November aesthetic about which we get nostalgic during the months that are supposed to be uncomfortably warm and bright, e.g. June, July and August.

This warmth can make a few simple things, such as walking my dogs, somewhat unpleasant.  They are big, willful, healthy dogs; Moe is a Chocolate Labrador and her brother, Traveler, is a Pit Bull.

He looked Dalmatian enough to me when I adopted him from the Dalmatian rescue group.

When it’s time for a walk, these two have plenty to say about it.  Miss Moe prances along daintily, eagerly taking in everything around her.  The whole world is in her paws.  Traveler is very protective of both

 of us and is almost constantly on edge, looking out for anything that could be threatening.

Anything at which he can menacingly bark to reinforce that yes, he is the man of the street.  The lord of the manor. The protector and defender.

When Moe wants to go one way, Traveler wants to get there ahead of her.  When he wants to bark to ward off any frightening creatures, such as neighbors’ Chihuahua’s, she mimics her brother’s bark as if to say, “Yeah!...Uh..Whatever he said!”

Their personalities are two reasons why it helps to walk them uphill, despite the heat and glare.  The further along we get, the more compliant they become.  But that does not start easily.

Once we get their leashes around their necks, shove a couple of courtesy bags in our pocket and mobilize out the door, Moe and Traveler have worked each other into a frenzy with their anticipation.

What is so freaking exciting? We do this all the time. 

They know the route and are happy to lead.

Not so fast.

We cut hard right at the base of the drive and continue about 20 yards on a pretty tight leash.  Here is where it is wise to cross the street q-u-i-c-k-l-y so they don’t get in a barking brawl with that neighbor’s German Shepherd.

Once we’ve crossed over, I have to keep them on the streetward side so that neighbor’s Yorkie doesn’t instigate.

Moe and T rarely start the fracas.

We hustle past the Yorkie’s house, ducking under the thick foliage that spills over their gate to exactly my eye level and ease into the road’s curvature.  Up ahead, maybe another 20 feet, we see Grace.  The little street at the highest point in our walk.

This is the spot on our route where we can relax.  Only the Dachsunds on the left could cause a problem, but they are inside dogs.  Usually not an issue.

I congratulate Moe and T for not letting the Germy or the Yorkie rile them up and then the conversation naturally flows to how beautiful is the view on that block.  Despite the cars or fellow pedestrians, it’s peaceful.

Right at the top, we put one foot onto Grace and pivot turn.

How many, many times in life can many of us say that we, despite our best efforts to make a really stupid decision, have found that we have still had one foot on grace?

We may not have evoked it or even thought we needed to, but it rose underneath our feet and empowered us to pivot turn back in the right direction.  It protected us from our most impressive efforts to undo ourselves – in little things, in big things and in little things that could have become big things.

Every single one of those times are some pretty compelling reasons for which to be grateful this Thanksgiving.

“The words ‘gratitude’ and ‘grace’ share a common origin: the Latin word gratus, meaning ‘pleasing’ or ‘thankful.,’” writes columnist/author Phillip Moffitt.[1]

“Practicing mindfulness of gratitude consistently leads to a direct experience of being connected to life and the realization that there is a larger context in which your personal story is unfolding..."[2]

“Cultivating thankfulness for being part of life blossoms into a feeling of being blessed...in a more refined appreciation for the interdependent nature of life...”[3]

“It also elicits feelings of generosity...Gratitude can soften a heart that has become too guarded, and it builds the capacity for forgiveness, which creates the clarity of mind that is ideal for spiritual

 development.”[4]

Please reread that.

Perhaps this gratitude, this year, is not gratitude that is not for gratitude’s sake, or because that is what everyone expects of us when each have to share a Thanksgiving reflection at our 40-person family dinner – the one where our sister-in-law always tries to sound so poetic for 10 minutes of pointlessness.

This year, our gratitude can be a gateway to presence in our own life.  Into our own dynamic vibrancy.

Gratitude can be a gateway to forgiveness we grant and receive, whether or not we are aware of wanting or giving it.

Gratitude can be a crack on our own defenses, the ones we have worked so hard to build, through which we can reach the warmth and intimacy that awaits us on the other side.

Blah, blah, blah...I know.  That all sounds pretty idyllic until Moffit offers this:

Let me be clear: The practice of gratitude is not in any way a denial of life's difficulties.  We live in troubling times, and no doubt you've experienced many challenges, uncertainties, and disappointments in your own life... [5]

You don't say...

Smart Alec.  Read on:

Having access to the joy and wonderment of life is the antidote to feelings of scarcity and loss. It allows you to meet life's difficulties with an open heart. The understanding you gain from practicing gratitude frees you from being lost or identified with either the negative or the positive aspects of life, letting you simply meet life in each moment as it rises.[6]

So we don’t have to pretend everything is perfect to be grateful?  We don’t have to try to evoke gratitude, despite the mammoth-sized concerns we have?

We can channel gratitude as a way of accepting all of it?  We always have and always will deserve the freedom and peace that comes from gratitude? And we can access that anytime we want?

How empowering is that.

How warm, bright and beautiful does it feel to know we always have had and always will have one foot on grace.

Happy Thanksgiving.

 

---

[1] Moffitt, P.  (2012, November).  Selfless Gratitiude.  Yoga Journal.  Retrieved from:  www.yogajournal.com/gratitude

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

The Unabridged Dating Website Dictionary

Many of us have ventured onto dating websites at least once, perhaps for a finite trial period…and some of us have been on and off of them for years.  You can ease into those sites, entering as an aloof tourist, taking the observationist’s smooth Town Car approach; you keep the windows rolled up and never venture too far from your air conditioned seat.

Or you can do as have most of us and find yourself on a crash course to dating - where you pause to watch the sexy Ferrari zoom past you just long enough for the emotionally clumsy, clunky guy to smash right into you.

You have flashbacks to that mean kid at your brothers’s bumper car birthday party who careened into everyone as his only way of socially engaging - the kid our mom’s told us to forgive, “because he just doesn’t know how to express himself.”

Some of us may have tried to be old fashioned, revisiting our tried and true dating tactics that are as reliable and traditional as a horse-drawn carriage.  You clomp along the same old route, passing the same relationship landmarks, circling round and round...until you found you’ve gotten nowhere and it ultimately stinks.

And others of us may have taken the scenic, peppy little Prius route through dating, acquainting ourselves with the territory’s ups and downs just well enough to understand the native tongue.

For anyone renewing your passport to dating country, please read this entry carefully.  Daters throughout the world seem to speak a particular dialect, but nowhere must you be more fluent in it than on the websites.  Your language proficiency in reading the signs can make the difference between a few fender-benders – Oopsy!  Te-he… - and PTSD-inducing dating reality collisions.

Ladies, these are your 20 most important translations in your unabridged Dating Website Dictionary:

1. “Entrepreneur” = Unemployed.

2. “I’m a creative type” = Also unemployed; the same guy you see all day everyday on his laptop at Starbucks working on his screenplay.  The one on which he’s been working for at least five years.

3. “Family oriented”/”my family is very important to me” = Talks to his mom three times each day.  Perhaps in a baby voice.  And may still live in the attic above her garage.

4. Has a profile that is about as long as a New York Times article without any paragraph breaks and every sentence begins with the word “I”; I have…, I want…, I go…., I buy…, I, I, I.. = “Are you my mommy?”  (Refer to translation #3).

5. “Currently separated” = Still married.

6. Every picture in his profile gallery shows him without a shirt = Yup, he was probably the “dancer” who popped out of the cake at your awkward cousin’s bachelorette.

7. Has posted a couple of pictures of himself in collared shirts, work suits or t-shirts...and one choice portrait of him topless in jean cut-offs sprawled on a Trans Am hood – Uh…right.

8. “The ideal girl for me is one who feels just as comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt for a night at home as she does in her sexy black dress for a night on the town”* = Probably nice.

*I'd really like to meet the poor schlub who originally wrote this, who 95% of men on these sites copy.  He should copyright that to collect some serious royalties.

9. “Wow, how do I sound original describing myself in 4000 words or less?” = Also ripping off the aforementioned schlub.

10.  Four of his five profile pictures show him: playing beer pong in a toga; dressed in Native American costume with the seductive eyes-half-open drunk look and clutching a beer bong; snowboarding with his mouth open and tongue hanging out; half-Nelsoning his friend with, what else, a bottle of beer in the other hand = Would still live in the frat house, if they’d let him.  And definitely has his Greek letters tattooed somewhere really special.

11. Describes himself as a “busy executive” and provides a photograph of him at a desk, looking intense, but without one single notepad, pen, computer, lamp on the desk or book in the bookcase behind him** = Didn’t really think that one through, did he?

**It’s OK, he’s not really looking for you.  He’s trying to one-up his brother who stole his shirtless Trans-Am shot idea.

12. Uses parentheses in every sentence as if to caveat his own profile = Wants to be a stand-up comic…and does not understand why no one thinks he’s funny.

13. “My friends say I am one of the funniest people they know” = Thinks he is hysterical and has no idea when to stop talking.  This guy is likely to bring a whoopee cushion to your and his daughter’s wedding someday.  What?...Everyone laughed when he brought it to yours.

14. “I’m sick of dating actresses/models/dog walkers...I’m looking for a nice girl to settle down with” =  Has slept with almost every woman on that site and does not see any need to revise his profile.  If it aint broke...?

15. “Some nights, I like to stay home and cuddle with my cat, Mr. McFuzzy.  He’s the best” = Wow.

16. “I’m just getting back into the dating scene after my break-up/divorce and thought I’d give this a try” = Handle with care - both for your sake and for his.  He may be a nice guy who had a rough go of it...Or his most recent model/actress/dog walker might still be stalking him.

17. “OK, for starters, I can’t believe I’ve actually resorted to trying one of these dating websites” = Still in love with his seventh-grade crush, who is married and lives in Phoenix with her husband and three kids.

18. Has a couple of pictures without his shirt, e.g. playing beach volleyball, or on a surf trip – along with a couple of pictures of him in collared shirts, t-shirts his well-loved fleece, etc... = Probably normalish.

19. “The ideal girl for me is one who can go from jeans and a t-shirt to her sexy black dress in 10 minutes tops” = Saw Wonder Woman too many times as a kid and still does not understand how realistic that is.  But these guys can be kinda cute in their idealism.

20. “I’m a busy, fully-employed man who has had enough of the bar scene in this town.  I’m not the most successful man in the world, but I’m passionate about what I do.  I’d like to find a nice, mellow woman to spend some time with and if you think we might click, drop me a line and we’ll take it from there” = Bingo!

Some of these translations may not hold true all of the time – we need to contextualize them with the balance of their profile.  To take it in as a whole.  More than anything, we need to trust our instincts and enjoy the ride.

Gotta love this country...