For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to haul Clara “Blatant Consumerism” Jane to the Galleria. I blame Summer and her pretty new Anthropologie frock for this uncontrollable urge. Not that Anthropologie is open yet, but Urban Outfitters is. And while I hate their politics, I do so love to fondle their pretty, pretty fabrics. So off we went.
I’m not a big fan of shopping malls. I love to shop, but I prefer little one-of-a-kind shops, thrift stores, and the online realm. We won’t talk about my little Target addiction. That’s a story for another time. My trips to the mall are fairly rare. In fact, it had been over a month since I last set foot in a mall. And then it wasn’t to shop; it was to interrogate Kara regarding her activities after my birthday party. She just happened to be trapped at the mall, so I had to go there for my questioning.
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Tonight Clara “Bag Lady” Jane was sorting through one of the many purses I have scattered about the house and she found one of the many old shopping lists contained in my many old purses. I love old shopping lists, mine or those that get left behind in shopping carts. I love those little glimpses into my past and other peoples’ lives.
Anyway, this was a good list, taking up a full sheet of notebook paper. Veggie lasagna with eggplant, squash, mushrooms, potatoes and peppers; Thai beef salad; quiche; cassoulet; smoked chicken with cucumber salad; tomato soup; chicken risotto and some chicken and squash concoction I can’t recall.
It was the shopping list from when I was bidding on a catering job in June, 2003, shortly after I got pregnant with Clara Jane. I won the bid. For two and a half years, once a week I have made dinners to-go for several businesses.
Earlier today, before my kid found the creased and fading list, I decided it was time to leave this very job, effectively ending my professional cooking career.
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Know what I love about this time of year? It’s not the togetherness, the merriness, the warm wonderful holiday glow crap. That, I’m not crazy about. What I love – really, really love? Pomegranates.
There are so many things I love just because of their sensuality. And yes, I’m talking about this because my mother is probably reading. Good yarn, wine, high-quality linens … anything that gets the attention of at least two of my senses in a positive way? I’m hooked. And pomegranates are the ultimate – I love the way the look, their tart sweetness, the way they feel in my hands, tearing them apart, pulling the plump, sticky seeds from the flesh. Oh, and the feel of the seeds between my teeth! That soft cushion, the rush of juice, followed by the crunchy bit of seed. Pure bliss. I even love the shade of red-violet the juice leaves my hands.
Those instructions on the pomegranate website for their three-step no-mess method? What’s the point? That takes all the fun out of the experience!
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Dear Maxine,
I’ve accepted that I can’t stop you from reading my blog. Really, there’s nothing here that I don’t tell you during our daily one-hour phone calls. The only real difference is I’m more pithy and eloquent here than I am at 8 a.m. on the phone. However, it still makes me feel a bit like I’m 14 and have busted you reading my diary. But that’s the nature of this medium.
But the commenting … it disturbs me. Deeply. At least make sure you’re not posting your comments with my name. It confuses me.
I know it would not be fair to impart rules on the person who once passed me through her vagina that I wouldn’t apply to the many strangers who are allowed to read about my life. However, if I feel any lines are being crossed, I reserve the right to immediately turn poppymom.com into a free sex blog, complete with photos, videos and pithy, eloquent descriptions of the things your son-in-law and I do.
Sincerely,
Your loving daughter
PS – Please send stuffing.
I’m thankful to be back home.
While our trip to Sedalia was excellent, I’m glad to be back home. The older I get, the more content I am to be in my house, with my family, my music, my computer, my animals and all my crap. Especially this new not-a-piece-of-crap that arrived while we were away. How did I live in a world without 30-second little cups of coffee at my fingertips, anyway?
So little to tell, which must mean it was a good holiday, right? We hung out at my parents’ house yesterday, went out to dinner, played with the horses, dogs and kiddo. Good stuff. Woke up early this morning and hit the road.
In lieu of any real content, how about a few anecdotes from my child?
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My hometown, Sedalia, started out as a wild west town. By the turn of the 19th century it was a den of prostitution and brilliant, albeit syphillitic musical geniuses.
Things have slowed down a smidge since then.
Taking advantage of a rare night with a free babysitter at our disposal, B. and I hit the town. I guess “night” isn’t the best term, since we left the house at three in the afternoon. The dating starts early in small town USA.
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We’ve been in my hometown, Sedalia, for roughly nine hours and I have succeeded in my goal of eating one pound of my mom’s cornbread dressing per hour. Because of this, I am thankful for sweatpants.
I’m also thankful that my mom and grandmother have finally reached a truce regarding the family’s cornbread dressing recipe. For my entire life, every holiday they argue about the amount of sage to use in the dressing. Grandma always used a light hand, adding just the essence of sage. My mom always used enough sage to cleanse every house in the neighborhood of any pesky spirits.
Considering my grandmother died in 1991, this argument has been a bit one-side – and fucking creepy – for the past 14 years. That’s why I’m thankful that this year, my mom finally got the idea to make half a pan of dressing in which she gently whispered, “There’s sage in the house” to the cornbread, while using every sage leaf produced in the U.S.A. in the other half.
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I don’t have much to say today, because it was essentially a repeat of yesterday, minus the fun evening part. And I’m sure you’re sick to death of the bitching, so I’m going to attempt to pull something out of my ass be positive.
Grocery shopping today: My odd little child spent the entire trip in the cart, clutching a giganourmous sweet potato, occasionally yelling, “Big hug!” and making out with it. People kept stopping to watch.
I have Cool Whip in my house. Why? Because people will be here this weekend who require Cool Whip. Do you know how much I have to love someone to buy Cool Whip for them? Do you? A lot.
While I enjoy the seasaonal Schlafly ESB Ale, a few moments ago I learned three items that don’t cotton to taking a bath in the Schlafly ESB Ale:
While the keyboard and remote seem to have survived the direct beer hit, I’m concerned about the contribution. I mean, it seems a bit insensitive to send a contribution to a hunger charity that’s going to reek of stale beer. The flavor dust from the buffalo wing-flavored pretzels that I spilled on it earlier probably won’t win me any favor, either.
Tonight my child stood in the dining room, stark naked, loudly performing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider”, complete with overwrought hand gestures. Then she marched herself offstage and urinated on the kitchen floor.
Thank you and goodnight!
So, I was in a pretty foul frame of mind by the time B. arrived home at 5:00. Wait, that’s not entirely honest. I was ready to fucking kill someone. Just one of those days where everything was an act of futility and frustration. In addition to my previous list of grievances:
-The bag I spent three months and $50 in yarn knitting? Finished it yesterday. All my crap falls out of it.
-Why is it that the wires in every single bra I own have decided to pop out of the fabric in the last week? If I had implants, they would be punctured and drained by now.
-The fake Tivo? Not the problem. Charter is still sending us a bad signal. Of course, the techs didn’t find this out until they’d swapped out our old fake Tivo with a new one, thus losing all the stuff we’d recorded on the old one. Last night’s Austin City Limits with The Killers and Spoon? Yeah, didn’t really wanna see it that badly anyway. It’s probably just as well, because, like last week’s episode with Ben Folds and Ray LaMontagne, it probably didn’t have any audio, anyway. And really, what’s the point if there’s no audio?
So, in summary: waited all day for people to come fix something that wasn’t broken in the first place. Adding chain saw to shopping list.
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Yeah, that would be me.
I’m just irritated beyond all rationality today.
-Charter Cable is invited to pucker up and smooch my dimpled derriere. If you live in the St. Louis area and you have Charter, have you noticed how shitty the reception has been lately? The audio and video dropouts? Yeah, it’s on their end and yeah, they know about it although they’re playing dumb. I know this because of one very cool technician. If you’re in St. Louis and are having these problems, call and bitch. They will credit your bill.
So, our cable has been a mess since early October. At this point there’s also a problem with our fake Tivo. They were supposed to bring us a new one today, so we’ve been playing that stuck-at-home waiting game. And guess what? Not a word from them. None. Nada. Zip. Which means we’ll likely be playing the same game tomorrow.
Why don’t we have satellite? Because our neighbors have a big tree that blocks the signal. At this rate, I think purchasing a chain saw and taking down the tree myownself would be easier than dealing with Charter for one more minute.
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