Homemade Energy Bars

"Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food."

-- Hippocrates

Homemade energy bars 6-30-14

 "Processed foods not only extend the shelf life, 

but they extend the waistline as well."

-- Karen Sessions

Homemade energy bars 6-30-14

Processed, packaged energy bars are gross.

They look gross. They taste gross.

That's why I started making my own. One of these little protein-packed babies will power you through a whole morning, or stave off the afternoon munchies.

You won't find anything gross in my bars. That's because I use nothing but delicious, real ingredients like:

Real oats.
Real pumpkin, sunflower and hemp seeds.
Real peanut butter.
Real maple syrup.
Real butter.
Real coconut.
Real dark chocolate.
Real vanilla.

I don't have to add gross preservatives, because I don't have to worry about shelf life. They get gobbled up before it's even an issue.

Know why?

Because they're real good.

(And real good for you!)

A Good Home

"Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave,

and grow old wanting to get back to."

-- John Ed Pearce

Old chopper looking for a good home 6-30-14

"The ache for home lives in all of us,

the safe place where we can go as we are

and not be questioned."

-- Maya Angelou

Sometimes I feel so worn out, rusted, old, damaged, ripped, torn, useless and unattractive that I think I must be unlovable, un-wantable.

And then I come home.

I have a good home.

There are people here who love me, in spite of all my wear and tear, in spite of all my damage, in spite of all my flaws.

When I can't see any good reason why anyone would want to keep me around, the patient, tender, kind -- did I already mention patient? -- people in my home somehow do. 

It's a good thing.

Without them and their love, I don't know where I'd be. 

Individuality

"The things that make me different are the things that make me."

-- A.A. Milne

Flower in a wheat field 6-28-14

"Remember to always be yourself. Unless you suck."

-- Joss Whedon

Exhausting My Body, Calming My Mind

"Studies suggest that the brains of insomniacs may be in a constant 'on' state,

continuing to operate at high levels even when it's supposed to be dialing down ..."

-- Alice Park, "Insomniac? You Might Have A Hyperactive Brain," Time online

Self portrait 6-27-14

"If your dog has a lot of built-up energy, a really vigorous dog walk 

is another excellent way to redirect it where YOU want it to go. 

Once you've burned that extra energy away, your dog should be pleasantly exhausted 

and too tuckered out to jump and nip."

-- Cesar Millan, "How To Calm A Hyper Dog," Cesar's Way

I love The Dog Whisper.

I don't even have a dog.

I don't even particularly like dogs.

But I've discovered that you don't really need to have a disobedient, overactive dog to use Cesar Millan's helpful advice. 

I have used some of his common sense principles of dog psychology in parenting. I particularly like the concept that an overactive, naughty dog is much more likely to settle down and obey when it has been properly exercised -- when it is good and worn out. Same with overactive, naughty kids.

My kids are grown and no longer have behavioral issues. But this particular dog-rearing principle is still massively useful and effective in managing my own wildly disobedient, overactive mind.

"Overactive mind" is a real diagnosis that is often coupled with anxiety and insomnia, both of which I have. When you have an overactive mind like mine, it's as if the "on" switch is permanently stuck. And the more you try to switch it "off", the more "on" it gets. Imagine a light bulb that is being pumped with more voltage than it's supposed to conduct, so that it's constantly on the verge of shattering.

Or, imagine a hyperactive dog that is constantly barking, biting, jumping around and knocking all the tchotchkes off the tables (and then eating them). Now imagine that same dog racing around inside of your head, and every time you shout "No!" or "Bad dog!" it's as if you're encouraging its misbehavior, and so it just ramps up even more.

It's exasperating. It's incessant. It's constant. It's oppressive. It's maddening.

It makes you want to shoot the damn dog.

This is why I love The Dog Whisperer.

Thanks to Cesar Millan's advice on how to calm and quiet, rather than shoot, a hyperactive dog, I can use exercise to calm my overactive mind effectively enough so that I don't go off the deep end.

Cesar says:

"If you don't provide enough exercise, the dog's excess energy in its body will 

override everything else. That dog's mind will not be focused and its heart (or feelings)

will go completely out of control."

Mine too.

Yesterday, my yipping mind wouldn't shut the fuck up. It was barking, biting, jumping, scratching ... all that shit.

So I took Cesar's advice and used my body to get inside my head. I climbed on my road bike and pedaled, hard, for about 3 hours without stopping. I pumped music through my ears while I pumped out excess energy through my legs, and I didn't stop until my body was so exhausted that my mind finally came to heel.

The thing about overactive dogs is that they'll be overactive again tomorrow and they'll require their good, hard playtime again. And again. And again.

It's the same with my overactive mind.

That's why you'll find me out there pretty much every day, working my mind issues out through my body's tissues.

I guess that's why they call it a workout.

Anyway, I do it because Cesar says.

Sit. Stay. Good dog.

A Good Way To Let Off Steam

"Let off some steam, Bennett."

-- Arnold Schwarzenegger, Commando

Steaming tea kettle 5-26-14

"Sometimes I need to blow off steam and go dance really hard."

-- Kristen Wiig

Yesterday was one of those strange Bizarro World days where everything I tried to accomplish went to Hell in a hand-cart.

Nothing major happened. Nothing serious. It was more like a day-long accumulation of pesky little stupid shit.

It seemed like no matter what I did, or tried to do, I was stymied, thwarted, interfered with -- all of which left me feeling very tense, angry, volatile, combustible. 

Steamed.

Even my trusty, reliable, sure-fire ways to blow off all that steam backfired, which just made me more steamed.

By the end of the day, all I wanted to do was get blasted, shake my tiny fists at the heavens and scream "FUUUUUUUCK!!!" from the rooftop.

But I didn't.

Because I had an Ace up my sleeve.

After supper I left the dirty dishes for the boys, strapped on my helmet, leather and boots, and went out for a long motorcycle ride.

There was a hazy, misty quality to the atmosphere as I zoomed along the coastline of Lake Erie, watching the sun slowly sink through the clouds towards the water. 

A few miles in, my lungs uncoiled and expanded all the way down and I finally breathed deep, full breaths instead of the shallow anxious ones I'd been breathing all day. 

Anxiety, frustration, tension, disappointment -- all that shit from my shitty stupid day began to fall away, so I just kept riding until it was all out of my system and I'd left it behind like a greasy smear of roadkill on the pavement. 

I kept riding until I felt better.

I kept riding until I felt good.

Hatchlings

"The praying Mantis with its length of straw

Out of nowhere's forehead born full armed ..."

-- Oscar Williams, "The Praying Mantis Visits A Penthouse"

Praying Mantis hatchling 6-25-14

"Think about Praying Mantis. The deadliest ninja predator ...

they are carnivores who will devour their own species ...

as hatchlings, their first meal is often one of their own siblings."

-- Jane Prowse, The Revenge of Praying Mantis

Praying Mantis hatchling 6-25-14

Praying Mantis hatchling 6-25-14

We've been waiting patiently for the Praying Mantis egg sack in our front shrubbery to release its tiny occupants.

Just a couple of days ago I asked my husband "Have you seen any baby Mantises yet?"

He hadn't.

Me either.

Yesterday I finally did.

I was punching in the numeric code to open the garage door after my bike ride, and one of the little dudes was perched right on top of the keypad. The other one was close by on the garage door molding.

These babies were teeny tiny -- the bigger one was only about a half inch long, tops. And even though they look menacing and predatory in close-up, in real life they look as fragile and harmlessly vulnerable as can be, with skinny little legs that are literally hair-thin.

Luckily they weren't in a hurry to go anywhere and I was able to capture a few shots. I looked around for more siblings, but didn't see any.

They say one Praying Mantis egg sack contains up to 200 babies.

I only saw two.

You know, they also say baby Mantises will eat their own siblings in order to survive the early going, which possibly explains why I only saw two.

Maybe these were the last Mantises standing because they ate the rest of the family for breakfast.

And you know what they say about a good breakfast.

Homemade Popcorn

"The laziest man I ever met 

put popcorn in his pancakes 

so they would turn over by themselves."

-- W.C. Fields

Popcorn with Parmesan, rosemary and black pepper 6-24-14

"If you put butter and salt on it,

it tastes like salty butter."

-- Terry Pratchett, Moving Pictures

"Fresh popcorn is near impossible to resist, 

second only to fresh doughnuts."

--Shannon Wiersbitzky, What Flowers Remember

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Here are the One Good Thing Most Important Things You Need To Know About Making Good Popcorn:

Microwave popcorn is caca. 

You should stop eating it. 

It's expensive and it's nasty and it's got all kinds of yucky stuff in it that you don't want in your body, and it will set off the smoke alarm in your dorm and cause the whole building to have to go outside in the cold in their boxers at 2 a.m. to wait until the fire trucks come. It's not worth it, trust me.

Homemade popcorn is delicious.

You should eat a lot of it.

It's cheap and easy and it's full of healthy stuff that your body will love and thank you for.

'Round these parts, I am the chief popcorn popper.

I make really, really good popcorn.

It's not bragging if it's true.

The boys and me eat so much popcorn that we get it in 50 lb. bags. And it isn't just any old popcorn. This stuff is the super fluffy, super tender "Creme Puff" variety grown by the Schlessman Seed Company, right here in my very own town in fields that I bicycle past every day. 

Wanna know some of my secrets? I'll share, but be forewarned, popcorn this good may spoil you for eating popcorn any other way. We actually wait for movies to drop on DVD just so we can watch them at home because the popcorn here is so much better.

Anyway, here you go:

1. Pop it on the stove, not in an electric popper, in your biggest heavy metal stock pot. The reason Jiffy Pop always burns is because the pan is made of fucking tin foil. Tin foil is shit for popping popcorn because it's not a good heat conductor. Heavy. Metal.

2. Use good healthy oil. I use canola. I also like coconut oil, but the boys don't like the taste. Pour in enough oil to just cover the bottom of the pot.

3. Use medium high heat. My burners go up to 10, and I set the heat at just a tad under the 8 mark.

4. Heat the oil for a couple of minutes first.

5. Use good fresh corn. If you don't remember when you bought the popcorn kernels hiding in the way, way back of your pantry, buy new. Old corn will not pop right.

5. Pour in the popcorn. Don't overcrowd the kernels. Pour in enough to cover the bottom of the pan in a single layer. Too much corn will just result in a bunch of unpopped "Old Maids."

6. Put on the lid.

7. Leave it alone! Contrary to popular lore perpetuated by Jiffy Pop, you do not have to shake the fucking pan.

8. Don't walk away. When the corn starts popping, it should be fast and furious. This part goes quick, so pay attention. 

9. When the popping slows to 1 pop every second or so, quickly get the pan off the heat and pour it into a large bowl with enough room to toss it around once you add your toppings. We use a huge silver bowl that we call "The Superbowl." 

10. Salt the popcorn while it's still hot.

11. Add toppings of your choice. We usually just use salt. If you used good oil, the corn shouldn't need added butter, but use whatever you like. When I'm feeling sophisticated and grown up, I like to shave fresh Parmesan cheese on mine, and then sprinkle it with fresh ground pepper and rosemary. When I'm feeling like a child, I mix in candy corn. It tastes exactly like a PayDay candy bar, I swear. Or a handful of m&ms. They get all warm and melty.

So there you have it.

Life is too short to eat mediocre popcorn.

Go good, or go home.

Better yet, go good and stay home.

Being Bitten By The Bug

"The motorcycle bug is something not easily shaken ... 

once I got one, I was going to have the itch forever."

-- Tess McRae, 

"My Quest to Become a Real Motorcycle Boss,"

  Queens Chronicle

Stag beetle on a motorcycle 6-23-14

"If you've got the poison I've got the remedy."

-- Jason Mraz, "Remedy (I Won't Worry)"

Ding! Ding! Ding!

It's time for the One Good Thing "idiom of the day."

Whoop! Whoop!

Today's idiom is: "bitten by the ___________ bug." 

This idiom means "to develop a passionate interest in a specified activity." Here are a couple of helpful example sentences from  the Oxford Dictionary:

"Joe was badly bitten by the showbiz bug at the age of four."

"Seems that Bob has been bitten by the sales bug after his experiences at Imvector."

I had the distinct privilege of helping someone be bitten by the bug yesterday, specifically, the motorcycle bug.

My 15-year-old friend Elizabeth has been saying for some time now that she wants a motorcycle, but until yesterday she'd never straddled a bike. So after checking with her parents, I showed up at her house on my motorcycle, Suzi, to remedy the situation. I brought along my extra helmet, Elizabeth provided her own black, high-laced punk boots and studded pleather jacket, and off we zoomed.

It was a perfect day to ride. Ohio's countryside was shamelessly showing off her summer loveliness. Elizabeth looked exactly right and breezily natural in her first-time biker gear. She even has perfect motorcycle hair that whipped and swirled behind her and even did that pretty tumble-down thing when she took off her helmet.

I figured the ride would either scare her off motorcycles forever, or win her over for good. So when we rolled back up to her house, I asked the obvious question:

"So, do you still want one?"

Elizabeth's answer was a breathless and unequivocal "Yes!"

The motorcycle bug has been buzzing in Elizabeth's ear for a while, but after yesterday, I'm pretty sure it has its pincers securely sunk into her soul.

Yep. She's infected alright.

All I can says is it's a good thing I was there to help.

A Good Traveling Companion

"Travel is like life in this, at least,

that a genial companion divides the troubles 

and doubles the joys."

-- Percival Lowell, Atlantic Monthly (Jan. 1891)

"Life" game cars and drivers 6-22-14

"And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions ... "

-- Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

I took a road trip to Michigan for my nephew's 11th birthday party yesterday.

It was only a couple of hours' drive, but I didn't feel like making it alone. My husband and Leo had stuff going on, but Sam said he'd tag along if I would drive so that he could ride shotgun and do homework for the summer classes he's taking.

So with our travel mugs brimming with fresh hot coffee, we ventured forth, just we two.

It was a brilliant June day, so we rolled down the windows and opened the sun roof on my little VW Rabbit. I kept the radio to a low murmur so Sam could write his paper. We chatted briefly off and on, now and then, about nothing in particular. We argued with the GPS for taking us on the jankiest route possible. He handed me tissues when I dribbled coffee down my chin.

After the party, which was very nice, we did it all over again.

We stopped at Tim Horton's for fresh hot decaf and donut holes.

It was a brilliant June evening, so we opened the sun roof. I listened to the Indians-Tigers game at a low murmur so he could work on his paper some more. We chatted briefly off and on, now and then, about nothing in particular. We shut off the GPS and trusted our own navigational skills. He handed me bite-sized chunks of donuts.

I remember the very first road trip Sam and I took together.

He was two months old and we were moving from Ohio to Michigan for a two-year stretch. My husband had gone ahead with the movers, so it was just Sam and me in my Chevy pickup truck. It was a brilliant July day. Strapped in beside me in his little car seat, Sam snoozed most of the way. I kept the radio to a low murmur so it wouldn't wake him. I talked to him briefly, off and on, now and then, about nothing in particular. I swabbed his face with tissues when he drooled down his chin.

I remember looking into his sleeping baby face searching for the grown-up man he'd be someday.

These days I catch myself looking into his grown-up face searching for the baby he once was.

Sam got an award at the end of his freshman college year for being the "Most Driven" student in his field of study. I know what they meant -- that he is feverishly pursuing ambitious goals in order to get where he's going as soon as he can.

Personally, I kind of prefer the slower paced manner in which he was driven yesterday -- in the passenger seat, at a more leisurely pace, without his foot on the gas, just along for the ride.

First Harvest

"As we plant, so we harvest and eat."

-- Guru Granth Sahib

Broccoli 6-21-14

"The broccoli says 'I look like a small tree',

the mushroom says 'I look like an umbrella',

the walnut says 'I look like a brain',

and the cucumber says 'Can we please change the subject?'"

-- Unknown

Ding! Ding! Ding!

And the One Good Thing award for "Most Ambitious Young Veggie In The Patch" goes to (drum roll) --

Broccoli!!!

Wait, wait. Before you turn up your nose,  let me say that home-grown broccoli is totally tastier than store-bought. I admit, broccoli can be pretty aggressive on a lot of fronts. But home-grown broccoli lightly steamed mere minutes from being picked from the backyard garden is a kinder, gentler, lovelier vegetable altogether.

Because it isn't bred to withstand long-distance truck travel, its flavor is more delicate, its texture is tenderer, and its -- let's say "digestive after-effects" -- are milder and more, well, demure.

Its florets are prettier and less dense. Its emerald color is more vibrant, before and after cooking. And the serving bowl is emptier after everyone digs in and eats every last tiny tree. 

We enjoyed the first broccoli harvest from my little garden at supper last night along with some basil pesto pasta that I made with my fresh garden basil. I love cooking good fresh food for my family, but growing the good fresh food that I feed them is extra satisfying.

Everybody knows that eating veggies is good for you. But here's a little secret about growing the veggies yourself -- they're so healthy that they make you feel pretty darned good before they even hit your plate!

My Motorcycle

"You do not need a therapist if you own a motorcycle."

-- Dan Akroyd

Self portrait 6-20-14

"A motorcycle is an independent thing."

-- Ryan Hurst

This is me with my motorcycle.

My motorcycle's name is Suzi.

Suzi is one of the goodest good things of all.

She is mine. All mine.

We had a super good ride yesterday.

But then again, a motorcycle ride is always good.

And a good motorcycle ride always seems to make everything better.

I call it pscycletherapy.

Zoom, zoom!

Getting My Teeth Cleaned

"Be true to your teeth and they won't be false to you."

-- Soupy Sales

Hopping chatter teeth 6-19-14

"Every tooth in a man's head is more valuable than a diamond."

-- Miguel de Cervantes,  Don Quixote

Dinner On Someone Else's Dime

"The idea of getting high on someone else's dime 

sounded like the right and necessary medicine."

-- Amber Dermont, The Starboard Sea

Chocolate coins 6-18-14

I love it when someone else picks up the tab.

We had dinner last night at a pretty fancy French restaurant with pretty fancy food and pretty fancy wine that cost someone a pretty penny.

But we didn't have to drop a nickel.

We were guests at a dinner event hosted by a business associate of my husband's who paid for everything -- the food, the drinks, the giant Wonka-sized chocolate bars they handed out at the end.

We ate way too much of the good food. We drank way too much of the good wine. We had way too much fun with the good people sitting around our table.

The timing was even good. We both needed a night out, and a night off.

Going out to dinner with my husband is always good.

Going out to dinner with my husband on someone else's dime is like chocolate pennies from heaven.

Pressing Pause

"Flowers didn't ask to be flowers and I didn't ask to be me."

-- Kurt Vonnegut

Coral rose 6-17-14

"I get those fleeting, beautiful moments of inner peace and stillness --

and then the other 23 hours and 45 minutes of the day,

I'm a human trying to make it through in this world."

-- Ellen DeGeneres

"But this rose is an extra. 

Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it.

It is only goodness which gives extras, 

and so I say again that we have much to hope for from the flowers."

-- Arthur Conan Doyle, The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

If only life had a "pause" button.

When too much is happening and its all just a confusing commotion of meaningless noise, wouldn't it be nice to be able to press pause and  put it all on hold for just a little while?

The bang and clatter don't have to be coming from "out there," either.  I've found that my inner racket can be louder and more bewildering than any external noise. 

Yesterday the noise inside got a little overwhelming, so I poured myself a fizzy and went outside. 

I sat at the patio table for a while and listened to the birds making a general fuss about things. I checked the progress of my vegetable garden: blooms on the zucchini and tomatoes, lovely florets on the broccoli, cauliflower doing nicely, peppers a little behind, weeds to be pulled, time to water.

I wandered around the backyard flower beds. 

The coral rose bush was covered in tight little buds. But a couple of blooms were just beginning to uncoil. I grabbed my camera, just to see how they'd look through the viewfinder, and a beautiful thing happened.

The noise died down.

Life paused.

I spent I-don't-know-how-long looking at buds and blooms through the eye of my macro lens. My breathing slowed and evened out. My mind settled and quieted. The confusing cavalcade of anxious thoughts diffused into the blurry background as I focused close-up on a single something else.

I didn't look up until my camera battery died.

The birds were still making a fuss.

The weeds still needed to be pulled.

My inner racket was still rattling around in its cage.

But the volume was turned way down and the noise didn't bother me nearly as much.

Now, if only life had a "mute" button.

Miss You, Dad.

"We never get over our fathers, and we're not required to."

-- Irish proverb

Self portrait 6-16-14

"That was when the world wasn't so big and I could see everywhere.

It was when my father was a hero and not a human."

-- Markus Zusak, I Am The Messenger

Father's Day always makes me feel a little sad. A little tender.

For me, it's a day that stirs up lots of memories and emotions.

In August, it will be 10 years since I said goodbye to my dad.

No man is a perfect father, but mine was a really good one. 

I still miss him.

I always will.

Some good things are gone forever.

Roadside Farm Stands

"I would like to see people more aware of where their food comes from.

I would like to see small farmers empowered."

-- Anthony Bourdain

Fresh strawberries at a roadside stand 6-15-14

"Buy quality, buy organic, buy natural,

go to the farmers market.

Immediately that's going to increase the quality

of the food you make."

-- Michael Symon

Roadside farm stand 6-15-14

"Know your food, know your farmers,

and know your kitchen."

-- Joel Salatin

Farm stand money box 6-15-14

Sam and I drove to a roadside farm stand yesterday for fresh strawberries and rhubarb.

I love living in a place where the produce is fresh as can be from land that is in spitting distance.

Homemade strawberry-rhubarb cobbler 6-15-14

I love living in a place where people honor the "honor system" and trust their customers to deposit the right amount of money in the box and not steal all their unattended berries  -- or their money box.

I love bringing home fruit that tastes sweet as candy, and then baking it into something golden, warm and bubbly.

I love the intoxicating aroma wafting from my kitchen --  fragrantly comforting, homey and welcoming.

I love sharing a bowl of homemade strawberry-rhubarb cobbler, still warm and still fresh from the oven, with my sweet neighbor who reminds me, frequently, that strawberry-rhubarb is her favorite. I love her smile and her little pleased gasp when I tell her what's under the tin foil.

So why don't you find a farm market.

Then buy something good.

Then make something good.

Then eat something good.

And share something good.

Got it?

Good.

Rice

"I like rice. 

Rice is great if you're hungry 

and want to eat 2,000 of something."

-- Mitch Hedberg

Sushi rice, brown rice, Arborio rice, white jasmine rice, and sweet brown rice 6-14-14

"I now understand how varied the world of cultivated rice is;

that rice can play the lead or be a sidekick;

that brown rice is as valuable as white;

and that short-grain rice is the bees knees."

-- Yotam Ottolenghi

"Rice is a beautiful food. 

It is beautiful when it grows, precision rows of sparkling green stalks

 shooting up to reach the hot summer sun.

It is beautiful when harvested, autumn gold sheaves piled on diked, patchwork paddies.

It is beautiful when, once threshed, it enters granary bins like a flood of tiny seed-pearls. 

It is beautiful when cooked by a practiced hand, pure white and sweetly fragrant."

-- Shizuo Tsuji

I eat a lot of rice.

I eat rice every day, at almost every meal.

I like it all -- white and brown, short grain and long, expertly seasoned sushi rice, perfectly al dente Arborio. I even like it cold, gluey and leftover straight from the fridge.

A hot bowl of creamy rice porridge is the most comforting of comfort foods.

There've been days where I eat nothing but rice.

I grew up on Minute Rice, which, as a kid, I even loved. My mom just made it plain Jane in a square Corning Ware dish, with a pat of margarine melting under the steamy glass lid.

During my high school vegetarian experimentation phase, I'd cook up big batches of brown rice and eat it for supper while the rest of my family ate roasted meat.

I began experimenting with rice varieties during my grad school days. I bought rice in the bulk food section of the grocery store mainly because it was dirt cheap, and I was dirt poor. For pennies, I could eat rice for days and days.

Rice was also a blank canvas where I could get creative and try new things without wasting a lot of money if an experiment didn't work out.

In my life, I've probably eaten a pretty-good sized mountain of rice, and it still isn't boring. There are so many varieties, and so many ways to prepare rice, that the possibilities are literally endless. I always keep several varieties on hand so I can mix it up and keep it interesting. I've tried complicated recipes. I've stirred and stirred and stirred many pans of risotto.

But my personal favorite way to eat rice is freshly steamed in my rice cooker and topped with a sunny-side up, farm fresh brown egg. When the liquid yolk soaks its rich, velvety deliciousness into a mound of soft, pearly grains -- for me, that is as good as it gets.

A Strong Guy To Do The Heavy Lifting

" ... but even strong women need an arm to lean on now and then."

-- J.D. Robb, Glory in Death

Leo and ballerina Barbie 6-13-14

"Strong people don't put others down. 

They lift them up."

-- Michael P. Watson

My son Leo goes lifting at the gym almost every day.

He goes there to lift heavy weights in order to get stronger for football so he can knock people down.

For the past several months, though, he's been doing a different kind of lifting.

He and his buddy, Mikey, signed up as danseurs for a mostly-girls dance academy that needed strong guy partners to lift the ladies in their season-ending show. 

Their show opened last night, and Leo made his dancing debut.

I was so proud of all the kids, and impressed as hell. But I was especially proud of and impressed by my big, strong, athletic boy who showed his brute strength in a softer, gentler, more elegant way as he gracefully lifted, held, supported and spun lithe, lovely dancers in leotards, satin toe shoes and tulle.

Most of the girls in the program have been dancing for years -- some of them their entire young lifetimes.

But Leo and Mikey were first-timers. Beginners. Rookies. You'd never know it. They danced with poise, maturity, sensitivity, confidence and seemingly effortless strength. The girls trusted the guys' strong arms and athleticism to hold them securely, and they did. The two of them even busted out some pretty fancy footwork of their own.

Leo's strength showed the most though, in the tremendous courage it took to open himself to the unfamiliar, to step out and try something completely brand new, and to stick with it through months of long rehearsals in order to get it right, and then to do what he'd learned -- wearing nothing but a tunic and tights -- in front of hundreds of people. 

That's a kind of strong you can't get in any gym or weight room. That's the kind of strong that burns like a hot little blue flame in a magical mysterious place somewhere deep down inside some people. 

It was a beautiful thing to see in my son, and in every young dancer who took the stage.

Practice for the fall football season will start up pretty soon, and Leo will again shift his focus to knocking down the opposition. And that's cool. I am equally proud of him whether he's sacking a quaterback or carefully helping his partner hold a perfect Penché.

Either way, there's something pretty damned special about watching your own kid do something big and brave and beautiful. 

It's ... oh, what's the word I'm looking for?

Wait, I've got it.

Uplifting.

Slingin' Hash

"You know, nobody can ever cook as good as your mama."

-- Paula Deen

Self portrait 6-12-14

"I'll take a double triple bossy deluxe, on a raft, four by four, animal style, 

extra shingles with a shimmy and a squeeze, light axle grease. 

Make it cry, burn it and let it swim."

-- Bubble Bass, Spongebob Squarepants, "Pickles"

I fed supper to the four people in my family at four separate times yesterday.

I fed Leo at 4:30 p.m. so he could get to a rehearsal.

I fed myself at 6 p.m. because, well, I was hungry and I was the only one here.

I fed Sam at 7:30 p.m. because he was out feverishly mowing three lawns before the rain came.

I fed my husband at 9 p.m. because he was out late working on a project that got delayed because the rain came.

Sometimes I feel like a short-order cook.

It seems like my kitchen never closes.

There are days when I'm still making somebody a snack or a sandwich at midnight. 

I even make takeout and pack it up in brown bags when somebody's on the run and needs it to-go.

But what mom hasn't felt that way during the busy seasons of life when everybody is going in separate directions at separate times?

My own mother was a little less sympathetic. She used to bark: "I'm not running a restaurant! Eat when we all eat or don't eat at all!"

I'm not running a restaurant either, but I'd much rather feed my boys home cooking than abandon them to rely on junk food and drive-thru. On extra-busy days I try to make something they can all eat whenever their individual comings and goings permit. It's kinda like my "daily special." Yesterday's daily special, for instance, was meatloaf and cornbread. I cooked it early, kept it warm in the oven and served it up all night.

More often than not we do eat together as a family, even though it seems like somebody always has to leave the meal early and dash off  to be someplace else. 

I don't take it personally.

I just keep cooking and trying to do my best to make sure nobody goes away hungry. 

I'll be here all night. 

Don't forget to tip the waitress.

Order up!

Hair Goop

"My sister looks cute in her braces and boots

A handful of grease in her hair."

-- Elton John, Bernie Taupin

 "Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting"

Self portrait 6-11-14

Will:

"I just want you to know, you can lean on me right now."

Sue:

"Oh, William, I wouldn't dare lean on you --

so much grease in your hair I'd probably slide right off."

-- Glee, "The Funeral"

Grease, mud, putty, wax, gel, pomade, "product."

Call it what you want. 

It's all goop to me.

And it's all good.

A Nice Ass

"Thanks for noticin'." 

-- Eeyore

Donkey's ass 6-10-14

"What are the thoughts that grope behind,

Down in the mist of a donkey mind?"

-- C.S. Lewis, "The Ass"

A donkey 6-10-14

Two donkeys 6-10-14

These cute little donkeys live on a farm with some horses, some sheep, some llamas, some chickens and a very affectionate cat.

I drive past this farm occasionally, and when I do, I always check to see if the donkeys are out so I can photograph them.

It never fails.

When the donkeys are out, I don't have my camera.

When I do have my camera, the donkeys aren't out.

It can be very frustrating.

Yesterday was a frustrating kind of day. I had some things to do, some errands to run, and I kept getting stymied every which way I turned.

I was being unusually ambitious, and the world simply wasn't cooperating.

Donkey's rolling around 6-10-14

I didn't want my errand-running mission to be totally fruitless, so I decided to take the long way home and swing by the farm.


It was a lovely afternoon. Perhaps the donkeys would be out.

They were.

And I had my camera.

I parked my car, wandered over to the fence and watched the donkeys do the stuff that donkeys do in their dopey donkey way.

They munched grass.

They rolled around in the dust.

They nibbled at each other's necks.

Mostly they munched grass.

You know.

Donkey business.

Sitting donkey 6-10-14

It was unexpectedly entertaining.

Unlike the rest of the stubborn old world, the typically-obstinate donkeys were being uncharacteristically cooperative.

Who doesn't appreciate a nice ass?

Heated Seats

"Heat, like gravity, penetrates every substance of the universe..."

-- Joseph Fourier, The Analytical Theory of Heat

Orange popsicle, hot cocoa, marshmallows 6-9-14

"We laughed a lot and I grew warmer still,

lovely and warm."

-- Franny Billingsley, Chime

Yesterday was cold and windy, rainy and gray. 

Not what you'd expect almost mid-June.

I was chilled all morning. It was the kind of chill that settled deep in my bones and refused to budge.

Then Sam and I got in my car to drive somewhere for lunch.

My car has heated seats.

We cranked those babies up to high and let 'em toast our backsides all the way there and all the way back.

Heated seats are like a warm, cozy hug from behind, the way they wrap around you and melt away the chill. 

They make a drive feel more like a snuggle.

When I'm really, really cold, they feel really, really good.

A Good Buzz

"I think they should have a Barbie with a buzz cut."

-- Ellen DeGeneres

Barbie with a buzz cut 6-8-14

"I remember when your head caught flame

It kissed your scalp and caressed your brain

Well you laughed, baby it's okay

It's buzz cut season anyway."

-- Lorde, "Buzz Cut Season," Pure Heroine

I've been cutting my boys' hair at home ever since Sam was a tiny tot.

After bribing him with Dum-Dums and dragging him kicking and screaming to the barber shop and dropping $15 every few weeks, I started paying attention to what the barber was doing. It looked simple enough. So the next time baby Sam needed a haircut, I went out and bought myself a $25 electric clipper, propped him in his highchair and tried it myself.

Sure there were a few scalpings along the way and I've nipped ears more than once. Luckily, tiny tots don't really care about their hair (but they will squeal if you clip their ears), so I had lots of time to practice before he noticed. By the time Sam was old enough to give a damn about how he looked, I'd pretty much nailed the basics and added Leo and my husband to my client list as well.

Now, I cut everybody's hair except my own. I cut Leo's yesterday outside on the patio listening to the ball game and enjoying a cool late afternoon summer breeze.

I've offered to send them to the barber shop or salon, but they all say they prefer how I cut their hair. The like the convenience. They like the price tag. There's no appointment necessary. I only need about 60 seconds notice and I can have them in the chair and the cape, ready to go. 

All three of them have their own particular style, so I have expanded my repertoire. In the summers, Leo wisely comes to me for his football Mohawk while the rest of the guys on the team imprecisely buzz each other's heads.

My $25 clipper has paid for itself hundreds of times over. It's how I earn my keep around here.

I can't do much, but I can do that.

So if you're looking to get a good buzz, I'm definitely your girl.