Saturday, February 26, 2011

i forgot to make a wish

Last night, my nasal passage were stopped up, my eyes were red, and I was uncomfortably warm. It was 9:30 and I asked him if we could go on a walk. He said yes, even though he was probably ready to go to sleep.

It was blessedly cool outside. We tramped around the neighborhood, scaring a tiny white dog nearly to death. It galloped a wide path around us, reached the safety of its own yard, then turned and barked as ferociously as a 5-lb dog can. Despite the ugly orange glow of the voted-in streetlights, the stars were still bright. We walked for probably half an hour and my mind relaxed. As I had been told earlier: there is no grace in hypothetical situations, Amy. Give God time to be good. I squeezed his hand. God blessed me so when He gave me this man.

We walked back to our home and laid down on the deck to continue to watch the stars. I said I wanted to study astrology. He said, "No, you don't." "What did I mean to say?" I asked. "Astronomy." Yes, that is what I would like to study.

No more words. Quiet. Something was walking around in the woods behind us, probably enjoying the many food scraps I had thrown out. Then, a quick light in the sky and Jim pointed with a gasp. The words, "Goofball, that's a plane," were on my tongue as I glanced toward an incredibly bright streak in the sky. My mouth fell open and we leapt to our feet.

The biggest, longest shooting star I have ever seen glowed huge and orange across the sky. We both guessed later it lasted for at least five seconds. If we had had no idea that objects falling through our atmosphere caught on fire, we would have known after watching such a fireball. It's arc cut down behind still-bare trees (despite 80 degree weather this week) and faded. We just stood there, amazed and open-mouthed.

I feel almost lame for posting this.

It was an incredible evening.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

maybe I'm thinking too much

This morning, I stayed in bed for about 40 more minutes after my husband got up. I fell asleep and this was my dream.

I found an ostrich egg and I kept it warm until it hatched. The ostrich was about one and a half inches tall and looked like a full-grown one. I put him in a glass measuring cup and and gave him cubed pineapple pieces. He picked at a few of them and the yellow pulp dangled from his bill. It was apparent he didn't like pineapple.
It was also apparent by my next decision that I forgot everything I know about baby birds. Like, 1) They don't drink milk, you idiot.

But, in my dream, in my mind, they did. So, I warmed some milk up in the microwave. In a glass measuring cup. Or maybe I should say, THE glass measuring cup. I warmed it up so much, it boiled and evaporated out of the cup by the time the timer chimed. And my new little friend was dead. Killed by his brainless owner by either deadly microwave waves or boiling waves of milk. I can't decide which one would be worse.

I woke up and went to the kitchen and fixed my husband breakfast. I was rather disturbed. I don't even know how to take care of a 1.5 inch ostrich? Should I be feeding a grown man? Should we get a dog?

And I had really wanted for it to grow up. Then I could ride it like this stylish lady.
Dreams are so weird. When I learned in psychology class that when you sleep all the doors, windows, and gates in your mind come swinging open and the walls come crashing down, thus allowing access to your entire brain to the dream-makers... it made a little sense.
But ostriches in glass measuring cups? Really brain?

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

On liking neutrals

We went to get our rug last Saturday. We had already picked it out a few weeks ago, but we waited until it went on sale. The wait idea was Jim's. Of course it was a good idea! It was his, wasn't it? If we had bought it the day we found it (which is when I wanted to) we would have paid twice the amount we paid Saturday.
Before we went looking for one I told Jim to not worry, I was considering getting a neutral rug. I'm sure he was relieved. You see, Jim doesn't really trust my matching skills. My Dad told me that he doesn't, either.
"Amy, can I say something?"
Oh boy.
"I'm not very confident with your matching."
P.S. My Dad wears overalls everywhere.

It didn't help that when Jim and I were dressing up for a tacky Halloween party I changed multiple times because I felt like I was dressing normally. And I was stupid and said that out loud.

And Jim knows I like this rug:
Also, I got my Country Living magazine this week and there was a really cool house in it. Its owner said, "I don't care if colors clash. A person's personality should be reflected in a house." Watch out, husband. This mismatching, pattern clashing, era-crossing personality wants to be unleashed.
But for now, a neutral rug.

This is Jim, supporting the second amendment.
We got our chest freezer, Mom. Stocking up on grocery sales, here I come!

Yes, I offered to help. He said no thanks.

Speedy carpet unrolling!!

Voila. Rugs make rooms look so much warmer. And no matter how hard I try, I cannot get those things over the doorway to look right. I want them to drape. Maybe when the bookshelves go up, it will help.

This picture was taken right as Galadriel, in all of her drama, burst through the wall.

Thursday, February 17, 2011


While in Cape Cod for a New Year's wedding, we were served a shish-kabobbed chicken bite with a peanut sauce... and it was so good. So when I found this recipe on Pioneer Woman's (I have a crush on her) Tasty Kitchen blog, I wanted to see if I could do it.

It was vurry vurry good. However, I must say this: Maybe I'm just new at this whole being-completely-in-charge-of-a-meal-thing and all, but it took me longer than 20 minutes to prepare it. I mean, sometimes I think these "prep times" come from those cooking shows. You know the ones where they say something like, "Today we are going to roast quail and make an apricot glaze from the tree we grew directly in the kitchen! And it is SOO easy! It only takes 21 minutes!" Then they show you their counter which has all of the ingredients diced and shredded and pureed all in their own individual measuring cups. Whoa. I didn't know apricots were peeled, seeded, and sliced when you pulled them from the tree! And the counter! There is plenty of space because the mess has miraculously disappeared and the food is back in the cupboard. Wow! I wish I could cook like that!

Anyway, back to the "Satay Chicken with Peanut Sauce."
I made the marinade first. I don't think I have ever used turmeric. It is quite strong.

Then I measured the 4 tablespoons of lime juice. Trying to hit the tablespoon with the cascading juice was hard. Eew! Raw chicken!

But I learned that half of a lime equals two tablespoons, so the rest was allowed to cascade into the much larger bowl.

Whisk. It IS a fun word, Katie. However, I need to learn to hold still if I'm going to take a picture. Whisk whisk whisk.

Just so you know, I cut up the chicken. It wasn't conveniently chopped when I pulled it out of the freezer. Raw chicken grosses me out though, and I didn't want to take a picture of it. It has to marinaTe in the marinaDe for an hour. See the little bowl? You have to remove 5 tablespoons of the marinade for the peanut sauce.

After an hour, harpoon them on skewers. If you have wooden skewers, please soak them in water, please. Flambe skewer is not an appropriate entree. Turmeric stains your hands, so wear gloves. And if all you have are your bathroom cleaning gloves, just don't tell anyone.
Just kidding.

Go outside and wait for a handsome man to drive up on a motorcycle. Ask him if he would man your grill. Men like to man things, so most likely he will say yes. If you try to take his picture, he might smirk... obviously, he is used to women trying to take his picture.

Saute the onion that YOU chopped for 5 minutes in the oil. Add the chili, the saved marinade, the brown sugar, and water. Get it really hot, but don't let it boil. Why? I really don't know.

The handsome motorcycle man showed me how the mess miraculously disappears!

Remove from the heat and whisk in the peanut butter until smooth. The recipe says to NOT use natural. It is all I had so I DID use it.

Pour the sauce over the skewered chicken. Or, remove the chicken and then pour the sauce. That is what the motorcycle man did. And, of course, it was easier to eat that way. You can see a little bit of flambe skewer in this picture.

It was quite yummies in our tummies.
P.S. I would cut the turmeric in half if I made it again. I learned turmeric is like curry. It makes you wonder, "What was the point of all those other spices?"

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

never underestimate the power

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

the universal remote

I watched Top Gun the other night with my husband. I have never seen it. I learned that since I had married a pilot, I should have this experience under my belt. You see, a proper pilot's wife should know proper pilot lingo. Pilot lingo such as, "Talk to me, Goose!" and "Too close for missiles, switching to guns!" or, "Son, your ego is writing checks your body can't cash!"

Anyway, during a take-the-dishes-to-the-kitchen break, Jim ran to the bathroom. I threatened to start the movie and he called out, "I'll be back before you would be able to get it started!" Which is very mean. And true. You see, I have a disability. And looking at everyone else in this country, I think my disability should mean I don't have to work and can park in the first parking spot at Wal-Mart too. My disability involves figure-it-out skills with electronic.... things. I do not have those skills. Even a digital watch befuddles me. Oh yeah. Bobby pins blow my mind as well.

All of this to say that I was reminded of this video. I think my favorite part is the packing peanuts.