I'm Somebody! Who Are You?*

The following is not original material.  It was plagarized from Becca.  Play along on your own blog if you like.

NICKNAMES: Yes, I have two.  One my husband calls me.  One my father took to his grave with him.

BIRTHDAY: The anniversary of the first atomic bomb that was dropped.  Yep, that pretty much describes me, too.
HEIGHT: 5'10"
EYE COLOR: Hazel
HAIR COLOR: Red, strawberry blonde, titian, I'm not really sure
HANDED: Bats left, throws right
FROM: American by birth, Southern by the grace of God!
PETS: One dog, two cats
PERSONALITY: Leo
HOBBIES: genealogy, hiking, backpacking, reading
LIKES: How long do you have?
DISLIKES: See last answer.
FAVORITE ACCENTS: Coastal Georgia, South Carolinian Low Country, Cajun, Scottish

FAVORITE COUNTRY: Other than my own, Scotland
FAVORITE DAY OF THE WEEK: Friday, Friday!
FAVORITE DRINK: Old Fashioned, Dirty Martini with bleu cheese stuffed olives, sweet iced tea, seltzer water
FAVORITE FLOWER: Orange Gerbera daisies
FAVORITE FOODS: Soft-shell crab, beets, creme brulee, gazpacho
FAVORITE GIRLS NAMES: Caroline, Rebecca
FAVORITE NUMBER: 1
FAVORITE PLACE TO HANG OUT: My own backyard

FAVORITE SHOES: Anything with a heel over 3 inches high

FAVORITE SPORT: Tennis to play, Football to watch

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE ME
1. Snakes
2. Serpents
3. Reptiles without legs


THREE THINGS I'D LIKE TO LEARN MORE OF:
1. Arabic
2. Shuttle tatting
3. Rock climbing

*See Emily Dickinson.

A Month of Birthdays

October:

5 - Maeve, 13
9 - John Lennon, 70 (as if that tidbit had managed to escape anyone's attention)
11 - Deirdre, 17
12 - Colin, 46 (Mr. Gaelic's brother)
13 - our proposal anniversary and marriage renewal (not a birthday, but still)
20 - Viggo Mortensen, 52 (be still my beating heart)
26 - Jaclyn Smith, 63 (she was the Angel I most wanted to be)
29 - Kate Jackson, 62 (my second favorite, I didn't want to be blonde)
31 - Juliette Gordon Low, 150 (because where would we be without Girl Scouts and Girl Guides)

Menu Plan: October 11 - October 17

Food porn.  Staring me right in the face.  Lying smack dab in the middle of a half-price table at Barnes & Noble.  And I couldn't pull my eyes away.  Thoughts of lovingly placing the same dish on the table for my family kept me gazing at the cover photo.  My mouth watered and my mind raced taking mental stock of all the necessary ingredients and whether they were on hand at home.

At the early morning farmers' market, we scored Brussels sprouts, onions, baby red potatoes, an end-of-season casaba melon, a pound of free-range bacon, a pound of buffalo stew meat, and a free reusable "green" bag from a political candidate that we can't vote for because he represents the county and not the city (weird jurisdictions mean that our cities and counties are entirely separate as opposed to other states where cities are in counties and under both jurisdictions).  At the meat co-op, we bagged up three broilers, three stewing hens (the layers that are past their laying prime), two packs of pork ribs, three pounds of bacon (I forgot I had ordered bacon), and our Thanksgiving turkey (frozen, but I didn't want to run the risk of their selling out). 

The meat co-op is all free-range, grass-fed meat.  Beef, pork, chicken, turkey, eggs.  Sometimes they work with neighboring like-minded farmers to supply duck, duck eggs, lamb, and rabbit.  The co-op delivers every eight weeks, so stock up.

Then there are the last of the backyard crop.  Carrots, onions that didn't "bulb", and a few beets. 

Do I have enough to put together that gorgeous food porn I coveted?  Let's try.

• Monday
• Breakfast:  oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar
• Supper:  meatloaf (need to use the ground beef in the freezer to make room for the turkey), creamed red potatoes, green beans
• Tuesday
• Breakfast:  cereal (early morning meetings at the Company don't allow time for more)
• Supper:  Peruvian stew with buffalo meat, hearty home-baked bread
• Wednesday
• Breakfast:  English muffins, fig preserves or tupelo honey
• Supper:  baked mac & cheese, Brussels sprouts, carrots, cornbread
• Thursday
• Breakfast:  melon, Greek yogurt
• Supper:  candied sweet potatoes, orange beets, creamed spinach, homemade dinner rolls (save half)
• Friday
• Breakfast:  baked apples, toast
• Supper:  moules (mussels) à la marinière, french fries, salad, baguettes (gotta have something to soak up the broth)
• Saturday
• Breakfast:  pancakes, bacon
• Supper:  Maeve's birthday party (finger sandwiches, carrot and celery sticks, cake, and homemade lemonade)
• Sunday
• Breakfast:  bacon, eggs, grits, toast
• Dinner:  coq au vin, quinoa pilaf, salad, dinner rolls (saved from Thursday)

So coq au vin isn't quite the food porn I drooled over.  But most of the ingredients are readily available from what's on-hand.  And I don't have to buy a new cookbook for one food-porn recipe.

The Science of Fun

Going to theme or amusement parks with me can be 1) very boring or 2) very interesting.  It's an easy way to get kids interested in chemistry and physics.  The fun is still there.  It's just that the how and why become part of waiting in line.

For my birthday, my two teens and I visited one of our in-state theme parks.  The science lessons are long gone.  When I remark, "Ah, nothing like the smell of ozone," while waiting for the bumper cars, Finola answers with an explanation of how ozone is made.  Waiting for the roller coaster, there's no need to explain why the circles get tighter towards the end of the ride or how pneumatic brakes work.  The only thing of interest is how long the wait for the front or rear row is.

Roller coaster connoisseurs know that the last row is like the tail end of a whip.  You feel the ride more intensely.  The thrill of the front row depends on whether that first drop (say from 205 feet facing straight down) is part and parcel of the whole experience or just the accelerator for the rest of the ride.

Until my last birthday.

Getting old sucks. 

Something happened on the way to middle age.  The ability to enjoy roller coasters went out the window when I started playing trombone with the morning paper. 

It happened on the second time through on a tall, fast full-circuit inverted roller coaster.  It was the cobra roll that did me in.  On the approach to the station, even swinging my legs back and forth while looking straight ahead wasn't enough to calm that weird feeling connecting my head to my stomach.  Keeping lunch inside took lots of strength and concentration.

My roller coastering days are over.  Sniff, sniff.  My fear is that my amusement park days may be over as well.  Following the inverted coaster was the giant swing, that thing that swings you around in circles way up in the air.  It's a midway ride!  And it was making me queasy! 

After that, my day was spent waiting for my kids to ride whatever coaster they wanted.  While waiting, I watched a trio of heavy-set men about my age come off the coaster, retrieve their bottle-shaped beer cans and laugh their way towards the next ride.  How can some people, who are my age and obviously don't take as good a care of their bodies as I do, manage to drink and ride coasters but I, just drinking water, can't? 

Perhaps instead of physics and chemistry, our next trip will include a physiology lesson.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Psst. Wanna know a secret? Come closer and I’ll tell you. [Looks both ways and leans in close to the monitor.] Christmas is on December 25th this year. And Valentine’s Day will be on the 14th of February next year. And your taxes will be due on April 15th.

A neighbor posted a photo online of her cat on top of the tax forms she was filling out. She LOL’d that they were late again this year filing the taxes. Why do people drag out the agony for so long?

Unlike Easter, Shrove Tuesday, and Ash Wednesday, which are always on a Sunday, Tuesday, and Wednesday respectively but move all over the calendar based on the date of the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox (can’t you just imagine the ecclesiastical debate over that one?), the other holidays always fall on the same day. Every year.

So, guys. Let this be your first warning. You have 149 days until Christmas. Don’t let me catch you in the stores on December 24th with only one person marked off your list!

As for birthdays and anniversaries, you’re on your own.

A Wine Is a Terrible Thing to Waste

Six courses. Superb! Wine pairings. Inspired!

To begin...

An interpretation of arctic char and tuna carpaccio served with a Sauvignon Blanc SudTirol “Tramin” 2007

Lobster salad with heirloom tomatoes, diva cucumbers, english peas and Bellavista served with a Roero Arneis “Prunotto” 2008

Carrot flavored pappardelle with a rabbit ragu in a white wine sauce and fresh thyme served with an Aglianico Bisceglia “Terra di Vulcano” 2006

Risotto with saffron, Tuscan Pecorino and fava beans and garlic pesto served with a Barbaresco “Produttori” 2005

Roasted Muscovy duck breast with Trevisan radicchio puree, chicory and raisin timbale and 25 years old Balsamic served with a Giampaolo Motta “Giorgio Primo” 2003

Carnaroli rice pudding parfait with blackberry compote and citrus tuille served with a Maculan “Dindarello” 2006

Before the dessert course, the waiter presented me with a silky tiramisu served in an extra large martini glass complete with a single candle and a rectangle of white chocolate inscribed with Happy Birthday. The only thing better would have been if our table was in the kitchen and the chef was the one telling us about each course rather than the waiter.

You Say It's Your Birthday

I don’t know what’s a better birthday present – starting my birthday week with the Paul McCartney concert or finding my long-lost bestest guy friend on Facebook.

Update of the friend first: He made it out of Iraq alive even though some of his fellow pilots weren’t as lucky. He’s got a brand-new baby girl and enjoyed some very productive turkey hunting.

History lesson for today: I was born on the anniversary of the first wartime use of an atomic bomb. And also Lucille Ball’s birthday. Which sort of explains me as a whole – a redhead with the temper of a nuclear bomb. Oh, wait, that’s redundant. Nevermind.

Sir Paul: Come to find out that our third child’s godfather was attending the concert as part of his 50th Birthday celebration, thanks to his wife’s posting it on Facebook. Rather than fight traffic closer to concert time, we arrived two hours ahead of time, found our friends, and tailgated our way through a couple bottles of sparkling rosé and some wicked vodka tonics. We parted ways at the gate, us to our cheap seats, them to their prime real estate on the field. A little ways into the warm-up act and Mr. Gaelic gets an email on his Blackberry from a friend at his office saying that the man has two extra tickets on the field, do we want them? Do you have to ask?

On the field! Section B, Row 10, Seats 19 and 20! Didn’t have to use the binoculars! Soot on the nose from the fireworks during Live or Let Die. Confetti down the shirt after The End. Stood (or should I say danced?) the entire two and a half hours of Beatles, Wings, and Macca.

So he didn’t play Birthday. Who cares? He played Something.

The $1000 Birthday Dinner

The birthday girl accused me of using her birthday as an excuse to attend the Winemaker’s Dinner at a winery about an hour, hour and a half’s drive away. The vineyard hosts a Winemaker’s Dinner every couple of months or so. There are only seats for 40 people and the dinners book very quickly.

When the kids turn thirteen, they no longer get birthday parties; they get special dinners out with just Mom and Dad at the restaurant of their choice, sans siblings. The birthday girl originally requested Russian as her restaurant of choice. But Mom and Dad were just at a Russian restaurant for Dad’s birthday dinner with another couple, mainly because we wanted to try the flight of vodkas – nine four-ounce glasses of different vodkas of your choice from all over the world. So when the email arrived in my inbox about the May Winemaker’s Dinner, my fingers frantically dialed the reservation number to procure our seats.

Heading out three hours before the reception hour gave us a chance to explore the mountain back roads. One narrow curvy road led past a turnoff towards an estate sale at a farm. With time to kill before the first glass of wine was poured and the first hors d’œuvre was passed, we turned up the winding path to discover an herb farm with a note of the front door saying to “Come on in”. Which we did.

My mother was a voracious antique collector. Her motto was that if you saw it and liked it, you should buy it because you would end up regretting not getting it. That lesson sunk in. And is sinking in for the third generation as well. The cargo area of the SUV was loaded down with a late 1800’s American chestnut drop-leaf table, an early Twentieth Century French walnut and rose-colored marble-topped square washstand, and a hickory custom-made tabletop that was designed for cutting fabric. It has an ingenious movable piece that makes a straightedge to cut the fabric evenly.

Top off the evening with a five-course meal with wine pairings for each course and a discussion of the wines during the meal followed by a Q&A time with the chef afterwards. Birthday girl got plenty of practice driving out and plenty of private attention and conversation with the ‘rents. Treat ‘em like young adults and they rise to the occasion. And surprise you with their interests and conversation topics. Worth every last cent!

Smells Like Teen Embarrassment

Last night was the annual fashion show. My girls and I have modeled the past four years for the show. It's a five-hour commitment when you add in time for hair and makeup. Especially this year when there were many more stores and outfits to model.

Our outfits ran the gamut of a shabby-chic Juicy Couture jacket to a black illusion cocktail dress. Unfortunately, no wedding dresses like the one I modeled last year. The two teenagers' had one set of outfits that were both very boho. By the time those outfits came around, both the teenagers had loosened up from their first pass down the catwalk. It was good that they wore the pajamas for the first round and got them out of the way early.

Following the boho outfits, they split stores. While one modeled an adorable Kay Unger pink tweed suit and red peep-toe heels, the other modeled a strapless maxi dress that could be worn day or evening. As she finished up her last turn ready to leave the stage, the emcee announced that it was her seventeenth birthday.

Can you believe it? She didn't turn red or die of embarrassment right there. Can you believe it? My eldest baby is Seventeen! That makes me... oh, dear.