Trip Rehash (A little Optimism Goes a Long Way)

Alright, I admit it - it wasn't a bad trip. It was actually a really great trip, and being somewhere else had the effect of removing a ton of bricks from my chest, even if only temporarily. Here in the Cackalackies summer is still hanging on with a sticky vengeance, but Autumn was in full swing as we headed up through West Virginia and Pennsylvania to Western New York, and the shore of Lake Erie. The maples and the sumac were incredible shades of coral, scarlet, crimson and russet, especially in upper PA and NY. (None of which, of course, are in this picture, but it's still a good shot of what Western NY looks like)We filled the back of the pickup with apples and cider, kielbasa and pepperoni, horseradish mustard and rye bread, peanut sticks and hard white cheddar; a cornucopia of all the things that mean home to us. We bought our apples at The Red Barrel, out in North Boston. We went to Schwabel's in West Seneca, to have Beef on Kimmelweck and German potato salad, because they've been serving it since 1837 and I think they're still the best. This is their cash register:We went and visited with my aunt, who is now at 65 pounds, but hanging on - she had more energy than I'd seen in her since she had the operation, over 4 years ago, and while one good virus could still carry her off, it gave us hope that maybe, somehow, she might just be able to get better.

I was worried that going with my dad to see his sister, and his friend who is in frail health as well, might tip him (and me!) over the edge into Dark and Twisty-ville - it has to be tough to see your peers passing, one by one - but he surprised me with his resilience. We talked about everything under the sun on the drive up and back, sometimes getting so engrossed that we missed our exits! It was a bonding experience for us both, I think, which can only be good. I think it helped that we went to Oil City and had dinner at the Yellow Dog Lantern, because the ladies who work there love to flirt with my dad, and he loves to give it back in kind. They sat down in the booth with us and told him if he weren't married he would be going home with one of them, couldn't believe he was 77, thought he must be only in his early 60s, and you know he loved that!The drive up to New York from Oil City was eventful - Route 8 ended abruptly above Union City (we were talking and missed the detour signs) so we took a dirt road or two and somehow ended up in New York, near Findley Lake. The Ace Hardware store was in Union City - I love the old bike and the ad for tux rentals in the windows!I missed the guys while I was away, but the rest of the shite, as posted before, yeah, not so much. I know I can't control how other people behave (as much as I might like to, as much as they might be begging to be disciplined), so my task now is to try and forget, or at least to ignore the flingers of bullshit - it's their problem not mine. Now I have to repeat that about a hundred times whilst looking severely at myself in the mirror - it's not my mess, I'm not going to clean it up!

Thanks to you all, who came and left a little moral support!

Picture below: the tribal lands where my mother swears they touch her cheek and ask, "What tribe are you?" Yeah, sure they do!

Kinda Eyore-ish

Okay so you're not in my head (and wouldn't a therapist love to scrutinize that!) so you wouldn't know that the reason I haven't been writing is pure depression. I did feel like I was getting kind of hackneyed in the blogosphere, but that was just the tip of the iceberg that I slid off into the arctic sea of Fuckitall.

The kids are both in middle school now, so I have my mornings to myself again, which kind of makes me feel like I'm not pulling my weight, and of course I'm not feeling any inspiration to paint, which adds to that feeling of uselessness, though I have kicked up the home-made goodness as a result, which nobody is complaining about, except maybe my ever-expanding gut.

I find myself still mourning Mrs. Puff, probably because it was so unexpected and horrific, the way she died. I know there was nothing we could have done in the face of an avalanche of hemorrhagic strokes, and maybe that's what haunts me - that sense of complete futility.

I'm having the old recurring issue with living in this part of the world; being a yankee by birth (I have lived in the south for over 40 years, but I'm still a yankee - how about that shit?) and not christian (and I refuse to capitalize such a travesty of a word) is two humongously indelible marks against me in this small, backward-thinking town. Apparently all you have to do for social acceptance is give lip service to being the same religion as everyone else and talk through a mouth full of marbles. I kid you not. It doesn't matter if you're committing adultery, are an abusive parent or abusive spouse, or a dead-beat parent who leaves their kids to fend for themselves - if you profess your faith loudly enough, no one will care what you do behind closed doors (and these aren't stereotypes; every example I listed is someone I know, in all their sanctimonious hypocrisy, who treats me and my family like lepers). Being a kind and decent human being doesn't count for doodly without that "got jesus" lobotomized seal of approval. (Please note: I have nothing against Jesus himself, or what he had to say. My problem is with the trash that insists on using his name to legitimize their petty fear and hatred of anything that doesn't fit into their limited awareness.) I know there are people who are truly good christians - I know 2 personally, but there are so many of the other kind. Aren't they calling themselves the "Tea Party" these days?

So, on top of those delectable tidbits from the fantastic pile of shit that is permeating my existence on a daily basis, I have a trip to make, starting tomorrow. I'm headed up to Buffalo, with my dad. He's going to see his sister and an old friend, both of whom are in very frail health. He hates death, is even kind of phobic about it, so this isn't going to be a pleasure jaunt. I'm a little amazed that he's even going. I have to confess, I'm not sure I'm up to this myself, treading water in my own murky sea of personal bullshit, but I said I'd go. I'm going to take a composition book and try to do some journalling - angst is good for writing, right? I'm also going to try and carpe diem; to take it one day at a time and try, TRY to find some good in there amongst the craptastic chaff.

And at the least there will be apples - lovely crisp New York apples and cider to look forward to, right?

Invasion of the Bodysnatchers (and a few recipes)

In a week's time, I've been to the gym 7 times, an hour each time. I only lost about 5 pounds, because we ate Italian at Piccola Italia's (my stomach's spiritual Mecca) on Saturday, and my younger brother threw a cookout on Sunday. At least I didn't gain, right? My older brother made these incredible drinks on Sunday that I didn't even try to resist, they were that freakin' good. He called them "Mighty Good", and I'm inclined to agree!

A Mighty Good Drink
large glass w/ice
2 oz orange vodka (I think he might have added more)
a splash of triple sec
fill about three quarters with Tropicana Strawberry-Orange juice
top off with orange juice
garnish with either a giant strawberry or an orange slice.

At our parties everybody brings something to share, which makes the food more eclectic, and helps keep the cost down. Our host provided the ubiquitous burgers and dogs, my "Mighty Good" brother made a bean salad, another guest, Mrs. M. made her famous potato salad, and my mom made strawberry shortcake for dessert. My contribution was a Whore-d'oeuvre, as we like to call them: Caprese Salad. It's an easy thing to whip together, and it's glamour lies in using the best ingredients.

Caprese Salad
On a large platter arrange thin slices of fresh mozzarella
top with thin slices of ripe tomatoes
distribute evenly a generous helping of coarsely chopped fresh basil
sprinkle a bit of garlic powder, salt and pepper over all of it,
then pour very good olive oil over all, and sprinkle a bit of balsamic vinegar over that.
serve with fresh crusty Italian bread

So you can see why I didn't lose much weight this week, although as Bea put it, "think of what we would have gained if we hadn't worked out all week". so it's back to the gym this week, and a diet of salad and more salad. I'm trying to drop enough poundage in the next three weeks, that I can go on vacation and not worry about dieting.

Oh my effing god - what is happening to me? I'm writing about going to the gym! How is that good reading material? Who am I and where did the aliens put my real self? Aaughh!

What Was I Thinking?

Sweet Jesus!
It's the last weekend before school starts and the guys are going out of town.
That means Bea and I should be whooping it up, except...

Except that I've committed us (in every sense of the word) to a Saturday night of sipping fruit juice (fruit juice! dammit!) in the house of a dead woman, while we watch her daughter, Sarah Bernhardt, perform the role of Cleopatra.

Yeah, that was me, freakin Joanie of Arc, who signed us up for this gig.

Bea, true friend that she is, has been very gracious, but I know this isn't her idea of fun. It doesn't help that, even after 20 years, Cleo can't remember Bea's name. It's the kind of girl she is, and a big part of why I keep my distance from Chez Cleo.

"Nobody puts Bea in a corner."

So Bea, I want to apologize in advance for the blatant rudeness you will be subjected to tomorrow. I cannot thank you enough for going with me into the Palace of Self Absorption, and being the lifeline of sanity I know I'm going to need.

So, sushi? It's on me...!

So How Was Your Weekend?

I sent the boys off to Richmond this past weekend - Yeah Man!!!

Once I got the house cleaned I sat back and enjoyed its semi-pristine state. I was only able to achieve semi-pristine because, Hello! I live with two little boys, which means mounds of stuff left around the house,and they're too busy building skyscrapers in the living room to clean up. They were awfully nice skyscrapers, and I hated to be the demolition crew, but one little toe jiggle, and BAM! down it came.

Also, I had plans with Bea and another friend of ours, Miss J, to have sushi and drinks, preferably in my living room, so the scrapers really had to go. Its a rationalization, for my joyous destruction of my children's creation, but its working for me.

We hunkered down with a few rolls and a pitcher of Raspberry Lemonade and got comfy. We watched yet again our current favorite period film, "Becoming Jane". While it isn't actually a Jane Austen novel, it does deal with a rumour about Miss Jane and an unrequited love affair. Oh, and it has James McAvoy in it, and he is extra yummy in this film. Who needs dessert when you can feast on him? (The cat statues on the TV are my son's addition to the decor, but I was the one who made them stop peeing on each other.)
It was really a lovely weekend, although I got very little accomplished. I did have my nephew and his lovely POSSLQ (Person of the Opposite Sex, Sharing Living Quarters) over for dinner on Saturday and we made Bea's Southwestern Stuffed Peppers, which are so easy to make, look fabulous, and are delicious, so how could we go wrong?

Monday was Cinquo de Cuervo - um Mayo, yeah that's it. My brother and his "third time's the charm" really nice girlfriend came over for Margaritas, homemade salsa and queso, and chorizo/portabella quesadillas to celebrate. We finished with a Kahlua Chocolate cake and now?
Now I'm on a diet for the rest of my life! Seriously, I'm only going to be snacking on veggies and fruit from here on in, because I've hit my "fighting weight" as Ms. Q would call it, and I have to get into a swimsuit in another 8 weeks. (cue sobbing)

So what kind of trouble did you get into this past weekend?

"1,2,3,4,5...Meme Time"

I was tagged by Autumn at Confessions Of A (Not So) Domestic Diva for this meme:

Name one thing you do everyday:

1. Rescue cats who are perpetually on the wrong side of the door (This is really an all day long kind of thing, and kind of annoying, but it keeps my butt from atrophying, so I let them live.)

Name 2 things you wish you could learn:

1. To play piano (I really want to make a Sam Kinnison joke right now, about Jesus using his hand as a whistle, but I'll refrain.)

2. Oh! To travel through time (this a favorite wish of my oldest child, and it could be a really handy tool in researching genealogy, though I might end up not born, or some other Back to The Future kind of thing.)

Name 3 things that remind you of your childhood:

1. Peanut butter and raspberry jam on rye bread. It never tastes right on any other kind of bread for me. Add a brown paper bag and I'm back in elementary school, standing in a coatroom (yeah, back in the early mesozoaic era they still attached coatroom areas to classrooms - so I'm a dinosaur - What. Ever.)

2. Penny Brite (again was a popular toy in the mesozoaic, back before toys had to have batteries to be fun - I think you know where I'm going with this.)

3. Playing dolls with my sister - wait a minute - we were just doing that last week - some things never change, I guess! (And check out her latest doll, The Queen of Tarts, here) 4 things you love to eat but rarely do

1. Caramel Apples - around here all they ever make are those gnarly red candy ones, so I pass.

2. Steamed clams - I love them but I can only eat aqua-culture, because I'm like the canary in the coal mine, when it comes to water-borne bacteria, and its so not worth it to spend the evening waiting to yack.

3. Ice cream - I don't know why I don't eat it - I love ice cream, but I'm never really in the mood for it, unless its summertime and we're going to Dairy Queen - Butterfinger Blizzards defy all laws of restraint.

4. Leg of lamb - I used to like it a lot, but I can't bring myself to eat it anymore. Ever. (sorry Mom)

Name 5 things/people that make you feel good

1. My husband, when he's not hiding my keys, though he DID confess, once he was cornered.

3. My oldest son, because he loves history as much as I do, and he's still a sweetie, when he isn't being cool. 4. My youngest son, because he's an incredible artist and such a sweetie- he's always giving me little cards that say, "I love you".

5. Being far enough away from civilization that I can hear only the sounds of the mountains, woods, or ocean around me.
These are my Tag-ees; no pressure though - fear not the anguish it will cause me if you must decline- I'll shamble along, somehow:

Bea at Trapped Under Something Heavy

Liv at Madness, Madness, I Say

Maggie at Okay, Fine, Dammit

Jodi at Slow Panic

Quest For Stuff; Road Trip to Bumfuck, Egypt

Yesterday's festival of playing hookey segue-wayed into the once-a-year foray down to the mecca of NC pottery - also known as Moore County. Some of the folks throwing pots in this part of the world can trace their family's pottery tradition all the way back to the 1700s, while others have settled there more recently to take advantage of the built-in pottery buying clientele. Bea and I used to be serious collectors of Moore county pottery - back before kids, car payments, mortgages, etc. We would go down four or five times a year and drop 300 to 500 a trip on pieces made by the then up and coming Ben Owen III, Vernon Owens, and Billy Ray Hussey, to drop a few names. This being an epic journey; its been forever since we went; Ms. Q, Bea, and I set out with the intention of loading up the car with many and sundry clay beauties. This is the entrance to Jugtown, the place that put all the Moore county potteries on the map back in the 1920s. Moore county potters were in a decline at the time, what with commercial pottery underselling them for daily wares, and Prohibition putting them out of the jug business as well (though I understand there were still jugs being made for the moonshiners). A man named Jacques Busbee, from Raleigh, wanted to get the artware industry going on here that was happening in other parts of the US, so he set up shop, rounded up a few potters, and he was in business. The first two potters he hired for Jugtown were Charlie Teague and Ben Owen. They were both young men in the 1920s and willing to expand their pot-throwing repertoire into the artware realm. Charlie later quit and moved on to do his own thing, but Ben Owen stayed with Busbee and it was his skill that brought Jugtown international acclaim.
I love the windmill with the little pot on it. One of the things I always loved about Jugtown, even as a kid, was the cool handcrafts that they sold alongside of the pottery. I bought a beautiful loomed runner this time - picture to come later - the back seat doesn't photograph well, don'tcha know?
This is one of the wood-fired kilns at Jugtown. They use both wood and gas-fired kilns. The gas gives really consistently beautiful results, but the wood-fired pieces can be truly spectacular. I have a particular affinity for the wood-fired glazes, like ash, and frogskin - its always such a miracle of skill, weather and luck when an amazing piece comes out. We went to a Billy Ray Hussey kiln opening many years ago, where we actually helped unload the kiln. It went very slowly, because we were all oohing and ahhing over the pieces. I loved how they made funny pinging noises as they cooled down - they almost seemed alive in my hand! When we popped into Ben Owens' place to fondle a few of the elite (that we're too broke to buy), the pots had just been brought in from the kiln and they were all pinging - I love that sound! We stopped off at Crystal King's to see what was going on, but Crystal was out of town on a trip to China - go figure ! But her grandmother and uncle were there to shoot the breeze and keep up the stock. The King family is another of the long-time potting families in these parts, and while Crystal is still young, her work is really excellent quality - I think she's going to be one of the next really hot potters in that area. The Medusa head below is one of my most favorite figures that she's made. Unfortunately she had so many issues with cracking that she gave up trying to remake this, but its still a great piece, replete with the serpent that shows up in so many folk pieces from the region.
One of our last stops was Westmoore Pottery, which is run by David Farrell. They make primarily reproductions of Moravian pottery, which is usually redware that is slip-decorated with intricate, patterns that are evocative of the Pennsylvania Dutch Hex signs. No small wonder, as they are from the same cultural background. The NC Moravians settled in what is now Winston-Salem, and when they came, they brought with them two master potters, whose wares are the inspiration for what Westmoore makes. They also sell fabulous hand-blown 18th c. reproduction glassware that was killing me - it was so beautiful! (Note* Ms. Q is in the foreground in this shot of Westmoore - hi Pookie!)
Mid morning we had to stop and get a bite to eat before my blood sugar went so low I was forced to kill and eat an unwary pottery customer - and that tends to piss people off. So we hit the sole eatery in the area, and had some killer hushpuppies and a barbeque sandwich. The BBQ was western NC style, so it was a little weird to me, but the hushpuppies were outstanding! I moaned and groaned in ecstasy the entire time I ate them - I think I might have scared off a few customers, but damn! they were awesome! Bea is looking a bit rough at this point - we DID get up at 6:30 to go...
We also went to Ben Owen III's place, but I was too busy fondling the way-too-pricey-for-me-but aren't-they-gorgeous pieces to take any pictures. I actually asked a man buying a fantastic piece of ash-glaze if I could just hold his vase for a minute (and then I crooned to it - "who's a pretty piece of ash?" - don't judge me - you didn't see that vase). We had an enormously big time...I bought way too much pottery (though its been almost 5 years; aren't I entitled to a little extravagance? Its all going for Christmas presents anyway...oh yeah, what a juicy rationalization...I bet I keep half of it!) For more pictures of this trip, check out Trapped Under Something Heavy later on today...Bea will be posting her pictures there.

Playing Hookey

Well, I was going to paint today; after I dropped off the kids, I was going to enjoy that last cup of coffee, savor the silence, and then hunker down to workin'.

The best laid plans...yadda yadda...

Enter, the 8 year old - he's home sick - cultivating his IBS symptoms for use later in life, no doubt. The Professor we dropped off at school - he is a stickler for being there (so NOT like me). So we headed for home, the Bohemian and I, to try and do some painting together.

Its just not in the cards today.

Upon arriving home, I see a message waiting for me on the phone - its Bea- she has thrown in the towel and is playing hookey, er...taking a Mental Health Day. The office is having another one of their "Stuff Your Face" festivals, which are relentlessly undermining to a diet, or even a healthy lifestyle. Ever the queen of Passive Aggressive, she Chose not to attend. If you're a fan of the film The Big Chill this will make perfect sense.

As much as I wanted to paint, the prospect of someone to play with is far more enticing - will we go out to lunch? It could happen - it is payday. Maybe even do a little shopping - that suburbian housewife hunter-gatherer ritual, though malls are out - its is my personal creed to never enter a mall or strip mall after Thanksgiving, until after the first of the year. I'm not superior - I just know that the odds of me killing someone go up drastically if I'm in a mall - I'd like to be home for the holidays, see...!

Ah! there she is - my partner in crime! Let the planning and plotting and general coffee consumption begin! (Unghhhh! I just had the thought of where to go for lunch, and get a really good cup of...."cappoocino, sweetie-darling" (Edina, Ab Fab)!!! Bea is groaning over my shoulder as I type this - is that a yes???

The Aftermath: Sobering Up In Carpool

I'm Talking Barbeque

I don't know what it is lately, but I have been eating like I'm "going to the chair", as Bea would put it. After Thanksgiving I stepped on the scale and realized that I was pushing maximum density, and that it was time to step away from the fridge and the late-night rifling.

It is very hard, but I've been a good girl all this week, except for a few gumdrops, which are easy enough to rationalize.

But it isn't cutting it - I'm craving; have been craving ever since Thanksgiving, some really good Down East NC Barbeque. In this part of the world, there is a lot of it to be had, but it isn't all on the same level of OMFG That's Orgasmically Good, so I went hunting with The Google and found some conveniently located choices. The best list of where to go was compiled by this guy and he's pretty thorough. Many of the places he listed I've been to and agreed with his rating, so I think I can trust his opinion.

However...in my opinion, the very best barbeque is made by this man:Unghhhh! My mouth is watering, just remembering how good this stuff was! The Daveman goes on down to Smithfield to buy his hog from Nahunta, and he usually gets a Duroc, which are known for their quantity of lean meat, and I will testify...M R Good!

He trekked his cooker all the way out to the upper Outer Banks, above Corolla, so he was toting it up the beach, to make us some kick-ass barbeque for the Fourth of July. Slow-cooked it all day, while we were frolicking on the beach, and then we demolished it. The guy on the right, below, said he was going to "go Roman on us", and eat until he puked - it was very close - and while it may seem excessive, understand that he lives in Washington State, where the 'Que don't shine, so he was making up for a long absence from his beloved pork. It isn't traditional, but I can't help but wonder just how a Pig Pickin would go down with the family, in place of Christmas Dinner...yeah, probably not so well.

Sigh...

Mmmmm....barbeque....hushpuppies....fixins....ten pounds added to my ass...