This is so not me. But it is the me I want to be. Photo by Lanakila McNaughton, part of a series of great photos here.
I hate to admit it, but I'm a lifelong nerd/teacher's pet. I am an easygoing, rule-following, non-wavemaking, non-stuff-starting conformist. It's been ages since I got in trouble for anything, much less was kicked out of anything.
So I was a little nonplussed recently when a couple of my shares got removed from a writing community I joined. They were not spam. They were not of the Notice Me/Buy My Book ilk. They were relevant (IMO) links on the craft of writing, with my brief comments as to why they might be found interesting by the community.
I'm a little embarrassed that I troubled them with inappropriate posts. But I'm also a little ticked. I went back and read their posts about what they did and didn't want submitted, and I can't for the life of me see why mine didn't pass muster. Particularly when I see some of the other posts flowing through unimpeded. The most amusing are the lame attempts to circumvent the community's 'no promotions' policy, such as this recent post:
"So far my free book promotion on Amazon has reached the rank of #169 overall and #4 in my genre (fantasy/epic). Is this pretty much par for the course in your experience with free books, or should I be excited?"
Oh, that's not self-promoting. No, not at all.
I dropped out of the community just to avoid any future misunderstandings. It was tempting to reach out to the admin for clarification and stay active in the group. But have you seen how many other writing and blogging communities I belong to? That would be like a drowning person asking the lifeguard to please add a little more water to the pool.
Still feeling all black-leather-jacket-and-motorcycle about my shares getting the boot. Wonder what I will get kicked out of today?
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When you get to be my age, 'firsts' get harder to come by. But when my daughter got engaged I had a few, including: I attended my first-ever 'bridal expo'. She lives on the Left Coast and I live sort of on the Right, So when I noticed there was a wedding-themed event in my town, I thought I would go check it out and send my daughter some pictures of the various offerings in case there was anything she found worthy.
The expo was basically what I expected. Lots of booths devoted to DJs, bridal salons, caterers, cakes, and so forth. Man, there was a lot of cake. Beautiful towering sweetness everywhere I looked. With samples! The pressure to gorge myself was intense. I am happy to report an iron willpower magically asserted itself, the likes of which has not been seen since Bill Clinton gave up fast food, and I avoided at least a 500 calorie hit.
But I digress.
As I wandered through the event, the historian in me marveled at the various traditions on display. Some were relatively new, like the photo booth and the bouquet-tossing-basketball-hoop-thingie. But most had their roots in centuries past.
Take those wedding cakes, for example. We can trace their roots to just about any time homo sapiens threw a party: there was food involved. Some foods eventually grew to have certain significance at the event. For the Ancient Romans, it was bread. (So glad we moved past the 'wedding bread' era!) In medieval times, the wedding bread evolved into a tower of sweets over which the bride and groom were challenged to kiss without knocking it over. I wish I had known about this 30-odd years ago. I would have loved the challenge of kissing over a 5'-10" cake at my wedding.
Cakes have changed in other ways, even in modern times. Today's cakes are to their 19th century predecessors what Abe Lincoln's log cabin is to the White House. Sure, they both sheltered presidents. But one definitely shows more craftsmanship and refinement!
The perfect groom's cake
At the expo, I saw about two dozen cakes in just about every shape, size and color you can imagine. They were decorated with gift boxes and flowers and ribbons and ducks and shotgun shells and beer bottles (not all on the same cake, mind you, but if you were into that, someone could probably make it for you). The popularity of inventive and elaborate wedding cakes has pushed the traditional white cake aside. Initially, white icing was preferred. White not only symbolized the purity and virginity of the bride. It also indicated the bride's family was able to afford the fancier, whiter sugar, which until the beginning of the 20th century was more difficult to process and therefore was more expensive. Nowadays, white cakes seem retro and quaint, sort of like the purity and virginity thing.
Speaking of quaint, it bears mentioning that of all the cakes on display, only ONE had the little plastic bride and groom on top. I would tell you what my daughter had to say about the little plastic bride and groom idea, but it is NSFW.
These two are not on the guest list
Overall, it was a fun and informative day at my first bridal expo. I escaped without succumbing to shock (diabetic or financial). Some other interesting stuff churned up while I was checking out wedding lore. What's this I hear about someone paying us a bride dowry?
One of the bright shining lights of the University of Georgia student population published a very handy how-to on hunting/gathering a husband while at college. Her article includes a wealth of information on how to meet the right kind of men, how to compete with other females for their attention, how to maintain their interest, how to cement the deal, and so forth. Ladies (and gentlemen, I suppose), this is the De Beers Mine of relationship advice.
It occurs to me single women my age could also benefit from this type of advice, but do not often find themselves enrolled in college surrounded by scores of eligible bachelors. One must adapt! Step by step, here are my tweaks to the original.
Step 1. Location, location, location! The author emphasizes the importance of attending college because, after all, that's where the men are. News flash: the female 50+ demographic is woefully underrepresented on campus. I suppose you could take the original advice and enroll in college, but I wouldn't recommend it for two reasons.
I don't know about you, but college has become hella expensive in the 30+ years since I last stepped foot in a student union.
Even if you do have the dough, colleges are overflowing with nubile female 20-somethings. You will have to spend at least the cost of tuition on nips and tucks to have a prayer of competing with them, even if your surgical end result is the (figurative and hopefully not literal) mother of all cougars.
So here's my suggestion: change the location! The author's advice to go where the eligible men are is sound. Her mistake is in assuming there is only one location to find favorable ratios of acceptable men! I am not telling you anything new by suggesting you change the word 'college' to 'driving range' and many of her tips will still apply, as you will see below. Where else can you find a man-to-woman ratio of 10:1 or better, and the admission fee is a blessedly reasonable $5 for a bucket of balls (2/$8 on Senior Tuesday)? Note I am not guaranteeing 100% of them are prime candidates, but neither are 100% of the guys you meet at college.
Step 2. Locale + attire = success! In other words, know your environment and select the proper plumage to attract your ideal mate. As when hunting live game on the college campus, it is important to appear as if you belong in the golf driving range environment. Select the right outfit, but not too right - you don't want to look like one of those bright red Gummi worms on the end of a fish hook. No! We are going more for a Venus flytrap effect - you want to attract attention, but in a very organic way.
Crocs say you have just given up
The golf world is a strange, alternate fashion universe, as anyone who has ever watched a men's pro tournament on a color TV can attest. Migraine-inducing colors and plaids are just as acceptable as drab solids. Polyester is okay, believe it or not, but absolutely no denim! At the driving range, there are a few wardrobe Do's and Don'ts that are non-negotiable if you want to sell it, girl! Some tips to ensure you blend seamlessly into the driving range environment:
Footwear - actual golf shoes are most desirable, with athletic sneakers a distant second. Avoid SAS, flip flops, and tatty house slippers. Also, nothing gives away your status as complete golf poser quite like wearing a pair of dingy, faded Crocs. In fact, best not to wear them outside of the house at all, regardless of your destination.
Collared golf style shirt - sleeveless is okay if you still dare to bare your upper arms.
Golf skirt or shorts - they should have at least two side pockets and preferably cover a large quantity of your cellulite/varicose veins. Extra points for skorts.
Shoes and clothes are important, but your best quality accessory on the driving range takes a little more effort. That would be your swing. I don't care how much Lady Hagen golf swag you score on clearance at TJ Maxx - like the man said, it don't mean a thing if you ain't got that swing.
Don't despair - you don't have to break the bank on golf lessons unless you are bored and rich, in which case you probably don't need to be reading this article. But if you are not bored and rich, just work on your swing in the privacy of your living room by imagining you have a large bucket full of horse manure which you want to pick up by the handle with both hands and swing in a modified half U-shaped arc so that it cracks that good-for-nothing ex of yours right below the jaw and spews its aromatic contents all over the $300 Ralph Lauren polo shirt his trophy girlfriend gave him on their first trip to Bermuda.
Step 3. The author's next suggestion is actually a combination of high tech and clever staging. She suggests taking plentiful photographs of one's self while out and about with friends, and using a popular photo effect app to create the right mood. One assumes these are to be broadly distributed via social networking sites.
In addition, the content of the photos must be just right - any other friends in the photos must be nearly, but not equally or more attractive than you. We want to send the message that you are indeed the prime selection in your peer group.
With all due respect to the college-age author, I just don't see 50-somethings getting overly excited about using a special effect on perfectly good photographs that make them look like something you found wedged under the cushion of a moth-eaten 60s-era sofa at the local Goodwill. So let's skip the high tech special effects, shall we, and focus on the second half of her advice: staging.
Assuming you have taken my advice to heart and acquire the appropriate attire and swing, where you place yourself at the driving range is of critical importance.
If the range has artificial turf as an option, I would definitely recommend parking it there. You are taking a risk of appearing amateurish by not selecting the more professional real grass, but chances are your balls will perform better and therefore draw male attention to your swing. Like flies to honey!
Go ahead and tee up every freakin' ball, no matter what club you are using. If you have the right swing and a little wiggle, no one is going to notice the tee, believe me.
Try to find a range that has half walls between hitting stations to avoid unfortunate accidents. More than one budding romance has been nipped by a shanked ball to the temple and the accompanying exchange of insurance information and ambulance ride to the emergency room. No half walls available? At least you will know up front how good their insurance is.
If you have a decent swing, you can dispense with actually hitting the ball altogether. Go ahead and buy a bucket just for appearances. Set it nearby, tip it over so that a few balls dribble out of the basket and onto the ground. Then ignore them, and swing away! So what if no one sees the flight path of any of your balls? If you have a convincing swing, observers will just assume you hit the bejeezus out of it and they lost it in the glare.
Strike a pose!
Equally important as the where in this phase is the who - perhaps the most valuable tip offered by the author is whom you are seen with. If you feel you need a wingwoman or three, by all means invite some friends along. But make sure you are the best golfer, or at least have the best golf swing, of the group. Leave Nancy Lopez and Annika Sorenstam at home. In fact, if you have any friends who have never played golf, they are the perfect backdrop for your debut. Next to their frenzied hacking, you will look like Babe Frickin Didrikson.
Step 4. Assuming steps 1-3 have gone swimmingly, your Oscar-worthy driving range performance has attracted your prey and the mating dance begins. The author advises some restraint here, but at our age, who are we kidding? Of course there will be sex - isn't that the point of this whole charade? - so don't quibble over the 'when'. Instead, focus on the quality of the act. Classy not skanky, to paraphrase the author. Your golf swing may be suspect, but there's no need for your postgame to fail.
At last, we come to the portion of our show where we should have an advantage over the 20-something college crowd. After 30+ years of being sexually active and the advent of cable TV, there's no excuse! Prepare ahead of time with some personal grooming and common sense protection, people. The stuff that could happen when you were in your 20s can still happen, and worse (with one notable exception - thank you, menopause!!). At age 50+, who wants to be bothered with penicillin shots and bottles of RID??
Step 5. Assuming steps 1-4 have been well executed, step 5 is when the trap slams shut. Once your prey has expressed interest, do what must be done to prevent his escape, including eliminating his desire to escape. Become the PGM - Perfect Golf Mate.
Appear content to watch any and every men's professional golf tournament on television, from start to finish. All. Four. Days.
Be able to discuss the advantages of stiff shafts without giggling uncontrollably.
Learn how to regrip clubs without passing out from the glue fumes.
Never, ever buy him anything but plain white golf balls.
Never, ever buy him cutesy cartoon character head covers. If you think the topic of head covers belongs in the Step 4 discussion, FAIL.
The little blue box
Step 6. The author's final step is formal engagement, including but not limited to: the little blue box, residential gated community, late model German auto, country club membership and full time nanny. Step 6 definitely needs some tweaking for our purposes.
Think outside the little blue box. It's fine for the never-been-married, Desperately Seeking Status demographic. Your new man will be more impressed if you prefer a vacay to Pebble Beach or the British Open.
Hang on tight to the country club membership, insisting on one with other amenities to amuse yourself while your new beau hits the links.
Trade the auto for a tricked out golf cart instead - cheaper insurance, better mileage, and maintains the PGM illusion.
For the 50+ set, it's safe to say we can eliminate the nanny - unless your prey - I mean, partner - is 20+ years your junior.
Now isn't that all better? Sometimes advice is like a vintage suit - it's not one-size-fits-all, but a few quality alterations can make all the difference. So hit the range and bag your man. Let me know if you need a wingwoman. My spastic Charlene Barkley golf swing will make you look like Arnold Frickin Palmer.I
Surfing the web the other day and ran across a nifty article about how to avoid being boring by Jessica Hagy for Forbes. Although I have to admit it is a little disheartening to realize I am not one of those lucky few who are organically interesting, like the guy on the Dos Equis commercials. I have to resort to Plan B, reading advice columns for the Terminally Boring and dig deep for something of interest as my Plan A is pretty bland. Anyway - of the ten recommendations she made, #4 stands out for me:
'Embrace your innate weirdness'
Simple advice (or stupid-simple, as the article claims), seems, well, innate, but it's really pretty much the opposite of what we usually do, isn't it? Everyone trying so hard to fit in, follow the latest trend, wear the right jeans, eat at the most popular restaurants, read the hippest book/blog, drive the coolest car, etc. Talk about BORING. It got me thinking about my favorite people and their quirky habits, bless their hearts.
A coworker years ago who refused to close the bathroom stall door all the way when she was using it. I thought this quite weird and a little offensive until she sheepishly apologized to me one day when I happened to be in the restroom at the same time, and confessed she was trapped in a bathroom stall as a child and it really freaked her out. Instantly went from weird to endearing once I knew the whole story.
A friend who absolutely, positively would not divulge her birth year, upon pain of death. Still can't figure that one out, because she looks great regardless of her age. I can understand it if you haven't taken care of yourself, but not this gal. At first I thought she was just being coy like most of us do when asked our age. You know how it goes - we act all insulted that anyone would be so rude as to ask, then 'fess up fairly quickly, fishing for the expected compliment that we certainly don't look our age. But my friend - she would never 'fess up! We have known each other for more than ten years, and it is still a mystery. Gotta hand it to her - she sticks to her guns!
Another friend owned a massive doll collection. She was probably in her 50s when we first met. She had no children of her own, but man she had the dolls. All kinds, very pricey, rooms full of them. All those lifeless eyes, staring, staring . . . Never having been a fan of dolls myself, I found this a little weird for a grown woman. But she and I guess other collectors out there thrive on their hobbies. They probably think there is something a little weird about those of us who don't collect anything!
The cousin who was completely obsessed with Elvis Presley. I believe the tipping point came when it was revealed (ahem) she owned Elvis Presley underwear. Not sure if it was his actual underwear, or was adorned with a picture of The King, or what. But still.
The complete stranger at my husband's company Christmas party who blended into the background - until someone fired up the karoake machine. Put a microphone in his hands and he turns into Frank Freakin Sinatra (without the voice). He roamed the banquet area, schmoozing tables, serenading the middle aged couples like Mel Torme (without the voice). I believe he had to be wrestled to the ground before he surrendered the microphone to the next person.
Another relative who is uber freaky about perceived threats to personal health. Refuses to take a shower during a thunderstorm for fear of electrocution.
A tennis friend who often shouted a lusty Al Pacino-like 'Hoo-Ahhhh!' after a particularly satisfying shot. Very un-tennis-like, but bless her heart, I loved her more every time she did it.
Any list like this would be incomplete without mentioning my dad, whose innate weirdness is quite minimal. He's a pretty normal, average guy, highly entertaining and non-boring in his own right - except he has a long abiding, borderline irrational fear of rodents. Rats, specifically. Now you have to know my dad to know why this is weird. He's a big guy, 6'-3", 200 pounds, gregarious life-of-the-party kinda guy. But don't even mention mice or he's the first one up on the chair, screaming like a girl.
This one's for you, Dad!
I guess this is the confession portion of our program, where I should divulge my own innate weirdness. According to Ms. Hagy's logic, if I have some innate weirdness and I embrace it, that will help me fend off the Boring label. I am on board with this. (You have no idea how hard it was for me not to say 'bored' there. Yuk. Yuk.) I will gladly embrace and advertise it. But I am ashamed to say I am struggling to think of anything. My greatest inner fear is likely true: not only am I Boring in general, I don't have any innate weirdness to fall back on! I am reaching, but here's what I can come up with so far:
I don't like different foods touching on my plate, but I won't go nuts if it happens.
I also like to eat the various foods in order - all the potatoes, then all the meat, then the veg, etc. Is that weird, or just organized?
I like to plan trips/errands so that all the stops are in some kind of logical order (preferably closest first, leaving an uninterrupted return leg home) rather than zigzagging all over town. Also prefer multiple stops on a single trip rather than a trip here, a trip there.
Prefer working tasks sequentially rather than multi-tasking. Also prefer one task to be finished before starting another although my definition of 'finished' can be somewhat hazy.
Will not tolerate even-numbered golf clubs in my golf bag, making an exception for my 4i hybrid which technically is a fairway wood, not an iron, so special exemption. Okay, maybe that is a little weird.
Floss daily without fail but only in the morning, never at night.
Organize clothes in closet by color. Doesn't everyone do that? Maybe that doesn't count.
Ugh, I give up - I am Boring! But Ms. Hagy's article has several more remedies. I'm off to try #9.
Once again Ricky Gervais displays his comedic genius. The star and creator of the original British version of The Office has a show called An Idiot Abroad on, of all places, the Science Channel.
When I saw the promo for the show, I did a Shoulda Had A V8. What a brilliant concept: Mr. Gervais has an fellow by the name of Karl Pilkington forcibly fulfilling a loooooong list of OTHER PEOPLE's life goals, the proverbial 'bucket list' of things they want to try or do or accomplish before they 'kick the bucket' (die). The comedy aspect comes in when the chosen task is something not exactly up Mr. Pilkington's alley.
Naturally this got me thinking: is there anything on my personal bucket list that others would find distasteful? Surely not. My list is dominated by travel destinations. Nothing unusual about that, unless you hate to travel. Or hate beautiful destinations featuring warm weather and sandy beaches.
What about other peoples' lists - what might they want to do that I consider more appropriate for the 1000 Ways To Die show? Like most people, I assume most people think the way I think, like the stuff I like. And like most people, of course I am dead wrong. I know this because I Googled 'bucket list' and found some pretty crazy sh**.
To wit:
The standard-issue crazy daredevil stuff people put on their bucket lists to avoid looking dull, of course never intending to actually follow through:
Bungee jumping
Dive with sharks
Skydive
Cliff dive
Platform dive off highest diving board there is head first into a swimming pool
Do you see a pattern here? Safe bet you will not find anything that says 'dive' or 'jump' on my bucket list.
Ummm, about that last one . . . Keep in mind these are actual items I found while Googling. Assume this person meant a full swimming pool? Otherwise, guessing they will arrive at the diving board via Crazy Train. Better save that one for last.
That's the run-of-the-mill lists. Moving on:
The Why??? Category (Note to reader: remember, this is actual stuff turning up in my Google search results. You cannot make this stuff up.)
superglue a coin to the pavement and watch someone try to pick it up - maybe this one should be in the Clearly A Teenager category
be in the Polar Bear Club - two problems with this one: 1) cold water, and 2) the only people I have ever seen doing this are shriveled up old men
sing the Star Spangled Banner before a game - this is not on my list but if I add it, I will be sure to specify that I will sing it WELL
catch my own game kill and eat it - ugh check NO unless we are talking Risk or Monopoly
photograph lightning again - it's the 'again' that concerns me here - if you have already done it, shouldn't you mark it OFF your bucket list? and aren't you out of chances if you have already survived this once?
bare all on a nude beach - why is it the people who want to bare all are always the people that really, really shouldn't? and why do I have a sneaking suspicion they are also in the Polar Bear Club?
survive an accident I shouldn't - I think I get what they are saying - that they want a lucky escape from something awful, but I can think of so many ways this can go wrong, like when you ask those tricky bottle genies for wishes and they always find a way to make you regret it
swim in the Amazon River - not sure which would be worse: the piranhas or those tiny crazy fish that get all up in your tiny orifices. In any case, you guessed it: check NO.
spend 24 hours alone in the jungle - one word: ANACONDA
go gator hunting with Swamp People - okay I get wanting to hang with the Swamp People, but have you seen an alligator up close? Like, right-next-to-you-in-the-water close? Many, many long, pointy teeth.
and, finally,
The WTF Category Note to reader: see above Note To Reader
explore an insane asylum - maybe if it was empty? and was converted from a beautiful multi-million dollar mansion?
party with porn stars - envisioning cheap ugly stripper heels, slippery dance poles, avoidance of all eye contact, lots of plastic upholstery and silicone. Makes me a little sad and a little ill.
riot tourism - apparently this is for real - you can Google places where a riot may occur and try to get in on the action. Hm. Remember, the police also have Google.
extreme ironing - OMG still LMAO - if there is a hell, it consists of cold weather, light beer, and extreme ironing. And yes, that is an ironing board in the picture above.
Dig up the Godfather of Soul's coffin and use him as a puppet in my YouTube version of Say It Loud (I swear I am not making this up)
After all that Googling, I fear my bucket list is a little predictable, a little provincial. I did find a couple of items that did appeal to me and make me look like less of a granny. They do not require jumping, diving, or grave robbing. Whether I ever actually do them remains to be seen.
I promised you an update since I started using an editorial calendar for this blog. Before it was finished, I was already editing it. The process of creating the calendar pointed out some weaknesses in my blog strategy - it was too scattered, too general. By tightening the topic scope for my calendar, I was able to sharpen the focus on my blog. This in turn helped me tremendously in generating quality topic ideas for future posts.
Added bonus: thanks to the calendar, already some topic ideas are sorting themselves into best for tweets or retweets or Facebook posts, either because they don't quite fit into my editorial calendar topics, or they are somewhat duplicative. I don't want all of my feeds to be carbon copies of each other, so this is a good thing.
I find using the calendar more liberating from the perspective that the subject matter is narrowed. Does that seem backwards? Maybe, but consider this: if you tell me I can write about whatever I want, that freedom is deceptive. It often results in paralysis, as there is just too much to choose from. If you find yourself (like me) hitting up the internet just hoping for inspiration to stream by, you could probably do with some structure.
Compare that with another blog I used to maintain. I mentioned previously that I don't use an editorial calendar for that one because the niche is so narrow (junior tennis instruction tips and tricks). I rarely had trouble finding a topic to post, RT or write about, thanks to Google Alerts and my Twitter account for that niche. Also, I knew right away when looking through streams if a topic was right, because that niche is so specific.
Think of it like this: Let's say your job is to report on how much traffic passes through a given intersection (the traffic represents the very broad blog topic of 'writing' that may be flowing through your social media feeds). So out you go, clipboard/laptop at the ready. Traffic passes. You start ticking off the cars as they flow by. But some cars have more than one occupant - do you count them as one car or multiple, one per person? Do you count just adults, or kids also? What about buses? Bicycles? Mopeds? There are train tracks parallel to the road. Are trains included? What about the guy who pulled an illegal u-turn and didn't quite go all the way through? The signal malfunctions at 3pm and traffic is redirected from the street you are monitoring to a side street you are not. How does that count?
In this example, the niche is huge. There are too many variables. Your data will be all over the place. No matter how hard you try, your results will be less than optimal because your data collection strategy (in our case, which posts shall we select for sharing/inspiration) is too broad.
Now, re-imagine that scenario when you are tasked to return to the same intersection the following day. But today you are told only to track any female motorcyclists that pass through the intersection. Or maybe only green four-door sedans. Or garbage trucks. The niche has narrowed, making the job infinitely easier, allowing you to provide a higher quality report at the end of the day.
I am really glad we are not standing at an intersection counting cars. But sometimes I feel like I am, watching the 'traffic' flow through in my social media streams. Which ones are right for blog inspiration? The editorial calendar is helping me decide.
There are lots of ways I have squandered opportunities in this life and I am sure they will all show up in a blog post at some point, like this one today. One of the many things that mystified my mother about me was my lack of interest in learning how to cook. Other shocking (to her) lack of interest: dolls, organized religion, med school, and country music.
But back to the cooking - I guess she was mystified because women of her era were expected to aspire to being great cooks and providing sumptuous meals for their families. Understandable in her case, as she had learned from her own mother. Both were excellent at home cooking, southern style - see my blog post on her chicken fried steak. She was mystified that I was passing up on this fabulous opportunity to Learn From The Master. But I just never was interested, and I don't know why. Faulty wiring, I guess.
So the joke is on me as I end up later in life as a wife and mother, a SAHM, with one of my responsibilities being to provide sustenance for my family. (I know what you are thinking, so let me just add here I was happy to do it, considering it an even trade for not having to work outside the home.)
It was learn to cook or starve. I could read and follow directions, so how hard could it be? I put on my Work Smarter, Not Harder, hat so that I could be in and out of the kitchen in the minimum amount of time but still have something worth eating to show for it. Thus began my 25+ year love affair with the Crock Pot.
How do I love thee? Let me cook the ways.
The one I have now looks pretty much like this one - stainless, natch - which I was kind of sorry to see available online for $9 because I paid three times that for mine new at Wally World. But since I burn through these babies pretty regularly, I will tuck that info away for next time.
I thought everybody had a Crock Pot and loved it as much as I did, until my German neighbor told me her equally German husband forbade her to use one for cooking their meals. Seems he thought all day in a pot would leach all the nutrients out of the food and render it useless as well as tasteless. And this is from someone who thinks leftover cold bratwurst and sauerkraut is just about the finest supper one could wish for.
I was stunned at this, and my neighbor was very curious to get my opinion as a Frequent User. I set her straight, believe you me. I often wonder if she bought a Crock Pot on the sly, cooked up a test meal while the hubs was at work all day, and put it in a different dish before she served it up. That's what I would have done. Or waited to use it until he was out of town. With the great sales job I put out there, I can't believe she wouldn't have been tempted to try it!
If you are a Crock Pot Virgin and are looking for just the right recipe to try it out, may I recommend Crock Pot Pot Roast. So easy!
Buy a beef roast. Inexpensive is okay. Just the right size to fit in your crock pot in a single layer without having to cut it up or fold it over. The roast goes in the bottom, straight out of the plastic wrap. No need to braise or anything unless you just want to. Don't forget to take that yucky plastic thing off the bottom of the roast before you put it in the pot.
Add a small bag of baby carrots and
3-4 potatoes, quartered.
Top with one can of French Onion Soup, undiluted - do not add any water.
That's it! Cook all day, meaning 6-8 hours. Croclk Pots very widely on how many knobs and controls they have. Some are just a simple Lo, Hi, and Off. Others have a variety of cook times. If you are able, start it on Hi and turn it down to Lo after about 2 hours. If you aren't around to turn it down, just start it on Lo and cook all day. It'll be fine.
Don't worry about it not having enough liquid. The can of soup by itself is more than enough. More liquid will be produced as it cooks.
Do Not Remove Lid during cooking process. This is not like cooking on top of the stove and lifting the lid to stir and sniff every now and then. You'll just have to be patient.
Here's the real beauty of this gadget, at least at my house. There is usually something leftover from the pot roast meal above, so it gets recycled into the next day's meal, which is Beef Vegetable Soup. Just cut up the leftovers into bite-size portions. Augment with whatever vegetables you fancy. Leftovers are fine.
I usually go with lots of colors as things just taste better if they are pretty colors. So you have your orange and brown from the carrots plus some white from the potatoes. Add green (frozen green beans are a good choice and are brighter green than canned but canned or fresh are ok. Sometimes I use okra, other canned greens, whatever is available), yellow (frozen corn), and red (can of Rotel or similar tomatoes). Add enough liquid to make it soup-like, covering the contents. Water is fine -fill up the tomato can a couple of times. Add some beef bouillon and other seasoning if you like. And that's it! Cook on low all day as there isn't anything here that needs hard-core cooking. They got that yesterday during the Pot Roast process. And when you come in and your house smells great due to something fabulous cooking all day, you will thank me and Mr./Mrs. Rival.
Here we are on the downhill side of the January 2014 NaBloPoMo challenge. I am doing pretty well with it. I have missed a day here and there (like yesterday), but not many. I find myself getting into a blogging rhythm. This month's writing prompt/theme is 'pressure', and I do feel some pressure to blog every day, as intended. It's a good pressure, though, like a great deep tissue massage right under the pointy part of the scapula, where all of us writers feel tight from being hunched over the keyboard all day.
Until now I have been 'pantsing' the topics. I abandoned the daily blog prompts relating to pressure early on, in favor of challenging myself to include the word 'pressure' in every post. Writing to topic just wasn't my thing, for two reasons. One, at the beginning of this challenge, I had lots of random ideas I wanted to riff on. Two, I found after reading the blog posts of others participating in the challenge, it gets a little dry reading posts about the same topic over and over again. This is definitely not a knock on the posts themselves. Of course they were all unique and I enjoyed reading them. But after eating soup for lunch every day this week, sometimes I feel like having a pizza, amirite?
Three weeks in, my random ideas are put to bed and it's time to grow up, stop pantsing and start planning. Some time ago I saw some posts about editorial calendars for blogging and loved the Type A linear discipline of them. Here's a link to one of the articles by Mike Stelzner. I don't know about you, but these suggestions are a little too high powered, and frankly, pricey, for me at this point in my blogging career. This second article by Andreea Ayers is a little more my speed. It's good advice that will cost nothing but your time.
So today, having an unexpected morning off, I am going to town on my editorial calendar. Look for a first draft of it in a future blog post.
Anyone who has traveled with a cat will tell you this is not an easy task. Cats hate transportation, regardless of type or duration. Whether it is across town to the vet's office or across the country is immaterial. As a veteran of several long-distance moves with small children and pets, I have acquired a few handy travel tips. They have come to me one by one, usually resulting from some sort of traumatic experience.
#1. Cats Understand English.
Our most recent feline considered herself lucky, because that was her name (ha!). Risking a gross understatement, I must say Lucky did not travel well. At first mention - not sight, mention - of the cat carrier, or the kennel, or the vet, she bolted and hid under a bed. Then we began our little game called Cat Trap. To play this game requires a long-handled item, such as a broom or a full-size umbrella (in the 'down' position). An additional player is nice, but not necessary. Begin the game by selecting any room in the house that has a door. Inspect the room carefully for your cat. Pay special attention to their usual hiding places, such as under the bed, behind the clothes in the closet, behind the curtains, and so on. Once the room is declared 'cat-free', close the door and move on to another room. Continue until said cat is located. If you have played this game correctly, you will be able to ambush the cat before it streaks off to a new hiding place, as all the good hiding places are now inaccessible. The broom or umbrella comes in handy if your cat likes to hide under the bed, smack-dab in the middle. It is useful for 'encouraging' your cat to emerge. Careful! This is a tool of persuasion, not an instrument of torture.
#2. Cats Do Not Travel Well.
The trusty pet carrier by no means insures a safe and worry-free trip. We learned this lesson when we moved from Toledo to Kansas City, our first move with Lucky. We weren't even out of Lucas County before Lucky started yowling her head off in her carrier. Thinking we could remedy the situation, we let her out of the carrier. She promptly did some extraordinarily nasty "business" on my husband's brand new jacket. That was our signal to pull over for a rest stop and exercise the animals (I know, I know - too little, too late).
#3. Cats Have Little Regard For Leashes.
We were feeling confident about a rest stop for the animals, because we had Lucky on a leash. If you have never seen a cat on a leash, you are in for a treat. Your eyes take in the leash and send the "leash" signal to the brain; but when your eyes get to the end of the leash and send the "cat" signal to the brain, the brain rebels. A cat??? That's supposed to be a dog!! Adding to this surrealism, Lucky developed a curious limping gait while so ensnared, as if trying to extricate herself from the leash one limb at a time. Her problem was solved by a jolt of the cat equivalent of adrenaline.
Once out of the car, our chocolate lab, Coco, did the Doggy Celebration Dance in her excitement to be free for a few minutes. Leaping and twisting in glee, Coco bounded over to encourage us to join her canine freedom frenzy. Already frazzled by her imprisonment in the carrier, Lucky freaked. She bolted, and before you could say “That Darned Cat!” we were all running around some park in Ohio, at dusk, looking for a perfectly camouflaged tabby/tortoiseshell cat. Thank goodness, the fuschia leash stayed attached to her somehow. My husband finally ran her down - literally! - by stepping on the end of the leash. After much huffing and puffing, we got her back to the safety of the car. Needless to say, she was not allowed out of her carrier for the rest of the trip.
#4. See #3.
Keeping this in mind and wishing desperately to avoid a repeat, we made careful plans before moving from Kansas City to St. Paul one August day two years later. We upgraded the leash to a HARNESS and piled into the car. The process of strapping it on the cat went something like a fitting a space suit on an astronaut. First rest stop, not even out of Missouri yet, and it was Lucky Escapes: Part II. Everything was going well, until our good friend Coco reprised her Doggy Celebration Dance. Lucky about strangled herself and half dislocated a shoulder doing a Houdini out of that new harness. The "escape-proof" contraption dangled loosely from my hand, mocking me. Lucky took off at light speed, heading for the thicket at the edge of the park area. At least it was broad daylight and we could see her a little more easily.
#5. Cats Have A Finely Tuned Sense Of Revenge.
My daughter was was borderline hysterical, wandering the perimeter of the thicket in a trance. My son was trying to be helpful. This consisted of him standing around calling, "Lucky, Lucky". You all know how most cats come a'running when you call their name . . .
I drew jungle duty: climbing the barbed wire fence, smashing down the waist-high weeds, and fighting off the mosquitoes. Every step produced a plume of golden pollen so thick, my clothes were covered in it. Wicked marble-sized stickers blanketed my socks and the laces on my sneakers; one ripped a gash in my bare upper arm. Every now and then one of us would spy Lucky, creeping along in the thick underbrush. "There she is!" one of us would shout. "Over there! Just ahead of you. Stay there, cut her off . . . dang it, there she goes!" and so on. It was 20 minutes of pure fun. At one point, I made the mistake of saying what I was thinking out loud. I didn't realize my son was within earshot. He said, "Gee, Mom, I never heard you say THAT word before. Only Dad."
#6. Cats Are Weird.
It didn't take long for me to have my fill of this. I told my daughter to forget about the (expletive deleted) cat. It was hot, I was filthy and sweaty and tired, and we needed to get back on the road. She was devastated about leaving her poor cat, but I was fed up. As I headed back toward the car, I glanced to my right, and there Lucky sat. The little devil was curled up under a dirt overhang, obscured by a tangle of exposed tree roots. She was looking right at me, still as a statue. I called to the kids to circle the wagons, made my way over to her very carefully, and picked her up just as if she was sitting on the sofa at home. All I can figure is she must have been scared stiff. I am just thankful she didn't have the courage or the spirit to run away again.
Time has passed. We are pet-free for now. But that doesn't mean the cat stories have come to an end. Quite the opposite! The family tradition has been passed on to my children. They're all grown up, with cats and cross-country moves of their own, and plenty of tales to go along with them.
When Chloe hears activity in the kitchen
game requires a long-handled item, such as a broom or a full-size umbrella (in the 'down' position). An additional player is nice, but not necessary. Begin the game by selecting any room in the house that has a door. Inspect the room carefully for your cat. Pay special attention to their usual hiding places, such as under the bed, behind the clothes in the closet, behind the curtains, and so on. Once the room is declared 'cat-free', close the door and move on to another room. Continue until said cat is located. If you have played this game correctly, you will be able to ambush the cat before it streaks off to a new hiding place, as all the good hiding places are now inaccessible. The broom or umbrella comes in handy if your cat likes to hide under the bed, smack-dab in the middle. It is useful for 'encouraging' your cat to emerge. Careful! This is a tool of persuasion, not an instrument of torture.
the (expletive deleted) cat. It was hot, I was filthy and sweaty and tired, and we needed to get back on the road. She was devastated about leaving her poor cat, but I was fed up. As I headed back toward the car, I glanced to my right, and there Lucky sat. The little devil was curled up under a dirt overhang, obscured by a tangle of exposed tree roots. She was looking right at me, still as a statue. I called to the kids to circle the wagons, made my way over to her very carefully, and picked her up just as if she was sitting on the sofa at home. All I can figure is she must have been scared stiff. I am just thankful she didn't have the courage or the spirit to run away again.