The Bay Leaf

A bay leaf.

The recipe called for a bay leaf.

Problem was I had no idea what a bay leaf looked like. I had never even heard of it before. When I had run my finger down the ingredients so I could start a grocery list, I thought I had read it wrong.

A bay leaf? Surely a leaf didn’t belong in a stew...

Because that’s what I was wanting to make. A stew for the Crock Pot. It’s called Beef Bourguignon. To be honest I don’t even know how to pronounce bourguignon (ber-gun-yun?). But the picture that accompanied the recipe looked good. And plus, one of my New Year’s resolutions was to cook more. So I broke my rule of not making anything with more than five ingredients and decided to go for this. I WOULD make the stew. Well, beef bour—whatever.

I went to the grocery store in search of the elusive bay leaf. I expected to find it right away. In my mind there would be a tiny stand with the words “Get Yer Bay Leaves!” written in big black letters on a sign above it. But there was no stand.

And there was no bay leaf, apparently.

I searched and searched.

“Bay leaf, bay leaf,” I muttered. I probably looked like a crazy person. What’s that woman with the unkempt hair whispering about a bay leaf for?

I found some rosemary and thought I was getting close. Rosemary is a spice, yes? And so was a bay leaf. Right? Sort of? I pawed the area and nearly touched a turnip. Yuck. I definitely would never make something with a turnip in it.

“Bay leaf,” I said again as though I expected one to morph in front of me.

I went down another aisle. The one with all the jarred spices.

“Bay leaf.” I scanned the bottles of stuff that I’d probably never use. I marveled at all the spices. Maybe I should use more spices. I should branch out from the usual salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Sometimes if I’m feeling extra bold I’ll go for some Paprika.

“Bay leaf.”

“Huh?” An old man who had sidled up beside me was tossing me a perplexed look. Maybe he thought I was calling him a bay leaf. For all he knew, maybe it was the latest insult.

“I’m just looking for the bay leaves,” I explained with an isn’t-that-hilarious shrug.

He blinked at me as though I were an idiot. “Over there. In the jar. The spices are in alphabetical order you know.”

Were they? Oh.

“Thank you,” I said and then I spotted them.

The bay leaves.

Finally.

What do they even smell like? I shook the jar once, twice, and the old man shot me one last bewildered stare before walking off.

I also had to buy Burgundy wine for the stew. Or rather, the beef bourguignon. You know what, I’m just going to call it a stew. The other word is a pain to type out.

The thing is, I don’t drink wine. I know, weird. I do like alcoholic fruity drinks though. It took me awhile to find the Burgundy wine because I don’t drink the stuff. Oh, I found all the white wine but no Burgundy wine.

I almost gave up on the recipe. It was already starting to give me a headache and I hadn’t even started on it yet. But I refused to give up. I eventually found the Burgundy wine (by the Chianti, which made me think of that line in Silence of the Lambs which in turn gave me nightmares…)

Then I woke up this morning all prepared to make the stew. I gathered all my ingredients. The first step was to cook the bacon. I could do that.

“What you want to do first is cook the bacon,” I said, flashing a make believe camera a smile. Sometimes I like to pretend that I’m on a cooking show. Which is ironic because I can’t cook. I should be on that one show on the Food Network called Worst Cooks in America. I’d say into the camera, “And I didn’t even know what a bay leaf was for God’s sake!”

I poured the Burgundy wine in—how long does it stay good, by the way? I’d hate to have to throw the rest out. Or maybe I could knock on my neighbor’s doors and be all, “Do you like wine? You do? Then here is some leftover Burgundy wine, just for you!”



And are you curious about the bay leaf?





Aren’t they cute? These are the right bay leaves, right? I was taken aback when I saw TURKISH bay leaves. I didn't need American ones, did I?

The stew smells good so far. I'll update my Twitter and say how it turned out.

Let us pray that it's edible.

Those Mammograms

Today is Thursday. It is has not been a great day at all...but it is a day. One more day that I can relish in the fact that I am alive and breathing. I had my female exam visit today. I dread that thing so much. A few years ago, Still Magnolias was invited to sing at a Citywide Health Fair in Columbus. Being the industrial chicks that we are ...we modified a song. The lyrics are ours...the tune belonged to a song done by Linda Ronstadt, Dolly Parton, and Emmylou Harris - my heros, called Those Memories. If you have ever heard that song...imagine it...as yo using these lyrics with it. We had the OB-GYN's in stitches...literally. I hope you ladies get a kick out of our song. (BTW...you should hear our menapause rendition)....we've got a million of them.

Those Mammograms

Chorus:
Those mammograms and, Lord, those pap smears
They come around, 'least once a year
I always dread them, but my doc-tor
Says, "Girl, you bet - - - ter get in here."

Verse 1:
I close my eyes, assume the position
I hold my breath and say a prayer
I think of Paris or someplace pleasant
I'd rather be...instead of here.

Verse 2:
In my paper vest, I place it just so
On that little shelf...they mash me flat
And then that tech says, "Just one more film, dear."
If you believe that, I'll kiss your.....rear.

Last Chorus:
Those mammograms and Lord, those pap smears
They come around, 'least once a year
Although we dread them, we still must have them
So we'll be here....this time next year.

We don't have school tomorrow because they are expecting snow. Try and stay warm and have a Happy Thursday!

No Pamprin Please

“Geez, chill out. Can I get you some Pamprin or something?” Tom asked with a scowl.

What lead up to that comment?

Well, I’ll tell you.

I was getting ready to leave for my movie with my friend Amanda. We were going to see Dear John. It’s based on a Nicholas Sparks book. Have I mentioned that I love his books? Of course he tends to go for the depressing endings but I sort of like that. Sometimes I don’t need to see a couple walk off together into the sunset.

Anyhow, the movie was starting during dinnertime and I wanted to make sure Tom knew what to feed the kids. If I didn’t give him instructions he’d probably hand over a can of frosting and cheese whiz and say, “Have at it, kids.” Then I’d be stuck dealing with their sugar highs while he’d amble over to the computer and think that his job was over since I was back.

No, I’m kidding though, I think he could figure out something on his own. He’d probably grab his wallet and be all, “Who wants some McNuggets?”

“So you’ll be making Sloppy Joes,” I said to Tom, who didn’t seem to be paying much attention to me. He was stretched out on the couch watching television. This drives me crazy. How hard is it to look at me? When one converses with you, it’s polite to turn and face them.

“The meat is in the fridge,” I continued. “The buns and the can of Manwich are on the counter. Okay? Okay Tom?”

Nothing.

“It drives me crazy when you don’t ACKNOWLEDGE me,” I said. I was half tempted to hurl my purse at his bald head. “You’re watching Wonder Pets, how stimulating can it be? A chick, turtle, and guinea pig are saving a zebra. In what universe does that make sense?”

Tom scratched his arm. “I heard you about the dinner. I’m not stupid.” Well, okay, I know that but sometimes I’ve been known to question his intelligence. I mean, he forgot to delete his search history once and I really wanted to know that he was browsing the web for ‘Katie Holmes nude.’ (I got him back by leaving up ‘Lorena Bobbit story’ in my search, don’t worry.)

“I just like to be acknowledged. Okay? OKAY?” Tom was back to watching the TV. Maybe he was concerned for the zebra’s safety, who knows.

“When Tommy gets home from school you’ll need to get him a snack. Okay? OKAY?” Seriously, I should have hurled the purse at him. “If you could just LOOK AT ME I WOULDN’T HAVE TO STAND HERE SHOUTING!”

That’s when Tom uttered the words. “Geez, chill out. Can I get you some Pamprin or something?” He named the PMS medicine that I’ve been known to take. It’s mainly for my headaches and bloating but on the box it says something about helping with the irritability too.

“I’m going to go,” I said to Tom.

Natalie rushed over and attached herself to my leg.

“Stay here,” she begged.

I picked her up and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to a movie. I’ll be back later.” Then I deposited her on Tom’s lap and ran out of the house. Trust me, it’s easier that way. The longer I stay, the harder Natalie takes it.

At the theater I got my popcorn with butter and salt. It was like a heart attack in a bag but so good. The movie was entertaining. I was distracted at first because there was a father with an autistic son in the movie. He looked really familiar and I kept going, “Who is he? What has he been in?” I seriously HAVE to figure out the answer or else I remain distracted. But then it hit me…

He played the kid in ET! Elliot! And the brother in Legends of the Fall who got shot and died. (Sobs!)

I was able to relax and enjoy after I figured it out.

They changed the ending in the movie. That’s all I’ll say so I won’t give anything away. This sort of annoyed me a bit. Can’t they just keep book endings?

It was nice to get out though. When I got home I said to Tom, “Say something romantic to me,” because the guy in the movie was pretty romantic.

Tom replied, “I filled up the ice tray.”

I’ll take it.

Inside Natalie's Closet..

It's no secret that I love to buy clothes for my kids.

So I've decided to start a post called Inside Natalie's Closet.

In this entry Natalie will be sporting an outfit from Gap's Miss Mod line.

"Natalie, do you want to do a fashion show?"



She was in the middle of singing. Yes, it was as loud as it looks. The entire neighborhood got to hear Natalie's rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

"Say cheese!"



She's all, "What is this cheese business?"

So I started dancing around, singing creepy Yo Gabba Gabba songs...



She's all, "Mommy is a dork!"

I started doing the robot for her.



She was amused at first...

But then...



"WTF?"

I started doing funny moves again. I think if more photographers in Wal-Mart or Sears began to just get jiggy with it, they'd have easier success with kids smiling.





Yes, the hat is a little big but you know how much I love matching hats with outfits.

Natalie started to sing again:



And then she pulled a John Mayer...




This segment of Inside Natalie's Closet is guest starring Tommy...dressed in a shirt from Gymboree.

Word for Wednesday

I had a student a few years ago, funny that I should think of her now, who wrote a research paper for me. The paper used the word loquacious fifteen times. I knew this student well....and also knew that this word was not part of her daily vocabulary and felt that a wee bit of plagiarism may have occurred. I did not want to embarrass the student and wanted so much to be wrong...so I called her up and asked her what loquacious meant. Her answer was a killer...in her minds eye....loquacious was a deadly discease(it is not even a noun....it is an adjective! Griefus). I nearly spewed a mouth full of coffee on the poor child. Needless to say...she will never forget what loquacious truly means. Funny thing is....this child WAS loquacious. She spent several days in my detention for nonstop talking...and a few in administrative detention for the same. I think she probably talked in her sleep. I found a picture of her last night and so I thought today I would give you a Weds. Word...the word is lo·qua·cious. The pronunciation: \lō-ˈkwā-shəs\ It functions as an adjective. According to it's etymology it is from the Latin loquac-, loquax, from loqui to speak. According to Merrium/Webster is means; 1 : full of excessive talk : wordy. 2 : given to fluent or excessive talk : garrulous.
synonyms see talkative
— lo·qua·cious·ly adverb
— lo·qua·cious·ness noun
I personally think it is a funny word. It trips off your tongue and makes my nose buzz. Happy Wednesday...and don't be afraid to use your loquaciousness and leave me a comment!

Hey, It's Okay!

Glamour has this bit in their magazine titled “Hey, It’s Okay…” and then lists a bunch of stuff to be okay about. I decided to steal this idea and make a blog entry out of it. So here we go..


Hey, it’s okay...


...to be a little afraid of the people who wear shirts that say “I do whatever the voices inside my head tell me to.”


...to briefly contemplate selling your children after a disastrous day.


...to think that the newest Bachelor Jake is attractive but a bit of a drama whore who probably should see a psychologist.


...to not understand the popularity of Jersey Shore and the chick called Snoopy. Or is it Snooki? Snoopy? Snooki? Sneaky?


...to prefer shopping for your children over yourself.


...to curse the people who refuse to use their turn signal while driving. I mean, how hard is it to flick your wrist and let other vehicles know of your intentions?


...to purposefully misplace your daughter’s copy of Snow White because you can’t stand to watch another minute of that ditz singing.


...to not understand what the CRAP is going on in the show Lost to the point where you can’t even join in on conversations about it because all you have to offer is, “Can you believe that giant smoke monster thing?”


...to wonder if the guy who plays DJ Lance on Yo Gabba Gabba ever thinks to himself, “THIS is what I do for a living?” but then realize that he probably laughs all the way to the bank.


...to wonder what your combined name with your husband would be if you were a celebrity (for the record, mine would be TomBer.)

God Moments

“Do we human beings truly realize life while they live it – every, every minute?” asks Emily, a young woman in Thorton Wilder’s play Our Town. In the play Emily dies in childbirth but is granted a unique experience: the Stage Manager allows her to return from death and live one day of her life with her family. And filled with high hopes for that day, she is disappointed. Just before she returns to her place in the cemetery, she reveals her frustration to the Stage Manager: Emily: “We don’t have time to look at one another. (She breaks down sobbing.) I didn’t realize. All that was going on and we never noticed…. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it – every, every minute?” The Stage Manager: “No. (pauses) The saints and poets, maybe, they do some.” (Wilder, Our Town, 100) Poets and artists need to pay attention to this stuff so they will have insights to call the rest of us to attention. Poets/artists must take time to penetrate beneath the surface of things – to rediscover the meaning of love and perceive the impact of reality on personal lives. We don't typically experience such moments unless they are very special times. We live in such demanding times...to be totally honest. Our whole lives are full of busyness. We are entirely too busy! We’ve places to go, people to meet, meetings galore. Our families demand time, and lots and lots of energy. We have a list of books to read, exercise classes to attend, and houses begging for attention. We promise to do things for the church, or the schoo,l or the neighborhood watch association, and in frustration we throw up our hands and call at the last minute and say, “I can’t make it.” So, ask yourself right now... “Why am I doing all of this activity? Where am I going?” or you may find that you can pray while jogging or doing pilates, but the busyness does my prayer and meditation life no good. I confess the busier I am the less I pray. I need those quiet moments for reflection, prayer, and thought – moments for insight and revelation. I need God Moments....and in order for me to get them....I make choices everyday. I can have a God Moment by getting up at 5 when Frank goes to work...or I can deprive myself of that moment...by sleeping til 6. The choice is mine. Today I chose to sleep...and have a crick in my neck. Tomorrow....tomorrow I will definitely make the other choice.