Cluck and Tweet

How To Pretend It's Warm Outside

I love today and all its seemingly-warm-sunniness. The light coming through the windows is a punch in the shoulder of endorphins.

And I don't even know what that means.

It sure should feel warmer when you step outside than it does today.  It doesn't.  So I'm forced to read Islands magazine in the dentist's office and play this song incessantly.  

 

It makes me happy. And if I crank up the heat to a balmy 67 degrees, I almost feel warm.

I Don't Like Mushrooms. Except Like This.

 

This is one of my family's favorite meals.  Except for Jimmie.  Subtract the mushrooms.  And the sauce.  And the sausage.  And the broccoli.  And add a pound of butter.  Voila!  Jimmie's favorite meal.

But I digress.

And don't forget the parmesan cheese.

But I'm getting distracted. Blame it on my age.  Or hormones, because those guys are great for taking the responsibility for my actions off my sloping shoulders. 

We, however, love this meal, brought to you mainly by the kind manufacturers of portabella mushroom sausage.  You could, however, use another sausage.  I'm not being paid by Chef Bruce, or even being sent free samples of their products, so you're not being disloyal.  I'll let you know if that status changes.  

First, take sliced portabellas and saute with garlic and olive oil. We like LOTS of garlic.  So throw in a lot of garlic.  And then some more. That's how much we like garlic.  We are seldom bothered by vampires, which is a little added bonus.

While these are cooking, slice up the sausage.  Sam likes them thinly sliced.  I'm lazy, so I just slice them quickly and haphazardly.  And guess what?  They still taste the same.

Meanwhile, back at the castle, start cooking the noodles.  Any kind of noodles will do.  Jimmie happens to favor the very gourmet-style bow tie noodles, which I find happen to add a bit of whimsy to dinner. And every dinner needs a bit of whimsy.  

Oops!  That's not a picture of bow tie noodles!  They were absent for picture day, so I have substituted rombi noodles, which, if you're a homeschooler, now would be a good time to insert a little geometry/math lesson on what rombi pasta is shaped like (a rhombus!).  You will amaze your friends and neighbors with your knowledge and annoy your children with your ability to make everything a teachable moment.  Win-Win, I say!

Using either bullion and water or prepared chicken broth, add to the mushrooms and thicken with a little flour or corn starch.  I like to shake up some of the broth with flour in a jar and then add to the mixture when boiling.  Then I stir until the sauce has thickened, adding more flour if needed.

Add the sausage to the mushroom sauce.

Serve over noodles.

 

And top with parmesan cheese.  Because everything is better with parmesan cheese on it.  

Except ice cream.

Scaredy Cat

An airplane makes no sense to me.  It's a heavy metal missile held together by duct tape, for all I know, and very, very heavy, which seems fine when it's on the ground, but up in the air it's about as reasonable as me flapping my arms and achieving lift off. Unfortunately, in order to travel to where I want to go, I must occasionally ignore all of this, avoid anything in the news that is vaguely related to airplanes, and climb aboard for a destination that is not readily accessible by foot or car.  

I know of a woman who downs a Valium with a beer before every flight and then proceeds to pass out during the trip.  Which she says works really well.  Unless the plane is delayed.  And, as we all know, planes are often delayed.  So I haven't actually tried that approach to plane travel.

My whole life I've been slightly afraid.  My mom told me not to ride the mini bike.  I wouldn't be able to control my brother's mini bike.  I might get hurt on the mini bike.  So I rode the mini bike and guess what?  I fell off.  

I've skied out west in Big Sky, Montana.  Not even on a big hill, just one of those smaller slopes that the big mountain side looks down upon like an A-list actress to an understudy.  It was all I could do to not cry, take off my skis and slide down on my butt.

Not so long ago, Sam and I invited friends over to dinner.  They brought along a video called Fire in the Sky, the supposedly true story of an alien abduction.  Okay, so it was 17 years ago. I just looked up the movie and it was released in 1993. My point, however, is that I was an adult in my later 20s. And I was deathly afraid of being abducted by aliens.  So I did what any reasonable host would do and after dinner I went into our bedroom, covered my head with a pillow and hummed loudly enough that I wouldn't hear the movie in the other room. 

The next morning I called my mom and confessed how scared I was of being abducted by aliens.  She paused for a moment and said the one thing that made me stop worrying.  She said, "Alison, why do you think they would want you?" Being the reasonable person I am, I realized from that point on that aliens really wouldn't want me. It was liberating, that realization.  

Germs scare me.

Partially hydrogenated oils scare me.  Although it's kind of fun to say. 

And yet, what's a girl to do?  I'm still going to fly.  Without Valium.  If my family wants to go out west and ski, I'm with them.  Shopping.  Mini bikes no longer hold any appeal, aliens-who-don't-want-me have ceded popularity to hot-vampires-who-don't-want-me, I wash my hands almost compulsively, and I still drink the occasional Coke. And enjoy it.

Call me what you will...scaredy cat, chicken, lilly-livered, or Nervous Nellie, you either live life or avoid it, and I'm choosing to show up, knees knocking, trying new things and going new places. 

If you don't hear from me in awhile, it's most likely I've been abducted.  Send help.