Thursday, February 27, 2014

How Did You Know?

"How did you know?", she asked.

"I always know.", I responded.  And that is the truth.

When I'm being lied to, I always know.  It is a blessing and a curse.  There may be a physical "tell" that I pick up on without even realizing it.

A boyfriend lied about who he was having lunch with.  I caught him in the act of taking a new secretary to "our" favorite restaurant.

My husband lied about where he got the new stereo.  I found the receipt.  (Why Alex thinks I would be happier with "it fell off the back of a truck" than "I bought it", I'll never know.)

There are times that people close to me have told me lies and I want to pretend even to myself that they aren't lying.  Of course, I know that they are.  In most cases, it's just silly lies, but I can always tell.

I think I would have made a good cop.

This is the next to last day I'm participating in the "We Work For Cheese" 28 days of writing.  I may have missed a couple of days, but I'm not sure and I'm not lying either.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Naked and Lost

I've been naked.  I've been lost.  But I've never been naked and lost.

This is my contribution to the almost last day of "We Work For Cheese" and their 28 day writing competition.  It's weak, but the other contributors have some strong essays so check them out.

Monday, February 24, 2014

And Then She Said...

And then she said, "I'd like to tell you a story."

Isn't there always that one person?  The person who you think about unbidden over the years.

I haven't seen him for over 40 years, but sometimes I wake up in the morning and feel like he just left me. 

I met him when I was young.  The first time I saw him, I knew I was in love.  Drastically, fatally, forever and ever in love. 

Of course, I know now that kind of love is more mental illness than anything else.  Still, my blood would zing through my veins when I heard his voice on the other end of the telephone.  He was handsome, witty, charming and a surgical intern at the hospital where I was undergoing a surgical procedure.  He has a slow southern accent and very gentle hands.  I knew that what I felt for him was not what he felt for me.

We somehow managed to be an item of sorts for about 3 or 4 years.  When it ended because he met someone he fell in love with, it hurt.  Over the years, I have gone over and over what I could have done differently to have made him love me.  Hah!  The truth is, there's nothing you can do or not do to make anyone else love you.  Either they do or they don't.

As a recently divorced 24 year old woman with two children and a shaky future plan, I guess I romanticized being married to this handsome young doctor.  Life would be so grand! 

The last time I saw him, he was parking his car in the neighborhood where I lived.  I had both kids with me and my heart lurched when I saw him.  I waved hello, and watched as he helped a lovely young woman out of his car.  She smiled at me too.  I kept walking.

Yes, I've looked him up on the internet.  Of course I have.  I learned that he moved to a small mountain town near the Nevada border and was a practicing surgeon there.  Maybe a couple of times I year, I would "Google" his name.  Today, I did it for the last time.

It seems he has had his license to practice medicine revoked.  He was charged with 6 counts of "gross negligence" and lost his career.  Of course, he's in his early 70's now, so I suppose that's not really a huge surprise.

Still, I can't help but feel a real sense of closure over him.  I'm glad I'm not married to that grossly negligent asshole.

If you go to "We Work For Cheese", you can see what other people talk about with a prompt of "And Then She Said".

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Things That Make Me Go "Hmmm"

I know we all like figuring skating, but does it really belong in the Olympics as a sport?

The girls are all pretty.  They all skate pretty well and wear charming skimpy costumes.  But is this the same as being an Olympic athlete?

It seems to me that almost every time, somebody gets their nose out of joint over who wins a medal for figure skating.  The judging seems to be purely subjective.

If a race occurs, the one who wins is the one who crosses the finish line first.  With figure skating, it seems that their hair, their costume, their grace, and their make up application all get judged along with their triple axels.

Plus, in all of the other Olympic events, the winners win, the losers are good natured about it, and everybody seems okay with the outcomes.  Even if one of the judges was partial to a gorgeous Canadian hockey player, nobody really thinks that the Canadians Gold Medal win should be overturned and given to the USA team.

In figure skating, there is a whole lot of whining about the fairness or unfairness of the competition.  Let's just let the figure skaters do their own thing on the world stage and make it like a beauty pageant, "dancing with the stars", and "project runway" costume design combination show.

I actually forget what the prompt was for this post.  Sorry if I did it wrong.  But you can always go see "We Work For Cheese" for people better at following directions than I am.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

The Color Purple

What were they thinking?

My neighborhood has just taken a huge property value hit.  When you look at this house, don't you have to think that insane people must live there?

This is not an ugly house.  But to paint any house with a color scheme of purple and bright taxi-cab yellow is simply a crime.

I shudder every time I look out my window.  The outrageous color scheme makes me feel violated and violent at the same time.

The house is directly across the street from me.  I'm thinking about only going out my back door and climbing the fence to avoid looking at it.

Most of my neighbors haven not commented on the house.  Maybe I'm the only one bothered by this monstrosity. 

Or it could be that this is just a dream.

For more dreamers, check out "We Work For Cheese" to see what other contributors have to say.

Thursday, February 20, 2014


It's all turning around so fast.

No sooner was it summer then fall then winter and here it is spring again.  I'm actually getting a bit dizzy.  My flowers are blooming and it's still winter.

People are walking around in shorts and tank tops and it's only February 20th.

I'm feeling blurry around the edges.

I watched the Canadians beat the USA in Women's Hockey today.  It was weird.  There were 3 minutes left of regulation play and the USA was up 2 to Zip.  There was sort of a time warp thing happening, I'm sure.  Canada tied the game and went on to win it in overtime.  Strange.

I have never in my life followed hockey.  Now I cannot get enough of it.  I LOVE HOCKEY all at once.  I want to go to San Jose and watch the Sharks play.  I want to dye my hair red and get a tattoo.  I want to buy a tortoise.  Something is off.

There is chaos everyplace I turn.

You might want to go visit that lovely OCD girl, Nicky, at We Work For Cheese to see what she and some others think about chaos.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Nobody Will Say It Tastes Like Chicken

I first had abalone when I was about 16 years old. 

Even then, (in the good old days), it was expensive and I have no idea who paid for such an extravagance.  Although I don't remember my generous host or hostess, I will never forget the taste of that sweet tender white fish.

I have prepared abalone a couple of times as it was given to me by divers who peeled the large sea slug off the cliffs of the Marin County shoreline.  I have ordered it occasionally in restaurants but the price of the entree is usually very prohibitive (in the range of $60 - $75). 

Abalone is fairly easy to prepare, bread crumbs, egg, a cocktail sauce.  The hard part is pounding it into tender submission.  It takes quite a bit of pounding or the meat will be as tough as shoe leather which was a costly mistake I only made once.

We hosted a dinner party a couple of years ago and I served what some people would consider a poor woman's abalone.  I took boneless skinless chicken breasts and marinated them for 3 days in clam juice after I had punctured the flesh with a two tined fork.  When the day of the dinner party arrived, I pounded the breasts until they were flat.  I coated them with egg, and then bread crumbs.  Then they were placed into a pan of hot olive oil, and about 4 minutes per side.

Taking them out of the pan, I let them rest on paper towels to adsorb any excess olive oil, and then put them on a platter with lemon slices.

My guests were sure I was serving them abalone.  In fact, I had a hard time convincing them that it was actually chicken they were tasting.

At "We Work For Cheese" you will find other ideas about "it tastes like chicken" and maybe even other recipes!