World Famous Garlic and Gorgonzola Smashed Red Potatoes . . ..

. . . and equally famous, yet not as exuberantly named, smashed turnips. That's what we're bringing for Thanksgiving.

Want to know how it's done? I don't blame you.

Chop red potaters. Duh.

Rinse and all that . . .

Turnips? Well, get a *really* sharp knife to cut away all the crap . . .

. . . then chop them too.

Aw, Schleckie-pie. . .

. . . how you do chop.

Me, I was in charge of garlic.

This helped.

So did this.

Back to the turnips.

From this . . .

. . . to this?

Magic.

Oh, wait, I need to try it to make sure it's okay . . .

. . . mmmmmmmmmm.

Perfection. And evidence to the contrary, the potatoes are *not* green. I'll give you one guess about the identity of the photographer. Hint: it was not Mistah.

Oh, and what about *our* dinner, whilst we were cooking, you ask?

Oh, we're good.

back to our happy place

We're on vacation! To our very favorite happy place. Remember?

September 3, 2009

April 5, 2011

April 26, 2011

August 29, 2013

September 6, 2013

I know there are more, I know there is one with pics of mom in it! But I gots ta goooooo

xo
Jacquie

Hell no, we're not cold!

It has been an incredibly beautiful fall in San Diego. Lately it has been clear and crisp and the visibiilty is simply amazing, reminding me that there are mountians just east of here.

I knew I had to get myself and my girls outside yesterday -- it was too gorgeous to do otherwise. The beach immediately came to mind because, well, we love the beach. And my girls will get in that ocean almost year round.

So we checked to see if Jacquie and her girl were up for it, and all headed down to OB.

It was a perfect fall day, but the ocean is a tad bit cold at this time of the year. And the beach breeze can be a bit brisk too.

But don't worry, my youngest has discovered a quick warm up routine.




Yep, Head, hands and booty, all nice and warm.

Happy autumn.

Objee

 On the banks of the Mighty Thames River sits a bucolic spot . . .

The United States Coast Guard Academy . . .

. . . right here in New London, CT.

And at that beautiful campus-by-the-river, the cadets team up to play football.

This year's final game was against the MIT -- you guessed it -- Engineers.

The players have really cute, um, uniforms.

Hey wait a second, that's not a player!

But best of all, the Coast Guard Academy features Objee the Bear.

Ob-Jeeeee!

Here's the story of Objee the Bear:

More Than A Mascot...A Legacy...

The legacy of one of the most dramatic rescues in Coast Guard history is a constant reminder to Cadets of the importance of fitness, teamwork and perseverance. The long time Academy mascot, the Bear, was chosen to honor the renowned Coast Guard Cutter of the same name.

In 1897, the Revenue Cutter Bear embarked upon one of her greatest missions. After a busy summer she was heading south for the winter, and put into Seattle along the way. There she was met with the news that 8 whaling ships with 265 men aboard were trapped in the ice off Point Barrow, the northern point of Alaska. President McKinley personally asked if Bear would try a rescue dash, although no vessel had ever sailed north at that time of year. Bear accepted the challenge, and sailed north on 27 November, with a volunteer crew. She drove northward into the cold, stormy seas for many days, finally grinding to a halt in the ice at Cape Vancouver, Nelson Island. She was still 1200 miles from the whalers. Three of her officers, Lieutenants Jarvis and Bertholf and Surgeon Call voluntarily left the Bear to trek through across the ice to the whalers. Their remarkable journey took 120 days, averaging 10 miles a day. For 800 miles they drove a herd of reindeer ahead of them, to feed the trapped men. They were just in time. When the rescue party arrived with the herd of reindeer, the whalers had run out of food and were reduced to eating their boots.

Eating their boots! 800 miles with a herd of reindeer! Dramatic indeed.

And the name Objee, you ask?

Let's ask the USCGA:

From Objee - the name of the Coast Guard bear. As recently as 1984, a live bear (Objee) was kept on the Academy grounds and occasionally roamed the barracks. A bit of history: By 1926, the bear had been the Academy's mascot for sometime in honor of the Cutter Bear, which had served in the Arctic Zone for years. However, it was during this year that a Cadet by the name of Steven Evans returned from leave with a live bear cub. He somehow talked the Superintendent, Captain Hinckley, into allowing the bear to stay at the Academy. The bear was named Objee, which was short for "objectionable presence." He had many homes throughout his tenure at the Academy, but the one he spent the most time in, and his last home was the old Academy observatory next to Billard Hall. Although he did not sleep in Chase Hall, Objee was often brought into the barracks and turned loose. He showered in the cadet showers, and was even allowed to eat in the wardroom from time to time. Cadet Objee was particularly fond of visiting cadets during study hour. Apparently he lived up to his name because finally in 1984 after 27 live Objees, the tradition was ended. 

I hardly think a bear who showers in the barracks can be classified as an Objectionable Presence.

I mean, really. Just look at this guy.

There is not an objectionable bone in his adorable little ursine body.

Now if you'll excuse us, we need to mush to Alaska to save 265 lives.

Game Day

I'm sure that I've mentioned the fact that my family lives in very close proximity to Qualcomm Stadium, where the poo-poo stinky Chargers play. When we first moved to this area, the poo-poo stinky Padres played there as well, and that was a big fat pain in the bum because the thing about living close to MLB or NFL anything is TRAFFIC. Because baseball games fall all over the days of the week and times of the day, there were incidences of forgetting, which meant paying the consequence inside a car full of toddlers. Football is much easier to manage and also much more of a spectacle. Home games are pretty fun around the neighborhood, it's festive and crowded and profitable.

Yes, profitable.

Especially on a hot Sunday afternoon when the game winds down and the fans start their trek up The Hill.

The Hill is formidable, it takes just about all that Westy has in her to haul ass up that sucker, and she has an engine.

These poor fools are under the power of their own  legs. By the time they approach the top, they are sweating and thirsty. That's where these gallant guys step in:

See my boy up there doing the dirty work while his dad supervises drinks beer?

Now Dad's pulling his weight. He did all the leg works and purchasing, natch. 

Wait, what's this on his face? A smile?

Gimmee dat money

Not everyone was smiling on this day. Bill had used the elusive back gate to run down with chairs for the bev sale, and this poor bastard was soooo confused.

Duuuuuuude, where'd you go?

"Seriously, the hell?"

Those walkers were so nicely refreshed by the time they made it all the way up here to their cars, parked safely in my driveway. Profitable.

When the boys sold out and made their way back home, there were smiles all around.

And an absurdly awesome pile of cash.

All in a day's play.

A bandaid won't always fix it

Aw look at the cute photo below? Isn't it great?

Well truth be told, I hate it. I saw it posted by a friend of mine a few months ago, got pissed off, and put it on the list of things to blog about. I just saw it again tonight, and I'm taking it as a sign. Sorry everyone, I'm betting you hate this kind of post, but seriously, it gets right up in my craw. I mean, it does have a good sentiment, and I bet that whomever put it together had good intentions, but I gotta say, it brings out the deep dark defensive in me, and not only for the obvious reasons, because I've "thrown away" two marriages, but because it totally disregards the fact that the relatively current societal acceptance of divorce is often the safer, saner choice for people.

"Broken" is a big gaping hole of a word, is it not? Subjective if I've ever heard it. Broken like you had an argument and your wife went to her mother's to spend the night? Or broken like your wife cheated on you one time and has vowed to never do it again and you're both working on it? Or broken like your husband dislocated your collar bone and broke your two ribs?

1000 blessings to all of those of you who have managed to pick a mate that is lasting -- someone who makes your heart sing, and loves your children (if you have them) as much as you do, and appreciates and tolerates your individual brand of crazy. And, most importantly, has never thrown the proverbial frying pan at you. Give thanks. Offer up gratitude. Yours is a blessed life.

But to assume that sticking it out is always the best choice? It's just plain naive, isn't it? Or maybe simply self righteous?

You have no idea what other people are going through. Is it better to lock yourself in a room while your husband beats on the door and berates you in drunken rage, waking up the children?  To tough it out, so that you can claim that you stuck with it? Or is it better to get the f*uk out?

Should your friend stay with a repeatedly philandering husband for the kids' sake, even though she is dead inside, so as not to rock the boat and keep that marriage intact? I mean, what would the neighbors think?!

How does that effect the kids?

And what the hell "time" is it that is  being referred to above anyway? The time before women had a chance to make it solo? Few job prospects, the cultural stigma of divorce, her only societal identity via her father or husband?

It's 2013; barely, really --  2014 is just around the corner. This image seems quite dated to me. I get why it appeals to people. I do. Marriage isn't easy, and my guess is that even the strongest of marriages get tested by things challenging enough to break weaker marriages apart, and that is its appeal. Stand strong. Hang tough. You can do it. It's worth it.

And I bet it is, a lot of the time.

But it isn't always.

And to have this sappy photo telling me it's simple -- it pisses me off.

But then again, I'm the person who opted for the epidural, I also opt for Novocaine at the dentist. I'm not in this life so that I can claim I toughed it out the most. That would be f-ing stupid, would it not?! Because really, when it comes down to it, who cares how much you suffered other than you? I'm betting the neighbors don't really even notice.

Knit One, Pearl Two

I used to know how to crochet; I swear I did.

But the other night I found myself at my Mom's, who was making one of her world-famous Grammy Afghans for her latest client, Ms. Boogsie . . .

. . . and I did not know what the hell I was doing.

And no, neither Jamie nor Remy was part of the problem. Shush.

Mom kept trying to tell me how to do it right . . .

. . . she's the one who taught me, afterall . . .

. . . and I kept saying, "I know, Mom. I got it."

"Yeah, right. You got it."

We were watching On The Road, in the meantime. Dean Moriarty was not helping matters.

"Ellie, keep your elbow down, don't hold the crochet hook like a caveman would, and just freaking crochet."

I kid. I kid! Not about my ability; no, I do suck. It's just that Mom would never use the word freaking.

Oh, wait . . . hold on . . . I think I got it . . .

. . . crocheting so quickly we're just a blur . . .

I got it! I got it!

You're welcome, Ms. Boogsie. For the one square I crocheted.

Your left big tootsie-toe will be toasty warm.

The (early) Birthday Story

Good Morning! Sorry for pulling a Beth, I blame Beth for organizing such a rip-roaring  Sunday Funday yesterday in honor of my upcoming birthday. I have the luxury of repeating the same story/post every year on this auspicious occasion, and to me the story will never grow old. Wish I could say the same for myself. 

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Heart and Seoul

When their fourth daughter was born in 1966, my parents were pretty well settled into a place in life that they had worked hard to reach. They had purchased a house in a great neighborhood, Dad was building his surgical practice with a reliable partner and friend, and the girls were happy and healthy. It was a turbulent time for America though, in the thick of a violent mess in Vietnam. Mom and Dad were keeping an eye on things, as a physician Dad was still technically eligible for the draft until he turned 35. By the time they discovered that baby number five was on her way, he was over 34 and they thought they were home free. 

Everything started falling apart in June when Joe got a notice from the draft ordering him to active duty! He tried for deferments; he was now 34 years old with four children and the fifth on the way. We wrote to everyone right up to the President, but received the same standard replies – we need him. His orders arrived shortly thereafter – the address was APO San Francisco. I said ‘well, California will be nice,’ but Joe told me that APO San Francisco was Korea – an unaccompanied tour – we were devastated!

Why Korea? Excellent question. Korea was a United Nations Command, and there were 60,000 American troops stationed there at the time, as well as diplomats and civilian dependents, all of whom needed doctors to care for them. So naturally the Army chose a 34 year old father of 5 and shipped him over there for a 13 month tour, which was considered too short a time to transport dependent family members. 

Mom had undergone an emergency c-section with her last baby (Julie has always been the difficult one), and with her due date just 2 months later, my parents knew that the next baby would also take the front door out of mom’s prolific womb. The c-section was scheduled for August 21^st, Dad’s orders were to report to basic training on August 22^nd. But the US Army is neither heartless nor rigid; of course they extended his deployment date! They gave him three weeks. 

On September 12, 1967, Joe left for M.D. basic training in San Antonio, Texas and I was on my own. We both got through that month –probably the worst in our lives – and he came home for one week on October 10^th. We had a great week… We spent his last night alone, had a candlelight dinner after the kids were tucked in…He was off to Seattle, and then on to Korea. He called me from Seattle and that was it. 

Mom and Dad did their best to settle in to their newly massacred lives. Mom had lots of help from family and friends, Dad had 5 doctor roommates in his “hooch.” Mom and Dad sent each other audio tapes every day. Every. Day. If mom didn’t receive her tape one day, she’d haul everyone over to the post office to see if it had arrived after the postman had left to make his deliveries.

Aside: as kids, we had the scandalous pleasure of listening to some of these tapes many years later. But honestly, all that love and emotion between our parents was just plain gross.

On two distant ends of the earth, my parents were frantically searching for ways to be together. Mom wrote letters. Dad worked the system. There was housing available for dependents, but there was a strict hierarchy about who qualified, and our favorite young doc was relatively low on that totem pole. When a house did become available, first dibs went to all of the senior officers, who promptly turned it down. For them it meant prolonging their stay to two years in order to have their dependents join them, but for a career officer, this cushy 13 month “hardship tour” in Korea was preferable to any time in Vietnam. So it was a no-brainer for them to pass on the house. It was a no-brainer for mom and dad, too. Another year apart versus any length of time, together, anywhere?

It was a golden opportunity for us – Joe volunteered to extend his tour and spend the two years of service there, and for this his entire family would be brought over! This sounds easy on paper, but it took months of letters, phone calls, anticipations, disappointments, and finally I received a telegram on a Saturday morning in February telling me that that we were on our way – start getting the inoculations! I started that very day – took everyone over to Dr. Flynn, our longtime pediatrician, where he started inoculating the girls against plague, cholera, typhus – you name it!

So, mom and the girls got ready to move to Korea! The arrangements were staggering, as was the sheer volume of crap – including a Ford Station Wagon – that would be carried or shipped overseas for the duration. But there was a plan, and as complicated and exhausting as that plan was, the end result was our family, together. 

When the day finally came, it turned out that the plan was off to a rocky start. Mom and the girls were scheduled to fly from JFK to Seattle, then to Tokyo, then to Seoul. The first flight was okay, but the overseas leg had been cancelled. Instead of a 3 hour layover at Sea/Tac, they would have to be there overnight. The mob that had gathered to see them off started to strategize. It didn’t make any sense for them to go and then have to deal with taxis and motels and changes of clothes, they should spend the night at Mom’s brother’s home on Long Island and make the whole trip the next day. But Mom had hung her dreams on this departure date. She was coiffed and ready. The girls were ready. The 17 suitcases that they had begged, borrowed, and stolen were packed and ready. It was today. 

She was going.

My Mom and family were weeping, Sitoo and Uffie (Joe’s mom and sister) were weeping, Dink Brown was weeping – I was grinning from ear to ear!

A motel in Seattle? No problem for mom. A phone call at 2 am instructing mom that she had to file more civilian paperwork before heading to the base for their morning flight? Whatever. They are out of milk for her newborn, infant, toddlers, and kids on this transpacific flight? Okey doke! She could handle anything. She was on her way. 

Mom and the girls (ages: 6 months, 18 months, 4, 6, and 7… go ahead and imagine that) made lots of nice friends during these travels. For plane changes, anyone who was “helping” was allowed to pre-board with the civilians, so there were always at least ten soldiers at Mom’s beck and call. It wasn’t easy, but it was forward motion. And by the time they boarded a nearly empty flight from Tokyo to Seoul, they were home free. It was just the family and about 80 servicemen. There was a steward assigned just to help Mom. He made a bed for each girl in her own row of seats. They all slept. Mom had her first peaceful meal in days, and even caught a few winks. She was starting to breathe again. 

Suddenly, they were descending! The five girls were in their little beds, there was stuff everywhere, it was cold out and they needed jackets and they probably all had to pee….

Meanwhile, on the ground, Dad was frantic. Communication had been shoddy, he had not received word that their flight had been delayed, so he didn’t know when they were coming. He had arranged for a car and driver and a truck and driver to transport his arriving harem and their impressive amount of gear, and he spent two days driving to Kimpo airport to meet each incoming plane from Seattle/Tokyo. Twice the caravan had to turn back disappointed. On the third attempt he asked to see the manifest and there it was: Corey, Corey, Corey, Corey, Corey, and Corey. They were here!

On the plane: The rules said that the civilians had to deplane first, so the servicemen were all standing by until Mom and the girls could get themselves out the door. “Can’t he come and help me?”

On the ground: Dad was in the hanger, pleading to be allowed onto the plane, but rules are rules…

On the plane: Ellie still needed to be buttoned into her coat, they were almost ready…

On the ground: Finally, a kind-hearted lieutenant gave Dad a nod and let him on the plane…

I looked up and there was Joe – I hadn’t seen him in four months! I left Ellie to finish buttoning her coat and ran into his arms. As we were kissing, I became aware of applause – all the servicemen on the plane were standing and cheering – what a scene!

Exactly 268 days later, mom learned how to play honeymoon bridge, and spent the whole day doing just that with her doctor at Seoul Military Hospital, while the big girls were at school and the little ones played at home in the pink stucco duplex by the golf course. Mom was Dr. Jordan’s only patient, and both were hoping that the pitocin would successfully jump start labor so this baby could be born “naturally”. When there was no progress by 7:00 that night, my parents’ sixth daughter was born via c-section (mom’s third in as many years) on November 19, 1968.

But could someone please check that math? I’m way too young to be forty. 

Our two year stay in Seoul was a wonderful family time, made even more wonderful because after all those lonely months, we were all together. Jacquie was quite an attraction in Seoul with her blue eyes and blonde curls – people would literally stand and stare at her wherever we went. We had to go to the embassy in Seoul and renounce her Korean citizenship on her behalf before we left Korea.

Thanks for that, mom and dad. And for being enamored and tenacious enough to live out this story. I couldn’t have done it without you!

Oh how I love Fridays

I was going to re-post an old post of mine today. I've been enjoying Jacquie's throwbacks, so was going to copy her. (Imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?) But, when I tried her method of searching for the same date in years' past, all I came up with were good posts of hers!

I found nothing worthy of my own.  (I am now busily reassuring myself that I must be good at something else?)

However, my bruised ego aside, I did find this old weekend 3-way from October of 2011. I thought it might give you a laugh, and tide you over until Friday night happy hour.  (Hey, that's it - happy hours! I'm good at those!)

TGIF!

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Weekend 3-Way: Oh How I Love . . .

Oh, how I love a good bartender.

Oh how I love a nice glass of wine

Oh how I love a good vending machine