You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Family’ category.

Getting inspired for the next session.

Getting inspired for the next session.

should be the next big thing. I’m a fan. Especially  drunk yoga on the beach. Tipsy yoga just doesn’t sound right. Hammered yoga–no. But drunk yoga brings the hard sounds and the soft ones together on the beach. Not too drunk. No queasy feeling. Just loose. No mats. Just bathing suit and the sand and the ocean and a drink or two. My father used to sneak over his “funny 7Up” to the beach. You didn’t want to pick up his bottle by accident. It is hard to contemplate putting my father and yoga in the same sentence, but that is the sort of mind-altering stuff that can happen when one is at one with drunk yoga.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all and to all some dark chocolate! I am not a traditionalist, so there will be no red roses today.

An orchid for Emily

Orchids are lovely. Sadly the pot is empty now. My bad.

 

 

IMG_2168

I made it myself only in the sense that my sister Mary Eileen wove the basket and my daughter made the heart magnet. I did purchase the Pantone postcards and put them in here though!

A chocolate for my thoughts?

A chocolate or 16 from Gearharts? Sadly these are not in my possession.

Heart be still.

Heart be still. It’s a beef heart from my heart throb. 

BaconHeart

BaconHeart

Whoopie!

Make some Whoopie!

impressive, no?

impressive, no?

that's all she wrote

that’s all she wrote

It is unnerving to see how much paper has accumulated in the filing cabinets in this house. Note that I didn’t say I had accumulated the paper but the paper has accumulated. Paper makes me passive. Or feel passive. Or passive-aggressive. Sure don’t want to take ownership of much of it. Ok, so it’s not as bad as the photo, but it is utterly not empowering to go through one’s files. It makes me think I’ve been both busy and lazy simultaneously. That I have wasted my life and continue to every minute I spend purging the outdated and extraneous stuff from the damned files or reading things I find interesting in them. It’s that just putting off the inevitable ashes to ashes. It’s more like ash to trash and brain down the drain. Will my children thank me for the load I’m taking off them? That depends on whether the binders of my father’s multi-papered life outlast me. My husband just put a load of them in a container up in the attic. As heavy as it must have been, I feel lighter already. Out of sight–out of mind works so well sometimes. I much prefer it to going out of my mind

 

 

I wish I could show you what I’d like to show you on this auspicious occasion, but I can’t. Can’t even tell you why I can’t. It’s that crucial to the future of pie in Richmond. I will say that unless it’s a graham cracker crumb crust or the like, I don’t see the point of crust on and under pie. Not my thing.

Since it apparently is National Pie Day, I thought I’d be true to form for lunch and have my favorite thing–leftover homemade pizza. It also helped that we made a trio of pizza pies last night for dinner. BBQ Chicken w/ Caramelized Onions, Pesto w/ Chicken Sausage and a really good white pizza of my husband’s design with lots of stuff leftover from the other pizzas and mozzarella and such. Small pieces of the three, I swear.

Pizza Tonight Gluten free dough, FYI.

Pizza Tonight Gluten free dough, FYI.

 

In an unplanned pie day event, I ended up making a quiche. I use the ole Moosewood Cookbook recipe as my base and riff from there. It has never failed me though this one–in the oven now–certainly could. I used Swiss Cheese, sauteed onions and red pepper, added some leftover sage sausage that we had and, I’m embarrassed to say, pulled out some leftover greens from a container in the fridge and threw them on, too. I seem to recall their being a part of a meal in the not-too-distant past. Not sure what their mooshy-ness is going to add to the mess. Not to mention the mish-mash of flavors. Eggs and cheese cover a variety of mistakes.

 

So here’s the second installment of my Real Richmond gift guide from my Twitter feed. It’s a damned good list, if I do say so myself. I think it’s a good thing my children don’t follow me on any social media platforms.

Holiday Gift Guide #8 Gift certificate to a lovely #RVA B & B! Museum District B & B is near @VMFA. Maury Place &@gracemanorinn have pools!

Holiday Gift Guide #9 A membership in @falllinefarms for local-loving folks on your list. Year-round access to excess! http://ow.ly/fKTHB

Holiday Gift Guide #10 James River Park license plates for park-lovers on your list! #noDMVlinehttp://ow.ly/i/1bEls  http://ow.ly/fIa1y

Holiday Gift Guide #11 Burger bunch! Get gift certificates to@BelmontButchery @station2rva & @burgerbach for meat-lovers!

Holiday Gift Guide #12 Introduce someone to @relayfoods and give them the gift of local food & more time to themselves! http://ow.ly/fN2Tq

Holiday Gift Guide #13 French wine from @jemersonwine @Ellwoods@barrelthief + pass to French Film Festival @thebyrdrva http://ow.ly/fOAa8

Holiday Gift Guide #14 Nick’s on Broad sells the olive oil@StellasRichmond uses! Get chorizo and feta and other delicacies!

Holiday Gift Guide #15 Jewelry from Lynalise or Julia Dent at@bizarremarket at Chop Suey Books 

Holiday Gift Guide #16 #RVA =international! Gift certificates from  La Grotta Europa Stellas, Bistro Bobette, La Parisienne, etc. 

Holiday Gift Guide #17 @station2rva Get a Growler w/ purchase of $30 gift certificate. You don’t HAVE to give it away!

Holiday Gift Guide #18 Membership to @LewisGinter +tix to Gardenfest of Lights will put a shine to the whole year! #RVAhttp://ow.ly/gaHri

Holiday Gift Guide #19: beautiful baubles, pottery and other local#RVA delights at 43rd St. Gallery in Forest Hill.pic.twitter.com/3IXwWYMq

Rock, Paper, Scissors has never been my favorite game. I think right about now, with Sandy en route, I’d prefer the choice of Stone, Plywood, Drill Driver.

I wish….

It certainly is a mistake for a food tour person to schedule a routine colonoscopy during Restaurant Week. What a waste, so to speak.

I will be focused on food prior to and immediately after the event, but not necessarily in ways that lend themselves to blogging. I do recall that when I drove my husband home from his procedure a year or so ago, he was understandably damned hungry and thirsty as he hadn’t eaten anything much for 24 hours. He seemed much more with-it than I had expected, but still knowing he was drowsy and just a tad loopy, the idea of a drive-in food find seemed just right until I got him home. Krispy Kreme was within sight and though we had sworn off such stuff for a year by that point, I happily drove up and ordered a half-dozen (god I hope it was only a half dozen) glazed and chocolate iced donuts and some chocolate milk for him. Not at all in his usual repertoire, but what the hey. He ate one or two on the way home and I likely accompanied him in that endeavor. Once home he went promptly to bed until morning. I lounged in the vicinity of the half-full donut box for the rest of the evening, indulging now and again–just a sliver–as my famously obese grandmother used to say and not mean. (We grandchildren were mean when we would bring her a sliver of pie or cake, knowing full well she wanted much more–and would get it one way or the other.)

Hypothetically eating, of course….

The next morning, my dear husband had no recollection of the donut trip and taste, so unable to do the math, he never knew just how many donuts I ate that night. Not sure where my amnesia came from, but it was as strong a case as his. Figuring that colonoscopies ought to be rare occasions for us, we figured we’d use the every ten year event to do a food blow-out (remember the SNL ad for Colon Blow?!), pardon the phrase and eat whatever the hell we want right after. Certainly not inclined to do that just before. It’s just a tad weird that I’m planning my post-procedure food fest already and since I don’t make anything easy for my husband, I’m already thinking about more glamorous donuts than Krispy Kremes…. I suppose he can do whatever he wants since it’s unlikely I’m going to remember a damned thing. And of course, it’s just the branding any food company would hope for: just the thing for post-invasive medical procedure!

Who knew that with a name like Maureen Egan, that, if I am to believe the DNA results from a sister, I am actually 23% Scandinavian?! That explains all those Ikea pit stops. 13% Eastern European might explain my occasional sullen-ness. (It’s ok–I can stereotype almost anyone now since I’m one of them!) 52% British Isles is pretty ho-hum though had my husband’s family known I wasn’t 100% Irish, I doubt I’d have stood a chance with the guy. And then there’s the 12% Persian/Turkish/Caucasus bit that is not exactly unexpected in lieu of certain hidden family secrets that we can’t quite get into the light. Forget the U.S. being a melting pot–I’m quite the stew, myself. Methinks my husband would prefer to think of me as an exotic, Persian/Scandinavian model who’s one hell of an Irish dancer. Or I could be a Viking. Not so sexy.

I think I need a new wardrobe.

Not to over-anaylze it–squiggly, wiry, metallic and free-form.  Note the juxtapositions. (There are always juxtapositions.) Is it an Alexander Calder mobile rip-off? A caricature done in coat hangers with a nod to irony? Symbolic of Virginia hanging onto its blue state ways?  A way to avoid ironing shirts that are supposed to be no-iron but look like wrinkly crap when they come out of the dryer? The best way to showcase my cobalt blue kitchen and laundry room cabinets? A poor excuse for a blog post? You decide. My artistic output for the day.

If you read Dear Abby even rarely, you’ve come across a Pennies from Heaven anecdote. Somebody dies. Somebody who misses the dead person lives and finds a penny. Maybe the penny is from the year of the dead person’s birth, death or wedding–first kiss–last barbecue–you name it. The finder feels connected to the dead person, sure that somehow s/he put the penny there for him/her to find. Um, no comment. I’m more of a believer in Cigarette Smoke from Hell. I’m in a restaurant or an outdoor concert or walking outside any government building and the scent of cigarette smoke overcomes me. I know who that’s from, oh yeah. For some reason, Dear Abby hasn’t printed one of my charming stories.

I’m back!

Categories

Archives