Too Delish Not to Share, Part I

I've been stretching my culinary muscles as of late, and I have some killer recipes to post. Though, for fear that I have nothing to post later and because I'm a fervent control freak, I am going to allocate my recipes one at a time ....


Before I moved to Hawaii, my mother gifted me with a subscription to Taste of Home magazine. Since as long as I can remember, we've loved cooking together. In the summer, especially, Mom and I would peruse through recipe magazines in the grocery store and find new and interesting combinations to try in our own kitchen. Probably my favorite investment Mom ever made in the recipe realm was The Taste of Home's Big Book of Soup, though that is for another post entirely and to be honest, I'm sitting here typing on my computer and sweating profusely so I don't want to talk about soup right now.


Anyway, aside from Taste of Home sending me fake bills saying I need to pay for the subscription my mother already bought for me, I love this magazine. I found, in their most recent issue, a recipe for Spinach Penne salad. Nick and I have completely been on a salad kick. Our apartment bakes in the Hawaiian afternoon sun, and even by the time the Army finally allows Nick to go home and our body's are telling us we're famished, it hasn't cooled off yet. That said, we've found it absolutely repulsive to sweat while we eat, so we stick to the coolest meals we can possibly find-- and those meals have mainly been salads.


How much can you vary leafy greens so they don't make you gag every night for three weeks straight? Just ask the editors of Taste of Home.


DISCLAIMER: I have my own, vague measurement system since I size everything down to feed only two people. One of the last issues of ToH provided recipes to serve TWELVE humans.

Spinach Penne Salad

Whole wheat penne pasta, cooked, rinsed and cooled in fridge

Fresh baby spinach, chopped into bite sizes

Parm Cheese

EVOO (1/3 cup)

Red Wine Vinegar (3-4 splashes)

Sm squirt of yellow mustard

oregano

garlic powder

salt + pepper

goat cheese

onions

banana peppers

black olives

In a mixing bowl, combine spinach, penne, onions, banana peppers, black olives. Set aside.

In small bowl, add EVOO, parm cheese, vinegar, mustard, oregano, garlic powder, salt and pepper. Mix together with a small whisk. Pour on top of spinach penne mix. Toss together. Add more EVOO if desired. Transport to plate. Top with goat cheese. 

Makes 1 serving. 

Repeat process for additional servings. 


DISCLAIMER #2: Photo credit goes to Taste of Home magazine; the final product I created looked nothing like that.

Back to it

... It's just that expectations are too high. 

That's my answer. 

I assumed, already, that you asked me why I haven't posted in so long. My answer is that expectations are too high. Last time I re-visited my blog, I emerged with a kick-ass post about combatting writer's block. Then I crafted more ramblings about a day in the life of a twenty-something year old living in Hawaii while her husband was off galavanting with his guys on a camping trip (army training exercise).  That post was inherently awesome simply because I wrote about Hawaii. 

So expectations are too high. Every time I've mustered the courage to consider blogging again, I fail. I suppose fervently that I lack the confidence to compose such subsequent stellar posts that I refuse to even try...

No, that's bullshit. It's been one hell of a crazy few weeks! Nick arrived back from his galavanting trip early! The Next Visitor, Michael P. Karpinski, arrived exhausted on a plane eight days later. I started teaching my summer course at the college. We fucking MOVED. There was more touristy stuff -- waterfalls, hiking, beaches, more beaches. Then Michael left, we reset, and damnit! When I have found a free moment, I've been reading this absolutely hysterical novel with no literary value, and I've ditched the blog thing (title to follow in later post. I have to save material to write about!). 

Truly and honestly, though, I've promised myself that as an exercise in writing, I would sit my happy ass down in front of the computer every morning before I leave for work and post something. I plan to begin this tomorrow. I hope I create more than 4 posts for this month, though I make no promises since our next guest, Miss Beth Cutia, arrives on island in three days. 

Anyway, there is my lame excuse! Expectations are cracked; I'm back to it hopefully for a while at least. 

Cheers fellow bloggers!

Purpose from Pointlessness

I think part of the reason that I accumulate so many drafted, unpublished blog entries is because they're pointless.
I don't mean that it a self-deprecating way. I mean that earnestly. 
After all, I am a daughter of two teachers and a novice writing teacher myself. I grew up with my father, pointer and thumb fingers poised, sincerely asking me to question my own intent -- this transcended writing, of course, and bled into my actions and interactions with others. Moreover, I can't even give you an educated guess as to how many times I scribbled in the margins of a student's paper: "What is your intent here?"
Sure, perhaps a stroll around the neighborhood with Hobbes or a car ride home or an NPR segment prompts initial ideas; small brain children that could develop into something worth publishing for god-knows who reads this blog. But most often, my original purpose trickles through the hollow words of a tangential story, some back information I have to explain first before my intended point can be made. Alas, I slip into a tangential abyss and embarrassingly enough, even I cannot remember the path back up to my original thoughts. Or maybe the path is too far. The writing merely a personal exercise, abandoned and incomplete.


As such, I heed warning to you now. I'm not sure if this particular entry has a meaningful point, beyond, of course, the shallow attempt to articular life as I know it (or think I know it). 


If I could slip today into a film, it would play back for you in a romanticized glow fraying the edges of the scene...


Lately, I have been yearning for life back on the East coast. I want a Main Street. I want quaint shops in old buildings. I want coffee in a porcelain mug and a bookstore filled with musty, old books. I want to park in one spot for free and walk to different businesses to take care of my errands. I want un-chained restaurants. I want.. I want... I want.
So this morning, I woke with the intent to placate my wants. I wasn't going to find exactly want I needed, but I had an adventurous idea:
Early this morning, I set off for 'town' (as the locals call it), otherwise known as the city, proper, of Honolulu. I had an agenda. I wanted a spiced chai latte and breakfast at this picturesque cafe, and I wanted to peruse the shelves of a bookstore, which I agreed would be Barnes and Noble because there is no small business competitor. 
I called a couple of friends from Honolulu, and they met me at this cafe. It's brilliant and quaint, a nook in the middle of a great city that is famous for its excessive tourism and with a Starbucks literally every 150 yards. It's the kind of cafe where the menu is chalked on a blackboard in bubbly girlish handwriting, cramped together and hard to read. 
I ordered scrambled eggs and cheese on a bagel and a spiced chai latte. Like a true cafe, they serve their lattes in unnecessarily large coffee cups with cinnamon sprinkled on the surface for presentation. Delectable. Conversation was great. I love my friends down here. But I couldn't help but envy the woman at the table next to us. She sipped her tea and slowly picking at her omelet. We, the table next to her (or anyone for that matter), did not exist. With her terrier on her lap, she methodically turned the pages of her novel. Her party of two (oh, come on, animals are absolutely considered part of the 'party') made me wish Hobbes could endured the 45 minute drive and sit quietly on my lap as I ate breakfast and read my book (oh yeah right!).


Breakfast ended, and we parted ways. I met up with another friend of mine and we walked a good fifteen minutes to Honolulu's Barnes and Noble bookstore. Of course a B&N doesn't smell musty or have books with tattered spines or faded green covers. Their 'classic' books are in a section called 'books for school' and despite the vast variety of genre, era and style, they all display covers identical in color, font and background pattern. But a bookstore is a bookstore, and I have the desperate desire to be surrounded by books.


With much restraint, I decided to only buy five books. I purchased another copy of The Book Thief  (Markus Zusak) for my mentor at the college as a thank you for her advisement and guidance. I purchased The Descendants (Kaui Hart Hemmings), and a book (of which I cannot recall the title at the moment) by Elin Hilderbrand (please don't ask me why I remember the author and not the title). Then, I  unintentionally wandered into the children's section wherein I decided to make two unplanned purchases. First, I found a book called Goodnight Goodnight Construction Site. Given Nick's profession alone, this book is an absolute necessity for our unborn children. However, Nick and I are far, far, far, FAR from wanting children. So I purchased the book for our little Millie babies <3. It's a children's best seller, and our favorite Cortland boys will love the tractors and excavators in the story. Lastly, I purchased a book called Harris and Me by Gary Paulsen. I have never read this book. It's a "young readers" book, and I have a vivid memory of Dad and Luka laying in Luka's bed, in hysterics while reading this novel. It's probably higher on my list than the Hilderbrand novel. 


I don't remember much of the rest of my afternoon except that I shifted from a beach chair in the backyard to my lanai and finally to my couch. I am almost halfway through The Descendants and I cannot put the story down - well, except of course to compose this possible purpose-lacking post. I highly recommend this novel!
Hobbes and I did venture for a walk around dusk to watch the sun set and this infamous 'super moon' ascend into the night sky. We perched on a knoll overlooking the pond on the 18th-hole of the golf course. The sun quietly sank, and its trail of pinks and oranges puddle in the nape of the sky as the blanket of night tucked itself around the island. The moon was indeed magnificent. The trade winds made the night air very cool, even slightly chilled. Hobbes hunkered on my lap and we watched the light off the moon's face glitter across the water. 


I'm not sure why I want to write about the on-goings of this May day; perhaps I simply wanted to play with my sentences in an effort to capture the snapshots of the romanticism of the cafe, the bookstore and the hushed sunset juxtaposed to the vociferous moon. Maybe I'm just engaging in a writing exercise for my own pleasure, to archive a day in Hawaii in my twenties.
Without relinquishing my efforts or censoring my thoughts, I present to you my postulations for today. :)

Inner Beauty

Honest Comes But Once a Year

My dear friend and biggest blog supporter composed her own blog entry this morning wherein she disclosed that today was dubbed "Honesty Day", probably by the same people who authorize things like National Raspberry Cream Pie day (8/1) or Operating Room Nurse day (11/14). I shit you not, people. These days are REAL.


So Ashley's post this morning, Honesty Day (question mark?), pointed out the obscurity of being honest just one day out of the year. 
"...I find it interesting; we live in a society that delegates a day to 'come clean.' Not yesterday, not tomorrow, but today, yes" (The Inbetween Times).
I agree with Ashley. How silly to to be honest just one day. And how honest are we talking? As Ash says: 

Now, I don't think that we need to shout from the rooftops that we were once convinced we were going to marry Zach Morris, that we pee in the shower, (because we're eco-conscious citizens and want to save water!) or that we just figured out the lyrics to Elton John's 'Tiny Dancer' (we still like ours better). (The Inbetween Times)

No. If it's National Honesty Day, it's a day to reflect. So, in the spirit of candor, I will pause this evening and be dreadfully honest with myself. Thanks Ashley! And thanks obscure Academy in the Sky that promotes such moratoriums at the end of April!

1. I am intolerantly intolerant with others, and I need to change this.

2. I need to read far more. I need to make the time to read.

3. I must approach every moment as a learn-able moment. What can I learn from the situations in which I find myself?

4. I should do one thing that scares me every week. I need to expand my comfort zone.

5. Every day, I must remind myself how fortunate I am. I neglect to remember far too often.

6. I need to be more flexible.

7. I must approach every day with fervor. 

8. I must ground myself in reality and surround myself with imagination and creativity. 

9. Sympathy and Empathy need to be at the forefront of my thoughts and actions, always.

10.  I absolutely must simplify my life.

Sunday Morning Coffee

Timeless

I know I don't know this woman. I don't who she's wearing. I'm not sure where she's sitting, although it certainly is in Paris. I couldn't tell you the date of this photo or what date it's trying to emulate. I have no idea who should be credited for this picture. 
But timeless photographs like these I want in my home. It is unparalleled poise, beauty, and art. It quietly screams adventure, culture, wonder and timeless goddess.
I want to be her. Or maybe I just want to see her. I want to know what her face looks like when she looks at the Eiffel Tower. Or, perhaps she isn't even looked at it at all. Maybe she's looking at the people on the street. Tourists, locals, ghosts of those who can't seem to leave, even if they already left. 
I wonder if she's holding a book. What book? Voltaire maybe? Alexander Dumas? Flaubert? 


Photographs are supposed to capture a thousand words, but I think they provoke a thousand questions.