A hearty salad

I rarely make salads for dinner, although I usually enjoy them. I'm just afraid that it won't be enough food. Saturday we had a late lunch at Vallarta's and I figured I would make a salad for a late dinner, but I wanted something that would be hearty enough that we wouldn't be hungry 30 minutes later.

So I made this salad:

Fantastic!

Yummy Hearty Salad (or you can rename it for me)

• 1 bag of salad greens (can you tell I was lazy?)


• 1 small yellow onion, roughly chopped


• 5 slices bacon (I use center cut, it's not quite as greasy), roughly chopped


• 8 oz shell macaroni


• 1/2 pint grape tomatoes, halved


• 1/2 pint sliced baby bella mushrooms


• 2 hard boiled eggs, roughly chopped


• crumbled gorgonzola cheese

Cook macaroni as directed. While shells are boiling, saute onion until caramelized. Remove from pan and cook bacon in same pan until fully cooked but not crispy. Add onion back in, drain pasta and add it to the onion and bacon, combine fully. Put in bottom of a deep salad bowl and let cool. Once mostly cooled (slightly warm is good), add the rest of the ingredients, combine completely. Feeds two with leftovers.

Pieces of Georgia

I have no reason to disregard Pieces of Georgia, which I also obtained on my Random House adventure. It was a darling little book, although it reminded me of Dear Mr. Henshaw by Beverly Cleary. I read it on the train from NY to Philly while Becky slept off the weekend (I don't nap.). I don't know that I'll read it again, but it was very cute (not really the right word, but I'm at a loss for adjectives today). It's diary style, written by a young girl whose mother has died and she needs a woman's perspective on her life. I would recommend it, but I wouldn't say definitely go out and buy this book now. If you see it around and have a little time (it's a light read), I would suggest it.

Maybe a miracle

I am a compulsive reader. Some of you know this, I am sure. The best thing for me has been that Hillsborough opened a new library branch less than 5 minutes from my house to which I now go once every three weeks, filling a bag with books to devour.

This book did not come from there. This book came directly from Random House. My dearest lovely friend Autumn works for Random House as an editorial assistant (I believe, don't quote me) and I got a quick tour of the building while in New York. The best part was on the second floor where they keep the overstock of books for anybody's consumption. You can just walk down and pick up a book or three to take back with you to read on the train, or plane, or even automobile as long as you aren't driving (or like me, you're sitting at a long red light). Autumn said, "Take what you want." And I was good; I could have thrown 10 in my bag but instead I chose two to make my trip home with me. Maybe a Miracle, by Brian Strause, and Pieces of Georgia by Jen Bryant.

I'm not great at reviewing. I don't like to tell you the story; I don't like to tell you what I liked or didn't like about a book. I feel about books like I feel about poetry -- it should be about how it makes you feel. A beloved book, to me, is like an old friend that you can read several times and every time feel that warmth about the words. It draws you in, and every time you can find something new to love.

Maybe a Miracle might be one of those books that I'll be able to go back to and find something new that I loved. It was a fantastic book. There was a cynicism of faith, but it still let you make your own decisions about how you felt about faith. Whether you are an avid Christian, a serious atheist, or somewhere in between, I didn't feel it alienated any path. It made it up to you to believe what you wanted about what happened to the characters, and for what reasons those happenings occurred. It was a beautiful novel.

But as the consummate editor, I have to say if it is in you to do so, stop reading before Chapter 42. If anything, don't read the epilogue. The writer shouldn't have written it anyhow. It's like in Invisible Monsters, by Chuck Palahniuk. It should have ended when you find out "whodunnit". The rest of it just gravy - it doesn't matter, and waters down the end.

No amount of preparation

This is an update picture on his lip, and the spot under his eye was Sunday's casualty.

My little man is a toddler. This shouldn't come as a surprise to me, but he was such a low-maintenance baby that I was taken aback by his sudden mood swings. I don't remember him crying much of ever in his first year. There was always a reason. This weekend, he became a toddler. Bah! How does one get through it?! The "terrible twos" should not start at 14 months, darn it!

Tonight he fell again, splitting the inside of his lip and bleeding so much we were afraid we needed to take him to the after-hours pediatrics place. He was 6 inches from the floor, crawling after his ball which had escaped him and he just face-planted into the patio floor. What do I do?

A bull in a china shop

You can't really see it in this picture, but Saturday morning Spencer gave himself his first bloody nose and fat lip. Thankfully, I guess, his foibles don't capture well on camera because it looks worse in real life then it does in this picture. Christen says he looks like he has a red Hitler mustache. I should be extremely glad that he doesn't really climb, because at this point he'd probably break his neck. Is there anything that can be done to keep a clumsy kid from seriously injuring himself? I don't worry as much as some mothers, whether that's right or wrong. I don't coddle him. My house is generally babyproofed. Will he grow out of this phase? And is it horrible to say that the worst thing for me is that I worry what other people will think, that they think that I did this to him?

(Unrelated, doesn't it look like he's taking the picture himself?)

the great wing debate

If there was a Quaker Steak and Lube closer to my home, I wouldn't be having this issue. Alas, the closest one is in Pinellas Park, and therefore the debate remains. Lately the hub has been suggesting Buffalo Wild Wings when he gets wing cravings because Spencer likes the mini corn dogs and he likes the tv situation. I've only had one bad experience with one, in Orlando. It was incredibly bad, both in service and in food, and management didn't care at all (and we left a 56 cent tip, as I a) can't ever not leave a tip, and b) have found that leaving a ridiculously small tip sends a bigger message than not leaving one at all ... and please don't give me the "they only make $2 an hour and you can't short the tip... I don't expect a lot to give a normal tip. If I shorted you, it means it was horrendous and I've already complained to the manager with little or no response). But we've been to the one at home a few times, and while the food has been okay and the service wasn't terrible, there's something about the place that rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's that the service isn't spectacular, maybe it's that the manager-of-a-different-race-than-my-own ignored my table three times while chatting up the table next to mine. Maybe it's that I have to keep asking for refills on my water, or that my check comes out right after my food, in a "we've done our job, now give us your money and get out" sort of way. Or that I didn't like my sauce one time and a waitress argued with me on whether it was too spicy or not.

In any event, I'm hoping to start steering my husband to Winghouse a little more often when I don't feel like making my own wings. Man, those are some tasty wings. And I've never had anything other than stellar service there. I worked in service for 8 years, and depending who you ask I might still be working there (there is the school of thought that says that every industry is service-driven). I don't ask for much, just care that I'm there.

Live from New York (or in syndication)

It turns out I didn't die of exhaustion, although one might think so because I haven't really been around. I have, but since I haven't been commenting, or posting, or really doing much of anything, I haven't left much of a footprint on anything on the web except maybe Facebook.

I love this picture. I took it in NY last weekend when I went with NPRJunky (No link because she disabled her blog). I can't believe that I'm actually good friends with people I've met online, and Becky is one of those people with whom I've bonded. She lives in Delaware, and I in Florida, but we met up in Philly and had a blast in New York City together. This picture was taken while bar-hopping with a bachelor party on Friday night, and I was trying to take the picture at the same time as catching up with the crew. It's bleary, just as I was. :)

Exhaustion

I'm stretching myself far too thin this week, and I wonder if you can die from lack of sleep. Certainly it makes your eyes dry up so your contacts stick. Blah.