Note to self: Restock ‘blog ideas’ file

My “blog ideas” file isn’t helping me today.

It’s a tickler file of things to write about when nothing better happens in my day beyond vacuuming two flights of steps, washing the bed sheets and enjoying Chinese food for lunch (how’s that for scintillating?).

I mean, I made a whole blog post out of the dog’s bi-monthly visit to the groomer yesterday, but that’s a stretch two days in a row (I created that entire post, by the way, pictures and all, on my cell phone, which is a pretty cool statement about the ease of use of the WordPress app on iPhone).

Back to today’s topic at hand. Which, according to my “blog ideas” file, could be:

• Something pithy about résumés from my Daily Dictionary of Corporate Bullshit calendar. My résumé is not my friend right now.
• A humorous take on George Takei’s work with Social Security, except I already covered that ground back in November (read it here), and it was neither humorous nor space age.
• A rant beginning with “the problem with stupid people.” The four points I jotted down read like my 3 a.m. bedside notes on my bad dreams so I risk being the problem instead of solving it.
• A personal comparison to a stat I found in the Chicago Tribune back when I was subscribing to the paper version. Apparently, an average American woman owns 17 pairs of shoes, which seems woefully underestimated to me.
• Something sad about an errantly filed receipt for livingroom curtains. How many of my other files are hiding such ephemera?

So, I got nothin’ for ya today. Not even two cents on the Secret Service scandal, which holds no excitement for me, or the newly repaired generator on the 1983 Pace Arrow, about which my Beloved seems inordinately excited.

Since you’ve followed me through this pointless labyrinth, allow me to leave you with a blessing: Since inspiration is not with me, at least let there be peace with you.

Spring chores

It’s almost unbelievable, but my Beloved mowed the lawn today.

It’s not the “Beloved mowed” part that’s unbelievable — it’s the “mowed the lawn today” on March 22 that amazes me.

We’ve been enjoying 80-degree temperatures this week, and I’ve been feeling lucky. Not lucky in a cartoonish sloppy St. Patrick’s Day way, but lucky like I’m blessed.

The roads into downtown this morning were clear and dry. The sunshine beckoned me to dine outside at lunch. My coffee this afternoon was iced, not hot.

Wow. I know this is rare, record-breaking weather. And I know this is northern Illinois and Jack Frost may be waiting around the corner. And I know it might mean weeks of sweltering 90-degree temps in July or some other revenge from Mother Nature.

But like a housewife in need of a manicure, I’m soaking in it.

That reminds me. I need to pay a visit to the salon post haste before I can break out the sandals. My Christmas pedicure isn’t holding up so great.

The recipe for a perfectly grilled steak

There’s a wrong way to cook a steak, a right way and the perfect way.

I enjoyed a steak grilled perfectly last night, and it was the most sublime hunk of beef in which I’ve ever indulged.

The wrong way to cook a steak is to overcook it. I don’t know why anyone eats beef cooked well done. If you don’t like blood, order a hamburger and save yourself and the chef the trouble.

The right way to cook a steak requires high heat, probably a meat thermometer and the patience to let the meat rest. For the right way to pan-sear a rib eye, check out Alton Brown’s recipe here.

My Beloved prefers grilling meat to other cooking methods, and he makes such a fabulous steak, I never order it when I’m dining out because it inevitably fails to measure up.

But his brother tried a new method of grilling beef yesterday, and the revelation delivered such an amazingly juicy piece of meat, any carnivore would drool. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner since my Beloved cooks his pork chops this way (click here for that recipe).

Sideways.

Interested in trying it yourself?

Here’s the recipe:

Sideways Grilled Rib-Eye Steak

Invest in a custom cut of rib eye. Ask for it to be sliced 2-1/4 to 2-1/2 inches thick. You need it this thick so it’ll stand on its side by itself. You’ll probably pay around $25 for a chunk of meat this thick but know that at least two people can enjoy it.

Season with steak rub. The aptly named Steak Rub from World Market is pretty good.

Now sear the cut sides on high heat over a very hot grill. Flames may be involved. Douse with water if they get too high. Your goal is to simply cook the outside of the meat to seal in the juices.

Steak grilling on the side.

Reduce the heat of the grill and prop the steak on its side. This way, the fat will cook through the meat.

Cook to 140 degrees for medium rare. A meat thermometer is the best way to know for sure you’ve properly cooked it.

We added a slice of bleu cheese about 2 minutes before we removed it from the grill, but the cheese was almost superfluous.

Allow the meat to rest 4 or 5 minutes before diving in. Do not skip this step.

Thank the creature for his sacrifice, the butcher for his indulgence and the chef for his expertise. Serve and thoroughly enjoy.

Sideways Grilled Rib-Eye Steak with a baked sweet potato on the side.

Valentine’s Eve advice: How to have a happy marriage

“Don’t go to bed angry” is lame advice, and yet, like spam from Nigerian philanthropists (“please kindly help me collect my cash deposit of $21 million, I have set aside 25 percent for your time”), it seems to sneak into every two-cent prescription for a happy marriage.

On Valentine’s Eve, let’s explore good advice on staying married, shall we?

My mood is at its lowest ebb at the end of a bad day, and it’s. Not. The time. To make. It. Worse. Baby.

I’ll be a lot better negotiator after a good night’s sleep.

My first husband (yup, let’s say we’ve got a lot of experience in this house on staying and not staying married so consider the source) loved to pick a fight at bedtime.

A lot of expletives spewed from my sweet potty mouth when that happened, and you can bet that didn’t help matters.

In my experience, sleep trumps peace. Go to bed mad if you want. The philosophy of the advice is sound, however: Don’t let disagreement fester. So tackle that problem, whatever it is, with a fresh perspective (and fewer f-bombs) in the morning.

My best advice: Don’t try to change your mate and look for the best in him (or her). Unfortunately, it took me a good five years the first time around to figure out that nagging got me nowhere, but “looking for the best” got me through 16 years of marriage the first time.

Human beings are complex and flawed. You don’t have to look very hard to find behavior to drive you mad. But if you really want to be happy, choose to be happy: Spend your time looking for behavior you can appreciate.

My Beloved is a fabulous cook (the chicken and dumpling stew tonight was wonderful), a thoughtful and generous mate, an amazing wheeler-dealer, a jolly companion with a courageous heart. And he’s true.

His best marriage advice: “Be faithful and work through it. Communicate.”

We start almost every day with a cup of coffee and conversation. It usually starts with such scintillating queries like “how’d you sleep?” but with caffeine, we get going on oodles of good communication. Because my Beloved values communication, we’re on the same page most of the time and that makes us happy.

Married? For all those lonely hearts out there dying to be in your shoes, maybe you have some advice for a happy marriage. Do tell.

Stew throwdown

Which smells better when you have both cooking on the stovetop?

• A. Chicken and dumpling stew with broth made from last night’s chicken carcass (click here for a general description of this soup — sorry, there is no exact recipe).
• B. Chili made more or less with my sister’s recipe (click here for that gem), only substituting ground beef for cubed chunks of Friday night’s leftover ribeye steaks.
• C. Both A & B.

Answer: A (I threw the “C” option in there to trip you up). Nothing compares to real chicken broth for creating a fill-the-house fragrance of yummy even when you have a spicy pot of chili vying for nostril attention.

We eat like kings in this house, that is for certain, but we didn’t eat both soups today. We had chili for dinner and it was smoky and hearty like good chili should be, but the chicken stew is for dinner tomorrow. My Beloved, who prepared both pots, likes to leave his chicken stew sit overnight to develop the flavors, so we get to smell this dish again tomorrow when he adds his carbohydrate trinity: Potatoes, noodles and dumplings.

Don’tcha just love February for its soups?

Feels like the first time … like we’ve opened up the door

My mother shared this good advice with a wall hanging as a house-warming gift for our redecorated main floor. It looks perfect hanging by the front door on our newly painted Pumpernickel wall.

Can you read it?

Look at everything as though you were seeing it for the first time or the last time. Then your time on earth will be filled with glory.

~ Novelist Betty Smith

I try to do this — see things as if for the first time — with this blog. Writing about the details of the starry sky, my work, the crown molding in my dining room, a spring day (soon! soon!) reminds me of their glory.

Hanging there by the front door, it’s a reminder to savor whatever I’m about to experience as I leave the house.

Each day is a gift. We never when the lights will go out, figuratively or literally. Appreciate it. Today, my nearly new running socks and shoes, a hot shower and my taco salad at lunch were glorious.

What was glorious for you today?

Monday Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way

Sometimes, when the world is moving fast, being still is the best way to cope.

The temps hit 50 degrees in northern Illinois today which is unusual. My coat was too heavy and I had to remove my scarf, I was so warm.This is not what one expects in late January.

It was a typical Monday at work with long to-do list and deadlines looming, and then I heard some unhappy news about one of my former employers which affects colleagues I care about. And that’s not all. My adored stepson, who was visiting for the weekend, flew back home to Minnesota today. When he’s around, we’re reminded why we miss him.

When my Beloved and I returned from depositing Caswell at the airport, we retreated to the hot tub. It was still relatively warm at 8 p.m. (for late January anyway), and I sank into the steamy water with my head turned up to the starry sky.

I spend so much time with my head down, shuffling along, getting work done, thinking about the next task; I took the dog for a walk — a special treat on a January evening — and spent the whole time watching her, watching for other dogs, waiting for her to poop, keeping my head down.

In the hot tub, it was so refreshing to look up and gaze at the stars. The back yard was quiet, and we didn’t speak. Only the tub spoke in burps and giggles.

I floated in the water. The lights of a plane crawled across the sky.

For a few moments, there was no bad news. No to-do list. No melancholy. The earth was hurtling through the  starry sky, and I was just along for the ride.

Stillness amidst the chaos.

Learning how to be still, to really be still and let life happen — that stillness becomes a radiance.

~ Morgan Freeman

 

Worth remembering, even a little late

As I was drifting off to sleep last night, my Beloved said, “So, it’s been five years, huh?”

Oh my god. I’m such an earth sign. We both are. Very practical. The five-year anniversary of our first date came and went nearly two weeks ago without either of us noticing it.

We met at a coffee shop on a Sunday afternoon. We had spent hours talking on the phone, but we had never seen each other. A commitment to a cup of coffee allowed either one of us a quick escape if necessary.

Nope, that wasn’t necessary. In fact, my Beloved kissed me across the table.

We wandered over to the mall and walked around looking at the Christmas window displays. Talking.

“Want to go to a movie?”

We leaned into each other watching Daniel Craig’s first turn as James Bond in “Casino Royale.” I think it’s about … a casino?

Not wanting the date to end, we went out to dinner at a Thai restaurant. Ah, I thought, a man who appreciated more than burgers and fries. How interesting.

Then we parted (really).

But I got a floral delivery the next day at work. “Thanks for the great first date,” he wrote.

A romantic first date for two earth signs who finally found each other in the universe.

“I can’t believe we forgot our first-date anniversary,” I said last night in the dark. “We do that every year.”

“Good night,” he said.

I closed my eyes, so happy to be laying next to my destiny. “Good night, sweetheart.”

An Andy Williams kind of weekend

It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

‘Tis better to give than receive. Kids might not get it, but we adults understand the joy of giving a well-chosen gift and seeing delight on the recipient’s face. Still, the shopping for said gift is pain in the neck when your browser doesn’t respond to “buy now” or the mall parking lot is a packed. 

Today, the “buy now” button worked, and the mall lot wasn’t that’s bad. Both of which certainly make the day more wonderful.

There’ll be parties for hosting.

Three days. Three holiday parties. My merry-making kept me from working on my Christmas cards, but the parties were great for putting me in the holiday spirit. All the parties were very different — a company party at a hotel, a cousin’s evening soirée and an afternoon meeting/party — but they held in common good company and delightful decor.

Marshmallows for toasting.

Marshmallows? In cocoa, maybe, but we ain’t toasting marshmallows in December here in northern Illinois.

Instead, I signed up to bring salad to today’s party, and even though I consider it to be a standard potluck-type of salad, I got lots of compliments. It’s easy to make, uses inexpensive ingredients and tastes great. If you’re looking for something like that to bring to a potluck this month, try this:

Ramen Noodle Salad

Ingredients:

• 1 16-ounce package shredded cabbage
• 1/2 of a 12-ounce package of shredded carrots
• 1 bunch of scallions, sliced
• 1 cup sliced almonds
• 1 cup sunflower seeds
• 2 packages of ramen noodles, crushed
• 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
• 1/4 cup canola oil
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 2 seasoning packets from the ramen noodles (oriental flavor)

Directions:

1. Combine the vegetables. Put the nuts and noodles in a Zip-lock bag. Combine the vinegar, oil, sugar and seasoning packets in a sealed plastic container and shake.
2. Just before serving, add the nuts and noodles to the vegetables and dump the dressing over the whole thing to mix it up.

And caroling out in the snow.

OK, it wasn’t out in the snow, but a choir sang at church this morning for the first time in ages. And a young saxophone player accompanied the organist in a tune, too. I applaud the volunteers who practiced and performed because it made the service more special.

There’ll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago.

Time to get out “Scrooged,” my favorite retelling of “A Christmas Carol” starring          Bill Murray.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

Flying high with honey (or why work is a blessing)

Reader beware: This post goes all over the place, sort of like a bee on a pollinating run.

I remain humbly grateful as I savor my new employment in the shadow of Thanksgiving. Not everyone is so fortunate.

I overheard a conversation today between an employer and a stay-at-home mom who seemed sort of apologetic when she said hadn’t been in the workforce for 10 years. Household Engineer deserves more resumé weight than that, I thought.

This was after I enjoyed Beeline honey on my oatmeal this morning, a treat bestowed on me by my brother-in-law who picked it up at a Chicagoland function touting all things green (by green I don’t mean money, I mean environmentally friendly). This honey has a distinctive flavor, having been made (manufactured? created? excreted? what’s the verb for honey making?) by urban bees in Chicago. “Besides foraging the traditional prairie flowers of the Midwest,” claims Beeline’s website, “our urban bees forage along boulevard parks, community gardens, the Garfield Park Conservatory campus, and throughout the varied pollen and nectar sources the sprout abundantly on the west side of Chicago.”

This honey came neatly packaged with this message: “Your purchase of this Beeline product helps people facing significant barriers to employment, particularly those with histories of criminal conviction. Your purchase provides viable opportunities for individuals to establish a work history, learn productive work habits and gain marketable skills.”

Oh, how nice to contribute to society while eating oatmeal, I thought. I’m soft-hearted like that. As a reporter I covered a lot of awful crimes, but I once interviewed a guy in prison seven years who claimed he was innocent. He seemed sincere. Turns out, he was released a year later. He really was innocent.

So in my mind, not all convicts are permanently bad guys. Some aren’t bad guys at all. They deserve second chances. And this delicious honey I savored this morning was giving second chances to guys like that.

Similarly, I try to be kind to the mentally challenged young man wiping tables at whatever fast food joint I visit (the workers — convicts and the mentally challenged — are not similar necessarily, just my mindset). Thank goodness for him, I think, because McDonald’s is lucky to have a reliable worker and this table is probably a lot cleaner than if it had been wiped by someone who thinks cleaning is beneath them.

Rabbit trail: While sitting in the Puerto Vallarta airport Saturday, after enjoying a week of being very well served at our resort by people who were being paid something like 800 pesos a week (that’s $61.53 in U.S. currency, for you math experts — $61.53 a week), I saw a woman “cleaning” the seats in the terminal. She was the first service person I saw last week shirking her duties. She had a damp rag she was absent-mindedly whipping (whipping, not wiping) on the edge of every seat as she trudged by. The rag touched maybe 3 square inches of seating and just barely at that. Just one swipe per seat, and forget the armrests. My  Beloved and I looked at each other and started laughing, it was so absurd: “She must have taken cleaning lessons from you,” my Beloved said.

Back to the story: Some people are grateful for jobs wiping tables at McDonald’s and a lot more dedicated to the task than the woman in the Puerto Vallarta airport.

While we’re talking about service (I warned you: this is a meandering post), Gen. Colin Powell issued a call to service in an interview with Christiane Amanpour Sunday (I just love Amanpour’s voice, let alone her journalistic storytelling style). Powell said it was OK that only 1% of Americans choose to serve in the military since we have all the troops we need right now, but he emphasized that the rest of us weren’t off the “service” hook. We need to take care of each other — especially veterans — here at home, he said, whether it be helping them find work, address legal issues or just shake their hands and thank them when we encounter them.

It reminded me of those Chase Bank commercials boasting of hiring veterans. I hate big banks charging obscene interest rates and outrageous miscellaneous fees, but those ads move my soft heart. If they’re really hiring vets, good for them. A veteran probably deserves a job more than … well, more than I do. I don’t even shake their hands when I see them in the airport (I smile though; I’m the person who doesn’t speak to her seatmate in the airplane either; shaking hands with a stranger in the airport would be a stretch for me given I don’t make conversation with someone I literally rub shoulders with for three hours while trapped in a plane).

This is why I’m grateful, even though I may not be shaking hands. Other people  – people who’ve been out of the traditional work force for a long time, either because they were serving time or serving their country or serving the results of their maternal instinct or simply underestimated — struggle to find work. And yet I’m employed.

It’s like being in the land of milk and honey after 40 years (or four months?) in the desert. Pretty sweet.