Chemistry Class, Nakedness, Bare Feet and Bobble Heads

After sitting through two hours of American Idol (as I'm typing those two words I'm hanging my head and mumbling the admission), I decided it was time for some culinary education. I've taken to dvr-ing a few cooking shows during the day and then Ron and I watch a couple in the evening hours when we've tired of sitting by the fire, reading/napping/catching up on life.

One of my favorite new discoveries (although it's been around for awhile) is "Good Eats." The host is chef Alton Brown and you can count on him to be wacky/entertaining and extremely knowledgeable about the chemistry of food. I feel like I'm adding some finesse to my cooking and learning exactly why it's important to always include the salt portion of any recipe. Why? Because it brings out all the other flavors you've added. Case in point: tonight we made generic old Minute Rice, but this time I used chicken broth instead of water and added a couple tablespoons of butter, a healthy pinch of salt, some pepper, parsley and dried basil. It was fabulous!

And - hallelujah - Jamie Oliver's back on TV! The Naked Chef (who was never really naked -Jamie's just a really brilliant chef who cooks beautiful food that's simple and stripped down) has left the city life and is now happily ensconced in a country manor, cooking up all sorts of earthy, lovely things. The show is called, "At Home With Jamie" and it's on Saturday mornings at 8:30 on the Food Network. Way to early for me, hence the dvr. And I love to hear him talk! I don't know what kind of accent it is (ok, I know he's British) but his dialogue is filled with slang - plonker, bash it - it's just fun. Check him out. And maybe the best part of Jamie are the names of his daughters - Daisy and Poppy!

Actually, the only one Ron watches with me is "Barefoot Contessa." And here's why. The beginning of the taping always has the last few seconds of "Everyday Italian" with Giada DiLaurentis. And, as sure as the sun rises in the East and sets in the West, there will be cleavage. Just a glimpse, but I guess it's enough. Over the holidays, Kate made the observation that Giada looks like a Bobble head doll. And, by golly, she does. She has a really large head. And a large forehead. Tonight when I called her Bobble Head, Ron asked me what I meant. I told him. He said - and I swear if I'd looked at him his eyes would have been glued to the TV as he was speaking - "Does she even have a head?" I kicked the ottoman out from underneath his feet. Does she even have a head? Pa-lease!

Of Wisdom Lost

As your kids get older, the rites of passage become more and more spread out. On Wednesday, Tyler completed his final rite as a teen (I think). He got his wisdom teeth surgically (and I'm sure, forcefully) removed.

The last time Tyler went under anesthesia he was about nine months old. He had to have his tear ducts drilled. Show of hands . . . anyone? Did you know that was even possible? I was a basket case when they took him away behind those cold, metal doors. This time, I barely looked up from the "Entertainment Weekly" magazine I was reading. "What? Ok, yeah. See ya later." In less than an hour I was called back to see my wounded baby. All I can say is that he was NOT wearing a cute little Children's Mercy Hospital t-shirt. Here was this big ole' guy barely hanging on to a recliner, head thrown back with a slack jaw. I rubbed his hair and his eyes rolled around and finally attempted to focus on me. For about a split second. Then he was gone again. The nurse came in and asked me if I thought he'd want the teeth, the ones formerly housed in his mouth. Tyler halfway sat up, eyes WIDE open and he said, "YETH!" Then he was out again. It was pretty funny. At least I thought it was funny. The nurse was acting rather bored by the whole thing, but I guess she's seen worse (or funnier).

I finally got Tyler home - after telling him eight times that we were NOT going to stop at Ahni (Sonic) because he could not have carbonated drinks. Each time he screwed up his face (which was also funny because he couldn't really move his muscles) like he was going to cry and said, "Wha?" (Why?) I about had a million wrecks because I couldn't understand him at all, but could kind of make out what he was saying if I looked at him while he was talking, which is really not advisable when you're driving on the highway at a high rate of speed (unless you're Ron Martin and then it's practically a requirement - driving at high speeds while not looking at the road, I mean).

Ron and I had to nearly hogtie Tyler to make him stay home. Tyler kept giving us the old "It's my last week at home. I have SO MUCH to do." I told him it wasn't my fault that he grew four wisdom teeth and had to have them surgically removed. I told him I only had TWO wisdom teeth. He looked at me like, "Well, that explains A LOT."

Maybe it's a good thing it's his last week at home.

The Randomness of My Thought Processes

One night last week Ron and I were channel surfing and he paused on a channel that was televising a game of high stakes poker. Now, for the life of me I've never been able to figure poker out. Too many kinds of hands. Royal flush, straight, full house. If I ever played poker I'd have to have sunglasses that hide my whole face because I'm sure I'd stick out my tongue or spit or say something inappropriate if I got a bad hand. But then again, I wouldn't know if I had a bad hand. Anyway, Ron says, "Oh, he's got wired nines." Once again, as has happened more times than I can even begin to imagine over the last 27 years, my jaw dropped open and I stared dumbfounded at him. "How in the heck do you know that?" He shrugged and gave me his "Betty" face, which mainly says, "Oh, I don't know. I just do."

Later in the evening a commercial came on and I said, "That font is 'Afternoon Delight.'" How pathetic is that? I now can identify fonts on sight. Again, with the useless information. I lamented to Ron that at least the knowledge he has could potentially win him a million dollars. My "fontabulary" has no value whatsoever. Unless there was a game called "Name that Font." "Pat, I can name that font in one letter." "Janet, name that font." (Does anyone even remember "Name that Tune"?)

Changing gears . . . the other night Tyler found his "Identi-Kid" card that was made in 2001. It was downright hysterical. He would have been 12 and he only weighed 85 pounds. Then I remembered a conversation I had with Jessica (my beautiful boss lady) about her son, Brogan. She had a booster seat in the car and when I asked her what it was for and she told me that KS safety laws now require booster seats for all kids under 100 pounds. So I got even more hysterical when I told Tyler he should have been in a booster seat. We laughed our heinies off! So, take a look at the picture on the left . . . it was taken around the same time as his "Identi-Kid" picture. He absolutely HATES this picture, but it's one of my favorites.

Finally . . . Ron listens to NPR constantly and there's this segment called "Star Date." It usually sends me to the moon (ha) because it just points out how much money is being spent acquiring knowledge that we really have no use for . . . like what's inside a star. Show of hands . . . who cares what's inside a star? Has anyone successfully lassoed one and performed an autopsy on one? Yeah, I didn't think so. Now, if someone was to discover that it was full of chocolate mousse. . . well, that's another story entirely. Gimme a spoon.

Eccentric or Crazy? You Decide . . .

From time to time Ron gets a little, shall I say "put out" by the fact that he appears so regularly as a featured guest/target in my blog. This discomfort usually comes when someone other than the four people in our family actually read my blog - which is increasingly rare and may prompt me to just forget the whole thing (yes, that's blackmail). The other day one of his colleagues at work happened upon it and read about Ron's stereo component revelation and apparently gave Ron the business (that's a phrase straight out of "Leave it to Beaver" - translated it means he gave Ron a hard time).

So, now Ron's all "Quit using me in your blog." To which I calmly and lovingly reply - again -"Quit giving me so much good material." I told him not to worry, that it just makes him appear eccentric, which, in my mind, is a much kinder and gentler word than "crazy." So over the last few days Ron's been polling our family about which word is better. Most agree with me (smirk) and just leave it at that. Which should make Ron really nervous because you know they're all thinking "Pretty words can dress it up BUT A NUT IS A NUT!"

Actually, I think I'M the one whose certifiable. Discuss . . .

Old Lang Syne

Dan Fogelberg died today. It was surprising to me how instantly and profoundly sad I was. My heart literally hurt. I don't know when I first became aware of his music. It had to have been in college.

The year I was a junior my family took a road trip to Williamsburg, VA, leaving the day after Christmas. Ron and I had just started dating a few months before so the last thing I was really excited about was being separated from him for a week during our Christmas break. I remember riding in our huge Buick LeSabre down a really snowy and slick road in the hills of Virginia listening to "Old Lang Syne," just craving Ron's arms around me. That song immediately transports me back to that cold winter day. And I'm still craving those strong arms of Ron Martin.

We had "Longer" sung at our wedding (by Robin Lynn Macy, one of my sorority sisters and one of the original Dixie Chicks). And I sang it at a friend's wedding. Kate was incubated to the sounds of "Home Free," my favorite Fogelberg album (and I think one of his first, if not THE first album). And, not surprising at all, it's one of Kate's favorite albums, too. The music is hauntingly poignant in its lyrics and has beautiful instrumentation. I can be totally stressed out and as soon as I hear the first chord it's all gone. I think if more people had "Home Free" the makers of Prozac would go out of business.

I have one of Dan Fogelberg's guitar picks. My brother found it onstage at the concert hall at MU after one of his concerts. How do I know it was Fogelberg's? Because he was the only one on stage.

We got to see him once in concert. I was about eight months pregnant with Tyler and it was at Sandstone. Again, he was the only one on stage and it was unforgettable. Tyler says one of his strongest memories of our old house is coming downstairs on Saturday mornings to a warm fire and Dan Fogelberg music. I'm so glad we didn't go to a Kiss concert during our children's formative years.

I'm going to go dig out all those cd's right now and let the mellow begin . . .

Glitterazi

This morning I felt like I was driving through Narnia. Or on my way to the Ice Palace in "Dr. Zhivago." It was really stunning.

Of course I say it was stunning because - miracle of miracles - we didn't lose power like thousands of others in nearby towns. I was so convinced that we would be shivering in front of the fire that I told everyone that we'd be shivering by the fire. Evidently that was a good strategy because not once in the last few days have we been shivering by the fire. So, that's my new M.O. I'm going to be a Negative Nellie. Mr. Glass Always Half Empty. Doomsday Dora. Anyone who utters anything that remotely smacks of optimism will be met with a hearty scowl and gruff "Bah, humbug!"

So there.

The Brain of My Husband

I've known for quite some time that my husband possesses a brain unique only to him. I don't think he knows what it's like to think INSIDE the box. I gave up trying to figure out how he processes things a long time ago. Here's why. Tonight we were watching one of the few shows that he'll actually sit down to watch - "Life" on NBC. It has one of my favorite actors, Damian Lewis, and another of my favorites, Adam Arkin. Anyway, Lewis' character spent 12 years in prison for a crime he didn't commit and, as a result, had a lot of time to think about things. A lot of time. Therefore, he, like Ron, processes things a bit oddly. He (Lewis' character) was having a discussion about physics with another character on the show. Something about how everything's always in motion so in reality it really isn't there, it's just more there than not. Whatever. All of the sudden, Ron Martin, exclaims, "I've had a revelation. A pure and powerful revelation." I immediately told him to be quiet and save it until a commercial. Which was a risk, I know, since neither one of us seems to be able to remember anything these days.

Finally! A commercial. So I asked Ron what the revelation was, thinking it was some sort of spiritual awakening or some kind of psychic communication as to the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa. But no. It was all about the cable box. We recently chucked the gargantuan armoire that held our tv, so now all of the stereo components are underneath the tv on the floor. His big revelation? The cable box has no moving parts, so we can put the dvd player on top of the tuner and cd player and stand the cable box on its side, thereby making it much more presentable to the human eye. ARE YOU SERIOUS? Of course he is. Two minutes on the floor and he's grinning like he just discovered that the city of Merriam is allowing burning today. No kidding. His day is perfect if he can play with fire. Am I a blessed woman or what?

Up next: A kinda funny, maybe not so funny story about Tyler.