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PSA: Beaujolais
This is a Public Service Announcement to the World, from my sister-in-law Red, who is a french teacher at the Milwaukee French Immersion School.
Beaujolais is a red wine from France that is a big deal in November <nod your head that you understand>, and it’s pronounced Beau-zjo-lay.
Not Boo-zjo-lay. NOT BOO-ZJO-LAY.
So that’s Beau. As in Beau Bridges. Or my beau, like a boyfriend. Or tie your shoelaces in a bow. Not Boo, as in, BOOBIDY BOOBIDY BOO!
Red would be sooooooooooo happy if the World would read this post, and start to pronounce the damn french red wine the proper way.
Thank you!
Odd Behavior
The hallway at my work brings about a lot of humming as people walk down it. My dad, for instance, usually hums I Wish I Were An Oscar Meyer Weiner, however I have heard him hum Play That Funky Music. Both are odd choices, but understandable.
On Monday my 36 year old brother (married for something like 15 years with twin sons who are 13-1/2) walked down the hallway humming the following tune: Here Comes The Bride.
And that’s what I deal with every day at work. I should get a prize or something.
Sometimes I feel like I live in a frat house
Is it time for me to be in Mexico yet???
Seriously, after the near explosion on Saturday night I didn’t think it could get much worse, but I was wrong. Sunday night I opened up the freezer and found three bottles of beer in there — two of them had exploded. You know, I thought I heard something pop around 7 a.m. in the area of the kitchen while I was watching the mens final of the Australian Open. Next time I’ll know to check for beer in the freezer.
While the temp of the beer, which was all over the door to my freezer by the way, wasn’t 350 degrees, it was a sticky gooey mess. When I questioned my husband about the beer, he said, “Oh yeah, I forgot I put those in there.” You don’t say.
Then our funnel has gone missing. Poof. Vanished. So we were left to our own devices to transfer one gallon of vegetable oil from the 8 qt. stock pot back into the plastic jug. My husband poured it into a 4 cup glass measuring cup, then he carefully poured from the measuring cup into the plastic jug. I don’t know what in the hell happened, but I left the kitchen and when I came back he had somehow poured three cups of vegetable oil all over the kitchen counter and onto the floor.
And that is why I sometimes feel like I live in a frat house!! (The locks on the pantry door and the fridge don’t help)
I haven’t even told you about how the neighbor kid decided to crawl over our cedar fence and got stuck. I looked out my bedroom window to find her dangling upside down by her boot, which was wedged in between two slats. Zoe was standing on the other side of the fence trying to help her. She’s okay, and I can’t believe that she didn’t break her ankle. I was out of my mind running from my bedroom to the garage door where I could access her from the side of the fence she was hanging from, screaming the whole way to my husband: “OH MY GOD!!! GET IN THE BACKYARD NOW!!!!!!!”
When Does Dinner Become A Disaster?
Last night we had friends over for dinner. It was our second attempt at this, the first time it was cancelled due to a snow storm.
My husband worked all Friday night on baking a cake, then Saturday morning he made frosting for it (both by scratch). He likes to think of the dessert first, but for the main course he was serving parmasean and sage crusted pork chops, with sauteed green beans, and twice cooked french fries that he saw in Bon Appetite. I mean, just look at those fries, you know you want some too! He sliced the potatos and then blanched them. By the time our guests arrived the fries had been laying on cookies sheets lined with paper towels for about an hour. I figured they were dry enough to cook.
I poured the vegetable oil in an 8 qt. stock pot, only filling it about 1/3 of the way because I didn’t want the oil to splatter. I’m psychotic about splatter. I even have this special anti-splatter pan/pot cover that I got from Williams Sonoma — it works great! Usually I can’t even wait for the stovetop to cool down, I have this dying urge to CLEAN THE SPLATTER NOW.
My husband gets out a his new candy thermometer, which he bought just for tonight, hooks it on the side of the pot and notes that the oil is about 1″ below the tip of the thermometer. If we want to measure the temp of the oil, we need to put more in. I know the oil is going to freaking splatter all over the damn place, ALL over my precious griddle-in-the-middle, but what else can I do? I pour the rest of the jug of oil in there, turn up the heat, and wait for it to measure 350 degrees F.
In the meantime, my husband starts the pork chops. It’s finally time to put fries in the oil, so I take a handful of cut potatos, put them in a stainless steel strainer, and lower the strainer into the pot. AND THEN THE FREAKING OIL BUBBLES OVER THE TOP OF THE STOCK POT!!!! It was a like a gush of boiling oil that just wouldn’t stop! My husband quickly shut off all the burners. The entire stove top was drenched in about a half an inch of hot oil (I’d have preferred splatter). The pork chops were in the oven, and I was seriously concerned that the oil would drip into the oven somehow and my griddle-in-the-middle would explode — probaby start my house on fire too. I wanted to shut off the oven. I really did. But my husband and his friend determined that everything was okay.
So, let’s take inventory of what we have to serve our guests for dinner shall we? Pork chops, french bread, wine, and a bundt cake. I couldn’t cook the green beans due the fact that I couldn’t turn on any of the burners, so I pulled out some frozen corn and put it in the microwave. My husband grabbed a can of black olives and poured them into a dish. Well, at least we had wine, right?
During dinner I tried not to think about the hot oil on my stovetop, thankfully my husband cleaned it up the second it was cool enough to handle. What a freaking mess.
For Children Lost ~ An Appeal to Mothers
The following is a special request that is written by a friend of mine. I’ve put a lot of thought into the words I should use to introduce her project properly, but to be honest, I know that I would not be able to give it the delicacy that it truly deserves. If you are able to help Julie, please do. If you feel that you need more information, please do not hesitate to contact Julie (her email address is below). Thank you!
I was reading a book called The Secret Life of Bees. Fantastic book, you should read it if you haven’t already! In it, one of the main characters began to build a wailing wall, a place in which she would leave all of her pain. I immediately felt a connection with this idea and I haven’t been able to let go of it. I feel this need to make one… and a need to build it for all mothers who have lost a child, regardless of how or how old they were.
I am an artist and mother of two. I have not lost a child, but it is my biggest fear, one that is always there in the back of my mind, and continuously shows up in my work. I could never have imagined that I would feel this kind of need to create such as open, community work based on that fear. Yet, I feel the need to create a place for mothers to go and leave their prayers, pain and fears … and all others who share that pain with them.
I am appealing to mothers who have lost a child of any age. If you or someone you know would be interested in having a space on this wall, please contact me. I will need to have contact information from you, the child’s first name and dates of life. The wall is to be constructed of molded rocks from Lake Michigan, found on the shores of Milwaukee. Each rock will be reconstructed out of clay with the name and dates of each child. Every rock fits in the palm of your hand. I hope to be able to hang the wall at the Cardinal Stritch Art Gallery in May (Cardinal Stritch University). As to what will be done with the wall after the gallery event, I am not sure. I would love to donate the wall to a public space we can all visit … and add more to the wall. Any suggestions are welcomed! Otherwise I would like to return each individual rock from the wall to the mothers that participate.
I can be contaced through email at: japurney@stritch.edu. If you would like to participate, please contact me there first. Then if you would like to have a written prayer or letter to the child included in the wall, you can send that to: Wailing Wall, c/o Teri Wagner - Art Department, 6801 N. Yates Rd., Milwaukee, WI 53217.
I need to have many mothers respond to make this wall possible. Please tell everyone you know about the wall and how to become a part of it. Responses will be accepted through February 29, 2008.
Thank you,
Julie P., Milwaukee Artist
You can visit Julie’s site here
(Cross posted @ I’m Just Saying)
5 a.m.
My alarm went off at 5 a.m. and I immediately turned on the tv to ESPN where Roger Federer and Novak Djokovic were in their 3rd set in the semi-final match at the Australian Open. OH. MY. GOSH. Novak was winning!!!! I sat up in bed (yes, I had set my alarm just so that I could watch the match, it started at 2:30 a.m. and I actually turned on the tv at 3 a.m. to see how things were shaping up 5-5 in the first set) and watched as Novak defeated Roger in a tie-breaker. HOLY COW! I can’t believe that someone has finally stopped him! (Him being Roger Federer) I cheered Novak on in my pajamas, scaring the crap out of my dogs and cats. Then I called my husband to tell him the breaking news, I wonder if he then alerted the sports writers? So now I can’t wait to see the mens final on Sunday morning, it’s going to be a good one! Novak vs this unseeded player who has just destroyed everyone at the Open over the past two weeks — Jo-Wilifred Tsonga. I don’t even know who I’m going to root for. However, Novak is quite entertaining, check it out if you watch tennis.
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