Monday, March 31, 2014

The best fried clams I’ve ever had!

I originally started this blog as a joke for a friend of mine who hates social media. I’ve been craving lobster rolls lately and finally worked myself up to making them, in lieu of flying to Maine to get one. When I get an idea in my head, I become a one-track thinker, with a narrow-minded purpose that translates into every conversation (or as Sarah likes to say – a broken record), so my plans to make the perfect lobster roll did not go unnoticed. Rather than text with details of my project, I promised her I would blog and she could read about my adventures there.

What started as a simple quest for a good lobster roll turned into a trip down memory lane. One of my favorite vacations ever was the time that I took my parents and most of my siblings to Maine. Growing up, we didn’t have the means to take family vacations, so when I got old enough, I rounded everyone up for a trip to one of my favorite places to make some of our favorite memories. During that wonderful week, we drove through the town in New Hampshire where my dad up, hiked in Acadia National Park, shopped at L.L.Bean, visited every lighthouse along the coast and remembered how much we loved growing up in a big family.

We feasted on fresh lobster for a week straight. I remember every morning, my dad would gather everyone up and make the ½ mile walk to the pound at the end of the peninsula and buy our lobsters for the day. They would sit in the fridge until we were all worn out from sightseeing and starving. Then Dad would fire up the stove in the old Victorian and start churning out lobsters with the regularity of the peanut man at a major league baseball game tossing bags of hot peanuts to hungry fans.

So with memories of that trip and my taste buds dancing wildly, I began my search for the perfect lobster tail. Yes, I could have purchased a whole lobster, but I am squeamish about some things, so the very idea of tossing a live lobster into a pot of boiling water was not high on my bucket list. No, frozen lobster tail would suffice, and, after trips to multiple stores and several days of disappointment, I managed to round up some impressive tail. 


I had read that boiling and steaming weren’t the best ways to cook the lobster, as it pulls so much of the flavor out of the meat. I opted instead for roasting them in the oven. There is some debate about how long one should actually cook lobster. I cooked them for ten minutes in a 400 degree oven then let them finish with the residual heat. I finished them off in an ice bath to stop the cooking process.

When they chilled to room temperature, I started to pick each sweet, succulent bit out of the perfectly reddened shells. Each lump brought me closer to the elusive lobster roll. Finally, finished I added just a dollop of Mayonnaise, leaving the recipe as pure as possible, and put it in the fridge to chill. 

Several hours of yard work later, it was time to make dinner. I added a dash of celery salt, some pepper and a bit of sliced celery. I toasted the top split buns with butter and assembled the lobster rolls. Anxiously, I took a huge bite of the finished product. Was it everything I built it up to be?? Make no mistake, it was delicious! But as I munched my way through, I found myself remembering that it tasted better on the deck of an old lobster dive, overlooking the coast, with my family by my side. And as it is with lots of things, it was better experienced where the memory was made.  


My dad always said he wanted to go back to Maine. That was the best vacation he’d ever had and the best fried clams he’d ever eaten. We never made it back to Maine. Something always came up. I told Sarah this summer I was going to order a bunch of lobsters from Maine, have them shipped to my parents’ house and my dad could cook for us once again. We haven’t made it to summer yet, and I’ll need to find someone else who doesn’t mind cooking lobster, but I will keep our plans for our own family lobster-fest. I’ll probably even grab Dad off the mantle and bring him out to the porch to enjoy the party. I figure that’s the only fair thing to do since it was his idea to go back to Maine.  And like my lobster rolls, maybe they won’t taste as good as they did all those years ago, but I know the memories we make will be just as sweet!  

Friday, December 20, 2013

Fired up!

There’s been a lot of going back and forth on recent events surrounding comments made by a reality TV star. This is my take on it…which, as everyone is so quick to point out, I have a right to express. What a wonderful nation we live in!

I look at it this way. Replace the words he actually said with different, but similar in that they are based on someone’s opinion. Mick. Guido. Chink. The N-Word. Cracker. Jew. Feel differently now?

Maybe those are too harsh. Let’s try these instead. Stupid. Fat. Ugly. Queer. Slut. Retard. Now are you a little outraged? I was, and I still am. I don’t believe the debate is about freedom of speech, as so many are quick to point out. It’s about human decency. It’s about having an opinion, but doing so respectfully. We have policies in our workplace that prevent bullying. We stand up for a our children when they are called names. We try to instill in them respect for others and hopefully discipline them when they are unkind to others.

For those of you who think who cares what one hillbilly from the South says?? Try this: Duck Dynasty has 14 million viewers. GQ has almost a million subscribers. Add the millions of viewers that have seen the story on the news, countless more who saw it on social media, the subscribers to online newspapers and magazines and you start to see the scope and impact that his negative words have.

Was A & E out of line in suspending him? In my opinion, which I will again reiterate, I am allowed to have, no. We are living in a society that criticizes people for differences. For A & E to allow him to remain on TV after his disparaging remarks would have said to the public that it’s okay to be hateful. Is he allowed to his opinion and beliefs? He sure is. I don’t condone the way he went about expressing it. We all have human will and the blessing of Freedom of Speech, which ensures we can express an opinion. But it doesn’t give us the right to be hateful assholes.


Thursday, October 17, 2013

A pint low!

Today not only marks Spirit Day and the fight to end bullying, but my first foray into donating blood. Normally, this wouldn’t be blog worthy, but as I do with most normal things, I turned this into the Thursday fiasco. I apologize for any misspellings and missing words…I’m still feeling a bit woozy.

I coerced the girl that works for me into joining me…we’re still not back on speaking terms. I started off by pulling the poor young man that was checking us in into a five minute conversation around our perfect stripper names. Mine is Citron or Juicy or something like that, Susan’s is Angel Bayard and Brad, God love him, chose Candy. I think that is a whole other blog.

Next, I tortured the poor women testing my hemoglobin to make sure my blood was healthy enough to donate. I told her I was a good bleeder, as my many attempts at free running produced better than average results.

Finally, I made it to the chair, well, the first one anyway. I told him it was my first time, so go easy. He told me it was his fourth time and they stopped and picked him up under the freeway on the way there. Funny guy! He wrapped my arm and checked for a good vein. Fail. I swapped chairs and gave the left arm a try. Also a fail. So he tried a blood pressure cuff to amp up the pressure. Finally, he called his supervisor over and said he didn’t like it, didn’t like the way my veins ran. How they ran? What possible way could they run besides straight down my arm? I told him to just go ahead and say it, I’m weird. Then I cracked a stripper joke to ease the tension. Something about veins shifting from using my arms to hang upside down so much.
They finally got me flowing and all was well. I was ten minutes behind Angel and I was intent on showing them just how good a bleeder I am. Three minutes later, my bag was halfway full.  Another hree minutes and I was done. They got me bagged and tagged and then the nausea set it. Apparently, they are super worried about first-timers. They gave me my token 8 oz lemon-lime soda, a red plastic bag, and told me there would be an incident report. Of course there will be. Why not!

When I finally felt better, they led me out of the chair and told me to tend to “my friend”. Apparently, despite many trips to the blood bank, she fainted, fell out of the chair and was now lying on the floor, yellower than the purse I was carrying. I sat down, offered encouraging feel-better comments like “You’re so yellow” and “I guess you won’t be working tonight”.

I found out that in addition to an incident report, they really don’t like to leave you alone. When the next wave of nausea came, I tried to sneak away to the bathroom, which was somewhat akin to trying to break out of prison. I was escorted to the bathroom, with apologies for invading my privacy, but “we just can’t have you passed out on the cold floor by yourself.” Finally, I felt almost whole and Angel was at least off the floor. We walked out with a shred of dignity, a bag of fruit snacks and a pretty darn good excuse not to work out.


We figured out all the wrong things to do, but as I looked at that pint of blood and heard that I may have just saved three lives, I felt pretty darn proud of us, fainting and all! And somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, I think I remember listening to Fat Bottom Girls and telling them I felt fine because I was listening to big fat fatties. My apologies to Queen. 

Friday, October 4, 2013

Almost Famous

If you haven’t had a chance to see Kiki Archer’s latest interview, you missed out on the opportunity to see her eat a worm. Yep, you read that write. She was dared to either twerk or eat a worm. She actually chewed up and swallowed a wasabi flavored worm and kept it down. Mad props to you, Kiki.

The vid got me thinking about the day hell freezes over and I score an interview. Chances are, it won’t take place on the finals course of American Ninja Warrior and my dare won’t be to navigate the Spider Wall with my mad parkour skills. Insert previous post about an injury to my leg from an attempt to parkour at a local park. All that aside, I know for me, worm-eating seemed to be the less pleasant of the two dares, so I set out to make myself a twerking expert.

First, I searched youtube for an educational video about the do’s and don’ts of twerking. I’d like to say for the record, it should be just the don’ts of twerking. I found one with a woman who certainly looked as though she would have mad twerking skills and I set about to follow her step-by-step instructions and turn myself into a dancing queen.

With important key phrases like “drop it like it’s hot”, “arch” and “thrust”, I knew I had found a gem. Phone in hand, loose jogging pants for freedom of movement and a willing spirit, I worked my hips in concentrated slow motion in time with my talented “teacher”. She taught me how to twerk both cheeks at the same time, twerk one at a time and the all-important side-to-side twerk. Magic was happening, I was becoming a twerking queen.

After learning each important, but disconnected step, she encouraged me to put on some fast music and put those moves together in a move that can only be described as someone having convulsions while standing up. But I ignored my saner side and continued on. I knew this was a social movement and I was a butterfly. With perfection in hand, I tested those moves on Sarah, even threw out my own “drop it like it’s hot.” In my eagerness to show off my newly acquired skill, I had neglected to realize the torque of my twerk and I propelled Sarah into the counter with all the finesse of a 300-lb sumo wrestler trying to win Dancing with the Stars. I had failed. More importantly, my mad dancing skills had failed.


I did apologize and even offered to kiss it and make it better. As I put my dancing shoes and stretchy “twerking” pants away, I realized, as did the daring Ms. Archer, that perhaps the lesser of the two evils really was the poor little worm. So like Wesley from The Princess Bride, I am building up my immunity to iocaine powder on the off chance I do receive an outrageous dare, because twerking will never, ever happen…again. 

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

A Mixture of Madness

“An apt quotation is like a lamp which flings its light over the whole sentence.”
-          Letitia Elizabeth Landon

I wanted to say another thank you to the people that entered the Sin No More contest.  When I set out to give away copies of my new book, I wanted it to be a chance to get to know some of my readers and find out what their favorite moments were. I was delighted to see my favorite book on the list. What surprised me most were quotes that I hadn’t thought about. It was a pleasure to go back and see stories and characters through someone else’s eyes, learning what quotes resonated and stuck with the readers long after they finished the book.

One thing that I have been blessed with in my life is a plethora of wise friends who deliver a surplus of sound advice along with much needed support. Whether or not I listen to that advice depends on the scope of the situation surrounding it. What is for certain is that in most, if not all of my books, there is a sage secondary character who doles out life changing advice with ease and sometimes the sweetness of honey. It isn’t always the best advice, but it’s always with the best intentions.

Someone asked me if I would share my favorite books and quotes. It would take a while to do and I would probably bore you all in the process, so instead, here are a handful of my favorite lines.

My favorite book is Love’s Abiding Spirit, and Gay is perhaps my favorite character of all. She shows us just how easy it is to give advice when the situation isn’t about you. Much like a dear friend, whom she is patterned after, Gay is quick-witted, endearing and all together charming. She is sarcastic to a fault, affable and impossible not to like. Here are some of my favorite Gay quotes the ones that, for me, made the story memorable:

- “Honey, I reckon that’s like me saying I just want to lose a couple of pounds.”

- “Sure do. You don’t want your bush to outshine the house. And, darlin’, no one wants to get tangled up in overgrown bush.”

- “I figure we’re all responsible for our own actions. No one can make us do anything. In the end, no matter what anyone does to us, it’s the individual that chooses how they react to it.”

- “This aging lesbian’s opinion is about as useful as goose shit on a pump handle.”

- “Darlin’, if my cousin is not half way in love with you herself, I’m not Gay. And that’s a major feat in itself, considering that’s what my birth certificate and half of Savannah’s rec softball league say I am.”

- “Some of us are nesters and some of us like to rattle the cage. I’m a rattler. Plain and simple. Now don’t think that I’m not a romantic at heart though. I’m pulling for you two kids.”

- “Well screw it then. I forgot you were God… I reckon you must think you are with the harebrained crap that’s coming out of your mouth. Guess I forgot you can control everything and guarantee no one will get hurt. Pretty powerful credit you’re giving yourself. While you’re at it, would ya mind ending war and reversing the greenhouse effect?”

-“Course tryin’ to convince you of that’s like trying to boil corn in ice water.”


Sure, I like Carrie in Immediate Possession, she’s like my mom away from home, Tess in Secrets of the Heart will always remind me of my older sister and how could I not adore Carmen in Twist of Fate, but Gay will always be closest to my heart, mostly because she makes my friend seem a little closer and probably a little because she wouldn’t let me get away with stupid stuff. 

Monday, June 24, 2013

I Don't Want to Grow Up

One of the things I valued as a child was my innocence.  At four years old, I wished I could be a man so I could marry a woman, because I didn’t know any other way than what I saw around me. I saw my parents and just figured that I had to be a boy to marry a girl. I wasn’t exposed to the words gay or lesbian or even knew that there was a word to describe the feelings or thoughts that I had. I only knew I liked girls.
In 1979, people didn’t get bullied or singled out for being gay or lesbian, at least not on my block. Rather for being poor, not as smart as someone else or because you weren’t great at kickball. We didn’t call people names like fag or homo or queer. We made up names like Dumb Dumb Head or Lame Brain. We didn’t have labels that specified if we were gay, lesbian, bi or transgender. We were just kids.

It’s so different now. I often feel bad for kids today because they aren’t innocent at four years old anymore. Changing times have exposed them to issues and problems that I couldn’t even fathom at that age. Media has created a frenzy around sexuality, fostering a negative atmosphere that targets our youth. It’s taught them to be afraid and to hate what is different. It creates problems that no child is prepared to deal with or should have to deal with.

At a time when the most pressing problem should be what Little League team did I make or how should I dress my Barbie today, society is forcing children to deal with adult size issues. I read an article recently about a five year old that took it upon herself to stand up against the hate mongering Westboro Baptist Church. The response from the church was to call her a Satanic Liar. While I applaud that strong girl, I am sad that at five, she has to see the hate that is bred by adults and the reason why.
Another article today mentioned a six year old transgender girl who had to go to court to win the right to use the girl’s bathroom in school. It breaks my heart that society has fostered such a deep-seated hatred and intolerance, that this poor girl, through no fault of her own, has to fight to be treated equally. She shouldn’t have to face that fight or be told that she is different. She should get to be a kid and experience all the things that come with growing up without carrying with her the feeling of being different.

Our youth should not have to be exposed to or stand up to intolerance or fear retribution from adults who blindly continue to dole out narrow-minded judgment based on ignorance and hate. The very people that grew up sharing the sandbox have forgotten the most basic principle that lies at the core of humanity, to just be a decent human being. That idea has been twisted and manipulated so much so that a large part of our population now believe and teach that that same sandbox isn’t good enough for everyone, and all to the detriment of our children.

The innocence, the naivety is gone.  Our children have been exposed to the ugliness that surrounds us. When I look at my nieces and nephews, I pray that they aren’t gay because I don’t want them to have to deal with the hate. But most of all, I pray that the innocence lasts a while longer.  I want them to look at Sarah and I with innocent eyes and not those jaded by society. When they do figure our relationship out, I want them to know that being gay or lesbian, bi or transgender is as normal as my brown eyes. I want their worries to be about grades and batting averages, not that their favorite aunts are lesbian and someone said that was a bad thing.

It isn’t about not letting them know what is really in the world, it’s about letting them grow up at their own pace, finding out and facing adult issues when they are adults and have the knowledge to do so. It’s about letting a six year who may have been born with different parts just be a six year old and not be told she can’t use a girl’s restroom. It’s about letting our kids get to the age where they can responsibly choose the fight that they want to be in and not forcing it on them. It’s about teaching them that no matter the differences between people, we are all just humans and we all deserve to play in the sandbox. It’s about letting them just be kids and not taking away the few years of innocence they have. They will grow up soon enough.



Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Please pass the Kleenex!


By now, some of you know that I’ve included a little extra at the end of Someone Like You…several of the recipes from Lex and Aspen’s kitchen. What you won’t see, much to my chagrin; is their playlist. A last minute decision to pull it from the book to avoid any kind of legal trouble meant I couldn’t share the music that played in the back of my mind as Lex and Aspen’s story played out on the pages.

One thing that some of my friends know about me is I am a softie. I will tear up at a Budweiser commercial and cry like a baby during movies like Steel Magnolias or Fried Green Tomatoes, no matter how many times I’ve seen them. Yes, the content gets to me, but more so the music. I love to hear a song and feel it move through my soul, evoking raw emotions. Without the music, the words wouldn’t move me quite as much. I love the perfect song. I could watch a scene with only the music and the tune would touch me just the same, or just listen to a song that played in a favorite movie and feel the familiar tug.

With that in mind, I’m sharing the songs that played for me as I stood invisible in a far corner and watched Lex and Aspen ache. I am sure you will put your own in there as well, but here’s my humble start. I hope you find the song that moves your soul.

Lex and Aspen’s Soundtrack
“It Was” – Chely Wright
“Beneath Your Beautiful” – Labrinth ft. Emeli Sande
“Can’t Stop” – Mozella
“The Story” – Brandi Carlile
“Fade Into You” – Mazzy Star
“Just A Fool” – Christina Aguilera ft Blake Shelton
“Answer” – Sarah McLachlan
“Dreamer” – Uh Huh Her
“First to Fall” – Laura Shay
“Taken” – Plumb
“Sometimes Love Ain’t Enough” – Heart
“Where I Stood” – Missy Higgins
“Ain’t No Sunshine” – Daryl Hall with Finger Eleven
“You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome” – Bob Dylan
“Everytime You Go Away” – Paul Young
 “I Try” – Macy Gray
“I Won’t Give Up” – Jason Mraz
“When the Stars Go Blue” – Tim McGraw
“A Thousand Years” – Christina Perri
“Here With Me” – Dido
“Hold Onto Hope Love” – Amy Stroup
“Between the Raindrops” – Lifehouse ft Natasha Bedingfield
“In Your Eyes” – Peter Gabriel