Dining In

The other day we were talking about the menu for the upcoming week and I said, "Oh, and by the way, you're cooking every other night this week". And The Spouse said, "Sure".

Because, you see, it's not that he doesn't want to cook or that he won't cook or that there's some tacit expectation that I'm supposed to do it all. But sometimes it seemed easier to just plan the menu and do the cooking and let it go at that. And sure, maybe he could have said, "Hey, you're doing all the cooking. That's not fair. Share the load". But I've learned, after 18 years of marriage, that if I want something I have only to ask for it. Dude's not a mind reader.

Of course, when he cooks it means that the process will involve lots of singing, dancing and inappropriate quotes from "South Park" but it's a small price to pay to have every other night "off".

A Smattering

Update:
Yesterday was much better than Monday. The Child and I had a talk about the hissy she'd thrown and cleared the air. We went out for a delicious dinner and watched "16 Candles" when we got home. She got lots of wonderful presents from wonderful people and went to bed happy. And so did I.

Small World Story:
We had dinner in a new sushi restaurant near our house. The woman who waited on us also owns one of my favorite little shops in the 'hood. (You may have heard that being a small business owner is currently not the easiest gig. So Shop Lady also takes some shifts at the sushi restaurant to keep body and soul together. She's amazing). Even though I've been shopping in her store for quite a while now, we'd never formally met so we took care of introductions over dinner. Then she pulled out her phone and friended me on Facebook. A little later she came back and asked, "How do you know Pat Briscoe?" Some of you may remember Pat from the early bloggy days. I told her about our virtual acquaintance and then she said she'd gone to high school with him. Six degrees of separation, baby. It's for real, I tell you.

Amazing Food:
Yesterday MAB brought me a little treat from a bakery near her new digs. It was a "pancakes and bacon" cupcake....delicious cake studded with little sugary bits of bacon, a creamy butter and maple frosting adorned with more bits o' bacon (as opposed to Baycun Bits, mind you). It was the best. thing. ever. I'm going to try and adapt it into a cake for our Carnevale feast. Fantastic.

Good Read
I've started reading "Just Kids" by Patti Smith. It is beautiful. She writes like she's from another century; dense, deliberate, poetic language where every word is clearly chosen with great care. Not at all what you'd expect from the Queen of Punk.

Good News:
The Child lost her cell phone in a train station yesterday. On the way to the car after dinner I got a call from a guy who'd found it. He's bringing it to my office today. He doesn't know this, but I'm giving him a reward. Dude just saved me $100 on the replacement phone. It's the least I can do.

Don't Forget:
The President's State of the Union address is tonight. I always watch the SOTU, even if I don't like the guy delivering it. This year will be a treat; not only do I very much like and support The President, I just adore listening to him speak. I just hope there aren't any arse Republicans planning to pull a Joe Wilson tonight. Idiots. I've really come to loathe the GOP.

Oh Damn, Guess What I Forgot?

I just got back from my last little run of Christmas errands. Some things are purposely left until the last minute...like fetching delicious bread from the bakery for tonight's soup supper (pumpkin chili this year). I put The Waitresses "Christmas Wrapping" on my iPod, since I was pretty sure it wouldn't be coming on NPR while I was out and about. That song always makes it feel like Christmas Eve.

The house looks like it blew up, all the packages need to be wrapped and I have to start the olive oil brioche for tomorrow night's dinner. Oh, and I have to be at the Cathedral by 4 at the latest to save seats for Mass. So yeah, I'm feeling a bit of a crunch right now. The Child set out to make a Buche de Noel for tomorrow. Her meringue mushrooms are very cute and the espresso chocolate filling is a dream. But her first attempt at rolling the log resulted in something very unloglike and for some reason her Swiss Buttercream frosting won't fluff so now she's just going to make a chocolate layer cake with the espresso filling and decorate with the mushrooms. But it will taste fantastic and the only thing that has her upset at the moment is the fact that The Dog managed to snag and chew on one of the sides of her gingerbread house. Oh well.

Time's a wastin' so I must scurry. But I do hope you have a lovely Christmas Eve. Don't forget the cranberries.

Waste Not, Want Not

Despite the fact that we did not cook a Thanksgiving feast this year, we were the recipient of many bits of turkey. In fact, after dinner at The House on Thursday, our fairy godmother (the young woman who enlisted her caterer mother and a dozen family and friends to come cook dinner) sent home with us a bird that had not been entirely served because it was not done all the way through. It was a 27 pound bird when it started out.

There was some discussion today when The Spouse pulled it out of the fridge.

"We need to roast that off," I said.

"No, we don't," he said, picking off a piece of very pink meat.

"It's way too pink," I said.

"It's medium rare," he replied.

"You don't eat poultry medium rare!"

"Good point".

So he boned it out and roasted the pink meat and then took all the rest of the bird to make stock. He likes to use turkey stock for his enchilada sauce.

Not sure if we're going to have enough, though.

A Brief Announcement

I am happy to inform you that tonight, at approximately 6:34pm, PST, I felt within me the first stirrings of actual hunger. It has been over 24 hours since that was the case.

I intend to remedy that situation with something that does not involve turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy or cranberries.

I'm thinkin' pizza.

We Gather Together Again

I'm thankful.

I'm thankful for The Child even though she hates me because I made her change her clothes before we went to dinner (cleavage).

I'm thankful for The Spouse even though he never had any intention of putting the giant turkey carcase we scored into the garage which meant I had to because I care more about the potential for food poisoning than he does and doing so put my dress at risk of a good greasing.

I'm thankful my dress didn't get greased.

I'm thankful that even though this was technically a day off I live close enough to work that MAB could call me, twice, to bring kitchen implements that were required and not available. (I'm also thankful for my work and for MAB).

I'm thankful that there are left-overs sufficient for a evening turkey sammie.

I'm thankful for Blogtopia and all her inhabitants (well, at least the ones on my block. Not so much the wing nuts or the spambot who has been littering my posts with Russian ads).

I'm thankful that Barack Obama is my President, that it's almost Advent and that I hid the cinnamon crystal cut candies.

I'm thankful for cold water that isn't diseased.

I'm thankful.

It's Almost Time for the Macy's Day Parade! (And if you say it like that for real I will mock you mercilessly).

My Facebook account is "temporarily unavailable". I know what that means....more frakking changes to the site that I am not going to like. Stoopid Facebook and their constantly-changing-stuff-all-the-time-when-I-liked-it-just-fine-the-way-it-was.

So I'll blog.

The Spouse is making dinner (Alsatian Choucroute...which is about the farthest thing from turkey that there is). The Child is "cleaning her room".

Tomorrow we will dine at The House with MAB and the families. Both The Spouse and I have to work on Friday so we don't have time to go be with all the fam (much to the chagrin of everyone but there it is). But we had fun at The House last year so we're going again. Plus the food is going to be spectacular and hello? I don't have to cook any of it. Gotta love that.

The Spouse just waved a smoked pork chop under my nose. I am not a fan, generally speaking, of the chop. I'll deign to eat it, mostly because The Spouse loves a good chop. But let me tell you, the smoked pork chops from Bavarian Meats are pink and meaty little slices of heaven. Heaven, I tell you.

On Friday I shall wear jeans to work and spend the day hiding in the office while MAB decorates for Christmas. She brings to that process a rabidity that is rivaled only by the likes of Martha Stewart. In fact, when it comes to Christmas decorating, MAB makes Martha Stewart look like a hack.

And speaking of Martha Stewart, my sister Martha Stewart mailed us a shoe box stuffed to the gills with her home-made holiday candies. There's English toffee (for The Spouse), and peppermint meringues and fudge and peppermint bark and she even remembered the cinnamon crystal cut candies that are my personal favorite. Isn't she the best?

I shall leave you with a little Thanksgiving question: what is your very favorite must-have food for Thanksgiving?

I'll start.

For many years I'm quite sure my answer to that question would have either been dressing (not stuffing....I don't like the stuff from inside the bird) or cranberry sauce. But one year a friend and I were invited to a couple's home for Thanksgiving dinner. These women were famous in our circle for their foodiness and wine connoisseurship so we were pretty jazzed about the invitation. When we came to table the food looked and smelled fantastic. We had grace and a toast and I brightly said, "Pass the gravy, please". "Oh," said my hostess, "we didn't make gravy. We didn't think it was necessary. I mean, who eats gravy?"

Oh. My. Yord. Who eats gravy? WHO EATS GRAVY?????

That was the year I learned that my favorite food on the Thanksgiving table is gravy, the luscious stream of goodness that unites all the other goodness on the plate, bringing out their essential and truest natures and lovingly encouraging them to sing. I am always and forever thankful for gravy.

A Food Note

The Dog is now 6-0 for rat slaying. His latest conquest came right after the Autumnal Feast ended last night.

Hit it out of the park, btw, on the feasting. Except I forgot to take pictures of almost everything. And the pictures I did take, Blogger apparently doesn't want you to see.

So I'm going to scrape more goose fat off the surfaces of my kitchen and try again tomorrow.

(Btw, The Spouse is making French onion soup for dinner. I am sooooooo excited for it's toasty cheesy goodness).

Feastin'

The Autumnal Feast is tonight. It usually takes place in October but with The Child's play and such we had to move it back.

One of the many areas of life that have been neglected since going to work is entertaining. We hardly ever do it anymore, and it used to be we'd have at least one dinner party a month, even if it was just pizza with another family. But it takes time to plan menus and issue invitations and iron napkins and hello?

But in my new found attempt to not suck at everything but work I spent some time thinking about this meal and planning. It might not be quite as elaborate as previous feasts but this is not about impressing the crap out of people. It's about gathering the usual suspects to celebrate the harvest and the change of seasons and 20 years of friendship. So the menu will be simple but it will be, I suspect, delicious.

The Boys always bring the first course, so that will be a surprise. For soup we're having pumpkin chili soup with pepitos and Parmesan crisps (nearly done). Salad will be butter lettuce, radicchio, bleu cheese and cranberries in a shallot vinaigrette (also nearly done). The entree is roast goose (The Spouse is in charge of that). Sides will be a fun little roasted potato thingy (Nigella), Brussels sprouts with bacon (the only recipe that lures me to actually eat Brussels sprouts) and a mixed grain pilaf (Trader Joe's - come on now, mama is not above letting someone else do the work if it's tasty). Dessert is, as always, apple Charlotte and The Child really wants to make it so I'll let her (with some supervision....caramel is involved).

Plus, I got my hair did today and it's awesome. I love my stylist. She's the best little hair cutter in all the land. Maybe there will be a nice picture tonight...I was thinking that my profile pic is getting pretty old.

Must toddle off to the co-op. Have a tasty day.

Reason #83 Why I'm No Longer a Size 4

Yesterday I was leafing through a food magazine, looking at recipes and "mmming" a lot. The recipes that received the most "mmmms" all had 3 things in common:

1) butter
2) cream
3) cheese

What do you make of that?

Old Friends

After work yesterday I went downtown to hook up with some old college buddies. I haven't seen Sophie & Steve (pronounced Sophiensteve) since their first child was an infant. (She is now 24). In the years since they left Seattle and got divinity degrees and all that we completely lost touch. Chalk up another thankyouverymuch for Facebook.

We met at a gastro-pub (Seattlites: it's the Black Bottle in Belltown. Go there. Tell Paul I sent you) owned by an old seminary friend of theirs. Steve had just been wondering if they would recognize me right away when I walked in. "There she is!" he exclaimed. (Guess it wasn't that hard). Of course, we haven't changed that much. Sophie's hair is shorter, Steve's is greyer and I no longer wear a size 0 but otherwise, I'd have known them anywhere.

We reunited over delicious food (hello - kim chee pork belly!) and a glass or two of fine drink. It was the best sort of reunion, the sort that demonstrates how the passage of time doesn't get in the way of true friendship. There was a little bit of catching up (how I became Catholic, how I met The Spouse, how they sojourned through seminary and child-rearing to end up co-pastoring a church in Iowa). There was a smattering of reminiscence (we agreed that we were all completely full of shit in college; except Steve who was slightly less full of shit and consequently able to occasionally slip in a dry, devastating remark that would put someone - at least temporarily - in his or her place). I shocked Sophie with the information that I had always been intimidated by her intelligence and she volleyed back that I intimidated her because I was "sooooo cool". And we agreed that it would be lovely if we could have seen ourselves back then as others saw us.

But mostly we talked about life and politics and faith and food and families. We laughed, a lot, and there were never any awkward silences or someone grasping to find a topic that might set us going again. There was no time, even, to regret that it had taken us this long to re-connect; only joy in the having done so.

I very often consider that I lead a charmed life. Not perfect life or a lucky life, but a charmed one, a blessed one. And one of the greatest and most consistent of those blessings is the friends who have come into my life and who, even with intervening time and distance, remain friends. Is there anything better? Kim chee pork belly, perhaps, but otherwise, I think not.

Of Shellfish and Friends

On Sunday evening we had the privilege of meeting yet another denizen of Blogtopia, the one-of-a-kind Danny Wanny and his lovely wife, Red.

Danny is a fellow blogger (who blogs less frequently than his talents warrant but whatever), who is also a very good friend of the infamous Iwanski. I knew of Danny largely through Iwanski (and the now defunct "Iwanski/Winter Show") and esteemed him partly, I confess, because he was one of the first people to friend me on Facebook. So when he sent a message that he'd be in the area and would we be able to join them for dinner the answer was an unequivocal "I'll check the calendar".

We met at Salty's...a classic seafood restaurant on Alki beach with a commanding view of the Seattle skyline. It is a place none of us native Northwesterners had ever been. So that was fun. So was meeting Danny and Red.

It keeps happening, over and over; I meet these people who are virtual friends and there is nothing in the making them "real" that is remotely awkward or hiccupy. It is my contention, you see, that no matter what one's "schtick" may be bloggery-wise, it is impossible to keep your true self from shining through. So in reading a person you come to know him/her. And if you know him/her through his/her words, than meeting him/her in the flesh is not a shock. It is an easy and familiar thing. The foundation is already laid and it is easy to get right into a conversation about substantive and delightful things. These meetups are never so much about biographical details as they are taking up an on-going conversation with someone you already consider a friend.

We also arranged a marriage. Sure, his kid is a little younger than The Child but with her being an only child it has always been very important to me that her future in-laws be people with whom it will be easy to share holidays and grandchildren. It was nice to get that bit of business out of the way.

The food was excellent (hello? Dungeness crab mac and cheese? Heaven). The Spouse instructed Red on the best way to eat a alive-only-moments-ago crab.

Danny had oysters for dessert. The Child had this:We had an absolutely delightful meal. At one point The Child, laughing at another of Danny's bon mots, looked at me and gleefully declared, "I totally get him!". (Good thing, too, what with that whole future-father-in-law thing). The Spouse perused the post-prandial list and decided we'd do better with scotch at our place so they followed us home for a wee dram.

Friends are a gift and a blessing. And now we have yet another place to crash when next we invade Chicago. Life is good.

Creature of Habit

Remember that on Monday The Spouse and Child had the day off. So things got "back to normal" yesterday. At 6:30 I went into The Child's room, turned on her light and gently said, as I always do, "Time to wake up, Sweetie". Then I walked away from her room to do a thing or two in the kitchen, at which point I realized something very important and hustled back to her room, turned off the light and said, "Oh man, I am so sorry...go back to sleep!" and closed the door.

Because, you know, she's on Easter break. All week.

Sometimes I really am the worst mother in the world.

There's ham sammies on the table. Help yourselves.

Easy Like Sunday Morning

The last day in Omaha was just the sort of Sunday I like best...lazing in a sun-filled room with nothing-for a while-to do.

I made breakfast.

We drank coffee and, because we are the sort of detectives who are the job, further discussed the case of the stone baby. JP made a copy of the police drawing so I could do some sleuthing back at the Seattle bureau.

At first we were discouraged by news that the coroner was on a golf junket in Cincinnati, thus stalling an autopsy until his return on Tuesday. But there's a lot to be said for old fashioned police work without all the fancy forensics. You see, there was something about this case that bothered me. Our suspect was too obvious. It occurred to me that there was another player with motive and opportunity. We texted our theory to Det. Smay and Agent JP was charged with following up some leads.

That done, I started collecting my things and then an examination of my ticket revealed that we had an extra hour before my flight. Huzzah! One more hour to sit, drink mimosas and talk.

I told JP that he should probably pick a fight with me so it would be easier to leave. This he did, right in front of the TSA guy in the airport. It was excellent. Then I gave him a big hug and kiss and that was that. And, as I mentioned before, as the plane taxied down the cornfield runway, I started to cry.

The flight(s) home were largely uneventful, except for the part where I was misinformed in Minneapolis as to the location of my gate and ended up having to book it all the way from the A concourse to frakking gate 13 in the frakking F concourse which was 412 miles away. I got to my gate just as they were boarding. That was a close call.

It would have been nice to have had some transition time at the house; I thought I was going to get some. But the family returned within minutes of my arrival and suddenly I was back in the whirl of regular life, making dinner and talking about the week ahead. And maybe that was ok. It is my real life, after all, one I enjoy. And after my time in Omaha I felt recharged and ready for it. A good vacation will do that for you.

Thanks again for the wonderful time, JP. You are the bestest host and the bestest friend and I loved every minute of our adventure. I heart you, Poodle. Now, get me that report.

Saturday in Omaha: Part Deux

The evening part of Saturday was in itself of two parts. Three, actually, when I think about it. And no, I'm not trying to extend the blog fodder. But really, Saturday in Omaha was a very rich day. Because first, of course, we had the day part. Then, after the 'rents left, we had to start thinking about the evening. Except I was very tired all a sudden. So while JP went to the market for a few last minute things, I laid down on one of the extremely comfy couches and closed my eyes. My soundtrack was playing and even though I heard every song that played ("Solisbury Hill" was the first one), I nonetheless napped very sweetly. When JP came back into the apartment I sat up and felt fresh as a daisy.

So here was the plan for the evening. First, we were hosting a party for a friend of JP's. THEN we were going to go to a place called Joseph's that once upon a time had been a place called Joy, which once upon had been the place, his place. That particular night was going to be a for-one-night-only reincarnation event and we had to go.

So first, the party. Now, as you know, I am not the sorta gal who excels at the small talk in the room-full-o'-strangers scenario. The only thing that made me cool about the first part of the evening was that my hair looked fantastic and I had JP. The fact was, he didn't know most of the people coming to the party either. He was doing this as a favor to the boyfriend of the friend who was having a birthday. Capice?

We made some snacks
and JP did his Chef JP impersonation,




which delighted me mightily and then we got sorta dolled up within the protocols of "dolling up" in Omaha, which is a pretty casual place


and btw, I was probably technically overdressed but I also had this whole "I'm from Seattle and must represent" thing going on, which is, of course, to anyone from Seattle completely hysterical because very often people in Seattle go to the opera in frakking Birkenstocks and jeans but What.Ev. My hair was superfantastic.

JP created ambiance which is pretty easy when you have a superfantastic downtown loft apartment.


Then the birthday boy and his beau arrived and then other people arrived and they all seemed very nice. Here's JP with John the birthday boy.

As I said, the guests were very nice and some are even now my Facebook friends but let me tell you that the one who really mattered, not to put too fine a point on it, was JP's friend Smay. Now, Smay, to readers of JP's old blog, is best known to you as Miss Smay, because he does drag. Only he wasn't this particular night. So he just showed up in normal guy clothes but the thing is, I have known of Smay for quite sometime and he has known of me and meeting him was pretty cool. Because he's cute and funny and smart (like I like my gays) and we pretty much hit it off right away. And it was nice because aside from the birthday boy and his beau, JP didn't know any of the party guests and of course the birthday boy and his beau were focused on the guests while JP and I and Smay pretty much had each other. Which was more than fine.


As we got ready to hit the club there was a tussle over my superfantastic spring bag:

I should mention at this juncture that while I have had gays in my life for quite a long time now, I have never in all my born days been to a drag show. So I was intrigued. And I had Smay to sorta give me the inside scoop on the whole drag scene. Which was tres interesting, btw.

I got carded at the door which, seriously, was pretty much happening to everyone but still, getting carded when you are 51 is très magnifique. And did I mention that my hair was fantastic?

Smay paid my way in and then he bought me a cocktail and I'm thinking, "Dammit, I just love Omaha". We found tables and JP and Smay told me all the ways that the club wasn't like the club they used to love but still and then the show started. And it was ok. Not great. Frankly, watching Smay do what everyone on stage shoulda been doing was more entertaining most of the time. But still. There were moments of brilliance plus I got to meet the infamous Erica Joy, who was very sweet.

Plus, every time I had to leave the table to go potty or whatever I'd put Smay in charge of my drink. Which was funny because, seriously, what are the odds of a 51 year old straight lady getting ruffied in a gay club?

There were a couple highlights during the evening. One was a routine that involved the "Hindi Sad Diamonds" bit from "Moulin Rouge" which then morphed into the Pussycat Dolls version of "Jai Ho" and it was superfantastic. And there was also a moment outside with JP when we were hugging on each other and he was telling me how glad he was that I was there on that particular weekend so I could be in that place that had meant a lot to him even though it was forever gone and forever changed.

Now, most of the party left the drag show way early and went to Max, where JP and I had shot pool the night before, and around midnight he and Smay and I started home and said, 'Oh what the hey hey, we'll go to Max'. 'Cept there was a frakking line out the door waiting to get in and we were all, "oh, no'. So we went back to JP's. Which was a good choice anyway because I wanted to eat the remnants of my lunch in a steak sandwich and we had a mystery to solve.

---

The Mystery

In brief: on Friday night Smay had gone to an after party that involved very few people. Guests were, as they are wont to do, taking turns going into the bathroom. Smay got his turn. And he had to immediately exit the bathroom and go to the host and say something on the order of "What the hell happened to your toilet?" As it turns out, when he entered the bathroom there was some sort of heavy object in what remained of the bowl, while a good half of the bowl lay upon the floor.

There were, he told us, speculations and accusations and incriminations and then some sort of exchange of cash for reparations.

But it was, as you can imagine, a very curious tale. What was the object and how had it found its way into the bowl and more to the point, how does someone obliterate another person's toilet and not cop to it, like, immediately?

Certainly, it is embarrassing to do damage to the property of another. But we've all been there. Ok, not, perhaps with the destruction of a toilet but certainly other property. And what do we do? If we were raised at all properly, as JP, Smay and I certainly were, we would own that. Humiliating? Perhaps...nay, certainly. But still. It is what you do. But apparently even in the midst of admitting ownership the "culprit" didn't so much own up as do what was required to get people to shut up. Which of course led to all sorts of additional speculation.

Now, I will freely admit that we have reached the point where the phrase "you had to be there" would be entirely appropriate. But I ask you this: imagine the notions that would spring up from such a scenario. Come up with a phrase to describe the most scatological of those scenarios, say, "stone baby". Think of the implications of that phrase. Then put 3 literate, rather amusing and high spirited folks, tanked up, admittedly on beer and/or Cape Cods and put them in a room together. Think police tapes, re-enactments and "Law and Order". You might get a glimpse into the next couple of hours I spent with JP and Smay. Yeah. You had to be there but seriously people, who among you has ever broken a toilet? And if you did, what in the world did you think people were saying behind you back?

The possibilities for amusement are nigh unto endless. Trust me.

Saturday in Omaha, Part 1

My Saturday in Omaha, which was now over a week ago but still doesn't seem like it, was of 2 parts. There was the day part and then there was the evening part. We'll start with the day part.

Have I mentioned that I slept like a baby in Omaha? That's important because it's been so frakking long since I slept through the night and there I was, in a bed not my own, in a place not my own, in a time zone not my own and I. Slept. Like. A. Baby. Every demmed night. It was awe.some.

We hadn't stayed up quite as late on Friday night so I believe we got up a little earlier in the morning. We took our time, drinking coffee and giggling and listening to music. I forgot to mention that we had a soundtrack for the weekend, a play list JP put together just pour moi, a list comprised of some 200 songs that he either knew I liked or knew I would like. Girls, this is the sort of thoughtfulness you look for in a man. And if it turns out he's gay, well, you keep him anyway...for those weekends when you need to get away. Trust me.

So we had our morning and then we went out because I had to get presents for everyone. Snob that I am, I joked to the home folks that I'd bring them back "something made of steak". Ha ha, very funny. 'Cept my big slap-o-the-side-o-the-head was that Omaha is, in fact, the ONLY city I've ever been in which actually doesn't do much in the way of tourism. Oh, I'm sure they'd like to..."come see our fantastic zoo!"...."wrestle wild animals in front of the Mutual of Omaha building while I stand here and talk about it"...."eat a steak!"....but it hit me, out there on the lovely streets of the Old Market, that the paucity of key rings made of steak owes to the fact that Omaha is the only major city I've ever been to that seems to exist only for the people who actually live there and not the tourists who may come to visit. That's a unique thing. They could market that.

'K. So we're shopping and I'm not buying things made of steak and it is, btw, absolutely gorgeous out. Like, 70 degrees. And how crazy is that, I'm thinking, that I had to go to Omaha to get anything remotely resembling spring?

We walked around and I took lots of pictures and then we hooked up with his mom and dad for a little lunch.

JP's folks are terrific. Mom Judy is a bubbly, talkative hugger. Dad Skip...well, let's just say that now I know the origins of JP's smartassery. They were delightful, telling us about their recent trip to Hawaii and admiring phone photos of my family. We went out for steak and it was quite delicious and beefy, although Skip kept telling me that he woulda done it better so next time he's grilling.

It was a big steak. I took half of it home. The brew pub in which the steak was got had playing cards stuck to the ceiling. That amused me.After a fine lunch, and the last of my souvenir purchases, we sauntered back to the apartment to look at video of the 'rents riding zip lines through lush Hawaiian valleys and then went up to the roof to chat in the sunshine.

Iowa, it turns out, is very close to the Omaha part of Nebraska. That's it in the background.But we didn't go there because I needed a nap and JP needed to go to the store, both in preparation for the evening part of our Saturday.

Odds & Ends from the Album

I forgot what freaks you people are about hair. Let's get this out of the way.

There'll be more later. That's just going to have to hold you.

---

I will tell you something quite truthfully. I'm feeling a little homesick.

I miss Omaha.

I miss my Poodle.

Let's look at this objectively. Let's say I just went to Omaha on an average weekend and let's say there was no "Battlestar", no Minogue (because she was busy), no haircut, no shopping, no dining out, no any of the other going out stuff that happened. Let's say I just went for the weekend and we didn't do anything but hang out in the apartment.

(puts index finger on chin and gets dreamy look on face, considering)

Yep. I'd still be feeling this way. I get this way about other places as well. When someone gets into your heart the place where they are takes on its own kind of magic. The mere mention of, oh, say Chicago or Otown and I suddenly want to be on the Balcony of Terror with Buck or the front porch with Sling. Because these people are my dear friends and even though we are in touch through various means all the time, sometimes you just miss being with a person.

So there.

Here are some random shots left from last Friday night. After the bar JP took me up to the roof of his building to look at the lights. This, btw, is as cosmopolitan as Omaha is ever going to look.

My handsome boy:

My handsome boy getting tired of posing for me:

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I was fascinated by JP's apartment building, which in its first life had been a macaroni factory. I adore macaroni.

Since Omaha was close to the duram wheat supply, the Skinner macaroni plant was one of the leading producers of macaroni and cereal products. During WWI they conserved wheat by making something called "Kornroni", a hybrid corn-wheat product. In 1927 the company introduced "Cheesroni", one of the first efforts at mac & cheese in a box. I'll bet you didn't know that.

But she did:

38,000

For two people who'd been up drinking sipping wine and talking until the wee hours, you'd think JP and I would have been slow to start. You'd be wrong. We dusted off his coffee maker and had some restorative brew. I also have a vague recollection of toast. Then we were out the door because we had things to do.


We had to go to Italy

and visit a shrine to the 12 lords of Kobol and pay homage to the hybrid.

(And those last 2 things won't matter to you because you don't watch "Battlestar Galactica" but we do. Or did).

We had a very tasty quiche at Delice, one of JP's favorite haunts and found a beautiful dress, for me, at Nouvelle Eve. They seem to get a little French in Omaha, actually.


I posed in front of the great blue orb of Omaha and then we had to scamper because JP had arranged for me to get a hair cut, which -as you can see- I badly needed. This also gave me occasion to take some photographs of the lobby of the Paxton Hotel, which used to be a grand place of hostelry and now is mostly business on the ground and apartments above.




A girl can get a very good haircut in Omaha for only $35, btw. Almost reason enough to live there.


I have not mentioned it but there was an undercurrent all day of excitement that teetered between fear and joy. The whole point of my visit, you'll remember, was to watch the series finale of "Battlestar Galactica" and this was the day. So even as we scampered about and joked and talked and shopped and all that, we were mostly doing things like counting down the time and talking about "what"...."what if it breaks our hearts"...."what if it's the best 2 hours on television ever"...."what do you think will happen with..." So many questions remaining and so little time to answer them.


Back at the flat we alternately admired my new do and prepared dinner while watching the "Behind the Scenes" special for BSG. Then the champagn-ya was popped and the moment we'd been simultaneously anticipating and dreading arrived.

There will not be a review because we realize we are the only ones in our neck of Blogtopia who would care and we've already reviewed it for ourselves. Suffice to say we were entertained, surprised and fundamentally satisfied. Except about Kara. What the H?

Moving on.

We were somewhat excitable after the finale so JP decided to show me his "bar", which was not the "bar" I'd always imagined but far more of a "club". Still, there were cosmos and lights in the trees and pool tables. We played 3 games, I think. JP was far superior to me, actually managing to sink intended balls and do so with the sort of skill one associates with Cool Hand Luke some iconic pool hustler. (He claims that I actually used the 1 ball as the cue ball but I deny it. I also, alternatively, suggest to you that yellow can easily read white in night club lighting).

Then something happened. You know how you have those occasional moments of clarity? The times when you realize you are fully present in the moment? Well, I had one there at the Max, over the pool tables while, ironically, listening to Vanessa Hudgens' "Sneakernight". In some way I can barely explain, I plugged back into myself. I had been so stressed and anxious about so much in the last weeks leading up to this trip. Everything was focused on my various roles and the ways in which I was (or deemed myself not to be) fulfilling them. But there I was, bopping to music and shooting pool and drinking cosmos and laughing with one of my best friends ever after watching the end of the greatest show ever on television on a crisp and beautiful night in a place not my home but familiar and suddenly I felt truly myself again. And if nothing else happened for the rest of the weekend that was going to be enough.