Warning: Read This Only if You Love Olives

I filched this recipe from The Pioneer Woman's blog. Again.

I don't have time for small talk, so here it is:

Chop 6 ounces of black olives, 6 ounces of green olives, and a couple of scallions and mix with one stick of butter (it's OK), 1/2 cup of mayo (I used light Hellman's), 3/4 pound of monterey jack cheese (or your favorite cheese) and a sprinkling of thyme, if you have some at your disposal.

Split a baguette, lengthwise and lather it on.

Bake at 325 degrees for 30 minutes or until bubbly and browning. Cut into one or two inch slices and enjoy the hell out of it.

This was delicious. We had it for dinner and then breakfast and then served leftovers for a dinner party the next day. It's great as a meal with a big salad, or as an appetizer.

It's very olivey, rich, salty and did I mention olivey? If you happen to not love olives, even though "love" and "olives" are pretty much the same word, well, you've wasted five minutes.

Peace out.

Answers

You are
the softness of flour
sifted silver
tarnished
by the questions plastered
in bones

white with longing,
your fingers dance
in my open palm
I feel the cool, complete
warmth,
like the breath
of a roar

you are
a criminal dying
to be caught, repentant
only for the love
you never spent
the lives
you never touched,
and I
remember only your face,
covered with closed eyes, tired
of asking

I have lived my life
pretending
to write
this.

Drinking Dom Perignon on Wednesday

The first touch
was as hesitant as water
dripping from stone, feathers
pounding the space between our breath.
You shared a sliver of flesh,
offered me the film of champagne
clinging to your lips, still
cold, trembling
from a deafened grief.
As your sighs dug into the silence
of this thing we now accept as friends,
I ached
to feel your face, dying

to taste
the liquid grain of salt
crawling from your stare.
The smile melting and choking
in your mouth
was easy to consume
as it leapt into my own
and mingled with that hardened pieced of me
I haven't called a heart
in years.

Oysters on the Half Shell

when i was seventeen
i learned how to eat
the glow of what is
uncommon,
softer than sin.
Normal is mediocre, she said, sipping
the inevitable Chardonnay. Fresh fish
swam in my blood.
Teach me, I begged, reaching
for her
fork. Lemon juice
flowed like a painless blood
from the corners of her lips.
I smiled
and took another vicious bite,
my throat throbbing
and aching
to be filled. She raised her empty glass
and toasted
to the child in me
dying.
To Us.

Monumental Food, Motherly Love and Cuddly Produce

Folks, I made the best dish I have ever made in my entire life. Not kidding. It was somewhat involved by some standards, but for me, piece of crêpe. 

The crêpes recipe was intriguing, using matzo meal instead of flour, as well as a ton of eggs (3 large eggs plus 4 egg whites.) 

It involved mushrooms, onions and garlic sauteed in butter with thyme.

Add cream, milk and parmesan cheese and simmer the hell out of it.

Fill the crêpes with the creamy mushroom mixture, top with leftover sauce and Swiss cheese and you have this:

It was so good that Laura agreed to organize my recipes in a binder. Just so we didn't lose this one.

I made the children crêpes filled with cheese since it was the day before Mother's Day and I didn't want repercussions from making them eat mushrooms.

Sunday, we went out for  brunch at Granite City. We didn't have reservations so we were stuck on the patio and almost froze to death. The best part was the Eggs Benedict Station. It's a whole station! I would have been totally happy just having a well prepared brunch of just eggs benedict, but when you're faced with a buffet, you basically have no choice but to eat everything that's available. Buffets are a terrible thing and whoever invented them should probably be fired.

Cyd really liked the tiny pitcher of cream.

I don't have a good segue here, only because it's impossible to transition from brunch to stuffed, cuddly fruit. Fiona  loves that damn banana, which she won at a carnival in Ocean City last year. It's a banana with giant teeth and crazy eyes. How is that remotely huggable?

 The kids decided to honor us with a full fledged spa. There were facials and pedicures. I called Fiona as my spa person. Cyd was in charge of Laura. She got the raw end of the deal. God love Cyd, she's still working on her fine motor skills. Laura is obviously the better mom. But I have a better pedicure.

Laura's feet

Sunday night, we lived it up, with strawberries, chocolate, whipped cream and champagne.

People ask me who gets pampered on Mother's Day. In a nutshell: we both do. We are both the mothers of these children, and they pamper us with terrible pedicures, beautiful smiles and unconditional love. I couldn't have it any other way. 

Happy Mother's Day.

Peace and love.

Red Zebras, Sol Fest, and Mud Ballet: Just Another Typical Weekend.

Posing with the Indiana PTA President and some other VIP

Fiona was invited to attend the PTA Awards luncheon in Indianapolis this weekend. It turns out, she won first place in literature for the statewide "Reflections" project. Her winning story was about a little red zebra who is not accepted in the jungle because he is not black and white, like zebras should be. This very unique zebra is, in fact, extraordinary and the other animals decide to accept him, after all. It's quite the heartwarming tale, with the underlying theme of diversity. Needless to say, we were quite proud of her. We should all embrace with the little red zebra inside of us.

After the luncheon, we visited a plant nursery in Fishers, that was having a native plant sale. You can't really pass that up.

I'm not sure if she was allowed to frolic in the nursery fountain, but native plant people are pretty laid back. They didn't throw us out.

It was nice to spend the day celebrating Fiona's achievement, but it was also nice to get Cyd back. It's surprising how much I can miss each of them when we are not together.

Sunday was a beautiful day for Sol Fest, at Fox Island. We took a quick canoe trip. Notice the trepidation on the children's faces. I asked them to turn around so I could take their photo, because I am so annoying. They were terribly afraid of tipping the boat. I have never seen Cyd so still and quiet.

If there is water, they will be in it.

If there is muddy water, they will be bathing in it.

And dancing in it.

And doing ballet in it.

Peace.

Out.