A Post In Which I Wait
Yesterday I put a message in a bottle and put that bottle in the ocean. It said, Hear me, Forgive me, Promise me, Love me. And today I sit on the (metaphorical) beach and wait for a reply. And while I wait, I can’t help but think the answer might not come, because what have I done to deserve understanding, forgiveness, promise, or love.
But it’s not always about deserving, is it? I think, maybe, it’s about having faith that it will come, and staying until it does.
I don’t want to miss it.
Things My Mother Taught Me, Part 2
Every woman needs to have at least one daughter so when she gets a little older and maybe starts to grow some unfortunate hairs on her face she has someone to point them out and make sure they are removed. If you ever see a middle aged woman walking around with whiskers on her chin, it’s probably because she doesn’t have any daughters to point them out and all her friends are too scared to say anything.
*Editor’s note: While this advice is from my mom and based on a true story, I’m sure she would like me to note that it is not (usually) her lovely face that is sprouting unsightly hairs. But if it were, she has three daughters who would tell her, STAT.
Snap, Crackle, Brulee!
This weekend I was bored, and as we all know, bored Melissa + kitchen full of food = who knows! Sometimes it’s great, sometimes it’s a disaster, mostly it’s just okay. But this weekend I made something I really like. It’s very simple, but sometimes simple is the way to go. I’ve never put a recipe on my blog before, for a few reasons. The main one is that I don’t..so much…measure…anything. But since I do aspire to write a cookbook, I thought I’d better give it a stab. Please enjoy my specific descriptors like “smallish,” there’s just really no better way to say it.
Marshmallow Brulee Rice Krispies
1 bag marsmallows
1 stick of butter
1 cup peanut butter (I like crunchy)
6 cup Rice Crispies
In a large (preferably non-stick) saucepan combine half (or so) of the marshmallows, 3/4 of the stick of butter and the peanut butter. Melt over medium heat, stirring constently. Fold in the Rice Krispys and then spread the mixture in to a greased 9×13 pan. In a smallish bowl combine the rest of the marsmallows and the buter, microwave for 45 seconds and then (move fast, this is time sensitive) mix them together and spread evenly over your rice crispy treats. Put under the broiler for 2-3 minutes, until the top gets brown and crispy. You’ll probably want to crack the oven door a little an watch them because they will go from golden brown and delightful to totally burt in no time. Trust me, if there is one thing I know how to do it is burn something under the broiler.
Tuesday Night Therapy
For some reason I keep accidentally reading books about marriages ending badly. This leads me to ask my husband unfortunate questions, like whether he would prefer to divorce me or shoot me and then throw my body in the Great Salt Lake. Obviously this is crazy on so many levels. But seriously, how ironic would it be that I spent my whole life avoiding the Great Salt Lake, only to meet my untimely end there.
Anyway, I’m reading another book about a marriage ending badly, Heartburn by Nora Ephron.
I starting reading it because, hello, it’s written by Nora Ephron, and she is fabulous, and lo and behold it’s about a divorce, but this time it’s a funny divorce, so it’s not that bad. Actually, it’s really quite delightful and I wholeheartedly recommend to one and all.
Plus, it saved me several years and several thousand dollars of therapy in this one paragraph.
“I loved to cook so I cooked. And then the cooking became a way of saying I love you. And then the cooking became the easy way of saying I love you. And then the cooking became the only way of saying I love you. Every so often I would look at my friends who were happily married and didn’t cook and I would always find myself wondering how they did it. Would anyone love me if I couldn’t cook? I always thought cooking was part of the package: Step right up, it’s Rachel Samstat, she’s bright, she’s funny, and she can cook!”
That about sums up 75% of my emotional problems. Okay, 50%. 25%? Fine, 7.5%. I have a lot of emotions, whatever. But it does explains why it upsets me so much when my husband comes home from work and has already eaten, or when my Dad picks up his running commentary on how much time and money I waste on this cooking hobby. Seriously people, I’m not good at much, let me be good at this! At least at the end of the day you can eat my hobby, which is not the case with most people.
I mean when was the last time you had a nice, juicy custom built server for dinner?
Exactly.
Only Funny in Text
Let’s be honest, I’m way funnier by text than I am in real life. Examples:
—————————————————————————————————-
Husband: Sorry I missed your phone call, I was up a tree with a chainsaw.
Me: Either that is true, and you have a whole life as a logger that I know nothing about, or that’s an excuse so clever I have to forgive you. Win-win.
Later that day…
Husband: I’m going to be a little late tonight.
Me: More logging to do? Or perhaps you need to bring in your lobster traps? Forest fire to put out?
—————————————————————————————————-
My mom and I were texting about our uncomfortable office chairs today. It went something like this:
Do you ever have days when your butt feels uncomfortably boney. Like suddenly there’s not enough padding down there to keep you comfortable. But then you stand up and there’s magically enough to make it look like you swallowed J-LO?
Next Page »