Monthly Archives: April 2012

I’ve made only a handful of meatloaves in my 45 years.  I think the name is what has turned me off, frankly.  I mean, it’s just a hamburger with a little extra filler in it.  What’s not to like? What is it about the word ‘Loaf’ that makes me flinch?

I have several bacon-brained friends who are putting bacon into everything lately (see ~ Meat Hug From God ~ ) and I had the probably unoriginal idea to put bacon on top of the loaf-of-meat I’d made tonight.

For Easter Dinner.

I took an entire pound of bacon and laid each slice lovingly across the top of my loaf-of-meat.  And then poured ketchup with brown sugar and steak sauce, etc, on top of that.  Turned the oven on to 350 and let-er-rip.  For like, an hour.

Lord Almighty.  The bacon raised the meatloaf to a whole new level.

I know with all the hype Bacon has been receiving lately, you might roll your eyes at this one…but please…PLEASE, do this.  Cover your loaf of meat with bacon, and love it.  Love it like no other meatloaf before it!

(Those are Crash Potatoes on the side, by the way.  I got the recipe from Ree Drummond.  Fantastic.  My Captain has declared it to be one of his new favorites!)

Have you ever met a person who was much younger than you, but seemed so much older?  My friend Vicki and I were served dinner by one last weekend.  Her name was Emily, and even though we only had a short interaction with her, she could have been one of my own old cronies.

She is in her early 20’s.  She has the world before her.  She has optimism, hope, energy.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her what fun little gifts life has in store for her.  I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I used to be a LOT like her…before I was BEATEN DOWN TO THIS BARELY RECOGNIZABLE SHELL OF MYSELF.

(Insert Soap Opera music)

And then I realized, that the youthful ball of fire I used to be, like Emily is now, is still within me.  It’s still here.  It just comes out in different ways now.

And no, I’m not talking about my uncontrollable middle-aged-wrought flatulence.  Well, at least not ONLY that.

My humor is different.  My perception of life is different.  Sure, I’m a little more  cynical.  Yeah, I’m less likely to smile at a stranger.  You betcha I carry a larger sack of humility around.  (Ever seen Santa’s sack?  It’s bigger than that.)  Yes, my ball of fire no longer burns as brightly as Emily’s does.

But it still burns.

And, frankly, we need to make room for the Emilys out there.

Here she was clearing our glasses from the table, and shining.  SHINING.

You GO girl!

Emily is a budding Photographer.  Look her up:

http://emilygude.com/photography/Welcome.html

Let’s give her a hand up.

Because she is us, decades ago.  And I want her to succeed.  If she succeeds, we all do.

And by all, I mean the collective ALL.  The esoteric All.  The universal All.

Heavy stuff, man.

But look at that smile.  Don’t you just want it to go on forever?

I have not had time alone with another woman my age for dinner and drinks in FAR too long.  I don’t know exactly how or when I lost control of my own time, but life has had its merry way with me, and I no longer drive this particular bus.

Fortunately for me, this particular bus decided to give me a night out with one of the coolest chicks I’ve had the good fortune to get to know in a long time.

Her name is Vicki, and she looks like this:

She’s got a smile that will knock you back on your heels.  And she’s smart, so you can’t just try to bullshit your way past her.  And she’s funny.  And she’s tough.  I’d fear her if I wasn’t so filled with my own false sense of confidence.  I talk smack, but if someone calls me on it, I have to run away.  If she talks smack and someone calls her on it, she can back it up.

It’s good to have friends like Vicki.

I’ve been a paramedic for a few years.  Vicki has been a paramedic for decades.  She used to be in charge of all the medics in her battalion before the budget cuts hit our county.  You have to be smart, quick, and have unusually large, er, guts to be able to manage other medics.  Medics are a funny breed of people.  But that is for another post altogether.

Oh, and did I mention that she is a CAPTAIN?!  Do you have any idea how hard and rare it is for a woman to achieve the rank of Captain in the manly-man world of Fire and Rescue?  Well, baby, she did, and she didn’t sell out her femininity when she did it.  THAT got my attention, and my respect.

But I’m not here to talk Fire and Rescue tonight.  I’m here to talk Women, Food, and Love, in that order.

Women:  Vicki.  Awesome, sexy woman who I have only known slightly until this weekend, and now I know much better and like even more.  I love people who are not afraid to show their depth, their human-ness, their silly sides.  I love people who laugh at my jokes.  And after a couple of these:

She WAS laughing at all of my jokes.

I’m not above drugging my audience.

I also love people who share my love of food.  We were at the Braddock Inn in Braddock Heights, Maryland (http://braddockinn.com/) and guess what we ate.

She had steak with goat cheese on it.  I died when I tasted it.  It was unbelievable.

But then I had the fish and chips, and I was resurrected.

In all seriousness, it was some of the most succulent Cod I’ve ever, ever eaten.  Ever.   Go, try it now. I beg you.

Then we splurged, because drinking pear-tini’s, lemon-tinis,  cranberry-tinis, eating steak and fish was not splurge enough, and got desert.  Oh LAWDY.

Apple Peach Cobbler.  Or maybe it was Peach Pear Cobbler.  I can’t remember.  All I remember was that it was deliciousness served in a cast iron skillet all your own.  We wept.  Now see, Vicki, she’s somewhat of a health-conscious kind of gal.  She has to be for her job, I guess.  I figure that’s why she went with the fruit based desert.  Me, I live more dangerously.  I figure I won’t live past 60, so I try to cram all the goodness I can in until then.  So I chose this SIN of a desert:

I won’t lie to you, if my arteries hadn’t been plaque-encrusted then, they were after eating this.  Chocolate on chocolate on cocoa, on chocolate.  With ice cream.

You know me:  I’m a glutton.  But I will not lie to you…I couldn’t finish it.  I just couldn’t.  I really, really, really wanted to.  But I was too full.  And I wasn’t a pleasant full, I was an uncomfortable, unbuckle my belt, couldn’t-eat-one-wafer-thin-mint-more kind of full.

It was so sad.  So very sad.

Ok, I’m over it.

The final part of this post concerns love.

During our meal, Vicki told me how she and Brian, her husband who is also a captain in the fire service, met and fell in love.  I was also told in no uncertain terms that he is NOT to be the subject matter within Mamaboe.  So I will leave you with this:  They’ve always loved each other.  They’ve been married forever and are as much in love now as they were the day they first fell.

I was a puddle of martini-filled tears by the time I had heard the whole story.  I’ve decided Brian is at least as loveable as My Captain, and that I am not the Luckiest woman on the planet. It turns out I am only one of a couple of the luckiest women on the planet.

But I’m not allowed to talk about Brian, so I won’t.

I stepped outside onto the back deck yesterday, and look at what my eyes beheld:

That’s Top Soil and Compost from Beallsville Valley Farm.  And THAT, my friends, is the last layer of dirt this project gets.  The end is near! (eek!)

Our friend John is renting us his Bobcat, and My Captain is loving it.  Why?  Because a) he’s a guy. b.) it works most of the time. c.) it’s saving his back. and d.) he’s a guy.

Such concentration.

I wonder what he is thinking. You know what he would say if I asked him?  He’d say, “Nothing.”  It’s amazing how often he is thinking nothing for such a thinking kind of guy.

After he got the compost on the slope where the flower bed will be, he raked and tamped it down.  Had my Critter not been on Spring Break with his father, he would have enjoyed the tamping.  He’s the best tamper, EVER.

And see where the gravel is?  That will eventually be half-patio, half-grass.

….I think.  At least, that is the plan.  And plans are subject to change….

Can you see the difference between the under soil and the compost/top soil we are putting on top?  Wow.  Organic Matter galore!  (That’s a gardener’s way of saying ‘poop.’)

I cannot wait to get started!!!  I’ve got dreams of Ivy and Clematis and Honeysuckle dancing in my head.  I also have nightmares of dandelions and crabgrass and wild strawberry vine.

Any way you slice it, though, you gotta admit the project lovingly known as “The Mud Pit” is finally coming to its intended goal.  I am impressed.  It’s a LOT of work.  And My Captain has put up with no small amount of, er, whining from me.  I’m not proud of it.  But in my defense, I don’t have the ability of ‘Vision’ for great things the way he does.  I’m just lucky to get my pants on properly every morning.

We all live life at our own level, I suppose.

My Captain has been getting a lot of flak for the posts on this blog where I pour out my heart for him.  I make no bones about it.

I think he is handsome.

I think he’s strong.

I think he’s smart.

I think he’s funny.

I think he’s steady.

I think he’s exciting.

I think he’s trustworthy.

Did I mention the handsome part?

He’s the Bee’s Knees.

And as this blog is truly a stream-of-consciousness-flow-of-continual-drivel, those particular thoughts about My Captain come pouring out with the rest of it.

And he gets a lot of ribbing.  As in, a LOT.

Often.

I wonder why?  Don’t other people’s spouses talk that way about them?  I mean, if you can’t expect to receive an outpouring of support and affection from your spouse, who CAN you expect to hear it from?  If anyone is going to wax poetic about someone’s good qualities, it ought to be their own partner!

And how sad it would be if there was silence on the subject.

Assumption is a dangerous thing.  If I said nothing, My Captain might not know how truly deeply I care for him.  And I can’t take that chance.

I wonder if the people who tease him don’t secretly wish their own spouse felt as strongly about them as I do about My Captain.  So strongly, that they shouted it to the world (or, er, threw it out there in pixels).  To be proud of your partner…it’s the ultimate affirmation.  I would rather affirm my beloved than tear him down, or neglect him.

I understand that some people love quietly.  But those are quiet people.  That’s the way they roll, and that is fine!  But when you get an extrovert like me, you have to sort of expect these kinds of public confessions.   I mean, really, if you took an extrovert like me and I was silent on the subject, wouldn’t you wonder if something was wrong?

Now see, My Captain is more the quiet sort.  He prefers to show his love for me in other ways:

A short rub on the back.

A private smile.

A rolling of the eyes.  And I know he loves me a lot, because he rolls his eyes at me all the time.

Life is uncertain. You never know when circumstances might change drastically.  It could happen anywhere, anytime, to anyone.  Especially folks who put themselves in harm’s way for a living.

I don’t ever want to find myself in a situation where I wish more than anything that I had told him I loved him just one more time.

I bet he feels the same way.  I bet he doesn’t want to find himself wishing that he could have rolled his eyes at me just one more time.