Category Archives: Uncategorized

Patience, Bless My Soul

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I was heading to the beach and needed two items. I quickly grabbed them and skipped to the express line in Food Lion with one lady in front of me. She was a well-put-together woman in her seventies chatting with check-out guy.

Check-out guy was young and eager to answer all the questions coming at him. Oh, she asked him about his summer and seemed genuinely interested in his college choice. You see, he was “making extra money before heading to UNC Wilmington in the fall.”

“My grandson went there!” she exclaimed. I found my mind wandering back to my college years.

“Ma”am, what are these?” check-out guy asked referring to what was in the produce baggie. “Oh, those are pluOTS.” (heavy emphasis on that second syllable). “They’re a cross between a plum and an apricot. They’re so sweet this time of year.” Trusting her answer, he clicked the little codes in the cash register. Damn, I should have gotten a bottle of ChardonNAY. He fumbled with the next baggie as if it were a Braille textbook. “Avocado”, she answered before he could even ask. “Gonna make me some of that guacamole tonight,” she said with the brightest smile. Apparently removing items from these little baggies and scanning those little stickers is not customary here. This way takes much more time, something we have loads of. My left eye began to twitch as it does when I have to refrain.

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There it goes!

I have adapted a West Coast mentality mixed with Southern genes. Patience is not virtuous to me, but I do my darnedest when I come home. There are “tests” along the way and this was turning into an exam.

Right then, a white-haired gentleman walked in with khaki bermuda shorts, a bait-n-tackle t-shirt, and topsiders, a uniform in the South.

“Ed!!! Heyyyyyy. Oh my GAHHHD! It’s been ayyyyyyy-ges!” He mosied on over and they hugged and a reunion ensued right before me. He talked to her about the rain and her grandchildren and she asked him about his wife’s gall bladder and how the fish were biting.

“Sadie, you shore are holding up well, considering everything and all.” I pondered over what “everything and all” was. I, on the other hand, was holding onto the checkout counter, conveyor belt stopped so Sadie and Ed could wrap up years of loose ends.

A portly woman behind me was guffawing over the gossip mags-so much so I wondered if she was inviting me to join in to see what was so gosh darn humorous or if it was just a party of one. If she was this excited in the express line (term used loosely), I can only imagine homecoming at her Baptist church. I should have taken over her free spirit and succumbed to the tedious wait, made myself at home like everyone else in Express Line 1. I should have. Instead I was made acutely aware that I was the only one with an agenda. Time stood still at the FL. I was locked in a grocery store reality show.

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one minute in line equals one hour real time

After Ed and Sadie bid farewell and the conveyor belt started back up, Sadie took out her checkbook. Ohhh nooo. Checkbooks are virtually banned in CA as no one can be trusted and ….they hold up the line! Even entering a debit card PIN can cause glares.

Meanwhile the checkout line on isle 5 that had wrapped around the Jell-o molds past the neon yellow cupcakes and Moon Pies had cleared out.

“Ma’am, what kind of apples are in here?” check-out guy inquired. Sadie’s arm rested on the rectangular perch and she gave great thought to this.

“Let’s see. They’re either Fuji or Gala. Wait. Wait. They might be Red Delicious. Aren’t those on sale today?”

                         Remove them from the bag! Look at them!! I screamed in my head.

“Price check for produce!” check-out guy exclaimed over the impressive PA system. My watermelon and turkey were warm. I had no doubts that Sadie had spent most of her morning here at the FL chatting and perusing. She put those apples in her cart hours ago! How could she remember? I started wondering about Ed’s wife’s gall bladder.

Sadie giggled because she actually had put Fuji AND Red Delicious apples in the same bag! Oh my! I, too, had to giggle. I was sandwiched between Ms. Congeniality and Ms. Gossip Junkie and physically nor ethically (yes, I’m scrupulous even in Food Lion) could I be pried away. Ms. Gossip Junkie had now read three mags cover to cover and was enjoying her vacay. She now had a bubbly buddy behind her joining in unison at the disbelief of “what these stars get away with.” I grabbed a Peppermint Patty and tore it open for sustenance. I massaged my left eye as it was dancing out of socket.

Sadie finally signed her effen check and ohhhhhhhh-soooooo-carefully removed it from its perforations. She thanked check-out guy profusely as if he had discovered the cure for her bursitis. Everyone had gotten to know each other in these tight brightly lit quarters. She grabbed her bags of potato salads, pluOTS, and mixture of apples and waved back at the crowd as if she were on a float.

Right then she leaned to me and gushed, “Oh honey, I just LOVE your hair!” Awwwwww. Gosh I love Sadie. I’m gonna miss her.

Tammy

 When was the last time you were in a hurry and finally just gave in?

“I’ve learned to used meditation and relaxation to handle stress.  Just kidding.  I’m on my third glass of wine.”  Anonymous

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Kendall-Jackson 2012 Grand Reserve ChardonNAY

Lush tropical fruit intertwines with lemon and lime.  Elegantly rounded with a vanilla and spice finish.

Perfect for the beach, a summer dinner party, or after an outing at your local grocery store.  $22.00

Christmas Presence

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I’m in love!

As I write this, it’s Christmas Eve in my neck of the woods, still quite early. Children are nestled, snug in their beds while Mommy is almost panicked with ‘to do’ lists a mile long dancing in my head. My house is a mess, but festive! The dog needs a bath. My poor Christmas tree, “Sherrie”, is crispy from thirst. Her limbs are hanging low from ten years of homemade ornaments and lifetime memories.  My daughters named her after Steve Perry’s song.  Bless their little Journey hearts. Whew. This Christmas season has got to slow down. For God’s sake, I haven’t blogged in ages! I’m spread thinner than a Baptist minister’s combover.

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December in a good year can be tough. In addition to the mountains of activities and festivities and nativities, my youngest daughter has her birthday right smack in the middle. She wanted a sleepover with NINE friends ” more than anything in the whole world.” And her sister had one the year before, so she played the older sister trump card.  And won. Without exhausting myself further by reliving it, you can fill in the blanks with screams, giggles, pizzas, popcorn, and thousands of Rainbow loom bands. (And please remove any and all sleep from this scenario). But I got gifts too! The mommies brought wine! Any time I complain about her birthday, I have to remind myself it was poor planning on my part to give birth in the middle of December.

Next. My Elf on the Shelf has all but become a third child. Actually fourth considering the dog. I have woken up at three am more than once in a panic realizing I forgot to move him. And I know I’m not alone! As darling as this Yuletide addition is to all of our homes this time of year, he’s also a bit of a pain. This year, I’ve only forgotten to move him once and the little angels weren’t happy. “Mommy, he’s still sitting on the mantle! He didn’t move!” Quick thinking mommy replies, “Well girls, did you fight yesterday?” They glance at each other, “Yes. But we fight everyday.” So true. “Girls, the Elf is not used to this and has reported back to Santa.”

Then, the  Tooth Fairy was summoned.  My oldest lost a wisdom tooth. I remembered it.  Saw it. Congratulated her. Prepared for the Tooth Fairy visit by rummaging through my purse. A five dollar bill. Perfect! Then forgot. Four days later, my daughter plops her little dimpled face into her hands inches away from mine while I’m trying to get my last five minutes of sleep. “This tooth fairy thing is a rip off.” Whaaaa? “It’s been four days! Nothing.” Lots of four letter words like sugar plums danced in my head. “Are you sure???  Did you check everywhere?”” She shot me ‘the look’ reminding me this wasn’t her first rodeo. “You have to write a letter,” I told her. “Maybe she’s sick.”  That sufficed long enough for quick thinking mommy to get my plan in action.  This is the letter I found:

letter

“Dear Tooth Fairy, You didn’t give me my money yet from my tooth. I want it.”

Next morning, the Elf had tucked it under his little elf arms while canoodling with the Monster High dolls. That silly elf! It was him all along I assured her.  She seemed to buy the idea that the Elf actually did steal the money and the Tooth Fairy wasn’t slack. “Maybe he’s stealing other stuff. I can’t find my boots.” Now I have an elf thief.

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The Elf: Friend? Thief?

photo 4Don’t get me started in the advent calendar. Oops. Too late. Simple math. Twenty four little boxes for twenty four days times two little angels equals hundreds of small items. Right? I’ll admit I was pretty good with it, slipping only twice. But being reminded forty times. “It’s the Elf. I swear I put something in there.” I really have started liking him.

Truth is, the season is supposed to be crazy.  Things will be left undone. Things forgotten.  Who cares?   But in a flash, it’s gone. I’m thankful my children still believe for that too will be gone in an instant.  As I say, you must Believe to Receive! It is funny though when you think what must run through our kids’ minds as all of these creatures: the Elf, Tooth Fairy, and Santa mysteriously visit and play while they aren’t watching.  Hmmmm….

Tonight, I will be with my beautiful angels all dressed up with friends.  We will come home and put cookies and milk out for Santa and make Magic Reindeer Food for Santa’s reindeer. Mommy will have a nice glass of Cabernet by the fire and tomorrow a new Christmas memory will be under our expanding belts.  Merry Christmas!  Happy New Year from UnWINEd!

Tammy

Recipe for Magic Reindeer Food:

Raw Oats, Glitter, Carrots, Apples

***Leave out for the Reindeer!

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Awww.  I’m really going to miss this little guy:)

Grits and the Art of Persuasion

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I was stirring a giant pot of pasta, and my ten year old told me emphatically that she is “done with pasta.” She’s “had it entirely too much and never EVER wants to eat it again in her entire life!” That’s a pretty big statement to swallow considering she’s the ripe old age of ten and letting go of pasta is like letting go of the color pink. I stared at her as I typically do when either one of the little angels stun me as they’ve been known to do on occasion. (Sometimes I think it would be easier splitting atoms than to decide what to make for dinner. Let alone, switch gears once the dinner idea is already in progress).

She abruptly opens the refrigerator and we both stare blankly, me still with my wooden stirring spoon in hand as if it was a magic wand. My culinary choices were limited, as I’ve resisted the urge to become a slave to the grocery store. I’ve attempted to end the symbiotic relationship. I want food to magically appear.

She states the obvious,  “There’s nothing in there!”

“Schnookums, you’re wrong.” I explain. “There’s a jar of pickles, make that two, some ketchup. Oooh, There’s Mystery Tupperware container! Shall we see what’s in it?”

“Grits! I want grits for dinner!” She exclaims and grabs a box out of the refrigerator door and holds it like a trophy.

Note to self: that’s TWO pots of boiling water. Hmmmm. Cooking has been thrown to the bottom rung of the priority ladder this summer.

Grits is one of those things you’ll always find in my fridge: A big box of Quaker Quick Grits (the 20 minute kind). For some, it’s a tub of sour cream that stakes its territory way in the back. For others, it may be a jar of grape jelly or a half dozen eggs that you just can’t part with even though you have no clue how many months they’ve been in there. You know who you are. For me, it’s a box of grits.

grits

Southern Happy Meal

I think it’s funny (not funny haha) when people ask, “aren’t grits like oatmeal?” Or, “don’t grits taste like cream-of-wheat?” Do oranges taste like bananas? Is NASCAR the same as Formula One? Is the Atlantic the same as the Pacific? Does red wine taste like white wine, people? For the love of GROUND UP CORN, the answer: a resounding NO!

Grits are ground up corn, ‘coarse-ground cornmeal’, plain and simple. (I won’t get into the hominy thing. I’ll keep it reeeeeal simple). They’ve been around for 400 years! Three-fourths of all grits sold in the US are sold in the South stretching from Texas to Virginia. Their warmth and creamy texture are a hug in your tummy-just bowls full of piping hot goodness!

If you’ve not been lucky enough to grow up in the South, I’ll gladly part with some insight, boil it down for you. First, there are two kinds of grits:

1: The ‘instant’ grits which no good Southerner would evah evah cook (or admit to)

2: The boil-in-water-for-twenty-minutes kind. And they come in two shades: white and yellow! According to grits history, white corn was popular in the port cities in the south, while yellow corn was popular in the urban cities.

Here is the simple grits recipe anyone can follow (bless your little non- Southern hearts):

*One cup of grits to five cups of water*

Bring water to a boil, then pour grits in while stirring. Add a pinch or two of salt. Lower the heat and simmer, all the while stirring to prevent clumping. You do NOT want clumpy grits.  After twenty minutes, voila! Now,  throw in butter or cheese, add some country ham, sausage, or red-eye gravy and dare I say…piping hot buttermilk biscuits, (cue gospel choir). There’s just not a better meal, breakfast or suppah! And they’re healthy too! (above additives notwithstanding). No fat, no cholesterol!

(Fun fact: you do not use the term ‘grit’ when referring to this folate fantasy food. It’s always plural! How can we forget ‘My Cousin Vinny’)?

So, Of COURSE she can have her grits! I have indeed raised a Southern child and it warms my heart almost as much as a bowl of grits themselves. After all, how can I possibly say no to her or grits?

 Tammy 

Get Real In The South

Try ’em. You just may like ’em. Would I stir, uhm, steer you wrong?

For some delicious Grits recipes, give this a try:

www.southernliving.com/…/grits–recipes-…

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Vinny Gambini: How could it take you five minutes to cook your grits when it takes the entire grit-eating world 20 minutes?
Mr. Tipton: Um… I’m a fast cook, I guess.
Vinny Gambini: [across beside the jury] What? I’m sorry I was over there. Did you just say you were a fast cook? Are we to believe that boiling water soaks into a grit faster in your kitchen than any place on the face of the earth?
Mr. Tipton: I don’t know.
Vinny Gambini: Perhaps the laws of physics cease to exist on your stove. Were these magic grits? Did you buy them from the same guy who sold Jack his beanstalk beans?

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Gruet Brut is a crisp, full-bodied, sparkling wine that has light green apple and grape flavors.  Goes perfectly with shrimp-n-grits for a lovely brunch.

Cost: $15.00

Gruet

Ribbit the Exhibit , another stellar way to unWINEd in the South

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Since my mind was old enough to record memories, I remember my love of frogs.  I used to ‘rescue’ the little green tree frogs with sticky feet from my sliding glass doors.  I would cup their little smooth bodies carefully in my hands and transport them to their new home: my red Old McDonald barn with doors that “mooed” when they opened.  If I got really lucky, I might even find a bullfrog.  They loved it there.  Or, that’s what my four-year old mind thought.  After they would hop around with the plastic cows and chickens, it was time for a swim!  I would then fill my bathroom sink with water and watch their little legs kick in synchronicity!  I would hold them and wrap them in washcloths after.

Over the years, my fondness hasn’t wavered.  I am drawn to their cuteness- those big eyes, bulky bodies, their quirky sounds and harmless nature.  They’re not exactly superhero material, though their fly-catching ability and immense jumping potential is pretty impressive. Obviously, there’s something to this attraction as they’ve cornered the fairytale market for years. The idea of kissing a slimy suitor only to have him turn into a handsome prince is not just for the pretty princess, it’s a mini life hint: behind those bulging eyes and big mouth, you may be surprised at what’s in front of you, warts and all.

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All this leads me to the Ribbit the Exhibit, a spectacular display of HUMAN size frogs in a heavenly corner of the world, Airlie Gardens in Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina.  Set amidst 67 acres of jaw dropping lush gardens, live oaks, ponds, and Bradley Creek, are 16 copper creations by famed sculptor Andy Cobb. Having known Andy for years and my little angels adoring his many unique aquatic adaptations, this exhibit exemplifies his mega talent.

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Fred and Ginger

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fFresh catch

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Tree frog

And these aren’t just your average hop-in-the-field frogs.  They mow, dance, scuba dive, catch butterflies, and even perform a lotus pose on a lily pad.  And if you happen hoppin to be in the area, Ribbit the Exhibit will be on display until September 22, 2013.  Feel free to kiss them….you won’t be the first!

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mowin’ the garden

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lotus on a lily pad

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Brass Band

“Theories pass. The frog remains.”  Jean Rostand

“I’d kiss a frog even if there was no promise of a Prince Charming popping out of it. I love frogs.”  Cameron Diaz

Humidity Rocks!

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Welcome to North Carolina ya’ll!  Please put your hair in its upright position!  Once we stepped onto the jetway and took our first big gulp of wet air, I knew I was home.  Humidity and the South go together like bees and honey, cukes and tomatoes, flies and Chardonnay. The little angels whined, “Mommy it’s sooooooooo hot.”  Ah, bless their little hearts….and we just got here! My hair went from unmanageable to Miss Sweet Potato Queen runner-up in seconds! In the land of big hair, I fit right in.

cukes2We were welcomed with the sweet melody of Southern drawls. Even the airport security guy was nice when I freed Cowboy from his carrier.  “Excuse me honey.  Do you mind holdin’ your dawg until you can take him outside?  Thank you.(smile) He shore is a purty dawg.” He reached down and gave him a little scratch on the head. We are not at LAX.

My friends and my daughters’ friends were circling like seagulls waiting for us to pull in from the airport.  Holding mommy sippee cups filled with fruity cocktails, they embraced us as if it had been forever and a day. With a few apologies for impending rainstorms, I couldn’t thank them enough as if they had ordered it especially for us.  Rain?  Yippee!  Tears of joy! (It never rains in California, the girls don’t they warn ya’). We caught up on gossip, our lives, and tied the two coasts together as if they were connected at the hip.oak tree

I slid into the South like an old pair of loafers, ones I had hidden in the back of a closet.  The air is fresh and clean.  Cicadas hum every afternoon from the live oak trees and people stop by unannounced just to talk about the weather, leave a pie or boiled peanuts, or ask how we’re doing (and they really want to know!).  To see my daughters beam with the same excitement I had growing up by the beach here overwhelms me.  The simple pleasures are the big ones.  Riding bikes in bikinis, jumping off friends’ docks, eating fried shrimp and picking blueberries excite them more than a One Direction concert

dockNorth Carolina is where my heart is; where it will always be.  My toes dig into the soft powdery sand like roots and to me, there’s no place more beautiful.  My years away make me more appreciative everyday that I have this.  It has shaped me into the person I am. I’m doubly thankful that I can see the same joy in my daughters’ eyes.  They are me.

As I unWINEd in North Carolina, I want to give you a few sweet things to sink your teeth into about the wonderful South:

Land of Southern Belles, country ham, and blueberry pies.  Azaleas, beauty queens, pig pickins’ and front porches. Rocking chairs, and NASCAR, sweetened ice tea, ice-cold beer, and the Intracoastal Waterway.  Garden clubs, floral dresses, floral everything.  Long vowels, country music, fat tomatoes and cucumbers from your garden and summer rainstorms and bare feet. Live oak trees, bluegrass, cardinals, bushy-tailed squirrels and the Civil War.  Pee-cans, homemade preserves, and Dukes mayonnaise.’Yes ma’ams’, grits and buttermilk biscuits, and warm ocean water.  Hush puppies, needlepoint, chivalry, madras plaid and pick-up trucks.  Just to name a few…..

Stop by and say heyyy!  I’ll have a cocktail waiting.  And thanks to the humidity and my perpetual glow, I’m two years younger just writing this!bikes

Sending warm hugs and humid kisses,

Tammy

“In my mind I’m going to Carolina. Can’t you see the sunshine, can’t you just feel the moonshine? Ain’t it just like a friend of mine to hit me from behind? Yes, I’m going to Carolina in my mind.”

-James Taylor (NC native) “Carolina in My Mind”

 

“Spend the afternoon.  You can’t take it with you.”

~Annie Dillard

(Hot)Dog Days of Summer

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As if we needed another reason to celebrate summer, July is National Hot Dog Month, recognition for something so great, it’s not just a one-day event; it’s 31 days of pure nitrate goodness. On July 4th weekend alone, over 150 million hot dogs will be downed. That’s enough hot dogs to stretch from Malibu to North Carolina 5 times! And 750,000,000 will be consumed in the U.S. each year! (Los Angeles being the number 1 city).  There’s no denying our love for the pup.

I’m a fan of the hot dog.  It’s entwined in my childhood memories, perhaps my DNA and I’m proud to say that I’ve passed it down to my two daughters. They count down the minutes til we hit our favorite place to get the best hot dog: Trolly Stop in Wrightsville Beach NC.  About the size of a small kitchen, they churn out over 1,000 plump dogs a day in the summer.

The Trolly Stop Wrightsville Beach NC

The Trolly Stop
Wrightsville Beach NC

People wrap around the shack of a building like a giant hug waiting patiently in the hot sun for clearly the best hot dogs on the planet (I’m biased, but right).  What seals the deal is the bun.  The buns are steamed then the hot dogs are carefully laid upon these soft pillows.  Once the condiments adorn them, it’s a matter of minutes before the fireworks go off in your tummy.

553795_10150744611875140_46004845_nI love that there’s an actual National Hot Dog and Sausage Council (NHDSC) a ‘governing body’ that offers insight, statistics, facts, recipes (and more!) about the rolled-up wonder meat. For those of you talented crooners who didn’t make the American Idol cut, there’s Hot Dog Idol! Feel the love and express your admiration in a song. There are no recording contracts, but there is a $250 grand prize to your favorite grocery store to buy what else?  Hot Dogs! Log onto: http://www.hot-dog.org/.

Wanna know what’s in them?  Doesn’t matter! Turn the other cheek er… bun. The pork versions contain everything except the oink. MSG and spice and everything nice. (Just for fun: read the ingredients on your favorite protein bar).

There have been loads of claims on the actual origin of the hot dog.  Germany?  St. Louis? New York?  Let’s just be thankful they did! How much do you love the hot dog?Let’s count the ways. In Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest this 4th of July on Coney Island, Joey “Jaws” Chestnut woofed down 69 hot dogs and buns in 10 minutes, his seventh consecutive win.  He’s a real Weiner! Uhm…winner.  And did you know that when King George VI and Queen Elizabeth made their first visit to the United States in 1939, President Franklin D. Roosevelt welcomed them to his Hyde Park estate by hosting a picnic and served them hot dogs? (wonder if he used this tactic for getting us through the Great Depression and WWII).

Beer has typically accompanied the hot dog on most of its outings.  They look good together. They go together like peas and carrots. But I thought I’d do a little wine pairing with the hot dog- ya’ know, dress it up a bit.

2011 Esperto Pinot Grisio $10

2011 Esperto ville Venetzie
$10

With simple condiments such as mustard, ketchup, perhaps some relish, pair it with a nice cold Pinot Grigio such as the 2011 Esperto ville Venetzie. Its light, delicate notes of mandarin and white peaches compliment and don’t disappoint. It stands up to the tanginess of the mustard. Perfect for the simple dog.

If you’re a fan of chili on your dog, maybe even some onions, try it with the 2010 Francis Coppola Blue Label Merlot.  This Merlot is medium bodied and has multiple layers of fruit flavors, spicy notes, and earthy, mineral nuances.  It won’t compete with the strong taste of the chili and onions.  You’re able to distinguish all the flavors nicely.  I would recommend eating this dog at dinner, maybe on something other than a paper plate.  Light a candle while you’re at it.

2010 Francis Coppola Blue Label Merlot

2010 Francis Coppola
Blue Label Merlot $17

One of my all-time favorite dogs is the Surfer Dog.  It has spicy mustard, melted cheese, and bacon bits sprinkled lightly on top (I’m salivating).  I enjoy this piece of culinary heaven with a 2011 Rodney Strong Sonoma Chardonnay.  This Chardonnay has toasty hints of oak with lemon and apple aromas finishing with pineapple and spice.  It’s a lively chardonnay that brings out the nice smokiness of the bacon bits.

2011 Rodney Strong Chardonnay Sonoma

2011 Rodney Strong Chardonnay Sonoma $15

So whether you call it Perrito Caliente, Chien Chaud, or simply Hot Dog, this iconic snack is imbedded in our hearts (our arteries mostly), and always brings a smile to our faces.

Cheers to Fun in a Bun!  Happy Summer!

Tammy

Edible names are what drives me as a musician. My next band will be called the Hot Dogs. Chad Smith, Drummer, Red Hot Chili Peppers

The pairing of food and wine is a complex and highly inexact science. It is fraught with out-moded rules and a propensity for generalizations. Sid Goldstein, The Wine Lover’s Cookbook

A hot dog at the park is better than steak at the Ritz. Humphrey Bogart

 

The Big Chill revisited

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It began as a funeral, a likely scenario for a reunion with The Stones playing “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”, and culminated into a bittersweet weekend of soul searching.  I watched The Big Chill recently after not having seen it for many years and I quickly moved in with these ex-college friends again as if it was yesterday and I was tagging along for the ride.

chillin' with friends

chillin’ with friends

It’s been thirty, yes THIRTY, years since it was released.  I was in high school when it came out listening to Duran Duran and the Culture Club, and had not gone through any of the life experiences in the film, yet was so taken by the intensity of the relationships, the emotional situations, the diversity of characters, and of course, the music!  1983. The year when Michael Jackson’s almighty Thriller album dominated. National Lampoon’s  “Vacation” , and Tom Cruise in “Risky Business” dancin’ in his underwear were flying up the charts.  Bjorn Borg (hottie) retired from tennis, Swatches came out, Microsoft Word was introduced and M*A*S*H ended its phenomenal run. But it was The Big Chill that introduced me to “When a Man Loves a Woman” by Percy Sledge and I fell in love with the songs in the 60’s! I imagined how awesome it would be ‘when I was WAY older’ to have a motley crew of friends stay together in a big house on the waterway, drink, smoke, have sex, partake in deep conversations and all things cool. Seemed like the quintessential life moment. (ended up having a few of them in college minus the intellectual conversations….)

Now fast-forward thirty years. You’ll see it through new eyes. We’ve been married, divorced, had children, dealt with infidelity, know friends trying desperately to conceive, and unfortunately have known friends to take their own lives.  We’re reliving our past; uncertain of our future and trying our best to live in the moment. We are all living the Big Chill! We’re microcosms of unique circumstances, all cooking up something together and bringing it to the giant oak table, metaphorically speaking. (cue “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg”, by The Temptations).

At the end of the movie, are they any clearer of their future? They’ve looked back on the 60’s to understand the 80’s looking for second chances and fresh starts. I like the fact that there is no ending. Nothing is really resolved. I would say that’s the message.

Tammy

Some great quotes from the movie:

Sam Weber: Nothing’s more important than sex!

Michael: Oh yeah, have you ever gone a week without a rationalization?

Michael: Harold, don’t you have any other music , you know, from this century?

Harold: There is no other music, not in my house.

Michael: There’s been a lot of terrific music in the last ten years.

Harold: Like what?

Chloe: I haven’t met that many happy people in my life. How do they act?

Michael: Everyone does everything just to get laid.

Karen: Who said that? Freud?

Michael: No, I did.

[about getting pregnant]

Sarah: It doesn’t always happen the first time.

Meg: That’s not what they told us in high school.

Michael: Amazing tradition. They throw a great party for you on the one day they know you can’t come.

Why an Eight Year Old Needs a Cell Phone

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When my 8 year old asked me when she could get a cell phone and I was about to say “two weeks from your sixteenth birthday”, I stared at her.  The eagerness in her big blue eyes to be in touch with all the other eight year olds and their social agendas was cute and pathetic.  She’s convinced she NEEDS it.  And my 10 year old has made me feel its just pure neglect that she doesn’t possess an iPhone, only a measly iTouch that she “doesn’t even like”.  I’m such a mean mommy. I’m fairly certain it qualifies as child abuse in the state of California. “But EVERYONE else has one!”  “But punkin’, they are going to be socially stunted as adults.”  “Whaaaaaaa?” I wanted to tell her to Google it, but I stopped myself.

Remember when a keyboard was only on a piano and a virus was the flu?  Only spiders lived in a web? Yes, it is hard to comprehend our lives before we had cell phones and the Internet.  Our Universe shrunk down to the size of a pea and answers to everything were two clicks away.  Our friends could be phoned almost anywhere (for 40 cents per minute) at any time and it was AWESOME! The new technology was exhilarating!  I remember my dad carrying around a cell phone the size of a briefcase, He loaded it in his car to with the same finesse that we load a carryon on a plane, except his bag phone was probably bigger. People would stop and stare.

Our lives before this social media onslaught seem to be pre Civil War (ie Gold Rush or insert event from the 1800s).  We thumbed through the Encyclopedia Britannica and marveled over its slick glossy pages and colorful photos. The library was our only source for term papers.  We utilized mountains of books.  For hours.  I had a row of dictionaries in my room in high school that graduated in line due to their thickness. My big blue one I ultimately filled with my friends’ high school photos and two ‘mums’ from a couple of promsJ (I found it a few years ago when cleaning out a bunch of old boxes. It was bent from the memories and a big ol’ rubber band held it all in place.).  We had a rotary phone mounted to the wall in the kitchen.

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An Apple a day…..

Recently, when I had my third iPhone replaced (sigh), there were a mere couple of hours that I wasn’t ‘connected’ with the world.  You heard right.  Hours. Diagnostics were done.  The Apple Doctors were baffled. Replace the organ! (I mean phone).  Transfer everything AGAIN?!   I admit, I panicked.  My umbilical cord was severed. Waiting a nanosecond for a text response has on occasion put me near Stress Con 5.  I looked at The Genius Bar in Apple and imagined that it served martinis.  Apple martinis! A mirage.

Remember when we used to pass notes in class and it worked! My girlfriend got asked to the prom via a neatly folded note in the middle of Advanced Biology during a lecture on porifera reproduction (you may need to Google that). It was the preferred, well only, method of immediately sending and receiving information on fashion, dates, weekend plans, MTV, feathered bangs, and football games, and “like, how boring this stupid class is and like will this teacher ever like shut up!” But you had to make sure that you had allies beside you, otherwise the covert operation would be thwarted (ie. the future hackers). There was always somebody in the group waiting to grab your notes.  And if you got busted or it got in the wrong hands, the best-case scenario was the note got ripped up and valuable information ‘deleted’. The worst was the teacher read it to the whole class and your crush was revealed and his girlfriend happened to be sitting beside you. And there’s still 45 minutes left.

Google has done for our brains what karaoke has done for our voices.  We are all fucking geniuses holding mini PhDs in everything and we are all one beer away from being ‘discovered’.  If it all boosts our self-esteem in this sea of crazy uncertainty that we all live in, then why not?  Google away! As far as Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and all the others go?  Stick needles in my eyes. Facebook has exhausted me but I caved in. Though, the conversations, the photos, the comments, thumbs up and thumbs down, it’s a lot to keep up and raise kids too. I have to put my virtual foot down and say “No more social media!” (at least for another week or so…….)

So, when I hear, “Mommy, you don’t understand!”  I actually really truly do.  But the answer is still “No.”

Tammy

“When I delete someone from the contacts in my phone, it feels like I’m deleting that person from existence. “
” I answer unknown calls on my cell phone because I’m a fearless person. “

 

Change that Station Now!

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I equate life sometimes with listening to a really bad song on the radio.  You’re agitated from the noise, the intensity, the monotonous head- banging clatter. Then something prompts you to change it.  And it’s at that moment you realize just how bad that song was.  You now have peace.  Your body relaxes. What made you listen to it in the first place?  And for so long?

I love analogies.  They have the ability to clarify and simplify the most complicated situations.  Have you stood up close to a Georges Seurat painting?  His beautiful technique of pointillism uses millions of little dots of color to create a masterpiece.  Up close, his Grande Jatte and Circus is just that: millions of tiny dots.  When we stand back, the painting takes shape; becomes real.  We see the big picture, literally! When we stand back from our life, that too takes shape and we notice all nuances, both good and bad.

Seurat's Grande Jatte and Circus

Seurat’s Grande Jatte and Circus

For me, I stood back a few months ago and wow did my eyes open!  I couldn’t believe what I saw before me.  I had answers, clarity.  How had I missed all of this? I had been so close to the situation at hand, I was clouded by what was going on.  All I could see were those little dots.

Next time if you play your music loud, make sure it’s your station.  If you want peace, turn it off.  Marvel at your decision.  And stand back.  Clarity will bring strength.

Tammy

“Darling, when things go wrong in life, you lift your chin, put on a ravishing smile, mix yourself a little cocktail…”― Sophie Kinsella

“There is a secret in our culture, And it’s not that childbirth is painful, It’s that women are strong.”― Laurie Stavoe Harm

folie a' deux

   Wine Pick of the Week:

Folie a’ Deux

2010 Cabernet

Sonoma County

Elegant with layers of fruit and spice

$24

Personal Space and Daggers in the Back at Starbucks

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I was in line at Starbucks the other morning (weren’t we all?) and there was a man in front of me and in front of him, about six feet of space between him and the cash register.  Behind me was a line out the door of about twenty bleary eyed, stone-faced customers jonesing for a gigantic cup of java hoping to turn them into instant humans. Now we all need our personal space.  That’s a given.  But, due to the extraordinary importance of getting our coffee within the confines of a crowded shop causes us to tolerate this sardine-like existence for just a few more minutes.  So, why does this man think he is entitled to take over prime real estate when the rest of us are abiding by the rules? I promptly asked, “Uhm, excuse me. Are you in line?”  I receive the ‘well duh’ look followed by “uh yeah.”  Ok, then move your ass up to the register so that we can bring in seven more people from the street. I impatiently stand to his side in hopes that he would get a hint.  Nope.  Some people miss all social cues.  Finally “Next!” was called and he moves forward.

Then, Clueless breaks the other cardinal rule: He asks questions.  Many questions.  “What exactly is an Americano?  How many pumps of caramel are in the Grande Caramel Macchiato?  Can I get two pumps of vanilla in an Americano?  Which has more caffeine; a double espresso or a Grande drip?  Oh, and can I add whipped cream to a latte? Hmmm, Wait.  Maybe I should get a Frappuccino.” Dear God. I’m overhearing this senseless regurgitation. The line is restless, angered, and throwing visual daggers through his back.  I want to be the hero and slug him. They would no doubt cheer.

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give us this day our daily brew

I quickly order my nonfat latte fully aware of my not-yet-caffeinated brethren.  I move to the waiting area.  Clueless is there waiting for his ‘extra hot, Grande double pump something with extra whip and who-knows-what-else. ‘

The following day I go to the other Starbucks across the street just in case.  Instincts proved correct.

Cheers to Starbucks and those with common sense when ordering.

Tammy

“Coffee keeps me busy until it’s acceptable to drink wine.”                                         Anonymous