Alison DeLuca's Blog, page 34

Fishy Friday, week Two

Well, the Girl Scout cookies have arrived. I've hidden them from myself, but they're lurking out there, calling my name. "Come and hang out with us!" they cry in their thin minty little voices. 


In order to escape, I've tried to convince myself that baby carrots are just as yummy, that every time I open a sleeve of Samoas a fairy dies. Yeah, it's not working.


Good thing I'm dashing around today. I have to edit a book, to write a book, and then go to a playdate. And clean and do laundry, but, pfffffffft


Because I'm so busy, I have to make my fallback Lent dish. It's super easy, and it's so yummy that my husband starts to fork it right out of the casserole as soon as he walks in the door. (Gross, right? I know!!!)


I'm going to serve it with wine, a simple salad and some rolls, and you already know what's for dessert.


Crabby Pasta
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14 oz pack of that fake crabmeat. Louis Kemp is good, and I also like the Stop N Shop brand.
Red or orange bell pepper, deseeded and cut in small strips
1 large onion, diced
Pack of mushrooms, presliced 
Pound + of desired pasta (I use a box and a half of Farfalle, those little butterflies)
Olive Oil
Locatelli or Romano Cheese, grated
Frank's Hot Sauce (I put that #$% on everything!)


Put on a bigpot of salted water. While it boils, cut your veggies.


In a large saucepan over medium heat, pour in a bunch of olive oil. I use quite a bit, at least three - four tablespoons - since the mushrooms will soak it up. Add the peppers and let them saute for a few minutes.


Pasta water should be boiling by now. Pour in the pasta.


Add the onion to the peppers and let saute a few minutes. When the onions are translucent, add the mushrooms and stir. Add the hot sauce when the mushrooms go limp and release their juice.


Add the crab meat to the veggie mix and allow to heat through.


Strain the pasta and pour into a large pasta dish or casserole. Pour the crab / veggie mix over the pasta.


Serve with plenty of cheese. 

Singleton Mom

My husband and I had a very hard time getting pregnant. Like many couples, parenthood was something to work towards, not an easy phase that simply happened. And when I say work, by that I mean: lose any shred of dignity and endure dreadful medical procedures. I'll spare you the deets, but giving myself shots in the stomach was the easy part of the process.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO

Therefore, to become a mom at all was a miracle. My one little child is a true gift.


HOWEVER! 


Being a mom of just one is a challenge at times. Sure, I don't have to break up sibling fights or worry about favoritism. I do have to try and stop myself from letting her be a spoiled only child, though. Sure, it would be so easy to give in to the latest demand (Monster High Doll, Penguin Club, Bieber CD) just to stop the tantrum in the store. Plus, if I gave in, then the couples who have never had children or who long since forgot what it is like would stop judging me in their heads.


I can read their minds, you know, as they look at me and shake their head in the store. Here's exactly what they are thinking: "Oh. My. Goodness. Look at that terrible mom. Can't she control her child? She just needs to learn how to discipline."
Just give her the Monster High Doll already! Or, invest in the future and don't...

You know why I can read their minds? Because PK* I used to think that too.


Also, I am the main source of entertainment for my little only child. I can be elbows deep in a bucket of suds as I scrub a bathroom floor** and my daughter will come in and say, "Hey, mommy! Want to play Raccoon Glitter Hunt with me?"


Well, of course I want to play Raccoon Glitter Hunt! Just as soon as I clean the house, do the laundry, wash the dishes, and make dinner! Be right there!
Yeah!

So, that makes the PLAYDATE (insert heavenly choir sound here) a very, very special thing for the singleton kid. She loves playdates. Adores them. As soon as she steps off the bus I can already see her lips forming the words, "Can I have a playdate with Hummina? Can Whoosis come over?"


I'd love to have Whoosis*** over, but then I start thinking of the dirty floors (remember **) and the laundry, dishes, etc etc 


Sweetie, you little miracle child you, isn't it time you invented a nice imaginary friend? 


That's good parenting if I tell my daughter that, right?




*Pre Kid
**Doesn't happen all that often.
***Plus, honestly, between you and me, Whoosis can be a kind of a pain in the ass.

Eye Pins, Anyone?

Today I have to deal with my least favorite tasks of all, those of the administrative variety. It's not just bill payments and bank transfers - I'm talking passports here.


The passport application for my kid is already in, and that was bad enough. I had to drive to the place with unwilling kid in tow, arrive a few minutes late, discover I didn't have all the necessary documents, send husband home to get those documents, and fill out forms.


Yes, I'm a hot mess. Yes, I started getting itchy at this point.
Another hot mess. Fistbump!

Here's the thing: I HAVE a passport for my kid that is perfectly fine. It doesn't expire until well after the trip. But because some tools people out there are kidnappers, now it's suspicious to travel with a passport that will expire in a few months. Hence the rush.


Plus, kids need a new passport each time. You can't just renew their passport. Noooooo, you have to start from scratch with a whole new application.


Did the "man" at the "place" explain any of this to me on the phone when I set up the appointment? 


NOPE

Well, I can't blame him. It was my responsibility, to be fair. But I like to play passive-aggressive, especially when I have to send out my husband on a useless errand for forms that I should have had in the first place. It's Wife Prerogative; I'm sorry, husbands out there, but it just is. Your own fault, by the way, husbands - after all, we wives have to, HAVE TO, avoid the dreaded Eye Roll.


I filled out the forms and got the picture taken at last. At this point the "man" in the "place" said, "Oh, you don't need to order expedited service. It will arrive in plenty of time."


But it hasn't, see. He was wrong, wrong, wrong. So now I have to find those forms that I had a few weeks ago to go back into the system and up the service to expedited, like I wanted in the first place. 


I know, I know - I need a little 


with my 
WHINE

Enjoy your day. Send good thoughts my way that I find those forms. And include some eye pins, wouldja?

Her First Confession

I know I'm on a bit of a Catholic kick this week. As I explained yesterday, that's because my daughter is preparing for FHC (First Holy Communion.) And, as someone who is completely new to the church, I am watching all this with awe.


Today is the day she makes her first penance. Of course, as a writer and reader, the first thing that came to my mind was the Irish short story First Confession, by Frank O'Connor. O'Connor describes a little boy who confesses the crime of wanting to kill his grandmother because she drinks porter and takes snuff "and goes around in her bare feet."


I find myself wondering what the terrible sins will be that are confessed today. I've imagined a few of them:


"I stole Timmy's gum."


"I laughed when the teacher tripped over the trashcan in class."


"My mom punished me and I called her an Old Poop Head."


I can only think that the priest in our church is rubbing his hands right now, looking forward to some fair measure of entertainment. I have to admire him for NOT bursting out laughing in that confession box. How will he accomplish it?


In O'Connor's story, it's obvious that the priest is "kilt" with laughter. At the end of the terrible deeds, he gives the little boy a bag of "bullseyes," or peppermints. This enrages the sister, who had foretold dire punishments for her brother. She concludes at the end, "'Tis no advantage to anybody trying to be good. I might just as well be a sinner like you."


I'll never know what the Father gets to hear today. But I can imagine it, and get a chuckle too.

First Holy Cow!

We are quickly approaching the time for my daughter's First Holy Communion. I didn't grow up Catholic, so this is a whole new world for me. 
And it is a world, apparently, where the little black strip has crawled off the  back of my credit card, gotten down on its hands and knees, and begged for mercy.  First there was the dress. My kid let me off easy by picking one that was on sale.  At this point, please pause and picture a middle-aged woman doing a full fledged WOOT and punching the air. I know it's not pretty, but that's what happened.
Then there were the shoes. My daughter, who is a beautiful girl and a lovely person, just happens to have speedboats for feet. It is difficult to even find communion shoes in her size. Add to that her own requirements - no ankle strap, has to have a high heel. Add my requirements - No, she can't wear platforms, no, they can't have glitter all over them, no, they can't be anything any of the Housewives of Ocean County would wear. Add the Church's requirement - White Shoe.
Yeah, that's hard to find in speedboat size. Where is the DSW for kids? Hm? So not wearing these, girlfriend
After the dress  and the shoes are in place, there is  a whole world of  accessories to explore! Apparently you have to have a special First Holy Communion (henceforth known as FHC) purse, bible, rosary, and wrap. Our church doesn't allow gloves. Don't have to buy gloves! Repeat image of middle-aged woman going WOOT! and doing an air punch.
Now we have come to the  crux of the matter - THE HEADPIECE. She picked out one with a tiara and an attached veil. (I would have so killed for this thing when I was seven.) In the end I got it for her, but let me tell you - at that price, it's also going to be her wedding veil. Plus she might graduate high school and college in it too. In fact, I might start wearing it while I do the air punch in the future; I feel it might add a little bling to the whole process. Pretty, right? So are BMW's and diamond lollipop holders.
I know the day of the FHC I'll be overcome with emotion as I watch my little beauty walk up and receive the Host for the first time. After all, that's the whole point of the thing. There will be tears. And a credit card bill. But it will be  worth it.

Fishy Friday

I don't think of myself as a big meat eater, but when Lent sneaks up on me (and it always does) all of a sudden I feel like I devour Tyronno-steaks by the dozen. I know that during the year I happily serve entrees based on fish, shellfish, soy, and legumes, but add that meatless Friday element and it all goes kerblooey.


This is why diets don't work, for me, at least. I'm a healthy eater, but if I concentrate on what I eat, all of a sudden I want to buy Italian pastries and Twinkies.


I have some go-to recipes during Lent, the kind that I can type out without looking at a recipe card. Here's what I'm serving tonight, and it just happens to be my husband's favorite fish dish:


Baked Catfish



Preheat oven to 400.


Take six medium sized catfish fillets. Make certain they are cleaned of skin and bones. Pat dry with paper towel.


Prepare two shallow pans with:


Number one pan - Coarse cornmeal mixed with 1/2 tsp salt, dash white pepper, dash cayenne pepper (more if you like things spicy,) and the zest of one lemon


Number two pan - half cup skim milk mixed with juice of that fresh lemon you just zested. You can add a little hot sauce to this mix if you really like the heat!*


Now drizzle olive oil on the bottom of a large baking dish.


Take each fillet and dip it first in the skim milk mixture (which by now should have curdled and thickened a bit with the lemon juice) and then in the seasoned cornmeal. 


Lay each fillet in the oiled baking dish. When they are all coated, drizzle tops with a bit more olive oil.


Bake for at 15 - 25 minutes, depending on the thickness of the fish and the heat index of your oven. Fish should be white all the way through when you test, with no clear or pink spots.


At the very end, I like to run a creme brulee torch over the top to really crisp up the fillets. If you don't have one of those babies, you can broil for 3-5 minutes to get the same nice, browned effect.


Sprinkle the top with a little chopped fresh parsley.


These are delicious served with a green salad and a side of basmati rice. A glass of wine wouldn't go amiss, either. 


*I just have to add this Frank's Red Hot commercial our friends clued us into:

Welcome to my Interverse

Enter my rocket, and come with me into deep space. In our capsule, we hover over a large galaxy. It has no shape. It's not a spiral, or even a Sombrero Galaxy. It exists, perhaps, in five dimensions.
The Sombrero Galaxy

The atmosphere is, of course, the Clouds - those nuggets of info that rain down at the touch of a button. I'm still learning the strange ways of Clouds.


Underneath lies a huge, sprawling, messy planet, much like Asimov's Trantor. There is the internet, of course, with large sites and blogspots. They grow, dwindle, disappear, reappear in breathtaking fashion and speed.
Trantor

They all interact with the Facebook Ocean and the Twitter River. Transport between sites and the social media waters is instantaneous and constant. Those who learn how to apparate between the two, and those who can set up their own train stations along the way, will get good results.


A map of this planet is ever-changing, ever-growing. There is danger at areas all over the social media waters and the actual nets themselves. Even in the Clouds, I'm sure, we could say, Here There Be Dragons.
Here There Be Dragons

To further confound things, we all have our own version of that planet. Our planets intermingle with other versions. Mine, for example, has a pretty large Twitter river, a somewhat deep Facebook Ocean, and this tiny little blog as a village hub. My LinkedIn continent is represented, at the moment, by mere postcards. MySpace Mountain has fallen off the edge. Goodreads is a bit of a jungle. And sites like Amazon tower over all, meting out rules and punishments at will.


I like to envision my own version of the Interverse. I can see my Twitter river, muddied at times with too much marketing, cleared up with human interaction, and then polluted again when I grow lazy. My little blog village sells its wares and constantly needs to be updated. There are other blog villages to visit in order to keep mine healthy and growing. 


If I look at it like that, in moments of - insanity? - then it's not all so overwhelming. It's my little slice of eternity.

The Secret World of Arietty

My daughter and I went with friends yesterday to see this Studio Ghibli gem. We are big fans of Miyazake, so we leapt at the chance to see Arietty in theaters.
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The last Ghibli movie we saw on the big screen was Ponyo. It had received rave reviews, and I was excited to watch it. Honestly, I was a bit disappointed by Ponyo. The subject was so large and over-reaching that the Ghibli magic was a bit lost, even though the production was, as always, gorgeous.


But I prefer Miyazake's simpler stories: Totoro, in which two sisters try and get along while their mother is in hospital, and Kiki's Delivery Service, about a young witch setting up her own business.


Arietty was one of these. The story was simple: there is a family of small people ("Borrowers") who live beneath the floor of a house where a sick boy is staying for a week before his heart operation. The Borrowers are wary of humans, whom they call "Beens," and when the daughter, Arietty, is spotted by the boy, the family feels they have to move.


It's very simple, but the animation is lush and breathtaking. The movement of a small Borrower climbing an ivy-covered house, the way the Borrowers climb with tools like fishhooks and earrings, and Arietty's bedroom are gorgeous. I won't give away the ending, but it is beautiful too, and touching. 
Arietty's bedroom. I want to live here!

I read the Borrower books, and Miyazake shortened the story. It doesn't lose at all in the process. (I actually enjoyed Howl's Moving Castle more as a Ghibli movie than as a book; I'm a huge Diana Wynne Jones fan, but sometimes the reaction to her stories is - "Huh?") If you haven't read the books, do go and find them to read. The Borrowers' world is detailed by master storyteller Mary Norton, who thought of such things for her little people to use as "The Scissor," one blade of a pair of scissors. 


Small kids and adults will love this movie. The fact that the boy has to have an operation could be upsetting for very young children, although it might foster some interesting conversations with older ones. As for my daughter, she watched the movie with wide eyes, and at the end her first question was, "Can we buy the DVD?"


Actually, you can get the DVD, but the voice actors are English. the version we watched had Bridgit Mendler, the actress from Good Luck Charlie, voicing the part of Arietty. I thought she did a fine job, and Genna was more than happy with it. I assume that version will be out in a few months. 

Reality Hits

Last  night's homework centered on the difference between Fantasy and Reality. Can't you just picture that worksheet, and what a welcome  break it was from preparing for the Terra Nova tests?

It got me thinking, though, about how many times I've pictured something in my mind and, of course, the reality is  far different. For example:

The trip to St. Thomas should have been spent on the beach, not in the hotel room with "stomach upsets."

Pregnancy should make you smarter and slimmer, not more vacant and with larger feet.

Chocolate should leach calories from the system, not grapefruit.

A trip to the night club should not end with the discovery of footprints on the back of my shirt the following morning.

Christmas morning should never begin at 4:30 in the A.M.

******

I suppose nowhere is  this more obvious than in being an author. A writer starts with a fabulous idea. Hey! A book about brain-sucking taxi drivers! It'll be huge! You sashay off to the computer, secure in the knowledge that the words  will simply roll off the fingertips.

But, wait! What do you know about taxis, anyway? Where do they start their days? How do they get paid? What  kind of slang do they use? Why do they use those seat covers with large wooden beads?

After some research, back you go to the  computer. Now you're ready. You have seen the future, and it is You!

You begin to type, but your characters  start to quarrel with each other in ways you didn't foresee. You don't like your love interest anymore. You villain now seems kind of cute.

It should have been easy. But in reality, fantasy is pretty hard.

PS - How do footprints get on the back of one's shirt, anyhow?

What's My Name?

Great Expectations. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. The Curious Incident of the dog in the Nighttime.  These are great titles. The first one isn't very flashy, but it is simple and suggests a world of dreams that, perhaps, will never come true. The last three are pure imagination.
Titles don't have to be flashy to be cool. I love Thomas Pyncheon's V (the title, not the book. Hey, I tried!) and Gravity's Rainbow. To Kill a Mockingbird and One Hundred Years of Solitude are pure poetry. So is For Whom the Bell Tolls, obviously.
Some song titles are  amazing too. Of course Dylan springs to mind, with "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35."  "Oops, I Did It Again," not so much.
I like funny titles, like Stephen Colbert's I Am America, and So Can You, as well as How to Lose Friends and Alienate People, and Me Talk Pretty One Day.
It's incredible when authors showcase their style with a title. I don't mean just finding a way to linking all titles together, but if you can give the reader an idea of what you're all about as an author in four or five words, that's genius. Harlan Ellison's I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream, Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are (the book! Not the movie!) L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time ... 
Those names seem so simple, and yet they are so definite at the same time. It's as though the books always existed. Do you know how hard that is to do?!
Bravo, authors, you purveyor of words, for imagining such delightful names! Now, Dear Readers, what titles do you particularly love?