Cranberry-Walnut Chicken Wraps and Baseball Really Does Make Everything Better

I refuse to get on my elliptical machine unless I have something good to watch while I torture myself  exercise.  It is just so gosh-darn boring any other way.

When I couldn't get my ipad to stream a video earlier this week, I went to plan B. Plan B is to read a book while riding my recumbent bike, since reading while standing on the elliptical--a stationary-yet-moving piece of equipment--requires more coordination than I possess.  I love, love, love to read so I was excited to have an excuse not to get on the elliptical (I usually force myself to use the elliptical instead of the bike because I get a much better--read SWEATY--workout).   Sitting and peddling on a bike while enjoying a good story is not such a great workout, but it is so much more enjoyable.

There was a minor problem, however.

This is the book that I have been reading lately.

And by lately, I mean approximately for the last month.  Or even longer, if you go back about 7 years to the last time I tried to read Life of Pi.  And now I digress.

I'm not a quitter.  I hate to start something and not finish it.  I can only remember giving up on one other book, ever.  It was around 25 years ago, Mr. Terrific bought me Stephen King's It, because It was over 1000 pages long.  I read books quickly, and if I'm reading a really good book I start wishing that the book were longer.  Mr. Terrific thought he was doing me a favor by buying me a really long book.

Except I didn't like the book.  After about 600 pages, I decided that I had read enough about children being terrorized by a clown.

Which is more than I can tell you about Life of Pi. The last time I attempted to read this book,  I read over 100 pages and I can not tell you what I read.  I gave up, even though it was on the best seller list, even though a friend of mine (whose opinion I totally respect and trust) told me it was a fabulous book.  I mean, 100 pages was a serious effort, right?  And for me to not even be able to remember what I read--I feel bad saying this--I felt like I was just wasting my time, and all because I was being stubborn and didn't want to quit.

But quit I did, I was happy to stop reading it and never gave it another thought...until the movie that was based on the book won a few Oscars at this year's academy awards.  I didn't see the movie, but I started thinking to myself, hmmmm...maybe I should give that book another go.

So about a month ago, I started reading Life of Pi AGAIN.  And since the only time of day that I can really find time to read is when I get into bed--and since I am on the verge of total exhaustion at that late hour--if there is nothing to spark my interest (read: if something is boring), I fall asleep really quickly.

I don't have a lot to show for the last month or so that I have been attempting to read this book.  Every night,  my eyes immediately just start rolling around inside of my head, anywhere from one word to a few paragraphs into it, which leaves me stuck on page 23.  That's right.  23 pages, in an entire month.  I would usually expect to read 3 or 4 books in a month.  But I'm stuck.  And I do mean stuck.

This is the page that I have been stuck on for the last week or so.  I get into bed, open the book to the page that I have dog-eared (don't judge me) to mark my place, and I ponder why pi=3.14159265 (I can't help it, my math-geekiness always expands it and yes I am jealous of everyone who has memorized more of these randomly-distributed digits than I have), visions of circles and their ratios of circumference to diameter cloud my thinking and then I realize that this tiny little equation is the only thing I have read in this book that I can relate to!!! 

 And then I close the book and turn out the light and lie there thinking that reading before bed is no fun.

Okay, back to the non-streaming ipad and working out on the bike instead of the elliptical...

So the last thing I want to read while working out is Life of Pi, especially when I could be reading something I enjoy.  I decided I would just go ahead and read something else while I exercised.

This is where Baseball Makes Everything Better comes in.

The Bird.  If you are a baseball fan, and you grew up in the '70's, surely you remember him?  I unabashedly admit that I really, really love the game of baseball and I always have...and I bought this book because even though I have always been a die-hard Red Sox fan there is no way that any baseball fan who ever saw Mark Fidrych pitch could not help but like him, and I certainly liked him.  He was so much fun to watch, and he played like he was having a blast: talking to himself, running around to congratulate his teammates, getting down on his hands and knees to smooth the dirt on the pitcher's mound.  

I bought this book a few months ago, and I gave it to Mr. Terrific because I thought he would enjoy reading it, but I am the one who is enjoying it.  I'm enjoying it so much that I have decided I will not ever waste one more second on any book that I'm not enjoying...and I'm probably going to have to remind myself to come back and read this blogpost if I ever get it in my head again that I really should give Life of Pi another try! 

Sea Salt Caramel Rice Krispy Treats

If you've been following my blog, you know that I usually like to warm you up with a few photos before I get to the recipe of the day.

 You can pretty much count on the photos falling into one of two categories.

1.  Whatever happens to be blooming in my yard. (a.k.a. Flowers That I Haven't Killed...Yet)

or

2. My dogs.  Here's Clyde on the 4th of July, visiting my parents in Connecticut.  

You may think that you've just viewed the warm-up pictures, but today I've got something even better. (And best of all, I am going to share some photos that were taken by others, people who have much better skills with a camera than I could ever hope to have!)

There's been a little bit of Hollywood action here in our little Boston suburb for the past couple of days.

My facebook newsfeed has been completely flooded with pictures that my friends have posted of Robert Downey, Jr.  By all accounts, he is a really down-to-Earth, humble guy who freely steps into the crowds to sign autographs.

The above picture was taken by my friend Kerry's cousin, Reilly.

Kerry was stuck at work and is insanely jealous that Reilly was so close to one of her all-time favorite actors.

  And I'm sure Kerry is also jealous that Robert Downey, Jr. was looking right at our friend, Cristina, when she took this picture.

Cristina's son, Jake, got an autograph.

The name of the film is "The Judge."  My friend, Tracey, captured this scene outside the courthouse.  Tracey's a true rock star with her camera.

Final shot:  Tracey's daughter, Lily, getting an autograph and a little face time with a movie star.

Thanks to all of my friends for letting me share their pictures!

Okay, before I give you the recipe, I need to tell you that it's one of a gazillion recipes that I've been pinning on Pinterest.  Actually, I didn't even pin this one, because when I pin something I never look at it again.

I went right to the recipe, printed it out, and made it.  Click HERE to go to Redbook Magazine's recipe for Salted Caramel Treats.  Go ahead.  You have to click on the link.  I'll wait.

Okay, now that you're back I will explain why you needed to click on the link.  I wanted you to see how beautiful and perfect the treat looks in that picture.  I know that I'm always telling you how terrible a photographer I am, but I need to inform you that no amount of mad photography skills could ever make the treats that I made look so perfect.  (And the fact that I scorched my caramel didn't help.)  Do you think they actually photoshopped all of the flaws right out of that treat? I mean, caramel is really gooey, right?  That picture is the smoothest, most ungooey-looking caramel I have ever seen.  Where am I going with this?  The point of all this rambling is that although my treats hardly resemble the flawless treat you see in that picture, it doesn't matter.  Flaws and all, these treats are out-of-this-world yummy!

Crab Cakes and Dill Sauce

It's no secret I'm a terrible photographer.  Just scroll through my blog and you'll find proof.

Yesterday, I thought I would work on my skills and attempt to photograph some of my deck plants.  This was the first (and only) photo I took:

When I was looking through the viewfinder, I was thinking to myself, "Wow, it's so sunny I can hardly see."

Yep, not only am I a terrible photographer, I'm a clueless one as well.

I snapped the photo, then pulled it up onto the screen to check it and thought, whaaat......turns out my lens was all fogged because it was so humid out.  Note to self: allow the camera a little bit of time to adjust to the temperature change on a hot and humid day after it's been sitting in an air-conditioned house.

Live and learn.

 Temps were about 10 degrees higher today, but there was less humidity so I was able to get the shots of my flowers before they die.

Because they ARE going to die.

Killing plants is another one of my specialties.

You'll notice that my containers are heavy on the moss rose (portulaca), which is sun-loving yet drought-tolerant.  My kind of container plant!

I've been cutting my dahlias to take into my house.  It seems that every bloom that I cut is quickly replaced by two more.  I cut all of these and took them into my house.

 I love how perfect they look when they are wide open!

I sat down to write this blog post and my shadow, Clyde, sat down next to me and then promptly fell asleep.

He is at an age where he is never willing to sit for me to photograph him.  So I grabbed a photo while he was sleeping.  And the whir of the camera woke him up,  Oops.

I'm sure if he could speak, he'd be saying, "Huh?  Why'd ya wake me?  It's only my 13th nap today."  And if he could speak, I am sure that his voice would sound exactly like Homer Simpson's.  That's the voice that I imagine in my head when I imagine him talking.  Sort of a dopey voice, because he's a dopey dog.

NOT that I hear voices in my head.  Only Clyde's voice.  The voice that I imagine he would have if he could speak.

I'll stop now.  And give you today's recipe, inspired by the fabulous crab meat that I bought from the seafood vendor at the farmers market.  Crab Cakes and a yummy dill sauce.

Fat-Free Pumpkin-Apple Dog Treats

I baked a batch of dog cookies yesterday.  

As soon as I took them out of the oven, Gus popped his head around the corner.  This is his I'm-in-a-cookie-trance face.

Clyde, as usual, positioned himself front and center.  Notice that he is directly in front of the refrigerator.  It's his favorite place to be when I'm cooking, because every time I open the fridge I have to nudge him out of the way.

He has a knack for figuring out how to get attention when I'm focused on something other than him.

I packaged up some of the cookies for a friend's dog, a golden retriever named Jessie, whose birthday is 

today.  Happy 14th Birthday, Jessie!

Selfie

Stream of Consciousness on a Wednesday Morning

A totally selfish post.  As if my thoughts and wishes would ever matter to anyone else but me!

 My favorite peonies, blooming on the side of my house by the driveway.  I see them every time I get in and out of my car.

They've been blooming for 3 days now.  I snap a picture every time I pass by.  

I snapped this picture this morning after I dropped my son off at the train station.  Then I decided to count the peony pictures in my phone.

There are 18 pictures of the same flowers!  I won't bore you with them all.

But it made me start thinking.  How cool it is that I can so easily snap pictures with my phone all day long.  How awesome it would have been to have had a camera phone when my kids were younger.  Which led to this thought: I wish I had started my blog 20 years earlier, so that I could have a really awesome photo journal of my kids as they grew up.

Instead of impulsively taking pictures of everything that catches my eye--like big fish in the supermarket--I could have a phone full of images of my kids.  If only there were camera phones back then.  If only I had a cell phone back then.  

~1997~

If only I was blogging back then.  If only I had internet access back then.  

~2009~

At ages 22, 19 and (almost) 18, there's no way my kids would let me blog about their current lives.  And there's no way they'd let me post pictures.

But if I had started this when they were younger, they would have been fair game.  

Rum Punch

Mother's Day was perfect.  Both Sean and Caitie had their finals during the week before.  Sean came home Friday night, Caitie arrived on Saturday, and that's all I needed for Mother's Day.

And then my baseball team surprised me after our game that afternoon.

It was a perfect day.

I've really enjoyed the past week, having everyone under the same roof is the best thing in the world.

Today, Caitie and Sean both began working their internships.  Exciting for both of them.

I don't think I've mentioned that Caitie's internship is in New York City?  Uh, yes.  She moved into her place yesterday.  Sigh.

It's been her dream for a while, to spend the summer in New York City, before she graduates college.  For the last few years, I have mixed feelings with every milestone, and this was no different.  So, so happy for her, so sad that she won't be here for the summer.  

And then the worries set in.  I couldn't turn them off.  Where will she live?  How will she get to work?  How will she find her way around?  Who will help her if she has any questions?  And my racing mind answered every one of those questions with it's a city that she's never been to and she doesn't know anyone there.  

First, we tackled the housing quandary.  Where to stay?  Thankfully, her school sent us a few links to places where past interns had stayed.  

Mr. Terrific went to the first site and told me, "Hey, I like this one.  An apartment building that only rents rooms to single women who are working, interning or studying in NYC.  Includes maid service and two meals a day."  He told me the name of the apartment and I googled it.

When the results popped up, the only thing I saw was HELL'S KITCHEN.  And I swear, it was bright red letters, font size about 50 point.  I kid you not.  It's all I could see.  

I need to add a disclaimer right now, I mean absolutely no disrespect or disdain toward anyone who lives in Hell's Kitchen.  But as a mom, looking for a place for her daughter to live, surely you can understand why I would not want my daughter living in a place called hell?   And though I imagine that hell is generally an extremely hot place, I can't help but think that the kitchen--a room with an oven--might be the hottest spot in hell?  It could be a misnomer, but I just couldn't get past it.

The next place on the list was in the Flatiron District. The word "flatiron" conjured up images in my mind of steaks and hairstyling tools, and with "Hell's Kitchen" still tattooed on my brain my racing thoughts quickly drew corollaries between steaks/kitchen and hairstyling/heat/hell, but it did not make me feel like I needed to breathe from a brown paper bag lest I pass out from anxiety.  After a quick google of "Flatiron District" I learned that the name comes from the Flatiron building and that the district was previously called the Toy District, and before that the Photo District.......all names I can live with.  

Whew.  Found a place for Caitie to live that's not hell!

Berries with Limoncello & Mint

My flowers are finally blooming!

I've been spending a lot of time outside, tidying up the flower beds.

Mr. Clyde likes to join me.  

Our typical scenario:  me, on my knees, pulling weeds.  Clyde, stretched out in front of me, so I have to reach over him to pull the weeds.  I get up and move to a different spot, he moves with me.

I try not to make eye contact with him, because as soon as I do he flips onto his back, wagging his tail, asking for a belly rub.  How can I resist this big, fluffy teddy-bear face?

I recently invited a bunch of friends over for a dinner party.  My menu?

Artichoke Dip

Caprese Skewers

Stuffed Mushrooms

Asparagus wrapped with prosciutto & mozzarella

I also made scalloped potatoes, and grilled filets mignon.   Actually, Mr. Terrific did the grilling.  Partly because he likes working the grill, but mostly because I think he's terrified that I'm going to overcook the meat.  He's really good at paying attention and making sure that the steaks are perfect.

And I made this rum punch, which I'm going to feature in a future blog post.  I promise!

For now, I'm going to give you the recipe for the berries that my friend, Danielle, brought to my party.  I thought they were just a lovely bowl of berries.......until I tried them.  

Me: "Wow, what else is in here?"

Danielle: "A little bit of lemon juice, mint, Limoncello........."

Me: "What?! Give me the recipe!!"

Here it is!!

Boston Strong

First things first: a great big THANK YOU to all who have emailed or messaged me because you haven't heard from me recently and were concerned because of all that has happened here in Boston in the past week.  I am so awed and amazed at how the power of the blogosphere has created so many friendships and a sense of camaraderie with people that I have never met.

We are fine.  We did not go to the marathon, and I'm thankful that all of my friends and family who were there--whether running or cheering--are fine. Physically fine.

Mentally, it's a heck of a lot to wrap your head around, to process, to understand, to accept.  How can anyone ever understand or accept such horror?  The victims of this crime, totally innocent, enjoying the beautiful day, happily waiting so they can enthusiastically cheer for and embrace their family members at the finish line.

I remember back to when I found out about the Newtown shooting at the Sandy Hill elementary school.  My daughters and I had spent the afternoon shopping, buying Christmas gifts, and then capped it all off with a trip to K-Mart to secretly pay off the layaway of an unsuspecting shopper.  We were sitting in our car, still in the K-Mart parking lot, waiting for the light to change so we could exit.  My girls were laughing, talking about what a big surprise someone was going to get when they went to pay for their layaway and they found out that we beat them to it.  The newscaster's voice came on the car radio and said, "Parents, if you have young children in the vicinity, you may want to turn your volume down because we have some disturbing news...." at which point one of my daughters said, "That means turn it UP!!"  Which was exactly what I was thinking, so I did turn it up ( at ages 17 and 21, I do not consider my girls young children).  Our joyful mood was instantly suffocated as we listened to the news report of the  Newtown shooting.    How could those sweet children and their loving parents have possibly known that their school was a dangerous place to be on that day?

Last Monday, could anyone have known that the finish line of the Boston Marathon was a dangerous place to be?  So often, you hear the phrase "they were in the wrong place at the wrong time."  How can attending school, or cheering at a sporting event, ever be wrong?  How can being at these places--at exactly the time you are supposed to be there--in broad daylight, be wrong?

I've mentioned my friend, Gayle, in previous posts.  Gayle is a nurse, and her sister (also a nurse) wrote this recounting of the first 24 hours after the marathon bombing (unedited by me):

     Let me tell you about the clear message my sister Gayle sent to the Terrorists. Monday when the bombs went off less than a mile from where she was working she stayed put to take care of her patients. When told by BPD that another bomb was found on Tremont street near the Hospital and that they were evacuating our Emergency room she helped to evacuate premature babies to safety not knowing or caring if she was in danger. She consoled and reassured frightened parents who are anxious enough having a baby in NICU let alone in the middle of all the terror of that day. And the next day....She went back in and did it again walking through security like you have never seen in your life. Armored tanks and Swat teams not letting what happened the day before stop her from going back to Boston and her job. I know because I was with her doing the same thing.. Not letting those animals keep us from doing what we do.


Anything can happen, at any time, any place.  Our only option is to not give in, support each other and carry on.

A Low-Key Easter

Happy Easter!

And to those of you who don't celebrate Easter, Happy Sunday!

We've all been hit hard by the throw-up bug in this house.  Sean had it earlier this week (apparently it is making the rounds at his school), he was fine by the time he came home on Wednesday for his Easter break, but Friday at 4 a.m. (me), 5 a.m. (Erin) and 2 p.m. (Mr. Terrific) the rest of us succumbed.

It's been years since I've had this kind of a bug (Erin informs me that the last time she remembers me throwing up was when she was in preschool, in March 2000.  She's right!), and let me tell you, vomiting really gives your abs a workout!  And since I'm keeping score, I tallied seven workouts before noon on Friday.

The worst is over, I'm definitely feeling better, just a bit of a more lethargic, light-headed (thanks, dehydration) version of myself.

Up since the crack of dawn, of course, because although I would have liked to sleep a little bit later, Gus and Clyde had breakfast plans.  I wish I could somehow explain to them that breakfast will wait for them if they decide to sleep a bit later; that sleeping past sunrise doesn't mean they missed their opportunity to eat!

So, up we were at 6:30.  What have they been doing since around 6:45 or so?  I'll give you two hints:

Gus. Zzzzzzz.

 Clyde. Snooze.

Huh? Whazzat?  Was that a camera click that woke me.....can't you see I'm trying to catch a little shut-eye?

Happy Easter!  Happy Sunday!  I hope you enjoy a lovely day with family and friends.

Irish Soda Bread

First things first: I am not Irish.  I had never tasted, nor even heard of Irish soda bread until I started dating my husband, who is 100% of Irish descent.

Every spring, around St. Patrick's Day or Easter, my husband's great-aunt would bake an Irish soda bread and give it to my father-in-law, who would divide it and give a really large, foil-wrapped chunk to my husband.   If you read yesterday's post, you know that my anniversary is on March 14, so my first encounter with Irish bread occurred fairly soon after we were married.

My husband was all excited over a chunk of bread that to me looked like a lump of sawdust with raisins in it.  At his insistence, I tried a bite and found it so dry I couldn't even swallow it, so I choked it down with a gallon of milk.. Okay, that's an exaggeration, it wasn't a gallon but it was way more milk than you should have to drink in one sitting.  I will tell you that I enjoyed the flavor of the bread, but the texture was unbelievably dry.

At this point I feel the need to say that I mean no disrespect to anyone of Irish descent, I am not making fun of you or your bread.  I happily embrace so many things from your culture:  I love the color green almost as much as I like pink, the Boomtown Rats totally rock, and having named my children Caitlin, Sean and Erin you can be assured that I think Irish names are the bees knees.   I also feel the need to tell you that I am of Italian descent (with a name like Frances, what else could I be?  Did you ever watch the Sopranos?  Do you remember that episode when Paulie's mom invited her girlfriends over to play cards?  At the end of that episode, when the credits were rolling, suddenly there was a glut of characters played by actresses named Frances.  Like, practically every one of those little old Italian ladies was played by an actress named Frances!).  If my descriptions of Irish soda bread are insulting your Irish sensibilities and you feel the need to fire back at me that Italian panettone is blah and overrated, let me tell you right now that I agree with you.  Now that I've cleared the air, let me continue....

So, after we had been married a couple of years, I saw a recipe in the newspaper for Irish soda bread (this was the 1980's, folks, before there was internet access we actually read newspapers to get our daily fix of what's going on in the world) and I thought to myself, why should Mr. Terrific have to wait for his great-aunt's yearly baking? Why not bake it myself?  So I followed the recipe for "My Best Irish Soda Bread" (or some other similar, folksy name) and man, was it good!  It was not dry, it was perfect. 

I was so excited, I couldn't wait for Mr. Terrific to come home so that I could show him the bread and tell him that he would be able to have homemade Irish Soda Bread more often than once a year.  He took a bite of the bread, and promptly told me that his aunt's was better.  At that moment, I was wishing that it was as dry as his aunt's bread so that he would just go ahead and choke on it.

I don't know what happened to that recipe that I made all those years ago, because Mr. Terrific said "my aunt's is better" one time too many and in a hissy fit I chucked the recipe and went on strike for a few years.  The recipe that I use now is a combination of several recipes; I left out things I didn't like and added things I thought should be there.  Hope you enjoy it, and Happy St. Patrick's Day!