LOL - Left Overs Laugh

Many of my most scrumptious recipes are a result of concocting something new from left overs. This is when you use the rule of thumb: When it works, write it down.  The fun and challenge is to create a totally new look and taste to the dish that was served for dinner the night before. This is what recently happened the other day with left over spaghetti sauce. First of all, the best spaghetti sauce to use is home made, but a good quality store bought sauce will do in a pinch. The missing key ingredient in store bought is that it lacks seasoned ground beef/sausage and red wine that adds so much depth and flavor to the sauce.

With that said, here is how spaghetti sauce turned into a wonderful winter warming Minestrone soup.
To left over spaghetti sauce add equal amount of water (more if you like your soup thinner.) My batch was about 5 or 6 cups worth.  If your batch is on the small size, only add in 1/2 can of the garbanzo beans, but don't go shy with the stewed tomatoes...you can never go wrong with more tomatoes.

1 teaspoon beef bouillon
1 package Lipton Onion/Garlic or straight Onion Soup Mix

Chopped: onion, celery, carrots, potatoes, cut up green beans, and zucchini if you got it.
1 can drained and rinsed garbanzo beans (or white beans of some kind if you don't have G-beans)
pepper to taste
1 can Italian stewed tomatoes (smushed up in between your fingers)
Boiled up noodles/pasta of your choice

Boil vegetables till tender. Add to the rest of the ingredients and simmer on stove or in crock pot.
Start off almost to a boil and turn down to simmer for more time. Add in noodles shortly before you serve. If you put these in too soon they tend to disintegrate, but must be allowed to swim in soup long enough to absorb some of that wonderful seasoning and flavor.
Serve this soup on a cold winter day or evening with warm artisan bread slathered with lots of butter.

                                                            Ta da, left overs laughing.

Blah blah blah blog

Blog about the weather

Blog about the fog

Blog about the kids with their Labradoodle dog

Talking on paper like a diary in a way

Writing of family life for  family far away

It means a lot to you and to them it means much more

But for us who follow blogs it reads nothing but a bore

It can be all for fun but not fun for all

A choice must be made to read some at all

Give me blogs with humor with insights into life

How doin' things the wrong way can turn out to be right

Or cooking with real butter makes lighter into like

Stories for sake of stories is not my cup of tea

Unless of course I really am your precious Aunt Bee

So blog on about this or blah blog on about that

Just saying it's only some that keep me comin' back

The Phone Books of Our Lives

Whether it is a Dex, McPherson, or whatever local phone book you may have for your area; like clockwork every year a new and updated phone book will be sitting at your front door. There is an old ad slogan that goes "let your fingers do the walking."  This suggests that you can find anything you are looking for by merely two stepping with your fingers across the Yellow Pages of the phone book.

For the same sort of convenient information reference, most homes also have a more personal self made phone book. They are readily available at any drug or business supply store and come in a variety of sizes and colors. They all have tabbed alphabetical section dividers and the pages are lined for neat and organized use. But if you are like me, our home phone book (since ours is the color gold we refer to it as "the gold book") is anything but neat and organized. Unlike the mass distributed commercial phone book, our home phone book does not get updated every year. It will instead get added to from time to time. But, with this added information also comes scratched out numbers, scribbled in new numbers, and names and numbers written on Post It notes stuck to pages.  Also in our phone book, those alphabetical tabs may or may not give lead to information necessarily beginning with that particular letter of the alphabet. Often time's numbers are stored under the letter of someones first name simply because I can't remember their last name, or never new it to begin with. A phone number may be listed under the letter "C" for "cousins," where you will find a list of my cousin's names with their phone numbers. Those blank dividing pages that hold the alphabetical letter tag also make very good scratch paper while you are talking to some one on the phone. For instance, I know I can always go back to the "C" page and find the cookie recipe that my Dad gave me years ago.

 Plus, along with an assortment of Chinese food and pizza menus of restaurants from all of the towns that we have lived in, the front and back inside pockets are bulging with pages of typed phone lists from fire departments and from churches we have attended dating back to 1980.  

Yes, our phone book has "seen its day".  But, it is a collection of friends and family of our lives that can also be considered a time capsule of sorts. Leafing through the menus and listings of people and businesses that are assembled in this tattered and dated phone book, I can recall the times and places of our life lived. This sort of organized chaos is indicative of why I don't scrap book and why I rarely have my Christmas shopping done until December 24^Th. 

Oh, I could go out and get a new home phone book and transfer names and numbers from the old one to achieve an updated and current source of information. But I like to think of it as, growing old together.  Just as there is still more room in the cover pockets and pages of that old phone book, there is still room in our lives for more friends and family with changing names and phone numbers that we can meet up with at new favorite restaurants with take out menus.

Pursuit of the Perfect Purse

It seems in life that men are forever chasing golf balls, a plaid shirt that is almost identical to the others they already have, or the next new car smell. Women, on the other hand, are in constant pursuit of the perfect purse.

I sit here in a chair looking at a collection of used purses laid out on a table at our garage sale. I recall how each served a purpose at one time in my life. They provided not only a practical means of portable storage with their impressive amounts of pockets and compartments, but also an attempt to make some sort of personal fashion statement.  If asked, I could not specify why any one of those purses inevitably was emptied and put high on the shelf in the closet.  And I can't explain why I continue to tolerate my current purse that has only one pocket, but otherwise is just a bottomless pit.  They should make an "app" for locating items in your purse. But, that would only work if I could actually find my phone that is lost somewhere in the black hole that is my purse. Come to think of it, I do know why I still put up with this particular purse. Yes, it is stylish and when I first saw it, it some how spoke to me that it was the purse for me. The only plausible reason would be that of pure destiny. But, the real reason that I continue to use this purse is because it brings back the memories that go with it when I bought it.

It was a couple of years ago now that we were in New York City with my sister and her family. We were daring the New York adventure of shopping for underground black market designer purses. Having navigated Canal Street before, my sister knew just the right winks and nods it took to connect with the sales people that would guide us past the store fronts and down into the secret chambers of wholesale brand name purses. The game was to play the shopper that is unwilling to accept the ticket price and even make the move of walking away. This of course, prompted the last ditch effort of bargaining for a price that would not only seal the deal, but make for the best stories of the trip. My sister, and her soon to be daughter-in-law, bought a couple of purses for a fraction of the cost of retail. They nonchalantly surfaced back onto the street carrying their contraband in the tell-tale black plastic bags that indicated to all of the other black market dealers that they were "players".

That experience in itself was a blast, but I really didn't need a purse and up to that point had no reason to buy one.  While we continued our journey through the purse stores of Canal Street, we walked into a small unobtrusive store displaying more purses that pretty much looked like all of the other purses that we had seen so far;  except for that "one" purse.  For some reason I was drawn to it. Nobody else in the group paid any attention to it. I picked it up and threw it over my shoulder; it just felt right. I put it back on the shelf and tried to convince myself that even at that ridiculously low price, I didn't need a purse. I started to walk away but somehow felt compelled to turn around and look at it just one more time. I figured by doing that and not turning into a pillar of salt, it was God's will that I buy that purse after all.

As of today I still use this purse. Oh, some day another purse will come along and invariably take its place, or out of necessity due to wear and tear I will need to buy another purse. But, until such time, I will continue to dive for keys, pens, floss, and the like, that are buried deep in the bottom of this purse. You see, every time I pick up that purse it takes me back to Canal Street in New York City, and all the precious times shared there with my sister and family.  Some day in the future there will come another garage sale where I will lay this purse onto the table and attach to it a piece of masking tape with a price on it. Maybe when that day comes, some one else will see that purse and, for whatever reason, it will speak to them too.

You know that old saying that "garage sales are one man's junk but another man's treasure"?  I don't think of it as "junk", but rather just closure to treasured memories that are about to take on a new story when someone else takes home their own new found "treasure".  

Doughnut - song lyrics from the movie The Sound of Pastry

Doughnut

 

(Song lyrics by Barb Miller from the movie The Sound of Pastry)

Dough, a smear, a glazed top tier

Cake, a hole in center fun

Me, I can't control myself

I choose the lemon centered one

Goo, in middle of the bread

Nuts, on top the frosting head

With these, the pounds I will not shed

Which will bring us back to Dough (oh-oh-oh)

All The World Is A Stage

(This week my Faithwriters.com writing challenge entry of under 750 words with topic being "outstanding")

"Come on in Nell, and thanks for picking those up for me." Gloria said as she stepped aside to let in her best friend. "How many did you get? I'm so nervous. I've been up since three. Do you want some coffee? I've already drank a whole pot, but I can make another one if you want. Oh forget the coffee. I'll make it after I read them. No, I can't. Please, could you read them to me? "

Nell gently took Gloria by the hand and led her to the couch and, as requested, began to read the first review. "This one is from Variety":  "I saw no prodigy in last nights Broadway play Prodigy of Baker Street.  Along with this play's lack of depth or continuity, lead actor Jason Arlen, and supporting actress Gloria Holden's performances were as unremarkable as the play itself." "Forget this one." Nell said as she non-chalantly placed the paper on the floor behind her. "Don't let that bother you Glo, I heard a lot of these critics don't even go to the plays they write about anyway. They just thrive on being nasty."

Nell pulled up from the stack the next paper. "Here, The New York Daily News has a much better reputation; let's see what they have to say." "Prodigy of Baker Street opened last night with expectations of another hit from writer, director Matthew Holloway. But unfortunately the plot line and drab script of this play left me only to realize that, unlike Holloway's last play, Hit and a Miss, this was one is definitely a miss." "Yada, yada, yada, okay, here…" "Gloria Holden who played supporting actress to  lead actor Jason Arlen, tried her best to deliver her lines, but between the two of them this three act play dragged on rendering it mildly entertaining at best." "Now see, he saw that you tried. It's not your fault the writing sucked."

"How many more are there?" Gloria questioned Nell as she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and squinted with reserved anticipation.

"There are just two more. Hang in there Gloria. I was there and thought you did great. This one is from the Chicago Times": "Broadway saw the opening of a new play by Matthew Holloway last night called Prodigy of Baker Street. Quite frankly, this play should be running in some little theatre/bowling alley on Baker Street in Small Town USA, not on Broadway in New York City.  The weak and flimsy story line was matched only by mediocre acting."  Nell quickly tried to salvage any dignity left from that last statement by saying:  "I'm sure that he didn't mention your name because he thought that even the best of actors couldn't have saved this play." But Gloria still couldn't help but hang her head and sigh.

  

"Gloria, this is the last one. Do you want me to read it?"

"Go ahead. If it isn't any better than the others, I have an emergency bag of M&M's in the cupboard if we need them." Gloria said as she held back her tears.

Nell began to read from the last paper. "This review is on the front cover!" "The play Prodigy of Baker Street opened last night on Broadway. From the moment the curtains opened my breath was taken away by the outstanding performance of this plays supporting actress Gloria Holden.  I could not take my eyes off of her as she delivered every line with dramatic passion and sincerity." "Gloria, this guy really loves you! Wait, there's more." "This beautiful young woman possesses great creativity and truly has a God given talent. The writing and story of this play had much to be desired. But Gloria gave such life to her character; I left with a longing to see this play over and over again."

Gloria looked up and paused for a moment before speaking. "Wow! What paper is that from?"

Looking straight at Gloria Nell answered,  "I didn't pick it out; some guy at the stand just handed it to me as I was leaving."

"You're kidding?" Gloria took a deep breath in, and even though she had a grin on her face; tears were falling down her cheeks. "What's the name of the paper?" She asked." And what's the writer's name?"

"The paper is called Abba's Bragging Rights Review, and the writer just goes by the initials J.C."

writing challenge "outbreak"

I joined a web site for Christian writers called Faithwriters.com    Every week they throw out a theme and ask their members to take a shot at writing about it with a 150 to 750 word story or peom.  Here is my writing for this weeks challenge of the word "outbreak" :

Grace new she was loved. From the day Tykera brought her home from the hospital she was the essence of life in their third floor one bedroom apartment. The sound of cars, busses, and the roar of the transit train were a constant during the daylight hours, and at night add to that the occasional cursing from her neighbour behind paper thin walls. But this existence was a haven compared to life on the streets that included brutal beatings by the hand of a pimp if the money brought in was less than expected. What was even more unexpected was the day Tykera was told that she was pregnant.

The doctor's were able to stop the internal bleeding from the brutal blows that left her with bruised kidneys and a ruptured spleen. Against all odds the faint beat of a heart echoed from Tykera's womb that gave her hope for escape from a life of illicit sex, drugs, and pain. It didn't matter that this conceptions was by a nameless man of moral disgrace. This was Tykera's fork in life's road. It was now or never. The words of the nurse in the hospital that night kept coming back to her. She was special and her life was valuable. So valuable and so loved that God himself sacrificed His son to make sure that she had hope for the future, loved unconditionally, and she need never face life alone again.

An outbreak of desperate and extreme frenzy overtook Tykera as she trembled past each convulsion of withdrawals. "Just let me die!" was her agonizing cry as the hours of sweat and pain led into days of restraint from her hospital bed. "Oh God, I can't do this." She had no conscious awareness that prayers were coming from the now off duty nurse in the chair right beside her; prayers that were pleading for relief and life.

The unmistakable aroma of bacon came wafting into the room. Tykera breathed in with a sense of smell that for so long had eluded her. She focussed her eyes on the surroundings in her room. Turning to the chair next to her bed she saw a box of Kleenex and an open Bible. "Well good morning Sunshine" the nurse said as she wheeled in the cart containing a plate of breakfast under a plastic dome. "If you eat at least some of this we can unhook your I.V. today." By hospital standards this was a basic entrée for breakfast, but for Tykera, this was a breakfast of champions.

"Well praise the Lord, look who lives" were the words that came from the smiling face of a stout but attractive middle aged woman as she entered Tykera's room. "Do I know you?" said Tykera. "Yes and no" said the woman. She sat herself in the chair next to the bed with that Bible now in her lap. "My name is Althea." Then she gently gripped Tykera's hand and said "Now, do you know who you are?" Silence filled the room as Tykera held back the tears of facing her own reality.

She bit her bottom lip for a brief second and faintly replied: "I think I am going to be a mom. But I don't know how to do that. I don't have a job or no place to live." The facts were clear and on her chart that she had been beaten, endured detoxification, and was pregnant. But at this moment, knowing "who she was" was not as clear. With a sincere but deliberate voice, Althea responded: "You my dear are here for a reason. God believes in you more than you believe in yourself right now. I can set you up on a path for support and income. But you have a choice to make. Go forward on you own accord, and "how's that been workin for you so far?". Or, take a leap of faith of letting God's love let you live life with purpose and power."

Hospital room 531 that day became the birthplace of Tykera; a child of God. After that prayer's "amen" Althea and Tykera embraced each other with tears of joy. At the same time there was an outbreak of song of rejoicing from the angels in heaven. Seven months later room 207 became the birthplace of Grace. Born that day was a child conceived from an act of violation, but named after the redeeming provision of freedom in Christ. Again, the angels sang.