Parsnips and Pet Peeves

Pet Peeves

My friend Norma Beishir asked me about Pet Peeves and since I just wrote 500 of them for a twitter site, I have a sampling of a few fresh ones still in my mind. Find out about Norma’s Pet peeves at Windchaser’s Journey.

Please spread the good word about delicious parsnips.

My stomach’s growling and I’m out with my skinny friends, but no one is saying anything about lunch.
Getting an immediate email confirmation for a package, that doesn’t even arrive for three weeks.

That miserable sack sitting in his car as if he has all day when there are no other parking spaces.
Like when I’m printing something important and our printer runs out of ink on the last page.

The horrible sound of packing tape, squeaking like a wretched mouse caught in a fishhook.

The waitress who stops to ask how your food is when it’s obvious you just took a big bite.

Those swirly bulbs that are definitely not as bright as regular Edison style bulbs.
Women who are in their 80’s or 90’s and think they should dress as if they’re 19.

Short dresses that don’t go at least to my knees. (Just my thing.)

Supermarket employees who have no idea what a parsnip is.
Having to pee right when the movie is getting good.

Those plus-sized catalogs full of skinny models.
White Yellow pages are very confusing.
Teflon pans that stick--they really suck.
Typos in newspaper headlines.

Condescension.

Bitter coffee.
Laziness.

The fly. 

Focusing on My Reader

Okay, let’s play doctor. No, not that kind of doctor!!

You don’t need to be a psychologist to see that my last post reflected on personal issues regarding my desire to please and seek acceptance. Nonetheless, there is a lesson there that I deal with every day—pleasing my reader. Unfortunately, I start forgetting about my audience and who I'm writing to....I fall into my, "I just want to please everyone mode" which surprise, surprise--doesn't actually please everyone. I want the publishers, the agents, my friends and my family all to love what I write, but it doesn't always work that way. Life might have been a love-fest in the sixties, but alas, those days are gone. Friends, for example, who are waiting for underworld creatures to take over the hemisphere,while bloody corpses are dropping off the face of the Earth, will not care much for my account of a kiss at the Kauai airport between a pilot and a graphic artist. No huge amounts of blood, no fangs and no steam powered locomotives rushing in to save the dying citizens. Though there are readers who want to hear about my characters, those folks might make up a smaller, thinner slice of my overall media pie. Remaining focused on my characters and my plot is hard enough without altering my story just so I can get a larger share of readers. Just so everyone can love me. Dang, I hope you're not a doctor. Maybe my next story or my next book will be written for  the other readers, but meanwhile I have to wrap my head around the fact that I can't get approval from everyone with my first novel. Longing for reassurance, I have to stay true to the people who really matter in the world of publishing--READERS! But, do I know who they might be?

I’ll just lie down on this couch right here, while you pretend you’re my doctor giving me advice.

Make Someone Smile with Popovers

     Since I never hung around the kitchen much as a kid and I never really listened to my mom’s homemaking advice or helped too much when it came to learning about cooking, everyone in the family figured I would have to grow up and have my own chef or something. Cooking and baking when I can be out singing with the birds in the trees or writing poetry? My culinary skills kind of began and ended with delectable mud pies and the occasional burned popcorn I’d make for our street carnival. Yes, I organized the street carnival and recruited everyone to sing, dance or tell jokes. My little brother did a great John Wayne impersonation. If they didn’t want to do those things, they could come to the petting zoo and see the spotted dog or the black-nosed rabbit. After that, they could play the games we set up like throwing basketballs into trashcans and they could drink my Kool-Aid and suffer through the popcorn. Needless to say, it was rather shocking when I turned eighteen and wanted to start baking to impress my mom.  

She’d hear clanging and banging and smell trial and error situations where smoke filled the tiny kitchen, wafting out towards the rest of the house. Suddenly, she’d hear me singing and knew there might be some progress being made. Finally, I’d place my confection in front of the whole family and everyone was about to take a taste. No one will ever know how deeply I wanted to please--I almost heard the drum roll before the first bite. Chewing and chewing, loud chewing filled the silence and I realized something might be wrong. Everyone was afraid to make eye contact and my mother looked at my dad who liked anything, as long as it was sweet. He smiled at me and said, “It’s delicious,” which of course it wasn’t and mom said, “The kitchen is in shambles, don’t you think she better go clean it up?” My brother snickered and finally my sister came to the rescue saying, “I’ll help her clean up.”

So my quest began and a few times, I think something I baked as a thirty year old, actually made my mother smile. I think we all live to see our mother’s smile and so here I present you with a foolproof recipe for something that tastes and looks fancier than it really is with the hope that you can make someone smile.

 Spring Popovers

Spray a large muffin pan with cooking spray.

Do not preheat the oven.

Mix 1 cup unbleached flour

1-cup milk

2 eggs

2 egg whites

Wonderful with jam and butter!

2 tablespoons sugar

1-tablespoon lemon juice

2 teaspoons grated lemon rind

Dash of salt.

Mix everything together in a large bowl. Whisk until smooth.

Pour batter into pan and place into oven. Set it to 450-degrees.

After 15 minutes, reduce heat to 350 degrees.

Bake another 35 minutes or until they are crusty brown.

Serves six. Easy huh?

(By the way, these can also be split in half and filled with cream and berries for cream puffs.)

A Little Verse for my Creative Friends

You are like an early summer day, surprising everyone in the South with a preview of coming attractions.
Your heart bubbles like those giggles coming over the fence where children play Marco Polo in the pool.
Beating like flip-flops on concrete,
You are the fun new neon beach tote with the fresh towels, suntan lotion and lunch.
Your joy varies like the colors of sand particles trapped between your toes.
Boundless for now like the balmy breeze pushing up and emitting your deepest inspiration—
You take a light shoulder wrap for evening over that strapless dress that falls easily to the floor—or just as easily runs laughing from the room.
Why would you succumb to anything just yet?
Wait until August or maybe the end of September when all the beach chairs are full and the crowd knows about you. They want every morsel, every memorable moment filled with your essence and that’s when you know you are timeless. They luxuriate and think everything will continue and you know that it will, because there’s a lot more inside of you waiting to get out.

From Google Picasa photo albums