Drivin' Drama

Over the past 6 weeks, there have been many different vehicles parked in my driveway. In my neighborhood I've become that much hated person that parks across the sidewalk as we've played musical cars and had up to 3 vehicles parked out front. This is a major deal as we have some Olympic speed walkers and mommies with jogging strollers strolling at all hours of the day and night. My house looks like we have at least 3 families living here. This all started when my stepdad died and we started the negotiations with my mom to purchase her truck. Before that could happen, we had to get the truck in her name, sell Ray's 4Runner, and save up some cash so she'd have a nice lil' down payment on a new car for herself. We knew we'd have a delay as the title got switched to her name and all the lawyery stuff was completed. In the middle of all of this, Ray's dad became unable to drive his 5 speed, stick shift, candy apple red Ford F150. Ray offered to help sell the truck in Austin so that Roy could buy something that he could drive. In an offhand comment, Ray mentioned that he would be selling the 4Runner and Roy said he might be interested. While all this was going on, somehow we ended up with my stepdad's Dodge truck in our driveway, too. Don't even remember the reason we took it! Man, did I ever feel like a bad ass driving that loud, growly, dog hair infested rumbler. So, we now had my awesome Pilot, Ray's 4Runner, and the Dodge in the driveway. One Sunday, Ray decided to take the kids over to visit his dad in Marble Falls. When Ray pulled up, Roy was excited because he thought Ray was there to switch cars. That day. Well, that wasn't the plan, but Ray wanted his dad to be able to get around. Therefore, the 4Runner was left in Ol' Marble Falls and the Red Rocket was on its way to our driveway to sleep next to the Hair Wagon. Ray drove the Rocket for about a week, performing his duty of dropping the kids off at school in the morning. One evening, with his eyes closed and right hand across his forehead, Ray told me that he just could not do it anymore. "What, honey? What is it my sweet cheesecake, punkin' head?", I said. "Darlin', I just can't drop the kids off in the Red Rocket. They are trapped in the back since the front door must be opened for them to open their tiny little half door. Without power locks, I get a cramp in my shoulder bending across the passenger seat to open the door so our little prisoners can get out. Without power switches, I can't roll the passenger windows. That means Tanner cannot go through her goodby routine that happens once she gets out of the car. My sweet Amanda, how many more times must I hold up the drop off line as I stop to keep Tanner from chasing me down the sidewalk. The stress of it all! I can't do it anymore!!" Of course, being the caring wife that I am, I offered to give up my comfy Mom Wagon so that he could drop our children off without stress. I thought it would be no big deal. I can drive the truck for a while. Well, that all changed within a few days. First, it's hard to drink a Coke, talk on the phone, change the radio, and eat popcorn when you have to shift through 5 gears. You mean I have to pay attention while I'm driving? What? And 5 o'clock rush hour traffic on I35 on Friday, on a holiday weekend? So.....much.....concentration...... And pulling into the garage at work. The gate I go into is on a hill and you people GOTS ta STOP pulling right up behind me on a hill! I will roll into your Prius. On accident. One day a doctor friend of mine asked me if I was zooming into the garage. No, Dr. I was burning up that clutch trying to get up the hill and not ram into the mini van behind me. The reason, Doc, that it sounded like a zoom is because it's a loud truck that makes the noise of a mad bumble bee. And that sound it makes like four high pitched cowbells in a metal bucket? No idea what that is all about. The echos it produces in our garage is not the type of attention I want to attract. So, the Red Rocket is also the Cow Bell Beemobile. The next week after I acquired the Rocket Bee Cow, it rained. I was excited about it, UNTIL, I turned my first corner, going a normal speed. Red Cow began sliding sideways into the next lane. Hmm, that was scary. I became even less excited as I spun my tires at every stoplight. Somehow, I made it home from downtown where I had to pick up a kid and turn around and drive back up North to a doctor's appointment. Because I feared for my life in the Bee Rocket, I jumped into the Hair Wagon. Even though I had spent 2 hours vacuuming it weeks before, somehow, more dog hair had found it's way to the seats. I was ok with it. Yes, it flew up my nose and stuck to my eyebrows, but I knew it was safer. Yes, it was like a canine fur tornado as I drove, but I was grateful for the forceful, cold AC. I drove to the school and parked in the pick up line. Feeling awesome and bad again in the loud diesel, I almost forgot about the one and a half foot wide hole in the dash. Yea, that year model is known for that. Whatever. Tanner and I rumbled on down the road. After having Hair Rumbler for a few weeks, we finally had time to return it to my mom. Whew. Back down to two vehicles. This week, it rained again. I was that person driving 20 mph down Mopac all the way from downtown. I stayed in second gear all the way home. On the freeway. When I could have been driving 65, No way was I gonna slide into all the other cars. Sorry people. I made it home safe. I've got to keep that pickup intact until the lawyer gets all her stuff done so I can sell that Little Red Wagon and buy my mom's truck (AKA "The Limo Truck"). So, the drama will continue until all the legal battles are won. I just want my Pilot back. I miss you.

Death is not Funny.....or is it?

So my stepdad died. It's tough to call him a "stepdad" because I consider him my father as he was more of dad to me than my biological one was. I'll give you a moment to cock your head to one side, squint your eyes a bit, and say "ohhhhh, I am so sorry." Yep, it is hard and it sure does suck. I've done my fair share of crying, but I hold it together most days. Cry time generally happens while driving home from work as I listen to Chicago and Air Supply on the mix tape made for me in eighth grade by Jimmy Jo Billy Bob. I keep my  double cassette boom box in tip top shape and buckled into the backseat of my Stank Wagon. That boom box is still going strong, just like the day I bought it from Bill's Dollar Store in 1986. I'm sure I'm as sad as I am supposed to be. I'm sure most grieving daughters bawl on Interstate 35 during rush hour. I'm sure most mourners cry over lost deer jerky. Even through all the sadness, my family and I have had lots of laughs. We aren't sure how appropriate it all is, but when have we ever been appropriate? That would be never. Laugh number 1: the day after he died, my youngest sister typed a really nice tribute to him on Facebook. My mom was reading it and on the verge of tears when she got to the last sentence. My sister had typed "I love Jim." My stepdad's name was Walter. Autocorrect had changed "him" to "Jim." Damn you, autocorrect. Laugh number 2: Weeks before his death, I had bought my nephew a Skippy Jon Jones toy from Kohl's. Skippy is a character in a children's book. You should totally read it. Funniest kid's book ever. E-ver. So that my 16 year niece would not feel left out, I bought her a toy from another character in the book. It was a giant, fat, stuffed bumblebee. I presented the toys to my niece and nephew when they got to my mom's house the day my stepdad died. I thought the toys might bring them some comfort in the tough times ahead. I thought the toys might help them sleep at night. I felt really great about being thoughtful Aunt Amanda until, days later, my sister called me in tears- from laughter. She and my niece had been reflecting on the previous days and how they just could not believe what had happened. In the middle of the conversation, my niece said, "And then Aunt 'Manda gave me that STUPID stuffed bee." What I did not tell you in the beginning of this was that my stepdad had died from the sting of an insect, most likely at yellow jacket. The whole time my niece was with us, she  and the bee slept in bed with my mom. My niece, who was extremely close to my stepdad, and my mom were forced to sleep with a stuffed stinging, potentially deadly insect! I just imagine my mom waking at 2:42 am into her life which was like a bad dream, and that bee just staring at her. Mocking her. Boy did I feel like an insensitive witch for not recognizing how inappropriate my gift was. Laugh number 3: At the funeral, programs were handed out. It said my last name was Goring, not Boring. I guess that's an improvement? Or is it? Laugh number 4: CNN picked up an interview I did for a local TV station. Because I did not mention my stepdad's last name in the interview, CNN took the liberty of giving him my last name. Yea? No. Laugh number 5: I'm not sure if larger market newspapers do this, but in small towns, when someone dies, you put a thank you note in to show appreciation for all the thoughts and prayers. I put one in our hometown newspaper, where we all grew up. My middle sister put one in her small town newspaper. When her's came out the next week, we were surprised to see that my husband, Ray, had been listed as Ray Ray. I know many Southern folks have a hankerin' for the double first name. I mean, in my hometown we had Billy Bob, a couple of Jim Bobs, a couple of Joe Bobs, Jim Bill, Billy Mac, Anna Beth, Jimmy Tom- it's just way things were and continue to be. But, I will tell you, I would never marry someone with two of the SAME first names. Nope. No way. Now, 99% of my sister's town thinks I married a Ray Ray. Lots of laughs on that one. The mistakes that happened were public and 1000's of people saw them. Granted, only about 20 people will think all of these things are funny. Yet, I'm still publishing it.

I saw this on the Today show today. Not yesterday. Quinoa is quite the sexy, little food and packed with protein. I love chocolate. Chocolate makes me hungry. Quinoa is loaded with protein and protein keeps me from gettin' hungry. Perfect combination, don't you think?

Recipe: Chocolate chip quinoa cookies
Peggy Kotsopoulos Ingredients

1 cup cooked quinoa1 cup uncooked quinoa flakes (or oatmeal flakes)
1 cup unsweetened, shredded coconut (sweeetened is all I had)
2 tablespoons almond butter (I used natural peanut butter)
4 large VERY RIPE bananas (tons in my freezer)
1/2 cup coconut sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup chocolate chips
Pinch sea salt (regular ol' kind worked just fine for me)

Preparation
These cookies are SOOO GOOD! The are jam-packed with protein, fiber, stress-busting B-vitamins, energizing goodness and deliciousness! They're also gluten-free and will kick your cravings to the curb.

To prepare the cookies:

Pre-heat oven to 375 degrees. In a large mixing bowl, mash bananas in bowl with a fork and add vanilla, almond butter and coconut sugar. Add quinoa, oatmeal, coconut and pinch of salt. Mix until well combined. Stir in chocolate chips. Line baking sheet with parchment paper and drop batter on to cooking sheet. Bake for 25-30 minutes (watch them. at 25 minutes, the bottoms of mine got too done). Remove from oven and let cool.

Serving Size
Makes about 25 cookies that look more like muffin-tops and are chewy.

If it ain't green beans, it's crap.

Yesterday my daughter had a drop to the floor, super freak out because I would not cook asparagus for supper. When the super freak comes out, the kids go to their rooms to defrizz. Since she was little, the best method was to put her in bed and cover her up with a blanket. There's some magical force field under the blanket that sucks out the craziness. Works every time. I am always amazed at how she will go to town on the foul-pee-inducing stalks. I never even heard of asparagus until I was 24 and I never ate it until I was in my 30's. Did Mason even sell it? Why, when I was growing up (had to do it), we ate green beans with every meal. None of those fancy vegetables like aspargus, broccoli, or cauliflower. My poor mom, I bet she dreamed of having meals with something other than green beans or mashed potatoes. If we'd had enough money to have more than 5 channels and had the Food Network, I could see my mom salivating over the meals she couldn't cook. I bet she dreamed of the day when she could branch out with her culinary skills beyond meatloaf and spaghetti. I feel her pain. Hance is a picky eater. He is one of those people that will gag and almost puke if he eats something he does not like. And he doesn't fake it, it's a full on heave. It's the test we use to know if we need to make him finish something. No gag means you like it and you're gonna eat it. I'm sorry mom for being so picky.

Another VERY Interesting farm box blog

To my 4 followers, I do not intend for my blog to become "what I cooked out of my farm box." it's just what's happening now. Got a butt load of tomatoes. I've been wanting to make salsa since I never have. And, because of the extremely complex nature of the task, I thought it would be quite an accomplishment if I mastered it. I mean, the precision cutting and exact measurement of the ingredients- it takes quite a lady to pull that off. As I unloaded my box and packed my fridge, I found 5 beets from the last box. They were a little soft, but I figured I'd roast em up. Got that going and started looking for recipes. Where were we without the Internet? Found lots of recipes. I found a roasted salsa recipe that told how to roast tomatoes and peppers in a skillet. I've done over an open flame, but it was too much work and my hAnd/arm got too hot. With this,you line an iron skillet with foil and put the tomato and peppers on that. It was a lot more work that broiling them with all the flipping, but it best waiting on the beets (which took over an hour. Geez beets, I was tired. Had been up since 3:30a!) the roasting worked great. Oh there was also garlic in there, too. Food processed that up. It was yummy, but pretty dang spicy. Thankfully, I only made Bout a cup and a half. Still had lots of tomatoes and a couple of Peppers along with the overload of onions- so i made some pico. It was friggin' good. The beets turned out great, too. I am surprised I like them. They are weird but good, like my friends.Now I gotta cook a bunch if squash. Please stay tuned for another exciting edition of "what the heck am I gonna cook with this?"

Eggplant Fries

The Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) box of the week has once again forced me to learn to cook something new. This week, eggplant. I cooked eggplant once and something went horribly wrong. It tasted like cat butt. At least, what I think cat butt would be like. That was about 12 years ago. Upon the arrival of the eggplants last Friday, I knew I had to give it another shot. I had already contributed to the compost pile with the parsley and mint that arrived and wanted to use what I paid for. What do humans do with fresh parsley, other than garnish? These eggplants scared me, right down to my core. Since last year, I have grown more brave. After the chard chips and bok choy meals I made, I felt ready to take on the eggplant. My neighbor mentioned eggplant fries last year and that's what I went for. The prep was easy. I overcooked them somewhat. The thinner sliced ones sind of disintegrated on the inside, but the breading stayed intact. They could have used some more seasoning. They were very yummy, none the less. Here's the recipe, which I will probably modify on the next batch!

3/4 cups seasoned breadcrumbs
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground pepper
1/2 cup parmesan cheese
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1 Medium eggplant
1 egg, slightly beaten

Heat over to 425
Mix breadcrumbs, salt, pepper, cheese, and garlic powder on  shallow plate. Beat egg in a shallow bowl. Spray a cookie sheet with non-stick spray. Peel the eggplant. Slice into thick french fry like pieces. Did in egg and then in breadcrumb mixture. Cook for 30 minutes. Check at that time for crispiness. Cook longer as needed. Serve with marinara. Ketchup works well, too!

Hope you enjoy! Don't be scared.

Feet of Craziness

About 10 years ago, I went to a local running store called Runtex to have them tell me what type of shoe I should wear to run. I'd been getting blisters on my arches, so I knew su'mn was up. Mr. Shoe Salesman/Running Expert watched me walk and said I pronated (turned my feet in) when I walked. He sold me the right type of shoe. As I recall, the blisters went away. However, after a few more months, I developed achilles tendonitis. So, I stopped running. A few months back, I took it up again. All was going pretty well, I got up to 4.5 miles. And then, the bottom of my right foot started hurting more (it had been sore for about a year) and my left front part of the ankle started to hurt, too. I started to lose range of motion and my calves were very tight. I finally decided it was time to go to the doctor. The podiatrist diagnosed me with plantar fascitis on the right and anterior tibialis tendonitis on the left. Apparently, the pronation pretty much caused all the problems. Great, if I'd listened to Mr Shoe Salesman 10 years ago, I wouldn't be going through all of this! The podiatrist sent me to physical therapy. Now that you know the background, the real story can begin.

Earlier today, I decided it was time to stop doing this getting well business half ass. I've been going to PT for 2 weeks and sort of doing my home exercises. The healing wasn't happening fast enough and I knew part of the problem was my non-compliance. So after work I went to Runtex to buy the special anti-pronation shoes I should have bought a month ago. The nice, but distracted sales guy wasn't so bad. He didn't think my giant feet looked so giant. So sweet. I trekked down to the mall to buy the podiatrist recommended OTC inserts. Once home, I started the on-my-way-to-PT preparation. Ladies, you know when you are going to see your gynecologist- there are certain "preparations" that must occur before you get there. If you get to go home BEFORE you go- you are set. Shower, clean underwear. The works! But, if you have to go straight from work, man, you have to plan ahead! Clean underwear in your purse and some sort of cleansing cloth/baby wipes. Thorough wipe down in the work bathroom if the doc is close by or thorough wipe down at his office if the drive is too far. You may never have body odor and never have that not-so-fresh-feeling, but you have this sense that on the drive over- your crotch will start to grow some sort of mildew or fungus.With my PT preparation, I wash my feet, change my socks, and put on different shoes. Today, I trimmed up my new inserts, put them into my expensive ass shoes, and put on my clean socks. I strutted around the house in them, feeling quite secure and properly aligned. I noticed that my legs were pretty hairy, so I did a quick dry shave. Bad idea since my legs were lizard skin dry. But, I had to shave. The PT is down there all up in my foot business, so I have to be fresh and clean. The last thing I want, is to be "that patient." The stinky foot cheese hairy leg patient. Yea, I know most of their patients probably have reeking feet, but I wanted to be the exception. When Gerta thinks back about me 8 years from now, I want her to remember me fondly. That cute, big footed chick who smelled like Bath and Body Works. On my drive to see Gerta I had a sudden realization, "oh friggin' no. I forgot to wash my feet." No turning around to go home, I'd be late. Could stop at CVS. Nahh. Too much Christmas stuff on sale I'd want to buy. I decided I'd get to the PT office and go into the restroom and do a quick wash. But, I wasn't sure I'd be able to get into a one holer. The multi-stall bathrooms would be quite tricky. Yea, I could wash in the sink, but the chances of another person entering the bathroom was pretty high. And, with my foot hiked up into the sink, I'd look pretty ridiculous. As I pondered my predicament, I remembered, "hey, I've go hand sanitizer. Hand santizer cleans stuff." Therefore, I removed my shoes and clean socks, slathered on sanitizer, and massaged it into my feet. I wiped it off with the gym towel I had lying in my passenger seat. When I strolled through the office building and into the PT office, I felt fresh and anew. I was ready for Gerta and her 6 foot frame. When I saw her standing there with her elastic waisted khaki slacks, pulled up high on her waist, polo shirt tucked in, broad shoulders, and thick manly thighs- I was ready. I was finally ready to be compliant. I was ready to be putty in her thick meaty paws. Massage away Gerta. Stretch away Gerta. My feet smell nice, my shoes align my bones, my inserts support my arch. I'm ready Gerta. Get to it.