Tradition on Toast

The mad rush of Packet #4 continues. I have less than a week and a half to finish my mountain of assignments, but what a payoff - a month and a half of essentially no schoolwork! Just me and Lucy Addison hanging out and watching way too many movies. Of course, this mad dash to finish has cut into my cooking and housecleaning time (and blogging too.) So the dreaded question every night has become: What's for dinner? (Yes, that was a dreaded question before my schoolwork deadlines, but it's worse now, okay?)

So today as I contemplated (briefly) what to prepare for our dinner, my mind flipped past the usual quickie suspects. Leftover spaghetti? Had that Monday night. Tacos? The ground beef is still frozen, and anyway, tacos? Again? Steak and peppers. How many nights have we done that over the past couple of months? Then it hit me. I knew what we were having for dinner. I swear I could almost hear trumpets playing a fanfare as the revelation came to me.

Tonight will be a turning point in our relationship. Tonight, we will go where we have never gone before. Tonight, I will fix Steve Chipped Beef Gravy. Yes, dear reader, my husband has never tasted of that culinary delight so often enjoyed on toast or waffles, that creamy goodness that belies its oh-so-common name. Despite my family history, (I come from a long line of chipped beef gravy enthusiasts) I have never prepared this delicacy for Steve. I don't know why. I have no excuse. As a matter of fact, every time my cousin or aunt mentions chipped beef gravy in their Facebook status (yes, it's happened more than once. What can I say? We like to talk about food.), my mouth waters, and I vow that soon I will make chipped beef gravy for dinner. Alas, until tonight, I have never followed through.

I will not be documenting this occasion with step-by-step photographs as I did with the sugar cookie experiment. There's not really anything dramatic about the process...just a little fried meat, a little flour, a little milk, you get the idea. I do have high hopes for the evening, however. I may have struck out with the whole Slumgoyan thing, but I am determined to make Steve love chipped beef gravy. He doesn't care for waffles, and we're out of bread, so I'm flexible. I plan to serve it over a football sized baked potato. I can compromise. Too bad I didn't eat it while I was pregnant. Maybe then I could have at least guaranteed one future fan to eat my family favorite with me. If not, well, there's always my fried chicken gravy. I swear Steve would eat that poured over an old shoe. As a matter of fact, so would I.

Delicious Dishing

Tomorrow's the drop-dead mail date for my first 2nd semester packet. I still have so much to do between this afternoon and tomorrow that it's not even funny, but I wanted to take a minute to thank all the amazing people who have made it possible for me to get any schoolwork done while adjusting to life with a baby.

First there was the grandmothers. Sure they had ulterior motives, wanting to get their time in with the new grandbaby, but they were still a trememdous help once Lucy Addison came home. Not only did they do things like laundry and housework, but they were also real grown-ups to talk to during the day!

Then there have been all the lovely people who've called, written, and otherwise sent their best wishes. This can be a challenge for someone who's not particularly good on the phone (I break out in the same sweat as if I were standing there talking to the person), but it was still much appreciated.

The last group has been the most amazing help, however. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, we are consistenly overwhelmed by the kindness of generosity of our church family at Holland Park. So many amazing ladies have been providing us with meals, and let me tell you, we have eaten well. In addition to the generous culinary offerings, these food deliveries give me a welcome adult visitor with whom to converse, and despite my very tongue-in-cheek blog on friends' and visitors' dire warnings, I love these visits!

So now, it's back to work. I've still got papers to write on novels and short stories and a short story to edit. And baby laundry to wash. Maybe this time I'll remember to put the detergent in when I wash it (don't ask.)

Tight Schedules and Tighter Shoes: MFA Winter Residency Part One

I realized this morning that I have been missing from blogland for nearly a month, and what a month it has been. I went to Maryland for a week to visit family and just missed their record-breaking Christmas blizzard. I celebrated Christmas with Steve in a very quiet, laid-back way, and that was followed by a less than stellar new year as we lost our precious cat, Hobson to cancer and congestive heart failure. So while champagne was already off the menu for the New Year celebrations this year, it wasn't exactly with sparkling grape juice and noisemakers that we welcomed in 2010.

On a happier note, January 2nd meant the return to school as the Winter Residency began. Since Saturday (Jan 2), I haven't stopped. My life has been a whirlwind of lectures, readings, workshops, and traipsing across campus in the coldest weather Spartanburg has seen in a decade. A fine time to have ridiculously cold weather - when I'm too big to button my coat! The good news is that the program director has worked in a nice little break into the middle of all this craziness, so today I can (quite literally) put my feet up for a few hours, do some writing assignments, and just enjoy my home furnace and humidifier. I even have a nice, warm cat (Abby Tabby) cuddled beside me to keep me warm. Of course, I'll be back at school tonight for a showing of the film adaptation of Dan Wakefield's New York in the Fifties, but I'll be refreshed and ready to go by then. Besides, I'm really looking forward to the film, and Steve has promised to go with me.

Being pregnant during the residency has certainly made it more challenging, but I don't mean to imply that it's been 5 days of torture. The lectures have been great, and the faculty and fellow students are amazing. There have been plenty of highlights (or hi-lites, as I saw on a beauty shop sign near my house yesterday) to celebrate.

• RT Smith, editor of Shenandoah (and my mentor this semester!) gave a reading of his new fiction on Saturday night, including a Southern re-telling of Rumplestiltskin.


• Sarah Kennedy's lecture on the prosy poem. I will now think of her at every poetry reading I attend, wondering if the next poem will "outstrip" me or simply take me along for the ride. Here's hoping for the former rather than the latter.


• Leslie Pietrzyk's (my fantastic former mentor) lecture on finding the story in your novel or short story. I love the practical way in which Leslie approaches writing. She always has such amazing tips and tricks to suggest, and it's so comforting to know that a writer of her caliber has to work hard and use tips and tricks, too.


• Having a 3 hour gab session with my favorite fellow student at Jason's Deli. I think we solved the problems of the world and completely dissembled each other's workshop pieces. Good times!


• Peter Meinke's reading of his poem about the undercover poetry reader.


• Tim McKee's (editor of Sun Magazine) lecture on "Surfacing Pearls" where he actually gave us lists of what he looks for as an editor and what not to do in your stories. Way to be the first editor/speaker we've had that was willing to be that specific!


• C. Michael Curtis' reading of some of the crazy cover letters he's received as editor of the Atlantic Monthly.


• Looking at really, really old issues of Concept while taking a workshop break in the Coker Room.

Today, I enjoyed a bit of a lie-in and a little blogging time, and this afternoon I have lots of writing to do after my weekly doctor's appointment. Here's hoping I'm able to write my re-imagining of "Hills Like White Elephants" and my point-of-view switch exercises before heading to the movie. Tomorrow it's back to the insanity, and Friday I get workshopped. I better start psyching myself up now.

Visions of Sugar Cookies

If you went to school with me or go to church with me or work with my husband, you know that I like to bake. Actually, I think I like the baking even more than the eating (which is why most of my product goes to work with Steve.) However, my baking prowess is nothing compared to that of my Nanny, professional maker of all things sweet and yummy. When I think of childhood trips to Maryland, I think of Cool Whip containers packed full of fudge for the long ride home and bags of sugar cookies that I would ration out for days just to make them last. Dinner at her house is always punctuated by fudgy Texas sheet cake or "Green Stuff" (I actually have no idea what it's called, just that it involves massive amounts of pistachio pudding and Cool Whip.) So, back in April when we went to Maryland, Nanny and I set aside a day just for making sugar cookies. I had never attempted my favorite of her cookie confections, and I was determined to master the art of Nanny's soft, doughy sugar cookies.

Fast forward to December. Months have gone by, and still no sugar cookies have been made in my kitchen. First I had to acquire the right cookie sheets that were just like Nanny's. (I did that months ago.) Then there was the small problem of not owning a rolling pin. (What can I say? I'm not a pie person, and therefore had never bought one.) I acquired a rolling pin just before Thanksgiving, and my excuses were dwindling. Last week almost saw me attempting the cookies only to realize that I couldn't find any of my old cookie cutters. (They must not have survived one of my many moves.) Finally last night, two days before leaving on another trip to Maryland, I made my very first solo attempt at Nanny's sugar cookies. I mentally prepared myself for disappointment while still hoping for the best, and with camera in hand, I dove fearlessly into the world's stickiest cookie dough.

Overall, I would have to say that things went smoothly. There were a few hiccups. Due to circumstances at least partially out of my control, I wasn't able to start until late, which meant that I couldn't leave the dough in the fridge for a few hours to stiffen up. The problem? You have to use more flour to keep the dough from sticking to everything, and the cookies lose some of their famous softness. I was a little worried about this, but I decided to forge ahead. Another problem? Target didn't have any plain, round cookie cutters, so I had to use these little snowflake/poinsettia Christmas numbers. Very cute in cookie cutter form, not so much in a sugar cookie. I now have two bags of what look like red and green Christmas starfish. I guess we're having a little Yuletide Under the Sea at the Gray house.

Apart from the flour issue and the apparent Little Mermaid theme, however, the cookies turned out pretty well. They were puffy and doughy and soft like Nanny's. Okay, maybe they weren't quite as soft as Nanny's, but to the inexperienced eater, I'm sure they're quite perfect. If you never tasted the pillowy goodness that is Nanny's sugar cookies, I'm certain that mine taste quite superior to their local peers. Tomorrow, though, it's on to Maryland. I'm taking a bag of my underwater beauties with me for two reasons. 1. To prove that I did, in fact, attempt Nanny's cookies. She did, after all, take the time to show me how. 2. To have them taste tested by the experts. No holding back, people. I need you Nanny connoisseurs to lay it on the line and make the hard criticisms. I can take it.

What's next in my quest to become the Frances Lantz of the Greer set? Nanny's Fudge - my first time with a candy thermometer...should make an entertaining blog even if the fudge is inedible.

Righteous Risotto, or How I Consumed My Weekly Calories In An Evening

Because I have a wonderful husband who knows what I like (and also because I specifically asked for it), I got to eat at Ristorante Bergamo for my birthday dinner. We didn't get to go on my actual birthday since it was a Sunday this year, but we did get to have a lovely date night at my favorite place with my favorite person (and my favorite waitress.)

Ristorante Bergamo (or just Bergamo's as we call it) is a small Northern Italian restaurant in downtown Greenville. It has been open since 1986, and we're hoping it stays around for many years to come. Chef Nello owns the place and even grows his own herbs. The food is amazing, and you won't find any spaghetti or garlic bread anywhere!

We first visited Bergamo's quite a few years ago (five or six, at least), and it quickly became our favorite place. In fact, we used to eat there so much that we started being considered regulars. (A status we still hold despite our less than regular attendence since expensive milestones like buying a house or me quitting my job to finish my degree.) When we go there, they know us by name. Our favorite waitress, Tanya, knows how I love the risotto and always brings me honey for my Earl Grey without my asking. She even knows what kind of wine I like (not that that matters these days.)

My favorite part about Bergamo's (aside from the food, obviously) is the atmosphere. I don't feel like I'm in Greenville anymore when I'm there. I'm in some big city eating at some trendy, little hole-in-the-wall, like one of those uber-hip travel show hosts. (Okay, I secretly have a thing for Anthony Bourdain.) But seriously, it's a place that transcends location.

So Saturday brought Steve and I there for dinner. We requested to be seated in Tanya's section (which they kindly obliged), and then we proceeded to eat ourselves into a delicious stupor. We learned a long time ago not to eat much for breakfast or lunch on Bergamo days, and we had followed that pattern on Saturday. I was postively ravenous when they brought out the bread and olives. I must have 3 or 4 pieces of bread soaked in olive oil and balsamic vinegar and at least 6 olives. I did finally slow down on the bread, though. I've learned over the years of visits to pace myself.

When Tanya came to take our order (there is small set menu and everything else changes daily), I was disappointed to learn that the risotto of the day (or Risotto del Giorno) had quail in it. Since I have to avoid wild game during my pregnancy, the risotto (my usual go-to dish) was out. My disappointment soon abated, however, when Tanya told me that they would fix the white truffle risotto for me if I wanted it. If I wanted it? Where else will they fix you something on the menu "just because"? Happy Birthday to me!

I ordered the risotto (of course), while Steve got the Stilton cheese salad with arugula and tomatoes and the fettucini con gamberi and arugula. The white truffle risotto was divine. I'll never understand what it is that Chef Nello does to make his risotto so perfectly creamy and delicious. My risotto at home, while far from inedible, comes nowhere near the culinary ecstasy that is his risotto. Steve's food was delicious, too. Part of the fun of Bergamo's is sampling each other's food. But I never regret the decision to order the white truffle risotto. Who knew something so closely akin to mushrooms could taste so good? I told Steve that it made me want to run home and reread A Year in Provence. (Different country, I know, but same truffle worship.)

Dinner was capped off by pistachio gelato (homemade) for me and strawberry and raspberry sorbets for Steve. I also had my standard Earl Grey and honey. It was the perfect end to a perfect ending. I told Steve that we can't wait so long to go back this time...even if we have to rob a gas station in Wellford to do it.

Liquid Memory

Today, I indulged in one of my favorite cool weather comforts: a giant, steaming pot of Slumgoyan. Sure, the thermometer is pushing 70 degrees outside, but that's positively brisk for September in South Carolina, and quite frankly, I couldn't wait any longer. There's nothing like the comfort of a bowl of Slumgoyan and all the memories that entails.

What is Slumgoyan, you ask? Well, I don't think my description of the soup is going to help your understanding any. It's basically a big, boiling pot of water, ground beef, onion flakes, salt, and the oh-so-crucial potpie bows (called "bowties" by the folks at Muellers.) Not flipping your culinary wig? Never heard of such a dish? And where did that ridiculous name come from?

Slumgoyan is my grandmother's creation. I have no idea where she got the name. I doubt she does either. Not certain when exactly its origins were, but I feel fairly sure that it somehow evolved around a need for simplicity and frugality. It is, after all, cheap and easy. She made it for my mother, who in turn, made it for me. It is comfort food in its highest form: simple, fairly plain, and familiar.

I never really comprehended how personal my love for this dish is until I made it for my husband. Steve, who will try anything once and is not one to criticize my cooking, did the unthinkable...he didn't like it. I was devastated. How could this man whom I love more than life and with whom I have such a connection dislike this food of my soul? He called it tasteless and bland, and even worse, he offered suggestions on how to improve it. I began to wonder how this marriage would ever work with two people who are so different. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but I really was shaken by his rejection of my favorite soup.

Now I'm reduced to clandestine affairs with my stock pot. I have Slumgoyan on nights when Steve has to work late or goes out with the guys. I even fixed it once when my parents visited, just so I could have that shared experience again. Don't misunderstand me. I love eating my Slumgoyan any way I can get it, but there's still nothing like digging into a piping hot bowl with your family yumming and eye-rolling their way through bowl after bowl with you. Slumgoyan is about cold, winter nights and being all bundled inside your home with your family. It's about old movies and lunches in front of the TV. It's leftovers reheated on Sunday after church and trying not to let the noodles get too mushy the next day.

Right now, it's just me and my bowties and ground beef. I spooned my way through three bowls today at lunch. I was so full I could hardly move, but it was a sweet discomfort. I was full of warm, nostalgic goodness. It's like memories in soup form.


In honor of my celebration of this family tradition, I am including a poem I wrote a couple of years ago about this wonderful soup. Please remember that I am a fiction writer, NOT A POET, and judge accordingly.

Slumgoyan

Made up name, made up soup.
Grammy's masterpiece of potpie bows
swim with ground beef and
that onion smell fills up every corner of the house.
Only allowed to have it in winter
no matter how much you might crave it come June.
The bigger the pot, the more leftovers
to heat up the next day and the day after
until the noodles are so soft they just fall apart.
Opposite of Mom's vegetable soup
that you eat in tiny spoonfuls
and chase with sweet tea and dirty looks.
Hot, liquid memory slides down your throat.

I still only have it in winter.

Bon Appetit

It's Tuesday, and I feel like I'm still recovering from a very busy weekend. The craziness started on Friday and didn't really let up until Sunday night (late), and yesterday wasn't exactly relaxing. So here I am, days away from my next deadline (I really need to send out packet #3 on Friday), and I'm in no condition to write...anything. I suppose this blog entry will have to serve as my warm up, and then it's down to business, regardless of how I feel.

Friday was one of those days that started out one place and ended somewhere completely different. The first part of the day was devoted to my usual Friday pastime...cleaning the house. Unfortunately, I didn't get finished before I had to meet a friend at Starbucks for coffee (or in my case, tea.) I planned to finish my neglected housework after a quick sip and chat, but instead, we camped out in overstuffed chairs in Starbucks for three hours. Who knew we had that much to say? I think we covered every topic and solved most of the world's problems in that amount of time. Perhaps someone should have been there recording our wisdom. I suppose it's lost forever.

While the Starbucks sit-in was fun, it didn't leave much time for me to run home and get ready for girls' night out, a rare but much anticipated event that, of course, involved food. We hit Takosushi in downtown Greenville. Though I had a little trouble getting the waitress to understand my inability to consume spicy food, we eventually ended up with delicious dinners. As usual, I was the least cool person there. My friend munched her veggies, shrimp, and rice with her expertly held chopsticks. I used a fork. I'm not Chinese. Why pretend? I appreciate their food, but lack the coordination to appreciate their utensils.

Dinner was, of course, followed by a movie. I agreed to a chick-flick (a rarity for me), and we saw Julie and Julia. I won't do an extensive review. I lack the energy for such things today. I will say that it was fun. Meryl Streep was quite convincing as Julia Child, and if you like Nora Ephron's usual fare, you'll enjoy the film. There's nothing surprising or particularly original about the movie, but it's mostly charming. Some of the "drama" felt a little forced, and I wasn't sold on all the choices they made for scene selection (especially in the Julia Child portions), but overall, I'd say it was a rental. Put it on your Netflix and skip the trip to the theater. Oh, and don't watch it if you're hungry. There are too many scenes of gorgeous food to count. You'll be gnawing on your arm before it's over unless you're well-fed beforehand.

Saturday and Sunday didn't prove to be much of a break either. Poor Steve had to work non-stop all weekend, and I was left to my own devices. There were lots of events with church, and I managed to make them all. To be honest, by the end of the weekend I was in social overload. Mixing and fellowshipping is always a bit of an effort for me, and so much crammed into such a short time period was exhausting. My friends are wonderful, though, and I'm glad I got to spend so much time with them. It's just that now I'm going to enjoy missing everyone for a while. Does that make me a terrible person? Probably.

Tom Sawyer in the Limelight - A Review of I Love You, Man

Saturday night, we went to some friends' house for dinner and a movie. After some after some highly edible food, we headed into the living room for a viewing of I Love You, Man, featuring Paul Rudd, Rashida Jones (The Office), and Jason Segel (Forgetting Sarah Marshall.)

While this film was not associated with Judd Apatow in any way (as far as I know), it had a similar feel to many of his movies. It had the same same crude humor and even many of the same Apatow go-to cast members. Another thing this film shared with other Apatow movies I've seen is the highly likable characters. Despite the flawed personalities, unimaginable insecurites, and crazy situations, the viewer is left feeling like they understand and care about the characters. No one is a completely bad guy (not even Jon Favreau's character with his hilarious and hideous perm.) These are basically good people just trying to get by in the best way they know how.

The film follows Peter Klaven (Paul Rudd) as he gets engaged (to Rashida Jones' character) only to realize that he has no close male friends. What follows is a ridiculous, and yet somehow still charming, journey to finding a bosom pal. Klaven's new buddy, played by Jason Segel, is a little unorthodox, though certainly well-meaning. Together they bond over their shared love of all things Rush and their mutual feelings of loneliness.

Paul Rudd's performance, while entertaining, is not exactly a departure for him. While I certainly wouldn't deem him a one-trick pony, I will say that no new ground is trod by his portrayal of the clueless Klaven. Jason Segel, however, is truly funny and refreshing as the mostly honest and always on edge, Sydney Fife. The trailers might make Segel's character seem like the ultimate loose cannon, but upon viewing the whole film, he seems more well-intentioned and overzealous than overt troublemaker. Jon Favreau was also good for quite a few laughs, despite his small amount of screen time. His onscreen chemistry with Jamie Pressley (My Name is Earl) is palpable as they play the couple who loves to hate...or is it hates to love? each other.

Perhaps one of my favorite reasons for loving this film was that it was yet another new film that was obviously catering to the uncool crowd. Sure these people had insanely nice houses, cars, and clothes, but deep down they were also ubernerds. The viewer who thinks that crude humor means no clever humor will be surprised by this film. Yes, there's enough frat boy funny to go around, but there's also something there for the well-rounded geek. After all, it's about two guys who worship Rush. How cool could they be?

The Dog Days of Summer

I've been MIA from blogland for over a week, so it feels like time to check in. I'd love to say that I've been off working away on some new story. Truth is, it's taken everything I have to finish my draft of my current one. Apparently, nausea and fatigue don't mix well with great writing. It's not easy to come up with new material when all you want to do is lie down (or barf.) I'm still plugging away, though.

While I haven't been as prolific with the writing as I would have liked, I have been reading, chipping away at my MFA reading list. Currently, I'm reading Flannery O'Connor's The Complete Stories and her collection of essays on writing, Mystery and Manners. Her short fiction is, as always, amazing, but what has been really been blowing me away is her writing about writing. She is so plain spoken and wise. Every time I read something that I think will be the most insightful thing ever, I go on to the next chapter and find something else. If my first 9-day residency wasn't enough to make me think twice about writing anything, Miss O'Connor's hold-nothing-back advice would make me tremble in my flip-flops all by itself.

On the lighter side, I've had some fun on the days when I don't feel like yuck personified. Last weekend, Steve and I went to the Greenville dog show. It was so much fun to see the breeders that we've befriended over the past year or two. I got to love on/hang out with Cash, the super-amazing Pointer with whom I am desperately in love. We got to hold a baby Min Pin, and we also got to see lots of gorgeous Komondors. After the show, all the Komondor people came over for a cookout at our house, and a Komondor came over, too! Ella, a beautiful little girl who's just starting to cord, stayed in her portable crate most of the visit, but when she came out, she was little-miss-friendly. She even jumped up on the couch and sat on Steve's lap! (Please keep in mind that is a huge dog,) It was the cutest thing EVER, and Steve was extremely pleased with himself. I just wish I had gotten a picture of Steve pinned to the couch by a giant ball of white fur, all while grinning like an idiot.

Unfortunately, this weekend hasn't been quite as fun-filled. I cleaned the house all by myself yesterday (a first in recent weeks), and I definitely paid for it today with lots of fatigue and nausea and loitering in a horizontal position. Big moment for the day? A trip to Bloom for groceries. Tomorrow is church, though I'm still not quite up to Sunday School yet. Seems I can't be separated from food for that long. Hopefully, I'll feel well enough tomorrow to be able to enjoy church.

On the update front, I have a couple of doctor's appointments coming up over the next two weeks. Maybe there will be new ultrasound photos forthcoming. I must admit that while I don't go in for a lot of this pregnancy stuff that other women seem to go nuts for, the ultrasound experience is pretty exciting. It certainly lends a reality to the whole affair that my puking hasn't quite given me. It's nice to have a tangible reminder of why I intentionally made myself feel this crappy.

Pampered, Petted, and Possibly Spoiled

What a weekend! After two to three weeks of misery, I had such a lovely weekend. All this loveliness was thanks in part to not feeling like death for a change, but mostly, it was due to Steve. Apparently, this pregnancy had turned him from attentive husband to doting crazy man. I have only to think something, and my wish materializes before my eyes. I can't imagine he'll be able to keep this up until February. What a sweetheart.

Friday afternoon I was able to get most of the housework done before I gave out. Saturday morning after he mowed the grass, Steve did the vacuuming that I didn't get to the night before while I mopped the kitchen. Then we decided to take advantage of the unseasonably gorgeous weather and went shopping. After lunch and quick trips to Home Depot and Sam's, we headed to Fresh Market where Steve bought our groceries for the week. So much nicer than shopping at our usual Bloom. I got olives at the olive bar, my favorite Imperial nut mix, and a loaf of fresh-baked sourdough bread. Steve bought some gorgeous meat, including some amazing filets which he grilled for dinner, along with some peppers and zucchini. Then after dinner, we did something we haven't done in AGES...played Rock Band. I scored two 100%s on the drums in one night. Must have been all the good eats fueling my drumming fury.

Sunday was church, of course, and Steve had to work for a while in the afternoon. After work, he went to the driving range, but he made up for his absence later by making his delicious lasagna for dinner. I ate a massive slab that tasted even better than I remembered. I even got to pick the movie we watched. I must admit, I was sorry to see the weekend end.

Lest you think I'm letting all this pampering go to my head, however, I'm making Steve his favorite risotto for dinner tonight - risotto with gorgonzola, apples, and walnuts. I'm even going to watch Band of Brothers with him during dinner.

On an unrelated note, the writing is going better (finally.) I hope to have the first draft done within a day or two, and I already have a pretty good idea of what I plann to do with the next draft. I'm actually looking forward to writing again. That's a nice change.

My I-Don't-Have-To-Run-Day(s)

After a long and less-productive-than-I-had-hoped-for week, the weekend did finally arrive. Friday dawned hot and muggy with a side of ick. That's when the phone rang. It was my friend, Martha (or Bess, depending on where you meet her), wanting to meet for lunch. Usually, Friday is my housecleaning/laundry day, but I threw my plans to the wind and decided to spend a few hours with one of my favorite people instead. I was feeling kind of blue anyway, and it seemed like the right choice. So, off for pizza and laughs with Martha. Lunch turned into late afternoon as we sat and talked for 3 hours. It was a marathon of catching up, deep discussion, and bizarre stories. Good times.

After finishing up with Martha, I headed to the grocery store and then home. My journey into the so-thick-you-could-cut-it summer air left me feeling a little snoozy, so I stretched out on the couch until Steve got home. Then it was off to the Barkery Bistro for doggie treats. Downtown Greenville was a madhouse (as usual), so Steve just slowed down and pushed me out of the car when we got near the store. (Okay, I'm exaggerating a little, but not much.) Inside, the lady behind the bakery display case asked me if the dog I was purchasing the treats for was a girl or boy. (Steve later suggested that I should have said, "I hope so.") After I told her my purchases were for a little girl dog, the woman filled a bag with doggy treats shaped and decorated like butterflies and flip-flops. Then she put bright pink tissue paper in for a final touch. Is that classy or what? I hope the dog appreciates it!

After a pit stop at Best Buy (Steve's suggestion for killing 30 minutes), we headed over to a friend's house for dinner. Did I mention that my friend has a Golden Retriever named Molly, and that I LOVE Golden Retrievers? No? Well, now you know. Though the food and wine were wonderful that night (and the company wasn't bad, either), I was pretty psyched about getting to hang with a Golden. Oh, and for the record, she loved the treats. She didn't say anything about the tissue paper, but I'm interpreting all the licking as her doggy endorsement of its pinkness.

We didn't get home until very late Friday night. (I'm certain that most everyone had turned into pumpkins, except for us.) So, Saturday was good for a lie-in, and then we got to work. Mostly, I got to work. You want to see the list? I cleaned the house, did the laundry, reorganized the pantry, and cooked a giant pot of spaghetti. (Steve mowed the grass.) That's okay. Steve had a hard week, and he needed some rest. He had special permission from me to be a vegetable for the entire weekend. (You notice I said be a vegetable, not eat one. He didn't do much of that.)

Sunday involved lots of relaxing, after church and a Sam's trip, that is. I took an epic 3 hour nap, and Steve played video games with a friend. The evening wrapped up with a little movie watching. Steve rented Capote for me, and he watched it with me - even though I'm certain that he couldn't care less about Truman Capote or anything discussed in the film. Such a good sport. It was an amazing film, however, and I'm glad I got to watch it.

Now, it's Monday, and it's back to work. Last week, I struggled as I worked on my story. I'm praying that this week will be better. I'm also hoping that my weekend of rest and doing anything but writing (I did, at least, read) will aid my attempts this week. So, enough rattling on. Here goes.

Frederick Foodie

What goes with roast beef, turkey, mashed potatoes, pasta, fudge, Texas sheet cake, and watergate salad? How about an antacid? Maybe a nice 10-mile run? I've only been in Maryland since Friday night (it's now Monday evening), and I've already consumed a month's worth of fat and calories. Nanny definitely missed the memo about cholesterol, and I completely lack self-control whenever I'm in Frederick County. I think it's something in the air.

All this eating has gotten me to wondering about food and why we associate certain foods with home? Would family still be family if they didn't come bearing doughy sugar cookies? Today, Steve, Grammy, and I drove to Gettyburg, PA, to visit the Boyd's Bears Bear Country flagship store. (Pictures forthcoming in a future blog.) On the way there, we drove past Mountain Gate Family Restaurant, one of my favorite Maryland indulgences. Yet this time, I felt no inclination to exit the highway for its yummy, homecooked goodness. Maybe, it's because I always went to Mountain Gate with Granddaddy. Going without him seems a bit like sacriledge. I may go back one day, but for right now, the restaurant has lost its charm for me.

So tonight after Bear Country, we hit Outback instead. Not one of my favorite places to eat, but it made my grandmother happy, so that made it worthwhile. I thought that Steve and I would probably wear her out, but instead, we're the ones dragging tonight, and she's powering away the miles on her treadmill. Shame on our saggy, baggy, out-of-shape selves!

Back to the dining digression...last night was all about food and family. We had dinner at Nanny and Pap's with my uncle and aunt and my cousin, her husband, and her two little girls. We had the requisite amounts of chaos and catching up with a little turkey, gravy, and macaroni and cheese thrown in. After all, would it really be a Lantz family gathering without Nanny's culinary stylings? I think not.

The 3 R's: Reading, wRiting, and Rock Band

It's never boring at the Gray household...at least, it hasn't been for a while. School, of course, remains a neverending blur of work and commitments. I am trying to balance classwork with Concept Literary Journal obligations and reading entries for the Julia Mood Peterkin contest and working in the Writing Center and applying to grad school and scholarships and trying to get some work submitted to journals. At least one thing is going right...drum roll, please...I found out last night that I was accepted to the MFA program at Converse! I was so excited. (Still am, actually.) Feels good to check one small thing off my very long list, well, that and having my FAFSA finally completed. (Thanks to Steve for that.)

If only school were the only thing keeping me busy. There's the everyday, daily stuff like cleaning the house, cooking meals, laundry, grocery shopping, and trying to see Steve occasionally. Then there's my church commitments. Starting next Sunday, we'll be hosting Life Group for a while. I'm actually looking forward to this, but it is another thing on thelist. On Thursday nights, I attend a women's Bible study. This means more homework, but it is so worth it. Once a week, I get to go spend a couple of hours with some truly amazing women. We not only study God's word, but we also get to love and support one another in a deeper way than simply seeing each other on Sunday mornings would allow. Sure, I'm usually exhausted from a full week by the time Thursdays roll around, but I wouldn't want to miss it for any extra rest time. It's such a wonderful time to recharge and pray for one another. Plus, the lady who leads has the most adorable little boy ever, and he is always entertaining.

This weekend will be a bit more challenging than usual (and that's saying something) since I am going to a women's retreat tomorrow (Friday). Our church is having a special women's weekend on Friday and Saturday in Flat Rock, NC. I'm really looking forward to the drive up with the girls and sharing hotel rooms (translation: one big slumber party). It does, however, mean less time to work on school stuff, but I'm just going to have to trust that God will help me get through my work despite my condensed schedule. I'm definitely going to take my camera, so I hope to have some pictures to post when I get back.

My exciting life doesn't end there, though. Steve, too, is having an eventful week, and by that I mean that the Stevie Ray Vaughn songs finally came out for Rock Band. I really wish I liked SRV since I know I'm going to be listening to Steve play his songs on the game over and over for quite some time. (He's playing them as type, in fact.) Ah, Rock Band...It really is a wonderful time to be alive, isn't it?

So that's my life right now. I've probably left something out (like my 1:30 am brownine baking or 2 am history assignment), but you get the general idea. No need to belabor the point. I think the name of my blog pretty much sums everything up right now.

On a completely unrelated note, if I don't graduate soon, I'm going to weigh six hundred pounds and be in desperate need of bypass surgery. I love Zaxby's as much as the next girl, but really, if I eat any more chicken and french fries, I'm going to rupture an artery! Why does fast food have to equal fried? I'm going to start having dreams where angry vegetables are chasing me down and beating me senseless with a cold, hard french fry.