The Scholastic Scribe

SFO Jungle Kitty

2009-11-11T00:05:00.000-05:00

Vaya Con El Diablo, John Allen Muhammed

2009-11-10T00:05:00.000-05:00

We lived in fear for 3 weeks. We huddled out of sight at gas stations. High school athletic teams played their games hours away, with no fans to cheer them on. We were told to run in a zig-zag pattern between the car & our destinations to make it more difficult for the sniper to get a bead on us.

John Allen Muhammed & his teenaged accomplice, Lee Boyd Malvo, killed 10 people in the DC area in October 2002. Muhammed, on death row since his conviction in one of the murders, is set to die today by lethal injection.

My kids were 15 and 12 at the time. I came this close to sending them out of state, to live with relatives & to go to school where they didn't have the chance of getting picked off while standing at a neighborhood bus stop.

The DC area is not immune to violence. The first couple of deaths back in 2002, while mysterious, didn't register much of a reaction. Then we learned we harbored a home-grown terrorist, right in our backyard.

First, someone firing out of the woods in suburban Maryland cut down a bus driver. Then, an older DC resident was gunned down. And then gas station murders started to occur & the sniper-he always used just one bullet from an automatic rifle to do his dirty work-started leaving creepy, taunting notes behind.

Ella Numera Una played high school field hockey. The team, obviously, couldn't practice outside. So all the fall sports-field hockey, football, cross country, volleyball-tried to share limited gym space. The trackies made loops in the school's corridors. Indoor practices went until 10, sometimes 11 o'clock at nite.

Ella Numera Dos, a 7th-grader at the time, was just getting used to the freedom of catching the school bus up at the corner. After the local cops, however, established a pattern for the attacks & warned the general populace that a sniper was on the loose, Mommy & Daddy curtailed the child's freedom. We took her to school every morning, pulling up close to the front doors so she could dash in. We picked her up each afternoon, repeating the process in reverse. We couldn't be too careful. One of the victims was a local middle-schooler, shot as he left school. Fortunately, he survived.

Our Humble High School's Homecoming game that year was held 2-and-a-half hours away in Harrisonburg, VA. The only fans in attendance? Parents, who weren't notified of the game's location until hours before kickoff.

Other outdoor sports teams started competing in places like Richmond, about an hour from here. That was, of course, until the sniper went further afield & shot a man in front of a Ponderosa Steakhouse off the Interstate, near the capital city. The school district then moved games to an area Army post, the kids watched closely by soldiers who patrolled the perimeter of each playing field.

Then the DC Sniper shot & killed Linda Franklin at our local Home Depot. She was my age. She worked downtown in a government office. She'd gone to the store with her husband to pick up a rug for the house. She died in the parking garage. No one saw the sniper, the gun, the escape. Everyone saw the flash & Mrs. Franklin, lying on the cold concrete floor.

To say I was afraid after Linda Franklin died is to say that fear consumed my life. I started pumping my gas at the station that had draped its service bay area with a giant tarp, to make customers look less like sitting ducks. I crouched in the back of my SUV while the tank filled, hoping the tinted windows would shade me from the unknown assasin.

My terror came to an end one weekday morning, after dropping Ella Dos off at school. I had been having an internal debate over getting gas. I'd pretty much decided that the smidge left in my tank was going to have to get me to work. I willed it to do so.

The radio crackled with relief a couple of minutes later. The sniper-who turned out to be this man, Muhammed-had been picked up, along with a kid who'd been helping him wreak his terror. I immediately pulled into a local Exxon. I have to say that was the happiest I'd ever been while performing a normally perfunctory errand.

I go back & forth on capital punishment. I don't know if the death penalty is right, if it's moral, if it's the solution to the demons that haunt our souls. But I do know that John Allen Muhammed can't hurt me, or my loved ones, any more.

Here's Pie in Your Eye!

2009-11-09T00:05:00.001-05:00

Someone said on the NFL pre-game show yesterday that Green Bay's Aaron Rodgers is the top-rated passer in the league right now. Well, if yesterday's performance is any indication, his 3 interceptions must be part of that ranking. And 6 sacks in one game~for a grand total of 37 this season, also a league-leading number~must count for something, too.

Mrs. Scribe & Mr. Fairway were so depressed over their beloved Packers falling to the heretofore winless Tampa Bay scrubs that I just had to bake. A Banana Cream Pie. Specifically, the recipe from my long-time, old-school standby, The Joy of Cooking.

When I was but a small Scribe, Mi Madre depended on Joy's Irma Rombauer to set a pretty delicious table. Every few years or so, Mom's copy of the cookbook would wear out. So Daddy would step in, always inscribing something cute on the title page. "You're a Good Cook, Mom!" became his standard; it adorned all 5 copies he bought Mom during their 52-year marriage.

When Mr. Fairway & I tied the knot, Daddy got in on the act again, presenting us with our very own copy of The Joy of Cooking for newlywed Christmas. The inscription? "You're a Good Cook! Love, Muv and Atticus." Daddy always made sure to squeeze literary allusions into his own works.

This pie (or P. I. E., as Daddy would say) provides just enough cream, meringue, sugar and butter to keep your arteries flowing, while at the same time duping you into believing that a heart attack could be imminent. Make sure to bake the crust first, or you'll have raw dough underneath all that creamy goodness! And I use a Pillsbury Crust, natch.

Banana Cream Pie, courtesy of The Joy of Cooking

Step 1: Prepare a pie crust, then bake it.

Step 2: Prepare the cream...yum!

2/3-cup sugar

1/4-cup cornstarch

1/4-teaspoon salt

2.5 cups of milk (I used 1%; you may use any kind)

5 egg yolks (reserve the whites for the meringue)

Combine sugar, cornstarch & salt in a medium saucepan. Stiring constantly over medium-low heat, gradually add the milk. When all of this starts to thicken, add the egg yolks & stir until the mixture comes to a bare simmer. Remove from the heat, scrape the corners of the saucepan, and whisk until smooth. Return to the heat and, whisking constantly, bring to a simmer and cook for 1 minute. Remove from heat again and add

2-3 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

1 tablespoon vanilla

Step 3: Combine the bananas with the cream for the pie filling.

4 ripe bananas, sliced

Spoon one-third of the cream filling into the already-baked pie crust. Sprinkle one-half of the banana slices on top of this. Spoon one-third of the cream filling on top of the bananas and smooth. Add the rest of the banana slices. Top with the remainder of the cream filling and smooth.

Step 4: Prepare the meringe.

1/2-cup egg whites (from the eggs you separated for the filling)

1/4-teaspoon cream of tartar

1/2 cup sugar

Combine these ingredients. Beat on high speed until the peaks are stiff and glossy but not dry. Then, beat in

1/2-teaspoon vanilla

Immediately spread the meringue over the pie filling, anchoring it to the edge of the crust at all points. You need to cover up all that filling! Bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Enjoy!

Bend, and Snap!

2009-11-08T00:05:00.000-05:00

When I saw this photo, it sorta put me in mind of "Legally Blonde." Yes, I realize Paulette was a manicurist, but still...

"The new UPS guy is like walkin' porn!" Best movie ever? Well, let's just say I've grown attached to it, since TBS screens this flick about 752 times every weekend!

Anyway, back to the reason we're here~Mrs. Scribe's Silly Sunday Sweepstakes!

You know what to do, correctamundo? Take a gander at this Superior Silly Snap. Conjure a caption for said snap. Tippy-type your caption, real quick-like, in the comments section of this post.

And that's all there is to it, Scribe Fans! Of course, you'll win nothing tangible for all your toil & trouble. Just the knowledge that you've given us all a good giggle. And what could be better than that?

Army Strong

2009-11-07T00:05:00.002-05:00

Photo courtesy of The Killeen Daily Herald

We're all in the Army now.

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before: Our Humble High School's student population is about 75 percent military kids. As one of the closest schools to the Pentagon in our district, families from all of the Armed Services gravitate here.

So, when my journalistas went into Breaking News Mode yesterday morning, trying to localize the Fort Hood Massacre story, I jumped right in there with them.

A ton of my cherubs were either born on post at Fort Hood or have cycled thru there at least once in their young lives. Some have experienced repeated postings to this barren piece of real estate, northeast of Austin and in the general vicinity of Waco, Texas.

I'm told Fort Hood is the largest Army post in the world. I'm not sure if that's accurate, but at Our Humble High School, at least, we're all in the Army now. Our hearts are with y'all down there in Bell County. To the families of the 13 fallen, and those of you who survived...We salute you.

Friday Night Lights

2009-11-06T00:05:00.002-05:00

A squeaker of a Homecoming game, I'd say...

Punt, Pass...Or Throw

2009-11-05T00:05:00.001-05:00

Today I tackled Mama Kat's Prompt #2: Tell Me Your Most Humorous Wedding Experience.

I was young. I was foolish. I was plastered.

Well, not until midway thru the reception, anyway. But the highlight of that blowout par-TAY at my folks' East Dallas home wasn't the larapin, 3-tiered cake with buttercream icing. Not the cool Western hats Mr. Fairway purchased for his groomsmen at a store in the Fort Worth Stockyards. Nor the luscious Spanish Paella my Aunt whipped up for those who lingered longest.

The centerpiece of the celebration involved the bouquet...or lack thereof.

First off, I need to explain that the union of Mrs. Scribe & Mr. Fairway was planned to the Nth Degree. That's Scribe-speak for a whole heckuva lot of lists, bickering & endless, unnecessary worry.

And what happens when all that organization goes awry? When the best-laid plans slant slightly askew?

You punt. Pass. Or throw.

The church was lovely. Festooned with flowers, crammed with friends & family in a cacophonous array of goodwill & glad tidings. All we could have expected, and, to insert a little ol' cliche here (this is a wedding post, after all), more.

The "homey" reception Mom planned for her 1920's-era abode, however, featured a more impromptu vibe.

The guys Daddy hired to serve champagne didn't show. So Dear Old Dad enlisted my cousin, and, presto! Waiters, who didn't charge by the hour & even had their own tuxes.

The backyard, which Daddy had painstakingly nurtured all Spring (Dallas is not known for lush vegetation), was pretty much a backwater swamp after 2 solid weeks of uncharacteristic rain. So the overflow crowd had to congregate either inside, or on the front lawn.

Well, we made do.

My BIL, at some point, commandeered a bottle of champagne. My Lil' Sis, as I recall, did the same.

And after that, the memory of the best party I ever attended goes a little fuzzy, if you know what I mean...Let's just say the Bride couldn't find her bouquet. So I tried to throw my Maid of Honor, instead.

I do have photographic evidence. Drunk with Happiness? Try Drunk as a Skunk...

Lunch Time: Life's a Beach

2009-11-04T00:05:00.001-05:00

Mrs. Scribe Reviews: Looking After Pigeon

2009-11-03T00:05:00.001-05:00

Beautifully crafted to a fault, Looking After Pigeon, by Maud Carol Markson, transports us from New York City to the Jersey Shore during one summer in the '70s. Markson's lovely imagery makes for an almost Gatsby-esque read. But that may be one of the challenges I have with this novel.

I wanted to like Pigeon, I really, really did. Markson spins a beautiful tale, replete with a Sugar Plum Fairy-esque diction that will attract her readers and leave them wanting more. But a few of the characters, plot twists and transparent literary devices kept getting in my way.

Pigeon comes from a family of birds. Dove, 16, is the oldest. Robin, the only boy, is middle-schoolish. And then there's Pigeon, the youngest, and the novel's narrator.

The family~3 kids plus a mom & dad~lives in New York. But apparently, domestic bliss isn't all it's cracked up to be. Daddy gets caught embezzling from the pharmacy where he works. Then, Pigeon wakes up one day and Dear Old Dad is gone.

I never did figure out if Pigeon's Daddy flew the coop out of shame, or what. But our story moves along, 'cause that's what stories do. The family~sans Daddy~makes its way to the Jersey Shore, settling down with Uncle Edward.

The rest of this brief exercise in character development takes place at the beach near Atlantic City, during one summer's time. The tale has quite a bit to recommend it, but there are also a few flies in this soft-serve, Boardwalk confection.

Pigeon is 5 years old. I love her voice, I love her attitude, I love her touch of innocence ripped asunder by an unstable family life. But she's only 5. And while I wasn't expecting the spunky Pigeon to be Holden Caulfield of Catcher fame, she's still pretty short on life experience to tell such an intricate tale.

I'm enamored of several of Markson's characters, although their appearances in the novel are fleeting. I admire Dove's independence, but I keep hoping she'll wake up and realize she's on the wrong road. I enjoy Robin's mystery, but he doesn't hang around long enough for me to get to know him well.

And as for Pigeon's Mommy Dearest, I understand that she's a tad crazy. But she needs to have a better literary vehicle to ride. I don't have enough info about the "cult" Mommy takes up with to form a decent opinion on whether she's fit to be a mother, or not.

I was a tad sad, as I often am when I finish a particularly good page-turner, when I closed the back cover of Looking After Pigeon. But mostly I was sad that the author lost a marvelous opportunity to develop these incredibly kitschy characters. She needed more than the 192 pages she allowed.

F. Scott Fitzgerald crafted a masterpiece in fewer than 200 pages. But Pigeon isn't Gatsby. And this little girl needs more room to grow.

Horseshoes & Hand Grenades

2009-11-02T00:05:00.004-05:00

Have you met my friend Tracy? She lives in Minnesota & I'll bet she isn't gonna rub my nose in the ingominious dregs of defeat I'm feeling right now, just 'cause her Minnesota Vikings~aided by that old gunslinger, Brett Favre~so thoroughly trounced my Green Bay Packers yesterday afternoon.

I guess one could say that the Green Bay Packers are in the dog house~in this fan's eyes, anyway. It ended up being close. But close only counts in horseshoes & hand grenades. I wonder who said that, anyway?

Since I'm out in Tracy's neck of the woods visiting My Peeps, I thought I'd share a yummy recipe that Lady T. shared with me. It's called Beer Cheese Soup & it will warm both your soul and your tummy on a cold winter nite. Perfect for reviving lagging spirits after a shellacking like my Packers received yestserday.

Tracy P.'s Beer Cheese Soup

1 stick of butter
1 cup flour
4 cans chicken broth
1 1/2 cups heavy whipping cream
1 jar (15 oz.) Cheese Whiz
6 oz. beer
1 T. Worcestershire sauce
1/4 cup freeze-dried chives

Melt butter in pot. Add flour and cook on low heat for five minutes, stirring constantly. Add chicken broth gradually, while stirring to prevent lumps. Stir in whipping cream. Add Cheese Whiz and stir until melted and smooth. (Requires a little patience!) Add beer, Worcestershire sauce and chives, and simmer 15 minutes, stirring constantly. (Trust me when I say that if it starts boiling, it will foam up and over quicker than you can come up with a catchy colloquialism. Mark my words. Tracy says you can clean up while it cooks, but do NOT turn your back on it.) Garnish with popcorn and serve!

This just in! For the 2nd November in a row, Mrs. Scribe is participating in the National Blog Posting janx. The object is to publish every day. Looking forward to seeing all you bright-eyed & bushy-taled visitors thruout this 30-day stretch. Should be exciting. If you, too, want to join the campaign, please click on the little button above, and get writing!

Just Wanted to Give You a Heads Up...

2009-11-01T00:05:00.000-04:00

Since I'm visiting the college kids this weekend, thought Sx3 should get into the spirit, too. What say you?

Methinks this contraption looks like it is intended to be used as a bike rack. In fact, the city of Appleton, Wisconsin, uses this strange-looking metal decor to trim its tree boxes on College Avenue. Nevertheless, these kiddos have turned it into some 21st-Century stockade or some such nonsense. From the left, Ella Numera Una's BF, Ella Una, Ella Una's Roomie & the BF's BFF.

You Silly Sunday Sweepstakes veterans know what to do, correctamundo? Take a gander at this Superior Snap. Then, conjure a caption for said snap, & tippy-type it reall quick-like in the comments section of this post. Of course, you'll win nothing tangible for your efforts. Just the knowledge that you've given all of us a good giggle. And what could be better than that?

One Quarter to Go 'Til Halftime...

2009-10-31T00:05:00.001-04:00

One quarter down...3 to go!

Those of you who took a gander at yesterday's post know that the first quarter ended yesterday at Our Humble High School. We have so many cherubs out sick with the flu (no official diagnosis of the swine variety, yet) that I had to take the 3 last assignments in AP English and move them to next quarter.

Let's just say that it'll be a hot time in the old town next week when all those kiddos come in for make up work. But for now, I'ma gonna hang out with My Peeps, enjoy the what remains of the Wisconsin fall foliage & watch the 2nd iteration of the Vikings-Packers matchup.

Six-Word Saturday is pretty awesome, ain't it? Oh, and I'm eschewing a Halloween theme today 'cause I can, I guess. Always gotta be different...

SkyWatch, OBX-Style...

2009-10-30T00:05:00.000-04:00

This time last year, I was here. Uncovering shells that looked like this. Watching sunrises that crested over the dunes & the beach grass. Totally immersed in nothing.

Today, to celebrate the end of the 1st Quarter, I'm journeying to Wisconsin. I'll be in the Badger State to see My Peeps & to commune with a couple of bratwurst. Perhaps a lager, or two.

Happy TGIF, y'all. Cheers!

Driving Miss Daisy

2009-10-29T00:05:00.002-04:00

Mama Kat's prompt today? Describe a favorite Halloween costume

or moment you wish you had on video.

We were young. I was hot. Not much older than my chicas are, now. Smokin'...

We DC Types get invited to a lot of fundraisers. For political parties. For causes. To meet authors. To hang out with the high & mighty muckety-mucks who run this town.

Yes, I'm sure taxpayer funds were involved, somehow. They always are. The lobbyists pay for these "affairs" with private funds, but someone always gets squeezed. Fancy party. Sky-high bill. Corporation picks up the tab. Passes costs along to the consumer. What do economists call this? Throughput, perhaps? I think so.

This Gatsby soirée took place on Halloween weekend one year. As you can see, we went all out. And, no, that's not our car. We posed for pix, along with all the other party-goers, at an area of the hotel ballroom set aside for such janx.

I wish we'd captured this moment, or the evening, or the pre-party preparations, on video. I'd love to see footage of my former self. Wouldn't you?

When my youngest looks at this Superior Snap, she says, "Mom, you were hot!" Smokin', in fact.

Witch Princess Are You?

2009-10-28T00:05:00.007-04:00

Please visit Angie for Ghosts of Halloweens Past...

Book Him, Danno?

2009-10-27T00:05:00.001-04:00

This just in, from the police blotter at the station near Our Humble High School.

A man was standing inside his house, alone. Naked. A woman strolled by with her son. She was walking the kid to school.

Those facts are not in dispute. But here's where the stories diverge:

Man says he was relaxing in the privacy of his own home. Woman says he was flashing her.

Police showed up, took him down to the station house. The story has gone viral & is making news around the globe, even as we speak. I'm surprised there isn't a YouTube video out there yet.

Man appeared before a local judge yesterday in handcuffs. Told His Honor that one of the arresting cops called him a "pervert."

So, I guess my question is this: When, if ever, is it appropriate to hang out in your own home?

A Recipe to Warm the Soul & Clear the Sinuses

2009-10-26T00:05:00.001-04:00

Since the weather's turning toward winter & the Snot Monster tackled me about a week ago, I've been thinking of something soothing & spicy, to warm both the soul & clear out the sinuses. I whipped up a batch of Lost River Chili last night, which certainly did the trick.

This Mrs. Scribe "Original," as with most of my recipes, came from an amalgamation of several different sources. I perfected it one chilly October, when the world was very young; Mr. Fairway & I spent a week in an unheated, woodsy cabin at Lost River State Park in the mountains of West Virginia. Let's just say we needed more than snuggling to keep us warm!

And on a Tejana kind of note: Yes, I know...Texas chili isn't supposed to have beans. Whatever. I reckon this hybrid would represent in any chili cook-off in the Lone Star State.

Lost River Chili

1/2-lb. bacon
4.5 lbs. ground beef
2 onions
1 green pepper
2 cans Rotel-diced tomatoes & green chilis
1 package taco mix
6 tbs. chili powder
1 tsp. thyme
sprinkle each of oregano, black pepper
2+ cloves garlic, depending on your tastebuds
16 oz. (or 2 small cans) tomato sauce
2 cans pinto beans
1 tbs. cumin.
1 tsp. dried cilantro
1 beer

Cut up the bacon & start frying it up in the bottom of a deep chili pot. When the bacon looks about ready, add the ground beef gradually, so it can brown, too. In the meantime, cut up the veggies & add them to the pot, stirring the whole mixture up several times. Then add the canned goods and the spices. Stir everything together. Finally, add the beer (if you don't drink, don't worry; the alcohol burns off in the cooking process) and about 4 Rotel cans of water. Bring to a boil, then simmer for about 3 hours. If you want to cook it longer, just keep adding water. But not too much...there's nothing worse than watery chili! Serve with chopped onions & shredded cheese on top, accompanied by a mean mess o' corn bread.

Orange You Glad I Didn't Say "Banana"?

2009-10-25T00:05:00.001-04:00

Homecoming Week at Our Humble High School is always a hectic affair, what with spirit days, a special assembly, the game, the court & the dance. Teachers learn early in their careers not to plan anything that might hurt their cherubs' heads too much ~ during this special week, not a lot is going to get done but fun...

Thought I'd share this shot from our last Homecoming, snapped in Senior Hall near a very crowded intersection we call Hollywood & Vine. Notice that the life of high school still goes on, even though there's a gorilla posing with his buddy the lion right in the middle of the hallway.

You know what to do, correctamundo? Take a good gander at this Superior Snap. Then conjure a caption for said snap, & tippy-type it, real quick-like, in the comments section of this post.

And there you have it, Scribe Fans! No fuss, no muss. You'll win nothing tangible for your trouble ~ just the knowledge that you've given all of us a good giggle. And what could be better than that?

I'm a writer, not a fighter...

2009-10-24T00:05:00.002-04:00

Lots of action around Scribe Land this week, y'all. First I went back to work after a delightful 4-day reprieve. When I returned to the trenches at Our Humble High School,

did all hell break loose? Yup!

Newspaper deadline? Check! Yearbook deadline? Check! Oodles of AP English papers to grade? Checkeroo! End of the first quarter rapidly approaching? Check, check & double-check!

And, oh, BTW...the Snot Monster paid a visit to mi casa, too. So I've been a tad under the weather all week.

You know, I'm a writer, not a fighter. But Your Humble Scribe also passed some Merry Milestones. I'd like to recognize these today in this post, which is brought to you by Cate, at Show My Face. It's 6-Word Saturday, you know.

The Scholastic Scribe, as it were, hit the 50,000 hit mark a couple of days ago. And I couldn't let the week fly by without acknowledging that The Superior Scribbler Award entered toddlerhood. As of press time, 1,156 Superior Scribblers currently roam the planet. That's a heckuva lot of scribbling in one year's time!

So, to honor both of these amazing occurences, methinks it's time to bestow The Award on 5 more Superior Scribblers. We write because we love to, not because we have to. And as we hurtle thru the universe on this spinning orb called Earth, we're trying to make our mark~one syllable at a time.

I created The Superior Scribber Award last October to honor those who share my passion for the written word. As with all awards, there are a few rules, so we probably should dispense with those, first:

Each Superior Scribbler I name today should in turn pass The Award along to 5 most-deserving bloggy friends.
Each Superior Scribbler must link to the blog from which he/she has received the award. In this case, that would be moi.
Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on her/his blog, and link to this post, which explains its origins.
Each blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to Mr. Linky. That way, we'll be able to keep track on everyone who receives this prestigious honor.
Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on her/his blog when passing along the award.

Well, here goes...hope y'all enjoy your bling, will use it wisely & will cherish it always!

Here Comes the Sun

2009-10-23T00:05:00.000-04:00

The last time I snapped a shot like this, I aimed the camera thru busted blinds & captured a snowy parking lot. This Superior Snap illustrates one of the perks (there are few, let me assure you) of getting to work at Oh, Dark Thirty. And, as you can see, I have two reasons to be a Very Happy Camper...New blinds adorn my windows, as well!

Enjoy this shot of the student parking lot at Our Humble High School, circa 6:58 a.m. yesterday. Technically, not Oh, Dark Thirty, 'cause the sun was on its way up. But an unGodly hour, by any definition!

I've Never Posed for Playboy...

2009-10-22T00:05:00.001-04:00

I Am Not...

June Cleaver.

I look good in heels & pearls,

but never while vacuuming.

And definitely not

while cooking dinner.

Martha Stewart.

Yes, I cook.

Yes, I entertain.

Yes, I garden.

No, I Decidedly Do Not

paint with glitter

nor have I ever worn

an electronic monitoring device

on my ankle.

Clair Huxtable.

I'm a teacher, Madame Prosecutor.

But my chica is studying

the law.

I don't do sweater sets.

I hang out

with teenagers.

All. Day. Long.

Maude.

Though I share her birthday.

And I'm outspoken,

with a dash of class.

I don't think

I have the fortitude.

Marge Simpson.

I do have funky hair,

but not of the blue beehive variety.

And I've

Never

Posed

for

Playboy.

Free Verse courtesy of Mama Kat's Prompt #3.

From Ninja Turtles to Pasta Sauce Raphael

2009-10-21T00:05:00.001-04:00

When the chicas were younger, they favored Barbies. Their 4 boy cousins wereTeenage Mutant Ninja Turtle fans. When the kids got together, they played "Teenage Mutant Ninja Barbies." No joke. The Barbies, being larger "action figures," served as airplanes; sometimes their removable heads doubled as bombs.

Raphael was my favorite Turtle, for more reasons than one. First off, he's not afraid to show his softer Ninja side. Second, his Italian namesake, the High Renaissance painter, was quite the talented dude. And, of course, Raphael the Turtle is also the Rebellious One.

One other reason, which has nothing to do with action figures or art: I've been to Italy several times, and my favorite trattoria sauce? Pasta Sauce Raphael.

I guess this is the round-about way of exclaiming over a recipe that is a Scribe Family standby. I favor the recipe made famous by Silver Palate Cookbook authors Julee Rosso & Sheila Lukins. Lukins, who with her partner tried to bring gourmet meals to the masses, like me, died a couple of months ago. I publish this as a tribute to her bravery in the face of brain cancer & in hopes that as the weather changes for the worse this October, you, too will take comfort in this delightful comfort food.

The Silver Palate's Pasta Sauce Raphael

2 jars (6 oz. each) marinated artichoke hearts in oil
1/4-cup olive oil
2 cups chopped onions
2 tbs. minced garlic
1/2-tsp. dried oregano
1/2-teaspoon dried basil
1 tbs. coarsely ground black pepper
1/2-tsp. salt
Pinch red pepper flakes (we use more than a pinch)
1 can (28 oz.) plum tomatoes, with their juice
1/4-cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1/4-cup chopped fresh Italian (flat-leaf variety) parsley

Drain the artichoke hearts, reserving the marinade.
Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan. Add the onions, garlic, oregano, basil, black pepper, salt, red pepper flakes, and reserved artichoke marinade. Saute over medium-low heat until the onions and garlic are soft and translucent, 10 minutes.
Add the tomatoes and simmer for 30 minutes.
Add the artichoke hearts, Parmesan, and parsley. Stir gently, and simmer another 5 minutes.
6 portions; enough for 1 pound of pasta. Many favor tortellini with this sauce; the Scribes adore it with linguini or fettucini!

Just Do It!

2009-10-20T00:05:00.002-04:00

To remind one & all that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, the I *Heart* Faces proprietresses are sponsoring a Pink Week Photo Challenge. We've just finished Homecoming Week at Our Humble High School. This member of the HC Court & her escort seem to be making a statement about beauty, tradition & comfort.

I'm not sure if I prefer the Birkies with the suit or the Nikes with the gown. What say y'all?

Mrs. Scribe Reviews: The Return

2009-10-19T00:05:00.003-04:00

I've long been a fan of historical fiction. But the twist, for me, has always meant that the history had to be of the ethnic variety. In the Time of the Butterflies, by Julia Alvarez, is one of my favorites. For Whom the Bell Tolls, by Ernest Hemingway, does not ring my chimes one bit.

Hence, I approached The Return, by Victoria Hislop, with no small amount of trepidation. I must say, however, that I was pleasantly surprised. Although the initial premise is a tad shaky, Hislop ends up manipulating her story successfully amid the backdrop of the gruesome Spanish Civil War and, I'm pleased to report, she pulls it off.

The interwoven stories of the British PR exec Sonia, who travels to Granada, Spain, to discover herself in the traditions of the area, and the Ramirez family, who lived through the tragedies of the war, speak of politics, kin and the reasons these themes often suffer a fragile coexistence.

Although I'm not a student of Spanish history, Hislop's research, and most of her story, ring true to me. Take one part romance, two parts conflict, and set the tale between generations in the shadow of the Alhambra, Granada's Moorish cornerstone, and you have The Return, quite a viable read.

The story, especially once it jumps to the tale of La Familia Ramirez, is both believable and beautiful. I found myself immersed both in the literal, bloody conflict and the main characters' emotional upheavals.

The Return is Hislop's second foray into the publishing world. Now I'm looking forward to checking out The Island, her freshman effort. That 2007 novel, set in Crete, became an international bestseller. After reading The Return, it's not difficult to understand why.

Editor's Note: Mrs. Scribe reviewed The Return at the behest of TLC Book Tours. While she received a gratis copy of the novel, her opinions are her own.

All It's Cracked Up to Be?

2009-10-18T00:05:00.000-04:00

I just HAD to recycle this shot from Friday. Couldn't let such a Superior Snap go to waste. This thang had Silly Sunday Sweepstakes written all over it, don'tcha think?

Y'all know what to do, correctamundo? Take a gander at the aforementioned snap. Then conjure a caption for said snap. Tippy type your caption in the comments section of this post. And that's all there is to it!

You'll win nothing tangible, but of course, for all your efforts. Just the knowledge that you've made a whole herd of us giggle. And what could be more groovy than that?