Don’t tell my mother.
She’d have apoplexy if she knew. When I take my dog Crowley for a walk, we usually take a route which crosses a six-lane road. On our morning walks, it’s quiet, with mainly UPS trucks (which for some reason Crowley loathes), service vehicles, and the odd personal car or truck.
But in the evening, it’s another story. Car after truck after car, all filled with tired people who just want to be home and take off their shoes and/or bras. The traffic is thick and fast. Normally, we don’t even attempt it between 4 and 6:30.
The other day, we got to the crosswalk at around 7:00, which is normally pretty quiet. But it was Friday night and it was really busy. Crowley and I stood there for what seemed like hours; every time the traffic one direction cleared cars would appear from the other direction.
It was hot and I was just about to abandon the plan and go home when a car did something that in almost three years of our treks, has only happened three or four times—it stopped for us. Not only did he stop for us; there were three cars behind him. So, all those guys had to stop as well.
There were a couple of cars coming from the other direction, so I still had to wait to cross. But that first guy held his ground and waited too.
While we waited, I did the little “Thank you” pantomime dance with the nod, the wave, and the mouthing of the wildly exaggerated “TTHHAANNKKK YYYOOOUU”. When we finally crossed, I waved and thanked again.
When he finally started forward, he yelled at me, “You’re welcome! And I like your dog!”.
Then the rest of the cars drove past. I was a little worried I might hear some rude language. But each of them honked and waved, as I hyper-thanked them all in turn.
If you get to be my age, and there aren’t a few worries rattling around in your head like b-b’s in a Pringles can, then you aren’t paying attention.
I worry about Petey and The Kid, about the health of my parents, about money and about politics. I also wonder when the authorities will show up and tell me it’s all been a huge mistake, they’ve realized I’m a horrible writer, and under penalty of the law nobody will ever print another word I write. And I’m not allowed to have a blog or even write a shopping list.
Walking usually lightens my mood, but winter walking is better because it’s cool, and we walk in the woods. Walking in five-thousand-degree heat isn’t quite as restorative.
But, it’s usually ok.
After I crossed the street, my mood was stratospheric. For a split second, I wondered why I was practically euphoric. Then I understood.
The crosswalk.
Five random strangers with unknown motivations and destinations, strangers whose faces nor cars I remember. Strangers that I could pass on the street multiple times and never recognize.
We five strangers, and one goofy dog—we had a moment. An authentic moment of the purest of goodwill. We’d all put aside whatever aggravations and calamities we’d been carrying and with no conversation, mutually decided to experience this tiny episode with nothing but pleasure.
When I think about that moment, I feel a little nugget of happiness. And I’d bet the first slice of my next birthday cake that our entire ephemeral brotherhood does as well.
Maya Angelou said, “Each one of us has the chance to be a rainbow in somebody’s cloud.”
And so, I strongly urge, and with the greatest of enthusiasm, be that rainbow, y’all.
Thanks for your time.
Contact debbie at d@bullcity.mom.
I spent the last couple of weeks prodding The Kid to purchase a Father’s Day gift for paterfamilias Petey.
In the entire twenty-seven years that our offspring’s been on the planet, I’m guessing my spouse has spent a grand total of three to five minutes doing the same for Mother’s Day
Guys are lucky. They’re lucky we make a fuss for them, and they’re lucky that we, sadly, expect and accept much less fuss in return.
1 cup toasted pecan halves with ½ teaspoon vanilla extract stirred in while still warm from toasting
Press it evenly into bottom of prepared pan. With straight edge cut down into dough for eight lines in one direction, and three on the other, making 24 shortbread bars. With floured fork, prick each finger length-wise down the center of each bar. Bake until lightly golden, 30-35 minutes.
Cool 5 minutes in pan. Use foil to lift shortbread from pan onto cutting board. With serrated knife, carefully separate warm shortbread into the 24 pieces. Remove from foil; cool bars completely before drizzling.
4 ounces white chocolate with at least 31% cocoa butter
Preheat oven to 250. Place white chocolate in small, shallow oven-proof dish. Cook 10 minutes, then remove and stir. Continue cooking, stirring every ten minutes, until chocolate has turned the color of peanut butter (50-60 minutes). If it gets stiff as it roasts, pour in a little oil, then stir some more. Keep adding oil, a few drops at a time and stirring until it becomes silky smooth. When chocolate is browned and smooth drizzle over the shortbread and let set before serving.
If desired, sprinkle a tiny pinch of the sea salt right after drizzling. Keep covered in a cool place for up to one week or freeze for up to a month.
Thanks for your time.
Gentle Reader, I listen to music constantly; ear buds in, I wrap myself in the musical arms of whichever style and artist I’m in the mood for. Often, and alarmingly, I sing along, although my dulcet tones would sound more appropriate coming from rusty machinery or a bag of broken glass thrown out a window.
But there’s something about live music. The give and take between artist and audience. The shared affection of large groups for performer. Nuance and spontaneity that cannot exist in recordings.
Last weekend The Kid and I went to the Ritz, in Raleigh, to see 
The next band was 
During their first song, I decided they weren’t bad. Then they went into their second number, and along with the entire crowd, I watched it with my jaw on the ground. These guys were amazing. I could feel the delighted astonishment that flowed through the crowd. We were all musical Madame Curie’s and they were our discovery—we were instant fans.
Cochran had an endearing charm, the cheeky good humor that drummers are famous for, and the ability of the best classic rockers. Gorman’s guitar riffs and electronic sound manipulation had us all cheering and gasping in near-unison. Their singing and performances were glorious and so full of emotion, that at one point I was afraid the boys might have a stroke. Their cover of Neil Young’s Vampire Blues was so exciting and intense I wanted a cigarette when it was over.
They’ve recently been signed by a major recording label which will soon release the first single. I will keep you informed with date and info.
As musical “All About Eve” scenarios faded from my head, Graves played his first song, 
He played songs like
I just smiled and nodded my head along to the music.
‘Tis the season for road trips. I enjoy traveling to new and interesting places or well-loved homes away from home. But I really hate flying these days; it’s unpleasant in a multitude of ways. And, I’m not great sitting in cars for long stretches, but I’m working on that.
But, for me, being there makes my body anxious and cranky. Unfamiliar water makes my skin break out. It’s almost impossible to get a good night’s sleep. And, after a few days, my body starts to rebel if I’m not eating right.
My goal is to have a balance of carbs for energy, protein to keep me feeling full longer, and healthy fats, with fruits, veggies, and whole grains to keep my engine from seizing up. I want as flavorful and nutritious bang for my caloric buck as possible.
Those pre-packed snack boxes have the right idea, but usually are full of sugars, sodium, unnecessary fats, and chemicals. When it’s packed at home, it can be tailored to your own tastes. Mix something like semi-hard cheese, whole grain crackers, a hard-cooked egg, some grape tomatoes, and dried blueberries.
At Mickey D’s, breakfast is now served all day. The oatmeal is around 300 calories if you get it made without dairy; which is often just a container of their coffee creamer dumped in. There are whole grains, fresh apples, and dried fruit. The yogurt parfait is also a not horrible bite. It’s only 210 calories and has fresh berries and low-fat granola.
Sheetz, with their War and Peace-sized, fully customizable menu can also be an option. Their breads include whole-grain options, the meat can be grilled, and they have crispy greens to dress them. I made a tasty loaded rice and bean bowl with vegetables and guacamole for only 300 calories. You can build a salad for yourself—just ask for the dressing on the side.
Panera’s showing up along many highways, and they have a commitment to providing clean healthy food. Their green passion smoothie is 200 calories and full of fresh fruit and greens. They’ve introduced a new spinach salad full of good stuff that is very similar to their old spinach salad which I loved and have sorely missed.
*The title is a song from that classic road trip film, The Muppet Movie.
There’s a piece of mine in the Indy today. With The Kid as designated driver and nursemaid, I drank myself from one end of Downtown Durham to the other–then wrote about it.
In one week, my little brother will be fifty-one(!) years old.
My mom was not on board at first. But we liked it, and it was our special little tradition. In three years, the first bill got filled up, so we just took a new Monopoly C-note and stapled it to the first. This year is the fourteenth year. Other than a kinda sweet, kinda sappy sibling tradition thing, I love it for a far more important reason.
Each year we try to find cards that are so rude (Not dirty, just extra snarky), the only person you could send it to is a sibling—they already know you’re a jerk. Shoot, they had a hand in molding your clay into jerk-like form.
Shows how much he knows; my mustache has gone gray, so I don’t have to wax it anymore.
I had a few lessons in twirling, but I was never very good at. It did come in useful when I wanted to whack something or someone on the head—not to hurt them, just to get their attention.
When I was in college, I had some minor surgery. One evening my folks came to visit me in the hospital, having left my fourteen-year-old brother at home. The next night when they visited, they told me that the mirror in the bathroom my brother and I shared had shattered. Nobody knew what had happened, but it was completely busted when they got home.
“Were you trying to make a blow torch?”
Thanks for your time.
My brilliant idea kind of all started when I inadvertently found a new treat for my Whirlpool-sized pooch, Crowley.
On the other hand, freeze-dried fruit is completely desiccated. The process is known as lyophilization. Think the crispy, crumbly Styrofoam-like food sold in camping and survival stores and used by NASA and the military. What I had scored on the sale shelf was freeze-dried peaches.
They were like the taste of every peach I’d ever eaten. Every can of fruit cocktail, every bowl of cobbler, every Hostess fruit pie had combined to create this huge peach punch to my taste buds. One bite was my limit.
Which is brilliant, because you get buckets of taste and also as a bonus, it becomes a gorgeous heliotrope color.
Instead of plain jam added to the frosting, I added only two tablespoons of jam, and also a couple tablespoons of finely crushed strawberries. It lowered the amount of liquid I needed to use, and made the frosting less likely to get soft and run if the cake was in a warm environment. I also added a couple tablespoons of the crushed berries to the cake crumbs that I pressed into the sides of the cake. This turned the crumbs a really pretty, springy shade of pink; almost Barbie-ville.
Compound butter. Last week I talked about flavored butter and encouraged imagination and experimentation. So, imagine making a fruit compound butter. What about apples and cinnamon? For those of you with death defying taste buds, how about habañero/mango? Here’s one: An Elvis; freeze-dried bananas, finely chopped peanuts, and crushed crispy bacon.
Thanks for your time.
Many of you know that Petey, The Kid, and I call Durham home.
bull city mom 