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Tuesday, July 12, 2011

I Scream, You Scream...

We all scream for ICE CREAM!

Did y’all know July is National Ice Cream Month?  AND, more specifically, that this Sunday, the 17th, is National Ice Cream Day (per President Reagan in 1984)?  How have I, one of the most devoted ice cream fans in the UNIVERSE, missed this in the past?  And why, oh why, do I discover this now – the year I’m on a treacherous diet that prohibits ice cream during the first two phases?  You can bet your bottom dollar that come August 1st, when I have my first “Celebration Meal” (Such a cute/happy/wonderful name, Dr. Dukan!) ice cream WILL be consumed.  Possibly as my “appetizer” before the smorgasbord I down at the Cheesecake Factory.

I’m a Blue Bell girl – through and through.  Perhaps it’s a Texas thing.  I’ve never toured the Creamery in Brenham but, just today, have added it to my Bucket List.  (Do you think they give you free samples at the end?  I BRAKE FOR FREE ICE CREAM.)  I do adore the occasional DQ Blizzard, and sometimes I get a hankerin’ for a chocolate malt (Malts TRUMP milkshakes.  Duh.).  But nothing beats a big ol’ bowl of Blue Bell ice cream on a hot summer day.

Now, if you could, try and imagine my adoration for ice cream and then multiply it by 100, then add 5.  This, in faux numerical value, is a representation of the love my sweet husband has for ice cream. He is quite the ice cream connoisseur.  For our first Christmas together, I gifted to him one of those old school, old fashioned, wooden ice cream machines – complete with the hand crank.  You should have seen his eyes light up at the thought of all the yummy ice cream flavors he could create.  

Our freezer never has a shortage of ice cream in stock.  As of today we have:

Butter Crunch
Dessert Trio
Moo-llennium Crunch (not pictured as the lid is smushed and therefore not photogenic)
Pistachio Almond

image via moi

I typically pick up the little pints because we like variety.  We’re cool like that.  (Pun intended!)  Some of our other favourite (fancy spelling) flavors are:

Banana Pudding
Buttered Pecan
Cherry Cheesecake
Cookies ‘n Cream
Homemade Vanilla
Mocha Almond Fudge
Pineapples and Homemade Vanilla
Southern Blackberry Cobbler

I will splurge on a GALLON of Peppermint during the holidays.  And I won’t share.  Don’t even ask OR judge me if I eat it straight from the carton with a spoon.  Peppermint ice cream is my most treasured flavor.  (ELC and I debate this frequently.  Her heart belongs to Birthday Cake.  That woman LOVES Birthday Cake.)

For the rest of the month, I give you permission to indulge in a GINORMOUS bowl of ice cream every day.  If you’d like.  It’s good for the soul.

What’s your favourite (fancy spelling) flavor?

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Count To Ten--Then A Hundred And Ten

Hubby and I went on a Road Trip about three weeks ago to Estes Park, Colorado. We adore Colorado. Always have. We’re very much “Mountain Peeps,” although our trips to Maui over the past 33 years have fed our spirits and souls with immense joy. If I won the Texas Lottery, I’d hope I could win enough to buy a vacay condo there—and a secluded cabin by a stream in Wyoming. Why the heck not? I can dream.

I have lots of thoughts on vacations involving couples and families. I had dated my husband for a little over a year when we got married. We’d never gone anywhere in a car for more than about five hours. A few years after we married, we made our first skiing trip to Red River, New Mexico, which was a ten-ish-hour drive, accompanied by three teenaged sons. On that lovely excursion (we got into the worst ice storm Amarillo, Texas, had had to that date), I decided it should be a Federal law that engaged people take a ten-hour car trip (one-way) together (and, hey, wouldn't hurt to throw in a family member or two!), before they said, “We do.” A minimum of ten hours. What you learn about your relationship is invaluable. If you can even like each other after a long car-trip/vacation, I think it’s a telling, and good, sign.

Hubby is the kind of man (I know there are many out there exactly like him) that is determined to go the shortest, i.e. fastest, route to any destination. It becomes a job to him. He works at it. You can remind him it’s “vacation.” He apparently isn’t able to hear you. He’s in his Zone. He gets in a mood that is focused, quiet and on the edge of constant irritation with any and all females in his vehicle. Bathroom stops can become… hmmm… contentious. Almost funny, if it wasn’t so NOT funny. Pulling over to read a historical marker or to visit a town’s quaint square or downtown area? Am I serious? Do I not realize how much farther we have to go?

Probably the most difficult car trip we ever made as a family happened when TLC was nine and we drove to South Dakota and Wyoming. From Central Texas. We had it all figured out—thanks to AAA. This was long before GPS systems, Google, Trip Advisor, etc. We had an Atlas, state maps and our AAA books to guide us. Also an optimistic, hopeful (i.e. unrealistic) attitude.

We did fine as we drove through Kansas. I sang “America the Beautiful,” emphasizing “for amber waves of grain,” over and over. And over. Hubby and TLC were surprisingly patient. We enjoyed Nebraska for its unique beauty and charm.

Then it happened in South Dakota. It was inevitable, I suppose. The first… what shall I call it… disagreement? Okay, no. It was an argument. (Maybe my singing did finally send Hubby to this side of insanity.) It occurred when we drove an hour from our beautiful cabin in Custer State Park to Mt. Rushmore. It was dark and cloudy. But we paid our fees to get in and sat down in the outdoor amphitheater to wait for the “show.” After an hour of hoping the clouds would lift, the Park Rangers called it off—offering us all “rain checks.” We had seen someone’s nose. We think it was Lincoln’s.

As we left the park, I said: “Well, it’s a good thing we can come back tomorrow night.”

We were heading to Deadwood the next day. Although I knew it would take several hours through the mountains to get there from our cabin, I thought Mt. Rushmore was important enough to try again.

Hubby replied: “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, yes. We will,” I firmly stated.

He said we’d discuss it the next morning. As we ate breakfast in a cute little cafĂ© in downtown Custer, I mentioned going back to Mt. Rushmore that night. And there we went. To Crankyland. He was determined to not even consider it. Too much driving in one day. Huh? We’d just driven two days from Texas and he was worried about a couple more hours of driving that evening? Really. I tried to calmly explain I thought TLC should see it—it was educational—and that we might never be back up in this area. To no avail.

By the time we left for Deadwood, TLC was our “mediator.” Bless her sweet heart. She sat up front with her Dad while I sat in the back, occasionally having her answer his questions to me (I think that’s when her “eye rolling” officially started, too). Hubby and I each winning a small jackpot at a casino in Deadwood, and seeing Kevin Costner, in person, at his Sports’ Bar (unfortunately, that ended up not being the mystical experience I thought it might be if it ever actually happened), helped us get back to Semi-Happyland.

It was definitely one of those times in our life together that I would change my attitude and behavior, if I could. I approached Hubby at the wrong time, in the wrong way. Couples have to learn this skill: when and how and where to bring things up you feel certain are going to be unpleasant issues for the other person. (I do, however, believe there are some “problems” your partner will NEVER want to discuss, right?)

We did go see Mt. Rushmore that night and it was AMAZING. Hubby agreed it was the right thing to do and thanked me for insisting.

Since that experience sixteen years ago, we’ve driven to Florida, Nashville, and Idaho/Montana. (We don't even count "trips" that are eight or less hours from our home anymore as major!) There were, of course, many moments during those vacations when we wondered if we’d both make it back. Married. Or, actually, alive, I guess. As you can tell, we did. Woo Hoo! We’ve taken dozens of trips by plane and returned in good enough shape to tell our tales. We’ve survived vacations—and so much more in 34 years.

Hubby and I will be driving to Rhode Island in the Fall. We've never seen the foliage or the places we're going. We’ll need prayers. Possibly some Divine Intervention. Right now we’re excited. It’s funny how we know it’s going to be challenging and yet we’re already looking forward to the trip. (Wow--that could be a description of childbirth!) The laughter, beauty, and the memories will somehow have to cancel out the drama.

Faretheewell . . .

p.s.: Hubby and I, and TLC and her Hubby just got back a couple of hours ago from a 7-hour (for each of us from our own respective homes) driving trip to Rockport, Texas. TLC will be catching y’all up on that fabulous town in a couple of weeks!

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Our Big Non-Fat Greek Yogurt Diet

As of this moment, TLC and I have been on the Dukan Diet for 3 weeks and 3 days.

We agreed in January that we were both ready to do something about the weight we have gained since TLC’s wedding. After months of, well, eating, plus research, consideration and discussion of several options/ideas, Weight Watchers and The Game On Diet were moving to the top of our list when a friend told me about her success with The Dukan Diet.

I emailed TLC immediately and said I was going to order the book from Amazon. She promptly emailed back and reminded me I had asked her to order it in April. Imagine that. I had completely forgotten. Then I remembered seeing Dr. Dukan on one of the morning shows—probably Good Morning America—the week of the Royal Wedding. Kate and her Mum had both been on his diet. (We expect to look like them any day now—stand by—we’ll post pictures soon.)

Since we live too far away to share the book, I purchased my own (next-to-the-last) copy and we took a few days to read it. We discussed it over the phone a couple of times and at great length. I could keep my Diet-Dew-Addiction and enjoy a Coke Zero now and then. Yep—he had me at that! We decided it was worth a try. We’d start together—we’d stick together—we’d encourage each other—we’d be accountable to each other.

image via ELC
her Dukan resting peacefully on her boudoir pillows
(as it silently tortures us with NO CARBS, SUGAR or ANYTHING FUN)

For the past three weeks we’ve NOT had: sugar (only Splenda), any bread—even whole grain, cereals, ice cream, chips of any kind, potatoes of any kind, cookies, cakes, fruit, cheese of any kind, rice, beans, anything fried, wine or any other form of alcohol.

What we have had is: a lot of chicken, lean beef, lean pork, eggs, non-fat Greek yogurt (we’ve had TONS of this—well, not literally—but we do eat between four and twelve ounces each day—and we LOVE IT—especially with some Splenda and a teeny bit of vanilla mixed in—YUMMO), non-fat milk and non-fat cottage cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, bell peppers, green beans, asparagus, (we throw in some jalapenos every few days) and oat and wheat bran (but no more than 3 tablespoons per day—of both—not each). We also have two patient husbands who act like they’re growing a tiny bit weary watching us suffer, but, truthfully, I think they’re proud of us. We forgive them every day for eating all of the things we cannot. Sweet little men o’ ours.

Soon we’ll be adding fruit, a couple of slices of whole wheat bread, and two “celebration” meals a week when we head into Phase 3—called the Consolidation Phase. For TLC that should be around August 1st. For moi? September 1st. If I’m lucky. Just in time for our 33rd wedding anniversary. Yippee!!! (I’ll be tres disappointed if I’m not as thin as Meg Ryan.)

Yesterday was an all-protein day and TLC was really… well, hungry. Possibly on the verge of grouchiness. Here, now, is a portion of an email she sent to me while she took a few minutes for lunch:

“Foods I desperately miss—

In no particular order…

Blue Bell Ice Cream. Specifically Banana Pudding and Buttered Pecan. Out of this World. It’s painful to type this.

Peanut Butter. As you know, I can literally eat spoonfuls out of the jar.

Avocados and Corn. It’s Summer. Summer screams guacamole and grilled corn. Darn that Dr. Dukan. (Or maybe it’s DARN both sides of YOUR gene pool, ELC.)

Chips and Salsa. And what goes best with that delightful combination? SANGRIA. Oh, how Jerry Jeff and I love Sangria Wine.

Cheesecake Factory. (Okay—it’s not a food. It’s a place. So what? Got a problem with that, Mom?)  I miss their sourdough bread smothered in butter. I miss their Spicy Chicken Factory Nachos (with extra jalapenos and sour cream). And, most of all, I miss their sinfully decadent Red Velvet Cheesecake.

French Fries and Sweet Potato Fries and Sonic Tater Tots. Basically potatoes in any form.

Cupcakes. Nuff said.

Great. Now I’m starving and depressed.

I think I’ll go eat a few slices of deli turkey. Wa-freakin’-hoo.”

To which I replied:

“I miss Peanut M&Ms. Sister Schubert rolls with Land O Lakes butter. Ginger snaps—when Dad is eating them in front of me every single night of our lives while we watch TV. Sonic Baby Burgers (not what they are technically called—that’s what I call ‘em) and Small Tots. DQ Mini-blizzards (especially the German Chocolate Brownie Double Fudge Cookie Dough Oreo Mint with Snickers Blizzard-of-the-Month—not real—but sounds fabulous, right?). Shredded Wheat and Bran. Crazy. I know. Oranges and strawberries and kiwis and green grapes and cantaloupes. Awww. Cantaloupes. And Peanut M&Ms. Oh, I said those already.Things are getting fuzzy. Do you have a problem with that, Ms. Whiny Diet Girl? Oh, now I’m really sorry, Sugar. Wonder where we could get some Cranky Pills?”

If you see us, please don’t offer us any wine. We can’t have it. But we want it REALLY bad. Okay. Offer it. If you must. Pinot Grigio would be awesome. Mad Dog 20/20 won’t be turned down. J/K. Not really. Yes, of course I am.

Gotta scoot… gotta head to Wally World… out of Greek non-fat yogurt.

Monday, July 4, 2011

American Poets

Almost ten years ago, Hubby and I were out-of-this-world LUCKY to attend our first ever “Pickin’ Party” in Austin, Texas. We were among only about 50 others who were invited to enjoy three Nashville songwriters (Matthew McConaughey was there)—totally unplugged. They sat on stools on a small stage in a small conference room at a great hotel and sang HIT songs they had written or co-written for big Country Singin’ Superstars. George Strait, Willie Nelson, Keith Urban, Randy Travis, Collin Raye, Alison Kraus, Kenny Chesney and Neal McCoy—just to name a few.

Since then, Hubby and I have had the privilege of seeing the following songwriters (once in Nashville—TLC was with us and was completely blown away by the experience):

Aaron Barker, (Love Without End for George Strait and Good Old Days—for Blue Bell Ice Cream! It’s him singing that song in their commercials!);

Richie McDonald, formerly of the group Lonestar (I’m Already There, Mr. Mom, Amazed);

Paul Overstreet, (yep, Chord’s Dad!) (She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy);

Mike Reid (a retired professional football player turned composer) who wrote I Can’t Make You Love Me (with Allan Shamblin—Bonnie Raitt made it HUGE);

Don Schlitz, who wrote The Gambler;

Dan Seals (whose brother was in Seals & Croft—he was in England Dan with John Ford Coley), who wrote Meet Me In Montana, which he sang with Marie Osmond (Dan died in 2009 from complications of cancer—how appreciative I am to have seen him a couple of years before that);

Whitey Shafer, who wrote All My Exes Live In Texas for George Strait; and

Allen Shamblin, who won a CMA award for Song of the Year for co-writing The House That Built Me, sung by Miranda Lambert. Miranda also won a Grammy this year for this song and it won the ACM Song of the Year.

At all eight Pickin’ Parties we’ve attended, we’ve seen Allen Shamblin. He is the most talented, creative, kindest, funniest, delightful man you could ever hope to meet. We’ve seen Aaron Barker at least five times and he, too, is extremely talented, creative, funny, interesting and charming.

All of the songwriters I listed have written many, many, many hit songs that you know—and love. If you Google them for their individual websites, you will be Simply Amazed. (Reckon Richie McDonald would co-write that song with me?)

Two weeks ago Saturday, Hubby and I were fortunate to be at a “Pickin Party Picnic” in Gainesville, Texas, where we were entertained by Allen, Mike Reid and Don Schlitz. There was quite a huge thunderstorm that hit minutes before they were to begin and it looked like it wouldn’t happen. For all two hundred of us there, it did work out and they were, as always, incredible. As they took turns singing their songs, cutting up, making us LOL, they told a little about themselves, their families, the history of the songs. They had all written with each other, too—many times over the years.

I believe these men (and many women songwriters!) are American Poets. Whether their songs are serious, funny, deep, light, sad, happy, full of wisdom or full of silly, they are poets and their songs are poetry.

I didn’t grow up even tolerating Country Music. I grew up loving The Beatles (British Poets—Lennon and McCartney); Frank Sinatra; Doris Day; Big Bands; Jazz; Elvis; and the Rock and Hard Rock Bands of the 60s and 70s. I was exposed to Country Music periodically—mostly on Hee Haw—and wasn’t impressed. I became a dedicated and lifetime fan when I attended college at a small state university in Texas. (I had quickly learned I needed to love it—or find a new school!) It truly became oh-so-easy for me to treasure.

I admire Diane Warren, James Taylor, Carole King and countless other songwriters—past and present—in many different genres. My Pickin’ Country Poets (including Taylor Swift), however, have 98% of my devotion. I was walking yesterday morning to our gate, listening to my iPod, when I heard Pam Tillis singing The River and the Highway. I knew immediately it was the song I wanted to use as an example of American Poetry. Little did I know, when I went to research it, that Don Schlitz—who I just saw in Gainesville—was one of the two writers of this haunting song. Awesome.

Please enjoy this "poetry" (and please consider buying the song for your iPod—you won't regret it):

The River and the Highway
By Gerry House and Don Schlitz

She follows the path of least resistance
She doesn’t care to see the mountain top
She twists and turns with no regard to distance
She never comes to a stop.

And she rolls, she’s a river,
Where she goes, time will tell
Heaven knows, he can’t go with her
And she rolls, all by herself
All by herself

He’s headed for a single destination
He doesn’t care what’s standing in his path
He’s a line between two points of separation
He ends just where it says to on the map

And he rolls, he’s a highway
Where he goes, time will tell
Heaven knows, she can’t go with him
And he rolls, all by himself
All by himself

And every now and then, he offers her a shoulder
And every now and then, she overflows
And every now and then, a bridge crosses over
It’s a moment every lover knows

And she rolls (and he rolls)
She’s a river (he’s a highway)
Where she goes (where he goes)
Time will tell (time will tell)
Heaven knows she can’t go with him (he can’t go with her)
And she rolls all by herself
And he rolls all by himself
Fare thee well

Compelling. Sad. Touching. True. Real. Honest.

Poetry!

Happy 4th of July, America—and American Poets…