Author: the outside lane

Happy. That about covers it.
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In the Navy

the outside lane

My husband is probably really happy that I am 41-years-old because as I have been cruising part-time job ads, I have lingered over a few jobs in the Navy Reserves.  Alas, I am elderly in the eyes of the military.  Unless I want to be a Chaplain.  And, I don’t.  I don’t think I would be of much comfort to anyone asking why, since my answers would be less spiritual and more along the lines of, “well, when a government really, really wants some oil…”

Having once found solace in the idea that my steps were pre-ordered, I understand why that is a comfort.  And I understand that there is comfort in the idea that the most horrible things happen for some greater reason, but truly, sometimes the reason is just that someone, somewhere is a sociopath.  I don’t believe that everything happens for a specific, greater purpose, but I do believe that if you are willing to offer up your pain as a sacrifice, you can use it to a greater good.

What do I mean? 

Marion Zirkle is a missionary who lost nearly her whole family in a plane crash–that’s the worst thing I can imagine happening to me.  I attended one of her meetings and heard her speak on the loss, and listened to her talk about how there were mornings when her heart hurt so badly, she thought it would burst with pain, and about how some mornings, it was all she could do to convince herself to even sit up in the bed, much less put her feet on the floor.  She talked about making every movement a sacrifice to God, and letting him work through every footstep.  Life goes on, and you have the choice to quit it and let it pass over you, or get on with it and make it something different and good.

I admired her attitude.  Of course, I never want the opportunity to follow in her footsteps, and never want the opportunity to put it into practice in my own life, but in the small ways, I attempt to follow her example.

That’s what my Chaplain-ry advice would be.  It’s the gentle version of, “Suck it up, and keep walking.”  It’s not an easy answer, though.  Then, I don’t believe in easy answers.

I made my peace about my faith a long time ago, and my peace is that my faith grows and evolves along with the rest of me.  I decided to follow the teachings of Jesus and not worry about the sweet by-and-by, or Noah’s ark, or Gideon’s fleece, or hellfires and damnations.  I may as well be Thomas Jefferson, which is to say that I would make a crap Chaplain in the denomination of my studies. 

That, and I say crap a lot.

Chef Lane

What’s Cookin’: Poblano Chicken in Sour Cream Sauce

the outside lane

What you need: 3 large chicken breasts, 2Tbs of flour and 1/2 Tbs of paprika in a huge ziplock baggie, 2 poblano peppers, 1 small onion, 3 Tbs butter, salt & pepper, 1 cup chicken stock or 2 bouillon cubes cooked in 1.5 cups of water.

 

I do NOT touch raw meat, so I always have gloves when I am cutting up my chicken. I use kitchen scissors to cut it into small cubes.

 

Once it is cubed, salt and pepper over your chicken, then drop it all into the ziploc of flour and paprika. Shake it! Shake it more! Shake it like the rent is due!

Save your baggie when you dump out your chicken.  You can use it as a garbage baggie for the chicken scraps you cut away (I cut away all tendons and anything that looks like gristle–I won’t eat that!) and for your onion skins.  Zip it up and you can throw it in the trash can without worrying about the odor.

 

Use 1/2Tbs of butter to saute your finely chopped onions and peppers. Cook until the onions are transparent. I also threw in some garlic because it sounded like a good idea. When the veggies are cooked, remove them from the skillet. I used scissors to chop them down even further.

 

You’ll use 2.5 Tbs of butter to brown your chicken in, over a medium heat. I cooked mine about 5 minutes on each side. Then, I separated out chicken for Thor, in 1/2 cup of chicken bouillon. He hates peppers, and I didn’t want to overwhelm him with the spice. I added the peppers/onions/garlic back to the main skillet, and the remaining bouillon. I cooked this down on low until the bouillon was nearly gone, then I added 1/2 cup of sour cream to the big skillet, and a couple of Tbs to the little one. Mix mix mix. While this was cooking, I cooked some angel hair pasta.

 

I used the remaining butter for the pasta, then separated it into dishes. The chicken was lovely! Tender and juicy, with just enough flavor. The sauce had a great zing, but wasn’t too hot. Thor liked his well, and really liked his sauce. I had to stop him from licking it off every piece of chicken.
This served the three of us, and gave me 2 servings of leftovers.

 

BONUS!

For lunch today, I sliced onions and poblanos, and layered them on tortillas with cheddar cheese. I sat these under the broiler until the cheese was nice and bubbly, and served with Ranch style dressing. Mmmmm.
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Rounding Out the Prairie

the outside lane

I went ahead and read the Melissa Sue Anderson book.  I want a refund.

If you want a humorless, scene-by-scene synopsis of each and every Little House episode, buy this book and love it.  Otherwise?  Dang.  At least Melissa Gilbert kept me interested in her drama.

 

books, Reviews

What is Lane Reading?

the outside lane

I read Alison Arngrim’s memoir, Confessions of a Prairie Bitch, over the weekend and was so delighted by her sense of humor and so enjoyed her style that I threw myself headfirst into Melissa Gilbert’s, Prairie Tale.  Listen, Nellie was always the best character on Little House.  She only bawled when she came up with a face full of mud, unlike that squinty, squawlbag Half Pint.  Let’s just say that the actors didn’t fall far from the tree.

Prairie Bitch. Prairie Awesome!

Arngrim describes a violent, nightmarish childhood with charm.  Read that sentence again.  This was a child who suffered true abuse and neglect, and who grew up to have not only a sense of humor about it, but a healthy sense of humor.  No whistling in the graveyard with this one.  She’s done her work to heal the wounds, and talks about them like that scene in Lethal Weapon, where Rene Russo and Mel Gibson compare battle scars.

More than that, Arngrim shares her history like she’s talking to a friend.  I want to be her best friend now.  I want to hear the stuff she didn’t tell!

Melissa Gilbert, on the other hand…  Click here and scroll down for the review I gave to Rob Lowe’s memoir, Stories I Only Tell My Friends.  If the real Melissa Gilbert is anywhere near as insufferable as the author Melissa Gilbert is, she and Rob Lowe were a perfect couple.

I realize that people don’t become actors because they are shy of self-aggrandizement, but this was just silly.  Every other page, Gilbert has broken down in heaving sobs over something or other, or is having a screaming fight with a boyfriend, all the while telling us how she never allowed herself to feel anything, or display any emotion.  Because crying and yelling are what?  Oy.

I am also in the middle of a memoir by Clint Hill, Mrs. Kennedy and Me.  Hill was on Mrs. Kennedy’s secret service detail. He clearly adored his charge, and I am enjoying Camelot through his eyes.  Hill does come off a little like a sophomore in love, and he is more than happy to tell you how awesome he was personally, but that doesn’t detract from his storytelling.  It is also really funny to read about the 60s when it comes to telephones and travel.  I am so spoiled by technology!

What’s next?  Well, I should round out the Little House girls by reading Melissa Sue Anderson’s memoir, The Way I See It.  After all, both Arngrim and Gilbert were blunt that she was the real little hmph on the prairie.  But do I really want to read another book by an actor, telling me how wonderful she is?  Not so close on the heels of Half Pint’s, thanks.

It’s probably time to read some history.

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Vacations

the outside lane

I am back from a mini-vacation, spent with my mom and Thor, down in Austin.  I love Austin.  It is one of my favorite places to be.

Recently, I was asked what was my favorite vacation.  I really couldn’t come up with a favorite.  I have enjoyed every trip I’ve taken as an adult.  I think I enjoyed every trip I took as a child.  I’ve certainly had some disasters, but with a sense of adventure, those turn into great opportunities for fun.

Of course, my most memorable vacation is the Contiki coach tour of Europe I took with Renae.  Between the viral infection shared among us by the twit who decided that a coach was a great place to spend her illness, the predator who was our tour guide, the drunken, shameless Australians who made up the greater part of our group, and the American who so thoroughly baked her brain in Amsterdam that she was paranoid and sure I was trying to steal her camera for days…well, how could it not be memorable!  Factor in all the sights we saw, and that would be hard to beat. 

My favorite story from that trip, though, has to do with food. 

We had been laughing to each other about how the Aussies and the few Europeans on the tour thought we were Fat Americans, and given our excitement over every meal, we weren’t doing much to dissuade them.  Our first night in Florence, Italy, we were attending a buffet style banquet.  We were directed to tables, to be seated, then Renae and I made our way up to the buffet line. 

We filled up our plates, cooing to each other over the selection and spread, then returned to our seats and had both started eating when we realized we were being watched by the other people at our table.  We were informed that we were supposed to have waited to be called to the buffet, table by table.  And we both giggled, shrugged, tucked into our food, and then, when it was our tables’ turn to go, went on for seconds. 

That we were both zaftig (then, Renae has gone on to exhibit the sort of will power rarely found outside of Hollywood, and has been slim as a reed for the past ten years) did not at all discourage the Italian suitors we enjoyed along the way.  Including the one who kept telling me I was “beautiful like an angel,” at which I could only giggle back, swatting away the cartoon hearts that were circling his head and invading my space, “You are.”  I’m eloquent like that.

So, memorable.

I think the vacation I have most enjoyed with the family is a road trip we took up to Manitou Springs for the 4th of July a few years back.  Thor was 2-years-old and in a spectacular mood for most of the trip, but was unusually foul when we went to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo.  He did not want to be there.  He did not want to look at animals.  He did not want food, or drink, or piggyback rides, or anything other than to sling himself back into the lining of his stroller, turn his head, close his eyes, cross his arms, pout out his lower lip, and say with deep, serious wrath, “I do not want to lookat dos bears/giraffes/monkeys/snakes/lions/etc.!  I do not like-a dos bears/giraffes/monkeys/snakes/lions/etc.!  To this day, B and I will say to each other, “I do not like-a dos bears!”

The only thing that broke him out of his mood was the trip up to the Will Rogers Shrine, where it was like the sun had broken through the clouds, and he was suddenly the happy, bubbly boy we knew.  He like-ad everything about that place!

I hope all of my American friends had happy4th of July celebrations, and all of my other friends had great Wednesdays.