Z ~ Zesty Martini

I'm a martini drinker. I've mentioned this before, but this is the last post of the AZ Challenge, I'm brain dead, and zest is what came to mind. I like my martinis with a zesty twist, as in the rind of the lemon, cut into a pretty little sliver, rubbed around the rim of the glass, then tossed in. Some bartenders don't understand this. OR, more likely, some wait staff don't know what I'm talking about.

Have you noticed that the trend lately is for the wait person to take your order without writing anything down? Why is that? Does it make them look smarter? More experienced? I don't get it. Because here's a typical me ordering a martini interaction from one of these paperless folks.

“I'd like an extra dry, Beefeaters martini, UP, with a twist, NO olives.”

“Oh. Let me get something to write that down on.”

Do they not know that martini drinkers are some of THE most individual folks out there? You can't just say martini. There are too many variations. And the language that we order in is a code. So if they don't write it down, and aren't martini drinkers themselves, they will get it wrong. I don't have enough time to get into the translation of this code at this time, but don't worry, I'll keep drinking them, and will have more stories ;-)

I'll leave you with this. I recently learned that gins are going to the way of microbrews. Small, boutique “gineries” (I forgot what they're really called) are making small batches of really yummy new gin. I tasted a local one just this week. “If you have the means, I highly recommend it.” (That's a movie quote. First one to get it right, I'll buy you any martini you like :-)

Y ~ Yummy Yams

I love yams. Of course, I used to think they were sweet potatoes. There seems to be some confusion in the foodie world about what constitutes a real yam or a real sweet potato, not to mention that cultural traditions from various parts of the country also contribute to the confusion of what to call these delicious veggies. Or root crops. Or whatever. The orange potato looking things.

For today's post I'm going to give you a recipe. And then I'm going to post again on the letter Z. Because by golly, I WILL finish this challenge. I only missed one day. I will not quit! Even though I'm tired, and I have to leave for the evening in about ten minutes. Sigh.

We're a big meat eaters in this family. The Engineer hunts so we do a lot of venison. Friends have a farm. We buy half a cow. We are by no means vegetarians, but we do eat meatless from time to time. This concoction I'm about to tell you about came from a vegetarian friend of mine and has become a family favorite. It can be ready to eat in 15 minutes.

Yams (about 2/3 per person)

black beans (refried, whole, whatever variety you like)

tortillas (corn or wheat, whatever you like. We buy ours from one of the many authentic tortillerias in our little town)

Wash, poke, and nuke the yams until soft. Scoop out flesh, mash with butter and milk making them the consistency you like in mashed regular potatoes.

Take tortilla, throw in some beans and some yam mash. Nuke to warm through. That's it! I like to add various other yummies, like chopped tomatillos, shredded cheese, diced red pepper, etc. The Engineer and the boys are purists and don't add anything to theirs. The leftovers last about a week, and are delicious for breakfast, too. Try it! There's something magical about the combination which just screams comfort food. Bon apetit!

X ~ Xylophone

Before you get all bent out of shape about me employing such a cliché, let me explain that as a teacher, I get to use this cliché. Now mind you, I wasn't an elementary teacher with the alphabet and its corresponding words as a border around the ceiling of my room, but I was a math teacher with a bulletin board of hysterical math jokes. And I played the xylophone. In front of the entire student body. Because I lost a bet. Does that sound more like something you'd like to read? Tina, sitting on the stage floor, cross-legged, green Christmas bow on my head, playing my little heart out? Thought so. Or bye. Whatever! I'm telling this story. You may read, or not read.

When I joined the faculty of, let's call it Ryder Middle School, I was a brand new teacher, fresh out of college, full of enthusiasm and ideas. It would take eight years to squash all that, but squashed it was, eventually. One of the ways I stayed sane enough to make it even that long in a broken system was that I had friends. Good friends with whom I could rant and rave my little heart out about the crap that is government bureaucracy applied to a system that's barely functioning. (I know some of you dear readers are teachers ~ this is in no way meant to demean what you do. I mean to applaud you for keeping at it. I only lasted eight years. If you're still out there in the trenches then you have that something that I lacked. And you have my admiration and awe. You rock.)

Without really planning it, five of us ended up really bonding. Let me introduce you to the group. It started with me and the veteran eighth grade math teacher. (I taught 7^th grade math.) Without being asked or assigned in any sort of official way, she became my mentor. “Ms. K” had it dialed in; she'd been at this job her entire career, and she was damn good at it. I don't know what sort of teacher I would have become had it not been for her guidance.

“Ms. K” was good friends with “Ms. L” the “consumer and family studies instructor” (who refused to say, “I teach home ec.”) She was also nearing the end of her career, but didn't “need” to work; she and her hubby owned a very successful business. She taught because she loves kids.

“Ms. M” worked in my classroom everyday. Back then, they “tracked” kids in math, as in I had a class of pre-algebra smarty pants kids, a class of “I hate math and I don't get it and I never will” remedial kids, and three classes of “we're so average no one notices us at all” kids. The third member of our group was one of the resource teachers. That means “Ms. M” devoted her life to helping the kids burdened with learning disabilities, both in her own classroom, and if enough of them were all in the same class at the same time, in the “regular” classrooms. We hit it off right away. What's not to love about a woman with enough patience to explain for the millionth time what subtraction means, rides her Harley to school, and teaches her students poker to hone their math and logic skills? All that, and with a sense of humor so strong that we had to be careful not to dissolve into hysterics. Daily. (If you're into humor, read T is for Teacher .  She was in the room that day)

The fifth member of our posse was the guidance counselor. “Ms. N” was a pastor's wife with two grown boys, and the voice of reason we all needed. (Her boys played baseball, one of them for the Rockies. One of my most cherished souvenirs is his baseball card.  Signed, of course.)

Most Friday afternoons we met at Ms. K's house, two blocks from the school. We drank. Believe me, by Friday, we needed the release. Ms. N was a martini drinker. I'd never tried one, but now I am a martini drinker. Yes, I still chug chardonnay, but when in a bar or restaurant, it's Beefeaters, extra dry, up, with a twist, NO olives. Ms. L wasn't much of a drinker, but when she drank, it was shots of tequila. I know, right? With all the libations floating around, It wasn't long before we came up with THE perfect name for our group. 4 + 1. Yup, mathy-nerdy, but 40% of our group were math teachers!

Let me explain. You pick a category, four of us would fit, one would be left out. For example, four of us owned homes, one rented. Four of us drove American cars. One drove a Volvo. Four of us were heterosexual. One of us was not. Four of us had siblings, one did not. I could go on and on and on. Because that's what we did when lubed up enough, but I know you're all wondering, “Where's the damn xylophone?” so I'll go there now.

Middle school kids are bright. Bright, and insanely curious about the private lives of their teachers. They knew we were all friends, they knew what we called ourselves (because I cracked. And no, I never heard the end of it from the other four...) and they tried to break the code. Day after day after day of categories were bantered about, everyone trying to find SOMETHING that all five of us did/had/were. Can you see where this is going? Finally, to shut them up, I made a bet. “If you can find something all five of know how to do, we'll do it for the school talent show, BUT whoever finds that answer, also has to be in the talent show.”

So there you have it. The last act of the talent show that year was the five of us, playing xylophone. Bows on our heads. The song? Jingle bells. And no, thank GOD, I have no video.

P.S  Yes.  This was supposed to be posted yesterday.  Yes, technically, I failed to complete the AZ Challenge.  But in my defense, what I was doing instead was helping Best with the latest marketing for her debut novel.  See Family Secrets.  Then go buy her book!

W ~ Wingardium Leviosa

Are you a Harry Potter fan? I am. And I'm very glad for that. The whole process of becoming one was a journey of great importance in my faith and in my life. The lesson goes far deeper than Harry and his invisibility cloak (which by the way, is THE item I most want from that world.) It speaks to the whole “look before you leap”, “investigate before you judge”, and “walk a mile in his shoes”. I wish I'd learned this lesson sooner, and applied it more appropriately after I finally DID learn it.

When the Harry Potter phenomenon hit the world, I had a three month old boy, but much older nephews and nieces. I remember my mother-in-law reading the first Harry book. That wasn't strange, she's an avid and varied reader. What struck me was why she was reading it. “I want to know if I should give this to my grandchildren, or not, and the only way to know is to read it myself.” Made sense to me, though I was a new mother and therefore hadn't yet put a lot of thought into what I would and would not let this tiny child of mine read. One of the panicked thoughts screaming through my brain was, “I'M A MOM! I NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THIS!” The other was, “Hmm...reading it myself sure would bring a more accurate opinion than searching out reviews and opinions of others.”

So I picked up JK Rowling's masterpiece and was instantly hooked. This woman can tell a tale, and I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear at how she hooked kids just learning to read with the joy and wonder of escaping to another world in the pages of a book. She accomplished all that while still making her tale interesting enough to engage an adult reader. Very remarkable, actually. But for some reason, the Christian community was in an uproar about it. “Magic.” “Spells.” “Wizards.” Hmmm. Somehow “Gandalf”, “The Ring”, and “Isengard” or even, “He's the answer to bring balance back to the Force”,“Jedi” or “Aslan is on the move again” were OK. Why?

I don't know why. Maybe it was because those other authors either didn't cause enough broo-haha with “just some space saga”, or were certified “Christian authors.” I approached Harry with an open mind. Devoured the books. Of course, my son became a much faster reader than I am, finished all of them before me, and I had to about duct-tape his mouth to keep him from divulging plot points.

Some of my friends loved Harry. Some TRIED to love Harry, but didn't get sucked in. Some of my very dearest friends wouldn't even so much as pick up the book because “it's not something my family will involve ourselves in.” I respect your right to censor your children, but increasingly I was becoming uncomfortable with friends censoring their children WITHOUT reading the book. Because if you ask me, it's as powerful an allegory as the Chronicles of Narnia.

This post's purpose is not to debate my theories of why Harry had to die, or why the ending of the book was perfect in my opinion. (Which I'd be glad to do at some other time. Seriously.) The real purpose of this post is to confess my failings. I took the same, “Judge without a shred of evidence” when it came to the video game Halo. And I'm sorry for it.

I try to know the latest movies, music, and games to make intelligent decisions about what my boys should and should not be exposed to at certain ages. And for as vocal (and judgmental) as I was about the Harry Haters, I must admit I was just as obnoxious (in the other direction) about parents allowing Halo. How could they? Then I started learning about it. Hmm. Outer space. Soldiers. Epic battle of good vs. evil. Hmm...Star Wars-esque? Good and bad on both sides of conflict? Wow. What an idiot I am.

So now my boys play Halo. And I watch, and we discuss strategy, and technology. And my YellowBoy says, “I know America is in a war in Afghanistan and Iraq. I think I might want to join the army. We need to help. I know I might die. But people do have to be willing to die. I'm scared. But I think I could be a soldier and help others.” So before we get into a debate about recruiting and young men going off to war, let me clarify what I'm saying:

Playing this video game caused my eleven year-old to think about our troops and appreciate their sacrifice and to then think about joining the fight. I submit that something which fosters patriotism, debate, and action can't be all bad. Bottom line? Don't judge a book by its cover, and NEVER by what others say about it. READ. IT. YOURSELF.

P.S Wingardium Leviosa is the spell to make things float in the air at the direction of your wand.  I'd love to use that on the smelly socks which accumulate around here..

V ~ Very...

...blessed, let me never stop counting the ways. Out loud, in prayer, on paper. On line. In person to the blesser.

...glad that this school year is almost over. Homeschooling is by far THE most challenging adventure I've ever accepted. And you know this acceptance was reluctant.

...excited for our road-trip back East at the end of May. GorgeousGirl and The Marine (who is one of the most wonderful people I've met lately) are getting married! But that's not all. I also get Ocean City and Annapolis. Bliss.

...excited to plant this year's garden. Love my veggies. Love my flowers. Some of you know what a departure from personality this journey to gardening truly is.

...content right now. This week's laundry is put away. The Engineer and I are going out to our favorite restaurant (see R ~ Restaurant).

...very glad I participated in this challenge. Actually reminds me of the answer to a therapy question I read about in one of the tattered magazines I paged through in the countless rooms I've spent far too many hours waiting in...but we already passed  S ~ Sex, so I'll write about that later (in case you're not coming back, if you want to get your (insert desire here) back on track, do it once every 24 hours.  I've been posting once every 24 hours.  Seems that ___________ every 24 hours helped this particular couple...)

Thanks to all my readers for still traveling along.

P.S To my “never miss reads”: I WILL be back. You can count on it. You're a big part of what has grown me so far this year. And yes, I will admit I'm counting down to the end of this April challenge. After all, I'm human, and

...I'm very tired. 

U ~ Unveiling

This blogging journey (that I feel like I'm still on the first lap of) has brought a lot of growth to my self-esteem. Before you get all blustery thinking I'm bragging, let me explain. I'm a recoverING anorexic (like alcoholism, it's always with you, and unlike alcoholics who can just quit completely, those of us who struggle with food, can't quit food completely. Well, not anymore. I already did that, and therein lay my problem ;-) But writing, and even being brave enough to write about that , has brought healing. I'm still pretty hesitant out there, though.

That might not make sense to those of you dear readers who've been with me since 2009. I come across as rather arrogant and self-confident at times. But have you seen my face? It's on my blog once, hidden behind my YellowBoy, in Alaska, and I only included it because it had almost our entire group AND the glacier. Not only was there safety in numbers, it was on an Alphabe-Thursday where everyone is running hell bent for leather all over cyberland trying to visit as many blogs as possible, so I thought I was pretty safe. One or two people commented. And that's how I wanted it.

Now I'm feeling better. Don't know if it's being over a year removed from the job loss which sent me spinning into a pit of despair, or also a year removed from the whooping cough which left me winded and on the side-lines. I am still dealing with the hip thing, but I thank God that the pain is down to a 3 or 4 (out of 10) and that's a place where I can live for a while. After all, I've lived with my fused wrist and its chronic regional pain syndrome for eleven years now, and on a good day, it's a 6. But I'm not just talking physically better. I feel better on the depression scale, too. (Chronic pain and depression have one of those chicken/egg relationships...) So without further ado, I give you: me.

I took no less than 47 self-portraits. I'm willing for you to see this one.  I'm a work in progress.  If you're interested in the other stories I alluded to...help yourself.

T ~ Thankful

On this resurrection weekend, I want to say how thankful I am that I have a Saviour who died for me. Because of my sin, I owe a debt I cannot pay. By His mercy, He paid the penalty for my sins, a debt He did not owe. Thank you Jesus. You are the Way and the Truth and the Life.