I have a package of gorgeous local smoked trout in my refrigerator. Tonight we will dine on smoked trout crepes with chevre. Here is my plan:
Make the crepes.
Saute shiitake mushrooms .
Combine trout, roasted red peppers, green onion, and sauteed vegetables.
Spread chevre onto the crepes.
Fill crepes with the trout mixture.
Roll, top with creme fraiche or sour cream and devour.
I live in a four-season climate. Right now it is winter and therefore cold, icy, and snowy. Yesterday, as I was driving down a busy street lined with such gems as McDonald’s, Popeye’s, and Scrub-a-Dub, I spied a man on a bike. That in itself was fairly unusual for a day like yesterday since it had been raining, sleeting, and finally snowing much of the day. I then noticed that the man on the bike wasn’t alone. He rode with a child on his shoulders down a scary, icy sidewalk on one of the busiest parts of the street. I was afraid for them both and alternated between wanting to drive on and forget about it or pull over and hope to score a good picture. I kept glancing in my mirrors to see if they were up and moving and saw nothing. Maybe they turned off into a parking lot and did not wipe out. My hope is that this man is in the circus and has performed this act successfully many times – perhaps even across a tight rope over a lake of fire. Sidewalk, shmidewalk.
Reality Bites. Do you remember that movie? I watched it last night and enjoyed it. Ethan Hawke fluctuated between being super hot and really greasy looking and Winona Ryder really was cute. The problems they had seemed really small too, but I suppose that is how life was for me after college. I didn’t love college and I haven’t been completely thrilled with my 10 years since college, but it hasn’t been all bad. Anyway, yes, reality does bite. And it hurts. But not as much as when my teething 11-month-old decides to gnaw on my shoulder. Now she bites.
I needed a space to write. Writing purges my emotions and my thoughts and gives me a feeling of contentment. I could be writing in a journal, but I love the feeling of a keyboard beneath my fingertips. I will attempt to write as honestly as possible to keep this blog real. I have attempted to blog before and been caught up with the desire to add all kinds of fun little elements to it instead of just focusing on writing.
“Here I go again, on my own.” Just typing that brings me back to the days of tire swings and gravel fights during recess. We sang that song loudly and brazenly as we ran around, pretty much unsupervised from what I remember. Those were some of the best days. Although if you would have met me then, I would probably talk about how I wanted to grow up and do all kinds of big person things. Funny how that always seems to happen. You won’t find me wishing to grow up now, although I do often get impatient for the future. Does this mean that I am also wishing I could get older? If only one could happen without the other. For example, I want to move badly, so I often think ahead to April and the chance that we will have to head over to a more desirable neighborhood. When this happens, I will be two months older. Two months sure doesn’t seem like much, but they all add up and before you know it you are all wrinkly and old and your teeth are falling out and all of your foods are mush. I don’t want to eat mushy food. Unless it is mashed potatoes. I really love mashed potatoes.