Book ideas are easy. Writing them is hard.
Clever octopus
I’ve been thinking about writing a book from and octopus’s point of view. Maybe someday.
Waldorf Salad
Here’s a healthy version from Seattle and King County Public Health by way of Spark Net:
4 medium sized apples, cubed
3 stalks of celery, chopped
1/3 cup walnuts, chopped
1/2 cup low fat yogurt, plain
1/3 cup raisins
Combine apples, celery, raisins, and walnuts in a bowl. Stir. Add yogurt and stir all ingredients together. Chill to blend flavors or enjoy right away.
I generally do the version where you use salad dressing – the kind that comes in a mayonnaise jar – and skip the raisins, but this looked intriguing. All I can say is be sure to grab the PLAIN yogurt, not the vanilla. Not that it’s bad that way.
Alice
Sven Again
A good week! 9,336 words. Still not up to full speed, but it’s a lot closer. Only problem is I have to do 10,000 each week for the next two to make my goal. I’m not sure if I call pull it off or not. Worth a try.
Alice
Suzie’s House 46: Peas in a Pod
In last week’s episode of Suzie’s House, Sean, who had previously offered Ben a ride, crawled out onto the roof next to Cindy’s apartment to get Ben’s attention. Drew, who was standing next to Ben, pulled his gun and said “Halt! You’re under arrest!”
Halt? Of all the idiotic things to say, why did that have to come out of his mouth? Drew put the gun away. He wasn’t about to shoot into the neighbor’s apartment, particularly when so many people were hanging out the window. The man on the roof must have realized it, because he completely blew Drew off, scrambling through the window from the roof of the apartment like a squirrel fleeing a cat.
Drew wasn’t particularly concerned about him anyway. It was the other man, the one who helped the guy on the roof back into the apartment that Drew wanted to arrest. He was the man who shot Vin. Drew would never forget those cold gray eyes.
Ignoring the screams and general commotion from the apartment, Drew charged for the front door. God, what he wouldn’t do for some back up now. He didn’t dare call Vin, who was napping in the living room, and didn’t have anything set up with the local authorities.
The dark of the hall and stairs of the neighbor’s place almost blinded him after the brightness of the outdoors. He pounded up the steps, one hand on the railing. He’d made it to the first landing when the two men came pelting down.
They were like peas in a pod. Both red haired. Both lean of build and of medium height. Their facial features from slight, thin nose to sharp chin matched. They must have been within a year or two of age. If they weren’t brothers, then they were cousins.
Drew pulled his gun. He’d have to be careful. No telling how thin the walls might be or whether or not someone might be standing behind them. “Stop right there.”
They blew him off. He cocked the gun as loudly as he could, but the men didn’t even pause. They were half a second away from him and clearly had no intention of stopping.
He pulled the trigger.
The man in front, the one who had offered Ben a ride, grabbed his arm with a yelp as he crashed into Drew. The other, the one Drew had been aiming for, thrust a fist into Drew’s solar plexus as the two of them swept past. Drew gulped a ragged breath. He turned in time to see the two men go out the door with Ben caught between them.
What had the boy been thinking?! He must have followed Drew into the converted house. Now he was a hostage.
Drew dashed out the door to see the two men trying to wrestle Suzie’s son into a silver Jeep several doors down. As much as Ben flopped around Drew didn’t dare shoot at them. He holstered the gun and ran toward them.
Both men were bleeding – one from the arm and the other from the leg. They looked up at Drew at the same time, looking like a pair of hunting dogs. One reached into the back of the jeep while the other gave Ben a vicious punch. Ben doubled over, then fell to his knees.
Drew decked the one who had punched Ben. The man fell against the other, who was bringing something out of the back seat. A gun? No, a bat. Drew put an arm up to deflect it, but Ben bumped him while straightening up.
The bat came around in a gleaming silver arc. He thought at first it would hit either Ben or the other man, both of whom were in the middle. The man swinging it stepped to the side as it flew. Somehow it came up behind Drew, whacking him hard in the back of the head.
“Ben,” Drew said by way of apology. He’d let the boy down. He knew he was next to useless because he could already see the black of unconsciousness closing in on him. By the time the name left his lips, the darkness had swallowed him.
The previous was Suzie’s House 45: A Party with a View
This is Suzie’s House 46: Peas in a Pod
Next is Suzie’s House 46: Where Kid’s End Up When Someone’s Down
Thursday Thirteen #7: 13 MORE things on my desk
1 – A book I’m currently reading.
2 – Speakers attached to the computer
3 – One of those “egg timers” that doubles as an office toy
4 – Various programs on CD
5 – A couple of data back up CD’s
6 – A sticky note pad
7 – A pair of erasers shaped like Santa
8 – A mouse pad
9 – The mouse to go with it
10 – Several coasters
11 – My kid’s report cards.
12 – Two calculators
13 – Everything listed in the previous two TTs.
What’s really scary is that my desk is CLEAN! Don’t believe me? Check it out:
Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Alice
By George! Prince George and His Sticky Wicket
When we left off George the 4th had just declared his ever lasting devotion to Mrs. Fitzherbert, right down to giving her a ring and begging her hand in marriage. In response the promptly decamped for the continent.
And now I return you to the gentle mercies of Mr. Al’s take on history.
****
Taking to heart the old adage about rolling stones and moss, Mrs. Fitzherbert traveled to Aix-la-Chapelle. From there she traveled to Holland, then Antwerp, then Paris and finally, Switzerland. It was there that she met up with the Prince’s fun loving uncle, the Duke of Gloucester. What they did together is not recorded.
The Duke did write that he found her “A most amiable and esteemable lady.” He went on to declare that he would “do all in his power to make her long exile as bearable as possible.” Given the fact that the King had more or less banished his brother from England for his boozing, brawling, gambling and habitual skirt chasing, it is left up to you, gentle reader, to imagine how he tried to entertain Mrs. Fitzherbert.
The Prince, by order of the King, could not leave the country. As Mrs. Fitzherbert well knew. This left the lad in a most pitiable state. He wrote letter after letter to dad begging permission. Each letter received the same answer. No. He was careful never to mention why he wanted to leave the country. Alas, what he did not want dad to learn from his own lips, or pen, as the case may have been, dad learned from the London newspapers. The Prince and his sticky wicket was the talk of the town.
If the Prince could not be with his true love, he would do the next best thing. He would write letters. Long, rambling, semi-coherent letters. The first was eighteen pages long. One ran to forty-two pages. In one extraordinary document, only thirty-seven pages, he wrote, “Oh save me, save me, save me on my knees I conjure you from myself.”
I’ll bet that made an impression. He went on; “Come then, Oh! Come, dearest of wives, best and most adored of women, come and for ever crown with bliss him who will through life endeavor to convince you by his love and attention of his wishes to be the best of husbands and who will ever remain until the last moments of his existence, unalterably thine.”
Yowza! He did go on. He signed this love note, “Her lover and her husband, titles he would not exchange for the possessions of the whole universe.”
One suspects that Mrs. Fitzherbert wished the Prince possessed a little emotional equilibrium. The Prince wrote so many letters and sent so many emissaries to France to carry them to his One True Love that a problem developed. The French government became suspicious of all the activity and chucked some of these fellows into prison on suspicion of being spies.
Of course, he could not spend all his time writing. Writing, after all, is a very solitary pursuit. The Prince needed an audience. He also needed a Fitzherbert substitute until he could once again be with the real thing. The Prince was rather flexible in that respect.
One of these substitutes was Lady Bamfylde. Nothing is known about her beyond her fifteen minutes of fame with the Prince. Noted one observer, “She is grown fat, old and ugly but his Royal Highness is not noted for his taste in females.” Ouch. There were others as well. There was also the usual riotous behavior, heavy drinking, all night partying and gazillion course dinners. And if that ever became dull, he had Carlton House to re-decorate.
****
Ah, the life of devotion.
Thank you Mr. Al.
Alice
Caramelized Cinnamon Toast
Just in case you’ve been wondering what I’m talking about when I say to caramelize something here’s a quick and easy demonstration.
Mix a couple of tablespoons of sugar with cinnamon to taste. I like a quarter of a teaspoon in mine. Crush this into a tablespoon of margarine or butter. Smear onto a slice of bread. Stick in to toaster oven. I don’t recommend a regular toaster because it’ll make a royal mess. Yes I was actually dumb enough to try it many, many years ago. Toast until the cinnamon mixture starts to bubble. Allow to cool.
Now take a look at the sweet, tasty, crusty stuff on top. The cinnamon mixture has caramelized.
bon appétit
Alice
ps, if it didn’t change, then your toaster didn’t get hot enough.
Sven for the End of November
5,356 words. Not as good as I’d planned on, but better than before. I’m going to have to really haul it if I’m going to finish this puppy by Christmas. Boy, I hate to go into January, but I suppose it’s possible.
Alice
Suzie’s House 45: A Party with a View
As he stood by the front window of some stranger’s apartment, Sean wished his brother, Joe, would take a hike, preferably all the way back to Ireland. That’s where Joe belonged.
“I’m only saying you should listen to me.” Joe grabbed Sean’s arm as he tried to leave the window in favor of following Christina’s luscious back side to the kitchen where conversation was bound to be better. Sean looked from his brother’s hand to his eyes as a hint which went ignored. “Quit running away when I try to talk to you.”
“I’m not running.” Let his brother think what he would, Sean didn’t run. He might avoid a touch, but he didn’t run. He yanked his arm free.
“Just listen now, before Christina gets back with our refills. Did you, or did you not come to this party so you could spy on the kid.” He kept his voice low, looking around the room at the handful of ladies to drift in from the other room.
“I didn’t even know where he lived until you said something.”
“And right after I said something you accepted Christina’s invitation, which is why I suspect you.”
“And why you came? To keep an eye on me?” By all the saints, why couldn’t his brother stop following him?
“I told you to stay away from him, from all of them,” Joe said.
“He’s a bright kid with good co-ordination. If he’s related to the cab driver with the red barrette he’ll make a great driver. What are you so worried about?”
“Why can’t you just do what you’re told for once.”
“Listen, big bro. I don’t have to do anything you say. Not now. Not ever.”
“Not even if I’m speaking to you as your captain rather than your brother?”
Sean hissed between his teeth, recoiling. “You aren’t my captain anymore. There is no more ILA. Is there?”
When the Irish Liberation Activists disbanded, Joe and Sean separated. Joe went on to the Celtic Liberation Front while Sean was sent to their grandfather in America. So far as Sean was concerned, that should have been the end of it.
But no. Two years later, there’s Joe on his front porch looking for a place to land. Said he’d left behind the old ways. Said he wanted to start new in America. Didn’t say a thing about whether or not the CLF still existed, or if Joe still liked to bomb and threaten and all the wonderful things Sean had outgrown and no longer wanted a part in.
He was tired of lectures and demands and a basic invasion of his privacy. But it was worth attending this party to hang out with Christina. Christina was hot. If Joe wanted to think he was trying to recruit and underage driver for his internet-based club, well that was going to be a royal pain, because Sean was.
Sean searched Joe’s face, looking for the truth. Would their past leap out at him from behind his brother’s mask? If so, he’d just as soon kill the man where he stood. He didn’t ever want to go back to the nightmare his life in Dublin and become.
Joe must not have liked what he saw in Sean’s eye, because he fell back a step, almost bumping into a curly blond woman who walked up to the window with their hostess. Christina walked up with their beer about the same time. She handed them around, then looked out the window with interest.
“Hey, isn’t that the kid you two were talking about?”
“What? Where?” Sean and his brother both whipped around. Sure enough, there was the kid standing on the porch of the house next door. Sean didn’t recognize the man standing next to him. It wasn’t the red baret guy. Might be a friend.
Sean raised a hand to wave. Joe yanked it down.
“Don’t do anything,” Joe ground out between clinched teeth. “Don’t say anything. Don’t get his attention in any way.”
Sean threw his brother off. “I’ll do what I damn well please!”
“No you won’t!”
“Yes, I will!”
The window next to them was already partly open to let a breeze in. Sean shoved it up the rest of the way. He kicked out the screen while Joe tried to get a grip on him. He crawled out onto the roof over the hostess’s porch and waved madly.
“Hey! Kid! Remember me?”
“That’s him! That’s the man who tried to get me into his car.” The kid pointed.
To Sean’s horror, the man next to the kid pulled out a gun and took a bead on him.
“Halt! You’re under arrest.”
The previous was Suzie’s House 44: A Little Get Together
This is Suzie’s House 45: A Party with a View
Next is Suzie’s House 46: Peas in a Pod
Thursday Thirteen #6: More Things on my Desk
13 More things on my desk
1 – A recipe file with no recipes in it.
2 – A Q-tip stuck in a balloon. Don’t ask, I don’t know.
3 – A stack of envelopes
4 – A stack of scratch paper
5 – A dirty cup. Soup? Nah, looks more like yogurt.
6 – A glass of water
7 – A stack of accounting text books
8 – A special cloth used to clean eye glasses
9 – A cup full of high lighter pens
10 – A cup of pumpkin seeds – salted and roasted. What’s left of them anyway.
11 – A bottle of nail polish – particularly ironic as I never ever do my nails.
12 – Several pencil sharpeners – which is real funny because I use mechanical pencils.
13 – The manual for a battery charger
Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
By George! The Mrs. Prince of Wales. Maybe.
When we left of our beloved if instable Prince George IV had discovered the latest girl of his dreams – the widow Mrs. Maria Fitzherbert. As soon as she saw the direction of his affections, the packed her bags.
*****
Four members of the Prince’s household showed up on Maria’s doorstep before she had a chance to blow town. These worthies had some bad, bad news. The Prince, in a fit of despair, had stabbed himself. The only thing that might save him was the presence of his beloved Maria. His beloved Maria told the gents that, in her opinion, the Prince was loopier than a sailor’s knot and she had no intention of going near him or his fancy house. What would the papers say if she was seen entering that…that den of vice?
They pleaded, they begged, still she refused. One of them hit on the idea of a chaperone. Female, of course. If another lady of spotless reputation agreed to accompany her, what then? She agreed to this, but there was a fly in the ointment. Where would they find a lady of spotless reputation in London?
They finally settled on the Duchess of Devonshire. Why she was chosen, I know not. She must have been above and beyond in the reputation department because they went around to collect her, then returned to Carlton House. And there they found the Prince apparently where they had left him; on the bedroom floor, covered with blood. Someone had thoughtfully left a glass of brandy next to his head.
The Prince was conscious, if not coherent. The question of how it happened was never satisfactorily explained. The Prince himself gave several contradictory versions. What was beyond dispute was that the Prince, still in his nightshirt, was a bloody mess from a self-inflicted wound. What was also clear was that, except for the glass of brandy, no one had lifted a finger to help him. Very suspicious.
At the first sight of the Prince in his dishevel. Mrs. Fitzherbert nearly fainted. This must have been enormously satisfying to the Prince. Not one to squander an opportunity to get what he wanted, the Prince told her “Nothing would induce him to live unless she promised to become his wife, and permitted him to put a ring round her finger.”
Weakly, very weakly, one might imagine, Mrs. Fitzherbert agreed to become Mrs. the Princess of Wales. But, dash it all! There was a hitch. The Prince forgot to buy a ring before stabbing himself! Whatever were they to do? The Prince happened to notice that the Duchess had a perfectly serviceable engagement ring on her finger. And it looked like it might fit.
The Duchess gave up the ring. History draws a curtain over wither she ever got it back. Knowing the Prince, probably not. What is clear, however, is that once she returned home, Mrs. Fitzherbert regretted her decision. She formed the bizarre notion that the Prince and his buddies had grossly manipulated her. Women! They are so temperamental. She set out for France the next day.
*****
I don’t know about you, but if it were me, I’d be running off too.
Alice
Alone?
What would Gerbil TV be without gerbils?
I looked in one of the cages and noticed Mama Gerbil looked lonely.
I looked all over, but the kids were no where to be seen.
Oops. Spoke too soon:
They just popped up, though if I look close enough at the previous picture I can spot a tail in the mass of pink bedding.
Well they are rodents. So what do they do when you get their attention?
Alice
Candied Yams
Seems like most people like to do sweet potatoes for the Holidays. I prefer yams. I like the darker, stronger color and richer flavor. I particularly like them candied. So, in honor of not only Thanksgiving when my family eats this, but of Christmas when we eat it again I give you my version of Candied Yams.
3 large yams
3 T. frozen condensed orange juice
2 T butter
1/3 c. brown sugar
All the above measurements are approximate because I hardly ever pull out a measuring spoon for this.
Peel and slice the yams. I like about a quarter of an inch best. Boil until just beginning to soften. If you boil too long they will fall apart while you try to work with them. Not enough and they will take forever to cook in the oven.
Layer yams in a casserole dish. Sprinkle in some of the brown sugar. Top with scattered, super-thin slices of butter and small dabs — about a third of a tsp. at a whack — of condensed orange juice right out of the can. Repeat two or three times. Put in oven at 375 deg for about 20 minutes or until brown sugar on top begins to caramelize.
Yes, you can actually make a sauce of the butter, OJ, and brown sugar before and layer it in alternately with the yams, but I find it more work, harder to spread, and less tasty.
Happy Holidays
Alice
