Coffee and Strawberries

With a balmy breeze blowing through the open patio door, I spent a lovely hour or two puttering in the kitchen this evening. We’d both stayed up too late, been awakened several times in the wee hours by dogs demanding access to the yard, and then had to get up earlier than usual, and we’d both napped away much of the afternoon.

It’s been a while since I’ve cooked on weekends – usually we go out Saturday evenings – but I’d defrosted chicken breasts yesterday, which didn’t get used, and didn’t want them to go bad.

I’m not a chicken fan, but I have a marinade that turns chicken into something I not only enjoy, but crave. It’s easy to make: whisk together mustard, soy sauce, a tiny bit of cooking or olive oil, garlic, and a splash of vinegar. Coat the chicken in it, and then broil til done (I coat the flip side after I turn the chicken half way through). Sometimes I remember to plan ahead, and marinate the chicken overnight, but generally I don’t. Once in a while, I add a raw egg to the marinade – it makes it stick better, and makes the chicken a bit crispier. (We always use skinless chicken breasts).

I was craving tabouleh, so we had that, as well, with wonderful crisp cucumber and tomatoes that were a little on the under-ripe side, but not bad diced in the salad. Tabouleh means “spring” to me, with the refreshing combination of mint and lemon juice.

We watched The Thirteenth Floor while we ate. Great movie. More on that another time.

Afterwards, I sliced strawberres, bought on impulse when I did the grocery order on Tuesday night. Fuzzy loves strawberries. I’m allergic to them, but had taken an antihistamine, and decided to have some anyway. I was a little overzealous with the sugar, but I don’t use sugar all that often, so I’m not broken up over it.

My evening ended with sweet berries and smooth coffee, the later splashed with milk, the former warm and filled with the taste of warm weather and more balmy evenings.

I love spring!

Words, words, words

It’s evidently been quite a while since I posted a reading list, so I’m posting a quick wrap-up of everything I’ve read since the first of the year.

I haven’t been reading much this year, so far, spending more time than usual with my own words, and with classes and things, but I’m in a reading mood now.

Books are listed in order of completion. Reviews can be found at Bibliotopia, my book blog.

* * * * *

Memoirs of a Geisha, Arthur Golden
STTNG: A Time to Be Born, John Vornholt
STTNG: A Time to Die, John Vornholt
American Gods, Neil Gaiman
Kushiel’s Dart, Jacqueline Carey
Kushiel’s Chosen, Jacqueline Carey
STTNG: A Time to Sow, Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
STTNG: A Time to Harvest, Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
Foucault’s Pendulum, Umberto Eco
In Her Shoes, Jennifer Weiner
On Writing, Stephen King
Almost, Elizabeth Benedict
Outside Lies Magic, John R. Stilgoe
Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis
The Cloister Walk, Kathleen Norris
Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith, Kathleen Norris
Bitten, Kelley Armstrong
The Secret History of the Pink Carnation, Lauren Willig
Dancing at the Edge of the World, Ursula K. LeGuin
V, A.C. Crispin
V: The Pursuit of Diana, Allen Wold
V: East Coast Crisis, Howard Weinstein & A.C. Crispin
V: The Florida Project, Tim Sullivan
V: Prisoners and Pawns, Howard Weinstein
V: The Crivit Experiment, Allen Wold
V: The New England Resistance, Tim Sullivan
V: Death Tide, A.C. Crispin
V: The Texas Run, George Proctor
Just a Geek, Wil Wheaton
Stolen, Kelley Armstrong


After two weeks of feeling drugged and tired, I’m now hyper and wired. This would be great if only my muse was ALSO hyper and wired. Alas, it is not so.

With all the cool Friday night Sci-Fi shows on hiatus, Fuzzy and I resorted to watching horror movies tonight. Well, resorted isn’t really the word. I’d been planning all week to sit on the couch and indulge in watching Wes Craven’s New Nightmare on AMC. (I’d have preferred it without commercials, and with commentary, but it seems ridiculous to PAY to rent a movie I’ve already seen, when I can watch it for free on television.)

When I was eighteen I wanted to make horror films. I still have the *best* recipe for stage blood ever, and I learned to scream from the Linnea Quigley Film School (it was a series of tongue-in-cheek spots on MTV one October).

Tonight, though, rather than grabbing the video camera and plotting a home-made horror film, all I can do is sit here thinking that it might be helpful if I could get Freddy Krueger to slash my inner censor to bits.

One can wish.

Tomorow, the writing will go better, I’m certain.