Bookclub at Anne's

*I was going to leave this part out, but it's an illustration of football craziness and if I DON'T include it, I'm sure "someone" will put a sticky note on the fridge door about it. 

So...
Did anyone catch the Detroit Lions-San Francisco 49ers game?
HUGE...it was a HUGE game, because the Lions were undefeated and the 49ers are looking strong for the first time in 10 years. (Okay, maybe 15 years...a long stinkin' time, I can tell you that.) I was barely able to focus on making my bookclub food for watching it.  Part of the reason was that my fantasy football quarterback is the Lion's quarterback and the 49ers defensive line is my FF line...blah, blah, blah.  It was a big deal.  For me.  I forget that it's not a big deal for probably 99% of the rest of the county's population.  And it was a CLOSE game!!

I made myself leave the house on time, even though it was the 4th quarter and SF was only leading by 1 point.  Drove like the wind blows to the appointed meeting place, Cohagen School, and frantically tried to get the SF 49ers Live on my Droid phone...nothin'.  Ran into the school like a crazy woman, looking for a computer which Joni thoughtfully turned on after viewing the panic in my eyes...(she stepped aside, reminding me that it was STILL baseball season, you know)  I found the GameTracker, tried to politely mmm-hmm in conversation, explaining to Aaron Carroll what my obsession was with TTU, sweating palms....and the 49ers made a touchdown! YES!  Two minutes left in the game and we had to leave.  WHAT? Traci reassured me that she had the game on XM radio in the car....that was the only reason I got in the car.

I'm listening to the game, the other ladies are chatting about...kids? cows? school?....I don't know.  There was a timeout with a minute left, Detroit's possession, and Traci asked, "What's the score?"  I replied that it was 25-19 with a minute left, and she shut it off.  Didn't turn it down, mind you...turned it OFF.  OFF!!!!  I tried to be cool.  It was, after all, a timeout.  But seconds ticked by and she didn't turn it on.  In fact, she started a new story and away we sped toward Jordan, like the biggest game of the season, Super Bowl not withstanding, wasn't in the final moments.  I carefully removed my fingernails from the back of the seat, thinking perhaps she'd just switched it to the back controls...ah,no, she had not.  In a panicky voice I asked, "Did you turn the game off, Traci?"  Um...yeah.  She thought it was over.  (She really wasn't messing with me...she SAYS...but truly thought it was done.)  I got to hear the last 30 seconds, which in football time is like 10 minutes, to hear the beautiful pronouncement that the 49ers had beaten the Lions. 

I didn't scream, but I wanted to.
I didn't pull out the Joe Montana jersey I had stuffed down in the bottom of my camera bag, waved it and then pulled it on to wear into the grocery store, but I wanted to.
I didn't leave big messages all over Facebook, but I wanted to.

(Here's a picture of Michael Crabtree, former TTU Red Raider, making a catch in the game...photo from SF Chronicle.)

It was GLORIOUS, I tell you!!!!

Now....
Back to our real story....

Our little bookclub met yesterday afternoon for appetizers and dessert, and to discuss this month's selection Sarah's Key, by Tatiana de Rosnay.

First, about the book:

It's a little complicated to try to sum up, so I'll use the publisher's blurb from the back of the book:

Paris, July 1942: Sarah, a ten-year-old girl, is taken with her parents by the French police as they go door to door arresting Jewish families in the middle of the night. Desperate to protect her younger brother, Sarah locks him in a bedroom cupboard—their secret hiding place—and promises to come back for him as soon as they are released.



Sixty Years Later: Sarah’s story intertwines with that of Julia Jarmond, an American journalist investigating the roundup. In her research, Julia stumbles onto a trail of secrets that link her to Sarah, and to questions about her own future.


In Sarah’s Key, Tatiana de Rosnay offers up a mesmerizing story in which a tragic past unfolds, the present is torn apart, and the future is irrevocably altered.

It was hard for me to read, especially at first, because the little boy locked in the bedroom cupboard was Angus's age.  And the ending was a little too....neat.  But the book was thought provoking and it brought attention to the roundup of Jewish families of the Velodrome d'Hiver in France, an incident that many are not familiar with. 

We chewed on the book as we noshed on the crazy spread of food....we just stood there in the kitchen and laid waste to a pile of decadant finger foods.  Isn't that great? We didn't even really need to use utensils!  Here are the photos:

Anne's ceviche....I loved it, but I can tell it's a sort of specific taste (fish cooked in lemon/lime juice, then chilled) and it's not a real crowd favorite.  It tasted so clean and fresh to me...a nice break from the heavy cheese stuff.

I do love all things French....even their cracker boxes!

Isn't Anne elegant? And I love that this photo has all the story hands going on.  We all use our hands with our stories...the better the story, the more the hands fly...

Frou-frou Pelligrino beverages, courtesy Susie Milam...pretty containers for truly yummy drinks.

Can you see this? Maybe I should make the picture a little larger... 

This is a jalepeno popper, hand-made with love by Marisa (who by request will not be pictured in this post).

This is....I'm at a loss for words, here...the best of God's food gifts to man.

I wish I had thought to put a little jelly on mine, because then I believe I would've experienced appetizer nirvana.

(And for those who assume that bacon could be wrapped around any old thing and I'd fall in love, you may be right.  But this is really spectacular.  Like the bacon wrapped dates, from Boulder.)

I'm not going to try to point every good and perfect thing out on this spread....suffice it to say, we weren't lacking in anything, especially in the cheese department. (Happy Cheese-mas, by the way!  A post all of its own...)

We finally resorted to plates...

Our next selection is One Thousand Gifts and we'll meet at Traci's!

Thanks, Anne, for a really wonderful afternoon...

True Confession #317

It's been awhile, hasn't it? 

Yeah, well....some of you are still reeling from the whole People magazine love.  I didn't think it would be good to spring another confession on you right away. 

But it's time. 

This will make my brother and a couple other friends roll their eyes and snort in their beer.  Ah, well...

Here it is:



I love sports movies. 
Love 'em!
Any sport....football, basketball, soccer, figure skating, rodeo, hockey....you name it, I like it.  EVEN (and this is the most painful part of the confession...) NASCAR movies.  Although, and I have to say it, I don't quite understand how rodeo is NOT classified as a sport by ESPN, but NASCAR is.  AND...this still baffles me...poker!  I digress...

The second half of the true confession...and this is where the rolling of the eyes will commence....is that I cry in nearly every one.  Yes.  Small town-local-kid-does-good movies can make me sob.  I cried during The Replacements, for heaven's sake.  And Miracle.  And Karate Kid. And that silly Ice Castles movie. Hoosiers takes me completely out....every time. 

Tonight, I made my family watch The Rookie. 
They were just excited that I was going to sit and watch a movie with them, so they agreed to anything. 
Turns out, I'm the only sports movie fan in the house. 
It moves too slow, there's too much to figure out, they don't really understand baseball. 

It had Dennis Quaid in it! I don't mind telling you,  I'd watch a remake of Captain Kangaroo with Dennis Quaid in it.  He wouldn't even have to say anything, just stand there and look handsome.  And grin.  And wink his blue eyes.....*sigh*

What was I talking about?

Oh, yeah...The Rookie. 

It had all the ingredients for a good sports movie.  Young kid, big dream; misunderstood, cold father; small town; cute little kid; smart mouthed teens; impossible, amazing, too-good-to-be-true winning season after two (or 10) seasons where only one game was won each year.....
AND it was rated G.

It took place in West Texas...Big Lake....and I swear they cast my Aunt Bert as the wife of Jimmy Morris.  The whole movie, I was stunned how much that woman resembled Bert! 

The thing that really made me emotional was that the coach who came from a small town and went big was about my age, now, and he never stopped liking baseball.  He never stopped pitching, even if it was at night, against a fence, with his son asleep in the back seat.  He did all the right things, like getting a real job and taking good care of his family, but he never lost the passion or spark for baseball.  And he worked at passing it on to the next generation. (I know.  Just like all sports movies...)

That, and it was Dennis Quaid.  I mean, my goodness...!
:)

So now you know....sports movies are probably the only kind I'll actually sit down and watch all the way through without stopping to change the laundry around or check my email.  Sports movies and Downton Abbey.  And I'll cry, so if that makes you uncomfortable, you can go check YOUR email while tears run down my face; sappy, happy tears.

Rocky Mountain High, Part IV

Pat Green!

So Sara's husband Chad got home from Houston, just in time to escort us to supper and the Pat Green concert.  Bless his heart, he was a good sport about it, too, because he must've been just exhausted from travelling. 

Chad is a great guy; thoughtful, funny, smart, hard working, well-traveled.  You know.  All the things Sara is, only with a simmering sort of temper and he won't be rushed. (Fair's fair...we all have our flaws, and I can't mention hers without mentioning his....) Here's a picture, just so you have an idea of who I'm talking about.

They're perfect for each other!

Anyway, back to the day...

We got all cleaned up after that exhausting hour in the hot tub and a nap, and set out for Protos, a Napoletana pizzeria.

It was packed.

(This would turn out to be the theme of the evening...)

After a short wait, in which we had a glass of wine (beer for Chad), checked out the other patrons' pizzas, glared at people who were lingering needlessly over ice cream and memorized the rather fabulous menu, we were seated and ordered. 

So, I did not know that the traditional way to get pizza in Italy is to have it uncut.  It's supposed to just come out in a big old pie and you slash away at it with knife and fork, like a flat steak.  So that's how we ordered our pizzas and I spent some time wondering if I was coordinated enough to eat pizza that way. And not drop it all over my Pat Green jeans.

I'll put a link to the menu for you, so you can lust after the pizza...

We EACH ordered a pizza...the Atomica, the Roman and the Pontiff.  Check 'em out!

And there was some mix up in the kitchen, so mine came out already cut, despite having been ordered otherwise.  Ah, well....not a big deal, because it smelled GOOD. I teased her that there went her tip, and we commenced to eating.

One of the great things about eating with Sara and Chad is that we got to share everything.  We'd order different dishes and then happily cut it up and hand portions around the table.  And discuss them as we ate.  That was the most fun!

So right in the middle of the sharing of the pies, the waitress comes back with an uncut version of my Pontiff pizza and apologetically puts it down on the table. I felt bad for about 2 seconds, then we all but arm-pumped over the free pie.  YES!

We staggered out, finally, to head to the Grizzly Rose for Pat Green!

(I KNOW.  You thought I'd NEVER get there.  Well, we're not there yet, kids...)

The Grizzly Rose is a huge country western nightclub/dancehall sort of place on the outskirts of Denver that manages to attract all sorts of big name entertainers, one every weekend.  The best way I can describe it is to tell you it reminded me of how Gilley's in Texas was portrayed in Urban Cowboy. Almost exactly. The same atmosphere, the same big dance floor, the same long bar, the same women wearing string tank tops and holding a Bud Lite, the same guys wearing Tony Lamas and awful dude cowboy hats.  (Now we're all going to have to rent that wretched movie so you can see what I'm talking about...)

The place was packed.

Beyond packed.

Apparently, Sara H. and I are not the only ones who love Pat Green.

And there are no seats, for the concert.  You all just cram in on the dance floor area as close to the stage as you can, and rock out.  You don't leave for a beer, you don't leave to go to the bathroom or you'll never get back.  One guy in front of us had brought an actual six pack and we were admiring his planning. 

It was hot and almost hard to breathe for a while. I was surprised at how close we actually were to the stage, really.  I'm a terrible judge of distance, especially in buildings, so I'll have to ask Sara the distance in feet, but I could see Pat's dimples and the buttons on his flannel shirt, easily. And not on the screens...in real life!  Did that give you an idea? :)

He's a great entertainer. Of course, I think Pat Green could probably stand on the street corner and sing "Do you know the muffin man..." and get people going.  He doesn't take himself too seriously, and he really and truly has a good time interacting with the crowd and singing.  I loved that he didn't just play current hits, but dug back into the vault for Cannonball and Three Days and Take Me Out To A Dancehall.  There were about four times that I just held my hand over my mouth and stopped, just stopped everything, because I realized that I was THERE and that was PAT GREEN, and I could see his dimples. (Marina, back me up here, girl....) Of course, it was just me and Pat....and 2000 of his other biggest fans.

It was amazing.

*sigh*

Incidently, I had the coolest jeans in the joint.  Apparently, Miss Me hasn't hit Denver as big as it has hit Miles City and Midland....

To be continued...

 

Between the lines...

Aunt Rosie sent me a Red Raider hat around Christmas time and Angus had SERIOUS Guns Up envy.  To the point I had to hide the cap in my running shoes to be able to keep it. 

A couple weeks later, another package showed up in the mail with two more Red Raider hats!

We love them!  So, for Rosie, here we are in our Guns Up hats (as Angus calls them). 

(Had to take it with the tri-pod and timer, so it's a little...off.)

I guess you all know that the Red Raiders won their Ticket City Bowl game, 45-38, against Northwestern.

Excuse my French...

I once told a friend of mine that if I ever come up missing, to look for me in Lubbock. 

Actually, that's wrong....just to throw the trail, I guess. During football season, that would be a good start, but it's not where I'd hide out.

I'm pretty sure I'd go to France.
Longtime readers of the Chronicles know that I secretly (well, not anymore) adore all things French.  The language is beautiful, the gardens are glorious, the food...ah, the food, and the antiques make me swoon. Not to mention the coffee. 

This last month, my Aunt Bert sent me a wonderful care package, full of all sorts of treasures that made me get tears in my eyes at her thoughtfulness.  She tucked seeds, old family mementos, pink Texas Tech work gloves, and an antique postcard from France that she'd found at a craft sale, among other things.  It shows a flower market in Paris...lovely....and I have it near my sink so I can dream while I do dishes. (Thanks, Aunt Bert; we're kindred spirits.)

Quite near the postcard is some wonderful soap and lotion from France that Nancy Miller brought across the pond in her bags, through customs and everything.  Nancy reads the Chronicles (for the information, not the wit, I'm sure) and thoughtfully made the extra effort to bring a little bit of France to my house on the prairie.  It's olive oil and lavender soap, and if I close my eyes after using it, I can pretend I'm in Provence. (Nan, I'm indebted. And it's going to be a LOT harder to get Montana beef steaks through customs on my way to England...)

In a fit of insanity, when I ordered this month's bookclub book, I also ordered Joanne Harris' cookbook, My French Kitchen.  It's got really good, useful recipes, pictures of odd, random French ephemera and I can't stop looking at it.  Tartes are on the menu this week.  I'm looking for my lace curtains.   I forgot that my dog is a Brittany spaniel and could pose for a French cookbook! (Handy, no?)

And that's what pretty much changed my mind about disappearing to Lubbock.  Oh, they've got great BBQ there and my favorite football team, but I fear my heart is in Avignon.

Anybody want to join me?

Our Hero, Campguy

*This post is thoroughly and completely saturated with Texas Tech Red Raider-ness.  If you are remotely allergic to scarlett and black, or anything Texan, back away from the computer. Of course, if you ARE that sensitive, you probably quit reading this blog a few months ago.

When we picked up our mail on Friday, amongst the bills and farm papers was a package from our friend, Campguy. (That's his blog name.)

In the package was this really great Texas Tech birdhouse that he'd made for us!

Now, I believe he's a Longhorns fan, but we won't hold that against him. It probably pained him to have to manufacture a Red Raiders birdhouse, and we love him all the more for having gone through that for us.

Here's the family, after a big fight over who got to hold the birdhouse.

Angus won.

Can you see the unvarnished envy in HRH's eyes?

Guns Up!!!

I just love it!

We aren't going to be able to put it out until spring, so it will have an exalted place in the farmhouse until then. Maybe Campguy can come North and help us hang it, in April.

GO RED RAIDERS!

There was another object in the box, and we will be talking about that in a future post. You'll just have to wait, breathlessly, until I get my camera memory card cleared off.