Carnival Time Again, EEK

Oh no, it's that time of year again. I have to lug my sweaty behind to the 

school carnival, 

along with two excited 8 year olds who view the entire event as a sort of prom for elementary kids. They are going to run into all their friends, while I juggle sunscreen, bug spray, and carny food. 

I just know it.

Not always such a grouch, but the school carnival really is Hell Night for parents. First, we have to load our kids onto rides that grooooooaaaaaan and squeak as the children are strapped in and whirled into Centrifugal torture. They seem to like it pretty well; I turn away and try not to eye the one bolt coming loose on the structure.

It's Catholic school, so we do get to watch the priests aim for each other at the dunk tank. It's the one highlight, when Father Fernando gets a soaking. Winning!

Who has two left hands and wants to dunk the guy in a full suit? This gal!

I've got my tactics down for hustling kids past the Overpriced / Cheapo toy game stalls. "You've already got five of those at home... win anymore and we'll all have to move out to the garage... look, funnel cake..."

Yes, I will feed the child batter deep-fried in mystery oil rather than carry home another rubber duck or three foot long fuzzy python stuffed with old cleaner bags.

We can relax in the food tent, except the band there always turns the volume up to "Eleven" and I like my eardrums. So, no.

Sit and get a face henna tattoo that you'll wash off in twenty minutes? And pay many dollars for that experience? I think not.

Am I the only one who eyes up the "fresh lemonade" stand and wonder, Do they wash those lemons?

At eight o'clock, the vampires come out. Goth dudes and girls appear, with black lipstick and micro shorts over tattered fishnets. I LOVE it when they show up, because at that point we really need to get home and wash off several centimeters of machine lube and sugar.

Yup, Carnival Night. 

That Certain Age

Once upon a time, there was a girl who could keep her belly flat and her skin fresh by eating whatever she wanted - mint chocolate chip icecream, cheeseburger, fries, chips - and going out to the clubs til 2 to dance it all off. 

Yeah, that girl doesn't exist anymore. 

She's been replaced by me - a woman of a "certain age" who only has to look at food, apparently, and calories leach into my skin. Sand bags seem to have been sewn onto my thighs and butt at some point. I am itchy, cranky, grumpy, and sleepy - a veritable compendium of the worst of the dwarves. 

As I battle age and the mirror, I'm most annoyed by myself. I LIKE the idea of age. I think wrinkles are marks of experience, and gray hair is lovely, like strands of silver. I just didn't bargain for the fuzzy feeling in my brain that stops my thought processes, nor the gradual slipping away of things that I used to do without thinking.

OK, we can't all be Jamie Lee, but I do love her hair.

Example: water skiing. When my husband taught me to waterski, years ago, I loved it right away. I was able to stand right up on the skis and jet around the lake on my first go. It wasn't pretty, but it did happen. This past summer, I went to try waterskiing again. Holy incompetent arm muscles! That awkward moment when the handle slips from your grip again and again and the boat has to circle back a gabillion times to pick up the old lady in the water...

Here are a few things that I've done to combat all of this:

1. Embraced my wrinkles. I really don't mind them at all. 

2. Started taking iodine supplements, which have erased the fuzzy feeling in my brain and made my husband quite happy. (And, no, I'm not adding more details for that last point.) Do check with your doctor if you start taking any supplements, but mine - I take natural Gaia thyroid support as well as iodine and seaweed - have seriously changed my life.

3. Taken up weightlifting. I always worked out with weights, but I've added pounds to what I used to lift to compensate for disappearing muscle. I WILL get up on those skis next summer.

4. Given up sugar. It was an easy way to modify my diet. Sugar is a serious addiction, but when you replace it with fresh fruit and agave, it's not so bad. Oh, all right - Halloween sucked. Ok? Ok. And I'm not looking forward to Christmas Cookie season. Goodbye for ever, homemade pizzelles.

Buh Bye.

5. Doubled my workout time. I do work while I'm on the treadmill, so it doesn't eat into my productivity.

6. Started eating a lot more raw greens. A LOT more. And I don't drown them in processed dressing, either. Goodbye, Ranch and Blue Cheese. (PS - Olive Oil makers, if you put EVOO in little takeaway packets like ketchup, that would really come in handy. Just saying.)

7. Eyed the frozen mini hotdogs and tacos wistfully as I pass them by with my cart. Edamame is a somewhat / not really / ok they're good but they're not mini hot dogs, now are they sort of substitute.

8. Replaced my large, frozen drink cocktails with ultra Lite beer, white wine, Skinny girl margaritas (love them) and, at times, green tea. Cut down on all of the above (except the tea) to one or two a weekend. Yes, this has been a very important point for me. 

While I'm grousing and carrying on, I must point out that age has brought some very good things into my life:

1. A fantastic family

2. Friends who are settled in their own lives, and we can all be settled together

3. No more of those exhausting dating issues

4. My writing career

5. Peace with myself and my world in general.

Travel Food

I'm all about travel. The  sights  are  lovely, but let's get real. It's all about the food.

Some of my most memorable were:

The chocolate eclair from Paris - Once, my husband and I ran away to Paris for the weekend (WAAAAY before Bub came along.) We walked down the Champs d'Elysee and had eclairs in a tiny cafe. The pastries were so large they were like chocolate bombs. (Actually, mine was cappucino flavored.)  The waiter, an impossibly handsome Parisian, looked like Cary Grant. I was on a match  collecting kick at the time, and I thought it would be cool to have some  from Paris. I requested them in French, trying to impress "Cary." Unfortunately I asked for streetlamps instead of matches.

They come in all flavors in Paris. Raspberry, lime...

The churros y chocolate from Spain - Again, preBub. We were in Spain with some friends right before  Christmas. I told my husband I'd do anything he wanted, but I had, had, had to get churros for  breakfast one morning. He thought churros were those large, sinewy things you get at the mall. When he discovered they were little, delicate donuts you dipped in thick hot chocolate, he warmed up to the whole idea. They were served in a noisy bar, and we ate at a table surrounded by Spanish workmen. That was a good day.

And while we're talking about Spain, I  can't forget - The  plate of tiny mussels I shared with a group of my friends  in a tapas bar one night. We were poor students, so that's all we could afford. We sucked down the delicious mussels and called for bread to slurp up the  wine / garlic / butter sauce. I swear you can eat the paving stones in Spain.

Fresh coconuts in Haiti - Bebe Doc was still in power. The poverty was overwhelming. The beaches were lovely. For one dollar, a boy offered us a fresh coconut, large and green, which he cut down with a huge machete. We drank the juice, and he chopped it open so we could eat the  moist, fragrant insides. It was completely different from those hard, brown things you see in supermarkets.

Plaice in Ireland - My mother used to rush to the  market in Dun Laoghaire to buy us tiny flatfish that had just been caught in the bay. She dipped them in milk and flour and sauteed them in Kerrygold butter. Heaven! 

In Ireland and England we used  to eat Fuller's Walnut Cake, until Fuller's went out  of business. You can still get the  recipe, though, here, for the most delicious, moist cake in the world.

Southern Barbecue - I'm talking North Carolina. I'm talking home made coleslaw on the side, a soft  bun filled with sloppy barbecue. I'm talking a cold one to go with. Maybe two cold ones. 

Ice Cream in Mexico - I'm a huge fan of Mexican food and drink (I even adored the fresh pulque, served out of a dipper in a tiny fishing village) but my very favorite, besides FRESH GUACAMOLE SERVED WITH A BOHEMIA BEER, was the ice cream stand my boyfriend at the time took me to. There were one hundred flavors (Honey! Fish!) (Yes, I really said fish!) but the  best one was the avocado ice cream. Didn't I say I loved guacamole? This was like a sweetened, cold version in a cone.

We all see why I love to travel, now don't we. Next up: Italy, Germany, Denmark, and Finland. Get in my belly!

Book Food: Miranda Warning

There is something about books that makes me hungry. The act of reading just seems to go naturally with a pot of tea, of course, as well as a plate of scones and some finger sandwiches.

There are books out there that strengthen this connection. One obvious culprit is Dickens. His characters are always going off on picnics complete with pork pies, cold cider, and rounds of cheese. One of my favorite descriptions of his is his "curiously light wine, with a curiously heavy cake."

Another book that makes me hungry is Miranda Warning. I'm almost at the end (reading it slowly so it will last; I'm going to hate being finished) and I love the gorgeous descriptions of food. The book, a murder mystery, is set in Texas, so there is plenty of RC cola, banana whoopie pies, as well as buttery croissants and delicious coffee drinks.

Miranda, the main character, is just as delicious. She is a bit overweight (who wouldn't be, with all that food) and works in a run down law office where her boss often falls asleep on the floor. She has to learn to maneuver her rolling chair carefully so she won't squash his hand.

She is also a sax player in a local band, and one of her band mates gets bumped off in the beginning. The way that Miranda investigates the murder is funny and well written and completely believable. Oh, and there's a romance, too, and it is delicious as well.

To be honest, I'm not a huge murder mystery fan, but I'm enjoying this book with a great deal of delight. It should be savored, like a whoopie pie, for its flavor and creamy filling.

Crunchy Bars, or, The Expats

Next week my cousin, who lives near Dublin, is coming to visit the States. I know what this means - he'll be bringing me a supply of Crunchie bars from Ireland. For those of you who have never tasted a Crunchie, find a way to get your hands on one. They are a literary treat - Crunchies are described in National Velvet.

My cousin deserves to be showered with praise for bringing me my Crunchies, and so he shall be. I wish he could bring me some other stuff, though, that's impossible to put in a suitcase: a loaf of Brennan's bread, a barm brack, a cup of Bewley's coffee with foamed milk, but above all - a dish of Irish potatoes, served with Kerry Gold butter. 


Kerry Gold really is gold. The butter that I buy here is white in color, but Kerry Gold is a deep yellow with a unique flavor. When it's melting on top of boiled Irish potatoes, there's nothing better in the world. Heaven is going to plates of those spuds, and no calories to worry about. I have it all planned out.


Of course, there are things here that my cousin misses just as much in Dublin. When he comes to the US, we all have to go out for a root beer and potato skins (what is it about potatoes?) And I send him back with packs of Mint Milano cookies.


I just thought of something else I'd like him to bring me - the smell inside an Irish chemist's, or in the hallway of an Irish house. I don't know what it is - some combination of Fairy Liquid Soap and Kerry Gold, perhaps?

I don't suppose he can bring me those, either, nor the wind that blasts down the Dun Laoghoire pier, nor a Teddy's 99 ice cream at the end of the walk down that pier.  I will enjoy those Crunchies, though.