QUING Parties at the Palace with STUFFED MUSHROOMS/BAKED SEAFOOD CASSEROLE

Watching the third film in The Lord of the Rings trilogy (for the 48^th time).

I am waiting for the best pep talk in the history of film. Spoken by the most gorgeous king in the history of film.

Aragorn: A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of woes and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you ‘stand, Men of the West!’

Let’s say such a king ventures into the Palace. I’d bake him some of my all time favorite appetizer; mushrooms stuffed with a luscious crab filling.  If the king wasn’t fond of mushrooms, I’d bake the crab stuffing in a shrimp and scallop casserole, instead.

One mushroom - or one bite of seafood casserole - and Aragorn is no longer obsessed with Elf Girl. He loves Quing!  Gustare!

STUFFED MUSHROOMS

or BAKED SEAFOOD CASSEROLE (from Cathy’s Kitchen)

INGREDIENTS:

28- 30 large white mushrooms, stemmed (approximately 2 packages)
1/2  white onion, chopped
1 cup celery, chopped
1/4 cup Pecorino Romano cheese, grated
1 1/2 cups unseasoned bread crumbs
2 tablespoons fresh Italian parsley leaves, chopped
1/2 cup (8 tablespoons) butter
6 ounces of crab meat (fresh or canned- king crab meat tastes best!))

Line rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper or aluminum foil. With damp paper towel, wipe mushrooms clean, and place on baking sheet. Melt 1/4 cup (4 tablespoons) of butter over medium heat in a large frying pan. Saute onion and celery in butter until soft, 5-6 minutes. Add crab meat and saute for another 5 minutes. Remove pan from heat. Add bread crumbs and cheese to onion/crab mixture. Combine with fork. Fill mushrooms with stuffing mixture. Melt remaining butter, and spoon over stuffed mushrooms. Bake at 350 degrees until lightly browned, 25-30 minutes. Serve warm.

BAKED SEAFOOD CASSEROLE

Substitute 12-14 large Shrimp and 12 -14 Sea Scallops for mushrooms. Spray a casserole dish (or grease with butter.) Place seafood in casserole in a single layer. Spoon stuffing mixture over seafood, and drizzle with melted butter.  Bake at 350 degrees until stuffing is lightly browned, and seafood is no longer translucent, 25-30 minutes. Serve warm.

PUPPALOVE

'Tis Spring!

The earth is crazy warmer.

The Bills are crazy better.

Love is in the air.

PUPPALOVE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

COACH

Vignettes:

Coach shouts at a team of 7-year-olds, “If you're the best players at this age level, we should expect years of failure!”

Coach blames a nine year old he’s never met for being tagged out - after telling him to steal the base.

Coach admonishes an eleven-year-old for being ‘soft’, and not training hard enough to live up to her potential.

Coach shrieks at his 7th grade team to dominate their opponent - even though the team is winning by 38 points.

Coach berates a pre-teen referee for making the wrong call. Nine times in one quarter.

Opposing coach curses and shouts at his young players for dropping a ball and missing a pass.

Coachable moments. All.

We’ve witnessed them. Engaged in them.

Once, I was so frustrated with a fellow coach at a regional competition, I confronted her in the cafeteria –  causing both kids and adults to stack their trays and run for cover (I am still apologizing for that!)

Coaching can be a tough, thankless job.

Still, most coaches care. They are passionate about their sport or club, and enjoy working with kids. Committed, energetic, and hard-working, they comp tons of hours; learning, teaching, and competing.

Dealing with parents who drop off their kids. And bolt.

Or stick around. And challenge.

Occasionally, a coach transcends.

Is truly teacher.

Mentor.

Guardian of self-esteem.

Builder of confidence. And character.

            A guide who expertly leads a team on a journey that brings delight, wisdom, skill and

            growth.

            A leader who, unconcerned with wins and losses, focuses on life lessons that will have an
impact far beyond any competitive season.

           This kind of coach isn’t interested in accolades or thanks.

His or her mission?  

To educate, inspire, and make a difference.

My kids have been blessed to work with, and learn from such a coach. He will soon be publicly cited by a number of graduating seniors as the teacher who most profoundly and positively impacted their young lives.

The moment my youngest child graduates from high school, I'm going to suggest that he ditch sports and teaching, and make a run for Congress so he can profoundly impact the seniors (and underclassmen) running our government.

But for now, I'll just gratefully say, "Congrats, coach. Your mission? Accomplished."

QUING Hereby Decrees:   Uniforms, equipment, travel fees: $1500.  A coach who transcends: priceless.

VOW

Since reaching their highest levels in the 1980s, national divorce rates have declined. But according to new research presented by sociologists Susan Brown and I-Fen Lin of Bowling Green State University, the divorce rate among people ages 50 and older has doubled over the past two decades, rising to its highest level on record.

In 1990, only one in ten people who divorced was 50 or older. By 2009, the number was roughly one in four, with more than 600,000 people ages 50 and older divorcing.  Just this past year, the number of dating-site users 50 or older has grown twice as rapidly as any other age group.

Women - aged 40-69 - initiate most of the breakups between long married spouses, seeking a split 66% of the time.

Infidelity, cited in only 27% of ‘gray’ divorces, is not the major cause. So why are so many marriages fracturing decades after couples vow to love one another for a lifetime?

John Mordecai Gottman, author of “What Predicts Divorce?” suggests that the behavioral precursors to late-life divorce are the same as those confronting younger couples: criticism, defensiveness, contempt and stonewalling. The longer such behaviors persist, the more they affect a relationship.

But Professor Brown presents another theory. Over the past century, there have been three distinct notions of marriage in America.

The "institutional" phase occurred in the decades before World War II. Marriage was an economic union.

The 1950s and '60s marked the "companionate" phase. Husbands played the role of providers. Wives honed their skills in homemaking and child-rearing.

The 1970s brought about the "individualized" phase of marriage. Personal satisfaction became of supreme importance. “Individualized marriage is more egocentric,” Brown says. “Before the 1970s, no one would have thought to separate out the self as being distinct from the roles of good wife and mother."

The generation that viewed marriage as a source of self-fulfillment and personal happiness is increasingly disillusioned with it. In "The Gray Divorce,” author Susan Gregory Thomas writes, “As (boomers) look around their empty nests and toward decades more of healthy life, they are increasingly deciding that they've done their parental duty and now want out. These decisions are changing not just the portrait of aging people in the U.S... but also the meaning of the traditional vow to stay together until “death do us part.”

“Complex marital biographies," also seem to play a role in the phenomenon of 'gray' divorce. Fifty-three percent of individuals over 50 who seek divorce have been divorced before. Having been married previously doubles the risk of divorce for those ages 50 to 64. For those ages 65 and up, the risk factor quadruples.

By 2030, the number of over-50 divorces could easily top 800,000 per year. Author Deirdre Bair conducted nearly 400 interviews with individuals divorcing in midlife for "Calling It Quits: Late-Life Divorce and Starting Over."  Bair writes, "With the children out of the house, boomers in unhappy marriages often look at each other and think, ‘I may have another 25 to 35 years to live. Do I want to spend it with this person?’ …There is an overwhelming, urgent feeling among them of, ‘I have to strike out now, or I'll never have the chance again.’”

Wow.

Can this research be on target? 

Time for some Quing Research.

Subjects include:

1.  Long-Married couples or empty-nesters who haven't once considered wanting 'out'.
2.  Been-at-it-forever partners who haven't once contemplated, "Do I really want to spend the rest of my life with this person?"
3. Married-in-dog-years pairs who haven't once thought, "I need to get out now, or I'll never have another chance."

If you exist, raise your hands, lovers.

Better yet, stand up!

Take a bow!

 

The rest of us Long-Marrieds want to applaud you.

And take your pulse.

We want to know how kids, jobs, finances, stress, parents, monotony, pets, illness, technology, world events, and a myriad of life forces have not bumped, cracked, or frayed your union, just a smidge.

We want to know what kind of vitamins you take.

How you maintain your composure.

How you've teflonized your relationship from LIFE.

Perhaps you've discovered a fountain-of-enduring-love; akin to the fountain-of-youth?

Concocted a secret recipe, potion, spell?

If you have, kindly share with the rest of us Long-Marrieds.

See, our sample size is large, but dwindling.

Research suggests that we work day after day to communicate, keep perspective, forgive, forget, and move forward.   

We hold on to the example of relations and friends who toiled a lifetime to keep their love alive.

We stand in awe of spouses who work their way back to one another, when the path to reconciliation - littered with criticism, defensiveness, contempt and stonewalling - seems impossible to cross.

We weep with friends and relations who must accept heart wrenching loss, even after giving their all to honor their vows.

Twenty-something actress Scarlet Johansson was recently asked about the lessons she learned from her failed marriage to actor Ryan Reynolds. "Relationships are complicated," she said, "and being married is a living, breathing process. I think I was not fully aware of the peaks and valleys. I wasn't prepared to hunker down and do the work."

Research suggests that Long-Marrieds are fully aware.

Hunkered down.

Sipping from the fountain-of-enduring-love would be so much simpler.

QUING Hereby Decrees:  V.O.W. = Very Open to Work!

LANDSCAPE

It is brisk-walk-clear-head time of the morning.

The sun: ringed in haze.

The breeze: tangible.

The earth: gray leaning green.

My steps are quick. Thoughts, quicker.

Writing in my head.

Hawks circle and chase, black against blue.

Fickle finch flutters from nobby branch to soon-to-bud bough.

 

Neighboring homes - windows shut, doors closed -  tell of children off at school, and winter still expected.

She passes. Slows her van, and waves.

I shout. Run to catch up.

Meant to call her last week and say, "It's way past time for our seasonal lunch!"

 

A personal invitation will be so much nicer.

She looks tired. I don't see shaken.

Her smile is bright. I don't see strained.

She asks my story. Kids. Colleges? Sports. Jobs?  Three minutes of info, then I inquire about her.

I see hesitation.

Words are spoken. I hear all of them.

I remember four.

Pet. Scan. Stage. Four.

I am grateful for sunglasses. I will not cry in front of this just-celebrated-eighty-years-magnificent woman.

She is Pioneer. Educator. Wife. Cyclist. Warrior. Mom. Builder. Activist. Friend. Grandmother. Humorist.

 

Tribal Elder.

 

Unique. Extraordinary.

Irreplaceable.

Lunch will wait. For Test Results. Plans. Protocol.

She waves goodbye.

My steps are quick. Tears, quicker.

Grappling in my heart.

Farmland ahead is dark, crumpled, piled. 

Cracked cans and bottles, plastic bags, scattered deer carcass, punctured balls and faded pucks litter the side of the road.

Highway -miles away - drones.

Fleas, too soon annoying, dart in the haze of the sun.

I want to shout.

But I don't want to run 

or catch up

to heartache, experience, life,

too few seasons away.

I turn, heading home. Search for a different landscape than that which I just crossed.

The landscape of hope.

Of spring.

Of life.

The landscape I viewed before the van slowed.

It is there. 

In Sun. Breeze. Earth.

And Irreplaceable Woman.

Must write that in my head, and tuck it in my heart.

QUING Hereby Decrees:  The time, most precious, is the time we give one another.

LUCK

I need fresh basil.

To sprinkle over a veggie pizza.

I am standing in line; three customers back from the cash register.

Basil. $2.29. (This is not a rant about the absurd price of a dozen green leaves, though it ought to be.)

I reach into my wallet as the elderly lady in front of me announces, "50 tickets, please. I have the numbers. I'll write you a check."

Grabbing three dollars, I glance at the cashier behind the register.  Lady Aged begins shuffling precisely tabulated  lists of numbers between her curled fingers.

The teenage cashier shoots me a nervous this-might-take-a-while look.

I shoot a look right back at her. What-is-this-woman-doing?

 

Teenager points to the sign beside the entrance/exit of the store.

  

TONIGHT'S JACKPOT: 148 MILLION.

Hey, you never know.

I look back at the cashier, who, I have now noticed, bears a striking resemblance to Kate Middleton- without the smile.

  

I am confounded; is this woman really going to spend FIFTY dollars on lottery tickets? And am I going to be STUCK behind her while she calls out FIFTY tickets worth of lucky numbers?

The cashier nods, reading my thoughts. 

 

I ought to be less obvious.

Behind me, annoyed customers begin scampering to other lines.

I am stuck.

By my imagination is not.

What are the chances that one of Lady Aged's fifty tickets will actually win the monstrous bucks?

What will she do with all that money?

How many kids/grandkids/great grandkids/friends/siblings/neighbors/sycophants does a person accumulate by the time she's 90+ years?

If I'm extra patient, maybe she'll slip me a ticket across the electric eye of the conveyor belt as she's leaving.

Maybe that ticket will win the monstrous bucks!

I'll have to buy something to wear for the morning talk show circuit, when I travel from show to show gushing about the generous, spontaneous, lovely Lady Aged, who allowed me the chance to send my kids to college, feed fourteen African villages, and fund sixteen children's charities- all on account of one 3 inch piece of paper!

  

Lady Aged begins reciting numbers- ignoring me and the big, busy world around her.

I want to cry.

Instead, I think about the lottery.

  

How the chances of winning the big bucks are even smaller than the chances of my four month old puppy relieving himself on the grass instead of the oriental rug.

How I never, ever buy a lottery ticket.

Because it's dumb.

Except for that one time when I was driving to Disney and every billboard in six states shrieked, "Powerball! 686 MILLION DOLLARS," and I stopped at a convenient store to run a baby boy to the bathroom and found a five dollar bill in the parking lot and handed it to the clerk saying, "Five tickets, please. Random numbers."
 

That was dumb.
 

Lady Aged is still reciting.

I want to scream.

Epiphany.

Lottery luck only works if you choose your own numbers.

I could use the birthdates of the kids. Or should I use the birthdates of my siblings? Anniversaries of best friends? House numbers? License plates? Blood sugar and cholesterol counts?

I'm buying a ticket.

I reach into my wallet. I grab the single dollar in that dark leather pocket.

One chance to solve all our financial worries. And world hunger.

Or a Hershey Bar with Almonds.

Lady Aged shuffles off toward the exit with nary a glance to yours truly- who has aged sixteen months listening to her Bingo call of numbers.

I smile at the Duchess, but she doesn't return the favor. "Just the basil," I say. "And one lottery ticket, please. You can pick the numbers."

Duchess taps a button on the register. "The machine does the picking," she says.

I reach for the 3 inch piece of paper.

What are the chances that one machine in one store in one town in one county in one state will pick the lucky numbers, and win the monstrous bucks?

Hershey Bar never looked so good.

QUING Hereby Decrees:  Luck Happens. To Indianapolis.

QUIP

Rewind to 1996.

My daughters, two and three-years-old, are visiting a museum with me.  A dear friend has brought her sons along.

We stop for a bathroom break.

Big Sis and Lil Sis are drying their hands when their three-year-old buddy emerges from a stall. Buddy’s jeans - and big boy underwear - have dropped to his ankles.

Big Sis stares at her friend for a moment, then pulls on my sleeve and whispers, “What’s that, Mama?”

“That is the reason Buddy will always have more income, opportunity, and power than you!”

Big Sis grabbed Lil Sis and hid behind the stroller. Girlfriend and I laughed. Then laughed some more.

It was a silly, off-the-cuff comment. Ridiculous.

Imagine if I was the host of a nationally syndicated talk show, and I made that comment on the airwaves to millions listening to The World According to Me. My detractors could accuse me of male-bashing. Or spin my quip as spiteful, jealous, irrational femi-nazi rage.

But it was none of the above. It was a fact - laced with sarcasm, perhaps – but a fact, nonetheless. The gender-wage-gap still exists, decades later, though the recent recession has helped boost pay equality between the sexes. Women now hold more than one in ten board seats globally - for the first time in history – but one need only look to the US Senate and House to witness a stunning disparity of power between the sexes: 445 legislators are male, 93 are female (as of August 2011.)

This past weekend, Husband and I took the kids to a 25th anniversary production of Les Miserables. My kids have listened to the score for years, and were somewhat shocked to watch the story leading up to one of their favorite songs: I dreamed a dream in time gone by, when hope was high and life worth living..... but life has killed the dream I dream.

The haunting solo is sung by a woman who is left by her lover and forced to care for their child. Working in a factory to subsidize her daughter’s miserable life, she is taunted, bullied, and eventually dismissed from her job by a factory foreman whose advances she has rejected.  Desperate for money, the woman sells her possessions and her hair, before being forced into a life of prostitution. When she defends herself against an abusive customer, she is beaten and arrested, then taken to a hospital where she will eventually die.

Seated beside my daughters and sons, I watched this excruciating scene, wondering how my kids perceived such brutality and hopelessness. Les Miserables depicts life in France between 1815 and the eve of the 1832 Paris Uprising. Needless to say, not the best of times for women.

Fast forward to 2012. As our family left the theatre, the Rush Limbaugh vs. Sandra Fluke drama was heating up on radio, TV and social networks. Almost 200 years later, Limbaugh’s crass, offensive, and degrading attack on Fluke rendered him the perfect modern-day factory foreman and/or abusive customer; a man eager to watch Fluke’s imagined activities, if not participate in them personally.

And Fluke-to hear Limbaugh tell it- was the modern day prostitute.

Except that Fluke is actually a Georgetown law student and women's rights advocate.

The drama, a week old, now has the equally offensive commentator Bill Maher stepping up as Limbaugh’s unlikeliest supporter. Maher is defending Limbaugh from unforgiving liberals,even as (or because) unforgiving conservatives are lashing out at him for making even cruder comments about conservative female politicians and commentators. Maher actually snickers about Limbaugh’s fleeing sponsors, suggesting that he can continue to say anything he wants because, “I don’t have sponsors, I’m on HBO.”

If it wasn’t so disturbing, it might be funny.

Let’s face it. Limbaugh and Maher, and a myriad of shock jocks, commentators, and entertainers attack, objectify, and degrade women on a regular basis- slander disguised as humor.

Lots of regular guys do it, too, albeit without an audience of millions.

Those of us in ear shot of such comments just laugh. Roll our eyes. Dismiss them as childish.  

You know. The way Mitt Romney responded to Limbaugh’s verbal assault by saying, “I wouldn't have used those words."

Or Rick Santorum, who remarked, "He's being absurd. But ... an entertainer can be absurd." Santorum even argued that “he's not responsible for responding to -- or policing -- every comment made by conservative commentators.”

But Conservative, Liberal, Moderate, Disengaged and/or Uninterested - we are all responsible for responding to character assassinations and degrading attacks against women that the Limbaughs and Mahers of the world spew - with vitriol and hatred - to millions of listeners.

Their foul rants are supposed to be funny. Entertaining. Especially if we agree with their politics.

In fact, they are abusive. And powerful.

Such ‘free speech’ may be protected by our constitution, but it's nothing more than an abuse of power; words employed by men to degrade and control women.

Up in arms, women are reaching out via social networks to protest Limbaugh's tirade against Fluke. But we alone cannot lead the charge to expose and neutralize such aggression and aggressors.

Every father, brother, husband, boyfriend, and son must help.

Turn them off. Tune them out.

Because violent scenes of a life portrayed centuries ago, and a silly remark made decades ago, still ring true today.

Because Sandra Fluke may as well be our daughter, sister, wife, girlfriend, mom.

Because Sis and Lil Sis- now seventeen and eighteen -should never have to feel less respected, worthy, or significant than their brothers.  

They are young and unfraid. Hope is high and life worth living.

Words must not kill the dream they dream.


QUING Hereby Decrees:  Rephrasing Carville's famous rally cry: "It's the discourse. Stupid!"