Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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friday 5 at the farm: fast woman

We have an indoor cat now and I kind of need to talk about it.

Let’s back up.

Do you know Fast Woman? The cat? Have you met her? Have I ever even mentioned this sweet crazy girl here before? Of all our many animals, Fast Woman has been part of our farm-ily second to the longest. She was born right around the same month we bought this place, actually, and she grew up tall and she grew up right with the Oklahoma cats on an Oklahoma night.

Sorry.

fast woman

Once upon a time Fast Woman gave us twenty thousand litters of perfect little kittens before I finally caught her to go get fixed. (Open laundry baskets and running cars don’t work with cats, FYI. I didn’t know. And she didn’t trust me for a while after that first try.)

Hey don’t you agree that getting an animal “fixed” is actually getting it broken? Whatevv.

All these years she has been an outdoor cat, wilding herself between the barn and the llama sheds, the gardens and the forest. She’s always been happy this way, and we have known this because on the rare occasions that we brought her indoors she would open her eyes to a terrifying wideness and jump straight up in the air, flinging her body against any window or door to escape.

She hated the indoors but ruled the barnyard. We were all at peace with this arrangement.

Then we adopted three more barn cats who regarded her as the interloper, not the princess of the Lazy W she truly is. To avoid being slap-battled and actively hated by Sonya and Natasha especially, Fast Woman wilded herself more deeply into the forest. She stayed gone for days.

Feral, almost. We missed her.

She visited the house sporadically for a while, then less and less, and sometimes her long periods of absence were so prolonged that we worried for her safety. We called for her, tried baiting her with food at the edge of the forest, and did all the magic card tricks and sorcery we knew to bring her home.

She just didn’t appear for a long time.

Then one day she did!

She crept around the south edge of the bonfire yard early one morning while we were Hot Tub Summit-ing, and Handsome carried her to the house, past the bully cats, into safety. This time, finally, she didn’t peel back her eyelids. She didn’t try jumping up and through every pane of glass to escape. Instead, she happily twirled our legs and purred and accepted every single edible treat we offered, which were many. So many. We were all three quite in love. Well, four if you count Pacino. But she does not reciprocate his deep and abiding love even though cats are his favorite next to baby chicks.

Anyway.

So, now Fast Woman is an indoor cat and I am smitten but at some loss. I’ve not lived indoors with a cat since I was about twelve or thirteen years old, and that cat wasn’t really my responsibility. His name was Garfunkle. He had a friend named Simon, in case you want to know.

Anyway, I have a lot to learn about indoor cats. And a lot of questions.

For Friday 5 this week, how about…

Things I Didn’t know About Indoor Cats:

  1. They actually ARE nocturnal! I sort of thought this was an old wive’s tale. Not at all. She sleeps all dang day (on the prettiest, comfiest couch we own) then around the time we head upstairs she’s like party tiiiiime!! The first two nights were like having a newborn, because I didn’t yet grasp the idea that she could be left to her own devices.
  2. Cats snore. Whoa, it’s actually a really adorable cross between snoring and purring, and it’s quite loud. You can hear it from upstairs if you’re quiet enough. I love it.
  3. Cats know the difference between the sound of a can of tuna being opened and a can of, say, tomatoes or cream of mushroom soup being opened. That’s just amazing.
  4. Sudden noises are scary to cats. I was frying an egg this morning and some butter popped and sizzled, and she lost her little cat mind. Back to the eyelid peeling and window pane jumping. Mix into that some cowering beneath the dining room table.
  5. Cats don’t come to you; they beckon you. Every other animal on the farm, with the possible exception of Dulcinea the hormonal llama, will come to you if you call. This includes the barn cats! Fast Woman, on the other hand, cannot be convinced to join us very many places inside the house. She’s just too comfy. She is, however, super happy if I join her on her couch. Which used to be my reading couch. Now it’s her shedding couch.

As I read back over this list I realize these things are perfectly cliche. Obviously I’m noticing exactly the things which comprise all classic cat jokes, which means I am probably well on my way to more cat cliches.

I’m okay with that. She is the best.

“The cat loves fish but hates wet feet.”
~Medieval Proverb
(also true)
XOXOXO

 

coconut pecan pralines

Pecan Pralines. Another favorite straight from the heart of the French Quarter. This little life luxury is one that always seems more extravagant than it really is. They always come together more easily than I expect, and how perfect for something that hails from The Big Easy, right? I know.

Today I made a variation of this old standby recipe as a thank you gift for our friend Dennis. He was nice enough to come check on the farm during our NOLA absence last week. Which leads me to the reason Pralines (along with some fun hot sauce) are the perfect thank you for him: Dennis always insists that what he does for us is no big deal, that it’s easy, no matter that his help gives us tremendous peace of mind. After that fashion, I like that this tasty treat is fast and easy to prepare but should (hopefully) give him tremendous pleasure. I groove this balance.

My variation today was simple and twofold: I just used much smaller pieces of the same amount of toasted pecans (instead of great big pecans halves) plus some chopped up, toasted raw coconut for fun. About three years ago I secretly made out with a big praline like this in New Orleans and just Fell. In. Love. He gave me beads, we hid behind the banana trees, everyone was happy.

Anyway. The gritty, complicated texture of a coconut pecan praline is only matched in wonderfulness by its buttery, beachy, indulgent flavor. Pecans and coconut are so crazy good together. Eating just one of these will give you a nice Southern drawl whether you like it or not.

pralines scooped w sticker

Here’s the low down:

Ingredients:

1 cup packed brown sugar

1 cup granulated sugar

1/2 cup evaporated milk (not quite one small can)

4 T butter, chopped up

big splash of vanilla extract

1 1/2 cup chopped and toasted pecans

1 cup flaked raw coconut, also chopped and toasted

Such an Easy Method You Won’t Believe This:

1. In a medium saucepan, melt together the two sugars and evaporated milk. Let it all dissolve and cook into golden brown seduction and stir with a wooden spoon as it goes. Now insert a candy thermometer.

2. You’re now watching for the candy thermometer to reach about 240 degrees. Keep stirring, ok? When you see that mercury rise silently to that temp, turn off the heat and drop the diced up butter on top but do not stir anymore yet. Let it rest.

3. In about one minute, add the vanilla, pecans, and coconut. Now stir some more with that same wooden spoon. Stir your little heart out. Stir until the hot, syrupy mixture looks more like opaque candy and you need some muscle to move that spoon. You’re almost done.

pralines in pot

4. Now use an ice cream scoop (just for uniformity and ease, if you care about that) to make about a dozen big, glossy puddles of chunky praline mixture on your prepared cookie sheets. Oh I forgot to tell you to prepare a couple of cookie sheets! Sorry. Just line two with waxed paper or parchment paper. These babies will cool and harden and eventually pop right off of either of those, then you can add them to some soft old tattered linen.

praline done

See how easy? Just a few dishes to wash. Less than half an hour, plus cooling and hardening time. Very few ingredients, too. I dare say you’ll have this classic recipe memorized after one or two passes. And feel free to get creative! In New Orleans, the candy shops boast all variations of the beloved praline: Coconut (like we made today), chocolate drizzled, chewy, boozy, you name it.

Last but not least, do you like to pronounce it pray-LEEN? Or do you say PRAH-leen? I suspect your answer will tell me whether you drink coffee or hot tea. And therefore whether we can be early morning friends.

Thanks again to our friend Dennis for not letting the buffalo escape and for keeping the chickens fed and the parrot more or less sane. Thanks for making sure the llamas didn’t go on any joy rides in my Jeep and for texting me that adorable video of our animals right when I was getting really homesick. You’re the best. I hope you like your coconut pralines and hot sauce!!

Laissez les bons temps rouler!
XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

just an average night of magic in the quarter

On Tuesdays I like to share stories or recipes from the Lazy W kitchen. 
But this week, let’s talk about New Orleans some more.
She certainly deserves the attention.

 

Our dinner plans last night included a long, slow walk from our downtown hotel, along Bourbon Street, past Canal and past Toulouse, the cross street where you’ll find the Saint Anne-Marie. (Next time you have about three hours to sit and listen, ask me about this place.) We strolled easily hand in hand, in zig-zag lines from the uneven brick sidewalks to the open streets and back again to the sidewalks. We dodged the craziest revelers but enjoyed the atmosphere. People watching in the French Quarter is a measurable spectator sport, and we are skilled. The weather continued with such pleasant mildness. I was comfortable in my sundress but also happy to have my denim jacket when the cool breeze kicked up or a retail shop’s open door gushed out icy air.

Our destination last night was my choice, a place we’ve now visited twice, and it’s taking hold as one of our favorites. Right there in the middle of all the action, Bayou Burger on Bourbon has incredible food with excellent service and all the views. We were happy to wait maybe fifteen minutes for a balcony table, and everyone from the host to the server and management made us feel welcomed and not the least bit rushed.

Okay, the food. Remember how I told you that this week I’m indulging in local foods selectively? Trying to enjoy the trip but not sabotage my nutrition before the marathon? Well, last night’s meal was a great example. I ordered something decently healthy but also something you just can’t get anywhere else: I had a Gator Burger, and it was amazing. This thing was a thick, succulent patty made from a mix of ground alligator and lean pork. It’s cooked but still pink, served on a small brioche bun with almost dry jalapeno cole slaw. Very little dressing, just lots and lots of flavor. I chose sweet potato fries as my side, and they were not greasy at all. Perfect. All these flavors and textures together were like magic. Sweet and salty, savory and spicy, hot and meaty, cool and crunchy, soft and chewy, crispy… My gosh. This is the kind of meal that makes all mediocre restaurant meals and afternoons of deprivation worth the wait. And it actually filled my cavernous runner’s belly, which my closest friends will tell you is no small feat!

This is website photo obviously. And for a change, the real thing looked even better. I had mine sans onions and no chips, sweet potato fries instead. You guys. So good.
This is website photo obviously. And for a change, the real thing looked even better. I had mine sans onions and no chips, sweet potato fries instead. You guys. So good.

While eating and talking and laughing and flirting, thoroughly enjoying the balcony view, perfect weather, and eerie rooftop landscape of the French Quarter, Handsome and I noticed a police-escorted black SUV on the cross street. We assumed it was Michelle Obama, as we’d heard the First Lady was in town to pay commendations to the NOLA police department. (They have been successful in eliminating homelessness here among their veterans. Wow!) Immediately behind that quick scene was a small, sudden jazz parade!! This is one of the many benefits of balcony seating: A bird’s-eye view of unplanned parades!

The parade was small in size but not in spirit. They overtook the area with joy! The group was led by a man wearing a much-sequinned black tuxedo, white and silver feathery plumes, a sparkly white derby hat, pageant sash bearing words I couldn’t read, and tap shoes. He danced out front with abandon, frothing up every spectator and sending the energy all around him up to the clouded sky. The band played smooth white instruments, and they were followed by a large group of people wearing business clothes and convention name tags. Everyone was on cloud nine, including us. The party turned a corner in front of our balcony and we took our seats again to watch them pass. We could hear their music for several blocks, not to mention the wake of celebration they left.

date night jazz parade

As we returned to our delicious meals, I felt a twinge of happy-sad. I looked up at my husband and recognized the same expression in his green eyes. As I’ve said many times, this city has a hold on us. She draws us in and toys with our emotions. She makes us feel like we belong then reminds us that we are outsiders. Embraced then rejected, over and over. So weird. Do other people have such odd connections to foreign places?

After dinner, both fully satiated, we walked back up Bourbon and stopped in at the Jazz Garden to listen to Steamboat Willie play. An older couple was dancing before a tightly packed crowd of maybe 200 people. Some standing like us, some seated at little iron tables bearing paper plates of beignets and powdered sugar. When I say this couple was dancing, I do not mean they were swaying timidly; they were lost in the moment. Twirling, spinning, trading the spotlight, dipping and circling each other. Wow! Wearing sensible shoes and tourist clothes, they moved quickly and with complex and perfect coordination, a beautifully fluid harmony between them. For much of the interlude her eyes were even closed. Watching them, I felt tears well up in my own eyes. Handsome stood behind me, holding me, and we swayed in our own way, just amazed. Eventually I felt someone watching us. The patio lights blurred. The banana trees dipped down to embrace us all as one pulsing, weeping group. When their dance was finished, they took an exaggerated bow and the intimate crowd rewarded them with such applause!

date night wille band

The very next song was “What a Wonderful World,” that Louis Armstrong classic. Willie crooned into his microphone and Handsome crooned into my ear. Chills. We held each other and soaked up every vibe. I wept for happy reasons and sad ones and suspect he did too. A few times when the song approached key lyrics, the singer invited the crowd to join in. So he sang Friends shaking hands, saying how do you do? They’re really saying… Then the crowd, in a hushed but muscular voice, I LOVE YOU!! I got the tightest squeeze around my middle from the best arms in the world. Then at the end, slowly, Willie sang, And I think to myself… and the crowd, so softly, What a Wonderful World…

We kissed and danced in our small, timid ways in the undulating banana tree shadows then left for the short walk back to our hotel. My heart finally agreed with my head that this place is meant for such moments of magic, for nights of refreshment and connection, not for living. We got that magic last night, all of the refreshment and connection, and still a good life waits for us. A very good one.

And I think to myself…
XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

friday 5 at the farm: cravings

Happy Friday! Are you landing once again at the cusp of a hard earned weekend, equal parts exhausted and exhilarated? We sure are. What a week it has been at the W and in the worlds surrounding us. Whew!

april sky

Today I have some cravings that just won’t be shaken. So I’m gonna stir them, Friday 5 style:

  1. Running: Marathon tapering is in full effect and I feel restless to the max. I am up to date on all my training miles and actually grabbed my last 8 mile run on Wednesday, anticipating nasty weather this weekend, but other local runners are still looking forward to ten miles on Saturday. So now what? I feel weird. Really super duper weird. Like, am I off schedule now? Will my energy be weird until the race in 9 days? So, because at this point in my life running is the answer to every problem, I snuck outside in the soft rain for three easy miles on hills then wrapped it up with 20 minutes on the elliptical. Feeling good. Excited. But still craving a few long, stretched out hours of running!
  2. Tex Mex food: Like, as if that’s ever not the case. But rainy weather makes this craving stronger. I could really go for a massive steak fajita salad with warm tortilla chips, pico de gallo, guacamole, lime juice on black beans, freezing cold Diet Coke, and lots of sombreros hanging on the plaster walls. Maybe some mariachi music too.
  3. The Beach: Hot, abundant sunshine, limited clothing, and new books by Aimee Bender and Dean Koontz. Plus snacks and my husband sleeping next to me or swimming in the clear, salty water, watching birds and fish. No electronics.
  4. Fun: To laugh until it hurts with my favorite people. To stay up late by the bonfire, trading stories and screaming at imagined ghosts. To give and receive countless hugs and high fives. Games. Jokes. Connection. Yes to all the fun!!
  5. My babies: To have my girls here with us. Or at least to have continued assurance that they are happy and well. I have been dreaming of them so vividly this past week, very much along the same vein as those dreams I had right before Joc came home. It’s encouraging and thrilling. I crave the real thing.

What are you craving? Tell me everything.

XOXOXOXO

how not to fight with your loving husband if you are tapering during PMS

Or, this could be titled, “how not to fight with your loving husband if you are experiencing PMS during your taper week.” However you look at it. Is a zebra back with white stripes, or white with black stripes?

Either way, for the second year in a row, I am tapering for the marathon during the exact days my body is, shall we say, waning toward its new moon? Yes, let’s say it like that. I am about to be depleted in every conceivable way (no pun intended) (not that we’re conceiving), and if I’m not careful things could get dicey on the home front. Normally during these few days I’m not a total nightmare, but I do cry easily at Geico commercials, and here is the general sum of my personality: I am highly suspect of all politeness, assuming it must be a fearful if silent comment on what a bad mood I’m in.

Seriously, if Handsome and I ever engage in marital battle, it is almost exclusively during those few days of PMS, and it is almost always because I was so fed up with him being so careful with my feelings.

side-eye-chloe-meme-generator-could-you-freaking-not-be-so-nice-712d5f

LOL. His wife is such a peach.

So, throw some bouncy legs and an anxious mind into the mix, and we have ourselves an interesting situation. Here’s my 5-step plan to keep the peace:

  1. Eat Healthfully. No last minute extreme dieting, but also no emotional binge eating to soothe my nerves. I’m gonna eat right, stay hydrated, and continue taking iron, vitamins, and if necessary, Midol. (“Do you mean the bitchy pills, Ray?”)
  2. Gentle Exercise. Since my running (the obvious stress buster) has to be slashed down to a bare minimum, I’ll spend the next ten days walking plenty, and I’ll do it outdoors for the best mood lifting results. I’ll also spend time with my favorite yoga videos.
  3. So much reading. I am up to my splintless (thank-you-baby-jesus) shins in really good books right now, and with all this spare time on my hands (what with the not running) I plan to zen out with great food for thought. One is Sydney Portier’s spiritual memoir. Another is a new release piece of fiction by Dean Koontz (haven’t read him since probably my twenties, got a sudden craving for his language). And then there’s our book club’s current selection, which is another memoir: this one is by a female photojournalist who spent most of her career in war-torn countries. Hhmm. Okay, so maybe I’ll save that last one for after the race. Book club is exactly one week following, anyway. Plenty of time later.
  4. Reality Check. I will remind myself as often as needed that this whole situation is completely voluntary and that it was me, not him, who volunteered for it. Moreover, that along the way he has been incredibly supportive of me and brags about me constantly for no reason, so I really have no right to make him pay an even higher price for my pent up adrenaline by fighting with him. No matter how many weird little moments of rub we may experience, I am resolved to not over-thinking a single word or facial expression.

    Among other sweet gestures, he makes sure my shoes are the bomb.
    Among other sweet gestures, he makes sure my shoes are the bomb.
  5. Fingers Crossed and Dark Chocolate in the Pantry Just in Case. Because you can’t be too careful.

 

I hope this is useful to at least one other woman out there who has such similar good fortune as me to taper during PMS. It is so awesome and I really hope this happens every time I run a marathon!! Can you hear me gritting my teeth as I say that?

Now share with us your own wisdom. Have you ever tapered at an already difficult time? How did you cope? Are you local and will you come rescue my sweet, wonderful husband?

The struggle.
It’s real.
XOXOXO