Lazy W Marie

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

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Couch Surfers (installment tres)

See the beginning of our couchsurfing story here.
And part deux here.
   Note:  For the sake of anonymity we shall for now dub our couchsurfers Romeo and Juliet. 
At least until I get an all clear smoke signal to reveal their real names, faces,
and social security numbers to the world. 
 
********************

   You would think we were awaiting two people who were sure to change our lives forever.  (Maybe we were…)  Handsome and I are accustomed to house guests, of course, as well as meeting new people and travelling ourselves, but this was a whole new ball game.  A strange melange of the three experiences.  Anticipation was thick in the downstairs of our house.

   I tried to be cool and calm, like him, but the harder I tried this the squeakier my voice sounded and the more I walked around stiffly on my tip toes.  Ridiculous behavior for a woman my age.  Which is 25.
   Everything was as in order as it could be and the head lights now shone still, directly in our front window.  A passenger door was opening.  Together we stepped out onto the front sidewalk to welcome our guests, and I knew immediately we were gonna like them!  They hummed with that good vibe, even from eight feet away.

   We all four traded introductions and warm, brisk handshakes.  I think I may have, without warning, attack-hugged them.  It happens.  My policy is hug first, ask questions and make apologies later.  Luckily, Romeo and Juliet both laughed at this and followed us inside the house with big smiles on their travel-weary faces.

   I love big, genuine smiles. On anyone.  This is one of my favorite things in the world, and that night I was gifted with two right off the bat.  All remaining traces of anxiety dissolved in that moment. 
   We gave them a super brief tour of the downstairs rooms, assuming that after hours of driving they would need the water closet.  Pacino, our macaw, was overwhelmed by the late night appearance of new faces and immediately flooded the room with jungle calls, big, juicy greetings like HELLOOOOO, and exaggerated full body bouncing.  Inwardly I quizzed myself, “You did warn them about this, right?  Surely you told these good people that they would be sharing the downstairs with a noisy, messy, feathered toddler?”
   “Oh this must be Pacino!”  said Juliet.
    Whew.
   Handsome smoothly up shifted unto Host gear, one of the sexiest roles he plays in my opinion.  Yes, I can throw a little shin dig on my own, but it is never as fun as when we do it together.  Hosting, that is.  Ahem.
   Then, in the few minutes it took the three of them to unload suitcases and sort of settle in, I finished detailing the spread of food and drink.  Every light downstairs was on; Cajun music was playing in the background (light and bubbly, festive tunes, uncommon enough to probably not have negative connotations for anyone); and Pacino had more or less composed himself. 
   If Romeo and Juliet had big, genuine smiles a moment ago, their expressions changed to enthusiastic at the mention of food.  We all found seats at the dining room table.  Romeo decided to forgo the use of a fork , placing me in a small, cozy corner of heaven…
   Ladies and gentlemen who cook for friends or family, is there anything as gratifying as watching people consume and really enjoy your food?  Even if it is just from abject starvation, as may have been the case this evening, you know you are meeting a need in that moment, and it is such a good feeling. 
   We all four lingered at the table for well over an hour, refilling plates and glasses, nibbling on dessert, plunging into a sudden acquaintance.  At some point we migrated toward the couches and struck up a spontaneous dance off with Pacino. 

   Can you even imagine how happy this bird was? 

   Although it was a weeknight and we’d been busy all day, my energy surged around 10:30 p.m.  I felt like I could stay up all night talking with this young couple, soaking up our differences and similarities, celebrating that no murders were on the agenda.  I learned volumes about them.  Their origins and current lives, their travels, their plans, the books they read and the movies they watch.  Two fascinating human beings whose paths we may never have otherwise crossed.  We traded plenty of stuff about ourselves, too.  I mentally added a few good sounding titles to my reading list per Juliet’s suggestion.

   It was probably close to midnight when the yawns and crackly spine twists became frequent enough to agree it was bedtime.  I showed Juliet a few provisions in their bath room, prepped the coffee maker for an early morning wake up, and attack-hugged everyone once more.  Even Handsome, ignoring the fact that we were about to retire to our bed as a pair. 
  No foot rubs to boast.  But on the bright side, also no knives.  We survived to enjoy a great night’s sleep and then our first couchsurfing breakfast…

To be continued…

Couch Surfers (part deux)

Also see the beginning of this story.
   Where we left off I was in a small shopping frenzy, counting down the quarter hours till our out of state guests might arrive.  I had Hostess Butterflies, something that doesn’t happened very often these days.  I needed a shower.  Handsome was feverishly wrapping up his day at the office, due home soon. 
Allow me to say right here how fun it is
to share an adventure like this with my best friend! 
xoxoxo 
   What kind of people would they be?  Would they be able to tolerate my food?  Could we find anything to talk about, or would the next fourteen hours be filled with awkward silences bound by polite smiling and bath towel fetching?  If they are murderers, what would their chosen method of killing be? 
   “Pleeeeaaaase not knives.  Please let them be foot-rub serial killers.  And please let them wait till after dinner, cause I am famished.”  These were some of my thoughts.  But I wasn’t really worried because Handsome was home now.  And he is well versed in the art of Wife Protection.

   I arrived back at the farm with plenty of time to lob my chain store purchases into approximately their correct places, double check our clean sheets supply, and cook dinner.  Which, by the way, did not turn out to be anything classically Oklahoman.  I opted to follow Ina Garten’s advice and serve guests simple comfort food that I am confident preparing.  So we had PBJ’s and tortilla chips.  Not really, but it crossed my mind.
   I also rinsed off in the shower and doused myself with too much perfume, thinking that would either boost my conversation confidence or choke everyone into necessary silence.
   Our Couch Surfers had some travel delays but nothing problematic. They ended up arriving a couple of hours later than expected.  No biggie.  The extended wait had the wonderful effect of calming my nerves rather than amping me up further. 
   Around 8:30 that evening we spied headlights at the front gate.  I had just a bit ago put trays of food in the oven to rewarm.  So now I brought them out, turned on some cool music, and peed one last time. 
   Do you pee a little extra when you’re nervous or excited?  

 

Good Girl Sangria

   Inspired by the images on this post and then by the recipe linked up on this one, last week I used a one dollar garage sale find and a recipe altered for non drinkers to serve my pretend sister some fake sangria.  Convoluted enough yet?

   Unfortunately, there are no decent photos of the finished product to prove that this happened,  but she and I know the truth.  And since I am not a food blogger, that is all that really matters… 

*UPDATE: Adding a slightly blurry photo from a book club event!*

  
   So, in case you’re interested, here is the basic formula…

Good Girl Sangria

   Use a gallon sized glass container if you have one, and make sure it fits inside your fridge.  And make sure you have non linty towels to clean up the sticky mess you will find in your fridge if it turns out that your dispenser leaks.  Like mine.
   Also, mix this several hours in advance, even the night before if you can.  We discovered it tastes even better on day two, perhaps needing only fresh bubbly stuff poured in for volume.  The fruitiness  gained in concentration, so I doubt you’d have to worry about diluting the flavor.
3 Tablespoons sugar
Happy splash of Fresca (enough to swish around and dissolve the sugar)
1 orange, sliced
1 lemon, sliced
2 peaches, pitted and cut into wedges
3 plums, pitted and cut into wedges
2 cinnamon sticks (confession:  mine were left over from the holidays and MIGHT have even been decorative ones, not sure how much flavor they actually added)
1 bottle of a good, tangy fruit juice, NOT fruit juice cocktail.  Choose a 100% juice, no sugar added.  This punch will be plenty sweet enough already.  I think I bought cranberry-pomegranate.
Remainder of 2-liter bottle of Fresca.
   Stir it all together, seal it up so no fridge secrets distort the flavor, and enjoy it in a few hours.  Even the kiddos liked it, and it was guiltless, being almost free of refined sugar and LOADED with fresh vitamins.  The next day I had short, handsome guests who were happy to eat some of the marinated fruit!
   Most importantly, it looked good.  Floating fruit, delicate sunset pastels, whispers of carbonation…  Looks are most important in life, right?

Rural Auction Etiquette

   A little like a garage sale, a little like Mexico shopping villages, and yet nothing at all like these things, an auction out in the country is an exercise in both restraint and certainty.
   Restraint  & certainty are not among my strong suits. 
   Sometimes Handsome & I find auctions of just general household stuff…  Other times animal auctions, other times auctions or estate sales of tools, equipment, & farm implements.  Recently we’ve ventured into events which are dedicated to caged poultry and nothing else.  Each is special in its own way.

   In case you should ever find yourself invited to such a soiree, please pocket the following short list of tips.  These are trade secrets I rather wish someone had shared with me ahead of time.

  • Dress the part.  This is a good time to be a follower and a blender-inner.  Your hairstyle is also important, though for a more functional reason.  Before you leave home consider securing your tangly, untamed hair, at least well enough that you do not need to constantly flip it around.  Ponytail adjustments, in some circles, are taken as bids.  A good option is a baseball cap and sunglasses.  Your hair will stay put better and your eyelessness will help to conceal your expressions.

  • While the bidding is going on, avoid carrying on conversations that are prone to be overly affirmative. 
Imagine yourself and your spouse at an auction.
You are a good, active listener
who is wrapped up in a nice, juicy talk with your beloved. 
Imagine your agree with your spouse a lot during this talk
and so bob your head up and down, maybe even
blinking dramatically here and there, for effect.
But imagine you also don’t want to miss any developments at the microphone,
where a nice looking Angus is being auctioned.
Or instead of cattle it could be a chipped
but beautiful piece of Frankoma pottery. 
You have maintained both eye contact with the auctioneer
and ear contact with hubby.
What just happened is you kept the conversation afloat 
but you also gave the appearance of a stealthy bid. 

Only very merciful auction houses will let this slide more than once.

And needless to say the misunderstanding brings
your fascinating conversation to a grinding halt. 

Fewer marital events kill the “open up to me, honey” mood
more quickly than the purchase of an unwanted steer.

  • I have learned the hard way to not bad mouth items for auction whilst circulating through the crowd, no matter how funny you think you are.  Chances are, at these intimate affairs, the sellers are nearby and they have feelings.  Trash and treasure, baby.  Trash and treasure.
  • Don’t take your camera.  Do.  Not.  It’s true that rural auctions are GREAT photo opportunities, among the world’s best really, but they are just not the place for clicking away.  Talk about sticking out like a sore thumb…  And once you’re pegged as an outsider, the sharks will circle.  They know how to run up your bids without hardly trying.  They work in a maniacal, silent network that I am just beginning to understand.  Outsider?  Bad.  Outsider with a CAMERA?  Tourist.  You’ll go home with treasures, but expensive ones.
  • Beyond just not showing your emotions, also try to resist emotions in general.  Getting attached too quickly or too strongly to any auction item is dangerous.  It can cause you to pay too much or to chase after lesser items if you lose the good stuff.  Even if you are admiring cute little baby ducks that are so dang cute oh my lord they want to come with me pleeeeaaase can we bid on them… take a deep breath and walk away without fawning.  Another auction will be here before you know it.  Chill baby, baby, chill…
  • Pay attention to the posted buyer’s premium.  This is the rate YOU pay to the auction house, on top of the price you win while bidding.  Not all auctions have this, but the larger companies probably do and this can add up quickly while you shop.
  • Oh, speaking of money adding up, a biggie:  “Four times the money!”  Exciting.  This means you pay, big shocker, four times the price you bid.  This happens when a set of something is up for bid, for example four tires, but the auctioneer often slips it in kind of casually.  I guess the sharks know when to expect this, but you might imagine the chaos it triggers for a wide eyed, bobble headed, camera wielding tourist.  This also comes in the form of two times the money, three, seven, etc.  Bidder beware.
  
   My hope is for everyone to give rural auctioning a chance.  It is a fantastic way to form and build unusual collections, and it is cheap, interesting entertainment.
   Best of luck in the restraint and certainty departments, though.  The buzz of a crackling microphone and the perfume of dust and mildew are enough to set this tourist off into unbridled purchasing.  May the force be stronger with you.

Funny Reasons to Break Up With Someone

   Just for kicks, a list.  Because in fun conversations lately I have made an accidental collection of stories about why people end romantic relationships.  I use the word romantic pretty generically here, most notably because at least three of the reasons below were offered by junior high students.  I kid you not.  Stop preaching to me about how I too had junior high romances; that was different.  These kids are babies!  I was practically an adult back then.  Right, Mom?  Mom?
  • He smelled too much like soap.
  • She was selfish.  (This one was funny to me because of the ages of the kids involved.  Aren’t all kids selfish?)
  • I woke up bored, and I’m pretty sure he has nothing to talk about either.  So I proactively called and broke up so I could get on with my day.
  • I was tired of getting in trouble with my parents over him.  Not worth it.  (Wow, how often does THAT actually happen?)
  • He came to see me at work and it really hurt my feelings.  (Really?)
  • She expected me to let her cows graze on my pasture, no questions asked.
  • She was, like, soooo immature.  And Facebook is nooo place for immaturity.
  • She was a liberal.
  • She was pretty and a Pom girl but I couldn’t stand her personality.
  • He couldn’t give up meat.
  • I finally got to ride in her Dad’s exotic sports car, which is the only reason I liked her in the first place.    (Obviously this poor girl gave the milk away for free.)

   People are funny.  My gorgeous and charming cousin (Hi Jen!) summed it up perfectly:  “If it’s not there, it’s not there.”  Yes, at some point the reason doesn’t really matter. 
   Conversely, if it is there, the reasons may still be elusive to the point of making the people in love seem a bit wacky.  There is no accounting for either taste or love.

   What are some reasons you’ve ended a relationship? 
What crazy Seinfeld-esque stories are you willing to share?