What I’m reading: Milk Cow Kitchen

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I’m catching a flight to Seattle in less than 6 hours and I’m breaking one of my cardinal rules, which is to never, ever take a real book on a plane.  Real books are too heavy and clunky and they limit you to just one thing, whereas my Kindle offers a world of books in a teeny little device.  There’s only one thing that will make me break that tried-and-true rule and that’s a new book by MaryJane Butters.

If you aren’t familiar with MaryJane Butters and MaryJanesFarm, I have to ask you – what are you doing with your life?! Put down your iPhone, log off Facebook, and listen up.

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Character study, or the day I met Hottie McWow

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He looks like he belongs inside the issue of Men’s Health that he’s clutching in his hands. Muscled, veiny hands, with thick, long fingers and veins that convey strength. All of him looks strong, really, which is why I notice him sitting on a bench. We’re both on the third floor of the parking garage at SEA-TAC Airport, waiting to take a shuttle into the city. I’m sitting 20 feet away, but even from that distance, I can’t miss him. He’s broad – his shoulders are so broad that all I can think is “lumberjack” or “personal trainer.” He’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, but it clings to his biceps in a way that makes my mouth water. A white t-shirt never looked so good. When he stands to grab his bag, I can see that he’s easily 6 feet tall or more. Narrow hips. Strong thighs encased in worn denim that fits him ridiculously well.

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Room with A View

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I’m sitting on the floor of my hotel room. The sliding glass door is wide open, the air swooping through the room, carrying with it the sounds and smells of the city I love.  The sun is sinking away now, taking the blue sky with it and leaving soft, burnished beauty in its wake.  There is an occasional call of a seagull as it careens between the skyscrapers before heading back out to Elliott Bay.  Air brakes hiss.  Music thumps.  The air smells like food – Chinese, Thai, Mexican – sweet and spicy, but with a hint of salt.

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The 70th Anniversary of D-Day – a powerful monologue

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Bob Hope was not only an entertainer but a passionate supporter of the troops both during World War II and after.  The night of D-Day, June 6, 1944, Americans were tuned to their radios, eager for any invasion news updates that they could get.  Most shows were pre-empted for news broadcasts, but Bob Hope went on the air at 10:15pm on NBC.  Instead of his normal antics, he began his show with this sober and reverent monologue that withstands 70 years of time.

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Why I’m mum on rape culture – a tale of coming out on the other side

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When I was twenty years old, I was on my own for the first time. A chunky white girl moving to a big(ger) town meant I was out of my league without realizing it. I lived in a second story apartment with my newly adopted puppy and I worked the swing shift. I’d just dropped out of culinary school and broken up with the love of my life, so I was ready to experience new things. Life was about living it and I fully intended to experience everything I could.  (Oh, the innocence of wide-eyed youth.)

The building sitting across from my apartment held a row of townhouses. In the townhouse closest to my apartment lived a handsome man and his stunning girlfriend. We said hello coming and going and had a generally neighborly relationship. That man had a cousin named Troy, who was gorgeous, fit, and shockingly enough, seemed to be interested in me.

As a fat girl from a small town, I hadn’t had a lot of experience with men. The fact that this smokin’ hot man was interested in me excited me. One night after I came home from work, I was out on the patio reading a book when Troy came out of the townhouse next door. He spoke to me, we flirted for a few minutes, and then he asked me if he could come up. Naively, I said yes.

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The epicenter

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When I was a kid, my house had a library.  Okay, it was really just an unused dining room filled from floor to ceiling with bookshelves, but to an introspective, socially awkward girl like myself, it was a refuge.  There, I learned about the world through the encyclopedias that ran along the bottom shelves. I was exposed to history through the hundreds of World War II books Dad had, as well as stacks of Life magazines from the 40s and beyond.  The library was where I discovered smut and would sneak through pages of Clan of the Cave Bear when Mom and Dad weren’t home, my mind sucking up words like “throbbing” and “turgid.”  And there, in the Romance section (aka Mom’s books), I was introduced to the book that I realize now has had a huge influence on my life as a lover of the written word.  When I was 12 years old, I read Ashes in the Wind by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss for the first time.

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When You’re a Country Girl (memoirs)

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Running barefoot in the morning grass, the freshly-cut blades sticking to your feet.  Mom won’t let you back into the house until you’ve sprayed your feet with the water hose but, even after the grass is all gone, the bottoms of them stay green for a full day.

Spending most of your afternoon standing in the cool shade of the old oak tree, unable to take your eyes away from the tiny little green frog that’s been clinging to the bark. (You name him Phil.)

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Old ink = new ink

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I love tattoos.  I got my first tattoo when I was 20.  My sister took me to a tattoo place in the Highlands neighborhood of Louisville and my tat was done by this biker dude with a long beard who couldn’t stop laughing at me because I hyperventilated and nearly passed out from the pain.  When it was done, approximately 4 minutes later, I had a tiny (1 inch tall) tattoo of a yellow daisy on my outside left ankle.  My 20-year-old self loved that tat.  I felt like a badass.  My sister, of course, spent the next decade commenting about my “mole” that looked like a flower because it was so small.

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