Song #fiveminutefriday

Write. For five minutes straight. One-word prompt, five minutes, no editing. I'm linking up over at Lisa-Jo Baker (aka The Gypsy Mama) where we read, write and encourage.

I would ask you to sing for me, each night before you tucked me in. It was our little ritual: one that has been so long buried and avoided I'm not even sure I could remember the song myself. I think I've had a lot of songs sung to me over the course of my life- G-ma singing "my Brianna lies over the ocean", Mr. E sang of killing beetles to save me- but yours is always the one I think of when I seek comfort.

I loved to pull my covers up tight beneath my chin (I've never liked my shoulders to be exposed) and watch your face as you sang to me of His amazing grace. Grace that you've always found present in your life, grace that shines through everything you do.

Even now I think my love of music stems from you. Some of my favorite memories are dancing around the house, singing and cleaning. I do this now and Mr. E thinks I'm nuts, but I do it in remembrance of you and the things you taught me. To enjoy what I'm doing. To express my happiness to others. To sing of His amazing grace, even when we shouldn't sing, precisely because we can't sing. 

I miss that part of you. 

Just Another Fruit

It surprised me when she started to talk. I was in the kitchen, my hair in its after-work bun, no make up, barefoot. I wasn't ready for guests in the house, evidenced by my college sweatshirt- the one I only wore without a bra.

"Hi," she exhaled softly, trying to keep her voice down. "I'm Leah."

I had one hand on the freezer side of our french-door refrigerator, the other on the grimy handle of the open fridge, trying for all the world not to fall in. It was the coolest place in the house at the moment and I wasn't about to let this hussy guilt me out of my own kitchen.

I faked a smile and shook her hand.

"I'm Becky. Nice to meet you."

It wasn't nice at all. There were a lot of things I would rather be doing with my life and pretty much at the top of the list was getting out of this dingy rental and away from my roommate and his constant parade of girls. This was the fifth in three weeks. 

He wasn't that bad normally. My boyfriend and I took him in partly out of pity, but also because he could pay rent immediately. He was a hipster at its finest: a grubby plaid shirt, an old beanie that sagged in the back and a back pocket iPhone that played haunting folk songs like his life soundtrack. He didn't have a car, his mustache was Captain Hook-esque and he crooned with his acoustic guitar as often as he could. But he seemed eager and willing and that was all we needed.

At first his story was sad: an ex-wife, a six year old son he never saw, a job in which he worked 10 hour shifts six days a week. But then it just got pathetic: the chain-smoking, the stumbling in drunk at 3 am, the phone fights with his ex, his mother and his son visiting for a weekend in which they nearly talked us out of house and home- all government conspiracies and medical problems.

And now girls we only recognized by the cars they parked outside or the distinct shuffle each one made as they slunk through the house the back way. We didn't talk to them and they made sure to avoid us.

This one seemed sweet, but honestly, I'd forget her name by the time I closed the fridge. I knew she would come around once or twice more but finally grow tired of his excuses- how the world was against him, his boss didn't like him or his wife wouldn't let him see his son. Considering the way he tried to hoard our dishes and silverware in his room until he had a full load for the dishwasher or how he never bothered to let our dog out when we were away,  I couldn't blame her.

"I love the way you've decorated in here. It is SO cute," she grinned.

I grabbed a kiwi and closed the fridge with my foot. Maybe this one wasn't so bad after all.

Fast Food Nation

Imdb synopsis:An ensemble piece examining the health risks involved in the fast food industry and its environmental and social consequences as well.

I initially set this movie aside because I thought it was another documentary on America's eating habits. Or a documentary of some sort. No dice. This was a ensemble-cast movie based on a documentary. Which means it was a mismatched, un-coordinated expose following many characters that loosely are connected in the great meat-grinding machine of lies that is America. I was not impressed.

I have a hard time following political movies: not movies about POLITICS but movies that are trying to raise awareness/tell a message. This isn't because I don't agree with the message but because the message is being related poorly. It's hard to get a message across the screen without a story behind it, but I felt that this movie focused more on the former- concocting a viable string of events and characters to better relate to the viewer. I didn't think this worked very well.

You need stories that the audience cares for, that we'll root for; ones in which we can see ourselves, our family, our friends. You make characters with quirks and passions come to life so that your viewers understand and can apply it to their own zany selves. While the characters were quirky and the performances were realistic, the story just didn't mesh well enough for me to enjoy the story as a whole.

On a minor note (minor versus the awesome let-down this movie was), I was terribly disappointed that the ending arc to one of the main female characters was her preoccupation with why the cows she was trying to set free "didn't want to be free". Really? You're going to spend time and energy wondering why a herd of cattle didn't run out of a hole you made in the fence? It's a COW, hun.

Place Beyond the Pines

I had really high hopes for this movie. Yes, it had great actors, but more than that, it was a fantastic director- the same guy who did Blue Valentine, one of our favorite movies- and the story seemed to hit a lot of issues. In the end, it may have been too many issues.

Imdb synopsis:A motorcycle stunt rider turns to robbing banks as a way to provide for his lover and their newborn child, a decision that puts him on a collision course with an ambitious rookie cop navigating a department ruled by a corrupt detective.

First and foremost, Gosling is more than just a pretty face. He does awkward SO. WELL. The little half-smile he has when he's nervous or the thousand yard stare convey a lot. He doesn't feel obligated to "show" you emotion, he "feels" emotion. Even though Gosling was a headliner for the movie- and affects all of the other characters even when he's not on-screen- he wasn't in the movie as much as the other actors were. Which was disappointing because I didn't feel that the rest of the movie was carried very well.

The movie is separated into roughly three parts: Gosling's story, Cooper's story and the story of their sons. It's sort of a generational "sins of their fathers" type of thing. An important thing to remember about movies is that a lot of times they tell the same story, just different. The essence of the movie is the same, it's just the details, the character quirks, the setting and so on that make movies different. And with all of these variables, you could tell the same story over and over again and get a different feeling with each thing you change. So while the plot worked and hit all of the major points, I didn't feel that each third of the movie connected to the others. The message and/or the overall "feeling" of the movie was lost on me because there were so many tie-ins that the plot avoided.

Cianfrance could have stopped with just the story between Gosling and Cooper. Or he could have told the story about Cooper with Gosling as an interesting twist. Heck, he could have given more life to both supporting actresses which were relegated to having events happen to them instead of being three-dimensional characters. Nice try with the bra-less Eva Mendes, though. I bet lots of people enjoyed that.

I was really expecting a gut-clenching tale woven around mistakes made for all the right reasons. Instead I got a twisting, disconnected story with beautiful imagery of Schenectady (SO FUN to say) and too many loose ends.

Thrifty

I love a good thrift store find- in fact, many of my furniture pieces are from thrift stores! I'm drawn to the originality of the furniture there. Need a king size rattan bed? Check. Giant dresser in shocking purple? Check. There's so much life to these things that a little spray paint, elbow grease and a lot of love will bring out!

Case in point: our entertainment console. Mr. E wheeled that baby off the street. It fit the TV I brought with me from college as well as the gleaming hunk of metal Mr. E drools over. Also known as our new TV. We store our video games here, and display some of the things we've picked up on our travels. It also (semi) works for storage. Ideally I'd like to stain it a little darker, but we've stayed our hand since it might not fit when we move. 

We're also crazy about chairs from the Habitat for Humanity ReStore. I was drooling over a comfy wingback when Mr. E spied this one. Faded blue, good condition- it had my name written all over it. 

Then we found these hospital chairs. They're not terribly attractive to look at with that awful fabric, but these are SO. COMFY. Someday I'll have enough time/money/skills to make slip-covers. Or re-upholster. But until then, they don't smell and that's good enough for me.

So when my lab partner confesses his love of thrifting, count on me to suggest a little lunch-break trip! I haven't gone too crazy, considering we're moving and April was the month for FINISHING my projects, not attaining new ones. 

But I just couldn't put Abraham Lincoln down. Look at this face! Does that say stern disapproval or what?! This is actually a two-material-ed cologne bottle (with cologne still), but every blog I follow has a bust or two somewhere. Apparently busts are in. So I took him home, cleaned him off and spray painted him a monotonous soft gray! Ugh, those cheek bones. Jealous...

Of course, it's hard to stop there. Especially when you have rows and rows of fabric/pants/skirts/shirts just waiting to be re-fashioned! Since my little pants-to-shorts event, I picked up more pants (for myself and Mr. E). My pants worked out perfect- they're black corduroy (as pants? shudder) with a really cute waistband. Couple hours on those bad boys and they're shorts too!

Mr. E's were not so easy. I grabbed two pair (8 bucks each, thankyouthriftstores) and while the first pair fit fairly well (we've relegated them to "set pants") the second pair had...a lot of room. 

A LOT of room...below the fly.

 So that's how gangsters do it... 

Here I am, thinking I've GOT this: while Mr. E was on set, I set to work. I felt pretty proud of myself too! Nice straight seams, sewed the crotch together again, yadda yadda yadda. And then Mr. E tried them on and I realized I cut almost ALL of the crotch out. 

He looked over at me with such a pained expression and said, "Baby, you've made me an Abercrombie model."

Oh, well.

My most recent thrift find? Hidden among the pottery and porcelain was this gem: We'll call him Georges. And I love him. Because, you know, I don't have enough stuff on my walls...and while downsizing to move it's almost always acceptable to upsize with cute ceramic cows, right? Right??

Buttermilk Pie

Apparently the South, as a whole, has been keeping something from me. Granted, it's probably in my (and my waist-line's) best interest, but I'm a little disappointed. South, I thought we were friends. I'll agree YOUR fried chicken is the best, I respect your use of "ya'll" and I'll call it the War Between the States if you want. I just wish you would've let me know about buttermilk pie a little sooner. After all, I can cook up a pretty mean Paula Deen impression. 

Granted, I got the idea for this from Beautiful Creatures (awful, don't bother), but when I looked it up I realized it's an Amish recipe? It's all Greek to me, guys.

Buttermilk Pie
1/2c butter
1c sugar
3Tbsp flour
3 eggs (beaten)
1 pinch salt
1tsp vanilla extract
1c buttermilk
1 can of cherries packed in water
pie crust

Preheat the oven to 400F
Beat the butter and sugar together.
Add eggs, then vanilla. Beat well after each addition.
Sift the dry ingredients then add alternately with the buttermilk.
Drain the cherries and arrange in the pie crust. Pour the buttermilk mixture over the cherries and bake for 10 minutes. I added a foil cover here to make sure that nothing burned.
Reduce heat to 350F and bake for 50-60 more minutes. Knife inserted should come out clean when done. 
Serve warm or cool.

I couldn't quite stomach the idea of JUST buttermilk, so I added some cherries. And this was a fabulous choice.

Also, we used a frozen home-made pie pastry. I make them in batches so I can pull out pie whenever I want. Just sayin'.

The best part of this recipe was my little canned cherries floated to the top like red balloons. These were great! A perfect tart flavor to set off the intense cream/custard of the buttermilk mixture.

Link up! Keeping it Simple, Homemaker on a Dime, DIY Showoff, Craft-o-maniac, Not Just a Housewife, Hopestudios, What We Accomplished Wednesdays

Are You my Mother?

I have never known anyone as strong, dedicated, understanding, unselfish, patient, forgiving, helpful, honorable, creative, practical, charismatic and beautiful...

as my mother.

If I can be half the woman she is, I'll know I did something right. 

Mom, I chose one without us crying...or blinking. Apparently that's difficult for us.