Jacquelyn Returns? “The Taste”

Anthony Bourdain being interviewed in the WNYC...

Anthony Bourdain being interviewed in the WNYC radio studio 2006-06-21. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hey, all you peeps at “The Taste.” I’m still disappointed from last week’s fiasco but I will stay loyal and follow out my journey with the show. Especially since my blog post “Nigella vs Jacquelyn” seems to be one of the most popular posts I have written. It’s catching up to “Calling Eppiglottis A Bitch Is A Vast Understatement” and that’s saying a lot.

I have to assume no producer/manager/ TV bigwig read my last post on all the beer drinking on the show because I really would have liked an answer to that. Please?

Call me a pit bull if you want, I take that as a compliment. I guess I’ve got to spread my wings further and go the network route. Okay, no biggie.

Is tonight the last episode? Is it a double-header (wow that would a cause for a lot of beer drinking?)  However, in my dreams Jacquelyn RETURNS!!! She makes a surprise appearance to shock Nigella and then my life would be complete. Jacquelyn would get a standing ovation and Anthony would decide to take all the credit for Jacquelyn’s success and hire her as a sous chef in one of his restaurants. Nigella will fall to the floor, fainting, (we think) Ludow will start screaming (no shock there) and Marcus would peacefully sit down with his team to sing a folk song.

It’s a good ending to the show. Think about it.

Actually, a reality show STARRING Jacquelyn would be even better. You want ratings, you have them. It would be wonderful. You know I’m right, don’t you? The show will be known by one name, yes, “Jacquelyn,” wonder woman with red hair. Still have to applaud you, Jacquelyn, loved the moxie when you walked off the set, love it even more now, actually have loved it since you DID THAT! That is so ME.

Maybe they will give you your own show. Wouldn’t THAT be a riot! Believe me, I would tune in, every week. This is a fabulous idea. Cutie pie cooks are on by the dozen, but we remember YOU. I should be a station manager or at the very least the President of TV Network.

So dudes, before the show starts, bring back some action, some wonderful taste sensations, even ooohs and ahhhs. We need some exciting food with some exciting television. Step up the adrenalin, the spices, even the conflict if you have to because this show is coming to an end. You don’t want last week’s episode to be left on our tongues do you? I want to be dazzled, my lips need to dance with flavor. Bring. It. On.

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Free Write Friday-Words

A golden pearl necklace.

A golden pearl necklace. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A white pearl necklace.

A white pearl necklace. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

train – burlap – fiction – pearls – vertigo

Elizabeth sat upright, wearing a navy suit and sweater in the train. Her only adornment was a string of  pearls that she had been given by her mother, passed on by her grandmother on her 18th birthday.

Normally she would be dressed in jeans and her college sweatshirt with no pearls, her hair down but her mother forced her to wear this dreary outfit once every six months to visit her grandmother or “Grandmama.” Her mom really didn’t ask for much so she did it, but complained more and more each time.

The old bag was horrid, so demanding and old school, prejudiced and controlling. She only wanted Lizzy to be “associated” with upper crust white people like herself. Ugh. Lizzy smiled to herself, she definitely wanted to show grams the latest picture of her and Steve, her wonderful boyfriend who happened to be black, kissing in one of those photo booths. Just the thought of it made her laugh out loud.

Her mom was definitely cooler but when it came to her own mother she acted like a puppet probably because the old bag was a rich  bitch. “This is the last time I am doing this” she said out loud to nobody in particular. But, the train had stopped at her station and she willed herself to get out and walk towards her “Grandmama’s ” house although she had to admit, she wasn’t feeling as proper as she looked.

When her grandmother came to the sitting room she offered Elizabeth a cup of tea from the silver tea set which she accepted graciously.Her grandmother’s face turned sideways abruptly and stayed like that. Lizzy had no idea what she was doing. In a few minutes she was stabbing her cheek with her index finger. Lizzy started to giggle, “what on earth is she doing?” she thought. She really tried to stop but once giggling starts it takes on a life of its own. She bit her lip, trying to stop but burst out laughing. When she was quiet for ten seconds grandmother said firmly “Elizabeth Warren, I demand you to kiss me on my cheek!”

At that, Elizabeth lost it, she really did, first she stood up and howled and then when she calmed down she stood up in front of her Grandmother and said “Excuse me? You DEMAND a kiss? First of all that’s gross and second, no one demands me to do anything. Do YOU understand? Her grandmother was so shocked she said she was getting vertigo and that she might faint but Lizzy knew she was faking it.

“How dare you talk to me that way, Elizabeth! I am going to phone your mother and tell her what you have done.” “Feel free” Lizzie answered politely. She was mad at her mother for putting up with this but there was no way she was going to stand for it.

She stood directly in front of grandma and slowly unbuttoned her blue jacket to show a tight Tee shirt that had The Grateful Dead design on it, she pulled off her navy pants and showed off her beige leggings. She went to the garbage and disposed quite elegantly of her navy blue pumps and was feeling quite pleased with herself. She had taken a huge bag which had her ballet flats in them, because she planned to go to a concert afterwards anyway. She thought for a moment whether or not to ditch the pearls but she decided to leave them on, after all, her mom gave them to her.

Her grandmother’s eyes were wild with anger yet she was speechless, no one ever had disobeyed her like this before. Finally, before she left, Lizzy sat down on the couch and told her grandmother what her life really was like. She showed her the hemp bracelets that Steve made for her, dyed in different colors, she even tied one on her grandmother’s wrist. She made sure to show her the photo booth photos, she stood up, thanked her Grandmother for tea, exited quietly and shut the door behind her.

When she finally got home after seeing the concert her mother asked her how her visit was, with her grandmother. Apparently her grandmother hadn’t called. She grinned widely, shrugged her shoulders and said “fine.”

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Discovering New Books

The Borders book store at the mall.

Image via Wikipedia

Dear Borders, I Miss You.

Once upon a time, in my perfect world, there was a bookstore named Borders in the next big town over. Unfortunately, my life took a huge dive when they closed, my social life as well. Borders was such a great place to meet up with friends, you could both look for books and have coffee downstairs and talk. I would go there at least twice a week if not more. Since they closed, I have certainly have saved money and I use the library much more often, I miss having a place to look at new books.

There used to be a small independent bookstore in my town but that closed too, a devastating loss to the community. I think it’s a horrible situation, are the only bookstores on-line now? That seems sad to me.

I get ideas on-line from looking at Amazon.com, from magazines that review books, from the NY Times Book Review or from a glance at a book cover I find riveting. I ask friends what they are reading or do research on new fiction and non-fiction books. I love the library system and I appreciate them, now more than ever, but I do miss Borders, in every possible way. I thought of it as my home away from home, with their big comfy chairs and everyone talking books. I would start random conversations with strangers perusing books, it was its own community. Sigh, it’s a new world; not one that I particularly like.

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Winter

FICTION

Calm Beauty in Turks & Caicos

It was the middle of winter and gusts of wind came through the house as if there was no insulation. There was nothing she could do to feel warm, she had already added two sweaters and heavy socks. She slowly realized that it wasn’t the amount of clothing that she had on that counted, she felt lost and empty inside, cold to the touch. It wasn’t always like this, she knew, but it had been for quite a few years. She let her mind drift to far away places, sand, sun, tropical islands.

There are choices you make in life, one for the family and one for yourself. She wouldn’t get divorced even if it meant sacrificing her own satisfaction, she would not, repeat not, sell her children’s happiness for her own. She knew a lot of divorced couples but this was not an option for her. They didn’t hate each other, they liked each other in a very friendly way. People talk about not having choices but there are always choices. She chose to keep her family in tact, to accept less fulfillment of other factors, you know, sex, passion, adventure, excitement. Yes, she chose her family, and she would do it again and again NOT to put them through the pain for some what, some fantasy of being 30 again? No. Things were what they were and she accepted that and yes, she was grateful for them. No one said she couldn’t fantasize, fantasies were allowed, no one knew what her mind was thinking or her heart was wishing. She kept things private and she knew that might be old-fashioned but she didn’t care. She was a mother, her kids came first. She had made her decision a long time ago.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Marriage Chapter

He vacuums. And vacuums, again and again. She reads her loaned hard cover novel on the second floor, shivering because of the cold. They do not kiss anymore, she thinks. Not kissing that counts.  We are a floor and a world away from each other, she thinks, as her feet freeze with the dropping temperatures, her fingers like icicles.

The dog lies at the end of the bed snoring soothingly. “Old Girl” she calls her now, trying to prepare herself for the latter years. You are never prepared for death, she knows, but you can try to become acquainted in a tiny mouse-like way for the future. That, she does and has down for years. Not that it helps.

There doesn’t have to be a gut-wrenching scene in a marriage when everything dissolves, it could be just one calm moment after another, it’s not even a dreary moment necessarily. It’s being together, alone. Some say there is nothing wrong with that and to an extent she agrees but back over her shoulder there is an elfish vixen with bright red hair whispering her name coyly. Teasing her, smiling at her, looking away and then back, but not always. It’s always been the game she loved; the challenge was the reward but most people didn’t even realize it. It’s the sultry looks, the eyelids that blink a moment too long that creates the chaos and the longing as well. You had to be in the game to know it; she knew it. She always knew it.

Like yesterday when they went to the ballpark, the three of them yelling and screaming, eating greasy popcorn and hot dogs glistening in oil laying in soft cradled buns, drinking Coke from humongous glasses with straws that jumped up and down. She just sat down, with her sunglasses hiding her face and cried wordlessly. She knew nobody would notice much less care. It had been like that for years and yes, she had let it happen. She did not want to be the one to shake things up, to go out of her routine and ruin their worlds,  their futures. She was not meant to destroy life but create it. Once you have created it, she thought rationally, you need to nurture it. It’s a lifetime job, not one that can change like a temporary assignment every five weeks or so. No, she knew they were all in this factory working together, doing their own jobs to make it work. To make what work you ask? “Family” she replied askance, wondering how one could not understand this immediately. It is not such a difficult concept, she thought, then turned her head down, hid it in her bright red circle scarf and asked herself again “what am I doing here?” A question that she never really answered….

* * * * * * * * * * *

Yes, I Blog!

Pen and Paper
  • Yes, I Blog!
  • https://hibernationnow.wordpress.com
    I loved writing in High School, I wrote poetry and essays and I was on every literary magazine club that existed. I wrote for myself after that but never wrote for public consumption. I have journals dating back to junior high (if they still exist.) A few years ago I started a blog and I had to push myself to do that. I was scared, I was taking a chance and yes, I was growing up at my very ripe old age. I have been blogging since then and I love it. I remember writing the first post with fear but with pride. Now, I have about 450 posts and they truly are a great outlet for me. Not only that, I adore it when readers read my blogs and comment. I feel connected, I feel like my true self. Come visit my blog: https://hibernationnow.wordpress.com