Archive for July, 2010
July 21, 2010 @ 6:21 am | Filed under: It's a Girl Thing,Pure Sunshine,The Writing Life,Uniquely Me
I love beautiful, simple things.
Like old aprons with a rich history, books with a timeless story, people with a look of love in their eyes, and days dotted with laughter and meaning.
There is something about real simplicity that speaks volumes to my soul. It renews me somehow, reminds me of all that is truly important and all that is not.
Simplicity is an apron tie that binds my heart strings…
I appreciate the brilliance of the Kindle, but on some days there is nothing that gives me greater satisfaction than holding a book in my hands…breathing in that deeply musty scent and fingering the pages even while the words take my mind to a place far, far away.
I adore my iPhone and all of the apps and texting and messaging it allows me…talking to many friends at once without really talking at all…But on some days there is nothing that does my heart more good than to sit down over a cup of coffee with a friend who knows my heart and talk for real…and laugh and laugh and laugh…and even cry a tear or two if the moment calls for it.
Simple, beautiful things. They are the apron ties that create simple, beautiful moments…
And I’ve learned how life often hands them out.
Good and beautiful moments followed by trying and sad. Complex hurdles and challenges balanced perfectly with simple happy days. Intricate layers of learning and knowing, feeling and being, moving forward and being content to simply reside in the moment.
I don’t think I’d have it any other way. I love the simple, the good, the happy. But without the trying, the complex, the sad, the good just wouldn’t seem as good and there would be no desire to inch forward…to the better that is just waiting to be realized.
(1) my grandmother’s apron…worn thin and stained from a lifetime of making pecan pies for the family! (2) my newest find in Natchitoches, Louisiana – love the retro look! (3) the apron I’m TRULY jonseing for…it’s calling my name!
I find myself challenged lately to really think about the broader scheme of life and circumstances, and how to have a greater understanding of purpose.
Wanting to live purposefully and knowing that, at any given moment when things seem just as they should be – whether it’s enjoying a luxurious morning with a delicious book or a relaxing afternoon with a dear friend over a cup of coffee – my awareness alone for the simple and beautiful things in life is the beginning of my purposeful journey.
I’m trying to capture these thoughts and more for a new story I’m working on this summer. Without further ado – may I introduce you to my summer writing project…a way I’ve found to mix all that I love (people, books, God) with all that I find inspiring (food, aprons, writing).
Here’s a peek…I hope you enjoy!
The Apron Ties that Bind Series:
“Amanda, Jessica, Elizabeth and Lauren are more than mere sisters. They own and operate a business together—their family’s old world-style Italian cafe. Four sisters—four distinct personalities—and four ways of managing the cafe their parents willed to them.
Amanda, the eldest and the most conservative, runs a tight ship and keeps a strict eye on finances.
Jessica, the free spirited bohemian of the bunch, finds life inside the restaurant too confining for her taste.
Elizabeth, quiet and loyal, is the peacemaker, putting her own ambitions on hold for the sake of her feuding siblings.
Lauren, the baby of the family, is exuberant and carefree, oblivious to her sisters’ quandaries as she spends her days in college classes and her evenings chatting up the neighborhood boys who venture into the cafe.
As life and love stir the hearts of the Benetti sisters, they struggle to find their own place in the world…without losing each other in the process.”
If you don’t mind, keep this story – and me – in your prayers!
Embrace YOUR apron ties today! Let the binding {and more of life’s simple, beautiful moments} commence…
July 20, 2010 @ 6:24 am | Filed under: Food and Drink
Wanna try the recipe that won Ella a spot on Restaurant 101? Here you go!
Ingredients:
3 tablespoons butter or margarine, melted
2 garlic cloves, pressed
8 slices (1/2-3/4 inch thick) sourdough bread
1 medium red bell pepper
1 small red onion
1 medium eggplant
1 medium yellow summer squash
1 medium zucchini
Salt and ground black pepper to taste
8 slices (1 ounce each) Provolone cheese
Directions:
1. Melt butter in microwave on HIGH 20-25 seconds or until melted; add garlic. Brush one side of each slice of bread with butter mixture; set aside.
2. Slice bell pepper crosswise into 1/2-inch-thick rings. Slice onion crosswise into 1/2-inch-thick slices. Cut eggplant, yellow squash and zucchini lengthwise into 1/2-inch slices.
3. Heat Grill Pan over medium-high heat. Lightly spray pan with vegetable oil using Kitchen Spritzer. Place bell pepper and onion into pan. Season with salt and black pepper. Cook 3-4 minutes on each side or until vegetables are crisp-tender. Remove from pan; set aside and keep warm. Spray pan again with vegetable oil. Cook eggplant, yellow squash and zucchini 3-4 minutes on each side or until crisp-tender. Remove from pan; set aside and keep warm.
4. To assemble sandwiches, arrange four pieces of bread buttered side down; top each with 1 slice cheese, 2 slices each eggplant, yellow squash, zucchini and bell pepper rings, and 1 slice red onion. Top with remaining cheese and remaining bread, buttered side up.
5. Heat pan over medium heat. Cook sandwiches 1-2 minutes on each side or until cheese is melted and grill marks appear on surface of bread, turning once with Nylon Turner. Serve immediately.
Delizioso!!!
Yield: 4 sandwiches
July 19, 2010 @ 6:23 am | Filed under: The Solid Rock,Uniquely Me
Seasons change. Life changes.
Babies are born. Kids grow up. Elders pass away.
Changes in the seasons are evidenced by the air we breathe and the scenery that surrounds us.
Life is changing, that much is for sure, and I’m working hard to accept each new change with the grace and dignity He would have me to. Change is like turning a page on a fresh book…and each new chapter is beckoning me, calling my name.
I’m a daughter, and I’ve felt a subtle shift these past days as I’ve ached to shield my mom from the pain of loss and grief. She is the mother, and yet I have mothered, wanting nothing more than to protect her…knowing all the while that there is simply no such thing in these circumstances.
I’m a mother, and yet this chapter, too, is changing. I used to hear my name called regularly to kiss a skinned knee or soothe away those things that frighten in the still of the night. Now I’m called and it’s their voices –so familiar and yet now so deep and manly–asking me how I’m doing. We’re balancing family nights with talks about life.
The thing that doesn’t change is the fact that God stays the same. No matter what is going on, He is there.
He stands guard over the seasons.
He will protect and shield my mother in ways that I simply cannot.
He will continue to guide my children, watch over them, be with them, even when they’re far away me.
Whatever changes I face, I trust that God is already there, waiting as I walk through each step. He guides me, loves me.
And with each change I’m learning to trust Him more.
July 16, 2010 @ 6:40 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life
Chapter One
Chapter Two
MELROSE MIRACLE
by Staci Wilder
Chapter Three
Luke couldn’t remember a day when he’d had this much fun.
Even now, several hours later as he relaxed in the tiny parlor area of Milltown’s local boarding house, his mind continued to run the reel from this afternoon at Max’s Diner. The look of intense surprise on Ella Paglia’s pretty face when he’d introduced himself and Kurt, announcing she’d made the short list of contest finalists. The way her mouth dropped open, how her dark, smoky eyes had widened in disbelief.
Talk about shock and awe.
It was clear The Cooking Channel had been the absolute last thing on her mind at that moment. Luke found that kind of innocence refreshing. And to think, he’d come within a hair’s breadth of not making this trip with Kurt. Luke leaned his head back on the worn sofa and closed his eyes, letting his mind wander at will.
He’d been in the studio, finishing up another long twelve hour day of shooting three back-to-back episodes of It’s My Kitchen, I’ll Fry If I Want To. Twelve tortuous hours of listening to the constant demands and petty requests the show’s star, Sheila Morgan, made on the crew. The perfectly coifed blonde hair and willowy figure belied the whiny voice screeching orders in front of his camera all day long. Sure, on camera, she managed to convey sincerity and warmth, capturing an avid audience and devoted viewers. It was the cast and crew who suffered her wrath, both before and after taping.
This day was no different.
“Okay, people, that’s a wrap!”
Luke had breathed a deep sigh of relief at the producer’s words and shut the camera off. It had been another long day and his grumbling stomach reminded him that he’d skipped lunch. Again. For the third time that week.
Luke had rubbed his neck and rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen muscles that had long since grown stiff. It was a vain attempt to jar free the irritation that had been gnawing at his gut for the better part of the past few hours.
He should have been used to it, the constant demands and petty requests Sheila Morgan made on the cast and crew. Two years on the job, though, and he still cringed every time she held up a finger—flashing that annoying bright red nail polish that had become her signature trait—halted filming, and yelped, “Ex-cuse, me! This lighting is absolutely not right! Fix it, pu-lease.”
Luke remembered shaking his head in amazement at her insensitivity to those around her. He’d hooked the shutter cover of his camera in place. Women were beyond him, that’s for sure. His mother liked to say Sheila had ruined him for all women. He knew she chomped at the bit, wondering when her one and only son would finally settle down. Maybe even give her a couple of little Abneys.
Luke wondered about that too. He’d grown up with two parents who were still madly in love with one another. In fact, the day he’d left for college, he’d not missed the special looks that passed between his mother and father. While they’d missed him, they also looked forward to a life full of couple things. Luke wanted the intimacy he saw in his parents, the friendship and passion that flowed freely between them.
“Son,” his mom had held him just a moment longer than usual when he’d visited last Thanksgiving, “don’t give up on what God has planned for your life. The right woman is already on the scene. She just hasn’t introduced herself yet.”
“Sure, Mom.” What else could he have said?
“I mean it, Luke.” Marion Abney had propped one fist on an ample hip and stared up at him until he squirmed. “That Sheila woman has ruined you, hasn’t she? Not all women are like, son. There are still plenty of women out there who have their hearts and heads in the right place. Be patient.”
The truth was actually deeper than his mother knew, and went way beyond the annoying antics of Sheila Morgan. As frustrating as she could be, it was another woman entirely that was responsible for Luke’s reticent heart. He shuddered now as images of Tessa Shepherd paraded uninvited across the front porch of his mind.
His one serious relationship since making the cross-country move to Los Angeles had left him wounded…and wiser. Needless to say, it hadn’t ended nicely. Luke preferred to block the unpleasant memories from his mind and tried not to dwell in places he couldn’t afford to return.
Instead, he chose to concentrate on work. Between his duties on the set and Wednesday evening Bible study, his weeks filled up surprisingly well. The noise and friction on set seemed to follow him home at night, causing him crave nothing more than sanctity inside his nice, quiet Brentwood apartment. Forget about dating. With the hours he worked, the only women he came across were on the job. And spending ten hours a day with the likes of Sheila Morgan, or anyone like her for that matter, left a sour taste in his mouth when it came to industry dames.
Thanks, Luke thought, but no thanks.
So when Kurt had approached him that particular day, Luke’s interest was cautiously piqued.
“Hey, buddy,” Kurt had clapped him on the shoulder, “Long day, huh?”
Luke emitted a low whistle and grinned. “Aren’t they all? Man, how’re you doing?”
If Luke’s day had been long and trying—which it had—he couldn’t even begin to imagine Kurt’s day. He didn’t envy the man one iota; pitied him would be closer to the truth. Luke shuddered just to think of dealing with Sheila on a one-to-one basis. Maybe he was the lucky one, after all. Unlike Kurt, at least he got to stay behind his camera, relatively safe from the spoiled star’s barbed comments and petulant complaints.
Kurt had hooked a thumb in his front belt loop and leaned against the wall, watching as he’d wound the camera cord and stowed it in its case. “So have you made a decision yet?”
“Decision about what?”
“Like you don’t know.” Kurt had chuckled. “The new show. This is your chance, guy!”
The thought had crossed his mind, Luke had to admit. His buddy had landed a long overdue plumb role as lead producer on a new reality-based show for the network, and he wanted Luke to join the camera crew for that series.
Luke wasn’t convinced leaving It’s My Kitchen was the answer for him. When he did leave he wanted to make good and sure he wasn’t leaping out of the proverbial frying pan straight into a roaring flame. Things might get a little hot under the collar with the likes of Sheila Morgan, but Luke had heard enough industry horror stories to know she resembled a lamb in comparison to some of the other starlets his pals worked with.
Still, Kurt had been persuasive. “This opportunity has your name written all over it. You’d be my lead camera guy.” He’d high-fived Luke, a wide grin splitting his tanned face. “No more obscurity, man. You could call the shots yourself.”
Luke had rolled the camera into the supply closet and locked the door. “Really? It says ‘Luke Abney’, huh?”
“Might as well.” Kurt shrugged. “But that’s not all.”
“What?”
“The eight finalists will be decided the first of next month. And yours truly,” Kurt had thumped himself on the chest, “is in the very enviable position of personally advising each one of them that they are a viable contestant.”
Luke plucked his jacket from the closet, and stuck his trusty L.A. Lakers cap on top of his head. “No kidding? So you’re going to…what? Travel all over, making these announcements?”
“Yup.” Kurt had nodded as they headed for the elevator. “And I want you to go with me.”
“Me?” Luke had laughed at the preposterous suggestion. “Why?”
“Number one, you haven’t taken a vacation in the four years I’ve known you, Abney. In the two years we’ve worked together, I think I can count on one hand the number of days you’ve taken off.” Kurt began to tick the reasons off on his fingers. “Two, I have absolute knowledge that this show drives you as nuts as it does me. And three—why not? Take a week’s vacation, come with me, get a feel for what the show’s going to be like. Then you can make the decision on whether or not you’re ready to leave this one.”
“Is Janie really going to let you leave town for that long?” Luke had lifted his cap and repositioned it, glad when the elevator doors finally slid open.
Kurt laughed. “Only because she knows it’s the prelude to a job that will leave us more family time.” He shrugged. “A little sacrifice now, a whole lotta reward later.” A wry grin creased his face. “I’m sure she’ll be ready to share Daniel-duty again the minute I roll back into town though!”
Luke had no doubt. Little Daniel Finley was the apple of his parents’ eyes, but—in Luke’s opinion anyway—the little tyke could use a few lessons from Super Nanny. Maybe an introduction to the Naughty Mat from time to time…
“It’s going to be an incredible opportunity for someone. Might as well be you…” Kurt had held the elevator door open, even after Luke stepped inside. “It’s going to be a real kick to be a part of something new, Luke. With the TV reality craze going gangbusters, it’s no wonder our network has jumped on board.” Kurt had chuckled. “I’m just surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”
Luke had to admit Kurt knew how to make a tempting offer. Not to mention the guy was relentless and continued to press for an answer.
“I’ll think about it.” Luke had punched the button for the ground floor.
Kurt grinned and saluted as the doors slid closed. “That’s all I’m asking, man. Just think about it, okay?” His voice had faded as the elevator doors slid closed between them.
In the end—after more cajoling on Kurt’s part and more whining on Sheila’s end—Luke had opted for the cross-country vacation. The two weeks were winding down, but they’d served their purpose. He was returning to work refreshed. He’d even made a decision.
He was going to join Kurt’s team on the set of Restaurant 101. It would be a welcome challenge to be a part of something fresh. The decision to leave It’s My Kitchen wasn’t an easy one. He felt as though he was taking a real gamble. At least with Sheila he knew what he dealt with each day. It was kind of like that old saying he’d heard somewhere. “Do I go with the devil I know or the devil I don’t?”
Luke roused himself now, straightening on the sofa and glancing at his watch. He’d agreed to meet Kurt at Max’s Diner at seven sharp for a quick bite to eat. Ella would join them at eight to discuss the contest’s legalities and guidelines.
Luke couldn’t deny that the thought of seeing the pretty waitress again so soon was a pretty good one. He ran a hand over the pocket of his shirt, and then reached inside and pulled out the business card he’d stealthily tucked away as they’d left the diner earlier today. EDIBLE EATS BY ELLA was printed in neat block letters across the top, followed by a list of various catering services available, a website URL, and a telephone number below that.
Wishing he had enough time to look up the catering site on his laptop, but knowing he didn’t, Luke tucked the card inside his wallet and headed upstairs to his room. He had time enough to dash upstairs and freshen up a bit. A little cologne, a little Colgate, maybe pop an Altoid or two…
Luke grinned at the irony of the whole situation. Just a month ago he would have scoffed at the very notion of working on a reality series. It seemed like a guy could hardly turn on the tube these days without yet another reality show making its debut. He didn’t understand it. Weren’t the terms ‘TV’ and ‘reality’ an oxymoron? When he wanted a dose of reality, he certainly didn’t have to plop down in front of his entertainment center for it.
Now Luke had a feeling that Ella Paglia might very well change the way he looked at reality television. Forever.
*****
Ella stood stock still in the midst of the sea of clothes and scarves that now littered the floor of her bedroom. She hadn’t pulled a stunt like this since college, but—come to think of it—this whole thing kind of made her feel like a giddy school girl. She’d all but emptied out the closet, and still had no clue what to wear for the meeting with the Cooking Channel guys.
Ella smoothed nervous hands down the sides of her skirt, and examined herself again in the mirror. She’d found this skirt on the clearance rack of Dress Barn right after Chloe had been born. Proud of her fifteen dollar purchase at the time, now she worried that her closet contained nothing that would hold up to Hollywood standards.
“What am I going to do?” she wailed, unzipping the dark, pin-striped skirt, slipping out of it, and adding it to the heap at her feet.
“First of all, b-r-e-a-t-h-e!” Reggie, sitting cross-legged on Ella’s bed with Chloe nestled in her lap, spelled out the word with exaggerated animation.
“I don’t have time to breathe!” Ella snapped, and then stopped as both Reggie and Chloe stared up at her with wide eyes.
“Mommy’s a nervous wreck, Chloe,” Reggie continued to tease. “Can Chloe say ‘nervous wreck’?” She giggled and ducked as Ella aimed a discarded beret in her direction. “Hey, that look was actually really cute, El. Try it on again.”
Ella sighed and reached for the cap. “Yeah? You sure?” She sat it on her head and turned back to the full-length mirror behind the closet door. “But what about clothes? I certainly can’t parade into Max’s like this”—she pointed to her slip-clad body—“can I?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Reggie rolled Chloe over on the bed, tickling her. “I can think of a couple of guys who might like it!”
“Reg!” Mortified, Ella sank to the floor. “That’s it. I can’t go. I just can’t.”
“Mariella Paglia, must I talk you through everything? Of course, you’re going. And not only that—you’re going to wow the socks off these guys.” Reggie jumped from the bed and began pawing through the clothes.
Chloe sat up on the bed, her dark curls still damp from her bath, and clapped her hands with enthusiasm. “Wow, Mama. Wow, Mama.”
Ella reached for her and cuddled her close. “That’s right, Chloe-bug. Your Mama needs to wow these guys.”
“And Ella—” Reggie’s voice was muffled among the heap of material—“this whole adventure might be just the ticket you need to get out of here. Now don’t get me wrong—”she cast a furtive glance around the cramped space, just a hint of apology in her voice—“I love what you’ve done with the place, but…”
Ella followed Reggie’s gaze, taking in the dated floral wallpaper she couldn’t afford to replace. She tried to swallow the instant irritation trying to snake its way up her throat. Reggie meant well, Ella knew that. This old—and somewhat dilapidated—walk-up garage apartment, well past its prime, was the best her salary at Max’s would allow, while still enabling her to slowly chip away at the hospital and doctor bills.
As much as it had pained her to do so, she’d had no choice but to sell the two-story brick Colonial she’d shared with Stephen back in New Jersey. It was either sell it pay off a couple of the creditors or sit still and lose it anyway.
“Ella P, I know where that pretty little head of yours just went! And that’s not it at all. You know how proud I’ve been of you since Stephen—” Reggie let her words fade away and dropped her head in dismay, sending her sleek auburn ponytail cascading over one slumped shoulder.
Ella’s heart constricted. The roller coaster her emotions had been enjoying since Stephen’s death took yet another sudden upward turn. Honestly, some days she felt more like a mad woman, never knowing from minute to minute what her mood would be.
“I know.” Ella crouched on the floor beside her friend and wrapped her arms around her. “I’d be lost without you, you know that, don’t you?”
Reggie leaned her head against Ella’s. “So are you ready to get dressed and go show these guys that you’re just what they’re looking for? And you’ll be wearing clothes, all right. Very proper, very appropriate, very…Ella-like clothes.” She made a face and stuck out her tongue, eliciting delighted deep-throated chuckles from Chloe. “So relax, okay?”
“Okay.” She still wasn’t convinced she could do this. But she had to at least try, didn’t she? Otherwise, all her efforts—the tape, the memories, the time it had taken—would be in vain. Not to mention the time and effort Reggie had contributed to this project.
Right now Ella knew that Reggie was the only one in the world trying to help her make sense of this new life into which she’d suddenly been tossed without warning. She couldn’t bear the look of defeat she saw etched around her friend’s eyes this minute.
Poor Reg. Ella had lost track of how many times Reggie had fed her and Chloe over the past year. Too many to count, that’s for sure. The months after Stephen’s death had been tortuous and, just when Ella thought she might go stark-raving mad from grief, Reggie had stepped in. When Ella had found it virtually impossible to leave the house, let alone run errands and prepare even the simplest semi-healthy meals, Reggie made sure the dry cleaning got picked up, kept Chloe’s closet stocked with Huggies, and made frequent runs to the neighborhood taco shop for the spicy salsa they both loved.
She hadn’t been in a state of mind to make sense of it all then, but Ella now realized that Reggie had sacrificed weeks of her time—probably to the chagrin of Kristi Carmichael—to fly cross-country and care for her. She owed Reggie. No doubt about it.
Ella scooped up her daughter now and snuggled her close, breathing in the sweet scent of baby lotion and strawberry shampoo. In her arms she held a living, breathing reminder of why this venture was so important.
She’d been given a chance, a real opportunity to carve out a decent life for the two of them. If she’d never placed, she wouldn’t have been surprised and really not even disappointed. How many people entered these contests truly expecting to win, after all?
But she had placed, and now they wanted her to fly to Los Angeles and make her a part of the new series. If she won, it would mean a rebirth to her dream—she would operate her own restaurant. This could be it—the big break she and Chloe needed. A way out of the mountain of doctor bills and late credit card statements.
It was really happening. To her, Ella Paglia, the girl from the Jersey shore. This was opportunity knocking. She couldn’t let this door slam shut without giving it her best shot.
“Here!” Reggie popped out of the closet, clutching a pink skirt and a simple short-sleeved black sweater. “This is it, it’ll go perfectly with the beret. Don’t you think? Oh, El, this is…so exciting!” She hopped up and down, prompting loud squeals and more exuberant hand-clapping from Chloe.
Ella grinned. She couldn’t help it. It had been a long time since she’d seen and felt such displays of ‘happy’ in her house. It felt good.
Even if it also scared her silly.
*****
Luke fidgeted in the booth, resisting the urge to check his watch again. She’d be here when she promised, no use acting like a middle school kid and getting all restless over a girl. Anticipation pumped through his veins, and all he wanted to do was grin.
Even though he’d ordered the house specialty—tonight it was Max’s fried catfish and dirty rice—Luke didn’t feel one bit hungry. Just restless in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.
Ella Paglia was clearly different from the other seven finalists. The last to be notified, Luke’s expectations of her hadn’t been that high. Each of the others—three women and four men—had been nice enough.
He could easily see any of them in front of his camera. They had “the look”, that elusive star quality that earmarked the difference between ultimate success and dismal failure. In short, they all seemed similar. Maybe too similar.
But Ella Paglia was…different. Unaffected. A real woman. Not like the plastic ones he’d become accustomed to in La-La Land. The gals who looked as though they had their makeup applied at Earl Shively and sported implanted body parts that looked anything but natural.
Ella had reminded him of home, of his high school days in Cleveland, long before he’d made the move to the West Coast. She embodied the wacky grace of Lucy Ricardo, the gentle spirit of Renee Zelwegger, and the exotic beauty of Salma Hayek—all rolled up in one petite, yet curvy, package.
“So,” Kurt folded his menu and settled back in the worn and squeaky booth, “Why the huge grin, Abney?”
“What do you mean?” Luke picked up his iced tea and took a long, slow drag through the straw. He knew the grin, but also knew he’d better wipe it off his face, and quick, before Kurt caught on. No way would his buddy let him live this one down.
Kurt nodded, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Uh-huh. Just what I thought.” He pointed a finger in Luke’s direction. “Just remember something, Abney. She’s a finalist. There’s several more just like her. I wouldn’t get attached just yet, if I were you.”
Heat inched its way up Luke’s neck and settled in his cheeks. Wishing he were beneath anything besides the bright overhead lights in the diner, he pulled at his shirt collar, suddenly feeling hot and stifled.
But mostly just irritated.
Kurt didn’t know what he was talking about. In the four years they’d worked for the same network, Luke could count on one hand the number of women he’d found appealing enough to ask out. Attractive on the inside as well as the outside, that is. And the number he’d actually taken out, even fewer. It certainly wasn’t like he was some scrawny-kneed junior high kid with a larger-than-life crush. He didn’t fall for women like…well, like some of the other guys at the network did. It was easy enough for Kurt to talk—he was happily married to a woman who adored him and the father of a cute, if rather precocious, three-year-old son.
“Hey, man, I’m just messing with you,” Kurt’s hearty laugh attracted the attention of a nearby table of women. “Don’t go all serious on me!”
Luke made a pretense of unfolding the white paper napkin that encased the silverware. He methodically set the knife and fork on the table and dropped the napkin into his lap. He shrugged, and then whispered, wishing the women at the next table would return to their own business and quit staring at them. “All I’m saying is she was—”
What? What was Ella Paglia, exactly? Beautiful—but in a natural, totally unaffected way? Charming—but without conveying any physical interest at all?
No description seemed to do. At least nothing he cared to share with Kurt. “Look, all I’m saying is she’s got what the network bigwigs are looking for.”
Huh? Where had that come from? Like he knew what the bigwigs wanted. Luke shifted in his chair again. Now would be a good time for the waitress to deliver their food. Before he went and said something equally foolish and meaningless.
And before he revealed that Ella Paglia had somehow crawled under his skin.
Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, summer reads
July 15, 2010 @ 6:09 am | Filed under: Family,Uniquely Me
Things have felt a bit surreal these past few days.
I’m barely typing the first words of this post and already crying long-awaited restrained tears…exhaustion and love and grief and all that is to come…and family.
I have reached an emotional crescendo like the summit of a mountain, and I am sitting here, trying to let it all soak in, and feel completely inept at putting it into words.
Mom opened Mama’s cedar chest a few days ago and found – literally – a treasure chest of richness.
Scrapbooks!!
Book after book after book, filled with photos, with news clippings, with ribbons, and awards. I take a lot of teasing for my scrapbooking tendencies…but evidently I come by it naturally.
If it could be scrapbooked – Mama captured it and put it one of her books.
We sat on the floor of the closet in the back bedroom – my Mom and I – and flipped through the books. There were books devoted to Mom, books focused on Uncle Ralph, a scrapbook on World War II, and even an Elvis book. (You’d have to have known Mama to truly appreciate this one.)
For now my house is calm. And quiet, except for the whir of the air conditioner and the dryer tossing a load of towels. After a tumultuous few days I am beginning to feel healed by the immersion of what matters most to me these past several days.
Family.
And, oh, how my heart puddles at the sight of my loved ones lovin’ on each other. We don’t get opportunities like these much because we live so far away from one another and the get-togethers are few and far between. But these past days, here they are, scooping up this time – as inconvenient and as painful as it has been – and they are embracing the important.
Each other.
We are Mama and Dad’s family. Their living, breathing scrapbook.
We love one another with passion and purpose, and these days and these moments will go down in the scrapbooks of our minds and hearts.
How many times I’ve wanted lately to reach out and grab the reigns to our ever-changing, busy lives and just yank hard. Pull back with everything I have and slow things down until I feel I have control.
But that’s impossible and – if you think about it – bridled, trained life is just boring compared to the wild exhileration of just plain ‘ol living.
The only predictable thing about life is its unpredictability. It’s unbridled and wild and beautiful. …and that’s our life right now.
Family, grandchildren, memories
July 14, 2010 @ 6:36 am | Filed under: Pure Sunshine,Soul Food,Uniquely Me
There is something refreshing about things that are real.
Real chocolate. Real deals. Real people.
When we walked into this old-fashioned hardware store on Saturday and spotted glass-bottled Cokes for sale for $1.00, it was a REAL deal waiting to happen.
Not to mention that it was an “honesty policy” and you merely pulled your ice cold beverage from the cooler and left your dollar in a simple attached tube that read:
”LEAVE $1.00 HERE”
There is something so refreshing about moments like this one.
Moments where you find tiny treasures hidden amongst the dusty ordinariness of normalcy. Moments where those treasures remind you that it’s the dust you truly treasure, ’cause that’s where the work is, that’s where the memories are, that’s where love resides. Quiet and paitent…waiting to be lived.
Moments like this are refreshing.
There is something equally refreshing about sharing them with someone who is the real deal. Someone who says what they mean, and mean what they say. Someone like my MJ.
Today is his birthday, and the birthday boy will be on the Red-Eye home from Chicago sometime later tonight.
I’ll ask him Thursday morning what he wants to do for his big day (even though it means we’ll be celebrating a day late) and he’ll shrug and say, “I’m doing it already.”
And then we’ll pretty much just hole up in this happy solitude playin’ life by ear. We’ll sip coffee at ten and shower by eleven, or maybe noon. We’ll have a loose plan for dinner, meaning all the while to shoot for a real, honest-to-goodness night out, but in the end we’ll probably have another impromptu living room picnic.
We love life, love our home, love each other.
We love the beauty of our languid mornings and cozy evenings, but sometimes it’s during the in-between that we notice most what makes us happy. It’s during the demanding weeks when he’s on the road and I’m immersed up to my neck in school or writing that I’m more inclined to notice just how extraordinary the mundane moments can be.
I’m reminded how happy my favorite coffee mug makes me.
Or how much I love hot baths.
Embracing the real things rises to the occasion best when life is nitty gritty. Or when it’s tough and busy and not-always-fun.
But today is good. It is very, very good.
It is real.
And I do love real things.
Happy Birthday, Mike!
living simply, summertime memories
July 13, 2010 @ 6:17 am | Filed under: Food and Drink,The Fit Life
1 pound uncooked boneless, skinless chicken breast- 1/2 medium pineapple
- 1 medium green pepper
- 1 medium sweet red pepper
- 1 large onion
- 1/4 cup pineapple juice, or orange juice
- 3 medium garlic clove(s), minced
- 2 Tbsp low-sodium soy sauce
- 1 tsp olive oil
- 2 spray(s) cooking spray
- 2 cup(s) cooked brown rice, kept hot
Instructions:
Weight Watcher recipe – 6 pts per serving |
healthy recipes, Tasty Tuesdays
July 12, 2010 @ 6:25 am | Filed under: Food and Drink,Friends,Pure Sunshine
Every once in a great while you meet someone that truly leaves a lasting impression.
I met Thomas this weekend, and I feel just that way about him. I’m telling you, he is a young man to watch; He’s on to something, and will go far in this big, blue world!
We strolled the Natchitoches Farmer’s Market along the Cane River, perusing the booths, sampling the salsas, stopping every now and then to snap a few photos.
And then we came upon Thomas’ booth and I was instantly drawn to him. Besides the fact that he had a large inviting basket of homemade bread and invited us to step inside and sample a bite, he had that special little something that you can’t quite put a name to. But you know it’s the “it” factor, and you know it will take him far.
And then I tasted the tiny, mini-muffin style piece of bread and I. Was. In. Instant. Love. This bread was the best I’ve ever had, I kid you not!
“It’s all natural,” Thomas insisted, pointing to his signage. “All you add to the mix is 12 ounces of carbonated beverage.”
Carbonated beverage? Like…Coke? Diet 7-Up? Sprite?
Turns out that ginger ale and Diet 7-Up makes the BEST bread! Who knew? At this point I could no longer resist the jarred bread mix, the samples, OR the cute little dark-headed boy selling me on the product.
It was a package deal and it totally sold.
Thomas doesn’t yet have a website, but I told him he’d soon be on my blog and that I was going to tell ALL my friends about his great bread mix and that he’d better prepare for the onslaught of business.
Be on the lookout for Thomas, folks! And watch out, Mrs. Bairds…there’s a new cowboy in the bread world today!
July 12, 2010 @ 6:07 am | Filed under: 5 Minutes for Mom,Faith Lifts,The Solid Rock
I 
blogged at 5 Minutes for Faith on Saturday.
Join me here to read about spaces of grace!
July 9, 2010 @ 6:59 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life
Chapter One
MELROSE MIRACLE
by Staci Wilder
Chapter Two
Ella pushed into the kitchen, and then leaned against the counter. Her heart felt like it had taken up permanent lodging somewhere in the back of her throat and her legs felt as wobbly as Chloe’s looked when she toddled about the house.
“What’s wrong?” Max turned from his fry stove, concern etched into the worn lines on his face. “You sick?”
“No.” Ella shook her head, then handed him the crumpled order for Table 10. “Two specials, Max.”
The older man nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “Maybe you need to rest.” He nodded to a lone chair in the corner of the kitchen. “Have a seat.”
Walking to the ice dispenser, she filled a pitcher with ice, and then poured it full of sweet tea. Table 3 needed refills. “I’m fine, Max. Really.” Ella hoped the smile made it to her mouth. She’d certainly ordered it there.
Of course she was fine. Wasn’t she? Ella shivered in spite of the heat in the kitchen. The tingle that had rippled through her when the stranger at the table—the one wearing a purple LA Lakers cap—smiled at her had shocked her. She hadn’t felt anything like that since—
It seemed that no matter what she did, or where she went, Stephen still eased inside her thoughts and emotions just as though he were still with her. Ella shook off her silliness and set the pitcher of iced tea on a small, round tray. It wasn’t Mr. Blond—she’d caught just a glimpse of closely-cropped blond hair beneath the cap—man who’d caused her heart to flip-flop. It was the memory of what she’d lost.
It had to be.
Anything more than that just wasn’t an option.
“Max, can you brew a fresh pot of coffee? I have a couple of guys who’ve never tried it before.”
“You don’t say!” Max’s hearty chuckle was half-evil, half-glee as he wiped flour from his beefy hands and reached for the canister that housed his special blend. Even Ella didn’t quite know just what the coffee mixture contained. But she did know that folks around here considered it essential, ranked right up there with fresh air and plenty of breathing room.
Soon Ella had loaded two steaming cups of coffee alongside the pitcher of iced tea. With practiced ease, she hoisted the tray and pushed against the swinging door just in time to see Reggie toss several bills on the table and head for the door. Ella knew from experience that her friend was leaving far more than the measly lunch tab and tip. Ella felt a mix of awe and appreciation flood her senses as she watched Reggie slide Dior sunshades over her eyes, toss her a last wave, and step out into the bright Louisiana sunshine.
Ella set the mugs of coffee down on Table 10, grateful that her jittery nerves allowed her to do so without incident. She purposefully avoided the eyes of Mr. Blond and turned her attention, instead, to the chicory-skittish man sitting across from him. Taller, darker, older—forty, if she were to guess—his dark hair had already begun to gray at the temples.
“Your order will be up in just a couple of minutes. Can I get you anything else while you wait?”
He glanced at Mr. Blond, and then smiled. “No, I think we have everything we need.”
“Thanks, Ella.”
Ella’s heart thumped a crazy beat as her name rolled out of Mr. Blond’s mouth. She didn’t remember telling them what it was. Around here—with regular customers and almost zero visitors—it was never necessary so she’d never formed the habit. She knew everyone and they all knew her.
As though they had a mind of their own and were totally oblivious to her wishes, Ella’s eyes traveled back to Mr. Blond. Mischief mingled with the flecks of gray in his deeply blue eyes as he tapped his left shoulder. “It is Ella, isn’t it?”
“Oh!” She reached up and touched the rectangular name tag pinned to her t-shirt. Of course they’d seen her name printed there. “Yes. Ella.” She nodded. “My name’s Ella.”
Why did her heart feel as though it were running a race at the Churchill Downs? She forced herself to meet Mr. Blond’s gaze and willed her words to sound more intelligent than the garbled bunch she’d just released. “Are you just passing through Milltown?”
The dark-headed one nodded. “We’ll be here overnight.” He eyed the cup she’d set down in front of him and lifted it. “Can you recommend a good hotel?” He lowered his mouth and took a hesitant sip.
Ella stifled a smirk. It wasn’t often she got to witness a brawny guy like this squirm over a cup of Max’s coffee. Now he wanted to know about a hotel? Was the guy joking? Not only did Milltown not boast a hotel, the closest motel was a good half-hour’s drive down the highway. “Baton Rouge has several.”
“Baton Rouge?” He grimaced but swallowed an impressive amount of the strong liquid. Straightening in his chair, he frowned. “We just flew into the Baton Rouge airport this morning. That’s—” he wrinkled his brow in thought—“I don’t know, maybe a hundred miles from here?”
Ella nodded. “That’s right. Of course, there’s a small place down the road a piece.” She shrugged. “More of a boarding house than a motel. It may not have all the amenities you’re used to, but it’s clean and…well, closer.”
Mr. Blond laughed out loud and slapped his palm on his denim-clad thigh as though what she’d said was the funniest thing ever. His eyes matched the merriment in his voice and Ella instinctively knew he laughed with her and not at her.
Still, she looked away—couldn’t help it—when Mr. Blond winked, his eyes growing even bluer with the action. Even after a year at Max’s, Ella wasn’t accustomed to the attention she often garnered from some of the male customers who flowed through the small diner.
Most of them proved harmless—men from around town who were just naturally curious—whether for themselves or their buddies, she was never sure—about her newly single status. They were respectful enough of her loss to keep their distance and it wasn’t that they leered at her; just the fact that they gazed with open curiosity was enough to make her want to bolt at times.
“I’ll go check on your order.”
Ella was thankful for something to do. She was even relieved to see another group of local kids straggle noisily through the diner’s door. Normally this group would make her groan, knowing they would hang around, joking and playing, until the appointed time their mothers had ordered them to be home.
But today she welcomed them. Somehow the sight of something so familiar helped counteract the less familiar fluttering in the pit of her belly.
“Feeling better?” Max’s gruff exterior masked a true softie. She could tell him she was fine until she turned blue in the face, but the man had a sixth sense that seemed to pinpoint her emotions every time. His aim might be a little off. After all, she wasn’t ill, but his feeling that something wasn’t right was dead-on.
“Much.” Ella grinned. “Thanks.”
Table Ten’s orders were up and she accepted the loaded tray of food from Max with gratitude. Another round of questions from him and she might be forced to admit that Mr. Blond had rattled her nerves. The weathered cook added two fresh-baked rolls to the tray with a final hmphh. Ella grabbed the moment and backed out of the kitchen. Mr. Blond stared at the heaping pile of chicken and homemade steak fries like it was a long-lost treasure. Letting out a long, low whistle, he pulled his plate close.
“Enjoy.” Ella tugged a couple of straws from the pocket of her apron and laid them on the table. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, nothing.” The dark-headed one pointed to the empty chair at the table. “Unless you have time to join us.”
“Sorry.” Ella swallowed the momentary panic clutching the base of her throat and took a halted step backward. Tapping the face of her watch, she cast a quick, nervous glance around the diner. “Still have lots of customers, and only a little while left on my shift.” Turning on her heel, she moved away.
“Ma’am, it’s not what you think—”
Ella heard Mr. Blond’s words, but pretended she didn’t. Moving toward the noisy group of teens gathered in the back corner booth, she tried to sweep Mr. Blond’s wink from her mind. That was difficult though when, seconds later, she looked back in time to see him bow his head in a silent prayer. Ella felt a nibble of something close to conviction. It wasn’t uncommon here deep in the Bible belt to see folks bow their heads in prayer over a meal, but Ella certainly hadn’t expected it from these two.
The teens in the back booth were obviously more interested in slurping down vanilla shakes and catching up on the latest hot topics than hitting the school books they’d pulled from their backpacks. They seemed oblivious to her presence. Funny how comforting she found that…
Ella caught a glimpse of Max out of the corner of her eye. The sight of the stout, pot-bellied owner of the diner caused Ella to breathe a little easier. No way would anyone get away with hassling her—not that these guys had been doing that—with Maxwell Durham around.
She cleared her throat and leaned her arms on the kids’ table. A petite girl with slender shoulders and long auburn braids glanced up. “I’m so sorry!” Large blue eyes rounded with dismay, and she tapped the arm of the beefy jock-type guy next to her, trying to quiet him.
“We’ve been too loud, haven’t we?” Her expression begged forgiveness and Ella felt her heart give way. To be this young again… Minimal problems, controllable conflicts, and time to chug vanilla shakes. What a life.
“We’ll tone it down, we promise. Right, guys?” The girl glanced around the table for confirmation. A polite chorus of yeah, no problem and for sure! ringed its way around the small table and the girl smiled with satisfaction. “See? We’ll be quieter now.”
Ella smiled, this time an honest-to-goodness real one. Her heart gave an unexpected lurch, and she fought the urge to reach out and touch the girl’s neat braid, wanting to somehow embrace this visible evidence of youthful exuberance. This unadulterated view of the world and all its vast possibilities. Why not indulge them their rowdy chatter? Soon enough these kids would learn firsthand, as she had, the struggles life would throw their way.
“Don’t worry about it.” Ella reached into her apron pocket and pulled out another stack of fresh, white napkins, passing them to a boy who’d just managed to spill half a glass of soda down the front of his shirt.
Let them be loud, have their fun. They were kids, passing through the last of their innocence. She touched the girl’s shoulder. “Let me know if you guys need anything, okay?”
“Thanks!” The braids bobbed with the movement as the girl turned her attention back to her friends.
Ella would have loved nothing more than to continue standing next to them. Listening to the nonsensical chatter, and grinning at the cheesy jokes cracked by the boys, obviously meant to entertain the girls of the group.
But she was a grown-up, dealing with adult issues and heavy-handed dilemmas. Hanging out with the kids wasn’t going to pay the bills, or care for Chloe, or even begin to fill the vacancy left in her heart by Stephen.
When would she learn? Hiding out—whether in her run-down apartment or here in the diner with a bunch of kids—did nothing but prolong the pain. She could run, sure, but she knew now she’d never be able to hide.
Ella roused herself, pushing against the heaviness that always tried to take over whenever she allowed her thoughts to stray toward Stephen. No time for that right now. In thirty short minutes she’d be free to pick up Chloe from the sitter’s. Then the best part of the day would begin.
Now anxious to finish her duties and clock off her eight-hour shift, Ella spun around, bumping forehead-first into the polo-clad chest of Mr. Blond. Before she had time to recover, the tray that had, just seconds ago, been carefully tucked against her hip, went flying, sending a mixture of coffee cups, soiled napkins, and chewed-up straws in various directions.
“Oh!” Ella gasped. Humiliation and anger tangled madly in her belly as she dropped to the floor in a desperate effort to halt a rolling cup. Heat flamed in her cheeks, and Ella knew her face now matched the red stripe on Mr. Blond’s expensive-looking shirt. The same shirt, Ella noticed, as she finally risked a glance upward, that now boasted a spattering of cold coffee dregs and bits of paper napkin.
“Oh, no,” she groaned and snatched another handful of clean napkins from her pocket. “Here,” she thrust them toward Mr. Blond, “I think I ruined your shirt.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was my fault anyway. I should’ve warned you that I was right behind you.” Mr. Blond waved away her concern.
Trying to regain some modicum of dignity, Ella struggled to stand. Just when she thought she was steady, her right foot slipped on the spilled coffee, and she felt herself going down again. Only this time it was involuntary, and the impact of her backside against the tiled floor was anything but pleasant. Please, God, get me out of this.
Ella knew she had no right to ask God for anything—serious or frivolous—and the idea that she’d done so after this embarrassing fiasco would have struck her as borderline sacrilegious. That is, if she actually had the luxury of time to dwell on it. Ella knew she didn’t pray enough these days. Okay, she didn’t pray at all. Hadn’t, in fact, since Stephen’s death. But here, on the floor, in the middle of broken glass, cold coffee, and a roomful of prying eyes, Ella sent up a silent plea. Get me outta here…
Where were those proverbial trap doors when you needed them, anyway?
“Ma’am? You okay?”
Ella hadn’t noticed Mr. Blond kneeling beside her on the floor, but now his voice, husky and low, practically tickled her ear. Against her will, and only because it was the polite thing to do, she lifted her head to look at him. The intensity of his gaze, and the concern etched in his eyes—and wow, what blue eyes—was enough to knock her off balance again. He reached out and grasped her elbow, steadying her just in time.
“Thanks,” Ella managed to mumble something she hoped resembled appreciation. Was there to be no end to this round of humiliation?
“Ella, girl?”
She jumped as Max lumbered up, his booming voice conveying loud concern. “You hurt? Can you stand?”
Oh, boy. Ella felt her skin deepen another shade of red. If anyone in the diner had missed the original escapade—however remote that possibility might be—they had, without doubt, been alerted to the situation by Max’s boisterous pronouncement.
“I’m fine. Really. Just fine.” She stood up, held in an awkward stance, with Max pulling on one arm, and Mr. Blond still grasping the elbow of her other one. “See?” She nodded at Max. “I’m great. No broken bones, just broken…dishes—”
Ella eyed the mess on the floor, regret all but sucking the breath from her lungs. From the looks of things, it would take the biggest chunk of her next paycheck to pay for the damage. Money she needed for the utility payment and groceries. Not to mention she still owed Chloe’s sitter for last week’s work. Why did she have to be so clumsy, this week of all weeks?
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Ella girl.” Max’s voice came as close to tenderness as Ella figured it could. “I’ll go grab a broom and some towels and have this cleaned up in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Ella nodded, not trusting her voice. She would rather incur the wrath of Max than endure this kindness. If he ranted about the broken mugs or the complained with his usual gruffness over the mess she’d made, then she’d feel some anger. That she could deal with.
She’d learned over the past couple of years that anger could propel her through a lot of things, including a humiliating incident like this one. She’d used the emotion more times than she cared to recall in the months after Stephen’s death. It had effectively distanced her from everything that even vaguely resembled the life she’d shared with her husband. Just as she’d wanted it to.
Finally there had been nothing to hold her there any longer, except the pain and the memories, and she’d loaded up her and Chloe’s belongings and made the move to the small town Reggie called her second home. It had taken her a bit longer to learn about the flip side of the anger. It might have given her the needed unction to get moving, but the pain and memories had made the move with them. She’d changed her locale, but not her life. Oh, yeah, Ella knew about anger all right. She squeezed her eyes shut now and summoned it with all her strength, to no avail.
Instead she had to contend with kindness. The kindness that now fluttered around her with helpful concern. Kindness like Max’s rarely seen soft side. Kindness in the graciousness of a tourist she’d been all but rude to minutes before. And now the kindness of the sweet, auburn braid girl, who’d jumped from her chair to retrieve flying napkins and silverware.
Ella couldn’t fight against the kindness. In spite of how hard she tried, she couldn’t conjure up one thread of anger. And without the anger, there was just one thing left to do.
I will not cry. I will not cry. The mantra chanted its way through Ella’s conscience and she willed her body to obey. I will not cry. She’d never been one to cry in public, not even during Stephen’s memorial and burial. This unexpected humiliating tumble was no excuse for her to start now.
“Here’s a tissue.” Mr. Blond pressed a napkin into her hand as the disobedient hot tears made their wild escape. He turned and called out to his buddy. “Hey, Kurt, scoot that chair over here, will you?”
His voice was soft, and close to her ear. “Let me help you into the chair. Let’s make sure you haven’t injured anything.”
Max cleared his throat with more gusto than necessary. “Uh, yeah. You have a seat, Ella, and I’ll go grab those towels. Nothing to worry about.” He hurried toward the kitchen as fast as his heavy frame would allow. Ella felt sure he was relieved to have a temporary break from the female saga of tears. Even Max had his limits.
I have limits too, Ella thought, fairly certain she’d reached hers.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as Mr. Blond helped her into the chair Kurt had kindly pulled up for her. “You know, for earlier. I was—” she shrugged, and then raised her chin in resignation. “Well, I was rude. And I apologize.”
Mr. Blond waited until she’d settled into the chair, and then he knelt in front of her. “This may not be the best time to do this,” he glanced over at his buddy again, arching his eyebrows in question. Ella noticed—for the second time in mere minutes—the intensity of his blue eyes.
What was going on? Ella’s confusion grew as—was his name Kurt?—nodded his approval and grinned at her.
“Ella Paglia,” Mr. Blond picked up her hand and gave it a gentle shake. “My name is Luke Abney.” He nodded in Kurt’s direction. “And that guy over there is Kurt Finley, a producer from the The Cooking Channel.”
Oh, no… This couldn’t be for real. Ella glanced around, half-expecting Ashton Kutcher to jump from the shadows and yell, “Punked!” Even that shock seemed more probable than the one Mr. Blond was suggesting. But all around her the diners began to clap and soon a steady chant of “El-la! El-la! El-la!” began to circle the cafe.
This wasn’t how she’d imagined it. Just wait till Reggie heard about this. She’d bust a gut laughing—
“Ella, you’ve been chosen as one of the eight finalists for Restaurant 101!”
