May 11, 2013 |
My Baked Frittata is one of my most popular recipes. It’s my favorite quick Go-To Combo, and my best lazy weekend morning treat. It’s never the same twice, and that’s just how I like it!
Baked Frittata Italian Style
Easily altered to suit your Mom’s flavor buds, this dish offers an incredibly delicious dining experience whether you’re making it for breakfast, lunch or dinner.
Start with a basic mixture of eggs, milk and cheese, then add your own preferred additions to truly make it your own one-of-a-kind creation. For Mother’s Day, I chose ingredients sure to please her pallet: mini pepperonis, diced onion, mushroom, seasoned tomatoes and a shredded cheese blend. You can add finely chopped herbs and seasonings, green peppers and other vegetables… whatever your Mom’s heart desires.
Ingredients
- 8 large eggs
- 1 cup milk
- 3/4 cup shredded cheese
- 1/2 cup mini pepperoni (or other diced meat)
- 1 can diced, seasoned tomatoes, drained
- 1/4 cup mushrooms, diced
- 1/4 cup fresh spinach, cut
- 1/2 small onion, diced
- salt
- pepper
- seasonings (Italian mix, basil, garlic salt)
Instructions
- Preheat oven to 350.
- Scramble eggs in bowl.
- Add all other ingredients.
- Mix well.
- Spray 9 x 9 inch glass baking dish with non-stick spray.
- Pour mix into baking dish.
- Bake for approximately 55 minutes, until eggs are cooked and edges are slightly browned.
- Serve big or small portions.
- Top with a dollop of marinara sauce.
- Enjoy!
3.1
https://franklymydearmojo.com/2013/05/11/mothers-day-frittata/ (c) 2012 Frankly, My Dear... New Inklings Press
Frittata
Doesn’t that look delicious?
Serve with a cup of coffee or juice, and make your Mother’s Day complete!
You can find this and other easy, inexpensive recipes in THE UNEMPLOYMENT COOKBOOK, SECOND EDITION, available through New Inklings Press.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
This post is my contribution to NerdWallet’s ‘Mother’s Day Your Way Contest’. Click on the graphic to visit their website and see contributions from other bloggers celebrating Moms in their own way!
May 9, 2013 |
There’s a plethora of news articles discussing poverty as it relates to society as a whole. There are Government studies, prejudices, and surveys. There are misconceptions, stereotypes, classes to educate those in the throes, assistance programs that help (or don’t), and people fighting every day to overcome the odds.
Let me be very clear at this point: I am not a statistic.
My Social Media brand states quite simply, “I’m a Christian. Writer. Mom. Single. Daughter. Friend. Worker. Chef. Believer.” I’m also a baseball nut, coffee drinker, Disney lover, cat owner. I’m sympathetic, empathetic and at times extremely temperamental. At no point have I ever been a statistic.
I am a person. My home is where I live and where I raise a family. We are not charts on a piece of paper or a spread-sheet column.
The very first thing you should understand about me is that I am blessed. I believe in God, I have felt His hand upon my daily moments and I know without Him I would be lost. I am poor by the world’s standards, but definitely not by His.
Trying to live up to the world’s idea of how my life should be is utterly exhausting. Working long hours while running a household can be overwhelming. And so rewarding.
I am deeply bothered by the stigma that my life brings to me and my daughter. I’m often overwhelmed at the inconsideration pushed upon us for lack of funds. I’ve prayed and thought long and hard about writing this post. There are some things that private. And then there are times when my voice may be the only voice someone hears. For others who can’t speak for themselves.
Poverty is not One Size Fits All or even Most. Poverty is deeply personal, intimate, and unique to each person. Not each family. Each. Person.
This is my story.
This is by no means a complaint against the world. Nor is it a cry for help. It’s not meant to take away any other person’s individuality or be thrown to the masses. This is simply My Story. Or at least the parts of it I can share.
I can’t say I was born into poverty. I think maybe I was, myself and my brothers. But we didn’t know different. Dad worked hard for income, Mom worked hard at keeping a home. At some point in my youth, both worked. We all came together for dinner around the table. We went to school, did our homework and worked our chores. We played games. We talked. We went to Church. We were a family. When my brothers were each old enough, they found part-time jobs to supplement their own pocket cash. I babysat the kids across the street. We didn’t know what poverty was.
We had a clean house. Home cooked meals. We didn’t know we were poor. We knew we didn’t always have as much as the kids down the block. But we always had more than we needed. And we were okay with that.
When I was 13, my dad passed away. Mom chose to move us closer to her sister, also a widow. Thus we transplanted from Michigan to California. My mom has always been an extremely strong, hard worker. If we were in Laura Ingalls’ days, she’d be known as a Pioneer Woman. When there’s a problem, she finds a solution. Even though the word “No” is often a part of our vocabulary, the word “Can’t” rarely is. Her home is immaculate. Her yard is landscaped. She’s always found a way to take care of what needs taking care of. I am very proud of my mom, and just as proud that my daughter inherited that same “Can-Do” spirit. We are not poor people. We are just people in poor circumstances.
We live in the largest county in America. Currently, our unemployment rate averages between 12 and 14%. That means one in seven people who used to work or can work, is not working. That doesn’t take into consideration the dependents that person is responsible for: a spouse, child, or other dependent. I don’t like the game people play with these numbers.
I’m blessed to have a job. I work 35 hours a week. It’s not much, but it’s honest work. It feels good to have a job I can go to. A place where I can contribute back to society and be a part of the outside world. I enjoy paying bills. I do! I like the feeling of writing out checks and buying my own groceries and putting gas in the car. I don’t like knowing that the payments I make aren’t always enough. I don’t like the calls I get each day asking me for money I don’t have.
But I like that each week, the calls are fewer. I like that each payday, I can afford to put just a little more money toward paying off the smallest debt. And maybe next payday, a little more. It’s not easy and there are often times when I’m unable to do anything more than the minimum payments… and sometimes not even that. It’s embarrassing. And that’s a stigma I face a lot. The stigma that being in poverty carries an attitude of apathy.
I want to be self-sufficient. I’m not there yet. I don’t know that I ever will be. But I’m learning a lot on this journey. I’m learning every day. How to cook differently. How to juggle a budget where the outgo always exceeds the income. How to get by for less than what society tells me I need. And how to ask for help when I really need it.
I’m blessed with a wonderful support system. I have family and friends and church and community. I’m not alone. I have people. My people. People who come alongside me to lighten the load however they can. A grandpa who constantly teaches Dot maintenance and farming. My mom who shares cooking secrets. My boss consistently trains me to be better at my job, and gives me opportunities to grow and not be just the stagnant front-desk person. I have people who see me through my struggles. And, yes. I have struggles. Who doesn’t? But I don’t struggle with life. There are worse things than not paying off debt in a timely manner.
For my family, Poverty is a matter of perspective.
My yard is still 90% dirt. That’s not because we’re poor. That’s because I live in the desert. That’s because I don’t know gardening. But I’m learning. Some day, my yard will be completely landscaped. For now, we’re taking it one square foot at a time.
I still treat Dot to the occasional pizza or Starbucks. We need that treat once in a while. When I was growing up, Mom had this saying on a bookmark:
“If, of thy mortal goods, thou art bereft,
And from thy slender store two loaves
alone to thee are left,
Sell one & from the dole,
Buy Hyacinths to feed the soul”
– Muslihuddin Sadi,
13th Century Persian Poet
I remember asking her what that meant. She smiled as she told me, it’s another way of saying “Man cannot live by bread alone.” There must be more to life than physical needs. We must also take care of our spirit, our soul, our emotions.
Imagine my delight when in the first Spring of my somewhat fixer-upper home I discovered Hyacinth growing in my front yard.
Grape Hyacinth
We all need a time of refreshment. Being in poor circumstances no longer allows us the luxury of Disney passes or even a weekend getaway. My mom has another great wall hanging in her kitchen. It reads
Do What You Can
Where You Are
With What You Have.
And that’s why I still try to make time for Family Game Nights. Why we scrimp and save for our Girl Dates to Starbucks or McDonald’s. That’s why a 40-minute drive to Casey’s Cupcakes and the Mission Inn every few months isn’t indulgent ~ it’s necessary!
Because I refuse to let my daughter think she lives in poverty. Because she doesn’t. Because poverty is a temporary disposition that I refuse to settle into comfortably, and I will fight tooth and nail to make sure she doesn’t know what she’s missing.
I believe this poverty is temporary. I refuse to be a societal statistic.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
There’s Hope for Bedford Manor
“Be Not Afraid”. Yes, I’m talking to YOU.
How To Eat For Free And Have Fun Doing It (Or, How Printing Coupons Gave Me a Really Great Weekend!)
WinCo Wins: Lunch for a Dollar!
Dear God, I Owe You An Apology (Quit Helping Me!)
Winco Wins
May 4, 2013 |
I had a beautiful Jade Plant. It started out very small. It was a housewarming gift from my mother over three years ago. The back story is, nearly all my life, my mom’s had jade plants of her own. They’ve come to be a symbol of our family. When we moved, the plant moved with us. So it was only natural for her to buy me my own when I got my first house.
Last summer, the beautiful plant grew bigger. I transplanted it to a larger pot. And it continued to grow. I was very excited. As we worked to beautify and fix Bedford Manor, my Jade plant planted its roots and grew. It was very symbolic.
This last winter was one of the coldest we’d had in many years. It stayed colder, longer. The temperatures dropped below freezing at night, for many nights. I decided the smart thing to do would be to bring my Jade plant in from the elements and protect it. I was wrong.
It sat, lovingly, on the counter between the refrigerator and kitchen sink. As I would do dishes at night, I would remember to water it. I’d talk to it. Take care of it. But after a few weeks I noticed it wasn’t so healthy any more. And then I noticed it. I thought it was a sort of water stain on the succulent leaves. But it wasn’t. It turned out to be what’s known as Powdry Mildew.
Now, Jade plants are hearty, resistant plants. Hardly anything can get to it. Except, of course, this Powdry Mildew. It infiltrates the plant and can even infect the soil. Since the days were now sunny and warmer, I’d placed the Jade back on the front porch. But it was too late.
The Jade Plant.
The desert sun wasn’t as sunny as I’d needed. The warmth wasn’t as warm. My plant began to crumble. The leaves dropped and fell like, well, like leaves. Like the dead leaves that they were. Was there a connection that during this time I was going through some strong struggles at home? Finances and health are always at the top of my Prayer List. And neither seemed to be going in my favor for quite some time.
I did an internet search. “Jade plant disease”. And discovered the nasty Powdry Mildew. Thankfully, since Jades are hearty, there was hope. But it would take an extreme cure. Especially not knowing if the soil itself was infected.
The simple start is to concoct a mixture of 1 gallon water, 1/2 tablespoon liquid soap, and 1 tablespoon baking soda. Pour the mixture into a spray bottle and use it. Every morning. Spray the leaves and plant and topsoil. A very simple, inexpensive remedy. For days I sprayed the Jade. I sprayed the leaves. The trunk. The soil. But nothing helped.
On to the not-so-simple Part Two: I had to cut it back. I had to prune back and remove all of the dead and infected growth, and hope the Jade would survive.
I cried as I cut stem after stem after stem. What was left was just a few inches of trunk, sticking up from the pot like… well, like this.
My Poor Pruned Jade Plant.
Nevertheless, I was hopeful because I could still see the moist green inside the trunk. After a few days, some of the cut ends shriveled up and dropped off. I was heartbroken. This plant that was once strong, big, beautiful, gorgeous… this plant was dying. And it’s possible I killed it by bringing it inside for the winter. Jades aren’t meant to thrive inside except for short periods of time.
I refused to give up. Day after day for the last three weeks, I watered it on alternate mornings. I sprayed every cut, every trunk, every grain of soil each morning and sometimes in the evenings.
It stayed green.
And something else was happening. My finances started to improve. My health started to improve. The anemia is fading. The eczema is manageable. I’m sleeping a little better at night. The bills are getting paid. I don’t know how. But through much prayer, the bills are getting paid.
Last week, I began to pray for my Jade. It’s not just a plant. It’s a symbol of Bedford Manor. Sure. I could get another Jade. But it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be the One that’s been here for all the improvements and changes. It wouldn’t be the One my mommy gave me out of love. Anything else would just be a replacement.
Please, God. Don’t give me a replacement plant. Heal the original one. It’s symbolic. It’s history. It’s mine. Heal the one I have. Please.
And as I went to spray the Jade this evening, I saw this.
Wonderful New Growth!
Wonderful new growth!
My Jade is coming back to life. There are not less than eleven new buds just beginning to bloom. My euphoria is understated. If my treasured plant can endure, so can I.
There is Hope for Bedford Manor.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
May 4, 2013 |
Friday was “Bring Your Frog to Work” Day.
Okay. Not really. But it should have been. For me it was. Maybe I’ll start a trend. Yup. It’s already on my iPhone calendar. Every First Friday in May shall be “Bring Your Frog to Work Day”.
I had intended to spend my lunch hour at the Park behind my office, taking photos of flying hawks and scurrying ground squirrels. Instead, it evolved into me taking photos of Nippers every chance I got.
It started with him accepting his role. That is, being the Frog that I took to work today.
Bring Your Frog to Work Day
When I won the monthly office contest, he helped me celebrate.
Red Robin…. yumm!
Then he joined me for lunch.
Tacos and Frogs. Do they really go together?
Later in the afternoon, we did the daily bank- and mail-run for the office. He wanted to check our P.O. Box. Sadly, other than himself, it was empty.
Postage Due?
Shortly after, it was time to wind up the work week and head home. But not for long – I won tickets to the local minor league baseball game for tonight. Nippers and I took Dot, my Second Daughter, and my Second-Second Daughter to see the High Desert Mavericks wallop the Lancaster Jethawks. It was quite the game! Back and forth, strike outs, errors, runs, outs… it was intense! And oh, so fun.
Nippers at Stater Bros. Stadium. My little photo-bombing frog.
Mavericks Warming Up
After a while, the girls and I got hungry. Every Friday home game is Family Feast Night: hot dogs and sodas for just a dollar each! Nippers certainly likes his foods…
Ballpark Food. Yummm!
In keeping with my Luck lately, halfway through the second inning, a Mavericks staffer walked by and handed everyone a card. Okay, sure. Everyone got one. But if I hadn’t won the game tickets, I wouldn’t have been present to get this ticket. Am I right?!
Bowling, anyone?
And then of course it was time to document the humans. My Second Daughter Elisa Jo took this wonderful photo of all of us.
A new kind of Family Game Night.
We sang the Seventh Inning Stretch. We sang “Sweet Caroline”. We ate dollar hot dogs and drank ballpark beer (well, two of us did!). We freaked out, multiple times, when a moth the size of Calcutta decided it really loved Dot and Elisa Jo. And we were laughed at, often, by those around us who experienced our girlish screams.
Would we do it again? Quicker than you can say, “Yes!”
The Mavericks won. It was a wonderful game. Not slow and draggy as some baseball games are. At first it seems the Mavs had no kick and were gonna go down without a fight. But by the third inning they snapped to and gave the Lancaster Jethawks a run for their money! In the end, the Mavs won 7-9.
Friday’s over. “Bring Your Frog to Work” Day is done. But the memories of this nearly perfect day will remain. Can a frog bring you luck? I’m pretty sure mine can. Does. Has.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
May 3, 2013 |
If you follow me on Facebook, you already have an Inkling what this post is about. On Tuesday, I posted the following status:
“Netflix offers us the opportunity to see all our shows from the very beginning. Dot and I are working through Grey’s Anatomy. At times cute, endearing, vulgar and heartpounding. Tonight we saw an older episode that suggested it’s harder to ignore someone if you know Five Things about them. My Five Things are in the first comment. What are yours?”
There weren’t too many comments on that post, but I did get a few messages that it started a few people thinking. Is it harder for you to ignore someone if you know more about them?
As a writer, I love learning more about people. I love hearing what they have to say, knowing what makes them tick, discovering personality traits… all of it. Knowledge of people inspires me, creates characters, provides background. It’s wonderful. I just love stories.
That is, of course, the subject of today’s post. Stories. But what kind of stories? Well, that’s as unique as the person telling it. Give me the same story told by five different people, and I’ll have five different stories!
I have a plethora of family stories: The chipmunk in the dryer vent. Dad’s bear rug. The turned-over potato truck and more deer than we could count. Mom asking for a Second Hand in the Kitchen. The snake under the stairs that was actually just a box of fishing bait rattling around. Moving cross-country, then back again, in one week.
And an assortment of personal experiences. Most of these are being compiled for my writing project: Broken Girl and Other Tales of Redemption: A Collection of Parables, Poetry and Prose.
Broken Girl cover
I love well-told stories. A gifted writer can hold your interest on subjects you’d rather not study. A well-written resource paper is far less mundane than a bulleted checklist, don’t you think?
In keeping with today’s theme, here are my Friday Five: Stories.
1. Jo March, the narrator of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women is a character I fell deeply in love with because she resonated my young life. “Settled into a temporary poverty”, this tomboy is more comfortable with a pen than most people. She feels more deeply, loves more intensely, and lives more rambunctiously than I have… yet! She inspires me. I used to tell people I was named after her (my middle name is Jo!).
2. Award-winning Stephen J. Cannell, the magnificent writer-creator-producer of many television shows. I used to watch so many. The Rockford Files was my dad’s favorite. I was enamored with shows from the 80s: 21 Jump Street, The A-Team, Riptide. I used to tell my family, someday he’s going to know who I am. They laughed. In 2007, I sent him an email, never ever ever thinking I’d get any sort of response. Boy, was I wrong! Not only did I get a response, but he turned it into a video response for his international website [you can see his advice to me about writing here. It’s still the first video that shows on this page!] He was the first writer/mentor to call me by both my first and middle name. So for three years we had a quasi-mentor friendship online. Facebook and twitter interactions, mostly. And then in 2010 the planets aligned and I was able to meet him in person for a book signing! It was the day after my birthday, which made it that much better. And six months later he died. I saw the post on Facebook and it took me fifteen minutes of online searching to verify his page hadn’t been hacked. I couldn’t believe he was gone. My heart broke. I remember calling my mother, crying, and blurting out, “Stephen’s dead! Stephen’s dead!” As if he would somehow remember me, remember how important he’s been to my writing career. And then there was the email incident. If it hadn’t happened to me, I’d be very skeptical. But it was me. It did happen. And so I try to write. Every day.
Me & SJC
3. Louie L’Amour has such a style of writing that leaves me breathless. I wish I could read fast, quick, without blurring the words, without forgetting what was on the previous page. I wish I could swallow up every story of the Sacketts and all other characters he’s created in one afternoon, and then start over again. I’m still currently reading his Collected Short Stories. I’m a slow reader, lately. But when I do read, I love it! I even named my 2011 annual Christmas Nutcracker after him!
Louis & Louis
4. I have a hard time writing fantasy. I’m very much a logical, linear thinking; which is quite oxymoronic for being a creative writer. Still, I try. My desire is to be read. To be a quality, best-selling, recognized writer. And still be able to go to Disneyland without getting mobbed.
5. I have many Cookbooks that I like to read and study. But rarely do I cook from them. I’m too afraid of spending money on groceries for a recipe we may not like, and then it’s money down the drain. Someday I’d love to write a series about a Chef who solves mysteries. Sort of a “Murder, She Wrote…” with a Julia Child-type protagonist. Well, now. I’ve written the idea. I guess I better start working on it.
*Bonus Story* When I was 9 years old, I read a short story in Cricket Magazine. Rosemary for Remembrance. To this day, I remember that story, but have been unable to find it. It was the story of a lonely girl who found a playmate in her grandmother’s backyard… with a surprise ending. Oh, how I wish I could find that story! It inspired me, at the age of 9, to write well. It showed me how to build suspense and deliver a twist. That little short story that I can’t find anywhere continues to inspire me to this day.
And now it’s your turn. Leave me a comment with Five Things about Stories. They can be your favorite authors, your favorite memories, your favorite books. Anything related to stories. You don’t have to be a blogger. There’s no link-up. Just share your Friday Five Things. Be sure to check back frequently as others leave their FFTs as well!
As always, Happy Reading (and Writing)!
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
Falling in Love With Louis
Self / Public / ation
Why I Don’t Go To Carnivals in October
A Good Name
I Want to Write in That Style
Amara’s Light: Book One of the Grenalia Chronicles
