Easy creamy basil balsamic dressing

Put it on anything: salad, chicken, fish, veggies, cooked grains... it's delicious.

One warning... it kinda looks unpleasant. If you want a less poopy brown colored dressing, substitute a champagne or white wine vinegar... but I like balsamic, so what if it makes brown dressing?!

--2 handfuls of basil (blanch in boiling water for about 15-20 seconds. basically make sure that the boiling water touches each leaf. I blanch in a stainless steel wire mesh strainer so that the leaves can't get away and then you can shake all the water off with the same utensil.
--About 1 tbsp of olive oil mayo or homemade mayo
--1 tbsp+ of balsamic vinegar
--extra virgin olive oil needs to double the amount of balsamic vinegar used, so lets say 2 tbsp evoo
--sea salt
--white pepper

After the basil is blanched, shake off all the water and splat it into a blender, then add the other ingredients. Hit the liquefy button on your blender and boom, you have an amazing creamy balsamic and basil dressing that tastes great and makes everything dipped or tossed in it better, I promise.

Side note: I use sea salt out of a grinder and that is about 5 grinds for this recipe, about 10-15 grinds for your pepper mill. And don't use already ground pepper; it tastes like nothing. I don't even know why it exists on restaurant tables.

Oh and fun fact that you might not know, black pepper doesn't digest in your body. It sticks in the little grooves of your intestines... so keep that in mind. I still use plenty of black pepper, but I use other kinds of spice and chiles to spice foods up once I learned this fun fact.  Health side effects of those small folds of your intestines being clogged with black pepper?  WHO knows.

Never leave a mark.

She sat in the airport staring at her hands, picking non-existent dirt from under her fingernails, pushing back her cuticles with the tip of her thumb. She had no cuticles left; she had done this so many times – a cover that she had perfected long ago – looking like she wasn’t interested in what was going on around her, pretending that she didn’t have a care in the world. To the others, she was so bored, in fact, that the only thing keeping her awake was how imperfect her nail beds were.  

A young Army Specialist was sitting next to his girlfriend that he hadn’t seen in over 6 months.  He had done his basic at Fort Knox and the ticket sticking out of his bag suggested that they were going back to his hometown in Kentucky. His body language said that he believed in love. The way she ate her Subway, rather than look at him, said she was trying to decide if all this was worth it. A Persian aunt and niece were talking loudly, a conversation that would have looked and sounded like an argument to most. She knew that they were only talking about the niece’s father (the aunt’s brother) and the fact that he absolutely hated Philadelphia. It was funny, really. A lady in her 90s, requiring a wheelchair, snapped at the gentleman trying to assist her, then realizing she was being unfair, even for someone her age, quickly recovered with an, “I’m sorry. Thank you so much for your help, dear.” The father and son that were waiting for the Rochester flight at gate 17 had an unfortunate and dysfunctional relationship. “Pick your shit up and move,” is hardly the way to talk to an 11 year old.

She was one of a kind, yet appeared to be just another sheep in the flock. She walked alone, under the guise of a business traveler without a companion.  She would make all the required phone calls while surrounded by those heading for vacation or those returning from their board meetings; calling her mother to catch up on the week’s news, calling her boyfriend to let him know she had landed, emailing her coworkers that their days would have to be delayed because she wasn’t going to be able to review the report until after 11. Sending and receiving texts from a friend with relationship troubles and her sister who was looking to invest in a new start-up. From the periphery and to the average outsider, she was busy, content, maybe even lucky. But these were all covers, too. She didn’t want to look lonely. She didn’t want her neighbor that was sharing an elbow rest to think of her as someone wanting or willing to partake in small talk. She actually didn’t want anyone to think of her, period. She didn’t want them to know anything about her and she didn’t want them to be able to remember a detail after she was gone. She’d turn her phone on when the plane landed, because that’s what is normal. She’d make a groan when her phone chirped upon receiving signal, indicating that she had yet another email. She’d call her hotel, asking if they could allow her an early check-in because she’d arrived ahead of schedule. That would be the first time the gentleman in seat 12C would hear her voice, and then her name as she confirmed her reservation. She was pleasant. She would smile, help the older lady with her bag, maybe even her seatbelt, but she would not engage in small talk. If she did, they would retain some fragmented memory of her and probably pass it on eventually to a friend or another airport stranger. It was her job to never be recognized, never leave a mark.

The world is a pretty small place. She’s seen thousands of repeaters – strangers that she’s seen before – from one place and then another. Had they noticed her, spoken to her, been able to place having sat, drank, or eaten with her, she would have to remember, too.

The conversation with her mother was real. There was no office job, however, nor reports to read. Her boyfriend believed she was an executive with clients all over the world and was forced to travel, often. The text messages were mostly encrypted instructions for where she was to head next.  When she called the hotel, that was her boss. When she gave her name, that was her new alias, which she was only repeating for confirmation. They said she could only make it 5 years at this; that was when everyone maxed out, they insisted. She was well into year 6…

Finland

They say that it is the planning and anticipation of long-awaited travel that really feeds and heals your soul. (One possible reason why last minute vacations just never feel quite as satisfying.) With that in mind, I've started thinking about my upcoming trip to Finland, which I just discovered from looking at a map, will span almost the entire country. We're starting in Helsinki and ending up in the region north of the Arctic Circle known as Lapland, in a small cottage in Luosto.  Along the way we'll stop in Vahakyro, Vaasa, and Ylistaro, where current (3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th?) cousins still live. In fact, Ylistaro is still home to my grandfather's ancestral family farm, and a cousin still owns the property.

Some people travel and love being tourists. I don't mind those people one bit, I'm just not one of them. Show me a place as an insider. Show me the country, show me the culture. I actually don't mind that I never went to Rome while I was in Italy. I much preferred spending a week on the Lignano beaches where we were the only American tourists within miles. I loved having to take pictures of signs on the way to Oido, just so we could compare the Korean characters, in hope of finding our way back, one "breadcrumb" at a time. And drinking beer with Korean students and Korean Americans while eating chicken butthole might have been one of the most ridiculous nights of my life. Don't judge - "when in ...Korea," right? I'd rather do what the locals do and go where the locals go. So this trip to Finland is going to really be tough to beat, I think, on a personal level.  Not that Finland has a large tourist population, but I like that the only place where I'll have a clue what anyone is saying, being that the majority will probably speak fluent English, is in Helsinki, where I'll spend maybe 24 hours, flying into and out of the country. I'm excited to spend time with extended family and learn about their home, in broken Finn-English. And while slightly nerve wracking, even driving through Finland, mostly on our own, stuttering to pronounce the road signs, and hoping the GPS speaks English, will be quite amusing. Oh and though it's probably too much to ask, I'm hoping the cottage in Luosto shows up on the GPS, which is doubtful. Hell, I'm hoping the cottage in Luosto has plumbing, which is, again, doubtful. Finns bathe only once a week and really enjoy the whole sauna/swimming in a lake thing, don't you know?

So... what do I hope to do?

• I've heard the produce in Finland is great in the Summer - strawberries and potatoes, in particular.
• We're going to be there for the Finnish Summer Solstice, which is a big deal. They have a week long celebration that culminates in a 24 hour bonfire/drinking/swimming/eating celebration. This will be how we begin our trip. Only time will tell if the next few days after are labeled as "recovery" in the photo album.
• They're big on reindeer. I'd like to see some. I don't want to eat one, but I might. When in Finland, eh? 
• They're big on blood... blood sausage, blood pancakes. I find it hard to believe that I'll partake here.
• Gonna have to try that sauna / swimming in a lake combo.
• Very excited to see the homes and ancestral farm.
• It will be my 2nd adventure north or the Arctic Circle, and for now, I can only imagine what this trip north has in store.

Southern charm

…

Annie had hired two Mexican day laborers to build a greenhouse behind the servant’s entrance in the back of the house. She had seen them sitting across from the hardware store in the bed of a Ford pickup, and yes they were illegals, but she knew the system only existed because it worked, so she felt no shame in offering them a few days worth of work for a fair wage. Besides that, she was uncomfortable soliciting someone from town, knowing the trip down memory lane that she’d be forced to travel and the unwelcome questions she'd be forced to politely refuse to answer.

Miguel and Mike, as they referred to one another, knew what they were doing.  In two days they were finished building the greenhouse’s frame and structure and were advising Annie on what magazines to buy seed, soil, and fertilizer from. When they asked if they could help with any other work on the house, Annie was actually excited to show them around. So Annie, Miguel, and Mike walked in and out of every room checking off things that needed to be done, with Annie vetoing any suggestions that just seemed beyond her concern. When they were done, Annie had agreed to about 2 weeks more of their time, and she had added 2 additional illegal contractors to her list of laborers – friends of her new friends, of course. She knew that they would be painting, hanging new drywall, and fixing pipes and wires for longer than that though. And after they were done it would be time to fix the roof or clean out the gutters, and maybe they could help her decide what to do with all of her newly reacquired acreage. They agreed to get started on the inside one week later, giving Annie time to unpack and see what else wasn’t working in the old Wilson House.

As Miguel and Mike left the house, Annie followed them out and onto the porch, mentally adding four new acquaintances to her hometown "outsider insider list." She was happy to have the company being that it was a very short list, for the time being. Out of the corner of her eye, she was set aback to see a shadow being cast around the corner of the house of a man rocking in her rocking chair. She was uncomfortable with the thought of who was sitting on her porch, in her chair, how long they had been there, and what they wanted. She'd only been back for a few days, but everyone in town had probably known for weeks that she had bought her parents' house back from her brother. "The girl who had turned her back to travel the world had come back to dig up dirt on her country town," she was sure they thought. Few people were happy to see her, though a true outsider would have thought nothing of the kind. She, as an insider, had always been able to see through the thick and fallacious Southern charm that interlopers mistook as sincere and endearing. She'd seen plenty of it the last few days. With a smile on their faces and an intentionally inquisitive tone to their voices, they'd ask with their shifting eyes, "What are you doin' back home, Hon?" In reality, they were uneasy about her being back. They didn't know why the big city journalist was back in their town. She didn't need trouble sitting on her front porch, hiding and waiting to ruin her night.

Annie turned the corner to see who was there, but the sun was setting and she couldn’t see much more than a black blur. “I’ve gotten five phone calls this week telling me that Annie Wilson moved back to Magnolia,” a familiar voice said. 

Annie relaxed. This wasn't one of them, but she couldn't place the voice. She squinted and almost winced at how bright the sun was. She held her hand up trying to block the violently brilliant orange light, typical of the Southern setting sun, but was still unable to recognize through the spaces in her fingers the dark seated shadow with the familiar voice.

“Did you come back to save this place?” his deep Southern drawl was sincere, and had always been a turn on for Annie.

“I really am sorry, but you’re gonna have to give me a second to…” Annie stopped as the man stood up and she recognized that undeniable and unforgettably wavy hair. “Will?” she whispered. Annie took three quick steps and reached for her friend. Standing on her toes, she gave him a hug, and he greeted her as he had for so many years, “Hi, Sweetheart,” he said with a smile in his voice, kissing her cheek through her hair.

… 

To walk a day on those pads...

"You should stop watching tv. Go outside. Have some fun. Go play on the swing set," his mom said. Her son turned around to look up at her.

"Ok. I'm kinda bored. I don't really want to play on the swings though. I can't decide what I want to do," the little boy said scrunching his face.

"Hmmm... time to use your imagination. If you could do anything you wanted today, what would you want to do?"

After thinking for less than a minute, the boy got up from the spot where he always sat, on the floor, in front of the tv, and declared with a pointed finger in the air, “today I’m going to be the cat!”  

“I’m going to lie around the house and move from place to place following the sun. I’m going to swish my tail ever so slightly for most of the day, and then whip it back and forth whenever the dog walks by. I’m going to lick my paw and lazily clean my ears and whiskers. I’m going to look you in the face with big round eyes, and blink, blink, blink, instead of responding. When you’re out of the room, I’m going to scream, “MMMmmmmeeeeoooowwww?” When you least expect it, I’m going to jump off the chair in the living room, run to the dining room, jump to the table, then to the counter, then to the top of the pantry cupboard. From there I'll tease the dogs. When you go outside, I’m going to stretch up on my hind feet and bat at the door handle. I’m going to scream a slightly different, “MmmmmmEEEooooWWW!!” I'll beg to go outside and when you let me out, I'll eat grass, and attack bugs, and hunt birds. When a car drives by I'll pouf up real big, and when somebody walks past the house, I'll hiss because I hate strangers. When you’re walking up or down stairs, I’ll try to trip you. I’m going to jump up and rub on your knee, run two stairs in front of you, wait, and weave into your legs. Anytime you move, I’m going to follow you. I'll be your shadow. When you go into the bathroom, I'll sit and scream at the door until you let me in. Then I'll sit and watch you 'til I get bored. Then I'll try and knock all of your soaps and creams off of the counter and into the sink. I'll also pull out the sink stoppers because I hate those things. I'll pull some toilet paper off the roll and try to eat it as fast as possible before you can get to me and make me spit it out. At night, I’ll hear you open a bottle of pop. I don’t know what room I’ll be in or how far away I’ll come running from, but I’ll come. If you don’t give me the bottle cap, I’ll rub my face all over the mouth of the bottle. If you walk away from the bottle, I might knock it over… if you don’t give me the cap. After you throw the cap for me to chase, I’ll fetch it and then take it into the laundry room and put it in my food. I’ll eat around it like I haven’t eaten in days. When I’m full, I’ll bring the bottle cap back to you, and you will play with me. If you don’t play with me, if you don’t pay attention to me, I'll dig my claws into your nice leather furniture… or maybe I’ll jump onto your bookshelf and start knocking off all your little knickknacks. I'll make you play with me. While you’re getting ready for bed, I’ll start planning my night. There will be a lot that I need to take care of while everyone in the house is sleeping. I need to throw up somewhere. That will take a bit of time to plan. Should it be in the kitchen where someone will step on it and everyone will see it? Or should it be in a corner somewhere and you won’t see it for days? I’ll also need to knock over your garbage can. I’m sure there is something in there that you’ve been keeping from me. I’ll pull those stoppers out of the sink again because I’m sure you’ve put them back in by now. I also need to jump into bed before you’ve tucked in so that I can make sure I get the best sleeping position.  Around five, I’ll wake you up so you can give me another handful of food. You love that. At some point, I’ll knock something off your desk. It'll fall on the dog. She’ll jump up all scared and stupid. That will make me happy.”

“And just like that you’ve got a busy day planned,” his mother said chuckling and shaking her head.

The little boy just looked his mother in the face. And with big round eyes, he blinked - blink, blink, blink - instead of responding. 

R&R

He sat in the cold watching his breath. It was dark, which meant it was after 3am. He could feel that winter was right around the corner again. He was picturing himself on the gray beaches. He could hear the waves from his front steps. He didn't deserve such beauty, he thought, so he closed his eyes tightly. He shook his head, trying to erase the images of sunsets and elder fishing camps. His son was sitting on the couch, watching his father's shadow through the front window. It was a behavior his family was familiar with. He lived in a permanent haze, afterall. Today it was at its best though. It was payday, which meant he was able to buy the good stuff. 

Every other Thursday, like today, he drinks R&R. By mid-week he's moved to Listerine. When times get desperate he'll settle for gasoline.

Sure he's an addict. He's also just getting by, coping with his life. The village kids walk past him and mutter. The grandmothers shake their heads, hissing and pointing, intending to scold. The troopers know his first, last, and middle names, but they still show proper respect. His wife remembers a better year, and she loves his children harder because of who their father was. When he sobered up, there was always another apology to make. He felt he was always apologizing. He was ready to do what was best for his family. He wasn't afraid to die. They would be better if he was better, but they'd also be better if he was gone, a hard realization for a father, husband, brother, and son. He stumbled out the front door while the sun was peaking over the horizon.

The local bank had two cameras - one for each door - and is open 6 days a week. The distribution center had eleven cameras and a single door and is only open 2 weeks a month. The bank tellers knew everyone in the village by name, but never knew who they'd see on any given day. At the distribution center, the clerk was waiting. He knew who he would see on the second Friday of every month. He knew everyone in the village that still had enough money to buy another bottle of the good stuff.

Duckball

This is Durga and her Duckball...

This is what is on Durga's mind most times...

(Sung to the tune of the 1960s Batman theme song.)

"Duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, DUCKBALL! 

Dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, bury, bury, bury, bury, bury, bury, bury, bury... DUCKBALL!

Duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, DUCKBALL!"

***


She takes the toy away.


***


"Give it back. Why are you taking it? I want it. Give it back. That's my duckball.

(20 mins later) Why did you take duckball? I want it back. Give it back. Did you hide it somewhere? Is it under here? Is it up there on that thingy? Where is it? 

(another 20 mins later) I miss duckball."

***

"Here. Go play upstairs," she says as she tosses the toy.

***

"DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKBAAAAAAAAALL!

(Still being sung to the tune from the 1960s Batman theme song.)

Duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, duckball, DUCKBALL!

Dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, bury, bury, bury, bury, bury, bury, bury, bury... DUCKBALL!"