There's No Place like Home

Earlier this month, we (Brian, myself and the pups) loaded up the car and headed to my hometown of Lander, Wyoming. With a population of just over 7500, Lander is the kind of small town where everyone knows almost everyone. Lander sits near the center of the state of Wyoming in the Wind River Mountains. It's a genuinely beautiful place.

March 3rd marked my grandpa's 80th birthday (born 3/3/33), and his family and friends came from all over the place to celebrate. My mom, my uncles and aunts planned a great event at the senior center in town, where over 50 people showed up! It was kind of a surprise, he thought it was just going to be immediate family. He was surprised to see extended family and friends, but happy that both of us from Utah (plus Brian), and my "greeney" cousins from Colorado all made it. I know that none of us would have missed it for the world. Even my cousin Kadie, 8 months pregnant (or "beer belly" depending on who you ask) made the trip from Colorado Springs.

Photos courtesy of Christy Meredith

The party was a blast. A few of grandpa's family and close friends got up in front of the room to take a shot at embarrassing him. He's usually the jokester, but this time the jokes were on him. Growing up, he used to distract me at the dinner table to look the other direction while he swiped my plate from in front of me and hide it in his lap. He was always so quick about it, sneaky bugger, that I never suspected him. (I mean, why would he do such a thing!?) Other times, he would replace my silverware with a spatula instead of a fork, a ladle in place of a spoon, shotglass for my water, etc. and insisted that I attempt to eat dinner with them. Later, he graduated into the remote control whoopee cushion sound machine, hidden under the chairs at the dinner table. That was a fun little phase. Good times.

It was a short visit. Too short, as always. But it was so nice to see everyone and to have everyone together; which has become such a rarity anymore.

On the way home, the pups were pretty good in the car. Below are a couple of snapshots I took: both of them peeking out the door window to watch us pack up the car, Pepper waking daddy up from his nap on the floor, and Bailey intently interested in the passing landscape from the car. She looked out the window for a good part of the trip home. Funny dogs.

On our way out of town, I snapped this gem (below) from the car as Brian sped past. This area is always the highlight of the 300 mile drive for me. Red Canyon sits just a few miles outside of Lander; like a welcome banner, then a wave goodbye. "Until next time..."

Luck O' the Irish

La sona naomh Padraig!! (Irish for "Happy St. Patrick's Day!") I am such a sucker for holidays. Any holiday. I get all twitterpated with holiday excitement and a celebration in some form is bound to progress. There are rules and traditions to follow before these special days pass for another year. For St. Patty's, you gotta wear green or beware the pinching machine, must attempt to speak with a (bad) Irish accent, and blame your missing car keys on Leprechauns. Brian isn't big on participation or holiday cheer, but he's learned to at least go along with my shenanigans.

We stayed home for St. Patty's as the weather was less than desirable. We enjoyed the company of one another and of the puppies, we drank green beer and ate delicious "traditional" (as far as I know) Irish fare. I made Corned Beef Rubens for lunch and a hearty Shepherds Pie (stew/gravy with mashed potatoes on top) for dinner. Both were my own experiments than actual recipes, which almost never turn out exactly how I want them, but I have to toot my own horn this time and admit that they turned out to be amazing. The Shepherds Pie was definitely a hit with the man-child Brian: as "most definitely one of my favorite things you've ever made for me." Pretty high praise - he does not say this often. Twas the luck o' de Irish I guess.

I was so excited about the success that I decided to share this delightful recipe with my fabulous readers.

Corned Beef Reuben Sandwiches: (makes 2 sandwiches)

Ingredients:

• 1/2 medium yellow onion, long slices
• 1 Tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• 6 slices of Corned Beef (aka Irish bacon -I got slices from the deli at the grocery store)
• 4 slices Muenster cheese
• 4 slices Rye bread (I like Oroweat Dark Rye)
• Top with 1000 Island Dressing or Spicy Brown Mustard as desired

Instructions:

•  Saute onion slices over medium high heat in a small bit of olive oil until softened, meanwhile, pan fry the Corned Beef until lightly browned. Add Worcestershire sauce to onions and saute until absorbed. 
•  Add all ingredients like a grilled cheese. Just in case you've never made a grilled cheese sandwich, do the following: Lightly butter rye bread on one side, and lay buttered side down on a warmed skillet over medium heat. Add fried Corned Beef, sauteed onions, and cheese, then the other slice of bread (buttered side up.) Add 1000 Island Dressing or mustard on top rye slice if desired. Brown both bread slices. Serve warm.

It's so unbelievably easy and just as tasty. I can call it traditional because of the corned beef, but I suppose I won't truly know until I make it across the pond to the land of green myself someday. Erin go bragh! (Ireland Forever!)

***Bonus***

Just a fun little tid-bit.
This happened:

Story:
Brian took a week off work a few weeks ago to use his vacation time before he lost it. On a Sunday night, I quickly drew faces on all of the eggs while he was upstairs. I thought it would be a funny little surprise for him. I waited impatiently all week for him to say something and giggled to myself at the thought of him whipping the carton lid open and seeing these faces stare up at him.  But the dude didn't make himself breakfast all week! Finally, on the last day of his vacation, I stole his muffin that he would've eaten for breakfast, thinking it would force him to reach for the eggs. It worked. He joked that I have too much time on my hands, and that he almost didn't want to eat them...almost.

The Good Fight

Okay so, remember my resolution to read 1-2 books each month? Well let's mark January and February as a complete fail. There really is no excuse, I just didn't make time for it.

I started the year off with The Pilgrimage by Paulo Coelho; a genuinely remarkable read. I just finished it on March 1st. Even though it took me 2 months to read 260 pages (pathetic, I know), I thoroughly enjoyed it whenever I managed to pick it up. Paulo Coelho is an incredibly wise man. I have "ruined" (says Brian) the book with my scribbles in the margins and my underlining of passages I deem thought provoking. Which is...a good chunk of each page.

Throughout the book, an underlying message of the "good fight" appeared again and again:

"The good fight is the one that's fought in the name of our dreams. When we're young and our dreams first explode inside us, we are very courageous, but we haven't yet learned how to fight. With great effort, we learn how to fight but by then we no longer have the courage to go to combat. We become our own worst enemy. We say that our dreams are childish, or too difficult to realize,or the result of our not having known enough about life.We kill our dreams because we're afraid to fight the good fight."

And I sat there and pondered...what's my "good fight?" What am I supposed to be "fighting" for?

For those of you that know me well, you know that my great love is for travel. Like...obsessed! I saw most of the United States in high school, but I sprouted an interest in other cultures, religions and languages in college. I actually graduated with my Associates degree in Humanities. (Most of you are like, whaaa?) And almost everyone asked me, "what are you going to do with that?" When I said "something to do with travel, like a travel agent or cultural anthropologist." Then they told me it was a waste, and not practical. But, it's still what I want to do every day. Even if all I do is plan fabulous vacations for others and never go myself. It makes me happy.

"When you travel, you experience, in a very practical way, the act of rebirth....Adapting oneself to new situations and receiving in return all of the thousands of blessings that life generously offers to those who seek them."---Paulo Coelho, The Pilgrimage

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On another note, Brian and I took a field trip to Barnes & Noble a couple of weeks ago; Brian had a gift card left over from Christmas that he had been dying to redeem. (He found 3 great books he's really excited about -  he read the first 50 pages of one in the store before he bought it. Thanks Gene and Deb!) He even let me use his remaining $1.32 toward my purchase. What a gentleman. Ladies, I'm keepin this one. No, but really, he's great.

While he was nerding out in the Sci-Fi section, I had my own geek-fest in the Travel Essays. I spent over an hour navigating a whole shelf and a half; I stood there like a star-struck teenager. I had butterflies furiously flapping in my stomach. I stood there flipping through, reading, day dreaming, reminiscing about my own travel disasters. That's when I realized...this is my dream. At least once, I want to be one of these crazy nomads that drops everything and spends their savings on an unbelievable year long trip to everywhere, for no other reason than to see what happens. I'm way too impatient to save it for my mid-life crisis. Anyway I left the bookstore with a discounted Ken Follett novel, Walden, and about 45 pictures of books that went straight onto my wish list on Amazon.com. Of that entire shelf of Travel Essays, probably 3 of them didn't make it on that list.

What can I say? It's my passion. For a while now I've toyed around with the idea of taking an online course in Travel Writing. (Yes, there is such a wonderful thing.) And now, I'm seriously thinking I'll give it a shot. Gotta go for it... gotta fight the good fight.