from Steamy Kitchen column in Tampa Tribune 5/21/08

When I was little, my mom used to take a 2-quart pitcher, fill it with water, add a few tea bags and placed it in a sunny spot early in the day. My job was to chase the sun. As the sun moved throughout the day, I had to nudge that stupid pitcher.

Not a fun job, especially since back then as a kid, tea to me tasted like tree bark. What made the whole job worse was that our patio was covered with an open latticework canopy of two-by-fours. Great for playing a quick game of tic-tac-toe in the shade-produced lines, but you can imagine the frustration of making sun tea?

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Note: This post seems silly now - because

1) I’m not mad at Scott anymore - that was SO last week

2) Andrew had a brain MRI on Tuesday morning

However, this story was published in the Tampa Tribune (my deadlines for the paper are a week ahead of pub date), and I’m not quite ready to talk about Andrew quite yet. (Yes, he’s healthy, fine) So I’m posting this little story anyways.

Also, something happened on the way to Flickr…the colors on the photos flattened out and are a little mushy. ??? Can’t figure it out this morning and will work on it later. In the meantime, enjoy!

Uninhibited Rage of Energy

I’m mad at my husband and it sucks. 36 hours ago, he lashed out at me, totally uncalled for and ever since then, I’ve been waiting for that apology. Waiting…nothing. That’s the trouble with being married to one of the most stubborn individuals this side of the universe.

When I’m upset, I retreat to my kitchen and make something. Sometimes, the most brilliant concoctions arise from my uninhibited rage of energy. I tear, chop, slather, peel, whirl and blend. Pots clang on the stovetop, the KitchenAid spits out patches of stray flour, the cheap blender vibrates across the counter, and the whirring exhaust fan drowns out angry thoughts in my head. I chop loads of fresh mint because no matter how hard I run my chef’s knife across the leaves, it happily returns with a bright, refreshing, crisp fragrance that bathes my tear-streaked face and clears my breathing.

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