Stuck at the end of the cul de sac I’m losing track of the comings and goings of the real grown up world. I have risen from my ignorance coma to watch with interest the Occupy Wall Street protests. Basically, people objecting to corporate greed and economic peril are camping in downtown areas. Am I smart enough to figure out the point or am I embracing my role as a faux domestic goddess and letting world news roll off my back?
As someone who formerly worked in downtown Phoenix and as a card carrying scaredy cat there is no way I’d leave the safety of my couch to save the world. I’ll just keep watching Judge Judy and looking for jobs at online websites. I’ve stepped over too many sleeping beggars and vomit in my time to want to actually pitch a tent at the city park. I hate camping anyway so it’s a victory anyway you look at it. I wonder if their solidary will survive the first frost and the end of Starbucks pumpkin spiced lattes. While the east coast is covered with snow, we are now congratulating ourselves on surviving another summer of Dante’s Inferno. The air conditioner only clicked on once today. In honor of the protesters here is a recipe to keep them warm and toasty with thoughts of super plums dancing in their heads.
¼ cup butter
½ medium onion sliced chopped fine
1 clove garlic minced
1 teaspoon curry
1/8 teaspoon coriander
1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper
½ teaspoon salt
3 cups chicken broth
16 ounces solid pack pumpkin
1 cup half and half
Sliced green onion for garnish
Sauté onion and garlic in butter until soft. Add curry, coriander, red pepper and salt. Cook 1 minute. Add broth and boil gently for 15 to 20 minutes. Stir in pumpkin and half and half. Cook for 5 minutes. Serve with sour cream and green onions. I know you’re thinking pie right? Do I garnish with whipped cream? This doesn’t taste anything like Thanksgiving and if you like squash, you’ll love this soup.
In my personal Occupy Elm Street, I vacillate between boredom and fascination with happenings in the hood. There are strange goings-on during daylight hours. It’s not enough that one neighbor has determined that no emptied trash can should remain curbside and rushes out to return ours to its rightful place before the garbage truck has cleared the curb. Or the elderly corner neighbor who greets the mailman in his boxers and slippers every day to pass the time.
This week I was positively giddy when young lads left a landscape flyer announcing that they were in the market to buy mature palm trees. I’d been pricing having our oversized pigeon holding vegetation removed and it was going to cost a bazillion dollars. I was so happy to have them gone I stupidly tipped my hand and only got them to eradicate with no extra dough on my checking account. But pigeons are like flying rats and they have resorted to staring at me with homeless accusing beady eyes from atop our roof. Which reminds me of the creeper neighbor who has taken to smoking on his back patio when I’m doing my faux magazine workout. I’m sure he and his bare and hairy potbelly are just looking for exercise tips right? I wonder if rather than peering out my patio blinds my next home project should be adding a few rows of block to the back wall. This exercise shit is going to get me killed yet.
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