Okay – it’s not Wednesday, but this week has been quite busy and I couldn’t get the post ready on time.
My highly anticipated and waited for Crab Cake Recipe. Trawling season opened here in Southern Louisiana a couple of weeks ago and fresh shrimp have been abundant at our home – the same with fresh crab. I’ve made this recipe with fresh crabmeat and with fresh chopped boiled shrimp. Both are scrumptous. I hope you enjoy.
This is a simple recipe that I tweaked and if you are adventurous, add additional seasonings such as bell pepper or onions. I like to keep it simple in order to “savor the flavor” of the seafood.
Gently fold in 1 pound of lump crab meat (or 1 pound of boiled shrimp, coarsely chopped)
Fold in 1 cup of crushed crackers (I use Townhouse because us of the flavor – use Townhouse, Saltines, Ritz – your preference)
I use a large cookie scoop to form the crab cakes the same size. Line a cookie sheet with wax paper and place the scooped balls on it, flattening slightly. If necessary, use a second sheet of wax paper for another layer. Place the covered cookie sheet in the freezer for about a half an hour to an hour.
Heat approximately 1/4 to 1/3 inch of oil in the bottom of a skillet (I do not deep fry my crab cakes). Place the crab cakes in the hot oil and cook 4-5 minutes on either side until lightly browned and crispy. It doesn’t take long as the ingredients are mostly cooked to begin with.
Serve as entre’ with a salad or on a bun.
I have never baked them, although I’m sure they would be good that way.
I’ve also been enjoying fresh shrimp salads for the past two weeks. I’m not very adventurous when it comes to veggies and to be honest – I’m being blamed for the deluge of rain we’ve been experiencing as of late – it must be because I’m actually eating veggies!
My salads are very simple to assemble and are quite delicious.
I have picked up Hubby’s habit of chopping salad ingredients into bite-sized pieces and eating my salad with a spoon. I know – sounds weird, but I assure you, much more enjoyable! And, besides being a picky eater, I also have a texture thing going on; this allows me to eat a salad, and that’s a good thing (especially when we need rain).
I couldn’t leave you without just a few pictures of Ryka and Calypso, so without further adieu, here they are this week.
I hope you enjoyed the recipe and if you decide to fix it, please let me know what you thought.
When she took my dying son from my arms, I let her. I held my breath until I felt myself leave my body, only coming back because my baby needed me. I ignored the chemical smell of the hospital and instead focused on how much my son’s hair curled like his father’s. I watched my mother whisper prayers to him and adjust his newborn hospital hat making him look presentable, as if he were getting ready for a special meeting. She took a tissue from her purse, wet it with her spit and wiped the blood from the punctures in his little hands and arms. When she was done, she swaddled him and told him that she loved him. She kissed him on the forehead before placing him back in my lap. She tucked my too long bangs out of my face and leaned over me. I kissed my child goodbye and prayed over him until he took his last breath. My mom held me as I held my son, and as I felt his energy leave me, I felt hers heal me.
In the small social group my parents were a part of, my mother’s independence and self-reliance were the butt of many jokes. But she didn’t care. She just did what she had to do. She came from a village where she was the only girl who left to pursue higher education. She married at the ripe, old age of 23 instead of marrying the most eligible bachelor in the area when she was 17. She ignored the whispers when she left the home of her in-laws to live with her husband. She worked while my father went to school for his Masters. She drove to run errands while the rest of my aunts waited for their husbands to come home, or if my mom was available, for her to take them. She took care of the finances and it was her we turned to when making major life decisions. Mama’s practical ways and strong presence kept our family together.
I was constantly embarrassed for having the only mother in the family who spoke up when things were unfair. Some uncles frowned in dismay but my mom held her head high and stuck to her beliefs. She also didn’t let anyone tell her that she shouldn’t be taking care of the household finances. It was a running joke, amongst the very same uncles, that my mother had my father controlled by a leash. But Baba smiled and squeezed Mama’s hand in front of everyone, only offending the conservative uncles further.
Once, as she cleaned the dried, caked blood out of my hair she told me to stand up for myself and hit Junior, our neighbor, back, for striking me with the rock. I cringed and said, “No.” The next morning, when I asked her to walk me to school so that she could protect me, she gave me my lunch and kissed me good bye before shutting the door. I walked with my sister to school, terrified. I made a silent promise that if he hit me again, I would kick him in his knee, just like I learned from my second grade teacher Mrs. White, a karate black belt who taught us self-defense.
Another time, while shopping, Mama told me to ask where the ice cream cones were located in Lucky’s. I shook my head and shrank behind the shopping cart. She shrugged and told me she liked her ice cream in a bowl, anyway. She walked away looking for the next item on her list. In a panic, I hunted down an employee and found the cones. Mama was in the detergent aisle by then. I proudly showed the cones to Mama, who placed it in the cart and asked me to help her look in her purse for coupons to use on Tide.
In the sixth grade, she decided that she would make shalwar kameez for my sister Saira and me to wear to school, instead of buying us clothes from Mervyn’s like we usually did. I cried in protest. She told me to be proud of my roots, that being different was beautiful, but I dreaded facing the kids at school. I ended up getting in a fight on the first day of school because James called me a Camel Jockey. The Principal was sympathetic; he told my mom that I was only defending myself. I expected a lecture when I got home, but instead Mama asked me to change my clothes, pray Zuhr, and do my homework.
I married young the first time and became the servant my husband’s family wanted. Spending most of time in solitude, I only came out to do housework. I cleaned, cooked, and ironed myself away to a shadow of what I used to be. It was my mother who recognized me and my pain by looking into the dimmed light of my eyes. Like when I was seven years old, she held my chin, and once more told me to stand up for myself. Terrified of my unknown, dark future, I left my life of hell, the only life I thought I knew.
When my son died in my arms, I didn’t scream or wail. I urged him to go peacefully and not fight. I couldn’t bear his pain anymore, I knew his little body was tired and couldn’t take anymore. It hurt to say good-bye, but I was ready to accept the pain so my son wouldn’t have to. When he finally left, I cried until the tears dried and I succumbed to exhaustion, my shirt soaked and mouth dry. Mama watched me. She walked over to me, held me and told me that God would fill my barren lap once more and that I would meet my son in heaven where he waited for me at the gates. But new, hot tears fell from my eyes into my open palms. I wished he were in my arms, alive instead of in a cold morgue preparing to go to his tiny, dark grave.
I knew I needed to be strong, like Mama. She squeezed me against her bosom, where I felt at home – where so many times I went when I was lost or hurt. When she let me go, she looked at me and said no more. I looked at my hospital wristband, the only physical proof on me that I was a mother to a child. My husband walked me out of the waiting room. As I turned the corner to leave, I looked back into the room and saw my mother with her shoulders slumped, face towards the sky, and tears streaming down her face, into her hair.
Sabina Khan-Ibarra is a freelance writer and editor. She regularly contributes to her blog, Ibrahim’s Tree, which she created after the loss of her infant son in 2011, and I Am the Poppy Flower, where she writes about little things that go on in her life. She created Muslimah Montage as a platform for women to share their stories and inspire others.
I want. I want you to want me. I want you to think I am the smartest, the thinnest, the most beautiful. I want you to want to be me. I want to be enviable. I want to be impervious. I want to need nothing. I want you to know that I am strong. I want to think I am better than everyone else. I want.
I’m willing to give up everything. I will give up mind and future. I will give up health, happiness and peace. I will give up family, friends and fun. I will give up rest and comfort. I will give up food. But please, just let me keep faith.
Abby Kelly is a nomadic, military spouse writing from wherever she momentarily finds herself with her husband, their wonderful dog, Brave, and two tolerable cats.
Abby began writing in the process of recovering from a more-than-decade long eating disorder. She credits Jesus Christ for her full recovery and for filling her with a passion to encourage others to seek freedom from their own addictions and struggles.
Now, Abby writes for numerous Christian publications as well as maintains her personal blog, Predatory-Lies. In her free time, she and Brave enjoy volunteering in hospitals and schools as a pet therapy team through Pet Partners.
“You will never see me again!” I screamed. I knew I was running out of time as we approached the airport. “I’ll die there! I’m never coming home.”
“Abby, stop. You are getting yourself all worked up and we have to go inside now.” My father parked the car in the dismal parking garage. Ignoring my residual choking on tears, he got out of the car and began to extract the suitcases, careful not to get any dirt on his jeans.
Daddy always looked sharp, one more thing I hated about myself. In the last several years I had become more of a skeleton freak show than an attractive daughter he could be proud of. My face was gaunt and haggard and wore the look of an aging smoker. My breasts were flat and my waist curve-less, like a prepubescent boy. I wore sea-foam green sweat pants with the word “SPIRIT” in block letters down my right leg. The sweats hung around my thighs like a tent missing poles, but I liked them because I felt small inside them. A sloppy white t-shirt blaring “SPIRIT” as well, topped the ensemble.
“Abby, get out of the car.”
I debated for a moment, but knew that I’d never win. The wildest of my tantrums were no match for Dad’s strength, but until now, at least in the battle of wills, I had triumphed. Two days prior my parents played their trump card.
“We’ve tried everything.” My parents had me cornered in their bedroom. Mom spoke because I listened more calmly to her. “We’ve been patient while you’ve promised over and over to try. We are really, really worried about you.”
Mom’s voice broke there. Dad turned and glared at my little sisters eavesdropping from the bedroom doorway. Two sets of chocolate brown eyes and one blue pair ducked back into the hallway. Then he shut the door and stepped forward.
“You promised to gain ten pounds in two months.” Dad’s voice was taut. The six-foot-four man that I once thought invincible slouched beneath a heavy burden. “Over a month ago, you agreed to the ultimatum that you would gain eight pounds. You’re nowhere near that. You need help and this is not a discussion. Remuda Ranch agreed to admit you, and we need to be there the day after tomorrow.” Daddy turned and left the room.
I slumped to my knees on the floor. “Please, please, please, Mom! Don’t send me away. I can’t be gone for two months. You might as well disown me. I’ll die there!”
Tour Hosted by Write Now Literary Virtual Book Tour
In this raw telling of her long struggle with anorexia, Abby Kelly reveals the predatory lies that ran rampant in her disordered mind. She will lead readers through the fight to her final victory.
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WHAT!? You say? No. I didn’t get flowers. I didn’t get candy. Those are all items easily picked up at the market while frantically trying to get home in time for a romantic dinner before Valentine’s Day goes to hell in a hand basket.
What I did get for Valentine’s Day is love. And why is that enough? I’ve had the fake flowers and the fake candy – the items grabbed in a rush because it is what you’re supposed to do. I’ll take true love any day.
Hubby likes to say that everyday is Valentine’s Day because we live in Valentine. We really do – Valentine, Louisiana, a little settlement along a lazy bayou. And, it is Valentine’s Day everyday – except for when it’s not, we all have those days.
Hubby got up bright and early to go fishing this morning. He has been so busy building a house (he’s in construction) that he hasn’t had the time to just relax and let his mind wander a bit. So, he loaded up the boat and went fishing. Why does it not bother me that instead of spending today with me, his wife, he is out in a boat? Because it makes me happy to know he’s finally relaxing a little. That is what love is about. That is what Valentine’s Day is about.
I’d rather have a Husband, who when the water lilies are in full bloom and floating by the wharf, leans precariously over the water and snags a few of the beautiful purple blooms – because he knows how much I love them rather than one that grabs a bouquet at the market at the last second. Being thought of is Valentine’s Day.
I’d rather have a Husband, who when it is very cold outside, lets my two German Shepherds into the garage for a warm night’s sleep because he knows how much it would mean to me (without being begged to.)
I’d rather have a Husband that takes the time during running errands and says let’s stop for burgers at the Goal Post (a little drive-in) than one who takes me to a crowded restaurant just because it’s February 14th.
I’d rather have a Husband who takes a look at my dirty truck (yes, I have a truck) and sneaks out to wash it to surprise me.
I’d rather have a Husband, who just this morning, grabbed a plain sheet of writing paper, and left me a beautiful note saying how much I mean to him, rather than grabbing the first acceptable card from a rack.
I’d rather have a Husband who comes and sits on the porch swing in the evenings with me, rather than watching Gilligan’s Island.
Yes, it’s Valentine’s Day and I didn’t get flowers. What I do get is Valentine’s Day – every day – in Valentine, Louisiana.
Happy Valentine’s Day – every day – to my Husband. Love you to the moon and back!
On Monday I instituted a brand new time management schedule and then life outside came to a standstill. Southern Louisiana saw snow and sleet! Hubby was even forced to sit this one out at home. And, when that happens, any schedule I have seems to fly out the window. After a short recess, I got back on schedule and I have to say, my week was a lot less stressful when I followed my schedule.
I am an organizer and when I say my favorite saying is everything should have a place and everything in its place, you can be sure I mean it – even time. Yes, time! That’s where my schedule came in. Everything had a place and everything in its place. Exercise and tidying up the house had a place. Sitting down and writing had a place. See where I’m going with this? I know this doesn’t work for everyone, but if you tend to have a zero attention span the way I do, it works.
I didn’t even feel stressful today when I deviated from my schedule and used my work and writing time to grocery shop. I even found a little time to play. I have become obsessed with every card or sticky note in my planner being something other than what it is – and that is straight lined! I came up with the idea of using one of my many Martha Stewart punches and making eyelet tracks down the sides of my sticky tablets. As you can see in the photo, I haven’t quite mastered matching the sides. I’ve tried upside down and right side up and turning it over while punching the second side, but for some reason it isn’t working. It’s not that important, but sooner or later, I’ll figure it out. Meanwhile, aren’t they cute? Also, you can see by my planner, the week ended up being quite busy despite the adverse weather conditions.
Other than working on three book reviews that I’ll have up before the weekend ends, that was my week. Hope you’ve had a great week as well.
The last few posts I’ve written have had to do with setting up a paper planner that works with your brain and organizational style rather than against it. As you set up your planner, you will want to eventually decide on the different categories you want in your planner – calendar, financial, todo lists, grocery lists, etc. Unless you happen to find one of the many sites that sell homemade dividers, the market doesn’t offer much in the way of “pretty”. I solved that problem by making my own.
In response to requests to demonstrate how I made dividers for my planners, I will attempt to explain with the aid of many photos. It is a fairly simple technique and hopefully, I can explain without making it seem more difficult than it is.
For the following two dividers, I used a double-sided card stock. Normally, I would not laminate a card stock, but for the purpose of demonstrating the laminating technique, I will laminate these two dividers. I also use a paper-cutter, tab punch and tabs, Martha Stewart single hole punch, a round-edge punch, and Avery self-laminating sheets.
Use one of the pages from your planner to determine the size of the divider. A page width is normally sufficient because you will be adding the tab, which will stick out beyond the page for easy viewing. If you are not using a paper cutter, use this page to trace the divider on the card stock.
A note before trimming your dividers. If you are not using one of the tab punches, you will need to trace a tab on your divider before trimming it and laminating. If you do not have confidence in your ability to free-hand a tab, grab a file folder and trace the tab and cut it out with scissors. If you do not have a cutting board (and the variety and price of the many on the market range from very cheap to expensive) just use a good pair of scissors (one that cuts) and cut along your trace lines.
Once the card stock (or decorative paper) is cut to size, lay one sheet of the laminating sheet paper side up on the table. I use laminating sheets and have found that these serve my purpose quite nicely. There are a number (loads) of laminating machines on the market, both hot and cold. I do not laminate many things and have not felt the need to purchase one.
Peel the backing slowly working from the top left-hand corner. Be careful not to touch the sticky side unnecessarily because it is very sticky. The sheet will lie flat on the work surface. Once it is exposed, lay each piece of card stock (one sheet of decorative paper if making large dividers) down on the laminate. This size card stock allowed for two to a page of laminate. I placed them side by side.
Next, pick the sheet of laminate with the two pieces of card stock up and lay it to the side.
Place a second sheet paper side up on the work surface. Peel the backing off as before. Place the sheet containing the card stock on top sandwiching the card stock between the two sheets of laminate matching the white strip at the end. Smooth out all wrinkles by running hands over the card stock. Matching up the two paper edges that remain on the end after removing the paper backing make this task very easy. Match the paper edging and hold with one hand while you roll the dividers down until the papers are stuck together.
After smoothing the laminate and making sure the bubbles are worked out, the next step is to cut the extra laminate away.
After trimming the excess laminate, set the pages aside to work on the tabs. If you do not have a tab maker, you should trace a tab on the divider before cutting and laminating so it will be one piece (see above). I use a tab maker and the laminating tabs that come with it.
I punch the tabs looking at the bottom of the punch to cut as close to the edge as possible to avoid waste. This leaves the rest of the page for another project.
Place the cut tab onto the tab laminating sheet and stick to one side of the divider page.
Fold over the top of the tab and adhere to the top of the divider page. Press to seal.
This is a little messy, but you can unstick and redo. It was a little difficult trying to do the project and photograph it at the same time.
After the tabs are done, use the edge rounder or scissors and round off the inner corners. Then using another divider as a guide, punch the holes in the new divider and place in planner. I really like this particular single hole punch. The hole in the bottom allows you to line up holes when punching. It is a Martha Steward tool and can be found anywhere her products are sold. It is also heavy duty and easy to grip for those of you, who like me (I have arthritis) need that extra help. Using a labeler or felt-tip pen write the name of the category you have chosen.
I hope this tutorial has helped solved the mystery of making dividers with tabs for your planner. It is fun and easy and now you, too, can make your planner match your personality. There is no limit to the different papers and decorations available and for those of you who also scrapbook, this should be a really fun project. I am thinking of doing a set of seasonal dividers next…
If you have any questions, please leave a comment. As always, thank you for visiting my blog. And, if you are looking for a planner group in which to plant yourself, check out Southern Charm Planners on Face book! https://www.facebook.com/groups/LouisianaPlannerGirls/
All products used were found on Amazon or at Michael’s.