All Blog Posts (1,092)

'I'll Have Another Drink'

copyright 2011 by Richard (Rick) Reiley

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"Mommmmmmm--meatloaf again?"  You'll never hear this in MY house because I am not a big fan of meatloaf.  However, this recipe caught my attention--individual loaves--check.  Tangy sauce--check.  No need to scrub the meatloaf pan--CHECK!  Extra sauce on the side is welcomed, as it is delightfully delicious to drag that delectable bite through the delicate sauce and gobble up every morsel on your plate!  The final straw is my children loved it--CHECK.

This freezes beautifully…

My mother is an iron will and a strong determination.  She is a cloud of White Shoulders perfume once tinted with Aqua Net.  She is Ranger's baseball and every tear-jerker ever broadcast on the Hallmark channel.  She is a huge pot of red beans and a plate of sweet cornbread with little green onions on the…

'My Mama's Eyes'

copyright 2011 by Rick Reiley 

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                                                        (image compliments of Google Images)

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You broke down my walls

The ones I tried so hard to keep built up

I wanted to love

But I was afraid to give my heart to someone again

Searching, but keeping people at arms length

Desiring to be loved

Wanting to be touched

Physically, emotionally, & spiritually

Praying that you'd find me…

I remember it as if it were yesterday, or was it perhaps just then? It was around this very time at night and unseasonably cold, much like now. Ah, deja vu, it appears to have found me! But this is neither here nor there. I have a tale to tell and so I shall tell it.

I'd been tossing and turning all night, as I tend to do, when I heard a sound that sounded like nails lightly scraping my window. At first, I dismissed it as a branch from our old tree blowing in the wind. But,…

It seems to me as if we have fired straight through spring right into summer!  After spending a hot day inside a humid middle school with a host of malodorous middle school students, I was ready to cruise home, fire up the AC and let the cooling begin.  Hitting the screen door, flying through the kitchen--I dropped my bags on the counter.  My sweaty palms flew to the thermostat to dial up the cool air.  Click....click...nada.  Sweat dripped from my brow as I hastily dialed my…

I am going to the Royal Wedding with Fergie of course!!!  No, no, no, not the singing one, the one who threw her head back and brayed like an ass in the Royal Carriage after her own Royal Wedding!!  She has always been my favorite and the only one of the lot, with the possible exception of Harry, who doesn't…

 

 

“GOOD FRIDAY” – by Christina G. Rossetti

Am I a stone, and not a sheep,

That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,

To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow loss,

And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved

Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;

Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;…

Temporarily jettisoned back to 1983, I pull out my fax copy of a recipe that my roommate, Cathy and I used to make in our little apartment on King Street, Shippensburg University.  Our apartment was just above the green awning, and PS—in 1983, it looked NOTHING like this!

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With the dog days of summer just around the corner, nothing quenches your thirst better than a fresh margarita.  You can sidle up to the local Mexican bar with store bought mixer, or whip up some fresh margaritas on your own!   Forget that sour mix and ream some lemons and limes—this one is a keeper.  This recipe, courtesy of Ina Garten, the Barefoot Contessa, beckoned to me one warm, spring afternoon.  My husband, David was feverishly working on the monthly bills at our dining room table.…

May I just say up front, that my relationship with vegetables of any sort is tenuous at best.  As a child, I remember swallowing green peas one by one like aspirin just to get them down.  I fed broccoli to an unsuspecting blind and mentally challenged, older than dirt pooch under the dinner table.  I was unsuccessful.  My mother would put creamed corn on my plate and it was all I could do to not heave right there at the table. Brussel sprouts—yuck.  Even the odor was enough to keep me…

FaithPhillips-final.jpg

My mama disappeared that summer. Funny thing about memory, sometimes I don’t know the difference between my own true recollection and things I’ve been told. Maybe that’s due partly to hearing bits and pieces of this story over and…