Cindy Bradford, Ph.D., Author

Cindy Bradford's Author Blog

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I’m Helping Keep Austin Weird

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I’m off to Austin to help keep it weird. For those of you not from Texas, the advertising slogan for the city is “Keep Austin Weird,” and it doesn’t need much assistance. It truly is a great place with honky-tonks, barbecue joints and more than 200 music venues, not to mention being a laid-back college town and the state capital.

Did you know that the capitol dome is taller than the U.S. capitol? I don’t think that is supposed to happen, but everything is not bigger in Texas for nothing.

Although I really like Austin, it truly is pretty outlandish, and if you don’t believe it, try visiting a few of the high schools. I chaired the reviews for all eleven, and I can confirm that the dress code is not exactly enforced; and I’m talking about teachers!!! Let’s just say that piercings and tattoos are allowed for young and old alike, and they are proud to sport them.

The funniest attire I saw though was this very large female teacher dressed in a purple velour sweat suit, a purple hat and purple shoes to match. But she didn’t stop there; her fingernails were at least an inch and a half long—so long they curled under, and they were painted purple with a little gold jewel in the middle of the index ones. Where did she find this outfit? How did she grow these nails? They had to be real—fake ones just don’t look this bad.

But the best story of my accreditation visits occurred at a high school in the southern part of town. Judy, the fearless former high school principal, was serving on the team. Just as the last bell rang, she stepped toward the front door. Just as she did, two students were scuffling playfully, and one accidentally fell against her. She didn’t fall, but obviously he made contact.

The other student yelled at him, “You f—— fool, you nearly knocked that ole lady down.” Judy was horrified when she came back to the room where the other members of the team were working. She related the story and reiterated, “Can you believe he called me an ole woman?” Forever the principal who could no longer be shocked, the f—— part went right over her head.

On this trip I’m going for an accreditation meeting and then to present a training for schools going through an upcoming accreditation review. So, I’ll be working some and playing a little. We always manage to go to great restaurants and find time for fun.

When this trip is over, I will have logged over 50,000 miles on Continental just since January. That doesn’t count my travel on Southwest Airlines this year, and there were several trips with them as well. I told you I traveled a lot. I don’t make this stuff up or anything else in my blogs. My life is just one big crazy happening, and I love it that way!

Yummy Trio Meat Pasta

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I think I mentioned back a million blogs ago (that’s what it feels like some days—this is hard work so sure hope you are reading) that I love to cook. Comfort food takes on a different meaning to me than it does for some people. Any food is comforting, especially if you have been on a diet that didn’t work anyway.

Comfort food is usually portrayed in cookbooks and magazines as heavy, down-home fare like fried chicken, Mac and cheese casserole, corn bread, coconut cream pie, etc. But I don’t think it has be a southern dish like my mother used to make, although I miss her cooking; it just has to be good, well-planned and thought out food that tastes heavenly, looks pretty when it is served and is shared with good friends—now that’s comforting.

So when my friend, Bill, had surgery for a torn rotator cuff, I decided my Trio Meat Pasta dish was just the thing to make him feel better. I got this recipe from my brother awhile back and adapted it to suit myself. I never fail to change a recipe and rarely do I measure to the exact teaspoon.

My poor high school homemaking teacher would not be happy, but then again, I don’t remember doing much in that school kitchen except baking peanut butter cookies over and over my freshman year. Peanut butter was a government commodity to schools back then; it’s probably outlawed in schools today in order to be politically correct to those people with allergies.

Anyway, here’s the recipe I used. Thought you might like to try it.

2 large onions sliced (not chopped small)
2 large green peppers sliced (I like for one to be red or yellow if they aren’t $5.00 each!!)
1 package fresh mushrooms
5-6 chicken breasts
1 package pepperoni
1 pound or about 30-35 medium shrimp
1 quart plus 1 pint half and half (seems like a lot, but it takes it to make it creamy)
1 box penne pasta
1/3 cup shredded mixed Italian cheeses (you could just use parmesan)

  • Sauté the onions and green peppers and add the mushrooms for a shorter time. Set aside.
  • Cook the pasta al dente and set aside.
  • Clean and de-vein the shrimp and cook slightly and set aside (I cook mine using one can of beer at a boil for one minute). They will continue cooking once added to the mixture.
  • Cook the chicken in olive oil on top of the stove until done. Remove and cool. Cut into bite sizes, and then put back into the skillet. Add the sautéd vegetables to the cut-up chicken. Pour in the pint of half and half.
  • Add the pasta, cheese, shrimp and pepperoni and cover it. Cook on very low temperature for about 20 minutes, adding the rest of the half and half along the way to keep it creamy.

My brother claims all of this can be done using a single pot, but I have yet to figure out how that is possible. However, it really isn’t as much trouble as this sounds and it makes enough for at least eight people. It’s great for a dinner party, especially if you add a small salad and garlic bread. Don’t forget the dessert!

Bon Appétit!

Red Tide Has Me Writing Sequel

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The weather around here has been crazy lately. You could get a whiplash for trying to determine whether the wind is coming from the north, south, southeast, or northwest because the last few days it has been all of the above, at times all in one hour.

We also have “red tide,” which is common on the Gulf of Mexico when conditions are just right to cause microscopic algae to bloom in the water, turning it a red or brown hue.  Every couple of years in October we have this toxic mess and it is a pain. When the phytoplankton occurs in high concentration, it affects the nervous system of fish and paralyzes them making it impossible to breath, resulting in fish kills all along its path.

Not only do the dead fish smell bad, the high levels of algae also present problems in the form of throat and eye irritation to humans. Although the experts (whoever they are) tell us it is not harmful to people, it is a problem because once you spend even a few minutes outside you start coughing and wheezing, making a day at the beach or just sitting outside unpleasant, to say the least.

Since fall is a beautiful time of the year here, it is really aggravating, especially because I love to be outdoors. Although red tide doesn’t usually last more than a couple of weeks, the wind shifts are stirring it up more and certainly confusing it. One day the wind is out of the north and it blows the murky water out of my channel; next day the wind blows 40 miles an hour from the south, and here it is again. Scientists don’t really know what causes this phenomenon, but they claim to be working on a way to prevent it in the near future. Let’s hope they figure it out fast.

This, and the fact that Mother Nature has decided to make up for the long summer drought by giving us lots of rain and cloudy days, really cuts into “floating and bloating,” which is what we affectionately refer to as girls’ afternoon in the pool when friends join me for gossiping and drinking a bit of wine. Fortunately with a little help from the Propane Gods, combined with some cash, you can pretty much swim or rather float and bloat here year round. So for right now, I’ll just stay inside and work on the edit of Promises Kept, the sequel to Keeping Faith.

Working The Election

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Yesterday I adhered to my civic duty and voted. These days, they don’t make that simple or easy or quick. It is definitely a deterrent to voting early and often.

First, to vote early on the amendments, one had to drive to who knows where in Brownsville, 25 miles away, so I decided to wait and just vote on the real day and stand in line. After all, what else do I have to do, right? Second, to vote for the amendments I had to wait in the “County” line (not sure why since these were State amendments), show my card, sign, swear I still lived at the same place as the last time I voted and make my selection of the ballot I wanted to use. These ballots are always strategically placed in groups of threes or fives so that the voter gets to choose. If they are all alike what’s the difference? Is it really necessary to pay a person to sit there just to arrange the ballots?

But, that’s not the worst of it. Why is it that everyone who “works” elections is a very, very, very old senior citizen? Now, I know it sounds like I am anti-seniors. I’m not; heck, I’m not all that far behind, and if I live long enough I will join their ranks. And yes, I’m certain I will be even more obnoxious than I am now (no comments are needed in reference to that statement). Besides, while I was an assistant superintendent and working on projects with the city, I even started the senior citizens’ center and served on its board for years—forward thinking, an insurance policy of sorts!

But, like teenagers, there are just some jobs that really old people don’t need to be doing, and working elections is one of them, especially it you want the process to run quickly and smoothly. Perhaps it should be a rule that if you learned your ABC’s before 1930, you can’t work elections. I realize that the ABC’s have not changed since then, but finding them and matching the first letter in a person’s name, might take a little longer than it once did. Of course, that is only one person’s job. The older individual sitting next to the first has the major task of bossing the first person, plus asking the big question about “do you still live at this address?” And even if you tell him before he asks, he repeats the question. That’s his job, and he isn’t about to deviate.

And those amendments!! Who writes those things? How much more complicated can they make them? Why can’t they use blog writers (I’ll volunteer) or better yet, people who “tweet?” Twitter has a rule about how many characters a person can use; why can’t the Legislature? Instead of an amendment authorizing the legislature to “provide for the ad valorem taxation of a residence homestead solely on the basis of the property’s value as a residence homestead”… maybe it could just be “Do U want a way to prevent some YoYo from deciding that your house should be taxed as if it were a shopping mall?” Now, that’s something we can vote for!

Then to further complicate matters, the city was having a vote on home rule so I had to stand in line again and go through the same scenario. Since, the city is in the county, wouldn’t you think there could just be a way to compress all this—maybe on the computer or some other new, up-to-date approach. Don’t think so.

Oh well, I accomplished what I set out to do, although I haven’t a clue, even after some study, if I voted the way I really wanted to on the amendments, and home rule is another whole issue. But I voted, and I am pleased I at least have that opportunity. And I’m thinking, maybe, in a few years I can work the election.

Feeling pretty good about getting that chore done, I next went to the grocery store. Exciting day, don’t you think? A little old lady and I mean old, was standing at the fresh vegetable aisle and couldn’t find the basket she had just parked. Two young men, noticing her plight, explained nicely that it was right next to her. She reached over for it, obviously embarrassed. Feeling badly for her and attempting to make her feel better I said, “Sometimes I walk over to the veggies and I forget what I came for.” She turned, smiled, and said, “Yes, we’re getting to that age, aren’t we.” Hell, maybe, I can work the election next year!

Shrimp & Halloween

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Cindy at Shrimp Cook-Off
Cindy at Shrimp Cook-Off

This was a busy weekend on the island-–first Halloween, and then the 16th annual Shrimp Cook-off. Although Halloween is still observed here with costumes, trick or treating, parties, etc., it takes on a little different look in true Rio Grande Valley fashion. Here, many of the families celebrate Day of the Dead or All Souls Day, which is actually November 2, but the celebrations start on Halloween and run for several days.

Families, mainly those of Hispanic origin, honor those who have departed by spending time in cemeteries, standing before home-made alters with offerings of food that is believed to be eaten in spirit by the dead! No disrespect. But that’s just spooky. Along with the main food, Pan de Muerto, which is bread made into a loaf or shaped like a skull with strips of dough crisscrossed on the top to resemble bones, the offerings also include fruit, tamales, candies, traditional flowers (the marigold), mementos, photos, incense, and a candle for each dead person.

But the celebrations don’t stop at the “grave yards,” they extend into the homes, museums and even at the local university. In Port Isabel, the little village on the mainland next to where I live, the Chamber of Commerce showed a movie on the side of the Lighthouse to commemorate Los Colores del Muertos and conducted tours at the local cemetery!! Holy Mole! (and I mean the spicy Mexican chocolate sauce!!!)

The Shrimp Cook-off was a little more my style as you can see from the photo. In addition to shrimp, cooked more ways than one would think possible, the festival offered live music and numerous activities like face painting and clowns. All kinds of clowns—some who were supposed to be and some who were not!

Original artwork and other gifts were available for purchase, but I wouldn’t recommend buying your Christmas gifts there. And you know I love shopping! Of course, the main attraction to the several thousand visitors was shrimp, and for a $1.00 coupon per shrimp you could sample til you couldn’t hold anymore. And I did just that.

But shrimp wasn’t the only offering. There were funnel cakes, roasted corn on the cob, home-made potato chips, turkey legs and similar goodies that you usually only find  and eat once a year at the state fair, but on a beautiful fall day, mingling outside with the music playing and seeing people you hadn’t seen in awhile, why not?  Back to buy more coupons!

The winner of the “Shrimp Eating Contest,” peeled and ate 14 jumbo shrimp in three minutes—no sauce, no lemon, just shrimp. I would never be able to look at another shrimp, let alone eat it. Then there was the contest for the World Championship Shrimp that the local restaurants compete in.

I wonder how many World Championship shrimp winners there really are???  Every town near the water, in every place I’ve ever been, seems to have its very own World Championship Shrimp, but don’t tell the winner here that bit of news! The winning eatery is probably already printing new menus and headlining the award winning crustaceans.  As for me, “Pass the chicken, please.”

Kidnap Me If You Can

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Tonight, friends and I ate at Daddy’s, a local “upscale Cajun seafood dive.” I guess that sounds a bit of a paradox, but there are all types of dives when you live in a resort town, and Daddy’s just happens to be one of those on the upper end of the scale—clean, but tacky, moderately priced with an assortment of condiments on the table at all times and locals at the bar.

Most of the servers wear shirts that read, “Who’s your Daddy?” Tonight however, our server, a bulging, round-faced young woman, was sporting a t-shirt that read, “It’s Harder to Kidnap a Fat Person, So Eat Up”. In the middle of my red beans and rice, I began thinking about this quote, and the more I looked at our server, who was, indeed pleasant, but noticeably carrying a few extra pounds, the more it struck me as true. Maybe I should quit worrying about my weight and just look on the bright side.

Since I was in elementary school I have watched my weight—watched it go up and watched it go down, and though I have never been fat, neither have I been skinny, which has been the ultimate goal. I know when it all started because every year in elementary school, the gym teacher would weigh us and then yell the results across the hollow sounding wooden floors to another person writing it down in our cumulative folders.

As the number ricocheted off those walls, even as a kid I cringed, wondering why they did this. I never knew them to do anything with this useless information. Can’t an adult just look at a kid and tell if he’s fat without announcing it to the whole world? It’s certainly something the other kids recognize daily and remind the pudgy one with pesky little jokes.

To this day I remember the two worst school days each year. One was the day we were weighed and the other when we had our voices checked for musical ability in front of the whole class and in listening range of about five square miles. Back then I was a little chunky (baby fat was the politically correct term in the late 50s-early 60s) and apparently tone deaf. I couldn’t do anything about the singing deal, but right then and there as a third grader I decided I didn’t want to be fat, thus beginning a fight that I have waged since. It was certainly easier before turning 50, but I’m hanging in there.

The reason for the struggle is that I like all the wrong kinds of food. Because my dad liked everything fried, my mother did just that. She fried steak; she fried vegetables; she even fried cornbread. And back then Crisco was sold in big cans, and she bought it often. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t snuck in some lard once in awhile. Then when you thought you couldn’t hold any more of anything, she plopped down a dessert at every meal—coconut cream pie, or chocolate pie with massive meringue, or chocolate sheet cake with gobbly-gooey frosting, sometimes with marshmallows for a little extra emphasis.

Though I am a much wiser and thoughtful eater and try hard to watch my waist and my weight, I still have “food weaknesses.” You won’t find me eating sushi, tofu, soy, or anything ending in those funny letters. I like “normal stuff” that ends in a “d” like bread, buttered, frosted, and…..fried!

Call me southern, but call me to dinner or better yet, kidnap me if you can!