about
Alisa. 37. New Hampshire. Married for almost three years to this wonderful, funny, smart guy. Previously married. Went through in-vitro fertilization to have my five year old magical son Keegan. Stepmother to the charming Isabelle (6). Gushingly in love with our baby boy Harper(1). Policy Wonk and dreaded bureaucrat. Lover of fine cuisine, honeybees, truly romantic moments and the underdog.
cooking
Curried Beef Short Ribs

Note: I found this was more realistically four servings.

Finishing this dish with lime zest and juice brightens its rich flavors.

Yield 6 servings (serving size: about 3 ounces ribs, 2/3 cup rice, and about 2 1/2 tablespoons sauce)

2 teaspoons canola oil
2 pounds ...continue reading

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Tom was out with friends from work last night so the dogs and I had movie night. I watched "Memento" which apparently had a lot of buzz when it came out in 2000. The basic premise is that it is about a man who's wife was killed during a robbery and he is seeking revenge on her killer. He sustained a head injury during the attack and now has no short term memory. In order to cope he leaves himself notes, takes polaroids and tattoos clues on his body. Sometimes if he focuses he can hold on long enough to write something down. Otherwise any distraction or period of sleep wipes the slate clean. It was a good movie and I couldn't help but feel a connection to the main character.

Except my condition is the result of "pregnancy stupids." I have now taken to scribbling notes and lists on pieces of paper all over the house. The good stuff is on my nightstand where I can hopefully wake up with reminders. Let's not forget my standing in the middle of store aisles mumbling to myself like an outpatient. And now I need some kind of voice activated system in the car. Like, "hey dummy, why did you drive home when you meant to go run errands", or "yoo whoo, you just drove past the post office despite the pile of mail in the seat next to you." Will I be reduced to polaroids of people to complete my holiday shopping? Will I be permanently scarred with tattoos of grocery lists up my forearms. Do I succumb to the little voices that tell me I'll never be normal again? Do I beg forgiveness from my mom for all the times I made fun of her absentmindedness? Clearly the result of bearing my two brothers & I. Could there be a worse time of the year to a have a mind like an Etch-A-Sketch?

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