with Lynne and Leslie

Cook ‘em if you got ‘em: Sweet potato encrusted snapper

by SweetMidlife

Would you trust this woman in the kitchen? Oh, come on.

Leslie here!

Those who know me well know that I enjoy cooking. They also know that I am busier than that proverbial one-legged man in the butt-kicking contest, and that I also eat out for work sometimes. So that means that I don’t always have the time to do the from-scratch meals I long to master.

Fortunately, every once in a while I get an ingredient in my paws that deserves more than the “stick it under the broiler and cook it” treatment. My husband took a surprise trip to Doris’ Market in Boca Raton, a specialty grocer with lots of good stuff inside. He came back with a good meaty filet of hogsnapper, which I’d never cooked but first had fond memories of tasting for the first time at Jupiter, Fl’s crazy delicious Food Shack. There, it was crusted in sweet potatoes and fried, which popped out a deliciously moist fish under a sweet savory crunch.

And when I looked at that little piece of fish, I knew I needed to try to recreate that experience. “Try” is key, as the Food Shack folks are genius and I’m just a pop culture writer with a fish and a dream. My goal was to try to get as close to that taste as possible, without frying it.

Ha ha ha ha bear with me.

I did a Pinterest search for recipes that were baked, and came up with a few, including this  http://www.sarcasticcooking.com/2013/03/08/sweet-potato-crusted-fish-sticks/

which is obviously for fish sticks. But this and a few other recipes suggested using sweet potato chips rather than cutting and cooking the potatoes yourself, and your girl is all about the shortcuts. I figured I would follow along and make it my own, as they say on the singing programs. So here’s what I did.

1) Meet your fish: I didn’t buy it, so I didn’t know that it still had the skin on it. But it was gorgeous – a big meaty piece of thing I couldn’t wait to get my hands on. Since it was just one piece, and because I am lazy, I decided not to cut it but just cook it as is. The issue is that I had no idea exactly how much fish there was, because I kinda threw the wrapping away. And I don’t have a scale. I am sucky. Go ahead, call Ted Allen on me. I ain’t scared.

 

2) Release the buttermilk! Obviously, the chips have to crust themselves to the fish some kinda way, and although my usual inclination would be to flour this thing up and fry it, I wanted to go healthy. For now. So I wanted to coat it in egg and buttermilk, the preparation I found on some recipe sites, and go from there. I didn’t know how to adjust the measurements as I had no idea how much fish I had (I’m a loser) so I just used a cup of low-fat buttermilk and one egg, coating the fish.

 

3) When the chips are down…You might as well crunch them up. I admit to having eaten some of the chips before I started cooking so I was hopeful there were enough left to coat this thing. So I punched the bag up real good to crunch them up, and then poured them on a plate for to coat and whatnot.

4) Next I rolled the fish in the chips (fish and chips! Hahahahfunny!) and put it all in the broiler on Hi for about 25 minutes.

5) So here’s the thing. I took that sucker out of the oven and it was beautiful. Really beautiful.

6) But it wasn’t what I was looking for. The crust didn’t really stick to the fish like I wanted, and when I flipped it over it fell off. Because it was a beautiful cut of fish, it was as buttery and flaky as I imagined it would be. But it wasn’t what I wanted. So…I heated up the grease.

7) And I got that above gorgeous thing. The chips had a beautiful crunch added to them, and the fish was juicier. You could taste the potato in the bite. And it was pretty.

Next time I’ll get my crust better. I would have preferred to not have had to fry it. But as my grandmother always said, there’s nothing you can’t fry.


I Wanted To Write About Something Else

by SweetMidlife

It’s Lynne.

I’d rather be somewhere soothing like this than dealing with what is on my heart today.

And I almost didn’t write today, because what’s on my mind is depression and young men being killed by police. And also all of the discussion going on around those things.

Whether or not depression is a disease. (I say it is)

Whether or not suicide is selfish. (I think that some people do it because their minds are telling them it’s the most selfless thing they can do)

Whether or not true Christians suffer from depression, because they would just be able to cast their burdens on God and be done with it. (I believe that God doesn’t promise we won’t go through things, but that He would go through stuff while we are in it)

Whether or not Michael Brown in Missouri asked for what happened to him. (This makes me want to punch someone)

Whether or not the raids done around the protests of his death invalidate the horror of what happened to him, because there you go, and that’s how black people are. (I think that this is a way to ignore pain that you don’t have to deal with. And it is ignorant in all ways)

Whether or not we need to solve the problem of black on black violence before we dare be upset that cops are killing black men, too. (This is a ton of crap)

I have so many things that I want to say, and other blogging friends of mine have said some of what I am feeling better and more eloquently than I could. Look at this, and also look at this.

So I won’t say a lot. But since blogs are like journals, I have to say this.

I am sad. I am tired. I am distraught that people sit behind computers and talk in length about things that they have no idea about. And happily and blissfully ignore that while they are having these wonderfully distant discussions, that after they power down their laptops (if they do), that….

People are still hurting.

Sick people want to be well.

People want to not get shot.

Your explanations and attempts to qualify who deserves compassion, in reality, are crippling, and perverse, and violent and cruel.

I don’t want to add to the noise, and I feel like all of my arguments circle in on themselves.

But that leads me to this.

I need to get over being right. Over what you have always known or think you know.

Because people are dying. Dying. Crap doesn’t get more real than that. We need to shut-up. And listen. Me too.

Listen.

 

 


Life is Messy

by SweetMidlife

Lynne here!

The metaphors in this post really kinda wrote themselves.

We hosted a concert at our house last weekend featuring my friend Nikki Lerner and her band. She is really amazing and you should check her out if you like good music.

Since we wanted people to be able to enjoy the music and not be distracted by the large amounts of dust and toddler toys here, we hired someone to come clean our house the day before. Because this is something we are not usually able to do, I was very conscious of keeping things nice. Again, I have a toddler who has literally left his mark on our household (usually in fingerprints on glass surfaces and in milk rings left from morning bowls of Chex). And also because I am also prone to living my own general stickiness on things, and can let things pile up before it really bothers me.

I was so, so afraid of protecting our investment. Which is why we went out for cheap eats that night, and why we heated up frozen things for our own dinner the night of the party.

The party went fantastically well, and people threw away their trash and at the end of the night, things looked great. Not like it did when we had parties in college and woke up to a living room containing half-full red Solo cups that have spilled onto your student housing rug, plates of hardened sour cream and onion dip and chip crumbs, and some drunk dude named Beef who you don’t really know and is passed out on the floor.

So on last Sunday morning, we marveled at how beautiful our kitchen looked, and how spotless are bathroom counters were, and how our living room was spot-free. And I briefly thought we could bubble-wrap the kid or just eat out of our toaster oven forevermore, but I knew that wouldn’t work. Because in daily life, we have to eat and touch things and brush our teeth. And the toothpaste will dribble and the fingerprints will come because you have to live. So, of course, the trick is to clean up after yourself as the messes happen. Don’t make deliberate messes for the sake of making messes, and don’t make messes that you expect other people to take care of.

This child still lives here, and the house is still relatively clean. Yay, miracles and Clorox wipes.

The purple dinosaur is amazed that things look this good.

You see where this is going right?

Loving and living to their fullest extent is an amazing way to live, but it also leaves you vulnerable. Because people can hurt you. And you can hurt people. And we can get bruised and stained and beat-up and covered in tartar sauce. I love tartar sauce.

But it’s worth it. Get messy. Risk loss. Be careful with hearts because they are precious. But if you do break something or mess it up, fix it. Steward the people and chances you have been given because they are precious.

But live and eat and dance and if you spill stuff, clean it up.

Live.

 

 


Do’s, Don’t's, and yoga pants: Sometimes you gotta

by SweetMidlife

Leslie here!

It’s been a while since you’ve heard from me in these parts, as we’ve had visitors, a shared family cough we’ve been passing around like the worst gift you never wanted, and just a lot of stressful stressful siss boom ba. Lynne’s been holding down the fort beautifully, but if you’ve missed me, that’s what I’ve been up to.

And also yoga pants.

I am a 43-year-old former hardcore runner, boot camper and all around gym rat. That iteration of myself came within the last decade, starting in my early 30s. I was never the fastest or fittest chick in the place. But what I lacked in mastery I more than made up for in consistency, until my aging body, which had been warning me to slow down with some aches, pains and strains, finally decided I couldn’t take a hint and just started sputtering. The knees ached. The shoulder ached. The sciatica in the hip developed. (That sounds like something Fred Sanford had, right?)

So I had no choice but to slow way, way down. Somewhere in there I started looking for something active that would help my back, and settled on yoga, something I used to do all the time but gave up because there was only time after a while for the pounding, hard core exercise. Dummy. I went to several classes at the gym I belong to, and then bought a two-week membership at a local warm yoga studio, which was pricey but wonderful.

I decided if I was going to restart my practice, as creaky and blocky as I was, I needed to look the part, which meant going to the local Beall’s outlet and picking up two pairs of yoga pants. These are not Lululemon pants, because they are expensive and the owners of that company don’t apparently want my fat butt in them. These are more like Lololimeade. But they’re roomy where they should be and make my hindparts region look and feel better than it should (because cheese.)

Before I ever bought a pair I had read all sorts of fashion blogs that poo-poo the wearing of yoga pants anywhere outside of a yoga class, because they’re workout gear and everyone knows that wearing them out means you’re lazy. But I’ma tell you what – I am guilty. GUILTY. Because last week, when the young lady that sometimes cleans our house was here, I had to run to the bank, and was wearing said yoga pants around the house. I thought “I could change into gym shorts or something because I’ve not yet showered and don’t want to waste cute clothing on a dirty body, or I could just leave.”

And I left. And the seas did not boil over in a sartorial rage, nor did birds plummet from the skies, not did Tim Gunn jump out the bushes at the Wells Fargo to pants shame me. Maybe I got looks. I dunno. I was just trying to get some money out the bank. I am a somewhat public person where I live so I thought for a minute that I might be seen and judged by someone who knows me. And then I felt the sweet supportive hug of the yoga pants, whispering ‘You are good enough. You look fine. You don’t smell. And no one expects you to be Heidi Klum anyway.”

It’s now Saturday and I write you from the south Florida headquarters of Sweet Midlife LLC. And I am wearing yoga pants (not the same ones. The other ones.) Already I have run errands out of the house, including to get breakfast. And you know what? I don’t care. I would not wear them to work. I would not wear them to dinner. I might wear them on a quick run to Publix (OK, I did that yesterday. But I wore a nice shirt).

I understand rules and appropriateness. I also understand a bunch of people with more money and more assistants than I have (I don’t have an assistant, FYI) in New York ladling out edicts and rules to shame women into watching their every move in fear of breaking some fashion law (and so they’ll buy more stuff.) I’m not having it. I will look great when I need to. But when I’m running around it’s me and the yoga pants.

I might even wear them to yoga.


Serve Them You. And They Are Gonna Like It.

by SweetMidlife

Lynne here!!

I love Food Network’s “Food Network Star” show, which is basically a bunch of chef/food people auditioning for their own cooking program. It’s fun to see the different interests and styles of the contestants, and I love deciding whose show I would actually want to watch. What trips me out, though, is when the finalists have made it to “Food Network Star”, a show about having a show, and they can’t seem to describe what their show would be about. It’s even crazier when they don’t even seem to know what kind of show they would want to do. But as the season goes on, things start to click (or weaker people get kicked off), and on last week’s episode, the last 3 cheftestants shot pilots of the shows they hope to star in, and it was so cool to see them, eyes bright, excited to present themselves to the world. “Hey people,” they are saying. “Here is me. And you are gonna like me. Believe that.”

It took me back to my professional acting days, and all of those auditions I went on. As hard as it was to find the right song, and pick a new monologue that really spoke to me, I really loved it. I was pretty confident, sometimes when I probably shouldn’t have been. I was never the greatest dancer, and I auditioned for many a show that had dancing in it. But I actually would tell the panel auditioning me to look at my face and not my feet, because I could serve up some face, y’all. And I can sing, and I am funny, and I was confident that if they just saw me and gave me a chance, they would want me to do SOMETHING.  They could stand me in the back for the difficult dancing parts, and I could step-touch until that part was over. And I actually got parts, I would like to think, based on what I was talented in, and that enthusiasm for myself.

And I miss that sometimes. That confidence.

I am not currently performing, but we actually kinda audition daily, don’t we? Every job interview, every new situation you get into, gives you a chance to show who you are. A chance to be confident in your skills, in your talents, in whatever you got. I realize that I do a lot of “umm”-ing when people ask me my plans, even when I know them, because I am not sure that they will be received well, and I come off sounding like I don’t have a clue of what I am talking about. Or I look at the ceiling or the floor, like I am trying to get my the answer from the air.

No more.

My life has had several chapters personally and professionally, and the one I am on now is wife and mostly Stay At Home Mom/teaching artist/writer/blogger person. My goal is that whatever it is I am doing, or striving for, that in the moment, I am owning who and where I am. Shoot, a strong “I haven’t decided yet” sounds better than a bunch of rambling. How are people gonna believe me if I don’t?

I am clumsy. I sometimes talk too much. I am not always on time, and my cleaning style can on certain days be summed up as “ignore it and it will go away.”

But I am creative. And I am funny. And I can write. I can sing. And I can make vanilla pudding better than Hunt’s Snack Pack.

I got something cool. And of value. And I am gonna be my own cheerleader.

I’m Lynne.

Nice to meet you.

My last headshot, taken by the brilliant team at Balance Photography, http://www.balancephotography.net/


Will It Go ‘Round in Circles, or Our Mall Trip Yesterday

by SweetMidlife

Hola. Lynne here!

We went to the mall yesterday.

I’ve written before about toddlers and giant Swedish furniture stores, so this is sort of a twin piece to that. I tried to think of a good metaphor to sum up the craziness of walking through a mall with a toddler. Something about tornadoes, or squirrels running up trees.  But I realized that the best way to describe the chaos is that walking through a mall with a toddler is like walking through a mall with a toddler.

Everything is interesting. Those coin operated candy machines seem to be at every 20 feet. There is always a chair to sit in. Escalators are amusement park rides. Holding your mom’s hand is not what you want to do.  I did have a moment when I saw how fun it can be to just follow your kid’s lead so he can discover stuff and isn’t destroying anything. And there was happiness. And, satisfied with our exploring,  it seemed like a good time to leave.

I figured we would just walk through the Macy’s and go out the other way and be closer to where we parked.

Yeah.

He was very interested in the feet on the mannequins, and whether or not they were wearing shoes. Then he wanted to hold their hands. Then he abandoned them and asked if we could ride the escalator, and we went up to the bedding section. He tried to climb into a sample bed but was denied by me. I got him back down the escalator and we headed towards the door.

Only I couldn’t remember which one we came from. I swore we were going towards the car, then realized I had seen these clothes before. BECAUSE WE WERE HEADED BACK TO THE DOOR WE CAME THROUGH. More mannequin/toddler friendships were being made until I finally said, “Look, either you get in the stroller or I carry you. Pick.”

And he decided to push the stroller. I figured this was forward movement, so I agreed.

I got a dance, it ain’t got no steps. But I want to dance it with my mannequin friends.

Except it wasn’t forward. He was going in circles, which seemed to make perfect sense to him. Then he decided he wanted to be carried, which lasted for a bit, but then he got heavy. Once we got back into the mall, he bopped and bounced until we got to the car.

And I couldn’t find my cell phone. And I seriously thought about letting it go, because I couldn’t imagine retracing our steps. Mama. Was. Done. But, thank God, it was in the diaper bag. And then he fell asleep in the car.

And the mannequins are missing their young friend. But we will be back.

 

 


Positioned to See Something Wonderful

by SweetMidlife

Lynne here!

My little boy loves trucks, and if he hears them outside, he goes running from wherever he is to the nearest window. His favorite hangout is the window next to our front door, because it gives him the best view of whatever is coming down the street. And sometimes it’s a truck.

And that is sometimes all you need for a moment of happiness. I hope that today, you position yourself somewhere to see something wonderful.

If you do, tell me about it, and share your pics in comments or on our Facebook page, okay?


Gwynnie Bee: A Weekly Box of Pretty.

by SweetMidlife

Lynne here.

This is long.

So, you know that Facebook shows you ads based on your interests and such, right? So, when I started getting ads for something called Gwynnie Bee that was geared towards plus-sized women, I felt embarrassed. How did they know that I had gained weight? Why were they throwing my insecurities in my face when I was just trying to see what my friends thought of whatever happened on “The Voice” the night before? But I came to this realization:

1. A lot of my clothes didn’t fit like I wanted.

2. Some of them that did were not flattering and were ill-fitting and made me look like I was hiding.

3. Hiding is boo.

So, I actually clicked on the link, and I saw that Gwynnie Bee was a rental clothes service for women size 10-32, and it’s like Netflix!! Based on the amount you pay a month, you get an outfit picked from your “closet” (your inbox of clothes that you pick from the site in the size you want) and they send it to you in a box, all clean and pressed, and you wear it and keep it for as long as you want! And when  you are done with it, you stick it back in the postage-paid Priority Mail envelope that they send you (you don’t even have to wash that thing!) and after they get it, you get another outfit!! For $35 a month, you get one outfit at a time, and the more you pay, the more outfits you can have at home. After seeing that most people on the 1-at-a-time plan were getting about 4 outfits a month if they wore them and sent them back at a good pace, I decided to check out the free month trial that  they give to new customers.

AND I LOVED IT. Here was my adventure…

1. I signed up for the service, filled my closet, and waited. And waited. And waited. Then I got an email from a customer service person that said that size 12-14 (the size of most of the things I wanted) was a very popular size (which makes sense because it is the size of the average American woman!) and that a lot of the things I wanted were out on loan, which is why my box was delayed. They asked me to add more things to my closet, so I did, and was told that something was going out for me as she typed. I was very impressed at their attention, and with the fact that they added a week to my free trial. YAY ,FREE!! And in 2 days, I received this gorgeous dress that I wore to my genius musician cousin’s high school graduation celebration. And I felt dang cute.

Flowers and cuteness.

2. I kept that dress for about a week, and sent it back and got a new box in a few days. Now, one thing about the service is that everything you get is from your list of things you liked, but you can’t pick the order that you get them in. So you should really pay attention to what you put in your closet, and you should really pick size according to the sizing chart (which takes bust and hips and such into account). If it says you are a size you didn’t think you were, who cares? Get something that fits. This was a good thing for me because I didn’t really take bust size into account when I ordered this next dress. Let’s say the girls were too much for it. Cute, but never made it out of the house…

 

Thought the tank top underneath might work, but it read “Can’t button it”.

I sent it right back and waited for another one!

3. ….And waited a few days. I finally called the customer service people at Gwynnie Bee and found out that because they had moved to a new location, they were a few days behind. I got that, and thought it would be a few days before I got anything else. But I checked again that night, and something was in the mail!! And it was this…

Now, yes, there is a toddler (mine) blocking the whole dress. But take my word for it. It was a really cute sleeveless flowered dress that I wore it to a baby shower and I felt really wonderful in it.

By this point I had decided that I was going to cancel my subscription after my trial was over. This had nothing at all to do with how much I liked the service. I loved getting pretty things in the mail. I just decided at this time in my life and our budget, I wasn’t able to justify the expense. Sadly. And I figured that I wouldn’t have time to get any more outfits before my trial period was over. But, as in all good plays, there was a surprise happy ending, and it is this.

4 & 5.

Because of the wait on the other outfits, Gwynnie Bee sent me out 2 extra outfits from my closet that I wasn’t expecting. Now, I choose not to show you dress #4. It was a cute, multicolored dress that I wore out to dinner and an outdoor concert with my son and husband. I felt awesome in it. But the picture we took of it is NOT flattering at all and made me feel gross. Not just big, because I acknowledge the pounds. But the pictures make me look what I can only describe as “eww”, so I choose not to share. But #5 made up for it…

I’m loving it! More than a Filet O’ Fish!

This was my absolute favorite. It is a houndstooth shift dress that was billed as perfect for an office job. I don’t have one of those, so I wore it to church. And I got all kinds of compliments. And I felt really, really great in it. And spunky. Spunky, y’all!!

That was the end of my trial on Gwynnie Bee, and like I said, I am not able to roll that into a subscription right now. But if I could afford it I would. And if YOU can, you should do it….

…if you spend at least $35 a month on clothes. Because for that amount you get to wear at least 3 or 4 different outfits and feel like a model because you don’t have to wear the same thing twice unless you want to keep it longer.

…if you don’t mind wearing things other people wore at home. I don’t. And they do a really good job of cleaning stuff, so it feels no creepier than trying on clothes in a store. You just get to wear this out!

…if you are a bit adventurous and don’t mind wearing stuff you don’t get to see in person. You are taking a chance that you might not like it at all, and you have to wait while you send stuff back to then get something else. But even when that happened to me, it was worth it because I liked most of the stuff I got.

…if, and this is the best IF, you are tired of waiting for what might happen, like when you lose the weight, or when you can get back into your clothes, or when you are the size you want to be before you go shopping again. Why can’t you look cute now? Why can’t you be Plus-sized and feel good about what you wear? Not passable. Not alright. GOOD. HOT. SEXY. Shoot, even if I lose the weight, my “normal” is a size 10, and Gwynnie Bee stocks those too. I love that Gwynnie Bee is making the average woman feel stellar. I am down with that.

 


The Blonde Vegan, honesty and why we need to get over ourselves

by SweetMidlife

Leslie here!

I admit that until this morning, I had never heard of The Blonde Vegan, (http://www.theblondevegan.com/2014/07/13/recovery-update-orthorexia-is-no-fun/#comments) but it’s an apparently popular Web site run by a lovely young lady named Jordan Younger. Apparently she embraced veganism in college and jumped into it wholeheartedly, launching this lifestyle blog and even a line of TBV merchandise. She was in turn embraced by other vegans eager to share in her recipes and advice.

That is, until she admitted recently that she had jumped so far into veganism that it triggered an eating disorder called orthorexia, which is a perceived obsession or preoccupation with eating foods considered unhealthy. Jordan bravely wrote that she had become terrified of violating the tenets of veganism, which eschews any kind of animal products, to the point where she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She had mad anxiety and even lost her period. She is in recovery for her issues and proposed to her readers that she wanted to now call her blog The Balanced Blonde, or The Blonde Vegetarian.

I do not use the word “brave” lightly, but it is truly courageous to not only admit that a lifestyle you have embraced so publicly and with so much authority is not working for you, and has become dangerous for you, but to do that in front of a community who has welcomed you into it. Jordan says that she expected a reaction. But she did not expect death threats.

DEATH THREATS. People who are committed to saving the lives and elimination the exploitation of animals would threaten to kill a human being who said that she could for the sake of her mental and physical health no longer participate.

WHAT THE HOLY HOLLY?

There are many things that I am, or have been, really into, including Jesus Christ (still) the music of Neil Finn (still) running (not as much as I should) and hobo-like men who live to suck my self esteem like the dignity vampires they are (not no more.) And I can see myself defending those things, even judgmentally, and wondering why people couldn’t see how cool those things are, even when it was none of my business.

You have to really check yourself, however, when your embrace of a philosophy is so great that you would threaten the life of someone who was no longer an adherent. Because that, my friend, is about you. It’s about your fear of control, maybe, and perhaps your own secret doubts about your belief. Because why else would you be so threatened by someone else’s choices? It’s not your business. This woman openly said “I miss veganism. I still believe in its tenets. I just can’t do it anymore” and they shamed her.

There was even a mostly supportive response from someone who said “I initially was mad at you for leaving veganism and thought you were faking this eating disorder because you couldn’t hack it, but I now see I was wrong.” To admit that you were so far up your own butt that you would attach that judgment to a stranger is really honest. We need to get over ourselves. This young woman needs love and support, not the lint in your own addled head.


Five Minute Friday: We “belong”, we belong together

by SweetMidlife

Leslie here!

Go.

I write about music, among other entertainment, for a living, so these “Five Minute Friday” prompts often shake off some automatic lyrical connection in my brain (and believe me, there are a lot of ridiculous ’80s songs living there among the cobwebs).

So this week’s, “belong,” immediately made the Pandora in my brain start singing Pat Benatar’s “We Belong,” a now 30-year-old song that featured a children’s choir in white, shot in a gauzy light, as Pat sang about spiritual, physical and emotional connectedness while wearing a white head wrap and gloves with little holes in them. (Holes=spiritual openness.)

At 13, I imagined that was the ultimate love song, about connecting in ways you haven’t even considered, as if the whole rhythm of the earth and sky had prescribed your meeting, as if you existed in accordance with the beating of the clock. That was something I was looking for, I know. It was also very melodramatic, and 13-year-olds bathe in that stuff.

I always wanted to believe that existed, even in college, when a paranoid and sweetly misguided guy in my Christian fellowship group told me that he’d loved the song until he’d really examined the lyrics and decided it was New Agey and demonic and asked you to belong to the thunder.

He meant well, but that’s not what Pat was talking about. Actually, if I could go back to college I’d tell Steven (I think that was his name) that the song could actually be very Christian – We believe God created the night, the thunder and all the elements Pat sings about, as well as our desire to connect to Him and to each other. He gave us the desire to want to be with other people, as friends and lovers, in a way that echoes the way that he loves us, that’s so natural that it’s like the sound of the thunder.

I am glad to say I’ve found that with my husband person. Pat would be proud.

Stop.


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