Looks Like Baby Food...Tastes Like Heaven

This is one of my favorite soup recipes for the Fall, so I have to share it! I just made a batch last night...mmm mmm good.

CURRIED SWEET POTATO BISQUE

What You'll Need:

2 tsp. Olive Oil
1 C. Diced Onion
2 tsp. Curry Powder
1/4 tsp. All Spice
5 C. Sweet Potatoes - Peeled and cut into cubes (about 3 lbs. whole)
3 10.5-oz Cans Low Sodium Vegetable or Chicken Broth
1 C. Water
1/2 tsp. Salt
1 1/2 C. Plain Yogurt (divided)

How To Do It:

1.) Heat olive oil over medium-high heat in a large dutch oven or stock pot.

2.) Add onions and sauté for two minutes.

3.) Add curry power and all spice to onions and cook for one minute.

4.) Add sweet potatoes, broth, water, and salt. Cook for 25 minutes or until potatoes are tender.

5.) Remove from heat.

6.) Pour one-half of potato mixture into blender and puree until smooth. Pour pureed mixture into a large bowl. Repeat with the other half of the potato mixture.

7.) Return pureed potato mixture (all of it) to the stock pot. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat.

8.) Once boiling, remove from heat and stir in 1 C. plain yogurt until well blended.

9.) Serve topped with 1 Tbs. yogurt.

Yields appx. 7 Servings - 1 1/3 C. per serving.

Side Note: Marc and I love to pair this with grilled cheese on Scholar's Inn Bakehouse Farm Bread. Enjoy!

People Sometimes Get Us Confused...

My face is one of those "familiar faces." You know the type. Often when I'm out and about, people think they know me from somewhere. It's always the same thing; the look of semi-recognition; the assorted questions (Where did you grow up?...go to high school/college?...work?...etc.); and then the final determination that, in fact, I look "just like" the person's old babysitter, Starbuck's barista, or long lost best friend from third grade. I believe that I have approximately fifty evil twins running amok in this world, hellbent on tarnishing my good image. Personally, I've always thought of myself as unique looking; however, I'm starting to think that there must be great similarities in my uniqueness.

Enter Greta Garbo. Yesterday, a co-worker introduced me to a new website called myheritage.com, which allows one to upload a photo of themselves into the magical "Celebrity Face Recognition" machine. I'm not privy to how this process actually works, but I can tell you that a cool little face scanning graphic pops up, identifies your face in the uploaded photo, and spits out a battery of celebrities who supposedly look like you (often providing both male and female look-alikes). As you can probably tell by my side-by-side with Miss Greta, I think that the website is still working out a few kinks. Other notables in my collection of "celebrity twins" included young Elizabeth Taylor, Kyra Sedgwick, Jodie Foster, and Jimmy Buffett. Mind you, none of the usual suspects popped up in my results list. In the past, I've been compared to such celebs as Anne Heche, Tilda Swinton (think Ice Queen..."Chronicles of Narnia"), and more recently Jennifer Finnigan (from the TV drama "Close to Home"). [see below]


While I may, in some small ways, bear certain resemblance to a few of these gals, I've never had the good (or bad) fortune of actually being mistaken for any of my celebrity look-alikes. That honor goes to my husband, Marc. As he returned from lunch one afternoon to his office downtown, a man yelled out to him, "Hey! Elton!" Marc stopped, wondering what in the world the stranger was talking about. Again, the man shouted out, "Hey, Elton!" Dumbfounded, Marc said, "Excuse me?" To which the man proudly exclaimed, "I have ALL of your albums!!" Poor Marc, but imagine how thrilled that guy must have been when he told all of his friends that not only did he see ELTON JOHN in downtown Indianapolis, but he spoke to him, as well.

I'm still trying to figure out exactly what the celebrity scanner caught that made Greta Garbo my number one match. Maybe it was the pursed lips or the "what exactly is she staring at?" gaze. Who knows? But I would almost put money down that if you haven't already, your next click is going to be a trip to My Heritage to find your own celebrity twin.

Fabulous Four(some)

Pick the rainiest, nastiest, windiest Friday in September every year. The day that you would typically hit the snooze a few extra times and pull the covers a little tighter around your head. That drizzle-filled morning when the last thing on your mind is swinging a golf club in a thunderstorm for fear of being struck by lightning...and that will be the day of the Howard County United Way's Ladies' Golf Outing. This has been the same story for five years running, and as Marc drove me to Kokomo last Friday, I couldn't help but recall the scene from Caddyshack where the priest enlists Bill Murray to schlep his golfbag in the middle of a torrential downpour.

You might be wondering if I just happen to shelter an unnatural and enduring love for the local United Way of my childhood home. Rest assured, I make the trip to Kokomo to play in the tournament each year for two (okay...three) reasons. (1) My mom; (2) my sisters; and (3) I'll admit it...I love golf, even on dreary, windy, crappy days!


My family is a golfing family. My grandfather was a scratch golfer who played avidly even later in life. In fact, I had the good fortune of playing along on a day when he hit a hole-in-one. We still tell the story today of how we enthusiastically congratulated him, carrying on about his wonderful shot only to have him ask us where the ball was when we got to the green. His eyesight was bad enough that he didn't see the ball roll in, and it wasn't until he reached in and pulled the ball out himself that he believed me when I said, "It's in the cup, Grandpa!"

The love of golf runs through our blood, but none of us necessarily inherited my grandfather's skills. Don't get me wrong, we have held our own in the past at the tournament, but my mom must remind us each year (only half-playfully) that we are there to have fun...not to win. To which my younger sister, Kimmy, coyly responded, "Yeah right, and men go to Hooter's for the food." Our time at the outing is less about golfing and more about togetherness. Or perhaps I should say, "more about being completely obnoxious." More than once, I've heard my mom utter the words, "I didn't raise you girls like that," but she always says it with a laugh. Truthfully, when left to an expansive patch of grass and our own devices, we're a pretty rowdy bunch.

Despite the rain, the wind, and the muddy, wet, dirty golf shoes that proved to be the mystery smell seeping into our car over the weekend, I wouldn't miss the tournament for the world. After all, it's my once-a-year chance to be part of the Fabulous Four(some).

Keeping Abreast of the Situation

I was always active as a child. Ballet, gymnastics, track, volleyball, golf...you name it. As an adult, my interest in exercise has dwindled to oh, about zero. In the past year, in fact, I've probably burned more calories complaining about my need to exercise than I've actually burned doing any exercise. Read it here first friends...those days are behind me. I've discovered something deliciously new to me - AQUATIC AEROBICS (AA). Who knew that I would ever truly look forward to strapping on a pair of sneakers with my bathing suit?


This is not a picture of my actual class, in case you're wondering. In fact, I'm providing it only to offer visual proof of the euphoria that can be achieved through AA. I'll admit that when I first started thinking about taking an AA class, I was picturing something more along the lines of what you would find at a Senior Citizens Center...splashing about carelessly while trying not to get one's "once-a-week hairdo" wet. I thought it would be a good way to get my creaky joints back in motion, and my doctor said that it was a good idea. I started looking for classes, but gym memberships are so expensive. All hope seemed lost until a friend, Janeen, let me in on the little secret that is Aquatic Aerobics through the Indianapolis Parks Department. You don't have to register or commit to a certain number of classes. Just show up, pay $2.00, and voila...you're in.

Janeen and I went to the first class together; by the second class, Marc was in on the action with us; and by the third session, Marc and I dragged our butts all the way up to Dick's Sporting Goods at Trader's Point after class to buy Aquatic Aerobics shoes. (Yes...there are special [albeit a little overpriced] sneakers made especially for this endeavor.) We're hooked!

Admittedly, there is a certain level of kitschy amusement that goes along with taking an AA class. To start off, you throw shame out the window when you start synchronously bouncing and flailing around in an elementary school pool with approximately ten other people...and you've paid to do this. Then there are the incredibly awkward situations that one can encounter. Just last night, there was a new woman in class who was pleasant and smiled almost nervously throughout the entire workout. At first, I contributed it to her being a newbie; but then, to my horror, I noticed that during our bouncing and flailing her breast had unbeknownst to her fallen right out of her swimsuit! I politely smiled back and was relieved to notice that by the return lap, all parties had retired to their rightful homes.

When I think about it, where else can you get this type of entertainment and a killer body for just $2.00 a pop?

Vivian and Kermit Ride Again

It probably started back in April. The e-mailed photos of "THE" bike. The "I've got a birthday coming up, you know?" You see, birthdays in the McAleavey, Jr. household achieve greatness that most reserve for, say, Christmas. There have been years during our marriage that Marc and I have exchanged only greeting cards for the holidays, but birthdays are not taken lightly. So when the e-mail came in, I didn't think twice about whether or not I should grant Marc his one, true birthday wish...a shiny, new, bright kelly-green, Schwinn Deluxe 7 Cruiser. The Cadillac of bicycles.

It is, indeed, an impressive piece of equipment. From the nearly oversized white-wall tires to the extra-springy, handstitched saddle seat emblazoned with the Schwinn-script "S," the Deluxe 7 is definitely not a bike for the speedy set. This is a bike made first and foremost for comfort, style, and of course, shameless fun. This is a bike that gets you a few looks and guarantees to separate those folks who "get it" and those who just don't.


Kermit, as the bike came to be named, proved to come with its own predicament, though. It needed a mate. So in August, for our fourth wedding anniversary, Marc surprised me with the most beautiful bicycle a girl could own. She's bubble-gum pink with white-walls and a pink & white suede leather seat. She has coaster brakes and a pink bell that makes the best little "ting-a-ling" noises. I named her Vivian.


We took only a few rides before Kermit and Vivian took up a semi-permanent home in our living room. My rheumatoid arthritis started to flare, and making it up and down the stairs was hard enough. Bike riding seemed to be out with a knee the size of a grapefruit. But things started to turn around, and I finally felt like taking the ol' girl for a spin.

We headed out into the beautiful afternoon and made our way to the St. Joan of Arc "French Market." From there, we rode to Butler and spent time taking photos in Holcomb Gardens. It was one of those days that you don't forget. And it's nice to announce that Vivian and Kermit ride again.