Spanish Garlic Shrimp and Scallop Saute

“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love”   ~ A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

My husband – (Gentlemen’s Night – June 2015) – Photo Credit: Burgie’s Coffee – Ames, Iowa

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There is music playing in the other room.  I can picture what he's doing depending on the station.

Jazz?  He's reading in his chair or solving a crossword puzzle over dinner.

Something like Sonia Dada?  Cooking: refrigerator door ajar, hot pads, and a glass of wine on the counter.  Tonight I can make out some of the words, and it makes me wonder how much brain capacity I use remembering lyrics to songs I used to love, but have nearly forgotten about

Sometimes I ask myself questions I know I'll never be able to answer.  How many pages have I read?  What will my grandchildren know that I'll never have the option of learning?  How many times have I swept a floor?  How many bottles of ketchup have I eaten?  How wealthy would my parents be if they'd invested in Heinz the day I was born?  How many pounds have I lost and re-lost?  How many miles have I walked?  How many prayers have I said for my children?

— — –

When I was a young, naive, and wide-eyed newlywed; I was convinced marriage would save me, fulfill me, complete me.  That I would be the apple of my husband's eye, and he of mine.  That we would fall more deeply and madly in love with each passing day. That this marriage, a life together would undoubatedly end in happily ever after for both of us

So that’s what I prepared for.  And it was good, of course, until it wasn't

This time around, I did it differently.  I spent a long time in therapy learning about myself and how to pick a better partner.  I went into it with my cookie recipes, my perfume, my funny stories.  My should's, my expectations, my ideals

It's never that easy.

He travels a lot, and it's always better when he's home.

On cold winter days, he builds us a fire, and the house smells cozy and feels peaceful.  The puppies oscillate between a spot right in front, to the back yard to cool off.  I wish for a snow day, so we could put on our hats and boots and go for a walk amongst the flakes, and look for funny snowmen.

Mostly I wish for days that aren't grey

I wonder how many times I've whispered “I love you's” into the crook of his neck.  Does he believe me when I say it or does he think it's like playing back an answering machine message every day for years?  Does he know it's not a prompted knee bounce?  A marital reflex test?

He's just a man who walks around in his bathrobe and starts conversations with “How can I help around here today?”  I'm just a woman who sends emails with subject lines “Hey .. I was listening to NPR and ..”  Who's introverted (probably to a fault), and can't fall asleep until my feet are warm and tucked underneath Harry at night. I don't ask him if he knows gratitude tumbles out

when I open my mouth to breathe

I don't want him to know I was teary when he drove Eli around in calculated circles.  Letting him yell at the top of his lungs, for no other reason than they're boys and they could.  That my heart fluttered when he told him stories and took us out for pink ice cream.  How he always knows when I'm nearing my three-year-old activity limit and am too proud to admit it

I let my eyes drop, pretending I'm tired.  I want him to know that I need him.  I'm fiercely independent, guarded, and it's hard for me to admit

— —

He asks me what I'm working on and I tell him “Nothing really”  

He knows differently but smiles, gives me a forehead kiss, and says “I love you”

I've been awful about sleeping as of late.  The world feels heavy and chaotic.  I'm doing my best to decipher (or escape from) it all. Let me capture these thoughts, finish a chapter in the book by my bedside, putter around in the quiet.  I know in the morning he'll sit by the bed and hold my hand to wake me up; it's this way every day.

As I type, the puppies are sleeping because it's either very early or very late.  I'd love to know what they dream of.  Harry barks softly in his sleep and moves his legs like he's chasing a squirrel.  Sally's whimpers wake me sometimes as she lays against the comma of my body.  I know soon after I'm asleep she'll move to a cooler spot on the floor, and a kitty will take her place

She presses a warm nose kiss to my cheek before running for her ball.  She doesn't worry if she feels too much.  I envy her freedom, her ability to give as she wishes.

My husband and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary this week

I'm reminded of a friend who long-ago wore boots under her wedding dress.

They were an engagement gift from her father, an adventure-loving outdoorsman.  In the congratulations card, he wrote of the similarities between breaking in boots and breaking in marriage.  That it takes time.  That it takes determination.  That it gets hard before it gets easy.  That you wear them anyway.

That it’s worth it.

That someday, years down the road, after many miles walked; you’ll realize they’re finally a pretty good fit after all

Some of my husband's favorite things to eat?  Seafood and pasta

Spurred on by many days of cloudy skies and puh-lenty of grey this winter, I've spent an unnatural amount of time mulling over ideas for ways to add more seafood into our menus.  I wanted to do something a little different from the standard tomato sauce, chopped seafood pan.  I also wanted to keep things a bit lighter than some of the cream-based classics.

I finally got around to giving this one a shot this week, and it was great!

Sweet shrimp, scallops, and tomatoes in garlicky wine sauce make me think of a tapas bar snacks.

Serve over brown rice or pasta.  I image it would be incredible eaten out of the pan, the leftover sauce at the bottom would be ideal sopping-up liquid for good bread

A note about garlic:  It might seem like a lot, but I'd encourage you to give it a go.  I de-germed them and cut them in fairly thick slices; a must in order not to burn them as the shrimp cook

Enjoy!

xoxo

~ Adapted from Better Homes and Gardens