I've been asked, "Why did you name your blog 'In Pursuit of Domestic Greatness?'"  It's an interesting story, indeed, and was clearly demonstrated at "dinner" last night.

First, the background. I come from a long line of non domestic divas. Mama was a career girl to the finest degree. Coming of age in the '70's, she proved she could not only, "Bring home the bacon," but she was also, "Woman, hear her roar." She was a feminine feminist. Beautiful in the "Stepford Wife" mold, with gorgeous blonde locks and vivid blue eyes, with a face as angelic as they come, she could also put any man in his place with a whip of her razor edged tongue. Mama could defeat a corporate bad guy, but...she was bested by Betty Crocker. She was famous for burning jello ("I didn't realize you weren't supposed to cook it.") and pungent pumpkin pies ("Whoops! I forgot to add the evaporated milk!"). She had one meal she could make...sometimes. That would be spaghetti. Usually. Oh, and biscuits and gravy. She could also bake a TV dinner better than anybody.  She had many qualities. Cooking wasn't one of them. Neither was cleaning. Oh, she tried, but our house never shone like everyone else's. I am not entirely blaming that on the beautiful orange and avocado color scheme of the '70's. She just truly couldn't clean. Nor could she decorate. My bedroom was orange and green. Our living room was red, black and burnt sienna. Our second house, a grand Victorian, was yellow. Bright yellow. But she did have 2 squares of Contact paper that she thought looked like tiles. She had those on the kitchen wall for years.  I'm not sure Mama ever bought a gallon of paint. Our house was saved somewhat when she hired the local Molly Maids to come in each week to vacuum, dust, and clean the bathroom.

She came by it naturally, though. Grandma didn't cook. At all. I don't remember her EVER spending a moment in the kitchen. Except to pour coffee.  Pappa cooked, but Grandma just didn't. She, too, was a career woman; secretary of the Missouri Press Women's Association, head of public relations for a college, and head of the Liberty Civic Theater.  She was so busy saving the world, that she didn't have the time, energy, or desire to cook. However, there was a well worn path between her back porch, and Long's Cafe on the Square!

So, my role models in domestic greatness, weren't. I was famous for NOT cooking pancakes (right, Stacy and Darren?) and for burning hamburger so bad that Darren ended up in the emergency room because of the fumes. Shortly after our wedding, I was peeling potatoes. I had never learned to use a peeler. And I cut off the tip of my finger. Of course, we didn't have the money for an ER visit, so now, if you look closely, you see that my finger is irregular, and I can't feel the tip of it.

But, I long to be great at something, and at this juncture of my life, God wants me home with my family. So I am pursuing domestic greatness. I'm not great. No, I'm not even good. But if you get an A for effort, then I'm at the top of the class. I am forever searching for recipes, and recently, I have started experimenting. And you know what? I'm digging deep, and finding domesticity within me.  It's been kind of scary. And exciting.  And I don't always know what I'm doing.  But I'm starting to have fun.

Oh, and what about the story about dinner last night?  Well, let's preface by saying that I've been deeply depressed lately because I don't know who I'm supposed to be right now. God wants me home, I want to cook, and that's causing a strain on every facet of my life.  So last night, I'm fixing dinner. We had two leftover Omaha Steaks that hubby got from a client for Christmas. I created an absolutely yummy sauce...Dijon mustard, brandy, butter and a squirt of Worcestershire. I put the steaks and the sauce into my frying pan and went to work on the corn. Suddenly, EWWWWWWWW! And my smoke detectors went off.  The sauce not only scorched...it caught fire. It was pretty funny, I guess, but I had to call Darren and ask him to grab something at Wendys tonight. I was starting to get upset, but he started laughing, and he said, "I really appreciate how hard you're trying. It means a lot to me."

The pursuit continues...