Oh So Versatile Mushroom Ragout

I was having a craving for some saucy mushrooms today, but since I am trying to steer clear of pasta I needed to make something I could eat on a bowl of sautéed zucchini and grilled chicken while others in the house could eat it on penne. This meaty dish satisfied us all. Russ ended up skipping the pasta and eating his on bread so it worked as a sandwich as well.
30 oz. various types of raw mushrooms sliced

1 large sweet onion diced

2 shallots minced

1 T. Butter

1 T. Flour

1 12 oz can fat free evaporated milk

1T. Dried Thyme

1/2 c. Grated Parmesan Cheese

Salt and Pepper
Spray Pam in a large non-stick fry pan and place on high heat. Add about a third of the mushrooms when the pan is hot and dry sauté them until they are brown. Set browned mushrooms aside and repeat twice with the remaining mushrooms until they are all cooked. Then in the same pan sauté the onions and shallots and add to the mushrooms.
In a large sauce pan melt the butter on medium heat and add the flour, cook stirring for one minute. Add the mushrooms and onions and then the can of evaporated milk. Cook for two minutes, add thyme and a little salt and pepper. Turn the heat off and let the flavors mingle for at least ten minutes, but more is better. Add the Parmesan cheese right before serving. If the mixture has cooled down to the point the cheese won’t melt, heat it back up on a low temp to just get the cheese to melt.
This stuff will make shoe leather taste good.

Carried Away

Fifty-six years ago yesterday my parents got married. He saw my mother across the quad at Chapel Hill and said that he had a premonition that she was going to marry him and he never looked back. He asked and she said yes so right before classes started for their senior year they were married relieving my grandfather of one of his three daughters. A year and a half I came along.  
It is not an unusual story for their time, but as I think about my own sixteen year old daughter now I could not imagine her getting married five years from yesterday, let alone today or tomorrow. Agreeing to spend the rest of your life with someone seems like a decision you should make when you are old enough to know who you are. But then I consider my own story.
I was the ripe old maid age of thirty when Russ asked me to marry him, old enough to know myself and what I was looking for. But the difference between me and my parents is that I said yes to Russ when he asked me after ten days of dating. It is no less crazy than marrying between my junior and senior year of college. Both scenarios seem risky, but both have worked in their own ways.
I guess the moral of the story is take a risk, but once you do work to make it succeed. So Happy anniversary to my parents. I know it’s work, but living with anyone is a set of compromises. Just know that that give and take is worth it, at least this child thinks so.

Roof Top Downtown Magic 

Russ and I went to brunch today on the roof of the New Durham Hotel. Don’t get excited, they are not yet serving brunch there regularly, but do get excited about going to enjoy a drink on the roof. The space is fantastic. The majority of the roof top deck is covered so it was not a bake in the sunshine situation, but an enjoy the breeze kind of morning. Along one side is an open air, unroofed, terrace with comfy sofas and chairs grouped in intimate clusters. We could look out over the whole of the downtown and were thrilled by how beautiful Durham is from above.
The Durham Hotel is just one of the new hotels making use of old bank buildings in downtown. What was once the mid-century modern Mutual Bank that felt like George Jetson might deposit his moola there is now repurposed as a boutique hotel.  
About fifteen years ago Russ and his business partner Rich got their first office in downtown Durham and people wondered why. They looked around Main Street and thought the old buildings were wildly more interesting than some office park box. The revitalization on downtown was well on it’s way, not in its infancy, but more like a toddler. Today I can say that downtown is way past middle school. Gone are the awkward years of braces and zits.  
We got up this morning and were at the farmers market in Central Park at eight. Stopped by our favorite bakery, Loaf on our way to stop in Russ’ office at American Tobacco before taking our food home in time to shower and change to head back downtown for brunch. Two trips to the center of our city all before noon was something that would be unheard of even six or seven years ago. Now it seems like our first choice destination.
Both Nancy Pike and I showed up on the roof in the same dress at the same time, which we both happen to buy at the same store in Beaufort, but being laid back Durhamites it did not phase us one bit. Enjoying the last wonderful Saturday in August in a beautiful place with friends made us all happy.  

Where were You In 1968?

Do you know what this is? It is a blanket chest of my younger days. Carter’s favorite class at school so far is “the late great 1968.” She had come home everyday this week and talked to me about what I remember from 1968. Since I was seven years old the answers I have to give her are not fantastic, but she certainly is causing me to rack my brain about where I was when RFK was killed. The one thing I do have is a large collection of music some of which was from 1968 and today Carter got me to give her some of my old albums.
We pulled out all the Beatles albums I have, which included Meet the Beatles, The White Album, Revolution, Sargent Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Let it Be and a few others. Truth be told all these Beatles’ albums first belonged to my Dad and I lifted them from him when I was in high school. My Dad loved the Beatles and even though it used to embarrass me to no end, he could sing along to the radio really well. I have a very strong memory of him singing Penny Lane in his black Corvair while he pulled up to the book return at the New Canaan Public Library and had me get out and drop the book in. I can still hear him harmonizing to the song today.

The power of the music really made a memory.
We are going to the farm on on Sunday so I know that Carter is going to pepper my Dad with questions about what he remembers from 1968. We lived not that far from Woodstock, but since my parents were suburban parents who had just turned thirty it could have been a world away from them. This was an era where “never trust anyone over thirty” was a popular phrase.
We lived in a town with a weekly newspaper that only reported things like new sewer pipes being put in the village center, so if you missed the nightly news you might not know what was going on in the bigger world. In 1968 I was still young enough that when Walter Cronkite opened the news with the number of American who had been killed in Vietnam that day I thought he was actually reporting how many Americans had died in the whole country.
The best source I had for learning what was going on in the world was Time and Life Magazines. Our next door neighbor, Ellen West, was and editor at Time/Life and I always got to look at all her magazines. Her husband, General Charles West was retired from the army, but was still secretly working for the government in that secret agent way. Their only son, Jonathan was enough older than me that he was in the war in Vietnam so when he came home messed up I had an eyeful of what a horror the whole war was. That was as close as 1968 came to me besides the music.     

No Wheel Expert

When my mother turned forty years old my father told her it was going to be a big birthday celebration. Four days before her actual birthday four wheels, like the rims that the tires go on for a car arrived and my mother burst into tears fearing she was getting a new car in four parts. See, she really did not care much about cars.

My father had no idea those new rims for his beloved Sirocco were arriving that day for if he did he certainly would have warned my mother first. Lucky for him he arrived home with four new pocket books and four new pairs of Italian shoes and made my mothers day before she could launch into him about the wheels. That was my introduction to wheels.

Fast forward to today when thanks to a slow leak we discovered a bent tire rim, which requires a new wheel. When the tire man called the dealer to inquire about replacing the one we have he came back to me ashen faced with a crazy price in his hand. I told him I would do a little research before we just ordered from the dealer.

OMG! I had no idea how many car rims there are in the world. What I’m looking for is a fairly basic five spoke alloy aluminum, nothing fancy, but not easy to find. I started looking online and must have viewed hundreds of different models with looks that vary from 5 spoke to 14 with a rainbow of colors.

Apparently rims are the most popular way to customize cars these days. Given that the choices of colors has really dwindled to black, gray, silver, white and one other, either red or blue, car manufacturers don’t want to date their models with paint colors. When was the last time you saw a new teal blue car? But for those who want to get some flash in their ride wheels are apparently it.

Well I am not looking for flash — in fact quite the opposite. I just want to match. It seems like a real crap shoot to me to find a rim for a six year old car that matches anyway. Paying huge bucks for a new one won’t exactly match because it won’t have six years wear on it, but getting a refurbished on also seems tricky.

The only way to ensure an exact match is to buy four new rims. Goodness no. That goes against everything I am about. So now I am going to have to become a rim expert and talk to a bunch of motor heads to ensure I am ordering the right thing before I do it. I am feeling a little bit like my mother when the four wheels arrived at our house in Wilton. I just want to burst into tears over rims.

Everyday is a Dog Day Around Here

If you logged on to Facebook today you would probably wonder if it was the first day of dog school based on the preponderance of sweet fur faces who have supplanted the kid’s first day photos. Today is National Dog Day! I know there are a lot of “days”, like the standard Mother’s Day or Father’s Day, Veteran’s Day, Labor Day all deserving of attention and sometimes a gift or card, but National Dog Day? I thought everyday was dog day! It is at our house.
National Dog day was created eleven years ago to promote “everything about dogs.” It seems like anyone who has ever met a dog would recognize that dogs are good at promoting themselves. I don’t think I have ever met a dog who did not proactively introduce herself, ask for some love and return the favor if offered. Yes, there are shelter dogs who might be kiddish and in need of coaxing, but once they know their human they are usually not so shy about asking for love.
Humans could take some lessons from their dogs. First, don’t hold back on asking for what you need. A bathroom? Just ask. A meal? Let it be known. A belly rub? Lie on your back with your legs splayed open and look cute. Love? Well just love unconditionally all out and never hold back.  
Rather than National Dog Day maybe we could have National Be More Like Your Dog Day. It could put an end to all wars, family feuds, neighbor squabbles and sibling rivalries. If we all started acting more like our dogs we would quickly become a species who are happier with our lots in life and more appreciative of the little things.
One of my favorite quotes is, “I hope to grow up to be the person my dog thinks I am.” It’s not to late to be that good person your dog loves. If you don’t have a dog please visit an animal shelter and see if you can find a friend whose life you can save who will change your life. I promise no dog rescued from a shelter ever forgets where they came from and who loves them.
So happy National Dog Day, or in the eyes of our sweet Shay Shay, just another day where she is the star of our house.

Happy Needlepoint Christmas Eve

Since I needlepoint Christmas ornaments all year long I regularly get a comment from some bystander saying something like, “Wow, you are really getting a head start on Christmas”. This especially true when I am stitching a red and green Santa in May or a snowman in July, but what these well meaning admirers don’t understand is that the Christmas deadline is tomorrow, August 25th. By May or July I am feeling the deadline to complete my canvases so I can have a finished ornament back from the fabricator in time to enjoy it this Christmas season.
At the Christmas deadline party I attended the first full year of stitching Elizabeth, one of the very prolific stitching advisors asked me how many ornaments I had made that year. I proudly said, “34.” In reality it was not a ground breaking number. She challenged me to a contest for the next year that started that very day. I worked my finger to the bone, loving a challenge and never ever wanting to lose a contest.  
I worked and worked and on that years Needlepoint Christmas Day I proudly turned in the last of my 45 canvases, thinking I certainly had won. But no… Although the I had beaten Elizabeth, only because she worked on many non-ornament larger canvases, but Kate, another stitching advisor had pulled ahead and came in with 50 ornaments. Shoot, a dark horse I had not expected.
Elizabeth sat this year out to spend time finishing lots of other works in Progress and Kate was training for her Kilimanjaro hike so I was thinking I had a good chance to win this year. My pace was better than last year so I took the luxury to complete some larger canvases thinking I was still going to having the winning number.   
Come sometime in July, when I had finished about 58 ornaments I asked my friend Christy what number she was on. Sixty-seven was her total with more than a month to go. My heart sank. Another year I would not win, but what was I really losing? There is no money on this race, no trophy, no cake or a sash or even a tiara.  
Tomorrow I will go to Chapel Hill Needlepoint, with my friend Christy. I have ornament number 67 finished and ready to turn in. I may get 68 done by then, but there is no guarantee. I have not asked Christy what her number is, but certainly I know it will we’ll beat mine. In advance I would like to congratulate her on a really good year.
I look at it this way, I won by making 67 or 68 beautiful works of art that I will cherish forever. I am not sure my child will love them as much as I do when I’m gone, but for a I hope many more Christmases I will love taking them out and putting up to celebrate the season. I am officially going to stop competing in the number or ornaments contest and spend the next year concentrating on learning new stitches and taking on my difficult projects. I may never have won the challenge, but I have not been disappointed in the competition.
So Merry Needlepoint Christmas Day. I had to write about it early because tomorrow also happens to be the first day of junior year for Carter. That is a much more important day in my life than the end of the needlepoint year so I have to reserve my blog for that tomorrow. I need to have a little perspective when it comes to needlepoint. 

Hat Hair

I am not a golfer, but I do like to watch a good golf tournament. With the Wyndham Championship happening in Greensboro and Tiger playing it I got more involved I watching on TV than I usually would for a tournament of this ranking. it is obvious from the sweat soaked shirt and slacks of Jason Gore that these players are not the ones who the athletic clothing companies are sponsoring.
As the players finished up their fourth round on Sunday at the eighteenth, man after man took off their ubiquitous baseball cap to shake hands with their opponents and their caddies. One after one these players who impressively were shooting plenty of birdies revealed their less than attractive hat hair once their game was over.
What came to my non-golf mind is why in the world has no one invented a golf hat that does not make their hair look horrible? Companies like Under Armour are spending millions of fabric technology to aid in sweat wicking or wrinkle free slacks, but they are missing the boat in hats.  
Watching movies from back in the olden days when men wore hats all the time I don’t remember men having such bad hat hair then they took off their fedora. Certainly hair itself has not changed that much. Hair style, from long and curly, to practically bald seemed to make no difference in combatting a bad do from wearing the hat. Women are not immune to hat hair either, but visors and pony tails seem to fair better in the style ruining department.  
As far as I can tell, hats are as important to players as shoes since I never see a pro or his caddie on the course without a hat. Keeping the sun out of a players eyes and protecting his noggin from sunburn are good reasons to wear a hat. They certainly are a mainstay of advertising for their sponsors since almost every picture of a winning golfer includes a shot of his head. So given the importance of hats you would think they would garner the attention of the outfitting experts.
Perhaps they do already. Maybe no one but a few of us casual golf watchers care one bit about hat hair. I would guess if Pantene were ever to become a sponsor of a golfer hats would move up in ranking of importance. I guess until then CBS should just do the golfers a favor and turn the camera away when the golfer’s remove their hats and shake hands. Yes, we all like to see good sportsmanship and the humanity of the players who may be congratulating a guy who just slaughtered him, so the camera could zoom in on the hand shake and leave the hat hair out of it. Isn’t it humiliating enough that someone gribble bogeyed the 11th, do you have to show his bad hair too?  

Learning to Love Spinach

When I was a kid spinach was not a favorite in my house. I think it had something to do with Popeye and canned spinach. I’m not sure if the canned spinach producers sponsored Popeye, but that watery tasteless spinach from the can did nothing for me and as a girl of the sixties being strong like Popeye didn’t have any appeal either.  
About the time I was twelve years old my parents went to Italy and my father discovered fresh cooked spinach with garlic. I am forever thankful that my Dad’s love of food and high school Latin classes gave him enough language skills to learn from the Italian restaurant people how to make spinach perfectly. Of course my Dad’s version had a good amount of olive oil in it so it was no wonder it tasted delicious.
Once that first trip to Italy happened there was no more canned spinach in my childhood home. We still had plenty of frozen spinach, but that too was doctored up with fresh garlic and olive oil.  
Nowadays fresh spinach is sold mainly in the baby form. This is a huge improvement over the last century version, which had tough stems. The only issue is that baby spinach cooks down to virtually nothing so it takes a huge amount of raw greens to make a decent serving. Since there are very few calories in spinach why not eat a huge helping? Oh yeah, you need a huge bag.
I stopped at Costco this week to get some salmon and spinach and was lucky enough to find a 2 1/2 pound bag. Carter’s friend Ashley was in the kitchen as I was cooking dinner for me and Russ since the girls were going to a party. “That’s a lot of spinach,” Ashley said as I mounded handful upon handful of leaves into my giant skillet with the barley cooked garlic already in it. I told her to watch as I deftly flipped the raw leaves over in the hot pan with my kitchen tongs two or three times.  
Suddenly the once overflowing pan had a small mound of hot wet spinach, no oil or water was added in my version. A flick of the nutmeg grater and a sprinkle of salt and pepper and it was done. It only took a little more than a pound of spinach to feed two of us. I can’t imagine how many bags it would take for a whole dinner party.
The best part about eating that spinach is that every time I make it I am reminded of the time my father first did it for us when he returned from Italy. Learning the difference between a fresh and canned food unlocked a whole world to me. It also taught me that if I did not like one dish it did not mean that I never would like that ingredient. It started me experimenting with food and taught me that often the simplest way was the best. It also taught me to follow my father’s lead and if I liked the way something was cooked to ask a lot of questions and learn from everyone I could. Popeye could have done a better job selling spinach if he just said it tasted good, rather than saying it made him strong.

When Did Dorm’s Need Decorators?

It’s college move in time and based on my Facebook feed I have quite a few friends who have children moving into dorms right now. I am not at this point in my life so the following observations are completely from a voyeur’s point of view.  
One thing that I find true to the posts I have seen is that girls are completely into decorating their rooms, even coordinated decorating with their roommates whereas the boys look perfectly happy and consider themselves fully moved in with blank bare walls and nary a throw pillow to be found. Nothing much has changed since the days I went to college when a Freshman boy could mistakenly walk into his neighbor’s room, get in bed and go to sleep and not even realize he was in the wrong room.  
Living in a college town, next to another college town means seeing students out shopping for room accouterments with their parents is not an unusual sight. Since so many kids come to Duke and UNC from far off places it makes perfect sense for them to buy their necessities, like sheets and towels and even wall monograms here rather then paying to ship it here. But there is something new In dorm outfitting I recently discovered.
While I was doing an errand at the mall recently I overheard a mother and her freshman daughter discussing which Crate and Barrel sofa she needed for her new dorm. I knew she was a freshman because her mother said, “Let’s get a nice one that will last for all four years of undergrad, but when you go to grad school we can get a decorator for your apartment and she will probably want you to get a new sofa.”   
Whoa… A new Crate and Barrel sofa for a dorm. When I got my off campus apartment junior year it was a big deal to go to Stan’s used furniture store and pick out the world’s most uncomfortable ugly brown sofa because it only cost $25, which at $6.25 per housemate was just right. One friend put a photo on face book of the pottery barn delivery truck outside a UNC dorm on move in day. I assume the delivery truck only brings furniture and not sheets and towels. Must have been for a girl’s room.
When it’s time for my daughter to go to college I am perfectly happy to help her get things for her wall and maybe a nice comforter, but I think that the school provided furniture, you know, dressers, bed, desk and chair, will be just fine for that Freshman room. No brand new sofa and certainly nothing that needs to be delivered. I wonder if anyone has brought in their own wallpaper guy or carpet layer? It all seems just a little to over the top for me.

Who Are The Trump Republicans Who Want To Clean Their Own Houses?

   
I don’t like to write about politics because I feel it is a highly personal issue, unlike the things I regularly write about like under garments, weight struggles or dysfunctional family issues. But as I was watching the news tonight the comedic possibilities so overwhelmed me that I can’t help myself.
I have been baffled for weeks how Donald Trump has stayed so high in the polls. I wrote it off at first that polls are the most old fashioned of tools, calling people who have land line telephones and asking them which candidate they like as a list of sixteen names are read. Let’s consider what a small population of mostly very old people still have a wall telephone in the kitchen and answer it. At their age and probably hearing ability by the time the pollster finishes reading the long list the only person they can remember is Trump. Name recognition goes a long way.
But as the insults from Trump have piled up so have his poll numbers. Today on the news he was touting his plan to get 10 million “illegal aliens” out of the country fast. Wait, wait, wait, who are the republicans who are for this? Which republicans are willing to give up their maids, lawn service workers, country club greens keepers, restaurant dishwashers, fresh fruit and vegetable pickers and poultry processors?
Is there a huge population of unemployed republicans who want these jobs I don’t know about? Are there so many people born in America who want a really hard, barley minimum wage job who can’t get one and are just saying,”Once Donald Trump clears everyone out I will be set for life with my dream job of cleaning someone else’s house?” Are these people republicans who actually vote? They can’t be the people the pollsters are calling because they can’t afford a landline.
Why haven’t the republicans who utilize the many services of these people not gotten together in fear and wondered who is going to cut their grass if Trump wins? Of course, they might not be able to go out and play golf since the course might be closed so the only thing left to do will be to take care of their own property. They better learn to plant gardens because the amount of fresh produce in the store will certainly dwindle with no one to take on the life of migratory worker.
I wonder who the people are that clean the bedrooms in his hotels? Maybe they are relatives of his Slovenia born wife? How did she become a citizen? Is Trump talking about sending people back to Europe who are in America illegally or is it just those Mexicans he does not like?  

I’m just really confused who the republicans are who think this country can run without the huge workforce that the Donald is targeting.

Fries on a Salad?!?!?

I think I’ve heard it all now. My friend Nancy came home from her “taking dad to his childhood Ohio home” tour and told me that everywhere she went in central Ohio they served fries on salads. Even my auto correct does not want to accept this notion and keeps trying to write fries or salad. You read this right, French fries served ON a salad. Something is wrong in the world.
Tomorrow I am taking my friend Jean out to lunch to celebrate her birthday. When I asked her where she wanted to go she said, “someplace I can get just some meat on a salad. That is basically all I am ever looking for when I go out to eat too and let me tell you how difficult it is to find.
Yes, there are a couple of places that have salads, and I mean the plural, like more than one choice, like Bull street Market. But for the most part, it is incredibly difficult to find an interesting salad that is low in the carb department with a number of protein choices to go with it. Now chicken or tuna salad are not favorable choices because the mayo situation throws them into a high calorie stratosphere. 
A Cobb salad does not count because once you put bacon, two kinds of cheese, avocado and then chicken on a salad, add in the dressing you might as well get a burger and fries. The only way to make the Cobb salad more fattening is to put fries on it. Have you ever? May be you have of you are from Ohio. 
The other non-starter in the salad department is the buffalo chicken salad, which is full of fried chicken and blue cheese. This is not what I am looking for. Or with salads that are full of pasta. An Asian a chicken salad with cabbage is good, one with soba noodles is now not a salad, but a cold noodle dish.
Caprese salad, you know, tomato, mozzarella and basil is not the answer because the amount of cheese is equal to a whole Philly cheese steak. If I am going to eat that many calories I want cake, no fooling myself that I am eating healthy with that “salad.”
So restaurants, I can’t be the only person who wants some interesting veggies on good greens, read not iceberg, with some tasty grilled skinless chicken. I know dressings are hard for you chefs,and I am fine with just getting vinegar and not expecting you to come up with a delicious low fat dressing. Just please give us something to put the vinegar on. I’m tired of searching for lunch menus on websites to no avail.
Oh, and whatever you do, don’t think that North Carolina needs to adopt French fries on salads. If we were going to add a fried side dish to a salad it would be onion rings all day long.

The Last Week of Peace

A week from today Carter starts her Junior year of high school. Right now she and her baptismal partner Ellis are watching a movie in the sunroom and eating their dinner. It seems like yesterday that they were being baptized on the same day at our church. Of course no one thought to tell either family that their were going to be two Baptisms on the same day so when Ellis’s Mom, Lynn came to sit in the front pew I was taken aback. We did not know each other. Thank goodness she turned out to be just the nicest person on earth and got over any offense I caused by saying out family was going to take up the whole pew since we were having a baby baptized.  
The time between the baptism and now feels like the calm before the storm of the all important junior year. Yes, we had to get through adolescence and learning to drive, but what comes ahead is the year I have been bracing for. I am trying to take every step at the right time and not worry in advance. I noticed that my answering light was flashing today and when I listened to the message from my Dad about a website that rated college is lots of different ways, including which campus’ were the most dangerous, I started to panic slightly.
I would like this last week of summer to go slowly. I would like to enjoy every last second of life before the college search starts. I would like to remain ignorant of which campus are the most dangerous. I know the path is Carter’s to take, but as my only child I have to walk it with her.
I don’t have the luxury of having multiple children to get more and more laid back on as they apply to college. By the time my youngest and smartest sister was going to college my parents let her pass up multiple offers to Ivies and comparable to go to the University of Colorado, “because I want to ski in college.” Only a third child gets the responses, “That sounds like a great idea.” Sadly, Carter will not have parents who are practiced.
So summer, please stick around a little longer. I know there are parents who are so ready for the kids to get back to a routine and be out of the house for a solid bit of everyday. I am not one of them. Not that I want to go back to six grade either, but just a little more time.

A Successful Surprise

Carter’s wonderful friend Ashley had a very tough time while Carter was at camp with the sudden loss of her beloved Grandfather and the move of her Grandmother from Atlanta to Ashley’s house. Carter and Ashley are more like sisters this I am Ashley’s bonus mother. I had to do some filling in for Carter when Ashley needed an ear to cry to. Six weeks apart is a long time in the teenage world.  
As unluck would have it Ashley was away when Carter came home from camp. Ashley and I discussed this and came up with a scheme to make Carter think she was going to be away two days longer so we could surprise her and have lunch together today.
I asked Carter three days ago if she could drive me to an eye appointment since my eyes would be dilated and I could not drive home. She happily agreed since it was not first thing in the morning. When we were in the car this morning she said, “Isn’t great to have a teenage daughter with her license to help you do these things?” I just laughed and said yes.
Ashley and I had decided to meet at Nordstrom Cafe for the surprise so I lied to Carter that there was a walk in eye clinic near customer service at Nordstrom. Of course she believed me since Nordstrom is full service. I texted Ashley as we neared the meeting spot. Carter was not one bit suspicious. I pretended to go to the fake eye center and circled back behind Carter who was looking at clothes. After three minutes of my lurking behind her waiting for ashley to jump out from behind the dresses Carter turned and saw me. “There is a 40 minute wait,” I quickly lied, “let’s go eat lunch.”
As we walked toward the Cafe Ashley jumped out and surprised Carter. From the tears and the squeals you would have thought they had been apart for a year. Lots of hugging and inquiring how she got back from vacation. Only then did we tell her we had been working in conjunction on this surprise for weeks. It worked beautifully. I am thrilled I have such a trusting daughter that I was able to surprise her, but I might have blown my chances to ever do it again. At least Next time I will have to come up with a better story that an eye appointment at Nordstrom. Even with as good as their customer service is they don’t do medicals. 

Mustard Fig Sauce

After my out of body non-cooking fit yesterday I woke up and wondered who that was. Yes , I would rather play Mah Jongg than do almost anything else, but it does not often take over my personality and cause me to dislike other things I love.
To make up for that I cooked a bunch of things this afternoon so I had good leftover for the week ahead. I made a corn, shallot and cherry tomato hash that made Carter very happy. A baby eggplant and okra dish that I loved and I finished up the chicken thighs I forgot in the oven last night. Since they were already cooked through I warmed them up in the pan on top of the grill and once they were warm I took them out of the pan and charred them directly on the grill. I made a sauce out of some figs that my friend Christy gave me since her fig tree was raining figs. It was perfect on grilled chicken thighs.
1 c. Fresh figs, stemmed and halved

1/4 c. water

2 T. Balsamic vinegar

2T. Good mustard, I used a German one, but Dijon would work fine

1T. Green peppercorns

1T. Honey

1t. Lime juice

Pinch of cayenne pepper
Put the figs and the water in a sauce pan on medium heat and cook covered for ten minutes. Mash the figs up with a potato masher and add the vinegar and mustard and continue cooking for five more minutes. Add everything else and cook another five minutes.
Spoon sauce over cooked meat and serve. Can stay in the refrigerator for a couple of weeks. Also good on pork.

A Cooking Break

I had every intention of making a family dinner at home tonight. I got up early. Went to the farmer’s market. I thawed both chicken and steak to satisfy the requests of both my family members. I was set to cook a full meal for the first time almost all summer, then I got a text for an impromptu Mah Jongg pool session. Sure I could go sit by the pool and play and stitch at the same time and still make dinner.
I played for close to three hours in the sunshine and had no idea much playing outdoors would wear me out. I arrived home at six and realized I was way behind on my cooking plans. With the oven on full blast, I threw the chicken in a pan to par cook it before I planned on finishing it off on the grill.
Suddenly my time in the sun overcame me and the thought of cooking an entire meal seemed undoable. My summer of non-cooking had dulled my skills. Then it dawned on me that we had not met our food minimum at the club and today was our cut off. Cha-Ching. Best excuse that we needed to go out to eat tonight ever.
I alerted the family of our change in dinner plans and called for a reservation. After we had all gotten in the car and arrived at the terrace for dinner did it dawn on me that I had left the house with a pan full of chicken in the hot oven. Thank goodness we live so close and Russ is such a good sport. While Carter and a I pursued the menu, Russ was driving home to rescue the chicken from the oven.
I am not going to keep up this non-cooking life much longer. Now I have a half cooked chicken that I am going to need to finish up. A fridge full of farm fresh veggies that need to be enjoyed. A family who is looking at me wondering where their chef is. I am very happy to have my girl back from camp and for Russ to be home, but not being able to just cook up a pan of chicken one night and eat it all week is causing me pain. I got really used to eating the same thing night after night because one it was easy and two it was healthy and three it removed all the temptation for eating something fattening.
I guess I will ease back into the full meal routine tomorrow, but I obviously can’t wait until six at night to begin preparations because I may back out all together. Perhaps I could feign a headache or a stomach bug. I guess not now. Oh cooking, I did not really miss you.

Practice Parting

Shay is a dog who like to sleep snuggled up on my bed, day and night. most days I have a hard time enticing her to get off the bed to go out or even come to the kitchen for a fine meal. This morning I said to her, “Come on, let’s go get Carter.” And before I could get near the door Shay had jumped off the bed, ran down the stairs and was waiting by the garage door. I wish I had a video of it. Obviously she has been missing Carter too.
Shay and I got in the car for a little road trip to pick her mother up from six weeks at camp. Carter had asked me specifically to bring her baby, but since pick up was on a Friday, that meant I had to ride all the way out to the mountain with my fur baby on my lap. It was hard for me to stretch the drive out so that I did not get there too early since Carter’s duties lasted until 3:30.
As a I turned on to Camp Cheerio road a half an hour early I started to get very sad. Regardless of what happens in the future with Carter getting a job at Cheerio this would be the last time I would pick her up from camp. If she is lucky enough to be chosen to be a counsellor she will drive herself to and from camp. The beautiful cool dry day with a big blue sky and a few white fluffy clouds did not help my sadness. I have come to love Camp Cheerio as much as Carter does, but for very different reasons.
How can I help but be grateful for a place that makes my child feel she is the best version of herself? The friends she makes at Cheerio are deep and true. Drama does not seem to play a major role and competition is nothing but friendly. This CIT year was exhausting and challenging, but it stretched her in all the right ways and she loved every hard minute.
After I wasted some time at the office signing Carter and another CIT we were giving a ride to out and picking up their phones I drove the car to the field by her cabin. Hardly a step out of the big old black Land Cruiser and I saw my girl coming running faster than I have ever seen her run up to hug me while Shay jumped into her arms. Shay monopolized her for much too long.  
I got to go back to her cabin where this session she had eight year olds. Just one little one was still standing there waiting for her parents. Carter sweetly introduced her to me and proudly told me this child was honor camper this session. The little girl hugged Carter and I could see a bond. Carter’s senior and junior counselors enthusiastically met me saying they loved working with Carter. I could already feel how hard reentry back to home life was going to be. No adoring crowds at home, just a small family.
I had three good hours in the car. It was not the full of information dump since a co-cit I did not know was in the car with us, but it was still great to hear the news. Not home half an hour and she was gone again, out to dinner with her friend Cait. Shay is passed out on my bed, exhausted from the excitement of her big trip to the mountain and back. A huge milestone is passed, my last trip to camp. Just practice for future partings.

Friends of All Ages

When Carter was in preschool she used to ask me, “Why are you friends with all the Grandmothers?” I did not want to tell her it was because I was as old as a Grandmother when I had her, or that I had a big work life before she came along, which was different from her friends’ mothers who were very young. Instead I told her, “I like to do the things Grandmothers do, like play bridge and Mah Jongg and do crafty things, like needlework and scrapbook, cook and garden.” That answer was also not untrue.
Well in the years since she was three I am still friends with the grandmothers, but at last the young people mothers have joined my ranks in people who like to play games, needlepoint and all the other “grandmotherly things” I like to do. Evidenced in my young friend Stacey whose birthday it is today. I think she is actually eleven years younger than me.  
My neighbor Mary Eileen had a birthday stitch and bitch lunch for Stacey today. Although I was unable to come to the lunch I happily walked over for an afternoon of gabbing and needlepoint on Mary Eileen’s back porch. It was such a southern grandmotherly thing for us to do, sipping tea and working on our canvases.  
As I looked at the young women around the table I thought that Carter might ask me something like, “Why are you friends with all the little kids’ mothers?” My answer would be, “Because they like to do the same things I do.” I’m glad that my hobbies have become things that young an old alike enjoy. I love having friends of varying ages and stages. It makes the tapestry of life so much more interesting. Happy birthday, Stacey. You will always be young to me, but that’s OK in my book.

I Miss Carter

For the last six weeks Carter has been at Camp Cheerio as a CIT. Except for the 24 hours we saw her in the middle of the sessions I have been without her. Now it is less than 48 hours until I get to drive to the mountain and take back my girl. Six weeks is a much longer time to not talk to her everyday than I thought. I really miss her.
Of course when she first went to camp I was busy with a fun girls trip and cleaning out the house. Then I went to Maine and that really kept my mind off missing her. But for the last week and a half I have done nothing much exciting and the days are dragging on until I can go see her.  
It does not help that Russ has been working like a crazy person and has been away. Poor Russ flew out on Monday morning which involved getting up at 3:45. Then after a long day in Atlanta his flight to Kentucky via Charlotte was delayed six hours causing him to only make it to Charlotte where he got to sleep two hours before getting on the second leg. Last night on his way to the airport in Kentucky to fly to Chicago he texted me that he was in an Uber car with a driver that was only on his second day on the job and he had never been to the airport before in his life. Tonight he called me and asked me what day it was. Poor guy. It must feel like it is Friday, but only if it was I would have Carter back and Russ would be on his way home.
I am trying to document this feeling of missing Carter because I am sure that she has not missed me as much. As soon as she gets home she is going to start up about how much she misses camp and her friends there. I am not going to take it personally. I am thrilled she has a place she loves so much. I am also going to have to remember how much I missed her when she does something that drives me crazy. Not that I can think what that will be right now, but then again I have not gone down to her room and seen the condition she left it in.  
Reentry from camp is never easy. First there is the unending amount of laundry and all the camp stuff, like trunks and crazy creeks and things that need to go to the attic, but instead sit in the hall outside her room. Then there is the catching up on sleep, which is next to impossible to do. Lastly the reconnecting with school friends. There certainly won’t be any time for me. I have to keep that in mind.  
So I am just looking forward to the ride home, but then we are giving another CIT I don’t know a ride. It is going to kill me not to have any alone time to hear all the news and camp gossip. Maybe she will tell me over thanksgiving, or Christmas break or sometime when she is trapped at home alone with me. I guess I need to get used to her being away more and more. I guess I need to plan more trips for myself while she is gone. Clearly being home alone waiting is not good for me.

My Super Power of Choice

If I could have one super power it would not be to be able to fly, be invisible or turn anything into gold, no I want a super power that Marvel comics never represented, nor even thought of, I want the ability to stop eating the moment my body had taken in enough calories just to live. Of course no comic book character has ever had this power because most comics are written by men, but if they were written by woman I think they would be way different. Like I could imagine a friend or two of mine who would like the super power to make dinner appear on the table without her ever having to enter the kitchen, or to grow old gracefully without ever getting a wrinkle.
I recognize that I like to eat and I like to eat good tasting food. My problem is that my body really needs very little food to survive and my mouth likes it more than my body needs it. Knowing that I am never getting any super power I have had to adopt a power tool to help me from eating too much. My tool of choice is my kitchen scale.
At this point in my half century existence my brain has learned what I should eat and how much, it just is not always cooperative. To be at my best healthy place I have to use portion control to the max. Smaller plates and bowls help, but the absolute most fool proof way not to over eat is to measure out my food. Not all my food, lettuce or green beans are not that caloric so if I am going to over indulge in anything, the green things are fine. But things like meat, or cheese or anything with oil, you know the stuff that tastes good and it calorically dense, these are foods that are best weighed so there is no fooling myself that one more bite, or spoonful would be OK.
I know people who need to diet often ask me, “Do I have to weigh and measure my food?”, as if it is a hardship that is too unbearable. No one who needs to lose weight is good at portion control or will power naturally, otherwise they probably would not need to lose weight. None of them have the super power to just push away from the table the second they have consumed just enough to sustain life. That being said, weighing your food is really not that hard.  
My scale has a function that can reset back to zero with the touch of a button. What does that mean? I put an empty plate on the scale, it might weigh 8 oz, but what do I care, I am not eating the plate. I push the zero out button and the weight goes to 0. I put some chicken on the plate, the weight on the scale is only showing me how much the chicken weighs. Once I have four ounces of chicken and I want to add half an ounce of cheese I just push the zero button and add some cheese to the plate with the chicken already on it. It is amazing how little cheese half an ounce is. If I wasn’t weighing it I would easily eat 2 ounces and swear I thought it was half an ounce. And so on. It is not hard, but it is the only way to really be sure I am not over eating.
Next time you go to make yourself a bowl of cereal do this experiment. Take your regular cereal bowl and put in it what you usually eat. Now measure it. Your box of cereal may say that one serving is 3/4 of a cup and is 150 calories. I bet your pour was closer to two servings and you thought it was small. Imagine if everything you ate was double what you thought you were eating. I wish I could invent my super power of choice and sell it. I know it would be a hit.

Kathy Jacobs–Hairdresser, Chef Extraordinaire  

I, like most women, am devoted to my hairdresser. Ok, that might be a terribly old fashioned word, I guess I should call her a hair stylist, but more correctly in my case a I should call her a magician. I have thin, the only thin thing about me, hair, with a double crown – a term she uses to describe how my hair sticks up in the back, not about my royal status. Having grown up in the Marcia Brady days of the 70’s the only hairdo I could do was long, straight and parted in the middle. I was pre-Farrah big wings and never learned to master any styling tools.
Thanks to my poor quality hair and lack of styling skills it really helps that my stylist, Kathy Jacobs at Blueprint Design, takes all this into consideration when cutting my hair. Not only does she give me flattering style, but one I can wash and wear myself. But enough about her profession, her true calling should be as a sauce/salsa maker.
Today I was lucky enough to get a last minute appointment to get my hair cut. Little did I know it was also the day she brought jars of her world famous Pico de Gallo, other wise known as salsa fresca, into the salon. Now I have been the lucky recipient of Kathy’s Pico and BBQ sauce before, but today’s was an extra good batch.  
It could not have come at a better time. Today was my recommitment to my diet day after a three week eating fest while I vacationed and had the floors refinished. It is amazing how easy it is to justify eating naughty food if you are not in your own kitchen. Now I had no excuse since my life is back to normal.
With Russ away all week and Carter still at camp I needed to have a come to Jesus big time clean eating plan. Somehow Kathy knew that Pico was the perfect food to give me to add flavor and freshness to my meal without adding many calories. Really, who better than your hairdresser to give you the answer when you have not even asked the question.
Tonight, with my perfect jar of Pico in hand, I sautéed up a handful of big shrimp and spooned the Pico over the top and ate the most delicious and easy supper I ever could have thought of. Amazing how happy it makes me that my hair is done, my dinner was yummy and my psyche was in a good place all thanks to the magical powers of my Hair Master, Kathy.  
You can’t buy her Pico, but you can be inspired to make your own and keep it on hand, not to eat with chips, but as a condiment for a nice piece of grilled fish or on some roasted chicken. It also makes the best oil free salad dressing ever. Thanks Kathy Jacobs, you made my day.

New Floors, Same Old Face

Have you ever seen those magazine covers of celebrities after they have done one too many plastic surgeries. I often look at them and think, “What were they thinking?” They were very attractive before they started fooling around with self improvement and suddenly they have gone way over the edge.
I think I figured out what leads to this self improvement overload. When we bought our house 21 years ago our floors were already 40 plus years old and had never been refinished. I think that the original owners had a lot of wall to wall carpet that kept them fairly protected, but still they were never close to perfect. Now with our floors clean and beautiful in a way they never have been in my lifetime I begin to look at everything else as old and shoddy. As my bare feet slide over the smooth surface I feel nothing but clean.
I think of an aging celebrity getting a little Botox and then suddenly with a smooth and wrinkless forehead looks at her crows feet as not fitting in so she gets some work on those. Suddenly that slightly droopy neck needs a little tightening, brows lifted, nose thinned, lips plumped, oh hell, pin back those perfectly fine ears and add a cheek implant while you are at it. Now that once darling face is unrecognizable. And it all started so innocently with a little injection.
Thank goodness I am busy enough trying to get pounds off my middle to not worry about minor tweaks to my face, but the floor redoing certainly shows me how an obsession could get started. I am carefully eyeing my next redo opportunity, but a good upholsterer rather than a plastic surgeon is in my future. Before I can get started on that it’s time to get back in the working out and eating healthy saddle. No more trips to keep me out of my house or eating many meals out because I don’t have a kitchen, no more excuses. But I do have nice floors and organized closets and I am not going to fall prey to feeling like I need to upgrade my face to fit into my house.    

Whining Is Bad For Your Waist Line

I admit that I have been incredibly whiny for the last week. Living through the house renovations has caused me not to just lose my sense of humor but also all my willpower. It started with my renovation demanded vacations. After some eating deprivation weeks I mistakenly thought that I deserved not just a vacation from the renovations but from my diet. So lobster rolls, and ice cream were part of my daily diet.
The problem eating continued way past my vacation. Coming home to floor refinishing hell put me in a perpetual bad mood, which caused mood disorder eating. Then the whining really got out of hand. Was I eating because I was whiny or was I whiny because I was eating? Either way neither was good. To top it all off I was writing whiny and that caused me to get quite a few comments from well intentioned friends who felt I should just shut up and stop complaining.  

I wish someone had slapped me earlier because I might have saved myself, both from my bad mood and from my eating.
But the end is in sight. The movers showed up and even though Russ had to to go to work all day I was able to almost get the house back together before he got home. I did give him a little bit of a scare though since he came home to find me almost passed out under one of the beds. Actually I was just resting after I had shimmied under the bed to plug in an extension cord.

After spending all this time and energy to get the floors refinished I figured I should really enjoy some time actually on the floor.
I am going to have no excuse to get back on the healthy eating wagon and exercise routine tomorrow, but for tonight I am hoping that Russ will take me out to dinner. Not to complain, but I don’t have a thing to eat in the house. I just couldn’t cook and put everything I own back in their respective closets at the same time. I really hope my sense of humor returns now that the floors are done. I’m getting sick of living with my whiny humorless self and I can only imagine how others around me feel. Please accept my apology.

Farro Chicken Salad

I had a totally first world problem today. My movers who were supposed to come to move my furniture back in my house today changed the date of my move to tomorrow without telling me. I was admonished by some of my other first world friends, but hey I have always been first world and hope not to change. I know it sounds bratty to whine about it, but I was ready days ago to get back to a regular life, one where I am able to help other people.  
Two things I was planning on getting back to normal were having my dog Shay Shay home and cooking something for dinner. Despite having no furniture I got Shay back and cooked dinner for me and Russ to eat camp out style. My problems of delayed furniture movers seems like nothing compared to Russ’ work/travel schedule. He flew the red eye in this morning from California so I think he does not notice life without furniture as long as he has a bed to crash in. I was really trying to get the furniture moved back in before he came home so it did not disrupt his tiny amount of free time on Saturday. I am a first world wife and want to keep it that way.
I did like what I made for dinner so it is worth a try whether you have furniture or not
2 shallots chopped

1 c. Farro

1 t. Olive oil

2 1/2 c. Water

1 chicken bullion cube
2 cooked skinless chicken thighs, or 1 large breast chopped

1 nectarine – chopped

1/2 an English cucumber chopped

1 avocado chopped

1/2 cup dried cherries

10 oz. Arugula

2 oz. goat cheese crumbled

1 oz. chopped pecans
Dressing

Juice of one orange

2T. Red wine vinegar

2 T. Olive oil

3 packets of Splenda or 1 t. Sugar

Salt and Pepper
In a medium sauce pan put the olive oil and shallots on a medium heat. Cook for two minutes. Rinse the farro in a strainer and add it to the pan and toast, stirring for two minutes. Add the water and bullion and bring to a boil and reduce to simmer, cooking for 35 minutes until the farro is cooked. Make sure you watch the pot and not let the water cook out completely and let the farro stick to the pan. There should be no water left in the pan when it is cooked, but it may be a little sticky. Cool the farro in the refrigerator.
Mix the chicken, nectarine, cucumber, avocado, and cherries together. Add the cooled farro. Mix the dressing up and pour over the farro mixture. You can do the recipe up to this step in advanced.  
When ready to serve put arugula in a bowl and top with a scoop of the farro mixture. sprinkle with goat cheese and pecans. Enjoy, with or without furniture. 

Supporting Dreams

When Russ suggested we get the floors done while Carter was at camp it was so we could use her room to camp out in when we had to move the furniture out. Of course we had to leave the house completely or expire from noxious fumes for most of the time. Tonight is my last night living in my teenager’s room. I had given her fair warning to get rid of anything she would not want her parents to find, but from the looks of hear room I think she just covered anything up with more clutter.
Even though I have slept in here for at least seven nights it was not until today that I really took a look at some of the things on Carter’s wall. Since her room used to be a guest room until a couple of years ago it has paintings in frames that are not your typical teen style. On one wall where two prints hang Carter has covered the pictures with papers that read, “Before I die I want to…” and then a sentence about a life’s goal.  
I remember when she wrote all these papers during a fortnight of serious illness during eighth grade. I think she was worried that being so sick her life might be coming to an end. Thank goodness it was just a virus. At the time I was more concerned with her health than her goals, but today as I was moving my clothing out of her room and back to my own closet I stopped and really read what she had written.
Before I die I want to

 live in the country on a farm with two horses and a dog.

 befriend a homeless person.

 get into a WONDERFUL college.

 live in a foreign country for a year.

 tell my parents I love them everyday of my life.

 be a grandmother.

 get married to the love of my life.

 appreciate what I have.
The list goes on, each one as thoughtful as those. I am struck with the maturity of her list. I certainly don’t think I would have thought of some of those things when I was her age.
I really miss my girl at camp. I know that she is working very hard and loves it more than anyplace on earth. I want to keep her list in my mind when she gets back and try and not sweat the little stuff, like how clean her room is or isn’t, but rather am I supporting her towards reaching these goals. Now I can’t do a thing for her on that grandmother thing and I don’t want to solely focus on her getting into college because getting in is just one tiny step to the bigger issue of continuing a life of learning, but I can help her to continue dreaming big and keep setting goals.
I wish I had a list of my teenage goals and could see how I’ve done on what I dreamed of. My gut says I never dreamed as big as I have lived, but I wonder what I could have done if I set bigger goals at a younger age.  

Final Floor Report

Despite the still strong odor I came home today to stay. I just got tired of roaming homeless and since my refinished floors had dried over 48 hours I was given permission to move freely over them. Not that I have anything back in order. The moving men are coming Friday morning to replace my furniture. Until then I have begun to move what I can back into closets and rehanging pictures and the such.
So many people have mentioned that they need to have their floors refinished and wanted my honest review of the company who did the work. Considering what refinishing floors entails; taping the baseboards to protect them and then sanding off all the old finish while simultaneously sucking up the dust that creates, then putting three coats of finish on with a sanding and dust sucking job between each coat and lastly removing all the tape it is a job I would not want to do myself. Not to mention the bending over or squatting involved in the hand work of sanding the edges and corners.
I have to say that I think the floors turned out beautifully. It might have helped that I had quarter sawn oak to begin with and I was not doing any staining, just clear coat so there was not much to mess up. It would have been a much bigger risk if I wanted to change the color of my floors and had to stain them.  
The good news was not only did they show up on time, take excellent care of my house and kept the dust level to a minimum, but they finished one day early. My only complaint was they seemed to use every bathroom in my house and apparently never met a toilet brush, despite their availability next to every toilet. Given that was an easy thing to clean up I have to say I give them an A+.
The only problem now is the floors are so nice I don’t really want to cover then up with rugs and furniture, but I also don’t want anyone walking on them potentially scratching and scuffing them. Now of course the floors in the back of the house, which were not refinished, look like the country cousin and are going to need to be redone. I just don’t know if I have the stamina to face this job again too soon. At least the back floors don’t have closets to be cleaned out, but they also are adjacent to the kitchen all the cabinets would have to be cleaned out after the dust got in them.
I am hoping that this floor job is going to be like childbirth and after the furniture is put back and the closets are all refilled in a much more organized way I am going to forget the pain of getting it this way and just enjoy my beautiful new baby, oh I mean house.
So thanks to Accent Hardwoods. You are a great business . I highly recommend using them, just bear yourself for the part of the job that falls on you, the moving all your stuff, that part is hell. 

One Renovation Leads To Another

At last the floor men have finished with my house, but that does not mean my house is ready for me to live in it yet. Although the floors look fantastic the smell is strong enough to kill an OX. I was given permission to “sock walk” on the floor this morning, but not move anything on to the floors for at least one more day. Of course the movers don’t come until Friday and I certainly don’t want to put anything in the closest until the smell is gone. God, I hope that is Friday.
I left our little downtown apartment early this morning so I could meet the plumbers at our real house. While I was waiting I started the wipe down of walls, baseboards and windows to remove any dust that was left. What a horrible and boring job that is. The plumbers were able to fix the last of the broken things I needed done and I was beginning to see the light at the end of the “summer of renovation tunnel.”
Just before I was about to expire from a smellsation headache my friend Christy called for us to go to lunch. Really, what would a day be without a good lunch break with a friend? I could hardly bear to go back to my wiping the house down job so I ignored it and went off to Needlepoint to spend some quality time with the Stitcher’s Table Advisors. Nothing makes me happier. I am very thankful for that supportive group.
After I had ignored my responsibilities long enough I got back in the renovation saddle and went to pick new pads for all the rugs I had moved. It seems like fresh floors did not need old and crumbling rug pads put back on top of them. That is the problem with doing one improvement, it makes you realize how everything needs to be upgraded, painted, repapered, cleaned, repaired, replaced or redecorated.  
After all this cleaning I realized I needed some supplies for the downtown apartment, like toilet paper, laundry detergent and the like. Living in two places fifteen minutes apart from each other is really a pain. Like when I woke up this morning I realized I had made iced tea at the other house, but did not have any where I was. How do people who live double lives and have two families do it? But I digress.
I know I must appear to be very pitiful because my friend Sara, who keeps inviting me to stay with them finally convinced me to come for dinner with her family which was a huge treat, not to be sitting alone at the apartment. Not only was the food yummy, but I got some quality time with her dog Brady, who is Shay Shay’s cousin. How many more days to I have to live like this vagabond? There is no truer phrase that “Home Sweet Home,” and only one home for me. It is too exhausting to run back and forth and I look like a crazy woman coming from the parking garage carrying rolls of toilet paper.

I’m Not On Vacation

The worst thing for my diet is vacation. As good as I can be at home with healthy eating, when I go on vacation I give my self permission to eat ice cream and the like. Even though I came home a few days ago I did not get to live at home thanks to the great floor refinishing project. This is my third night in the downtown corporate apartment and I finally realized this is not a vacation and I need to get back in the eating saddle.
One thing that helped is I spent most of the day back at the ‘ole homestead waiting for the gas man to repair the hot water heater, cleaning the kitchen, taking the garbage out, and lots of other mundane household chores. I also spent a few hours on the walking desk.
Even after that rather torturous day I had not gotten all my steps before I returned to the downtown world. So I took advantage of this city living and walked around the lovely world of the American Tobacco Campus. This is my photo blog of my getting back on track.

Not My Home

  
Denial is a wonderful thing, but eventually reality us to be faced. Coming home from Maine was wonderful because I got to see Russ, if only for 20 hours, but facing our house has been hell.
It started before I got home when Russ texted me the news that our floor refinishing contractor had a fire at their headquarters Saturday morning. Thankfully no one was hurt, but all their vans and equipment were destroyed. Then Russ added the information that our hot water heater was not working. A code 79 was shutting it down, which has been a reoccurring issue that can only be resolved by a visit from the gas man. Finally he threw in one last failure in the plumbing department. All this and thanks to the smell from the first two coats of finish and we could not spend more than five minutes in the house before a terrible headache would set in.
There was nothing I could do about the floor guys, but wait to hear if they were going to be OK to show up Monday and finish the job. I called the gas company and made a service request for tomorrow and I am not going to bother my sweet plumbers until the smell goes down.
So Russ and I moved into his company apartment they keep downtown by his office. I know we are lucky to have another place to stay, but somehow I feel very homeless. This is ridiculous since I am in our hometown, with a bed and a kitchen and a washer and dryer that I have been running non-stop. Why is this so unsettling?
Perhaps it is the trains passing by just outside our windows, or not having our sweet Shay Shay with us, but I have a feeling of helplessness to get my house back in order. I hate sitting around doing nothing when I know there is so much to be done, eventually. 
I can’t imagine how real homeless people feel, but just being displaced is unsettling. It is like I don’t feel like I belong. I now really appreciate the phrase, “there is no place like home,” like I never have before.  

99% of Texans

Visiting our friend Julie, whom we all call July, yesterday Warren, July and I talked about the last time we were all together in Maine during the winter of 1984. The one missing piece from that trip was our fourth, Shannon. Shannon was July’s roommate at walkers and was as opposite from July as anyone could be as a fast talking girl from Fort Worth, Texas.  
Shannon was very self assured and in the preppy world of New England she held tight to her southwestern wear. While I was wearing grosgrain ribbon belts with big frog buckles on my straight leg Levi’s, Shannon wore a beaded belt with her name in seed indian beads across the back holding up her boot cut jeans.
I used to ask her about the popularity of those bead belts with tooled leather and silver buckles. In her strong southern accent Shannon would say, “99.99% of people in Texas wear Shannon belts,” almost faster than a normal human could understand. I used to tease her that everyone must be named Shannon.
While July, Warren and I walked back to her office yesterday I repeated Shannon’s mantra in my best Texas drawl. After a big laugh, I asked July if she had Shannon’s number since I had not been in contact with her in 35 years either. She did not, but we vowed to try and find her and have a reunion.
Last night after Warren and I had our dinner on the front porch of Clam Cove as the evening sky gave way to darkness I pulled out my phone and began my google search for Shannon. In a mere four or five clicks I found a landline and despite the late hour Warren and I called it. Miraculously Shannon answered in her familiar southern drawl and I told her that I was Dana Carter. Her reaction was as if she had been sitting in Fort Worth waiting for me to call this very night.
We covered all the regular info and set a date for a reunion for the four of us next summer. We told her to look at the blog to see a picture of us with July. We hung up the phone thrilled how quickly we had reconnected. In a moment my phone buzzed a message from my blog. This is what it read;
“How wonderful to hear from you and to see this blog! July looks exactly the same and so do you and Warren. Love the quilt as the backdrop. Can’t wait to reconnect now and looking forward to a real reunion next summer!

What a great Friday night!

Love, Shannon

P.S. 99% of the people in Texas wear Shannon belts!”
Really great friends never forget!

Good People Always Are

When I thought about having a relaxing getaway to Maine I envisioned sitting on my friend’s porch over looking Clam Cove in the cool north air, eating lobster, playing cards, stitching many ornaments, telling stories and laughing, laughing, laughing. Somehow only a few of those things happened, but I am certainly not disappointed.
When Warren and I discussed what we might do during my visit I had one request, to try and see a very good Ethel Walker friend, Julie Williams now Julie Wagoner, whom I had not been in contact with for 35 years. I knew from Warren that she worked in Bath and he had seen her just a few years before. The fact that I had not kept in touch is no indication of how much I had loved her when we went to school together, but like so many people we know when we are young, we just lost contact.
Warren and I hatched up a hair brained scheme that we would surprise her at her bank where she was a commercial loan officer under the auspices that we needed a loan. I was a little worried that she might not be at work if we just showed up so Warren called the bank and asked a co-worker of Julie’s if she was going to be in, but to please keep the secret of our arrival. It was a good thing we did that because she was out the day we planned to visit and had to change our plans.
Today we drove to Bath and waited in the lobby of her Bank while the receptionist asked her to come down to see some customers. Despite the years she recognized us and I would have known her anywhere, she had not aged one day, let alone 35 years.
After she got over the original shock she showed us around and introduced us to her co-workers before we took her to lunch. Julie was still the kind and thoughtful person I knew as a teenager. She told us all about her family and her work. Julie, like me loved to do crafts, even at a young age and she told us she was still making quilts, like her mother.
She told us how she collects old featherweight sewing machines that are particularly coveted by quilters because they are light and easy to transport when going to quilting classes. One day her mother called her and told her about a 90 year old woman who she knew who had a feather weight that had belonged to her mother she might want to sell. Julie called her to say she heard about her machine. The woman talked lovingly about how much her mother adored this machine. 
Julie, who already had a couple of sewing machines and really did not need another asked how much she wanted. The price the woman gave her was too good to pass up so Julie said she would take it on one condition, that the woman would give Julie a copy of a picture of her mother so she could attach it to the case of the machine and think of her whenever she used it.
Julie asked the woman if she wanted her to bring her the money that day or the next week and the woman said, “Come today, it is so much better to do something hard faster.” As she told me this story I thought how typically thoughtful of Julie to come up with the perfect way to ease this old woman’s pain of selling her mother’s prized sewing machine by assuring her that her mother will never be forgotten, when the woman was not even asking for that.
It is so wonderful to know that a person I thought was the highest caliber human being when she was a teenager, really was and continued to be. The years apart were merely a blink of an eye. We promised to not wait another 30 years and try and see each other again next year.  

The Power of Blue Eyes

There are two things my friend Warren loves, Howard Johnson’s and antiques. His house is a contrast in styles, the main living space which is full of country, primitive and fine antiques including the kitchen with a 1920’s stove and 1935 General Electric Monitor top refrigerator and the HoJo’s room which has Howard Johnson artifacts from the thirties, through the mid century modern era to the seventies right before the HoJo’s started disappearing. Now many people think Howard Johnson’s is an antique given that there are only two HoJo restaurants left in America, one is Lake George, NY and the second in Bangor, Maine.
Being that we are only an hour from Bangor Warren thought we should go and visit a real Howard Johnson’s and eat fried clams since he felt like the kale salad I was cooking at his HoJo’s was not very traditional fare for the turquoise and orange. So off we went this morning after visiting the town dump to drop off the trash and recycling. Oh what excitement here in Maine.
We pulled into the restaurant, without an orange roof, with only one other car in the parking lot. I was a little worried about the future of this HoJo’s, but after a lovely meal sitting at the counter we learned that there was an interested buyer who wanted to revive the Howard Johnson’s brand in Bangor.

  
Full and satisfied we left to head home, but true to Warren’s nature we veered into a few antique stores we passed on the way. I browsed as Warren struck up conversations with store owner’s quizzing them about their knowledge of antique refrigerators. See, Warren’s beloved Monitor top, which is his primary cooling device is somewhat on the fritz. After many a call to repairmen and much searching of the Internet he was yet to find someone to work on his prized machine. At one stop a nice woman said there was an appliance store in town that had vintage appliances in the window, so off we went to talk to yet another person.

  
While sitting in the service department with young Andrew who could not fix Warren’s fridge himself, but who was keen to help he finally said that Warren needed to go visit Al, at General Appliance around the block because he could fix anything. So off we went. At this point I feel like I had learned enough about vintage refrigerators to be able to fix it myself, if only I had the parts.
Right around the block must mean different things to Mainers than it does to southerners and eventually we found a building that was named Picket Appliance that we assumed was the right place. Outside the building sat strange looking stoves from Brands I had never heard of and when we entered the building it was full of one type of fridge, one that does not need electricity. In the corner was a composting toilet. We were not in Kansas anymore.
A woman approached us, Warren in his polo shirt and I in my pink peddle pushers were not the normal customers for this store. Warren asked to speak to Al and the woman protectively said he was unavailable, we assumed the man on the phone at the counter in the rail road engineer cap with the curly grey hair sticking out beneath was someone else.
Warren described his old fridge dilemma and as soon as the woman decided we were not tax collectors or FBI agents she said that Al could help us as soon as he finished on the phone. Such screening for an appliance repair guy.
Warren introduced himself to Al and began to tell his tale of woe. Al made some comment that Warren should be fine if he had me as a wife. We laughed and Warren made a comment about the fact that I was another man’s wife and the investigation about if Al could help continued. Warren was feeling like he was finally making some real headway as Al described possible fixes for Warren’s sick machine. Then in the middle of a sentence Al stopped short and looked at me and said, “has anyone ever told you you have the bluest eyes?”
That was it! Warren was furious that Al had lost his train of thought about the difference in compressor or electrical issue and it was all my fault for standing there with my eyes open. In the end it was fine since Al said he could help Warren in the winter, when his busy season was over. Turns out Al’s business is to supply appliances to people who live mainly off the grid. It was clear to me as Al described his customers that I was probably the only female he ever saw outside the old woman who worked for him and that I was certainly the cleanest. Warren says I may have to return to Maine when he takes the fridge to Bangor for Al to repair so I can ensure good service.
     

The Vanns Come To HoJo’s

  
One of the nicest things about my friend Warren is his generosity in sharing his home with me and allowing me to entertain at his HoJo’s as if I were the franchisee. Yesterday when I had just barley arrived we had my friend Wendie over and today m Durham friends Sheppy and Dick Vann.
Sheppy and Dick are actually now Nashville friends having moved away from Durham after Sheppy’s retirement from DA last year. They summer in Liberty, Maine where Dick’s family has had a house for something like 90 years. I am thankful that they come here because it increases the chances that I will see them.
Last summer when I stopped by the Vann’s house when I was at family camp I told them all about Warren’s Howard Johnson’s. Sheppy is of the age that she visited HoJo’s regularly when on family trips because it was always a reliable place to eat. When I made plans to come to Maine this summer I asked Warren if it would be alright for me to have Sheppy and Dick for lunch, knowing they would appreciate the HoJo’s. Of course he said yes.
Although Warren has all the HoJo’s corporate cookbooks I chose not to make traditional lunch offerings since there is probably nothing healthy in clam steps, chicken croquettes or Mac and Cheese. Instead we had to make due with tomato, basil and burratta served with oat bread with butter, radishes and salt finger sandwiches served on Howard Johnson china. We followed the first course with a kale chicken Caesar salad with some purple roast baby carrots. Warren is not usually an adventurous eater and was a little worried about the anchovies I put in the dressing. Howard would be rolling in his graves for he saw my menu. But everyone seemed to like their lunch and even Warren ate the whole thing.

  
After lunch we retired to the front porch to enjoy the breeze from Clam Cove and have blueberry pie for dessert. Sheppy thankfully brought her needlepoint and we had a great visit while Dick and Warren wondered the property. Just as I thought, Sheppy loved the HoJo’s and Warren thoroughly enjoyed both the Vanns. What a fun day it was. I am thankful to know such wonderful and interesting people who are generous enough to open their homes or drive an hour for lunch. Life in Maine makes me happy.

When Your World’s Collide

Thirty-eight years ago I met my friend Warren and we became fast and furious friends. We have remained so ever since, building up years of memories especially in the last few years as my family has come to stay with Warren every summer at his lovely house in Maine.

  
Thirty-one years ago my ground zero Washington DC friend, David MacKay, who is responsible for practically every friend I made in DC, introduced me to Wendie Demuth. We became life long friends immediately, who could go years without talking but able to pick right back up where we left off without skipping a beat.

  
This morning I boarded a plane in North Carolina, not without first spilling my giant Starbucks all over the floor of the ladies room without having first taken a sip. It did not seem like a great way to start the day. I arrived at Logan airport and learned that my flight to Owl’s head was delayed. Day not getting any better.

  
Eventually me and the eight other passengers were escorted to our tiny plane where I got to be the co-pilot. Happily I was able to needlepoint, while flying the plane. And some people thought I only needle pointed through board meetings. The day was looking up.

  
Thanks to my not hitting any of the levers or steering thingies we landed safely just as Warren was walking in the airport to pick me up. At last I was in Maine for my summer vacation, it was just a little sad that the rest of family was not. 
At a little bit after five Wendie, who it turns out was living in Maine arrived at Warren’s house so I could take them both for a lobster dinner and introduce them to each other. It was the collision of two of my greatest friends who should have known each other long before now.  

  
So off to Belfast we went to eat on a beautiful dock, tell stories and laugh. It was a very, very good day. There is nothing I like more than introducing people to each other who should be friends. If I could have this happen everyday I would throw a Starbucks coffee on the floor of the ladies room all the time.  

A Case of Farmer’s Market Tomatoes Marinara Sauce

It’s a big tomato season this year. Farmers are picking more red globes than usual and the prices are reflecting the over abundance. At the Raleigh farmer’s market you can get a case of “canning tomatoes” for $10, that’s .40 cents a pound. Canning tomatoes are just not a beautiful as the slicing tomatoes, but perfect for making sauce.  
2 large sweet onions diced

40 ripe tomatoes – cored and quartered

Salt 

1 small can tomato paste

2 T. Sugar

In a giant stock pot put the onions and the tomatoes and bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer. Stir the pot every ten minutes and cook until the volume reduces by at least half.  
Using a food mill with the medium sieve run all the tomatoes through food mill to get the skins and seeds out. Return the sauce to the pot and add the tomato paste, sugar and salt to taste. Cook another 20 mins.  
This is a good base for so many sauces and soups. Freeze in smaller containers so it can be defrosted in a timely manner.   

Camp Visit by Shay Shay Lange

Hooray! Today has been a great day to be a dog. I got to ride in the car on my daddy’s lap all the way to Camp Cheerio. We came to take my mother Carter out of camp for her 24 hours off. I have missed her so much since she has been gone for three weeks. Since I can’t read the calendar I have no idea how long three weeks is, but it feels like forever. I wander around the house and look for her day and night, but can’t find her anywhere.

  
When we got to camp I was able to visit with all my Mom’s camp counselor and CIT friends. It seems like camp is the perfect place for dogs. Lots of wide open spaces. Why don’t they have dog session?

  
We took Carter and her friend Trey out to lunch. We had to drive on the blue ridge parkway a long distance to get to the biker bar that is the only place with outside seating for me. I don’t like bikers and especially loud Harley’s that the old people ride on. Every time one drove past us I jumped. I did like getting to sit on Daddy’s lap and next to Trey at lunch, especially when Trey gave me his chicken from his salad.
After we dropped Trey back at camp we drove down to Winston Salem to a hotel made just for dogs. I got to go on a long with with my Dad while my Mom and Grandmother, that’s what I call Dana, went to the mall to buy my Mom some new converse sneakers for camp.  
I really like staying in a hotel with two beds because I can jump from one to the other. My mom is really happy because she has her own room where I get one bed and she gets the other. She says a long shower, some TV watching and a good nights sleep are just what she needs.  

The Places Dust Lives

Today was my fifth day of moving all the belongings out of half of my house into the other half of my house in preparation for the floor refinishing. Tomorrow, bright and early the moving men come to move the furniture. In order to be ready for that to happen I had to move all the small stuff off every surface, all the pictures off the walls, every towel, shoe and arts and crafts items out of every closet.  
The worst part of the job was not the three hundred and forty two trips I made up and down stairs carrying arm loads of clothes or piles of umbrellas. The most disgusting job was the unhooking of the flat screen TV that lives in an antique linen press that it fits like a glove in. Despite the excellent cleaning that Blanca does at our house every week with a duster moving over every surface like a whirling dervish, when Russ and I carefully slid the TV out of it’s wooden case we were met with an inch of dust attached to the back of the machine.
The TV is not that old, but it never had been moved so that it could be cleaned behind it. Perhaps this floor refinishing will be there best thing that ever happened to our house. No surface will go unexposed and thus everything will eventually get cleaned. Well, that is after everything has been covered I a fine layer of dust from sanding all the old finish off the hard woods.  
I know that when this process is over I will block all the work out of my mind like a mother who has endured a grueling labor, but while I am in the middle of it I am swearing like a woman in the 20th hour of labor without an epidural. There is just no way out of doing all this grunt work. No one else could look at everything we own and decide if we should keep it or get rid of it. No one else could move it as carefully and know where it is in the interim in case I need to find my green keens, or red belt, and certainly no one else can put it all back after it is over and have any recollection of where it is. 
The one thing I know is that I am going to need to put things back in about the same places because they are in my long term memory that way. So the flash lights have to go back in the ironing closet and the sewing machine in the linen closet, even if they don’t make perfect sense to be there. Changing the home of all my belongings know will just mean I won’t know where aching is and then I might as well have just thrown it all away.
I just hope that when the movers come I don’t find too many more giant dust piles . There is only so much dust I can deal with before the great dust creation.  

Kinston Part Deux

Almost two years ago out friends Chuck and Karen asked us if we had heard of a little restaurant in Kinston, NC called the Chef and the Farmer. Heard of it? You bet we had been salivating over it watching the PBS series “A Chef’s Life” all about the hidden gem in the unlikely Eastern North Carolina tiny town. We made plans then to come to eat at the restaurant together.
Well, life gets in the way and Chuck and Karen could not make the first trip we took to visit Kinston in late winter a year ago. By all accounts our first visit was a big success. Russ got us a room at the most lovely Bentley, Bed and Breakfast where we met Linda and Ward, our hosts. We had a fantastic dinner at the Chef and the Farmer on Friday night followed by a huge four hour breakfast on Saturday morning because we talked so long to Linda and Ward. As we left to go see what there was to Kinston and visit the Boiler Room, the sister restaurant to the Chef and the Farmer we got the kind of phone call every parent dreads. Carter had fallen off her horse and was in the hospital. A terrible end to a great trip.
Fast forward more than a year. Chuck and Karen still had not made it to The Chef and the Farmer and were talking with is about it. Russ wasted no time searching for reservations and found that due to its extraordinary popularity only a Tuesday might be available even three months in advance. He contacted Linda and we were lucky that she was available to host guests this same night.  
The two year wait did not dampen the expectations. After taking a scenic route to get here because of a little too much talking in the car we finally got Chuck and Karen to Kinston. We checked into the Bentley which was a very pleasant surprise for Chuck who claims to not like to have to talk to people who stay at Bed and Breakfasts. It is no wonder that he and Russ are friends since Russ has the same affliction.  
We started our culinary tour at the Boiler Room for drinks and some oysters to prime us up before dinner. I heard that the watermelon Pimms Cup was a mighty fine libation. I probably would have been happy eating a burger at the boiler room, but knew it was not the reason for our trip.  
We walked across the street to the restaurant a few minutes before our reservation. Soon enough we were seated with the much anticipated menu before us. So many good choices and only one meal to eat, this was just not going to suit. Thank goodness we had Chuck and Karen. We started by ordering a pizza to share before we even could consider looking further at the menu. The perfectly thin crust was expertly covered I a layer of creamed corn, local bacon, pecorino cheese and fresh basil and hot honey. Who would have thought that creamed corn makes the best pizza? And I have no idea why hot honey is, but I want it on everything.
We continued the sharing with a tomato salad, fried collards and a blue cheese spoon bread that was a side for the ribeye that we ordered, hold the ribeye. Splitting all these yummies four ways was the perfect way to taste more things. But that is where the sharing ended when three of the four of us order the tomato pie for dinner and Russ had the lamb burger. So much good food. I will be paying for this for a week of walking, but really once every 18 months it is worth it. Oh, did I mention the coconut tres leches cake with peaches, caramel and smoked pecans? Add one more week of walking just for that.
back to the Bentley to sit in the parlor just to digest a little before trying to climb the grand staircase up to bed. It is not a special occasion, but just a really good Tuesday. Certainly to me worth a trip to Kinston with good friends.   

The Great Stuff Migration

Today I began the movement of everything we own from the front of our house having to move to the back of our house so the floors can be refinished. I am not a lover of wall-to-wall carpet but right about now I would give my non-needlepoint hand to just be ripping up carpeting and replacing it rather than refinishing floors.    
In preparation for the the complete emptying of every closet and room I cleaned out and reorganized all out closets. It was probably the biggest job in the series of things I have to do. The sad part is now I have to dismantle these perfectly organized closets and pile everything up in our playroom while still leaving room for the movers to put all our big furniture there on Friday. Our playroom is much bigger than a moving van so I figure I can fit three bedrooms, a living room and dining room worth of furniture in it with all the playroom stuff.
The worst part of the move is the clothes. I have borrowed four large clothing racks to add to the two I already have. Today I looked like a Seventh Avenue garment worker rolling the industrial size rack into the breakfast room full of winter clothes. I’m sure that I could have weeded out a few more items before the migration happened, but I just was too hot to try on any wool.
As I took down the family photographs from the bedroom hallway I relived many of the trips they were taken on. Carter awaiting a train in Ireland wearing the orange shirt we bought when her luggage was four days delayed, Russ and I as tiny figures against a huge Waterfall in the North Carolina Mountains, my parents in the Vermont woods when we went to my cousin Haidee’s Appalachian trail wedding. Although I pass by these pictures dozens of times each day I don’t really look at them closely enough to step back into the memories they represent.
There is something wonderful about putting you hands on your memories. I decided that if something does not take me back to a place, or make me happy I should consider parting with it. The problem is that my long term memory is very strong and most of the stuff I moved today had meaning for me. I guess I am lucky that we are not down sizing yet, just moving everything temporarily. Then in three weeks time when the dust has actually settled and our well worn floors are remade new again I can loving move all this S$&# back into their rightful homes, hopefully more organized than before. 
Today I am reveling in the completely empty closets and bare walls. The look is sad, but the promise that it holds is great. I just pray that everything will fit and not fall on us.

No Cook Tomato Juice

I won’t make you read through a long post to know which tomato juice, the cooked and food mill one or the no-cook Vitamix version won the taste test. Russ as the impartial expert declared the no-cook version the winner. He says they both are good and worked well as the base for his doctored up concoctions, but the no cook was slightly better from the taste stand.
From the ease to make the no-cook is a no-brainer so from now on I don’t see any reason to look further, as long as you have a high power blender.
1/2 yellow onion- chopped

1 stalk of celery – chopped

4 large ripe tomatoes- cored and quartered

1 t. Lime juice
Put everything in the Vitamixer and start on the lowest setting and turn it up slowly over 30 seconds.  
Put a small mesh strainer or chinoiserie over a bowl and pour the liquid in. Using the back of a spoon push as much through the strainer as you can. Throw away any big pulpy mess that is left in the strainer. You should get most of it through the strainer. Salt to taste.
You can add peppers, either hot or sweet, carrots, cabbage, kale any vegetable you like to the vitamix, but the onions, celery and tomatoes are a good base to start with. 

Homemade Tomato Juice – The Cooked Version

I don’t know why I got this crazy idea that I wanted to make homemade tomato juice. Perhaps it was the yummy virgin Mary’s we had in Denver, but I knew it could not be that hard. I stopped at the farmer’s market and bought a 25 pound box of canning tomatoes for $10. Given the high price of premium Bloody Mary Mix I knew I was on to something. Then I researched how to make tomato juice.  
Turns out there are many camps from those who use and electric juicer and just run the tomatoes straight through raw to the cooked tomatoes and food mill way. Since I don’t have a juicer per se I started tonight doing a cooked version and running it through the finest strainer of my food mill. If you don’t know what a food mill is it s like a strainer with a blade that pushes the food through a metal plate that has holes.  
I liked the end product of straight juice, but in the morning a I will doctor it with lemon juice, hot sauce, horseradish, Worcestershire sauce and some spices to see if it makes Russ a happy Virgin Mary.
Tomorrow I am going to try the uncooked version and do it in my vitamix. You will get the full taste comparison then with that recipe. But here is how I made the cooked style.
1 yellow onion chopped

3 stalks of celery- chopped

10 big garden tomatoes, cored and quartered and all blemishes cut out

1/2 t. Salt

3 Splenda packets
I sprayed a big stock pot with Pam and put the onions and celery in the pot on a medium high heat on the stove. Stirring often to prevent any blackening cook the onions and Cleary for five minutes. Add the tomatoes and cook on high for 25 minutes, stirring often. The tomatoes were not all perfectly ripe so I added the Splenda for sweetness. If you have very ripe tomatoes you won’t need more sweet. Add the salt to taste.
Put the food mill over a deep bowl and working in batches add the tomato mixture to the food mill, turning the handle to extract the liquid from the solids. Half way through you may have to dump out the solids left in the food mill. Transfer the juice to a pitcher and chill. Taste and add any spicy ingredients you want.

Vacation Recovery and Vacation Planning

Shay has been a sleeping puppy today trying to recover from her vacation from me. I too have been a little bit of a mess. I have only half unpacked, did no laundry, no grocery shopping, nothing serious except for throwing practically everything in the refrigerator away.
Instead I kind of eased back into real life. Christy and I went to lunch and then to Chapel Hill Needlepoint because we had to hear the story of our friend Elizabeth’s visit to the highland’s needlepoint store. Apparently it was just as much a jumble twelve years ago. I am practically sure that the computer belt was hanging on the wall in the same place then.
Sadly Ashley’s grandfather did pass away and she called me missing Carter. I was able to call camp and ask them to let Carter call her friend. Then after that Carter called me. All this sadness precipitated a request for us to come and take Carter home for one night during the session break next weekend. I thought about it, but then realized that our house will be uninhabitable because the floors are getting redone. So I decided we would drive out to camp and pick Carter up and go spend the night someplace out there.
Carter’s real request was to see Shay. This makes finding a place to stay particularly difficult. As it is the choices are very limited for just humans. When you add that I really like to sleep in clean places most of the “motel” choices are out of the question. Many of the nicer Bed and Breakfasts have a two night minimum on weekends and the air bnb’s that allow dogs are mostly built of cinder blocks. After hours searching the internet I might have found a place to stay in Mount Airy, only 50 minutes from Camp. I hope that Carter appreciates our visit and does not change her mind.
So before I could recover from one vacation I had to work on planning another. Although It is not so much a vacation as a chance to see our girl and give her some puppy time. Now in the time I have been writing this the place we were looking to stay got booked and now I have to go back to the drawing board to make this plan work. Vacation planning is a big pain in the ass.

The Ying and the Yang

All good things must come to an end and so the end of mother camp happened today with closing ceremonies over the final Mah Jongg table. Fours days away with my good pals, Mary Lloyd and Christy was the perfect mix of games, laughs and a break from the rigorous diet. It was not as much exercise as a I needed based on what I ate, but I came home ready to get back on both the healthy eating wagon and the treadmill for that last push.
Shay was exhausted when I went to pick her up from Camp Mary. She had spent the first two days going to work with Russ which meant she hardly napped at all so she could keep an eye on him and make sure he never left the office without her. Russ said she was a good work dog and even performed like a champ when they had a fire drill and she had to walk down four flights of stairs with the sirens blaring. Due to Russ’ company team meeting she had to go to her camp and play with the seven other camper dogs that were spending time there. Now she can hardly keep an eye open.
The only bad thing is that this morning before we left Highlands my phone rang and it was Carter’s great friend Ashley, who is my bonus daughter. She was sobbing and just needed to talk because her grand father on her mother’s side had fallen and is critical. With Carter unavailable by phone at camp, Ashley called me as the substitute. It broke my heart to hear the pain of losing her first loved one ripping her to pieces. I tried to be there as much as a I could talking and texting with her multiple times through the day. My heart goes out to her mother and whole family as the shock of this unexpected accident starts to sink in.
Being away from watching TV, hearing news, getting mail and dealing with day-to-day issues

was a wonderful break from reality, but listening to the gasping wails of a young girl in pain brought me back to the real world fast. It makes me cherish all the good things more, my family, puppy, friends and all that is good. I am reminded to be thankful, appreciative, humble and ever mindful that time is short.
I am holding Ashley, Ellie, Terry and Kayley in my prayers. I am hugging my husband and thanking him for the gift of time away with friends. I am rubbing Shay’s belly and snuggling her, appreciative for the calming effect a loving dog has on us. I am writing Carter at camp and telling her to contact her friend who needs her love and support. I am thinking of my good friends who bring sunshine to my world and appreciate the gift of friendship. Lastly I am thinking of my own wonderful family and be mindful of what they mean to me.

Merchandising Hell

Day three of the great girls get away and we have settled into the perfect balance of Mah Jongg playing, needlepointing, shopping, spaing, eating and lounging by the pool. This morning we ventured out of the hotel to have breakfast looking for something less formal and different. Although there are many restaurants in Highlands very few of them are open for breakfast. After searching the internet we found two choices, one in the back of a pharmacy “where the locals eat” and the other in a grocery store.  
We were not sure about eating at the grocery store so we walked up and down the sidewalk in search of the elusive “local’s spot.” Interestingly very few of the stores had street numbers on them and we were stumped. We stumbled into an alley thinking it might be on the back of the Main Street and still we could not find it. Instead we found a needlepoint store. For you non-stitchers you need to understand the sacristy of actual local needlepoint stores. This one might be the only one in Western North Carolina. Excitedly we peered in the windows of the very tiny shop. It was slightly untidy, but we were still excited nonetheless. Rounding the corner to find the front door we saw the sign “open at noon.”
Since it was still breakfast time we knew we needed to kill some time before the store would open so we settled on eating breakfast at the grocery store. It was absolutely the best thing we could have done. The food was delicious and the tables were comfortable so we had a long a leisurely gab filled meal. Since it turned out to be such a good store we bought some items to take home so we went back to the hotel to drop them off.
The mid-morning was still a little cool so we finished off visiting all the shops on the end of the street that we had not already gone in. Their merchandising was similar to the shops at the other end of the street. My favorite example was a kitchenware a store that had Crabtree and Evelyn nail polish, next to wrought iron cookbook stands, next to ceramic owls, next to fancy dish washer soap. You get the idea that it is a bit of a dog’s breakfast.
At last the hour that the needlepoint store should open approached. We wandered back through the alley and sat outside a beauty salon that was neighbor to the needlepoint shop. Noon came, no needlepoint opening. Mary Lloyd went and asked a neighboring shop owner if she knew the needlepoint lady. We came to find the hour sign on the door was merely a suggestion. As we loitered in front of the store we noticed three older ladies sitting in their car in front of the shop. They called out to us to ask if we were waiting for the needlepoint owner too?  
We struck up a conversation and they told us they were friends who all live in Florida and one of them had a house in Waynesville where she summers. They were like an older version of us, one even had a double name like Mary Lloyd. They said they came to this shop every year and had called the owner Monday to make sure she would open for them. Waynesville is an hour from Highlands and we were hopeful then that the owner would show up since now she had six customers waiting outside her shop. We were doubly hopeful she had better canvases than the ones we saw through the slightly dirty windows since these ladies came so far.
Eventually the owner came teetering down the path only twenty minutes late. She fumbled with the keys and we waited to be let I as if we might find some hidden treasure. The store was small and very well loved. Canvases were stacked on tables and in baskets and hung on the wall. Clearly many of them had been there quite a long time as evidenced by the “computer” themed belt with floppy disks and CD roms on it.
Mary Lloyd, Christy and I flipped through every Christmas ornament canvas in the place, desperately looking for something to buy after waiting so long to get in. Christy tried to get me to buy a mini stocking with a theme of cans of tuna fish, but I just couldn’t do it. Eventually I found a Peter Rabbit and Christy reached in a paper bag and found a heart that had very old yellow tape on the edges and a receipt from 1991. When she inquired about it the owner said, “you can buy it if you don’t mind that it belonged to a dead person.” Mary Lloyd had to leave the store at that point.  
Overall Highlands is a beautiful place, but it is clearly the land of misfit merchandising. I think that the whole town could be a case study for a retail merchandising class. I love to support local stores, and the ones in this town are not short on wares to sell, but clearly many of them need help to learn how to display things so customers can see what they have to sell. Except maybe the needlepoint lady, she just needs a lot more old customers who still have floppy disks.

The Dove Bar Room! 

I am person who likes to take full advantage of all amenities offered by a hotel. What’s the use of staying some place nice and not enjoying what you are paying for? The place Christy, Mary Lloyd are I are staying is nice with a capital N. Not only do we have a cute cottage with some big ass rooms, but we have set up our Mah Jongg table right in front of the fireplace and it makes a cozy place to play while we are dressed in out “soft clothes.”
After “hiking” this morning to look at a number of beautiful waterfalls with very short trails we headed back to town to do a little retail therapy. It was probably a good thing that most of the stores have very bad merchandising. You know, too much stuff crammed into to small a space and not in any order that makes any sense — bras on hangers, next to red rubber boots, next to lime green crinkle blouses, next to “the world’s best leggings.”
The rain started coming and we took that as our cue to get to the spa where we made an afternoon of lunching, whirlpooling, steaming, chaise lounge lying, needlepointing, being massaged, detox drinking, more lounging and then… Shopping. We did everything in the spa we could and are going to do it again tomorrow.
After all that hard work we had to brake down and visit the best free hotel amenity I have ever seen, “the free dove bar room.” I am not talking about birds, but rather the incredibly sinful and rich vanilla ice cream bars double dipped in the richest chocolate. Who has ever seen a whole room with a freezer full of ice cream decadence right there for the taking. Granted it is worked into the cost of the room, so you would just be a fool not to enjoy it.  
Being as exhausted as we were from all that spaing we decided we could not possibly go on to play Mah Jongg without some nourishment. So off to the dove bar room we went. I am going to be paying the piper for this break in healthy eating, but it was already paid for and quite frankly worth every last bite.  
Who knows what amenities we are going to stumble upon tomorrow. I am very hopeful that there is not a secret free cake cave. The dove bar room is bad enough.  

Moms’ Camp

Earlier in the year my friend Christy and I decided that we wanted to go to an advanced needlepoint class while our children were away at camp together. We have gotten fairly good at teaching ourselves new stitches and techniques, but knew that there things that one of the experts could teach us. We found the perfect class in Austin, Texas and in January we called the store that was hosting the class. The woman who answered the phone practically laughed me off the line when I inquired if she had two places for the July class. Apparently that class was filled two years ago and we could put our names on the list for the February in 2016!  
Christy and I certainly have no idea if we are available in 2016 and our children will not be a summer camp in February. Scratch that plan. Then we got to thinking about what we wanted to do with our time away from home and decided we could create our own needlepoint camp and throw in Mah Jongg and some spa treatment. Once we hit on the idea of adding Mah Jongg we asked our friend Mary Lloyd to join us since she liked all the same things we did.
Well, this Mommy camp idea is way better than going to a needlepoint class any day. We picked a place to stay in Highlands, NC which was a leisurely five hour drive from home. It would have taken five hours if we hadn’t had such a good time yakking in the car and driven 13 miles past our exit. No harm, we just turned around and eventually arrived at our Inn.
Jackpot! We have a not just two lovely rooms, but a huge living room where the Mah Jongg table is set up but two porches for outdoor playing in the day time. We wasted no time going to one of the pools and relaxing in the hot tub before a really yummy dinner.
Now we are back at our stone cottage readying ourselves for a good night of games and stitching. Why in the world did we think we needed to go to a class when now we can get a massage, play some games and needlepoint. I have already voted for Mom Camp every year. This is probably the best idea we have ever had.