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. 

Breakfast Is Da Bomb in Denver

I wonder how big a city needs to be to support not just one, but a chain of a few nothing but breakfast restaurants? This morning Russ and I walked from our hotel to the Snooze at Union Station at eight in the morning and still had to wait forty-five minutes for a table. Snooze is a breakfast only place open from 6:30 ’til 2:30 that is none too small, inside with a nice patio of many tables outside too.  
This thing about waiting for breakfast is perfectly normal there as evidenced by the many, like hundreds of people willing to wait to eat. Snooze does it right by taking your phone and texting you first as a test, that you are waiting for a table and then when it actually comes up. They also have a big free coffee station with really cute bright orange mugs for all the waiting patrons. That was really smart because it kept people happy and put no work on the staff whatsoever.
Russ and I went out into the beautiful Station waiting area and sat with our coffee. Yesterday I wore the wrong pair of shoes for our walk to dinner and got a huge blister on my little toe. I thought I had it under control when we walked to breakfast, but I was very wrong. Thank goodness I found a pair of flip flops to buy after breakfast, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Back to Snooze –The menu was extensive. It was broken down into the art of Hollandaise, from the hen, the lighter side and then the sweet stuff. One thing they do to make deciding what to get easier is they give you lots of options to mix and match. Russ was then able to get two different Benedict dishes, one a Spanish style with pulled pork and the other a more Mexican one with Chilaquiles that has beef. I had a lighter smoked salmon with arugula, but was totally eyeing my neighbors three pancake mix and match that had a strawberry basil pancake, a lemon blueberry one and a sweet potato. If she had ordered the peanut butter cup pancake I would have reached my fork over to her plate and taken a bite.
We also had virgin versions of some great bloody Mary’s. Russ hit the jackpot with the Bangkok, which had sriracha, lime, basil, fish sauce and house spicy bloody mix. We will be recreating this at home, but it means I have to buy a case of tomatoes at the farmers market and make some homemade tomato juice, more to come on that.
All in all I would go back to Snooze in a second and even wait an hour again. What I want to know is Durham big enough to support a breakfast only, ok breakfast for lunch too place? I’m not just talking a weekend brunch type thing, but weekdays too. It just seems like we don’t have many options for real breakfasts, other than the big rise of donut shops. Maybe only workout crazed Coloradans have the metabolism to consume these kinds of calories so early in the morning. The place is full of young people. But Durham has its fair share of college students and the like. We need a Snooze.    

20,000 Steps in Denver and a Cold Shower

Russ has a meeting in a Denver suburb today so I came with him to make it a two day fun trip. just because I am here does not mean Russ is taking any time off, but we were lucky enough to be upgraded to a suite so when Russ woke up at three in the morning to start working he did not wake me because he went out and sat at the desk in the living room. Instead I was awoken at 5 by the sound of someone running on a treadmill in the gym above our suite. Since Russ was out of the bed I was able to go back to sleep by using his pillows to muffle the “shoowoosh, shoowoosh, shoowoosh of what had to be a two hundred pound marathon runner.
After a lovely breakfast of food I have not eaten in two months I was ready to take on the city while Russ was out in the burbs working. I had studied the local city magazine and spotted a number of places I was interested in visiting. On my way out the lobby I stopped at the front desk to see what the situation was with the “shoowooshing” and was told that yes, the gym above was the cause. There are American Idol tryouts today in Denver as well as a few other conventions so the hotel was booked. The manager on duty offered to comp our breakfast as an apology. I took it.
I headed out for a mile and a half walk to the Molly Brown House, you know Kathy Bates character in Titanic. It was not that early, but the streets were full of what looked like homeless people. Now this is Colorado, so I could have been mistaking some fully employed homeowners as homeless, but if I only counted the people with signs that read things like, “I really just want to buy some pot,” there were still many of them. These homeless people have obviously had too much pot because they had no idea how to ask for money. I almost felt like I should teach them, but their attention span’s could not handle a class from me.
The Molly Brown House was fine as these things go. I liked Phil our tour guide, who was probably ten years older than me and kept forgetting his place in telling the group the story of Margaret Brown, as she really was called before they made the movie “The unsinkable Molly Brown.” Maybe Phil had had too much pot too.
After the tour I walked up Pearl street looking for a gallery I had read about in 5280 Magazine (that’s a mile high). When I got to the street number for what I thought was going to be Art and Soul gallery I found a pot shop. I did not go in to ask where the gallery was, but looked it up on my phone. Turns out it is on Pearl St. in Boulder. That bit of info would have been helpful Ina magazine article, but maybe the editor had smoked too much that day.
I continued my walk around the Capital and back to the newly refurbished Union Station where I was hoping to have lunch at a place called the Mercantile I had read about. No luck it was closed for a week so the employees could have a vacation. Wonder what they are doing this week?
I continued walking and grabbed a bite while I did, looking for local stores. Those don’t really exist anymore. Denver has more hotels and restaurants downtown than I can imagine they can fill. The next greatest concentration of store front businesses are health club and gyms. If you aren’t homeless you work out a lot. People on the street are either dressed in yoga pants or tattered dirty shorts with heavy jackets, or are almost naked. This one guy was playing soccer by himself in front of a fancy hotel. I think he might have been the valet, but without a shirt I’m not sure I would give him my car.

After my many hours of walking, grimy and dirty and feeling like I should hold up a sign, I headed back to the hotel to take a shower and get ready for our one night here dinner with Russ. I was greeted with this letter on our bed — due to some emergency the hotel will be without hot water until 6AM. I guess they really want to make me feel like a Deverite. Well I don’t think I want to.

Made It To Denver

  
It’s summer and the fact that it is hot outside is no surprise. I have gotten more sensitive to air conditioning being too cold since I lost weight so today as I was packing to go to Denver with Russ I was surprised by how hot and sweaty I was feeling in my house.
I also was anxious to hear from Carter at camp since I had not gotten that first letter yet and was very interested in how she was doing as a CIT. The camp director had set the expectation that not all kids who love camp love being counselors. That unselfish move from being the one entertained to being the one doing the entertaining is a big transition.  
So in the sweltering heat I walked Shay Shay back and forth to the mailbox awaiting any possible letter. At last around one when I opened the box I was cautiously optimistic when I found four envelopes in the box. Junk, bill, plea for donation… It was not looking good that I would hear from Carter, then at last stuck to the Duke Energy power usage report was a letter from my bug.  
“I love being a CIT! I have the youngest girls and I am having a blast with this age group…. Gush, gush, gush. All good news. Then came the traditional request section. “Please send money, two of my three dresses require me to wear a cardigan, (for modesty purposes) and I want to buy one on Saturday when the CIT’s get to go shopping at Walmart.”
This being Thursday the only way I could get her money was to send it overnight. I gathered up some of the items I had collected to send in a care package and ran to the fed-ex.  
I rushed home because I still had not packed for my trip and when I got to my bedroom I felt like I was unusually hot and sweaty. Yes, I had been running around a lot, but not this much. I went to check the thermostat and discovered the temperature was 77 degrees inside. Oh no, two hours before our flight and I discover the air conditioning unit is broken.
I called the HVAC people and asked if there was any chance they could come right now and look at it. “We’ll do our best, Ma’m, but don’t expect it.” I called around looking for a teenager who could stay at my house until it was fixed. No luck, teenagers have very busy lives. I took Shay to Mary’s and she said she would be happy to stay.
When I got home the HVAC guy was working on our unit, just a clogged drain pipe. It was fixed well before we had to go. Between getting a letter from Carter that camp is going great and getting the air conditioner fixed in record time I would say this is a good day. Now we just pray the weather in Denver does not prevent us from landing.

I Measured Three Times

This morning while I was cooking dinner for an friend who had been in the hospital I turned on the kitchen TV to Rachael Ray. Normally I don’t really like to watch her show because her, “what’s for dinner tonight” segment is hardly ever anything I can or should eat for dinner and I don’t need some pasta imagery floating through my head. But today’s Rachel started with a segment called, “are you wearing the right bra size.”  
I know all the statistics about 85% of American women wearing the wrong bra size, and I even actually already knew how to measure for the perfect fit already, but I watched the show anyway. It was something to do while I made green peppercorn chicken. The “bra expert” said something that was news to me. Women need to get measured every six months because things change due to hormones, and weight changing and gravity.  
As I stood by the stove, stirring the sauce I thought, “well, I have lost 24 pounds, maybe I should remeasure.” Right there in the kitchen I pulled out the tape measure from the junk drawer and ran the tape around me at the smaller band part. “What?” That number can’t be right? I moved the tape up to the bigger part and measured that. “Yeah, five inches difference, that seems right.” Being unsure that the first number was right I got out my seamstress tape measure that must be more accurate than a kitchen tape measure, as if the inch markings could possibly vary on the two devices.
Yes, the first reading was correct. I thought my mind must be playing games on me so I went to the bedroom, abandoning the dinner cooking on the stove to look at the size tag in my bra. Sure enough i was wearing the wrong size bra. The one I wore was six inches bigger in the band than I measured and the cup size was one too small. NOOOO! I need new bras. This is not a happy day since I love the bras I have and boy are they comfortable. I guess so if they are six inches too big around. No tight squeezing, take your breath away band for me.
Now this means a I have to go and spend money on the most important item of clothing I will wear that no one will see. I liken it to waterproofing your basement. Costs a lot of money, no one will notice and you have to do it. Well, maybe wearing the right size bra is better than waterproofing. Not that I want anyone to notice.  
I’m within a pound of being at the weight I like the most, one I can maintain, I have a wardrobe for, with the exception of bras, and is healthy. I guess it is the right time to go buy new bras. Poop, the worst shopping there is. Damn that Rachel Ray, why could’ she have started her show with some giant burger so I would have been forced to turn the TV off?

Quinoa Salad

Since tomorrow is the fourth of July you might be heading out to a picnic or BBQ. Not us, we are taking Carter to camp for her summer as a CIT. Since I won’t be cooking anything tomorrow I thought I would share a good side dish with you to take to your event if not tomorrow for some other summer party.

I know that potato or macaroni salad are traditional summer sides, but they are bad ideas to take to outdoor parties. Hey, I know you might love them, but they are full of mayonnaise and even if you can afford the calories you might not want to risk the poisoning you can get if you eat mayonnaise that has turned. The rule of thumb is mayonnaise should go unrefrigerated for less than two hours and then be thrown away. That does not mean you can leave it out for an hour and put it back in the fridge and revive it. The spoiling has already started.

Since I hate to waste food, and face it a giant bowl of potato salad almost never gets eaten at one party. My suggestion is that you make this Quinoa salad that contains no mayo and is high in protein so not only will it not go bad as quickly, it is healthier the whole time

1 c. of uncooked Quinoa

2 cups of chicken or vegetable broth- or water

1/3 of an English Cucumber diced

½ red pepper diced

1/3 cup of diced red onion

30 mint leaves chopped

Giant handful of parsley minced

1T. Olive oil

2 T. red wine vinegar

3 T. lemon juice

Salt and Pepper

In a saucepan on high heat put the Quinoa and the broth and cover and bring to a boil. Reduce to simmer for about 20 minutes until all the water is absorbed. Let the quinoa cool a little and then transfer to a bowl. Add the oil, vinegar and lemon juice and stir and out it in the refrigerator.

When the grain is completely cool add the vegetables and the herbs. You can change up what I suggested and add chopped tomatoes, zucchini, fennel, basil, cilantro – the possibilities are endless. It is a great way to use up small amounts of veggies.

Have a Happy July 4^th and don’t eat any warm mayonnaise side dishes.

Vacation Non-Weight Loss

Despite staying on my diet vigilantly during my boat vacation I did not lose a pound, which made me furious. I brought my vita mix, made my protein drinks everyday, ate only protein and green veggies with one tiny bit of fruit a day and nothing! My counselor is imploring me to stick with this program and I am, but I am not going to be so strict during my vacations because there is no reason to not enjoy my trips and not lose weight at the same time.
There is all the time in the world to lose weight, but only some time to have a good holiday. I am not planning on going hog wild on my summer vacations. That plan did not work in Italy, but I am certainly not going to go to the same feats I went to in Beaufort.  
Being good and not losing weight is by far more frustrating than just eating a healthy diet and if I gain one pound so be it. I am so close to my goal weight that there is no sense of urgency. I lose weight for myself so if I want to take a break from someone else’s program that is my choice, especially if their program is not doing what I want.
I have a couple weeks until my next vacation. Let’s see what happens being strict at home, maybe I can reach my goal before then and this will all be a moot point. Oh, weight control is a life’s work.   

Great Week, Great Boat, Great Vacation

   
   As the sun sets over Taylor’s Creek I lie down on the cushions of the top deck to write my last blog from the Everest. We have had an adventure filled week here in Beaufort. Kelly and Dan who run and own this fabulous boat could not have been nicer. Our only freak hiccup of a clamp breaking allowing water into the boat was resolved quickly and Kelly more than made up for something no one could predict.  
As part of her heartfelt apology she and Dan took us out on a cruise today which normally would have been a charge, but was free for us. Carter and Ashley rode most of the time on “the bunny” the aptly named sun bathing beds on the bow of the boat reserved for the girls to ride on.  
While we have been docked we have enjoyed the calmness of the creek, the wild ponies grazing just across the way on Carrot Island, swimming off the back of the boat, Carter and I floating in the water on our backs hand-in-hand “like otters,” shopping in the cute Beaufort stores that have different things than mall stores, eating yummy dinners at restaurants which meant no cooking for Mom, our best meal was at Beaufort Grocery Co. followed by the Cedars Inn, sun bathing on the comfortable cushioned decks, reading great books, waving at passing boaters, sleeping late in our comfy state rooms, and laughing, laughing, laughing.
Our one adventure away from Beaufort to the Aquarium in Pine Knoll Shores, only made us more certain that staying on the Everest in Beaufort was the best place we saw. It was peaceful and not crowded with children kicking sand near us, no sharks were spotted, all our limbs stayed intact, there were no drunk, fat, heavily tattooed men talking loudly anywhere near us, we did not have a house party of college bound kids across the street from us playing music into the middle of the night and getting in raucous fights, and we never smelled a paper mill or fish cannery.
It made for fun for us all to have Ashley with us. I am hoping she is available for future vacations. The only sad part is that Russ only got 36 hours of vacation, but I have to say they were pretty idyllic.
So goodbye to the Everest and to Beaufort. I hope we can come back. But there are new adventures yet to be had this summer. I hope they are all as good as this one.

Small World Benefits

   
     I have written in the past about the chance small world meetings that usually take place when we are on vacation and this one is no different. When we checked in with the owner of our boat, Kelly, the first day we got here she got to talking to Carter and Ashley, my bonus vacation daughter about school. Kelly teaches chemistry at a local college and she remarked to Ashley that the best student she ever had was a Korean girl the first year she was a professor.
Last night when we went to dinner in tiny Beaufort Ashley, ran into a woman she knew. Her name is Joanne and her brother is Ashley’s father’s best friend. Joanne works at the NC aquarium in Pine Knolls Shores and told us to come see her at the aquarium. She asked where we were staying and we told her the name of the boat and she said, “Oh, Dan and Kelly’s boat. They are some of my best friends.”
Today, Dan and Kelly stopped by the boat and we told them about Ashley running into Joanne and what a small world it was. Kelly made it even smaller when she said, “Joanne is my best student I was telling you about on Monday.” Well with all these connections the girls and I decided we absolutely had to go to the aquarium today. So after a fun morning with Russ kayaking, when he left for the airport off we went.
Joanne greeted us at the entrance and took us first to the ray tank where she had to feed them by hand and then behind the scenes where we got to see all the inner workings of the aquarium. We got to hold a baby alligator, and feed the shark, grouper and big fish tank chopped up sardines and shrimp. We met baby sea turtles and learned how they went from tiny hatchlings to year old turtles about to be released back into the sea. It was a fantastic experience that happened by chance.
Now after dinner I sit atop the roof deck of our beautiful boat and enjoy the sunset and wonder what exciting things and chance meetings will happen tomorrow. I love vacation.

Listing is Not Good, Right?

Sometimes going against your regular grain is good and you just don’t know why until later. Yesterday before we arrived at the boat we are renting for the week the owner asked us which staterooms to make up for Carter and Ashley. Having never seen the choices they chose two rooms, but when we got here and they saw all the choices they wanted to switch. I felt badly that the clean, pressed sheets where already on different beds and my first reaction was to say no,but the owner said she had other sheets. As a compromise I told the girls they could sleep in the big aft stateroom they liked best if they made the bed themselves. This turned out to be a fortuitous move.
Last night I settled into the master stateroom in the fore, closing the porthole covers in hopes of getting to sleep in a little since Russ was not arriving until after 9:30 this morning. I was awoken by a loud knocking on my door so early that I was still in that part of sleep where you don’t know if you are dreaming or are awake.  
“Mom, mom there is a lot of water in our room,” Carter was telling me.  
“What? What time is it?” Why I needed to know the time, I will not understand, except it was just a stall tactic until I could get my bearings.
“It’s 5:30.”
I jumped out of bed and realized the boat was badly listing to the stern, you know boat lingo for to the right. I am not really a fan of leaning to the right especially when it means we are taking on water.
I ran up my stairs and back down to Carter’s stairs and before I even got down two steps I could see inches of water.  
“Pack up all your stuff and bring it upstairs, I’m calling the owner.”
It’s never good news to have to wake someone at 5:30, but the one thing I know, there is no reason to be polite and wait until a decent hour when their boat is sinking.
It took only moments for her to arrive and soon followed experts who first were able to get the water pumped out and find the broken clamp that had allowed the water to come in in the first place. Carter, Ashley and I sat on the aft deck enjoying the sunrise and early morning hours in a way we would have never done had we slept the morning away.
While I was in the galley getting myself some iced tea I thankfully had made the day before, since our water was now turned off, the owner said to Carter that we might need to go to a hotel. This caused tears and sadness for the vacation she had looked so forward too. When I came back out and heard this I said we were not making any decisions at 7:30 in the morning. I was also not going to call Russ who was on the road from Durham for his one day vacation because I was holding out faith that all would be fine.
Russ arrived around 10 just as the issue was getting fixed. Our day of sun on the water was salvaged. If it weren’t for Carter and Ashley sleeping in that aft stateroom and Carter waking up at 5:30 to use the head it could have been a much different story. Four more hours going unnoticed would have made a big difference. Thank goodness I was not my normal harass self yesterday and indulged my girls, it saved us.

Destination Everest

A few months ago Russ was pursuing AirBnB just to see what all the hubbub was about. There is no person on earth who would dislike staying in someone’s house while they were home more than Russ Lange, so I thought it was an interesting exercise. As he flipped through listings I paid little attention to him since I’m sure I was busy stitching some untimely Christmas ornament. That was until he came upon an 80 foot yacht mored in Beaufort, NC.
“Boats, you can stay on a boat?” I asked. Russ showed me the picture. Hmmm… “Is it renting a sofa on someone’s boat to sleep on?” Apparently you can rent whole boats by the night. So we decided what the hell, let’s try it.
Russ did all the planning, the contacting, the paying, the communications, instruction getting, everything. I was just going to be the girl on the boat. Carter invited her friend Ashley to come and be one of the girls on the boat. We were set. As the weeks passed we all got more and more excited. Carter studied the website, planning her jump from the aft deck into the river in the videos.
Then this week Russ came home from work with the bad news that he had two work conflicts and was not going to be able to spend the whole week on the boat. OH NO! This was his plan, his trip. So today Carter, Ashley and I set off without him. We arrived too early so we were forced to shop in the very cute Beaufort shops while we waited for the appointed time to be given our yacht. At last it came.
It was bigger than I imagined. Soon us three girls were in our bathing suits jumping off the back of the boat and floating in the salty river as much smaller vessels putted by us. The serenity of Carrot Island, an island inhabitant only by a heard of wild horses, is our view across the river. We were in heaven as Ashley thanked us over and over again for bringing her.  
I was just sad that Russ was missing the trip he had planned so meticulously. As I sit on the upper deck writing this in the dark night with a cool breeze blowing slowly by me I pray that tomorrow brings good weather and Russ to get a chance to spend his 24 hours in paradise.  

Deered Off

I am not running a drive thru for deer in search of a happy meal. So if you happen to be driving, walking or biking by my house and see any Bambie family members hanging around looking for the squawk box to place their orders for tomato plants, green bean bushes or sweet potato vines you make sure to let them know that I have been closed down by the hoofed animal fast food council. Not that anyone can prove I have poisonous plants waiting to be scarfed down by those poor unassuming animals, but I would like the deer to think that.
Now if you are planning a visit to my house please text me when you get to the driveway. I will be happy to open the garage door and let you in that way. If you venture to my front door you might pass out from the aroma of Deer Off that is wafting about what is left of my summer flowering pots.
I know that the lack of rain has left few thirst quenching plants for the deer to eat, but how in the world are they finding the only things I am watering. I came out of the garage on Monday and noticed that my tomato plants that just the night before had held hundreds of green tomatoes on healthy vines had been striped to a third their size with many bits of green fruit let on the ground with one small bite in each. Dumb ass animals don’t even learn that if they don’t like the first green tomato they are not going to like the 55th. 
I know I need a twelve foot high fence to really protect my vegetable garden, but I just don’t like the fortress look. I complain every year about the deer, but somehow they are still here. I’m shocked the famous Hope Valley coyote has not taken down a doe or two. What do I have to do to encourage that to happen.  
If you are a major deer fan I am happy for you to contribute new plants, fully grown and ready to bear fruit to me so I can keep feeding the deer. For the time being I am going to have to keep offending the UPS, FedEx and Mailmen bearing packages with the offending smell of deer retardant. I’m sure that when I come back from vacation I won’t have a plant left between the drought and the deer I guess it’s time to put in a Japanese rock garden.    

Tragic Loss

At nine last night Carter comes into the kitchen from her room with a glazed look in her eyes and says, “A girl died at Camp today.” Camp for Carter is the place in the mountains of North Carolina that she affectionate calls “home.” It is her favorite place on earth, where she pines to be all years, waiting for summer like a three-year-old waits for Santa.
Carter is going to be a CIT at camp during the coed session that starts in July, but she spent many years going to the girls session and has lots of friends there now. That’s how she heard. A tragic zip line accident and a poor family who entrusted their sweet angel to a wonderful camp lost her. For the poor staff and counsellors it is the worst thing that can happen.  
There are risks in everything in life. I read a posting on Facebook yesterday from a friend whose son almost drown in a pool with life guards as she turned for just a second to get something. Thank goodness she turned around just in time to notice his lips below the water and the look of panic in his face. That story ended happily, but not without perhaps taking some days off that mother’s life.
I am so sad for Carter, who has lost two other friends this year. It seems like more than a teenager should have to deal with. I pray this tragic loss does not color the magic that happens at camp. There is an innocence about summer at camp with the games, songs, and friends. The real world did not exist in an electronic free environment.  
Please pray for the family who will not feel the same way about camp. Pray for the people who were there and will forever have that picture with them. Pray for the staff and counsellors who take the responsibility of caring for our children very seriously. Pray for the cabin and camp mates of the girl who was lost. Pray for all the campers to come that they will have the same wonderful life changing experiences at camp that Carter has had.

Are Airlines Crazy?

Today at Mah Jongg my friend Katina asked if we had heard about the new airline carry on regulations? What? When I got in the car NPR was playing a story about the airline fiasco. Apparently European airlines are reducing the size of carry on bags that are allowed to a size that does not actually exist in the luggage universe. Half an inch length , half and inch less in width and like five inches less in depth to a seven inch high bag.
The airlines are trying to maximize revenues by forcing everyone, but Barbies to have to check their bags or go naked when they are on vacation. It seems to me that the European airlines that are in collision to all do this at the same time as well as with the luggage manufactures who are going to be able to sell us all new luggage and the nude vacation sights.
So far the American Airlines have not answered if they area going to follow suit,but you know the worst amount our carriers are thinking about. Actually I bet Spirit Airlines already charges for carry-ons as well as toilet paper.
I am putting out a plea to all good U.S. airlines to set themselves apart and not screw over the flying population and reduce the size of carry-ons. I can’t imagine going back to handing over my bag to people who can’t possibly care enough about my stuff as I do. The airlines who do not reduce the carry-on size will be the ones I will try and patronize forever and ever.
Maybe this is a new diet incentive that the only way you can fit your clothes into tiny carry on bags is to become a size zero. Since that is never happening for me I might have to start wearing all my clothes on my body when I get on a plane and just use my miniature carry-on bag for my tiny travel size tooth paste and lotion.  
Please just raise the prices of tickets a few Euros and just let us carry our stuff on. I know they are justifying this move by saying this way there will be more overhead room for everyone, but if they just enforced the rules they already have their would be enough room. I have literally been on flight from Miami to Puerto Rico where one person brought a kitchen sink on and put it in the overhead bin, taking up the whole bin.
I guess it’s time to learn to fly. Who wants to go in on a plane with me?

Use Your Spices

The other day at lunch a friend of mine asked me how long her spices would last. Nobody at the table liked my answer which got me thinking that even some of the best cooks I know are using old spices. Here are the guidelines for how long spices are really best; 4 years for whole spices, like whole cloves or fennel seeds, 2-3 years for ground spices, like cinnamon and cayenne pepper and only 1-3 years for dried spices like basil and oregano.  
Now before you go throwing away your whole spice drawer open a bottle and take a whiff, not too big if it is red pepper. If it has a strong defined smell it is probably ok, but as the spices age you may have to add more to get the taste and it still won’t be as good as fresh spices.
My friend Stephanie, who grew up in Baltimore where McCormack spice company started, said they ran a campaign a few years ago saying, “If your spice bottle has a Baltimore address on the back and not Hunt Valley, Maryland, throw it out, it is over 20 years old.” Despite have a corporate headquarters in Baltimore, Hunt Valley has been the packaging location for over 20 years.
Rather than thinking of your spices as some precious exotic item to be used sparingly start using the ones you have until you use them up. I dry pan seared some okra tonight and dosed it heavily in coriander, which gave it a bright citrus flavor. Add some spices to you bottled salad dressing, if you use that, or make a fresh salad dressing by throwing in a bunch of different spices, like basil, garlic and ginger with your oil and vinegar.  
Just be careful not to add too much at first. To this day I hate dill because someone in my house used to add much too much of it to potato or chicken salads. A little dill goes a long way.
If you are an infrequent cook and don’t have any idea how old your spices are start writing the date on the bottle the next time you open something new. In two years any bottle of a dried or ground spice without a date can get thrown away and you will only replace them as a recipe calls for them.
One great way to use up things like nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice and cloves is to make a spice cake. Just don’t share it with me, because it is a favorite of mine and can’t only eat one bite!
This message was not brought to you by the spice manufactures of the world, but for full disclosure my Grandfather used to own a spice company called Try Me Spices, so encouraging you to use your spices might be in my blood.

Half Way Through Upper School

Summer officially started for Carter today since she had her last exam as a sophomore yesterday. As a parent it is almost as exciting to not to have to think about school as it is for the child. Being half way through high school is hard for me to comprehend especially since I feel like I was just half way through yesterday.

As I think back to myself at Carter’s age I realize that I did not really begin to find my voice until well into my junior year. There is so much pressure on kids today to invent fabulous new technology or be a world-class athlete or save an endangered species all before they get to Upper school, but in reality most people are just not fully developed yet.

Learning what you like in the world and how you might fit in is a long process that should involve some stumbles along the way. I certainly was no star at anything at the end of my sophomore year at Ethel Walkers. I was just trying to keep my head above water while not falling into some hole at the same time. One of the hardest parts was learning to deal with people who were equally as undeveloped.

For Carter I look forward to her having a successful summer as a CIT at Camp Cheerio. It is a great chance to try out new leadership skills while being at her favorite place on earth, after London and Rome, oh and Paris. But Cheerio is the place her heart is happy and the stress level is low, low, low and friends are supportive.

Discovering all that you are takes time so, Carter, keep exploring and being curious and trying new things, especially if they are hard. It’s Ok not to know exactly all that you are going to be at just 16. How boring life would be if you did. At sixteen no one would have bet that I could write a lick, I had never left the country, I did not know that my true passion was to help hungry people, I don’t think I knew any hungry people, I also was probably not even that funny. What I did know is that good friends are worth investing in and that cooking was a useful skill.

So cheers to a good summer. Rejuvenate, rest and relax. Mostly explore and expand your understanding of your true self. It is a self that has lots of time to unfold.

Nice Pays Off

Today while Carter was taking her first exam I decided I would go to the mall and buy her a quilt and new cooling pillow that she wants for camp. You have no idea what a big sacrifice this is for me. I hate going to the mall. I think the last time I was there was before Christmas.
If there were stores that had different and unusual merchandise I might not mind fighting the groups of slow walkers walking abreast with no idea they are taking up the entire width of the walkway, or the circlers looking for the closest parking spot at 3 miles per hour, or the sales clerks who have their faces deep in their phone with no peripheral vision to see how desperately I need help. No, the regular old stores are just not worth putting up with these people and the many others who have all the time in the world to while away at the mall.  
Carter had pointed out the items she liked in a catalogue I had purchased from before. The shipping and handling charges were like $34 for a small box and the stuff was not cheep to begin with. You know what handling charges are, PROFIT. Since Macy’s had texted me they were having a big sale I decided in the name of cheapness I would go and actually shop. How Macy’s got my cell number I’ll never know, but the marketing worked. At least to get me into the store.
After perusing the quilt offerings at Macy’s I decided to sprint the length of the mall to see what Belk’s had to offer. Usually if Macy’s is having a sale so is Belk’s. After dodging the lotion squirters and massage givers I fast walked my way past the stroller brigades and AARP card holder mall walkers to Belk’s where I found the perfect quilt. It helped that looked so much like the $189 one in the catalogue, before tax, shipping and handling but was on sale for 50% off and when the young man rung it off he added an additional discount and it came in at $25.87 which included tax. Hooray for the mall!
Having been without iced tea for at least the last 45 minutes I decided to stop at Panera Bread on my dash back to the other end of the mall where my car was. Since I am on this crazy strict diet iced tea is the highlight of my day. There were quite a few of the mall walkers waiting in a very long line, but I spotted the hallway window was manned and no one was waiting. As I approached the young girl in the black Panera apron I noticed a very old man in the main line who looked like he could not stand another minute without sustenance. The approved one asked what I wanted, just as I was summoning the old man to come and order in my short line.  
I looked at the Panera girl and said, “I only want and iced tea, but why don’t you take this man’s order first, I think he has been waiting a long time.” He thanked me as I stepped back so he could order. Before he got a word out the young Panera girl handed me a clear plastic tea cup and said, “Tea’s on me since you are so nice!”
What? I am rarely called “Nice.” I stepped into the drink dispensing area and made myself a big cold free tea. It tasted better than any tea I had drunk in a while. I think I am going to have to try this being nice thing more often, but I hope it works at places other than the mall because I still don’t want to go there.

It’s Always a Challenge

Last year about this time I reached my goal weight. I tried to set a new lower goal, but true to my weight loss/gain history had a hard time just maintaining my original goal. I am a strong believer that losing weight is exciting and maintaining weight is the real hard work. Since the weight loss game is a brain issue and not an eating one my brain decided that once I got to the goal I had been trying to reach for two years it could take a break. Now my body kept exercising and my cooking tried to keep me eating the non-white diet that I knew was good for me, but without full brain cooperation things broke down.
About this time one other big thing happened to me, I finally was declared to be in full blown menopause. Not that I could really tell. Years ago I had an operation so the normal signs of growing old were more subtle with me. I have been lucky enough to not suffer hot flashes, or as some of my friends call it, their own personal summer. I was glad that I had gotten my weight down before I passed over into the world of old womanness because true to folklore I found out fairly quickly that losing weight is more difficult at this stage of life.  
Actually what I quickly found out was gaining weight was more easy now too. So between my brain taking a diet break and my body taking a youth break permanently I started gaining back some of the hard fought pounds I had lost. I tried upping my exercise but with that I also ate a little more than I needed. I also enjoyed the eating seasons, starting with Thanksgiving, passing or not passing on the Christmas feasts, rolling right into Spring break in Italy with all things normally forbidden, like pasta, pizza and gelato all around me, followed by May – the month all about me with my birthday, anniversary and Mother’s Day.  
I knew I had do something while I could still wear my smaller underpants. The answer was try a new program to reengage my brain and hold me accountable. I had a bunch of friends who had tried Metabolic Research Center so I am giving it a try. The good news is that I went in when I have just a little to lose so it won’t take me long.  
I can tell you that any diet you do works if you stick to it. For me I like to try something new because it engages my brain and makes me work harder if I am having to learn a new plan. Of course I also really like having to weigh in with someone else. I know most people think that is the worst thing on earth, but once you realize no one cares what your number is on the scale just that it is going down, it becomes a great tool for accountability.
I hope I am getting smarter and not letting my weight yo yo the full string’s worth. A little tiny bit up and it is time to nip this issue in the bud. It helps that the eating season is over and my garden is starting to produce edible results. I’ll report back on my feelings about Metabolic as a good way to loose weight .

Bad Words

For the record, I think that most of the bad words I know I learned from my father. Not that he purposely sat down and taught them to me, just that he used them freely probably around the time I was in fifth or six grade and susceptible to picking up naughty words.   One of my favorite phrases my Dad used to use with us when we were young to describe someone we did not care for was to say, “He is such a shit bird.” Considering all that you can imagine my surprise when my father told me the following story when we were touring his childhood haunts.

As we drove up to the Ardmore School where my father had gone to first through seventh grade he pointed out the window of the principal’s office. He described her as a nice woman, but that she had a rubber hose in her desk drawer that she would use to hit children who needed punishment. We drove around the backside of the school and as we did my Dad said, “This is where I heard my first bad word.”

Hearing a bad word in elementary school did not seem like that unusual a thing. My Dad continued, “Yes, I remember it like it was yesterday. We were sitting in class and then as matter-a-factly as anyone could be Adam Sandler said out loud, ‘somebody farted.’ And all hell broke lose.”

“How old were you?” I asked. That is when my father shocked me. “We were in fourth grade.”

What?!? Fourth grade was the first time my father had ever heard anyone say a bad word, and it was the only barely a bad word, “FART.”

“Adam Sandler was sent to the Principal’s office and we all were shocked. I never forgot it.”

A while later as my father was driving through the neighborhood pointing out where all his friend’s had lived we passed by Adam Sandler’s house. “I wonder what ever happened to him? I bet he ended up in jail.”

It was comical to me that my Dad who taught me every bad word on earth thought that this nine-year old potty mouth ended up in jail. For the record this Adam Sander is not the famous one, but I have no idea if they are related.

In a real juxtaposition when Carter was in third grade she came home and said, “Benjamin told me that the “F” word is the worst word. I told him to tell me what it was so I won’t say it. He said, ‘No way, your Mom would kill me.’” So Carter asked me to tell her what the “F” word was. Not wanting to have to define it for her I quickly told her it was “Fart.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “I did not know that was such a bad word.” Oh how times have changed.

Home Again to Winston-Salem with my Dad

Today was the day I took my Dad back to Winston-Salem to visit all the sites of his childhood. Actually he drove me since it is a better gift to him if he gets to drive his own car. So I got up extra early this morning and went up to the farm where I found my father dressed up and ready to go on our big adventure. Meandering our way in the hour that it took us to go to Winston-Salem I was thankful he was driving because I was in unfamiliar territory.

My Dad had thought long and hard about this trip and had the whole route mapped out on what we were going to try and see and the order we would go in. Since I had only lived in Winston-Salem from the ages of zero to six weeks I was up for what ever he wanted to show me.

We got off the interstate at 5^th street to see if we could find the hospital where my father had his serious back operation three months before I was born. The building was there, but we think it was now part of a school. It was not my idea of the happiest place to start, but it was important to my Dad. As we entered downtown we went by the warehouse/factory where my father had worked summers at RJ Reynolds when he was in school. The factory where my Grandfather had been the manager was a shell being renovated, but still existed.

My Dad was really interested in finding the first place he worked out of college and amazingly the building was still there, now listed as a historic landmark. He thought that was great since it had just been a supplier to mills and factories back when he worked there.

From there we drove to the Episcopal Church that had been his church for the first 11 years of his life. As a child I heard the stories of the church he had built as a teenager and clearly this fancy building was not it. Dad explained that his parents along with 49 other families had broken away from this church to create a new one because they were the worker bees of the church as opposed to being the check writers/decision makers and they got tired of that.

Along the tour of the day I saw the basement of the furniture store where the new church met for the first two years, the place where the congregational church once stood in their Ardmore neighborhood where they met as a church on off hours for the next three years and finally St. Timothy’s the church my father had help build. He quickly pointed out where the mortar mixing station was that he manned and how he carried all the cement blocks up the scaffolding. See, his father had been the first church treasurer and knew that one way they could afford to build that first church building was to use my strong Dad as labor. My father had experience doing cement block work since he had done it at his own family home as a ten year old.

The highlight of the day for me was the tour of my father’s paper route. Many life lessons we taught to me as a child through my father’s stories of his morning and afternoon paper routes. We started our tour at the place where his 210 papers were dropped off at five each each morning. Amazingly most of the neighborhood looked the same to my Dad. There were a few new houses, but most looked very similar to the way they were in 1948. As we neared the end of his route we came to two houses next to each other with some African Americans sitting on their front porches. My Dad stopped the car and got out to talk to them. Turns out that they were the same family that had lived in those two houses when my Dad had delivered their papers.

We met a nice woman who was a year younger than my Dad who had lived with her grandmother in one of the houses. She and my Dad talked about which schools they both went to. Since the schools were segregated back then she told us how she had to take two different busses to get home from her school in the East part of town. My Dad had an easy walk to the Ardmore school that was just a few blocks away. Turns out this woman had a daughter exactly my age who had been the first African American to enroll in Ardmore school as a first grader when desegregation first happened. It is hard for me to imagine that all this happened in my lifetime.

More about my trip with my Dad back home again in tomorrows blog.

In Praise of NameTags

I had a church committee meeting tonight where one of the items on the agenda was permanent Name Tags. We are a name tag wearing church which as I age I appreciate greatly. No one likes name tags more than my husband. If it were up to him people would have their names tattooed on their forehead since he is so tall that even if they have a name tag on he looks very awkward leaning far enough down to read it.
At my meeting tonight I told a very old story about Russ and his lack of knowing people’s names. After we had lived here for a good number of years we were invited to go to our friend’s Bill Lindsey and Jean Bethea’s lake house. We had a wonderful day with them swimming and eating and telling stories.
A few months later Russ came home from the grocery store and proudly announced to me that he had seen my friend Jean Bethea at the store and called her by name. This was big for him. first he actually noticed a person, and that he knew that person and knew her name– this was a red letter day! I told him I was so proud of him.
Five minutes later the phone rings. It was my friend Carol Shepard. “Russ just called me Jean Bethea at the grocery store.” So much for the celebration of Russ’ facial recognition skills.
If only we all were wearing name tags all the time these terrible mistakes could be avoided. I used to be able to remember everyone I ever met, where I met them, and who introduced us. Not anymore. I never say, “nice to meet you.” In case I have already met a person before and just don’t remember. “Nice to see you,” is the perfect noncommittal greeting. It does not mean I have or have not met you before. It also avoids my having to say someone’s name since I don’t remember that either.
I guess that Russ was just further along developmentally than me, but now that neither of us can remember anyone I don’t know what we are going to do. Maybe we will just have only old friends who are in our long term memory. Unless the whole world starts wearing name tags. Actually the way our eyesight is going perhaps they need to where license plate sized name tags so we can read their name without our glasses on. Or if everybody wore junior high school PE t-shirts that have their name written in sharpie right across the chest, that might work for us.

For the record after living here for over 20 years Russ does know the difference between Carol and Jean, at least this week. 

Fourth Blog Year

i got a congratulations email from my blog host site on completing three years of blogging everyday for the last three years. After over 1,000 posts you would think I would not forget to blog, but here I am thumb typing on my phone. Russ is driving us from Pippen to pick Carter up from a sixteenth birthday party and the day is getting long past me. 

Please forgive this non substantive post on nothing, I took a small celebratory break from less dana to practically no dana today. I look at it as a day when no one pissed me off. Hopefully year four will have me back on track.  

Contractor Hell

A couple of days ago, early in the morning, before I ever expect to see anyone who I don’t already know or love at my door I got a knock. A young man who I did not know sheepishly said hello. I was thankful I had my cell phone in my hand in case I needed to call 911.

“Hi, I’m working at the house next door and we need to use your water?” Said the stranger.

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“I have to cut some holes in the concrete and the water is turned off at that house and I need water to run my saw blade.”

The first thought that went through my head is, this is not my problem.

“How much water are we talking about?”

“I could just run your hose to the house.”

I am a big water conservationist. I have a rain barrel that catches the water from my gutters, I refuse to water my grass figuring it is not a good use of the most precious resource we have. In drought ridden summers I have caught my shower water in buckets and used that to water my vegetable garden. I was not happy about being asked to let some stranger run my hose to the house next door. How in the world would I know he was not just running it constantly?

“You did not answer the question,” I probed. “How much water are we talking about?”

“I only need your hose for an hour. I will get the contractor to reimburse you”

Against my better judgment I agreed he could use it for an hour since I know and like the woman who bought the house.

After an hour and a half I went over and asked if they were done since I needed to go out. Just a little longer they promised. What could I do now?

I left the house and when I returned five hours later the hose was still over at the neighbors. Now I was furious. One hour my #$%^%!

“We are done,” the young man said preemptively when he saw me coming with a look that could kill a bear on my face.

“Please, have the contractor call me.”

No call. So I called the homeowner who was rightfully embarrassed. I asked her to have the contractor call me, knowing it was not her fault. No call.

Now three days later I was out walking my dog when the contractor’s site supervisor pulled up. I introduced myself to him and we had a conversation about the water. He tried to tell me it was a normal way of doing business that they would take water from neighbors. I told him it was not normal around here and quite presumptuous to assume they could show up early in the morning at my house and even ask. He said he had no idea how much water they used since they did not have a meter on it, not that he offered to pay me for it.

In the last five years contractors have surrounded our house since practically every house on my street has been redone. It has been hell to have workers who scream loudly at each other running very noisy equipment at all hours with little concern about the people who live in the neighborhood

The only exception is Robert Hallyburton whose crews were considerate, the rest have been a nightmare. If I were building a house I would throw a party for the neighbors to apologize for the trouble they have to endure from the contractors.

We are all at the mercy of the people we hire to do work for us. If you are looking for a contractor I would be happy to supply the names of the ones who were not considerate of the neighbors. I am looking forward to having my new neighbor move in who will be so much better than her contractor.

Still Seaching For Jane’s Body

Netflix has done it again.  Introduced a new show called Grace and Frankie staring Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin whose husbands leave them after 40 years of marriage to marry each other.  It came out yesterday and I have already binge watched the whole thing.  My guilt is only half as high as my usual Netflix binge because it is a half hour show.
The show deals with how 70 year old women deal with the loss of their husbands, but to me it is a diet motivational show.  No two women look as good for their age as Jane and Lily.  Hell, they look better than women my age.
Obviously all those years doing aerobics in leg warmers really paid off for Fonda.  Her body is one I would kill to have, but I am not actually willing to give up eating to get it.  In the show she lives basically on alcohol and admits to not having tasted ice cream for the last nine years.  Maybe living with a secretly closeted gay husband that is the secret to cause you to try and attain a perfect body.  If that is the case, then I am happy to have my terribly flawed and very flabby thighs if it means I have a normal husband who is happy to be married to me.
I remember going to see “On Golden Pond” in college with my boy friend and thinking that Jane Fonda in her bikini as a middle aged woman was about as good as anyone could get. She made me feel inadequate then and she still does.  Well, I am here to tell you that some thirty years later she is even better looking.
Lily Tomlin is no slouch either.  She looks about a thousand times better as an old woman than she did as Edith Ann on Laugh In.  Certainly this gives me hope that the best years can still be to come.  I don’t hold out any false hope to have Jane Fonda’s thighs and certainly not her beautiful hands with the long skinny fingers, but if Lily Tomlin, who was no real looker as a younger person can look so great as an old woman, then there is hope for all of us.
Sadly I’ve finished another new series in two days, but at least it gave me lots of incentive to get my steps done.  When is Orange Is The New Black coming back? I don’t really want to be like any of those prison women, but at least the story is so entertaining that if keeps me on the treadmill and that is the only chance to look like Jane.
 

Dana’s Future Graduation Pop-up Restaurant

When I was in kindergarten we lived on the street that dead ended into my elementary school.  What that meant is that many of the kids who lived within a mile of the school walked passed my house to get to and from school.  Since kindergarten was only half day and I went in the morning I quickly discovered a great business in having a regular cookie and lemonade stand when the kids walked home from school.  I did it multiple days so kids learned to have a nickel to buy the cookie for three cents and Dixie cup of lemonade for two.  It was a good tax free business.
Later in third grade I sold nickel packages of Sweet Tart filled Jaw Breakers for a quarter since they were a hot candy commodity that was in short supply at the Wilton Pharmacy.  I quickly learned that rich kids had money to burn and were perfectly happy to pay five times the regular rate just to get their hands on the sweet and sour treat.
This weekend is both UNC and Duke’s graduation as well as Mother’s Day.  Local restaurants are taking full advantage of the proud parents coming to town to celebrate their child’s matriculating achievement.  I learned yesterday that the Washington Duke is making hay by charging $31 for a salad.  Russ somehow got us a reservation at Four Square tonight for dinner, but we had to pre-pay $100 and agree to a $68 three course menu plus 18% tip right off the bat.
I realized I am missing my childhood training of making the most of a hungry situation by not running a pop-up restaurant in my house this weekend.  With the great success of Air B&B I think that I certainly could do the same plan, but for lunch and dinner.  Feeding large numbers of people delicious food is something I am trained to do.  How have I lived in a University town for so long and not taken advantage of the people wanting to come and celebrate?
There must be some parents, probably of a son, who are furious that they are having to eat dinner at Wendy’s because their boy did not try and make any reservations for their party of twelve before last week. I know it is too late for this year, but if I put the word out now that I am willing to cater a big graduation party at my house for just the right family I think I could do almost as well as I did with the jaw breakers.  I have enough China and plenty of space that I could have three or four parties all at the same time.
If this goes well I might also consider making Mother’s Day brunch here.  I would rather be making and serving really good food, than eating mediocre food at the only place available in Durham on graduation weekend.
No more complaining about what graduation does to us locals.  Rather than grumble I’m going to capitalize on the situation, um I mean offer a much needed service to the poor parents who are being fleeced, um I mean provided the opportunity to celebrate their child.  Pass the word, Dana’s Graduation spot will be taking reservations for next year.

Voice Threaten

If you watch TV in North Carolina you must be familiar with the CPI Security ad where what is clearly a robber, a man who practically has a black mask on over his eyes breaks into a house and an announcer says in a deep threatening voice, “CPI Security, identify yourself.” The sound of the husky voice is enough to drive the would be robber out of the house, that and the follow-up voice saying, “the police have been notified.”

My family thinks I missed my calling as a security voice announcer. I say it is never too late. I agree that I have a deep and what can be a scary voice when I am mad. If were a criminal heard me voice telling me to get out I would run for the hills.

Today, I was looking out my office window and noticed a giant black crow standing in the middle of my tender Arugula seedlings eating whatever he wanted. I ran out the garage screaming, “Get the HE%$ out of my garden, “ at the top of my lungs.

Well, walking just behind my giant magnolia tree was an old man I did not see, and a little further up my yard was a woman walking her dog, who apparently was peeing on my grass. Quickly I heard a small voice from the woman, “I’m sorry.” Then the old man, “Me too!” I ventured further down the driveway to find the people I had scared to death.   “I’m sorry, I was screaming at a crow,” I explained.

‘Thank goodness, “ the old man told me. ‘I was worried you had video cameras and were one of those CPI Security people.” I got a big laugh out of that and told him my child also thought I was one of those people. I quickly let him and the dog walking woman know I did not consider them intruders, but secretly I was hoping that maybe she won’t let her dog pee on my new grass again.

If you are looking to make a recording to scare people off your property I am offering my voice up for recordings. I also can do voice messages that scare teenagers when the liquor cabinet is opened or wildlife that might attempt to walk in your garden. I find a there are a lot of advantages to a threatening voice and I’m happy to share it, I’m just glad I did not give any old people walking by my house a heart attack today.  That would not have been good.

The Rainbow Moment

Russ is away so Carter and I decided to grab a quick bite of dinner out. As we were leaving our local eatery we saw a huge rainbow that stretched from one side of the horizon to the other. We both stopped and in the waning light of the evening took in the beautiful colors. Then as is the way of this decade we pulled out our cameras and both took photos and videos. Of course only Carter’s phone could capture the whole thing in one shot.

We got in the car happier than a mother and teenage daughter usually ever are together bathing in the joy that seven little colors in the sky brought us. Of course the tale of the pot of gold being at the end of the rainbow can never be proven since you can never actually find the end of the rainbow, but the happiness seeing that rainbow together tonight brought me something much better than gold; a close moment with my daughter.

If you have a teenager I hope that you can have a rainbow moment with them. It washes away all the crap.

How Old Are You When You Start to Appreciate Good Health?

When I was little I remember an old man, who as I think of it now was probably was not so old, whose house burned down saying, “Well at least I still have my health.” I was about ten or eleven and thought, that is the craziest thing I ever heard, you lost everything, why are you talking about your health? Taking health for granted is certainly something the young can do. The problem is you don’t really appreciate it until it is jeopardized.

Today I went to visit a good friend who had a big health scare and has had to endure a lot of pain for the last six weeks and has many more weeks ahead of her. The good news is she is alive thanks to a good husband and living near a good hospital, but living with pain is something I don’t think any of us want to experience or expect at a relatively young age, did I mention she is younger than I am?

Between my brother-in-laws serious heart attack this winter and this friend’s big illness I am really appreciative of my health. I am not looking for anything I need to fix, but I certainly am feeling my age creeping up and the need to do as much preventative maintenance as possible.

I’m not talking about lines on my face, I am perfectly happy showing the life I have lived when I smile. I’m talking about the things that might kill me. Fat in my organs rather than just fat on my thighs or plaque build-up that could break off and cause a stroke or heart attack.

Maintenance, maintenance, maintenance, that’s what it is after 50. So please pay attention to any warning signs your body might be giving you that something is different. My brother-in-law is alive because a co-worker did not just let him go home and lie down when he thought he hurt his back, it was a heart attack. My friend got to the ER because her husband took her. Waiting would have had a different ending.

I really want all my friends and family to stick around and be able to say right up until the end, “I have my health.” I just don’t want anyone to say it in response to his or her house burning down.

You Are Being Watched

George Orwell wrote 1984 in 1949. He only got the idea that Big Brother is watching our every move off by a few years. I wonder if George were alive today he would recognize our world of cell phone cameras, security cameras, you tube postings and thousands of hours of reality TV as what he described in his prophetic work?

With the proliferation of cameras and ways for people to share what they have filmed I don’t know why people continue to act like no one is watching when everyone is watching. Police should be the first to know that their every moves are being scrutinized. But the people who protest those same police actions with illegal reactions are also being filmed. The problem now is there is no way for society to prosecute all the wrongs that are being filmed.

Not all people protesting are doing anything wrong, but surely if you are doing something wrong the chances are great that someone or something is going to catch it on film. Has society gotten so numb to these pictures of people breaking windows or trashing cars that don’t belong to them that we no longer see the faces? Are their grandparents upset by their showing up on TV or is it all OK somehow?

I never understood when a college team wins a big game and their fans go out and burn things up in their town. The team won, why are you destroying things? How can we change this pattern of reacting to something bad or good with destruction?

I for one figure there are cameras watching everything so I don’t even want to scratch my backside when I’m out in public in case I show up on some horrible You Tube video. When I was a teenager the worst thing that might happen to you was if you went out of the house dressed in a terrible outfit you might show up in the back of the Glamour Magazine with a black bar across your eyes and the label of a “Glamour Don’t.”   I don’t think I ever knew anyone who was published as a “Glamour Don’t,” but the fear of being called one was real. Today, I don’t think people have that same fear. I feel like the reaction to something like that would just be the middle finger.

Now more people are watching, but less people are caring. I think I need to reread 1984 and see how Orwell’s character’s reacted. Somehow the idea that we are being watched has just made people react worse not better.