When Did Dorm’s Need Decorators?

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

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

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

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

Fries on a Salad?!?!?

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

The Last Week of Peace

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

A Successful Surprise

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

Mustard Fig Sauce

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

1/4 c. water

2 T. Balsamic vinegar

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

1T. Green peppercorns

1T. Honey

1t. Lime juice

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

A Cooking Break

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

Practice Parting

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

Friends of All Ages

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

I Miss Carter

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

My Super Power of Choice

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

Kathy Jacobs–Hairdresser, Chef Extraordinaire  

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

New Floors, Same Old Face

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

Whining Is Bad For Your Waist Line

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

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

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

Farro Chicken Salad

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

1 c. Farro

1 t. Olive oil

2 1/2 c. Water

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

1 nectarine – chopped

1/2 an English cucumber chopped

1 avocado chopped

1/2 cup dried cherries

10 oz. Arugula

2 oz. goat cheese crumbled

1 oz. chopped pecans
Dressing

Juice of one orange

2T. Red wine vinegar

2 T. Olive oil

3 packets of Splenda or 1 t. Sugar

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

Supporting Dreams

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

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

 befriend a homeless person.

 get into a WONDERFUL college.

 live in a foreign country for a year.

 tell my parents I love them everyday of my life.

 be a grandmother.

 get married to the love of my life.

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

Final Floor Report

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

One Renovation Leads To Another

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

I’m Not On Vacation

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

Not My Home

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

99% of Texans

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

What a great Friday night!

Love, Shannon

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

Good People Always Are

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

The Power of Blue Eyes

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

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

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

The Vanns Come To HoJo’s

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

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

When Your World’s Collide

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Case of Farmer’s Market Tomatoes Marinara Sauce

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

40 ripe tomatoes – cored and quartered

Salt 

1 small can tomato paste

2 T. Sugar

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

Camp Visit by Shay Shay Lange

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

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

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

The Places Dust Lives

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

Kinston Part Deux

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

The Great Stuff Migration

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

No Cook Tomato Juice

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

1 stalk of celery – chopped

4 large ripe tomatoes- cored and quartered

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

Homemade Tomato Juice – The Cooked Version

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

3 stalks of celery- chopped

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

1/2 t. Salt

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

Vacation Recovery and Vacation Planning

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

The Ying and the Yang

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

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

Merchandising Hell

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

The Dove Bar Room! 

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

Moms’ Camp

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

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?