Anything For Shay

I heard whimpering from Shay before I heard the thunder. She stood at the top of the steps begging me to follow her. Being skittish about storms is a relatively new thing for our six year old baby. Since I had been doing nothing except cleaning all day I thought I could take a break and give Shay the comfort she needed as the storm approached.

As I came up the steps Shay headed for my bedroom. I came through the door and discovered her snuggled down on my new white quilt on the bed. Our bed is her home base safe space. This is what I get for making a mostly white quilt.

Of course quilts are made to be used and loved so the fact that Shay loves to snuggle on it is fine with me. It’s funny that even though the thunder was still clapping Shay stopped crying and shivering once she was at her home base. Oh well, dogs are more important and things.

I Miss Old Refrigerators

I had my day all planed this morning. My friend Jeanne was coming from DC and we were meeting at needlepoint. Our visit was going to be short because I was needed to be at home by one to have my refrigerator finally repaired from my May 9th original call.

I got to needlepoint and got to see Jeanne and Nancy and some bonus friends, Lane, Jane and Amy who all came in while I was there. My visit with Jeanne was much too short and I hardly got any time with Nancy. So sad for me since this was the fun part of my day. I was not planning on seeing any other friends in person since I look like a prize fighter with my eye. (And thanks for the messages of concern. It is an infection and I saw the doctor yesterday.)

I was home at my appointed four hour window for the repair man to come. I thought it was my lucky day when he showed up at hour three. So much better than two hours late like last time.

He took apart my refrigerator, something he did not do at the diagnoses call two weeks ago, and discovered that the back was full of frost and ice.

After thawing it out he said he might not have to replace the motor he had ordered. I was a little perturbed by this since it was something he could have done at my original visit. It turned out that the broken motor was actually broken so he went to replace it. Guess what, they had sent the wrong part. Three to ten days to get the right one and the automatic scheduling program set up his next visit to put the second and hopefully correct motor in on June 20! See Sears is very short on Techs because some other company came in and poached them all for better pay.

Children around Hope Valley might have learned some new words from me I was so mad. So here are the take always for today. Don’t trust that the diagnostic tool that tells the tech what is broken is the only thing that is broken. Make sure they actually order the right part. And don’t buy any products made or sold by Sears and especially don’t buy the extended warranty.

I miss the days when you bought a refrigerator and it was still working thirty years later in the garage.

Primland We Loved Ya

A few years ago our friends the Toms came home from this resort in the mountains of Virginia that we had never heard of raving about what a fun time they had. Then our friends the Prebles did the same. More and more friends had visited this place, yet in all the years we never saw one bit of marketing, not an ad, or an email, or a pop up on travel sites.

Apparently being a best kept secret is how Primland wants it.

When we realized that we had only a few days all summer to take a break with Carter before she goes off to Cheerio for the whole summer we decided that the resort that is only two and a half hours away was the perfect answer.

We arrived at the 12,000 acre resort along the south side of the blue ridge parkway. The gate was very unassuming, but once the voice on the other side of the speaker verified we were guests the doors swung open. We were instructed to follow the signs to the lodge. Thank goodness the signage was good because as we drove the winding roads climbing higher and higher up the mountain we did not see another car or person for the seven mile drive to the lodge.

As we rounded the final switch back the lodge came into view. It was a large, not huge shingle building where four men were waiting out front to greet us. We were staying in one of the pinnacle cottage which were another small drive from the lodge. Our suite was a huge two rooms with two big porches over looking the most astounding view across a valley to another mountain.

Primland was originally a hunting lodge and property of 3,000 acres bought in the seventies by a French family who, over the years amassed the current property four times its original size. They lumbered the property at first, but in 2006 changed the focus to a resort.

We we fascinated with the economics of such a huge property can work with a gorgeous golf course, big hunting operation, fishing and many other outdoor activities and only 26 rooms in the main lodge, five cottage of about 4-6 suites in each and a handful of fairway houses. So of course all three of us asked every worker we encountered all about the operations.

What we found out is that the family who owns it is not concerned with making a profit, “just don’t lose money.” What a model. It certainly pays off for the guests. To that nothing is inexpensive, but it is anything but crowded. While we we there there were only about fifty guests spending each night. The staff was all a twitter about the 150 guests that we’re coming for the holiday weekend. Seems like it is not what they are used to.

There were a few things that made us realize that there were not many of us there. Like one morning it appeared they were short staffed in the kitchen. Our exasperated server was furious that it took them so long to poach me two eggs so she comped our whole breakfast. Carter and I had scheduled some spa treatments and when one of the staff showed up sick so Carter’s massage was canceled. The spa director, who was also a massage therapist, gave Carter a free half hour massage when they couldn’t get another therapist to come in.

Those things were minor in the enjoyment of our vacation. Carter announced it was her favorite vacation we have taken. That is a high bar. We will definitely go back. I think we will stick to the non-holiday visits so we don’t stress the staff.

La Luna

While I was holding a hot compress to my eye most of the morning Russ and Carter were shooting skeet. Turns out, like golf, Carter is a fairly good shot. That makes two new expensive hobbies she has taken up in three days.

Russ, being the frugal one in the group went out for the most difficult hike while Carter and I went to the spa. His phone registered that he did 84 flights of stairs in an hour and fifteen minutes. Even though it looks like I was punched in the eye, no one at the spa said a thing to me.

Being our last night on vacation (the name of the place will be revealed tomorrow when I am at home) we made the most of it. Our resort has an observatory and after dinner we went up and had a star gazing time with Lauren, the resident astronomer. It was the only clear night since we have been here so we felt lucky to see Saturn, Venus and a number of different galaxies. We also saw the international space station fly by. Carter got this fantastic photo of the moon through one of the smaller telescopes.

After star gazing up high we went down low and sat by the fire pit where s’mores are always available. Other than the glow of the fire there were very few lights on so we could see the stars we just learned about.

As we walked back to our cottage with only the light of our phones and the moon we saw the shape of some big animal pass in front of us. This type of nature is not the kind Carter likes. It didn’t like us anymore either and kept moving away from our cottage so we got in safely.

Back to hot compresses for me and the hope that tomorrow I will start to be on the downside of this stye. Carter has already announced she is going to the driving range before we go home. What have we done?

What’s Scary

It never fails, just as we go away for a small family getaway I get a stye in my eye. I woke up yesterday feeling like I had been punched in the eye in my sleep, but other than pain bellow my eye and in my lid I was fine. Russ thought I might have been bitten by something while gardening. I did not think much about it yesterday, it then I woke up this morning with a much more swollen eye. UGH!

Hot compresses are the thing to do, but that is just not convenient or easy. So I tried to wear my big sunglasses all day to hide my unattractive eye. Thankfully thee were very few people on the hiking trial Russ and I walked today. It was considered moderate, which I should realize means hard for me.

We saw two deer, a giant spider and soon after that a tiny mouse ran right by me and under a rock. I was more afraid of the mouse than anything.

While Russ and I hiked Carter was taking a golf lesson. The pro said this morning that she was incredibly coachable. Must have been true because after her lesson she came to get me to show me her driving. I was astonished at how consistently straight and far she hit it. Hard to believe that she never played all those years at Hope Valley and now she likes golf.

As we were walking to the pool we saw a big black snake which made Carter run faster than she ever did in any basketball game. The mouse was still more scary to me than the snake. Of course the scariest thing of all is me without my sunglasses on.

When Did I Get So Short?

I used to be accused of being much taller than I am. When compared to my truly tall friend Lynn, I was considered equal or taller than her. It had nothing to do with my actual height. “I’m not tall, I’m just loud,” was my response. Well, it was not absolutely true, yes I am loud, but I was above average in height, which makes me on the tall side, just not as tall as Lynn.

I am able to reach high shelves in the kitchen without a step stool. I know that all the dried chilies are on the top shelf and I can grab them without aid. I can’t reach the canister of chicken broth powder without the help of the kitchen tongs, but I am tall enough to put it back on the shelf without the tongs.

Since Carter has been home I have noticed that I am on a different level from her and Russ. They could be having a totally different conversation without me up there is the stratosphere. I feel somewhat inferior.

Now with my new found shortness I wonder if I had left any of my short friends out of things inadvertently? Had I ever talked over someone’s head with no notice of their facial expressions because they were not on my eye level? Had I hung things too high for a vertically challenged friend to see?

Being around Russ and Carter gives me a new appreciation for people with all kind of handicaps that I might not have appreciated before. Now that I have the worse eyes in the family I am feeling very feeble.

Yes, I am sure I am shrinking. Gravity has that affect on all of us if we are lucky enough to live long enough for it to take effect. But I don’t think I have shrunk that measurably much. It is just the perception that I am so far the shortest now. It is all relative, and when your relatives are giants you feel even shorter.

What Are You Wearing?

When I was a kid in grade school it was common practice for girls to call each other and say, “What are you wearing to school tomorrow?” It was code for, “Are you wearing a skirt?” For some reason girls didn’t want to show up at school and be the only girl in a dress. Why, it hardly mattered since if we were wearing a dress or a skirt we were also wearing shorts underneath. Mostly it was that we never wanted to stand out so if you matched with your friend you had an automatic ally.

This is not a practice that continues for me into adulthood. Sometimes I will call a friend and inquire what the dress code might be. Once in a blue moon I end up buying the same dress as a friend, so I might ask her if she is wearing “our” dress to an event to prevent showing up wearing the same thing. I never want to be included in a “who wore it better” spread because I will be certain to loose that.

Tonight we went to a party at the Teer farm. As Russ was getting dressed I told him that we were going to be outside and to change his leather loafers to boat shoes since the ground was saturated. I wish I hadn’t done that because it meant that he did not totally match his very close friend Logan.

I know they did not call each other and ask, “What are you wearing?” It is just the psychic thing that happens between Russ and his close friends. More days than not when Russ and his business partner Rich go to a meeting together they show up wearing matching outfits and I am not just talking white shirts and khaki pants. At some point I think Russ might need to adopt calling his guy friends and finding out what they are wearing, just to make sure they aren’t matching.

Nothing Like A Royal Wedding

Like so many people I woke up this morning to see our American Princess marry her prince. I figured it was my last chance to watch a British Royal wedding of any consequence for at least another quarter century and no one does weddings better than the Royals.

To me the highlight was Bishop Curry, who until recently was the North Carolina Episcopal Bishop. His homily really rocked the stiff upper lip crowd, who looked nervously at their programs. I was waiting for Oprah to give him a big, “Amen.”

It was such fun that the whole thing was held at Windsor where they have the best chapel. As the newly married Duke and Duchess were parading in the landau carriage right after the ceremony all I could think of was how in the world did all those people get to Windsor? It’s not such a big town, with very little parking and the train service from London is not direct.

Russ and I took Carter there one March Day a few years back and I remember we had to change trains.

As Harry and Meghan were driving in the carriage surrounded by the queen’s horse guards, I thought I recognized a few. That same day we went to Windsor he happened upon the horse guards having their annual photo taken in Hyde Park. Of course they do all look alike in their very fine uniforms.

There is nothing like a good Royal wedding to take the world’s attention off Brexit. I think that Meghan is the right person at the right time for Britain. She appears to have the queen’s blessing based on the story that the queen gave Meghan’s dog a ride out to Windsor. The best way to the queen’s heart is either through a dog or a horse.

The saddest part for me now that the wedding has come and gone is this means the news is going to turn back to our “I am the king” guy in the White House. It was so nice for a little while to pretend he wasn’t there.

The Beauty Of Collaborations

Today was a really fun day thanks to two people I collaborate with in totally different areas of my life. The first was my long arm quilter, Tina Schwager and the second is my bridge mentor and great friend Deanna Larus.

Over a month ago I dropped off my most recent pieced quilt top and back at Tina’s house. It was my largest and most favorite quilt I have designed and sewn so far. It was a complicated design where I used a lot of negative space so the quilting was going to be paramount in the design.

Tina is a true artist and I love collaborating with her on what the possibilities are to turn my flat work into an even better 3-d piece. I had envisioned a very complicated quilting design, but Tina took it even two or three steps beyond anything I could have imagined.

I have on illusions that I will ever be able to do this level of quilting myself. I don’t have the space for the right equipment and it is not the way I want to spend my time. But I do create the quilt pieced designs with the quilting design in mind and I love that Tina is able to translate my vision onto the finished quilt.

I can hardly wait to get to work hand sewing the binding edge this weekend and putting this quilt on my bed.

My second great collaboration is at the bridge table. Twenty years go I learned to play with my friend Deanna. She went on to be a life master and this year has pulled me back into bridge by being my mentor. She has her choice of practically any partner and could be much more successful in the point count if she wasn’t playing with me. I so appreciate her generosity to teaching me. It is thanks to her that I get master points every time we play together. I know that I can never catch up to her, but I look forward to the day I am not her handicap.

National Ed Carter Day

Sorry if today happened to be your birthday too, but today is reserved for my Dad who turns 80 today. It is shocking to think he is 80 because he hardly seems any different that when he was 30. Maybe because he hasn’t changed one bit.

It helps when you lose your hair young, because then you don’t age. You don’t get grey hair when you don’t have any. It helps that your vocabulary is still as colorful as ever. I never worried about Carter learning “bad” words from my Dad because they were said just like regular words and with the same frequency.

If you look up the definition of generosity in the dictionary there is a full color photo of my Dad. He always has advice for everyone and usually it is correct.

If you ask him to write something it will be long, even if you were just looking for a summary. He wants to know you are really paying attention to him when he talks and you know he is serious about it when it starts with, “Follow with me now…” And it always starts with “Follow with me now…”

He might make you mad, but he is often right. Maybe you are mad about the way he tells you, because he will always tell you when you are going the wrong way.

If he likes what you are telling him you will know it because he says, “yeah, yeah.”

There has never been a better story teller, but you probably should cover young children’s ears.

He never thought he would be 80 because he started many conversation with me as a young child with, “I have to tell you this before I die.” At first I was worried that he was going to die that or the next day, but then I realized he has a lot to tell me before he dies so it is not going to happen anytime soon.

If he likes you, you are the best person on earth and if he doesn’t you are a dumb ass and no one is in between.

So on this National Ed Cater day I just want to tell this before I die, now follow me, he is one funny son of a bitch, yeah, yeah.

My Favorite Grade School Teacher, Dale Stoelting

Today, many schools around North Carolina were closed because teachers went to Raleigh to protest how schools are funded and they are treated. When I was a kid my parents moved to Connecticut because the public schools there were so highly rated. Back in the sixties teachers were at least respected, but still not always well paid.

I think that as working conditions went the teachers in Wilton were on the high end of the scale. That being said, I am not sure they were paid enough to live in Wilton. I say this because my very favorite teacher, Dale Stoelting, who was both my fourth and sixth grade teacher rented a room to live in at someone’s house in Wilton.

I was very fortunate to have her as a teacher. My fourth grade class was extraordinary and when we moved on to fifth grade we kept in touch with Miss Stoelting even though we were in a different building. She missed our class so much she made the unusual move to change from teaching fourth to sixth grade and somehow got most of our original fourth grade back.

Having her as my teacher for two years meant that I really got to know her well. We had her over to our house for dinner, which was the most exciting thing to me. That was how I learned that she didn’t live in an apartment or a house. It seemed so wrong to me, as a child, that such an important person in my life did not earn enough to live independently in the town where she worked.

Now Wilton did not have any high density housing due to strict zoning laws. That seemed very short sighted even to me way back then. How could we attract good teachers if we don’t have any place for them to live?

The current state of the public schools in North Carolina is not a map for success. Most of the problems we have in the whole country could be solved with better education. If we want to have people to take care of us in old age, we need to do a good job educating young people today.

I would love to know what happened to Miss Stoelting. She was the kind of teacher that inspired her students to be their best. She was the first teacher who encouraged me to use my voice and stand up for what I believe in. That is priceless.

Growing Old Together

In the ever stretching out of all things Birthday my dear friend Sara took me to lunch. Since she is fighting unknown food allergies we went to Happy and Hale so she could have a salad of limited choices. I was perfectly happy to go along with this plan, but felt guilty eating somethings on my salad, which she could not. It seems that no matter how old we get new allergies can pop up. This hardly is fair that she has to cut out most all foods and then slowly add them back to see how they make her feel.

As we enjoyed our salads we discussed a group we are both part of. We wanted to talk about new officers we had received word of in an email, but neither of us could remember who always on the list.

“Who sent the email?” I asked so I could look it up on my phone.

“I don’t remember,” Sara replied.

I scrolled through back emails, wondering why I had not deleted messages from the Boston Globe, Talbots and the American Cancer Society. Eventually I found it. I read the names allowed one by one.

“I don’t think I know her,” I said after one name.

“I think she is tall and skinny.” Sara told me. Not enough information for me to figure it out.

“Who is that one?” Sara asks.

“I think I met her once, but I can’t recall what she looks like or where she lives.”

And so it went on like that. Of the group of a dozen names we thought we knew maybe half, but of that we still could not be sure. Some of them I might know by sight, but could not put a name to.

When we finished that fruitless exercise we decided it was a good thing we have known each other as long as we have because we might be all we have as we get older and less and less reliable in our recall of people we have met.

I used to be able to tell you where everyone I ever met grew up, went to school and worked. If I were pushed I could describe them to a T so that a police sketch artist could reproduce such a likeness that they would be instantly recognizable. Those skills are completely gone for new people I meet these days, but I can still recite all that information for all my high school and college friends perfectly.

At church we have these little “friendship pads” in each pew where we write our names each Sunday and pass the pad along so we can learn the names of the people in our pew. When we first joined our church I thought it was a silly exercise because of course I knew everyone’s name, even when I was a fairly new congregant. Now I wait for that friendship pad to be passed to me so I can refresh my memory of who that young couple is sitting at the end of the pew, where they have sat three weeks in a row.

I don’t think I am losing my memory any faster than anyone else or that I have a memory issue, I just think my younger recall was extraordinary and now I am less than average. At least that is the way I measure myself compared to Sara. I wish we both were better at remembering, but I feel like I am in good company. Thankfully she has been a friend for so long I’ve got her in lockdown in my mind.

Playing Hooky

The best kinds of days are ones where I get to play an unscheduled Mah Jongg. My friend Carol had lots of family in town over the weekend for Duke’s graduation. In true form she had so much leftover yummy food that she had to have an emergency Mah Jongg game so we could eat up her leftovers.

Not only did we have delicious lunch but she had so many bouquets of flowers that she gave me two to bring home. Lunch, Mah Jongg, lots of games won and flowers, cha-ching a great way to spend the afternoon.

This feels like a bonus to Mother’s Day. Thanks to Carol. The only reason I don’t feel guilty is that I got lots of done at home this morning. Of course, even if I did feel guilty I still would have played. Never pass up a chance to play with your friends. Your work will always be there.

Happy Mother’s Day and Dad’s Birthday Brunch

After a successful surprise birthday dinner last night we had the not-a-surprise birthday brunch for my Dad this morning as well as celebrating Mother’s Day for my mother and me.

All our out of town guests had stayed at my friend Shelayne’s Courtyard Marriott in Danville, which they all said was wonderful. Thanks to Shelayne for making that happen. They took a walk along the river before arriving at the farm to have a big brunch, which my sisters, aunt and mom had made with me. It was almost more fun than the party the night before.

After everyone ate strata, fruit, salmon, bagels, and ham biscuits we gathered in one room where I read a tribute to my father from my best childhood friend, Tom Hurdman. It was written in old English so I passed out the copies of it for everyone to follow along as I read it. Thankfully Tom had given me a translation. My father loved it and it was a hit with the gathered friends.

We had such a good time reminiscing about all our old times together and vacations taken together. It meant so much to my father than these friends made the trip all the way to the farm to honor him as he turns 80. It sounds like such a big number for such a young guy.

Sometime after noon the last guest departed and our nuclear family was left to celebrate Mother’s Day. I gave my mother her needlepoint pillow which I had finished for her. Carter game me a tea towel that said, “OMG, my mother was right about everything,” and a darling wooden box filled with notes about what she loves about me. Let’s just say those are about the best gifts I ever could have gotten. Plus she is cooking dinner for us all tonight.

In true Carter fashion she came to Russ’ rescue with the best Mother’s Day present he could give me, a trip for the weekend to visit Carter in Boston in the fall. How she worked out a gift for herself in the process is brilliant and much appreciated by me. I think she has offered Russ a gift consultant contract and he may be signing it.

This was a very successful weekend. We surprised my father and he was not unhappy about it. We got quality time with dear old friends, and we were all together for Mother’s day. I hope your weekend was at least half as good because then I know you were happy.

Dad’s Surprise Birthday Party

My dad is turning 80 next week. It is not really something he seems to be very excited about, but it’s a pretty good thing. Our friends Anne and Mark offered to give him a birthday party up in Annopolis. My dad declined. So my mother decided that if he didn’t want a party in Annopolis she would throw him a surprise party. Oh lord, this plan was fraught with lots of potential pitfalls.

First my mother had to find a place to hold it that was acceptable. Then she had to save up the money to pay for it. Then a very small guest list of only the closest of friends had to be drawn up, most of which were coming from Washington, all the while keeping this all a secret from my father. The hardest part of the whole plan was how we were going to get him to go to this restaurant at the right time.

My mother asked me to invite him. I asked Carter to ask him, thinking that he would never say No to his only grandchild. She did and he said No. So my sister Janet had to get involved. Eventually he gave in and said he would go to dinner with my mom, sisters and my family, but he wasn’t happy about it.

The out of town friends were staying at the nicest hotel in Danville and they all dutifully arrived at the restaurant on time. It was decided that we would not say “surprise,” because we didn’t want to scare my Dad. He walked in the room and when he saw all the friends gathered there he said exactly what I predicted, “Shit!” He may not have been happy at first, but he quickly warmed up.

There were many of the friends we had worked with in London, Washington or Kansas City together. It was so fun for me to see them. I think my Dad had a good time and my Mom pulled it all off.

Mark Schweitzer, who has known my dad since Mark was nine years old, just a mere 51 years ago gave a lovely toast, as did Cousin Harry. My sister Margaret said many sweet things about my Dad and I gave him the bad news, that we were having all these people to the farm tomorrow for brunch. Surprise! A second party. There is nothing he hates more than having a surprise party, except when it is with people he really loves.

I hope he remembers this as a very fun night because it really was and my Mom did a fabulous job to make it happen.

Waffle House Nightmares

I was driving in my car today with NPR playing as is my custom and I heard a news story about Dr. Martin Luther King’s daughter asking people to boycott Waffle House. I had missed the news the last few days and knew nothing of the two incidents of police arresting people at two different Waffle Houses, but I could have guessed it. See nothing good ever happens at a Waffle House after midnight.

My nightmares of Waffle House started my first year out of college when I sold Mail Opening machines. I had a five state territory, which included North Carolina, home of Waffle House. My s.o.b. boss would always pick Charlotte as the place he wanted to work with me because he loved Waffle House. Before I worked with him I had never even heard of a Waffle House.

Selling mail opening machines also meant training the customers how to use them when we installed new machines. Charlotte was a hub of banking, so I had plenty of good customers who ran our machines three shifts. That meant that I often had to go train people in the middle of the night. It was the second least glamorous part of my job.

The first least glamorous part was having to go to Waffle House with my boss at four in the morning after being up all night at a bank. Going to a Waffle House at that hour sober was an eye opening experience. You really get to see the under belly of America. Truck drivers, shift workers, people who shouldn’t be out driving, and cops, lots of cops.

I saw newlyweds, who just got married after one of them was released from prison that day, I think it was her, and people who were missing their important teeth. If I had a crystal ball when I was in boarding school and could have told my History teacher Rita Shay that I would one day be sitting in a Waffle House with my boss, who barely graduated from an unaccredited Christian college, but was my boss since his Dad owned the business, she would have told me to leave her class and not waste her fine education on anyone who one day would darken the door of a Waffle House.

I am happy to say that once I left that company I never had any reason to even drive by the parking lot of a Waffle House. I knew that nothing good could ever come from such a place, and not because they would scrape all the shit off the grill and it would land in the waffle irons. I knew that somehow you had to really hit rock bottom to consider eating at a Waffle House.

So that fact that they are making the national news for bad things happening there just isn’t news to me. I don’t know the details of these incidents, but Dr. King’s daughter might really be doing God’s work to save people by asking them to stop going to Waffle House.

Harvard 100 Reaches 100

Seven years ago I was in the first class of seven non-profit board chairs to be sent to Harvard by Chuck ReCorr. It was an evolutionary four days for me. He called it an experiment in training non-profit leadership. Then he sent our CEO’s six months later. He liked what happened to our organizations so he sent another class of seven the next year. Then he decided he was going to send 100 people in total, seven at a time, both spring and fall.

This year the 100 has been realized. For each of us individually it was empowering, but as a group we are formidable. So tonight at one of our regular gatherings one of our best professors from the Harvard program, Dutch Leonard, came to speak, as well as to honor Chuck.

According to Dutch, no other community in the country has invested in their non-profit leadership the way the triangle has and it’s all thanks to one man, Chuck ReCorr. He has spent a half a million of his own dollars to do this.

Now it is time for the community to pick up the reigns and continue funding this kind of investment ourselves. The idea Chuck had that if non-profits learned to collaborate and work together we could move the needle to improve our community faster. Having so many organizations all attend the same courses so we speak the same language and get to know each other has been a big help. It takes a while to break down silos but it is beginning to happen. Of course this is a long term project, one I believe in.

If you are part of a non-profit and would like to learn about how you can improve your leadership and join the collaborative let me know. You can not only improve your own organization, but you can improve our whole community.

Here is a link to a nice article about Chuck from Walter Magazine

http://www.waltermagazine.com/featured/harvard-100

Carter’s Double Civic Duty

Yesterday while everything was breaking at my house Carter was doing her civic duty double time. Her day started early with her reporting for jury duty down at the new Durahm Court House. Before she went she was excited about jury duty, then reality that perhaps she would be seated on a long trial got her worried.

She peppered me with questions about how the whole thing worked and was frustrated when I told her that jurors sitting in the Jurors’ lounge were just pawns in the “let’s make a deal” real life of lawyers. Sure enough the clerk of courts told them that she originally had three cases that needed jurors at the start of the day and that quickly became one.

Carter sat and read her book all morning until she was released for a two and a half hour lunch break. She texted me she was going over to have lunch with Russ. I told her that she might get excused as soon as she gets back since she got such a long lunch. Sure enough that is what happened. At least she got her certificate showing she has served, in case she gets called in Boston, which I hear lots of college students do.

The good news about her getting out early is she was able to get home and pick me up to do her second civic duty and vote for the very first time. It was only a primary, but she was still mad bout missing the chance to vote in the presidential election last year because she was a month and a day too young.

She drove us to St. Stephens and when we checked in all the poll workers were so excited that a young person was coming to vote. They congratulated her on being a first time voter. There were only three races, but Carter had researched the candidates and knew exactly who she wanted to vote for. It was a proud moment for me and quite frankly the highlight of my day. I hope she never misses a chance to do her civic duty.

No Peace Of Mind

After the first three dinners I hosted with my friend Sara for our Church capital campaign it became obvious that the people who came to dinner were good pledgers. Since not everyone we invited could come to one of the first dinners, I volunteered that we needed a fourth one to try and capture some more pledges. Sadly the best day to do it was one where Sara was away on a much deserved delayed vacation. No problem, I can certainly handle a dinner for 18 by myself.

We planned it for tonight because I was going to be stuck at home all day with the treemen taking down nine trees and an unknown number of shrubs and volunteer trees on our property. Carter had her first jury duty so it seemed like a good day to cook.

I was awoken by a Russ telling me that the refrigerator had failed at some point during the night. This was not the news I needed. We emptied it and by the time that was over the repair line was open. The woman I first spoke with asked me to turn the fridge off at the breaker to see if it might come back on. It did! Hurrah! I wish I had known that before I moved all the food into coolers.

I went about prepping my food. About two hours later the fridge went out again. Not a good sign. I called back to the repair service. We had bought a 5 year extended warranty on this product when we purchased it two years go. I had the original sales receipt and the warranty contract. The next woman I spoke with verified my warranty, but asked if I lived in a rural area. No, we have about a million people here. “I don’t understand then,” she went on, “because our first available appointment is May 29.”

You can imagine what choice words I had for that. She gave me the number of the benefits coordinator for my contract and told me they might be able to help me. I called the next woman. Her help went like this:

1. An offer to give me a credit to buy a mini fridge to hold us over until the repair May 29. NO.

2. An offer for me to find and call a third party repair service myself and they would pay for it. NO.

I made it clear that I had my contract and a lawyer. Amazingly she put me on hold and came back with a repairman who can come tomorrow. Now that does not mean it will be fixed tomorrow, since they don’t have parts, but at least it is a start.

She did tell me that after the repair man comes I can make a claim for lost food. I wonder how much they pay for that?

I went back to cooking, but realized I needed to make a phone call and discovered that our landline was dead. Now I had to call the phone company and ask for a repair. That went a little more smoothly, but the jury is still out until it actually gets fixed, which did not happen today.

I was very busy cooking all day and only when the treemen came to the door to say they were done did I look at the wasteland of my yard that was created by taking all these tree down. Now I need a major landscaping job. This is going to take a while. Hopefully I will have a working refrigerator before I get that project done.

Pageant Month For Me

My friend Lee calls birthday’s pageants, because celebrating them goes on for a whole month. I guess that when you get to be our age it is a pageant. So in that spirit today I went to lunch with my friends Lynn and Shelayne in celebration of still being alive.

One of the beauties of having a May birthday is being able to eat lunch outside because it is warm enough and not too warm. That is why we chose to go to the Washington Duke, because it has an excellent chopped salad and a nice patio to eat it on.

Sadly, despite being the perfect temperature and amount of sun the patio was closed so the gutters and awnings could be cleaned. We had a fabulous lunch, inspire of not getting our usual out door table.

This just means that some other pageant activity will have to take place on the Wadu terrace, but not until after Duke Graduation. In case you don’t know this come Wednesday or Thursday before graduation, the Wadu, reduces it’s normal menu down to just a few things they can make quickly because demand is so high. I feel sorry for those parents who come to stay for graduation expecting something grand and they are confronted with the mini menu. I wonder if the Wadu lets people know that when they make reservations.

“Sir, since you are booking a room during our busiest weekend of the year I just want you to know we will be reducing our offerings in all restaurants and we want you to hurry along because other people will want to eat too.”

Seems like they could have scheduled the cleaning of the gutters and awnings for the time after lunch today so we could have enjoyed the terrace as we had planned. Power washing right during the height of lunch was not really a good idea.

But lunch with my friends was so fun just the same, we forgot to take a picture. We normally have a no gift rule, but Shelayne never follows rules, with the excuse “I have this and thought you should have it too.” She gave me pair of fabulous waterproof kitchen gloves. I am anti gifts, but her timing was perfect since my oven mitts and getting thin right where my fingers grab the handles on hot pans.

I do love pageant month.

Birthday Mystery

For my birthday this year, my old friend Warren, who I don’t usually exchange gifts with, sent me a package. As I opened the box, I saw the “EBay” logo tape. Warren is an avid scavenger of all things EBay and I wondered what odd treasure he had discovered.

Inside the well bubble wrapped package was a small salad or cake plate with the Ethel Walker School motto, “Nullas Horas Nisi Aureas” and the school symbol, a sundial. The border of the plate had an intricate design in blue and gold, not our purple and gold colors. Never in my years at EWS had I seen any such plate or pattern. In the seventies we used that white heavy ironstone which was so popular at institutions of all kinds.

I showed it to Russ and translated the Latin for him “no hours unless golden” as I remembered it. I was the poorest possible Latin student when I was a sophomore at EWS so I memorized the motto in case I was ever asked what it was. Never once in my years there did we ever discuss what the hell the motto meant. I have come to learn that basically it is a charge not to waste time. Ethel Walker girls were experts at wasting time, we were teenagers after all.

I called Warren to ask him the details of exactly how he had found this rare plate. He told me it was advertised on Ebay as an Ethel Walker School plate. Since there are no makings indicting the connection to the school we surmised it must have been stolen from the dining hall by a student, because how else would someone know it’s connection.

What neither of us could figure out was when were these plates used. So all my Walkers friends with mothers or grandmothers who went to Walkers can you show them this picture and ask if they used these plates. I would love to know why era it was from.

As for the motto, I have obviously never lived up to it because I have spent countless hours in my life wasting time. The only other Latin I can recall from class with Mrs. Dumbrow was, “Semper Ubi Sub Ubi” translated literally means “Always where under where.” Not the right where, but a motto I actually have lived by.

Winter Right Into Summer

In any normal year I am chomping at the bit to plant my garden in March. I know perfectly well the rule for North Carolina is not to plant until after April 15 for fear of frost, so I hold myself back. Not this year. I had no desire to do any work in the frigid garden until well into May. What is this Maine?

These lack of warm days tempting me to prep the soil or start seeds did not happen the same way it usually does. The was no soil improvement program as a precursor to planting. It was just too cold. Then it warmed up and fast.

Last weekend Russ tilled my garden. Even that didn’t excite me about planting. Then the summer day came. So I spent the better part of today laying down zinnia seeds in neat rows and scattering arugula seeds. Five zucchini plants and three cucumber are the only veggies so far. I am so sick of feeding deer they are the only ones I am going to attempt.

Then I turned to herbs. I had started thyme seeds indoors and I transplanted 30 tender little brown pelts of seedlings. They are so fragile that I am unsure if they will make it. The three hardy basil plants I put in should be fine.

After planting, watering and cleaning up weeds I turned to my peonies and decided to cut a bunch of flowers before the rain comes tomorrow and ruins them.

I may be late in my planting, but I hope come June I will be glad I did it. Maybe cutting my own salad from my arugula patch will make me forget the long cold winter we endured.

A Perfect Send Off

When I wrote my blog last Sunday night about Russ and I learning to play Pétanque from our friend Francois Deprez I certainly had no inkling that we would get a chance to play with him again. Francois had a freak tree accident Monday and his sweet wife let him go in the wee hours Wednesday.

Today we went to his funeral at University Methodist where his favorite Grateful Dead song was performed and the preacher told tales of Francois love of a good negotiation as well as the superior game of Pétanque. My friend Christina and their two sons held up as the gathering of their many friends went out to their home/Inn to continue the celebration of Francois much too short a life.

I was hugging Christina while she discussed how she is going to win every Mah Jongg game this year, thanks to sympathy, Russ wandered by the open shed where he caught sight of the Pétanque sign. It raided us both to not waste anytime doing the mundane, but to spend time enjoying friends.

I hope that any disagreements I am in with loved ones can be forgotten. We just don’t know how much time we have to bother arguing over small stuff.

One of the best things was Francois obituary. It ended with, “In lieu of flowers, please buy someone a Dos Equis.” I plan on doing that.

What A Nice Day

I don’t care what anyone says about Facebook, it makes birthdays so much better. Before it existed only your very closest s friends might remember your birthday on the actual day, and even then, they had a hard time acknowledging it in a timely manor. With Facebook you get hundreds of birthday wishes from people near and far. Thank you to all of you who sent me some sentiment. It made my day.

Between getting those Facebook recognitions, emails and phone calls I had just a nice day. It started with a morning drive to Raliegh where I had to be interviewed and video taped for a surprise film for someone I can’t name here. Since I was in Raleigh, I stopped by the farmers market and got some plants for my vegetable garden.

I came home in time to go to lunch with Carter at Parker and Otis. We spent a good amount of time discussing her favorite childhood toys and random early memories. She got mad t me that I asked if we could go home after a couple of hours. “We are having so much fun talking,” she said, as if we couldn’t talk at home. Which we didn’t.

I had some quality needlepoint time this afternoon. Since Carter is home I am trying to stay out of the sweat shop next to her room. I wanted to watch something on demand on TV but discovered that the ON DEMAND feature was OFF DEMAND on my cable box. That led to a twenty minute call with the cable guy only to determine I have to exchange the box at the cable company tomorrow. If that was the only low point of my day, it was still a good birthday.

While I was needlepointing the doorbell rang and my friend Stacey w standing at the door with this beautiful arrangement she had made. Stacey recently opened Figtree design florists and has filled the void that the closing of Family Garden left in Russ Lange’s life.

The photograph of these flowers does not do them justice.

Russ came home and I opened presents, the best one being a book Carter made about me, or more exactly about a person born on May, 3 1961. It is very cool.

Then we went to dinner at the St.James and had a rollicking time. All in all it was quite a nice birthday. The best part is my friends drag birthdays out over the month, since none of us ever get it together to celebrate on the actual day. So I have some fun lunches to look forward to and a trip to NYC with Russ to see Suzanne and Steve. Hooray for me!

Happiness and Heartbreak

Twenty six years ago today Russ went against his mother’s suggestion that he could still get out of this and married me anyway. It has been one wonderful quarter century plus one. I can’t imagine having a more supportive husband than Russ. No matter what crazy scheme I come up with he is down for it. And he never complains able it the baggage I brought along in this deal.

I am even more appreciative of him today because my friend Christina lost her husband in the wee hours of this morning to a freak tree accident. You just don’t know how long you have together so it’s best to let the small stuff slide and enjoy your partner for being the one who sticks with you.

My heart is breaking for a Christina and her two sons. I feel a little guilty to be celebrating my anniversary. But we all have to go on with whatever life gives us. I am just thankful that life gave me Russ Lange and along with him Carter Lange.

So I pray today for those who have lost a love and those who have a love to hold tight to. Make the most of everyday, always say “I love you,” when you part and appreciate each other.

The Worst Words

I woke up this morning to a message from a friend, “call me when you wake up.” Those were not the kind of words that make you think it is going to be good news. And it wasn’t, but it’s not my story to tell. But I am asking you for prayers, or good vibes, or anything you believe in for a friend of mine. You don’t need to know the name to pray for someone. Just wish the best to keep a family in the light.

Do You Need Help In May?

May is almost a busier month than December if you have children. There are recitals, closing exercises, end of year performances, sports awards, graduations and end of year parties. How are you supposed to get everything done?

Well if you need help with driving little ones, picking up groceries, walking your dog or babysitting in the month of May, Carter is home on the weekdays and is ready to work. She is working the weekends at Camp Cheerio until she goes at the end of the month to get the horses at camp ready and stays for the rest of the summer.

She said to me LI need things to do on the weekdays until I go to the mountain for the whole summer.” So what better way to put the word out of her availability than through the blog. Just send me a message and I will give you her text.

Sorry if you read this and want her to work in some place other than Durham or Chapel Hill. I would like to keep her home a couple days this summer since I won’t see her from May 25- the end of August, except for our July 4th visit to Camp for one meal.

So if you want dinner made for the kiddos, or just want to go for a walk without the kids, give Carter a call

The Old Folks At Home

Years ago we were introduced to the French version of Bocce called Pétanque by our friends the Deprez. Russ and I were instantly hooked on this ball throwing game. I purchased a Pétanque set of heavy metal balls in San Francisco and brought them home in my carry on later that year. Then Russ told his father we liked this game and he gave us another set of balls for Christmas or a birthday, I can’t remember because it was like six years ago.

The Deprez have a fancy Pétanque court made out of stone dust and metal edging on their beautiful bed and breakfast property. We thought we needed to build something similar in order to play at our house. And so the sets of ball languished in the garage, pristine and untouched.

The list of outdoor improvements at our house far exceeds our budget, our time or our energy. Yesterday, after Russ leveled my garden beside the driveway he came in and announced that if we completed one outdoor project every weekend we might get through our list in three years. That was a very generous timeline.

Last weekend while cleaning out the garage Russ found both Pétanque sets. He thought about building that court and went online to read about it. To his surprise the only requirement for a court was flatness. “It can be grass, gravel or sand.” he told me. We had the perfect driveway Pétanque court all this time.

Today, while Carter was still away working at Camp Cheerio for the weekend we started playing. I was ahead by two points as Carter pulled in the driveway. “Are you all playing Bocce?” She asked in an accusatory tone.

We explained it was French and she still thought it was something for old people who lived in queens. We pointed out that the very regal Shay who was sitting on her bed at the edge of the garage watching made it fancier than a Carter thought. Carter didn’t buy that. Nevertheless Russ and I didn’t let her disdain stop us from finishing our game, where Russ won.

I see some good driveway parties in our future. Get out the folding lawn chairs and the styrofoam beer cozies, we are going to embrace being old farts.

Amba, Never Heard of Her

In the continuation of my Israeli Street Food study, something I know nothing about in person yet still want to master, I made this mango sauce called Amba. It is a sweet and sour sauce to put on Chicken shawarma or falafel. Tonight I served it with both lamb meatballs, falafel and chicken. It is spicy, but not so over whelming that you burn your mouth. It takes a little time to make, and now I wish I had made more, but it is not difficult.

2 underripe mango- peeled and diced into small cubes

2 T. Sea salt

1T. Mustard seeds

1 T. Fenugreek -ground

1T. Cumin

Dash of cayenne pepper

Juice of a lemon

1 T. Red wine vinegar

3T. Brown sugar

Water

Toss the diced mango and the salt and put in a plastic container covered, in The fridge overnight.

The next day toast the mustard seeds in a dry fry pan for 15 seconds. Add the other spices and the mangos. Stir on medium heat. Add the other ingredients and stir

Until the sugar melts.

Keep cooking until the mangos go soft. Add a little water as needed to keep the mixture moist. It may require about 15 minutes of cooking. As the mangos soften they will get a little darker and the sauce will thicken up.

Remove from heat and cool. Place the sauce in a jar and let the flavors marry another day before eating.

It is similar to a mango chutney, but hotter.

The photo is of th elite leaders spoonful I had left after serving this for dinner. I should have photographed it before dinner.

Israeli Street Food- Lamb Meat balls

When it comes to cooking I like to learn cuisines of different cultures in what might be considered blocks. Not semesters, quarters, months, or weeks, but blocks. Blocks can be different sizes, but once I delve into studying the food of a country, region, or people I stick with it until I feel like I have mastered basics and have a good understanding of the flavor profiles. This is not always my families first choice, but Russ is a good sport.

My most recent block has been Israeli Street Food. It is a relatively specific area. Not so big, but distinct. It started with my falafel craze last month. Then I learned to make Laffa bread with homemade hummus, Israeli salad, eggplant and Tahini. Today I am trying out amba, a mango vinegar sauce and lamb meatballs.

The Amba takes a couple days so it is not ready for publication, but the lamb meatballs are done. In street food they might be cooked on a stick, but I don’t like to carry my food around so I just made balls.

2 cloves of garlic

1 large sweet onion

2 lbs. ground lamb

2 T. Coriander

2 T. Cumin

1 T. Salt

Big handful of fresh mint chopped

Big handful of flat leaf parsley chopped

Black pepper

3 T. soy sauce

Mince the garlic and finely chop the onion (I just ran in through the Cuisineart)

Mix everything else together. Form into balls and in batches so you don’t crowd the balls, brown them all over in a hot fry pan. They won’t be cooked through, but once browned remove from pan and place in an oven proof dish. Once all the balls are done cover the dish with foil and place in a 350° oven and back for 20-30 minutes depending on how big your balls are.

Stayed tuned for the amba sauce.

Freshman Year Is In The Books

At the moment of this writing Carter is in the air, heading home, having finished her exams yesterday. It is hard for me to believe that her freshman year of college is complete. So many years we spent working up to college, how did that her go so quickly?

Of course, some parts were long and slow, like her first semester in Berlin when I did not see her four months. And the weeks waiting for her and her roommate’s housing lottery number to come up so they could figure out where they were living next year. Then picking their housing and having the site crash and have to wait another four days to do it all over again. All part of growing up.

I am incredibly proud of how Carter has managed herself. Russ and I did our best to just be sounding boards and not fixers. The years of training seemed to work out. I think that if you can get through freshman year and get all your credits, not have to hire a lawyer for any reason and still be on speaking terms with your roommate is successful.

Carter did not have everything go her way. She discovered she is not as interested in how the brain works on a molecular level than she thought, but was surprised how much she enjoyed world religions. One positive from taking that class was the required visit to a zen Buddhist center where Carter learned she is actually quite good at meditating. That alone might be worth a year’s tuition.

In the real world lessons of life, she did not get every job she applied for, but in the end got a job that probably fits her best as an Explore Major (read undecided) Mentor. I appreciate the rigor in application and interviewing she had to go through. Those skills are what is most important. Even the not hearing on the Friday when she thought decisions were being announced and having to wait until Monday was good training for what it is like the rest of your life. No, if you don’t hear that day it does not mean you did not get the job, just that other things take precedent for the deciders.

Learning to manage money, time, relationships, work, all the life practicing skills that college provides have happened. Now I get to have her home. As luck would have it Russ had business in Boston and they are flying home on the same plane. But Carter did pack her own room up, meet the Storage Squad guy who took her boxes for the summer, cleaned her room and packed just the summer clothes she needs to fly home with.

Hopefully, when she returns in September she will get to enjoy some beautiful Boston weather, because she certainly hasn’t had ANY this semester. I will be happy she is going back to a familiar campus, some friends, clubs she is part of and classes she is interested in. Also going back to a university apartment with bath and kitchen for tow will be great. No more meal plan. Doing two different campuses in two countries was a lot this year. It stretched her.

So welcome home to my bug. We don’t have many days together before you leave for your true heart’s home of Camp Cheerio, for the summer. Hard work is not something you have ever shied away from. That trait serves you well. Your Dad and I are proud of you.

Other’s Sage Words

Last week one of my oldest friends forwarded me this advice on “How to be perfect.” Perfection is never something I strived for, much to my parents dismay. I have been happy and that is better than perfection in my book any day. Despite the title I did agree with most of what was written so I thought I would share it with all of you. If I were allowed to retitle it I might call it, “Stuff you know when your old, but wish you’d started following earlier.” That may be too longs title. Enjoy!

How to Be Perfect

Everything is perfect, dear friend.

—KEROUAC

Get some sleep.

Don’t give advice.

Take care of your teeth and gums.

Don’t be afraid of anything beyond your control.

Don’t be afraid, for instance, that the building will collapse as you sleep, or that someone you love will suddenly drop dead.

Eat an orange every morning.

Be friendly. It will help make you happy.

Raise your pulse rate to 120 beats per minute for 20 straight minutes four or five times a week doing anything you enjoy.

Hope for everything. Expect nothing.

Take care of things close to home first. Straighten up your room before you save the world. Then save the world.

Know that the desire to be perfect is probably the veiled expression of another desire—to be loved, perhaps, or not to die.

Make eye contact with a tree.

Be skeptical about all opinions, but try to see some value in each of them.

Dress in a way that pleases both you and those around you.

Do not speak quickly.

Learn something every day. (Dzien dobre!)

Be nice to people before they have a chance to behave badly.

Don’t stay angry about anything for more than a week, but don’t Forget  what made you angry. Hold your anger out at arm’s length and look at it, as if it were a glass ball. Then add it to your glass ball collection.

Be loyal.

Wear comfortable shoes.

Design your activities so that they show a pleasing balance and variety.

Be kind to old people, even when they are obnoxious. When you become old, be kind to young people. Do not throw your cane at them when they call you Grandpa. They are your grandchildren!

Live with an animal.

Do not spend too much time with large groups of people.

If you need help, ask for it.

Cultivate good posture until it becomes natural.

Plan your day so you never have to rush.

Show your appreciation to people who do things for you, even if you have paid them, even if they do favors you don’t want.

Do not waste money you could be giving to those who need it.

Expect society to be defective. Then weep when you find that it is far more defective than you imagined.

When you borrow something, return it in an even better condition.

As much as possible, use wooden objects instead of plastic or metal ones.

Look at that bird over there.

After dinner, wash the dishes.

Calm down.

Visit foreign countries, except those whose inhabitants have expressed a desire to kill you.

Don’t expect your children to love you, so they can, if they want to.

Meditate on the spiritual. Then go a little further, if you feel like it. What is out (in) there?

Sing, every once in a while.

Be on time, but if you are late do not give a detailed and lengthy excuse.

Don’t be too self-critical or too self-congratulatory.

Don’t think that progress exists. It doesn’t.

Walk upstairs.

Do not practice cannibalism.

Imagine what you would like to see happen, and then don’t do anything to make it impossible.

Take your phone off the hook at least twice a week.

Keep your windows clean.

Extirpate all traces of personal ambitiousness.

Don’t use the word extirpate too often.

Forgive your country every once in a while. If that is not possible, go to another one.

If you feel tired, rest.

Grow something.

Do not wander through train stations muttering, “We’re all going to die!”

Count among your true friends people of various stations of life.

Appreciate simple pleasures, such as the pleasure of chewing, the pleasure of warm water running down your back, the pleasure of a cool breeze, the pleasure of falling asleep.

Do not exclaim, “Isn’t technology wonderful!”

Learn how to stretch your muscles. Stretch them every day.

Don’t be depressed about growing older. It will make you feel even older. Which is depressing.

Do one thing at a time.

If you burn your finger, put it in cold water immediately. If you bang your finger with a hammer, hold your hand in the air for twenty minutes. You will be surprised by the curative powers of coldness and gravity.

Learn how to whistle at earsplitting volume.

Be calm in a crisis. The more critical the situation, the calmer you should be.

Enjoy sex, but don’t become obsessed with it. Except for brief periods in your adolescence, youth, middle age, and old age.

Contemplate everything’s opposite.

If you’re struck with the fear that you’ve swum out too far in the ocean, turn around and go back to the lifeboat.

Keep your childish self alive.

Answer letters promptly. Use attractive stamps, like the one with a tornado on it.

Cry every once in a while, but only when alone. Then appreciate how much better you feel. Don’t be embarrassed about feeling better.

Do not inhale smoke.

Take a deep breath.

Do not smart off to a policeman.

Do not step off the curb until you can walk all the way across the street. From the curb you can study the pedestrians who are trapped in the middle of the crazed and roaring traffic.

Be good.

Walk down different streets.

Backwards.

Remember beauty, which exists, and truth, which does not. Notice that the idea of truth is just as powerful as the idea of beauty.

Stay out of jail.

In later life, become a mystic.

Visit friends and acquaintances in the hospital. When you feel it is time to leave, do so.

Be honest with yourself, diplomatic with others.

Do not go crazy a lot. It’s a waste of time.

Read and reread great books.

Dig a hole with a shovel.

In winter, before you go to bed, humidify your bedroom.

Know that the only perfect things are a 300 game in bowling and a 27-batter, 27-out game in baseball.

Drink plenty of water. When asked what you would like to drink, say, “Water, please.”

Ask “Where is the loo?” but not “Where can I urinate?”

Be kind to physical objects.

Beginning at age twenty get a complete “physical” every few years from a doctor you trust and feel comfortable with.

Learn how to say “hello,” “thank you,” and “chopsticks” in Mandarin.

Belch and fart, but quietly.

Be especially cordial to foreigners.

See shadow puppet plays and imagine that you are one of the characters. Or all of them.

Take out the trash.

Love life.

Use exact change.

When there’s shooting in the street, don’t go near the window.

Sometimers

I know better, I do. I can’t remember to take something out of the oven at the right time without a timer. I am not 25 years old anymore. I can’t keep multiple jobs going in my head at the same time. Still, even though I aware of my actual age and limitations I still walk away from the oven without setting a timer, even though I have more timers available to me than ever. The one on the oven, the magnetic one attached to the fridge, which is portable, the timer on my phone and the easiest one of all, the one on my watch. I need to engrave “Don’t walk away until you have set the timer,” on my oven.

This afternoon I put a big pile of butternut squash on a pan in the oven, set at 400° and went upstairs. I knew it only needed twenty minutes. I had 22 minutes before a conference call to advise some people about raising money at an auction I’m auctioneering for. Did I set the timer? You know the answer.

I did not return to the kitchen before my call. I had the call which lasted 55 minutes and only once I hung up did I notice the smell. I have been trained by making similar mistakes in the past that by the time I smell what is cooking in the oven on the floor below me it is burned.

Shoot! Sure enough I incinerated the squash. So much for that being an ingredient in my Mah Jongg Salad tomorrow. Have I learned my lesson? Probably not, but writing about it might help reinforce in my mind that I need to use a timer because I clearly have sometimers. If you don’t know what sometimers is you might be under 35. It is that you forget things some of the time. Not as serious as Alzheimer’s, but frustrating nonetheless

Pre-Birthday Lunch With My Mother

My mother had her regular doctor’s appointment today in Durham so she came to take me to lunch for my birthday, two weeks early because why not kill two birds with one stone. We went around the corner to Bull St. where we got the last table between an older than me, but younger than my Mom, woman who was eating alone and a college student studying. My mom’s hearing is not the best, especially in a noisy restaurant so I am sure I was speaking to her in my normally loud voice. I was awarded best cable salesperson at selling to the elderly due to my low and loud voice.

Our conversation covered our normal litany of topics. Starting with who’s died or is sick. Since my parents are great lovers of George H.W. Bush, they had watched Barbara’s funeral in real time on TV on a Saturday. My mother reported that my father said, “It was the best thing they had seen on TV all year.” I am going to have to write a Doro Bush and tell her that.

After covering who is sick or might be sick, or should be sick, due to the way they live, our conversation turned to what my sisters and I are supposed to do with my mother when she is dead. Nothing is eminent, this or talk of something like this is perfectly normal. Many times my mother has quizzed me about what I am going to do with her…fill in the blank, when she is gone. She just wants to know that I am spending all my time worrying about her stuff.

Since I did a major clean out yesterday and followed it up today with emptying a dresser full of shirts I will never wear again, I encouraged her to do some purging. “I can’t, I don’t know where to start,” She hedged. “Just start with one drawer,” I encouraged her.

Cleaning out my stuff is bad enough but the thought of doing my mother’s is not fun. “I’ll come to the farm and help you this summer,” I offered. “But you are not going to like how hard on you I will be.” That was the end of that line of talk.

The older of the two women sitting on one side of us got up to leave and leaned in and said, “I have had the best time listening to you two. I am sorry the tables are so close, I couldn’t help but over hear.” Looking at me she said, “You are the best daughter.”

I quickly corrected her and said that my sister was the best daughter, but apologized for interrupting her lunch. She told my mother she was lucky. I must have sounded nicer than usual for someone to think that since the good daughter was not with us.

It was the perfect way to celebrate my impending birthday with my mother, planning deaths, and talking illness. Maybe she will surprise me and clean out a drawer so I won’t have to do it in ten or fifteen years.

The Cleaning Out Never Ends

Since I was away during the weekday I felt like I needed to have a productive weekend. I think the universe was also telling me this since the lead segment on CBS Sunday morning was about cleaning up cluttered spaces. I had not planned on involving Russ in my guilt related spring cleaning, but the Sunday morning segment must have gotten to him so together we spent the day cleaning out the garage.

Shay was not pleased with this activity, until Russ brought one of her beds out so she could watch us in comfort. Piled on my work table in the garage were a bunch of things I had planned on giving away a year ago, but somehow had just let stay piled on the counter. I have no idea why they just sat there, but it a lot easier to get rid of things that have already sat in the garage for a year. Included in that pile were things like out original Garmin GPS. What was I thinking was going to happen with it? Certainly no one on earth wants that, so I finally just threw it away.

Russ cleaned off my potting bench which had been unusable due to clutter for at least ten years. We tossed or recycled 20 years worth of floral baskets that came when people sent me flowers. I think a few of them were from Carter’s birth.

I swept, washed and scrubbed places in the garage that never had been cleaned before. Yet, still after a good part of the day there are plenty of places we didn’t even touch. Russ’ tools are still not right. But that is a whole weekend project in itself.

I just feel better that when my mother comes over tomorrow for lunch and to bring the clothes she wants me to take to Nearly New to donate for her she won’t say, “You need to move.” This is always her response to my messy garage. I don’t bother to mention any corresponding places at her house.

The CBS story pointed out that this clutter problem is so American because of our consumer culture. This is what I find amazing at my house, because I have cut back to trying not to buy anything other than quilting material. I know that is a sickness all it’s own. Yet, even with my not buying new things I am still working on getting rid of things I bought before I was married.

At this rate I might get everything cleaned out just in time to die at a normal age. Until then I think that the cleaning things out is keeping me alive, so I might always have that one closet until I am, ready to go.

Laffa, You Didn’t Know

When I was in Atlanta, Kelly and I ate Israeli street food for lunch one day. We both got Chicken Shawarma, which you could have in a bowl, a pita or a laffa. Neither of us knew what a Laffa was so we chose that. It was fantastic.

Laffa is a flat bread that has been grilled. I watched the food prep guy at Yalla assemble our sandwiches, which were more like Israeli burritos. First he took the big round Laffa bread and smeared it with a thin layer of hummus, then a little baba ganoush, what could be bad? Then he put a few slices of cooked eggplant, some thing they called Israelite salad, which was chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, garlic and cilantro, with lemon juice and olive oil, added spit roasted chicken, harissa, tahini and amba, which is mango and vinegar sauce. The combination was perfect.

Tonight for dinner I was going to make salmon and I had some nice tomatoes I needed to use up. I decided to make an open faced Laffa, but with only about half as many things as they did at Yalla because it was only me and Russ. I cooked some eggplant on my cast iron panini pan. I had some hummus and I made my version of Israeli salad. I pan cooked the salmon and so all I had to do was make the Laffa. It was very easy, but took a little time because it had to rise. Russ loved it and has plans for all the leftover Laffa for breakfast, lunch and dinner tomorrow.

This recipe makes about 10 -12 inch Laffa. It would be hard to cut it down because it uses one packet of yeast. But go on and make them. They will keep in the freezer or the fridge.

7cups of bread flour plus extra for making the dough the right consistency

1 packet of rapid rise yeast

2 T. Sugar

1 T. Salt

4 T. Olive oil

3 cups of warm water

Put all the dry ingredients in the stand mixer with the dough hook. Mix it all up. Add the wet ingredients and mix on medium speed until all incorporated. If the dough is very wet add a little more flour a bit at a time while the mixer is kneading the dough. You want the dough to pull away from the sides of the bowl and form a ball. It might take up to ten minutes to get it that way.

Take a clean bowl and coat the inside with olive oil. Place the ball of Dough in that new bowl and cover with plastic wrap and then a clean dish towel. Put in the microwave, but don’t turn the microwave on. Leave it there for an hour to rise. If your yeast was new it should double.

After doubling punch it down and divide the dough into ten smaller balls and let rest on a oiled sheet pan for ten minutes. Heat a griddle on the stove to high heat. I used the panini one with raised grates so that it left grill lines.

Take one of the dough balls and roll it out like a pizza and place it on the hot grill pan. Cook one one side for about two- three minutes and then flip it over and cook the other side for about one- two minutes. Repeat with all the other dough balls.

You get a thin flexible bread that is better than a pizza crust, but would make a great pizza

too. It is so much better than pita bread I can’t imagine ever eating pita again.

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Good Beginning and Good Ending

There is nothing better than coming home after a week away to a wonderful surprise. I’m not talking abut Shay and Russ who ran out to the car to greet me, which was wonderful. Nor am I talking about a tax refund that came in the mail, or the quilting curved ruler than I ordered that was here, but that was not the best thing that came in the mail.

It was a small brown envelope with a little needlepoint canvas and thread and a note of thanks from my friend Downtown Lisa Brown. She was the connection with the Wesley Campus Ministry that I auctioneered for last weekend. I was happy to do that job for them and the thank you was completely over the top, but I must admit I love it.

It was the perfect home coming to a really fun week. I had three days with Kelly and Mark and loved every minute. This morning I left them and went to visit my dear friend Leigh. We originally met when her daughter Stokes and Carter were in the same Pre-K class together. Leigh had moved away from Durham about ten years go, but we still keep up. She showed me the photo of Stokes, Carter and their other best friend Campbell at their kindergarten graduation which is displayed in her family room. Three girls with those names, prompted me to call them “a friendship, not a law firm.”

Leigh and I caught up at her house and continued our visit at her favorite Jewish Deli where we enjoyed breakfast. It was too short a visit. I was just happy to see Leigh, who looks better and younger, than ever, but she still wouldn’t let me take her picture

If you take the six hour drive out of my day it would have been perfect. Even with the one lane stretch of I-85 through Spartanburg and the reduction of two lanes around Kannapolis, I would gladly make the drive again to get to spend a week with such good friends.

I am happy to be home with my snuggling puppy and happy husband. Now if Spring would just decide to come and stay everything at home will be glorious. Although, now I have quilting and needlepointing to do and they are best done in cold bad weather.

Dinners Atlanta Style

Coming to visit Mark and Kelly has been a dinner extravaganza. Last night, for the chance for me to reconnect with my old friends Roz and Earl, who I loved introducing to Mark and Kelly and tonight for the most fantastic dining experience. Russ Lange, you need to come to Atlanta with me so we can recreate both experiences with you.

Roz and Earl were out first great friends in Durham. We met them at a party at their neighbor’s house when we first moved to Durham. They were the first people we invited over for cocktails and they came and it was the start of a wonderful friendship. Then after spending seven years with them, they up and moved to Atlanta. So sad for us.

When I knew I was coming to see Kelly I told her about Roz and Earl and thought they might like each other. So we all met up at a local restaurant last night and had a lovely time. It made me miss seeing them every week in Durham, but I promised we would be better at seeing each other.

If last night was about friends tonight was about food. Mark and Kelly, who are adventurous eaters had made a difficult to get reservation at a cool concept restaurant called Gunshow. It was on the other side of Atlanta, which means that it is quite a commitment to get there in rush hour traffic. I enjoyed the Waze tour of Atlanta, liking the historic Druid Hills neighborhood the best.

After the hour and fifteen minute drive we finally arrived at the SE eatery, which had an open kitchen and hipster servers. What makes the place so different is there are guest chefs who make different dishes and they bring them around to the table and offer them to your dining group to share, if you want, in a dim sum kind of fashion. Even the bar is on a rolling cart with a roving bartender.

Having three of us was perfect because we each got to have a couple of bites of each dish. We started with grilled chicken hearts with peach, vidalias, rhubarb, mustard and coppa. Who knew I liked chicken heart so much? There was no dish we passed up, but two were our favorites, the Mushroom Pate, sourdough croutons, dill, mushroom ketchup with truffle and the most outstanding, Tandori chicken thigh, crushed peas, coconut and green chilies.

There is no reason for me to describe every dish to you because they will change tomorrow and the next day and the next. It would just be cruel to do that, instead you can drool over the photos and wonder what in the world it all is.

The only things we did not like were the desserts and the Szechuan tofu lo mein, which had the strange ability to make your mouth feel saltier and saltier long after you had stopped eating it.

My advice is don’t miss the Gunshow if you have the chance to be in Atlanta and if you meet a couple named Roz and Earl or Mark and Kelly, try and be their friends, you will enjoy them all.

Atlanta By Foot and A Surprise

I didn’t used to think of Atlanta as a walking city. It always seemed to be designed for cars and not humans. Things have changed in one part of town. Kelly took me to the Ponce City Market which used to be a huge Sears distribution building. It has been reimagined into a shopping, eating, living and working complex in such a beautiful way. There is a greenway/walking path called the beltline that run along the old railroad tracks.

Kelly and I set out from the Ponce city Market this morning and walked a few miles to the Krog Street Market. I finally felt like we had left winter. It was in the sixties when we started and in the eighties when we finished so we went through spring and got to summer all in a few hours.

At Krog we looked around at the lunch choices and settled on Israeli food. We both had a chicken Shawarma Laffa. It was like an Israeli burrito, minus the beans and rice. So good. I am going to have to figure out how to make this for Russ.

We walked back and Kelly showed me the most brilliant business, a drop in day care for dogs that is open from 4:30-9:00 at night so people can walk their dogs to the Market and go in and eat a nice dinner while their dogs play at dogcare. So smart. That is the sign that a place has turned into a walking city.

After we got oh so many steps we went to a needlepoint store called In Stitches which I had been dying to go to. Not that I need any more needlepoint, but I always like to see what they have in the way of fibers. Kelly and I walked in the little house of a store and there was the most famous of needlepoint teachers, the needlepoint god I have been dying to take a class from, Tony Minieri.

Since my dear needlepoint friend, Elizabeth Hurd, has taken many classes from him I introduced myself as a friend of hers and asked if we could get a picture together. He was a nice as could be and sends Elizabeth a hug. I explained to Kelly that for a stitcher, meeting Tony was like meeting the Beatles.

So far I am having a blast in Atlanta and i haven’t been here 24 hours yet. More fun to come.

Good South African Friends

When Carter was in 8th grade she came home from school one day and said, “We had the nicest twins, a boy and a girl, come and tour the school today. They are from South Africa.” She new that South Africa was my favorite place I had ever visited so we talked about why I liked it so much, “All the people I met there were so warm and friendly,” I tried to explain.

That summer, when I was in charge of the welcoming program for new families to the school I found out that those South African twins were admitted and their family was moving to Durham from Cincinnati. Since they were not just new to the school, but also the town I took them as out mentee family. Being the mentor family for Cait and Adam Ushpol was the best perk of being on that committee, because along with the twins came their parents, Kelly and Mark Ushpol. They held true to my feeling of all the other South Africans I had met and we became friends right away.

Russ is not usually one to get involved in the mentor/mentee relationship, but once I met Mark I knew Russ wold like him. It worked out perfectly that Carter and Cait became great friends, Kelly and I did and Mark and Russ, we all also loved Adam and their two dogs Zoe and Ella. The Ushpol’s would come to the farm for thanksgiving and were the perfect guests.

Then, just as the kids were finishing up their schooling Mark and Kelly announced they were moving to Atlanta. Like a whirlwind they moved into our lives and then they were gone. For the kids, they were all going off to different colleges so it was not that weird for them, but for me and Russ, we lost not just the kids, but Kelly and Mark too.

Adam stayed locally in NC for college so that meant we got Kelly and Mark for Parents weekend, but I promised Kelly I would come to Atlanta to visit while the kids were in school. It is hard to move to a new place when you don’t have kids in school to give you a group of people you have connections with.

With Russ having his eye operation at the beginning of the year I had to refrain from planning any travel in case I was needed to be his eyes. Once he had the miraculous operation that brought back his sight I was free to travel. I packed in as much as I could in a short couple of months. So with one week left before Carter is finished with her Freshman year I made the trip to Atlanta, to keep my promise to come and visit.

It is no hardship to come and visit Kelly and Mark. They have a beautiful house and are the most hospitable hosts. Kelly didn’t even let me help make the salad for dinner. Of course she would let me take her picture, but Mark obliged my need for a blog photo. Of course I had good snuggles from Ella. I just wish Cait and Adam, Russ and Carter were all here too. These aren’t just our South African friends, but our dear friends.

Who Are Those Kids in New Canaan?

My mom sent me this photo off me at nursery school on Halloween when I was four. I remember that slide indoors in the basement of the church preschool I went to in New Canaan, Connecticut. I have no idea who those boys are behind me. I would love to see how well the internet works and see if I can find out who they were and what the name of the church pre-school was.

The year had to be about 1965. Neither my mother nor I can remember the name of the church, but I do remember that it was on South Avenue south of Center school on the right hand side if you are driving south. I know this because I used to ride my bike by it on my weekly outings to Breslow’s on Saturday mornings. I am fairly certain it was brick, possibly a Methodist a church.

I remember wearing those brown and white saddle shoes everyday. I think that they were one of three pairs of shoes I owned. The others were blue meds and black Mary Janes for church. There seemed to be two themes of costumes, the white and pink slippery material kind like me and the boy right behind me wore, or the animal prints of the next two kids. Let’s see if anyone can figure out who and where we were.

Archie Bunker is President

When I was a kid “All in the family,” the Archie Bunker bigot driven comedy was a big show. My parents were southerners through and through so I had never met the likes of anyone like Archie Bunker. Not in pure bred Connecticut, where we lived or in the south where we vacationed visiting our relatives. Archie Bunker insulted people right to their face with the most horrific phrases, that a southerner would never had said.

Now we have a President who tweets worse than Archie Bunker, spoke. The latest in his never ending name calling is the one about Comey, “the untruthful slime ball.” When I heard that it finally dawned on me who 45 sounds like, Archie Bunker. Both loud mouth old white men who insult you to your face were born and grew up in Queens. Now as a southerner I hate to insult Queens this way, so I’ll just say, “They both were from Queens, bless their heart.”

What I think our current POTUS is missing is the southern gift of being able to insult someone with out them being exactly sure that is what you were doing.

My father has perfected that. You know he does not think much of someone when he says, “Poor thing, he’s all he’ll ever be.”

Rather than saying someone is an “untruthful slime ball,” Trump could tweet, “He ain’t got the sense God gave a cucumber.” It basically means the same thing, but is just not so harsh on the ears. It also gives a little feel of superiority that the insulter has for the insulted. That is the difference between southern insults and those of the “Queens bred.”

45 has lowered himself into the same muck he complains about from the people he insults. A southern keeps their hands clean by almost always adding the phrase, “bless their heart,” as some kind of disclaimer for the insult. “She doesn’t have the sense she was born with, bless her heart,” as opposed to Trump’s, “Crazy and very dumb.” (An actual quote about Mika Brezinski.)

So rather than go the Archie Bunker route on Trump I just say, “he’s got more dollars than sense.” My prediction is that Comey is going to prove him wrong. If we had an untruthful meter it probably wouldn’t be close between Trump and Comey. And as far a slime is concerned, well 45 should open that can of worms. If Trump were a woman the southern insult that fits him perfectly is “He’s just not Junior League Material.”

Another Satisfied Charity

In my effort to part everyone from their money for a good cause I was the auctioneer at the Wesley Campus Ministry auction in Chapel Hill tonight. I think it is good that I spread out my auctioneering to many towns so that I don’t become unwelcome in my own town.

This was my first time working this crowd and it always takes one auction to understand the dynamics and the deepness of the pockets of the guests. Since it was a campus group I had college students on one end of the spectrum and the seniors, and I don’t mean graduating people, on the other end. They couldn’t have been a nicer group of people.

The guests arrived at five and visited the food stations and the silent auction items. There was a schedule set out for the evening that would have me starting the live auction at 7:00, but around 6:00 I sensed that people had finished eating and worried that we would lose our crowd. I asked the auction chairs if I could change the plans to start the live auction right away. Everyone jumped into action and in ten minutes we were set up and ready to go.

Methodists are very attentive audience members. The bidding on the six items happened a

little slowly than I like, but then I moved into the fund-a-ministry section where I just ask people to give money for no goods. I made my impassioned plea and it moved some people. That portion of the auction went fantastically. After it was over I had a good number of older men, who told me they attend this auction every year, tell me things like, “I came planning on donating $30 and somehow you got $500 out of me.” I told them I hope it didn’t hurt too much, and they just shook my hand more enthusiastically and said, “No, thank you.”

No one ran me over in the parking lot so I think it was a successful auction. At least the chair was happy, we beat their goal by a good amount and that is what I like to do. Another satisfied charity.

Socks Or A Chicken Sandwich? Chicken Sandwich Or Socks?

Most dogs given the choice will chose a chicken sandwich – not Shay. There has never been a dog who liked socks as much as she does. When Russ comes home from work he puts his gym bag in his office. At some point during our dinner Shay will disappear upstairs and then we here her whining. That’s her tell that she has opened the bag, routed around and now is carrying two socks in her mouth searching for a place to hide them.

The fact that she is whining completely ruins the hiding. We know her hiding spots and know when to look for the socks once the whining is complete.

Tonight we were still enjoying dinner when Shay reappeared in the kitchen, whine free. Instead she stood by Russ begging for some of his chicken.

“Chicken, oh no Chicken,” Russ said as he bound upstairs.

I had no idea what he was talking about until he returned with a foil ball the size of a baseball.

“I had half a leftover chicken sandwich in my bag, but the sock stealer did not seem interested in that. She just took the socks.”

Thank goodness Shay did her whining sock stealing routine. If she didn’t Russ certainly would have had a leftover chicken sandwich in his bag all weekend.

Rothy’s Shoe Review

I am not someone who is mad at Facebook. I like that it knows me and shows me things I might be interested in. I hate shopping and to have some smart program curate things for me is just fine. I don’t have to look at them if I don’t want to and I certainly don’t have to buy them.

For months my feed has included these shoes called Rothy’s. I really liked the way they looked. Nothing is better to me than a good flat with a rubber sole. I am, after all, old enough to only care about comfort. What was so cute about these shoes is the colors and patterns and the fact that they are knit and therefore seamless and thus less likely to rub me the wrong way.

They are not really inexpensive so I didn’t just go ahead and order a pair without trying them. Then last week when I was on my Kentucky trip with my friend Jan I noticed she had two pairs. Jan is always an early adaptor. I asked if she liked them. She could have starred in an ad for them. Our other friend Mary Jo was also interested so we both tried Jan’s on. We were sold.

Since Jan was already a good customer, having bought pairs for both her daughter and daughter-in-law, she gave us good advice. The pointy ones might need to be purchased in a half size up if you have wide feet. The round toe ones run true to size. Mary Jo and I both wanted to order right then and there, but Jan said, “Wait, let me refer you and you get and I will both get $20 off.” Sold.

So my pair came today and they fit perfectly. I love the color and they are very comfortable. The cool thing is you can wash them in the washing machine. They are also vegan, if you don’t like wearing leather shoes while eating a hamburger. They weigh practically nothing and can squish down for packing.

I want to get another color, but I also want to get $20 off, so I need to refer someone who is going to buy a pair. I am happy to let you try mine on if you are local. If you have wondered about these shoes you see on Facebook, message me and I will refer you. I love mine and I am always trying to save my friends money

Will Local Strawberry Season Ever Come?

I had to go buy strawberries yesterday. My local store didn’t have any so I had to go farther afield. I found some, but they were from very far away, like Florida. I looked at my watch for the date, April 9. By now we should be getting strawberries from at least Georgia, or even Southern North Carolina. These Florida Strawberries are just flavorless.

I went to get dressed this morning. What to wear on April 10 when it’s fifty five degrees out? I am sick of my fall, winter and post winter, it’s still freezing out clothes. Those clothes are just flavorless.

I looked out at my vegetable garden area. It is just dirt and stalks of last year’s crops. No green, not even weeds. I normally would be chomping at the bit to be putting in some arugula and herbs and getting my zucchini started. Not this year. Too cold to even consider playing in the dirt, it all just lays fallow, which is the dirt word for flavorless.

It is hard to be motivated to do anything when the weather makes everything feel grey and flavorless. In a hopeful attempt to find a strawberry patch where I can pick my own sun sweetened local berries I looked up when they might come into season. The websites all said the same thing. Berries will be late this year, very, if at all. I just need a little flavor in my life.

Follow The Money

I have tried to not comment too much on politics, but sometimes it is just too overwhelming not too. So if you absolutely adore 45 don’t read any further. Fair warning!

Mueller’s raid on 45’s lawyer, Cohen has almost pushed 45 over the edge. We will see if tonight or as Russ predicts, late Friday night after the news cycles have finished for the week, if Trump fires Deputy attorney General Rod Rosenstein for not firing Mueller. Then he will appoint some puppet who will fire Mueller.

All that is just fuel on the guilt fire to me. If you have nothing to hide, then let the investigation prove your innocence.

Here is the big question I have about Cohen and the whole $130,000 payoff to Stormy Daniels, why did the guy have to take out a home equity line to get the money to do it? First, how could a “successful” NY attorney not have $130,000 at his age? And if he had to borrow the money with no intention of billing his client for it, how was he ever going to pay it back?

Now we know from 45’s own court history that he does not pay people he owes money to. So perhaps he has not paid his lawyer, but then why would the guy go into debt for a guy who does not pay him what he owes him? No one, especially a lawyer goes into debt for a client with no hope for repayment. There is something, not saying what, but something there.

We could have avoided a lot of the problems we have now if we had a law that anyone running for President had to disclose their tax returns. It seems only right that we understand what financial entanglements people have with other entities so that we might understand their motives. There is a good reason why Presidents have to put their money in blind trusts.

Presidents should not be allowed to benefit financially from their office. I am waiting for stock holders to sue the President for tweeting about Amazon and bringing the stock down. It would be one thing if the tweets were factual, but it is even more egregious when they are just not true.

Lord knows what is going to happen, but I am certain it will be unlike anything else we have seen in recent history. I predict the money trial will tell the story. It’s always about the money, unless it’s about sex and in this case it might be about both.

What Will I Do Tomorrow Night?

Tonight was the third of our Church Campaign dinners at our house in four days. My dear friend Sara and my neighbor Jean and I cooked the same food for each dinner to feed members of the congregation who came to hear about giving to redo the fellowship hall. There were a core group of 8 people who are on the campaign committee who came to each dinner and a few dozen others each night.

For the core group it was like Groundhog Day, the movie. Everyone made the same speeches, more or less, we ate the same food and drank the same drinks, but somehow we didn’t tire of it. We had different groups of random people at each night and it was lots of fun. The ages ranged from people in their thirties up to people nearing eighty. Some people were 8:30 church people and others were 11:00. It was just really nice to sit around the table and spend time together, whether you knew each other well or were just meeting for the first time.

Every night after the guests departed, the core group would help do the dishes and clean everything up. The first two nights were easy because we basically just left the bar and the tables and chairs set up ready for the next night.

Since tonight was the last night the folding chairs got put away and the wine glasses went back in their boxes. I don’t have to make pimento cheese appetizers tomorrow or a big pot of rice. I have enough left over rice from each night to open a fried rice food truck tomorrow.

I liked having my house full of friends enjoying dinner every night. It was a little like having a restaurant that only served one meal. I am not quite sure what I am going to do tomorrow night. Maybe I should just start serving dinner one night a week and let random people come and eat here. The randomness of it is the most fun. It was perfect that is is a campaign for the fellowship hall because it was just good fellowship.

Improving Store Bought Pimento Cheese

My aunt Janie Leigh makes great pimento cheese. She taught me her secret which is powdered sugar. Then the Pawleys Island Palmetto Pimento cheese came out. It was decent but not half as good as my Aunt Janie’s.

For these church dinners I am hosting the Campaign Chairman John Graham asked me if I could make some hors d’oeuvre like the blt’s he had eaten at another members house. I knew exactly what he wanted and made up a batch. Now he wants the recipe so I thought I’d share it with everyone, especially if it might get good pledges to our campaign.

Doctored Pimento Cheese

1 12 oz. container of jalapeño Palmetto pimento cheese

1/3 cup mayonnaise

2 T. Powdered sugar

1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese.

3 T. Sweet pickle relish

Mix together and try and not eat it in one setting.

Candied Bacon

Cover a cookie sheet with foil and put a cooling rack on top. Lay bacon on the rack and sprinkle it with brown sugar and a lot of freshly cracked black pepper.

Place in a 400° oven and cook about 15 minutes until done.

Cut each slice of bacon into five squares.

Bread, with crusts cut off, cut into small squares and lightly toasted. I lay all of it on a cookie sheet under the broiler for a few minutes and then flip the brad over and do the same on the other side.

Thinly cut small Campari tomatoes into four or five slices per tomato.

Small basil leaves or large ones cut into thirds.

Spread a little pimento cheese on the toast. Place a square of bacon on top, then a tomato slice and the basil leaf on top.

Pure southern happiness

Fabric Folding Obsession

While I was in the quilting Mecca of Paducah I might have purchased a few bits of quilting fabric. Not so much that I needed an extra suitcase, just as much as would fit on my carry-on. I will admit it was enough that it made my bag almost too heavy to lift into the overhead bin, but not so much that I had to unzip the expansion sides of the suitcase.

Bringing home many new random fabrics meant that I needed to reorganize my quilting fabric stash so I can look at it for inspiration of my next project. Part of reorganizing meant I had to refold each piece so they were all close to the same size.

It is a wintery cold January like day here and Russ, with a sinus headache taking a nap, I had no guilt about locking myself in my sweat shop watching a Netflix series “Escape to the Country,” folding and sorting fabric. It was like a scene out of “Romy and Michelle’s high school reunion” where they are folding scarves, but with English accents.

Now that the fabric is sorted into rainbow colors I realized I have hardly any purple and very little red, but blue is over represented, followed by pink. I am interested in doing a black and white quilt next, but with only one mostly black fabric it might be hard.

Based on how much fabric I have I need to set a “no new fabric rule” until I use up at least half of my stash. I think I am going to making quite a few placemats.