The Joy of Pre-dawn Baking

 What is it about getting up and going to work before the sun comes up?  (Actually getting up and starting a road trip before the sun comes up is even better, but we will discuss that at a later date.) Since my current job (very part-time) is baking breakfast treats for a small hotel and since the weather has  been unbearably hot this summer, the only time it makes sense to bake is before 10:00 a.m.  Luckily the small hotel doesn't mind if I get into the kitchen in the pre-dawn hours.

There is something very stealthy and secretive about being awake and alone in those pre dawn hours. It feels like there is no accountability to anyone then, as if the day is still  up for grabs, as if you could commit a small crime and no one would ever know because no one in the world is awake except for you.  The air is heavier at 4:55 a.m. than it is even ten minutes later, quieter and not just full of possibilities but full of a false reality that belongs only to you. Being in the kitchen, measuring out flour and sugar, beating eggs, greasing pans, getting muffins in the oven  before the sky lightens is a promise that the day can be yours, all yours.

No one interrupts with chatter, no one needs anything from you. The sky slowly lightens and once the darkness has trickled away it is clear the day is now to be shared.  Someone else is awake, you no long need to stand sentry to the day. 

Plus, it's nice to work 5 or 6 hours and get to go home before noon.  And if I had to be a baker every day, getting  up at 4:45 every morning, it would get tiresome quickly.  But once a week, I'll take it.

Tee shirt summer

There was an article in the New York Times about how versatile white t-shirts have been on movie stars.  It made me laugh because this summer I am all in on the wearing off t-shirts.  Not white ones, mostly black, some navy and a couple of red ones. The reason: they are cheap, very available, comfortable, reasonably cool and totally disposable when they reach the end of their lives. 

I am a sloppy person at heart. There is no way I can cook anything without getting some of it on my clothing and let's not even talk about dripping food all over myself.  So many times I have walked out the door, looked down at what I was wearing and swore out loud, turned around and changed shirts. Going out in public with spaghetti sauce dribbled down the front one one's shirt is socially unacceptable once you are over the age of 3. And let's not talk about grease stains which totally ruin any kind of shirt.

Enter the cotton t-shirt. There are a few that I wear purposefully when I cook because one more stain isn't going to matter. I don't wear them off my property so no one sees how messy I can be. Once they are too disgusting even for my messy mind they get turned into dust rags or car-washing cloths or simply tossed in the trash. They are all cotton, they will eventually compost into nothing, and that process will be a lot quicker than the plastic bags we use to pick up dog poop that are supposed to be compostable.

T-shirts are not offensive,  no one can really hate a t-shirt.  They can be bought singly at a store like Kohls for under $10 or in a pack of 3 or 6 for even less.  Washed out in the sink and hung out to dry on a hot day means a clean shirt is always nearby. And if you are a woman of a certain age (meaning me) and you have that slack, flabby arm thing that wobbles around, the t-shirt hides it.  Yes, one ends up with a farmer's tan (tan forearms, lily white upper arms) but who cares?  Woman of this certain age and arm flab don't wear sleeveless shirts anyway so no one sees the farmer's tan.

That's my tribute to summer t-shirts, but they aren't just for summer, of course. In the winter they are another layer of warmth when worn under a sweater or flannel shirt or with flannel pajama bottoms when sleeping.  I am never giving them up, fashion or not.

 

And just like that.....

.... I've got a new dog!  All it took was a Saturday visit to the Marin Humane Society, there he was and I grabbed him.  Six years old, has had only one owner, very smart, already knows several commands.  Sleeps all night, house trained, and he is small enough to pick up but big enough to not be a yapper.  And he is a terrier!  Lots of people don't like terriers because they are sometimes barky, often too independent and they like to dig.  I have no preconceived anti-terrier ideas so I adopted this guy for all the other reasons:  age, size, house trained and adorableness.  Supposedly they are difficult to train because they are independent, but this guy doesn't have too many bad habits (yet!) so I am not worried.  Here he is:  Shiloh.

He is happy relaxing on the couch, or cuddled up in his bed.  And look at that little face!!!

Shiloh loves walks, is excited to get in the car, likes to stick his head out the window while we drive.  So far he isn't concerned about other dogs or cats, but we have yet to meet many face-to-face, but that will change.

He is going to be a lively, spicy little guy but as I mentioned, he is smart and I think he wants to please.  Time will tell.  For now, it's nice to have another being in the house. 

Gardening = dead plants

It's amazing how many people say things like "I love to garden!"  What they really mean is "Everything I plant grows and flourishes!"  If everything they planted died, their love for gardening would greatly wane or disappear entirely. Trust me on this. It isn't fun to invest in a tiny plant, put it in the soil, water it, watch it and finally see it's tiny dead body shrivel and die. 

Yes, it's just a plant but one that had five siblings in that little six-pack from the nursery and they all died! Last year I decided I was watering my tiny plants too much so this year I thought holding back on the watering might work.  Perhaps it would make those little six lettuce siblings work harder to stay alive! Sadly, that was another mistake. They all shriveled and died. Don't get me wrong, I did water them (I do know that plants need water) but there must be a magical amount of water that they needed and I failed to discern what that magical amount might be.  A couple of years ago I tried to grow zucchini, a plant that most people have abundant success with, and that failed as well. 

Sigh. It has been this way for most of my life. Growing flowers, like geraniums, works for me. (However, I am pretty sure even a squirrel could plant and grow a geranium.) A few years ago I grew some very lovely arugula which I enjoyed completely, so that is what always holds out the hope for me:  I did it once, I can do it again!

As we speak, my lettuces and arugula (yes, I tried again) are dead. My chives are holding on. The basil hasn't died but in no way has it flourished either. There is one houseplant that has lived for more than a year, so perhaps all is not lost. It isn't too late in the year for another go at lettuce, so that might be in my future.  There is something nice about picking one's own greens for dinner, or so most people tell me.  As far as growing tomatoes, don't even get me started.

Living alone: good or bad?

A  friend said to me the other day "It's hard living alone, isn't it?"  I wasn't sure how to respond.  Yes, sometimes it is difficult but other times it is peaceful and quiet. 

But  thinking about it further, there is a lot more variance than that quick sentence.

It wasn't until I was 48 years old that I ever lived alone.  I grew up in a household of 8 people, never enough room or enough money, always tension in the air from so many factors. Looking back, part of the reason I got married at the age of 20 was for a change of scenery, a chance to live a different life. (There was no way I could have articulated that then.) Married, a couple of kids, then not married, then married again.... then not married again.  That was the trajectory from 1970-1998. Then, in 1998, I was divorced and alone.  And I loved it.

There is such freedom in living alone, at least when you haven't experienced it your entire life. It was a cliché, of course, to get to eat and drink and sleep when I wanted and with whom I wanted. But clichés are commonplace for a reason: they aren't original. My experience as a newly single adult wasn't original but it was important and right for me at the time. 

Now, 25 years later, here I am, still single, still living alone (i.e. no roommates) and still enjoying it.  Mostly. To be honest, there are times when it would be very nice to have someone else around to share an opinion, to share a meal, to share expenses, to share a decision.  Living alone is hard at times.  No one to laugh with while watching a goofy movie, no one to eat with, no one to take the trash out.  No one to be part of the goods, the bads, the ups and downs. There is no regret here, and very little longing for another person, just the acknowledgement that yes, sometimes living alone is hard. 

But still, for the most part, it works for me. 

The summer doldrums

 Most people experience winter doldrums, when it's dark and wet and gloomy.  That's my kind of weather. This time of year, summer (as of tomorrow) drives me crazy with its cheery sunny days and long, limpid evenings.  Those sunny days bring the threat of wild fires, which we have already encountered this past week.  The long evenings would be nice if not for the blasted mosquitos, biting me every chance they get. And don't get me started on the over 90 degree heat that pounds us day after day.

People go on vacation in the summer and other than parents who have kids out of school, I can't imagine a worse time to travel.  Hot sticky cars, steering wheels that burn your hands, traffic jams everywhere, crowds of people slurping sugary soft drinks, dripping ice cream everywhere, tossing trash into overflowing trash bins. Or lines and lines of travelers with overstuffed luggage trying to jam that suitcase into an already over-filled luggage compartment, crammed into an airplane seat next to a stinky, sweaty loud-mouthed jerk in shorts who wants snacks and drinks even before the plane takes off. This is enjoyable? This is someone's idea of a vacation?

At least if a person travels in the winter the lines are shorter and people sweat less. And since I never travel in the summer, my interaction with sweaty bodies is limited to those I encounter in my local tourist-oriented grocery store.  That's enough for me.

Besides wild fires and heat waves and long mosquito-driven evenings, the summer is not for those of us with chunky bodies.  Summer is for people who look good in shorts and tank tops. People who have media-friendly bodies. The summer is cruel to the rest of us, those who have jiggly upper arms and wrinkled knees and a spare tire around our waists that is impossible to camouflage. 

I spend a lot of time inside my tiny cottage (with AC) and read books and take naps. Early in the day is the only time to take a walk, which I do. There is a large pool on this property so a daily dip is part of my routine. Cocktail around 5:30, dinner two hours later. Summer lasts for months, of course, and it's just getting started. Can't let the doldrums get me down.....

From Paris to Copenhagen

Having never been to a Scandinavian country, it seemed time to remedy that situation and get myself to Denmark. It's a quick (and cheap) flight from Paris to Copenhagen and there is a train from the airport to downtown, three blocks from what looked like a good  hotel. Off I went!

Copenhagen is, of course, decidedly Danish. It was founded in the 12th century, so by other European standards it is relatively new. (Paris dates back to 250 BC.) But before the 12th century it was a Viking country, and the launching spot for many Viking excursions to pillage and plunder the surrounding northern countries. The buildings are mostly brick faced, the streets are often cobblestone and the city is crisscrossed with canals. It seems very neat and tidy, buildings lined up next to each other, clean designs everywhere.  Everyone (it seems) speaks English and it is very easy to be a tourist in Copenhagen.  Good food, good beer, great cocktails. It is flat and therefore easy to walk about, and there are many parks, botanical gardens, museums, churches, outdoor markets.  

However, as lovely as it is, it is definitely not Paris. In Paris, every couple of blocks brings something new to see, whether a church from the 12th century, a fountain honoring Joan of Arc, the place where heads were lopped off in the French Revolution, a magnificent museum or just a cobblestone street of historic restaurants. Copenhagen seems tame and a little boring compared to Paris, but I readily admit that I am quite prejudiced in that judgement. I enjoyed my time in Copenhagen but there is no need to return. 

But I must give credit:  the people of Denmark were incredibly friendly and helpful.  Customer service was outstanding everywhere: hotels, restaurants, train stations, historical sites, even the guides in the parks were lovely. The French can sometimes be a bit .... stuffy (some say rude) and the Danish never were.