Garden

I know it's trite, but I can't help post some photos of the garden where I live.  When I moved in, mid-November, there were a few succulents and some sketchy ground cover, not much else.  Laurel, who lives in the tiny duplex attached to mine, is a gardener and she has turned the area into a beautiful, lush, colorful oasis.  Some plants are almost five feet tall, some are six inches off the ground, there are lots of blues and purples, orange, red, white, a tiny bit of peachy pink.  It smells lovely, especially in the early evening.  These pics don't do it justice because they were taken with an iphone, which is never as good as a camera.  (I can't find my camera, alas!)  But here they are. I wish you could see the bees and hummingbirds loving this foliage.  Plus we have a huge mass of boysenberries just getting ready to be eaten.  Tomatoes and squash plants are in, lettuce and herbs as well.

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John Irving: "In One Person"

Short review:  if you like John Irving's style, you will like this book. (I know there are fans and there are non-fans out there.)  I liked it. He is a great story teller, he draws remarkable characters and while this story rambles a bit, in the end it is a solid American novel.  Taking on the subject of sexual identity in the days before the AIDS epidemic,  Irving delves into murky territory here.  Transsexuals, transgenders, gays, lesbians, bisexuals, all forms of what was once classified "sexual deviancy"  are given center stage.  The story is funny and mysterious at times; there are hints of dark secrets and explanations of darker acts that sometimes shock the reader.  But more often, the reader is given enough clues to figure out the next Irving-ish twist of plot.

Taking on this subject, the broad aspects of sexual differences, was a brave leap for Irving.  Tolerance of differences and the quest for freedom are supposedly two of the cornerstones of American culture but we all know how that freedom has been rather selective.  The fight for personal liberty has been a hard, bitter, ongoing struggle.  Irving lets that struggle play out over a fifty year span of time, bringing the characters into the present day.  While sexual orientation is more widely discussed now, Irving makes it clear (as do current headlines)  that the fight for equality in this realm continues today. 

GRADUATE! PARTY!

After years of taking a few classes at a time, my lovely daughter-in-law Annie decided, two years ago, to just put her nose to the grindstone, knuckle down and get her college degree.  She charted a course that would mean four semesters of really hard work, and she was determined to stay within that time frame.  Meanwhile, she found time to work part-time, to take a few vacations (one to Laos, Thailand, Southeast Asia) and to have fun.

Last Saturday, May 19, she graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in Interior Design.  She wore the gown, went to the graduation ceremony and then, on Sunday, it was time to party.  My daughter Jenn flew out from Texas and with her as the chef and myself as the prep cook, we cranked out an amazing cocktail party for more than fifty people.  We did it in about 8 hours of solid work and we had pulled pork sliders, an amazing tuna tartar with fried wontons, mini crab cakes with remoulade sauce, pate, several cheese boards, chicken skewers with peanut sauce, hot artichoke and cheese dip, four different dips, crudites, lots of crackers and cheese, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the kids, three kinds of cookies, carrot cake with cream cheese frosting and tiny little tarts.  And lots of beer and wine.  Needless to say, it was a very fun day.

However, with a boss like Jenn, I worked really hard, slicing, dicing, baking, cleaning up, plating, fetching, carrying, more cleaning up, whipping, whisking and even more cleaning up.  I was exhausted by the end of Sunday.  But it was totally worth it.

As an added bonus, there were probably a dozen little kids at the party.  And I mean little: the oldest was five years old, most were under three.  They were hysterically funny, as only small kids can be, and were rather well behaved.  It was fun to see a new generation springing up but it made me happy I have kids who are adults, not toddlers.

Annie is an amazing designer.  She can pretty much draw up plans that you can build from,  her room designs are modern and practical but original and sometimes almost whimsical.  Her eye for color, form, texture and light is astounding.  I can barely figure out how to make books on the bookshelf look good and Annie can not only design the perfect room for that bookshelf to live in, but she can build the bookshelf as well.  She has a bright and successful future in store for her.

Bacon

Who doesn't love bacon?  Really, out of all of my years as an innkeeper, I have never met anyone who didn't like bacon.  The only time I have seen bacon come back uneaten on a plate is when there is a little fatty part at the end that wasn't crisp and someone didn't want that fat to touch their lips.  Even Jewish folks, who are supposed to abstain from pork products, now and then will guiltily agree to have one slice of bacon.

Bacon goes with everything, like a string of pearls or a white chef's coat.  Put bacon next to the simplest of products and both the bacon and the product rise up a couple of notches.  The classic BLT is a perfect example as are bacon and eggs.  A bacon-maple glaze on a doughnut elevates the pedestrian (although still delicious) fried dough to new heights.  Bacon with all manner of protein = very tasty.  Crumbled, cubed, in strips, slow-cooked in a stew, there is no bad way to prepare bacon.

There are many schools of bacon theory.  The current school of thought is "thicker is better."  While this theory may hold up in other realms, in my opinion it doesn't always work with bacon.  Yes, thicker bacon sometimes is smoked in different ways and often times has a lot of flavor.  But it just doesn't get as crisp as skinny bacon.  I love skinny, crisp bacon.  Oscar Mayer's bacon is fine with me.  Yes, Applewood Smoked Hickory Thick Cut Extra Meaty is great, too, don't get me wrong.  But biting into a thin piece of bacon, feeling it almost shatter into crisp bits under your teeth, ah, now that is a slice of heaven.  Or pig.  Or both.  The heavenly pig.  Thanks, pigs!

"The Art of Fielding" by Chad Harbach

This is a very good book.  Using baseball as the unifying theme, it covers everything:  winning, losing, playing, excelling, failing, celebrating, mourning.  And on and on.  It is a character-driven novel, not plot driven, and the characters are just that, real characters.  Flawed and remarkable, morose and jubilant, often simultaneously. I am not well-read enough to even begin to discuss the metaphorical nature of using baseball as a touchstone nor can I begin to list the literary allusions Harbach uses.  Suffice it to say it all works.  This is his first novel and it seems as if he has been writing for years.  At times lyrical, often satirical, amusing and poignant.  And, on top of all the great characters and the baseball action,  it's a damn good story.  Check it out.

Mothers Day

A long time ago, when I was young and my children were young, too, I impressed upon them that while I loved their Mothers Day gifts, especially those goofy ones made in school, every day was a good day to love your Mother.  In other words, no need for an elaborate celebration on the second Sunday in May.  Just make your Mom happy every day of the year and all would be fine.

Well, what a jerk I was in that realm.  Because I chose not to impress upon my kids the importance of a one-day-a-year celebration of Mothers, I have had many years of no cards, no gifts, no celebratory items of this day.  Yes, they call and if they don't (as has happened, although I do not like to remind them of that) they get a raft of shit the next day.  But yes, they now call and I love that they do.

But it has been a while since I got an actual Mothers Day gift but I really don't care, the day is about talking to your Mom, not sending stuff.

Yesterday, Saturday, I made breakfast for 14 people, helped clean up that mess, shopped and prepped for the next day and came home for a couple of hours. I then went back to the inn to check in two guests.  When I walked into the kitchen, there on the long wooden work counter was a beautiful bouquet.  Since I have been conditioned over the years to not expect Mothers Day flowers, I immediately assumed they were for one of the many Moms who were staying at the inn for the weekend.  I thought "Oh, that's so nice to send a Mom these flowers!"  I looked for the florist card and, zut alors!  It had my name on it.  Could that be correct?  Were they for me?  Yes they were!  This beautiful, fragrant, sweet, delicate bouquet of roses, tulips, stock, alstroemaria and lilies and greens was for ME from my sweet, gorgeous daugher Jennifer!  I promptly burst into tears.  (Which is so unlike me.)

So, there is a lesson here, boys and girls.  It's OK to cry over gorgeous bouquets and never doubt the power of love.  It can surprise you. It should surprise you .

Of course, when I talked to Jenn and told her how much I loved the flowers, how surprised I was and how long it had been since anyone sent me flowers, she had the perfect retort:  "Really, Mom?  You think FTD would have delivered to Inverness?  To the oyster farm where you worked?  Not a chance."  So now that I live near a florist, can I expect this to happen on a regular basis?  No.  But hey, once a year is just fine with me. 

At the end of this Mothers Day I hope all of you who read this said "thanks" to someone who helped you grow up.  In almost everyone's life there has been someone who, for a moment or a day or a month, has made the journey through childhood a little easier.  It can be anyone, man or woman, related or not, but hopefully there is/was some person who had a hand in making each of you feel a little less crappy about growing up. If you can't say "thanks" in person, at least acknowledge them in your heart and say it out loud, even if they can't hear.  Life can be difficult but it can also be sweet because of someone's care.  Thanks to all moms out there. It's the hardest job ever.  But sometimes the best.

love, long time, big time, all the time.

xoxoxo

j.

Meat on the street

My friend Martha said to blog about this and since I always do what she (and others) tell me to do, I am.  I have  little initiative myself, as you all know, so am easily led.

A couple of weeks ago Cooper and I were walking through the 'hood, enjoying a lovely spring day, smelling the roses, admiring the irises and every other growing thing. I saw a couple of guys near a house, delivering something, and sort of ignored them.  A block or two later (we walk a circuitous route) I saw them again and they saw me.  Their panelled truck (small van)  had a meat market designation, and clearly they were making deliveries of pre-ordered beef.  But when they saw me the second time they shouted out a "Hello there!" greeting and I, foolishly, responded.

Next thing I knew they were trying to sell me meat out of the back of their van! I tried to shake them off but they just kept talking about how great this beef was, where it came from, why they had to sell it off cheap, the whole nine yards. They had people who had ordered but not paid and they couldn't leave it outside without payment so they had product to sell.  I wouldn't have listened but they were so nice and cute and engaging.  They offered me about 50 pieces of beef at a cut-rate deal, including T-bone steaks, fillets, ground sirloin, small tenderloins, big tenderloins, you name it. All frozen, vacuum packed, from the mid-west, all professionally packaged.  It looked good but I don't have the freezer space for much, so I kept saying "no."  But I had no reason to not believe them, they seemed earnest and honest.

Finally they made me an offer I couldn't refuse.  A box of 12 small tenderloins, probably about 4 or 6 ounces each, vacuum packed, looking quite lovely, for $60 bucks.  $5 each steak.  Seemed like an OK deal, not great but really crappy if the meat was sub par.  But, hey, I bit, shelled out my $60 and as I was walking down the street with a box of frozen beef steaks under my arm, I laughed to myself.  "Man, I must be a mark, they must have known I would cave in and buy, these steaks must be tough and tasteless."  But honestly, I didn't care, it was a lesson in life: be wary but be open.  You might score.

I ate one of those steaks that night and it was delicious.  Tender, flavorful, juicy.  I have had one since, same thing and I am having one tonight.  Nice size, not a huge amount of meat, just enough.  I gave two of them to Laurel who lives next to me.  Share the bounty.  Trust your instincts:  if you think it is good, it might be. 


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Keen Wa

OK, it's quinoa, but sounds like keen wa.  Whatever. I eat a fair amount of this stuff, it's good protein, it's cheap and quick.  But I have discovered something:  do not add avocado to it.  Somehow the quinoa absorbs the avocado.  I added a nice half of avo to a bowl of quinoa, with some veggies and a little vinaigrette.  I put it in the fridge to chill, came back and stirred it and the avocado was not to be found!  And the quinoa had expanded in size.  Sort of like the Blob, (remember the movie with Steve McQueen?) which absorbed things in its path and got bigger and bigger.  I sat on my red couch and ate my dinner but almost expected to see a huge mound of quinoa turn the corner, having expanded out of its bowl, eating anything alive in its path.  That did not happen, but I am not sure it still won't. 

I honestly don't trust quinoa.  Is it a vegetable, is it a grain, is it natural substance?  Yes, it's a source of protein, it's cheap, it takes on any flavor you want to give it, (sort of like an alien taking on any life form) and supposedly it's Organic!  But even Wikipedia says it's a "chenopod" and if that word doesn't give you pause, I don't know what will.  To eat a chenopod..... well, it should take a leap of faith but no, we willing stooges just pluck those boxes of Q (i.e. boxes of chenopods)  off Trader Joe's shelves and hurry home to boil it and eat it.  We are eating chenopods!  The "pod" part of the name is scary, and we should be wary.  (hmm, a little rhyme there,)

However, I might be distrustful but I am not yet afraid, I will persevere,  I will continue to eat my Q. At least until it swells from the cooking pot, rolls across the floor and eats Cooper.  At that point I might have to question it's value to me and to mankind.  Until that day, good eats.

I added a few extra photos that I couldn't resist, after the Q.

Nothing much

I have been reminded by a few people that I have written nothing in almost two weeks.  That is no way to keep people interested in my silly life,  but honestly, I have nothing to say. It seems I am in a state of ennui, or lethargy, or simply not reacting to what is going on around me.  I think I have the opposite of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder.)  Many people get depressed in the winter when the days are short and the nights long, when the sun doesn't shine and it is gloomy.  I fear that all this sunshine and warmth and spring-like happiness is wearing me down.  Perhaps another disorder is afflicting me, something like NERD (Not Enough Rain Disorder.)  I wish it was raining.  That might make me a NERD.

But that discounts the fact that I love walking around in my Santa Rosa neighborhood, which is full of blooming roses and irises and wisteria, lilacs and various daisies and dozens more gorgeous flowering plants.  The air smells heavy with scents from these plants and bees are vibrating the air and it is lovely.  When I am walking the dog, I am happy to be living in this area.  When I am sitting in my backyard, enjoying the peonies and the other flowers, I am quite content.  So I don't know where this malaise is coming from.

Listening to an NPR interview the other day, the interviewee said, about where he lived, "I can't imagine living anywhere else."  (I think he was in rural Mississippi.)  As often as I have heard that phrase, I was shocked that someone would not, on a regular basis, imagine living somewhere else.  I spend a good part of my day imagining living somewhere else.  I read a story about something in Montana and I imagine living there.  Or Savannah, Georgia.  Or Paris, Rome, Lisbon. Anywhere.  Imagining living all over the world takes up a lot of space in my mind.  Maybe that's a problem.

So, this is the blog for today.  Restless and yet not unhappy, a little sad but not unduly so, a bit disappointed but without a reason to be.

Thanks for reading.