The Oleo Wars Post

One of my favorite things to do other than visit blogs in general, is to search out new food blogs and follow up on old favorites. Though I haven't cooked much at all lately, I love finding new recipes (in the belief that I will return to cooking soon) as well as discovering new techniques.

There are so many new cookbooks and blogs as well as a resurgence of methods and dishes that were popular while I was growing up. It's simply never-ending! So last week in my malaise, I found myself looking for comfort in food and recipes.

One of the blogs I enjoy is The Soup Addict. Don't think I mentioned this in the past, but I love soup as well as making it. As we exit the season of root vegetables, a recipe for French Spring Soup on her blog caught my eye. Her topics run the gamut of soup, gardening and other interesting topics including butter making, so I bookmarked the butter post and of course promptly forgot about it. Running across her soup recipe suddenly jogged my memory and I recalled the bookmarked post.

Her article on how to make cultured butter is very thorough and informative. And when I say butter, we're talking the stuff found in Europe, not the U.S., land of ultra-pasturization.

I'd noticed for quite some time that she had a photo and link (upper right hand corner of the home page,  that she changes periodically) to a kitchen technique. The one that was bookmarked back in January, was on "Ingredients:  Cultured Butter".

I'm in heaven...I love butter. Being raised in the Midwest for the first 25 years of my life, it was an integral part of the culture. I bet you could hear my arteries slamming shut as I said that! Interestingly, back in the mid-60's and earlier, butter was king in the Midwest and you couldn't get margarine (it was cheaper) in the state where I lived.

Margarine as I recall it back then, looked like uncolored fat (sort of like chicken fat without any pink) in a plastic pouch with a pocket of dark orange dye in it's center. The idea was to knead the colored into the ghastly fat so it "looked" like butter. I'd give anything for a photo (color) of the gross object just to share with you! So far, no luck.

I did find a few interesting links you should check out just for the photos and crazy history! After much searching I finally found two old ads showing the bag of fat with the dark orange dye plug in the center:

Is this not gross or what?

Photo Source for both images.

My mom tried it once at the urging of a relative. We all wanted to taste test it. The result. We never want that "thing" in our home again! To this day, margarine strikes me as fake butter. IMHO if I'm going to consume any calories (and margarine does have them) then I want to make them worth it and enjoy the real taste...so give me butter!

Same applies to cheese, chocolate and so on. Give me the real thing or I'll just skip it.

Now, just for your enjoyment, I found a few more pertinent links. First, this article on the "Oleo Wars" which is hysterical but totally true! Here's yet another Oleo War Saga. And this last one has the following quote from reader, Paula:  "When we went on school bus trips with my Catholic grammar school from Milwaukee to Chicago, we were “armed” with neighborhood orders for oleo (ala Girl Scout cookies). The bus always stopped at Fosslands on the way back. Our teachers (nuns, no less) would work Mr. Fossland for an excellent price. They then upmarked the oleo for us to deliver back in Milwaukee. We sat with our knees in our faces the rest of the way back, since the bus floor was covered with cases of oleo. I was doing God’s work." Can you stand it?!

Fast forward a decade or so and on my trip to Europe (and all subsequent ones), I went to the next level of heaven (if there can be one) and discovered cultured butter. I won't go into the differences here since Karen's article is excellent, other than to say there's nothing better!

I read the article and then went on to read her first article concerning basic butter making. Must say, please read them in the correct order (unlike me):  basic butter first and then cultured butter. If you even remotely like the taste of real butter vs. "gag" margarine, you must check these posts out! OMGoodness! The minute my current project in the kitchen is done, out comes the mixer and I'll be off churning!!

Biscuits and Gravy Post

Memory Mondays

St. Pat's Day got me thinking as I said in an earlier post) about my family. While searching for a quote to send a friend, I ran across one in Robert Fulghum's book, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. It immediately made me think of my father. It's at the end of this post.

In the last years of his life, my dad re-discovered Biscuits and Gravy for breakfast. This was a horrifying discovery for me since my parents' home had become a combo of "Heart Attack Hotel" and "Stroke City". What was scarier, was that my mother was enabling him!

She had figured out how to whip up a batch of Sausage Gravy, putting it into recycled margarine containers from her friend Irene (my mom never used margarine after her experience with oleo). Then she'd mix up dough for biscuits, bake them, cool completely and bag them. Everything was then frozen.

This way she could thaw a tub of gravy overnight, the next morning, heat it and pop a few biscuits into the toaster oven. Within minutes she had dad's breakfast. He always looked so delighted when he dove in. His eyes twinkled and when finished, he'd smack his lips and smile. The perfect picture of pure happiness.

As time went on, this became his (gasp!) daily breakfast after he went to George Webb's to see his "friends" for a cup of coffee. On weekends, of course, it was real eggs, bacon and butter. Eggbeaters never entered the picture, much less the house.

Recent posts on food networks seem to be featuring more and more comfort foods, among them recipes for Biscuits and Gravy. In looking up the nutritional (ha!) information for these heavenly little pillows of poison, I came across www.livestrong.com, a partner of the Lance Armstrong Foundation and the following statistics.
"One 2 1/2 inch diameter biscuit has 212 calories, according to the FatSecret website. An oz., or 2 tbsp. of sausage gravy has 44 calories, you'll take in 256 in calories."

Frankly this sounded a bit low to me, so over at the www.fatsecret.com site I found that one biscuit with gravy equalled 508 calories. I won't even tell you the breakdown of saturated fat and so on. At www.allrecipes.com, I found one serving dished up 710 calories, so there's a lot of variation.

Now, if you'd seen my father's version, it would have scared you silly. At least two if not three biscuits topped with about 3/4 cup of sausage gravy. Yes, you may faint right now. My arteries are snapping shut right now just recalling this!

Since I've never had a taste of this dish or would ever make a batch, I'm using a photo from www.tasteofhome.com so you can see what I'm referring to.

Photo Source

I'll end with the Robert Fulghum quote because it's exactly what my father said to me when I questioned his sanity for eating this way.

And sure,

I know if you eat this way you'll die. So?

If you don't eat this way

you're still going to die.

Why not die happy?

Life in a Coffee Cup Post

When I began this post it seemed to grow until it was actually two stories in one. Had I kept going, I would have wound up with a book, not a post.

For some time now I've been wanting to record stories of the lives of my parents and growing up with them. So periodically I'll post a tale of a time gone by, hoping to save it from the dust bunnies of lost dreams and memories.

Most people seem to have special stories of their family, both happy and sad, but few ever get recorded and as time passes, poignant memories fade. Details vanish. Names of images in old photos are lost and as a result, a lot of our own history is lost.

My mom always thought she'd have time to write the names on the back of those pictured in old photos. It never happened. Like every other wish and good intention, it was lost in the milieux of living. So without further ado, I give you a little story of my father.

Mornings with George and the Gang

My dad had owned his own company for many years. The kind of work his company performed was major rebuilding of printing presses. As a result he spent many days traveling across the states, usually by car to look at possible jobs so he could estimate crew size and costs. He loved to drive and I inherited this love.

When feeling stressed or crazy, one of the best remedies is getting in the car and just driving. In the past, nowhere in particular, just getting out of one's head and looking at new scenery was the goal.

In recent years, the cost of gas has made it more imperative to at least have a destination or purpose for the journey. The only requirement still was that it had to be at least an good 50 miles one way and not all be freeway or highway driving. But I digress, as always.

Retiring, was the worst thing my father could have done, like many men his age, it was all he'd ever known and as a group they went into the labor force early due to the Great Depression (the first one). As a result, he was often bored with facing long days of doing nothing and as a result had to find several new "habits" to replace the ones he had when he was working.

He had informed my mother that he would not be doing housework upon retirement. He did enjoy washing up the dinner dishes though for some reason. After about a year of this and with her health declining, mom hired someone to come in to clean every month.

The other problem with retirement for self-made men of his era is that they'd never had time when working to develop friendships with men the way women usually do, so in retirement he had no one to hang out with. Well, other than my mother, and despite his undying love for her, he could only take the 24/7 with her for so long.

One new habit was to get up early as he always had and go over to the local George Webb's for coffee and sometimes breakfast. Now mind you, mom would have happily gotten up and cooked a lovely breakfast and dad had proven a very capable cook himself over the years.

If my little brother or I were home, he'd trade off with mom and cook us breakfast. One had a choice of sunny-side-up, over-easy or scrambled. His sunny-side-up eggs were to die for so we always chose those! Nice runny yolk, not wiggly whites. Perfectly done. Yum! But back to my story.

The customers at Webb's in the early morning hours were men much like my father, with no place to go socially. They had been foisted into the labor pool very young because of the depression. There was no time to think of anything but putting food on the table and keeping a roof over your head and your family.

So gradually a group of disparate buddies developed. They were alike but each had such a different story. The common bond was that of an unidentified (to them) feeling of suddenly being left without a purpose. Their whole life had been work and family. That bond was sharing a cup of coffee in the morning with other men and debating the state of the world.

It's important to mention here that, these quasi-friendships went no further. Men of my dad's era weren't taught such social skills. Friendships that developed through sports like golf didn't take root until the next generation came along.

When dad came home afterwards and you could see he felt worthwhile, like he had solved the problems of the world. He'd retire to the den, his recliner, open whatever current book on history or politics he was reading and most likely drift off into a peaceful slumber. So went his retirement.

The Significantly Insignificant Things Post

Years ago, while sorting through my parents' belongings with my brother, small discoveries were made. My dad's shoes had holes in the soles with cardboard covering them. This, from a man who always prided himself on his dapper style of dress.

Dad circa 1953-4

It's from him (along with my mom) that we inherited our love of well-made leather shoes. If you want good foot health, leather soles are a must IMHO. They breathe and cushion your tootsies in a way no synthetic sole can.

Guess I'll never be a vegan. A good pair of classically styled, well-made leather  shoes...worth every penny. What I find interesting is that they were ahead of their time in that it's certainly more earth-friendly to buy quality and then preserve it with minimal waste (re-heeling and resoling), rather than just tossing used shoes out and buying more.

We were taught a few cardinal rules of proper shoe care:
     -one never wore the rubber part of the heels down to the actual shoe heel, you had them reheeled
     -if the soles wore through, you resoled them (not with a synthetic product)
     -you polished and buffed your shoes with shoe polish and a proper brush regularly

My parents were not rich but weren't lacking in money for the basics, so this little discovery shocked the heck out of us.

Why had this happened? How? When? Maybe as you hit a certain age, you just stop worrying about the details.

All I can say is that I'll never forget the look on my brother's face as he carried the shoes over to the bed where I was sorting other things. The look of shock and dismay was so intense. It was as if he were a child again and a parent had disappointed him. But now, he couldn't ask "why?"....

While on the subject of holes in shoes, I ran across this which I thought was interesting. It's what I call the "Depression" mentality on holes and resoling.

The problem is that this mentality doesn't explain my dad allowing the holes to go all the way through to his feet. One doesn't wait that long, because then the bed of the sole is ruined. On top of that, there's the covering of the holes with cardboard...makes no sense.

In mom's closet I'd discovered boxes of S and H Green Stamp books with the stamps all glued in place. What was she saving them for? I also found a gift type box filled with old red cancelled postage stamps from the early 1950's.

Again...why? It wasn't like these were in the spare room that she used for storage. These were in her day-to-day bedroom closet with things currently in use. Yet another question never to be answered.

S & H Green Stamp Books

Some things you simply can't prepare for. For example, let's just imagine what my mom's reaction would have been if I'd said (excuse me while I peel myself off the floor where I was rolling in fits of laughter at this thought) I wanted to go through her closet...the answer would have been a firm "no". The "don't ever go there again" would have been implicit.

But there's so much else that you could think of in the way of completing their histories and thus yours. It's information that will be forever lost to you. Never forget Mark Twain's words,  "...years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did...."

So if you're reading this, take a little time to record what you remember. Often, simple retelling of stories is the easiest way to do this. By doing this while you still have your family, they can help fill in the blanks!

A few months before my parents died, I was "home" and the three of us were sitting in their den. I asked them how they met. Mom became all shy and school girl-like. Dad looked off into a distance only he could see and after a pause, began telling the story. He'd glance every now and then at mom, in a way one looks at a another when seeing them as they had appeared so very long ago, in the very memory they were reliving.

It was truly magical and something one doesn't witness often. They seemed to see each other as they had in that moment so long ago. I'll never forget it. It was like being a witness to time suspended.

It's a romantic story that will be with me forever but would have vanished into the winds of eternity had I not taken time to ask. I'll share it with you, but in a future post. I'm going to go and be alone with the warmth of this memory for now.

I think I've written this before, but it deserves repeating,

Memories don't belong in drawers.

George Burns (1896 - 1996)

The Presence of Miracles Post

Was having a bit of a hard time today. Even though my knee looks like a basketball, I tackled cleaning out the fridge, freezer and vegetable bin. Was quite proud of myself. 

In the interest of being more positive, I'm stopping at this point. Let's just call it garbage can problem-week three. I'd accomplished something I've wanted to do for some time which was to clean out the freezer, something I haven't done for over two years. It had become the great wall of icy unknowns. The rest goes sort of downhill after that, but as I said, we won't go there today.

Funny, after a little meltdown and pity party, it dawned on me as I wrote this, that it will all work out in the end. Why get all worked up over something I have no control over? 

This is an amazing realization for me. You know how "you can know something" but until you internalize it, the meaning stays "on the surface" so to speak? (Does that make any sense?) Well, I had finally unconsciously embraced the meaning of my dad's words after many years.

In the past I would have been having hissy-fits, which in the end only hurt me and for what purpose? It wouldn't have made me happier. Life happens. Just go with it. Somehow, a month or so from now, it will all be resolved so why fight it? 

This thought took me down memory lane...back to when my father was alive. I loved talking to him about business. He was so brilliant and had experienced so much in his life. Once I called him in the late 80's when I was having a horrid time at work. We talked about solutions and how to look at things. He used stories from his life to illustrate how experience taught him what he was relaying to me.

I loved his stories. He told me to have a picture in my mind of a month or two or three down the road when it was all over. It wasn't an eternity. No matter what I faced in the present, he said to keep that vision in mind because by then, the problems would most likely be resolved. It wasn't easy to do but he was right.

It's something I've tried to remember throughout my life, not always successfully. At least, not until today. Once I'd calmed down and accepted the problem, I called the property manager, explained the gardeners used both cans so I had nowhere to put the trash and it had been like this for three weeks. She said she'd take care of it. 

You'll recall P and A who live in the back house? Because of my knee problem, P's been kind enough to take the cans out to the curb for me over the last few months. I called and left him a message not to bother, that the problem would be solved. In spite of that, he managed to jam several bags into the loaded cans and was rolling them out. 

Seeing this, I ran (more like hobbled) out to tell him not to worry about it and he told me not to worry about it! The cans went out to the curb and he took the bags he couldn't fit in, back to their own garbage bin. I was stunned and thanked him profusely. 

As a result of letting go, a wonderful little blessing dropped into my lap. If I were a church going soul, this is what I would say qualifies for the monicker "let go and let God". But even though I'm not, I think it illustrates the quality of grace.

When you let grace into your life and try to extend it to others, wondrous things can happen... we just need to stay in a place of quiet acceptance in order to see these marvels, thus allowing them to manifest.

When you give up trying to fight and control life, all on your own, it just magically becomes easier. When we fight life, we miss all the invisible grace that surrounds us on this earth. Maybe that's what's meant by surrendering the ego. 

By acknowledging that we're vulnerable and can't do it all, we're embracing the concept of grace which allows a certain serenity to surround us. When we fight things with an attitude of "I can do it all myself" we block grace and keep it from entering our lives.

I have no idea where all of this came from today, but this evening I feel so much better not having put myself through the ringer of anger.  Miracles are around us every second of every day, just waiting to be seen, waiting to be allowed "in". This year, regardless of your religious or non-religious beliefs, let them find you. They're waiting.

There are two ways to live,

you can live as if nothing is a miracle 

or you can live as if everything is a miracle. 

Albert Einstein

Relaxing Post

Was able to snag a few hours sleep in the morning so I'm not going bonkers. Very glad that all my errands and so on are done. Oh sure, if I was really crazed, I'd go to Whole Foods and hit their olive bar for olives with Provencal herbs (sooo good) and cheese counter (a pricey bit of heaven*). Happily, I can do that early next week when everyone else is hitting the after Christmas sales.

Source:  Wikipedia

*They do have Leyden cheese which I fell in LOVE with when visiting my friend in The Netherlands. So good for breakfast, sliced wafer thin with a wee bit of butter on black bread (and I don't mean pumpernickel). Awesome.

Still need to pick up a few prescriptions (thank heavens for the "drive-thru"), get gas in the car (saw it for $3.59 at a nearby station), pick up two things at the cleaners, mail two birthday cards and stop at the bank. But, because I have nowhere to go or be in the next three days, it can all wait till next week. Yay! No holiday insanity or dealing with crazed drivers here! Aaah....

Source:  Amazon.com

Listening to Pandora radio while I write. Every now and then a holiday piece comes on from Diana Krall's Christmas Songs album, which I love. So relaxing.

So with that I'll close, wishing you all a peaceful, relaxing evening or morning (depending on your time zone). Time goes by so quickly.

So early 60's!

P.S. That just jogged my memory. As we now step into the "way back machine" a la Rocky and Bullwinkle...a song from long ago (like 1965!), Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers. Music simply to die for. Melt, melt, melt.... Enjoy!

The Saga: Final Post

Back in the Midwest again, this time for my mom's funeral; as I said in an earlier post...deja vu. Rerun of a bad movie. I was again amazed at the number of people that appeared, people I went to grade school and high school with, some of whom I hadn't heard from in decades. As I said, I was a wreck. My brother wrote and read a poem about my parents' weekly, 10 a.m. Sunday phone calls which was thoughtful.

I read Auden again and some Emily Dickinson, sobbing as before. Really, really bad movie rerun. My bro' arranged for the same type of wooden coffin as dad's. He brought her favorite heels for her. They didn't fit her feet now. Diabetes type two had taken a toll on her feet and legs but damn, they were on her feet again (whether they fit or not) and she was going to be dancing her way into eternity in them if he had anything to say about it.

This time he had all white flowers, a voluminous cloud of them, draped above her head and across the foot of the casket. White pillar candles and votives nestled in the flowers. Her signature red lipstick highlighted her face just as in life. The fragrance of the flowers brought back memories of Locker's Florist in the village during Spring. Breathtaking.

Again, no religious entity. Just loved ones and friends sending her off through all the tears, even though it broke our hearts.

After a while we all said goodbye and retired to their house. My brother's in-laws had arranged for nibbles. It was far more somber than my dad's funeral. I think because everyone was still stunned...29 days! How unfair!

I'm glad I read the W. H. Auden poem again. The last few lines will be inscribed upon my mind till I leave this world.

My brother and I stayed on for a week, clearing out the food (dry goods were donated to a food bank) and clothing etc. sorted and donated. Basically getting the house ready for sale. We laughed and were quiet when we'd trip over a memory. Of course, going through the day to day "stuff" was like trying to cross a mine field without incurring casualties. The most insignificant thing could trigger a cascade of emotions. The permanency of death was slowly descending upon us.

We left all the furniture in place so the house would "show" better. We interviewed a real estate agent and put it on the market.

The funeral home hadn't even gotten my dad's ashes to us when mom arrived on their doorstep. So we told them to hold onto them and when mom was done in the oven, put her ashes in with dad's.

Sorry about the oven comment but to this day "gallows humor" can creep out when I least expect it. It must be a sanity mechanism of one's brain...you can laugh or you can cry and I keep choosing to laugh when possible.

Gallows humor first appeared when my bro' and I were both home in late February of the same year because mom and dad had heart attacks together. Matching heart attacks as it were, how "cute".  (Taking a deep breath.) We were driving to the hospital in their car and my brother started making jokes about the whole situation which in turn, got me started and like so many rides home from my Aunt's after Thanksgiving, we were laughing hysterically at anything.

As we approached the hospital, my brother said we should probably appear more serious. I said, I agreed, we didn't want to appear to be horrid "children" to the nurses, laughing at the miserable state of affairs. (We, the "children", were in our late forties at that point.) On the way home, he said it was gallows humor.

What is gallows humor you ask? Per Wikipedia:  "Gallows humor is the type of humor that still manages to be funny in the face of, and in response to, a perfectly hopeless situation.^[1] It arises from stressful, traumatic, or life-threatening situations, often in circumstances such that death is perceived as impending and unavoidable." A perfect description!

That's pretty much it. Stopping for now. I may have a post or two down the road about further thoughts. Thank you for your patience, now go hug someone you love.

Stop All the Clocks Post

The power outage still has over 9,000 people in the dark and cold. I know we're weather wimps here in California, but it's supposed to hit 38F (3.33C) tonight. That's cold!

Was thinking about the quote at the bottom of yesterday's post, then re-read the last paragraph about the permanency of loss and found myself floating back in time to the period when my parents died just 29 days apart. If only I knew then what I know now, I would have just moved in with them in the final months rather than agree to hire caretakers.

I had no real idea or understanding of the seriousness of their condition. The doctors glossed over it. My parents would just say "comes with the territory". I believed them and was lulled into a false safety zone. They were my parents...they "couldn't" leave. Life is so flaming fragile...I had no concept.

The end of April came and so did "the phone call". It was my brother. The doctor in the emergency room had called him since he had the medical power of attorney. My father had lapsed into a coma after another heart attack. The prognosis was bleak. We both knew (since he clearly told us more than once) that he had no desire to be put on life support. He was a strong believer in the quality of one's life vs. the length of it.

Afterwards, my brother told me that the doctor confided in him that he'd "never seen anyone so pissed" at death. He was enraged by it and that he couldn't will it away. Just like my Irish father to the bitter end. I always used to say "he may not be right, but he's never wrong". The following weeks were a numb fog.

My brother and I are so different. In times like that I fall to the earth like a dried leaf, where he instead, marshalls his forces. He took care of everything for the funeral. My dad was buried in a wooden coffin just as he'd wished. It was actually made by Hasidic Jews with no metal parts, only dowels and glue (according to the funeral director). I'm sure the director was not happy since the coffin cost only $600.00 (447.96 Euros). Most coffins today run into the thousands of dollars. It's a big business.

The casket was swathed in a rainbow of fresh flowers and not the "funereal" type. He'd found about half a dozen black and white photos of my dad from throughout his life, then framed them in an assortment of silver frames. Those sat among the flowers on the lower half of the coffin. It was amazing!

He read "Stop All the Clocks, Cut off the Phone" by W.H. Auden. It's a glorious poem, so perfect for the day. I read, "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost. It always symbolized my father's unique life. I also read Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night" because I felt it summed up my father from birth to death so perfectly. I sobbed through the whole thing.

A surprising number of people showed up at the funeral home. Apparently, everyone in small Midwestern towns reads the obituaries. Former employees and even his early morning coffee "buddies" from George Webb's made a visit.

We did not have any religious entity present because my father's wish along with the wooden box was to be stood up in the corner while everyone else had a party in his honor. So we kept it very simple. The family and close friends were invited back to my parent's house for an afternoon feast with food brought by friends, family and neighbors.

My brother seriously thought of handing out shots of whiskey to everyone there for a toast, but felt my mom might have a coronary, so he didn't. It was a very hard day. It didn't hit any of us, the permanence of death. As time passed, it settled in painfully.

To be continued in the next post....

J.F.K. Post

Yesterday, I suddenly stopped what I was doing and thought J.F.K.!  As always I'm either early or late...today is the 49th anniversary of John Fitzgerald Kennedy's assassination. I looked up J.F.K. online and found the following at Wikipedia (which by the way, is having a fund-raising drive):
"The assassination of John F. Kennedy in November 1963 was the Baby Boomer generation’s 9/11, as author Stephen King has cogently put it. The shock of seeing the charismatic president murdered in a Dallas motorcade was an unimaginable event, one that continues to have resonance...."
I thought this was a perfect way to describe this event for those around the world who never lived through that time. If you ask anyone who was alive back then, they can remember exactly where they were when it happened, or just after, when they first heard about it.

My mom was in the Post Office.

I was in grade school. Sister Marie Bernard had taken us down to the "media" room (forgot what it was called back then). We were watching some educational TV show when another nun came running in and said "turn on channel such and such".

There we all sat in stunned horror watching the playback of the shooting. Jackie in her pink Chanel suit and classic, matching pillbox hat with the president waving, as it all played out.

Utter horror, shock and disbelief.

Source:  Wikipedia

The pall of silence that fell over the room was suffocating. On November 22, 1963 the world was changed and marred forever in a few seconds. A void was created that will never be filled. Nothing would ever be the same again. I'll never, ever forget that day as long as I live.

Please go in peace and safety. Sleep well and feel loved.

Ebb and Flow Post

It's funny how at different times of the year, the posts on various blogs, ebb and flow. One time of the year is the start of summer when everyone is getting organized for summer. Camp, vacations and so forth, no one has time to blog. As the winter holidays approach there's another ebb. Even though I'm not employed, have no children and don't get into full holiday celebration mode...it is just me for heaven sake, this trend is still noticeable.

Thanksgiving is less than three weeks away. (We won't even broach the subject of Christmas.) Once again, despite the fact that it is just me, I'm tempted to make a small turkey for the holiday (10 pounds at the very most, smaller if I can find one). I was looking back over my blog and noticed that the first year I was separated, I made an 18 pound turkey. I hadn't gotten into the cooking for one mode yet, obviously.

There's something about Thanksgiving that just makes all the memories of smells and tastes come rushing back and I feel the need to reconnect in some way, even if I'm stuck with a ton of leftover turkey.

Remember the year of the gargantuan failure of the crock pot turkey breast meal? It was the first time I'd ever used a crock pot. If nothing else can be said for me, it's that I don't start small! I leap in with both feet and turkey breasts! It looked so good initially...

Crock pot failure. Thanksgiving 2009.

The following year I skipped cooking altogether. What a bummer, big mistake. There's something very heart-filling about the traditions of Thanksgiving, at least for me. I think it's my favorite holiday of the year! All warm and cuddly. Even more so than Christmas which is surprising!

The magical part of all this is that any and all bad memories vanish and all I remember is the closeness of being with family if only for a day. It's a time when I'm surrounded by visions of all that was wonderful in my childhood. As a kid, we always had Thanksgiving at my great grandma's house. She lived with my aunt and uncle in her old home/boarding house. We'd drive an hour to get there regardless of the weather. Remember, there were no seat-belts back then.  :)

Even after a huge feast where we stuffed ourselves, when the time neared for the trip home, we (my brother and I) insisted my aunt prepare sandwiches for the "journey" back home! I still marvel at how all the adults put up with this silliness. In truth, the "big draw" was that my aunt used Wonder Bread to make the sandwiches. My mom bought bakery bread that was totally different and no fun. WB's fluffy nothingness of doughy goodness could easily be shaped into dense, pretend pancakes, balls, tubes and so on. Ah, the stuff of childhood.... Amazingly, not a sandwich made it home. Lol! We were voracious little critters.

As the holiday approaches this year, I'm fortunate to have, a bag of Pepperidge Farms herb cubes left from last year. (This brand is sooo much better than Mrs. Cubbison's pathetic excuse for dressing.)

"Yech! I used this once about 9 years ago...never again!"

Frankly, I don't think that any loss of taste will be noticeable. Once you make the mixture with butter, stock, fresh diced celery and onions and stuff the turkey, it takes on a whole new delicious life. Mmmm! The funny thing is, I don't need all the other classic accompaniments. Sure they'd be nice, but just turkey and dressing make the day, always have and probably always will!

Toussaint Post

Well, I lived through Halloween with no incident which makes me a happy camper. Actually, I didn't get myself out to the store to buy some candy till 3:15 p.m. yesterday. Then ran two more errands nearby,  getting back at about 5:45. I was actually tired so I lay down with ice on my knee for about an hour. No one rang the bell. By then, it was "safe" to turn on my Mac and watch some TV.

No one knocked on the door. At about 8 p.m. the "big" kids (teenagers) came out, a clear audio difference. High-pitched squeals of laughter and delight were replaced with louder, deeper voices teasing and taunting. Clearly the no porch light "rule" was understood by all.

So as I said, it was an evening without incident. Thank goodness. Must say though that you'd think I lived in a war zone the way I sound. I said a prayer last night for all the souls who really do live in fear for their lives even while they're in their own home as well as those who for whatever reason are without shelter. I can't even imagine....

Today is the Day of the Dead. A great holiday in my book. You can read my post about spending Nov. 1 in Italy in 2003, frankly the same feelings apply today, even thought it's years later.  I feel very fortunate to have been there and think I'll always remember that experience. This is also known as "All Saints Day"here and elsewhere. In France, it's name is "Toussaint". I found this out at Corey's blog, Tongue in Cheek, where she has some beautiful thoughts on the day.

May good memories bring you happiness today and the bad ones be forgiven and forgotten!

Darkness Encroaches Post

It's not even 6:20 p.m. and it's night time! AAAUUUGGGHH!!! With darkness encroaching earlier and earlier with each passing day, I decided to look up when the clocks get turned back. Daylight Savings Time will end Sunday Nov. 6 this year. While I'm very glad that the government expanded DLST a while back, I wish they'd just keep it year round. Darkness at 4 p.m. is just a pain in the neck. I'm already annoyed that sunset today will be at 6:08 p.m. Of course, I don't mind the sun rising later in the mornings...all the better to sleep in. But on Nov. 6 that'll change.

So now begins my love-hate relationship with winter. I love the coolness and the ability to use the "big oven" (have I mentioned this before? lol!). I love the coziness of my bed with layers of quilts and blankets. I love winter clothes although I really need a new coat since mine is over twelve years old and starting to look like it (ditto the rest of my winter wardrobe). I love that so many plants can weather the "winter" so well here, and that many citrus (and my half of the avocado tree) offer their treasures at this time of year. I like that it may rain washing everything off, even if the garage leaks.

What I don't like is the mental race I get into, watching and waiting for the longest day of the year to arrive so we can be on our way to spring and DLST once again. Sounds nutty, I know, but that's how it is. I dislike summer in California extending into late October. It never gives me enough time to get in the mood for the holidays. Poof! They're suddenly upon you and gone! Blink and you've missed them.

I don't know why this popped into my mind this afternoon. Maybe because it's after 5 p.m. and I still have to run out and get something to call dinner, another pain in the neck. Actually I enjoy grocery shopping just hate getting myself out and about. Maybe it's part of the process of trying to leave California.

This will probably be my last move unless someone (heaven knows who...drags/sticks me into a nursing home...) so I want to make sure I pick some place I'll be happy in. I used to be happy with this state when I moved here ages ago, but then I was married, had a job, a home, garden and my Siberians. So much has changed. It's not the same state any more. Now I'm adrift with nothing to really keep me here.

This reminds me of my father, who, when I moved here, could not down-grade it enough. Whatever good thing happened here, something better always happened in Wisconsin. My parents visited me only once in the twenty plus (more like 30) years I lived here. While here, my father had nothing good to say about it. Or my husband...although that, I now understand.

It's so very sad what people "do" to others "they love" with their words. The pain that's forced upon them for whatever sad reason.

Hint of Autumn Post

There are those here in Southern California, who say they can't see the seasons. This little chickie can't be counted among them, because I see the seasons most distinctly. Like right now, today just screams autumn is well on it's way.

The light is different...less intense and moving south. The temperatures (knock on wood) are gentler. The deciduous trees like the liquid ambers are starting to show a bit of color. This could all change in a blink, but there it is, the season of fall is almost upon us. Of course there's always the possibility of an "Indian Summer" surprising us but that can happen no matter where you live.

When growing up in Wisconsin, it was a very real expectation. How else could the universe further torment a high school full of teenage girls already forced into the ugliest navy blue wool gaberdine uniform ever imagined? Today, I still hate the color blue, yes, hate...that's the evil color emblazoned in my teenage mind...forever.

Envision a classroom full of 30 girls (in various stages of discovering deodorant) after gym class and you have a pretty good picture of torment. Despite the image of young women "properly" attired with peter-pan shirt collars, short little wool bolero vests, and a skirt with a pleat right over one's stomach, which just highlighted one's baby fat (thank you so much uniform selection committee), the stench overwhelmed the image. Add to that the disaster visited upon all those pert and teased little hair-dos held in place with lacquer spray, after an hour of sweat in the sun for gym class, and you have a bunch of sad looking little dishrags.

We won't even go near the subject of the gym romper uniform...just thinking of it makes me close my eyes, and shake my head while cringing.... Yeah, it was that bad. And they were red! What were they thinking...sticking red outfits on Nordic blondes who had ruddy cheeks even before exercise?

But (as usual) I digress...the seasons is the subject I was on. As I said, the seasons are very clear to me and the one I'm seeing today is so far quite pleasant.

On a totally different topic, in my strolls through the blogosphere (is that even a word?) I ran across a contest on babble for the top food blogs. Now I'm not a big fan of "mom" blogs since I really don't relate to all the talk of babies and toddlers. But food is food, so this caught my eye.

Found my way there via Snippets of Thyme which is a food blog (for the most part) with wonderful photography, like this post with the swans...gorgeous! Really, go check out her photos of the swans right now but then come back. Anyhow, I thought I'd share this with you since it lists 100 food blogs and who can't use a new recipe now and then?

Oh, and I found this recipe for Grilled Tuna and Cheese Sandwiches which looks delicious! Planning to make this real soon! Just need some sandwich bread. Yeah, my thoughts of a Paleo or gluten-free diet get side-tracked real easy!

Chicken and Fish Post

After my Thanksgiving fiasco with the turkey breast and crockpot almost three years ago, I've been reluctant to attempt anything large again...like a whole chicken. But I really want to make my Moroccan chicken recipe. The one with green olives and lemons. The sauce is so amazing. I'm just not ready to turn the big oven on yet.

So I googled "whole chicken in crock pot" and found a link to what seems to be a remarkably simple recipe. Plus, it tells how to go one step further to make chicken stock! Now all I have to do is figure out how to adapt it to the Moroccan version. I should add this all came about because Stater Brothers has whole Foster Farm chickens on sale for $0.69/lb. this week.

One thing I noticed when reading this author's post was her observation "The problem with whole chickens is that no one wants to touch them or mess with them". This isn't the first time I've heard this. Now, I'm not big on eating chicken skin unless it's cooked to a total crisp but I don't understand this aversion to handling chicken. Maybe it's how you're brought up.

Photo courtesy of "gourmetsleuth.com"

The only way I can relate to it is that I'm not nuts about buying a whole fish and preparing it. I love fish but the thought of working with it (like a whole trout) is off-putting. No idea why since I like fishing and I've actually scaled a fish I caught (what a mess), maybe it's the eyes or whole head.

Please note here, when I say I like to fish, I need to be clear. I hate worms and will not thread one on a hook to save my life, rather I use bacon which always provides a good laugh for guys.

On a side note:  when I was at Von's today to pickup a rotisserie chicken on sale this weekend for $5.99, still a deal, I checked on bacon since I had a taste for eggs, sunny side up (yolks are runny...mmm) with bacon. I grew up with Oscar Meyer brand and it remains my taste-favorite. Last time I looked, about a month ago it cost $6.99, today it was $8.99! Holy smokes! Anyhow, back to fishing.

There's something so relaxing about spending a few hours in a row boat (with a motor of course, I only row so far) out on a lake. It's incredibly peaceful, floating there with your fishing pole, listening to the water gently lap at the sides of the boat. Clouds drift by and you can see the summer breeze in the trees on shore.

Ages ago when on vacation with my then husband's family in Door County, Wisconsin, I went out fishing with my husband and brother-in-law. Yes, I was the butt of that day's jokes in the boat, all because of my bacon bait, but guess who was the only one who caught any fish? Ha!

I should also be clear that I will not un-hitch my fish from the hook anymore than I will thread worms, so it's a good thing I fish better than most companions. Kind of obligates them to shut up and gallantly remove my fish for me. Double ha!

Corn Post

Was just checking in on the blog Orangette this morning and she mentioned how the Pacific Northwest's corn pales to that of Ohio (she was just there). It suddenly dawned on me that in my non-cooking state, I have not had one ear of corn this summer! This is something, heretofore, unheard of.

I love corn, especially the white kind which you can actually eat raw. This is a serious breach of summer etiquette! Lol! But seriously, I'm going to have to buy an ear or two before I've missed the season all together.

Googling "fresh corn recipes" or "corn on the cob" will give you lots of links. These are just a few of them, they all received good reviews:
Crock pot Corn Risotto
Sweet Pepper and Corn Relish (third recipe down)
P.J.'s Fresh Corn Salad
Summer Corn Salad
Corn Off the Cob Salad
Summer Corn Salad with Asparagus
Grilled Corn on the Cob in Its Husk

Photo courtesy of U of W-Madison Archives-1960 (note use of corn husks,with lots of napkins, in right hand as "handle")

After more searching, my mind went numb and drifted back to my childhood in Wisconsin and the yearly State Fair. I loved the State Fairs in the Midwest back then. Fresh brats on an open grill pit and  corn on the cob in its full glory. The ears were soaked in pails of water for at least half an hour if they were lucky, depending on the crowd's demands, then the husks were skillfully pulled back and silks removed. They replaced the husks around the corn. After that they were thrown on the fire pit. The grill master always knew when they were just perfectly done. Once you ordered, your ear was removed from the grill, the husks pulled all the way back and bundled like a handle. It was then plunged into another pail, this one was piping hot farm* butter.

Photo courtesy of U of W-Madison Archives-1960 (note the enthusiasm...mmm...I'm right there chomping in)

Salt shakers and napkins were on a bench nearby. It was just this side of heaven and to this day, I don't think there's a better way to eat fresh corn. So if I can still find some ears with bright green husks (this is important, as dried up husks are useless no matter how much water they soak in), I'll be firing up the grill, filling the kitchen sink with water. Grilling will only take 10 to 15 minutes at the most, maybe less,  on a preheated grill. Since today's corn is so sweet, I'll omit the butter (or maybe not), then I'll be rippin' back the husks and revisiting that little slice of nirvana. Glorious!

* I don't care how many commercial/grocery store versions of butter you try...nothing beats that straight off the farm.

Up Too Late Post

Once again I'm up very, very late (way too late) for a number of very irritating reasons. Aaauuggh! It's so annoying.

Just wanted to share this photo since it literally makes my mouth water drool, to look at it and the memories it instantly brings back, just love it! The whole story is in the next post.

They say the sense of smell is the most common connecter to memories and so forth. I agree, but would add that the sense of taste or memory of it it is next. I could be wrong of course, I'm no expert :)

Let me just drool all over right now...
Photo courtesy of U of Wis-Madison Archive

Monday Music Post

In order to help start your week off right (as well as mine), I decided to offer a few musical selections that I hope you enjoy. These will be links to music that I've loved for ages. Plus they're mostly "feel good" music and I need that! What I'd like is for you to post links to music favorites of yours in the comments section. At some point during the week I'll gather all the links and post them for everyone's enjoyment. Keep in mind that I'm not a music reviewer and my comments are just my own little observations.

1. Eric Clapton  Layla / Tears in Heaven / Wonderful Tonight oh my, the guitar work!

2. Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison (ignore the commercial at the beginning) is another great one. This is a very early music video from 1964. There's also this later version which is quite good (again, ignore the initial ad). What's great about this one is that if you look carefully, you'll see quite a number of well known musicians playing with Roy O. The guitar work by towards the end is wonderful. I love the gritty black and white filming.

3. Great Balls of Fire with Jerry Lee Lewis and Bruce Springsteen from 1995. It also has A Whole Lotta Shaking on this video.

4. Pink Cadillac by Bruce Springsteen is a hard music video to find since there are no official videos. This was the best I could locate. If you can find Aretha Franklin singing this, you're in for a real treat.

5. Aerosmith's I Don't Want to Miss a Thing is another great piece. Steven Tyler delivers a performance that isn't sugar-coated like so many other versions.

6. Mony Mony by Billy Idol is another great song for getting your energy pumped.

7. ZZ Top's Legs is still a great rock out piece. This video is so 80's that it's hysterical, but it kind of fits the music. This version is a great tribute to all the TV and film greats with hot legs, fun to watch. Brings back quite a few memories.

8. I'll end this list with Fat Bottomed Girls by Queen. I think it rounds this little list out nicely.

I hope you enjoy the music.

Construction Post

Last Tuesday, I told you how the day laborer next door butchered the tree on this property and how all shade is gone, so the west side of this house is hotter than hades from noon till night. Well, the construction has continued on the houses and yard since then. This morning, a Saturday, I was awoken by pounding and drilling at 6:30 a.m. Since I still have the hacking cough, which gets worse at night, I didn't fall asleep till 2 a.m.! So to be awoken that early really annoyed me.

Luckily, most cities have rules about when construction can start, so I called the police. Turns out that on weekends, construction noise can't start till 9 a.m. on weekends, so the officers must have come by because shortly after my call, the noise stopped. Yay! I fell back to sleep till about 10:30 a.m. when the pounding began again. Thank goodness, I really needed that sleep.

The houses and yard next door should look nice once they're done, I just wish they weren't so brutish and so noisy. Having torn down, rebuilt or refurbished 6 houses* in LA since 1983, I realize construction noise is a necessary pain in the neck. However, on my projects the workers knew they had to plan on doing "quiet" work till 10 am. Then they could pound and saw all they wanted. Maybe that's why I'm sensitive to workers who show no regard for local ordinances or courtesy to neighbors.

It would seem that I'm in a rather negative space of late. People are ruder and pushier than they used to be. Personally I blame this on the current economy and depression. So much money was lost by men running major institutions, men with no ethics or conscience. What's amazing is that none of them ever paid for the cavalier destruction of the economy and many peoples lives. It's the average citizen who suffers because of their negligence. Oh dear, I'm going off on a soap box here aren't I?

I'm going to have to work on myself and get in a more positive frame of mind. After all, I can't change what's happened and would have little effect on the men running these companies who are now receiving massive salaries and bonuses, carte blanche! Obviously I'm having a little trouble getting off my soap box or turning my mood around. Sorry. I think I need to cook something. It'll probably be my Chicken Pot Pie or Danish/Caldo Verde.

*Note:  Any houses I tore down were of no architectural value or beauty. The beautiful Mediterranean style homes from the 1920's were all treated as treasures and only returned to their original beauty after having been bastardized by former owners. The tear-downs were rebuilt to be period pieces based on historical data and informed by other architecture in the neighborhoods.

Yummy Post

As promised, here's my Mom's Tuna Noodle Salad recipe. She made this for as long as I can remember so it's at least 50 years old. Whenever I make it, the taste and aroma take me back to my childhood. I made the non-macaroni version two weeks ago. It's what my mom used to make to put on sandwiches for lunch on Fridays when I went to Catholic grade school. It's also very good but doesn't stretch as far as the noodle version. There are two secrets to this recipe depending on what's available in your area.

When I lived in the Midwest, I used to add Henri's Tas-tee salad dressing to it and cut the mayo in half or sometimes eliminate it. This added a more complex taste than just straight mayo. The thing I liked about using Henri's is that it's made with celery seed and onions so if you're making this for someone who dislikes onions, this solved the problem...just enough onion taste so you could delete the diced onion.

Once I moved to the West coast however, I couldn't locate Henri's anywhere and so, I would take celery seed and grind it up with a mortar and pestle to add to the salad. Pretty good until, totally by accident, I stumbled upon celery salt. It's a perfect substitute for Henri's. I've been using this for about 15 years now. It's what I attribute the pot luck popularity of this dish to; ust the right amount of flavor without being overpowering. It rises above being just another mayonnaise based noodle salad.

These curved little babies hold a great deal of hidden water, so I've learned that after cooking, draining and rinsing in cold water, the best thing is to line a large container or bowl with two or three layers of paper towels, dump the drained noodles in and place in the fridge for a few hours. I never cover them (unless I'm leaving them for more than 3 hours) since I want the extra moisture to evaporate. If you don't do this, in a day or so, the salad is rather watered down, if that makes any sense. Then, I transfer them to another large bowl without paper towels and begin assembly. In the interim, while macaroni is draining, I dice the celery and onions, drain the peas and tuna. Time-wise it works just fine and all comes together quite conveniently. If you use the whole pound of macaroni, this serves 12 to 15 people depending on the level of gluttony. Lol!

Ingredients:
1 lb. box of small elbow macaroni (you can use the whole box or just three quarters of it depending on how far you want to extend the quantity of salad)

1-12 oz. can drained and flaked Chicken of the Sea tuna in oil (I prefer the oil, despite the extra calories because it seems to blend in better than the tuna packed in water)

1/2 to 1 c. of Best Foods mayonnaise depending on quantity of noodles used and taste (on the Eastern half of the U.S. it's called Hellman's...who knows why?)

1-15 oz. can drained Le Seuer Very Young Small Early Peas

4 -6 stalks diced celery (depends on how your preferences, it's about 3/4 to 1 1/4 c. 

1 small or 1/2 large, diced red onion (again, depend on your taste-buds)

1/2 to 1 1/2 t. celery salt (my favorite is Lawry's which I can't find anymore...start small, mix in, let sit, mix again, taste and then adjust)

Directions:  Bring water to a boil in a 5-6 qt. pot (mine came with a colander that fits inside the pot which is perfect for this task). Add macaroni and bring to a boil again. I suggest stirring several times or you wind up with a large noodle patty. Once boiling, reduce heat to a simmer or light boil and set timer for 10 minutes. When time's up, fish a noodle out, cool and test for doneness. You want a firm not mushy noodle. Drain in colander and run under cold water or set colander into bowl of cold running water. Once cool enough to touch, let sit as noted in the third paragraph above.

Dice up the onion and celery. Drain the tuna and peas. When noodles are drained, put into large bowl, adding celery, onions, tuna, mayo and celery salt. Mix thoroughly. Gently fold in peas as the last ingredient. Taste. Cover and refrigerate for about 2 hours for flavors to blend and celery salt to bloom. Stir and adjust to taste. Enjoy!

P.S. I would have taken a photo of my finished product, but since I'm still pretty sick, I haven't been to the store and have no lettuce or tomatoes. Something this dish really needs if you want a decent pic of it. Maybe next time.

Meandering Post

Welcome to the land of whining...I am sooooo sick, I could just die. Seriously. Whine, whine, wimper. I really do not make a good sick person. I hate having to give in to it, rest, drink plenty of fluids and so on. Being sick is such a waste of time and frustrating because you just have to let it run its course no matter how annoying it is.

As a result of coughing so much (as in hacking up a lung) I couldn't lay down last night to sleep, so I wound up watching an old black and white movie about WWll. When you rely on rabbit ears (antennae) for TV reception, there's not much to choose from late at night. So I saw "Battle of the Coral Sea" circa 1959. It had so many cliches in it that it was actually watchable! Lol!

I knew I had to write about it the second I saw this:  we're inside a WWll submarine and the air is totally stagnant as you can imagine. So there we have Cliff Robertson, the Commander puffing away on a cigarette! I almost died laughing at how hokey old movies can be. The plot reads as follows:  "A Eurasian girl helps a U. S. submarine commander and two others escape from a Japanese island prison". Story lines don't get much more predictable than that. According to the "Zap2It" guide for TV it starred Cliff Robertson, Gia Scala, Teru Shimada and Paul Wendkos.

Actually it was quite a nice ride down nostalgia lane, grade B acting aside. 1959 doesn't seem that long ago and yet 52 years, five plus decades, half a century have passed in a blink of an eye. The ethics, attitudes and beliefs of that era don't exist any longer; well, maybe they do in some people and places, but it's hard to see these days. In the case of some stereotypical attitudes and beliefs, that's good, but there was a kind of inexplicable, unspoken belief that if you do right, right will overcome. Heck, look at all the shows today about justice/criminology, they're all pure fiction. In reality, nothing like that exists in today's justice system (okay, I could really go off on a tangent right now, but won't).

I think every generation goes through this kind of realization at some point. I recall my dad telling stories of how back in the first Great Depression, bread only cost a dime, but no one had a dime. As you read back through history, be it factual history or historical fiction (which I enjoy), you can see a pattern of each generation looking back in longing to a past that was more peaceful, gracious and safe. Perhaps that's what one should think about when getting somewhat despondent about the current state of the world today where it seems there's always uncertainty, fear and regret. Maybe that's the lesson, not to let what seems overwhelming get to you. Each generation seems worse as you live through it, but it's all proportionate.

Look at all the wars, previously unimagined and unimaginable that those who lived from 1900 to 1950 were witness to. Each was a new and unanticipated threat to life as one knew it. Think of the natural disasters from that occurred too and those prior to that in the 19th century. Yet, somehow each generation survived for the most part. So maybe, in a sense, it's true that nothing is really new, it's just the past in a different suit or costume and now it's our turn to act out this round of the play.