Frogs have it easy, they can eat what bugs them. Anon and Fried Pineapple

Photos by Susie Nelson

Last Friday I got my weekly update from our mortgage broker. Not bothering to include the usual wool for me to pull over my eyes the message read simply, “we should know something by next Friday”. I am going to have a tee-shirt made.

Another weird week at our house. Our laptop went south several weeks ago. Fortunately, Rick purchased a three-year warranty package which still has some miles on it, so it can be replaced. Unfortunately, all data stored on it crossed the border with the machine. I contacted the warranty holders and placed a claim. First I was asked to produce the receipt. Normally, this would not be a difficult request to fill. In our present state of flux living half in/half out of boxes, it would be easier to resume the search for Amelia Earhart, and probably equally as successful.

Circumventing this issue of the missing receipt by providing other proof of purchase responses such as where purchased, approximately when, and serial number, my claim was accepted. Replacement monies were to be deposited in my Paypal account in 3-5 days. Yea. Busy with other things I realized 10 days had passed with no notification of remittance. Hmmmm. So, I contacted Rodney, the gentlemen I’d originally dealt with at the warranty company. After some research Rodney confirmed through some snafu on their end my claim had not been processed. We must begin the process once again. Have I sighed lately? Sigh. He asked if I’d shipped the laptop to them. “Well”, I responded, “I would have returned it had I been asked to do so when first we spoke. As the discussion never came up during our initial conversation, I guess you can insert a no here”. I am working on my mind reading skills, however they are still far from perfected. A UPS label for free shipping popped up shortly in my email with instructions on how to crate the laptop. Heading upstairs, I boxed the computer as instructed, handed the box to Rick on his way out the door and shot an email to Rodney notifying him it was on the way. Five minutes later I received another email from the warranty company indicating they had just received my laptop and were in the process of reviewing my claim. Kudos to UPS, I have to say, considering Rick hadn’t even backed out of the garage as yet. My confidence in seeing that money appear in my account anytime soon is dwindling, but as far as UPS goes why would you use another carrier?

Medical issues keep arising as well. Two months ago I went to the dentist. My particular insurance requires pre-approval before embarking on expensive dental work. This usually takes about six weeks, as opposed to the quick response they expect on their end when you owe them money. Every two weeks the dental office followed up, asking me if I’d received the approval letter, to which I would reply, “I have not”. Finally, not seeing any movement, I called my insurance directly only to find out no request for approval was ever received by Blue Cross from my dental office. Sooooo, I called the dental office back. Passed from one person to another it was determined, although calling regularly to see if the approval had been granted, their customer service group never submitted it in the first place. Cheerily, I was informed this would take another six weeks.

Now, if you feel the frustration bleeding through this writing you would not find yourself far off the mark. To make things just a smidgen more interesting we have been suddenly inundated with frogs. By this, I do not mean a frog or two croaking in the garden, I mean The Mormon Tabernacle Choir of frogs croaking in the garden. It is so distracting if you looked up cacophony in the dictionary definition 2 would say “Frogs in Susie’s garden”. Our pool now has an eco-system equal to that of the Galapagos Islands. When the sun drops behind the hills the serenade in the yard begins and without missing a croak continues well into the evening. Our pool filter recently stopped working, thus the water became still. Also, a pH balance issue is going on so the water, despite all efforts on our part to correct it, has now turned a lovely shade of pond scum green. Our neighbors below stopped by to politely suggest another scenario might arise,  mosquito infestation. Gee, I hadn’t thought of that.  When do you suppose the locusts might arrive? A temporary solution would be to dump mosquito eating fish in the pool. Frogs most probably would view this as free lunch and possibly invite their friends. So, we have to chlorinate which may kill the frogs. Certainly we could drain the pool, buy a new pool filter, and install a new liner, but since this is about to be someone else’s house and each cure expensive, these fixes do not make me happy. Nope, I’ve looked at myself. Most definitely I am not happy.

With all this swirling around, Freaky Friday as I now I now refer to my Friday’s, was a busy day. Deciding it was too hot, and I was too tired to break out the pans, I picked up crab legs which were an advertised special at the market. I threw them in a bag of olive oil and garlic and served them cold with our artichokes for dinner. Yum. Well, one would think so. Never have I eaten crab legs so salty. Tasted as if I’d brined them rather than marinated them. Too tired to be creative, we had cinnamon French toast and artichokes an unlikely combination that complimented one another like eating calf’s liver topped with strawberry jam. I returned them to the market this morning and exchanged them for a watermelon and assorted fruit. Hopefully, there won’t be any surprises when I cut the melon, like an angry ferret inadvertently trapped inside the seed at planting.

There is a lesson to all this madness, but I’m not sure what it is.  The stars are aligned in the direction of misdirection it appears and delays and mix ups are written in the charts. Hope your weeks begins on a good note. I made a pork roast with a Hawaiian flavor last night and wanted something with pineapple to accompany it. This was easy, sweet and delicious.

Fried Pineapple

1/2 fresh pineapple
3 Tbsp. butter
1/3 cup brown sugar
Sprinkle of nutmeg
1 oz. brandy
1/8 cup chopped pecans

Peel pineapple and cut in quarters lengthwise. Cut half the pineapple into 1″ slices.  Reserve the other two quarters for future use or make two batches of the above.

Melt butter in large skillet over medium heat. Add pineapple to pan and cook for 2 mins.

Sprinkle brown sugar over top and continue cooking 5-6 mins. until sugar is melted and pineapple is translucent.

Add nuts to pan and continue cooking for 2 mins. Add brandy and allow to simmer for 2 mins. longer. Sprinkle with nutmeg. Serve hot next to roast or over vanilla ice cream. Serves 4

The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires. – William Arthur Ward and Tangy Artichoke Dipping Sauce

Photos by Susie Nelson

Yesterday on the local news they aired a video showing a teacher engaging in a fight with a fifteen year old student.  According to the newscaster, the teacher asked the student to hand over makeup the girl was applying while class was in session. When she declined to do so, and I do not mean by saying “no, thank you” rather by getting in the teacher’s face, the older woman lost it and began punching her.  I cannot help but think we have taken away any recourse teachers have in the classroom for maintaining order or garnering respect. At some point the frustration of being completely impotent with regard to discipline must begin to cause cracks in the structure of hierarchy in our classrooms.  Please don’t misunderstand me.  I do not think that teachers should run about willy nilly plummeting their students, nor do I believe capital punishment such as rulers across palms or swatting should be tolerated, but some power needs to be given to the teacher to reprimand or defend themselves in order to provide an environment where learning can thrive.

When did we become so afraid of our children?  I wonder that often.  I know as a child my parents were definitely not afraid of me.  In turn I wasn’t afraid of them either (well maybe a little), but I did respect them.  If told to do something I certainly wasn’t allowed to continue what I was doing and ignore them, or worse yet say something sarcastic in response.  My mother’s motto was, “I brought you into this world, and I can take you out”.  There wasn’t one instance growing up I can remember being spanked, still when my mother spoke, it was like “When E.F. Hutton talks, people listen”.

Looking back I had several standout teachers.  Mrs. Potter in the fourth grade.  A serene soul who wore support stockings and sensible shoes, and if you got close enough smelled a bit like mothballs.  I loved her.  Shy at that age, and newly arrived from Canada, Mrs. Potter took me under he ample wing and helped me to acclimate to my new surroundings until I was ready to fly on my own.  As a Canadian dropped into a Southern California society, not only did I look different, not being tan and blonde (at the time naturally), and still saying “serviette” instead of napkin and emphasizing my sentences with “eh”, there was a certain amount of teasing to be endured before I was to be accepted.  To add to the mix I was still wearing my coat of baby fat, and glasses making the target area for wounding me somewhat bigger.  If it hadn’t been for her gentle reassurance, and supportive atta girls probably my first year on American soil might have been much more difficult than it was.

Another teacher worth a mention came along in ninth grade.  A nomad even at that age, this was the sixth school I’d attended since Mrs. Potter’s class.  One thing I’ll say about moving around a lot is that you develop a thicker skin with each relocation. Adapting to new surroundings and situations comes at a much faster pace than in the beginning.  I entered high school at ninety-eight pounds leaving my baby fat behind me in the seventh grade.  Still shy, but cracking through the surface of my shell and taking a look around much more frequently, I was assigned Miss Bailey for English.  English, language and art classes easily held my attention, where with math and science I had to work hard to find my muse.  Miss Bailey, a maiden lady who often said her students were her children, was one of those humans who finds her calling early in life and settles in comfortably on top of it like a hen guarding her eggs.  Not a jocular being by any stretch of the imagination, her humor was more wry leaning on irony.  Less than perfect was an unacceptable standard under her watch and she held no quarter for slackers or “lazy Larry’s” as she referred to those deemed not striving to do their best.  In her classroom I was faced with a school year packed with book reports, to my dismay 50% oral.  For me this held the level of fear of being asked to address the nation on the eve of war.  Standing naked, at least symbolically, before my peers I would stumble over my well rehearsed words as though reading them for the first time.  Fear getting the best of me, even though I’d read the book assigned when my name was called I’d say I hadn’t done my report.  Miss Bailey would look down at me over the glasses perched on the end of her nose as if scanning me to detect a lie and spotting one glowing brightly below the surface of my skin.

Composition was my strong suit in English.  Writing came easier to me than speaking aloud.  My fears, hopes and dreams came alive on paper and Miss Bailey poked and prodded the best out of my attempts to learn that year, telling me I could write, should write, will write.  I remember her for that.

There were the bad seeds as well in high school.  Mr. Braxton, our driver’s ed teacher would wear the crown on this list.  A small man, not short really, but bent over as though he was carrying the weight of mankind on his shoulders. He sported a well sprayed comb over even Donald Trump would applaud and was known to pass gas at regular intervals rendering the classroom nearly inconsolable. Each day he arrived precisely at the sound of the bell.  Dressing was not his strong suit, as I remember.  A white shirt, slightly yellowed, possibly due to the fact he was a single man and owned no bleach or that he chain smoked lighting one butt with another behind the gym.  His collar was held fast by one of a selection of many gaudy bow ties he had a preference for rounded off by a pair of dark pants suitably short enough to prepare him for any rising water situation, and white socks.  When speaking, he pondered his shoes with such rapt attention I wondered if the meaning of life was written on their shiny leather exteriors, clearing his throat from one sentence to the next seemingly to give the words following room to emerge.  While lecturing monotonously on the finer points of drive shafts and pistons, most of the boys in the class occupied their time firing spit wads at his hindquarters while the girls gossiped amongst themselves.  The only thing I took from his class at the end of the semester was compassion.  Teenagers can be incredibly cruel.

So, this is my salute to teachers.  They guide and prod us to achieve and revel in our successes as their own.  Underpaid and overworked, they help us to mold our incorrigible children into viable human beings often without so much as a pat on the back.

They had huge artichokes on sale at the market yesterday so I could not resist.  Rather than have melted butter or mayonnaise, I decided to try something new as well.  This had a bit of a bit and added something special.

Tangy Artichoke Dipping Sauce

1/4 cup mayonnaise
1/2 cup sour cream
2 tsp. basil
1 garlic clove, minced
1 1/2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
4 drops hot sauce
Salt and pepper to taste

Whisk all ingredients together and adjust the seasoning. Refrigerate until ready to use.

Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends. – William Butler Yeats and Juicy Dill Cheeseburgers with Sauteed Mushrooms, Onions and Sour Cream Dill Sauce

Photos by Susie Nelson

Moving ranks right up there with divorce, death and natural disasters when it comes to stress.  More than acclimating to new surroundings, locating a new butcher or hair salon, or figuring out where to hang the tapestry reading “Bless This Home” Aunt Jean made for you when you were four, it is leaving behind friends you have made in the area you are moving away from.  I make it a practice to try not to leave friends behind. In my world true friends are a valuable commodity.  However, life tends to have a way of interfering with good intentions. Through tearful goodbyes promises are made to visit soon and to stay in touch, however, distance and busy lives can widen the gap between conversations. Though always connected by shared times, friendships may fade slightly,  some disappearing from the screen altogether.

I have one friend who has traveled with me since I was under the legal age, more family really.  Her name is the only one in my address book who was a part of my life as the pivotal events unfolded. Looking back at my travels, I would suppose in a way I have missed something by not planting deeper roots, allowing myself instead to be whisked up by the capricious wind to be tossed here and there.  Whether I chose this semi-nomadic life, or it chose me, I have yet to determine.  Would I change the course of it looking back?  Some turns I’ve made in the road certainly, but most not.  The sum of the whole is who I find myself to be these days.  As the years pass, I find I’m comfortable with that. Like fingerprints, no two lives are exactly alike. There are pluses and minuses associated with each path walked.  Along the way I have gathered an eclectic group of friends and characters, many I still have contact with. Each stop in the road I’ve made new acquaintances. Some forever friends, others only seasonal.  All have given me a little something to add to the pot of friendship I have brewing, including you who are reading this now.  The benefit to traveling in my mind would be the diversity of humans who cross your path and seeing different views from beyond your window from time to time.  Certainly there are many pluses to staying in one place as well.  When the friends you grow up with are the friends you carry with you through your adult years strong ties are forged. Memories are made over s’mores at girl scout camp, shared space in wedding photos, baby albums, or anniversary parties. Old pals offer willing shoulders in the bad times and partners to celebrate with during the triumphs.  Since the first written accounts of human behavior friendships have been enduring and important facets of our lives.

Women approach friendship, in my observation, in much different ways than men.  This is not to say men don’t form deep associations, but they appear to this writer to form them differently.  Truthfully, through my marriages and relationships the men in my life seemed to have had fewer close friends when compared to the women.  When I am hurt, angry, unsure, or processing a problem having a friend to talk to can make sense of my world or at least ease the way for me to.  Whether to wear the jeans and the yellow blouse or the sundress and the white sandals is not a question I would pose to my other half, but certainly one I would seek counsel for in a friend.  We ladies are the communicators.  My other half  is fascinated I can have a phone conversation with the same female several times a week and still find subject matter to talk about.   In turn, I am fascinated he is fascinated at something second nature to me.  Words, as you may have noticed, are not something I find I am in short supply of.

American men, in particular, are weaned on phrases like “tough it out”, “be a man”, “crying is for babies”, all phrases likely to encourage a little boy to internalize his emotions or to consider his emotions feminine or weak, if you will.  Men in other countries are comfortable with showing affection, hugging each other, offering a kiss on the cheek, or crying when moved.  Rick told me when growing up in Egypt it was not out of the ordinary to see two male friends walking hand in hand down the street.  My other half is my best friend, but our approach to problem solving or emotional issues is as opposite as Joan Rivers might be to Queen Elizabeth.  Sometimes this hampers communication, but part of being in a relationship is compromise and offering your partner unconditional love, even if he is consistently the one who is wrong.  (Smile.)

It makes me wonder, as my mind insists on doing, where men go to deposit their emotional garbage.  Maybe sporting events provide an outlet to let off steam and diffuse some anger or frustration.  I’m not sure, because as many years as I’ve logged I still haven’t figured the male animal out.  This is not for a lack of trying as history would attest.

In our troubled world today friends and family seem to gain added importance.  Life is unpredictable, even frightening at times, and it is nice to know there are those out there watching our backs or noticing if we aren’t where we are supposed to be. With all the events transpiring in the news of late, perhaps banding together and caring for each other has taken on even more emphasis than in less trying times.

My thoughts for today, in what continues to be a weird, if not disturbing year.

I have to tell you these were simply the most wonderful burgers. Burgers are right on top of my list of foods that make me smile, and these actually induced a giggle. Let me know if you give them a try. If you can’t find the havarti dill cheese, certainly plain havarti will suffice, but it is especially good this way.

Juicy Dill Cheeseburgers with Sauteed Mushrooms, Onions and Sour Cream Dill Sauce

Onions

2 Tbsp. Olive Oil
1 onion, sliced 1/2″ thick
Salt and pepper

Heat oil in skillet over medium heat. Add onions and brown on one side, then turn and brown on the other. Reduce heat and continue to cook until onions are tender and golden brown. Keep warm.

Sauteed Mushrooms

1 lb. mushrooms sliced thick
3 green onions, sliced
1 1/2 Tbsp. butter
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. pepper
1/4 tsp. salt
1/8 cup soy sauce
1/8 cup white wine

Place all ingredients in large skillet. Bring to boil over med-high heat. Reduce heat and allow to simmer stirring often for about 10 mins. or until most of the liquid is evaported. Remove from heat and keep warm.

Dill Sauce

1/4 cup mayonnaise
1/2 cup sour cream
1 Tbsp. prepared horseradish
1/4 tsp. garlic powder
2 tsp. fresh lemon juice
1 Tbsp. dill

Mix all ingredients together and refrigerate 1 hour to marry flavors. Spread on both sides of buns for burgers.

Juicy Dill Cheese Burgers

1 lb. ground chuck
1 onion, finely chopped (I pulse in food processor)
1/4 cup plain bread crumbs
1/2 tsp. garlic powder
1/4 tsp. Liquid Smoke
2 tsp. Dijon mustard
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
2 Tbsp. water
1 egg, beaten
4 slices havarti dill cheese
4 Hamburger buns

In large mixing bowl mix all ingredients except meat until well blended. Crumble meat over top and mix with fingertips until evenly distributed. Make four patties. Allow to sit in refrigerator, covered, for 1/2 hour for better results.

Heat large skillet over med-high heat. Add burgers. Cook until browned on one side. Turn over and brown on the other side. Reduce heat and continue cooking about 8 mins. or until desired doneness. Top with cheese slices, cover and allow to melt.

Toast buns in oven or in dry skillet. Slather both sides with dill sour cream sauce. Add burgers to bottom of buns and top with mushrooms and onions. Yum.

Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives. – Oscar Wilde and Crunchy Shrimp and Cucumber Salad with Tangy Cocktail Sauce

There are tells early on in a day if it’s going to be an odd one. You forget to put the pot in the coffee maker before you turn it on, your other half actually remembers to close the lid to the toilet before you decide to sit on it.  Those kind of tellsl. Fridays of late seem to be that day for me. It’s gotten so bad even my mortgage broker issues “Friday Updates” on the progress of my loan, a courtesy he informed me reserved only for myself. Whether by chance or by unconscious intention my appointments, errands, commitments suddenly seem to be piled under Friday on my calendar, making it a busy, busy day for me. Even when I’ve purposely made appointments for the other four days in the week I have to chose from, circumstance seems to redirect them to Friday without my being able to stop it.

Yesterday, being Friday, defined my point exactly. The day started off with a bang and continued popping until my blond head hit the pillow around 9:00. Really it began the day before. Boo the Queen of Cats had an appointment  Thursday at the pet clinic for her annual tune up and necessary vaccinations. As you might imagine, this is not a trip the cat either enjoys nor does she participate in without encouragement falling just short of the use of brute force. A smart feline, after her first encounter with the cat carrier rendered her both unconscious and barren, when she sees it now her disappearing act makes David Copperfield look like a rank amateur. The first few times this happened I found myself lying on the carpet offering treats and speaking in purring tones, while the cat sat in the corner out of reach under the bed looking at me as if I’d finally blown my last brain cell. Tiring of the game, and losing it, I learned to hide the offending cat carrier in the bathroom and sneak up on it with her when she wasn’t looking. Initially this worked quite well, but as I mentioned earlier, the cat is smart. Once she realized what the new rules were she initiated a plan to offset them. On facing the open end of the carrier she simply braced herself on the sides of the carrier or turned herself inside out, refusing to be shoved in. It’s amazing how strong a ten pound cat can become when they don’t want to do something. As I outweigh the animal by a hundred and ten pounds, it would seem I had the advantage, but if you were a fly on the wall during this dance, I would bet the big money would be on Miss Boo.

Once we actually get her in the carrier and the door shut, she goes to Plan 2, which would be moaning. It begins as moaning really, then amplifies to yowling once in the car. I must admit she is tenacious about this. On arriving at the vet’s, however, miraculously she becomes a perfect angel. Comments after our appointments always lean toward what a sweet kitty she is and how they want us to come back soon. Right. I’m watching you little cat, and I am on to you. On inspection this time they discovered she had a mild case of conjunctivitis, or pink eye. To be honest I didn’t know cats got pink eye, but then that’s why I’m not making the big bucks putting on elbow high gloves and retrieving calves from bovines, or cropping boxers ears. Ointment, I was told, was the preffered treatment. One half an inch in each eye twice a day.

So, first thing Friday morning we began the treatment. First, I wrapped Boo tightly in a bath towel. My other half placed the called for 1/2″ of goo on his finger (in case you’re trying this at home). Approaching her from the back Boo sensed movement and by the time we were through wrestling, her face, ears, whiskers, and nose were well dosed, as well as my hand, but as far as we could see not one ounce of goo was deposited in either eye. Boo 1, humans 0. I called the vet and asked if there was an alternative treatment, say gas. Getting a negative response, the receptionist suggested I bring Boo in and they’d show me how to administer the meds or to try scruffing her. Really? I was upset, but I didn’t think I was ready to scruff her yet. Turned out scruffing meant to grab her by the nape of the neck like a mother cat would. It apparently calms the animal and allows you to control them.  That would be a pleasant change.  A printout was available in their office I was told showing the proper procedure for doing this. I was welcome to pick it up any time.  Silently I prayed Boo had read it, because I felt this wasn’t going to go well.

Now late for my appointment, I ran a brush through my hair, grabbed my keys and purse, threw on glasses and headed out with moaning Boo to the garage. I deposited the cat carrier in the passenger seat and went around to the driver’s side. Opening the back door I tossed in my purse, hopped in after it and closed the door. It took a moment to realize I was the only one in the car with a valid driver’s license (since Boo had that unfortunate incident after getting behind the wheel after too much catnip), and, although I’ve been accused of being a back seat driver from time to time, I’ve never really tried it actually sitting in the back seat. Isn’t it funny when you do something that incredibly stupid, you always look around to make sure nobody saw you do it. Like when you trip on the street, you always turn around and look back as if to say there must have been something on the sidewalk causing you to do this, rather than your own natural clumsiness. Fortunately only Boo noticed, and she wasn’t talking, but I had a feeling she was thinking something though I didn’t have any proof.

Situated where driving is the easiest, the driver’s seat, I poked the key at the lock and discovered I’d picked up the wrong keys. Now, I was getting late. Running back into the house to retrieve the right keys, I found them missing from our key drop. Crap. I ran back out to the garage and transferred the moaning Boo to the other car, threw my purse in the back and stopping myself before I climbed in, shut the door and sat in the driver’s seat. Yea for me.

Down the hill we went Boo yowling along to a possibly prophetic Taylor Swift’s “We are never ever getting back together”.  After all the appointments were behind us, I decided to make a quick stop at the store for a few items before heading home. Leaving the windows cracked for Miss Cat, I hurried into the store not wanting to leave her too long in the car. As usual my list had 7 items on it but my grocery cart, having a mind of its own, added another 8 or 9 for good measure. While searching for a couple of artichokes I pushed my cart along the vegetable aisles. A woman I did not know tapped me on the shoulder and asked what I was doing. Why she felt what I was doing was in any way her business I had no idea, until she pointed out that I was in fact pushing her cart and not my own, which also had her purse sitting in it, and not my own. My cart was still sitting where I’d left it by the artichokes, thankfully with my purse still in it. At least I hadn’t stolen her child as well.  I’ve done that once already.  By accident naturally, although in hindsight he was better behaved then mine was being at the time so perhaps I should have kept him.

At this point, I bought some tonic, and a lime. Once home, Boo released and screaming down the stairs to all who would listen about what a terrible person I was, I poured my first vodka tonic of spring, and sat outside to enjoy the afternoon. Fridays, go figure.

This salad was just right for a warm spring evening.  Lots of crunch and a nice mix of flavors.  I whipped up some deviled eggs, added some sliced tomatoes and a few spears of asparagus and it was delicious.

Crunchy Shrimp Salad with Tangy Cocktail Sauce

Crunchy Shrimp and Cucumber Salad

1 lb. salad shrimp
1/4 cup celery, chopped
1/2 cup red onion, chopped
1 cup English cucumber, seeded and chopped
1/4 cup yellow or orange bell pepper, chopped
1/4 cup cilantro, chopped fine (optional)
1/3 cup Seasoned Rice Vinegar
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 tsp. Lawry’s garlic salt
1/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
Salt to taste
Leafy green lettuce

Mix shrimp, celery, onion, cucumber, bell pepper together in large mixing bowl. In small bowl mix together rice vinegar, lemon, garlic salt, and black pepper. Sprinkle shrimp and vegetable mixture and toss with dressing. Salt and pepper as desired. Refrigerate until ready to use. Serve on bed of lettuce with suggested garnishes if desired.

Tangy Cocktail Sauce

1 1/2 cups catsup
2 Tbsp. horseradish, or less if you prefer it less hot
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1 Tbsp. sweet pickle relish

Mix all ingredients together and refrigerate for 1 hour.

Horse sense is a good judgement which keeps horses from betting on people. – W. C. Fields and Crunchy Chicken Salad Sandwiches

While complaining about what a suckish day last Friday was at our house, I neglected to throw in the bright spot.  Dealing with fire drills all day both my other half and I were “put a fork in me I’m done” with the week.  Not having the combined energy to begin putting a meal together at the end of the long day, Rick suggested we go out.  My shoes were on before he’d finished the thought.  As lovely as our town is, restaurants are certainly not its long suit.  Three Mexican restaurants, two Chinese, one Thai, several coffee shops and the full roll call of fast food establishments.  There are two casinos in the area .  One five minutes from the house, the other about twelve.   At first it was a novelty having casinos so close by, but as time passed we rarely gave them a second glance unless visiting family or friends happened to have some money they didn’t have any use for and asked to be taken (this both literally and figuratively).  Aside from gambling, obviously the biggest draw, both casinos have surprisingly good restaurants with the one the furthest distance offering a very nice buffet on the weekends featuring crab and prime rib as well as a recently constructed brewery. I’m not necessarily a big fan of buffets as a rule. They remind me of a barnyard scene. It’s hard to resist the urge to “oink” while standing in line with your third clean plate waiting to pile on an assortment of tummy enhancing foods ranging from gobs of mashed potatoes and gravy, chicken fried steak, and mac n cheese to coconut cream pie and four layer chocolate cake to wash down all those high carb salads you’d piled on the first two plates.  We arrived early. Lines on weekend nights can wrap halfway around the casino.  We strapped on the old feed bucket and bellied up to the trough enough times to make Miss Piggy herself squeal with pleasure. Personally, I felt I needed to run a triathlon to relieve myself of my recent caloric intake, but instead we opted to drop a little change in the machines on our way out.   Each of us drew an allotted amount from the pool.  Rick is more of a poker type, and I prefer the themed slots, so a meeting time was agreed upon and we disappeared in the crowds going opposite directions.

The first machine I sat down at was a penny slot. High roller here.  The theme was fishing.  Alternatively taking my money then giving it back, it quickly became obvious I wasn’t going to be moving to that Malibu beach house I’ve had my eye on if I continued feeding these fishies so I hit the cash out button.  Red lights immediately went off and the machine began to make a beeping noise, which as time passed grew increasingly louder.  The beeping went virtually unnoticed in the general Friday night din, but no ticket emerged and no one came to fix the machine.  After about twenty minutes I flagged a cocktail waitress asking if she’d find someone to help.  Shortly an employee came and apologizing for the delay retrieved my ticket.  This once again goes toward confirming my sneaking suspicion with regard to my energy and machinery.  Over the years I’ve still got the gift.  I can walk by a printer, fax, washing machine, or an innocent ATM and something is going to go haywire precisely at the time of my passing.  It’s weird.  I digress.  Anyhow, I found an empty seat in front of a nickel machine.  The theme was banks or some such. I sat down, deposited my ticket and began haphazardly to push buttons.  Before long a combination on the screen caused an animated screen to appear with what looked to be a lizard wearing a cowboy hat jumping up and down next to bank deposit boxes.  Not knowing what was required of me at that juncture, I waited.  Nothing.  Hmmmm.  Apparently it expected something of me. The woman playing next to me, leaned in and in a husky cigarette and bourbon voice said, “Honey, you have to pick four numbers and push some of those boxes or you’re going to be sitting here tomorrow morning when they start serving breakfast”.  Oh.  I chose numbers and pushed four boxes as instructed.  Cycling with each number I’d picked, it just kept on, and on, and on. Every once in a while the lizard would jump up and down, fire the guns in his holsters, and holler, “wow”, or “amazing job”.  Wow.  Once finished cycling, the lizard gone, the screen informed me I had amassed 7,050 credits.  Remembering this was a nickel machine I cashed out to see the total. The ticket read $477.00.  Now these ill-gotten gains are certainly not going to propel me onto the face of Time under the title “World’s Richest Women”, but it beat the pants off the rest of the day.  It will pay to fix my lap top sitting in the shop.  Yea.

This chicken salad was a quick fix for company yesterday and disappeared like I’d waved a wand over it.  Flavorful and crunchy, it was perfect tucked inside a buttery croissant.

Crunchy Chicken Salad Sandwiches

2 large chicken breasts
salt
1/2 cup finely chopped celery
1/3 cup finely chopped red onion
1 Kosher dill pickle spear, chopped fine
1 egg, hard boiled and chopped
1/4 tsp. celery salt
1/4 tsp. garlic salt
1/4 tsp. dried mustard
1 1/2 tsp. Italian dressing
1/2 cup Mayonnaise (more or less to taste)
Salt and pepper to taste
4 croissants
Lettuce, tomato, avocado, red onion, pickles for garnish

Place chicken breasts in large saucepan. Bring to boil in salted water over med-high heat. Reduce heat and continue cooking on low boil for 35-40 mins. or until chicken is fully cooked. Remove with slotted spoon and allow to cool.

Cube chicken and place in large mixing bowl with chopped vegetables and hard boiled egg. In small bowl mix together celery salt, garlic salt, dried mustard, Italian dressing, and mayonnaise. Add to cooked chicken mixture and mix until well blended add mayonnaise as desired. Season with salt and pepper and desired. Serve on your favorite rolls or croissants. Serves 4-6

Time spent with cats is never wasted. – Sigmund Freud and Baked Brussel Sprouts with Lemon and Garlic

Please visit me when they put me in the home because I’m sure I’m going to end up there if I put in another day like Friday.  I’d like a nice corner room with a view of the ocean, I prefer Scrabble to Checkers and I have a particular preference for cherry Jello with whipped cream on top.  I hope you’re taking notes.

Life has been too much the last few weeks. Even for me, and I’m usually a joyful participant.  Friday it really ramped up throwing in some laptop issues, escrow issues, family issues, cat issues and other people’s issues to the point where I am now seriously having issues.  As an aside, have you noticed that your laptop, printer, dishwasher, phone, etc., rarely cease to function while you’re lying on the couch working on a three-letter word for garden implement in the daily crossword puzzle? Instead, these wily devices cunningly lie in wait until the crucial moment where your sanity or future success depends on their participation in the program, then they roll over on their backs, and play dead.

Since my children first emerged from the womb I have regaled them with Susie’s pearls of wisdom regarding spending time above ground on this planet. Whether this has helped or hindered their progress is up for debate. Life, for the most part, I told them, is not always fair, rarely predictable, capricious on the best of days, and the very moment you are convinced you’ve amassed more answers than questions with regard to the living of it, life will wink devilishly and change the rules of the game entirely, neglecting to share the new rules with you.  Never, I don’t suppose even while drawing our last breath do we ever fully grasp the scope of our world. Perhaps this only serves to add to the mystique surrounding a world we know relatively little about, and helps to solidify our deep roots in religion or whatever beliefs one might hold when it comes to the hereafter.

Friday for me, was a soul-searching, what the hell is going on, kind of day.  One which I don’t care to repeat again for, well, I don’t care to repeat again for-ever.  First on my agenda was a task I was dreading. Miss Mouse the Cat first came screaming up our driveway looking for shelter from the storm about a year ago. Since then, we have taken our foundling into our house and when we weren’t looking she went and insinuated her furry self right into our hearts.  Unfortunately, Miss Boo the Queen of Cats did not in the beginning, nor does she now, share our affection for this endearing, if slightly off balanced, unexpected housemate.  Try as we may, following all guidelines provided by our vet and the pet store personnel, we have been unsuccessful in reaching a de tante between the two felines. Each time we attempt to get them to share space together fur flies, and I mean that in the most literal sense.  This cold war necessitated a daily game of musical rooms. When we shut one in a room, we let the other one out of another.  It wasn’t I minded the game, it certainly occupied those occasional moments with nothing to fill the time, but in our new house, considerably smaller than our present digs, I could see it becoming a nearly impossible task and a difficult proposition for all concerned.

It was due to the move, indirectly, that Mouse has come to find a new home.  One estimator, while at the house providing a quote, ran into Mouse reclining on the steps while on his way out to his car.  Leaning to pet her, he asked me if there was anything else he could do to help. I joked, “do you need a cat”?  To which he replied, “why, yes”.  Oh-oh.  This was not the answer I expected. On further discussion I was to determine he is a married father of five living in a rural area on a large piece of land. Both he and his family are animal people.  There definitely are such beings.  I know, because I am one.  Those humans who can overlook the occasional shredding incident, brush aside a bit of fur on an easy chair, and welcome a furry chum into their lives expecting little in return (in the case of cats) but an occasional doling out of affection. On further conversation he explained a month ago they lost their beloved cat.  When I realized he was serious about taking Mouse, I asked for a day or two to think this over. With a heavy heart and after much deliberation we decided such a gift as finding a good home for our sweet Mouse could not go ignored. We agreed to allow her to be adopted, with the stipulation if it did not work they would return her to our care. After all the darn cat is definitely a candidate for Prozac, and I wanted to leave an avenue of escape open (not for Mouse but for them). Intellectually I know this to be the right decision for Mouse, but emotionally it has been a sad 24 hours and I’m sure I will miss her silly furry self for some time to come.  I do not like goodbyes.  I wish my little friend well on her journey.  Much, she taught me, about trust and love.

On another vein, our escrow is snarled up on some ridiculous piece of red tape, so progress there has temporarily reduced to a snail’s crawl.  I’ve had fishing line that was easier to untangle than government paperwork.  To add to the mix, our laptop, which comes into play often with all the paperwork involved in home sales and is the only computer not packed and ready to go, began locking up.  When rebooted it cycled for so long I cooked a rack of ribs before it finally displayed the desktop icons.  Four times I got on-line with the remote techies overseas, averaging about two hours each time. Still the bloody thing insisted on hanging up.  On my last nerve, and eying the toilet bowl as a place to deposit this devil’s tool, I picked up the phone and dialed the geek patrol. A gentlemen arrived not long afterwards and whisked my laptop away to his lair of technology to perform his particular brand of magic on it. Personally, I believe one of these talented tech support people with their creative brains and infinite knowledge of the workings of the beast should be included in every computer sale.  I’m just sayin.

I have done many varieties of brussel sprouts, but these brussel sprouts were particularly wonderful.  I adapted them from something I saw on TV.  Tess, write this one down as I know you have a preference for the wee cabbages.

Baked Brussel Sprouts with Lemon and Garlic

4 slices bacon, diced
1 lb. brussel sprouts, trimmed
4 cloves garlic, sliced thin
1/4 cup olive oil
3 bay leaves
1/2 tsp. dried sage
1/8 tsp. red pepper flakes
Pinch of kosher salt (generous)
1/4 tsp. garlic salt
Freshly ground black pepper
4 slices lemon
2 Tbsp. butter
1 3/4 cups chicken broth

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Cut up bacon and saute until cooked crisp. Drain on paper towels.

In large bowl combine all remaining ingredients except butter and chicken broth. Toss to coat well.

Place a 22″ sheet of tin foil on top of a cookie sheet. Top with a 20″ piece of parchment paper. Place brussel sprout mixture in center of parchment paper. Top with slices of butter. Fold in tin foil on all sides to cover. Leave on cookie sheet and place in oven for 45 mins. or until very fragrant.

Place chicken broth in large skillet. Heat over med-high heat until boiling. Dump contents of tin foil into broth. Cover and lower heat. Cook an additional 10-15 mins. or until fork tender. Season as desired. Serve with sauce.

Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered. – William Shakespeare and Chicken Fajita Soft Tacos with Chipotle Cream Sauce

Photo by Susie Nelson

According to the weatherman our weekend was to be “unsettled”.  It was.  One moment the sun would appear, the next dark clouds would hover overhead. I snapped the picture below sitting on the deck just before sunrise this morning.  No wind, not a sound to be heard. Slowly I am saying my goodbyes to our lake. Soon we will be moving on to new adventures. Not that I shall ever forget my time here, I never shall. Time, however, has a way of slowly erasing the vivid details of our lives, so I am creating a scrapbook of memories to help keep my memories fresh.  Thought I’d share a few.

No touching up on this picture, simply the camera capturing a piece of the natural beauty lying beyond my wrought iron railing.

My grandson last Thanksgiving, a foodie in the making, is making the most out of a chocolate on chocolate cupcake.

Our town is seeped in history, a nice way of saying it is “old as dirt”.  The older downtown area, its original heyday long past, retains hints of old splendor in the lovely old Victorians and well-kept newer homes with resplendent gardens dominating what was once the main drag.

Life here over the past decade I divide into sections.  The restaurant years, busy and productive along with stressful and relentlessly money draining.  Vino Vino, with it’s beautifully muraled walls, ghostly reminders lingering in the bar of rough and tumble days long gone, and delicious smells emanating from the small but efficient kitchen, shall have a special place in my scrapbook for taking a leap of faith and being satisfied with the results no matter what the outcome.

Another section might be our lake years.  We bought our ski boat prior to buying the restaurant.  Both of us were complete novices when it came to piloting the darn thing.  This was not my first boat certainly but it had been twenty years since my last, so factoring in the fact I strain to remember what I had for breakfast these days, you could technically say it was my first boat.  Launching it was a performance Abbott and Costello would have taken pride in.  After numerous failed attempts, in desperation we gathered some kids working at the marina to help us get it in the water.  I circled in the boat while Rick parked the trailer. Luckily I managed to pick him up fairly close to shore without inflicting any permanent damage to him.  Considering what came afterward, this was more like an “act of God” than luck.

At the controls already and being the only one with some knowledge of boats, I drove. Taking a brief tour of the lake, we turned toward the marina before supper time where our slip was already secured.  Not many available in early summer, ours was in the far corner of an inside group of slips, not easy to get to.  To add to this, branches protruding from the shallow water by made it necessary to hug the dock to garner passage through the maze of docks. For those of you who have owned or driven boats you will know a boat moving slowly is far more difficult to maneuver than one moving at a high speed.  It wouldn’t have been hard to determine by any onlooker the driver of our boat had no single clue what she was doing. If anything I should have been wearing a tee-shirt reading “Water Hazard – Keep a Safe Distance”.

Remarkably I made it into the marina.  Each slip was occupied except ours sitting in between two oddly placed slips on either side. The idea was to pull into the slip, drop the gear into reverse to slow us down, stop and tie up. That was the idea.  However, I forgot everything at the key moment. Drifting everywhere but where I was supposed to, I managed to clip a sailboat in the adjacent slip which propelled me back into the center area once again.  Now going forward, I rammed the dock on the opposite side.  Rick bailed at this juncture and as I was unable to reclaim control, was left standing on the dock. Circling like a loose cannon gathering an audience I finally got close enough to the dock so that he could jump back on.  People swimming not far away evacuated the area as though a dorsal fin had surfaced in the vicinty.

By the time we finally calmed down enough to dock it, only mayhem and debris ws left in our wake, so to speak.  At the time it wasn’t funny.  Well, let’s just say Rick wasn’t laughing.  Now, it seems hysterical.  Thankfully, we improved over time and spent many fun days floating around and enjoying picnics on the beach before we decided to sell it. Here’s Rick “saving himself”.

Just a glimpse of my world here with the glistening Feather River at my doorstep.  Hope you’re enjoying a pleasant Sunday.  Made these tacos last night and I have to say they were absolutely yummy.  Give them a try.  The cream sauce would be good on so many things.

Miss Boo expresses her opinion on the whole moving situation.

Chicken Fajita Soft Tacos with Chipotle Cream Sauce

juice of 2 limes
4 Tbsp. olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 Tbsp. brown sugar
1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and chopped fine
1/8 cup chunky salsa
2 Tbsp. fresh cilantro, chopped
salt and pepper
2 boneless skinless chicken breasts, pounded to 1/2″
1 large red onion, sliced into onion rounds
1 large red pepper, cut into strips
1 large yellow or orange pepper, cut into strips

1 large coarsely chopped tomato
6 8″ flour tortillas

Garnish with sour cream, avocado, green leaf lettuce

For the marinade, whisk together lime juice, 2 Tbsp. oil, garlic, Worcestershire, brown sugar, jalapeño, cilantro, 1 tsp. salt and 1/2 tsp. black pepper. Remove half of the marinade and set aside.

Place chicken and 1/2 the marinade in large resealable bag.  Marinate in the refrigerator for 1 hr. Slice onions into onion rounds and red and yellow peppers into strips. Brush both sides of onion rounds and peppers with remaining 2 Tbsp. oil and season with salt and black pepper. Set aside.

Heat grill t medium. Place chicken on it and cook for 10 mins. per side or until chicken is very firm and well browned on both sides. Remove the chicken and tent with foil while you prepare the remaining ingredients.

Sprinkle veggies with salt and pepper to taste. Grill vegetables in a single layer until charred on one side.  Flip and repeat on the other side.  About 10 mins.

Slice breasts into 1/2″ strips and add to bowl of vegetables. Add the reserved marinade and tomatoes.

Heat tortillas in dry frying pan until slightly charred on both sides.  Keep hot in tin foil until ready to use.

Place fajitas, lettuce, and avocados (if desired) inside warm tortillas and top with chipotle cream sauce. Yum.

Chipotle Cream Sauce

1/2 cup mayonnaise
1/3 cup Zatarains creole mustard
2 large chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, seeded
2 scallions
1 garlic clove, quartered
1 1/2 Tbsp. adobo sauce (from can of chipotles)
3/4 cup heavy cream
Salt and pepper to taste

Place all ingredients but cream and salt and pepper in food processor.  Pulse until well blended.  Spoon into mixing bowl and whisk in heavy cream.  Add salt and pepper to taste.  Refrigerate until ready to use.

Note: adjust the heat of the sauce by less or more peppers and adobo sauce.