Table for One

Having lost Rick, my partner for twenty years to cancer last September, I am adjusting to being “single” once again. One of the first things I noticed when finding myself on my own was the sensation of “uncoupling”. Essentially, being single in a world originally designed for couples, (even the ark only offered accommodations for two). Being on one’s own offers up it’s unique set of challenges. Uncomfortable moments specifically reserved for the unattached. For example, walking into a nice restaurant to have a meal. Before your eyes have adjusted you are greeted by the hostess inquiring, “How many in your party”? Looking around you lean in towards her ear and whisper, “I am the party”. When it has been established no one is with you, nor anyone expected, you are guided to an available table almost always in the center of the room. Once seated, the bus staff swoops in to remove any extra place settings so guests at adjacent tables are fully aware you are bereft of partner and only to be pitied. Since it might be considered rude in nice surroundings to retrieve the book in your purse, you instead sit there memorizing the pattern on the tablecloth or examining your silverware for spots until something arrives on a plate you can devote your full attention to. I have friends, some single for many years, who do eat out regularly without feeling awkward. As you might have sensed, I am not there yet.

Another difficult situation for me is a party populated solely by couples. When you arrive to discover yourself the only “one”, the hosts toss you about like a hot potato at a barbecue. People just don’t know what to do with you. Tables are often set up for pairs so you end up being part of a threesome who would really prefer to be a twosome, or an extra chair is added at the head of the table so it is patently obvious no one has accompanied you. Worse, if you strike up a conversation with someone’s husband you could be considered poaching on their territory. The last barbecue I went to where I was the only one among twos I ended up having a stimulating  conversation about the state of our union with the schnauzer lying by the fireplace who also appeared to have shown up for the evening stag. Sigh.

Couples suddenly seem to emerge from every nook and cranny. You see them cuddling in the theater, taking turns tossing things in the grocery cart at the market, and walking along chatting and laughing everywhere you go. Friends and family begin to ask what you are doing to encourage a new relationship in your life. Please, let me grieve the old one first.  I am sure at some point I may welcome someone new into my life, but I am not ready for romance at this stage of the game. I have, however, picked up some tips along the way for ladies who are actively searching for a mate. Go to the grocery store around dinner time. Secure a place in the line forming around the hot food kiosks. Single men seem to gravitate in this area like ants around a sugar cube. I have to admit I have found myself there on more than one occasion, not casting my line but rather filling one of the boxes with something to take home for dinner. While standing there you might toss about a couple of compelling opening lines like, “my fried chicken certainly puts this to shame”, or “thank God my parents sent me to culinary school”.

Another testosterone filled event, at least in our town, is held the local K-Mart parking lot on Saturday mornings. From 8 to 11 the shopping center is bustling with men washing down bear claws with steaming cups of coffee while showing off souped up muscle cars from their salad days. They huddle together avidly discussing the pros and cons of this engine or that piston brand, kicking tires and admiring one another’s sparkling engines. So if you’re single and looking ladies, it wouldn’t hurt to bone up on manifolds and cam belts and take a walk over and wander around looking fascinated should such an event be happening near you.

Cooking for one has far less allure than preparing a meal for two or more. Again, packaging is done with couples or families in mind. Costco becomes a less attractive shopping venue. What am I going to do with a five pound chub of Jarlsberg? By the time I’ve celebrated the half way mark and consumed cheese on everything from corn flakes to banana pudding the other half looks like a science experiment. Also, having downsized my living quarters, I don’t have enough freezer space to store large packages of food.

Eating alone at home also takes a bit of getting used to. When you dine with someone you exchange your day with them, or talk about what’s going on in the world (at the moment a topic more likely to give you indigestion) but when you are left to your own devices it is often the TV anchorman for company or sorting through that pile of unopened mail you’ve been systematically avoiding.

On the plus side, being on my own allows me to eat what I want to when I want to. Should I choose to have Lucky Charms with bananas with a side of cookies and cream topped with chocolate syrup at three in the afternoon and call it dinner, so be it. When Rick and I shared meals, dinner was an event. Exceptions were Sunday’s during football season where KFC catered our meals, or on super busy days when a burger or tacos from a local fast food restaurant might suffice, but most nights something healthy and appealing appeared on our plates.

So, there are things to learn and take from every life situation, at least this has been true in my lifetime. The path you are on does not always continue in the direction it originally was headed. Change is part of being and you either adapt or end up frustrated and unhappy, neither a state of being I find I enjoy.

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No matter how love-sick a woman is, she shouldn’t take the first pill that comes along. – Joyce Brothers and Crispy Vegetable Salad with Sesame Seed Dressing

Just heard an incredible statistic. Today, one out of three marriages is between couples meeting on a dating site. Thinking about it, I don’t know why I find this incredible. The average adult spends a lot of time on-line. If you are single and looking for the perfect match, such a huge marketplace makes narrowing the search easier. Definitely it narrows the chances of finding someone with the specific traits you are looking for in a life partner.  Was I in a room and the question asked “who here met their mate on a dating site”, my hand would be enthusiastically waving in the air.

Eighteen years ago Rick left me a message on one of the more famous dating websites. Truth be told we are an unlikely match. I believe I was number 221 on his list of suitable matches and he didn’t even show up on mine.  At the time I was working insane hours at a dot.com startup in the Bay Area leaving little time for socializing. Often I would leave work after logging in hours of overtime only to be called back into the office in the wee hours to edit a file or create a new one. Exhausting.

Originally I posted my profile during a winey night spent with a dear friend of mine long single and looking for love. After uncorking our second bottle of chardonnay, we made the decision to get her on a dating site. This is one of those questionable decisions associated with too much alcohol intake often leading to disaster. However, in this case it turned out quite well. For me at least. The first step began by creating the usual inane profiles for ourselves. You know, “I like dogs, walks on the beach, and candlelight dinners”. Then we uploaded a couple of flattering recent pictures, and promptly put the whole thing out of our minds. Recent is highlighted in the last sentence because some people put pictures up taken after they graduated from middle school rather than what they actually look like at the time they post their profile. In the end if you meet the cat, as they say, will be out of the bag unless you have a particularly clever plastic surgeon on the payroll. About two weeks later we found ourselves again together and decided to look up the site and see what the results of our efforts were. Amazing. It was like panning for gold. You dip your pan in water once only to find a huge nugget nestled among the sand and gravel. Wow. Now, all these prospects are certainly not going to be either people you are interested in or necessarily even people seriously looking for a real relationship. Like everything in life you have to sift through the chaff in order to find the wheat.

Even though I was a novice at this type of dating, this was not my first rodeo. Through trial and error I’d hopefully picked up a few pointers along the way about the do’s and don’t of looking for a mate. Heavy emphasis on the hopefully. Dating to my mind is always a mine field. Aside from the benefits of finding a partner among such a wide selection of candidates there is, as always, a darker side to the picture. Predators feed on such a readily available population like sharks circling an area replete with an abundant food source. Discretion and good sense are the words of the day when taking on such an endeavor. Don’t meet anyone alone in a non-public environment. Trust your instincts. If it feels wrong, it probably is. Lastly, someone gave me some great advice once. “It’s not what people say that’s important, it’s what people do.” You can say you’re the C.E.O. of Ebay or that you are not married. This does not make either statement based on any semblance of fact.

At that time I was not looking for a serious relationship. Rather I was hoping to find several different people with whom I could perhaps share an interest like hiking, or someone who enjoyed the theater or visiting art museums. I adjusted my walks on the beach profile (actually my favorite pastime) to include other activities I also sincerely enjoyed. As the months progressed I met an interesting person here and a not so interesting one there but no one who felt like a good match. Though I became acquainted with some really great people no one enticed me to turn around for a second look.

When Rick popped up he was most unexpected. Though in the right age group and appealing according to his photograph, on scratching below the surface his profile indicated that might be where the commonalities came to an end. After he made several knocks at my on-site door I decided to open it a crack and see who was standing on the other side. Our first “date” if you will was just to meet and see if any fires were lit. From the moment he sat down across from me our conversation flowed easily. Still does. Always having a fascination with Egypt I was enthralled with his stories of growing up near Cairo and having access to all the wonders I had only been able to read about.

Soon we became regular companions and eighteen years later we still look forward to seeing one another across the table every morning (even before coffee).

So, if you are contemplating giving on-line dating a try I would. Perhaps you’ll be lucky like we were, perhaps you won’t. However shake the dice. Like playing the Lotto if you don’t buy a ticket you’ll never know if you might have been a winner.

This salad is just sooooo good. If you added chicken it would be a perfect light meal for those warm summer nights.

Vegetable Salad with Sesame Seed Dressing

2 1/2 cups Napa cabbage shredded
6 oz. Mung bean sprouts
1/3 cup thinly sliced red onion
3 hard boiled eggs cubed
4 radishes thinly sliced
1 avocado, diced
1 cup heirloom cherry tomatoes halved
1/2 English cucumber sliced thin
1/4 cup toasted sliced almonds
Salt and pepper

Serves 4-6

Sesame Seed Dressing

2 cloves garlic
2 green onion finely chopped
1 tsp. ground ginger
1/4 cup seasoned rice vinegar
3 Tbsp. brown sugar
3 Tbsp. honey
1 Tbsp. soy sauce
1 tsp. Sesame oil
1 1/2 tsp. Sriracha
1 Tbsp. sesame seeds
1/2 Tbsp. poppy seeds
1/3 cup EV olive oil
1/4 cup Canola oil
1/2 tsp. Dijon mustard
1 tsp. sea salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper

Whisk together all ingredients. Pour in cruet and shake well. Refrigerate for 1 hour. Toss with salad just before serving.

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Every time I slip into the ocean, it’s like going home. – Sylvia Earle and (Shchi) Sweet and Sour Russian Cabbage Soup

Three days at the coast last week turned out to be just what the doctor ordered for Rick and I. “Vacation” has not been written on our calendar for six years. We were more than ready for a break. Reservations for a stay at the beach in Mendocino County were in place, bags packed, and a pet sitter hired. Life, as they say, was good. This was to be our first time staying at the Beachcomber resort in Fort Bragg.  Our room was a well-appointed lower unit towards the southern end of the building offering up a panoramic view of the ocean beyond the sliding glass doors. I would have found it an idyllic location had the staff pitched us a tent and handed us a Coleman lantern. Ideal for me at least.  Rick’s idea of camping is staying at a hotel without room service.

The first two days were made to order for beach exploring. Temps hung in the low 70’s cooled by a light sea breeze. Spring made itself visible with hillsides decorated in colorful bursts of wildflowers. I spent a good deal of time walking along the sand. Sticking my toes in the frigid water and inhaling the glorious smells one associates with the ocean my mind kept whispering “home”. Still off-season, the beach was nearly deserted save an occasional tourist or local. Nothing like the crowds you might expect to see once Memorial Day is ticked off the calendar.

On our second day there Rick saw whales. Naturally I missed them. I was inside showering the sand off. Really chapped my hide (missing the whales not the sand). When I came out he told me our neighbors pointed them out to him from the upper deck bar. He had just enough time to catch a glimpse of the pair before they breached and disappeared below the surface. Awwwww, darn, darn, darn.

Not as exciting, I did see a lot of ground squirrels. The comical little rodents shared space with hotel inhabitants. Not inside, no. Inside they might have been less endearing. From the patio, however, their little furry heads could be seen peering up over the hills or running along the paths behind the rooms. Funny little creatures, surprisingly unafraid of humans. Several times while walking one came right up next to me looking for a handout.

Taking a respite from all things household, it was great to have someone cook for me. Dining out Rick encountered his usual pitfalls. If something disastrous is going to happen to a meal it generally will happen to his. Definitely the man has bad dining karma. Typically I will be digging into a delicious entrée while Rick’s is late, they are out of whatever he selected, they brought the wrong item, or it wasn’t cooked as requested.

Our second night there we ate at a well-known seafood restaurant situated on the fishing harbor. I had the fish tacos. Though I wouldn’t you recommend pack a bag and rush right down to Fort Bragg to get some for yourselves, they were quite good. Rick ordered prime rib. Now, I see you shaking your heads. Prime rib in a seafood restaurant? Who am I to say anything? Ordered medium rare, the meat arrived at the table looking like he’d ordered off the side of the menu entitled “Our Road Kill Selections”. That meat had been rode hard and put up wet. When the waiter was alerted, he offered to get Rick a cut showing more pink. Shortly he returned from the kitchen to inform us that was as rare as that piece of beef was going to get. A rib eye was suggested as a replacement. According to Rick the rib eye was actually worse. He said he wouldn’t have believed this was possible but somehow the chef pulled it off. Fatty and full of gristle the steak was smothered  with gravy and canned mushrooms. The gravy, according to Rick, was put there to hide a poor cut of meat. Ewwwwww. I know. I remained mute just nodding and grimacing where appropriate. Mama didn’t raise no fool.

Our last night, thankfully, we located a wonderful Italian restaurant in Fort Bragg proper. Told there was music in the main dining room we chose to sit in there over being seated in the very lively bar. An eclectic trio was playing Celtic music. The musicians were composed of a flutist, a gentleman on guitar, and a lady easily having celebrated her 80th birthday playing mini-guitar and fiddle. The waitress was friendly as well as full of information about the area succeeding in making a great meal that much better. Cucina Verona is the name of the place should you find yourself visiting Fort Bragg.

Leaving the restaurant the strong wind persisting throughout the day had intensified. But for the fact I’d consumed half a loaf of bread plus dessert I might have taken flight like Dorothy and Toto. On the bright side, pushing my way to the car against the onslaught of air I probably burned off most of the tiramisu I’d finished my meal off with. At the car we literally couldn’t get the passenger door to stay open long enough for me to hop in. I rode to the hotel in the back seat telling Rick if he wanted a nice tip he better stick to the shortest route.

Returning to the hotel room exhausted and stuffed I crawled into bed. Despite the wind whistling outside rattling the doors sleep came easily. Around 1 a.m. I woke up needing to use the facilities. Opening my eyes, total darkness swirled around me. Still half asleep, my mind couldn’t process what was happening. Not one shard of light could be detected anywhere in the room. Pitch dark closed in around me. Feeling my way blindly around the less than familiar surroundings my sleepy mind determined somewhere in the night I had been rendered totally blind. A bit of panic gripped me as I fumbled and moved my hands along the walls. Finally panic began to drive the bus rather than just occupy a seat and I called out for Rick. Rick, so it appeared, was busy fighting his own battle with his C-Pap machine. Somehow the machine had switched off making it difficult for him to breathe. “Turn on the light” I called out. Hearing him switch the nightstand light on and off and the inky blackness remaining in place a light switched on in my fuzzy brain. “The electricity was out”. Duh. No flies on us. Thank God. I had begun to imagine the worst. Those blackout curtains in hotel rooms really work I am here to say. Groping my way to the counter I turned on my cell phone……and then there was light.

Driving home we said goodbye to the ocean as we turned inland. In my mind’s eye I can still see the waves rolling in and hear the gulls calling overhead. My only regret about not winning the lottery or being born with any significant marketable talent is that I do not have the wherewithal to wake up to the sound of the sea every day of my life. Ah well, happy people do not lament what they don’t have but are grateful for what they do so I will leave it there.

I was served this soup (or a version of it) at a luncheon recently. I loved it so I thought I’d see if I could come up with one I might share with you.

(Shchi) Russian Sweet and Sour Cabbage Soup

1 lb. stew meat
2 Tbsp olive oil
2 potatoes, peeled and diced
2 carrots, peeled and diced
1 yellow onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic
1 15 1/2 oz. can diced tomatoes with juice
2 Tbsp. tomato paste
4 cups beef broth
1/4 cup white sugar
2 Tbsp. white wine vinegar
8 oz. demi-glace*
2 cups water
1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. pepper
1/2 tsp. ground cardamom
2 cups of water
1 Tbsp. beef bouillon
1 head cabbage cut in wedges

Heat oil over med-high heat in skillet. Generously salt and pepper meat and brown on all sides. (Note: If you want to do a quick version of the above use leftover pieces of steak or roast in place of stew meat. Reduce initial cooking time to 35 mins. Continue the remaining part of the recipe as indicated.)

When meat is browned put in stockpot. Add all remaining ingredients through cardamom. Bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer on low heat for 1 1/2 hours, stirring occasionally. Add 2 cups water and bouillon to pot. Bring to boil. Add cabbage and reduce heat to actively simmer for 30 minutes. Adjust seasoning if necessary.

Serves 8

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I love dive bars, old movie theaters, live music and good food. The simplest things in life for me are the most important. – Tanya Fischer and Triple Berry Pie

Rick and I try to slip out for a “date night” every week or two. Not that we don’t see enough of each other, we do, but date night is more about quality time than quantity. Usually this involves dinner or a movie. Cats not welcome in public venues, this leaves Miss Boo, the Queen of Cats, to fend for herself. Boo came by her name honestly due of her innate fear of nearly everything from artichokes to zeppelins. Being alone, looms right at the top of her extensive “things I am afraid of” list. Usually she can be found cowering under our bed when we arrive home from a night out poised for impending disaster. As mentioned in my previous blog we adopted another kitty several years ago to provide some feline companionship, but Boo definitely didn’t want to share the spotlight. After a year we were forced to lick our wounds (literally), and hoist the white flag. Each time the two “ladies” (and I use the term loosely) saw each other the claws were out and the gloves off. In the end we found a loving home for our newest addition returning the cat count in our house to a contented one.

Date night this week was the movies. I haven’t seen a really great film in a while. Unfortunately, after seeing this one that status remains in tact. This was a Star Wars sequel. The only thing I wish I’d brought to improve the viewing was a pillow and a blanket. Rick loves Star Wars and has seen every follow up effort after the original but this one meandered about like a drunk on the freeway dangerously close to falling on its face.

Recently the owners remodeled the theater where the movie was playing. The updates were well received around town so I was curious to see what improvements had been made. Rumor had it (it is a small town so any news is big news) a bar/restaurant had been added serving beer, wine and bar food such as hot pretzels and pizza. Wow cocktails and a movie. Don’t misunderstand me, I enjoy a cocktail now and again. However, drinking before a movie (particularly the stinker we just saw) would result in me slumped over in my chair sucking air by the time the previews were over. As an aside I remember a business when I was living in Washington state who’s sign red “Drugs and Videos”. Turned out it was a pharmacy and a movie rental combined, but the sign led you in other directions.

Going to the movies is far different now then when I was a kid. There were three theaters in the town In So Cal where I went to high school. One was a newer building on spread out over a single level, with the other two massive old-style theaters replete with red velvet curtains, balconies and ornate columned walls. Double features were included in the price of ticket back then. Sandwiched in between films cartoons were played, or in my mother’s era “newsreels”, leaving patrons time for a bathroom run or to pick up another box of Junior Mints at the snack bar.

Both of the older theaters as I said had first floor and balcony seating. Balconies were reserved for overflow seating for particularly popular movies and necking for any movie. Aside from regular theaters, drive-ins were dotted all over the area. Teenagers and families gathered around the speakers on Friday and Saturday nights to enjoy some cardboard pizza from the snack bar or to share a picnic in their car. Children played in the playground until the sun went down and teens steamed up windows in the back rows.

Personally I was forbidden from going on a date to the drive-in. To be honest what I was supposed to do and what I actually did were not always in direct alignment. Drive-ins were cheap entertainment for kids relying on part-time jobs or allowances to pay for a date. At $1.75 a carload if you crammed several kids in the trunk it proved very cost effective entertainment.

Once I got married and had my own children we often piled them in the old yellow station wagon dressed in their Dr. Denton’s and sat through a double feature at the drive-in about five miles from our house. To be honest as a young mother with two toddlers I rarely made it through the second movie but it was a cheap date for us and fun for the little ones. Now I think what drive-ins remain serve mainly to house weekend swap meets but back then they were the place to be.

Rick and I often go to a matinee these days. The last time we were there he commented on the sea of gray heads lined up in the seats in the front of us. I didn’t want to point out they were for the most part in the same generation as us but the thought crossed my mind.

Fads come and fads go. The old makes way for the new. I don’t see many young faces buying a ticket to see a movie nowadays. Perhaps they go to the later viewings? My guess is they are catching their movies on line or on their devices rather than at the theater.

An old dog at heart, I still like the smell of popcorn and the lights dimming before the feature begins to play on the big screen.

This pie is so yummy and quick to pull together. Use store bought pie crust to save time. I do like this recipe for crust if you’re in the mood. I found it in a Taste of Home cookbook years ago and for someone not adept at making crust, this one works for me. Another tip from a great baker I met along the way. Use high quality vanilla when baking. There is a difference.

Triple Berry Pie

Double Crust Pie Shell

2 Cups all-purpose flour
1/2 Tsp. salt
2/3 cup shortening
1 Tbsp. white vinegar
4-5 Tbsp. milk

Combine flour and salt in small bowl. Cut in shortening until mixture looks like course crumbs. Sprinkle with vinegar. Gradually add milk tossing with a fork until a ball forms. Cover and refrigerate for 30 mins.

Divide pastry in half leaving one ball slightly larger than the other. Roll out the larger of the two to fit 9″-10″ pie plate. Transfer pastry to pie plate. Trim to rim. Brush bottom of shell with 1 Tbsp. water whisked with 1 egg white. Reserve the rest.

Roll out second shell to fit over top of the first. Set aside.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Filling

2 1/2 cups blueberries, sorted and any stems removed
3/4 cup raspberries
3/4 cups blackberries
3/4 cups white sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
1 1/2 Tbsp. lemon zest
1/2 tsp. lemon juice
1 Tsp. vanilla
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1 egg white
2 tbsp. water

Place berries in large mixing bowl. Whisk together remaining ingredients and pour over berries. Using your hands gently turn until well coated. Pour into prepared shell.

Lay top pastry over berry mix. Press and seal edges with bottom shell. Trim as needed. Cut four slits in center to vent. Brush top with remaining egg white/water mixture.

Bake for 50 mins. or until browned and bubbly.

Cook on wire rack.

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Grilled Lamb Burgers with Tzatziki – You can’t be friends with a squirrel! A squirrel is just a rat with a cuter outfit. – Sarah Jessica Parker

At last it is warm enough to tackle some of my outdoor projects. Over the winter months my garage tends to become a catchall for everything being far less organized than in the warmer seasons when I can get out there to work. Last weekend “clean garage” was plainly written under Saturday on my calendar. Rising early and with sufficient coffee to start my engine, I headed out the door. Grabbing my broom I brushed cobwebs out of the windows and teased leaves out of corners. Towards the back of the room stand four wall units where everything is stored from dry goods to overflow cooking utensils. Moving one unit to sweep behind it something large and furry scurried past me. Before I could identify it, it ran along the back of the garage disappearing behind a pile of logs. I went inside to tell Rick about the beastie. When I complain about the copious leaves in the yard or the deer eating our flowers Rick shoots me that look as if to say, “what do you expect, we live in the mountains”. Apparently this look covers critters in the garage as well. Yes, I get we live in the forest, thank you.  Nobody loves animals more than I do. However, I would prefer to know what type of animal I am dealing with before choosing to share space with it. There is a vast difference in experience between being in the garage with a squirrel and being in the garage with a skunk, if you get my drift. (No pun intended.)

Gingerly I began poking at the logs stacked in the corner. Newly purchased bags of potting soil were leaning against them. With a sunny weekend in the forecast, plans were in the works to begin digging in my garden. I did not want to be surprised by something unpleasant with teeth. Out of the corner of my eye I caught two beady little eyes staring up at me from behind the stacked wood. To complete the picture beyond one log the tip of a rather slinky tail protruded. As the hair began to come to attention along the base of my neck my mind began to scream, RAT, RAT, RAT. Ewwwww. Can I say it again?  Ewwwww. I’ve dealt with wasps, black widow spiders, and centipedes but never rodents. Well, for the sake of full disclosure I did have a wee gray mouse once.  His visit a brief but memorable one once our old cat honed in on his location. Mouse didn’t come by her name for nothing. Such is the circle of life. Unfortunately our cat du jour, Boo, the Queen of Cats, did not accept Mouse living in her house so we had to find Miss Mouse a new home. Boo, lazy to the very depth of her spoiled old bones, if faced with a rat would probably lie down and take a nap.

The following day after seeing the rat I called the pest control people. Conducting a thorough inspection, the service man said there was no infestation. Thank God. There was evidence of one rat, most likely a teenager. Personally I don’t care whether the rat was five or forty, I want him to find another place to hang his little rat hat. For enough money to pay for a semester at Harvard the man said he would set traps to rid us of the beast.  In addition to a substantial initial outlay a year-long contract was to be included to be paid on a monthly basis.  Hmmmm. Suddenly the rat was looking better than the service man.

I associate rats with being dirty. Not wanting to be considered as such, I prattled on about my attention to cleanliness with the pest control guy. Finally, probably tiring of hearing how my knees were raw from scrubbing the floors 24/7, he told me this rat probably just came in out of the rain and as a bonus discovered the dry goods we store in the garage. Who knew rats liked non-dairy creamer and coffee?

Searching for a less expensive option, I dialed my son’s number. Several years ago he’d had three rats in his garage. When he’d originally discussed this with me I was surprised. I keep a very clean house, but my daughter-in-law is immaculate. Dinner could be served up on her kitchen floor without fear of ingesting a single germ. For her this must have been tantamount to being told someone in the neighborhood had come down with bubonic plague. Duct work had to be torn down and replaced, x-rays taken of walls, and $5,000 later the house was rat-free. Ewwwww, once again.

Another friend of mine had rats in her walls. This can be a serious problem. Fortunately our situation is one rat, one garage. Easy peasey. In my friend’s case pest control set out a series of traps with cheese laced with poison. Rats ate the laced cheese and retreated back into the walls to go wherever rats go when they pass on. Unfortunately retrieval of the bodies was not part of the contract. After a few days and a good dose of hot air blown through the ducts from the furnace the house began to smell. More money then had to be invested to do something about odor abatement. Ach.

We often leave our garage door open during the day. My mother comments on her visits she would worry about critters getting in. In the four years we’ve been here we have only had one “critter” in the garage, a small deer who wandered in to help herself to some cat food. Perhaps we will have to rethink this strategy in the future.

So, we have purchased traps and as barbaric as I find this whole procedure it’s him or me. I am not willing to continue to go in the garage in hip boots and full haz-mat gear for the rest of my tenure in this house.

Probably not the best idea to pair a discussion of rodents with food, but what I am if not a trend setter?

These lamb burgers were our virgin run on the grill for the season. I love ground lamb and it is great for a change up from a traditional burger.

Grilled Lamb Burgers with Tzatziki Sauce

1 1/2 lb. minced lamb
1/2 onion chopped fine
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. ground coriander
1/2 tsp. crushed mint
1/2 tsp. garlic powder
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper
2 1/2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/4 cup Feta cheese
3 Tbsp. olive oil
4 English muffins
Tomatoes and red onion
Spinach leaves

Mix all ingredients together well. Refrigerate for 1 hr. Form into patties.

Spray grill well with cooking spray. Preheat grill to med-high heat. Cook meat patties 3-4 minutes per side. Remove and top with Feta cheese.

At the same time baste each English muffin on cut side with olive oil. Place on grill until browned.

Serve patties on muffins with tomatoes, red onion (grilled are best) and fresh spinach leaves topped with Tzatziki sauce.

Tzatziki Sauce

1 1/2 cups plain yogurt
1 cucumber, finely diced
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 lemon juiced
1 Tbsp. dill
3 cloves garlic

Mix together and chill for 1 hr. Serve on top of lamb burgers.

Serves 4

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Slow Cooker Short Ribs for Two – Though the doctors treated him, let his blood, and gave him medications to drink, he nevertheless recovered. ― Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace

There’s a phenomenon in the medical profession which truly concerns me. On many occasions women visiting a physician’s office with a complaint are dismissed by such platitudes as “you’re just getting older” or “it’s probably an emotional issue”.

This is particularly personal in my case because my daughter’s mother-in-law, Judy, had a similar experience several years ago. Over a two year period Judy visited her physician regularly complaining of chronic nausea and a general feeling of malaise. The doctor, a female herself, kept placating her prescribing antacids for the stomach issues and suggesting she was “over thinking” her symptoms. In the end when the situation reached a critical state requiring a visit to the E.R., she was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer.

This really isn’t new.  At twenty-five I went to the GYN complaining of having heavy cramping with my monthly periods. My doctor looked at me as though I was being a hysterical baby and totally overreacting so I didn’t mention it again. Several months later our family had planned a camping trip on the beach in Baja.  While there the bleeding became so alarming it became necessary to come back early. Returning to work on Monday the pain intensified quickly ending in a trip to the emergency room. An initial examination and x-ray had hospital staff rushing around me. Before you could say hemorrhage, I was whisked off to have emergency surgery resulting in the removal of an ovarian cyst. Afterwards the surgeon said had I waited another twenty-four hours this would have turned into a life or death situation.

This dismissal doesn’t limit itself to women. Elderly patients often encounter similar problems when seeking treatment. Because you are “old” does not mean you are dispensable. The fact that your ninety year old grandmother has lived a good long life does not mean she does not wish to continue to do so. Recently I had a situation with my mother. An irritated red spot with a scab developed on her face. Twice she has undergone Mohz procedures for skin cancer so to me it looked suspicious. Texting her doctor I asked if she had noticed it. Her reply indicated indeed she had, and her conclusion was it was a pre-cancerous growth. Inquiring what the course of action was to be seemeed to surprise her.  What? There is no course of action when you reach a certain age? My mother is fully functional and viable human being and I suggested politely she do whatever needs to be done without delay.

Even friends in my age group are reporting a difference in their care.  Everything is not associated with aging. Perhaps physician’s need to stop staring at their computer screens and take a moment to look at the person seated before them.

My rant for a Saturday. These short ribs were absolutely a three yum situation. I had seconds which is rare in our house.

Slow Cooker Short Ribs for Two

2 Tbsp. peanut oil
4-5 short ribs bone in
1 onion, slice thin
1 bay leaf
12 oz. beer (I used Corona)
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 Tbsp. chunky salsa
2 Tbsp. tomato paste
2 Tbsp. brown sugar
2 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
2 tsp. beef bouillon
1 1/2 tsp. Italian seasoning
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper
1 pkg. brown gravy mix, prepared

Heat oil over high heat in frying pan. Sprinkle ribs generously with salt and pepper and brown on all sides. Spray 6 quart slow cooker with cooking spray. Line bottom with onion. Top with browned short ribs.

Mix together all remaining ingredients except gravy mix. Pour over meat. Cook on low for 10-11 hours. Remove ribs from sauce and whisk in prepared gravy. Return ribs to sauce and continue cooking on high for 1/2 hour.

Serve over mashed potatoes or noodles.

Serves 2

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Put your hair up in a bun, drink some coffee and handle it. – Anon and Leftover Pork and Black Bean Soup

Another news item to file away. First it was free-range chickens, now it is free-range kids. Yup, I said it, you heard it. According to the news anchor this morning, free-range children are those kids whose parents allow them to walk home from school unaccompanied or go to the park with their siblings or friends with no adult supervision. Some states have laws governing whether you can or cannot allow this, but in many states the laws are unclear when it comes to when and at what age this is permissible.

For those of us raised in a time where our parents regularly ushered us outside on our own to play, this seems a sad situation. Play dates were non-existent entities when I was growing up. Youngsters were released on the world early in the day to create their own adventures, returning only when they got hungry or the sun went down. From one to nine I lived with my mother in my maternal grandparents home. Their home sat on a rise on a rambling piece of property reaching out to the Atlantic ocean. As a youngster these hills were my playground.  On warm summer days the grassy knolls could be transformed into a pirate’s treasure island or become the perfect backdrop for a teddy bear picnic served on my grandfather’s favorite lap robe. I rode my bike to the park to get ice cream with my allowance, played jacks under the elm tree on the corner with my friends, and scooped tadpoles into a Mason jar at the frog pond without any supervision. Not that I was neglected, quite the opposite I was a bit spoiled, but children roamed free back in the day. Young minds found fascinating things to explore using our vivid imaginations extending far beyond the scope of a device in our laps. So glad am I to have been born when I was. To be able to be raised with such freedom of movement, racing through the door with burrs in my socks and grass stains on my knees.  Flowers flourish in the warm sunlight and gentle breezes as do small humans. Wiggling bare feet in an icy stream or throwing snow balls at the enemy were rights of passage for kids when I was losing my grip on my childhood. Times change, life goes on, but somehow it feels like something precious has been left behind.

Leaving my misspent youth for a while, I poured my second cup of coffee, returning my focus to the news. A story was airing about adding a cancer warning to coffee. Really? When it turns out in the end the only safe foods left to ingest are tofu and raw seaweed I’m throwing in the towel and getting ready to beam up. Hear me loud and clear. I have given up cigarettes (which sadly I rather enjoyed), liquor rarely crosses my lips, and I don’t do drugs of any kind other than an occasional antibiotic, but coffee will remain firmly entrenched in my morning routine period, end of conversation. I will simply have to deal with the consequences of my actions. Without my morning cup of Joe I am a far less amiable and energetic person. Admitting my bubbly personality may largely be attributed to a small brown bean is not an easy admission, but there you have it.

News is on my mind these days with so much available at my fingertips. You can’t escape it. Even while in the hairdressers yesterday, a place where I usually get my monthly dose of celebrity gossip from the current People magazine, I was caught up in a discussion about current events. My hairdresser says she no longer tunes in newscasts as they spread negative ideas and leave her depressed. I get that. However, part of me needs to know what is going on in the world. Particularly lately when the political climate fluctuates so dramatically from one day to the next. That being said, I must admit I am growing weary of the endless political discussions after dinner with friends, and  tiresome social media infighting. I don’t remember it being like this before the current administration took the reins, but I won’t go there lest I start some political maelstrom on my humble blog.

Once we’d put the discussion about world events to bed at the beauty parlor our thoughts again turned to my hair. This was my first appointment in this shop so I brought a picture to illustrate what color I was aiming for. The model smiling back in the photo sported lush hair with brownish undertones warmly highlighted with blonde. Nodding and smiling the stylist indicated she understood the concept. Two hours later I exited the shop looking as though I’d been dipped head first in a hot fudge machine. Back to the drawing board. Sigh. Thankfully, hair color is a temporary situation. If this is the worst hurdle I have to scale in my life I believe I will survive. Was I twenty years younger there would be a crisis but these days like a twig in a stream Susie sort of rolls with the ebb and flow of things. Don’t sweat the small stuff is my mantra and I have a tee shirt to prove it.

For women finding a new stylist who suits her can be very stressful. I don’t know if this pertains to our male counterparts, but I would imagine it might. Certainly I have had my share of bad hair cuts and sloppy color jobs through the years. Many times I have threatened to let my hair grow naturally to my ankles and allow starlings to nest in it before trusting anyone else to get their hands on it. This resolve usually lasts about six weeks until a line of growth becomes visible and once again I find myself draped and ready for the latest manifestation of myself hoping for the best.

Another beef, while I’m in full voice here, is even when they manage the color and cut to your satisfaction they often fall down on the style. I have left salons looking like everyone from Annie Lennox to Richard Simmons. To me when you walk in with your hair styled a certain way and indicate you like it that way it should be obvious you might like to walk out in a similar manner, yes? I keep a spare hat in my back seat in case I need to stop at the store or run an errand on the way home so as not to frighten the townspeople.

So I come to the end of my rant for the day. The rain has finally ceased outside my window and I’m preparing to head out. I made this soup yesterday out of a leftover chub of pork loin and it was amazingly delicious.

Leftover Pork and Black Bean Soup

1 large onion chopped
1 Tbsp. olive oil
2 cups cubed pork loin (cooked)
1 15 oz. can black beans rinsed and drained
1 15 oz. can kernel corn, drained
1 15 1/2 oz. can diced tomatoes with green chiles
3 oz. (1/2 can tomato paste)
7 cups water
1/2 small potato peeled and diced
1 Tbsp. ground cumin
1 Tbsp. chili powder
1 tsp. garlic powder
1 tsp. onion powder
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper
Mexican blend cheese
Tortilla chips

Heat oil in stock pot over med-low heat. Add onion and cook over low heat for 6-8 mins. until translucent. Add remaining ingredients. Bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 50 minutes.

Serve with sprinkled cheese and tortilla tips.

Serves 4

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When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. – Ralph Waldo Emerson and Instant Pot Mandarin Orange Pork Loin

The time has once again moved forward an hour. When I was working full-time the “spring ahead” portion of daylight savings time was always a killer. For most of my life my alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. When the time changed in spring, a precious 60 minutes of sleep disappeared over the horizon. Ironic how now, when I could sleep in until nine if the spirit moved me, I’m up staring at the ceiling at 4:15 thinking about my first cup of coffee. This morning the cat woke me up by licking my hair. What is up with that? Anyone else have a cat that displays this peculiar behavior?

I did a little research on cat licking after writing that last paragraph. Seems cats do this as a grooming ritual with those they consider peers. Nice to know she considers me part of the litter. Certainly I’m part of it once a week when I empty her box. Another hypothesis, as it must be considered such lest the article was penned from the feline’s point of view, is that some cats enjoy the taste of hair products. A suggestion offered by the writer to stop this habit was to remove your hair from the cat’s reach. Really? Now I’m not a Mensa card carrier, however, I’d like to think I’d have reached this conclusion on my own. With Boo, I suspect it would be the former rather than the latter. A very picky eater this cat. Yesterday I put a small scoop of wet cat food in her dish in lieu of her usual kibble. Wet food can be good for older cat’s digestive systems, or so I’ve read. After staring motionless at the bowl for five minutes she cast a long nasty look my direction and walked off in disgust. Sorry.

On a sadder and totally unrelated note, the world lost Stephen Hawking this week.  What an admirable human being and what amazing contributions to science he will leave behind.  Funny how some people seem so much further evolved than others. Always amazes me. Like super humans who tap into more of their brain power than we mere mortals are either capable of or choose to do. Wouldn’t it be fascinating to understand this phenomenon? Probably it will remain just another addition to the growing unanswered questions side of my life list.

Trapped by his disease for most of his adult life, he seemed to make peace with it. When asked by a reporter how he managed living with ALS,  he replied, “It gives me more time to think”.  Some people handle adversity with such grace and bravery it shames those of us busy concerning ourselves with poor cell phone reception or a pimple erupting  on our chin. Sometimes I think we can be dreadfully ungrateful as humans. Those of us fortunate enough to be able walk across the room, see where we are going while we do, and hear our children laugh should be able to find some joy in those precious gifts alone. Sounds simplistic I know. Just be happy. But, why not? With all that we have been given why is it many of us find happiness so elusive? Certainly drug manufacturers are making a fortune off of anti-anxiety medication and mood elevators. Perhaps it is because with all the beauty and joy in the world, the balance is sadness and diversity? Who knows.

Up in the middle of the night recently faced with a dismal selection on TV, I tuned in an episode of Celebrity Wife Swap. Always interesting to see how the 1% spends fills their days. One of the stars featured had a massive home along with a serious shopping addiction. There were separate rooms set aside for a massive storehouse of clothes, shoes, jewelry and an assortment of colognes suitable for setting up a kiosk at the local mall. Amazing. Buy, buy, buy. How many pairs of pants does one human need? Truth is unless I’ve missed something you can only wear one pair at a time. What is lacking that pushes us to keep trying to fill the coffer?

Yet another example of life’s inequities. Why is it some people have so much abundance while others struggle to get by? Yin and Yang I would suppose. Balance, once again, in all things. On the opposite side of the coin from our celebrity hoarder was an article about food insecurity in the Sacramento area I read recently. This is a subject that interests me deeply as I am involved with our local food bank and the great work they do. The writer cited an impressive number of adults and children suffering from food insecurity in Northern California. These staggering numbers reflected only those names on the books, leaving the unreported as an additional uncounted for demographic. Such people are dealing with where their next meal is coming from, not which cologne to spray on themselves, a far different reality. People often ask about homeless people or those going to bed hungry, “why don’t they just change their lives”? When you are concerning yourself with meeting the basic human needs there is little energy left for propelling yourself forward or making the situation better. Many people live one paycheck from the street, and that has to be a terrifying place to be.

It is so easy to dwell on what you don’t have. People say “I would be happy if I had a boat”, or “winning the lottery would make my life perfect”.  If this criteria was the key to happiness why are Ferrari owners getting divorces, and lottery winners ending up in bankruptcy court or bickering with greedy relatives? Perhaps the key to being happy is focusing more energy on what you do have. The gifts in your life. There should be found much to celebrate for many of us. Food on our plates, clothes on our backs, a healthy family, a place to call home. In my world I get great joy out of my “near perfect moments”. I have spoken to these before. Moments bringing me to the brink of tears with their bounty, reminding me how glorious a place the earth can be to make your home.  Sitting in the warm sun on a hillside ablaze with wildflowers, digging my toes in the wet sand and watching the ocean, kissing a baby’s feet when they are fresh from the tub. In my case, I also find endless enchantment with the creatures sharing our planet. Boo and all the beasts that inhabit our world bring me pleasure each and every day. There is so much beauty available by simply walking out the door and looking around you.

So I will offer up this really delicious pork loin which definitely brought a smile to our faces. Luvin my Instant Pot these days. Aside from the shorter cooking time, cleaning up is one pot in the sink.

Instant Pot Mandarin Orange Pork Loin

1 peppercorn pork loin cut in half
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 small can mandarin oranges, drained reserving liquid
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 Tbsp. chopped chives
1 Tbsp. chopped parsley
1/2 cup seasoned rice vinegar
1/4 cup sesame oil
1 1/2 Tbsp. ground allspice
2 tsp. cinnamon
2 tsp. ground ginger
2 Tbsp. Tamari
3 Tbsp. hot (use Med. or Mild for less heat) chunky salsa

Brown pork in hot oil over med. high heat until seared on all sides. Place in Instant Pot.

Put all remaining ingredients except mandarin oranges in blender and puree until smooth. Pour over pork. Cook for 50 mins. on Meat/Stew setting under high pressure. Allow pressure to release naturally. Remove pork and tent. Pour sauce into small saucepan. Simmer for 10 mins. Stir in 1/2 of the mandarin oranges (save the rest for a salad). Slice pork and pour sauce over top.

Serves 2-4

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Have no fear of perfection – you never reach it. – Salvador Dali and Instant Pot Spareribs

Neither Alexa nor Echo live at our house. Behind the times on most things electronic, these are just not additional technological toys we wish to deal with at this point. Most likely they are handy, reducing the necessity of actually rising from a seated position to turn the lights on and off, but for now we will continue our lives in the dark ages and flip the switches ourselves. Apparently users of Alexa are experiencing some disturbing side effects. Alexa’s, without prompting from their handlers, have begun laughing unexpectedly. Oh-oh. This brings to mind 2001 A Space Odyssey. Remember Hal? When I saw that movie for the first time back in the day, the idea of having robots at the controls seemed so far off. Now, however, with robots flipping burgers and computer driven vehicles the concept is right on our doorstep.

Still straddling the fence about cars driving themselves. What if the computer goes rogue or something in the wiring goes south? Not so unlikely a scenario really. My laptop regularly decides to go off on its own requiring a tweak here or a geek there. Our SUV recently staged a computer rebellion of its own. The dashboard gauges one after another went on strike. The gas gauge needle now remains fixed on full (if only this were true) and we have to rely on the mileage indicator on the dash to tell us how many miles before we run out of gas.  Thankfully this is to be repaired next week. Cars certainly were far less complicated before computers were introduced and less expensive to repair. Not cheap getting the car computer worked on BTW. Cars have to be diagnosed now, which is an initial charge. Once the problem is identified and repairs commence, the labor and parts then begin to add up. Used to be men worked on their engines themselves. On the weekend you’d see hoods open around the neighborhood with guys in groups bending over and scratching their heads. You don’t often see a guy with grease on his jeans leaning over his engine these days. Not much the lay mechanic can do with complicated codes and programming to deal with.

Devices are taking over our world for sure. Pedestrian deaths have risen at such an alarming rate due to distracted walking, some cities have been forced to enact laws fining people caught walking and texting. A video on Facebook showing the dangers of such a practice including one guy so wrapped up in his cell phone he actually ran into a bus passing in front of him. Literally crashed into the side of a bus. Really? I mean not noticing a guy on a bike is one thing, but a municipal bus? That’s like not noticing an elephant reading People in the seat next to you at the hair dresser. Another man walked into a pole with such force he broke both his glasses and his phone. Thankfully, his face was still in tact. Amazingly he looked as if his dog has just died while surveying the damage to his cell phone. I guess if I paid the going rate for a new phone, I might be looking like that myself.

More often than not I feel out of step with the world as it is. Yesterday, for example, I was cooling my heels waiting for Rick at his physical therapy appointment. Knowing I had time to kill, I grabbed my book on the way out of the house. Once Rick’s name was called, I opened my book to the bookmarked page and began reading. Peeking over the rims of my glasses, I noticed one again I was the only human in the crowded room reading an actual book. A man came in shortly after I got situated and took up the chair next to me. After surveying his phone for a while he asked me what I was reading. I began to answer, “a book”, thinking perhaps he hadn’t seen one in the flesh recently and didn’t recognize it, then I realized he meant what book.

Have to admit I did enjoy my first video chat with my cousin the other day. That was fun. Most probably the reason I’ve been resistant to participating in these prior to this is I don’t always want to put on lipstick or blow dry my hair before turning on my laptop. Usually my first jolt of technology comes along with my first jolt of caffeine when I look as if I’ve just exited a rigorous workout in a blender.

A step in the right direction, I have recently acquired an Instant Pot. It required a slight learning curve but now I plug it in often shaving cooking time off my schedule. I was concerned these ribs might be dry but to my delight they were succulent and delicious.

Instant Pot Spareribs

1 rack back ribs (membrane removed)
dry rub (recipe below)
4 cups apple juice
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
2 Tbsp. Liquid Smoke

Dry Rub

1 1/2 Tbsp. paprika
1 Tbsp. brown sugar
1 Tbsp. onion powder
1 Tbsp. garlic powder
1 tsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. black pepper
1 tsp. seasoning salt
1 tsp. sea salt (fine)
1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper

Whisk rub together and rub over ribs. Wrap tightly in foil and refrigerate overnight.

Barbecue Sauce

1 cup catsup
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup Kentucky bourbon
2 1/2 Tbsp. granulated sugar
2 1/2 Tbsp. brown sugar
1 Tbsp. Liquid Smoke
1/2 tsp. onion powder
1/2 tsp. garlic powder
1/2 tsp. ground mustard
1/2 Tbsp. lemon juice
1/2 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
1/2 Tbsp. Sriracha sauce
Salt and pepper to taste

Whisk together ingredients. Simmer over low heat for 1/2 hour until slightly reduced. Refrigerate until ready to use.

Pour apple juice, apple cider vinegar and Liquid Smoke in Instant Pot. wrap ribs in a circle around inside wall of pot. Cook on Meat/Stew for 20 mins. Allow to cool down. Remove ribs and discard liquid.

Brush liberally with sauce. Place until broiler for 5 mins. watching to keep from burning. Serve with extra sauce.

Serves 2-4

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My hair only looks good on days when no one important sees it. – Red Lentil Soup

Yesterday I went to the hair dresser to celebrate a monthly rite of passage, “the hiding of the gray”. My first gray hair made its debut before my twenty-first birthday shortly after the rather arduous birth of my son. Whether this was due to the difficult labor or my little boy’s unquenchable energy once home, remains up for debate. Several times, particularly since I am now of the appropriate age, I have considered letting the gray have its way with me. Usually, however, once the decision is made I find myself once again draped and staring in the mirror at the salon deciding to give it another birthday before sealing the deal.

Today hair dressers are often referred to as beauticians or stylists. Like physicians who branch out into neurosurgery or podiatry stylists too have specialties such as sculpturing or coloring.  There are those who are aces at long hair with others excelling at short. Not all hairdressers, despite extensive training, have a natural gift for their craft. I had my only perm at a beauty college in middle school. The hairdresser responsible for that abomination should have been charged with defacing a child.  Most of my summer between seventh and eighth grade was spent sitting in the closet with a paper bag over my head chanting “grow, grow, damn you”.

More than once over the years I have found myself on the losing end of a pair of shears. Once while living in Alabama in the 90’s I badly needed a “touch up”. New to the area with no Yelp to guide me, I allowed my finger to do the walking through the yellow pages. Finding a salon not far from the house I booked an appointment.  Arriving at the set time the following day the lobby was packed. Cooling my heels for twenty minutes the owner, Jean-Paul, a man in his mid fifties guided me to a chair. Apologizing for the wait he explained it was prom weekend and they were particularly busy.  A few minutes were devoted to discussing my color and how I liked my coffee before he again disappeared. A shop employee delivered the requested coffee with an assurance color would be quickly behind.  Fifteen minutes later an elderly woman carrying a plastic bowl and a coloring brush arrived at my station. Hmmmm. Turns out this was “Memaw”. Memaw told me later she was still going strong at eighty-eight.  Impressive. Memaw in the south is synonymous with Grandma or Nana in the northern states. The salon, Memaw explained, was a family affair. Five members of the owners family were employed in some capacity, including Memaw herself who pitched in with color and shampoos when they were overbooked. Now Memaw, who I would surmise probably didn’t manage five feet when fully erect, was bent over so far over she appeared to be perpetually studying her shoes. Please do not confuse this with a disparaging remark towards those suffering with osteoporosis. I have the beginning stages of the disease and salute the lady for working at all in such condition much less at her age. Rather I insert this sentence by way of painting an accurate picture of the woman about to slather color on my locks. A small footstool was placed behind me. Memaw gamely climbed on top. Without benefit of being able to look up to see where she was dabbing the woman somehow began the process of applying color to my hair. The end result made me wonder how the how the name Shear Genius ever came to be associated with the shop and why, unless they were the only beauty shop in town, there was standing room only in the lobby. Ach. Not only was the color so far off my normal color as to be from an alternate universe, the application was done in such a hit and miss manner I looked like a mottled Australian sheep dog. My husband on seeing me when he arrived home tried to avoid eye contact. When I inquired as to what he thought, he immediately went into that self-defense mode male animals do when cornered. You know the one when you ask loaded questions such as “do I look fat in this” or “do these pants make my behind look big”. Cautiously while studying the tile pattern on the kitchen floor he responded, “what do you think”? Ah, clever man. I began to cry. In the end I had to have a temporary fix applied and wear a hat in 110 degree weather with 98% humidity until I could safely repair the damage the following month. Not good, not good at all.

Over the years more male faces have begun to show up in the chairs next to me. Perhaps this is due to salons expanding their services to include such spa amenities as massages, facials and waxing. This doesn’t bother me much now, but when I was younger having a man seated next to me while I was wearing folded foil packets on my head or spiked with purple glop was a little off-putting. I recall an instance while getting my hair done in Southern California. The salon was quite expensive as I recall, so I only frequented it on special occasions. This particular day the goo was in place and I was only half way through my first People magazine. Suddenly I smelled smoke and the smoke alarms came to life. Stylists began rushing their customers out the door in all stages of development. The woman next to me still had shampoo in her hair, while another woman getting a frosting looked as if she was wearing an upside down colander with with cooked spaghetti poking out of the holes.

Fire trucks began to arrive packed with gloriously attractive emergency personnel. Are there any homely firemen? Question to ponder. While moving toward the building I caught several of these gorgeous men eying our motley group huddled on the lawn as if we’d just exited the mother ship. Turned out it was a small localized fire with more smoke than damage. By the time we were allowed back in the building the color had actually dyed the skin around my face giving me the look of having recently been poorly tattooed. Fortunately this faded as the days passed. I did not return to that salon again before moving from the area.

For now I will continue my monthly routine. In November when I once again add a candle to my cake, I’ll revisit going gray again.

This soup is rich deliciousness. Yum. I found red lentils at the Mediterranean market and it was the perfect choice for a rainy day.

Red Lentil Soup

2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1 carrot, chopped
1 rib celery, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tsp. ground coriander
1 1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. ground turmeric
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp. white pepper
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
8 cups chicken broth
1 cup water
1 15 oz. can diced tomatoes
2 cups red lentils washed and sorted
1 1/2 Tbsp. chopped parsley
1 lemon juiced
Cilantro
Sour Cream
Crumbled bacon

Heat oil in stock pot over med. heat. Add onion, carrot, celery and garlic and cook for 6-8 mins. Add seasonings and cook and stir for 3 mins. Add all remaining ingredients through lentils. Bring to boil. Reduce heat and cook uncovered for 40 mins. Cool slightly. Place 1/2 soup in blender and puree. Return to pot. Add parsley and lemon.

Serve topped with slice of lemon, cilantro, sour cream and bacon as desired.

Serves 4

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