Category Archives: Editorial

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Plans

Yes, I have them. They are never cast in stone.

Some plans are days, months, years before any action takes place. I just feel it. I bought this wonderful see-through wooden picture frame and was given a choice between a postcard Dad sent on a world-wide cruise or an autograph on the back from master chef Andre Soltner. What did I do? I framed a perfect photo of Dad for a day that he received honors for his service. I did the right thing, he died four years later and he’s looking at me every day, his eldest child.

The boat went into the trash and the Soltner autograph is part of a collage that details the menu, photos et all for the one time in my life I will ever cook at the James Beard House.

I know when a work engagement will go right or wrong. I know that my dog is dying, though my husband will not believe me. All I know is that I plan for things without thinking about them, sometimes years in advance. When the event comes to pass, I know I made the right decision to place that publicity photo of Dad in a pre-made, glass frame, facing my desk, and Andre Soltner’s piece amid my James Beard adventure in a very nice frame.

At the Beard house, my family was the largest in attendance so they got the open loft bedroom, with mirrored ceiling! I wonder what all the Catholic mothers and aunts had to say about that. I’ve no idea as I was in the kitchen. Next day we had all the leftovers and I re-made them into a brunch for 14 family members and 20 neighbors. I was exhausted but they deserved to share in my joy of graduation, plus food.

Brain and heart, I say. Perhaps it’s also my gut, Gibbs (NCIS). If I could ever have a cat again that would be the name but my dear husband is deathly allergic to cats, I would call him Gibbs. I only have female dogs and in delayed succession, one at a time. We did live out west for a while with old Zoe but were up in the mountains and never had polygadogs.

I’m seeing things now that will play out this week. I can’t even tell my husband about them. Dee

ps Thank you US, China, Thailand, Italy and everyone for reading. Send a note! Dee

Eclectic and/or Eccentric

I like to think of myself as the former, though am becoming the latter. We moved a lot when I was a kid. I learned to save a few things, cookbooks, silk scarves from Dad from Ferragamo, trinkets from his travels.

My great Aunt O was married to a man who made Canadian pea meal bacon (wet-cured pork loin) braised in beer. Auntie O gave me one of his cookbooks, Larousse Gastronomique, before she died. Twenty years later I cannot open it because it reeks of cigarette smoke.

My Aunt L received a desk from her estate, charred with cigarette smoke for 40 years. My aunts cleaned it up and it is Chippendale, authentic, and gorgeous. I prefer more modern or rustic furnishings. They have the right home for it.

Different am I, not just left-handed. Great Aunt O was a milliner who flew to Paris every year to choose hats for the chic and trendy in Montreal. Very high end. Sometimes a special client would come in for a $500 hat (this is the 60’s so compare that to a Prada bag) and wear it to an event then return it the next day without the tag. She accepted the hat and gave it to me at age five, as she knew it had been worn and could not be re-sold.

I was wearing a $500 red Dior cloche with pigtail at age five. I hated it. The kids always made fun of me anyway for living up in the hills in a great house and a view they could only imagine, and taking the half-bus (the retard bus, they called it) to school. I wore boots because it snowed up there earlier than it did in the village below.

No, I have never been The Grinch. I have always been the fairy who somehow makes the world better. Education, art, theater. I’ll have to talk about philosophy in another post. Age-old wisdom, soc and psych. I took the first training class co-sponsored by Red Cross and the Humane Society of the US.

Yes, dogs and cats are in my sights as well. We’ve an old dog who is sleeping a lot. I would like to get a stethoscope, as advised in my class kit many years ago. If fairy dust has any meaning, may she live a while longer. Live long and prosper. Dee

 

Conundrums, Copyrights and Spinach

Thank you US, Canada, France and New Zealand, Scotland, Korea and everyone who has read this blog. Let’s start with spinach. My husband arrived last night after a long weekend with his family. I was to ill to go with, so stayed home with the dog.

I made a wonderful dinner and asked if he wanted spinach. No. I took two endives out of the frig, sauced them with his favorite, bottled ranch dressing (I would have made another vinaigrette from scratch). He loved it. The conundrum (word of the day) is why would one not like spinach cooked briefly in olive oil and garlic and topped with parm, and like raw endive? It’s a stronger vegetable, probably better for him but not according to Popeye.

We have a shootout at the Not OK Corral this week. Both want a new Sheriff in town. Both want sole rights to everything the new Sheriff has done before. It’s called intellectual property. Forever, birth to death even with a short-term contract. That’s a no go for me. Been there, done that, and I’m his Annie Oakley, word-wise sharp with a pen, not a gun.

I’m a smart gal and know that if the Sheriff has offered to share ownership of his prior published work that’s a great deal for the client because he has 100% ownership rights now, and a book that has been published. It is printed and bound and on the table. Before they hire him they want the rights.

I have one word, copyright.

We’re in the holiday season and things shut down, People talk about giving thanks, but they leave people who have gone through their rigamarole for months at risk of him leaving for a better offer. One can hire the smart guy but not hijack or harness his mind.

I learned in high school not to date the cute guy, or the jock, just date the fellow smart one. It took years of my inner geek to find my soul mate. He arrived last night, and walked the dog while I finished dinner. No spinach. Marrying the smart guy means we can have lifelong conversation. Over sixteen years, fifteenth wedding anniversary soon. Cheers! Dee

 

Optimists

Yes, I’m a die-hard one. Occasionally I turn cynical or negative if someone is acting badly toward my family. I see it as being pragmatic, seeing the other side of the coin and doing what is necessary to fix the issue. My mother-in-law calls herself “Mama Bear” and I am as vigilant with her son and our dog. I just got a dog removed from the neighborhood because he viciously bit me with no provocation whatsoever. Luckily our old dog was not with me as she may have been killed and it was so quick I do not know that I could have saved her in time though I would have fought to do so and taken that dog to Animal Control myself.

An optimist, I’ve been trying to get the owner to train that dog for years, to no avail. The dog was with an 18 year-old dog sitter, on her first day of work, and the owner never told her his dog wanted to bite any dog and everyone he encountered. Pragmatism, I finally filed a report with photos of my bloody arm. Enough is enough.

Years ago my husband would have said I was too emotional, I said he was too scientific and methodical. We were both right. Now I can look at a business or personal situation, figure out what is going on and reasons for said behavior and recommend a way to fix it.

He’s always been more into math and physics than people. I’m soc/sci/art so am more of a people person. We’ve kind of morphed as we’ve been together over 16 years.

Today I missed Thanksgiving with his family. I didn’t even cook here. The dog has plenty of food and after lying by the front door for a while awaiting his return yesterday she went back to her routine. I believe she knows that he is coming home. What freaked her out was seeing him with luggage. She hates anyone in her “pack” to leave but is used to this. She is an eternal optimist.

Now we get to Dad. When I returned from his funeral and burial a year ago I entered and found a home filled with flowers and one evergreen tree that has to be grown indoors in our weather. A year later, it is leaning to the left. I decorated it, starting said tree given to me by the women in my husband’s family, adorned by a silver star with his name and dates of birth and death. Of course husband said place all the heavier ornaments on the right, and he was correct! It’s almost straight and no longer a precious “Charlie Brown Tree.”

This year I decorated it with old ornaments, mainly ones I’ve collected for me and my husband over the years depending upon where we were living at the time, a tradition my parents started in my childhood. Atop is the silver star. My mother-in-law saw our stockings one year (they’re never filled, just decorations) and gave me another. She said our dog Zoe was family, too. So last year’s ornaments were hand-knitted finger puppets. He’s the cow (he grew up on a dairy), I’m a horse and Zoe, of course, is the dog.

Dad used to play ball with everyone in the neighborhood. He mentored a genius from across the street. I believe we both believed in people until they demonstrated that they could not be trusted.

There was always an infectious (in a good way) spirit in him that lit up a room or a street for touch football. When I was away at college he bought a small sailboat, 17′ day sailer. He had appointments/performances from dawn to dusk, got home for an hour for dinner and had to go see the ballet (or symphony or opera) and my day was just as long as at the end I handed him de-thorned roses backstage to hand to the prima ballerina. Then many evenings my parents would have to entertain donors and divas after the performance.

When he got us to go out on the boat to relax for a half-hour the wind had died down for the evening on the lake and he’d man the tiller, brother was on jib and mainsail and I was there to let the centerboard down in case we needed it for stability. He said “watch out, we’re going to go like heck any minute!!!” We never did. It was a chore to get back to the dock, but he got to relax and as an executive see something done in an hour, rather than weeks, months or years. I understand that now.

That boat escaped in storms and was returned by real sailors because they all knew to whom it belonged. It had a hole in the bottom and sank at the dock a few times. I understand that is was a respite from mayhem and a place to put one’s brain back in gear and generate great ideas. He kept it despite its faults.

I highly respect the lessons he taught me about being who you want to be, fairness, equality, humor, kindness and love.

He resuscitated moribund educational and arts institutions and also created new ones. I haven’t come quite that far but have my own share of great ideas, have been a consultant and as his eldest child whether it’s nature or nurture it doesn’t matter to me. In my retirement I still bug people to get things done. Thanks, Dad!

Cheers and hope you enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving and are taking a nice long nap. Dee

 

Collecting

OK, the worst thing I collect is paper. I’ve gone paperless on bills but they still are duplicated in the mail even though I have asked utility companies and banks to quit that practice. Now I like to have leases and corporate forms organized on paper and will learn more about scanning and the “cloud” when I feel my personal privacy and safety will not be compromised. It would sure make my desk look better!

I collect cookbooks and have since I was seven years old. I concentrate on the best ones and buy out-of-print copies for wedding couples and used ones for me when I can, and do recycle some through the local book mailbox. Give one, take one was always my motto staying cheap in my 20’s at pensions in Europe.

Collecting excessive clothing, shoes, jewelry is a no-no, I’ve never been interested in it. I’ve recently started buying a couple pair of silk long underwear to wear underneath slacks and shirts as they’re so warm and comfy but for the first time in 20 years I now have stacks of catalogs in the mail that only they could have sold my name to other companies. More paper. Oh, I do not collect husbands. They just show up when we’re grown up and we stick. I’m sending mine off to the family ranch today as I’m not well enough to travel.

When I was born my parents decided to get a tree ornament for the holidays every year, of course for my younger brother and sisters as well. Each had an initial and date. I’ve lost many of them over the years but a few remain.

My husband and I met over 16 years ago and will be married for 15 very soon. I wanted to renew our vows but that will have to wait. Two months after we met I found two rustic wooden stocking ornaments. He chose the blue, I took the green. Over the years his has been a Scottish bagpiper, me the national flower of Scotland, the thistle.

He is a trout (tried fly fishing once with his brother, nothing, I ended up fishing for steaks at the local Whole Foods) from the western rivers and I am a bear on a sled. He is an old bi-plane with Santa on top and I am another, a moose lying down atop my plane with lots of presents to give. Last year we were hand-knitted finger puppets, now on our tree. He is on the front door wreath as a cow, I am a horse, and our dog Zoe is, well, a dog.

My husband is a lasso-tossing snowman, and another snowman from the mountains with me as a reindeer standing, in an apron, with a tray of cookies. Cooking implements from copper pan to whisk, all ornaments over my life.

This story has and will be told. My folks put each of our ornaments in a box to send off to college. These are yours. Young people who are married or planning marriage like the history and tradition I love to share. Why would I always seek out a 40 year-old out-of-print book by James Beard (Theory and Practice of Good Cooking) as a gift and reference cookbook as a wedding gift? Don’t buy them all, thanksgiving is for 60 and I need enough in the marketplace for gifts!

I talked to my brother by phone yesterday and told him I’m taking my husband to the airport today to see his family for Thanksgiving. He asked, isn’t that the airport he won’t let you walk into because it has a used bookstore before security that has cookbooks? Yep. My brother and I are each spending the day alone over 1,000 miles away but with a shared family recipe. He was invited here but demurred this time. He’s seeing a football game. I’ll be watching The Mind of a Chef or reruns of NCIS.

I’ve never made or wanted to make turducken but I decided on chicken saltimbocca, chicken, s&p, sage. Chicken is pounded flat, seasoned, then add a slice of prosciutto, roll tightly, brush with melted butter and dredge with seasoned flour (chop a leaf of sage in the flour as well) and roll in bread crumbs and bake for about 45 minutes. I suggested that at a certain time of day brother and I lift a fork of my “pigchicken” and have a toast. Happy Thanksgiving to you! My husband just relayed the dog to me early morning and about the box of ornaments given every kid, said “this is yours, good riddance!” Perhaps.  Then again perhaps I’ll send our old dog Zoe to my brother for company! He’d love that. Dee

Holidays and Family

I was read by Finland the other day, France yesterday. My husband is correct in that I cannot sit all day on a plane, all night on a train or spend hours in a rental car and cook and for days spend Thanksgiving day with his family given my current condition. I tripped on the pavement outside my favorite grocery store 2.5 weeks ago and still have sore spots and much bruising. Walking and swelling are issues.

There is more paperwork to do and not much time in which to do it. Last night, however, I wanted to do something I always did as a little kid. I hung and decorated a wreath for our front door, and also an evergreen (indoor) tree given by the women in my husband’s family to commemorate my father’s life. At the top is a silver star (no, not military, he left a sergeant in the mid-fifties) but it includes his name and year of birth, and death which was December 1 last year. I’ve yet to visit his grave in another locale but am planning it.

I wanted something old-school and my husband took it away from me to finish it. Cranberries and popcorn. The needle kept breaking the popcorn but he got the hang of something I learned at age four and now am inept. We just placed a 4′ swath along Dad’s tree.

We hung two jingle bell wreaths indoors, one gold, one red and white. Those only involved one of those sticky things that comes right off with no nails.

I mentioned paperwork to be done before morning arrives. The reason we decorated for the holidays is because my husband feels guilty for my being alone for Thanksgiving. I’m not alone, I’ve old dog Zoe and a lot of neighbors.  Know how Welsh Rarebit/Rabbit has no meat? I’m making a chickducken with no duck. Let’s call it a pigchicken. Just a piece of prosciutto and a bit of grated Fontina from the Val d’Aosta, chicken pounded and rolled up with sage, teensy but of salt, and pepper. My husband usually leaves us all week, every week. He just minds us being alone when we could be with his family. If I am to be alone with my feet up on a sofa or bed all weekend I would rather spend it at our home rather than hear family talking and having fun than have them worrying about me. Don’t worry, I’ll make three pigchckens and freeze two for when he returns.

I’ve told you about the mentorships of women including my aunts, my husbands’ mother, grandmother and others. Here are some men and you know all about my husband already. Yes, he is one and I hope I am one for him as well.

S is not doing well, he has cancer and is going in for further tests today. Needless to say the family, especially his mother, our “Nanny” is concerned. My father was my primary influence in life and he died a year ago, I still keep flowers for him every week.

My father-in-law has been an inspirational challenge over many years. He no longer baits me with politics at the dinner table while his two sons remain quiet. I must have passed the test. And no, I did not personally start the Civil War, not what the South calls the War of Northern Aggression to this day. Younger brother-in-law, that was rocky. He now calls me “sis.”

I’ve two on the west coast, work-wise. They’ve been mentors for over 20 years and we keep in touch. Another from the ‘hood, W, gone now, who didn’t have to ever tell me that the Diet Coke and candy bar place down the street sold booze and I should always carry my Diet Coke so people could see it, not in a paper bag, at 8:00 a.m. walking to the office.

My brother, K. was such a challenge as a child. We were raised in different eras. My sister and I were bound to rules from Dad’s Germanic heritage. He and my youngest sister had a lot more leeway. He chose to break from all authority. I used to drive by him skipping Camp. They were sailing. What was he doing? Playing chess with an old guy.

Brother and I both think outside the box. He’s got the math genes and has acquired the artsy and tech ones. I’m good with people and also come up with some great ideas, outside the box to be sure. I don’t know how many peas are in a pod because I’ve not shelled English peas in a while, but I believe we would be there together. Cheers! Happy Thanksgiving. Dee

 

 

Missing

One person is not necessarily missed in a group of up to sixty for Thanksgiving, though I would know, and Nanny would, too. I will miss the big gathering that I’ve attended for 15 of 16 years (the first was when my husband’s employer would not let anyone miss work for Black Friday). Cousins revel in Black Friday sales. I have never gone with them since then. I don’t like shopping, especially for shoes, and hated that day.

My husband does not think I am well enough to take planes and cars and cook with his mother (which I love, but it’s gotten to five days), I’m sending nuts and a gift this year. I can’t even do standing around for ten hours at Nanny’s. I do not wish to carry a foldable cane and lie on a sofa or bed all day. My brain is there but my body is not, yet.

I will miss everyone dearly. As we all get older we marvel at the young ones who’ve grown six inches and want nothing to do with us, and the young adults who are looking towards marriage and family. We also have wise family members who can teach us much about life, love and practical matters.

Awake in the middle of the night, I get up, close the door for my family’s sake and try to keep quiet. Of late I’ve been on Netflix and The Mind of a Chef. Edward Lee, for whom I cheered on Top Chef a few years ago, said in show filmed in 2014 and I paraphrase, that he likes to learn something new and teach something new every week.

This is what wise people do, pass down knowledge that they have gained through success and errors. Another mentor said life was about “goods and betters,” what we could do better the next time around. There are no failures.

My husband and I are at that stage, and I know that I’ve had mentors all my life and have been one to younger children even when I was just a kid. Learn from books, learn ethics and fairness and non-discrimination and you’re on your way. Know that caring for others is a way of life that must be embraced. If one does not care about a life, that’s how sociopaths and serial killers are made.

While I learned through arts and literature, work, volunteerism; my husband learned from math, science and hard work on a farm. He is a wonderful mentor, teacher, and a premier software resource for some of the best companies in the world. I just went back to Edward Lee and changed the text from “who I cheered for” to “for whom I cheered.” That was for mentor Aunt L, the retired English teacher. I can see her reading this and actually stopping her knitting hats and booties for the preemies at the hospital to which I was sent as an infant. Yes, she’s a volunteer and buys all the yarn, too. Cheers! Dee

Paperwork

All those who like it, raise your hands! No-one? I get you, and feel the same way. We spent the afternoon in separate rooms going over a 17 page master agreement and four addenda, soon to be five.

I spent hours working on the small print version yesterday that was stamped “DO NOT SIGN.” My neck and eyes were sore. Today we each spent four hours marking up the correct drafts, separate rooms, then comparing notes. Over the weekend we must write language that suits our needs. Luckily I used to draft laws for 34 million people. Scary, I was 22 years old and the fate of all these folks was in my hands.

We got our corporate book today. I’ll check it out in the morning. My husband is enamored of the corporate seal-maker and its properties. We may have to send out holiday cards this year just so he can emboss envelopes – just kidding. Cheers! Dee

 

Ammonia, Fish and Jury Duty

I never met my father’s father. He died six weeks before I was born. He was a carpenter, a handyman hired by Sears in downtown Manhattan. The family, my Dad was an only child, lived in Brooklyn and only spoke German at home. My grandfather fled Hitler’s brownshirts in the late 1920’s before WWII. His home town became a Nazi stronghold and now is a part of Poland. Luckily Dad got to see it before he died nearly a year ago.

Grandpa retired and they moved up north to another community with many German residents, where they had a tiny home where he made every piece of furniture, indoors and out. When Dad visited decades later the family who bought it after his parents died had every stick of furniture and all his family photos on the walls. He taught their young son how to prime the oil stove, something he did before becoming the first child in his family to ever go to college. His folks didn’t stick around for his masters’ and doctorate.

At college, Dad got through this state teachers’ school by playing his violin and calling square dances. During the summer he worked in the kitchen of a mountain vacation resort. Their menu included “garden fresh peas.” That meant he placed tons of canned peas into a cauldron and added a bit of ammonia per the chef to make them bright green. Voila! Garden fresh peas!

During college I had my summer spell. I was paid minimum wage and made cashier supposedly because I was left-handed and would have messed up the line. No, Dad was president of this august institution, his first summer, so I had to let them take from my pay both room and board so I was making less than $1 per hour and slept in my bedroom in the president’s home and never ingested anything but a glass of water at the restaurant. I got three meals off per week, of their choosing, never an entire day.

The gal who totaled all the bills (all I did was make change and not steal) was 16 and had no hope for an education. Sweet girl. We took a walk after lunch hour (oh, the boys were waiters and made tips, we worked the line). We came near our home and she had to use the restroom. We walked in by the former maid’s quarter off the kitchen, where my sister and I shared a Jack & Jill bath and she said, you use it first. It’s OK, I said, we have four more. OMG, I actually said that. She lived in a trailer.

So, before lunch chef would call out to me (no-one messed with him) “what should we call the halibut today, Dover Sole?” OK, chef. And I wrote it on the blackboard before we opened. Dad did ammonia in the peas, and in order to be paid enough to buy a candy bar in a week I obeyed the chef as well.

Yesterday I found out I was late responding to a jury duty notice. I called in immediately. No-one will ever place me on a jury. Too strict or too lenient, depending upon the offense. I apologized, so don’t have a warrant out for my arrest, and said truthfully that I planted my knees and face in one of their sidewalks two weeks ago and was healing and still having trouble walking because the bruises took up most of my legs and had oozing fluid with which my M-I-L VA nurse was concerned about my condition. My husband went out and bought me a cane, which I am too proud to use.

The court gave me until next spring to recover and report for jury duty. No ammonia, no Dover Sole, just the words of a writer and truth-teller for you today. I am getting better, and my husband likes that I’m getting to paperwork with my feet up and Snow II by my side. He is a bean bag kitty who reminds me of heady volunteering days when I was young. I miss you, Dad. Dee

People Like You

I’ve always dreaded that term. It means me. whether I offend people by being tolerant of others and work for their rights, or am just old and arthritic, or just a woman, I do not know.

It is not in my bailiwick or arsenal. Heck, I used to be fined 10% of my fifty cent weekly allowance for calling my little sister dumb. We never came to fisticuffs. We did enough work around the “hobby farm” to make us tired and go to bed early. Unless we asked to go skinny-dipping in the pool in the dark in the few weeks they called “summer.” Parents would watch and allow us to dive and swim for 15 minutes then we’d shower and go to bed. We had our means of coercion, and they had a vested interest in us sleeping through the night. It was a good trade.

When folks say “people like you” it is always a negative. I do not like to think of people in that realm. People like you always————————————–. I call these GG’s, for gross generalizations. I’m northern, my husband is southern. Generations ago his folks may have fought the good folks. Mine were in Europe, with his, some in close towns with the soon-to-be Allies years after our civil war. Now his Dad keeps telling me I was the cause of the War of Northern Aggression. He’s kidding, of course, and we’ve turned to family stories rather than political discourse at dinner, perhaps as I help prepare and serve it.

We lived way out in the country and someone had built a “bus hut” of plywood, painted yellow, so the school bus could find us and the two boys next door out there early in the morning. We had to get up early because there was a long road and we were 1/4 mile from the hut by the road. There were more kids to take to school. When we arrived, in a half-bus with all the full buses unloading kids, older kids would tell us we were on the “retard bus.” We just had farms or lands or creeks and views better than their parents. In first grade I was reading at a sixth grade level and visiting the library every week.

It became the “tard bus” at school. It was small but local miscreants taunted me on it by ripping my winter hat in half, middle of winter. I was sent to the Principal, crying, thinking I was in trouble but only identifying photos. People like me, indeed. Two families owned a dairy down the road. Between them they had 12 kids. They approached the miscreants who stole the mail from their mother and never had a phone, and the offenders never spoke to me or touched me or stole my belongings ever again. No violence or injuries, just 12 vs. 3 and no-one has ever talked to me about it for 50 years.

People like me, another permutation. They actually do like me, husband and dog. That’s the kind of like I can deal with. I approach every person with the knowledge that this is someone I want to get to know. Let them prove otherwise. Must take Zoe out and breakfast. Then her beauty sleep. She’s a herder. It’s routine. Here’s to you from a dog mom, Dee