Category Archives: Uncategorized

Welcome Czech Republic, Paraguay and Argentina! I always hail my Country’s readers as well as Canada, which is also my family.

Walls keep us apart. A child of a pro athlete lived next door to us and started hitting our living room wall, then bashing his head on it, then throwing his entire body against it. He was three and I don’t think he liked naps. I was glad when the team didn’t make the playoffs as the kiddo actually broke a huge double-paned window and they thankfully moved out.

We live in a transient community of business owners, doctors, consultants, et al but are able to connect with a few neighbors.

I’m on Facebook but do not use it. I do not tweet, Instagram or anything else. I have my own social media. Adopt a dog, you’ll catch on. Eight walks a day as a pup that everyone will want to see because s/he is so darn cute, four walks later in life. Keep yourselves spiffy and you’ll have dates and new job offers regularly. Heaven forbid you might actually marry.

Well, I did. My future husband and I met at TGIFridays at lunch and left at 5:00 p.m. It was two weeks after 9/11 so a few strangers were talking about 9/11. We shook hands in the parking lot and he said we might call each other to see a movie sometime as friends. I threw away his phone number.

He called me the next evening for a movie and dinner, opened his car door, took my hand and never let go. We’ve been married for over 15 years. I met him because he wanted to go with me as I had a side job to my consulting, dog walking.

That first weekend he came with me on 14 dog visits. Later, after software dot.bomb I found him a place to live 1,000 feet from my place. Yes, we were walking a dog. After meeting all the parents, we eloped 15 years ago. That’s another story.

I don’t call it social media, I call it social networking. I’ve met some amazing people over the years, just by walking my incrediible old dog. Musicians, I even surprisingly ran into the couple who hired my father now 40 years ago. It was because of our dogs. Dad is gone but we get together at their home nearby, their dogs are gone, every once in a while.

Open the invisible walls. Here’s to Sugar, Spice, Jake and Wurli and my dear Chani. I water your tree in the Park. Get a real dog, and take good care of him/her. When my husband is home for the weekend Zoe wants to see him, then me. When we trade I just say “I’ve got the football” as in the proverbial presidential nuclear code briefcase. Cheers! Dee

Welcome Portugal! I look forward to seeing your country, meeting people and eating your wonderful food.

We have a nosey parker, in our ancient dog Zoe. I can’t tell my husband what I’m doing but I’d like to clear stuff out, and organize other things. He’s taken over two 100 year-old pieces of furniture of mine. They’re filled with keys and wallet and change and books and papers so I can’t even treat them with lemon oil.

I would love some storage solutions but it comes down to this. There are two windows Zoe looks down from at squirrels et al, these cannot be blocked by any furniture or storage solutions.

That’s just the way it is. If there are interior windows to clean each Spring I know the “go to” ones in an instant and can do them myself. No kids have handprints on the upper windows. It’s just Zoe’s nose, she’s just 30# and can not jump because she has no hips. I know her better than anyone else. It’s interesting that as she ages, she loses hearing and sight but her nose is working…… Dee

After a really strange winter we got our cars cleaned, super duper and now after two weeks they’re so dusty in a garage we need to take them back. One person wrote on my husband’s car windshield to move it. I wrote back stop touching my car. In the end I can’t believe they didn’t say “clean me.”

We were on line at the car wash two weeks ago when it shut down. We had spent a while to advance to second in line so it took us a long time to get out of there as everyone behind us had to back up into a busy street. We were diverted to and found another  facility a couple of miles away.

Yes, there was a song, way back, and I remember it for a reason. A college friend and I found ourselves en route home for the holidays. He was really cute but we had nothing in common except our college and home towns so we decided not to date. I was 18.

It was a four-hour trip that took nine hours because of snow on the tracks. A little girl sang “Workin’ at the Car Wash” all those hours and even when her voice was shot she kept going. That said, it is not the worst Amtrak trip I’ve had. That time, I was so happy to get off the train and be met by my family! My husband taunts me from time to time, especially on Amtrak, and starts singing the car wash song. No, Dear. I’ll get off the train before we depart. Just stop. He does, and we travel together. No car wash songs, please. Dee

I always liked the tune and voice to that song and its’ writer, John Denver. I think it a bit condescending to women but have considered it as a song if we renew our vows this year, after fifteen married. We eloped so would like to do something for our families.

At this time I would hope they would follow us. It would be small, short and quaint with Texas sweet tea and lots of pies and cakes.

My husband might meet me there, he only follows me when we’re on an escalator! Guess who follows me now? Our old dog Zoe. If she is well enough I’ll take her on a three-day journey to Texas on her 4″ orthopedic bed in the back, and she’ll be a bridesmaid. No dress, just a white silk collar to go with her leash and my  little comb-out from the bath I gave her 48 hours before.

She used to follow me everywhere. Now I have to pat her head to go for a walk or eat her dinner. She’s still a chow hound and everything inside is working, it’s just her ears and eyes, and she can’t follow me anymore. Sorry Chani, you’ve been gone a long time and I’ve another great dog. There’s a photo of you in my kitchen, you and Sam the cat, who used to get in the gate and take a sun nap with you every day. I always remember my Chani. Zoe, we’ll see about that……… Dee

Some are on the straight and narrow. Mine was that way for a long time. I lived in a Germanic household and Dad would come into our room at seven in the morning and blow his trumpet mouthpiece as in get up, get breakfast, do your chores. Reveille.

Mine took a different path as I did go to college as my parents wished, then went to work and waited 20 years to marry. We have an old dog, no kids.

An architect once told me that when one designs a college campus, it is wise to just place grass and see for a year how the students walk from the dorms to the science building or community center.

They blaze their own trails. A year later the architects place sidewalks in the places students tread. I thank friends and family for allowing me to go off the beaten path.

Thanks everyone, especially my teachers L and J, and Franciscans Cap and John, for leading me off the beaten path. Cheers, Dee

That is a man who has a prominent, dominant voice in opera or other domains. He has a commanding presence. Think Darth Vader’s voice (not the person in the mask) saying “Luke, I am your father.”

It came through like a lightning bolt even though his voice must have had to go through many filters to seem like the mask. I knew his voice right away.

In the early 90’s my father was tasked to consult with an HBCU, an Historic Black College/ University, in southeast Texas. There was an auction he put on, and he bought a special gift for me and I’ll pick it up from my framer later today. Dad is gone for over a year and I treasure the little things he got me from around the world. They are not little things, but big ones like love, inspiration and trust, plus Ferragamo scarves and Italian leather purses, boxes, all kinds of things from every land he touched. Silly things like a plastic Italian chef timer. Turkish Pashmina scarves, lithos I’ll have framed for my office. Funny little things that are endearing and keep him in my heart.

He started me on OXO kitchen tools decades ago, before I was ever diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. He knew, because he knew me.

This, his paintings after age 80, and the charcoal dancer sketch bring together the things we loved, art, dance, imagination, hard-headedness, food, helping the little guy, even rooting for the Bills after…… yes, four failed Superbowl attempts. I stopped wearing my t-shirt 3,000 miles away because I thought I was the curse.

The gift that I found after 25 years is a piece of paper. It is on the personal letterhead of renowned and gifted actor James Earl Jones, and signed, of his recipe for Chilean Sea Bass. It is going on my kitchen wall, way above where my husband can splatter tomato sauce when he decides he wants to make himself spaghetti and meatballs!

I had to get it framed, for Dad, as well as HBCU’s and James Earl Jones. I’ve now a mosaic, a story and framed art in my small kitchen, as well as a plethora of frig magnets from all over the world. Husband says he doesn’t know what I wish for in jewelry so he stops by the airport gift shop and usually gets me something local that wiggles, like a Dungeness crab from San Francisco, and the overseas ones tend to be more sedate. They don’t wiggle like the Indianapolis colt when I open and close the refrigerator.

Oh, the college turned out great. They didn’t need Dad anymore. They found oil on the property. Go figure. I will treasure this piece of paper that took Mr. Jones two seconds to sign. Dad always said we women only wanted to talk about food. He only wanted to talk about work and I was on a college break. The men and boys would not have eaten if not for us. Thank you James Earl Jones and happy cooking! Dee

There are parents, teachers, grandparents et al. Our family was different. Let me talk about grandparents. My father’s Dad died a few weeks before I was born, my two grandmothers died before I was a year old. Papa was left and with us part of the year until he died in 1984 when I was a wet-behind-the-ears legislative person who could have used his assistance!

I got my first grandmother in ML, who smothered me with kisses and had the first Texas accent I’d ever heard. She was always the life of the party and it was a joy to go to the place in San Antonio where she and her sister used to dance as teenagers. Not that kind of dancing, I can assure you.

Her husband B, was more introverted. During one of my aunts’ parties he could be found outside on a bench near the gardens. I’d get out of the fray and we’d talk a bit then he’d ask what’s wrong? Oh, the girls at school are being mean to me. He’d advise and the next time I saw him everything was OK. They’re both gone now.

I had an “interview” with my husband’s grandmother, Nanny, before we married. It was brief and she asked me to make sure her grandson worked for the same company for fifty years and got a gold watch. No, ma’am, I cannot promise you that as the software industry is fluid and changes every day. I cannot promise you fifty years. Life, hopefully, eternal employment, no.

She then made me an honorary “Grand” which is truly an honor as there are only five immediate descendants from her five children (many younger since that post that original comment as she now has greats and great-greats). Her and our uncle’s welfare are first and foremost these days. Nanny deserves a platinum watch, for lovingly watching over her family so many years. I love grandmothers! Dee

I don’t remember the name, but it was an Italian dive restaurant downtown in our small village that served pizza when I was a kid. It started with a C, Cimino’s I think. I doubt my younger siblings would remember it, and my parents are gone now so they are of no assistance. They also had one of those electric bowling machines I got pretty good at, at age six, enough to beat several guys at a pub at college years later.

When I visited home during college, Mom started making pizza from a quick bread mix with sauce and everything in the package. I think she was still using the green can of so-called parmesan cheese back then.

Now I go to a beautiful Italian market and buy OO flour, full-fat mozzarella which we grate at home, and have them slice pepperoni to order. Only the best Parmigiano Reggiano will do.

I’ll never forget my college roommates. When we moved from dorm to college-negotiated apartments with a free bus to and from campus every 20 minutes I was named the cook. I stretched every cent. Noodles with meat and tomato sauce, brownies, you name it. We had $10 per week per girl and other neighbors would happen to stop in, “oh, it’s dinner time?” Come on in, I made enough. You’ve only done this all semester.

My roomies were astounded that I could make things like pasta or brownies, from scratch. They grew up thinking everything came from a box or a can. For two years I never cleaned a pot, set or cleared the table. Shopping was a different matter. There were supposed to be six of us living in a three bedroom apartment. Then there were nine. Then there were neighbors who conveniently arrived for dinner and a game or two of Uno.

I sent the girls with an extensive list that after menu planning, I had painstakingly listed by supermarket department. I asked for a 50# bag of potatoes, knowing it would be gone within a week and not grow eyes. They returned with canned potatoes, because they were only $.20 per can! Do you know how many raw potatoes I can get for that money? From then on I pushed one cart and asked the rest of them to grab things for which I asked.

To this day I shop at least every other day, not weekly, or monthly as my mother-in-law does. I look for what is fresh in produce, meat that’s on sale for chili and stews, and stock up on dried pasta, rice and Israeli couscous and broth (for the dog) as needed.

Back to pizza. Thin crust. I normally do not use tomatoes. Perhaps I’ll make two this afternoon, one with tomato, mozz and pepperoni (perhaps sausage as well) for my husband. One with par-cooked (by me, not canned) potatoes, a bit of mozz, fresh rosemary and a sprinkling of Parm. There should be plenty to go around for the staff here, as they’re always hungry. No, not personal staff.

Heaven forbid I’ve that many folks helping me out in our household! It’s small, just enough for a husband, wife and dog so they’d be tripping over each other. They do appreciate my food, which got much better after I quit the NYC rat race and spent my life savings on cooking school, even sold my car to make that dream come true. It was a dream since age eight, and Mom didn’t want me in her kitchen. She certainly didn’t want me anywhere near a knife. I think her knives were so dull they could have taken off my arm.

Now I’ve a hardware store and a butcher in walking distance who can sharpen anything. The butchers love me because I buy, create and bring in tastings. Hey, I’m the only customer that brings food into a grocery store. Hardware, I help choose for the culinary and pet departments (as a retiree) and that keeps me in good standing with the owner. It helps that I spend money.

Now when my husband is posted for a few months to a foreign land and I accompany him, when our tiny apartment has a glass cutting board and those “laser” knives that never need sharpening, I store the junk and go to the nearest housewares store and buy the real deal. Before we fly home, I make sure that our new friends have the good stuff.

Here’s to pizza! I watched a show early this morning on Netflix, created by Chef David Chang of Momofuku, about pizza in Brooklyn, Connecticut, Tokyo and elsewhere. Brooklyn chef says only sourdough crust, sorry but I love the smell of regular (not rapid rise) yeast proofing and baking. And the point of my story is…….

I moved to NYC, worked in mid-Manhattan and found a nice place to live, by myself, in Brooklyn. All the shops were closed both when I went to work and slogged home at night. I had guests coming for dinner and they loved pizza. It was 1987. On Saturday the Italian deli was open so I went in to ask for some cheeses.

Nonna said no. She asked why I wanted the Bufalo Mozzarella. “You’re not going to make any of those Yuppie pizzas, are you?” “Of course not.” That day I made three. One with potato and rosemary, another with spinach, goat cheese and roasted garlic. I forget the third. It was probably a pure Brooklyn pizza with tomato sauce, cheese and basil. Cheers and make your own dough! It’s fun, especially when you make 17 toppings and have families over with little kids as it shows you what they’re going to grow up to be. Adventurous or timid. Pizza is a window into a soul. Buon appetito! Dee

Oh, I forgot Sweden. I learned to make Kottsbullar (Swedish meatballs, to us) from a neighbor. In turn I taught him to make a true Texas Chili. We were supposed to test each other on our lessons without assistance but he met a gal (yea!) and moved elsewhere. I spent a couple of days with his dad who flew in from Sweden, he was a peach! At dinner with father and son I told my husband I did things with G’s father that we’d never done. It was a bad turn of phrase I realized immediately. We went to the art museum, saw eco-gardens and drove by historic homes, for heaven’s sake! It’s not anything you’d like to do. You’d rather see airplane engines.

Now we have a company and it has a book and there is nothing in it. We have a certificate of good standing. Where is it? Dropbox. Drop what?

We need printed papers in these corporate filings for articles and bylaws, dear. They’re online, you just don’t have access. We’re equal partners in life as well. I need to print these papers in case anyone who has the right to see them can see them, including me.

I think he may be slightly embarrassed that he let Articles of Incorporation and Bylaws be drafted by someone else on the fly and not by me, or even read by me and that’s my job. Print them and ask me to place them in the book, review and edit and we can vote on the results.

There is no rift, it’s just that he is away so much we only talk by phone when he’s on the road, and I don’t want him to get into an accident even though he has ear buds. I’ve come up with a supposed schedule so we can get work done in an hour then enjoy our weekends together. I’m thinking art museum this weekend. He’s thinking NOT!

Ah well, that’s the way it goes with old married folks, Dee

Hello USA, Nigeria, Germany and Ukraine!

I’ve been calling them, reading them, absorbing them all day until I was too tired to even cook myself dinner.

Then I got the best number of my day, 156. As I ate half of my sauteed mushrooms and toast and sipped a beer (keeping the rest for an omelet tomorrow morning), not the one beer, I deserved that, I was given a ceremonial membership key to my favorite neighborhood eatery.

Aunt Dee is here and hopes to be so with Miss Zoe if she’s still with us when the patio opens, Ms. Dee doesn’t like to be known by number but is known by name and I’m trying to get local businesses to work together toward greater good and reward. Let’s hope it all works. Cheers from Dee, excuse me, #156.