Category Archives: Uncategorized

As we know it. We’re married 15 years today. When we first married he talked about having baby and I said “No way, we have to get a dog first.” Why? to see how bad you are. Our dog will be 14 next week. He was bad. I couldn’t have babies so she has been ours since she was six weeks old. Picture a father who wouldn’t let his daughter leave the house to go on a first date until she was 30. No, not the dog. She never dated.

He is very indulgent with our dog Zoe, even giving her a scrap of food from his dinner plate. I do not allow that and ask that something drop into her dinner bowl. Semantics, I know, but enjoy having a few friends over for an informal dinner and after she shows off with her ball, she plays her own game, missing link.

She circles the table and chooses the guest most likely to give her something from the table. Shame on you, Zoe! I do warn guests before dinner and let them know they can give her a couple of treats AFTER dinner if she does a couple of tricks for them. Hey, she’ll be 98 in “people years” next week so I give her a break and she is very gentle with all visitors, including other dogs, babies and toddlers, and even likes cats.

In one linear week we’ll have been married 15 years today then Zoe will turn 14. That equals our life. Our nuclear family, anyway. Let’s see, fifteen and fourteen equal “twenty-nine.” Was that my birthday last winter? I don’t know. My husband had me place my birthday and wedding date in his ring years ago. He just never looks! It is a kind and joyful life and I’m blessed that I met my husband two weeks after 9/11.

A number of us met randomly at a local chain restaurant bar at lunch and most had a burger. We talked about 9/11. Three hours later it was only the two of us. We had talked about dairy farms, movies and a lot of other things. We walked out to the parking lot, he walked to his car after shaking my hand and asked me if he could drive me to mine. No. He said that as movie buffs, we should go out as friends sometime.

I walked towards my “car,” actually walked home. I always walked to get most groceries and rarely went out to lunch but was upset with a client who hired another consultant because I was caught in 9/11 overseas and no-one could fly home so I sent said client $2K of work for a finished grant and edited his newsletter for free so went to the restaurant. Well, perhaps the President could have flown on our dime but he was busy in a library.

After that time I had to bid adieu, need to feed the cats.  Before shaking hands in the parking lot, we exchanged numbers, mine was a land line and he was a tech-y guy and still is so. He called me the next evening and asked me to a movie. He opened my car door, took my hand, and never let it go for 16 months and now fifteen years of marriage later.

We decide depending on where we were to live, to keep one car for the time being. There were no real impediments to living in a city that is very warm and humid most of the year. So I could run errands during the day to grocery or vet, I drove him 1/2 mile to work every hot weather morning. Zoe did it once and decided it was fun so “routine.” That is what one calls a herding dog. Think about it. I’ll have one more but one must be prepared and do some breed research.

He wanted to leave me the car but didn’t want to walk in because his business dress clothes would have been ruined so we drove him in every morning in hot weather. He exited the passenger side, closed the door and waited for the light to cross the street to his building. As soon as Zoe saw him cross the street, we were by the bus hut and she would pop up to the passenger seat to go home.

Everyone waiting for the bus or walking along the street to work saw her and laughed. They said, she looks like a person! She just hopped up there and sat as if she had on a seat belt and I took her home.

It is not a triumvirate but we have perhaps a symbiotic relationship of sorts where we three help our strengths and are able to correct weaknesses. When my husband is away on business, Zoe is of concern and we take care of each other. I don’t know what we’ll do when Zoe is gone as she’s a herder, annoying, demanding, cute, sweet, loves and takes care of us especially keeping me safe when my husband is away. LIFE, Dee

I was never good at art. Well, Papa taught me perspective because that was scientific. He also taught me copper tooling. It was third grade and I was a year younger. Everyone else brought in a rudimentary dog or house. I had a jaguar launching from the jungle with every leaf present and accounted for. I used his tools but drew from a photo and he never touched the art. After I got an A+++ everyone was still working on their first piece, in five minutes I made a daisy. Another A. The art teacher watched me and saw my time and knew I was not being coached.

I was better at other things but as a hobby the first decoupage was a barn-roofed tool box I used for culinary implements to take to school. When I visited my aunts years ago they started catering and needed a way to transport their tools. I cut out magazine articles and pasted them onto the toolbox. It is in their kitchen to this day.

A few years ago I got another big red toolbox out of storage. I covered it with culinary references as well but it is in my office with office supplies inside.

Today I took what looks like a hip flask, that came from the grocery with a Texas BBQ sauce that was quite tasty, cleaned and dried it thoroughly and made it up with culinary themes for my aunts to be a single-flower vase. Well, it’s been 20 years since the last one….. At least it’s not a tool box! Dee

ps My husband’s favorite picture of many not done by me is a crayon drawing at age five of the cast of The Wizard of Oz, Tin Man, me (Dorothy) sitting on Cowardly Lion’s back, and Scarecrow. I wanted to put it by his side of the bed but he said no, the sun may get to it from there (I got it framed with 98% uv protection) so why don’t you place it on your side. OK, dear, here’s one I envisioned of you and the dog who used to walk you to the school bus and come back to walk you home.

I don’t do art, my aunts just taught me how to write and express myself through words. We got a $.50 allowance each week from our parents which was about enough to buy everyone presents when due. Hitting was never thought of. We got fined five cents every time we called each other dumb, idiot or stupid.

Then there was the golden one, my brother who I love very much. He would do something really bad and we’d say we were going to tell on him. He’d run to our mother and say “Mommy, I’m not being haved.” and she’d give him a hug and tell him he’s so sweet and send us to our room for not looking after him. I was the eldest and shared a room with my sister, the golden one had his own room.

Mom’s gone over 9 years, Dad a little over one. It’s been a roller coaster of a life but I’m lucky to be where I am right now.  Yes, I helped walk with a friend and a nearly grown-up pup yesterday to get on my feet for a while and when the dog saw me, she grabbed my thigh and peed. She’s nearly a year. I had her for several weekends as a pup, a favor to my neighbors. Sweet pup, but the “happy pee” is getting old. Luckily I was wearing Crocs and they are in the wash.

Just as one must teach a dog basic obedience (learn broad hand signals because as they get old they’ll lose hearing and have cataracts) one must learn to speak at least one language and explain and consult on one’s views on an issue without the words idiot, dumb or stupid involved in the conversation. The folks were right on that issue. Cheers! Dee

Ah, yes, a dictionary. I started a year ago with a 1971 version of the OED but the print was so small I couldn’t even read it out of its case, even with the high-powered Bausch&Lomb magnifying glass in a separate drawer so gave it to two young brothers, ages four and six. Their mother thanked me for keeping them away from the internet and television. I’ll bet at their young age they could read it without glasses or the magnifying glass!

We keep the current dictionary in our guest bathroom because my aunts always had one in the powder room. If we used said room, we were duty-bound to open up the dictionary to any page and look for a word we did not know. After thoroughly washing our hands and drying them, it was time to emerge.

I said the word, spelled the word, defined it and used it in a sentence. Thanks, Aunt L and J for giving me the confidence to learn language.

It’s been probably ten years since I’ve had this blog. My husband created it for me, AL & J inspired me and I was able to write about things that matter. Yes, many are cooking-related but they taught me I could write anything here as well.

Over life I’ve had many teachers. A few mentors. These mentors would not like the previous half-sentence as they are retired English teachers. That’s just the way I write. Love to my aunts, who taught me to like blue cheese, choose menus and even decide on serving platters, and to appreciate fine things.

I wanted a towel rack in our en suite bath and bought one. Someone came in to install it and one end wouldn’t work in the wall. I couldn’t hang two bath towels else it would fail. Aunts to the rescue! Aunt L has bought me linen towels from everywhere. I chose her type of iron (Rowenta, no they don’t pay me) and made them look beautiful with others my husband’s mother embroidered for me, all herbs and gorgeous, as she recuperated from knee surgery. She had planned to be feet-up for a bit so planned this project, for which I thank her.

I bought a few more plain white, tiny linens, four for $1, from an estate sale in Texas and since the towel rod will not take bath towels it is now a work of art that brings our families together. You were always destined to do that, m’lady. Thank you. Dee

My mother’s family never could sing, so my father’s mother (both died before I was a year old) sang to me “Pack up all your cares and woes, here we go, singing low, bye bye blackbird.”

I would need the lyrics and can figure it out myself, for her. When we moved to our first home I heard scrambling between the sheetrock and the other barriers outside. We had tons of mice. I’d go to sleep and be awakened by them and be so scared I’d go and wake up my parents. After a couple of weeks it was a lullaby.

When I was finally on my own at 21 I sang Dad his father’s song to him, the one his father did on his 21st birthday. They were both musicians but Dad became more than that of a carpenter’s son, learning, teaching and leading worthy organizations.

That year I got my own place and it was blissful, an old place with shutters that folded into the walls. Two blocks from work so I could always be called in the middle of the night for them to say to others, Dee’s home, she’s single, and can be there in five minutes!

I had a lullaby back then. I had a great old place and could walk to work but it was on the 2nd floor on the only two-way street downtown. Semi’s would grind their gears down and up at the light. Like the mice, it was a lullaby at night. Guests on my new pull-out sofa did not agree. I just didn’t see it that way, or even hear it anymore.

Now we’ve a lot of other sounds, but up here we only hear sirens, squealing brakes, car horns and Harleys as we don’t hear the smaller bikes or any car. Mostly early morning when I’m well done with some deep sleep and I’m ready for REM and up. Get dressed for whatever weather and be ready to take out then feed the dog.

There was a thief in our place for a while who broke into open doors and stole money and jewelry, cell phones et al. Nothing big to carry. She was caught red-handed, even on camera, but the District Attorney decided not to prosecute. Let’s see, there was also a killer in our midst. And one guy crashed through the lobby window trying to steal a plasma screen not knowing that it actually needed a brain to run it and that the brain was locked up elsewhere.

My husband bought me a “stick” to keep under the front door to keep us safe when he’s off on business. Sirens and Harleys (while they’re both great) are not a lullaby but then I’m older and not sleeping as soundly as I was as a baby. Rockaby, sweet baby, Dee

Zoe Angelicus, a gift from God to us

Why do we love her, of course we love her and thank you for your trust

You chose her as our dog,,we must trust to you

The hipless wonder, we took it in stride

Splendido cane

Cucciolo dei nostri sogni, the pup people love the most

I sang this song at seven

Supposed to sing a song by Lennon

It was nixed by upstairs, they thought it was about pot

I was seven and a clue I had not

Panis Angelicus, you shaped my life and art

We had a day to practice, second in our State

First time in Chautauqua

Father was named president

His qualities were evident

He had a dream and saw it through

He helped ours come true, too

Panis angelicus, and may John Lennon allow Mother Mary to come to you, as she’s never been around here. I thought a pot was what I handed Mom to put over the stove. I was seven, and can’t believe we came 2nd in State with two afternoons of learning the real hymn. Dee

ps They’ve torn down the structure I’ve known for over 50 years. I never took a photo of it but know the exact seat where I stood and sang and will keep it in my mind as long as I have one.

My cousins worked ships on the Seaway during high school and college summers. One stayed in the business. Now, occasionally I see barges coming into our ports or headed for others.

It appears that there has been significant flooding and damage due to a storm. There is an international organization that regulates a dam. It’s going at 10,400 cubic feet per minute. We did a rafting run with guide at Cat 5 rapids at 3,000 CFM and did a five-hour ride in two. It was almost as exciting as my first run. when I was with my young brother and a rock kicked me out of the boat and my only thought was to propel my way downstream and find him. He was on the other side so stayed in and was OK.

Whenever I see a barge I think about my cousins when they were young. I’m sure they’re still adventurous and play sports but none of us are young anymore. My Auntie L gave me a tripod walker with brakes for the holidays. I’m practicing with it. It’s been too cold for the brake pads and tires, they freeze.

Here’s to the sixty year-olds, Cousin S. I love all y’all. Dee

I’ve a cool rubber stamp with four paw prints on it, and brown environmentally-friendly ink, that I sometimes add to notes and letters. Yes, I’ve a Nun Desk now with a drawer full of note paper and cards and the paw stamp and I do more than email and blog.

Imprints of your life are a different matter. You’ve a genetic history and a personal one. Nature and nurture. How can we all make a difference?

I vote. I’m an Independent in most states but not in mine. I get all these questionnaires asking me to answer a few questions then when I do, they say they need $3 to process my information. I delete everything.

No-one tells me how to vote or that I have to pay to give my opinion to a specific political party. I refuse to do so. Voting is an important part of being an adult that lives in the USA. Political parties are hiring pollers and pollers are trying to make their money off voters to find votes. I believe that is wrong.

We have a dog who can’t vote and a husband who will not do so because of potential jury duty and he is out of state much of the time. I was up for jury duty late last year but was injured and got a reprieve ’til Spring. They’ll never choose me. My husband usually says I’m emotional, but rational and thoughtful. I’m a leader, a professional, friend and volunteer.

At the beginning I was imprinted. Not with a political life but with a life of learning, chores, work, independence and freedom. Dad, may he rest in peace, told me I could be President or an astronaut or anything I wanted to be. In the end I became many things, including a good cook. I believe his most favorite dish I ever made was cassoulet. A la Simca Beck and others, my riff. I’ll have to spend a couple of days making it for my husband.

Recently I found a bag with a petit-point flower arrangement. That’s needlepoint with thin cotton thread that I used to do before I had arthritis and bad eyes! I was afraid to finish it as I got down to the details of the flowers. Fewer abilities, gaining insight from many mentors along with appreciation of life, and wisdom don’t make me want to finish this piece right now, there’s no time to do so. It does mean I’ve the wisdom to make decisions, am not afraid of that any more and then when it’s completed it will go to a special person. Imprint. I hope I give back to the Dee lifelong community at least as much as it has given to me. Dee

As I learned to cook, I learned to go toward the middle aisles when I needed rice, pasta, canned tomatoes or cereal. Flour and sugar of course, and herbal tea.

If you really cook, everything is on the exterior. Produce, fish, meat, yogurt, milk, eggs…. and every so often I go to the deli for pepperoni for my homemade Friday night pizza. Yes, I use Italian OO flour for my dough and love MYOP parties for neighborhood kids, that’s Make Your Own Pizza where I make dough and toppings and they roll them out and top them and I bake them. After they’ve eaten they get to make their own dough to put in the frig overnight to rise. I guess it’s also Bring Your Own Bowl. I’ve enough plastic wrap to last a year.

The grocery produce folks are getting to know me. The fish people have inferior product from my eyes. I have a tiny cataract but still know that by looking at its’ eyes this fish has been dead longer than three days. You know the adage about guests and fish.

My butchers know me by name and call me out when I’m going veggie. Yes, they’re saying thanks for the Texas chili, cornbread and fixin’s  (lime and sour cream) I gave them last week. Their turkey (please don’t tell my father-in-law who owns a cattle ranch in Texas that I made turkey chili} with my spice mix was right on. I do believe I’m the only customer who brings food into the market and buys more to give to my butchers.

There are no beans in Texas chili. Lady Bird Johnson taught me that from her recipe for this chili in 1962, about the time I started to learn to read. I just made my own riff on it with more tomatoes and my personally selected chiles, instead of 1962 “chili powder.” Who knows what’s in that, anyway? Certainly not me, who according to my father-in-law, personally started the War of Northern Aggression, in the 1860’s. Up North, we call it the Civil War, and I had nothing to do with it. I’m not nearly that old.

Today I made St. Louis-style ribs. Oven for two hours after a dry rub of equal parts salt, pepper, and I used smoked paprika (pimenton) this time and our home is still redolent of it, then for pork ribs I use 1/3 the amount of sugar. Two hours in the oven, covered with foil, then baste on your favorite BBQ sauce, Grill for a few minutes and done. Check out my cookbook blog, Jeanne Volt’s “Smoked Butts….” She has great recipes and is listed by me as a reference, the book. It’s featured on the blog, classic cookbooks make great wedding presents.

I only took a bite of the ribs, it was tasty but I wasn’t in the mood for meat so ate some couscous and may have some peach yogurt. Perhaps a salad. We’ll see. I can’t sleep, again. Dee

How do I eat this? My first date at age 16 was fraught with danger. When Dad looked up from his evening newspaper and placed his bifocals down his nose even my date was afraid of him. My parents made sure we were seeing a PG movie and would be back by ten.

We went on two dates, then came spring break and we were all in Florida but he was in Lauderdale and I was near Cape Canaveral in a senior community. He hooked up with Sally V, a cheerleader from our school, and was with her for two years. OK with me.

I came back home for the summer after my first year of college and he called me. I was no longer 92 lbs but nearing 110 and his first question was to ask if I was on birth control pills. I go to a Catholic college, NO! I just hated the cafeteria food so loaded up on cereal and what little fruit they had (raisins) in the morning and dessert in the evening.

I was 18 then and allowed to come home by eleven. He took me to dinner at this swanky place nearby and I ordered salmon, never having heard of a salmon “steak.” When we ate fish at home it was always a fillet.

Having no idea where the bones were, I tried to look elegant making the best of a bad situation. A few years later we got engaged, I gave back the ring, we maintained a long distance relationship for years until he asked me to dinner at the best place in town when I was visiting. That was to tell me he was getting married, another former cheerleader, friend of my younger sister. I offered hearty congratulations and asked him to my swanky hotel’s bar and asked if I could have my assistant join us.

You have an assistant? Wow, I’d love to meet her (of course you would). “Hi, I’m Rudy, Dee’s assistant.” WHAT????? He was floored and went out of my life in moments. I miss his mother. She was a great gal who sacrificed everything for her family. And his Dad, who ran a great race and was gone before his time.

As to the salmon, let’s get back to it. I spent my life savings getting out of the rat race and doing something I always wanted to do. I love fish, especially salmon, but can’t cook it at home because my husband is highly allergic even to the scent of fish.

Give me a salmon steak today and I’ve a fish knife that will go all around the bones and then skin it, place it like a heart with two toothpicks, season and make a heart-shaped papilliote and bake it at 450 for 8 minutes. Ingredients are salmon, inverted so it goes together and cooks evenly, salt and pepper and slather it with grainy mustard.

To gild the lily, I like to saute some leeks in butter, salt and pepper beforehand and place them under the salmon in the package. It’s a great dish. I learned how to make it by being uncomfortable on a date! Cheers, Dee

We all feel it, even when we’re kids and our parents try to keep us from it. Aunt Anna came a long way to see us, nurtured and loved us, the first two, me and my younger sister. Two weeks later back at her home she had a heart attack and died. My parents left us with a horrible old babysitter who yelled at us and actually her weight broke one of our chairs.

We never knew about death until friends and family died. My husband is tall and strong and is always called upon to be a pallbearer. I could not do that for a loved one, I’d cry throughout. What happened with Dad is that everything was messed up.

Rick was 17, a fellow gymnast. He was showboating in his cool car and was pulled over by several drunk off-duty cops going home from a bachelor party. They kicked his head in and killed him. Very little happened to them, a couple of days off, a pat on the back.

This was my friend. I went to see him at the funeral home and knew he’d been made up so his mother could take some solace. He was a risk-taker but would not have been my friend had he not been a good kid. I was devastated and couldn’t go to the funeral. I cried for days. He was like having Dog Town and Z Boys all together in one individual.

Men, including my brother, were called upon to wheel my father’s casket to the front of the chapel. Instead, the cemetery guys did it. I would have liked to be by my brother’s side and that of our siblings and co-siblings to roll him down that aisle. At the time we didn’t know we had that choice. We did not at the time.

So now I make my choices. I need to make my living and other wills for my husband and family. Family includes the dog, of course. I love my family. Call this planning, it’s not a sad thing, just something I have to do way, way in advance. Cheers! Dee