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I’ve been a cook since I was seven years old. My mother did not want to let her eldest child into her kitchen. To this day I do not know why, but know it was not safety, I’m thinking companionship and mother/daughter bonding. Heaven help us.

When I kept the Betty Crocker Boys and Girls cookbook I was lent by the local library and garnered $.32 in late fees I had to take it back and apologize and use more than half my allowance to pay for the transgression. Three weeks later my parents bought me a new book, same name, and I started cooking.

Not cooking, really. I was not allowed to use knives or heat. I peeled some carrots and placed them in ice water in the refrigerator to curl up, and that they did. I served them to my grandfather and he called them “suicide carrots.” He was just making fun of me as many men do today, my husband says they like me. I give food and rarely ask the employees here for anything. Some folks have everything delivered and have dog walkers. I pick up packages and walk our own dog 4X per day when my husband is traveling for work.

I started reading Gourmet magazine in high school, a dear family friend had gotten Mom a lifetime subscription, I read it after she read it. Then college, first jobs, post-grad I was in politics (thought I was in policies), lobbyist, consultant to non-profit organizations and veteran volunteer I was insecure in my own skin. I quit the rat race after lobbying and paid my life savings to go to a good cooking school.

Chef? No. Good cook, yes. Think about “Chopped.” I would be too nervous on camera to function. That means my brain would not process the four items in the basket and once I figured it out I would be already in the weeds. Frozen. That’s me in front of a camera or 250 people.

My Dad was always on stage. He even danced on stage with Ginger Rogers once, after she gave the line that she danced with Fred Astaire but “backwards and in high heels.” He got her off-stage on that one, but played the fiddle, classical violin but fiddle also and called square dances to pay tuition and be the first kid in his family to ever go to college. I was second fiddle trying to make him and anyone else I worked for look good.

I’m a good cook. Everyone knows me and my food. First, they know the dog. “It’s Zoe!!!” Now, sometimes I hear “that’s Zoe’s mom.” Fourteen years of that and finally they recognize me. Cooking school changed my life. It made me walk around the aisles of a great grocery and only head into the interior for rice, soy sauce, chicken broth, sugar or flour. I get my spices elsewhere and even go to an Italian grocery for OO flour for my homemade pizza dough. Yes, we have MYOP every once in a while. I make dough, all the toppings and the kids roll their individual dough and make their own, then before they go back to grandma and grandpa’s they make their own dough to refrigerate overnight.

I love teaching. A psychic once told me I would be a teacher. I already was a teacher and had been since I started teaching gymnastics at age 14. I just didn’t know it. What she (a birthday seminar gift) did not tell me is that I would marry a physicist! No, not a psychic. Keep cooking. Take something good and do a riff on it. Dee

That means in paper, parchment paper. Roast or grill some cleaned leeks, really cleaned of sand and grit. Saute, ok. Coat a salmon fillet for one, 4-8 oz and season it with s&p, then slather with grainy mustard.

I do a heart-shape. Fold parchment paper in half. Cut in the shape of a heart. Great St. Valentines’ gift) and mound the leeks and slathered salmon. Lemon. of course.

Fold the paper over and with the back of your thumb, fold it over gently and encase it so it steams and does not leak. Tiny folds, crease, go around the folded heart and twist the parchment to encase.

Valentines’ day would not be perfect without a Coeur a la Creme. Go to your local cooking specialty store and ask for two ceramic heart molds and follow the recipe and bring to it a special fruit or chocolate sauce (or both, I love raspberry and chocolate cooked separately and drizzled) and voila, you’ve dessert a deux. It’s OK to send the kids out to old folks like us, just have dinner together. That’s your Hallmark card, better.

All I can tell you is that my husband likes food, not a Hallmark holiday, Dee

Dad did it. He traveled for work and ate in restaurants and just chose off the menu. Now my husband does it. He packs himself, sets himself up for regular laundry and dry-cleaning and leaves his bags with the bellman so he can come home to us for the weekend.

He knows every waiter in town and bell-person for room service. Honey, you don’t get that at home. When he’s gone I cook fish until Wednesday (he’s highly allergic to even the smell) or just eat vegetarian, salads et al.

He comes home Friday and sometimes still smells the salmon I cooked en papillote in the oven with grilled leeks and a coating of grainy mustard.

Home is not a restaurant to order meals willy-nilly. I can’t have steak or burgers for this meat and potato guy every day of the week. So what do I do for the entitled? Husband goes through phases, we’ll be married 15 years next week. Together well over 16 years. Crystal Light, yogurt, fruit bars, he still dates Cherry Garcia.

I buy him pummelos, French breakfast radishes, heirloom multi-colored carrots, cherry and Kumato and other tomatoes, and many different varieties of apple. When he says he’s getting hungry I ply him with one of these instead of a chocolate bar or ice cream.

When he is around 24/7 it becomes a kitchen nightmare as he has decided to cook (the furthest he got was making toast at age four and he still is amazed that I can make a tasty grilled cheese sandwich years later). He can make spaghetti and meatballs on his own using bottled sauce and either I or the butcher provide the meatballs. There are still spatters of tomato sauce on our kitchen walls.

The other is pancakes with a complicated recipe and I supervise while he uses every bowl and pan and I just whip the egg whites and enhance the mix with vanilla and cinnamon.

We do get along, most of the time, unless entitlement takes over. I’m the “dog mom” and cook and manager of our home. I am also his partner in business. A certain one has stymied us because of legal issues for one paragraph in a contract. I wrote a full revision of the Uniform Code of Military Justice in two weeks so that a 12 year-old could spend weekends with his father re-enacting Revolutionary War battles. Anyone who signed in for the weekend was eligible to be conscripted, no matter the age. We didn’t want a kid to go somewhere like Afghanistan.

One paragraph has taken these lawyers two months. I’ll tell you more later, or not. OK, it is about hirers sucking the life out of people. They own everything you ever thought of from the day you were born until the day that you die even though you work for us for six months and your contract ends.

As a human being, how many contracts can one sign, essentially signing one’s life away every time for nothing? He will not do it. My dear old Dad would not have done it when he was alive. I was born of a gifted, educated, supportive and stubborn man. I married one. Aye, there’s the rub. Dee

We were on our way to D.C. for the first MLK Day ever. It was a potluck so I got to bring the 2 liter sodas for the trip but not allowed a sip as my office mate Dennis called me “tiny tank” and the fellow analysts and attorneys would have to stop at every gas station.

I helped pass bills for colonial and WWII heroes. They were days of commemoration, not Federal holidays. Haym Solomon helped fund our Revolutionary War. Raoul Wallenberg helped everyone from Hitler’s war on humanity.

Martin Luther King, Junior was another thing altogether. One might say he forced us to look at ourselves and think of him as a troublemaker. Others think he helped bring our nation together, in a non-violent way. Yes, he was killed violently for his kind works.

Yes, his name and memory became a Federal holiday, as it should be. We drove to D.C. and had many related activities that day but what glows in my mind is the gospel service at the AME church where Coretta Scott King spoke about her husband and his works.

Today is his day to re-invogorate the American people and others around the world. I am privileged to have had a part in passing this legislation in my state. To civil rights, Dee

Welcome Australia, Malaysia and Zimbabwe.

My husband is enervating when he says that when I use a recipe or just make one up, third time is the charm. I’ll have to agree with him for yesterday’s Shepherd’s Pie, however. Mostly, I should have used an 8X8 Pyrex. I had beef in a bit of beef gravy that it absorbed in a second. Blanched green beans, and mashed potatoes on top with milk and butter and cheese. It was tasty, but thin. It’s my own recipe which I will work on for you, as my husband loved the flavors. Next time I’ll add some caramelized onions, crushed tomatoes and perhaps some corn.

Today a former employee (T) returns to our building. Story is he was replacing someone and staying at his place for a couple of days to get his feet wet. I gave the departing staffer a corn and chorizo custard as a going-away gift and the newbie, T, thinking J was gone, ate the rest of it. Whoops!

This morning I’m making T another corn/chorizo/mushroom custard to welcome him home. Now I’ll have three maintenance guys on my case! I just walk our old dog through the lobby to go out in our new snow and one of them says “what did you break today, Dee?” I call them about once or twice a year, like when my under-mount kitchen sink almost fell out below. Why? Because I am one of the few residents here who actually cook. Most order out or if they’re on expense accounts, eat at expensive restaurants.

Last night we had pre-prepared lamb kofta kebabs and I made fry bread for the grill as well. I have to work on that one. It’s from BBQU and just wasn’t the right texture. I haven’t made it for 8-9 years and when I did, it was at 6,500 ft. above sea level. Now we’re probably at 200′. Things change. In the mountains, I did learn to get an electric kettle for tea because water boils at a lower temperature and sometimes sipping herbal tea is like drinking dish water no matter the quality of the tea. The other major one was to make hard-cooked eggs. Eggs, cold water, bring to a boil and boil 12 minutes. Ice bath. Peel and put into your salade Nicoise. Week-old eggs are better for peeling than fresh.

Thank you for reading! It’s nearly six a.m. and I’m up doing this. My husband just let the dog out to see me. I’ll take her out then feed her at seven. The President’s secret service used to call the large briefcase he brought from the oval office to the residence, that contained nuclear launch codes, “the football.” My husband sends Zoe out after she awakens him, opens the door to give her to me and I say “I have the football.” He doesn’t even come out anymore, I just hear her nails on the floors and say it. After all, I am the disciplinarian and food wench. He’s the fun guy, but not when he’s sleeping.

Blurred Lines, I watched it on Netflix earlier this morning. It is about all facets of contemporary art from artists to dealers to auctioneers to collectors and museums. It is a world I will never enter but love MoMA and know what I like, which is personal and painted by a family member or a photo I took on a trip for Dad’s 70th birthday. I spend $25, not $95 million, to see a work of art.

There are no prices on contemporary art. A sheikh may come in and is offered the work for $5 million. I could show up, I’m a “keeper” if you witness my history with my two cats and two dogs over the past 29 years and they would quote me $10 million because they’d rather have a more public profile for the work. The film also showed me that people “flip” art like houses, buy it and sell it for twice the price in two weeks.

What is the value of art, when it has been relegated to the rich and famous because galleries want to say that this work was held by George Clooney. Granted, he didn’t walk into the gallery or Christie’s saying he wanted something blue in these diameters to go over his sofa. I do not know how one would ascertain the monetary value of art but most of what I saw were not what I would purchase and maintain. If I did have the money, I’d probably lend it to a museum for all to see.

At Buckingham Palace about ten years ago I went to an exhibit at The Queen’s Gallery. It included a self-portrait of Artemesia Gentilleschi, yes, a female artist of the Renaissance. It is a moving work that has probably been on palace walls for centuries. We, the public, were allowed to see it. It was in the back corner of the exhibit and I knew exactly where it was because women were standing around it. I joined them and we talked about Renaissance art. That is the value of art to me. The Queen may never again allow this work to be displayed, but I got to see it. What a treasure. Cheers! Dee

Thank you for reading, Taiwan, Ireland and France. I believe my great great grandmother was from County Clare but I’ve never been even though we lived in Scotland for a few months.

Today a business associate was married. It was a small affair, as was ours fifteen years ago in two weeks. Years ago my husband asked me to have my birthday and our wedding date engraved inside his wedding band. I did so and he still forgets both. “What day is it today, honey?” “Monday.” On Tuesday he looked at his ring and knew he forgot my birthday. We’ll see what happens in a couple of weeks.

I’ve wanted to do a renewal of vows near his parents this spring yet he believes there will be problems. It is interesting that we are both consultants and problem-solvers and so far his family doesn’t see any problems. A Navy Captain (USN, Ret.) married us 15 years ago and his widow, who he called The Admiral, died last month in her 90’s. We eloped so I wanted to have a casual Texas renewal and party. No sweet tea for me. I’ll take regular.

I think of this young couple starting out on a journey that we started over 16 years ago. Yes, there are ups and downs. Sometimes things stick. Like our dog, who we adopted from a shelter as a very young pup and will be 14 years old in two weeks. She is kind of a mascot around here. Every once in a while I tell her if she’s not being good, we just may have to take her back. The Hipless Wonder just looks at me and says sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to eat the visiting dog’s food. Why is she visiting, anyways? She is interrupting my sleep patterns. My old cat Nathan always got in the last word. Zoe always gets the last thought.

Dedication at work is another issue. I’m retired now but a new opportunity is about to awaken. Both my husband and I give 110% to any effort to achieve success. Said success is about reaching goals and making a difference. We work in different fields but are still problem solvers, teachers and able to make decisions to convey to clients as issues occur. He calls my area “soft skills” but is now doing the same thing for big companies.

This post is for the one who taught me many things that shaped my life and career, my father, who passed over the holidays in 2016. His living tree, given to me by prominent women in my husband’s family, was used as our Christmas tree. Now, my husband still wanted to see the lights so I used one recycled glass star at the top and then I made construction paper chains that went all around, in the colors of our living room.

Years ago I was stuck in a hotel room in Texas. We sold my car, and he worked 1/2 hour away. The only places I could walk to were a lame grocery, fast food, and our bank. I spent probably three days hot glue-gunning white pistachios to three differently-sized styrofoam balls to make sure we had a Christmas bowl of joy in our hotel room.

Every time I took a shower the maid showed up. Seven in the morning, four in the afternoon. Every time. He made himself waffles every breakfast then ate cereal. He can still have cereals but hates waffles. I hated living in a hotel in the middle of no-where without a car. We survived that battle and to this day he tells me he never wants me to glue pistachios to globes to make a holiday miracle for him. Dedication, Dee

Yesterday I added Brazil and Moldova to readers. These days I get around virtually and through language, not physically. For some reason even though I have the TSA “fast pass” for domestic flights and Global Entry for international, while my husband may be carrying a cooked brisket from Texas on dry ice and I’m carrying a small purse (just enough for wallet and keys) and tiny laptop case with enough room for electrical cords for said device, I always get called aside. Naked scanner, pat-down, then they disappear and tell me not to move from the mat, and they swab my hands for bomb residue.

I was born in the northeast, never got into trouble or have anything but one parking ticket and that was over 40 years ago. I’m nearing 60 and could be a grandma. Why am I treated as a terrorist?

* * *

That’s neither here nor there. We’ve a live tree we used for Christmas. My husband took the cranberries and popcorn I made away from me. He chose a needle that was too big and was breaking all the popcorn. So I made Christmas-y paper chains like in kindergarten, but with staples rather than paste. I didn’t have to wait for each one to dry. He wanted the tree to retain the twinkly white lights so I made an anti-Christmas tree the other day with blues and browns to evoke the colors of our living room.

He’s working on a book and client development. We’ll be married fifteen years ago later this month. Our dog, who we adopted from a shelter the day she turned six weeks of age, will turn fourteen years old this month as well.

We eloped and only did a draft “photo book” that I recently found. We had six guests, one of whom married us as a retired Navy Captain, his wife and two others were witnesses and one took the lion’s share of photos. One walked me down the “aisle” of eucalyptus trees and stood up for my husband. Another stood up for me. The Admiral (Captain’s wife’s nickname), she just died last month. When I opened the album the other day some of the photos had fallen off so I spent a bit of time this morning fixing that issue. I showed it to a bride-to-be, she’ll be married later this week.

As to the dog, we only had one milestone down in deciding my husband needed a dog before a kid. Adoption was the dog course. Zoe’s hips were horribly bad, the worst her surgeon had ever seen. So at six and nine months we asked her to excise them. As there were no titanium hips for dogs under 60 lbs. and she was 20, we did it at six and nine months as after ten months there is less of a chance for recovery. She grew her own from cartilage and when she was younger, she could corner around a tree and get a ball faster than any Retriever. Plus, she was smart enough to stay in the outfield, something pups don’t understand. She only had to run in.

We could have thought of taking her back to the shelter but when potential adopters found out the price of recovery including physical therapy she would have been euthanized in that shelter in a heartbeat. We never thought of it, just researched and did the surgeries and my husband used to sneak her into a community pool at night for PT. I was in charge of most puppy walks and stair training. Dr. Val said only to baby her for two days. Then make her work. That we did. Nearing 14, after that, only eating dead stuff off the pavement has made her ill. All her tests/charts come in perfect.

Our Zoe has an infectious sunny personality and is beloved by all who love dogs, kids getting to know dogs, even 99% of dogs and any cat that doesn’t run from her. She met a Sphynx cat a couple of weeks ago and I held him, there was no animosity, they sniffed each other and Zoe was just playing with her “precious” to get our attention and show that she was cool, too, even though her fur didn’t feel like suede.

It doesn’t fit in the same month but Dad died a year ago and my living tree, given by ladies in my husband’s family, was used for Christmas and is now a themed tree to echo muted colors of our home, with one recycled glass star from the EcoCenter in UT, and paper chains with high-grade construction paper, staples and time. Also hand-made twisty long ornaments of aluminum or tin, from a trip we took to Vermont with in-laws for leaf-peeping et al. They just reflect the light.

His loss affects me every day. I miss his voice on the phone, silly Italian birthday cards, trinkets from overseas, but especially a hug, conversation and his deep blue eyes. Also his paintings. He took up painting at age 80. I’ve beautifully framed three of his works and he promised me two smaller ones two weeks before he died.

Marriage, pet adoption, nourishing and loving both members of my current nuclear family, and there was a death that let me know in no uncertain terms that I am my father’s daughter. Cheers! Dee

Thanks, America, for that song. I have a name, and Jim Croce told me I have a song. I’m working on both. These references show my age, and marginalization in society and life.

I’ve heard from banks where I added my new husband’s name to my account that they can not speak to me when he calls me as someone steals his credit card number from a restaurant because I’m “just the wife.” “It’s my account, sir, a joint account to which I added him.” Sorry, ma’am. The message was that if he can get home with no gas or food from a business trip he can call and authorize you to speak to us.

I’m retired (very early and because of my husband’s career) and it’s happening all over again. New ventures are afoot, and I’m an equal partner but decisions are made without me all the time.

I’ve songs of love, loneliness, my mother used to call “dirges.” I beg to disagree. I love Carole King, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Dave Mason, Bad Company, James Taylor, Johnny Cash, CSNY, Peter, Paul and Mary, they taught music and structure. We had only the networks on TV and had to turn the antenna to get PBS where we could see Jacques Cousteau plumb the oceans’ depths. That was a song of its own.

Johnny Cash and PPM, you made me want to learn guitar. At my age I don’t have the vocal range anymore, or guitar, piano or violin talent. I’ve found a wonderful folk guitar that fits me, and recently found a teacher to interview. Yes, I’m interviewing him as he does me. Mommy doesn’t pay for music or ballet lessons anymore. Daddy doesn’t make me take violin lessons and have the class make me tune all the violins and violas. Sadly, they’re both gone now.

I love helping my husband in a new endeavor, assisting worthy non-profits, learning music, and writing. The string section minus celli and bass were ordered by me through our mentor, now gone as well, to show up 1/2 hour early for tuning. I was six years old.

One day I didn’t audition but was called in to stay after school the next day. My music teacher had me look out the window. She played a note on the piano. I got it right, another, another. She said I was opening the show with a vocal solo to Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Waters.” I was terrified but family was there so I did it. That and almost drowning on a Cat 5 rafting trip makes me think I can do anything.

We’re building a business, and I may even learn to be better than a beginner at guitar. Cheers! Dee

They visited this blog the other day and it was welcome. My grandmother and her kin all came from Zurich, a city I had the pleasure to visit in my 20’s.  We ate good food and I tried real fondue, not the 1970’s American version.

In my legislative life I’ve had a passion for privacy, whether it be insurance, health, banking, cable television franchising (this was 1984, in more ways than one) and other areas so I arranged a group of us analysts to put up a session where all our bills were put up at the same time. It worked. Of course the Senate voted against it. We expected that.

Switzerland was neutral in WWII and while others may call it secrecy I call it privacy as long as ill-gotten gains are not involved. Why did the Beatles move to the USA? Less taxes.

Often, Switzerland is used as a metaphor for a go-between. While my husband calls me emotional, and he is correct, I am rational and can reason between positions in an intellectual way. Of course he’s a scientist and engineer and we have different mind-sets that some of the time, work together.

We’ll be married 15 years this month. A lot of small things I did over the years multiplied into grand gestures by many, to make a difference. Retired? Too arthritic to exercise multiple dogs. Husband allergic to cats. Occasionally we take in a dog for an hour or a week or two that gets along with our old Zoe.

I cannot be neutral when countless animals were being killed by their owners and local shelters, just as I cannot be so when anything that deals with privacy comes back to abortion so no evangelist or Catholic can vote for it. Think 1973 Roe v. Wade. Of course I quit after licking my wounds and having a change of administration and moved on to more lucrative pastures. That was disastrous so I left that for a dream.

Back then there were few computers and we had none. No-one was allowed to reserve a bill number for the next Session. I was, because I’d always been nice to said office with food. Orwell’s 1984. That next year was the year the P-Team was built. Me as creator and pseudo-leader, my boss, and a great staff lawyer. We were not Switzerland. We were the USA in the Revolutionary War. Let’s make this country safe from corporations and individuals that want to steal our identities. They have it anyway and so did NSA and everyone else.

Was our Privacy Team a failure? No, it was a start. I also helped spay/neuter 2,500 feral cats and my training session for volunteers was filmed by the infamous San Francisco SPCA. I also helped hundreds of Greyhounds off racetracks come back to health and be adopted. I came up with theme names for them for singers, poets, race car drivers, presidents, scientists because they only had one name on the track. Before they were adopted, they had a temporary name.

As to privacy there was 9/11 and now everyone spies on us. This is not code for anything, kiddo’s. It is a real person that actually shares stories and recipes. Dee

They would have been a good idea in 7 degree weather with nine mph winds, after the dog slept in then “hounded” me to take her out.

I got everything in a hurry, electric jacket on and really on, lamb cossack hat, scarf, gloves and boots.

What did I forget? Pants. Yes I did go out in underwear. Long silk underwear that are part of my pajamas in winter. I wondered why my legs were cold.

In this cold weather I don’t trust dog Zoe’s routine of going out early, quickly and then eating her dinner and taking another two-hour nap. If I take this long to dress and she’s already wearing her own fur coat, I’ll take her out as long as she needs, early morning, to do everything. I can put her collar over her neck in a heartbeat and grab house keys, it takes me longer to get ready.

I didn’t grow up in a world of PolarTec, down or fur, just wool and hand-knitted balaclavas and mittens (thanks, Aunt L). Now my husband and I take every technological advantage against the cold that we can get. Even dog Zoe has a coat. It works every season, to keep rain off or keep her a bit warmer, especially in severe cold and wind. She will not wear booties to keep her from the salt that lines sidewalks and roads so our town never needs to plow snow. Instead she licks her paws, we pick her up and sometimes it’s enough that she has to vomit. There’s a reason ranchers limit the salt lick for cattle.

Remember the pants. We could have had a longer walk this morning, but once she finished her business, she just wanted to come home, eat and sleep. One has to love an old dog when all her mental functions are known by me, often in advance. My husband says “she just needs her toy.” No, dear. She needs a walk and I’m making us dinner, as she already ate. That’s the way it goes in love, marriage, cold and dogs. Cheers! Dee