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After an argument over the dot-bomb era, when my husband’s bosses actually left a white board after a meeting that said “Fire Staff” came to pass, everything changed.

We were semi-engaged as he’d met my parents. We flew to his home town to introduce me to his parents. Then he immersed me into a pot of stew of 60 family members and friends and didn’t check on me for 12 hours.

We eloped a few weeks later. I didn’t want a small wedding with a now-divorced father and his gal in the same room, especially with my mother present.

When we registered we found out that we could hire a Deputy Marriage Commissioner for a day. We paid for it and sought out Park friends, a Navy Captain and his wife, who we will call The Admiral, not through the ranks, above them as all know to be true.

We arranged an appointment with the Captain and said we wanted to elope four days ahead and will he marry us. He took a moment to think, and said yes, if he could write the vows. I said OK, I’ll type them up for you.

He’s been gone six years now and his wife died last month, she was also an honored guest in our party of eight and signed the papers.

Don’t worry, I made sure that the Captain only had the rights to marry us, not random strangers on the streets!

I would like to renew our vows and my husband is hesitant, defiant actually, not to do so. Thinking that the loss of two important people in our lives and the potential for allowing existing family to participate is very important to me. I was a daughter for the first time in my life. We kept in touch for over 20 years. All heaven hail J&J. Dee

My husband’s old holiday ornament is Santa in a kilt with bagpipes. Mine is the thistle, national flower of Scotland. That was an interesting job post.

My husband is part Scot, he blends in with skin tone et al but is a head taller than everyone else, which allowed me to find him when crowds split us apart. I’m part Irish, more than great-great aunt Mary would ever know from my demeanor. Also Brit, my grandfather. See, one family can put the isles together in three generations, and help with the Swiss, Poles and Germans before WWII. Peace. Done. I’m not dealing with the Middle East.

When we returned home to the States I missed something other than the persistent Catholic/Protestant rivalries and SWAT Teams over soccer games. My husband never awakened because of bottles being thrown in the trash at 3 a.m. from the pub next door. I never missed that glass breaking back home. I missed random bagpipes on the streets.

After college I had a place on the only two-way street in town, the only one that allowed 18-wheelers. They’d go down and back up the gears and make tons of noise that in a few weeks was a lullaby for me, not for guests! Hey, I had mice in my walls as a kid and they put me to sleep. I bought a sofa in my new cool place for my aunts to visit and they didn’t sleep a wink all night because of the trucks. I slept so I could empty boxes and assemble my new bookcase the the entire night before and fill it with books. I did it wrong the first time, Allen wrenches. My bete noir. I learned how to use them because I needed to keep a set in my new car a few years later.

When we arrived home I’d wait for the bagpipes in the morning and they never came ’round. I’d love nothing more than a brief marriage renewal ceremony and small event for family for our 15th wedding anniversary. If I ever get to do it, it’ll be informal, but I’ll need bagpipes. Chi mi a-rithist thu (I’ll see you again). Dee

We bought a house that needed serious finishing in the mid- 1960’s and it had an “open concept” plan for the living area. All these years later all the renovation shows that the former demonstrate open concept.

Before the 50’s all kitchens were small and window-less so that the maid/cook was in there preparing your dinner and serving it to you and your family at your dining table then doing all the dishes. It took our forerunners to create an “open concept” that should no longer be a new variety of kitchen.

I’ve seen Texas kitchens that make the cooks work three times hard to get a family meal done. They are huge and have no functionality. On the flip side, I prefer a galley kitchen, but one with storage space, as in a butler’s pantry with louvered doors that keeps the dog out. I recently had a “new” refrigerator’s doors changed because I’ve arthritis and do not want to walk out to a hallway to open the frig.  Talk about open concept.

The ultimate kitchen is in store. I’m designing it to accommodate my husband and guests.

Over the past fifty years we have opened our kitchen/dining/living areas to accommodate family and friends, and to allow the cook to interact with her (it’s always a her) guests.

Wealthy folks have a perfectly designed kitchen for show, and perhaps a small one in the back for a maid/cook. Few people who live where I do, cook. Frozen and take-out and delivery, even boxes to “cook” by themselves go by me every day.  The only experience is getting eggs, milk, bacon, apple juice, orange juice once a week, delivered at 3 a.m. I also ordered a surprise box of seasonal things to challenge myself at cooking. It was a blank box that allowed me to strive to use zucchini or butternut squash or carrots or easy things like tomatoes and fruit to achieve something special and new.

I am Dee, and I am a cook. I don’t mind a kitchen with guests standing by to help as needed. That’s what the bar seats are for. I never walk into one’s kitchen without offering assistance. Setting the table, OK.

One thing the “open concept” plan did not address was usefulness. If a host/hostess does not use it, then it is only there to show that you have money for quartz countertops and a luxury refrigerator with only mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup and soy sauce packages from the delivery place down the street. And champagne, of course.

My appliances are for use, not decoration. For over 30 years I’ve had a 5 qt. KitchenAid mixer and it is still in use, especially for pancakes and trifle. I’ve a KA food processor and blender. an electric kettle for tea, a toaster and salt and pepper. I choose by what we need most, not what I wish to show off. I always keep a crock of the most used kitchen implements, spatulas, spoons, “flippers” so I can grab them from the stove. That’s it.

I’ll stick with a galley kitchen in a new format, that allows guests to be part of the action and not just asking me across the counter for another Dr. Pepper. ‘Tis a new year. Dee

We actually stayed up until midnight. I was in the kitchen finishing putting hand wash away and emptying the dishwasher and my husband was in bed watching festivities. He lifted our old dog from the sofa and carried her to the bed, where she kept snoring.

In about 1/2 hour, four a.m. I’m going to start some turkey chili that we’ll have for dinner and also give to a friend. I did my mise en place last night so I wouldn’t awaken anyone.

So, there are bills to pay, papers to file, corporate stuff to get a hold of as well as arrangements for me to make things happen when my husband is out of town. Not just taking the dog to bed. I make her walk herself then lift her up to the bed, she does have no hips. It’s a new year, honeybun.

My Aunt got me a tripod walker for Christmas. I took a spill on the sidewalk a couple of months ago and she wanted me to have something with brakes so I can safely shop for groceries. Yes, it contains a small bag but I’d like to add an interior mesh bag for wallet, cell phone and keys, and an exterior one out front for flowers and light groceries. It’s amazing what one has to think about. The back wheels allow my feet to roam free but are so wide as to hit the side of a grocery aisle while turning into the next aisle. It takes some getting used to.

Problem is, it is so dang cold here (well below 32 degrees) that the brakes freeze and I can’t brake to a stop while practicing. Husband sees me using my car this time of year and the cart in Spring, whenever that comes. I’d just as soon practice now and use it when needed, in a year or three when the knees and ankles act up.

I’m thinking of taking most of the holiday decorations down today. My old neighbors’ Christmas cactus is now flowering so I’ll leave that, and the poinsettia that is declining by the day. Over the weekend we picked up a new set of tree lights to fill a living evergreen, our holiday tree, that must remain indoors, given by the women in my husband’s family in honor of my Dad’s passing a year ago. The left side was a bit sad.

Over the weekend I made construction paper chains with colors from our living room. His mother made a modern quilt in the 70’s and we finally made the squares into a seasonal quilt that anchors the room. I used a few of those colors.

We plan to keep and embellish the white tree lights, I’ll pack up the ornaments for next year, and we’ll keep it festive with mainly light blue and brown. It is a living tree and I cannot give it to anyone here to plant outdoors because of the weather. Perhaps when it gets too large for our living room, we can drive it to his parents in Texas and they can plant it at their new home.

Today is a day to look forward. Everyone wants to sell our new business something, perhaps today there will not be any robo-calls. That would be a blessing. Cheers and may you and your family enjoy a happy new year. Dee

As we look toward a new year, a dear friend has passed. Her husband married us nearly 15 years ago and she was a witness on the marriage certificate.

She died earlier this month. I wish I could have traveled there when she was alive. After her husband died, there was an interment at Annapolis, yes he was a Navy man. She told me they got a space in the Columbarium. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. She told me she wanted to join him and that she will, in time.

He asked her out twice and she demurred. He said third time is the last. They married five weeks later, were married for over 50 years and had three sons and many grandkids. Now great-grands.

After we met, she asked me to call her “Mom.” She had three impressive sons and probably always wanted a daughter, too. She said I was it. At Annapolis my husband and I pulled up in the land yacht we rented. She was telling one of the organizers that I would not be there and I showed up and we hugged.

She made me stuff, was a milliner but we placed some of my dog’s ashes into a teddy bear my dog brought to our park for the first time ever. She always had balls to fetch. This was her farewell as she died suddenly the next day.  “Mom” asked for things from me. I always keep a photo collage she made for me, and a large teddy bear with my dog’s ashes in it. We put ashes into a pocket over the bear’s heart and she sewed on a beautiful heart with lace and ribbon to remember our dear girl.

That is how I think of her, as a big heart with ribbons and lace and seeing her dear husband once again. In memory, Dee

I was never much for them as a young child, didn’t understand the process under age five. I started with sweet gherkins, moved to bread and butter, all the way to Kosher dills with a pastrami sandwich on rye with deli mustard.

Then I learned the strangest thing. Texans deep fry pickles, yes, my husband had me try one in a movie theater there. One of his favorite home dishes is my version of my grandmother’s pickled cucumber. I use a European (seedless) cuke and marinate it at least 1/2 hour or overnight in apple cider vinegar, sugar, salt and pepper. It’s nice sliced, but elegant for a luncheon when it is shaved into thin ribbons with a peeler, perhaps mixed with beets at the last moment (so the entire dish doesn’t end up red from the beets).

What I wanted to write about at the cusp of the New Year is Pickles and Chips. My mother sent me to an English riding teacher as a kid. When we moved to the country she hired a high school gal, Debbie, to teach me Western riding. No-one where we lived rode with an English saddle. Pickles was an ornery Shetland pony. Chips was a beautiful quarter horse.

I finally learned that when Pickles put his ears back, I was in for a ride. He threw me across the creek one time. When Debbie said leave me and Chips, go left in a walk, right, then canter diagonally and meet me back here, I tried. A test of sorts.

Forget the canter. He laid his ears back and galloped, stopping full bore right by the homemade sand box (a large one framed by railroad ties) and I tumbled over his head and fell into the sand. He ran 1/4 mile home, where Debbie’s parents were having a dinner party.

I was shaken, but fine. Only my pride was hurt as the entire dinner party toting Pickles walked up our long driveway to see who he threw (they knew he would) and if I was OK.

Many years later I have petted my young cousin’s gorgeous female Percheron, a majestic creature. I’ve not been on a horse or pony since age nine and would like to do so. My husband is allergic so he can’t go with me. Perhaps his brother or our cousin, Zoe’s vet, will do so before I am too old to participate.

Here’s to all kinds of pickles, and to Chips! Dee

First thank Canada for checking in as I forgot to contact my older cousin on Boxing Day for his birthday. Happy birthday!

From crying to crawling to walking I always wanted a motorized vehicle. Yes, a tricycle my feet could pedal. Then, there was a kiddie bike from Santa with training wheels. Then just wheels. No, there was not a need for performance enhancing drugs to win a contest. Vehicles have always been from point A to B for me. The bike just let me visit all the friends and animals at my 1/4 mile-away neighbors quickly. I was not allowed on the highway. Years after that there were real wheels, a drivers’ license.

I was mis-diagnosed for rheumatoid arthritis for over 20 years. It is now thirty years. I won’t take anything for it except a few OTC NSAIDS per year. Yes, while I’m up at night I see commercials recommending all these drugs, and they say a side-effect may be death. Actor/comedian Jay Mohr (thanks Jay) says that death is not a side-effect!

When I took a spill on the pavement two months ago it has been hard to heal, with severe knee bruises and facial problems from the fall. There is no insurance when it comes to health issues even though we pay through the nose for it every month and now health care is going to get worse under the current administration.

My dear aunts have given me a sleek tripod walker with which to get groceries. It has brakes and once I learn how to use it and open doors or go up and down escalators and heaven forbid, negotiate the awful sidewalks, I’ll be OK.

Baby, crawling, walking, tricycle, training then bike, car, cane, tripod walker. After it came in I brought it down to see staff and Maintenance was there, making fun of me as usual. All I said was that I feel old. After all these years I may go back to a tricycle and beyond. There is too little time and too much to do.

The head guy reminds me of my father and what he used to do to any guy who tried to date me, except my husband. Gruff exterior, marshmallow interior. He whispered to me that the tripod was a great idea because after years of knowing me, I’ve FUBAR’d more than once. He likes me!

Yes, a few years ago the County never did anything before ice formed on their sidewalks so 8″ of ice built up. Maternal instinct kicked in at our 7 a.m. walk and Zoe (our dog) started to fall with all four legs. I lifted her up by the leash so she wouldn’t be harmed. I fell, instead. That was a lengthy large hip bruise recovery.

Second in command really made fun of me, saying he could connect a motor to the contraption. I replied that I wanted a seat. Haha. They have saved our lives in the past due to a gas leak and mostly make fun of me because I’ve been here so long and rarely make maintenance requests. I tell them I bundle them and use them once for small items like a slow drain, yet still bring them food. Until we lose her Zoe is the mascot and I’m “Aunt Dee.”

Cheers and have a happy new year. Dee

Yes, I’ve my own. We’re both consultants, I’m too young but am retired. My husband has his priorities. Sometimes they are not in sync. Picture that he has a weekend off and spends a bit of time walking our dog but spends all the time on his cell phone reading news or emails. Most likely he spends all day puttering around on his laptop or iPhone and  a few hours after breakfast I bring him a sandwich and veg for lunch.

I ask what he’d like for dinner and I go out and get it, do mise en place and cook in advance like stews or make and rise dough. Then we agree on a time to have dinner and as I must have my back to him after prep, attentions must be elsewhere. Two burners sauteeing, a horrible kitchen fan running, something in the oven that needs to be checked and a salad to put together, he starts opining on a technical matter that is of interest to him. I’ve the fan going and and am taking out the cold food from the frig, and am constantly running the kitchen sink to wash my hands or rinse a dish.

We agreed on priorities so I left him a day to be alone with his thoughts and mostly laptop and iPhone. Twenty minutes before dinner hits the plates he starts talking about his technological concerns, methods, writing. I can’t hear a word he’s saying and tell him so. I serve dinner and he shuts down and turns on the television, and gets needed rest.

If it’s a long trip home for a him after work for a weekend I just want to let him sleep, but to do that would mean prying his electronic devices from his cold, dead hands. He always wants to research something and I always want to cook or write, and we can relax together, on opposite sides of the sofa watching Episode IV of Star Wars: A New Hope. He taught me about that one, both versions.

While I’ve had bosses and clients who told me what they wanted done, I usually, after college, got to decide how I was to accomplish these deeds. The first was getting away from home all the way back to my college town. I got an eight-week temp job correcting applications for a minimal college scholarship. The applications, not the tests. We got a bit more than minimum wage but were watched and extremely regimented. There were kids with apps who could not spell their own name or street address, but we had to correct their application for a college scholarship.

I learned a lot about poverty and its effects on a child’s education that year. I was given apps from my school of about 1,500 to fix and there were only two mistakes. Inner city schools it was at least 70% of students who failed the application. Why? Parents or lack thereof, and/or teachers and curricula. The same government educational system that gave me one of those scholarships for $800 if you went to college.

We had to use pencils and were issued one per day. Hours were severely regimented, we may have even been locked into the room between breaks. I broke my pencil one day and went to ask Assistant Ned, as the “boss” of that minuscule portion of the clerical staff was out of the office, could I please borrow a pencil?

Ned had a large coffee mug with perfectly shaved pencils, arranged, tip-up as if a floral bouquet. He said “No.” I now knew he had a love of pencils so asked to see one he was already using. It had “Ned” etched into it I I complimented him on his enthusiasm for the job. These people were nuts! My goal after college was to never be Ned.

A week in I got a great interview to work for the legislature and asked if I could take only 15 minutes for lunch and 1/2 hour for afternoon break because I had a Dr.’s appointment. NO. I left for my break, came back an hour later and quit. I did not have a decision or offer, or now a job, and waited ’til Thursday for the A-OK and took the job that started two business days later. It changed my life. Today my husband still asks me, “can you pass me a nedcil?” He is a physicist and software engineer/consultant. I never had or wanted to lead a Ned life, it was just a month paying rent.

The worst is yet to come. After years as a legislative analyist, a dream job came up out of the blue. Twice the pay, my own office in mid-town Manhattan. But I sold my soul to the devil and what was promised was not delivered to me, no matter how hard I worked. It was a bait & switch.

One day I was called in to my devil, who said I had “99” things on my desk to do so we need to prioritize them. She went through 27 things on my entire list, actually only about 8 because she was bored, then she told me that every one was of equal importance and had to be done immediately. It was a class system where of course the rich people were first, everyone else last.  At the end of the meeting she said get back to work, and everything is first priority! How is that for being an educated person in the workplace? I quit soon thereafter and spent my life savings to go to a professional cooking school.  Then a consultant. And the beat goes on….. Dee

And more. My father was always a fisher of men. He created things that made people, in the Army and in regular life, better for themselves and for their families.

At the end of his life he partnered in an Italian restaurant in a resort town. I don’t think he knew of the drama of a restaurant. He’d done education and arts all his life and thought he’d seen it all.

When I finally visited the restaurant it was after a debilitating rough sea voyage followed by a long car trip. He told me a story after I asked about the huge, gorgeous wooden bar. He said it was taken across the lake in winter, by horses. The ice was so thick that the entire bar could be taken across without incident.

This lake has not frozen in two years, and may not this year. On a side note I really wish that over the holidays the kiddos could be able to get out their sleds and slide down the big hill to the tennis courts and field (away from traffic).

Every year I used to go to the grocery first for a six-pack of local beer, that I kept cold overnight, then to a local coffee shop for hot chocolate and pastries. I would park and choose an ice-fisher and give him the goods, hoping he keeps the beer for later!

Last time two guys landed a huge trout. I showed up as a surprise and of course they didn’t have breakfast or a warming beverage. They wouldn’t let me leave, said they caught the fish as I walked onto the ice so I was good luck.

After a bit, 15 minutes, I said I had to go. It was seven in the morning and I had to make breakfast. Both of them walked me to the dock, each took an elbow and lifted me up from the ice.

Is it global warming? We have no snow for the kids, no ice for the fishers. Every day at dusk and dawn I see the seagulls catching their prey. The winds become fierce, Coast Guard is out and not allowing small craft to sail or power boat. God bless the Coast Guard. They are vigilant in their efforts to keep the seas safe.

In the next 100 years there will be no ice, no horses with a sleigh and a two-ton wooden bar to transmit over ice to its destination. Sad. Dee

I remember the cold weather and an aluminum box that held two bottles of milk that were delivered regularly. Sometimes they exploded because of the cold. My father-in-law ran a dairy where all the milk went to a co-op. I should ask him what happened back then, that milk wasn’t sold in a grocery store, but was left in bottles on one’s doorstep. It might just be that it was milk from local dairies and there weren’t co-ops then to pick up each day’s milk. Now the health food stores have co-oped the co-ops by offering grass-fed cow milk. I don’t know the answer.

My mother never wanted to be married, or me, and let me know for fifty years. Yes, it was a mistake helping Dad, under age 7, choose a modern sewing machine for her for Mothers’ Day as it was my idea. She never wanted me to cook, so I learned to cook and put myself through culinary school after I quit the rat race. She told me I could never do sports because of my heart. I became a track non-starter, gymnast and captain of the gymnastics team the last two years of high school.

I tried to get into her good graces. I thought that on her birthday and on Mothers’ Day Dad said she should be taken out to dinner, instead of making it for us (we weren’t allowed to cook) so I’d talk to Dad and make reservations at the best restaurant in the County.

When presented by Dad with reservations, Mom would say “I cook better than all of them.” It was true. It didn’t start that way but with 50’s cans of cream of celery soup as bechamel. Then she got a lifetime subscription to Gourmet magazine. Luckily she passed before they kicked the bucket. Now my brother and I are coming up with a list of our favorite “regular” dishes to replicate and update.

Mom was correct, she could make a better dinner than any restaurant in town. Today is my husband’s birthday. We were at the health food market yesterday at the butcher counter. He looked at the sale on ribeye steaks and said he wanted one. No, not now, honey. But they look good and are on sale! Not right now.

You’re making me one for my birthday! Yep. He did this to me once before. Sixteen years ago he had to go on a job interview in Nebraska, of all places. He said he needed a proper shaving kit and harangued me for a day or two about going to the luggage store to buy one. No, dear, not now. You got me one! Yep. Here it is, way early, but it is your birthday gift.

You’ve the only copy of my Christmas Day menu. I’m going to have to print it out so I can make my list because yesterday traffic was horrible on the way to the store and I’m going to have a nice bruise on my hip where a woman rammed into me with a grocery cart.

My butcher knows my secret. I believe they’ll keep me a ribeye and two filets mignon for today and Christmas. I have authentic Italian ingredients for a superb vegetarian lasagne on Christmas Eve. He’s a meat & potatoes guy, but I try to sneak in veg when I can.

When it comes to dinner, stews, homemade pizza, lasagne, whatever it may be, I do it better. I don’t want to go to a restaurant, would rather cook at home.

Oh, R stopped by yesterday to thank me in person for the bountiful trifle, of panettone, whipped cream with vanilla and a touch of sugar, and tons of blackberries and raspberries. He can’t have any because he recently had a heart attack (just two weeks ago and he’s back at work) but came by in person to thank me for thinking of his staff.

Thanks,  Mom. You were always very bright and accepted new challenges. Sorry I didn’t inherit your math gene, but am happy our brother did so. I do look at a recipe and usually follow it the first time if it makes sense, then do my own riff on it. I only use Italian OO flour for my pizza, so I’ve taken it to another level. Oh, and no green cans of fake parmesan cheese. Only Parmigiano Reggiano for me. The times have changed. Not that much, it’s seven in the morning and Dogma needs to go out. Cheers and don’t get too stressed with meals. It’s family and friends. Enjoy! Dee