The first week my husband started this blog for me WordPress placed us up for the best of the newbies. I got in touch with her to say congrats and hello and we’ve had a relationship for many years yet have never met.
Before my time is gone I would like to meet her. We know about our families and friends yet have not ever had the chance to greet each other in person.
We’re both “foodies” and I’d love to meet her in the market in her town. Cheers! Dee
Mom has been gone nearly nine years. Dad died over the holidays. They separated on their 35th wedding anniversary then divorced. Mom was Catholic. Divorce was not allowed. I still got her a Catholic Priest for Last Rites at hospice. For more info on that search on this site Fr. McGuinness. It’s a great story.
They called us in for the separation announcement, brought us to a patio table and told us. My brother said “It’s about time!” It’s just like him, which is why I love him. He’s the one that as a kid when Mom asked him to set the table, he’d say “Wrongo, moose breath!” And she’d laugh and have us do it.
I would hope that now, meeting on another figurative plane, they would ask about the kids, and perhaps mend some fences. Both of them made errors, as my husband and I do in our marriage. Everyone makes mistakes in life. It’s a given.
One of these days I’ll meet my brother and we’ll go to Dad’s grave where the stone was recently placed. We had a family, home cooked meals and family dinner, required every night
and there were no cell phones or laptops in those days. “How was your day, dear?” It’s 6:30 Sunday morning and I must take the dog out. Cheers! Dee
My husband has been home writing a book for the summer (and driving me nuts) so it won’t be anything you can get at your local bookstore. It’s a software training book. I’m waiting to read it to edit fresh, and may ask later that you place it on your bedside table instead of warm milk, to sleep.
I’m glass half-full, he’s more analytical and skeptical so he’s half empty. In certain times it is the reverse. He knows things will work out and I worry. Reversal of roles. In certain times I make him steak with chimichurri, or Mom’s orange chicken (my version) when I would make for myself grilled cheese or a toasted peanut butter sandwich and eat it over the sink.
Luckily our old dog Zoe doesn’t remember her first four weeks of life with fleas and worms. We’ve had her over 13 years and she knows the present, a bit of the past but no future.
I know past, present and future because I think about and dream about things and look forward to a log cabin on a lake with a view of mountains. Sometimes I know things my husband does not. As a woman I’m more intuitive although I’ve taught him a lot over the years! I just can’t tell him my conclusion or how I came to it. No, his mother will read this and he’ll know it in an hour! Cheers, Dee
Posted in Editorial, Uncategorized
and Chimichurri. I ran into several folks early this morning. One said I looked “cute” and I thought of the year I turned the dreaded 40 and waited for the day a store clerk asked for proof of age for me to buy a bottle of wine. A few days before I turned 41 and met my husband for the first time, I was asked and I thanked her because they said they only “carded” shoppers who looked under 30 and I’d been there nearly every day for years.
Now on the cusp of another age change, a woman said I looked cute. Nearly 60 and cute. I like it and don’t like it because on one side it says I’m young and vibrant. That’s her. With others, they don’t take me seriously, including my husband. I was a consultant years before he was one. I gave it up because he was dragging me around the country and world. I no longer have the support for a private practice, not that one can be built in two years and move elsewhere. The internet doesn’t work for my kind of business.
Before dinner, if we want to stretch time, my husband eats an apple. He cuts it his own way and uses my favorite knife, a paring knife I bought for cooking school nearly 30 years ago. He sharpened it. I was used to a certain feel as I cut and seeded the jalapenos but it was different. I was talking with him and cut my thumb, deeply. It was bleeding and throbbing so I stepped out.
Ordinarily he is not allowed in my kitchen except to get water and Dr. Pepper. He followed my instructions and finished the chimichurri. He had steak, tiny multi-colored potatoes and was supposed to have part of a large heirloom tomato. In the middle of the night my “dinner” was 1/2 cup of chocolate milk.
We made a full recipe http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/tyler-florence/gaucho-grilled-steak-with-chimichurri-sauce-recipe-1941631 of this so we could give some to a friend. He must know that when I took myself out of the game to hold my cut finger over my head, my rookie line cook came on and finished the job. He just happens to be a genius, physicist, mathematician, software engineer and consultant. Friend, you are lucky!
We’ll check my bandages later and see if I need stitches. It was a clean but deep cut. At least I’m cute! Cheers! Dee
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I think Dad instilled it in me. Two of us learned to read way early, and when our school wanted to change to phonics our parents rebelled. We were placed in the back of the room, together, and he was reading sports books and I was reading The Diary of Anne Frank.
We were made May King and May Queen because smarts were respected back then. Steven and I made a difference. A few years later we used to have to go to religious school every week. My younger sister and I, a sister and brother used to walk with us. They used to make fun of him. He was my friend and we walked together. I found out years later that he was gay. I had no idea of anything sexual at that time, only knew he was a good friend.
Years later his sister reached out to me to say she was sorry about all the things she said about her little brother, that they are best friends and she thanked me for being so kind to him.
I have made change in many areas of my life, in business and personal matters with people and pets. I have a side that engineers change. On the flip side folks call on me all the time for advice or care for their pets.
There are many stories but that would require a book. Cheers! Dee
ps My wrist is getting better. I’m making burgers for lunch and skirt steak with chimichurri for dinner. Get the grill on!
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He is eating them. My husband hates leftovers. Ask his mother. Two days ago I made my version of my mother’s “orange chicken” with fresh orange juice.
We shared one chicken breast and saved the other. Yesterday we shredded the other, added mayo, s&p, tarragon, halved black seedless grapes, halved multi-color cherry tomatoes, a nut mix and served it on small sesame rolls. Oh, I added orange zest and a bit of juice to reinforce the orange flavor. Also 1/3 of a lemon for freshness.
My husband is eating leftovers. They’re re-made but yesterday he helped re-make them, to my specifications. I need to tell his mother that reading a book is not like learning from vision. Taking a rubber boat down a fast river, nothing to know except you do it with a guide the first time. That’s how I learn. We did a five-hour run in two hours because the water was so fast, Class 4 rapids. It was scary and he read a book and thought he could do it alone. No way I will go or let you go alone. I’d been through Class 5 rapids, was thrown out of the raft and almost died and all the rescue boat people almost died as well in an eddy. I did that with my brother when he was 17, once. My husband and I learn from each other over the years. I know that when he says he’ll take our old dog Zoe out in the morning he has to brush his teeth, shave, shower, comb his hair and dress and that will take an hour. Sorry, Zoe has her “routine.”
Of late I’ve been going out with a jacket over my silk long undies, and FIDO tee-shirt. Save Fiesta Island Dog Park! Plus a jacket. I get up early and take her out. That is the priority. I’ll take a shower later, after I feed her and she takes a nap.
Sometimes people think the two dogs and two cats I’ve had from shelters over the past 30 years are “leftovers.” They are not. Each has a particular talent and no matter how damaged they were when I/we adopted they were fixed by love, attention and training.
In 1987 I was sent a five-week old kitten 3,000 miles, who had fallen off a 7′ shelf and his mother would not feed him. My sister sent him via my brother by plane, to me. Surprise! I had him for 13 years. He was a leftover. I made him not so. I named him Nathan, Hebrew for “gift.” I didn’t know anything about cats, but learned quickly and ended up running cat programs for adoptees, and spay/neuter for ferals later for many years.
No-one is a leftover. Those that may be deemed “leftovers” need a second chance. Nathan was a talker, I never got a last word in until I held him in my arms and they gave him the pink shot. Chani was so abused and at the end the community got together and gave a tree to our park in her memory. Mick was a retriever (post-it notes over the sofa) after spending a year in Chani’s bed, and a dog magnet. Zoe is a lover who is a mascot around here. She was never interested in birds for 13 years but tried to chase “Tom The Turkey” last week. He is the only creature that lives free, and for free, in our neighborhood and we “pardon” him on Thanksgiving every year.
My husband is a prize, not a leftover. When it comes to pets, please adopt from your local shelter. Cheers! Dee
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Do you remember the opening scene to “To Catch a Thief” when John Robie “The Cat” was on a boat with the soon-to be-caught “kitten” and he was wearing a blue and white-striped shirt?
I’ve a black and white one, tiny stripes and mock turtleneck, form-fitting. I’ll never be as good looking as he was.
My favorite line of the film was when Grace Kelly looked at his villa and said “Mother will love it here.” Priceless. Cheers from Dee
Posted in Editorial, Uncategorized
Tagged Cary Grant, Grace Kelly, movies, To Catch a Thief
There is a fine line. I believe there is hope in my husband’s future as he is very bright and deserves it. He has written a book I’ve not read yet because I’m waiting until he asks me to do so.
As to despair I miss Dad calling me every weekend and saying Hi, Dee! I could tell how his health was by the sound of his voice or when he could not call. I keep up two flowers and greens on my desk every week with a florist card just saying “Miss you, Dad!”
Today they’re really interesting Mums, one white, one yellow. I’ve other flowers around for my small family so I do care for the living.
I must go. I would rather hope or joy but not despair may be in the making. Dee
Posted in Editorial, Uncategorized
I learned a good bagel in my 20’s as it wasn’t available in the small village in which I was raised. Yet I learned the most from a NY Congressman who was anti-carb but loved bagels so carved a tunnel and filled it with cream cheese. I wonder what his suit size is now…..
Then I worked for the head boss as an analyst and my committee chair (RIP) had an assistant who aimed to please, another Irish lass. Most of our Committee were from NYC, and Jewish.
I had already learned that when I got to work for a 9:00 Committee meeting at six, I didn’t drink coffee and they didn’t know I was up for hours preparing everything for them so I had Diet Coke. I went out and bought a mug, kept it in the Chairman’s office and it looked like coffee. Most stopped razzing me.
Mary wanted to something really nice so went out and bought them “bagels” one morning, and a bagel slicer. Bad choice. Their wives bought or made the bagels and sliced them by hand. They laughed at the slicer.
I asked Mary not to serve the “bagels.” She did, anyway. I said “Mary, these aren’t bagels, they’re rolls with a hole in the middle. This won’t make it in the NYC Jewish community.” She served them anyway as I drank my Diet Coke from a coffee cup.
They were impressed with her enthusiasm and care for them, because no-one ever paid for this extra effort and none of us were paid well. It is just cultural differences I’ve tried to learn for decades and Mary only knew American-Irish. She was a sweet girl.
Before sexual harassment training elected officials would proposition me in the elevators. Not when my friend Tony was around, who operated a manual elevator up to my office and always called me “bella ragazza,” beautiful girl. He was probably Italian special forces and would kill anyone who was rude to me on his elevator. They replaced the mechanical elevators and Tony moved to Security. Hint?
One day I got them back. I was the only single person on my team so Boss would send everyone home. Dee can stay ’til 4:00 a.m., she’s single and has nothing to do and will call you if your bill comes up. Those were not computer days, it was a squawk box and when raises came up they’d say, well E and T each have three kids and a home. You have nothing. We’ll give you an extra hundred a year. Yeah, like that would pay the rent.
The other party had been driving us nuts. It was one of those long, lonely weeks at my desk listening to the awful box. Negotiations on niggly matters (my bailiwick) commenced at the end when everyone agreed, to disagree. I had a land sale by a “marginal,” meaning someone who got in, elected by the shave of his tail and no-one from the other party wanted him to win, anything.
It was a simple land sale of a small property on a river that was agreed to by both parties and the Governor’s Office and OGM, Office of Government Management. When I got a land sale I called OGM’s lawyer (speed dial) and asked if the specs were correct and if the State wanted to sell it. If he said OK I put it on my list.
The other party mounted an obstruction to this bill even though it was on the Speakers end-of-session to-do list agreed to by everyone. They asked my Chairman how large was the State-owned property the State wished to sell. It was four pages of gobbledygook from surveyors. My Chairman did not know what to do. I touched his hand and said “I know what to do. Let me.”
I took the Chairman’s bill, looked at it for a moment, and asked how large is the property? Was that your question? Four pages. They all laughed, voted against and we had more people so we won that day and at least had a shorter meeting. Heaven bless Diet Coke and a coffee mug for getting me through that. And Mary, she was a sweetheart. Dee
I have due to arthritis, now our dog is doing so as well. Her right front leg is getting a tiny bit lame or shaky during a long walk. My hips are worse so I miss those long walks she takes with my husband when he is home.
Don’t worry, I am not anywhere near to a having a disabled parking spot! I try and do walk seven blocks to my grocery store, 14 total blocks, three times per week. The more I walk, the better I am, even though my legs hurt and I have to lie down for 20 minutes. I can take Zoe around the block early morning when it’s cooler and we enjoy the walk.
My parents are gone and I’m the eldest and most frail so I am next. College friends, professors and mentors have gone. Do I wish to go? Absolutely not. I’ve work to do here and a little arthritis isn’t going to get me down. An old chiropractor marveled at my tolerance for pain… he’s the one that when I said I had a new car wanted to go out to the lot and see it. He wouldn’t let me tell him what it was and guessed it would be a fancy car and picked out a couple of cars. No, it was a new Army Jeep, 4WD, stick.
He was so excited and surprised at me, he asked if he could drive it, “of course!” My tolerance for pain came in when I needed to drive it to a client 100 miles away and back, same day. No A/C, hot weather, plastic windows and nothing with which to cushion my back or butt. Now that hurt. Plus my hair got messed up for a client meeting that usually lasted three hours before I could drive home.
Dad recently died and spent several years flying to cities that had facilities for his cancers. He spent most of his time at doctor appointments and scans and surgeries and other invasive procedures. I do not wish to start this now, or ever. I am young and strong and have work to do. Please, let me do it. Dee
Cooking with Dee 