Changing Roles

When we first met nearly 15 years ago my husband brought me roses. Usually arranged, in a vase. Eventually I ran out of room for vases so he bought me roses I needed to arrange, just at the time I needed to get dinner on the table. He’s allergic to cats so I found him a place 1,000 steps away. I brought over a few key kitchen elements (he only had a lame plastic colander from college days).

Oh, he has clues to make a grilled cheese sandwich but does not cook, at all. OK. He wanted to use all the kitchen machines I had before we met so we have made pancakes with whipped egg whites (he looked up a recipe) and fresh pasta with my hand-crank counter machine.

Both were successful. It would be fun if he can make cranberry or blueberry pancakes with our nephew over the holidays (before he becomes a teenager and stops talking to us)! I can call out the recipe and they can do the work! And clean up. That’s not a strength, the “human tornado” is called that for a reason. The tornado is the husband, not his younger brother’s son.

Yesterday I bought him pink and white tulips. I was running around doing things before he flew home (three hours late, got in after midnight and crashed on the bed after Otis-ing the lame old dog up).

The tulips were on the kitchen counter for 20 minutes or so while I was laundering and running a very loud and long dishwasher. I arranged the tulips, prepared the vase with flower food, cut the stems and voila!

The pink ones sagged but they all reached for the sun this morning so I turned them around. They are technically dead but still responding to food, water and sunlight. Kind of like family in hospice care. There for a week, my dear husband told my mother on her deathbed that he’d take care of me. He told me later, he has and will do so but I take care of him as well.

Sadly, my husband did get in after midnight, has a cold and I got up at five to get our dog out of his way, cover him and have tea and chicken soup ready to go. It’s nearly seven in the morning now and he’s snoring away. That’s the way he likes to deal with colds and flu. It works. If my brother had a cold/flu he could sleep 14 hours straight and awaken well. Whatever works.

Zoe is by my office chair, as always. We’ll let J sleep and see if any of our packages that were supposed to be here yesterday, arrived. Luckily his year’s supply of doc-ordered contacts arrived safely. He was in desperate need of those for work and life. I worry about him always.

He’s sick and is only home two days per week now. I can only hope that sleep, tea, soup, perhaps pizza or St. Louis style ribs will get him well. That is my wish. Dee

Landing

After 9/11 I was stuck overseas, seeing CNN all day and night and not being allowed to fly home. A week later after going to church and bell-ringing hand-holding ceremonies for the dead I finally got my way to Rome and home.

After I showed my passport all the Customs Agent could say, when he handed the passport back to me, was “Welcome home.” I burst into tears for the loss, the sadness and that I was alive and got to come home. My brother was outside the first tower ten minutes before it was hit.

A week later I met a man, he’s been with me since then, met, held hands, saw a movie and now we’re married 13 years and have a dog.

It will not come as a surprise to you that I now track my husband’s flights online. He landed 10 minutes ago so is probably in a car and may be home before midnight! He always sends a text with “I’m on the plane, airline and number. Love you!”

The Italians next door banged on our door yelling “CNN, CNN!” We had electricians, computer experts, random neighbors and workers watching with us for hours. Of course it was 4 p.m. in Italy and we watched both towers go down.

I used to work at WTC a lot, for the State of New York at their offices,  mostly to organize and conduct public hearings on issues of interest.

No-one is allowed, on a flight, to use a cell phone. I use my computer to tell if someone has blown up my husband’s plane. We love and need him at home. He loves his wife and older dog. We’re sorry his plane is three hours late because it’ll give us less time over the weekend. That’s all for now, I’ll forego the snarky stuff … Dee

Work

It means something to me, to my family and to my husband’s family. You work. Office, dairy, ranch, non-profit you work. Yes, you work 5-7 days a week, however many hours it takes to get the job done.

That’s just the way it is. Yesterday I spent the entire day with health insurance and taxes. It was not a productive day for someone who sets a goal and meets it. I did not with either.

My husband comes home two days per week but his flight is three hours late because of “wind.” We have strong winds every day but I still take out our old dog five times each day.

He’ll be in after midnight which is good, because he will not have to deal with a lazy employee we pay who is not keeping me safe. That’s why we pay to live here with 24/7 security. All our hirees are online, texting, ordering on Amazon or hanging out in the lobby for hours with a potential “significant other.” So much for the thief who robbed a lot of residents and got away. No-one ever looks at the security cameras. Many are on cell phones and never work.

I’m thinking of changing our domicile. Hate to do it to our old mutt but we may have to do so. My husband’s primary consideration is that I and our old dog are safe. We pay top dollar and they’re not fulfilling their obligation. It’s just the way it is. No crying over spilled milk. No emotion, just a conversation to see whether the Corporate meeting went well today and what investors they have in mind.

We are the flagship property and it would probably help if a trainee was not asleep in a chair when I took out Zoe at 6:45 this morning. Dee

Abandon

I’ve always wanted to say that word with meaning, but given a Teutonic upbringing I was unable to do so.

The first time I saw a photo of an English country garden I was amazed. It was tamed of weeds but allowed to grow in abundance. Food is another way to abandon and abundance. Get the freshest things you can find and figure out what to do with them. As the Italians and Greeks have told me, just take the best and don’t mess it up. Best olive oil, fish or meat, veg then have a bit of limoncello and strawberry granita. What could be better?

Alas, I went to a French cooking school where all these sauces were designed to cover rotting meat because there was no refrigeration. Do I have uses for the “mother” sauces? Of course. Not every day. I like to keep things simple, but cook with abandon. Perhaps someday I’ll learn to paint with abandon. For now I just need new glasses. Dee

Appointments

I have a great view, not so great weather. Live in a building overlooking a lake. Don’t worry, I’ve boots and shoes and coats for everything because we lived in the Rockies and are ready for even Mud Season (called Spring everywhere else but the Rockies).

Our dog, who we got as a rescue from the Pound and had to have two hips taken out and grow her own, has appointments. She’s about 86 in “people years.”

I’m running into Grandmothers who want to schedule to see our Zoe with their grandkids this summer. Should I ask her real grandma for approval?

If I’m pleased you must know our Zoe (Greek for “life”) is as well. She loves the attention and I must keep her bathed and combed out. Yes, she loves the bath/massage, has to air dry, no hair dryers, and hates being combed with Dee’s Torture Chamber of combs and brushes.

As she is the Queen, or Grande Dame here she will do her part and I’ll make it happen. Please tell her it’s OK to let the younger dogs keep ears out (one is blind) and she can snoopervise and take appointments from loving grandmas. All the best, Dee

p.s. Zoe’s Grandma M is far away. I will not place Z on a plane. For a farm family who once wanted to mow a goat pen for Zoe, I said no, she sleeps on our bed. Now Grandma M laments the holiday times we do not bring her, because of two things. Zoe cleans up anything we drop or spill in our 3-5 day cooking extravaganza, and she watches out for my father-in-law to come home from feeding the cows. On his portion of the sofa where he reads Civil War books.

I tried to take him up to New York, Vermont to see Revolutionary War sites and have a great photo of him framed, with my mother-in-law’s shadow taking the photo, at the Saratoga Battlefield. I also took them to the women’s suffragette location. No photos will be disclosed but I did get one. I’m keeping it under wraps for now.

Still the daughter of an ancient battle, the War of Northern Aggression as he calls it, we get along well but my dog is a Texas dog, born in the only state that was ever a nation. Proud of it.

If my father-in-law knew how much Texas kindness his son, daughter-in-law and adopted dog were bringing up here, he’d be proud and still miss us when miles away, our dog picks up that farm road dust and knows the ranch is nearby. Thank you sir, ma’am for everything. Dee

More is Sometimes Better

Sorry Julia Ormond, our “new” Sabrina. More is just not more for me. I did get to meet the first Sabrina, Audrey Hepburn, when she was volunteering for UNICEF. Michael Tilson Thomas created a new work at my father’s behest, that was played by the New World Orchestra, a youth group. Ms. Hepburn narrated across the US with the symphony, From The Diary of Anne Frank. I read it in 2nd grade and it shook my world.

I bought a small container called something other than it would have been called in Italy, an almost correct Caprese salad. Beautiful cherry tomatoes mixed with equal balls of fresh mozzarella.

It was bland, and this was my lunch. I added a tiny pinch of salt and pepper, tore two of my in-home grown basil leaves (it’s still too cold to plant outdoors) over the top and maybe drizzled on a quarter teaspoon of extra virgin olive oil.

Now that’s a salad! Other than dealing with government and health insurance all day and having no help or resolutions to anything at least I got a decent salad. Cheers! Dee

Foxes in Boxes

We will not accept faxes or foxes in boxes.

We will not accept UPS or FedEx,

We live to make your life miserable,

You got a refund we want to take back.

There are no extensions, no leniency

Even though I just ordered ink for our beast,

Yes, the printer

Do not use priority mail, it’ll cost extra and not get here soon enough.

NO EXTENSIONS!

You did not make one dollar in your state of record. Your tax professionals failed to send all your state filings and W-2’s because that’s not what they do. They will not electronically re-file today because they say they don’t have the information to do so.

I have to print everything out for you and have it there by the 24th and you will only accept USPS? What kind of government are we paying to live and spend money and not make a cent in a year, then pay as if we did make a salary here, get a refund then get audited?

They say it’s an information request, so did our tax folks. It’s an audit.

Guess what? We’ll need to eventually move to a no income-tax state. I did taxes for the IRS and four states for last year. We paid full taxes for every penny my husband made outside our state. Now they want to penalize us for it. Shame on the governor and his minions.

My mother, a CPA always told me to never take a “home office” deduction. I’m sure she was correct. Now I could tell her to never call yourself a “consultant.” You’ll be sent to the lower levels of Dante’s Inferno from reporting income and answering all questions. Not happy now, Dee

Ten Years Old

What would we give to be that age again, pre-adolescence. Think of nothing but a horse or zip line or Tory the ancient dog tottering down our driveway for a week then going back. The neighbors never asked, just knew he was being fed and taken care of.

Driving up the road to pick fresh blueberries, or down the hill to the farm stand where we’d buy a basket of fresh cherries and sit outside and chat. Even better, we were allowed to pick and eat all the fresh Concord (think Welch’s) grapes we could eat but were told that if we ever got into a grape throwing fight with the boys next door there’d be hell to pay.

I was learning that I was early, a year early in school and still smarter than people a year older. SG and I both had mothers that said their children had learned to read before kindergarten and would not be subjected to retrograde learning of phonics. So at age six I was reading The Diary of Anne Frank and Death Be Not Proud next to SG at the back of the classroom. I think he was reading comic books and sci-fi. He may have even changed his name to Spielberg…..

There was one other student that stood out and moved away when I was ten. M ended up being an architect and is now an airline pilot. We speak on the phone for a few moments every couple of years over the holidays and I ask about his daughters, one of whom is now in grad school. Our parents have common ties as do my aunts. We come from a small town where everyone knew one another. Cheers to the Conti’s!

M flew into town and will be around his 35-year stomping grounds after he left “home” at age ten. We may be able to get together for lunch tomorrow. It’s been only 47 years. My husband was excited and as he gets driven to O’Hare and back every week was only too willing to provide me with a Texas Land and Cattle restaurant to meet “halfway.” Ha ha, my mother’s family knows “halfway” means we go 3.5 hours, they drive five. Hey, it’s the middle of no-where and it had a pool!

You know I love my husband, nearly 15 years now. We’re committed for life and if a childhood friend were to get him jealous then I would not know my husband. He is a good, great man who is making a difference. J has met another gent who was a positive influence in my life. We all had lunch together in NYC. J is away on business but supports me and long-term friendship. He didn’t mind my two favorite priests, either! RIP Fr. John and Fr. Cap.

I wouldn’t have married J if I didn’t like the smart ones! I’ll have to ask Dad if at an early age I was able to place the square peg into the round hole by whittling it. I was, after all, the Concrete Chef, able to mix Portland cement, sand and water in a wheelbarrow at age eight, wheeling it first then getting water by the building site. Cheers! Dee

The Fear of God

Dad used his half bi-focal glasses to see us and drive and work, and the bottom bi-focal part to read the newspaper and work papers.

He also used them, at his young age of 40+, to scare off my potential boyfriends. Dad, with piercing blue eyes, would place the newspaper in his lap and look over the top of the glasses. “Where are you going?” “The movies, sir.”

What movie? If you can show me your newspaper I can show you the movie, it’s rated PG and I’ll have her home by ten. OK. They were so scared of him. I love him so much and have every day of my life. He didn’t want me to be weighed down, wanted me to be everything I could be in life. I’m not an astronaut or president of the US but he made me feel that I could be.

Tonight I ran into staff here, a young man nearing a bar exam. I said to him that he is concerned about his finals, bar exam and career. When I say hello to him I’ve been through that and leave him concerned about whether my dog poops. That’s retirement.

We’ll, I’ve got concierge care service in eyeglasses as well, as 20 years later than Dad needed bifocals, they’re now seamless so you can drive and read with the same glasses and not have five pair of drugstore glasses around the house for different purposes. These two are in the office, this in the bedroom and these in the living room. OK, we’re set.

I went wild this time, hopefully it’ll work sometime next week. My neighbor, who I respect and enjoy her and her husband’s company, has round glasses. The idea was based on famed Hollywood costume designer Edith Head. Also Alma Mode, the fictional animated character in The Incredibles who played… costume designer as I believe to be an amalgam of Edith Head and Linda Hunt, with tea.

With my age I may be able to pull it off, beautiful frames, it’s a matter if I can get used to the bifocals. Well, we don’t have kids, only an old spayed dog, and they’re not half, but full glasses so I’ll give it a try. I don’t have any young men to frighten, or gals. Plus, I don’t have the gravitas my father or husband bring to a situation. My husband sat on a plane today to get to work and occasionally had to take the hand of a passenger suffering panic attacks. Now that’s the man I know and love. No bi-focals with him. If it weren’t for his contacts, he’d be legally blind but still brilliant!

Thanks, Dad, for meeting every one of the boys, weeding out the bad ones. Come to think of it, there weren’t any bad ones, like criminals, only ones that weren’t good for me. Thanks for approving the one I picked forever. Cheers and watch out for your kids! Dee

To Wellness and Vision

I haven’t had new glasses for nine years, prescribed, only reading glasses from the drug store around the house in various strengths, and rooms (in sleeves to keep dust off) for computer, reading, very light for walking the dog, cooking. Reading cookbooks would take more than I have in that room.

Luckily I do read cookbooks as books when I get them. Then I am more likely to recall which book it came from or have the wherewithal to pull something new up. Also I’m lucky to be a cook, not a baker. And to move across country with not a single book, for three years, and if I wanted to cook a Texas chili I’d just look up the LBJ Presidential Library and find Lady Bird’s recipe and change things up Dee-style.  Hey, I bring that chili into my grocery for my butchers, and we choose the meat and I break it down and do the Texas grind at home by myself.

Anyone can put up a trifle with cake, flavored whipped cream and berries. That’s my kind of dessert. I can also make mincemeat tarts with homemade pastry and mincemeat from a jar or vanilla ice cream (good stuff from the store) with berries. I just don’t sift through recipes for desserts.

This year I went for a glasses homage (won’t have them for at least two weeks) to style and three ladies I admire: my neighbor A, I can’t wait to show them to her; the famed Hollywood costume designer Edith Head; and the animated film “The Incredibles” designer, based on Edith Head, Edna Mode.

As for now, until I need a prescription refilled or have an issue, I’m retiring for a year from having my eyes poked and probed and fluffed five times in three weeks. I’ll try on my new glasses in a couple of weeks and if they work I may have my old ones fitted with new lenses as in-home back-up. No-one is touching my eyes for a year. Cheers and see well, also have vision. Dee