Pack Leader

I am the pack leader at home. Not when the “fun guy” my husband comes home for a day or two. I am the dog walker and food wench, and disciplinarian. She’s 12. 84 in “people years.” So, she’s older than me.

Zoe the dog is going in this weekend for blood tests and shots and a general exam from her vet who now does acupuncture. Cool, that’s why I chose this practice. Oh, Zoe had her hips excised as a pup, severe hip dysplasia in a 24 lb. pup.

I’m wondering how difficult it is for people, adults with enough money to afford it, to get health insurance through ACA, non-subsidised. Insurers we’ve had will not answer the phone unless one wants a marketplace plan with subsidies. After one company screwed us, accepting a check after several phone conversations, not cashing said check then never returning a phone call means there are holes in ACA. After we did much research we found a broker who is setting us up. Why is my dog’s lifetime, tattered health care folder larger than mine?

I cancelled that check and it’s back in our HSA account. As to the dog question, we pay cash and will do so this weekend for her senior blood panel and shots. No-one will offer insurance for our hip-less wonder dog. I think pet insurance is a crap shoot anyway. I chose her vet for a reason, acupuncture, acupressure as Zoe ages. Yes, research.

Do research for everything. I do it for a few things and my husband is the ultimate consumer. I find places to live and he vets things to buy. We’ve been married over a decade and he told his parents to get us a Kitchenaid food processor for an elopement gift because his detailed research said it was better than competitors. I agree and have been using it for years.

I have my pack. Keeping it together is stressful with my husband gone to work elsewhere all the time. I never know what to cook when he comes home. If he’s eating beef all the time I want to change it up and make it homey as he only eats in restaurants.

Zoe and I are home. We want him here. We miss him. Dee

 

What She Brings

is way more than we ever could have expected.  Of course Zoe is a herder. She is so kind with adults, kids, other dogs and in her lifetime has always liked cats as well. Sorry, two mice digging out from winter snow out west.

She’s getting old but is healthy. I’m calling her vet to ask if she needs more that the kennel cough vaccine as to a postcard reminder.  Another senior blood panel may not be warranted as yet.

I’ll check my Dallas vet. She’s my husband’s cousin, who excised Zoe’s hips as a pup. Yes, our Zoe had the worst hip dysplasia in a 24 lb. pup she’d ever seen on an x-ray. She grew her own hips and at age 12 is 32 lbs. They never made hips for dogs under 6o lbs. back then so we had to give our girl a chance. I don’t know what she could do today but back then when she recovered she could corner around a tree, get a ball, bring it back to me and the Retriever or Lab would be looking around clueless. Who got the ball?

Hips from one’s own cartilage. It took a while to heal. When she stole a pound of prime steak off our counter I thanked my husband for putting it away because he doesn’t go into my kitchen except to get ice or Dr. Pepper and he said “I didn’t do it” then we looked at Zoe and she was licking her paws. We laughed.

Zoe brings joy to our days, life to our years. Everyone in the neighborhood knows her name (not usually mine) and they introduce their kids and dogs to her, knowing that she is cute and friendly.

In olden days she, at age 84 in “people years” may be called the Grand Dame, the highest status, but she is a dog. I prefer to call her my, our, Zoe and leave it at that. She herds us in the house and makes friends with everyone out on a walk. She brings love to our home and life and is family. Please adopt and spay/neuter. Cheers from D and Z

ps Thanks to Nathan, Chani and Mick Dundee (Mickey) as well. They were also my rescues over the past years I worked in shelters and spay/neuter clinics.

pps Someone asked me while I was volunteering at a community services event for a shelter showing a pup years ago why I was so mean that I couldn’t adopt this cute puppy. I told her if adopt all of the unwanted and strays that would be an untenable situation. I’ve had four wonderful pets over 30 years.

I Bought Him Flowers

My husband, a small bunch of pink and yellow tulips in vase overlooking the lake. He flew in Saturday afternoon for a steak and baked potato dinner.

Easter Sunday we took it easy, I’d gotten a rack of lamb the day before and marinated it in olive oil, salt and pepper, sprigs of fresh thyme and leaves of rosemary all day. I forgot the garlic, the entire head was in a bowl elsewhere.

Simple roasted rack of lamb, boiled red potatoes with butter and seasonings, and a salad with his favorite vinaigrette, no, not mine from a half dozen acids including several vinegars and fresh lemon and extra virgin olive oil, he wants bottled ranch dressing so he got that one.

It was a good weekend. Perhaps Texas Chili and my Ten-Minute Lasagne (on the site) next weekend. As a young girl or young adult you could always see me reading cookbooks and helping out if I was allowed to do so.

Thanks to all who helped me learn how to cook, from a very young age to caterers to college (I cooked for all my roommates) to work, work, work, then cooking schools. I thank everyone for contributing to my education.

Recently unable to sleep or really read because of an eye issue I’ve been up at night watching/listening to The Mind of a Chef, brainchild of Anthony Bourdain, and Michael Pollan’s concise and interesting distillation of his book Cooked.

It is fascinating to learn more about cultures, flavors, icky things I may never like to eat (not on the show but I never had haggis in Scotland) but Chef Pollan brought something to light. Many folks I know never cook a thing. I cook three meals a day plus feed and take my dog out, another thing people hire out.

Yes, my sink nearly fell below because the glue that held it together was not strong enough. Why? It’s a double sink and I use it many times a day and do hand-wash certain special dishes, large pots and pans and wash my hands. In the years we’ve been here no-one has seen this happen, because no-one cooks.

Dear Michael Pollan,

I like the way you pull people in instead of push them to feed their family healthy, home-cooked foods. For nearly thirty years I’ve shopped the outer aisles of the grocery store. I barely know my produce folks because they change out all the time but I bring my Texas Chili (Pedernales riff, of course no beans) to my butchers. Yes, I’ve a meat grinder on my 28 year Kitchenaid and at my age move it across the kitchen to put on the grinder.

I graduated PKU, Peter Kump’s which is now ICE.

I pick out all my 4# of hand-chosen meat (sale days are great) and take it down and do a Texas grind. The rest of it is up to the onions, garlic and spices. You may want to look up Lady Bird Johnson’s Pedernales River Chili that was served in 1962 for 5,000 guests at the Ranch west of Austin. The guest list included JFK. If you look up the Lyndon Johnson Presidential Museum it’s on the site, or just Google it.

It’s very generic as a recipe because they don’t have what we do today and I’ll never use “chili powder,” so make my own from Penzey’s. This recipe was the most requested White House document in 1962 before JFK was killed.

Sharing this information is important to our future. Cooking made us human. Shopping at a grocery store for microwave or ready-made foods is ok a day or two a week but it probably means you’re at the TV and spouse is online and the kiddos never got to have dinner with their family.

Caring for one’s family is most important. Don’t tell your kids how many hours you had to work this week.  Tell them you’re having what I’ve done for kids, MYOP night. I make pizza dough in advance but if they’re not my kids (we don’t have kids) I always have them make a ball of dough before they get tired to take home and rise in the frig for tomorrow.

Kids roll out their own dough and top their own pizzas with anything from caramelized onions and anchovies, tomato and plain mozz, pepperoni and it runs the gamut from sauteed spinach, roasted garlic………

 

The Rules

I love my aunts. They kept the Oxford English Dictionary above the loo in the powder room. I was expected to open to any page and find a word I didn’t know. Then after I left the loo I had to pronounce the word, spell it, define it and use it in a sentence.

The other set of Aunt rules (I had many more at home with my parents dealing with chores) was to taste before asking what was in a recipe.

Taste things. I think I stop at crickets and monkey brains, not that they did any of that. They just wanted us to expand our palates and did so. Aunts L and J helped me to learn to love Roquefort cheese and many other things.

They helped me learn and made me smart literally, culturally and with food. Thank you so much. One Aunt recently sent me a crayon drawing from age five that I sent her, of the Tin Man, Cowardly Lion, and Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz, with tiny me (Dorothy) on the back of the lion.

She told me it needed to be framed. I did so and it is my husband’s favorite work of “art.” Knowledge is why we help family members go to private schools. Hearing the brain “click” when we get something or figure out who we (not what we) will be in life took me a long time to figure out.

If my Aunts were not here for me I would not be the me that I am as I am always seeing if they would approve this missive. Much of the time they will not as I am usually profligate with parentheses and commas. I probably would have failed that course but done OK with Romeo and Juliet.

For nine years I’ve had a blog. I wouldn’t have had the courage to write without my Aunts. Thank you. With love from Dee

Childhood Rituals

As young girls my mother and her sisters would climb to the seven churches of Montreal, ending with the one where crippled kids and adults would crawl up hundreds of steps to shed their crutches and walk back down. I am a bit dubious of that.

After I and my sister were born we went through the traditional Catholic education and Mass every Sunday. Mom used to make us sit on the sofa while she read The Passion on Good Friday. Why they called it “good” I never learned.

On Easter Sunday we’d get a small gift, the only one I can remember is that we received matching Keds red plaid sneakers. Of course we could not wear them to Mass. Get your Easter dresses, socks and shoes, girls. Don’t forget your hats and white gloves or we’ll be late! I think after church we each got a small hollow chocolate bunny. Probably after dinner so it wouldn’t spoil our appetites. That’s how I remember it.

It’s interesting that as a private cook I don’t remember what we ate after church. Probably ham. I think I was five or six with the sneakers, because of where we were living and photos I recall. Mom’s no longer around to correct me and I’m certain Dad doesn’t remember such a small childhood moment.

We will not read The Passion of Christ this year. I may even cook lamb for dinner. There will be no church service of any sort, my husband’s or mine. I get to see him nearly two days per week. I believe we pray quietly on our own, and do not need a priest or preacher to guide us. If we do, we will ask for one.

My father was cut out of my weekends because when my parents married the Priest made him promise to make us kids Catholic. He was Lutheran. Oh, they could sing. My husband was introduced to an individually-organized Texas church and just went to a service with his parents last weekend. No choirs, only single voices, and no dancing. What fun is that?

Do you wonder why we eloped with six friends? Wine vs. iced tea, dancing or not. It would have been a disaster. Plus my parents were divorced after many years. Mom is gone for years and Dad is older and ill. They never met my in-laws but know/knew my husband. Perhaps we’ll ask the Lord to renew our vows before family. In the Easter festiveness, please do not send me red plaid Keds. Dee

“Lite”

I’ve always hated that word. When my English teacher aunts allowed me to use their powder room there was the OED atop the loo. I was expected to take out the dictionary, learn a word, spell it and use it in a sentence.

They would be horrified that the non-word “lite” has become common verbiage.

Years later my colleague and house-mate knew where to go for free food. Insurance industry Monday with Oysters Rockefeller. Tuesday was free tacos at the judge’s and lawyers’ pub, you get the picture.

She actually put a banana in her purse once. We were working crazy hours with no pay. For a week we decided to get frozen food that was low in calories.

It tasted OK but in the end she said “two of these might make a dinner.” We agreed and haven’t been in touch for a while but I love her and her family for making me a better person, and cook. Yes, her brother has stories about me making tapenade for a party and the assistant I sent to the store didn’t get pitted olives, get it? He was bringing up a keg and caught me. My food processor was not happy with olive pits.

If there was ever a family I wanted to know it was this one. And when we all, about 20, went camping I brought utensils. seasonings et al. The guys went out early morning and thankfully gutted the trout they had caught. I had my flour and seasonings and I cooked it up for everyone and it’s some of the best fish I’ve ever had.

Some are memories and camaraderie, some taste memories of the freshest fish I’ve ever cooked and eaten (with a hand pump and a loo across the way). It was a good weekend. I’m glad I brought ingredients. That’s me, Dee

 

Dead or Alive

I prefer alive. The tulips I bought last weekend and refreshed yesterday with the florist’s care are going strong. The purples, yellows and white pink look beautiful. Spring at 36 degrees outside.

Yes, they will die, as will I but not today. Today is for my family, as our dog Zoe would say, her pack. I have to get back to my pack. Cheers, Dee

The Ladies of Oban

We lived in Scotland a while and went to Oban one day hoping to get to an island offshore. We missed the boat by moments and toured this lovely town, had lunch and found a knittery where local ladies knit fisherman’s sweaters for their husbands and others. I was lucky to find a dark pink hand-knit cardigan.

I’ve been saving it for years for special occasions and keep it safe in my closet. I’m wearing it now instead of a blanket. It makes me warm and cozy, oh, and rain-resistant. My husband doesn’t come back by sea, although we look out on one. He comes back by air and car. The wind determines his flight trajectory. but he’s driving up from another airport.

Yes, I’ve even written the shop a poem about it and the Fishermans’ sweater my mother knitted me when I was a kid. No-one in the family knows where it is. I’m wearing my pink cardigan from the Oban ladies now and am toasty warm. Thank you, all the knitters in my life from Scotland, New York and PDX-land. Dee

She Sleeps

I mustn’t be away for more than a few moments. I love the fact that my husband and dog can go to sleep in less than two moments and go through the night and I cannot do so. If I leave dog Zoe for more than five minutes she’ll come to check on me and I don’t want to have to lift her up to the bed again.

Perhaps I’ve the herding job now, making sure they’re safe from the wolves and coyotes and wild pigs. Yes, in a high-story building with no open windows and no way to get up here. But they’re there on the ranch. All of them. Zoe is on a close leash all the time there. After years we’ve never had a problem, even with bulls or baby goats.

Husband will be home late tomorrow for a partial weekend with us but it’ll be business most of the time. No time to make Texas chili. I know what he wants, my spaghetti and meatballs but he ate that last weekend. I would love to make him something he loved from my childhood that I haven’t cooked for him for years. Perhaps that is for tomorrow. Tonight I’ve skirt steak with loaded baked potatoes and green beans. He’ll be in in a little over an hour. I have to work on his time, not mine. He’ll be fine. I’m hungry and will save the next for tomorrow.

I made up the recipe from my mom and will let you know if it works. She used to use canned orange juice. I start with the chicken floured with spices, a whole chicken or whatever you want to use, saute and remove. Add onion and garlic, you can make it spicy. Start off some rice. After the rice is nearly done add chicken and orange juice to the pan halfway in, or just place it it in the oven and marry the flavors the last ten minutes.

We never did orange zest because mom used frozen OJ but with all of these products, my butchers, my produce and deli folks give me ideas and I bring a taste test to them. Yes, I bring food into the grocery store to share with our purveyors.

Zoe’s not by my desk yet, yes she’s back sleeping soundly as I wish I could. Now she’s here, two feet away I must go. Cheers! Dee

 

The Signs of Silence

I know about Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel and The Sound of Silence.

This is me with a herder dog who has stayed by my side for over 12 years, and a a sighthound diva yapper clicker, whatever she can do to make me take her out six times in seven hours.

My Zoe does not see or care for any birds, including the turkey who lives around here and is “pardoned” every year. When the dogs sleep, they sleep. Quiet. Not bugging me for anything, not playing or coveting a bed or a ball. They settle down and it’s magical.

There’s no sound except REM sleep and chasing rabbits and squirrels in their sleep. I wish I could sleep that deeply and well. Guest dog is sprawled out near the door, she must know her mama is on a plane back to the US.

Zoe is two feet from my desk, of course, always the herder. They’re quiet. I have to do a lot of things before my husband flies home this afternoon. He’s already on his first plane.

I don’t have all the ingredients I want for a perfect weekend but have enough to make his favorite spaghetti and meatballs. It’s early. I’ve six hours to plan and prep, shop and cook but right now, shhhh, I don’t want to wake “the girls.”

Any silent moment is a gift. I am not the dog igloo that one climbs. Dee