Getting ready to go to a big wedding. I can't believe how stressful it has become and I'm just the Auntie. I know it will be very nice and I'm really excited. Her comes the bride....
This will be added to the Wedding book I'd like to write. Got any comments of best or worst parts of your wedding or weddings you have gone to?

Thus ends my future career as a chef before it even begins. I'm finished reading Heat and have a better understanding of the rich and famous badboy chef, Mario Batali and life in a professional kitchen. Way too hot and stressful for me. And I don't have the knowledge or know how. Besides, I may have red hair, but I'm not a celb or a want-to-be. Buford gives a sweat by sweat description of each of the kitchen stations and the people who operate them. He worked in Mario's famous New York restaurant, Babbo.

The author then goes on a quest to understand Italian food and it's people and history. He makes the adventure come alive by working with the people in Italy who have not become rich and famous, but are the sixth generation who have butchered, or made pasta, or created foods from the regions traditions and ingredients.

At one point, Buford is on a mission to find out about making pasta, specifically putting egg in pasta. As he said, no one understood his urgency to find the answer to the question. I can relate because when I have a question about foods or ingredients I research and research until I find an acceptable answer. Buford used many old accounts that have recently been translated to help understand the cooking traditions of Italy, one reference dated back to 1351.
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So finding out about pasta and all kinds of Italian meats and methods of preparing was very interesting and inspiring. One enlightening idea was the use of all kinds of meat: lamb, rabbit, duck, pork, beef, wild game, etc, and all parts of the animal. In fact, the cooked meats turn into a brown mush. Raveoli is stuffed with any and all meat parts. I thought that this idea might be disgusting to the general population who have no idea what they eat. The menu at Babbo includes all kinds of things that Americans are not supposed to like- headcheese, octopus, beef cheeks, lamb's tongue, and calf brains.

Now, I was raised on a farm and my dad was a trapper, so I understand what these items are and how they are made. I vowed that, as an adult, I would never eat many of these foods because I had no choice as a kid. Looking at the list my mom cooked lamb, pork, beef, goat, chicken, turkey, goose, duck, rabbit, squirrel, raccoon, beaver, and venison. Pretty impressive. We did draw the line at headcheese, brain, and kidney pie. However, I have eaten these foods. I do know the idea of using what you have, in season, and making it by hand which is a theme in this book.

So, even though I love watching Mario B. on Iron Chef and looking at his new line of cooking items, after reading this book, I feel a real kinship to Bill Buford especially when he cut up the side of pork on his kitchen counter in his New York apartment. I wish I could remember all of the names of foods that Bill learned about. And I appreciate the recognition brought to the not so famous people in Italy who don't give a @@@ about business, but consider themselves artists.

If I go to New York, I would still like to go to Babbo. I will really have to look over the menu though.

Birthday Celebration at the Blue Tractor.

We, five friends, celebrated my friend's major birthday at the newest, hopping place in town, the Blue Tractor. It was a surprise party.

The Blue Tractor use to be Dill's Olde Towne Saloon, which was an Olde Towne fixture. Now, the building is updated with a mod whitewashed brick exterior and a farm machinery and tractor theme. The lights over the booth are galvanized pails hanging upside down. The lights over the mirrors (tin ceiling tiles with mirror glass), in the bathroom, have galvanized piping as the part that holds the light itself. Lots of gears, picture frames that look like the tread of an old threshing machine, and close-ups of farm implements . Definitely one-of-a kind decor. Bar in the middle of the room surrounded by high tables and chairs, and booths around the outside edge. A new look that's appropriate for our area.

The lunch menu was fairly extensive, including macaroni and cheese(woooopeee), and reasonable. We started out with an order of cheese and bacon french fries. We shared a Loaded Wedgie which is a wedge of iceberg lettuce with blue cheese dressing, bacon bits, and candied pecans. Yummy. Two friends shared a Farmer's Market salad. When the salads came, we ask if they had been halved and the waiter said it looked bad, so they were larger than the amount halved. This is the way to go because, even sharing, there was a large amount of food. We also shared an order of grilled chicken wings to dip in cherry chipotle (one of the dips). To finish off the birthday lunch, we ordered the banana split. This was three large scoops of Moomer's ice cream (chocolate cherry, vanilla, and strawberry) . The split had the traditional whipped cream, a maraschino cherry, and at least two split bananas along the side. This was served with five spoons. Thank goodness, the salad and wings were our version of the South Beach diet so we could splurge on dessert. :)

The downside was that a group of about two dozen Red Hat ladies were also having lunch at tables across from us. The restaurant has never been known for its good acoustics and we found that it hadn't changed with the new decor. It was loud!

But, we had a great time. Happy Birthday to my dear, dear friend CT.

Faster than a speeding grater. Safe on the knuckles. I'm endorsing the Microplane rotary cheese grater. Very nice.

This cheese grater comes in black, has two metal wheels that can shred the cheese really thick or one that does the cheese really fine. It is easy to use. Just put in a small amount of cheese, face the opening toward your food, and turn the handle. Yummy ground cheese on your pasta . And what a breeze to clean up. The handle opens and drops out the grater wheel. It is made of heavy plastic, durable and yet attractive ( if you can say that about a cheese grater).

Big Fred got this contraption for Christmas. We use it when we have pasta or tacos. I got it at Crystal Crate and Cargo which is the ultimate kitchen store. I think it cost about $20 which was very reasonable. And the cheese tastes better when it comes in a chunk.

Don't wait until you need a cheese grater. Go to a kitchen store, browse, and just putts. It' s more fun than window shopping or going to the mall. In my case, I don't think it would be cheaper.

I'm tooling down the road past my house, sun beating down, wind in my hair, waving to the folks out getting their mail. No, not in my Subaru, in a bright yellow VW Bug convertible. I know it would be just the car for me.

Go crazy. Live a little. Convertibles are so much fun. Once Frannie and I conned a friend into letting us take his little black Miata for the day. We got up early, got the top down, wrapped our neck with a scarf (Pia Isadora style) and cruised to a nearby town, stalling once or twice but were confident as the day progressed. On our return home, we cruised down Front Street to see if we could be noticed by anyone we knew. We went down the strip once more since we had no one to show off to. I mean, come one, half the fun is showing off to anyone who might notice. That was the day we changed our names to use on special occasions. We were rich girls driving our little sports car, nose in the air, cool sunglasses ( a must when one is being cool), and scarf blowing in the wind hoping to avoid being choked to death by the scarf wrapping around a tire. A fantasy played out. It was glorious!

So, I've been talking about sports cars for days. Pointing out neat cars everywhere we have gone. Oh, is that a Spitfire, an MG Midget, a Corvette? (like I know anything about cars). Oh, but did I mention that we have a sports car. We have a Jeep with a soft top and windows that can come out. It's Big Fred's work car. Anyway, Big Fred took out the windows and folded the top down and I had my convertible.

Let me tell you, I loved it. Sun beating down on my head, wind blowing in my hair, and lots of blue sky, white puffy clouds, and smells. The blue was intense. The clouds had flat bottoms and were close overhead. They were combining wheat and that has a warm musty straw smell that anyone from farm country would recognize right off. We say seven Sandhill cranes standing in the field. Of course, when we came to town, there was car exhaust, loud gear shifting from the big trucks loaded with cherries sloshing in their water containers. And, when it got cold, we put the heater on and warmed our legs.

All in all, it was a great day for enjoying the open air. I still would like a VW bug, but don't have to wait if Big Fred takes to using his sports car.

Hardware on kitchen cupboards is such a joy. I've lived in this house for over 30 years and finally have the pleasure of opening the drawer with a drawer pull. Of course, out of habit, I grabbed the corner or the silverware drawer and tugged because it sticks. Then I looked down and realized that I could easily pull it open using the handle. Oooh! Ahh!

As with many things, a little change can make a big difference. It makes the kitchen look like a new place. Very modern-pewter with porcelain drawer pulls and round polished nickel knobs on the cupboard doors. It reminds me of an old-apothecary cabinet. This style makes sense since my kitchen walls are made out of handhewn square logs. The kitchen was an 18x20 log cabin that is going on 200 years old. Big Fred, an accomplished carpenter, had the job finished in no time and such a delight.

Of course, there was the great tado about which hardware to get. I ordered, sent back, bought knobs to try out; have to take them back. Not the right size bolts to go from the outside of the drawer to the inside. We ended up using stainless steel screws. Now our kitchen is really stylin thanks to Pottery Barn and Home Depot. And Big Fred. Yes!!

Number 3 on the list of summer reading. The Education of Little Tree is the rememberance of a Cherokee boy's childhood. Little Tree is raised by his grandparents and learns the Cherokee "way" including a trade: whiskey making. The story takes place in the 1930's and is claimed to be a true story of Forrest Carter's (the author) life.

I love this sweet story of the granpa and granma's teachings. Little Tree knows his place in the world. He is part of the trees, river, animals, and the mountain. It made me feel warm and happy. I can relate because I also am drawn to the land that I make my home on. I have history here; my history includes the trees, creeks, animals and hills that surround me and the teachings of my parents, grandparents, and neighbors.

It is a well documented that Native American children were "rescued" and placed in schools and orphanages. Little Tree learns first hand about politicians and religion when he is placed in a church run orphanage. Of course, Little Tree is a bastard and is beyond the realm of God. I guess I needed a good cry because that's what I did through the last few chapters.

I have always wondered about how our society places so little value on children. (Hard to articulate). I think that is part of the reason why I was so sad. Need a good cry?

Shiprock, New Mexico is just east of Teec Nos Pos, Arizona where I started my teaching career on the Navajo Reservation. On a January day, I packed my car in the ice and snow and with my friend Suzie in convoy, headed west. I felt like Columbus when he thought he would drop off the edge of the earth.

The move was major. I had purchased my first car and prayed that the light would stay green so I wouldn't have to shift as I went up my first hill. I had never been so far from home or so far away from the familiar, like green trees and grass and blue lakes and clean water. I didn't know how to pronounce the name of the town I was going to and had no idea what my teaching assignment would entail. But, I was an expert on Navajo culture. I had read one book. Oh my! I could handle "them Indians" (no disrespect intended) since I had just come from a teaching job in an inner city school. Needless to say, I had more to learn than just shifting my car.

I was thinking about my experience today. It changed my world-view and my life. Who would have imagined?

To go gray or not to go gray? That is the question.

O.K. I said I would stop coloring my hair once I retired. So, I'm retired. I said I liked it colored because I'm a professional and I felt I should be concerned about personal appearance since I was an example for children. I said, I never did such a thing when I was younger because I couldn't afford it and it just wasn't what the women in my family did. More reasons for hair color: my hair is gray and white (or all white for all I know), I always wanted to be a redhead, I enjoy pampering myself, I deserve it, it's fun.

On the other hand, my husband bluntly pointed out that if it is to attract men, it wasn't working. :) And, how shallow if it was an ego thing. "Vanity, vanity....

So, I'm old enough to realize all of these arguments pro and con. Maybe I just am not a risktaker (although I encourage everyone else to take risks). Maybe I don't want to come to grips with the idea that I'm getting old. Maybe it will look bad. I wish I could put my face on different hair colors like they can draw a house or plan a kitchen with CAD.

I haven't convinced myself one way or the other. Usually, I don't put these ideas out any further than my friends, but how does the world feel about old ladies dyeing their hair? I'll take all thoughts on the subject under consideration.

I hate it! Wind and rain! I live on a hill so we get major wind. When storms move in from the west, our hilltop home is a grand attraction to lightning. When I was a kid, I thought thunder was the bad guy. Sure, whoever told me that?

Last week's storm was very scary because our house was hit by lightning three times. The strike took out the answering machine, came in as a ball of light near the microwave, and came down the hotwater heat copper pipe in another ball of light. I was shaking, to say the least, and sat on the floor in the living room with the dog until the storm passed. Luckily, I had just stopped talking on the phone to my sister. Toast.

Yesterday's storm had only one lightning strike , again, near the microwave. But, the wind was really blowing and rain came in sheets. It took a branch out of a big poplar tree in the backyard. We spent some time picking up leaves and branches. In places, it flattened the flowers. Otherwise, no damage.

Thank goodness for the rain. This area seldom gets 90 degree temps day after day. The lawn was burning up. Chance of forest fires was high. And no one could sleep at night, even with a window air-conditioner on.

Today is gloriously sunny, cool, and green. However, I still hate rain and wind and lightning.

Oh, Fannie Flagg, you are too hilarious. I chuckled, I tisked, and I outright belly laughed. Can't Wait to Get to Heaven is the story of elderly Elner Shimfissle (even the name is humorous) who dies, goes to Heaven, and is sent back. Her influence on others, over her long life, is not a surprise, but some of the events are. Some of the events in Heaven are a surprise, too. I loved Fannie Flagg's ideas about Heaven.

Elner has always asked questions and finds out the answers to: What came first, the chicken or the egg? and Why are we here?

Flagg is right up-to-date with references to Martha Stewart and Pottery Barn. The characters live in the present day, fast-paced world. The questions aren't new ones and neither is the theme, but the story is uplifting, hopeful, and sweet.

It's a great way to spend a summer afternoon. It's a must read book.

Detective Precious Ramotswe is back in her lopsided white van solving the latest mystery in her area of Botswana. Mma Ramotswe and her assistant Grace Makutsi are dealing with problems on the nature preserve, a whistle-blower, and blackmail. Both ladies take a look at what makes them happy. Grace thinks that blue shoes will make the difference. Precious, who is traditionally built, decides to go on a diet, but after reflection concludes that she really doesn't want to change. Of course, the personal growth is as interesting as the traditional "who dunnit". So, a mystery within a mystery.

I enjoy this series because it is a glimpse into the African culture with women in the key positions. Smith has made this another entertaining story in The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency Series.

I have to admit, that I liked the first book best, (No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency) because Precious Ramotswe ( the main character) is more developed, created and nurtured by the author. I don't think Blue Shoes and Happiness gives enough of the background to help the reader fully understand.

I noticed that Smith is really developing the secondary characters: Grace and Mr. Polopetsi (whom Mma Ramotswe has befriended and works in her husband's garage). Could it be that there will be some spin-off with these characters? Precious keeps talking about moving back to her home village. Maybe she'll have a franchise detective business. :)

The Ginger Tree , by Oswald Wynd is book number two in my read-every-summer series. I was surprised at how much I had forgotten.

The story takes place in China and Japan from 1903-1942. The book is in journal and letter form written by a Scotswoman, Mary MacKenzie, telling about living in the Far East. In the beginning, she is on her way to Peking to marry Richard, who is a military attache. She carries a frugal trousseau and naive ideas about marital bliss. Once married, she sees little of her husband and is abandoned by the European community when she has an affair with a Japanese nobleman. Her daughter, Jane, is taken from her and is sent to England to be raised by Richard's mother. Mary is taken to Japan under the direction of Kentaro ( her lover) who takes her as his mistress. So, her life involves surviving as a Westerner, and a woman in cultures that have little tolerance for women. Her story describes life during two world wars and the Tokyo earthquake of 1923.

Since I have visited Japan, I look for descriptions of places I have been. And, I'm always interested in other cultures and the woman's role there. This is an easy read and has some unpredicted turns of events that I haven't included. On to the next book!

It's called Catchfly or None-So-Pretty. This magenta flower is all over my garden and I have been wondering what is was. I found out not too long ago when KFOL had it's annual Garden Walkabout.

I was incharge of a garden which was touted as a planted-from-seeds garden. What a pleasant surprise! Along a dirt road, you would notice the gardens right next to a nicely made stone column and rail fence. This was impressive, but not so glorious as the 20x40 or so garden hidden behind the house. This was a mass of color: blue Bachelor's Buttons, orange California poppies, fragile red and white poppies, bright red orange poppies, hollyhocks, white daises, golden Sweet Marguerite, pink, red, burgundy and pink/white Sweet Williams, and vibrant passionate pink Catchfly. This scene was like stepping into a Monet painting. Colleen (the owner) just dead-heads the flowers and puts them where she wants new plants. I asked if she covered them with soil, and she said, "No, nature doesn't do it that way."

So, as the garden was being toured and I was the tour guide pointing out the features and answering questions, a master gardener told her friends that the plant with the five petal star flower was Catchfly. My favorite reference, The Flower Family Album, Fisher and Harshbarger (1941), puts this plant in the Pink family with some species carrying a sticky gum high on their stems to keep away unwlecome insects.

I have been dead-heading them and placing them around my garden thanks to Colleen's advice. They are very colorful and an easy, cheap addition. Another great reference for wildflowers is http://www.wildflowerinformation.org/default.asp.

No, it's not the yellow brick road. Big Fred is making a serpentine brick path from the brick patio to the bricked-in garden. It looks very charming like a Mary Engelbreit drawing.

We have a cottage garden with vegetables and flowers, mostly flowers. I planted one eggplant and two zucchini. I think the plants are stunted since they don't seem to be thriving. The tomatoes, however, are doing well. The cherry tomato plants are rather gangly, but I have loads of little tomatoes already on them. It's hard to buy just four tomato plants when you have been raised on a farm with 200 tomato plants. I started with four plants, but then wanted some yellow pear tomatoes. What I thought were yellow pear turned out to be more cherry tomatoes, so now I'm up to eight plants. I finally purchased four yellow pear tomato plants which are still pretty small. So, most of my garden is tomatoes. The good thing is that I like to make salads with tomatoes. My husband doesn't like them. And since we are gentlemen farmers ( our definition is that we plant it, but don't care if anything is harvested).

Big Fred does like roses and clematis vines. We have a lovely variety of both and they're just starting to bloom. So, the brick path connects the house with the garden. I'll be happy when it is completed because, as my son always taunted, "She loves her garden!"

A Walk Down The Road.
I turn out of my driveway past the white house with black shutters I was raised in, turn left, north, for a walk down the road. I've gone down this way many times. I pass large Colorado blue spruce that my dad planted. They were to be sold for Christmas trees, but when he died, they were not trimmed, and as time passed the blues grew too big to sell. I'm not good at judging height, but they must be twenty feet high. Some are silver blue. They stand proud, each with their own personality. The heat of the day brings whiffs of pitch and needles. It was said that there is enough trees to plant a city. I sometimes think I could give them to a city and picture new housing developments with very tall trees placed to make you think that they had been there forever. I wish I knew of a city that would take them. They probably would be too big to dig and transport. So much for the city idea. Maybe one of them could go for the downtown Christmas tree. They would meet the size requirement and certainly would be a better shape than last years scraggly tree.

On the opposite side of the road, I miss the line of ancient maple trees that were along the edge ; the pavement getting closer and closer. The trees grew and the road became modern and wider. The trees are gone, cut down, because they were tapped each spring, year after year. Sometimes you would see three or four wire-handled buckets hanging off the spigots that were bored into the tree so the sap would drip out. The practice of tapping basically girdled the trees and they started loosing their top branches so the county marked them to be cut down.

I miss the field beyond the trees, lately planted to sunflowers. Mr. F or one of the boys would be out there working up that field with a rusty old tractor, going back and forth raising a big cloud of dust since the field was mostly sand, not even loamy sand. Just sand. Over and over the field had been planted to corn. Then maybe left for hay. But, I liked watching the sunflowers grow, their sturdy stalk, their tight flower bud, and then the field overflowing with sunflowers like my own Van Gogh painting. The year of the sunflowers, we saw flocks of turkeys crossing the road, sneaking past the tall spruce to get to a slight ravine that hid them from view until they reached the maple woodlot on the northwest corner of the property.

I'm almost to the farm's property line. I remember the field beyond the big spruce being planted to potatoes. Fred took the eight-tined fork out to dig potatoes for supper, but dug a ways without a single potato. It was then that he realized that someone had been there before him. Got the potatoes and cleverly replaced the top. That wasn't the first time someone had stolen from the farm.

I'm nearing Mrs. F's house. You could easily find it if I described her yard. I think I see two rabbits eating under her birdfeeder. I know what lies over the hill. I've gone this way many times before.

Monday they spent most of the day doing wash. They saved the overalls for last because they were so dirty. The weather was warm so most of the white clothes were dry, taken down from the line, folded and put away.
This is Tuesday and they are in the living room where a cool breeze comes through the screen door slightly fluttering the lacey curtains on the big window. They are talking about the tomatoes that are doing good thanks to all of the rain they have had lately. Talk shifts to neighbor's and their illnesses and troubles. Their voices are quiet, interspersed with chuckles and outright laughter, as outright as two dignified farm ladies can be. They have history and know the background for each story. They nod and add details that are left out. They don't have to explain. They are neighbors. Just the next farmhouse down the road.
Supper needs to be started soon, so Ruth has stopped her lazy, peaceful rocking, and must leave. But the chat continues about Club that's coming up next week and maybe Colon would like some molasses cookies.
My mom's best friend, Ruth. She's a tall, big-boned woman wearing those fancy bead necklaces and earrings to match that she always wears when she comes visiting. Mom puts a few more sticks of wood in the cook stove while Ruth stands at the door. Mom will make those molasses cookies on a rainy day when heating the oven won't make the house so hot. Maybe tomorrow.

Here's the recipe:
Ruth's Molasses Cookies
1 1/2 c. sugar
1 c. lard (shortening)
2 teaspoons soda
1/2 c. molasses
1 cup strong coffee
cinnamon
salt
4 cups flour + a little more

Note: I found the recipe card in my recipe box. It has creases in three places and looks ratty. This is a really old-fashion cookie recipe. The cookies are soft and tasty. No fuss. It makes about 4 dozen cookies if made by the teaspoon and dropped on a greased cookie sheet. I bake them at 350 degrees for about 8-10 min. It's one of those recipes that you have to watch to make sure they don't burn. When I try a few warm cookies, I think of Ruth, a sweet, old-fashioned friend.

Friends. I knew there was a reason I loved reading Country of the Pointed Fir. In chapter 12, Mrs. Fosdick comes to visit Mrs. Todd. Mrs. Fosdick has been making her rounds from house to house on Dunnet Island. The two have caught up on all the latest news. Mrs Fosdick says to Mrs. Todd that it is pleasant to talk with an old acquaintance that knows what you know. She says, "Conversation's got to have some root in the past, or else you've got to explain every remark you make, an' it wears a person out." Mrs. Todd agrees that old friends are always best. I spent the day with four of my dearest old friends. We have history. We don't have to explain anything. What one forgets, the others fill in. Mrs. Todd also advises that you can catch a new one (friend) that's fit to make an old one out of. Welcome, Amanda.

We went to the super Wal-mart to do our grocery shopping . Now, I usually can't stand Wal-mart. You know, all the stuff about how bad they are for the community, push small businesses out, have cheaply made products, poor hiring practices. This store wasn't too bad. Spacious aisles, yummy deli, and bread. What more could I ask for. We got fat free refried beans- 1 lb. for $.66. How could you screw up refried beans. Coffee was $1.05 less than we usually pay. Now we don't have much more to compare because as a general rule we just buy what we want. If it is on sale, great, if not, we get it anyway. With very little proof, we figured we saved $2o. Since we went on a long drive down a quiet back road, we also called it entertainment, so we claimed additional savings. What can two people do for that amount of money these days? We went for a drive, bought groceries, saved money. All should be good. It really bothered me because what had been a large field at the edge of town was now a giant Meijers, a super Wal-mart, the usual gas stations, fast food joints, and acres of parking lots. To make it worse, across the intersection was a large empty building up for sale because a grocery store had moved out. On the other corner was another large building going out of business. As I looked around I felt cheated. Boo, hiss, Meijers and Wal-Mart!

Testing one two three... what's wrong with my blog?