Snow day 2

Dillon looks adorable with a face full of snow. No, I didn't throw snow on him for the sake of getting a cute picture. He didn't hesitate to shove his head down into the snow looking for his ball or trying to find the source of an interesting smell.

Walking in the snow was much harder today than yesterday. There was a crust on top that you broke through when you stepped. Dillon looked a bit hesitant at first, but he really likes his walk so he persevered. The snow sparkled like diamonds with the sun shining on it.

Unfortunately my nice snow boots kept eating my socks yesterday, so they rubbed a raw spot on my ankle bone and I couldn't wear them today. I substituted an old pair of LLBean snow sneakers which are a little too small and they rubbed the backs of my heels. I'm ready for the snow to be gone now as I've exhausted my supply of snowshoes.

This picture is from yesterday. I love the way the curves of the tree mimic the curves of the canal below.

Cauliflower salad

This recipe was in the February 10th issue of Family Circle magazine. I served it for supper tonight. Dad looked apprehensive, but put a very small spoonful on his plate. After a couple of bites, he went back more. "It's pretty good," he said. Then of course he had to go and spoil it by adding, "It tastes better than it looks." I thought it was great.

I halved the recipe and used salted cocktail peanuts.

Cauliflower salad

Makes 10 cups Prep 10 minutes Refrigerate 1 hour

1 large head cauliflower, chopped or shredded
1-1/2 cups salted peanuts (can use red-skinned peanuts for color, but plain work just as well)
1 package (7 ounces) dried cranberries
2/3 cup light mayonnaise
1/3 cup sugar

In a large bowl, add the cauliflower, peanuts, cranberries, mayonnaise, and sugar. Stir until well combined. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

Snow!

We got about 7 inches of snow. It's the light powdery kind, so I wasn't able to make a snowball for Dillon. He took one of his tennis balls outside first thing this morning and had to dig it out when we went back out to play in the snow an hour or so later. He likes the snow, although he can't understand why his ball just stays where it lands instead of bouncing and rolling like it usually does. He keeps overrunning it and having to backtrack.



I shoveled one side of the front steps and one side of the sidewalk. It was slushy underneath and it's supposed to get really cold at night for the next several days. The shoveled side will be nice in the daytime when it's warm enough, but will be super slick when it freezes at night. I also cleaned off Dad's car, although since he did not do anything about the tire I warned him was low at least 2 weeks ago, he's not going to be going anywhere because that tire is now flat. Did he think it was going to fix itself? More likely he didn't believe me. Too bad for him.

Dillon and I went for a walk along the Canal Trail. We were not the first people back there because there were a few other tracks along the path. It takes more effort to walk through 7 inches of snow, but it was worth it. It was lovely. A combination of snow and fine sleet was falling. One of my favorite things about snow is that soft shushing sound it makes as it falls.


None of my pictures turned out all that well. I was trying to avoid getting snow on the lens, my low battery light kept flashing, and the back display was so dark I couldn't see what I was shooting. Since I couldn't manage to operate the camera while wearing my mittens, my fingers started to get numb and I was afraid I was going to drop it in the snow. Not my finest hour as a photographer. I may try again later.

Argh!

I had an eye appointment for a checkup with my glaucoma specialist in Raleigh yesterday. I’ve been going to him for about 5 years. He’s very good and I like him a lot. But if yesterday was the first time I’d ever seen him, I’d never go back.

They wanted to get a more detailed measurement of my eye pressure so they not only used the standard machine, they also had me tested by a more sophisticated machine that they’d just brought over from the Duke Hospital site. I’ve been tested using that machine before with no problems. But yesterday the doctor wanted to demonstrate to one of his techs how the machine worked, so they tested my right eye several times.

Apparently, that’s not a good idea. Because after my appointment, I realized that I couldn’t focus my right eye. At first, I just thought my glasses had gotten smudged. Then I thought maybe there was some residue from the drops gumming up my eye. Cleaning my glasses and rubbing my eye did nothing to improve the situation, so I decided to go back and see the doctor again. I was in such a hurry to get back inside that I neglected to pay attention to what floor of the parking deck I was on.

The doctor told me that they had been a bit “aggressive” in their treatment of that eye and that it should clear up by that night or the next morning at the latest. I was upset enough about not being able to see out of my right eye; things just got worse when I got back to the parking garage and couldn’t find my car. I had to wander around on several floors before I finally spotted it. Then I got to drive home with only one working eye. I didn't tell Dad anything was wrong because he'd have gotten upset and just increased my own anxiety. It was a terrible, awful, very bad day.

The good news is that when I woke up this morning, I could see again. I guess I can put off ordering a box of pirate eye patches. From now on, I’m not going to be so cooperative at the doctor’s office. They can find another guinea pig.

Someone stop me, please

I decided to be nice and bake Dad some reduced sugar brownies tonight. Then, since the oven was still warm, I baked myself a pan of Ghiradelli Double Chocolate brownies. It's a box mix you can buy at the grocery store, but I swear they're the best chocolate brownies ever.

Having a pan of warm brownies all to myself was just too much temptation, sort of like the the Hot Now sign at Krispy Kreme. I cut myself a nice modest size serving. Then I went back for a second helping. I put the empty plate down on the floor for Dillon to lick, thinking that would make me stop. I couldn't resist sticking the fork back into the pan for another couple of bites.

They're quite simply SCRUMPTIOUS! But now it's time to show some willpower and cover them up until tomorrow.

Go ahead, make my day

Sometimes it's the small things that make you happy. For instance, my purple polka dot socks always bring a smile to my face. I only wear them around the house because I don't particularly want my fashion sense to bring smiles of derision to other people's faces, but they're soft and warm and they make me happy every time I wear them.

The Happiness Project is an interesting blog full of thoughts and ideas on happiness. It's the website for Gretchen Rubin, author of the book The Happiness Project. One of her recent posts is on under-reacting to a problem. I could definitely benefit from that mindset.

Her post yesterday led me to It Made My Day. A fun site that brought a smile to my face. What made your day today?

Thirst quencher

Now that's a fashionable dog bowl! It's a clam shell secured to the deck at the Indonesian home of Stuart Membery. I love it! It puts my red plastic Disney 101 Dalmatians bowl to shame.

I used to use a big white plastic bucket, practical if not fashionable, but Dillon was afraid to put his head into it. He has issues with deep enclosed spaces. Bet he'd like the clam shell. Although I can't help noticing that the Golden is drinking out of the faucet, not the shell.

How did your Hurricanes do this afternoon?

That was the question that Dad asked me when we sat down to supper. "I don't know. I taped the game to watch tonight," I replied shortly. "Well, that's one way to handle it," he said, completely oblivious to the steam coming out of my ears.

I spent all afternoon taking every box and can off every shelf in the pantry and then vacuuming each shelf, scrubbing it with Spic and Span, and finally wiping it down with Clorox. Then I had to wait for the shelves to dry before I could put everything back in place. It took me hours.

I also vacuumed the house, cleaned my bathroom, scrubbed the kitchen floor, took Dillon for a walk, and straightened my study. Dad knew I was cleaning out the pantry because he saw me as he passed through on his way to the bathroom. Exactly when did he think I had time to spend 2-1/2 hours watching a hockey game?

Merry Maids? Not hardly

Well, enough procrastinating. I have more chores than I do energy, time, or enthusiasm. The pantry needs cleaning out. Everything needs to be taken off the shelves so I can wipe them down with Clorox. I think the mice are gone, so it's time to remove all traces of their former occupation. I also need to vacuum, dust, clean my study, scrub the kitchen floor, walk Dillon, the list is seemingly endless.

On the positive side, I'm listening to a wonderful audiobook by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. That always makes the time pass more quickly and the chore seem a little less tiresome. And Dad has now migrated out to his room to watch basketball, hopefully for the remainder of the day. I don't like doing chores to begin with. I get even more irritable when I'm the one laboring while he sits in his chair and reads a book all day. I know he's doing the same thing out in the garage, but it doesn't annoy me as much if I can't see him.

Olé!

Turkey Enchiladas Suizas

• Nutrition Facts
• Yield 4 servings
• Amount Per Serving
• Calories 399
• Total Fat 15g
• Saturated Fat 9g
• Cholesterol 89mg
• Sodium 479mg
• Total Carbohydrates 34g
• Dietary Fiber 3g
• Protein 33g
• Active Time: 15 minutes
• Total Time: 40 minutes

INGREDIENTS
o 8 corn tortillas, stacked and wrapped in foil
o 11⁄4 cups green salsa (salsa verde)
o 1⁄2 cup reduced-fat sour cream
o 1⁄4 cup chopped cilantro
o 11⁄2 cups (8 oz) diced cooked turkey breast
o 6 oz reduced-fat Swiss cheese, shredded (11⁄2 cups)
o 1 jar (7 oz) roasted red peppers, sliced
o Garnish: diced tomato and sliced scallion

PREPARATION

1. Place tortillas in oven. Heat to 425°F. Have a shallow 2- to 21⁄2-qt baking dish ready.2. Mix salsa, sour cream and cilantro in a medium bowl. Spread 1⁄2 cup over bottom of baking dish. In another bowl, combine turkey, 1 cup cheese and the roasted peppers. Remove tortillas from oven.3. Spoon scant 1⁄2 cup turkey mixture down center of each tortilla. Roll up; place seam side down in baking dish. Pour remaining salsa mixture over top. 4. Cover with foil and bake 15 minutes until bubbly. Uncover; sprinkle with remaining cheese and bake 10 minutes, or until cheese has melted. You can also use leftover cooked turkey or chicken. Suiza is Spanish for Swiss.

This is what we had for lunch. I knew Dad wasn't going to like it, but every once in a while I deserve to be able to cook things that I like regardless of his preferences. He never misses a meal so if I didn't occasionally say to hell with it and cook what I want, I'd never get to make some of my recipes. I warned him an hour in advance of what was on the menu and that I didn't think he was going to like it. I suggested he was free to go out and get himself a couple of hot dogs or he could pull out a pack of Nabs. I refuse to prepare separate meals; I'm not a short-order cook and this isn't a restaurant. He just looked at me. So be it, he was warned.

When I called him to the table, I informed him of the ground rules. He didn't have to eat it, but if he did he could keep his editorial comments to himself. I wasn't interested in hearing a steady stream of "Do they really eat this in Mexico?" and whatever cute comments he might come up with. He just looked at me and got ready to say the blessing. "Feel free to pray really hard," I said as I bowed my head. I guess he took my no editorial comments warning seriously because he didn't add any new pleas to the blessing.

He did ask what the dish was; if I'd ever made it before; whether I'd ever eaten it before and if so, had I liked it. We have to play 20 questions whenever I serve him something new. Why he would think I'd cook something I didn't like, I couldn't figure out, but I didn't pursue the question. I'll give him credit, he ate what was on his plate, but he obviously didn't enjoy it. Like most Mexican food, it didn't require a knife or much chewing, unlike last week's steak. "See, one advantage is you don't need a knife or have to chew much," I pointed out. "I think I'd prefer to chew," he said sourly. "Some people are impossible to please," I said cheerfully as I reached for a second helping.

Feeling like Danny Kaye

I'll be glad when the village idiot phase of my internship is over. I'm not used to being the one who doesn't know what they're doing and it's frustrating. My biggest problems aren't paralegal related, but simply mastering the office technology. I process information best in written form. Give me an instruction manual and I'm good to go. Unfortunately, I don't have instruction manuals for the telephone, the printer, the typewriter, or the computer software. So simple things that are second nature to everyone else in the office will stump me.

Dad asked how an internship worked and if I was being paid for the time I worked. At this point, I should be paying them for the experience. As one who usually finds it easier to do it herself as opposed to instructing someone else how to do it, I appreciate the time and effort involved in training someone. I know there's a learning curve, but I'll be happy when I can remove the imaginary dunce cap.

The good news is that the attorney I've been working with is really good at giving instructions and explaining things. If he sees the dunce cap, he's not letting on. Of course attorneys are skilled at remaining impassive too, so that's only a small comfort.

Sitrep

Dad and Dillon seem to be making out okay without me. The first day when I got home from work, Dillon sounded pretty frantic. He was circling and talking to me. He’s still really happy to see me when I get home, and he barks until I get in the door, but the talking to me has stopped. Dad’s first words are usually an update on Dillon’s bathroom schedule. We all have our priorities.

I’m starting to get the hang of the office technology. I’ve figured out how to get to the computer files on my own now. I’ve never had a networked computer before, I was used to being the only person in the office who used or had a computer. I’ve only answered the phone twice, but I haven’t disconnected anyone yet and I managed to transfer a caller to voice mail today. After only two tries, I figured out which way to put the letterhead in the printer. They may be small victories, but I’ll take them.

I got to sit in on a client conference today and perform my first official duties as a notary. It feels very strange to write 2014, which is the year that my notary commission expires. I like the job and I like the people. It would be great if I can continue there after the internship. Y’all cross your fingers and toes and send all the positive thoughts you can, okay?

Small steps

Well, I think my first day went okay. Everyone was very nice and they didn’t tell me not to come back again tomorrow. I don’t know how to work the phones yet, but I opened my first estate!

Calm blue ocean

Tomorrow is the first day of my paralegal internship. I've reread my entire Wills, Trusts, and Estate Administration textbook and waded through a number of the relevant NC Statutes. I'm excited and frankly, nervous. It's been a long time since I've had a first day on the job. My work schedule will be from 1:30-4:30 Mon-Fri. All positive thoughts are appreciated.

The Nabs diet

Jared had the Subway diet. Now there’s a woman touting the Taco Bell drive-thru diet. If my father isn’t careful, he’s going to find himself on the Nabs diet.

Sirloin steak was on sale this week, so I bought a package that contained 3 small steaks. I cooked 2 for lunch. The smallest went to Dad because he always compares plates and if his portion is bigger, I get the I can’t eat this much, your portion is smaller than mine complaint. It’s gotten to the point where if one piece isn’t noticeably different in size from another, I slap both plates on the table and let him choose, just to be spared the mine is bigger than yours discussion.

Dad normally cuts his entire piece of meat into bite-sized portions before he ever begins eating, Miss Manners and Emily Post be damned. This time I noticed he only cut 2 bites. I started to cut my piece and discovered the reason. The meat was tough. Apparently, he’d worn himself out cutting those 2 pieces, so I guess he was pacing himself. I didn’t say anything, just began eating.

“What kind of meat is this?” he inquired. “Boneless top sirloin,” I replied. “It must have come from a really tough cow. Yours is obviously not as tough as mine.” “Maybe I’m just stronger.” “I watched you cut yours. Your piece of meat is definitely not as tough as mine.” “Well, I’ve noticed that you always think everyone else has a better piece of steak than you do. I gave you the smallest piece.” I could tell he didn’t appreciate my comments. Well, that made us even, I didn’t appreciate his either.

“It’s a good thing you gave me a serrated knife or I’d really be in trouble,” was his next salvo. “Isn’t it nice that you’re getting an aerobic workout as part of your meal?” I inquired. He wasn’t amused. “Maybe next time you should bring the electric carving knife to the table,” I suggested as he continued to struggle to cut his meat. “The motor would probably burn up,” he replied.

Shortly thereafter I heard an ominous crack and he got a funny look on his face. "What happened?" "I think I almost broke a tooth." My first thought was oh hell. Then I felt a moment's guilty relief that a broken tooth would not require any home nursing on my part. He went back to eating. “You could try adopting Dillon’s method, forget chewing and swallow it whole.” “I don’t think even Dillon’s digestive juices are enough for this meat.” “Next time we have steak,” I began, although as of today I don’t ever plan to serve steak again, “I’ll throw yours in the food processor first and you can have steak tartar."

I noticed that despite his complaints, he kept at it until he ate all but 2 pieces. Dillon swallowed those whole. “That’s supposed to be a good cut of meat, isn’t it?” he asked afterwards. “How would I know?” I keep trying to tell him that I am not an expert on cuts of meat. “Don’t take my comments as a complaint about your cooking. Sometimes you just get a bad piece of meat.”

Sometimes you don’t get any meat at all. I gave a brief thought to adopting a vegetarian diet. Then I remembered that he hadn’t liked the Senate’s navy bean soup last weekend either. Yep, Lance may soon be able to feature Dad in commercials for the Nabs diet.

The Courage that my mother had

Edna St. Vincent Millay

The courage that my mother had
Went with her, and is with her still:
Rock from New England quarried,
Now granite in a granite hill.

The golden brooch my mother wore
She left behind for me to wear;
I have no thing I treasure more:
Yet, it is something I could spare.

Oh, if instead she’d left to me
The thing she took into the grave!--
That courage like a rock, which she
Has no more need of, and I have.

This poem has a sad feel to it, and while I don't feel sad, it seems appropriate for today. My mother had that kind of courage. I had a doctor ask me once, when Mom was in the room, why I wasn't outwardly upset about a diagnosis. Mom and I were still making jokes and being completely matter of fact. To which I responded, "I've watched how my mother handles things." There was no better example to follow.

High water pants

Dad took a pair of jeans to Olga, the local alterations lady. He used to ask Mom to hem his jeans. They’d usually have a fight about the correct length because he likes them short, really short. Olga apparently believes that the customer is always right, so unlike Mom, she cut them off and hemmed them to his specifications. They’re like ankle pants for men. And he wears them with white athletic socks. Every time I walk into the room, I’m practically blinded by the sight of those bright white socks. It doesn’t matter whether he’s seated or standing, those white socks shine like a beacon.

Since there’s no lengthening the pants, I’m thinking that he’s getting blue socks for Valentine’s Day. It’s the only fashion fix I can think of because he’s really happy with his pants. After all these years, someone finally hemmed them short enough to suit him. Too bad, they don’t suit me. Between the suspenders, the short pants, and the white socks, he makes quite a fashion statement. All he needs is a rope belt to complete the ensemble.

A penny saved

Lowes foods is running a special on their store brand canned vegetables. With a coupon, you can get up to 10 cans for 49 cents each. I picked up 10 cans of salt-free green beans. The young lady ringing up my purchase paused briefly and tried to be helpful. “You know, the coupon is good on any of our canned vegetables. You don’t have to buy only green beans just because that’s the picture on the coupon.” I thanked her, but told her that I feed the green beans to my dog, so I go through a lot of them. I add a can a day to Dillon’s dry food to give him more fiber. She looked slightly taken aback and then said as she resumed scanning, “I guess it’s lucky they’re on sale then.”

Speaking of sales, if you use HP printer cartridges, they’re on sale through tomorrow, January 16. Buy 1 get 1 for 50% off. Staples, Office Max, Office Depot, and Best Buy are participating retailers.

I’ve got an eggnog pound cake in the oven. It smells good. Sure hope it’s better than the eggnog spice cake recipe I tried right after Christmas. The recipe said it was wonderful served for breakfast or as dessert. I didn’t particularly care for it. As I told my cousin Lisa, it took a lot of coffee to wash down that cake. She suggested I throw it away. To which I responded, “Are you crazy? I put 1-1/2 cups of nuts in that cake. At the price of nuts, I’m not about to throw it away. I’ll just keep making a big pot of coffee when I’m having it for breakfast.” Hey, waste not, want not. Although I must admit that while I avoided wasting the nuts, I definitely wasted my calories.

Carolina blues

So far, this isn’t a good year to be a fan of any team whose name is preceded by Carolina. I didn’t think anything could be more frustrating than watching this year’s Carolina Hurricanes. Until I watched the Carolina Tar Heels last night. I’ve never seen a Carolina basketball team play that poorly. It was painful to watch. If I were Roy Williams, I’d be checking to make sure they can’t revoke membership in the Hall of Fame. Poor fella, this team is going to drive him nuts if they don’t start paying attention.

Team Perfect

I went to check out Charlie Mike, the Perfect Fitness blog this morning. Imagine my surprise to see myself referred to as “longtime Perfect Fitness teammate Nancy in NC” and a rerun of a question I’d posed about teamwork a while back. Tom, a former SEAL, was going to be a guest blogger and one of the ladies that works at Perfect Fitness had asked some of us to post questions for him. I first encountered Alden and Tom and was turned on to the BodyRev on an author’s message board I used to visit.

I still have to smile in disbelief whenever I think of myself as a good example for working out. But after years of being a couch potato, and depending on good metabolism that suddenly deserted me when I hit my 40’s, I’m a convert. I owe it all to Alden at Perfect Fitness and the other ladies on that message board that jumped on the bandwagon at the same time. Teamwork and the SEAL's swim buddy system really do make a difference in whether you succeed or fall by the wayside.

I started using the BodyRev, now classified as Perfect Cardio, about 4 years ago and I’m still using it even though the Gator Patrol ladies are now a distant memory. I just ordered the 2 newest Perfect Cardio workout routines. I love the fact that I get cardio and strength training in the same workout. It’s not always easy, but it is fun and the payoff is terrific. These days I can eat anything I want and still fit in jeans that are 2 sizes smaller than those I was wearing when I began.

Okay, commercial over. But I’m still thrilled to be classified as a Perfect Fitness teammate.

Bookcase of the day

There's a blog called I Suwannee, love that name, that features a bookcase of the day fairly regularly. This one really captured my imagination. If I had anywhere to put it, I'd be heading for a cabinetmaker to build me one of my very own.

He's not as funny as he thinks he is

Since an ACC basketball double-header was starting at 5:30 tonight, I served supper promptly at 5. Sunday is the one day of the week that I don’t have to cook since we go out to breakfast, after which Dad isn’t really hungry for the rest of the day. I should have left well enough alone, but since it’s still cold, I decided to try the recipe for the Senate’s navy bean soup. It’s been on the menu at the Capital every day for about the past 100 years.

When I shared that little tidbit of history with Dad, his comment was that it was no wonder they were all full of hot air. Then he said maybe that’s why so many of them are retiring. He made a couple of more dismissive cracks along the same lines while shoveling soup into his mouth. He finished in less than 10 minutes, a record for my father. He got up and took his bowl to the kitchen where he put it on the floor for Dillon, who attacked it with enthusiasm. When Dad came back to get his glass, he laughingly commented, "Well, at least Dillon likes it," and headed back out to his room and the tv.

Maybe I was interrupting a particularly good Bonanza rerun? If he’s not careful, he’s going to find himself eating nothing but Nabs for the foreseeable future.

The stick lady

This morning Dillon and I came upon a man and woman walking 2 miniature fox terriers. They stepped off the path as we approached. I shortened up on Dillon’s leash and since they were plainly wary of my dog, greeted them with a “Good morning. He’s friendly.” The woman spoke up. “You’re the stick lady. After seeing yours, I got one of my own.”

Then I remembered her. I’d run into her on the trail back during the summer. She’d been curious about my stick; she’d been carrying mace. She and her dog had a bad experience with a lab that was off-leash, resulting in her dog requiring vet care. The police had suggested she carry mace. I’d told her then that I’d never had to use my stick, other than to push a dog away one time, but I carried it as insurance. It’s actually an old ax handle. I obviously made an impression since she turned to her husband and said, “Brian, this is the stick lady.”

I must admit that I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with the thought of her wielding a stick. She struck me as a bit too eager to defend her dog, a dog that growled at Dillon the entire time even though Dillon was wagging his tail and well out of the dog’s personal space. My dog knows how to greet other dogs properly. Her dog obviously did not. I wonder if he’s always been that way, which may be why the original problem occurred, or if his behavior is a result of the experience? I’ve never understood why owners of small dogs think it’s fine for their dogs to be aggressive and ill-tempered, but a big dog with a wagging tail who even walks in their direction is seen as a threat. Frankly, I felt safer after she and her crew disappeared in the other direction.

Yesterday we ran into a couple walking with a chocolate lab off-leash. We’ve encountered them several times. Hershey is a very well behaved young female who stays close to the couple. Dillon is always eager to meet another dog and although Hershey seems shy, she appears to want to greet him too. As soon as she even looks in Dillon’s direction, the man says “Hershey” in a stern voice. The poor dog’s tail is down and she usually obeys, but certainly doesn’t look happy. Yesterday, she actually got close enough to touch noses with Dillon. She wagged her tail tentatively. The man immediately chastised her despite the woman’s comment that, “She only wants to say hello.” He never said a word of greeting to me or Dillon.

I’m all for well behaved dogs, but what’s wrong with 2 friendly, non-aggressive dogs greeting each other? Left to themselves, most dogs are eager to meet and greet. It’s the humans that generally screw things up. One couple walking a female dog off-leash the other day practically had a fit when it approached Dillon. I assured them he was friendly. “So is she, but she’s in heat.” “Mine’s fixed,” I said, wondering why on earth they’d be walking a female dog that was in heat off-leash on a public trail.

Poor Dillon obviously intimidates people because he’s big and black. Given his soft temperament and how well socialized he is because of his time at Debbie’s kennel, the black dog rap is completely at odds with his personality. Frankly, I’m beginning to think my stick is going to be needed to protect my dog from people as opposed to their dogs. Maybe I should start working on my growl.

Bon appétit!

I’ve been channeling Julia Child today. There was a recipe for a healthy version of beef bourguignon in the weekly Relish magazine insert that comes in the newspaper. It sounded perfect for a cold winter day and since stew beef was on sale this week, I decided to try it. It filled the house with the most fabulous aroma while it simmered all morning. The final product was good. Even Dad had a second helping after he figured out how to eat it.

He ladled a serving into his bowl and then looked over at me. “Do you eat it with a fork or a spoon?” “Use whatever you like.” “Well, part of it looks like you should use a fork, but then part of it looks like it needs a spoon.” He had an entire place setting at his fingertips, including a soup spoon. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any sporks. I cooked it, the least you can do is figure out how to eat it.” I hadn’t cut the stew beef into tiny pieces, which was what gave him pause, but it was so tender you could cut it with a spoon.

The recipe calls for dry red wine. I always find that confusing. I’m not a wine expert and I have no clue what constitutes a dry red wine. I know you’re not supposed to cook with any wine you wouldn’t drink, but when you don’t regularly drink wine, that little piece of information isn’t terribly helpful. I wound up picking the cheapest pinot noir I could find. I should have checked the Relish website first; they actually had some helpful tips about wine selection. Fortunately, my choice was correct, if uninformed and decidedly less pricey than their recommendations. I’m sure Julia would have been horrified, but it did come with a cork, not a screw top. Surely, that denotes some degree of sophistication and drinkability.

After Dad said the blessing and got ready to dig in, I warned him to be on the lookout for the bay leaf that I hadn’t been able to find and remove prior to serving. That led to a discussion of what a bay leaf looks like and how he was supposed to recognize it. Then I gave him a chirpy bon appétit. I think he’d be just as happy if I quit trying to broaden his horizons and our next meal was plain ole American.

At the Rainbow Bridge

Stephen Huneck was a folk artist who created some of my favorite dog art. He featured labs in most of his work and had a series of children's books inspired by his black lab, Sally. He suffered from depression and died today of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. It's hard to believe that someone who created such joyous pictures, that were so full of humor, is gone.

No good deed goes unpunished

I was getting ready to go to the grocery store this morning when Dad met me in the hall. "Do you need anything from the store?" I asked. "No, but if you're getting ready to go out I guess I'd better admit my problem now and see if you can figure out what's wrong." I followed him down the hall feeling equal parts apprehension and annoyance. I was on a schedule. It was already 10:45 and I needed to get in my grocery shopping, serve lunch, and be at school by 1:15 for my Reading Buddy session. Depending on the nature of his problem, it could completely destroy my schedule.

"I tripped a circuit breaker somehow," he said. He claimed not to know what had triggered the problem. Everything inside the house worked, but part of his room in the garage didn't have power. I started wondering if I was going to be able to get the garage door up to leave. This was just getting better and better.

When we got to his room, it looked like a tornado had been through there. He was vacuuming and when Dad vacuums, something he doesn't do often, he moves EVERYTHING. "No good deed goes unpunished," I told him. It's always especially annoying when a problem occurs when you're involved in a chore you don't like doing to begin with.

He'd already checked the circuit breakers and couldn't find any that seemed to be tripped, but he couldn't get power to half the room. I started glancing around. The things that he claimed had no power were all plugged into a power strip. I examined the power strip more closely. The circuit breaker for the power strip was hidden under one of those big, square transformer type plugs, but it wasn't lit. I squeezed my finger underneath and flipped the circuit switch. Voila, power was restored. Dad looked sheepish. "I didn't think of that," he muttered.

Poor fella. It's a lot of work just to get to the circuit breaker box. He has an antique pie safe in front of it, so you have to reach up and over that. He probably needed a ladder. Then you have to unhook the decorative board he wallpapered to match the walls and hung over the breaker box. Only then can you check the circuit breakers.

Then he'd had to come admit to me that he had a problem. Something he'd obviously dreaded doing because he doesn't like to admit he doesn't know something and I'm not always the most patient person. I have been known to respond with a rather curt, "What did you do?" To which he always replies, "I didn't do anything." These things generally don't occur without some human interaction.

Since we'd solved one problem, he decided to admit to another. "How do I charge my cell phone?" He held up several cords. "None of these seem to work." "That's because the charger for your cell phone is in my room. I charged it for you the other day because it was completely dead. I figured I'd try to charge it every Saturday so you wouldn't have to worry about it." "Well then show me how to turn it off again."

He's apparently started leaving it in his coat pocket so he won't forget it. We went through the process of turning it on and off again. It is confusing that you have to use the End button both to end a conversation and to turn the phone on and off. Why don't they make a really simple model for senior citizens with dedicated buttons? With so many seniors out there, it seems like companies would try to gear models of certain products just for them.

"I'll probably forget before I use it again," he complained. Hopefully he's keeping the instruction book in the car like I suggested. It really is a simple phone, but it doesn't work like a land line phone. With both problems out of the way, I suggested he might want to just sit back down with a book before he got into any more trouble. "Maybe I should just go back to bed," he groused.

When we were eating lunch I looked over and asked, "So, you're finished with your annual cleaning?" He looked offended. "Annual cleaning? As hard as I worked that should be good for at least 5 years." He thought a little longer. "Actually, the way my body feels that cleaning ought to be good for the next 10 years." That's why he's only responsible for his room. I prefer that things be cleaned a little more frequently.

And to all a goodnight

I’ve spent the past several days taking down Christmas decorations. I lost count of how many times I went up and down a ladder. I bought 5 plastic storage bins at Target last week. Dad hit CVS and bought every one they had. We're attempting to become better organized. My goal is to get most of my decorations out of the attic and on to shelves in the garage.

After I'd been at it for several hours, Dad remarked that we obviously have too many decorations. "But you do enjoy them when they're up," he concluded. Hopefully from now on I'll be able to find them a little easier and without banging my head on the attic rafters. It was a little discouraging to spend all day taking things down, look out the window tonight, and realize that Santa is still waving at me from the backyard. He’s about worn out his welcome.

New and improved?

Dad came back in with the paper this morning and before he even sat down, he was intently examining the front page. The article that caught his interest was Get your geek goggles on: TV enters the next dimension. “Are you interested in the newest technological advances?” I asked. “I just want to see what they’re proposing to come up with next,” he said in a disgusted tone of voice. “In other words, you’re concerned that the next new, greatest thing will screw up what you’ve already got,” I said. “Right, pretty soon I won’t be able to watch anything without a set of instructions,” he grumped.

I told him later that one of the Washington Post columnists said that 3-D TV was going to be just like sitting in the stadium watching your sports live and in person. “That might be too much for me to take,” was the reply. “You’ll be able to truly feel the agony of defeat,” I assured him. He still hasn’t gotten over Carolina losing to the College of Charleston earlier this week.

Baby, it's cold outside!

We’re experiencing our coldest weather in quite some time. I don’t think I even wore a heavy coat last winter. Yesterday for our walk, I donned my winter parka and boy, did that fleece-lined collar that comes up to my chin feel good. The wind was blowing so hard that a jogger was right on top of us before I even heard him approaching. Given that the trail is covered in leaves, the crunching sound usually gives me plenty of advance warning even if I don’t catch sight of them first. Even with my mittens, my fingers still got cold. I promised myself an Irish coffee when we got home as a reward.

When we got inside the gate and I went to unhook Dillon’s leash, I thought it was unusual that he wasn’t prancing in place and smiling up at me, waiting for me to take the tennis ball out of my pocket and throw it for him. That’s our usual routine. Then I noticed his jaws were tightly clenched. I looked a little closer and saw one tiny webbed foot protruding from his mouth. Yesterday we passed a dead vole beside the path. Today I guess it was too tempting. He’d scarfed it up when I wasn’t looking.

I immediately told him to drop it. He clenched his jaws tighter. I told him again, in a stern voice, to drop it. He fell to the ground, rolled onto his side, and started chewing. It was disgusting and since the vole wasn’t yet frozen, it smelled. Usually I hesitate to be too stern with Dillon because he’s easily intimated and immediately goes into submissive mode. Thoughts of having to clean up after him when the thing made him sick, or worse yet the vet bills if it made him really sick, cleared any guilt from my brain as I went into full blown DROP IT NOW mode.

I got through momentarily, or else he was going for a better grip, because the vole fell out of his mouth. As he immediately tried to retrieve it, I jerked the leash and told him to LEAVE IT. In this case, since I was bigger and quicker, I won. I won’t say I was more determined because he made several attempts to break free to go back and retrieve his prize.

I left Dillon in the house with a cookie while I went outside to dispose of the vole. I won that battle, but in the process I lost my appetite. The Irish coffee I’d been promising myself suddenly held no appeal. Dillon got a treat and I got clean-up duty. Who’s training who?

New year

Is it just me, or are the floats in the Tournament of Roses parade less creative than they used to be? Yeah, they’re longer or more technologically advanced and they’re still beautiful, but the fun themes and playful floats of earlier parades are missing. That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the snowboarding bulldogs, but it was the live action component of that float that made it entertaining, not the floral presentation which was completely secondary to the point of being superfluous. And the Chinese children skating down the street in formation were great, but again, they had nothing to do with floral displays. I miss the days of the giant floral toilet, sponsored by Tidy Bowls or some such sponsor, motoring down the avenue.

Now The Winter Classic ice hockey game was terrific. Great atmosphere, lots of good hockey, and an exciting finish in overtime. Plus, my team won, not that I like the Bruins, but I was definitely rooting against the Flyers. The only disappointment was that Tim Gleason, a defenseman for my Hurricanes, was not named to the US Olympic hockey team.

I decided to get the new year off to the right start and did the BodyRev boot camp DVD after the hockey game. That particular workout includes a series of push ups. I placed the towel I use to protect my knees from rug burn on the floor. Yes, I confess I do the wimpy from the knee version of push ups not full body unless I’m only doing 1 set. Dillon promptly went over and lay down on the towel. I tossed his ball into the corner, which usually gets him to move. He’ll fetch the ball and then lie down in the corner.

This time he fetched the ball and took it back to the towel. I tried again. Same result. I tried placing the ball in his bed. He went and got the ball and returned to the towel. I finally gave up, moved his bed out of the way, and did my push ups without the towel and sideways since I can only stretch out full length facing the tv in one place, and that’s where Dillon was stretched out taking a nap on my workout towel. So in terms of physical fitness, I’m off to a good start, in terms of dog obedience, not so much.

When we finally had our collards and black eyed peas last night, they were good. I served them with biscuits and country ham. I informed Dad that if we aren’t financially successful in 2010, it won’t be my fault because I got us off to the right start. “But we’re missing the hog jowls,” he replied. I don’t know what hog jowls have to do with financial good fortune, I must have missed that old wives tale, but I assured him there were hog jowls in the refrigerator if he’d care for some. I bought them to season greens and navy beans. He just laughed and declined. We finished off with Grandmother’s coconut orange cake, which improves overnight as the juice from the oranges seeps in to saturate the cake with flavor.

All in all, the new year is off to a pretty good start. The Hurricanes play hockey at 1 pm today. It’ll be interesting to see if their new year is any better than the old one. Hope springs eternal.

Happy New Year!

I'm watching the pre-Tournament of Roses Parade show on the Travel Channel. I've already warned Dad that lunch will not be served any earlier than
1 pm when the parade is over, so he should plan his snacking accordingly. "Gads," was his reply.

We're having stuffed hot dogs and baked beans for lunch. They're already assembled and in the frig so all I have to do is stick them into the oven during a commercial break. We'll have the collards and black eyed peas tonight because I can't figure out how to cook biscuits or corn bread during a commercial break.

He's lucky I'm fixing lunch at all because as soon as the parade is over The Winter Classic outdoor ice hockey game comes on. That's must see tv for me too although they'll never top the first game 3 years ago. Sidney Crosby and the Penguins played outside and it snowed through the whole game. It was so beautiful.

Poor Dillon is not a fan of New Year's celebrations. Last night the occasional firecracker was set off and he went looking for cover. I took him outside well before midnight hoping to get a stress-free bathroom trip in and no sooner did we get out there, Dillon had just headed for the bushes, when another firecracker exploded. I don't know if Dillon had time to pee first, but he shot out of the bushes and made a bee-line for the door. Once inside, he settled in behind my chair and didn't move until he heard Dad in the kitchen getting a snack. Dillon shot out from behind my chair like a rocket and charged down the hall.

I followed to share the story with Dad. He was scooping ice cream. "But I'm getting ready to go back out to my room," he said. Normally he lets Dillon lick the bowl when he's finished. He started looking around the kitchen. "Get one of those lids and I'll put a little ice cream in that," he told me, gesturing towards the plastic container lids stacked in the drainer. Yeah, I'm the one that spoils the dog.

Happy New Year!