That Toddlin' Town

When I grew up in Nebraska, my dad owned his own business – a bakery. It kept him busy seven days a week. But once a year he would make necessary arrangements with his business, and take the family on a vacation. We almost always went to Colorado. There were a couple of exceptions, but not many. My mom and dad loved, loved, loved the mountains, which is why they eventually sold their Nebraska bakery and purchased one in Leadville, Colorado.

It’s interesting to me now that I’m an adult that even though it’s about the same distance to drive to Chicago as it was to the Colorado, we never did. There were those mountains. So it wasn’t until I was way into my adulthood that I saw Chicago for the first time. And then I went and married someone from Chicago. Twice, in fact. Funny.

Bill is from the south side of Chicago (where I’m quite certain he never knew Bad, Bad Leroy Brown). What I have learned is that a man can leave Chicago, but Chicago never leaves a man. At least not when it comes to eating. Bill does love his Chicago food.

The most unique thing about Chicago is the number of family-owned food businesses you see as you drive down any even marginally busy street. Most are pizzerias or hotdog stands. If you’re eating Domino’s Pizza in Chicago, well, you must just be related to the owner. And people are absolutely committed to both their pizzeria and their hotdog stand of choice. Woe betide anyone who disagrees with their choice of deep dish or cracker-crust. That’s a North Side v. South Side thing, and they take it very seriously.

Same goes for hotdogs. Bill grew up going to a neighborhood hotdog stand called Reds. Sometime after we were married, which means he hadn’t lived in Chicago for twenty-some years, Bill learned that Reds was going to be torn down so that an Arts Center could be built. “An Art Center,” Bill exclaimed when he heard of the impending change. “There are a million Art Centers in Chicago. They don’t need another Art Center. They need to keep Reds.” He seemed to forget that if there are a million Art Centers in Chicago, there are a million-and-a-half hotdog stands. The Art Center was built and Chicago and Bill both survived, though he’s never visited the Art Center and still grumbles every time he sees it.

I tell you this because my condiment today is giardiniera, a spicy, pickley combination of cauliflower, carrots, celery, and sweet and hot peppers that Chicagoans use primarily to jazz up their Italian beef sandwiches. I for one have never been overly enthusiastic about Italian beef, a notion Bill simply can’t understand. It’s somewhat ordinary thinly sliced beef placed on a French roll that has been dipped in thin gravy. The gravy is put over the entire sandwich, and it is topped with either hot peppers (giardiniera) or sweet peppers.

But I am a fan of giardiniera, preferring, however, to put it on other things, such as bratwurst, or over eggs, or on a hamburger, etc. You can buy giardiniera at the grocery store where you will find it amongst the pickles. I find it very easy to make, though it takes a couple of days since it requires marinating overnight. I use a recipe provided by Chicago native and Food Network star Jeff Mauro.

By the way, since I seem to have 4 quarts of giardiniera in my fridge, what are some other things I can do with it? Any ideas?

Homemade Hot Giardiniera

Ingredients
¼ c. table salt
1 c. small-diced carrots
1 c. tiny cauliflower florets
4 – 8 Serrano peppers, sliced (depending on heat level desired)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 stalk celery, diced small
1 red bell pepper, diced small
2 c. canola oil
1 T. dried oregano
½ t. black pepper

Process
Combine 2 c. water and the salt in a glass or non-reactive bowl. Mix until the salt is dissolved. Add the carrots, cauliflower, serranos, garlic, celery and bell pepper to the salt water and stir to combine. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

Day 2, drain and rinse the vegetables really well. In a clean bowl, mix together the oil with the oregano and pepper. Add the vegetables and mix to combine. Allow to marinate overnight. Giardiniera will only get better with time. After 2 days at the most in the bowl, you can place in air-tight mason jars and keep in the fridge for up to 3 weeks.

Nana’s Note: This recipe doesn’t include any vinegar. Since I’m such a fan of pickles, I put in about a ¼ c. of vinegar on the second day. The heat level depends on the peppers. I find that some serranos and jalapenos are hotter than others.

Hot Stuff

I spent the first 18 years of my life playing, working, schooling, worshiping, loving and being loved, maturing, and, of course, eating in Columbus, Nebraska. Columbus is located in the eastern part of the state, smack dab in the middle if you’re looking north and south. It is a railroad town, the county seat in a richly agricultural area.

While the town is only just over an hour from Omaha, we rarely drove there. Times were different. Now 80 miles can be a commute to work; then it was a planned adventure. We went to Omaha twice each year: in the fall to buy school clothes and again at Christmas to see how the large department stores were decorated for the holidays.

When I lived there, Columbus boasted a population of somewhere in the vicinity of 10,000 people. Most of the population was of European ancestry, heavy on the Irish, German, Polish and Slavic. I recall absolutely no people of color at that time. I believe there is a fairly sizeable Hispanic population these days.

I offer all of this background as a way of telling you that I ate absolutely no ethnic food and nothing spicy while growing up. The food I ate was delicious, but it tended to be meat, potatoes, and a side of vegetables. And even though we lived close to a city, when we were there, we ate spaghetti and meatballs and we thought we were worldly.

Sometime while I was in high school, a Taco John moved into our town. The only other chain restaurants at the time were a Pizza Hut and a Dairy Queen. It was the first time I ate Mexican food, and I wasn’t impressed. I think I ate there once.

In the seventies, my family moved to Leadville, Colorado. If my dad had purposely set out to find a town that was the polar opposite of Columbus, he couldn’t have done better than Leadville. High up in the Rocky Mountains, it was at that time primarily a mining community, and it really was – even then – the Wild, Wild West. The nearby molybdenum mine was the town’s biggest employer, and Leadville had a large Hispanic population.

As a result, for the first time my family tasted real Mexican food (sorry Taco John’s). And surprisingly, given our meat-and-potatoes background, each and every one of us was an immediate fan. The hotter, the better. Bring it on.

Being such big fans of spicy and delicious Mexican food, hot sauces and different spicy salsas seem to be a common condiment for my family. We all have our own versions – chunky pico de gallos, salsas, and creamy or chunky guacamoles.

My nephew Christopher has a salsa recipe that I particularly like. It can be really hot or really mild, depending on the amount of jalapeno and Serrano peppers you add. I add the full amount.

Christopher’s Salsa

Ingredients
1 small can of whole tomatoes, drained
1 can original Rotel tomatoes
2-3 green onions, roughly chopped
Handful of cilantro
1-2 jalapeno peppers
1 serrano pepper
½ t. garlic salt
1 t. salt
1 clove garlic, peeled
Juice of 1-2 limes

Process

Place all of the ingredients into a food processor or blender. Blend until it reaches desired consistency.

Nana’s Note: The above recipe makes about a pint-and-a-half of salsa. Remember that you can make peppers less hot by removing the seeds and the membranes. Tonight I am going to make tacos using Rachael Ray’s taco seasoning: 1 T. chili powder, 1 T. ground cumin, 1 T. garlic powder, 1 T. onion powder, ¼ - ½ t. crushed red pepper. The tacos will be sassed up by my delicious salsa.

Growing Up Peanut Butterless Doesn't Produce Ax Murderers......

....But first, I want to talk a bit about my readers and, in particular, commenting on my blog.

I am fairly new to this blogging stuff. Furthermore, I’m technically quite inept. So I have put together this blog as best I can, with some help from a few family members and friends. In fact, if my blog was a physical thing, it would be covered in duct tape and getting ready to fall over. It isn’t where I want to be yet, but it’s getting closer. For example, I want to be able to archive my recipes so that they can be easily accessed. But most of all, I want to be able to chat with my readers.

I’m not sure who is reading this blog. That’s one of the funny things about blogging; you do it sort of in a fog. (Hey! Perhaps that’s where the term came from: blabbing in a fog – blogging!) For weeks now, I have been assuming that the only people who read my blog were my two sisters (and of course, I assumed they only read it out of a sense of duty and because Christmas is on the horizon). But lately two things happened: 1) A couple of people who are under no obligation to read my blog (i.e., they don’t get Christmas gifts from me) told me they do so regularly; and 2) I figured out how to check my stats and discovered I actually have more hits every day than I had imagined.

But as I said, I really want to be able to have this blog be a fun way to communicate, which requires people being able to comment and me being able to respond to the comment. I believe I have fixed the settings in such a way as to make it easier for the public to comment. Now you don’t need to be a registered Google member, for example, to comment. Just select “Anonymous”. You can remain anonymous, or tell me who you are in your comment. If you are a registered Google member, you just sign in and comment under your user name. I also have it set so that I don’t have to approve comments. Should you guys start being mean to me, I may have to change that!

Now on to a bit of talk about food.

Growing up, I believe we four children were the only ones in the United States of America who didn’t eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. In fact, I’m not sure how old I was before I ever tasted peanut butter. The reason for this sad childhood deprivation is that my mother loathed, DESPISED peanut butter. So much, in fact, that it wasn’t allowed in our house. In her opinion a person could have a perfectly acceptable childhood without eating peanut butter.

She was, of course, right. I had a wonderful childhood. Except that I didn’t get to eat peanut butter. I now make up for lost time. I honestly think there is nothing that tastes better than peanut butter and jelly on a piece of warm toast with a cup of hot coffee.

In my perfect world, my peanut butter would be topped with raspberry jam. Before Bill and I married, my son and I lived in a house with an old raspberry bush in the back yard. The bush produced raspberries twice each year – once in early summer, and in late summer, the most delicious, big, juicy raspberries you can imagine. I dream of that bush. I used to pick the raspberries and make jam. I have tried to duplicate that bush in my current back yard to no avail. Sigh.

My husband, however, is a down-to-earth kind of guy, and his perfect fruit accompaniment to peanut butter is good old grape jelly. When we go to restaurants, he roots around the little jelly containers (trying not to think about how many toddlers’ mouths have touched them) until he finds grape jelly. He’s adorable.

So I found the easiest recipe for grape jelly you can imagine at Allrecipes.com. I have successfully made grape jelly using real grapes grown on the Western Slope of Colorado, but man-oh-man, what a pain. You have to get rid of those grape skins, and it’s a real mess. So I like this recipe, which only requires 3 cups of grape juice. I buy organic 100% grape juice at the market and am good to go.

Grape Jelly

Ingredients
3 c. grape juice
5-1/4 c. white sugar
1 (2 oz.) package powdered fruit pectin

Process
Sterilize and dry 6 8-oz jelly jars in your dishwasher or very hot water, and set aside.

Combine grape juice and pectin in a large pot over medium-high heat. Bring to a boil, and stir one minute at a rolling boil. Stir in sugar for a few minutes to completely dissolve. Remove from heat.

Ladle the hot jelly into the jars, leaving ½ in. of space at the top. Wipe the rims of the jars with a clean cloth. Cover with a lid and ring to seal (use new lids). Let stand 24 hours at room temperature, then refrigerate. Jelly may take up to a week to set. Store in the refrigerator for up to three weeks, or process for long-term storage by canning.

Nana’s Note: I process my jelly using a hot-water bath. The directions say to process for 10 minutes, but because I live at high altitude, I add 5 minutes to my processing time (1 min. per 1,000 feet above sea level). Also, when making jelly, you can’t cut corners on the sugar in order to make it lower in calories. Your jelly won’t set up. I’m sure there are recipes for sugar-free jelly, but why bother? I would just as soon use a smaller amount of good jelly.

Making a Pesto of Myself

Way back in 2001, Bill and I traveled to Italy with my sister and her then- twentysomething daughter. We had a really wonderful time, visiting Rome and the Tuscany area. We spent a couple of days in one of my favorite spots on earth, the Cinque Terre. While I have been back to Italy several times since, that was my first time to see the Mediterranean Sea.

The Cinque Terre are five small towns sitting on the side of a hill overlooking the Mediterranean. The villages are lovely, with pastel houses and colorful boats tied up along the shoreline. It really is probably the most beautiful place I have had the good luck to visit. The climate is warm and sunny, and all of the houses and restaurants have window boxes bursting with geraniums and fragrant basil.

The first night when we went to the café for dinner, we noticed that many of the diners were eating spaghetti with a green sauce that I knew to be pesto. At that time, however, I had never eaten it and really didn’t know how it was made. We just knew that we kept seeing this bright green sauce, and we all commented that it didn’t look good to us. “It’s so green!” we all exclaimed as we ate our pasta with some kind of seafood.

One of the most interesting things about the Cinque Terre is that there are no roads connecting these five villages. The only means of getting from one town to the next is by boat, train, or on foot. There is a footpath that connects all five of the little towns. So the next day, the four of us set off from the first village, determined to make it to all five by the end of the day. Which we did. Yay for us.

What a walk. The path varies in width, sometimes being wide enough for two to walk, sometimes being nothing more than a narrow little path set on the very edge of the hill. One false move and you seriously could tumble into the sea. The view is absolutely spectacular. The Med is as blue as the Crayola crayon called Azure, and so is the sky, or at least it was that day. Vineyards climb up the sides of the hills, grapes somehow growing in that rocky soil.

It was a very hot day, and though we had brought water, we were all getting extremely tired and warm. We came around the corner and, like a gift from God, there was a farmer who had set up a table and chair from which he was selling his homemade vin santo wine. Icy cold, sweet white wine. Well, just like the boy scouts, Bill and I are always prepared. In our little fanny packs we carried four plastic wine glasses in case we needed sustenance after an afternoon of sightseeing and wanted to buy a bottle of wine. We paid the farmer for a small bottle of vin santo and again set off, figuring we would find a wide spot in the road where we could stop and sip a cold glass of vino. We went around the corner, and lo, and behold, there was a picnic table overlooking the ocean. Wow. That’s a memory I will never forget.

Fortified with our wine, we completed the walk sometime midafternoon, and landed back in Vernazza, one of the little villages. We all laid down, completely spent, in some cool grass, and realized that we were very hungry. What did we want to eat, we asked each other. Funny enough, we all agreed we wanted to try spaghetti with pesto. Somehow after all of that clean air and hard work, the freshness of a basil sauce seemed the perfect thing. We went back to that same café and each of us ordered a plate of spaghetti with pesto. It changed our lives!

I use pesto as a sauce for pasta, but also as a condiment for other things. Last night I made tilapia, which I topped with parmesan cheese and broiled for 10 min. I put it on our plates and covered it with pesto. Yum.

Basil Pesto
Courtesy Giada Di Laurentis

Ingredients
1 clove garlic
2 c. fresh basil leaves
¼ c. toasted pine nuts
Salt and pepper
½ c. extra virgin olive oil
½ c. parmagiano reggiano

Process
In a food processor, mix together the garlic, basil, pine nuts, salt and pepper until finely chopped. With processor still running, slowly pour in olive oil. Transfer to a bowl, and add the cheese.


Nana’s Note: Since my life was changed, I always have pesto in my freezer. Each year I grow basil in my garden, and at the end of the summer, I pick what’s left since it won’t live through our cold winters. I make a batch of basil pesto, put it into several ice cube trays, and freeze the yummy sauce. Once it is completely frozen, I wrap each pesto cube in plastic wrap, and then store them all in a bag in my freezer. When I need a quick dinner, I take out two cubes, let them thaw, and put them in a bowl over which I drop some kind of cooked pasta and mix. Boom. Dinner is ready!

Growing Old Gracefully

Before I refer you all to a really interesting article I read in yesterday's online version of The Denver Post, I have to tell you something extremely awesome.

On Fridays, I generally do a review of a book I have recently read. I have taken to sending a link to the review to the author with a short note. What the heck, I thought. I'm trying to garner more interest in my blog, so why not?

Yesterday I reviewed Bitter River, by Julia Keller. Keller has written two wonderful books, but sometime prior to that, she was a newspaper reporter for the Chicago Tribune, and as such, she won a Pulitzer Prize. Every journalists' dream. Believe me, I know. I was a journalist. Anyhoo, within a matter of a few hours, I received a fairly lengthy response from Ms. Keller, thanking me for what she referred to as an incisive review. I was, frankly, flabbergasted that she 1) read my email; and 2) took the time to personally respond. The woman has class. It made my day.

Back to real life. This Denver Post article resonated with me, and I think it's worthwhile sharing because we should keep all of this in mind, no matter our age.

The Art of Aging Well
By Neil Rosenthal

While alive, live. And don't die until you're dead.

In a nutshell, that constitutes my philosophy about aging well. And I am something of an expert on this subject, because I'm in my mid-60s, and I have no honest choice but to pay closer attention about how not to grow old and fade away.

The art of aging well involves keeping your mind busy, your emotional and social connections vital, your body active (and functioning), your spirit strong, your attitude positive, your sense of joy alive — and you must retain a sense of wonder. If you don't do these, you will grow old. (If you do all of these, you will grow old anyway, but more slowly.)

Listen to what some wise people have said on this subject: "Old age takes away from us what we have inherited and gives us what we have earned," says Gerald Brenan. "We do not die wholly at our deaths: We have moldered away gradually long before. Faculty after faculty, interest after interest, attachment after attachment disappear: We are torn from ourselves while living," says William Hazlitt.

"I don't believe one grows older. I think that what happens early on in life is that at a certain age one stands still and stagnates," said T.S. Eliot.

"Do not grow old, no matter how long you live. Never cease to stand like curious children before the Great Mystery into which we are born," said Albert Einstein.

Most of us have heard the expression that growing old isn't for sissies. That's another way of saying that it's hard to get older. But as we age, we are seen, often for the first time, for who we truly are, because when we were young, our good looks, ambition, constant upward striving and the need to prove ourselves so frequently obscured our humanness.

So what do you do in order to age well?

First, write two lists: one on the theme of what you are optimistic about; and the other about what you still want to accomplish or experience before you die. Don't just think it, write it down, because it becomes more real when we can see it and refer back to it. You're going to need these lists in order to keep your spirit high and your focus centered on reaching the goals you have for your future.

Second, you need friendship and intimate connections with other people. In study after study, people in warm and loving relationships — with spouses, friends, church and/or volunteer groups — are healthier and live longer than those without such social and intimate relationships. Do not underestimate the importance of other people in your life — and pets count also. One way of deepening your relationship with other people is to listen to them, rather than talking about yourself or your own needs and feelings. Another way is to be generous with your time and energy that you offer to others. Sir Arthur Wing Pinero captured it this way: "Those that love deeply never grow old; they may die of old age, but they die young."

Third, separate out what matters from what doesn't. Don't spend your time, energy and life force pursuing trivial things that don't really matter to you all that much. Be disciplined with yourself. You have less time now and you don't want to waste it. Elbert Hubbard said it this way: "The secret of salvation is this: Keep sweet, be useful and keep busy."

Fourth, do something fun at least once a week. Fun keeps us feeling young.

Fifth, look carefully at what you could do to improve your health and level of fitness.

Finally, find a way to live more in the spirit of appreciation and gratitude for what gifts life has graced you with.

"Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made." — Robert Browning

Neil Rosenthal is a syndicated columnist and licensed marriage and family therapist in Westminster and Boulder. 303-758-8777, or heartrelationships.com. He can't answer individual queries.

Friday Book Whimsy: Bitter River

My husband often says to me, “Kris, you’re a good writer; you ought to write a book. You could write as good a novel as any of those you read.” My friends, if that were only true….. I occasionally get lulled into thinking about that possibility. And then I read a book like Bitter River, by Julia Keller.

The reality is that I love good writing. I love when an author’s words can so absorb me that I find whole lumps of time have gone by without my being aware of it. A novel will grab me if, as I read, I can really picture in my mind the area where the novel is taking place. I like to be able to understand a character, even if I don’t necessarily want to be that person’s BFF.

And I would never be satisfied with a piece of my work that didn’t bring about that kind of experience to a reader.

Julia Keller’s writing is beautiful and compelling. Her two novels (A Killing in the Hills was the first in the series) take place in the small town of Ackers Gap, West Virginia, a former mining town whose residents are struggling to make ends meet. The protagonist, Bell Elkins, was born in Ackers Gap, but left to attend college and law school. She married and practiced law in Washington, DC. She has subsequently divorced and moved back to her home town where she is the county prosecutor. She has a rather dark back story that I won’t reveal, but it makes her a somber and not particularly warm and fuzzy character.

Ackers Gap is no Mitford, NC, or Watervalley, TN, my friends. The town is poor. Buildings are boarded up. The people are uneducated. A drug problem plagues the young people of the county. And apparently a murder takes place every few months so that Keller can write her book.

As I intimated, I don’t particularly like Bell Elkins. Well, that’s not really true. I find the fact that she has gotten where she is following her back story to be remarkable, so I have a lot of admiration for her. I just wouldn’t want to hang out with her. She is really serious. Not a lot of laughs.

In Bitter River, one of the town’s teenagers is found in her car at the bottom of one of the town's rivers. She was killed prior to her car being pushed into the water. She is pregnant.

The plot revolves around trying to figure out who killed the young girl, and the suspects seem obvious. There is a subplot around someone apparently trying to do harm to the people of Ackers Gap, for reasons unknown until the end.

One of the things I like about the books is the relationship between Bell and the sheriff, Nick Fogelsong. He is also a lifelong resident of Ackers Gap, and has watched Bell grow up. He knows all about her life and what she went through as a child. They have a great friendship that hasn’t, and, (please God, won’t) become a love affair. I find a man and a woman being being simply friends to be so refreshing. He is a wonderful character. Now him, I think, I could befriend.

I read a lot of mysteries. So I should be pretty good at being able to figure out who is the murderer by now. I must admit, I rarely do. But I think most readers will be caught off guard by the outcomes in both of Keller’s books.

I highly recommend this book if you are interested in reading a richly plotted, beautifully written novel that won’t necessarily leave you smiling. But it won’t give you nightmares if you read it before bed. It’s worth reading just for Keller’s writing.

Kids' Whimsical Cooking: Banana Bread

Hi this is Addie and I wanted to tell you about my latest recipe… BANANA BREAD. Banana bread is a great snack especially during this time of year. Banana bread is a fun snack to make and I always enjoy taste testing to make sure my work is not poison. Banana bread is not expensive to make and tastes delicious.

I enjoy giving people my work of art as gifts. This time a few slices will be going to my teacher and maybe I will get a good grade out of it.

Hope you like my recipe.

Easy Banana Bread


Ingredients
1 yellow cake mix
2 eggs
3-4 overripe bananas
½ - 1 c. chococlate chips

Process
Smash bananas in a large bowl. Add remaining ingredients and mix well. Pour into a loaf pan that has been greased and floured. Bake at 350 for 40 min. to an hour, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the loaf comes out clean.

From artsyfartsymama.com, via Pinterest

Nana’s note: This recipe cries out to be made by kids, but is also a simple way for adults to use bananas without having to go to the trouble of making a scratch recipe. The recipe calls for 1/2 - 1 c. of chocolate chips. I suggested a half a cup, and Addie looked at me like I had grown a second head. Her quote: "If it were up to me, I would put in a cup-and-a-half." Personally, I would put in a half a cup so that the banana flavor isn't overwhelmed, but it's up to your individual tastes. The recipe is so easy, with only the four ingredients. It makes a great dessert for the kids’ lunchbags.

Theology and 5-Yr.Olds

Our oldest granddaughter will be moving on to middle school next year (nooooooo, say it isn’t so!). It used to be so easy knowing which school your child will be attending, but now the multitude of options leads to the need for much more consideration about where to go. There are math magnets and science magnets and music and arts magnets, for example. There is also the neighborhood school where it is likely that most of her classmates will go.

Anyhoo, Addie spent much of yesterday shadowing a middle school student at the neighborhood school as part of her consideration process. In the morning, her mom and dad attended a parents’ meeting. That left the other three kids without rides to school, so Nana and Papa to the rescue! Bill took the two middle kids to their nearby school, and I took the little one, along with a neighborhood friend, to their kindergarten class which is a ways away.

Let me tell you, if you are in a bad mood, just drive two exceptionally bright 5-year-old girls to school and listen to their conversation. You will undoubtedly be smiling when you drop them off. At one point, my granddaughter was telling her friend about skiing Mt. Kilarest. Hmmm. Mt. Kilarest might be a mountain with the height and majesty of Mt. Everest and the volcanoes of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Perhaps it’s located somewhere in Nepal? I don’t remember her being gone for that long. But she said it with such conviction that I certainly believed her.

I especially liked our theological conversation. My little Maggie tells me, “Nana, I have a dad who will never die.” I asked her to explain. “God,” she said, ever the good little church-going Presbyterian. Her little friend, not to be undone, says, “And Mary is our mother.” I nod enthusiastically, happy that they are absorbing their Sunday school lessons. Then Maggie’s friend asks me, “Nana Kris, is Mary dead?”

Now, I was in no mood to get into Catholic vs. Protestant theology. (As you may know, Catholics believe that Mary did not die, but instead was assumed body and soul into heaven.) “Well,” I said, “I am sure she is in heaven because she was the mother of Jesus. Now, Molly, have you ever skied Mt. Kilarest?” I am the master at changing the subject with kids.

Later in the day, Bill and I had a late breakfast at a neighborhood restaurant, where I had a rather pleasant experience. As we walked in, the hostess, who looked to be no older than 25 or

so, greeted us with “Just the two of us?” Now, I am a big fan of vocal jazz, and one of my favorite songs is Just the Two of Us. Quite obviously, Bill Withers isn’t a big star amongst the 20-something age group (or really any age group, except those of us who like vocal jazz). Before thinking (which I am wont to do), I sang the first line of that song: “Just the two of us, we can make it if we try.” Much to my surprise, the young woman completed the next line: “Just the two of us, you and I.”

“Well,” I said. “I am surprised that you know that song. Are you a fan of Bill Withers?” She told me that she grew up in Iowa, and her mother would take her out for breakfast, at which she would invariably sing “Just the two of us, we can make it if we try…..” Her story seriously made me tear up. Here’s why. As parents or grandparents, we are never sure which of the things we say to our children or grandchildren have an impact. But it seems to me that it is usually those things that seem absolutely unimportant at the time. My new friend’s mother likely had no idea that her singing that song would be such a pleasant, and obviously lifelong, memory to her daughter.

It made me think back to my conversation with the two little girls in the car that morning. I rather doubt that anything I said will change their lives. But I must not forget that it’s the little things that my grandkids are going to remember about me, and they’d better be good.

And speaking of memories, one of my favorite memories is my mother making her delicious meat loaf. I am a big fan of the meat loaf, but this recipe is different than most meat loaf recipes. Perhaps the biggest difference is NO KETCHUP. That is in the plus column for me. I don’t particularly dislike ketchup, but I’m not nuts about it as part of my meat loaf.

I wouldn't be surprised if many of you reading this blog have a favorite meat loaf recipe. Share it with me via comments! Even if it has ketchup.

Mom’s Onion Gravy Meatloaf

Ingredients
1 lb. ground beef
1 slice bread, torn into small pieces
1 c. milk
1/8 t. celery salt
1 pkg. onion gravy mix
1 egg, beaten

Process
Place the bread in a small bowl and pour the milk over it. Add the package of onion gravy mix. Let it sit for 15-30 min., until the bread has absorbed most of the milk. Add the ground beef and the beaten egg, and mix just until combined.

Bake in a loaf pan for one hour at 350 degrees.

Nana’s Note: The resulting meat loaf is more moist than your typical meat loaf. I have played around with the recipe, decreasing the amount of milk, using bread crumbs instead of cubed bread, etc. I have never been satisfied, because it then doesn’t taste like the meat loaf my mommy made. I serve it with mashed potatoes and additional gravy.

Blood, Sweat and Prayers

Bill and I are pretty religious about going to 24 Hour Fitness three times a week. We both do interval training on a treadmill for about 45 minutes or thereabouts. Neither one of us like to exercise. We often point out that we NEVER look forward to going to the gym and we NEVER enjoy the time during which we are working out. In fact, the only time we feel content is when our time is up – likely a combination of endorphins and knowing we don’t have to face the treadmill for another 48 hours.

But we have pretty good motivation. In 2009, Bill was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. PD has no known cause or cure as of yet. Surprisingly little is understood about it except that it just sucks to have it. Research is showing, however, that aerobic exercise can slow progression. So Bill and I faithfully exercise.

And I pray. I pray and pray and pray. Every morning I ask for Bill to be cured of his affliction. While doing so, I recognize there is no cure as of yet. Still, all three of Sunday’s Mass scripture readings remind us to pray relentlessly. In the Old Testament reading, you had the Israelites winning the war against the Amaleks as long as Moses’ hands were raised in prayer. St. Paul’s second letter to Timothy reminded him (and us) to “be persistent whether it is convenient or inconvenient….” And finally, and most obviously, in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus uses the parable of the nagging widow and the judge to remind us to never stop asking God to answer our prayers. When I heard that, I thought, “Hey, if there is one thing I am good at, it’s nagging!”

A number of years ago I came across a quote about prayer that I never forget. Here it is: God answers all of our prayers in one of three ways – yes, not now, or I have a better idea. I will continue to nag, I mean, pray, and God will answer my prayer. In fact, I remind myself that he answers my prayer every day by making Bill’s progression blessedly slow. We help out by exercising.

On a side note, I recently was working out very hard on the treadmill, scarcely noticing who was on the treadmill next to me. I finished one of my fast intervals, and my neighbor says, “My, you really work hard, don’t you?” I looked over to see a really pretty white-haired woman. I’m bad at ages, but I took her to be a minimum of 80 years old. We began chatting about the importance of exercise. She told me she works out three times a week on the treadmill for a half hour, and then goes to a seniors’ weight class for an hour. I glanced down to see that she was walking at a speed of 3 mph. (For reference, my intervals are at 4 and 6 mph.) I complimented her on her diligence and she informed me that she was 92 years old.

Now that’s inspiration!

Recently Bill asked me to make pasta with Bolognese. I love cooking this sauce, first, because it’s yummy, and second, because it takes several hours to cook and I love the way the house smells while the sauce perks away. As always, when I make anything Italian, I bring out one of my old, red-sauce-stained Lidia cookbooks. Lidia Bastianich is my favorite Italian chef, and maybe my favorite anything chef, of all time. That’s why my Lidia cookbooks are wrinkled and stained. A sign that a cookbook is loved.

Meat Sauce Bolognese

Directions
3 T. olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, minced (about 1 c.)
1 medium carrot, peeled and finely shredded (about ½ c.)
½ c. minced celery, with leaves
Salt
1 lb. ground beef
1 lb. ground pork
½ c. dry red wine
1 T tomato paste
3 . canned Italian plum tomatoes, with their liquid, crushed
3 bay leaves
Freshly ground black pepper
4 c. hot water, or as needed

Process
Heat the olive oil in a wide 3-4 qt. pan or Dutch oven over medium heat. Stir in the onion, carrot, and celery, season them lightly with salt, and cook, stirring, until the onion is translucent, about 4 min. Crumble in the ground beef and pork and continue cooking, stirring to break up the meat, until all the liquid the meat has given off is evaporated and the meat is lightly browned, about 10 min. Pour in the wine and cook, scraping the bottom of the pan, until the wine is evaporated, 3-4 min. Stir in the tomato paste and cook a few minutes. Pour in the tomatoes, toss in the bay leaves, and season lightly with salt and pepper.

Bring to a boil, then lower the heat so the sauce is at a lively simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the sauce is dense but juicy and a rich dark-red color. Most likely a noticeable layer of oil will float to the top toward the end of cooking. This will take about 2-3 hours – the longer you cook it, the better it will become. While the sauce is cooking, add hot water as necessary to keep the meat and vegetables covered. The oil can be removed with a spoon or reincorporated in the sauce, which is what is done traditionally.

Makes 6 c., enough to dress about 1-1/2 lbs. dried pasta

Nana’s Notes: Traditionally, a long, flat pasta is used, such as tagliolini. I frequently use spaghetti, but used penne this time and it worked very well. Also, I cut the recipe in half, and it worked great for the two of us. I had some left over that won't go to waste! Just try not tasting it throughout the afternoon. I dare you.

Football Blues

Don’t talk to me. I’m in a bad mood. My Broncos lost their first game ofthis season and I’m not happy about it. I guess pretty much everyone in Colorado is crabby today. For one thing, we got to bed late.

Well, actually, I didn’t get to bed late. I got to bed on time. In fact, I have to sort of shamefully admit that I didn’t even watch the second half of the game. I couldn’t stand myself and decided I would be better off upstairs tucked into my bed with my book in hand. I was reminding myself of my mother.

I loved my mother (still do, though she died too young in 1995 and I miss her every single day), but I absolutely HATED watching a football game with her. To begin with, she went into it with a bad attitude. “Well, we are going to lose this game for sure,” she would invariably predict, even if her team (which was either the Nebraska Cornhuskers or the Denver Broncos) was playing St. Bridget’s Girl School for Quilting.

And then, during the game, well, oh my heavens. The refereeing was bad, the announcers were biased, the opposing players were cheating, her own players were stinking it up, and on and on and on until you wanted to take a walk instead of watching the game. Which is what my father often did. Watching his team (also either the Huskers or the Broncos) play a close game drove him nuts. I don’t think he ever saw the end of a Nebraska/Oklahoma game because he was either walking or in the kitchen playing solitaire.

Anyway, I heard my mother’s words coming out of my mouth and I empathized with poor Bill who was simply trying to enjoy the game. So I went upstairs, figuring the Broncos would win or lose whether or not I was paying attention.

And what they did was lose, and the world hasn’t ended. Next week we play the Washington Redskins and I’m sure we’re going to lose that game because RGIII seems to be coming on strong. (Mom, you would be proud of me.)

This week I’m going to provide a few recipes for dishes that I have been making for many years. What they have in common is that all of them are dishes that my husband has been asking me to make lately. Bill tends to eat dinner so that he can then have dessert. The main meal is simply a path to what he really enjoys – a chocolate something-or-other. But there are a few dishes he enjoys a lot. These tender pork chops are his personal favorite, and a snap to make on a weekend night.

The recipe comes from a book my husband bought many years ago at a political fundraiser. It is called The Congressional Club Cookbook, and was a compilation of recipes from Congressmen and Congresswomen serving at that time (which was 1998).

Golden Pork Chops

Ingredients
4 thick pork chops
Lemon pepper
Salt
Cooking oil
1 10-3/4 oz. can Golden Mushroom Soup
White wine
Fresh mushrooms

Process
Sprinkle chops with salt and lemon pepper, then brown slightly in oil. Put chops in covered casserole. Cover with soup and a little white wine (or chicken broth). Top with sliced fresh mushrooms. Bake at 300 for 3 hours or longer.

Nana's Note: The recipe doesn't call for an amount of white wine, but put more than you think since it cooks in the oven so long. The resulting gravy is delicious on potatoes, rice, or noodles. And this time I didn't have any white wine on hand, so I used chicken broth instead and it was still good.

Birthday Blessings

After some time in the mid-20s or so, birthdays start becoming less and less fun. And when you’re eligible for the senior’s menu, that becomes even truer.

Nevertheless, Bill had a joyous birthday celebration today as he turned 71. Two of our grandkids spent the night last night. And let’s face it, there is nothing like little ones when they wake up in the morning. They are so sweet and tousled and warm and want nothing more than to give you hugs. All they ask in return is to be allowed to sit in front of the television and watch cartoons while eating a piece of cinnamon toast.

As a surprise, I invited our son and daughter-in-law to bring their four children (joining the two who slept over) to a birthday breakfast. They brought Duffy rolls (the most delicious cinnamon roll EVER), and I made scrambled eggs with bacon and fried potatoes.

As a side note, our 8-year-old grandson ate 15 pieces of bacon and seven Duffy rolls. I expect next time I see him, he will have outgrown all of his pants due to the growth spurt he is obviously experiencing.

We even got a visit from our grandsons and their moms in Vermont via Facetime on the Ipad. It’s the next best thing to being there in person. I love Steve Jobs.

Happy birthday to my husband, who has blessed my life, and continues to do so.

Friday Book Whimsy: More Things in Heaven and Earth: A Novel of Watervalley

I love Jan Karon’s Mitford series. The stories are simple; the characters are quirky and loveable; the town of Mitford is the place where we all want to live, let’s face it. Sometimes that’s all we want in a book.

I read so much, and I love most kinds of books from women’s literature to mysteries to period pieces. And sometimes I just want to read something that doesn’t really make me think too hard and leaves me feeling good. That’s why I like the Mitford books. And that’s why I enjoyed More Things in Heaven and Earth, the first in a new series by Jeff High. It is his first novel.

The story takes place in a fictional small town in rural Tennessee. The main character is a young, newly-practicing medical doctor who is assigned to the little town of Watervalley as part of a program that will help him pay off his medical school debt. He is alone in the world, as his parents were killed in a car accident when he was young and his beloved aunt who cared for him recently died. He lived his life in cities, and has no real desire to live in a small town. This book is the story of his adjustment to small-town life.

It is hard for me to imagine that the author is not modeling the book after Karon’s successful Mitford series. The town’s residents are introduced to us one by one, and could move from Watervalley, Tennessee, to Mitford, North Carolina, without a backward glance. Still, while they are equally quirky, they each have their own unique characteristics as well. His housekeeper could be a caricature bossy African-American woman, except that he makes her a highly intelligent person who surprises him with the depth of her knowledge. The sheriff isn't a goofy, overweight boar, but is a nice man who is deeply sentimental.

The author has a medical background himself. He is a registered nurse who currently works in a hospital in the small Tennessee town in which he grew up, after having lived in Nashville for many years. So the man knows about what he writes.

The book definitely has some first-bookitis, but if you allow for that, I think you will find it an enjoyable read. It will definitely be a series, as he has set the stage for a developing romance and one can almost predict what kinds of stories will transpire in the next books.

If you enjoy reading about small-town southern life, are a sucker for the Mitford books, and are looking for a change of pace from deep, dark literature, I think you will enjoy More Things in Heaven and Earth.

Nana's Got a Brand New Bag

Before I tell you my dirty little secret, I have to give you some context.

I wear nearly no makeup. On Sundays or other days when I dress up a bit more than usual for various reasons I might put on some mascara, a little blush, and some lipstick. Always the same color lipstick. But most days I only interact with my husband (who oddly thinks me beautiful with or without makeup), my kids, and/or my grandkid. I simply wash my face, put on some moisturizer, and am good to go.

Why is it, then, that twice a year, in April and October, when Macy’s has their Clinique Bonus, I hike my betooty to the mall to buy Clinique product simply to get the bonus gifts. Don’t get me wrong. Buying the product isn’t my problem. While I don’t wear makeup, I do try to take care of my almost-60 skin. I wash with their beauty bar. I follow up using their clarifying lotion. I finish using their Dramatically Different Moisturizing Lotion. I do this twice a day.

However, the reality is I simply am compelled to only buy my product when I can get their free bonus gift, which this time includes a lipstick in a shade I will never wear, eyes shadow that will never even be cracked open, a tiny little bottle of special cream for very dry skin (which my skin is NOT), and a teensy-weensy bottle of perfume spray that I won’t wear because most perfume makes me sneeze.

But the real problem isn’t in the little bonus gift products I get (though I do tend to throw them in a drawer that is coming dangerously close to being unable to get closed). The real cause of concern is the two little makeup bags that always come with the gifts. I have used a few over the years for travel. I put my meager makeup in one; I put my jewelry in another; I put my pill bottles in a third. What’s left gets stuffed into another drawer.

So, there you have it. I have now admitted that I have two full drawers in my bedroom filled with various tiny bottles of perfume, little mascaras, small containers of skin products of all kinds, unused eye shadows in every shade imaginable, a plethora of lipsticks in shades ranging from bright red to lavender, and makeup bag after makeup bag after makeup bag. You think I’m kidding:

I called my sister last night to sheepishly confess. She told me the first step in any addiction is to admit I have a problem. The second step is to make a trip to Goodwill. I promised her I would on my way to Macy’s to pick up my next free bonus gift. It’s October, after all.

Here is a recipe for a really simple and extremely delicious coffee cake that comes from the Crème de Colorado cookbook.

Sweet Bishop’s Bread

Ingredients
2-1/2 c. sifted flour
2 c. packed light brown sugar
½ t. salt
½ c. butter
1 t. baking powder
¼ t. baking soda
1-1/2 t. ground cinnamon
1 egg
1 c. buttermilk or sour milk (add 1 T. lemon juice to 1 c. milk; let stand 5 min)

Process
Mix together flour, sugar, salt and butter until crumbly. Measure and set aside ¾ c. of the mixture.

To the remaining mixture, add the baking powder, soda, cinnamon, egg and buttermilk. Beat until batter is smooth. Spread the batter in greased 8-in square pan. Sprinkle the reserved mixture on top. Bake at 350 for 50-60 min. or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes.

Home Again, Finnegan (my mom used to say this)

I mentioned in yesterday’s post that Bill and I have made the road trip between Denver and Mesa, AZ, many, many times. We have it down to a science. We stay at the same hotel. We eat at the same restaurants. We get gas at the same gas stations. If we were in the age of the Jetsons, we could program in our destination and take a nap. Our hover car would do the rest. Alas, the Jetsons prophecy has not come to pass and we still need to steer the car. I’m a little bitter about that.

There are things to see along the way, but one must get off the beaten path to do so. As with interstate highways throughout the country, the scenery isn’t the best. To see pretty or interesting things, one must take an exit and hit a two-lane highway. We always mean to, but we never do.

This trip, I was determined that we would get off the interstate and see a few sights. Petrified Forest National Park is in northern Arizona. The Battlefield of Glorieta Pass (a little-known Civil War battle site) is in northern New Mexico. Let’s see one or both, I said to my husband and he agreed.

Alas, the government shutdown, which heretofore has not impacted me a whit, hit me smack in the middle of my face. Not only were both of those sites closed, but rest stops along the way were closed as well. And when you’re almost 60, well…..

We used to have to stop the car every couple of hours or so to get gas. A year-and-a-half ago, we bought a new car that gets terrific gas mileage, so we can make each leg of our trip without having to stop for gas. That increases the importance of rest stops. Our car can make it 460 miles without having to stop, but our bladders cannot. And let me just tell you that along I-25 in New Mexico, you don’t have a lot of options besides rest areas. If you miss Santa Fe, you are going to have to wait until Las Vegas, NM, or get off and drive three or four miles to a nearby town. With iffy bathrooms.

Shortly outside of Santa Fe heading north, I knew a bathroom stop was going to be a necessity very soon. We drove for a bit, and it became obvious that the rest stops were closed and Las Vegas was still 70 miles away. We got off at the exit for Pecos National Historical Park, which is the same exit as that of Glorieta Pass Battlefield. However, both conference centers were closed, and the nearest gas station was in the village of Pecos, NM, a three-mile drive. Which we made. At a pretty fast clip.

I won’t go into a great deal about the status of the restroom in the gas station except to say there are some restrooms where it seems more sanitary to forego washing your hands. What I will go into some detail about, however, is just how much we enjoyed the scenery we saw during our little detour, particularly post-bathroom visit. The fall colors are starting to become apparent, and in a semi-deserty area like that part of New Mexico, the colors of the sagebrush and the bushes are simply stunning.

Later on in the day, again in need of a bathroom break, we stopped in the little town of Cimarron, NM, at a gas station right off the road. Remarkably, the station had an awesome display of antique cars and a nice little gift shop with old-fashioned toys such as Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy, and a plethora of Betty Boop paraphernalia.

Had the rest stops been opened, we would have missed all of these things. So I guess I’m grateful in a funky way for the ineptitude of our government officials. Now that I’m settled back in Denver, they can get off their butts and fix things.

One more thing. As we were eating breakfast at our hotel in Albuquerque, I glanced up at the television which was playing the Today Show. It notified me that yesterday was National Grouch Day. I was so relieved that I had a day in my honor that I immediately pointed it out to Bill. His response: “And no one even sent me a f*****g card."

No recipe today. I’m too tired to cook.

On the Road Again

Road travel is fun, and often funny as well. Especially travel through Arizona and New Mexico.

Today we began the trek home to Denver. No matter which direction we’re going, we always take it easy, and make the drive in two days. We spend the night in Albuquerque, and then drive the balance the next day. It’s about 7 hours each day, give or take. We have made this same drive, oh, I don’t know, maybe 800 times. Not much surprises us, but we always enjoy it.

We have a box of travel goodies. You know, those are the things that you wouldn’t eat at home in a million years, but somehow seem okay if you’re on a road trip. We each have our weakness. Bill can’t resist those little white powder sugar donuts. I gravitate towards Slim Jims. I wouldn’t buy a Slim Jim at my grocery store at home for anything, but I can’t resist them on a road trip. Today, however, our goodie box included M&Ms, Oreos, peanut-butter-filled pretzels, grapes, and Cheetos. Don’t quite know how the grapes made it in there.

A couple of funny observations. As we left our neighborhood, I saw a couple of large birds flying around at the end of the block. When we got close, I realized they were vultures. Seriously. Vultures. Right in our neighborhood, where people have little tiny dogs. The coyotes that I can hear at night if I leave my window open must have gotten ahold of something that they didn’t finish. Or else they found Jimmy Hoffa.

The second funny thing I observed, or rather overheard, took place at our hotel. We always stay at a hotel in Albuquerque that has a happy hour each evening. It’s a nice hotel, but not fancy. Always really nice staff. Tonight the bartender was a 30-something woman who was very outgoing. She seemed friendly to everyone. But I couldn’t help but eavesdrop as she was talking to a truck driver who was quite obviously flirting with her. At one point, I heard her tell the young man, “My current husband used to be a truck driver.” I laughed out loud, and suggested to Bill that he never introduce me to anyone as his current wife, Kris.

When we are in Albuquerque, we eat in one of two places – Frontier Restaurant (a joint near the University of New Mexico that features absolutely fabulous New Mexican style food, which mustn’t be confused with typical Mexican food) or Rudy’s Barbecue Restaurant (a Texas-based barbecued meat market that sells their food by the pound). Tonight we chose Rudy’s. We always over-order at Rudy’s, and it pains me that we can’t take the leftovers home. I particularly like the pinto beans. The barbecue sauce (or sause, as they spell it) is delicious. I found this copycat recipe, but frankly, I don’t trust it. The sauce I eat is quite spicy, and this recipe only has a scant bit of cayenne pepper. But it’s worth a try.

Rudy’s Barbecue Copycat Sauce


Ingredients
1 8 oz. can tomato sauce
1 c. ketchup
½ c. brown sugar
2/1/2 T white vinegar
2 T. Worcestershire sauce
¼ c. lemon juice
1 t. garlic powder
1 t. coarse black pepper
¼ t. cumin
1/8 t. cayenne pepper

Process
Combine all ingredients in a large pot. Simmer until slightly reduced, about 30 min.

Now it's time to hit the road again. It's cold in Colorado, and I'm not looking forward to that. But I am looking forward to seeing my grandkids.

Flocks of Snowbirds

Coloradans call the winter ski visitors “turkeys.” The skiers are called this because their faces get sunburned from being on top of the mountain, basking in the state’s lovely winter sunshine, but the rest of their bodies remain winter white. Like turkeys. Well, sort of. Takes a bit of a stretch of the imagination. Hey, I didn’t come up with the term.

In Arizona, the winter visitors are called “snowbirds.” I didn’t come up with that term either. I just know that when I’m in Arizona, I’m one of them.

I recently read that the Phoenix area population increases by somewhere around 400,000 residents starting sometime in October or November and begins diminishing around Easter, mid-April to early May. As we were driving here recently, we passed many large RVs with license plates from Minnesota or Missouri or South Dakota. But having spent a couple of winters here, I can tell you that the population hasn’t peaked yet.

There are still no long lines to get into restaurants. The streets are relatively quiet. There were places to sit at Mass yesterday. But it won’t be long. And, much as I hate to admit it (seeings as they are me), the snowbirds really are enough to drive a sane man or woman mad. Many drive too slow (especially merging onto the freeways, where they somehow feel it is perfectly appropriate to merge at 25 mph). It takes forever to pay a bill at a restaurant or go through a check stand because each person needs to make sure they are getting the best deal they can get. And my husband refuses to sit at the front of a restaurant that is located in a mall parking lot because inevitably, every year there are stories about someone hitting the gas instead of the brake and driving through the front window of a storefront eatery.

But, my Arizona family and friends, I must remind you of that number – 400,000. That is a lot of people who are bringing money into your economy. So smile, put up with us, and just know that someday in the future (and it will come sooner than you think), you will also be coming up on 60 or 70 years old and having to watch your pennies.

Bill and I are headed back to Denver, but we will return soon to spend the cold months of winter here. When we return, I will try to maintain my speed, keep track of which is the accelerator and which is the brake, and slide over in the pew on Sunday.

In the meantime, my sister had us over for a bon voyage dinner of brats, corn on the cob, and pasta salad. Here is the recipe for the salad (photo and recipe courtesy of acedarspoon.com):

Mexican Pasta Salad

Ingredients
1 can black beans, drained and rinsed
¾ of a box of pasta
½ green pepper, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
¼ c. corn (fresh or frozen)
½ c. grape tomatoes, halved
½ c. cilantro
¼ c. olive oil
2 T lime juice
Pinch of garlic powder
Pinch of oregano
Salt to taste

Process
Cook pasta according to package directions. Rinse under cold water to stop cooking. Set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, combine beans, green pepper, red pepper, corn, and tomatoes, and mix well. Add pasta and continue to mix.

In a small food process, combine the cilantro, olive oil, lime, garlic powder and oregano. Blend well. Drizzle this dressing over the pasta salad and mix.
Serve immediately, or refrigerate.

Family Ties

We only have a few more days here in the desert before we pack up the few things we’re taking with us and head back to Denver. I’m looking forward to seeing my kids and grandkids, as always. But I leave here, also as always, with some sadness because I leave family behind in AZ as well.

Last night my brother came over for dinner. He was alone, as his wife was working and his youngest daughter was off doing grown-up college kind of things. He had called me the day before with a special request. Liver and onions. Go figure.

I was happy to comply, because both Bill and I like liver and onions on occasion, though I rarely make it for just the two of us. But I would have made my brother anything he asked for because there is no one I enjoy cooking for more than David. He loves to eat the things I make. And there is nothing a person that enjoys cooking likes more than seeing someone enjoy what they cooked!

But even more than the meal, I enjoyed the time we spent on our back patio yakking while he and Bill smoked a cigar and I waited for my onions to soften and my potatoes to cook. We talked about our kids and our grandkids. We reminisced about our favorite meals that Mom cooked us when we were small. We gnashed out all that was wrong with the world today. We talked and talked as the sun went down and the color of the sky softened and the birds became quieter.

That time with my brother reminded me that we have to appreciate every minute we have with those that we love. We can never get time back. Somber thought, but joyful as well if you look at it in the right way.

I read Killing Jesus this week (see yesterday’s book review), and one of the things that the book made me realize is that up until the very end, Jesus’ followers – even his closest friends – kept waiting for him to do something majestic, something to overthrow the regime. That last week, as they were walking to Jerusalem for what was to be the Last Supper and Jesus’ imminent death, John and James were arguing with the others about who would be Jesus’ right-hand men in the new regime following his overthrow of the Roman Empire. Up to the very end they didn’t really appreciate Jesus for what he was. Jesus must have wanted to slap his forehead and say, “Oy vey! Have you not listened to a thing I have been telling you about my suffering and death?” Clearly, the disciples eventually realized and understood it, but not until after Jesus and died and rose from the dead.

I am determined to strengthen my relationship with Jesus, working on it every day through prayer. And I am also determined to appreciate the people I love that are here with me now, and strengthen my relationship with them as well. A bit early for a new year’s resolution, but better now than never.

And, by the way, the liver and onions was delicious, but I won’t bother with the recipe. You won’t make it anyway.

Friday Book Whimsy: Killing Jesus

I read a lot. A lot, lot, lot. But very rarely do I read a book that I simply can’t put down. Killing Jesus by Bill O’Reilly was a book I couldn’t put down.

I have read both of the other books in O’Reilly’s Killing… series (Lincoln and Kennedy), and enjoyed them both. But perhaps because I am fascinated by the life of Jesus the Man, this book captured my attention and held it. O’Reilly claims that this book is pure history with no theology involved. I’m not sure that is exactly true, but I also think it would be extremely difficult for anyone, but particularly a devout Christian (O’Reilly is a practicing Roman Catholic) to not touch on theology when writing the story of Jesus. Everything that is known about Jesus involves his spiritual teachings. We don’t know his favorite foods or whether or not he liked a good joke (“Did you hear the one about the Saduccee, the Pharisee, and the Samaritan who went golfing?”)

O’Reilly writes this book like a novel, which makes it easy to read. But it also results in something that I always find a bit disturbing when reading nonfiction written like a novel. He inserts context that he has no way of knowing is accurate. For example, he may say it was a sunny day, or suggest what someone was thinking when, of course, he would have no way of knowing what the weather was on a day over two thousand years ago, or someone’s thoughts. Still, it makes for a much more readable book, so I will cut him slack.

One of the criticisms of the book has been that he relies too heavily on one or two historians from two thousand years ago. O’Reilly touches on this in his postscript. While there was a fair amount of historical information about the period of time surrounding Lincoln’s presidency and assassination via books, photographs and newspapers, and even more surrounding the life and times of JFK, there is almost nothing concrete written about the days before and immediately after the life of Jesus. There are a couple of Roman historians, and of course there are the Gospels. And even the Gospels don’t always agree. It seemed to me that the author did a pretty good job of using information from the Gospels only if all four Gospel authors agreed. Not always, but mostly.

O’Reilly starts the book out by setting the stage. To understand why the Jews so eagerly awaited a Messiah, and why both the Romans and the high-level Jewish aristocracy were so fearful of this humble yet charismatic carpenter, it is important to understand how the Roman Empire came to be. I enjoyed the historical background.

But mostly I enjoyed reading the stories about Jesus’ life. There was nothing in the book that I didn’t already know from my many years of Catholic school. But seeing it laid out like a novel made me understand it better.

His description of the day of Jesus’ death was graphic and very likely accurate. It literally brought me to tears. I had always read that death from crucifixion was horrific; now I understand why.

In his postscript, O’Reilly let’s his Christianity come out. He makes two really good points. First, he points out that it is absolutely remarkable that literally thousands of people came to hear and see Jesus preach. Given that there was no sound system, the vast majority of the people could not hear or see him, and knew they wouldn’t be able to do so. Yet they were compelled to come, likely walking miles and miles to get there. There was something that drew them to this man from Nazareth.

Second, O’Reilly notes that most people will admit that Jesus is the most famous human being the world has ever known. He achieved this level of fame with absolutely no infrastructure. No sponsors, no money, no well-known backers. And He has maintained this fame for over two thousand years. It’s hard to imagine that one can know these two things and not be a believer. Just sayin’……

Killing Jesus is an excellent book that I couldn’t recommend more. If you read it, let me know what you think via the comment section.

Haboobs

I feel like an 8-year-old boy who is saying a naughty word. Haboob. But that’s the actual word for the severe dust storms that take place in desert areas like Arizona. And while yesterday’s weather change certainly didn’t constitute the title of haboob, it definitely was a dust storm. This photo, by the way, is a stock photo of a haboob, not yesterday's storm.

Because the weather in the Phoenix area doesn’t vacillate much from day to day, it’s amusing to see just how excited the news people get in Arizona when they have an unusual weather situation of any kind or magnitude. The occasional rainfall brings about great excitement. If there’s a bit of wind, the news programs invariably show photos of a swaying palm tree to illustrate the windy danger. When the weather drops below 70, well, brrrrrr. Seriously. Last night we were told to make sure we remembered to put on a jacket when we left the house because the temp was only going to get to 71. It makes me laugh.

We have never been here for an actual haboob. They are apparently very interesting to see, and can be pretty dangerous. The clay dirt (which is incredibly hard, making it nearly impossible to put anything into the ground) begins to blow around, making it very difficult to breathe.

Yesterday’s weather didn’t come close to being a haboob, and yet it was really interesting to see.

I’m not sure my photo captures it, but the air turned a different color. Superstition Mountain, which is such a beautiful sight usually visible from our street, was gone, invisible in a cloud of dust. The birds were squawking, as if they knew something was not quite right.

It was a good afternoon and evening to stay inside.

Here's what I made for a side dish:

Garbanzo Bean and Tomato Salad

Ingredients
1 can garbanzo beans, rinsed and drained
1 pint grape tomatoes, cut in half
1 garlic clove, minced or put through a press
6-8 basil leaves, chopped or julienned
1 T. red wine vinegar
1 T. cider vinegar
1/2 T. honey
2 T. olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Process
Combine all of the ingredients in a bowl. Let sit, refrigerated, for at least a half hour to let flavors blend.

Nana's Note: I have also used the juice of a lime instead of vinegar. It gives a different flavor, but equally delicious.

It's the Small Things

Less than a week after posting a blog entry in which I emphatically declared that Bill and I loathe shopping, I feel forced to admit to you that yesterday Bill and I went shopping. At IKEA.

You know IKEA. The store that sells everything, but everything it sells is a bit smaller than at other stores and has an unusual Swedish name. Take the wok I bought today. It seems to me that woks (or any other utensils or appliances used for cooking) should not be named Skanka. Even if it has two circles over the “a” which I’m unable to duplicate on this non-Swedish keyboard. But I digress….

We actually both love to wander around IKEA. Inevitably Bill will find something he absolutely MUST HAVE for his office, which he will then use exactly once. Similarly, I will find something for the kitchen that is beyond me to understand how I’ve gone nearly 60 years without owning that I will then use exactly once.

Here is a list of what we purchased today:

6 pant hangers
1 extra-long shoe horn
4 storage boxes
2 doors for a storage cube Bill already owns
2 drawers for that same storage cube
1 smaller-than-normal wok
1 abnormally small sauce pan

As sort of a side note, I remember when my mother started buying things in small sizes. She would buy, for example, dish soap in a container that held something like 8 ounces. I don’t know where she even found items that small. I recall that about the time she was buying things in tiny sizes, I was cooking for a family and couldn’t imagine why she would buy something that small. Now, 35 years later, she would be pleased to see just how happy I am today to have found my smaller-than-normal wok and abnormally small sauce pan. When you’re cooking and cleaning for two, you look at life a bit differently. Cheers, Mom.

But back to IKEA. I think one of the things I like most about the store is the shopping carts. You know the ones in which all of the wheels can turn 360 degrees so that you can go down the aisle sideways. Not that I would ever do that.

So, I’m off to make my smaller-than-normal stir-fry in my smaller-than-normal wok. Here is the recipe:

Beef and Broccoli

Ingredients
1 T. vegetable oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 t. ginger, minced
½ c. green onion
2 c. broccoli florets
12 oz. skirt steak, sliced
½ t. sesame oil
2 t. soy sauce
2 t. cornstarch
Juice of 1 lime

Process
Heat oil in a wok or skillet, and then add beef. Stir-fry for 5-7 minutes, until brown. Remove beef and set aside. Add garlic and ginger to pan and cook for 2-3 min. Add green onion, broccoli, sesame oil, and soy sauce. Cook 6-8 min. until broccoli softens and is bright green. (You can add a little water if necessary) Add meat back to the wok and cook until meat is again heated through.

Mix cornstarch with ½ c. water and add to pan. Bring to a boil. Add lime juice. Serve over rice.

Nana's Note: The stir fry didn't have as much flavor as I would have hoped. It needs a lot more soy sauce, and something else; maybe a little sherry. I'm open to suggestions.

One more little side note/follow-up. Remember a couple of weeks ago when I bought my sweet little third-born granddaughter a pair of pink mittens and pink ski socks to make up for the fact that she was having to wear her brother’s hand-me-down ski coat? Well, today I got this in the mail. So sweet. I particularly like the illustrations of the mittens and socks. It’s a remarkable resemblance.