A cat, a book, and a hammock......

Very Happy in My Own Back Yard....

2010-07-13T22:44:00.000-07:00

It's summer in our sleepy little Northern California college town. The students have left and the permanent residents are enjoying having the place to ourselves. It occurred to me today that, although ungodly hot at times, I truly, madly, deeply love my hometown in the summer. There's a little creek that meanders though one of the largest municipal parks in the country (perfect for a bike ride and quick dip), a historic downtown with local shop owners who know your name, a farmer's market just about any day of the week, and a thriving art scene to keep the creative juices flowing. But my favorite part about all of it? My own back yard.
I have always been a homebody. When I was a kid I'd spend my entire summer making mud pies in the "Shoppe" my dad built in the back yard (real mud pies....

....made of mud, not the kind I like now, made of ice cream and Oreo's). I guess it's only natural to graduate to a veggie garden and some adirondack chairs. And cocktails. But my point is, I'm still spending the summer playing with dirt, and never tire of the wonders of my world. Take a peek, you'll love it, too:

This is Aries. He is too skinny and a little odd, but he is the neighborhood gopher control agent. We are a pit-stop on his nightly smorgy tour, and we always oblige. He doesn't think our dog Echo is much of a threat, but Echo is 14 and doesn't have many teeth left. And he's scared of cats.

After a really mild spring we are finally eating our own veggies and are off of the tomato grid! We are giving away zucchini, and are drying and storing herbs every week.

Last year I attempted to grow beans. It gave me Tourette's Syndrome. Not a single bean was edible and I vowed to never grow them again.

Today I found this winding up my hoe....

I'll bet they'll be the best beans ever.

This evening we were welcomed home by a swarm of dragonflies the size of hummingbirds. There were hundreds of them and they stayed for hours. What a treat!

This is the view from my adirondack chair. It's the perfect place for winding down and hanging out. The drinks are cold, and it's the best barbeque around. Come on over!

.

I'm a penis farmer....

2010-06-08T23:36:00.000-07:00

I've gardened my entire life. Every summer growing up we ate fresh cucumber, corn and melon. And as I grew, so did my garden. Losing myself in Sunset's Western Garden Book became a post Christmas tradition. I'd plot the crops on graph paper, thin in spots from the eraser having rearranged the layout again and again.
Gardening has become such a part of my life that I confidently predict the "bumper crop" each spring. I mulch, till, weed, and amend until the juvenile plants make the big step from greenhouse to garden soil. Once in, I carefully water and sit back to watch the wonder of nature unfold before me.

Sunday I was admiring how neat and tidy the raised beds were. Everything filling in nicely, preparing for a plentiful summer of fresh vegetables. I spent the morning tickling the tomatoes and thinning the radishes, counting the blossoms on the peppers and dreaming of delicious dishes Matt would make for us. I think I even hummed as I cruised my handiwork; so proud of myself for giving us organic fresh produce grown from seed.
So I wasn't expecting anything but growing edibles, but as I rounded the corner of the bed it jumped out, kabaam!, screaming to be seen. A big, phallic fungus sat like a seventh grade boy in math class dreading his call to the chalkboard. It was huge. And ugly. And definitely not welcome.

After hours on the internet I have identified the offending fungus. It's not harmful to kids, pets or vegetables, but it has some very bad habits. Most likely the mulch I purchased from the big-box home store contained spores, which I then planted in my garden. It is called a stinkhorn mushroom. It smells like rotting flesh, which attracts flies, which in turn spreads the spores. Like herpes: once you have it, it's yours for life. Yeah!
So, in keeping with my annual spring prediction, this year I predict our "bumper crop" will be smelly penises. Anyone want to exchange veggies?

Can we talk?....

2010-03-28T17:14:00.000-07:00

Dear arrogant douche-monkey cellphone user,
I wish to apologize. It's rude of me, I know, but I've been eavesdropping on your conversations. Not because I want to, but because you're YELLING. Like behind me in line. Or in the library. Or in the middle of Bed, Bath, and Beyond. It seems I can't avoid you and your crazy stories of last night's booze-filled antics. Tales seemingly private yet left hanging on a public wash-line for all to see. "Dude" and you must be really close. It's a shame he missed the party, because he may have remembered how you got home. Or where your underpants are. Or at least bought you a shot. Bummer.

Maybe you should wait until I'm sitting next to you at the movie theater to text the cute Betty you met last night. She's getting a pedicure and has sent you five texts in as many minutes. OMG, she's so bored. She wants to hook up with you later. Maybe you should text Dude and see if he's free. Betty's apartment has a pool, yo. And her roomies are hot. Text Dude again and see if he can score some brews. The ladies love it when you bring your own. Don't be concerned about me, I wasn't trying to watch the movie anyway. I don't know why it got nominated for an Oscar. Maybe I missed the plot or something.

Oh, hey. I almost forgot. That ringtone? "Baby Got Back"? It's so nice to hear when I'm in the middle of a romantic dinner with my husband. The one we've been looking forward to all week. I can't believe the nerve of the manager, asking you to turn off your ringer. Obviously, he has no idea how important you are! Or what superb taste you have in music. You can totally tell he has the theme from Titanic on his phone. What a dill-weed. You should not tip him. Or, even better, just leave him the coins in your pocket. Yah, that'll show him.

So, I just wanted to make sure we were all good about this etiquette thing. I wasn't sure if you quite understood when you were in the middle of ordering your half-caff-no-whip-light-water-mocha and you held up one finger to the cashier, answered your phone, and then got annoyed with her when she asked you (again) for payment. She totally interrupted you, so I can see why you were so rude. If she needed to talk to you so much, perhaps she should have just called you on your cell. Or texted you the total.

Talk to ya later,
Kate

This too shall pass....

2010-03-22T11:10:00.000-07:00

I was married at 22. Some thought I was too young for such a life-changing decision. They were wrong. My husband was the one who wasn't ready. After seven years of trying for both of us, I was left holding all of the marital responsibilities, and he moved in with his mother.
The impact was sudden, but the entanglement of grief was broad. Deep waves of failure washed over me; covering everything beautiful with murky, dark, emotional waters. The perplexity of my marriage was overwhelming. I struggled. With bills twice the size of my paycheck, a mortgage, one dog, three cats, and a part-time job, I fought for every breath. I crumbled.

Then slowly, so slowly, it began to change. I got another job. Then two. I made myself go out with friends. I got comfortable being alone. I listened. I learned about me.
The pain eased the tiniest bit with every sunset, and soon I decided I wasn't "that girl" that pined for her lost love. I was done crying for him. There was no future in holding on to a broken past. I had no idea how difficult it would be, but I knew I had to reconstruct my life.

With the support of family (both mine and his), I slowly started to unpick the ball of knotted yarn my life had become. Knots turned to tangles, which became snags, and eventually shifted to kinks. I was turning 30. It was time to start living.
I am now 40 and truly happy. I have realized all the heartbreaks and struggles brought very valuable lessons. We all have our own journeys to take, our own stories to write. From my heartbreak I learned to love. From my struggle I learned my personal strengths, my weaknesses. From my spirit I learned it's not what happens to us that makes us who we are, rather how we react that makes us stronger.

Bathroom gumshoe....

2010-01-16T23:26:00.000-08:00

My house is a mess. With an 80 lb. sled dog, a cat, and two busy humans it's never truly clean. I sweep just about every day and yet I constantly find hair-bunnies. Dusting is a full time job. I have come to the conclusion that housework is like stringing beads with no knot at the end of the string.... so I mop what I can off the floor, pick up our messes, and procrastinate about scrubbing until something smells weird.

Except my bathroom. I think you can tell everything you need to know about someone just by looking around their bathroom, so I keep mine sparkly. (Single women, pay attention! You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to be aware of the hidden problems of potential partners. You can thank me later....)

Take, for instance, the medicine cabinet. Too many prescriptions? Drug addict. Hemorrhoid cream? Impatient. Nasty ancient toothbrush? Slob. Curly hair-covered motel soap? OK, you get the point. All potential land mines.

The art of cabinet psychology is a carefully honed skill that, with proper development, can be more effective in the diagnosis of personality disorders than months on a therapist's couch. The next time you are at a potential mates home, slip into the commode for a little observation. I'll give you an example:

Exhibit A: I volunteer my own cabinet.

Upon first inspection:

I am a menstruating woman with good skin who smells great, has nice white teeth, red nails, and the occasional back sprain.

The hidden bad stuff:
Has out of control frizz issues, spends way too much money on hair products, perfume and nail polish. May have a tendency to be superficial.

What does your medicine cabinet say about you?

Don't fly with me....

2010-01-07T23:54:00.000-08:00

I have flown my whole life. With parents 500 miles apart and both sets of grandparents on the opposite side of the world, I was a frequent flier by the age of ten. Add the post-college wanderlust and vacations, I've logged a lot of air miles. You'd think I was an old pro. A seasoned veteran. A rational, reasonable and sane traveler.

But I am not. Experience has made me the reluctant passenger. You know.... that girl who always arrives early for the delayed flight, the one sitting in between the non-stop talker and the kid that can't stop puking? The sweet, quiet one who somehow invites disaster whenever she flies? Yep, that's me. I've crash landed, emergency exited, re-routed, and diverted. If you see me at the airport DO NOT get on the plane! Bad things will happen.

Every time I purchase a ticket I have visions of grandeur. I dress well in hope of getting upgraded. I am nice to the TSA people. I smile and make small talk with the ticket agents.

It never works. Bad airline karma follows me. Pull up a chair and let me tell you a little story....

My brother came to my home in Northern California for a visit after Christmas. Thinking I'd surprise my parents for New Year's, I decided to drive back to the L.A. area with him and fly home after a few days. So I purchased a one-way ticket on a small commuter airline traveling from Burbank to Chico, CA with a plane change and one hour layover in San Francisco. A total of 500 miles. Easy, right?

Arriving at the airport early, I thought I'd get my boarding pass, check my bag and be free to wander the concourse. Read a few magazines. People watch. There was no one at the counter, just a bank of computers and lines of people jabbing the screens to receive their tickets. A lonely conveyor belt sat empty and unmoving; underemployed by the new bag check charge of $15.00. Determining my heavy bag unworthy of the fee, I threw the strap over my shoulder, grabbed my boarding pass and proceeded to my gate. The plane departed and arrived on time with no apparent mechanical issues, the weather was gorgeous and the flight was made more pleasurable by a neighbor who was engrossed in a very thick novel, and never even lifted his head to order a drink. One more 30 minuted flight and I'd be home in time to do a load of laundry before bed. Piece of cake.

But air-karma never sleeps. The second leg was delayed 2 hours. The gate was changed from 76A to 89A (quite a hike in SFO) and then changed to 77A (the next door over from the original, mind you). My bag was getting heavier with every gate. I noticed a loud man at the bar across from the gate with three drinks lined up in front of him, and laughed to myself.

When the boarding call was finally announced, my shoulder was numb and I was working on a pretty good headache. I noticed the man from the bar stagger to the gate, muttering obscenities and I cringed. I could feel the air shift and I knew things were taking a turn. I boarded quickly and hoped the tiny seat next to me would stay vacant, but there he was. And now he was angry at everyone and seated directly to my left. 30 minutes to home.

About a half an hour later, I noticed a smell. You know the smell. Urinal cake and under-maintained porta-potty smell. Every time we turned. Wait a minute.... we shouldn't be turning....

A voice from the cockpit played in slow motion, "This is your captain speaking. We have enough fuel to make it back to San Francisco, as well as hang out and circle up here for about 15 minutes. We have pretty dense fog with 25 feet visibility and we need 100 feet visibility to land. We'll let you know if we can get down there when we see an opening."

Drunk guy did not like this message. At all. Now everyone on the plane wanted to push him out, and I just hoped we wouldn't have to listen to him all the way back to SFO.

15.... 30.... 45 minutes go by. Every turn brings new smells from the back of the plane. Drunk guy gets louder. I can't see anything out the window. Do we still have enough fuel to make it back? I wonder if this flight is ever going to end.

Suddenly, the landing gear went down. Everyone started clapping. We were landing! The plane hit the runway really hard. Everyone stopped clapping. It dodged left, then right. We were going really fast. A woman screamed. We slowed quite a bit, and then "THUMP!" We went off the runway and into a field. The plane stopped. Everyone clapped. We landed.

We bumped over the soil, back onto the tarmac, and to the terminal. I was first off the plane. Walking towards the gate I caught a glimpse of my husband, waiting nervously at the door. I hugged him tight and gave him a big kiss.

It's good to be home. I don't think I'm going anywhere for a while.

Happy New Year....

2009-12-28T13:16:00.000-08:00

As part of my annual calendar wrap up, I look at the year in review online. The internet is a fantastic tool for researching pop-culture, and I find myself getting lost amongst the trivial topics of what our society deems important. I am particularly fond of lists. Top 10's are always interesting, and sometimes surprising: from New Year's resolutions to what became popular, and what waned. The best photos from National Geographic. The year's hottest music and movies.

But the best is always the most Google searched topics.
A telling example is Christmas Day's most popular queries:

Okay, I get the prime rib thing, but Starbucks? WalMart hours? What kind of society do we live in that searches for Best Buy Christmas hours before the mimosas? Has Corporate America taken over our common sense? (Is common sense an oxymoron?)

I wish you a very happy new year, that you kiss your soulmate at midnight and all of your searches end with mimosas.

'Twas the day before Christmas....

2009-12-24T17:18:00.000-08:00

I awoke with a panic. It was the day before Christmas; I had completed all of my shopping, wrapped the gifts, baked all the treats. What had I forgotten? I poured a cup of coffee and grabbed the paper in my normal relaxing morning ritual. Only I couldn't relax. I just knew there was one last thing to cross off my list....

Like a thunderbolt, it hit me. I had spaced going to the post office to mail my packages! In the trunk of my car they were out of sight, and completely out of mind. I would now have to stand in line for ages in the company of countless other procrastinators in festive holiday moods. The post office is the last place I planned on being on Christmas Eve, but it was imperative my mail was postmarked before midnight, so off I went.

The line was long. Really long. And people were grumpy. And smelly. But I finally reached the front and plopped my packages on the counter. The USPS guy looked like he had worked a season or two behind the counter, and kept glancing at the clock behind me, just over my head. He sleepily recited the standard mail jargon, charged me a fortune, and tossed the packages onto the conveyor belt. As an afterthought, I asked for a book of stamps to take with me.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: "Can I see what's available in Christmas stamps?"

USPS Guy: "We ran out of Christmas stamps. Everyone is mailing this year, and they didn't make enough to last until Christmas. I've got Hanukkah stamps, Kwanzaa stamps, museum stamps.... but no Christmas stamps."

Me: "Okay, then, let's see the museum stamps."

Me: "Uh, that's a Madonna and Child."

USPS Guy: "Yeah, that's all that's available. Sorry."

Me: "But that's Jesus! And Mary!"

USPS Guy: "Yeah, we ran out of the Snowman stamps the first week of December. I can see what else we might have back here....."

Me: "Merry Christmas. I'll take the museum stamps, please."

Happy Campers....

2009-12-22T20:28:00.000-08:00

I am a city girl. Manhattan, London, San Francisco, Paris. Love them all. I could spend my life bustling from one museum to the next. Expose my palate to a different nationality every night. I love the smell of bus exhaust. The sound of horns honking. The feel of trains jiggling china off shelves. I'd gladly surrender my driver's license for a public transportation pass and live in the city.

So when I announced my engagement 6 years ago, my boss quietly said, "Does he know.... you don't go.... outside?"

You see, I married the guy who was everything nature. He would rather have a rectal exam than experience the frenetic life of the city. A day off meant all day fishing, or hiking, or climbing. Every weekend spent sleeping on the soil in his trademark one-man tent.

Waking to the sound of woodpeckers. One with the universe. Eschewing basics like electricity, plumbing and hygiene. Before I wandered into his scene, Matt contentedly spent his time waist-deep in snow-melt rivers, chasing trout and breathing clean air. He had no clue what was about to hit him.

And neither did I.

There were compromises. Of major proportions. Where would we live? Was Matt willing to buy a suit? Would I tempt fate and sleep under the stars? The negotiations were long and intense, but in the end both parties were satisfied.

Matt goes off to feed his soul in the wilderness with the boys (and by boys, I mean grown-up responsible sorts who like to hang out with bears, drink whiskey by the fire and have farting contests). But he did buy a suit, and has learned to appreciate theatre. Being a professional chef has opened many doors for him in the culinary world, and I have become accustomed to the star treatment we receive in fine restaurants.

I meet my refined, metropolitan friends in the city (and by friends I mean the kind of chums who wear nice shoes, love Broadway and talk about the latest paint colors). But I bought some hiking boots and didn't die when I came upon my first snake. Running into bear scat doesn't even scare me anymore.
We have gone camping, and it's not all that bad. In fact, sometimes it's pretty fun.

But we did have to get a bigger tent.

So much to complain about....

2009-10-26T11:59:00.000-07:00

I complain about my cleavage. It's not what it used to be. An inch or so lower and more cylindrical than I'd prefer. Now I know why they add that little extra "sock" to tank tops, although that only works for a few years. I can't go braless any more. Can't pass the pencil test. My breast length is racing my hair length and I can no longer play Mermaid in the bathtub.

I complain about my hair. In the quest for the perfect curl, I end up with light-socket frizz. I can't blow it dry. I can't wash it at night. I wash it in the morning and have to wait until 10:00 for it to dry. Wavy but not curly. What used to be golden is now brown. With some gray.... little patches here and there. Unwelcome silvery strands to catch the light. A reminder of lost youth.

I complain about my body. Strange, lumpy parts replace the once over-looked smooth areas. I can't drink without a hangover. Aches and pains visit with more frequency. Gone is the ability to scarf down a double cheeseburger and shake. Now, every calorie likes to hang out, just in case it's needed.

I complain about time. Not enough of the lazy, day-off kind. Too much of the busy, run-around kind. It takes too long to walk here, or run there. There's not enough time in the day to take on that last task; usually housework.

I complain about so much. But I don't complain about my hair falling out from Chemo. Or the doctor wanting to take more breast tissue (just to be cautious). I don't complain about heaving until there's nothing left to give. Or the needle marks covering my skin. I don't complain about being given a length of time in which I can live.

The fact is, I have cleavage. And hair. And a healthy body. And time...... I am not sick. I am lucky. Many are not. I have decided to honor my friends, my family, my sisters in breast-hood by simply shutting my mouth. I will not complain about life, as I have permission to live it however I please. The coffee line is too long? Someone cut me off in traffic? The electric bill is too high? Lucky.

Lucky to be here.....

Things I love about fall....

2009-10-18T18:04:00.000-07:00

Leaves running across the road like cats.
The sawdust smell of a fallen branch (in anyone's yard but mine!).
Spongy grass.
Netflix Sunday afternoons with hot chocolate and blankets.
Hats.
Cloud animals.
Pajama pants. Finally.
Costumes and candy. (Lots and lots of candy.... costume optional.)
Long, hot baths with a book.
Walking the dog in the wind.
Cinnamon and nutmeg.
Aspen leaves applauding the breeze.
Closed-toed shoes. And new socks.
Oak ball wars.
Crunchy footsteps.
Enormous, lopsided pumpkins on my tiny, lopsided porch.
Baking cookies. And bread.
Rain.

What's your favorite thing about fall?

Shorter days....

2009-09-14T14:21:00.000-07:00

It's happening. I went to a late matinee yesterday and when the show was over I readied myself for the spotlight of summer waiting to greet me on the other side of the theatre door. I dug my shades out of my enormous candy and snacks receptacle purse (it's amazing what you'll find in there), located my keys and headed for the exit. If I hurried home I'd still have time for a bit of gardening before nightfall. I followed the movie lemmings in a race to get to out, found the door, and squinted in anticipation of the brutal California sun.

It was.... dark. At 7:30. Fearing Sudden Onset Blindness (I saw it once on Oprah and have been terrified ever since), I stopped dead in my tracks. Like a line of dominos, the single-file group of about 20 people behind me collided in a chain reaction of L.A. freeway proportions. And I was their leader.

A good friend once told me "If you're going down, never do it alone. Take as many people with you as you can." So in a moment of pure genius, I turned to the Twilight t-shirt wearing 13 year old directly behind me, shook my head and said in my best childless-woman-of-little-tolerance voice, "Come on! Can't you see there are people behind you? You're going to kill someone!" By the time she could muster a witty teenage retort I was long gone.

So I suppose the day getting shorter tells us summer has come to an end. It's time to prepare the soil for a winter garden, move the chair cushions inside, and finish all of those sunny weather projects that got started in June. It will start raining soon and hanging out in the garden 'til the bugs start biting will have to wait until next year. I wonder if there are any good movies coming out.....

Continuum....

2009-09-12T11:34:00.000-07:00

I've always been a social creature. In fact, all my 5th grade report card said in the comments section was "My darling Katie. If we could get her to stop talking and start working, her grades would improve." A life-long challenge, I'm afraid.

I had plans. For everything. By 17 I was out every weekend, going here, seeing that. Busy, busy, busy. I'd kiss my parents goodnight on my way out the door. I watched them wave goodbye as I ran past them on the porch, and try not to wake them when I got home.

At 25 I had collected a few really cool stories to write home about. I had stamps in my passport. There was always a concert, or an opening, or a trip with good friends. Opportunity everywhere and I was not going to miss any of it. I had no responsibilities. No reason to say no. I jumped at chances. Letters home were filled with tales of my adventures and photos of beautiful sunsets.

Slowly, the tables started turning. As I took on new responsibilities, my parents released theirs. I started my career as my Dad was retiring. Bought a car and a parking space as they bought a boat (not a weekend boat you can tow behind your truck, a 40-something foot multi-bedroom boat in the San Juan Islands). I acquired a mortgage around the time my parents paid off their house. Thought about starting a family as their last child was finishing college. I was tying myself down as they were releasing their reigns.

Now I check my email for their letters of adventure. I study the photos of their travels. I haven't been a guest in their house for years. Instead, they stay at mine on their way to or from their destination of choice. I cry as they pull away to continue their life stories, and I miss them. They are free. Truly free. I dream as I drive to work about the day I can loosen my bindings; release myself from the responsibilities of the life I have chosen. Wander the world from port to port, watch the sun set with an umbrella in my drink and my toes in the sand. Until then, I can always live vicariously....

If you give a girl a carriage....

2009-09-02T22:55:00.000-07:00

I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was 7. And toothless. And wanted a dolly carriage more than life. I had a pretty extensive doll collection, complete with dresses and shoes and hair clips and jewelry. I'd lock myself and my cat Smudge Pot in my room and play fashion parlor for hours.

My mom made me the happiest girl on the planet when I woke up on my birthday to find the perfect pram to take my favorite doll on a walk. She was about 18 inches tall and had her own closet; a blue metal chest that opened to form a dressing room with drawers and hangers. Her wardrobe was to die for! Prairie dresses just like Holly Hobbie, fabulous hats to match, even socks. She had eyeballs that rolled back in her head if you laid her down. She was the best doll ever. Then one day her head just popped right off her shoulders and couldn't be reattached, not even by my brother David who could fix anything.

I was devastated. Nothing could get me out of the dark mood that shadowed my afternoons. Well, almost nothing. Smudge Pot had been trained to sit for hours and watch the "purple and sparkly" develop in me. It was a natural progression, I suppose, to try the decapitated doll's clothes on the poor cat, and since she didn't complain (with claws, anyway) I was off and running with my new hobby: cat dressing. She loved it, I swear. I taped her dressed up little body in the stroller and took her for walks. She never left the house without a hat.

30-something years later my mom still shakes her head when I mention Smudge Pot. She was the first cat of many in my life, and she taught me a lot about unconditional love. And how to clip extensions to very short hair.

I tried everything....

2009-08-24T16:26:00.000-07:00

Not so long ago I couldn't find enough recipients for the goodness my garden was producing. Every day I had a bounty of at least three tomatoes and more cucumbers than a village of widows could use. Peppers and herbs filled my market basket and I gave the basil curious haircuts once a week. My neighbors, my mom's neighbors, and even the crew at Starbucks were all reaping the rewards of my garden. It seemed so idyllic, harvesting and consuming the fruits of my labor. I was one with the Earth. In line with the moon. Down with natural pesticides. I was a garden goddess.

Then one day there were only two tomatoes. And two cucumbers. The basil wasn't growing a mullet and the peppers were on stand-by. As the days went by, my basket got lighter and lighter. I didn't know what I had done wrong. Was I over/under watering? Adding too much Miracle Grow? Not singing loudly enough? I was perplexed about my lack of new veggies. Not knowing what to do, I knew where I could find the answers. I was off to the garden center.

I consulted the directions on bags of amendments. I checked charts and labels and guides on additives. I didn't find anything helpful. The kids working for beer money didn't even know the plants in the nursery needed watering; they weren't going to offer me any new insight. Noticing a very comfy wicker chair, I slumped down and folded my arms in a huff.

As my furrowed brow raised, I noticed her across the aisle. I instantly new she could save the garden. She'd done it for countless people before (although not quite in an organic capacity). Selflessly standing by to offer comfort and hope. So I took her home. And named her Mary.

She's been standing guard for two days now, and I have to admit things are looking a bit better. The bell peppers broke out in a beautiful bloom to welcome her to the neighborhood! I even offered her a tropical shell necklace to make her more comfortable in her new home.

Only time will tell if she's up to the task, but I have a feeling the veggies will taste a little sweeter, and the garden will be a better place.

A couple of days away....

2009-08-22T23:28:00.000-07:00

I took a week away from work and didn't go anywhere. Well, almost. I had planned to play all week; catch up on movies (check), get a pedicure (check), go to lunch with good friends (check), sleep in (check). Then I got bored.

My mom suggested going to Lake Tahoe for a couple of days and I jumped at the chance. The air was cool, the people were friendly and the water was perfect. I planted my beach chair on the edge of the shore, grabbed my book, and let my worries go sailing away with the paddleboarders....

But the last year has not been kind to my favorite get-away. The economy has dried up tourist dollars and the casinos have all but closed down. The all-you-can-eat buffets are gone, boat and bike rental agencies have gone belly-up, and parking was plenty at the beach. The lake itself seemed a bit depressed, too. The water level is the lowest it's been in over 30 years. You can walk out 400 yards and not get your tummy wet!

So now is the chance for us semi-locals (would that be regionals?) to scoop up the good deals and head up the hill for some economic stimulus. You'll have the place to yourself and low or not, that is the most beautiful lake you'll ever see. Eat out, play in the casinos and rent some bikes for a cruise around town. You'll feel like a new person. Even if only for a couple of days.

Houseguests....

2009-06-29T16:31:00.000-07:00

Our string of wonderful house guests have gone and all is back to normal. The house is quiet and we are a bit more unlikely to pick up our messes so fast. The lawn needs mowing and the weeds are peeking through (again!), all of the towels and sheets are blowing in the wind.

Having guests when the temperature keeps rising can heat the house up very quickly, so we are doing much of our cooking outside, barbecued on Matt's new cast iron monster. Our tasty dinners were: chicken grilled with fresh garden peppers and onions; hot dogs and hamburgers with homemade mustard and pickles; fajitas; delicious steak with Gorgonzola butter, fresh asparagus, new potatoes, and tomato basil mozzarella salad (thanks to my parents for the photo!). We only cooked inside once.... pasta.

Although we always eat fresh, we don't always have great new company to share it with. It's fun to add another setting to the table, pour another glass of wine, and toast to friendships far and wide. I am ready for more guests, so if you're in town, stop by!

Here is a great all-around recipe for grilled veggies:

1 med. Red or Sweet Onion cut into 4 pieces then separated.

1 med. Yellow Squash sliced 1/2" thick lengthwise.

1 med. Zucchini Squash sliced 1/2" thick lengthwise.

1 med. Green Pepper cut into 1' strips.

1 med. Red Pepper cut into 1" strips.

12-14 med. fresh Mushrooms, stems removed.

Olive Oil mixture:

2 tablespoons Olive Oil.

1/4 teaspoon fresh ground Black Pepper.

1/4 teaspoon Sea Salt.

1 Garlic clove, crushed.

Toss vegetables with Olive Oil mixture and place in oil sprayed grill basket.

Grill with lid closed over med. coals or lava rocks, stir occasionally until vegetables are tender (approx. 10-12 minutes)

Playing God....

2009-06-05T19:16:00.000-07:00

I thought my garden was looking pretty good until I got up close and personal with my tomatillo. Taking up residence and about to build a cool condo complex were about a million aphids!

I was at a loss as to what to do, so I pulled out my laptop and got to work. Natural pest control was my only option as I find no need to grow my own only to add chemicals to my food. Ladybugs are said to be a veggie gardener's best friend and I figured I could find them somewhere....

I found lots of websites that sold ladybugs by mail so I ordered an army of 3,000 for around 20 bucks. What a bargain! I laid the little bag under the plant and watched the ladybugs pour out the top. Boy, were they hungry! They found the aphids quickly and gobbled them right up. It was fascinating to watch them grab and hoard their food, even stealing each other's right out from under their chins! In the space of about 10 minutes the tomatillo was totally aphid free. I was so impressed, I moved the little bag to the tomato. The theory is this: the ladybugs get so full they find a comfy leaf to relax on and pop out a few eggs that will then hatch hungry and keep the cycle going.

The only flaw in my plan was not checking the weather. Torrential rain and 2000 lightning strikes in 1 hour ruined my plan for complete aphid annihilation! Only about 50 bugs stuck it out, but the plants are all clean and dust-free and I don't have to water for a couple of days....

The pretzels are to die for....

2009-06-03T21:45:00.000-07:00

My best guy friend and his beautiful and undoubtedly better half are coming for a visit in 2 weeks!! Michael and I have been friends for 20 years and roommates on and off throughout that time. When Matt and I married, Michael moved to the east coast where he met Lisa, and they're in Pennsylvania until we convince them to give up their well paying jobs and move to Chico. I go see them once a year in the spring, and they come see us in the summer.

The last time I was there we went to the Amish country and I could not get enough pretzels! Soft and chewy, salty and warm. There's nothing better! When I got to the airport to go home there were vendors selling them right outside the gate, so I got Matt a six-pack and boarded the plane..... I ate them all. I decided I had to make them for Matt to make up for my gluttony. I searched and searched for the perfect recipe, making about 6 batches before finding the perfect pretzels. This is so quick and easy, and I guarantee there will be none left over. Enjoy!

Amish Pretzels

Ingredients

1 1/4 cups water (approx 105 degrees)
1 tablespoon yeast
1/3 cup brown sugar
2 cups bread flour
2 cups flour

DIPPING SOLUTION

1/2 cup baking soda, into
3 cups hot water
sweet creamy butter, for 'dipping' face of pretzels after baking.

Directions

1
Dissolve yeast into warm water.
2
Add sugar, then flour& mix well- do not 'knead' as this toughens the dough.
3
(Mix just until combined well) Let rise until doubled, at least 20 minutes.
4
Cut into long 'ropes'.
5
Shape into pretzel shapes, then dip into prepared dipping solution.
6
Place on non-stick cookie sheet and sprinkle with course sea salt.
7
Bake at 500-550°F for 4-6 minutes until golden brown.
8
Dip face of pretzel into melted butter.
9
Variation: add 1 t vanilla to the dough.
10
Flavor variations.
11
Cinnamon/sugar- omit salt& dip into cinnamon sugar after face has been coated with butter.
12
Sour cream& onion- after dipping face of pretzel in butter, sprinkle with sour cream& onion powder Garlic- same as sour cream& onion, but use garlic powder.
13
Sesame or poppy seed--BEFORE baking, AFTER dipping into dipping solution, dip pretzel face-down into the seeds, then bake.
14
Salt is optional with this one.
Makes 16 pretzels

Thanks, Dad.......

2009-06-01T22:18:00.000-07:00

I worked hard in the garden today. The weeds around my raised beds were out of control and a renegade band of evil biting ants made tending the crops a chore. I decided to outsmart both obstacles by laying down weed cloth and covering it with dirt. Aha! It may just work!

Since I am meticulous about the garden, it took hours. First, I had a pad of paper, a pen, and a few ideas. This blossomed into an hour on the computer and then a trip to the Kmart garden center. I found lots of options (mulch, top soil or bark) at every price point. I filled my trusty vehicle with mulch and weed cloth and got to work. Being an algebraic infant made things a bit tense, but I finally figured out exactly how much cloth to put where and how to evenly distribute the mulch as to not require another trip to the store.

I had lots of time to reflect while hand spreading the mulch and I kept thinking of my dad and his gardens; how he could tell me everything there is to know about this particular plant or that, how much and when to water, and what to plant where. He always had a diagram! I was surprised by the research he did when he was truly interested in something; many more hours were spent finding out all the details of a project than the amount of time it took to actually do it. It used to drive me nuts how he'd map out a plan when anyone else would just jump in and do it.

As I checked my diagram, it began to dawn on me that I might be a little like him. This realization didn't affect me like when I think "Oh, God, I've become my mother!". Instead, I took my ice water to a garden chair, sat down, and surveyed my hard work. I smiled as I thought how much I enjoyed all of my research, and how having a plan can make things a lot easier. Sometimes, Dad, you are right. Thanks.

Ah, my first blog..........

2009-05-31T12:29:00.000-07:00

OK, so I have officially joined this century. I have a blog! I hope this will be a forum to share ideas about good things in life with good friends far and wide. Raise a glass to the beginning........