A German Shepherd Gal without a trusty GSD

Our first German Shepherd Dog, Max came into our lives as a puppy almost 20 years ago. Technically, he was our second German Shepherd Dog. He came at five months old and had some "training on him", part of the puppy package from the breeder/trainers at Assertive K-9 Training. He could do a fabulous long down. (30 minutes - which was easy, because, he'd fall asleep 10 minutes into the down and he'd stay.) "Who's a good boy?"
Max. Max was a good boy. The long story is that we'd had a stray Shep, Ruby for about a week. A friend of a friend has purchased her from a homeless man who had her out all night in the cold with him and this friend of a friend was focused on a better life for doggies. (My kinda gal.) She took Ruby home to live with her and her kiddos. Ruby slept on her daughter's bed. So, when she came to us, she was accustomed to people being like dogs, bad choice. She was on the bed and nipped my daughter in puppy play, but Sarah is a human and at the time, she was a tender and loud human child who was scared to pieces by a big old German Shepherd snout biting her. But she also already LOVED Ruby (the child is part dog). Then, the nip happened a second time in the car, after which a friend of ours, said something like,  "My best friend's mom is a German Shepherd trainer and breeder and she says a Shepherd NEVER belongs on the bed as a puppy because they assume it gives them status as a human." We were intrigued by the psychology and drove the miles out to the German Shepherd training grounds and met with Diana Foster - a highly regarded trainer/breeder. We shared our story and she talked about the Shepherd's intelligence and willingness to challenge for position. We learned about the fabulous long-down where you put the dog on a down-stay and keep them there by returning them to set position every time they get up until you release them. She talked about her approach and the dogs she had available at that time. We were in love quickly with the idea of a well-trained German Shepherd Dog. Her litters sold out quickly and about a year after our initial meeting with her, she called to say she had a few pups available,  two of whom were German imports from a Schutzenhund line. Trained to do what Shutzenhunds do -- Shutzen training. The significance is that dogs with this temperment are bright and quite maleable. So a big dog, scary looking to some people, when well-trained, will do what you ask of them. We were excited and hopped in the car to go meet these doggies. We were introduced to a pack of furballs (from an unavailable litter) and Max and Carla, a brother and sister from Germany - Schutznehund types. I fell in love with short haired Carla and everyone else loved long-haired Max. He sensed my internal struggle and immediately wrapped himself around my feet and stared at me promising undying affection and fun. I was sunk. Both kids, my husband and this adorable pup were on the side I needed to move to. And I did, quickly.

After a couple of weeks of extended training, we brought Max home and he was exactly what we dreamed of, a gorgeous caramel Shepherd with a deep black saddle.
His "coated" status made him very pretty and many people wanted to tell us he wasn't a GSD, but some other breed because of the coat. We laughed to ourselves because, we held the paper on the guy. And those German's don't mess around when it comes to Bloodlines and their Hunds. 

Max was a perfect dog. He practiced his downs, loved to go for walks and healed like it was proof of his excellent breeding. He acted as if staying at my left knee were a badge of honor. It made walks and socializing a treat. He was into it. Max belonged to everyone in the house. It was clear I was his mama, but he was pretty equal in sharing his love. Both kiddos knew the ropes of walks and downs and he gave them his full attention. He also loved going to their school to be "shown off" on sharing days. We never gave a second thought to him being with other kids. He was trained. He was easy.

Max made sure he always knew where everyone was. If I went to the neighbors he watched me leave and then waited by the window for my return. He often slept with me on the bed for a nap or when I went to bed earlier than everyone else - keeping me company as I fell asleep. He was a great pal. As he aged he became more protective of the house and let the mail people know we didn't need whatever they were offering. My husband loves to tell the story of the Fed Ex guy who jumped several feet backward OFF the porch when he answered the door with Max at his side. He was a protector for sure.

Max started slowing down at about about 10 and at that point our youngest had seen a litter of darling terrier mix puppies and fell in love. She talked up the fact that her pal Seth's dogs had three puppies and were looking for good homes for them. I let her know we'd could go look but we weren't getting a puppy. (Who did I think I was convincing?) We went to her friend Seth's house and met Jack and Jessie and their three puppies, two black pups with white markings and Lucy a white pup full of sweetness and a lot of sass. We fell completely in love. Lucy was the girl for us. After convincing my husband that his little girl could handle care for a puppy, we brought Lucy home. In a box. We let Maxy open the box in the backyard and from the first minute he became the mentor she needed. He loved her, and she him.  She slept her first night tucked into the circle of his belly. I don't think either of them move that night. She was so happy to have her new family - and a grandpa dog to boot! She started the next day teasing him and playing puppy games with him. - and he rose to the occasion. In the yard, she'd walk up hehind him and grab his plume of a tail, pull and run. He'd "fake" chase her and toss a bark in her direction. They snarled and played and nipped and rolled. They were a perfect pair. She got a playmate and he got a very happy year of play and mentorship.  One day, Lucy decided to go after the mailman, at the front window the same way Max did. He wasn't allowing this in her and stepped on her head to let her know she had to stop. She stopped. His whole life with us, he had his crate which went from a safe place for us to place him when we had to go out, to becoming his safe place. He retired to the crate when the house was too congested or noisy and he wanted some quiet space. On occasion, Lucy would join him. And, he welcomed her.  

We lost Max to an unfortunate tumor which made him anemic and also a bad candidate for surgery. It was a very sad day for everyone in our home. We all wandered through the house feeling the hole he left. Shortly after declaring we "wouldn't get another dog for a long time," three weeks to be exact, my husband walked into the living room on a cold Saturday morning, ready to go and saying, "come on! there's a gorgeous male Shepherd at Westside German Shepherd Rescue and we're going to go look!" We did and we met a gorgeous boy named Ace. He was strong and joyous - A little bit more dog than I was expecting. We had a lot of discussions about how we'd bring him home and decided to take him to Diana and her team for some training (boarding) before bringing him home to live with us. And that we did. Ace did really well with the training and he and I continued to drive out to Corona on Saturday mornings for group work which he loved. The people at Assertive saw the bond he and I forged and commented when he became the fastest dog to "find" his person during "hide and seek" using dog-blinds. When I put him in the back of my SUV he jumped in, turned around and kissed my face like it had been slathered by a T-Bone. I was convinced he was thanking me for going through the extra training with him. He loved it. I loved it. And, I loved him. As much as I adore Max, Ace became my best pal. Once, early on after he joined us, and would come and go through the back door on leash (as he learned the ins-and-outs of living with us) he "got away" from my husband when he saw me lying on the couch. He made a headlong dive onto me and stayed there until he was returned to his crate. It was an unexpected communication that he'd found his person. And I was that for 10 good years with him. I couldn't leave the house without hearing how tragic my departure was. And I couldn't return without a full GSD reunion party. Around 4 years old, Ace had his first epileptic seizure which is something you don't really want to ever have to see. We worked with our vet, consulted with neurologists and the best vet in Los Angeles and for 6 years, didn't ever really get much more than a month stretch between seizures. Last January he had a seizure that forever changed our situation. We lost him. It was awful and the hole in our home this time is twice as big. (The hole in my spirit is huge without him.) We miss him, but we have a wedding coming up and it isn't time for a new puppy. It will be soon enough. Just not yet. And, in the meantime, our darling Lucy had TPLO surgery for a ruptured CCL (doggy ACL) and a torn meniscus. She's in the long quiet recovery. Definitely the wrong time for a new dog. Healing requires rest and puppies don't rest for long. We're taking good care of Lucy who thinks she's a GSD. (But looks more like a Jack Russell with Greyhound legs.) There's a GSD out there waiting for me. I can feel it. I just hope he's willing to wait as long as we need to. In some ways, I feel like I'm walking around with a part of me missing. I don't know when that part of me became a dog, but it seems that happened. And it may have happened years ago when my dad brought home a Skye Terrier puppy eight weeks after I was born. We were best friends and I was his charge. Fully protected at all times. Kinda like life with Ace. It's a good feeling to share life with a great dog and I've had the opportunity more than a couple of times. Dad used to say "You seem to get one truly great dog in your lifetime." Dad agreed I exceeded my quota. I'm more than happy for this and will tempt the trope with the next great dog I have the pleasure of adding to our family. In the meantime, I remain a GSD kinda gal without her trusty GSD.

Tending. A different way.

This little grouping came after some needed pruning and clipping this morning. Pajama gardening is my favorite.  

I've been tending the spaces almost each day since spring. There was a small interruption with a mama dove and her eggs and then babies in a gathering basket right on top of my potting bench at the back door.

Other than necessary ins and outs, we've tried to keep traffic to a minimum so not to bother our sweet guest. They flew the nest this morning so I did a quick bit of catching up and welcomed this lovely batch of dahlias inside.

I've enjoyed playing in the garden since we moved into this house years ago. The sellers had filled the patch between the patio and the lawn with petunias. That's it. (They took the paint and petunias idiom literally.) It took no time for me to put a few roses in the ground. Over time we added strawberries, some sweet potatoes, cukes, pumpkins, Icelandic poppies - a long list of trials and errors. I read, I attempted, I learned. I did it when I had little, little kiddos, a husband, a job, family and friendships. The garden took a back seat (the way back, third row to be honest) and got the love it deserved when I had the breathing space.

Then, my landscaping pal Gary and I took a real look at the space we have and made a hardscape plan. Jennifer, a beautiful landscape designer gave me a completely new recommendation for plantings based on my zone and where the sunlight fell. Brilliant! I had Hebes and Lavender "Otto Quast," an Iceberg Rose tree with a burgundy iceberg graft, Penstemon, more White Iceberg bushes, Cecile Bruner Rose, Verbascum, Veronica, lots of beauty.

Charlie McCormick's Dahlias. I swoon.

Over the years things came out and things went in. Every year, Sweet Peas are planted the day after Thanksgiving. I love this way of bringing them in. But this year my crop was so small. We mostly enjoyed them as they trailed up the fence. I'm wild about Delphinium and my friends Lori and Carlos had a gorgeous garden with Larkspur planted right along. We made the whole garden a Potager Garden (not quite like this one) for a couple of years, but my heart came back to flowers and during the pandemic I found some mail order joy from Annies Annuals, Eden Bros., David Austin Roses and Heirloom Roses.  The garden, complete with a beautiful Forest Pansy tree is burgeoning this year. 

I learned two things. 

Water helps- we had lots of rain this winter. It made the tree and all the flowers so very happy. We live in a drought area so I'm filling barrels with any water too cold for hands or showers. Also, daily snips and cleanup make a big difference. Last summer, I planted about fifteen Dahlia plants inspired by Charlie McCormick's gorgeous dahlia gardens. As they grew in, they struggled, they didn't have enough space at the base to breathe. I learned. Only about ten made it over the cold winter we had. No frost, but cold enough. My grandmother of English heritage, and midwestern experience, always took her tubers up. But, California is not Chicago. I may have learned to rest them. Maybe.

A gardener I know, a real gardener, told me, "gardening is a series of killing things." I can do that. One year I didn't water anything over winter - except that which was hit by the sprinkler system. Lesson learned. 

So, the garden. Daily visits. Daily joy. Daily tending. 

New Tricks.

 

If you ever found yourself scrolling my photos, phone or laptop you'd run into thousands of dog pictures. Yup over 1000 times, I, one of my kids or husband or mom has snapped a doggie and it's ended up in my photos. 

Dogs. I love them. 

You don't have to go through the whole history lesson with me, but it does start with my first dog, Piper, being born the day before me. (I remember the odd piece of information, I admit it.) My enjoyment and attachment is long-standing. So it shouldn't surprise anyone that I notice changes in behavior. The little one here, is Lucy. She was a pup in this picture. Sweet, sleepy, puppy. Now she's eight and still sweet but now with clearly defined likes and dislikes:

• No loud noises
• No dogs on our lawn
• No cats
• No car rides, especially to the vet
• No home fire alarm "battery is running low" chirping
• No sneaker squeaking because it sounds like the above
• No picking her up
• Breakfast is before 7am, followed by 2 treats
• Walks are at 5:45 - the list goes on.

She's not wild about extra people in the house so, this weekend when our eldest brought his fiancée to celebrate with a backyard garden party, I was shocked to find Lucy in the middle of it all. She was out on the sofas, the rugs strewn across the lawn, greeting, sharing, sneaking pizza crust pieces, enjoying the day and the night. In fact, the morning after, when I let her out in the early hours, she simply didn't come in. She'd found a chair and seemed to have declared herself an outdoor party dog. 

All of this sums to a couple of things - old dogs/new tricks is not so true when a dog sees things in a new way. Also, how sweet is it to watch a pup celebrating favorite family members in their joy?

Dogs. I'll say it again. I love them. More to come.

Breathing in Spring

My morning routine includes a peek outside from my front door.

I was thrilled at the color and sunlight emanating from this patch of lavender, alstroemeria and more lavender. At some angles, it looks like the sun is hugging the tops of the lavender. The neighbor's splash of pink blooms escalates the scene as do the remaining blossoms on the redbud trees.

Aren't the blooms of spring and their colors spectacular this season?

Dorothy Kalin's:: The Kitchen Whisperers

A book review (posted to Goodreads dot com)

I fell in love with this book, especially the concept of the book, right away. I cook with lots of wonderful voices in the kitchen - both grandmothers (Coca Cola Cake and Lamb Stew on one side, Lemon Meringue pie and Chicken Croquettes on the other), my mom, good friends, Mrs. Child - of course, the brilliant chefs I've worked with, TV chefs who want to draw us in and get us moving and the quiet cookbook writers and stylists who offer their best.

They all seem to want to engage with us so we try new things, to go beyond our self-imposed borders and experience the wonders of the kitchen, the market, the table. At some point in the book, and it may have been too early on, Ms. Kalin's voice went from collaborative and encouraging to showcasing. Her Kitchen Whisperers are the chefs, the magazine editors and the stylists with whom she collaborated. Somehow, rather than drawing us in, she seemed to have drawn a line - a sort of "us and you" line I found off-putting. She makes a statement about a chef whose new kitchen isn't completed and he brings an amazing meal to the table with two toaster ovens and a hot plate. Brilliant! Wonderful! Exciting! Tell me more, tell me how. Instead, she goes on to comment, "In most chef's kitchens, and especially in most high-end non-chef's kitchens, you'll find a row of shiny appliances that signify mastery to the Williams Sonoma crowd but in reality only telegraph a quick Amazon trigger finger. (Just because they're there doesn't meant they're used, or used well.)" Ouch. There is this unnecessary defense of expertise. I'd prefer she acknowledge the heritage of home cooking - the inspiration, the doing, showing, trying, sharing. It's food! If someone with limited experience gets their hands dirty by using shiny appliances and gadgets, hooray! They're in the kitchen. 

I will say this, the book is staying in my kitchen. It was passed along by my dear friend Michelle - who is a fabulous cook and one of my Whisperers. I assumed I'd read it and pass it along, but I can't! It's FULL of sticky notes, full of ideas for the hours I'll spend at the farmers market and then in the kitchen. (I do wish she'd indexed all the non-recipe recipes!)

This is a good book but sadly, Kalins managed to separate, perhaps unintentionally, the reader and her accomplished associates, when she could have sidled up next to us and become our Kitchen Whisperer.

The Milk Glass Collection

Mom fell in love with Milk Glass in the late 40's. She began collecting and learned the markings of real authentic Milk Glass over the mass produced or replications early on in her process. In these weeks of cleaning out her house she's made certain I've removed all the collection to my house. And, I'll say it's fitting in better than I might have expected.

I have my own collecting ideas, but this one has been a part of my life for all of my life. Mom used pieces functionally. A honey jar for honey, a bud vase for a rose bud and that big candy dish? It's annually filled with candy corn in this season, but for now the tart gummy bear collection has residence. 

We had a little earthquake last week and this crew had to come off my stove mantle. The shaking was too much of a close call, but they look so great displayed up high (and without the portable speaker as one of them).

I've been warned about adding to the collection. It's not just pretty glass, it's Milk Glass. Real Milk Glass. Like all collectors, Mom had to turn away (re-gift perhaps?) some well-intentioned gifts. A dear family friend bought her a few pieces of Westmoreland with such kindness and joy. Alas, Westmoreland manufactured reproductions. I've also learned there were no dish sets made originally. I'm steering clear.

When I was four I found one of the dishes particularly pretty in it's design and shape. I grabbed it and headed outdoors to my sandbox. Unfortunately, I tripped on the way and the piece shattered. There's the history of family life. The part of the story I most love in Mom's telling is that I told her I wanted to use it to press those designs into the sand. Apparently I, too, found Milk Glass to be quite beautiful.

The calendar says fall. But the garden says spring.

These sweet Delphinium Elatum (Black Eyed Angels) debuted a few weeks ago and now, they're prolific alongside white Cosmos and a white Rose in my garden. They really are summer lights in my nighttime garden.

I was surprised by them coming up all together while the white rose finally bloomed. They must be in cahoots and remind me how much I love surprises, the garden and flowers beyond my dear Dahlias.

This year was my first real attempt at a Dahlia garden inspired by Charlie McCormick's Instagram displays. (See his fabulous dahlias in this article - look at the pinks, reds and corals!) His are magnificent and thoughtfully placed and grown. I had a long row of 12 against the edge of the garden facing sun. Pretty, but I may rethink position next year, hoping for the dense look of all the different varieties in reds and purples popping up together. A few new ones will arrive and I suppose I'll learn the art of dividing too. Ah, Dahlia's. But I digress.

I was considering fall. We've a pumpkin or two on the porch. Mums coming up in the different pots from a very intentional planting last year. (I had no idea they'd only require deadheading and are so prolific, blooming a couple of times a year.) Again, I digress.

Fall. White Delphinium, White Cosmos and White Roses. Lovely. Unexpected joy in the now-cool evenings. Time to sit and savor the last of the post- summer nights and enjoy the intrigue of the display.

Fall. Full of surprise.

The Sourdough Rabbit Hole

I'd love to take credit for the sourdough rabbit hole language but you'll have to see @Brad_Leone's Instagram feed for that fun. Any of us who've done the dive into sourdough during the Covid-19 Stay Home and cook-and-buy-up-all-the-flour-and-yeast-you-can-find frenzy will tell you making Sourdough is a test of patience, and tenacity, but oh, it is rewarding!

Sourdough does take procuring starter (I got mine from our local bakery Gusto Bread and right afterward, they were named one of Food and Wine's Top 100 Bakeries - coincidence?), days of  feeding and tending your starter, deciding what to do with the pour-off - I vote scallion pancakes - then, there's some learning about how to work with a dampish dough, how to space the work across your day, extending it to two or more if you like. There is waiting. And, then trusting your loaf to a 475 degree oven and holding out for two whole hours while the bread cools and cures when finished baking. So far, each time has been fun and fruitful. (There may have been one time we didn't quite get to the oven stage.)

So what's the rewards beyond sourdough toast? First, I finally learned why my Dutch Oven is called a Dutch Oven (mine's French for heaven's sake.) You bake the bread in the Dutch Oven inside the oven - the key to trapping steam for moisture and a good crust.

I thought the big fun was cutting into the first loaf, finding a good firm crust, big holes and just the right amount of moisture. It's was exciting. (It was also fun to hear my son tell me how much he loved the flavor.)

The really big fun is in learning, researching, exploring, trying and looking for improvement. My big mistake so far was adding the flour for an autolyse (sourdough words), answering the phone and coming back and adding water just as the scale turned off. I ended up with an inaccurate measure of water, more than I was shooting for, and the dough literally slid off the board during the pre-shape, like a Dali painting. I didn't try to save it, I chucked it and wrote it off to focus.

I found these videos and websites great fun for exploring:
Pro Home Cooks - 15 Mistakes Most Beginner Sourdough Bakers Make - It's really 15 steps to really good (and pretty simple) sourdough. I use his recipe with a couple of twists. (I can't get my hands on Einkorn and, I only use organic unbleached because organic seems to help the tang. I also hold back 100 grams of water adding half of it when I add starter and the other 50 grams when adding salt.)
Sarah Owens on Food52 - on starter
Sarah Owens on Food52 - on the best sourdough Table Loaf. Sarah is pretty wonderful and makes it all feel easy and breezy. I've followed her method with good results, and her loaves are really beautiful - bread goals.
Then there's The Perfect Loaf - I think Maurizio has all the information you'd ever need on bread and sourdough specifically. There's really good technical information here - the benefits of following temperature, etc., a truly tremendous resource.
Back to Brad Leone, you might love watching Brad and Claire in the Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and learning about slap and fold. Tried it. Kinda fun!

You'll find some respectable seriousness at the San Francisco Baking Institute demonstrator. When I was on my second set of loaves, he helped me figure out the pre-shape move. (I love the idea of a giant tub of dough. But I'll need some serious refrigeration and a much bigger oven for that.) For now it's two or three loaves at a time. Sharing with friends and hoping for good feedback. Last week I traded a loaf for some lemon bread, banana muffins and beets. Tomorrow I have plans to trade a loaf for some fresh from the coop eggs. Where does this lead? Who knows. But I got my Bread Lame in the mail last night, so I'm invested.

My baking pal Leah and I have been socially distancing in our baking with about 50 miles between us. We text and share photos as we go. Last week we both had a baking day where our results were a less tangy loaf. I went to work to find out how to adjust the tang upward and found there's something to be said for lower hydration levian, whole grain flour, and longer fermentation all help. But as we chatted about what was different, we both figured out; we'd found the holy grail in these hard-to-find flour days - bread flour. We each used it. It was the constant that had, indeed, affected flavor. I'm not really ready to give up on it yet. (I mean, I bought about eight pounds!) So this week, I'll use it, but, I'll also be sure to use lower hydration starter, mix in whole grain flours, and go for long fermentation. (I'm learning...)

Last night my college girlie and I made baguettes. I am clearly down the Rabbit Hole and happy to be there. Those baguettes are super tart and delicious. I'm learning about shaping them - they need a long cool rest so I definitely need to clear out a whole shelf in the refrigerator for all this fermentation, proofing and testing. But then, what will I we do with all the pickling supplies?

Back on the Reading Track

Ann Patchett is just so good at helping herself to generous heaps of my time. Our introduction was her beautiful novel Bel Canto, an almost can't stop read, I loved it. Loved it. I've read a couple of her other books, which reside in our living room library shelves because my husband, a hardback lover, is a big fan of Ann's work. None of them have lingered recreationally. They all seem to wrap around my arm and tug me to the chair, like a clingy, but adorable, boyfriend. This though, is about The Dutch House. A work of near-perfection. I bought the book for my Dear, but when someone recommended Tom Hanks' reading on Audible I had to start there. I love reading. I love driving. I love listening. So, I occasionally, if not often, I grab the book and the audio (see Libby) and go. To begin, I loved Tom Hanks as narrator. His voice and style helped me get a feel for Danny as I read. Not a downside, but I see where it might point one in a direction.This was fine by me, because first, I was reading when not listening and also, Tom Hanks. He's offered so many roles with a core of strength and tenderness he didn't do anything but enhance the experience.   

Danny and Maeve are brother and sister, raised by their dad in the grand and glorious Dutch House. Their mother left them inexplicably and while Maeve took on the mom role, Danny was learning some of his dad's role in real estate management. At a point, Andrea, their stepmother enters with all the injustice this entry can bring. 

What we find, hold in our hands, welcome through our ears, is a story of connection and detachment, cruelty and inability, forgiveness and understanding. Danny's story is full of hardship but told through a heart willing to test each step taken without expected malice or prejudice. We're involved in the learning, the unfolding. Here the young children create their own family/echelon within the structure and bond in ways adults can't imagine. In some ways, the story was aligned to instances in my own experience. That's of course, a different post, but the resonance turns out to be more universal than I might have thought. More than one friend talked about how they'd experienced some part of Danny and Maeve's tale. 

It's beautiful with ugly pits and promises.

And, as I said, I loved it.

A Walk on the Lagoon

Every now and then I forget I live in a particularly wonderful part of the world. The California coast is beautiful and so varied in local environs you really can have a practically new experience every day. Alas, I seem to leave this truth in the back of my mind for unlimited spans and stay in the unplanned parameters of my comings and goings.

Almost everyday I pass our 388 acre city park. I do it intentionally. I need to be in that park. The trees are breathtaking every single day - old and tall and rich with branches and leaves and trunks that seem to speak words like established and environment and rest. My kids played and practiced soccer in several of the fields of this rambling space and my first German Shepherd, Max would come along with me and sit and watch them play.  I think romantically about the park because that dog-at-my-side is gone now and we had hours communing with nature and each other as the fall sun set through the trees.

Last week with our Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, I packed my big dog into the car in the early morning and off we went with the 100 foot lead. We explored, watching the birds in their patterns slide across the pond as we rambled in the grass. The air is different in the park, verdant, damp, clinging. Under the tree branches and along the field of green we took what I all too often forget to take -  time. Time for meandering, and looking, and enjoying. My doggy came home muddy and happy and tired. I came home satisfied by a small adventure. I love small adventures.

This morning I heeded the call of another small adventure and ended up walking around our local lagoon. There's a new nature trail of decomposed granite from the back side of the lagoon lined with dormant and perennial greens leading to a bridge where ducks and cormorants entertain - diving for breakfast. It's a unique space with a coop style preschool, where we found a mama gardening, a model boat building shop, playground, picnic area and space to swim. It's a sweet place for a walk with little unexpected vistas every few feet. We made our way around, some 3000 steps and ended up walking past the pretty houses that overlook, watchfully, the nature reserve and golf course.

Our feet are dry. And once again, hearts are satisfied.

And an interview with the one gone too soon and Mel B.

And, Natalia.

Natalia Lafourcade

Bob Boilen as been gracing the NPR airwaves with his brilliant series, Tiny Desk Concerts for about ten years. He gives us access along the way, to fabulous music in an intimate setting where we just about believe we're there. Adele, Ben Folds, Blue Man Group, Chance the Rapper, Suzanne Vega, and my new favorite, Vicente Garcia, all there.

I ended up in an interwebs rabbit hole listening to Natalia Lafourcade. That's her above and her music is delight and joy and collaborative.

There's a lot to share here.
Have fun.

Are you listening to Vicente Garcia?

Let's just enjoy this, shall we?
It may be 50 degrees and winter here in sunny Southern California, but the warm breeze is almost detectable. (Under the heater vents.)

Something lovely

Do you know Sally Taylor?

This is awesome.

The inevitable question.

When you write a lot and then you don't, the inevitable question arises. What happened? Well, I don't really know. I don't know if something happened.


I gave the blog a rest while I was writing elsewhere. Thinking other thoughts.
And then, out of the blue, someone asked me what I want to have done by the time I'm 80 (which, by the by, rather far off) and I blurted out, “Well write a book that's for sure!”


So, someone living deep inside me, who I'll assume is an inside-voiced version of me, is speaking up. I'll listen. I'm good at that. Not as good as my friend Lori, who listens so intently and completely I often wonder if she's fallen asleep while I'm talking or has gently set the phone down so she can attend to a project as I go on, but, is really just fully listening.


But, back to me being a good listener.


I am listening, and I'll say based on this, writing has become a goal for the year. This means, I have a plan, or at least I'm formulating a darn fine one, to write every single day of my life for the next year. If some of it goes beyond the morning pages and begins to draw the tale of Ethel and I tooling through Europe with 52 years between our ages, or summons the memories of the first time I laid eyes on my mothers' group and the attendant baby sausages swaddled and lying on the hospital meeting room floor, well, I'll be happy to let that happen. Welcome the reveries which turn ideas into lyrics or stanzas or just fine paragraphs.


I do it anyway. I may as well do it with pluck and purpose. So there.


It isn't a resolution. It's a plan. Kinda formalized.


And again the answer to the aforementioned inevitable question is this: We remodeled the kitchen and for a while, I lost my chair.

Happy 2018.

Space.

Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.
Viktor e. Frankl

Every year, one word.
This year: space.

Multiple candidates for the guiding word danced on a page coming down to first curate and then, invest.

They were each headliners for a while and both words are wonderful. But, when I think about what I want to occur this year, space wins. 

Space for air
Space for thought
Uncramped shelves
Space to God
Space for nothing
In my trunk
In my garage
my closet
my brain

I love a lot of what I experience, but I'm finally catching on that not all of it belongs on my shelf. 
I don't want it.
Well, some of it I want.
And, if I give myself the space to consider, it might just be the right thing to accompany me on in life.

I think this now. Give me space and I'll let you know if it's really truth.

space.

Celebrate well.

I'm learning more and more about the joys of just celebrating someone the way they like being celebrated. Mom turned 90 yesterday. She looks 70. Loves to have fun. Sometimes she feels the slowing of her age, but age hasn't shifted the truth of what she loves or enjoys -- roses, dogs, her family, her friends, a good conversations and being the center of attention.
So, roses and cheesecake and a series of her favorite books. Friends, family and voila. Celebrated.

Happy Birthday Mom!

One of these two is having her 90th birthday today.
(It would be the one on the left.)
The one on the right is her bestie.
Mom is celebrating circling the sun again and planning on a fun night with the family. Minus the bestie. We'll be celebrating all she is. Mom, Grama, best friend, leader, follower, friend.
There is no one more willing to support, to love, to chime in, to join in, to be a part of whatever is happening than Mom.
She's always been like this. Always ready for fun and collaboration. Always ready to be in cahoots for fun. So today it's all about her. And her loyalty, love and faithfulness.
Happy Birthday Mom!

Apples and Carrots and Squash, oh my!

On Sunday I was wending my way up to LAX on the beloved 405 to collect my husband from a Springsteen adventure in NYC (you can read about that adventure here) when the Splendid Table podcast (642: The Sioux Chef) arrested my senses.

On the podcast, Francis Lam was talking with a woman who'd found herself with 350 pounds of apples. By the time she called in, she'd made applesauce, pie filling, jelly, cider, apple butter, etc. and was looking for help with what might be next. She and Francis landed on the idea of butternut squash, carrot and apple soup. Francis suggesting paying good attention to aromatics to balance the sweet flavors of the combination. That sounded so interesting, I let the idea play in my head until last night. My version ended up in a mildly complex soup with full flavor served next to a lemony avocado toast as a light supper. Here's my take:

Butternut Squash, Carrot and Apple Soup
1 Butternut Squash
3 carrots
1 Granny Smith apple
1 leek - white cut in rounds
1 onion chopped
1 garlic clove minced
3 Tablespoons olive oil
4 cups chicken stock
3 sprigs thyme
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 black pepper

Cut the butternut squash in half and place it inside down on a baking sheet. Wash and place carrots on the sheet. Roast the squash and carrot in a 400 degree oven for about an hour.

Place olive oil, leek, onion and garlic over low-medium heat in a large saucepan. Sweat the onion, etc. until translucent. Add chicken stock, black pepper and thyme. Turn fire to medium and add the squash first removing seeds, then flesh from the skin to the pot. Cut carrots in three and add to pot. Dice the apple and add to the pot. (Not roasting the apple adds a mildly sweet tangy flavor.)  Cook a while then use your burr mixer or pour the contents into your blender and meld the flavors and textures. Return to the saucepan on medium high heat. Salt for flavor. Don't be afraid of salt here, it will help to balance the variety of sweetish flavors.

Serve.
I served the soup over a disk of goat cheese.
On the second day, I added a hint of smoked paprika for a different depth.

Brother give us a word::Revelation

Revelation
We’re no longer talking only about a God of the Law, whose ways were unknowable, whose face was unseeable, whose name was unpronounceable, whose heart and hands were untouchable, but about Jesus who entered the conditions of this world as an innocent and needy child, just as we have, to reveal the real presence of God’s love.

-Br. Curtis Almquist

It's interesting, I notice lots of people making "knowing Jesus" the priority for this year. The focus. The word. He's the One who makes the universe knowable. Through Him, all was made. 

It think it's good work. Love the Father by knowing the Son.