A new habit - Chicken Stock

It may not be so pretty, but, thick, rich, chicken stock is my new love. It's a base for so many choices; gravies, soups, sauces. The list almost makes itself.

So about a year ago I became entranced with a roast chicken. It may have been a few years ago when I was practicing with Roast Turkey and the roasting just leaked over into the little birds. Weekly. I've tried lots of recipes, high heat, low heat, sear and reduce the heat, stuffed, unstuffed, trussed, untrussed, but the one that stuck is Ina Garten's. She tells the story of making it every Friday night for her Jeffrey. I think it's tremendously romantic and inspiring. Ours tends to be a Sunday treat. Moved to the weekend while the kids are at youth group. Just me and my love, a chicken and salad.

The roasted chicken is the easy day in my weekly plan. I get it ready, roast it, serve it and then, ah, leftovers for lunches or dinner and the best? Easy, easy clean up. I make mine in a cast iron skillet. While we eat the pan sits. I heat it up and deglaze with white cooking wine. Then whatever veggies made it under the bird, ends up in the stock pot along with bones, skin, a fresh onion and the deglazed juices. It all simmers low and slow for a few hours and voila! Stock.

One bird. Three roads. Happy am I.

5 more minutes

A Saturday morning. One of my kiddos heads off to a volleyball tournament, the other is off to PE, surfing at the beach. I know.

What makes me laugh this morning is the joy of those three words: five more minutes. Teenagers, living to live and needing a few more minutes of sleep is just the reality.

But being the dependable one who can give that 5 minute respite? I'm there. It's good to have this job.

Oh wait...I have to go. 5 minutes are up!

Poochie affections

My pooch is celebrating his birthday. So, he's on my mind a lot these days. He's nine and this past year we've experienced a couple of narrow misses with a hematoma thought to be something more drastic and then a lump on his tail, also dismissed and benign.

I'm more aware than ever that the downside of love is loss, but what's the option? There is none. We love. And in the process we learn to be awake and aware of how much we enjoy the other each day.

I love this noble and gentlemanly dog more and more. I love that his nights includes about a half an hour at the foot of our bed, leaning against my leg (if I get there first). There's deep gratitude in our shared pursuits; rough housing, walks, car rides, gardening, dinner.

Yesterday, a kind older man at church saw me praying with a friend and asked if I could pray for him. I listened to his story of coming out of homelessness recently. His prayer request, though, was for Max, his three year old cat. Even with his heavy beard, I could see his chin quiver as his eyes welled. And of course, we prayed. We prayed that Max would heal and be ok and that they'd be reunited when he got a permanent home. As he and his friend Mary Margaret walked away, he turned around to exact a promise that I'd keep praying.

Of course, I will. Because I understand that often love has furry feet.