9. Faith and B'Gora, 'tis Ireland!

Our canyon is absolutely gorgeous today.  The rain has made all of the hills a glorious, iridescent green.  The tree"s leaves positively glisten they are so clean from the rain.  I've been told that our area of the coast this time of year is very reminiscent of Ireland.  We've been to England and Scotland but never to Ireland, so we'll have to take their word for it.  All I know is that the cow's are in the meadow and if there is a God, She is in her heaven and certainly in this moment and in this place, "All's right with the world."

The little creek across our road is flowing again and the air is filled with it's gurgling  sounds.  Soon, at night when we are in the hot tub, the frogs will be serenading us as we relax and try to imagine just where they've been hiding and how they got back so quick.  It makes us wonder if the creek is full enough to activate the little waterfalls further up the canyon.  We won't walk that far this morning, but will save that for another day.  As we reach the Targer's driveway, Bob notices there is watercress in this section of the creek.  I've never tasted watercress but it's beauty makes me want to jump the fence and give it a taste. Yesterday we noticed Miner's lettuce popping up.  Can you even imagine having to wait for spring to have a salad?  It is tender and sweet and must have been a wonderful treat in such a hard life.

Lupine aka Texas Bluebonnets

There are the beginnings of Lupine along side the road.  In a few weeks they will be everywhere.  One year after they had stopped blooming, we gathered their seed pods and the next spring we planted them.  It escapes me how they can spring up unbidden and uncared for all over these hills and absolutely refuse to bloom in our meadow.  In Texas they call the same plant Bluebonnets.  Bob and

I have had some lively discussions about whether or not they are the same plant.  He, of course, thinks it would be a sacrilege to even think they were the same.  What with Texas being the beginnings of all things wonderful and all.  However, Wikipedia has ended the discussion. At least as far as I'm concerned.  They say

that :  Due to the flower shape, several species are known as bluebonnets or quaker bonnets.   Ahem, I'm not one to gloat though.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lupin

So, whether we ever make it to Ireland or not, I can rest comfortable knowing I have probably seen what it looks like from my living room window.  Faith and B'gora, life is good!

8. Use Your Power Only For Good

I am so powerful sometimes that it frightens me.  It became apparent to me when I worked as a manicurist.  On rare occasions I would tell my partner that I would be "Oh, so happy" to go home early, if only my last client would call and re-schedule.  Lo and behold, later on the phone would ring and "Voila!" I'm going home early.  My partner would shake her head and say, "Use your power only for good!"

Bob and I love French onion soup.  Sometimes when we are a little tired of Costco's hot dogs, we go to Appleby's for a cup of their very yummy French onion at only 290 calories.  That's with the cheese and  bread topper!  Bob couples his with a half BLT sandwich.  I'm just there for the soup.  I don't want anything else to confuse my taste buds.  So, the other day when we were in the grocery store Bob said, "Why don't you try your hand at the onion soup?"  There was really no reason except  that I had never actually looked up a recipe.  "Hmm," I say, " I know it has beef broth and lots of onion."  So we gathered them up and headed for home.

As I checked the email later, there was one from one of my sweet nieces.  Reading it I started to laugh, there she tells me that she has found a great recipe for "French onion soup" from Rachael Ray!  But that's not where it ends. We just got a huge order (huge for us) for kitchen towels with my designs, so I had to iron them.  I turned on the television for company (the food channel, of course) and Paula Deen was on.. In her delicious Southern drawl she announces "Today, Ya'll,  you're just gonna love my recipe for "French onion soup!"

Now, is it a coincidence?  Is it serendipity?  Call it what you like, I just know that even when faced with temptation, I must use my power only for good.

Here's Rachael Ray's recipe    Rachael's site
French Onion Soup
6 medium onions
4 T. butter
3 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
2 fresh bay leaves (I'll probably use dry)
2 T. fresh thyme, finely chopped  (Hmm...I wonder the flavor compromise if I don't add this)
salt and pepper
1 cup dry white wine
1 quart beef stock
2 T. Worcestershire sauce
1 baguette, ends trimmed, sliced into 16 rounds about 1-inch thick.  (I don't think I'll need 16)
1/2 pound Gruyere cheese, shredded (I love Gruyere but usually have Mozzarella on hand and I'll cut a slice of cheese instead of grate it)
4 T. good quality dry sherry (optional...I NEVER have this on hand)

Heat heavy soup pot over medium heat while thinly slicing the onions.  Add the butter to the pot and melt.  Add the onions, garlic, bay leaves, thyme(maybe not), salt and pepper and gently caramelize, stirring frequently, for 30 minutes.  If the onions begin to brown too quickly at the edges before they caramelize, turn the heat down a bit.  Deglaze the pan with the wine, then let reduce for 1 minute while stirring.  Add the stock and the Worcestershire sauce and simmer for 15 minutes more.


Fill oven-proof bowls with soup.  Place round of bread cut to fit bowl on top of soup and cover with cheese.
Place in broiler until cheese is bubbly.


If you make it, let me know how it compares with Appleby's.

7. My Youth With Jean Simmons

Sunday mornings we usually watch CBS Sunday Morning News. A lovely  hour and a half of news, things funny, (love Bill Giest and Nancy Giles, Sorry, Nancy, if I didn't spell it right) and sometimes it's very poignant.  This last Sunday I was saddened to hear that Jean Simmons had passed away.  She was 80 and died from lung cancer.  Probably from cigarettes (don't get me started).She hadn't come to mind for a very long time and in a flash I was back standing on Second Street in Pomona, CA in the mid 1950's. I was a starry eyed, movie star following junior higher.

I baby sat a lot in those days.  It gave me MY OWN money.  With no strings attached to it, I could save for a new sweater or another pair of those T-strap flats!  My feet are very wide so they didn't look as good on me as everyone else, but I wore them anyway.  And my coveted pair of white bucks, with that pounce bag of white powder to cover scuff marks...sigh out loud.  But with the odd half dollar, I could also buy my copy of Photoplay magazine when it hit the stands.

source for picture

I would spend hours cutting and pasting the chosen ones pictures, everything just so.  I'll bet there aren't ten girls in the US today who cut and paste with the zeal and complete joy that I did then.  I still have it.  It is somewhere in the storage shed.  This spring maybe I'll get out there and find it.  I don't suppose it is one of the things my kids will appreciate when I go to my Celestial Fandango, but it was really important to me then.

After I had read the magazine from cover to cover, I would decide who was "scrapbook worthy."  How could I resist Jean, those big brown eyes and fabulous figure.  Then, of course, there was Doris Day, truly everyone's sweet heart.  She is a bit of a recluse these days.  Her only deliberate contact with the outside world is to call her favorite disk jockey in Montery, Ca (she lives in Carmel Valley, CA) on her birthday.  She shares with him how she is and talks about her passionate work saving abused animals.  Grace Kelly was another hot item.  I hope she was as happy as she seemed with her life in Monaco, she certainly left behind a
wonderful career.

Hmm, now to add "Guys and Dolls" and, of course, "Elmer Gantry" to my que on Netflix., also I must remember to add those 100 calorie bags of Kettle Corn to my "when I go to town list."  Maybe it will rain this weekend so Jean and I can spend some quality time together and reminisce  about old times.

6. I Can't Live Without Dessert!

I can't live without dessert.  That is just a fact.  It's something I've had to come to grips with.  It all started with my precious mother who was raised in Iowa during a time when a farmer's wife cooked for threshers.  Threshers were folks who made part of their living traveling from farm to farm helping with the harvesting.  Originally, they separated the chaff from the grain by hand.  Eventually, the term came to encompassed all types of harvesting.  Part of their pay was a hefty mid-day meal that usually included at least four starches.  It wasn't uncommon to find corn on the cob, mashed potatoes and gravy, biscuits and jam, and home made noodles, just to name a few.  Then came the desserts.  Farm hands could easily burn off all those calories, me, not so much.

My mother never got over the habit of cooking for "threshers."  We had dessert twice a day.  As if the potatoes and gravy weren't enough.  So part of my journey has been to try to satisfy that unbelievable urge to finish a meal with something sweet with a suitable substitute. Fortunately, I love cookbooks and have discovered a great pleasure in finding recipes and adjusting them to be more figure friendly.  Some are great successes and some end up in the dog's dish.  Ah well, the fun is in the journey, right?

The idea for this recipe came from a posting on the "Hungry Girl" web site.  I've adjusted it to suit me..A great site to visit.            http://hungry-girl.com           Sign up and they send emails. 
They were called scones.  I find them more like an oatmeal cookie.  Different, but quite satisfying. I try to
steer clear of ingredients that have been messed with, ie: fat free this and low fat that.  I just try to make
compromises.  Your body knows what to do with butter, the man-made stuff just hangs around in there looking for something to cling to, like your arteries.

Blueberry Scones (I think they are more like an oatmeal cookie)

2/3 cup uncooked oatmeal (not instant)
1/3 cup Bisquick (I use whatever kind I have on hand.  Cinch makes a small box of mix.)
1/2 tsp baking powder
2 T. brown sugar (you can use sugar substitute)
2 tsp. butter or margarine  ( Personally, I think margarine clogs your arteries.)
1/3 cup vanilla soymilk  (you can use milk and add 1 tsp. of vanilla, whole milk would  add pts.)
3/4 c blueberries (you can use other fruit but blueberries get very sweet when cooked)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Mix first six ingredients in a bowl.  Fold in blueberries.  If
batter looks loose, let it sit a while and let the oats soak up some of the liquid.
I cook them on parchment paper (don't have to clean the cookie sheet-love that)
Divide batter into 4 mounds.  Leave some space. Bake for 12 to 14 minutes.  About 2.5 pts per quite large cookie.

Actually quite tasty.  Not my mother's brownies, but I've learned to live with that and they are satisfying.

5. Sauce for the pudding

Well, this certainly makes persimmons worth the wait!

Anything with brandy added has to be yummy!  My

old school pal, Marilyn Lockett passes on a family tradition.

Okay---here is the New England Whiskey Sauce. You can 

add Whiskey or not.  I'm sure most of my Mormon relatives 

in Utah left it out (or did they :-) Do try it over 

Persimmon Pudding.  It so makes it the most heavenly 

dessert.  We look forward to it every Christmas.  Everyone

in our family LOVES it.

Okay here it is: 

1 cup sugar
1 Tablespoon Flour
2 Cups boiling water
1 Tablespoon Butter

1 teaspoon nutmeg
2 Tablespoon Whiskey

Combine butter, sugar, and flour in a heavy saucepan.
Cook over medium heat until sugar dissolves.
Bring to a boil and then simmer for 5 minutes. Remove 

from heat and let cool.  
Add nutmeg
Stir in whiskey.
This makes the Persimmon Pudding so yummy...it really does. 

I hope you try it one day and let me know how you like it. 

We don't let it totally cool....just enough to where it 

thickens somewhat.  
I agree with everyone about your writings Sharon....you 

really do have a 'gift'.   I'd love to read a book of yours. 

Have a nice day.
Love, Marilyn
--------------------

I can't wait till enough of those crazy persimmons are 

ripe(I'm watching them on the neighbor's tree, not putting 

them behind the curtain in the kitchen window)and we have 

company so I can serve it and not have any leftovers to 

ruin my weight loss.  I'll make the pudding and freeze it 

a until a crowd arrives. The whiskey sauce would be great

on bread pudding, too.  Let me know what you think!!

4. Diet, the four letter word

Diet really is a four letter word, literally.  It also belongs on the list that the late and great George Carlin created.  "Words that can't be said on television."  I have been on every diet that has ever hit the book store.  The one that has always (notice the use of the word ALWAYS, indicating again and again) worked is the one where you are Watching your Weight.  They tell me I can't use the name because it is copyrighted.  Anyway, you go to meetings and they weigh you in and clap for you when you lose a pound or two.  I have to be accountable to someone.  Sad, but true.  It helps if I have to pay for the privilege.  That is also sad, but true.

 It all started about six months ago.  I decided AGAIN that something had to be done. My motivation came from a visit to the doctor's office for our annual physicals.  We were greeted by our darling, sweet doctor who put on his angry eyebrows to inform us that our latest blood tests showed us inching up to the "almost need to treat" section of the chart.  Our shoulders slumped and we shuffled out of the office to face a world without brownies and butter and Thrifty's ice cream and...and...and...Woe is us, woe is us.

I'm a dessert freak, too.  I can be good all day on any old diet plan, but when the clock strikes eight, something takes over me.  It's like an out of body experience.  Transfixed and single-mindedly I try to sneak into the kitchen.  With the cunning and stealth of a fox headed for the hen house, I make it to the fridge.  Then I feel a nudge on my leg, it's Maggie, our cocker.  Then I hear a melodious voice from the livingr oom, "What'cha doin', Sharon?"  Caught, ratted on by our puppy.  She has bounded off Bob's lap, certain she is

missing something good in the kitchen.  Rat fink!

So, that's when it began again.  The long, long, long journey  to weight loss.  How on earth were we going to do this and not cry ourselves to sleep at night?  Well, me anyway, Bob just pretends nothing has happened.  I try to analyze everything.  "Why do I eat like that, when am I really hungry, am I bored, what makes me eat, am I depressed?"  The questions swirl around in my brain like dry leaves on a fall wind.  I write down my answers to all these powerful questions, pondering each one with care.  Finally, I ask Bob the same questions, trying to get him to come to grips with his reasons for overeating.

"Sweetie, are you depressed?"
"No."
"When do you think about eating?"
"Only when I'm awake."
"Come on, why do you overeat?"
"Because it tastes sooooo good!"

My man isn't very complicated.  Annoying sometimes, but uncomplicated.  He truly doesn't care.  He calls it the "Contented Cow Syndrome."  He will, however, eat pretty much anything I fix.  But it is up to me to fill his

plate and put only the extra vegetables on the table for seconds.  I also know that if I'm going to make... let's see...vegetarian lasagna, I have to re-name it...say...layered cheese and vegetable noodle bake.  He hears lasagna  and dreams of my recipe with ten pounds of assorted cheeses and meat, etc, etc, and vegetarian lasagna is a huge disappointment to him.  Brain tricks, that's the secret at our house.

We've been married forty-eight years.  I let him think he's in charge, the king in his castle.   But, deep down he knows if I buy 1% milk, he'll drink it.

3. Frost born memories

January 23, 2010

This morning it is freezing cold! We turn the heater off when we go to bed, (a nice cuddle factor) so you have to get moving fast on winter mornings. After I have finished my morning toilet (twah-let, French pronunciation, if you please! I find it a much more engaging word than going to the bathroom and brushing my teeth) I like to look out the kitchen window while I wait for the tea kettle to boil. It always makes me feel glad. It’s 6:00 and there is a thick layer of frosty ice on our beautiful red PT Cruiser. There are bumps in the mixture, so I assume that we had hail, as well. So, I take the binoculars and read the little thermometer on the

front porch. Yikes! It’s 28 degrees!

On rare occasions we have snow. On the Central Coast of California it is a bit of a phenomenon. One Saturday morning last winter Bob woke me up and said, “Honey, wake up! It’s snowing...really snowing! Sure enough, it was snowing and continued to do so for two full hours. Then it became rain and the magic was gone. The memory of that magic makes us keep our fingers crossed that the next storm will bring the same. It is still up-lifting even if it happens only the one time. Good memories have a way of doing that, lifting you up just a little above ground, making you feel warm inside.

Our kitchen window faces the east and gives us the morning sun. That morning sun has has given me some- thing wonderful. African violets! I’ve actually found something that I can grow! Now that puts a zip in my step! My fraternal-grandmother always had a kitchen window full of violets. She always said the morning light was the key. Boy was she right.

My grandmother was a darling, sweet little lady who never started her day without her corset. Oh, how I wish I had one of those corsets. We shared the same birthday, October the 23rd. She always sent me a card and a lovely hankie. I have several in my cedar chest. Of course, I didn’t appreciate them then as I do now.  I never stayed over night there very often, but I remember she had books of children’s stories in the bottom of her closet. They were filled with lovely illustrations and I remember spending many pleasant hours sitting among the shoes reading. I’m not sure why I stayed in the closet, just comforting, I suppose.

She also always had a large bowl of red apples. She would set me down and give me a soft cloth and tell me to polish the apples until I could see my sweet little face smiling back at me.

I remember my grandfather as a kindly jokester, someone I shared tea and saltine crackers with, someone I collected key chains with. His collection was my inheritance along with his dribble glasses and magic magnets. My grandmother was his wife and knew what she thought was her place. When he passed away at 87 my grandmother became Florence. She told jokes and stories, took up quilting and painting her fingernails a lovely plum color. Bob called her Florence from the first day he met her. One day she took him aside and said ”Thank you for calling me Florence. You make me feel young again.”

Sometimes when I’m sitting with nothing to do I catch myself with my hands clasped and twiddling my thumbs. Hmm, my Grandmother Florence always did that.

Susie's comment

Thank you for your comments, Susie.
I wanted others to read them.
Sharon


Susie said...

Sharon, I just love your writings of Gopher Hill Cottage. Honey, you should be writing a book for children. Have you thought you might and of course you could do the cutest illustrations as well. Like you, I love the smells of being around horses - I love them, the are so big and strong-looking and I get what you said about they make you feel safe. It's kind of your private moment with the animals that do love to see you. They get lonely too I think. I loved it in Nebraska on the farm - all the cows and we had two horses at that time - but the other people in other farms had horses. It was the coolest thing you ever wanted to see when all the cowboys and cowgirls (all friends) would come over for a cattledrive. Sometimes there could be as many as 10 or more people on their horses, the big horse trailers parked everywhere...bringing the horses...they'd all get on and move all the cattle from one range to another. Oh, I loved that. Taking pictures, following them. My little Mabel sometimes would want to run right with them but she was just too small. Actually Mabel did get in with the cattle sometimes and would bark and she never got hurt. I do miss the farm.
Thanks for sharing your sweet experiences.
Love you --- Susie
January 21, 2010 1:50 AM

2. Chasing Our Mud Ball

January20

Our canyon is dark and wet this morning. It is not uncommon for January to be cold and rainy. This morning though, it is too windy and soggy to take Maggie for her walk. She will instead have to be happy with a game of indoor fetch. She runs pell-mell from living room to bedroom chasing her small rubber tire. It doesn’t go far if you put a nice back spin on it. After a few minutes of that she will curl up with Bob and content herself with a warm nap. If Bob leaves his heating pad for the shortest time, she completely takes over the with a look of, well, smug satisfaction.

Yesterday we bundled up and hit the road. Now, I know, it isn’t as cold as Pittsburgh, PA or Switzerland, but by golly for California it’s cold. The wind whistled through the canyon and played havoc on Bob’s canvas garages. At any rate, we were very proud of ourselves that we had braved the elements. Maggie, on the other hand, thought it was just grand. We wondered if she would consider wearing little boots. Her forays into the wet grass tend to turn her into a mud ball.

As we carefully negotiated the almost gravel driveway, Bob spoted a patch of incredible toadstool/mushrooms in a large patch of wood chips from last years clearing of brush. They were about 2 inches in height and the most incredible root beer color. As they stood tall and glistened with drops of the misty rain that was falling, I marveled at their beauty and thanked Bob for bringing them to my attention. I would have completely missed their glory. They were so close in color to the wet wood chips they nearly disappeared to the average eye. It is wonderful that one of us paid attention to his surroundings.

The horses were eager for their carrots that morning. The steam was rising from under their wet blankets. Phantom snorted and pawed the metal fence wanting Bob to know he deserved to be first. Willow, the paint, waited patiently for hers. She hasn’t learned to take the whole carrot, instead she bit it as she took it from Bob’s open palm. This meant Bob had to pick up the part she dropped which gave Phantom the idea that she had gotten more than her fair share. He resumed his impatient pawing with a vengeance.

The smell of wet animals is somehow reassuring. I’m not sure why, but it is in no way offensive. It is an earthy smell that mingles with hay and trees cleansed by the rain. It make us feel safe, even in these troubled times we can feel secure knowing that we will be welcomed whole-heartedly by Phantom and Willow. I’ll bet even if we didn’t have carrots they would still be glad to see us knowing that, at the very least, Bob would clean the “gookers” out of their eyes and scratch their foreheads.

The walk back up the road toward Gopher Hill Cottage with our mud ball in tow was a little easier knowing that.