tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50910080642369233012024-03-25T12:55:06.082-04:00Lynell's Vintage LookA look at one woman's fashion choices from years gone by, refreshed with up-to-the-minute accessories and some quirky reflections on life, home and the change of seasons.Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.comBlogger372125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-51199614206085077972023-02-22T21:36:00.000-05:002023-02-22T21:36:52.964-05:00A Full Heart<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw62_421wiyHhjKVVVQT-S3YeOf8VeCMEK3vnAb4_0CBewNFrxlZQwgchtxRZwciXS2DutXccVqkNC0ZGUyOqltPU0DtcQe_AsV9wgIN-R4SS5gg66xxLLIOPqIZiTReFAVx7QJqyz7uM-AROKejzZ8kQBPFW76stBYcG1n1tOrYPQAdj_AeoKYL6R/s5472/Valentine2023-32,02-18-23.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw62_421wiyHhjKVVVQT-S3YeOf8VeCMEK3vnAb4_0CBewNFrxlZQwgchtxRZwciXS2DutXccVqkNC0ZGUyOqltPU0DtcQe_AsV9wgIN-R4SS5gg66xxLLIOPqIZiTReFAVx7QJqyz7uM-AROKejzZ8kQBPFW76stBYcG1n1tOrYPQAdj_AeoKYL6R/s320/Valentine2023-32,02-18-23.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I haven't written a post on my personal blog in a long while, so please bear with me if my prose isn't polished. I also haven't hosted (what used to be) my annual Valentine fondue dinner party since before the Coronavirus pandemic began, so I am way out of practice. <div><br /></div><div>But the timing seemed right this year as I finally felt confident that I would not be putting myself or others at risk of infection. So on the 18th of February, I welcomed esteemed guests into my home and hoped they would enjoy my hospitality. <div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSp8x1mwPgxNn4NTyXMnTsrisMrMJaB0CHkjVSOqVo6NysBh6nh-oCpp_6rZFyl5IQbQY7bYdl6gjqBKaJeztvTq7B2acyxC7piHTdA94pftfBERiSIvoArPIFQjY4P8FeyfE2V0VBGwHbDRq5cas6naQbzlijadMVwhoYtoDuiFxh3PyRHMWA9W74/s3053/ValentineInvitations01,01-18-23.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2917" data-original-width="3053" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSp8x1mwPgxNn4NTyXMnTsrisMrMJaB0CHkjVSOqVo6NysBh6nh-oCpp_6rZFyl5IQbQY7bYdl6gjqBKaJeztvTq7B2acyxC7piHTdA94pftfBERiSIvoArPIFQjY4P8FeyfE2V0VBGwHbDRq5cas6naQbzlijadMVwhoYtoDuiFxh3PyRHMWA9W74/w200-h191/ValentineInvitations01,01-18-23.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><p></p><p>In a rare moment of extroversional courage, this year I invited not seasoned old friends that I felt completely at home with but, save for two of them, complete strangers -- a stretch for my introverted self. On the guest list besides my perennial companion, Jesse? Kim Cross, the founder and publisher of the internationally renowned (and absolutely gorgeous) quarterly print magazine, <i><a href="https://enchantedlivingmagazine.com/">Enchanted Living</a></i>, and Kim's husband, Klaus. Also on the guest list? Steve Parke, the famed in-house art director for Prince who lived and worked for 13 years at Paisley Park in Minnesota, and Steve's bride, Kim Workman Sandberg. Both couples, it turns out, live not far from me. You should see Steve's new book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Picturing-Prince-Intimate-Steve-Parke/dp/1844039692"><i>Picturing Prince</i></a>. It's a phenomenal pictorial of a phenomenal musician.</p><p>I have subscribed to <i>Enchanted Living</i> for many years now, and six years ago offered my ancient farmhouse on two acres as a potential site for a photo shoot if the magazine ever needed a rustic venue close by. Kim Cross and her editor-in-chief, Carolyn Turgeon, stopped by to have a look around in 2017. I treated them to homemade Caesar salad for lunch. We hit it off and have stayed in touch ever since.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">A few weeks ago, Carolyn was in town for a photo shoot with the magazine's photography editor, Steve Parke. She stopped by my house afterward to introduce me to her friend, Marvin Lynch, a proprietor of </span><a href="https://marvinsconfections.com/" style="text-align: left;"><i>Marvin's Confections</i></a><span style="text-align: left;"> in North Carolina who makes the most exquisite chocolates. I asked if she and Marvin, and Kim and Klaus, would be my guests at my annual Valentine fondue extravaganza. Alas, Carolyn's jam-packed travel schedule would not allow it, and Valentine season is the busiest time of year for a chocolatier, but Carolyn thought Steve Parke and his bride might like to come in their stead. I reached out to Kim Cross and her husband and Steve Parke and his wife and was thrilled when both couples said yes!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhjqgqJKkvC0QVuoPnMMwUayuIUj9rjBrmzuPetPMy9rDx_bojhKG0nL4EZHzhF2_iuOzsNlWgr88OKV3SsM0YMALYduupVd5yUm_GTk3kq557JcQ3EjKg51cv2D-TfELnWzXtrsXq6DdKzDlefR7_NH0YIJwn0JOP-rFcG5Uq4VuZqJfCOdJTgoB/s3478/MagicPotion05,02-04-23.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1949" data-original-width="3478" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhjqgqJKkvC0QVuoPnMMwUayuIUj9rjBrmzuPetPMy9rDx_bojhKG0nL4EZHzhF2_iuOzsNlWgr88OKV3SsM0YMALYduupVd5yUm_GTk3kq557JcQ3EjKg51cv2D-TfELnWzXtrsXq6DdKzDlefR7_NH0YIJwn0JOP-rFcG5Uq4VuZqJfCOdJTgoB/w200-h112/MagicPotion05,02-04-23.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>In the weeks leading up to the dinner, I busied myself with preparations. First on my to-do list was to make my guests a magic potion to take home -- a fabulous cold and flu remedy, courtesy of </span><a href="https://misswondersmith.com/" style="text-align: left;"><i>The Wondersmith</i></a><span style="text-align: left;">, a frequent contributor to the magazine whose recipe for the glittery elixir was featured in the Fall 2017 issue. I assembled my ingredients: elderberry juice, bourbon, horehound, mullein, star anise and edible gold luster dust and went to work, setting intentions for the glimmering liquid as it simmered on my stove. I decanted the tincture into pretty bottles, decorated the corks with red satin flowers and stashed them in little gift bags for my dinner guests, in which I'd also stuffed a box of my toasted pumpkin seeds, a copy of the evening's menu, and the recipe for the elixir folded into an origami flower.</span></div></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhSkJq4xCemsECzE3LP0jEYB986PicaQiDrzsXhDsD7jRVYp5toiPTTkPhF12TZGzYspmydpdmDpLWhQSwQVhC4VezPPJWK66NAOdgED-02UUGlqDB2ujjJ0cVRdC4nFmqleBymz4gc_vJrq8pZUZxGXYefFuDBNzwmT5k2SpZ0v9KwkwGsCax_nF/s3591/PartyFavors02,02-15-20.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2819" data-original-width="3591" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhSkJq4xCemsECzE3LP0jEYB986PicaQiDrzsXhDsD7jRVYp5toiPTTkPhF12TZGzYspmydpdmDpLWhQSwQVhC4VezPPJWK66NAOdgED-02UUGlqDB2ujjJ0cVRdC4nFmqleBymz4gc_vJrq8pZUZxGXYefFuDBNzwmT5k2SpZ0v9KwkwGsCax_nF/w200-h157/PartyFavors02,02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div>Then I got to work on party favors for my guests. I filled cute pierced tins from IKEA with chocolate kisses and deployed the candy-filled tins as placecard holders by tying on a card with each guest's name.</div><div><br /></div><div>The week of the dinner, I took a couple of days off from work to concentrate on bringing everything together. First on my to-do list was to make a cinnamon simple syrup for a delicious champagne punch that would feature pear liqueur and other exotic ingredients. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-4JDeXZtQeHlhxXFptPhmnihiVRvcISzmm5QBWEb3SkcpDXdv50fFSc3o29yWjlYvTDbHzMC4tq9vR1gp9VGxw4DvxGhODcJcHdr0n1ptmZt7qUyN0J4q-Q2uK2ZZSe8BQSBchjvKmKNJRWH__SbDbVR9pO81yPNhOStINlhsKmf9qxC2bMHRB6s/s4000/SaucedAndPackaged,02--14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-4JDeXZtQeHlhxXFptPhmnihiVRvcISzmm5QBWEb3SkcpDXdv50fFSc3o29yWjlYvTDbHzMC4tq9vR1gp9VGxw4DvxGhODcJcHdr0n1ptmZt7qUyN0J4q-Q2uK2ZZSe8BQSBchjvKmKNJRWH__SbDbVR9pO81yPNhOStINlhsKmf9qxC2bMHRB6s/w200-h150/SaucedAndPackaged,02--14-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Next, I went to work preparing appetizers, cubing crusty bread and tender steak, halving tiny potatoes and mushrooms, slicing colorful citrus for champagne punch, and segmenting an assortment of fruits into bite-sized pieces for the various courses of my dinner. After that was accomplished, I prepared five of my very favorite dipping sauces for steak: my own sugar-free barbecue sauce, a balsamic blue cheese sauce, a mustard sauce, a garlic-paprika aioli, and a horseradish sauce.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the day of the party, I started early. Setting the table for my three-course, all-fondue dinner is always a labor of love for me. I took my time (more than three hours) to create a tablescape I hoped would show my guests how much their presence and friendship meant to me. Faux sheepskins I'd purchased at IKEA years ago were spread across each chair. To counter the barren February landscape outside, I fastened a cascade of faux spring flowers to the back of each seat.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBouIulU1pCR4hxPUqiQ79dIUzAHMkz8IoyO6t4eoaGlOvWKj6RhPBo97yqP-jkd6_mveur0wKn7hq5PK806heFZmwlGgugVKKZwbsseaTObE0kJiaAx2FrUBTGJRRMlAiC1XpVXWD143LA_7BVoaRwJzBFddJGhpPMIuOMZZybsPR-sauwZn5Pqzg/s5472/Valentine2023-18,02-18-23.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBouIulU1pCR4hxPUqiQ79dIUzAHMkz8IoyO6t4eoaGlOvWKj6RhPBo97yqP-jkd6_mveur0wKn7hq5PK806heFZmwlGgugVKKZwbsseaTObE0kJiaAx2FrUBTGJRRMlAiC1XpVXWD143LA_7BVoaRwJzBFddJGhpPMIuOMZZybsPR-sauwZn5Pqzg/w200-h133/Valentine2023-18,02-18-23.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Each place setting was adorned with a red napkin expertly folded into a heart shape by Jesse and set upon my grandmother's gold china, which itself was laid upon a gold charger plate. Each course of this lavish meal would be accompanied by a different beverage, so I called all my glassware into play: shot glasses, beer pilsners, stemware for water, Riesling and Cabernet Sauvignon, and tinted cordials for an after-dinner digestif.<br /><br />Besides utensils for eating, I also needed fondue forks, a different fork for each of the three courses. Fortunately, I have lots of fondue forks! Each place setting was adorned with a metal fondue fork for cheese fondue, a wooden fondue fork for cooking chunks of filet mignon in hot oil for the main course, and another metal fondue fork with which to dip assorted fruit in luscious chocolate fondue for the dessert course.<br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNKI63AY2RN99IytLQHcA9xXUMRqEonoQC22Sg3b_7-woxc8nIihiuDrBEnKgd3jCshTJUJ2xgqpsEIv-DGJH1ISk2A2kPYpSw9IJ6NRGvIyeIyDkbLMaw9FBH3CW3-MOK5fjgJy2jwwv002-noQyBaHjgV7-CybpwGOwV9RKm7bQZU315ekUjpLCF/s5472/Valentine2023-21,02-18-23.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNKI63AY2RN99IytLQHcA9xXUMRqEonoQC22Sg3b_7-woxc8nIihiuDrBEnKgd3jCshTJUJ2xgqpsEIv-DGJH1ISk2A2kPYpSw9IJ6NRGvIyeIyDkbLMaw9FBH3CW3-MOK5fjgJy2jwwv002-noQyBaHjgV7-CybpwGOwV9RKm7bQZU315ekUjpLCF/w200-h133/Valentine2023-21,02-18-23.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Once the table was set with the basics we would need for eating, it was time to up the "wow" factor. I sprinkled pale pink and deep red silk rose petals all over the table and scattered pretty glass gems and sparkling hearts all around. I added some votive candles and a few nosegays of fresh flowers -- and voila! My romantic tablescape was complete. Earlier in the week, I'd climbed my six-foot ladder to hang an assortment of Valentine-themed decorations from my dining room ceiling. I'd also decorated my mantel with candles and flowers. Now I stepped back to take it all in. I was pleased with how everything looked.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazY9ABVCPZsuOeQaTMQSDvr0TnNBgpksUFA3Xu2AeR7q2UXzWbf_D3Q4MCVJxQZ085Nl0g0-fJzfvUKdsqjvf_GHiE-7aYRcjRJ2v6lsqnT1LUyV0c2z_LMmk7U2gS1bSrb_ahHWpHJ2SbDSTfdwIRrEiVLZ4adUiT4-p3dQMklodJbvQuoiDkg39/s5461/Valentine2023-24,02-18-23.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2521" data-original-width="5461" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazY9ABVCPZsuOeQaTMQSDvr0TnNBgpksUFA3Xu2AeR7q2UXzWbf_D3Q4MCVJxQZ085Nl0g0-fJzfvUKdsqjvf_GHiE-7aYRcjRJ2v6lsqnT1LUyV0c2z_LMmk7U2gS1bSrb_ahHWpHJ2SbDSTfdwIRrEiVLZ4adUiT4-p3dQMklodJbvQuoiDkg39/w200-h93/Valentine2023-24,02-18-23.JPG" width="200" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>As the time approached for my guests' arrival, I prepared my special Swiss fondue plates. In the individual wells that circle the perimeter of each plate, I spooned my five dipping sauces. On serving dishes I piled bite-sized chunks of the very best filet mignon, colorful baby potatoes that had been barely blanched, cute baby Bella mushrooms and an assortment of broccoli and cauliflower florets.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgpIzYs5zvmFo_h3hxjNNkvWXk39iV-u2CZCbCGpqSo4iYRjSlne7DPGyR6l8ohHCcqNVkzxegFduC__FHfK1I-lYZoDbTO7XNIgriRmGr2p9qG5gmt8h67pz5BMGOmYXSKCQDsTDKtR39N4ubOcJrOYelntSv2xCE4kwhzQxCWZPoKQeXjyv8pTI/s3536/Valentine2023-22,02-18-23.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3389" data-original-width="3536" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgpIzYs5zvmFo_h3hxjNNkvWXk39iV-u2CZCbCGpqSo4iYRjSlne7DPGyR6l8ohHCcqNVkzxegFduC__FHfK1I-lYZoDbTO7XNIgriRmGr2p9qG5gmt8h67pz5BMGOmYXSKCQDsTDKtR39N4ubOcJrOYelntSv2xCE4kwhzQxCWZPoKQeXjyv8pTI/w200-h192/Valentine2023-22,02-18-23.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>I took the concentrated cinnamon simple syrup I'd simmered earlier and added it to an heirloom punch bowl (a wedding gift to my parents in 1953), which I'd lined with colorful slices of blood orange, tangerine, lemon and lime. Into the punch bowl with the cinnamon simple syrup went a heady combination of pear liqueur, cognac, triple sec, lemon juice and lots of ice. I would add a bottle of champagne to complete the concoction once my guests arrived.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, I got busy at my stove. In a ceramic fondue pot, I gently heated two cups of dry Sauvignon Blanc and minced fresh garlic into which, once it reached a rolling boil, I would eventually stir a combination of grated Emmenthaler, Gruyere and Vacherin Friborgeois cheeses seasoned with salt, pepper and nutmeg. In a large saucepan on another burner, I heated 32 ounces of peanut oil to almost 500 degrees Fahrenheit -- extremely hot. This would eventually be transferred to a metal fondue pot set over a Sterno can in the center of my dining room table for the meat course. And in a double boiler on the smallest burner, I slowly melted rich dark chocolate with half & half for the dessert course, into which I would splash 3 tablespoons of Gran Marnier just before bringing the pretty ceramic and copper pot to the table for the dessert course.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_KkwbaUmeXNtwZNd9x0rxfQQMeYnaU9MSCxiIOx38iizCV1jBcfYv6bFR2dP7MyrWcpHrBQoljJl2d--PgAjo2x-CPeGXFmbOkm7oe0WMVWsHWrIk3WvG0HBt77gaRG29GgFHQVxk7MtJCeq8v0CIcXreyexNaSsq8F2b7jHllOnYSlkqf6x_MvX/s4000/HousePresentation02,02-15-20.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2839" data-original-width="4000" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_KkwbaUmeXNtwZNd9x0rxfQQMeYnaU9MSCxiIOx38iizCV1jBcfYv6bFR2dP7MyrWcpHrBQoljJl2d--PgAjo2x-CPeGXFmbOkm7oe0WMVWsHWrIk3WvG0HBt77gaRG29GgFHQVxk7MtJCeq8v0CIcXreyexNaSsq8F2b7jHllOnYSlkqf6x_MvX/w200-h142/HousePresentation02,02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>In my living room, I set out a variety of appetizers: dolmas, pickled Cipollini onions and Roquefort-stuffed olives, strips of Mozzarella around which thin slices of salami were wrapped, and a round of Camembert wrapped and baked in puff pastry dough formed in the shape of a heart with parsley-infused créme fra<span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold;">î</span>che and crushed walnuts.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wanted to make the outside of my home especially welcoming since, except for Jesse and Kim Cross, none of my Valentine guests had been to my house before. I lined my front porch railing with dozens of flickering red LED candles, lit candles in hanging lanterns and dressed my perpetual reindeer mascot in a Valentine scarf and a jaunty red beret. Everything was ready!</div><div><br /></div><div>My guests arrived promptly at seven o'clock. After we'd had our fill of Anjou Champagne punch and appetizers, followed by a quick tour of my humble abode, dinner was served. With cubes of crusty bread on our plates, we took tiny sips of Kirschwasser, a Swiss cherry liqueur, and chased them with swigs of Belgian pale ale and Riesling as we toasted the beginning of a fun evening together. With candles flickering and a fire crackling in my fireplace, we dipped the sourdough chunks into steaming fondue and enjoyed the subtle flavors in the melty cheese.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCbBe8Q94Yg3wqURiWzGqzrlKO8PYKeE2jRJ3W6zFb4TRyK92oMsb6StS2ttz6V7NRY_uBRu34VNdehtP1lcgxMdp8rCHGOFg-na1aL2zo_FTGIL9Gu4G3e3w9PUivfUNdJGad94CpeBH3ELYoQFdqBZInVCNQk-67IYqvnV5-kxY8KtuHHnfEKtD/s1190/ValentineDayMenu2023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1188" data-original-width="1190" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCbBe8Q94Yg3wqURiWzGqzrlKO8PYKeE2jRJ3W6zFb4TRyK92oMsb6StS2ttz6V7NRY_uBRu34VNdehtP1lcgxMdp8rCHGOFg-na1aL2zo_FTGIL9Gu4G3e3w9PUivfUNdJGad94CpeBH3ELYoQFdqBZInVCNQk-67IYqvnV5-kxY8KtuHHnfEKtD/w200-h199/ValentineDayMenu2023.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Once the cheese and bread course was cleared away, I brought out the boiling oil and replaced the simple candle warmer beneath the cheese fondue with a much hotter Sterno can. We proceeded to pierce chunks of the raw filet mignon, mushrooms, baby potatoes and crudités with our wooden tines and then nestled them into the sizzling oil: 15 seconds for rare meat, 20 seconds for medium, and 30 seconds for well done. As we cooked subsequent chunks of steak, we dipped the already cooked pieces into the sauces on each plate. </div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMy4hOYTYYRb4yG6DpmIckN4sKq6y8cWcqzd6NA9G4-2zB7jcBCyeZWWv-pdrtw74tOV8ZbMFpLZ3kLSfznl5NPwEftVV-W0BgcRin5gRlflDgU1fu9IVshjJLI8_Nirwt0x2mUPyE2lRMSipJMhDRxeCJlo-4D_FFmvotKgeZwI2Fg0ONIPzUbg5/s5472/Valentine2023-23,02-18-23.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMy4hOYTYYRb4yG6DpmIckN4sKq6y8cWcqzd6NA9G4-2zB7jcBCyeZWWv-pdrtw74tOV8ZbMFpLZ3kLSfznl5NPwEftVV-W0BgcRin5gRlflDgU1fu9IVshjJLI8_Nirwt0x2mUPyE2lRMSipJMhDRxeCJlo-4D_FFmvotKgeZwI2Fg0ONIPzUbg5/w200-h133/Valentine2023-23,02-18-23.JPG" width="200" /></a><div><br /></div>Between courses I regaled my guests with trivia questions about the legend of St. Valentine and also about Abraham Lincoln, whose birthday was February 12th. Steve's bride won the women's trivia prize, a chocolatey male figure dubbed the "perfect man" (always sweet with no baggage or agenda). Klaus won the man's trivia prize, a small but very practical flashlight.</div><div><br /></div><div>We finished our dinner with fruit dipped in chocolate fondue, the rich, sweet liquid kept warm over a simple candle once again. Strawberries, blackberries, watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew, goldenberries, Maraschino cherries, mandarin oranges, chunks of pineapple and sliced bananas rounded out the fruit choices. I filled tiny glass bowls with crushed nuts in which to roll the chocolate-dipped fruit, one for each dinner guest.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOcMBOin38MV3YCBwVLle8k9p9FaWRpNOngDEuJmOiW8rpzdnarKTKdcLOIHiPXBUhPy2SCN0djq6Z562YXw2twp5r3BfPsP3-MSHRuTcNtj8jaekGkYC39ldRjrXpj3mJ6xg5pS5_yd_DHgH-04V1nMYxTwTRCSUQwt7RX-hjINQQyO2k97V8czG/s3572/Valentine2023-34,02-18-23.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2905" data-original-width="3572" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOcMBOin38MV3YCBwVLle8k9p9FaWRpNOngDEuJmOiW8rpzdnarKTKdcLOIHiPXBUhPy2SCN0djq6Z562YXw2twp5r3BfPsP3-MSHRuTcNtj8jaekGkYC39ldRjrXpj3mJ6xg5pS5_yd_DHgH-04V1nMYxTwTRCSUQwt7RX-hjINQQyO2k97V8czG/w320-h261/Valentine2023-34,02-18-23.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: xx-small;"><i>From left to right: Steve Parke, Kim Workman Sandberg, me (standing),<br />Klaus Cross, Kim Cross and Jesse Turner</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>It was wonderful to get to know my guests. Steve and his bride were married just last fall at the Maryland Renaissance Festival. He enjoyed looking through a book of black and white photographs that my father had assembled while in photography school in Germany in the early 1930s, just before WWII broke out. Kim Cross still lives in the Baltimore neighborhood where she grew up and is a graduate of Johns Hopkins' famed Peabody Institute in Baltimore.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>There is something so sublime about sharing a great meal and stimulating conversation while making new friends in a cozy environment. My rustic little farmhouse certainly fit that description on a cold winter's night. I was delighted to have created a special memory for my guests that I hope they will carry with them for many years. The evening made my heart very full.</div><div>Cheers,<br />Lynell</div><div><br /></div><div><i>"But no matter what you do, participate, be there, full force, full heart, full steam ahead."</i> </div><div>~ Barbara Walters</div>Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-67011976277678824432020-10-20T18:17:00.024-04:002020-10-21T10:45:54.738-04:00To There and Back Again -- and Over Almost Before It Began<p><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtJrLTuYdIMtCh4-DFA40-Oz6EoQLa_opQvyfRpwsrZE9zkoMD7IKRtTN2Zt2ynh83KgIDspZPeI5DTJl217tbDHFyh1h1AM0Dy8ZSsJ0oHjJ82n_TL4x5TeR9ltjLwXIJ7KbuU9JfMo/s2048/HobbitHouse03%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtJrLTuYdIMtCh4-DFA40-Oz6EoQLa_opQvyfRpwsrZE9zkoMD7IKRtTN2Zt2ynh83KgIDspZPeI5DTJl217tbDHFyh1h1AM0Dy8ZSsJ0oHjJ82n_TL4x5TeR9ltjLwXIJ7KbuU9JfMo/w200-h150/HobbitHouse03%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>What a beautiful and serene setting!</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">It was supposed to be so wonderful. </span><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br />I had longed for even a short excursion from my humble abode in Maryland into the crisp autumn air on a weekend retreat. I love to travel, but I broke my leg in the summer of 2019, which laid me up clear until January 2020. I had just started going back to the gym and resuming recreational activities when the global pandemic put a halt to any sort of journey. I hadn't been anywhere interesting or fun in more than a year.</span><p></p><p>Jesse and I have now been apart longer that we were married, and have been officially divorced since 2016, but we're still best friends who spend every weekend together. So when I spotted an article in <i><a href="https://enchantedlivingmagazine.com/">Enchanted Living</a></i> magazine last December featuring an Airbnb locale done up as an authentic Hobbit house built into the side of a hill in neighboring Virginia, I thrust the publication toward the unabashed Tolkien lover, exclaiming that we simply had to stay there.</p><p>Jesse took one look at the beautiful photographs and reserved us a Saturday night on the spot. The only problem was that this intriguing destination was already booked every weekend through the following September. No matter. Booking the place so far in advance would give me something wonderful to look forward to -- and all the more time for my broken leg to heal completely. </p><p>When the coronavirus pandemic struck the following spring, causing the entire world to go into lockdown, I still didn't worry. Surely life would be almost back to normal by October and, if not, this cozy dwelling nestled all by itself in a remote part of Appalachia would be plenty isolated. </p><p>In June, Jesse generously offered to lengthen our stay to a second night. I contacted our Airbnb hosts right away, but alas, by this time everyone was clamoring to get away to someplace cozy and isolated. There were no unreserved nights for the rest of the year. I still didn't fret. Even for just a single night, this escape from a world weary of illness and turmoil would be much cherished.</p><p>When my petsitter said she'd be out of town that weekend and couldn't look after my cats while I was away, I hesitated only a moment. I would only be gone overnight, after all. A little extra food in their bowls would easily tide them over until my return. Nothing could dampen my excitement about this trip.</p><p>And it was, indeed, everything I'd hoped for. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdPeKriZntQ1VGCsFO7doA4-xSiMcKkeSFof1aqW_s7a6eym5A2dOIXNOHN0p_YAhpTGbrMazvFEqIQNM3-gGIyPyBw-ynt4eOs2K7zLYbCbGCpH-H0ElnnUSs3LPHzgENGe90E_8XsnQ/s2048/HobbitHouse01%252C10-03-20.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdPeKriZntQ1VGCsFO7doA4-xSiMcKkeSFof1aqW_s7a6eym5A2dOIXNOHN0p_YAhpTGbrMazvFEqIQNM3-gGIyPyBw-ynt4eOs2K7zLYbCbGCpH-H0ElnnUSs3LPHzgENGe90E_8XsnQ/w150-h200/HobbitHouse01%252C10-03-20.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">From the time we arrived at<br />the security gate, we knew<br />we'd come to someplace<br />special</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">The morning of Saturday, October 3rd, dawned brilliantly. We packed up the car in the crisp morning air, ready to begin our journey south. Smoke from distant wildfires in the west had long since dissipated. We were bathed in a cloudless sky. Autumn foliage was donning its coat of crimson and gold all around us. We'd gotten a late start, as the car had needed some last minute prepping, and I had hurried to get everything packed in good order. I turned on the hose to top off my rain barrels before we left, so there'd be plenty of water when the pump came on that afternoon (and the next) to automatically water my herb garden, my 15 flower-filled window boxes and my eight hanging floral baskets.</span><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxY3zKoD8XnWmWZSKgvy7RfmstYI_B40sPtjYEtMgmokj-vHQt3FWcMN76mkNNJ3UZzFFQJdqBTMtxtJPD3YzsGmRj1lpcDqqaDEsCGeZmWSMGHWaWQK_MImv7cQp3TnPcpP_vaJyw6U/s1320/HobbitHouse21%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1320" data-original-width="1085" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxY3zKoD8XnWmWZSKgvy7RfmstYI_B40sPtjYEtMgmokj-vHQt3FWcMN76mkNNJ3UZzFFQJdqBTMtxtJPD3YzsGmRj1lpcDqqaDEsCGeZmWSMGHWaWQK_MImv7cQp3TnPcpP_vaJyw6U/w164-h200/HobbitHouse21%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="164" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The noble guardian of our<br />hobbit house</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">We set out on the four-hour drive from Baltimore County, Maryland, to Lexington, Virginia, at about 11:30 a.m. We followed Interstate 81 as it pierced the Shenandoah Valley, with the Blue Ridge mountains to our east and the Alleghany range to our west. The scenery was absolutely gorgeous. There was hardly any traffic. We pulled into a rest stop midway to enjoy a picnic lunch under some trees. Despite being a Saturday, there was hardly anyone at the rest stop. I felt very safe.</span><p></p><span style="font-family: times;">The instructions from our hosts were precise and accurate. We entered a code at a security gate and proceeded up a gravel drive amid placid rolling hills. "Turn right at the dragon post", our directions advised. And indeed, there was Smaug himself, perched atop a wooden totem, bearing a lantern in his jagged fangs. I could hardly contain my glee.</span><p></p><p>As we parked our car before a handmade wooden gate, our host, Randy Holland, emerged from nowhere to bid us a warm welcome. I could feel the enchantment of the place all around me.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI7XcqiyeqtEIiAzZ_wwkQ8L6HfGKmU6-HUeuUjhnQvtbdTahsQXo6FQJzvnhtKp29qirteXzIDIqMEQyox_GpAqnGbF-Irn3jZ41Y2PGenBUUDH2ACkKm1gr9HjtkUenYGqVq1O0a34w/s2048/HobbitHouse24%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI7XcqiyeqtEIiAzZ_wwkQ8L6HfGKmU6-HUeuUjhnQvtbdTahsQXo6FQJzvnhtKp29qirteXzIDIqMEQyox_GpAqnGbF-Irn3jZ41Y2PGenBUUDH2ACkKm1gr9HjtkUenYGqVq1O0a34w/w200-h150/HobbitHouse24%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The front door of the hobbit house</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">Randy led us through the hand-hewn gate, past a glittering pond to the front door of a cottage tucked into the side of a hill on the picturesque property he has shared with his wife, Linda, for more than a quarter-century. He showed us the round Hobbit door to our cottage, which he'd crafted himself, and pointed out the symbol for "thief" carved into the wood which had alerted the dwarves to which home in the Shire was Bilbo's. He explained how he had crafted the frame, latch and hinges in his wood and metalsmithing shops. I was completely entranced. Randy opened the door to the Hobbit abode and beckoned us inside.</span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ54-n2m_1O-50vGsWdq4yZbspr_8TW9LSoLN9A3kB0qr3LnvHZ83GhW_jGDvR4YjWY4MuUM_zpuHt5b3LkeOyOB8t7uQIiN0LbIawmohe2d820teAPneIToNas-NVFRblJR82N9O7uZw/s2048/HobbitHouse27%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ54-n2m_1O-50vGsWdq4yZbspr_8TW9LSoLN9A3kB0qr3LnvHZ83GhW_jGDvR4YjWY4MuUM_zpuHt5b3LkeOyOB8t7uQIiN0LbIawmohe2d820teAPneIToNas-NVFRblJR82N9O7uZw/w200-h150/HobbitHouse27%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">When their Airbnb logo said <br />"all the comforts of home",<br />they weren't kidding!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>The inside of <i><a href="https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/22525406?source_impression_id=p3_1603243775_UplnX6vPywTBYcu%2F">Hobbit's Dream</a></i>, as it is known on Airbnb, was just as enchanting as the outside. A stone fireplace, with electric embers aglow, welcomed us as we took in all the incredible details. Wrought-iron candle sconces, crafted by Randy, adorned each side of the hearth. Comfortable chairs, a spinning wheel, a pot of tea and numerous other accoutrements added to the considerable charm.</p><p>Inside the front door to the left was a small writing table. On it was perched a guest book in which we were encouraged to scribe a message about our stay for future guests to peruse.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLPD7J2dAdfBnxDVLkF1rtY5zgNCveYeVhyphenhyphenHT02-9iKtud9kvDHFwc2cbFgin3hUYH4KxYHVUYDe6MDHbMP12WMvbeB8hs5QZpMzzE_gCCdLLonTZoHCpkT-LVXlJv-_m6F_1Jis6tU0/s2048/HobbitHouse30%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLPD7J2dAdfBnxDVLkF1rtY5zgNCveYeVhyphenhyphenHT02-9iKtud9kvDHFwc2cbFgin3hUYH4KxYHVUYDe6MDHbMP12WMvbeB8hs5QZpMzzE_gCCdLLonTZoHCpkT-LVXlJv-_m6F_1Jis6tU0/w150-h200/HobbitHouse30%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The bathroom was small<br /></span></i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>but comfortable</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnvXq5WiD6qpm3yD8K154_Vt0tDRhsQpMBuRykCJXKbMR4vxNYIWz30Ejs0oEqGRvWqJM24L99lK7wD41u50svB5DCY8bNZrFYpHtruxYUIAa3MVmmM4tV9Fv5KdmpQYN8ybUHTyOzvg/s2048/HobbitHouse31%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnvXq5WiD6qpm3yD8K154_Vt0tDRhsQpMBuRykCJXKbMR4vxNYIWz30Ejs0oEqGRvWqJM24L99lK7wD41u50svB5DCY8bNZrFYpHtruxYUIAa3MVmmM4tV9Fv5KdmpQYN8ybUHTyOzvg/w200-h150/HobbitHouse31%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The bedroom was so cozy!</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">Randy showed us the bedroom and the bathroom which, while small, featured lovingly handcrafted touches. A guest's every need was taken into consideration. He'd handwrought the bathroom sink from a copper pot. The cabinet beneath it was breathtaking in its curved elegance. The toilet paper spindle featured a hand-carved wizard. I couldn't get enough of the thoughtful embellishments. Portraits of characters from <i>Lord of the Rings </i>hung on every wall.</span><p></p><p>The colors of honey and amber permeated the rooms. As those are the hues most apt to put me into a sublime mood, a wave of contentment and calm swept over me. I found myself immediately at peace with my surroundings. I had arrived at exactly the place I needed to be in this most unsettling of times. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvJovEM737qrlIu4RlzQeayn9fNTYITGJi6s4aXheRUMfezHLAiWSAUPpmgqI3qJYXHv15vsnzXbN7gxK_6CC-ZTvHyih6w6bYUX_wQzi6ffh5O33NzluN5ZO7JyKmJian7fiWFbifBk/s2048/HobbitHouse34%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvJovEM737qrlIu4RlzQeayn9fNTYITGJi6s4aXheRUMfezHLAiWSAUPpmgqI3qJYXHv15vsnzXbN7gxK_6CC-ZTvHyih6w6bYUX_wQzi6ffh5O33NzluN5ZO7JyKmJian7fiWFbifBk/w200-h150/HobbitHouse34%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The kitchen was adorable</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>We moved to the kitchen -- and I thought I might faint from joy. Could there be a more perfect kitchen for a hobbit? A tiny table, set for two, was adorned with Linda's homemade "seed cakes" wrapped in faux oilcloth and tied with twine, such as Frodo and Sam might have carried on their adventures. A bottle of Virginia-made dessert wine graced the table between two glasses. Randy explained that the old wood-fired kitchen stove was a family heirloom that found a perfect resting spot in their hobbit habitude. Outfitted with a hotplate, the cast iron beauty fit its surroundings perfectly.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-FPkkS2tqUGo_qzy2jk3GubElPlTjbmvLuhxYqN0_tLEqc3hHJIlWeeYk2YKK7cpqOqRaK-n7ASvMMoLTX5hslsbdq6MwEmyObewN7d5Ss-guLynWm-u2PeuqHE-3EReXH2HVkfYKV8/s2048/HobbitHouse41%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-FPkkS2tqUGo_qzy2jk3GubElPlTjbmvLuhxYqN0_tLEqc3hHJIlWeeYk2YKK7cpqOqRaK-n7ASvMMoLTX5hslsbdq6MwEmyObewN7d5Ss-guLynWm-u2PeuqHE-3EReXH2HVkfYKV8/w200-h150/HobbitHouse41%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The doorways between rooms evoked<br /></span></i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>a hobbit sensibility</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Delightful details surprised us everywhere, like a butter-churn in one corner and a pantry full of faux staples that, as Randy put it, comprised the larder with which Bilbo had planned to sustain himself all winter until the dwarves arrived and helped themselves to everything. I couldn't get enough of what I was seeing. My heart was overflowing with the wonder of it all.</p><p>Finally, it was time to move outside. There was so much more Randy wanted to show us before darkness set in. </p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsJIQWkqpUHDp3y2ezJKUWlrzNbKJC6m1ajOIOvMXIjHDW49TsAFQbHaZLbF9KtoOTfhvRJClJL6Wt41SJXYkQTYO4AOXBZDln7zw6yYmVGvudJxwDzWiHLKMceTWNRFCpAQTw89plw8/s2048/HobbitHouse43%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsJIQWkqpUHDp3y2ezJKUWlrzNbKJC6m1ajOIOvMXIjHDW49TsAFQbHaZLbF9KtoOTfhvRJClJL6Wt41SJXYkQTYO4AOXBZDln7zw6yYmVGvudJxwDzWiHLKMceTWNRFCpAQTw89plw8/w150-h200/HobbitHouse43%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">By pulling on a rope, we<br /></span></i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>c</i></span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">ould propel ourselves <br />across the pond on the ferry</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">A cozy patio featured a small gas firepit. Randy carefully instructed us on its use. We strode along a gravel path to a gate at the back of the hobbit patio. A trail beyond the gate led us past a clothesline where hobbitlike overalls and poet shirts were hung with wooden clothespins. Lanterns filled with twinkling fairy lights greeted us everywhere.</span><div><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: times;">We followed the path around the pond to a dock where Randy had lovingly constructed the "Bucklebury Ferry", a wooden raft outfitted with a table and two chairs. He invited us to board the "ferry" and showed us how to use a rope, tied fast at each end of the pond, to gently pull ourselves across the water and back.</span></div><div><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvTHDjEhuI0z2POuSu3sGV2rWjdwsG9xuphwSwB4WQK9hmO4k3Npu615ZoAL91c4szqddCEDq_tiVZW8mT6AKl8Ymc9lbO-cwD5fiigIgFLlVmhGecDdESQqePbkh1PO39_wJafku6zRE/s2048/HobbitHouse47%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1646" data-original-width="2048" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvTHDjEhuI0z2POuSu3sGV2rWjdwsG9xuphwSwB4WQK9hmO4k3Npu615ZoAL91c4szqddCEDq_tiVZW8mT6AKl8Ymc9lbO-cwD5fiigIgFLlVmhGecDdESQqePbkh1PO39_wJafku6zRE/w200-h161/HobbitHouse47%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Oh, how I looked forward to enjoying<br /></span></i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>a glass of wine on this ferry in the<br />moonlight</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">We wandered past the home in which Randy and Linda live on the opposite side of the pond from the Hobbit house and into Randy's shop, where guests can avail themselves of several classes Randy offers. I immediately signed up for a broom-making class and Jesse enrolled in a pipe-carving class, both of which we would take the following morning after checking out. I could hardly wait!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Once Randy had shown us everything we needed to see, he bid us a gracious adieu. Jesse and I meandered back along the path to the hobbit house, stopping at the ferry to propel ourselves across the water in the waning afternoon light. It was so peaceful here. No traffic noise, no airplanes, no voices. Only the splashing of the fountain in the middle of the pond, which made a fitting audial backdrop to the bucolic scene all around us.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaLizi3ESUrn53qkV5dDELy2eJkJNFivdoMmQcVsxkfGCSNybbT213wFmBrYeXLetsm0ioytKzR1nStyrU8YfUxns1oYdFK7H9s7943KZShFf1ojqAddCPSifc1sF2s4zI0inW5RiI_s/s2048/HobbitHouse14%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1594" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaLizi3ESUrn53qkV5dDELy2eJkJNFivdoMmQcVsxkfGCSNybbT213wFmBrYeXLetsm0ioytKzR1nStyrU8YfUxns1oYdFK7H9s7943KZShFf1ojqAddCPSifc1sF2s4zI0inW5RiI_s/w156-h200/HobbitHouse14%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="156" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>We were so surprised to find<br />mail addressed to us!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>As we made our way back to the gravel driveway to retrieve our luggage from the car, I spied a post outfitted with a wine-barrel mailbox. Funny I hadn't noticed it before. I don't know what beckoned me to open it. Randy had not mentioned the mailbox at all. But open it I did. Inside, I was amazed to discover a letter addressed to me and another addressed to the both of us! Beside the letters lay a black velvet pouch with two charming runes tucked inside, each adorned with Elvish carvings -- a lovely keepsake of our Hobbit adventure! I opened the first letter carefully, mindful of the magic that seemed to surround us in that moment. It was a birthday greeting! I opened the letter addressed to both of us. It was an anniversary greeting! Apparently in making our reservations, Jesse mentioned that our visit was in celebration of my 64th birthday and (what would have been) our 19th wedding anniversary. What a thoughtful surprise from our hosts!<br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZDmzj2TfzvdLb1gm0x4Juto2gCu8LPcr83vs2qJHA7nQ-cNgXB-xJnq-QjFt4jg9oCbzycwSnDh21Ng6GFFCxF8MSK1-DoozbAJsaViYvh9vQCg5dlcEmZlVjMHKU2NkPsMZVUkp0k9o/s1524/HobbitHouse15A%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="843" data-original-width="1524" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZDmzj2TfzvdLb1gm0x4Juto2gCu8LPcr83vs2qJHA7nQ-cNgXB-xJnq-QjFt4jg9oCbzycwSnDh21Ng6GFFCxF8MSK1-DoozbAJsaViYvh9vQCg5dlcEmZlVjMHKU2NkPsMZVUkp0k9o/w200-h111/HobbitHouse15A%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Birthday greetings to me! Anniversary<br /></span></i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>greetings to us! Carved runes to keep<br />as mementos of our wonderful stay!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Once back inside our earthen abode, we unpacked our suitcases and settled in. I had tucked in our Renaissance Faire costumes, determined to get some photos of us in full middle-earth attire. But our photo session in full costume would have to wait until the next day when there was more time. For now, we availed ourselves of the capes and cloaks provided by Randy and Linda to dress up and take some pictures.</span></div></div><div><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkU6ph3uyLjL5WxgAj6CyIsEmwCN0ieKuUlri47lAnlDYoVYBQGZz1YC57TAJGhzohU3F09eEy4w5GV7hlMqlmKKmKm0CVuiKFQkpWEn1VgHv7cJdIIZlrhqCfJu7WV-64mQ3OnUcDk8/s1919/HobbitHouse55%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1324" data-original-width="1919" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkU6ph3uyLjL5WxgAj6CyIsEmwCN0ieKuUlri47lAnlDYoVYBQGZz1YC57TAJGhzohU3F09eEy4w5GV7hlMqlmKKmKm0CVuiKFQkpWEn1VgHv7cJdIIZlrhqCfJu7WV-64mQ3OnUcDk8/w200-h138/HobbitHouse55%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">We donned cloaks and capes that<br /></span></i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>were thoughtfully provided</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">First, we sat in the chairs just outside the Hobbit door. Jesse found a hand-carved pipe, one of several we could choose to buy if we didn't have time to take one of Randy's classes. I found a witch hat to wear.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8f4_BEoakn4HHbI7R1-tHuy0T8u2wot-RNKhsbKPQyddPSHcBHr9idMAhp62zR5BEb_3y4CzxrYBFozJ5Si8Ks37ZGaP2oKtSHVOdA3hvYQP_kDFx_gyYh8IBEA-BMwwPaGsw-AP0zg/s1464/HobbitHouse58%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1197" data-original-width="1464" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8f4_BEoakn4HHbI7R1-tHuy0T8u2wot-RNKhsbKPQyddPSHcBHr9idMAhp62zR5BEb_3y4CzxrYBFozJ5Si8Ks37ZGaP2oKtSHVOdA3hvYQP_kDFx_gyYh8IBEA-BMwwPaGsw-AP0zg/w200-h164/HobbitHouse58%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I looked forward to having a glass of<br /></i></span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">wine by the fire, too </span></i><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">Next, we moved across the patio to the firepit. The weather was cool but exceedingly pleasant. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. We couldn't have asked for a better weekend for our middle-earth adventure.</span><br /><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-QMTsEm8bwI72rpCzfh4g196Y9QaFXpEslzGEdlCMnv9jg4xFzAIbcW1dJbNiSuIeYvDnwRZ3H7dWu_0RApGG03eHmlOQPx8nA2oojBanDNEMXo7-kCHOzPgqydw9eDKAZJ5lpjlghc/s2048/NecklaceAndEarrings01%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1639" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-QMTsEm8bwI72rpCzfh4g196Y9QaFXpEslzGEdlCMnv9jg4xFzAIbcW1dJbNiSuIeYvDnwRZ3H7dWu_0RApGG03eHmlOQPx8nA2oojBanDNEMXo7-kCHOzPgqydw9eDKAZJ5lpjlghc/w160-h200/NecklaceAndEarrings01%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="160" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">What a gorgeous and romantic<br /> anniversary surprise from Jesse</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">Soon, it was time to dress for dinner. We'd made reservations at a restaurant called the "Southern Inn" in Lexington, about nine miles south. As I donned some black leggings, a cute top and warm poncho, Jesse surprised me with an "anniversary" gift: an exquisite necklace and earrings from the inventory of our dear friend, Jan, who owns <a href="https://fireandice.com/"><i>Fire & Ice</i></a> Jewelry in Baltimore. Set in sterling silver, the beautiful stones of faceted quartz, drusy quartz, smoky quartz and black tourmaline were simply divine. The jewelry went with my outfit beautifully and were a complete surprise. I couldn't have imagined a more romantic getaway.</span><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmu5cBTV966BJDyG2Mb5urZ7pFleVg0DDesWUp7m4vRiWAxoXrsdK4cze554Mr_t8cmPpw4y9wEcNzZJJ0yxZiL4Jh7dw_GRM-7lyH5vHHhe5zbXLOM_LGfJL32EKWpDxWoU1hHqb8dkc/s2048/HobbitHouse63%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmu5cBTV966BJDyG2Mb5urZ7pFleVg0DDesWUp7m4vRiWAxoXrsdK4cze554Mr_t8cmPpw4y9wEcNzZJJ0yxZiL4Jh7dw_GRM-7lyH5vHHhe5zbXLOM_LGfJL32EKWpDxWoU1hHqb8dkc/w200-h150/HobbitHouse63%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This great blue heron surprised us</span></i><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">As we made our way to the car at dusk, a sudden swooping of heavy wings filled the sky right over our heads. Had Smaug come to ravage our fairytale? Would he breathe Covid germs down upon us instead of fire? We gawked in awe as what looked like some prehistoric beast suffused the evening air with its magnificent presence. I grabbed my camera and just managed to capture the silhouette of a great blue heron as it ever-so-briefly touched on a branch in a tree beside the pond. What an absolute delight that was!</span><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTmBgRUPHzx5ilPKtg7frMDDlzgBcEWd0nQb1B4upgtHi1Q1d6um9y3dYkG0F7vfwCmx1GdJID5WJ9IKOgLRvMKpdK3dQ7h-I8bZVWsQyn2i9xItbERDZJpBQvRd3a8vq4I5EucL7eixU/s2048/HobbitHouse67%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1198" data-original-width="2048" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTmBgRUPHzx5ilPKtg7frMDDlzgBcEWd0nQb1B4upgtHi1Q1d6um9y3dYkG0F7vfwCmx1GdJID5WJ9IKOgLRvMKpdK3dQ7h-I8bZVWsQyn2i9xItbERDZJpBQvRd3a8vq4I5EucL7eixU/w200-h117/HobbitHouse67%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Dinner at Southern Inn</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">Once at the restaurant, we settled in for a good meal. The Southern Inn considers itself upscale, and the food was very nice. We started with a garden salad for me and a quinoa-lentil salad for Jesse. For our </span><span style="font-family: times;">entr<b color:="">é</b>e</span><span style="font-family: times;">, Jesse ordered a skillet-fried pork chop with sp<span bold="" color:="" f6368="" face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" font-weight:="">ät</span>zle, cider-braised greens and lemon cream sauce. I had a New York strip steak with roasted Yukon potatoes, garlic-chive butter and grilled scallions, tarragon green beans and a peppercorn demi-glaze. Both dinners were superb. </span><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZrlGvULbgfx8ZyoQ2aWcREjM4p5uGDr6eCT09eMUuSiqsIko57j32lchMpWIxCoZv9UebPF04843GxZ-0GBdRJJggP6VhzprvGQ-TAkfwZTIlPbxKWteJH6__DW_C8OgT-kcKZZUUeCw/s1871/HobbitHouse71%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1741" data-original-width="1871" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZrlGvULbgfx8ZyoQ2aWcREjM4p5uGDr6eCT09eMUuSiqsIko57j32lchMpWIxCoZv9UebPF04843GxZ-0GBdRJJggP6VhzprvGQ-TAkfwZTIlPbxKWteJH6__DW_C8OgT-kcKZZUUeCw/w200-h186/HobbitHouse71%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-small;"><i>Apple strudel with a candle for my<br />birthday!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">We splurged on a bottle of Peter Franus Napa Valley Cabernet, and shared an apple strudel with cream-cheese ice cream for dessert in honor of my birthday. It was quite a meal, much of which we brought back to the cottage with us.</span><p></p><p>We returned to the Hobbit house tired but elated, relaxed and happy. We sat up for a while in our pajamas and just took in the Shire atmosphere: the cozy ambience, the warmth of our abode, the thoughtfulness of our hosts, the joy of experiencing something other than the walls of my old farmhouse for the first time in months. </p><p>Eventually, we turned down the covers of the bed and tucked ourselves in for the night. I fell asleep in dreamy anticipation of the day to come, with its broom-making class for me and a pipe-carving class for Jesse. Perhaps we'd have time to take in a hike along a wooded trail suggested to us by our host. It all seemed so completely wonderful. </p><p>And then, suddenly, it wasn't. </p><p>I awoke with at start at 4:30 in the morning. My mind was racing, my stomach churning with raw emotion. Could it be? Had I really done what I thought I'd done? I woke Jesse from his sleep. "I left the hose running back at home," I squeaked in a barely audible voice. I leapt from the bed in anguish. I had turned on the hose to top off the rain barrels just before we left the house. The hose only had to run four minutes. I didn't have any memory of turning the spigot off. There could be no question about what had occurred. I was certain I had left the water running. But what does one do about that at 4:30 in the morning, two hundred miles away?</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlTXg5brkikVoduify1GjiDQN1DzsoDsiYB8OBqCUIKdlSV1EnSJsa6Gfj8UpbBtYTm5YDRkZVj3_YesCwHri8Lxfq4lqlppPTABfT35zqgJJwnEjKwFwyZQ9HRZNf6FuS6vhelnEvI0/s2010/RainBarrels02%252C10-04-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="2010" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlTXg5brkikVoduify1GjiDQN1DzsoDsiYB8OBqCUIKdlSV1EnSJsa6Gfj8UpbBtYTm5YDRkZVj3_YesCwHri8Lxfq4lqlppPTABfT35zqgJJwnEjKwFwyZQ9HRZNf6FuS6vhelnEvI0/w200-h183/RainBarrels02%252C10-04-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>My rain barrels back at home feature<br />a complex set of valves and hoses that<br />keep the water levels balanced in all<br />three barrels through positive siphon </i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">The consequence of my neglectful oversight filled me with dread. My three rain barrels sat right beside the house. Once they overflowed, that water would run directly into my foundation and, from there, into my unfinished basement where the cats had their food and their litter boxes. I had installed a sump pump a few years ago, thank goodness, once global warming shifted the amount of rain pummeling the mid-Atlantic each year to amounts the ground around my property just couldn't handle. But would that little pump in its little, three-gallon sump pit be able to handle the sheer volume of a hose spewing water under pressure at 12 gallons per minute for hours and hours on end? I was distraught.</span><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaj2cq8OgHhLYkx3zexsaj_WvfWeHsNf8FveV1GWYE8edp5EdEWHFARe41b4im2A8-yRxeYI8iSoi42huL0pzcAwppbzVAGb5p-Yh4biagS5epJ6f3ywBAhUQ2K2xnEZSThyphenhyphenY4Im-KVn8/s2048/RainBarrels01%252C10-04-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaj2cq8OgHhLYkx3zexsaj_WvfWeHsNf8FveV1GWYE8edp5EdEWHFARe41b4im2A8-yRxeYI8iSoi42huL0pzcAwppbzVAGb5p-Yh4biagS5epJ6f3ywBAhUQ2K2xnEZSThyphenhyphenY4Im-KVn8/w200-h150/RainBarrels01%252C10-04-20.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-small;">There are five valves here! Only my<br />petsitter, who was out of town, would<br />have known which one to turn.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">My petsitter, Jackie, the one person who knew the intricacies of all the various valves on my rain barrels, was out of town. I texted my next door neighbor, hoping he would see my frantic message and not be upset by the ungodly hour of its delivery. No reply. I texted a firefighter friend of mine, hoping he would be on duty and awake. No reply. I called them both and left messages. No reply.</span><p></p><p>By now I was pacing the floor, increasingly frantic, realizing that our lovely weekend in this peaceful, bucolic Shire had just come to an abrupt end. "We have to leave", I said as Jesse rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "We have to drive all the way home right now".</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LkAQdXaueMkeeoBFsyXGIm-RFDUlI_praOEnEzB6fZ9wFZcjNebGtuL4FeDRxGwdVvN6iq2mmv4ZMWIalVh_5IPS1cVqhwg_CaVwaO2NA3u8z5EyV7IpXG1sKd9N3bdn-QVeaogy5FA/s2002/HobbitHouse33%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2002" data-original-width="1532" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LkAQdXaueMkeeoBFsyXGIm-RFDUlI_praOEnEzB6fZ9wFZcjNebGtuL4FeDRxGwdVvN6iq2mmv4ZMWIalVh_5IPS1cVqhwg_CaVwaO2NA3u8z5EyV7IpXG1sKd9N3bdn-QVeaogy5FA/w153-h200/HobbitHouse33%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="153" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This "Conditions of <br />Engagement" scroll was<br />just one of so many<br />amazing touches at <br />Hobbit's Dream</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times;">We quickly and quietly packed up our suitcases and the costumes we never got to wear. We loaded the ice chest with our leftovers from dinner and the fresh blueberries and toast I'd brought for our Sunday morning breakfast. We straightened the cottage as best we could to the way it looked when we arrived, even setting a scroll of Bilbo's "Conditions of Engagement" back on one of the armchairs just as we had found it. We loaded up the car in the dark and quiet, careful not to slam the car doors and needlessly wake our hosts across the pond. We cautiously made our way back down the long gravel road, through the security gate, and out onto the lonely highway for the journey home.</span><br /><p></p><p>Although we made good time, the four-hour drive north was angst-filled for me. My stomach churned as I imagined my basement flooding, my well-pump overheating and breaking down, the humongous plumbing bill I would undoubtedly face to get the water system in my 1862 farmhouse back up and running properly, the prospect of having no running water for what might be weeks.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOxd8rvAfNGZZR-fB5-zPVv_PePWkhxQcSImhSbFSVTFpZfSjlxOBJe3gNZCtswZ-3r8H0O46XrbgvSAcnvjCylL0ohw6zVpWMCvN5ooWl0aA5kWQzN2YOraaqEtu55690H13c0jEalBs/s2048/HobbitHouse04%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOxd8rvAfNGZZR-fB5-zPVv_PePWkhxQcSImhSbFSVTFpZfSjlxOBJe3gNZCtswZ-3r8H0O46XrbgvSAcnvjCylL0ohw6zVpWMCvN5ooWl0aA5kWQzN2YOraaqEtu55690H13c0jEalBs/w200-h150/HobbitHouse04%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This was our view across the pond <br />of the Hucklebury Ferry and our<br />hosts' home at Hobbit's Dream</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>When we were about 40 miles from home, my cell phone rang. It was my neighbor, Mike. He and his family were hundreds of miles away, up in Pennsylvania, hunting, he said. There would be no neighbor to come to my rescue this day. When we were within ten miles of the house, the firefighter called. Josh had been sleeping and not on duty, but he was ready to jump in his truck if I needed him to. I thanked him profusely, but explained that I was now within ten minutes of the house myself.<p></p><p>I pulled into my own gravel driveway at 9:30 a.m., almost exactly 22 hours after turning on my hose before leaving home the previous day. I dashed out of the car toward the rain barrels beside the back patio while Jesse turned the key to the house and took our luggage inside. The water was still running, which I took as a good sign. At least my well pump was still working.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym1Ki45wfq194VLDC9Q8ejKLjDSHPz-rytvpxmtC2qL7tD02xd7JHBqM41oj8i8ka33m9oSu8BA32_9U-rLpaiPzHOGEqX0D6OB2bNG4EKEr2PDgcEQxnTRm_VqJSw2kvFfQzt76Qvw4/s2048/HobbitHouse05%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym1Ki45wfq194VLDC9Q8ejKLjDSHPz-rytvpxmtC2qL7tD02xd7JHBqM41oj8i8ka33m9oSu8BA32_9U-rLpaiPzHOGEqX0D6OB2bNG4EKEr2PDgcEQxnTRm_VqJSw2kvFfQzt76Qvw4/w200-h150/HobbitHouse05%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This adorable clothesline was hung<br />with hobbit attire and fairy lights</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I switched off the water valve and dashed into the house, my heart pounding out of my chest. I was almost too frightened to descend my basement stairs, so fearful of what I would find. And, indeed, there was some water on the concrete floor, but not nearly as much as I had imagined. My sump pump was pumping its little heart out, sucking water up and out of the basement as fast as it could. Fortunately, the water drawn up by the pump was delivered to my sewer line and carried out to the leach field for my septic system, so at least it wasn't pouring back into my basement.<p></p><p>Jesse used a shop vac to suck up the water on the basement floor. Upstairs, I turned on the kitchen faucet briefly to see what would come out. The water was clear, but very salty. My softener system had come on in the middle of the night to replenish the softening from the use of so much water, and with the water continuing to run during the softener's backwash, it filled my household pipes with salty brine. I immediately stilled my icemaker.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkdMvA4saJBuicMt4ILDJOk-Zo5ApNS-WpXkbkTUA7njnulVtzK4yy8_2IQuXJZVvl8LOgSZrteG6u0llpwRQxtk-2E46Z4d1UpaoeVZ0Ne9nvDxcrFPW54y7rmSrsV0M_uOJB4IFplE/s2048/HobbitHouse08%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkdMvA4saJBuicMt4ILDJOk-Zo5ApNS-WpXkbkTUA7njnulVtzK4yy8_2IQuXJZVvl8LOgSZrteG6u0llpwRQxtk-2E46Z4d1UpaoeVZ0Ne9nvDxcrFPW54y7rmSrsV0M_uOJB4IFplE/w200-h150/HobbitHouse08%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>At every turn we found thoughtful<br />vignettes of Shire life, like this<br />supposed barrel of moonshine with<br />mugs at the reedy</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>I called my plumber and left a message. I wasn't sure I actually needed a plumber yet, but I had a lot of questions. When my plumber did not immediately call back (it was a Sunday, after all), I began to analyze the situation on my own.<p></p><p>Although I had not run out of water, I must have come close to the bottom of the well. I certainly had churned up a lot of sludge, as evidenced by the brown residue at the top of my middle rain barrel, the one the hose had been endlessly filling. There would be no running of faucets or showers in the house, as I didn't want my indoor plumbing to fill with sludge. And I would have to shut off the timer to my drip system, too. If the pump at the bottom of one of my rain barrels came on, the drippers to all my window boxes and hanging baskets would immediately become clogged with silt.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8sn0bCtjWu5G6waB4R80olQ7X1evZ6uEP-zO8s-G2L1JHhQBxOPjp_mnXJcBQSWNz47W5UJeDvX_g58dzRDun5gMLIUWt4wJsicqXunBBhqQ9dsHyk9sIY6U2lfu6kh1mHaApywY8o4/s2048/HobbitHouse20%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8sn0bCtjWu5G6waB4R80olQ7X1evZ6uEP-zO8s-G2L1JHhQBxOPjp_mnXJcBQSWNz47W5UJeDvX_g58dzRDun5gMLIUWt4wJsicqXunBBhqQ9dsHyk9sIY6U2lfu6kh1mHaApywY8o4/w200-h150/HobbitHouse20%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This vignette featured beehives,<br />honeypots and all the<br />accoutrements for making mead</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>So what to do about water for drinking and flushing? Well, with three 60-gallon rain barrels standing right in front of me, I had lots of gray water at my disposal. Jesse retrieved two large, plastic garbage cans from the stone cellar beneath my guest cottage (that ancient cellar had flooded, too, which Jesse took care of with the shop-vac). We began to siphon water from the rain barrels into the garbage cans. Jesse drove to the hardware store and returned with ten 5-gallon buckets to supplement the ten I already had on hand. With the muddy sludge fairly well settled at the bottom of the rain barrels, we were able to harvest about 120 gallons of fairly clean gray water. <p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE12ea5Z7DGWSE4ZKcI2m3AT2yH3t6MMKTM9G-0Dl4F1GXCsWdSdWa-Dni5g7G4AKqQsq8ULgsMSpzUITCgnZZnS0yw5eXDrEkGSx-WqEcd7gyvOyL2HfQy1Y5SpejiSuVquyTH9o2UF0/s2048/HobbitHouse22%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1563" data-original-width="2048" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE12ea5Z7DGWSE4ZKcI2m3AT2yH3t6MMKTM9G-0Dl4F1GXCsWdSdWa-Dni5g7G4AKqQsq8ULgsMSpzUITCgnZZnS0yw5eXDrEkGSx-WqEcd7gyvOyL2HfQy1Y5SpejiSuVquyTH9o2UF0/w200-h153/HobbitHouse22%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This hay wagon looks just like what <br />Gandalf might have ridden in on!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>I set up a wash station on the patio with a bucket and soap for washing, a watering can for rinsing, and a towel for drying. Jesse went to the store again and returned with ten gallons of fresh water for drinking and cooking. He turned off the toilets and showed me how to instigate a manual flush by dumping a gallon of gray water into the bowl. My living situation, while not dire by any means, nonetheless now seemed so dramatically diminished from the bucolic fantasy world I'd been enjoying just a few hours earlier.<p></p><p>At about 5:00 p.m. my plumber called. His calming voice assured me everything would be all right. He told me to run my kitchen faucet for five minutes once an hour until the salt was flushed out of my water system, and to let the well replenish for several days before showering, washing clothes or running the dishwasher. I breathed a hopeful sigh. But the second time I ran water at the kitchen faucet, I lost all my water pressure. My faucet slowed to a trickle. Perhaps I hadn't avoided the slings and arrows of my outrageous blunder after all.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTd7PUuNtGENG5RFGnPXqo_NhRIpWAbeUlxqIJnhFTby3VGi0xcWCEly1pc7jDiVJ1HZPQdHyJO-uEfJH-W3SsQ7Ll1VHjsTLG4P8kXgMgW-Y9jpa6ht-Kg6GfRCnCVM7cx8zMhj4Epsw/s2014/HobbitHouse23%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2014" data-original-width="1925" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTd7PUuNtGENG5RFGnPXqo_NhRIpWAbeUlxqIJnhFTby3VGi0xcWCEly1pc7jDiVJ1HZPQdHyJO-uEfJH-W3SsQ7Ll1VHjsTLG4P8kXgMgW-Y9jpa6ht-Kg6GfRCnCVM7cx8zMhj4Epsw/w191-h200/HobbitHouse23%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="191" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Beautiful flowers lined every path at<br />Hobbit's Dream.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I called the plumber back. He said a crew would be at my house first thing Monday morning. Jesse and I examined my basement walls, which are made of dirt. A large chunk of earth and rock had come loose from the foundation and fallen forward toward the sump pump, stopped only by a vertical line of PVC which was no longer in use. Had the dirt fallen all the way forward, it would have filled my small sump pit and clogged the pump. I was very lucky.</p><p>I donned gloves and used a trowel to carefully move the loose earth from around the sump pit to a bucket and hauled it up the basement steps. The remaining foundation seemed solid, just a bit moist. We set up box fans in the basement and in my stone cellar to start drying everything out.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-bhEIiA8a4xdLqRvT9uabAzjPsdSkbDn-f5Bobf1bSOd5-7_17WhzKbSoFUkZa2N01qA5Gb4BklLeGALjdzVYo4pp3yxqeo0Ny2gVFqAHHTWrUhtfyu_-znjs1VPaGykt3oVcE0wOQ8/s2048/HobbitHouse35%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-bhEIiA8a4xdLqRvT9uabAzjPsdSkbDn-f5Bobf1bSOd5-7_17WhzKbSoFUkZa2N01qA5Gb4BklLeGALjdzVYo4pp3yxqeo0Ny2gVFqAHHTWrUhtfyu_-znjs1VPaGykt3oVcE0wOQ8/w200-h150/HobbitHouse35%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The kitchen at Hobbit's Dream was<br /></i></span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">well outfitted and comfy</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>I was physically and emotionally spent, with every last nerve seemingly jangled. Still, I put together a simple stew of chopped artichoke hearts and chickpeas for dinner because I find cooking such a comfort. Jesse did some math. At 12 gallons per minute over the course of 22 hours, I had inadvertently pumped 15,400 gallons of water into the yard at my foundation. That was the equivalent of 80 percent of my entire swimming pool. I shuddered at the thought. Nevertheless, Jesse and I toasted our good fortune at dinner. It could have been a lot worse.<p></p><p>The plumbers came in the morning and flushed out the spin-down filter to my water system, which was clogged with sediment. They drained and flushed my well tank. Remarkably, they said, my well pump was strong and healthy and I hadn't ruined anything, thank goodness. I was cautioned, however, that it could be weeks before the sediment stirred up at the bottom of my 200-foot deep well would settle back down. Until then, there could be no showers taken at all. After one week, I could run the dishwasher (which would use far less water than washing dishes by hand) and a small load of laundry. After two weeks, I could take military-style showers. It seemed a small price to pay for such a huge gaffe on my part.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIb6FIuiUeo0rs2FT7huIUmPFn2DjVQDLoxyWfV-28DhONZoaENXNMe6GwzhQGkQNu3m7d9RIZWSXcPghcdDh7dN6-XhJNsSZmle2BfH0i-5uAA3me-Dejsuq7IdmxcZ8pMdTOmrv6Uc/s1979/HobbitHouse40%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1799" data-original-width="1979" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIb6FIuiUeo0rs2FT7huIUmPFn2DjVQDLoxyWfV-28DhONZoaENXNMe6GwzhQGkQNu3m7d9RIZWSXcPghcdDh7dN6-XhJNsSZmle2BfH0i-5uAA3me-Dejsuq7IdmxcZ8pMdTOmrv6Uc/w200-h182/HobbitHouse40%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Homemade seed cakes wrapped in<br />faux oilcloth and tied with twine <br />awaited us upon our arrival at<br />Hobbit's Dream</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Jesse was able to return to the home he shares with his roommate in Baltimore City during the week. I showered at a girlfriend's home a few blocks away for the next couple of weeks.<p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlyNtzOZt-uwYKjs168UXGzFXeqVdyEe7bHcAR3BeEwbUPwKnvKTDDkk-GbzTRYfHY4SwIZqOP3sNIVELl0dEe5X0BtppjPfdG7LZOowYakalqUrCSNiBWlRUJRy3xR5GXTE9v0RuJsE/s2046/HobbitHouse42%252C10-03-20.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1992" data-original-width="2046" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlyNtzOZt-uwYKjs168UXGzFXeqVdyEe7bHcAR3BeEwbUPwKnvKTDDkk-GbzTRYfHY4SwIZqOP3sNIVELl0dEe5X0BtppjPfdG7LZOowYakalqUrCSNiBWlRUJRy3xR5GXTE9v0RuJsE/w200-h195/HobbitHouse42%252C10-03-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Randy Holland carved this exquisite<br />dragon into the concrete floor<br />at Hobbit's Dream</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>It's been almost three weeks now since my fabulous hobbit adventure was aborted by the harrowing plumbing misadventure that followed. I've turned my toilets back on and I've taken quick showers, done small loads of laundry and run the dishwasher, all without consequence.<p></p><p>I do seem to have, thankfully, dodged what could have an arrow's expensive sting, although I am still being mindful of my water usage and probably will be for several months, if not forever. Emotionally, my heart skips a beat every time I turn on the hose to top off my rain barrels which, refilled by rain for the most part, are happily watering my flower boxes and hanging baskets once again. I don't know if that trepidation will ever fully leave me.</p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jesse, bless his heart, has already booked us a two-night stay at Hobbit's Dream for October 2021. For my part, I am determined to enjoy the full and fabulous adventure I originally set out to have, even if I have to wait a year to do it. Samwise Gamgee famously said of misfortune that "in the end it's only a passing thing, this shadow; even darkness must pass". And so it has.<br />Cheers,<br />Lynell</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span face=""Arial","sans-serif"" style="color: #313131; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">"It’s a dangerous
business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t
keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ </span></i><span face=""Arial","sans-serif"" style="color: #313131; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bilbo Baggins</span></div></div></div></div>Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-1264655314760272402020-03-16T22:19:00.001-04:002020-04-16T21:24:05.079-04:00Holding Close to Friendships in a Time of Social Distancing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I mailed out homemade invitations to a festive St. Patrick's Day dinner to be held at my home in suburban Maryland four weeks before the new coronavirus made "pandemic" a household word. Even the week before my guests arrived for dinner on March 14th, there had been no widespread panic, no hoarding of toilet paper and hand-sanitizer, no school cancellations or public calls for people not to congregate. By the time residents in my area were stripping shelves at every store in the region, I'd already purchased a seven pound beef brisket and all the trimmings for an elegant dinner party I hoped would bring friends together who hadn't seen each other in years.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNE31ujq81JzGWr5by0k27Y6d8SwKgxfKpT_829_fSHKwKmh1rxCk4ZxHKuZbjuEo8o6D_AhAPsYrLQcWOA8J5Ks4PmCdvqK5lnT1O_pITixV3T66rGdZgLqSp1KV8eA3o2GrlfN2y6QM/s1600/Spike03%252C03-08-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="915" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNE31ujq81JzGWr5by0k27Y6d8SwKgxfKpT_829_fSHKwKmh1rxCk4ZxHKuZbjuEo8o6D_AhAPsYrLQcWOA8J5Ks4PmCdvqK5lnT1O_pITixV3T66rGdZgLqSp1KV8eA3o2GrlfN2y6QM/s200/Spike03%252C03-08-20.JPG" width="114" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My front porch mascot<br />
was dressed in his<br />
finest St. Paddy's Day<br />
attire!</td></tr>
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With my dinner guests confirmed and looking forward to the get together, we discussed the possibility of a governmental prohibition on hyper-local travel or the quarantining of one of our neighborhoods, and concluded that, although one case of Covid-19 had been confirmed in my county, it didn't seem to be in any town nearby, and no governmental restrictions on private gatherings had been imposed or even suggested.<br />
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In the days leading up to Saturday night, I reaffirmed that my visitors were healthy and had traveled nowhere by plane nor cruise ship in the recent past. We agreed that getting together for a small dinner party in a private home did not violate the prohibition against congregating in large numbers. I made sure my guests would have multiple opportunities for robust handwashing and disinfecting throughout the evening. In good faith and hopeful spirits, my dinner party went forward.<br />
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Once my dinner guests had RSVP'd, I set about to reward their bravery in venturing out socially amid this climate of uncertainty and germaphobia. After all, save for my ex-husband, Jesse, whose companionship I share most weekends, I had only met the other couples on my guest list once, and that was briefly and long ago. What was most tantalizing to me, and which became the impetus for this particular party's invitees, was that all three of the men who were invited had once been dear friends, yet had not caught up with each other in decades.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5gQaP7edXApBkCVGHPMi7h-UrEZfTDBOdL9BvDQwxu5i7W1gQHC5GqdgDQyocihYBwqGVYO9aq9g8ENpdnQ5MJd7Hdu2hmItPkEw9MR-L2x6o1j69gux7-GtF9X69wEhd4oCgP5qb3k4/s1600/Menu03-14-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1237" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5gQaP7edXApBkCVGHPMi7h-UrEZfTDBOdL9BvDQwxu5i7W1gQHC5GqdgDQyocihYBwqGVYO9aq9g8ENpdnQ5MJd7Hdu2hmItPkEw9MR-L2x6o1j69gux7-GtF9X69wEhd4oCgP5qb3k4/s200/Menu03-14-20.jpg" width="154" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The evening's menu</td></tr>
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In preparation for my dinner party, I put together "pots o' gold" for each place setting, filling each small green tub with "gold-nugget" Rolo candies. The treasure pots would serve as placecards, but I also wanted my guests to take them home as a memento of what I hoped would be a memorable evening. So I purchased Kraft paper gift bags large enough to hold two pots each and supplemented the bag contents with a copy of the dinner menu printed on heavy cardstock, rolled and tied with ribbon and fastened with a green floral hair clip. I tucked a bottle of homemade mustard vinaigrette into each bag, the stoppers of which were adorned with a sparkling green geode.<br />
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When I learned that one couple would be traveling from their new home three hours away, I invited them to bring their dog and spend the night in my guest house so as not to have to drive such a long way home after dinner. I tucked a doggy toy into their guest bag. And then, of course, I did the same for the other couple, as well. After all, my other guests, who only live minutes from my house, also own a dog!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMputiyWCoQtt3XM54k0n0UK4_1nW1rG6FTtQKa8pjka3_XxU22d7isnhknuMOSb2kdSLYHDqjokwg_PFfQ2sQzfaWlxoLBN1f7YIOz5wm9Ti5kDQzrt26zNYzTiOf0hBBxvcwVQaiFq0/s1600/CorningTheBeef01%252C03-11-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1566" data-original-width="1600" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMputiyWCoQtt3XM54k0n0UK4_1nW1rG6FTtQKa8pjka3_XxU22d7isnhknuMOSb2kdSLYHDqjokwg_PFfQ2sQzfaWlxoLBN1f7YIOz5wm9Ti5kDQzrt26zNYzTiOf0hBBxvcwVQaiFq0/s200/CorningTheBeef01%252C03-11-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicjzjdgMEbjgytO5JE4E3Hb6er32wIteM8hxpPe7FH5Pio243NuXLEbHdCmKgiCzxIeiy-_sx4w-N16vUBzv3fadUnl3dFSJmKnuk49A8V9DG8nlfRkheCRdHjfujkal_61tSltgWdwaM/s1600/CorningTheBeef02%252C03-11-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="916" data-original-width="1600" height="114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicjzjdgMEbjgytO5JE4E3Hb6er32wIteM8hxpPe7FH5Pio243NuXLEbHdCmKgiCzxIeiy-_sx4w-N16vUBzv3fadUnl3dFSJmKnuk49A8V9DG8nlfRkheCRdHjfujkal_61tSltgWdwaM/s200/CorningTheBeef02%252C03-11-20.JPG" width="200" /></a>Once the place cards and gift bags were prepared, I moved on to meal prep. Years ago I came across a recipe for "corning" beef, and it was so good that I have corned my own beef ever since. First I assembled a heady rub of salt, pepper, sugar, ground nutmeg, cinnamon, coriander, ginger and clove, minced fresh garlic, crushed bay leaves, cider vinegar and mustard, stirred it into a thick paste, and rubbed it all over a seven-pound brisket. Once the beef was covered and refrigerated for its two-day spice saturation, I turned to slicing and bagging onions and beets to roast with the beef, then asparagus, cabbage and baby carrots for my side dishes, and finally citrus wheels to garnish a delicious champagne punch.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEhicJSJ5G9BQ0Lm9Xlr2uPSJ7Q6y_DTCVhpb7es938aAx71OQM82ySZgdXQJknOGIWwQLBoZgmgErn1ODEmxLzV2mDThdHSZl2NP_skbhZStDnqJZRf2kfBJEFF9kMiYJd62g64Gv-UA/s1600/BloodOrangeRedPearSalad%252C01%252C03-14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="1600" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEhicJSJ5G9BQ0Lm9Xlr2uPSJ7Q6y_DTCVhpb7es938aAx71OQM82ySZgdXQJknOGIWwQLBoZgmgErn1ODEmxLzV2mDThdHSZl2NP_skbhZStDnqJZRf2kfBJEFF9kMiYJd62g64Gv-UA/s200/BloodOrangeRedPearSalad%252C01%252C03-14-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Next, I toasted slivered almonds in a bit of butter, then coated them with brown sugar and cinnamon and turned them out to dry on wax paper. They would add a spicy note to a lovely salad of spring greens, shredded Gruyere, chopped blood oranges and red pears, made all the more intriguing with a dressing of blood orange juice, lemon juice, a special honey-vinegar, ground cloves and salt.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_maT0mh5xDMVWL-clvaF9h87mmKh-7Abjr4j-x2M5HL3kPOE7OmlLuRbftJkLeNdBKFe_Me4SOxoyRCqrzSX_fTAXqw-3hqTbirNN-0YeicqRMe7JgwYE89I1urHB0BpXapjGTYs7TX0/s1600/FullFridge%252C03-14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_maT0mh5xDMVWL-clvaF9h87mmKh-7Abjr4j-x2M5HL3kPOE7OmlLuRbftJkLeNdBKFe_Me4SOxoyRCqrzSX_fTAXqw-3hqTbirNN-0YeicqRMe7JgwYE89I1urHB0BpXapjGTYs7TX0/s200/FullFridge%252C03-14-20.JPG" width="124" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every shelf in my fridge<br />
was packed!</td></tr>
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After that, I peeled and boiled Yukon gold potatoes, which I put through a ricer and beat with milk and butter for a fancy mashed starch that incorporates heavy cream (beaten into stiff peaks) into the potatoes for extra decadence. I turned the mashed potatoes out into a baking dish, drizzled them with more butter, sprinkled on some shredded Parmesan and stuck them in the fridge for final baking on the day of the party. My refrigerator was getting full!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfnry_PlxhqgaiOXFm-HMdtSEUYg6OEdTJ_c-89A5tMk6w-qGR3GtBf2t6HAoklMd6ivL9nXocOJlXjwweykorYOaqhXbP5cEYSC3G8IlO3T4piYyVfx2wUBb4uMD1DdX3XSxzvN4acE/s1600/PottedPuddings04%252C03-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="439" data-original-width="730" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfnry_PlxhqgaiOXFm-HMdtSEUYg6OEdTJ_c-89A5tMk6w-qGR3GtBf2t6HAoklMd6ivL9nXocOJlXjwweykorYOaqhXbP5cEYSC3G8IlO3T4piYyVfx2wUBb4uMD1DdX3XSxzvN4acE/s200/PottedPuddings04%252C03-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had to act quickly once the pudding<br />
thickened to pour it into small glass<br />
pots before it got too stiff to work </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Then I set about making a batch of mint-infused chocolate pudding, which I poured into individual glass votive holders in the shape of seedling pots. I let the puddings congeal, then sprinkled ground chocolate cookies over the top of each pot to resemble "dirt", into which I would later "plant" sprigs of fresh mint for the dessert course. Yum!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUB6P_oNEqU-_jiExr11P6azpoRYT8a99jbI6CjZJedhVJr8SFgxfxyA5LvhNvjoe-kub_gjoqJtsWN7JtP1Vg7vggz7rGO3dDjviv3QuwwMKD9R4-EGWMXbaNjUtK2_ISKPx2lOfzlIs/s1600/FlowerArranging01%252C03-14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1241" data-original-width="1600" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUB6P_oNEqU-_jiExr11P6azpoRYT8a99jbI6CjZJedhVJr8SFgxfxyA5LvhNvjoe-kub_gjoqJtsWN7JtP1Vg7vggz7rGO3dDjviv3QuwwMKD9R4-EGWMXbaNjUtK2_ISKPx2lOfzlIs/s200/FlowerArranging01%252C03-14-20.JPG" width="200" /></a>The day before my party I arranged green and white carnations, spider mums, daisies and baby's breath into a low-profile centerpiece for my dinner table. I assembled smaller bouquets for scattering around my house and in my guest cottage. I repeated my winning centerpiece from last year by setting the arrangement into a glittery, overturned top hat and garnished the brim with faux gold coins.<br />
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On the morning of my party I engaged in my very favorite pre-party pastime: setting the table! I covered a satiny white tablecloth that I've had for years with an embroidered table runner I purchased at a market stall in Budapest in 2017. On top of that went green felt laser-cut placemats and on top of those I set golden chargers. Then on went my grandmother's 24 karat gold china dinner plates, over which I placed napkins that Jesse had creatively folded into shamrocks. In the center of each napkin, I placed a placecard pot o' gold, and then scattered the rest of the table with tiny silk shamrocks, votive candles, green and gold "coins" and acrylic gems.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalYxTMHS_LM0fToxttkJ2BYhiY3yT808vm2HNUlaju5uPtqgcWushB6XTTOw0Uxmn2rNd6mfHfglfiU64oaXYdCnj0QGgUsF_BPkOPdzCwtwMwSFhY9AiCsn2O7RJz521kuZEJvWRoAU/s1600/ChairDecor01%252C03-14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="1600" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalYxTMHS_LM0fToxttkJ2BYhiY3yT808vm2HNUlaju5uPtqgcWushB6XTTOw0Uxmn2rNd6mfHfglfiU64oaXYdCnj0QGgUsF_BPkOPdzCwtwMwSFhY9AiCsn2O7RJz521kuZEJvWRoAU/s200/ChairDecor01%252C03-14-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Next I adorned my dining room chairs with gold velvet covers and faux-sheepskin throws fastened with sparkly green bows. On the back of each chair I hung a pretty garland of faux spring flowers. Then I decanted condiments: red beet horseradish, white horseradish and four different mustards for the beef, and four different flavors of vinegar for the cabbage. I set out shamrock-molded butter pats into which I had pressed real clover leaves.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HLzw4k5t8oQhcdzwru6m04nyXDs6__x1wbQDFM-_DeH4xSEqJyS_nrXdj6pef864oc9fhuwFf4rPYZ3prZA98fJT2L4cbtb79kM2IfST5awKMyt4HHWc15mmmRathVaznah9W2pViMA/s1600/Cooking01%252C03-14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="965" data-original-width="1600" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HLzw4k5t8oQhcdzwru6m04nyXDs6__x1wbQDFM-_DeH4xSEqJyS_nrXdj6pef864oc9fhuwFf4rPYZ3prZA98fJT2L4cbtb79kM2IfST5awKMyt4HHWc15mmmRathVaznah9W2pViMA/s200/Cooking01%252C03-14-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
In the early afternoon, I took the spiced brisket out of the fridge and treated it to an unusual braising bath of orange juice and beer. I covered the corned beef with parchment-lined tinfoil and stuck it in the oven at precisely 3:00 p.m., followed an hour later by the cabbage and carrots, both similarly bathed and covered.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1bqdiNaVbmgVIkG9HllW4dNRYZMc2GUKnG3kp_H11QIQAgLExpyEOGfkheyxKvgysYG2q5WuQHLZWOwIwQrCwT3c3Tyy_M4AUJ2iWYhsvu-Ft14ysWK-J4XwqQMixNc8M3XahnFmRtg/s1600/Cooking04%252C03-14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="913" data-original-width="1600" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1bqdiNaVbmgVIkG9HllW4dNRYZMc2GUKnG3kp_H11QIQAgLExpyEOGfkheyxKvgysYG2q5WuQHLZWOwIwQrCwT3c3Tyy_M4AUJ2iWYhsvu-Ft14ysWK-J4XwqQMixNc8M3XahnFmRtg/s200/Cooking04%252C03-14-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My oven was working hard!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As the afternoon progressed, I plated appetizers, opened cabernet sauvignon to let it breathe and assembled a festive punch, leaving addition of the final ingredient, champagne, until the moment of my guests' arrival. I lit candles and organized a playlist of my favorite Celtic music CDs.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVcTFc3g0BAEqJ2kJwDzy-RmHb7LNFIUrOFCaBf8UKc7v4_DIJNDfxo_MXe5scTvoNNhaLZUQDnlyFkIbrvzIU-Nh-HUqpgVlDak_4aTSulCpdfyMAKSlYD_J1DPnBlGJJH78yCwSOGQY/s1600/CornedBeef%252C03-14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1007" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVcTFc3g0BAEqJ2kJwDzy-RmHb7LNFIUrOFCaBf8UKc7v4_DIJNDfxo_MXe5scTvoNNhaLZUQDnlyFkIbrvzIU-Nh-HUqpgVlDak_4aTSulCpdfyMAKSlYD_J1DPnBlGJJH78yCwSOGQY/s200/CornedBeef%252C03-14-20.JPG" width="125" /></a>When I was confident everything was under control, it was time to venture upstairs to dress for my party. I donned a simple pair of black leggings and an asymmetrical <a href="https://www.macys.com/shop/product/alfani-printed-v-hem-top-created-for-macys?ID=10492414&CategoryID=255#fn=BRAND%3DAlfani"><i>Alfani Elements</i></a> tunic in shades of green from Macy's. I pulled on some kicky black Roper boots trimmed in rhinestones, one of the few pairs of shoes I can wear comfortably since my foot is still a bit swollen from breaking my leg last summer, and returned to the kitchen, this time in an apron to protect my attire from splashes and spills.<br />
<br />
Once the corned beef was ready, I removed it from the oven, tented it for twenty minutes and then carved the juicy meat into hearty slices. I returned the brisket to its roasting pan and put it back in the oven with the temperature set to "keep warm" this time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcQLVd0WDHNX_OJWOFZ95Oh2ApRy0mRGZSB7wEw9g2Lp10iMC92GFM4MkLSmqT1KvMu1i5yOUZRj-zQf2TTq6jMJmDtEAkth-W5mWVeZVMMIDtg4cEq8VA9RDxYn8Wez9kjIkw0RR_DWs/s1600/Guests02%252C03-14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="796" data-original-width="1600" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcQLVd0WDHNX_OJWOFZ95Oh2ApRy0mRGZSB7wEw9g2Lp10iMC92GFM4MkLSmqT1KvMu1i5yOUZRj-zQf2TTq6jMJmDtEAkth-W5mWVeZVMMIDtg4cEq8VA9RDxYn8Wez9kjIkw0RR_DWs/s200/Guests02%252C03-14-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left, Mark and Sherry, Rob, Jesse<br />
and me. The guideline to stay 6 feet<br />
from one another had not yet been<br />
issued.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At 7:00 p.m. my guests arrived. Sherry and Mark are practically neighbors of mine, living only a few blocks away, yet they'd never been to my house for dinner. Rob arrived a few minutes later, apologizing for the absence of his wife, Brigid, who felt it best to remain home where she was overseeing a vigorous round of hens laying eggs and chicks hatching.<br />
<br />
As Jesse hung coats, I added champagne to the punch and doled out flutes of the sparkling goodness. We gathered around my coffee table and dug into simple appetizers: dolmas, pickled Cipollini onions and roquefort-stuffed olives. The conversation was lively as Mark, Rob and Jesse caught up on the events in each others' lives which had transpired during their years-long separation.<br />
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In time, I returned to the kitchen to bring all the dishes to completion. I lit a fire in my dining room fireplace and called everyone to the table.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0eK5cQR_ZB7sJvIXPT5ypQ4HpF9w0W94YVMD0MYHVMg5K7chfxN8u44dpOjVoMofW0lNgYIaqMCeF71eP4RLo4cBUvfdp7Th1PjgB3iaXYOAR5Gs1EEBQwOGM9UXR0J4655gHsxdxSPk/s1600/Guests03%252C03-14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1205" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0eK5cQR_ZB7sJvIXPT5ypQ4HpF9w0W94YVMD0MYHVMg5K7chfxN8u44dpOjVoMofW0lNgYIaqMCeF71eP4RLo4cBUvfdp7Th1PjgB3iaXYOAR5Gs1EEBQwOGM9UXR0J4655gHsxdxSPk/s200/Guests03%252C03-14-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
As we toasted the reunion of long lost compatriots, the five of us tore into the corned beef, mashed potatoes, vegetables and salad. We passed au jus, horseradish and mustard for the beef, vinegar for the cabbage, and butter for Irish soda bread. We toasted the importance of friendship in this time of heightened wariness of one's neighbors and countrymen. The old friends reminisced about dearly departed comrades and shared stories from long ago. I queried my guests with St. Patrick's Day trivia questions and handed out small prizes to the winners. We poured more wine.<br />
<br />
Eventually, it was time for chocolate pudding. When all was said and done, Mark and Sherry headed for home, their goodie bag in hand, and Rob headed out to my guest cottage for the night.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0iR1XanpNHJ-rQDivXX-4_rn8b1Cu1r1haFAh9CsXDzJNsITGt93MFD6nClI6lxmloreXHLVxpfynojvy96Hv3hQe-A0wvQ3kRsyP4vZYuENE1seLEEX0WDaUk_eRzc8tkHxRBluHe1E/s1600/BreakfastCasserole03%252C03-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0iR1XanpNHJ-rQDivXX-4_rn8b1Cu1r1haFAh9CsXDzJNsITGt93MFD6nClI6lxmloreXHLVxpfynojvy96Hv3hQe-A0wvQ3kRsyP4vZYuENE1seLEEX0WDaUk_eRzc8tkHxRBluHe1E/s200/BreakfastCasserole03%252C03-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast for my guests the next<br />
morning began with fresh blueberries<br />
and ended with a bacon, egg, cheese<br />
and hashbrown casserole</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In the morning, Jesse, Rob and I convened for breakfast at 9:00 a.m. I served a scrumptious breakfast casserole, the recipe courtesy of my best friend's mom, Joyce, which was preceded by fresh blueberries and cream. Once Rob had eaten his fill, he, too, headed out, and I began a massive but pleasantly contemplative cleanup effort, marred only by the fact that my 20-year-old dishwasher latch failed, causing Jesse to have to break the handle apart to get the door open and the clean dishes out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXXyybq4NyXgDJSD4VMk16RMTnj_3QFcnqk18MWemX7f__3WSFFoVAD2VwL4hZX1eRFfKr1ZEjjEjekQylqksOxJ9Dz9vASqnOGUQU7dvaxn5c8TpiGt94FNexar6dE286AzkM7lONtnw/s1600/HostessGfftHyacinth%252C03-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1292" data-original-width="881" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXXyybq4NyXgDJSD4VMk16RMTnj_3QFcnqk18MWemX7f__3WSFFoVAD2VwL4hZX1eRFfKr1ZEjjEjekQylqksOxJ9Dz9vASqnOGUQU7dvaxn5c8TpiGt94FNexar6dE286AzkM7lONtnw/s200/HostessGfftHyacinth%252C03-15-20.JPG" width="136" /></a></div>
Later in the afternoon, Jesse conceived a perfect makeshift repair for the dishwasher, utilizing a small door hinge, a piece of cardboard and an old putty knife, which has undoubtedly extended the life of my old dishwasher for another year or so. While Jesse was at the store retrieving parts for the dishwasher repair, I planted a gorgeous and fragrant yellow hyacinth that was a lovely hostess gift from Mark and Sherry the night before.<br />
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On the Monday following my party, the American Centers for Disease Control urged citizens not to hold social gatherings of any size nor to stand closer than six feet from one another. Had that prohibition come just a few days earlier, I would have had to cancel my dinner party. And, indeed, the next dinner party I am planning for early May may yet have to be suspended.<br />
<br />
But for those of us who gathered Saturday evening in my old farmhouse to celebrate long-lived friendships amid the wearing o' the green, it was a way to hold fast to the importance of human interaction and to cherish the value of social connection in these precarious and frightening times. The significant worth of interpersonal relationships should never be taken for granted. Our humanity is to be treasured -- as much as a pot o' gold!<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“I find myself unable to let go of the sense that… moment-to-moment
human experience contains a certain unquantifiable essence…” ~ </i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Douglas Rushkoff</span></div>
</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-70238595123483715682020-02-16T19:07:00.000-05:002020-02-20T15:20:58.249-05:00A Culinary Valentine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUdHX4sAqdzsSMB18Kh7RvbF2ywUYvXqS7biuXgWTA6gTQ6qdoFkjvXgQdzY6GKyjruyjQgOkFIhyQGbYNeDeSZ_5MMKjr2z1jv73Wof4mos0hNS9CyPNlzkk31JCcl7ndqR5tcf1YbSA/s1600/Tablescape05%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUdHX4sAqdzsSMB18Kh7RvbF2ywUYvXqS7biuXgWTA6gTQ6qdoFkjvXgQdzY6GKyjruyjQgOkFIhyQGbYNeDeSZ_5MMKjr2z1jv73Wof4mos0hNS9CyPNlzkk31JCcl7ndqR5tcf1YbSA/s200/Tablescape05%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Those who know me know it has been my tradition for the past five years to host an all-fondue dinner for good friends in honor of St. Valentine. The tradition began after Jesse and I repeatedly found Valentine weekend restaurants stuffed to the gills with extra tables and guests, servers who seemed harried and overworked, and too frequently a culinary experience that was less than satisfactory, considering the money we dropped for what was supposed to an ultra-decadent meal.<br />
<br />
So I decided, why not start hosting my own Valentine dinner? And seeing as how Valentine's Day falls in the middle of a winter season full of frigid temperatures, why not make it extra cozy? Being of Swiss descent, I grew up with fondue, and serving a three-course, all-fondue dinner seemed to hit all the right buttons for coziness, decadence and romance. An idea was conceived.<br />
<br />
But a three-course, all-fondue dinner is not a simple meal to prepare or execute. If I was going to go to the trouble to make such a dinner, I'd want it to be experienced by more than just Jesse and me. And so my Valentine fondue dinner for an ever-changing cast of friends was born in 2015 -- and continues to this day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzBEwv7OmKGpdWUZnbciUjskQvZO4Q3kRdqLW7e1dPWJQTTG4jvF4bwK1hBZ-fe57NMq-1kJ8vXozYFHkJQmwViCCpj-k-b_6whQcPIOe2wgNLIab9okq2AKAyu5FDCgBKComyGxQCMQ/s1600/IroningNapkins01%252C02-12-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzBEwv7OmKGpdWUZnbciUjskQvZO4Q3kRdqLW7e1dPWJQTTG4jvF4bwK1hBZ-fe57NMq-1kJ8vXozYFHkJQmwViCCpj-k-b_6whQcPIOe2wgNLIab9okq2AKAyu5FDCgBKComyGxQCMQ/s200/IroningNapkins01%252C02-12-20.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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This year, to relieve some of the stress all the preparation for such a dinner tends to cause, I took the Friday before the dinner off from work. I pulled my iron out of mothballs and gave all my napkins a good smoothing.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppcNcpw-eg7tX9kC9PsxXrDhqR8xKot10obnLlvH3d1ll-XSZQYt5wigJb3ElBCOqvGziaaVb8A6-ZB9OF3cl9pW3aUipKwvseK0wA48ME8f9PWLIP-dPzKsJ4G5djJVHraL2uwZpU8o/s1600/PartyFavors02%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1257" data-original-width="1600" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppcNcpw-eg7tX9kC9PsxXrDhqR8xKot10obnLlvH3d1ll-XSZQYt5wigJb3ElBCOqvGziaaVb8A6-ZB9OF3cl9pW3aUipKwvseK0wA48ME8f9PWLIP-dPzKsJ4G5djJVHraL2uwZpU8o/s200/PartyFavors02%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a>Then I got to work on party favors for my guests. I found cute pierced tins at IKEA and filled them them with chocolate kisses and Lindt truffles. Having the candy-filled tins serve double-duty as placecard holders made them festive -- and practical. I tied each guest's name onto a tin with curling ribbon. I printed out the evening's menu on heavy card stock, rolled it up and fastened the scroll with more ribbon, affixing a chocolate rose to the menu as an extra treat for my guests.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGkf0jPCIdpnX3QWbsAZWlj8sufHFZuiyFgcQlAT2wZE0vzUOEOoUIo60F0GJPeggWjfdkWpkWgkwTDAGzSkG_t4dKe6PTqhv_J-xWI-ybVTKxj47j5JdH2hvxVB_oQth9S5r8r3Of05s/s1600/PreppedAndBagged%252C02-13-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1076" data-original-width="1600" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGkf0jPCIdpnX3QWbsAZWlj8sufHFZuiyFgcQlAT2wZE0vzUOEOoUIo60F0GJPeggWjfdkWpkWgkwTDAGzSkG_t4dKe6PTqhv_J-xWI-ybVTKxj47j5JdH2hvxVB_oQth9S5r8r3Of05s/s200/PreppedAndBagged%252C02-13-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSDcNdVzpoQ0uZV35a_PF8-eT1u0r6Uqw4Ur11dOlZKwdJiSYDavKeskjiM0Pz8Fb00-u8s9e15TrFjDlK0wUBruwCL00rylKNNvnlwB8zjwjwz01lxof-NxcePvV1izV_W_DEgctUOI/s1600/SaucedAndPackaged%252C02--14-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSDcNdVzpoQ0uZV35a_PF8-eT1u0r6Uqw4Ur11dOlZKwdJiSYDavKeskjiM0Pz8Fb00-u8s9e15TrFjDlK0wUBruwCL00rylKNNvnlwB8zjwjwz01lxof-NxcePvV1izV_W_DEgctUOI/s200/SaucedAndPackaged%252C02--14-20.JPG" width="200" /></a>Next, I went to work in my kitchen, preparing appetizers, cubing crusty bread and tender steak, slicing tiny potatoes and mushrooms, slicing colorful citrus for champagne punch, and segmenting an assortment of fruits into bite-sized pieces for the various courses of my dinner. After that was accomplished, I prepared five of my very favorite dipping sauces for steak: my own sugar-free barbecue sauce, a balsamic blue cheese sauce, a mustard sauce, a garlic-paprika aioli, and a horseradish sauce.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjasfWwVy_LenmlaL5UWBay3QJZd5CmmO9tlMpA-19P_Rs3ANGRCSPl48ssEYBB5gXle6mEkjbnX5fSKrlyPNZVy9KZXshyphenhyphengblzT0-OPdXBY3BcUElgzRKGVY9vaVS8JybJh6ouWVicCeM/s1600/Tablescape01%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1121" data-original-width="1600" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjasfWwVy_LenmlaL5UWBay3QJZd5CmmO9tlMpA-19P_Rs3ANGRCSPl48ssEYBB5gXle6mEkjbnX5fSKrlyPNZVy9KZXshyphenhyphengblzT0-OPdXBY3BcUElgzRKGVY9vaVS8JybJh6ouWVicCeM/s200/Tablescape01%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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On the day of the party, I started early, setting my Valentine table in a way I hoped would induce feelings of romance and coziness. Faux sheepskins I'd purchased at IKEA years ago were spread across each chair and fastened with stretchy red bands. To further counter the barren landscape outside, I fastened a cascade of faux spring flowers to the back of each chair.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDqpJVSON1jjKIpEy9ppsFug3iAe3Wsb7hJ4oYl4XFD7bI6vd5pIAdWv2PXFghWiKdu70ZR3cr0Ftq8c6MFyzQUzvsCnjUA5i5e-H0QAO4OsLWxGJjwqX24JmUNxJP98ajKCVxcNMK5k/s1600/Tablescape02%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDqpJVSON1jjKIpEy9ppsFug3iAe3Wsb7hJ4oYl4XFD7bI6vd5pIAdWv2PXFghWiKdu70ZR3cr0Ftq8c6MFyzQUzvsCnjUA5i5e-H0QAO4OsLWxGJjwqX24JmUNxJP98ajKCVxcNMK5k/s200/Tablescape02%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a>Each place setting was adorned with a red napkin wrapped around my party-favor placecards, set upon my grandmother's gold china, which itself was set upon a red charger plate. Each course of this lavish meal would be accompanied by a different beverage, so I called all my glassware into play: shot glasses, beer pilsners, stemware for water, Riesling and Cabernet Sauvignon, and tinted cordials for an after-dinner digestif.<br />
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Besides utensils for eating, I also needed fondue forks, a different fork for each of the three courses. Fortunately, I have fondue forks in spades! Each place setting got a metal fondue fork for cheese fondue, a wooden fondue fork for cooking chunks of filet mignon in hot oil for the main course, and another metal fondue fork with which to dip assorted fruit in luscious chocolate fondue for the dessert course.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbn6CHxrlXIJ8uDxcTWige0rPqPzKYox9Z7Nt_RToI9Z630zqCc96BoLzSe3X0staCzTX-4M3Cn8Hii2Hd0qqSEP-_kn1ghn0O_a_1bfdwJKkFEXXeNJ9vgWYIr_4smBFX996e9hjY43c/s1600/Tablescape12%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbn6CHxrlXIJ8uDxcTWige0rPqPzKYox9Z7Nt_RToI9Z630zqCc96BoLzSe3X0staCzTX-4M3Cn8Hii2Hd0qqSEP-_kn1ghn0O_a_1bfdwJKkFEXXeNJ9vgWYIr_4smBFX996e9hjY43c/s200/Tablescape12%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpd6zDcCh8y19zCJSsIyA_ANGea8G4waphO5q_GyAdHMU2VBCcBvGlraZwX_z3ztQve3IZMtMoj1OBVw6Rgssg4tXa_pZcwefPoIgn091gjVV7E3XJNYcty6PUIFwWhz8jjRsP7kmXvKw/s1600/Tablescape15%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpd6zDcCh8y19zCJSsIyA_ANGea8G4waphO5q_GyAdHMU2VBCcBvGlraZwX_z3ztQve3IZMtMoj1OBVw6Rgssg4tXa_pZcwefPoIgn091gjVV7E3XJNYcty6PUIFwWhz8jjRsP7kmXvKw/s200/Tablescape15%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="150" /></a>Once the table was set with the basics we would need for eating, it was time to up the "wow" factor. I sprinkled pale pink and deep red silk rose petals all over the table and scattered pretty glass gems and sparkling hearts all around. I added some rose-shaped votive candles and a couple of nosegays of fresh flowers -- and voila! My romantic tablescape was complete.<br />
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Earlier in the week, I'd climbed my six-foot ladder to hang an assortment of Valentine-themed decorations from my dining room ceiling. I'd also decorated my mantel with candles and flowers. Now I stepped back to take it all in. I was pleased with how everything looked.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgKntixM3JSaZ2Q14Wi9QB6tyrK9dzefezgHdv7axuuLYh9wVVfe-ysQV3wTdqWypqvxwScEp8RjdMTaIYWzGyV19oeO1MI2c9NK3NMRsH9vdduqthVRlYNG6QLuFdHbePVQT7gKN7HQI/s1600/MeatCoursePrep01%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="961" data-original-width="1600" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgKntixM3JSaZ2Q14Wi9QB6tyrK9dzefezgHdv7axuuLYh9wVVfe-ysQV3wTdqWypqvxwScEp8RjdMTaIYWzGyV19oeO1MI2c9NK3NMRsH9vdduqthVRlYNG6QLuFdHbePVQT7gKN7HQI/s200/MeatCoursePrep01%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a>As the time approached for my guests' arrival, I prepared my special Swiss fondue plates. In the center of each plate I piled bite-sized chunks of the very best beef tenderloin, colorful baby potatoes that had been barely blanched, and cute button mushrooms. In the individual wells that circle the perimeter of each plate, I spooned my five dipping sauces.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi314lrgD7U_ZEZioFr_DS5fpxbUzvyLSxXNTmyiFTzmkxrqhDjsO_tQ7WkOClwHKZpcvMUvfvap-KAViiyahYgo-O6kben5E8dmfgngSmPL0n4ndVPLSy6go1S29TOMn2xxyDAVU5Gk3c/s1600/DessertCoursePrep02%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1473" data-original-width="1600" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi314lrgD7U_ZEZioFr_DS5fpxbUzvyLSxXNTmyiFTzmkxrqhDjsO_tQ7WkOClwHKZpcvMUvfvap-KAViiyahYgo-O6kben5E8dmfgngSmPL0n4ndVPLSy6go1S29TOMn2xxyDAVU5Gk3c/s200/DessertCoursePrep02%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Next I prepared the dessert course: eleven china saucers, each filled with a different fruit to dip into chocolate fondue. I filled tiny glass bowls with crushed nuts in which to roll the chocolate-dipped fruit, one for each dinner guest.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ELwA2uslquNOyHoU2wV2qxhGXXZ1S2ehEhmgCgo-jDluR144qrnfBo_sUaSIyL0LrqoCpfpOwz9QV7fuv68CANa_blxBw1xH2MRnZvf8YIMZWmoc9scNifbCFyvhG1EaAEl3ixJSAio/s1600/OutdoorRefrigeratorDuty02%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1600" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ELwA2uslquNOyHoU2wV2qxhGXXZ1S2ehEhmgCgo-jDluR144qrnfBo_sUaSIyL0LrqoCpfpOwz9QV7fuv68CANa_blxBw1xH2MRnZvf8YIMZWmoc9scNifbCFyvhG1EaAEl3ixJSAio/s200/OutdoorRefrigeratorDuty02%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a>The temperature outside hovered around 32 degrees Fahrenheit, ideal for keeping my beverages cold until guests arrived without having to take up precious space in my fridge. I'd simmered a concentrated cinnamon simple syrup a few days earlier, which I now added to an heirloom punch bowl (a wedding gift to my parents in 1953), which I'd lined with colorful slices of blood orange, tangerine, lemon and lime. Into the punch bowl with the cinnamon simple syrup went a heady combination of pear liqueur, cognac, triple sec, lemon juice and lots of ice. I would add a bottle of champagne to complete the concoction once my guests arrived. Meanwhile, the punch, Riesling, beer, water and apple juice (for the children) all stayed nicely chilled on my patio table outdoors.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyy8SHZ67WvvLkS5fZcV6CLSzefqgtsNYx0S-OGCjJf53IC4gew3MJqfph-VWLtKM32U3cJauLBRjBBjttufv1u6lg1AGIytpAfOERRTSyiEU4FeaSPDkV7nt497L8OUhqwHD2vq0znyw/s1600/StoveAtWork01%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyy8SHZ67WvvLkS5fZcV6CLSzefqgtsNYx0S-OGCjJf53IC4gew3MJqfph-VWLtKM32U3cJauLBRjBBjttufv1u6lg1AGIytpAfOERRTSyiEU4FeaSPDkV7nt497L8OUhqwHD2vq0znyw/s200/StoveAtWork01%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Indoors, my stovetop was heating up! In a ceramic fondue pot on my front burner, I heated two cups of dry Sauvignon Blanc into which, once it reached a rolling boil, I would eventually stir a combination of grated Emanthaler, Gruyere and Vacherin Friborgeois cheeses seasoned with salt, pepper and nutmeg. In a large saucepan on another burner, I heated 32 ounces of peanut oil to 400 degrees Fahrenheit -- extremely hot. This would eventually be transferred to a metal fondue pot set over a sterno can in the center of my dining room table for the meat course. And in a double boiler on the smallest burner at the back of the stove, I slowly melted rich dark chocolate with half & half for the dessert course, into which I would splash 3 tbs of Gran Marnier just before transferring the molten chocolate to a red ceramic fondue pot for serving at the table.<br />
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In my living room, I set out a variety of appetizers: dolmas, pickled Cipollini onions and pickled cauliflower, ricotta-topped bruschetta garnished with fresh fig and drizzled with a bit of honey and balsamic vinegar, and strips of Mozzarella around which thin slices of salami, pepperoni and prosciutto were wrapped.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWW9l33eiRzKOMrJxuID9EvZz8wI_ZYJPaD_pKgIOEbJteQs0gibJ7ZStKkg21UkrjP4NwjBi9Y5SBIQH_QKxoslqLsId96jGCvm1qSHvjNZ8ZOCTwBVr4ry2W3zPY353DM-NNJOLKqw/s1600/HousePresentation02%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="1600" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWW9l33eiRzKOMrJxuID9EvZz8wI_ZYJPaD_pKgIOEbJteQs0gibJ7ZStKkg21UkrjP4NwjBi9Y5SBIQH_QKxoslqLsId96jGCvm1qSHvjNZ8ZOCTwBVr4ry2W3zPY353DM-NNJOLKqw/s200/HousePresentation02%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
I wanted to make the outside of my home especially welcoming, since these Valentine guests had not been to my house for several years. I lined my front porch railing with dozens of flickering red LED candles, lit candles in hanging lanterns and dressed my perpetual reindeer mascot in a merry Valentine handkerchief and a jaunty red beret. Everything was ready!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpOnCR6vOM3q4G7CDPQ44gq1_JBIFGUc_ILoOz0oqfYYP69ORCGcFQmz7Moh3a3xQxlme6UEVuD_KMAb3R9AsYSRpioXqtlqIhvjaq4XFtZEwb7dtCCrS4C7X_XI3BkQ7yas2UGRU5NJM/s1600/Guests02%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1413" data-original-width="1600" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpOnCR6vOM3q4G7CDPQ44gq1_JBIFGUc_ILoOz0oqfYYP69ORCGcFQmz7Moh3a3xQxlme6UEVuD_KMAb3R9AsYSRpioXqtlqIhvjaq4XFtZEwb7dtCCrS4C7X_XI3BkQ7yas2UGRU5NJM/s200/Guests02%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
My guests arrived right at the stroke of six. Generally, I don't start my dinner parties until 7:00 p.m., but my guests included Maya, who is eight years old, and her little brother Madden, who is only three, so I thought an earlier start (and finish) time would be better for everyone involved. As we enjoyed appetizers and champagne punch in my living room, the children presented me with the most adorable homemade Valentine's gifts: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQGQ35hKwLOW2v-c9xQd3cztJGjSRiJZ46NWkSLRFdu57uwu8PRTPs6sq79hRk0TxM3ytcjbJd3rLx-fByAyl5w7mmc43Y2ppJcLlsenGWUDEBrrTutqsiivgZlQBdqCFgVKHxZuSAO8/s1600/VDayCards%252C02-15-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="1600" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQGQ35hKwLOW2v-c9xQd3cztJGjSRiJZ46NWkSLRFdu57uwu8PRTPs6sq79hRk0TxM3ytcjbJd3rLx-fByAyl5w7mmc43Y2ppJcLlsenGWUDEBrrTutqsiivgZlQBdqCFgVKHxZuSAO8/s200/VDayCards%252C02-15-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Maya made a homemade card for Jesse and another just for me, Madden had scribbled a card to both of us, and their mother, Tracy, made a homemade card AND a customized Valentine canvas suitable for framing. So thoughtful -- and crafty! I was truly touched.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgseMEmwGPidNMkh5WcrbyYVl5UowdwKPCpe172gOlf2hmfYhIBFEfD9pZAzpC_pPoy4RcgNl5uwVTlR8WRw8xRSa3H8ufjvXT0y0arrAm9muu_vnA71XNTmOc07ryZzkpAfL-KX7KWPD8/s1600/Valentine2020-03%252C02-15-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="863" data-original-width="1600" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgseMEmwGPidNMkh5WcrbyYVl5UowdwKPCpe172gOlf2hmfYhIBFEfD9pZAzpC_pPoy4RcgNl5uwVTlR8WRw8xRSa3H8ufjvXT0y0arrAm9muu_vnA71XNTmOc07ryZzkpAfL-KX7KWPD8/s200/Valentine2020-03%252C02-15-20.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Jesse and Tracy's husband, Chris, have been friends for a long time and have collaborated on a number of projects over the years. Chris and Tracy own <a href="https://www.hatchexhibits.com/"><i>Hatch Exhibits</i></a> in Baltimore, Maryland, a custom fabrication company specializing in displays and exhibits for trade shows, conventions and other events. Their clients include Under Armour, YouTube, Google, and other heavy hitters in the marketing industry.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrT1kwacQerqbNwfcUp2qoL721B7RWacR1fWe7wkGVd_LJH8R7ENAVpsG06RAToD_q6c1ExcwCiy1PzHYmXWl7DrhzEpH5UIh8xQ1ZkIatdvIz-7k-I4Zzb_N_18TD2eb5hBy8zGax8c/s1600/Valentine2020-04%252C02-15-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1158" data-original-width="1393" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrT1kwacQerqbNwfcUp2qoL721B7RWacR1fWe7wkGVd_LJH8R7ENAVpsG06RAToD_q6c1ExcwCiy1PzHYmXWl7DrhzEpH5UIh8xQ1ZkIatdvIz-7k-I4Zzb_N_18TD2eb5hBy8zGax8c/s200/Valentine2020-04%252C02-15-20.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Their three-year-old son, Madden, took instantly to the primitive instruments I display in my living room, and although Maya brought a selection of books to keep her occupied during what I am certain she thought would be a long, boring evening with grownups, she never cracked a book once, which I took as the ultimate compliment an eight-year-old can give!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsIRlIq1ruGjE8V2Lmeld4nIlMst_9reqoeyk6hQi5qegO_9Ri1wsemiOpF77KeNjf5gYgoOgIjHWt1iYN_Xrkw58RpxR8irb3IpLkwxaQ8-uWeo-Om3bPPdMq5c__2v6_njwttBNXvo/s1600/Valentine2020-06%252C02-15-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="1600" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsIRlIq1ruGjE8V2Lmeld4nIlMst_9reqoeyk6hQi5qegO_9Ri1wsemiOpF77KeNjf5gYgoOgIjHWt1iYN_Xrkw58RpxR8irb3IpLkwxaQ8-uWeo-Om3bPPdMq5c__2v6_njwttBNXvo/s200/Valentine2020-06%252C02-15-20.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Finally, dinner was served. With cubes of crusty bread on our plates, we took tiny sips of Kirschwasser, a Swiss cherry liqueur, and chased them with swigs of Belgian pale ale and Riesling as we toasted the beginning of a fun evening together. We dipped the sourdough chunks into steaming fondue as my guests marveled at the subtle mix of flavors in the melty cheese.<br />
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Once the cheese and bread course was cleared away, I brought out the boiling oil and replaced the simple candle warmer beneath the cheese fondue with a much hotter Sterno can. I had made each guest a wooden skewer adorned with his or her name. We proceeded to pierce chunks of the raw filet mignon, mushrooms and baby potatoes with our wooden tines and then nestled them into the sizzling oil: 15 seconds for rare meat, 20 seconds for medium, and 30 seconds for well done. As we cooked subsequent chunks of steak, we dipped the already cooked pieces into the sauces on each plate. I asked my guests to name their favorite sauce. Tracy chose the garlic-paprika aioli at first, then later said her heart belonged to the blue cheese sauce. Chris liked the horseradish sauce best. My fave was the mustard sauce, and Jesse's was the barbecue sauce. For this exotic course, Chris and Tracy treated us to not one, but two bottles of a fantastic red wine, a 2009 Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon called <i>The Mascot</i>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeK1VWCN8nm3iNwtz1erftazb2Dln1y29tH6gm9pyY8jd2r6FgF856YWOWc76EeEVKmTu38HW9hM9sGeCoX0-XWg4lARBoVHSJtAWzFmsio7bWUoUm1XeIiYLZM6K6rFx1ZqGiCagPw0c/s1600/Valentine2020-05%252C02-15-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1208" data-original-width="1116" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeK1VWCN8nm3iNwtz1erftazb2Dln1y29tH6gm9pyY8jd2r6FgF856YWOWc76EeEVKmTu38HW9hM9sGeCoX0-XWg4lARBoVHSJtAWzFmsio7bWUoUm1XeIiYLZM6K6rFx1ZqGiCagPw0c/s200/Valentine2020-05%252C02-15-20.jpg" width="184" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maya and her mom, Tracy</td></tr>
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Between courses I regaled my guests with trivia questions about the legend of St. Valentine and also about Abraham Lincoln, whose birthday was February 12th. Being a lover of trivia in general helped Chris win the "boy's" trivia prize, a small red flashlight, which little Madden immediately appropriated as his own. Tracy won the "girl's" trivia prize, a small, heart-shaped leather coin purse, which Maya soon took custody of.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWyVG7ELgBOKAZ6CT88u2RxPH2tmr2IZKv2NgXHtsDV9q44wSJOYkz_j86fNBIp0VKFVi1y2FivRIl9Q22F6hDbYVbHliuV3xQ3FBucRzXFPVzpKIIrCT6l2CACcefQ5bxsUIwbYkoD0/s1600/Valentine2020-10%252C02-15-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1514" data-original-width="1512" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWyVG7ELgBOKAZ6CT88u2RxPH2tmr2IZKv2NgXHtsDV9q44wSJOYkz_j86fNBIp0VKFVi1y2FivRIl9Q22F6hDbYVbHliuV3xQ3FBucRzXFPVzpKIIrCT6l2CACcefQ5bxsUIwbYkoD0/s200/Valentine2020-10%252C02-15-20.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
We finished our dinner with fruit dipped in chocolate fondue, the rich, sweet liquid kept warm over a simple candle once again. Strawberries, blackberries, watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew, goldenberries, Maraschino cherries, mandarin oranges, pineapple and bananas rounded out the fruit choices. Jesse liked the chocolate-dipped bananas best. I preferred the pineapple and the children loved the chunks of fresh watermelon. With this course I served the adults a special "chocolate zinfandel" made on the eastern shore of Maryland in the quaint town of St. Michael's.<br />
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No visit to my house (when children are involved), in the middle of winter or not, is complete without a visit to see the elves who make their homes in tree stumps around my two acres. It's all the children talked about through dinner -- when would we be able to go see the elves? So when we couldn't eat another morsel of food, everyone bundled up and we ventured into my backyard, where the first elf could be seen shoveling dirt outside his diminutive front door -- which was magically lit from within by a warm, solar-powered glow. Unbeknownst to me, Maya had filled the small leather coin purse with crushed nuts from the dessert course. As Madden shined his little flashlight on the tiny brass elf, Maya sprinkled crushed nuts on the elf, delighted to be "feeding him" in the bitter cold.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd-DPE0_0VelJT8O1lYwZ1IMPJzJn7Jj3V75QpgZGD2pwfvlhXOK9ccPBmif39Xz45oga7qDtP8Om_WmXbK0UKt5OjH4TrQmmjAkcVoZNGDEs3QMsyGXExPTJ5CyZLftu1tbhH6FkrtKk/s1600/Menu2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1237" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd-DPE0_0VelJT8O1lYwZ1IMPJzJn7Jj3V75QpgZGD2pwfvlhXOK9ccPBmif39Xz45oga7qDtP8Om_WmXbK0UKt5OjH4TrQmmjAkcVoZNGDEs3QMsyGXExPTJ5CyZLftu1tbhH6FkrtKk/s200/Menu2020.jpg" width="154" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The menu</td></tr>
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As we said our goodbyes that evening, it was clear that the children had really enjoyed themselves, and their parents said they did, too. Later, as I cleared the dinner table, rinsed plates and loaded the first of two dishwasher loads, I was struck by the emotional benefits of communing with good people in my humble abode.<br />
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There is just something so fundamentally wonderful about sharing a great meal and stimulating conversation with dear friends in a cozy, warm, and safe environment. My rustic little farmhouse certainly fits that description on a cold winter's night (or any time!). I was delighted to have created a special memory for Chris and Tracy and their children that I hope they will fondly carry with them for many years.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
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<i>"What I love most about my home is who I share it with."</i> ~ Tad Carpenter</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-21506728710861486552020-01-20T17:14:00.000-05:002020-01-21T10:28:41.136-05:00Resolution Risotto<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEvkvEYvvMJGiVjyyADHJcTnaio_oavdn9snBbhuHUWL0u287MON6lXa2LqEO7HwSqRMQ87UWkNxiaKX3zYNn7ffxBimWT_MeNPXXkXWU_AoyNQE-BSvtiv09y6kiqCu_vXLcTP5We738/s1600/SilverOakWinery21%252C05-25-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEvkvEYvvMJGiVjyyADHJcTnaio_oavdn9snBbhuHUWL0u287MON6lXa2LqEO7HwSqRMQ87UWkNxiaKX3zYNn7ffxBimWT_MeNPXXkXWU_AoyNQE-BSvtiv09y6kiqCu_vXLcTP5We738/s200/SilverOakWinery21%252C05-25-19.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I
have some exciting “culinary news" to share with all of you! It comes, of course, with a backstory, as almost all my narratives do, so let's get to that first. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnv-wj4R1ucT-9oqiWYfOSDhffcZ9bOrtvWtjLQ1H2i36DNfW558FmtxWyyGw8TsLOYckufinvj2xdvOt1FbmWM-y2xS8RLv-ORd3_dz8HKcO72QMw62XQfuHNsHjoLv5sCN9pXtPZETg/s1600/WineTrainPortrait%252C05-24-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1398" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnv-wj4R1ucT-9oqiWYfOSDhffcZ9bOrtvWtjLQ1H2i36DNfW558FmtxWyyGw8TsLOYckufinvj2xdvOt1FbmWM-y2xS8RLv-ORd3_dz8HKcO72QMw62XQfuHNsHjoLv5sCN9pXtPZETg/s200/WineTrainPortrait%252C05-24-19.jpg" width="174" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The day-long wine train<br />
excursion was so much fun!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My most recent gastronomic revelation began with a "girls' weekend" last year. Over Memorial Day weekend in 2019, my best friend, Kari, her mom, Joyce, and I ventured to Napa Valley, California, for our semi-annual sojourn to explore an interesting city or historic region of the United States. We stayed in an adorable cottage in Sonoma that Kari found through VRBO, which was outfitted with super comfy beds and every amenity we could have wanted.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5m36SLuqogdhGxMgZFPo14K6iUH786m40EmGiMDQUMoJJlo9CAQcAgU2766E_5z9RWmaFzlTbKerdupnnDCPUW36tqi0imuMYlbKfTK6Ohk90XZlJVCsX7a7aN8pMSZWcgL1W8AtUM8/s1600/SilverOakWinery25KMH%252C05-25-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1070" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5m36SLuqogdhGxMgZFPo14K6iUH786m40EmGiMDQUMoJJlo9CAQcAgU2766E_5z9RWmaFzlTbKerdupnnDCPUW36tqi0imuMYlbKfTK6Ohk90XZlJVCsX7a7aN8pMSZWcgL1W8AtUM8/s200/SilverOakWinery25KMH%252C05-25-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Silver Oak winery tour and<br />
luncheon was the highlight of our trip.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">We spent a full-day on a wine-train excursion, which took us to the St. Supéry, Beringer and Raymond wineries and included a delightful three-course meal. The next day we had a wonderful time touring the Silver Oak winery, which makes a famed Cabernet Sauvignon that has been a favorite of both Kari and me (and our spouses, and my brother and his wife) for many years. The Silver Oak tour included a four-course luncheon with wine pairings.While it was hard to pick a favorite from the intricate and delectable dishes that Winery Chef Dominic Orsini and his team had prepared and presented so beautifully for our luncheon, their cauliflower risotto really stood out for me as one of the tastiest, low-fat courses I’d ever eaten. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0d-OscQ8f13CddpOsJY7HxtXMhQNfbaUqXDAbXRlyjeLnef9Cvx4m9I5v0MQHSm5iCh8GoyI2o249PmkElofkjghYHGPjvyEDT9bb-ReuuUKaCmpXlzH8wuWVMgEQB9aAsCjVzZvZ-Do/s1600/SilverOakLuncheon01%252C05-25-19KMH.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="948" data-original-width="1600" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0d-OscQ8f13CddpOsJY7HxtXMhQNfbaUqXDAbXRlyjeLnef9Cvx4m9I5v0MQHSm5iCh8GoyI2o249PmkElofkjghYHGPjvyEDT9bb-ReuuUKaCmpXlzH8wuWVMgEQB9aAsCjVzZvZ-Do/s200/SilverOakLuncheon01%252C05-25-19KMH.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The elaborate four-course luncheon<br />
prepared for us at Silver Oak winery<br />
was memorable in every way.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I thought I might be able to recreate the dish at home. So on May 28th, the day after returning from my trip to California, I emailed Silver Oak Customer Care representative Ann Tallman to respectfully inquire if Chef Orsini would be willing to share his risotto recipe with me. I suggested that it would be no problem if the Chef wanted to send me his bulk-ingredient restaurant-quantity recipe, since as an avid cook I felt confident that I could reduce the measurements to a home version with no trouble. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2Y4OejhKWxWXbDuuTheiumy48q1b5YXJzjCw0QB4yX_oI6L5biJrVuDeU_ZU0_EaEo20qkSnZ_KnY40TjzUM93B10ufjoouZOJ6cylJ_86MR4m72ppSpCEhNEvzsBkfwKIEeCaTFpa0/s1600/SilverOakLuncheonFirstCourse%252C05-25-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1242" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2Y4OejhKWxWXbDuuTheiumy48q1b5YXJzjCw0QB4yX_oI6L5biJrVuDeU_ZU0_EaEo20qkSnZ_KnY40TjzUM93B10ufjoouZOJ6cylJ_86MR4m72ppSpCEhNEvzsBkfwKIEeCaTFpa0/s200/SilverOakLuncheonFirstCourse%252C05-25-19.JPG" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This appetizer of king salmon<br />
sashimi with rice cracker,<br />
ginger and scallion was<br />
fabulous.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ms. Tallman advised me to be patient, explaining that Chef Orsini was very busy and was also very precise, so he would want to convert the recipe to a home version before sending it to me. I promised Ms. Tallman I would be as patient as a monk (we're speaking of wineries here, don't you know)!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy_BaMdRpsyB7N8yWWIA2jtfD9iykGRiaby00RiDm4t7l_IAAiof0TRuXEtVg05oDmQObhOBPV9F8xRbv8vr9B91vNTBZr033FMx4JntAuDMa-gQkUiAMHgg_uhijkdDmuSjkgrQcjp-w/s1600/SilverOakLuncheonMainCourse%252C05-25-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1514" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy_BaMdRpsyB7N8yWWIA2jtfD9iykGRiaby00RiDm4t7l_IAAiof0TRuXEtVg05oDmQObhOBPV9F8xRbv8vr9B91vNTBZr033FMx4JntAuDMa-gQkUiAMHgg_uhijkdDmuSjkgrQcjp-w/s200/SilverOakLuncheonMainCourse%252C05-25-19.JPG" width="188" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The main course, with roasted lamb<br />
loin, smoked carrot puree and garden<br />
vegetables, was served with my<br />
favorite Silver Oak cabernet. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Almost a month went by, and then, at the end of June, Chef Orsini wrote to me himself, attaching the recipe for his cauliflower risotto. Chef Orsini explained that his team had created this home version just for me and had tested it in their kitchen before sending it to me. He asked for feedback when I had a chance to try it. I was ecstatic, and vowed to make the dish that coming weekend, which I did.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I made the risotto, and it was wonderful, but it wasn't quite the same as the mouth-watering experience I'd encountered at the winery. I reached out to Chef Orsini again. He had requested feedback, after all, and I hoped he would view my questions as constructive.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj199D2y_aLzIloxqiLiRRTeEjAJlnCWTynIEji8TGxfIbRDnTXR9oKMpFBNNtqRCYMxY6BaXgSV3MxoJ03q4MCXEAJqyO5ge3vy0XN_-GLM5_2Rgf0tgQo2Y0jWVB6NiOceQQnLtBtKcc/s1600/SilverOakLuncheonCheeseCourse%252C05-25-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="1600" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj199D2y_aLzIloxqiLiRRTeEjAJlnCWTynIEji8TGxfIbRDnTXR9oKMpFBNNtqRCYMxY6BaXgSV3MxoJ03q4MCXEAJqyO5ge3vy0XN_-GLM5_2Rgf0tgQo2Y0jWVB6NiOceQQnLtBtKcc/s200/SilverOakLuncheonCheeseCourse%252C05-25-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This incredible cheese course included<br />
a stunning presentation of goat Gouda<br />
cremeux with beet dukkah, red-wine<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">gelée</span> and edible flowers.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My email of July 1st included nine questions: one about some of the quantities he listed, another about the amount of liquid to add, one about the salt component and other ingredients, and another about a few procedural issues I'd felt were not clear. In mid-July, Chef replied, thanking me for my feedback and vowing to review my notes and incorporate my questions into their next round of recipe-testing. Then... nothing.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqc5fZQ-YJZiT1UnLykPyXL2fc_m1Wc7MYVC5P3LeXCgvDdQxDbarHB6WNRU8aTdrNvM0zICXKD-F-w1k9UnKgdYO7cPwu_esZdJMCr9GNCu9H_aCD0fPicODq2MOFJ2gS5qXntaNAaSk/s1600/CauliflowerRisotto01%252C06-30-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1124" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqc5fZQ-YJZiT1UnLykPyXL2fc_m1Wc7MYVC5P3LeXCgvDdQxDbarHB6WNRU8aTdrNvM0zICXKD-F-w1k9UnKgdYO7cPwu_esZdJMCr9GNCu9H_aCD0fPicODq2MOFJ2gS5qXntaNAaSk/s200/CauliflowerRisotto01%252C06-30-19.JPG" width="140" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the entire menu<br />
for our Silver Oak luncheon.<br />
Unfortunately, I failed to<br />
get a photo of the risotto<br />
course because I ate it<br />
so fast!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">On August 15th, I reached out to him again. I didn't want him to forget about me or the promise he had made. This time Chef Orsini responded to my email the same day, saying he appreciated my enthusiasm, but that summer and fall were the busiest times of year for him. He said that he and his staff would be conducting future home-recipe testing during the next off-season, likely in January 2020. Aaaarrrrggghhhh! That seemed like a lifetime to wait, but I dutifully calendared a reminder to check in with him in the first month of the new year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlDZboXOdRzl-fNHpancjUiodpu6KVlROJj_mIPRKJ6c0wDsRa1LQC-an95pDtaCCD_Tim2tJd4sEk_HEvPI26o42xTRpluvks8FhYYkno_eakGydyDjc-9iJknSZgbmFESgBiKwbtIk/s1600/DaveLynellJane02%252C05-26-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1127" data-original-width="1600" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlDZboXOdRzl-fNHpancjUiodpu6KVlROJj_mIPRKJ6c0wDsRa1LQC-an95pDtaCCD_Tim2tJd4sEk_HEvPI26o42xTRpluvks8FhYYkno_eakGydyDjc-9iJknSZgbmFESgBiKwbtIk/s200/DaveLynellJane02%252C05-26-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Sunday, we met with my brother,<br />
Dave, and his wife, Jane, at the<br />
Domain Carneros winery, where we<br />
learned all about the history of<br />
champagne.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am nothing if not perserverant. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">One of the shareholders at the law firm at which I've been employed for 25 years told me many years ago during an annual employee review that she loved giving me the most complex issues to solve because I "was like a dog worrying a bone". I wouldn't give up until I'd found a missing witness or solved a pressing litigation issue in some satisfactory way. I took that compliment to heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSgpNeFnTHoJLbLWocIDnS6XS9S89qGgfoSAMf6BbnYwQRGrBDt0QTBF2o6yfTYP4kCrjl70Ju62xGv_FwaBcmF6Z3OUYQa0LguBhCLH42pbbLAP5hCxTYvHwybJfrAM3mc8go7g3_80/s1600/RioCityCafeOldSacramento01%252C05-26-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1111" data-original-width="1600" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSgpNeFnTHoJLbLWocIDnS6XS9S89qGgfoSAMf6BbnYwQRGrBDt0QTBF2o6yfTYP4kCrjl70Ju62xGv_FwaBcmF6Z3OUYQa0LguBhCLH42pbbLAP5hCxTYvHwybJfrAM3mc8go7g3_80/s200/RioCityCafeOldSacramento01%252C05-26-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On our last day in California, we<br />
explored Old Sacramento and dined at<br />
the Rio City Cafe, where we were<br />
treated like royalty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">On January 7, I reached out to Chef Orsini once again to remind him that I was still out there, still enthusiastic, still interested and waiting patiently for his further testing of the risotto recipe and, perhaps, answers to my nine questions. I heard nothing for ten days.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then, on January 17 came a response out of the blue. Chef Orsini said the timing of my January email could not have been any better. He explained that he and his staff had been in the winery kitchen testing spring recipes and that because of my persistence, the cauliflower risotto recipe had made it onto their list for reassessment.</span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jQ5W2Y0F7YHesSjo6GI79JBotGfCERo07D85jpDwTAaZ6K29eUrMjwN5XqVsCpdOBVJGJHCzoibM3j1PSLC0t6cqeeJOPPE3BP1kx-J3fENfod0dJHOIwFHU9pF8Q6ltDFaz_v5d8gg/s1600/CauliflowerRisotto07%252C06-30-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1528" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jQ5W2Y0F7YHesSjo6GI79JBotGfCERo07D85jpDwTAaZ6K29eUrMjwN5XqVsCpdOBVJGJHCzoibM3j1PSLC0t6cqeeJOPPE3BP1kx-J3fENfod0dJHOIwFHU9pF8Q6ltDFaz_v5d8gg/s200/CauliflowerRisotto07%252C06-30-19.JPG" width="190" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The version I made last summer<br />
seemed slightly different from what<br />
I had enjoyed at the winery. I asked<br />
the chef why and he provided me<br />
with a revised recipe for his<br />
fabulous cauliflower risotto.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Furthermore, Chef said he was able to refer to the photos I'd sent him last year (of my process and results from following his previous instructions) and my questions, and he had made some adjustments to the recipe and had tweaked the procedure to make the dish "easier to make at home". Not only did he provide me with the improved recipe, but he also took time to address and answer each one of my nine questions and, best of all, he gave me permission to share the improved recipe with all of you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Chef Orsini's email with the enhanced risotto recipe arrived in my in-box this past Friday. Early Sunday morning I was at my favorite supermarket, purchasing a head of fresh cauliflower so that I could make the dish before the San Francisco 49ers kicked off their championship game against the Green Bay Packers later that day. Here is the recipe and my process:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>Ingredients</u></b>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3 slices bacon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">4 cups cauliflower "rice"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2 tbs white miso</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 bay leaf</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">¼ cup plus 1 tbs extra virgin olive oil</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">½ tsp salt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2 tbs finely minced shallot</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">¼ cup white wine</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">¼ cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese plus extra to garnish</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 tbs lemon zest (or chopped preserved lemon)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2 tsp lemon juice</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2 tbs chopped fresh parsley</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">24 almonds, lightly toasted and chopped</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>Method</u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've always fried bacon on my stovetop, but Chef advised cooking the bacon on a baking sheet in the oven </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">for 12 minutes </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">with the temperature set to 375⁰ F. I tried it that way for the first time and the bacon came out perfectly cooked, not too crispy at all. I buy uncured, applewood-smoked bacon for its amazing flavor. It proved to be perfect for this dish. Those three slices yielded about two tablespoons of fat, which I drained into a small bowl and set aside as instructed. Once the bacon had cooled, I chopped it into fine dice in my food processor.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixFCVFdDyvlPiNca1iUYu0Et8TPhrWvt9_n_Wl5hyphenhyphenZ2wxFrmvodz8FOHSYq-JJ30d6NwLQxa51JOkAR9vLMmAuSuVQSdH3Vfb5IWKRkzMcGXXfOchu-MARisjsV9Ppux0cFvyQRPyguqg/s1600/CauliflowerRisottoV205%252C01-19-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1508" data-original-width="1600" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixFCVFdDyvlPiNca1iUYu0Et8TPhrWvt9_n_Wl5hyphenhyphenZ2wxFrmvodz8FOHSYq-JJ30d6NwLQxa51JOkAR9vLMmAuSuVQSdH3Vfb5IWKRkzMcGXXfOchu-MARisjsV9Ppux0cFvyQRPyguqg/s200/CauliflowerRisottoV205%252C01-19-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I prepped and assembled all my<br />
ingredients beforehand. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I relieved my cauliflower head of its core and leaves and separated it into florets. Into my food processor went the florets, which I pulsed about thirty times. The pulsing reduced the florets to exactly four cups of perfectly sized cauliflower "rice". From the four-cup measure, I took one cup of cauliflower rice and dumped it into a small saucepan along with the half teaspoon of salt and one cup of water. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The recipe calls for one bay leaf to be added at this point. I learned many years ago that there are two distinct types of bay leaves. There are California bay leaves which are extremely pungent and grow wild all over the west coast, and then there are the more subtle Turkish bay leaves, which are primarily used for cooking. When a recipe calls for bay leaves, it usually refers to the Turkish variety, but those are harder to find in stores. If you can, make the effort to look for them, as they are better in keeping with the flavor profile sought after in most recipes. I added a Turkish bay leaf to the cup of cauliflower rice, water and salt in the small pot.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KAksGQdjmOOly9bvI2GQbANXGloiJlJjYVKCKVmJl_An5_dlk0OQvfa-jE_JFUXI7eobuA3U0uVbjAmpmAnSXE39O5iCMRyIfr5Ds_JZ6GC2AwzLNv7wItbRaz0Z7874d2ztvI4g5_4/s1600/CauliflowerRisottoV203%252C01-19-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1256" data-original-width="1600" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KAksGQdjmOOly9bvI2GQbANXGloiJlJjYVKCKVmJl_An5_dlk0OQvfa-jE_JFUXI7eobuA3U0uVbjAmpmAnSXE39O5iCMRyIfr5Ds_JZ6GC2AwzLNv7wItbRaz0Z7874d2ztvI4g5_4/s200/CauliflowerRisottoV203%252C01-19-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I learned some new techniques, such as<br />
cooking my bacon in the oven instead <br />
of frying it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The white miso in my refrigerator is a sticky paste which had hardened over time. I softened it in the microwave and then scooped out two tablespoons as directed and added them to the saucepan. I brought the whole thing to a low simmer and and cooked it until the cauliflower was tender, about 12 minutes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I removed the bay leaf and transferred the soupy mixture to my food processor. At this point the recipe calls for a quarter cup of olive oil to be added, so here's a short note about olive oil. Chef Orsini recommends <i>extra virgin olive oil</i>. I go one step further, using only <i>first cold-pressed, extra virgin olive oil</i>. Like Turkish bay leaves, this type of olive oil is not as common in stores, but it's definitely worth seeking out. In fact, my favorite supermarket on the east coast, Wegman's, doesn't even carry a house brand of <i>first cold pressed, extra virgin</i> olive oil. But they do carry Colavita's brand of </span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">first cold pressed, extra virgin</i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> olive oil</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">, so that's what I use.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWaT-wtwVUTO3Aqx3E6K4V_mgn4A3ucsUPzhgGVyPsTR8OzswaVxpuDkApVTAk29xQptfMnaS2E0jcv0JMLk9J6HsB60aZxDsC78c5bkS4JQ3mHY_NNu8EwZTy6I1Xq8vrM1pBGpHEoB0/s1600/CauliflowerRisottoV202%252C01-19-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1600" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWaT-wtwVUTO3Aqx3E6K4V_mgn4A3ucsUPzhgGVyPsTR8OzswaVxpuDkApVTAk29xQptfMnaS2E0jcv0JMLk9J6HsB60aZxDsC78c5bkS4JQ3mHY_NNu8EwZTy6I1Xq8vrM1pBGpHEoB0/s200/CauliflowerRisottoV202%252C01-19-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can buy pre-made "cauliflower<br />
rice" at most grocery stores now, but<br />
I like to make my own. It's less<br />
expensive and I get exactly the<br />
consistency I want.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In an effort to cut back on calories, I didn't add the entire quarter cup of olive oil that Chef's recipe calls for. I added perhaps an eighth of a cup, which I found to be plenty, and whirled it all at high speed until it formed a smooth, liquidy puree, which I set aside. I ended up with 1¾ cups of puree, which is exactly what Chef Orsini said I should have.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Next I got out my two-quart saucepan and heated it over medium heat on my stovetop as instructed. I can't emphasize enough that heavy-bottomed pots and pans are absolutely best for this type of cooking. I use only Mauviel and Le Creuset cookware, which I saved up for many years ago. Unlike the cooking shows you see on television, my pots and pans do not gleam with shiny newness. They're clean, but they've dulled over several decades to a dim luster that reflects my hardworking home kitchen. Had I unlimited time on my hands and a staff, perhaps my brass and copper cookware would always be highly polished like those on the cooking shows, but I am content with my less shiny reality. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPeCBKKhzo3GFKMjQd-TLzdflha3lbV0iWzUh_cL138mEIszXRXJxi2P8J8c7pPzoOTmhL-lZ4t590Nc6kLB04JsYdlxj9kf8DO1PGi4tGannX4yaToJbm-8ae2QniNVuwpU1SvrNVIOc/s1600/CauliflowerRisottoV208%252C01-19-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPeCBKKhzo3GFKMjQd-TLzdflha3lbV0iWzUh_cL138mEIszXRXJxi2P8J8c7pPzoOTmhL-lZ4t590Nc6kLB04JsYdlxj9kf8DO1PGi4tGannX4yaToJbm-8ae2QniNVuwpU1SvrNVIOc/s200/CauliflowerRisottoV208%252C01-19-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I put one cup of the cauliflower rice in<br />
a small pan, added miso, salt, some<br />
water and a bay leaf, let it simmer and<br />
then pureed it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once the larger saucepan was hot, I added the remaining tablespoon of olive oil and, when the oil sizzled, I dumped in two tablespoons of finely-diced shallots (about one medium shallot). I cooked the shallot for two minutes, until it was tender and translucent but not yet browned, then added a quarter cup of white wine. I used sauvignon blanc, since I happened to have an open bottle on hand, but Chef Orsini indicated that any white wine will do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">As instructed, I let the wine simmer until it was mostly evaporated, then stirred in the remaining three cups of cauliflower rice, the cauliflower rice puree, the chopped bacon and bacon fat, and stirred it all together until it was well blended. I turned up the heat ever so slightly to bring the mixture to a simmer, and let it cook, stirring frequently, for five minutes. As Chef Orsini advised, the final texture of the cauliflower was al dente and not mushy. He suggested that if the mixture looked too dry, a little water could be added, but I found it perfect the way it was.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-aDOaM7r2Eem1Sl1IKIDhlxneRlm14WqqYnq4pN3oAcQWuC-aaB0d-HJR-EIXqnuBRrY26TdIr0mgfOq1CbHGUbgI6rXGkG1TPMQS-J0ZNXKlm7_uhwFDX8jlqp2wTxHfFOf4fdYnyM/s1600/CauliflowerRisottoV2009%252C01-19-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-aDOaM7r2Eem1Sl1IKIDhlxneRlm14WqqYnq4pN3oAcQWuC-aaB0d-HJR-EIXqnuBRrY26TdIr0mgfOq1CbHGUbgI6rXGkG1TPMQS-J0ZNXKlm7_uhwFDX8jlqp2wTxHfFOf4fdYnyM/s200/CauliflowerRisottoV2009%252C01-19-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I sizzled shallots in a bit of oil and then<br />
added white wine, the rest of the<br />
cauliflower rice, the puree, the bacon<br />
and its drippings, and let it all simmer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">While the cauliflower rice was simmering, I toasted a quarter cup of slivered almonds. One of my original questions to the chef was whether the nuts should be toasted or raw, since his original recipe had not specified. I had told him in my email of last summer that when I made his dish I had toasted mine to bring out their flavor and aroma. In his January response to my questions, Chef Orsini agreed with me, saying that he is of the school that "nuts should always be toasted unless a recipe requires them not to be". In my own home cooking, I always dry-roast whatever kind of nuts I'm using in a small, well-seasoned cast iron skillet on the stovetop, even to garnish something as simple as a green salad. It takes only a few minutes, requires no oil, and renders the nuts so much more flavorful and aromatic than they otherwise would be. I just turn the flame to its highest level, let the empty skillet become very hot, dump the nuts in, jiggle the pan a few times to toss the nuts, then turn off the heat. The residual heat in a heavy skillet will continue to brown the nuts, so I continue to toss them a few more times until they are nicely toasted, and then turn them out to cool. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZaayjttrVe_cVVytJr4zX9ZfVkhhNTdTVwBHu8DU0D89dKqO-FsI05jHT-NhLiWa63KdakxjDx8ldLEyn8GopQfJJGCtT1YhlYyr_nOQrrEz_h4nLOXAXeGx6SZ90jku6aABoXwmTm4/s1600/CauliflowerRisottoV206%252C01-19-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1498" data-original-width="1600" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZaayjttrVe_cVVytJr4zX9ZfVkhhNTdTVwBHu8DU0D89dKqO-FsI05jHT-NhLiWa63KdakxjDx8ldLEyn8GopQfJJGCtT1YhlYyr_nOQrrEz_h4nLOXAXeGx6SZ90jku6aABoXwmTm4/s200/CauliflowerRisottoV206%252C01-19-20.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toasting almonds (or any nuts) before<br />
adding them brings out the<br />
flavor and aroma and enhances<br />
almost any dish.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The last step in the risotto-making process was to add the quarter cup of grated Parmesan, the tablespoon of lemon zest (I decided not to use preserved lemon), the two teaspoons of lemon juice and the two tablespoons of finely chopped parsley. I've been covering my herb garden with layers of burlap every night to protect it from the frigid mid-Atlantic winter temperatures and, so far, even my parsley, which usually succumbs to the cold before any of my other herbs, still looks fresh and hearty. Chef Orsini didn't say whether to use curly parsley or French, so I snipped some of each.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmm8nUeF6gQJzHQwd07ye7pEudXNdo08g_IocQtMlBWdL0xa9C7FPAWWVwoUg-viiM-tqa9j8_OiD8utC47ZZe-2j8gfGnVsM1hXkMINAmK4rf6m5paIxSixXutPnjrvsTg25oRiU6pZI/s1600/CauliflowerRisottoV2011%252C01-19-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1523" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmm8nUeF6gQJzHQwd07ye7pEudXNdo08g_IocQtMlBWdL0xa9C7FPAWWVwoUg-viiM-tqa9j8_OiD8utC47ZZe-2j8gfGnVsM1hXkMINAmK4rf6m5paIxSixXutPnjrvsTg25oRiU6pZI/s200/CauliflowerRisottoV2011%252C01-19-20.JPG" width="190" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wow! What a fantastic dish! And it's<br />
so much easier than traditional risotto<br />
which requires 20 solid minutes of<br />
constant stirring. Plus, this version is<br />
super healthy, coming in at just 275<br />
calories per serving.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">As instructed, I portioned the risotto into bowls and sprinkled on some shredded Parmesan, toasted almonds and chopped parsley as a garnish. I didn't have the well-recommended Alexander Valley Pinot Noir to serve with the risotto this time, so I poured a glass of flavorful sauvignon blanc, which I found went just as well. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Chef Orsini's enhanced cauliflower risotto recipe created a finished </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">entrée </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">that was just as I had remembered from my trip to the Silver Oak winery last May -- absolutely heavenly. Savoring such a remarkable dish was a fitting prelude to watching the 49ers emerge victorious over Wisconsin's Packers later in the day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can't thank Chef Orsini enough for providing me with such great feedback about his terrific risotto recipe. Making the dish that I had resolved to wait so long and patiently for was a truly gratifying experience.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Cheers,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Lynell</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"There is no chance, no destiny, no fate that can hinder the firm resolve of a determined soul."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox</span></div>
</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-42126047685908827982019-09-22T17:54:00.004-04:002021-07-15T10:20:37.930-04:00Big Guy, Big Heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mUDMoNx0FT_E1IyAqFFFf0GhzhZIkAMeZDRth0nWm0oxJQcDh8VD4JY4f1fRntBIANhpgJcW1Z5V2ZGmdY2KCMVAU0iNbjV-6_o55KIE6D6tn0aYC3C2eq7n3_XPG2HBTqWEy65Lziw/s1600/WindowSeat01%252C02-05-12.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1175" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mUDMoNx0FT_E1IyAqFFFf0GhzhZIkAMeZDRth0nWm0oxJQcDh8VD4JY4f1fRntBIANhpgJcW1Z5V2ZGmdY2KCMVAU0iNbjV-6_o55KIE6D6tn0aYC3C2eq7n3_XPG2HBTqWEy65Lziw/s400/WindowSeat01%252C02-05-12.jpg" width="292" /></a></div>
You could say I lost my best friend on Friday. "Underfoot" was just a cat, but he was so much more than "just a cat" to me. I am feeling the loss of his companionship keenly. Here is the story of our 13 years together.<br />
<br />
THE BACKSTORY<br />
Underfoot originally belonged to a colleague of my ex-husband when Jesse worked as head of the architectural model department at Development Design Group, an international architecture firm in Baltimore specializing in commercial developments (think shopping centers and retail complexes) all over the world. Jesse's coworker and friend, Lori Ferrara, owned (and still does) a large flat in the Station North section of Baltimore, which she shared with several cats. One of those cats was a kitten Lori had rescued from the "mean streets" of Baltimore, where he'd been fending for himself. She named the kitten, with his outsized but skittish personality and a habit of getting in the way, "Underfoot", and taught him to live in harmony with her other cats. Underfoot was coached in such social graces as not jumping up on any surfaces on which food is prepared or eaten. He was taught to allow his short coat of solid gray fur to be brushed regularly. He knew his name. He learned to come when called.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMljIRZv9b5Hsh1v8XHowAiSBXID0skAbt0to3VCLEf0SBj7C9LjhGwuETI8WYtt-EIHVjDyFICDtBPH5aI2e-2imV1CydYWue-5CtcHIg0AoFBWiif680-tRNnYGKju_8BMsODZoe94/s1600/FelineYoga%252C07-15-07.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="800" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMljIRZv9b5Hsh1v8XHowAiSBXID0skAbt0to3VCLEf0SBj7C9LjhGwuETI8WYtt-EIHVjDyFICDtBPH5aI2e-2imV1CydYWue-5CtcHIg0AoFBWiif680-tRNnYGKju_8BMsODZoe94/s200/FelineYoga%252C07-15-07.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like any cat, Underfoot loved to bask<br />
in the sun</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When Underfoot was about four years old, Jesse's brother Jay and Jay's wife, Susan, moved from their native Kentucky to Baltimore so that Jay could take a job at DDG with Jesse. Lori generously offered a portion of her flat as temporary living quarters to Jay and Susan. After about a year, Jay and Susan were able to move into their own apartment. By that time Susan had fallen madly in love with Underfoot, so she asked Lori if she could keep Underfoot. Lori graciously agreed.<br />
<br />
In 2006, Susan became ill and moved back to Kentucky to be near her four adult children. Jay was working long hours with Jesse, and I was given a key to his apartment so that I could take care of Underfoot during Jay's extended absences. I visited Underfoot every day, cleaned his litter box, fed him and spent time playing with him. My affection for the large gray shorthair grew with every visit. I could tell he looked forward to the sound of my voice calling to him through the apartment door as I fiddled with the key. He began to be comfortable in my presence.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFjUU2ATx-kN09g2Dov-TRxLK2PdorSxx7HxjlxbAW1134gogX1c4fGs2Wp_fTI0ku72eACxUgXV3m5NECzZVt6eLQ_Cos6oo1vzGWL2IYB03hkBMw_FxKg21c3SOGC_DbOJZKC-t78A/s1600/SummerHangout%252C06-07-16.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1448" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFjUU2ATx-kN09g2Dov-TRxLK2PdorSxx7HxjlxbAW1134gogX1c4fGs2Wp_fTI0ku72eACxUgXV3m5NECzZVt6eLQ_Cos6oo1vzGWL2IYB03hkBMw_FxKg21c3SOGC_DbOJZKC-t78A/s200/SummerHangout%252C06-07-16.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot had an outsized personality</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A few months later Susan passed away unexpectedly in Kentucky. Jay was overcome by grief, and asked Jesse and me to take Underfoot permanently, as the cat's presence in Jay's apartment was too raw a reminder of Susan's passing. I was happy to make a home for the big gray cat. It had been five years since I'd had a cat or dog of my own. I had long been wishing for an animal companion.<br />
<br />
LIFE WITH ME<br />
In September 2006, Underfoot came to live with Jesse and me. My ancient farmhouse, constructed in 1862, has a small basement which was hand-dug in 1937 from the red clay earth beneath the kitchen when electricity came to suburban Baltimore County. This unfinished basement space with dirt walls was open to the crawlspace beneath the rest of the house, and therefore fair territory for all manner of raccoons, groundhogs and other critters to regularly visit, so the first thing we did was to enclose the subterranean room with "jail bars" (vinyl-coated wire closet shelving turned on its side) so as to create a secure place for litter boxes and cat food that would allow our new charge to see, feel, smell and hear the elements and wildlife outside without actually coming in contact with it, or its dangers. We pried open a long-painted-shut cat panel in the kitchen-to-basement door so that Underfoot could come and go into that underground space as he pleased. Underfoot was smart. With just a few treats for enticement, he learned quickly how to navigate the swinging wooden cat door.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQE8cJXVz4o54SnF76EgsvElmpAJHm2RbEF8lC4ApY1JXBMT_GYC0Fjz92PRRD6Yzusdxs0lFQtj2IO-94ZcWaTxL7ruEInARMAyq8gf6aWE6B09jg7HQFCSP985fnC3BpxxVSuOYumw/s1600/LoveMe%252CLoveMyCat%252C08-24-08.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQE8cJXVz4o54SnF76EgsvElmpAJHm2RbEF8lC4ApY1JXBMT_GYC0Fjz92PRRD6Yzusdxs0lFQtj2IO-94ZcWaTxL7ruEInARMAyq8gf6aWE6B09jg7HQFCSP985fnC3BpxxVSuOYumw/s200/LoveMe%252CLoveMyCat%252C08-24-08.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot was always near me, by day<br />
and by night</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br />
Jay was a chain smoker, and I believe that Underfoot came to me with an addiction to nicotine. I smoked only an occasional cigarette after my evening meal in those days, but whenever I would light up, Underfoot would jump onto my lap and strain to reach the trail of smoke wafting from the glowing tip. When I quit smoking completely in 2007, so did Underfoot.<br />
<br />
Underfoot was not a small cat. Weighing in at a hefty 17 pounds, he was a big presence, full of personality with a surprisingly large vocabulary. Since I work mostly at home, Underfoot became my constant companion, spreading himself out across the desk in my home office as I typed away at my <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_D1zaEOtSwbs0H9kGs4taeQR2SMjJCXLL70kT1WbOmshg0uhccyNRQCXToOkrFdse6ykTFz1C9ZnpEDwxYfP_L572LjipjN75wIFnBRvdfW4eWuJFWVW7Q4N-NKnHWT6D6SzyY_-ktsY/s1600/HelpingAtWork%252C05-17-07.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_D1zaEOtSwbs0H9kGs4taeQR2SMjJCXLL70kT1WbOmshg0uhccyNRQCXToOkrFdse6ykTFz1C9ZnpEDwxYfP_L572LjipjN75wIFnBRvdfW4eWuJFWVW7Q4N-NKnHWT6D6SzyY_-ktsY/s200/HelpingAtWork%252C05-17-07.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot loved to spread himself out<br />
across my desk while I worked</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
computer every day. He was nearby wherever in the house I was, even as I slept or read by the fire at night, or engaged in one of my pastimes. We talked constantly -- exchanging those nonverbal, gutteral feline noises between us that so many cats do as if we were having full conversations. He understood many English phrases, including "eat your dinner", "good boy" and "lie down" -- and was incredibly smart and resourceful.<br />
<br />
For instance, like most old houses, the basement beneath my kitchen sports a stairwell which leads to an exterior wooden door that can be opened by lifting it up from outside. Over the years the framing around this exterior panel had shrunk, leaving a gap on one side of the plywood 4' by 4' door. The gap was small, no more than an inch wide and an inch tall. Underfoot liked to sit on the top concrete step inside the basement and peer though this tiny hole out onto the cement patio beyond. He'd watch the legs of birds and chipmunks scamper by. It seemed like an innocent pastime to me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0jZBve3GEOQw-RyNdpHmoOjjR8Y7gSaDEqshAvvJetXnslM7pKolwraBNzyx9OWGHxBRdyAevhsbl6nZNjj1wyaZCwTe8YCZN6Ec_JF65prz5uz_X9oozXrvoi1_-a4Pe96ZpiAn6OI/s1600/EnterTheDragon01%252C05-23-14.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1368" data-original-width="1600" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0jZBve3GEOQw-RyNdpHmoOjjR8Y7gSaDEqshAvvJetXnslM7pKolwraBNzyx9OWGHxBRdyAevhsbl6nZNjj1wyaZCwTe8YCZN6Ec_JF65prz5uz_X9oozXrvoi1_-a4Pe96ZpiAn6OI/s200/EnterTheDragon01%252C05-23-14.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot and Ember play with a baby<br />
ring snake they brought up from my<br />
unfinished basement. I rescued the<br />
snake and put it back outside </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Until it wasn't. One day I came home from conducting research for my longtime employer at the National Archives in Washington, D.C. and found feathers and a half-eaten avian body on my kitchen floor. There was Underfoot, proudly showing off his catch. How on earth did an "inside cat" manage to catch and kill an outside songbird? I was truly perplexed until I watched him peering through that gap in the door frame one day. Apparently, crouched on that top stair in the basement, Underfoot lay in wait for an innocent bird to walk by on the patio outside. In the flash of an instant, he was able to reach one front leg through the tiny gap between the exterior plywood door and its 2" by 4" framing, catch an unsuspecting bird with a single flick of his paw and pull it back through the gap into the basement. I was astounded at his dexterity.<br />
<br />
As upset as I was about the demise of a beautiful songbird, I was more than impressed with Underfoot's considerable one-handed hunting prowess. I figured it was a fluke, likely to never happen again. Until it did. Over the course of several years, Underfoot caught a total of seven birds that way. It was when I came home from a day of research at the Library of Congress and found bright red cardinal feathers on my kitchen floor that I finally put my foot down and closed the gap between the exterior basement door and its framing. But I never could suppress the pride I felt at Underfoot's hunting skill and the ingenuity with which he repeatedly pulled off such an amazing "sleight of paw".<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOQ2hYPMv7cUREcpiLQ6L4bh7o3yh0E2udQRIBdNpL0bw4n7bjGp2UmtmPpP9m_4Y3JP-axOsrebM7K0mGgJAFQR9SD_FD8k8IBR1hs9Uv8bBTB7HdU276wyJ66E9mU0_tU5ZZjBSTMJE/s1600/UnderfootReviewsBlueprints01%252C02-08-09.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="800" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOQ2hYPMv7cUREcpiLQ6L4bh7o3yh0E2udQRIBdNpL0bw4n7bjGp2UmtmPpP9m_4Y3JP-axOsrebM7K0mGgJAFQR9SD_FD8k8IBR1hs9Uv8bBTB7HdU276wyJ66E9mU0_tU5ZZjBSTMJE/s200/UnderfootReviewsBlueprints01%252C02-08-09.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helping Jesse review project drawings<br />
at my dining room table</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Through the tough months during which Jesse and I made the difficult decision to end our marriage in 2007, Underfoot was there to comfort me. I shed more tears than you can imagine into that thick gray fur over the years. We were inseparable, Underfoot and I. Knowing Underfoot would be there to greet me as I got home from my research was comforting beyond words. And just because I boarded up the hole through which the birds had been caught in the basement didn't mean the gifts presented at my feet came to a stop. Any frog, mouse or grasshopper who wandered into the basement through the "jail bars" from the surrounding crawlspace was fair game for Underfoot, and he proudly showed off these occasional prizes to me.<br />
<br />
Jesse and I remained best friends even after our separation, and his brother Jay had dinner with us frequently on Sunday evenings as he continued to struggle over the death of his wife. We knew Jay was overwhelmed by his grief, but we were devastated when Jay was found dead in his apartment in September of 2008. Underfoot seemed to cling to me even more closely after that.<br />
<br />
A PLAYMATE<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2kA6I_qawm7iSp79UGH5H-K34tlzNIWXUhke8Jj8Gjzx4fFKjKvaI5Cosl9_dzTLjnME1R7spf7OUY_oSeor3arpE7Ib347wS87Nd8D0Er5gO8R2kl9vmnuHLfNqkdU_Tdl6FxbU8208/s1600/CurlingUpTogether03%252C08-08-09.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2kA6I_qawm7iSp79UGH5H-K34tlzNIWXUhke8Jj8Gjzx4fFKjKvaI5Cosl9_dzTLjnME1R7spf7OUY_oSeor3arpE7Ib347wS87Nd8D0Er5gO8R2kl9vmnuHLfNqkdU_Tdl6FxbU8208/s200/CurlingUpTogether03%252C08-08-09.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot let Elfie snuggle up<br />
with him for naps when she was little</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHWq9IZyrI0ybaVn1FM_0_XSUByReCfvwo-cX7jiaEp9mWXd79b3Uqz1ytNBz8rOz34N72zgNDb9uWqCYX2KgKFrvN30YxGgatsOqClaYLAJ2ueF-qGb7rQYVP_tvA0N8Ypd_w5oRS_Tk/s1600/ElfieAndUnderfoot01%252C03-31-19.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1234" data-original-width="1600" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHWq9IZyrI0ybaVn1FM_0_XSUByReCfvwo-cX7jiaEp9mWXd79b3Uqz1ytNBz8rOz34N72zgNDb9uWqCYX2KgKFrvN30YxGgatsOqClaYLAJ2ueF-qGb7rQYVP_tvA0N8Ypd_w5oRS_Tk/s200/ElfieAndUnderfoot01%252C03-31-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elfie, left, and Underfoot, right, loved<br />
to spend time in my office as I worked</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In 2009 I decided that a playmate might be a good distraction for my furry friend. A new trainer had taken a job at the stable where I kept my horse and brought with her a kitten she had adopted from a shelter in Virginia as she made her way northeast in a pickup truck to Maryland from Oklahoma. No sooner had she set down her gear at the stable than she was called to accompany the stable owner to a horse show in another state. The kitten was to be left all alone in the barn. Frightened of the nine barn cats and not knowing her way around, the kitten kept trying to venture up to the stable farmhouse with the people, but the farmhouse contained a pair of Pit Bulls who would have made short work of a six-week-old ball of fur. I offered to take the kitten in, and the gray and white bundle went home with me that day. I named her "Lightfoot", for her four white paws, which I soon shortened to "L.F.", to be pronounced "Elfie". From the moment Elfie joined the household, Underfoot became a terrific mentor and companion to her, looking after the kitten, playing with her, and letting her snuggle up with him for naps. They became fast friends, and although they were not inseparable companions (Underfoot liked to stay downstairs on the main level of the house with me; Elfie considered the upstairs bedrooms her domain), they spent the next ten years together in relative harmony.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKu4cMktOXB9UVGckBbedkdLncZwHRfgSAn7olYkVrzRb7bN9dK5LC_1M0JU7bxzWiFFGvm19wmDLfTS5NseIVVAYvvoLPcXuxyrknRgeYVZtK5XpMtKFKgKV9wd6uTTrnRrSrvHFC5uA/s1600/BirdChannel01%252C01-26-13.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1453" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKu4cMktOXB9UVGckBbedkdLncZwHRfgSAn7olYkVrzRb7bN9dK5LC_1M0JU7bxzWiFFGvm19wmDLfTS5NseIVVAYvvoLPcXuxyrknRgeYVZtK5XpMtKFKgKV9wd6uTTrnRrSrvHFC5uA/s200/BirdChannel01%252C01-26-13.jpg" width="181" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little Ember had to wear an infant's<br />
onesie to protect her burn scars</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In 2012 I decided to adopt a third cat. Underfoot was now 12 years old and Elfie was three. All they did was sleep all day and I felt both could stand to lose a pound or two. I thought that a bouncy new kitten might be just the thing to breathe a little liveliness into my lethargic feline household. And it was.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
Little Ember was a tiny black Bombay, a rescue who had been set afire by a juvenile delinquent in Baltimore City and severely burned. She'd lost the cartilage from both her ears, and had almost lost her tail. She underwent a number of surgeries to repair the deep burns along her spine both before and after she came into my custody, and for two years she had to wear a little shirt I designed from an infant's onesie to protect her burn scars from compulsive licking. I named my new kitten "Ember" in keeping with the vowel-first theme and hoped that Underfoot and Elfie would take to her and she to them (you can read all about little Ember in my previous posts <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2012/04/introducing-ember.html">here</a>, <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2012/10/ember-update.html">here</a>, <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2013/04/pawsitively-purrfect.html">here</a>, <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2013/08/a-very-happy-tail.html">here</a>, and <a href="https://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2017/09/and-now-we-are-three.html">here</a>). I needn't have worried.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUSzSWSRZrRAuUzdjf4vLsWV-aR0yXGOrHSfWA3aY92NT9MK069_-Z0TywlSkcubmc5tvVcVT57fIuxVDllcgv3w9xWcCP77QI2UdUnjCpAlt5-fdkUKfBLeGWq6-V-qb-Xs31ZqmAcM/s1600/LendingAHand05%252C04-03-14.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1468" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUSzSWSRZrRAuUzdjf4vLsWV-aR0yXGOrHSfWA3aY92NT9MK069_-Z0TywlSkcubmc5tvVcVT57fIuxVDllcgv3w9xWcCP77QI2UdUnjCpAlt5-fdkUKfBLeGWq6-V-qb-Xs31ZqmAcM/s200/LendingAHand05%252C04-03-14.jpg" width="183" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot loved Ember. We were<br />
such a happy family!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Both Underfoot and Elfie quickly accepted high-spirited little Ember, who bounced off walls and ran amok as if she was full of jumping beans. After a couple of years, Ember didn't need to wear her protective shirts anymore, and my three fur-babies and I settled into a contented and happy coexistence. When they weren't napping, my three "children" spent time watching the "squirrel channel" and the "bird channel" through my dining room windows, where I had strategically placed bird feeders for my own closeup viewing pleasure as well as theirs. I positioned fluffy cat beds on the radiators in my home office and in the dining room, and Underfoot, as he had with Elfie, soon taught Ember the art of spreading himself as broadly as possible across the work papers on my desk. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In 2016, little Ember was suddenly felled by some previously undiagnosed illness over Labor Day weekend. By the time I got her to the vet she had lapsed into acute diabetic ketoacidosis with major organ failure. There was no reviving her, although the vet tried mightily. I was heartbroken, never imagining that my older two cats would outlive the youngster. It was two years before I felt ready to try adoption again.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
ANOTHER TRY</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4g-UJbhgSMcrEgTs8G8JeiLcdIdkHwr2ECvYZlwiolcoAh5e82DpwrjX6KxygxkZrUbZmZeUAjRL83ojXqRIRxuECaW9Voht80dayS9hcBdwWQMgadd2pOFB4vnsHdSOO9nmDyOllTj0/s1600/SojoAndStache01%252C05-29-18.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1419" data-original-width="1600" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4g-UJbhgSMcrEgTs8G8JeiLcdIdkHwr2ECvYZlwiolcoAh5e82DpwrjX6KxygxkZrUbZmZeUAjRL83ojXqRIRxuECaW9Voht80dayS9hcBdwWQMgadd2pOFB4vnsHdSOO9nmDyOllTj0/s200/SojoAndStache01%252C05-29-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In 2018 I adopted two kittens from a<br />
feral litter: Sojo, left, and Stache</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But in early 2018 my heart opened wide for a pair of kittens from a feral litter: two little girls, one black (as Ember had been) and one gray and white like Elfie. By this time Underfoot was a stately 18 years old, and the idea of getting used to not one, but two newcomers vying for Mom's attention in the household did not appeal to him at all. The black kitten, whom I named Sojourner (Sojo for short) was really wild, a shy girl who didn't cotton to anyone but me. The gray and white kitten, whom I named "Stache" for the smudge of gray fur above her lip, was far more laid back and friendly. All she wanted to do was to curl up in someone's lap and purr.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Despite his protestations, Underfoot began to accept the kittens and was just getting to know and like little Stache when tragedy struck again. Stache suffered oxygen deprivation during her spay surgery which caused seizures, a stroke, and within a few days, her death. Left with only the wild and cagey Sojo, I wasn't sure how Underfoot and Elfie would adapt to this less than sweet-tempered interloper, but eventually something of a truce was established.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2coH2RdZNWazbMsPGrn93Pzp0NFYlRBUQpfJDPBGPeEL46amx3Shi5pdqpzhv7cLNXIrNWfiAwqH4nSkn04-bKaDrnV7zvsa0wzI7nBXRsrs3ebB6AeNghjjpMTBFUFkV3d_CF-M2f_0/s1600/CloserAndCloser03%252C07-25-18.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1164" data-original-width="1600" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2coH2RdZNWazbMsPGrn93Pzp0NFYlRBUQpfJDPBGPeEL46amx3Shi5pdqpzhv7cLNXIrNWfiAwqH4nSkn04-bKaDrnV7zvsa0wzI7nBXRsrs3ebB6AeNghjjpMTBFUFkV3d_CF-M2f_0/s200/CloserAndCloser03%252C07-25-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eventually, Underfoot learned to <br />
tolerate Sojo's presence in the house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
A WONDERFUL LIFE</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
For the past year and a half my little feline family has coexisted contentedly; Elfie ruling over the upstairs rooms, Underfoot enjoying his kingdom on the main level, and Sojo dividing her time between the two. Sometimes I'd find her lounging on my bed upstairs with Elfie, other times she'd be out on the sunporch/laundry room floor with Underfoot.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
One of Underfoot's most endearing habits during our years together was to reach up to me with his front legs and ask to be picked up -- just like a toddler might do. For frequent visitors around whom he felt comfortable, I could even entice Underfoot to ask to be picked up on command. Once hoisted, I would drape Underfoot over my shoulder and carry him around as I went about my business. He just wanted to be in my arms and, until several minutes of his extra weight became too much, I was just as happy to have him there.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE7OX8kz0K0bBtTdSMIdxr3XxUE_YTcTKmK6w9jfGw4klmMvhwZpgK_k3PcOgWWuBC-1SAxkr_TLQ60jClE5S2yoZhRYqO683QC7l1H0UDYpnkI9tTtr4LBQw-dUl-E7tlWqzc5L5Ox4/s1600/AllThreeOnTheCatTree%252101%252C08-30-18.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE7OX8kz0K0bBtTdSMIdxr3XxUE_YTcTKmK6w9jfGw4klmMvhwZpgK_k3PcOgWWuBC-1SAxkr_TLQ60jClE5S2yoZhRYqO683QC7l1H0UDYpnkI9tTtr4LBQw-dUl-E7tlWqzc5L5Ox4/s200/AllThreeOnTheCatTree%252101%252C08-30-18.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In July 2018, Jesse and I built<br />
a cat tree in my dining room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp06tLxhpp9MnFYewYY6A2CuJb-_Xi55wIWg9gt2RBkpmVbW9PLRfqTNHCgdvT0TNyz9kqV3WRfTDfQEBxmP9FM4hcR5ysJBZ3OGxYnl1B64FixJiCKBvrtxs0APKc2H_Cvu_DvrOalWc/s1600/GoingForTheKleenex%252C10-30-10.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1089" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp06tLxhpp9MnFYewYY6A2CuJb-_Xi55wIWg9gt2RBkpmVbW9PLRfqTNHCgdvT0TNyz9kqV3WRfTDfQEBxmP9FM4hcR5ysJBZ3OGxYnl1B64FixJiCKBvrtxs0APKc2H_Cvu_DvrOalWc/s200/GoingForTheKleenex%252C10-30-10.jpg" width="135" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot going for the <br />
Kleenex</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In expressing her condolences to me on the day Underfoot died, his original owner, Lori, relayed her memory of how impish Underfoot could be. <span style="font-family: inherit;">"He was trouble, but so much fun," she recalled. I agreed that Underfoot was a lot of fun, but I don't remember him getting into lots of trouble, except for his love of Kleenex. We've all seen videos of cats unraveling an entire roll of toilet paper. Underfoot never bothered with toilet paper, but put a box of Kleenex anywhere within his reach and he would pull out every tissue, one by one, and shred them all. Just a few weeks ago I caught him yanking tissues from a box I'd inadvertently left within reach. He was definitely an imp.</span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPyJ1HFlNoJ9dLvvlJMWjQo3_DjVaWcTwosB-Cp8uu5lvHmbqTmWTpKpaOZkT_tIWy4kyQhogm7Dy-X5G1n1At0ftxSnxnaAqF6ZdyWC4SOGDB031ImGIkri_d_TmDZIcOEMMUUUpy-JU/s1600/UnderfootAndSojo03%252C06-28-18.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPyJ1HFlNoJ9dLvvlJMWjQo3_DjVaWcTwosB-Cp8uu5lvHmbqTmWTpKpaOZkT_tIWy4kyQhogm7Dy-X5G1n1At0ftxSnxnaAqF6ZdyWC4SOGDB031ImGIkri_d_TmDZIcOEMMUUUpy-JU/s200/UnderfootAndSojo03%252C06-28-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot taught Sojo the finer points<br />
of spreading himself across my desk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At the beginning of 2019, Underfoot lost a lot of weight. I grew concerned and called my mobile vet. Dr. Seibel ran tests and did a thorough examination. My big boy had a gum infection and some broken teeth, which would need to be treated at a brick and mortar vet. We started Underfoot on antibiotics and I switched him exclusively to canned food from dry kibble. My longtime brick and mortar vet cleaned Underfoot's teeth but advised against surgery or sonograms and X-rays to determine what might be the root cause of his weight loss. "Underfoot is the equivalent of a hundred-year-old man!" Dr. Brown exclaimed. "Have you ever seen any overweight people live to be one hundred?" I had to admit I had not. The vet surmised that Underfoot probably had cancer somewhere in his body, perhaps from the years of "smoking" with Jay. He suggested that I forego any expensive diagnostic tests or treatments and just keep Underfoot comfortable for whatever time he had left. I agreed with that assessment.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGw5JO021Tu29-bJrECDtlNF54nbMQ081qBifREniTgEIPSl8Uyh1rlIYUr10Y7FoGsl4Fp5DzkSpqT85MWFt9N5Dx5KtmeSGJ7BJayyP5WO85mP3GnVixdC-Ne3LomTCyC1T0GZJVpw/s1600/LazyOfficeAssistants%252C11-07-18.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGw5JO021Tu29-bJrECDtlNF54nbMQ081qBifREniTgEIPSl8Uyh1rlIYUr10Y7FoGsl4Fp5DzkSpqT85MWFt9N5Dx5KtmeSGJ7BJayyP5WO85mP3GnVixdC-Ne3LomTCyC1T0GZJVpw/s200/LazyOfficeAssistants%252C11-07-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sojo, from left, Underfoot and Elfie<br />
curled up in heated beds in my office </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When Underfoot began to vomit clear bile in the middle of the night, I questioned my mobile vet. Dr. Seibel explained that, like horses, cats need to have something in their digestive tracts at all times, and now that Underfoot could no longer help himself to the dry kibble whenever he liked because of his dental fragility, and was dependent on me for nourishment from canned food alone, too many hours were lapsing between the time I went to bed at night and the time I got up in the morning. Vomiting clear bile was a sign of hunger, she said.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ZQgw-_Ksr5zBTpRcDkJuN5iios6qHm_ZRbT0wrKsk8kG_o4sraeyj2HRdVtJN04lvQG81Cbr-phZz0-G9Cw91dNEyIXlYU4wLxB0zfMYDlXsBSzQJnx1ZrOAMyUy5oirixAuI5BaiOw/s1600/DoubleArmExtension.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1595" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ZQgw-_Ksr5zBTpRcDkJuN5iios6qHm_ZRbT0wrKsk8kG_o4sraeyj2HRdVtJN04lvQG81Cbr-phZz0-G9Cw91dNEyIXlYU4wLxB0zfMYDlXsBSzQJnx1ZrOAMyUy5oirixAuI5BaiOw/s200/DoubleArmExtension.jpg" width="199" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot was known for his unusual<br />
poses. This was called the<br />
"double-arm extension"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So in addition to feeding him right before I went to bed at night and as soon as I got up each morning, I began to get up every night at 3:00 a.m. to feed my beloved cat in the middle of the night. It took about twenty minutes from start to finish, as I took care to make absolutely sure he'd had his fill before returning to my slumber. Of course it was a hassle, and sometimes it was difficult to go back to sleep. But the vomiting stopped immediately and never came back. Underfoot gained weight and his health stabilized. At that point I didn't know how much time Underfoot had left, but seeing him return to his playful self and having his weight stabilize showed me that my efforts were paying off. I told myself that no matter if he lived for a few months or several years I would continue my nighttime regimen, so happy was I to see the difference it made in his quality of life.<br />
<br />
So a few weeks ago, when Underfoot's breathing began to become labored, I wasn't taken completely aback. I knew the end was coming and would probably come this year. He had already lived longer than either vet thought possible after his weight loss in January. Then, in late August, I broke my leg and was no longer able to get down the stairs for Underfoot's nightly feeding without a Herculean effort. Enter Jesse to the rescue. Despite being divorced for several years now, Jesse is still my near-constant companion, and he generously agreed to stay with me until I am back on both of my feet, which likely won't be until mid-November. So Jesse dutifully began arising every night to give Underfoot his 3:00 a.m. feeding. That was nice, in a way, because Jesse and Underfoot had a chance to bond again. Jesse took his time with Underfoot at night, just as I did by day. Underfoot was surrounded by love and he knew it.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM40OA5chfnVw8ucClpXXrX8uBX0yZ_-fFw6bw9ptwEFCP8poYjtdp-ZLDODXbY88gGo-9_gDL_oDeE7hL0Urtyg1fDYqVozc__HQo5Kfm69KASO9dpBsSba60Kz3W3m7nSyeij-dHD9M/s1600/WaitingForSantaUncropped%252C10-25-09.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1600" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM40OA5chfnVw8ucClpXXrX8uBX0yZ_-fFw6bw9ptwEFCP8poYjtdp-ZLDODXbY88gGo-9_gDL_oDeE7hL0Urtyg1fDYqVozc__HQo5Kfm69KASO9dpBsSba60Kz3W3m7nSyeij-dHD9M/s200/WaitingForSantaUncropped%252C10-25-09.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In 2009, Underfoot, left, and Elfie<br />
posed for a perfect Christmas card<br />
photo as they "waited for Santa"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Underfoot's appetite remained good, but the heaving of his abdomen with every breath in early September alarmed me. I knew I wasn't going to take any heroic measures to prolong his life. Still, I wanted an assessment of what was happening, so I called my mobile vet. Dr. Seibel came on Thursday and put her stethoscope to Underfoot's chest. His lungs were "so noisy," she said, that she couldn't hear his heartbeat for the commotion. She said his lungs were so filled with fluid that his chest muscles weren't strong enough to help him breathe on their own, so he was utilizing his abdominal muscles to help, hence the heaving with every breath that I observed. She surmised that wherever his cancer had originated, it had now metastasized to his lungs. When she finally was able to detect a pulse, she said his heartbeat was irregular. "Breathing arrhythmia," she said, was caused by the intense effort needed for every breath.<br />
<br />
Still, she noted, Underfoot was eating and drinking and producing healthy-looking litter-box deposits. He didn't seem to be in physical distress. "Watch for breathing through an open mouth," she said. "Or noisy breathing." After she left, I decided that I could not let him suffer. I would take the weekend to say goodbye and then call her to come euthanize my darling boy early next week.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvBCbag94c1pL3_KawSEgFbQFRGx5UwbUOYV2kEAYWS2JHSUx-b9DyKhsC9wjWE9dJEhrGt1xrmoKYJjbO7wlBGOl6OCHVGvpmyUoG8VgxQX9goVG2pmm6fl2xxolnpE-RSGUalJKQUs/s1600/GrumpyOldMan03%252C02-11-19.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="1600" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvBCbag94c1pL3_KawSEgFbQFRGx5UwbUOYV2kEAYWS2JHSUx-b9DyKhsC9wjWE9dJEhrGt1xrmoKYJjbO7wlBGOl6OCHVGvpmyUoG8VgxQX9goVG2pmm6fl2xxolnpE-RSGUalJKQUs/s200/GrumpyOldMan03%252C02-11-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At 19, Underfoot's face reflected the<br />
demeanor of a "grumpy old man" </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But apparently my sweet Underfoot wanted to die on his own terms. I was off at the surgeon's the following morning, getting the cast sawed off my leg, the 31 surgical staples pulled out, and a new cast put on. When I returned home, Underfoot lay dead on the floor where he had been basking in a sunbeam in my sunporch/laundry room. He had come to me that morning as I worked at my computer, which usually means he wants to eat, but when I put the food down for him, he sniffed at it and looked away. I knew something was wrong. Instead, I spent time cooing at him and snuggling with him. I am so glad I did.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc8RydHLOFTYVoBenR8xxBx0_0B21fuAIlgb3Cxs_bMoftmFt-3b_8gs2M_i_bum0JKWCFpM6Cjwk88pnCSW12uBfeZ8At_jXuiIi_Sw12vsPolQIobszoeE6BWtilBL1lHNaRNPoxhz8/s1600/SnugglePaws%252C05-02-12.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1369" data-original-width="1600" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc8RydHLOFTYVoBenR8xxBx0_0B21fuAIlgb3Cxs_bMoftmFt-3b_8gs2M_i_bum0JKWCFpM6Cjwk88pnCSW12uBfeZ8At_jXuiIi_Sw12vsPolQIobszoeE6BWtilBL1lHNaRNPoxhz8/s200/SnugglePaws%252C05-02-12.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rest easy, my sweet Underfoot. You<br />
made me a very happy mom for<br />
many years </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the end, there is an interesting twist to this story. Jesse keeps a small photograph of his brother Jay in the visor on the passenger side of his car. With a broken leg, I can't drive myself to the doctor, so Jesse took me in his car on Friday. We were halfway to the appointment when Jay's photo suddenly fell out of the visor and into my lap. I glanced over at Jesse with a perplexed look. "It's the 20th of September," Jesse said. "Today's the day Jay died eleven years ago." We decided that Jay was just "saying hi" to us.<br />
<br />
But when we returned to my house from the doctor appointment and found Underfoot had crossed the Rainbow Bridge, we changed our minds. Perhaps Jay was telling us he had come for Underfoot, to relieve my furry friend of his discomfort and to bear him on to Susan, who will cherish and adore my beloved Underfoot until I can be reunited with him someday.<br />
Lynell<br />
<br />
<i>“Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love.”</i><br />
~ Anonymous<br />
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</div>
</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-41188358272648753442019-05-06T12:50:00.000-04:002019-05-14T07:55:33.841-04:00Birthdays in May!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_SZPzwV_ByTIDw5u6bhum760ng9iKFzr6HVNQtDxbu4lCEiQxGHkdBwYi_ObdN_rd0robFUT-znywptYEcs8paIoIU7N9hmSfipUgf3SnBBwMMl7A7fgCT2zLpDpSBmuLR7cpw6LmQps/s1600/MayBirthdayMenu%252C05-04-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1237" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_SZPzwV_ByTIDw5u6bhum760ng9iKFzr6HVNQtDxbu4lCEiQxGHkdBwYi_ObdN_rd0robFUT-znywptYEcs8paIoIU7N9hmSfipUgf3SnBBwMMl7A7fgCT2zLpDpSBmuLR7cpw6LmQps/s200/MayBirthdayMenu%252C05-04-19.jpg" width="154" /></a></div>
I have so many dear friends who have birthdays between the 4th and the 8th of May: biologist Paula Becker, for instance, who is Volunteer Coordinator for the Wildlife and Heritage Service of the Maryland Department of Natural Resources at which I've been a longtime volunteer; Lora Wong, a master gardener who works as a Research Administration Manager at the American Heart Association; my longest Maryland girlfriend, Janet Levine, owner of Fire & Ice Jewelry stores at the BWI and Philadelphia international airports; my cousin Christian Haudenschild in Switzerland, a former research scientist at the U.S. Food & Drug Administration; my best friend Kari's beloved late father, Lyle Momb, who left us in 2013; my longtime friend Juanita Starbuck from our old Richmond Police Department days in California; my great niece in California, Sophia Mei Tobler, who is turning seven (!); Texas computer guru and IT expert Ralph Haroldson; my ex-husband and dear friend, Jesse Turner, and even my elderly, crotchety cat, Underfoot, who is turning 19.<br />
<br />
What better way to celebrate the birthdays of these special souls than with a festive dinner party! Alas, Lora had accepted an invitation to spend her birthday with family in Pittsburgh, and Jan's elderly aunts decided to host a spontaneous family reunion in her native South Carolina, so as it turned out, only two of the local birthday people could attend my party on May 4th, which was the only Saturday night I had available all month. But sometimes the smallest dinner parties are the most rewarding. And whether for fourteen or four, I would still cook a fabulous dinner for my guests.<br />
<br />
What makes my May birthday dinner especially fun for me is that while the fancy dinners I host for <a href="https://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2019/02/an-affair-of-heart.html">Valentine's Day</a> and <a href="https://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2019/03/a-bit-of-blarney-lots-of-charm.html">St. Patrick's Day</a> feature the same menu each year with a rotating cast of guests, the May birthday dinner highlights the same guests each year but leaves me free to vary the menu. I can choose whatever entree suits my taste and, indeed, my May birthday dinner guests are frequently "Guinea pigs" on whom I experiment with dishes I've never tried before.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj505deu_bSZFCMXfDt1AgPYWMOGKNDph4zOHylnq38N7vFUSkisIKBgSnWtRuEXUWX2QDk5E4Q8AjLy6_6ZIfhyqBdxXKJpE2OYSSNRvbmYdbtKT1wQO3aalFnH_HPfkjjdMVnbySvD6A/s1600/LambStuffing03%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1600" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj505deu_bSZFCMXfDt1AgPYWMOGKNDph4zOHylnq38N7vFUSkisIKBgSnWtRuEXUWX2QDk5E4Q8AjLy6_6ZIfhyqBdxXKJpE2OYSSNRvbmYdbtKT1wQO3aalFnH_HPfkjjdMVnbySvD6A/s200/LambStuffing03%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
So it was with this year's menu. A <a href="https://www.chicagotribune.com/dining/sc-food-roast-lamb-christmas-brownson-1214-story.html">roast leg of lamb</a> with a Middle-Eastern bent caught my fancy this time. Flavored with a custom sweet-spice mixture featuring ground cumin, cinnamon, coriander, allspice, clove, ginger and nutmeg, the boneless roast was butterflied, stuffed with fresh baby spinach and dried fruit, then rolled up and rubbed with the aromatic spices before roasting. An accompanying brown rice and lentil mixture, called <a href="https://www.themediterraneandish.com/mujadara-lentils-and-rice-with-crispy-onions/print/10503/">mujadara</a>, would receive similar sweet-spice flavorings -- with a twist: garlic and cilantro and a healthy scattering of caramelized onions, as well. I could hardly wait to try it.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0r-ycuyEtxi_Me559nPKEts73fxHjbSzk-v1DXQxLafjZqWcsFct-fPyOwk0V3xoXEr_FqNyrOEszIpOn8LUOLdvXuLn5HtAGUR9DdyTD_lL2ze_sViT3sgNdEmhcf0cQrq6Xb2jf7rY/s1600/FiddeheadFerns01%252C04-27-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1418" data-original-width="1600" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0r-ycuyEtxi_Me559nPKEts73fxHjbSzk-v1DXQxLafjZqWcsFct-fPyOwk0V3xoXEr_FqNyrOEszIpOn8LUOLdvXuLn5HtAGUR9DdyTD_lL2ze_sViT3sgNdEmhcf0cQrq6Xb2jf7rY/s200/FiddeheadFerns01%252C04-27-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I "ixnayed" sauteed fiddlehead ferns<br />
for the dinner party vegetable and<br />
went with an asparagus tart instead</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So... that took care of the entrée and the starch, but what to do about a vegetable? A few weeks earlier I had previewed sautéed <a href="http://fiddlehead/">fiddlehead ferns</a> as a possible side dish. The result was okay but not exceptional; unusual, but not worth the expense or the trouble. I decided to go with an <a href="https://recipes.oregonlive.com/recipes/asparagus-goat-cheese-tart">asparagus tart</a> instead.<br />
<br />
With most of the menu decided upon, I cast around for birthday cake ideas. A baker, I am NOT, but I wanted to bake a cake for this dinner because, mainly, one of my guests, Paula Becker, is a baker extraordinaire and I wanted to earn her praise. Traditional cakes leave much to be desired, in my opinion. They're dry, cloyingly sweet, lack any distinctive flavor and are ultimately quite boring. Then, a recipe in <a href="https://www.bhg.com/recipe/apple-maple-spice-cake/">Better Homes & Gardens</a> magazine caught my eye. How about an apple-maple cake in a bundt pan which made use of the same spices (clove, nutmeg, cinnamon) that would figure prominently in the dinner? Jesse, who designs furniture for the hospitality industry, brought me a beautiful Art Deco-inspired bundt pan from a restaurant industry trade show in Chicago a few years back and I had yet to use it. Surely creating his birthday cake with the bundt pan he gave me would demonstrate my appreciation of his thoughtful gift.<br />
<br />
As is my custom, I took the Friday before my party off from work in order to prepare as many dishes as I could in advance, and do the prep work (slicing and dicing, sifting and frying) ahead of time for the rest, so that on the day of the party I could relax and enjoy myself while putting the finishing touches on everything. That's worked out so well for me in the past that I now consider it a happy tradition.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWwK_B9tFiZNIAYF4T5N0RZrpgyo1Hcgv8hhev6zIq-nSBVqlr2iHGRcP9JGvwTlS5osh4ga-rQwYIM1bYW0ai_4XqT05xTS3E0x90Ugzor5EY0jEOVGCB89CKVV3zJkY0QEuN_yug3TE/s1600/RiceAndLentilsCompilation%252C05-04-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="1600" height="89" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWwK_B9tFiZNIAYF4T5N0RZrpgyo1Hcgv8hhev6zIq-nSBVqlr2iHGRcP9JGvwTlS5osh4ga-rQwYIM1bYW0ai_4XqT05xTS3E0x90Ugzor5EY0jEOVGCB89CKVV3zJkY0QEuN_yug3TE/s320/RiceAndLentilsCompilation%252C05-04-19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lentils, left, brown rice, center, and caramelized onions, right,<br />
get tossed together in an aromatic side dish for roast lamb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I started with the mujadara, cooking vast quantities of rice in garlic, onion and the sweet spices, then simmering lentils with a cinnamon stick, ginger and more garlic, and then combining the two. While the rice was cooking, I caramelized a copious number of onions, this time by roasting them in the oven instead of slowly frying them on the stove. The technique worked beautifully, and seemed less labor-intensive than the frequent stirring recommended when using the stovetop method.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8hipl-bvnrRJoW3ibliz47b2sk2ebLqVmpEon5gXPdR5IZX2hN0ZpXveCRi4sqV7q8ae7CAszjTpczuvZ62xSdYs-e9NEm2m3GzWzLbTIoKOy47nM4ITUw9hyphenhyphen2x0GS0IxUbFVk2_aH4/s1600/LambStuffing02%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1580" data-original-width="1600" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8hipl-bvnrRJoW3ibliz47b2sk2ebLqVmpEon5gXPdR5IZX2hN0ZpXveCRi4sqV7q8ae7CAszjTpczuvZ62xSdYs-e9NEm2m3GzWzLbTIoKOy47nM4ITUw9hyphenhyphen2x0GS0IxUbFVk2_aH4/s200/LambStuffing02%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Once the rice dish was out of the way, I turned to the stuffing for the lamb. A heady combination of fresh baby spinach leaves and dried currants and apricots mixed with scallions, parsley and cilantro was diced and bagged for the next day.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWVAjlAXIyPijltBe1hhkW9eELJ4Mrc605bn-iGx0FHLFNXPpe3iKfx7M69gBxI0rdxn2IlU44Fh2hoPEcSWgcU4wmCxNTgpCzBiRI5tzO_75mJyAoK6TdczzVU3UsDYezUIKH2Udhxt4/s1600/TripleCherryBourbonChutney01%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1565" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWVAjlAXIyPijltBe1hhkW9eELJ4Mrc605bn-iGx0FHLFNXPpe3iKfx7M69gBxI0rdxn2IlU44Fh2hoPEcSWgcU4wmCxNTgpCzBiRI5tzO_75mJyAoK6TdczzVU3UsDYezUIKH2Udhxt4/s200/TripleCherryBourbonChutney01%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="195" /></a>To accompany the lamb, I thought a sensual <a href="https://www.stltoday.com/lifestyles/food-and-cooking/recipes/triple-cherry-bourbon-chutney/article_094a99c4-9782-5b46-b505-0d909fa4280e.html">chutney</a> utilizing three different types of cherries in bourbon would elicit just the right counterpoint to the lamb. So I simmered dried tart cherries with frozen sweet dark cherries and tart cherry preserves until the chutney was thick and bubbly, then spilled in two tablespoons of whiskey. The result was wonderful.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLMBPqKB3VzrmKZZxYsVk0WxGXgfvPi8AAKjR_F9SKZnI_lFADSqzA-pVvf_iBSTBReVPkKpZh7_odUkMusulDGAduCyWeI9en3ORf3mAXHVBdTtVQQlLyaR2s5qyvrjVKsFnjCo3wEoU/s1600/AppleMapleSpiceCake04%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1406" data-original-width="1600" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLMBPqKB3VzrmKZZxYsVk0WxGXgfvPi8AAKjR_F9SKZnI_lFADSqzA-pVvf_iBSTBReVPkKpZh7_odUkMusulDGAduCyWeI9en3ORf3mAXHVBdTtVQQlLyaR2s5qyvrjVKsFnjCo3wEoU/s200/AppleMapleSpiceCake04%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a>Next, I baked the cake, utilizing maple syrup in a piquant combination of sweet spices, apples, butter, flour, sugar and eggs. It came out beautifully, and was immediately coated with a thick drizzle of maple syrup and diced apples. I was quite proud of my accomplishment and hoped Paula and Jesse would be, too.<br />
<br />
On the morning of the party, I laid out the boneless leg of lamb, which the butcher at my local Wegman's Supermarket had butterflied for me. Unfortunately, in the process of butterflying the leg, he had created a tear in the meat, so when I rolled it up, the stuffing would surely fall through. I Googled how to repair a tear in a butterflied cut of meat but was surprised to find that the Internet Gods offered no remedy at all. And although I still possessed my mother's ancient metal chicken trusser, it wouldn't hold fast when I rolled up the lamb. What was I to do?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsx1z7-nKBjizARgkRdXAURmHgH_W1Fmiis7cBAKdo-Z78mdTPzHC5AVIvIb4XEZFO4_YCPEX5KRHPk_AESfxfCD5U1c-ZGDs0N_zWtReCBGZsm2j3PiIE1vxqPA7uKHC81k_d3b0F5IE/s1600/McGuyveredTheLamb02%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsx1z7-nKBjizARgkRdXAURmHgH_W1Fmiis7cBAKdo-Z78mdTPzHC5AVIvIb4XEZFO4_YCPEX5KRHPk_AESfxfCD5U1c-ZGDs0N_zWtReCBGZsm2j3PiIE1vxqPA7uKHC81k_d3b0F5IE/s200/McGuyveredTheLamb02%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I used a large needle and carpet thread<br />
to bind a tear in the lamb roast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Well, I <i>MacGyvered</i> it, of course! Just as the 1980s television series highlighting one man's resourcefulness caused his name to become synonymous with the clever utilization of everyday items for vastly different purposes, so I invoked his spirit to solve my torn lamb problem. Indeed, I recalled a time, in the summer of 2012, when I hosted dear friends for a <a href="https://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2012/08/cool-summer-supper-red-hot-look_13.html">midsummer supper</a>. I planned to create individual layered crab salads with avocado, caviar and mango salsa, but the ring molds needed for the towering concoctions were pricey -- and I would need four of them! Enter Home Depot, where I found four-inch diameter PVC pipe cuffs that were just the right size -- at fifty cents apiece. I took them home, sterilized them and used them as ring molds for perfect crab salad towers.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmLasgWErWafeYHmfS5C-YZZR_QE7CHlr4LXZEEyuUdQ_lABrv4bIVCXoERqWjYAptvKwDGNnz8w3Jwvu528uGxFLGxoaaV8SbbcnkuP-DUhaqurNpwRg9Foh5Ahq5rn-42Zkh3Qos9M/s1600/ButterfliedLegOfLambRollupProcedure%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="571" data-original-width="1600" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmLasgWErWafeYHmfS5C-YZZR_QE7CHlr4LXZEEyuUdQ_lABrv4bIVCXoERqWjYAptvKwDGNnz8w3Jwvu528uGxFLGxoaaV8SbbcnkuP-DUhaqurNpwRg9Foh5Ahq5rn-42Zkh3Qos9M/s320/ButterfliedLegOfLambRollupProcedure%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="320" /></a>Now I needed similar inspiration for the tear in my lamb -- and I needed it fast! I sought insight in my hobby room upstairs. And there was the answer, a large sewing needle and... carpet thread! I bound the tear together with a running blanket stitch, and voila! No more unsightly, stuffing-leaking rip.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOTyQJYbPveYyys0KVfpnSqQfNTUt509NjE7bh9bhhpNQIvNLOMl5sU5MJz5vvNY5ddsp74lq4yoYrwqy_tIkP1UeUydanestQxD2CXjXM28r9XC_L0-VVPc_gRFu9mZMNqiLyy6WF6uY/s1600/ButterfliedLegOfLambBeforeAndAfter%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="962" data-original-width="1600" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOTyQJYbPveYyys0KVfpnSqQfNTUt509NjE7bh9bhhpNQIvNLOMl5sU5MJz5vvNY5ddsp74lq4yoYrwqy_tIkP1UeUydanestQxD2CXjXM28r9XC_L0-VVPc_gRFu9mZMNqiLyy6WF6uY/s200/ButterfliedLegOfLambBeforeAndAfter%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a>After pounding the butterflied lamb into an evenly-flat slab, I layered the dried fruit filling and the spinach leaves on top. Holding the ends securely, I wrapped the meat up into a tight roll and secured it with kitchen twine. To my great delight, my makeshift repair held tight. Rubbed with the same sweet spice mixture used in the rice dish, I slipped the roast into a slow oven and moved on to my next task: setting the table.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY50iYj-wToXC_-ULssYqs9C6030rVsST-uxVucxSMoBzWq2bu90QHz6CThrTDmxur6EnrbEe6HL_VKT-FMsuSAR7EJUI8wXXmVrkhR5qcSflVCHn2oHU2YcTOdEGtEiPLl8oVojEwmhQ/s1600/Tablescape01%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY50iYj-wToXC_-ULssYqs9C6030rVsST-uxVucxSMoBzWq2bu90QHz6CThrTDmxur6EnrbEe6HL_VKT-FMsuSAR7EJUI8wXXmVrkhR5qcSflVCHn2oHU2YcTOdEGtEiPLl8oVojEwmhQ/s200/Tablescape01%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
I purposely chose to keep this dinner more casual and go with a woodsy, nature-loving theme. After all, there would be just four of us: Paula, the wildlife biologist, Jesse and me, and Laura Van Scoyoc, president of the nonprofit nature group I've volunteered with for more than a decade now. Wooden charger plates set the tone, on which I nestled floral dishes I've owned since the Carter Administration. My everyday flatware is molded from real twigs; I settled the apple-maple spice cake on a rustic wooden cake stand.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKVI-MOz-eHor2QJLukDlnOf0IpAvF6wgaz_RFyFWgn2ROLsQzkVRWsaf3szwhwtP2abBsOAO8JqvUfzE8MI2NUGlLLhc8oixO6SzwBi5e4RT-JuEXeUyEYXebuiEiQZzB4zMDEIcCtcY/s1600/LynellWithAsparagusTart01%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="1600" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKVI-MOz-eHor2QJLukDlnOf0IpAvF6wgaz_RFyFWgn2ROLsQzkVRWsaf3szwhwtP2abBsOAO8JqvUfzE8MI2NUGlLLhc8oixO6SzwBi5e4RT-JuEXeUyEYXebuiEiQZzB4zMDEIcCtcY/s200/LynellWithAsparagusTart01%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The asparagus tart came out beautifully</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrgVXy_o2VrTVHGmJF4qNtbA9YE7tmgk4VtRVtIOT4sC-j9Ppp6w2Ps1qC9W4y0XFYKEwBdmpUTk5KjDKeTwIcbnkrOmWk6E6Jbgn2BHC5X9TG1avt7yoJcKy14rumcTNZUQ4S-34H44/s1600/AsparagusTartPreparation%252C05-04-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="1600" height="98" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrgVXy_o2VrTVHGmJF4qNtbA9YE7tmgk4VtRVtIOT4sC-j9Ppp6w2Ps1qC9W4y0XFYKEwBdmpUTk5KjDKeTwIcbnkrOmWk6E6Jbgn2BHC5X9TG1avt7yoJcKy14rumcTNZUQ4S-34H44/s200/AsparagusTartPreparation%252C05-04-19.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kalamata olives, lemon zest, scallions<br />
and goat cheese enhance the asparagus<br />
in this savory puff pastry tart</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Next it was time to assemble and bake the asparagus tart. I dusted my counter with flour and used my grandmother's ancient wooden rolling pin to stretch a sheet of puff pastry into a ten-inch square. I slathered a layer of goat cheese across the dough and then sprinkled the surface with a mixture of chopped asparagus tips, scallions, Kalamata olives, garlic and lemon zest. Topped with a sprinkling of crumbled goat cheese, I popped the tart into the oven for twenty minutes, long enough to assemble a green salad featuring blood oranges, which I tossed with chopped red pear, sugared almonds, shredded Gruyere and then dressed with a honeyed blood orange vinaigrette.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqcRYOqEX_oBcTT2vrB5hYmzix9_OBDC6sUvq5dYNNEf-k7QUmfl_P-y4fe3g_dbjvcEYufyf3S81A_t0h8p4pd5Y55FLpOTtbWNpO5H-vQiCg1PuMQaxPMbhitrmRTLJVYes9M76bdE/s1600/BloodOrangeRosemaryFizzes01%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqcRYOqEX_oBcTT2vrB5hYmzix9_OBDC6sUvq5dYNNEf-k7QUmfl_P-y4fe3g_dbjvcEYufyf3S81A_t0h8p4pd5Y55FLpOTtbWNpO5H-vQiCg1PuMQaxPMbhitrmRTLJVYes9M76bdE/s200/BloodOrangeRosemaryFizzes01%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homemade rosemary simple<br />
syrup, Aperol, blood orange<br />
juice and Prosecco combine<br />
to make a delightful spring<br />
cocktail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Finally, I prepared <a href="https://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/blood-orange-rosemary-fizz">cocktails</a> with fresh-squeezed blood orange juice, Aperol, homemade rosemary simple syrup, and added Prosecco just as my guests arrived. I adore blood oranges and have been enjoying them much later into spring than usual this year.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGFADVQk6Ql69B36AOFaMl4kWO4Dr5yxLaXrrdXWmw13iCtG2kmGb9ff_119uQi2Ku5ENFrwMsOfpY6RLmlwl2-n0SIbqf1dXGkJ-tk6LuSrZXtoKYzNh5UU1zancblE76ae9h4kSRwhA/s1600/William01%252C04-27-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGFADVQk6Ql69B36AOFaMl4kWO4Dr5yxLaXrrdXWmw13iCtG2kmGb9ff_119uQi2Ku5ENFrwMsOfpY6RLmlwl2-n0SIbqf1dXGkJ-tk6LuSrZXtoKYzNh5UU1zancblE76ae9h4kSRwhA/s200/William01%252C04-27-19.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My magnificent red oak was<br />
at least 300 to 400 years old<br />
when it failed to leaf out<br />
this year</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
With fizzy cocktails in hand, the four of us ventured out into my yard so I could ask my expert guests their opinion on a number of garden issues. First of all, I was grieving the recent demise of one of my gigantic, historic oak trees. It had leafed out lushly last summer and dutifully lost its leaves in the fall. But my beautiful red oak had failed to sprout a single leaf this spring, while the two white oaks in my front yard had leafed out perfectly. Was it really, suddenly, dead, I asked? Yes, came the regrettable response from my knowledgeable friends. We raised a solemn toast to the old Ent, which I'd lovingly dubbed William almost two decades ago. William had been protective overseer of my swimming pool, offering shade to the water and to my nearby guest cottage. He had served as a veritable freeway for my squirrel population, and had been home to uncountable nests of birds and small animals for several hundred years. I was truly anguished that William's long life had expired on my watch. But there it was. An exceedingly wet 2018 contributing to internal rot and decline was likely the cause, yet of little consolation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBMxspsD7PP4dvWw0xTjnO-r_XxcfazjV3RpN4AHz5kR-8ML-lda-LCByfEQTdDEV2h8oxJ4YhscIxLQKknLx1IPrPY25gP5zdZglmHpQQb0QBCZ553pNZR_z2hU69tMldCdgHifo49p4/s1600/CarolinaWrenNestWithPlastic02%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1600" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBMxspsD7PP4dvWw0xTjnO-r_XxcfazjV3RpN4AHz5kR-8ML-lda-LCByfEQTdDEV2h8oxJ4YhscIxLQKknLx1IPrPY25gP5zdZglmHpQQb0QBCZ553pNZR_z2hU69tMldCdgHifo49p4/s200/CarolinaWrenNestWithPlastic02%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The nesting material this Carolina<br />
wren used to line her nest included<br />
bits of plastic wrap</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Next we wandered to my potting bench, where I showed off the nest of a Carolina wren who had recently fledged three nestlings in one of my empty flower boxes. A sad testament to the perpetual pollution of our planet, she had lined her nest with pine needles and moss -- and bits of plastic wrap.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivbfff3IuUUXcEnkpJ7dsW9j6uFWT5B8vQ0idZObNiYNF3XRGynXK5dqw4Czx5LFmPA440YGS9K4TcaW1-2JM8wNbuDiyWfHekm37gc71As4cmtF-7U27epNAWfLHZd2XCg-llYgLV8TU/s1600/Appetizers01%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1055" data-original-width="1600" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivbfff3IuUUXcEnkpJ7dsW9j6uFWT5B8vQ0idZObNiYNF3XRGynXK5dqw4Czx5LFmPA440YGS9K4TcaW1-2JM8wNbuDiyWfHekm37gc71As4cmtF-7U27epNAWfLHZd2XCg-llYgLV8TU/s200/Appetizers01%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a>As the setting sun cast an alpenglow across my two acres, we traipsed across the yard and entered my fenced garden, where we poked around among the native flowers just beginning to rise up out of the soil, and eventually made our way back to the kitchen, where appetizers were waiting.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipv_M9MUp0fMFtwUPEFn_KuKCZyncOYYW4goomirTjYSlxr9cL9qX2p7KxsfyjJqd7YELXrHqriJ3trCuwJ7IU7orH7guSU0RdENYvl-VaSHupqVHR3op0dAid1hrLFj_B9uWQRDcGTu4/s1600/LauraWithTheHand01%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1433" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipv_M9MUp0fMFtwUPEFn_KuKCZyncOYYW4goomirTjYSlxr9cL9qX2p7KxsfyjJqd7YELXrHqriJ3trCuwJ7IU7orH7guSU0RdENYvl-VaSHupqVHR3op0dAid1hrLFj_B9uWQRDcGTu4/s200/LauraWithTheHand01%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laura plays with my cell phone<br />
stand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I dressed the green salad, plated the rice, sliced the asparagus tart and carved the meat, we took a moment to pose for a selfie. I discovered that the ceramic stand I use to cradle my cell phone in my home office is a perfect holder from which to aim the camera and set its timer. Shortly after the group photo was taken, Laura proclaimed the stand "creepy" and proceeded to caress her face with it. I decided she probably shouldn't have another cocktail.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfecYOaPMSdLChCn1OulAhcOL4kaNB35jklgZbg_ryXuoJBorKpicm-DOEII12BMMC7pD-v1qAxB7Zxs79ImjqtiaYe5m_LnpxVncCWDOgeFRWg9HY-udZxpALzFUu90s7XokopBKAsWU/s1600/LynellWithLamb01%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1545" data-original-width="1600" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfecYOaPMSdLChCn1OulAhcOL4kaNB35jklgZbg_ryXuoJBorKpicm-DOEII12BMMC7pD-v1qAxB7Zxs79ImjqtiaYe5m_LnpxVncCWDOgeFRWg9HY-udZxpALzFUu90s7XokopBKAsWU/s200/LynellWithLamb01%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was afraid I'd left the lamb in the oven<br />
too long, but when I carved it, the meat<br />
was perfectly cooked and smelled<br />
wonderful</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We sat down to a robust meal. The lamb was tender and flavorful. The triple cherry-bourbon chutney proved to be a perfect foil for the tasty meat. The rice-lentil dish with caramelized onions was out of this world. Everyone loved the asparagus tart. Wine was poured and lively conversation ensued about all manner of subjects, most of them with a nature theme.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-kgvEaXt419zu1wwo_TITdXj19KF_MOJDQM0v05R2__Pi6qR_0EBsKxTpKJ8Nak9cAxj3zUMsIp5kOA_YcBnWW4DKjLPsEsfUWlIV5wp-8SYAfRB-9iZ985j0MQmM24vlvbEt7ObMrA/s1600/IridescentBeetleCorkscrew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="529" data-original-width="269" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-kgvEaXt419zu1wwo_TITdXj19KF_MOJDQM0v05R2__Pi6qR_0EBsKxTpKJ8Nak9cAxj3zUMsIp5kOA_YcBnWW4DKjLPsEsfUWlIV5wp-8SYAfRB-9iZ985j0MQmM24vlvbEt7ObMrA/s200/IridescentBeetleCorkscrew.jpg" width="101" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This iridescent beetle<br />
unfolds into a<br />
corkscrew</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Eventually it was time to open gifts and serve the cake. We sang to the two birthday recipients and watched as they blew out tall, slender candles I found buried among my late mother's things when I cleaned out her northern California home to prepare it for sale back in 1999. I'd never seen candles anything like them before and kept them all this time because they are so novel.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyu4McGaoOZ0sX7v47xv5U1bA2UOoksjipqcA8DpboM1JRaLCqIo2C2E7en3oqmEVrToJiYyB1QbQqOjfMotlj-k2Rqs2XcejtvJVpWczsTnp1B_yKBOPrTswrOMPOXLwGKYVtSOO_EUs/s1600/AppleMapleSpiceCake06%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1474" data-original-width="1600" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyu4McGaoOZ0sX7v47xv5U1bA2UOoksjipqcA8DpboM1JRaLCqIo2C2E7en3oqmEVrToJiYyB1QbQqOjfMotlj-k2Rqs2XcejtvJVpWczsTnp1B_yKBOPrTswrOMPOXLwGKYVtSOO_EUs/s200/AppleMapleSpiceCake06%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The apple-maple spice cake looked<br />
beautiful with its slender candles<br />
all aglow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Jesse and Paula opened their gifts from Laura and me. Jesse received a new wallet -- in orange to commemorate his favorite color, of course. Paula unwrapped a large, iridescent metal corkscrew in the shape of a beetle. Gift certificates, lottery tickets and fresh flowers rounded out the birthday gift offerings.<br />
<br />
We dug into the cake. Paula proclaimed it very tasty and moist. Jesse marveled at how well the bundt pan had worked out for me. I was quite pleased with the intense maple flavor. The four of us laughed and chatted well into the night. I poured the last of a bottle of rare port with dessert, a 1997 Romariz Vintage Porto.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXU2C1184X0kRteIfMaXdbgFwS6ZU-9WRZFubEeQspzKvpxEfR1G5ifJsRhalHGdXWVBSU_MLn5SlTd4rPvYxz8dvrKju4rB5JeQzlFJxPqpVpwlKBLaOahwmDGWa6_zXy_Tt27LWZcg4/s1600/GroupPhoto01%252C05-04-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1246" data-original-width="1600" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXU2C1184X0kRteIfMaXdbgFwS6ZU-9WRZFubEeQspzKvpxEfR1G5ifJsRhalHGdXWVBSU_MLn5SlTd4rPvYxz8dvrKju4rB5JeQzlFJxPqpVpwlKBLaOahwmDGWa6_zXy_Tt27LWZcg4/s200/GroupPhoto01%252C05-04-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left: Laura, Jesse, Paula and me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When we finally grew weary and our bellies could hold no more, we pushed back our chairs to bid each other goodbye. Although it had been raining as we dined, the drizzle tapered off just long enough to allow my guests to return to their homes safe and dry.<br />
<br />
Nothing makes me happier than hosting a dinner party just like this one. It was a marvelous evening, intimate and relaxed. American journalist, television broadcaster and musician Mitch Albom once said, “You can’t
substitute material things for love or ... a sense of comradeship.”<br />
<br />
I can't think of a better way to ring in the month of May than among the camaraderie of longtime friends. Honoring the cherished memories of loved ones while celebrating dear friendships near and far is a joyous gift. We made the most of it.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>A good friend is a connection to life: a tie to the past, a
road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world. ~ </i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Lois Wyse</span></div>
</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-21705593500372035332019-03-24T15:02:00.000-04:002019-04-01T08:28:31.947-04:00A Bit of Blarney, Lots of Charm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwVrjezEW_Ix28IdgN3rBa5iaGxifLVmwrN6dO5fM5QuVHP-q1mxCPPngSeDA4z1UX_fXuqFiZgqF3fdjSyj3hNjGHeNNBQVJUNRN1bwGfldRDwamFynHBwwiAL3_4HToleWcNV8yYwMI/s1600/Tablescape03%252C03-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1600" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwVrjezEW_Ix28IdgN3rBa5iaGxifLVmwrN6dO5fM5QuVHP-q1mxCPPngSeDA4z1UX_fXuqFiZgqF3fdjSyj3hNjGHeNNBQVJUNRN1bwGfldRDwamFynHBwwiAL3_4HToleWcNV8yYwMI/s200/Tablescape03%252C03-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
And so it was that exactly four weeks to the day after my elegant <a href="https://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2019/02/an-affair-of-heart.html"><i>Valentine</i></a> soiree, I hosted an equally festive St. Patrick's Day dinner. True, I did the same thing last year and the year before that, but who's counting? Hosting friends and family for dinner to mark a joyful holiday is a pastime I heartily enjoy, even if the work involved does leave me a little worn out afterward.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU6NlMOogOBwEfP9lomr3qtWLtOtv7yMBSKKgCRKw-kb8y3WDyRzi9UrfklGjksEEi1mGkQ1hNQd4DdjSjSruO3ZBezHC6QMELMLV_Zr7Bcf0vtRBQqtBNiKzAspTxfh81D0rnHak8XlM/s1600/Invitations01%252C02-14-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1158" data-original-width="1600" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU6NlMOogOBwEfP9lomr3qtWLtOtv7yMBSKKgCRKw-kb8y3WDyRzi9UrfklGjksEEi1mGkQ1hNQd4DdjSjSruO3ZBezHC6QMELMLV_Zr7Bcf0vtRBQqtBNiKzAspTxfh81D0rnHak8XlM/s200/Invitations01%252C02-14-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love sending real invitations <br />
in the mail!</td></tr>
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So before my Valentine dinner in February had even taken place, I fashioned custom invitations for my St. Patrick's Day party, fastened the envelopes with sealing wax and mailed them out to a different set of guests. Once my Valentine's Day dinner was "in the bag", I got to work preparing for my St. Patrick's day feast, set to take place on March 16.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOrcLlEraAThOvaRhj0cTYnK2uoC6N0KzC5T0_zaY2-hyoHwJrCl78uLewX2ZpUqNbnq5iwVf0X4AvwjHkMpOxjxJXltB8dnb1rysFKF2bbV1-MhlyQLrty6rxzBZnD9X81_sYfs-n6w/s1600/MagicPotion01%252C03-09-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1016" data-original-width="1600" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOrcLlEraAThOvaRhj0cTYnK2uoC6N0KzC5T0_zaY2-hyoHwJrCl78uLewX2ZpUqNbnq5iwVf0X4AvwjHkMpOxjxJXltB8dnb1rysFKF2bbV1-MhlyQLrty6rxzBZnD9X81_sYfs-n6w/s200/MagicPotion01%252C03-09-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simmering the ingredients for my cold<br />
and flu elixir made the whole house<br />
smell good</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My initial order of business for the St. Patrick's Day dinner was to prepare small gifts for my guests. First was to make another batch of my special cold and flu remedy, a magical potion, courtesy of <a href="https://www.thewondersmith.com/about"><i>Miss Wondersmith</i></a>, that I was introduced to in the pages of <a href="https://enchantedlivingmagazine.com/"><i>Enchanted Living</i></a> magazine. This time I already had the herbs on hand: dried horehound, mullein, elderberries and star anise, and I knew to be a tad more restrained when adding the horehound, as its bitter potency can easily overwhelm the tincture's sweet elderberry juice, bourbon and honey. I gently set intentions of wellness and good spirits over each ingredient as I tumbled it into the pot simmering on my stove. Once thickened, the addition of edible gold luster dust lent a subtle shimmer, and then into pretty bottles my elixir went, their cork tops decorated with white tulle and sparkling pieces of green geode I procured from eBay.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZuJPLres1p_DURXflVF9ODX54-P9HnuxQv1_ePrebNbDSp0ZvojTMPbZ7ULZBvKB86UpQOZ46bY6IaH6Por6FKmFX_OFN10GZuJu1TDXK_GK0bEWIPanQN-j4IiS6-bmIkO0J-PQjzbk/s1600/PumpkinSeeds01%252C03-09-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1271" data-original-width="1600" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZuJPLres1p_DURXflVF9ODX54-P9HnuxQv1_ePrebNbDSp0ZvojTMPbZ7ULZBvKB86UpQOZ46bY6IaH6Por6FKmFX_OFN10GZuJu1TDXK_GK0bEWIPanQN-j4IiS6-bmIkO0J-PQjzbk/s200/PumpkinSeeds01%252C03-09-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These roasted pumpkin seeds are<br />
always a hit. Can't eat just one!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I labeled tiny paper boxes and filled them with toasted pumpkin seeds, the last of a large batch I'd roasted over the winter, and thought about what kind of place-card holders I should make for this fete. In past years I've baked tiny white pumpkins retrieved from my root cellar where they'd sat in cold hibernation since Thanksgiving, hollowed them out and filled them with unctuously caramelized grape chutney. Alas, except for a few frigid days, the winter months were so mild in the mid-Atlantic this season that all of my mini pumpkins had long since been relegated to the compost bin!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OUsKPnlWVdfg42WHaV9FPMRhk8ybrdguikTVdsl-g4RzML2dEm6-GvS3kMdZ3uRnC4LLUFIcjL8wWp5-DFDkQh0DBeaAhhKi4vqwWL_XtdHAmEpf84zroArsJxya3wSPZnGSDvmd0qE/s1600/SwagBags04%252C03-09-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1334" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OUsKPnlWVdfg42WHaV9FPMRhk8ybrdguikTVdsl-g4RzML2dEm6-GvS3kMdZ3uRnC4LLUFIcjL8wWp5-DFDkQh0DBeaAhhKi4vqwWL_XtdHAmEpf84zroArsJxya3wSPZnGSDvmd0qE/s200/SwagBags04%252C03-09-19.JPG" width="166" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Each "swag bag" got toasted <br />
seeds, homemade cold remedy,<br />
Tobler chocolates and a menu<br />
to commemorate the evening</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I considered carving slits for place cards into shiny green apples, but that didn't seem quite festive enough. Still, I purchased a hoard of Granny Smiths anyway, just in case a better idea did not spring to mind. Then, as I perused the aisles of my local crafts store one day, I spotted them: golden-hued buckets made of tin in a perfect size. The look of the finished garnish leapt into my mind in that instant: my place-card holders would be mythical "pots of gold", filled with chocolate coins, Lindt truffles, butter mints and other goodies, and onto which each diner's name would be fastened with curled ribbon.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgRe5HR_DCfIS08udA6FMrxMh_YSS8KGn6gCR-PTHF1F6lKeSP4RIQR4WMTP4hVrPNKkuM-hjsr5H4MWnIvFPj_NdoDN_4MPi0kctWWbGDsqPjhjQncRnmwBjYbPTFixm70fXbsUeDNE/s1600/SwagBags07%252C03-09-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1175" data-original-width="1600" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgRe5HR_DCfIS08udA6FMrxMh_YSS8KGn6gCR-PTHF1F6lKeSP4RIQR4WMTP4hVrPNKkuM-hjsr5H4MWnIvFPj_NdoDN_4MPi0kctWWbGDsqPjhjQncRnmwBjYbPTFixm70fXbsUeDNE/s200/SwagBags07%252C03-09-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love giving my guests something to<br />
take home to remember their<br />
evening by</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
To ensure that my guests would remember to take their "pots o' gold" home with them at the end of the evening, I purchased a green paper gift bag for each family. Into my "swag bags" went the magic cold and flu remedy, along with dosing instructions folded into petite origami flowers, the roasted pumpkin seeds, and my St. Patrick's day menu printed on heavy parchment, rolled up and fastened with a pretty flower hair clip.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ZssuaaQ14IP2Bv0o625f4j4Gf1bIa2nxzwiMohZH2c6q5h88MGcfKNY3kI7nzBW9G_f0-CoJcWuSrB4Q1VjSiIdQK2e9z7C2Wa7qsRCyNYcIOP_zHjd69i8NWgxVi-EaJQqCoBnrHmA/s1600/Menu03-16-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1237" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ZssuaaQ14IP2Bv0o625f4j4Gf1bIa2nxzwiMohZH2c6q5h88MGcfKNY3kI7nzBW9G_f0-CoJcWuSrB4Q1VjSiIdQK2e9z7C2Wa7qsRCyNYcIOP_zHjd69i8NWgxVi-EaJQqCoBnrHmA/s320/Menu03-16-19.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
The next activity on my to-do list was to order flowers from my go-to florist, Marty Hennigan, who always provides me with the most beautiful blooms for whatever occasion I happen to be celebrating. Once the flowers were ordered, I set to work each night over the week leading up to my party slicing, dicing and bagging all the ingredients I would need for the big day: blood oranges, lemons, tangerines and limes for a festive champagne punch infused with cinnamon syrup, cognac, triple sec and pear liqueur; halved baby carrots in a riot of colors which would be bathed in a lovely sauce; quartered beets and onions to infuse my beef brisket with color and flavor; diagonally cut green and white asparagus spears which would be treated to a topping of lemon and cheese; chopped green cabbage to be dressed in a variety of flavored vinegars; and peeled spuds for what would eventually become a decadent dish of mashed potatoes whisked with savory whipped cream, butter and shredded Parmesan. I melted Irish butter into a shamrock-shaped cookie-cutter mold, chilled it for a few days, then turned the stiffened spread out onto a butter dish and gently pressed a real three-leafed shamrock onto the surface.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq8-hwkiSzjFr06TZ2qo-A90FxCeSHeqhnq8h7CXQ3jCyJQ7nG_KacDtgevBYDOhgLyO4QxrU7mID1Z6LHxXfURgSxTbxxp_JzaH5qFzoyiQUr31LV1EJXS0xEaeCizRzJalYy7jN1S4I/s1600/FlowerArranging04%252C03-15-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1533" data-original-width="1600" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq8-hwkiSzjFr06TZ2qo-A90FxCeSHeqhnq8h7CXQ3jCyJQ7nG_KacDtgevBYDOhgLyO4QxrU7mID1Z6LHxXfURgSxTbxxp_JzaH5qFzoyiQUr31LV1EJXS0xEaeCizRzJalYy7jN1S4I/s200/FlowerArranging04%252C03-15-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was so happy with how my<br />
centerpiece turned out!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Taking off from work the day before my party, I picked up my flower order first thing. A novel idea for a centerpiece had popped into my head and I couldn't wait to try it out. As with dinners of yore, I planned to arrange chartreuse spider chrysanthemums, green and white carnations, and sprigs of baby's breath in a crystal trifle bowl. In past years, that had been the extent of my centerpiece. But this year I wanted to create something a little more over the top. Rooting around in my costume closet, I happened upon a top hat left over from a long ago New Year's Eve celebration. The hat was quite sturdy and covered with sparkling gold sequins. It would meld perfectly with this year's emerging "pot of gold" theme. I held my breath as I checked to see if the trifle bowl would fit snugly inside the overturned hat. Success! I wanted to arrange gold coins around the upturned brim, but how to keep the coins from falling into the hat? Pea gravel was the answer, which I keep on hand to create drainage layers in my flower boxes each spring. I filled the hat cavity around the trifle bowl with gravel and scattered the coins on top. Voila. I was quite pleased with the result!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirZ7naXsXyLM45TGiWE4ldtqwxmsXRZbjKnaSlpBlnJU2obF5nwBPr2Kwc0HUEgdZcwr88AG3csCus2UC63rl7Oq8p8ufrDWVu6pFhb6rrzRHqXx_Z46_11Y-Q05TgNGZ7ByHwIhh_yw8/s1600/Tablescape01%252C03-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1095" data-original-width="1600" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirZ7naXsXyLM45TGiWE4ldtqwxmsXRZbjKnaSlpBlnJU2obF5nwBPr2Kwc0HUEgdZcwr88AG3csCus2UC63rl7Oq8p8ufrDWVu6pFhb6rrzRHqXx_Z46_11Y-Q05TgNGZ7ByHwIhh_yw8/s200/Tablescape01%252C03-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A beautiful tablescape sets the tone<br />
for the entire meal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My final task on the eve of my gala was to corn the beef. While I don't subscribe to the traditional ten-day brining ritual for true corned beef, I do assemble a heady rub of ground bay leaves, cinnamon, coriander, salt, pepper, sugar, nutmeg and clove, which I then blend with fresh garlic, cider vinegar and whole grain Dijon mustard. Once the seven-pound brisket was fully covered in this aromatic emulsion, I stashed the meat in the fridge and took myself happily to bed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLC4k2OiRNrYRby3NJAtWhcKYDA3nOPphoBiQMXLlML-bu2fcpwqcMJKEb0Jy4mygPGOM8bXMFPE6wKb7S5qVsXIVcnKDIfs9EpynlAeL3tdrAl_c8biHKnvdju38rtRsctzllF_D8GTI/s1600/Chairscape01%252C03-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1118" data-original-width="1600" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLC4k2OiRNrYRby3NJAtWhcKYDA3nOPphoBiQMXLlML-bu2fcpwqcMJKEb0Jy4mygPGOM8bXMFPE6wKb7S5qVsXIVcnKDIfs9EpynlAeL3tdrAl_c8biHKnvdju38rtRsctzllF_D8GTI/s200/Chairscape01%252C03-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Faux sheepskins from IKEA and spring<br />
flower sprays from Frontgate adorned<br />
each guest's chair</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On the day of my party I set the table early, loving as I do the process of creating a memorable tablescape for my guests. Across my white tablecloth I carefully spread a linen runner covered in delicate green embroidery, a treasure I found at a market stall in Budapest in 2017. On went my grandmother's gold china, a variety of stemware I'd been collecting over forty years, and my gold flatware, a cherished gift from my mother in 1980.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZHrZ9dheDYpI3xOa_4W6boGtW4ereVN8cUUCtBkE398tzDofLlaata5WcM4IbmP0btklJRGl0vKHnOdgRPocP1xvEzc86En6j_hvo5c_K5ELQZQ3elAZSpGefByZB6YaBTueezFcU7eM/s1600/ShamrockButter01%252C03-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1071" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZHrZ9dheDYpI3xOa_4W6boGtW4ereVN8cUUCtBkE398tzDofLlaata5WcM4IbmP0btklJRGl0vKHnOdgRPocP1xvEzc86En6j_hvo5c_K5ELQZQ3elAZSpGefByZB6YaBTueezFcU7eM/s200/ShamrockButter01%252C03-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four kinds of vinegar, three kinds of<br />
mustard and two kinds of horseradish<br />
added to the flavors of the evening</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1WrcDFvzhyb5CLWHkAAsDHZNwc3ws1ft9D_ZYj9Y_B1W00PePNLwjvzFQg5UyrWdpagH8R-al9ma4rLDgH-coY2Gc6eLp8DrtiUXBHOYZOewopIKBIjAxrod8wXtB-of6dsNLcUAlfU/s1600/Placesetting01%252C03-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1WrcDFvzhyb5CLWHkAAsDHZNwc3ws1ft9D_ZYj9Y_B1W00PePNLwjvzFQg5UyrWdpagH8R-al9ma4rLDgH-coY2Gc6eLp8DrtiUXBHOYZOewopIKBIjAxrod8wXtB-of6dsNLcUAlfU/s200/Placesetting01%252C03-16-19.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
The seven chairs were dressed with sparkly wired ribbon tied into large bows at the back, over which were draped colorful cascades of faux spring flowers. As I scattered gold "coins" and faceted crystal "jewels" amid the place settings, my longtime and very creative companion, Jesse Turner, handily folded starched cloth napkins into distinctive-looking shamrocks. And what to do with those Granny Smith apples? A beloved neighbor had gifted me with a carving tool long ago, meant to hollow out fruit in which a small candle could then be inserted. Trying the gadget for the first time, I discovered it worked perfectly to create a cavity in the apples just the right size for a votive.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QvFauQ6xc7dCMWVGFVQiNZL3Avv7k4n3qIt695apUdoSetSg9-t0Q_H4KFLeyTR2Xs6pXz_xMaBXQxwHQejf7Nh6TXVv73E8QvqXvQ-ymzu0OjyX9uVrdKoIVKK-fVUsAyVrx3toD0Q/s1600/HardworkingOven%252C03-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QvFauQ6xc7dCMWVGFVQiNZL3Avv7k4n3qIt695apUdoSetSg9-t0Q_H4KFLeyTR2Xs6pXz_xMaBXQxwHQejf7Nh6TXVv73E8QvqXvQ-ymzu0OjyX9uVrdKoIVKK-fVUsAyVrx3toD0Q/s200/HardworkingOven%252C03-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My oven was working hard!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once I had set out decanters filled with flavored vinegars for the cabbage: champagne, red wine, cider and balsamic, and small bowls of whole grain Dijon mustard, yellow mustard, brown mustard, and red-beet and plain horseradish for the corned beef, I got to work assembling and cooking all the dishes I would be serving at dinner. The beef and the carrots were treated to a bath of orange juice and beer, covered with tinfoil and parchment tied with string, and tucked neatly into my lower oven. The potatoes were mashed, topped with shredded Parmesan and shoved under my broiler to achieve a perfectly browned crust. The asparagus was parboiled and sprinkled with lemon juice and still more Parmesan. I chopped red pears and blood oranges and tossed them with shredded Gruyere, sugared almond slivers and spring greens for a delightful salad dressed with blood orange juice and honey vinegar.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEhGsnMmorr_Udt7BHMwz__yqwnb4hkPoTy42KWvHTAT3hFFEKlPAb0NH-aXClNCD_8cTxjbRLplnziCH17vDPrdmd3mZP1f5nOXfeFpRbyioZ8ahJsTt2eflnFWucnk-1oK-LzfGWfs/s1600/PottedPuddings03%252C03-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1533" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEhGsnMmorr_Udt7BHMwz__yqwnb4hkPoTy42KWvHTAT3hFFEKlPAb0NH-aXClNCD_8cTxjbRLplnziCH17vDPrdmd3mZP1f5nOXfeFpRbyioZ8ahJsTt2eflnFWucnk-1oK-LzfGWfs/s200/PottedPuddings03%252C03-16-19.JPG" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chocolate puddings "planted" with<br />
sprigs of fresh mint were served<br />
for dessert</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Individual chocolate-mint potted puddings I'd made from scratch were now topped with ground chocolate cookies to resemble "dirt" and "planted" with sprigs of fresh mint. I assembled the Champagne punch for the adults and set out a pitcher of bright green, apple-flavored Gatorade for the teens. I arranged curried cauliflower florets, dainty grape-leaf-wrapped dolmas and pickled Cipollini onions as appetizers. I plated tubular slices of mozzarella wrapped in prosciutto and pepperoni to round out the hors d'oeuvres.<br />
<br />
As I ascended to my dressing room to don my party attire, I still hadn't quite settled on what to wear. I knew I would pick black leggings from <a href="https://www.90degreebyreflex.com/"><i>90-degree by Reflex</i></a> and fringed, crystal-studded <a href="https://eroper.com/"><i>Roper</i></a> cowboy boots because both are so comfortable, but what to wear for a blouse? I eventually settled on a beaded kelly-green tunic by <i>JM Collections</i> from <i><a href="https://www.macys.com/">Macy'</a>s</i> that I've had since I hosted my very first St. Patrick's day dinner many years ago. I topped my curls, expertly crafted by stylist Leanna Leuschner at her new salon, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hairlbleuschner/"><i>Hairway to Heaven</i></a>, with a jaunty green fascinator, covered my FitBit with a green rhinestone bangle, and poked vintage shamrock earrings into my earlobes that had once belonged to my grandmother.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoe4HINl9OMHRRluOzPZEeQ3CvFTyeLeK6JtUL999h4dPb2wCAEAKTYPEAu4HIWiRZ3tizh8JrNYiBLwlyFzRlFi4lPASXu3CMPdDtgJ8Z_6QGlfM_xYUCeCcX0iUwNGMGkm_7Ip0kZZM/s1600/PartyGuests03%252C03-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="971" data-original-width="1600" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoe4HINl9OMHRRluOzPZEeQ3CvFTyeLeK6JtUL999h4dPb2wCAEAKTYPEAu4HIWiRZ3tizh8JrNYiBLwlyFzRlFi4lPASXu3CMPdDtgJ8Z_6QGlfM_xYUCeCcX0iUwNGMGkm_7Ip0kZZM/s200/PartyGuests03%252C03-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left: me, Phil, Justin, Claudia,<br />
Anya and Riehen. Jesse took the picture</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When my guests arrived at 7:00 p.m., I was ready! Justin Wright, vice president of Lion's Wood Banquet Furniture, for whom Jesse works as a furniture designer, arrived solo, as his lovely wife Melanie had to send her regrets. My second cousin, Claudia Tobler, and her husband, Phil Walsh, and their two teens, Riehen and Anya, arrived less than a minute later. Coats were taken, punch served and introductions made as we gobbled up appetizers and engaged in cheerful conversation. Eventually, I returned to the kitchen to carve the meat and put the finishing touches on dinner. It was time.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBx0M5QjW85w57bx8hObXaJ5KqQiXL0yP3b8nlS1W0A4OI4Arjvj7M0aR2qodp2bZz-HZVSVJiYrXVq6MK4Zf3aTyujYXC8oAdPe19HJgIsM2wkBvaQd9NOHHiaKhloiYXSjgfNK5FqlA/s1600/ShamrockSpike%252C03-17-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1126" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBx0M5QjW85w57bx8hObXaJ5KqQiXL0yP3b8nlS1W0A4OI4Arjvj7M0aR2qodp2bZz-HZVSVJiYrXVq6MK4Zf3aTyujYXC8oAdPe19HJgIsM2wkBvaQd9NOHHiaKhloiYXSjgfNK5FqlA/s200/ShamrockSpike%252C03-17-19.JPG" width="140" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course my front porch<br />
mascot, Spike, was<br />
dressed for the occasion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I called my guests to dinner, delighting in the exclamations of wonder and enchantment as they saw my dining room table for the first time. We poured wine and more green punch and passed plates of asparagus, carrots, cabbage, potatoes, corned beef, salad and Irish soda bread. As the fire in my woodstove crackled behind us, I queried my dinner guests with St. Patrick's Day trivia questions that I had prepared in advance. Claudia, the easy winner, took home a small gift bag containing St. Patrick's Day-themed earrings and a bracelet. Justin, a clear runner-up, received a small bag containing a tiny green flashlight and a multi-tool. We ate... and talked... and laughed... and ate... and ate some more.<br />
<br />
When it seemed no one could hold another morsel of food, I made coffee and brought in the potted puddings. More oohs! and aahs! -- music to my ears. Justin, who says he <i>never</i> eats dessert, finished every last bite of his pudding. I was pleased that everyone managed to find room for the final course.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjabyqy-WDyjwUUYr5EA7qRG8n5Pj_2qsNMk7Z1Hjul4UB0GpgQooyLgciYs7AcvjAlsUQRc1o-Vvogl_uNzcyMTbxUT8DAgE2adu0__PmOpeFyvZn9vYjT8BDtvoS20FsHrQ3_ceaT228/s1600/Mailbox%252C03-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1341" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjabyqy-WDyjwUUYr5EA7qRG8n5Pj_2qsNMk7Z1Hjul4UB0GpgQooyLgciYs7AcvjAlsUQRc1o-Vvogl_uNzcyMTbxUT8DAgE2adu0__PmOpeFyvZn9vYjT8BDtvoS20FsHrQ3_ceaT228/s200/Mailbox%252C03-16-19.JPG" width="167" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everything turned out well at<br />
my party. I was very pleased</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We chatted until well after 11:00 p.m., as haunting Celtic tunes played softly in the background. My fireplace exuded cozy warmth, thanks largely to Riehen's continued attentiveness to the flames. Conversation flowed in its best "blarney" form. Eventually, my guests bid their adieus and made their ways home, donning overcoats and clutching swag bags filled with their place-card "pots o' gold" and other goodies.<br />
<br />
I turned to the kitchen, scraping plates and loading the dishwasher while Jesse cleared and undressed the table for me. As I put away the accoutrements of the evening and cleaned everything up, I was overwhelmed by a sense of tranquility and satisfaction. I managed to pull off another merry party without a major glitch. My guests had truly relaxed and enjoyed themselves.<br />
<br />
My sense of accomplishment was underscored when I received a lovely thank-you card in the mail a few days later. My cousin Claudia described my dinner party as "exquisite" and "memorable", and said her family enjoyed every moment. Kind words of praise, indeed.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all"</i> ~ Julia Child</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-5121241058646729972019-02-28T20:29:00.000-05:002019-04-05T08:30:27.122-04:00Fun, Frost and Family<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5nMtG3RuvMbH6OCQi29zuR3hIkTFOtaMyi_hN15tVpEI2LYRXvQedanmoxl0kSGHd4FLFuIoek5yqh8oPPOKs3pINFuGYDJcIP7BkkY7m563bh9lLD3VQWB8C28EJxQUoZIMOGw4cQy8/s1600/SkiBunnies01%252C02-23-19.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1405" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5nMtG3RuvMbH6OCQi29zuR3hIkTFOtaMyi_hN15tVpEI2LYRXvQedanmoxl0kSGHd4FLFuIoek5yqh8oPPOKs3pINFuGYDJcIP7BkkY7m563bh9lLD3VQWB8C28EJxQUoZIMOGw4cQy8/s200/SkiBunnies01%252C02-23-19.jpeg" width="175" /></a></div>
If it's the last week in February, it's time for skiing with my best friend, Kari, and her mom, Joyce. Let me tell you that the skiing conditions were absolutely fabulous this year on our annual ski trip to Deer Valley Ski Resort in the big mountains surrounding Salt Lake City, Utah.<br />
<br />
Ever since my mother's passing in 1998 left me bereft of parentage, it has been my lucky fortune to accompany Kari and her wonderful parents on their annual family ski trip. Back in those days we skied all the big resorts in the Rocky Mountains: Steamboat Springs, Sun Valley, Jackson Hole, Alta, Park City, Snowbird and Solitude. But for the past ten years we've happily settled into less arduous routine: we now spend our precious ski holiday at Deer Valley Resort in Park City, Utah. The reasons are many:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3IU8w_z5097yJTV3nJS3a8KSOKZn791jAoNfHTnOni2E-7gbrIXUGmZq2O79O48QeflLilOK0m8zoA7XC9k7Ayzq-dd1RPPmBiL6qDm0Vbg1Ndwm_Xf3eFM5slA6p0KOESomY8DG0B4/s1600/DeerValleyMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="435" data-original-width="640" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3IU8w_z5097yJTV3nJS3a8KSOKZn791jAoNfHTnOni2E-7gbrIXUGmZq2O79O48QeflLilOK0m8zoA7XC9k7Ayzq-dd1RPPmBiL6qDm0Vbg1Ndwm_Xf3eFM5slA6p0KOESomY8DG0B4/s400/DeerValleyMap.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The top of the highest lift to the lodge at the bottom covers an astounding<br />
3000 vertical feet of drop. It's a great resort!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
1) Deer Valley is one of only three resorts in the U.S. to forbid snow-boarders. While we don't have an issue with snow-boarders per se, Kari's mom, Joyce, seems to attract the out-of-control ones through no fault of her own. On our first day of skiing at Steamboat Springs one year, a snow-boarder broke Joyce's shoulder and upper arm. Though Joyce is not immune from harm even from skiers at Deer Valley (in 2014 an out-of-control skier broke her wrist, requiring 22 stitches, 9 pins and months of physical therapy), the snow-boarding component is happily taken out of the equation at Deer Valley -- it's one less thing we have to worry about.<br />
<br />
2) Deer Valley limits the number of skiers on the mountain each day, meaning smaller lift lines and less crowding on the slopes and in the lodges at lunchtime.<br />
<br />
3) Deer Valley lets you check your skis overnight for free, meaning we don't have to lug our equipment back and forth on a bus from and to our hotel each morning and night.<br />
<br />
4) While we had "favorite" sections at all of the resorts, Deer Valley really has some outstanding runs: 73 percent of their 103 runs are intermediate skill-level or higher; the runs are steep but many are broad and long (the longest is 2.8 miles!) and all are easy to get to via 21 different lifts, more than half of them high-speed quads. Furthermore, Deer Valley takes special pride in their meticulously groomed runs. We always get an early start so as to take full advantage of those freshly groomed conditions!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8dTtfrdTr7LLW2e_mZiM0Q7QlfnYtGDn2cOHkjDz9uJ7j6QdpqlASkS_9ReZQXVKdI13pBlr4LRS-paiu28q0JhAKaD1D3j8EYwt6ORvpRqmnztf2jEC3mFS7mt1fPofGz_6Bkuibow/s1600/SkiBunnies02%252C02-23-19.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8dTtfrdTr7LLW2e_mZiM0Q7QlfnYtGDn2cOHkjDz9uJ7j6QdpqlASkS_9ReZQXVKdI13pBlr4LRS-paiu28q0JhAKaD1D3j8EYwt6ORvpRqmnztf2jEC3mFS7mt1fPofGz_6Bkuibow/s320/SkiBunnies02%252C02-23-19.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kari, at left, me in the middle, and Joyce at right</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
5) Since our principal navigator, Kari's dad, passed away in 2012, Kari has aptly taken up the mantle of pilot extraordinaire. We all agree that it is more fun to explore Deer Valley's diverse terrain than to figure our way around a new and unfamiliar resort each year.<br />
<br />
Last year, Joyce opted not to ski. At 80 years old, she said she just had a "feeling" that she shouldn't be on the slopes that year, so instead she cooled her jets in the ski lodge with a good book each day while Kari and I and Kari's husband, Stuart, burned up the slopes. Shortly after that trip, Joyce let it be known that nothing would keep her off the slopes this year! <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqepdcsuO-y07A4EIcJE-YifAqDFFyfDJVbLWYb1ZnrSqblPxHU059QHhGC4b66ISxXPeWfb-jkFMjGepDixjDQ1RRSeIM7Msh5ZdYteS23Znse232mpup7avFFErW1R3zYXB0TZtOV4/s1600/JoyceBubblewrapFinal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="972" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqepdcsuO-y07A4EIcJE-YifAqDFFyfDJVbLWYb1ZnrSqblPxHU059QHhGC4b66ISxXPeWfb-jkFMjGepDixjDQ1RRSeIM7Msh5ZdYteS23Znse232mpup7avFFErW1R3zYXB0TZtOV4/s200/JoyceBubblewrapFinal.jpg" width="121" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWhrOMHczqCoeSY0_rb8Y6xHsYJPX4FWGFcrKtNCkJt0mgkfWbiCZFCv1-T23JH8O6zTux3BKDd19gpSLzx0pDJga80cnX8DbBuGkjnfa9GedS1bxRZo-TGizByAzp14bJDhBYluazdL0/s1600/JoyceInBubbleWrapSuit01%252C02-09-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="713" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWhrOMHczqCoeSY0_rb8Y6xHsYJPX4FWGFcrKtNCkJt0mgkfWbiCZFCv1-T23JH8O6zTux3BKDd19gpSLzx0pDJga80cnX8DbBuGkjnfa9GedS1bxRZo-TGizByAzp14bJDhBYluazdL0/s200/JoyceInBubbleWrapSuit01%252C02-09-19.JPG" width="88" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joyce models<br />
her suit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was excited about Joyce's enthusiasm and wanted to express my support in a way that would also tickle her funny bone. So for her 81st birthday a few weeks ago, I sent Joyce a "ski suit" made entirely of bubble-wrap. I customized the packaging, superimposing an image of bubble-wrap over a photo of Joyce from one of our ski trips. I created custom branding for the label, wrapped the whole thing up in pretty birthday paper and shipped it off to her home in Spokane, Washington. Joyce opened the package at a monthly luncheon with extended family, all of whom share a keen sense of humor, and the riot was on! Joyce loved her "gift" and her brothers-in-law and other family members got a real kick out if it. She even modeled the suit for me!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWN60vWlBocAkExyFZaBzBBQdVyhA8btDT0nTBqIs97M6pGtiMxBsLScV2Wtpp2cB6aPDNRKYe0UmfFolB36kPBk5Prv1VPJYQtokcFOP-ZE5cq9_QHx2HW14XEKTewRJ6a0p4L4qAmMI/s1600/LynellSkiing01%252C02-23-19.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1121" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWN60vWlBocAkExyFZaBzBBQdVyhA8btDT0nTBqIs97M6pGtiMxBsLScV2Wtpp2cB6aPDNRKYe0UmfFolB36kPBk5Prv1VPJYQtokcFOP-ZE5cq9_QHx2HW14XEKTewRJ6a0p4L4qAmMI/s320/LynellSkiing01%252C02-23-19.jpeg" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love to ski!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Fast forward to February 21. This year Stuart opted not to accompany us on our ski trip, so we girls decided to tweak the trip and do things a wee bit differently. We flew into Salt Lake City earlier in the day on Thursday than we normally do, and spent the afternoon shopping,which was a lot of fun. We dined that evening at <a href="https://www3.hilton.com/en/hotels/utah/hilton-salt-lake-city-center-SLCCCHH/dining/spencers.html"><i>Spencer's</i></a> Steakhouse at the downtown Salt Lake City Hilton, then rose early Friday morning to catch our private car for a 36-minute ride up the mountain to Park City, Utah. While last year that easy commute was turned into an hours-long debacle by an overturned tanker on the mountain pass, this year the sailing was smooth.<br />
<br />
By 10:00 a.m. we had checked into our hotel in Park City, purchased our lift tickets, rented our skis and caught the Park City bus for the slopes. It was a chilly seven degrees Fahrenheit as we pulled on neck gators, stuffed handwarmers into our gloves and boots and headed for the lift line. But we were absolutely stoked. The resort had received four inches of fresh powder overnight, settling softly on a deep base of 103 inches. That's more than eight and a half feet of snow base! Last year we had coped with rocks and bare spots poking through the snow -- and rain! There was none of that to worry about this time, and we reveled in the pristine conditions laid out before us in the morning light. By our second run, Kari and Joyce and I were in fine form, and we enjoyed a spectacular day of skiing, just us girls, with few crowds and fewer lines. It was, to use a snowboarder's expression, totally awesome!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9HGP7AiSE-0HWL-t7in26C_0xyi6NOJCTzAbY4laA8RLpfcfvODL_QvSTkJ1SiuUnCagbo94ywBXGUnGOjLGOrPzBxexRyy2Si8oHvPMumsN7Jd6DgneYd9VyusFbzEKxA2fWFejuUI0/s1600/IMG_6767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9HGP7AiSE-0HWL-t7in26C_0xyi6NOJCTzAbY4laA8RLpfcfvODL_QvSTkJ1SiuUnCagbo94ywBXGUnGOjLGOrPzBxexRyy2Si8oHvPMumsN7Jd6DgneYd9VyusFbzEKxA2fWFejuUI0/s320/IMG_6767.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left: Kari, Judy, Mike, me and Joyce</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In the evening we were joined by Kari's cousin, Mike, and his wife, Judy, who had traveled in their customized pickup truck all the way from South Dakota so that Judy could participate in a private para-ski lesson. Left a paraplegic following a motorcycle accident in 2015, Judy longed to regain a modicum of the vigorous physicality she and Mike had enjoyed as an energetic, active couple. She and Mike had crossed the country to join us on our ski trip two years ago, and Judy enjoyed a <a href="https://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2017/03/lifes-mountain.html">para-ski lesson</a> that year very much. Now she hoped to build on that experience.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg050ZmJ2WdiucjcyYX-ZjSGJ3srAPnNZwi0m7Cb7Xw2wGtQK5eEy-dAm_xMK6BhgacDVYUXhYDSmntSSqBt2XZ6hnOtQiftpDSVSuD_wG8xXW2knssXSVxxPqRQXcbf1zafNm5QQ0FfSI/s1600/IMG_6769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg050ZmJ2WdiucjcyYX-ZjSGJ3srAPnNZwi0m7Cb7Xw2wGtQK5eEy-dAm_xMK6BhgacDVYUXhYDSmntSSqBt2XZ6hnOtQiftpDSVSuD_wG8xXW2knssXSVxxPqRQXcbf1zafNm5QQ0FfSI/s200/IMG_6769.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The free bus to the slopes<br />
stops right outside<br />
our hotel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our hotel, <a href="https://www.parkcitypeaks.com/"><i>The Peaks</i></a> in Park City, was the perfect place to unwind after our first day of skiing. Fashioned in a mid-Century vernacular, the rooms are outfitted in spare, 1960s style, with old-fashioned knob-handled radios, curvy, clean-lined furnishings and austere decor. That style is not my cup of tea, but the hotel has so many other attributes, I can easily overlook the mod furniture. For one thing, this hotel has an actual restaurant -- with a bar! Our old hotel, Park Plaza, had served as our home base in Park City for many years. While its rooms featured full kitchens and spacious living areas with fireplaces where we all could gather, it lacked even a tiny shop to grab breakfast or a snack, which meant traipsing out into the cold at night for dinner or groceries or even a glass of wine. Over the years, Park Plaza kept raising its prices until finally, one year, we said "enough" and sought another option.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtRYefPBerSplw0kPPzvBpAINYYYaqFyV8kFvh-35aGilh7OrRHnuk0_gGtc1wlrY0zRzckGcF4S5_mkqZriJ222BXPzulmiRTmE82haj6TlguMEwMPcGL_S7P_ohv-7fJIEDBMuY5Dg/s1600/ParkCityPeaksHotelLobby02-23-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtRYefPBerSplw0kPPzvBpAINYYYaqFyV8kFvh-35aGilh7OrRHnuk0_gGtc1wlrY0zRzckGcF4S5_mkqZriJ222BXPzulmiRTmE82haj6TlguMEwMPcGL_S7P_ohv-7fJIEDBMuY5Dg/s200/ParkCityPeaksHotelLobby02-23-19.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lobby is beautiful</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Last year we stayed at The Peaks for the first time and will probably continue to stay there for years to come. Their prices are amazingly reasonable, the food in their restaurant is excellent, the staff is friendly and accommodating, and they even have a ski equipment-rental store in the lobby, another amenity Park Plaza lacked.<br />
<br />
On our first night there this year, Kari, Joyce and I met Mike and Judy in The Peaks bar and raised a toast to our wonderful initial day of skiing. Dinner followed, with the hotel's Versante restaurant graciously accommodating Judy's motorized wheelchair by giving us one of the high top tables that her chair arms can easily fit under. Mike and Judy shared a pizza, while I enjoyed a kale salad sprinkled with chopped butternut squash, toasted farro and goat cheese with a cranberry mustard vinaigrette. Kari tried a hearty Italian chopped salad full of diced chicken and salami, sun-dried tomatoes, pasta and fresh greens dressed with a Gorgonzola vinaigrette. Joyce had chicken tenders. So good!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDk_zNw1nW5a6Go4MIbBs-FQT-BqieO7NgyXpWpB8cn6s-1PkhhMWa1Zf4Fgui6dV_QTuRZHuZyldJy82CoyoAjZWXbG_u76RUhBj04MCH0IxishSgWkxTyG2G2Zrlqvg5RhggFoVVK8/s1600/PajamaParty%252C02-22-19.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1099" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDk_zNw1nW5a6Go4MIbBs-FQT-BqieO7NgyXpWpB8cn6s-1PkhhMWa1Zf4Fgui6dV_QTuRZHuZyldJy82CoyoAjZWXbG_u76RUhBj04MCH0IxishSgWkxTyG2G2Zrlqvg5RhggFoVVK8/s200/PajamaParty%252C02-22-19.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We love our matching pajamas!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDaZ7POrUUo_3F1eiqgaxBzC9MPcr3tTtL6stTyJsx1Q6VKGpeFcjuFysHOkrQZoz0L9dNnypMmVHq-OHbQfpbSEXAys0q2po1ZsL2i8sjUccoUv3kvV6C6nFpxjS2CguiKN6XUD677KE/s1600/VersanteRestaurantInThePeaks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDaZ7POrUUo_3F1eiqgaxBzC9MPcr3tTtL6stTyJsx1Q6VKGpeFcjuFysHOkrQZoz0L9dNnypMmVHq-OHbQfpbSEXAys0q2po1ZsL2i8sjUccoUv3kvV6C6nFpxjS2CguiKN6XUD677KE/s200/VersanteRestaurantInThePeaks.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Peaks' restaurant is lovely</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After wine and conversation, we three girls bid Mike and Judy goodnight and returned to our rooms. Once there, Kari announced that she had a surprise for her mom and me. As we waited excitedly with no idea what to expect, Kari dug around in her suitcase and pulled out three packages. In each was a set of silk pajamas in a pale pink Polynesian design. They were beautiful! Kari said it had been fun when Joyce surprised us with identical summer jammies on our girls' trip to Charleston in 2016. So in a moment of spontaneity she ordered a set of matching pajamas for this trip. Of course, we had to try them on at once, and then pose for a selfie!<br />
<br />
The next morning, we boarded the bus early for our second day of skiing. The temperature hovered at a brisk 5 degrees Fahrenheit. We were cozy in fleece undergarments and other heat-retaining accoutrements. The sun dawned brilliantly and stayed that way all day as we skied run after run after run.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAotQYct5F088N2xeKeOZfygT689N3s-a_5Sgw2Ae5Y7ccD5rLPhUa2KnMJIopRScITR5Bnx1_DQ1ACpi201TSEnCgPn11v5QlzwiNix7irl0_MV0oEjdhcNWdd_XflzzMIi8AtWRV6vY/s1600/JoyceLynellSkiing02%252C02-23-19.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1190" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAotQYct5F088N2xeKeOZfygT689N3s-a_5Sgw2Ae5Y7ccD5rLPhUa2KnMJIopRScITR5Bnx1_DQ1ACpi201TSEnCgPn11v5QlzwiNix7irl0_MV0oEjdhcNWdd_XflzzMIi8AtWRV6vY/s320/JoyceLynellSkiing02%252C02-23-19.jpeg" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joyce and me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Shortly after a hearty lunch at the mountaintop lodge, cousin Mike joined us on the slopes for a few runs. Eventually, we three girls decided to call it a day, although the ski conditions were so perfect that it was hard to throw in the towel, even as tired as we were. Mike, of course, got in a whopping twenty or so additional runs after we bid him goodbye.<br />
<br />
I can't say enough about how ideal the conditions were on that mountain. Despite the challenging altitude, 6,570 feet at the base of the ski resort and a whopping 9,570 feet at the top of the ski lifts, the three of us girls had been energized by our athleticism -- especially Joyce's! While Kari and I both pride ourselves on being athletic skiers (Kari far more so than I) despite being over 60, Joyce astounded us with her eternally graceful athleticism at 81 years old! The three of us rocked that mountain!<br />
<br />
Yet we knew when it was time to call it a day, not wanting to risk injury from pushing ourselves beyond what we'd already accomplished. Back to our hotel we ventured, ready for a hot shower and a bit of relaxation before our final dinner together.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnG-PgzGm5ZenUrka7TDpR7uYPsV6F9aGSp2Q3TjDPoIukqagMsUay90yV5AtfJqXIMb3YuVn7CAxV4qNQkz8k3xCmRDQXou3hyphenhyphenhvmGTmjY5Y0Bjhb0R3YDcVv4afkWmdsO0qiSmqd0Y/s1600/ParkCityPeaksHotelOutdoorPoolAndJaccuzzi%252C02-23-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnG-PgzGm5ZenUrka7TDpR7uYPsV6F9aGSp2Q3TjDPoIukqagMsUay90yV5AtfJqXIMb3YuVn7CAxV4qNQkz8k3xCmRDQXou3hyphenhyphenhvmGTmjY5Y0Bjhb0R3YDcVv4afkWmdsO0qiSmqd0Y/s200/ParkCityPeaksHotelOutdoorPoolAndJaccuzzi%252C02-23-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Peaks sports an indoor-<br />
outdoor pool</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmHx9BMrB_C0YpUn4G-5KyD1OGznsatVWGA_TgdWA4SqVWC-hag0KR5v0BPkDceqK5Lmnk_q5ZBTHYuNobeNIwP-ppUnaaDbs77S3uTiKB7hCqZdbHOnQHx9FL31ty6lnoYk_O94_ygI/s1600/ViewSouthFromParkCityPeaksHotelWindow03%252C02-23-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1343" data-original-width="1600" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmHx9BMrB_C0YpUn4G-5KyD1OGznsatVWGA_TgdWA4SqVWC-hag0KR5v0BPkDceqK5Lmnk_q5ZBTHYuNobeNIwP-ppUnaaDbs77S3uTiKB7hCqZdbHOnQHx9FL31ty6lnoYk_O94_ygI/s200/ViewSouthFromParkCityPeaksHotelWindow03%252C02-23-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can see Park City Ski Resort<br />
from the windows of the hotel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Joyce made some customer calls and Kari watched a movie. I decided to explore The Peaks hotel since we really hadn't had a chance to see all the amenities our new "home base" had to offer. I discovered two large whirlpool jet tubs, one inside and one outside. There was also a heated swimming pool that allows you to start indoors and, after swimming beneath a glass wall, emerge outside while in the same pool. That was cool!<br />
<br />
A gymnasium with equipment graced the second floor of the hotel, and out back a fire pit surrounded by Adirondack chairs beckoned guests to lounge. Views from every direction of the hotel were stunning.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJh_OcUUMeek8fgUFEGbNsHzJB_5qkiZbGoy8UsO37TqwMUGv7l0hyGxB22bKsLqHqWSIb9Tsc2gAKp4m3xLyg86JXCcAPQBC90RF89a2z2S_ljS4Qlxqh71L0qa0y1Zml5xVbUbLkFY/s1600/LynellJudyJoyceKari%252C02-23-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="825" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJh_OcUUMeek8fgUFEGbNsHzJB_5qkiZbGoy8UsO37TqwMUGv7l0hyGxB22bKsLqHqWSIb9Tsc2gAKp4m3xLyg86JXCcAPQBC90RF89a2z2S_ljS4Qlxqh71L0qa0y1Zml5xVbUbLkFY/s320/LynellJudyJoyceKari%252C02-23-19.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On our last evening, we posed with Judy for a portrait<br />
in the hotel lobby</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At dinner on our final night together, we celebrated another marvelous day of skiing with Mike and Judy, and tucked into another robust meal. The food was excellent, and conversation, laughter and wine flowed easily.<br />
<br />
The following morning, Kari and Joyce and I slept in, something we rarely do on any of our trips together, and I, for one, was very grateful for that. Usually, on any trip with Joyce and Kari, I have to come home to rest! I'm not complaining, as I love our trips together and would much rather be busy than idle. Still, sleeping in on a ski trip was a special treat for me and I heartily embraced the opportunity.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpapNgahYqp3SI__VNzwykCh3qS-J-dRC8FbsCQNNSjIQlwcZQkBIuxEHJ83k1h3QKZ6fO0nmn5dPm9SVDVPPvXYYF7gnZMsP5P02Xu23NFtuMan4x-ZoSDcwNo0NCdFAPI6cRkz46zw/s1600/IMG_6792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1258" data-original-width="1600" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpapNgahYqp3SI__VNzwykCh3qS-J-dRC8FbsCQNNSjIQlwcZQkBIuxEHJ83k1h3QKZ6fO0nmn5dPm9SVDVPPvXYYF7gnZMsP5P02Xu23NFtuMan4x-ZoSDcwNo0NCdFAPI6cRkz46zw/s320/IMG_6792.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family that skis together, stays together!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In the morning we stowed our luggage at the front desk of our hotel and asked where we might enjoy a leisurely brunch, as our driver would not be arriving to pick us up until noon. "<a href="https://www.five5eeds.com/"><i>Five 5eed</i>s</a>" was the answer! And... it was within walking distance!<br />
<br />
Although it was just nine degrees Fahrenheit outside as we ventured into the cold, we briskly walked the easy, level mile to the restaurant and were rewarded for our tenacity with a fabulous brunch in a lovely atmosphere. I had long read about "smashed avocado on toast" but had never actually tried it, so that was my choice from the versatile menu. We lingered over coffee and patted ourselves on the back once again for our skiing agility.<br />
<br />
Our driver arrived promptly at noon to whisk us to the Salt Lake City Airport. We had some time to spare after going through the various airport security checkpoints, so we reconvened at an airport restaurant and toasted ourselves with a final glass of chardonnay before heading off to three different airlines that would carry us home to cities in three different parts of the country (Dallas, Spokane and Baltimore). Another successful ski trip was under our belts. We were stoked.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
"<i>We define family in many different ways: not just by blood
but by people with whom we find a common ground and a common bond.</i>" ~ Adrienne C.
Moore</div>
<br /></div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-70657565072570312312019-02-20T12:49:00.000-05:002019-04-04T09:06:23.539-04:00An Affair of the Heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0Vl0ycQqXVhn-80NFDQSqupY5lxwvu10ZkgPTQ8ObnkcyTjmJCkTXSvxJXDIdRenFpe2uSSCcmJuhKlqoIgKBCjolZ7SWBZP_-BUO76pstBu97VISznXcVRqOvbK1YsgtVW5NRRR8fY/s1600/Tablescape04%252C02-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0Vl0ycQqXVhn-80NFDQSqupY5lxwvu10ZkgPTQ8ObnkcyTjmJCkTXSvxJXDIdRenFpe2uSSCcmJuhKlqoIgKBCjolZ7SWBZP_-BUO76pstBu97VISznXcVRqOvbK1YsgtVW5NRRR8fY/s200/Tablescape04%252C02-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
You all know that I just <i>love</i> to throw a dinner party -- the fancier, the better. And what more fitting occasion than Valentine's Day to shower acquaintances with affection in the form of near limitless food and drink?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaktEQIOOUYJw-I96qgyq3lHGruvgDXVsqI9fOAqN1bLWhWfyp9_XDRdVqj0J_-Oq4gAPotxFaJYJ7fY4VYEyK43IssOpqFrjzP5Du_Ldg3PFwJcLHQPugzenMPxijKSlCcU7pE-RhUTM/s1600/Invitations02%252C01-14-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1558" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaktEQIOOUYJw-I96qgyq3lHGruvgDXVsqI9fOAqN1bLWhWfyp9_XDRdVqj0J_-Oq4gAPotxFaJYJ7fY4VYEyK43IssOpqFrjzP5Du_Ldg3PFwJcLHQPugzenMPxijKSlCcU7pE-RhUTM/s200/Invitations02%252C01-14-19.JPG" width="194" /></a>This year my annual Valentine's Day dinner party was held on Saturday, February 16. Who knew that roses would be half price if I waited to buy them until after the 14th? That was a pleasant discovery, one that Marty, my go-to florist, was quick to tell me about when I met with him several weeks ago to place my Valentine order (which is only one of the reasons he is my favorite florist on the planet!).<br />
<br />
As usual, my party planning began a month in advance, when I inserted homemade invitations into envelopes fastened with sealing wax and stamped with my initial. Next, I printed pretty menus which detailed the evening's culinary offerings. This was to be a fondue extravaganza: three rich courses, each one a different kind of fondue. I printed a copy of the menu on card stock for each couple, rolled the menus up, tied them with raffia and secured the ties with a pretty silk flower and a foil-wrapped chocolate rose.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRqQT9an6RFaP4ldkEpAHOvvv1FGNjxWibYTRGzn7piZBi5YVw8GUxdS57GdG7IpwAlnpmg3qd9Fn3M-0mjJBbkxPX2VI122trblPDjGdlBODzt__AVi2Nw7zF3CGoB9CqfV09ZreLjU/s1600/MagicPotion03%252C02-10-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1404" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRqQT9an6RFaP4ldkEpAHOvvv1FGNjxWibYTRGzn7piZBi5YVw8GUxdS57GdG7IpwAlnpmg3qd9Fn3M-0mjJBbkxPX2VI122trblPDjGdlBODzt__AVi2Nw7zF3CGoB9CqfV09ZreLjU/s200/MagicPotion03%252C02-10-19.JPG" width="175" /></a></div>
<br />
This year I decided to treat my guests to something really special. I have been suffering from a lingering dry cough for weeks, the remnants of a head cold I'd caught in January. While thumbing through a recent issue of <a href="https://enchantedlivingmagazine.com/"><i>Enchanted Living</i></a> magazine, I came across a recipe for a magic elixir designed to boost the immune system and ease the symptoms of colds or flu. I decided it would be a perfect gift to bestow upon my guests!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN6MWSTOTgqXE-3eTU1RG5xoXT5YayBK4ioBMK2AGWtt9l7GEz6DK_i9EU0nusXWVhV7rkAHp1_TfSXmeYN_15uhb4jMsdV6stSVYBM3-ksZl6j6ycoTq83BBpbFOr2WkTXdY91OSnHnA/s1600/GiftBags04%252C02-10-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN6MWSTOTgqXE-3eTU1RG5xoXT5YayBK4ioBMK2AGWtt9l7GEz6DK_i9EU0nusXWVhV7rkAHp1_TfSXmeYN_15uhb4jMsdV6stSVYBM3-ksZl6j6ycoTq83BBpbFOr2WkTXdY91OSnHnA/s200/GiftBags04%252C02-10-19.JPG" width="150" /></a>I got in touch with the creator of the recipe, <a href="https://www.thewondersmith.com/about"><i>Miss Wondersmith</i></a>, who hosts magical dinner parties in the Pacific northwest, to ask her about the ingredients. I ordered the herbs: horehound, mullein and dried elderberries to mix with the items I already hand on hand: star anise, orange blossom honey and bourbon. I set a purposeful intention of wellness, light and robust health as I carefully added each element to the cauldron simmering on my stove. The resulting brew was potent -- slightly bitter from the horehound but sweet from honey and anise. A half teaspoonful calmed my scratchy throat immediately. I swirled in some edible gold luster dust and funneled the magic potion into cute little jars whose cork tops I decorated with shimmering stones and lavender tulle.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqvdrRJOl7MU06WE5G36w2ViTncXz-BHHK2i7UWHR_I-kGxnO5cQ6yarYXERiHtOCRdM816hkXZD3UOwItCmXZtucvwq5y9gIlYts7M2Wzt999_8-8H3wtrogDmTvAYXpfnFnogPey_Y/s1600/Spike02%252C02-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1255" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqvdrRJOl7MU06WE5G36w2ViTncXz-BHHK2i7UWHR_I-kGxnO5cQ6yarYXERiHtOCRdM816hkXZD3UOwItCmXZtucvwq5y9gIlYts7M2Wzt999_8-8H3wtrogDmTvAYXpfnFnogPey_Y/s200/Spike02%252C02-16-19.JPG" width="156" /></a>Into paper gift bags I set the menus and tonic, added small containers of roasted sunflower seeds -- a favorite recipe from my wonderful late mother -- and a list of the homemade sauces I would be serving with the main course. I wanted my guests to know how to use the magic elixir once they returned home, so I stayed up until midnight one evening teaching myself origami from YouTube videos, and then glued copies of the potion instructions onto red paper backing and folded them into pretty lotus flowers. A scattering of mini Toblerone chocolates completed my treat bag inventory, yet still left room for take-home place-card tins full of chocolates to be safely stowed during dinner, which is why I came up with the gift bag idea in the first place.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWMoldOSBeB4L-6p3lsbdLzzxuS2udsbaeK40ySRN-579mZIx4wt1g5QvTFddQaamorVhAHutjs-j2DaOr5vzsC-9nD2cmfuSrGE8PiQR07u4rXVIgl4TEAiRa2ci1qqSdfotWpDU4Ok/s1600/JJTFrontPorch03%252C02-16-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1034" data-original-width="1600" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWMoldOSBeB4L-6p3lsbdLzzxuS2udsbaeK40ySRN-579mZIx4wt1g5QvTFddQaamorVhAHutjs-j2DaOr5vzsC-9nD2cmfuSrGE8PiQR07u4rXVIgl4TEAiRa2ci1qqSdfotWpDU4Ok/s320/JJTFrontPorch03%252C02-16-19.jpg" width="320" /></a>The next item on my to-do list was to decorate the house. Spike, my year-round front porch mascot, received a seasonal scarf and a sparkly red heart earring. I lined my porch railing with flickering red candles. My dining room ceiling proved the perfect foil from which to dangle all manner of red paper hearts and pink tissue poufs. The fireplace mantel got a sprinkling of silky spring flowers and candles. I picked up my floral order from Marty and arranged red roses, baby's breath and pink and red carnations into an elegant centerpiece and several smaller bouquets to spread around the house.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKIJogoPNcg1cDMrOm15l_Ol9ZDAEWZLAv2fqR7MmS3ypqtX7XUJxsV6wEcmSDTDmhx48rpEvnIETkVQKiLmsBRlMkYKS_C6P64-azlrCXevw6CNUoOfM3ab_ev4KDw0GeIfdPsjkjTrk/s1600/ValentineDayMenu2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1188" data-original-width="1190" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKIJogoPNcg1cDMrOm15l_Ol9ZDAEWZLAv2fqR7MmS3ypqtX7XUJxsV6wEcmSDTDmhx48rpEvnIETkVQKiLmsBRlMkYKS_C6P64-azlrCXevw6CNUoOfM3ab_ev4KDw0GeIfdPsjkjTrk/s200/ValentineDayMenu2019.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCK1-Rwgl2op3j1b5huzAbarn8Bxslr54jsVkEPrlUKacKG7QeP4qch24UA7OweAcHeeOEx6oi79KuBAXgAA4VG1d_VQT_urKPhcaoU9qqPRXz3SbTc77j_pBkrSt-7XtD9gGi42VSx28/s1600/FondueSauceListSinglePageNewest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1166" data-original-width="1156" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCK1-Rwgl2op3j1b5huzAbarn8Bxslr54jsVkEPrlUKacKG7QeP4qch24UA7OweAcHeeOEx6oi79KuBAXgAA4VG1d_VQT_urKPhcaoU9qqPRXz3SbTc77j_pBkrSt-7XtD9gGi42VSx28/s200/FondueSauceListSinglePageNewest.jpg" width="198" /></a>As the day of the party approached, I started preparing for the meal itself. While the various fondue courses would basically "cook" at the table, there was an enormous amount of prep work to do. A festive champagne cocktail was on the menu, for instance, featuring a punch bowl rimmed with sliced blood oranges, lemons, limes and tangerines and filled with a delectable concoction of cognac, triple sec, Belle de Brillet pear liqueur, lemon juice, a concentrated cinnamon simple syrup and champagne. I simmered the simple syrup and sliced all the citrus ahead of time. Dinner's first course, a traditional Swiss cheese fondue from my childhood, featured Emanthaler, Gruyere and Vacherin Friborgeois, a creamy cheese I order from Switzerland through <a href="http://www.theswissbakery.com/"><i>The Swiss Bakery</i></a> in nearby Washington D.C. I grated all the cheese, tossed it with flour and salt to prevent clumping and stowed it in the fridge. Fresh sourdough bread had to be sliced into cubes just the right size for dipping into the melted cheese. Into airtight bags it went.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0aMQNg9Xqx7RJRTzQPAv2m0sSyz6nqaUl-BHoIkd0CVlNBha6neB04Q1nmea3GRfmRePNPf_4KyIFj5bnYNTlG1Nn2Q7xtn16IZbz8UzS7XIkaWMmauc4WYIxaTEQYwYt4MaXHf1SsI/s1600/MeatCourse04%252C02-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="860" data-original-width="1600" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0aMQNg9Xqx7RJRTzQPAv2m0sSyz6nqaUl-BHoIkd0CVlNBha6neB04Q1nmea3GRfmRePNPf_4KyIFj5bnYNTlG1Nn2Q7xtn16IZbz8UzS7XIkaWMmauc4WYIxaTEQYwYt4MaXHf1SsI/s200/MeatCourse04%252C02-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-ZNZOgCspWl0H1lhSdT-AEfagTW4rLnjOv5T1lVmjP8CChAMLr72AuoGSfOxFg_cZIkN8OxJk2T8q_atn_Rr2jq4mO-ftWwg3eWeTSglA273AJbN8nc00OzFmrHaK9mZ4WDDU2wlBEg/s1600/DessertCourse01%252C02-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-ZNZOgCspWl0H1lhSdT-AEfagTW4rLnjOv5T1lVmjP8CChAMLr72AuoGSfOxFg_cZIkN8OxJk2T8q_atn_Rr2jq4mO-ftWwg3eWeTSglA273AJbN8nc00OzFmrHaK9mZ4WDDU2wlBEg/s200/DessertCourse01%252C02-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a>I have fabulous Swiss fondue plates with partitioned wells to hold dipping sauces for the main course: beef fondue. I got to work on five homemade sauces: my special sugar-free barbecue sauce, a tangy mustard-onion sauce, a silky garlic-paprika aioli, a horseradish sauce, and a balsamic blue-cheese sauce. In addition to perfect cubes of the best filet mignon, I planned to offer colorful tiny potatoes and button mushrooms with the main course, since one of my guests is vegetarian. The dessert course was to be a decadent chocolate fondue, don't you know! I sliced honeydew, cantaloupe, watermelon, bananas, strawberries and pineapple into chunks to serve alongside maraschino cherries, fresh kumquats, mandarin orange sections and pickled watermelon rind.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm63SbE2k2DU0T6Dq8zKizvT1_JF4b_46L8mZeVNe3nCU8g9-i4bpjSaJJwvB2lD5C8arLgIYNcqEUJmNhkbj9AMpL3pgzLEXAvnhXe7egRRuPe-VVW8we3B7jpU7kZ3OwDAAvqWtkCYM/s1600/Tablescape05%252C02-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm63SbE2k2DU0T6Dq8zKizvT1_JF4b_46L8mZeVNe3nCU8g9-i4bpjSaJJwvB2lD5C8arLgIYNcqEUJmNhkbj9AMpL3pgzLEXAvnhXe7egRRuPe-VVW8we3B7jpU7kZ3OwDAAvqWtkCYM/s200/Tablescape05%252C02-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj91OIlefFiXakGTd0IyHRlD81So-xhFBaH4rtQKbf6Rhi_RgnBu223NgQG-OowsXntElYddr2szEDwutojGED2SYai29yF-qPMXd-tfdOKBMhhdsS0xY5WHIWbqfgyAiC78S7ZzNxKNT4/s1600/Placesetting01%252C02-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj91OIlefFiXakGTd0IyHRlD81So-xhFBaH4rtQKbf6Rhi_RgnBu223NgQG-OowsXntElYddr2szEDwutojGED2SYai29yF-qPMXd-tfdOKBMhhdsS0xY5WHIWbqfgyAiC78S7ZzNxKNT4/s200/Placesetting01%252C02-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a>After decorating the house and preparing all the food, my final task before the guests arrived was to set the table. It took three hours to create my tablescape, but that is because I love the process so very much. Each place setting featured a pierced metal tin from IKEA filled with chocolate truffles and adorned with the name of one of my guests. Red metal charger plates were surrounded by glassware. After all, there would be different beverages for each of the three courses! Kirschwasser (a fiery cherry liqueur) filled shot glasses at every place setting, next to a glass of Belgian pale ale to chase it with. These are traditional beverages for Swiss cheese fondue. Next to those glasses were stems for Riesling and Cabernet Sauvignon, the drinks I chose for the main course. And lastly, I set a delicate pastel cordial glass beside each plate, which my parents received as wedding gifts in 1953. These would hold Maryland-based <i><a href="https://www.st-michaels-winery.com/winelist">St. Michael's chocolate zinfandel</a></i>, my beverage of choice for a dessert course of melted chocolate infused with Gran Marnier, into which the assorted fruits would be dipped. Candles, ruby-hued gems, glittery hearts and silk rose petals rounded out the romantic scene.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY7vNz-oidWlOTuX65qlAe1_ujkWeTqhHLpag1akIwRBxuTjz3zfjRSmCZSH9y1uoz83EoYOcUW8TeoQbhDLwQAjHPmOM7t8fA6qqTZwwFri6Lq-B3hXoL2bxq-hegTKZIXR0WxYTnDYg/s1600/TheCook01%252C02-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1365" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY7vNz-oidWlOTuX65qlAe1_ujkWeTqhHLpag1akIwRBxuTjz3zfjRSmCZSH9y1uoz83EoYOcUW8TeoQbhDLwQAjHPmOM7t8fA6qqTZwwFri6Lq-B3hXoL2bxq-hegTKZIXR0WxYTnDYg/s200/TheCook01%252C02-16-19.JPG" width="170" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-42ndmKNIaTSo7ks3hHuYTIohePQP95kZyEWMJ6YQPuFAMLrLMcBZDHpL-9nfXx-DgvzQEqRIqxmMsDliSm7xYTcQ86gTcrqF48jqs99jVVJ1jkXDKU3G-8NCPT_3gI-loirnnDVtbw/s1600/Fireplace01%252C02-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-42ndmKNIaTSo7ks3hHuYTIohePQP95kZyEWMJ6YQPuFAMLrLMcBZDHpL-9nfXx-DgvzQEqRIqxmMsDliSm7xYTcQ86gTcrqF48jqs99jVVJ1jkXDKU3G-8NCPT_3gI-loirnnDVtbw/s200/Fireplace01%252C02-16-19.JPG" width="150" /></a>I was busy in the kitchen when my guests arrived. Dressed in simple black leggings, a pink Alfani top and fringed cowboy boots, I was festive but comfortable. Everyone gathered in the living room, sampling appetizers and champagne punch while I put the finishing touches on our meal. Finally, it was time to enter the dining room. A crackling fire welcomed my diners as they took their seats. Candlelight glowed. We dug in to our meal, enjoying the camaraderie among us.<br />
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Between courses I asked Valentine-related trivia questions and bestowed tiny gifts upon the guests who answered the most correctly. Over the course of the evening I asked each couple how they met. Alex and Chloe met years ago while working at <i>Development Design Group</i> in the firm's architectural model department, which was headed back then by my longtime companion, Jesse Turner. Alex now teaches illustration at the <i><a href="http://www.baltimoreillustration.com/instructors/">Baltimore Academy of Illustration</a></i>, which he co-founded. Chloe still works with Jesse, but now at <i><a href="https://lwbanquetfurniture.com/">Lion's Wood Banquet Furniture</a></i>, where she and Jesse are members of a design team that creates high-end bars, podiums and serving stations for the hospitality industry. Victor and Sierra met as classmates in high school and have been virtually inseparable ever since. They operate an organic farm in rural Maryland. Victor also works full time at Lion's Wood Banquet Furniture.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqH_Hicn2Cn10d6ifaSoa6b1eHz_ufdztpqd5pG4Ms0HGTZbWOB-xO0Qmbt0GEpElMrqRDVCOnEQhI6R9tx7I6_hb8fggIuEZJpIjPcPd9iq1ELIDBDuRMSQC29WUfds7M76b1VxUdqM/s1600/Alex%252CChloe%252CLynell%252CVictor%252CSierra%252C02-16-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="895" data-original-width="1600" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqH_Hicn2Cn10d6ifaSoa6b1eHz_ufdztpqd5pG4Ms0HGTZbWOB-xO0Qmbt0GEpElMrqRDVCOnEQhI6R9tx7I6_hb8fggIuEZJpIjPcPd9iq1ELIDBDuRMSQC29WUfds7M76b1VxUdqM/s200/Alex%252CChloe%252CLynell%252CVictor%252CSierra%252C02-16-19.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left: Alex Fine, Chloe Elswick, me,<br />
Victor Hill and Sierra O'Keefe. Jesse took<br />
the picture</td></tr>
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As the embers slowly faded in the fireplace, my guests showed no signs of tiring of conversation, which I took as a compliment. We laughed and chatted some more. It was after 11:00 p.m. when everyone finally got up to leave.<br />
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The next day I received a lovely note from one of my guests, expressing with great gratitude how much fun they had and what an unforgettable evening I had created for them. I live for appreciative gestures such as that. Designing memorable gatherings, after all, is my own form of art.<br />
Cheers!<br />
Lynell<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>"Food is one part of the experience. But the rest
counts as well: The mood, the atmosphere, the music, the feeling, the design,
the harmony between what you have on the plate and what surrounds the plate." ~ </i>Alain Ducasse</div>
<br /></div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-46173824328518615082018-10-15T22:08:00.001-04:002018-10-22T08:18:09.162-04:00OkToblerfest 2018!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieO6VsLt_f5PFfwWet6rVTRimCygK3oQfw7KMtpXsJ2jBVZh8kjBYaIwK-h0jQvuCK4sHXSjk38aSTYyStvYrKV-1HmCi2r2hyXR4GexkioUl3Yiv_FbRCQVay_I7LjdSwSl7WTyzFQzY/s1600/Tablescape03%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieO6VsLt_f5PFfwWet6rVTRimCygK3oQfw7KMtpXsJ2jBVZh8kjBYaIwK-h0jQvuCK4sHXSjk38aSTYyStvYrKV-1HmCi2r2hyXR4GexkioUl3Yiv_FbRCQVay_I7LjdSwSl7WTyzFQzY/s320/Tablescape03%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Talk about a joyful family gathering! With my only brother and my only niece and nephew in Northern California 3,000 miles away, it can get pretty lonely for me living so far from my immediate family. That makes getting together with nearby cousins especially significant to me.<br />
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I am so lucky to have two sets of Tobler cousins and their families within an hour of my home in Baltimore County, Maryland. Several years ago in celebration of that proximity, I organized an October get-together for all of us living in Maryland. Phil, the husband of my 2nd cousin, Claudia, christened my gathering "OkToblerfest", and an annual tradition was born. Here is a recap of this year's festivities, which were held on Saturday, October 13th.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7rgFd9hjBkhwvO-MH93EkQNuLh3Hl393xAs3B3hXM-XpqtsSnZoRc2C479FFHNnMln1jgkS2U9f0wHNhZxwXFhIpTAXOoR_2-CEL7W17NCQbwLCk6lZkC2iv6rowibyCrvIngvhGukcs/s1600/Invitation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7rgFd9hjBkhwvO-MH93EkQNuLh3Hl393xAs3B3hXM-XpqtsSnZoRc2C479FFHNnMln1jgkS2U9f0wHNhZxwXFhIpTAXOoR_2-CEL7W17NCQbwLCk6lZkC2iv6rowibyCrvIngvhGukcs/s200/Invitation.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I sent my hand-made invitations out<br />
a month in advance</td></tr>
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I took off from work the day before my party, so eager was I to be able to relax and enjoy the event instead of cramming every last item on my<i> long</i> to-do list into a single hectic day. I didn't want to be exhausted by the time my guests arrived. Preparations for the event actually began a month ago, when I created homemade invitations, slipped them into envelopes fastened with sealing wax and mailed them off to all the cousins whom I thought might be able to attend. As I planned my menu, I discussed with those who had RSVP'd what dishes each would like to contribute. A game plan was established.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvpLGbeKkoL9o55sxQT5x-9HEvdZ5i9IEXooOMSKvy5QzbB8Xwur8krEkcndo7bXgvXNxndq8ccmztUyi2dnXZgoulT4uY_rH6Ey-xcs1hLGLIyVFt54HEpAARuEcO-WRFMV90F8H_Hc/s1600/5PoundBrisket%252C1-%253D13%253D18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvpLGbeKkoL9o55sxQT5x-9HEvdZ5i9IEXooOMSKvy5QzbB8Xwur8krEkcndo7bXgvXNxndq8ccmztUyi2dnXZgoulT4uY_rH6Ey-xcs1hLGLIyVFt54HEpAARuEcO-WRFMV90F8H_Hc/s200/5PoundBrisket%252C1-%253D13%253D18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There wasn't a shred left of this five-<br />
pound beef brisket at meal's end</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This year I decided to braise a large beef brisket. I'd found a fabulous recipe the year before and was eager to try it out on my relatives. It would also be significantly more simple to make than the rouladen I prepared for <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2017/10/oktoblerfest-2017.html">OkToblerfest</a> last year, which was delicious but very labor intensive to put together.<br />
<br />
For sides I tapped my best friend, Kari, who eagerly endorsed two recipes she'd tried from MyFitnessPal.com: Cauliflower au gratin and roasted Brussels sprouts with sweet potatoes in a balsamic vinegar reduction. Both sounded wonderful and neither were heavily caloric.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpDqkeu1PEu9jP5iMd1Iq9ttbvymmajU6Ic7vPGYcKEJMu011f9J02sn-zwXvibj_JHeh7K7bW5d00G0LTwPXa398_ixPns5U5IJMrqbHUeWKm-D5W6BeaeisoyTRVXOhnJ-wq4E74Xw/s1600/BlueCheeseRicottaChiveDipWitAppleSlices%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1551" data-original-width="1600" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpDqkeu1PEu9jP5iMd1Iq9ttbvymmajU6Ic7vPGYcKEJMu011f9J02sn-zwXvibj_JHeh7K7bW5d00G0LTwPXa398_ixPns5U5IJMrqbHUeWKm-D5W6BeaeisoyTRVXOhnJ-wq4E74Xw/s200/BlueCheeseRicottaChiveDipWitAppleSlices%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue cheese-ricotta dip was perfect for<br />
dipping with red and green apple slices</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My cousin Christine offered to bring her wonderful homemade spaetzle (egg noodles hand made by pressing flavored dough through the
holes of a colander) and rotkohl (</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">shredded red cabbage
and apples braised with brown sugar and clove). My 2nd cousin Claudia said she would bring broccoli rabe and a green salad with pecans and feta. That left me to decide on appetizers and dessert.</span><br />
<br />
For an appetizer I chose a blue cheese-ricotta dip with sliced red and green apples to round out the assortment of dolmas, curried cauliflower florets and pickled Cipollini onions I frequently serve to guests. I decided to repeat last year's Anjou-champagne punch for the adults and hot spiced cider for the kids because both had been so popular in the past.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0TrQDyR8tpy7XflVHzEXQIDiHlAeCVDxGEasDUUYLAzq7y1qD0k-VM80d2OdRrF9Ax43JroC5uAQs1CAcKVgZHtm6K37J-rwpI9vhm2MKTuN7nFazRvh06SOmjlaZEl_AOn4GpLXgPcI/s1600/PreppedAndReady01%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="1600" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0TrQDyR8tpy7XflVHzEXQIDiHlAeCVDxGEasDUUYLAzq7y1qD0k-VM80d2OdRrF9Ax43JroC5uAQs1CAcKVgZHtm6K37J-rwpI9vhm2MKTuN7nFazRvh06SOmjlaZEl_AOn4GpLXgPcI/s200/PreppedAndReady01%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chopping everything ahead of time was<br />
a huge stress reliever for me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
With the menu set, I turned my attention to preparation. Every evening after work in the week leading up to the party, I sliced and diced and chopped and minced, until my fridge looked like the prepared foods section of a supermarket. I sliced oranges, lemons and limes for the punch, halved Brussels sprouts, diced sweet potatoes, cut two heads of cauliflower into florets, chopped onions and pecans, sliced apples into wedges, and bagged everything up.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQy57TzEqkQAAmCU5hYBRpV58gLaRpdXN_0lZnvvA7vM_7yqHrcdwQm7wn2MRNOJsBZ7PtrL7A-lD9H2KmUBqNlwioXgkABOcY70jUkWgSbWbQbeepM5fRX8IQpHLAW9k_AJPhNkHxWWU/s1600/PearChampagnePunch%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1155" data-original-width="1600" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQy57TzEqkQAAmCU5hYBRpV58gLaRpdXN_0lZnvvA7vM_7yqHrcdwQm7wn2MRNOJsBZ7PtrL7A-lD9H2KmUBqNlwioXgkABOcY70jUkWgSbWbQbeepM5fRX8IQpHLAW9k_AJPhNkHxWWU/s200/PearChampagnePunch%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anjou-champagne punch is decorated<br />
with multicolored citrus slices</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-zPVTBX6V2NCDWx1GskpV3JaDyn6HrI1MUVMRGxnZN-Bilb6dtEpPayv_95fY3WEULIv7zfcgN_ByVRx-LxO4ftoZuDTepa0DlWerMcM40FpEdFssX_D8ha9P_KqClsqZm8KlrD3sqns/s1600/CurriedCauliflower%252CCipolliniOnions%252CDolmas%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1596" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-zPVTBX6V2NCDWx1GskpV3JaDyn6HrI1MUVMRGxnZN-Bilb6dtEpPayv_95fY3WEULIv7zfcgN_ByVRx-LxO4ftoZuDTepa0DlWerMcM40FpEdFssX_D8ha9P_KqClsqZm8KlrD3sqns/s200/CurriedCauliflower%252CCipolliniOnions%252CDolmas%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="199" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I always serve my favorite trio of <br />
curried cauliflower, pickled Cipollini<br />
onions and dolmas from Wegman's</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I simmered the intensely aromatic cinnamon syrup for the pear-champagne punch, and then made a balsamic reduction for the Brussels sprouts. I peeled 40 granny smith apples and soaked them in water treated with lemon juice and a little salt to preserve their color. After 24 hours in the lemon water bath, I drained the apples and piled them high in a large bowl. On the day of the party they looked as fresh and green as the day I peeled them.<br />
<br />
I created a pretty menu to print out on heavy paper stock for my guests. I printed place cards and carved slits in mini-pumpkins for place-card holders. I laid in a supply of graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate bars so the five children in attendance could roast s'mores at my bonfire after dinner. I ordered dessert -- an extra long pumpkin roll cake which I asked Wegman's Supermarket to adorn with the Tobler family name in red icing on the side.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdtd-iPmZAPZHWkUXnMZli_f_IVbE6gh01wu7DeV_bdT5mqWfsRAtQEFwwhVtqsTVUm7y_ljam7MH1iskGOD5ELbCLlmyVwbZOb7oKtTyqqNoDGCReVuf6qVB0SMaVCJc6r44TQK8g6so/s1600/PumpkinRollCake%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="689" data-original-width="1600" height="85" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdtd-iPmZAPZHWkUXnMZli_f_IVbE6gh01wu7DeV_bdT5mqWfsRAtQEFwwhVtqsTVUm7y_ljam7MH1iskGOD5ELbCLlmyVwbZOb7oKtTyqqNoDGCReVuf6qVB0SMaVCJc6r44TQK8g6so/s200/PumpkinRollCake%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
The day before the party I set my sights on setting up the venue. My 1862 farmhouse is plenty big for me, but I would be hard-pressed to fit 12 people into my small dining room, so I always feed my OkToblerfest guests outside on my lawn. Though it threatened to rain the morning of my party as a cold front arrived, by afternoon the skies were expected to clear. I just had to hope the weatherman was right about the timing. The cold front would cause temperatures to dip into the 40s on the day of my party -- perfect for an autumn celebration!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvmDHmldizcOjw1NxRWgNlGbcw3dgZttkXQTw0XXxg-7q31gfBMl2taNpUP_18kAiVzkQfICzlTEJhgvOswQbMZZPPjq-5s8kPYfIKtCj6HaMY84DEponY8Hh9lm9LlOjJtihw1gExFs/s1600/Tablescape06%252C10-13-18.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvmDHmldizcOjw1NxRWgNlGbcw3dgZttkXQTw0XXxg-7q31gfBMl2taNpUP_18kAiVzkQfICzlTEJhgvOswQbMZZPPjq-5s8kPYfIKtCj6HaMY84DEponY8Hh9lm9LlOjJtihw1gExFs/s200/Tablescape06%252C10-13-18.jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This 16-foot table is actually<br />
an old ping-pong table and a<br />
patio table shoved together </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br />
With the help of my longtime companion, Jesse, and a young coworker of his, Victor, we set up two shade structures and wove rope lights through their framework to create soft ambient light by which to dine. From the middle of each tent we hung infrared heaters, and beneath the structures we set up a long banquet table constructed by shoving together an old wooden ping-pong table and my glass-topped patio table. With this configuration I can seat 16 people comfortably; more if necessary.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlQAld3HfvzsTsiIXTGUeSDyKaGo2wfuthCCN-OF7o4c5FOr-4MM2DPuu47bQu5W9h0ZrGy8fNy2Zt5rrnm2HMQN4cx6h1qipMEPSxgw4Y7efxeWhyphenhyphenFoEz2MBnCsdbmrkXR9X8J-tQHQ/s1600/Cider%252CPunch%252CWater%252CBeer%252CSoda%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="1600" height="103" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlQAld3HfvzsTsiIXTGUeSDyKaGo2wfuthCCN-OF7o4c5FOr-4MM2DPuu47bQu5W9h0ZrGy8fNy2Zt5rrnm2HMQN4cx6h1qipMEPSxgw4Y7efxeWhyphenhyphenFoEz2MBnCsdbmrkXR9X8J-tQHQ/s200/Cider%252CPunch%252CWater%252CBeer%252CSoda%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My potting bench became a makeshift bar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On the patio I transformed my old wooden garden bench into a makeshift bar by covering it with festive orange tablecovering and setting up the punch bowl, an old coffee maker repurposed as a reservoir for hot spiced cider, and metal tubs for beer, water and soda. On a side table I set up a "carving station"; not for meat or jack-o-lanterns, but so the kids could carve ghoulish faces into dozens of peeled, granny smith apples, which could, in turn be taken home to dry out in a slow oven until the apples shrivel into hideous wrinkled expressions. And in the center of my patio I set up a small round table for appetizers. Once everything was arranged, I covered it all with tarps for the night, and it was a good thing I did. At about 2:30 in the morning the rain came, drenching anything left unprotected.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUH4YEMciJkdac9BDncFSIwTN-MqztMkhvvqLzk733zbviYvYcxRGr12W-D1P0bcQaQ8LRQyrWgphAjWBOHfY3bpMI04vzM95zuoDp_C88WlwM32t78jQCnFt8gL3bTZVxwzq3JOqfMU/s1600/ShrunkenAppleHeadStation%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUH4YEMciJkdac9BDncFSIwTN-MqztMkhvvqLzk733zbviYvYcxRGr12W-D1P0bcQaQ8LRQyrWgphAjWBOHfY3bpMI04vzM95zuoDp_C88WlwM32t78jQCnFt8gL3bTZVxwzq3JOqfMU/s200/ShrunkenAppleHeadStation%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On this table I set up a carving station<br />
for the children to create apple heads</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On the day of the party, the rain was forecast to continue until noon. That was okay. I planned to spend the entire morning in the kitchen. I prepared a spicy rub for the meat, nestled the brisket into a baking dish layered with a tomato-brown sugar sauce, covered it all with tinfoil and tied it tightly with string. I tossed the Brussels sprouts and sweet potatoes with olive oil, garlic powder, cumin, salt and allspice and spread them out on a roasting sheet. I steamed the cauliflower and whisked up a beurre blanc with sharp cheddar in which the cruciferous plant would later bake. I whirled blue cheese crumbles in a food processor with creamy ricotta, stirred in chives snipped from my garden and scraped the dip into a hollowed-out gourd doing double duty as a serving bowl, around which I arranged sliced red and green apples. I warmed cider on the stove with cinnamon sticks, lemon peel and orange slices pierced with cloves.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1yS_tiO51LsxgDNwhh6B-pzrdLvMHQL7hZVIZGLSJOyoVIKRQtgTemu9ORs1JpBZfmmrp8lZyafXhjbSyTRQkY_YMTeDVzuN6AXtz6-kusAle96y6CXespeYSce50Sdmzsy2Xno_yJ4/s1600/OrangePumpkinSnacks%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="739" data-original-width="1600" height="91" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1yS_tiO51LsxgDNwhh6B-pzrdLvMHQL7hZVIZGLSJOyoVIKRQtgTemu9ORs1JpBZfmmrp8lZyafXhjbSyTRQkY_YMTeDVzuN6AXtz6-kusAle96y6CXespeYSce50Sdmzsy2Xno_yJ4/s200/OrangePumpkinSnacks%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peeled blood oranges, navel oranges<br />
and tangerines with celery "stems"<br />
made a seasonal snack that the<br />
kids gobbled up</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Once the sun came out and my dishes went into the oven, I dressed my dinner table and chairs outside, which is always a source of great joy for me. On went three plain brown bedsheets, providing a unified "tablecloth" pallet on which to build my tablescape. While Jesse filled tiki torches with lamp oil around my two acres and stacked firewood for the bonfire and my patio chiminea, I arranged twelve settings at the massive table, scattered the surface with walnuts and gourds, bittersweet and chrysanthemums, and arranged glassware, silverware and plates. On the back of each chair I tied burlap bows, each through which I stuck a cluster of colorful faux fall flowers.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwgs7jEeNCJc8G6uLUQIYgnqcJdRiWWu7l8C4luTmfdNNxEGRPOnORcaQsLFiWT-i6BVvWpyx4sk94ASdxEYOI1GbifbhugR5OXIgR6AO21jeebFwTEB-7jMOU0pp9WTED1fPq3hIyx0/s1600/SideTable%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1418" data-original-width="1600" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwgs7jEeNCJc8G6uLUQIYgnqcJdRiWWu7l8C4luTmfdNNxEGRPOnORcaQsLFiWT-i6BVvWpyx4sk94ASdxEYOI1GbifbhugR5OXIgR6AO21jeebFwTEB-7jMOU0pp9WTED1fPq3hIyx0/s200/SideTable%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Each family received a printed menu<br />
to take home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With the decorating complete, I ascended to my dressing room. Although the temperature outside was plummeting, I knew I would need only leggings and a lightweight top until after dinner. I chose black <i>90 Degree</i> leggings by <a href="https://www.90degreebyreflex.com/?gclid=Cj0KCQjw9ZDeBRD9ARIsAMbAmoYnEz-qiBhCD7B6J4iJq-E27KW_loKiO4Co6qlpzFjDiBCMgyxyhUMaAj4HEALw_wcB">Reflex</a> and a simple black top from the <i>Travelers Collection</i> at <a href="https://www.chicos.com/store/page.jsp?id=118709854&gclid=Cj0KCQjw9ZDeBRD9ARIsAMbAmoYxOOk0IIkxG1f8JUdQlQnj67FHZ8jOYVCs7yoVXzgmp_LfeTJq23caAqFaEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds">Chico's</a>. I replaced my tennis shoes with knee-high flat boots by <i>Pink & Pepper</i>, donned an adorable necklace given to me years ago by my 2nd cousin Claudia, and dashed back downstairs to the kitchen, this time donning an apron to protect my outfit.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfAzSA1iTLBHgpBdHPbKIa4_V2RMkl7n3mcEijkbDeC4ySRXK1RzYX-uFJQKXvt6SK3tK0yRQ8_Er5Y-2UUeWRkAIH05qbUPgIyxInCSh8sxQ0Ty5TaEoVITbT6B31Mfn3Wop5PBIhprs/s1600/ShrunkenAppleHeadCarving01%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfAzSA1iTLBHgpBdHPbKIa4_V2RMkl7n3mcEijkbDeC4ySRXK1RzYX-uFJQKXvt6SK3tK0yRQ8_Er5Y-2UUeWRkAIH05qbUPgIyxInCSh8sxQ0Ty5TaEoVITbT6B31Mfn3Wop5PBIhprs/s200/ShrunkenAppleHeadCarving01%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The children carved apples with faces<br />
that will contort upon drying in the oven</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQdn0ib6wA9g0tl9iGXtZHWgS1cUuTxD8ezyTDw4aMpACbhZu-SJ_1lny3mpC7aiMGP8aFojfpdIG3gWp0khcpI11NUSlMc8leVosfm6HLx2K_NaqPx1gW-jQy0ieW7pvztUziXuNYfjM/s1600/AppleCarving%252C10-13-18.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQdn0ib6wA9g0tl9iGXtZHWgS1cUuTxD8ezyTDw4aMpACbhZu-SJ_1lny3mpC7aiMGP8aFojfpdIG3gWp0khcpI11NUSlMc8leVosfm6HLx2K_NaqPx1gW-jQy0ieW7pvztUziXuNYfjM/s200/AppleCarving%252C10-13-18.jpeg" width="175" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carving to-be shrunken apple heads<br />
is an annual tradition at my house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My family members arrived just after 5:00 p.m. By this time the temperature had already dipped into the 40s! The chilly air had its advantages, allowing me to set out the appetizers, punch and other beverages ahead of time without fear of melted ice or molestation by flies or bees. The cold vanquished every mosquito and the crisp air really made it feel like fall, which came very late to my area this year. My 1st, 2nd and 3rd cousins arrived warmly dressed, knowing as they do that we always eat outside. The five children, ranging in age from 9 to 16, immediately began to kick a soccer ball around the yard, eventually settling down to carve apple heads with some of the grownups.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4ljXDVX0TxU3tT7gPi1SszVzOSLP2SjzhqlFww4X_sjxFclSKsUa14y80HEm3iBcfjmXlf99zCPhkgHTRFHAxT6suG1TE6-n3eOXLZxy82TWVJS8gr1ZVsVT0GOHD9pLzqmPBFBTckY/s1600/Lynell%252CHeidi%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1181" data-original-width="1502" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4ljXDVX0TxU3tT7gPi1SszVzOSLP2SjzhqlFww4X_sjxFclSKsUa14y80HEm3iBcfjmXlf99zCPhkgHTRFHAxT6suG1TE6-n3eOXLZxy82TWVJS8gr1ZVsVT0GOHD9pLzqmPBFBTckY/s320/Lynell%252CHeidi%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cousin, Heidi, right, came all the way from Oregon<br />
to attend my party!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I was especially excited to catch up with this year's guest of honor, my cousin, Heidi, who flew all the way from Oregon to spend the weekend with her daughter, Claudia, in order to attend my gathering. Together the twelve of us present at the party represented the heirs of three of the five Tobler brothers who raised their families -- on the east coast (Christine's father, John), the west coast (my father, Alfred) and in our native Switzerland (Heidi's father and Claudia's grandfather, Oscar). Along with spouses and children, we made a lively and diverse group whose well-traveled children chatted away in English, Swiss-German and Hungarian throughout the evening.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QTfY_jEEelf80egm-8HjEZoyJuM3h25JzFq-Ge_O3adxquCDPP8HcGFwsX8XSrGxTNAXFcoslhHigueAKmVvpq6w5MAlkRZQ1-rrQwgr8U5EwGRT99drnHcXLLFRDpCQcUWkA6jBmxs/s1600/ToblerEmbroidery%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1473" data-original-width="1600" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QTfY_jEEelf80egm-8HjEZoyJuM3h25JzFq-Ge_O3adxquCDPP8HcGFwsX8XSrGxTNAXFcoslhHigueAKmVvpq6w5MAlkRZQ1-rrQwgr8U5EwGRT99drnHcXLLFRDpCQcUWkA6jBmxs/s200/ToblerEmbroidery%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The intricate embroidery on these Tobler<br />
family heirlooms was all hand-done</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With apple heads carved and the chiminea fired up, we sat down to dinner under the heated canopy on my lawn. We all knew that Heidi's father, my Uncle Oscar, and Christine's father, my Uncle John, had owned a garment business in Switzerland which employed community women to hand-embroider beautiful, intricate designs on clothing and fashion accessories. When embroidery went into mass-production in the 1960s, the family business folded. Before the building was sold off, Heidi was invited by her father to go through the inventory and select whatever she liked among the unsold goods. Now, some fifty years later, Heidi stood up to make an announcement at my dinner table. In the weeks leading up to my party, Heidi had gone through the dozens of delicate, hand-embroidered handkerchiefs she'd kept for decades and selected a collection of the most beautiful samples for the women at my party. She had artfully composed each packet of hankies into carefully curated arrangements, fastened them to cardboard backings and tied them with delicate pink ribbon. Now the neat bundles sat at each woman's place setting, and a Tobler chocolate bar sat at each man's. Heidi told us how emotional it was for her to go through the collection of long tucked-away embroidered goods. I gazed in wonder at the gorgeous examples of the (mostly) lost art of embroidery done by hand before me. The moment was very touching for all of us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ChFv0QmBmM26g7ubOd_lWKd18ic-d3krp6JMfFypCvYav8EnM72KyhO7CuD2EslmCKoobI4G34Vq32d0-uVRCijzD9P4BvZT8xZ3cZgSD5AL3Xz_ni80oWcCHohuRYnTfY4jhCcuIVA/s1600/Dinner01%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ChFv0QmBmM26g7ubOd_lWKd18ic-d3krp6JMfFypCvYav8EnM72KyhO7CuD2EslmCKoobI4G34Vq32d0-uVRCijzD9P4BvZT8xZ3cZgSD5AL3Xz_ni80oWcCHohuRYnTfY4jhCcuIVA/s320/Dinner01%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
With toasts given and handkerchiefs duly acknowledged, we dug into our meal with gusto. I am happy to report that my flavorful roast was falling-apart tender. The meat was gobbled up so fast that it didn't even have time to get cold in the chill air. Wine, water and sparkling cider were poured. All of us ate heartily. I made coffee and sliced the pumpkin roll, which was also devoured post haste. Jesse lit the bonfire in my northern meadow. We all grabbed lap blankets from a large basket and made our way to the chairs surrounding the firepit.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjacsSO9kTB1x4bE5jLEDk8vAGd4AliIYMiQH4pT0cU1PJXIys9ChVdWljOioGLqUnQNtVl7TufGOXfD8_wFfYf1PfYTElYlAtPMPchv_niyeaKRSOdRCT4Y8OoOllpMD8oaFqlPXFmkw8/s1600/LapBlanketsForTheChill%252C10-13-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1600" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjacsSO9kTB1x4bE5jLEDk8vAGd4AliIYMiQH4pT0cU1PJXIys9ChVdWljOioGLqUnQNtVl7TufGOXfD8_wFfYf1PfYTElYlAtPMPchv_niyeaKRSOdRCT4Y8OoOllpMD8oaFqlPXFmkw8/s320/LapBlanketsForTheChill%252C10-13-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warm blankets helped keep the chill at bay as we sat around<br />
the bonfire after dinner and shared stories of ghosts<br />
and family lore.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had previously asked my cousins to have their children find and rehearse ghost stories for telling around the fire, as they are all old enough now to take over storytelling duty from the adults. While each child relayed a scary tale, the others toasted marshmallows to make s'mores from the fixings I had gathered in baskets on a side table near the fire. My cousin Heidi regaled us with tales of supernatural abilities in some of our family members, which spurred other stories of eerie and unexplainable events in our lives.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgateOyEoyJ_L3r5FJG4QUoYgaxw67jf9XchNHPQPD4L6Px52Y6_gH_TKwEFn_pgwic8n6lJU7hSPiGP3UT6-zWQAs-huAjZEhNwGg3tU2UB558hCNHs5pBfny_M4ytFjoUctFu8C2JOZA/s1600/S%2527mores%252C10-13-18.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgateOyEoyJ_L3r5FJG4QUoYgaxw67jf9XchNHPQPD4L6Px52Y6_gH_TKwEFn_pgwic8n6lJU7hSPiGP3UT6-zWQAs-huAjZEhNwGg3tU2UB558hCNHs5pBfny_M4ytFjoUctFu8C2JOZA/s200/S%2527mores%252C10-13-18.jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know how the children<br />
found room in their tummies<br />
for s'mores, but they did!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There is something absolutely mesmerizing about gathering around a roaring fire on a cold night, snuggled under blankets, listening to stories both real and imagined, as the crackling of flames and sounds of laughter waft through the air. Indeed, in the acre just to my north, my neighbors had also lit a fire in their backyard. From where I sat I could see the flickering in the distance and just make out the shadow of my neighbor as he tended his flames. It was an ethereal experience to see someone else's campfire off in the darkness, as if I was camped at a mountain retreat instead of in my suburban backyard. It created for me a comforting aura of a time long past, as well as a sense of shared community made all the more intimate by the ambiance of loving family around me. The fact that we were all toasty under our blankets with our bellies full and the fire to warm our feet didn't hurt, either.<br />
<br />
It was very late when my cousins finally said they needed to get their children home to bed, at least an hour's drive away for each family. Apparently I wasn't the only one who hated to break the magical spell of intimacy and laughter we were all sharing out there in the cold and dark. What a wonderful evening it was in every way!<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-41510417434032610082018-07-29T22:11:00.000-04:002018-09-07T08:24:32.855-04:00A House That Cats Built<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutoRFitA4gpbutu8aggGvlHXJeU2VfjeWPqBPWsIPoT1QUBboUXqh0ztziYW4_SX4SJWNrF8H0UZ_g7v1da1qG_zyKMiSqAI8OXkDzIzAHfp_Al1xNAWsIJAw3kl-nx4DmvkwpYLWsuw/s1600/IMG_3154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutoRFitA4gpbutu8aggGvlHXJeU2VfjeWPqBPWsIPoT1QUBboUXqh0ztziYW4_SX4SJWNrF8H0UZ_g7v1da1qG_zyKMiSqAI8OXkDzIzAHfp_Al1xNAWsIJAw3kl-nx4DmvkwpYLWsuw/s320/IMG_3154.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walls full of steps and perches to delight any cat!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This tale may be about cats, but it begins with a horse. Those of you who follow my blog might recall that 14 years ago I became the proud owner of my very first horse -- a girl's childhood dream come true -- never mind that I was 47 years old by the time this early fantasy was finally realized.<br />
<br />
The owner of <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2012/08/a-horse-of-my-own.html">Braveheart Romeo</a>, a 20-year-old chestnut-hued warmblood gelding I pinned my heart to in 2004, sold him to me that year for $1.00, so eager was she to see that "Chubby" (my giant steed's "barn" name) went to someone who would care for him as deeply as she had. Jan Korotki even gifted me with a pail full of horse-grooming supplies to help get me started in the world of equine ownership.<br />
<br />
But my friendship with Jan didn't end when ownership of Chubby passed from her to me all those years ago. Instead, our acquaintance blossomed over our mutual love of cats. Indeed, Jan's affection for those of the feline persuasion is so deep and abiding that she and her husband, Harry, have both figured prominently in management of the <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2013/11/catsino-night-in-baltimore.html">Baltimore Humane Society</a> for many years now. I had been to their <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2013/01/dirty-bingo-holiday-party.html">gracious home</a> not far from mine in Baltimore County, and had witnessed firsthand the devotion the couple paid to their feline occupants.<br />
<br />
Recently, the realization of an even greater dream came true for Jan and Harry Korotki: they built a new home, not far from the old one, specifically with their six cats in mind. Here, then, is a look at what utter and absolute feline adoration can produce.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGidt8r01eucJiENC82b2NwHe4LPuNDPvmV4DRRr3Dn0DmnogdpxYk9HGCSXWEM3T3x7oMR6qAxD1wKvtttP2tinBG_wcMbjGcqa3MGM8nHPmx6r-xqHrOHkQ1z4X0TiiC2RNGIRNE61Y/s1600/IMG_3153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGidt8r01eucJiENC82b2NwHe4LPuNDPvmV4DRRr3Dn0DmnogdpxYk9HGCSXWEM3T3x7oMR6qAxD1wKvtttP2tinBG_wcMbjGcqa3MGM8nHPmx6r-xqHrOHkQ1z4X0TiiC2RNGIRNE61Y/s200/IMG_3153.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jan re-purposed an old faux ficus as a<br />
backdrop to one of the cat-climbing<br />
trees in Harry's TV room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Jan and Harry invited me this past Saturday to dine with them at their brand new, 4,700 square-foot home so I could see "the house their cats built" for myself. Indeed, the spacious abode, erected by custom home builder J. Paul Lichter last year, was all about their six beloved felines. No expense was spared when it came to ensuring a carefree and utterly interactive experience for the four-footed occupants of Jan and Harry's household. I was entranced.<br />
<br />
I arrived, with my perpetual companion, Jesse Turner, in tow, promptly at 6:45 p.m. and was enthusiastically greeted at the front door by my hosts. Already in attendance was Jan's best friend, Cara Cohen, her husband, Jay, and their 16-year-old son Teddy. With freshly made cocktails in hand, Jan led me on a tour of the home they had only just moved into at the end of January.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcN-Fqd-LIMRSm9Ght4f8eXw6ZecCgoOyOtRvLioGxygXBONRIrh92C4OZrtUhNNt4K0PWDp4z-U6NlYBGsfj1vPtykz5Y6_jjoRRsyU-wKLyQ7gQBPrupEa-4dImURnye8VcUaDVhF4/s1600/IMG_3151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcN-Fqd-LIMRSm9Ght4f8eXw6ZecCgoOyOtRvLioGxygXBONRIrh92C4OZrtUhNNt4K0PWDp4z-U6NlYBGsfj1vPtykz5Y6_jjoRRsyU-wKLyQ7gQBPrupEa-4dImURnye8VcUaDVhF4/s400/IMG_3151.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry utilizes this "cat room" as his personal TV viewing space. Surrounded<br />
by his feline friends every evening, Harry says there isn't a much better way<br />
to spend one's leisure time at home than in the company of furry friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
First up, the "cat room", a custom space designed specifically for the comfort and pleasure of all six cats, located just off the living/family/great room. Designated as "Harry's TV room", the 20 by 15 foot space with 12-foot ceilings is filled with all manner of wall-mounted cat-climbing steps, perches, baskets, hammocks and assorted landings. Painted in shades of muted gray with paw-print graphics and other fun feline-oriented artwork on the walls, Jan utilized the talents of Maryland-based, 16-year-old Brandon Wilson of <a href="http://kittykribs.com/">KittyKribs.com</a> who, with his father, designed and built all the custom feline furniture in this room and throughout the home.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRGXWORZBOawPyHliHJXvSUqEfCpTONP0bfsAdFF7KwIbmz5XP0e11diPO1b2rc2VmP6Hq_Tl1NkQ4AVbuco3xO4JqPvg139QfpqOQcmnaInBCysLyQEqALmbBhgHlVidZD1Br3iDY94/s1600/IMG_3152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRGXWORZBOawPyHliHJXvSUqEfCpTONP0bfsAdFF7KwIbmz5XP0e11diPO1b2rc2VmP6Hq_Tl1NkQ4AVbuco3xO4JqPvg139QfpqOQcmnaInBCysLyQEqALmbBhgHlVidZD1Br3iDY94/s200/IMG_3152.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jan's closet is to die for</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Another highlight in the spacious home was the walk-in closet Jan designed for her clothes. Lavish touches like crystal chandeliers, a bench seat, and cubbies for every pair of shoes, riding boots and heels that Jan owns, were thoughtfully organized in every corner of the room. I playfully accused my friend of "copying" my much more <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2011/11/blog-spot-no-15-111211-bedroom-to.html">modest design from 2012</a>. Jan laughed. Perhaps the sweeping island in Jan's lofty space was faintly reminiscent of my own, much smaller storage space in the middle of my dressing room, but her design likely had nothing to do with my idea from many years before.<br />
<br />
And although I didn't get a photo of it, Harry's walk-in closet sported wallpaper on the ceiling featuring the iconic truckers' "mudflap girls" in gold foil, a custom touch Jan surprised her husband with when he came home from a business trip.<br />
<br />
In the spacious great room, and elsewhere throughout the home, floor to ceiling windows and sliders are painted a deep charcoal hue, all the better to frame the gorgeous views of woodland forest buffer just across the back lawn behind their elevated deck. Throughout, objets d'art are illuminated by thoughtfully backlit display shelving.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKeShupF8bXXMH4gI4P_h2VAPXAj2byzARQlyIGeQae9TPaqqrCtOZd-unh-lbZ82xwlECqpw43awgTMRS4FdvKdxhxn5uhJX9_XHm1j6IMXK1d2Pb-IA0xsuk4Fp50hNVubmZyjhips/s1600/IMG_3158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKeShupF8bXXMH4gI4P_h2VAPXAj2byzARQlyIGeQae9TPaqqrCtOZd-unh-lbZ82xwlECqpw43awgTMRS4FdvKdxhxn5uhJX9_XHm1j6IMXK1d2Pb-IA0xsuk4Fp50hNVubmZyjhips/s320/IMG_3158.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The formal dining room is exquisite</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Jan and Harry's dining room oozes easy elegance. A glass-topped table whose elaborate cutwork pedestal base is echoed in the metal filigree window decor seems a perfect foil for the minimalist mid-century chairs upholstered in gold velvet. Everywhere, Jan and her mother, Jane's, interior designer talents are evident: art glass sculptures in the great room, colorful wallpaper in the powder room, gold and gray furnishings with acrylic ghost chairs and tables each set off their surrounds in the best possible light.<br />
<br />
An entire room (two, actually) is devoted to litter boxes. One such enclosure, located in the spacious basement next to a fully-equipped gym, boasts the prototype of an elevated litter box system the couple hopes to market to the public in the near future. Another litter box room, located on the main level next to the kitchen, sports cat-level entryways through the walls on two sides. No feline-dedicated detail was left unattended. Scratching posts adorn every living space. Discrete feeding stations, boasting fish-shaped ceramic bowls, could be found in toe-kick spaces in several rooms.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLjyAGPFZxSfycrHpWX8sn-kCFXB9hxDsfsj1BjIfhQTTbUCK1ljEq9WlPdblCRlPjdJkj000TPlne_X2e-NZSpIXsiDJ3nef2S09hL9q9uLGvRrOmnDjKXuo2ySIsugqkp_Ic2Y-nuS8/s1600/IMG_3159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLjyAGPFZxSfycrHpWX8sn-kCFXB9hxDsfsj1BjIfhQTTbUCK1ljEq9WlPdblCRlPjdJkj000TPlne_X2e-NZSpIXsiDJ3nef2S09hL9q9uLGvRrOmnDjKXuo2ySIsugqkp_Ic2Y-nuS8/s200/IMG_3159.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After dinner, Harry broke out a pro-<br />
fessional looking poker set and<br />
challenged us all to a friendly game<br />
of cards as Cara Cohen looks on</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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After helping ourselves to pot stickers and Jay Cohen's scrumptious homemade hummus with crackers, we took our seats in the breakfast nook and dug into super fresh sushi and sashimi, steamed broccoli and unending rounds of sake and wine. Once our bellies were full, Harry brought out a professional-looking set of poker chips and invited us all to buy in for $10.00 a person to a friendly card game, at the conclusion of which the winner would take all. I folded early and was heartened to hear that Harry, the evening's big winner, would be donating all the proceeds of the day to the Baltimore Humane Society.<br />
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We finished our evening with Cara's chocolaty brownies and individual black rice puddings adorned with tiny purple flowers that were my contribution to the dinner's culinary offerings. What a fun way to spend a relaxing Saturday evening! Hats off to the cats whose deep affection for their humans (and vice versa) spurred the construction of such a beautiful and well cat-appointed home.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-11849040597597425962018-07-12T23:13:00.000-04:002018-08-22T17:01:15.574-04:00So Brilliant. So Brief.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRPsETCFnzolUFVmusqAV87ZMFIrLiRetsKL2RNU3WZGZ5jMvtYejJQ3yYdIUeKb2M4TTah1OX2gGFRaEl3GFGwDoIHynrZppp4DOoBD8sqwCp7mv5ssYxsOe1iqRzRwVG0H0pyDbWO30/s1600/IN+MemoryOfStache%252C06-11-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="995" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRPsETCFnzolUFVmusqAV87ZMFIrLiRetsKL2RNU3WZGZ5jMvtYejJQ3yYdIUeKb2M4TTah1OX2gGFRaEl3GFGwDoIHynrZppp4DOoBD8sqwCp7mv5ssYxsOe1iqRzRwVG0H0pyDbWO30/s320/IN+MemoryOfStache%252C06-11-18.JPG" width="199" /></a></div>
Just six weeks ago I welcomed two new kittens into my life. After the unexpected and devastating loss of my beloved rescue kitty, <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2017/09/and-now-we-are-three.html">Ember</a>, last September to a previously undiagnosed acute diabetic crisis, I took my time before I felt I was ready to try adoption again. Ember had been so fun-loving and playful. All my two older cats do is sleep all day, so eventually I felt ready to inject my household with the kinetic energy of near-constant scampering, in which Ember so enthusiastically engaged every day for all of the six years she was mine.<br />
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How could I have known that just a month and a half after taking custody of my new fur-babies, I would be faced with ending the life of one of them? I held the little gray and white kitten in my arms today as the vet gave her the shot that ended her life. If that sounds like the same language I used to describe the death of Ember last year, it is. It felt the same. No, not quite the same. I had loved Ember for six wonderful years. My love for this gray and white kitten was a brand new love. Just the same, I am distraught.<br />
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In March I put the word out to two of my dear friends, one who is active on the board of the <a href="https://animalalliesrescue.org/?campaign=234316037&adgroup=29133118997&source=SearchNetwork&matchtype=p&keyword=aarf%20baltimore&placement&ad_position=1t1&Creative=229386526036#">Animal Allies Rescue Foundation</a> (AARF), and the other on the board of the <a href="https://bmorehumane.org/about/about-us/">Baltimore Humane Society</a> (BHS). I told them I thought I was finally ready to bring a new cat into my household and was considering adopting two kittens so they could grow up together and play with each other when my two oldsters aren’t in the mood. Within a couple of weeks a litter of newborns came into the AARF shelter with two gray kittens and two black ones. I wanted two little girls so as not to cause my elderly cat, Underfoot, to feel threatened by a rival male. It so happened that I would get one kitten of each color.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTNZ6YY1qZSl_AWoEE1J6Eupjuc15ELYZ0KKwfNv8KP5BRFELsE6hpPk6GrP6tKht1ER8sVZhJPDMdnHfRwPEUWLLyZ5JefyhUDknWdaM7VHslVprt4c23c-2Te8qmZ7FPjpZ5HWnq7mI/s1600/LynellWithStache04%252C04-24-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1095" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTNZ6YY1qZSl_AWoEE1J6Eupjuc15ELYZ0KKwfNv8KP5BRFELsE6hpPk6GrP6tKht1ER8sVZhJPDMdnHfRwPEUWLLyZ5JefyhUDknWdaM7VHslVprt4c23c-2Te8qmZ7FPjpZ5HWnq7mI/s320/LynellWithStache04%252C04-24-18.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got to visit the kittens in April and fell<br />
in love with Stache at first sight</td></tr>
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Another dear friend, who serves with me on the board of directors at <a href="http://www.soldiersdelight.org/">Soldiers Delight Conservation, Inc.</a>, and who had also lost a beloved cat last September, was likewise feeling ready to adopt a feline companion for her one remaining oldster. Laura generously agreed to take the two boys in the litter, plus the mama cat, who was still nursing them all. That meant the whole litter, plus the mama, would be adopted into loving, forever homes by the two of us. I was quite excited at the prospect. AARF officials were very grateful.<br />
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The kittens wouldn't be ready to adopt until Memorial Day, when they would be 12 weeks old and vaccinated, but I was able to go visit them in April at the home where they were being fostered. The moment I was introduced to my two I fell in love. Instantly I thought of names. The gray and white female would be called “Stache” because of the distinctive gray marking beneath her nose. The black kitten would be named "Sojo" in honor of 19th century American activist Sojourner Truth.</div>
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As Memorial Day approached, I prepared a nursery in a spare bedroom upstairs. I filled it with food, water and litter boxes, an abundance of toys, plush beds, and places to hide and climb. I erected child gates in one doorway so that my current occupants would be able to get used to the newcomers at their own pace. The youngsters would be confined to the nursery for a least a week while slow introductions were made.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8zAb2TvzZ0RZqLu5PjFsrVd1c2xyRydAzC-DKIOfY3QMmcHD1hyphenhyphenoShZWsX9xqzBaMDFCEUWm9WDMaOdXvhrGOrnXnSF86wwZ6dUJxeUY0590YuaWTq4_o3ZZIzI9hCB_oQ5DQSo2uDU/s1600/ChildgatesandPinata%252C05-29-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8zAb2TvzZ0RZqLu5PjFsrVd1c2xyRydAzC-DKIOfY3QMmcHD1hyphenhyphenoShZWsX9xqzBaMDFCEUWm9WDMaOdXvhrGOrnXnSF86wwZ6dUJxeUY0590YuaWTq4_o3ZZIzI9hCB_oQ5DQSo2uDU/s320/ChildgatesandPinata%252C05-29-18.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The nursery was prepared and awaiting my<br />
kittens</td></tr>
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On the appointed day, I brought Stache and Sojo home. They loved their nursery. They adored each other, and very soon became quite attached to me. Watching them play was so heart-lifting for me! As I toiled away at my computer during the day in my office on the first floor, I could hear lots of scampering in the room over my head, at times resembling a herd of elephants upstairs. It was music to my ears.</div>
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The kittens thrived and grew. Distinct personalities emerged. Sojo was by far the more feral of the two, with finely honed hunting instincts that she practiced every day with her favorite toys. She didn't want to be picked up or cuddled, but instead would approach me when she wanted affection, nudging my hand aggressively to be petted. Stache had the gentle manner of an old soul, with sad eyes that burrowed straight into my heart. She loved to crawl onto my lap and be cuddled. It didn't seem like they could be from the same litter, they were so different in personality.<br />
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Stache made friends easily with my nine-year-old kitty, Elfie. Indeed, I referred to Stache as Elfie's "minnie-me" since they were both gray and white. Stache also approached my ornery Underfoot gingerly, with great gentleness, and he was beginning to warm up to her. Sojo, on the other hand, was a bit too playful for my older cats' liking, and her survivalist personality didn't win her any points. When I eventually left the nursery door open so the kittens could explore the household, Elfie and Underfoot would wander into their room to sniff at their toys and eat their food. The first time Sojo saw Elfie at the kittens' food dish, she marched back into the nursery to confront the older cat with a growl. The tiff was short-lived, of course, as Elfie's responsive growl was enough to send Sojo scampering away. Stache never growled. "We can all live together happily", she seemed to say.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVU9psXi83Uimyhu2IHIjCj5ypRJmnEvm__gI8NPHTFhkBe29OHbTJw4zN8iOJJsz7m5xjDq46nFj_b2fViI3ZtSnLTtfKocSTL1LVxr5nNdzbM0htKX2lo3ctYsuyfq1zgd2JeNXduoE/s1600/OneSpotOfSunStache01%252C06-28-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="995" data-original-width="1562" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVU9psXi83Uimyhu2IHIjCj5ypRJmnEvm__gI8NPHTFhkBe29OHbTJw4zN8iOJJsz7m5xjDq46nFj_b2fViI3ZtSnLTtfKocSTL1LVxr5nNdzbM0htKX2lo3ctYsuyfq1zgd2JeNXduoE/s320/OneSpotOfSunStache01%252C06-28-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stache loved to find a spot in the sun on my kitchen floor</td></tr>
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On Monday of this week, both kittens went to the vet to be spayed. When I picked them up in the evening, they were both groggy, but Stache much more so than Sojo. By the next morning, Sojo had bounced back to her rambunctious self and was even playing with her toys. But Stache was walking around very gingerly, like everything hurt. She was zombie-like, walking slowly and carefully up to a blank wall and staring at it, then climbing into the litter box, staring at the sand, and then climbing back out. She was purring and she climbed onto my lap as usual, but she didn't seem quite right. I called the vet. <br />
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Both cats were eating and drinking and using the litter box, so I took that as a good sign. I was provided pain medication to give to them orally, but only if they needed it, and the two signals that Stache needed pain medication had yet to be demonstrated: excessive meowing and licking at the surgery site. Walking around like a zombie was not one of the signals. If it was the anesthesia she was reacting to and not the pain, then giving her pain medication might be harmful, so I was reluctant to do anything until the vet advised me. Both kittens were back in isolation in their nursery, since spay surgery constitutes a full hysterectomy, not a minor surgery by any stretch. They would need to rest for at least five full days before running and jumping could resume. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgekpTm4XhdkEA0gvdhfhITKoX5oBQpDqtmjIjiJaSc01mvwycQK1LEVbne_zrsv_wEhDAEexGlTgJedC8A0bVXdPf8Yv5Jp_O2CWViQBJp0cEg2F3yGWDy-us0jmlazGNPD21l5UK1QlA/s1600/AltogetherInTheMudroom01%252C07-08-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgekpTm4XhdkEA0gvdhfhITKoX5oBQpDqtmjIjiJaSc01mvwycQK1LEVbne_zrsv_wEhDAEexGlTgJedC8A0bVXdPf8Yv5Jp_O2CWViQBJp0cEg2F3yGWDy-us0jmlazGNPD21l5UK1QlA/s320/AltogetherInTheMudroom01%252C07-08-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stache was so affectionate, always wanting to be near me</td></tr>
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The vet told me to go ahead and administer the pain medication. The doctor also told me that the oxygen machine had malfunctioned after Stache's surgery and they were not able to complete the final spay of the day, which was to have been the mother cat, right after Stache. Now the vet said that it was possible the oxygen machine had begun to malfunction during Stache's surgery, and the resulting oxygen deprivation might have caused some brain damage. It is a risk with any surgery; one I was aware of going in. She promised to stop by to check on my little patient early in the afternoon.</div>
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But shortly after noon, the vet had a medical emergency of her own to deal with, and I was instructed to drive Stache to a facility 45 minutes away, where I was assured some of the best veterinarians in the state would examine my kitten. Dr. Krammer at <a href="http://laytonsvillevet.com/">Laytonsville Veterinary Practice</a> was very thorough. She put Stache through a number of physical exams, testing her responsiveness, her vision, watching her walk, and stumble as though her hind legs were not receiving accurate messages from her brain. Dr. Krammer did blood work and asked if she could keep Stache overnight for observation.</div>
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At 9:00 a.m. this morning I called to see when I could pick up my kitten. Dr. Krammer said she wanted to watch Stache for several more hours, so I should call back at noon. At noon, when I called to see how Stache was doing, Dr. Krammer told me there were definitely neurological issues, whether a reaction from the anesthesia, a stroke while she was on the operating table or brain damage resulting from oxygen deprivation, she couldn't be sure. But since my kitten was fully functional in every way, we agreed that Stache could have a fulfilling life at home with me and her sister and my two other cats. She would never again be a bouncy, active, playful cat, but she would have a high quality of life. I was okay with that. <br />
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As I was preparing to leave to go pick her up, the vet called again. Stache had just had a seizure, bit her tongue and was less aware of her surroundings and no longer ambulatory. The vet said there would no longer be any kind of quality of life if I took her home. We decided that I would come, but only to hold her while they put her to sleep.<br />
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Then as I was getting into the car, the vet called yet again. Because she had just been vaccinated for rabies on Monday along with her surgery, there was a chance my kitten had reacted to the vaccination, which would only happen if she was, in fact, infected with rabies. So while I could still come to see her euthanized, I wouldn't be allowed to hold her or touch her. And she couldn't be cremated. Her body would now have to be sent off to the County to have her brain dissected to be tested for rabies (the only way to test an animal for rabies is to dissect the brain). It seemed a cruel piling-on, but what was I to do? Such is life at times.<br />
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When I got to Laytonsville Veterinary Practice, they brought my precious Stache to me wrapped in a towel. I had looked forward to having my sweet kitten react to the sound of my voice. But the vet said Stache had another seizure after she'd last spoken to me and was now in even worse shape. I waved my hand in front of the kitten's eyes but there was little reaction. The vet relented and let the kitten lie on my lap in the towel. I stroked her gently and cooed to her as I had so many times while sitting on the floor in their nursery.<br />
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Having my little kitten be comatose certainly made the decision to euthanize much easier. I am in a zombie-like state of shock myself right now, having to deal with a blow of death when I was so ebullient over the liveliness of two new kittens in my household. This morning I thought I would be bringing Stache home -- and now she is dead. That's just kind of the way life is, I suppose... <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCjzvhyKuIjh271UCF_N1fJUPU2rlFIU-aOHKmIphLv7FD3x_9vqC41VjqSNR5LA5HmQbUm3oEdrBCQgj83KlNQhTrka4tsIK2pLaKUik01Zq0ea_0uS5qo3Cajm6_1XyirMDdTopDYFY/s1600/Footprints%252C07-12-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1325" data-original-width="1600" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCjzvhyKuIjh271UCF_N1fJUPU2rlFIU-aOHKmIphLv7FD3x_9vqC41VjqSNR5LA5HmQbUm3oEdrBCQgj83KlNQhTrka4tsIK2pLaKUik01Zq0ea_0uS5qo3Cajm6_1XyirMDdTopDYFY/s320/Footprints%252C07-12-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laytonsville Veterinary Practice made imprints of Stache's<br />
paw prints for me to keep as a memento</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Sojo spent yesterday searching the house for her sister, and she cried for her all night last night, which just made everything that much worse. Once my kitten showed no more life today, they gently pressed her paws into a clay mold to make a keepsake for me to take home. I will put it with my other mementos: my beloved horse's tail, my sister's ashes, sweet Ember's collar.</div>
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To quote my favorite author, chef and cookbook maven, Leah Eskin, about time spent at home before the departure of her children for college, <i>"They grew swiftly. So strong. So brilliant. So brief."</i> For little Stache, too brief. Far too brief.</div>
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Lynell</div>
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Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-2868897608511078192018-07-09T08:14:00.000-04:002018-07-14T14:12:18.677-04:00Kaohinani ~ A Gathering of Beautiful Things<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I began this blog way back in 2012 when, after losing 70 pounds and realizing that I could not afford a new wardrobe to fit the new, size 7 me, I fortuitously discovered that I had stored away several boxes of vintage clothing from the 1970s, back when I was in my twenties and a size 7 was my "normal" size. So many friends exclaimed over the vintage threads I had unearthed, all in pristine condition, that they urged me to start a vintage fashion blog. So, after not having any presence on social media at all in those days, not even on Facebook, I took the plunge in 2012 and launched this blog, calling it<i> Lynell's Vintage Look</i>.<br />
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It's been a fun ride for the past six years, and I have more than 105,000 views on my blog to prove it. But I've found, as I've aged, that I've gravitated away from fashion posts, which were never really my thing, anyway, and have moved on to lifestyle posts about gardening, decorating and cooking, truer labors of love.<br />
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So here is a fun post that harks back to my vintage fashion blogging roots.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbChRxoxvBGqHV5wyUYvq3hyphenhyphenpcqGVTfLNI5aXF3plNijwrIv63wfd6t4FfAWbozFUbRcm59wBpaXa8PrUMOaUmVtuIf3bTP_bTlYjT0fTV7CiY2_kQ_zM5p2Thlo7YvVB20SSm_T1l9I/s1600/MuuMuu05%252C07-04-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="598" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbChRxoxvBGqHV5wyUYvq3hyphenhyphenpcqGVTfLNI5aXF3plNijwrIv63wfd6t4FfAWbozFUbRcm59wBpaXa8PrUMOaUmVtuIf3bTP_bTlYjT0fTV7CiY2_kQ_zM5p2Thlo7YvVB20SSm_T1l9I/s320/MuuMuu05%252C07-04-18.JPG" width="119" /></a>It was 1966 when my long-widowed paternal grandmother, Lina Tobler, took my entire family, consisting at that time of my mom, dad, me and my younger brother, Dave, to Hawaii for two weeks over Christmas. I was ten. It was a magical vacation. I learned to body surf in the gentle waves off Waikiki beach. My brother and I climbed dozens of ancient Banyan trees, whose branches fascinated me with their independently-sprouted roots at every turn, as if a single, central trunk offered not nearly enough stability. We dined on fresh coconut, which I loved, and sampled something called poi, which seemed to my ten-year-old sensibility like squirmy silver worms -- most unappetizing.<br />
<br />
I remember that it rained every day, even when the sun was shining, a novel sight to my California-born eyes, and there was a constant breeze, almost but not quite a wind, which carried the scent of orchids across the verduous landscape. My father, a talented amateur photographer who spent his entire 43-year career working for Eastman Kodak, drove our rental car to ancient volcanos, unbelievable waterfalls, and other tropical sites on Oahu and Kauai that defied comparison to anything I'd ever seen, even in bucolic California. I was spellbound.<br />
<br />
While we were there, my mother bought herself a genuine muumuu. It was gorgeous, fashioned of thick, royal blue cotton splashed with deep pink hibiscus and light blue plumeria blossoms. It had a rounded neckline and a tailored, pleated train falling from the neckline to the floor in back. Made by the fashion-forward Ui-Maikai design house on Oahu in 1966, my mother's muumuu was one of the vintage finds I unpacked when I found the cache of old clothes in 2011 that I had stowed away thirty years prior.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgNK-gRwPm-0pAG-8V-eAPtcWdtmrakvquIgjdPIK2nQ8-vs55mZlNdI0EZOfnQm7EDnlnFsvsTNTzL-LW8JRL7OsgtgIp1I8VtcHMm-uimOvWbwcEIxLksk16NzJSkPtV6YDL6nt3p0/s1600/MuuMuu09%252C07-04-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="791" data-original-width="1069" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgNK-gRwPm-0pAG-8V-eAPtcWdtmrakvquIgjdPIK2nQ8-vs55mZlNdI0EZOfnQm7EDnlnFsvsTNTzL-LW8JRL7OsgtgIp1I8VtcHMm-uimOvWbwcEIxLksk16NzJSkPtV6YDL6nt3p0/s200/MuuMuu09%252C07-04-18.JPG" width="200" /></a>On the occasion of our nation's 242nd Independence Day in 2018, I decided to roll out the old muumuu in anticipation of a mid-summer dinner in Baltimore's Fell's Point harbor area. The venue was <a href="http://ampersea.com/">Ampersea</a>, a new restaurant in an old spot at which my companion, Jesse, and I have been dining since celebrity chef Jerry Pellegrino first purchased the building many years ago. Through its many iterations, we chosen this venue primarily for the front row seats, either indoors or out, of the magnificent fireworks displays put on by the City of Baltimore each July Fourth and New Year's Eve. The food and service at this location has been more miss than hit, but we persevere, hoping, with each visit, that the new interpretation of fine Baltimore dining will eventually be wonderful in every aspect. This newest makeover, headed by executive chef Nelson Morton, was largely a success.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdFhArSDoXdSTZBGVafh7jM1GgCy7xZtupt7he9KnyJwu5BX8gz-uPplWBzKCc2J4ZFAV6K2oamsC-vT6UTjqu8bjOUcL0kyNPTUJMrbaxN0RKnvD4ibTRwDoni12aJ9oGFfNFHPyzC_c/s1600/MuuMuu07%252C07-04-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1216" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdFhArSDoXdSTZBGVafh7jM1GgCy7xZtupt7he9KnyJwu5BX8gz-uPplWBzKCc2J4ZFAV6K2oamsC-vT6UTjqu8bjOUcL0kyNPTUJMrbaxN0RKnvD4ibTRwDoni12aJ9oGFfNFHPyzC_c/s200/MuuMuu07%252C07-04-18.JPG" width="151" /></a>I was pleased that my now size 8 self still fit into my mother's muumuu, which I paired with other equally vintage finds: a retro necklace of white ceramic triangles with white hammered metal earrings from some long-forgotten California boutique, and an off-white Bag Bazaar clutch I've owned for more than three decades. My turquoise suede-fringed sandals, by <a href="https://www.minnetonkamoccasin.com/women/styles/sandals/">Minnetonka</a>, were the only new item I wore.<br />
<br />
The evening was warm but not uncomfortable. We dined inside by a picture window that gave us a lovely view of the water. My celebratory cucumber and lavender cocktail was outstanding. Although the pacing of the food (they brought an appetizer of hot Brussels sprouts at the same time they delivered our cold salads) left a bit to be desired, and they were out of the first entree I selected even though the restaurant was clearly not full, the lamb chops I eventually settled on were divine, as were those fabulous Brussels sprouts. The soft bed of risotto on which my lamb chops rested was one of the best versions of risotto I've ever tasted -- exactly the creamy texture it's supposed to be -- and Jesse's crab cake was very good, too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTUxnn95jplCotMcYkev1nKrPCr4Fg73u6zEJkMcbkXdW9009pmS7OmSrYWDKzCoZov7W9yP55MTisZNUl15-ckJIu-Ihcs5SmO_q-slsQrTH8zhF1f2jVp4YtOZqTGzYeEBvIRc6rFc/s1600/MuuMuu13%252C07-04-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1568" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTUxnn95jplCotMcYkev1nKrPCr4Fg73u6zEJkMcbkXdW9009pmS7OmSrYWDKzCoZov7W9yP55MTisZNUl15-ckJIu-Ihcs5SmO_q-slsQrTH8zhF1f2jVp4YtOZqTGzYeEBvIRc6rFc/s200/MuuMuu13%252C07-04-18.JPG" width="195" /></a></div>
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At 9:30 p.m., we left our seats and ventured out to the restaurant's back deck, which sits directly on a pier at the water's edge. From there we enjoyed a perfect view of the fireworks being launched from a barge just across the water from our position. Thirty minutes of excited oohs and aahs later, we returned to our table inside for a slice of creamy cheesecake. The evening was a lovely way to commemorate the union of our fifty states, although it should be noted that Hawaii was not even added to the roster until three years after I was born.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<br />
<i>We need Hawaii just as much and a good deal more than we did California. It is Manifest Destiny.</i><br />
~William McKinley</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-1541014854437148462018-02-20T20:08:00.000-05:002018-04-05T08:29:09.167-04:00An Epic Epicenter Improvement<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ugLlyXN4NJyW_KEEy0BCVUgV-7aGCrBlD6F-w7Zrw_bvmB6wUyCGMHCXwQaKM12B0Jov-HpOLSNsYuivbtnudvIHNI0nAFfBzuPkEwi0ZMd9-uHdz35GRL4-R0yUibsuQHPfnhl5eqA/s1600/FinishPhoto01%252C03-15-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ugLlyXN4NJyW_KEEy0BCVUgV-7aGCrBlD6F-w7Zrw_bvmB6wUyCGMHCXwQaKM12B0Jov-HpOLSNsYuivbtnudvIHNI0nAFfBzuPkEwi0ZMd9-uHdz35GRL4-R0yUibsuQHPfnhl5eqA/s320/FinishPhoto01%252C03-15-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
The kitchen might be the "heart of the home" for most people, and indeed, I adore my kitchen and am transported to a Zen-like state whenever I'm cooking up a storm on the weekends. But my home office is actually where I spend the vast majority of my time. I work at home, full time, for a law firm that has employed me for the past 25 years. I sit in my home office, the "command-central" of my life, from dawn until dusk every weekday. And for the past 17 years that I've lived in Maryland, I've been dreaming about how that office would look if I could remodel it to my heart's desire. I am happy to say that in 2018, I finally got it done.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2D4qe-QyrKMAjH4F8kZmrEUexcGRItni4yWph03QfQyoMyBzpRRnxBxKdP3OYsz7a8f22i9vTIoFxtmFv4Z2JbNfbU987L182sCfTYtv5_BCC7UsT3epGhVedr-rYWvzSsd8rSaQyha4/s1600/HomeOfficeBefore01%252C09-2001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="1180" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2D4qe-QyrKMAjH4F8kZmrEUexcGRItni4yWph03QfQyoMyBzpRRnxBxKdP3OYsz7a8f22i9vTIoFxtmFv4Z2JbNfbU987L182sCfTYtv5_BCC7UsT3epGhVedr-rYWvzSsd8rSaQyha4/s320/HomeOfficeBefore01%252C09-2001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how my office looked a few months after I moved<br />
to Maryland in 2001</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You know? If you sit in a room day after day, week after week for 17 years, you begin to come up with imaginative ways the space could be utilized better. I actually liked the layout of my home office quite well. When I moved into this old farmhouse in Baltimore County back in 2001, I had to hit the ground running with respect to my job. I remember scurrying to Office Depot to purchase a desk, as I had utilized a spare dining table as an office desk in previous homes, which wouldn't do in the new house. I chose a corner desk with an attached bulletin board and storage hutch and had it delivered and assembled. Amid the unpacking of an entire household, I scooted the desk into a narrow nine- by 16-foot room between the living room and the kitchen, just inside my front door. The arrangement left me only enough room to squeeze between the shorter end of the desk's protrusion and a radiator sitting beneath a side window. I hurriedly unpacked boxes of documents and reference materials, for I would need to have my computer and all my files organized and operational by the following Monday morning, when I would be flying off to northern Alabama or South Texas or some other state to meet with clients as part of my job. There was no time for aesthetics.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcP473GTV35EthzCuXQucMS9v0a64_w3uZe8y5Zn1wL5EnYZjUuERwIXwlbWAfn_A5L16w5wdjxnD_6F5EOfcMTEzO9SxBxd0z3tWSJElgBqtR0Y03Y3O5QHRPFquKLQpviD0ATyBmIg/s1600/Before01%252C11-13-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcP473GTV35EthzCuXQucMS9v0a64_w3uZe8y5Zn1wL5EnYZjUuERwIXwlbWAfn_A5L16w5wdjxnD_6F5EOfcMTEzO9SxBxd0z3tWSJElgBqtR0Y03Y3O5QHRPFquKLQpviD0ATyBmIg/s320/Before01%252C11-13-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">After enjoying the
use of my grandmother's maple
furniture</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">for almost forty years, I gifted them
to Leroy for his college-</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">age
daughter, Samantha, to cherish for the
next forty years</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I pressed my maternal grandmother's solid maple secretary into service in that room, just as I had in the offices of homes I'd owned in California, Nevada and Texas. Her matching corner hutch and a couple of small bookshelves rounded out the ensemble. Together with two tall metal file cabinets, I arranged all the furniture in the small workspace as best I could. I employed an old particle board computer desk and, later, added a tall, dark, wooden bookshelf. The new blond, laminate-covered corner desk clashed with the maple furniture and the other pieces, and that was okay. Most surfaces were covered with books and papers much of the time, anyway. At least everything had its place. The office functioned, and it functioned well. I couldn't complain.<br />
<br />
Over the years, as my collection of legal (and other) books, papers and research material multiplied, I stacked bookcases on top of bookcases. It wasn't pretty, and it probably wasn't even safe. My printer/copier/fax machine, in it's third iteration from the bulky unit I moved to Maryland with, now sat atop the tall metal file cabinets, causing me to have to climb a wooden stepstool in order to push documents through the automatic feeder. Said file cabinets were stuffed to the gills with papers. I began to long for more filing space, more counter space, more of an orderly, aesthetically pleasing look to the entire room.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQj6SBMlLXUdKuU1SCK6kwsyKmYgNGAJKXwqTJ5YZcQHbQMfkFGCNvHbKW_WfGLUFv55lwIFbpisZj92fwP9wZAXEAI93Y9r7Oxy2OtqA80zi6FZSvN26lfrqsd9Askoicb3-bkdSnOE/s1600/InMomsOffice%252C10-14-09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="995" data-original-width="1600" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQj6SBMlLXUdKuU1SCK6kwsyKmYgNGAJKXwqTJ5YZcQHbQMfkFGCNvHbKW_WfGLUFv55lwIFbpisZj92fwP9wZAXEAI93Y9r7Oxy2OtqA80zi6FZSvN26lfrqsd9Askoicb3-bkdSnOE/s320/InMomsOffice%252C10-14-09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Elfie, left, and Underfoot, loved to curl up in their beds</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">on the radiator in my office and sleep while I worked</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As much as I loved the old-fashioned hot-water radiators with their quiet, even heat which warmed my new abode, I deeply resented the space they took up in every room of my house. If only that radiator wasn't there beneath the side-window in my office, I lamented, I could add a file cabinet! I started to research alternative heat sources. The electricity to run the furnace which heated the radiators was expensive, and there was also a fuel oil bill every few months, and a rusting fuel oil tank, a potential bio-hazard whose presence in my basement wasn't even to code anymore. I'd never gotten around to putting insulation beneath my hardwood floors, believing that radiant heat might someday be the option I'd choose, and I didn't want fiberglass batting to be in the way of the installers. A traditional heating system was not an option in my 1862 farmhouse. The installation of all that ductwork was prohibitively expensive and would require cutting into antique ceilings and floors in every room.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaohxsysF-foxA9fHoALvA2i_2NgiP8JszOCYlm2IG-FRzA1uYTIPsxzJ7GUd41isqOeq1OJs2-QzS1ZJ4cme4wRcktoqQAieHaHxL2gB2UDh6yCGxmp0zIhJrfcvyASuIVKAWar1H3oM/s1600/MountingBracketForMyOfficeUnit%252C06-13-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaohxsysF-foxA9fHoALvA2i_2NgiP8JszOCYlm2IG-FRzA1uYTIPsxzJ7GUd41isqOeq1OJs2-QzS1ZJ4cme4wRcktoqQAieHaHxL2gB2UDh6yCGxmp0zIhJrfcvyASuIVKAWar1H3oM/s320/MountingBracketForMyOfficeUnit%252C06-13-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A new Mitsubishi ductless mini-split unit was installed over<br />
the doorway to the kitchen in my home office. Here, they had<br />
just installed its mounting bracket. You can see in this image<br />
how overstuffed with papers my office was. It was clearly<br />
time for a change</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Several years after I moved in I started to research whole-house heating and cooling options in earnest. Radiant heat, as lovely, silent and hidden as it was, would be far too expensive to operate over the long haul. High-velocity "mini-ducts", designed to be retrofitted into older homes like mine, from which radiators and their attendant piping had been removed, appealed to me. But my research revealed that the small ports push air so forcefully that it makes an audible noise. I didn't want to live in a wind tunnel.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvL00Im4QvjxSCZxP5PBi1-obrDN4eeqBA7ZEyklL0aL4SI7ONXRyeDO2tnn7lVkc7hqKGds8RESzUdEM2DQ7JM-y0lMWL7VtCd0Wi_ajWoyHcq643B790Zgb7Li6_1c7KGcqgGdYM4JQ/s1600/Old275GallonFuelOilTankIsRemoved03%252C06-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvL00Im4QvjxSCZxP5PBi1-obrDN4eeqBA7ZEyklL0aL4SI7ONXRyeDO2tnn7lVkc7hqKGds8RESzUdEM2DQ7JM-y0lMWL7VtCd0Wi_ajWoyHcq643B790Zgb7Li6_1c7KGcqgGdYM4JQ/s200/Old275GallonFuelOilTankIsRemoved03%252C06-14-17.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This old 275-gallon fuel-oil<br />
tank was just beginning to<br />
rust through when I removed it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And so it went, year after year, the daydreaming of what could be and the day-to-day continuance of the status quo. Until last summer -- when I finally decided on a new HVAC system. In May of 2017, I chose Mitsubishi ductless mini-splits. Yes, they would be all-electric, but they would be far more efficient than radiant flooring, and I would get air conditioning in the bargain, something I'd never had throughout the house. I got a couple of estimates and chose a contractor. In June the radiators came out. The old floor-to-ceiling piping through every room came out. The boiler in my basement came out, and so did the rusty old fuel oil tank, just in the nick of time, it turned out, as the bottom of the tank was beginning to seep through, a condition which, if left unattended, would have allowed fuel oil to leach into the soil beneath my home on the same side of the house as my water well. My home and its surrounding two acres would have been deemed uninhabitable and condemned, losing all their value. I narrowly dodged a rather large bullet.<br />
<br />
Despite the expertise of <a href="https://advancedhc.com/">Advanced Heating & Cooling, LLC</a>, the installation of the ductless mini-splits did not go smoothly, and I am still getting used to their operation. They create a rather ugly eyesore near the ceiling in every room of my home. But for the most part I am happy. Although my electric bill has doubled this winter, I no longer have any fuel oil bill at all. I am content with my choice.<br />
<br />
Better yet, the absence of all the old radiators and piping allowed me to finally set in motion the rest of my master plan. Without a radiator in my office, I could now utilize the space for maximum storage and... beauty!, something I had been sorely missing in a room where I spend so many of my waking hours each day.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58cSisZuMZQqXWPOaSJSdRQ3fyhqQ2ME2Xt5Pqesq0dj8TicmF7jLSa-JCPiESKnYclxQqAdk9PSIvi_6oDnHDB-XzYHnk_kl4CkGb3ODyaKNwnR7NMWrWSI9KU7d3Y9qRuMAMP5pTpY/s1600/TemporaryOfficeUpstairs01%252C11-20-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58cSisZuMZQqXWPOaSJSdRQ3fyhqQ2ME2Xt5Pqesq0dj8TicmF7jLSa-JCPiESKnYclxQqAdk9PSIvi_6oDnHDB-XzYHnk_kl4CkGb3ODyaKNwnR7NMWrWSI9KU7d3Y9qRuMAMP5pTpY/s320/TemporaryOfficeUpstairs01%252C11-20-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Thanksgiving to Valentine's Day, my upstairs hobby<br />
room served as a temporary home office. Cramped for space<br />
and working out of boxes, I was overjoyed when I could<br />
finally move back downstairs.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But first things first. If this was to be a full-scale remodel of the nerve center of my life, I would need a place to set up a temporary command post. So simultaneously with the installation of the mini-splits, I hired a handyman to convert a spare bedroom upstairs into a <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2017/07/summer-project-my-hobby-room.html">hobby-craft-sewing room</a>. I was delighted with how the hobby room turned out, and regretted that I wouldn't be able to actually <i>use</i> it as a hobby room until after I'd finished using it as a temporary home office.<br />
<br />
As soon as construction of the hobby room was complete, I began designing my dream office on paper. It would have lateral files instead of vertical ones, and they would be made of wood to look like furniture. Bookshelves would extend from the top of each file cabinet clear up to the nine foot ceiling on three of the four walls. A new desk, configured in the same shape as the old one but built of real wood instead of particleboard, would allow my printer/copier to sit within reach from my chair. And wouldn't an upholstered bench look nice sitting at the base of the floor-to-ceiling window facing my front porch?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2C_U7nQKPkZ2lMJcC47v0y3i_wmKVXwPKDCH9kmXepkjcIH6To9ERvet7BTBxu7iTy7XxDu2_tG2e1XYwNWRjmi2tTZVdm8pq5F0NM8uVyUceS9FqlOgf7RIXIcPj4GibZ8LG5vqzsc/s1600/ToblerOfficeDrawingBasic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1335" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2C_U7nQKPkZ2lMJcC47v0y3i_wmKVXwPKDCH9kmXepkjcIH6To9ERvet7BTBxu7iTy7XxDu2_tG2e1XYwNWRjmi2tTZVdm8pq5F0NM8uVyUceS9FqlOgf7RIXIcPj4GibZ8LG5vqzsc/s320/ToblerOfficeDrawingBasic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dreams almost always start with a hand drawn sketch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was determined to employ my talented neighbor, Leroy, for construction of my dream office. A highly skilled and discerning carpenter, Leroy would use only the best materials and employ only the finest craftsmanship. I knew the quality of his work would be top-notch. Trouble was, Leroy's talents are very much in demand. He couldn't begin construction of my office until Thanksgiving -- and then he would be available only on evenings and weekends.<br />
<br />
I was heartbroken but resolute. Slowly I began to box up 25 years' worth of books, papers and reference materials. I stowed away a lifetime of awards, certificates and other minutiae, packed up family photographs and wall art, and began sifting though those overstuffed vertical file drawers, discarding what I could -- receipts for clothing and furniture I didn't even own anymore, old bank statements, the flotsam and jetsam of a long life.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdc5QP0PFnR6jidNzC-Pe75mvYfDjoJzxlka7aU2P2CFfZhM8qjTL5KxUIwpaq71W34qq4Ekk_E8arfhjEL1728NVAp_l3YMRNtDoFdaivTu2_lfdnfGLcFiNc5VOQcI-WIvTDVfBCDHY/s1600/CeilingGoesIn01%252C11-27-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdc5QP0PFnR6jidNzC-Pe75mvYfDjoJzxlka7aU2P2CFfZhM8qjTL5KxUIwpaq71W34qq4Ekk_E8arfhjEL1728NVAp_l3YMRNtDoFdaivTu2_lfdnfGLcFiNc5VOQcI-WIvTDVfBCDHY/s320/CeilingGoesIn01%252C11-27-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leroy, on the right, and his helper measure for the new ceiling. <br />
Look at the bright green color those walls used to be long <br />
before I moved in!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_JpB_SibPsgeuirCkyLjKCN5IrZnJncDXivnh0FR7xo-dwr9DkcTACtv6lfTdZlQEv0oi_j112WPILldBwI30VxR66SB9I-HPMlTTpy60uY0ONgTMq1UoPTZT2T59IIVIQyNQwwmLVk0/s1600/CeilingGoesIn03%252C11-27-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_JpB_SibPsgeuirCkyLjKCN5IrZnJncDXivnh0FR7xo-dwr9DkcTACtv6lfTdZlQEv0oi_j112WPILldBwI30VxR66SB9I-HPMlTTpy60uY0ONgTMq1UoPTZT2T59IIVIQyNQwwmLVk0/s320/CeilingGoesIn03%252C11-27-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new office ceiling lends a decidedly more sophisticated<br />
air to the room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The week before Thanksgiving, I made the big move -- hoisting my computer, copy machine, desk phone and several boxes of important papers upstairs into the hobby room. I didn't like it up there. Oh, it was fine for an afternoon of crafting or sewing or wrapping gifts. But to spend day in and day out in the cramped space was decidedly uncomfortable for me. Two small windows did not provide much daylight, and although the room is well-lit with light fixtures, the windows sit higher than in my downstairs office, so I couldn't see out of them while sitting at the desk. I arranged things to be at my fingertips as best I could, but it just wasn't the same. It's only temporary, I consoled myself. It's only temporary.<br />
<br />
Leroy got right to work, installing stamped-brass ceiling panels from <a href="http://www.shanko.com/">Shanker Industries</a> in the new office to match the ones in the adjacent kitchen. I carefully prepared drawings of exactly how I wanted the cabinets to be constructed, and now I grew excited as I saw my dream begin to come to life. I ordered deeply cut crown moulding from <a href="http://www.bosleymouldings.com/">Bosley Moulding Company</a> to frame my new brass ceiling. I wanted drama. Lots of drama. This was the room in which I would be spending every workday hour. I'd been imagining the space for almost two decades. I wanted to love to enter the room and work in that environment every single day. I was finally going to have everything I'd fantasized about all those years.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyC6IepHVe-J7NDwNBHtV7IKKDTj8PXlHMJiUvSCUhflxYQd7y_BPRJ1xPbTevmlnsNzUkEPxBCgMY7Ve1WCQTb2Qs9yK9I1uaNmOjKjZDN_ZUH8RzL3uTCnQl7v7W7qWypfogUvnWPYs/s1600/EmptyRoom04%252C11-20-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyC6IepHVe-J7NDwNBHtV7IKKDTj8PXlHMJiUvSCUhflxYQd7y_BPRJ1xPbTevmlnsNzUkEPxBCgMY7Ve1WCQTb2Qs9yK9I1uaNmOjKjZDN_ZUH8RzL3uTCnQl7v7W7qWypfogUvnWPYs/s320/EmptyRoom04%252C11-20-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once the 9-foot by 16-foot room was empty, it was time to<br />
refinish the old floor. I was eager to get rid of the harlequin<br />
pattern a previous owner had painted. Look at how my office<br />
chair wore away the painted floor pattern over 17 years</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Leroy balked at constructing lateral file cabinets out of wood. He suggested I buy metal file cabinets and he would construct wooden bookshelves on top of them. I acquiesced, with one restriction. I would agree to metal file cabinets as long as he was willing to construct wood faces so that the file cabinets<i> appeared</i> to be made of wood. Thankfully, he agreed. I burned up Pinterest, printing picture after picture of file cabinets which had been imaginatively covered with wood facades.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7v-3DOvnSIsEDDv1YOjkNl2At7ogaNw-EkfR_WQ2Aq48SnfrX6DOIeYKDh7t4H72QbFyv9xDG91cwWUh_i_uY3tJaUYrBGHri0KDqvNLidZ13BQTC1J9mMy5niejwqtoHfa1kB5ixSBw/s1600/CarlosSandsAwayPaintedFloorBoards01%252C11-21-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7v-3DOvnSIsEDDv1YOjkNl2At7ogaNw-EkfR_WQ2Aq48SnfrX6DOIeYKDh7t4H72QbFyv9xDG91cwWUh_i_uY3tJaUYrBGHri0KDqvNLidZ13BQTC1J9mMy5niejwqtoHfa1kB5ixSBw/s320/CarlosSandsAwayPaintedFloorBoards01%252C11-21-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carlos, of <a href="http://www.jkehardwoodflooring.com/">Earickson Hardwood Floors</a>, sanded the paint<br />
off the floor boards</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I ordered trim for all the cabinet and bookcase faces, also from Bosley Moulding Company, going so far as to make an impression with a needle gauge of a panel near my front door in order to find a moulding pattern that would match the existing 1862 trim as closely as possible. I made arrangements for the the hardwood floor to be refinished, sanding away a painted tan and yellow Harlequin pattern that I had hated for 17 years and replacing it with a honey-colored stain that closely matched the hardwood floors throughout the rest of the house.<br />
<br />
I researched lateral file cabinets and was fortunate to find a used office furniture dealer not far from my home. They had four matching secondhand black metal file cabinets in stock at a fraction of the cost of new cabinets, plus two smaller vertical ones that would form the base of my corner desk. The only lateral cabinet I had to buy new was a longer, deeper 36-inch one for the extended portion of my corner desk. I was thrilled.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5F3FS8SBW0c4fXvOqc8agTT-k3ylXaO7wqC8XZimOjna8vpU1EXGVx30QV9-AwOgEAPUwzKWpUt1p8o626pHhtuI-_Qj0EZiPS19ngwmVyM2k7lvjHSEUBJC5SuxepFfavv7CHPuf_1w/s1600/NewlyFinishedFloor%252C11-21-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5F3FS8SBW0c4fXvOqc8agTT-k3ylXaO7wqC8XZimOjna8vpU1EXGVx30QV9-AwOgEAPUwzKWpUt1p8o626pHhtuI-_Qj0EZiPS19ngwmVyM2k7lvjHSEUBJC5SuxepFfavv7CHPuf_1w/s320/NewlyFinishedFloor%252C11-21-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look how the new stain glows!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then I considered the countertops for my new desk and the tops of the file cabinets. A finely finished wood surface was my original preference. Once again Leroy intervened. "Choose granite", he suggested. "You will work in this office every day. Wood will get scratched from cat claws and pen impressions and show wear over time". I compared prices. The difference between a fine wood countertop and a granite one was negligible. So I began to look at granite colors. I had already decided that I would paint all the wood in the room glossy black, so my go-to color choice for granite, Black Galaxy, even with its fiery gold and copper flakes, would result in far too much black for the tiny room. I made a Saturday morning visit to a granite store in Baltimore City. The sales representative, Alexandra, at <a href="http://www.bigbrothersmg.com/">Big Brothers Marble and Granite</a>, named for the Ecuadorian brothers who own and operate the business, was an absolute delight. She listened to my wants, took a look at the sketch I showed her, and guided me into a vast warehouse, picking up a sample here, pointing out a slab there. Then she handed me a heavy piece of <i>Madura Gold</i>. It was gorgeous, containing all of the colors I wanted in the room: gold and black and brown and beige, even sporting a few sparkly flecks here and there. And they had a slab in stock that was big enough to do my whole room. And it wasn't the most expensive granite on their price list. And they could install it in less than two weeks. I was sold.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaLTOVMv3jq_qEDVy_fflDnWbEpBTQCLRteoGOyc-_4K_U9FnduV-EnpLdhcXa8GzL4oBcInJQiAX6SDYrE8OyjKvEcR8Lqn-jciMvBf6t0_fDNiOluiax7ENJefhc5HjgoONTT4S9S2k/s1600/CardboardTemplateForDesktopGranite%252C12-04-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaLTOVMv3jq_qEDVy_fflDnWbEpBTQCLRteoGOyc-_4K_U9FnduV-EnpLdhcXa8GzL4oBcInJQiAX6SDYrE8OyjKvEcR8Lqn-jciMvBf6t0_fDNiOluiax7ENJefhc5HjgoONTT4S9S2k/s200/CardboardTemplateForDesktopGranite%252C12-04-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The granite desktop was constructed<br />
out of cardboard first to make sure it<br />
would fit through my front door<br />
in one slab </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On December 4, Sandro from Big Brothers came out to the house with gigantic sheets of cardboard. He measured the desk and the cabinet tops and then carefully constructed a template of the entire surface area out of cardboard. Once he had made his pattern, he checked to make sure it would fit through my doorway. It would be a shame if they were able to construct a giant slab of granite in the shape of my desk and then not be able to get it into my house!<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Leroy was busy building and installing the base cabinets that would go between the metal file cabinets. I was busy designing bookshelves that would go above the base cabinets. I wanted drawers for storage of office supplies and gadgets. I wanted shallow shelves on two of the three walls, but deeper shelves above my desk for my workbooks and binders. I worked out every detail. Things were progressing so smoothly!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT2l2X67g8laICbJ6zlq9inhJfT4urFgyg5fyVYxLg-Cw8Mgpzb9Gd9gNXrd4frdw5LU_CeSy78R3nDdQe_YqA-Fv2BqdHLqmUJyGfO0Q55c6dBLXgM59yhR4OTSlEkGdPvniB0vs8BlA/s1600/BeforeGranite02%252C12-06-27.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT2l2X67g8laICbJ6zlq9inhJfT4urFgyg5fyVYxLg-Cw8Mgpzb9Gd9gNXrd4frdw5LU_CeSy78R3nDdQe_YqA-Fv2BqdHLqmUJyGfO0Q55c6dBLXgM59yhR4OTSlEkGdPvniB0vs8BlA/s200/BeforeGranite02%252C12-06-27.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With the metal file cabinets installed,<br />
Leroy began to construct the base cabinets<br />
between them, as well as a support beam<br />
for the granite expanse across my desk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I wanted library lamps to cast soft warm light downward from the tops of the bookshelves. I wanted an electric outlet in every bookshelf bay, so that I could display digital photo frames or maybe a small aquarium. I wanted spotlights over each window, especially the floor-length window I envisioned would one day be a reading nook with a bench seat. I wanted task lighting above my desk. I wanted all the lighting to be LED and I wanted it all on dimmers. For these tasks I hired Carroll Talbott of <a href="mailto:carrolltalbott1@gmail.com">T-Electric</a>, a very nice electrician from a neighboring county who knew just how to install what I needed.<br />
<br />
And what about the kitty beds?! In the old office, the cats' beds <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18AZCDZxUygYUBDHzpWkOforFsi5t_WfZnIJk3IDRdUX63HX0bL7h5zVuIcziRQAY6DIXNDoXSp3THODPki4As-eBhnLPz4rIGzA6tbbMp6jTNlELzK-wOvRCBUxFnClfC2hkCcG-fW8/s1600/CorkBoard01%252C09-30-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18AZCDZxUygYUBDHzpWkOforFsi5t_WfZnIJk3IDRdUX63HX0bL7h5zVuIcziRQAY6DIXNDoXSp3THODPki4As-eBhnLPz4rIGzA6tbbMp6jTNlELzK-wOvRCBUxFnClfC2hkCcG-fW8/s200/CorkBoard01%252C09-30-17.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out in my guesthouse, which<br />
served as my craft room until<br />
the new one was built last<br />
summer, I applied special<br />
cork flooring glue to a<br />
simple frame of plywood<br />
and black plastic trim</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZSk6IzSDnLiHDR-CDFXYqf00Dbx8wcMpWqFd-_b2tBOXhq2yJDn19VMMe4MUu58AiMx_NZBQUUt569EGD6H-EVrO5VpsOMkueeOiQxsCth-guib7300ojLM2PpmEYcZ7OJeWniTlpmQ/s1600/CorkBoard10%252C09-30-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZSk6IzSDnLiHDR-CDFXYqf00Dbx8wcMpWqFd-_b2tBOXhq2yJDn19VMMe4MUu58AiMx_NZBQUUt569EGD6H-EVrO5VpsOMkueeOiQxsCth-guib7300ojLM2PpmEYcZ7OJeWniTlpmQ/s200/CorkBoard10%252C09-30-17.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One cork at a time, my new<br />
bulletin board took shape</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
sat atop the radiator, warming my little pocket lions throughout the winter from beneath their plush bassinets. But there was no longer any radiator to warm my kitties. Now a slab of cold granite spanned the cabinets below the side window. So I ordered special electric heating pads to fit their little cat beds. The low-voltage heating pads would need to be plugged in. I designed a way for the cords to be incorporated into the bookshelves so they would remain mostly hidden from view.<br />
<br />
And let me tell you about my bulletin board! It had long been a dream of mine to design a bulletin board to replace the one I had enjoyed with the old desk configuration. The new bulletin board would be made out of wine corks. It would be eight feet long. I'd been saving wine corks for 17 years in anticipation of this project. Months before work on the office began, I put my idea into action, ordering special cork glue from Home Depot, building a frame and then gluing corks in a herringbone pattern across the eight-foot expanse. 1,014 corks later, my bulletin board was finished and ready to install. I didn't have a new office to put it in yet, but the bulletin board was ready!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxw8eMvo8JH_XleXXvAkJVqu-3GeuoPQRotie_xqAzYrMlluUIBZMlvE6sgBu8iZkaa1_dD9SyRhddM6cXZnb_JkXtHVMfcd6O0FVs2s5vWlRRvTjLqH0vrfwLQ79rH2LUZfgdrf4mqh8/s1600/CushionCutToFitWindowTrim%252C01-11-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxw8eMvo8JH_XleXXvAkJVqu-3GeuoPQRotie_xqAzYrMlluUIBZMlvE6sgBu8iZkaa1_dD9SyRhddM6cXZnb_JkXtHVMfcd6O0FVs2s5vWlRRvTjLqH0vrfwLQ79rH2LUZfgdrf4mqh8/s200/CushionCutToFitWindowTrim%252C01-11-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Using a needle gauge, thick foam was<br />
measured and cut to fit the pattern of<br />
my 1862 window framing for the<br />
reading bench</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjANDgmvtpf9DenZ0KwOrcHrbKiFETd8r30oCXpxKlY78N4QpNFfLg3EFMgyTbdtvU18pDhSNpFWZlsSk-SXZE0FshJ_Avnf5zkn3BX-Ra0dAYeOuvvz2fS-BmV43s-G_4gMBkrjNvvZ7g/s1600/SeatCushionIn01%252C02-08-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjANDgmvtpf9DenZ0KwOrcHrbKiFETd8r30oCXpxKlY78N4QpNFfLg3EFMgyTbdtvU18pDhSNpFWZlsSk-SXZE0FshJ_Avnf5zkn3BX-Ra0dAYeOuvvz2fS-BmV43s-G_4gMBkrjNvvZ7g/s200/SeatCushionIn01%252C02-08-18.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heidi did an outstanding job on the<br />
cushion, pillows and valances</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For window treatments, I turned to a dear acquaintance and extremely talented seamstress, Heidi Wurzbacher of <a href="mailto:heidiwurz@icloud.com">Heidi's Custom Sewing</a>, who agreed to fashion valances for my two windows and to make a cushion for my window bench with pillows to match. I found stunning gold and black upholstery fabric at JoAnn Crafts and Heidi came right away to pick up the material and take measurements. I was ecstatic. <br />
<br />
Christmas came and went. Half of the hobby room upstairs was devoted to my temporary workspace. The other half became <i>Christmas Central</i>. I made gifts, assembled gifts, wrapped gifts, and prepared gifts for shipping. It was all very cramped and claustrophobic up there. I just kept telling myself how nice everything would be when it was all finished.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg924pz6bKSv5Cqky2TKJLrtmgRNqBPLCb4_d0mXdspcEfd7SQfn4ph-mJCrsxXejZ2LDblicuBc9YEBdBx-3TQz7iGeuslf8j8b38Hz8VA2N0b2pn578xJdnSTPBsTBk_wfmJNNne7vE/s1600/ComputerAndPhoneLinesInstalled01%252C01-28-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg924pz6bKSv5Cqky2TKJLrtmgRNqBPLCb4_d0mXdspcEfd7SQfn4ph-mJCrsxXejZ2LDblicuBc9YEBdBx-3TQz7iGeuslf8j8b38Hz8VA2N0b2pn578xJdnSTPBsTBk_wfmJNNne7vE/s200/ComputerAndPhoneLinesInstalled01%252C01-28-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Electrical outlets, telephone jacks<br />
and internet ports all went in<br />
beneath my desk </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then life, and the weather, got in the way. Early January brought with it bitter cold. Pipes all over Baltimore froze in the sub-zero temperatures, and some of them burst, including mine. While I labored with the plumber to repair the pipes and insulate my basement which was no longer warmed by a boiler, Leroy's progress on the bookshelves came to a stop. His garage workshop was neither insulated nor heated. It was just too cold to work out there. And even if he could have braved the cold to build my bookcases, it was too cold to paint them. Construction of my office came to a screeching halt.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1-ZjOYbgftaFA8eCrDoc4FHEXVxnKyijBBoYIvXqOpKDmxLXJQBIuXPzorCy30Ep6SUTNxwqz2NZYRjZrDXmGvb4Frn8uV4-Iixervd2EM693scwNQGrHyK3XzmHQ_XRvg9Qk-2Z2xQ/s1600/NowYouDon%2527t01%252C01-11-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="897" data-original-width="1600" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1-ZjOYbgftaFA8eCrDoc4FHEXVxnKyijBBoYIvXqOpKDmxLXJQBIuXPzorCy30Ep6SUTNxwqz2NZYRjZrDXmGvb4Frn8uV4-Iixervd2EM693scwNQGrHyK3XzmHQ_XRvg9Qk-2Z2xQ/s320/NowYouDon%2527t01%252C01-11-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick added the same custom faux texturing finish to the<br />
ductless mini-split as he did to the walls so that the<br />
protruding unit virtually disappeared</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Eventually, the weather thawed. The bookshelves got installed. The lighting went in. 16 outlets and 12 internet ports and telephone jacks got put in below my desk, with more across the room in a corner where I envisioned a guest or a visiting business associate would be able to set up a laptop and work alongside me on occasion.<br />
<br />
It was time for paint. For this task, I employed two people. I first met Nick Pelekakis when he painted for the company that remodeled my master bathroom in 2015. Nick did a stunning job of custom texturing with three different paint colors in that room. I liked it so much I had him give my kitchen the same treatment in 2016. Now, he had struck out on his own, calling his business<a href="mailto:creativecolorsllc@yahoo.com"> Creative Colors, LLC</a>, and I was thrilled when he had time to apply the same custom textural finish to my office walls. I didn't need much, as most of the walls would be covered by bookcases. Nick got right to work, creating just the texture and interest I needed around both doorways and on both sides of one window frame. He even applied the faux finish to the new mini-split so the white plastic unit would be disguised. The camouflage worked like a charm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidh0eKlxaQc0Puu-LEvlMpHfn2uBg1ufkJZdl5-eZ5ZYPWK09QAo6xVvkLidi2E5hENtdNAWGv474wn4gF_wLcP5OPsug0rvtxWD7Sf9AvEAXM-PEnrLgY8cFBPrBpDaQxdHhgszVWGKg/s1600/MikeO%2527LearyPaints01%252C02-04-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidh0eKlxaQc0Puu-LEvlMpHfn2uBg1ufkJZdl5-eZ5ZYPWK09QAo6xVvkLidi2E5hENtdNAWGv474wn4gF_wLcP5OPsug0rvtxWD7Sf9AvEAXM-PEnrLgY8cFBPrBpDaQxdHhgszVWGKg/s320/MikeO%2527LearyPaints01%252C02-04-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike O'Leary never backs down from a challenging paint job.<br />
It's a good thing for me he doesn't!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
For the rest of the painting, I turned to Mike O'Leary of <a href="mailto:kickstart.h.i@hotmail.com">Kickstart Home Improvements</a>. I met Mike during the summer when he was sent by the HVAC company to fix holes in the floors, walls and ceilings created by the removal of the old radiators and piping and the installation of the new ductless units. Mike had done such a good job on those repairs I began hiring him for my own painting projects. Now, he was charged with two arduous tasks: paint all the trim in the entire office glossy black, and paint the back of every bookcase with a shimmery gold paint I had found on the internet. The black proved to be the easy part. The shimmery gold paint was gorgeous but proved to be a challenge. When we couldn't get the paint to stop streaking, we finally read the fine print on the website. "Must be used with special latex extender for improved flow and leveling". Oh.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRRVcEnvb6ytXLJxL4de9nn-ukw73kYH4kYkbG3p0KizynN08of1DV910eTwXIV-PTs6dR9TKuSlHuunpl0kfyfOvZ1VVXDthMShve-N6hG5Oza-zEhk4uDCgaXHcptAYrij2Z9ziexI/s1600/SettingUpNewFiles06%252C01-27-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRRVcEnvb6ytXLJxL4de9nn-ukw73kYH4kYkbG3p0KizynN08of1DV910eTwXIV-PTs6dR9TKuSlHuunpl0kfyfOvZ1VVXDthMShve-N6hG5Oza-zEhk4uDCgaXHcptAYrij2Z9ziexI/s320/SettingUpNewFiles06%252C01-27-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once the new file cabinets were in, I moved all my documents<br />
into new, hanging files. I shed thousands of papers I no longer<br />
needed and still managed to fill every file drawer. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was a Sunday. It was snowing. The big box stores didn't carry a specialized formula like that. Mike texted his favorite painting rep for advice. Even though it was the rep's day off, he helpfully suggested to Mike that Sherwin Willimas carried exactly what we needed. And they were open. On Sunday! I got in the car immediately and made my way through the flurries to the nearest Sherwin Williams store. Mike experimented with how much extender to add. He eventually found the perfect blend and the gold paint went on like a breeze. Well, not exactly a breeze. It looked great in the end, but Mike said he didn't care if he ever worked with that type of paint again for the rest of his painting career (sigh).<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs8L2cTbGa7BfUfz9HxGT7gK-ARkIrwOJ48E7RwTtZx1RDayEnaat8RFU0rdUwEN4b5bA-Nf-UbaQ9wFrzZKo7I_cgYSOZcwN7VKaxXvHLOf8_ZQsKjE8ygkVYalYK9wUyn-SRrs8IE_o/s1600/FinishedOffice09%252C03-06-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs8L2cTbGa7BfUfz9HxGT7gK-ARkIrwOJ48E7RwTtZx1RDayEnaat8RFU0rdUwEN4b5bA-Nf-UbaQ9wFrzZKo7I_cgYSOZcwN7VKaxXvHLOf8_ZQsKjE8ygkVYalYK9wUyn-SRrs8IE_o/s320/FinishedOffice09%252C03-06-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Once the computer
equipment was moved back downstairs<br />
into my newly
remodeled home office, I could begin to set<br />
everything up again</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On February 10th, I hosted a <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2018/02/neighborly-hearts.html">dinner party</a> for my neighbors to thank them for their endless support and watchful care over me. The next morning, at 9:00 a.m. sharp, my dear friend and incomparable computer guru, <a href="https://webdesignbuild.biz/">Will Fastie</a>, appeared at my door with gadgets and testing equipment in hand. Today we would move my computer equipment, telephone, copy machine and other devices back downstairs into the new office. This was the day I would officially reclaim my newly refurbished office as my own, a supremely outfitted <i>command central</i>. I would be moving back downstairs. I was excited beyond words.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3gjG8696XQkuu-rYBeNI3gKejicVVe16akTTdql9oZ1Qxu89_POOPEEdIaotjjrFa1KMM9HaMCpZKxK1g75JiPgkovsbd4iBAqYdX6ySJAq4VaS28Mxn7o2slAOX2WAqRaeoIVa1k6WA/s1600/FinishedOffice02%252C03-06-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3gjG8696XQkuu-rYBeNI3gKejicVVe16akTTdql9oZ1Qxu89_POOPEEdIaotjjrFa1KMM9HaMCpZKxK1g75JiPgkovsbd4iBAqYdX6ySJAq4VaS28Mxn7o2slAOX2WAqRaeoIVa1k6WA/s320/FinishedOffice02%252C03-06-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This might be my favorite image of the new office. The cats<br />
are happily ensconced in their heated beds and I have beloved<br />
photos of family and friends on every shelf.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The move was not without hiccups, of course. I had been allotted "three free holes" drilled through the granite by the granite company. But the hole for the telephone cord did not allow for the size of the right-angled jack to the transformer. The path I had plotted for the copy machine cord to weave behind the file cabinet did not take into consideration the jagged edges left behind by the drill-bit penetrating the metal cabinet -- which immediately shredded any electrical cord pulled through it.We improvised. We made several trips to Best Buy for different transformer jacks. We compromised. Six hours later, we had everything hooked up, checked out and operating. I was exhausted but ecstatic. I moved 25 boxes of books and papers and office supplies from storage into my living room. I could finally begin to unpack those boxes, fill the bookshelves, outfit my office, set everything up the way I had long envisioned it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbe8GVG1sLG176D3L5tYKuRIOyw6Amy7zXxCfx6uu2DBnHvF-dZo-49NJlC4H8UkkHywcUnvoZPCu1b1ytGixL0TNu29HM2RQRs93xREdbj_HMuqKziX7KObfEE17wLxtuKXbTbItei4/s1600/FinishPhoto04%252C03-15-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbe8GVG1sLG176D3L5tYKuRIOyw6Amy7zXxCfx6uu2DBnHvF-dZo-49NJlC4H8UkkHywcUnvoZPCu1b1ytGixL0TNu29HM2RQRs93xREdbj_HMuqKziX7KObfEE17wLxtuKXbTbItei4/s200/FinishPhoto04%252C03-15-18.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I even designed a guest<br />
workstation with a<br />
hidden, pull-out shelf<br />
that expands to hold<br />
a laptop for visitors</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
It took several weeks, but by the end of February my office was finally finished, fully decorated and functioning optimally. Everything now has its place. Each morning when I descend my staircase, enter my workspace and sit down at my desk to begin work for the day, I am overcome with joy. This is the home office of my dreams. This is the natty nerve center of my life. My new office is everything I hoped it<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNr_KwGr5_JcTqTjcGOl4MupXqtZbo4m_f-9NZLOyl2WhLeY6VkiIaqS1VNi1gQYwz3b9IGCfg2OUhkSLS3EB-Z7Wz7q_j1bskaCWIOvJ1Pysk4_ZA9SFtcIwSfEtsmwEMc8gdHR0Ffng/s1600/FinishPhoto01%252C03-15-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNr_KwGr5_JcTqTjcGOl4MupXqtZbo4m_f-9NZLOyl2WhLeY6VkiIaqS1VNi1gQYwz3b9IGCfg2OUhkSLS3EB-Z7Wz7q_j1bskaCWIOvJ1Pysk4_ZA9SFtcIwSfEtsmwEMc8gdHR0Ffng/s320/FinishPhoto01%252C03-15-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A place for everything and everything in its place. I am so<br />
happy with how my new office turned out</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
would be -- and so much more. I sit at my desk, tapping at my computer, whilst my two furry fluffbuckets sleep contentedly in their heated beds beside me. Everything is at my fingertips. A lifetime of papers are organized. Digital frames displaying iconic trips to Europe, Ireland and Australia flash snippets of memories before me throughout the day. I am surrounded by photographs of friends and family which warm my heart. What little wall space there is features art which inspires my soul. This space, of my very own creation, is truly the heart of my home. I am a lady in love with my workplace. I couldn't be happier.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-44507764574483937752018-02-14T08:00:00.000-05:002018-03-14T09:19:53.742-04:00Neighborly Hearts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3IVqdEXu1vPJxyAZ1O_xT4gkuFQWOGAEyNwg8aMFjIuEeYZelXArGGxUO9tbgwn3OeFgkl5FalngmwWJwZM-efV8KEJzObWZm_1bgMiyctyBMAcXz6GjrOMr06JujSFbtgcY_qOGDevg/s1600/Spike.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3IVqdEXu1vPJxyAZ1O_xT4gkuFQWOGAEyNwg8aMFjIuEeYZelXArGGxUO9tbgwn3OeFgkl5FalngmwWJwZM-efV8KEJzObWZm_1bgMiyctyBMAcXz6GjrOMr06JujSFbtgcY_qOGDevg/s200/Spike.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Spike", a hand-hewn reindeer<br />
gifted to me by neighbors after<br />
my Christmas display was<br />
vandalized, is now a permanent<br />
fixture on my front porch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Those who follow my blog know that I have been throwing an annual dinner party in celebration of Valentine's Day for several years now, a tradition begun when I grew frustrated over the crowded conditions and less than satisfactory food and service received at restaurants on and around February 14th. A chilly February evening seemed like a perfect time to offer my three-course all-fondue dinner. This year's weather did not disappoint. We had cold in spades in Baltimore County, Maryland, on February 10, the date I chose for my fête.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8el0JFSCgs-0SkW1_uVCZmB7Z97W8ckca_M0puP0uj0AbRP0W3yNcFK2vKAcyxRo4PlZur-XnsxHXkVWGuS15xK6WgrWyIyAv4GNysvSx3AKarsAHNO4tuorMwQ9GQgkzPYkxYpMIHk/s1600/ValentineDayMenu2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1188" data-original-width="1190" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8el0JFSCgs-0SkW1_uVCZmB7Z97W8ckca_M0puP0uj0AbRP0W3yNcFK2vKAcyxRo4PlZur-XnsxHXkVWGuS15xK6WgrWyIyAv4GNysvSx3AKarsAHNO4tuorMwQ9GQgkzPYkxYpMIHk/s200/ValentineDayMenu2018.jpg" width="200" /></a>Thirty days before the party, I created pretty invitations and fastened the envelopes with sealing wax stamped with my initial. My guests of honor this year would be some of my wonderful neighbors, all of whom look out for me in so many ways throughout the year. Despite the fact that I could have issued invitations via email or phone, or by shouting over my back fence, written invitations sent through the mail seemed appropriate. And festive. And fancy! I wanted to let my neighbors know that they were in for something special.<br />
<br />
My neighbors truly are remarkable people. Allen and Jackie across the street, for instance, never fail to prepare a fabulous home-smoked North Carolina-style pork roast each year for my annual summer potluck; Allen lets me borrow all his ice chests and even his pickup truck for the event so I can haul home dozens of six- and eight-foot tables which are stored off-site. Jackie has been my trusty pet-sitter for many years now. She does so much more than bring in my mail and feed my cats when I travel! No matter what calamity befalls the house while I'm gone, Jackie has always stepped up to handle it for me no matter how complicated or challenging the issue. In August 2012, when a derecho left my community without power for eight straight days just after I departed on a ten-day trip to Southern Ireland, Jackie hand-watered my 22 window boxes, hanging baskets, and herb and vegetable gardens every day in a desperate attempt to keep my plants alive in the summer swelter with no electricity to run my automatic drip system. During a two-week trip to Europe last July, Jackie enlisted her husband to get my well-pump working again when it suddenly failed for no apparent reason. And while I was in Dallas this past Christmas, Jackie fired up my shop-vac to pump water out of my unfinished basement when torrential rains overran my foundation. Her efforts to take excellent care of my home and my beloved animals clearly go way beyond the call of duty. My cats adore her, running to greet her whenever she comes to my door.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlJzQBx2vuqCsN0Pgf116MpgeId6b2o38qrmjADbZorrwrT1yIr8r-DX6QLuZQ9AbsQFKCMnnhPrkgpt4ytG-Ffvm3UZCbLdjCqd75SQIdclWZNOsXAGHPMcJeRakS8ZBGSXHb98rz5U/s1600/MantelDecor%252C02-11-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlJzQBx2vuqCsN0Pgf116MpgeId6b2o38qrmjADbZorrwrT1yIr8r-DX6QLuZQ9AbsQFKCMnnhPrkgpt4ytG-Ffvm3UZCbLdjCqd75SQIdclWZNOsXAGHPMcJeRakS8ZBGSXHb98rz5U/s320/MantelDecor%252C02-11-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I decorated the mantel above the fireplace in my dining room<br />
in spring flowers and red twinkle lights</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
Mike and Maria, who live next door to me, bring me fresh eggs whenever their hens lay too many. Mike fires up his snowblower after every major snowstorm, and before I even have a chance to shovel a path to my mailbox, he has carved out my entire 110-foot driveway, a parking pad for my car, and paths to my woodpile and tool shed. Maria always cheerfully lends me the use of her oven, washing machine or other appliance whenever one of my own ancient machines goes on the blink. And the homemade Argentinian empanadas she makes for my annual summer potluck are second to none. Despite bringing a bucketload each year (50!), they are gone within minutes. One year a guest actually exclaimed that he was coming to my party primarily for my neighbor's empanadas!<br />
<br />
And Leroy and Michelle, who live on the other side of Mike and Maria, can't be beat when it comes to neighborliness. Leroy, a talented carpenter who has long been employed to build, maintain and remodel all the Hugo Boss stores in the mid-Atlantic region, somehow finds time to help me with my remodeling projects on evenings and weekends even when he is super busy. Leroy built my walk-in closet back in 2012. He just completed a major overhaul of my home office this week, and he has already agreed to build cabinets, bookshelves and a ventless fireplace in my living room for my next project. Michelle is always ready with a caring gesture and a kind word. Last year, in the middle of my summer potluck when the motor seized up on my old ice cream maker, Michelle ran home to fetch her own ice cream maker for me to use, saving the day. She had been so inspired by my annual party ritual of making and serving homemade ice cream that she had gone out and purchased her own machine that spring. Now she brought it to me, still new in its box, so that my 120 guests would not have to go without their sweet summer treat. Michelle is also an extraordinary cook, bringing her homemade jerk chicken, Jamaican rice and peas, and other delicacies to my potluck each summer. I have the best neighbors in the world!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDR4Z_yLP4Sjeemy3sx0ITqaIoEjFIIZNEu-dmeg-9IAHeAsg5AZgMSu1Tz1cUfJzbWtKLYzW7pdul4czftO4rnhrEuKghQaGozioev48utijwaa862eqWtRulsDhn18nETTw_0sltQQ/s1600/Tablescape02%252C02-10-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDR4Z_yLP4Sjeemy3sx0ITqaIoEjFIIZNEu-dmeg-9IAHeAsg5AZgMSu1Tz1cUfJzbWtKLYzW7pdul4czftO4rnhrEuKghQaGozioev48utijwaa862eqWtRulsDhn18nETTw_0sltQQ/s200/Tablescape02%252C02-10-18.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valentine decor dangling from<br />
the ceiling added to the mood</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It seemed only fitting, then, that I pay these wonderful neighbors back for their supreme neighborliness and friendship over the years. It had been ages since I'd cooked a meal for them, so I thought it wholly appropriate that I dedicate my most complicated dinner party to the people who help me feel safe in my home every day, who make my life and travels worry-free, and who always seem to be looking out for me in ways large and small.<br />
<br />
My checklist for the dinner party preparation was long. Every evening after work for the week leading up to the party, I ran errands and/or made something in furtherance of the dinner: creating place cards which would double as party favors for each guest, printing out a menu for each couple, complete with a list of sauces for the main course, decorating wooden fondue forks for the meat course with the name of each guest, choosing appetizers and selecting a festive punch to serve as my guests arrived, decorating my dining room in a Valentine theme, arranging a homemade centerpiece for the table from roses and baby's breath special-ordered from my favorite florist, <a href="https://giantfood.com/floral/">Marty Hennigan</a>, making sure all my candles, both real and electric, were in good working order, and dozens of other seemingly mundane but utterly necessary tasks to ensure an evening of ideal ambiance.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe91faVclYJ_Y4YGdA4jotbO8d8wt8Yq7XbivKhf626_LGHVghIhCFbPwhFVlIqtrQHH0TP-mcEtL4UawWJik9yxLJ56JmnAnVkO89hzDvC9oHoB35nZJgb_zF9pMOp1QvURiTL_JOhLE/s1600/Tablescape06%252C02-10-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe91faVclYJ_Y4YGdA4jotbO8d8wt8Yq7XbivKhf626_LGHVghIhCFbPwhFVlIqtrQHH0TP-mcEtL4UawWJik9yxLJ56JmnAnVkO89hzDvC9oHoB35nZJgb_zF9pMOp1QvURiTL_JOhLE/s320/Tablescape06%252C02-10-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Faux fur rugs from IKEA drape each chair to add coziness to<br />
the romantic winter tablescape in my dining room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I took the day off from work the Friday before my party, so intent was I to enjoy the process and not feel stressed by having to do all the cooking on the day of. That was a wise move on my part. It made all the difference in how relaxed I was as my guests arrived Saturday evening.<br />
<br />
In addition to the Gruyere and Emmentaler cheeses which would form the basis for my first course, a classic Swiss cheese fondue into which sourdough bread cubes would be dipped, I had ordered a special Vacherin fribourgeois from the <a href="http://www.theswissbakery.com/">Swiss Bakery</a>, a cheese shop in Washington D.C. which imports the creamy Swiss specifically for Fonduephiles like me. I had assembled pretty pierced metal tins filled with chocolates, and topped the sweets with place cards naming each guest, which were tied to the tins with pink raffia. I had dressed my front porch reindeer, "Spike", in a red scarf with a heart-shaped "earring" dangling from one antler. I had assembled my playlist for the evening: romantic instrumental tunes which I hoped would enhance the mood of my revelers. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdGETn9PeRVc2naM1NeZVM3ydWN7uXP-3bR3vclffYICnYmVxqZ8uIEmR5oaHFkBFpVIgPuw-W6n0DH4-RJmLwg-Qe-A59Ja7kxEoykSw1dl3HrogO_314rpA0P1zHw3dZwtS4mcyjLM/s1600/AnjouChampagnePunch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1225" data-original-width="1600" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdGETn9PeRVc2naM1NeZVM3ydWN7uXP-3bR3vclffYICnYmVxqZ8uIEmR5oaHFkBFpVIgPuw-W6n0DH4-RJmLwg-Qe-A59Ja7kxEoykSw1dl3HrogO_314rpA0P1zHw3dZwtS4mcyjLM/s200/AnjouChampagnePunch.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Belle de Brillet pear liqueur is the star<br />
of this festive champagne punch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had sliced wheels of orange navel and deep red blood oranges, bright chartreuse limes and sunny yellow lemons for a festive champagne punch enlivened with lemon juice, Belle de Brillet pear liqueur, cognac, triple sec, cinnamon simple syrup and champagne. I had assembled "green bean shots", an appetizer of shot glasses filled with Thai red curry sauce and barely blanched hericots verts. I had sliced and diced honeydew, cantaloupe, watermelon, banana and pineapple chunks, hulled strawberries, and arranged blackberries, kumquats, goldenberries, Mandarin oranges, Maraschino cherries and candied waternmelon rind for the dessert course, a decadent chocolate fondue flavored with Gran Marnier. And I had labored to prepare no less than five homemade dipping sauces for the main course of beef fondue, featuring cubes of the finest filet mignon to be dipped in a sugar-free barbecue sauce, a garlic-paprika aioli, a balsamic bleu cheese sauce, an onion-mustard sauce and a smoked paprika- horseradish sauce. I'd ironed napkins and set the table with flowers, candles, heart-shaped gems and other festive Valentine-themed "scatter". I was ready.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWG4tLZc496sPdzyDUd8VR-8kgUK9nXWZvp435Ez_Q9LYLurQKX6obUIK8chyvLZArJVR9Gfmtf6z_xqoZhyphenhyphenWk3PwElufg6yYwFpQJ_VJYk6RW7SxvvaggXy8EwuMTjMazpx2PxiBN44/s1600/SaucesForMeatFondue%252C02-10-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="710" data-original-width="1600" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWG4tLZc496sPdzyDUd8VR-8kgUK9nXWZvp435Ez_Q9LYLurQKX6obUIK8chyvLZArJVR9Gfmtf6z_xqoZhyphenhyphenWk3PwElufg6yYwFpQJ_VJYk6RW7SxvvaggXy8EwuMTjMazpx2PxiBN44/s320/SaucesForMeatFondue%252C02-10-18.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Special fondue plates from Switzerland contain shallow wells<br />
to hold five different dipping sauces for the meat course </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Ascending to my dressing room on the day of the soiree, I thought about what to wear: black <a href="https://www.thredup.com/products/women/studio-m?brand_id=10737&brand_name_tags=Studio+M&department_tags=women&sort=Newest+First">Studio M</a> leggings with rhinestone-studded <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Roper-Womens-Fringe-Stud-Western/dp/B00B2VNGVG/ref=sr_1_1_mimg_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1520945875&sr=8-1&keywords=roper+rhinestone+fringe+boots">Roper</a> cowboy boots would be chic and comfortable, and I'd top it with a pink, orange and black <a href="https://www.macys.com/shop/womens-clothing/womens-tops/Brand/Alfani?id=255">Alfani</a> top from Macy's, which I'd pair with orangeish-red dangly earrings I affectionately refer to as my "fishing lures" that I've owned for at least four decades.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwOQVVPXnTQOHjv2Qcc2ZRq4QVletPXFGJ3kbLNO9MP7hiyf75iAWz1b0N2J6mifyRTJycxW18nmOupejMST8KVkrl_2ZNl1vuiGt1I4fuYjQBEEyrJmJ__O8Z9GSxNNtq38wpPsf4f7s/s1600/Maria4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwOQVVPXnTQOHjv2Qcc2ZRq4QVletPXFGJ3kbLNO9MP7hiyf75iAWz1b0N2J6mifyRTJycxW18nmOupejMST8KVkrl_2ZNl1vuiGt1I4fuYjQBEEyrJmJ__O8Z9GSxNNtq38wpPsf4f7s/s200/Maria4.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Each guest took home a tin<br />
filled with chocolates</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I don't think my neighbors quite knew what to expect when they rang my doorbell on the evening of my party. Indeed, Leroy, who had been working on my home office in the days leading up to the dinner, lamented the fact that he might have to "dress up". I assured him that jeans would be just fine. As each guest was given a flute of champagne punch upon arrival and a shot glass of green beans with Thai curry sauce, I watched apprehension melt away and the relaxed rapport of longstanding friendships begin to reclaim the evening.<br />
<br />
There were audible oohs and aahs as guests were called into the dining room for dinner and beheld my elaborate tablescape for the first tine. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace as my neighbors took their seats. I explained Swiss customs for the first course: pierce the bread chunks through the crust so you don't lose a cube of bread in the fondue (or you'll have to kiss the cook); take a sip of Kirschwasser (cherry liqueur) and follow it with a beer back.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwWKXLUeSBfzDf4gbM19WtS4BTHqA7GPYGDdQUggXnSiRRVum9VBRw_956M2Xk8K7nVOT5PwT0WeDcts6l4kAAEsw1pA0D5kvYKRLRFKtxvp9JPhTnB5nEDohn0g01M5TSOIh9o2CQj-Y/s1600/Maria8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwWKXLUeSBfzDf4gbM19WtS4BTHqA7GPYGDdQUggXnSiRRVum9VBRw_956M2Xk8K7nVOT5PwT0WeDcts6l4kAAEsw1pA0D5kvYKRLRFKtxvp9JPhTnB5nEDohn0g01M5TSOIh9o2CQj-Y/s200/Maria8.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Oil heated to 425</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b style="font-size: small;">°</b><span style="font-size: x-small;">F </span>cooks the<br />meat in a few seconds</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7u0aoBXkALGan9wTw-ZU9D7YFUd-qxV1wvEiw74-kGVjvwdo0j_1KW5lkB3dxtY23oxjYnp8yQ-qTTX54aEo4gO9SCu3QNSZeED7ohjtqnP7KTMc1rb9EQvU7mj3qKwA2yw0Za0gFiP4/s1600/Maria1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7u0aoBXkALGan9wTw-ZU9D7YFUd-qxV1wvEiw74-kGVjvwdo0j_1KW5lkB3dxtY23oxjYnp8yQ-qTTX54aEo4gO9SCu3QNSZeED7ohjtqnP7KTMc1rb9EQvU7mj3qKwA2yw0Za0gFiP4/s200/Maria1.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once the meat is cooked to a<br />
diner's preference on a wooden<br />
skewer, a dinner fork is used to<br />
dip the steak in various sauces</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As the cheese fondue course was finished and I cleared plates to make room for the meat course, I read trivia questions to my guests and invited them to answer queries I posed about the fictional St. Valentine and his jail-cell miracle which cured the blindness of his jailer's daughter.<br />
<br />
My ceramic cheese fondue pots made way for metal pots filled with boiling oil. Metal fondue forks were replaced with wooden ones, far less apt to burn tender mouths from the heat of the oil. Special Swiss fondue plates with wells incorporated for the dipping sauces were placed in front of my guests, each filled with an assortment of sauces and chunks of raw filet mignon ready to be cooked to the diner's personal preference: 15 seconds in the sizzling oil for rare, 30 seconds for medium, 45 seconds for well-done.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDV10iwtNMac4atqj4v0jQXUzNmNIHM45pxkf-2t1UmZX1yNWEENiualySQ11axZLQmhNpP0NRQffNXHF8Ujg9l1bpZV5nEB9POp5z1Po8Cz1X-2JFSBLOTMvOk0WD6kF5gzNxt32l8k/s1600/FruitForChocolateFondue%252C02-10-18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1515" data-original-width="1600" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDV10iwtNMac4atqj4v0jQXUzNmNIHM45pxkf-2t1UmZX1yNWEENiualySQ11axZLQmhNpP0NRQffNXHF8Ujg9l1bpZV5nEB9POp5z1Po8Cz1X-2JFSBLOTMvOk0WD6kF5gzNxt32l8k/s200/FruitForChocolateFondue%252C02-10-18.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eleven kinds of fruit could be dipped in<br />
chocolate fondue and then rolled in<br />
crushed nuts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For this course, Rodney Strong Cabernet Sauvignon and a dry Reisling were served. I encouraged each guest to declare which sauce was their favorite. It was evident that my neighbors were delighted to be engaging in such a new and interesting dining experience. There were no leftovers!<br />
<br />
And then it was time for the dessert course: Gran Marnier-infused chocolate fondue with an assortment of fresh fruit for dipping. Each diner had a small bowl of chopped nuts in front of him or her in which to roll the chocolate-dipped fruit for added enhancement. For this course I served a chocolate zinfandel as an aperitif. It was a good thing my guests could all walk home and no one had to drive.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyGYAFQg9KFtrsiQLF3wyvcOTMpcqJtctZ2dU8HEUuU-Nwynwcn6-B0M_V4Ei_-hCUzuzyiBFURi1KtXMHfOufwnX1wfYjAoqXmHZAfXuF-_EEwu5jUkYvNbvLPi_tIgKxD0iQ7lr-LA/s1600/Maria7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyGYAFQg9KFtrsiQLF3wyvcOTMpcqJtctZ2dU8HEUuU-Nwynwcn6-B0M_V4Ei_-hCUzuzyiBFURi1KtXMHfOufwnX1wfYjAoqXmHZAfXuF-_EEwu5jUkYvNbvLPi_tIgKxD0iQ7lr-LA/s200/Maria7.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I served a Maryland dessert<br />
wine with the last course:<br />
a chocolate zinfandel from St.<br />
Michaels on the eastern shore</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IFOTrDbTd-r9h094c1W1-RvDIFKkRjzRI8LcFuvOPCwhTn4NeyBblUtuoWtTUXpegsM7LvdEFYNzpMPfx2GsTqoJmjBgf5u94WjbE4eGw-T3qGMVeLh4SpklP2ZWvJZrnRixRsMGFOk/s1600/Maria11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IFOTrDbTd-r9h094c1W1-RvDIFKkRjzRI8LcFuvOPCwhTn4NeyBblUtuoWtTUXpegsM7LvdEFYNzpMPfx2GsTqoJmjBgf5u94WjbE4eGw-T3qGMVeLh4SpklP2ZWvJZrnRixRsMGFOk/s200/Maria11.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After dinner we all gathered<br />
on my staircase for a group<br />
photo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Candles glowed. The fireplace warmed. Conversation flowed. My guests were happy. I was relaxed. Toward the end of the evening, Leroy confessed that he and Allen had been commiserating about having to attend a "boring dinner". Leroy now announced that he had not been bored at all, but instead was really taken with the novelty of the theme and the warm ambiance created by his fellow diners. Michelle remarked how interesting it was to learn about my Swiss heritage and culture, just as I have been fascinated by the Jamaican customs shared when I attend parties at her house.<br />
<br />
As we got up from the table, fully sated and ready for a good night's sleep, Maria suggested we all gather on my staircase for a group photo. Cleaning up after my guests departed was an exercise in pure joy, as I recounted with warm affection the laughter and delight with which my guests partook of their experience. Another successful dinner party was under my belt, accompanied by warm memories of this neighborly gathering to last a lifetime.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<i>"In order to have good neighbors, we must be good neighbors. That applies in every field of human endeavor"</i> ~ Benjamin Franklin<br />
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Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-53810624141589913392017-12-14T21:04:00.000-05:002018-02-01T09:04:58.086-05:00It Takes a Herd<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijURBjp9YrtfqKkHUzOeCVAfjXJyAWA9VbKnfXfOEidJGBLIKD_fK0ATcQ9pB4i7QbpvBJFpwt5Auq1yENNWUpHkmXFF4MuySoRFJx7DjTk321Jdz2W4FTors9dmFtgu-8n43GEPzB4OU/s1600/ThankYouDeer07%252C12-10-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1600" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijURBjp9YrtfqKkHUzOeCVAfjXJyAWA9VbKnfXfOEidJGBLIKD_fK0ATcQ9pB4i7QbpvBJFpwt5Auq1yENNWUpHkmXFF4MuySoRFJx7DjTk321Jdz2W4FTors9dmFtgu-8n43GEPzB4OU/s320/ThankYouDeer07%252C12-10-17.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">I
live on a busy intersection in Baltimore County, Maryland, at the northeast corner of a four-way
stop that sees commuters from the next county stream past on their journey toward Baltimore every
morning and bumper-to-bumper back toward their homes every
evening (although during the day it's quiet and peaceful here). For almost all of the 17 years I’ve owned this house, I’ve dressed the
corner of my two-acre lot, which faces all this vehicular traffic, in seasonal décor to mark autumn,
Halloween and Christmas. In early fall I arrange straw bales on the
grass and plant a seven-foot scarecrow behind them. I set out a variety of pumpkins
and gourds and squashes, along with a collection of feather-covered Styrofoam
crows and roosters. No one in all these years has even so much as smashed a
pumpkin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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few days before Halloween, I add lighted skulls to my autumnal display, giving the
arrangement a more macabre tone. I hang a “floating” ghoul on my front porch,
whose solar-powered lantern flickers at night, set a smoldering cauldron of
shrunken apple heads on a table by the front door and, of course, carve a jaunty jack-o-lantern or two. After Halloween I put the scary decorations away and leave the fall display up at my corner </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px;">for all to enjoy through </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Thanksgiving weekend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">In
early December, I stash the squash in my cellar for winter stews, and set out a pair of animated, lighted deer. It’s a buck and a
doe that I’ve had for years, almost life size, sturdy and of very good
quality, with motorized heads that turn left to right (the buck, as if to gaze at the
commuters) and up and down (the doe, as if nibbling at a straw bale). Over the years
I’ve received several cards from people so moved by my simple displays that they
felt compelled to leave notes in my mailbox to tell me how the arrays lift their spirits. One day a family even stopped to ask if they could pose their
children between the deer for their annual Christmas card photograph. I was delighted and offered to take the picture for them.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66ScDtSIyfjgvNTSusLSFmhHyMC_dvUYp-ri3we01HeGKS7W9lp4tI333Mc9WvquZ0349nrXKbk9oj12ZuPTFDRu0QJpRWnV8Tglpf-0LWbF_BLgyFRhkkfMpWRGp6rTPrH0GuNvSJPY/s1600/SpikeTheReindeer%252C12-03-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66ScDtSIyfjgvNTSusLSFmhHyMC_dvUYp-ri3we01HeGKS7W9lp4tI333Mc9WvquZ0349nrXKbk9oj12ZuPTFDRu0QJpRWnV8Tglpf-0LWbF_BLgyFRhkkfMpWRGp6rTPrH0GuNvSJPY/s200/SpikeTheReindeer%252C12-03-17.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">So
I was understandably horrified to look out my bedroom window last weekend </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">to find that the lighted buck was missing from my Christmas display. He had been
there that morning. I ran some errands in the middle of the day and hadn't noticed he was gone until my automatic timer turned on the lights in late afternoon,and I could see only one deer at the corner. The thieves had stopped their car alongside the road and grabbed my buck in the middle of the day on a Saturday afternoon! They hadn't realized that he was plugged in, apparently, since I found his extension cord at the edge of the road. They had tried to steal the doe, too, but her metal anchors apparently held more tightly to the ground than the buck's. The scoundrels managed only to break her motorized neck and tangle her lights as they drove off with my stag.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I was distraught. Who would do such a thing during this, the merriest of seasons? Who would stoop so low as to rob my daily drivers-by of their bucolic winter scene? The officer who took a police report the next day said he believed the evil deed was carried out by drug addicts who wrongly assumed the deer was made of copper, which could be sold on the black market for quite a bit of money. He theorized that as soon as the thieves realized the deer was made of cheap metal, they would just throw him in the woods someplace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">So I put up a sign. A very large sign. I propped it up next to the doe with her broken neck and mangled lights. It said: </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">"To whoever stole my buck, please return him.</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">" My morale was shattered. I was heartbroken that someone would spirit away a possession whose sole purpose on my corner was to bring joy to others. I was "done" with Christmas. I didn't care if I put up another single decoration. I couldn't imagine feeling any sort of Christmas joy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Within minutes a woman pulled into my driveway. "How much is the deer?" she asked. "Oh, no", I explained. "I'm not selling the doe. I just want the stolen one returned. "No", she persisted. "How much was the deer that was stolen?" This kind stranger was offering to pay to replace my missing buck! She explained that she drives past my house every day and her children have derived much enjoyment from my seasonal decorations over the years. I was so moved by her kind gesture. I explained that I had searched the internet high and low but a replacement buck of the size and quality of the one I lost no longer seemed to be available. I asked her simply to be on the lookout for my stolen deer, perhaps tossed into the woods nearby or dumped by the side of the road. She promised to be vigilant, and tell her neighbors, too.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMaMdnKH3E_t6oG2onVjXgwLdBAeFkMPGWKPOXSW0ps6oNN5UNN6noYEJfreIjqVt7xgw3YUjsmDWi2deuhndCVeGuikAnJJXD1jswMhfThIuPDHAj3GqMyHXumaZQh-8QUFMeTJWJEAo/s1600/ThankYouDeer02%252C12-06-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1240" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMaMdnKH3E_t6oG2onVjXgwLdBAeFkMPGWKPOXSW0ps6oNN5UNN6noYEJfreIjqVt7xgw3YUjsmDWi2deuhndCVeGuikAnJJXD1jswMhfThIuPDHAj3GqMyHXumaZQh-8QUFMeTJWJEAo/s200/ThankYouDeer02%252C12-06-17.jpg" width="154" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The next evening, there was a knock at my door. A young woman in her 20s stood on my front porch. She said her name was Kat. She explained that she </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">and her dad live right up the road from me. They had seen my sign and wanted to do something nice to restore my Christmas spirit. Her father, a rather handy man with an axe, it seemed, had chiseled a deer for me by hand from logs he had lying around. At that moment the man emerged from his pickup truck with an adorable buck, smaller in stature than my stolen one, but much greater in charm. Kat had fashioned antlers from branches fastened with tiny green and gold bows all around, and had hung from one branch a red glass ornament that said "Merry Christmas from the Mansfields". I invited them in and we chatted for a few minutes. "My adorable new deer is going to need a name!", I exclaimed. I asked the dad what his name was, and he said his name was Dave but all his friends call him "Spike". Spike!! It was a perfect name for my new reindeer. I gave Spike a place of prominence on my front porch and posted his picture on Facebook for all my friends to see. What a lovely thing for these neighbors to do for me, a complete stranger to them. My faith in humanity was quickly being restored.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRoNWfyMVvrbbC8RHZmoFxpM5RbBILjRn0GTV2IfUFTkWi97Snf44Z-IKwK8_QXj2jNDD2qduoRISC831B8Ds89p-wWMuURPq-dSILxntvqpW_tzdDd8DUdkQGsQRIHQqr0N_EdLZjO1Y/s1600/NewBuck%252CBaby%252CGifts%252C12-06-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRoNWfyMVvrbbC8RHZmoFxpM5RbBILjRn0GTV2IfUFTkWi97Snf44Z-IKwK8_QXj2jNDD2qduoRISC831B8Ds89p-wWMuURPq-dSILxntvqpW_tzdDd8DUdkQGsQRIHQqr0N_EdLZjO1Y/s200/NewBuck%252CBaby%252CGifts%252C12-06-17.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Two more days passed. I would be taking down the sign the following weekend, as I felt the chances of ever getting my stag back were quickly fading. Then, just after dark on Wednesday, my doorbell rang. This time there was a man at my door with two giant boxes at his feet. "I drive by your house every day" he said, "and my employees wanted to do something nice to cheer you up after your loss." They had pooled their money and sent the man, Chris Cook, owner with his wife, Stephanie, of a small wiring company in the next town, to Home Depot to purchase a replacement deer for me. In addition to the deer, he had purchased a trio of lighted gift boxes to add to my display. I was stunned. The new deer was gorgeous, animated just like my buck had been, and every bit as big. What a thoughtful, gracious thing to do for a complete stranger! He helped me carry the boxes inside and I asked him to express my profound gratitude to his employees. Now my display would be even better than it was before! I would have lighted gift boxes to set beside the deer, a tribute to my joy at receiving such lovely and unexpected gifts from strangers.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKolRGwzD8tO-3cfpJfC8ZNJcVOaMDlRez5ZDb50fHoRM7Qa0mXY_fcVEh2IufR0jLcdGrqcEUAQPkXzegJriIkXGDO1wTBuELpKKg-voQOvVBUf5dG6X654liXKvtSmxNt7rC-pzflFo/s1600/ThankYouDeer01%252C12-06-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1128" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKolRGwzD8tO-3cfpJfC8ZNJcVOaMDlRez5ZDb50fHoRM7Qa0mXY_fcVEh2IufR0jLcdGrqcEUAQPkXzegJriIkXGDO1wTBuELpKKg-voQOvVBUf5dG6X654liXKvtSmxNt7rC-pzflFo/s200/ThankYouDeer01%252C12-06-17.jpg" width="140" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">No sooner had the man departed than I noticed a smaller box perched on my front porch railing. Had Mr. Cook left a third package behind? I picked it up and brought it inside. It was a smaller, lighted deer. Taped to the box was a handwritten note. The donor wanted to create a teachable moment for her children, so she took them to the store to pick out a replacement deer for me. Her note expressed concern that the little white deer did not at all match the large brown doe on my lawn. But I was ecstatic. The little deer would be a perfect "fawn" for my new deer "family". Now I had a whole herd of deer! My spirit was full, my faith in humanity completely restored.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6fgYLi41rd0NcvoIuMWnrMwkAQMMxJjMBdGbAB1G9M_rdBGl1ucb9dfzwTLTiIrADUayLwuvOFvJ-2bNrJ9tNoRgUmhOWVoqxWHtPEQQxLKKsTF-RG1fnyrt09b-41P2oz2ISXgAte6A/s1600/IMG_3753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6fgYLi41rd0NcvoIuMWnrMwkAQMMxJjMBdGbAB1G9M_rdBGl1ucb9dfzwTLTiIrADUayLwuvOFvJ-2bNrJ9tNoRgUmhOWVoqxWHtPEQQxLKKsTF-RG1fnyrt09b-41P2oz2ISXgAte6A/s200/IMG_3753.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">This weekend I set my newly assembled deer family out at the corner of my property. I wrapped a new set of lights around the doe and reassembled her broken neck. I set up the brightly colored gift boxes next to the straw bales. I made a new sign. It said "Thank you, everyone!" For these are no longer the gifts of a few isolated strangers. They are gestures of kindness from an entire community. They represent, for me at least, a village that is watching over me, even as I go about my business completely unaware. These are now "community deer". My seasonal display is no longer just the machination of a single woman trying to brighten the spirits of daily commuters as they pass by my yard on their way to work. It is a demonstration of what happens when human beings care about the feelings of other human beings. I am truly heartened by the good will I've experienced over the past few days. I am deeply moved by the generosity of total strangers. It's going to be a good Christmas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Cheers,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Lynell</span></div>
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Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-90770827766000176352017-10-16T23:15:00.000-04:002017-10-22T18:49:45.970-04:00OkToblerfest 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When the mid-Atlantic air turns crisp and my feet rustle leaves as I walk across the yard, my thoughts turn to... my paternal cousins. For it is autumn, when Germanic countries throughout western Europe host festivals to commemorate the harvest of an ingredient key to the brewing of beer. I don't really care about the beer or the hops used to make it, but I do like the way my cousin Claudia's husband, Phil, shifted the emphasis of Germany's traditional Oktoberfest celebration toward my Swiss family several years ago when he suggested that, with the addition of a single letter, my surname could be incorporated into a cool moniker for my annual gathering of east coast Tobler cousins. And so my annual OkToblerfest was christened.<br />
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I never know exactly how many cousins will attend my OkToblerfest in any given year. Tobler family members have come in years past from as far west as California, Wisconsin and Kentucky and as far north as Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York. But the Washington DC suburbs is where two of my cousins reside with their husbands and school-age children, which makes their annual excursion to my farmhouse in Baltimore County just an hour's drive through mostly picturesque countryside. So I can almost always count on the attendance of these Toblers even if the more remote relatives can't always make it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I designed the invitations and stamped<br />
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I prepared my invitations a month in advance, as I do every year. These are homemade invitations, on actual paper, slipped into an actual envelope, and then sealed with hot wax which is stamped with our family initial. Wouldn't you love to get an invitation like that? But how often does it happen? I'm guessing hardly ever. I love how the receipt of a mailed invitation becomes a special experience in its own right while also portending an unforgettable experience yet to come.<br />
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This year, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania couldn't attend, so there were just 12 around my OkToblerfest dinner table on Saturday night. I'd been terribly busy these last few weeks and had not yet decided on a main dish when Claudia's husband came up with another helpful suggestion: "have you considered making Rouladen?" Truth is I had never heard of Rouladen. My mother prided herself on having a vast collection of sometimes exotic, always elegant gourmet dishes in her repertoire, but for some reason Rouladen had never been among them. I Googled Rouladen. It sounded intriguing. But despite various recipes on the internet suggesting Rouladen would be "easy to make", it looked quite complicated and time consuming to me. Nevertheless, any beef recipe that incorporates mustard and pickle into the mix had to be good. And it could be made well ahead of time. My interest was piqued.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkgqrd3abhTeIvGXHSd-tOr_EkWc9cgM90CsPvJVXR6tgQNoaX1tvBDVkpQcZ3lKvWz4uPRm0yOn0mpq1KjLJwntx_fSIxbrMa9_Xa2C6_IrJRE7w_VygE2jngj_7EnMQAO7PbMKQAwE/s1600/HouseInFall%252C10-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkgqrd3abhTeIvGXHSd-tOr_EkWc9cgM90CsPvJVXR6tgQNoaX1tvBDVkpQcZ3lKvWz4uPRm0yOn0mpq1KjLJwntx_fSIxbrMa9_Xa2C6_IrJRE7w_VygE2jngj_7EnMQAO7PbMKQAwE/s320/HouseInFall%252C10-14-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I always decorate the front of my farmhouse in seasonal decor</td></tr>
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I emailed my best friend from high school in California, Becky. Her mother-in-law is an excellent cook who specializes in authentic dishes of her native Germany. Perhaps Gretel had a recipe for Rouladen that I could trust more than an internet version. But alas, Gretel was traveling far from home, visiting the hot-air balloon festival in New Mexico. And besides, Becky said, Gretel never wrote her recipes down. She always cooked from memory and taste, adding a dash of this and a smidgen of that. I needed something a bit more concrete to go by.<br />
<br />
So then I emailed a dear friend here in Baltimore, Mary. Did her husband Klaus have a recipe for Rouladen? By the time Mary replied to tell me that Klaus never wrote anything down, either, I had searched the internet far and wide and had printed out two recipes for Rouladen that struck my fancy. I would take the main ingredients and instructions from the first one and incorporate ingredients for the accompanying gravy from the second.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj1aEauU0Wf5_rKP8SNK84dylEEpBk8FbWn255a2l6uQeFTEsr64kxjRfL6llvtk88nEVpYkP-49rtIlkc6AEB686PB0SeIuv4ghTH6Q7io5N-yqSyDTTb_I6CtzXtTvaGXHVdw70BnWY/s1600/MenuOkToblerfest%252C10-14-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1353" data-original-width="1046" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj1aEauU0Wf5_rKP8SNK84dylEEpBk8FbWn255a2l6uQeFTEsr64kxjRfL6llvtk88nEVpYkP-49rtIlkc6AEB686PB0SeIuv4ghTH6Q7io5N-yqSyDTTb_I6CtzXtTvaGXHVdw70BnWY/s320/MenuOkToblerfest%252C10-14-17.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My OkToblerfest menu featured Swiss dishes</td></tr>
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<br />
I also planned to prepare two salads that intrigued me recently. I've been staying away from corn and its high sugar, high starch content, but September 22nd's edition of the Baltimore Sun's Sunday Parade magazine held an intriguing autumn recipe that immediately caught my attention:<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="background-color: color: #555555;">Alex G</span>uarnaschelli, judge on Food Network’s <em><a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/shows/chopped">Chopped</a></em>, offered a <i><a href="https://communitytable.parade.com/605350/alisonashton/warm-candied-corn-salad/">"candied corn" salad</a></i>, said to evoke the autumnal flavors of caramel and corn. Wouldn't my cousins' children love something like that? I made the candied corn salad a few weeks before my big event, and sure enough, it was fabulous, so it went on the menu. Another salad came to me on February 23rd by way of the Los Angeles Times. An article about how good turmeric is for one's health sparked my curiosity because increasing my turmeric intake has helped immensely with my psoriasis over the past few years. I made the turmeric salad for my friend, Jan, at her<i> <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2017/04/easter-at-jans.html">Easter celebration</a></i> in March and have been making the recipe steadily since then. It's marvelous -- and the presentation is beautiful!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555;"></span></span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">For dessert I decided to bake my mother's traditional persimmon pudding. Served warm, with a drizzle of thick cream, the cool-weather dessert would offer rustic coziness in Maryland's autumn chill. We would be dining alfresco, after all, as I have no room in my small dining room to seat twelve people.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhShJNtBK7DllDgyn6WpRqTOdOvGHlG1IPEs2xPlYP4D2xLCqtYVNkUh4aiw7SHo06k5mgaG-E8F5c-8VJa4tRK3qIGINwmXmk_qrxqCDNnK5097noMHbGxAugWbx9Ms05TPgkPJYXflwE/s1600/MenusForEveryone01%252C10-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1594" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhShJNtBK7DllDgyn6WpRqTOdOvGHlG1IPEs2xPlYP4D2xLCqtYVNkUh4aiw7SHo06k5mgaG-E8F5c-8VJa4tRK3qIGINwmXmk_qrxqCDNnK5097noMHbGxAugWbx9Ms05TPgkPJYXflwE/s320/MenusForEveryone01%252C10-14-17.JPG" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Everyone got to take a menu home with them as a memento</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> of the evening.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Cousins Christine, daughter of my late Uncle John, and Claudia, granddaughter of my late Uncle Oscar, offered to bring sides. Claudia, who is eschewing meat, offered to bring an onion tart and a spinach quiche, both of which sounded divine. Christine offered to make homemade spaetzle, luscious egg noodles sauteed in butter, and rotkohl, a divine red cabbage dish cooked with cloves and brown sugar. My menu was complete.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Although it's always a spin on a roulette wheel whether there will be rain on the day I choose for my party, last year was the very first year that I had to host my OkToblerfest dinner indoors because rain actually occurred on the day of my gathering. Most years, the weather has been crisp, brisk and beautiful for dining outside on my lawn. This year the forecast predicted rain clear up to the day before my party. That was fine -- we sorely needed the moisture. But it meant I wouldn't be able to set anything up until the day of the party -- a definite cause for anxiety on my part, since I hate to wait until the last minute to do anything.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvpWSzHiI8F2Q1R8R8kretSasvwDZFWPrqa0BL_rYhPkq-Yd63w1CWvSgQfhIi6XTsijEdfrC_uVms0waQY5-3_R1-ZEMUE2D3lOw_Nz3PP0rgKUIpnKBcw0yv_V8gbZYxdya8RUN77w/s1600/RouladenAssembly01%252C10-12-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="354" data-original-width="1600" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvpWSzHiI8F2Q1R8R8kretSasvwDZFWPrqa0BL_rYhPkq-Yd63w1CWvSgQfhIi6XTsijEdfrC_uVms0waQY5-3_R1-ZEMUE2D3lOw_Nz3PP0rgKUIpnKBcw0yv_V8gbZYxdya8RUN77w/s320/RouladenAssembly01%252C10-12-17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A beef cutlet is slathered with stoneground mustard, sprinkled<br />
with dill pickle, sliced onion and bacon, then rolled up and<br />
tied with twine. Repeat 24 times for a crowd of twelve!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>The week of my party I got busy with food prep. One of the most appealing attributes of the Rouladen recipe is that it can be made well ahead of time and then just heated up before dinner. So on Thursday after work, I went to work spreading stoneground mustard across 24 thin cutlets of flank steak, topping them with bacon, sliced onion and dill pickle, and then rolling the cutlets up and tying them with cooking twine. After I browned the Rouladen in a skillet, I softened diced carrots, celery and onion in butter over low heat and nestled my beef rolls into the mirepoix inside a large dutch oven. I covered everything with red wine and beef broth and let the Rouladen braise on the stovetop for two hours over low heat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazk0e70o2obQTfXu4atCw6f9ZCWdpK2gUAEXa09qF8C6OM1RbVVHk7Gtpwu1xj07zOgqDLehEV2GKAA3l6L7PDfQDWmGO6p3ezDjnzYFaOkyGigMinnIOm9wrNGOKjUw-0wbo2WSpg4c/s1600/RouladenAssembly02%252C10-12-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="1600" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazk0e70o2obQTfXu4atCw6f9ZCWdpK2gUAEXa09qF8C6OM1RbVVHk7Gtpwu1xj07zOgqDLehEV2GKAA3l6L7PDfQDWmGO6p3ezDjnzYFaOkyGigMinnIOm9wrNGOKjUw-0wbo2WSpg4c/s320/RouladenAssembly02%252C10-12-17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mirepoix, added as the Rouladen braises for several hours in<br />
beef broth and red wine, form a luscious gravy<br />
to pour over the beef rolls and sop up with hearty bread</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When the Rouladen were falling-apart tender, I transferred them to a serving dish, carefully removed the strings from each, and then pureed the mirepoix-wine-broth in my food processor. That's what had intrigued me so much about the "gravy" part of the second Rouladen recipe I found. By using the pureed vegetables to thicken the sauce, I didn't need to add any cornstarch or cream or flour. My gravy had a lovely texture and an intense, provocative flavor without too many added calories. I'll be incorporating that little secret into future gravies!<br />
<br />
Next I shucked kernels from ten ears of fresh corn and sauteed them in a bit of brown sugar and butter until almost all the liquid had evaporated. I made a vinaigrette of lemon juice and balsamic vinegar and stashed corn and dressing in the fridge separately to await last minute assembly with fresh arugula on the day of the party. The carrot-turmeric salad would also benefit from being made ahead of time, so I peeled and blanched two pounds of multicolored carrots sliced into coins and combined them with shredded red cabbage, chick peas, Bulgar wheat, parsley, scallions and crumbled feta. A heady dressing of lemon juice, toasted cumin seeds, ground turmeric, minced garlic and a little olive oil combined to impart their piquant flavor to the salad over the next 24 hours.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaEYWeoK1PIqQEDauJS2YrQJoAAcI2cb7hj-zJhR9sDtvlJ8haEy2Fz2NTHZrx39vScdrcheYYVEP7sideEuqnf0zWPGsBgeK17eT1YZhtw_7Orhc9PsWE_VRW8uF4A0KamWvf5IqtY0/s1600/CousinsCarving03%252C1-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaEYWeoK1PIqQEDauJS2YrQJoAAcI2cb7hj-zJhR9sDtvlJ8haEy2Fz2NTHZrx39vScdrcheYYVEP7sideEuqnf0zWPGsBgeK17eT1YZhtw_7Orhc9PsWE_VRW8uF4A0KamWvf5IqtY0/s320/CousinsCarving03%252C1-14-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone got into carving faces into Granny Smith apples</td></tr>
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I then sliced thin rounds of navel and blood oranges, lemons, tangerines and limes, and simmered sugar and cinnamon sticks to make a concentrated cinnamon simple syrup for a festive anjou-champagne punch I would serve my guests upon their arrival. I chilled the sparkling cider I would offer to the children.<br />
<br />
Finally, I peeled 30 granny smith apples and let them rest in a bath of water, salt and lemon juice overnight to help them retain their greenness while I set out potato peelers, serrated knives and printed instructions for carving faces into apple heads. I decorated gift bags for each child into which they could stash their carved apples for the journey home, where the contorted faces could be dried into shrunken apple heads in a slow oven. I created a pretty menu of all the items we'd be enjoying at dinner and printed one for each guest, rolled them into cylinders and tied them with ribbon fastened with a sunflower clip.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgni6qxq-uMRN4qpUjzTwixTcMHBv6-GO7g5SVV1S8Ar4ueH2VjKw1hyphenhyphenPcB8QyYOxofBw4Q3vDXP6GvXwTsCTLTDOz7hZWmTcqWrfm9uU4-VBvrtevwfG6Eq1JqEdIoIzUfTefYU9kMKs/s1600/OldWoodenPIngPongTable01%252C10-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1049" data-original-width="1600" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgni6qxq-uMRN4qpUjzTwixTcMHBv6-GO7g5SVV1S8Ar4ueH2VjKw1hyphenhyphenPcB8QyYOxofBw4Q3vDXP6GvXwTsCTLTDOz7hZWmTcqWrfm9uU4-VBvrtevwfG6Eq1JqEdIoIzUfTefYU9kMKs/s320/OldWoodenPIngPongTable01%252C10-14-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old wooden ping-pong table serves as a sturdy platform<br />
for alfresco dinners in my yard </td></tr>
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<br />
On the day of the party, I pulled a heavy plastic tarp which had sheltered my patio chairs from the overnight rain and prepared to set the table, my favorite part of every party preparation. A heavy, old wooden ping-pong table, purchased 35 years ago for $10 from a junk dealer in Oakland, California, has been a mainstay through more than three decades of garden parties across the four states in which I've lived. Snugged up against a metal and glass patio table I bought on sale at Macy's ten years ago which happens to be the same height and width, I soon found I had plenty of room for seating up to twenty dinner guests. Add some plain brown, king-size bedsheets as tablecloths and, voila. My old wooden ping-pong table and its glass and metal counterpart combined to form a wide expanse of dining surface, ripe for embellishing with the accoutrements of the season. I could hardly wait to get started.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAI1ecysqIPsa7mOC1U-tqB4-ylioCMJ37A5EJ1LIWxRxkx0pbbB8sUseUcexDPT2a1bQn8dpJCa1qwk-xZLG8wcbTNDgvHXrxh6-F8WNhcY3cYVs7w0uRyrUl82JXsglG1jE5MN7D3LM/s1600/Tablescape07%252C10-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAI1ecysqIPsa7mOC1U-tqB4-ylioCMJ37A5EJ1LIWxRxkx0pbbB8sUseUcexDPT2a1bQn8dpJCa1qwk-xZLG8wcbTNDgvHXrxh6-F8WNhcY3cYVs7w0uRyrUl82JXsglG1jE5MN7D3LM/s320/Tablescape07%252C10-14-17.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Transformed by plain brown bedsheets serving <br />
as gigantic tablecloths, my patio tables became<br />
one behemoth dining table fit for a crowd</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
A magazine article I'd happened upon last year featured Oriental bittersweet wrapped around white pumpkins. I <i>loved </i>the look. However, Oriental bittersweet is a terribly invasive plant which should never be purchased or planted in one's yard. Over the years I had (finally) successfully eradicated it from mine. With no Oriental bittersweet to be had on my two acres, I ventured to the craft stores for a reasonable facsimile. At <i><a href="http://www.joann.com/?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&gclid=Cj0KEQjwsZHPBRCli4aqk_X2tP8BEiQAL5Uw8ExcmDrcssIkeonXFqShULHS5fYvagWWwpKHsmRbL3AaAtCi8P8HAQ">JoAnn Fabrics</a></i>, I found just what I wanted, a stylized version of the dreaded vine on bendable wire. With two shade structures erected over my table to hold rope lights and space heaters, I was ready to create my tablescape!<br />
<br />
Burlap ribbon tied in festive bows around each chair created the perfect receptacle for stems of faux fall flowers stuck through the knots. I tossed walnuts and autumn leaves and other fall "scatter" across the broad expanse of tablecloth and positioned felt maple-leaf placemats from <i><a href="https://www.pier1.com/on/demandware.store/Sites-pier1_us-Site/default/Default-Start?s_cid=cpc%7cGoogle%7cPier1%5EPPC%5ETrademark%5ECorebrand%5EB%5EExact%5EUS%5EEN%5EDesktop%5EX%7cTrademark%5EX%5EX&gclid=Cj0KCQjwsZHPBRClARIsAC-VMPBTFNUAZVD3wWYg04_PzZesauT83TUDvzCNsQNR78oiMKoazKquYLYaAvUdEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds">Pier One Imports</a></i> at each place setting. Two straw squirrels that had belonged to my late sister formed the centerpiece, as small Swiss flags adorned ceramic pumpkin vases of fresh flowers to honor our family's heritage. Some pretty gourds and a few votive candles on mismatched saucers rounded out the motif. There was no need to be too precious.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0azIR4LaFGWBRqCuCPqInefuWDNfiGLiHg5vf2dwmv56VXlEstkGKgGb4fJ4Bvzg03vul0LYy-Vw_IKRwDLDUlSDjFkQ9sQLEejx8g2S2EsRse0vHB3NutZLJHoSEOB3PaScGgSiHEEo/s1600/SwissRoots01%252C10-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0azIR4LaFGWBRqCuCPqInefuWDNfiGLiHg5vf2dwmv56VXlEstkGKgGb4fJ4Bvzg03vul0LYy-Vw_IKRwDLDUlSDjFkQ9sQLEejx8g2S2EsRse0vHB3NutZLJHoSEOB3PaScGgSiHEEo/s320/SwissRoots01%252C10-14-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White pumpkins wrapped in faux Oriental bittersweet and<br />
fresh flowers adorned with Swiss flags formed the<br />
centerpiece of my tableau</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Slits carved into twelve mini-pumpkins held place cards with each guest's name. Rustic twig flatware, a splurge several years ago from <i><a href="http://vivaterra.com/">VivaTerra.com</a></i>, <i><a href="http://www.mikasa.com/homepage?gclid=Cj0KCQjwsZHPBRClARIsAC-VMPAlYlYBXuoqNJkX-Klb_olB0VS7HjRpMRet6WBGxYss-a-9f0g3C_oaAiO3EALw_wcB">Mikasa</a></i> Mayfair patterned stoneware plates I've had since 1976, and amber glassware I've had at least that long rounded out my eclectic tablescape. Once the table was set, I headed back into the kitchen. It was time to make the persimmon pudding, warm the Rouladen and the gravy, bake the appetizers, plate up the salads and assemble the punch. My guests would be arriving soon.<br />
<br />
I climbed the stairs to my dressing room. What to wear? I hadn't even thought about my attire until that moment, I'd been so busy with party preparations. It would be unseasonably warm that evening and I would be very active. I decided to defy typical October fashion and opt for cropped trousers from <i><a href="http://v/">Boston Proper</a></i> and a matching sleeveless <i><a href="https://www.jcpenney.com/g/liz-claiborne-women/N-bwo3xZ68">Liz Claiborne</a></i> top with fringed suede Limelite sandals from <i><a href="https://www.rackroomshoes.com/?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=20170913&utm_term=rack%20room%20shoes">Rack Room Shoes</a></i>. Rounding out my ensemble with olive and brown pearls at my wrist, neck and ears from my friend Jan's <i><a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2017/04/easter-at-jans.html">Fire & Ice</a></i> jewelers, I donned an apron and returned to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on everything.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvLvK6BsIN1XOxcpZylNRxl9m53FH4PYo7SrJBvwO3rpiZNzoTC4NU4XgbqcsEZoqD32f0ahrockOJ7KrszjrnBdPhgPkak9SJSIiays7yTG6gHEAisKI35KExBN87SuASrZLdr372sM/s1600/Centerpiece01%252C10-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvLvK6BsIN1XOxcpZylNRxl9m53FH4PYo7SrJBvwO3rpiZNzoTC4NU4XgbqcsEZoqD32f0ahrockOJ7KrszjrnBdPhgPkak9SJSIiays7yTG6gHEAisKI35KExBN87SuASrZLdr372sM/s320/Centerpiece01%252C10-14-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Straw squirrels that once adorned my late sister's dining table<br />
now have a place of honor at mine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Once my cousins arrived I was joyfully swept up into the merry frivolity of family members reuniting after a long absence, along with youngsters reacquainting themselves with their now slightly older cousins as they scrambled across my yard in pursuit of soccer balls and Frisbees. Goodness, my 15-year-old second cousin Kinga Nagy is taller than I am! When did that happen?<br />
<br />
Happily, everyone got into the carving of apple heads as my guests helped themselves to chili-garlic-eggplant puffs, Mozzarella cups with pesto and roasted tomato, tortilla chips with homemade tomato salsa (the salsa a birthday gift from my neighbor's garden), and an assortment of cornichons, dolmades and stuffed olives. We quaffed punch and cider, autumnal beers and other beverages as we caught up on each other's lives.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkwROEVJeXfiWiScsbFLruHc8po_G9I2GP5Xocerx13bwO2QcxOMXiv7ZwCJD9RHiBeeNZMMsv1-A27O1t9MF-rJH59qIVkfPvVJxAE8PJdqR48kg7e15ssrrn85oJKenTnXeIfiyhjg/s1600/AllGatheredTogether02%252C10-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkwROEVJeXfiWiScsbFLruHc8po_G9I2GP5Xocerx13bwO2QcxOMXiv7ZwCJD9RHiBeeNZMMsv1-A27O1t9MF-rJH59qIVkfPvVJxAE8PJdqR48kg7e15ssrrn85oJKenTnXeIfiyhjg/s320/AllGatheredTogether02%252C10-14-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tobler cousins gathered together for a wonderful autumn meal.<br />
From left to right: Anya, Akos, Christine, Kristof, Christian,<br />
Zsolt, me, Phil, Claudia, Riehen and Kinga</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When it was time for dinner, wine was poured and we sat down to a feast of flavorful dishes. Christine's homemade dumplings were to die for, and I absolutely loved her red cabbage. Claudia's onion tart and spinach quiche were outstanding, as was the sumptuous rye bread Zsolt brought from a local bakery. My rouladen was a big hit, as were the salads, and the persimmon pudding was devoured completely.<br />
<br />
After dinner, the twelve of us took seats around my firepit. Two years ago we'd exchanged ghost stories around the post-meal bonfire which had frightened the younger children. This year those same children were the central storytellers, regaling us all with tales of mischief and mayhem as they toasted marshmallows and pressed them into S'mores.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmI-DLJ6WDEjuojPUNeQ9T-bMabWvjxGaWEYSDVN19YemVRAZs4TA1b4H2k4WB0kT6fWHW61kAXkTdzavtZ0k0a50lUi0qEBXJOcg5uPaYiovkZ9eh9zjD0_E6IqZFR83gTkASHdr72jM/s1600/Bonfire02%252C10-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="977" data-original-width="1600" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmI-DLJ6WDEjuojPUNeQ9T-bMabWvjxGaWEYSDVN19YemVRAZs4TA1b4H2k4WB0kT6fWHW61kAXkTdzavtZ0k0a50lUi0qEBXJOcg5uPaYiovkZ9eh9zjD0_E6IqZFR83gTkASHdr72jM/s320/Bonfire02%252C10-14-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After dinner we toasted marshmallows and told ghost stories<br />
around a campfire in my meadow </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Another two hours we spent, engaging in lively discourse around the campfire and enjoying one another's company immensely. Finally it was time to pack up the children and turn the family automobiles toward home. As I put food and decor away after my guests had departed, cleaned up the kitchen and eventually sat down with a cup of hot tea before bed, I thought about why I love putting on these dinners so very much: it's the deep sense of inclusion I derive from being surrounded by beloved family members. I don't get to feel that sense of belonging very often, as my only brother and his family are far away in California. I spend a lot of time alone in my life and that's fine. But that makes being enveloped by the love and affection of cousins a precious commodity that I cherish as much for its enthusiasm as for its scarcity. Even if they weren't my cousins I would adore them all. But the fact that they are my <i>family</i> makes them extra-special.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<br />
<i>"Cousins are the people who make life beautiful. These are my people. This is my tribe."</i> ~ Unknown</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-47379062248118107902017-09-11T23:24:00.000-04:002017-09-13T14:43:31.864-04:00The Ultimate Scratching Post<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkWGlDE0LySavNR_Tsow2L4_o4qeWRF3rGjFPwNp8TJ_v-db8XUQbXjcHJLBm9cIKWH2Cjf0WtdUDQgfHGA6CPOnIQHLWAGwvDvjo3vVKp6x_ffSeHViBjj9MWQnKPmp-Emx42CP4lI7M/s1600/InstallationCompleted04%252C09-11-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkWGlDE0LySavNR_Tsow2L4_o4qeWRF3rGjFPwNp8TJ_v-db8XUQbXjcHJLBm9cIKWH2Cjf0WtdUDQgfHGA6CPOnIQHLWAGwvDvjo3vVKp6x_ffSeHViBjj9MWQnKPmp-Emx42CP4lI7M/s320/InstallationCompleted04%252C09-11-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is this wainscoting made of wallpaper? Stenciled paint?<br />
No, it's carpet!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There is nothing better to distract from one's sorrows than a new home project. And what better home project to distract me from the unexpected death last week of one of my beloved cats than to complete the installation of a long awaited and much anticipated full-length feline scratching post.<br />
<br />
I have long known that the best way to keep a cat from scratching my furniture is to have a scratching post in every room where I interact with my cats. Many pet lovers know that our feline friends are not sharpening their claws when they annihilate our upholstery. They are marking their territory, much as cats do in the wild when they rake the trunk of a tree with their claws to say: "This is <i>my</i> area!" In most households, your domestic lion is also declaring: "This is <i>my</i> area and <i>my</i> human!"<br />
<br />
The wainscoting in the stairwell of my 1862-era farmhouse in Baltimore County, Maryland, was wallpapered when I bought the house in 2001. I liked the<i> idea</i> of wallpapered wainscoting but I hated the wallpaper I had inherited with the house, so in 2012 when I converted a spare bedroom into a walk-in closet/dressing room and found myself with leftover beadboard wallpaper, I re-papered the stairwell. It was gorgeous. I loved it.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCWQs7Cc7tlJInmJNkxtvvLlauW2MUPYdYTvGNnsCI9MXQsSDKKikcV4XoWEf0g8OSBE58uIeJnMwwHb0RBajFnd14bok_iZUupywmy0bo1cy-xIi2fd6I-wNNVSZHqriHxAeZaPoFHXQ/s1600/Before03.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCWQs7Cc7tlJInmJNkxtvvLlauW2MUPYdYTvGNnsCI9MXQsSDKKikcV4XoWEf0g8OSBE58uIeJnMwwHb0RBajFnd14bok_iZUupywmy0bo1cy-xIi2fd6I-wNNVSZHqriHxAeZaPoFHXQ/s320/Before03.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cats had ruined my beadboard wallpaper wainscoting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Trouble was, so did the cats. While they'd never bothered the old wallpaper wainscoting, upon installation of the new, all three suddenly decided that the stairwell was an ideal place for scratching with their claws. In no time they had reduced my new wallpaper to shreds. No amount of spray-on deterrent made any difference, so I resigned myself to having an ugly stairwell.<br />
<br />
In said dressing room, I had taken a bit of carpet left over from covering the floor and framed it low on the wall as a custom scratching post for the cats in an effort to keep them from scratching the new beadboard wallpaper in that room. It worked! So when I remodeled my master bath in 2015, I incorporated a built-in carpeted scratching wall at the end of my double-sink vanity in an effort to keep the cats from scratching a beautifully upholstered bench I put next to the tub. That worked, too! The cats LOVED their custom scratching areas. They left my new wallpaper and upholstery alone.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN8nVhQfMus3DVZDPsJVWApE6AMl_i4azcrVexZpO7Xl7_WMAPs9VqDJX7xBd5hqnBFAXam-wunK9zqzWcbtGhKWPLZZLcrgBk7jKO-fC2FvQu-Tcy3BmrEFHeoASByV2CQ-Ozn7MNaLA/s1600/WallpaperStripped01%252C08-20-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN8nVhQfMus3DVZDPsJVWApE6AMl_i4azcrVexZpO7Xl7_WMAPs9VqDJX7xBd5hqnBFAXam-wunK9zqzWcbtGhKWPLZZLcrgBk7jKO-fC2FvQu-Tcy3BmrEFHeoASByV2CQ-Ozn7MNaLA/s200/WallpaperStripped01%252C08-20-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I stripped the ruined beadboard<br />
wallpaper from the wainscoting in<br />
anticipation of the new carpet<br />
installation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So when I began to tinker with the idea of re-covering the wainscoting in my stairwell, I was suddenly struck by an idea: what if I covered the entire length of the stairwell wainscoting in ... carpeting?!! I would select the same kind of carpeting I had used for my dressing room: a short durable pile of extremely high quality, densely knotted fiber. I noted that since installing the first carpeted scratching wall in my dressing room five years ago, that pile has shown no signs of wear despite seeing daily clawing by multiple cats.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecbTGXu-QORiS62foY4svKl02FULjC31g9T1Pxzlrq_CG8rw6Q3f9n0fHd6TaRdc8ymyloixpJ9r6KjyDyUEZyKHc1BJ6qEmRXNVKKOeg0QaMNBZQACTP5goLzulT_P2SaD6qVbfiAYg/s1600/CreatingTheStencil04%252C08-26-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecbTGXu-QORiS62foY4svKl02FULjC31g9T1Pxzlrq_CG8rw6Q3f9n0fHd6TaRdc8ymyloixpJ9r6KjyDyUEZyKHc1BJ6qEmRXNVKKOeg0QaMNBZQACTP5goLzulT_P2SaD6qVbfiAYg/s200/CreatingTheStencil04%252C08-26-17.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard Crafton and his son,<br />
Dustin, created a stencil of<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">the wainscoting using</span><br />
plastic sheeting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finally, this summer, I got around to calling my favorite carpet man, Richard Crafton of<a href="http://www.kleenizerugcleaners.com/about-1/"> <i>Time Machine Carpet Repair</i></a> in Baltimore City. Could he get some more of that carpet from my closet remodel in 2012? Could he give me an estimate for installing it in my stairwell?<br />
<br />
Once he got over the shock of my wanting to install carpet vertically on the wall instead of on the stair treads as he had assumed, Richard was totally on board with the idea. He and his son, Dustin, took careful measurements of the narrow wall space. When he learned that the carpet I wanted was no longer available, Richard sent me samples of carpet patterns he thought I might like instead. I picked one I thought would fit the era of the house -- and we were off to the races.<br />
<br />
Richard and Dustin returned a few weeks later with a large sheet of plastic, the kind that rolls of carpet come shipped in. They laid the plastic along the stairwell and traced its shape with a marking pen, creating a full-size stencil. For this wasn't an ordinary stairwell; it was a hand hewn, curving staircase with a notched alcove halfway up the stairs in the middle of the curve. Getting the dimensions right would be challenging.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQBv8a8_Oby7bRJ6T4Mu79tmfZ6lxic4PYEWXYf-wn-cvG_abAycY18cK4kXE0tsBdLIZ8PU1PAg3jjzR16lZW_D1VdcZy9qX3inQgW7zKYlogs6SdSuvnu9AwveslsWtEWppHS9092C8/s1600/CutingCarpetToStencil02%252C09-11-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQBv8a8_Oby7bRJ6T4Mu79tmfZ6lxic4PYEWXYf-wn-cvG_abAycY18cK4kXE0tsBdLIZ8PU1PAg3jjzR16lZW_D1VdcZy9qX3inQgW7zKYlogs6SdSuvnu9AwveslsWtEWppHS9092C8/s200/CutingCarpetToStencil02%252C09-11-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While the carpet warmed in the sun,<br />
Richard and Dustin made their final<br />
cuts using the stencil they had created</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The next time I talked to Richard it was clear he'd spent a lot of time engineering my installation down to the smallest detail. He knew exactly how he wanted to lay the pattern so it would flow up the stairs in a way that would be pleasing to the eye. He knew that multiple cats would be pulling on the carpet on a daily basis, so he devised extra layers of adhesive and fasteners to make sure the carpeting would stay in place once it was installed. He calculated exactly where he wanted the seam to be laid so that it would be as invisible as possible.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQUjczzOLCOzBdDgdSjzZRqu6ksiDz3jJBtCm693o5h4TjZd78Fw8zBHRqbKKTcssg0EW7S2yASJ_6I3hPRy_-UoEZEqAxFSvEwfSHBUaE_2XjD9g0PLxKCri0nmXmK4crUKlB5LcSLBc/s1600/MidInstallation02%252C09-11-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQUjczzOLCOzBdDgdSjzZRqu6ksiDz3jJBtCm693o5h4TjZd78Fw8zBHRqbKKTcssg0EW7S2yASJ_6I3hPRy_-UoEZEqAxFSvEwfSHBUaE_2XjD9g0PLxKCri0nmXmK4crUKlB5LcSLBc/s200/MidInstallation02%252C09-11-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The father-son team worked carefully<br />
to install the wainscoting perfectly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Today my new stairwell wainscoting was installed. Richard and Dustin unrolled the new carpet and spread it out in my driveway to coax it flat in the sun. While the carpet was relaxing its curl, the two men made their final measurements in the stairwell and began to apply their adhesives.<br />
<br />
In no time at all, it seemed, they were calling me to come look at the finished project. It was stunningly beautiful. I am thrilled. And the cats? I haven't heard anyone trying their claws out on the new pile yet, but just give it a few days. I'm sure this stairwell-length scratching post will draw their attention in no time at all. And if they never apply their claws to my new wainscoting? So much the better. It's a win-win either way.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnqJBNdjK6lFNguwWAGV4QxRAtCJ6XRMQxBBUTm6trxXhsxFERf_rZqX6CY5HGFuhqUX5jooCMRo-JH4_Pn5UKpxoZrGfFi3Tm7vYL8Ra8Cewz50vGfCNZVAmzk9yUslW_1iZm6qCPOKc/s1600/InstallationCompleted01%252C09-11-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnqJBNdjK6lFNguwWAGV4QxRAtCJ6XRMQxBBUTm6trxXhsxFERf_rZqX6CY5HGFuhqUX5jooCMRo-JH4_Pn5UKpxoZrGfFi3Tm7vYL8Ra8Cewz50vGfCNZVAmzk9yUslW_1iZm6qCPOKc/s200/InstallationCompleted01%252C09-11-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love how my stairwell looks now!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Bravo, Richard and Dustin, for a job well done. I am so happy with how my stairwell looks and thrilled that the new wainscoting will be impervious to kitty claws for years to come.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-13434494300272952812017-09-06T17:46:00.000-04:002017-09-06T18:02:32.783-04:00And Now We Are Three<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqXJvwNSqna1nEb1XfJZuYFXbLX5GU-tFDmsUe9n_JApAbTyOPAWufO2pUosst-ljabgu1uyksFtfiqAI00QLA21T9HZbnp5OcnNpVbBf7CJk7FFQ0HNtvTnfsMiDQNS8slp8mAI9IONQ/s1600/MultiKittyShirt08%252C03-07-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="783" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqXJvwNSqna1nEb1XfJZuYFXbLX5GU-tFDmsUe9n_JApAbTyOPAWufO2pUosst-ljabgu1uyksFtfiqAI00QLA21T9HZbnp5OcnNpVbBf7CJk7FFQ0HNtvTnfsMiDQNS8slp8mAI9IONQ/s320/MultiKittyShirt08%252C03-07-13.jpg" width="156" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sweet Ember</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawHeHConTAGpJROpjB0O7ZAx6lg93MxxDNyTHwH2dqKTYbod_wIovlgQnF2rnqAfkRHZ6EXBKkRnDHe60vOJFI6eqxo0uy5TP_r4bDG326DUKg6JdtnkAR6dTDvTYc-wS4LHJq823tho/s1600/KittyCouture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><br />
As most of you know, I have shared my home and my heart with three cats for many years. The four of us have formed a happy little family with relatively few tiffs and lots of snuggles, purrs and playtime.<br />
<br />
A few hours ago I held the newest addition to my little family, my precious Ember, a rescue kitty who came from a traumatic kittenhood six years ago to bask in the happiness and comfort of life with me and my other two four-legged fur balls, as the vet injected her with the drugs that would end her life. Something happened to my precious charge over Labor Day weekend. On Saturday morning Ember was as playful and energetic as she'd ever been. By Monday evening she was hunched over, weak and listless.<br />
<br />
I was at my vet's office first thing Tuesday morning when they opened the doors, but it was already too late for my little Ember. Bloodwork showed that Ember was suffering massive organ failure of her liver and kidneys -- and her blood sugar was off the charts. Spontaneous acute diabetic ketoacidosis was the diagnosis. But why? The doctors speculated that she might have had some underlying disease that had gone undiagnosed, which had finally and acutely come to a head over the weekend, such as cancer, or perhaps she had eaten something toxic, although I've torn the house apart in search of what it might have been and haven't found anything suspicious. I'll probably never know.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8b6VCK2WCFEzwTX39QyTWCASk9-vxHUya3M8h1ta3WfN3xVHOOyg3AtAMphopSBBM8gzgyo2BVO5H5a0yF1lzmO_PulbgAug0SxuqxRmuha_FvEsjL1bFHAJ2y7Lo8KEiXou74yVRZ8/s1600/EmberReturns02%252C05-12-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1245" data-original-width="928" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8b6VCK2WCFEzwTX39QyTWCASk9-vxHUya3M8h1ta3WfN3xVHOOyg3AtAMphopSBBM8gzgyo2BVO5H5a0yF1lzmO_PulbgAug0SxuqxRmuha_FvEsjL1bFHAJ2y7Lo8KEiXou74yVRZ8/s200/EmberReturns02%252C05-12-12.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ember returns home following<br />
yet another surgery in 2012 </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Ember was a <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2012/04/introducing-ember.html">burn victim</a>, set on fire by a juvenile delinquent when she was just eleven weeks old. She endured a number of surgeries as a kitten, several after I agreed to foster her in my home. Ember was a fighter. She came through each <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2012/10/ember-update.html">surgery</a> with remarkable stamina. She was a good patient, stoically riding to the vet without complaint each time she was subjected to the doctor's scalpel, as they tried on several occasions to stretch healthy skin over the raw burn wounds. Each time Ember endured her <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2013/01/cold-laser-therapy.html">medical ordeals</a> with grace. She always rallied.<br />
<br />
When I officially adopted Ember in the Spring of 2012, I threw a <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2013/04/pawsitively-purrfect.html">party</a>. Ember finally had a forever home. When memories of her early trauma caused her to engage in compulsive licking, opening up wounds on her back that had previously healed, I designed a little shirt for her to wear which covered her back and prevented her from licking but didn't detract from her ability to run and jump and play with my other two cats. She wore the shirt for two years, until the compulsion to lick the old wounds finally left her.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdP6N6Olq094PR9P9QUtqnEL3C3qyGzRPUP9zyL2znC8xvr7BXvae4FFr0ks7iuZEq6nWuzxwxW62JadQCIKD5U0O7_HNC998EYSSbThRYs-18u2B4IghO0tWGlbs677_Uys1PyhQvFk/s1600/LendingAHand05%252C04-03-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1468" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdP6N6Olq094PR9P9QUtqnEL3C3qyGzRPUP9zyL2znC8xvr7BXvae4FFr0ks7iuZEq6nWuzxwxW62JadQCIKD5U0O7_HNC998EYSSbThRYs-18u2B4IghO0tWGlbs677_Uys1PyhQvFk/s200/LendingAHand05%252C04-03-14.jpg" width="183" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot, top, could usually<br />
be found curled up next to Ember</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZIs7Gs4TZpwDmdLcDvrHKDXfzxIT4LkKpGgynragngyYpZ0X1UA1tip2z-ZoE0-XUpYPzxRRQAvBnibeRLnxGQykRltMd4rjyYPNibB7kbaiMqBf8sqw6mMWoYFApeB8ygQIjScbmhjI/s1600/ShelfSharing02%252C02-01-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="819" data-original-width="1600" height="101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZIs7Gs4TZpwDmdLcDvrHKDXfzxIT4LkKpGgynragngyYpZ0X1UA1tip2z-ZoE0-XUpYPzxRRQAvBnibeRLnxGQykRltMd4rjyYPNibB7kbaiMqBf8sqw6mMWoYFApeB8ygQIjScbmhjI/s200/ShelfSharing02%252C02-01-14.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elfie, left, and Ember share a shelf<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">in front of a window </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I thought my elderly cat, Underfoot, would never be active again, Ember literally brought him back to life, engaging him in play every day. They could often be found curled up in their cats beds, side by side. When my other rescue kitty, Elfie, needed a companion, Ember was always there for her. For the past six years, the four of us have been so happy together.<br />
<br />
Upon my arrival at the vet yesterday, the staff drew blood and then pumped my little girl full of intravenous fluids and insulin. Dr. Brown said the organ failure was probably too massive for Ember to recover from, but he wanted to give her a few hours to see what happened. When I called yesterday at 5:00 p.m. as instructed, Dr. Brown reported that Ember was ever so slightly more alert but still in grave condition. "Let's put off the decision to euthanize until tomorrow", he said. He got her blood sugar down to 295, but her liver was still terribly jaundiced. He wasn't sure she would live through the night.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHytGAlbXOA0pDUf9N-rxceJ5FqT_d-MifLxM2NhUCgGcXrxQ1JKKmpdgo2f8Zh7zWYVKlZznHZ3juPbsxZ0Lt99teP2O3RTeE522MjZ-TuuTnrTbpdyVGlyjTQ1zP895i15DmtNec2_g/s1600/HelpfulAdministrativeAssistants%252C07-13-16.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1306" data-original-width="1600" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHytGAlbXOA0pDUf9N-rxceJ5FqT_d-MifLxM2NhUCgGcXrxQ1JKKmpdgo2f8Zh7zWYVKlZznHZ3juPbsxZ0Lt99teP2O3RTeE522MjZ-TuuTnrTbpdyVGlyjTQ1zP895i15DmtNec2_g/s200/HelpfulAdministrativeAssistants%252C07-13-16.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underfoot and Ember could frequently<br />
be found "helping" me in my home<br />
office</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Ember was always my "official door greeter". It didn't matter that a human had set her ablaze when she was a kitten. When the doorbell rang, Ember was always first to see who was at the front door, always eager to meet a stranger, always ready to make a new friend. She had lots of fans, and was even pictured in the <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2013/08/a-very-happy-tail.html">Orioles pet calendar</a> in September 2014.<br />
<br />
My kinetic kitty was not afraid of fire, either, or at least she showed no concern for open flame. She curled up in front of my fireplace every night during the winter. By all accounts, she was as well-adjusted as any cat could be. She was happy and playful and full of energy. Although she was considerably smaller than Underfoot and Elfie, she ate almost twice as much as they did, burning calories at a frenetic pace as she raced all over the house, playing with her toys, and with me, and with the other cats -- sometimes even with imaginary faeries visible only to her.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ1WpLXCNYIBjw2EPlJ5Edznveg_teMZlLaI1AheJix6HkGDgyKkGpFm8dPAIRupKBvky9W4OVcN6a-JSRogLfZgC_f1FJON3EZJAWCF92a1QOdZdLg6yw5Z3cILmGXj-NJCe1mpEdZVg/s1600/HearthsideEmber01%252C02-14-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1404" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ1WpLXCNYIBjw2EPlJ5Edznveg_teMZlLaI1AheJix6HkGDgyKkGpFm8dPAIRupKBvky9W4OVcN6a-JSRogLfZgC_f1FJON3EZJAWCF92a1QOdZdLg6yw5Z3cILmGXj-NJCe1mpEdZVg/s200/HearthsideEmber01%252C02-14-14.jpg" width="175" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ember loved to relax by the fire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When I called the on-duty vet first thing this morning to check on my patient, the doctor reported that Ember was not as alert as she had been after the first round of fluids and insulin yesterday. More insulin this morning did not produce any improvement. The vet said it was time. I had one last conversation with Dr. Brown and the decision was made.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYO_uD0JnaNoYo8Y1MUMvQejZUlbdpISZw7m5GhTdT_EvVt6gglWN_VtuYKrm7nBtMsseIO_qSzJMmIXMld2O8Ayc4EOGT7axDQg5dIxzH-2gprMbiLXZvf_CRr6D6JhqoFu1vhMNtZU/s1600/EmbersToys.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1358" data-original-width="1600" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYO_uD0JnaNoYo8Y1MUMvQejZUlbdpISZw7m5GhTdT_EvVt6gglWN_VtuYKrm7nBtMsseIO_qSzJMmIXMld2O8Ayc4EOGT7axDQg5dIxzH-2gprMbiLXZvf_CRr6D6JhqoFu1vhMNtZU/s200/EmbersToys.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ember's favorite flying squirrels are<br />
with her still</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One of the most endearing traits of my beloved Ember was how she made sure there was always a toy to greet me when I came home after being away, even if I was gone for only a few minutes. Of all the tiny stuffed mice, tiny hedgehogs, squeaky bird toys and assorted balls and bells tucked into the feline toy box in my dining room, Ember had three favorites; all were small furry flying squirrels. The toys were not alike, not even the same brand or color or fabric, so I don't know why she preferred those three, or why they all happened to be flying squirrels. But inevitably, when I came through the door into the kitchen from running an errand, there on the floor, sometimes grouped together, sometimes strung out in a line across the floor, would be one or two, sometimes all three of her flying squirrels. Gifts I received from my sweet girl every day just for coming home!<br />
<br />
I drove to the vet a little while ago and held my baby black kitty tenderly for one last time. She looked at me but she was too weak to raise her head. She couldn't purr. I laid her flying squirrels all around her and told the doctor to go ahead. Ember blinked once -- and then she was gone.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiobP0V6mumGtPns7wq4_6XllcdVcFxT3PnmnqGn3q8Aks-esIap2MURFcRrC84f3pZevp-PPNu_-vJYdfj4oY04fOS5PbWIScu9UBYZE2R_5upy_O5PDUpqF3Z0x2kOkHOwCgTHcWQ0rU/s1600/InTheirSleepypods01%252C12-12-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="621" data-original-width="1600" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiobP0V6mumGtPns7wq4_6XllcdVcFxT3PnmnqGn3q8Aks-esIap2MURFcRrC84f3pZevp-PPNu_-vJYdfj4oY04fOS5PbWIScu9UBYZE2R_5upy_O5PDUpqF3Z0x2kOkHOwCgTHcWQ0rU/s320/InTheirSleepypods01%252C12-12-14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Often my three kitties could be found curled up together --<br />
never far from each other, never far from me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am inconsolable at the moment, but I know that life must go on. While I am not one to dwell on the morose, especially in my stories, writing helps me deal with much of what life throws at me, and crafting this essay today has been especially cathartic. I hope you understand. My closest friends have reassured me that I gave Ember a loving home and a healthy, happy life for six wonderful years. I will lean on those kind words and good memories to lift me up for the next few days. And I still have two other furry pocket lions to keep me company. I am simply a family of three now, instead of four.<br />
Lynell<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: font-size: 15px;"><i>“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened. ”</i> </span><em style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">– </em><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Anatole France</span></span><br />
<br /></div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-80972376667473843022017-09-04T22:17:00.000-04:002017-09-18T08:53:05.929-04:00Inaugural Hobby Room Hat Project!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Vh_roJsADK-bN9RFacOgRpRqpkq8vmSPD09mmLmB85arr7cd2SOsH8gcioimWVWIbZuG9grOGoPxqra2MfCVqxJs1mxX6O67kSN9FW4wGSSqPbwYus2RhpKn84DZ7GPXJEGcC_D39oQ/s1600/IMG_3327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Vh_roJsADK-bN9RFacOgRpRqpkq8vmSPD09mmLmB85arr7cd2SOsH8gcioimWVWIbZuG9grOGoPxqra2MfCVqxJs1mxX6O67kSN9FW4wGSSqPbwYus2RhpKn84DZ7GPXJEGcC_D39oQ/s200/IMG_3327.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hats, so many hats. What do you do<br />
with them all?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was an inevitable challenge to designing a new walk-in closet in 2012 -- there would need to be a place to store (and display) all my hats. Not just my straw hats, but my grandma Hester's mink pillbox hat, my Scarlett O'Hara costume hat, decorated with feathers that once belonged to said grandmother, and an assortment of other interesting lids that all were taking up space in my tiny 1862 farmhouse in Baltimore County. Where to put all these hats?<br />
<br />
For five years after my new closet was completed, the hat issue remained unresolved. My hat collection took up space in a spare bedroom, covering the tops of portable hanger racks and other awkward surfaces. When I converted that bedroom into a hobby/craft room this summer, said hats went into another room, stacked on the floor like so many floppy Legos. I began to ruminate about a design idea I had imagined for the hats all along. I wanted to hang them, virtually upside down, from the sloped ceiling in my dressing room. But the manner in which to accomplish that proved elusive. <br />
<br />
The answer came when I had an epiphany one sleepless night several weeks ago -- a half-round sphere, affixed to the sloping upper-level wall/ceiling of my Lincoln-era farmhouse, would serve as a perfect perch for storing and displaying each hat in my walk-in closet. They'd be on display but out of my way. What if I created French cleats to hold wooden spheres to the inverted slopes? My hats would snug around the spheres and there they'd be, up on the ceiling, but within easy reach.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5LRSuOzGEMAv5pEAHA-09sUsuK9ar65jN6Ti5FvW3N8KF6FqBz2FIZLTpZvv9hduf_KN3bDgQ599dWrSEGtXJ29xfWXzpw2x1TrXxnkFiyqQz0X1DcrPnrwUpUyTy5LVhHUefC58K7M/s1600/IMG_3320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5LRSuOzGEMAv5pEAHA-09sUsuK9ar65jN6Ti5FvW3N8KF6FqBz2FIZLTpZvv9hduf_KN3bDgQ599dWrSEGtXJ29xfWXzpw2x1TrXxnkFiyqQz0X1DcrPnrwUpUyTy5LVhHUefC58K7M/s200/IMG_3320.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new hobby room was perfect for<br />
bringing this project to fruition</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqOXywAGNH4AjdwcTXyIXXL1ZMDqj6qFJ5Ha7uVc6kSaF8tCsUDTHH2qfIrQuNjDvkrv1-l0IccIeOU0qJWq3b05c2bb0YL4GcsA1z-8ihUmWBzyha7MYKMzCIva6zEl3QSB9zbsGCXQ/s1600/DrawingOfHatSupportIdea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1398" data-original-width="1600" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqOXywAGNH4AjdwcTXyIXXL1ZMDqj6qFJ5Ha7uVc6kSaF8tCsUDTHH2qfIrQuNjDvkrv1-l0IccIeOU0qJWq3b05c2bb0YL4GcsA1z-8ihUmWBzyha7MYKMzCIva6zEl3QSB9zbsGCXQ/s200/DrawingOfHatSupportIdea.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My initial iteration of the "hat project"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I drew a sketch -- my project ideas always start with a sketch. Mollies could hold the wooden spheres to the lath and plaster walls. I started searching the internet for prefabricated half-dome wooden spheres. But the mighty internet did not deliver images of half-round wooden spheres. Instead, images of Styrofoam balls filled my screen.<br />
<br />
Okay, so Styrofoam could work -- and would be a heckuva lot lighter in weight than wood, but Styrofoam degrades and flakes off with time and wear. I'd have to cover the balls in fabric to prevent their degradation. And I couldn't use mollies to secure Styrofoam to the wall. It would have to be... Velcro! Really strong Velcro. And really strong glue to hold the Velcro.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-ZLYzPuSBg3N4t8V1igCDG6Od9VmWDYBDPgjs4cEAndA2IyigstVGdpEDVRqqzjemgDUbSufL4n7ogNeITPx32Oub9OAY0DpIu5W3grfPHq2V-9_y4_3ILq6G-MnTE_A1xaLC1FJFkE/s1600/IMG_3329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-ZLYzPuSBg3N4t8V1igCDG6Od9VmWDYBDPgjs4cEAndA2IyigstVGdpEDVRqqzjemgDUbSufL4n7ogNeITPx32Oub9OAY0DpIu5W3grfPHq2V-9_y4_3ILq6G-MnTE_A1xaLC1FJFkE/s200/IMG_3329.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Stretching the jersey fabric over the<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Styrofoam balls while the glue was</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">tacky </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> was a bit challenging, but the</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">result was just what I'd hoped for</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
A plan was beginning to take shape. I counted my hats and ordered a half-dozen eight-inch diameter Styrofoam balls from an internet site. I paid a visit to Jo-Ann's Crafts and purchased several yards of stretchy black jersey fabric. I called a Velcro supplier and spoke with a very nice man who calculated exactly how much hook (in black) and loop (in white) Velcro I would need to make 12 custom hat receptacles. When the Styrofoam balls arrived, I sawed each in half with my serrated CutCo bread knife. Now I had 12 half-spheres.<br />
<br />
So this became the very first project in my newly finished hobby room. I laid several thicknesses of newspaper over my large worktable. I tested spray adhesive on the Styrofoam balls to make sure they were compatible. I measured the circumference of each of my hats, and then cut the Styrofoam spheres to that size, marking each with a small photo of the hat it was destined to display.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4iFLN_DdK15DIgKfTc217zcDRWgybtBbXIWE7noPTBXe9IAjEQJ1J62d16WwWVERcgeUaShH1j2mq50E7Ci5_ynNzFG8EEKc8uxu7Q7j8LfnrsdO-1Qihkwxxa0rbVTLGjTDm3JJrGrA/s1600/IMG_3332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4iFLN_DdK15DIgKfTc217zcDRWgybtBbXIWE7noPTBXe9IAjEQJ1J62d16WwWVERcgeUaShH1j2mq50E7Ci5_ynNzFG8EEKc8uxu7Q7j8LfnrsdO-1Qihkwxxa0rbVTLGjTDm3JJrGrA/s200/IMG_3332.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I marked a spot on the sloped ceiling<br />
where <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I envisioned each hat would go</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I watched an internet video about how to create a puppet's head by smoothing fabric over a Styrofoam ball and then created a prototype with the first Styrofoam ball, the fabric and the spray adhesive. So far, so good. I glued black hook fabric to the back of the ball. I stood on a ladder and marked the place on the sloped ceiling where I imagined each hat would go, and then glued white loop fabric to the spot on the wall.<br />
<br />
Finally, this morning, all the glue was dry and it was time to position each hat onto its corresponding dome. Success! My hats now make a decorative statement in my dressing room, are out of my way and yet easy to access. Even a hard hat, given to me by the roofers who hit me twice this summer with flying nails and debris as they flung old shingles from my roof, has a place of distinction on my dressing room ceiling.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQ8Lxy5V-ZKD4w0t60fTFcbb47IzVXc05efg1OpXp4EI-C1MkLlI7SctTn2QXNIE8ASR5CxcMQED0SphYn4KqpopFctZUEORLcc5R-Q6ILuS63AwQXKsloqEOAfxDB65hZKipBX3JVf8/s1600/IMG_3335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQ8Lxy5V-ZKD4w0t60fTFcbb47IzVXc05efg1OpXp4EI-C1MkLlI7SctTn2QXNIE8ASR5CxcMQED0SphYn4KqpopFctZUEORLcc5R-Q6ILuS63AwQXKsloqEOAfxDB65hZKipBX3JVf8/s200/IMG_3335.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And voila! My hats are on display but<br />
out of the way.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My inaugural hobby room project was a smashing success! I am certain there will be many more.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: color: #333333; font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"A person carries off the hat. Hats are about emotion. It is all about how it makes you feel"</i> ~ Philip Treacy</span></span></div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-24629308844965497942017-07-28T00:48:00.000-04:002017-07-31T08:20:27.624-04:00Summer Project -- My Hobby Room!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_qM_cgk9M3WO_GlJx09xMaSNVIMVoRW6npDg6rCcz_95yM0oZIgllz4P3zfsQ6Rc1CE6pUp-88LKIcRxvKwOo-hF2SQjSyX1eGjb5_2_txFa08EusQwiKxymZ8KD3fdwe4GT7KBS60q8/s1600/RadiatorRemovalHobbyRoom01%252C06-08-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_qM_cgk9M3WO_GlJx09xMaSNVIMVoRW6npDg6rCcz_95yM0oZIgllz4P3zfsQ6Rc1CE6pUp-88LKIcRxvKwOo-hF2SQjSyX1eGjb5_2_txFa08EusQwiKxymZ8KD3fdwe4GT7KBS60q8/s200/RadiatorRemovalHobbyRoom01%252C06-08-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The HVAC crew removed the old<br />
radiator from my soon-to-be hobby<br />
room as my handyman began<br />
constructing <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">base cabinets</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've learned over the years that when a contractor says: "this project will be completed in one week", the majority of the time such will not be the case. Indeed, the new hobby/guest room in my circa 1862 farmhouse in Baltimore County, Maryland, certainly was not completed in seven days. Instead, completion occurred on Monday of this week, 37 workdays after start of construction June 1.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcvkYd1z7ITAWmtWDk8GlkHG1yeKgnuhaZnufCqTApO9K3EYDQ01W0FMRyrQ0qH1ApCPDby9ELtV9g31d1Ux_uwiV28r2K_lQd1jjbKC9H4ktOlHO3-NPrBIg-Gcqd3fWceYUT3jbBsA/s1600/ReticulatingBedConstruction%252C06-08-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcvkYd1z7ITAWmtWDk8GlkHG1yeKgnuhaZnufCqTApO9K3EYDQ01W0FMRyrQ0qH1ApCPDby9ELtV9g31d1Ux_uwiV28r2K_lQd1jjbKC9H4ktOlHO3-NPrBIg-Gcqd3fWceYUT3jbBsA/s200/ReticulatingBedConstruction%252C06-08-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derek begins construction of the attic <br />
recess into which my daybed will sit </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now, I must admit that most of the delays were not the fault of the handyman I hired to do the job. Had he been able to work in utter peace without distraction from any other influence, he might, and it is a tentative "might", have been able to finish the job in two weeks. But like the novice general contractor that I am, I arranged for three major construction projects to take place at my home simultaneously this summer, all in the name of lessening the trauma of a lengthy disruption to our routine for me and my three kitties. "Get it all over in one fell swoop!" was my thinking. After all, isn't that what major building contractors do? They have electricians working alongside sheetrock hangers and finish carpenters all at the same time. Couldn't they all work together in harmony under (and on) my roof? Uhm, no.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkoJc8QmqJGjght3o-vRueljqwW0CoO74Ss_6bTXfD5Z3aLJLx2WN_QOoC7r482mrnvw1I2OMOibIUzSIOneiLJ4AORnvACgxAZhe2CTwaqL7VlMCN-p5eAV0gV3qULmFhZKBXG296dwY/s1600/DerekHahnandSonJordanWorkOnHobbyRoom%252C06-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkoJc8QmqJGjght3o-vRueljqwW0CoO74Ss_6bTXfD5Z3aLJLx2WN_QOoC7r482mrnvw1I2OMOibIUzSIOneiLJ4AORnvACgxAZhe2CTwaqL7VlMCN-p5eAV0gV3qULmFhZKBXG296dwY/s200/DerekHahnandSonJordanWorkOnHobbyRoom%252C06-14-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derek's son, Jordan, 12, helped his dad<br />
much of the time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
As my handyman, Derek Hahn of Hahn Home Improvements LLC, began construction pursuant to my carefully drawn sketches of how I imagined each wall in my new hobby room would look, the heating, air conditioning and ventilation (HVAC) company I had hired to replace all my old radiators with new, state-of-the-art ductless mini-split units throughout the ground floor, decided they would bore a hole (a big hole) in the ceiling of said hobby room, which would be their central access point for installation of my upstairs units. At the same time, I hired an electrician to run wiring from a single outlet in the hobby room to the other three walls, and include a CAT-5 cable for hardwired internet access.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqveFoeKrU5AmpVF-78W3R2Wm736GdAlOs4SzsYZoGVmAEjrix589SlyZxGxRuWCN7KOH-POtWaqR3MeBe6lVqJ6ZHLzoE5iihD4loUEVxrX6bI3mzb0laeuXDB3W7zIj4qfumcUkIVhU/s1600/A-WallCompleteDay37-01%252C07-25-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqveFoeKrU5AmpVF-78W3R2Wm736GdAlOs4SzsYZoGVmAEjrix589SlyZxGxRuWCN7KOH-POtWaqR3MeBe6lVqJ6ZHLzoE5iihD4loUEVxrX6bI3mzb0laeuXDB3W7zIj4qfumcUkIVhU/s200/A-WallCompleteDay37-01%252C07-25-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And then it was done! The "A-wall"<br />
features shelving above with drawers<br />
and cabinets below</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"I'm very familiar with historic homes" the electrician said. "I will fish the wires through your antique joists so nothing will be damaged", he said. So when I heard the sawsall buzzing away upstairs as I worked at my computer in my home office below, I naturally assumed it was Derek hard at work on my new hobby room. Or perhaps the HVAC crew enlarging the hole in the ceiling to make more room for the new heating and air conditioning system in the attic. Uhm, no.<br />
<br />
When I ventured upstairs to check on the progress, I was horrified to discover that the electrician had sawed and drilled his way through three walls' worth of 160-year-old lath and plaster, joists and framing in order to run the wiring from one side of the room to the other. "Why didn't you <i>fish</i> the wires as you told me you would?" I practically screamed at him. "Oh, this was much easier" was his reply. Well, yes. Easier, to be sure, but not what had been promised (sigh). At the same time, the HVAC crew was busy heaving two several-hundred-pound units up into my attic, hoisting their 230-pound bodies up and down ladders at a furious pace, cracking delicate lath and plaster with practically every step. It's no wonder poor Derek the handyman didn't get a whole lot accomplished those first few weeks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmV4bBa1jAV-8o2jw-4qQ1dn_70KZufiiH4bd11mEDODM5RjyCRbhpWkMZX0IT0RIVUeBXDGvEK6Oc93MzFzlfVHfTFIUg-2cOZUXsowt_8FXw9bi7MUtqek55FugkwDDw4WYoyblOHE/s1600/B-WallCompleteDay37-03%252C07-25-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmV4bBa1jAV-8o2jw-4qQ1dn_70KZufiiH4bd11mEDODM5RjyCRbhpWkMZX0IT0RIVUeBXDGvEK6Oc93MzFzlfVHfTFIUg-2cOZUXsowt_8FXw9bi7MUtqek55FugkwDDw4WYoyblOHE/s200/B-WallCompleteDay37-03%252C07-25-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "B-Wall" features a twin bed, the<br />
length of which is recessed into the<br />
attic of my front porch when not in use</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Oh, and did I mention that I contracted with a roofing company to replace my entire roof during the same time period? I was hit in the head twice by pieces of nail-filled shingles flying though the air as the roofing crew dismantled the old roof, and so were a couple of the HVAC crew, who threatened, at one point, to pluck the roofers off the roof if they weren't more careful about where they threw their debris (sigh).<br />
<br />
And so it went, for 37 days. Installation of the new heating and air conditioning units was completed first, but not without issues that still have not been resolved. The roof was finished second, and despite some unfortunate mishaps, such as the smashing of several of my landscaping plants just ahead of my annual summer potluck party for more than 100 friends and neighbors, and nails and debris strewn into practically every nook and cranny of my yard, the roof caused the least of my anguish over the course of these concomitant projects.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcUGY6q0G16QxGIP-lKzmCcx4gPfvmHoASgCoW6_ht0Zw7qXAjsJ3VEWnNVcwTaFy2baxgGEVgd9BJP_FJvFXqSspUcnaj8Aq_3BCZzRvitlGVLcTQ-PaZ91j3-XUqT6OOvp4vveGB5U/s1600/B-WallSewingCenter%252C07-25-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcUGY6q0G16QxGIP-lKzmCcx4gPfvmHoASgCoW6_ht0Zw7qXAjsJ3VEWnNVcwTaFy2baxgGEVgd9BJP_FJvFXqSspUcnaj8Aq_3BCZzRvitlGVLcTQ-PaZ91j3-XUqT6OOvp4vveGB5U/s200/B-WallSewingCenter%252C07-25-17.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I fit my Singer Featherweight<br />
sewing machine into a narrow<br />
dormer and filled a rack with<br />
spools of colorful thread that<br />
had belonged to my<br />
maternal grandmother</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But now, at long last, the handyman has completed my new hobby room. He finished on Monday of this week. So I am here to present to you the fruits of my imagination and his labor. First of all, I wanted storage. So on the wall I designated as "Wall A", I requested a desk with drawers and cabinets below and shelves with pegboard above. "Wall B", which sported a low knee wall above which a frustrating sloped ceiling prevented any practical application, would feature a daybed and wide, deep drawers to hold tools, with my antique sewing machine fitting just so into a small dormer beside it. "Wall C" would have another desk, more cabinets and drawers below and a cabinet and pegboard above, but this wall would also boast long horizontal dowels to hold rolls of wrapping paper and spools of ribbon. And finally, "Wall D" would have a workbench-height counter with long flat drawers beneath to hold paper, tissue and wrapping remnants, while shallow cabinets above would store art supplies and paint.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOwUz0kOLzeyJrbggOBbcnqV471YwCzk3qRiTznSNOC6-R7T__FvBLCEG3HF8S26GSjsHb06VDpeygAwWlKlGrx0NSmQ1INyT77w665JnOM7AZoxY_fgNk-AqXPUho9zPPR7A4USsij0/s1600/B-WallC-Wall%252C07-25-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOwUz0kOLzeyJrbggOBbcnqV471YwCzk3qRiTznSNOC6-R7T__FvBLCEG3HF8S26GSjsHb06VDpeygAwWlKlGrx0NSmQ1INyT77w665JnOM7AZoxY_fgNk-AqXPUho9zPPR7A4USsij0/s200/B-WallC-Wall%252C07-25-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To the right of the sewing machine, my<br />
"C-Wall" boasts another desk and<br />
dowels to hold wrapping paper,<br />
ribbon and cellophane</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I perused the internet for imaginative implementations of daybed ideas in rooms with sloped walls, I came across a wondrous concept. A website in Oregon showed images of a full-sized mattress recessed into attic space <i>behind</i> a knee-wall. I called immediately for the drawings. "Oh, we don't have any drawings" came the response . "We just designed furniture for the room." (sigh). I showed the picture to my handyman. Could we do this? Derek was game to try, for which I give him immeasurable credit. But when we bored into the knee wall to survey the framing there, it became evident that recessing anything into the attic space would be difficult. My framing was supporting 12-foot long attic rafters on 16" centers which, in turn supported 900 pounds of roof apiece. Taking out a single horizontal load-bearing board would necessitate the installation of a steel I-beam to support the span -- an I-beam that would have to be special-ordered, and a plan that would have to be certified by an actual architect before construction could begin (sigh).<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaL_JzkcflZ3VhzAPNp1-p2wSWKURyYBbLXwLrdRzVHA2bmkQuLdzofFUrPXNzHWBqzui45OE-nZ8HCtHn0tai4edZrc5gPoGYlxSD1EFYYBCdSNVIQezy6CZ6f8CVQnkj2VQh0HgXDuY/s1600/C-WallD-Wall%252C07-25-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaL_JzkcflZ3VhzAPNp1-p2wSWKURyYBbLXwLrdRzVHA2bmkQuLdzofFUrPXNzHWBqzui45OE-nZ8HCtHn0tai4edZrc5gPoGYlxSD1EFYYBCdSNVIQezy6CZ6f8CVQnkj2VQh0HgXDuY/s200/C-WallD-Wall%252C07-25-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because there would only be 15 inches to<br />
spare at the end of my run of desk space,<br />
Derek sawed my door in half and hinged it,<br />
cleverly turning it into a bi-fold.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I resigned myself to plan B, which was to haul my decrepit old twin hide-a-bed back up the stairs and let it serve as a guest bed and couch in my new hobby room. Maybe I would recover it in a jaunty new fabric, I consoled myself.<br />
<br />
Then Derek approached me with a novel idea. The length of a twin bed might be 75 inches, he said, which was way too far a distance to span without an I-beam. But the width of a twin mattress was only 37 inches, and I happened to have forty inches between two of my joists (thanks to the hand-hewn nature of 1862 construction). What if I recessed the twin bed <i>lengthwise</i> into the attic space, so just the end of it stuck out into the room by day, sort of more like a "chair" rather than a daybed? I practically hugged him. It was innovative and imaginative and solved my problem beautifully, But the attic space into which the twin mattress would be recessed wasn't very deep. The end of the bed would hit the slope of the attic only a few inches into the space. Not to worry, Derek said. He proceeded to design a platform on which the mattress would rest which was divided into three separate, hinged sections. As the platform containing the mattress recessed back into the attic space on rollers, it would literally bend down into the attic, following the slope of the roof line. Sheer genius, I thought. And it was! My uncomfortable old hide-a-bed would keep its position out in my small guest cottage. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjv6485wjt4PN75p-PQbng4b1PIuaJ_Co8V1opo1nowqu6m8tQPRmCh1W1cpN_8RP9E4G2mlPUhFHzbxdTVN087EMQO5VW6AUNGLnWc3x-ZNKiSm3Cx_6Bk2UUhFGyWaMstx8_zckcy34/s1600/D-WallCompleteDay37-01%252C07-25-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjv6485wjt4PN75p-PQbng4b1PIuaJ_Co8V1opo1nowqu6m8tQPRmCh1W1cpN_8RP9E4G2mlPUhFHzbxdTVN087EMQO5VW6AUNGLnWc3x-ZNKiSm3Cx_6Bk2UUhFGyWaMstx8_zckcy34/s200/D-WallCompleteDay37-01%252C07-25-17.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every wall sports undercabinet<br />
LED light strips with outlets<br />
along their length. This chest<br />
of drawers on the "D-Wall"<br />
is flat and wide to<br />
accommodate wrapping paper<br />
and tissue of all sizes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Over the next several weeks the new hobby room came together beautifully, albeit in fits and starts. But now it is finally finished, and I was able to start moving my wrapping paper and art supplies into it this week. An acquaintance crafted for me a beautiful mattress cover for the day bed, with a backrest, bolsters and valances to match from fabric I found on sale at JoAnn Crafts. I found the oversized pencil and ruler wall art at <a href="http://www.grandinroad.com/wooden-ruler-artwork/810229?SourceCode=ZZ51121&cm_mmc=Comparison+Shopping-_-Google+Product+Listings-_-NA-_-NA&intlShippingCtx=US%7CUSD&CAWELAID=120245400000018601&CAGPSPN=pla&CAAGID=10623551741&CATCI=pla-318447978447&catargetid=120245400000164744&cadevice=c&gclid=Cj0KCQjwnubLBRC_ARIsAASsNNlwNlmNZFsmackd7qksYZJwBgz3j4-dYELP-ZsC0T_apn_zp86p83UaAmUwEALw_wcB">Grandinroad.com</a>. And now that the room is complete, I can't wait to start crafting in there!<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">"</i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>A woman with organizing skills can run a construction company without ever picking up a hammer and nail."</i> ~Warren Farrell</span></div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-16875967892715582022017-07-16T20:39:00.000-04:002017-07-30T09:40:58.426-04:00Summer Potluck<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzl1QUt0faFtxcsgtTJGQXw0cWdVdpTX53GU3rf_nNUe0vlQntbq7kKLNU8cqBnRf3LIGoD33glQ5Z4HNaKf9-WcIGIHxP_j7TFehVI76vhzn6-l4Lz7ih7b_RLpCx-cX8CEBDmCPm_Y/s1600/SummerPotluckInvitation2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1237" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzl1QUt0faFtxcsgtTJGQXw0cWdVdpTX53GU3rf_nNUe0vlQntbq7kKLNU8cqBnRf3LIGoD33glQ5Z4HNaKf9-WcIGIHxP_j7TFehVI76vhzn6-l4Lz7ih7b_RLpCx-cX8CEBDmCPm_Y/s200/SummerPotluckInvitation2017.jpg" width="154" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My invitation doesn't<br />
change much from year<br />
to year</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Oh, how I relish summer get-togethers with family and neighbors and friends all gathered in someone's yard for food, fellowship and, if I'm lucky, swimming and fireworks, too! Except I found I wasn't being invited to any such gatherings on a regular basis. So in 2009 or so, I decided to start hosting my own summer party. Since my immediate family is clear across the country in California, I decided to invite friends and neighbors who I wanted to get to know better for a summer garden party, and I threw in for good measure a cousin or two from both sides of my family who live near me in Maryland and Virginia.<br />
<br />
I soon discovered that holding my party on the July Fourth holiday does not produce a very big turnout, as everyone has already committed to spending time with their own families. The key, it turned out, is to host the gathering the first Saturday <i>after</i> the Fourth of July. Everyone who isn't traveling on vacation is far more likely to be available, the fireworks are all half price at the stores, and people are still in the mood for a patriotic outdoor gala.<br />
<br />
I decided to make it a potluck, with the intention of taking some of the intense preparation off my shoulders. Much as I love to host fancy dinner parties during the winter, this would be an opportunity for my guests to showcase their own family favorites to a wider audience. Of course, I would make something, but it had to be easy and keep well. I chose my favorite Maahs family chili, a beloved recipe handed down to me by the family of my first husband, Mike Maahs, more than forty years ago. Some might think of chili as more of a cold-weather staple, but I love this chili any time of year. And made with lean ground turkey, it hits all the right flavor notes without being too heavy for sultry summer weather. I had sixty guests that first year -- and I've never looked back. <br />
<br />
This year I emailed my invitation on June 8, exactly one month ahead of the date of the party. Those neighbors for whom I did not have email addresses, such as Ricky and Bonita, the new couple who moved in across the street a few months ago, got snail-mailed invitations.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfYggQLeupEuEvVETdEbq-UCmH-xE-f89_MCLXHbVWHCIrGi2FwsDp4antu9unEqKE6tGh1Yx5U2ovK2L9-DpiT9faOEkYW6cUravxoTV184VGWMQQu-aUTtho3kZK1nxXsTpvR9Z_Ns/s1600/ScallopedSidingOnDormersComplete01%252C07-01-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfYggQLeupEuEvVETdEbq-UCmH-xE-f89_MCLXHbVWHCIrGi2FwsDp4antu9unEqKE6tGh1Yx5U2ovK2L9-DpiT9faOEkYW6cUravxoTV184VGWMQQu-aUTtho3kZK1nxXsTpvR9Z_Ns/s200/ScallopedSidingOnDormersComplete01%252C07-01-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new roof, by Dream Home<br />
Remodeling, looked great once it was<br />
finally completed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As the date for the party approached, I began to get nervous, not about the party, which I've been doing for almost a decade now, but because I had foolishly engaged contractors in June to undertake three major construction projects at my house all at the same time. Suddenly I was not at all confident that the new roof, the new heating and air-conditioning system, and the new hobby-craft-guest room I was having built in a spare bedroom, would be finished in time. On top of that, I had a houseguest coming from Australia for a seven-day visit just a a couple of weeks before the party. If you've ever stayed with me, you know that I like to wine (and cocktail) and cook for and pamper my guests, which understandably takes a bit of effort on my part.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2ks9bzlT8a7CzmHC4SIxxQOAbM8_9UcdrBMjWiWe0aXjqGLhfowDceNSobPfEeqdYcjt6W9ObAqJ9Fv3YP7FxZm5ElXwBIV6yauYXtkprAJsqPhNKn_nyC2ef6jMKV1-m_heEM31PRM/s1600/LapayasImaginativeConeheadForSmokehouseRoof%252C07-03-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2ks9bzlT8a7CzmHC4SIxxQOAbM8_9UcdrBMjWiWe0aXjqGLhfowDceNSobPfEeqdYcjt6W9ObAqJ9Fv3YP7FxZm5ElXwBIV6yauYXtkprAJsqPhNKn_nyC2ef6jMKV1-m_heEM31PRM/s200/LapayasImaginativeConeheadForSmokehouseRoof%252C07-03-17.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The crew chief, Lapaya, added<br />
this imaginative "conehead"<br />
decoration to my smokehouse<br />
roof. I love it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Installation of the roofs (not just one roof but the roof on my main house, on my guest house, on my pool shed and on an ancient smokehouse at the back of my property about the size of an outhouse) were initially held up because of a rainy forecast (which never materialized) and then, when roof construction finally did get underway, it rained a little bit every day they were here (Murphy's law). Originally scheduled for the middle of May, my roofs were finally completed on July 3, <i>after</i> my houseguest departed. I love, love, love my new roof (and the new skylights in my laundry room and the scalloped siding on the upstairs dormers that the contractor threw in to sweeten the deal) but getting through from start to finish without a meltdown was a challenge. They actually gave me a hardhat to wear after I was hit in the head twice by nail-filled shingles being flung with abandon as the workers dismantled the old roof.<br />
<br />
The new HVAC system was also a challenge. I'd researched various alternatives for my ancient fuel-oil boiler system and hot-water radiators. I loved the radiators and their silent, comfortable heat, but they took up an enormous amount of space in every room of my small farmhouse. The fuel oil that powered them was expensive, and I also had the expense of an inefficient forced-air propane furnace in my guesthouse. In addition to fuel oil and propane, I paid electric bills for both systems and, with only two small window air-conditioners (one in my home office and one in my bedroom upstairs), I'd never had truly comfortable cool, conditioned air in my home the entire seventeen years I'd lived in Maryland. It was time for a change.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyBMNjzyGUtKrzlA2segOaqXrwWflAF6MvzWCWwIReI9vk8gHHPq9TEVMF4sjX6CEAi5LAgmv_sJhmGqen6Dbu1C2XNv92o3lJjV8VzJdUa1sR97Ur5Kvnp3hO8HtulucfhhbhkzlbfUw/s1600/HVACUnitGoesIntoAttic02%252C06-15-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyBMNjzyGUtKrzlA2segOaqXrwWflAF6MvzWCWwIReI9vk8gHHPq9TEVMF4sjX6CEAi5LAgmv_sJhmGqen6Dbu1C2XNv92o3lJjV8VzJdUa1sR97Ur5Kvnp3hO8HtulucfhhbhkzlbfUw/s200/HVACUnitGoesIntoAttic02%252C06-15-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Bain and John Weckessser of <br />
Advanced Heating and Cooling<br />
install a ducted unit in my small<br />
attic space</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'd looked into radiant flooring, a geo-thermal system in the ground, and high-velocity hot and cold air that could be retro-fitted through the holes left in my floors and ceilings after the radiator piping was removed. Eventually, I decided on all-electric high-tech ductless mini-splits for the main house and a super-efficient propane-fueled heat-pump and air conditioner for the guest house. That ten-day project began on June 7, and took every bit of ten days and a little more. My radiators were removed, leaving big, wonderful spaces in every room of my house, and my boiler and a rusty old fuel-oil tank were liberated from my basement, leaving me quite a bit more space down there, as well.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRkAYDX-s7FCHqsBaYmXcMKMYCRPu1Z0_SCToyRNWwdKeIMTxwpBF41V73RVKKpSM4qFhSKRDADY00-KQwz8gHIqx-7jaMdKgfc36v78QjaFUWSIA2LnXTounQpqKdTeK6sSoMNSMH4w/s1600/Day13TakingShape04%252C06-18-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRkAYDX-s7FCHqsBaYmXcMKMYCRPu1Z0_SCToyRNWwdKeIMTxwpBF41V73RVKKpSM4qFhSKRDADY00-KQwz8gHIqx-7jaMdKgfc36v78QjaFUWSIA2LnXTounQpqKdTeK6sSoMNSMH4w/s200/Day13TakingShape04%252C06-18-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This twin bed recesses into the attic<br />
of my front porch roof</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgi4VIet_RdrEUAD2NGanh9zpQ8JlwLDyzP2mRnqARIsKzm43yMrGTmRB6aB_n7dXPCYsjD1TH7ag_rP_mcOd3AWuW8p-LCxzgd-yZEHIhYTLRbS6AS9eFpUyjnUJg7wfnnMZjpfwmZAo/s1600/DerekHahnandSonJordanWorkOnHobbyRoom%252C06-14-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgi4VIet_RdrEUAD2NGanh9zpQ8JlwLDyzP2mRnqARIsKzm43yMrGTmRB6aB_n7dXPCYsjD1TH7ag_rP_mcOd3AWuW8p-LCxzgd-yZEHIhYTLRbS6AS9eFpUyjnUJg7wfnnMZjpfwmZAo/s200/DerekHahnandSonJordanWorkOnHobbyRoom%252C06-14-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derek Hahn and his son, Jordan,<br />
of Hahn Home Improvements,<br />
are working together <br />
to build my new hobby room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And then there was the hobby room build-out. I designed a room full of cabinets to maximize storage, leaving space for a large worktable in the middle of the room. I configured a twin guest bed to pose as a small couch by day, with the length of it recessed through a knee-wall down into the attic space over my front porch. If my guest house is ever full (or if I eventually rent it out for extra income), I can simply tug on the end of a platform and the entire length of a twin bed magically pulls out of its attic alcove on rails into the middle of the hobby room! I found a handyman in nearby Pennsylvania to build the room for me. He and his 12-year-old son have been working on the room since June 1st. Unfortunately, like my bathroom renovation in 2015, not a single line in this 1862 dwelling is straight, level, plumb or true, causing even the most patient of carpenters to have to take extra care with every step. The hobby room was not finished in time for my houseguest or my party -- and it still isn't finished. I keep telling myself "Man, it's going to be great when it's done!" But I digress.<br />
<br />
In the angst-filled construction days leading up to my party I watched in wonder as the "yes" RSVPs began to mount. When the guests coming to my party topped 100 in number, I realized that over the years I'd created a summer party that people seem naturally drawn to. I discovered that others want a family-friendly place to enjoy good food and drink with friends and neighbors as much as I do! I began to get really excited.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ZFRVhpl3W0y_7EszFF8JQjHzV9x7tJWYjA9oP27xwhvEAMY_ICVfj1LnU0qIuzKtSsDE9xmv2HB7Zi7NPjYFt9nK_973NGtoKiRZLSFOh65aP-wX2AjxZ3yYCGSGpIpWvLhoaydqzbo/s1600/SettingTheStage01%252C07-07-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ZFRVhpl3W0y_7EszFF8JQjHzV9x7tJWYjA9oP27xwhvEAMY_ICVfj1LnU0qIuzKtSsDE9xmv2HB7Zi7NPjYFt9nK_973NGtoKiRZLSFOh65aP-wX2AjxZ3yYCGSGpIpWvLhoaydqzbo/s200/SettingTheStage01%252C07-07-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tables adorned with red cloths and<br />
patriotic flower and flag bouquets<br />
grace the yard in anticipation<br />
of my party</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After work each night I busied myself with preparations. I made three kinds of sangria, a Greek-pasta salad, a carrot-turmeric salad, a blueberry-cucumber salad and a baked cashew-artichoke dip. I made my pot of chili and ordered small deli-trays of raw veggies, lunch meats, and sandwich roll-ups. I prepared the custard for my grandmother's old-fashioned homemade ice cream. Blackberry-sage would be this year's flavor. One neighbor smoked two entire pork briskets. Another made her famous lemon cake. A third brought me dozens of her wonderful deviled eggs. Still another made Jamaican barbecued jerk chicken with rice and peas.<br />
<br />
On the day of the party, 121 people came to enjoy a perfect summer evening on my lawn. I was ecstatic to have such a wonderful turnout. The tables I'd set up as a "food court" on my patio groaned under the weight of all the delicious appetizers, salads, main dishes and desserts everyone contributed. The culinary imaginations of my guests knew no bounds. There were avocado pudding "boats" (avocado-infused chocolate pudding in hollowed-out avocado shells), bacon-and-caramelized onion mini-quiches, couscous-shrimp salad, and blueberry-strawberry "crustless" pie to name but a few of the offerings.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uLTORdHvsd0XngfIopA5Oh0ewCIdYdMRL0hIK6GzPUTLxWyVJJSA06H5DTjFhmRUBnT3IorACApz88FG2wlkoDJ2X3ojYCMpq9bcSVq3DsJrks4uh8OtDASumahtO1z6n36fYuviAeQ/s1600/FoodCourtInFullSwing02%252C07-08-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uLTORdHvsd0XngfIopA5Oh0ewCIdYdMRL0hIK6GzPUTLxWyVJJSA06H5DTjFhmRUBnT3IorACApz88FG2wlkoDJ2X3ojYCMpq9bcSVq3DsJrks4uh8OtDASumahtO1z6n36fYuviAeQ/s200/FoodCourtInFullSwing02%252C07-08-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On my patio, a festive "food court" was<br />
filled with the contributions of more<br />
than a hundred friends and neighbors</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
More than twenty children splashed in my pool and tried their hands at badminton, horseshoes, Frisbee and soccer across my two acres. The mood was festive and the weather ideal.<br />
<br />
As dusk approached, I lighted candles inside the house and tiki torches outside, creating a magical glow across the expanse of my little slice of paradise. When my old ice-cream maker gave up the ghost at the last minute, a neighbor rushed to my rescue and brought me hers.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQDBSoRKNbsyLiTkqIZVV_Pid6wWGjkXT8_Rq4mrDe1rRPsqnozjl42qQcDPAnBPZ0oodmxPJTJowsTtyFCzaZd4Kwm0rctyek0e9tEIg1fJ_1q_f4zHFZKqPjr5U2KuRkh5QMrwtoe4/s1600/PartyFull04%252C07-08-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQDBSoRKNbsyLiTkqIZVV_Pid6wWGjkXT8_Rq4mrDe1rRPsqnozjl42qQcDPAnBPZ0oodmxPJTJowsTtyFCzaZd4Kwm0rctyek0e9tEIg1fJ_1q_f4zHFZKqPjr5U2KuRkh5QMrwtoe4/s200/PartyFull04%252C07-08-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once darkness fell, torches and candles<br />
gave the yard a romantic glow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And, finally, when it grew dark, I invited my guests to grab their chairs and migrate to my northern meadow, where a pair of talented pyro-technicians proceeded to wow the crowd with a nonstop twenty-minute display of professional-strength fireworks bursting right over our heads.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgzxzhJSu3QfSdxRy9WiBSL0bOjKHRox_gkDUI4vgAfVOrTewzaO7CVZRBtqX5zULvs5ns_w2AdxtHKxf8CdqX4kJBVrbAWBJKrPpPdeP9W-LzXw_6wK8_axu6ekaVssxPX9uc481ToM/s1600/SharonIanLynell%252C07-08-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1173" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgzxzhJSu3QfSdxRy9WiBSL0bOjKHRox_gkDUI4vgAfVOrTewzaO7CVZRBtqX5zULvs5ns_w2AdxtHKxf8CdqX4kJBVrbAWBJKrPpPdeP9W-LzXw_6wK8_axu6ekaVssxPX9uc481ToM/s200/SharonIanLynell%252C07-08-17.JPG" width="146" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cousin, Ian, and his wife,<br />
Sharon, are from my mom's<br />
side of the family. A cousin<br />
and her family from my<br />
father's side were there, too </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I cleaned up my yard the next day I couldn't help but reflect on the goodwill that is engendered when friends and strangers come together to celebrate nothing more than enjoying each other's company on a warm summer's eve. Neighbors got to meet neighbors. New friendships and acquaintances were formed. Children frolicked in a welcoming and sociable environment. Sure, there was a "political" table engaged in heated debate and, as a brief cold front blew through, a single gust of wind that simultaneously knocked over everybody's drink. But lively discourse and a sudden, mother nature-inspired surprise served only to underscore how well the wonderful diversity of our human race can play nicely together amid fireflies and candlelight. That I had a hand in creating such a magical ambiance truly made my heart sing.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-78210873301960439142017-04-17T20:22:00.000-04:002017-04-25T06:41:42.398-04:00Easter At Jan's<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihJyCbVxV3ON3dvnkYetUhlI5x0Fa4S8WFB3OWE9PG1cpUspsnijoVPiT6mgA4bXM3hSq2Hc8fyoS3vFGbaQiH8P-9EUW3HR_c8lptcspjPAtXVrqDwKNrgJ_9ZagPSjpHAs6HVyfRLwM/s1600/HorseSculpture2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihJyCbVxV3ON3dvnkYetUhlI5x0Fa4S8WFB3OWE9PG1cpUspsnijoVPiT6mgA4bXM3hSq2Hc8fyoS3vFGbaQiH8P-9EUW3HR_c8lptcspjPAtXVrqDwKNrgJ_9ZagPSjpHAs6HVyfRLwM/s200/HorseSculpture2012.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A massive driftwood horse sculpture<br />
adorns the garden at Jan's lovely home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The first dinner party to be held at the home of my dear friend since her husband of thirty years died in 2014 was to be a festive affair. Jan was finally ready to host a gathering for friends and family, and she asked me to help pull it all together. I was only too happy to oblige. I love entertaining at Jan's beautifully appointed home, whose dramatic dining room looks out, through an entire wall of glass, onto a lush, walled garden in the Roland Park section of Baltimore City.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBCoc4Z-2x1Rp9pcX96N7hnTXQMACZt06Gz1qeSRRbv95ACKTWkPH8YVNtrWaY3WyUnDg_Mvr3suhWlSioq_ZeWA2Nq83gt8kreHe8B47p6k2zbJAw8XGSE5qxRK5sAiygUPumBG4YkIw/s1600/EasterMenu%252C04-16-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBCoc4Z-2x1Rp9pcX96N7hnTXQMACZt06Gz1qeSRRbv95ACKTWkPH8YVNtrWaY3WyUnDg_Mvr3suhWlSioq_ZeWA2Nq83gt8kreHe8B47p6k2zbJAw8XGSE5qxRK5sAiygUPumBG4YkIw/s200/EasterMenu%252C04-16-17.jpg" width="154" /></a>A few weeks ago Jan came to dinner at my house so we could collaborate on an Easter menu, much like her late husband, Robert, and I used to do over more than a decade of holiday dinner-party planning. As Jan and I supped on beef brisket and spring asparagus in my dining room, we chose as our Easter entrées a leg of lamb, which I would prepare, and a spiral-cut ham, on which Jan would put the finishing touches. An herbed bleu-cheese terrine with spiced walnuts from my repertoire sounded like an enticing hors d'oeuvre, accompanied by classic deviled eggs, which Jan would make. Fancy mashed potatoes would add a luscious starch, and we'd round out the main course with a colorful carrot salad dressed in lemon-turmeric vinaigrette.<br />
<br />
I got busy composing a pretty menu for Jan, printing several copies out on stiff card stock, which I rolled and tied with curling ribbon and adorned with fabric blossom hair-clips as party favors for her guests. Meanwhile, Jan ordered adorable marzipan bunny faces with which we would make place cards for each table setting.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6UZrJ6OqVtuzKAFAB0-VEuIR-EHJ1jhs1YfSj8JirCWXXCZ1VZ9EL0hlycMvz4REGyXUmZEHZZDNZzDFP3rF1PEY1klX4R-_WRqdoPm5mznfnIPcNkclV9QNgg4jSvIExeoFgOcmzfj0/s1600/PlaceCardMarzipanBunnies%252C04-16-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6UZrJ6OqVtuzKAFAB0-VEuIR-EHJ1jhs1YfSj8JirCWXXCZ1VZ9EL0hlycMvz4REGyXUmZEHZZDNZzDFP3rF1PEY1klX4R-_WRqdoPm5mznfnIPcNkclV9QNgg4jSvIExeoFgOcmzfj0/s200/PlaceCardMarzipanBunnies%252C04-16-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiny marzipan bunnies added a fun<br />
note to placecards</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The day before Easter I got busy in my kitchen, first marinating a six-and-a-half pound leg of lamb by cutting slits all over the sirloin and tucking in slivers of fresh garlic, poking sprigs of rosemary from my garden deep into the meat, and then rubbing the whole leg with olive oil, salt and pepper. I sprinkled rosemary leaves over the roast and stuck it in the fridge to chill.<br />
<br />
Next I whirled bleu cheese, cream cheese and goat cheese in a food processor with melted butter until the smooth mixture had taken on a pale blue-green tint from the Roquefort. I patted some of the cheese into the bottom of a vintage jello mold lined with plastic wrap and topped it with a layer of fresh herbs (minced parsley and chives) from my garden, followed by a coating of toasted, chopped walnuts spiced with cumin, cardamon and sugar. I kept layering cheese, herbs and nuts until the miniature bundt pan was full, then folded plastic wrap over the top and put it in the fridge to set.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpnMmJvvaJbTGbmEY57NC1h4YzUWa7jgnCW0rthnC2oqXj78D3eIrp7JwlkKN310mmrG-SV5IRjRfCio1P53MoyimDAZlqbABJGMqwmfrZdT6yjD6gnYTzS12XFIBOUbb-K7SU2fXIkoU/s1600/CarrotSaladFaded%252C04-16-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpnMmJvvaJbTGbmEY57NC1h4YzUWa7jgnCW0rthnC2oqXj78D3eIrp7JwlkKN310mmrG-SV5IRjRfCio1P53MoyimDAZlqbABJGMqwmfrZdT6yjD6gnYTzS12XFIBOUbb-K7SU2fXIkoU/s200/CarrotSaladFaded%252C04-16-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The carrot salad was so colorful!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
Next I set to work assembling a hearty salad of thinly-sliced, rainbow-hued carrots, shredded red cabbage, bulgar wheat, chickpeas, chopped parsley, crumbled feta and sliced scallions, which I tossed with a fragrant vinaigrette of lemon juice, olive oil, garlic, toasted cumin seeds, salt and ground turmeric. The deep purple of the raw cabbage, combined with the red, orange, white and yellow carrots, the pale garbanzo beans and bulgar, the white feta and the brilliant yellow dressing (from the turmeric) made for a gloriously colorful presentation -- confetti in a bowl!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7R6aBdJt2IbIsIW88l3hx2rIbMUlygtwAX6Y2DLKGD2Td_gLv3MtXmOTVtHWDoO0LF2LPAspkAf8iTnvepPu_Sx2dCCUNWNIIh8k0UWVi2kOAF_6IXSuLAnXr4nO_peKae3IcnK0P5E8/s1600/ChantillyPotatoes%252C04-16-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7R6aBdJt2IbIsIW88l3hx2rIbMUlygtwAX6Y2DLKGD2Td_gLv3MtXmOTVtHWDoO0LF2LPAspkAf8iTnvepPu_Sx2dCCUNWNIIh8k0UWVi2kOAF_6IXSuLAnXr4nO_peKae3IcnK0P5E8/s200/ChantillyPotatoes%252C04-16-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I snapped this photo early in the day -- <br />
before Murphy's Law began to wreak<br />
havoc at Jan's party</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On Sunday morning, I boiled Yukon gold potatoes, put them through a ricer and then whipped heavy cream into stiff peaks. Folded into the minced tubers with milk, butter, white pepper and salt, the whipped cream gave the potatoes a luxurious, silken consistency. I patted the potatoes into an oven-proof casserole, drizzled on some more butter and sprinkled shredded Parmesan over top. Baked for 25 minutes and then crisped and browned beneath my broiler, the dish looked like Heaven in a bowl.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht2aLb86JuUBHMODE-Np7QHFQmOcTjq8v0uHJ8VEnyNmJxswB46NGyxYZdyyoNb6mfHfSfDibgTEgiaWaW4XEHUJI43sb49kqngxV0lGvEKmHwPyOMdRyBm4Z_V1L3IWejUFSCXczeQwI/s1600/WalnutBleuCheeseTerrine%252C04-16-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht2aLb86JuUBHMODE-Np7QHFQmOcTjq8v0uHJ8VEnyNmJxswB46NGyxYZdyyoNb6mfHfSfDibgTEgiaWaW4XEHUJI43sb49kqngxV0lGvEKmHwPyOMdRyBm4Z_V1L3IWejUFSCXczeQwI/s200/WalnutBleuCheeseTerrine%252C04-16-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I filled the depression in the middle of<br />
the ring with daisies and mums</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I turned out the terrine from its copper mold onto a platter lined with mustard greens and sprinkled herbs all around the cheese. In the middle of the ring I tucked spring-hued daisies and chrysanthemums provided by my favorite florist, <a href="https://giantfood.com/store/011cadc2-2347-4fae-9dfa-db7a7f3a9fcd/?radius=10&displayStartIndex=1&searchAddress=21117&displayCount=5&storeType=GROCERY&longitude=-76.79135579999999&storeid=011cadc2-2347-4fae-9dfa-db7a7f3a9fcd&latitude=39.42052959999999">Marty Giles</a>. It made quite a beautiful display.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7ydKyzYdGYnnQSKX0g57dVJTzUPC4M88JuIa2sevHmpcmHDp7sORGdgLWFFEUrbkEfEE7vvF3FQTnXzZxzOo-sEYY78H-RrT58JniRZK3VQGjA5fTfIcdjTqZtu1ebMlJvobAObJDNE/s1600/LynellWithDessert01%252C04-16-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7ydKyzYdGYnnQSKX0g57dVJTzUPC4M88JuIa2sevHmpcmHDp7sORGdgLWFFEUrbkEfEE7vvF3FQTnXzZxzOo-sEYY78H-RrT58JniRZK3VQGjA5fTfIcdjTqZtu1ebMlJvobAObJDNE/s200/LynellWithDessert01%252C04-16-17.JPG" width="173" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This fun jumpsuit kept me cool<br />
and comfy all day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Jan wanted the occasion to be chic but very casual, so I opted for springy and oh-so-comfortable blue cotton overalls with a pretty patchwork placket from the <a href="https://www.pyramidcollection.com/itemdy00.aspx?ID=236,4211&T1=PE5109+2X">Pyramid Collection</a>, which I paired with a vintage white Tee I've owned since the 1970s and white gladiator sandals from Nine West.<br />
<br />
I cut branches from flowering plum, cherry, dogwood and redbud trees, arranging them in a giant vase for Jan, and then loaded up the car for the 20-minute drive to her home. Jan's dear friend, Irit, visiting from New York City, was busy pulling weeds and planting flowers when I arrived just before 2:00 p.m. Jan's brother, Robbie, would arrive at 4:00 with his wife, Ging and their children, Jimmy, 12, and Lookpat, 20. Jan's longtime friend and my former husband, Jesse, proceeded to uncork and decant rare, vintage wines chosen from Jan's wine cellar earlier in the week.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTQHvWU4Fq9rxgaBmfncOv248D1xJ1VO_Kukyo6RYcxUg295yn-0Hz5FXUNBiCfZoZTjnHHHvArs4LAQT_96ijq_BgOhlWPiNwWfijM1eH79_C2NlkJNKVcjnFkf5h5bquuJv_DWoMhA/s1600/HoneyGlazedHam%252C04-16-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTQHvWU4Fq9rxgaBmfncOv248D1xJ1VO_Kukyo6RYcxUg295yn-0Hz5FXUNBiCfZoZTjnHHHvArs4LAQT_96ijq_BgOhlWPiNwWfijM1eH79_C2NlkJNKVcjnFkf5h5bquuJv_DWoMhA/s200/HoneyGlazedHam%252C04-16-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ham and the lamb were perfect,<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">thankfully unaffected by the</span><br />
"poltergeists" of the day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I set to work plating the carrot salad, roasting the lamb in Jan's oven and setting out the bleu cheese terrine with crackers for noshing. Jan had not yet assembled the deviled eggs, so I got busy mashing cooked yolks into stoneground and Dijon mustards, mayonnaise, horseradish, salt, cayenne pepper, curry powder, dill weed and minced celery, chives and garlic, spooning the filling into each boiled egg half and topping it with a chive garnish, while Jan lit candles all over the house. We toasted our good fortune and close friendship with bellinis: slender flutes of chilled champagne topped with a splash of peach schnapps.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGwokXh81phF_h6ZbvDC_2BMff6SYzE0NvIGglWcg9NEAzivWOt1vhJ6YMuw6p7UIYJ7XHG7AzXJiULlsUweCR3cP6mQejSoOH3iKkzNXnBLQP65Z92Ry5U7vReCIIpDp6WX0prkOfy8/s1600/Appetizers%252C04-16-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGwokXh81phF_h6ZbvDC_2BMff6SYzE0NvIGglWcg9NEAzivWOt1vhJ6YMuw6p7UIYJ7XHG7AzXJiULlsUweCR3cP6mQejSoOH3iKkzNXnBLQP65Z92Ry5U7vReCIIpDp6WX0prkOfy8/s200/Appetizers%252C04-16-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deviled eggs, stuffed olives and tiny<br />
pickled onions rounded out the<br />
appetizer selection</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At 4:00 o'clock the lamb came out of the oven to rest for 45 minutes, while the potatoes and ham went into the warming drawer to heat up. That's when things began to go south. We couldn't understand why Jan's gigantic standard poodle, Toby, was licking his lips and looking for all the world like he'd found Nirvana. Now I saw the reason why: a third of the potatoes were missing from the ceramic dish we'd left sitting on the kitchen counter. We carefully cleaned out the contaminated portion and vowed to keep quiet about the canine incursion.<br />
<br />
We proceeded to taste the decanted wine, now that it had been given a chance to breathe. It was a rare and valuable 1995 Chateau Monbousquet Saint-Emilion Grand Cru -- two bottles. Both had spoiled. They were undrinkable.<br />
<br />
And Robby and Ging and the children were now late. Very late. We tried to reach Jan's brother by cellphone but he had not turned his phone on. We called his wife's cell phone but none of us speak Thai and, although she's been in the U.S. for twelve years, Ging's English is not good enough to understand over the phone. We had established that they were okay, but could not determine when they would arrive or even if they were still coming. Half of our dinner party was missing in action.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBX29V4zguUy-tf9vKmEYbyL-dbn7Bl3spgtmOOGk6798tPHGJlGtR_rsbQmQoGNJJI_BN1IDKTlgaoBUhOxdJmVZrmgmj45oL524Ah3Xfe6Gs0LGK00Qi9QFc64yeZsTsPfSyKKqzSNo/s1600/Tablescape01%252C04-16-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBX29V4zguUy-tf9vKmEYbyL-dbn7Bl3spgtmOOGk6798tPHGJlGtR_rsbQmQoGNJJI_BN1IDKTlgaoBUhOxdJmVZrmgmj45oL524Ah3Xfe6Gs0LGK00Qi9QFc64yeZsTsPfSyKKqzSNo/s200/Tablescape01%252C04-16-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jan (in green) and Irit poured water<br />
for <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">the dinner table</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Jan and Jesse headed back down to the wine cellar. This time they went deeper, bringing back a<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 1995 <span style="background-color: text-align: justify;">Chateauneuf du Pape and an 1988 </span></span>Chateau Simard Saint-Emilion Grand Cru. I didn't notice the bottles were two different kinds and inadvertently decanted them into the same pitcher -- an epic and embarrassing mistake which thankfully resulted in a surprisingly tasty blend. Still, I was mortified at my gaffe and could not be consoled.<br />
<br />
Finally, at 6:00 p.m., we grew tired of waiting for the others, so the four of us sat down to eat. We served up the ham and the lamb, passed the salad and the (carefully trimmed) mashed potatoes, gave a cheery toast and had just taken our first bites when Robby and his entourage arrived. Up once again from the table, we exchanged greetings and introductions (Irit had never met Jan's brother and his family) and then started to serve dinner to our newly seated guests.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ZCEbVDlVdv-7zl64fh7X9iFAGmNkviZbCXRyHP8p-utkyDBcamR7T0gna3cPE0VHW8Q_9snDu4FccGdUNJsHAJcwQspFRKxvDkslEcerdscET_hcIwDrFTgaQ-G0_b2um9L06_TbkXs/s1600/LemonCoconutMangoCake%252C04-16-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ZCEbVDlVdv-7zl64fh7X9iFAGmNkviZbCXRyHP8p-utkyDBcamR7T0gna3cPE0VHW8Q_9snDu4FccGdUNJsHAJcwQspFRKxvDkslEcerdscET_hcIwDrFTgaQ-G0_b2um9L06_TbkXs/s200/LemonCoconutMangoCake%252C04-16-17.JPG" width="115" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jan proved she was<br />
every bit as good a host<br />
as Robert had been </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By the time dessert was served, we were all having a jolly good time. Jan presented a beautiful confection from <a href="https://www.patisseriepoupon.net/">La Patisserie Poupon</a>, a classic French bakery in Baltimore from which she had ordered a decadent coconut cake with lemon mousse and mango filling in the shape of an Easter egg. When the cake was sliced, the mango filling looked like a golden yolk. Paired with a fabulous dessert wine from Jan's cellar, the final serving of the meal was as sublime as the previous courses.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziYMgmUYiEcBE65y5LuyUPkYKxCAnzb1FIAkGEY-WC-1KPu5RJg22R7ovt8QKv4n1sAkJB708entRecu1QIlloFiM4Z5InH-hrmfKZ2zNHfuTOeYZyEGhBLF0bLuey44dX6-ABOXEMRY/s1600/PartyFavorMenus%252C04-16-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziYMgmUYiEcBE65y5LuyUPkYKxCAnzb1FIAkGEY-WC-1KPu5RJg22R7ovt8QKv4n1sAkJB708entRecu1QIlloFiM4Z5InH-hrmfKZ2zNHfuTOeYZyEGhBLF0bLuey44dX6-ABOXEMRY/s200/PartyFavorMenus%252C04-16-17.JPG" width="152" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every guest got to take a copy<br />
of the menu home with them,<br />
tied and secured with a <br />
blossom hairclip</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Murphy's Law dictates that "everything that can go wrong, will go wrong". That wasn't our experience, fortunately, for not<i> everything</i> went wrong, and the things that did go wrong were easily (and luckily) fixed. Perhaps Robert had been testing his widow's mettle from the great beyond. Maybe he was just having a little fun at our expense. Who's to say?<br />
<br />
All I know is that Jan's first foray into entertaining since her husband's passing was a sweet success. We all had a merry time. And as we gently explained the history of Christianity and the meaning of Easter to the Buddhists at the table, I reflected upon what a wonderful world of inclusivity and acceptance I live in -- where even the most glaring oenophilic faux pas can be forgiven -- after another glass of wine.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic;">“The chance of the bread falling with the buttered side down is directly proportional to the cost of the carpet.” ~ </span>Murphy's Law</div>
</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5091008064236923301.post-66270636019379167002017-03-26T20:08:00.001-04:002017-08-30T13:47:20.538-04:00The Broad Wing Of Time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna and I pose for a picture on her 70th birthday</td></tr>
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Jean Paul Richter, a German art historian in the 1800s, said that "birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time". I interpret that to mean that each annual commemoration adds value to our imaginary limbs of flight; it gives sustenance to our memories and deeper meaning to the lives we have led. To have earned 70 feathers is to be rich in experience; indeed, to have lived a full life.<br />
<br />
And so it is with my friend, Anna, whose 70th birthday I helped celebrate last week on the 23rd of March in her room at a nursing home in Baltimore, Maryland, where she has been a resident for several years. I last wrote about Anna in <a href="http://lynellsvintagelook.blogspot.com/2014/03/a-garden-in-her-pocket.html">2014</a>, when it became clear to me that there was no one currently in Anna's life to care for her, to look in on her, to let her know someone cares. Anna has no family in the U.S. at all, so I took it upon myself to start visiting her.<br />
<br />
Since that post in 2014 a lot has changed for Anna, primarily for the good. I got to know Anna years ago when we volunteered together at a nature preserve near my home in Baltimore County. After Anna's first bout with brain cancer in 2007, I visited her in the hospital and brought casseroles to her apartment when she was able to return home. Anna eventually resumed her career as a concrete chemist for the State Highway Department, although she didn't volunteer with me anymore. We kept in touch via email, but eventually she stopped communicating.<br />
<br />
It turned out that in 2012 Anna was struck by a second bout of brain cancer. I found out when far flung friends, relatives and colleagues resurrected a long-dormant email chain on which I was copied to ask her whereabouts. In 2013, when no one could find her, I took it upon myself to track Anna down so I could relate her condition to those who were concerned. I found her in a rehabilitation center following her second brain surgery, this time with permanent paralysis on one side and not enough strength to ever return home. But the next time I went to visit Anna at the rehab center, she wasn't there. I had lost her again. In early 2014 I found her at a nursing home in Baltimore City and promised myself I would start visiting more often so I wouldn't lose track of her again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_Q4we5h0gOFT_yoUPgfktewvxf6rrHSPqIIqeoiYofq072aH5lEwlg12HbghN7zZ26KAHh3k6q9h5Qa_ARrGtv_ZrSTPY8HZKBEbErEbyH-ceMz78r2FYBX5q_j3MAvCLTRVrxXkJUQ/s1600/159.3CavershamWildlifeParkKoalas02%252C08-25-16.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_Q4we5h0gOFT_yoUPgfktewvxf6rrHSPqIIqeoiYofq072aH5lEwlg12HbghN7zZ26KAHh3k6q9h5Qa_ARrGtv_ZrSTPY8HZKBEbErEbyH-ceMz78r2FYBX5q_j3MAvCLTRVrxXkJUQ/s320/159.3CavershamWildlifeParkKoalas02%252C08-25-16.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna's sister, Eva, right, and I met a mother koala and her<br />
baby at Caversham Wildlife Park in Western Australia in 2016 </td></tr>
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<br />
In 2015 I became pen pals with Anna's sister, Eva, in Australia. Eva filled me in on Anna's challenging life story and their childhood in Communist Hungary. Over the next year Eva and I became such good friends via email that in August of 2016 I flew to Western Australia to spend ten days getting to know my new friend. We did lots of sightseeing and cemented our friendship over our mutual affinity for animals, nature and science.<br />
<br />
Frustrated by never being able to reach her sister when she called the nursing home from Australia, Eva purchased a cell phone for Anna and loaded it with prepaid minutes. We developed a new routine. I would visit Anna every other Friday, early in the morning. Because Anna is too weak to hold a cell phone on her own, I would dial Eva's telephone number in Perth and hold the phone to Anna's ear so they could talk to one another. It was the first time Anna and Eva had been able to speak to each other on a regular basis in decades. Anna loved it. She and her sister were now able to chat away in their native Hungarian every two weeks and, although Anna can't say much, I could tell that her demeanor was changing. She was happier.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna, left, and her sister, Eva,<br />
stand behind their mother in<br />
Budapest, Hungary</td></tr>
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In the fall of 2016, things got even better. I lobbied the nursing home to get Anna moved to a room where her bed would be by the window, so she could look out at the trees and sky and feel closer to the nature she loved so much. Thankfully, the facility agreed. Now she would be able to watch the seasons change! And I was able to get contact information for Anna's three grown children in Nigeria and the U.K. A new routine developed. The day before I visited Anna in the nursing home, I would email the children to see who would be free to receive a phone call from their mum the next day. Now, when I arrived at the convalescent hospital first thing Friday morning, Anna and I would ring up Eva in Australia and then we'd call whichever children were available, one after another. Suddenly Anna was connected on a regular basis with everyone in her family. At Christmas she even got to speak with some of her grandchildren for the very first time.<br />
<br />
Though she spends much time alone, Anna tells me she is not bored. She has a lot of time to think, she says, so she wiles away the hours in her hospital bed reliving memories of worldwide travels and long ago adventures, allowing her imagination to carry her to places to which she can no longer travel in her physical body.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wilhelmina had 30 tulips delivered<br />
for Anna's 70th birthday</td></tr>
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<br />
I also managed to locate the sister-in-law of Anna's deceased husband in Tennessee. Wilhelmina's son owns a bookstore, so when she expressed a desire to do something nice for Anna, I asked if she might be able to obtain copies of <i>The Little Prince</i> and some of Anna's other favorite titles in CD format, which I had not been able to find locally or online. When Wilhelmina asked what she might do for Anna on an ongoing basis, I suggested that having a bouquet of flowers delivered to Anna's room once every three months might be a wonderful way to offer seasonal cheer to Anna all year long. Thus, I was as excited as Anna on Christmas Eve to help her unwrap her new CD books from Wilhelmina beside a beautiful arrangement of evergreens before we called Anna's sister in Australia and her children in Lagos and London.<br />
<br />
So, here it is, March, 2017, and the occasion of Anna's 70th birthday. Anna is no longer able to chew solid food, so when I asked what I might make for her birthday, Anna was quick to tell me that she'd been craving Chinese Hot and Sour soup. That would be a perfect gift for me to make for my friend!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hGVFbamXicFNeVoDeQfwoGe-Xv1BZdrAO_Nz33n2n8II3dVkt8Ox1__S6pn21xqw-VNArXwYb_WlyG9YZ1TJBZj77yVhWGk_-I0mn-o7Gw3HnzsNKU-FVb4ew9RAV-Ck1WZetT_6EEM/s1600/Annas70thBirthdaySoup01%252C03-22-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hGVFbamXicFNeVoDeQfwoGe-Xv1BZdrAO_Nz33n2n8II3dVkt8Ox1__S6pn21xqw-VNArXwYb_WlyG9YZ1TJBZj77yVhWGk_-I0mn-o7Gw3HnzsNKU-FVb4ew9RAV-Ck1WZetT_6EEM/s200/Annas70thBirthdaySoup01%252C03-22-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made sure all the ingredients for<br />
Anna's birthday soup were diced<br />
very fine</td></tr>
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A few weeks ago, Anna's children inquired as to what gifts their mum might like to receive. I suggested they put together small albums filled with photographs of their lives: pictures of the children, with captions, showing them at school and at sports, photographs showing their homes and spouses, and handwritten cards or letters describing their lives and hobbies. Wilhelmina arranged to have a brilliant bouquet of flowers delivered to Anna on her special day -- tulips, which had been a childhood favorite of Anna's because they always bloomed during March in Hungary.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5fBizE3Ra2_hFX9tbmZFcHeCV1hdwic7P4zsfqyq6hmfO7O60tMeADdCOA2dW_RHYiYRM2OL2Cl3YrzN7f8CeE7RUHHgAP8Qi3ItnjEBlZHNT9kON7rpzG7AloSzW36zNm44XqR2g4s/s1600/Annas70thBirthdaySoup02%252C03-22-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5fBizE3Ra2_hFX9tbmZFcHeCV1hdwic7P4zsfqyq6hmfO7O60tMeADdCOA2dW_RHYiYRM2OL2Cl3YrzN7f8CeE7RUHHgAP8Qi3ItnjEBlZHNT9kON7rpzG7AloSzW36zNm44XqR2g4s/s200/Annas70thBirthdaySoup02%252C03-22-17.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Chinese Hot and Sour soup <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">for</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Anna</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> came together beautifully </span></td></tr>
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<br />
The day before Anna's birthday, I prepared hot and sour soup from scratch, using a recipe I found online and taking care to mince all the ingredients very fine: tofu and barbecued pork, wood ear mushrooms, fresh ginger and bamboo shoots, so that Anna would have no trouble swallowing. I gathered together the gifts her family had sent to me: Anna's favorite perfume, Gloria Vanderbilt, a jar of special Emu cream for her fragile skin and a musical birthday card, all from Eva in Australia, and photos, cards and letters from her children.<br />
<br />
On the morning of the 23rd, I heated a container of soup and loaded the gifts into my car. Anna was sleeping when I arrived but awoke to the sight of wrapped presents piled high on her bedside tray. We opened the cards and gifts from Anna's family one by one. There were handwritten letters from each school-age grandchild in London, written in their very best penmanship, describing their hobbies, what they are studying in school and what they want to be when they grow up. There was an album filled with photos of the children engaged in school and at play. There was a framed collage of photographs from her son, filled with images of his toddlers posing with Santa and having fun in a park.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicH7fVdZ2DrrzcIgfr5fQUrMzQ-agU2Ain2nJ6EP8eMCLOXMeo1gPc1ltp3dzSk74mgtmFPT__3-ha4G2ueuFdM9eHw2WujYVdC9AEYOv0sMThirRavGcGTHuTUxmcUi-kwnt5NFuGFfA/s1600/Annas70thBirthday01%252C03-23-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicH7fVdZ2DrrzcIgfr5fQUrMzQ-agU2Ain2nJ6EP8eMCLOXMeo1gPc1ltp3dzSk74mgtmFPT__3-ha4G2ueuFdM9eHw2WujYVdC9AEYOv0sMThirRavGcGTHuTUxmcUi-kwnt5NFuGFfA/s320/Annas70thBirthday01%252C03-23-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can't tell but Anna is smiling broadly!</td></tr>
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<br />
I read each letter and card to Anna, and then we made our phone calls to the far-flung corners of the world. It was the first time Anna had ever been able to speak to her sister and all three of her children on the same day. I fed Anna some of the Chinese soup I'd made, which she immediately proclaimed to be far better than the restaurant version I had brought to her a few weeks earlier. I dabbed a bit of perfume behind her ears and rubbed some Emu cream on her hands.<br />
<br />
We left each other as we always do. I asked Anna what book she would like to hear, then plugged in the CD player, adjusted the volume on the headphones and positioned them gently over her ears. I waved goodbye as Anna settled in to listen to her favorite author, her gifts spread out on the table before her, a look of peace on her face. No doubt the feathers of her years were fanning out to convey Anna to lofty places in her memory, the broad wing of time transporting my friend to happy recollections of years well lived -- and of many birthdays gone before.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Lynell</div>
Lynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357345985471143562noreply@blogger.com0