Bringing the mountain

My friend has white mulberries in her garden, and huge peach trees she has raised from seed.  Lemons and kumquats, figs and pomegranates, a glasshouse full of seedlings ready to plant out.  And a motorized scooter to get around her garden.  She used to come walk around my garden, but no more. When I go for tea her house is full of lilacs or roses, lilies or iris, and she always asks me "How is your garden?"  How do you answer that? A garden is never just one way.  But this spring my garden is the best it has ever been.

So last week I took my garden to her.  I brought her a small bouquet of what's blooming now, and my laptop with photos of my garden.

The spanish bluebells came from my friend Sylvia - her garden is a sheet of blue in spring.  Mine are more numerous each year, and I finally have enough to share.

The columbines came from Carol.   I can feel her gentle presence when they bloom.  I miss her.

I don't remember who first told me they got their name from the ring of doves kissing.  Remember your Latin? 

Rhododendrons light up the shade, and caress me with a faint spiciness as I brush past.  They will be sticky and brown soon, and the stickiness will coat my fingers as I snap off the endless spent flowers, but they're worth it.

I showed her the old apple tree just budding,

and the forget-me-nots that stick to your socks.  My mom says when that happens the best thing to do is plant your socks.  She's right, the seeds never come off.

There are bright bergenias with leaves like glossy cabbage.  A granny plant, very out of fashion.  Too bad. I love it.

The first roses of the year are opening outside the bathroom window among the spent peach blossoms, where it is sunniest.  When she saw this she said "Climbing Peace!  That is my favorite rose!"  When a few more have opened I will take her armfuls.

If you can't bring your friend to your garden, get out your camera and your laptop, and bring your garden to visit your friend.  And don't forget the bouquet, for no matter how small, a bouquet gathered by your hand from your garden will always speak of love.

Cooking Lessons

My friend Maryam called and said "I have your dinner - come by and get it."


As she is a fabulous cook and a commanding presence, I hopped in my car and zoomed over.  She was standing by the stove, with a huge pile of rice and a thick round-bottomed saucepan next to her.  


"I have Cioppino for you, but you must have it with garlic bread..." check.  "...and Persian rice.  Nobody ever makes this right, so I have started it for you." Okay.  My favorite recipes have been handed down hands-on.  


"I melted about two tablespoons of butter in this pan, and I added two tablespoons of olive oil and a pinch of saffron.  Use really good saffron, the best you can find.


"Now you put in the rice" and she scooped about four cups of cooked rice on top of the melted butter and oil.


"Then you add dried Persian cranberries.  You have to get them at the Persian store, you can't use those American ones."  I tasted one - they were tiny, like dried pomegranate seeds, and quite tart.


"You just mix them into the top of the rice, you don't want to disturb the part that is in the butter and oil.  When you cook it, put it over high heat until it starts to sizzle, then turn the heat down to medium-low, add a tablespoon of water and another tablespoon of butter, just put them on top of the rice.  Then put three paper towels over the top of the pan, put the lid on, and cook it for 45 minutes.  When it's done take off the lid, put a plate upside-down over the top of the pan and flip it over onto the plate."


I did as she said. I must confess I folded the edges of the paper towel in a bit so they wouldn't hang over and catch fire - I once nearly set my friend Cathy's kitchen ablaze. As it was cooking the most wonderful nutty smell filled the kitchen.


When we cut into it, it was crispy and creamy, sweet and crunchy where the rice had crisped, and tart where the cranberries were lurking.


The next day I took her this photo...

...and she laughed with delight.  "You did it perfectly!" she said.  "Even my grand-daughter has to call when she's making it!"  She did of course start it for me, so I suppose that's cheating.  But I'm making it again, and soon. With chicken, with salmon, with  shrimp in garlic butter...come for dinner!

Loyal For Life

On St. Patrick's Day we had been out to dinner with some friends.  They have recently lost their dog of nearly two decades, the senior statesman and welcome wagon of the neighborhood.  It's hit the whole family hard, and since I think everyone should have at least one dog,  Smiley Dog Rescue seemed the place to start.  On my new Macbook Air of course.  And if you have a friend who isn't familiar with Pinterest of course you have to show them your boards...

The internet was soooooo slow, and as we were waiting for a page, any page to load, I reached for my Irish coffee.  And poured it across the keyboard of my adored two week old Macbook Air.

The whiskey and whipped cream went into the keyboard and drained out the trackpad.  Sticky streaks marked the screen as I tried to wipe off some of the mess.  I tipped it up and more coffee and stickiness dripped out the bottom.

"Rice!" Leeann exclaimed.  "My iPhone got soaked, I put it in rice, and it's been fine." So into a big bag of rice went my Macbook Air, tipped on its side so it could drain.

I thought it would be a good idea to wiggle the hinge to try to get more liquid out before it dried and got totally gummed up.  Bad idea.  When I took it out of the rice the next morning there were rice grains stuck in the hinge, and I could hear more rice rattling around inside the computer.  Oops.

In tears we made an appointment at the Apple Genius Bar.  I had a sleepless night chastising myself.  I don't make a lot of mistakes, but this one was a doozy, and being a Lutheran...well, let's just say forgiving yourself is not part of the Protestant ethic as I learned it.

We thought about not telling them what had happened...for about one second.   It's the Lutheran thing, remember?  I imagine I felt a bit like a naughty Catholic at confession waiting to hear what could be done...I felt trepidation, guilt, remorse...

The young man who listened to our tale of woe said "At least it was Irish coffee.  On St. Patrick's Day.  You get points for that" and went off to see what could be done.  We sat in silence, surrounded by the happy din of the Apple store, and watched glumly as excited customers clutching their new toys grinned and threaded their way through the crowd and out the door.

When the young man came back, he said "I have some bad news.  Is there anything on this computer you can't replace?  Anything you haven't backed up?"  Nope, thanks to Wally's quick mind and his external keyboard (the one on the Airbook was frozen) we'd just backed everything up.

"Good!" he said.  "Here's a new Macbook Air.  You'll have to reload all your stuff, but since you backed it up, it won't be a problem, and you owe us zero dollars and zero cents."

We left the store grinning, me clutching my new computer to my chest.  I am writing this on my new toy, no coffee or tea in sight.

Only at Apple. Loyal for life.

Back in the saddle again

Conventional wisdom says that if you fall off a horse, get right back on.  Quickly, before the fear sets in, before you have time to think.  Great advice, but when I got knocked out on the ski slopes a few weeks ago there was no question of getting back on my skis.  The paramedics took them away from me, and the doctor (and Wally) threatened dire consequences if I didn't rest.  A lot.  So I rested, and I stewed.  

I thought about not skiing until next year, but I didn't want to go through the whole summer wondering if I'd lost my nerve, wondering if I'd be too scared to ski.  So last week we went skiing.  

At first I was like a little old lady crossing a slippery street on a windy day.  Cautious doesn't begin to cover it.  But I'd rented some hot new skis, and if I wasn't paying attention and driving, I was flat on my rear.  So I skied.  And skied.  And skied.  And I came home with a shiny new pair of skis: 

Volkl RTM in case you care.  Rated best by everyone this year, including me. 

Happy to have the trauma over, happy to have the mystery solved (as in will I ski again, not as in who did the hit and run) and happy to have had some time in the beautiful mountains.

And Wally is happy too. 

So nice to ski together. Fast. Here's to many more years.  

Worth it?

Jan bid on it at a charity auction - a thousand daffodils planted by the best looking and most entertaining firemen in the firehouse. How could she resist?  On a beautiful fall day the ladies lounged in the garden while the firemen dug and sweated and teased each other and planted daffodils.  They marked the one drip line they cut...unfortunately it's not always obvious when you cut the soft drip tubing.  So the first time John turned on the irrigation, it looked like Versailles on a day when all the fountains are running.  Oops.  

Still, I think it was worth it...don't you? 


p.s. Wally has been complaining about the small type - it seems to have gotten smaller lately - anyone else notice this?  Maybe it's just my eyes.

Gas Prices

A neighbor posted this on Facebook (I know, I know...) and its' too good not to share. And because I know some of you don't do Facebook (hi Aileen!) here it is. Feel free to pass it along. If you can't figure out how to do that, call me.

Wish I'd said that...

He’s deeply shallow, Michael said as he steered me past the fiction table toward the back of the store.  I had to laugh - words are his business (he owns Rakestraw Books) and my passion and delight (I am a published author and noted big mouth), and that phrase is especially delicious.  And it got me thinking about other clever turns of phrase.  

How many times have you thought of just the right comeback...the day after the event?  Or thought of the perfect comeback and held your tongue, only to wish later you’d let it rip?  Of course there is always the famous “She needs a speed-bump installed between her mouth and her brain.” We all know people like that. You need to say the serious stuff with care and respect.  But for those other moments, and there are so many of those other moments, here are some inspirations:

Groucho Marx said "I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it." Go Groucho.

Forrest Tucker: "He loves nature in spite of what it did to him." I bet you've dated this guy.

Oscar Wilde: "Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go." And yet somehow they linger and linger...

And for that argumentative yet clueless person: "He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts... for support rather than illumination." Andrew Lang 

When Eric was visiting a few weeks ago he read us our horoscopes in the morning, and we decided to do horror-scopes and mis-fortune cookies.  Now remember this is all in fun, and try not to get your panties in a bunch. 

1. You are the conversational equivalent of spam. 

2. Work on your social skills - or is it is possible to work on something you don’t have?

3. Your cat is cheating on you.

4. That shirt? with those pants? Is your taste really all in your mouth? 

5. They lied. It is you.

6. I love what you’re trying to do with your hair.

7. Focus your energies on becoming a more positive person - even your therapist is sick of listening to you whine.

8. Your search for old friends and long lost loves isn’t going to work out - they’re all busy changing their email and Facebook accounts to avoid you.

9. If you’ve changed your Facebook status more than three times, your real status is unstable.

And just in case we still need a reminder:

10. Being on Facebook is not a real life.