I am red neck.

I also have red ears, a red triangle on my chest that my shirt didn't cover. The tip of my nose, not covered by my hat is also red -- not at all lovely but less painful today than yesterday. Spouse and I spent no more than an hour at Gravelly Point yesterday afternoon and that's what I came home with. It was a stupendously beautiful day and going down there just seemed like the right thing to do. Lots of young families also felt that way. Some even had beach umbrellas and one had one of those canopy things, a table and chairs. The attraction of Gravelly Point is not only the fact that it's right on the Potomac River where a channel cuts through for boats coming in and out of the Columbia Island Marina. The Point is also at the end of the north/south runway at National Airport. I'm guessing the distance from the runway to the water's edge at the Point is about the length of a football field. In other words, you're feet under the flight path of a busy airport! Planes were landing from the north yesterday, so the noise was somewhat tolerable. However, when they take off to the north, watch out!! Some fly so low it feels like you could touch them. I can even feel the pressure from their powerful jets in my chest. Then, within about 10 seconds or so, you feel the whoosh of wind that blows after them. I'm thinking this is the turbulence that takes out little planes flying to closely behind big jets -- it's strong! I'm probably a wimp when it comes to noise -- I cover me ears against it. There were lots of little kids and several babies down at the Point, including one adorable 12 week old I stopped to admire. I didn't see anyone else covering their ears -- even the little kids!! Between eardrum shattering music through ear buds and everyday noise like leaf blowers, snow blowers, motor cycles, sirens, etc. I suspect they'll have little hearing left by the time they reach 50. Wimpdom has it's positive side! I'll be able to hear the crack when I fall and break my hip after stumbling over a curb while flying my kite at the ripe old age of 93! Whoopee.

Chilean Miners

Since seeing the narrow capsule that will soon bring the miners back to the surface, I've been feeling for them and subconsciously breathing more deeply. First, I cannot imagine how they have survived the trauma of being deep inside the earth for so long. Before they were discovered alive, thinking about their predicament had to have been overwhelming. Thinking about being buried alive would have been enough to kill me. Second, having been entombed in an MRI machine twice for one hour nearly drove me mad. If I hadn't believed the promises made by my Mom and sisters that they would be praying for me that morning, the test would have been impossible. As it was, they had to pull me out right after they first put me in because I felt like I was suffocating. This is going to be one helluva journey for these guys and I hope and pray they survive it. Think about how marvelous their first breath of fresh air will be and when they again see rivers trees sky stars moon rise sunset . . . . . . and touch the faces of their loved ones. Amen.

It's not so much a matter of free speech . . .

. . . as it is a matter of respect, humanity and conscience. Those who demonstrate their hatred and disrespect for others, particularly during tragedies prove how little connection they have with real life and with the God they profess to follow. I'm no Bible-totin'-quotin' type. I had to dust off my fifty year old Revised Standard Version before opening it for the first time in years. Just wanted to refresh my memory on the ten commandments and came across this in Exodus 22:21-24.

"You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. You shall not afflict any widow or orphan. If you do afflict them, and they cry out to me, I will hear their cry; and my wrath will burn, and I will kill you with the sword, and your wives shall become widows and your children fatherless."

Seems to me this promises pretty dire punishment for what some of these self-described Christians are doing. If they take the Bible as the literal word of God, they might want to reexamine their actions. For those who have been subjected to this sort of disgraceful behavior [which really is all of us who deplore it], take heart in knowing that ultimate justice is not in our hands, no matter what the U.S. Supreme Court decides. What goes around comes around. Evil will always be overpowered by Good.

"Amber Waves"

Cherry Crunch

Because night is showing up earlier and earlier every day, I've started thinking about comfort foods. The shortened days of Winter are not exactly welcomed by yours truly, but they do make me appreciate the long, hot days of Summer more.

With that out of the way, let me take you where you've never been before. To a world redolent with rich, buttery crispness and sweet/tangy goodness with a fragrance that will knock your socks off.

This is my take on an old family favorite, apple crisp, but using tart cherries rather than apples. When the apples come into season, I'll go with them, but for now, canned cherries are an excellent alternative. Oh, and trust me, these are not the kind of cherries you can eat straight out of the can. . . unless you like making sour faces.

Begin by heating your oven to 350. Pull out a 9" by 9" by 2" deep pan or something that equates to that. Measure a cup of juice from the cherries and pour it into the pan. Add 3 Tbs. of instant tapioca and let it soak for 15 minutes. While that's happening, melt a whole one stick of butter in a medium sauce pan. Once melted, remove from the heat and add the following: 1½ cups packed brown sugar, 1 cup quick cooking oatmeal, 1 cup all purpose flour, ¼ tsp. each salt, baking powder, baking soda [it will wait until you come back to it]. Now, back to the cherry juice/tapioca -- add ¼ tsp. almond extract and the drained cherries and gently mix together.

Now it's time to get down and dirty. With an impeccably clean hand, smoosh together the dry ingredients with the melted butter until it's crumbly. Loosely sprinkle it over the cherries and pop the pan into the oven for 30-35 minutes. It will be done when the topping is nicely browned and the aroma of the cherries and almond extract together make you weep with joyful anticipation. Spouse and I like it plain, but if you're one of those who must "gild the lily" you can top it off with iced or whipped cream. 　 [Note to Megan -- I triple-checked this recipe, so there are no mistakes in it . . . *sigh*]

"The Island"

I've read several books during the summer, but none moved me as much as the above by Elin Hilderbrand. Truthfully, I've read it twice and am trying to will myself to avoid a third read at least for a few months.

Impulsiveness is a huge part of my character. For ONCE, it paid off when I grabbed this book while speed-shopping through Target. I knew nothing of the author. The cover photo had me at first glance.

Beaches have been and remain an important factor to my happiness. If you believe in astrology, this might seem odd. As an Aries, I'm a fire sign, but proximity to water is what feeds my soul.

The story is about four women: two sisters in their 50s and one is the mother of two daughters both in their 30s. Their relationships are complex yet interwoven in surprising ways.

Starting with an attempt by the mother to help and learn why one of her daughters abruptly cancelled her wedding and succumbed to an emotional breakdown, the story takes all four women to a rustic island off Nantucket. Great grandparents built a cottage on the island years before and it had been a family vacation spot since. The island is privately owned by its residents, has rudimentary plumbing, no electricity, no telephones, TV, internet access, etc. Very rustic, but gorgeous for those who love the sea, beach and peace.

Love interests complicate the lives of these women, causing envy, jealousy, hurt and surprises. Perhaps the most appealing thing about this story is that all the characters end up resolving their "issues" and uncover lives they never thought possible.

The Island is joining my permanent collection.

CNN: Just Say No!

Until recently, I thought CNN was a reliable, less biased source of news and watched it exclusively every evening. Right now, however I want to shout at them to SHUT UP!! The coverage CNN has given that kook and so-called pastor from Florida who planned to ceremoniously burn copies of the Koran has given me a great big headache. The guy doesn't deserve 15 seconds much less 15 minutes of coverage for his hare-brained scheme. Important news has gone unreported because of this creep. CNN is questioning its coverage, on-air, which simply prolongs the agony of this boorish spectacle. They spend prime time trying to figure out the repercussions of this idiot crackpot's planned protest and their role in it. Enough, already! If this guy gets so much free publicity, what's to stop thousands more weirdos from trying the same thing? Where has judgement and common sense gone? Presenting this kind of reprehensible nonsense as news is unseemly at least and incendiary at worst. I am embarrassed that top American officials have been forced to point out the idiocy and dangers of this guy's idea. I refuse to believe that Americans "outside the Beltway" have so little understanding of the rest of the world and our country's place in it. It doesn't require a college degree to understand that insulting someone else's beliefs is just plain wrong and particularly contemptible coming from someone who claims to be a member of the clergy. Can he not see that his small-mindedness equals the mindset of those he is vilifying?

Is this a reasonable gripe?

We do a good bit of banking on-line. Just recently, a service fee of $2.00 was added to our statement. I didn't remember doing anything different or asking for some special service, so I checked it out (on-line) to make sure it wasn't an error. Turns out I was charged for clicking on a check I'd written to see a virtual image of it. Banks no longer return paid checks with your monthly statement, so this is the only way to make sure they end up where they belong. Cost me two bucks to click on a link to view a recently cashed check! Interest on our accounts is paultry at best and now we're being nickel-and-dimed (dollared?) for something as simple as clicking a link! Am I being unreasonable or is the bank?

Street Diplomacy

While history [hopefully] is being made across the street at the State Department, a bit of history was made in front of our building today. During forty years living in D.C. I've never seen Hasidic Jews in my neighborhood. A black van loaded with several men in side locks, black hats and long, black coats parked and its occupants ate their lunch. I admit little knowledge of this conservative, Jewish group. However, I do know they wear layers of traditional garments. The temperature today is in the 90s with equally high humidity and unrelenting, searing sunshine. Seeing these men standing in the sun and sitting in a sweltering black van, I felt really sorry for them. Even while they took a break for lunch, they tried interesting passersby in printed materials, I assume, regarding their mission in D.C. Nearly everyone walked by without even acknowledging them. They didn't show any sign of resentment or anger. Then this gracious young man stopped and struck up a conversation. He was polite and engaged and I was so proud of him.

So What If He Was Muslim?

The current President of the United States has stated clearly and unambiguously that he is a Christian. I, for one, think he should not even need to discuss his faith. It is a private, personal matter and irrelevant to his position. It is shameful that he has been forced to respond to blatant discriminatory questions and accusations. When John F. Kennedy announced his run for President there was an equally hideous show of prejudice and fear over his affiliation with the Roman Catholic Church. If elected, he would become the first Catholic president. Some Americans feared that he would force his beliefs on the rest of us or favor his faith over others. It was a huge deal that ended up totally and utterly moot. The day after he was elected, the Earth continued to rotate on its axis and day followed night. Barack Hussein Obama has amply proved that he is a man of intelligence and integrity [not to mention patience] regardless of whatever religious box others want place him. His father may have been Muslim, but the President was raised by his Christian mother and grandparents and followed their example. Religious tolerance is a precious tenet among American liberties. It is not open to discussion, particularly one of a political nature. In other words, a person's religious affiliation or lack of one is irrelevant to anyone else but that person. A man should be judged on his actions, not on suspicions or here say. Our president has proved time and time again that he is someone quite worthy of admiration and support, not vilification.

An Adventure in Cooking

Spouse comes from a culture in which males are not expected to cook, clean or do any domestic chores, at least as far as I can tell. Since marrying me, however, he has learned to clean exceedingly well. I'm happy to relinquish that chore to focus on cooking, laundry, driving, shopping, bill-paying -- well, we all know a woman's work is never done. Many years ago I tried preparing Persian recipes in hopes of pleasing Spouse. Many of these recipes are very healthy and some are even tasty, once you get used to them. I still can't stomach anything with chick pea flour in it. More on that in a moment. I still make koo-koo which are potato pancakes, common to many cuisines. The first time, we made them together, following what Spouse remembered from the way his mother made them. We found a recipe in a cookbook a friend had given us which called for chick pea flour as a thickening agent. The recipe also called for savory ingredients to give the koo-koos some flavor, but Spouse didn't remember his mother making them that way, so we left those out -- big mistake. Mashed potatoes, a dozen eggs and chick pea flour resulted in completely inedible fried lumps. Next time, I more or less followed the way my mother made potato pancakes, adding chopped onion, salt and pepper, NO chick pea flour[!], and only two eggs. I started frying them just before spouse walked in from work. Their fragrance met him in the hallway and he came in with eyes lit up. During the summer I like to make salads rather than cook hot evening meals. Pasta salad with a simple olive oil dressing sounded like a weird idea to Spouse, even though it was packed with many of his favorite veggies. Battling his annoying reluctance to try anything new, I force-fed him a bite. Surprise, surprise, surprise!! He liked it! I've developed many incarnations of this easy dish and have gotten over my shock that he prefers to eat it warmed-up. Go figure . . . Saturday, while grocery shopping, he decided he wanted to make a pasta salad. Cooking for me is another, satisfying, creative outlet, so I try to encourage this behavior in Spouse. When he decided to put his salad together, I decided to let him at it without any input from me. [evil chuckles] I hung close by to turn down boiling pasta before it boiled over and to hand him tools he didn't know he needed until he started floundering. The only pasta he will eat is angel hair, cooked to death. To this, he added a can of chick peas. He also wanted to use sweet onion, so I'd picked up a nice Vidalia. Slicing or dicing wouldn't do it -- he wanted to grate it -- the whole thing. [My eyes started watering just thinking about that.] Keeping a straight face, I suggested he use the food processor for this and left the room. He did a thorough job of crushing the daylights out of that poor onion. When he removed the processor lid, I heard him gasp as the odor hit him in the face. He didn't say anything and I stifled a giggle. Now anyone who does any cooking at all, knows you have to plan ahead and time things so that they come together at the right time and consistency. He'd picked roasted chicken off the bones the day before and frozen it in a bag. He had to bang it on the counter several times before roughly half of the chicken, ample for his salad, broke away from the mass. He plunked it into his work bowl and figured it would thaw by the time the pasta was done. [stifled guffaw]. To the frozen lump of chicken, he added the mangled onion and a little olive oil. To make it look a little more appealing, he added some dried, chopped parsley. After roughly 15 minutes, he decided the angel hair pasta was ready and yelled for me to come hold the colander while he drained it. [the burn from bumping me with the pan is healing nicely] Into the bowl went the mushy pasta and chick peas, steaming on top of the still frozen chicken, etc. Trying to be helpful, I suggested he cover the bowl to let the hot pasta thaw the chicken. He thought that was brilliant, but was soon back to trying to break up the chicken with a spoon. Eventually, he added a little salt and pepper, mixed up the lumpy blobs with a little more olive oil and put them it the frig to chill. He seemed cautiously pleased with the end results. Spouse fondly remembers and brags about eating raw onions warm from his father's garden. I hope he still has a taste for onions, because I don't think he'll be able to taste anything else in his creation . . .

Just For Fun

Ricky Mouse Met His Maker

Last evening, just as George Stephanopoulos (filling in for Diane Sawyer) welcomed us to the ABC Evening News and before we had taken our first bite of supper, a snap trap in the kitchen stopped Spouse and me, forks halfway to our mouths. Then, when I did not spot Ricky zooming around the corner into the dining room, I assumed the worst -- he'd met his demise. Spouse and I sat for several moments, grimacing at each other. Later, I would learn it was for entirely different reasons. Ricky fought death and Spouse wanted to wait til he stopped to dispose of the body and trap. I was grieving the tragic end of such a young life. During the week after I had discovered Ricky was staying with us, I had made a conscious effort not to use the oven because the heat might discomfit him. I was not pleased that he was living behind the stove, but since that was where he seemed to spend the bulk of his time, I did not wish to be rude. We have heard of suicide by police, right? Well, I think Ricky chose suicide by mouse trap. Following expert advice, we had placed any possible source of food for Ricky in the frig and hoped he might exit as he had entered. However, the gap under our entry door had just been installed with a new aluminum and rubber strip blocking all access to that entrance/egress. I can almost imagine Ricky's desperate attempts to escape and, finding none, stoically deciding his own fate. Suicide may have been his only choice, but I heartily wish the outcome could have been altogether different. He was a vigorous, young, and to some eyes perhaps, attractive rodent. We will never know what he might have accomplished in life. Perhaps he wanted to build a mansion in an abandoned sofa somewhere for a future family/litter. Maybe he would have become a church mouse. Now, sadly, we will never know. Rest in peace, Ricky. You were clever and brave, but your timing was totally off. [Just in case anyone might be wondering, my tongue is firmly planted in my cheek ;-)]

Too many screw-ups . . .

. . . some have been my fault and others have befallen me through forces beyond my control. Today finally brought a spot of sunshine to my otherwise troubled life. A tiny mouse I've nicknamed "Ricky" has been hanging out in our apartment helping himself to -- we haven't figured that out yet. No holes in bread wrappers or packaging have divulged his presence. He does, however, leave numerous caraway-seed-shaped calling cards. Five days ago, Spouse put out a couple of traps, primed with peanut butter. "Ricky" must be picky. He apparently does not like chunky peanut butter. How rude! Today, John, who is on the best team of building maintenance and engineering guys in the city, came to my rescue. I feel silly that a tiny little mouse can terrify me, but he assured me that it was perfectly OK to be frightened and that mice do carry diseases. [I always appreciate someone who helps to save my face. . .] He went on to thoroughly inspect the usual entryways for mice and found none. Next he crawled inside the kitchen cabinet under the sink. He found a small gap and stuffed it full of steel wool and compound -- some sort of white goop. Right after he stood up again, "Ricky" skittered out from under the stove and took a tight right through the dining room. I freaked. John bravely checked the mouse's likely path while I cowered on our bed. We didn't find him, so I've been armed with a paint roller extension rod to whack him if he shows his beady little eyes. So now, thanks to John, we have mouse poison under our stove -- apparently "Ricky's" chosen vacation spot and under the kitchen sink. Each convector is fronted by two snap traps and eight more are strategically placed along "Ricky's" likely path and in the kitchen. If he manages to avoid all those, I may have to locate a tiny trophy for him. Maybe not. Anyway, our furry friend (?) is a bold little critter and I'd much prefer to see him escape into some nice pasture somewhere. You know -- the kind with tall grass and flowers waving in the breeze. Then maybe he could find a nice little girl mouse and live happily ever after -- OUTDOORS.