Rest in peace, Bill Withers.

If I were another kind of person, I would miss the whirl of my social life—but there never was much of a whirl. I do miss seeing my swim lane friends, chatting with Judy, swimming defensively next to splash-man, rolling my eyes at Dave’s puns, checking in with my old swim coach Alan, competing for space with the water aerobic bouncers in the locker room, and getting books from the Lodge library, but I have quickly gotten over my daily swim. I don’t rear up at 6:00, pull on my suit at 7:30, and gear up to scrape the ice off my car before I head to the pool. Certainly don’t miss the chilly, not-enough-hot-water-in-the-locker-room-tanks shower.

Instead I raise up the shades to let in the morning light, tip back the recliner, pull the quilt a little closer, leisurely sip the coffee my Sweetie made me, read another chapter, stitch another block, write another line, sing another song, memorize another verse of Leaves of Grass (I wish that were true), call Ginny, and enjoy the start of the day. Funny though, how too much of our favorites—spice drops and reading on-line news, for example—can wear thin. Without the push of a daily swim, i was feeling very sloth-like and found myself slipping farther down into the couch position. Years ago, before I started to swim, I walked, but gladly gave that up for pool time. “Why not start walking again?” said my life coach, the Sweetie. Why not indeed.

I thought I would ease into it—maybe a ten-minute stroll, twice a day. Now, this is only the fourth day, but so far it’s a revelation. I had forgotten how equalizing the outdoors can be. No matter what the current drama, the sparrows trill their little hearts out, the squirrel scolds from the nearest tree, those rotten spring blackberry shoots threaten to stab, flower buds swell with promise, the woods smell woodsy, new fiddlehead ferns cautiously unfurl (or is it furl), and life without humans goes on. The tree-killing machines that are clearing more land for houses are gone, the giant cranes have nothing to do, the hammers on the new houses down the block are silent, traffic is non-existent, JBLM explosive testing seems to have stopped, and the army base helicopters no longer rattle the windows at night.

So then, what to do with the day after 9:00 am? The Sweetie searches for sanitizing products on-line (lotsa luck there), watches the Nature Channel (one more clip of a baby hippo being chased down by a lion may do me in), whacks weeds, plants wildflower seeds, feeds his animal friends, keeps track of the stock market for me, etc. I natter on in my blog, work on the baby quilt, search for material on-line (lotsa luck there), wash clothes, listen to podcasts, sing along with my favorite tunes, run the Swiffer, visit my neighbors (yes, we remember to maintain social distance), keep up with Australian sitcoms—and it’s about 11:30.

Meanwhile on the flour front: my niece made bagels, my neighbor baked banana bread, my sister made pizza dough, I made ranger cookies, my nephew baked cupcakes, one friend made pretzels, another friend baked biscuits for breakfast, my sister-in-law made two chocolate cakes (one for the table, one for the freezer), my granddaughter baked bread—that’s where all the flour has gone. But, as my Canadian friend asked, “Where did all the Jello go?”

With this culprit you can use both flour and Jello.

Strawberry Jello Pretzel salad from the blog, The Girl Who Ate Everything 

• 2 cups pretzels (crushed fine)
• 3 tablespoons brown sugar
• 3/4 cup butter, melted
• 1 6 oz pkg strawberry jello
• 1 10 oz . pkg. frozen strawberries or small container sliced fresh strawberries
• 1 8 oz pkg cream cheese, softened
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 8 ounces cool whip

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and grease a 9×13 pan. 

Combine pretzels, brown sugar, and melted butter and press into prepared pan. Bake 10 minutes. Cool on rack.

Prepare jello according to directions and add the strawberries right before chilling. Refrigerate until partially set. If it is not set enough it will leak through your cream cheese layer and make your pretzels soggy.

Beat cream cheese and sugar until smooth. Fold in cool whip. Spread over cooled crust make sure you spread completely to the edges to create a seal so your jello doesn’t leak through.

Pour jello over cream cheese layer. Refrigerate.

There were two deaths in my extended family this week: my daughter’s long-time dog friend and my friend’s younger brother. It’s painful to loose a sibling: they have known you from the start, you share childhood memories with them, they watched you evolve from brat to free-standing adult, and they know all your secrets. It is so difficult to be down a family member and my thoughts are with my friend and her family. 

The Batchelor’s family dog Louie was my personal dog. Everyone loved Louie, so many people thought of him as their own. The Batchelors adopted him as a mischievous pup, raised him up to be a loyal, cheerful, family member, monitored his love of adventuresome travels, cared for him during his last days, and will always miss him—me too.

If I were a different kind of person, I would have us listen to You’ll Never Walk Alone, but instead, here’s the Rolling Stones and Gimme Shelter.

Shelter sounds so much more pleasant than confine. Shelter evokes a cozy fire, at least one dog asleep on your feet, a quilt across your lap, and rain on the rooftop. Confine conjures up a metal cage, tight ropes, and doors that clang shut. So let’s go with shelter. A water view is the only thing our shelter lacks—otherwise we’re content to watch the sturdy gas-lit fireplace, listen to a few tunes, and wrap our hands around a morning cuppa (Sorry, I’ve been watching too much Australian TV).

Summers in 1950s Nebraska often involved sheltering—the day darkened and the tornado sirens wailed. Daddy whistled us in from the neighbor’s backyard, urged us down the dirt steps that went into the storm cellar and, once the last dog was in, latched the heavy, wooden door from the inside. Muth found the cardboard box with the flashlight, transistor radio, puzzles, and the backup Monopoly game (missing all the tokens but the iron and the thimble). The wooden shelves gleamed with canned green beans, beets, corn, and tomatoes—nothing that appealed to us kids—we waited for watermelon pickles and applesauce. The wind howled as we watched the heavy wooden door thump and strain at the hinges, ate baloney sandwiches made for the occasion, and sheltered in place.

Mom and Dad, Jeanne and Nick, 1940s

It seemed like forever, but within a short time the town sirens wailed the OK, Daddy unlatched the door, and led us back up into the light. We were always lucky, we had been spared: tree limbs were down and the dog house was in the alley, but the storm had passed and life as usual returned. This crisis just keeps going—local news bombards us with the latest virus numbers, CNBC is full of dire news about the economy. Where’s Mr. Rogers when we need him? I’m about to start watching Nickelodeon.

We look out the sliding glass door to the backyard, weaving scenarios about the private lives of the squirrel, the juncos, the toheys, and the elusive chipmunk. They give us plenty of giggles—all for the price of a bag of birdseed. Now I’ve heard tell that there are nuthatches and chickadees on Vashon and flocks of goldfinches in Eugene but here in Lacey, our birds are more humdrum, nonetheless less we love watching them.

Anyways, the sun will come out tomorrow, raindrops on roses, don’t worry be happy, all you need is love, you are my sunshine, and…at the end of the storm is a golden sky and the sweet silver song of a lark.

Here are a couple links to performances that were created to provide some humor and distraction: #songsofcomfort, available on Instagram from YoYo Ma, and https://youtu.be/sKSlH2zBXwo, produced and created by my friends’ son who is studying in Germany.

When in doubt, bake cookies (if you can find flour, eggs, and oats—haven’t heard about a run on Rice Krispies).

Ranger cookies

• 1 cup butter, softened
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 2 tsp vanilla extract
• 2 cups all purpose flour
• 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp salt
• 2 cups rolled oats (regular or quick cooking, not instant)
• 1 1/2 cups Rice Krispies
• 1 1/2 cups chocolate chips
• 3/4 cup shredded coconut
• 1/2 cup walnuts, chopped

Preheat the oven to 350° and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugars. Beat in eggs one at a time, followed by vanilla extract.

Stir in flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt, either by hand or with the mixer on low speed. 

Mix in oats and Rice Krispies, then stir in chocolate chips, coconut and walnuts until everything is well-distributed.

Drop heaping tablespoonfuls onto prepared baking sheet (approx 1 1/2-inch balls).

Bake for 11-13 minutes, until edges are turning golden brown. Cool for 2-3 minutes on baking sheet, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.

Makes about 3 1/2 dozen cookies.

Stevie Wonder, Love’s In Need Of Love Today

I’m not much of a baker—takes more discipline that I am usually able to muster. That said, when I wanted to make Irish soda bread to eat with corned beef and cabbage but had only a cup of flour, a trip to the store was the next step. Although paper product shelves in Washington State have been bare for a few weeks now and without my son-in-law’s emergency response, the Sweetie and I would have no hand sanitizer, we still weren’t prepared for an empty flour shelf. At the local Thriftway, there was only one five-pound bag of expensive, organic, hand-milled, niche-brand, all purpose flour. Are all those sheltering in place planning on community bake-offs (following social distancing, of course)? We snapped up the flour and added a bag of sugar—just in case…

Funny how grocery carts are the new way of gauging priorities: recently at Costco (in addition to countless carts overfilled with toilet paper), I saw a seventy-something man with eight jumbo boxes of Cheerios, a middle-aged woman with at least twenty pounds of grapefruit, and a young mother whose cart was full with two toddlers, eight jugs of apple juice, and innumerable boxes of Maalox. The Sweetie and I filled our cart with three bags of coffee beans, a bag of Doritos that would provide snacks for a football team, an extra container of Miracle Gro (in case that promised miracle appears), a backup wedge of Parmesan cheese, a case of beer, and two emergency boxes of Starbuck’s Via—just in case…

Spam is making a comeback, there’s a run on Vienna Sausages, the canned sardine slot at Thriftway is bare, dry yeast has disappeared, I couldn’t find any tahini, don’t even try to buy Starkist tuna, canned chili is the new must-have, and oatmeal is inexplicably popular. Meanwhile, back at Costco’s toilet paper aisle, there were at least fifteen anxious shoppers waiting for the warehouse to unload new pallets of Charmin (unanimously the preferred way to wipe). Like someone said, “Why did we throw out the thick, phone book that was dropped off on our doorstep?”

Anyways, life goes on. I’ve checked in with those I love and they’re well—coping, cleaning, baking, hiking, tidying, walking the dog, patting the baby, working from home. I cook—corned beef and cabbage, odon noodles, eggplant curry, fish soup, familiar dishes that come easily. Today I’m stepping out of my comfort zone into the ongoing search for a flakey biscuit. My biscuits have historically turned out dry and tough—eatable only if smothered in gravy or accompanied by a mandatory glass of milk. But hope is eternal, maybe this new recipe I found in the New York Times Cooking app will change my luck. We will see.

Here’s a photo of the week that eases my soul and brings a sigh of relief—a girl, a kite, a beach  

Thanks to Glenda, Ginny, and Andrew for the photos.

And then there’s this poem, And the People Stayed Home, by Kitty O’Meara that is everywhere:

And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently. And the people healed.

And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal.

And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.

Sam Sifton’s all-purpose biscuits  

• 2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting 
• 2 tablespoons baking powder 
• 1 scant tablespoon sugar 
• 1 teaspoon salt 
• 5 tablespoons cold, unsalted butter, preferably European style 
• 1 cup whole milk 

Preheat oven to 425°

Sift flour, baking powder, sugar and salt into a large mixing bowl. Transfer to a food processor.

Cut butter into pats and add to flour, then pulse 5 or 6 times until the mixture resembles rough crumbs. (Alternatively, cut butter into flour in the mixing bowl using a fork or a pastry cutter.) 

Return dough to bowl, add milk and stir with a fork until it forms a rough ball. 

Turn the dough out onto a well-floured surface and pat it down into a rough rectangle, about an inch thick. Fold it over and gently pat it down again. Repeat.

Cover the dough loosely with a kitchen towel and allow it to rest for 30 minutes.

Gently pat out the dough some more, so that the rectangle is roughly 10 inches by 6 inches.

Cut dough into biscuits using a floured glass or biscuit cutter. Do not twist cutter when cutting; this crimps the edges of the biscuit and impedes its rise.

Place biscuits on a cookie sheet and bake until golden brown, approximately 10 to 15 minutes.

Ignore the grey skies, never mind the cold stream of rain that trickles down your bare neck, go ahead and order those lettuce seeds—we are definitely leaning toward the light. It’s been a month now since the winter solstice, there are signs of light at 7:00 am and the shades don’t go down until 5:00 pm. 

It’s been our routine to celebrate this inexorable march toward spring with our Seventies friends but the weather is so often horrid with attending ice, snow, and miserable driving conditions that we no longer do that. But around the first of the year, my mind automatically turned toward menus, visiting, and friends, so last Sunday, before you could say “short ribs”, we had some people over for dinner. Ginny and Ron drove down from Vashon, Bill and Glenda walked over from next door, we turned on the fireplace and set six places around the dining table. 

The weather cooperated, the ferries sailed on time, the stars aligned, and we didn’t burn anything—a delightful time was had by all. As Ginny said, “What could be a better way to spend a rainy, cold Sunday than eating good food, drinking good wine, and watching a few football games with friends.”

We missed seeing our old Olympia friends—one pair in Australia, one pair in Palm Desert, and one pair hunkered down on Hood Canal building a new house—but we’ll hear their adventures in May.

The menu was hearty and comforting: braised short ribs, mashed potatoes, roasted butternut squash, Caesar salad, and lemon panna cotta with blueberry sauce. I learned about roasting butternut squash from Lara and may never cook it any other way again. Karen is master of panna cotta and gave me her recipe which I posted a few years ago. The braised short ribs are from Mark Bittman, but the mashed potatoes are all me.

Braised short ribs

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 6-8 boneless short ribs 

• 2 teaspoon kosher salt 
• 1 teaspoon ground black pepper 
• 1 teaspoon fennel seed powder
• 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1 teaspoon dried thyme

• 1 onion, thinly sliced 
• 1 large carrot, thinly sliced 
• 2 ribs celery, sliced
• 6 mushrooms, chopped

• 1 tablespoon tomato paste
• 1 cup crushed tomatoes
• 4 cups beef or chicken stock 
• 1 cup chocolate stout or other dark beer or red wine

Grind seasonings together, season short ribs on all sides. Wrap each rib in plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight. 

Preheat the oven to 325°. 

In a large enameled cast-iron pan, heat the oil until shimmering. Brown short ribs in two batches, until well browned, about 10 minutes. Transfer to a plate.

Pour off all but 2 tablespoons of the fat from the pan. Add the onion, celery, carrot, and mushrooms and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are softened, about 8 minutes. Add tomato paste, sauté 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Deglaze pan with beer/wine. Add the stock and bring to a simmer. Return the ribs to the pan, cover and braise in the oven for about 2-3 hours, until the meat is very tender.

Transfer the ribs to a platter and tent with foil. 

Using a slotted spoon, transfer the vegetables to a blender. Strain the sauce into a heatproof measuring cup and skim off the fat. Add the sauce to the blender and puree until smooth. Return the sauce to the pan with the short ribs and simmer until reduced to 3 cups, about 8 minutes. 

Season sauce with salt and pepper. 

Return the short ribs to the sauce and simmer 30-45 minutes over low heat. Serve ribs topped with sauce, mashed potatoes or soft polenta, and extra sauce on the side

Roberto Griego Arriba, Musica Nuevo Mexico

Fifteen years ago, the Sweetie and I took a long, circular drive from Eugene to San Diego, Tucson, El Paso, San Antonio, New Orleans, Savannah, Myrtle Beach; then turned left and went home through South Carolina, Tennessee, Hot Springs, Arkansas, Albuquerque, Phoenix, and Las Vegas—whew. One of our favorite stops was Albuquerque, New Mexico. This year we’ll be able to visit family there. New decade—new adventure.

We had a great time in 2005, loved the city, and wrote stories along the way. Here’s my remembrance of Albuquerque.  

March 2005, Albuquerque, NM—“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow”

When you’re on the road, the basic responsibilities are the next meal, the next bed, and what’s around the next corner. Bob drove every inch of our trip, cheerful and steady through sun, rain, snow, and the dead of night. I rode shotgun: folding and unfolding maps, providing snacks, and uncapping water bottles—it works for us. The drive through the Arkansas hills to Albuquerque wound up hills, around long S-curves, local highways and small towns—perfect conditions for a small, red sports car or (as it were) a large, green, four-door sedan.  

Our colds were well developed by the time we reached New Mexico—Bob was red-nosed and teary-eyed, I was hoarse and prone to prolonged coughing fits. We blew through each box of hotel Kleenex and begged housekeeping for more. By the second day in Albuquerque, I was ready to submit and stay in bed for the duration—but the sun beckoned, Bob insisted, and we had the best shopping experience. 

The day before, as we were driving through downtown to the hotel, we noticed a small souvenir shop near Albuquerque’s Old Town and returned for a closer look. The Palms Trading Company was a nondescript stucco building with a packed parking lot. A light, dry snow had begun to fall, but it didn’t look like it would stick. Once inside, we saw plenty of possible mementos. We separated—Bob to the jewelry, me to the pottery/rug room. There was a surprising absence of threatening signs. No “If you break it, it’s yours”,  “You’re being watched”, or “Touch it and you’ve bought it”; instead only a mild “Children at loose will be sold into slavery”—perfectly understandable.

We found each other almost immediately. Bob had seen a lovely bangle—$300; I had picked up a small vase—$750.00. We chose $2000 bowls, $800 dishes, $2000 baskets, $3000 bracelets: obviously we were in the wrong place. The Palms Trading Company is a wholesale market for New Mexican Native American potters, jewelers, rug makers, and basket weavers and the shelves were crowded with exquisite examples of their art.

We watched in awe as a trio of art dealers spent at least $100,000 stocking up for their toney Santa Fe gallery. Undaunted, we picked up a $40.00 basket and some “On Sale” placemats. Walking out, we tried to rationalize the purchase of a $600 Hopi Wedding Vase, took one last look at the turquoise, and went to M&J’s for lunch. The dry snow continued, it did stick, and we got stuck. 

M & J’s Sanitary Tortilla Factory: Carne Adovado 

Red Chili Puree:

·         2 cups water 

·         8-10 dried red chile pods

·         Tear tops off of chile pods and use knife or finger to clean out seeds and veins inside of each one. Place pods in large pot and cover with water. Bring to boil and cook several minutes until pods are soft. Place drained pods (save water) in blender container, then pour 1/2 of liquid into blender and blend until smooth, add 1-2 cloves garlic if desired. Add more water as needed. Strain thru a mesh sieve to remove any skins that did not blend up in the blender.

4-6# Pork Butt:

·         Cut pork butt into four sections by slicing once horizontally through the pork loin (with the grain) then once vertically down the middle (across the grain).

Marinade:

·         4 cloves smashed garlic

·         1 T. salt

·         1 T. Mexican oregano 

·         1 cup of the Red Chile Puree

·         1 cup red wine vinegar

Put the pork into a plastic or glass container and cover completely with marinade and let it marinate in the refrigerator at least 24 hours.

Chile Colorado:

·         2 T. shortening 

·         2 T. flour

·         2 C. red chile puree

·         2 C. chicken broth 

·         3/4 t. salt

·         1/2 t. garlic powder

·         Dash oregano

Heat shortening in medium-size saucepan on medium heat. Stir in flour and cook for 1 minute. Add red chile puree and cook for about another 5 minutes. Gradually add chicken broth and whisk to remove lumps. Add seasoning to sauce and simmer at low heat for 10-15 minutes. 

After marinating  pork for a minimum of 24 hours, remove the pork from the marinade and cut into cubes approximately 1″ square, put into a shallow pan (about 3″ deep) and cover with all the Chile Colorado. Simmer in 300˚oven for two hours. About 10 minutes before you’re ready to eat, add layer of shredded Mexican cheese over the top and heat until the cheese is fully melted. Serve with warm flour tortillas, pinto beans and Spanish or Mexican rice.