Glad to Have You; No Trouble at All.

How many trips up the hill in the car, food steaming on the seat beside me? I've been at it for almost five years; we three have aged.

This morning they invited me to lunch. I shook my head, uh uh, but said, "of course" into the telephone. Anna Lee had a broken hip when I met her and her walking has not improved that much with time. She is diabetic and frail. Harmon has emphysema; he doesn't breath and talk at the same time. His teeth are bad and he can't get his food chewed before his next breath, which is labored. He is nearly blind.

Their daughter comes daily because she understands that Anna Lee and Harmon want to live in the little house for as long as they can. She makes lists, gives medication, and supplies breakfast - all before her work day begins. She leaves a pitcher of tea, icing. On weekends she is barber, hairdresser, handyman, and chauffeur. They take Dial-a-Ride to the doctor. The county nurse visits.

Anna Lee and Harmon couldn't grocery shop even if they had the money. Therefore, they give their food money away. Some goes to neighbors who procure for the couple the Lean Cuisines, and Mac and Cheeses, and frozen biscuits during their own trips to Publix. This helps the couples' daughter immensely,  too. The rest goes to a grandchild so that he can stay in college.

I call Anna Lee and Harmon the old couple up the hill although they are exactly my own age. When I moved into the neighborhood, I began to take them box suppers, my cooking excesses. I do it now, at least once a week, and I am not the only one who knocks on that door with gifts, for body and soul, covered in foil.

Invite me to lunch? No. No. I should fix a plate of salad and deviled eggs and sandwiches, pack the car, and go over there at noon. Making a meal for a guest is way too hard.

You could smell the vegetable soup from the corner. Amazing. Anna Lee and Harmon had shared in a friend's windfall. Said gentleman came into a bushel of veggies from a farming relative enjoying an excess harvest. His wife had cleaned and chopped her friends' portion of the remarkable selection and had thrown in a ham hock. "Nothing to do but to cook it," explained Anna Lee.

This woman, the generous friend, had been told by Harmon that there was someone they wanted to invite to lunch. When she saw the produce, all she could think of was what a beautiful but easy meal for an infirm couple to make.

So it was that I have enjoyed a long and lovely afternoon. Big bowls of fresh Florida vegetables made into soup are delicious served with iced tea and frozen biscuits baked in the toaster oven. For desert we brought out the honey and applied it generously to the leftover Pillsbury Grands.

"Thank you so much." Hugs. Smiles. Harmon, winking.

"We were so glad to have you. It was no trouble at all."

Remind me, when I get to racing around the kitchen in my perfectionist hat, that the best times are the ones when we are somehow, masterfully, provided for - be it food, or good company, or both. It is a great gift, indeed, if we can simply stop and talk, sip our tea, eat our vegetables, and enjoy each others company.

A Squirrel on a Sugar High

Squirrel found half a vanilla Oreo under Belle's footstool while she was busy trying to grab the fuzzy fur from between the cat's toes. They were playing their game. That's why Belle thought that she deserved part of the cookie. They were in this together. (We all know that the cat has a sweet-tooth.)

Squirrel gave Belle her famous side-wise look and, holding on desperately to the treat, ran into her house and didn't stop until she was sitting on the top branch looking down at us. Belle won't go in there, even for a cookie.

 Munch. Munch. Munch. Nibble, nibble, nibble. Cat, sulking. Me, thinking that this couldn't be that good for her. Yet, I told myself, if a wild squirrel found an Oreo in the grass, he or she would eat it. No harm done, really. She had found the least gooey half. Jack or Tom had enjoyed the other.

Squirrel finally got all the goody off the cookie and hid the rest. A huge drink of water later, she was off sorting through a bag of fresh, just-opened bedding. She had torn down the first winter nest after just one night of being way too warm. This is Florida, after all.

Drink, drink, drink. Build, build, build. Soon she was back in the "secret place" pulling out the Oreo wafer. This time, she nibbled, savoring, and hid the rest - that little piece in the picture that she couldn't quite finish.

Drink, drink, drink. Build, build, build. Drag out the tiny piece remaining of the  cookie. Polish it off in one gulp.Smile at Belle.

 Drink, drink, drink. No building nests. Not this time.

Swing from the string (stolen from you-know- who) on which dangles the likewise comshawed catnip mouse.

Jump over the cloth baby blocks one by one. Slide down the ferret tower.

Jump on the mound of fresh straw and roll around. Attack a leftover lettuce leaf from the breakfast dish. Dive into the bathwater bowl.

Belle has moved in closer, a better seat. I am shaking my head, laughing out loud. Just look at her, Belle. We have a squirrel on a sugar high!

Artistry for a Higher Purpose

Late afternoon on Tuesday threatened and delivered a massive thunderstorm here in Bradfordville. Above, is a photo of that same cloud-mass as it followed me south on Thomasville and arrived with me at Holy Comforter Episcopal Church.

I don't usually go out in a storm. I learned when I worked in our optical shop at Jacksonville Beach and again in Ponte Vedra. Phone the beach people to tell them that their glasses are ready during any rain, from sprinkle to heavy, and the answer will be, "Thanks. It's raining (or going to rain or threatening rain or just stopped raining) and I think I'll wait until tomorrow."

Nevertheless, I rode over, armed with rain gear and dry shoes. We are beginning a new mission at Holy Comforter and the very thoughts of it have been calling out to me since the morning of the in-church announcement.

The Spirit and Creativity Guild will meet every third Tuesday evening under the guidance and leadership of Ed Babcock. We will explore the relationship of spirituality and creativity, how each embraces and supports the other. We'll use our varied artistic talents - art, photography, music, dance, poetry, singing, story telling/writing - to enhance the life of the church, the community, and beyond.

I have never been more thrilled with any opportunity to serve God - who blessed me and my life with so many talents, some unused for many years and others new, just now emerging.

Yes, I understood that those gifts drove, shaped, and often defined my spirituality. I realized, too, that spirituality gave meaning and backbone and purpose as I sketched my yard and squirrel, and wrote the Cooking Club! mysteries, and made up the children's stories, and took pictures of Tallahassee (especially the trees and churches) and developed the recipes for Cooking for One, and searched the house, continuously, for the legs to my easel (lost these five years) and added chapters to my autobiography - highlighting growing up in the 40's and 50's - and typed out the one-act plays (comedies about the INFJ personality group).

This morning, as I look at the list, I see the scattered nature of it. Simple artistry trying to emerge. Tap, tap tapping and throwing the finished discs into the back of the closet. Snap, snap, snapping and editing pictures to what purpose? Perhaps a Guild such as this is the very push I need to get it organized, to do some good with all of the above and more.

I arrived at home tranquil and ready to learn to harness my thoughts and my talents for a higher purpose. I dug around in the stack of meditation CD's and found a never-really-used self-hypnosis tape by Barrie Konicov - the voice that taught me the art of relaxation, love of exercise, and that saved my teeth from being broken through clenching.

I had listened to Creative Thinking (just once) so I knew to put the glass of water, the note cards, and the pencil by the bed for use upon awakening. I fell asleep at the point where I was forgiving myself for all of my past and also was forgiving others. "Now I can get to work," I thought, a split-second before sleep claimed me for itself and my sub-conscious had to take over.

The sister disc, the subliminal music tape, goes into the car to be played as I travel about. Self-hypnosis, however, must be done at home. (Can you picture texting while driving and hypnotized?)

Inspired, I'm ready to begin seeing myself with fresh eyes and using my talents in a brand new way. All I was sure of yesterday was that, whatever path that the fledgling Spirit and Creativity Guild was to take, I would be a part of it.

The Empty Salad Plate: The Not Really Caesar Salad

I love an empty salad plate. Especially at noon. Today, I had a left-over roasted chicken breast. It sang and shouted "Caesar Salad." I opened the fridge for the romaine but my eye caught a bag of locally grown heirloom lettuce leaves. They stay fresh a long time, since they don't have to travel to market, and I tend to hoard them.

I lined the bottom of my plate with the green, red, and yellowish leaves. I sprinkled on barely a shake of olive oil and salted the salad greens at once. Salata, after all, means salt. The touch of oil just makes it cling.

I sliced the chicken and laid it on top of the tender greens. I cut gherkins really thin and sprinkled the breast meat with pickle. I crumbled a tiny bit of Yorkshire Wensleydale Cheese with Cranberries over the whole salad and added a small shake of Cardini's original Caesar Salad Dressing. I used minimal cheese and dressing to keep the fat content low - just enough to get the taste of the anchovies in the dressing and the cranberries in the cheese.

I sat in the sunshine and enjoyed lunch. I was thinking that this salad was good enough to share. Everybody should taste this. I beat myself up a little for not getting a picture before I started eating, but I decided that even that wouldn't give you any idea of how good this dish really was.

I have noticed that Fresh Market is selling Heirloom lettuce in the produce section now. It would be easy for you to make this salad even though you don't have a local source for the greens. Any crumbly cheese you like would do. If you make it, take a picture! (I'll try not to forget next time.)  Let me know if you enjoyed the recipe. I would have used croutons, but I couldn't find any in the pantry. Next time.

Cookbooks!

Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day: The Discovery That Revolutionizes Home Baking by Jeff Hertzberg
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

I am itching to bake sourdough bread! Fall is in the air! I've decided to concentrate on just one cookbook instead of trying to take the advice of six!

Later:

This is not the book for me. A new way to bake bread. The overly moist dough becomes a sort of sourdough as it sits in the fridge for a week or two. No kneading. No proofing. No waiting for rising. Just shape that (old, nearly gone over) stuff into a ball and bake. Can you see me with a ten pound container of dough, chilling and waiting?

I've decided to trust the artisan bakers all around me, pick up sourdough whenever I can, and stop (finally!) obsessing the fact that if I am retired I should bake bread. Maybe it's just not for me. I'll continue to make french loaves for myself in the mini bread machine and just get on with living!

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