It's Saturday night, and I'm having a fantastic time. There is an event onsite at the property, and Mike is occupied driving around in a golf cart, turning lights on and off, and otherwise lending a genial hand. He's a good guy. He might be bombing in at any moment.
As for me, I came home from work, opened a bottle of wine, made myself a nice big salad with some veggie box greens and tomatoes (from Cabo, not from veggie box yet) and some cold cuts, and sat down in a lounger outside to listen to the jazz music from the event and read some magazines. I read almost all of
Blueprint, which is unfortunately a Martha Stewart publication, but which was intriguing just the same. "Not your mother's Martha Stewart" I think they put it in one ad. Fresher, more modern, less stately and perfect than Martha.
This is my ideal evening. I left all of the shades open until it was completely dark, the TV is not on, Norah Jones is playing softly in the background. As soon as it got too dark to see the mosquitos before they saw me, I came inside, gave the dog a tennis ball to chew on, and continued reading. I just finished
Eat, Pray, Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert, which I loved, so I bought two more of her books and may dig into one of them tonight. (PS- If Mike ever left me, this is what I would do every night, after I finished crying my eyes out for a thousand years.)
I realize I have been lax in my blogging. I am a little stressed out about an upcoming deadline, which makes me feel like if I am at the computer, I should be WORKING, dammit. But the solution will present itself shortly, and I will be finished and on my way to Hawai'i soon. Yeah, that's right, I am going on vacation for a week. Try not to miss me.
Here is one of the things I meant to put up this week while my nose was getting grindstone rash:
Strawberries, and how I keep them fresh. This seems to work for me, though I have never seen it advised anywhere. Strawberries seem to deteriorate quickly in the refrigerator, drying out and losing their pleasant firmness. Fruit without its firmness is unappealing, unless it is a fig, in which case, figs with stretch marks and a little give are the sweetest (I so hope that women are more like figs than strawberries.) I rinse the strawberries (organic please-- strawberries are the most contaminated when pesticides are involved) place a paper towel on the lid, and then flip the whole thing over in the fridge. This seems to keep the strawberries hydrated, instead of turning gray and shriveled, but lets them drain so they don't sit in water and mold. Like I said, most written material advises against washing any berry before storage, but this works for me for the several days that it seems to take me to eat a container of berries.
If your lettuce or spinach gets wilty, don't throw it out, just put it in a large bowl with cold water until it is crisp and vibrant again, roll it in paper towels and put it back in the veggie drawer. Same with herbs. Rinsed and rolled in paper towels (recycled of course) they'll last nicely for at least a week. Even rubbery carrots and celery will perk up with a little water.
A few shots you missed this week:
Fava beans, asparagus and ham pasta, flowers, butterflies, the flowers Mike got me for doing all of the things I do (get your mind out of the gutter, he was talking about taxes and finances and keeping this ship afloat, and maybe some other stuff) and my gardening project, a big pot for the front porch, with a red-0range "dragon lady" cross vine, bacopa (yes, I know this will be scalded by the sun) and some scotch moss for that hit of lime green. I really like the way it turned out, and even better, the lawn sprinklers hit it in the morning so I don't have to water it every day. So far. But it isn't 100 degrees yet, so that could change.
My friend Randy, in the Marshall Islands, sent me an email briefly describing a bizarre but beautiful moment he witnessed in the hall at school (The College of the Marshall Islands).
This is what he wrote: "I was walking through a crowded walkway the other day (crowded because it was between classes) and was a few feet behind a young man. Approaching from the other direction was a young woman. As she walked by, without stopping or saying a word, she placed a half-eaten piece of cake in the young man's hand. He, without stopping or saying a word, put the whole half-eaten piece of cake in his mouth and kept walking. It was just really cool and elegant."
This is what I wrote:
He called her on her cell phone.
She took a bite of cake,
wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand
and flipped open the phone.
"Mouf?" she said.
"Hi, it's me. I'll see you in the hall between classes."
"Meff." she said.
"And you'll give me your answer then, right?"
"Yeff." she said, licking the crumbs from her lips, "I will."
As she approached him on the covered walkway,
her hips carved out a slalom course in the air.
Her hair was long and heavy and shiny black.
As he approached, her heart stirred, but her face was serene.
She placed the half-eaten piece of cake in his hand as she passed without stopping.
He put the whole piece in his mouth without thinking twice.
Walking on, her smile was wide like the seam on a bean.
His grin was broad and full of cake.
(I added a word, Randy, if you are reading this, I hope you don't mind me sharing all of this.) Randy and I had a poetry class together about a million years ago at Stanislaus State University, and he is very good at sending me what our instructor called "triggers" or things that you use as starting points for a piece of poetry. I used to write a lot, but I haven't lately.
Ok, so that's my week in a coconut shell. Aloha.
Home again, home again. While I was gone, the blackberries in the garden zoomed from white flowers all the way to ripe fruit. This morning's breakfast was one of my all-time favorite combinations: fresh blackberries, strong coffee, and an apple piroshky from Piroshky Piroshky in Seattle. (I brought home four cheese and onion, and six apple, fresh from the oven yesterday morning.) If you are in Seattle, even if you feel you need to avoid the Pike Place Market, stop by the piroshky shop at breakfast time and have one of these with a decaf-double-whatever from the "original" Starbucks which is down a few doors. 
Those who know me know that I would not set foot in a Starbucks, and now you know that I would, but only in Seattle, and only if I hadn't gone someplace else first. Starbucks, unlike McDonald's, is not entirely evil. I just try to support the smaller players when I can. I had the very best latte that I think I've ever had at the Cowen Park Grocery around the corner from my friend Karen's house in the "U District". I can't remember who roasted it, but it was perfectly flavored, perfectly foamed, and served (three days in a row) with a smile.
