Stephanie says

Last year - but my violets are blooming profusely now!

I’ve been on a low-carb diet for about six months. I’ve followed it faithfully but haven’t experienced any great weight loss although I have lost inches. I figured I lose at a slower rate than most. While chomping away on sugar-free gum this morning I had what some would consider an “ahah” moment. I however consider it a “duh, you dumb ass” moment. The carbs in the gum you ask? Yes. Peering through my spectacles at the miniscule print I discovered each piece has 2 grams of carbs. I often mock “Big Gulp” guzzlers, waddling by, drink in hand. Lo and behold, those diet soda drinkers are getting less than 1 carb gram per drink. Less than in one stick of my favorite gum. Damn, my judgmental-ness has doubled back and bit me on the ass. Here’s the math: I chew about a box a day, 15 pieces @ 2 each = 30 absolutely empty carbs a day. And I thought I was limiting my carbs to 50 a day… Hmm, go figure.

I watched “The Social Network” last night. Then I watched it again this morning. Most movies only merit one viewing for me so this is high marks indeed. The first rowing scene especially caught my attention. The river was remarkably calm in the early morning, water smooth as glass, the sound of the rowers’ oars slapping against the water a rhythmic drum beat. I love to be out on the water. I’ve always wanted to crew. (I knew a woman who did although I never liked her; something about the shape of her nostrils irritated me. I hated how great her arms looked. Oh sure, that was envy. Her biggest crime was dating my friend when I didn’t want to share him… But I digress.) Back to the water, just imagining the river smell in my nose, and the peace of rowing on a quiet river, feeling the heat of muscles working in my arms is an intoxicating fantasy. I imagine watching the sky change color as the morning sun moves across the horizon, foliage of passing trees coming into verdant fo...

A cousin requested this recipe today. This dates to the mid 1970s from Cosmopolitan magazine. They actually published some pretty tasty recipes! We considered this one the height of sophisticiation. We made it for a dinner party once with an "Impossible Coconut Pie" for dessert, yuck. Chicken with Green Grapes Split 4 whole chicken breasts (about 4 lbs), remove skin, and cut meat away from bone in one piece. Lightly coat breast with flour and shake off excess. Melt 4 TBL butter in a 12-inch frying pan over medium-high heat. Add chicken pieces and cook, turning once, until browned, about 10 minutes. Remove chicken from pan, set aside. Melt another 2 TBL butter in pan. Add 1/2 lb sliced mushrooms and cook, stirring until lightly browned. Add 1-1/4 cup chicken broth, 1 cup dry white wine (or white grape juice) and 1/2 tsp crushed dry rosemary (increase if using fresh). Return chicken to pan. Cover and simmer, turning once until meat is no longer pink when slashed, ab...

I was intrigued when the local newspaper ran a piece on a real, live matchmaker operating in Eugene. A Jewish matchmaker to boot. Saints be praised, my dreams were answered (okay, so I’m not Jewish, no matter). A quick trip into Hollywood memory-land produced “Fiddler on the roof” and then “Crossing Delancey”. Ah, that was the one. Can’t beat a good data base in the brain. The basic story: Grandmother hires matchmaker, girl meets boy, boy loses girl, boy gets girl, the end. As my grandmother is unavailable in the mortal world, I figure I’ll have to personally do the hiring. Enter Marilyn, the matchmaker. And my preconceived ideas: One-on-one; an interview; the matchmaker reviewing her client base and recommending Mr. So and So for a coffee date. I got some of it right. We complete the interview such as it was, and this limitation was totally the fault of my imagination and getting stuck in that blasted mindset. My daughter says I live in my own world. I don’t necessarily think ...

Goodbye Farmville. It was fun if obsessive. Or was it compulsive?

We drove eleven slow, slow miles up a winding and rutted logging road hewn out of a Douglas Fir forest. Afternoon light dappled through a tree canopy illuminating oxalis and fern on the shady forest floor. An autumnal splash of orange and yellow Vine Maple leaves provided contrast to the palette of green in the thick forest. The air was heavenly with the singular fragrance of Port Orford cedar. I was indeed in the land of my childhood. My cousins, Jeanne, Betsy, and Gayle, and I were on an impromptu road trip to the Rogue River by way of Powers, hometown of my late grandmother. We’d stopped at Jack’s Fountain for pie. I spent plenty of time in that shabby diner over the years. It looked the same as it had for decades, sprung vinyl seats in the booths, mismatched chairs. They are deservedly known for good pie however. We’d just about finished when the door opened and in walked Danny Dement. I'm pretty sure I never met him until right then although he was a schoolmate of my ...