Rolo treats

I stumbled on this idea and had to try it out. I took them with me to master chorale practice the other night and everyone was impressed. So easy and soooo good. The perfect holiday treat.

It's super easy, so much so it's barely even a recipe. The hardest part is unwrapping all of those Rolos. In a time when salted caramels are all the rage, pairing a chocolate caramel candy with a salt pretzel is genius IMO.

Rolo treats

Small round pretzels
equal number of unwrapped Rolo candies
equal number of toasted pecan halves (toast the pecans in 350 oven for 6 minutes and cool)

Heat oven to 250 degrees. Place pretzels on silpat mat on cookie sheet (for easiest cleanup). Top each with 1 Rolo. Put in oven for 4 minutes. Top each pretzel/candy with a pecan half and press down. Chill for 30 minutes in refrigerator.

Christmas cards

I love the Christmas season. The feeling of anticipation and the whole crescendo up to Christmas Day is a cycle I embrace. Now that I'm a grandmom, I feel it's becoming even more important than ever that I make sure all of the holiday traditions are carefully observed.

One of my favorite traditions is Christmas cards, but each year, as we receive fewer and fewer cards, especially from family and friends, I wonder if the tradition is dying out. We get more Christmas letters, but not as many cards. I was brought up to believe that Christmas letters are tacky, and so each year, I write a personal note to each and every person on my list.

It's kind of unfortunate, really, because my handwriting is so poor I most likely cause all kinds of consternation with my notes, "Did she tell me to shove the what where?" When I might have been writing about my latest pet or ailment, depending on the person.

Rob and I share the poor handwriting affliction, so even through my handwriting is almost illegible and unattractive to the point of embarrassment, I still sit down with pen in hand and thumb through my Rolodex writing all my cards.

Then I sit back and wait for the cards to come in. At this point I would say I get one card for every three I send out. It used to be one card for every two, but recent years have brought even fewer. We try to beef up the card count by including cards from the Realtors and people asking for money, but even with that it's still looking pretty sad.

I guess like with many things Christmas cards have probably been replaced with e-greetings and Facebook gifts that clutter up your profile. Social networks make the Christmas letter more anachronistic than ever. But I still love the assortment of pretty cards all containing holiday wishes. And I want it to be something tangible.

I love going out to my mailbox and seeing the familiar, square-ish hard shape of a card. I love how they look on the mantle in the center of the room. But maybe this year I might have to go out a buy a couple and give them to Rob from the pets to fill out the row a little.

Thanksgiving roundup

Thanksgiving was wonderful this year, truly a holiday of giving thanks for us.

Just two years ago Rob and I were alone for Thanksgiving dinner and I was still recovering from my ankle reconstruction surgery. He had been laid off just months before. I made the whole big dinner anyway, even though it was us and we decorated because to not do it would have been even more pathetic. But when it came time to serve the big meal and it was just the two of us, like every other day, it was just sad. We ate quickly and were glad to just put it behind us.

Later that night Dena and Tresa came over and I gave them some vegetarian food I'd made -- I always stuff squash for Dena for the main dish and there are so many side dishes that she had plenty to eat. We had a great time with them and were able to stop feeling so sorry for ourselves.

On the other hand, this year we had everybody back -- Sean, Gen and Kaia, Lindsay & Ryan, Dennis (Kim had to work), Tresa and her boyfriend Dylan, Dena and Chris and Colin came later when he got off work. There were eight dogs underfoot, as well as the two cats, who were avoiding everything. It was just the insanity I crave for a great holidays=.

Here is my report from Chowhound reposted: Topic, good, bad ugly of Thanksgiving dinner:

For me the good was the locally grown, free-range organic turkey, which was great. It was a lot bigger than I wanted, almost 25 pounds, but we ended up with more people, so alls well... The cranberry sauce made with merlot was really quite delicious. I made well over 7 pounds of potatoes and people were fighting over them. Amazing. They're clamoring for more.
The bad: I used King Arthur white whole wheat flour for my pie crusts and it was a battle the whole way. I had to resort to wax paper to even get them to stick together when I rolled them out. Then they looked really dark to the point of being burnt when they cooked. The taste, however was very good and they weren't burnt. The pie filling was the **Cooks Illustrated pumpkin pie recipe with sweet potato, which I doubled, and I don't blind-bake the crusts as recommended because I'm not very good at it. They came out amazing, even though Cooks Illustrated recipes are written by people who have never had to wash their own dishes -- seriously could they make you take more steps with more bowls? We had a young man from Australia here who had his first pumpkin pie ever and he scarfed the whole slice. My nephew, who professes to hate pie (how can you hate pie? It's like saying you hate sunshine?) was converted by my apple pie ala mode (had to give him a familiar taste to bridge to the pie. I used pink lady and granny smith locally grown organic apples and they were amazing.
The ugly: creamed onions started well but ended up brown looking. They tasted OK if you didn't look too hard.

**Here is my adapted Cooks Illustrated pumpkin pie recipe. I've changed so much that I need to write it down b/c each year I spend half my time trying to figure out what I meant.

I changed it substantially because I disagree with some of the postulates -- like the cutback on pumpkin pie spices to "let the taste of the squash" shine through. Um no. I eat pumpkin pie FOR the spices, and I want the filling to provide a custard-y squash-y background. I also like to make double recipes. And I rarely blind bake my crusts because I've never been successful no matter what I've done.
What's really cool about this recipe is that the filling is much creamier and doesn't crack, making for a really lovely silky pie.

No-crack pumpkin Pie (Heavily adapted from Cooks Illustrated)

Crust
2 1/2 cups white unbleached flour
1 teaspoon table salt
2 tablespoons sugar
1 stick unsalted butter cut into pieces
1 cup lard cut into pieces
2 tablespoons cold vodka (this is a Cooks Illustrated innovation that works wonderfully and doesn't leave any taste in the crust, but leaves it crumbly and melt-in-your-mouth delicious)
2 tablespoons cold water

Filling
2 cups heavy cream
2 cups whole milk
5 jumbo eggs plus 2 yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 large 29-ounce can pumpkin puree
1 small can candied yams, drained
1/4 cup maple syrup
1 1/2 cups sugar
3 teaspoons (1 tablespoon) dried ginger
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon (or more)
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
3/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon table salt

1 cup heavy cream
vanilla and almond extracts to taste
2 tablespoons sugar

For the crust: Process flour salt and sugar in food processor, add butter and lard until it homogeneous and it's just starting to come together in lumps about 10 pulses. Scrape bowl down with rubber spatula and pulse again a few times. Add vodka, pulse then add water. Turn out and pull together into two equal size balls. Shape into 1-inch thick discs and refrigerate at least an hour. Roll out and line pie pans, crimp edges.

For the filling: Whisk cream, milk, eggs, yolks and vanilla in a medium bowl. Combine pumpkin puree, yams, sugar, maple syrup in heavy bottomed saucepan. Bring to sputtering simmer stirring over medium heat 5 to 7 minutes. Continue to simmer pumpkin mixture, stirring constantly, mashing yams against the sides of a pot for 10 to 15 minutes or until the mixture is thick and shiny.
Remove pan from heat and stir in cream mixture until thoroughly incorporated. Blend with an immersible blender until smooth. Divide filing between the two crusts. Bake in 425 oven for 15 minutes and reduce heat to 325 for about 25 to 35 minutes or until the pies are set on the edges and are just a little jiggly in the middle. Cool overnight and serve with heavy cream whipped and flavored with sugar, vanilla, almond (or bourbon) spread over the top (although we used to do this to hide the cracks and I don't have to now, but I still like the whipped cream spread evenly in a layer. it's the way my dad id it and it reminds me of my childhood.

Christmas with Oney and Gwindae

Lawrence, me, Denice (nicknamed Niecie by me), Rodger on Christmas morning @1965.

Denice got to be the baby Jesus and later on her baby brother Dennis assumed the role. There were lots of snickers at the time, but it was most likely closer to the historical truth.

I dream about this house still. It affected me so deeply. It was my grandmother's chef d'oeuvre. She decorated every square inch and it was quite lovely. It was also quite grand and is probably the reason that to this day I feel I should be rich.

I found out this week that my daughter, her husband and my grandsons are coming out to visit right after Christmas through the New Year. While I'm greedy and would love them here during Christmas, I'm so excited to have them out during the holidays -- it's the first time after two years off, I don't mind (too much). With Lindsay pregnant with grandchild no. 3, I started thinking about my Christmases when I was growing up.

I went digging through some old pictures my Aunt Anne gave me shortly after my grandfather died and scanned some of them and uploaded them to Flickr and put a few here.

Christmases at my grandparents home in Greenwich, Conn., were magical. My grandmother would buy some kind of giant blue spruce that she special-ordered. It would take up the entire front foyer part of their house -- a place that was meant to double as a dance floor. The tree reached to the ceiling, which was at least 14 feet. My grandmother used only blue lights and tinsel, along with the decorations. I especially remember silver cornucopias filled with candy. There was a music box dealie with kids singing "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" under the tree. I found one years later very similar made of ceramic, but unfortunately it was destroyed.

My grandparents were very religious, so our Christmases were replete with observations of the Christ child's birth. We would do a Nativity play each year and I got to play the virgin Mary. My brother Rodger was Joseph and Lawrence was a shepherd or a Wise Man or whatever. A couple of years we enlisted the aid of the caretaker couple who lived in the house and cleaned up after and served my grandparents, to everyone's snickering amusement.

Even as a young child I had trouble getting my mind around the fact that David and Ethelyne would share in our Christmas morning then they had to put on uniforms and wait on us during Christmas dinner. One year I angrily accused my grandfather of having slaves when he told me they didn't pay David and Ethelyne, they gave them free room and board -- which meant they lived in the half-finished attic and took care of the house. Eventually David and Ethelyne moved out. They had two young children and felt it would be better to raise them in their own apartment rather than in some rich people's attic.

I remember Christmas mornings. We would get up way too early and be sent back to bed a zillion times. We weren't allowed downstairs by the tree until my grandfather checked to see if Santa was there. We were told if we caught Santa he would leave and take all of our presents with him, so my grandfather would have to shoo him away if he were still there. Actually, we realized years alter, he just wanted to turn on the tree lights.

Most of the adults went to midnight Mass and then we would go to mass on Christmas morning. My grandmother always put the orange juice in the blender which created an orange foam. I still do this with my orange juice. She also served Sara Lee coffee cakes, which I till serve.

After my parents divorced, my dad would come and get us on Christmas day and drive us to his house in Binghampton, N.Y. Everyone would always make a fuss about it and my mom would go on about how my dad just picked us up on Christmas because he was selfish and stubborn. Looking back I realize that for him to interrupt his Christmas to drive three hours each way to collect our bratty little asses, was a huge act of love.

Even through my dad's trees were never grand and there weren't always as many presents, we always would have a great time. My dad and stepmom were so poor their first few Christmases together that they would get the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve because they often could get it for free or close to it. Dad would tell us how it was traditional in some countries to put up the tree of Christmas Eve. Then they would decorate it with all-edible ornaments. That way they only bought lights.

Dad would make sugar cookies and gingerbread men. There was candy ribbon (It's the cheapest candy you can buy and it looks pretty) candy canes and popcorn balls. Then dad would go crazy and make his toffee and his soft candy. He would toast nuts and put them all over the place. There were always bowls of stuff to nibble on. Dad is also not religious at all, so there was little mention of that. There was, however, lots of TV because my mom never let us watch it, so we were TV addicts when we got to my dad's house. Of course the fact that we were insanely destructive when we weren't watching TV meant that we were allowed to watch as much as we wanted.

There was only one year it snowed too much for dad to make it and we spent Christmas day sledding on the front hill at my grandparent's house, the only time I remember doing that.

Now it's my turn to make Christmas memories with my grandsons. Although we get a tall tree, it will never compare with my grandparent's tree, but then I will never be as wealthy as my grandparents. What we lack in money we more than make up for in real, unpretentious love. We decorate the house from top to bottom and our Christmas meal is as good as you'll find anywhere, but we don't have anyone serving us.

I have always enjoyed a more spiritual Christmas than the ones we have now, but my problems with my faith run deep and I have trouble reconciling my beliefs with the teachings of the church. This doesn't stop me from singing Christmas carols and fulling embracing the day. I have a much more pantheistic view of things anyway, so our traditional walk on the beach with the dogs serves that purpose, although last year there were high winds and a sandstorm that lessened the joy of the experience considerably.

I want my grandsons' memories of Christmas with grandmom to be ones of warmth and joy. I can't wait until we can have our traditional Christmas Story, White Christmas and It's a Wonderful Life with Rob complaining the whole time about all of it. I want to give them our stocking traditions and feed them a breakfast of whipped orange juice, Sara Lee coffee cake and ham and eggs.

We always have so much fun with Courtney and Dave and I love to watch them relax and enjoy themselves. We have a bunch of fun things for the boys to do -- after all it is Southern California, the Entertainment Capital of the World. I can't believe how happy and excited I am to have a chance to give these boys holiday memories to cherish as I do mine.

What if

What if you woke up and you realized that you actually wanted to get out of bed? What if you actually believed it would be a great day? What if instead of constant gnawing fear you actually are feeling hopeful?

I've been feeling especially lucky lately. I just found out that Lindsay is pregnant. She and Ryan have been trying to conceive. It's early yet, but hopefully everything will be OK. Tthe idea of having a grandchild living nearby is exciting. I couldn't love Cody and Alex more and it breaks my heart that we don't live closer. I feel so cheated out of their lives. And even though having a grandchild nearby does nothing to alleviate the distance from the boys, perhaps it will take some of the sting off.

I'm already looking forward to years of county fairs -- we'll have to take pictures on the ponies like we did for Kaia. Then there are all the fun things about growing up -- school performances, Little League (which is almost guaranteed) and there's no downside. No stretch marks, no morning sickness.

With that to look forward to, there's also the joy of writing, which I'm doing pretty much full time these days. I'm realizing that it was a huge mistake to have ever stopped writing, and it feels so good to have it back. Not only that, but I'm having such a great time driving all around Ventura County getting to know people and learning all about this place. Ventura County is one of the most beautiful places in the world and I regularly am covering events from the beach and to the mountains and everywhere in between.

The people I'm meeting are amazing too. I don't think I was ever fully aware of how many people in this world work very hard to make it a better place, whether they give their time and money to creating an art gallery and haven for the poor Hispanic young people in Oxnard or they're working on a holiday to make sure the hungry get fed. I meet artists who are bringing beauty to the community and people who are trying to help the homeless.

When I'm not going face to face, I'm at all the fun events I've always been too lazy to visit. Long ago, I used to actually take pads of paper and take notes when I would go places, just to keep a record in case I wanted to write about it later. It was ridiculously pretentious and silly, but now I do it because it's how I make a living.

It's hard to let go of the gripping fear that so dominated the past few years. We've had so many things go wrong and we haven't known from week to week how we were going to make it through. It's not something you dwell on because it will consume you, but the terror is there all the time. In some ways it's very focusing, but I'd rather focus on more enjoyable things, like the name for my new grandchild.

Lindsay, apparently thinks Rob's and my name suggestions for the baby, Falcon Guzik for a boy or Ooga Guzik for a girl are "silly." She obviously doesn't recognize creative genius.

Rob has yet to forgive his parents, and by extension the world, for the lie perpetrated on him when he was 4 and his parents promised him they would name his new little brother Dewey because then it would be Huey, Louie and Dewey for Rick, Rob and -- well Dewey. His parents assured him that his brother had been named Dewey, and when he found out they had lied and he was actually named Jon, Rob knew that no one should ever be trusted again. A hard lesson to learn at 4. They tried to tell him that his brother Jon's middle names was Dewey (it's David), but Rob found out that too was a fabrication. This time, Rob has vowed, his wishes will not be thwarted.

Rob also says we will probably get in a car wreck, but I already got hit by a truck, so I shouldn't be due for a while (knock on wood.) Rob's back in school and loving it and the master chorale is really fun this year now that I'm getting to know people better.

I'm working on my weight, realizing that with my fragile legs, the more weight I'm carrying the more difficult it will be for me to walk in coming years.Both Rob and I are trying to eat a healthier diet overall. I've lost 40 pounds so far and am wearing all of my thin clothes. But I have to lose more weight because any extra weight at all is a really bad idea as I age.

So now there's not always a crushing sense of despair when all the sleep has been slept out and there's no choice but to get up and face whatever disaster lurks or head off whatever calamity threatens. Progress. Wonderful.

Been away for a while

I've been on a vampire jag lately. I first decide I was interested in reading the Sookie Stackhouse series because I enjoy the HBO series True Blood, even though the acting is wooden and atrocious (Anna Paquin is truly awful). I bought one of the books and they're kind of like literary fast food, tasty, but they leave you a little queasy and hungry at the same time.

I was able to breeze through the eight books in paperback. They read like romance novels, but with vampires, so that's no great feat. Then, because Lindsay had recommended them, I moved on to the Twilight series, which isn't much better written, but is compelling nonetheless.

It's been awhile since I let myself get caught up in reading, which is partly because I don't see as well as I once did, so I get inpatient because my eyes can't keep up with my reading speed, but I found a spot where I could see well and am relatively comfortable.

***

We finally went out a got a replacement oven after the last one burned itself out. FYI Kenmore wall ovens suck. We bought a bare bones model after we realized and all the service repairmen concurred that the self-cleaning feature, which basically gets rid of dirt by burning it off, toasts the electronic components.

This has meant a return to roasted food, including my amazing chicken. Tonight I finally got around to making some cookies. It's been so long since the house smelled like baking.

Lemon tree very pretty

Right after we moved in back in 2001, I planted my infamous peach stick ,which is now a healthy, gorgeous mature peach tree and a small dwarf lemon tree. The lemon tree took years to fully establish, but in the past few years, it's finally taken off and we have all the fresh lemons we can eat.

When I first moved here there was another woman close to my age I worked with who once said she complained to the grocers about the prices of lemons. "You're in Ventura County and you're charging 50 cents a lemon? are you crazy?" She was right. There are lemons all over the place.

I'm often reminded of Steinbeck when I walk around here, with the abundance of fruit trees we have that you can just pluck food off of, if you so desire, as long as it's hanging over a public thoroughfare, and plenty fruit trees are. But there is fruit lying in the gutters around here. It's kind of amazing, really.

So this year I also planted an avocado, tangerine, Valencia orange and fig tree. I planed a banana tree a couple of years ago, and it's finally starting to take off. I figure that with the economy being as volatile as it is and us not getting any younger, it's probably a good idea to grow as much food as we can, and if need be, we can sell the leftovers or give them away. I always have a Steinbeck-ean existence in the back of my mind.

In the meantime, our little lemon tree keeps us in more lemons than we can eat, so lately I've been trying to incorporate them into more recipes. Rob said he wanted some lemon piccata, so the other day I threw one together using the lemons from our tree. It came out quite well. the first time I made this recipe, I made it with chicken. the second time I made it I uses pork. I like the chicken better, but the pork wasn't bad. This is a good recipe to put the Steinbeck fears to rest, as the delicious smell makes the house feel safe and secure.

I didn't use any agent for adhering the flours to the chicken because I wanted a very light, light crust. I find too much flouring and breading can be overpowering in some cases.

Chicken Piccata

3 chicken thighs
3/4 cup flour (I like King Arthur flour's white whole wheat)
3/4 teaspoon garlic powder
3/4 teaspoon onion powder
A few pinches of salt
3 tablespoons canola oil
1 large lemon
1 cup dry white wine
4 tablespoons butter
Capers

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Pound the thighs between two pieces of plastic wrap until they are about 1/4 inch thick. Cut in half and dredge in flour, garlic powder, onion powder, salt mixture, making sure the entire piece is covered with flour. Fry in hot oil.Using microplane grater peel lemon directly over the pieces of cooking chicken, making sure to just get peel, not pith (the white part). Make sure each piece of chicken gets some grated lemon peel. Pepper the pieces. Flip them and grate more lemon peel and pepper them on the second side. When all of the chicken has cooked until golden brown and cooked through, remove it and drain on paper towels. Wipe the pan clean and add butter and wine. reduce the wine by at least half and add the juice of the lemon cook for just a minute or two more, or until the sauce has reduced a bit more. Pour sauce over the chicken and top with capers.

In a separate pan cook 1/2 pound spaghetti noodles until al dente. Drain. Add two tablespoons butter to the noodles and about a half cup or more of grated Parmesan cheese. Squeeze half a lemon over the noodles and add freshly ground pepper and toss. Serve with the chicken.

My eggplant in my garden has also started to ripen, so I've been playing with eggplant recipes. This is a super easy one that makes a great side dish, especially with grilled steak.

Grilled eggplant and tomato with basil and cheese

Slice the unpeeled eggplant about 1/2 to 3/4 inch thick lengthwise, after cutting off stem. Brush with olive oil and salt on each side. Slice some Roma tomatoes (I used my San Marzanos and they were fantastic) and place on top of eggplant slices. Shred basil by hand into large pieces and place on top of tomatoes. top with a good Italian cheese blend, or use your favorite. I used provolone slices and they were great. Place the eggplant slices on a piece of foil and grill on top rack, away from the heat for about 5 minutes. Take the foil and eggplant and let cool before serving.

The best weekend

Remember that old movie "The Lost Weekend" about an alcoholic descent into personal depravity? My Labor Day weekend was the opposite. I was able to take a four-day journey where I flitted in and out of some really wonderful people's lives, getting to know them and tell their stories.
Not only that along the way, I came up with some great recipes.

Friday, I went out to Malibou (That's how it's spelled on the signs there) Lake in Agoura Hills. Malibou Lake is actually up in the Santa Monica mountains and is a small community around a small lake with cute houses with small docks and little vessels. I was there to visit Corinne Morgan-Thomas who was the subject of a Lifetime Television movie "The Miracle Run," about her life with raising her autistic twin boys.

I'd never been back to Malibou Lake before, so I really enjoyed the drive because I love exploring around here. Then I was able to meet the family, which included the boys and a bunch of shih-tzus. One of the dogs had just had a litter and Doug Thomas, the dad of the family had also just found a baby squirrel that had been abandoned, so he put it in with the nursing puppies because the baby squirrel was dying. The shih-tzu bitch accepted the baby and now all of the animals are nursing together. It was amazing.

The next day, Saturday, I met the Dominguez-McCune family. Tracie Dominguez had given birth to a daughter, Laura, 20 years ago when she agreed to be a surrogate for Laura's parents. For this birth (Tracie has been a surrogate three times), they used Tracie's egg and Laura father's sperm. The conception took place in a doctor's office, which is an oddly unromantic way to conceive a child who is born with such love.

Laura's newfound family was different from Laura's parents, who had brought her up in Dallas, Texas. With KISS posters on the wall, a stripping pole in the living room, the tattooed Dominguez-McCune family was a real-eye opener for Laura, who seemed surprised to feel right at home.

Rob's brother Rick was also in town and he came over Saturday night to hang out while I made food for the next day. He brought Duncan out here with him so they could shoot a movie with Sean. Duncan was felled by kidney stones, which mucked things up, but overall you could tell Rick was delighted and proud to be able to work with his grown sons.

Sunday, Rob and I headed out to the Ventura Hillsides Music Festival, which benefits the Hillsides Conservancy group, which is trying to buy the land surrounding Ventura to keep it undeveloped open space. We were already planning on going to the festival when I was asked to cover it. The thing we learned last year is that the picnic you pack speaks volumes about you. The coolest people bring the coolest picnics.

I prepared fresh shrimp ceviche because last year the people near us had fish ceviche and I was complete consumed with jealously. I loved the idea and had been thinking about my recipe all year. It came out amazingly well, and we enjoyed it along with some fried chicken, salami and cheese and fresh grapes from the farmers market. We were planning to get food from the vendors, but barely managed to touch the stuff we brought.

We saw a bunch of bands: Jay Nash, who was a lot better than we expected, Keb' Mo', who was amazing, and Dave Mason, who looked just like any other Ventura schlub you'd see at Vons, not like the rock star he is, although as Tresa wisely pointed out, here in Ventura we are ALL rock stars.

I wrote my story at the concert on a laptop I brought along, which proved to be wise because even with leaving early and being able to talk a very nice bus driver -- shout out to Phyllis -- into taking just Rob and me in an empty school bus to the Ventura College parking lot where we left our car, I was barely able to meet my 6 p.m. deadline, filing the story at 6:01 p.m.

Finally on Monday, I headed out to the Salvation Army food pantry in Oxnard, which was giving away food on labor day so the people who work could get there. Rosie Rico, who ran the whole operation with great good humor, allows her clients their dignity despite their circumstances. She said she was glad she was working because it took her mind off her worries about her mom who was terribly ill and as soon as she wrapped up the food giveaway, she had to go over to the hospital decide whether to keep mom on life support.

We also had Kaia come visit for the day and Rob made the mistake of letting her watch "My Dog Skip," with is, to me, the world's saddest movie. I sob like a baby each time I see it. Heck I'll even tear up if I think about it too hard. I told Rob I didn't think it was a good idea. I haven't seen the movie in about 10 years because it makes me so sad. But Rob thought it would be OK.

Later, when were were looking back, Rob said he probably should have known things were going badly when Kaia started crying at the beginning when the boy's dad tells him he can't have a dog, claiming "You're not old enough! Dogs are just heartbreak waiting to happen."

"I got Keba when I was 3. I was old enough!" Kaia sobbed.

By the end of the movie when the dog is fighting for its life, to be revived by its love for the boy, Kaia was crying uncontrollably. Rob turned off the TV with "See it has a happy ending." Actually, the dog grows old and dies in the end, but we were already in enough trouble, so it was time to bail.

Fortunately, we were able to assuage her pain by taking her to Ojai to the world's greatest toy store Serendipity Toys where she guilted us into a Webkinz and carrier. After, we got ice cream and went over to Libbey Park where Kaia only played on the swings, declaring herself too old to run on the play structure.

Later, when someone asked me about my weekend, and got a much longer answer than they anticipated I'm afraid, I could not help but reflect. You hear and see so many nasty stupid things people are doing and saying, either in online forums or at various public events, and it's hard not to lose faith in humanity. But when you meet these people, all of them trying to make the world a better place in his or her own way, my faith is renewed.

RECIPES
In addition to the shrimp ceviche, I also made some rosemary grilled pork chops with cucumber/watermelon salsa. Here are all the recipes:

Shrimp ceviche

1 pound Trader Joe's uncooked Mexico white shrimp with tails on, thawed, peeled and deveined
1 ripe avocado
3 tablespoons fresh chopped cilantro
3/4 cup jicima, chopped
1/2 red onions chopped
1 fresh jalapeno, seeds and ribs removed, chopped
juice of 1 lime
salt and pepper

Cook the cleaned shrimp by sauteed in a couple of tablespoons of butter and cooking very lightly, until the shrimp just begins to turn pink. Let cool and chop into 1/2 inch pieces. Toss with jicima, onion, cilantro, avocado, jalapeno and the lime juice. Salt and pepper to taste. refrigerate. Serve with tortilla chips or endive leaves.

Grilled rosemary pork chops with cucumber/watermelon salsa

1 pound (or so) pork chops, buy your favorite cut
olive oil
garlic cloves
fresh rosemary
sea salt
fresh ground pepper

Cucumber/watermelon salsa

Mix together and chill

1 cup chopped watermelon (seeds removed if applicable)
1 cup chopped cucumber
1 fresh jalapeno, seeds and ribs removed, finely chopped
3 tablespoons fresh cilantro chopped
1/2 cup red onion chopped

Rub the chopped with the olive oil and crushed garlic cloves. Chop fresh rosemary and sprinkle, along with fresh ground pepper and sea salt on the chops. Turn grill on high for five minutes, then turn to low and immediately add pork chops. Cook five minutes a side (for about a 3/4 inch chop. Remove from heat and let sit for five minutes before topping with fresh salsa and serving.

Fresh tomato sauce

As summer wanes, I picked the last and first of my San Marzano tomatoes. the upside-down tomato planter that looked so promising has proved to be a dud. I think part of the problem is that when you water tomato plants upside down a lot of water drips down on the plant, which promotes fungus. So I ended up with just a small basket-full of tomatoes. Exactly enough for one batch of tomato sauce.

I've been working hard to eat my garden bounty as it ripens. I've been eating tons of cucumber/tomato/basil salads and the squash I grew was delicious prepared simply. Sliced and fried in olive oil along with thickly sliced onions. This tomato sauce came wonderfully. All of the ingredients were either grown by me or bought at the farmers market.

The Farmer & the Cook booth at the Ojai farmers market had some wonderful looking cipolline onions. I still have some garlic left that I grew, along with basil and oregano from my garden.

>Fresh tomato sauce

About 20 San Marzano tomatoes
2-3 tablespoons olive oil1 cipolline onion diced
3 to 4 cloves of garlic finely minced
1/4 cup fresh oregano coarsely chopped
1/4 cup fresh basil coarsely chopped
1 teaspoon salt
pepper to taste
1 cup red wine
1-2 cups water

Peel the tomatoes by cutting and x in the end and plunging into a pot of boiling water for 1 minute. Remove from boiling water and plunge into cold water. The skins will come right off. Squeeze each tomato by hand to squeeze out excess seeds and liquids. You don't have to be too rigorous in this, some seeds are fine. Heat olive oil in Dutch oven over medium high heat. Add onions and cook until translucent. Add garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add tomatoes and cook, breaking up the tomatoes with a wooden spoon. Add herbs, salt pepper and wine. Cook over low heat for at least two hours, keeping a close eye on the sauce, stirring and adding water as the sauce reduces and thickens.
I added my lo-carb meatballs (See March 15 post) and cooked the sauce an additional half hour. I served it with spaghetti and Parmesan cheese.

Farewell fair

This is what fireworks look like through fog
Bird's eye view on a foggy night from the ferris wheel
Having fun at the fair

It's been a few days since the fair ended and I'm going through the same kind of letdown I go through after all events I eagerly anticipate, like Christmas. The fair grows each year in its important to me and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because it's the only county fair in California that's actually on the beach, although this year that wasn't a plus because the fog seemed relentless.

I was able to write eight fair stories, which meant that I went there for all of those and then I went back one more night on my own to take pictures. I couldn't enter the baked goods contest this year because the oven is down, but being able to talk to all the ladies at Home Arts who judge and run the contests was a great next best thing.

There were also some really fun stories, like the watermelon cracker eating/whistle blowing and the Eagle Scout who built the interactive exhibit. And the Penny family with their lovely, outgoing self-assured kids were a delight.

I realized this year that I was doing exactly what I want to be doing, which is going to these events and writing about them. On top of that, we were able to bring Kaia to the fair and had a great time w/her, although I had to leave early to cover the naming of the grand champion and reserve grand champion at the fair.

This is also the last week for the peaches. I've made peach preserves, brandied peach, no-sugar-added peach chutney.

So with the fair over, the peaches picked and pickled and my first first day of school, I suppose summer is unofficially over.

Enough about you, let's talk about me

Some of you may be noticing that I seem to be doing a lot more posting these days and that you're learning more than you ever wanted to know about the minutiae of my life and then, again maybe not. But just so you know this is all a part of a concerted effort on my part to create a brand, as such concepts are called in corporatese.

I am a journalist and, as has been widely disseminated, newspapers are imploding. The fact that they aren't the cash cows the moguls had come to expect, as they cleaned up in advertising revenue and posted massive profit margins, has caused considerable angst and upheaval in the industry. Ultimately, I believe this is for the best. Newspapers will get smaller and, with any luck, rededicate themselves to the actual gathering and disbursing of information. And the Sam Zells of the world will be vomited out to take their retched brand of capitalism to some other industry.

Most newspapers have forgotten that the whole point of the enterprise is to be the watchdog of our society. We try to tell the stories that provide insight and understanding of the increasingly baffling world. Most journalists I know are truly dedicated to free speech and the fourth estate. The whole "media bias" and "media conspiracy" things are just laughable for most day-to-day journalists.

While I'm not so naive to believe that deals are brokered behind closed doors -- I remember the very first job I had at a newspaper when a reporter had some water treatment leads that would expose some questionable practices, he was explicitly told to back off because the water district superintendent was a friend of the publisher -- overall journalists live for the stories they tell, trying to be as fair and honest in that telling as they can possibly be. As with all endeavors, there are those who do a better job than others. There are those who have more scruples than others.

But in this new wild and woolly age, one thing seems clear, each of us is in it for ourselves and that means that in addition to gathering facts and chasing down leads, we need to be promoting ourselves and our work. Up to now, I've never been very good at self-promotion, but now I'm giving it a whirl.

My goal is to try to create a reputation for being able to write good, well-written, fair and accurate stories. I'm not terribly picky about the focus of the stories, just as long as they're good and compelling. If I can write about my favorite topics, one of which is food, or do some good by bringing attention to an issue that needs support, such as the stand-down for homeless veterans, which I recently wrote about, then so much the better.

To build this reputation, I feel it's important to do what I love to do, which is write, and to take advantage of the new world of social media, which is heavily dependent on the written word.

So when you see my big blueberry face, yet again, in your news stream prattling on about some meal or some cute thing the dogs did, try not to roll your eyes, and resist the temptation to hide me from your feed. And if you have any ideas for good stories, I'd love to hear them.

So now do you get the photo I used with this entry, throw me a bone? Get it? Cause I want people to give me writing jobs? Get it?)

The bounty of summer

Our tomatoes are coming in, slowly but surely from our upside-down planter and so far -- knock on wood -- there is no sign of the tomato caterpillars that have destroyed my crops in previous years. We have had a lot of problems with blossom drop and I've been adding egg shells and more potting soil, which seems to have helped.

The tomatoes that are doing the best are the small red, tomatoes and the San Marzano tomatoes, which are thriving. They have just started to ripen, so I took the first San Marzano (the little tomatoes I just eat straight up with ground sea salt) tomato and decided to make it into a grilled pizza.

We went to the best Von's in Ventura (at the corner of Victoria and Telegraph) to do our weekly shopping. Off to the side, we found something called Flatout Flatbread, light original. What makes this especially appealing are the 6 effective carbs per piece, which is made from whole grains. There is a picture on the label that promises that it "Makes Great Pizza!" And I thought -- really?

Our oven isn't working these days, so I knew I'd have to make whatever creation I came up with on the grill. I had the idea of incorporating the delicious tomatoes and basil from my garden with some buffalo mozzarella and grated cheese. The tomato/basil combination is one of the reason I love summer so much and I try to make as many versions as I can each season.

Rob was psyched, but wanted a more traditional pizza with sauce and cheese. I grilled my pizza directly on the grill and Rob had the idea of using aluminum foil. I thought his idea was brilliant until he cooked his and it became a soupy, gloopy mess. The direct grilling made the pizza crisp, but watch it, it will burn quickly.

Grilled caprese pizza

1 Flatout flatbread light original
olive oil
1 San Marzano or roma tomato, thinly sliced
5-6 whole basil leaves, ripped by hand into small pieces, or cut into a chiffonade
2 small balls of buffalo mozzarella broken into small pieces
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Brush the flat bread on both sides with olive oil. Top the flatbread with sliced tomatoes, basil and mozzarella. Put pizza directly on the grill over medium heat, watching carefully, for about 2-3 minutes. Remove and sprinkle with Parmesan. Slice and serve.

Stuck in the middle

I've always been a firm believer in civility between divorced parents. My parents divorced when I was very young and they had an angry relationship, which scarred me, as I tried to avoid taking sides, while still retaining my parents love. It didn't work. Both parents have founds ways through the years to let me know how disappointed they were in me and the fact that I didn't throw myself one way or the other. It sucks.

I decided my kids wouldn't have to go through the same thing and my ex and I maintained a civil relationship for years after our divorce. I would call him to talk about the girls. Even after I married Rob, I could stil talk to my ex perfectly pleasantly any time I so desired.

As far as Rob's relationship with the girls, he made it clear from Day 1 that he was their step-father. They have a father and he was never, ever, going to intrude on that relationship. He believes that there is enough room in the girls' lives to allow both relationships between father and daughter and between step-parent and child to flourish.

I completely support him in this. My mother tried to have us call my stepfather daddy and even though I was a child, I was incensed. I HAVE a father, I said. My father, to his great credit, never allowed my mothers antipathy to chase him away from his children, the way so many dads do. He was always an important and vital part of my life, despite all efforts to exclude him.

The girls, their dad, Rob and I all continued along in a fairly civilized and peaceful manner unit She came along. My ex-husband decided to remarry and his new bride immediately began claiming the girls as her own. The tension began as soon as she swapped rings and inserted herself in our ives.

She was soon dubbed the "stephorse" by the girls' friends, a name that seemed fitting, mean but fitting, especially in light of her behavior, which was controlling to say the least. She would call and leave angry messages on our answering machine, screaming and berating the girls for some imagined slight. She would call, scream and hang up on them, leaving my 12-year-old daughter in tears. One summer visit was marred when she slapped my oldest across the face when my daughter yelled "You're not my mother!"

She started demanding that I be excluded from family events. My relationship with my ex has always been complicated by the fact that we are first cousins, so the family remains in common even after the ill-conceived marriage ended. She wouldn't go to my cousin's wedding if I would be there She wouldn't allow the girls to speak my name in her presence. She started referring to the girls as "her" children.

As the years wore on, her behavior became even more egregious. She wouldn't go to any family event when my oldest daughter was graduating from college. She tried to hold a brunch where I was specifically excluded after my daughter's college graduation. The brunch was to be held at my father's house, which she and my ex traditionally (remember my ex is my dad's nephew -- the whole first cousin thing) visited when they came to town. She refused to go the the party my daughter had organized rather than have one or the other parent take charge, taking her son to a museum instead.

When my youngest was graduating from high school, the stephorse made sure that she and the ex steered clear of any events where I would be present. From time to time, the girls would stand up to her -- at great price. The ex is known for screeching diatribes and chilly silences when her wishes have been thwarted. She is one of those people who enters a room and demands that everyone there adjust their behavior to her wishes. If it's too hot for her tastes, she will demand the temperature be lowered; if the food is too spicy it has to be re-made. If people are too loud, they need to be quiet.

My oldest daughter finally decided that enough was enough. She now has children of her own and doesn't have the time or energy to continue the ridiculousness. I don't care. While I can't say I enjoy the company of the stephorse, she doesn't really have much of an effect on me. Like most people who take themselves way too seriously and demand the world follow suit, she is easy to ridicule, but I do that behind her back, of course.

The only thing the stephorse says in her defense is that I once yelled in my own home at our dog to be quiet, and somehow, some way this offended her so deeply, she decided that she could never be around me again. In the meantime, she continues to make every effort to create discord and strife. She won't allow her son to be around me, although I've never been anything but welcoming to the poor kid. It's not his fault he was adopted by a lunatic.

I don't care about this woman and her claims to my daughters. They're adults and they can handle their own lives. What I resent, however is the fact that they claim to be stuck in the middle. I don't care about this woman. I'm not playing. There is no Middle.

No. Seriously. I. Don't. Care. I can be in the same room. I will be civil. I will smile and share food and my family. I know how to behave. I was raised with a modicum of manners. This is not my fight. Both Rob and I have always wondered why we provoke such irrational anger on the part of various ex's and steps. But we're not the ones fighting. We prefer to spend our days sitting around playing with our dogs. The drama ends here.

Rob's birthday and other milestones

I'm not sure when the summertime became so filled with birthdays and other anniversaries. I suppose it really started right after I met Rob just days before Courtney's birthday. One of our first events together was celebrating his birthday. I made him a Black Forest cake, but the cherries and all the chocolate kept sliding off, so it looked terrible. It was tasty, though.

Now June with Alex's and Courtney's birthday, and Rob's and my anniversary is busy and July is busy with Rob's birthday and my AA birthday (four years :-). Rob's brother Jon also has a birthday in July as does Jon's wife Suzette.

It's a busy time, which is odd because summertime should be all about long, languorous days and this year it's all about running around and covering events in Ventura County. I'm so delighted that my freelance career is taking off. I've always loved writing but my biggest hurdle has always been getting people to read what I write. I remember one editor at the Dayton Daily news giving me all kinds of advice about my writing and seeking other opinions so I could improve. "So you've read my work?" I asked. "Well no," she said, and then she went on with her "tips." It was odd. I would give my clips to my bosses and they would just ignore them. Whenever people would read my stuff, however, they tended to really like it.

I finally gave up and decided to go ahead and pursue a job on the copy desk, something I resisted in Dayton, but decided to do in California. Biggest. Mistake. Of. My. Life. Looking back I can see it was an experiment destined to failure. Frankly I don't give a rat's ass if groundwater is one or two words. I don't care if the blues is plural or not. I tried to make myself care. I tried to fit in. But creativity and copy editing tend to be mutually exclusive terms and the truly creative people get kicked off early.

Now I'm back to writing and I've never been happier. I get to go all around Ventura County -- my favorite place on earth -- and talk to people, share in their lives and tell their stories. There was a time -- back in my "drinking days" -- when I knew I was in real trouble with alcohol because I couldn't be happy without it. I realized that was probably the most dangerous thing that could happen to me, and I was right. Nonetheless, it was true.

But just recently I've been walking through the hills in Ojai working on a story about a Boy scout Camporee or trudging on the beach at Ventura Harbor to do a story on outrigger canoes, and I realize I am truly happy, happier than with alcohol. There are those who say that such a statement invites the evil eye, but on the other hand are you being ungrateful if you don't express thanks for good fortune and appreciate it as such?

This summer, I've been able to work and to have fun. For Rob's birthday, we drove to Malibu -- one of my favorite drives -- to Hows Market to pick up some prime t-bone steaks. One of the first things we noticed about California is the death of good beef. I'm not sure why. There are lots of cows around, but the beef is crap. We found some steaks at the high-end markets Bristol Farms and Lazy Acres, but they were obscenely expensive. Then we discovered Hows, which has a store by Trancas Canyon in Malibu.

For Rob's birthday, I bought a bunch of the steaks to grill. If I may say so myself they were perfection. I rubbed them with crushed garlic cloves and olive oil and salted them. Four minutes a side over a hot flame, and they were perfection.

I made some fresh corn using my patented microwave method, (wrap shucked corn that's been rinsed in water. Wrap loosely with plastic wrap. Place in the microwave for a minute and then turn the corn and cook for 50 seconds. Remove the hot corn from the oven and let sit for five minutes.) Rob, Lindsay and Ryan had baked potatoes and the meal was perfection.

Finally, I had some "dragon beans, we've been buying at the Ojai farmers market. Rob was the first to discover them and he had to have them because they look so weird. I cooked them up, you just put them in salted boiling water for about 3 to 4 minutes and rinse them with cold water to stop the cooking. But they are also delicious raw. The unfortunate part of cooking them is that they lose the purple markings in the hot water. But they are our latest discovery and they are delicious.

Shushers and tourons

So when do people -- especially women, for some reason -- make the decision to take it upon themselves to be the arbiters of all volume at public events? You know them: They're the ones who, when the person in front of the room is trying to get the attention of the crowd, officiously hold their index fingers to their pursed lips and excrete a loud hissing SHHHHHHHHHHHH, their eyes glaring with indignation.

I'm not a shusher. I tend to shut up when asked to or when concerts and other events begin. So I really don't need Ms. Manners wagging that bony digit in my direction. Most of the time shushers are women. Middle-aged women, especially, love to, in fact live to tell the world what to do. It's understandable, I suppose. Middle age brings home to women how truly powerless they are in this society. As soon as they lose that dewy attractiveness that seems to captivate the world, they find no one really is interested in them at all.

Go to a crowded counter where there is no numbering system. No matter who is waiting on the group, the men will get attention first. Then the attractive people. Then the seniors. Then the rest, kids, teens and middle-aged women. I've stood in many a crowd watching wave after wave get waited on while I'm ignored. It's infuriating. But it hasn't led to shushing, at least not yet.

I suppose complaining becomes such a siren call to older people because it's a way of dissecting the world as one has less and less impact on it. Of course, there are many who just love to complain for the sake of complaining. Perhaps they feel superior because only they have standards that can never be met.

So now I've complained about the complainers and shushed the shushers. I suppose I will just sit there quietly, letting the shushers enjoy their vital function in the worldwide order. After all without their sibilant shushes civil society would degenerate into cacophonous chaos.



We call them tourons affectionately as the invade our sleepy seaside town year after year. They are the hands that feed us, they bring tons of much-needed money here and add some excitement, but if you've ever been late for an appointment or for work and you're behind someone who has no idea of where he/she is and where he/she is going, you'd understand the Venturan frustration at the bumbling, impatient, rude and annoying influx we invite here to spend money.

Tourons don't know the roads like we locals do, so they do things like stay in the left lane on Hwy 33 as it passes Stanley going south, despite the numerous signs saying that traffic merges from the left. They don't know that the intersection of Harbor Boulevard and California Street is not a three-way stop and that traffic from California going onto Harbor has right of way and doesn't stop. They don't know all the quirky nonsensical things about this town so they seem to be in the way a lot.

The place where the tourons put the moron in tourist is always at the beach. Despite the fact that it's a crime in California to in any way disturb or harass wildlife, you'll always see tourons swinging starfish by their legs, poking anemones or running at the seagulls flapping their arms to make them fly, as the guy in this picture was just doing before I took this picture.

I want to go up to them and read them the riot act. "What the hell are you doing? Leave the poor animals alone." But then I would be akin to the shushers. And that's just not me. Yet. So I grit my teeth, take their picture and watch them write on the wet sand -- something every touron does. At least they didn't ignore the vast expanse of beach to come and sit 10 feet from us.

Red, white and yummy

Since we've been without an oven, I haven't been able to bake, which is probably a good thing because I'm not tempted to break my diet. But a recipe from epicurious.com caught my eye and I just had to try it. OF course, I did change it up a bit. The original recipe is for no-bake raspberry cream pie, but I made it with strawberries.

Here in Ventura County, Calif., we grow some of the best strawberries in the world. While we ship out the big, wax-covered sturdy, but relatively tasteless varieties, the sweeter, much more perishable varieties are reserved for sale locally at area farmers markets. But you have to be careful and taste them because they range from the spongy, fairly bitter berries to the really sweet berries, like the ones I bought at the Simi Valley farmers market.

One of my favorite smells in the world is driving around Ventura County through lemon orchards and strawberry fields. Sometimes you can smell both at once and the smell is deliciously intoxicating. This pie tastes like that smell combines with a nice, rich chocolate-y crust. I added some cookies and butter, along with a teaspoon of vanilla, which adds dept to the flavor. I would recommend spraying the pie pan with a baking oil because it does stick to the sides because it's impossible to press the crumbs up the side of the pie dish without pressing them down

According to the recipe, the lemon juice combines with the sweetened condensed milk and creme fraiche, available at Trader Joes, to make a kind of custard. I put the cut berries on top of the pie and let it set overnight, which was a mistake. Reserve the second half of the berries until right before serving. I considered doubling the filling because it doesn't make that much, but this is very rich and it doesn't need more filling, although a dollop of whipped cream would be good.

No-bake Strawberry Cream Pie (adapted from Bon Appetit magazine recipe)

8 ounces chocolate wafer cookies (about 35), coarsely broken
1/2 cup bittersweet chocolate chips
7 tablespoons (3/4 stick) butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk
1/4 cup crème fraîche*
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon finely grated lemon peel
2 1/2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and cut into quarters lengthwise

Place broken cookies in processor. Using on/off turns, process until finely ground. Place chocolate chips, butter, and sugar in microwave-safe bowl. Microwave on high at 15-second intervals until melted, stirring occasionally. Add vanilla. Add chocolate mixture to processor and blend until combined. Press crumb mixture onto bottom and up sides of 9-inch glass pie dish that has been sprayed with a non-stick baking oil(do not pack firmly). Chill crust while preparing filling.

Whisk condensed milk, crème fraîche, lemon juice, and lemon peel in large bowl to blend. Add half of strawberries. Stir, pressing gently on some strawberries, until strawberries begin to break apart and filling turns pink. Transfer filling to crust. Chill until filling is set, about 2 hours or overnight for a good set.

Scatter remaining strawberries over pie. Cut into wedges and serve with sweetened whipped cream.

*Sold at Trader Joes.

Kitchen science: The filling firms as it chills, creating nice clean slices of pie—but it doesn't contain any thickeners. The secret? Lemon juice. When it reacts with the other ingredients, it helps thicken the filling.

I brought this pie with me when we went to Gen and Sean's to celebrate the 4th of July. Earlier in the day I covered celebrations in Oxnard and Ventura. The annual Ventura 4th of July street festival has grown to amazing proportions. It took me 40 minutes to park. It reminded me of the Waynesville Sauerkraut Festival, which I used to cover each year when I lived in Ohio, although there were no sauerkraut brownies and doughnuts, like there were in Waynesville. The Waynesville celebration usually topped 250,000 people and I swear the crowds were about as big in Ventura.

I also covered the Summerfest Dog show and will be going back there tomorrow for the best in Show award. I've been having so much fun with these assignments, especially considering that last week I was having a terrible time getting people to talk to me. I had not one, but two people just blow me off. I hate when this happens because I only get paid when I get a story. Plus I just hate to be blown off.

I did manage to write one of my favorite ledes on one of the dog show series when I went to pet the head of an Old English Sheepdog the owner had just spent a hours grooming and smushed the dog's hair down. I never realized how much I missed reporting, and now, looking back I can see what a big mistake it was to ever leave it. I just love the role of observer and chronicler.

I believe that there is a greater demand for real journalists, especially reporters, than ever before as people's appetite for information becomes increasingly voracious. It's just the vehicle for those stories has changed and no one seems to know how to make the obscene profits they made in newspapers -- the profits that have proved to be the eventual undoing of the entire industry.

So I'll just keep honing my writing skills and working at keeping to the basic core values of journalism, which, to me, are making the world a bit better by keeping those lines of communication, so necessary for all of us to have type of freedom, open.

Yippie Kai-a!

Kaia came over to visit for three days because Gen and Sean were going up to wine country to spend some vacation time together. We set up the aerobed in our bedroom for her, with a featherbed on top. Rob put a TV in there and she was able to watch movies while she laid in bed. She loved it.

The first day we went to the farmers market in Ojai where Rob bought Kaia a Webkinz at Serendipity Toys, the coolest toy store in the world where I'm always getting things for the little ones in my life. It was on to Art's Corner Cafe where Kaia was very impressed by the caricature of Rob and me they having hanging there, (chicken Rob and Big Anne, we've never been able to decide which of us should be more insulted). Then she ran into a friend from school, so she knew it really is a cool place.

After I had to go to Port Hueneme to cover Seabee Days, which was interesting because I've never been on the Naval base here. Before I moved to Ventura, I'd never heard of the Seabees, the navy construction engineers who run around the world building things lick-ety split. They build roads and bridges for advancing armies. They build facilities for people to work and live in. But they also do a lot of humanitarian aid around the world, digging wells, building schools and other public works projects in developing countries. It makes my little pacifistic heart happy to hear that our military isn't just about war.

We went to Carrow's for dinner where I had the gross-t beef and Rob had a Mile High sandwich. Kaia got a sundae with chocolate sauce and hot fudge on top and declared it the best overnight EVER. We were both so proud. Monday was fun day and we went to the Teva outlet store, Deckers Factory Outlet, in Ventura to get Courtney her birthday present and bought Kaia a pair of Teva sandals for $4.99. Then back to Ojai for more Webkinz (they were $7.99 a piece and include a special code so Kaia can register them online and make the into virtual pets). Lunch was at Ojai Pizza, where the portions were huge, the wings were perfectly prepared (which is not an easy thing) and the sauce was too sweet for my taste and on to Libbey Park where Kaia made a 4-year-old friend who proceeded to eat her leftovers.

The entire time Kaia regaled us with her fantastical stories of friends, her endless enthusiasm and vivid imagination. She is such a joy and we're lucky to have her in our lives.

Now we have Gen and Sean's dog Keba visiting because Gen, Sean and Kaia are all in Ohio visiting Rick and Marilyn. Keba came with Kaia during the wine tasting too. She's one of my favorite dogs. She's a German Shepherd mix and I'm not sure what she was mixed with, but it was enormous. Despite being a huge dog with a basso profundo voice that literally rattles the house, she's a timid baby. The rest of the dogs keep trying to put her in her place, so she needs extra attention, and so do they. the cats were angry at first, but now have decided Keba isn't a real threat.

I was given the go-ahead to enjoy the summer when I found out I wasn't kicked out of the Ventura County Master Chorale. I had auditioned originally to get in back in August 2008 and for some reason the director, Burns Taft, decided he wanted everyone to audition again. I figured the audition would be like the first one where I had been asked to do some rudimentary sight reading and to sing my prepared song. But this audition was much harder. The accompanist played two notes and asked me what interval they were -- a third, a fifth and a diminished sixth (WTF?. Then I had to sing a chromatic scale. A what? Oh. half steps. But I was so rattled I couldn't get my mind around what a half step was, even though I do know that. She played a major chord, then a minor one, but she played weird chords that sound major at first and then got all minor.

I played the cello back in high school and read music then but really haven't much in the intervening years. I know that a lot of people in the choir are music teachers or at least were music majors. Me, I just love to sing, which apparently was the wrong answer, according to the grading brochure they had made up. There was a category under singing experience that referred to someone as "just loves to sing," with the phrase dripping with sarcasm and listed as a 4 on their scale of 1 to 5 with 1 being the best.

The entire experience was humiliating. As Rob pointed out, I was totally blindsided. I had no idea they were going to ask such questions. I wish I had known because I would have been able to work on chromatic scales and intervals, which I pick up really easily because I do have a good ear. I'm not going to quit or anything because I do just love singing and am so happy to have this back in my life. I'll try to see if I can get private voice lessons, which are an actual course at Ventura College. I did that in Ohio, but I wasn't really working on music at the time. Now, I could really use some help with some of my vocal issues.

Anyway, at least now I don't have to burn the hideous black choir dress, which would have probably caused a noxious cloud and brought the EPA down on me.

Huanxontle aka lambs quarters

I've been feeling especially lucky lately because I've really been enjoying my assignments writing for the Ventura County Star
. It's a great arrangement for me because I don't have to be trapped in an office and I can get out and meet people and learn really cool things as I travel all around Ventura County.

Of course my very favorite assignment is writing the farmers market column. I love farmers markets anyway and to be paid to go around and scout out the farmers market scene in one of the most vibrant farmers market enclaves is especially exciting. The farmers market gig is made even more cool by the fact that farmers markets are really "in" right now, so there's always more and more to write about.

And even though I go to a farmers market a week to scope out the scene, I still go to Ojai each Sunday to my favorite home market. One of my favorite people there is B.D. Dautch who is always at the Ojai market at his Earthtrine Farms booth.

B.D. is a local favorite not only because he is a big proponent of the Slow Food movement, which has made huge strides in getting the message of local, old-fashioned food distribution out in this day and age of mass food poisonings. He also loves to grow unique, hard-to-find items that are in great demand by chefs from L.A. to San Francisco.

I love his frisee, which I made into a salad with apples, nuts (I generally use pecans, but lately have been using sunflower seeds, which are delicious) and gorgonzola or blue cheese. I added blackberries from the backyard to my Good Seasons (guilty pleasure) Italian dressing and it is amazing. I also get herbs and peruse the other goods, looking for anything intersting.

Last weekend I came on some odd looking stuff that looked like a weed. The sign said it was lambs quarters or huanxontle. I asked B.D. what the Hell it was and he said some of his guys had gone to Mexico and had found this stuff and brought back some seeds. B.D. said it made a great relleno.

I asked him how one would go about making what looked like a pile of weedy stuff into a relleno. He said to grab a small portion of it, blanch it and then roll it in cheese and an egg batter and serve it up with some red sauce.

It sat in my crisper for a week as I made excuses for not tackling the decidedly odd-looking stuff. It smells kind of flowery/fruity with nutty overtones, so it was intriguing. Finally, I screwed up my courage and made some up into rellenos. They were fantastic. I ate them with some Tapatio sauce and sour cream, along with a steak and the flavors were amazing.

Since you don't exactly stuff these like you would a traditional chile relleno, you should approach cooking them more like you would a potato pancake or fritter, with everything mounded in the skillet while you let the heat do the work of forming it into a cohesive whole.

Huanxontle rellenos

1 large bunch of huanxontle, also known as lambs quarters
1 cup Colby cheddar cheese, shredded
2 eggs
2 tablespoons white whole wheat flour
garlic powder (not salt)
onion powder (not salt)
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons canola oil

Blanch the huanxontle in a pot of boiling water for about 30 seconds,rinse and drain. Break off most of the woody stems and grab a small portion. Roll it in about a quarter cup of cheese. Whisk eggs and flour, along with onion and garlic powders and salt. Pour a quarter of the egg mixture into a separate dish. Roll the huanxontle and cheese in the mixture and mound the whole thing in a heated skillet skillet with canola oil. Repeat the process three more times, to make a total of four rellenos. Cook over medium high heat for about three to four minutes or until egg/cheese mixture is beginning to set and flip over and cook for another three to four minutes, or until golden brown. Serve with red sauce and sour cream.

Makes four rellenos. Multiply as needed for more rellenos. the egg batter proportions are 1 tablespoon white whole wheat flour to 1 egg.

Upside-down tomatoes

You've seen those commercials for those Topsy Turvy tomato dealies, which are basically glorified plastic bags that you have to find a hanger for, so you can grow tomatoes. Rob and I really like the concept, but seriously? A plastic bag with a hole in it for $9.95 and no way to hang the damn thing. That just seemed stupid.

But then, right before Mother's Day, we were on our monthly Sam's Club paper products run when we saw this black plastic container thing that you use to grow tomatoes and the top part could double as a planter. We decided it would be my Mother's Day present. Rob and I always select something we've coveted for Mother's Day. A couple of years ago, it was our gas grill, many years ago it was the beach bike I got hit on. This year it was the upside-down tomato planter.

We then headed up to the Ojai farmers market to get tomato plants from my favorite tomato plant grower Caryn Molinelli and we selected four plants, including brandywine and San Marzano, but these are all heirloom varieties. I assembled the plastic contraption while Rob poured sand from the beach in the bottom along with some water, to anchor it. The plants went through the holes easily. We added the soil and I transplanted some seedlings.

Usually when I plant my tomatoes they go through a couple of week of shock before they decide to dig in a grow. The plants in the tomato planter have taken off from Day 1. The black plastic keeps the soil nice and warm, which is important here because Ventura, being right next to the ocean, never gets really hot in the summer. Tomatoes actually like good, warm soil and the planter seems to be fooling the tomatoes into thinking they a lot warmer than they are.

Last year our tomatoes were devastated by tomato-eating caterpillars and I'm hoping our new arrangement will serve as a deterrent, while not freaking out the bees. But we did put the thing where our pool used to be, in the middle of our blackberry patch, and there are lots of bees there. We'll see.

Speaking of blackberries, I haven't been writing a lot about food lately because I've been on a strict low-carb diet. With all of the problems with my legs, it's more important than ever to lose weight. I had a lot to lose because I gained weight during my surgeries, despite trying really hard to watch what I ate.

The oven also broke and we haven't been able to fix it yet, so there hasn't been a lot of cooking. The other night, however, I did make a wonderful discovery. Last year, Rob cut back our blackberry bush in a futile attempt to get the thing under control.

We were given a small bush by a friend of Rob's when we first moved here. I asked him if it would run and he said, "Oh no. It's not the running kind." Ha! Like there is such a thing as non-running blackberries. Rob occasionally gets frustrated by the intrusive bugger and last year he really hacked it back. Of course, this meant it put out a bunch of new growth and we have some wonderful blackberries this year. After they bloom, I'm going to make him cut it back again.

Right now we have some amazing blackberries. They're huge and really sweet. The other night I was preparing to grill some chicken when I got inspired and added some blackberries and mashed them into the teryaki marinade I was using. The flavors went together amazingly well.

Blackberry teryaki grilled chicken

1 whole chicken, cut up
1 cup Veri Veri Teryaki or Trader Joe's Teryaki sauce
4 scallions sliced into 1/4 inch pieces (I used a bigger spring onion from the farmer's market and it was fabulous)
1 cup ripe blackberries
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder (fresh minced garlic, if you're not lazy)

Mix all the ingredients, except the chicken. Mash the blackberries into the teryaki mixture with a fork. Add the chicken and coat and marinade it in the refrigerator for about 15 minutes on each side. Heat a grill and grill the chicken over low heat for about 15 or 16 minutes a side. Make sure to spread the mashed blackberry and onion mixture on the chicken before it cooks. A lot will fall off, but a bunch will still stick.

Oh and BTW, I've lost more than 20 pounds so far, which is making my legs feel a lot better

Daddy's girl

Originally uploaded by daqvidbellbrook

Jesse and Jessica

Those are some cute kids

Originally uploaded by daqvidbellbrook

I'm not sure why Cody is squinting like Popeye, but those are some good-looking kids, the proud grandmom says.