Food frenzy

 

 

I've been coping with the stress of finding out about my foot by cooking. I pretty much cope with all major life problems by cooking. The fact that the garden is producing all kinds of wondrous bounty is fueling the fire. The only down side is that my foot is officially a mess and really hurts when I cook. I've put a stool in the kitchen and use that whenever I can, but it's hard.

So the doctor has said surgery is needed for my foot. It appears I've lost my posterior tibial tendon. Apparently I had some tendinitis there and the trauma of the accident snapped it. Fortunately I have pictures of my swollen, bruised ankle from right after the accident. And while posterior tibial tendon dysfunction is fairly common -- causing falling arches, having the tendon snap is not as common and is, of course, not good.

The recovery time isn't good. It's about six weeks for the site to heal and 10 months recovery total. I'm also not entirely thrilled with the doctor I've been assigned, he seems a bit managed-care oriented.

All of the material I've read indicates that treatment of a ruptured tendon usually consists of taking another tendon from the back of your foot and putting it over where the tibial tendon was. The tibial tendon is the tendon that pretty much holds the structure of the back of the foot together. Without it the foot collapses inward. In addition, they put titanium spikes in the ankle to stabilize it. But this guy acted as though repairing the tendon wasn't that necessary. It's been pretty necessary up to now and without it my foot is completely collapsing, so -- as the kids say -- WTF? AS I told the doctor I have at least 30 more years on this foot and I want it to work -- well.

Plus why is modern medicine set up so we have to go online to research our problems because we can't trust doctors to be as interested in practicing the best available medicine as they are in bonuses from the insurance people for avoiding expensive procedures?

Anyway, I'm scheduled to have surgery Sept. 24. It's outpatient, which is just fine with me. Hospitals nowadays are breeding grounds for staph infections and flesh-eating bacteria. The less time I spend there, the better. It is general anesthesia, though and I'll be pretty much completely incapacitated for a couple of weeks.

So I'm cooking in a mad frenzy. Cooking is so life-affirming. I love it for the smells and the creating something useful out of raw materials. I usually have my best moments of inspiration then. I used the zucchini to make a pasta dish. I grilled zucchini and onion in my grilling basket and added some sausage. The smoky, grilled flavor was amazing in the finished dish.

I'm still plagued by peaches. I've put up 23 jars of preserves, 19 jars of canned peaches; I've made six cobblers, one peach pie and for my latest, greatest creation, I made a peach, streusel cake for my monthly cake obligation. I'm serving it with whipped cream. I also froze a large bag of peaches.

I told Rob that I'm done with the peaches ... at least for this year. He says he's done forever and ever. Last I saw him, he was looking of an ax.

Peach streusel bundt cake

2 sticks butter (one cup) softened
2 cups sugar
6 eggs
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 cups all-purpose *flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup sour cream
2 cups fresh peaches, diced
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons cinnamon
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
confectioner's sugar
cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour a bundt pan. Beat butter and sugar until creamed and fluffy, but not over-processed. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. If using a stand mixer, make sure to scrape down the sides. Add almond and vanilla extracts. Mix flour, baking soda and salt together using a whisk. Add to butter mixture alternately with the sour cream. Fold in peaches. Mix streusel mixture together -- brown sugar, flour, butter and cinnamon -- using a food processor or by hand until butter is cut in. Pour one third of the batter in bundt pan. Sprinkle with one half of the streusel mix. Pour second third of the batter on top of streusel. Sprinkle second half on streusel mixture on top of batter and spoon final third of the batter over the streusel mixture. Bake for 70 minutes or until a wooden pick inserted comes out clean. Cool for 15 minutes before removing from pan. Dust with confectioner's sugar and serve with whipped cream.

Grilled sausage, veggie pasta bake

1 pound sweet Italian sausage links
1 large onion diced into 3/4 to 1 inch cubes
1 large zucchini cut into 3/4 to 1 inch cubes
Olive oil spray
1 can Progresso crushed tomatoes with puree
1 package *Dreamfields pasta penne prepared al dente
2 cups mozzarella cheese, shredded
6 ounces provolone cheese
4 bay leaves
1/2 cup red wine
Parmesan cheese

Spray prepared veggies and cooking basket with olive oil spray so all veggies are coated. Place the veggies and sausage in grilling basket and grill until sausage has browned and veggies are starting to brown. Spray 13 X 11 inch pan with olive oil spray. Pour pasta in pan. Top with half of the mozzarella cheese and half the provolone. Top with grilled veggies and sausage. Pour tomatoes on top. Add bay leaves. Pour wine on top and mix it in a bit with a fork. Top with remaining cheese, using Parmesan last. Bake in 350 oven for 30 minutes or until cheese is warm and bubbly.

*Notes: I've been using King Arthur flour's whole wheat, white flour, which is whole wheat ground really fine in place of unbleached white flour. so far, it's proving a good substitute and it makes me feel better about my whole grain intake.
Dreamfields pasta claims to have found a way to enclose wheat/carb molecules so they pass through the body, meaning that the effective carb content is lowered considerably. You can't taste the difference and according to my dad, who is a (Ph.D.) scientist, this method could work and seems scientifically sound.

Rob's inspiration

 

I'm in the middle of canning and otherwise processing all the peaches we got off the tree, which is exhausting, especially considering the bad foot. So on one of the hottest days of the year here -- it got all the way up to -- GASP -- 81 degrees.

We Venturans are like hothouse flowers, we only thrive in a very narrow band of temperatures, which is good because almost every day here, summer, winter, fall and spring is in the upper 60s early 70s. People here don't even have air conditioners and our fans tend to get dusty between uses.

So there I was with massive pots on the stove to peel the peaches and to process and sterilize the jars. Rob comes home from the store and has the bright idea of making grilled sausage with peppers and onions. Our peppers are looking pretty good this year, which is nice since the eggplants have all succumbed to a wilt. While this would seem a wonderful idea, when one is armpit-high in peach pits, the idea of cooking anything else is not met with a smile, to say the least.

In spite of my growling, I hauled out this really cool grilling basket I bought last year and have never used. It's designed specifically for this kind of thing. Rob didn't even know we had it. I grilled the sausage and sprayed the grilling basket with canola oil. I then cut the peppers and onions into large (about an inch to one and a half inches). I grilled them on the grill. Rob teamed his beef sausage with peppers, onions and a large, hoagie-type roll and I had bratwurst and veggies on a hot dog bun.

I have to hand it to him. Despite the initial annoyance, this was a great idea for a quick summer meal on a hot day. But don't anyone tell him I said that ...

Harvest time and bum feet

       

The peaches on my tree are finally ripening, as Tony, our next door neighbor felt it necessary to come over announce.

Tony is sort of the Gladys Kravtiz of the cul de sac. He keeps track of everything and everybody. It can be annoying, but somehow comforting -- if the house ever caught fire, Tony would be the first to at least tell firefighters that we have pets. Tony has taken a great interest in the tree and told us he's helped himself to a few peaches. It gives him something to do.

On the other hand (or foot, chuckle, chuckle), I'm having some trouble in the peach-picking department. I finally had an appointment with a podiatrist. I've always said that the best doctor's visits, like the best travel, are uneventful -- everything works just as it should. At the very worst, you go to the doctor, he writes out a prescription and 10 to 14 days later, voila, you're all better. This wasn't one of those trips.

The podiatrist took one look at the foot, which has been bothering me for a while and then took a dramatic turn for the worst and has been really hurting after the accident, and said it had collapsed -- I have no arch on my right foot now -- and it is "frozen" -- it won't move the way it used to. He ordered MRIs and put me in a walking cast, which explains why in the picture it's so dirty -- casts and cooking don't go real well together. I'll find out more when I see him for my next appointment, next Thursday, when we'll "find out what we have to work with," as the doctor put it. He said he thinks I've lost a tendon.

I've been trying to stay off it for the most part, but it's hard because I'm not very good at sitting still. We took Kaia to the fair for our traditional night where we let her do anything she wants. It was a lovely evening and she was wonderful, but I thought I was going to die, especially the next day when I could hardly walk. It was worth it because I would have been way more upset if I'd missed one of my very favorite things in the world -- going to the fair with Kaia.

In the midst of all this my zucchinis are ripening and the peaches are littering the ground attracting all kinds of bugs. I've been cooking up a storm. First, I baked a peach pie, then a peach cobbler, then zucchini bread. Finally, I made peach preserves flavored with the wonderful cinnamon I bought from Penzey's.

It's kind of circular, really. I'm nervous about my foot. I'm not really into things like surgery, especially if it's as bad as what is described online. The idea of anyone hacking away at me me with a knife does nothing for me -- especially if I'm not going to emerge looking 20 years younger. So I limp around in a frenzy of baking to give me something to do, which is KILLING my foot. And even I'm getting tired of my whining.

But I'm trying out all kinds of recipes and these two have met with accolades:

Peach cobbler

Biscuit dough
1 1/2 cups flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons chilled, unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
2/3 cup heavy cream

Filling
4 to 5 cups *prepared fresh peaches (skinned, pitted and sliced)
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 cup sugar (adjust depending on the sweetness of your peaches)
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon fresh ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt

Heat oven to 350. Place first five dough ingredients in a food processor and pulse until it forms a cornmeal-textured mixture. Add cream.
Prepare peaches by cutting an X with a knife in the skin and immersing them in boiling water for one minute. Immediately plunge into cool water and slip the skins off. Remove pits and slice inot 1/4 inch pieces. Mix with remaining filling ingredients. Grease oval gratin dish, if you have one or use a square 9x9 container. Flour a surface and roughly roll out biscuit dough after kneading about 8 times. Place fruit in dish and stretch the biscuit dough over the top. Brush biscuits with cream and top with sprinkled sugar and cinnamon. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes. Serve with vanilla ice cream.

Zucchini bread

For bread
3 eggs
1 cup vegetable oil
2 cups white sugar
21/2 cups grated zucchini
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 1/2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup chopped walnuts (toasted for five minutes)

For streusel
1 cup butter
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup flour
6 tablespoons unsalted butter

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Grease and flour three 8X4 inch loaf pans

In a large bowl beat eggs until light and frothy. Mix in oil and sugar. Stir in zucchini and vanilla. Combine flour, cinnamon, baking soda, baking powder, salt and nuts. Stir into the egg batter. Divide batter into prepared pans. Mix streusel ingredients by blending in butter by hand until it forms a crumbly mixture. Sprinkle on top of all three zucchini loaves. Bake for 60 to 70 minutes or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean.

Cedar planks

Rob and I are at the point in our lives where the things we want for our birthdays and holidays tend to be presents for the house. So for my birthday/Mother's Day, Rob got me a gas grill. We have a really wonderful built-in brick grill. One of these days I'm going to have it converted to gas, and those plans are the reason it took some time to get a freestanding gas grill. Why buy a grill when you're going to convert the one you have?

But we really wanted one right now and we aren't ready to spend the money on the brick grill. Living in Southern California makes gas grilling a necessity. Not only is it great year-round, but it's also a good standby in case of an earthquake. We keep an extra propane tank filled just in case. The grill we got is small, but it's just the two of us and we didn't want to spend a lot of money OBVS.

It's been working out really well and we have so much fun making our meals. We're both trying to watch what we eat and a meal of grilled meat and salad is healthy, tasty and good for the waistline. We've been trying out new ideas on how to use the grill and we were both enticed by the idea of cedar planks for cooking.

We wanted to get one to try it out but when we went to find one it seemed all the stores were out. Finding a cedar plank became a mission and we spent the past week trying to find one. I finally bought one today at Rain's in Ojai, which has a decent assortment of kitchenware.

So I bought some nice, fresh wild salmon at Westridge Market and got Rob a pork chop. I soaked the plank for a couple of hours and we were ready to rock. Rob and I were psyched. I seasoned the meat and the fish and put them on the planks and placed those on the low flame on the grill. It wasn't long until the smell of -- cedar -- filled the air. Oh yeah, we both realized cedar smells like -- well -- cedar; like the cedar closets where you keep the old stuff to keep out moths. It smells like the cheap souvenirs from the Poconos. It smells like summer cabins by the lake.

But hey, I thought hopefully, other woods have distinctive smells that work really well with food, so maybe it won't be that bad. I had placed Rob's pork on the plank and let it get a lot of flavor and then I took it off the plank and onto the grill to make sure it seared properly. I had moved my fish to the top rack, but when I came to check the plank was on fire. No biggie. I got the fish, which was fine, off, and put the fire out. I finished browning Rob's pork and we had dinner.

And there it was ... it all tasted like cedar. And we both realized that we never really wanted to EAT cedar. It's a strong smell, but it's never been anything I wanted to eat, unlike, say juniper, which smells really good and can be made into a really cool seasoning in a stew.

It kinds of reminds of the disappointment I felt when I tried gefilte fish. I'd read about it and was sure I'd like it. I like fish -- I LOVE lox and whitefish. I'd read about gefilte fish for years, what with this being back in the day of Philip Roth. But when I tasted the beigey/brown, spongy, slimy lump I was profoundly disappointed as I resisted the urge to gag. I felt, somehow betrayed. I tend to like everything and when everyone is going on how good something is -- like cedar plank salmon -- it's so disheartening when you find out it tastes likes -- surprise -- cedar, and I'm disappointed and feel a little stupid I didn't put that together in the first place.

Update: We got some oak pellets that you put in an aluminum foil pouch and place in the grill. They made the food wonderful. So remember, oak = good, cedar = BAD.

Poor peach tree

 

 

 

 

Well I'm putting my poor fair showing behind me with a tried-and-true What Do They Know? attitude, which always works for me. Besides the peach tree is getting ready to literally burst and I have tons of work to do.

I'm not going to go into the whole peach-stick that was ridiculed by the neighbors story again, but suffice it to say there is no small amount of pride at having planted a tiny stick just six years ago and now I have a tree that is literally bending over with fruit. It's just now starting to ripen and it smells so good. All the neighbors are awaiting the bounty because there will be enough peaches to keep everyone we know supplied for the rest of their lives.

We propped up a couple of boughs with wooden skids, but I don't know how much it's helping. I'll be heading out for jars and will start putting up preserves this week. I'll have to print out labels because my handwriting sucks so bad. Guess what the Christmas present to family and friends is going to be this year? I have plenty of Penzey's really good cinnamon, so I'm going to add that in because I just love the combination of peaches and cinnamon flavors.

On another note, when I was visiting Courtney I had a chance to share a few tips with her. I've never realized how many tips I have to share, but especially in the kitchen, I've discovered about a zillion shortcuts. One really great tip is making corn in the microwave.

Super speedy corn

Shuck however many ears of corn you need. Rinse the corn off and wrap each cob in a piece of plastic wrap. Place the corn, one ear at a time, in the microwave for 1 minute. Turn and microwave 50 seconds -- 45 seconds is a bit too short and you will have uncooked kernels, and 55 seconds can lead to overcooked kernels. Remove wrapped corn from microwave and place on counter for about 5 minutes. Continue cooking the rest of the corn the same way. Be careful when you unwrap it as it will be quite hot and there will be a lot of steam escaping.
Another tip: This is from Dena: If you're bleeding, which I was at Courtney's because I cut my leg shaving, use cornstarch to stem the flow if nothing else will work.

Fair dramz

 

See that title? Dramz? Oh yeah. I'm hip and happening although using the word "dramz" about preparing baked goods for the county fair could be considered a tad oxymoronic, although I'm going for ironic.

With my oven up and running, I got a good start on my annual fair baking and put together my first batch of pie crust dough. I chilled it properly, but when I went to roll it out it was all crumbly and fell apart. So I added more water and set it to chill some more. The same thing happened. I'd read that although you want the butter room temperature for baking, for pie dough, you want it cold when you mix the dough. I'd also noted that using a food processor to cut the butter in is the new thing.

So I went and used Rob's Target birthday card and bought a food processor. I made more dough. It fell apart. I actually rolled it out and tried to put the apples in it, but in the end it was so pathetic-looking with all my patches. So I went for batch No. 3, adding more butter so it would hold together better. I chilled the (blank) out of it.

By this time I was wondering if the whole thing was worth the effort. I decided to make some cookies to clear my head. I had what looked like a great oatmeal cookie recipe -- all butter, oats and goodness -- and made that. But when I cooked them at the temperature called for in the recipe, they burned. I just about threw in the dish towel. But I collected myself, lowered the oven 25 degrees and made eight perfect oatmeal cookies.

I took out the chilled pie dough and rolled it out under wax paper. This is a great solution when the crust is fussy, but can lead to creases in the dough, which are easy to cover with sugar or something. I managed to get the pie put together looking reasonably good, all brushed with cream and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. It cracked while it was cooking, and there isn't much you can do then, but it looked pretty good. The people at the Fair entry place were all encouraging, coming over to say how nice it looked. (FYI, my Big Secret for pie baking is that I'm the best crust crimper, which really sets off a great pie.)

This year's pie is a gamble. My peaches aren't quite ready, which sucks because there are about a million of them. I decided against a peach pie, then, and made an apple pie, using the apples from the Ojai farmers market guy, who gave me a few extra when I told him they were for a county fair pie. They are amazing gala apples that are all crisp and fresh. But apple pie is the most entered pie category, so there's a good chance I could not get a blue ribbon.

The same hubris led to my entering the most popular cookie categories, sugar, oatmeal and chocolate chip. I want to go up against the best and win. But there's a good chance I won't because these things are so subjective. I've judged quite a few cooking contests and know that when you get up to a certain level of cooking the favorite is determined by individual preference.

This is especially true of the chocolate chip cookies. I'd been messing with recipes to get just the right cookie and each batch was disappointing ndespite promises of being gooey and good. I made some cookies for Courtney and Dave and we all agreed they weren't contest-winning calibre. So Courtney and I sat around and discussed what we consider to be our perfect chocolate chip cookie. We like them buttery, soft, chewy and nice and thin, setting off the chocolate chips, which are always Giardelli.

I decided to take the original Tollhouse cookie recipe as my starting point because no matter how much and far you search it's the Tollhouse recipe that is the Gold Standard of chocolate chip recipes. I cut back on the flour by about a quarter of a cup. I cut the baking soda to 1/2 teaspoon because I HATE the taste of baking soda in my cookies and it's very easy to detect if you've used too much. I also cut the temperature back from the 375 degrees called for, which is way too hot. It works best, carefully monitored, around 355 degrees. The resulting cookies are my version of the perfect chocolate chip cookie. But we'll see what the judges think.

The sugar cookies are a recipe that is unusual for a sugar cookie because it has no eggs and lots of cornstarch. They melt in your mouth. But they don't look very good just dropped by spoon and cooked. So I rolled them in balls and rolled the balls in some superfine sugar. This made a really cool-looking round, shiny cookie and the sugar crust gives the cookie an extra sweet crunch. I've tried making traditional cookies the past two years and always got second place, so we'll see how this works.

Rob makes fun of my obsession with the county fair. But, as I pointed out to him, at this point in our lives it is our interests and hobbies that fulfill us and there's nothing wrong with wanting to be recognized for cooking. This year was particularly grueling because along with all the problems with the recipes, my hip and ankle made moving torturous. (I'm going to develop tooth problems if I have to keep gritting my teeth in pain. I have physical therapy and an appointment with a podiatrist this week so I'm hoping for some relief.)

But this morning when I piled the dogs in the car and we set out to enter the stuff, I realized how much I really love walking in the gate amid all the booths and buildings set up to go with the end results of all my hard work. There's always a breeze from the ocean and there's always that delightful sense of anticipation for the fair. No wonder it's one of my favorite things.

UPDATE:
Well, the pie got second place. I figure it must be the crack in the crust that made it less than perfect. Also the apples sat around for a long time before I made it and lost a lot of moisture.
The cookies all got honorable mentions. I HATE honorable mention -- not even good enough to get an actual prize. I really thought these cookies were extraordinary. But as I said it's all so subjective ... sigh. Oh yeah, the cookies I submitted for the fair didn't have edges as dark as in the pictures. Those are the leftover cookies.

Catch up

I'm home. Once of the best things about living in Ventura is coming home. Of all the places I've lived in my life, this is the first that I've actually felt joy and anticipation whenever I come back from a trip -- as opposed to the letdown I'd feel in Ohio or Colorado or New Jersey.

Coming back here is a joy. I can't wait for my first glimpse of ocean nestled in mountains. I yearn for my deep blue sky and my quaint little seaside town that always feels like vacation.

I also can't wait to get to my farmer's market in Ojai where I found some really cool looking wildflowers for sale. Rob had to take a picture because he fancies himself some kind of Ansel Adams, but with a gay sensibility.

I also had to make my obligatory cake for my monthly meeting. Our oven, however, was broken. I went to use it and it wouldn't get hot. I looked online and it said it was probably the ignitor, which is the element that has to get hot to ignite the gas -- thus the name, I suppose.

A few years back our oven decided to quit. The house was covered by one of those home warranties and we called them and they sent out repairman after repairman, who ordered part after part. As they started to replace parts they'd already replaced, I threw a fit and demanded a new oven -- it had been 4-plus months -- which we got. They left the parts behind and I went through them and found an ignitor.

Rob took the oven apart and found where the ignitor attached, but the connecting wires went into a little hole in the back of the oven. We were flummoxed. Did we have to take the entire oven apart to get to the connector? How were we going to get to the connection to install the part? So I had a repairman come out after the first guys refused to if we already had the part(WTF?.) The first thing he does is pull on the old ignitor pulling the wires and their connectors out of the hole in the main oven where it easily connected. Rob and I were pissed. We essentially paid $84 to have some guy pull the damned wires through the dammed hole. Dammit! He was nice and didn't charge us much because we'd "already done all the work."

This entire drama led to my having to come up with a cake that I didn't have to bake. So I decided to make a trifle. It came out great and was really easy to make and it feeds about a million people because I put it in this really cool, giant trifle dish my friend Kim gave me.

Strawberry/lemon trifle

2 family size Sara Lee pound cakes cut into 3/4 to 1 inch squares
4 tablespoons Torani hazelnut syrup
2 10.5 ounce jars lemon curd, available at Trader Joe's (this is all natural and better than the bright yellow curds sold elsewhere). It's the store brand.
2 large boxes instant Jello vanilla pudding prepared according to directions
3 pints fresh strawberries sliced lengthwise into fourths
1 pint heavy whipping cream whipped
3 tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla

Spread 1/4 of the pound cake squares in bottom of trifle dish. Sprinkle with 1 tablespoon hazelnut syrup. Top with one jar of lemon curd spread over top. Spread another 1/4 of the pound cake squares. Top with syrup. Put half the strawberries on top. Put one prepared box of pudding spread on top of the strawberries. Put another quarter cup of the pound cake on top, spread around. Sprinkle with syrup. Spread second jar of lemon curd on top. Spread the last 1/4 of the pound cake squares on top. Top with remaining strawberries -- reserving a few for decoration. Top with second box of prepared pudding. Refrigerate. Right before serving top with the pint of whipped cream -- reserve a portion for people to serve themselves separately.

Visiting Ohio

I've been in Ohio for a week now visiting my daughter Courtney. who's just had baby No. 2. The visit has been tough because she and I haven't been feeling very well lately. Me, I'm still recovering from being hit by a truck -- the pain in my back is excruciating, and then I got some kind of stomach bug -- most likely from the plane trip. Courtney is recovering from an emergency C-Section, which for those who don't know a great deal rougher than a planned one. They pretty much beat on her stomach to get little Alex out because he was in distress. That and a resulting infection has made recovery difficult. Then she got my stomach flu.

I mentioned to Dave that I hadn't had a bad stomach since I'd stopped drinking. It really sucks because it's not as though I'd "earned" it. The indignation is greater. Rob's birthday was Wednesday, so we celebrated it by going out to his favorite restaurant in the Dayton area -- the Paragon. It's our favorite along with the Pine Club and we always go there when we visit. We took a sign so we could put it on Flickr. Dave thought we were dorks.

Lindsay organized a nice surprise dinner for Rob, although he found out and I had to tell him. But he went and had fun, which I knew he would. Rob's not comfortable with any kind of public attention so any birthday acknowledgement upsets him greatly. Kim and Dennis, Shelby, Dave, Lindsay and Ryan were all there. I sent him flowers, but they never got there (Watch out for flowers.com -- their service is quite spotty.)

Courtney, Dave and I went to see the latest Harry Potter movie. Here's the thing: EVERYONE has read the book when he/she goes to the movie so there can't be much deviation. But Rowling writes such long -- and delicious -- tomes that they have to be hacked for a movie. I think I speak for many Potter fans when I say it's kind of hard when you're filling in all the missing parts in your head. But we saw it in a digital, big-screened theater which is a great place for Harry Potter films because they have such great special effects.

One regional note: In Ohio people bolt for the door the minute the credits hit the screen. In California -- at least in our part of Cali., people read all the credits. I figure it's because so many people work in the entertainment industry in Southern California.

Why I hate McDonalds, part XVII

I hate McDonalds. It's not the food -- after all McDonalds' food is what it is -- fatty crap. And sometimes you're just in the mood for a Big Mac or their breakfast food, which generally consists of fatty, greasy sausages, dry biscuits and manufactured cheese. Generally, I avoid McDonalds and can go for about a year between Big Macs -- two teeny, weenie beef patties with slimy sauce, lots of bread, processed cheese and shredded lettuce, which somehow come together to make a marvel of modern cuisine.

No, my problem with McDonalds is the service. They seem to employ the stupidest, rudest, laziest people available in any locale. In Ventura the big problem is that they often man the drive-thrus with non-English speaking people. This means that any deviation in an order is met with general lack of comprehension, a long wait, a manager whose English is only slightly less limited and -- most likely -- a screwed up order. If there's anything that's frustrating it's giving in to the base instinct that drove you to McDonalds in the first place and then getting home and finding that they didn't get your order right.

Rob and I get a kick out of the Ventura McDonalds because they have a sign up: If you have any comments or complaints call ***** (I forget the name). Most days the sign has been carefully covered up by the workers. Don't even try to contact the McDonalds corporate headquarters. You'll get back a form letter, the gist of which is "Sorry about that bad experience, but all McDonalds are franchises and you need to contact your franchise owner directly," which I translate to "It's not our problem."

So when I came to Ohio, I figured the service had to be better. After all people in Ohio can at least speak and understand English. I went to the McDonald's closest to Courtney and Dave's house here in Bellbrook and made it into the long line at 10:25 a.m. They took my order, but it took more than 10 minutes to give it to me and they'd switched to lunch. This meant they didn't have my breakfast sandwich -- a sausage biscuit -- available and they sure as Hell weren't going to make me one -- as the manager made clear. So they gave me a bacon, egg and cheese. Sure, you're wondering, why didn't they just scrape the bacon egg and cheese off and put a damned sausage in the biscuit -- but that would require way too much cognitive ability for your average McDonalds worker.

I came home frustrated and Dave and Courtney laughed because I always get riled when I come into contact the basic stupidity of the Midwestern minimum wage worker. They can speak English, but it doesn't seem to matter much because they're so rude and they really don't care.

The next day Dave came home after getting breakfast for all of us. He'd ordered two sausage biscuits. But when he unwrapped what was labelled as a sausage biscuit he only found a biscuit. Then he noticed a container and opened it. There he found the sausage. Apparently this was a build-it-yourself sausage biscuit.

I had to take a picture of it because it goes to show why I avoid the place. I guess "rude idiot" must be a job requirement.

Hoo-ray for the red, white and blue (cake)

 

I have taken on a commitment where I have to supply a group with a cake each month. I really enjoy it because strangers tend to be very complimentary about home-baked goods and my creations from scratch are always well received. Rob and I were out and about last night when I remembered that it was cake time.

I'd been wanting to make a flag cake ever since I'd seen the idea from Kraft. The thing about Kraft's recipe that turns me off is that it's essentially Jello with packaged pound cake and Cool Whip. It looks cool, but doesn't really meet my criteria for something I'd prepare. My former mother-in-law Katie used to scold me by saying I was "such a purist." She's right, though. I really do maintain a certain standard for my cooking.

I've never been a big fan of boxed cake mix cake and when I decided to be the "cake lady" I took it as an opportunity to hone my cake-baking skills. I've always loved to cook, but baking -- as Rachael Ray so often notes -- requires the ability to follow recipes pretty exactly. Baked goods follow a much more precise chemistry to make them work than other foods. The whole science of rising, tenderness, etc., is very exact. This actually works for me because I'm pretty good at scientific experimentation. I worked for my dad for years mixing newspaper inks in the lab and you have to be pretty meticulous when you're working on formulations. Baking is very similar to lab work and, in fact, requires many of the same types of tools.

My experimentation with cakes has been fun and -- so far -- I've managed not to have a disaster. My white cake with chocolate frosting came close because I refrigerated the cake and the frosting became hard and actually had to be broken into pieces to serve with the cake. But the flavor and textures were great.

The recipe I used for my flag cake is one I've used before. I found it on a box of Droste Cocoa, which is the best Dutch process cocoa you can get. I was out of cocoa and thought I'd thrown out the box, so I went to get some more -- it's pretty pricey, $10 for 8 ounces -- and I figured I'd find the recipe there. But the package has changed and it's no longer on the box.

I didn't panic because I'd find the recipe on the Internet, I thought. Fortunately I found the old box, which I'd tucked away even though it was empty, with the recipe when I got home from the store. It's a good thing, because the recipe isn't on the Web site.

I'm copying it here so I'll never lose it. This is a buttermilk chocolate cake that is rich and velvety in texture. The icing is a revelation. Follow the directions to a T, making sure to beat the icing until the cream whips. This makes a light, cream-cheese, orange-flavored icing that may be the best I've ever tasted.

Droste Chocolate-Buttermilk Cake

3/4 cup boiling water
3/4 cup Droste Cocoa
1 cup buttermilk
2 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup butter, softened
2 cups sugar
4 eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla, frosting (Recipe follows)

Preheat oven to 350F. Grease and flour three 9-inch round layer cake pans. Pour boiling water over Droste cocoa to dissolve. Stir in buttermilk, set aside to cool. Sift together flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Beat together butter and sugar in large bowl with electric mixer at medium speed until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in vanilla. Beat dry ingredients into flour mixture alternating with Droste cocoa mixture. Pour into pans, dividing batter equally. Bake for 25 minutes or until centers sprang back. Cool cakes for 10 minutes and turn out of pans. Frost each layer with frosting and refrigerate.

Frosting:
Beat 8 ounces cream cheese to soften. Beat in 1/2 cup sifted confectioners' sugar until smooth. Beat in 2 tablespoons orange-flavored *liqueur and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla. Beat in another 3/4 cup confectoners' sugar. Add 1 1/2 cup heavy whipping cream and beat until whipped, stiff and fluffy.

Notes: I used a 13 x 9 inch pan, so the baking time increased by about 18 minutes. Use Baker's Joy to grease the pan -- it's great stuff and works better than any buttering and flouring you can do. I'm lazy and tend to mix my dry ingredients by whisking them rather than sifting. It seems to work just fine. I check for doneness using a toothpick. If it comes out clean, the cake is done. Make sure the cake is completely cool before frosting because the icing has the consistency of slightly thicker whipped cream and becomes runny easily. It's actually best to chill the cake a bit before frosting. Make sure to refrigerate the frosted cake for that reason. Don't put berries on the cake until close to serving time so they don't get runny and mushy. I used raspberries instead of strawberries because they're in season and on sale. This was actually Rob's idea and the raspberry/blueberry thing is actually quite delicious. Making a flag means that only a few people get blueberries because the blue is concentrated on the one corner. Have some extra berries on hand for sprinkling on the rest of the cake. *I use orange extract, rather than liqueur and it tastes great.

I may be a snob about my cooking, but this recipe is certainly worth the extra effort.

Romantic

 

 

Rob and I have tended not to be romantic about such things as anniversaries. We met on June 22, 1988, when I picked him up at a bar after being admonished, "Watch out for that guy. He has crazy eyes." Talk about your turn-ons. I would say meeting Rob would rank as the No. 1 romantic thing that's ever happened to me. The first time I touched his hand I felt an immediate surge -- not just of lust, but something more. And he held my hand back, which looking back is weird because Rob is tactile-aversive. Of course, he probably thought he was getting laid, or at least that there was a possibility, and he could manage to touch if sex was on the horizon, I suppose.

We were immediately besotted and Rob was living in my house within 48 hours. We decided to get married at the end of the summer, after the kids met each other, because we wanted to do it before school started. I can't remember why school starting was important in the marriage decision, but it was for some reason. We had Rob's mom track down a Justice of the Peace who could do it as soon as possible. Actually in Ohio, there are no JPs -- real judges perform weddings. Rob's mom found some guy in Miamisburg who was running for re-election to marry us.

We got our wedding license the previous Thursday at 4:55 p.m., much to the disgust of the civil servants, which was the minimum advance for getting married on the following Monday. In Ohio you have X number of days after you get the wedding certificate, with a minimum wait of about 3 to 4 days and a maximum of -- I can't remember, maybe 30 or 60 days or something. Getting the wedding certificate on Thursday gave us Friday, Saturday and Sunday -- fortunately the waiting period is counted in actual days, not business days, but then so are marriages.

I ran around getting a ham and cake because we'd invited people over after the event. We all got dressed up. I got flowers and made a daisy ring in my hair. I got one of the best compliments ever when one of the baggers at the Krogers said, "I always dreamed that if I get married that my bride would look exactly like you."

We piled the kids in the car and headed to Miamisburg where the ceremony was performed in the judge's teenie office with papers strewn everywhere. The girls were so disappointed that they didn't get to be flower girls in some big ceremony. Rob's son, Jesse, was relieved. We stopped at TGIFriday's after and had a family dinner and headed home to the rest of our relatives.

I always had trouble remembering the date of the wedding because Rob and I were together as of June 22. I knew it was the Monday before school started in 1988, so one year I looked it up on a perpetual calendar. We got married Aug. 28, but we never remember to celebrate it. We're a little better about the June 22 date, but only because I like to celebrate it -- kind of. I tend to get weighed down by all the birthdays and anniversaries and holidays we celebrate and if I can limit one celebration to just a dinner out, if we feel like it, that's good enough for me.

Of course, this doesn't stop us from trying each year to catch the other being thoughtless and forgetting, which isn't hard because more often than not we both forget. The person who remembers first tries to act all hurt and is never taken seriously. It becomes part of the score of light comic opera that is our marriage.

I remembered our anniversary this year because I was shopping anyway -- I was at the pet store. They have cute cards so I got Rob one. We're suckers for pet cards and get them from all the pets to each other. It fills up the mantle and lets us pretend we have lots of people who care about us. I didn't get him anything else because other than a shock collar, there isn't much at a pet store for him.

When we got home I was trying to get it up on the mantle so I could prove -- once again -- to Rob that he's a thoughtless lout. He, however, figured out my plan and so he took the lobster bisque he'd brought home from lunch that day and with his fingernail wrote "I love you" in the Styrofoam. I say I win because I had an anniversary-dedicated item, but he says he wins because he actually bought me something. I tried to claim that his leftovers don't count, but he successfully pointed out that he must have bought the bisque for me because he wouldn't eat that in his wildest dreams, which is true. The lobster bisque was great BTW.

So there it is, my anniversary present. I'm practically giddy in anticipation of what he's going to do for our 20th anniversary next year.

***

Fair time is coming up so I'm trying out different sugar cookie recipes. These were "crispy sugar cookies." They're OK, but they're not contest winners. I'm going to try out "Crystal diamonds next."

Alexander Robert Koverman

Born: June 18
10:13 a.m. EDT
7 pounds 3 ounces
21 inches
The newest Mr. Koverman decided the whole giving-birth-naturally was not dramatic enough for his bad self. So he decided to wrap himself in his umbilical cord, which he had knotted for good measure. This caused his vital signs to drop during contractions, so it was C-section time. Courtney said all and sundry were impressed by the level of tangling this one had done to his umbilical cord -- she always said during the pregnancy that this one made Cody seem calm. She complained a couple of times that she was sure he was coming out through her stomach wall -- kind of "Alien"-style. And, as she pointed out, he did finally achieve this goal.

Anyway Grandson No. 2 is here and appears healthy. He has a voracious appetite and has no interest in bottles and pacifiers, preferring the breast. This is more in line with my experience with his mother and her sister, both of whom refused formula from Day One.

I'm totally bummed that I can't be there. I have a hemotoma on my hip -- the one that was hit by a TRUCK -- and it's holding a couple of quarts of blood, the doctor estimated. There's also not a lot that can be done and the damned thing portrudes about four inches off my right side. My doctor says it will be a long time healing -- months and months. As if I need a few extra inches on my hips. I'm still pretty sore and have no stamina. The doctor says my blood count must be low what with all the bleeding. The whole thing is making me cranky.

I'll probably head out in early July (ewwwwwww! July in Ohio sucks). Cody met his new little brother and was seriously unimpressed. There was some generalized poking at the new "thing." Then he cuddled with mommy and his juice box.

Courtney is still in the hospital recovering from her emergency C-section. I imagine she must be getting quite bored by now. She and Dave need to move to California, so she can be closer.

Recovery

 

 

I've spent the past week mostly sleeping as I set about the task of recovering for having been HIT BY A TRUCK.

I'm still kind of amazed at the whole thing. I keep looking for evidence that mitigates what happened, that I was slammed into by a big, red truck that was barreling toward me. But there is nothing. We recovered the bike and the steel frame is bent. As Lindsay points out, when I was hit, what was between that frame and the truck was MY LEG.

I remember the impact -- it was that BAM you see in movies -- Jackie Chan does it best. I thrown more than 10 feet, and I didn't break anything. I took the full impact on my hip and the entire area is sore: the muscles are torn, my right shoulder which was hit second is less sore, but it pretty achy. Moving is kind of hard and slow and driving really hurts my hip.

The road rash is healing quickly, but the aches and pains are just now emerging. My right knee feels as though I have ground glass in the joint, even when I'm sitting. I'm sure other problems will emerge. One thing about accident like this is the effects take a while to emerge.

I keep wondering if I'm supposed to be getting some kind of sign from the heavens or something, I mean it is nothing short of miraculous that I was spared broken bones, or even a good laceration. Rob chalks it up to me being one "tough bitch," which Dave concurs.

It doesn't FEEL all spiritual-awakening or anything. It feels like some dumbass hit me with his truck because he was driving like all of those assholes with oversized trucks do -- aggressively and stupidly. These guys never seem to think the rules apply to them and they are constantly causing accidents like this. Too bad I can't start an anti-asshole in a bigass truck who drives like shit campaign. At least rising gas prices are driving some of them off the road.

So I'm wondering if this Christmas instead of "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer," which is Dave's new favorite song because he's a funny guy that way, if they'll sing "Grandma Got Run Over by a Red Truck."

At least -- sniff, sniff -- Grandma will BE there this Christmas -- unless, of course, a blood clot from one of my bruises comes loose and ends up in my brain and I have a massive aneurysm and die.

On that note:

The food that's emerged from this whole ordeal is Toad in the Hole. Actually it's Toad in the Hole in V for Vendetta, a movie Rob and I consider to be highly under-rated BTW.

The real British Toad in the Hole is more sausage in a Yorkshire-type pudding, but this one just screams out comfort. I cut a hole in the bread with an inverted wine glass and fry the bread in butter. I crack the egg into the hole. Cook until starting to set and flip, cook some more and serve. This is a dish everyone makes and I can see why. There's something so comforting about the egg nestled in the bread hole; the whole thing browned in plenty of butter, which smells so good cooking. And the taste of bread, egg and butter is the right kind of bland but good for when you're feeling bad. It's kind of like a hug from mommy on a plate.

Guess who got hit by a truck?

Yep. That would be me.

I had taken my customary bike ride to the beach. It's less than 2 miles from here and there is a bike trail almost the whole way, which makes it pretty safe -- well most of the time. My arthritic knees were bothering me and I thought a good bike ride would loosen them up. I ride an old cruising bike I got from Sam's Club about nine years ago. I have a basket on it with flowers and I toodle down, being passed by the coolass bicyclists with their ridiculous Tour De France outfits (as if) and expensive racing bikes. Me, I wear gym shorts, t-shirts or wifebeaters. It was a cool day so I had a t-shirt on.

There is one part of the trail that crosses a really busy intersection where Stanley Avenue feeds into Hwy 33. The crossing is well-marked and they even added flashing lights that are set off when you cross pylons next to the road. The bike crossing signs even blink.

I was on my way home and all the cars had stopped. I was just passing a stopped white van with handicapped license plates when I realized that some guy in big, shiny, red pickup was barreling toward me. It was an "Oh Shit" moment. A close-your-eyes-and-hope-for-the-best moment. And POW! He had locked up his brakes, but too late. He hit me. I went flying.

I had been in the road but found myself lying on the side, on my back with my head hanging off the curb. My helmet had been knocked off and I'd been thrown clear of the bike. There was kind of a collective "Ohhhhhhhhhh" from whoever was there -- it was a busy time of day.

I had always thought that if anyone hit me like this that I would curse them out. But when the time came, I was in so much pain and shock it seemed best to conserve my energy. Besides the dumbass looked stricken -- as well he should have. People came running and I told them to call 911. Someone suggested I get my head up from the street.

A paramedic showed up, but he explained he was taking a patient to Vista Del Mar from Santa Barbara. In California a paramedic on a non-emergency transport must stop if he/she is first at the scene of an accident. He stabilized me. Stabilizing in an accident means not moving the head. The fire department guys showed up and the dude there noticed that ants were crawling all over me. But of course. I've been thrown 10 feet by a truck and I land in an ant hill. I felt as though I were starring in a macabre foreign art film. He brushed them off and got me on the board. He tried to sit me up, but I got really dizzy and told them I was getting shocky and needed to be put down.

The real paramedics showed up and they got me up and into the ambulance. She hooked me up to a saline drip, which was a good idea because I was going into shock and I needed the fluid. She also gave me oxygen. Riding in ambulances, while cool, is not the most comfortable of experiences, although the paramedic was great. She called Rob, saying she was "calling for his wife" to Stacey the office person at Rob's work. Rob said he thought, "Calling for my wife," that can't be good. I got on the phone and told him I'd been hit by a truck and he needed to meet me at the hospital.

They had me on the board waiting for a doctor for what seemed like forever before Rob got back there. I was so glad to see him. We spent the next few hours mostly waiting. The nurse came in and asked where I hurt and dabbed at the most severe road rash (see above). Rob ended up going over me and cleaning the rest of me off, including my knees and my thumb. They took me back for X-rays, which was unbelievably painful because my body didn't want to move at this point. But as soon as the Dr. saw there was no damage to my spine, he let them take me off the board.

Those boards have to be the most uncomfortable things ever invented and I'd spent almost three hours on this one. They do save lives, but, man they are not built to make you feel better. When I slid off the feeling was almost blissful. Well, as blissful as you can feel after getting hit by a truck.

They ascertained I didn't have any broken bones, although they didn't really x-ray more than my hip -- which bore the brunt of the impact, and head and neck. My swollen thumb hasn't been looked at and my right shoulder has been causing more and more pain.

The doctor had said he wanted to observe me with the head wound -- my helmet had been shattered and I a nice lump on my forehead -- before giving me pain meds. This sucked because I was completely responsive (hey, I watch House and ER, I know Dr. talk).

The Dr. finally ordered pain meds -- not Demerol, which I've found makes me really woozy, but doesn't stop the pain. They gave me Dilaudid and some kind of anti-nausea chaser and that helped some. I was released and sent home to mend with a prescription for Vicodin and orders not to take hot showers.

So here I am, up at 5 a.m. because I still hurt a lot, Vicodin or no Vicodin. Overall I was extremely lucky. At my age, something like this can be pretty devastating. Most people -- especially women -- who fall seem to break bones. But I didn't break anything and am actually getting around pretty well. Considering that I got hit by a truck.

The nurse at the ER asked me where I rode my bike and I told her, "I ride on the Ventura Trail bike path because I'm afraid to ride on the streets. I'm afraid some asshole will hit me."

Wedding wrapup

Well, it's come and gone and I'm starting to recover. I'm feeling the intense sense of relief when something you've been working for for a long time, something you've put an enormous amount of energy, both physical and emotional, into, has passed. Each day I realize I have nothing left to plan. No more lists to review. No more ideas to hatch.

It was the party of my lifetime and it went off really well. Of course, I'm obsessing over all the things I DIDN'T get done. The groomsmen never had corsages -- I never got to it. I did the cake at the last moment, but it looked pretty. I didn't get a chance to take a picture before the bride had hacked into it. I made a throwing bouquet and I was able to find perfect orchids at the Ventura Farmer's market right Saturday morning.

I got a late start to the day because I had an obligation from 9 to 10 a.m. I couldn't get out of. Then I had to get the orchid and some more cash. So it was late when I got home. Rob and I got into one of our customary pre-Big Event fights. It has a lot more to do with a fundamental lack of complimentary work styles. I'm direct and can get hyper. Rob can dither and get scattered. Scattered can make me frantic. It gets ugly.

Then the middle refrigerator door shelf decided to take this moment to completely shatter when I opened the refrigerator door. The shelves on our Samsung developed cracks within a year of having the fridge. Everything -- barbecue sauce, A-1, salad dressings, pickles, mustards and other condiments shattered on our tile floor.

I couldn't handle it and left Rob to clean up the mess, which he had to get to right away because of the pets.

When I got to Ojai, I was the first one there. It was 11:30 a.m., which wasn't a really good sign. But I enjoyed the peace. The first person to arrive was Lindsay's hair stylist we'd hired for the day. Soon there was a steady trickle and I was running around. My big task was to get the alter ready. I had brought climbing red roses from my backyard. I'd been planning on using them for months and they were almost spent, but they still looked good. Problems with balancing proved as difficult as I'd thought they would, so arranging the flowers was a challenge.

I was able to get the perfect effect with the climbing roses. then I put white lilies in clear vases with white and clear pebbles on the bottom on top of small white columns. I brought bunch of ivy from home and we ran that from the vases down the columns and filled the vases with white lilies. These were framed in back by four silver vases of multicolored gladiolas.

These came from fiftyflowers.com, which I highly recommend. The gladiolas were an amazing array of colors and were spectacular as they opened. I also had ordered calla lilies, the kind with a tinge of pink on the edges and 6,000 rose petals. The white lilies, along with stargazers, regular yellow and red lilies and alstroemera came from my local flower guy who gives me really great flowers for a really good price.

Rob got the idea to give the flowers to a local hospital and after the wedding, we left some there for the senior center and gave some to a convalescent care center behind Ojai Valley Hospital. We felt so good about ourselves we went and spit on some homeless people to make up for it.

The tables looked good, with green and blue napkins and the little boxes looked great. After I'd filled all the favor boxes I'd bought to replaced the printed ones -- seriously about two hours later, the printed ones arrived. So I had to move all 300+ cookies to the new boxes. The package also contained little fabric dark red roses with fabric leaves, which looked perfect on the boxes. So I hot-glued them all on. I also printed out programs for the wedding on some really good stock I got from Michaels'. I used a picture of Ryan and Lindsay on them and I thought they looked good.

The centerpieces were a bit of a disappointment because the tables tilted and they didn't get quite the floating effect I was looking for. But they didn't look bad. The 6,000 rose petals looked fantastic on the tables.

My nephew Sean took on the role of coordinator. We weren't going to hire someone because we thought they'd get in the way. Sean stepped up and ordered us all around like a pro. He had to yell at me to get going and I was able to get home, dressed and back to Ojai in an hour. I was 15 minutes late, but hey, a good wedding should always keep you waiting.

The ceremony was really lovely. Sweet, simple and loving. My friend Kim sang, the flowers looked lovely. The bridal party looked gorgeous. The groomsmen looked handsomely studly. There was even the obligatory cute moment when the ringbearer got confused and had to be helped over to his place by one of the groomsmen.

We had cocktail hour and Miguel from Dearmore Catering, where Lindsay had worked for years, had made all kinds of fresh fruits, guacamole, cheese and stuffed mushrooms. Janine took lots of pictures. The dinner was fabulous, with tritip, salmon, chicken, rice and salad. I was really pleased.

The toasts were nice, although the DJ did thank the hosts Briggs Gamblin and Nicholas Guzik, which kind of stuck under my craw, especially as I ran around at the end handing out ungodly amounts of money, in addition to the money I'd already spent. Briggs had kicked in some cash and deserved a shout out, but this was mostly Rob and me.

It was kind of weird because Rob and I knew so few of the people at the wedding. Lindsay is my little outgoing dynamo and she knows more people than Bill Clinton, so she had tons of friends to invite. By about 9 p.m. I was so tired I was about to collapse, so Rob and I headed home. The party continued from only about another hour or so, although it moved to Dave and Mark's (groomsman and best man's) apartment.

Lindsay has been running around saying she felt as though she had "a $20,000 wedding." She's got to be kidding. It would have cost a lot more, but we really saved by renting the Little House of Ojai, which is an amazing site for very little money. Dearmore Catering did the wedding at cost, plus a tip -- I made sure it was a good one. The flowers were a lot less expensive than if they'd been done by a florist and to-it-yourself decorations would be good if I were better at guaging how much I need. The rentals were what rentals are and there's not too much you can do about it. We did get a professional discount through the Dearmore connection. So it worked out well as far as bang for the buck. But the incidentals, the special makeup and hair people, the wedding cake, the five host help people at $25 an hour and the dress and veil all add up. The only things we didn't pay for were the DJ and the wine, beer and liquor, which is fair considering that Rob and I don't drink (although we do dance).

My dad came for the wedding, as did Paula and her family. The rest of the family was unable to make it. Joyce and Jennifer were going to come but got sick at the last minute. Mary is in some kind of snit with Briggs that she will eventually get over and come to regret. But that will be her problem. Courtney couldn't come. And now she has gallstones, so she's in no condition to go anywhere. Rick, Marilyn and Duncan all came out, which was great and Colin and Sean were there. But it's expensive to get to California and especially Ventura during Memorial Day weekend, so there wasn't more family, which is sad.

So now it's all over. It's starting to hit me that this is it. Even if there are other marriages in the future, and I hope there aren't, we aren't going all out like this one. There are no more graduations, no more schooling, no more nothing. As one of the ladies at the Senior Center said -- Little House is a senior center on weekdays -- she's a grandmom and she just has to show up at weddings. I can't wait.

Lindsay's wedding

I have a bunch of stuff to write about Lindsay's wedding, which is now, thank God, a treasured memory, both for us and for our bank balance. It took place without a hitch on a gorgeous day in Ojai. The hitches happened before when we first discovered that Courtney couldn't be here and then after Joyce and Jennifer cancelled at the last moment because they were sick. I hear from everyone that there is some kind of nasty bug working its way around. It's one of those things that sucks but there's nothing you can do about it.

I'm posting a boatload of photos on my Flickr site, which is under my name or "Princey's pics."

Two of the highlights of the wedding were the toasts by the bridesmaids who stepped in for Courtney. Amber went first and everyone was impressed. It was well thought-out, funny and smart. And then Shelby came to the mike. She bemoaned having to follow Amber and then shared her poem she wrote. It was short and it was hysterical.

When Rob went back up to the place we rented for the wedding to clean up it turned out area animals had gotten into the trash and it was strewn all over. He found both speeches in the trash, so I'm transcribing them here for all to see and then Lindsay is going to put them up and save them:

First Shelby's toast:

She's his Leah to his Solo
He's her shot glass to her Barcardi O

Lindsay, at least you've still got your youth
He doesn't even care that
you're missing a tooth

Later tonight while he
kisses her lips
They'll make excellent
use of her birthing hips

When they're together it's
like totally hot
It'll end in divorce ... NOT!

Amber's toast
Hi everybody:

For those of you who don't know me, my name is Amber, and I'm here today as Lindsay Guzik's Maid of Honor. You know, if I'm Lindsay's idea of an honorable maiden, you can imagine ... Ryan's in for a pretty wild night. But before we get freaky, I have a few things to say.

Lindsay, I am honored to stand by your side today above all days.

On behalf of the bridesmaids and myself, I want to tell you how lovely and radiant you are today, and how pleased we are to share in this moment of bliss.

Lindsay and I have been friends for about seven years. Over that time, she has taught me a lot about friendship and loyalty. We have a wonderful and strong relationship, built on a foundation of honestly, trust and commitment. That bedrock has given rise to very many happy memories. Like the time she came to visit me in Santa Cruz as a birthday surprise, or the time I took her on her first roller coaster ride. Yeah, that one was mostly happy for me. Of all the great memories, the fondest memory I will now have is watching her marry this wonderful and worthy man, the love of her life, Ryan.

Congratulations to you both!

One barrier I faced while thinking of what to say in this speech was the feeling that I don't know Ryan as well as I would like. I know he's tall and handsome and funny and my representative in California's state legislature, but other than that ... I'm lacking insights. He could be into dressing up like Captain Kirk* for all I know.

But as I was thinking about that, it dawned on me that I will have all my life to get to know him, because if I know Lindsay, I know the strength of her dedication, it's like a vise ... on my head ... and my vision begins to distort ... honestly, she's loyal to a fault. Even through her ... substantial ... jitters, she's made it clear that this is a couple that doesn't cross their fingers, they roll up their sleeves. There are no two people more loyal and loving, honest and hardworking, or deserving of happiness than Lindsay and Ryan.

Be good to each other. Be gentle, and you will be strong. You make one another shine. I love you both very much.

Now I would like you all to please raise your glasses and join me in a toast.

Today we all celebrate love. Your love, and what you have in each other: a best friend, a coach, a sweetheart and a partner for life. CHEERS!
*Editor's note: Kirk, not so much, however, he DOES have Spock ears -- seriously. Lindsay won't let him wear them.

The first wedding crisis

So I'd ordered personalized boxes back on April 23 from this online place called efavormart. When I'd heard nothing back by May 14, I started emailing them. They gave me a tracking number, but said my items would be "printed shortly." They had said they needed 7-10 days and this was three weeks after the order date so I wrote them asking where my order was. They stopped replying to my emails, despite the fact that they promise 24-48 hour email answer turnaround. They have no phone number listed (which I hadn't noticed when I placed the order) and there's no listing for the parent Company, Ya Ya Creations, online.

Sure, I should have looked a little harder or at least done a Google check, which immediately shows problems with this place. But it seemed like a good deal and I took a foolish leap of greedy faith. I've started a complaint with Paypal (I, at least, went through them) and have cancelled the order. I will trot out the other two items on my repertoire of get-backs to crappy companies: report them to the Federal Trade Commission and to the California State Attorney General's office. I love siccing the bureaucratic dogs on unethical people.

In the meantime I had the problem of needing approximately 150 little boxes because I had a bright idea of baking wedding cookies as the wedding favor. I made the mistake of mentioning it to Lindsay in passing, and she loved the idea. I tried to replace it with wildflower seeds or personalized M&Ms or something -- I quickly decided the idea of baking more than 300 cookies wasn't as appealing to me as it seemed to the Bride. But Lindsay would have none of my attempts at diversion so I was stuck. I decided on two cookies apiece because: A. One cookie seems kind of stupid, sitting all alone like that and B. two cookies can kind of symbolize the marriage of two people ... or something.

I set out to Michael's crafts and found the kind of boxes I need, and all of the other stuff that I'd ordered from efavormart (write than name down and avoid it all all costs). I found the aisle runner, the tulle -- yards and yard of tulle -- ribbons and other wedding stuff. I then headed to the local office supply store and got some silver metallic labels and put the information on top in burgundy script --- I just LOVE computers. I also found some truffle, candy holders (like tiny cupcake holders) to put the cookies in.

I baked up the 300-plus cookies. This took eight batches of dough and two nights. These are Courtney's favorite Christmas cookie, but I told her that she'll never see them again after this. I've used all my Christmas tins to store the cookies. While it wasn't planned, the recipe for the cookies is perfect for this because it has no eggs. It's just butter, flour, sugar, ground nuts and vanilla. But they are a pain to make because each ball has to be individually rolled into a ball and then that ball is rolled TWICE -- on two occasions, hot and cold --in confectioner's sugar.

We're going to put stretchy ribbons on them (the kind that kind of looks like ponytail holders, with elastic).

I've also realized how many flowers I've ordered. This is one of those many times when I realize I've lost my mind. So far I've ordered about 300 flowers -- Stargazer lilies, white lilies, Peruvian lilies, regular lilies, gladiolas and calla lilies for the bridesmaids to carry (with an elegant ribbon). AND I have to arrange them all the day of ... and I need at least 30 vases, and stakes to stabilize them on the ground and tons of floral tape to bind the stems so I can arrange them better ... sigh.

On the bright side, away from the darkness of my flower insanity, I found the perfect dress at Nordstram's Rack. As I told Rob there was little selection, but what does that matter when one of the choices was the perfect dress? Lindsay and I head to Ojai tomorrow to pick up the orchid frond(s) she'll carry. I just love cymbidium fronds -- tied with ribbon and it will be lovely. I haven't decided on the boutonniere yet, but with more than 300 flowers, I'm sure I can manage something.

It's like I explained to Rob -- because we really don't have the money now for this -- I never had the wedding of my dreams, through my own choices, but even so. I never even went to prom -- we were all hippies and went for a three-day "discovery" in the woods. I've never even been a bridesmaid, not even for my siblings. I've actually never attended an event where I wore a formal gown. So I've loved having girls and I loved being able to buy them their gowns for proms. They've both been beautiful bridesmaids. And now I get to see one of them get married the way I've always wanted to do it.

Courtney eloped with Dave and then had a weddin' (the origin of the usage) a year later. It was a lovely ceremony and I made the food, which turned out great -- lasagna. But we were broke as usual and didn't have the money and it really wasn't the same thing as a first-time wedding. It was also in Ohio, so I couldn't do much planning.

So this is my one time to do this the way I've always wanted. I mean the choices are the bride's and Lindsay has no problems asserting herself in the planning. But on my part, we can make sure we have nice chairs and there are tons and tons of flowers and candles and I want to look as good as I can at 50-plus and overweight. Hell I'm so psyched I bought stuff for a pedicure. I wonder if Teva makes a wedding sandal? :-)