Pink Martini

My latest passion:

Pink Martini!

No...not the drink, although I'm sure it's perfectly delightful.

The musical group!

From Wikipedia:

Pink Martini is a 12-member "little orchestra" from Portland, Oregon, formed in 1994 by pianist Thomas M. Lauderdale. They draw inspiration from music from all over the world – crossing genres of classical, jazz and old-fashioned pop. Band leader Thomas Lauderdale describes the band's sound as "music of the world without being world music."

They're just classy.  They make me feel classy when I play them and cha-cha-cha around the kitchen!

Impossible to describe, just when I think they're more French, they toss out a Hispanic sort of jazz.  So, I think, "Ah...Hispanic!" and there's a Japanese song. 

You'd think this would be jarring, but it's a wonderful, surprising blend and I can't stop playing it.

The two albums (What DO you CALL them, now?) I have are:

And my favorite song is:

Lilly by Pink Martini

Also try:
Sympathetique
(the video stinks, but the song is great)

Or:
Una Notte a Napoli

Tell me what you think...

*I realize this is a leap, from Pat Green and George Strait.  Welcome to the maze of my mind...

You just never know...
Neither do I, really!

Naught Calving

I was going to write about night calving, but so far, it's been naught calving...we've got nothin'.

Well, that's not true.

We have four heifers who are about to explode with calves, and four more hanging out, seriously considering the option.  But they really have no motivation to calve, because the four dames who are the closest get to bunk in the warm barn every night.  And you can bet they know the way in! After they calve, however, they have to sleep outside on a hill WITH a calf they don't know what to do with. The moo-ternity ward is a much better situation and I do believe they're just clenched up, holding on as long as they possibly can.  Two squares a day, cozy sleeping quarters....nice!

I took my turn at the night calving last night, terrified that there'd be three heifers calve on my shift, and with complications at that.

Night calving is inconvenient and chilly.  It feels like an insult, to have to get up every three hours, stuff yourself into coveralls and muckboots, tromp through the corral, check each cow's behavior and their rear ends for signs of a calf coming.  In fairness, the cows are not impressed with this little ritual, either.  You can almost hear them groaning, "Here she comes, AGAIN..."  So we roll our eyes at each other, I look at each number and each tail region, on the four in the barn and the four in the corral, and I tromp back to the shop. 

Last night was beautiful...warm, no wind, all the stars out.  By the time I headed back to the shop, I was wide awake and enjoyed the night.  Everything else was asleep, except me and the cows.

And the shop cats.
We have two black and white shop cats that have taken it over, and even though they're SUPPOSED to be catching mice, they pretty much just harass anyone who happens to cross the threshold and rough 'em up for cheap cat food.  They really are cute, but when you're trying to sleep in the camper and they're squalling and leaping on it, rocking it to get you to come out, they're less charming.

We have an old fifth wheel camper pulled into the shop, The Redneck Guesthouse, for the night calvers to sit in and read, toss and turn in a sleeping bag for 2 1/2 hours, falling asleep 30 minutes before the alarm goes off for the next check.  There are snacks, water, and...this is big....electricity for lights to read by. 

The cats resent the camper, mightily, and actually are able to rock it by jumping on the step and (I think) the roof.  It's sport and I'm not going to give them the satisfaction of having roused me out of the joint, so I stay in there and mutter and pull the sleeping bag over my head. 

No calves. 
And you'd think it would feel like you'd wasted the night, but I was relieved. (As was my father-in-law, I'm sure.)  I don't mind doing it.  I like the cows and the quiet night, I like being able to read for three hours, uninterrupted, if I want.  I like (not) sleeping in the camper...it reminds me of camping with my Grandpa and Grandma Mosby...it smells the same. 

I hope the next post is FIRST CALF of 2011!!!

*Addendum: Tonight I was telling Maggie about checking the heifers and she asked, "Did they have pupae?"  Um...no.  They did not.  First grade science is a little blurry on that, I guess....

"And the five little bunnies lived happily ever after...the END!"

"Now I'll read YOU a story, Mags."

"I have a secret..."

"Huh?"

I love this picture....they're not kicking each other!

All of a sudden, he got the joke...

Kisses...

This post was for the grandparents who always call when madness and mayhem is busting loose in the background, and there's certain bloodshed to follow, so I have to get off the phone...

Spring training

I think everyone hits spring feeling a little...shlumpy and dumpy, after all the winter comfort foods and marathon movie weekends.  And the doggone catalogs start coming with lithe, firm 18 year old swimsuit models, frolicking on the sands of...BoraBora.  Or St. Croix. 

Spring is a time of eternal hope, so instead of pitching the catalogs the moment they cross the threshold, I thumb through them, wondering if there's any possible way...

Smart people buy shorts at Walmart and are satisfied and get on with their lives.
Smart people don't torture themselves with impossible ideals and circled items.
Smart people accept that God made them a certain way (not in a swimsuit model mold) and enjoy Girl Scout cookies with no self-recrimination.
Smart people laugh at the thought and draw mustaches on the wretched models, before tossing the pages in the trash.

Turns out, 'smart' isn't a word that is ever coupled with my name.
I know.
Shocking....

Here's what I do:

Look at the models half my age and think, "I think I can do that."
Show the catalogs to a friend 10 years my junior and ask her opinion....which, as we all know, is going to be WAY different than one of my peers. 
Take to heart her enthusiastic support, IF I get a tan.  I can't do it without a tan, she emphasizes.
Gather up all the Shape, Fitness and Self magazines that have the word 'bikini' on the cover.
Order the first two piece I've had the guts to buy since age....get this....21! (On big clearance sale...possibly the only smart thing I did in this whole process.)
Panic.
Add too many crunches/pushups/planks too fast. Ditto on miles running.
Die.
Get a tiny package from Fed Ex. (No. Way.)
Panic.
Try the feared garment(s?) on.
Admit a tan and extra work is needed, but it's not the spector of revolting skin that I anticipated.
Lots of extra work.  A pretty darn good tan.  An attempt to embrace vegetables as friends, not foe. 

Maybe by July, I'll have the guts to wear it on our deck, to the kiddie wading pool, after a glass of wine and checking to make sure there are no tractors in a 5 mile radius....

Thanks, George Harrison...

...for writing this song. 
There's a ranch wife in Montana who took it to heart, today!

Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's alright.

Little darlin', it's been a long lonely winter.
Little darlin', it feels like years since it's been here.
Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's alright.

Little darlin', smiles returning to the faces.
Little darlin', it seems like years since it's been here.
Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's alright.

Little darlin', I feel that ice is slowly melting.
Little darlin', it seems like years since it's been clear.
Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's alright.

Easing into evening...

There's a golden hour that happens about twice a week in our house....when everyone is quiet and busy and content.  It's usually as I'm preparing supper, puttering in the kitchen with music in the background, a glass of wine on the counter as I chop ingredients.  The kids usually wind up at the table with epic novels or masterpieces that they work on and chatter about, coloring and creating.  The light is soft, and sometimes I light candles, just because it seems right.  Sometimes we dance.  We talk about mermaids and pirates and carrots and falafel.  The kitchen starts smelling like pasta and garlic, and we start thinking about how long it will be before Daddy gets home and how wonderful the ravioli will be. We sing. 

Industrious little souls, NOT FIGHTING.  (This is big.)

This is a pirate story.  It says, "These are the good pirates and the captain gives orders and they do them."

I know.  I had to have the translation, too.

Maggie is writing a book that will actually be published, about mermaids.  This is her Christmas present from Don and Shelly and Baby Ison, and she's working hard on it.  It's worrisome that there isn't a marker for skin color.  AND....this is being disregarded completely....there's only supposed to be 20 words per page.  There's no way to tell a really good story with 20 words per page. Trust me. 

She IS her mother's child....

Our playlist at the moment.

Cheryl Wheeler is our latest favorite, followed very closely by Mary Chapin Carpenter.

(Susie K. R....I'm indebted to you for introducing me to Cheryl Wheeler!  When Goodbye Wifes and Daughters is written as a screenplay, I'm gonna say I knew that song back when...)

(And we all know it will be a screenplay.)

(And if you need a beleagered miner's wife extra...call me.)

Twillabie, suitably subdued for the occasion....

There's something so soothing about chopping vegetables for a salad.  Especially with a cabernet sauvignon to accompany the task.

The salad consists of (because foodies read this): spinach, onions, celery, green chili peppers, dried cranberries, glazed walnuts and feta cheese, with a sesame dressing.

The chili peppers surprise everyone, in a good way. 

I love salads that make you stop and say, "What was THAT?"

This is in my kitchen window...

I read it as the serenity of the evening settles in and the gifts of two dear friends bless me.

Celestia's angel and the card from Denise that reads:

"A multitude of small delights constitutes happiness."

Indeed.

True Confession #302

(Is anyone keeping track of the numbering? I think we're in the 300's, now.  I'm sure one of my more meticulous followers will set me straight if I'm off by 25 or so...)

This is humbling.

I've had more than one of you tell me that you follow what I read and then, based on that completely shaky, flaky information, you choose some of your reading material.  Bless your poor misguided little hearts...!

This will probably shatter whatever illusions you had (note the past tense, here) about my taste in reading material.  I'm tumbling down from the literary pedestal.  And landing on my face.

I know you're thinking I'm going to disclose a secret love for Harlequins, but that's not it.  (I'm allergic to Harlequins, frankly.)

It's worse.

I absolutely can't get enough of that trashy magazine called "People". 

It's true. 

I used to be happy to have to wait for doctor appointments, up to an hour, because I'd have time to hungrily read all the back issues of People. I didn't snatch copies out of other patient's hands, but I sincerely thought about it a couple times.  Fortunately for them, just a long, piercing glare seemed to do the trick.

When I was pregnant, I was ecstatic at the weekly appointments, because I got FRESH People magazines! YES! 
I was so informed about Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise and Snoop Dogg and Jennifer Anniston that I'd have won celebrity trivia games, if only there was such a thing.

Now here's the thing:  I won't buy them.  I can't.  I cannot toss down five bucks a week to read that trash, no matter how wonderfully awful it is.  I do have my limits.  Even though I've left a few on the rack a little tattered, I just can't do it.

Here's richness, though....

I have a supplier.  A dealer.  Someone to feed this terrible, disgraceful, secret (well, not anymore) addiction. 

And once a month, I get a stack of People magazines! (They're weekly, so they build up quick.)

It's positively heady, to see that pile on my front seat in the Trailblazer. 
I am now back in the loop with fashion, celebrity relationships, hot music on the street and dreadful Hollywood gossip. 
It's glorious.

I hope we can still be friends, now that you know this about me.

And if you're REALLY nice, I might pass the mags along to you when I'm done....

Spelling Bee!

I'm going to preface this post right away with the statement that I absolutely can't stand spelling bees. 
Before you all squawk and holler and fluff, it's not the idea of spelling bees that I don't like....I think they are a good thing, educationally, and good spellers warm my heart.  What I don't like about them is the sheer monotony of the process, the scary student-eating microphone, the pressure of an audience when you have to spell the word "hors d'oerves", the picky little rules that we only hear once a year and are still unsure about.  And did I mention the monotony of the whole thing?

So, in Jordan, the spelling bees run all day. All the students from the rural schools come in and spell with the town school kids.  They start with the 7th graders.  Then they go to the 8th graders.  Then the 2nd graders.  Then the 1st graders.  I have a 1st grader, so I sat through the 7th, 8th, and 2nd graders, just to watch my little toothless 1st grader spell "had". 

And here's how it looked.
The 7th and 8th graders were just about as impressed to be there as I was.  And there were a PILE of them!  My goodness!  The class sizes in Jordan, for a while, were dwindling to five or six kids per grade.  But the 7th grade must've had 25 kids, at least. 

It was sort of amusing to watch them slouch to the microphone, spell and slouch back to the end of the line.  When you're in 7th and 8th grade, it's not cool to look excited or happy about anything.  Or even mildly interested.  One should maintain an air of "barely conscious of the surroundings".  But they are probably the most self-conscious creatures on earth and I feel for them.  (They would later come back, in the afternoon, for the "official" spelling bee, where the winner would advance to the state spelling bee, I think.)

In sharp contrast, the 2nd graders practically bounced up to the microphone.  They were delightful!  And they were old hands at this spelling bee stuff, having been mere 1st graders last year, but seasoned spellers this year.  There were a lot of them, too.  Easily 25-27, I would think. 

One 2nd grader is STILL making me smile, as I think about her! She was a little sprite with a sparkle in her eye, blonde hair and a sharp little chin, and she stepped up with spirit to the microphone.  No slouching, here!  She'd spell her word with a bright little voice, wait to see the green flags and then SKIPPED...yes, she literally skipped....back to the end of the line!  And there she fairly danced, although she was being quiet and good.  Gosh, I just wanted to squeeze the dickens out of her.

The 1st graders were pretty nervous.  They were serious.  They had seen the microphone.  They had watch the red and green flags.  This was a big deal.  And quite a few of them were missing teeth, so when they spelled, sometimes it was tricky to decide if it was "F" or "S"....

Here they are:

Aren't they cute and serious and sweet with their little hands folded nicely, waiting for their chance to spell?

 Benjamin Ross G. was very precise.  He'd get his word, repeat it, then say "O-KAY."  Then spell it. I love that kid....!

 Maggie, waiting in line, making sure of where I am and thinking about the words.  She would spell them, in line, with the kid who was at the microphone....I watched her lips move!  Behind her is a little firecracker and her new friend (whom she meets about every 3 months, just like a brand new kid).  If they ever actually DO collaborate on anything, look out Jordan....

 Spelling her first word, "had".  Correctly!

 A-a-a-a-n-d-d....back around for another word. 

She made it three rounds, I think, if you count the practice round.  And she was completely fine with that.

When asked about her day and what she thought, Maggie pretty much just talked about eating at the cafe and going to the library.  We didn't hear a word about the spelling bee.

*Side note, here.  It's even MORE excrutiating to take a 4 year old to a spelling bee.  Angus was a VERY good boy, for the most part.  Quieter than I expected and very well-behaved.  Probably better behaved than me.  But at one point, he drew a picture that he wanted Maggie to see, so he just hauled it up and showed her, right in the middle of the 1st graders spelling.  And trotted right back, once he was satisfied she approved.

Busybodies

I dunno....Garth Vader?

 We have kittens! The rotten mama kitty, Cordelia May, had four kittens out in the doghouse in -20 weather.  We only managed to save two and they have been a welcome diversion for winter weary kids.

 Montana spring cookout....

 I got cookie cutters at the Denver Zoo, for the kids and I to make WILD cookies!  This, in case you can't tell, is a frosting-heavy lion...with sprinkles!

(It's not really decorated unless you use sprinkles, according to Angus.)

Kangaroos, lions and giraffes...

Maggie labored over this giraffe, bemoaning the lack of brown frosting with which to make it truly authentic....it was distressing, too, to not be able to make the spots just so...

NO TEEF!!!  Don't you think little kids with no front teeth are about the most adorable creatures on earth?

The Little Prince, again...

Do you remember The Little Prince?

I'm reading it, again.  And this time, it's the stars that are getting to me.

This book contains one of the most beautiful and poignant good-byes I've ever read. 

(Note to my family: read it at my funeral!)

Anyway....the stars and good-bye.

"Ah, little fellow, little fellow, I love hearing that laugh!"

"That'll be my present. Just that...It'll be the same as for the water."

"What do you mean?"

"People have stars, but they aren't the same.  For travelers, the stars are guides. For other people, they're nothing but tiny lights.  And for still others, for scholars, they're problems.  For my businessman, they were gold.  But all those stars are silent stars.  You, though, you'll have stars like nobody else."

"What do you mean?"

"When you look up at the sky at night, since I'll be living on one of them, since I'll be laughing on one of them, for you it'll be as if all the stars are laughing. You'll have stars that can laugh!"

And he laughed again.

"And when you're consoled (everyone eventually is consoled), you'll be glad you've known me.  You'll always be my friend.  You'll feel like laughing with me.  And you'll open your window sometimes just for the fun of it...And your friends will be amazed to see you laughing while you're looking up at the sky.  Then you'll tell them, 'Yes, it's the stars; they always make me laugh!' and they'll think you're crazy.  It'll be a nasty trick I played on you..."

And he laughed again.

"And it'll be as if I had given you, instead of stars, a lot of tiny bells that know how to laugh..."

The Final Chapter....

It's been hard to wrap this up.
Mostly, because I don't want to.  My time in Boulder was such a gift; new old friends, grown-up fun, no guilt indulgences, action, sleep, mountains, and....

The Calvert Wine Cellar.

Behold! Perfection....

My camera's lens was too big, and I didn't take the time to adjust for low light, because I HATE flash....but this picture? It's about half of the wine in the cellar.

Beautiful.

Okay....a granite bar AND (this is my personal favorite amenity) a wine cooler that holds the whites at the perfect temperature.  And certain reds.  It ensures that your wine is (like Goldilocks' porridge) not to warm, not too cool...J-U-S-T right. 

Beautiful.

I want you to look closely at the way these racks for the wine glasses are engineered.

See the little piece of wood with the peg, right at the opening? They flip up and allow you to pull the perfect goblet, without the fear of them sliding out accidentally!

Beautiful.

These bins are for the more...common wines.  The good old standards.  The wine-by-the-case varieties.

*They buy wine by the case.

Beautiful.

And....

AND.....there are copper labels that indicate the variety of grape or region or blend.  Hand stamped. Yes.

Beautiful.

Beer.  For the non-oenaphiles.

Beautiful.

I didn't get the story behind this, but it looks like a private label, with Sara H.'s name on it.

Oh, my!

Beautiful.

The MOST beautiful thing about this whole wine cellar is that it was a storage cave, at first, but then transformed by the two of them, designing and then countless hours of Chad pounding little nails and measuring.  When I look at it, I see not only a passion for regions and wine, but a whole lot of commitment in seeing a project through to the end!

And that's why my story ends here. 

 Sara decided we should cook our own feast on Valentine's Day and pair it with amazing wines from their cellar!

It's not just throwing a good old pot roast in the oven and making some gravy....

We spent all day on this.  And it was SO MUCH FUN!

We went shopping.

(And my friends just gasped and clutched their chests with shock.)

But it was FOOD shopping.  Not clothes/furniture/car/hardware/Walmart shopping.

They took me to a Mediterranian grocery store, where we could purchase (if we so desired) hookahs, pickled dolmas, instant falafel, hair wax and about 100 types of tobacco.  And really incredible sausage.

We spent a good hour there.  The Calverts shopped with confidence and ease.  I gawked.  And wished that I had thought to bring my camera.  I couldn't read any of the labels, and one of the little known things about the marketing in other countries is that they don't spend a whole heck of a lot of money or effort on the presentation.  They've got better things to do.  Like lead riots to overthrow presidents and nonsense like that.  So the photography on the labels was less than persuasive and I'm so very grateful I couldn't read the fine print. 

But the spicy scents were exquisite and I loved the strangeness of it.  And the china tea sets that you could buy for only 99.99$. (Yes, that's the correct price.)

Sara had to read 250 scintillating pages of political science, so we dropped her off at the house and Chad and I went to two remarkable grocery stores. At least they were by my standards....

I've never been to a grocery store where there were no less than 100 different types of cheese and only two of those types were, say, Mozzarella and perhaps an Edam. The rest were gloriously stinky, creamy, crumbly, pretty, outrageous cheeses. And we could pick up a wrapped slice and smell them!

AND the fresh seafood and produce nearly floored me. 

I'm sure taking a Cohagen ranch wife to the big city grocery stores was a bit wearing on Chad.  He bore it remarkably well. 

Even when I got lost.

Even when I couldn't run the self-checkout.

Even when I asked about the chemical properties in cannabis brownies.

Even when I stared at the oh, so luscious olives and other tapas that you could buy by the pound!

So later that evening, Sara and Chad started to cook.  And I chopped.  And we had really great wine from the cellar. 

But check this out....this was Valentine's Day supper:

I know.  I can't read them either.  But the translation is: DELICIOUS!

This was a bottle of the same wine Sara and Chad had at their wedding reception!

And our starter bottle, for food prep purposes.

*A little something funny about Sara, that makes me smile, is that she starts nearly every meal/occasion with a sparkling white wine.  Bubbles! So Chad gets a cocktail...something bourbon, I think....and Sara gets bubbly.   I go back and forth, but I'm more of a red wine girl.  The compromise is Lambrusco...a bubbly red wine.  Mmmmm!

Chad is preparing artichoke hearts for his dish, which you'll see later. (I wish I had thought to get recipes from the Calverts while I was there!)  Anyway, it was a work of art.  Sara and I were aghast at all the artichoke spines that went into compost, but it turns out that they are of no use after they're pulled off.  Or so he tells us...

Aaaaahhhh.....CHEESE!  My mouth is watering, just looking at this, again.  What richness! To have SIX gorgeous cheeses for the three of us, for all evening....

FRESH olives!!! Not from a can.  We got these at Whole Foods, one of the massive grocery stores in Boulder.  Turns out, this particular store is the biggest Whole Foods store in the nation.  I have only Ryans, Reynolds and Albertsons to compare it to, all three of which would fit in it, with wiggle room to spare.

Anyway, fresh olives are so very salty-chewy-wonderful that I think I like them miles better than potato chips.

Really.

(Oh, and there's a caper in there, I think....with the stem.  Hmmm...)

Alright....these were the richest, richest things I've eaten.  I don't remember what they are called (Sara?) but they are essentially feta cheese and spices, wrapped up in phyllo dough (= pure butter), and baked until the cheese is all warm and melty, and the phyllo is crusty and brown.  You'll want to eat five or six.  I was only able to get around two.  But I WANTED to eat five or six.

Homemade hummus, which is light years better than any old purchased stuff, paired with flatbread.

Bottle #2! Ah....

Pears, strawberries, apples, fresh raspberries....and you don't see the bowl of grapes.

This plate....I could weep with longing, right now.....this plate has Greek sausage, which tastes like gyros meat, a yogurt dip and onions, which should be eaten like this: pick up a sausage with your fingers, press a large hunk of onion next to it, dip in yogurt sauce and eat all at once.  Repeat. Repeat. Repeat....  For those who are gagging about the yogurt sauce, it's unsweetened!  Plain yogurt.  Whew. 

To the front of the plate, you'll see bacon wrapped dates stuffed with bleu cheese.  I'll give you a minute, here. It's just as rich as the phyllo wraps, but in a different way.  Let me tell you this: once you eat these, you'll long for them for the rest of your life.
Here's how you make them: Buy the freshest dates you can get your hands on...not dried in a package.  Split them, barely, to get the pit out. Then tuck, ever so gently, a dab of bleu cheese in their tummies and press back together.  Cut bacon slices in half and precook in a skillet, just a little, so that the bacon doesn't have to do all the cooking in the oven.  Wrap the dates with the soft, precooked bacon and secure with a toothpick.  Place on a baking sheet and put in a hottish oven (would you say 400 degrees?) until the bacon is done.  The entire house smells like heaven. I can't describe to you how luscious these are.  Make them for yourself and then we can talk!

Chad's masterpiece!  Artichoke heart smothered in carrots, garbanzo beans, onions and steamed. (I know there was some other ingredient, but I wasn't paying close attention, giving all my care to the dates...) These were so pretty and fresh, and I'd like to have them in the summer, when you eat out on the deck.

We ate the whole time we were preparing. It took a couple hours, because the prep was part of the fun, and Chad had CTV going (Calvert T V) so we could look at the pictures of their travels while we "worked"!

THEN we filled our plates, staggered to the couches and watched "Casablanca" as we endeavored to get around more food and wine. 

THEN we had raspberry and Madagascar vanilla bean gelato.

Can you imagine?

And that was my last evening with Sara, Chad and Max.  They were such gracious, fun hosts! 

And tolerant.  And patient.  And real. 

There are tons of details that I've omitted that were special to me, but I have to get this posted!

I went to class with Sara and was astonished at how much Government 101 I remembered. And the college kids were just cute.  And nervous about the old woman in the corner who OBVIOUSLY didn't belong there. 

We took a little hike/walk around an urban lake and up on the mountain overlooking Boulder.

There was a kitchen store that I wanted to get locked in overnight.

Everyone, even the old people, were fit and active.

I read a book in one sitting....one morning.  I haven't done that for years!

So much more!

But I'll move on....

Thanks for reading about my trip!

If I can get some of the recipes from Sara, I'd like to post a couple.