The Boys and the River

Yesterday after homework was done, I took the boys to the river.

I say "boys" because we have a new addition to our family.
Wes and Cole are friends, but they want to be brothers, so I told them they officially are.
They spend almost every day together and let me tell you, these boys have a lot of energy to work out. It takes a village. . .
and some great outdoors.

Winter Blooms

The sun finally shone this morning and shed the perfect light.

Thank you flowers for coming out in the cold.

Flowering Kale, a cabbage by any other name would look as beautiful.

Narcissist, you smell fantastic! But you already knew that.

Indonesian Curried Vegetable Soup

Mmm Mmm Good. I made this soup the other night, and it is yummy. The title of this dish states that it is curried, but I noticed the recipe did not call for "curry" at all. On research, I found out while there is such a thing as a "curry" leaf, the blend of the many spices in the recipe below are just some that make up "curry" (there are many variations of spices to make curry powder). You probably already knew that though. Below is the recipe for curried vegetable soup. I have a horrible time following recipes exactly and usually end up eyeballing instead of measuring -- and doubling or tripling. I suppose also that one could just add curry powder to the dish and not mess with all the other ingredients (probably much more cost effective than running out and buying which individual spice not already on hand like I did). But I have to say, there was some satisfaction in making my own curry spice.
(p.s. - the spice turmeric in the curry has been noted to"be useful in managing cancer, Alzheimer’s disease, arthritis, and liver conditions. It has also been speculated that Turmeric may play a role in slowing the spread of breast cancer. " Just FYI). Eat up!
Indonesian Curried Vegetable Soup

2 T olive oil

2 medium onions, finely diced

4 garlic cloves, minced or pressed

2 tsp. minced ginger (it comes in a jar too)

2 C. thinly sliced mushrooms (I did not have mushrooms, so I used carrots)
2 teaspoons ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon turmeric
⅛ teaspoon cayenne pepper
4 cups vegetable or chicken stock
juice of 1 lemon
1 (14-ounce) can coconut milk
1 teaspoon salt
2 large boiling (waxy) potatoes, peeled and cut into ½-inch dice
1½ cups green beans, cut into 1-inch lengths
¼ cup finely diced red bell pepper
½ cup fine egg noodles or 1-inch pieces broken spaghetti

1. Warm oil in a large stockpot over medium heat. Add onions, garlic, and ginger and sauté, stirring often, 10 minutes or until onions are soft and golden.

2. Add mushrooms and sauté 5 minutes. Sprinkle on coriander, cumin, turmeric, and cayenne and cook 2 minutes, stirring often.

3. Pour in the stock, coconut milk, and salt, and bring to a boil. Add potatoes and cook 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

4. Mix in the green beans, red pepper, and noodles, and cook at a lively simmer for 10 minutes or until vegetables and noodles are tender. Stir in lemon juice.

Serves: 4–6
Time: 1 hour

More Artwork from Brent

He named these "Twisted Lands." Thank you Brent. View the clay sculpture he made last Spring.

A Lovely Parcel in the Post

I am so excited about the package I got in the mail today. A small packet sent by Royal Mail. I made myself wait an hour to open it after it arrived. And then. . .
this beautiful tile. I found the artist Robert Ryan on the Internet and fell in love with his artwork. (Check out his screen prints and commissioned work as well as his shop). So I ordered a tile. But the tile I wanted was not in stock any longer. Rob Ryan was such a gracious artist, that he offered me another tile, plus goodies to make up for my disappointment. That kind of graciousness is not found every day, very admirable. His beautiful sentiments are admirable too:

And this acrylic key (to my heart never doubts and never wavers):

And these very cool buttons:

I really like the message in this one:

And this one too:

I like them all:

Thank you Mister Rob:

Driving

out of Soda Springs ski resort, N. Calif.

First, man discovered fire.

There were a few discoveries in between, then man invented the internet, then the lap top, then the wireless connection.  Then he put them all together and celebrated thousands, maybe millions (depending on your belief system) of years and used his wireless laptop in front of a fire.

Gifts of Cake

I found this photo recently of a cake that my friend Amy Reed had made for me.  Five or six years ago, as an adult, I decided to return to college and at the end of a great experience (exceptionally great as far as impact on my life and personal outlook, but laborious and harrowing as well), my friends and family threw me a party.  A party to remember.  And Amy, a beautiful woman , made me a Frida Kahlo cake because she knew I admired Frida Kahlo's tenacity and passion, which translated to her artwork.  Frida Kahlo also had a unibrow, and if I didn't groom regularly, I could probably grow a unibrow.  I admire Frida also for saying to hell with plucking and sporting that unibrow.

Thanks again for the cake Amy!

Pizza Maestro

Brent is the conductor and the pizzas are his symphony.

He makes marinara/pesto, cheese/veggie pizzas on Trader Joe's garlic-herb pizza dough (comes in a ball in the refrigerator section). And he makes them in his super fantastic looking way.

He is nineteen now and has been making pizza since he was 13. He even received a baking stone from our friend Molly (have I mentioned her before?) as an 8th grade graduation gift. That's how long he has been makin' the pizza. And we appreciate him!

A Momma's Got To Brag

As you can see from the photo, Hannah's snowboarding team opted for an 80's theme for their first meet of the season. We set aside the new expensive boarding clothes for bright thrift store finds. Go figure.

Hannah, a freshman on the Colfax Snowboarding team, made Varsity. Yesterday was their first meet ever and she placed 2nd for her team! She placed 18th overall, which will qualify her for the State Finals. Go B!

Although I was unable to attend yesterday's meet (prior obligations), it was so great to hear her excited voice, at least seven or eight times, on the phone. You know when you do that thing, and you do it really well, there's a rush, an excitement. You set your mark and you hit it. It's such a great feeling. She was feeling it.

Pieces of Furniture

A new living room lamp.

Crimson and Clover

I had a memory today while driving through the mountains. It was snowing today, a beautiful, white silent snow. I had just dropped Hannah off at boarding practice and decided not to stay because the snow was coming down steadily and I do not have 4WD. Another member on the team was going to give her a ride home. It could have been the panoramic view, the change in plans, the unexpected solitude that triggered this memory, but really it was probably the song playing on the radio: "Crimson and Clover" by Tommy James & The Shondells (play music below and then play it again and enjoy the funky video).

Back when I was nineteen I went to Europe. I planned the trip two months before I left. And I say "planned" very loosely. I really had no plan except to stay with various friends I knew from high school that had joined the military and a foreign exchange student who had returned to her home in Switzerland. I had no ideal how long I was going to stay (I ended up staying for four months) or what I was going to do exactly when I got there. I had no fears and no expectations (ahhh, no expectations).

I spent most of my time in Germany and I liked how compartmentalized the landscape was. Little villages with a bakery, a butcher shop, and a vegetable vendor. Flowered window boxes and narrow cobble stone streets. Lots of open and forested space with clumps of cities and towns in between.

I remember one night sitting in a quaint pub that was cloistered in chunky dark wood with a faint glow of purple and golden lights illuminating the glass behind the bar. There was a low hum of conversation and occasional laughter. I had gone there with a friend of mine who had joined the Air Force and who I was staying with in his upstairs flat off base in a small town called Bad Winsheim. I was talking that evening to a young handsome military man who was older than me, (thinking back on it, he was probably the ripe old age of twenty five). He had the similar sad, longing look about him that most of the boys in the military had. I had made friends with a few of them and we would go around the cities on their days off. They were all nice and harmless. This particular older, handsome fellow and I talked engagingly and tirelessly for hours. He asked me about my boyfriend across the room that I had come in with and I assured him, Steve we'll call him, was not my boyfriend but a friend from high school. I remember "Crimson and Clover" playing in the background (late 80's Germany was in love with American music from the 60's) and for some reason that snapshot is etched in my memory.

When the pub was closing we stepped outside. It was cold and foggy. It was time to go and we needed to say goodbye. I remember standing against the wall of the pub and he kissed me full on the lips, I can't remember his name, but I do remember that kiss. That one simple kiss that I felt from the top of my head down to the tips of my toes. A kiss that I, at my young inexperienced age, did not know existed. A group of people tumbled noisily out of the pub and in it was Steve and friends of my handsome companion that he had come with that evening in a jeep.

Steve and I had walked to the pub from his flat and because it was cold and late we held hands on the way home (I believed we held hands because it was cold, later, when I was leaving to go to Italy, Steve confessed his love for me, had felt it all through high school even though I knew us to be just friends, and talked about getting married one day. I was not going to be an army bride, not at nineteen, not ever). I remember the handsome man and his friends driving past Steve and I as we walked. I remember connecting with his sad, longing eyes and then watching his face disappear as they drove out of sight.

For the next few weeks that I stayed in Bad Winsheim following that evening, I never ran into my handsome stranger again. I lost contact with Steve after that as well. (I did run into him years later at a gas station in our home town. He was married to a woman who was also in the military and they had two kids).

Driving in the quiet, enveloping snow today listening to "Crimson and Clover" on the radio triggered a memory I hadn't thought of in at least ten years. A memory of Europe, of the purple and golden glowing pub, and of that kiss.

Kitschy in the Kitchen

Reference.com. Kitsch: any type of art that is deficient—whether it tries to appear sentimental, glamorous, theatrical, or creative, kitsch is said to be a gesture imitative of the superficial appearances of art.

Kitsch has been identified with the bourgeoisie, totalitarianism, the "culture industry," and evil.

My kitchen, with it's original 1960's turquoise counter tops, cries out, it begs for kitsch.

This Is Why

Now you will know why I won't be posting for a few days: 2008 Business Operating Plan presentations in front of the big, big boss for the next few days. I've been crunching numbers to break a sweat preparing for this thing. Whew!

And you know what? When I have been cooking these past few days, it's been like a 50's housewife: bacon and english muffins, pot roast with gravy and bisquits. Am I trying to strike a balance between corporate life and home life -- in a really weird way? Gross. Maybe I am just indulging in (fattening) comfort food.

I would call this slide show, "I'm So Gay for the River" but that would be inappropriate. So, I won't. Hopefully the music will play on your computer. I am having a little technical trouble making it happen (mostly because I don't know how). The song is "Lake Michigan" by Rogue Wave. Enjoy!

A River Runs Through It

With a break in the storms, it was time to check out the American River Canyon. 

Two of the three forks of the river, the North Fork and the Middle Fork blend at the confluence. Whenever there is an influx of water, the two rivers merge with different colors and you can actually see a delineating line. Very cool.

The rapids were humming today. (Photo of the browner Middle Fork).

This section of the trail, which I usually ride on my bike, was made quite impassible by the storm. This is just one of many blockages I climbed across.

Batten Down The Hatches

My day began at 4:00 am when the big storm blew into Auburn. I ran outside in the howling darkness in my pj's trying to secure anything that wasn't already on the ground.

The winds came in at up to 60 mph leaving quite a bit of debris in my yard.

But not as much debris as it left in the unoccupied house's yard across the street. It's quite sad to see such an old, beautiful oak taken out. Especially when it was the view out of my front picture window.

This fallen oak may have been the cause of, or at least contributed to, the nine hour power outage we experienced. Much of the Northern California region experienced loss of electricity as well.

Then came the torrential rains. (When running back to my house after taking this photo, I slipped on my front walk way and careened on my back all the way up to the front door. I felt like a penguin. Luckily it was more funny than painful and my daughter, her friend Ali, and I were in hysterics to the point of not being able to speak for at least five full minutes).

No where in Auburn escaped the hit of this storm. It was quite unsettling actually. Brace yourself Nelly, apparently there are two more storms to follow! Sob.

Art For You

This is a drawing my son Brent made on his computer. Enjoy. He is the sweetest young man you would ever want to meet -- and talented.

Ringing In the New Year

New Year's Eve was spent quietly at home -- the way I like it.

New Year's Day was started on the trails of the American River Canyon -- the way I like it.

Taking a brief photo break.

Mt. bike accomplice S. Namany (holding the camera at arm's length always makes for a great portrait -- note the sarcasm).

The Foresthill bridge sprouting from my head. You can't necessarily tell in the photo, but there is mud on my shirt. It is always good to start the year with mud on your shirt.