mooth2.0

find our new blog.

2010-07-11T09:20:00.002-04:00

Hello, friends! Thanks for visiting Mooth2.0 on Blogger. We've moved to a new home. Please bookmark the new Mooth2.0 site: http://mooth2.wordpress.com/

And stay tuned for more blogging goodness from us.

recipe: grilled avocado.

2010-07-06T19:18:00.002-04:00

Oh, where has this concept been all my life?

This: large, ripe Hass avocado, halved and pitted, cut-side down on a hot grill for about 5–7 minutes until a bit charred and caramelized. Take it off, let it cool, scoop out the flesh, mash with a fork. Turn it into guac, with a bit of onion, tomato, garlic and S&P, or—my favorite—mash it with the juice of half a lemon, slivered basil, S&P and schmear on toasted bread.

recipe: pizza with chard, goat cheese & egg.

2010-07-01T09:10:00.004-04:00

I know. Pizza topped with egg. Sounds weird, but apparently in places that aren't Cincinnati, it's fairly trendy. But then I spotted in our hometown newspaper a recipe for pizza topped with veggies and finished with eggs. What caught my eye wasn't just the combination of toppings—sauteed onion and chard, goat cheese and prosciutto (oh, yeah)—but the idea that the egg, justbarelycookedtilitsniceandsoft, would create a rich, almost creamy sauce when you mashed your fork into it before taking a bite.

Which it did.

Pita bread is the ideal base for this (though my homemade pizza crust is good, too); the pita's cupped shape creates the ideal platform into which you crack the egg. Plus, individual pizzas are the way to go here—you want one egg per person. (Slicing an egg-topped pizza would get messy, methinks.)

pizza with chard, goat cheese & egg

(makes 2 individual pizzas)

2 8- or 9-inch pitas (whole wheat or plain), or 1/2 recipe pizza dough formed into 2 individual crusts

1/2 a grocery or market-sized bunch of swiss chard, chopped

1/2 onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced

pinch of red pepper flakes

2–3 slices prosciutto, chopped or torn into pieces

4 ounces fresh goat cheese

2 large eggs

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. If using fresh pizza dough, pre-bake crusts until lightly browned.

Saute onion, garlic, red pepper flakes; add chard and saute until wilted. Divide vegetables between pitas or crusts, spreading evenly. Top with prosciutto, crumble goat cheese over top. Bake for about 10 minutes until the cheese starts to soften. Remove from oven; crack an egg in the center of each pizza, then bake another 10–12 minutes until the egg whites are set but yolks are still runny.

recipe: blueberry muddle.

2010-06-30T07:35:00.002-04:00

It's been awhile since I felt like posting; we're still mourning our hairy friend. I haven't yet grappled with a lengthy post about Wrigley, but I'm hoping to get back to writing about other topics. Like food.

Blueberries and I go way back, back to when I was perhaps 10 or 11 and Grandmother first showed me how to make a blueberry pie (it's Dad's favorite, and has since been a staple for Father's Day). I still reference the recipe card she helped me write out; though I prefer Grandma's pie crust recipe, I defer to Grandmother's technique for mixing frozen berries, flour, sugar, cinnamon and lemon juice, then topping the fruit with pats of butter before sealing it with a top crust.

I never really ate blueberries out of hand ... I always enjoyed them in pie form. Until about 5 years ago, when I discovered the bliss of Trader Joe's frozen blueberries on cereal for breakfast. Their frozen goodness turns the milk ice-cold and adds the perfect pop of sweetness to a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios. I was on a daily blueberry kick for a good 18 months ... and then ... and then ...

Allergy. I developed a blueberry allergy, all bumpyrash on my face and neck. After swearing off blueberries for life, I visited a local allergist, who hooked me up with an alternative therapy that, in fact, cured the allergy.

Now, after several years of dismay at having to leave pint boxes of gorgeous local berries in their stalls at the farmer's market, I'm back on a blueberry kick. Last weekend, we picked up a box of thumb-sized berries from Thistlehair Farm (one of my favorite Findlay Market vendors), and I made up this recipe:

blueberry muddle

1 cup of fresh blueberries

1 Tbsp. of sugar, or more to taste depending on the sweetness of the berries

(I used Turbinado sugar for a deeper flavor)

Splash of Grand Marnier or Cointreau

Mash the blueberries in a deep bowl or 2 cup glass measuring container with a bar muddler or wooden spoon. Get 'em good and smashed up, breaking the skins and pureeing the flesh. Stir in the sugar, then the liqueur. Let sit for an hour or so. Serve over vanilla ice cream (we enjoyed bourbon vanilla gelato from Dojo Gelato). This would also be terrific with a bit of slivered mint added and served over peach or raspberry sorbet.

everybody loves wiggy.

2010-05-01T15:53:00.002-04:00

After about two weeks of keeping mostly to ourselves, we ventured out per our normal Saturday routine and went to Findlay Market this morning. I was braced for all the "How's Wrigley?!" questions we'd get from folks who didn't know that we'd said goodbye to him. Sure enough, there were tears all around.

We picked up Wrigley's ashes, tucked neatly into a carved wooden box, from the vet yesterday. It felt inexplicably good to have him home. I know this makes no sense, but we truly feel like he's now home.

a chin on your knee.

2010-04-21T11:46:00.004-04:00

As we work through the multiple layers of sadness this week and into the weeks and months to come, one thing that helps peel them away bitbybit is recalling all the fond memories we have of Wrigley—memories that we'll have forever. In keeping with one of my favorite childhood books, The Tenth Good Thing About Barney, we've been keeping a list of things we love about Wrigley. Needless to say, we're way past 10.

I will post that list when the time feels right.

What I miss most, right now at least, is his physical presence. The pawing at the back door when I come home. The chin on my knee as I'm eating. The "pffft" in my face as he stood by my side of the bed to wake me. Twiddling his ear, scratching his throat or chest or flank. The simple nearness of him.

He's still very near, in my heart. It's just that it's hard to reach inside and give my heart a good scratch.

a round of golf

2010-04-21T09:20:00.002-04:00

Our buddy Wrigley always loved golf. When I would pull out a golf club, he made a distinctive woof that we referred to as "the sports bark." He loved when I would chip golf balls in the yard and he'd go chase the balls down. Occasionally, he would actually bring them back. But it was more fun to chew on them and stash them someplace of his choosing.

Yesterday, I went out to play a round. We always talked about how fun it would be to take Wrigley out on the golf course, knowing full well that his golf etiquette wouldn't even qualify him for a muni! But yesterday was a good day to bring him along. He and I talked the whole way. We talked about the targets we would try to hit, reading the putts, and generally keeping our swing on line. When I made a good shot, he said "woof, woof - good shot guy!" When I hit it into the rough, he said "don't worry, I'll get it." When I missed a putt, he said "don't worry guy, we'll get it back." When I birdied 4 holes, he told all his buddies "that's my guy - he's a champ, woof!"

I shot an 81, which was my best score in a long, long time. Wrigley keeps on giving. Thanks buddy.

woof.

2010-04-19T07:52:00.002-04:00

God called Wrigley to come about 9:00 last night, Sunday, April 18.

We are at peace for him, but filled with a deep, profound and engulfing grief for ourselves.

the boy.

2010-04-10T18:51:00.002-04:00

These are tough days for The Boy Wig. A nasty fever, combined with weakness in his hind end, sent us to see Dr. Bev on Tuesday, and after a day of fluids and antibiotics failed to knock down the fever, she sent us packing to MedVets in Columbus. It was a late night for us, and we left the boy in their care overnight.

He looked pathetic: pink with fever, shaking, lethargic, lying on his side and not even lifting his head when we came to tell him goodnight and that we'd be back soon to take him home. The next day, an abdominal ultrasound turned up nothing, though the fever stayed high. They brought in a neurologist to consult, and discovered some dismaying signs that may indicate a stroke.

Friday, though, Wrigley staged a comeback, and rallied to a hearty appetite and a spark in his eyes. The doctor who spoke with Rob seemed a bit surprised at his turnaround. So Rob dropped what he was doing and sped up to Columbus to retrieve our friend. (We're planning a fundraising effort soon.)

The past few days have brought many, many tears on both our parts (and Mom's, too). I'm incredibly thankful that I'm going through this with both of them. Rob is a tremendous partner and comfort when things get rocky, and an amazing friend when life is good.

Wrigley spent today sleeping very deeply. He's gobbled up dog food, pita bread, whole-wheat English muffin with peanut butter, boiled chicken, cracker, Jump & Sit Bits and lots of meds.

Tuesday, he is scheduled for an MRI, during which the doctor will look for signs of a stroke, or several, or perhaps tumors. The best case scenario, actually, would be a stroke -- dogs, we're told, typically recover nicely from a stroke. But we're not thinking of that now. We're giving him lots of snacks and scratches, relishing the mere fact of his company.

sprung!

2010-04-10T18:43:00.003-04:00

As of today, April 10, spring has sprung. In a big way.

Watching The Masters is a rite of springtime passage for Rob and me, and usually we watch the hallowed grounds of Augusta National, with its gorgeous azaleas and rhododendrons, and sigh longingly, knowing that our own spring bloom is another couple of weeks away.

Not this year.

After a brutally cold and snowy February and early March, Mother Nature decided that she, too, was sick of the cold and gray and threw the Spring Switch. Suddenly, almost overnight, we went from cloudy and 30 degrees to sunny and 70. We missed the usual stretch of 50–60 degree days ... sweatshirt-and-shorts weather. Instead, we blew full-on into early summer.

We opened the Side Porch Cafe weeks early, and had our first dinner al fresco last weekend. We spent today in the sunshine, spreading mulch (a job that's often done in cool temps).

Typically, spring brings a gradual awakening of the landscape: first, the weeping cherry blooms like a cheap prom dress, then the flowering crabapple, then the dogwoods come a week or two later. This year, the early magnolias and cherry trees are blooming right alongside the later dogwood and redbud. It's all happening at once. It's magnificent (and allergen-laden), but a bit disconcerting.

While I welcome the early patch of warm weather, it is compressing the spring growing season, and I fear that I'll blink and miss it.

I need to do a better job this spring of looking around and taking it all in.

spc.

2010-04-01T20:32:00.002-04:00

Today, April 1, the temp hit 80 degrees. It's a Thursday. Rob is on hiatus, and I've decided it just isn't in the cards for me to go into the office tomorrow. It's the official 2010 debut of the Side Porch Cafe.

It's a glorious evening: we've chowed down on leftover party food from last night's get-together with Rob's former colleagues. The party was fantastic: good food, copious wine (today reminded me of going to class hung over during Little 500 week at I.U.) and great people. What amazed me, as always, was the genuine respect, friendship and admiration that Rob and his co-workers share(d). People think he's really neat. I think he's really neat.

Wrigley scored big-time from a few folks who kept sneaking tortilla chips and pita bread to him. Tonight, we went for a really long walk. Wigs was tired by the end, but then, so were we.

Life is good. It's good. It's April 1, and we have the house open. Spring is here. It's like winter never even happened. I think I have a new mom's amnesia for the pain of childbirth ... I can't even remember how awful February was, and it seems like the Side Porch Cafe has been in continuous operation forever.

Forever.

springing.

2010-03-25T09:38:00.002-04:00

On our morning walk, I noticed more and more signs of spring emerging:

• The cherry trees are just barely starting to bloom
• Forsythia and magnolia are opening
• Daffodils are in their full yellow glory
• Grass is growing and greening up all over our neighborhood

In our own backyard, we're seeing nice growth from the lettuce I planted, and the forsythia are just starting to open. The hydrangea are starting to leaf out, and the lilac bushes are swollen with leaf and flower buds. The crabapple tree (which gets leaves first, then flowers) is starting to show green leaflets, and the weeping cherry (which flowers, then gets leaves) has swollen flower buds that will probably pop in another week or so. Rob expects to run the lawnmower for the first time this weekend.

Too, we anticipate opening the Side Porch on Saturday. Rob has done a masterful job refinishing the beadboard ceiling and repairing some broken trim. I'll clean up the furniture, wash out the glass jars that hold candles and vacuum the cushions on Saturday. We're having some folks over for cocktails next Wednesday, and the weather should be nice enough that we can be outdoors as well as in.

Hooray, Spring!

the puffy coat.

2010-03-14T15:12:00.002-04:00

I have a long, black, down-filled, hooded coat from Lands' End that I've worn everysingleday since the beginning of January. I have other winter coats, ones that I quite like, including a brown wool car coat cut in a swingy style. I usually rotate coats depending on my attire on a particular day ... but the long puffy coat has been essential all winter, as we've had record cold and snowfall all through February.

I am hoping that this week is that last we'll see of the puffy coat this season.

Today, we sprung forward (an annual occurrence that makes me grouchy in the mornings for a good week). After a week of sunshine and temperatures in the low 60s, this weekend is cruelly rainy and cold. The cool damp has my bad shoulder aching.

I dodged raindrops today to plant pansies in the pots on the front porch ... after a long absence, the nurserymen are making a return appearance at Findlay Market on Saturday mornings. Rob is now out planting grass seed. The lettuce seeds I tucked into the window box last weekend are sprouting gaily; the four half-rows I put down in the cold frame aren't faring as well (they're a different variety, so they may take a bit longer to come in). I planted the other half-rows today and closed the lid to create a warmer microclimate in there. Last fall's garlic is a good 3 inches high, as are the chives in the herb bed.

Today is Selection Sunday; we're in for a good 3 weeks of March Madness, and then comes The Masters. Spring is at our doorstep.

to live content.

2010-03-08T09:09:00.000-05:00

"To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly; to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never. In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common. This is to be my symphony. "

—William Henry Channing

via my friend, Peleg

olives.

2010-03-07T19:02:00.002-05:00

Oh, by the way ... we have olives. We're such proud parents. After the beloved olive tree was COVERED with tiny, white, four-petaled flowers for the past 6 weeks or so, I researched how to pollinate it so that we might, perhaps, if we're lucky, maybe, have a tiny crop of olives. I e-mailed Ridgley Evers, the proprietor of our favorite source for olive oil, DaVero, for advice. Fortunately, he indulged this crazy girl from the Midwest with a potted indoor/outdoor olive tree and suggested that the olive is self-pollinating and all we needed to do was give it a bit of a hand. So we turned a gentle fan on the tree for a few days and hoped for the best. Mostly, the flower clusters turned dry and brown and fell to the floor. But on the side of the tree that faces our westerly window and caught what little February sun we had, there are a few microscopic olives on the branches. Trust me. When they're more than itty-bitty, I'll take a picture and post it here. And we'll be taking orders for the fall bottling of EVOO.

thaw.

2010-03-07T09:12:00.005-05:00

Mooth 2.0 is in full swing, as you'll see shortly when Rob posts an update. This weekend's (finally!) warm and sunny weather has brought a real thaw to our frozen, gloomy, wintry world (and, personally speaking, an equally frozen, gloomy, wintry disposition).

Yesterday, realizing that the coldframe is now getting several hours worth of daytime sun (if it IS sunny, that is), I planted four half-rows of lettuce: Oliver, my favorite variety, and a new one (actually a very old European heirloom variety) called Yugoslavian Red. I did a bit of outdoor clean-up, we had a roaring fire going all afternoon in the firepit, and just generally spent the day outdoors.

That is, when we weren't tooling around in Rob's new car. Or loading our new washer and dryer.

Like I said, Mooth 2.0 is on the rise.

Today promises to be a slightly warmer version of yesterday. Righteous.

P.S. Wrigley is doing well. I felt awful that we had to board him while we were away for a few days last weekend, and it was tough on him. The cold cement floors were hard on the arthritic joints, and predictably he had a bit of system funk for a few days afterward. We have him on an antibiotic for intestinal issues, which works wonders (and quickly). Yesterday afternoon, he perked up noticeably, and he's been his Wiggle self again. We're still taking short, slow walks, but hope that the acupuncture and warmer weather will help pick up the pace soon.

so ready for spring.

2010-02-21T09:40:00.003-05:00

Today is February 21. The Vernal Equinox is 29 days from now. I'm not sure I'm going to make it.

Over the past 10 days, we've had 12+ inches of snow in recurring wintry blasts. Only one day of sunshine. The snow is still chest-deep to Wrigley in the front yard, sidewalks in our neighborhood are still buried and the streets are pocked with potholes and littered with salt and debris. I'm tired of the cold, the gray, the general winter crud.

But spring will be here, I know. I have a box full of seeds from The Cook's Garden on my garden bench: five kinds of lettuce, two kinds of bean, carrot, and, to come, pepper and basil plants. We have materials for a new garden fence on order and I have a vine wreath to hang on the new garden gate. I found some colorful outdoor cushions yesterday that will be perfect on the green bench on the patio.

All three of us are ready for warmer weather so we can break this cycle of cabin fever and our joints will feel better. C'mon, Spring!

learning a valuable lesson.

2010-02-16T10:45:00.002-05:00

By nature, I am a) generally very accommodating and b) prone to think I can do most things better than most people. Both traits are getting me into trouble at work.

I'm finding myself spread too thin, working on too many tasks, a number of which are really someone else's job (or should be). I tend to say, "I can take care of that" or "I can help with that" ... and then, bloop! Too much on my plate, and I'm doing things others should be or could be doing. Since the beginning of the year, I've been feeling overwhelmed. And, frankly, taken advantage of (though I have to own my responsibility for this problem).

In a meeting last week, one of my colleagues asked—about a marketing idea that we were considering—if it was really worth spending all that time on it. The question was revelatory. Why DO we have to do everything? Why do I have to do everything?

Today, I am practicing the art of the handoff: Doing my portion of a project, and then handing it off to someone else instead of trying to do it all myself. We'll see how this goes.

whatever we need to do.

2010-02-14T18:38:00.003-05:00

Wrigley is about halfway through a stint on the 15-day disabled list. He's been feeling the effects of arthritis for about 6 months now; last weekend on a walk where the footing was super slippery, he torqued a joint in his right hind leg. On Monday when I came home from work, Wrigley was not at his customary spot by the back door, and I knew something was up. I found him in a corner of the living room, unable to stand up on the bum wheel. Poor boy was trembling hard, so we made a mad dash to the vet, where X-rays revealed that the arthritis is centered in his hock (his rear "ankle") instead of the hip, where we assumed it was. He'd sustained an injury, so he's been on the DL since. Even though he couldn't walk, his tail wagged furiously and he begged with his usual gusto. Good boy!

Tomorrow, we have an appointment for acupuncture. I hope I'm not putting too much stock in it, but I have high hopes that the treatment will ease his discomfort, free up his movement and generally make him more like his usual Wiggle-self.

Rob asked how many treatments we'll need ... I have no idea, and don't care about the cost. We'll do whatever we need to take care of this boy. The tail has lots of wag left in it! Plus, we're making plans now for a summer vacation, the 5 of us.

make music of what you can.

2010-02-11T08:48:00.002-05:00

My friend Peleg Top sent me this poem. I had to post it. I'm very good at hesitating. I need to not be so.

AGAINST HESITATION
Charles Rafferty

If you stare at it long enough
the mountain becomes unclimbable.
Tally it up. How much time have you spent
waiting for the soup to cool?
Icicles hang from January gutters
only as long as they can. Fingers pause
above piano keys for the chord
that will not form. Slam them down
I say. Make music of what you can.
Some people stop at the wrong corner
and waste a dozen years hoping
for directions. I can’t be them.
Tell every girl I’ve ever known
I’m coming to break her door down,
that my teeth will clench
the simple flower I only knew
not to give . . . Ah, how long did I stand
beneath the eaves believing the storm
would stop? It never did.
And there is lightning in me still.

edgar's big day.

2010-02-07T09:06:00.005-05:00

I started writing a post about the fact that today is Edgar's birthday (perhaps you, too, noted that on your calendar). And then I realized that I had written about the occasion last year. So I'm going to shortcut and simply repeat myself. I think this pretty much sums up our friend Big Bear:

Edgar, if you don't know, is the Big Bear; Henry is the Little Bear. We figure Edgar is probably 13 years old (Henry is maybe a year or two older) and came to live with us in St. Louis.

Henry and Edgar are best friends, inseparable. Henry is to Edgar what George is to Lennie, what Jim is to Kevin, what Greenberg is to Golic (seriously, where else do you get cultural references to "Of Mice and Men," "The Office" and ESPN's "Mike and Mike in the Morning" radio show??). Henry is wily, sharp, cynical and a bit of a critic; Edgar is big-hearted, friendly and encouraging. Edgar isn't dim, he's just unsophisticated, and he thinks more often with his belly than his brain.

Edgar has trouble grasping the concept of coincidence, so he's pretty convinced that the Super Bowl is a giant, football-laden celebration of his birthday. We haven't had the heart to correct his thinking on this.

reading & writing.

2010-01-29T08:48:00.003-05:00

I had a driveway moment (actually, a gym parking lot moment) yesterday listening to NPR's remembrance of J.D. Salinger. The piece included readings from "A Catcher in the Rye," which were mesmerizing. I read "A Catcher in the Rye" exactly once, as required, in high school English class. I vaguely remember its angsty anti-hero, Holden Caulfield, its dark tone, its unresolved ending. After hearing the piece (and finishing my Pilates class), I dashed home to see if I still had a copy of the book ... no luck. (I'll bet that high-school copy is still on the bookshelf in my teenage bedroom.)

Salinger puts me in mind of other writers whose work I love, whose work propelled me toward the career that I'm in. Fitzgerald. Steinbeck. Wharton. White. It makes me want to pick up all those books again and re-experience the marvelous language, the turns of phrase, the ways of seeing and describing the world.

Last night, realizing I didn't have Salinger on the shelf, I grabbed the three-volume set of Junior Great Books that I have from fifth grade. (I'm delighted to see the program is still in existence.) Once a month, a group of advanced readers at Mohawk Trails Elementary gathered in a conference room during lunchtime/recess, where Mrs. Lorton led us in a discussion of a work from the Junior Great Books series. There was an excerpt from "The Wind in the Willows." Part of "A Christmas Carol." An obscure bit from Mark Twain. Writings by Heywood Broun, Chekhov, Bradbury, a few poems. I distinctly remember feeling special (and a bit nerdy) to be part of this group. It was the first time I recall having real conversations about books, not just guided classroom discussion. We didn't talk about the mechanics of the writing, but rather the meaning and our interpretations, guided by our suburban, '70s-era kid worldview.

Last night, I read Bradbury's heartbreaking short story, "All in a Summer Day" and Heywood Broun's "The Fifty-First Dragon." My 42-year-old self was as enthralled as my 10-year-old self had been. I'm planning to pick up "Gatsby" and "Catcher" and create a list of all my old favorites. It'll be my winter reading program.

As a kid, I was a voracious reader. VORACIOUS. I have a high-resolution memory of sitting in front of my kindergarten class, reading to the rest of the kids. I devoured Nancy Drew, E.B. White, Judy Blume. I'd plow through the Carmel Library's summer reading program at warp speed. I loved the library. I have deep and profound recollections of lying on the floor with my mom and brother on summer evenings after supper, reading a chapter at a time of "Charlotte's Web." My dad had perfected the voices of the characters in my favorite picture books, Dare Wright's "Little Doll" series. (He had Mr. Bear down pat.)

This love of words led me to journalism classes in high school and college and, ultimately, to my magazine career and even this blog. I can't NOT read or write. And I think that it's going to point me toward other opportunities in my life, as well.

technology i could get excited about.

2010-01-26T13:08:00.004-05:00

Despite—or perhaps to spite—my company's persistent and monomaniacal emphasis on publishing's digital future (i.e., f*** the printed page), I refuse to buy into the hype. For me personally and for the people we make our books and magazine for, the printed object is still relevant and inspiring. It's savable. Many of these items together make a library, a collection. I'd like to see a Kindle user create the same impression of literariness and erudition (ha!) with his onscreen list of titles as a devoted reader conveys with her wall-to-wall-floor-to-ceiling shelves of books. E-books? Bah. Kindle? Humbug.

But wait ...

Anticipating tomorrow's long-awaited announcement of the Apple tablet, I think about how I might use that digital tool. Not for ordinary reading ... but for this: Wouldn't it be amazing to have a digital reader in the kitchen—that houses all your bookmarked online recipes, your favorite food blogs, your preferred online food & kitchen retailers and even, yes, cookbooks and magazines (in full color, with pictures). If a digital device could hold all those resources, and let me search and bookmark them, and perhaps even create a shopping list that I can download to my iPhone ... then, well then, I'd be in favor of this digital publishing thing.

Maybe.

connectivity.

2010-01-24T14:07:00.002-05:00

As I think about what I'd like for 2010, in keeping with the Mooth2.0 idea, one of my hopes is to increase my connectedness with family and old friends, and to find ways to make new connections. Last night, Rob and I had a fantastic evening with two of my dearest friends from high school and sailing days and their wives. The six of us spent about five hours over dinner and drinks catching up; we realized that it had probably been a dozen years if not more since the we had all been together. I had seen Andy & Bruce at a sailing event in October, and we planned then to get together for dinner in January. It was such a great time, especially when Noelle asked us all what advice we would now tell our 16-year-old selves, and we reflected on those years with fondness and honesty. I'll play cruise director and plan another outing sometime in late summer or fall ... this was too good not to continue.

welcome to mooth2.0.

2010-01-10T09:29:00.005-05:00

Rob and I have determined that this is the year of Mooth2.0. We don't know what that means, exactly. It just feels like we're keeping our eyes and minds open to new and interesting things.

A few friends have casually observed that I've been slacking on posting to this blog, so as part of Mooth2.0, Rob suggested that we (both) commit to posting more regularly. Now, with a week of the new year under our belts, seems as good a time to start as any.

I'm not big into New Year's resolutions; I don't need to quit smoking or start a diet or anything significant like that. But I have been thinking of what I'll call my intentions for 2010: things I want to pay attention to, to be mindful of, to make an effort toward. I'll share them here so my friends can help (gently) keep me accountable. In no particular order:

Be more correspondent. Lately, I've enjoyed exchanging letters with my 88-year-old grandmother. I love her notes filled with news about the goings-on in her garden or at her birdfeeder, and I like sharing similarly unimportant but meaningful observations from my life with her.

Be more thoughtful. My friend Sam Harrison is a master at sending out-of-the-blue gifts that always make my day. I'm not ordinarily proactively thoughtful like Sam is. But I'd like to be.

Be more present. Mom recently said her resolution for 2010 is to figure out a way for the year not to fly by like 2009 did. Mom, if you do, let me know. But I think it has something to do with 1) being observant and 2) being grateful. Two fairly simple things I fail to do on a day to day basis.

Focus on what's meaningful and impactful in my work. 2009 at F+W was a long slog of budget cuts, additional projects, fewer resources. The focus has been on what's good for the company and not on what's good for our customers or our employees. That makes work pretty much suck. I hereby vow to focus on the fact that the work my little team does has meaning and impact for the people we make it for. That is, our readers/customers, and NOT our executives.

Let go of the unimportant. Nothing more needs be said about that.

My highest priority for 2010: Find some inputs. Nearly all of my creative and mental energy is expended on outputs -- making work for others. And currently, all of my learning opportunities are work-related and, therefore, deeply unsatisfying. (Wow, I can add HTML code to a web page. Yippee.) I desperately DESPERATELY need inputs. I need to learn things, to fuel my brain and heart and creativity. Some initial ideas: attending programs at the Cincinnati Observatory, the Civic Garden Center; learning calligraphy, bread-baking, French, whatever.

Like I said, 2010 feels like it's a time for Rob and me to keep our eyes open to new and interesting things.

moleskine love.

2009-11-11T13:24:00.003-05:00

I keep a little Moleskine notebook in my purse. More and more, I'm noting random things via outlets like Facebook or my Twitter feed, but the trusty Moleskine is perfect for capturing things with more heft, meaning and significance. And for stashing found objects like wine labels and four-leaf clovers.

I tend to forget about the Moleskine until I'm in the mood to record something for posterity, and then I remember how much I love making notes in it. But really, the best thing about pulling it out of my purse is leafing through and seeing all the good stuff in there: drunken notes, quotes and booze labels from our 40th birthday trip to St. Barts with our dearest friends; pages where I've used a just-pulled wine cork like a rubber stamp to record memorable bottles; recipe ideas and inspirations; garden plans; little poems like this haiku:

On the Equinox
I see that summer's fading
The garden is tired.

Today, as I was jotting some notes as a creative, self-reflective exercise suggested by my friend Colleen (more on that at a later date), I came across this, which I wrote while I was stuck on the tarmac on some airplane somewhere.

Band Names Inspired by Sitting on an Airplane

Armrest Larceny
Airsickness
Upright + Locked
The Exit Row Seats
The Overhead Bins
Bottom Cushion
The Seatbacks
5CD
Aisle Seat Love
Lavatory Funk
Men with Wings
The Beverage Carts
Turbulence
30,000 Feet
The Mini Bottles
Security Jerk
No Step
The Drop-Down Masks

good at.

2009-09-28T13:05:00.004-04:00

During a really terrific catch-up conversation with Mom last night, she told me she'd seen my recent post about the "Hello, I'm good at ..." nametags. So she shared her own "good at" list, and I asked if I could post it here:

I am good at:

Being a mother
Making great meals
I matter
Making a small difference for some people
Feeling gratitude
Being a friend
Loving my children
Loving the space I am in right now
Finding out who I really am

Yay!

september 22.

2009-09-22T19:44:00.005-04:00

I will not bow
to seasonal wisdom
and trade geraniums
for mums
… just yet

No sense uprooting
tomato plants;
there’s so much potential
hanging clustered, green
on the vines
... for now

I’ll welcome fall’s bounty
into my kitchen
... soon
corn and strawberries
have not yet
yielded that ground

I’ll avert my gaze
from displays
of costumes, candy
… for at least
another few weeks

Today is
summer’s last day
... but not its end.

good.

2009-09-18T14:24:00.003-04:00

At a recent conference that HOW sponsored, I again met up with a fantastic woman named Dyana Valentine, who spoke at the same shindig last year. She's a dynamo (perhaps that should be her first name), one of those people who's completely engaging and thoroughly, genuinely interested in YOU.

Among many things, she helps people connect with each other, and she has a cool version of those "Hello, my name is ..." nametags that she hands out. Hers says, "Hello, I'm good at ..." Which is a brilliant way to get a roomful of people talking to each other. Most people tend to write in something business-related: "I'm good at copywriting," "I'm good at design" -- that kind of thing. But at this conference, some people wrote personal things.

This got me thinking.

Hello, I'm good at ...

finding four-leaf clovers
the very detail-oriented aspects of cooking, like planning and preparation
taking care of Wrigley
teaching
being Rob's partner
balancing (physically, that is, not so much the whole work/life thing)
planting
writing
helping
being diplomatic
keeping score at a baseball game
making focaccia

So there.

the garden.

2009-09-13T10:28:00.002-04:00

the garden
does not understand
that I am busy

the beans grow
too big and tough
if they’re left unpicked
for just a day

the lettuce bolts
if it’s not harvested
tomatoes split,
red peppers rot
if I don’t pay attention

the flowers droop
if I neglect to water
spent blooms straggle
if don’t take care

the garden
does not understand
that I am busy

the dog needs a walk
dinner needs to be made
the gym beckons
work demands

the garden
does not mind
that I am busy

it is there
when I have time
to harvest
to water
to prune

to breathe

too delicious.

2009-09-07T19:25:00.003-04:00

There are two food-related (obsessed?) blogs that I wish I wrote: 100cookbooks.com and smittenkitchen.com. Neither fails me whenever I bookmark a recipe.

So when I spotted this recipe for Tomato and Corn Pie on smittenkitchen.com earlier this week, I made a note to make it this weekend.

Holy Mother of All That Is Delicious!

There is simply no better thing do to with late-summer corn and tomatoes. If you're a food person who reads this (that would be: Mom!), please do yourself a favor and make it while the fixin's are good.

Allow me to back up just a bit for a seasonal musing. Around the Fourth of July, I sink into a midsummer melancholy, sad that my favorite days are passing while I'm chained to a desk 9 to 5, mournful that I can't manage (even with summer's blissfully long days) to accomplish all I want to do.

Then, sometime in early to mid-August, when the days start to shorten perceptibly and the sounds from the swim club across the street stop a bit earlier in the evening, I recognize that summer isn't waning ... it's beginning. There remain weeks and weeks of 70- and 80-degree temps, summer produce and bouquets of zinnias that last until, around here, the end of October.

So I feel better.

Now, as the farmer's market kicks into high gear, really, and tomatoes and corn are still in full bounty, recipes like the Tomato and Corn Pie really resonate. There's something fall-ish about making any kind of pie, and the fact that it's packed with summer's best vegetables is just, well, a double crust.

Heaven.

Seriously, make this recipe. It doesn't note how many servings it yields, but Rob and I polished off nearly half the thing.

in the media.

2009-09-02T11:17:00.003-04:00

I was happy to be interviewed by local food columnist Polly Campbell for a story on Cincinnati-area farmers markets in the Wednesday Cincinnati Enquirer a couple of weeks ago.

“We go to Findlay every Saturday with a list to do most of our shopping,” said Bryn Mooth, a devoted farmers market shopper from Mount Lookout. “Then we go to Hyde Park to socialize and see what they have – it’s a little more serendipitous.”

Here's a link to the full article.

And then today, there's a fun Q&A that I did with Justin Ahrens, a designer who runs a studio called Rule29 outside of Chicago. I've gotten to know Justin through the HOW Design Conference and the magazine; he's one of those folks I'm glad I've crossed paths with in my professional life. Here's a link to the interview.

company in the garden.

2009-08-18T18:31:00.003-04:00

Just found this bad girl on the lantana in the garden: she's a black and yellow Argiope, She's probably 2.5 inches toe to toe, and her coloring is very impressive. The website says we should also see her mate (he's responsible for the zigzag patterned web). It also notes that she's not harmful to humans -- in fact, she keeps all manner of pests away -- but frankly, she scares the pants off me.

in a nutshell.

2009-07-08T09:33:00.003-04:00

These two images from an illustrator in London named Freya pretty much sum up how I feel about Rob (and Wiggy) and the life we've created together:

we're just saying.

2009-06-22T21:33:00.002-04:00

I don't think there's a better place and time to be than outside at 9:30 on the evening of the longest day of the year, absorbing the residual late-evening heat, watching the lightning bugs and listening to the last sounds from the swim club echoing across the street. I just think this is the best. Ever.

more wrigley love.

2009-05-30T10:52:00.002-04:00

Things are much improved on the Wrigley front, a full week after we picked him up from MedVets in Columbus. Last Saturday, he kind of laid low; he was full of meds, tired and discombobulated, and he was wary of eating much. Through the weekend and into the week, we saw marked improvement every day in his energy level, appetite and ability to sleep through the night. All was looking good ...

Until ...

On Wednesday, I came home at noon to let him out and discovered on the kitchen floor the handle (only) of his doggie toothbrush and the plastic cap and shards metal from the tube of chicken-flavored toothpaste. Seems our not-so-smart friend, honked off at being locked in the kitchen all day, raided his toothbrush and toothpaste from the box o' dog accouterments by the back door and ATE them. As in, ingested.

After a frantic call to Dr. Bev (again) I drove him up to her office for a quick X-ray. Sure enough, there was the bristle head of his toothbrush. The X-ray didn't reveal any brain, however. Keep in mind that after about 6 weeks of intestinal inflammation that we'd just finally gotten ahead of, having abrasive material in his GI tract was NOT a good thing.

So we waited.

Sure enough, Wrigley urped up the toothbrush and larger bits of the metal tube overnight Wednesday night, and then rid himself of the smaller shards of tube over the past couple of days. I think we've cleared things out of the system at this point.

Regardless, we took Wigs to Findlay Market today, where he charmed the crowd as usual. One lady we'd met before said, "It's a good day when I get to say hi to this dog." Yesterday on our walk, a gal told us she sees us walking in the neighborhood all the time, and that Wrigley always makes her smile.

This is Wrigley's job: making people smile. And our job is taking care of Wrigley.

he's scrumptious.

2009-05-24T10:19:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, we picked Our Hairy Friend up from MedVets, a specialty clinic in Columbus that Dr. Bev had referred us to. Wrigley stayed there Thursday and Friday nights after having been hospitalized at Dr. Bev's place Wednesday. We were all glad to get him home.

What we're learning is that Wrigley's illness is going to take time and patience to manage. That, plus a whole pharmacy worth of meds. Including a weekly injection of Vitamin B-12, which I am too squeamish to give. It's all very confusing: some things are given once daily, some every 12 hours, some with food, some on an empty stomach. Some things make him queasy, so we're trying hard to manage his food intake.

Fortunately, he's hungry, but we're figuring out what, when and how much to feed him. Carrots are the new Jump And Sit Bits: The new restricted diet (low-fat food, no table scraps) allows carrot, which he loves. So last night, as he was scarfing down carrots, I kept feeding them to him. Bad idea. Half an hour later I was collecting barfed-up carrot from the lawn. This morning, we've gradually given him about a cup of crunchy dog food, which has (knock wood) stayed down. Our task for today is to eat well without barfing. Baby steps.

We drove up to the Coffee Emporium this morning and spent a lovely hour outside with some good java and the NYTimes. Wrigley charmed the other patrons, most of whom asked if he's a puppy. Some folks noticed the shaved patches on his forelegs where he's had IVs this week. We simply said, "He's had a bit of work done." One person referred to a 30,000-mile tuneup. We laughed.

A pleasant older woman in a preppy-pink skirt said, "He's scrumptious!"

As he lies here next to me, napping comfortably, I have to agree.

our hairy friend.

2009-05-21T12:35:00.002-04:00

"Oh my gosh, what kind of dog is that?"

"He's adorable!"

"He's like a party in a dog suit."

"Wrigley is God's own ambassador."

"He's a person."

We often get friendly compliments on Wrigley (and he takes them graciously) when we're out and about, whether it's here at home or somewhere we're visiting. There's something about this dog that's just, well, magical. I know that all dog people think theirs are the best, but I have to argue that Wrigley is The Best. He stops traffic. He makes people smile. He attracts little kids (and is endlessly patient with the ear- and tail-tugs). He has a mission to bring a little bit of joy into the world. And he's certainly changed our lives.

Which is why we are working so damn hard to get him healthy again.

life dreaming.

2009-05-18T12:24:00.002-04:00

Over the weekend, in a fit of wine-induced nostalgia, I dug out a list that I'd made back in the day when Rob and I were dating -- it's a list of things that I imagined for our life together. Like, that we'd have a dog we'd walk together, that we'd drink wine together, that we'd cook together, that we'd leave each other sweet notes and comfort each other after tough days, that we'd live in the city (which, at that time, meant Chicago, since we spent a fair amount of time there).

I'm amazed at how prescient that list has turned out to be. Thinking about it now, I see that many of the dreams I had for the two of us were really just grown-up versions of the stuff we liked to do at the time.

I didn't have to dig too deep to find that list; I'd included it in a scrapbook that I made for Rob in 2000 in celebration of our 10th wedding anniversary. As the 20th anniversary of our engagement comes up this summer, I find myself thinking of what I imagine for the rest of our lives together. Truly, I can't envision it getting any better than it is now.

my assistant.

2009-05-04T15:57:00.004-04:00

I'll take a quick timeout from the work projects I'm tackling at my home office this afternoon to note that it's nice to have a hairy executive assistant keeping me company. No matter that he's sleeping on the job and that he smells funny. Neither of these things is his fault -- he's been under the weather for a full month, and I'm guessing he's tired of feeling (literally) crappy. But we're working with our friend Dr. Bev to figure out what's gumming up the Wiggle Works (actually, quite the opposite is true) and get him fixed.

In spite of not feeling good, Wrigley has maintained his cheerful outlook, hearty appetite and interest in weird smells. After the doggie equivalent of a colonoscopy last Thursday, Wrigley had a big weekend, making his season debut at Findlay Market to much fanfare, treats and queries of, "What kind of dog is that?" We also took a big walk up to Hyde Park Square on Sunday morning to bark and cheer for the runners in the Flying Pig Marathon -- especially Rob, who ran a leg of the relay.

In spite of my concern over his health these past few weeks, I am decidedly NOT worried about him. Which surprises me, but also tells me that I know something about this dog. I feel bad that he feels bad, and I am impatient to treat him. We're inching toward a diagnosis and, most important, a plan to get this boy back in full swing. I'm sure all three of us will feel better when that happens.

picking our dinner.

2009-04-27T11:59:00.003-04:00

My intention of keeping a record of my garden's early progress in photos and text basically blew up over the past couple of weeks, and I haven't posted about what's going on. Spring sprung early (and rainily, if that's a word), so here we are at April 27 and EVERYTHING is in full bloom. The 80-degree weather over the past four days has certainly helped.

I picked the first leaves of arugula and lettuce from the coldframe just over a week ago and dressed them simply with lemon juice, olive oil and cracked pepper. That's the new standard for salad Chez Mooth; we've enjoyed that a couple of times over the past week.

Funny: The mache seeds I planted when I first set out the coldframe, the ones that never did anything, the ones I thought were duds ... well, they've just now germinated. Just goes to show you: patience is a virtue in the garden. (As an aside: I'm not entirely sure what mache is; it's also called lamb's lettuce or corn salad, and it's supposedly kind of sweet and a nice addition to the salad bowl. It looked pretty in the seed catalog.)

The coldframe will probably retire from the garden this weekend. Three weeks ago, I planted four rows of arugula and lettuce in the other half of the vegetable bed, and those rows are all coming in nicely. I'll need to thin them well (I was rather heavy-handed with the seed, and I spilled a bunch).

Yesterday, I transplanted the small nasturtium plants from the coldframe into a terra cotta pot for the herb garden (later, when it gets really hot, I'll move them to the porch). I told Rob, "I think this is the first time I've ever started flowers from seed and transplanted them." Wouldn't you know: when we came back from golf that afternoon, the plants had literally wilted in the sun. I hope they make it!

spring springs tomorrow.

2009-03-19T12:57:00.004-04:00

Perhaps Rob was right after all (and he usually is): Spring will actually come. It will. In fact, it's due in tomorrow.

After a couple of warm days, today surprised me with its sunny sky and cool temperature. Given what I see out my office window, I was expecting the air to be toastier than it was when I went out for a lunchtime errand.

Things are just now starting to pop around our house and neighborhood: The backyard forsythia began to open up on Sunday and now is in what qualifies as full bloom. Daffodils have flowered everywhere. A few plum trees up the street are flowering, and some star magnolias, too. Grass that was hit with a dose of spring fertilizer is greening up. The snowdrops I see on our morning walk have already faded.

I guess he was right.

coldframe: week 1.

2009-03-17T19:25:00.002-04:00

I'm impressed: The coldframe has created the perfect environment for our early spring seeding. This is after just one week; the arugula is going gangbusters and several other varieties are also sprouting nicely.

the coldframe.

2009-03-08T14:00:00.003-04:00

Rob is the Best Guy Ever ... among many reasons, for the fact that he built me a coldframe. I am very excited at the prospect of getting a super early start on my vegetable gardening. He built it last weekend, and we painted it over several evenings this past week. Yesterday, we took advantage of the near 80 degree day to bring it outside so I could plant it. It seemed sort of silly to be planting a coldframe on such a warm day, but Rob was quick to remind me that this same weekend last year saw a blizzard with about a foot of snow, which scuttled our plans to go to Louisville for a concert. We will have plenty of cold days to come.

The coldframe is basically a wood-framed, portable greenhouse that takes up about a quarter of the vegetable bed. I planted three rows of lettuce, one each of arugula and mache, and a row of nasturtiums that I'll transplant to a pot later. The coldframe has two plexiglas lids that can be propped open or fully closed depending on the weather. This week, I'll keep the lid partway open, as it's supposed to be warmish for a few days. On cold days or nights, it gets shut up tight. If it gets well below freezing, I can place votive candles inside the frame and let them burn all night to prevent a hard frost.

If all goes according to plan, we'll have a crop of spring greens about 2-3 weeks early. As it warms up through March, I'll also plant greens on the other half of the garden so we'll have a succession of crops. I plan to take pictures and post them every week to chart our progress.

today's yummy lunch.

2009-03-03T12:11:00.003-05:00

Last week for lunch, I brought a tasty salad of farro, roasted butternut squash and red onion, spinach and goat cheese; the recipe from 101cookbooks. It was super delish ... but I quickly realized in the early afternoon that it lacked protein, and we know that a bit of protein goes a long way toward Keeping. Bryn. Awake.

So this week I resurrected a salad of my own concoction. It needs a clever name.

2 small boneless chicken breasts, poached and shredded (grilled or roasted would be good, too)
2 large carrots
1 large fennel bulb
pinch of caraway seed
generous handful of parsley, chopped very roughly
S & P
drizzle of olive oil
drizzle of rice wine vinegar

I thinly sliced the carrot and fennel on my mandoline, then tossed everything together; it makes 3 good-size lunch portions. The caraway is an unexpected flavor, and the rice wine vinegar is a bit less sharp than regular vinegar would be. This has it all: bright taste, crunch, color, protein, yumminess.

what to do with leftover phyllo.

2009-02-28T20:10:00.002-05:00

Last weekend, Mom was here for an awesome visit. We had a great time, starting with a wine tasting Friday evening, followed by Chinese takeout. Then she and I stayed up way too late just catching up. It was great.

When Mom's here, we tend to make dinner into a special occasion, particularly since she's fun to have in the kitchen. Rob dug into an old favorite cookbook, a Junior League behemoth from San Francisco, to find something we hadn't tried before: chicken in a mustard cream sauce wrapped in phyllo, bûche de noel-style. It was really terrific. But it left us with half a box of phyllo.

What to do?

This: Salmon Filets in Phyllo. Really, where else would you go for a recipe to use leftover phyllo than Martha? It was terrific, and ridiculously easy: spread salmon filets with a bit of horseradish, do 2 layers of phyllo (with a bit of parsley between), then wrap up burrito-style and bake for like 12 minutes. Delish!

too many beans.

2009-02-25T12:30:00.003-05:00

I was thrilled to discover that my seed order from Cook's Garden arrived yesterday: four kinds of lettuces (Butterworth, Oliver, Summer Mix and Lollo Rosa), something yummy-looking called Corn Salad and two kinds of filet-type green beans (well, actually, one is green and the other yellow).

Funny, though ... I don't think I intended to order a HALF POUND of bean seeds. Rob thinks I need to traipse through the countryside scattering them as I go ... Bryn Beanseed!

dear winter.

2009-02-24T12:36:00.000-05:00

Dear Winter,

I remember fondly our first meeting in December. You came along at the right time; I'd put the garden to bed after the season and played my last round of golf, so your timing was ideal. It was a blast hanging out with you during the holidays—you charmed me with the light snow flurries you brought, and I loved how your cold, brisk nights made the Christmas lights seem to dance.

And then ... Then I began to see things in you I didn't like so much. Sure, I loved spending a snow day off work with you. And the icy tree branches were lovely shimmering in the sun. But don't you think the widespread power outages were a bit excessive? And that snow squall was an unexpected surprise—but really? At rush hour?

Now, well, now it's over. You're so cold, you just won't give me space ... we have nothing in common anymore. I'm sorry, Winter, but it's over between us.

It's not me, it's you.

ever the girl scout.

2009-02-10T12:27:00.006-05:00

Bear with me for a little lunchtime rant. I'm hormonal and a bit bothered, so deal with it.

As I've written about here and here, I am hardwired with what I call my Need for Order and Correctness. Which means that I have fairly high standards. Which, in turn, means that I'm usually disappointed.

Simply because I try to be considerate, courteous and helpful, I assume that the rest of the world will, too. Doesn't work that way.

(Note: If you're reading this, consider yourself among the friends and loved ones to whom these broad generalizations do not apply.)

And I end up getting frustrated by the dumbest, smallest things. I'm irate that very few people in our neighborhood shovel their sidewalks like Rob does. I'm beyond annoyed when fellow employees leave their nas-assty dirty dishes in the kitchen sink at work. I fume when I feel like I or my team are the only ones going the extra mile. I want to hit the person who doesn't hold the door open for me, or who doesn't put their weights away in the gym, or who nearly runs me over as I'm standing in a crosswalk. Because I tend to look out for others, to leave a place better than I found it and pitch in willingly, I'm always let down when others don't act as I would.

I recognize that I'm somehow still living by the Girl Scout Law:

I will do my best to be
honest and fair,
friendly and helpful,
considerate and caring,
courageous and strong, and
responsible for what I say and do,
and to
respect myself and others,
respect authority,
use resources wisely,
make the world a better place, and
be a sister to every Girl Scout.

I understand that here lies the path to madness. I'm aware that this is my problem and that this frustration is of my own making. Self-awareness makes you only marginally less pissed off.

today is edgar's birthday.

2009-02-01T16:48:00.002-05:00

Today is Edgar's birthday. Edgar, if you don't know, is the Big Bear; Henry is the Little Bear. We figure Edgar is probably 13 years old (Henry is maybe a year or two older) and came to live with us in St. Louis.

Henry and Edgar are best friends, inseparable. Henry is to Edgar what George is to Lennie, what Jim is to Kevin, what Greenberg is to Golic (seriously, where else do you get cultural references to "Of Mice and Men," "The Office" and ESPN's "Mike and Mike in the Morning" radio show??). Henry is wily, sharp, cynical and a bit of a critic; Edgar is big-hearted, friendly and encouraging. Edgar isn't dim, he's just unsophisticated, and he thinks more often with his belly than his brain.

Edgar has trouble grasping the concept of coincidence, so he's pretty convinced that the Super Bowl is a giant, football-laden celebration of his birthday. We haven't had the heart to correct his thinking on this.

What else do you do for a bear's birthday than bake a chocolate cake?

snowy day.

2009-01-27T08:46:00.002-05:00

Just last week, Rob and I were commenting that we'd made it through almost the end of January without a significant snowfall. We should have knocked wood ...

... today, we got a pretty good dump (5 inches, maybe) with more to come tonight and tomorrow. Interstates are shut down in various spots so I'm working from home, with a cup of coffee within reach and a sleepy dog curled up on his pillow across the room.

We took our regular morning walk about 7 a.m., when it was dark and still and quiet. It's been cold, so the snow is the light, powdery kind that doesn't pack (no snowman-making for us), which made walking uphill quite a workout. Wrigley had a bit of trouble with snow-packed paws, but we got through all right. It was pretty, a good start to the morning. Off to work now ...

crunchy granola.

2009-01-17T12:45:00.004-05:00

A few months ago I was disappointed to learn that the homemade granola I'd been buying at the market was no longer available. So today I made a batch that comes close ... almost. The only thing I need to figure out is how to make it more cluster-y, if that makes any sense. But it tastes great.

Crunchy Granola

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

3 cups rolled oats
1 cup mixed nuts & seeds (I used sunflower seeds, walnut pieces and slivered almonds; if I had sesame seed I would have added that)
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/4 cup honey
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
generous pinch of salt

Mix together thoroughly (so all the nuts and oats are coated with the sweeteners), then spread on a rimmed baking sheet lined with parchment.

Bake 10 minutes; stir. Bake 10 more minutes; stir. Again, 10 minutes and a stir. I gave it another 5 minutes, stirring frequently, until the granola was a deep and even brown (total baking time 30 to 35 minutes). When you stir, be sure to gather the well-browned bits on the outer edges of the pan and scoot them inward so it all browns evenly.

Remove from oven; cool. Stir in 1 cup of mixed dried fruit of your choice.

a cold winter's day.

2009-01-17T10:06:00.003-05:00

Not as cold as yesterday, but still really cold. As we drove down Columbia Parkway to the market this morning, the sky was a brilliant pinkorangegold and it made me think it might get sunny, but not so much. We'll brave the elements later to take Wigs out for a spin. We all need to get outside.

These winter days I always hold out a bit of hope: We've hit the coldest stretch of the year, yet the days are growing perceptibly longer; there was a sun delay on my way home. So there's that.

Doing chores today, I was thrilled THRILLED to see a cluster of buds on my beloved olive tree. It has never borne fruit, and now there are two tiny bud clusters. The tree drops leaves in the winter just as it hits a growth spurt (old making way for new, I suppose). Here's a blurry photo:

please, enough with the pears already.

2009-01-16T08:52:00.003-05:00

In the Mooth household, we have a serious pear problem: three -- count 'em, three -- deliveries of Harry & David pears within the space of about three weeks. We have 14 pears, and two people. Clearly, too many pears.

Pears are fine (and truly, these pears are delicious), but we're not huge winter-fruit eaters, and with only two of us, we just don't go through them quickly enough. (Plus, Rob has a little, erm, issue with them, which I won't go into here.)

So, what to do with all the freakin' pears?

Cocktail maestro that he is, Rob found in the Diffords Guide a recipe for a cocktail made of pear puree. So into the blender will go several of these blushing beauties. I'm a fan of sliced pears wrapped in proscuitto for a nice snacketizer. So that'll take care of another one. A recipe for salad of grilled chicken, blue cheese, red pepper, diced fennel and diced pear in a spicy cayenne-pecan dressing will no doubt be on the menu for Monday. And perhaps a pear crisp might need to happen.

Please, Harry & David, do not send any more pears. Ix-nay on the ears-pay.

roasted olives recipe.

2009-01-11T10:16:00.002-05:00

I'm not a huge olive fan, though I do love olive oil and tapenade. I guess really I'm a very picky olive eater -- I only like the ripe ones (green = ick!), and I like to nosh on tiny Arbequino, Nicoise and oil-cured black olives with a glass of wine before dinner.

When Dad & Ellen were here for a Christmas visit a couple of weeks ago, we hit Lavomatic, a delightful French-style wine bar/cafe, for an afternoon pick-me-up. We ordered a dish of roasted olives to snack on -- I'd never had roasted ones (and these were served cold, which didn't seem ideal), but they were tasty and I resolved to try making them. I sort of made this recipe up:

assorted olives of your liking
a sprig of rosemary (fresh thyme would work, too, maybe for a spring or summer variation)
1 clove of garlic, smashed
a pinch of red-pepper flakes
a glug of olive oil
a splash of red wine
a piece of orange peel would be nice, too

I warmed the olive oil in my small Lodge cast-iron skillet (any oven-proof skillet would do), then added the garlic, rosemary sprig and pepper flakes and warmed them until they were fragrant. I added the olives and stirred them around for a few minutes, then added the red wine. Then I shoved the pan into a preheated 400-degree oven for about 12 minutes, until everything bubbled and smelled delicious.

These improve greatly over time -- I made a batch for New Year's eve that were much better when I finished them off on Friday evening, more than a week later. Yesterday's batch will sit in the fridge until next weekend, when I'll scoop a few into a small dish and let them come to room temp for a little snacketizer.

the fun list.

2009-01-11T10:05:00.002-05:00

Last weekend, as our extended holiday time off was waning, Rob cheered me up by proposing that we create The Fun List -- a bunch of places to go, restaurants to hit and things to do during these short, dark, cold days of winter. I think his suggestion was mostly an act of self-preservation, as I can get sort of grouchy as I wait for the days to get longer, sunnier and warmer. The Fun List is a welcome distraction.

First up on the list: a trip to Jungle Jim's, a crazy food emporium (six acres under one roof!) on the way northwest side of Cincinnati. Yesterday was the perfect day for this Bit of Fun, as the weather was simply disastrous. So we trekked up I-75 and hit JJ's; an hour an a half and 130 bucks later, we emerged with a really random assortment of things. Our receipt shows:

-- 3 boxes of DeCecco pasta and a bag of my favorite, Fregola Sarda
-- 1 bottle of Verjus (a variant of wine vinegar that I've been interested in trying)
-- a liter of imported olive oil
-- bananas, zucchini, carrots, garlic, avocados
-- 2 cans of San Marzano tomatoes and a tube of imported tomato paste
-- 2 different kinds of fancy butter
-- 2 Spanish cheeses: an aged Manchego and a stinky-as-feet blue Cabrales
-- assorted fresh olives
-- 2 kinds of imported sea salt (coarse and fine)
-- a gorgeous piece of Sockeye salmon which, with the red lentils we also bought, was the centerpiece of last night's dinner
-- Cafe du Monde coffee
-- 4 additions to Rob's Pez collection: the Riddler, the mom and baby from "The Incredibles" and Linguini from "Ratatouille"

It was great fun!

a dream of mine.

2009-01-08T11:37:00.003-05:00

If we won the lottery and could build a second home, this is exactly how I'd want it: a modern box, a kitchendininglivingroom with a loft bedroom above and all surrounded by glass. I found a picture of this house (who knew someone had been reading my mind?) on NYTimes.com. I would not like my house to be in Idaho, as this one is. But the structure is just right.

Photo below is by Stuart Isett for the NYTimes.

tree, you've been lovely.

2009-01-04T09:48:00.003-05:00

Sadly, though, it's time to carefully remove all the beloved ornaments from your branches, take off the garland draped throughout your boughs, unwrap the strings of white lights, and pack it all away for the year. I hope you've felt like a star, all dressed up in the glittering painted-glass ornaments that I love so much -- the ones that first hung on my little artificial tree in my room growing up, even a few that probably came from Grandpa's flower shop and hung on Mom & Dad's tree when they were starting out. The ones that I picked up at the Herb Barn every day-after-Thanksgiving when Mom, Grandma and I would go out together. The ones that Rob and I have collected over the years, including the one that looks like a seed packet that I purchased just a few days ago.

You've been a gorgeous and welcome addition to our home these past few weeks, and we're glad we found you that cold night.

Thank you.

a meal to remember.

2008-12-31T11:05:00.004-05:00

Last night, Rob and I went out for a fantastic dinner at a Fancy White-Tablecloth Place. (Actually, the tables were dressed in lovely terra-cotta French Provençal linens.) Jean-Robert at Pigall's is probably Cincinnati's top restaurant -- its name a combination of the top chef and one of the city's finest old establishments. Back in the 1960s, Cincinnati somehow produced three of the 10 exclusive Mobil Five-Star restaurants in the country, and Pigall's was one of them.

It was an amazing meal and a terrific evening.

We started with cocktails at the lounge next door, then moved into the dining room. The space was gorgeous -- an inviting, long, low-ceilinged space with interesting decor and the above-mentioned linens. From the moment we sat down, the service was perfection -- proper and professional but warm and unpretentious.

And the food. OMG, the food.

We opted for the three-course menu, though the five-stepper beckoned. As a couple of fairly accomplished home cooks, we're always awed when a restaurant takes things that we prepare at home -- in this case, roast chicken and roast sea bass -- and turns them into something we could never possibly accomplish in our own kitchen.

We started with a lovely amuse bouche -- three of them, actually: a warm potato soup, a duck-confit salad and a phyllo purse of sauteed red cabbage and cream cheese.

First courses were, for me, a composed crabmeat/avocado/cucumber salad with a perfect scoop of cider-vinegar sorbet; for Rob, gorgeous duck ravioli with an intensely flavored duck/wine sauce. They were as different as can be, but both were just perfect.

Second courses: for me, the roast sea bass, which sat atop a bed of roasted fennel, sauteed shiitake mushrooms (which gave a creamy, earthy quality), orange segments and blue potatoes, and which was doused in a gorgeous orange butter sauce. I was amazed by the little garnish on top of the fish -- I thought it was shredded carrot, but one bite produced this intense, velvety flavor of candied orange peel. Rob had the roast chicken, which was topped with a wine sauce and sat alongside a sort of potato/cheese/mushroom croquette.

Dessert, as if we needed it, was for me a cheese assortment and for Rob an amazing dark-chocolate molten cake that was elevated to sublime with a scoop of pumpkin ice cream. The first and last entries in my mild-to-strong cheese plate were both Basque sheeps-milk cheeses that tasted similar but impossibly different.

All the way home, we talked about the individual flavors and tastes like we'd dissect the scenes of a complex movie. Every single dish was built from a pantry-full of ingredients, and you could taste each and every one of them individually. You could tell that all the elements had been prepared separately, seasoned minimally, and composed like instruments in an orchestra.

It wasn't a cheap night out, but it wasn't a bank-breaker, either. And it (obviously) left quite an impression. We'll most definitely go back.

more food. really, i need to stop.

2008-12-20T12:00:00.005-05:00

Some wise person, I'm not sure who, once said, "It's not Christmas without a cheese ball." So here we are. Actually, this is more of a log than a ball, but the spirit is the same. I spotted this recipe on the blog Homesick Texan, and I doctored it a bit, swapping in walnuts because I love the combination of walnuts and blue cheese.

8 oz. cream cheese
4 oz. blue cheese (I used Maytag, my favorite)
2 Tbsp. Worcestershire
1 clove of garlic, minced
1 cup of toasted walnuts, coarsely chopped

Blend the cheeses until smooth, blend in garlic and Worcestershire. Form into a log, then roll in toasted walnuts. Chill.

too funny.

2008-12-12T10:51:00.000-05:00

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

department of food.

2008-12-11T13:19:00.002-05:00

On NYTimes.com, columnist Nicolas Kristof has a piece about how President-elect Obama should revamp the Department of Agriculture and rename it the Department of Food. He cites Michael Pollan, noting that U.S. agricultural "policy" subsidizes the production of cheap calories (i.e., high fructose corn syrup) instead of real, healthy food. Here's a bit:

The Agriculture Department — and the agriculture committees in Congress — have traditionally been handed over to industrial farming interests by Democrats and Republicans alike. The farm lobby uses that perch to inflict unhealthy food on American children in school-lunch programs, exacerbating our national crisis with diabetes and obesity.
But let’s be clear. The problem isn’t farmers. It’s the farm lobby — hijacked by industrial operators — and a bipartisan tradition of kowtowing to it.

Can I get an 'amen'?

cookie baking, part 1.

2008-12-06T10:59:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was Cookie Baking Day 2008; I mixed up four different kinds (some of which I'll share with my delightful co-workers during our annual homemade gift exchange this week). I'll wait to post the recipes for the ones I'll be sharing (so the HOWgirls don't know what's in store), but there's one batch I. Most. Definitely. Will. Not. Be. Sharing.

No, no. These are mine. They taste like Mom's crunchy caramel frosting--nutty, buttery, caramel-y. I used sea salt, and the coarse grains didn't dissolve and integrate into the dough, so you get this delightful pop of salt in random bites. They definitely require a glass of milk, though they were just as nice with an espresso for our dessert last night.

Brown Butter Shorties from Smitten Kitchen:

1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter

1/2 cup packed brown sugar (preferably dark)
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt (flaky salt would be great in these)
Demerara sugar (Sugar in the Raw) or sanding sugar for rolling (optional)

Cut butter into four or five pieces and cook butter in a small heavy saucepan over medium heat, stirring frequently, until it has a nutty fragrance and flecks on bottom of pan turn a light brown, anywhere from 4 to 7 minutes. It helps to frequently scrape the solids off the bottom of the pan in the last couple minutes to ensure even browning. Transfer butter to a bowl and chill until just firm, about 1 hour.

Beat together butter and brown sugar with an electric mixer until pale and fluffy. Beat in vanilla, then mix in flour and salt at low speed until just combined. Transfer dough to a sheet of wax paper or parchment and form into a 12-inch log, 1 1/2 inches in diameter. Chill, wrapped in wax paper, until firm, about 1 hour.

Preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle. Unwrap dough and roll it in coarse sugar, if using, and press the granules in with the paper you’d be using to wrap it. Slice dough into 1/4-inch-thick rounds, arranging 1 1/2 inches apart on an ungreased baking sheet. Bake until surface is dry and edges are slightly darker, 10 to 12 minutes. Let sit on sheet for a minute before transferring to a rack to cool.

a cold night.

2008-12-02T19:02:00.003-05:00

On my way home, I debated going to the gym vs. taking a walk and decided I'd see how eager Wrigley was to get outside when I got home. Turns out, OHF had a huge case of The Puppies, so out we went. It was a cold night, and as we walked toward Hyde Park Square, I heard the bells at Knox Presbyterian chiming one of my favorite Christmas carols, "O Come, O Come Emmanuel." And we spotted a show in the sky: the conjunction of Venus, Jupiter and the Moon. It was a beautiful sight on a brisk almost-winter evening, and I'm glad I didn't miss it. The gym can wait until tomorrow.

last saturday in november.

2008-11-29T18:38:00.003-05:00

Following an unconventional yet fun and satisfying Thanksgiving weekend (we visited Dad & Ellen and Grandma, but missed seeing a sick-y Mom), we're home on a cozy Saturday evening. While Rob played golf this afternoon, I napped and puttered -- the latter including putting up some outside lights and baking a pumpkin pie. Inspired by Ellen's use of candles and seasonal decor on their front porch, I picked up some artificial greenery and some huge red candles, which I assembled on the front porch using the pots that held summer flowers and fall mums, and the huge Ball jars I use for candles on the side porch. All in all, it looks pretty.

For dinner, we hopped into the Wayback Machine and dragged out the February 1997 issue of Bon Appetit. I subscribed to B.A. for years until I stopped (which makes publishers like me crazy), and I saved years' worth of issues and created my own index to recipes we'd tried and loved or dog-eared for future reference. Tonight's dinner is one of those oft-made recipes:

Fettuccine with Sweet Pepper-Cayenne Sauce
Bon Appetit February 1997 (marked with a handwritten note on the page: great!! 1/97)
3 Tbsp butter
2 large red bell peppers in strips
3 minced garlic cloves
3/4 tsp. cayenne
1 cup whipping cream (hi, Mom!)
3/4 cup chicken broth
3/4 cup shredded Parmesan
12 oz fettuccine
1 cup frozen green peas
1/2 cup chopped fresh basil

holiday baking.

2008-11-23T13:22:00.004-05:00

I'm planning a bit of time off in advance of Thanksgiving, during which I aim to do some baking. I have an apple tart to take to Dad & Ellen's, and I made a batch of savory parmesan-hazelnut biscotti today to have with some wine pre-dinner at Mom's on Friday. I haven't had much luck with biscotti before, but this recipe caught my eye and it was a real success. They'll be lovely with the nice bottle of white wine I bought to take to Mom. I'm really looking forward to our holiday visits this coming week. I haven't spent much time with my family in the past 2 months (thanks, icky work schedule!), so this will be fun.

the best list.

2008-11-22T20:42:00.004-05:00

Here's a new feature on mooth: the best list. The best of the best of the best of the best ...

Herewith, the first entry (we'll add more to the new list on the right-hand side of the page):

On the Best List/Music:

"More Than This" by Peter Gabriel

a very ordinary evening.

2008-11-20T21:49:00.003-05:00

Rob is away for the evening on business (hi to you in Minneapolis, B!), so it's just me an Wig and the sucky Bengals game on TV. After a pretty tasty dinner (scrambled eggs, topped with the remains of my lentil stew and 2 pieces of toast), I've been paying bills, balancing my checkbook and feeling a bit sleepy around the edges. A tough workout and flurries outside the window are largely responsible for that.

Yay. Tomorrow's Friday, and I'm taking a half day off to putter (following a godawful H.R. meeting in the morning). On the menu for tomorrow when Rob gets home: Ina Garten's lemon roasted chicken and Moroccan couscous. Yum.

By the way, I did end up picking lettuce on Tuesday evening, after a hard freeze. That morning, it looked sad and frozen and I was afraid I'd lost it, but by the time I got home the sun had perked it up a bit and I cut the whole batch (about a row and a half of mixed variety) to bring in. We had some for dinner that night, and it was still sweet, crunchy and delicious.

blustery.

2008-11-17T19:13:00.003-05:00

Lots of snow flurries today, and a cold wind. Lettuce is still thriving in the garden (for now); I should have picked when I got home, but it was too dark and cold. The orchid that enjoyed its summer days on the side porch is now on my office window ledge, where it's sending up its third (!) bloom stalk of the season.

november 16.

2008-11-16T09:20:00.002-05:00

We woke to the faintest dusting of snow on the roof and a morning of freezing drizzle. It's the perfect day to stay indoors, make some soup (Lively Up Yourself Lentil Soup) for this week's lunches and watch football. Hardy Bengals fans next door got an 8 a.m. start heading for tailgating downtown; they were bundled up against the cold, but probably not against another loss. The flowering crabapple has nothing but the little red apples on its branches; the weeping cherry has wept its yellow leaves all over the yard. The lawn needs raking today, but the weather says, "Stay indoors, you."

mmm.

2008-11-14T19:09:00.001-05:00

Rob just opened a bottle of Beaulieu Vineyard Georges de la Tour Private Reserve Napa Cabernet 2001. Oh. No. He. Din't.

one thing i've learned about myself.

2008-11-10T17:10:00.005-05:00

I suppose that a growing sense of self-awareness comes along with adding more candles to the birthday cake. As I get older, I have a deeper sense of what makes me tick, how I respond to certain people and situations, what stresses me out and what makes me happy. So I've become increasingly aware of this fact: I. Simply. Can't. Sit. Still.

I don't know if I've become hardwired by years of working on deadlines, or if my need for order and organization compels me to keep a to-do list, or what. But I have this primordial need to be busy. Having an hour or three with nothing to do makes me batty. Sitting idly makes me nervous. While lots of people are totally content to just "hang out," I get a bit stir-crazy.

(See the post about taking a day off to putter as a case in point. I mean, really: Who takes a much-needed day of R&R and spends the whole time vacuuming baseboards and sweeping the garage? I needed a massage AFTER my day of rest.)

Yesterday, I spent three hours on the couch reading the Sunday New York Times, working the crossword, watching football, talking on the phone (and, yes, napping).

You know what? I kinda liked it.

wrigley's warhol moment.

2008-11-07T09:00:00.003-05:00

At HOW's Creative Freelancer Conference back in August, I met a designer and illustrator named Kristin Bowen, who has a side gig called DogHouse Custom Pet Portraits. When she handed me her business card, I knew I'd have to work with her on Wrigley's portrait. I got a proof this week and was thrilled; we're having a print made to frame and hang alongside all our other poster art at home.

things are good.

2008-11-01T20:45:00.002-04:00

I took Friday off to ... putter. I puttered around the house as if it were my job. Having lost several weekends to travel lately, my putter gauge was on E. So I puttered. The house has never been so orderly.

This morning, we took Wrigley to Findlay Market for probably the last time this season. EVERYONE wanted to make friends with him, and lots of other market regulars stopped by to scratch. The Apple Guy forked over a bit of his blackberry scone for Wigs, and a nice lady offered up a bit of her fresh bread after the boy stuck his nose in her market basket.

Today was a gorgeous Indian Summer day, perfect for a round of fall golf. Now, we're well into a bottle of wine and a hearty fall dinner: roasted pork loin with roasty apples and red onion and (my fave) mashed potatoes.

I love Rob and Wrigley.

the finish line.

2008-10-26T10:23:00.002-04:00

Since August, I've looked at this weekend as the finish line. This has been an extraordinarily busy stretch of time at work, culminating last week with a big, week-long annual project. I knew it was going to be hairy, and I checked off the to-do list day by day, with an eye toward October 25. At one point on Friday afternoon, I found myself feeling, almost literally, that last surge at the end of a race, my arms outstretched, head back, crossing the line.

Friday evening felt terrific, what with being home at week's end for the first time in a couple of weeks, a great dinner, the best company and the satisfaction of having made it through.

This weekend, we polished off 5 bottles of wine with our very great friends Doug & Sandy, made a killer dinner from a favorite cookbook (and Team Doug/Bryn scored 2 Euchre wins). So it's all good.

why food (really) matters.

2008-10-24T13:36:00.002-04:00

I'm a huge fan of Michael Pollan, though I've only read his magazine articles and not his books (including In Defense of Food). Mostly I'm a fan because I buy into what he's saying 100%. His simple philosophy: Eat moderately, mostly local foods, and mostly plants.

So I devoured (pun intended) Pollan's lengthy article in a recent NYTimes Sunday Magazine, written as an open letter to the next president. He cites some jaw-dropping statistics:

It takes a staggering amount of fossil fuel to produce the U.S. food supply; food is second only to cars in terms of fuel usage.
As the cost of food has cheapened, what we spend societally on healthcare has gone up by the same amount. Cheap food = less healthy food = a less healthy society.
Food production used to be fueled by the sun. Now it's fueled by petroleum, from petrochemical fertilizer to the diesel that runs the trucks that carry California strawberries to New Jersey.
Food production used to be local. Small, independent, regional meat processing outfits that prepared and distributed (locally) the meat raised by small farmers have been replaced by huge contained feeding operations (like the godawful Fair Oaks Farm that dominates both sides of the landscape along I-65 in Northern Indiana), which require the use of antibiotics on the animals (they're kept in such close quarters and fed unnatural feed so they're prone to sickness) and which produce unmanageable amounts of waste.
Speaking of which, food production used to be a closed loop: Cattle graze in winter on grassy pasture, keeping weeds under control and naturally fertilizing the earth; come spring, the pasture is plowed under and vegetable crops are planted, which need less fertilizer and weed control because of the land's winter activity. Rinse, repeat. Now, massive animal operations and monoculture (i.e., corn-only) farms misuse this natural cycle—the confined animals create a huge waste problem (there's no natural outlet for the manure) and the huge cornfields require fertilizer (there's no grazing). It creates two massive and linear problems of infertile land and enormous waste—no closed loop anymore.

I could go on. But instead I'll sit here and feel smug that we shop at a local market, buy local meat, bread and produce, and support our local agriculture.

Read Pollan. He's way smarter than I am.

goodnight, moon.

2008-10-15T12:14:00.002-04:00

Last night, after I'd showered and put on my jammies, I realized that the moon was full and bright and gorgeous, and so I went outside to have a look. Moon and I have quite a thing; Rob sends the moon to be with me while he's away, and I've always loved watching its changing phases, colors and position in the sky. (Last night was the full Hunter's Moon, if you're interested.)

I sat down in the driveway and had a chat with my friend Moon.

"Moon," I said, "I'm tired and stressed and feeling pressed for time and out of control. I'm too busy at work and I've been away from home too much.

"It's hard, Moon."

And Moon said, "You know, you really don't have it so bad. You have a husband you love, and a dog and family who love you in return. You're healthy. Your home is a haven, not a place of tension and anger. You have money in the bank and a roof over your head.

"Imagine if your home life were troubled or if you were sick or fearful of losing your job."

Moon said, "It's not really so hard."

"You're right, Moon," I said.

Today, Moon is not out and it all feels hard again.

Tonight, Moon. Let's talk again. Same time, same place.

i wonder ...

2008-10-13T12:55:00.003-04:00

I just finished The Art of Racing in the Rain, a novel about a wise dog (who serves as the storyteller) and his family. Enzo is left at home during the day with the TV to keep him company, and so he learns about the world and about his people from what he sees on television. The story was simple and sweet and fairly predictable, but I loved that it's told from Enzo's point of view. From watching the National Geographic channel, Enzo learns about dogs in Mongolia, who are gradually reincarnated into men after they've lived out their dogness. Wise as he is, Enzo is very close to human already.

The book's opening and closing pages had me in tears, because there's a dog who's close to my own heart. Mostly I think Wrigley isn't the brightest pup in the kennel -- he doesn't listen well (perhaps that's my fault, after all), he thinks entirely with his stomach (that might be on me, too) and he gets into stuff he shouldn't (I'll take no responsibility for that). But then there are occasions when Wrigley seems all too human (or nearly so), when he connects with people in a very warm way, when he cocks his head as if he understands what I'm saying to him, when he senses that Rob is away and so sticks close by my side to keep me company.

Enzo did us all a favor by translating dog behavior in human terms: tail wagging, sniffing, playing with his stuffed toy. Sometimes I wonder ... does Wrigley have his own story to tell?

wonder dog.

2008-10-02T12:48:00.003-04:00

Long story short: Wrigley is a silly, happy, healthy dog.

Long story long: It wasn't always so.

For about 6 months in the spring/summer of 2006, The Boy Wig was maddeningly, awfully sick: first with a liver disease that was never (and still hasn't been) diagnosed despite blood tests, major surgery and ultrasounds. Just when we thought things were looking up, we took Wigs in May to Martha's Vineyard, where he helped himself to a snack of goose leavings in the backyard, which launched a bacterial infection in his already-compromised digestive tract, which then led to malnutrition and then to open sores on his paws.

It occurred to me recently that I'd not kept a diary during that time as a way to help sort out my fears and emotions. And that I didn't have a record of the whole episode—aside from the stack of vet bills that equaled the cost of a small car. Since Wrigley is so healthy now, it's hard to even imagine that time when he was so sick.

Earlier this week, our company's technology department sent out a message urging people to purge their e-mail in advance of a system upgrade. Our system keeps a copy of every sent message, and I'd been less than diligent about deleting old sent messages. As I was scrolling through and deleting my old sent mail, a number of messages from April, May and June 2006 caught my eye. They were messages I'd sent updating friends and colleagues about Wrigley's ill health. Taken chronologically, these messages function as a sort of diary of that time.

To Rob, July 26 (right after our move back home):
Good morning, B -- I’m just feeling so good about OHF [our hairy friend] right now. He’s doing the Happy Food Dance and trotting around with a spring in his step. He did well on our walk yesterday (we’ll try that again tonight after it cools off — it’s good for BOTH of us!). We played a bit of tug with the tennis-ball-on-a-strap. He hopped right up into bed with me last night, and slept soundly (he twitched and grunted a bit, but I’m used to that from you!). He seems more and more like his doodle-self every day.

I am blessed to have both of you guys. I can’t wait to get you home on Friday, Buddy, so we can have a great weekend! I’m thinking much grilling will need to happen!

P.S. I have my new sparkly on, and it feels kind of like you’re right here with me.

I LOVE YOU!!!!!

To my colleague Sarah, June 21:
Sarah -- I totally appreciate your call and good thoughts yesterday. We’ve had 3 or 4 really hard days over the past 2 months, and that was one of them. I was just so worried about the boy.

Things have settled down now, though. We (all) had a good night’s sleep. I have (another!) antibiotic to give Wrigley, and we’re using a medicated solution 3 times a day for the poor foot. It’s looking better than it was, and he’s clearly more comfortable. He’s been interested in dog food again — yay! And we have a new Rx to try; the vet suggests that there MAY be a lingering case of pancreatitis; if that’s the case, this will help. I THINK, although I’m not sure, that some of the ongoing symptoms may have eased a bit (jaundice, swelling in the belly & feet). We’ll get test results on a whole bunch of things tomorrow.

So, thanks for your concern.

To Rob, June 20:
Well, I had an all-too-abbreviated conversation with Dr. Straus just now. The rundown:
• the abscess in his paw most likely is totally unrelated — maybe he stepped on something or got something stuck in his paw pad. Dr. Straus seemed to dismiss this as not a big deal.

• the leg weakness is part & parcel of his underlying disease

• the drug Dr. Bev suggested sounds quite difficult to administer (it’s a nasty-tasting powder and needs to be sprinkled on food, which of course is a problem)

• I want to talk more with him about the diarrhea/stomach upset. He was kind of short with me and I didn’t get a chance to ask more about this. He’s testing to see if there’s some kind of bowel disease that’s kicked in — i.e., the goose poop was just a coincidence.

I’m to call back at 2:00 to get more info. If his fever breaks, we can take him home later today.

From Rob, June 20:
Hello jeep, I’ve got my paws crossed for our hairy buddy. He needs us to help him through this, and we’re gonna do it!

Love,
B.

To Rob, June 7:
Hi, B!

Just back from the vet — Dr. Straus is understandably concerned, but we’re taking some action:
1. cutting the prednisone dosage in half (muscle weakness & swelling?)
2. 1/2 tablet of immodium 3x per day
3. adding 1 capsule of metamucil to help, er, solidify things
We need to get him eating again; he’s lost weight and feels bony. I’ll keep trying ...

Dr. Straus extracted a poop sample (Wrigley: “Yikes!”) and spotted something he couldn’t identify (um ... Doodusness?). So that’s gone out for testing; we’ll know tomorrow afternoon.

No word from Cornell — he doesn’t expect to hear anything definitive anyway (duh), but was just wanting to exhaust all possibilities.

Bottom line, we don’t know if the ongoing diarrhea is related to the liver disease or to the crap-snacking episode. Probably, the poop test will shed some light on that.

I’m back at my desk, so call whenever.

I LOVE YOU!!! AND WIGGY!!!!

To my colleague Sarah Whitman, June 6:
Ugh. I’m worried about the boy this morning. He’s experiencing some weakness in his hind legs, and a bit of swelling in his ankles. I’d like to think it’s a side effect of the prednisone, but I don’t know. Plus, he’s still poopy, and his appetite is spotty. On the upside, we got him out for a walk last night and he did OK.

I tried all day yesterday to get a hold of the vet, and he returned my call late last night and we missed it. He’s very hard to reach, and I’m concerned. Sigh.

To HOW forum member Dave Hollenbeck, May 30:
Hey, Dave -- Thanks for asking! It’s been quite a roller coaster. Things were going well until Wrigley helped himself to some goose droppings in the yard while we were on vacation this weekend, which has wreaked havoc on his system. TMI, probably! We still don’t know what’s been making him so ill, but he seems to be improving. Until this latest thing ...

To Rob, May 10:
We love you too, guy! We just had a little bit to eat — 3 meat sticks and part of a can of Eukanuba. (Actually, I’m having cereal.) So that’s good. Or, as someone hairy would say, “It’s delicious!”

From Rob, May 10:
B & Wiggy,

I love you guys! Thanks for taking care of each other. See you in a little while.

Love,
B.

To my HOW team, May 8:
Well, we had a better weekend than we’ve had in awhile. We're still dealing with the underlying and very mysterious liver/pancreas problem. But the vet started him on cortisone on Friday, and within about 3 hours of my giving him the first dose, it was like he was a different dog. His appetite improved, his tail started wagging, his disposition returned to something closer to normal. All last week, he refused to eat and just hid under the dining room table or in a dark corner of the downstairs hallway.

This weekend, we took him out to breakfast with us (an outdoor table at the local bakery that's our Saturday morning habit), and got him out for a walk. We're not counting our chickens, but it's really encouraging to see him perking up a bit. I have to believe that feeling better and eating better will improve his chances of recuperating from whatever is going on with his insides. I’ve got a call into the vet this a.m. to see where we stand for the time being. He’s still a bit jaundiced, and we expect that it’ll be awhile before we see any changes in his blood chemistry related to all of this. But it was nice to not shed any tears this weekend.

To my friend and business collaborator Sam Harrison, May 8:
Thanks, Sam. Our boy Wrigley has been in tough shape these past 3 weeks, with some kind of liver malfunction that's defying veterinary wisdom. After 3 biopsies, 2 ultrasounds, a bunch of blood tests and exploratory surgery, we're still not sure what's up or what the long-term deal is. I've been see-sawing between tears and bright optimism. He's not been eating (which is a real indicator) and has obviously been feeling poorly (hiding under the dining room table, not wagging his tail). The good news is that we started on cortisone on Friday, and within about 3 hours, he was a radically different dog. So we're riding that wave of optimism, hoping that the renewed appetite and morale will help his insides recuperate as they need to.

It's funny ... He's "just" a dog, but he's such a wonderful companion and dear part of our little family. You're a dog person; you can probably relate.

Thanks for the good thoughts. Give your canine friend(s) extra scratches today!

To my HOW staff, May 2:
It makes me sort of smile that the dog, who’s lying at my feet, just farted rather stinkily. Surely that must be a good sign.

To HOW forum member Dave Hollenbeck, May 1:
Thanks, Dave. Wrigley's been dealing with this for going on 3 weeks now. We've done blood tests, two ultrasounds and a round of exploratory surgery. First, we heard it was liver disease (the poor boy is jaundiced), as the blood tests reveal off the-charts liver enzymes. They biopsied his pancreas and liver last week and found pancreatitis, but we don't know if that's the entire problem or if there's something else at work here. (We're going to have a bake sale to raise funds for Wrigley's medical bills!) Right now, I can't get him to eat, and he's just laying low. Got yet another call into the specialty vet we saw last week to find out what we can do for him. It's just awful watching a beloved companion be so sick and not being able to fix him.

Anyway, fingers (and paws) crossed! Thanks for your message!

To my friend and business collaborator Peleg Top, April 17:
Well, things are hopeful with the Boy Wig ... It was a weekend of ups and downs, and I’m still so anxious about him I’m literally shaking. Here’s the long story:

Friday morning, we knew that he was having a liver problem of some kind; that evening, got a call at the end of the day from the vet; they’d done an ultrasound and a biopsy of his liver and the best guess was that he has chronic hepatitis, which he’d been carrying around for a long time and which finally manifested as a malfunction of his liver.

Saturday morning, things were stable, so we went about trying to have a normal day and not dwell on this too much. Saturday afternoon, we got word that a follow-up blood test was concerning, and the vet described his condition as “guarded.” Tears and nervousness ensued.

Sunday morning, we went to Easter sunrise service and both totally cried. It was lovely and much needed, but also hard. We were really worried about him. Sunday mid-day, we had a message from the vet that Wrigley was eating and had tons of energy and personality (he was “bouncing off the walls”). Whew. Felt much better.

This morning, had word that he was “excellent” overnight, eating more and doing well. We’re awaiting results of another blood test around noon and results from the biopsy. Hopefully, the blood work will tell us that the treatment he’s been getting is starting to kick in, and the pathology results will confirm the hepatitis diagnosis. That is treatable long-term with meds and special food.

Still no word on when he’ll be able to come home. It sounds like his temperament and energy levels are really great — you might not know he’s really sick except that he’s extremely jaundiced.

I miss having him around today, and I’m still worried. But the latest news is hopeful and we’re focusing on that.

All of this for a silly $30 dog. But how I do love him!

restoration.

2008-09-20T21:24:00.003-04:00

I'm slightly wasted. Rob is snoozing in a chair on the patio. It's all good.

Friday was an epically horrible day at work. The worst I've had in many years (probably dating back to my awful tenure with I.D.).

An ordinary Friday devolved into a fire-drill that had all of us scrambling and feeling pretty crabby about it. But we rose to the occasion (as we HOWgirls do), and (fingers crossed) it's looking like the problem is working itself out.

So when I pulled into the driveway (well later than I'd anticipated) on Friday night, in spite of my internal declarations that I wouldn't, I broke into tears. Rob, too, had had a rough week at work in a similarly corporate bullshit sort of way. We laced up our shoes, put Wrigley's lead on, and took a walk to clear our heads.

And so here we are, 24 hours later, feeling better. Today was a gorgeous late-summer day. A fine trip to the market (where Wrigley greeted all his fans) was followed by a productive day of inside and outside chores. That, plus better news on the work front (gotta love calls from the new boss on a Saturday) and, most important, an amazing dinner, have us all feeling better.

I think this house is protected by a Protego Totalum charm. In the Harry Potter series, the Protego Totalum charm keeps a dwelling safe from outside harm or influence; it's the charm that keeps the Weasleys' house safe and snug (it's called, fittingly, The Burrow). Our Protego charm encompasses our entire yard and home; once you cross into the driveway or step into the yard, you're safe. I can literally feel its effects.

And so, after we took a mind-clearing walk Friday evening, we crossed that threshold and were immediately under the charm. And noticeably, if gradually, the spell is working its magic and we're feeling happy and satisfied and safe.

Of course, a bottle of Rafanelli zinfandel, a pair of grilled filets and a batch of fried green tomatoes do nothing to kill the mood. Here it is at nearly 10:00 p.m., a day before the fall equinox, and the candlelight, wine, sleeping boys (both of them) and music make me feel like nothing—absolutely NOTHING—outside our Protego charm ... means shit.

thanks, ike.

2008-09-15T11:52:00.003-04:00

Holy falling tree limbs, Batman! What's left of Hurricane Ike (and there was a LOT left in Ike's tank) blew through Cincinnati yesterday afternoon. We had about 4 hours of sustained tropical storm-force winds (gusts were recorded above 75 miles per hour). There's a remarkable number of trees, debris and power lines down in our neighborhood; streets are closed and traffic signals are out. We lost power at 2 p.m. Sunday and it just popped back on about 10:00 this morning; apparently, 90% of homes and businesses in the city lost power. I'm at home today, as work is still without power and closed. (Snow day!!!)

The wind velocity yesterday was eerie. The huge trees in our neighborhood shook and swayed like we couldn't believe. After we lost power, the house got really warm, so we sat on the side porch and watched the massive oaks across the street rattle to their cores. I'm surprised the big lodge-pole pine on the corner opposite our house is still standing (I raked bagfuls of its needles out of the front yard this morning).

Here's what's weird: Rob and I figure Wrigley knew the storm was coming before it hit. He was unusually clingy yesterday, and he begged not to be left behind when Rob and I both left around noon. I hopped in the shower just as the wind started to kick up around 1 p.m. yesterday; when I got out, I found Wrigley in our bedroom closet -- the front door had blown open and it startled him so much he went into hiding.

We made the most of it: We grilled dinner and then dined on the side porch, drank a bit too much wine, listened to sports on the transistor radio, went to bed early. Wrigley and I went for a long walk and then discovered that the coffee shop just up the road was one of the very few businesses in this area that had power. They were packed.

Naturally, the local TV news has already branded this "Blackout 2008." I'll have to get the T-shirt.

it's not really soup weather.

2008-09-13T18:24:00.003-04:00

Except that it is. I scoped out a recipe for Late Summer Minestrone as I was perusing the NYTimes.com Wednesday food section, and it sort of begged to be made this weekend. So I did. A few minutes' worth of chopping (including our own beans and tomatoes), a few minutes' worth of simmering ... and voila. We won't have this for dinner for another night or two -- soup always needs time to develop. I'll put a bunch of it into the freezer; it'll be amazing come January.

dinner with doofus.

2008-09-02T12:45:00.004-04:00

I spent most of the past week in Chicago, hosting-slash-attending a HOW conference for freelancers. It was the first event we've done for this group, and by all accounts a home run.

Friday after the conference wrapped, Bill picked me up and we spent a fun weekend together. He introduced me to Algerian crepes and to Vietnamese food that afternoon and evening, and then we hit a neighborhood spot Saturday morning for brunch. The place bills itself as featuring coastal southern cuisine, and it was all grits-and-gravy goodness.

We hit two (count 'em) farmers markets on Saturday morning and stocked up on items for an all-veggie dinner: a rainbow's worth of cherry tomatoes, some fingerling potatoes, some local broccoli, arugula, goat cheese, beets, bread ...

quite the menagerie.

2008-08-23T19:22:00.003-04:00

Among the creatures that inhabit 645 Kroger Lane are, for a few weeks in late summer, a colony of Walking Sticks on the Side Porch. We first spotted a pair of them two summers ago; last year there were three and now there are six. They change color and shape over the course of the season, going from a sort of soft and "unripe" state to more stick-like. Perhaps they like to call this house home, too.

things don't change.

2008-08-16T21:10:00.003-04:00

Here we are on a gorgeous August evening; we're cheating fate because the weather is stunning, and the moon is nearly full, and we're satisfied and nicely buzzy.

We're two days away from our 18th wedding anniversary, and in toasting the occasion with a freakin' amazing bottle of Italian red (complemented by an equally amazing dinner, which I'll get to in a second). We're recalling those late-summer days when we were newly together, when meeting up back in Bloomington for the school year was an exciting prospect.

I remember the early days of our relationship (does he like me? will he call? will he call AGAIN?) and then I remember that we settled into a comfortable togetherness that was easy and effortless early on, as it is now. I've always felt a rush of excitement on seeing him (like running into him "accidentally" when I knew he'd be studying in the Union), and that translates today, 20 years later (plus a few months). I felt that again on Thursday when Wrigley and I watched and cheered as Rob ran a 5K in the neighborhood. I'm still smitten.

The thing that constantly amazes me is that our home life, as uncomplicated and routine-oriented as it is, is so close to what we envisioned during those early days when we talked about our dreams of a life together. And our vacation time is so close to our everyday life, too. What's more, it doesn't feel like we're working particularly hard to achieve it: Our silly little contented life comes naturally. Something tells me that we might be onto something.

So on our 18th anniversary (and on Wrigley's 10th birthday, and Henry's 13th), we're all feeling content and happy. Which is, I suppose, how it should be.

Oh, so about dinner: A recipe from Beaulieu Winery for fennel-spiced steak: A rub of toasted and ground fennel seed, peppercorns and coriander dusted heavily over a steak, which is grilled, sliced and served atop thick slices of summer tomato. The tomatoes came from our garden, and they tasted like the sun that was shining when I picked them today. It's one of our very favorite recipes, perhaps mostly because it's so rare. It just doesn't fly in February.

Happy anniversary, B. I love you more than I can say. But then, I think you have a good godd@&m idea.

otherwise.

2008-08-09T21:06:00.003-04:00

On our very first trip to Martha's Vineyard in 2003, we discovered one thing about the island: Pie is as much a part of Vineyard life as field-cut flowers. Drive anywhere on the island, and you're sure to find a sign advertising home-baked pie with local fruit just as sure as you'll find a little roadside stand with charming bouquets of flowers for sale.

On our first visit, we stumbled across Pies and Otherwise, a little gazebo in front of a house where the husband was out front selling blueberry, peach, apple and mixed-fruit pies that his wife had baked. On subsequent trips, we've always been sure to have a pie on hand for dessert. This year, we ran across Pies and Otherwise rather late in our visit (after we'd, ahem, purchased a pie elsewhere). Nonetheless, we stopped, and I bought a couple of raspberry squares -- sort of a pie in brownie form. Delish!

Only the next day did we read in the Vineyard Gazette that the baker, Eileen Blake, had recently passed.

When we returned home, I determined to try to replicate the raspberry squares. I managed a decent attempt just today. I used 2.5 pounds of mixed red raspberries and blackberries, and doubled up on the amount of cornstarch called for in the recipe, in hopes of duplicating the deeply intense, thick fruit filling we'd enjoyed from the Pies and Otherwise fruit squares (I suppose these qualify as 'otherwise').

Here's the thing: After a tremendous (but simple) dinner of burgers and corn risotto and excellent wine -- and a lovely August evening where we've got the house wide open due to the cool weather -- I feel just as blissed out here as I did on vacation.

last day.

2008-08-02T17:40:00.003-04:00

Our last day on Martha's Vineyard is waning with a light shower, which seems a nice way to end the visit. We managed to squeeze in a morning at Espresso Love and another big canoe trip before the skies clouded over. Just now, we're back from town, where we grabbed a gift for the neighbors who are taking in our mail, a souvenir for ourselves and a dozen shrimp for tonight's dinner.

Rob is busy packing the car. I'm in denial.

for a slow day, a lot to do.

2008-08-01T10:51:00.003-04:00

Yesterday (Thursday), the forecast called for rain. So we planned accordingly: Instead of a day of canoeing or golf, we figured we'd take advantage of gloomy weather and take a tour around the island. No matter that it turned out to be a beautiful day when the clouds lifted (sans rain) mid-morning.

We started with a drive toward Vineyard Haven and then headed on from there. We stopped in at Chilmark Pottery, where we'd picked up a couple of fun pieces (currently in use at home as salad bowls) on an earlier trip. We weren't in the market yesterday, so we moved on. We stopped at an adorable little farmstand called Fiddlehead Farm (cute!); they weren't yet harvesting much of their own produce (tomatoes are still a week off here), but they had a bunch of neat gourmet and imported items. From there, we wandered on to Martha's Vineyard Glassworks, which we'd also visited previously. We watched the glassblowers work and bought two "floats" -- brightly colored globes modeled on those used by Japanese fishermen to float their nets. They're super cool garden accessories (we have two at home in the bed by the front door) and these will go in the back by the patio. Nice souvenirs.

Then we moved onto Chilmark Store, which was insanely busy with the lunch crowd. No wonder: they make a wicked good New York-style pizza. We fueled up with a couple of slices (and a few bits of whole-wheat crust for The Hairy Friend).

Next stop: Morning Glory Farm for some lettuce and tomatoes for last night's dinner, and then to Edgartown Seafood for a slab-o-halibut. Rob grilled the fish on the charcoal barbeque out back; it was perfect, with a salty, peppery crust on top and nicely moist inside. If I never have fish again, it'll be OK. We topped it with a tomato/garlic/basil/balsamic/lemon/oliveoil combo, much like what Uncle Dave & Regina did last weekend. Awesome.

a two-hour tour.

2008-07-31T09:07:00.004-04:00

Again yesterday, Wrigley donned his yellow Float Coat and hopped willingly into the canoe, and we enjoyed a couple of hours paddling around Edgartown Great Pond. We explored far and wide, going up into several coves and checking out the homes scattered along the shore. It was bright and sunny, an ideal day to be on the water.

Today is the opposite: cloudy, rainy and dark. Which is perfect: It gives us reason to do some on-land exploring. We'll hit Morning Glory Farm early for some produce for tonight's dinner, then maybe head over to Chilmark and other parts of the island.

Speaking of dinner, last night's was again epic: Fresh (!) scallops the size of my head, pan-sauteed and then served over a succotash of sauteed onion, corn and teeny green beans, with a butter/lemon pan sauce over the top. I will never have better scallops. Eating seafood out here completely ruins it for the stuff we get at home.

We just might not leave.

dear regina: sorry about the stove.

2008-07-30T11:45:00.003-04:00

Since Rob and I both love cooking, it's a real treat to be able to do so on vacation, especially when we have amazing local ingredients and a gorgeous kitchen to work with. (I also love the provisioning part of these trips, making a list of things to bring with us and curating a collection of recipes to make.)

With the recent remodel of the house, Regina had installed a stunning six-burner AGA stove. It's a real beauty: a gleaming black cooktop and white enamel front, with three ovens (of different sizes and functions) and about a zillion parts that naturally all need cleaning after you've put the sucker through its paces.

Which we did last night. All due apologies to the nice girls who came this morning to clean.

Sea Bass and Confetti Vegetables with Lemon-Butter Sauce

For the fish
2 sea bass fillets (sprinkle with salt)
Heat olive oil in a large skillet; add fish and cook until it flakes easily when tested with a fork.
Remove from pan, place on a plate and tent with foil.
Add 1/4 cup white wine and the juice of a lemon to the pan; cook over medium-high heat 2 minutes. Remove from heat, stir in 1 Tablespoon chopped parsley and 1 teaspoon cold butter.

For the vegetables

Cut the kernels off 2 ears of corn; chop a tomato and a zucchini (two if they're tiny). Sliver a large handful of fresh spinach. Add corn and zucchini to pan, saute 2 minutes. Add tomato and spinach, cook 1 minute until spinach wilts.

Spoon the vegetables onto 2 plates; top with fish and pour butter sauce over all.

wrigley the canoeing dog.

2008-07-29T19:18:00.003-04:00

On Saturday, while the whole crew was here, there was an Important Canoeing Adventure. Dave, Harry, Alicia, Rob, Wrigley and I launched two kayaks and a canoe onto Edgartown Great Pond and went in search of a specific target. We all (Wiggy included) wore the appropriate, Coast Guard-approved PFDs (that's personal flotation device, in Wrigley's case a.k.a. a Float Coat). The mission? Investigate a white buoy in the pond, to which on previous trips Harry had tied various items, including a plastic shovel. Today, we aimed to attach a plastic airplane, secured with a piece of twine. The goal is to see if what's been left previously is still there on subsequent visits. Wrigley was a huge HUGE sport about the whole thing. Note to family and friends: This will likely be the photo on this year's Christmas card.

too much of a good thing.

2008-07-29T07:13:00.003-04:00

Perhaps inevitably, we woke to a bit of dog barf on the floor by the back door this morning on Martha's Vineyard. Inevitably, because over the weekend when the whole crew were here, Wrigley was the beneficiary of some dinner-table generosity. Several of the treats were willingly given (Uncle Dave's oyster, Grandma's bread); others not so much (the two chunks of english muffin snatched from Harry's hand at breakfast). So there was barfing. Easily cleaned up, and now Wrigley is hiding under the dining table.

speaking of terrific (and fitting) poems.

2008-07-26T16:10:00.002-04:00

Our friends Doug & Sandy shared this one:

The Good Nights
by Joseph Mills

On the good nights
when the bottle's empty
we always want
just a little more,
half a glass,
a few sips,
a taste.
We know
this desire
can be dangerous
to pursue,
that it can make
mornings difficult,
so usually we
brush our teeth
let the dog in,
lock the doors,
but sometimes,
even as we say
We really should
get ready for bed,
instead of loading
the dishwasher
we will search
for the corkscrew,
all the while
shaking our heads
in wonder
at this willingness
to ignore the clocks
and the fact we have
to work tomorrow,
this irresponsibility,
this evidence
even after all these years
of the unquenchable desire
for each other's company.

this is very sweet.

2008-07-26T12:58:00.003-04:00

On Martha's Vineyard today, Grandma pointed out to me this poem in a collection of children's verse compiled by Caroline Kennedy (who, coincidentally, dropped by to visit last evening).

from Falling in Love Is Like Owning a Dog
by Taylor Mali

First of all, it's a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you're walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain't no one going to mess with you.

Love doesn't like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.

Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.

Sometimes love just wants to go for a nice long walk.
It runs you around the block and leaves you panting.
It pulls you in several different directions at once,
or winds around and around you
until you're all wound up and can't move.

But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.

Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.

more botanicals.

2008-07-22T21:27:00.004-04:00

Below, a few snaps of the daylilies, including the newly named Herb, at left (short for Peaches & Herb, the very bad disco band whose name seems apropos for a flower that's a gorgeous double shade of peach) and Pickelson Slammer, right, whose purple petals and lime throat remind us of our house cocktail, which features Creme de Cassis and lime juice.

Speaking of cocktails, Rob has dubbed his new concoction The Recombobulator: it's a blend of blood-orange juice, Triple Sec, vodka and Galliano.

His recent trip to the Milwaukee airport inspired the name: After progressing through the security checkpoint, Rob looked up to see a large sign reading, "Recombobulation Zone." Which seemed thoroughly appropriate given the discombobulation that one experiences upon entering said security zone. If the TSA is known for nothing else than a Mooth Family cocktail, they're batting 1.000.

botanical nomenclature.

2008-07-12T19:11:00.004-04:00

My tendency to label and list things extends to the garden; if you walk through the yard, you'll see little plastic (in the vegetable bed) or metal garden labels marking everything from the 3 varieties of lavender in the herb bed to the potted Chardonnay to the particular kind of lettuce growing in the veggie patch. Yes, it's anal-retentive, and I embrace it.

The summer after we moved in, Grandma gave me a half dozen daylily bulbs for my birthday or Christmas, I can't remember. We planted them along the border in the backyard, and I carefully recorded the variety name on a little metal tag which I stuck in the ground next to each one. For four or five seasons we watched as they grew, sent up buds—and were thoroughly munched by the deer that roam our neighborhood. Seriously, the deer seemed oblivious to the plants themselves, or even to the flowers, but boy ... those flower buds must be tasty.

Fast forward to the two-year period when we were in Jersey. The landscaping company we hired to keep things while we were away completely obliterated my careful little plant labels.

Last year, Rob engineered a deer-proof system involving netting and stakes—for the first season, we had a fully blooming crop of daylilies. But we had no idea what their names were. So as they bloomed, we made up new names for them, and I made little metal labels. Like Ninety-Nine, which has a gold/orange/red scheme that looks like the sun on a very hot day. Or Jackson, which has a crimson and gold palette that reminded us of the colors of USC, whose football games Keith Jackson broadcasts every fall. Or Butters (the color reference is obvious), named after a South Park character. Or Pickelson Slammer, which gets its name from the house cocktail (you'll have to ask us about that one).

So our daylilies aren't exactly up to whatever formal botanical standard exists out there. But we know what they are.

mooths in the media.

2008-07-02T20:58:00.005-04:00

A photographer from CinWeekly took a family photo during the Hyde Park Blast festivities on Saturday.

wrigley's big day. from wrigley's point of view.

2008-06-29T19:08:00.004-04:00

So you've had two versions of yesterday's big fun. Here's how Wrigley saw things:

Guys! Guys! Get up. I'm hungry. Scratch. Scratch.

Gotta go outside!

Yay! Breakfast! It's my favorite! Yay!

Hm. Something's up. The guys are talking to me. They're taking out my leash. What's this bandanna thing she's tying around my neck? Feels itchy. Oh, well, I'm lookin' sharp. Yes, indeedy.

Oh, we're going in the car. We're going somewhere I know. I'm going to start singing in the back seat. Loud. Yes, more singing.

Hey, we're stopping. I'm getting out of the car. Ooh ... gotta pee on this tree! And this one! And this one!

I know where we are: the square. Hooray!

Wow. There's a lot of people around. Lots of them. They're all crowding in on me. I should bark. Loud. Yes, more barking.

Where did Scratch Boy go? He's way up ahead. OK, so I'll just trot alongside Snack Girl. Yes. We're in the groove now.

We're cruising along. Wait! I gotta stop! Snack Girl picks up after me, just like she always does.

We're walking, we're walking. Hey, we're going toward Carl's. Let's go. LET'S GO!!!!

Cool. There are lots of people around. We're walking. Hey, there's Scratch Boy. Hi, Scratch Boy!

Hey, Scratch Boy has something to eat. Something for ME. Pretzel! I love pretzel!

Wow, I could use a big slurp of water. Oooh, crunchy ice. I love ice! I love pretzel!

Yay!

It's a big day for ME! It's all about ME! People are asking about ME! They love ME!

A Day of Speed and a Matter of Trust

2008-06-29T16:45:00.003-04:00

As Bryn mentioned in her post below, Saturday was the annual Hyde Park Blast 4-miler. Heading into this race, I was feeling pretty good about the training I'd been doing, the weather was OK, and I had no nagging injuries to deal with.

But, in the minutes leading up to the race, I was feeling pretty sluggy and needed some inspiration and focus. I joked with my buddy Jay at the starting line how we needed a motivational talk from Tom Browning. (Browning miraculously hauls his butt out of bed to emcee the annual Reds 5K, and bumbles through a send-off including such classics as "All you hot chicks be sure to line up on my side of the pack" and "OK, guys, you guys are the best, guys, uuuuh, good luck guys, I'll save a beer for you at the finish... guys.") Since Browning was not an option, I just told myself, "trust your legs." I settled into a comfortable pace, pushed the pace in the uphill parts of the race (of which there were many!), and finished strong for 12th, 1st in my age group.

But the big fun of the day was a trip to the Kentucky Speedway, and a slot in the Mario Andretti Racing School. The premise of this school was that you could drive 6 laps around the 1.5 mile Speedway in a real Indy car. No advance training, no specific experience - just a medical waiver and a valid driver's license gets you in. And 400 bucks. Would you be a little worried about this deal? My friends Jason, Mark, and I sure were. How the hell could they let schmucks like us take control of a car with a jet engine inside and turn laps on a pro track? How many people have perished doing this? Would we all drive like old ladies and get laughed off the track? All these questions were in our heads.

The school consisted of about an hour of verbal instruction and a couple trips around the track in a van to talk you through it. But the best advice we got was to "trust your car." That reminded me of what I'd told myself that morning at the race, and kind of put me at ease.

The idea is that you turn 6 laps trailing a professional instructor. If you stay within the prescribed 4-6 car lengths, your instructor will keep pushing the pace throughout. If you fall behind, your instructor eases up. Pretty simple. I told myself to follow the line and push it as hard as I could.

When you punch the gas on an Indy car, it's like nothing you've ever experienced. The acceleration is totally cool when you let out the clutch and hit the gas. I started out a little tentative, since the steering is just a little different from my Maxima, and you're going 90 mph just about as soon as you pull out of the access road onto the track.

Like everyone else in our class, I got a green flag the first time I went past the starting line, which means to "speed up." As I got more comfortable with the idea, I just told myself to "trust the car" and get into the groove of the track with my instructor. He kept pushing the speed, and I stayed on his tail. One thing I learned is that, when you go around an oval race track, you NEVER let off the throttle. Can you imagine what this feels like? NO, you can't! You've got these crazy G-forces pulling at you, the little steering wheel is vibrating, the engine is howling, and you are (almost literally) flying around the track. All I can say is, WOW!

I got the car up to 167 mph, which was the fastest in our group. But we all did really well. Definitely better than a bunch of old ladies! If you ever have the opportunity to try this, I highly recommend it. I'm working on Bryn for next year's session... Wanna join us? Trust me.

wrigley's big day.

2008-06-29T08:42:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, the whole Mooth family participated in the annual Hyde Park Blast. It's full-day neighborhood festival that takes place around July 4: The day starts with a four-mile run/walk that we all did. Wrigley donned his official Hyde Park (make that Bark) Blast bandanna and looked quite snappy as he and I did the walk. With his red bandanna and lead, and my red shirt, we were such the team.

Wrigley had a pedicure on Friday; his nails had been too long and I could tell it was affecting how he walked -- with shorter nails on Saturday, he was very happy walking at a quick pace. Our first mile was the slowest (thanks to a business stop early on) and picked up speed each mile, including a super-speedy pace down Observatory toward Carl's, the neighborhood deli. Our pace always quickens as we approach Carl's. Always.

Rob was waiting for us at the finish line: He cruised to a 12th place spot out of more than 1,600 runners! He's awesome.

The post-race goings-on at the Blast are a high point of the whole experience, most especially the kegs & eggs. Nothing like a Bud Light and plate of eggs to refuel after a race. Wrigley scarfed some eggs and a few bites of soft pretzel, gulped down a lot of water and crunched some ice. A great morning for the Boy.

(In the afternoon, Rob and some friends headed down to the Kentucky Speedway, where they took part in the Mario Andretti Driving School and drove Indy Cars around the track. Perhaps I'll get him to post about that.)

Later in the day, we returned to Hyde Park Square, where they closed the streets down for a block party and series of bicycle races. We watched the cycling, enjoyed some good wine and had a bite to eat. The Wrigley Effect was in full force: Everyone wanted to know what kind of dog he is, and he was eternally patient when a little kid came up and played with his ears or his tail. He barked whenever the crowd was cheering on the riders (and sometimes just because). I find it funny that everyone assumes he's still a puppy. Perhaps it's his goofy look or his happy demeanor, but folks are always surprised when I tell how old he is. He's a good boy.

I love my little family.

(edit: Today, Wrigley wants to go EVERYWHERE with us. He's been following us around and was most disappointed when we left to go to Target and then to play golf without him.)