'tis autumn.

Ahhh, the luxuries of a fall Sunday afternoon: a not-too-cold day (though the sun has disappeared behind an overcast sky), a fire in the fire pit outside, tired legs after a 90-minute walk through Ault Park with the boy, Rob with a late-season round of golf under his belt, the Bengals (losing, sadly) on the radio. I made a hearty seasonal salad today: Farro with Roasted Butternut Squash, courtesy of one of my fave food blogs, 101Cookbooks.com. Yum.

because it works, that's why.

Why does The Dog beg?

Because it works, that's why.

I've been more generous than usual with the snacks these past 24 hours, perhaps making up for my absence for the past week (and Rob's currently gone -- hi to Tokyo, B!). But Wrigley's making out like gangbusters.

We took a lengthy walk tonight, and The Boy was full of pep and energy -- he practically ran ahead of me the whole way. I think he must like this cooler weather. He's in great shape. We scored lots of scratches and loves from a poll worker outside Knox Presbyterian (Wrigley voted for all Dog Party candidates).

There's something nice about the sound of dog feet trotting through crunchy leaves on a cool fall night. My new BFF Debbie Millman says that dog feet smell like Fritos. She should know; she has eight of them in her apartment (dog feet, not dogs). I have to agree with her on that one. I like dog feet. Weird, I know.

pancakes for everyone.

It's a gorgeous Sunday morning, and we have a day full of around-the-house puttering on the agenda. So pancakes seemed an appropriate way to start the day. I made a small one for our friend.

dining in good company.

Rob is stirring the final bit of Parmesan into a batch of butternut squash risotto, made with squash purchased at the farmer's market today, thyme from our own garden and homemade chicken stock. To that, we're adding a perfect fall salad: endive, apple, Swiss cheese, chives and toasted walnuts.

Joining us for dinner this evening, in addition to Wrigley and the Fellas, are the Rafanellis (thanks for the Zin, guys) and Emmylou Harris and Mark Knopfler.

Righteous.

blessed are the hairy.

On Saturday, we took Wrigley to a Blessing of the Animals service held outdoors at Church of the Redeemer, an Episcopal congregation near our home. We'd done the same thing last year, and it was intensely emotional, given the boy's horrible illness during the first part of 2006. This year, I looked at the occasion as a time to just be thankful for the joy he brings us, and for the way he prompts smiles and chuckles from strangers we pass when we're out and about. The minister/priest/pastor (whatever) cracked up as he placed his hands on Wrigley and gave him the blessing. As he talked about the interconnection among all God's creatures, I reached down to pull a dog hair off my black skirt.

when life gives you squash.

I cannot get enough of this summer's zucchini. The plant is legendarily productive (Barbara Kingsolver writes in "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" of "zucchini larceny," a sort of reverse crime where neighbors clandestinely leave bags of the green goodies on your porch, which you really don't want because you have a glut of your own to deal with). We don't have zuke in the garden, but we might as well: We've been eating enough of it.

My very favorite preparation is this recipe with fregola sarda (a kind of large-grain couscous pasta that's nicely toasted, which we found at the wonderful Findlay Market shop Angelina's), zucchini, pinenuts, lots of parmesan, Herbes de Provence and a (very) generous sprinkling of coarse salt. And did I mention parmesan?

I also love the salad of fresh zucchini, mint, grilled chicken and shaved parmesan from Everyday Food. And I enjoy Heidi Swanson's salad of grilled zucchini and quinoa. Both make a healthy and satisfying lunch.

Tonight, I concocted another use for zukes, along with other summer produce: Spaghetti squash with a vegetable cream sauce. I sauteed (in a bit of butter) chopped garlic, then added diced carrot, red pepper (from our garden), zucchini, cremini mushrooms and sliced sun-dried tomatoes. I deglazed the pan with a bit of white wine, then poured in a cup of heavy cream and let the whole mess boil for a minute or two. In went the contents of a baked spaghetti squash -- the strands shredded with a fork. Salt, pepper, parmesan. Done. Delish.

domestications.

Someone, somewhere, flipped a switch that triggered an end to the record-breaking heat we've experienced for weeks (but not the drought) and brought on cool, clear, crisp weather for the weekend. Which was perfect for the two projects we undertook: canning and seeding.

Re: the latter—Lawn Master Rob was dissatisfied with the patches of weird grass scattered around the yard and so tackled his annual seeding project, first killing the offending grasses, then pulling up the chaff, laying down topsoil, scattering seed and then finishing with a top-dressing. Now, we water and wait for the seedlings to emerge.

I was unable to scratch my canning itch while we were living in New Jersey, and last fall the preserving project involved jelly, not tomato sauce. So I got about 30 pounds of tomatoes (romas and regulars) at Findlay Market on Saturday morning, scoured the basement for supplies (canning pot: check, jars and lids: check, Ball Blue Book: check) and started work. I ended up with 8 pints of tomato sauce and 5 pints of salsa (one of which didn't seal properly; oh well). Then I attempted tomato preserves, with so-so results.

Sitting outdoors at lunch today, I continued reading Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle," which I highly recommend. After our weekend activities, one passage really struck a chord:

Eternal is the right frame of mind for making food for a family: cooking down the tomatoes into a red-gold oregano-scented sauce for pasta. Before that, harvesting sun-ripened fruits, pinching oregano leaves from their stems, growing these things from seed—yes. A lifetime is what I'm after. Cooking is definitely one of the things we do for fun around here.

dog at the ballpark.

The Cincinnati Reds, in an effort to boost late-season-we-have-no-shot-at-the-pennant attendance, hosted a dog night at the ballpark on Wednesday. Natch, Wrigley took full advantage.

We met up with our friends Sarah and Kevin and their dog Gilmore. The Reds set aside a section of seating on the right field line, and hosted all kinds of silly contests. The biggest dog, a Saint Bernard, weighed in at about 180 pounds; the smallest, a teacup Yorkie, tipped the scales at just over 16 ounces. We walked in the Dog Parade around the warning track before the game, and then sat in the stands while the Reds played the Cardinals. Wrigley started barking when the crowd erupted as Ken Griffey snagged a great catch -- and then he continued barking pretty much the rest of the game.

The Wrigley Effect was in full force -- we fielded the usual "What kind of dog is this?" questions, kids latched onto him, and people sort of cracked up at his silly appearance. As we watched the game, all around us were dogs (and people) of every size, and overall the whole thing was a total blast!

how hard is it, really?

Today on "Today" there was a story about diacetyl, the "butter" flavor that's added to microwave popcorn and a whole bunch of other prepared and convenience foods. The whole idea scares the bejeebers out of me, especially since we've been trying to avoid preservatives and artificial anything in our cooking and eating Chez Mooth. Turns out, this stuff is killing the food-prep workers who make and handle it. And "Today" featured some guy who had a lung illness that was (somewhat sketchily) associated with the fact that he'd eaten two (!) bags of microwave popcorn every (!) day for years. Now, it could have been the diacetyl, or it could have been, you know, an overindulgence in junky food. But whatever.

Anyway, I bought a bag of Black Cat popcorn at the store recently, and I'm keen to make my popcorn the old-fashioned way: in a pan on the stove. It tastes great, doesn't take any more time (really) than nuking a paper bag and is so much better for me. (That, plus we don't have a microwave in the first place.) The NYTimes has a good recipe for stovetop popcorn.

this was fun.

Today I was in Indianapolis to record a StoryCorps interview with Grandma. We had about 45 minutes in a tiny but comfortable mobile recording studio, where I asked her about her life, from growing up in Linton, Indiana, to her adventures in Norway and Japan as Dave's Mom. She shared stories about not having electricity or running water until she was 11 or 12, about keeping a garden and preserving the produce, about how she felt empowered and proud that she supported herself after Grandpa died. We talked about the things that she's passed down to me (and to Bill) like our love of cooking and gardening. It was really neat!