Simmer Till Done

It’s been a quiet summer here, at least for the adults and one miserably hot Labrador Retriever. While Josie tore through theater stage crew, volleyball camp and writing class, Greg had his nose to the legal grindstone and I’ve been writing, writing, special-project writing, and quietly keeping fingers crossed. I know it’s still late July but I can feel summer shifting, preparing to shuffle its humid, sticky self down the hill toward fall. You can see it in the faces of tired mosquito-slappers, taste it in salad when you’re dreaming of hot soup and finally, you can hear it from children. Children who absolutely, no way, totally mean it do not want to go back to school.

For us the surest sign is a road trip, one we’ve taken every end-of-summer for years, up to northern Minnesota – way up north, as they say, near the Boundary Waters. So sacred is this trip to our little family that I believe if we did not make the drive, time might stop and summer would never end. And if the prospect of a sweaty, eternal August scares you, don’t worry: while there’s breath in our bodies and gas in the car, we will not miss granite coves or wild blueberry danishes or glittering Lake Superior, so wide and welcome and cold.

Thus we are off toward Highway 61 – revisited – in just a few days. And before I break into song about pine trees and seagulls and pie, I’d better make with today’s ten words:

——-

Road trip

Due north

Beloved berry break

Fish, cake

Cool.

What’s your favorite road trip?

Hope you’ve been enjoying a marvelous summer. I’ll be back soon with a few longer posts, a few food posts and a few sweet surprises.

ah, last year.

More of Minnesota’s North Shore:

Josie and the Pie, with Diamonds

Comfort for the Too Close

Tags: Betty's Pies, heatwave escape, minnesota, summer's end, ten-word thursday

I recently tossed this together as a brunch side to lox and bagels. Minted fruit is hardly a novel idea, but standing in the drowsy Sunday kitchen, still in pajamas and part cutting, part eating drippy fruit, I thought eh, it’s summer. The season begs for no thought and less effort, falling back on old ideas like a hammock, asking little more than juicy, cold and sweet. Go easy on yourself. Dive in.
Continue Reading »

Tags: brunch, fruit, lazy in pajamas, mint, sleepyhead recipes, summer

Because sometimes, inspiration is in the upper left cabinet above the sink.

1. In 1993 we registered for twelve blue-and-white coffee cups from William-Sonoma. We received a gift box with eleven blue-striped cups and, like an ugly duckling, one with a stripe of green. Green Stripe always sat in the back, used only for a crowd, if we really needed twelve cups – until Josie came along and decided it was special, it was the lucky cup.  The renamed Lucky Green isn’t pictured – he’s busy holding her ice cream, or tea, or hot chocolate. Now he’s a swan.
Continue Reading »

Tags: coffee, collections, mugs, penguins, silly friday post

If you like: classic films, aspiring movie-critic teenagers and a good old-fashioned summer blog project, visit Take One Hundred. I just might know the blogger.

I just might be the blogger’s chauffeur, alarm clock, snack provider, ponytail holder-buyer, chief room inspector and summer personal assistant. Also, her proud mom. Be sure to read the first post, 100 Movies of Summer, to see how it all started. Dim the lights and grab the popcorn! I’ll meet you over there.

Tags: chip off the ol' blog, Josie, movies, summer

A little rerun for the weekend; hope you enjoy another look at Dads, fried chicken, creamed corn and Eisenhower. Happy Father’s Day with love, to you and yours, both then and now.

Father’s Day, and All Its Parts

Originally posted June 20, 2009

We’re on the road this weekend, toward Western Kansas, to Abilene, to stare at some pretty country, to fret about tornadoes, to visit the Eisenhower Presidential Library & Museum. We toured Ike’s boyhood home, gawked at parlor chairs and portraits and sifters, trying to find out what makes great men great.

Here in Mrs. Eisenhower’s kitchen, you can see her dough-rising box. Every other day she made nine loaves of bread to feed six boys and their father. All of their sons, central Kansas farm boys, would succeed.

But one of them would grow up to command the Army, to win the war, to live in the White House.

I think it was the bread.

Later that day we feasted at the legendary Brookville Hotel, serving fried chicken heaven since 1915.

It was an early Father’s Day dinner, and we saluted my husband and father-in-law, both great Dads. But the piping, crunchy chicken – seemingly endless legs, thighs, breasts, wings – reminded me who was missing at the table. A holiday for fathers, and for the first time without my own, eating a not-so-often treat he adored. I pushed back the hard gulp and saw what he would see – platters worth diving into, a laughing night of gluttony, a family taking pictures, rolling eyes and passing biscuits.

Back in Dep-haired teen years, my family’s favorite takeout was Brown’s Chicken – no Brookville feast, but plenty good paired with cole slaw, hush puppies, and honey. Dad would pick up his car keys, clink, and say “want to go for a ride?” Picking up stuff with Dad meant 8-track tunes and quick, friendly questions about boys, friends, classes, boys. Eyes would roll, but I didn’t mind. Something about the car rides was pleasant, okay even in teen view, an argument-free zone with a bag of warm chicken on my lap. Dad tapped out songs on the wheel and drove with his elbows, a knee, a thumb.

My father loved corn – on the cob, in a fresh juicy heap, or creamed, as we had it here, passed around the table more than once. His stomach forbade him to eat the corn, but not to say he wanted to eat the corn. “I love corn,” he’d say, “but I can’t eat it.” A predictable three minutes later, “well…maybe this once.”

Happy Father’s Day to you and yours. Great men aren’t here just once. They go where we go, and I will snicker and cry and pass around more biscuits. All the best parts are still with us at the table.

* my father passed away December 5, 2008. Here’s the place to read more about him, and the eulogy I read that day.

Tags: chicken, Dad, father's day