Postcard

It was cool and rainy here today, which was really a blessing after the dry, blistering heat we've had. There was no need to go to the garden and we decided to do the Sunday farmers market, so we hung around and read all morning.

Still, at around 2 PM a restlessness struck me that could not be denied. I need a purpose and I wanted some activity, so I proposed a walk down to our local olive oil shop. (Yes, I know what that sounds like, but sue me-- we have a local olive oil shop, and damn it, I'm glad.) Anyhoo, we leashed up the dog, grabbed an umbrella, and stepped out into the soft weather.

When we got there, Heidi waited outside with Isabel while I went in to do the shopping. Soon enough, one of the proprietors pushed open the door to invite Isabel in (what a great place!). She also offered her a sample of their bacon-infused olive oil, and it is here that the story takes a little jog to the unexpected. Much to the dismay of all of us, our dog literally turned up her nose at such an extravagant treat.

Why I'm not sure, but her disdain did not stop me from splurging on a couple of nice bottles of the evoo, and when they were safely wrapped in plum tissue paper and placed in a fancy handle-bag, the three of us headed back into the mist and home.

1001 Reasons

I am not a big fan of the Olympics, which will come as no surprise to anyone who's ever had to hear me moan about the blind nationalism of the games.

I acknowledge that that's quite a few of you, considering that there have been about 900 days of Olympic competition in my adult life alone. Add in all the pre-game coverage, and that's well over 1,000 opportunities for me to complain, both in person and in writing.

Well, here's yet another reason: This year the games fall during Ramadan, the Islamic holy month of fasting. There are over 3,000 Muslim athletes competing in London, where the average length of each day will be 15 hours and 12 minutes with no food or water for the observant. How is that sporting?

Not only that, but this is a major Islamic holiday season, which is often celebrated with all the trimmings of parties and gifts. It is a time for families and friends to gather and rejoice in their faith.

Imagine scheduling the Olympics in late December. Wouldn't happen, would it?

Recipe for Summer Break

Go to the garden.
Go to the gym.
Go to the movies.
Go to the pool.

Toss with some good books and a few magazines.

Repeat.

Quite Contrary

June 3

July 18

It's been a tough year in the garden: we were late getting it in; we were gone for two weeks; there was a derecho, and it's been very dry.

All in all, I can't complain. Although there aren't silver bells and cockle shells, there are pretty tomatoes all in a row.

The Soul of a Chef

When people find out that I used to work as a chef, they often ask what my specialty was. It's a question that stumps me, because any chef will tell you that their specialty is the dish the last diner loved. 

Even so, on the path to find the perfect dish for someone else, you must pursue what you like as well. Most chefs will tell you that they started cooking because they wanted something to eat that they knew they couldn't get anywhere else. Mother Necessity exercises her considerable influence again.

Let me give you an example. A friend of mine posted this about her 4-year-old on fb today:

So Isaac just made himself a sandwich, but he needed help gathering ingredients. He said, "Mommy, I will need the ham. And peanut butter. And mayonnaise and jelly. And ketchup." 

I asked what flavor jelly? Cherry, peach or grape? 

He said, "Whichever one you think is the best for my sandwich." 

Raised eyebrows and knowing nods all around, right?

Almanac: July 16, 2012

96 degrees
8:32 sunset
7 swans a-swimming or 7, 7, I forget what 7 was for
6 AM flight for Mom
5:57 sunrise
4 birthdays-- Victor, Kyle, Tonya, and Unika
3 sixth grade teams-- Dolphins, Owls, and Stingrays
2 movies-- Beasts of the Southern Wild and Prometheus
1 waning crescent moon

Long Days of Summer

We were arriving home from a movie and dinner just a little while ago. The clouds were shreds of charcoal and violet against a periwinkle sky. A single star glimmered in the dusk. "9:15," Heidi noted, "and almost dark. The days are getting shorter." She sighed.

My mom nodded in agreement, but I shrugged. "What are you talking about?" I said. "Summer is hardly winding down."

Before they could object, I continued. "If you were seven and you had to go to bed when it was still light out at 7:30 in your underwear because it was too hot for pajamas, then you would know that July has verrry long days!"

I guess that was a formative experience.