Potluck with Judy

Sundays were always when I posted Potluck with Judy, my now defunct food blog. But today I thought it just might be a good time to post about food (rather than rant about our new Congress, which I probably won't be able to restrain myself from doing for long). I bribed Jordan, Christian, and Jacob to come put Christmas back in the attic if I fixed brunch/lunch. Jacob, being old enough now to be allowed in the attic, loves to help his dad get things down and put them back up. I, being old enough that I am not allowed in the attic, am grateful.
I fixed croissant sandwiches--but only Christian and I ate croissants. They're not on Jordan's diet, and Jacob prefers what I call Jacob bread--Pepperidge Farm extra thin sandwich slices. At least I get them in whole wheat. Jacob has recently discovered that bacon/tomato/mayonnaise sandwiches are his very favorite. But the for 'dults, I followed a recipe I found online.
Spread mayonnaise on the bottom of a croissant; top with greens lightly dressed with raspberry/chipotle dressing; then thin slices of Pink Lady apples (so good!), followed by thin slices of brie, and finally bacon.  Wonderful combination--the flavors just go together.
I had raspberry chipotle sauce but not dressing, so I made a bit into dressing by mixing it with oil and vinegar--decided I'd made something good to keep in mind for future salads.
I was being cagey, I thought, when I bought six mini-croissant for$3.00--instead of three large for $4.00. I reasoned Christian would eat two, Jordan and I would each eat one, and Jacob could try one if he wanted. Problem was that there was simply too much filling for such a small roll. I ordered a croissant chicken salad sandwich when we stopped at the High Cotton Restaurant in Marlin a couple of weeks ago and it was huge, so big I took half home. The mini left me half hungry. I'd advise the full-size for this sandwich. I do have chicken salad in the fridge and that's probably what I'll have for supper.
The recipe said marinated vegetables were a perfect accompaniment, and I just happened to have those. Both recipes came from High-Made Food (http://highmadefood.com/) the Web site for a café in the Texas Hill Country. The site features basic foods with easy to follow instructions--minestrone, vanilla bean crème brulee, hoppin' John, chicken stew--you get the idea. Check it out. Sometimes I think, "No, I already make that my way and I like it," but other times I print and save.
The BLAB, as they call it (bacon, lettuce, brie, and apple), is definitely one I'll keep and try again. 

Banishing the Saturday night blahs

I decided to banish the Saturday night blahs by cleaning a shelf or two in the pantry. Jordan has been after me to do this for some time, claiming there were probably things back there ten years old. Let me tell you first that this turned out not to be a way to banish the blahs--but it sure did make my sore back ache. At first, I was quite smug--didn't find much that needed to be thrown away--a couple of individual packets of board-stiff prunes, a stray lollipop, an individual cup of applesauce that had turned a really funny color. So I washed the first shelf--hadn't thought to buy fresh shelf paper nor extra garbage bags because I knew I wouldn't have much to throw out. I'd just straighten a little.
When I went to put things back, I began to examine the sell-by dates which they often make way too hard to find--and loaded two garbage bags. The worst offenders were Crisco (who uses that anymore?) and CoffeeMate (ditto--no one uses it) with 2002 dates. Even in this house, with a grandson who inhales peanut butter, I had to throw out an unopened jar--out of date (I thought the label looked different!).
Once I offered my oldest granddaughter some dry cereal. She took the box and then went over and whispered to her mom, who said to me gently, "She doesn't want to eat it. It's out of date.' At tne or eleven, Maddie was smarter than I am.
Tonight I picked up an open bag of ziti wrong side up and it scattered all over the floor. Had to stop and sweep--in spite of my efforts I heard Sophie crunching away on dry pasta I'd missed. Hope there are no gastric repercussions from that. I could feed an army on the partially used packages of pasta I have. Why do I have two unopened bottles of malt vinegar, two bottles of chocolate sauce, and a barely used, years old bottle of red plum vinegar (must have been a dilly of a good recipe). I think things got pushed so far back in the pantry (it's very deep, which is bad) that I thought I didn't have any and bought new--like two out-of-date bottles of Worcestershire.
I've barely made a dent in the storage places in this house where I've lived for twenty years but I quit for tonight. Maybe that old advice to move every five years or so is good--makes you clean things out.  Periodically I clean my closet floor and straighten all the shoes into neat pairs--pretty soon it's a mess where I have to hunt for the mate to the shoe I want to wear. Wonder if this will be the same?
I'm going back to my manuscript. I'm convinced writing is easier than cleaning. Erma Bombeck once wrote that she'd rather scrub the floor than face a blank sheet of paper in her typewriter (okay this was a while ago). You got it wrong, Erma! I'd rather look at that blank screen.

A rewarding day

I spoke to the Friday Fellowship at my church today--never mind the fact that I had it on my calendar for Thursday until a friend pointed out the flaw in my logic. The fellowship is a group of older adults who meet weekly for a program and pot-luck lunch. I think I'll keep going back just for the lunch--it was so good. I munched on several kinds of homemade salads and veggie dishes.
These days I rarely speak to groups and when I do, I don't do all the preparation I did twenty years ago, writing out talks in their entirety. I had a really rough outline today--I guess I've done it often enough that the adlibbing part comes naturally to me. To meet me, you'd never think I was a comedian--and I'm really not--but I find a lot of wry humor in some of the ups and downs of my writing career. So that's what I talked about--how I got from believing I could never write fiction to having over twenty novels to my credit. There was a good-sized group, several of whom were familiar with my work, which made it nice. They commented, they asked lots of questions, they contributed favorite books to the discussion. It was great fun.
At the lunch table, one of the women, a longtime friend, said something to the effect that it was a good situation for all of us. They had an enjoyable program, and I got positive feedback. Besides, I sold seven books.
Sure brightened a dull, cold day.

Powder your nose!

I realized the other day that since the holidays I've slipped into being a real slouch. I went around the house in jammies--well, a T-shirt and cotton knit pants--without makeup (but always with freshly shampooed hair--I have a fetish about that!). When it was time to get Jacob, I'd throw on sweats until he finally asked one day why I was wearing the same clothes three days in a row.
So the other day I resolved to mend my ways. I showered and shampooed first thing and then put on makeup. My good friend Melinda was coming for lunch, and it would have been easy to say, "Melinda won't care." But I put on makeup and clean slacks and a shirt. Set the table with place mats and cloth napkins and acted like a grown-up. Amazing how all that improved my outlook on life.
Then came dismantling Christmas--it's not such a bad chore once you get to it. It's the idea that you have to do it. At this point, I have all the decorations down, about half packed away, and the rest staring at me waiting to be boxed up. To add to my woes, I can't remember what went where before I put it all down for Christmas. I'm sure that will come with time and meanwhile I am certainly avoiding the cluttered look. Hope to get it all boxed and put away this weekend.
But then there's the matter that my house is falling down around my ears--Jordan claims that some of the food in the back of my deep pantry is probably ten years old, and she may be right. The bookcases in my office desperately need cleaning, rearranging, and thinning of books--there are a lot I could give to the Friends of the Library. The linen closet in the kitchen needs straightening, and if I'd relieve the toy chest of all the things the grandchildren have outgrown, I could use it for a blanket chest. Truth is, for one person, living alone in 1800 square feet, I have too much stuff. Don't talk to me about tiny houses, though I think the idea is charming.
Now my grown kids are talking about redoing my house, putting pull-out couches where sofas are (sofas do need re-doing), adding a big-screen TV, etc. They're all coming home the end of the month, and I guess will have a conference about what to do with Mom's house. I'm willing to go along for a bit--I know it needs updating--but when they start talking about removing bookshelves, I will have to remind them it is my house. Besides, do you realize how ugly most sleeper sofas on the market are?
I think one of the big problems in life is that there's always something else to be done. Excuse me now, I'm going to read a book.

Retreat Time

Thanks for having me back, Judy!

Despite being a full-time fiction writer, it’s often hard to be super productive while sitting in my office at home. During one stretch when I really needed to pound some word count, I found a Quaker retreat house in West Falmouth, which is on the near edge of Cape Cod, on Buzzard's Bay, a couple of hour’s drive from my home. The house is just across a Friends graveyard from the West Falmouth Friends Meetinghouse that was built in 1842. I reserved a room for $25 per night, but no one else was going to be there, so that was the price of the entire house.

I drove down  on a Friday with a bad cold and stocked a few simple provisions. I set up my netbook, made some tea, and set to writing. My only distractions were my own: going for a walk, reading, thinking. The house did NOT come equipped with internet. This turned out to be a huge blessing. I crossed the street to the library once a day to check for any messages that needed acting on and otherwise left cyberspace alone.

I wrote and wrote and wrote. I took care of my cold and kept writing. I gazed out the back window at the remnants of the Meeting garden, moseyed out to pluck some bits of parsley for my soup, and kept

writing. I went for a walk down to the bay and sat and listened to the calm winter lapping of the bay, then went back and kept writing

I had recently re-read Rachel Aaron's post on how she writes 10,000 words a day (and thanks to Ramona DeFelice Long for reminding me of that post last week). One of her secrets is to leave home for few hours. Check, in spades. Another is to only write the interesting scenes (and really, if you aren't compelled to write it, readers probably won't be compelled to read it, either).  I had plotted a few scenes ahead. So I jumped to the really interesting one and wrote that. Then I went back and wrote the scenes leading up to that one, making them more interesting, too. Check.

I took meal breaks at the kitchen counter and read a mystery, but I only let myself read as long as I was eating. Then, guess what, I kept writing.

I walked through the graveyard to sit in worship with Friends on Sunday morning, then got to know a few of them, talking casually about why I was there and what I was working on. Then I went back to write.

My cold was still pretty bad late Sunday night (despite adding a bit of brandy to my tea with honey and lemon) and my cough wasn't fit for human company. I canceled my plan to drive home on Monday morning and stayed at my writing station until midday on Monday. Final tally for just under 3 full days of retreat? 15,071 words. Wow!

Quaker House, I will return to thee.

Readers, what's your favorite retreat center? Where are you most productive in creative endeavors when you can grab a stretch of time, whether it's three hours or three days?

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Amazon best-selling author Edith Maxwell writes the Lauren Rousseau mysteries under the pseudonym Tace Baker, in which Quaker linguistics professor Lauren Rousseau solves small-town murders (Barking Rain Press). The second book in the series, Bluffing is Murder, released in November 2014. Edith holds a doctorate in linguistics and is a long-time member of Amesbury Friends Meeting.

‘Til Dirt Do Us Part is the latest in Maxwell's Local Foods Mysteries series (Kensington Publishing, 2014). Her Country Store Mysteries, written as Maddie Day (also from Kensington), will debut with Flipped for Murder in November 2015.

Maxwell’s Carriagetown Mysteries series features Quaker midwife Rose Carroll solving mysteries in 1888 with John Greenleaf Whittier’s help. Maxwell also writes award-winning short stories.

A fourth-generation Californian and former tech writer, Maxwell lives in an antique house north of Boston with her beau and three cats. She blogs every weekday with the other Wicked Cozy Authors (wickedcozyauthors.com), and you can find her at www.edithmaxwell.com, @edithmaxwell, on Pinterest, and at www.facebook.com/EdithMaxwellAuthor.

Epiphany--the Christmas season is done

We celebrated Epiphany tonight, the night that legend tells us the Wise Men arrived at the manger, having followed the Star. It's a wonderful tale--you can see them in your mind, bowing down before the babe, awestruck by his holiness. My church does an annual Boar's Head Festival celebrating both the birth of Christ and the medieval banishment of evil. The arrival of the Wise Men is always one of the most dramatic moments.
In my family, we have a tradition that began who knows where? Probably in the imagination of a neighbor/aunt when I was a child. But I've carried it on with my own children and now with at least one grandchild. Each individual throws a small evergreen branch into the fire and makes a wish. It's done by age, though we couldn't remember if the eldest went first or the youngest. Clearly, there's no question about which is which--I am the eldest, and Jacob is the youngest. I went first, threw my branch too far back, and it didn't light. I was given another twig and it burned, but I really think that's cheating. Of course, you can't tell anyone what your wish was. But I think mine will come true anyway. Of course I'm very curious what Jacob wished but I'll never ask.
We had vegetable soup--easiest group dinner I've ever fixed--but still by the time I set the table, cleaned up from last night, did a laundry, emptied the garbage, made a delicious smoked salmon spread, made the soup, etc., I was exhausted. I woke up tired today and never got over it. Looking forward to an early bedtime tonight. Since this is the tail end of the holiday season, I got out my plaid china (it's red and green) and used green place mats. All festive looking. I'll get my groove back on tomorrow.
Once again, my wish for you is everything you want 2015 to be. I feel in my bones it's going to be a good year--but then I wonder how much damage the Republican Congress can do!

Just what Sunday should be

My marinated veggies, ready to give as gifts

 

Today was everything a Sunday should be. Went to 11:00 church--wore my high tops, after a moment's pause, but as I left an older woman (probably my age) commented how much she liked them. I said I'd worried about wearing them to church, and she said good for you! The text and sermon were about the Wise Men and their gifts. Since Epiphany is Tuesday night, I hoped Jacob heard at least part of the message, so he'd understand why we celebrate...and what we celebrate: the gift of our dedication to God.
Home for lunch, kitchen work--bottled my marinated veggies, emptied the dishwasher, set the table--and then a good long, deep nap. I thought the Burtons would be here about six--they didn't arrive until almost seven because they'd been watching the Cowboys game in a local hangout. Not a good excuse in my book, but we all made nice, had happy hour--I pulled some blue cheese ball out of the freezer. And then dinner--the spaghetti I'd labored over last night and simmered all day today. Good, if I do say so myself. Jacob, the little pill, refused to eat green noodles with butter. I used a recipe I've used many times before--just never noticed it called for green noodles.
Now, at ten o'clock, the dishes are done, the dog is fed, and I'm sleepy. Reading a book I don't like at all, so don't know how long I'll last tonight.
School starts tomorrow, I have lunch plans every day but Monday, dinner plans three days--we're back into the whirl of usual activities. Almost seems the holidays were more calm. Cold weather all this week.

Saturday night cooking...and improvisation

Tonight was the kind of Saturday night I enjoy. I cooked. Jordan invited me to go with some of their friends to Fred's (locally famous hamburger joint) but I elected to stay home, eat leftover lamb meatloaf (next time: leave out pinion nuts) and a cabbage steak. So wonderful, if you haven't baked a cabbage steak, you must try it. The recipe has been all over Facebook, but if you've missed it, email me a j.alter@tcu.edu. So simple and so good.
Tonight I made a big batch of marinated vegetables, following (sort of) a recipe I found on highmadefoods. I signed up for their blog, printed out several fascinating recipes, but this is the first one I've tried. And, of course, I made substitutions--forgot the green beans, added a turnip and cucumber, omitted the jalapenos though in retrospect I think that may have been a mistake. The recipe called for bay leaves--who doesn't have bay leaves in their cupboard? Apparently me! I put in
dried thyme and basil. Called for black peppercorns, and again I fell short so I stole some from the pepper grinder. And finally it called for coriander seeds which I flat didn't have--considered adding a bit of cumin and decided against it. It took two hours to make this--all that chopping--and by the time I finished my back was screaming. I'm seriously considering a back brace just for cooking, though I'm not sure what kind to buy. Anyway my veggies are marinating and tomorrow I'll bottle them in jars I'm running through the dishwasher tomorrow morning.
Dinner break and Jordan and Jacob came by on their way to Fred's so I had a brief but appreciated moment of sociability. Christian didn't feel well, and I worried about that.
Then on to spaghetti sauce. Got the veggies chopped and in the food processor but was dumbfuzzled when it came to ham. I know a bought a slice early this week for ham salad--thought I'd just use part of it for the sauce. Could not find it anywhere in the fridge or freezer. Substituted bacon which should give the same smoky taste and instead of a half lb. of hamburger, I added a whole lb. After all it was defrosted. Tomorrow, before church, I'll put it in the crock pot and add the tomatoes, etc., and let it simmer all day. I plan to serve it on spinach noodles because I have an abundance of them. And that's what the recipe calls for. This is the only recipe for Bolognese spaghetti I've ever seen that does not have milk in it--and I like that.
Whoosh! I'm tired. Will settle down with a book for the rest of the evening.

Chicago's Gilded Age

I'm living in Chicago's nineteenth-century Gilded Age right now as I rewrite my historical novel. Once titled Potter's Wife, I think it will now be titled "The Gilded Cage." The story of Potter Palmer, who created the Palmer House hotel, and his society-born wife, Bertha (Cissy) Honore, is set against the background of Chicago's fascinating history. The Great Fire, the Haymarket Riot, and, finally, the 1893 Columbian Exposition. It was an era of tremendous wealth on the part of a few and abject poverty on the part of too many. Potter Palmer was a capitalist who believed that any man could achieve the wealth he had--he didn't realize how extreme poverty holds a man down. His wife, Cissy, was one of the first to recognize the social obligations of great wealth, and she worked at Hull House, had poor young woman into her house for cooking lessons, took food and clothing to those less fortunate than she, and ultimately was the president of the Exposition's Board of Lady Managers.
I'm fascinated by all this. I grew up on Chicago's South Side, not too far from the Midway created for the Exposition --it's where I learned to ice skate--and I attended the University of Chicago, which sits on the edge of the Midway. The history of Chicaago is part of my life story.
I'm noticing great parallels between that age and ours: the wealthy got wealthier, and the poor suffered incredible hardship--working ten or twelve-hour days for a pittance. Cries for shorter work hours and pay raises went unheeded by capitalists like Palmer, Marshall Field, Gustavus Swift, Philip Armour, George Pullman--all names famous in industrial history. So far, our situation today is less desperate but I can see how despair leads to civic uprising...and it makes me pause for thought.
Propriety was a big thing in those days--women of fashion did not bob their hair or wear bloomers nor protest for women's rights. Potter Palmer was always afraid his wife would become a suffragette. And Cissy, social-minded though she was, enjoyed the luxuries of wealth--I'm amazed at the ease with which these people traveled to New York City and to Europe. Chicago was also trying to prove itself to the East, where the Gilded Age flourished and people thought Chicago was still a rough outpost on the plains.
Fascinating stuff. If you can't wait for "The Gilded Cage," read Renee Rosen's What the Lady Wants, a novel about Marshall Field. And then read "The Gilded Cage" when it's published--sorry, no pub date yet. But I am really enthusiastic about this work. Thanks for letting me share.

2015 is here

We saw the new year in properly tonight with ham and black-eyed peas--including a black-eyed pea salad that Jordan made. Plus stuffed mushrooms for appetizer (my contribution) and cheesecake for dessert. Jordan set a formal table with chargers and her Spode Christmas china, newly given to her by Christian's mother, on red chargers (should have taken a picture). Made us all feel like grown-ups. The evening was a bit marred by Jacob's good buddy who got sick, but they cleaned up, put him in the tub, and his mom came to get him. As those of us with children know all too well such things happen and you just move on. Not an omen for the new year.
It's been a lovely holiday season, and I got to thinking today that new traditions are born all the time. I think we might have started two this year. The first was our "brinner"--breakfast for dinner. We're all so enthusiastic that we're talking about next year's. Christian found a cheese-heavy egg casserole that he promises to make. To my amusement, it has cottage cheese in it. Didn't seem to faze Christian. My mom always scrambled eggs with cottage cheese, but only Colin and I will eat them. My other children scorn the idea.
The second is the "bring your own steak" dinner Jordan and Christian hosted last night. It was for their friends, and I was strictly an interloper, but I sure did think it was a nice idea. I brought myself an 8 oz. sirloin--something I could not afford to serve to guests and yet would not have bought to eat by myself. Jordan (and Christian) worked hard, serving six meals over two days (several of their New Year's Eve guests spent the night), including chili for lunch yesterday (during that great TCU game), a sumptuous breakfast this morning, and who know what during the disappointing Baylor game. But I give her credit--she planned simple meals well. Last night, people brought appetizers, and she served their steaks and homemade potato salad plus sopapilla cheesecake a guest brought. Tonight we had ham, black-eyed peas, salad, and cheesecake.
When other guests tonight asked why she went to so much trouble, she said, "I like to entertain." Hmmm. Wonder where she learned that?
I do feel 2015 is off to a good start. Hope yours is too.