A red trike, the pickle report, a lot of cooking, and not much else

 

Allow me a moment of nostalgia and excuse the blurry picture above—those kids were really moving. That’s Jacob on the trike and Morgan behind him, trying hard to unseat him. That trike was the cause of more battles when the grands were little! And it has a history of its own—it was some eighty years old when it was given to me by family friends whose children and grandchildren had enjoyed it. Repainted at some time by loving hands, it had solid rubber tires, and the front one had a huge hole in it. I can still hear Maddie, looking down one day, and exclaiming, “There’s a hole in my tire. When the playroom at my house was transformed to a TV room (what happens when grands outgrow hobby horses and trikes), the trike went home with Colin. I hope he’s still keeping it safe for the next generation.

Since someone asked about my kitchen experiment, here’s the report on the pickles infused with Hidden Valley Ranch Dip: pretty good. I let them sit for twenty-four hours in the fridge, as recommended, and served them with a bowl of plain Cheezits. Verdict was favorable, and we decided that the dip infusion softens the pickle flavor a bit. I used a 24 oz. jar of Claussen kosher spears. You may remember that I also tried the recipe where you coat Cheezits with a seasoned olive oil mixture and bake them---and I burned them to a fare-thee-well (and wasted a whole box of Cheezits).

Christian wants me to try it again at a much lower temperature than recommended. His theory is that my toaster oven, being smaller than a regular oven, burns much hotter—and I have noticed that before. The other night he brought out a chicken-and-wild rice casserole (their oven is broken) and said the recommended temperature was 350 but he wanted to do it at 300. I admit it was nicely heated through—and delicious. Christian is one of those cooks who needs a recipe to start with but then often branches out on his own, adding and subtracting ingredients.

It's been a cooking week. I fixed Norwegian hamburgers Sunday night, having forgotten that they are a bit of work although well worth it. Last night I did a hamburger Stroganoff—a lot less work and still very good. Yesterday, Melinda, who worked with me at TCU Press for years, came for lunch so we could catch up on families, publishing news—and, of course, politics. Melinda is, if possible, even more fierce about trump and the Republicans these days than I am. But cooking both lunch and dinner for others takes a chunk of time. I made salmon patties and a salad for Melinda and asked if she preferred Thousand Island or buttermilk dressing. At first, she chose Thousand Island because she hadn’t had it in ages. I proudly boasted that both were house-made, to which she promptly said, “Oh! Maybe I’ll just have lemon.” Seems she’s leery of mayonnaise, but my cooking ego was deflated.

Much as I like to cook, I am happy that we have leftovers today and Christian will be at a meeting during dinner. I’ll have Norwegian hamburgers and mashed potatoes for lunch, Stroganoff for supper, and somewhere I’ll work in something green. My mom believed you must have something green every day which led me once to sit across the lunch table from the man then in my life and exclaim in horror: “You don’t have anything green on your plate.” He had chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and cream gravy. He rolled his eyes and said, “Once a mother, always a mother.” My current green favorite, besides salad, is the fresh frozen green beans I get at Central Market. Give them three or four minutes in boiling water, add butter and salt, and feast like they just came off the vine. Don’t get the microwaveable kind. Not as good.

Sweet dreams, everyone!

 

 

The little red trike

A little fuzzy--they must have been speeding

A picture popped up today on the memories Microsoft or whoever send you that tugged at my heart—it’s Jacob riding the little red trike that was so much a fixture of my grandchildren’s young years, with his cousin Morgan trying to dislodge him. There’s a story behind that trike. It was given to my children when they were very little by my ex’s senior partner, a man I came to rely on and one who always had my back when times got rough. He was probably in his sixties at the time, maybe seventies—he’s been gone a long time—but he told me he had that trike as a child. We figure it's now at least a hundred years old.

It had obviously been repainted with “loving hands” and there was a big hole in the solid rubber front tire. Maddie riding it one day looked down and intoned in a true Texas accent, “There’s a hole in my tire.” It almost sounded like a line from a c/w song. The hole never stopped the action, and for years the trike lived in what was then a playroom in my house. The room was eventually stripped of hobbyhorse and trike and all other childish things and converted to a TV room.

But the trike went to my oldest son and resides somewhere at his house now, waiting for the next generation to fight over it. It brings sentimental tears to my eyes to think of all seven grands, only seven years apart, playing together in my house, always underfoot in the kitchen and fighting over that trike. Good times, good memories.

Nature is showing off for me today. This morning, when I first woke up, the adobe house across my yard was bathed in a rosy glow, and I thought it meant a sunny day. Not so. But the first time I looked out the window by my desk, my eyes landed on two gorgeous blue jays, their colors bright and vivid. They pecked around in the flower bed for a while and then took off—I couldn’t even tell which one was mama and which papa because they were both so colorful. So much for the drab female!

Tonight, the sky to the north was a blend of soft peach and blue-gray, colorful and pretty, but to the west it was a dramatic fiery orange—breathtaking. I tried taking a picture with my phone, but it didn’t capture the colors at all.

Otherwise, President’s Day was pretty much an ordinary day, with lots of catch-up details on my desk. I didn’t cook a lot over the weekend but did make a really good chicken dish last night. Jordan had been out of town for the weekend, so I thought to make a dish with one of her favorite ingredients—cream cheese. Of course, I missed up the order of things and forgot to sauté the onions and garlic before I deglazed the pan with white wine. So I let the wine cook down, added the onions, and swished them around—and they took on the most wonderful deep golden tone, mostly from the browned bits of chicken on the pan. I think I’ll do it that way from now on. Chicken broth, a bit of Dijon, and cream cheese made a creamy rich sauce—really good. Jordan is always on the lookout for dishes that Jacob likes, so she requested I put that one into our rotation. It’s a bit of work, but not too much. And the leftovers were so good today.

I’m excited that I have the cover for Irene Deep in Texas Trouble. Ta da! Watch this space for a cover reveal tomorrow!