At 2:30 in the morning I hear my dog.  When she’s that worked up and that far back in the woods I figure it’s not the raccoons so, fearing for her safety and the neighbor’s wrath, I bring her in and shut the dog door.  When that doesn’t work I bring her to bed. 

Oh, how she loves to snuggle inside the covers.  You’d think she’d be too hot to sleep because I really pile them on but she’s still up there.  She discovered the joys of covers when I had no power and needed the extra body heat.  I just hope she doesn’t put two and two together and figure if she barks loud and long enough it’ll be a ticket to the bedroom.

I tried to go back to sleep with her but it’s gotten warm enough that I don’t need pajamas.  And she’s soft, it felt good to spoon.  But then I started to itch, and I remembered all the pollen I’d swept off the deck.  She must be covered head to toe, I thought so I took a shower and now here I am.

I hate waking up this early.  Fortunately I went to bed early but I’m supposed to go to my brother’s birthday party tonight.  Actually, this might be a blessing.  I’ll have a good excuse to get out of there.

I supposed I could work on the floor.  The fucking floor.  Upon reading the directions on the back of the sealer I discovered I was supposed to first wash it with a solution of ammonia and water to get any excess stain off.  So I figured if I scrubbed hard enough I could maybe get some of the stain out of the cement.  It worked.  I suspect that’s most of the problem is that I’m working on cement and not concrete, even though everybody told me it would be no problem. 

What I think is happening is that the color from the cement is coming up through the stain when the sealer hits it.  No one is sure why the stain did not take more uniformly.  Some of the floor looks like he didn’t get any on it.  But I watched him work and he was doing it all the same.  What I’m going to do is get down on my hands and knees and scrub the darkest areas and restain the lightest areas and put the sealer on real thin and see how that works.  If that doesn’t work he’s going to cover it all up and I’m going to try the blue.  It’s more of a turquoise but once I dilute it and the sealer hits it I’m sure it will be more grey.  What a nightmare. 

The good news is that my appliances are here and the dishwasher is installed.  Stainless really perks the kitchen up.  We’re going to run a metal strip along the edge of the steps to the great room, which I hope looks industrial and not tacky and I need to find new silver handles for the cabinets.  If I stay with the coffee I’m afraid I’m going to have to get artistic and do something to liven up the cabinets. 

My old house is for sale, the one where I planted all those gardens and created all those patios.  She was using a cane when I drove by and looked thin and frail.  I’m anxious to get in there and see how all my babies fared.  From a distance the front gardens are in good shape, though I planted the bigger stuff too close together up by the road.  All the weeding of those beds and staining the miles of fence and deck seemed too much.  But I’ve traded it for even more work. 

It’s not going so well with the concrete floor.  We put the first coat of stain on last night, rather I went before him with a mop to wet the floor and came behind me with the stain.  The instructions said to use the lighter color first. 

I diluted the darker color that was going on top when I remembered the sealant turns everything a shade darker.  I applied it over the first color in a spot under where the island will be.  Then I spent an hour trying to find the place that sells the sealant.  I HATE Vancouver.  It’s in Washington, about a half hour away but it took me an hour because the guy gave me screwy directions. 

When I covered the experimental patch with the sealer it was dark all right.  I think it’s too dark.  I’m not sure what to do at this point.  “Coffee ” is the most attractive color in the family that works.  It’s really going to be dark in the bathroom where the floor guy must have not pressed the excess stain out enough before he took that first swipe by the sauna.  He got way too much stain on the floor and it’s considerably darker.  The whole bathroom is too dark. 

The bathroom adjoins the kitchen which I was told is not up to code now.  I love it though. Anyway, the whole process is getting to me.  I’m ready for it to be over.  The appliances are being delivered Thursday so we have to get the floor sealed by tomorrow.  All this work and it’s too dark. 

To get out of the house while the test patch of sealant dried, I went to a neighborhood bar.  There’s a good restaurant next door so I was going to have a quick Jack and Coke and go eat.  But a handsome guy my age sat down next to me.

Right away I could tell something was off, like he wasn’t quite right in the head.  When someone’s that good-looking and they are so pulled-in is the only way I can describe it, something different is going on.  Like he was oblivious to people’s reactions yet he listened.  What were compelling were his eyes.  You could see God in them.  I kept looking for some sign of intelligence because of it but he just wasn’t fully functional. 

He was so sweet, though, talking about his dog out in the truck.  He has a chocolate lab and it was the dog’s birthday.  I had mine with me, too, so she wouldn’t smell the fumes.  You could tell how close he is with his family.  He is taking turns with his five siblings, nursing their mother through her last six months. 

We have all the same haunts in common.  He fishes on the river I like to walk my dog at.  He keeps his boat and trailer with a friend, a couple blocks from our beach house.  He told me about a secret lake on the upper Clackamas where I camp every summer.  He even goes to the same blues festival at the beach every August. 

I kept looking at his eyes, wondering what happened to his brain; where were the ideas?  He was in great shape, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink that much, has a job he enjoys, close family.  You could get lost in his eyes, they were burning so bright.  I’m used to seeing that with people who are really passionate about their work or whose brains are working overtime. 

But he seems to just gets by.  There has to be some sort of disconnect.  Three times he told me this last year of his life was like a country song.  Then he’d laugh really hard, like he’d been clever.  I just wanted to hug him.  But I went to dinner instead.

Florida here I come!!!  I’ve called my youngest, who lives in Brooklyn, three times today.  She’s joining me for the weekend.  I banked my week last year so I could have two weeks this year, which is the only way we could get a full weekend together.

What’s really great is that she will be able to join me in West Palm one night, AND I was able to get the second week at Pompano Beach.  We stayed there once when she was young enough that she still had fun on trips with me.  The sulky teen years hadn’t hit yet.  It will be different, now that she’s 21.  This might be our best trip yet. When I told her where the second week was she said, “Ohhh, we like that.” 

I am so ready for sun.  And you know it’s going to do nothing but rain here between now and the day I leave.  April showers bring May flowers.  And if you live in Portland it can rain all the way through May and June, too.  That’s why I go to Florida.  If I can’t have my beach house, I can at least be sure of one week in the sun and sand.

So I promptly went upstairs and tried on a pair of white pants to see how bad it was.  It’s gonna be okay.  I have begun walking EVERY morning, no excuses.  And I’ve been doing a lot of yard work.  And I’m cutting back on portions.  And I’m trying not to eat so late.  Oh, and I cut out that late-night snack.  AND I’ve upped the water.  I’m getting into that swimsuit, no matter what.

The floor guy thinks I can mix cement.  He thinks because I’ve been watching him with the trowel that I’ll be able to create a reasonable fax simile on some leftover plywood and we can play with the stain.  I HOPE he thinks he because it’s acid-based stain and I’m not touching it.

If anyone out there knows anything about doing concrete floors and countertops, I’d love the input.  All he’s done is the kind where you mix the dye into the concrete.  He wanted to get all artsy with some new trowel today, but I didn’t like the idea.  The pictures I saw on the website of the company that sells the stain showed a flat, smooth, glossy floor.  They achieved design through diluting the stain and applying one color over another, starting light. 

He’s never done this and it’s freaking me out but I definitely don’t want Marmoleum now and he’s really good and really cheap.  Another plus is that he’s Derek’s floor guy, and the two are kind of impressed with each other so Derek will be back to put the toilet and sink in and not fuck me over.  I’ve already paid him so it’s kind of a concern.  Especially since he hardly ever calls me anymore.

Remember when I found the glasses in the driver’s-side door?  If you recall the type of person his wife is you might have anticipated what I did not.  She let me play soprano 1 this morning because the piece was impossible.  I think she picked it out especially for me.  I know that sounds paranoid but she chooses the music and she likes the top line.  I only get it if she can’t play it, and up ’til now — it’s taken almost two years to get through all her music — she’s been handing over the top line in harder and harder increments. 

Still, I didn’t put the two together.  After we were done she wanted to show us some paintings she’s done.  I’ve been going there every Monday for over two years and suddenly she wants us to know she paints.  She goes upstairs and carries down these two, FANTASTIC watercolors.  One was an iris and one was a crocus. 

They were so good I was stunned.  I rarely like other people’s art, even gallery art.  I’m standing there, with the others behind me, getting up close to see if there’s something not right, and they are just perfect.   I look over at her, kind of at a loss for words, and I get this sort of out-of-body, hazy feeling, STILL not putting two and two together.

She needed us, and maybe, especially me, to see that even though she can’t keep a man in his own bed she knows a thing or two about painting.

Happy Easter!  I woke up early and took my dog through the driv-thru at Starbucks.  Only thing open at 5:30 and close enough that if the car broke down we could walk.  The floor guy got my old Blazer started again.  I don’t let Bridget ride in the Saab unless she’s in the crate, which is of little interest, so a ride in the front seat was like old times. 

Last night I made risotto:

1/2 lrg sweet onion

2 stalks celery

slightly less fennel

1/2 carton crimini mushrooms

two cloves of garlic

2 T olive oil

2 T butter

1 C arborio rice

1/2 C white wine

1 bottle clam juice

4 C chicken stock

1/4 C half and half

big pinch of salt

Penzey’s Sunny Spain (pepper blend)

Penzey’s Herbes de Provence (rosemary, fennel, savory, thyme, basil, tarragon, dill weed, oregano, lavender, chervil, and marjoram).

1 bag of Trader Joe’s frozen seafood mix of shrimp, squid, etc.

     I diced everything the same size, kinda big to match the seafood.  I might have used too much oil and butter but by the time I sauted the vegies there was still enough to brown the rice.  Oh, and wait to add the garlic until just before you brown the rice.  Garlic burns fast.  I regret not using parsley and a little lemon zest.  Next time.

     I say brown the rice but golden is good.  Then start with the liquid.  This is no fail, as long as you are willing to stand there and add liquid, little by little.  And, if you have vegetable stock, that would probably be okay.

     When the rice is done add the seafood.  I just dumped the whole bag in, along with  the residual juice.  I was surprised at how much liquid it added.  You still need to add your cream so keep it dry enough to accomodate.  If you stir this long enough it will continue to soak it up.  It all depends on how soft you want your rice.

     All I had was half and half but if you have milk you could use more, say 1/2 C.  The arborio rice makes for a creamy dish.  The flavors in this were “out of this world” as the anorexic cook on TV likes to say.  But this was my recipe.   

Edited to add:  For those of you coming for the recipe — I see Emily linked to it – just ignore the first two paragraphs.

I’m having a field day learning about charts.  Currencies are sooo much more fun than commodities.  Plus, I have a better teacher. 

I mowed the front today.  I waited ’til the last possible hour –You know I wrote minute — because I dread starting my mower up the first time.  Every fall I forget and leave gas in it and every spring it dies and I have to drain in.  Yuk.  But I got the whole front crammed into the recycling bin, minus what’s still in the bag. 

I don’t think I’ve raved about this recipe before.  I got it from one of the cooking shows and it’s just about the best thing I’ve ever done with asparagus.  You take a bunch of it and break the ends off and cut the spears in half.  Then you dump about the same amount of cherry tomatoes in with it into a sizeable roasting pan.  To that you add sliced onion and red bell pepper.  I used half a large, sweet onion and a whole bell pepper.  Well the dog and I each had a piece. 

I cut those about the same size as the asparagus.  I smashed five or six garlic cloves to bruise them and get the skin off and then cut those in half.  Then I used salt and pepper and Penzey’s Tuscan Sunset (I should start sending them these recipes).  It’s got basil, oregano, red bell pepper, garlic, thyme, fennel, black pepper, and anise in it.  I drizzled all that with olive oil and stirred it up well, and then I put it into a 400 degree oven for 40 minutes.  That’s too long because the tomatoes were too done.  But maybe it’s because I covered it.  Try it without covering it, the consistency is nicer. 

So I cooked the pasta and grated some parm over it and then covered it with the vegetables and the delicious sauce this makes.  I can read a chart AND cook a damn good meal AND my yard is beautiful.   

I just opened an acct on something called OANDA where I can paper trade currencies.  It won’t be as easy as when I had Derek on the other end of the phone, talking me through the whole commodities thing but I’ve met a guy, on Xanga, actually, who has been a huge help.

I went to dinner tonight at the actor’s house.  Her husband is getting more and more removed (antidepressants) and she seems to have to cue him.  Like when to start the BBQ, when to shut the door because the smoke is streaming through the house, when to tell the story about…and on and on.  It was like he was her kid. 

I went to play music this morning and the hostess I bought the car from mentioned her husband had lost a pair of glasses.  I remembered seeing a pair in the door on the driver’s side.  But when I went out to get them I noticed they were a woman’s.  And when I handed them to her, in front of everyone, she was visibly alarmed.  They were another woman’s. 

I knew he fooled around and, from the way she blew it off, she did, too.

My best friend is married to a man who has an accounting firm.  I don’t know if it’s just during tax time or all the time but he likes her to go to bed early with him every night.  At 8:30.   

These women have lovely men to go home to and I have envied all three of them but lately not so much.  This remodel isn’t going as planned and it’s nice not to have another person in the mix.  My trading is not going as planned and it’s nice not having anyone looking over my shoulder.  And lately I seem to be enjoying new friends and acquaintances that I wouldn’t have if I were tied down with one person.  I can stay up all night, nap at noon, eat when I want and do it all different the next day.  Single life’s not so bad.

I like to get salmon at Costco but I am cooking for one so that huge filet takes on many a role over its lifespan, the end piece getting frozen for salmon and corn chowder. 

I might have taken too many liberties with this classic, adding fennel and parsnips, but I’ll let you be the judge.  Here’s what I used:

I large parsnip

1/2 fennel bulb

the white part of one leek

4 T butter

1/2 C flour

Penzey’s Sunny Spain (pepper mix), their Fine Herbs, their Smoked Paprika and their Bouquet Garni

pinch of sea salt

1 bottle clam juice

juice of half a small lemon

1/2 C white wine

4 C chicken stock

1 russet potato

1/2 yellow pepper

juice and half the can of white shoepeg corn

pinch of saffron threads

1 bay leaf

big handful of fresh parsley

1/3 lb salmon (all I had left)

1/2 C milk

1/2 C half ‘n half

plain black pepper to taste

I diced the fennel and parsnip about the same size and sauted them with the leeks, which I sliced after cutting the white part in half and running water through it.  I used a lot of butter because I wanted to make a rue. 

When the leeks looked soft I added the flour and spices except for the parsley and bay leaf.  It might have been the Barefoot Contessa who said not to let the flour brown too long for it won’t thicken as well.  So I put in the nondairy liquid straight away, along with the potatoes, which I diced the same size as the rest.

I stirred frequently and when it still looked thick enough to absorb the milk and cream I added the corn and its juice along with the yellow pepper, parsley, bay leaf, and salmon.  The salmon I cut the same size as the rest.  When the potatoes were done I added the milk and cream and stirred constantly.  I added plain black pepper and took the bay leaf out. 

The fennel was too dominant and I didn’t like the yellow pepper so next time I’ll just use the fronds.  I guessed on the dairy (use whatever you have) and just threw some in.  Same with the stock but it should be pretty close.  My bay leaves are awfully strong so I held off putting that in.  I only had a third of a pound of salmon left and it could have used more so just use what you think is the right amount. 

Mind you, I cooked this on a Coleman stove but, overall, I was very pleased.  This was elegant and hearty.

I woke up not alert enough to deal with propane.  Have I mentioned that I am still cooking on a camp stove?  I decided to go out for coffee and visit my painter friend.  I don’t know how much I really like her but she holds court there and she has good stories. 

It’s a small place with one big round table and various other configurations.  She has the same name as my Spanish buddy come to think of it and they are the same age.  Only the painter is in perfect health and twice a year takes a group to Europe on a watercolor spree.  She leaves for France on Tuesday.

I got my coffee and when I turned from the counter to navigate my way around the woman three chairs over from my usual seat next to the painter, those being the two comfiest chairs in the place, the painter explained to the woman that the comfy chair was mine.  And she didn’t explain it she stated it.

The woman jumps up and moves to the table by the door.  “There’s plenty of room,” I insist, sitting down and patting the table where her purse had been.  “Come back.”

The painter now feels like a jerk probably.  It was an odd and unnecessary thing to say.  Usually she tries to ignore me until she’s had her first cup.  She prefers to work on the crossword and after that the men start filing in and she’d rather chat them up.  Plus, I rarely go these days so I was startled that she would consider it my chair. 

Wow, there’s nothing selective about this post, the way I’m blathering on about my chair.  I guess I wanted to point out that the painter was terse.

What I really wanted to point out was that on my way to coffee it was 32 and once I got home and had my fill of the food network it was 62.  I gardened in the sunshine!  That’s a first this year. 

My hands are ripped up because I hate to wear gloves.  For some ridiculous reason I like to feel everything.  I’m feelin’ it all right.  I have five slivers that need to come out.  Tomorrow’s going to be even warmer and I’m planting seeds!

When I don’t write with any kind of frequency I get more selective.  Not that this is going to be any better than the usual but I felt like I should wait until something interesting happened.  But nothing did.  There have been unpleasant events but only marginally annoying and hardly worth mentioning so that leaves the good stuff which is even less noteworthy.

Last night, rather late, I called my brother and asked if he wanted to go for bread pudding at our local, Scottish pub.  The owners live down the street from me.  The guy is some sort of doctor and his wife is a nurse and they always traveled to Scotland.  Pretty soon their whole house was filled with the furniture and rugs they would send home.  That spilled over into a restaurant. 

I sit upstairs by the fire but my brother likes to sit downstairs at the bar.  We’d never been together so it was sort of fun.  He got the waitress to give us some kind of special beer in a brandy snifter.  It did taste more like brandy than beer.

Bread pudding is a recipe I’ve been collecting from various sources.  I must have two or three versions recorded from Paula Dean, and that Italian, Giada I think her name is, and there’s a third but I can’t recall whom.  I still haven’t made it.  The hard sauce puts me off, and I wouldn’t be able to choose a bread, and who wants a whole pan of that sitting around tempting them at every meal.  After all, it’s just bread, right, with some eggs and milk.  Shoot, that’s easily breakfast fare.

If I’m not cooking I’m watching the cooking shows and in between that I’m planning for the next salt-free Wednesday I cook for my ex-mother-in-law.  I’m going to start calling her “Georgia” because it’s shorter.  This week I made a scrumptious chicken casserole.  First I boiled a big pot of water and cooked egg noodles al dente. 

I sauted onion, carrot, and celery in olive oil/butter, seasoned with pepper and Penzey’s “fine herbs.” Then I took all that out of the pan and added enough butter for a rue.  I sauted button mushrooms and fennel, and when that looked ready I added two tablespoons of flour which I browned with more pepper and fine herbs and a little Mrs Dash.  To that I added a half cup of white wine, the juice of one lemon, and some half and half.  I threw in some frozen peas and some fresh parsley and thinned it with some of the pasta water. 

Henry had brought her a roasted chicken from the grocery store just loaded with salt so the whole point of this meal was to try to use the chicken in a way that would diffuse the salt.  I took the skin off, cubed it, and added it to the gravy, along with all the vegetables and the noodles and after adjusting the seasoning it went into the oven for 30 minutes “to get acquainted” as they say.  We were quite pleased with it.

On the floor front, I have one.  Subfloor that is.  My kitchen floor and the two long steps into the great room are read for the next step, which I believe is some sort of concrete leveler.  I’ve decided on concrete using either a dye or stain.  I read about it and my floor guy has done it.  Derek was over to check on a heat vent we discovered in the bathroom and he told us we were “cuckoo.”  He warned that it would crack because we were putting it on top of wood.  My floor guy just called and said he had it all figured out, something about fiberglass, and was bringing a catalogue with color samples for me to look at.  I’m thrilled and relieved because I believe this is what will suit me and the house.  It’s cool. 

I moved my crazy sister today.  She smelled of alcohol and it was only 3:30.  Fifty-five and shlepping most of her belongings in black garbage bags, though the cello, guitar, and computer had beautiful cases.  My mother took me outside when I got there and said they’d had a huge fight and that my sister had told her to shut up.  That wasn’t a word we were allowed to use so of course my mother was shocked.

When we got to the house where she is going to be renting a room the key wouldn’t fit.  The lady who she’s renting from said she would have to let her in until they could figure the key situation out.  My sister said could that happen today and the woman was vague.  Weird.  I thought it seemed very controlling.  I also thought she looked nuts, too, so the more the merrier.