Good Times

Just a quick hello before I run to complete Thursday chores and then head out to Dulles to pick up our visiting friends, who are arriving at 11:30. I need to give myself a bit of wiggle room because it's been literally years since I've picked anybody up out there and I'll want to make sure I can figure out on-ramps, parking, and all the other ins and outs of what is now to me, essentially an unknown destination. (When I was in high school and that iconic building had just been completed and was still sitting in its isolated splendor, an ideal summer night excursion was to take a ride out to Dulles. You could park your car anywhere you liked and just go into the terminal and walk around like a tourist. I did that many, many times. Imagine! Those days are long gone and Dulles is now an overcrowded small town in the no-longer-so-far DC suburbs.)

We always look forward to Chuck and Sandy's company. Theirs is a great love story. They nearly married in their 20s, then life got in the way and they traveled in different directions, raising families with different people. Then, life being full of surprises and sometimes even accommodating of our deepest desires, they reconnected in their 50s and took up where they'd left off thirty years before. They had a beautiful wedding in 2001 on the Cornell campus, where they met, and are living happily ever after. Chuck and I were in the Peace Corps together, and we were in close enough proximity that we visited often and formed a bond as only such unique shared experiences can foster. I had met Sandy once, when I first returned from the Peace Corps, and was happy the two of them were together and that they'd both be in my life for a long time. When things between them turned out as they did, there was major disappointment among their friends. We welcomed Chuck's new spouse into the fold, but she never seemed to feel at home there, and there ensued some years of awkward estrangement. Then one day Chuck called me out of the blue and told me that he and Sandy had found each other again. I was overjoyed, as was everyone who cared about them. Being with Chuck and Sandy is a constant reminder that sometimes life really can turn out as you hope it will.

Food for the occasion will be a crockpot pork stew made with Thai spices inspired by a dish Cuidado mentioned a few days ago in her blog. (Don't worry. If it works out, I'll post it.) Friday I'm wowing them with Peruvian Shrimp Soup. When we're not eating we'll be seeing the sights in DC. They should go home well toured and well filled. As a bonus, the weather is cooperating with its cold temperature, so we can build a fire, have some wine, listen to music, and gab.

See you tomorrow morning with Food Friday.

Caution

One of my father's most recognizable attributes, the one that is the basis of many funny family stories, is his conservative outlook on life, his innate caution. He could deflate a new idea faster than a pin in an over-filled balloon; his fallback position was invariably a list of the reasons why a thing was not only not possible, but outlandish, if not ouright crazy. To the question, "why do people climb Mount Everest?" most people answer, "because they can." He'd answer, "because they're fools." As much as I always swore I'd never be anything like him, to my horror, I'm finding some remnants of that old mind-set in me.

There are those who relish a jump off a cliff, the adventure of the unknown, walking on the razor's edge. Apparently, I'm not one of them. That's the only explanation I can come up with for the at-times crazy-making trepidations I have about The Impending Move.

The thing is, I've been known to jump off my share of cliffs. I joined the Peace Corps. I came home from that experience with no certain future, did what I had to do, followed a certain star (which only led me down dead ends, it turned out, but at least I followed it) and finally, with a healthy slathering of luck, landed on my feet. We bought this house at the height of the early 80s recession and were house-poor for years, paying 16 ¾% interest on our mortgage. For a while it was hard, but in the long run we flourished here. I retired early, and that felt like jumping off a cliff, too. We had sensible fears of what the financial impact of that step would be, and despite all the worry, things turned out fine.

I think the difference between those times and now is that before, I always sensed a safety net somewhere. There were other sources of income, other jobs to take if necessary, or we could simply lie low until conditions improved. This time I don't have a sense that these other possibilities exist. We're moving to a smaller town where employment opportunities are fewer, and the current economy is not producing jobs, anyway. And we're not getting any younger. I don't think I'm wrong to worry about these things--just because you're paranoid, that doesn't mean they're not out to get you--but I wish my thinking could always be as positive as it is at this moment, when I'm feeling fairly optimistic about the future. Unfortunately, it's not. I worry. Maybe it's just a simple matter of a good night's sleep?

Meanwhile, back to my father and his caution. When I was in elementary school and all the kids started wearing penny-loafers, my parents wouldn't hear of it for me. They insisted I wear sturdy tie-shoes so that my feet would "develop properly." (So now I have hard-to-fit B-width feet.) When kids in the neighborhood started riding two-wheeled bikes, I was not allowed to ride in the streets with them. My parents proudly gave me an old "English racer" bicycle that had been saved by the family just for me (it was really quite sleek and trim, but it looked silly next to the fat Schwinns of the day), and then allowed me to ride it only in the front yard. Our yard was divided down the middle by a flagstone walkway from the house to the street, with a maple tree planted in the middle of each half. For close to a year, I rode that skinny racer in figure-8s around those maple trees, while my friends raced up and down the street. I cheated by making the loops of the 8 bigger and bigger until they took me out to the pavement, but was invariably caught in my transgression and told to stay in the yard or just get off the bike. Driving a car was the same: the other kids started at 16; I had to wait until I was 18.

So sometimes for better and sometimes for worse, I'm stuck with these habits of mind. They've no doubt stood me in good stead at certain times in my life, but now, they're in the way. Things will work out; they always do. Rationally, I know that. But it appears for peace of mind, I'll just have to throw caution to the wind. (Think I will? HA!)

Gratitude

We haven't even had much of a leaf-fall yet and it's already blustery and winter-like outside, with rain falling out of skies that don't seem in the mood for clearing any time soon. It's a good day to stay inside and busy myself here, which I can do, as I extend house cleaning to a multi-day project. (No sense breaking my back doing a job that will just have to be done again in two weeks.)

I've never really minded a little bit of rain. When I was a kid, inclement weather outside always meant feeling snug and warm inside. The very unpleasantness of what you could see happening on the other side of the window pane made you happy and grateful for what you had to protect you from it. I still feel that way, but there's a different quality to that comfortable feeling now that I am responsible for it. As a kid, I had literally not a worry in the world. I remember that sensation, sometimes with longing. But longing gets you nowhere, and full-fledged adulthood brings too many joys, along with its responsibilities and occasional heartaches, for me to waste too much time on regret. Life, with its sunshine, rain, and everything else in between, is the only gift that any of us ever gets. Even at that, it's just a temporary arrangement.

And so I'll charge ahead, making an effort to remember to be grateful for every speck of street grime that demands I sweep it away. Whoever thinks life isn't full of challenges just isn't looking in the right places.

A restful interlude

I'm looking forward to this week because it promises to be "normal." We're having old friends from out of town for the weekend, and the only thing I'll be thinking about is getting ready for thier visit--removing 12th Street dust from all the surfaces, planning meals and fun stuff to do. No thoughts of any houses, new or old, nor of mortgages and their rates, nor constructions or demolitions. It'll be a pleasant, relatively care-free interlude. The house and yard have been winterized, meaning all the dead annuals have been dug out of the gardens outside and the house plants have taken their accustomed spots inside. A couple of them are outgrowing their pots, and Sandy is a great plant audience, willing to take cuttings that I'd otherwise have to throw away. All to the good.

A new Pompeii exhibit that's supposed to be breathtaking has just opened in the National Gallery of Art downtown. Something in the neighborhood of 100 objects that have never been out of Italy, let alone collected in one place, is making its world-wide rounds, and DC is lucky enough to be on the itinerary. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunty, one of the rare happenings for which I'll bestir myself to brave the crane-necked throngs that usually accompany these one-off cultural events. It's the type of thing Chuck and Sandy, our friends, love to do, so it will be the centerpiece of their time here. Since they're arriving Thursday, we can shoot for going to town on Friday and, just maybe, avoid the worst crowds.

The Delaware weekend was relatively uneventful but instructive nonetheless. We finished choosing lights and fans so the builder can fill in those blanks for his final proposal. More interesting, we got enough figures to do the math and figure out what the payments on the construction loan will be for just the initial steps of clearing the land and putting in the septic system. It's now clear that after these two steps are taken, we will be unable to do more construction until this house is sold--we can't pay this mortgage and that complete loan at the same time. So now we know that additional storage is a certainty, as well as our having to rent a place to live for the interim between the sale of this house and the completion of the new one. The first half of 2009 promises to be expensive and chaotic. And we still don't know for sure exactly what we'll get for this place nor how long it will take to sell.

Aren't you glad you hitched onto this ride? You're lucky--at least you can hit "delete"!

FOOD FRIDAY!

SPAGHETTI WITH GARLIC, PEPPERS AND SUN-DRIED TOMATO SAUSAGE

This recipe got its inspiration from my good friend at Zooey and Me who recently told me he's been feasting a lot on simple spaghetti with olive oil and lots of garlic and Parmesan cheese. That's a combination I love, too, and, never one to leave well enough alone, and always looking for ways to use those healthy and delicious Aidell's chicken sausages, (this is a free plug, I swear) I tossed this together one night last week. It was so good it had to be shared. It meets all my criteria for good food: it must healthy, simple, quick and, of course, delicious, and it should use as few dishes as possible. It's also versatile--throw in any veggie you may have in the fridge. (Note: thinly sliced, pre-cooked cabbage is one of my favorite secret ingredients in many things. Cabbage is very good for you, and it adds a certain sweet depth to anything it's part of. I think of it is the anchovy of the vegetable world: totally misunderstood, but irreplaceable when used right.)

1 12-oz. package Aidell's Sun-Dried Tomato and Parmesan chicken sausages

3-4 tablespoons olive oil, divided

as much garlic as you like, peeled and chopped fine

dried red pepper flakes, to taste

1 cup cabbage, sliced into very thin strands

1/4 cup parsley, chopped fine

1/4 cup fresh basil, chopped fine

3 tablespoons fresh rosemary leaves, chopped fine

2 large shallots sliced thin

1 large red bell pepper, sliced into medium sticks lengthwise and then halved crosswise

1/2 medium tomato, chopped

2 tablespoons tomato paste

salt and pepper to taste

12 oz. spaghetti

Cook spaghetti according to package directions

Place cabbage in a microwave-safe container and steam, covered, at high power 5 minutes. When cabbage is done, remove from microwave and set aside, still covered.

Heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil in a wok or a deep non-stick skillet until it shimmers. Cut sausage into thin slices on the diagonal and lay in single layer in hot oil for 2 minutes without touching. When carmelized well on one side, turn sausage slices over and repeat. Remove browned sausage to a separate bowl and set aside.

Allow same deep skillet to cool and add 2 more tablespoons olive oil. While oil is still cold, add garlic and pepper flakes and slowly heat oil over low heat to infuse it with the garlic and pepper, but taking care not to brown the garlic. While infusing the oil, chop herbs and vegetables.

Raise heat to moderate and add chopped herbs, stirring to coat them with the garlic oil and to release their flavors.

Raise heat to moderately high and add bell pepper and shallots. Incorporate with other ingredients in the skillet and then stir-fry until pepper begins to soften, about 5 minutes. Add chopped tomato and continue stir-frying another 2 minutes.

Add reserved sausage and steamed cabbage, then add tomato paste. Stir to mix until all ingredients are heated through.

Drain spaghetti and add to ingredients in skillet, stirring to coat pasta evenly. Correct seasoning. Serve with Parmesan.

Come Along With Me

I'll be hopping in the car in a few hours for the drive back to Delaware. On a perfect day with perfect conditons and no stops, I can do the trip, door-to-door, in 2 1/2 hours. "Perfect conditions" usually means no traffic tie-ups going through DC, which we hit maybe 50% of the time. Much depends, of course, upon the time of day we start the trip. If I start at noon, I should have smooth sailing, so I may get the shorter version.

After all these repetitions, we are getting to know the roads as if they were familiar trails through the woods. Here is my running commentary:

US 50, the great road that starts in the sand at Ocean City, Md., and crosses the country all the way to Sacramento (where it is subsumed into I-80 for the rest of the way to San Francisco) makes up about a third of the trip, and it is by far the most unpleasant part. It is a limited-access superhighway from the DC area to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, and it's treated by drivers like a speedway. The posted speed limit is either 55 mph or 65 mph, depending on where it runs, but whatever the limit, it's ignored. If you're foolish enough to try to stick to the limit, you find yourself being passed on all sides, a hazard. All you can do is keep up with traffic and hope the cops aren't out this random day nabbing speeders. If I ever am stopped, the first thing I'll ask is "what about that car that passed me doing at least 90?"

Most of the rest of the trip is the complete opposite of the US 50 experience. You follow a series of two-lane roads through rural Maryland and Delaware, and that's always wonderful, a cleansing transition from the city mindset that makes you speed on US 50. The familiar sights change with the seasons. You watch the endless feed corn and soy fields progress from seedlings to dried stalks, waiting for harvest. There's one field with a large pond that is host to thousands of snow geese every year as they migrate. They stop there to feast on the leavings of the harvested corn and beans. In the past couple of years, I've seen the unexpected sight of millet growing on its stalks, familiar to me from my days in Africa, where it is a major food grain for human consumption in the drier regions of the continent, but rare here except as bird food. And that's what the farmers use it for, to protect their more important feed crops. It's a humane and eco-friendly approach I was unfamilar with.

Further along, you pass through a tiny place in Maryland called Starr, which despite the fact that it appears to have but two houses and no town center, somehow merits a center island done up with pavers and a reduced speed limit. A Maryland State Police car is aways parked at one of the houses and we figure whoever drives that car must be a bigwig. We always make a stop for coffee at the town of Denton, Maryland, where you can choose between a McDonalds and a Burger King. The Burger King is better because a) the coffee is better and b) nobody seems to frequent the place and service is grateful and immediate. (I've always preferred the Whopper to the Big Mac anyway when it comes to food of the poisonous, artery-clogging variety. It's that char-broiled taste and the big, sloppy tomato slices.) There are a few antique shops along these back roads, too--some pretty fancy and others barely standing. We've stopped at a few and found them expensive.

The final stretch is one more speedway, US 113 in Delaware. It seems more tolerable than 50, though, because at 20 miles it's relatively short, it's a completely straight line, and there are a few traffic lights along the way to keep drivers alert. After 113 it's just a few miles of local roads until you get to the familiar dust and gravel of Big Oak Lane, where you turn left into another world full of trees and water, and you're home.

Food Friday tomorrow.

It's Been A Long Time!

Or at least it seems that way. I had every intention of posting an update yesterday but events just overtook me, and I'm shoehorning this session into the wee hours of the morning before today's steed takes off under me, too. Between chores (both regular and seasonal), appointments and some fun times (today I'm having lunch with some old Peace Corps buddies) I've had very little time for reflective noodling.

First things first: Monday night Sussex County, Delaware, granted us the variance we needed to build the deck on our new house. It was so simple, after all the anticipation, expense and mystery. We just stood at a podium and stated the reasons for our request to five well-fed guys (all guys) seated on a dais. Our presentation was backed up by architectural drawings and the county plat, which show the tiny space we are building on and why the deck could only go where we requested. We were expecting questions and comments about being so close to the water (part of the deck will be built literally right out to the bulkhead), but their questions were off-subject entirely, having to do with lot preparation, old wells and cesspools and the like. It was as if they felt they had to ask something and were groping for just what. We were case number 5 on an agenda of eight. After ten minutes and a compliment on the thoroughness of our presentation (thanks to Steve), it was over and we were free to build our beautiful deck.

Now we're awaiting formal paperwork on the construction loan to be completed. It's taking extra time because, in the words of the man hired by the bank to assess the value of the proposed property, "that's quite a house you're building." (Someday I hope to have a color rendering to show you.) It's taking him longer than usual to find comparable houses in the area. (On the subject of loans in general, you may be interested to know, given current economic blues and the tight credit situation, that we are finding the cash spigots opened wide. If your credit score is good, you won't have a problem in the mortgage market. The banks are awash in money; they're just being more careful now about to whom they are lending it.)

Steve is facing numerous trips over the next months in his capacity as property manager of the soon-to-be-defunct project. He has to go to various off-site cities to account for their property, some of which is leased from the feds, and make sure it is disposed of properly. I took him to the airport this morning for a trip to Florida, from where he will return (to Delaware--I'm in Virginia now) on Friday. Tomorrow afternoon I'm headed back to Delaware. Friday, I'll collect Steve at the aiport there, and then we will take up where we left off last weekend, packing away the contents of the trailer and attending contractor meetings--this time we meet the lighting lady. Since there is no heat in the trailer, we've never been able to spend any time in the winter there. We always closed it down for the season. This time we are closing it down for demolition in December; we hope to have the place completely empty by November 10. As the little place becomes more and more denuded I can't help feeling a lump in my throat. We've only had the place for four years, but it represents an entire new life--one we'd only dreamed of over so many years--and we are very emotionally attached to the decrepit old wreck. Great joy and great drama have been packed into it. The house that is supposed to replace it is still a beautiful dream, but the dream is inching closer and closer to reality. Stay tuned.