Sunday, February 28, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Winter's Day Barley Soup
After three sunny days, returning winter rains are smothering all that joyful light. It's not that cold, but I decided it was time to make a cauldron of soup in my big red pseudo-Creuset. This batch turned out to be quite restorative.
To a 32-ounce box of low-salt chicken broth, plus another cup of water, add:
2 bay leaves
1 cup barley
2 carrots, cut up
2 stalks of celery, ditto
3 scallions, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1/3 small cellophane packet Trader Joe's dried wild mushrooms, crushed up
3 crimini or other domestic mushrooms, diced
1/2 sweet red pepper, chopped
1 can Italian diced tomatoes
1 cup frozen green beans
1/2 cup white wine
1 chicken sausage, cut up
1/3 lb. chunk of ham, diced
1 tsp. Spanish smoked sweet pepper, plus 1/2 tsp. Hungarian paprika
1/2 tsp. dried basil (1 tsp. fresh, chopped)
1/2 tsp. parsley (ditto)
1/3 tsp. dried tarragon, 1/3 tsp. dried marjoram
Dash of Worcestershire sauce
Simmer until the barley and vegetables are done.
Adjust salt, add freshly ground pepper.
Serve in large soup cups.
To a 32-ounce box of low-salt chicken broth, plus another cup of water, add:
2 bay leaves
1 cup barley
2 carrots, cut up
2 stalks of celery, ditto
3 scallions, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1/3 small cellophane packet Trader Joe's dried wild mushrooms, crushed up
3 crimini or other domestic mushrooms, diced
1/2 sweet red pepper, chopped
1 can Italian diced tomatoes
1 cup frozen green beans
1/2 cup white wine
1 chicken sausage, cut up
1/3 lb. chunk of ham, diced
1 tsp. Spanish smoked sweet pepper, plus 1/2 tsp. Hungarian paprika
1/2 tsp. dried basil (1 tsp. fresh, chopped)
1/2 tsp. parsley (ditto)
1/3 tsp. dried tarragon, 1/3 tsp. dried marjoram
Dash of Worcestershire sauce
Simmer until the barley and vegetables are done.
Adjust salt, add freshly ground pepper.
Serve in large soup cups.
All in a day's work
I sat in the courtroom this morning listening to the chilling testimony of a nice guy, a cross-country skiing guitar player who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and lived to tell about it.
While enjoying his snowy solitude on skis near Dougan Falls the morning of Feb. 9, 2009, Kevin Tracy met up with the father and son duo from hell. They had been camping out in the snow, basically homeless. Dad was on the lam, a seldom-seen father with his punk kid in tow, hiding because he had failed to register as a sex offender. They were likely hungry and tired of camping in the woods, carless, in the winter, but there is absolutely no excuse for what they did. First they asked him for directions, then demanded his truck and told him they'd have to kill him because he could identify them. He tried to ski away, then kicked off his skis and tried to run, but he couldn't get away. Sixteen-year-old, Teven Collins bashed him on the head repeatedly with a club, knocking a hole in his skull. Then dad, Michael Collins, tried to garotte him. They stashed him under a bush in the snow and left him for dead.
Three Clark County students out for their twice-a-week hike, this time trying a new area, found Tracy clinging to a tree, bloody from head to toe and barely hanging on.
The Collins fled in Tracy's truck, first to California, then to Mexico, merrily posting photos on Facebook of their adventures on drugs and among the palm trees. An airing of 'America's Most Wanted' finally got them captured.
Now the kid is testifying against his father in exchange for an eight-year sentence. Dad is not quite 'three strikes, you're out' because his first sex offense occurred as a juvenile.
Listening to the testimony today, I kept glancing at Michael Collins as he sat next to his attorney, slumping in his seat. He looked young, and a little remorseful. How did he and his devil spawn think that whole deadly escapade was going to play out? Did they care?
Meanwhile, Kevin Tracy faces more plastic surgery --- an angry red line runs jaggedly from the top of his head down his face., and while the hole in his skull is healing, he will never be the same. His speech is a little halting, but his testimony was deliberate and damning. He survived. They are going to jail. The only better justice would be to take them to a tree in the middle of the woods in the winter snow, tie them up, and leave them there to die, just as they left Kevin Tracy.
While enjoying his snowy solitude on skis near Dougan Falls the morning of Feb. 9, 2009, Kevin Tracy met up with the father and son duo from hell. They had been camping out in the snow, basically homeless. Dad was on the lam, a seldom-seen father with his punk kid in tow, hiding because he had failed to register as a sex offender. They were likely hungry and tired of camping in the woods, carless, in the winter, but there is absolutely no excuse for what they did. First they asked him for directions, then demanded his truck and told him they'd have to kill him because he could identify them. He tried to ski away, then kicked off his skis and tried to run, but he couldn't get away. Sixteen-year-old, Teven Collins bashed him on the head repeatedly with a club, knocking a hole in his skull. Then dad, Michael Collins, tried to garotte him. They stashed him under a bush in the snow and left him for dead.
Three Clark County students out for their twice-a-week hike, this time trying a new area, found Tracy clinging to a tree, bloody from head to toe and barely hanging on.
The Collins fled in Tracy's truck, first to California, then to Mexico, merrily posting photos on Facebook of their adventures on drugs and among the palm trees. An airing of 'America's Most Wanted' finally got them captured.
Now the kid is testifying against his father in exchange for an eight-year sentence. Dad is not quite 'three strikes, you're out' because his first sex offense occurred as a juvenile.
Listening to the testimony today, I kept glancing at Michael Collins as he sat next to his attorney, slumping in his seat. He looked young, and a little remorseful. How did he and his devil spawn think that whole deadly escapade was going to play out? Did they care?
Meanwhile, Kevin Tracy faces more plastic surgery --- an angry red line runs jaggedly from the top of his head down his face., and while the hole in his skull is healing, he will never be the same. His speech is a little halting, but his testimony was deliberate and damning. He survived. They are going to jail. The only better justice would be to take them to a tree in the middle of the woods in the winter snow, tie them up, and leave them there to die, just as they left Kevin Tracy.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Mild but sloggy blog
I am grateful to be alive. Last Saturday was one of those times when everything is on snooze-bar, until a sudden rude awakening. I had nearly made it to Washougal when I felt the van's engine lurch and die as I was headed up the last hill. With little momentum and fading power steering and brakes, I had no choice but to head for a very narrow area of shoulder on the other side of the road, facing traffic. I was literally inches from the road, but managed to pull it off, literally.
I sat there shaking with the blinkers on as I thought about my situation. I had foregone breakfast in anticipation of a sushi lunch in Vancouver. Low blood sugar was exacerbated by adrenalin, the fight-or-flight of having to wrestle the van onto the shoulder, a snap second choice that easily could have ended in disaster with rock on one side and a very steep hard place on the other.
There were a couple of Mom's little apple juice boxes in the van. I gulped one down and got on my cell phone as each passing vehicle rocked the van. I could smell gas.
The Skamania County Sheriff's Office gave me the number for Reddi Towing, and Larry said he was on his way. It took him about 45 minutes to get there. Meanwhile, giant trucks passed within inches, and a phalanx of Harleys roared by. I had to pee. My coat was in the back, and I was afraid to climb behind the seat because of the oncoming vehicles. I was so close to the guardrail I seriously wondered if I could get out.
Finally, I spotted Larry's giant blue truck. It is not exactly nimble, and he had to maneuver to get it in front of the van, due to the hill and shrinking shoulder. He had to do a high wire act, balancing on top of the guardrail posts to get back to me. There was no room for him to work as he lowered the giant teeter-totter and winched the van onto the back, while balancing precariously on the downhill side of the guardrail.
He immediately spotted the problem --- the fuel line underneath the van had come off at the bottom of the hill, and what I had smelled --- and felt --- was spewing fuel that wasn't reaching the engine.
After I took Mom to the airport to go to Louisiana for a month, the van sat in the driveway two weeks. Before she left, we had taken it in for an oil change and servicing. The garage had replaced the fuel filter. Larry said they hadn't reattached the fuel line securely, and it had worked its way loose. A minor oversight --- and it could have had fatal consequences. Yesterday was the first time I had driven the van since Mom left. I had loaded the back with recycling, and intended to take some framed photos into Portland for the walls at Beaterville --- after my much anticipated sushi lunch.
Larry is a prince in my eyes right now. This is not the first time he has come to the rescue. He didn't charge me to fix the van, but it was $197 for the tow, and no AAA. The garage that did the oil change also did not bolt down the fuel filter, and it was "rattling around in there," Larry said. Meanwhile, I am calculating the cost of that tow. Right before heading to Washougal, I had mailed a $407.85 check to Skyline Hospital for costs not covered by insurance after my two-month bout of pneumonia. That bill was slightly more than the amount of my tax refund, direct-deposited into my account Friday. Easy come, easy go.
I am at the mid-point of my solitary month as Mom spends some time with Clyde in Louisiana.
The South has gotten hammered this year, and it has sometimes been bitterly cold, alternating with a few 75-degree days. We thought Mom needed to get away during what is usually the harshest time here. This time last year, the snow was piled up and Mom had a serious case of cabin fever. January and February are also months of painful reminders --- the anniversaries of Dad's birthdays and his death, plus her birthday and another Valentine's Day without him.
Since our sleety, windy trip to the airport, it has been relatively warm, an El Nino non-winter here. We had one good snowstorm, but Winterfest is cancelled (again) for lack of snow. The swans left Franz Lake a month early for their tundra nesting grounds, the sea lions are back at Bonneville Dam chowing down on sturgeon while waiting for their spring Chinook sushi fix, and there are are three brave pansies blooming in front of the house.
As a sop to my missed sushi yesterday, I made an early Sunday lunch/brunch:
Salute to Spring Smoked Salmon Pasta
Cook 1/2 package of multi-grain penne or fusilli very al dente, saving 1 inch of the salted water in the bottom of the pan with the pasta. Mix in one chopped green onion, two cloves minced garlic, 1 tsp. each smoked and Hungarian paprika, half a can of evaporated milk, 1/3 of an 8-ounce package of low-fat cream cheese, a dash of Worcestershire and Frank's Red Hot, plus 1/3 cup white wine. Crumble in 1/3 pound deboned hot-smoked salmon, and sprinkle on 1 T. parsley and 1 tsp. basil. At the last minute, add 2/3 cup frozen peas (no need to thaw), and a little milk if more moisture is needed. Finish with 1 tsp. balsamic vinegar and a couple of grinds of black pepper. Sprinkle with a little grated parmesan, if you like.
I sat there shaking with the blinkers on as I thought about my situation. I had foregone breakfast in anticipation of a sushi lunch in Vancouver. Low blood sugar was exacerbated by adrenalin, the fight-or-flight of having to wrestle the van onto the shoulder, a snap second choice that easily could have ended in disaster with rock on one side and a very steep hard place on the other.
There were a couple of Mom's little apple juice boxes in the van. I gulped one down and got on my cell phone as each passing vehicle rocked the van. I could smell gas.
The Skamania County Sheriff's Office gave me the number for Reddi Towing, and Larry said he was on his way. It took him about 45 minutes to get there. Meanwhile, giant trucks passed within inches, and a phalanx of Harleys roared by. I had to pee. My coat was in the back, and I was afraid to climb behind the seat because of the oncoming vehicles. I was so close to the guardrail I seriously wondered if I could get out.
Finally, I spotted Larry's giant blue truck. It is not exactly nimble, and he had to maneuver to get it in front of the van, due to the hill and shrinking shoulder. He had to do a high wire act, balancing on top of the guardrail posts to get back to me. There was no room for him to work as he lowered the giant teeter-totter and winched the van onto the back, while balancing precariously on the downhill side of the guardrail.
He immediately spotted the problem --- the fuel line underneath the van had come off at the bottom of the hill, and what I had smelled --- and felt --- was spewing fuel that wasn't reaching the engine.
After I took Mom to the airport to go to Louisiana for a month, the van sat in the driveway two weeks. Before she left, we had taken it in for an oil change and servicing. The garage had replaced the fuel filter. Larry said they hadn't reattached the fuel line securely, and it had worked its way loose. A minor oversight --- and it could have had fatal consequences. Yesterday was the first time I had driven the van since Mom left. I had loaded the back with recycling, and intended to take some framed photos into Portland for the walls at Beaterville --- after my much anticipated sushi lunch.
Larry is a prince in my eyes right now. This is not the first time he has come to the rescue. He didn't charge me to fix the van, but it was $197 for the tow, and no AAA. The garage that did the oil change also did not bolt down the fuel filter, and it was "rattling around in there," Larry said. Meanwhile, I am calculating the cost of that tow. Right before heading to Washougal, I had mailed a $407.85 check to Skyline Hospital for costs not covered by insurance after my two-month bout of pneumonia. That bill was slightly more than the amount of my tax refund, direct-deposited into my account Friday. Easy come, easy go.
I am at the mid-point of my solitary month as Mom spends some time with Clyde in Louisiana.
The South has gotten hammered this year, and it has sometimes been bitterly cold, alternating with a few 75-degree days. We thought Mom needed to get away during what is usually the harshest time here. This time last year, the snow was piled up and Mom had a serious case of cabin fever. January and February are also months of painful reminders --- the anniversaries of Dad's birthdays and his death, plus her birthday and another Valentine's Day without him.
Since our sleety, windy trip to the airport, it has been relatively warm, an El Nino non-winter here. We had one good snowstorm, but Winterfest is cancelled (again) for lack of snow. The swans left Franz Lake a month early for their tundra nesting grounds, the sea lions are back at Bonneville Dam chowing down on sturgeon while waiting for their spring Chinook sushi fix, and there are are three brave pansies blooming in front of the house.
As a sop to my missed sushi yesterday, I made an early Sunday lunch/brunch:
Salute to Spring Smoked Salmon Pasta
Cook 1/2 package of multi-grain penne or fusilli very al dente, saving 1 inch of the salted water in the bottom of the pan with the pasta. Mix in one chopped green onion, two cloves minced garlic, 1 tsp. each smoked and Hungarian paprika, half a can of evaporated milk, 1/3 of an 8-ounce package of low-fat cream cheese, a dash of Worcestershire and Frank's Red Hot, plus 1/3 cup white wine. Crumble in 1/3 pound deboned hot-smoked salmon, and sprinkle on 1 T. parsley and 1 tsp. basil. At the last minute, add 2/3 cup frozen peas (no need to thaw), and a little milk if more moisture is needed. Finish with 1 tsp. balsamic vinegar and a couple of grinds of black pepper. Sprinkle with a little grated parmesan, if you like.
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Pause that refreshes
taken at Trout Lake Arts Fest
