Ask Me Anything! Coffee Bean Giveaway!!!

Pin It In light of the fact that I read a hilarious interview of my pal (yes, I dare say that, because  we exchanged an email once)  Abe, the Cheeseboy, on LG's wonderful blog, I feel an overwhelming desire to be interviewed.

Oh, to be baring my soul to Baba.

I know that chances are good that I'll never get the chance to be interviewed (or to cry) in front of Baba Wawa, (picture from here) so, I'm just going to have to take a risk and trust YOU, Gentle Readers! I bet YOU can come up with some dynamite questions!!!

What have you always wanted to ask me???

OK, so maybe you've never wanted to ask me a single thing.

I get that, and I don't even judge you for it.

But maybe you can come up with a BoonieWorthy question anyway. Maybe, to entice you, I'll even turn this into a giveaway!

My favorite question will win a package of the Big Bison's Brew: his home-on-the-range (well, it's the grill, not the range, actually) roasted coffee beans! And if you've never read that post about just exactly HOW he roasts his own coffee beans, well, that one's worth going back and reading. It's kind of fascinating, actually. And, if you're a coffee lover? Or if you love a coffee lover? THIS is a giveaway worth entering!!!

In my comments section, leave me your questions, and in a few days, I'll come up with a compilation of my favorite questions, and the very best replies I can manufacture. I am hoping for some really fun questions, so go read LG's interview of Abe the Cheeseboy if you want some inspiration.

Rest assured: all BoonieWorthy Questions will receive proper linkbacks/attributions! My interviewers need their moment in the sun, as well!

Can't wait to hear what you've got!!!

Love and kisses!

Sooze

Garlic and Sapphires in the Boonies

Pin It I just finished reading Garlic and Sapphires, a memoir by Ruth Reichl.

(In case that title looks a bit familiar to you, Ms. Reichl borrowed the phrase from a poem by T. S. Eliot called Burnt Norton. The phrase goes: "Garlic and sapphires in the mud/Clot the bedded axle-tree./The trilling wire in the blood/Sings below inveterate scars/Appeasing long forgotten wars." I spent an hour this morning trying to read something else that would help me understand this, and after my (sort of extensive) research, I can report that no one who thinks they know what it means,  seems to agree with anyone else who thinks they know what it means. Therefore, I'm going to go with: "It's a striking and surprising piece of imagery, that is probably too deep for me, but I like it anyway.")

Garlic and Sapphires is the third book of memoirs that Ruth Reichl has written.  I have had the pleasure of reading all three.The earlier two were, respectively, Tender at the Bone,  and Comfort Me with Apples.

Ruth Reichl is a fascinating woman. She was a chef in the Berkeley, California area during the era when the American food revolution took off. Talk about being in the right place, at the right time!  She has been the restaurant critic for both the LA Times and the New York Times. And, she used to be the editor-in-chief for the now defunct but much mourned (by me, at least) Gourmet magazine. Condé Nast decided to jettson Gourmet a couple of years ago as the economy was tanking, and when advertisers started buying fewer ads. More's the pity, since the magazine was just reaching its zenith, and its subscription rate had never been higher.  Anyway, Miss Reichl is an amazing writer, and she gives fabulous recipes in all her books, so I'm pretty much a fan of most things that she's been involved with, up to this point.

In this book, Ms. Reichl tells the story of how she left the LA Times, and came to the NY Times, and about her career there. On her flight from LA into NY to take the new job, she learned from the woman seated beside her on the airplane (who happened to work in a NY restaurant), that the nicer restaurants in town were already on the lookout for her. Restaurant managers circulated her picture amongst their staff, and told them to be watching for her, so that they might offer her the very best service, in hopes of securing a glowing review. Good reviews from the Times meant big bucks to the reviewed restaurants, of course. So, Ms. Reichl decided to go to these restaurants in disguise. She began purchasing wigs and clothing and making up imaginary life stories in regard to the characters she was portraying. And in the process of trying on the identities of other people, she learned a great deal about herself.

I'll give away no more of the story, apart from saying it was a wonderful,  insightful read. Ms. Reichl is a wordsmith to her core, and her descriptions of food delight and inspire me. I know many of my blogging friends take great joy in savoring an elegant turn of phrase. I urge you to check out this book, and her other two memoirs as well They are first rate reads for the refined taste of the discerning reader, or those of us who fancy ourselves as having gourmand proclivities.

Not A Supermom: Cat vs. Chipmunk vs. Mom

Pin It Nota Supermom received a Post of the Week from Hilary at the Smitten Image, for this hilarious post.


Not A Supermom: Cat vs. Chipmunk vs. Mom


In my book, Nota produces several posts of the week every week. In fact, what are you doing here, now???

Get on over to Nota's blog!!!

Gas Money

Pin It My son started soccer in January. It's been a great experience thus far for him. He's being challenged to really strengthen and condition his body, in ways he probably hasn't before. His skills, such as they are, are being honed, and even though it was for us an expensive proposition, thus far, I'd say it has been an excellent investment. Young men need a physical challenge. They need to go out and conquer new things. I'm really happy for him, and proud of him.

The downside of this new phase, and we knew this would be a part of it going into it, is that....duh. We live in the Boonies. So that has meant a lot of driving. A lot of a lot of driving. Now, thankfully, my dear son has his driver's license, so he is doing most of it, on his own. (Another adventurous challenge for him, that he loves!) But a lot of driving (like an hour each way, which means 2 hours of drive time in the car by himself, 4 days a week) means a lot of gas. And as you WELL know, gas ain't gettin' any cheaper.



So, we are trying to take this one day at a time, one week at a time, but, as expensive as signing up for soccer was, it looks like the most expensive part could end up being the gas to and from.

And, we have had very, very little work. It's discouraging, if I dwell on that point of view.

My dear husband, the Big Bison, (whom I adore with my whole heart), is, however, the one who is carrying the weight in terms of bringing in income around here.

So, this morning, he was leaving the house to go off to hear a piece of music for advertising (read: jingle) that he has written, be played by a high school marching band. I am not making this up. I really couldn't. Our life is so odd! Anyway, as he was walking out the door this morning, our son said to him, "Dad, I need some money for gas."

And for a brief moment, I saw my husband's shoulders sag, and I saw the weight that he carries for us, for this family. Now, it might have been just that he didn't have any cash on him at that moment that caused that moment of "Oh, crud," that I read in his face and his posture, but nevertheless, it caused me to think about the burden he carries for us all the time. I felt the load. And it isn't a very light one.

So then, later this morning, when I was with the kids, working on our Bible lesson in Isaiah, we came across these verses in Isaiah 46:

“Listen to me, you descendants of Jacob,
   all the remnant of the people of Israel,
you whom I have upheld since your birth,
   and have carried since you were born.
⁴ Even to your old age and gray hairs
   I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
   I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

Here's a summary of what I told the kids: When you're born, you're pretty much a boneless chicken breast. Wherever you go, it's only because your parents carried you there. But they love you, so they don't mind toting you around. And even after you become capable of walking, toddlers love to run to their parents' arms, to just be held, and loved on. But you reach a certain age when you're not so adorably portable anymore, and pretty much, you're on your own in terms of getting from room to room and around the playground. And then, there comes a time when you "carry" yourself, as some folks say in the South. You drive yourself where you need to go. But you still need Dad to help with the gas money. And finally, one day, it's up to you to pay for the gas. You dah man. (Or dah woman.) You make it happen. Or not.

But the beautiful, beautiful thing about God's promise to His people here is that even to our old age and gray hair, (and let me tell you, the Big Bison and I have arrived at this stage. We're bona fide!!!) God promises that He is the One who will sustain us. He has made us, and He will carry us in His arms. He sustains us, and will rescue us.

Yup. Figuratively speaking, He's got the gas money.

Even when we're old and gray, and we think it's all on us? Not so.

What a comfort to know Who it is that carries us! Who it is, that carries you.

You do know that, right? I think He wants you to know that you are that loved.

Brisket Watch

Pin It Remember many years ago when Baby Jessica was stuck in a well?

Remember how all America waited with bated breath for her to be released from her confinement?

Or, more recently, remember those Chilean miners who were trapped in a mine in Chile (where else would you expect to find a trapped Chilean miner, I ask you?) Remember how the whole world was watching? Remember how we all cheered upon their release???

Now, you're starting to get the flavor of what we here in the Boonies experienced on Saturday night.

I like to call it "Brisket Watch". And it's my blog, dang it, so I'm going to call it whatever I want.

It all started innocuously enough.

The Big Bison went in search of an untrimmed brisket. He procured one from a little food store out here in the country, because we know that the bigger grocery chain stores tend to buy most of their meat already cut and trimmed these days.

We had never tried smoking a brisket before, and are actually still  very much novices at the whole meat smoking thing, so mercy and grace are kindnesses you might well extend toward us as you ponder  the judgment you will render in regard to our sad situation.

So, anywho, he got the brisket, and charged me with finding a recipe, pronto. I went to Steven Raichlin, who used to be a contributing editor to Gourmet magazine, and who has written books on barbecue and smoking, among them How to Grill and  The Barbecue Bible, and who even hosted a show on PBS that some of you may remember called Primal Grill. Seemed like a reasonable idea at the time. I knew that the Bison wanted a rub (heh heh) that he could apply to the exterior of the brisket.



Here's the rub I used. It sounded good to me!

Bacon Crusted Texas Style Brisket
	Source: How to Grill by Steven Raichlen (Workman, 2001) Serves: 10 to 12 For the brisket and rub: 1 trimmed brisket (5 to 6 pounds) with a layer of fat and least 1/4-inch thick 3 tablespoons chili powder 1 tablespoon coarse (kosher or sea) salt 2 teaspoons black pepper 1-1/2 teaspoons brown sugar 1-1/2 teaspoons garlic salt 1-1/2 teaspoons onion powder 1 teaspoon ground cumin 1 teaspoon dried oregano 1/2 to 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper 8 slices of bacon There's more to the recipe, and you can click on the link if you'd like to read it, but I knew some of you would be asking about what we put on it. The recipe also calls for a mop, made out of beer, vinegar, and garlic salt, so if you want the total recipe, go see Steven Raichlen's website. Don't forget: you can click on all these pictures to further enhance your vicarious pleasure. The brisket with the rub, all prepped for the smoker. Anyway, the Big Bison scored the brisket, we let it sit in the rub overnight, and then the next morning around 10:00, he put it on the smoker. Let's get smokin'! And Brisket Watch began. We waited. And waited. At 6:00, after smelling that smoke for 8 hours, I was so hungry I was considering what the consequences of taking it off the grill a little early might be. The whole family was totally hungry and more than ready to eat! At 7:00, I was getting a bit testy. At 8:00, I was feeling faint from hunger. By 9:00, as I sat gnawing my arm off, the Big Bison said he'd be taking the brisket off the smoker soon, and then, we'd have to WAIT 30 MINUTES. (Insert sound of maniacal laughter.) Really? You'd like me to wait? The children are in their pajamas and headed for bed with no dinner, but you'd like us to wait??? Well, here's what we waited for. Hot off the grill: note the darkness outside the window. Wipe the slobber off the corner of your mouth, there. The verdict: it was delicious. Absolutely delicious!!! However: next time, we will trim off more fat before we grill/smoke it. Oh, yeah. And we'll start a whole lot earlier in the day.

Friends Who Break Through The Roof Tiles

Pin It I have been thinking about this passage from the second chapter of Mark a lot lately:

^1-5 After a few days, Jesus returned to Capernaum, and word got around that he was back home. A crowd gathered, jamming the entrance so no one could get in or out. He was teaching the Word. They brought a paraplegic to him, carried by four men. When they weren't able to get in because of the crowd, they removed part of the roof and lowered the paraplegic on his stretcher. Impressed by their bold belief, Jesus said to the paraplegic, "Son, I forgive your sins."  

The other day at a Bible study I was attending, we read that passage, and later on, after we had all talked about what was going on in our lives, we began to pray. One of my friends prayed that we would be the type of friends who moved the tiles on the roof for each other, carrying each other to God, in prayer. And I was blown away by that thought, as well. Because that's who I want to be.

I want to be someone who is a faithful enough friend that I will carry that friend and her need to Jesus. Even when my friend is too paralyzed by grief, or pain, or even doubt, to take herself. I want to carry her. And when the door seems jammed, when it seems like we're unable to break through to get to Him, and the logical, sensible thing to do is just give up, I want to be willing to climb up on the roof, still carrying her, and dig my way through the roof tiles, and lower her down. I want to be willing to do for her what she cannot do for herself.

I want to have that kind of bold belief. I want to be the kind of friend who'll break through the roof tiles.

Which One Do You Want First?

Pin It Well, I've got some good news, and I've got some bad news.

Which one do you want first?

I remember hearing lots of jokes like that. Like this one:

These two old men had been best friends for year, and they both live to be well into their 90's, when suddenly, one of them falls deathly ill. His friend comes to visit him as he is lying on his deathbed, and together, they reminisce about the great times they have had together, throughout the years of their long friendship.

The friend of the dying man says, "Lou. Listen. When you die, I want you to do me a favor. All my life, I've wanted to know if there's baseball in heaven. Will you come back and tell me if there's baseball in heaven?"

The dying man looks tenderly at his old friend, and replies, "We've been friends all our lives. This, I'll do for you." And then, he dies.

A couple of days later, the surviving friend is sleeping, when he hears his buddy Lou's voice. Lou says, "I've got some good news, and some bad news. The good news, my friend,  is that there's baseball in heaven."

"What's the bad news?"

"The bad news is that you're pitching Wednesday."

So, here's the bad news: Unless Jesus comes back, there ain't none of us who are gonna be making it out of here alive.

We all ponder that notion, from time to time, the thought of our own death. When someone close to us dies, we tend to think of it a bit more.

To some of us, it is a welcome thought. Life is sad, and hard, and we've seen too much pain and too much suffering, and the thought of making all that pain stop sounds pretty attractive. At the other end of the spectrum, are those of us for whom our own death is a specter to be escaped from, and we run from it like Indy ran from that boulder in Raiders of the Lost Ark.  Denial is not just a river in Egypt for some of us: it's a lifestyle. And De Nile is where we'd like to push those thoughts of our own impending turn on the pitcher's mound, if you know what I mean.

Once again, I've been thinking quite a bit about death,  in part due to the grief being experienced by a couple of my friends. Both of these friends have a close relative in hospice at present. Each are doing the best that they can to care for their dying loved one. Both are grieving in their own ways. And I'm just praying for them to receive some measure of comfort and peace as they watch their loved ones' final struggle.

And just last month, my high school buddy Charley died from ALS. I haven't been close to Charley in years, but he was a wonderful human being, and the fact that he was robbed of health, and the rest of us were robbed of a wonderful guy like him just stinks.

I don't know why it has to be this way. I know of no easy answers.

So, with those folks in the back of my mind, I have been continuing on with my study of  Isaiah.  When last I blogged, I left off in mid-chapter of Isaiah Chapter 40. I'm going to pick back up right where I left off, at verse 6. To me, this is pretty much "The Bad News" part of one of those old good news/bad news jokes. In the passage you're about to read, God is the "voice", and He has a message for Isaiah to communicate to the people:

A voice says, "Cry out, "
And I said, "What shall I cry?"
"All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field.
The grass withers and the flowers fall,
because the breath of the Lord blows on them.
Surely the people are grass.
The grass withers and the flowers fall,
but the word of our God stands forever."

To sum up, the bad news is: we're all gonna die.

In light of that, I think I could use a little good news.

Here's the next verse:

You who bring good tidings to Zion,
go up on a high mountain.
You who bring good tidings to Jerusalem,
lift up your voice with a shout,
lift it up, do not be afraid;
say to the towns of Judah,
"Here is your God!"

Sometimes, in the midst of our grief, we turn so inward that all we can see is our own loss. Our own pain. Our own navel. But there is a bigger picture. There is a whole world that continues to spin despite our pain, and sometimes, after grieving our loss for however long we need to, we need our eyes lifted from our own navel, by the guy who is standing on the mountaintop, shouting out to us to lift our eyes to see something more, something greater, Someone who is worthy of our attention: our Maker. "Here is your God!" Take a look at Him! In the midst of your loss, and your pain, look up!

See, the Sovereign Lord comes with power,
and his arm rules for him.
See, his reward is with him,
and his recompense accompanies him.
He tends his flock like a shepherd;
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young.

He is Sovereign of the universe: the all powerful King of kings. And yet, at the same time, He is the  gentle Shepherd who cares for his flock, who gathers the lambs in his arms, and carries them close to his heart. What a contrast! All powerful, yet loving and gentle.

In the 15th chapter of Genesis, just after Abraham had for the sake of his own integrity, declined a substantial financial reward that was offered to him by the king of Sodom, God appeared to Abraham in a dream. God recognized that Abraham had done the right thing, for the right reason, and at some cost to himself. And in the dream, God reassured Abraham that the choice he had made was a wise one: "Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your very great reward."  It is God himself, knowing Him and belonging to Him, that is our very greatest reward.

I don't understand why we have to die. (Although it would be a little crowded if we didn't....)
But I do know that when I take time to look up, it helps. In getting to know God, there is reward.  He is the Sovereign of the universe, yet, at the same time, He is our Good Shepherd, who is with us as we walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

And that's the good news.

Road Work

Pin It

Don't you hate it?  Road work? It's an aggravation, isn't it?

And the worst part of it is, it never seems to end.

To distort the words of Robert Frost: "Something there is that doesn't love a road".

I traded the word "road" for the word "wall" from Frost's famous poem, "Mending Wall", but the sentiment is the same. Especially at this time of year, when the snows of winter melt, and refreeze, becoming ice, and then melt again, worming their way into tiny crevices, making their insidious way under the pavement, carving out small holes that our cars' tires slam into, causing them to become bigger holes.




Ugh.

Seems like ever since we moved to this town, there's been road construction going on. And ever will be, I guess. Road work is just part of the process.

I've been reading the book of Isaiah this year because of a Bible study I'm attending, and way back when, thousands of years ago, Isaiah was talking about road work.

His take on it was a little bit different from mine, though. Isaiah wasn't whining about it. He was demanding it.

Now, they didn't have cars, or tanks, or Hummers for their desert roads back then. Camels, donkeys, horses, and human feet, walking, were more their speed.  But nevertheless, Isaiah calls for the people to begin building a highway for the Lord.  From what I have been able to ascertain, back then, typically,  there was a main highway that went through the land, known as The King's Highway. And it was built, well, for the King, that he might make his way from one end of his kingdom to the other.

The people Isaiah was speaking to were the people of Israel. And God told Isaiah to tell His people that their hard service was over, that their sin had been atoned for. Because God knew that in the future, He would be allowing the Israelites to be carried off into captivity to Babylon. And God knew as well, that after 70 years of allowing them to live in exile,  He would raise up Cyrus the Meade to accomplish God's purposes. And one of those purposes was for the Israelite exiles to be allowed to return to their land, and rebuild the temple to their God, as well as the city of Jerusalem itself.

God knew they would need encouragement for this task. God knew they would need comfort. The two roots of the word comfort mean: with strength. And God knew that they would need strength for the task that was in front of them. So well in advance, before they would ever need it, God inspired his prophet to write these words, in the 40th chapter of Isaiah:

Comfort, comfort my people,
says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and proclaim to her
that her hard service has been completed,
that her sin has been paid for,
that she has received from the Lord's hand
double for all her sins.

A voice of one calling:
"In the desert prepare
the way for the Lord;
make straight in the wilderness
a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be raised up,
every mountain and hill made low;
the rough ground shall become level,
the rugged places a plain.
And the glory of the Lord will be revealed,
and all mankind together will see it.
For the mouth of the Lord has spoken.

So, rather than calling the Israelites to build a highway for Cyrus, God calls them to build a highway for Himself.  He wants the way smoothed out. The valleys raised up, the mountains lowered, the rough and rugged places smoothed out. Every obstacle removed for the coming of God. Which would result in God's glory being revealed, for all the world to see.

If this passage sounds somewhat familiar to you, it is also used in the New Testament in relation to John the Baptist, who in effect prepared the way for the Messiah, Jesus, to come to the people of Israel. How did John prepare the way? Matthew 3:1-8 tells us that John called the people to repent, for the kingdom of heaven was near, and that people flocked to him, confessed their sins, and were baptized in the Jordan river. So, even then, as the King of Kings approached, road work had to be done, Hearts needed to be prepared.

Why do I resist that road work so much?

It's hard to be honest with myself, but I know that I most certainly do resist it.

The valleys that need to be raised up, the mountains that need to be leveled, the rough and rugged places that need to be smoothed out: don't they represent the obstacles that I allow to keep me from spending time in communion with God? Chatting with friends, reading, watching TV, surfing the internet, my own love of pleasure and ease and self - these are the potholes that trip me up and cause me to need some re-alignment, if you know what I mean. These are the obstacles that need to be removed, that the King and I can have a little face time. Which, in my case, needs to start out with a little face on the ground time, if you know what I mean.

The really beautiful thing about doing road work is that the end result, according to this passage,  is that the glory of the Lord is then revealed. You know, I know that God's glory was a beautiful shining cloud in the old testament, so brilliant that it inspired fear in onlookers. But another aspect to glory is that of a rose in full bloom, or an apple tree laden with beautiful red fruit, or a sugar maple flaming scarlet in the fall: glory is found when the thing that God has created is reaching its full potential. That thing is fully and completely living out what it was created to be and do.

And really, that's what I'm longing for: to be in such close communion with my Maker, that I become what He made me to be, and that I do every good work that He prepared in advance for me to do.

Road work.

Like the Nike commercial says: Just do it.

Leonardo da Vinci Would Be Jealous.

Pin It Our friend Steve is a true romantic. He loves his wife Annie with a love that is true, and burns more brightly every year. I don't know exactly how long they've been married, but my guess would be well over 30 years.

Yesterday, he sent my dear husband, the Big Bison, an email with a photograph that was just one more demonstration of the depth of his love for Annie. He sent it to several of his closest buddies, bragging that it was his romantic masterpiece, in honor of Valentine's Day, and hinted that in light of the measly Valentine's Day cards that his buddies would be sending, that he was pretty much putting the rest of his friends to shame. As you may know, we've had a lot of snow lately. So, Steve went out in the frosty morning, and on the breast of the new fallen snow, left a token of the deepest sentiments of his heart on their lawn, so that Annie could see it when he led her to the window. And this is what he made:

Steve's Original Work

 You may be having a bit of trouble reading it. I know I did. It says, "2011  Steve + Annie".

Well, if you are a regular reader of this blog, you may also know that my dear husband Lindsey has been really honing his photography skills. I suggested he might want to make a few small changes to Steve's Masterpiece of Love, clean up the photo a bit, that kind of thing, and send it back to Steve - for his approval, of course. In fact, Lindsey let me help him with the process. And here's what we came up with. I like it so much better, now. Don't you? So much sharper! So much clearer! Somehow, it just speaks to me.

Soooo much better now!!!

 

So, here's to the wonders of modern technology!!

Wishing you and your beloved the happiest of Valentine's Days, with or without the aid of technology.
Heh heh.

Say Cheese!

Pin It

Somehow, this image qualifies as cute, funny, AND sad, don't you think?

Today, I very much enjoyed visiting what to me was brand new blog.

I am providing a link to this blog, The Blog O' Cheese: Cute, Funny, Sad: The Home Game because, as the blogger himself says, sharing cheese is a nice thing to do! And his post was so very funny! Please visit his blog, and read his post!!! And while you're there, be sure to leave The Blog O' Cheese a comment, too, if you feel so inclined. I thought it was WELL worth looking at!!!



Basically, he invites his readers to play a game called "Cute, Funny, Sad." And it was such a brilliant idea, I thought I'd borrow it to play with you guys.  I contacted The Cheeseboy himself, by the way, just to be sure, and he granted me his kind permission to borrow away!

First, you write about something cute...then you add something funny....then finish with something sad. I've written a few of my own, to give you the idea:

1. The frisky puppy.............tumbled merrily out the door .....into the gaping maw of a timberwolf.

2. The freckle faced boy.......with the huge cowlick....threw up on the top bunk.

3. Rocky Raccoon...........scampered playfully.......into the path of the semi.

4. Nota Supermom.........picked up another case of duct tape......as her children watched in horror.

5. Gwyneth Paltrow......wrote me a fan letter...........and then I woke up.

See how this works?
Would any of my readers like to play this fun game?
Leave your cute/funny/sad entries in my comments section.
I'm hoping for lots of entries, too! Leave as many as you like.

And thanks again to Abe, The Cheeseboy for his funny, funny idea!

Lovie Dovie's

Pin It You probably think that's a misplaced my apostrophe in my title, don't you?

And well you might!

Unless....

You hail from Tompkinsville, Kentucky.

In which case, I bet you lovie Dovie's, too.

For the uninitiated among us, let me give you the scoop on exactly why I lovie Dovie's.

Some of you who have been reading this blog for a while may remember back in November, when I lost both my aunt and my uncle  in the space of about four days. It was a time of going back to My Old Kentucky Home and re-discovering some of my roots.

Well, when the extended family was eating together after my Uncle A.J.'s funeral, I had a chance to ask my cousin Charlene if there were some good places to eat around Tompkinsville, unique to it. Charlene and her husband mentioned that there was a restaurant called Dovie's, that had been around forever, that was favored by the locals. (As it turns out, Dovie's has been serving hamburgers for 60 years, and was even named Best Hamburger in the State by Kentucky Living Magazine in 2005.) She told me that people would buy Dovie Burgers by the sackful, and actually buy a dozen at a time and freeze them, they were so fond of them.

The Old Mulkey Meeting House: that's Daniel Boone's sister's gravestone on the right.

We mentioned to each other on the drive home that it would be fun to go check out the burgers at Dovie's sometime. And, sadly, due to my aunt's death that very night, we returned to Tompkinsville just four days later. We left early enough to go visit a historical site there called The Old Mulkey Meeting House, where I remember going for family picnics when I a small child.

While we were there, we talked with the lady who keeps the visitor's center, who knew members of my Mom's family. She very kindly gave me a copy of a page from the county's genealogical records that contained a bit of history in regard to my Mom's ancestors.

And then, it was on to lunch at Dovie's.

Dovie's: the exterior

It was a bleak, overcast day that day, with just enough gloominess to fit my mood, A smattering of snowflakes swirled through the air, blown about by the bitter wind that chilled any morsel of exposed flesh, as we made our way into the restaurant. Well, you could call it a restaurant - but it's more like a snack bar, really.  The exterior of the building was somewhat tired looking, and I knew before we ever walked in the door that this was either going to be really good, or really, really bad.

Dovie's: the interior.

The waitresses and cook were congregated in the middle of the room in the cooking area, which is surrounded by a U-shaped counter. The place was practically devoid of customers as we entered, but it was slightly before noon, so the lunch crowd hadn't begun to come in yet. I hate to say it, but although our waitress greeted us kindly, I felt myself and my family being coolly assessed by every other set of eyes in the place. You know that song they used to sing on Sesame Street , about "One of these things is not like the other? Which one is different. Do you know?"  Well, we were the different things, for sure. We were sort of dressed up: we were, after all, about to attend my aunt's funeral. And most of the folks who began filtering in for lunch had on overalls and baseball caps under their heavy coats. They looked to be farmers, taking a few minutes to grab a bite before getting back to their hard day of toil, and man, oh, man! We did NOT fit in.

I decided the thing to do was to establish my right to be here, so I asked our waitress if she knew anyone by my aunt's last name. She said, "Yes, I know two folks with that name, but they both died this week." "Yes! I said, that's my Uncle A.J. and my Aunt Juanita!" Well, when she found out that they were my family, we were in like Flynn. Accepted and welcomed into the fold of Dovie's, were we. In fact, she began introducing us to all the other waitresses as "Miss Juanita's niece". And then, she filled me in on a piece of family history of which I was unaware. It seems Aunt Juanita actually WORKED for a while at Dovie's. So the stories about my aunt and uncle began to flow from various waitresses, as our Dovie Burgers were cooked.

Which gets me to my very important restaurant review.

What burgers they were!

I really don't think I can emphasize enough how...um...very remarkable they were.

In the center of the snack bar are four troughs of grease. (You may have noticed them in the second picture.) I mean grease. I wonder how often they change that coffee colored grease? I suspect I really don't want to know the answer to that question.  To prepare a burger at Dovie's, they plop a burger into the first trough of grease, to kinda knock the chill off it (as it was explained to me by the waitress). Then, it gets fished out of the first trough, and dunked into the second, hotter trough of grease, where it is fried till it screams. If you want cheese on it, they plop the cheese on the burger while it's still in the trough, bobbing around like the iceberg that sunk the Titanic in the frigid waters of the the North Atlantic. Only the temperature in the trough is  a bit different. The temperature in the trough being more like the temperature of the lava that flowed from Mt. Vesuvius.

And now, we come to the really crucial part of the recipe. This is the part that separates the men from the boys. The living from the emergent cardiac cases. At Dovie's, you can get your grease bomb hamburger "squoze" or "unsquoze". Reckon you can figure that one out?

Squoze: you really gotta click on this picture to get the full horror.

 If you order it "squoze", the fine ladies who cook will gather it up lovingly between two metal spatulas and mash it a bit, so that about a half a pint of grease pours out, back into the trough.

Unsquoze: the Full Monty of Fat.

   "Unsquoze" means they plop that bad boy down on your white bread bun, and start dialing 911, just to give the paramedics a head start. My husband and son are both gamblers at heart, so they ordered their burgers "unsquoze" and the grease had completely soaked through the bun by the time they were only halfway done with eating it. Initially, I noted that my burger had a lovely crisp exterior to the beef patty, and then my mouth was filled with the delicious flavor of beef, and then, a pool of fat poured out on my tongue, all in one little nibble. I managed two bites, and gave the rest to my Big Bison of a husband, to help speed him on his way to meet the Lord.

As I recall, my Dovie Burger only cost like $1.80, which to a city girl like me seemed like a bargain. We thanked our kind hostesses, who kept us regaled with stories of Dovie's and Aunt Juanita and Uncle A.J. throughout the lunch. (It was a lot like having dinner and a show, in fact.) We needed to get on over to the funeral home, as the time for the funeral was approaching. And as we entered the funeral home, I saw the funniest thing. Somebody was entering right in front of us, carrying a sack full of Dovie's, that they lovingly carried to the kitchen, to feed any poor soul who might be in need of what Tompkinsville thinks of as true comfort food. You see, in Tompkinsville, they lovie Dovie's. And now we do, too.

Crunchy Granola Suite

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Only someone who has listened to a lot of Neil Diamond would get the reference in my title, today. But my junior high days were filled with James Taylor, Loggins and Messina, and early on, thanks to my girlfriend George and her passion for the song "Kentucky Woman",  Neil Diamond had to be listened to. At slumber parties, and on afternoons after school, spent hanging out in her very cool bedroom, Neil Diamond was a part of the soundtrack to my 7th grade year. And the title to his song "Crunchy Granola Suite" amused me. I've always loved wordplay.

Moving forward in the magic time machine of my memories to the days of living in Switzerland, my girlfriends Donna and Val introduced me to the joys of bircher muesli.

Bircher muesli was a lot like granola, only the Swiss added lots of dried fruits and nuts, and then soaked it overnight in the fridge in yogurt. Somehow or other, we inherited a yogurt maker in our apartment, and so between the Swiss Bircher Muesli cereal that we bought, the packages of dried fruits and nuts that we added, and the homemade yogurt that we made, we ate like kings. Er, princesses. Anyway, those were nice days.

Click the picture: it will only get bigger and better.

So, now that I cook for myself, in my own kitchen, here in the Boonies, I have suffered through some really mediocre recipes for Granola, that haven't really measured up to my memories of the yumminess in Switzerland. Till this week, when I finally tried a recipe from the website epicurious,  which I really, really liked, and which is quite easy to do. And so, with love, I pass it on to you. I have modified it, of course, to suit my own tastes, as I hope you yourself will do. Add your own favorite nuts and dried fruits. Eschew adding yogurt to it at the end, if you must. But there is something about the tart "zing" of the plain unsweetened yogurt in combination with the intense tangy sweetness of the dried cherries (which are my favorite dried fruit: but you could add dried blueberries or craisins, or raisins or whatever you like!), the dark notes of the buckwheat honey, and the rich crunch of the roasted almonds and pecans, that all work together for the good. It really is a symphony of flavors in a bowl. A Crunchy Granola Suite, if you will.

For my yogurt, I used Dannon Activia Plain, Unsweetened Yogurt.  But I couldn't find a picture of it. Any plain yogurt will do, and if it floats your boat, have it with sweetened yogurt. Unlike the Swiss, I don't soak my bircher muesli overnight. I like it better with more crunch. But you can try it both ways, if you like, and find what suits you best. Or, douse it with milk. Or, nibble it plain. Whatever floats your granola boat.


A few notes on the recipe I used: I didn't have any sesame seeds at home on the day I made this, so I used the flax seeds that I had in the pantry, and they worked fine. I also decided to use a honey my husband had purchased that was a little too dark for my daughter's taste (we usually eat our honey on biscuits). The honey was almost as dark as molasses, and was called buckwheat honey. It was great! But I wouldn't hesitate to try maple syrup next time, or agave nectar, or whatever honey I might have as the sweetener.

Made with buckwheat honey, and  presented to you in a sherbet dish. With a nod to Nota Supermom.

Wait no more: here's my recipe, for which I hope you will develop your own themes and variations, for Extreme Granola.

 Extreme Granola

3/4 cups pecans
1/2 cup natural almonds
4 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
1/4 cup sesame seeds (optional)
1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter
1/3 cup pure maple syrup, cane syrup or honey, at room temperature
1/4 teaspoon fine salt
3/4 cup chopped dates
1/2 cup dried cherries

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Line a large shallow baking sheet with foil. Spread the pecans and almonds on the sheet and roast for 8 to 10 minutes, until lightly toasted. Transfer the nuts to a board, let cool and chop the nuts. Set aside.
Reduce the oven temperature to 300°F. Pour the oats and sesame seeds, if using, in a mound on the same baking sheet. Melt the butter in a small bowl in the microwave; stir in the maple syrup and salt and drizzle on top of the oats. Stir well with a rubber spatula and then spread out the oats in an even layer.
Bake the oats for 30 minutes, stirring once with the spatula halfway through, until the oats are lightly colored. Let cool; the mixture will crisp as it cools. Add the dates, dried cherries, and reserved nuts and toss.


•Store the granola in covered glass jars at room temperature for up to one month.
•Time saver: Make two batches of granola by doubling the ingredients and using two baking sheets—one in the upper third and one in the lower third of the oven.

OH MY GOODNESS!!! I got a Post of the Week!!!!!!

Pin It http://thesmittenimage.blogspot.com/Yes, I did!!!

I think my heart just about leapt out of my throat, too!!!!

So, I was on my way to Hilary's wonderful blog, The Smitten Image, and I was going to comment about how Squirrel Buffet (the title of one of her pictures today) must be a cousin of Jimmy Buffett's, and must be Wastin' Away Again in AlmondRocaVille, when as I perused her article listing her favorite posts of the week: THERE I WAS!!!!!


She likes me. She really, really likes me!!!

Well, OK, she liked Foxy Loxy.

But STILL!!!!!!!!!

I'm so excited!!!

I think to celebrate, I'll go buy myself a little something trimmed in fox fur....

~snort~

I crack me up.

Anyway, rejoice with me, and then go look at Hilary's WONDERFUL blog, which has AWESOME photography, and besides...she has great taste in writers!

The Smitten Image: Squirrel Buffet and Posts of the Week

Furless Feline Finally Fabricates Fur Facsimile

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Grady, and my knees

It may sound far-fetched, but it's a fact. Grady, my fashion forward feline friend from Frisco (OK, I hate that term. He's from SAN FRANCISCO, not (shiver) "Frisco", but it was the "f" alliteration thing, and I succumbed to the temptation to add just one. more. "f:. FAIL.) is having an identity crisis.

Grady, on the right, with his adoring friend, Sebastian, in the halcyon hairless days

See his wrinkled hairless belly? He felt like really warm suede.

Maybe it's because it's winter. Or maybe because he's just fatigued by his old image, and wants something different. Or maybe he's just doing that "I'll do whatever the heck I WANT to do, thankyouverymuch," thing that cats do,  because they're cats, and they can, but Grady is apparently finding a new groove for his bad self.

Fashion forward Grady: He calls this pose "Le Tigre"

My dear friend Gigi sent me an email yesterday from her iphone, with this message: Grady's Growing HAIR!!!! Imagine my shock and awe, when I saw THIS:

Note the fuzz on his haunches and back.

I think he looks a little "uncomfortable in his own skin", as it were, with the whole new vibe he's got going on, but that's life, you know? We make changes. We try on a new attitude for size. We vow to set and keep new and better boundaries. To stop being such a pushover. To quit being a doormat. And, initially, we're just a bit uncomfy. It doesn't quite feel like "us", at first. Well, and then there's the pushback we get from others, as we are no longer available to meet their unhealthy needs, as we once were. That gets REALLY uncomfortable. Like the stubble that starts coming in after you give your legs a nice, close shave.

I asked Gigi how she felt about Grady's new look, and she said she was sort of proud of him, the way you feel when your adolescent son first sprouts whiskers. But that her daughter, who had wanted to get a furless cat in the first place was feeling a wee bit ripped off. The old bait and switch, perhaps? But Gigi was philosophical about the whole thing. She said it was kind of like life: lots of stuff happens that you didn't sign up for, and you really have to figure out how to roll with it. Which can be really, really REALLY hard.  Huh? Lots of you know just EXACTLY what I'm talkin' 'bout. I am hearing some "Amens" going up from in front of computer screens all over the world, right now. Life is hard! There can be lots and lots of unanticipated changes involved.

Which reminds me of a story I told just this week. It's one of my favorite stories, because it's really, really true, and it happened to a friend of mine. Well, it happened to my friend Sandy's friend, anyway. (I am going to change the name of the little boy involved in the story, however, just to make sure he's protected.) Sandy was the speech therapist at the school where I used to work, but she had several schools where she offered speech therapy, and at one of them, she had a dear friend who was the kindergarten teacher there. The kindergarten teacher, who shall henceforth be referred to as the Kind Teacher, told Sandy this story, about a boy in her class named Marquez.

 It seems that it was the first day of school at this inner-city school, and the Kind Teacher noticed that at noon, little Marquez was packing up his backpack. The Kind Teacher asked him what he was doing, and he replied that he was getting ready to go home. The teacher said, "Oh, no, Marquez, it's not time to go home yet." And Marquez, a veteran of the Head Start program for a couple of years prior, patiently explained to his teacher, as he pointed at the wall clock, "When the big hand and the little hand on the clock are both pointing thtwaight up, then it'th time to get weddy to go home," because, his Head Start program had always been a half day program, don'tcha know. So the Kind Teacher explained AGAIN to little Marquez, "No, honey, that was last year, at Head Start. But you're 5 years old now. You're a big boy, and you're going to Kindergarten, now. And at Kindergarten, we stay as long as the other Big Boys and Girls. We don't go home till 3:00, which is in three more hours."

To which, Marquez, a bit perturbed in his five year old heart, replied with his slight lisp, "Well, who the hell thigned me up for thith?".

Some of us feel that way in our marriages. We had no idea what was headed our way when we said, "I do." Some of us feel that way in regard to our children: what we dreamed of when we heard that we'd be bringing a child into our family does not match up with the reality of living with this child. This is NOT what we signed up for!

I think God has a word for each of us, in our situation. It came to mind this morning as I was writing this post, and maybe it's for you. It's certainly for me, and it's Isaiah 43:19:

See,  I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert
and streams in the wasteland.

Have you gone through the old bait and switch somewhere in your life? Things haven't really gone according to plan? It's really NOT what you signed up for?

Be open to the new thing that God would do in your life. Ask Him what it might be. Ask for the life giving streams of water that He has promised in the midst of the desert wasteland. Ask for eyes to see what your new role might be. Maybe it's time to grow some new fur! He has promised to make a way for you, and to give you refreshment on your way. Ask for the faith to believe that He sees you and cares about you, if you're lacking that, and tell Him that you are going to hold Him to His promises. That's what I'm doing, anyway.