Scout Moves

So, I was rummaging through this old music cabinet we had stashed away in another room, and I found a stack of things my mother had given me a few years ago. She had cleaned out her own place to keep things you don't know what to do with, and she gave my sisters and I our related stack of stuff. In my collection, there is an 8 x 10 of each of my school pictures. For a dollar, I'll show you the worst one. There is a frameable birth certificate with my baby foot prints on the back, my baptismal certificate from when I was 9, a picture I had drawn of my father when I was in kindergarten, and various other things. Also in this stack is a book I made when I was in first or second grade on How to Grow. Each of these nuggets of wisdom is still taught in school today, although our obesity rate continues to rise, and the details of what is taught have changed a little. The definition of "good food" has advanced somewhat, and we give kids treadmills now, if only they would use

In the process of redecorating and remodeling our bedroom and bathroom, a piece of furniture was moved into a spare bedroom where it still sits. It's an antique music cabinet, and I had forgotten about it until I was in this spare room the other day trying to find a remote place to play my horn. I took a break from practicing to rummage through the old cabinet and found some delightful things. There were no fur coats in there or a portal to Narnia, but there was a book of piano music—Selections from Anna Magdalena's Notebook. Anna Magdalena, a court singer, married Johann Sebastian Bach in 1721. Bach presented an elaborate notebook to Anna on her 24th birthday, and over the years she filled it and a second notebook with music composed by her husband, a few family friends, and some of her fifty gazillion children. They are delightful little pieces, and although they look very simple on the page, they can be difficult if one is meant to actually count the music and do as it says.

Yesterday, Dive asked us what odd, embarrassing things we might have tucked away on our iPods, audio treasures most people wouldn't bother to add to their collection. I don't have as many recordings on my iPod as I could—I haven't taken the time to buy songs or add songs from CDs I have collected, but when I turn on my iTunes to serve as a soundtrack for working, I wish I had more playlists. I do have one notable odd recording, though, even for people who like classical music, and even for people who like classical French horn music more specifically. It's called...well, I'm not actually sure it has a name. Mozart composed four horn concertos, and every serious horn student learns them on some level, understanding they will never master the things. The concertos feature the horn, so they don't have lyrics, of course, but this one odd recording is a song written to the third movement of Mozart's fourth horn concerto. Anybody who loves playing the horn every d

I got these new reading glasses, and I paid twice as much for them as I normally do. I hardly ever pay more than $12 for a pair, but these cost $25, and they didn't even come with a case. I just have to shove them in a pocket or let them roll around willy nilly in the bottom of my purse. I only need glasses for reading up close, and even then the minimum number on the power scale works just fine. I don't need glasses to drive or to see across the room, and if my computer is far enough away and the type is large enough, I don't need them for working. So, I don't wear my glasses very often, even though I kind of like the way I look in them. I think I look...oh, I don't know...focused. They say you should never look back, that looking back just keeps you from moving forward. So, I won't use my new glasses for that. I do enjoy looking forward to things, like the arrival of something I have ordered on line. I am expecting some piano music today, and I will look forwa

Because today is the birthday of Robert Burns, Scottish poet (1759), there will be suppers tonight in his honor. It's Burns Night. Burns Suppers, sometimes hosted by Masons because the poet was a Mason, are organized and structured. They usually begin with a welcome and announcement and the Selkirk Grace, which goes like this: Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, Sae the Lord be thankit. Then, accompanied by bagpipes, the host brings out the haggis, making a big production of the thing. Someone recites Address to a Haggis while the thing is cut open, and then they eat it. After dinner and review of the life and works of Robert Burns, everyone attending sings Auld Lang Syne, written by Burns himself. Up until this point I can't relate. I haven't memorized any Burns poetry, and the idea of eating haggis is anything but appetizing. But the singing of Auld Lang Syne—well, that I know. On new year's eve, when we were on

Do you recognize this incredible piece of art, even with the metallic hair? Daughter No. 2 got a great paint-by-number set for Christmas with ten painting outlines and little pots of paint. She has completed several according to directions, but when it came to the Mona Lisa, she abandoned the guide and made it her own. If you hold the painting at a certain angle and in a certain light, the hair really does shimmer. She's a beauty, I think. While No. 2 was working on this project, news came out the University of Heidelberg in Germany has named the true model for the famous painting. After all these years of speculation, it has been confirmed the model was Lisa del Giocondo , wife of a textile merchant who commissioned the painting. They had just bought a house and had a baby, so it was a special occasion. In 1503, a Florentine city official scribbled some notes in the margin of a book about how da Vinci was working on a portrait of Lisa del Giocondo , and even though these notes

I made shortbread cookies last night, and here's why. On Monday evening, I was on the schedule of people who are cooking for a family of four small children. Their father is away on business for the week, and their mother is very ill, pregnant with her fifth child and unable to keep anything down. My pregnancies were like that, so I know how much this woman needs us to feed her kids. I made a simple dinner, something I thought people who are 2, 4, 6, and 8 would eat without too much complaining, and I packed up my car. I made tiny cheeseburgers on tiny buns and gelatin jiggly things made with organic grape juice. Then I grabbed a bag of baby carrots, some Gold Fish, and some potato chips, and I drove to the address on my instruction sheet. I pulled into the driveway and thought, "Hey, I've been here before." This house these hungry little kids are running wild in while their mother lays motionless and dehydrated on the couch used to be owned by an old friend of mine,

My shop teacher has died. When I was in the 7th grade, my middle school made boys take home economics and made girls take industrial arts. I would never have even walked down the hall where the shop rooms were otherwise. The entire wing of the school just seemed dirty to me—smelly and grimy and full of boys with dirty hair and finger nails. And the boys' locker room was directly across the hall. Mr. Zachary was a wiry, no-nonsense man who walked us through the steps of making little projects our parents could keep, like a message keeper to hang by the phone. It holds a roll of adding machine tape and a pencil, and more than thirty years later, my mother still keeps it hanging by her telephone in her kitchen. We also made plaques gouged out with a router and decoupaged with old greeting cards. My mother has those hanging in her guest bathroom. One of my favorite parts about shop class was the clean-up sink, a big half-round thing made of steel with a bank of spouts and a foot pedal

Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. day. It's also my late father's birthday. I always chuckle slyly when the two days collide because my father—how should I put this—was not a vocal supporter of civil rights or the equality of the races. He was a product of the old segregated south and believed people should "know their place" in this world. It irritated him greatly when the country devoted an entire day to the likes of MLK (he believed the FBI when they said the man was a communist pinko instigator), and to have that day fall on his own birthday was like an extra slap in the face. My father's birthday was always a simple occasion and punctuate with dessert. Every Saturday for all the years I can remember, my mother made a cake-mix cake that would carry us through the following week. On the week of Daddy's birthday, she would make the German chocolate cake variety because Daddy just loved the stuff, and it was served with a heaping mound of butter pecan ice-cr

Maria has asked for a potato soup recipe, and since this is going to be a long and very cold weekend, here it goes. I found this one at Bon Appétit, and I plan on making a pot this afternoon. Potato Soup with Blue Cheese and Bacon Serves 6 to 8 8 bacon slices 2 cups chopped onion 1 large leek (white and pale green parts only), chopped 3 celery stalks, chopped 2 medium carrots, peeled, chopped 3 3/4 cups good quality chicken broth 1 large potato (about 10 ounces), peeled, chopped 1 cup dry white wine 4 ounces blue cheese, crumbled Cook bacon in heavy large pot over medium heat until brown and crisp. Using tongs, transfer bacon to paper towels and drain. Crumble bacon. Spoon off all but 2 tablespoons bacon drippings from pot. Add onion, leek, celery and carrots to pot. Cover, reduce heat to low and cook until vegetables begin to soften and color, about 15 minutes. Add broth, potato and wine. Bring to boil. Partially cover pot. Simmer until all vegetables are tender, about 30 minutes. Rem

...or maybe not. I was shocked by this, not just because I didn't expect Paul McCartney to demonstrate cooking on camera, but because he so clearly does not want to be doing this. What people will do for love...or obligation. I'll warn you, it's a little long, but even if you only watch a minute or two, you'll get the idea.

I swear I didn't know this on Monday when I declared this to be Mashed Potato Week, but the United Nations has officially declared 2008 to be the International Year of the Potato. Is that a coincidence, or what? That just goes to show how important the spud is. The Spanish brought it to Europe from South America in the 1500s, making it a staple in diets all over the continent. But now, China and India harvest more than anybody else, and the UN is hoping it will become an important food in developing countries as their population explodes beyond their food supply. The spud has become a universal food, which makes sense to me—I have had potatoes in their many forms all of my life. A few years ago, we hosted an exchange student from France for three weeks. The poor girl, Sophie, barely spoke English, and we only knew a handful of French words—hello and pen and book and window are about all I could remember from my single semester in college, and you can't have much of a conversati

Mashed potatoes seem to be the kind of thing that get used a lot, and not necessarily for food. When I was a kid, I would spend a week every summer at church camp, and the food was not unlike the muck on the bottom of the lake where we swam in our modest one-piece suits and rowed canoes. I remember one particularly bad mealtime, sitting at the table with some particularly mischievous boys and girls, each trying to outdo the other in grossness. Into our bowl of gravy, we poured a glass of grape punch, and into the concoction, we dumped a shaker of salt and another of pepper, and into this seasoned slop we poured the buttered peas. Our mixture wasn't perfect, though, until we stirred in the bowl of mashed potatoes, one sticky spoonful at a time, until we had an oozing mess of starchy glop dotted with tiny green balls. We were so pleased with ourselves until the Hun of the Kitchen appeared at the head of the table with her arms folded over her voluminous chest, and her multiple chins

This recipe for mashed potatoes comes from Commander's Kitchen , cookbook of the famed restaurant in New Orleans, Commander's Palace.. yes, sour cream has plenty of fat in it, but you aren't supposed to sit with the whole bowl in your lap eating this stuff with a giant spoon. Exercise a little discipline when serving the portions, and your arteries will be none the wiser. Sour Cream Potato Salad Serves 6 2 pounds small red-skin potatoes 1 tablespoon kosher salt 1 1/2 cups sour cream 1 small red onion, diced 1 cup chopped fresh parsley In a large pot, cover potatoes with water and add the salt. Boil over high heat for 10 to 12 minutes or until a paring knife easily pierces a potato. Drain and let cool. Add sour cream and red onion and mash with a wooden spoon or potato masher until well broken but not creamed. Stir in parsley and salt and pepper as needed. Serve at room temperature.

Surprisingly to some, I was able to devote an entire week to tuna noddle casserole back in November. It was a challenge, but I believe it was also a success. During that week, it was suggested that I explore mashed potatoes, so here we go. This week is Mashed Potato week. You think I can't do it? We'll see. One thing that fascinates me about potatoes is their versatility. The only thing that limits how we cook with them is our culinary imaginations. With this one dirty vegetable, you can make a kitchen full of dishes. You can boil them, bake them, roast them, fry them. You can make soup with them or mix them with cheese for au gratin or grate them for hash browns or stir them up with onions and egg for potato cakes or mash them with any number of things. My father used to make his mashed potatoes with mayonnaise, and the consistency made me wretch at the table. You can make bubble and squeak or top off a casserole of shepherd's pie. Globally, we spend over 16 billion dollar

1) Where did you begin 2007?: If I recall, I woke up at the lake house where I had celebrated the event with husband and daughters. 2) What was your status on Valentine's Day?: I don't specifically recall the day, but I was married—still am. 3) Were you in school (anytime this year)?: On most Mondays, having a horn lesson at a college and feeling like I didn't quite belong with the early-20-somethings. 4) How did you earn your money?: I did my usual job of designing book covers. 5) Did you have to go to the hospital?: Only to escort Daughter No. 2 for her eco-cardiogram. 6) Did you have any encounters with the police?: Well, actually, I think it was spring of 2007 when I was stopped for speeding but was sent away with only a warning. 7) Where did you go on vacation?: Being a spoiled girl, I went to Paris and London in the summer and the Caribbean in the winter. 8) What did you purchase that was over $1000?: Oh my gosh. Well, let's see. A new French horn, for starters, a

Daughter No. 1 is a junior in college studying chemistry and philosophy. Daughter No. 2 has been accepted by a college to explore international studies beginning in the fall. Now, Husband has enrolled in a local college to study political science. 2008 seems to be the Year of Education. So, what should I be doing? I suppose I could find a school myself, but I don't really want to. I don't ever want to stop learning, but at the moment, I can't think of a thing I would want to study besides the horn, and I already do that. I never finished my college education—I had set out to conquer the world as an English major. Has that ever happened, I wonder? Somehow I doubt that an English major has ever conquered the world, but when you're young, you tend to dream big. Instead of going back to school, I have been thinking about volunteering at the local food bank. They are looking for help, and it seems like a worthy use of my time. We also have a homeless shelter, and we have a g

Apparently I look like a man. When I run my picture through a look-a-like match-up thingy, the celebrities I most resemble are men more often than not. I do seem to resemble a few women—Kate Winslet for one, and Helen Clark who is the prime minister of New Zealand. I look a little like Kimberly Williams, although I don't see the resemblance at all. But besides these three, I also seem to favor Frankie Nuniz, Tony Blair, Leonardo DiCaprio, and David Lloyd George (to the left) who was the British prime minister during WW1. I don't get it. Could be worse, I suppose. I could look like Joseph Merrick. Here is me morphing into Carlos Santana, one of my other look-a-likes. Who do you look like?

It's time for another sit-down at the piano. On cruise ships, there is always some crew musician playing schmaltz on a baby grand somewhere on board, especially during rough seas. Last week on the roughest day at sea, I was in a gift shop buying a jacket (the Caribbean was not warm that day), and in the atrium just beyond the balcony rail was a guy playing Claire de Lune in the most peaceful manner. We hit a big wave that felt as if we hit something large and solid, and some ladies screamed, but the guy kept playing. It was so effective—calming schmaltz. My Claire de Lune is in sad repair, so I have opted for a dreamy arrangement of Over the Rainbow instead. I have held onto this ragged piece of sheet music since high school because it was left to me by a friend who died when we were seventeen. May your troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops. How's that for schmaltz?

...to Elvis. I know it's today because it was announced on the Morning Edition on NPR this morning. They usually only acknowledge the birthdays of those still living, but today they made an exception. Who knows. He recreated himself once before—he could always try again. Elvis' recreation was one that didn't work so well, when he went from convulsing pop icon to fat and overly flamboyant Vegas guy. Some people can pull off a recreation. John Travolta did it. So did Madonna, but it doesn't work for everyone. Sometimes you just have to accept your era of fame and hand the next era over to the new sensation. Otherwise, you might find yourself portrayed on stretched velvet.

I am home from my seven-day cruise, and after a couple of days at home, I can tell you all about it. We left from Ft. Lauderdale on Day 1, a sunny day with clear skies and a coconut rum punch in hand. I do believe the bartenders on the Grand Princess weakened those welcoming drinks just a bit—plenty of coconut and not much rum. But it was still nice. We spent the next day at sea, getting to the know the layout of the ship, watching crew members make animals out of fruit and veggies, painting ceramics, and eating. Honestly, while you can seriously eat all day long on a cruise ship, I don't know why anyone would want to. Our first port was Ocho Rios, Jamaica. We chose a carefree excursion and toured an 18th century coconut plantation that looked out on the bay. We were served tea on the veranda (see the picture above). It was lovely. That night held a ship-wide New Year's Eve celebration, but Daughter No. 2 and I were the only ones to stay up to watch the balloons drop at midnigh