Scout Moves

Well, the last kid has gone home after a week of Thanksgiving visits. I realize I only have two kids, so it's not as if a whole herd has abandoned the den, but it feels a little empty in this house. With Husband at work and the animals quietly roaming around waiting for dinner, something seems missing. While the girls were here, we managed to feed everyone, even the vegetarians. Eustacia went back to school on Monday, so No. 1 and I set out to make dinner for the rest of us, something we would all eat. We settled on Lemon Risotto Croquettes from the only vegetarian cookbook in my vast collection of cookbooks. It was actually so good, we saved the leftover rice mixture and made a second batch for lunch a day or two later. Yum. You'll like these. Lemony Risotto Croquettes 1 tablespoon butter 3 bunches scallions, thinly sliced 2 cups risotto rice salt and pepper finely grated zest of one lemon 2 tablespoons finely chopped parsley ¼ pound f

Have I said how much I dislike daytime television? I really do. I'm even to the point of shrugging to CNN in the morning because the programming and the chatter doesn't inform or excite or entertain. Usually. There was a time when I was in college, and the ABC soap lineup had me hooked, I confess. I would go home to visit my parents and would hope to sit down to some stupid story line on One Life to Live or General Hospital only discover my father had become attached to As the World Turns on another network. The burly man retired from his heavy construction carpenter work and soon began spending his time watching soap operas. I was stunned and a little saddened. Odd, I think, that my watching them didn't make me sad, but I hated that my father watched them, as if he was too good and purposeful for soaps, but I had nothing better to do and was more suited to them. I wasn't, but I didn't know that just yet. Now, if I turn on the TV during the day, it's for bac

We had a very nice Thanksgiving this year. As is tradition, we traveled to Illinois to spend the holiday with Husband's clan. It's a large one, with a matriarch, seven of her children, 19 of her grandchildren, and honestly, I've lost track of the number of her great-grandchildren. There were a total of 40 from the generations all in one house, and we ranged from 85 years to 4 months. Some of the cousins created hats for the occasion—girl pilgrim hats, boy pilgrim hats and Indian headgear—wearer's choice. Here are my two girls spending the day as Indians: We had the traditional meal—roasted turkey, bread stuffing, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, dinner rolls, cranberry chutney and Champagne. We also had green salad, rice stuffing and my favorite green beans. You start by blanching them and then saute them with lemon zest and hazelnuts. Yum. Then we had pumpkin pie, pumpkin cheesecake, Grand Marnier truffles and tiramisu. We scattered around the house, keeping t

My mother lives at an assisted living facility these days. When she goes out, people she knows will greet her and tell her how lovely she looks and will then say, "How do you like your new home?" She puts on her best public smile and says, "Well, it's hard to call it home, but it's where I live." She refuses to accept the place as home even though she was desperately lonely in her own house and felt awkward and lonely when she lived with my sister. It's just the way she is. But when I spent some time with her a week ago, I saw how all the residents looked after each other, and they were all so friendly. And I thought how assisted living isn't such a bad idea. Granted, I fantasize about living in a commune or owning a big inn I can fill with people who could use a little help, a little assistance. In response to my visit with my mother, here is today's column for Small Town Newspaper. And if you've got five minutes, watch this video of a

Wow, I’ve taken more than a week off from blog writing. Did you miss me? I was in Georgia until Monday afternoon, and from there, I hit the ground running (or walking with a bum knee, more like it) to finish the next issue of the orchestra newsletter, write a short press release and write a column for next week. I’ve also bought groceries, done laundry, cleaned a toilet or two, attended an orchestra board meeting, had drinks with a friend and tended to a newly neutered puppy. I have also cooked every night since I’ve been home—mussel and clams with pasta, roasted lamb chops, chicken pot pie. So, I haven’t had time to blog write. But, most of my tasks for this week are complete, and the puppy is quiet, so here I am. Clickety clackety. I mean that literally—Husband thinks I need a Mactop that has a quieter keyboard, but I find the sound of computer keys mechanically pleasing. My visit to Georgia was a pleasant one. I stayed with my sister, sleeping in my mother’s old room there. Our

I'll be flying to Georgia tomorrow to spend a few days with my family. My mother will be 86 on Friday, and this weekend seemed like a nice time for a visit. We've treated our mother to a party before—last year, we threw a shindig at my sister's house for her 85th, and we made the day special for her a few years before that, I believe. Each time, we invited her lady friends from church who come decked in their sweater sets and pearls, and they gather around the tables topped with lace, and they laugh and tell stories and eat coconut cake. What's a birthday without coconut cake, I always say. OK, I may never have actually said that out loud, but it has become a tradition when celebrating my mother's birthday, and I would miss it if we opted for something else. Coconut cake is a southern staple, and my mother used to make the best cake with seven-minute icing. I called it "crunchy icing" before I knew the real name for it because it hardens on the surfac

Marie Curie at 16 When Husband and I were first married, I would be confronted with certain challenges, tasks to complete or problems to solve, and my first response would be something like, "I can't do that. I didn't go to school for that." And Husband would repeatedly reject my fear of the unfamiliar. But it wasn't so much the unfamiliar that made me balk. It was my feelings of inferiority for not having finished college. I didn't have (and still don't have) a degree or even a certificate of completion, and that lack of experience and paper suitable for framing had me feeling I had no choice but to sit on my hands and watch someone else achieve the things I dreamed of. Despite my achievements to date, I still have that sense. It just lays low most of the time. But then I come across a story like that of Marie Curie's. I don't mean the one about her isolating radium and dying from the process. I mean the one about how she refused to sit on h

Dive at Small Glass Planet spotted this sign at engrish.com and sent it. I wonder if he's trying to say something, something insulting about big Baxter. This sign is fitting, I think, although it's fitting for any home with a dog as all dogs are a little strange. Are you aware that dogs eat cat vomit, and did you know they'll chew on random pieces of wood? I don't mean sticks or big chunks of pine mulch. I'm talking about the corner of a table or the leg of a chair, whatever is handy. My dog rings a bell when he needs to go out, and he gets a treat if he actually does his personal business after ringing it. But he also rings the bell if he just wants to go outside and smell the air or check out an unusual sound he detects. Sometimes he rings the bells just to go lay on the patio and chew on the old leather glove I gave him. I brought the nasty glove inside thinking that might reduce the bell ringing, but so far that hasn't helped. Years ago when we lived

I have given Baxter a sock. Two socks, actually, and you'd think he has struck gold. When Baxter gets anything, or takes anything, he runs straight to his bed where he hoards his toys and sticks and odd finds. He's like the magpie of dogs. While I was folding laundry this afternoon, I had set aside a pair of worn socks to throw away, but then I balled them up and tossed them into the kitchen instead. And I watched as the puppy darted for the flying socks, snatched them up and ran straight for his bed. He's been gnawing on them since, because fabric seems to be a comfort to his teething gums, and I think he thinks he has something he's not supposed to have. It just goes to show that one man's useless socks—with frayed elastic, a hole in the toe and thin at the heals—is one dog's treasure of the day. You look at your stuff and sort it as "keep" or "throw away," but sometimes "give to someone else" is the better option. What app

Don't think less of me, but one of my favorite films in the "Family" category is "Baby's Day Out." I'm not sure if it's the cuteness of the wandering baby or Fred Thompson as the FBI agent, but there is something about the movie I adore. Well, today, we experienced Baxter's day out. He loves car rides, and we go to the park almost every day, so leaving the house isn't new to the puppy. But today we ran errands. First, we went to the bank drive-through to make a deposit. Baxter could hardly contain himself when I put the checks in the shoot, and he watched the canister take off. I actually had to hold him by the collar, he was so excited. And when the canister came back, there was a little dog biscuit in with the receipt. He liked it. Then we went to Good Will. My girls collected quite a few books when they were children, and the things have been shoved in the guestroom closet for years. I finally sorted them not long ago—a bag to kee