Willow:In keeping with the situation. (A Christmas Carol)
WT: I feel giddy as a school boy.(A Christmas Carol)
Willow:You could kiss me on the veranda.(The Three Amigos)
WT:I triple dog dare you!(A Christmas Story)
Willow:All right Mr. De Mille, I'm ready for my close-up. (Sunset Blvd.)
WT:Is it informal, or should I wear my Napoleon hat? (Brigadoon)
Willow: Leave the gun, take the cannoli.(The Godfather)
WT:The night was moist.(Throw Mamma from the Train)
Saturday, August 29, 2009
You might have noticed the mention of this wonderful peppercorn roasted pork on my sidebar. Oh. My. Gosh. It was so delicious! We've been enjoying the benefits of leftovers all week. The savory synchronicity of the vermouth sauce and the aromatic pink peppercorns is fabulous. I served it with sugar snap peas and potatoes with parsley pesto.
Peppercorn Roasted Pork with Vermouth Pan Sauce
6 Tbsp pink peppercorns divided 2 Tbsp black peppercorns 1 1/2 Tbsp fennel seeds 7 cloves garlic minced 3 Tbsp vegetable oil 1 five pound pork shoulder roast, butt end (as you see, I didn't have shoulder roast on hand, and used a leaner loin roast instead) 1/2 cup dry vermouth 2 cups reduced sodium chicken broth 1 Tbsp unsalted butter softened 1 Tbsp flour
Grind 1/4 cup pink peppercorns with black peppercorns and fennel seeds in electric coffee or spice grinder, then stir together with garlic, oil and 1 Tbsp salt.
Pat pork dry and use a paring knife to make 1 inch deep slits all over the roast. Stuff slits with all but 1 Tbsp of the paste, then rub remaining all over the roast. Marinate chilled 8 to 24 hours.
Let pork stand at room temperature 1 hour. Preheat oven to 350. Roast pork, fat side up until meat registers 150 F, about 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Transfer to cutting board and let rest for 30 minutes.
Meanwhile, pour off all but about 1 Tbsp fat from roasting pan. Add vermouth to pan and boil, scraping up the brown bits, 2 minutes. Stir in broth, any juice from cutting board and boil until reduced to about 1 1/2 cups, about 5 minutes. Knead together butter and flour, then whisk into sauce and boil, whisking constantly until just thickened. Serve pork with sauce and prepare for mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm!!
(Notice the Blue Willow? Julia Child would approve.)
It was 21 years ago this month that we moved into our beloved Willow Manor. The stone lined culvert that cuts through the front of the property was once lined with huge willow trees, hence "Willow Manor", the name given to the place by previous owners. It's a delightful old house, built in 1927, with lots of original fixtures and glorious mature trees. Looking back, we've adored every single day living here. Well, most days, that is.
As any of you who have lived in a older home know, there is always something sinking or exploding. Do you remember the film The Money Pit, when Tom Hanks and Shelley Long portray a idealistic young couple who struggle to repair a dilapidated old house? Well, it's a perfect picture of us and our first weeks at Willow Manor.
I'll never forget the first night here, when I turned on the water to fill the tub for a nice hot bath, after a harrowing day of moving. Just like in the movie, muddy water gushed out, filling the tub with thick brown slop. Revolted, I let out a blood curdling scream. The romantic bath in my new dream home was not exactly coming together like I imagined.
Putting the bath episode aside, the next morning I happily came downstairs to make a lovely breakfast in our new surroundings. When I plugged in the toaster, all the kitchen lights went out with fireworks and a dynamic pop. After another desperate scream, from this non-screaming kind of girl, I rushed into the dining room to find WT poking at a soft spot in the ceiling. Just as I was opening my mouth to tell him about the kitchen episode, a sizable (18' x 18') hunk of plaster fell on his head, leaving a gaping hole in our newly acquired formal dining room. Oh, I wish I'd had my digital camera then.
The following weeks were spent living among some unsavory remodeling guys, one of whom I will never forget. The company hired to install air conditioning, sent their slinkiest man. He, being the only one who could actually fit inside the plaster walls to build the duct work. Again, I let out some whopper screams, when his unsuspecting, Norman Bates head would randomly slide out of a register opening. I swear he was trying to catch me naked.
Newly dug well and years of plumbing, electrical and drywall patching later, we adore this old place; and even more for the wear. Yes, it's still a money pit. As I speak, there's a large hole in the master closet ceiling, covered with duct tape and a plastic garbage bag, the hot water faucet doesn't work in the kitchen bath, and the air handler upstairs is out. One of these days, when our last is finished with school, (we're starting our eleventh straight year of kids in college) we'll take care of some delayed projects. Still, the manor does have a comfortable old personality all its own. The cracks and duct tape are all part of the patina that gives it that unique charm we've come to love. So, I raise my glass in a toast to the manor, our darling, crusty old money pit.
I have an affinity for trees. For me, they emit a certain sense of security and peace that surpasses that of some humans. They dance in the wind, throw confetti in the fall, creak, sing, and reach for the stars. They are always there for me and I feel a special bond of kinship. Funny, one of my childhood nicknames was "Tree", which I didn't particularly like. Although, looking back, it was very telling. "Willow", as it turns out, is befitting, as well. I guess I will always be a tree.
As you already know, I adore the adventure of the hunt at flea markets, garage sales and thrift stores. It must be the thrill of allowing my sixth sense to take over. I was out and about Friday afternoon and happened on a garage sale. The elderly lady had just a few dismal items displayed in her driveway, and normally, from the looks of it, I would have driven on by. But something urged me to stop and take a gander. One of the few old books she had displayed on a broken lawn chair was The Space My Body Fills, poems by Etta Blum. I walked straight over, picked it up, paid the woman $1 and went on my merry way. She probably thought, "Well, that's a girl who knows what she wants."
Etta Blum was born in 1908 in New York City and earned her
master's degree from Columbia University. She was married to the
Yiddish writer, Eliezer Blum. I was previously unfamiliar with Blum's
poetry, but soon became totally captivated. I felt as if she wrote
My apologies to all you Leos out there. Heavens to murgatroyd, we're already into the Virgo time frame and I completely forgot to post on Leos. Actually, I don't know how in the world I forgot, since both WT and my daughter are both dynamic, sunny Leos.
Leo, July 23 - August 23, is the zodiac's fifth sign. The King of the Beasts, the lion, is the symbol for this sign. Leos share some of the characteristics associated with the lion, being proud, loyal and fierce. As a fixed sign, Leos are steady characters, and as a fire sign, they are attracted to dramatic or creative situations.
Powerful and proud, Leos like to be at the center of the action. They are dramatic personalities who are warm hearted and dominant. Leo has kingly qualities of pride and leadership. They are happiest when they can rule others and be proud of their achievements.
Creativity is associated with planets in Leo. Painting, drawing, and display are ways of expressing their creative side. Leos are also connected with theater and showmanship. They have a very strong urge to create and make an impact.
Leos are colorful characters and are attracted to anything sunny, bright and colorful. Obviously, their ruling planet is the sun. They have a sunny disposition and like to be appreciated. They are idealists at heart, generous and warm hearted. On the downside, they tend to be a bit pompous and intolerant. But only a bit!
The flowers associated with the Leo are the sunflower and marigold. Metal is gold and the gemstone is ruby. Countries are Italy, Romania, Sicily, Czech Republic, Lebanon and the South of France.
So, a belated Happy Birthday to all you Leos in the bloggyhood. Stay tuned, Virgos, I'll post on you next week.
I don't know about you, but the new moon always spins me into a freshening and rearranging mode. This weekend, I scrubbed up my collection of old glass bottles. Since there was some chat about bottles over at Subby's blog, I thought I'd snap some pics to share, while they're nice and shiny.
My collection started with a few vintage bottles when I was a girl. Some of my favorties are the ones found by my sons in the woody area behind the manor that was once an old trash burning dump.
I'm really nutty about all kinds of glass. I love the magical play of light, and the delightful bubbles and imperfections in vintage glass. I imagine myself traveling back in time and buying a glass factory like Lucinda Laplastrier in Peter Carey's Oscar and Lucinda.
Anyone out there ever had a Prince Rupert's drop? I think they're also known as Dutch tears. It's a glass curiosity created by dripping hot molten glass into cold water. The glass cools to a tadpole shaped droplet with a long, thin tail. If the tail is broken it explodes into a million tiny particles. I'd love to have one. They're so pretty, tough, I would be tempted never to burst it. Apparently, Rupert's Drops have been around for quite some time. Here's an excerpt from Ballad of Gresham College, 1663.
And that which makes their Fame ring louder, With much adoe they shew'd the King
To make glasse Buttons turn to powder,
If off the[m] their tayles you doe but wring.
How this was donne by soe small Force
Did cost the Colledg a Month's discourse.
Once in a while, WT brings one back from his travels, like this pretty little gold one from Portobello Road in London. I've always got my eyes peeled for them in flea markets and antique stores.
Here's a video montage from the movie Oscar and Lucinda, set to music by The Strokes which shows the breaking of a Rupert's Drop.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
This is the best stuff I've eaten all summer. I've made it twice in the last two weeks. It's fresh, light and perfect for a hot summer evening. I served it with hot grilled pita bread and an ice cold glass of Chardonnay. You can thank Susan, over at 29 Blackstreet for sharing this fabulous recipe! Yummity-yum-yum-yum.
Grilled Chicken Greek Salad
marinade:
1 cup of plain yogurt zest and juice of 1 large lemon 2 tbsps. crushed dried oregano 2 fat cloves of garlic, crushed 2-3 tbsps. olive oil
Marinate 4 boneless skinless chicken breasts in a 9 x13 pan, turning and stirring occasionally, 30 mins. to several hours. Grill chicken and oiled thick slices of 2 large Vidalia onions and when cool slice both in chunks.
dressing:
1/2 cup olive oil 2-3 tbsps cider vinegar 2-3 tbsps balsamic vinegar 1 tbsp. dried oregano 1/4 - 1/2 cup chopped fresh mint (I have tons of this stuff) 1 tsp. sugar (or to taste) small handful of crumbled feta cheese blend in a blender or food processor
WT surprised me this morning by telling me he was taking the afternoon off. "We're outta here!" So, after lunch we jumped in the old Land Rover and headed off for one of our favorite haunts.
Here's a view heading west on I-70. We were lucky enough to enjoy some dramatic N.C. Wyeth skies. As you can see, our neck of the woods, here in central Ohio, is flat as a pancake.
It's a 40 minute drive to the Heart of Ohio Antique Center. It's one
of the largest in the mid-west with 116,000 square feet of vintage
stuff from over 650 vendors. If you like antiques, this place is
heaven.
I especially like browsing the book vendors and keep my eye out
for interesting vintage glass bottles. But today, this adorable framed
hand tinted photo (11 x 13) of a little guy in a wool beret caught my
eye. There was a haunting quality that drew me to him.
It's sad to think this priceless treasure was separated from his family
somewhere along the way. Actually, he looks like he could be WT at
this age. It was a bargain at $10. WT enjoyed digging through his
favorite tool vendor's ware and found a lovely vintage wrench.
Thankfully, we missed the heavy rains that passed through while we
were inside. In fact, we've had so much rain this summer, the
cornfields are gloriously lush.
In no time at all, we're back in our little town. Lots of old limestone
buildings in the main square. What is this one now? It's actually a
Donato's pizza shop, which I think is totally ridiculous.
It's always a little cooler on our drive home along the river. Ahh.
Our town is covered with these charming vintage limestone walls.
They're literally everywhere. There is an abandoned quarry site just
a few miles south. It's been turned into a high end housing
development. Oh, well.
Okay, we're back to the manor, safe and sound. It was an extra fun day. Thanks for tagging along with us. Oh, and in case you're wondering, the f-word I happen to use is FUN.
Every year in late summer, small brown pipistrelle bats stop over at the manor for several days on their way to their hibernation spot for the fall and winter months. Some years, like this year, there are less than 100. But sometimes they've picked up other migratory groups along the away and there are thousands. One year, the neighbors rushed over, when they saw a huge dark donut cloud of bats circling the house. I'll have to admit, it does add to the mystique of a haunted manor.
If you listen carefully, you can hear them chirping a pip-like chirp. They hang out in one of our chimneys (don't worry, it's not the fireplace chimney) a day or two until they've rested up and are again on their merry little bat way. You can see one taking a nose dive into the chimney at the very end of the video.
Twinkle, twinkle little bat
How I wonder what you're at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea tray in the sky.
~
Lewis Carroll
~
PS...After careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that
these so called bats, have in fact been chimney swifts, all these years.
I originally stumbled upon this gem of a film at the library. It's a Masterpiece Theatre production, originally aired on TV in 1991, starring three of my faves, the fabulous Wendy Hiller, John Gielgud and Patrick McGoohan. The Best of Friends was such a special treat, I bought myself a copy from Amazon and watched it again last week.
I adore the art of letter writing and books written in letter form, so this was right up my alley. It's an adaptation from the journals and correspondence between a Benedictine nun, Dame Laurentia McLachlan (Hiller), the director of the Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge, Sydney Cockerell (Gielgud) and the legendary Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw (McGoohan). The screenplay was written by Hugh Whitemore, whose work you remember from All Creatures Great and Small.
The sparkling dialogue, taken directly from the trio's intimate letters and journals, is brought to life by the performance of these veteran actors. I enjoyed reliving their vigorous discussions on everything from the existence of God to the finer points of tango dancing. This peek into their amazing 25 year friendship is intelligent and poignant.
I couldn't help but compare their relationships to those I have with my own bloggy friends through our long distance correspondence. Our blog posts, as well as comments, are a rich and intimate mode of sharing in the same style of letters and journals, only intensified by the speed and extent of the internet. Isn't it amazing how quickly we can become the best of friends in the blog world?
Isn't this guy amazing? He reminds me of a robot with this cool mechanical looking cog-like thing on his back. He's called a wheel bug for obvious reasons, and even walks in slow jerky motions like a robot. This one is huge. His body is 2 1/4 inches long.
The bite of a wheel bug is painful and may take months to heal, sometimes leaving a small scar, so caution is advised when handling them. Why do I always find these things out, AFTER I've been playing around with them?
It possesses two scent sacs, red-orange in colour, that can be fired from its anus, usually in reaction to being disturbed. Oh, great. I was messing with a vicious insect that, not only could have bitten me, but fired foul smelling stuff from its butt. Next time, I'll steer clear. He is really cool, though, don't you think?
Have a listen to the great Hank Mobley playing Hello YoungLovers. I've been singing this all morning, changing the lyrics to "bug lovers". It works. Have a wonderful weekend, bloggy friends. ~x
We sneaked out to see a matinee showing of Julie & Julia yesterday. I was excited to see this movie because it is a combination of so many of my favorite things...food, eating, cooking, blogging, (basically my life), Meryl Streep, Paris, and Nora Ephron.
This film is a delightful interweaving of two true stories; Julia Child, the famous master of French cooking and Julie Powell, a young New York blogger, who decides to make 524 recipes, from Julia Child's cookbook, in 364 days and post them on her blog. Meryl Streep, as you can well imagine, amazingly transforms herself into Julia Child, who I really didn't know all that much about, before seeing this movie. Her husband is played by the charming Stanley Tucci, and Amy Adams is the blogger, Julie Powel.
I am already a huge fan of Nora Ephron, who wrote the screen play, as well as directed this movie, and I will have to say, I was not disappointed. I laughed and cried though the entire film. I was even delighted to see my beloved Blue Willow pattern china was also a favorite of Child's and she used it nearly everyday, just like I do! By the way, did you know her Cambridge, Massachusetts kitchen is now in the Smithsonian?
Now, WT was not exactly jumping out of his skin to see this movie. He agreed, though, tagging along with me. But, on the way home, he did a better Julia Child imitation than me. "Neeeever apologize." In fact, he did a better job than Meryl Streep. Scary, I know.
A word of caution. Make sure you eat before seeing this movie. You don't want to watch this one on an empty stomach.
Hey, did you hear the British royal monarchy is doing away with the ancient protocol requiring it's subjects to walk backwards away from the queen when leaving her presence? Remember the comical scene in the movie The Queen when Tony Blair and his wife have to back out of the room after their audience with Elizabeth?
The long standing tradition was meant for her subjects to never turn their backs on her majesty. I happen to love the romantic pomp and circumstance of historical tradition, but this bit of protocol does seem rather silly in this day and age. Times, they are a-changin'. And for the better, too. Now, if only we could get everyone to come to their senses.
I was chatting on the phone with my sister the other day and happened to say, "Oh, sorry, I interrupted you. You were about to post something." I know blogging has become a big part of my life in the last 18 months, but uh-oh, heavens to murgatroyd, I am actually starting to speak aloud in bloggese. Oh, well, I always wanted to learn a second language.
Not only, am I speaking the language of blog, I am dreaming in blog mode, as well. My dream conversations are typed in comment form, complete with the characters in my dreams contained in cute little one inch square avatars. Now, if I attach a printer to my brain, I would have a complete dream journal, ready to go, in book form, since I'm already dreaming in text.
Speaking of dream journals, I am fascinated with dreams and their meanings. My daughter sparked my interest in dream interpretation several years ago and suggested I invest in a good dream dictionary. I must say, it has been very helpful in deciphering my own emotions and, in turn, being able to put a healthy perspective on them.
One of the very first dreams, I was able to interpret, with the help of my trusty new book, was a vivid dream in which I received a postcard, with a beautiful olive tree postage stamp. In the dream, I was extremely upset because the stamp was torn. It seems like such a simple dream, but I woke up feeling troubled and thoughts of the dream persisted through the day.
After looking up the elements, I found that the postage stamp represented communication, the tree represented a family member, and the olive represented travel. WT was traveling in a third world country at the time, and I was worried after not hearing from him for several days. Pretty clear, huh? It's amazing how our minds create dreams to manage life's events and emotions. So, the dream ended up making perfect sense, after I figured out what it meant. It's obvious this dream was totally PB (that's pre-blog), since it wasn't in comment form.
I guess it's really no wonder why I am dreaming, as well as speaking, in blog mode these days. I judge most things on whether or not they happen to be blogworthy. My new mantra is "Can I blog this?". Maybe I need to write a blog dream dictionary.
Wildeve, was kind enough to send me this great book by PatrickTracey. There were some unusual synchronicities, which she took as a sign, to pick up a signed (no pun intended) copy, from one of Tracey's book signings, for me. I love when things like that happen. After I read it, I knew exactly why she was prompted to send it.
Winner of the 2009 PEN New England Award, Tracey's book follows his journey to Ireland in search of answers to his family's struggle with mental illness. Two of Tracey's sisters developed schizophrenia, and his mother was troubled until her death, with the burden of realizing she passed the illness genetically on to her family.
In a London pub, Tracey randomly meets a doctor, who tells him of a genetic clue to the cause of schizophrenia in Ireland. The link was found in blood samples taken in County Roscommon, home to Tracey's ancestors. This information inspires a quest to unearth the roots of his family's multigenerational struggle with schizophrenia.
Tracey takes off on an excursion across Ireland, in a renovated camper, searching faerie mounds, haunted caves and healing springs. He pours over historical records and visits distant cousins looking for clues and separating fact from the legends of Irish madness.
I connected with Tracey on so many levels. My family traces back to Ireland and also has the genetic link to schizophrenia, which has troubled members of my extended family for several generations. I was right there with him, curious and driven through the entire account of his quest. I started reading and couldn't put it down.
This book is both poignant and powerful. Although it didn't give me all the answers, it did give me some much needed peace. Thank you, Mr. Tracey. And thank you, Wildeve. It was a sign.
For more info on Patrick Tracey and his book, click [HERE].
I am the first to admit, I'm a pesto snob. I always make my own pesto from fresh basil and pine nuts. Until this week. I saw this beautiful fresh looking jar of Member's Mark Pesto at Sam's Club and thought, "Hey, how bad could it be? Look how green it is."
I cooked a pound of thin spaghetti in well salted water, drained, added
1/2 cup of pesto, 1/2 cup of low fat ricotta and a little of the cooking
water to mix. (taste for salt) The end result?
Yum. Yum. Incredibly simple, too. Add some sauteed vegetables
and you've got a wonderful dinner. And since this post is so very
green, I thought you might like to see how well my Boston fern is
doing this summer. It's so happy in the perfectly shady spot and is
I recently came to the conclusion that Johnny Depp and I could have
been separated at birth. Every time I look in the mirror, I see
Johnny. Someone please help me. I really do think I'm morphing into
him. Since he's been on my mind, as well as in my mirror, I've been
watching some of my favorite Depp movies. Here are two of his lesser
known films I've watched this past week.
.
If you are a fan of Depp, Dead Man, 1995, is not one to be missed.
Filmed in luminous black and white, it is the story of a timid accountant, William Blake, played by Depp, who travels west with the promise of a job. A few other notable actors in the film are Gabriel Bryne, Robert Mitchum, Crispin Glover and Iggy Pop. There's a slow, poetic quality to this film. It deals with the themes of friendship and death, complete with a fabulous moody musical score. This is like no other western you've seen. It's artistic. It's brilliant.
The Ninth Gate, 1999, is a fun little quirky film by Roman Polanski, in which Depp portrays Dean Corso, a rare book dealer, who is hired to locate the last remaining copies of The Ninth Gate, an ancient demonic manuscript that supposedly can summon the devil. If you are looking for an action film, this is not it. There are no bloody special effects in this slow moving, bookish film. It actually moves along quite gracefully. I think you'll like it.
~~~
I appreciate all of you who participated in the lively discussion on
"comments" last night and today. You always inspire me with your insightful, thoughtful comments and come together to make this a great blogging community. Thank you. You're the best.
One of my goals, as a blogger, has been to make this blog a welcome spot, where readers feel comfortable to participate in the comment section. In fact, I am quite in awe of the comments left by all of you. I am daily inspired, very much entertained (your comments make me laugh until it hurts), as well as enlightened, by your thoughtful and avid participation. In many of the more lively conversations, there are those of you who return, adding further to the discussion.
Last week, I visited an interesting blog for the first time and left a comment. This blogger, in turn, visited Willow Manor, and instead of leaving a comment, took the extra effort to send an email, telling me they "turned tail" because of the number of comments. It never occurred to me that too many comments could chase bloggers away. I know. I know. I shouldn't take these kinds of things personally, but not being one who relishes the thought of being blissfully ignorant, as Reya so eloquently mentions in her blog today, I took a moment to ponder.
I've always considered the comment section the soul of the blog. That's where the compelling expression takes place. I appreciate that readers feel free to leave their own ideas, even if they vary from my own. It gives the blogging community the texture and interest it needs to be engaging and appealing. The more the merrier. There are countless times an excellent book, piece of music, an artist, recipe, or thought provoking idea has been mentioned, not in the text of a post, but in the comment section of a blog.
So, what's your opinion? When you visit a blog, does the number of comments effect you? Are you repelled by a large number and leave without visiting the comment section? Or does the number work as a catalyst, drawing you in, behind the scene, to the smoke-filled room?
artwork: detail from Mr. Hulings' Rack Picture by William Harnett
My collection started with a few vintage bottles when I was a girl.
Anyone out there ever had a Prince Rupert's drop? I think they're
Here's a view heading west on I-70. We were lucky enough to enjoy
I especially like browsing the book vendors and keep my eye out
