Did I mention holidays are a pain?

Let’s see. I’m angry, sad and tired. But I’m grateful for spinach. It’s truly the wonder vegetable. You can use it for a salad or add it to a bowl of soup or a pasta sauce. Craving something cheesy and delicious but trying to eat healthy? Spinach quesadilla.

And the best part is a tub lasts all week.

So, I’ve pretty much been living on spinach when I come home from being Dale’s companion and advocate at the Skilled Nursing Facility. You might recall he’s there for a fractured pelvis.

But more about me … when I get home, I eat something and struggle to stay up until 7 p.m. Rinse, lather, repeat.

In some ways, Dale is doing great. He can walk now with the walker and the Physical Therapist by his side. He’s cheerful and talkative. He got a new roommate who also hates Trump, and they’ve had some great discussions. I mean, come on, is that karma or what?

But it’s weird. The fractures are on the left. At first sitting was fine. But after almost a week in the nursing facility, his butt on the right side hurts so badly he can’t sit for more than five minutes.

I’ve been going kind of nuts helping to get this resolved. The medical system is complicated, and it’s not for the weary kind.

So far, they think it’s because he’s compensating, putting the weight on his right because the left hurts, but still, you don’t know for sure, and it’s scary. I was ready to get him out of there and back to the hospital, but that comes with baggage, too. Let’s say they find nothing else wrong and want to discharge him. He’d either have to go back to the nursing facility if they still had a spot for him or find another one or come home. And I don’t have his downstairs room set up yet.

That’s in the works, but nothing happens fast. Oh, and did I mention it’s the holidays? Pain doesn’t take a holiday, but people do. The Ortho is on vacation, and so is everyone apparently. No one else can see him right away.

In the meantime, I am pressing for an MRI, and that’s no easy task. I did finally escalate this at the Ortho’s office, and yes, tears were involved, but the supervisor called later to tell me he has an appointment next week, she set it up so the nursing facility can transport him on a gurney so he doesn’t have to sit. She spoke with the on-call doctor, who said if the pain gets worse before his appointment, then I should have him transferred to the hospital.

I feel like that’s a solid plan. Dale’s on board with it. The medical-in-laws are on board with it. Lots of people tell me Skilled Nursing Facilities are horrible, and I need to get him out as soon as possible. Yes, this one is flawed in many ways, but I believe he’s in good hands.

After a long and stressful day, I feel better knowing I got someone in his line of care (as opposed to someone I met at the gas station) to say when it’s time to go back to the hospital. They didn’t dismiss me and actually gave me information that helps clarify the decision for us. For that alone, I deserve a medal. Or at least a Jameson.

We’re going to see how he does over the next few days. They are going to try some different pain management techniques. If the pain doesn’t worsen and he continues to improve, we will try to get him home sooner rather than later. I’m lining up private help to augment what Medicare provides.

His downstairs bed comes tomorrow, and I’m also getting some grab bars installed. The guy flat on his back in the SNF scoffed at the grab bars. I said they’re really for me. Call me crazy, but I don’t want to fall down and go boom.

Oh, and while I’m dissing on Dale, I’ve been after him for years to try protein drinks. He wanted no part of them. He’s not eating well in the facility, so I suggested he ask for protein drinks. I said you can get chocolate, and they are delicious. No, no, no. Not for Mr. Dale.

Then I walked in yesterday, and he mentioned they are bringing him protein drinks in the afternoon. Like this was the first he’d heard of them. “They’re delicious!” I asked him what flavor he got, and he said chocolate. I might just leave him there.

Anyway, that’s it. I’m thinking about dinner. Something cheesy. With spinach.

Adventures in medical care

The hospital was actually pretty nice. My husband had a private room, there was a couch where I could sit and they served Peet’s coffee. I guess the Medicare drill is after three nights, you will most likely be moved to a Skilled Nursing Facility (pronounced sniff) if you aren’t able to go home yet.

When I told my sister-in-law, who is a retired nurse, that he was moving to a SNF, she cried.

They gave me a list, and I had about an hour to decide. I looked to see which ones were closest to our house. I Googled reviews. We got our first choice, which got glowing reviews, high medical ratings, etc. Several commenters even said the food was excellent.

I’m told they are all pretty much the same. It’s not that I made a poor choice, it’s just that, you know, it’s not the Ritz. My first reaction was something between Cuckoo’s Nest and Girl, Interrupted.

The place is packed, and they gave him a bed in a room so tiny you couldn’t even access the bathroom (shared by four people) without moving stuff around. He was in the back, by the window, but you practically had to crawl over his roommate to get to Dale.

After the shock wore off and physical therapy arrived, we began to feel better. I started schmoozing (I was in PR, after all) and the next day got him moved to a much better room with a worse roommate. Dale said it was a worthy trade.

I won’t go into the details regarding the roommate, but aside from being old and sick, he’s mean to the staff, screams about this, that and the other thing and does not have complete control of his bowels. He makes a big production when he has an “accident.” Dale thinks he does it on purpose to get attention.

As I said, it’s not really a very pleasant place to be, but it’s clean and the staff is very kind and attentive and seem to be good at what they do. We both feel like he’s in good hands. The goal is to get him to the point where he can get up on his own, get to the bathroom, etc. Then he can come home. It will most likely be three weeks, the doctor suggested.

The food is pretty awful, but then you know what food snobs we are. The meals are healthy, and there’s good variety. Dale picks at it. He’s on a normal diet, so I’m allowed to bring food, which is a pain in the ass, but he needs more than what he is willing to eat off the tray. Oh, and daily coffee service from Donna’s instead of Peet’s.

He’s in good spirits and understands it’s a long journey. All I can say is if you visit one of these facilities, you will do whatever you can to keep from ending up there. Part of the place is long-term care, and that is just heart-breaking. Some of these poor souls sit in their wheelchairs out in the hallway, snoozing or muttering to themselves. A few scream now and then.

I’m doing OK, except I wish he’d just eat the damned food. But I get it. My new best friend is ChatGPT. I had never used it before, but I love it! I’m asking about beds for downstairs when he comes home, other medical equipment, how to deal with family members … it’s incredible!

While I don’t know what my chat friend’s gender is, I’m saying it’s a her. She gave me some advice about sibling matters, and out of habit, I wrote back to thank her and let her know which path I choose. She approved of my choices and applauded my emotional intelligence.

I was texting my young friend who’s more familar with all this stuff, and I said, “I think she’s sucking up to me.” My friend said, yes, but here’s some language to put in your preferences to let her know you don’t want that.

Although I did it, I sort of liked the sucking up. I promised myself I would not upload my photo and ask my chat buddy how old I looked. Or if my bob made me look like a Republican.

Stay off ladders

I guess I will just come out and say it. On Monday, Dale fell off a ladder getting down Christmas stuff out in the garage. I was not home when it happened. He crawled inside and waited for me. For two hours, maybe longer.

When I arrived, he was lying on a small carpeted area near the entryway. I asked what happened and if I could help him up, but he said he didn’t think he could get up. I said you know I’m going to have to call 911, right?

So, that’s what I did. They came quickly, moved him to a stretcher, put him in the ambulance and away he went to the hospital. The rescue guys told me to go to the ER and tell them my husband was transferred there by ambulance, and they would tell me where to go.

We spent a few hours in the ER. The doctor said it was good news, bad news. He did not break a hip, but he broke his pelvis. He fell off the bottom rung and went straight down onto his butt, so there were no head injuries or any other problems.

The doctor said sometimes people walk out of there the same night. That would not be the case for Dale. He was in a little pain just lying down, but he could not bear putting any weight on it at all.

He was admitted to the hospital Monday night. He’s in good spirits, but it’s very hard for him to stand up or walk. A physical therapist and an occupational therapist have been working with him, and they said he’s doing better than most, that it’s just a matter of time.

Today they will transfer him to a skilled nursing facility for additional rehab. He will be there until he can come home. Maybe a week, maybe two weeks, maybe more. We just don’t know. I do know he can’t come home at this point.

We live in a two-story house, and our bedroom is upstairs. I’m waiting until he gets to the new place to find out what he is going to need. My general plan is to get some kind of a bed and put it in what used to be a downstairs bedroom. We converted it to a walk-in pantry, but there’s room for a bed. There’s also a small bathroom right next to it with a walk-in shower, grab bars, etc.

I guess that’s it. It’s all very stressful, but what can you do? I did blow up on my sister, who isn’t a doctor but plays one on the Internet. I apologized immediately and that night decided I need to bring my best self to this party. Stay calm, stay strong.

As you know, I had cancer twice. The first involved three surgeries, six months of chemo and lots of recovery time. Dale was there for me for both cancers, but that first one was particularly tough. He was my rock, and I need to be his.

The neighbors have been fantastic, and that’s a big help. The kitty misses his daddy, although he never budged from his upstairs nap to see what was going on when his main man was in the fetal position downstairs. Just saying. A dog might have been there for him.

Anyway, that’s all I got. Stay off ladders!

Never surrender

It seems I’ve been in a bit of a funk. Aside from watching all that is good and decent in America being crushed by soulless rat bastards, my traitorous left shoulder joined the party, and all things combined, it just seemed like there was no way up.

Not that I always need to be right, but I “suggested” to medical professionals back in March that I might have frozen shoulder. Don’t ask me to explain what it is. It’s a thing. They also call it adhesive capsulitis. I had it in my right shoulder shortly after my mastectomy in 2015, so I am somewhat familiar with the symptoms.

They all agreed I did not have frozen shoulder. I asked about getting a cortisone shot, and they said no, it most likely wouldn’t help whatever might be wrong with me, if only they knew, but since it’s not frozen shoulder, I should stick with physical therapy.

I did as I was told for close to six months, although I didn’t see much improvement. The PT said it would take a year of hard work. I’m like, fine, bring it on. I couldn’t get back in to see the sports medicine doctor until late January, but I could ride it out until then. I could still play golf, so it wasn’t the end of the world.

Then I couldn’t play golf. I no longer had a swing and couldn’t strike the ball properly. It’s like my shoulder was, oh, I don’t know … frozen?

I brought it up at my annual physical, and the doctor said we probably ought to get an MRI. That’s done, and the results are in. You might be surprised to learn I have frozen shoulder. She referred me back to the sports doctor, who still couldn’t see me until late January, but they got me an appointment with one of his colleagues.

He said, oh! Frozen shoulder! You need a cortisone shot! You could have gotten this earlier, you know.

I got the shot last week, and it really is a pre-Christmas miracle. I can play golf. I can sleep on that side. It still hurts a little, but it’s mostly gone. One shot fixed me last time, and I’m hopeful that will be the case this time around. Now that I’ve had it in both shoulders, I’d like to think I’m done.

Which brings me back to watching democracy rot from within. I don’t know what to do. Part of me just wants to pretend it isn’t happening, but the other part of me says bad things happen when good people stay quiet. I know a lot of good people read this blog, so I suspect you ruminate on this as well.

I quit writing for a few weeks because I just sort of felt like, what’s the point? But I think the point for me personally and for all of us struggling with the political landscape is to never surrender. Do what you can, but don’t torment yourself. Focus on simple pleasures.

I’m no pundit, but I think it’s important that everyday people say what needs to be said. That means I will continue to stand up for liberal values and share my thoughts on what it’s like to be an American right now, because I’m a writer at heart, and that’s what writers do. They write about what torments them.

But I am also hoping to find my sense of humor again – I think it took a sabbatical shortly after the last presidential election. In the meantime, I hope a little commentary along with food and books and movies is somehow entertaining or comforting. We’re all here trying to live our lives as best we can, and maybe it helps to know you are not alone in your anger, sadness or confusion. 

That’s why God made cookies, and that’s what I am making today. I’m gonna turn on some music and maybe even dance in the kitchen.

Facts aren’t what they used to be

So, here we are on the dark side of the information age, where you read something, you find yourself nodding in agreement and then you find out it’s AI. Lying and fakery has become the norm. Truth is almost always disguised. Facts aren’t what they used to be.

What’s real? What’s not?

While I feel good about challenging lies when I’m on solid ground, most of the time it feels like everything I know is built on a foundation of quicksand.

The good news is I’ve become much more comfortable saying I don’t know. And perhaps I will be among the first to tell you this is good relationship advice. You don’t always have to be correct. My husband and I seem to do better when we just accept we’re both clueless.

Before I realized I know nothing, he would say something obviously delusional. I would correct him, and then we’d start arguing until I went upstairs to get on the Internet and prove I’m right. Then he would start questioning my sources, like Wikipedia doesn’t count, and I would find myself defending some troll who saw Elvis last night.

Then it’s all about the art of surrendering. Backing out of a firm stance. Agreeing we were both wrong. It was a misunderstanding. None of it matters, anyway. That seems to be working.

Social situations are more challenging. What with my filter broken, I can’t stay silent when people spew absolute nonsense. I might not know all the facts, but in terms of a moral compass, I know right from wrong, so let’s start there.

These are trying times, and it can be hard to know when to be quiet or when to speak up, but I think most of us figure it out eventually. One thing I’ve learned for sure is friends and acquaintances can still enjoy fulfilling lives without hearing what I think about everything.

I suppose it’s about moderation and self-awareness. Speak up when it counts, muzzle yourself when it doesn’t. My group does a pretty good job managing all that. We eat a little, drink a little, talk about what we’re going to eat next, share pictures of our animals and coo.

It’s not bad. Not bad at all.

And on that note, I leave you with Number 48.

A shout-out to the food banks

As I re-read my last post, I felt a little bad because it’s obvious I have a privileged life, what with time to browse BritBox and shop for fennel pollen. Yes, it is a rather pleasant retirement, but I’m fully aware there are people out there working their asses off and trying to feed their families before the money runs out.

I mostly write about leisure and upscale home cooking, so let’s assume hard-working people struggling to put food on the table are not my target audience. But it seems to me those of you who do come here also care deeply about others, so I wanted to give a shout-out to the food banks that are saving lives, especially now with government food assistance on hold.

How can anyone think it’s OK to stop giving people money for food? You probably already give, but if you’ve got a little extra, I urge you to give more. Even a little bit goes a long way. My local food bank says $1 provides food for six meals. I’ve also learned $100 can feed a family of four for a month.

If you can’t help financially, you can still share your opinions with friends, family and elected officials. It is not OK to starve people.

Somewhat related to this topic is the Epstein files. I was playing golf with a couple of guys yesterday, when one of them brought up the government shutdown. I said I truly believe it’s all about suppressing the Epstein files. One guy said, “Oh, who cares about the Epstein files?”

A couple of weeks ago, I might have said, yeah, I understand. But that time is gone. I said, “I care about the Epstein files. Crimes were committed against young girls, and the people who did it must be held accountable.”

He stopped stammering about who cares and said yes, of course they do. Well, good, now we agree. It’s something, right? I’m done giving people a pass to ignore this stuff. These aren’t made up crimes.

What to do if you’re not destroying public property

I guess Trump could bulldoze the East Wing because there’s no HOA at the White House. If I even look at my driveway sideways, somebody will poke my eye out. Seems like Congress is the equivalent of an HOA. I can’t imagine why they didn’t intervene.

Oh, that’s right. They are spineless. And they’re “working from home.” Where are return-to-office mandates when you need them?

Here’s my desperate hope. You may call it a conspiracy theory or even a wild-ass guess. Maybe Trump knows his days are numbered, and he’s like a cat, peeing all over the place to mark things up with his scent before he is escorted out of the building upright or otherwise.

Fortunately, there are lots of things to do if you’re not busy destroying public property. People like us, we have the time to eat good food, read great books and even watch a few shows on TV.

What I’m eating

No kings at our house, but food continues to rule. People are often surprised I’m so into food yet I’m slender. But I wasn’t always. Somewhere along the line my body just changed, and this is how I ended up. Lots of things in life have gone the other way, so you know what they say. If someone gives you a putt, take it.

I’m living up to my name, Pekar, which means baker in several languages. My bread is getting better all the time. It’s fun to work hard at something and actually improve. Unlike golf. Not that I’m bitter.

We got our first cold snap a couple of weeks ago, and I made stuffed cabbage. I use bison instead of beef. Years ago, we started eating venison and bison and never went back to ground beef. Bison is more expensive, but Costco has it for a good price.

I made rye bread to go with, and it was fantastic. We save all the juice from dill pickles and use it instead of water in the bread. Maybe two-thirds pickle juice and one-third water.

Dale made pork curry, and I made raita and naan to go with. We have a small outdoor pizza oven we hardly ever use for pizza, but it’s great for naan.

Then we had a little rain, so I wanted something soupy. I made shrimp and corn chowder with my sourdough on the side. The chowder was delish. The bread was amazing. For awhile there, I was struggling with my starter. It was thin and weak, so the bread didn’t rise like it’s supposed to.

Part of the problem is that I was retaining too much of it. For one loaf a week, I only need to keep about 50 grams. I also learned to give it more flour. I was using equal parts water and flour to feed it, but for some reason, mine needs to be on the thick side.

I also made rigatoni with sausage and fennel pollen. We love fennel, and it comes through loud and clear in this dish. But I think a teaspoon or two of the pollen would improve just about any pasta sauce.

Fennel pollen can be hard to find. Of course, Amazon has it. I got mine at the Oxbow Public Market in Napa. That sounds so snotty. But here’s the truth. Even though I’m originally from California, I left shortly after high school to join the Army and earn a living. Twenty-three moves later, I never counted on returning, and it’s still kind of shocking we pulled it off.

What I’m reading

I just finished the new Thursday Murder Club book, “The Impossible Fortune.” I absolutely loved it! Reading the latest installment after seeing the movie made me feel a little kinder toward the casting. I could see them all as I read, and it was fun.

If you’ve read the series, you’ll be familiar with the drug lord Connie Johnson. Her character is becoming more interesting with each book. Now I’m starting to think about who would play her in the movie. That could be a great role for someone. But who?

I just received a notice from the library that my new Walter Mosley is ready! “Gray Dawn” is the latest in the Easy Rawlins series. Easy is a black PI in Los Angeles. The series started just after World War II and has progressed to the 70s. I feel like I’m in another world when I read these novels, and that is a welcome feeling these days.

The jury is out on whether I will purchase the new Lincoln Lawyer book or wait for it at the library. That would be “The Proving Ground” by Michael Connelly.  

What I’m Watching

I’m still hooked on “Shetland” on BritBox. I’m close to running out of episodes, so I will switch to one of the excellent recommendations ya’ll shared with me earlier. I’m also ready to try “The Diplomat” on Netflix.

In what might be a pre-Christmas miracle, it’s possible I’ve found a streaming option for “Young Frankenstein.” I’ve been looking for ages … to no avail. I downloaded the Retro Movie and TV app through the Roku Channel, and it looks like I’ve hit pay dirt.

I’ve come to loathe Halloween. We close the blinds and eat Dale’s homemade pizza. “Young Frankenstein” will be on the docket if it’s actually available. I anticipate getting some sort of error – it was too easy.

No kings, no fear

We went to a No Kings rally today. The crowd was enormous – much bigger than last time. I might be wrong, but it also seemed like there were a lot more young people, and that’s gratifying. It will take all of us to successfully defend our Democratic principles.

I was afraid to go. While I try to stay chill about all this, the republican rhetoric about the rallies has been particularly despicable. To suggest peaceful protesters hate America is an outrage. They know that’s not true, yet they say it and look at themselves in the mirror. What happened to these people?

Not only that, but I believe it’s an incitement to violence, to demonize us and get the other side fired up, and that’s why I didn’t want to attend. They almost scared me into not going, but it didn’t work.

While there were lots of options, we went to the mall, where the parking is easy. Plenty of escape routes in the event of a violent encounter or a zombie apocalypse. I wore shoes I can run in, I’ll tell you that.

We used our sign from last time – No Cons, No Clowns, No Kings. On the opposite side, I wrote, “Two veterans who LOVE America.” I just wanted to say it loud and clear in the face of these politicians because their words infuriated me.  

Not that there’s a shortage of loathsome misguided republican operatives, but I’m looking at you Mike Johnson. His remarks about the rallies was deeply offensive to me and millions of other honorable citizens exercising their constitutional rights. No one paid us to have a backbone, buddy.

Additionally, his refusal to swear in Rep.-elect Adelita Grijalva is beyond troubling. She’s the last vote they need to release files from the Justice Department’s investigation into convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein.

Who knows what that might mean for boatloads of people of all political persuasions. When you die, maybe you finally get to know what’s up with the Epstein files, but I will say this. Whatever it is, it’s big, and they are afraid.

But not me, not anymore. Mike and his pals can shake in their boots, but we are strong. Stronger than we thought. Stronger than they thought.

Now I know why they’re scared.

Nostalgic number 47

My sister and I were latchkey kids and spent a lot of time in front of the TV watching cartoons, eating candy and assorted crap. We both have the teeth to prove it.

Oh, what’s a few cavitites, when you have all those memories? For my latest piece of art, I went nostalgic and tried to capture some of the iconic images from shows I actually watched. I’m pretty happy with the results, although I always zoom in on the flaws.

My sister, noted junk food authority, loved the Ding Dong but said that doesn’t look like any Twinkie she ever saw. The so-called Twinkie is on the left, just to the right of Fred.

Also, this is reclaimed wood, and I think it was maple. Some parts were darker than others, and the colors didn’t always turn out as I expected. I won’t tell you what it’s supposed to be, but the circular item also to the right of Fred came out too dark. My sister knew right away what it was. That’s probably because she knows I’m a sucker for compressed dextrose.

At first, I was worried about trademark issues, but I read it’s OK as long as you don’t try to sell them. I’m good there.

See what you think. Maybe it will stir up some fun memories of your own.

Number 47.

Maybe we’re not so divided after all

Here I am with not much to say but plenty of words in the hopper nonetheless. It feels like I’m just going through the motions, writing about this or that while democracy burns. Then I think, some people aren’t bothered by any of it, and they go about their merry lives. I would like to be one of them, but I am not.  

So, I come bearing a small gift. As I’ve described in previous posts, I limit my exposure to Substack and avoid shining examples of misinformation, but I continue to read a few quality newsletters on that platform. One such newsletter is “Need to Know” by David Rothkopf.

He recently wrote that a vast majority of Americans agree on a wide array of issues, but political leaders largely don’t address those issues and political analysts would rather talk about how divided we are.

Rothkopf sees it differently. Most of us want the same things, and what we want is not radical.

“The majority cares about being able to make a living, being able to afford the basics of life, being able to send their kids to a good, safe school, having access to clean water, clean air, healthy food, medicines, being able to see a good doctor when they need it, being able to afford care when they are sick, having a dignified retirement, knowing that their communities are safe, knowing that law breakers will be punished, living in a society in which they and those they know have the opportunity to get ahead, not having the government interfere in their lives in ways that limit their freedoms, living in a democratic country they are proud of.”

You can read his piece here. I felt a little better after reading it. Maybe you will, too. If Trump doesn’t rig the next election, and enough people come to their senses, we might have a chance.

What I’m Watching

I finally subscribed to BritBox, and I am on a “Shetland” binge. I’m on season four, and there are nine total!

The series is based on the novels by Ann Cleeves, who also wrote the books the show “Vera” is based on. “Shetland” features detective Jimmy Perez, who investigates crime in the close-knit Scottish island community of Shetland.

I’ve been so wrapped up in “Shetland” that I haven’t even looked around to see what else I might like. Any other BritBox suggestions?

What I’m Eating

If you’ve heard of the singer-songwriter Townes Van Zandt, you might be familiar with what might be the saddest song in history – “Marie.” It’s about a homeless guy and his partner, Marie. I know, I know, what does this have to do with food?

Well, part of the song goes:

Summer wasn’t bad below the bridge

A little short on food, that’s all

Now I gotta get Marie some kind of coat

We’re headed down into fall

Yes, we are headed down into fall! Dale and I always quote that song, in honor of Townes. I’ve made a monster list of all the things we want to make, and we are starting to put a dent in it.

Dale made navy bean and sausage soup. I think turnips are the key to this soup – they cook in the stock with the rest of the aromatics and add a big punch of flavor. He toasts slices of French bread under the broiler and brushes them with garlic-infused olive oil. The magic happens when you dunk the bread into your soup.

I made pumpkin seed dip, one of our old favorites from a Diana Kennedy cookbook. Our version is off-the-charts hot. You will probably not make it, but I will describe it for those who like to live vicariously. We’ve made this dip for parties, and some people can’t touch it. Others can be found in the corner, licking the bowl after everyone else has left.

You start with a cup or so raw shelled pumpkin seeds, and toast them on the cooktop in a dry cast iron pan. Once they’re browned, let them cool. Then you buzz those up in a spice grinder with salt to make a fine powder. Now you need a couple of good tomatoes, two or three fresh habanero peppers and a couple of jalapeños, and you put them on a broiler pan with a rack.

Those go into the broiler to blacken. You kind of have to keep your eyes on them. The peppers blacken up fast, but the tomatoes take longer. That gets whizzed up in the blender with a little water if you need it. Mix the powder with the liquid and add chopped chives and cilantro. Serve with tortilla wedges that have been brushed with oil and crisped in the oven.

We eat it as an afternoon snack or appetizer before dinner. If you can hang with the heat, it’s absolutely addictive. I suppose you could leave the peppers out, but they add a ton of flavor. Maybe just cut back a little?

My favorites from the “headed down into fall” list include, kabocha squash curry, stuffed cabbage, miso seafood chowder, chicken pot pie and venison meatloaf. I have a new slow cooker recipe for chicken and wild rice soup that sounds yummy. I also have a shrimp and grits recipe I’ve been eager to try. Dale’s not a grits fan, but when you add bacon, cheese and shrimp, something tells me he’ll go along with the plan.

What I’m Reading

I am still enjoying the Inspector Erlendur series by Arnaldur Indriðason. The setting is Reykjavík. The genre is Nordic Noir. He’s sort of a dark character, which somehow appeals to me. There’s subtle humor, great story lines and interesting characters. I’ve read six now, and I believe there are 11.

Not exactly recreational, but I’m also learning how to use Google Drive and reading all I can about best practices. I used a shared drive when I was working, but that all went out the window when I retired. The group I volunteered to help uses Google Drive, so that’s my motivation. It’s not hard, but like most things, it takes time to figure it all out.