The Making of a Chef - 18 years and Counting.

 The poached salmon, mayo, and fried chicken.

 The bottom where the bisque lays.

 grilled chicken

 the future top chef or iron chef

 testing her mettle

 the best pasta alfredo in the world

when she learned how to cut vegetables and such.

I secretly suspect that earth is rotating on its axis way faster than ever.  How else to explain the blur that it had been from the time our current 18 year-older was a Gerber-slurping tot to a Muni-rider, apartment-dweller, knives-wielding, garlic-mincing culinary student?  She whipped up a shrimp bisque and pasta alfedo last weekend and we could not help but think of the days when we had to cook for her. How time flies.  We are breathless for her possibilities.

Loitering

Was at downtown today with an hour to burn while Niko is at his dance lesson.  We already filled up on  sugar from a local chocalatier (sp?) and having ambiguous thoughts about dinner.  We decided to walk around and here and there found some gems:

The first one is a vintage house that catches the sunset just right.  The next is some oddly sexy urban art on the wall of a sandwich shop (closed at 7).  The third one is an Asian-looking art from the Art Ellis window.  The fourth are the handmade fruit pates that gave us a sugar buzz even with small bites.  And finally, these are sunflowers just growing willy-nilly on the sidewalk.

Hoping that Hope Floats...

The year is midway through. The summer is all but over.  The photo albums are still undone.  The binders are ignored.  The magazines had aged.  That bag was on the floor on the same spot for months.  The cabinet doors had been painted but halfheartedly so with an ashen gray - as if to drive home the point.  The piles of papers had won.  So this is how overwhelmed feels.  Not even a seemingly cheery bowed tote can lift these sunken spirits up. I need bread.

Dancing Kids

No one would ever guess, but somehow, our two kids got dancing bones in their genes, from who, only God knows, but we are thankful, and ever amazed.

Niko

Alaia

Commute Radio

While driving my usual maddening commute home, I found inspiration in the NPR story about the thrash supervisor in the French Quarter in New Orleans.  He was being asked about the amount of thrash he had to clean up after the superbowl victory parties the night before.  He said there was a lot, but he'd take the win and the thrash.  It was poetic the way he described the satisfaction he feels when he starts his day 4:30 in the morning with all that mess and vomit stench, then all that gone by 5:30.  By ten o'clock, people on the streets were thanking him for job well done.  He sounded happy, satisfied and inspired.  How many people can honestly feel like that about their job?  Really, it is all in the attitude.  I heart this guy.  Here is the story.

Sick Weather

The weather is whack and under it too.  Waaahhh.  Did manage to get a few things done:  ran in the morning; got hair done; bought Niko a bed; dined with friends; turned on the computer.  Now if I can only muster the spirits to take one more Christmas decor down, it'll be all good.  To top it all off, the cold continues.  All in a day's life.

For ultimate geekhood, watch this video:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0nERTFo-Sk

The Couch Won - Again!

Yeah.
Found out though that with my current pace, I can potentially run a marathon in a little over 6 hours. That is, if I can ever take the first step.
Found this new old book though:
Heard that Sayers' even better than Christie in this genre.
Tomorrow, the fight continues....

Did I really do it?

Cleared the Cobwebs Here.

Read a whole book - after ages! Felt civilized, again, thank God. This is a nice one but the ending confused me - was there a Shakespeare play or not? To be or not to be? Aaarrgh! I might get his other books though. Quite a read.

Birthday Boy.

It's our young man's birthday. He is proudly 14 going on older.

Hello

It had been a long while. Life's still a clutter and I am finding my way. This year is monumental and a milestone had been reached, but the search continues on. Sigh. Not really weary, or regretful, or much less, psyched - just here. I discovered this poem by William Ernest Henley - made me smile, I don't know why:O Gather Me the Rose

O gather me the rose, the rose,
While yet in flower we find it,
For summer smiles, but summer goes,
And winter waits behind it.

For with the dream foregone, foregone,
The deed foreborn forever,
The worm Regret will canker on,
And time will turn him never.

So were it well to love, my love,
And cheat of any laughter
The fate beneath us, and above,
The dark before and after.

The myrtle and the rose, the rose,
The sunshine and the swallow,
The dream that comes, the wish that goes
The memories that follow!