How to Make a Dog Happy

My roommate of the past 1 ½ years moved out last week and my dog has been miserable. Our schedules worked out nicely that we often went days without seeing one another. I leave for work by 6:30 in the morning and he leaves for work about 3:00 in the afternoon. I’m usually home about 6:30 or 7:00 in the evening, so the dog, Bart, only had a few hours of time alone. Suddenly he is having 12 or more hours alone each day.

I make a point to spend some time playing with him immediately after I get home and I even let him sit in my lap for a while (something I personally do not like, but it makes him happy). I even let him sleep on my bed a couple nights when I did not have enough time to play with him.

Tonight, though, I discovered something that makes him happier than tearing the stuffing out of a new toy.

I worked later than I intended and then had some errands to run, so I stopped off at the only fast-food chain that has an easy-in, easy-out for me on my route home. They do not have options for sides, forcing me to get their famously addicting French fries. I ate them all on the remaining part of my drive home.

Bart did his usual run in circles around me as I dropped off the bags I carried in. Finally I sat down and began playing with him and all was normal until I put my hand over his muzzle to keep his mouth closed. His bug eyes (half pug, half Boston terrier) got even bigger than normal and his tongue darted out to start licking my hands. I did not know it was possible for a dog to get that excited about anything.

His entire body trembled as he licked my hand.

He scoured every dermal ridge and valley of my right hand until no scientifically discernable trace of French fry could be found. He sniffed a few times and found nothing left.

New toys and play are great for Bart. But, I now know that when I want to make my dog truly happy, all I have to do is eat some salty-fatty heart-attack sticks and let him lick my fingers clean.

South Texas Potato Corn Chowder

Most of my culinary reinterpretations originate with a dish I try at a restaurant or a recipe I come across in random places. The dish I call South Texas Potato Corn Chowder came from a grocery store recipe card highlighting the store-brand ingredients. I particularly like soups in the winter and began to identify ways to make this one more to my liking.

The original is rather bland and the only texture in the chowder came from the corn. I added cubes of real potato, diced jalapeno, and garlic. And I added bacon which instantly improves it.

South Texas Potato Corn Chowder

1 C chopped onion

2 t diced garlic

2 C chopped or crumbled cooked bacon

1 can (15.4 oz) whole kernel corn

1 C sour cream (I prefer regular)

4 medium jalapenos diced

2 tabasco peppers diced

2 C ¼” potato cubes (I use southern style frozen hash browns)

2 C instant mashed potatoes

Salt and pepper to taste

In a 3 quart saucepan cook the bacon until crispy. Remove the bacon but reserve 4 TBS of the bacon fat in the pan to cook the onion, garlic, peppers, and potato cubes. If there is not enough bacon fat, supplement with butter or grapeseed oil. Cook the onion, garlic, peppers, and potato cubes until the onion is translucent and the potato cubes are soft. Add the corn, including liquid, bacon, and 5 cups hot water. Bring to a boil then reduce heat to medium. Add sour cream and stir until sour cream is dissolved. Add potato flakes and stir until dissolved. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer for 10 minutes.

For my personal taste, I actually add more peppers because I love the flavor of peppers and I love the fire. Many recipes and every cooking show host will say to remove the seeds from the peppers, “because that is where the heat is.” I say that removing the seeds is for wimps, but if someone cannot tolerate overly spicy or hot foods, take the seeds out (and send them to me). The peppers will still flavor the dish as well as with the seeds.

Instead of instant potatoes, I sometimes use boiled potatoes. When I do this, instead of the diced potatoes in the initial fry/saute I reserve several potatoes that I cut into several larger chunks that I add to the mixture just before removing from the heat and serving. The rest of the potatoes I mash as I normally would but without adding salt, pepper, or any other seasoning. When it is time to add the potatoes to the chowder I start with about 3 C of mashed potatoes then gradually add more potatoes until I reach the consistency I like.

Soups with creamier consistencies tend to lure us with their rich hearty satisfaction. This chowder definitely fulfills this expectation, but it also surprises with the peppery tingle.

Holy Places

I recently wrote:

“The location for the event set the mood for contemplation nicely. Spending a day in a building 199 years old and worshipping in a building 238 years old (for a congregation celebrating 375 years years together) forces you to consider a broader span than we normally contemplate. Holy places draw us in, safely, opening us to more than we could get elsewhere.”

Upon rereading that passage later, I wondered, “did I leave the reader thinking holy places had to be old?”

For me, at the particular event, at my point in life, the historic nature of the buildings greatly enhanced the spiritual renewal I experienced through the events of the weekend. The history, role, and impact the buildings possess in relation to the spiritual history of the nation shaped my thinking as we contemplated ideas concerning the future of the broader Church - capital C. The age of the buildings helped, me at least, put the ideas into historical context. Similar discussions occurred in these buildings over their years of service.

Holy places that shape many do gain more recognition through time. Holiness is a characteristic separate from the construction and comes from the spiritual power felt in the location. The place does not require sanctification or dedication. It does not even require construction. Throughout the Bible, we find holy places wherever people encounter God. Moses had the burning bush and how many other natural locations. Jonah had the belly of a big fish. Prophets and apostles had mountain tops.

I have a small clearing in the wooded area at the back of my parents’ property.

The holiness of a place is always personal. I have been to many grand cathedrals in Europe and been dazzled by the art and architecture but felt nothing spiritual despite centuries of worship in the building. I have been in unordained sheet-rock halls and been silenced by the spiritual power in the place.

My experience in Providence motivated me to consider the holy places I have encountered. I cannot imagine what my life would be like without these various holy places. My holy places shaped my life. That natural clearing in the wooded area at the back of my parents’ property has possibly never had another human in it, yet it was a place where I had a deeply heartfelt conversation with God. When and where I will find the next holy place that shifts my life’s direction is up to God. My job is to be ready when it happens.

The Grocery List

Over the course of the year I have written several times about how much I have come to love Google drive and my Chromebook. I know people hate how much Google knows about us - but if you are not doing anything wrong, does it really matter if they know about it? One of the nicest uses of the drive is that I have access to it on my phone.

A few months ago, after leaving my grocery list at home, I came up with the idea of creating a document titled “grocery list” in my drive and then I could pull it up when I went to the store and erase the items as I picked them up. Perfect! Using a list definitely helps cut down on impulse buys and keeps me wheeling my cart through the store with purpose.

Since I also use Docs for almost all my blog composition, I have a recurring fear that I copy and past my grocery list into the post rather than the intended document.  It is highly unlikely that that will happen without it being caught as I give each post one more (or the first) edit after I paste it.

I have seen grocery lists published as poetry.

I have seen other grocery lists published as political commentary.

I have seen still others published as a wish-list for those in need.

I looked my list over - it is chaotic utilitarian. I add the next item as I run out of it in my pantry or refrigerator. There is nothing thoughtful about it and if I followed its order, I would never make it out of the store. My list for the store this weekend is rather short. My pantry is stocked about to normal levels - which means I will not be starving for six months.

butter

sour cream

cream cheese

eggs

cake mixes

green beans

plastic containers

rice vinegar

white wine vinegar

catsup (sue me)

sugar

mushrooms

With only these items, I may actually make it out for under $100. Yes, there will be impulse buys - I never said the list eliminated them, it just limits them.

Enchanted

I love my kitchen gadgets. Last night my new immersion blender arrived and I spent the evening dancing around the kitchen. It came with attachments! I did not expect a mini food-processing bowl or a whisk.

Expect salsa, meringue, and whipped cream to dominate my upcoming dessert recipes.

I need to build new house. After over seven years in my current house, I have decided that the house in which I live is about the right size, but the distribution is wrong. My dream house needs to have a living room with a couple chairs and a coffee table; a bedroom or two with room for a bed and dresser and space to walk between; a bathroom with a sink, toilet, and shower; a library/office that takes up (at least) the space of my current master bedroom. The remainder of the house would be kitchen and pantry.

I love my kitchen gadgets so much, I am seriously considering turning one of my guest bedrooms into a second pantry with shelving to house my pots, pans, bowls, gadgets, etc. My counter and cabinets cannot take any more. I no longer have a dining table. My china cabinet has every nook and cranny taken (with turtle figurines and with cookware). There is barely room for me to cook. The guest bedroom will definitely be a theme room for anyone who sleeps there.

The current theme in the guestroom of “things I haven’t taken to Goodwill yet” is too difficult to decipher.

The dancing in the kitchen when I got the new immersion blender is just the start. I will giggle and applaud - then take a picture and tweet it whenever something turns out just right after using an appliance. While dancing in the kitchen last night, I did stop long enough to tweet to the appliance maker, “Does @(the brand name) have any idea how ecstatically happy I am when a box with 1 of their products arrives at my door? #cooking #gadgetaddict” They did not respond, so apparently the do not have any idea how happy I am when I get a new one of their appliances.

Next time, I will do a Vine of the happy dance so they can see.

Since I am so disenchanted with sports at the current time, I will turn my touchdown dance into my enchanted-happy-appliance dance for this season. And no, I am not ashamed that a hand-held blender makes me dance.

I am certain that if I did a thorough search online I could find a name for my condition. Surely someone who gets as happy as me over a new appliance deserves a diagnosis, but I am not going to search for it. I am perfectly happy calling myself easily amused, and my friends are happy calling themselves deliciously fed.

Disenchanted

Out of habit I continue to tune my television to sports channels on a regular basis - actually much of the time the television is on now that I live alone again. The last few months have had me questioning why because I have found none of the pleasure I normally gain from watching sports. I

am usually pretty easy to please as long as it is a sport in which I have some interest, but lately I just get frustrated at much of what I see in the games.

Football in particular has been almost unbearable to watch. My favorite teams performance has been lackluster to say the least. They are good, but not quite winning good. The one winning team only does so because most of the teams they have played sucked worse than they do. This season has not offered much to see on the field.

When the Kansas City Chiefs are 9-0 (equaling the number of games won in the lasts 2 seasons combined), you know there is something wrong in the NFL.

The indecipherable and unplayable new rules in the NFL for “player safety” fit perfectly with the ineptitude some teams (like the Chiefs) have shown in the past years. Stung by lawsuits lost for ignoring the extent head injuries have harmed current and former players, the league instituted rules to minimize the risk of head injury to the players coming up with a version of big-boy flag football. The truth is that when 300lb bodies slam into one another at full force, even without head-to-head contact, brain injuries occur. The new rules have caused so many players reticence about making typical moves that the game is not nearly as entertaining.

Coupled with the watered down game is a watered down roster of players. No player at the college or professional level has captured my interest. I can barely name a player on any team outside of Texas - not even on the suddenly glorious Kansas City Chiefs. Never before have I felt so apathetic about all the major teams and players.

My curmudgeonly spirit dominates this season. Maybe next season my fan spirit will return.

Nicked

As much as I wanted to call this post chopped I equally wanted to avoid a second Cooking Channel show reference within a week despite the topic being all about related to cooking. Upon reflection, the event leading to my whine did not live up to the billing of being “chopped.”

After picking nearly a peck of unpickled fresh peppers from my garden on Saturday, I set about chopping some for the dishes I was making - chicken soup and Mexican rice. I am much the same way with peppers as the rest of the world is with bacon - everything’s better with peppers (Yes, even chocolate cake and fruit cobblers.) I can be a bit of a heat freak, but mostly, I enjoy the flavor of peppers. When you get past the idea of “oh, it burns!” the flavors in pepper make the dishes as distinct as they are.

Typical for my time cooking, I had a sports show on in the living room television that I watch from my prep station (kitchen counter). I quickly looked up to watch a purported “spectacular highlight” and I swiftly brought the knife down across the end of my fingertip, cleanly removing a chunk of nail and flesh.

I love sharp knives; the cut itself did not hurt. But in the days since, EVERYTHING that makes contact with the exposed nailless tip of my finger reminds me just how vulnerable we are when our defenses are down. Even typing - maybe especially typing - proves painful because it is my middle finger with the most popular letter on the left hand its responsibility (at least 21 poundings in this last sentence alone).

I know from experience that one must pay close attention when dealing with sharp or hot objects in the kitchen. I earned every scar on my hands and arms. Now that the surface has mostly healed and can possibly survive the flood of capsaicin from the fresh hot peppers, I need to finish preparing them for a vacuum seal that will allow me to continue using them throughout the winter months when my peppers slow production

This time I am thankful that I was only nicked as I chopped the peppers.  

And I never found the nail or the finger tip so you may want to avoid this batch of Mexican rice.

Sleeping Early

For years I have functioned on very little sleep compared to the amount most people I know get. Going sleepless started in college with long nights of study and then continued as I moved into teaching with late nights grading. As my interests have grown, the late nights and early

mornings provide the best time for me to do my non-work related activities.

Lately, though, I have been waking up far earlier than I conditioned myself to do over the years. Instead of waking up between four and five, for the last few weeks I have been waking up at three - wide awake, brain in drive. When I wake up that fully, I get up. Sleep will not return, so I might as well make use of the time and get up.

The brain often uses dreams to resolve problems that have been unsolved in the day. I have had experiences since high school when I have awakened at the end of a dream and recalled the dream as it answered some question from the day. My 3:00 AM wake-ups have followed the pattern. When I wake up, I have answers to questions I pondered over the last few days. As long as I am waking up with good answers I do not really mind having the extra hours added to my day.

What I do mind about the extra hours in the day is the exhaustion that hits me mid-afternoon. From the time I first learned of the siesta, I have always wanted to live somewhere that took a siesta daily. A good friend of mine does research into circadian rhythms, the natural cycles that govern our body’s waking and sleeping periods. I do not need research. Let me take a nap about 1:30 in the afternoon and I am fine until midnight.

Work schedules do not work that way. We do not have nap time at high school and I am not about to nap while the kids are up and about. Over the years I have learned to manage my way through the afternoon doldrums, but I do avoid as much detail work during the early afternoon hours as possible.

Eventually though, I am going to find my siesta-loving job.

The Sting

Sunday night while doing my normal things around the house - finishing making my lunches for the week, putting the last laundry away, watching football, having a few drinks - I experienced one of the most bizarre yet hilarious events of my life.

I took a swig from my bottle of apple cider and felt something odd brush my tongue, so rather than swallow it down, I swished it about my mouth a bit to get a better feel with my tongue and determined that there was definitely something solid and pointy in my drink. Most ungracefully, I spewed my drink in a classic spit-take move across the living room floor. (It is carpet: I own a steam cleaner).

There in the middle of my spit-stream was a dark object that upon closer observation turned out to be a bee.

My roommate was sitting aghast the entire time because he had no idea what was going on and I had not said a word. Finally I looked up to him and pointed at the saturated bug, “It’s a bee! There was a bee in my drink!!!” He seemed a bit skeptical until he looked for himself. We both wondered where it had come from, the realized that due to the beautiful fall weather, the doors to the house had remained open all day.

The poor bee - it was only seeking the best sugar source before the desolation (well - desolation may be an exaggeration in central Texas) diminished pollen production of winter set in.

Just as I was feeling sorry for the poor bee, I noticed a throbbing in the roof of my mouth that suddenly grew more intense by the moment. I felt a little knob with my tongue, reached in with my finger and scraped it out to discover the stinger of the bee with the venom sack attached.

I stomped the already doomed bee.

Then I sent a tweet asking for the treatment of a bee sting on the roof of one’s mouth.

To my astonishment, a surprising number of my friends on Twitter replied. The consensus was to take a Benadryl. I did and I survived.

I learned two things from this event: 1) cover my drink whenever I have the house open on the six days a year it is possible, & 2) Twitter cures.

Alone Again, Happily

My most recent roommate moved out this week. He was the best roommate I have ever had. I could not be happier that he moved.

No breakup was involved, but the line, “It’s not you, it’s me,” fits the situation perfectly. As an introvert, I need time alone, completely alone, to recharge from work. People surround me from the time I arrive at work until I kick the last person out of the building so I can go home. Each day drains my energy.

Coming home to silence with only myself to please brings the degree of joy to me as it brings terror to an extrovert.

Being the introvert that I am, one might think that I would hate my job since it requires me to interact with people all the time. I love my job and have confessed before that it is my calling in life. People who have heard me talk about my job know just how passionately I speak about the work I do. I look forward to work each day.

I just need the chance to recharge.

For the time being, home is again my battery.