WARMING UP

 Those of you who have had to put up with me bitching about commenting on our cool weather this Spring can now say it: nah-nah-nah-NAH-nah-nah.

For on this April 30th here in lovely Arizona, the mercury has climbed to near 80 degrees in mid-afternoon.

That's almost 27 degrees Celsius in Canada and Europe and Australia and, well, most of the rest of the enlightened world.

Now I'm not complainin'.

In fact I fired up the oven in the Taylor Family Kitchen this morning to replenish Judy's supply of English Muffin Bread.

Honest to gawd, they really aren't that ugly.

They're purtier than that, I swear.

I even tipped one loaf over on it's side to try to get an artsy-fartsy shot.

Well, there's not much else I can do.

Like me, they don't photograph well.

But Judy says they make great toast for her breakfast so there.

I remember many years ago when I was working for a television station in Phoenix, where it gets much hotter than here.

I got the bright idea one day to see if the old saying "It's so hot you could fry an egg on the sidewalk" was actually true.

Maybe if we'd left it longer it might have fried.

Or burned, more likely.

But the idea was a failure as the egg just turned into a slimy mess on the sidewalk.

It did work (sort of) though when we tried one on the hood of my photographer's car.

I don't think our culinary efforts got picked up by either Gourmet or Bon Appetit magazines though.

I'm still waiting to hear from the Food Channel.

A GOOD EVENING

 

Sorry about the roof-tops but I wanted to get as much of the clouds as I could.

It probably would have been a better picture if I'd have noticed it earlier.

So it goes.

CAKE! er, PIE! er, MUFFINS! (whatever)

 My extremely talented wife, Judith (Judy) Taylor aka She Who Must Be Obeyed, is a good teller of tales.

Now by that I do NOT mean to imply that she's a liar.

She's just a good writer.

But she's modest to a fault.

She was a bit gobsmacked by all the kind comments on her story yesterday about putting her mother in a retirement center.

I kept praising her as comment after comment came in and she scoffed, "They're just trying to kiss up to you."

I reminded her that she's the only one of us who has written a novel.

It's unpublished but still!

Then she got a telephone call from a very dear friend in Seattle, who told her how much she appreciated her essay.

They talked about my blog and how about every three weeks I say, "I don't know, I think I'll end it, I don't have anything more to say."

Our friend said, "No, no, just tell him how much I enjoy reading it."

Judy said that she had told me I should stop blogging about food so much.

Our friend responded that anyone who cooks the kind of food we do should be proud of it and keep blogging about it.

So . . . . the other day SWMBO tried a recipe she found in a drawer for Banana Pecan Muffins.

The only problem was it made way more batter than the dozen muffins the recipe called for.

And we didn't have another muffin tin.

So she put the extra batter in a pie plate and baked it that way.

Some cream cheese frosting topped it off and here it is.

The photographer (NOT Judy) didn't do a very good job.

But the cake or pie or whatever is delicious!

And the blog lives on.

(Thanks, Seattle Lori, for the stimulus.)

A SUITABLE DUNGEON

 Once again today, I turn the blog over to my wife, Judy for her tale of A Suitable Dungeon.

==============================================

Many years ago I found myself in the terrible position of deciding my mother's future.  She had had a couple of "minor" strokes and my father had recently passed away.

It wasn't safe any longer for her to live alone in their retirement house in Florida.  She left stove burners on and forgot them.  She stumbled frequently and almost fell.

I was summoned from across the country to "come and help me deal with Mother".  My sister had moved near our parents when they retired to Florida.  But she was still working and "the mother situation" had become critical.  It was obvious that we had to deal with the problem quickly and I was required to be there.

We started looking at potential "retirement centers" . . really, nursing homes.  Upon returning to her house the first day we found Mother sitting on the edge of her bed.  She looked up and gave us an evil look and said, "Well, did you find a suitable dungeon for me today?"

We were spent from the mental and physical effort of the day.  Both of us plopped on the bed beside our mother and one of us said, "No, not today, Mother," and we laughed rather hysterically.  Mother looked at both of us and couldn't see the humor in the situation.

The next day we heard of a brand new retirement center that was opening in three weeks.  We took the tour and instantly decided it was perfect.

Mother had been a gardener and bird watcher all her life.  We told her of the beautiful gardens all around the place.  She inquired as to whether she could take her bird bath with her and put it in one of the gardens.  We said we would see if that could happen.

We scheduled a visit for the three of us to do a walk-through of a possible apartment for Mother.  It was on the third floor.  She liked the sparkling newness of it all and that she could take her own furniture and personal things.  We walked out on her private balcony and looked around.  One of us mentioned that the bird bath would like nice down below in the garden.

Mother looked around for a minute and said, "That bird bath would be so far away I wouldn't know if they were drinking or shitting!  Then she stomped away.  My sister and I looked at each other and knew we had work to do.

Over the next few days we lobbied for the place by pointing out the amenities.  "You can have your own little refrigerator and microwave and coffee maker.  You won't have to cook major meals.  They will be served to you in the dining room."

"I won't know any of those people," she snarled.

"But you can get to know them."

"Why should I?  None of my friends will know where I have gone.  Nobody will ever visit me."

She had really been a loner, almost anti-social and suddenly she worried that the few friends she had would never visit her.  She worried that no one would speak to her at the dinner table.  It was rather ridiculous that one of the best-read, most informed persons in the area was worried that there would be nothing in common with these people.

But slowly she started to look semi-kindly on the new place.  It was very different from anything she'd ever known.  The move proceeded.

There was a terrible wrangle over her learning to use an electric coffee maker rather than perking her coffee on the stove.  "I know good coffee and I know bad coffee and this stuff is bad," she growled.

One morning before the move, as we sipped our "bad coffee" in the living room of the home she had known, a movement outside the picture window attracted my attention.  A giant Blue Heron was leaning down to drink from the bird bath in the front yard.  He was so casual about it.  My heart was pounding as I whispered to my mother, "Look, oh look at that!"

She said, "Oh yes, he stops by a few morning a week for a drink."

A short time later the move took place.  Mother adjusted quickly and was quite satisfied with her new home for the rest of her time.

 - - - - - -

My daughter and I have lunch together often on Fridays.  A while back she handed me a brochure for a new retirement center in town that was holding an open house for the public in a week or two.  She asked if I'd be interested in going and looking it over.  I said I'd like that.

When I came home and handed the brochure to my husband, he asked, "Has she found a suitable dungeon for us?"

 ----- by Judith Taylor 

THE FRIDAY FUNNIES

Wednesday was a delight.

Thursday was rainy and cool.

And now, once again, it's Friday.

So what do we make of this?

Let's let the Comedy Gods decide.

That's it, folks.

The party's over.

Ah, but you can have your OWN party.

Make it a good one and have a fabulous weekend.

And always remember to keep laughing!

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

THANK YOU

Today I'm offering a fond thank you to all of you who sent good wishes on my 84th birthday yesterday.

You are all good friends.

To those of you who were hoping I enjoyed a huge slice of birthday cake, I must tell you that we did not take that risk.

The risk of burning the house down and possibly my demise from  the task of blowing out all of those candles.

SWMBO offered me a choice a week or so before and I chose a favorite of mine: Lemon Sponge Pie.

It was delicious, as was my filet mignon, shrimp scampi and a new discovery: Sister Schubert's Dinner Rolls!

I have a post by Val the victorian to thank for tipping me to those frozen supermarket delights.

They are mouth-watering.

So, all-in-all, it was a great feast and a wonderful birthday celebration here at home, just the two of us.

So now it's Thursday and a bit of a letdown.

Onward and upward!

AMAZING!

 It is that time of year again.

My birthday.

As I gaze into the future and wonder . . how long, how long can this go on . . I was brought up short by a card I received from a long-time friend.

The front of the card was promising.

But then I opened it and found this!

I might add, petulantly, that the sender of this card is a full EIGHT YEARS OLDER THAN ME!

Still, when SWMBO came by my post at the computer to wish me a happy birthday, I just stared at her and said "Amazing!"

What's amazing, she asked.

And I said "I am 84 years old today!"

In spite of a plethora of bad habits and conduct over the years, I continue to live on.

Last night as Judy was preparing for slumber I came in and, in my best imitation Paul McCartney voice, sang " . . will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 84!"

But I ask you, "Is this paragon of pulchritude the face of an 84 year old man?"

My grandfather, if he were still with us, would have wished me a happy 85th birthday.

He maintained that one's first birthday was their birth day.

So a person's birthday was actually one year more than the number of years one had existed.

Well, whatever the number, I'll take it.

Now, what's for dinner?