I am composing, of sorts, my second tome.



The first was my book of poetry composed for Pat on the occasion of our twenty-fifth anniversary. This was all original work (excluding a parody or two) and was heart felt. The new work is somewhat more plebeian.



I am putting together a cookbook.



I can hear you all salivating at the thought.



Have no fear I do not intend to sell or give you this work. I would be embarrassed too; each of the recipes are stolen. Even though I was taught as a historian that plagiarism is the sincerest form of flattery I will not claim anothers work.



The cookbook is a collection of the recipe's that I am trying on a near nightly basis. Having some time on my hands I have determined to toss caution to the wind and try many different recipe's and techniques.



Recipe's are chosen based upon family interest, past successes and even cooking techniques (there have been many challenges that I have approached). Pat had begged for weeks for Panzanilla (bread salad) and I had steadfastly resisted. Much to my chagrin, I mad it the other night and thoroughly enjoyed it. Don't tell her - she will gloat.



So far I have been fairly dead on on my selections. The Three Cheese Penne was almost entirely consumed by Stu. I have made a variety of Bulghar Wheat salads that Pat loves for lunch (and Stu and I tolerate). Tomorrow we are bringing to Pat's sister a Bean and Potato Salad that broke Stu's embargo on green and yellow beans (he never has liked beans; I site as evidence as evidence a picture from toddler times wherein he rubbed them into his gossamer haired pate rather than ingest them).



But why a cookbook?



The cookbook is an attempt to retain the recipe's that we like. So each week as menus are created the recipes are selected from the Internet and copied into a file. The ingredient list becomes the basis of the weekly shopping list and when the recipe's turn has come up they are printed so that the computer is not forced to withstand the tortures of a cooking area. After the meals have been road tested I do go back and make clarifications and modifications.



Only today did I reveal the truly anal nature of the residents on the hill. Not only did I reorganize the document into cooking categories but I went and made all the recipes consistent in font and format (previously a table of contents had been created).



Now, the document has developed some permanency.



Pat is happy, I am happy and Stu is eating out less and appears eager to ask what tonight's dinner is.



For those of you who are curious we had appetizers of Mixed Herb (Pesto) Bruschetta and Tomato Basil Brushetta and are having a main course of Caribbean Shrimp Salad With Lime Vinaigrette. I do hope that salad is good.

Vacation Part Deaux

Pat and I have been walking almost every evening. We are the unofficial census takers of the hill.

We do not count the rug rats; that would require higher math. We count, instead, the footed fauna that is so abundant here.

It's not any species that we search for. It is one; the Eastern Cottontail Rabbit.

One would assume that the inclusion of "Eastern" in their name would imply that they are native to this area. In fact, they are not. They are Eastern only in relation to the Western Cottontail and Connecticut is not their native habitat.

Despite this geographic naming anomaly, their population has exploded. The other day, on our two mile walk, we spotted nineteen of the little critters. Some we spotted in pairs and assume that more little bunnies are in the offing.

The spotting of these creatures has become a bit of a sport. Two must see or one must plead and provide significant details for a spotting to count. Pat hates when I point into a neighbor's bush to identify a hiding spot. I dislike the lame "he hopped away" explanation.

Despite our constant census, we long for more. On Wednesday we left our homestead and had hardly begun our walk when I pointed out that we should be seeing other species. There are plenty of deer, ground hog and turkey about and I speculated aloud as to the reasons they don't appear on our walk.

No sooner had we gotten to the bottom of the hill but two deer were seen standing in the farm field. The next night the deer were replaced by two turkeys nibbling at the undergrowth.

Why is it that only after we questioned the lack of sightings did these beasts appear? Could it be that the Cottontails were tired of our cross species voyeurism and requested help from their larger cohabitants?

We can only assume that the ground hogs were a bit recalcitrant and have yet agreed to appear.

Vacation News

For the past two weeks Pat has been on semi vacation with me. The first week of vacation she was not supposed to work. The second week she was only supposed to work 1/2 days. She did manage to fit in her fair share of work both weeks. I'm not complaining - she is too conscientious to let things go long.

I did find out that a job I was a finalist for went in another direction. To go from one of two finalists for two positions to not getting a job in less than a week was very disheartening but survivable. When discussing the job possibility with my fellow campers I did point out that many jobs are withdrawn or filled internally rather than result in an outside hire these days. In this case one position was filled by a contract employee and the other left fallow.

I was supposed to not look for a job the first week. However, having lost the "sure thing" I did do a little employment dumpster diving. I do have a bunch of little fires in the iron. Some of which are pretty off the beaten path.

So, what does one do on vacation? We go to breakfast.

One of the complaints that Pat had when moving to Wethersfield was that no one could tell her were a good breakfast spot was. So, with trusty computer in hand, I went in search of new locations. Here are the results (so far):

• Cheesecake Factory (West Hartford): This is more of a brunch location. We found it to be a disappointment. While Pat enjoyed her omelette I ordered the Crab Hash with poached eggs. The eggs were underdone to the point of being barely able to hold their shape and there were crab shell pieces in the hash. They crunched just like egg shells which is an absolute no no to me. Anyone who knows me knows that raw eggs are a no no as well (I reference an international raw egg on ham incident in the mid 80's that caused me to for forego breakfast on the continent).
• NY Pickle Deli: This is the closest to us in nearby Rocky Hill. We actually went here before this weekend but this truly marked our first excursion. The food is good but the menu is rather brief in it's listing of possible items. Pat, who wants eggs without potatoes or meat, could order "off menu" but that is never a best bet. Try the wheat pancakes. This is the closest breakfast place to our house but the service is atrocious.
• Anna's Pizza Restaurant: This is where the old folks go to meet the children. The food was good, the place homey. Pat loved the Spinach Feta Omelet (they let her get a two egger rather than three). My pancakes were a bit crisp and the syrup was corny =without a hint of maple flavor. Still this would be a great place to eat if I had my teeth in a jar.
• Mitchell's Family Restaurant (Coffee House): This is a great find near the house (just over the Rocky Hill Border on the Silas Deane). It was crowded (we sat at the counter) but there were plenty of choices (even for those who did not want potatoes or meat) and the food was served promptly. The Hash was a bit peppery but the potatoes (sliced rather than cubed and with onions) were wonderful. This is an easy repeat location.
• Pepper Pot: Location, location, location. This is right off the beautiful green in Southington. There is plenty of space and a good menu and the neighborhood to walk off the food afterwords. If you could transport the green and the restaurant to someplace closer it would be a favorite.
• Ken's Corner Breakfast and Lunch: This place is loaded with both variety and the ability to order a la carte. This has the best service in a restaurant that we have ever seen. These folks are phenome ally attentive to the elderly that come in alone; helping them sit, order and even open a sugar packet if needed. This is a family spot (either that or every waitress in Glastonbury has the same features) and it shows in how they respect and handle folks. Your coffee never hits bottom here and just about every breakfast junk food item is represented (kielbasa, Italian sausage, fresh fruit, and pumpkin pancakes). Unfortunately, the line is long and the wait can be difficult.
• O'Rourke's Diner: If only they were closer. O'Rourkes has been featured in Diners, Drive Ins and Dives on the Food Network. For years I had friends tell me about this place. I even thought I knew where it was. Still, when we entered Middletown I was happy to see that the Local Fire Department was out making a boot collection so I slowed down, tossed in a couple of bucks and asked, only to see the diner right behind him (so much for being suave). We managed to get right in and grasp the thick, long menu. Pat immediately found items that she could warm up to; brown bread and beans are a common side in their tribute to Ireland. This was a special trip so we both ordered from the specialty items. Pat ordered a Mexican themed dish that included both brown bread and beans - a most English interpretation. I had the meat lover's dish that included Pancetta, Maple Bacon and Jalapeno Bacon as well as Irish Bangers. Thankfully I have no cholesterol screenings for a while. Everything was cooked excellently (Pat even said it was the best tea she has had). As we left there was a line of folks standing in the sun waiting to get in. This and the distance makes O'Rourkes only a mid-week, special occasion trip.

So there you have it, an obscure thing to do on vacation (finding breakfast restaurants) but fun none the less. Its the little things to do with your special friend that makes them special.

I thought I should mention that Stu, currently between semesters and without current employment, made only one of these breakfasts. Now that is a boy who can vacation!

Just Take Your Time

When did "No Rush" change from a reminder to savor an experience to a plaintive call to vacate your seat by a petulant waiter? Am I the only one who has noticed this subtle shift in tone? I prefer that the waiter just wish that the door doesn't hit me on my way out.

Those that know me understand that I inhale food faster than a hoover hooked up to a new power source so dawdling in a seat is never my first instinct (unless, of course, I am orating). I have not been the recipient of this less than professional prodding but have observed it and been offended. At the rate of fare in these restaurants many a diner would be justified taking the chair never mind renting it for a while.

So the next time a waiter drops a "No Rush" sarcastically or a "Take your time" do just that. Oh, don't forget to ask for another refill of your coffee.

How to Survive the Black Hole

This past week I was blessed to be placed in charge of eleven first time campers ranging from the age of ten to the ancient age of twelve. Two boys, Jacob and Kenny, shared a tent across from the adults and next to our former scout, now 'adult', college student. Mom and Dad had put them there for a reason, and we hope it wasn't just to drive us crazy.

Kenny and Jacob had many things in common. They were friends first and foremost. They did everything together except change. They went on hikes, took the same classes, failed or passed swim tests and even bugled together.

While changing alone they were lost by themselves and may have been confused by the process as it took forever to accomplish the task. Often, when asked to change out of a swimsuit and into a scout uniform they would change into shorts and not the uniform shirt or into the uniform shirt and retain the swim trunks. Eager reminders by the adults or older scouts were greeted by eager responses and painfully slow endeavors. Despite a plethora of available empty tents to accomplish their changing Kenny and Jacob only changed in their own tent in sequence, each taking so long that the second forgot the task at hand and had to be rounded up for his turn. I am now prepared to deal with Alzheimer patients.

There was something else that Jacob and Kenny did not do together; clean. In fact, neither did this at all. Every morning their tent was neatened and straightened out - most often with the help of an exasperated older scout or three eager to get to breakfast. In neatened condition their tent would remain until shortly after lunch when without the slightest provocation the tent would explode in a frenzy of activity centering on a search for an ancient artifact needed to make their day complete. At least once I had to ask if there were survivors from the tent explosion.

I remember the search for the seven dollars by Kenny. At least five times Kenny was instructed to look in his foot locker and on and under his bed. Each time Kenny came back on the edge of tears, never questioning that it was stolen, but mourning the loss. We adults, across our narrow campsite, quietly discussed taking up a collection amongst ourselves while watching Kenny search anew through the piles but interestingly, not his foot locker. Upon another return to our tent we questioned Kenny and asked him why he wasn't checking the footlocker. "Because I don't remember putting it there" was the replied. In his fifth attempt he humored us and was quickly rewarded with a discovering of the seven dollars and shortly he and Jacob were off to the camp store leaving us with a view of the black hole now containing an empty foot locker.

Money wasn't the only item lost that week. Uniform shirts and parts disappeared with some regularity. At one point I assured Jacob that no one else wanted to wear his stinky shirt. Bathing suits were lost (to be found on the clothesline behind the tent) as well as Gimp (found throughout the campsite. Temporarily lost was a bugle, merit badge book and a leather work kit. Permanently lost were two neckerchief slides (replaced by a loaner and a slide made from duct tape).

Also temporarily lost was Kenny and Jacobs self confidence on succeeding nights.

Kenny's was lost after Mom and Dad came for a visit on Wednesday (along with the other parents). Kenny did well until it was bed time and then collapsed into the abyss of loneliness that often calls for young campers. Kenny hung around with the adults for an extended period well past the other campers sack time and listed to us tell and retell the corniest of jokes while seemingly ignoring him until the mere wisp of a smile appeared. He stayed up for a while longer and was assured that there are friendly adults still about before returning to his black hole.

Jacobs loss was far more severe and nasty. Having survived and cheered Kenny through his homesickness Jacob likely had already had weathered an assault of loneliness. However a case of insensitivity by his peers caused Jacobs confidence to crumble like a house of cards. Having to choose between two boys to be the sixth and final member of a card game the card sharks voted Jacob out publicly and another boy in. Such devastation laid Jacob bare and I was faced with despondent tears. Nothing seemed to cheer a now lonely Jacob out of his doldrums.

In an act of desperation I relied upon the black hole and told Jacob that I wanted to see the knife holder he completed in his leather work merit badge. Jacob moped over to his tent and began his search. In a frenzy I grabbed a tree lopper, cut and pruned a small tree, trimmed the resulting stick with my jackknife, cut and hole punched a piece of leather, created a handhold with the leather and sewed it to the stick with a piece of gimp I had found (presumably Kenny's) to create a serviceable walking stick. The whole stick creating operation took less than ten minutes and although done in Jacobs sight it was completely unobserved.

Jacob returned to me without his leather work or a memory of being asked to get it. I introduced him to the walking stick as an example of my leather craft. He thought it great, I offered to let him try it and even showed him how a walking stick was operated. Sadly, it was too short for me and as I had one already I was wondering if Jacob would like it. It was the one item that never did succumb to the black hole as it was never out of his sight for the remainder of the week.

Later, when feelings had calmed, I did talk to Jacob about what happened and discussed why he might be excluded from a card game by a group of older boys in favor of another older boy. The discussion was two fruitful and was completed while Jacob had a firm grip on his walking stick. A conversation was also held with the card player who, to their credit, had realized their faux pax almost immediately and spent the rest of the week including both Jacob and his stick in all activities.

On Friday evening the black hole was abandoned and the boys slept by the campfire. Ever concerned they were visited ever so often by the adults who walked unseen to the edge of the clearing to watch and listen quietly. On one of these trips I saw all was well and was leaving when I heard the walking stick being discussed. I turned in time to see Jacob holding the stick above himself and declaring, "Thank you Mr. P." Jacob doesn't know I heard him. He never meant me to.

Oh, and I do feel bad about cutting down a live tree.

Happy To Be Home Again

I spent the last week at Boy Scout Camp living in a tent, mentoring boys. walking up many a dusty hill and generally sweating. Throughout the week I did not lose a camper but I did lose plenty of sleep - my cot listed toward the center of the tent and I was too tired to replace it. My constant companions were the mosquitoes who were thriving on the previously wet weather and my blood stream and constant calls of "Mr. P, Mr. P . . ." from a very young set of campers. In short, I had a great time.