2dogblog

Drummer Boy

2010-12-18T12:07:00.000-08:00

This is Drummer with Zaq. Drummer is three years old. He is a gift of the most amazing magnitude who has come to be part of our family.

I told a friend in Bible Study Fellowship that we were looking for an adult Bernese that needed a new home. She shows German Shorthair Pointers, so I didn't hold out a lot of hope for any referrals from her. However, she told us about a dog show where many Bernese were entered to compete; and we attended that show.

We met a lot of wonderful dogs and a few promising breeders. But we're not in a season where we can raise a puppy just now. Among those breeders, however, was a woman who said she had a 3-year old male that needed a new home. She invited us to come visit her, and we did - just one week later.

We brought Zaq with us so that she could see how we took care of him and observe his behavior. We met Drummer and probably spent four hours visiting with her and taking the boys for a test walk together. Everyone forgot that lunch should have happened at some point. We were that focused on the dogs. We decided that we'd like to try a week with Drummer at home and make sure that everything went well with Zaq and our routines. The breeder loaned us a kennel and a few other things and we piled in the car and went home.

The first night, we hauled that huge kennel up to the walk-in closet in our room - a place where Zaq will hide when there is a scary thunderstorm or fireworks. It's small enough to feel safe, but open to our bedroom. Drummer slept in his kennel and Zaq on the bed - a huge treat for him.

Just a side note here. It's not really part of the story, but Zaq is a bed hog. He kicks and pushes (only half aware) and sprawls on his back. Our bed bed barely held the three of us!

After a couple nights of that, we transitioned the boys back to the downstairs; and they did just fine. Drummer had a kennel if he needed to feel secure. Zaq had his bed and a "blanky" to cuddle up with.

One week later, we journeyed back up to the breeders home and told her that we wanted to keep Drummer. She had grieved letting him go, but that was simply her situation. She felt comfortable that he was going to a good home; and she made sure that we were all set up with information on his food and supplements routine.

So now he is home. Drummer is a cuddlebug - perhaps more than Buster ever was. He still hasn't got the concept of dog beds here at home, but we'll work on that. He came to us not knowing simple commands like sit, down or stay, but he is learning quickly.

And I am learning how much my heart can expand to love another. I think I will always miss Buster. He was more than just a special dog - he was really our furry child. And he had the heart of a lion - big and bold and unafraid to love. He gave everything and lived as much as he could. How can I not miss that?

But just as I miss Buster - even when my heart swells up and I feel on the edge of tears - I feel the weight of Drummer at my side. I think he understands, in a hazy canine sort of way. I think God knew when he created Drummer that this boy needed to be a comfort. If there was ever a family that needed a Bernese lapdop, we are it - and that is Drummer "to a T."

So this is Drummer. He is three.

Life goes on... and on

2010-12-18T11:25:00.000-08:00

I wrote the post below on November 3rd, on maybe four hours of sleep. Tired, overly emotional, but sincere. Just posting it today.

We are recovering, albeit slowly, from losing Buster. I think I'm just fine, we talk about getting another adult dog or even a puppy, then I read that last blog post. The tears are still there. I still miss Buster when I hike to the river with Zaq. I miss him when I kayak alone down a gentle river. I miss his funny face and how he drooled all over himself and everyone else when food was around.

But we are moving forward. We went to a dog show last Saturday. We took Zaq, but didn't realize he would be allowed to come in, though not competing. We met some very nice folks and some wonderful dogs. We are going to go see an adult dog who needs another home this weekend. I don't know what to think or how to feel.

I suspect that this is one of those circumstances when your heart grows bigger than you thought it could. When you think, "I can't replace him!" And then you begin to see the edge of the experience the way it might be. That maybe your heart can still love and miss and want to kiss the one who is gone AND love and kiss the ones who are here.

It was a big night for me last night, but that's another blog altogether. I'm tired and a little bit emotional... okay, I'm crying as I write this. But I was inspired by someone else who had a big night. In the middle of one of the most notable successes of her life, she recognized that she is still the same person to her dog. This is truth.

Here's what she shared with me and others. I've got to share it with you.

http://www.andiesisle.com/GoD_and_DoG.html

So long, sweetheart

2010-05-15T20:16:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've posted. Between work and personal stuff, it's been a busy time. And I guess I haven't had anything I just had to say. But now I do.

We had to say goodbye to our precious, magnificent Buster about a week and half ago. He wasn't feeling so good, but we thought he'd stay with us for a while yet. One evening, our younger dog, Zaq, woke us up to a very sick Buster. We quickly learned that he had a number of medical crises at the same time; and wouldn't have survived the first treatment needed to save his life. Our decision was clear.

We brought Zaq with us to visit with Buster as we said goodbye and prayed him back to Jesus. If our Lord knows when a sparrow falls, He surely knew what a blessing Buster was to Mark and I - and surely, Buster has his great head on our Lord's knee this very moment.

I miss him - today especially. It used to be that I'd take both Zaq and Buster on a long hike to the dog beach at the river once or twice a weekend. Now, it's just Zaq and me on those hikes. We're both adjusting, but we both still miss Buster. So does Mark. During the last year of Buster's life, they were almost constant companions. Buster was an office dog from the first weeks of his life right up until his last day.

Buster's real name was Robusto e dolce. Strong and sweet, the way I like espresso. He was the biggest dog we'd ever had (still). For a Bernese, he was very tall. Let me put it this way - the bottom of his chin easily cleared the dining room table. Since Buster had a true fascination with "people food," we ended up training him to lay at our feet during meals. What a good boy. He'd sit there, drooling all over the beautiful white ruff on his chest, trusting that there would be some scrap for him. Of course, there almost always was.

Buster loved the beach. Even in his older years, he'd race Zaq. Here he is, winning the last race to get to Daddy (and treats) first. He probably paid for it the next day, but I'll bet it was worth it to him, just to beat Zaq.

I remember that day.

Good dog.

The most amazing Christmas presents...

2009-12-28T20:58:00.000-08:00

Jesus. First and always, Christmas is about Him. That said, our tradition of gifting our family with something special is a neat one - and I got a couple of gifts that are really making me think this year.

First gift is extravagant. It was a complete and total surprise, but it was even more perfect because of that. If you didn't know before, you'll know after you read this post that I'm a bit of a food geek.

What was the present?

A Himalayan salt block.

Of course, you're saying to yourself, "I was thinking about adding one of those to my list, but never got around to it. Right beside that book I want to read, the decadent slippers I'm too cheap to buy for myself, and jewelry I don't need... Yup, that's where the Himalayan salt block was supposed to go..."

Me? I just learned about these things in the waning days of last summer. Portland is a foodie town (won't you take me to... Foodie-Town?), so we have a resident expert and the requisite boutique in a gentrified neighborhood. It's actually very cute - not cliche at all (unless high prices are cliche to you); and they seem to know what they're doing. I wrote about this little shop in this post.

We'll find out soon, because cooking on a Himalayan salt block is not just new to me; it's apparently new to everyone on the West Coast, except this Portland family of experts. Maybe there's just a dearth of bloggers on this topic. Well, get ready, get set, 'cause I'm going to change all that. Pretty soon you, too, will crave something amazing I'll make with this thing.

The other gift that got me to thinking is of a completely different sort altogether. It's not really decadent, but it represents a labor of love that is so sweet. To me, it is emblematic of change that gives me hope for the future.

What is it?

Pear Bread.

Pear Bread made by my Dad with his own hands. Second recipe, because he didn't get the right amount of baking powder in the first recipe.

He made Pear Butter, too - and canned it in an old artichoke hearts jar. Doesn't that just make your heart break with its sweetness?

My Dad hasn't made anything in the kitchen (at least that I'm aware of) since my Mom passed away. I decided years ago that he just might not cook ever again - that maybe he needed an outside force to bring this beautiful talent back. I'm so glad to be wrong.

I talked with my brother today about what he got for Christmas. This is a question that my husband thought to ask - not me. We traded jokes and stories about our Christmases until he asked me who drew my name. In my family, the adults draw one other adult's name for one big gift.

I'd like to tell you that, because Christmas isn't about getting more stuff, but about the gift of Christ (Him to us and through us to each other), I wasn't really focused on who was giving to me. The truth is that I was too busy visiting, eating, cooking and enjoying to focus on that.

However, when I realized today that Dad had labored over this pear bread and pear butter (which, if you haven't made it, is a truly time-intensive process) just for me, I was floored.

It's taken me all day to process this just a little bit, but I'm happy to share my conclusions. I think that my Dad's gift to me is a reflection of what Christ gave us. He knew that we wouldn't really get the magnitude of the gift; and that many of us would reject it because of it's humble appearance. But that didn't change the absolute perfection of the gift itself.

Christmas again....

2009-12-12T21:59:00.000-08:00

I've been making gifts for my neighbors. I started this a few years ago as a way to stay in touch with folks on our street , even though I work long hours (mostly in another town).

It was hard to decide what to make. I've done toffee, cinnamon rolls, cookies. It seems that, by the time I get to someone's front door with an unexpected treat, they are already "sugared out," as my Mother would have said. Too many treats, too may days in a row...

So this year is a riff on what I did last year. I was snowed in for about a week last year and decided to make cardamom bread for everyone. In several cases, I was the first person to the front door in days - wading through the hip deep drifts with a hot loaf of fragrant bread held high over my head.

Last Sunday on the way home from church, I decided that the perfect accompaniment to cardamom bread would be spiced pear butter (which I've never made). I stopped by the local produce place and scored a huge box of sunburned pears for just a few bucks. I canned half the box and made pear butter with a quarter of it. My husband is VERY happy with the results of my canning.

We tested the first loaf of bread to make sure it was good enough to give. Check. Three loaves later, I was gingerly walking down our icy street to deliver our gifts and decided that the new neighbors would be among the first I visited.

They moved in a few weeks ago. I could have stopped to say hi when they were moving in, but I didn't. Why? I don't know - I just didn't stop. However, I did make my way over there this evening, only to meet a charming young family with the most beautiful baby (and another on the way).

Having kids on the street has been one of its greatest charms for me. Other than a brief stint as foster parents, we've never been able to have our own children. It's good to have a baby in the neighborhood again. God bless you, little Liam. And I'm glad to be baking bread for the neighbors again. Christmas is a gift.

Grilled Cheese Heaven on earth

2009-12-07T16:35:00.000-08:00

September 19 - 9:57 pm (original post)

What a day. We meandered about town, looking for the perfect sink and faucet for the downstairs powder room remodel (that’s another blog post altogether). Since we were in the neighborhood, we visited An Xuyen Bakery. They make the most beautiful breads and pastries. This is not the artisan baking that I’m working on myself – everything there has a very fine crumb and is the result of a fusion of Vietnamese, Chinese and French baking traditions. They do very fine coconut buns, called Banh Dua, and a heavenly pastry-type arrangement called a Sesame Ball. Sorry there’s no picture – the one we purchased got eaten before I could get the camera out (that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it). It’s a perfectly round pastry, slightly smaller than a baseball, with a ball of mung bean paste with coconut tucked inside like a little surprise. Sublime.

We’d heard about a place called the Rebuilding Center, so we went and checked that out. It’s extremely cool, if you’re a fearless creative with carpentry skills. I can only muster one of those attributes, but I enjoyed visiting, anyway. The Rebuilding Center just happens to be located on Mississippi Avenue – a very fun and trendy little neighborhood with uber-hip shops and restaurants, such as…

The Meadow – Insane variety of finishing salts and the most beautiful flowers I’ve seen in one shop for a long time. Hard to figure how it all goes together, but when I paid $8 for two little squares of house salted chocolate, I figured out their business plan. If you are looking for Himalayan pink salt, this would be a good place to go.

Por Que No – The cutest little streetside cafe with what looked like true Mexican food. I love Latin flavors, and it smelled like fire, garlic, and peppers out in front of this restaurant. We didn’t eat there, but I will be back to find out if they double-wrap their tacos.

And if they don’t, they should.

We ended up driving down Alberta St., but ran into a road block set up for the Alberta Street Fair. It looked like things were winding down; and we weren’t in the mood. However, in the process of turning around, we decided to stop and try the Grill Cheese Grill – a food cart shoved into a converted Streamliner trailer and all hopped up on some sort of cheesy steroids.

It’s a happy place. Lots of families with little kids stopping for dinner and that sort of thing. There’s a re-purposed school bus that has tables inside; and picnic tables underneath colorful canvas umbrellas outside. We ordered and chose a spotless picnic table, listening to Queen’s “Bicycle” (how long since you’ve heard THAT song?) and watching people while we waited. A few minutes later, I picked up the order, we said grace and started to eat.

Wow. WOW! Yuuuuummmm. It was hard to stop and take a picture (note the large bites taken out of both sandwiches).

Pesto, mozzarella, fresh tomatoes on Parmesan bread. And when I say Parmesan bread, I mean some sort of Parmesan-crusted bread with a wicked good crunch. With tart, summer-perfect tomatoes paired with a beautifully robust pesto and the melted cheese it was sublime.

Mr. Stoic chose the BABS Melt; a savory mixture of Swiss and blue cheeses, apples and bacon. Seeing this described on the menu did not move me. I was entirely prepared for it to be strange and not at all good. But, like many things in life, when I bit into the sandwich, I realized that good people everywhere love tasty food. I should trust people more. It was worth it tonight. Though I ate seasonally (which I’m focused more on these days), I still think that Mr. Stoic won the battle tonight.

Food, Fire and Fun

2009-12-07T16:34:00.000-08:00

September 7 - 9:04 pm (original post)

Ah, the quintessential Labor Day barbecue. What an amazing time to have friends over and just hang out. We were privileged to join some friends for such an event this evening. They recently completed construction of a circular fire pit in their back yard. It’s a beautiful, circular cobblestone patio ringed by bench-high walls – perfect for a cool evening and a bottle of wine.

That’s not what we had tonight, though. There were people everywhere and almost as many kids as adults. S’mores were on the menu, you see. The cat was let out of the bag just enough to entice RSVPs in a state so casual that most folks don’t know what that means. It worked.

Late this morning, I was thinking about our hosts’ son, who has shown some interest in cooking and baking recently. He’s a brilliant, gifted kid with amazing parents. At any rate, I was thinking, if I were Aiden, what fun thing would I want to make for this crowd. Answer? Homemade marshmallows!

They were an absolute hit. Though they were really easy to make, they provided a sophisticated little twist on the whole s’more thing. And you can’t go wrong with s’mores. I probably should have put a little whisky or rum in the marshmallows to make them a fun adult treat, but there will be plenty of time for that later. For now, I’m satisfied knowing just who at church loves marshmallows.

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/cooking-live/marshmallows-recipe/index.html

Reason for comfort food

2009-12-07T16:32:00.000-08:00

September 5 - 9:18 am (original post)

My husband – my fiercely independent and stoic husband – has been fighting an infection lately. We’re at the end of a month of hospitalizations, doctor appointments, and visits to three area emergency departments (you can tell someone who’s been in the hospital because they know to call it the ED instead of the ER). To top it off, my baby puppy (now 4 years old but you better not laugh at me) hurt himself jumping into the car yesterday. And when I say hurt, I mean screaming pain. Between Mr. Stoic and my baby, I finally fell apart yesterday.

But it’s always darkest before the dawn. I fell apart, gave all this crappy stuff back to God and asked for help with the practical details. I dropped Zaq off at the vet for a day of pampered observation (THANK YOU, Dr. Becky!), dropped Buster off at the office (YOU ARE AMAZING, Debbie!). Fought my way through lingering traffic to the huge teaching hospital to find that Mr. Stoic’s fever broke in the wee hours of the morning. Whew! He was discharged, prescriptions picked up, dogs picked up from the office and the vet. After a simple dinner, I fell into bed, exhausted. It’s strange how stress can just whip you physically.

Today is the first in a three-day weekend, which I need. It is the first day to start rebuilding Mr. Stoic and Zaq from their various medical challenges. Neither one of them are out of the woods, but I can take care of them better at home. Comfort food is definitely in order for all of us. Swedish pancakes this morning with Mr. Stoic’s Strawberry Freezer Jam were a good start. Later, I’ll make Dad’s Macaroni & Cheese. For us, it’s a step in the direction of familiarity, home, and health.

I call this "Dad's Macaroni & Cheese" not because he created the dish, but because I developed it for him. In my family, the best macaroni and cheese has a cheesy-crunchy top - not leathery as melted cheese can sometimes get - but light, crunchy and full of flavor (and layered over creamy pasta).

Dad’s Macaroni & Cheese

1 1/2 cups elbow macaroni

2 tbsp butter

2 tbsp flour

1 1/4 cups whole milk

1/4 tsp paprika (I add more)

dash of freshly-grated nutmeg

1/2 tsp freshly-ground white pepper

3 cups grated sharp cheese (I use Tillamook aged white cheddar)

generous handful of panko crumbs (a scant cup)

salt to taste

Hot sauce (Tabasco style)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Boil macaroni according to package directions and drain. You want the pasta fairly al dente since you’re going to bake it further. Meanwhile, melt butter in a medium saucepan over low heat. Blend in flour, stirring constantly. Gradually stir in milk and cream. Cook, stirring constantly, until mixture boils and thickens, about 2-3 minutes. Remove from heat and add paprika, nutmeg, pepper and 2 cups of the cheese; stir until cheese is melted. Gently stir in macaroni and adjust seasoning to taste. Place in a buttered 1-quart casserole dish.

Toss panko crumbs with remaining grated cheese. Sprinkle over the top of the macaroni & cheese. Bake 25-30 minutes or until golden brown. Let sit for 5 minutes or so after removing from the oven. Serve with hot sauce on the side. Serves 4-6 (with no leftovers).

NOTES: I double this recipe most of the time, as the leftovers are sublime. A riff on this dish is to add a little protein (this is a trick from a fine Louisiana chef). After you get the mac and cheese into the casserole dish, gently stir in one beaten egg. Add panko crumb topping and bake. This dish is a great one to send over to a friend who's just had a baby or has been sick. Bag up the panko/cheese topping separately and have them add it just before the dish goes in the oven.

Dad came to visit

2009-12-07T16:31:00.000-08:00

August 17 - 9:39 pm (original post)

My Dad came to visit last week. The last of his older brothers passed away and it was time for the memorial service. I didn't have much of a relationship with my uncle or his family when he was alive, but I learned during and after his memorial service what a great guy he was and how nice this part of the family.

I decided before he arrived that I wanted to present my Dad with the flavors of home that he might not be able to enjoy in his new home back east. Though I can get lost in the details sometimes, I was determined to stay relaxed and enjoy his visit - and I did.

Shooting high on the first meal, I made ciabatta bread to use for Torta rolls. Tortas are a Mexican sandwich - and a wonderful treat from my childhood. When I was a kid in San Diego, it seemed like Dad would find any excuse to go to Tijuana. He took cars to be worked on, bought bricks to use in landscaping the front median strip, had furniture reupholstered, hair cut, purchased tortillas by the kilo and bolillos by the dozen (at 4:00 pm, sharp). For those rare few of you who appreciate the crusty, chewy goodness that is a fresh bolillo, you know that they must be purchased when hot from the oven. Just what you need for that day and the next morning - like buying baguettes in Paris.

A torta makes use of a bolillo-like roll called Telera. It's flatter than a bolillo and usually has three sections. We supplemented the homemade ciabatta with a couple telera from a local Latin bakery. I flash-grilled ranchera de res, beef sliced so thin you can see through it, seasoned only with sea salt, cracked pepper and fresh lime juice. I chopped the meat into smaller pieces and piled it high on a platter. We assembled our own tortas at the dinner table with fresh avocado, mayonnaise (a classic torta ingredient), home-grown tomatoes, roasted jalapenos and... watercress.

Yeah, watercress. I'd planned to use rocket (arugula), which adds a spicy pepperiness to the sandwiches. Silly me, I thought I'd be able to find this vegetable at the store. I have before, so it made sense to think this ingredient would be available. Turns out the local stores now sell it in tiny packages, along with the other fresh herbs they carry (buying enough for a salad at those prices would set you WAY back). And when I say "local stores," I mean EVERY local store. I wanted rocket for my Daddy and I didn't get my way (take note as the princess stomps her virtual foot).

Watercress has a sort of radish-like tang to it. I skipped the fresh radishes I'd planned to serve on the side and stuck with the watercress. It was a judgment call I hope I don't have to make again. It worked, but just barely (and mostly because I had a friendly audience).

We had fried plantains to accompany the tortas. This is not another treat from my childhood, but something I've really enjoyed lately. Finally, we are seeing ripe plantains in local markets (yes, the same local markets that don't have arugula). I fried little mashed patties (a la Alton Brown - love ya, man!) and seasoned them lightly with sea salt. What a lovely fragrant side dish. Dad was enchanted!

Dessert is important to me, so I made a fresh peach cobbler that didn't turn out well. It's pretty hard to mess up anything with fresh peaches, so I served the best parts of the cobbler with a special huckleberry ice cream. I could tell you more, but then I'd have to kill you. Suffice it to say that the meal lived up to the company. We lingered around the table for hours. It was… well, it was unbelievably wonderful.

One more thing. I just have to share how much my Dad rocks. He introduced me to languages, foods, and a whole world that many of my suburban-safe friends never knew. I will always be grateful for the richness of those experiences - and I marvel still at how they are so foundational to who I am as an adult.

Berner Boys

2009-12-07T16:26:00.000-08:00

August 10 - 10:03 pm (original post)

I often feel like my life is really fragmented. I have work, along with friends and acquaintances who know me only through work. I have church and all those wonderful saints who know me from there. There's the subgroup of musicians who know me through years of listening, playing, writing, recording and generally rocking out together. All you musicians out there know that you end up in various bands for various reasons. Things peter out after a while and you eventually find yourself playing with a new band.

Back to the subject, Ruth. Focus. There's home and family and hobbies. And there's these two furry boys that rest their giant chins on my lap and look soulfully into my eyes at every opportunity. They sit on my feet to make sure I don't go anywhere without them being the first to know. They cuddle with me when I'm trying to read my Bible in the morning or typing something on my laptop. Big paws and computer keyboards don't go together, I tell these gentle sweethearts. No, your paw cannot go there.

We have two Bernese Mountain Dogs. To put it more accuractly, they have us. They're not the biggest dogs out there, but they're on the large side. Buster, in particular, is pretty tall in the leg. My frame of reference has so shifted that I often have difficulty seeing small dogs when they're walking under my feet. Zaq is slightly smaller, but is long in the body. He's only 4 years old and bright as a shiny new penny.

Buster is eight and aging. The first white hairs have appeared on his muzzle. He still wants to be part of everything, but can't really keep up on the second long hike of the weekend - only the first. More and more, I'm treasuring the time we have together... especially these quiet moments when he lays at my feet, peaceful.

Buster is on the left and Zaq on the right. Buster is actually taller, but he is sitting down a bit on the riverbank.

10:03 PM