Hot Hot Hot

Last week Mistah took it upon himself to mix up a special batch of Mistah Schleckah Hot Sauce. The man is a Hot Sauce genius.

We have had quite the bounty of hot peppers this season.

But we're not ready for those yet. First? Carrots. I do not know how and I do not know why Mistah Schleckah started to make hot sauce, but start he did, and it rocks, and if he says start with carrots, well, then just start with carrots.

Next, garlic.

Lots of garlic.

Red onion? Oh yes.

And olives. My girl Jennie gave me 87 -- I think it was -- containers of olives for my birthday. What a fabulous gift. We recently ended up combining the last of them in one olive bucket of love. And now they're almost gone. Sob.

Now it's time for the hot peppers. Some hot cherries . . .

. . . (do not touch your contacts with those fingers, Mistah) . . .

. . . some, um, long skinny red ones . . .

. . . and some good old fashioned jalapenos.

Olive oil is an essential ingredient in any food prepared in this house . . .

. . . and a little balsamic vinegar never killed anyone . . .

.

. . . and now, we are good to go.

A few months ago Jacquie or Beth told me all my posts were about gardening. Now they all seem to be about eating. Which I suppose makes sense: that was spring, this is fall; that was sowing, this is reaping . . . It's all very cyclical and fundamental, really.

Look at that, wouldja?

Wait, look at it in the sunlight. That is a bucket of love, right there.

But. The most important test: It looks good. It smells awesome. But how does it taste?

Well?

Hmmmmmmmmmmm...........

Oh yeah. Dee-licious.

I love a man who embraces his inner Cuisinart.

froggy day

Beth and I have both gushed recently about the glory that is October in San Diego. The weather is still generally summery in disposition, and the weekend days are still best spent at the beach. And the beach? The beach is beyond awesome. Plenty of parking, plenty of space to spread out, and lifeguards - although sparse - are still on duty to watch that your kids don't drown while you sip margaritas keep the swimmers safe.

With all of this in mind, we slathered and packed up for a day at the beach this weekend on a beautifully steamy day. We brought our sasquatch along for kicks and giggles, and headed down to dog beach.

We live about 10 miles inland from the ocean, which is hardly more than a fart in the breeze. But on certain days when the climate is behaving in an extraordinarilly o-beach-ian manner, that 10 miles is akin to the difference between Jupiter and Mars. Between Almond Joy and Mounds. Between summer and winter.

We drove west out of the sunshine, and straight into the frog:

,

I can't remember which of my kids started calling the marine layer froggy, but it stuck

,

.

There were moments of clarity, but the haze was generally quite thick, and hung over everything like a damp towel

.

Ordinarily, there'd be a pier over there

Phew, it's still there. And look, a gang of chihuahas!

Adding to the surreal soup of the day was the extreme low tide; offering warm, shallow pools and lots of inviting mud

how could one not run and jump here?

So the slathering of sunscreen was probably for naught, and it was not quite the soaking up of the sun's rays that we had hoped for before we lapse into full winter beach mode, but it was pretty cool out there.

And some things, thankfully, do not change in the face of a changing climate:

As we headed east towards the sunshine and home, I looked back down Newport at the thick marine layer hugging our beach. It's like a line in the sky:

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho

Well, today's the day. I'm sitting here in my office. It is my first day back in months, since Tuesday, May 26th to be exact.

It's strange to be here. There are 5577 emails in my inbox. It's going to be a long day. Of work. And of not seeing my baby girl. I've known all along this day was coming, but I don't have to like it, right?

Sitting here in my well worn chair, staring at my dual monitors has thus far only inspired a haiku:

Shining from above
severe, uncompromising
glowing florescent

Weekend 3 way: read all about it

Since posting on Wednesday about a crazy newspaper article I happened to see, I've been thinking a lot about newspapers in general. And although they are really not my thing, I think Ellie is a faithful newspaper reader, and that Jacquie will delve into one if given the chance. So now I'm left wondering what section of the paper, Sunday or otherwise, is your very favorite?? You know, the section you grab first. (Although, as I write this I realize that these might not be the same two sections....)

Jacquie:

Well, that depends. Are we late for a birthday party? The funnies. Are we shopping? The glossies. Are we attending a sporting event? Hand the sports section to Bill.

But if you are asking about that most rare, elusive beast…. The idle Sunday…imagining that I have nowhere to be and no one to please and nothing to do but drink coffee and wait for my eggs to arrive… I’d say that the section I grab first is the local, but currents is a close second. I get most of my world news online, so the front pages of our U-T are generally not offering anything that I can’t access elsewhere, and better written at that. But I eat up the local pages, the tidbits about who did what and when, what’s going to happen later, a general telling where the haps are at. And the currents has movie listings (why don’t I ever go to the movies anymore?) the gossip and smut, the columns and reviews and advice. I appreciate the entertainment value that my printed newspaper offers, as opposed to the hard biting news bits I grab from the cybersphere.

Ellie:

Sports, definitely. And when I read about who beat whom the night before, I usually say, “oh yeah, I remember seeing that on line last night.......”

Today, for instance? I knew that mighty New London kicked the stuffing out of not-so-mighty-after-all Fitch last night (no thanks to us, I was told), 21-0, but I love the visceral thrill of seeing it splashed all over the Day. In baseball, the Phillies and Dodgers are

1-1; that's good. The Yankees won; that's bad.

But today we had a specific and special reason to race out to get the paper and check the Region section first: Mistah was at the Norwich library book sale yesterday (and Groton's too, but that's not important right now) and got his photo taken by a Day photographer, while he was looking at an alligator book. He was sure the photo would be prominently featured today: he is, after all from New London. But no. Instead, the photo is of these bozos:

The Day photo

Har-umph. Bill says, and I quote, “It's going to take a long time to get over this one.”

Beth:
Although I abhor newsprint, I sometimes find myself with a fat Sunday paper in front of me nonetheless. When this occasion arises, I work hard to ignore my heebie jeebies and dive in. My first stop is the books section. I love to check which titles are on the various best seller lists, and hopefully read a good book review or two. Although I have to admit that I'm always amazed at how many books are reviewed that I have absolutely no interest in reading. Perhaps I should expand my horizons?

I also like to take a quick look at the Sunday travel section. If they happen to be featuring a destination you're interested in, it can be pure joy...

What to Do, What to Do

It’s Friday. Like a lot of people, Mistah Schleckah and I like to step out on a Friday night: have some drinks, hear some (free, preferably) music, see some peeps, eat some (free, preferably) food.

There’s always a lot to do in New London; we usually have no trouble at all figuring out what we want to do any Friday night.

Tonight, though? Tonight we are absolutely paralyzed by indecision because of the sheer number of possibilities available to us. A plethora of choices. An absolute embarrassment of rich options.

Culture? Sports? Music? Without spending a lot of money, naturally, which is noticeably scarce these days . . .

.

What to do? What to do?

Culture
Today kicks off the 10th Annual Eugene O'Neill Celebration, celebrating New London's own (well, during summers, anyway) son, and the only American playwright to win the Pulitzer (3 times) and the Nobel Prize. New London is crazy for O'Neill. And neighboring Waterford is the home of the Eugene O'Neill Theater Center, where every summer plays, musicals, cabaret and puppetry is developed in weeks-long workshops, then sent out into the world to become famous and win Tonys. It's an incredible place.

Tonight, kicking off our weekend, is a definite: a reception at the Monte Cristo Cottage, and a first look at “Ella's Room,” not previously open to the public.

The O'Neills summered in this beautiful cottage, just a couple of blocks from our house (another weekend plus: walking distance), named Monte Cristo after Eugene's father, James O'Neill, who was a famous actor in his time, and whose most famous, defining role was Count of Monte Cristo. (He apparently could do any Shakespearean role, too, but Monte Cristo sucked him in and held him in. Mistah just read a big thick biography about O'Neill; he should be telling this tale.)
.
Ella was O'Neill's mother, after whom the role of the mother in “Long Day's Journey into Night” was written. Talk about a harrowing play. Yikes. Ella was addicted to morphine, and really really hated the foghorns on the river, which we can hear from our house. No wonder she went mad.

Ella haunts the cottage. Bill's was a docent at the Monte Cristo Cottage a couple of times this past year, and he corroborates this. He also took some cool photos . . . So let's get him to do a guest blog about it, shall we?

Onward.

Sports
Tonight the 4-0 New London High School Whalers cross the Gold Star Bridge to meet their cross-river rival, the 4-0 Fitch High School Falcons. Here's what The Day has to say about The Match-Up:

Monday morning quarterback: NL-Fitch the early-season big matchup
Unbeaten rivals in ECC Large Division meet Friday night

There is no bulletin-board material forthcoming - not yet, anyway - for the most anticipated game in the Eastern Connecticut Conference this season.

Fitch and New London, both unbeaten, play the early-season Game Of The Year, although more Games Of The Year are sure to come when the circumstances get bigger.

“All I'm saying is that Fitch is a good team,” New London senior Nick Singleton said. “We're not sleeping on them. And they're not going to sleep on us.”

The Whalers are 4-0, surviving three close calls. They were tied with Bacon Academy in the fourth quarter. They edged Ledyard, 12-6. And they needed a late score to beat East Lyme on Friday.

Fitch, meanwhile, has played very well its last two weeks, throttling Windham and NFA. The winner of this game becomes the favorite to win the ECC Large Division.

“They're really aggressive and fast. The quarterback (Josh Clements) does a nice job,” Fitch coach Mike Emery said of the Whalers. “They have a complete team, really. They're outstanding. (Running back Kyle McKinnon) is a very tough runner. He has good instincts, good speed. He's a tough kid. He's a solid running back. He's got the whole package.”

Exciting, yes? And they're not going to sleep on eachother. So that's, um, good?

Anyway. This is our second fall living in our house, and we have yet to go to a high school football game. Plus, our next-door-neighbor is the musical director for the Fitch Marching Band, and word is they do a “Tommy” number at halftime. This is, clearly, the game to be at.

Maybe get there in time to see the halftime show, and get into the second half – for free?

The Day photo

Actually, this event sounded much more enticing before October up and left, and December moved in in its place. It's raining and cold out there. Maybe we can listen on the radio . . .

And in other sports possibilities, even though I could not imagine a more loathsome foursome than the Angels, the Yankees, the Dodgers and the Phillies, the League Championship Series are upon us. Phillies beat the Dodgers last night; game 1 of the ALCS is tonight at 8. Watching the game is free, although accompanying drinks are not. I just wish I had a team to root for . . .

Music
Every Friday night the Bank Street Café presents Blue Collar Happy Hour, which we, naturally, call Blue Collar Pride. Free music from 6:30-8:30, and there’s always a great local band playing. Tonight it’s the Hoolios, whom we love. What’s not to love? Jimmy Carpenter is up there on the stage.

Preston Frantz, Hellbent & Heartbreakin’ are playing out in Westerly at the newly-refurbished Knickerbocker Café, a gorgeously redone old-style ballroom.

Mind, Body & Soul and Wicked Peach are playing at Stash’s. Which I mention because Stash’s has that killer free food happy hour on Friday nights. That pizza and those turkey grinders have gotten us through many a Friday night.

And finally, at the Wolf Den in the Mohegan Sun casino? War. The casino is a godforsaken place, and I always feel like I need to take a shower when I get out of there, but the Wolf Den is really a fabulous place to see a show – I’ve seen some great ones over the years, including New London’s own Reducers last week.

And I love War. How can you not love War? Summer is one of my favorite tunes of all time.

And it reminds me of this:

Ridin' 'round town with all the windows down
Eight track playin' all your fav'rite sounds
The rhythm of the bongos fill the park
The street musicians tryin' to get a start

'Cause it's summer
Summer time is here
Yes it's summer
My time of year

But enough daydreaming about summer, and back to the task at hand.

What to do, what to do . . .

Well? What would you do?

the tao of brady

Last month I wrote about my hunch that the Bradys would soon become important members of our parenting family. My thought at the time was that we would watch it often, and I would take notes on the ironic and funny interpretations and conversations that came up during certain key episodes.

Just that earliest viewing provided more fodder than I felt I should squeeze into my first Brady blog post; I wanted to save and savor those tidbits until I could whip up a veritable cassoulet of Brady-inspired gems.

There were the questions about Alice:

Why does she always wear that blue dress?
Why does she walk around the dinner table but there is no chair for her?
What does she mean the cake will fall?

And other questions about the general Bradiness of the Bradys:

What is that thing on the phone? (a cord)
Does anyone think that is real crying?
What's with their socks?

The following night, we all looked forward to the next installment of Brady lore. We were not disappointed! We had the distinct pleasure of introducing the kids to Tiger, that rascal! And in this episode, Tiger was lost! Oh, poor Bobby was beside himself. Our hearts were on the edges of their seats as the neighborhoods were searched, the “lost dog” ad was placed, and the Tiger sightings started to come pouring in through that rotary dialed phone.

Turns out, Tiger was out gettin’ some. They found him in the home of a perky and pert citizen whose own precious pooch had recently been put in the family way. And now Tiger was a daddy!

I couldn’t help but notice that the Brady kids did not ask any questions about how it came to be that by running away and playing with this other dog, Tiger would suddenly become a daddy. My kids, on the other hand, pondered the universal: “Wait….what?”

You know that we are on the verge of the family life talk with our boy, but we hardly suspected that the big moment would be initiated by the wholesome Brady Bunch!

My husband and I acted busy and held our breath and listened to the two kids ponder the complexities of this issue together:

Tiger’s the dad?
How’d they make the puppies?

Oy.

We had been struck by The Tao of Brady, with the perfect opening to carry forth this conversation that we had every intention of having. My husband and I exchanged meaningful pokes and glares as we silently, but with great emotion, negotiated who would take this opportune lead and run with it.

But then my girl, my innocent, deluded girl, uttered the solution that ended the line of questioning long enough for attention to be diverted to the commercial or chores or whatever came up as the closing credits rolled:

Ohhhhh, Tiger married that other dog!

On the third night that we remembered to tune in at Brady O’Clock, we were chagrined (and perhaps the teeniest bit relieved) to find that Married With Children was being broadcast in its place. Apparently, we had caught the tail end of a Brady run.

Yet the legacy continues…. a few days ago, I posted the following update on my facebook page:

I'm feeling grumpy and put out that planning a Hawaiian vacation takes so much time and talent. And then I remember: I'm planning a Hawaiian vacation!

Which earned the following comment from Steven:

Is this another Brady thing? Watch out for the cursed tiki and say hi to Mr. Honalei!!!

It all comes back to Brady.

Boxed in

Monday afternoon, as we literally waited for hours at the doctor's offcie, my husband scavanged various pages of the day's newspaper.

Being San Diegans, that paper was the San Diego Union Tribune. Sadly, this paper, like many around the nation, is dying. The black and white newsprint is being replaced by electronic new sources and the 24/7 news available on the television, radio, and elsewhere. Fewer and fewer people are reading print papers, and only the very biggest and best of them seem to be hanging on (think The New York and LA Times).

I myself hate newsprint, finding it is almost as unpleasant as those rough, brown "paper towels" available in some public bathrooms, or the irritating fuzzy skin that surronds a lovely peach. But enough about me. The decline of the paper still does give one, even me, pause, it being the beginning of the end, so to speak.

The pages we read together on Monday are testament to this change, this decline. I could not believe the mini-headlines we were reading. They read more like the National Enquirer than like the newspaper of a major metropolitan area. "Elderly woman attacked by raccoon," "Woman's pet bear kills her," but the story that really got my attention was one titled, "Woman arrested for child endangerment."

Did any of you see this story elsewhere?

Here's the gist of it, if not. A woman in Alabama had her thirteen-year-old daughter ride inside a box on the roof of her minivan, ON THE HIGHWAY, because the box would not fit inside the car. The box was secured to the car with a coat hanger. Singular.

What the???? Where do we begin on how crazy this is? Okay, I'll start; if the girl is inside the box, it must be empty, or near empty, right? Who needs an empty box so bad that you're going to put your daughter inside it on the highway? And why?

And who thinks a coat hanger is going to help secure anything, let alone a giant box with a girl inside, to the top of a minivan?

I don't like to discriminate, but what kind-of crazy do they have in Alabama?

It makes you think this joke really isn't:

An Alabama State trooper pulls over a pickup truck on I-20. He says to the driver, "Got any ID?" The driver says, "Bout what?"

Spectacular, Spectacular

Jacquie found herself a secret beach this past weekend, which is pure fabulousness. What an adventuresome family those crazy kids are.

Bill and I found ourselves a beach last weekend, too, and although it is not secret, it may as well have been. We went to Ocean Beach in New London, which all summer looked like this: .

But on Saturday, looked like this:
.
There was Nobody. There.

But did that – or did the mid-October date – stop Mistah Schleckah from diving right into that beautiful water? No. No, it did not.

Okay, I know we're not talking about New Year's Day here, but I think it is pretty studly to swim on October 10. I swam the weekend before – October 4 – but I did not make it into double digits.

Mistah had the Long Island Sound to his own bad self.

October 10 is not just the date of Mistah's most recent latest swim, either. (And Bill will surely do a November swim; he did last year.)

October 10 is also our wedding anniversary.

That's right: 17 years of bliss. I know! And just look at Bill. How blissful can one Schleckah be?

Very, very blissful.

Exuberant, even.

And . . . back in for a second dip. Right before the second dip is the time Mistah usually says to me, “You really ought to come in; it's awesome.”

He is really, really into swimming this time of year. I quote:

.

“It’s not like a polar bear swim; it’s really great. Once you get in it’s warm. And the water’s crystal clear, not like summer when you have to fight seaweed and jelly fish.”

.

“There are so many people in this world who go skiing and skateboarding and kayaking and nobody even bothers to take a dip in October.”

.

He is an avid late-season swimmer, this one. .
.

I was content to sit on the beach, bask in the October sun, drink wine, take photos, watch clouds, and reflect on the general, all-around bliss.

Spectacular? Oh, it was Spectacular.