My little girl and I were celebrating and, on impulse, I decided to take her for the first time ever to McDonald’s.  This was the best one with a huge indoor play area that has kids scrambling through tunnels on the ceiling like little mice in a maze.  I got us a small order of fries and she had already disappeared inside the tubes.  “Mama!  Mama!  Look at me!”  I pretended not to know where she was and her girlish giggles were worth ingesting a small bit of non-organic food when I have been so vigilant in our family eating healthy.  I took this picture standing on the floor pointing my camera directly up two stories toward the ceiling.  I love seeing her still-little hands peeking through and catching a glimpse of her beautiful dark eyes and curly hair.  I finally convinced her to come down and eat some fries which she loved.  “I TOLD you they’re the best!” I said in a smug tone I don’t often adopt.  It was so weird, having to explain to her about the Hamburglar and Ronald McDonald.  I had spent the early years of my life there but those were different times.  My first job was at McDonald’s when I was 15.  I had given her an old whistle I’d found awhile back and she exclaimed when she recognized it painted on the window.  It was a Fry Guy.  I remember the outdoor playground with the merry-go-round that I loved all through my teenage years.  Contrasting that, I looked up into the hamster tubes and the claustrophobic in me prayed I would not have to go up and rescue her.  But my girl is fearless and I should have known it would not be an issue.  When we left she was swinging my hand and said she had liked “Old MacDonald’s”.  I’m still waiting for the proverbial farm to get a decent, non-GMO veggie burger.  The world has changed and I found myself hoping they would change with it.

“Until he extends the circle of his compassion to all living things, man will not himself find peace.” ~ Albert Schweitzer, philosopher, physician, and Nobel Peace Prize winner for “Reverence for Life.”

I have always wondered where this phrase originated.  Apparently it began in Las Vegas in the ’70’s when the average bet was $2.00.  A chicken dinner used to cost a little less than that so if you won that hand at least you had enough to get the chicken dinner.  I have never been to Vegas; nor do I have any desire to visit.  I’m just not much of a gambler.  But the one wild and crazy thing I do enjoy is dropping a quarter into this giant gum ball machine at one of our Tex Mex haunts and watching it wind its way slowly to the bottom.  If you get a yellow one you can win free nachos.  Our daughter asked for a quarter and proclaimed she was going to be a winner!  I don’t carry cash or even cards anymore as I pay for just about everything with my Apple Watch.  The feel of those two quarters in my hand reminded me of when I was in college and anchored the news in Austin for a small cable access show called, “First Nations of Turtle Island”.  Driving back to Dallas, my car died.  I had two quarters:  the first I used to call my daddy.  Yes, kids, in those days cell phones were not prevalent.  This tiny town had two stops and one of them was a Dairy Queen.  They had an in-store memory game just like the old electronic Simon with the four sounds and colors you watch and repeat back.  If you got to a certain point you could win a drink.  The next level got you a drink plus fries, then up from that was a drink, fries and hamburger.  I didn’t make it to the top level with dessert but I used that last quarter and played that game for the greater part of twenty minutes like an ousted Saudi Prince in Monte Carlo trying to win back his fortune.  Triumphantly, I scored the drink, fries and hamburger.  And so when Maris twisted that second quarter in the gum ball machine she victoriously got a yellow.  Winner, winner, chicken nachos!  American author Kelseyleigh Reber wrote:

“That is life, isn’t it?  Fate.  Luck.  Chance.  A long series of what-if’s that lead from one moment to the next, time never pausing for you to catch your breath, to make sense of the cards that have been handed to you.  And all you can do is play your cards and hope for the best, because in the end, it all comes back to those three basics.

Fate.  Luck.  Chance.”

Our four year old was so proud she’d won our dinner!  And I knew just how she felt.

Romance author Shiloh Walker said, “I’ve got this thing for spicy stuff.  Now, if you give me hot chocolate with chili pepper, a book and a bubble bath, I’m a happy girl.”  I concur!  One of the first things I first registered for after we got engaged was a rotating spice rack that could be refilled.  I like to cook, I like it hot, and I knew I’d use it a ton.  Over time I have become horrified to learn common things like ground pepper are being made with grass clippings full of pesticides and potentially carcinogenic causing chemicals.  So I’ve been trying to go all organic for the past two years beginning with our food, cleaning supplies and now spices.  Herbs and spices only keep for a year so I figured January was a good time to clean and rinse the containers before replacing them with my new organic ones.  I’ve been thinking about how cleaning the spice rack is a microcosm of cleaning my proverbial house.  Things change, people change, and we must adjust with those changes.  If you’ll notice in the picture there is one container that is empty.  It is where the cinnamon should go.  Just about everyone loves cinnamon but me; I cannot stand it because I am allergic.  The smell alone gives me vicious migraines and last year I ate something unknowingly that had cinnamon in it, causing my face to break out so badly I had to get $300 worth of special skin cream from the dermatologist.  I got to wondering, just because something is in your spice rack why should one be obliged to hold on to it — particularly if it hurts you.  I tend to have this idea that I must keep something just because it is somehow already in my life; especially if it has been around for awhile.  But how is it right if it is detrimental?  And so I pitched all the cinnamon down the sink, got a headache, rinsed it in scalding hot water, and am replacing it with an all-spice that I enjoy and will use often.  I am trying to do the same with friends that aren’t really friends, things I do not need to retain to be happy, and bad habits I should not continue.  So it may seem like a trivial thing … cleaning out a spice rack.  But for me it represents the way I am trying to start living my life in 2016.  I want to surround myself with things and people I enjoy.  I want to be a blessing to others and I know that in order to do that I must first start taking care of myself.  What is the saying?  One cannot give from an empty cup.  I want to fill my cup with strength, compassion, wisdom, discipline and joy.  I cannot believe I have had something I cannot stand for so long when I could have been enjoying something else.  Life is too precious to hold on to things that hurt us.  Happiness is definitely the most important spice in the rack.

For as long as I can remember I have been going to eat with my family in downtown Dallas at the original Spaghetti Warehouse.  When I was very little it was practically the only thing there.  My Grandfather owned the drugstore in Ferris and was a pharmacist.  Mama said long before it was a restaurant she would go with her father to that old warehouse when it was McKesson and Robbins pharmaceuticals.  She said they would get dressed up and go into town to buy all kinds of things for the store in addition to medicine, like candy, cosmetics, and Christmas displays.  Perhaps the most notable oddity in the restaurant is an old trolley car where one can eat, hear the creaking of floor boards, and dangle elbows out of rolled down windows.  Dallas has had streetcars beginning with the old mule-drawn system since 1872.  By 1886 they were running on steam and just two years later electric cars came into place, remaining functional all the way until 1956.  Both my parents used them and so we would always request to eat in the trolley.  In the forties at just 10 years old Mama said she would ride by herself barefoot from Oak Cliff to Fair Park where she took art lessons.  I grew up dining in that streetcar and listening to their stories.  Some of my best memories are of eating warm sourdough bread with exquisitely chived butter while my folks would recollect.  There used to be all sorts of outdated equipment around and Daddy would explain what each one was for and how they worked.  He recognized every old oil sign and Mama knew all the French Art Deco pieces.  It was always good food and a great hodgepodge of real, authentic history.  Last night my husband and I decided to go there on a date.  Although the food remains the same, I felt I had lost yet another piece of my family.  They have kept the old hanging Tiffany lamp shades but the rest feels barren and generic.  Mama particularly loved the Chinese Foo Dogs that guarded the arcade entrance.  Now those statues have been haphazardly placed upstairs along with a smattering of signs still remaining and a few other pieces of memorabilia scattered about.  For decades before waiting to be seated we would always stop at the old wooden Indian pictured above.  He has been relegated upstairs now as well, abandoned and forgotten.  Gone are the pieces of old machinery, the now politically incorrect alcohol and cigarette advertisements, and the Joan of Arc poster I loved saying women could contribute to the war effort.  The manager, a fellow history lover, was gracious enough to allow me upstairs where I had only been maybe twice since 1972.  I had never seen the old victrola and he kindly let me take pictures of the few things that had not been stripped and sold.  The carpet was still the same and I recognized the old wooden sign saying “Please Use Spitoon.”  It was so impossibly sad; I could feel the whispers of time gone by all around me.  Every Italian chain I can think of has black and white pictures of people whom I neither recognize nor care about.  In an era of sameness this place stood out.  Coco Chanel said, “In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different.”  For more than 40 years this place was unique and special.  With the world full of Kardashians, Spaghetti Warehouse was a Lucille Ball:  quirky, timeless and grand.  Personally, I love Lucy.

New Year’s Day; a time of renewal and hope for the year ahead.  I find different customs interesting, particularly regarding New Year’s Day.  A lot seem to center around food, superstition, and prosperity.  Apparently in Ireland it is customary to bang loaves of bread loudly against walls and doors in order to drive out evil spirits from one’s home.  Ironically, it’s potatoes in Peru.  Three are used to determine a person’s fortune for the New Year.  In Spain the first 12 seconds of the New Year are dedicated to consuming 12 grapes — one for each month ahead.  And anyone from the South knows you’d BETTER eat your black eyes!  My Mother once chased after our church van when I was 15 and our youth group was on its way to a ski trip in Colorado.  She literally ran the van down and stood inside it until she physically watched me swallow black eyed peas steaming from a mug she’d brought before we were allowed to leave.  She wasn’t superstitious, mind you, I just had to eat my black eyes on New Year’s Day.  Oh the humiliation.  The lesson I learned from that is don’t ever try to outwit your mother.  Eating them is supposed to bring good luck and prosperity.  There is an old Southern saying, “Peas for pennies, greens for dollars, and cornbread for gold.”  Continuing Mama’s superstition, ahem, “tradition” I cooked black-eyed peas, Jiffy cornbread and (my own revision) spinach for greens.  I came across this blessing whose author is unknown:

On New Year’s Day and the whole year through, I hope the kindness you’ve given to others returns many times to you.  May hope, love, and warmth be in your heart’s possessing, and may the New Year bring you and yours many blessings.

Happy New Year!  2016

Interestingly enough “ice” was the first word my mother ever said.  She was always crunching it.  They say it’s possibly linked with anemia and later in her life she wound up being iron deficient.  As a kid I remember filling those darn ice cube trays and how I detested them.  For years I longed for an ice maker and finally got one when we bought our house.  Funny how the little things can make one so happy.  I love our refrigerator with its filtered water and two ice settings.  But I was still stuck with the huge ’70’s shaped cubes or having them crushed to bits.  Recently I discovered an inexpensive portable ice maker that makes small, perfectly round cubes.  It is ridiculous how much I love it and it lives above our mini fridge in the garage.  I transfer the cubes to our kitchen refrigerator so they come out of our ice maker.  They are delightful with my lemon water and, being the good “Whiskeypalian” that I am, I adore them in my favorite libation, a seven and seven with a lime.  Pictured above is my Christmas drink I call the Three Wise Men:  Frangelico, Baileys, and Kahlua.  Rock singer David Lee Roth said, “I used to jog but the ice cubes kept falling out of my glass.”  Now I know why I don’t jog.  😉  À votre santé.

The first time I had actually seen Nat King Cole’s lyrics come to life was two years ago in Paris.  It was October and we were at the bottom of Sacre Coeur where I smelled something heavenly wafting up toward the white towering domes of the basilica.  I recognized the corn and happily bought it for three euros — no GMOs!  But I had no idea what they were roasting alongside it.  I asked (in French) and they looked at me like I was nuts.  (No pun intended.)  I guess they thought I was out to lunch because of the vacuous look on my face from their reply.  I didn’t recognize the word either.  So I turned to my husband and asked him what he thought they were.  Overhearing me, the gentleman vendor told me in English “zey ahr ze ‘chestnuts’ madame.”  I got them as well and we headed back to the little park across from the Eiffel Tower to enjoy some time relaxing with our little girl.  I sat on a bench with my treasures watching the two treasures of my life while a breeze picked up over the Seine.  The taste of those chestnuts were indescribable!  Incroyable!  That is perhaps one of my fondest memories of our three trips so far to Paris.  We had never been in autumn and it held an enchantment all its own.  Of course Paris is always beautiful and there is no place else I’d rather be.  As the acclaimed actress Audrey Hepburn famously said, “Paris is always a good idea.”  Tonight at Fresh Market I discovered they were selling chestnuts!  I had never seen them in Dallas.  They had two different kinds — one from China (no way) and the other from my beloved France.  I eagerly purchased them hoping to recapture a bit of our precious time together that fall.  What I learned is this:  Paris and all her pleasures are simply incomparable — right down to her chestnuts.

“I would think wolves would prefer spicy things.  It’s bears that crave sweets.” ~ Writer Isuna Hasekura

As a life long Texan, I adore Tex-Mex.  It is my favorite food in the world.  I may be biased but I think Dallas serves the very best.  It’s just not the same at all up North and it varies from city to city within our vast state.  As a vegetarian, I enjoy cheese enchiladas slathered with red salsa.  Also, there’s guacamole, beans without lard, rice, and my two new favorites — spinach enchiladas covered with green chile and mushroom enchiladas topped with a sour cream sauce.  It goes without saying corn tortillas only.  I have a friend that makes incredible lard-free tamales; perhaps my favorite of all!  And then, ladies and gentlemen, there is the frozen margarita.  Oh the indescribable joy of a good frozen ‘rita!  My favorite color is blue and I have recently discovered a restaurant that has dark BLUE frozen margaritas!  There are no words … I also like very hot, spicy food.  When I was pregnant I never altered my diet and had no problems whatsoever with morning sickness or heartburn.  I ate jalapeños at least three times a week — fresh and pickled, tons of onions, etc.  When my little wolf cub was born I discovered early on she LOVED salsa — not just the bland tomato kind; the hot stuff.  She was tiny when she first started drinking it straight from the ramekin.  She barely had teeth when I finally decided I should cut her off after five bowls.  Maris wailed so loud we attempted to slink out of that restaurant to no avail, our heads bowed low in shame.  I got a brain freeze trying to finish my margarita.  Now whenever we go out they still refer to her as “Salsa Baby” and start plunking down bowl after bowl for her to drink before dinner.  When we went to Mexico two years ago poor Burk got Montezuma’s Revenge and was so ill he nearly had to be hospitalized.  The baby and I ate the exact same thing he did and we were just fine.  She’s got her Mama’s cast iron stomach!  So God bless Texas and “Cheers!” to enjoying a little spice in life!

“The morning cup of coffee has an exhilaration about it which the cheering influence of the afternoon or evening cup of tea cannot be expected to reproduce.” ~ American physician and author Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

It all started after Thanksgiving.  As a pet sitter, the holidays are some of my busiest times and I was exhausted!  It had been raining cats and dogs (pun intended) for over a week.  So it was up early and out late; rinse and repeat.  These are not complaints, as I love owning my little business, just providing some background.  I prefer the company of the four leggeds to the two.  But fortune smiled suddenly and I had NO WORK on the calendar for the next day.  That almost never happens.  It wasn’t supposed to, actually.  One family cancelled because their lake house was a swamp, others were already scheduled to come home, and another client came back early.  So I was all set to snuggle up and sleep in until 6:30 AM the following day.  I had made the coffee the night before but it doesn’t have a timer.  (The old model is pictured above.)  When Burk got up I sleepily asked if he could simply punch the button on the coffee maker.  Just PUNCH the BUTTON!  He came back and forth up and down the steps and each time I hunkered deeper under the covers, trying to eek out a few more minutes of comfort.  Every time he trampled through I’d ask if he could PLEASE just punch the button on the coffee maker, as it was all ready to go.  For once I wanted to come downstairs greeted by the smell of already brewed coffee.  The next thing I know I’m getting a goodbye kiss and I hear the front door close and lock.  Springing up wall-eyed in abject disbelief, I sniffed the air repeatedly … to no avail.  Where was the wafting scent of my beloved Cafe du Monde coffee with chicory?!  WHERE?!  Was punching ONE little button too much to ask?  I sat there stewing and fuming with a sort of vacant disbelief.  Then it hit me.  And so, with the punch of one little button of my own, I ordered a new coffee maker controllable by my iPhone.  It is programmable for up to a week or one can brew instantly at any time.  I can now wake up and come down to freshly brewed coffee every morning!  I even got a text saying, “Coffee’s ready!” while I was still in bed!  I am considering this an early Christmas present to myself.  Sometimes it’s the little things.  And sometimes the little things are really a big deal.  So with a volt and a jolt, bottoms up to me getting MY bottom up and at ’em better each day!  It just got a little easier.  I like my husband like I like my coffee — strong, sweet, and a heart pounder — so I’m still keeping him.  😉

I love to cook.  I loved to cook for my parents when I got older and then just stopped after Daddy died.  Now I have a 178 pound husband in his forties that eats like a teenage boy.  Plus I have a little girl who adores spicy food like her mama.  And so my little triumvirate is complete once again.  I remember my mother once buying an “Everything Bag” in the ’70’s that was advertised on TV.  I was obsessed with that thing.  It had pockets galore and she proudly carried it until Dooney & Bourke became in fashion in the ’80’s.  I recently fell for this veggie spiralizer in an “As Seen On TV” catalog.  I have always had an affinity for thinly sliced anything … bread, cheese, vegetables; you name it.  (I’m a vegetarian.)  And so I thought I’d give this a whirl, no pun intended.  OH MY GOODNESS IT MAKES PERFECTLY MICROTHIN SPIRALS IN SECONDS!!!  No more chopping!!!  Part of the reason I haven’t cooked as much is because of the prep time.  I just heated up extra virgin olive oil with pre-minced garlic, added two spiraled onions, three spiraled zucchini and three spiraled squash.  I sautéed it all together in a large pan and then added my favorite tomato sauce that has wild mushrooms.  It was great if I do say so myself.  I always add salt and pepper and I should say I try to always buy organic.  So that’s it.  Let me know if you try it.  It doesn’t take long, I made it up myself, it is healthy, and no one had to die for it.  If anyone out there is doing Meatless Mondays you might consider putting this in your rotation.  Wolfgang Puck said, “Cooking is like painting or writing a song.  Just as there are only so many notes or colors, there are only so many flavors – it’s how you combine them that sets you apart.”