Dog Days

Two vehicles pull into the lot at the same time. A champagne-colored Nissan spits out a woman accompanied by two eager white poodles. "Wait, wait, just a minute, hold on now!" she barks at her wiggling charges while juggling leashes, poop bags, keys, and a fanny pack.

A few spots over is a van with Missouri plates. The driver lights a cigarette, opens the hatchback and says calmly, quietly, in a matter-of-fact voice: "There will be no eating of other dogs." An elderly German Shepherd hops out of the van.

Let the games begin.

(at Majestic View Nature Center, Arvada)

Missouri Hash

Missouri Hash

1 medium onion, chopped
1 lb. ground beef
1 large can crushed tomatoes (about 3 cups)
1 cup uncooked rice (I use Minute Rice)
1 packet chili seasoning
1/4 cup chopped pickled jalapenos --OR--
     1 small can diced green chilis (if you prefer a milder flavor)
1 cup grated cheddar cheese

Brown ground beef and onion together, drain. Stir in the chili seasoning and cook a couple minutes longer.

In 8x12 greased baking dish, stir together the tomatoes, rice and jalapenos (or chilis), then add the ground beef mixture.

Cover with foil and bake at 375F for 35 minutes.

Remove foil and sprinkle cheese on top during the last 10 minutes of baking.

Optional: Serve with salad and rolls.

=== MAKES 6 SERVINGS ===

A Comedy of Errors

Photo courtesy of the Internet (not my license plate)

Monday evening I met a friend of mine for dinner. On our way out, we stopped near the back of my car to chat. For some reason, Terri was drawn to my license plate and read the number/letter combination out loud. Then she said, "Do you realize that your plates expired in September?"

What? No! That can't be right. I looked down and yes indeed, even at night the evidence was plain as day. September 2013. Here it is Presidents Day 2014, and I'm cruising around with expired plates.

I drove home, sheepishly, carefully, certain that now--after nearly five months driving around as a scofflaw--I was jinxed simply by knowing.

Once home, I dug through my paperwork to try and figure out how the hell this happened. I am meticulous and careful about such things. This was a near impossibility.

Nope. It had not been paid. We moved a little over a year ago. Somehow Dave's license plates had been renewed in that time but what happened to mine? No matter, it was time to deal with the problem.

Dave volunteered to go to DMV first thing Tuesday morning. I wasn't sure if it would be a problem, since his name was not on the registration. He took my registration and the checkbook.

Apparently the first day after a holiday is THE worst day to visit DMV. Dave later reported around 75 people were waiting to be served. He stood around for a bit, talking to another fellow in the queue, explaining our circumstances. That man told Dave it was unlikely they would allow him to renew the plates without my driver's license. Dave left.

I was not at all comfortable leaving my driver's license with Dave so he could return the next day. That would surely be flirting with disaster. Expired plates + missing driver's license = flashing cop car lights in the rear view mirror. I would do it myself, first thing Thursday morning.

But wait, while I'm there, why don't I see about adding Dave's name to the title? That way there could be no question in the future. I found the title, safely stashed away in our security box.

Turns out Dave's name was already on the title. I looked again at the registration. Both our names were there. Apparently neither of us were observant enough to notice this little detail.

Oh well, I still had to take my punishment. There is a hefty penalty for allowing your plates to expire. Plus, who knows if one of the notoriously grouchy DMV workers would give me a hard time for being incompetent. Nah, they would just want the money.

I looked online to make sure I had everything necessary to renew in person. Proof of insurance! I located the insurance certificate, lounging quietly in the glovebox, noted its expiration date was March and left it on the table with all the DMV paraphernalia.

Thursday morning dawns, time to get organized. I rechecked to make sure I had everything. Then I looked again at the insurance certificate. Expiration date: 3/30/13. Oh good lord, I tell myself, please come to terms with the fact that it's 2014 already.

When I signed up for electronic notifications from our insurance company, apparently that also applied to the evidence of insurance certificate. I logged online and printed a copy.

Off to DMV. Thankfully only a handful of people were inside. I waited less than five minutes for service, explained the situation to the no-nonsense clerk as she changed our address in the computer. When I slid the insurance certificate her way, she told me that her happy little computer already confirmed that we had insurance. No need for a paper copy.

I paid the $100 incompetence tax, plus an additional $102.35 retroactive ownership tax so that DMV could collect the money they missed out on from September to February. My new expiration date is February 2015.

Never again.

(Gratuitous photo of my car, isn't she a beauty?)

Floretta's Shepherd's Pie

Mom lived for many years in a New Jersey neighborhood filled with Italian families. Italian food was definitely her favorite, and she often transformed everyday recipes to suit her preference. This was one of mom and dad's favorites.

(She didn't give it the name, I did, after she was gone.)

Floretta's Shepherd's Pie

1 lb. ground beef
4 large potatoes
2 cans (14 oz. each) French-cut green beans, drained
1 can (15 oz.) tomato sauce
1/2 onion, finely chopped
1 tbsp. flour
1 tbsp. oregano
1 tsp. parsley
Salt and pepper, to taste
Garlic salt or powder, to taste, or one pressed garlic clove

Prepare mashed potatoes according to your normal method.

In medium skillet, brown the ground beef; drain. Add onion, garlic salt/powder (or pressed garlic clove), salt and pepper to the meat, cook for about 2 minutes more. Pour the can of tomato sauce into the meat, add oregano and parsley, then stir in the flour. Cook until thickened.

Spread the meat and sauce mixture in the bottom of an 8 x 12-inch greased baking dish. Then spread the uncooked green beans in a layer over the meat. Finally, top with mounds of the mashed potatoes over the green beans, leaving little peaks on the tops of the potatoes.

Bake in a 375°F oven for 15-20 minutes, or until the tips of the mashed potatoes begin to turn a golden color.

~ Optional: Sprinkle a little bit of cheese on top during the last 5 minutes of baking. Serve with rolls and butter.

=== MAKES 6 SERVINGS ===

12 Months of '13

What a year 2013 turned out to be, chock full of changes from beginning to end. Much of the year was spent adjusting to our new reality, in our “new” home and at our new positions.

January

iGen press, photo courtesy of the Internet

After nearly three years of unemployment and working part-time or short-term gigs when he could, Dave landed a long-term temporary job working in his field (digital printing).

February

New dining room light fixture

House project 1: We had our dangerous electrical panel replaced, plus new ceiling fans and light fixtures were installed throughout the house.

March

Debbie's new window office

Debbie “retired” from her position at Colorado Parks and Wildlife and began a new job as an accounting clerk at a nearby non-profit. It’s peaceful, quiet, even a little boring. And the best part? She only has to work four days a week.

April

Dining room accent wall, color = Colonial Brick

House project 2: We painted the hallway, living and dining room walls, then pulled up the ugly blue carpet in preparation for:

May

Our beautiful hardwood floors

House project 3: Refinishing the lovely hardwood floors in the hallway, living and dining room.

June

Pedi color = Elvira, Mistress of the Dark purple

Mid-year break: Party a little, golf, sit in the shade, read, or maybe do nothing at all.

July

Daisy inspecting the new carpet

House projects 4 and 5: We removed the ugly, stinky mauve carpet from the sunroom, and then replaced the last bit of blue carpet in the family room with soft, beautiful, neutral carpeting.

HHS '75 classmates: Debbie, Peggy, Vicky, Karen, Bobbi
(Bobbi won the day by making the best face, ever)

Also, Debbie attended a reunion for 1970s high school classmates. Can you dig it?

August

An early morning with the Cattle Dog Contingent

Dave golfed. A lot. Debbie hung out with the dogs. A lot.

September

Our cabin near Monarch Pass

House project #6: All the gigantic bushes were removed from the property. Dave was moved to swing shift (which we both hate). Later in the month, we found ourselves a wonderful mountain getaway near Salida, complete with private hot tub. Ahh…

October

Bathroom--gutted

House project #7: Master bathroom remodel begins, and it's a big, messy project.

November

Bathroom--after

Bathroom remodel completed, trees trimmed, leaves raked, we’re ready for winter.

December

After nearly a year, Dave’s temporary position finally became permanent. Long before winter’s arrival, we experienced record low temperatures. Baby it’s cold outside! Time to curl up in front of a warm fire and wish you…

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Peace on Earth

Debbie and Dave  *  Tonka and Daisy

(from our Christmas newsletter)

Fiesta Bake

Fiesta Bake

1 lb. ground beef
1 cup (1 small) chopped onion
1 cup chunky or garden style salsa (whatever kind you like)
1 package taco seasoning mix
1/2 cup water
1 small can whole kernel corn, drained
1 small can sliced ripe olives, drained
1 package Jiffy corn muffin mix
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
1 small can diced green chilis (mild)

Cook ground beef and onion together, drain. Stir in salsa, taco seasoning mix and water, bring to a boil. Cook for 5-10 minutes or until mixture is thickened. Stir in corn and olives. Spoon into 8-inch square baking dish.

Prepare batter for corn muffin mix according to package directions. Stir in cheese and chilis until smooth. Spread over meat mixture.

Bake, uncovered, in 350F oven for 30-35 minutes or until crust is golden brown.

Optional: top with additional salsa and grated cheese, if desired.

=== MAKES 6 SERVINGS ===

A Sea of Leaves

Autumn Gold

Aspen trees at St. Elmo, Colorado

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Look Into My Eyes

The Lunch Box

Last Friday my brother and his wife joined me and some friends at a happy hour celebration near Golden, Colorado. The bar where we met has been around for years and is located near the Adolph Coors Company, where dad worked from 1970 until his retirement in 1982.

Dad started working for Coors at their ceramics factory, where he created unique porcelain containers that were used in medical research, among other things. Sometimes the ceramic items were flawed in design and he would bring home these crazy looking, rejected samples. Mom always found a way to incorporate those odd porcelain ditties into her everyday kitchenware.

During his early years at Coors, dad worked the swing shift from 3 pm until midnight. We had to remain silent in the mornings until dad awoke, usually not in a good mood. You see, dad was a confirmed morning person and this shift was not at all to his liking. But he did whatever was necessary to support the family.

One night, dad left work at midnight and started the long drive home. It was probably late summer, and he was riding in his beloved '63 Chevrolet pickup truck. This pretty white truck, dad's pride and joy, held a wonderful camper shell for our summer excursions, and in years past was outfitted with a stock rack in order to help my uncle transport cattle or the hay and feed for his barnyard animals in Castle Rock. Needless to say, dad loved that truck, almost as much as he loved us.

Unfortunately, on this night fate was not kind. A drunk driver, perhaps leaving the very same bar where we now enjoyed margaritas and beers in 2013, came around the corner and hit dad, sending that '63 Chevy careening over the side of a steep hill.

Dad was faithful about wearing his seatbelt so as the truck rolled, dad later recalled, he was held firmly in place and not in any danger of being ejected. He would have survived the crash relatively unscathed, were it not for the lunch box.

You know the kind. If you grew up in a blue-collar household in the sixties, I'm sure you would have seen your dad shuffle off to work in the mornings (or afternoons) with his trusty lunch box.

Sturdy and tough as nails, made of thick black metal, dad's lunch box came equipped with a thermos filled every day either with hot coffee or cold milk, a bologna sandwich, an apple and, if he was lucky, one of his favorite Hostess cherry pies and a baggie stuffed with cheap sandwich cookies mom bought at the day-old bakery.

The handsome white truck rolled at least one-and-a-half times, landing upside down on the railroad tracks below. Dad said his only memory was gripping the steering wheel and the "thud, thud, thud" of the metal lunch box as it flew around the cabin, slamming against his body and head. He came to, unable to see with one eye, his face covered with blood. Dad let loose the seat belt, then crawled out of the truck and up the hill, eventually flagging down a passing motorist. What a sight that must have been, a disheveled man emerging from the side of the road, one hand holding up a flap of bloody skin above his eye.

What happened next I'm not sure of, except that our backyard neighbor, Corky Snyder, collected dad from the hospital. I do remember standing at the front door, in the darkness just before dawn, watching mom and Corky help dad from the car. My father had a thick white turban wrapped about his head, which he wore for quite some time while his severe concussion and the 63 stitches--just enough to match the year of his beloved truck--healed.

Dad was bald for as long as I can remember. After the crash, he had a half-oval scar on the side of his head in the shape of a lunch box.

The sheriff's office located the drunk driver. He was a repeat offender, uninsured, and drove a cement truck for a local company. There was no chance of settling with him. Mom and dad would throw up their hands and say, "You can't get blood out of a turnip!" Dad couldn't shake the fact that despite surviving three long years in the South Pacific jungles during World War II, he could have lost his life to a drunk driver 25 years later, on an otherwise ordinary night.

When I was a young girl, every year I asked for a horse for Christmas; every year I got a plastic horse for my collection. After the accident, dad took a page from my book and asked Santa to bring him a new truck for Christmas. Sure enough, Santa came through, with a pretty little Matchbox truck that sat on the mantelpiece, year after year, as a reminder. Over time, it became one of our family's most cherished Christmas decorations.

My parents eventually purchased a used truck, blue, three on the column instead of four on the floor. It was never quite right and dad struggled to warm up to it. He still missed that pretty white truck and remained faithful to its memory.

Oh, and dad bought a new lunch box before he returned to work, one that gave him no grief the rest of his working years.