Friday Book Whimsy: Natchez Burning

searchI have mentioned before that I don’t normally do book reviews of books that are part of a series, unless it’s the first in the series. I certainly RARELY would do a review of a book that is fourth in a series. Yet, I feel I must express my opinions about Greg Isles’ Natchez Burning, because I can’t get the book out of my mind. That rarely happens to me, no matter how much I like a book.

Isles introduced his protagonist Penn Cage to us in The Quiet Game, a book published in 1999, and reviewed by me earlier this year. He had written other books, including Spandau Phoenix, a novel about Nazi criminal Rudolf Hess, a book that has somewhat of a cult following. I found Isles’ writing to be excellent and compelling. I subsequently read the other two books leading up to Natchez Burning. I found those books to be equally well-written, but disturbingly and brutally violent. Still, Natchez Burning was one of the most talked-about books of 2014, so I knew I wanted to read it.

One of the reasons it was so popular is that the author nearly lost his life in a car accident following the publication of the book preceding Natchez Burning. He lost part of one leg, and spent three years recovering. He also spent those three years writing a trilogy that is a follow-up to his previous Penn Cage novels. This back story led to an interest in this book by both his existing fans and new readers of his fiction.

In Natchez Burning, Cage learns that his beloved father, who is a well-respected family doctor, is being accused of murdering his old nurse. Cage quickly learns that there is more to his father than he ever knew. In his efforts to prove his father innocent, Cage is taken back 40 years to a time that might be better forgotten in the south, when the Ku Klux Klan was powerful and racial tension is beyond anything the reader can imagine. Greed and conspiracy abound.

If I have a complaint about the book, it’s that the bad guys are so incredibly evil that they are almost like cartoon characters. Caricatures, really. At least I hope so. And the story really is horribly violent. Every so often, I would let out a moan. Bill would ask me what was wrong, but it was simply my reaction to something unbelievably violent that transpired in the book.

Still, I can’t say enough about Isle’s writing. It’s what makes me keep reading the story, and then picking up the next. Because the book after this has already been published – The Bone Tree. I can’t wait to see what happens next, because Isles leaves us hanging at the end of Natchez Burning.

I cautiously recommend this book to fans of mysteries/thrillers. But it isn’t easy reading, just as his other novels aren’t easy reading. Hard to make a light-hearted read out of dog fighting and pedophilia. It’s incredible writing, however, which makes for a book that’s hard to put down.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

I Think I Heard a Noise in the Attic
I’ve been experiencing some upper back/neck pain the past couple of days. Nothing serious; probably related to my arthritis. Anyhoo, yesterday morning I was lying on my bed waiting for the Ibuprofen to kick in and staring at the ceiling. Suddenly I had a flashback memory that made me start laughing. One day, not too long after we had moved into the house, Bill was working on the attic. He had already put in a pull-down stair/ladder so that we could access the entrance easily. (Well, fairly easily since it’s in my closet which is always a mess, requiring that we shove aside multiple pairs of my shoes in order to put the stairway down.) He was in the process of putting in a floor so that we could actually walk around the attic and look for our Christmas decorations, etc. When I got home from work that evening, I went upstairs to get changed and noticed there had been extensive work done to our bedroom ceiling. “What’s going on?” I asked him. “Oh, nothing really,” he said. “I went through the ceiling of the bedroom this morning, but I repaired it.” Yesterday as I laid on the bed, I had such a clear image of his leg falling through the ceiling that I couldn’t stop giggling. Thank goodness he wasn’t hurt. Oh, Bill. His guardian angel must be every bit as tired at night as my grandkids’ angels.

A Light in the Attic
And speaking of the attic, I have to tell you that there is nothing the grandkids like better than going up into our attic to explore. And let me just tell you, my attic isn’t like something out of a wonderful suspense novel. There are no antique bureaus holding treasure maps or old letters. No secret diaries or crazy wives. Not a single ghost. It’s very small, and mostly taken up by our whole-house fan. There is room enough for our Christmas decorations and a few other bits and pieces, and not much more. But each and every grandchild thinks it is wonderfully exciting and borderline dangerous to climb that ladder to the attic. They walk around for a bit and then come back down and eagerly await the next time Nana says they can go into her attic.

They Say It’s Your Birthday

Today is a special day for 4-year-old Mylee. Oops, I mean 5-year-old Mylee. Today she celebrates her birthday. I struggle to come to grips with each grandchild growing older. Can you imagine that Addie is 12?  But for some reason, I simply can’t believe that little Mylee – my little firecracker – is now 5 years old. She will start school in August, and that simply can’t be so! Happy birthday Mylee.

Mylee Zoo 2015

And Speaking of Birthdays….
My mother-in-law had her 98th birthday yesterday. Here she is with her BFF Margaret. Happy birthday Wilma!

Wilma Margaret

Come Inside; It’s Fun Inside
After Bill finished the outdoor kitchen at our house in Arizona, he proclaimed that it was going to be a very long time before he again embarked on such a project. Well, apparently for him, a very long time means approximately three months. This time his project is a playhouse for the grandkids. A number of years ago, our daughter-in-law Jll was given a wooden playset that included a lofty sort of thing over a sandbox that is accessed via a ladder, with a slide to get back down. She asked us if we wanted to put it in our yard, and we enthusiastically agreed. It has provided literally hours of fun for the grandkids, as evidenced by this photo….

Girl Cousins

Well, the wood is getting weathered and things are starting to fall off. My plan was to leave it up for another summer or so, and then remove the entire thing. Well, Papa, of course, had a different plan. His involved building a playhouse for the kids. And so construction has begun. Just as with the outdoor kitchen, he begins work early in the morning and finishes late afternoon. I can’t believe how amazing it looks. The so-called playhouse will undoubtedly become a clubhouse in no time.

Bill playhouse

 

Summer Olympics 2020, Here We Come
Tiny little Dagny was victorious in yesterday’s dive meet and will represent Eastmoor Swim Club at State! Yay Miss Dagny Tess!

Dagny medal

Ciao!

 

 

 

Reluctant Traveler: African Luxury

 

bec-closeup-two

In Part 3 of my sister’s series on her African safari, she tells us about their overnight experiences.

By Rebecca Borman

A big part of planning for our Africa trip was deciding on hotels.  Our travel agent mapped out a general travel plan and then we needed to decide where to stay on the journey.  I learned that there are different levels of hotel, and that they vary widely in cost.  They also vary widely in terms of amenities.  The first itinerary our agent sent included all top-flight luxury hotels.  The cost was daunting.  The second one she sent was substantially less expensive, but a quick search on TripAdvisor told me they were all much less highly rated.  “Isn’t there an in-between level?” I asked her.  There was, and when she sent the next itinerary, I was satisfied.  We also had the opportunity to upgrade a few for a reasonable price, and we took advantage of that.  But, despite the fact that I was comfortable with our choices and had looked at all of the properties on-line, I still wasn’t sure what they would be like, exactly.  And, in reality, all of them, while very nice, were quite different.

kirawira in situOne of the most interesting places was in Tarangire National Park.  This was our one and only treetop hotel, and we were eager to see what that was like.  The reception area was beautiful, and when we checked in we were told that every time we walked to or from our room we would need to be escorted.  When we got to our accommodation we noticed that we would have to climb stairs to reach the door.  Well, of course; it was in a treetop.  And it truly was, with a large branch growing through the room, in fact.  We had an amazing view of the savannah from our patio.  The room was large and tented, but with a door that locked rather than zipped.  When we wanted to leave the room, we used a walkie-talkie to call reception, who then sent someone to escort us.  We arrived late in the day and left early the next morning, so we didn’t have too much time to enjoy the view or the public area, but we were glad to have experienced treetop living even for a short time.

tentOur longest stay was in the Serengeti, at a hotel called Kirawira Camp.  We were there for three nights, two full days, and after moving from hotel to hotel for our first three days, we were ready to be settled for a while.  Kirawira was a great place for that.  It’s called a camp, and there was a bit of a camp feel to it.  Our room really was a tent, not in a treetop but raised above the ground.  Instead of a image (15)door and windows, we had zippers.  And yet, the bathroom had walls and modern fixtures.  The patio looked out onto the Serengeti…so awesome.  Kirawira also had a beautiful public area, open air, as all of them were.

Our last two nights in Tanzania were spent at Gibb’s Farm, about an Gibb Farmhour away from the Ngorongoro Crater.  Gibb’s Farm, which is a coffee plantation, was very different from all our other accommodations.  Each room was a cottage, and very spacious.  We had a sitting area that looked out onto a patio, two double beds, and a fireplace open to both the bedroom and the shower.  Each evening at dinner, our server asked if we would like a fire built in our room.  We said yes, and by the time we got back to the room, someone was there lighting it.  There was enough wood (from coffee plants) for us to keep it going until we went to bed.  How cozy was that?  Because we were on a coffee plantation, the views from the public area were spectacular, overlooking the coffee fields and the valley below.  We were surprised to see what looked to us like tropical flowers all around the grounds.  We felt like we were in Hawaii.

In some general ways, however, the hotels were similar.  For instance, Bec Kate eatingall of them had dining rooms that served three meals a day, because everyone who visits is on a meal plan.  There are no other food options, because these hotels are great distances from each other and from anything else.  It’s hard to describe how isolated they are and, in fact, hard to determine how distant they really are from each other, because there aren’t exactly super-highways connecting them.  But, for sure they are not near any towns or even villages; electricity is produced by generators and water is brought in.  They all offered wifi, most often only in the public areas.  And, the wifi was iffy at best.  At one place, we didn’t really have wifi the entire time, because the satellite it depended on was not working.

The hotels were definitely part of the Africa experience, and I’m glad we spent some time choosing them carefully.  And while moving around so much was tiring, I’m also happy that we were able to experience so many interesting variations in our accommodations.  I think I can say with certainty that I’ll never have anything like those views or those rooms again.

Not My Mom’s Cooking: Bring on the Limes

We are a family of grillers. All of my siblings cook frequently on the grill. In fact, during the summer, I’ll bet we mostly cook on a grill. What’s more, most of our children do the same. Whenever Court and his family are over for dinner, he takes over the grill and cooks the food. Yay!

It makes me happy that we are all grillers because we take after my dad. He manned the grill in the summer in Columbus when grilling wasn’t even a thing. And not a gas grill mind you. He lit coals and waited for them to begin turning to ash. He stood by the grill and watched his meat carefully so that it wouldn’t burn until it was ready to eat. He wasn’t empty-handed, of course. He had a beer or a martini in his hand as he cooked. Why not?

I have a gas grill, as does most everyone these days. They are quick and easy to use. I can light it up even in the cold weather, and frequently do. But I have to tell you that one of my favorite things to do is haul out my charcoal grill from the side of the house, light the coals, and wait for them to be ready with an ice cold martini in my hand. The perfect ending is a juicy ribeye steak.

My siblings might be able to correct me on this, but I don’t think Dad always cooked chicken on the grill. Steaks, yes. Burgers and hot dogs, definitely. Pork chops, undoubtedly.

But the reason I say this about chicken is because I remember when Dad started grilling chicken, and it was because of my cousin John, who came to visit from the small town of Valley, Nebraska, just outside Omaha. While John is my maternal cousin, he and Dad were good buddies. My mom was the youngest of 13 kids and John’s mom was the eldest, so the age difference between John and Dad wasn’t great.

John prepared chicken in the simplest way possible – salt, pepper, butter, maybe a bit of lemon juice, and a beer to douse the flames. Oh, and perhaps a bit would spill onto the meat. Oops. To this day, my brother will say that his favorite olfactory memory of Dad is the smell of beer on hot coals. It’s the only thing I ever use to keep a grill under control.

I’m telling this story because though Mom and Dad eventually began to cook chicken on the grill, I don’t think they ever did anything besides the lemon chicken and maybe chicken with barbecue sauce. I don’t think they went beyond those boundaries.

I, on the other hand, cook chicken on the grill many different ways. Chicken is still fairly inexpensive. It’s versatile. And it tastes good. Most people use chicken breasts, but for me, it’s chicken thighs every single time.

This is a recipe I came across recently because I discovered a multitude of limes in my refrigerator and wanted to use them up. I have a habit of buying limes just about any time I go to the grocery store because I can’t remember whether or not I have any in the refrigerator. So they add up because a person can only drink so many gin and tonics. I think my fear of running out of limes is left over from a couple of years ago when there was a lime crisis in Mexico (probably not the most serious crisis they face each day) that resulted in a shortage of limes, at least in Arizona. It is surprising how this impacted my life. I’m not sure what that says about me, but it probably isn’t good.

Anyhoo…..

Chili Lime Chicken
Adapted from rasamalaysia.com

Ingredients
2-2.5 lbs. skin-on bone-in chicken thighs
½ c. fresh lime juice
3 t. fresh lime zest
¼ c. olive oil
4 T. fresh cilantro, finely chopped
2 jalapenos, finely chopped
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 T. honey
2 t. salt
1 large pinch of red pepper flakes, or to taste.

Process
Rinse the chicken thighs and pat dry with paper towels. Set aside.

Mix the remaining ingredients together in a big bowl, making the marinade. Add chicken to the marinade, making sure to stir and coat the chicken evenly. Marinate for 2 hours.

uncooked chicken

Prepare your grill, brushing a little bit of oil on the surface. Add a bit of the garlic, cilantro, and jalapeno from the marinade on top of the chicken and grill until they are golden brown and charred on both sides. Watch carefully, as the honey will burn easily.

Chili Lime Chicken

Nanas Notes: I think chicken is kind of difficult to cook on the grill because the fat in the skin causes flames. I cooked the thighs for 10 minutes on one side with the lid open, keeping a close eye on them. I then cooked the thighs for 10 minutes on the other side. I turned off one of the burners and cooked the chicken on indirect heat with the lid closed for 30 -35 minutes, until finished. With this particular recipe, it really is necessary to oil the grill grate prior to cooking. The honey in the marinade results in sticky chicken. If you don’t oil the grill, your crispy skin will stick to the grill and you will lose out on some good eats.

What Smells?

As I creep onward towards old age (which is always 10 years older than you currently are), I am cognizant of looking and acting my age. In other words, avoiding the embarrassment of either dressing and/or acting younger than I am (by wearing tight Pink brand t-shirts) or older than I am (by wearing baby blue polyester slacks). Just like with Goldilocks, it has to be just right.

It’s a never-ending struggle. I recently read an article about supposedly inappropriate attire for anyone over the age of 30 (which I guess to some marketers is ANCIENT). I agreed with some (skin-tight sparkly pants, crop tops), though I think someone, say 32, could get away with these things. However, I vehemently disagreed with others (You can’t wear hoop earrings after the age of 30? Seriously? I am hanging on to my hoop earrings until they pry them out of my cold, dead hands.) Who decides what’s appropriate for what age?

Having said all of the above, I do have a fear of not recognizing that, while I might think something is cute, it might not be appropriate for someone my age. I have instructed my daughters-in-law to gently tell me when I’m embarrassing my grandkids. Not that it would bother my grandkids one single bit to tell me I look silly. Grandkids keep us honest.

Bill and I have had several conversations about the way we see older people dressed, particularly in Arizona. Is there an age at which one suddenly starts thinking maroon polyester with white shoes looks good? Or do you just finally reach the age where you don’t care what looks good, but what you do care about is not having to iron or send clothes to the dry cleaner? Hence, polyester.

Beautiful fragrance setI confess what started me thinking about this all was perfume. I used to wear fragrance regularly. My favorite was Beautiful by Estee Lauder. In fact, a number of years ago, Bill bought me an entire fragrance ensemble that included scented body lotion, powder, and spray cologne. I would shower, put on the body lotion, and spray on the cologne. I’m pretty sure I didn’t smell like a French prostitute.

However, at some point, as part of the aging process, I started finding colognes problematic. To be more specific, they made me sneeze and caused my head to begin to ache. So I stopped wearing any fragrance stronger than Bath & Body Works body wash and matching lotion.

Until yesterday.

While cleaning my bedrooms in preparation for company, I came across a nearly full bottle of Beautiful spray cologne and body lotion. What the heck, I thought. I will wear it to church. So I put some lotion on my arms and legs. Hmmm. A bit strong, perhaps, but not too bad. I then applied the cologne. I even did it the way you’re supposed to in order to prevent too heavy an application – I sprayed it in the air and let it settle on me.

Bill and I got into the car to drive to church, and my head began to ache and my nose started tickling. Oh no, I thought. I smell like one of those old ladies that you sit next to at church and can barely refrain from sneezing. Or moving away. Only I couldn’t move away from myself. I fretted about it all throughout Mass, but no one seemed to mind. Perhaps it dissipated. Or people were being kind to the old lady. Me.

However, after Mass, as we were walking to our car, I noticed a woman about my age or older wearing bright pink six-inch stiletto high heels with a platform toe and ruffles up to her ankles. She honestly could barely walk. She couldn’t lift her feet. She had to sort of shuffle. It made me feel better about the way I smelled. I wish I could have sat next to her.

She apparently doesn’t have grandchildren.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Hold the Everything

photo (6)Any time I ask Kaiya or Mylee what they want for lunch or dinner, they will tell me noodles. Take it to the bank. They prefer short noodles like rigatoni or ziti, particularly the vegetable-flavored kind, with butter and Parmesan cheese.  Every single time.

The other day I asked Kaiya if she likes spaghetti and meatballs.

“Weeellll,” she said, “yes. But I don’t like the meatballs and I don’t like the sauce.”

Well, there you have it. Spaghetti and meatballs — hold the meatballs and hold the spaghetti sauce. Boom. Noodles with butter and Parmesan cheese.

The other thing that is making me smile these days is my garden. You will recall that I had a heck of a time getting it planted because of all the rain. And, in fact, only four bean plants sprouted out of the many more than four that I planted. The news people tell me that many people experienced the same problem because of all the rain. The seeds simply rotted in the ground.

But since then, all of the rain has been good for the garden, and my carrots and radishes and herbs have been producing and providing me with food for my table. My bean plants – all four of them – are flowering. The jalapeno pepper plant is also bearing flowers. And my tomatoes – oh my goodness, they are simply lovely. I tried something new this year that I read on – what else – Pinterest. I dug my hole and put a raw egg at the bottom. I set the tomato plant over the egg. I don’t know if this is what I can attribute the beautiful plants to, but they, too, are flowering, and the grape tomato plant actually already has little tomatoes. Yay!

radishes

garden july

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: All the Light We Cannot See

imgresI’ve owned this book for quite some time, but I kept putting off reading it because there isn’t anything funny or uplifting about World War II (or really any war for that matter), despite Hogan’s Heroes’ best efforts. Much of the time, all I want to read is something easy and cheery. Admittedly, All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr is neither one of those. Still, it looks at WWII from a slightly different angle. And Doerr’s writing is lovely and it would be worth the read no matter the plot.

The winner of a multitude of prizes, including the 2015 Pulitzer Prize for fiction, All the Light We Cannot See tells the story of two young teenagers, one a blind girl living in Paris and the other a young German boy who lives with his sister in an orphanage in a small German town. Doerr tells their individual stories in a typical back-and-forth manner, chapter after chapter. In fact, the two don’t meet until near the end of the book, but nevertheless, they have a profound impact on one another.

Marie-Laurie’s father deeply loves and takes wonderfully good care of his blind daughter. But the German’s occupation of Paris requires they make their way, mostly by foot, to the French town of St. Malo, in northern France near the English Channel, where they stay with her great-uncle, himself severely impacted by his service during WWI.

Werner is an exceptionally bright young man whose intellectual gifts become apparent to the powers that be in Germany. As a result, he wins a place in a particularly brutal segment of the Hitler Youth. At first, he is thrilled with this honor. However, the sensitive young man eventually comes face-to-face with the horrors of Hitler’s Germany.

All the Light We Cannot See provides a fascinating look at something that always puzzled me – what happened when a German recognized the atrocities that were being committed in the 1930s and 40s. Didn’t anyone do or say anything? The answer, of course, is there probably wasn’t a lot a person could do or say.

The book is worth reading for the story itself. But mostly it’s worth reading for Doerr’s lovely writing. His prose is lyrical and his descriptions and metaphors are distinctly enviable to a writer such as me. It was a slow read because the reader doesn’t want to miss a single word. And the brutalities of the war make it difficult at times. Still, All the Light We Cannot See is a book that shouldn’t be missed.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

Christmas in July
The Colorado weather is being finicky once again. Several rainy days in a row, with temperatures struggling to get into the high 60s. Seriously, Tuesday and Wednesday were so chilly I was toying with the idea of turning on the heat. I dug my heels in, however. I WILL NOT RUN HEAT THE WEEK OF JULY 4TH!

diving dagny

How on earth does that tiny body stay warm?

Too Cold to Swim
I watched the four McLain kids Monday and Tuesday while their mom was out of town and their dad was at work. Dagny and Alastair had a dive meet onTuesday. A woman came to the door, and I cheerfully handed them off to her, hoping like hell it was the person with whom I had been instructed to send them. She seemed friendly, and the kids didn’t look panicked. I’m happy to say they were returned safely, if cold as a Russian winter. Seriously, Dagny – who has not a single extra ounce of fat on her little skinny body – was shivering like a wet dog after his bath. But she was proud of her 5th place ribbon!

Seared Skin
Monday night, when Dave came to pick up the kids, I invited them all to stay for dinner. I was making a delicious dinner called Chicken au Champagne. Sounds like the perfect dinner for kids, right? Anyway, it involves searing the chicken in an oven-proof skillet, and then putting said skillet in the oven to finish cooking the chicken. I did all of that, and when the chicken was done, I took it out of the oven and set it on the rangetop so that I could find a pretty dish on which to serve the chicken. I set the serving dish down by the skillet and proceeded to grab the skillet by the handle with my bare hands. Seriously? Is there anything stupider that a supposedly experienced cook could do? I absolutely KNOW that when a skillet comes out of the oven, you are supposed tie a towel around the handle to protect you from your own forgetfulness. I quickly put my hand under cold running water and I’m happy to say that there was very little damage done. My hand hurt a bit that night, but it was all better by the next day. In the words of our friend Forrest Gump, “Stupid is as stupid does.”

Good Eats
I always thought Addie would be the grandchild who would be a chef. It’s true that she likes to cook, and is quite adept at the art. Still, I Alastair and shrimpfind that it really is 10-year-old Alastair who likes to eat and is knowledgeable about which spices would taste good on what. He has quite a sophisticated palate. One morning when I was babysitting and getting the kids ready for school, I watched as they all packed their lunches. Peanut butter and jelly for a couple, and plain turkey meat for one. But Alastair went to the freezer, pulled out a ciabatta roll, carefully cut it, toasted it, laid his turkey meat and swiss cheese on the bread, and put a lovely piece of

These are the spices he chose from his mom's pantry.

These are the spices he chose from his mom’s pantry.

green leaf lettuce on the sandwich. I half expected him to pull out a little half-bottle of a young pinot noir to tuck in beside the sandwich. The other night they invited us over for burgers and brats. Alastair had prepared shrimp for an appetizer. He had marinated the shrimp in wonderful spices and grilled them himself. They were simply delicious, as you can see from the photo. I will tell you that he doesn’t necessarily wear a helmet while grilling. I caught him just as he was about to take off on his Razor scooter.

Animators-in-the-Making

Shortly after seeing the movie Inside Out, Maggie Faith, Kaiya, and Mylee set out to recreate the characters using the medium of Play Doh. Let’s see Pixar do that! I invite you to notice details such as Sadness’ glasses and Disgust’s eyelashes.

in and out characters

L-R: Anger, Joy, Sadness, Fear, and Disgust

pixar

The actual characters: l-r, Anger, Fear, Joy, Disgust, and Sadness

 

Ciao.

 

 

Reluctant Traveler: Wildlife Adventures

Enjoy the second in the series by my sister in which she tells us tales of her trip to Africa. Photography is courtesy of her daughter, who accompanied her. And spectacular photography it is!

By Rebecca Borman
bec-closeup-twoIt’s safe to say that most people who visit eastern Africa do so primarily to view wildlife.  Africans know this, of course, so they have perfected the art of showing visitors the best their continent has to offer in this regard.  But, in the end, there are no guarantees.  The rainy season, and thus the great migration, don’t always happen as predicted.  But one always travels there with the hope and perhaps expectation of seeing “the big 5”—lions, elephants, rhinos, Cape buffalos, and leopards.  Not to keep you in suspense…we saw all five!

It’s impossible to describe what it’s like to see these truly wild animals in their natural habitat.  We are all getting spoiled by our great zoos, and some of us are lucky enough to have visited the San Diego Zoo Safari Park.  So, is it really all that much better to see the animals in Africa?

Yes. It. Is.

And here’s why.  Because seeing them in their natural habitat means seeing them act like the wild animals that they are.

elephant and babyFor instance, on one of our first drives we found ourselves in the middle of a herd of elephants.  The group included a number of young, one of which was quite small (by elephant standards).  Mother elephant was staying very close by her baby and she was keeping a sharp eye on our truck.  We never felt in danger, but eventually our driver suggested we move on, as mama might be a little over our presence.  This was very cool.

Also early in our trip we saw a cheetah.  Cheetahs are elusive and solitary, so they are not easily found.  We were driving off-road in the Serengeti (I can’t believe I just wrote that!) in an area where it is allowed to drive off the dirt tracks for a few months each year.  Anyway, our driver slowed down, then stopped.  We saw a cheetah, quite close to our truck, with its just killed prey.  It had eaten a bit and was resting…and making sure no scavengers got to his prize until he was finished with it.  Truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

And lions…we saw lots and lots of lions, doing what lions do.  Lions in treeOne day we came across trees filled with female lions and a couple of cubs.  One tree had more than a dozen lions draped across its limbs.  Another time we saw a male and female, who had distanced themselves from the pride for mating season.  We watched them walk from place to place, always the female in yawning lion and babyfront and the male watching her back.  Best of all, we saw a lion with her two very small cubs.  They nuzzled mom, wrestled a bit, and scrambled after her as she climbed down from the rock they were sitting on.  They walked right in front of our truck to cross the road into the high grasses on the other side.  And, there was the time we watched a group of hyenas circling lions and their prey, trying to get up the nerve to challenge the lions.  We finally had to leave, so we didn’t find out who won that stand-off.

I won’t catalogue every animal we saw, but suffice it to say that wildebeests, Cape buffalos, and zebras are clearly not on the endangered species list.  We saw huge herds of all three.  And, that’s another thing you can’t see in even the best zoo.  There is something special about looking out over a plain with animals as far as the eye can see.  We missed the great migration, but this seemed pretty great to me!

Finally, I must talk a little about the giraffes.  In general, the animals didn’t pay much attention to us humans.  The zebras in giraffeparticular would stroll right in front of our truck, which would of course slow down.  Then they (the zebras) would notice us and, with great drama, bolt one way or the other.  But, the giraffes were different.  The truck would stop and we would stand up with our binoculars and cameras, staring at the animals.  And they, with those big beautiful eyes, would stare right back at us.  Occasionally they would walk along-side the truck.  They seemed to find us as interesting as we found them.

If you love animals as I do, Tanzania is the place to be.  There’s no better place in the world to experience the beauty and power of these beasts.

 

Waiter, My Soup’s Cold

Maybe it’s because I grew up in Nebraska, where, while they might not be able to lay claim to its origin, red beer is king. You know, tomato juice or V-8 (or, in the case of my brother, Clamato) mixed with lager beer. Red beer. Go Big Red. Cornhuskers. As my granddaughter Mylee would say, “Got it?”

Anyway, I love tomato juice. And V-8. And I might like Clamato if I ever tried it. However, not being a beer drinker, I can’t say I like red beer. But I like tomato juice with most everything else. Put a spicy Bloody Mary into my hands, and I’m very happy. I don’t even need all the fancy accoutrements, like okra or bacon or dilly beans. Just tomato juice and vodka jazzed up with hot sauce and spices. Yum. A great excuse for alcohol at 8 o’clock in the morning.

I was thinking about tomato juice the other day as I prepared a batch of gazpacho. Gazpacho, as you might know, is a tomato-based vegetable soup served icy cold in the summer when vegetables are at their freshest. An alcohol-free bloody mary in a bowl. Since I have been trying to cut back on carbs, I have been looking for sandwich-free meals for lunch. I thought about gazpacho, especially now that vegetables are plentiful at the market.

I started looking for a good recipe, and then realized a written recipe is probably unnecessary. Use what’s in your refrigerator and pantry. But I will share my mother’s recipe nonetheless, and then tell you how I modified it.

But first I must tell you a couple of things. The first thing is that I fully admit that I had never heard of gazpacho prior to living in Leadville, when my mother inserted it into her soup repertoire. I loved it from the first bite. That’s surprising, because the second thing I’ll tell you is that I heartily dislike cold soup of almost any kind. And I’m a big fan of soup in general. But don’t give me cold borscht or vichyssoise. Cold melon or strawberry soup? No thanks, though I love both melons and strawberries.

I’m pretty sure gazpacho was new to my mom too. I think she got the recipe from a friend. The recipe card is handwritten, and I don’t recognize the handwriting.

Mom’s Gazpacho

4 c. diced tomatoes
¾ c. chopped green peppers
1-1/2 c. chopped onions
1 garlic clove, minced
2 c. beef bouillon
½ c. lemon juice
¼ c. olive oil
½ c. diced cucumber
1 T paprika
Salt and pepper to taste.

Combine all ingredients except cucumber. Let stand at room temperature for one hour, stirring frequently. Chill. Add cucumber just before serving.

gazpacho

Nana’s Notes: Here’s what I did, using things from my pantry and my refrigerator. I chopped up a cucumber, a jalapeno, two cloves of garlic, a half of a red onion, and a couple of stalks of celery. I would have included a green pepper if I’d had one. I put half of each of the chopped vegetables in the blender with 3 small cans of tomato juice that I had on hand, a tablespoon or so of sugar, a half cup of olive oil, and about a cup of beef broth. I blended it, but didn’t totally pulverize it. I then put that in a bowl, added a tablespoon of sugar and the remaining chopped vegetables. I added a can of fire-roasted diced tomatoes in lieu of a fresh tomato since they aren’t yet in season. I happened to have a half of a container of pico de gallo, so I thought, “why not?” and added that as well. I chilled the whole bowl for several hours and enjoyed a delicious, nutritious, and low carb lunch (several, actually).