It sold gas, snacks, anything you need for a road trip.

Our road, US 160 has more traffic than usual because 89 North suffered a “road fell off the side of the mountain” event this last winter. First stop was at Mexican Water Trading Post because, well, I needed to stop.

Tuba City had several hundred residents, Cortez, Colorado has over 8,000.

Spontaneous Stop #3 / Four Corners Region

A foot in Arizona and New Mexico.

Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado share borders. Don’t let the openness and lack of people deceive you. Dozens were in line for photos and the booths all held handmade Native American items for sale. Car license plates were from across the country.

A micro brew restaurant in downtown Cortez.

Spontaneous Stop #4 / Brewery

Mesa Verde National Park

Well worth a trip. It is spectacular and the photos from a little iPhone do not do it justice. Tomorrow we’ll learn more from a tour. Today there was

Spontaneous Stop #5 / Overlook

The sign said on a clear day you can see 160 miles from this point, but the bad air very often now trims that to 20

The photo can’t possibly do it justice.

miles.

If you do go to Mesa Verde consider staying at the Far View Lodge. It is in the park, high on a mesa and every room has a view. And there is a first class restaurant, or a lounge, or a cafeteria style cafe. We opted for a bar menu and a lighter dinner.

It really is an inventive Southwestern menu.

Moenkopi Inn, Tuba City, Arizona

That’s 267 miles from our house. Sam has put together an itinerary worthy of professional tour guides for us to follow as he says, “spontaneously.” On Day 1 we left the house at 9:15 a.m. and arrived in the Navajo Nation at 4:30 after two spontaneous stops, lunch at Subway, one missed exit, and one gas fill-up.

Arizona really does have a beautiful variety of landscapes. The whole of the western United States really is still incredible to me though I’ve lived here my whole live long life. But quickly, back to the planned trip because the tour guide is soon going to be tapping his feet as it is already morning of Day 2 and I have just decided to do this documentation of his good work.

Spontaneous Stop #1 / Montezuma’s Castle

Montezuma’s Castle that overlooks Verde Valley

This was carved out of the mountainside in Verde Valley around 1200 AD. The have barred walking up to it, but as you can see, the penthouse view would have been spectacular.

Spontaneous Stop #2 / Sunset Crater

They had trailside signs describing the moonlike landscape here with a few trees poking through.

Navajo Nation Moenkopi Inn / The hotel was lovely with every accommodation, except LIQUOR IS NOT ALLOWED IN THEIR NATION AND THEY MAKE YOU SIGN THAT YOU UNDERSTAND THAT.

Denny’s Restaurant in Tuba City.

Dinner was at Denny’s. The only restaurant in town except for a Sonic Drive-In.

The bookcase behind my desk.

wants the same meal forever? I’m satiated? I’m full of excellent writing? Is this writer an old aunt nearing dementia whose ideas are no longer as captivating and others give me conversation and hugs? On page 188 of this 351 page book, I’m quitting.

The book has an interesting storyline set in a dystopian future. There’s family intrigue, world-wide political implications, selfish proclivities of the super wealthy, and rich landscapes, all as promised by the description on the back cover. The characters are drawn deeply enough that I can care about what happens to them. The writing style is excellent, which wasn’t surprising by this well-known international author.

My long bookcase.

I’m putting this paperback that I’ve wanted to read for several months down without intention of picking it back up again. Under cover of night when my husband was asleep and I wouldn’t be caught, I did skip to the back to read the last chapter, but that was after I decided not to finish reading it. I don’t feel a bit bad which surprised me. It’s my habit to approach a book I’m having second thoughts about as though it’s an old aunt on the verge of dementia. She was always interesting and fun when I was a kid as she offered me hugs, and a change from my mother’s thinking. But through the years we’ve changed. Now I have a lot of other interests and responsibilities, and sometimes she’s lucid and entertaining and sometimes she’s repetitious and boring. But Mother taught me to be polite to old relatives and loyalties, and I’ve continued to be patient to the bitter end of 99.5% of every book I’ve picked up to read.

Though it had everything to offer, the book just didn’t capture me. It was as

There’s even an open shelf on this bookcase, due to my diligent trimming during the move.

promised on the back, “graceful, poetic, and a book of accelerating tension.” So what was my problem? Isn’t that about as much as any fiction book can offer? I’m exhausted by the enormity of what has been prepared and delivered as reading material in books of four dozen genres, ebooks, magazines, blogs and newspapers. I’ve always wanted to keep up with all of it, but now perhaps Thanksgiving is over and I feel the need for a long reader’s nap.

Maybe I’m envious. The book is excellently written, lauded by many, in several languages, and whatever this author publishes is read by millions. I imagine a plush and private writing room with a fine Turkish carpet and a window that overlooks a lush garden with hydrangeas still dripping from a predawn rain. I see a calendar with a dinner date at a nice restaurant with a bald, devoted editor, and waiting at an office is a staff of eager proofreaders that will fix grammar mistakes. Yes, now that I put that picture into existence, if I wasn’t already, I am now envious.

My books to read stacked two deep in a closet.

That also feels like an easy admission. When in doubt blame yourself and the world often forgives. I’ve used the ruse before even when it only partly fit. That’s an easy conclusion, but the sub-story is hovering within me in a stew of order and chaos. Where does a fiction book fit with all the other books of four dozen genres, magazines, blogs, and newspapers? Where does the written word fall into place in meaning, value, necessity? Where and how in the universe does this matter?

You I love.

The very big difference.

Food Network’s Burger of the Gods.

What does it mean? When I pay fifty dollars at the grocery store and “Thank you,” slips out of my mouth because my mother taught me to say that, what does it mean when the clerk says, “No problem”? People have said it to me for years and I still don’t get it. I understand new use of words like spyware, agritourism, or mouse potato, but “No problem,” is baffling.

I know meanings change. Years ago gay was a simple three letter word that meant happily excited and merry. The day after my aunt named my cousin Susan Gay because she hoped for a happy baby, the word was hijacked to include and then be overtaken by slang for homosexual. What is to be done? Reluctant to be called Susan Homosexual by classmates, my cousin abandoned her given middle name.

There is no fighting the tide of popular definitions. In the name of inner peace, I’ve known for years I needed to settle my “No problem” dislike.

A Kohler kitchen sink, brand new and not clogged.

“No problem,” says the repairman of a clogged drain. “No problem,” says the waiter in the restaurant with white tablecloths. “No problem,” says the tiny woman I asked to explain the levels of membership in a local fitness club. “No problem,” says the ticket taker when I board the airplane.

Perhaps my problem is not another’s problem. To the plumber: I think a drain that clogs an hour before six dinner guests arrive is a problem. To the waiter: As the woman on table eight who spilled her water like a three-year-old and needed attention during the busiest pre-theatre hour, I know I have created a problem. To the fitness woman: Not knowing the answer to my question was, if not a problem, at least a curiosity or annoyance to me. To the ticket-taker: Do

The movie Airplane poster.

you think I really care that it’s not a problem for you when I’m following all of Homeland Security’s dictums to not call attention to myself and just get this whole experience of flying in an overheated sardine can in the sky over with?

Instead of me not being or having a problem, maybe my fleeting presence in a person’s life is of no concern or value because already that person is working to forget me. That is understandable.

The plumber is doing his job, which under some circumstances is worth more than he charges, so let him talk in social cliche, as long as he gets down to the business of fixing the drain. If the waiter wants to block me out of his consciousness with a strident, “No problem,” fine with me, though he’s lying. His attitude and gestures will mean more to my feelings of humiliation in the moment. I clearly am a nuisance to the fitness person who I unintentionally interrupted during a work-out session since her voice tone carries death knells. As I hold my ticket stub and walk toward the plane, I say, “Thank you,” to the ticket-taker who responds with, “No problem.”

I suppose like a seamstress taking one more stitch, or a cook flipping one more hamburger, the work I require is two more seconds spent at a job. As long as I stay in my Homeland Security low profile, I am recognized as not a problem.

That’s it! That’s it! I don’t like, “Not a problem,” because it’s dismissive. It defines me as a player in a bitter, boring workday moment and I am the thousandth stitch or the hundredth hamburger. A “Thank you,” my mother taught me, indicated shared human spirit, and “You’re welcome,” recognized me as the thousandth human stitch, the thousandth human hamburger. Thank you Writing Muse Irma. You’ve solved it for me again.

I made the cover photo recipe last week and it was also good.

Boring Subjects wandered to the magazine rack. Before he signed on the dotted line, I glanced through a half dozen home improvement and food magazines before buying this one. Credit is given to the people at www.finecooking.com.

Buying cookbooks or magazines always makes me happy. In a life made up of Common Deep Joys new recipes offering a meal’s pleasure are a small way of exploring when my sherpa forget to make the proper arrangements in Tibet and my passport is being reviewed due to my last escapade in Albania.

This photo was in the magazine and shows how it looked under the

Do you think they airbrush food photos like they do people?

hands of its creator. It really was a good, light, fresh-tasting dinner and the lime gave a great snap.

Grilled Chicken and Summer Squash Salad as directed by Fine Cooking people:

1 large clove garlic, mashed to a paste with 1/4 tsp kosher salt, 3/4 cup canola oil, zest of one lime, 1/4 cup fresh lime juice, 1/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves and tender stems, 1 1/2 tablespoons grated, fresh ginger, 1 tablespoon finely chopped jalapeno (seeded if milder desired), 1 teaspoon sugar, kosher salt, 1 1/2 to 1 3/4 lb mixed summer squash, such as zucchini or yellow squash sliced 3/4” thick at extreme angle, 1 1/2 lb boneless chicken breast pounded to an even thickness, 5 oz. baby arugula, freshly ground black pepper

Preheat a gas grill to medium high or prepare a moderately hot charcoal fire. Put the garlic paste, oil, lime juice, zest, cilantro, ginger, jalapeno, sugar, and 1 teaspoon salt in small jar with lid. Shake to emulsify. Put the squash and chicken on a rimmed baking sheet, drizzle with 1/2 cup of the vinaigrette, and toss to coat. Grill on both sides until the squash is barely tender and the chicken is just cooked through, 4 to 6 minutes total. Transfer to a cutting board and let cool briefly. Meanwhile, toss the arugula in a large bowl with 1/4 cup of the vinaigrette and season with a pinch of salt and pepper. Divide among four plates. Cut the squash and chicken into bite-size pieces. Put them in a bowl an toss with the remaining vinaigrette and salt and pepper to taste. Use a slotted spoon to divide the mixture among the plates.

The home cook’s version.

Modifications of a two person household cook who doesn’t eat meat (though confesses to fish) when the husband does:

I used one medium chicken breast without knowledge of its weight and did half and half canola and olive oil. All other measurements were approximately 3/4 of recommended amounts. Normal, on-hand greens were substituted for arugula. As you can see in the picture, one plate does have a heftier portion due to the chicken. Recipes like this are easy to serve the meat eater and the non. What is trickier are dishes like beef bourguignon.

Till we meet again, happy eating!

The utility sink. What a luxury! I’ve never had one before.

“Purge this quisling thought! Don’t be a muggle!” Quisling is a word I learned from King’s book. For anyone who may not know, Vidkum Quisling helped the Nazis overthrow Norway in World War II and had himself installed as Minister-President. His name now has the meaning of traitor. Muggle came into existence through J.K. Rowling’s writing and means without magic. These two short, declarative sentences are the essence of King’s message.

Don’t be a traitor to the rules of excellent writing, and believe in the magic of imagination.

The book is nicely organized into three parts. There is his writing memoir, a section on basic writing methodology with the business of publishing, and a last section of returning to writing when life gets in the way with a traumatic event. Don’t expect a free pass for a sensitive spirit, but then you also won’t be bull-whipped by a self-satisfied overlord. The man just says what he means and means what he says–stay in his classroom and take notes to use for a career, or drop the illusion of being a good writer and go do something where you’re actually good.

Read. Write. Read. Write. He is baffled by the writer who claims not to have time to read widely, so he offers his help in identifying moments of off-time that can be used. There are the moments of waiting for others, during stalled traffic, while dining alone, and on it goes. At the back is his reading list of classic to new fiction.

What I would have liked a few pages on is how he reads critically or records the writing of others. What does he do? Memorize photographically, make notations in the book, keep a notebook, or periodically jot a line in an open computer file? What about the writing? How does he look at that as a reader? I’m believing the hints are in the how to write section of the book, but is there more?

King’s method of writing is covered. A situation will hook his imagination and he will dive into the scene with no particular place to go. He writes daily until he has a first draft, which seems to seldom be longer than two months. Only then does he seriously look for the metaphor and meaning. His treasured first reader, his wife Tabitha, adds to the impression and purpose. Through a time away period, revisions, careful thought, and a sure writing hand, he dresses up and refines the piece until he’s pleased.

Yes, there is much to be learned from this writing book about inspiration and what has been of practical use. Oh, and Mr. King, what about the language?

The view I was bent away from.

have come from demon, Irma Prattle, but I can tell the difference and this wasn’t an Irma screed. I was up on my backyard mountain to clip the iris plants that had finished blooming and do some general clean-up and weeding. I was bent over, head to the iris plants and mountain, back end in the air waving over the house’s roof to the Salt Lake Valley. Twelve inch clippers I’ve let get a bit rusty were snapping off the fanned leaves and tall stalks, some of them already with a seed pod at the top. That’s why I clip them. I’ve read that if they are cleanly snipped at the base after blooming they don’t have to spend energy keeping leaves pretty and their rhizomes will spread faster to cover an area.

Courtesy Wikipedia

It seems to be working. What was a half dozen or so has turned into over thirty blooms in three, maybe four years.

“Why am I doing this for someone else’s benefit?” I asked myself before we put the house on the market and moved to Arizona. Arizona! I wanted to do SOMETHING every day that prepared for the move. So much to get rid of, fix, or pack. That day it was clip the iris and clean the mountain which was counterbalanced by a trip to Costco for a four pack of toilet bowl cleaner, toilet paper, a giant jar of vitamins, and a couple of bags of chips. We weren’t moving the next day.

So why did I clip the iris? Because I intended to leave my home that I loved since 1996 in good shape and ready to be loved by the next owner. I started saying good-bye to the house because I knew it is time, but when it finally was that day, I wanted both it and me to feel good about it. And yes, I think somehow houses have an energy of thought that needs nurturing and respect to make it a happy home. I did it because I wanted to leave it a happy home.

It worked. I think the young family will enjoy and energize the home

The Arizona new home.

that became a bit staid with us living there so long. Now, I’m working to establish the spirit in a new home.

If you’re not lucky enough to have a friend who loves food, cooking, and has moved to France so she can tell you about the details of French life, this book may be for you. It is a chatty, friendly recitation of life details reminiscent of Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes.

Most lives don’t have a literary storyline arc of building to a climax and neither does Loomis’s book. But if a reader is happy with reading of renovating a French house built in the 1600s, which was a nunnery for three hundred years and raising a son in a foreign country with notes of touching her thyme because it is a plant that needs daily contact, this book is enjoyable.

There are colorful neighbors, glimpses into customs and routines of daily country village French life, and humorous scenes of her efforts to explain a few American customs like the baby shower. There are parts that were a tad ponderous, but only because everyone has a patience level for daily trivia and mine was occasionally exceeded.

A reason I enjoy biographies and memoirs is there are often glimpses into people and ideas that are startling with revelation or convince me once more how right I am and I can feel momentarily smug. An example is a heated argument with a neighboring priest. The priest told Loomis and her husband they were the most selfish of people and he would never allow the building of a new entryway. When they ask why, he replies, “I have my habits.” Because I hear the priest’s response as a selfish reason, I can use the example to support my belief that very often the quirks that aggravate us the most in others, are in fact, our very own (or we wish they were).

Loomis adds a few reasonably easy recipes at the end of each chapter. I tried the Rustic Apricot Sorbet since I had a load of ripe apricots at the time. It was good and not too sweet. There are a few others I will try, like the walnut cake and the chicken in white wine and mustard.

The writing is superior with flowing lovely sentences that are easy to read and move reading along. A bonus for me is Loomis’s courtesy in providing translation for every French phrase she uses.

Rustic Apricot Sorbet / 6 servings

Note: Chilling the poached and pureed apricots before freezing makes for a better-textured sorbet.

1 C/250 ml bottled water, 1/2 C / 100 g sugar, 1 pound / 500 g apricots, pitted, 1 T freshly squeezed lemon juice

1. Place water and sugar in small saucepan over medium-high heat and bring to a boil, stirring all the while. When the sugar has dissolved, add the apricots, return to the boil, and reduce the heat just until they begin to turn tender, about 5 minutes.

2. Remove from heat and cool completely. Puree the apricots and their poaching liquid in a food processor until smooth and slightly foamy. Strain the mixture if you like, though a fine-mesh sieve, to remove any bits of skin (This isn’t necessary, but it does produce a finer, more sophisticated sorbet.) Chill the mixture in an airtight container in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour and up to 24 hours.

3. Just before freezing, whisk in the lemon juice. Transfer to an ice cream maker and freeze according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

Not in my little corner of Arizona.

snooty food preferences, have not easily found some basics: Chinese Five Spice, tomato paste in a tube, or fresh bean sprouts. By phone I located a lamb shank twelve miles away.

The morning of his birthday was the first meeting of a writing critique group I wanted to join. Not because I want a critique group. They are great at the right time, but I don’t have the writing I want critiqued right now. The reason I wanted to go is I need acquaintances so in time I will have friends. I call these ventures into human stranger territory, “Collecting Friend Spores.” I left the house 75 minutes ahead of start time.

Six writers of varying age above forty were in attendance. We went around the circle until all four women and two men had their work critiqued. It was a good group which means they are excited about their work, diverse in style, and ready to improve. But the round-trip was over 120 miles. In a city of about six million, there should be people closer to me, don’t you think?

Happy birthday, Sam! I was happy to be home and turn my thoughts and action to the day’s main event of dinner.

Appetizers

Two Appetizers

Stuffed mushrooms / Recipe below

Grilled Scallops in Remoulade Sauce (made possible by two leftover scallops from night before)

Hearts of Palm Salad (looks too similar to scallops to be eye-appealing, but at least they were different courses)

Hearts of Palm Salad

Main Course Served with Medoc Wine

Lamb Shank

Roasted Potatoes

Carrots in Butter and Triple Sec with Pistachios / Recipe below

Dessert

Bakery Eclair

Stuffed Mushrooms From George Washington Ate Here! by T. Upton Ramsey. Upton was a friend of Sam’s in a raucous group called the Salt Shakers. They were ribbon-cutting entrepreneurs who welcomed new businesses through the Salt Lake Chamber of Commerce.

My abridged version for two people instead of six: Mushrooms, butter, cream cheese, bleu cheese, minced onion, fine herbs.

Remove mushroom stems, melt butter, saute mushroom caps about two minutes, mince stems, and add rest of ingredients. (I used handy Italian Herb Mix.) Fill caps, broil until bubbly.

Carrots and Pistachio

Pistachio Carrots From Cooking in the Nude by Debbie and Stephen Cornwell. This little sixty-one page, dog-eared recipe booklet was given to Sam and me by my mother when our son went to college.

Steam 8-10 baby carrots until crisp tender. Melt 2 T butter and saute pistachios two minutes. Add Tripe Sec, remove from heat, add carrots, toss.

Happy birthday Sam!

Birthday Eclair