Recipes, Roadtrips and Renovations

Eat Life Up!

2012-04-01T08:56:00.002-07:00

Hi followers, I am looking at creating a new blog series so this may well be my last post under the Recipes Road trips and Renovations guise. I want to take a minute to thank my friends, family and followers ~ who stretch as far as New Zeland, Russia and North Dakota....it is petty humbling! I appreciate you being with me when I left that secure job and when I drove thru that snow storm in Wyoming; and when I returned from the road with my 'what the hell have I done melt done'... It has been a long, scenic drive.

I hope you will look for my next series and continue to follow my culinary and narrative journey! Now, all I can think to do in return is to cook this dinner for you...

I am serving up Herb Roasted Chicken with Whipped Butternut Squash w/ Parmesan and Garlic, Spring Cottage Cheese Salad and then Watermelon for dessert! A perfect, Welcome to Spring Dinner!

We will start with the butternut squash, because it takes the longest to cook.

I place them each in their own foil wrap, but don't fully close the wrap, then place in 350 degree oven.

Then I get started on the chicken. Olive oil, salt and pepper to coat,

Now take the lemon, herbs (use sprigs here) and garlic and appropriately stuff all that into the cavity of the bird.

Then take some of the herbs and chop them and rub the remaining herbs all over the little guy

I add some water, more herb sprigs and a chopped lemon to the bottom of the broiler, then place the bird on top, and put in that 350 oven and cook for 1 and ½ hours.

When time is nearing, I take out the squash and let it cool briefly, then mix with the butter, cheese and salt and pepper,

Then you can put it all back into the skins to use as serving dishes!

Then, rinse your green onions, green pepper and tomato,

Chop at least two green onions, half the pepper and one tomato (or more or less of either depending on what you like).

Then blend with your cottage cheese. I can't remember if I learned this from Gail Childress or her daughter, Leesa; but either way they deserve the credit for this yummyness. People are always surprised by it! And it is so simple.

Now it is time to bring it all to the table,

I just think this is a perfect Springtime meal...add a few dinner roles to make sandwiches with the leftovers. The Squash acts as a condiment in that case.

Recipe to follow:

Herb Grilled Chicken

1 small whole chicken

8 fresh sprigs of thyme

8 fresh sprigs of sage

2 whole lemons, quartered

salt

pepper

olive oil

Butternut Squashed

1 large butternut squash, halved and seeded

½ cup grated Parmesan cheese

½ stick butter

salt

pepper

Spring Cottage Cheese Salad

16 ounces cottage cheese

2 sprigs of green onions, chopped

½ green pepper

½ roman tomato

salt

pepper

I would dress the table with my best china, and put out the best mason jars and the good wine.

Because that is how much I appreciate you taking this journey with me.

Again, please look for me in a new blog coming soon...what I have learned so far is that choosing happiness takes a lot of courage; good friends, great family and an amazing dog are essential ingredients; and I like words with my food!

Take Care & Eat Life Up!

Girl Meets Grille

2012-03-25T13:31:00.002-07:00

As a girl who knows way too much about sports and is a master organizer of tailgate feasts, I have recently toyed with the idea of writing a recipe book of sorts that doubles as an instruction manual for understanding the gridiron. For example, explaining to the ladies, and IT male professionals, what a Pick Six is; or the difference between a linebacker and a running back. All the while teaching one how to throw the ultimate tailgate party. In doing this project I would need to be a grille master. But it occurred to me that in my experience, I always prepare the meat and there is a man at the grille to actually cook it ~ at our tailgates it is always my brother. So I am not sure if I even know how to grille. I mean I am allowed to turn the chicken or check the dogs from time to time throughout the tailgate day but I am not the start to finisher. I have certainly observed enough over the years so lets see what I can put into practice.

I have a very large grille in proportion to being a party of one.

I bought it a couple of years ago for Tailgate. We had gotten to where we were bringing two and three grilles and I thought this would cover all of our needs. It did not. So alas I have it to grille my tiny single person burgers on and the occasional chicken wing indulgence. On a side note I put this grille together with the help of my nieces Katie and Jessica...Girl Power!

For today's endeavor, I gather my supplies. I have some charcoal left over from last year; and by leftover I just mean the bag was opened then we never used the rest of it...not leftover in the grille. I have some lighter fluid and matches. I think I am ready.

I put in a layer of coals.

Pour on my lighter fluid then light'er up!

After the flames die down...the coals don't seem to be catching so I douse them again...

Yea, I get the appeal!

Meanwhile I will get my meal together. Today we are having Rosemary and Garlic Red Potatoes; Prosciutto Wrapped Asparagus and Rib-eye Steaks...

Clean your red potatoes; then gather your rosemary and garlic. I get mine from my porch!

Then coat your potatoes in olive oil and toss with the rosemary, garlic and salt and pepper.

I wrap them in foil and then put them on the top rung of the grille. Is it called a rung? Let them get a 20-30 minute start on everything else. It really depends on the size of your potatoes.

I rinse the asparagus, lightly sprinkle it with olive oil as well, salt and pepper and then wrap the servings in the prosciutto.

So they are all hanging out on the top rung. We are going with rung.

After about 15-20 more minutes I get the steaks.

I am just going to brush them with olive oil and coat is salt and pepper.

The coals look perfect...I think!

I do two-three minutes on each side and get a medium rare – to medium end product.

It looks and smells so good I suddenly think, wait ~ maybe there is a recipe book called “Don't You Wish You Were My Boyfriend” in my future!!

Please tell me what you think!

Recipes, Roadtrips and Renovations: Time and Place Pasta

2012-03-23T14:55:00.001-07:00

Recipes, Roadtrips and Renovations: Time and Place Pasta

Time and Place Pasta

2012-03-23T14:44:00.001-07:00

I remember the first time I cooked for a boyfriend. It was a pasta dish with a Tarragon white wine cream sauce tossed with seared shrimp and scallops. I realize now this may be why I am still single. My timing with food has always been off. When you are a 19 year old boy you like hamburgers and fries or maybe a steak and loaded baked potato. You get your vegetable rations of the Pyramid by eating salad with Ranch dressing.

I decided to bring out this dish again and see if it was just a mature palate that it needed. I have been rejected by a total of 11 male run restaurants where I have offered to wash dishes in exchange for food prep cooking experience in their establishment. I am guessing I need to get to work on some grilling skills. So, lets have one last hooray with a Lenten version of this pasta dish. I have a feeling it has a future in my female run establishment!

I wash some fresh asparagus; halve a lemon and gather my dried tarragon, cracked pepper, half n half and dry white wine. I use half n half because I already have it on hand for my coffee. But you can use whipping cream or milk. I already have wine on hand because I am a single 40 something year old living out in the middle of no where. I have to use dried tarragon for the same reason; though I don't think the herb really discriminates on age and sex.

The garlic minced (about two small cloves), a tablespoon of butter and a tablespoon of flour (for thickening) starts the pan off. Then Tarragon is added; about a teaspoon. An 8 oz glass of Wine is added after about a minute. Then add your cup of cream and a few swirls of cracked pepper, a pinch of salt and a ¼ cup of shaved cheese such as Parmesan.

Cook the pasta (enough for two servings) – I like bow tie for this dish; don't rinse when done so the pasta will hold the sauce. Then I saute the asparagus in olive oil and super thin sliced garlic.

In the end I combine everything and top with more shaved cheese and cracked pepper!

It looks pretty good; and it tastes pretty darn great! I can say, at 19 I didn't knew about the idea of butter and flour to thicken so this was probably a pretty runny sauce that first go around...thanks Chad for eating it anyway...! (I re-ran this recipe for Greg years later after I learned some refinements; but he was such an ass I wish he had been the beginning tester of when I was learning the dangers of salmonella ~ ah, how food is a memory).

It has occurred to me that I make a lot of dishes that recommend you accompany them with crusty bread and a mixed green salad; so I will work on that for future posts. I will also work on food fit for the 40 (or 30ish~ :)) something year old boyfriend as I am sure he is just on the other side of the pasta isle; probably somewhere in the grilling section!

And Ladies, if you don't have pasta or a man in your life; then I pray you have one of these:

A New Take

2012-03-18T14:09:00.004-07:00

I am attempting a new take on an old standard. The St. Patrick's day staple of corned beef and cabbage. With pale skin, red hair and freckles it is no secret I am Irish. But I have never understood why my people settled on a signature dish of boiled meat. And if it has to be a boiled dish why can't it be the Dublin Lawyer or Dressed Crab?

Alas I have spent the past 7 years opening my front door to the familiar knock of my mother's fist roll to be greeted with a Tupperware filled with her leftover boiled corn beef, red potato, carrot and cabbage mixture. And for the past 7 years I have surmised that I am just not a big fan of this dish. It is no reflection of my mother's cooking ability; though that has been brought into question over the years. There was the liver topped with tomato sauce and American cheese slices announced as Veal Parmesan after all. But what she does with the corned beef and cabbage is no different from what anyone else who is reading the directions on the corned beef packaging is doing. It occurs to me this may be why so much alcohol is consumed on St. Patty's Day.

So, I am going to tackle this corned beef and cabbage on my own terms and see if it gets any better.

I have my corned beef and my “cabbage” - Brussels sprouts - and some Irish beer of course.

I can't really decide what to do with the sprouts but I know just what to do with the beef and beer. I brown my beef in olive oil and crack some pepper over the meat.

Then, I add the beer and a bay leaf or two or three.

Then I cover and place in a 325 degree oven for 1.5 hours.

Now on to what to do with the “cabbage”...I look around the kitchen for inspiration and see a green apple. Surely we can do something with this combination...

I core and roughly chop the apple and saute it with a shallot.

Then I add my equally roughly chopped sprouts with some of the juice from the meat cooking and a little bit of cider vinegar, like a half of teaspoon.

Wow this is really starting to come together!

When it is time to take the meat out, I let it set for a few minutes. I plate the sprout/apple combo then top with slices of the beef.

And it just looks like it is missing something...

So I add 1 teaspoon flour and 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard to the remaining beer/beef juices and make a yummy sauce...

OK, that is much better! I did have to be careful since Corned Beef is already so salty, I did not add any salt throughout the dish. I am going in for a taste...it is no Dublin Lawyer, but I like the new take on the boiled standard I have been eating for years! I would love to know what you think??

I would end this with May the Luck of the Irish be With You; but I have never understood that saying either...as history tells us, we Irish have had some pretty unlucky times. Another testament to being known for our whiskey and beer I suppose!

Stuck In A Moment

2012-03-18T13:51:00.001-07:00

I am one of those annoying people who stick a CD in the car and it plays for weeks, months even. Right now it is the U2 All That you Can't Leave Behind CD. The song Stuck in a Moment That You Can't Get Out Of is stuck in my life and I may or may not be too happy about it.

I have a Saturday off for the first time in 3 months. A girlfriend from my teen years was supposed to be coming into town and I had three different scenarios planned out for us. We were going to eat, drink and meet boys in at least two of the three. But she fell ill to a stomach bug. So she wasn't up for a St. Patrick's Day night on the towns.

In her not coming for a visit, I see what a moment I am struck in. A few tears fell after I hung up the cancellation phone call because I realized how small my life has become and how much I count on the Moments I plan for and look forward too.

On the contrary, my house is clean for the first time in months; my fridge is clean for the first time in even more months and trash, Goodwill boxes, and excess baggage are ready to haul off. So maybe I should make plans that fall through more often!

At any rate, I have a change of plans. I now spend my evening trying to figure out how to get this:

To look like this:

I pureed spinach, olive oil and garlic, salt and pepper; then added that to melted butter and a little lime juice. Once I wrestled the meat from the shell, I found that spinach butter to be the the perfect fix to that moment I was stuck in.

Sometimes plans work out for you and more often they don't. That is just how life works.

So here is what I learned today. Look for something you can turn from This to That so you don't get stuck in a moment. I was going to dinner at Bob's Small Town Grille or maybe drink wine and listen to live music at Boutier Winery; but when those plans fell through, I made up a possible upcoming menu item for the restaurant of my dreams. Suddenly, I don't feel so stuck!

Friends With Fowl

2012-03-11T16:41:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up I had a horrific relationship with chickens. I was a mere 3 ish and we were visiting relatives on their Connecticut farm. I was attacked by a 3 foot tall Rhode Island Red Rooster. I don't know if he was jealous of my equally blazing red hair or he was just looking to pick on someone his own size; but there is a faint scar on my right cheek to mark the occasion.

A couple years latter I was planted on a farm in the Northwestern part of North Dakota where we raised pigs. Which may very well be where I began my love affair with bacon and slow cooked pork. We also had a few cows and what seemed like to me an unusually cruel amount of chickens.

As family life on a farm goes, we were all strapped with a slew of chores. I tried to navigate towards weeding in the garden, clearing rocks from the potato fields or slinging slop to the pigs; but occasionally my number would come up to feed the chickens. This would be an event I would stress over; right up there with does Phillip Baradi like me and will lemon juice really make these freckles go away!

The chicken and I were like a mosquito and the Gerber Baby; no matter where I was on the farm the rooster would find me and chase me. It was like a cartoon where my red hair was a laser attachment to the bird. My big brother found great joy in the whole thing and would out wit me and side with the rooster every time – like when I would run to the house for refuge; he would ensure the door was locked. We lived in North Dakota for God's sake – the only time our door was ever locked was to torture me! The chicken coop was attached to a garage and I would literally take a ladder and climb up the far side of the garage, walk across the roof of the garage and throw the food over the coop from the roof to avoid being seen by the rooster. But the damn bird would be waiting for me at the bottom of the ladder when I got back across the roof.

The whole experiment turned into a life long fear of all things fowl. When the Robins make there homes in my ferns on the front porch; I exit out the back. When I go to the zoo with kids and they want to see the Bald Eagle show I fain allergies. When a sparrow mistook my open screen door for an invitation; I hid in my car and called the landlord. The only consolation prize in the whole relationship has been the fact that I can cook chicken!

Today we are making braised, boneless chicken thighs w/ lime garlic buttered broccoli.

Mise en place:

Skinless, boneless chicken thighs – seasoned w salt and pepper

olive oil

a couple of celery stalks, sliced

a shallot, sliced

about 25 mini carrots cut in half

½ lemon, quartered

sprig of Rosemary

a couple of sprigs of Parsley

3 cloves of garlic

broccoli florets

butter

¼ cup of white wine

½ cup of chicken broth

Chop your celery, carrots, shallot and press two cloves of garlic,

Add to pan with heated olive oil and lemon, rosemay and parsley

then add chicken, wine and broth, and a little more salt and fresh cracked pepper.

Cover with lid or foil and place in 350 degree oven for 2 hours.

Once you remove it from the oven remove the thighs and place on your serving tray to rest. Then, remove the vegys, leaving the juices to make your sauce.

All you need to do is add some butter and flour to thicken the juices.

This is soooo yummy!

Now, you should have been steaming your broccoli just before making the sauce, so everything times out on time. Remember to immerse your broccoli in an ice bath after they have steamed to stop the cooking; this keeps the rich green color.

For the lime garlic butter,

Melt butter with a small clove of garlic and about a ¼ teaspoon of lime zest or ½ teaspoon of lime juice.

Then you are ready to plate,

Delicious! Broccoli is so good for you and chicken thighs are so full of flavor, probably from all that chasing the freckle faced red head all those years!

Lydia's on a Budget

2012-03-03T16:35:00.001-08:00

Lydia's on a Budget

I have recently, as we all have, had to make changes to my budget. I no longer have Satellite TV so can no longer learn my cooking skills from Food Network or Bravo. In this financial crisis I have learned what a waste of money that whole DISH Network nonsense was to begin with. All I have ever needed for TV viewing has been some rabbit ears and TaDa ~ I have FOX for Football and American Idol; CBS for March Madness and Sunday Morning; NBC for Jimmy Fallon and Brian Williams; and PBS for everything else. PBS does so many things well, there is no doubt. But the cooking programs that air are really the best. I don't care what Anthony or Guy tell you.

One of my all time favorites over the years has been Lydia's Italy. I learn so many things from her the least of which to always pour some wine while cooking. Recently she had an episode where she shared this Dover Sole w/ lemons and capers recipe and I remember being fascinated by the fact that she ate the lemon slices with her bites of sole at the end when she was oohing and ahhing at her finished product. I also remember she had went to the docks pick out her fish. I don't have that luxury here; I just have Ingles. Ingles always has three types of fish on hand – Salmon, Tuna and Tilapia. I long for the day I can go to the market and ask my fish monger for his freshest catch, a las that is not today. I choose Tilapia and set out to create my own version of Lydia's dish. Its the Sharyn's Danielsville rendition if you will. Tilapia is delightfully inexpensive and adding spinach and tomatoes rounds out a very healthy dish, even if there is a little butter and cream.

Here is what you will need for four servings:

4 Filets of Tilapia

1 lemon super thinly sliced

1 ½ tblsp capers

8 oz of dry white wine

1 tblsp ground peppercorns

1 tspn salt

1/3 cup olive oil

1 large clove garlic; minced

4-6 Campari tomatoes; quartered

½ cup heavy cream

1 tblsp diced shallot

black pepper and salt

½ stick of butter

12 oz of fresh spinach

First, rinse and pat dry your Talapia filets. Then, lather in olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, salt, ground pepper, the dry white wine, and the capers.

I let this sit in the fridge for 30 minutes or so.

Then, you can throw in the tomatoes and re coat with some olive oil and salt and pepper just on the tomatoes.

Then place in a 375 degree oven for 20-30 minutes. Or until it looks like this, nice flaky filets:

Then, you can just take the spinach and top; the heat from the fish resting will help wilt the spinach.

After a few minutes, you are ready to plate.

I then use the left over sauce from the cooking pan to make a beurre blanc sauce by adding the butter, then the cream and continually whisking - this takes less then a minute. You could also reserve 3-4oz of the wine and reduce with a tspn of vinegar and your shallots, then add the butter and cream to that and eventually add it to the juices from the fish. Including the juices from the cooked fish provides the best flavor:

Pair it with some good bread for drinking up the sauce and you will wonder why you don't always dine in Sharyn's Danielsville!

Buzz's World Famous Chili

2012-02-04T17:13:00.000-08:00

My Dad taught me many things. Some on purpose and some by accident. I learned about the human spirit from him and he taught me how to shop for a deal. I learned about the importance of tradition from him and he taught me how to cook.

All of these things came in handy this weekend as we prepare for Super Bowl Sunday.

I think I have made it clear that I am a sports fan. I did make a complete detour to see Hinkle Fieldhouse and score a Brad Stevens siting on my recent road trip didn't I? I do call in sick to work when March Madness rolls around. I do wake up at 5 am every Saturday during UGA football season to load my truck with food, tables, chairs, and full tubs and pace thru the dew to set up for tailgate. I know what a pick six is; I know what nothing but net means; I know the answer to the Trivial Pursuit question that asks which athlete was on the cover of Time, Newsweek and Sports Illustrated in the same week.

Therefore, I have earned the right to make Chili for Superbowl Sunday!

I never make the mistake of trying to create my own chili. I always make the one my Dad taught me. And that is not the case with any other thing I have learned to make. For example, I learned how to make Macaroni n Cheese from my mother but I never duplicate that recipe. I learned to make Outside In Burgers from Guy Fieri but I never follow that recipe.

This Chili is Sacred. I am not entirely sure if it is Sacred because it is a time honored tradition to make it for Super Bowl Sunday or if it is because Daddy served it at Sandwich'd In, when dreams were still attainable; or if it is just simply because my Dad took such care to teach me how to make it.

This is what you need to start:

Clean one medium sized onion; one good sized pepper ( because they are so expensive right now, plan on using the whole thing, with just seeds and membrane removed); three to four fresh tomatoes; three cloves of garlic and one jalapeno pepper (seeds and membrane removed).

Blend that all together and then let it all sweat it out in the tub. I learned that lingo from Guy as well. Dad would say stir it up and let it get drunk on each other. A little olive oil goes down and literally let all the ingredients get drunk on it.

Then, on the side we can be browning the beef. We, Dad and I, just salt a pan and let the beef speak for itself; and we chose a higher fat content ratio...but Dad did teach me this recipe over 25 years ago when we just didn't talk about cholesterol and heart disease.

You then take two cans of chili beans, one can of dark red kidney beans and one can of pinto beans and throw them into the drunk peppers, onions, tomatoes and garlic.

Then add the beef (it is Super Bowl Sunday so I add all the meat and juices, which includes some 'grease'....aka, flavor)and these spices:

We have got 2 tables spoons of chili powder; 1 teaspoon each of salt and pepper and one tablespoon each of paprika and chili pepper flakes....the tomatoes and jalapeno are just decoration ;).

Here we are:

And here we go:

The trick to great chili is longer is better. Once you are ready to serve, reheat and top with sharp cheddar and sour cream and really good corn bread. My friend Wynn makes really good corn bread so I can't make it here. I would just be embarrassed.

I remember when my Dad taught me how to make this chili. It was the day before Super Bowl Sunday. We spent all day Saturday lovingly putting it together and having our father daughter time. Then, on Sunday I stopped into Dad's kitchen and he had ready for me this huge pot full of the chili to take the to the party I was going to. He told me I could tell everyone I made it. All the party goers loved this chili. They talked about it all night and finished it off. It was gone; and I told everyone my Dad and I made it together! No one at that time in my life would have believed me if I said I had made it myself.

An empty pot is just the ultimate compliment. Dad was happy!

I stored that recipe in my back pocket and take it out every Super Bowl to not only travel back in time, but also to celebrate the memory!

What a can of beans can do...

2012-01-29T12:37:00.000-08:00

When life gives you canned beans make a killer soup!

Times are tough and we are all struggling one way or another. Peyton Manning is resorting to reffing and I am working at a baby products store because I just can't beat myself up enough for not having my dream of loving husband, five kids, two dogs, three fish and a rabbit.

But in the real world, folks are really struggling. How to make a box of boxed, canned and shrink wrapped food products last their family of four a week is real tough math folks. Just because life has given you canned beans, it doesn't mean the end of the culinary world.

Let me share with you what a can of beans can do!

Here is what you will need to assemble:

15-20 Cherry Tomatoes (depending on size) – I used Campari because BiLo Had them on sale for buy one get one free cartons. And, they are delicious.

Olive Oil

Salt and Pepper

Chorizo Sausage (the ground kind you find next to the Queso and tortillas in the supper market)

1 onion

2 cans of white beans (Navy, Northern, Cannelloni)

3 cups of chicken or vegy stock

If you have Balsamic Vinegar and fresh parsley, all the better.

1 good pan/pot.

After you have rinsed your beautiful tomatoes, drizzle them with olive oil and liberal doses of salt and pepper. Roll the tomatoes around so they glisten all around like so:

Then roast them in your 375 degree oven for 15 minutes or so.

In your stove top pan begin to heat a light sprinkling of oil to cook your sausage. Careful, 'cause this sausage can fill your house with a crazy good smell just by popping it opened. On medium high heat it only takes 4-5 minutes to get it to where it needs to be. After it has cooked, I take a paper towel and blot the sausage and pan to take back some of the excess grease, but to each his own. Then add your chopped onion and toss it with the sausage and lower the heat. Allow those two love birds to marry.

Once the onions soften, you can drain your beans – I use two cans but it can be made with just one. I like it to be more smooth and creamy in the end, but if you would rather have more tomato and spice taste then all you need is one can.

Then you add your stock.

Once the 15 minute bell rings take the tomatoes out of the oven. Drizzle with Balsamic – no more then a tablespoon, and help it to blend with the tomato juices created from roasting. Then throw it all in the tub:

But don't take a picture at the same time you are tossing, that will just make the picture blurry.

I am an incredibly lazy cook, so I lightly press on the tomatoes as I blend them into the soup and as they cook a little longer with all their new friends, they remove their own coats and it makes it very easy to just snag those skins right out of the pot.

Now, you can go one of two ways, based entirely on personal preference. You can remove a couple of cups of the soup and puree in a food processor then blend back into the rest of the soup; or you can do like I do and wait for the soup to cool slightly and put it all in the blender. Some people just like the different textures. Me, I don't like surprises.

Drizzle a little more balsamic and add some fresh parsley in either case.

I am obsessed with the color of this soup!

After blending, return the soup to the pan and heat back up. Serve with a good crusty bread. This soup is great with a mix of salad greens just loosely tossed with a lite vinaigrette.

This is gourmet canned food, ya'll!

How Great Thou Art

2012-01-22T17:46:00.000-08:00

The weather is overcast today. Light rain, chilly; just like it was 15 years ago on this date. It was 11:30 in the morning and Daddy was gone. His battle tested body lay still. Like he was getting the good night sleep that had alluded him for so long. For my whole life he went to war daily with the insurgents attacking his body. They were relentless and cruel and countless.

Today at 11:30 a.m. we met at the church; my siblings and I, the grandkids and my mother. When I arrived, I went to find my brother and when I did I saw him helping his son don the alter server gear.

“No Dad, that is too tight. No, it isn't supposed to go like that. Don't button that Dad. Dad, you don't know how it is supposed to look....”

“Son, is that too tight? OK buddy, you want that over? You don't want it buttoned? OK, that looks good. Uh, yea I do bud, I used to be an Alter Boy...”

They didn't need me there.

So I go find my niece Katie. She is singing at the meditation time after Communion; a solo for her Grandpa whom she never met. She just finished rehearsing. She is good to go. Such a little pro.

Eventually, we all settle in to Dad's pew. The front one on the left. He always sat in the front so he wouldn't have to see 'the hooligans who show up in shorts and mini skirts'. The Mass begins and I get teared up at the sweetness that is Alter Server Wade as he escorts the priest thru the congregation. I want to kiss him and hug him and whisper in his ear, “do you know just how proud your Grandpa is right now?”

The Mass is being said for the Repose of the Soul of Wade Bortle Sr., the greeter announces, and I wonder where Dad is with that. The priest talks about making sure we do what we are supposed to be doing in our short time on this earth and then I surmise my Dad is well at peace.

Communion commences and I am curious, when I should be praying, why did Daddy like this pew? Eventually you gotta see everyone as they come to receive the body and the blood of Christ. There are mini skirts, torn jeans, untucked shirts galore. But, since Dad was living his life the way God intended, I am sure his head was down, eyes closed and his heart and soul were deep in prayer at this time. Such big shoes for me to fill. Wait, cute boots, is that distressed leather! Oh God, I am going to hell.

When Katie made her short walk to the piano for her solo, I could not contain my tears. They flowed in odd tracks down my face with great speed, not at all keeping time with the music. When the opening notes of How Great Thou Art began I reminded myself that this tiny angel with the big voice never met her Grandfather; but she has every ounce of his goodness; his thoughtfulness ~ but way better pitch.

I am flanked by my nieces Catherine and Jessica and we embrace as the song soars. I am desperate for Daddy to see them now.They are beautiful and vibrant. I want the Mass to be said for someone else. I want Daddy in his Pew, beaming with pride as his granddaughter sings and his grandson serves.

I don't want Katie to stop singing. I never want this song to end because I can feel the warmth of my father's hands and the generosity of his presence. I am sitting on his lap; we are making the relish tray; we are singing in rounds She'll be Coming Around the Mountain; he is bouncing Amanda on his knee. We are taking a Sunday drive; he is making his chili. He is saying, Jesus Christ Almighty, and not in a good way; we are playing hookey and going to get Chinese. I am holding his hand as he cries and he is holding mine as someone breaks my heart. That was MY Dad.

How Great Thou Art, indeed.

The Doritos & Cheese Sandwich Years

2012-01-20T17:57:00.000-08:00

I have gone from cross country travel to backing up and punting. It is not my finest hour. Sure I could have done things differently or not made such bold statements but then I wouldn't have lived so loudly these last few months and I wouldn't be so sure that 92% of my recent decisions have been spot on. But, none the less it is 4^th down and I am a long my from the end zone.

Do you ever think that it is so unbelievable that you could have things you dream about that you probably sabotage yourself more then you strive to set yourself up for success? For those of us who understand this there is always the voice inside our insecure selves that is completely sure we don't deserve to be happy. Life can be fine or OK. But is can't be great. That is the acre I live on.

Well, I have not given up my quest to change that. I am just slower at it then I thought I would be. It is like my dreams and my vision are up on the horizon and my timing belt just broke down here in the valley where my weary heart is stuck .

I need to remind myself that this is just a punt, however. In just 4 more crashes to the turf, I will have the ball back.

In the meantime; I am on a budget. And with all great budgets come creative recipes. I remember when I was 17 and moved to Atlanta with three girlfriends from high school after graduation. My main meal consisted of wheat bread, mustard, cheese and Doritos (mashed between the bread). It was the most de-lish sandwich. Accompanied by a cold beer or some Moonshine concoction we could score, it was particularly tasty. And oddly slimming. I lost 20 lbs my first 2 years in the 'real world'.

I don't know why it is ever referred to as that. It is disrespectful to young people who live in the real world well before their due date.

Now, some 20 lbs later, I realize how much I miss that Doritos & Cheese Sandwich. How perfectly simply and lovely a time it was when that sandwich reigned. Working two and three jobs with no direction. Going out on a Tuesday to some club in the city where we had to flaunt false ages to attend and then high-fivein' the paper-boy on the way in Wednesday morning as we scrambled to don work clothes for our 'real world' dalliances. I never realized until now; but each one of us, my room mates and I, were living an element of escapism in these early years. We flew by the seat of our pants and laughed and played as we had been denied by household responsibility or expectations for years before. We were free to be free for the first time in our young lives.

Now, we are grown ups. I am a grown up. But I still dream and I still want to be free. Free to eat Doritos & Cheese Sandwiches on Wheat w/ golden mustard and a cold beer. Free to be free again...

Only the Lonely...

2012-01-14T14:27:00.000-08:00

The realities of a single girl are these:

You are more akin to the moon then you are to anyone in your family.

You don't always make the bed just to prove you answer to no one. And then you cry about it.

You have to take your own trash out and you have to check your own oil. And then you cry about it.

The rare occasions where a man holds the door for you, you stand back and look to see who they are holding the door for.

Generosity is your Achilles heel.

You spend countless nights perfecting your pot roast because you still believe this is the way to a man's heart. So as John Wooden preached, you will get ready, and then, perhaps your chance will come.

Yesterday I took the chuck roast from the freezer. I had bought it at Christmas thinking I should have it on hand in case anyone comes to visit me for the holiday. I would whip up a lovely Beef Bourguignon if I had a few hours notice and some red wine. So I also hid the Merlot in the dry sink.

Today is January 14^th. .

I take out my favorite pan and sprinkle it with olive oil and turn the burner to medium high. Rummaging around in the fridge I find half a shallot and some mushrooms. Do mushrooms really last this long?

I chop the shallot and watch it change to the color my face powder claims to shed on my face; then add the garlic. While that melds I go to the porch and steal the happiness away from a Rosemary twig that was basking in the sun. The petals get ravaged into tiny particles and forced to marry the onion and garlic. But like Livvy in The Magic of Ordinary Days; Rosemary begins to realize her true purpose and spreads it around the landscape.

The chuck roast gets strategically cut into thoughtful chunks of husband material; they are drowned in salt and pepper and optimism. This roast alone could yield five opportunities.

I lay the ways into the hot pan and let the flavors form a beautiful crust on all sides. The caramel color forming brings out the color in my eyes, sans the smudged, two day old mascara. It smells like a marriage; well no it doesn't. It smells like 1950's family programing, with Merlot.

I add the wine and allow it to evaporate; just like every Saturday.

Then, I bathe the hopefuls in beef broth and gently cover the favorite pan with foil and take to the already heated 275 degree oven.

And then I wait.

Aromatics fill my little gray house, but still I wait.

The hopefuls are basted, and still I wait. The clock has moved from 4 to 7 pm.

In the still I take a sauce pan and melt some butter and sprinkle some flour and momentarily it says fill me up. I add a splash of Merlot and bits of mushroom. Then sprinkle salt, paper and drippings from the pan of hopefuls. They await their finest hour.

There is a pot of boiling water to the left; I fill it with egg noodles that swim in anticipation. Within minutes I hear Mario and I drain them....but don't rinse. They go back in the pot that brought them as all ladies should.

After three hours I assemble a presentation for 'to go guests'.

First, lay a bed of the noodles, then grab pieces of the hopefuls that fall apart at your beck and call and top the noodles. Then drown it all in the Finest Hour.

I package up the meal in Tupperware and tin foil and wait for pick up.

Oddly accomplished I take to watching the Saints and 49'ers game searching for icing on the proverbial 'I am a good catch' cake!

The realities of a single girl....

Morning Song

A diamond of a morning

Waked me an hour too soon

Dawn had taken in the stars

And left the faint white moon

O white moon, you are lonely

It is the same with me

But we have the world to roam over

Only the lonely are free

~Sara Teasdale

Day Twenty-One: The Home Stretch

2011-11-07T16:10:00.000-08:00

When I arrive home it is the let down I was bracing for. My landlord and her people have been in my house unannounced and remnants of them are everywhere. The feeling of knowing someone has been in your home while you were not there; uninvited and unannounced is still one of the worst feelings I have known ever since the great robbery of 1992. All my belongings had been shredded or relocated to the local pawn shop.

I don't like people in my home with out asking. Bumping in to my memories, or plans or thoughts. It is so intrusive. So violating. I see things out of place and I see things messed up, changing becoming someone elses house. I feel like I want to spray everything down to wash away the well intentioned intruder. I am annoyed at the audacity to take away from the decompressing of my trip; the opportunity to ease back into my home has been ruined. I pour a stiff drink and sit on the couch.

I will not let this get the best of me. I just traveled 6.897.4 miles for God's sake'; I won't be bullied anymore.

I spend some time in the shadow of the new living room fan and digest the past 21 days. Twenty one days on the highways, byways and back roads of this great country. I could have gone from sea to shining sea but instead concentrated on the heart of this country in hopes of getting to whatever was the matter with me.

When I started on this journey it was because I was paralyzed in my grief for a life I wish I had. I had burdened myself with embarrassment over being a restless soul and feelings of screwing up God's plan for me; whatever the hell that is.

Surely he did not intend for me to by rote go to a job I didn't love, go to a house that was not my home. and sit around in self-pity, self-sabatoge and self-loathing, or years on end. Surely this is not my personal legend. So I run. I run for 6,897.4 miles. I RUN.

I needed an avenue to forgive myself for the years of waste. Wasting the talent God gave me; wasting opportunity after opportunity because I was waiting for the life I imagened to happen. I have been a selfish silly girl. In my self deprecating world I have been disgusting; unappreciative and unintresting.

But with each mile rolled under me I travel closer and closer to where I am supposed to be.

When I set out on the driveway 21 days ago the weight was heavy. When I turned onto HWY 29 at the corner from my house, the first of many self-imposed burdens rolled over to the shoulder of the road.

When I hit the mountains of North Carolina I gained the slightest bit of courage as the curves are stronger then I am and the wind in blowing the rich signs of Fall up from my radiator like a snow storm in January. I will need this new found skill days from this day but just don't know it yet.

In Cincinnati I struggle with the first night of unfamiliarity. I am not even sure how to take my beloved Louie for a walk; we aren't that familiar with leashes and poop bags.

The stop in Indy is awesome, like I am 14; there is Brad Stevens over there, 25 feet away. I want his autograph and genius all at once.

In Michigan we try to chase the sun before it sets on LakeMichigan and we fail. It is dark and we are lost and Traverse City seems a long way away. When we wake there on day three we are staring at the water and we deserve it. I find this a perfectly appropriately place to drown all my guilt.

The road to Escanaba by way of the upper peninsula is were I studied the loneliness that had become my life and I thought about how overly dramatic I have become.

The long ride across Wisconsin was quite enough to hear my fears hit the white lines. In Minneapolis I cheered on my brother's dreams and when I crossed the border into North Dakota I could hear my father's words; 'You are my favorite, today, Shama Lama' ... and he is singing Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling.

I had a hard time navigating the great oil boom of Western, North Dakota; but I felt my soul come alive in Battleview where the roads were embattled in progress and sameness all at the same time; the heart of the people I once knew were as pure and as real as the day we drove off in the plaid pickup 32 years before. My tears flowed into Powers Lake. All my girlhood audacity returned.

When Montana had roped me in I had decided to leave my regret at the foot of the mountains. In Idaho, I washed my self-loathing down the Falls. The road to Cheyenne is where I found out what I was made of; I was tested in the Badlands, Flint Hills, Flat Shoals, Blue Skys, Prarie Lands, and snow fall. Friends from Battleview to Nashville gave me shelter. I made it 6.897.4 miles - me and Lou - like Stienbeck and Charley; we stamped our mark. We made a statement; our statement.

No one can take this journey from us and only I can screw up the lessons learned.

This is what I know:

I am not a complete muck up. I was not built to be comfortable in one place; like the river, the water sign that I am', I am meant to wander and flow and never stop searching.

So, I don't have that man in my life and the house with two kids. Turns out I have a bunch a graceful women - Eileen, Wynn, Cindy, Anne, Tracey, Amanda, Catherine, Maryellen, Barbara, Aunt Julie, giving me encouragement and offering me shelter or memories or nurishment. It sure would be nice to see my husband, picket fence dream come true; but I am not doing too bad!

In the end I forgave myself somewhere over the Missouri River.

Going forward I have a clean slate; and a rich soul.

Thank you to all who have supported me in my journey. And if I could be so bold I would say to you, don't be late for your life. If you are unhappy; if you are feeling out of place; if you feel like you are not reaching your potential; whatever the longing - don't sit still and wait...

There is a story that goes something like this:

There is a man who has fallen into a deep hole on the side of the road. A Priest comes by and says I will go and pray that you find a way out. A worker comes by and says, I will go and see if I can get equipment to help get you out. Then, a friend comes along and jumps into the hole. The man in the hole yells at him. 'are you crazy, why did you jump down here?'...the friend says, 'because I have been where you are and I know the way out.' I know the way out.

You don' have to travel across country; but you do have to move. I see now that everyone across this great land is under construction. We all need improvement. This is not unique to me. In the end, I am just a girl doing the best she can on the days God gives her. In the end, I am just fine.

http://youtu.be/MPMuxpDNSn8

Day Twenty: Rounding Second

2011-11-07T11:54:00.000-08:00

I leave Nashville as I found it; happy and excited. I am now headed to Canton, Georgia to visit with my sister and her family. Louie and I are so proficient in our travels that I worry what will happen to this new found talent if it is not excersised regularly. This next stop is a bit of a cheat; I am just not ready to go home yet. If there is one thing I have learned from this trip it is to stay moving and I am worried everything will come to a halt when I drive onto 626 D. Highland Rd.

When we arrive at my sister's house it is a surprise to her kids and that makes me happy. They like me and love Louie so we are instantly a hit. They ask me very little about my trip and a lot about what topping I would like on my Sundae, some IPAD game. It is as if I never went anywhere and is as gounding as the hardwood floor in Louisville.

Our college girl, Catherine, comes to eat dinner and I pretend it is just because I am there but those steaks look pretty good and I fear are big compitition.

My sister and I drink red wine and chat and those are always the best times. I remember why I am leaning further and further away from moving away and more towards just finding a better situation near by. You can't underestimate the power of debriefing with your sister over a bottle of wine.

Nicholas and victoria get ready for bed then come for their good night kisses and hugs and backrubs. They will sllep sound. I try to remember the last backrub I had.

In the morning I can hear my travel alarm going off a floor away. I leap up and chase it downstairs and for the first time realize my road trip is over. I have no reason to get out the atlas and contemplate todays route; no reason to rush to the lobby for coffee and no reason to charge the phone or camera. This makes me sad; so I go back to bed.

Recipes: Red wine and perfectly grilled steak.

Roadtips: All must come to an an end.

Renovations: Whatever you do, keep moving.

Day Nineteen: Nashville, Here we Come!

2011-11-02T14:44:00.000-07:00

I was looking forward to this day and the comfort of my friend Wynn for a while. If you run into Charlie Rich you can tell him you have seen the most beautiful girl in the world once you have seen Wynn. And the least of her beauty lies in her dark knowing eyes or her welcome to my porch smile; which are both stunning. No her beauty lies in her heart beats and the music in her soul. I arrive in Nashville from Louisville quickly and am happy about that.

My friend lives in a big blue house built of at the turn of the century, the last one, not this one. And it is positively therapeutic. We first take her two dogs, Darla and Sheva, and Louie on a walk in Shelby park so they can get acquainted. Us humans are overly cautious and the dogs are overly friendly toward one another.

We return to the house and relax on the deck surrounded by our stories of the years we have missed and the memories of the years we shared. There is something deeply satisfying about being in the company of a friend you have not seen in years and realizing she is everything you remember. Time has not taken her wit or sincerity and the visit is like donning your favorite sweater in winter.

I re-meet her kids. Eden was last seen at age 6ish and Julian was 2ish. We were headed to see Cindy in the mountains and Julian got sick in the back seat and kept saying things like "this is dis-custing". All grown up they welcome me with a well raised hand shake and conversation.

We drink Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey on the front porch and hand out candy to the single teen moms and their babies, and talk about the ways that are wrong in the world. The smell of homemade chili fills the air and eventually, our bellies.

Eden leaves for a party and checks in every hour as promised. Julian and his friend return from trick r treating and his friends mom comes over to pick him up. She is Wynn's friend so she is interested in what I have to say and gives me a warm hug when she leaves.

We switch to wine and as such the conversation mellows. If is nice and if it never ended I wouldn't mind.

She puts me in an upstairs bedroom on a soft futon and makes a bed for Louis. He is beside himself. I am asleep in minutes. In the morning I turn the car toward home.

Recipes: Fireball Whiskey and a brisk Fall night mixed with the echos of a childhood friend fill the soul.

Roadtrips: There are no miles or years between true friends.

Renovations: That doesn't mean you have to let years and miles get between you.

Days Seventeen and Eighteen: Food, Drink, Food, History, Food

2011-11-02T13:24:00.000-07:00

When I wake on day seventeen Louie is in my face. He is enjoying this great equalizer of sharing the hard wood floor. Anne makes some wonderful espresso and waffles with Greek yogurt and honey and there is no way this day isn't going to be perfect.

Anne loves her hometown and is very rich in the history of it and in that regard she is the ideal host. Once we head out for the day I feel like I should be taking notes. Louisville is very easy to navigate; or is it that I have traveled 6,000 miles without a hitch? And, it is very storied. We enjoy lunch at Blue Dog Bakery....

...and by enjoy I mean I will be dreaming about this meal for days to come; not knowing of course what was to come this evening.

We tour the galleries at 21C and see the free parts of the Louisville Slugger Museum.

And Anne allows me one picture of her outside the Children's Science Museum to document the visit was actually with her.

We head back to her house and nap it up in preparation for our evening out. Well, she naps and I watch PBS on the love seat.

Our evening out starts of a cocktail at Seviche, I have something with London in the title and cucumbers in the glass. I perfect summer drink only it is not summer. Then we head to Jack Fry's where I positively, from top to bottom, have the best meal of my life, with exception of having to pay for it myself. The atmosphere is unpretentious and provides the kind of service that happens completely without you knowing. You just always seem to have everything you need. We start with the Country Pate` and Pinot Nior. It is delicious, and it is a childhood liverwurst sandwich with better mustard all at the same time. I can't possible decide on my entree so I stall with the Warm Fig Salad with Lime Creme Fraiche Dressing. For the duration of eating it I am the happiest I have ever been! There are jerky type bits of prosciutto and wonderful peppery arugala and I am mournful when it is gone.

When the waiter arrives again to take our order for the entree I tell him I can't decide so just leave it in his hands. I should have started with this plan. With another glass of wine he brings me lovely seared Ahi tuna atop a bed of spinach and I am kicking myself for not bringing my camera. I can only eat half and am not entirely sure if in this type of establishment you are allowed to ask for a to go box but there is no way I am leaving the other half behind.

After paying out the ass over a pear cognac, we head out to our next adventure. It is the Saturday before Halloween so there are strange costumed people everywhere; as opposed to just strange people. There are a few establishments along Bardstown Road that we check out but since we are not 24 we move off this main drag and happen upon a bar that has full on Karaoke belting. A couple of Noe Whiskeys and we are seated for the entertainment. It appears everyone is dressed as their favorite rock star, except us. Tom Petty is singing now and Chaka Khan is in the wings. The Blues Brothers are the organizers. It is all highly entertaining and exhausting at the same time. When it is time to go, we can't get a cab. The place is closing and encouraging us to leave but everyone on Bardstown Road is stealing our cabs. Finally The Blues Brothers offer to take us home in their large white van with strange tools all over the floor. Well, this is not the way I thought I would go, I think to myself. But, they end up being completely harmless and in a hurry to get home to their wives. I really never knew setting up and tearing down Karaoke could be a career but these two are making it one.

The next morning becomes afternoon before we are really up and functioning. Day eighteen is more about recovering from the food coma then the walk to Cherokee Park...

...though the walk was lovely.

I try to find Blue Dog Bakery for some bread to bring to my next stop, Nashville and my dear friend Wynn, but they aren't opened on Sunday and Monday therefore no deliveries to all the places in Louisville that sell it so I settle in for as good a night sleep as one can get on the wood floor in the animal room. In the morning I sneak a thank you gift into Anne's cupboard and Louie and I leave as unceremoniously as we arrived.

Recipes: When in doubt, leave it up to the professionals.

Roadtrips: Amazing Food on Bardstown Road and really fun characters off Bardstown Road.

Renovations: Every once in a while, LIVE TO EAT!

Day Sixteen: The Longest Day

2011-11-02T11:50:00.000-07:00

We set on on day sixteen with the end mark of Louisville where my friend Anne will put up with us for a couple days; this was my most ambitious millage gain of the journey. It turns out the Western part of Kansas is beautiful and holds the most vibrant colors of the leaf season so far.

I think about how Kansas is that kid in school that everyone says is boring and no one ever wants to go to their house because it is out in the middle of no where and is beige; but that is just because no one has ever taken the time to get to know them. I vow to always get to know the Kansas' of the world. Not only are the Flint Hills beautiful but the Wizard also makes wine.

Kansas City is the longest city to drive through; you are never quite sure when you are done or when you are in which state, Kansas or Missouri. Once confirmed that we are in Missouri we haul it as half our day is gone but only a third of our miles. Darkness has arrived when we hit St. Louis and there is a half second reminder of what is going on in the world when we pass Busch Stadium at the start of Game 7. I am in fast moving traffic with Spaghetti Junction like overpasses coming at me and going away from me. But I am determined to get a picture. The camera sits on the passenger side at the ready at all times but sometimes it is stuck on movie mode and this is one of those times.

My friend Anne calls and she could care less that I just passed Busch Stadium at the start of game 7. Her and her gay Mennonite clinical psychologist friend Christopher chat nothing back and forth with me until mercifully my gas light comes on. They started drinking wine hours before.

The last fill up gets me to Louisville only after Illinois and Indiana give us little trouble but a slower speed limit.

Once I arrive at Anne's she shows me to the animal room and lets me know this is where I will be staying. OK, well at least it isn't $89.99. After an hour of messing with the broken air mattress I make my bed on the hardwood floor among the floats of her dog and cats long black hair. I briefly wonder why I wasn't offered the love seat in the living room but I am too tired to care at this point.

Recipes: I can't remember if we ate this day or not to be honest with you...

Roadtrips: Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky...that was quite a stretch!

Renovations: Just when you think you are too good for the floor; you are reminded you are not!

Day Fifteen: Bitter Cold to Bittersweet

2011-10-28T07:59:00.000-07:00

It is so cold in Cheyenne that I have the over sized sweatshirt on over the layers of all the other clothes I brought in order to walk Louie in the snow. He is not entirely sure where to frolic and I am way behind slipping around.

There is the train that kept us up all night.

And the serene heartland to enjoy.

We have have lofty goals of getting to Kansas City today. I fuel up and am looking for coffee and find it free if I buy this,

So what is a girl to do.

We enjoy the snow for miles and miles, then into Nebraska we can see for miles again and there is no more edge of the world.

We stop off at different sights along the route; Buffalo Bills Ranch and the original Pony Express station; Louie likes that he can run around and I like the history. At the station a gentleman rides in on his Harley and I hope my lipstick is still on. He is wearing a ski mask and never takes it off; is this what Mary Chapin Carpenter means by a stranger's coat? He chats with me about the beauty of the park then we board our steeds and turns out he is going West and I am going East. Story of my life.

Eventually I have to give in to the fact that Kansas City was just too lofty of a goal. So we pull off at the first hotel I see to borrow the WiFi and start to look for something a little more manageable. It ends up being Salina, KS; this will put me at three more hours of miles in the dark.

Driving in the dark unknown has my thoughts wander and overlap. I think about that women on CNN and wonder why no one tells her she shouldn't where her hair so big. I think about each leg of this journey and how I have grown to not immediately jump to melancholy but instead be at peace in the dark moments of life. They happen to everyone, and in that the highway becomes a common place.

When I check into my hotel I realize it will probably the last of the journey as I am trying to get to Louisville to see my friend Anne for the last leg of the trip. Louie and I repeat the steps of check-in, run around, unload, kick-back. I write and read he washes and stretches out. What ever will we do when we get home.

Eventually we will have to go there, and that is bittersweet.

Recipes: Throw a banana in with that Cinabon and free coffee just to balance things out.

Roadtrips: Lonely highways in the dark is where we are most alike.

Renovations: I have to take what I am learning and apply it.

Day Fourteen: Over the Mountains and Through the Snow

2011-10-27T22:05:00.000-07:00

When I wake on day 14, Louie already had his leash on and finished his K&B breakfast. He knew we were by that park and had been dreaming of chasing geese all night. It was cold; so I break out the over sized Nantucket sweatshirt and put on the earmuffs; don the tennis shoes and we are off.

We start out at church. Then end up with a rush.

And as if Idaho Falls could not get any better there is oatmeal on the continental breakfast bar!

We scurry out to see more of Idaho...

...in route to today's destination.

We have mapped out a route to avoid Colorado because there is a storm dumping 2 feet of snow on them. Our goal today is to get to Cheyenne, Wyoming by way of the Grand Tetons...

...which is by no means a straight shot.

When in the park, a ranger makes a dramatic entrance and pulls me over. At my car window he says he 'clocked me going a little fast'. As I sit scouting for moose while he writes up my warning, I wonder what the speed limit actually is. When he returns he tells me that the speed limit fluctuates throughout Teton County but it never goes over 55. He doesn't ever tell me what my speed was in what zone; which makes me think he has no idea what the speed limit is in this stretch either.

I find myself elevating and though there are Beware of Wild Animal signs everywhere this park is not nearly as generous with the game as Yellowstone was. Before I know it, it is construction time again.

Once I can go SLOW, I notice the guard rails disappear and the edge of the mountain is in my throat. I feel my body heat rise, my hands are sweating on the wheel, and I am imagining the worst.

Louie will accidentally open his door and plummet to the bottom of the Tetons; I will get distracted by a bear sighting and send us rolling end over end to the gloomy perspective that no one will come and get us silly tourists. Or worse yet, it is a Suicide Driver in the pilot car. The pavement disappears and it is just big truck full of dirt after big truck passing me on one side, and literally, the edge of the world on the other. I want to replace the Dixie Chicks with Chris Tomlin so I can feel God closer; but there is no way I am veering from 10 and 2. My hands start to cramp.

Eventually it ends.

Only to begin again.

I don't realize until I hit the pillow in Cheyenne that this was only the second and third worse part of the drive. The best of the worst was yet to come.

Eventually, I release the death grips and enjoy some more of Wyoming.

Highway 287 gets me to Rawlins which eventually gets me to Laramie then all hell breaks loose. I have been lonely in the dark for a couple of hours now and have no idea what the landscape is like outside the scope of my headlights. There is a moment, almost instant, where I am in complete fog and have lost the taillights in front of me. Panic braking sets in and Louie senses danger and puts his paw in its place on my shoulder. I desperately want to pull off to the side and try to get my bearings but I remember the mountain with no shoulder and since I can't see 10 feet in front of me I just continue dash by dash. There are crosswinds that shake us from side to side as we pathetically scoot forward.

As quickly as we happened upon this; the fog lifts and wind subsides; only to begin again and again and the pattern doesn't fool me twice.

It feels like 14 days but I finally reach my exit. As I take my place at the light at the bottom of the hill this is what I see to my right:

So much for avoiding the snow storm. I mourn Colorado.

I feel like my harrowing day deserves a glass of wine so I search convenient store after convenient store only to conclude the worst; surly to God this is not a dry town. Then I spot a sign reading Lounge and Package Liquor Store. When I go in there is a strong smell of downtown Athens Saturday night ally stench in the air. There are people hooking up in the Lounge and chicken wire and bars on the liquor in the Package.

I opt for a brown bag size bottle of bourbon and the girl I thought was hooking up with a boy in a University of Wyoming sweatshirt comes to unlock the elixir. I am confused by the whole scenario.

Louie and I slip and slide into our hotel room and my one shot of bourbon sends me dreaming of the great Midwest moments of my life.

Recipes: Who can eat on a day like this!

Roadtrips: On the news tonight a trucker was being interviewed and he stated that the stretch from Laramie to Cheyenne is the worst and can really test even the most experienced drivers. No shit!

Renovations: I can conquer the edge of the mountain and the thick fog after all.

Day Thirteen: Lunch with a Legend and Dinner with a River

2011-10-25T21:30:00.000-07:00

My stamina is wearing thin on day thirteen. All I want to do is sleep but what a ridiculous thing to do when in Montana. So I slowly stumble to the kitchen for some coffee; the continental breakfast is sad as most of them have been. Would it kill them to put out a banana; an apple? Carbs everywhere. A bagel, an English muffin, a blueberry muffin, lucky charms. I pour the usual OJ and coffee with two creams and follow the whining sound back to my room. Louie is on day thirteen of this trip and he still hasn't figured out the routine. But he has been a perfect dog. Except today when he snapped at the guy changing my oil in Montana. Other then that he behaves, enjoys the scenery, drinks from the rivers and is my best friend. There are portions of the journey where he steadies himself by putting one paw on my shoulder and the other on the seat back. He will freeze in that position for hours and down the road of companionship we go.

This morning my friend Wynn has arranged for me to have some human contact.. Her friend Cliff is free for lunch. We meet in Livingston and he is funny and familiar. He helps me get my oil changed and we eat soup in town. He talks loud about people in the room, and says 'what's that?' a lot. So it is an entertaining time. He has to be in his sixties maybe and said 'I just want to bitch slap him' when talking about a character in his life. The volume alone gave me cause to want to laugh out loud but then on contemplation I don't think I have ever heard a retiree use those words so then I had no choice but to spew my water.

I feel like I can come back here again and again and Cliff will help me with my oil changes and help me find a place to stay and eat soup with me. I feel lucky.

Cliff gives me a route to take to Idaho Falls and I follow it to the letter. I am proud to say that in over 4000 miles traveled there can't be more then 500-600 miles traveled on an interstate. This route is no different. It is the lovely combination of all mine and no one's.

Louie and I stop for water at the Warm Springs Creek.

Then we make the last turn for Idaho Falls.

My hotel is right on the river and this is the first time I have arrived at my destination in the daylight. So, Louie and I follow yet another river route and when we return to the hotel we eat a bison burger and kibbles and bits. Then, we call it a good day 13!

Recipes: Hot soup and a story teller will always nourish you.

Roadtrips: I used to travel to the oceans, but now, I am drawn to the rivers.

Renovations: I am growing.

Day Twelve: 4000 Miles Rolled

2011-10-24T22:25:00.000-07:00

The little KIA rolled its 4000th mile today.

And judging from the grill, it has picked up a bug for every mile. We shower and load and take the car for a shower of its own. Then, we head to Yellowstone. I don't have a particular plan for the day and that is no different really then any other day.

I am drunk on the scenery...

...and wonder if I should be driving.

I think about my friend Wynn who lived in this area at one time. Her beauty is similar. I wish she were in the passenger seat spouting Montana stories.

I think about my nieces and nephews and wish I could have brought them on this adventure so they could see this great, beautiful country they will inherit.

Four thousand miles and I still have not found him yet. But I know he is out here somewhere.

My thoughts bounce.

Then I get busy site seeing.

I make it to Old Faithful at just the right moment...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tj_I3tZQogs

...it reminds me that timing is everything. I hope that wasn't him who just left in the black pickup.

I trace the Gallatin River up to Bozeman; night is approaching but the trail is still amazing. I spend the night here in Bozeman; just 30 minutes from where I spent the night last night. At this rate I will never get back to Georgia. It is supposed to snow tonight and I am 9 years old again and it is Christmas Eve and I am waiting on Santa Claus.

Recipes: A little Elk here, a Buffalo there...blend with hot springs and enjoy!

Roadtrips: Montana, Wyoming, Idaho, Montana....pull over as often as you can so you can soak it all in.

Renovations: I fear I will be hungover tomorrow.

Days Ten & Eleven: I can't seem to turn this car around.

2011-10-24T21:26:00.000-07:00

Day ten started with me going on one last tour of my former hometown; and the mansion on the hill that has covered up my old house.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SjPLvDU-xl8

What a monstrosity. No more quaintness or charm. Our dog Kelly is buried somewhere under the mote.

We head to the Smishek Lake where the big one got away from Daddy.

And we make one last pass through Powers Lake.

Then, we hit the highway with the goal of making it to Livingston, Montana.

I must hunker down if I want to make this goal; but I keep getting distracted by the oil wells

And Man Camps...

Every street corner is filled with now hiring signs. And there is an ad on the radio about a job fair with some oil company where the starting pay is $600-700 dollars a DAY. I imagine myself working the oil fields and I look pretty good. I could cook meatloaf and mashed potatoes for the men at the camps and cherry pie on Sundays. I use the miles to plan the menus for my man camp food truck.

Hours later I arrive in Livingston and crash for all of day eleven. And if you are going to crash, Livingston is not a bad place to do it.

Recipes: I am so full! Was it the Spicy Basil Shrimp from the Thai restaurant or the loveliness of this town? I'll never know.

Roadtrips: At some point I have to turn around.

Renovations: I am 3,800 miles from the person I used to be.

Day Nine: Slow This Trip Down

2011-10-23T10:25:00.000-07:00

When I wake on Friday morning, day nine, I remember I do not have to race to the continental breakfast area for apple juice and I smell coffee already in the air. The only reason I get up is because I know I have someone to talk to this morning.

When I come into the living room where Glennis is watching the morning news, I can see through the bay window that it is a beautiful morning. Louie is in heaven breaking from the routine of leash and little free roaming. He frolics and investigates on the open range.

When Eileen arrives back out she brings yummy flavored cream for the coffee and I don't ever want to leave this kitchen table. But eventually we do head into Powers Lake where she takes me down memory lane.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kiQ55GhgsR4

We have lunch at the cafe that I need to buy. I already have a plan for it; the decor will have to go the unfriendly waitstaff will need a Robert Irvine overhaul and my food will be contagious; everyone will be catching a bite. Eileen's daughter Taylor is with us and she is pretty and witty and the perfect dose of teenager. I feel like I am at a cafe with my own family. I mean at my cafe.

The town of Powers Lake is 37 seconds from end to end. But the memories I have of it have traveled the hundreds of thousands of miles of the years of my life. I see Daddy walking up the sidewalk by the boarding school on his way to fix a pipe. I can taste Annie Kraft's cake with the surprise cherry filling. The Northern Pike are slipping from my line and my brother is helping me reel it in. I feel the snowballs hitting my shoulder. There are my jeans with the burlap piping; I am wearing them everyday. Father Nelson's garlic breath is seeping through the confessional. My beenie is blowing in the wind. I am going sledding.

The afternoon is a little of sitting around and a lot of enjoying the company. Back at Glennis' house Eileen takes me to see the show rabbits and goats that Kenny's wife and daughter raise and show. Kenny is in the yard working under the hood of an ATV. When I see him I am 10 again and my tongue is all caught up in a crush and my eyes are all caught up in watching my shoes make silly circles in the dirt. His daughter Sadie has the most beautiful complexion I have ever seen and she is as tall as me as a sixth grader. She shows off her bunnies and her goats.

She introduces me to all the cats as I literally choke Louie back from chasing them and then her and Aunt Eileen pose by the horses.

I of course don't have a picture of Kenny because that would be like Jessica asking Bill Kauiltz for a picture.

After a perfect spaghetti supper cooked by Glennis and enjoyed my Eileen's kids Cooper and Taylor and me and Eileen; Eileen and I head to the bar that was a schoolhouse in Battleview and another childhood friend, Teri, and her husband join us. Eileen's husband makes it up from Bismark too; he is the spiting image of his son only he has facial hair. We drink beer and bourbon and different characters frequent our table. There is a dog, a very energetic blond and a sports trivia encyclopedia in the form of a 23ish year old who I stumped on the Secretariat question. And proudly I was able to answer 13 of his 15 useless bits of stats and who done its.

We close the bar as you should do if you have traveled 3000 miles and I want to know these folks forever.

Recipes: Never underestimate the power of a spaghetti supper.

Roadtrips: The road from the Maruskie's to our old house is still a single lane dirt road; and there ain't nothing wrong with that. I have a theory; God must have set it up this way so only the fortunate can travel it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FA5QRWtBI5c

Renovations: I am pretty sure I want to be good like these people of the Great Western North Dakota.

Day Eight: The Badlands Then Home

2011-10-23T07:21:00.000-07:00

It is that point in the roadtrip where I don't know what day it is or how many days I have been traveling. I have to pull out a calender.

On day eight, I came back from Miles City with the goal of reaching Powers Lake, North Dakota for the night. Powers Lake is a town where I had gone to school when I was a 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 5th grader (remember 4th grade was spent in New England from day six, I think it was day six anyway).

Because of this Western North Dakota oil boom there is no way to get lodging if you are passing through. So I am excited to be headed to the Maruskie's home in Battleview, were I lived as a child: Battleview, not at the Maruskies, to spend a night or two. The Maruskie's are a family who took care of my family when we were fish out of water living in North Dakota 32 years ago. Collectively they are some of the best human stock I have known in all my travels and all these 32 years since. I have always had a memory for them, each member.

Eileen was my age and she was always the prettiest girl, not like us who feel like we need makeup and hair products. Kenny, who was my sister's age, was the one I had a crush on, my first I think. I will act cool if I get to see him. Scott was precocious. Ray was interesting and Daryl was a grown up. Glennis and Nealon, the parents, were good to us everyday; and you never forget that no matter what your age.

Circa 2011, the trip to Powers Lake/Battleview is a memory maker as well. I decide to go to the Teddy Roosevelt National Park and enter at the South end to remember what all the hub-bub of the Badlands is about.

There are several characters to meet along the way along the way...:

...and thoughts to contemplate...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSakrTxFTsE&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL

I don't really understand the map and think I am headed north, but I am nothing more then headed in a circle. When the adventure is over I end where I began and am hours behind schedule. I pull out my atlas and plan the route. It is ill planned, but, I fear, the only option, given where I am in this state of economic insanity. I get stuck pretty quickly on yet another road being redone. It is in the hour of the gloaming so everything is hard to see. I follow the truck in front of me with high hopes and notice no one in anything other then a semi is traveling this route. I hate it when everyone is in on the joke but me.

I try to text Eileen to inform her of the delays, as she is my welcoming committee, but no signal for mile after mile. I am coughing on the dirt blowing on my KIA. I am wondering if my car will ever be clean again; but not in a "I care to much about it'' kind of way.

I finally arrive at Powers Lake and I have no signal to call Eileen to tell her...I drive up and down town with my cell phone outside the window searching like a city slicker for some bars. Nothing! I head out of town and get one bar and a call goes through. I hear Eileen's voice and the joy is ruined by a car pulling along side of me. A window rolls down and smoke fills the air. A voice asks if I can tell them how to get to Tioga and judging from the Bud Light cans in the console I am assuming they don't notice my Georgia plates.

I don't know how to get to Tioga, and I think you ding-a-lings are blocking my cell reception; call drops with Eileen.

I pull forward and try the call again and after a short conversation, Eileen appears behind me. She is warm and welcoming and giving her a hug on the side of the road to Battleview is the warmest quilt I have felt in a long time. She navigates us out to her mom, Glennis' house; where I have secured a room.

We take dirt road after dirt road and I am beyond at home. I want to jump in the front seat with Eileen and tell her how excited, nervous, heartbroken, alive, I am to be here in this place of my childhood. But I don't. I keep it cool and choke back the stuff that would just be awkward.

When I drive into her mom's yard I am 8 again and my brother Wade is 13 and my sister Tracey is 10. We are right were we belong. I visit with Eileen and her mom for a couple of hours and then I hit the hay. And my cup has run over. I am not even sure what to pray for.

I am greeted in Battleview with a perfect bed and no 11 am checkout. I sleep like I am in heaven, and maybe I am.

Recipes: There is so much to digest.

Roadtrips: Always take the back road; even if you get stuck behind a work truck it is still more interesting then the main road.

Renovations: Don't change a thing; everything seems to be working out right in its own time...