Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

No, not those kinds of tricks. Get your mind out of the gutter. Wait, maybe I should reconsider.

At the Candy Factory, I was hired to work in the office three days a week for about six hours a day. They needed someone to help with their website using Photoshop. I love computers and really looked forward to it.

The job entailed a lot more than office work. When you work in a mama/papa business, it's important to help out. Just hope I can do all the other stuff they have asked me to do. I love bagging caramel corn, hard candy and boxing chocolates. When I leave work, I bring all those great smells home with me. Ah, it's a heavenly aroma that surrounds me and stays on my clothes for hours.

They know I'm not physically strong, so thank heavens I don't have to help lift the very large, heavy brass pot full of scalding hot boiling sugar and dump it onto a sugared table. Scooping ice cream is not for me either. Even some of the really young employees tell me how their back and arms start to hurt when its busy.

Every thing was just great until the bosses asked me to man the cash register during the 4th of July celebrations when they just get slammed. No problem. Glad to help. After a quick 15 minute instruction one day and a quick recap just before we opened, I'm on my own.

Now for the new tricks. Doors open and people are streaming in, line goes out the door and down the sidewalk. Great for business. The Candy Shop does have an excellent reputation and a lot of repeat customers that come back every time they are in town. Some even do a regular mail order after visiting.

Okay, okay, on with the story. Feeling very useful, helpful and smart to pick up this cash register thing so fast, (never ever ran a cash register before) I'm getting the line through, weighing taffy, bagging stuff like coffee cups and tea pots, stuffed animals, boxes of chocolate, punching in prices for ice cream cones, punching in related codes, doing credit cards, giving change. I'm on a roll. Until....

One group changed things up. Oops. I saw a cancel button and hit it, thinking that would cancel the transaction and I could start over. I was getting muddled, these people were taking things back, adding more stuff. Eeks. Okay, I hit the total button. What!!! $4,256.00. Something is really wrong and the customer is not amused. There is a young teenager working there who comes to bail me out. But she pushes me aside like stale bread and delves into the tape on the cash register. I try to thank her for helping, she shoos* me away like I was irritating her to the max. So I step back.

She says problem fixed. I try to cash out another customer. Oh, no. It's still saying an ice cream cone and box of candy is in the thousands of dollars. This time another employee tried to help. Even then after a successful couple of customers, it starts again with the big dollar totals. Now the owner comes over because the computer is frozen. Quietly I tell him, I'm not doing the cash register, but I'll be happy to help bag candy.

As I leave, I hear that snotty little teenager, telling everyone how stupid I am. That's it, I'm going to be her worst enemy now.

Bagging candy and caramel corn goes on the rest of the day and I know that I've contributed —just not at the cash register. This old dog knows now that she can't be taught new tricks.

Page two: Once after my retirement, I was offered a job in the bakery of a food market in Mercer, Wisconsin. I'm a foodie and thought it would be a blast to work there part-time. It was early morning work, but hey, I'm an early morning person. Got there on time, punched in my time card, filled out all the tax stuff. Then went to work.

Heavy pans, heavy flour, heavy sugar. No time to have a break. Sweep the floors, bag the bread. No bathroom breaks. Stock the floor, push the heavy tray holders, wash the dishes in a huge machine. Quick break for lunch. Did go outside in sunshine for 10 minutes and ate my sandwich. Back to work. Eight hours of hell. Had a headache, arm ache, feet ache.

Back again the next day. NOPE! Called in when I got home and told the boss the work was too hard for this old lady. QUIT. And for all that work, he never paid me. I called a number of times, he always said he would mail it. Guess what, he never did.

This old dog is enjoying sleeping in the sun, dreaming of old times, eating great meals, doing just what she wants, having fun working a couple of days at the Candy Store... knowing that at this time of her life, she has limitations. No more new tricks for her.

*Shoo, shoos - definition: used to get animal to leave; wave away

Raging Dance with Raccoons

Late last night as I was watching the News, out of the corner of my eye, a movement on my deck. My little dog Luc, at full alert, ears straight up, rushed over to the door and started to bark. OMG There was a raccoon eyeing my tender pansies. I clicked open the door, only to have Luc push through and start to chase the raccoon who fled behind the outdoor teacart for safety.

In another flash, down the deck, the clicking toes of Luc were making staccato music to his barking. Trying to see in the dim amber glow of my rope lights, Luc was in the far corner and singing and dancing furiously. At first I couldn't see anything, but as I walked down the deck, up on the rail, there they were, not one, not two but three huge raccoons snarling their own chorus down at Luc. Yelling for Luc to come to me, I also caught those nasty bandits glaring eyes. They have no fear. They continued to snarl and hiss at Luc and me.

After Luc finally came to me and into the safety of the house on my stern command, I turned my attention to those pesky rodents. Yep, they were now challenging me. Each of these "Three Amigos" must have weighed as much as a large dog - 30-40 lbs at least, maybe more. They were getting bigger and nastier by the minute. I picked up the first thing I saw, my loveseat pad from the chair and swung it at those mean spirited devils. Even though I hit all three of them with the heavy pad, they hung on, increasing the volume of their protest. I was in the fight now, and finally I landed a blow that caught one of them off guard and down he went, another one scampered away, the third lost his balance and I could hear the branches of the bushes breaking under his weight. No KOs, but Dawn, the victorious and brave fighter, WON that round.

Yep, there's more. Round Two. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned to check on Luc who now was cowering in the house. I guess he thought I was mad at him from the excited and loud tone to my voice when I sent him into the house. What was that? Nooo. Not another raccoon. Smaller and quieter, I hadn't noticed him huddled in the corner behind the teacart. I tried to threaten him, but he wouldn't move. I ran into the house and grabbed a broom. He hasn't moved. Poking him with the end of my broom just seemed to annoy his haughty supremacy, but with continuing poking and yelling, he finally sauntered off the deck and down to safety. My beautiful flowers, patio tomatoes and English peas are safe... for awhile.

With all that commotion, I looked out at my neighbors' houses, no one came out to witness the fight, no cops came to check out the domestic disturbance. Just another night where the Georgetown population of 989 hid or slept in their houses while the army of raccoon, 28,532 in numbers, continue to plunder and destroy their town.

Tonight, one resident won the fight against the ever increasing invaders. Round three is coming...

Battleground photo above!

Sourdough? That is the Story.

Way back when, I wrote a column called "Panhandle Polly" for the American Sportsman Magazine. Knowing nothing about sourdough, I asked my readers for recipes. So many responses came in, I was overwhelmed. Certainly sparked a life-long interest in sourdough stories and recipes.

Although some form of wild yeast leavening has been around for a long time, it is the Alaska sourdough pancakes or the San Francisco sourdough bread that most people talk about. Have you heard how the Alaska sourdough got started?

Picture a burro loaded with traps, mining equipment, pick axe, pot/pans, coats, tents, food. Old grizzled man standing in front of his crude log cabin in the deep forest. Off they go, not only in search of gold, but to trap beaver, fox or whatever finds their way to him. With one last look behind to make everything is secure, he heads out knowing he wont be back for at least a month.

It's a good trip for trapping, but no luck with gold. The money from the fur pelts, however, will carry the man through the rest of the year. Finally back home. He hurries in and builds the fire. As the cabin warms up, he's thinking about making a hard bread biscuit. Opening up the flour barrel, he found a puddle of bubbling goo in the middle. The roof had leaked and water had dripped onto the flour while he was gone. As he scooped up the mess to throw it out, he was struck by the wonderful yeasty smell. Hmm.

The trash missed out, for he put that bubbling mass into a bowl, added a part of it to more flour, and left it to rise overnight. In the morning, after several hours of unpacking, putting things away, gathering firewood, he checked the dough. Wow, the dough had double in bulk. He punched it down again arranged small rounds of dough in his Dutch oven to rise again. Can't you just see the excitement in his eyes and his mouth watering at the thought of a light yeast bread?

Putting the cast iron pot on the morning coals and adding more coals on top of the lid, he waited as the smell of fresh baked bread permeated the room. Thus the first sourdough starter was born.

My high school friend, Kathleen Hall, told me that she makes sourdough bread, or did until her husband thought it smelled bad and threw it out. She hasn't made any starters since.

Sourdough pancakes are the lightest, airiest ones you'll ever eat. After adding eggs, salt and a little sugar to the a couple of cups of starter, turn on your griddle and wait until it is hot. Then at the last minute add the soda to the sourdough pancake mixture. Once that soda hits, a chemical reaction occurs. In just a few minutes, it will bubble furiously and increase to twice its size. Then and only then do you pour half-dollar size dollops onto your griddle. They cook fast, so don't go far.

Dab of butter, maple syrup, and be surprised how many you eat.

Hey, I make a killer sourdough chocolate cake that you eat warm with butter instead of icing. It is soooo good. Want the recipe? Just ask.

Sand, Iron and the Way West

If that black cast-iron Dutch oven could talk, what stories it would tell!

Even Christopher Columbus on his voyages across the sea to the New World listed an iron pot in his manifests. Those first black iron pots or cauldrons were pretty rough hand-pounded pieces.

In the early 1700s, an Englishman, Abraham Darbey, took a trip to Holland to inspect the dry-sand casting method they used to make brass vessels. Improving on this system, by baking the sand molds, Darby produced a smoother finish for iron pots and extended the number of times you could use the molds. Eventually the Dutch oven evolved to add a trio of legs to hold it up over the coals and a flat lid to hold more coals for baking or turned over, as a griddle.

Abraham Lincoln tells us stories of his childhood and sleepless nights keeping the fire going with a big Dutch oven pot hanging from a swing arm in the fireplace and memories of his mother cooking bread and stew in those pots. Lewis and Clark had their Dutch oven on their long exploration journey to the Northwest. The highly prized Dutch oven cookware was even listed in wills. Martha Washington left her prized and well-seasoned cookware in her will, evenly divided between her children.

Can't you just hear the clink clink clinking of the Dutch ovens swinging from the outside of wagons as they heading west. If you put them inside the wagon, the heavy pot bouncing along the rough trail would loosen the floorboards. Hang those pots on the outside. The Dutch oven was important during the massive western cattle drives during their long haul across the west. The chuck wagon was always supplied with a Dutch oven for the cook to make biscuits, stews and cobblers over the evening campfires. Those cowboys were hungry.

Wouldn't it be fun to be a time-traveling mouse, listening to all the stories around the fire, watching what they threw in their pots, how they seasoned their dishes?

September 19th, 2009, Georgetown, Colorado is putting on its first Dutch Oven Cook-off to celebrate 150 years of mining history... and I'm a judge. Oh, no. I am imagining more Dutch oven stories.... hmm.

My Dirt Eating Guy

Ugh, not a pretty sight. Luc, coming toward me, big smile on his face, eyes twinkling, and around his mouth a nice ring of black dirt. No, no, no... I don't want a kiss. I'm backing up in my chair to get out of his path. Too late. He jumps on me and gives me a sloppy kiss laced with dirt.

Now why would anyone eat dirt? Mineral deficiency that gives you urges you just can't resist? Was it a dare? Were you just loopy and fell into the dirt on your face? Come on now. What were you thinking?

The campfire's blazing in the pit as it makes it way to coals. All of us are sitting, talking and standing around at our Colorado, Ranger Lakes Campsite. Just finished a great Campfire Stew that my daughter, Diane, made in her Dutch Oven. OMG it was good. There was not a morsel left. She was scrapping the bottom of that pan - everyone wanted more. Luc was pacing back and forth, looking for just one more bite.

I swear he was in constant movement the entire four days of camping. Hiking up the mountain, through rock slides, over and under fences, around the lake. Saw a lot of Moose with babies. He'd come back with the girls, panting, just beat!

Then there was the time, we all took a day trip to North Michigan Lake, just a few miles away. Most everyone was fishing, talking, etc. There were ten or eleven of us milling around. Dogs were jumping in the water after sticks. Lots of things going on. When we decided to go back to our campground and start dinner, Luc was over with Jeremy, my son, looking as though he was going home in the truck with him. By the time I got everything together, awning back up on my small 20 foot RV, put it in gear and started the slow turn around towards home, here comes running toward me, the lady who was fishing on the shore. waving her hands like crazy. I stopped and rolled down the window. "You left someone, he's been running trying to catch the RV or the truck."

What? I've never left anybody before. Face turns a little hot and red in embarrassment. I get out of the RV and ran towards Luc, meeting him in a rush, we hugged and kissed.

Thank god, the rest of the trip went without a hitch... then on the long way home, I had my granddaughter, Olivia, open the closet door and get the bottle of water out for me. Luc was sitting in the middle between the two front seats. Livvy went to the back and laid down on the bed to read. We were going up the mountain, a slow and twisting road to the top of Berthoud Pass, when on one of the turns, the closet door flew open, a table top and a couple of pipes banged, clanged all over the place. I was looking for a place to pull off, Luc was under my feet, shaking, he was so scared. He's right beside the pedals!

Now you may be thinking, that guy was under your feet? Yep. Luc is my long-haired Chihuahua!

Now you know, as Paul Harvey use to say... "the rest of the story."

P.S. Oh yes, when we did find a pull off, it led to the most amazing waterfall in the deep pines, wildflowers everywhere. We never would have seen it had it not been for the closet door fiasco! Is there a moral to this story? Agh, no! It's just a story to make you smile. Thanks for being here.

When the Lights Go Out in Georgetown

TV's droning on in the background. My fingers are flying over the keys of my laptop. I'm trying hard to get photos to Alice via E-mail. Poof, TV goes out, all the lights on the deck go out, my lamp next to my chair goes out. Is it my imagination, or did it just get utterly quiet? No traffic noise. Absolutely dark everywhere except for the neon kind of light from my laptop that just went to battery. I get up slowly make my way to the deck door to look out. Man, the lights are out all over Georgetown. It is dark. I can barely make out the houses across the street. I can see two tiny headlights lighting up the road far away. Nothing more.

Where are the flashlights? Not where they usually are. Oh, damn. I remember that I used them all on the camping trip last week. They are in the RV way out back... in the very dark. Okay. I know I have candles, yep. there's one on the piano. I've got my hands on it. Now the matches are in the kitchen closet. It's here... I'm a Helen Keller now, feeling my way to the shelves, around the bread machine, over the blender. Yea! Finally the big box of kitchen matches are in my hand that is not holding the candle. Found the dining room table. Strike that match on the side of the box, a lovely spark, then the flame. Lighting the wicks, a tiny area lights up, but enough so that I can hold the glass container and move around the room, finding other candles, lighting them. I've got light.

Over to the window, I still see no other lights in any of the nearby houses. The lights are still out over the entire town, but now a full moon is making its way over the black mountain tops casting white shadows over the lawn, deck and outside furniture. The cushions are turning into weird patterns. Are they moving? Come on. Who knew that there were white shadows. Okay, maybe grey, but it's definitely lighting up my RV, some of the big boulders, pine tree branches. Oh...

You know... I'm getting a little scared. There's not a soul around, and there's no sound. Well, I'm guessing it is after midnight. I can't even hear my little dog, Luc, but get the sense of movement as he follows me around. Or... gosh, I hope it's Luc. I'm very scared now. Imagination on overtime. My dusk to dawn soft up-lights are gone. It's dark. I'm waiting for the lights to come back on. It's dark. Now my little Luc jumps onto my lap as though he knows I need a warm body, no matter how small.

Waiting as the candles burn down and get dimmer. Okay, I'm going to bed. This is silly. If the lights come back on, I certainly don't want all the lights on all night long. Let me guess... I think the back porch light was on, is the switch up or down for off? I do switch off the lamp by my chair. Funny, switch off when there is no light on. I wander through the house trying to figure what was on, turning it off.

Up the dark stairscase and one more look outside. Boy, what a perfect take over for some evil genius. Seriously, fighting my beating heart. Talking to myself now. Finding my nightgown hanging in the closet, pulling back the covers and climbing into bed. The stars are really bright in my skylight. I gather what comfort I can from their beauty and slowly slip into sleep.

Bright lights blasting, the ceiling fan is going full blast. I'm up. Yep, all the lights are back on, stairway lights, the TV is droning on again as I go downstairs to turn everything off and back into my bed, snuggling in.

All is well again and I... have had a wonderful adventure in the dark.

End of the Day

A wall of windows peak toward the southern skies in my house. Although I tend not to even notice the view, it's always there waiting for me. Out of the corner of my eye, a movement catches my attention, and the very frenetic hummingbirds, dip and whirl around each other vying for position on the many feeders.

Tonight, I just happened to glance up and in the twilight, an unbelievable color bathed everything as though you were looking through rose colored glasses. Intensifying the greens of the pines, the ochre and umber of the rock, and most of all the incredible blue of the sky. The clouds slowly turn from light orange, to amber, to pink, and then finally a perfect raspberry rose. It reaches into the deepest joy of my soul and adds a dimension of calm and happiness.

Isn't it true in life, we sort of get caught up in our own mind and really the beauty that goes on all around is just not seen.