Remembering

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Hello! With this, our latest favorite and most photo-worthy eats, I thought I’d give you a little behind the scenes action. Quite frequently, if not every time, I set food on the dining table to snap a photo, this is what our intrepid pooch does. A longing look and gentle sniff, with the great hope of getting a bite or two.

This was leftover Christmas ham made into a delectable savory bread pudding. All the stars.

A batch of focaccia made to accompany a delicious fettucini alfredo, with seared scallops. The tops…

Last year, in keeping with my love for all things New Mexico, including wonderful foodways, I bought the Big Book of Hatch Chile. This was my first time making their red chile, which had such amazing flavor, and super easy, too! The tortillas are also homemade, but from Rick Martinez, whose Mi Cocina cookbook is also pretty darn fabulous.

In another effort to reduce our environmental footprint, we traded our gas stove, which had several annoying quirks I won’t get into, and generated a lot of indoor air pollution, with an induction range. There’s been quite the learning curve with the cooktop: heating VERY quickly, boiling water ridiculously fast, burning an item or two, but we are getting there, and could not be more pleased, overall. The oven part, which these chocolate chip cookies serve as testament, bakes quite perfectly and evenly!

Another oven success, a dutch baby! Look at the steam go… I made a sauce with pears, and Greg did a fine bacon frying job. Happy, happy!

A foray into Japanese cuisine, with an udon dish. We had no idea what to expect and found it somewhat wanting. That said, it was almost there. I’ve added notes and will make corrections next time.

Chickpeas stewed in onion, golden raisins, and Major Grey chutney, with a generous sprinkles of cilantro, pickled red onions, fresh jalapeno slices, and feta cheese. A lovely belly warmer on a freezing winter day.

Finally, a story at the end. While on our honeymoon, very many moons ago, we spent several days with a friend at her Grandmother’s home outside Helsinki. It was high summer, with very, very long days of the most exquisite light. We slept in the summer house, a basic, yet delightful bed in a shed, just steps across the garden. There were long days adventuring, nibbling currants in the garden, being introduced to Moomins via a day at Moominworld, buying two adorable, and still much cherished mugs depicting their adventures, unwinding (and very much getting hooked) in our first sauna, and traipsing around the city at all hours, including the farmer’s market along the waterfront on the Gulf of Finland.

As instructed by Grandmother Hanna, we bought new potatoes and onions, to which Greg and I thought, okay, fine. She prepared them for some lunch or dinner, looking similar to the photo above, only with golden potatoes of very round proportions, and the same generous puddle of butter. Not expecting much besides sustenance, Greg and I tucked in to the most truly amazing potatoes of our life. So creamy! So buttery! And that nice contrasting snap of barely cooked onion! How did they taste so special when all she did was boil them?! Initially, and for many years, we thought we hadn’t found the right potato. But after many tries, with truly great taters, we realized there had to be more to it.

After more than thirty years, I FINALLY found out! In another Libby library scroll, I found a New England cookbook by Sarah Leah Chase, an astounding 300 recipe tome, with a recipe for boiled potatoes. My ears perked up as I read the description of bites of ridiculously creamy vegetable glory, hearkening back to that wonderful summer meal. It sounded like it might just be the secret to Grandmother Hanna’s. And it was! Can you guess? Boiling two pounds of small potatoes, like fingerlings or new, or with even greater luck, Finn Golds, in six cups of water and a bananas six tablespoons of sea salt (the recipe calls for kosher, but I made adjustments). What a thrill to take that first very special bite. Exactly the same texture and wonderfully good flavor and a fabulous trip down memory lane. Oh, happy eating!

Segovia, Spain – the view from our window
El Alcazar – our first castle tour!!
Nice, France
The Trevi Fountain in Rome
Boat Tour of Lake Geneva, surprisingly included with our Eurail Pass. I like that we are holding hands. Note the ashtray on the table for indoor smoking! We did not partake.
Greg’s favorite trees in Wurzberg, Germany

Greg and I were married thirty years ago today. A long time, all things considered. We had a little celebration at our new favorite British Pub yesterday, high on deliciousness and low on fanfare, before watching a Pink Floyd movie nearly as old as we are. It was a grand day of relaxation. As the two previous days were spent spreading twenty yards of bark mulch around the front and back gardens, it was a welcome respite. The top photo is a glorious first glimpse. All the work rendered us both bone tired and me rather sleepless, too. I kept thinking about how far we have come.

The London Transport photos were the first “in-person” day of our honeymoon, after flying through Newark and overnight across the Atlantic, arriving bright and early in London. It also lets you know how short I am in comparison to Greg, as the photo booth stool was not adjustable.

The serviceberry is surrounded by a whole host of volunteers: goldenrod, penstemon, and evening primrose. Strong plants, like our mostly good habits, flourish when given proper attention.

Gardening is so much like the cultivation of a marriage. The lilac is probably as old as our house, and while it was quite large from all those years in the ground, not all of it was healthy. When we cut out the unruly bits and dead wood, it flourished. We’ve done this so many times in our relationship, with people and habits, and never been the worse for it.

On our trip, we were careful not to have too much. Everything we owned was on our bodies and backs, a repetition of the essentials. Any object that failed to meet the criteria was left behind. The same is true with our garden. We started with such a wide variety of plants! As the years pass, the number dwindles, as weather and animals (wild and domesticated canine) show us which are hale and hearty and worthy of replanting.

I was well into saving for a trip to Europe when I met Greg. After I was certain I liked him, I shared my plans and asked if he wanted to join me. He said, YES! For a time, we thought we might get married there, but in those days before the interwebs, it presented a logistical nightmare, so we made it our honeymoon.

We decided to travel for two months and saved for the nearly two years of our long distance engagement, while still in college (such young things), totaling $3000 dollars between the two of us. It was ALL in traveler’s checks that we kept secured, along with our passports, in pouches that hung around Greg’s neck and my waist. I cannot imagine such thrift nor travel without a credit card now. How we, and the times, have changed.

Then, as now, we still like to try new things, even if we decide they aren’t worth the bother. Topless bathing is one such example. How tan I was from all the walking though!

Thankfully, Greg and I learned early on, specifically when we were in Nice (France!), the value of rest. We had been go-going, walking much of every day and taking overnight trains to save on time, when it hit us. We were becoming crabby and 100% to each other.

So, in this place of great beauty and sunshine, we stayed for ten glorious days, lolling at the beach, reading and swimming, and sleeping in, too. Near the end of our stint, we even moved from a one-star hotel ($20 a night!) to basically an apartment, with a kitchenette, for $10 more a night. We could have cold and hot food and eat it at an actual table. The luxury!

I believe the greatest luxury of these past thirty years is the result of our dedication to each other. We are always striving to be and do better, in the garden, around the house, in how we treat each other. We are keen at observing the weeds and promptly taking care of them. We are better at loving, at giving each other space, at knowing when we are wrong and apologizing. We continue to blossom, and it feels like being the luckiest couple in the world.

Thirteen year-old Colleen. It is 1984. My hair is feathered. I’m wearing pink eye shadow and nail polish, while our cute kitten, Mitzi, uses me as her personal jungle gym.

In My Room, junior year. Sorry, Beach Boys. How about those bangs? I was a major consumer of Suave hairspray and all things James Dean. Please note the cool hi-fi, secondhand and bought with my own money. I could crank it, peeps.

Mid-way through senior year, I ditched the bangs, a la Belinda Carlisle. It was a major compliment when I first met my friend Barry (are you there?), and he told me I looked like her. I love that these are still my signature colors. Tried and true.

And now, for the real reason we are here. Sometimes, even an enjoyable task, like reminiscing about favorite songs from your formative years, can feel incredibly daunting. Where to begin? What do I include? What don’t I include? It is so big and so important. Seriously. Music, and particularly from this era, has been such a part of my identity. I took my first steps toward adulthood with these notes in my ears, often with friends, but mostly on my own, in the solace of my bedroom, and later, the sacred space of my 1981 Toyota Celica, the very first place I could be truly alone. Nothing here belongs to another, in that joining the crowd to “fit in” fashion. Each was chosen intentionally, specifically, for my own joy or sorrow, singing at top of voice, often while dancing.

With a handful of exceptions, I owned, mostly on tape, each of these bits of wonder, alphabetized (of course!) in my bedroom, and later, rotating a dozen or so in a nifty zippered case behind the passenger seat of my car. What great companions they were!

I thought about breaking this up into several parts, but decided against it, in that teenager popping cassette after cassette into the player on some warm day, with nothing better to do. I hope you enjoy…

Journey – Faithfully. For Mike. I have never forgotten.

Van Halen – Jump

The Church – No Explanation

The Damned – Alone Again Or

Motley Crue – Shout at the Devil I knew ALL the words. Yes, ma’am.

Killing Joke – Love like Blood

The Stone Roses – I Wanna Be Adored

The Smiths – How Soon is Now?

New Order – Thieves Like Us

Bronski Beat – Smalltown Boy

Madonna – Borderline

Whitney Houston – The Greatest Love of All Oh, Whitney! Voice of an angel. This is my absolute favorite song of hers. Get this playing, and you’ll see me bawl like a wee babe, I gua-ran-tee it.

Janet Jackson – When I Think of You

Billy Idol – Eyes Without a Face

Billy Squier – In the Dark

The Cult – She Sells Sanctuary

Talk Talk – It’s My Life

Depeche Mode – Just Can’t Get Enough

Bauhaus – Bela Lugosi is Dead

INXS – Don’t Change

The Cure – Close to Me

Echo and the Bunnymen – Lips Like Sugar

Beastie Boys – Hold it Now, Hit It

The Sugarcubes – Birthday

Psychic TV – Wicked

Psychedelic Furs – The Ghost in You

The Clash – The Magnificent Seven

Elvis Costello – Pump it Up

Simple Minds – Sanctify Yourself

The The – This is the Day

Eric B. and Rakim – I Ain’t No Joke

Peter Gabriel – San Jacinto, the very best version from Peter Gabriel Plays Live, with, quite possibly the most fabulous make-up on an album cover, ever. Stunning. When Greg and I started dating, and I found this album among his collection, I took it as a sign from on high. We like the same music!!

Violent Femmes – Blister in the Sun

Frankie Goes to Hollywood – Two Tribes

U2 – Bad

Big Audio Dynamite – Rush

Pet Shop Boys – Love Comes Quickly

Information Society – What’s on Your Mind

‘Til Tuesday – Voices Carry

Public Image Limited – Rise

LL Cool J – I’m Bad

Stevie Nicks & Tom Petty – Stop Dragging My Heart Around

Nine inch Nails – Down in It

Steve Winwood – While You See a Chance

The English Beat – Save it for Later

Public Enemy – Don’t Believe the Hype

Talking Heads – Girlfriend is Better

Robert Plant – In the Mood This was the first album I bought with my own money. Thirteen years old, I walked the twenty minutes from my house to Sweet’s Records and Tapes at 80th & Wadsworth and proudly put my cash on the counter. It was a stellar moment of independence and freedom.

General Public – Tenderness

The GoGo’s – Head Over Heels

Too Short – Life Is… Thank you, Bub.

After the Fire – Der Komissar

Golden Earring – Twilight Zone

The Kinks – Come Dancing

Prince – Baby, I’m a Star. Dance, dance, dance…

Genesis – Abacab

Big Country – In a Big Country

New Edition – Cool it Now Ronny, Bobby, Ricky, and Mike…

Modern English – I Melt With You

Loverboy – Turn Me Loose My concert going ways started with Loverboy. Thanks to my Uncle Chris for taking me to Big Mac all those years ago!

Eurythmics – Love is a Stranger

Eddie Murphy – Party All the Time. Uh-huh, you got that right.

Robert Palmer – You are in My System

Soul II Soul – Jazzie’s Groove

Kate Bush – Reaching Out

The Pretenders – Middle of the Road

Brian Patrick Hagman. I knew Brian in junior high, only vaguely, boyfriend of a friend, giant smiled and preppy, winner of the science fair. Fast forward two years, Junior English, and he’s lanky and much more handsome, the best hair at school, seated next to me. No longer preppy, sporting shirts emblazoned with my own recent obsession: SKULLS. I am instantly smitten, duh, duh, duh. Though he has zero romantic interest in me, we are fast friends in all other arenas.

On our first outing, he picks me up in his coolest of cool cars, a red convertible VW Bug. We sail down I-70, hair whipping, a cacophony of tunes and voices shouting over the din. Destination: Mushroom Tables, me a lone female among a sea of skaters, the magic and splendor, joy and ease. There will be more of this and other hangouts, caffeinated evenings, diners and dives, Paris on the Platte, too.

Brian will form a band – Wretched Refuse – named after the Emma Lazarus poem, cementing both his daring and intelligence. He was ALWAYS the smartest person in the room. I’ll attend shows, mostly in shady warehouses downtown: deafening, rowdy, moments straight from fil-ums, and stand in awe of his wit and charisma.

Always open to novel experiences, I organize an evening at a theater above Paris, Sam Shepard’s Seduced. If you’ve seen it, you likely know where I am heading. Imagine being seventeen, sitting next to a boy you fancy, while simultaneously trying to pretend this creepy, long nailed, Kleenex flinging weirdo isn’t simulating masturbation right before your eyes. I don’t think the pair of us ever worked so hard NOT to look at each other.

In that youthful time of firsts, my season with Brian was a source of many: first ride in a convertible, first cigarette (oof!), first and last porno play, first (only?) friend to show up wearing the same shirt without prior planning, first friend to get a tattoo (and later name his second band after it), and first friend with whom I will play pool and stay out until dawn, in one extraordinary two-fer.

That halcyon night into morning, testament to Brian’s story telling prowess, had him conjuring us, as we all wore Army inspired garments, as veterans of Vietnam, our detailed fictional history brilliantly woven from the ether. After a smashing defeat at the pool hall, with me at the wheel, Joy Division on the speakers, we zoomed the back way to Boulder and across the diagonal, to Longmont, nearly Ft. Collins. The laughter and stories, going, going, of our dreams, of landscapes, of Rudy (Ru-dayyy) the Zippo lighter, a gift from Mike Lombardi, also present, though no longer, lost more than a decade ago.

Life separated us, for painful and practical reasons, and this conjuring of memory, a joyful opening of a precious time capsule, the result of me wondering if he breathes still. My kindly friend who never belittled nor diminished me, who smiled, who filled rooms with thunderous laughter, both his own and in response to him. How I loved him. How I loved who we were together.

Greetings from Pella, Iowa, town of all things windmills, tasty pastry, deluxe sausage (think Slim Jim, only AMAZING), and window manufacturing. How I loved the old buildings and their charming fronts. My cute, best-ever travel companions, Greg and Juniper! She donned an insect repellent bandanna for much of our trip, as the Mid-West bug situation is next level. I still have remains from quarter inch welts (mosquito?), which I used to think only existed in the world of movies. How disappointing to be so very wrong, dear peeps.

I failed to fill the big shoes but still had quite a lot of fun!

Pella has the cutest downtown, chock full of Dutch inspired architecture spanning the ages. The rightmost building in the above photo, holding the Jaarsma Bakery, was one of our prime destinations. In addition to baked goods, they sell all manner of fun Dutch goods: candies, shoes of wood and ceramic, ornaments galore. I was a stellar customer, buying many gifts in addition to Dutch Letters, a crazy good apple pastry, and a couple varieties of cookie. Ulrich Meat market was our first and best source of the beef meat sticks, partaking in a bacon jalapeno and smoked gouda. So good!

My friend Bob recommended super cute Dutch Fix, and it did not disappoint! Frisian Fries (like poutine, but with a spiced gravy), and a Gouda Burger. And fear not, the two of us shared them. It was vacation, and we ate A LOT, but those huge portions would have been madness!

Pella’s Klokkenspel rings out with figurines a couple of times a day. Cute, but not half as exciting as it sounds.

And now, the sweet town square of Oskaloosa, just a bit down the road from Pella.

Oskaloosa is in Mahaska County, and this statue depicts the Iowan Chief for whom the county was named.

Oskaloosa City Hall

Oskaloosa Public Library

Inside the Smokey Row Coffee House. They’ve converted an old department store, filled with every manner of sign found in the town, including this dazzler of a movie marquee. I highly recommend both the coffee and the sweet service. I chatted up a kindly woman from St. Louis, attending William Penn college on a volleyball scholarship. How intimate and inviting the world becomes in situations like these.

Quaker Friends Meeting House

Amos Briggs & Edith McCracken Briggs

And now the reason for our visit to this tiny town. My Great-Great Grandparents Amos and Edith lived here! They were successful farmers and Quakers and most definitely attended the Meeting House above, along with my Great Grandpa and his siblings, John and Clara. Grandpa Amos died in Oskaloosa in 1911, and despite a valiant effort to visit his grave, I never could find it. Sad face. Grandma Edith lived in Colorado after his death and was the only grandmother my Grandma Frances ever knew.

Baby Howard

My Great Grandfather William Howard Briggs was born March 3, 1894. Adults called him Howard (when angry, he was “How-errrd!!” to Grandma Tillie), but always Grandpa Briggs to me. All the buildings I chose to photograph, save the fabulous Eagle in front of the Fire Station, existed during his time in Oskaloosa. My heart swelled at the thought of him wandering as I did, most especially at the library.

Grandpa Briggs enlisted in the military on June 5, 1917 at Laramie, Wyoming during World War I.

He met my Grandma Tillie at a dance in Greeley, Colorado after the war. They were married on June 23, 1919. This photo was taken three years later, in November. Wasn’t he dapper?

This is the younger version of how I remember him, holding court in his chair, cigar or paper back (Louis L’Amour) in hand, often a mischievous grin on his lips. Perhaps because I was such a vocal and independent child, Grandma Tillie was never terribly nice to me. Her favorite, forever and always, in obvious and small ways, was my cousin Brad. Grandpa Briggs clearly recognized this. While I have no recollection of a single word uttered between us (his voice an unknowable mystery), I remember him with great fondness, his huge hand enveloping mine, walking with me to the Western Motor Lodge, and letting me choose penny candy. His was the first death (March 9, 1980) affecting my own person, experienced as a sincere loss, when I was nearly nine years old. What magic to connect with his youth as he did with mine.

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