Live at the Met

Molly and I poked our heads into the Metropolitan Museum of Art last week looking for a clean bathroom and a quick diversion. Three and a half hours later, we stumbled out transformed by the sheer number of incredibly cool things we had seen. Our day had started quite early and a little mishap at the airport that morning, which may or may not have stained the carpeting at gate B1 strawberry red, meant that we had to split a single luscious yogurt fruit parfait for breakfast. By 3:00 that afternoon we were starving and the older of our little duo really had to use the facilities. We had taken a long stroll through Central Park when Molly suggested we stop in at the Met.
We bought our tickets and hustled up to the Art of Dissent exhibit, which just happened to be next to the Ladies Room. That exhibit alone was worth the price of admission. It was full of beautiful pieces from 17th century China, all created by political dissidents. After that, I pulled out the map.
"Holy cats, Molly," I said. "This place is huge. We're going to need some sustenance."
Fortunately, the Met has a very nice cafe and you get to eat right in the middle of the American sculpture exhibit.
We wandered through Asian, Egyptian, Greek and Roman, European, Islamic art displays and the great Arms and Armour hall. Each single piece dazzled. As a whole, the museum took our breath away.
I hauled Molly out of there after three and a half hours because my dogs were barking and we had to meet the rest of our family for dinner. Easily, we could have spent another hour or two. We're adding the Metropolitan Museum of Art to our long list of Reasons We Must Return to New York.
And, of course, we took pictures.

Here we have four-armed Avlokiteshvara,
the Bodhisattva of infinite compassion. We had to
google Bodhisattva, but we're still not clear. We're
 big fans of compassion though.

Perhaps we could have been more reverent, but we enjoyed
posing like the sculptures.

See caption above.

As if the beauty indoors wasn't enough, we enjoyed this
lovely display through the window.

I really loved the maternal joy portrayed by this
sculpture and I suggested to Molly that we use
it as a logo for our blog. Then she pointed out that
 they were (whisper this) naked and she vetoed it.

Dined pseudo al fresco with a bunch of cool sculptures.

I kept trying to capture Molly and my reflection in the mirrors of
these American exhibits until a security guard mentioned the no flash rule.

Like I said, we enjoyed posing like the sculptures.

Can you spot Molly in this picture?

Charge!

So then I pointed out the beautiful white American
 hieroglyphics with the red background and suggested
 we follow them. I just plain ran out of gas.

We'll take Manhattan

Molly and I popped in on our oldest son/brother Charlie this weekend. The good news for Molly and me is that Charlie works in Manhattan. We loved every Strawberry Field-matzo ball-Greenwich  Village-crazy cabbie with a heart of gold-Broadway-Times Square-stinky subway-bocce ball minute.
We arrived, stored our bags and hit the road to the Time Life Building where Charlie works. Much to our sweet surprise and his consternation, the Time Life Building was just a block and a half away from our hotel.
This situation provided us with my favorite line from the weekend after I excitedly and Midwesternly gushed to a Time Life security guard.
"We're here to visit my son - her brother- but we don't know what floor he works on," I said.
"Well that makes three of us ma'am," he replied. Hilarious.
Charlie wasn't expecting us for several hours, which is why I'll forgive him for the greeting he gave his mother who had not seen him since June.
"I thought you were going to call when you got to your hotel," he said. Sweet.
In the 48 hours that followed, Molly and I (who were later joined by our oldest daughter/sister Katherine) walked through Central Park, spent so many hours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art that they will require their own post, had dinner on a rooftop overlooking Rockefeller Plaza, stood in the sleet at the half-price ticket booth in Times Square, saw a Broadway Show (obviously), had lunch at Katz's Deli, took a subway ride back and toured the underground city, had dinner at an Italian restaurant that houses the country's oldest indoor bocce ball court, sipped drinks and heard a great band in Greenwich Village, went to mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral, had lunch at a delicious kosher cafe, and did a little shopping on Fifth Avenue.
Very little. We are not shoppers.
We're hoping we absorbed some of the energy that beautiful city has to offer. We have several things on our list that we were unable to see, including the 911 memorial, so here's fair notice to young Charlie: We will be back soon.
So many pictures and just one blog. Here are 10 of our favorites:

"Look Molly, Charlie works here," I said as she
pretended not to know me. I had to squat in an
unsophisticated manner to get this shot.

It's the little things that thrilled us -- like free
fresh water stations on every floor of our hotel.

Caught this guy spray painting the Trump Tower sign. And you
thought they were made of real gold!

Central Park checkerboard.

Shakespeare's Garden in Central Park. Such tranquil beauty
amid such roaring chaos! It's a city of extremes.

Scary low rider. Apparently common this time of year.

We shrugged too!

Charlie said the subway station was right up the street. It was
a sleeting, messy hike, though. Even that was fun!

Happy Katherine in line at the half-price ticket booth.

Irritated Katherine in the basement of the subway
after a wet and chilly hike.

Halloween Hijinks

We love Halloween and every year something happens to make us love it a little bit more.

In 1993 I spotted a hand lettered sign in the window of an old isolated farmhouse. "Homemade costumes." Ignoring every last chapter of every Stephen King novel I've ever read, I poked my head in the front door. Inside, for the price of a cheap grocery store costume, I found gorgeous, handmade heirloom costumes. My children, previously little waifs whose mother could not thread a needle, held their heads high during the nursery school costume parade and I returned to that farmhouse annually until its owner moved away.
Our neighbors love Halloween as much as we do. We live on an active trick-or-treat street and most years the fall leaves still cling to the trees that canopy it and lit jack o-lanterns dot the stoops alongside. When it doesn't snow or sleet, it makes a pretty picture.
Our house usually sports a scarecrow or two, several carved pumpkins…and whatever Molly is carving that year. She began with a white pumpkin, followed the next year by a watermelon, an apple, a green and red pepper, a duck-shaped gourd and, this year, a pineapple.
We'd like to hear about your traditions. Meanwhile, we hope you all enjoy a festive and safe evening. Happy Halloween from Molly and me.

2008 was the year of the Green and Red Pepper.

In 2009 the pumpkin crop in our backyard failed miserably and
the farmer's market pumpkins were especially gutsy. Molly carved
an apple that year. (It was very popular...with the ants).

This year she gutted a pineapple.

Dude. Happy Halloween.

She made a pineapple/coconut pie with the guts. Yummy.

Ingredients

1 (9 inch) pie shell, baked

2 cups pineapple guts (do not drain)

1/3 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup white sugar

1 egg

1 cup coconut flakes

1 tablespoon butter

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions

1.       Mix up the pineapple guts, flour, sugar, and egg. Blend until smooth.

2.       Pour into a sauce pan. Cook and stir over medium heat until thick. Remove from heat. Stir in coconut, butter and vanilla. Mix well. Pour into baked pie shell. Cool until set. I cooled mine overnight. Next time I would use less sugar.

Can you hear me now?

Modern technology met 1931 yesterday at our house.
In a rush to get out the door for an early morning orthodontist appointment we all had forgotten, Molly dropped her cell phone behind the radiator in our dining room.
The chain reaction from that simple act continues to reverberate (much like our furnace. But I digress. Kind of.)
After I drove her to her appointment in my jammies (sadly, not the first time that particular fashion faux paus has occurred), I began the desperate quest to retrieve the cell phone.
Like many cell phones I know, Molly's is a cheeky little apparatus.
It winked at me as I peeked, its message clear. "You have exactly 30 minutes to find me until my battery dies and I disappear into the underbelly of this radiator forever."
I assembled all of my usual state-of-the art tools -- the empty Swiffer handle, a large pair of barbeque tongs and a wire coat hanger.
I bellied up to the coils and began to poke violently at random spots along its base. I swatted out a roll of masking tape, a pen and a Fischer Price Little Person that had been missing since 1992.
But no cell phone.
My husband helpfully volunteered to call the cell phone, which added a nice musical backdrop to the increasingly futile operation.
At one point I brushed it with the tips of my right hand fingers. Could. Not. Quite. Reach.
Then, in a brilliant burst of American ingenuity, I lifted the top off the radiator. Turns out the top comes off. I lifted out the interior tray. Well, whaddya know? The tray came out as well. Finally, my husband and I hoisted the entire metal cover of the radiator off.
"It comes apart?" I thought. "Should we have known that? Should we have cleaned that?"
With the entire thing dis-assembled, I retrieved the cell phone with just a few minutes to spare.
I believe I offended the radiator gods, though, because at exactly 3:30 this morning, our furnace came to a screeching halt.
More on that adventure next week…

Here in all her glory is our undressed radiator.

We have radiators all over our house. Hmmmm.
Perhaps it's time for a Halloween Scavenger Hunt?
Who knows what treasures lay wedged beneath?

Staged this. Clearly. Same bathrobe but that's not what I look like
 in the morning and it's certainly not what I looked like this morning.
We have no pictures of me frantically fishing for the phone. What a shame.

Snow birds and autumn yule

My mother is a snow bird. They're a common breed here in the Midwest where bitter cold winters last through April and icy roads make travel nearly impossible. And, within that hearty breed, my mother is a queen.
She flees south before the first snowflake, makes a celebrated but brief reappearance during the holiday season, and then whisks herself away again, returning with the lilac blooms and only after the last tiny patch of ice, which is usually located directly in front of our house, has melted.
This enviable lifestyle requires preparation, though, and annually several phone calls to our house.
''I'm having a Halloween party," she announced last weekend. Lured by her promise of Sloppy Joes and Door County Cherry Pie, we all trooped over.
Her place was an autumnal wonderland, with pumpkins and scarecrows and Dove chocolate peanut butter candy. We ate ourselves into a happy, sugary, vulnerable state. We'll never learn.
"The Christmas tree is in the basement," she said cheerfully.
"The Christmas tree?" I asked.
"Well, of course," she said. "I'm leaving for Florida on Thursday."
"Is it assembled?"
"Of course it is," she said.
It wasn't. I don't even know why I asked. The tree is never assembled.
We all knew our roles and we went right to work. Vince and I fought with the various parts of the tree. I am, on principle, opposed to fake trees. But, when your decorations have to last two whole months before the big day, there really is no choice.
Molly began to assemble the Christmas train and Vinnie battled the lights.
The whole scene seemed incongruous with the bright sun reflecting off the blooming roses outside.
My mom and her kind husband John directed things from a couch across the room. I stood on the piano bench and bent the top branch back and forth until the star placement satisfied both of them.
It really is nice to know a twinkling Christmas tree will greet them when they return for Christmas in December.
And then we'll get the call.
"I'm having a Boxing Day party," my mom will say and we'll all troop over to take everything back down.

A flattering view of Vinnie at work on the lights.

Molly sets up the Christmas train.

Two turtle doves snow birds.

Oh Tannenbaum (note the blooming rose bush outside).

These aren't your mother's leftovers

Actually these are leftovers, but let's not quibble over semantics.
For the bulk of my life as a family cook, I did not have to worry about what to do with the leftovers. With six hungry people coming to the table each night, we rarely left more than crumbs on our plates.
As each child left, though, the problem became more pronounced. Eventually, we even needed to expand our vocabulary.
"Are we scrounging tonight?" They asked this repeatedly if they didn't sniff out a fresh meal as they came in the door. This question offended me. We are not a feral family.  We are, however, competitive, particularly my son Vinnie and I. We once faced off in a grilled cheese cook off that left our poor judge (Miss Molly) with hardened arteries, and this summer we challenged each other to a push-up contest on the side of Machu Picchu.
Last night we put our cook-out leftovers to good use in a good old-fashioned pizza cook off. Hands down,Vinnie won with his Mashed Potato Pizza.
We used 10-inch tortillas as our base. I think it's best to toast them in the oven before you pile on the toppings, but my co-chefs were impatient and anxious to baked their pizzas before kickoff of the University of Wisconsin football game. Apparently, the toasting is optional.

Here are the ingredients we used:
(Most of these really were leftovers from our dinner the night before. Of course, no one used all of them on their pizza. These were just the ingredients that made it onto at least one pizza. For sauces, we used the following options: pizza sauce, Alfredo Sauce, balsamic vinaigrette, ranch salad dressing, onion cheese spread. Some used a combination. I, for instance, used red pizza sauce with some Alfredo Sauce drizzled over. Also, there has been heated debate about the placement of the cheese. Some of us put the cheese on over the sauce and add any extra ingredients over the cheese, and some of us sprinkle the cheese on last. The over achievers among us use two layers of cheese. The beauty of this cooking method is that any combination works. Also, the over achievers also tend to be the younger cooks and less likely to be worried about caloric intake.)

Two grilled chicken breasts (chopped)
Onion slices
Sliced fresh mushrooms
One chopped bratwurst
Mashed potatoes
Mozzarella Cheese
Cheddar Cheese (grated)
Diced fresh tomatoes
Alfredo sauce from a jar
Pizza sauce
Balsamic Vinaigrette
Dry Hidden Valley Ranch seasoning
Italian Seasoning
Onion cheese spread
Parmesan Cheese

Items we sometimes use but did not have on hand last night include:
Fresh spinach
Black or green olives
Pepperoni

This is my pizza prior to baking and an example of what can happen
when the chef is too competitive. Too many toppings!

This is my pizza battling with Vinnie's first attempt.
Our oven barely survived this round.

These tasted so much better than they looked!
(Although they are a little weary from the battle)

...And here is Vinnie's winning recipe

Mashed Potato Pizza

Lather on a layer of onion cheese spread as a sauce.

Sprinkle ranch powder on top of cheese spread.

Put thin layer of mashed potatoes on top of sauce.

Sprinkle onions, mushrooms, and Italian seasoning on top of mashed potatoes.

Drizzle Alfredo Sauce on top of toppings.

Cover everything in shredded mozzarella and cheddar cheese. 

Sprinkle Parmesan Cheese on top.

Bake in a preheated 400º oven until crust is crispy and cheese is bubbly, approximately 20 minutes.

Vinnie redeems himself with the second shot.

Vinnie's Baked Potato Pizza before it hits the oven.

Vinnie's Baked Potato Pizza. Delicious!

It was just for a weekend, but we really loved having Vinnie home!

A weekend of happy chaos

Vinnie, our son/brother, came home for the weekend and we're especially thrilled.
Until Vinnie moved out in August to begin his freshman year of college, we'd forgotten that there were hardwood floors in his bedroom.
After 18 years of nagging, though, it turned out I wasn't such a big fan of the clean bedroom.
For the bulk of our time here in our house in the middle of our street, we have been a family of six with four bedrooms and just one bathroom and a half. Neither Molly nor I particularly enjoy math, but even we understand the logistical issues those numbers create.
Especially Molly.
Born last, Molly enjoyed her own room for two years. From then on, though, her life was nomadic. She bunked with Vinnie for a time until he announced that he was too old to share a room with a girl. Then she moved in with Katherine, who had just spent the summer fighting hard to pull the carpeting off her floors, paint the walls and redecorate the windows. Katherine kicked Molly out soon after following an incident involving puddles of fingernail polish and fresh hardwood floors.
That night 16-year old Charlie kindly offered to let Molly sleep in his room. Sadly, a mysteriously unplugged alarm clock (whose cord lay suspicously close to Molly's grasp) led to Charlie being late for morning football practice. That arrangement ended after just one night.
At one point Molly set up a fort in our family room until Katherine graciously gave her a second chance.
One by one the siblings have left the house leaving Molly with her choice of bedrooms. She summers in one room, and winters in another.
But, when everyone is home we live in a state of happy chaos,  with Molly homeless once again. We're looking forward to Thanksgiving, when the whole gang and some assorted guests will fill the house.

Quite a shock to see the floor in Vinnie's room

Not such a fan of the tidy lonely bedroom after all.
In 2004 16-year old Nicki Krause painted that Godfather mural.