Handsome Boy

Today, Bee and I had to have her (our) 11-year old Abyssinian, Pogo, the cat I affectionately referred to as The Dirty Bastard Cat, put down. He was diagnosed with lymphoma on Wednesday, took a turn for the worse in the night, and a decision was made to humanely let him go. Even though I claimed not to like cats and while I am an avowed dog person, I learned to love this little guy. I'm going to miss him.

Pogo and his most favoritest toy ever

Pogo the Red, checking out the squirrels on the other side
of his favorite spot: the office window

Rest in peace, Pogie Boy

Our thanks to the fantastic vets and staff at City Paws and to the folks out at Hope Care Center in Vienna, Virginia. Everyone was highly professional, compassionate, and forthright. What was a sad day for us was at least helped along by the kindness of others.

Photo copyright: D.C. Confidential

Inside Out

This is the view outside our bathroom window on the second floor. I'm amending this entry, because previously I pointed out a flaw in the picture. In truth, only I see it and it seems unnecessary to point it out. Hope you enjoy this little glimpse of green!

To enjoy more green photography, go here. To read about the repurposing of trees as environmental solutions versus beautification projects, go here. To read why I think everyone should turn off their televisions and go outside, go here.

Happy (Photo) Friday!

Photo copyright: D.C. Confidential

Tewkesbury Ward Service Project. Or, How Not to Landscape.

My frontyard. This little patch of green is about 6 x 9.
I hate, hate, hate those three bushes.
And I'm torn as to whether to do anything with the porch.
(Click on image to enlarge.)

One of the things I've not liked about our home is the lack of landscaping in the yard. Granted, it's not a very big yard, so there's not a lot of room to do spectacular things. (See above.) But, I'm not looking for spectacular. I'm looking for colorful, proportional, easily maintained, and healthy.

Case in point with the last want on that list: the side yard. (See below.) It only gets about an hour of sun in the summer afternoon, otherwise it's shaded. Grass hasn't done well here and it's poorly terraced (as in, the idiot who flipped it, stacked cinder block-like pavers three high and three across and called it good.)

The awful, awful, gets-little-shade-in-the-summer sideyard. As much as I hate the three bushes, I really hate this feature on the house. Eventually, those stairs you see in the far background will be removed and replaced with a safer structure that will also double as a garden shed underneath. Don't be deceived by the green, semi-lushness in this picture. It's spring and it's been raining here the last few days, so it looks healthier than it really is. (Click image to enlarge.)

The backyard, what little there is, is an absolute eyesore, but I have a solution for it already. I'm going to till the soil to loosen it, then I'll dig out and discard a good five inches of it and put down recovered brick. This will expand the parking possibilities and/or provide a space for planters that can be moved and placed as wanted/needed. That part's figured out.

It's the side and front I can't figure out. So, here's the deal: looking at the two pictures I've posted above and knowing that I want to get rid of this stupid trio of cheap, crappy bushes and knowing that, not to repeat myself, "I'm looking for colorful, proportional, easily maintained, and healthy," what would you do or recommend for this space?

Oh, and as an added caveat, I'm also looking for plants or landscaping devices that are repellent to cats. While I'm grateful for the hoards and herds of feral cats in our neighborhood--I've seen nary a rat, mouse, or cockroach inside or out since moving here. I use to see them all the time when I lived downtown--I'm not grateful that they use my yard as a litter box.

Help!

I Confess: I'm a Little OCD

I think I mentioned previously that last week, I engaged in spring cleaning in a ginormous way.

My proudest organizing achievement was the linen closet in the upstairs hallway. (Click on images to enlarge.)

Here are the before pictures:

Here are the after pictures:

Four words:
Container Store Plastic Shoeboxes.
Love 'em.
LOVE.THEM.
Love them so much, if they were sentient, I'd marry them.

And here's a picture of the clutter-free countertops in my kitchen (meaning, drink mixes, teas, extraneous stuff has been put away) and my spic-and-span fridge. It positively glows!



Happy House!

Streaming While Conscious

Couple of thoughts from the last few days.

First, please note that I started this entry on Friday afternoon while Pink Martini was jammin' away on my iTunes. That always makes me happy.

Spent the week (Wednesday - Tuesday) spring cleaning while Bee was out of town. She came home to a house she didn't recognize, that's how thorough I was. Anyway... One of my cleaning tasks included the oven. Of course, these new fangled gadgets no longer require cleaners like Easy Off. Now, you just flip a switch on the oven, it locks, and the temperature rises to an insanely high degree. When it's all done, you let it cool, open it up, and do a basic soapy water wipe down.

But here's the problem: the smell. And it fills the ENTIRE house. I had every possible window I could open, um, open* and still, the smell. And the process took a friggin' FOUR hours. One hour into the process, I wasn't sure I could bear the remaining three hours. Ick. And my oven wasn't even that dirty. Just one baked on spill in the bottom that was its own carbon footprint. That was it! So little to clean is not worth the side effect. I think I'm going back to Easy Off! I'd rather deal with that nasty, chemical stuff then have the entire house smell like it couldn't get a proper fire going.

Next thought. Or rather, call for assistance. I need recommendations for a good waffle iron and a good butter dish. Here are my requirements: for the waffle iron, it must be constructed such that I can disassemble it for cleaning. At the same time, I don't want to have to sell the cat to pay for the darn thing. Surely there is a waffle-making apparatus out there that is relatively inexpensive, but won't send me into fits and strokes every time I use it and then am unable to clean it to the standard of cleanliness I expect in such tools.

In terms of the butter dish, I'm tired of using a plate, because cat hair floats and invariably I find a fine cat hair in my butter. Not cool. Totally not cool. I have a butter dish that I use when I remember about the cat hair thing, but it makes me crazy, too. It's narrow and covered and that's the problem. The narrowness of it results in the butter and the cover often coming into contact with one another which then results in the cover and the dish ending up all buttery and slippery around the edges. In short, it's just not a good fit. So, I'm looking for something a little wider and deeper than your run-of-the-mill butter dish. Help!

And that leads me to another thought. I like my butter neither rock hard (unless I'm eating it like cheese on a really good crusty bread, which I do on occasion. It's an inherited thing) nor goopy soft (unless I'm using it as waterproofing on my sandwich to keep the jam/tuna/mustard from soaking through my bread. That's just gross, frankly.) Why aren't fridges equipped with a door/drawer that allows you to set a temperature that keeps your butter "just right"? And where are the three bears when you need them to invent this kind of thing? I'm the Goldilocks of butter--I like it just right.

So, those were my thoughts on Friday....

*****

Ah, Saturday! Cleaning to the strains of Mahler. Rather robust, Teutonic music indeed.

What I love about classical music is hearing the bits and bobs that have influenced today's contemporary, one-day-to-be-listed-as-classical composers like John Williams, Hans Zimmer, and the like. Oh, I know what you're saying. Williams and Zimmer and et. al are in no way classical composers. Well, I dare say in Mozart's and Mahler's and Holst's and Smetana's and Tchaikovsky's day no one thought of them as classical initially. It often takes decades, if not centuries, and generally the death of the composer before their music is finally appreciated for all of its subtleties and nuances.

Oh, hell. What do I know? Call me on my crap musicians-of-the-blogosphere. Besides, writing soundtracks for movies can hardly qualify as classical, right? All I know is, I'm glad my parents instilled in us an appreciation for good music--whether it's 5 minutes or 500 years old. Regardless, Mahler is hearty, heady stuff to clean to, let me tell ya! I felt like I was not just cleaning, I was conquering. I wonder what would happen if I had Wagner to accompany me?

And speaking of Mahler, between it and the clanging and banging of cleaning the bathroom from floor to ceiling and creating order out of matter unorganized in the linen closet, I drove the cats to the basement. At one point, Pee-Oh-Gee-Oh looked at me with malevolence as if to say, "If I had my way, you'd be banished from here. Permanently."

Spring cleaning is a huge deal when I do it. I'm not exaggerating when I say every single surface I touched last week was wiped, wiped again, and wiped trice. If we were listing the house for sale tomorrow, it would be in tip-top shape for showing. As it is, it's in tip-top shape for having guests and to live in and that's all I care about.

*****

Monday morning: 6:53 AM. The Dirty Bastard Cat was allowed to sleep upstairs Sunday/Monday night. At 5:00, he decided it was time to scratch at the bedroom door. I could have killed him. Not necessarily because he's a cat (although, there is safe argument for that), but because I WAS TIRED!

Here's the rub: I'm not even 40 years old yet, but the last three days of cleaning and hosting Easter Dinner completely wiped me out! I ache.

That said, my linen closet is a thing of beauty! Thank God for the Container Store! If it wasn't for them, life would continue to be chaos. As it is, they cater to my obsessive need for orderliness and "a place for everything and everything in its place."

There you have it. My weekend. My thoughts. Nothing exciting. Lots of cleaning. Good food. Good company. All good.

It's all a thing of beauty. It's quiet and pleasant and makes me happy. And Bee was pleased, too! Now we just need to gussy up the yard, repair the side stairs, dig up the dirt strip and lay brick in the back, and my life will be complete!

*****

One last note....

Now that you've read this far, you've probably forgotten about my request for recommendations on a good waffle iron and a better butter dish.

Just a reminder: I'm looking for recommendations on a good waffle iron and a better butter dish! Thank you!

* Note: In a house with 20 windows, only eight actually open and none of them are on the main floor where the kitchen is. My thanks to the idiot who bought and flipped my house and his construction crew who painted all of them shut. Really swell. Must get screens on the main floor doors so I can open them and not risk the cats wandering outside (though I wouldn't feel bad about that, but you know....)

Damn!

You know that mantra your mother use to holler at you from the kitchen as you'd sneak off into the living room or your bedroom with food? "Eating is to be done in the kitchen! Please come back and eat that in here, thank you."

Yeah, that mantra. There's a reason for it.

The reason would be, by eating in the kitchen you prevent spilling stuff on the furniture and carpets. This in turn prevents the potential for stains and ruined fabrics and shags.

Oh, sure. You're a grown up now and it's your furniture and carpet so Mom's mantra can take a hike. Right? Yeah, sure. Okay. Whatever.

Case in point.

Me, tonight. Big bowl of freshly made, generously buttered and salted, air popped popcorn. Sitting at my desk reading blogs, enjoying aforementioned popcorn. Have been craving this popcorn for more than a week, when I ran out of popcorn and have only just acquired refills.

Big bowl of popcorn. Me. Desk. Blog reading. Yum. The bowl is resting on my leg and is held against the desk and all seems well.

And then: whump! Clang.

I look down in disbelief at my long-awaited and savored bowl of popcorn lying upside down on the floor under my desk. My yummy, warm, buttery, salty popcorn. On the floor. Under my desk. And in my shoes.

After staring at this sad, sad, sad state of affairs, I push my chair back, get down on my hands and knees and start scooping my beloved popcorn back into the bowl. There is no allowance for the five second rule in this house, particularly in a house with cats.

My popcorn is languishing in its bowl, covered in cat hair and carpet fuzz and foot odor. What a waste.

And now, I can't wait for the stain that is going to slowly make itself manifest in the weeks ahead as the unavoidable dust and dirt from my shoes meets the butter and sticks.

So much for enjoying the rest of my popcorn with a little Daniel Craig in the DVD tonight.

Sigh.

Liiiiiiiights! Liiiiiiiights! More Lights! Bawahahahahahaaaa!

Christmas incandescence or constellation? You decide...

Yeah, I'm getting a little loopy these days.

Aaahhh! It's an invasion of yuletide UFOs....

Must be the drugs the doctor gave me for my back. Oh well.

The lower half of our front door.
Amazing what you can do with a string of lights and some wire ties!

Here's another picture of lights.

What's not to love about a few votives, lights on the eaves, and ceramic trees?

Tomorrow's post should feature pictures of the fabulous, frolicking fest featuring friends from far and not-far.

Doesn't this picture just make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?
No? Okay, drunk and buzzy maybe?

I'm going to bed now.

G'night, Washington.
G'night, Moon.
G'night, Ceramic Christmas Tree.

Photo copyright: D.C. Confidential, 12/07

Old-Fashioned

Over Columbus Day weekend, Bee and I toodled off to Rehoboth for what was suppose to be a relaxing, cool, crowd-free weekend. Boy, were we wrong! Still, we made the best of it and even attended the Christmas show at the local convention center (think stake center-sized cultural hall. That's the size of the Rehoboth Convention and Visitors' Center.)

Anyway--one of the vendors was selling those trees your grandmother probably had that was made out of ceramic and had multiple plastic pegs you place in holes. There's a lightbulb in the center of it all and when you turn it on, you get a little piece of nostalgia in your living room. So, we bought one. And here it is.

Granny Tree

We have yet to put up the rest of the decorations (we've been in sort of separate-but-equal Grinchy funks the last couple of weeks, so nothing's been decorated), but we're going to do that tomorrow or Wednesday. I'll post pictures when we're done.

Here's the debate, though: to tree or not to tree? That is the question. At this late date (I normally decorate Thanksgiving weekend), if we do tree, it will be artificial. But I'm not keen on stringing lights. (Note to self: Next year, buy the artificial tree with the lights already on it!)

We're hosting a party on Saturday. I'm going to roast a turkey. Nothing big. Just a 12-pounder I picked up. And maybe a Honey Baked Ham. Oh, and some smoked salmon. We're hoping for a good sized gathering and are looking forward to seeing friends and catching up.

Rockin' Granny Tree!

Photo copyright: D.C. Confidential, 12/07

In A Pickle

We didn't play games a lot growing up. Mostly because Dad was either too impatient or too competitive, which took all of the fun out of it for us kids. (He didn't get the concept of balancing lessons in competition with lessons in building self-esteem.)

As adults, though, my sister and I have taken up games more and more often. We've roped in Mom and my brother. Occasionally, we invite Dad to join us. We're not the best at playing, but we have fun learning together, making up rules as we go along, and just laughing a lot. It doesn't matter who wins since we don't play to win. We just play to have a good time and to be together (again, a concept Dad totally missed.)

A couple of years ago, my sister picked up a great little card game called Spite & Malice. Last year, I grabbed Apples-to-Apples. And this year, it's going to be In A Pickle, which I found today at Target while I was out buying stocking stuffers. (By the way, has anyone tried the M&M's Limited Edition Cherry Cordial Candies? Not high-end cordials by any stretch of the imagination, but fun and tasty nonetheless.)

In A Pickle is looking like it's going to be a blast! Here's how it's described on the box:

Does a sofa fit in a shopping cart? It all depends on how you size it up in this game of creative thinking and outrageous scenarios. Try to win a set of cards by fitting smaller things into bigger things--a baby goes in a bathtub, which is in a house, in Hollywood. Play the fourth word card to claim the set, unless one of your opponents can trump with a larger word. The player with the most sets at the end is the BIG winner!

Anyone want to come over and play? I'll make cookies and we'll drink tea...

****

P.S. On a completely unrelated topic, Bee, the EcoFellow, and I went to see No Country for Old Men tonight at the AFI Silver. Tommy Lee Jones was fabulous. Otherwise, this Coen Brothers adaptation of a Cormac McCarthy novel was awful. (But then, I think Cormac McCarthy's writing and stories are awful, so go figure.) Out of five stars, a two--and that only because Tommy Lee Jones was so good.

House/Home

Most of us live in residential dwellings of various types. In order to make it a home, you need one of these:



Not sure this has anything to do with Christmas, but since I'm still flummoxed about what to get the sibs for Christmas, I thought I'd offer a little shopping-free stress relief. At the very least, this should remind you how to smile after fighting the hoary masses... Or, after endlessly noodling what the hell to give as gifts... Topped off with a dose of figuring out the meaning of your life...

I think I think too much. What do you think?

Photo copyright: D.C. Confidential, 12/07

Fluted

Product review! I rarely write about kitchen tools, but this one is my new favorite.

Several years ago, a woman I worked with became one of those Pampered Chef hostesses. To avoid having the actual party at her house, she just passed the catalog around at work and we all ordered. Frankly, I prefer it that way. Nothing I dislike more than baby/bridal showers, make-up/ makeover evenings, or Tupperware parties. (Although, I'll make an exception for pedicures, especially when it involves the Scary Feminists. Love me a pedicure and love me the Scaries!)

So, I ordered this pan from Dana via her P.C. catalog. When it arrived, it intimidated the hell out of me. I mean, this is not your grandmother's aluminum bundt cake pan by any means. This is a PAN. With emphasis on PPPPP-AAAAAA-NNNNNNN. PAN. Of course, being the good, adventurous cook that I am, I did the sensible thing with this new tool. I promptly put it in the cupboard with the other cake pans. Which is where it has been for the last two years.

Until last week. Finished with dinner one night, I decided I wanted cake. So, ignoring the standard directions on the back of the box, I grabbed a box of Duncan Hines marble cake and added four eggs, one stick of butter, half a cup of sweetened condensed milk, one cup of water, and a package of vanilla pudding. I set the oven at 350 degrees and then I decided it was finally time to use my fluted pan from Pampered Chef.

I dug it out of the cupboard (it cried for joy when I did), read the instructions, rinsed it out with hot water, patted it dry, sprayed it with Pam, and poured in the batter. Forty minutes later, I took the cake out of the oven, inverted it on a wire rack to cool, and let it rest for 20 minutes or so before my patience ran out and I cut a slice and ate it warm.

The result was decent. I mean, it's marble cake from a box. You can't expect too much, can you?

Or can you?

The next morning, I cut a slice to take to work in my lunch. Little did I know what was in store for me. Around 1:00, I bit into my cake, died, and went straight to heaven. This was the moistest, densest, yummiest cake I'd eaten from a box in a long time. Certainly the rich recipe modifications I make to the boxed mix contributed to the moistness, but this was beyond superlative. (There's that word again. I've used it twice this week. And I digress. Again. Sorry.) Maybe I'm reading too much into it or endowing the tools with too much power, but I'm convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt, as they say in the faith of my upbringing, that my Pampered Chef fluted pan had a hand in the delectable outcome of this cake.

And the best part: it has stayed that moist and yummy all week. I had the last piece after dinner last night and it was still good.

So, if you like to bake, find yourself a Pampered Chef hostess and get one of these pans. To steal a phrase from the dude at the Men's Wearhouse, "You're gonna like. I guarantee it."

Photo copyright: The Pampered Chef (fluted pan) and D.C. Confidential (cake)

Tickle Your Trivia

I've mentioned before that Bee is a fount of amazing facts and trivia, so last night I quizzed her randomly. Here are the results. See how many of these you know the answers to.

1. Of the seven continents, which has the greatest number of independent countries?

2. Name the only two field goal kickers in NFL history to kick the longest field goals. Bonus question: How far did they kick the ball? Bonus question, too: What makes the field goal of one of these kickers especially extraordinary?

3. In reference to software, where did the term "bug" originate?

4. Name the only U.S. president to be a bachelor and the only U.S. president to be both president and a Supreme Court justice.

5. What star of the Carol Burnett Show had a hit pop song in the 1970s? Bonus question: Name the song.

6. Name at least three cities in California that were once the capital of the state.

7. What popular author of children's books also wrote a mystery for adults?

8. Name the only NFL team that is owned by shareholders and not a corporation or bajillionaire.

9. During the casting of Gone with the Wind, author Margaret Mitchell wanted to cast who as Rhett Butler? Bonus question: What was the original working title of Gone with the Wind?

10. What Ohio native entered the army in the Civil War as a lieutenant colonel, was later elected president, and died as commander-in-chief?

BONUS

Name three famous people who died on November 22, 1963.


To see the answers, click on the comments link.

Yum

I rarely write about my cooking, but this evening's dinner was simple and tasty. It was also a bit of an homage to summer, which is quickly drawing to a close. Only three or four more days and we'll be back in the autumnal equinox.

Tonight's dinner was also special because it featured three varieties of tomatoes: lemon, beef steak, and zebra. I sliced them into quarter wedges and laid them out in a circle on a plate. Then, in the center, I placed about a cup of homemade chicken salad.

I don't spice mine up a lot, though, I suppose I could try throwing in some fresh tarragon or dill.

Here's the recipe:

2 large chicken breasts and chicken legs *
1 bunch of celery, chopped
1 cup slivered almonds
Mayonnaise **
Salt and pepper
Tomatoes

Strip the breast and leg meat off of the bones; trim off any excess fat, veins, and otherwise icky, crunchy parts. Wash and dry one bunch of celery; trim off leaves and chop stalks into 1/4" pieces. In bowl, combine chicken, celery, and almonds with enough mayonnaise to make the salad moist, but not gloppy (about 1 1/2 cups). Add salt and pepper to taste. Place in the fridge to chill for three or four hours.

On a plate, cut one whole tomato into 12 or 16 wedges and arrange on the plate in a circle. Place chicken salad in the middle. Cut up some crusty bread and enjoy!


* I just buy a rotisserie chicken at Costco and then strip it. Easy, decently flavored, and you don't have to worry about all the miss of cooking a chicken yourself. Otherwise, season and bake a whole chicken, let it cool, and strip it.

** I grew up using Miracle Whip, but I know that offends the palate of most of my readers. You can substitute with a good mayonnaise, though. I use Duke's. It's from North Carolina and it beats Hellman's, Kraft, and any other brand of mayo you can name hands down. If you're okay with Miracle Whip, don't use that half-assed, light stuff. Go with the full octane version. Same with the mayo.

Soundly Sleeping

1:48 AM EST

There's a cat that lives in my house. (Well, there are two actually, but since I find that nigh unto intolerable, we'll pretend there's only one. Besides, the second one is 18 years old and, God willing, will soon "cross the bridge.") Anyway--there's a cat that lives in my house. (That's him, in the picture.) For the sake of his anonymity, we'll call him Dirty Bastard Cat--or DBC, for short. We'll call him that, because that's what I've nicknamed him and I refer to him by that name at least once a day, if not more.

It being an ungodly hour, I'm up with nothing else to write about except how this cat is slowly warming to me and me to him. (Bastard!)

Case in point: at night he falls asleep on the end of the bed in the guest room, but at some point in the night, if he hasn't clomped down the stairs to his perch on the back of the couch in the basement, he treads on catlike paws ('cause those are the only paws he has--cat ones, like, you know?) into the office. Once in the office--where he really isn't suppose to be to begin with--he proceeds to fall asleep in the middle of the floor. Which is precisely where I found him tonight.

He looked up at me with bleary eyes, stood up, rubbed against my legs, let me scratch his ears and chin, and then settled in under my chair to continue sleeping. He's there right now, even as I type. And he's snoring. He does that a lot. Snores. It's 'cause he's fat. (And, according to my friend, Ms. Swizzies, "He's weird looking." I think that's on account of his purebred features and his white beard. But I could be wrong. We're still waiting for a clarification on that observation by the aforementioned friend.)

Now here's the rub. I started out hating this cat. He hissed at me and would take swipes at me when I'd do little more than bend over to pet him or offer him some tasty morsel. Now, though? Now I'm the only one he'll allow to groom him. Now he eats whatever I'm eating. And, with the exception of when I wear my Birkenstocks--which he hates and hisses at--he let's me pet him whenever I want to. As a result, I'm now warming to this damn, spawn-of-the-devil, dirty bastard Dirty Bastard Cat! Here I am, typing away and he's lying asleep under my chair. And that warms my wee little, Grinch-sized, cat-hating heart.

Crap.

Damn you, Dirty Bastard Cat. Damn you!

Okay... Amend that. He just farted. I'm back to officially hating him again.

Gag...

Oh well. I guess it could be worse. It could be 3:30 in the morning--like it was the other night... And he could be hurling--like he was the other night...

When this cat hurls, you can hear him in Outer Mongolia, that's how loud he is. The EPA has threatened to level noise pollution fines against us, he's that loud. He's so loud, in fact, he woke me from a dead sleep, which is no small feat given I only hear in one ear and I always sleep on my good ear, so I'm dead to the world.

The real bugger is, for all the pomp and circumstance he puts into hurling, the end result is a yield so small it's patronizing. The other night, not only was it small, it was the consistency of peanut butter. Peanut butter! I mean, come on. If you're gonna go to all that trouble, at least produce a chunk or two of substance. (TMI?)

It's a good thing his hurling woke me up, though, 'cause my housemate, Bee, didn't even stir. Slept through the whole thing. And she hears out of both ears! But I was awake. So, I cleaned it up. Better than waking up in the morning and accidentally treading in it.

Which brings me to my next point. (I'm not sure I know what my point is, but I'm pretty confident I'll have one by the end of this post.) Have you ever noticed that animals hurl in the most inconvenient places? Like the middle of the hallway? Could you pick a more obvious place?

And this is why I love small dogs. A small dog starts to hurl and it paralyzes them, which means you can pick 'em up and hold 'em over the toilet. So much easier than hairball-hurling felines.

You just wait, Dirty Bastard Cat. You just wait. One day, there's gonna be a dog in this house and then you're gonna get a run for your money!

Bwahahahahahahahahaha!