Chicken and Flan with Family

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

How enjoyable it is to sit and talk over dinner with friends/family! Keith and Judy just left and that’s the way it was. 

I have promised the foodies among you (Gretchen!) to describe the menu:

Cheese: Smoked and Manchego, with Trader Joe’s Crackers

Joel Gott Oregon Pinot Gris (I’ve got to admit I love it because it’s got a screw top … but it’s also delicious.)

Keith and Judy brought a beautiful salad with greens, tomatoes and almonds.

Coq au vin from the New York Times. You cook chicken with wine. The man at the wine store recommended I use Louis Jadot Pinot Noir.  I am trying to learn to make this kind of French stew as well as my great-grandmother did. My mother would say she loved the way it smelled coming from her grandmother’s oven, and she tried to make it herself but was never satisfied. I’ve made the stew before with beef, but this is the first time I made coq au vin. I used dark meat, as suggested in the recipe, even though I am usually a white meat person. Also, this time I cooked the stew over a couple of days, marinating it in wine for the complete 24 hours, then making the stew itself, then refrigerating it overnight. I also used fresh little onions, rather than frozen. The recipe tells how they peel them easily if you immerse them in boiling water for one minute first, and it says frozen onions are too full of water to brown easily. It turned out delicious!

I like this stew because it’s ready the day ahead, so entertaining is easy. Same for tonight’s dessert: flan — Margarita’s recipe from 40 years ago in Miami. Margarita was our next-door neighbor when we lived in North Miami across the street from what was then called Barry College. She was from Puerto Rico, and her husband Laurenzo was Cuban. 

Margarita's Flan

Make a caramel by melting 1/2 C. sugar with 2 1/2 T. water in a small pan over medium heat. Be patient! Wait until it's brown, but not burnt. Pour that into a bread pan,* tilting it to cover the entire bottom. Then mix 1 can evaporated milk, 3 C. whole milk, 3/4 C. sugar, dash salt, 4 beaten eggs, 1 tsp. vanilla. Pour that over the carmel. Put the pan into a larger pan with water in it that goes halfway up the bread pan. Bake at 350° an hour or more, until the custard is set. Chill thoroughly, then turn the pan upside down on a platter so the custard is surrounded by carmel.

*I used glass custard cups instead, & did not turn them upside down for serving. It's comforting to have your own cup of custard, I think.

Love,

k

More work than magic

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today I worked intensely on eight final drawings for my book, to have it for the 3 p.m. class. I don’t think I’ve been so immersed in making something since Clark died. It still needs color, so I'll show you later.

The best thing I’ve learned from Abigail vanCannon’s class is that making art  takes time and work. (I thought it was magic.) Abigail helped me remember what I already knew: mastery follows practice. She led us through possible steps on the way to completion: draw your piece lightly, considering composition; when you like it, go over the pencil lines with black ink; then make copies or else compose simple mock-ups and try out various color combinations;  then enlarge the drawing so you can complete the piece. I think I forgot some other steps I could take before making a finished piece. It's basically trying out options and seeing what you like best. In reading biographies of artists I see that Abigail is right — Picasso made many “studies” before tackling his final pieces. Now, of course, his studies are considered valuable pieces themselves.

I love making things. Now I know it's more work than magic.

At 8 this morning I tried out a line dancing class over on J Street (Thanks for the idea, Keith and Judy!). I was not nimble, but it was fun anyway. 

Then I walked that neighborhood and stopped at Sutter’s Fort State Park around the corner. I’ve got to learn more about this guy Sutter. I think Sutter's mill was where gold was discovered -- don't know what kind of mill  -- oh, I see it was a sawmill -- and I read somewhere that at first he didn't want word about gold to spread, because it would mess up his mill work. Anyway, I guess he needed a fort to protect his operation or something like that.... History! to be continued...

Love,

k

These costumed women are playing some kind of a hoop game

 on the lawn of Sutter’s Fort State Park.

I think the men are from a TV station that was filming there.

My studio is clean, really, really clean. Really.

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

No way would Clark want me to carry bitterness and sadness into the last part of my life. He’d want me to toss bad times and be rejuvenated by the good. Mother’s Day with Patrick and Steph reinforced this attitude. Thank you!

In some crazy way, this realization propelled me to spend hours cleaning — really cleaning — my studio today. It’s the chore I thought might never get done. I threw out enough trash for three trips to the garbage room: old cardboard, scribbled-on sketchbook pages, dried-up markers ...

I evicted one piece of furniture from the studio: the gray file case on wheels. It kept muttering to me about its important files: Insurance,  Health Care, Social Security. They seemed so dignified and crucial compared to my beloved plastic drawers on wheels, which were whispering things like Sparkles, Collage, Painted Fabric. Soon, the two filing systems were screaming at each other. They are clearly incompatible. I need both, but not in the same room. So I rolled the practical part to the little entrance to the bedroom, where it seems happy with a bright cloth from India on top.

That leaves art: it’s not practical — maybe even useless. And that’s its beauty. 

Love,
k

Is there a useful worry?

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Nothing much happened today. 

But  here’s a list of useless worries I have had. I am only telling you so you don’t feel ridiculous about your own useless worries. Any of these can be accompanied by trembling and/or nervous coughs. 

1. Somebody’s going to call me on the phone and ask an important question I can’t answer. 
2. I have to hurry.
3. Zing’s barking is going to get me evicted.
4. I have missed an important phone call.
5. I have to hurry. 
6. My toilet is leaking onto the unit below.
7. The automatic garage door will come down on my car and split Rosa in half.
8. Zing is more anxious than I am.
9. It’s my fault.
10. I am not worrying about major worries.
11. It’s too late.
12. I will turn into oncoming traffic on a one-way street (lots of those here in midtown).
13. These are such insignificant worries, revealing my pettiness. I should be worrying about larger things.
14. I lost my keys. 
15. I lost my phone.
16. My car Rosa has left the parking lot without me.

I hope that makes you feel better! 

Love,

k

Returning to routine

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I am coming back to life, and not sure if it will last. It seems too fast and it seems too slow. But today I made a long To-do list and I tackled it enthusiastically, while last week I wouldn’t have done the whole thing in one day.  I credit my family and friends … Thank you!

Today there was a little girl in the Safeway checkout line; she stood like a ballet dancer. I learned how to do that once — foot turned out, hand on hip, chin level with the floor. Standing there with her father, she had no idea I was mimicking her stance — I’m not quite as beautiful --  but she’s my today hero — stand there like you matter! 

I’m making coq au vin for dinner later this week. I really want to master these French stews. They say to make it a day or two ahead of time for the flavors to deepen, so tonight I shopped for chicken and marinated it in California wine. 

I also worked on the storybook for my last drawing class Thursday -- words, drawings, adding color, binding pages somehow -- It's more challenging than the last assignment of scribbling with my eyes closed.

Love,

k

Can a writer be too tired to write?

Written this morning:

Dear Friends,

I was too tired to write last night… yes, that can happen, especially on a Sunday, which for me is nap day. Okay, I did nap, but I was still too tired. 

Patrick and Steph wanted to take me to someplace special for Mother’s Day, so I chose Chicago Fire pizza here in midtown. We had a big booth by the window, which was open to the street, so it was private but we could see action (passers-by and kids playing on the sidewalk) at the same time. Yes, they would have taken me anywhere … but you can’t beat perfect. 

Love,
k

Zing contemplates a side entrance to the Capitol
on our walk early this morning
(after 8 or so there are lots more people around)

Art + Friends +Train trip

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

You know how you feel when you get off a train — still chugging even when you stop. That’s the way I feel, several hours after getting home from a day with two friends at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Zing and I had a little trouble getting up at 5 a.m., but after our walk we knocked on Darrius’s door and she was happy to see us (especially Zing). She welcomes him like a tonic. 

So I was on my own and on the train, then on the bus, then at the SF station, then at a coffee shop to kill a little time (90 minutes!). It seemed like all the young adults in the city were passing by — jogging or dog walking in sneakers with sparkles and tights ripped up the thighs and taut muscles and spiky hair like a prince’s crown, and even a Bengal cat on a leash (“She’s just like a dog,” her owner told me, but then her cat cowered under a chair when a poodle passed by.) This was all around the corner from the bus station, which is usually a shabby neighborhood, isn’t it? 

After awhile I meandered the 3/4 mile to the SFMOMA, where we met when it opened at 10 a.m. to see the Monet/Diebenkorn show. Until recently I got Monet and Matisse confused. Oops — I did it again — it was the Matisse/Diebenkorn show. Monet is waterlilies and Matisse is those enchanting cutouts and all the paintings that led to them. Diebenkorn is a famous California artist who was deeply inspired by Matisse. They make an overwhelming show. We couldn’t look at another painting for awhile, so we had lunch. The food was more congenial than that dinner I didn’t have with Christy and Judy a couple weeks ago at the museum’s other restaurant, In Situ.

I like taking the bus/train Capitol Corridor connection, and I’m getting to know a tiny pocket of the big city. 

Love, especially to you mothers and to all who support and love them!

k

Amtrak: first it's flat

Then you see mountains (above)

Then you’re in San Francisco (below), where on a Saturday morning
you can see bicycles
leaning against the windows of high-rise office buildings