I've recently discovered a wonderfully easy, yet delightful recipe for a sausage and spinach frittata.

Prep Time: 10 mins
Cooking Time: 15-20 mins
Servings: 2-3

Ingredients:
1.5 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 onion, chopped
5 ounces pre-washed baby spinach
2 link gourmet sausage, chopped (I used Aidells Pesto Sausage)
4 eggs, lightly beaten
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
4 ounces feta cheese

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large oven proof nonstick fry pan (you can use a round baking dish for the baking step, if you don't have an oven proof fry pan), over medium heat, melt butter and saute the onions (about 5 mins), until translucent.  Add the sausage and saute about 3 mins.  Add the spinach and saute about 2 mins until just wilted.

In a mixing bowl, whisk the eggs with salt and pepper.  Pour eggs over the sausage mixture, stirring to combine.  Top with feta cheese and bake until top is set, about 8-10 mins.

Transfer to a plate and cut into wedges to serve.

Many people don't understand the nature of emotions.  Instead, they are fooled by the concept that your emotions are a result of chemical imbalance.  The truth is chemical imbalance is a hoax.  Period.  The bottom line is, a person may have hormonal changes or even insufficient vitamins which then result in a lowered emotional well-being.  Just as improper care of the body, insufficient rest and inadequate nutrients can create a false emotion, then correcting those items will result in improved feelings of self-awarenes and emotional stability.  Nothing can substitute for rest, excercise and vitamins, worst of all drugs, which depletes the body of the necessary nutrients to function adequately.

It never ceases to amaze me at the amount of strictly menial tasks are required to keep my little life and my relatively simple surrounds in order. Amazing. Without much change from my current situation, I think I could easily keep a housekeeper, gardener and secretary busy on a nearly full time basis. But, of course, I don't have an infinite budget so for most of my adult life, I did everything myself. But that's starting to change...I'm getting into outsourcing.

Just a few years ago, I broke down and hired a housekeeper to come every other week and thoroughly clean my house. The first time it was done, I marveled at the service and wondered why it took me so long to do something that lots of people have done...and some even once a week. My mother, for example, has a woman come in TWICE a week for her little household of she and my dad and a couple of very clean cats (and believe me, you hardly know anyone actually lives in their house it's so damn clean). A few months ago, I hired my sister to be my personal secretary for about a week. She filed a stack of papers about two feet high, created an entire color-coded filing system and got so deep into my personal matters, I had to bond her. I don't remember exactly what I paid her to do it. She felt I was incredibly generous. I felt it had worth beyond the meager dollars I extracted from my checking account. Again, I marveled at how organized I now was and wondered why it took me so long to hire her.

And now, there's the gardener. Well, I'm garden girl. Garden Girl does her OWN garden. She doesn't do gardeners, particulary the "blow and go" variety. Simply out. But two weeks ago, I sat outside looking at the wild vegetation that had become my once gorgeous luscious garden and decided I would give gardeners a try, too. I hired Enrique again. He has always helped me on big jobs (ripping out blackberries, taking down trees, clearing paths, building terraces, etc.) but I never considered him for the usual. I knew he also had a maintence service so I talked to him about including me in his list of regulars. He happily agreed. This Monday two of his guys showed up in my yard (I never even knew they were there until I walked outside). They were buried in my weeds and bushes for about an hour or two. I couldn't watch. I found myself becoming way too critical. So, I just went back downstairs and went to work on what I do best. Write and market. When I emerged back outside, I was bowled over. My yard looked beautiful. Sure, I could have done it, and, sure, it would have looked just as good. But I looked carefully at everything they did. I KNOW it would have taken me at least two days. I would have been bitching and moaning by the end of the first and sore as hell going into the second. I'd probably be in pain well into the end of the first week afterwards. Was that worth $45? You're damn right. What took me so long?

I travel a lot and I have two old dogs. That gives me an extra challenge. Most of my travel has been for business but more recently I have fallen in love and the object of my desire is 500 miles away. It's a drag but it's a fact of life that I accept and go to great lengths to work around. Most of the time, I get helpful neighbors, friends or family to wear the dog sitter hat but this last trip I had to resort to a "professional"--a dog sitter. Thank God for this profession. My trip was scheduled for Sunday. I had just come back from 10 days at a beautiful lake...a vacation my two dogs got to enjoy, too. They loved it and spent most of the time getting themselves as dirty as they could. So, when I was preparing to leave on Sunday, I felt I had everything under control---the professional dog sitter plus I had just spent a lot of time with my dogs. How could they make me guilty about leaving? Turns out they know a few new tricks....

Just as I'm leaving for the airport, I move my car out of the garage and close the automatic garage door. I do this for two reasons: one, is that the dogs really like hanging out in the garage during the hot summer months and two, it makes it look like I'm home. I jump in my car and make my usual mad dash to the airport. I park at a private lot and then get shuttled to the terminal. I do this so often, I have worked out all the tricks to avoid long security lines, get through all the bells and whistles rapidly and grab a decent coffee before I jump on the plane.

As I'm in the coffee line, feeling very proud of myself for having pulled this trip off, I got a call on my cell phone. It's my neighbor and she's frantic. My dog, Spanky, became trapped in the garage door (it came down on her neck and pinned her) and was bleeding and possibly dead. Another neighbor had taken her to the emergency vet hospital (it was Sunday). I freaked and suddenly felt incredibly guilty, like the worst dog owner ever. I immediately headed back to my car and then to the hospital. I was in touch with my neighbor by cell phone the entire time but she didn't have much to report because Spanky and the doctor were still behind closed doors. I was sick to the very pit of my stomach. My poor baby. Sure, she was old but what a horrible way to end a terrific life....I finally got to the hospital and the doctor came out. 

She brought me into the little room. Spanky was still in the back. She went over everything with me. She had taken x-rays, done a thorough examination, given her some pain-killer and anti-inflammatory. Bottomline: Spanky was fine and I could take her home right away. So, out trots Spanky, looking a little dazed from the medication but thrilled to see me. She's walking, looks great. It's as if nothing had happened. Of course, I was thrilled to see her and picked her right up. After paying the outrageous bill, I brought her out to the car and got her all nestled into the little pillow bed I had made for her. I layed her in it and I thought she looked pretty good. In fact, she looked a little too good. 

When I stepped back to view this whole scene, this little twit of a dog had just gotten her way. She actually stopped me before I got on the plane and got me to come home and be with her. She seemed pretty satisfied with herself. I felt relieved but every so slightly pissed off. We drove home, and all three of us took a nap...me, Spanky and sister, Sammy. When I woke up, I realized that Spanky was more than fine and maybe I could still make that quick trip to visit my beau. I called the pro dog sitter. She was quite happy to pick  up the slack. I called the airlines and there was exactly one seat left on all the flights going to where I wanted to go that evening. It was my seat and I booked it. This time, I was smarter. I snuck my suitcase into the car when Spanky and Sammy weren't looking. I fed them, petted them and kissed them goodbye, then drove happily off to the airport feeling like we all had a win that day. But I really had to admire Spanky. She might be an old dog but that was a pretty impressive new trick....

Lake Tahoe in mid-August, the zenith of the summer and a magic time. It's early morning now, the lake is like glass, the sun is coming up over the mountains to the east and it's beautifully quiet, disrupted only briefly by a lone motor boat pulling a skier (morning is best for water skiing because there's no waves). Evening is equally magic. The sun goes down on the opposite side of the lake, and reflects on the boats bobbing in the water...gray lead water with bright white boats and a pink sky. The bats feed now, flitting around in the trees and over head.

I love Tahoe.

August marks the halcyon days of summer...all of the garden is in a growing fury, vegetables are nearly ripe, and all my lettuce has gone to seed. Months ago I had attacked all of the major weeds in my front garden so maintaining it now is fairly easy but requires constant vigilance. Last week I had to hire a crew to take on my backyard. It actually looked like it had been invaded (really eery...very science fiction like), and in this case, by a poplar tree I had cut down earlier in the year. My automatic sprinkler system has kept everything diligently damp, including the roots of the former poplar. Those roots had created a literal jungle of brand new poplars that, had they been allowed to run free, would have taken over not only my backyard but my house and the rest of the neighborhood. I am not exaggerating. Meanwhile, everything else is quite beautiful and I never cease to enjoy the moments I spend on my mini-breaks from work just resting my eyes on all the green and flowers. It's enormously relaxing and a very aesthetic experience.

It's that time of year again when I need to resurrect my garden and that includes the sprinkler system.  I had it put in about three years ago but it breaks down regularly. I suppose I can blame that on the hap-hazard method I used for installation. Call three people out of my local newspaper that offer their services to the community. One guy is (I think) Russian, is very serious, thoroughly evaluates my situation and gives me a price. I can't remember exactly what it was but for example sake, let's say $1500. Another guy driving a big fancy truck and obviously the foreman for some guy driving a bigger fancier truck gives me a price with great assurance, $1200. And then along comes Enrique, driving a kind of dumpy truck, broken English but with an honest look and some demonstrated understanding of gardening. His price, $600. With each, I tell them I will get back to them but I would like to get started on Saturday. One thing lead to another, I didn't make a decision but I did decide that Enrique's price was just too low so there had to be something wrong with it. But on Saturday morning, Enrique showed up ready to work. I thought, good for you. You get the job. And he did the job. I went on to hire him for other gardening work and was pretty happy. Three months later, the sprinklers began to crap out. Enrique came back and fixed them and never charged me anything. He did that for a couple of years. He can't possibly be making any money off of me. In fact, the last job I hired him for he gave me a price and I challenged him on it. I had him look again at what I was asking him to do and how long that would take and I suggested he may want to revisit the price he was naming, specifically increasing it. He got the hint and did.

I'm know I'm not like a lot of my fellow hill dwellers...upwardly mobile white landowners that consider it a privilege to work for them, aren't happy unless they get the lowest price possible from the people at the bottom of the food chain. I'm convinced that they've lost sight of the value of someone's time. Here's my approach: I look at something I'm asking someone to do (generally a very difficult or incredibly mind-numbing task) and figure out what I would charge someone to do it. Then any price someone gives me is always incredibly reasonable since it's WAY lower than what I would charge. That's my philosophy. Probably not very intelligent and certainly won't save me much, but it's what I use when I'm hiring someone. Enrique is the beneficiary.

But it's three years later and I'm tired of having a shoddy sprinkler system repaired yet again. I went back to the local newspaper.

(to be continued)

I woke up yesterday morning very early with this strange thought that just came to my mind out of (seemingly) nowhere....I never back up files on my Mac. Never. What a cavalier approach to computers, I thought.

Then I got up, had a cup o' joe, went down to my computer, attempted to pull up a file I had been working on all week and .... kind of obvious, isn't it? Right. I get this error message "Bad File Format (70)" I panic. I do it again. Same message. I copy the file onto a different drive. Same message. I rename the file. Same thing. I go to the website of the software I'm using (it's not a Mac OS problem, in Apple's defense), Quark Express. I go to Tech Support and find the exact problem I'm having. The site gives me a specific solution which I then follow to the T. Same message. I call everyone I know (three people) that know TONS about the Mac and particularly this program. Their response: back up your files. Duh. I learned. I know. Anyone reading this message is likely way ahead of the 8ball than I am on this, but that's not hard to do. So, I learned an expensive (time) lesson and I have my Macintosh to thank. So, very humbly and very appreciatively, I thank my computer.

I spent the rest of an absolutely gorgeous Saturday, inside, rebuilding my file which, incidently, ended up much better than the original.

See, we all win.

Isabel

It's a wonderful thing being able to work at home but it has it's drawbacks. Yesterday, for example, I didn't brush my hair all day and my teeth didn't get addressed until I went out to pick up some lunch to go at 2:00pm. I worked until 10:00pm, at which point I cooked up some dinner. The salad was eaten standing up while I waited for the steak to grill. That got eaten while I watched The Great Train Robbery, a late 70s flick with Sean Connery and Donald Southerland when they were still young. Mr. Southerland's English accent was a strain but Sean was awesome in his train-hopping physical feats. This movie was made before we became totally jaded by Mission Impossible (the movie) and other incredible action pix that take place on speeding trains. It was great watching Sean actually climb down the ladder on one car and up the ladder on the other (you kept thinking "why doesn't he just jump"?....ever try jumping on a moving anything over a spread of about 6 feet?). Much more realistic (although he did do the jumping thing later); it looked like he actually did the stuntwork himself.

Anyway, terrific movie about a real incident. I highly recommend it.