Well, it's that time of year. The ghosts and the goblins are afoot. On Saturday night, they were in full force here in The 'Kan, halloweening in a ghastly spectre that was not so scarey. We saw half a dozen Red Cross nurses in starched white uniforms with gartered white fishnets, ample cleavage and tattoos. We saw Count Dracula in several renditions, all apparently after he had just feasted. We saw the Mummy who did scare me because it was quite clear he couldn't see and I did not want the Mummy coming unbandaged, so to speak, in my lap. Surely among the most dazzling were Queen Cleopatra and the Pharoah. But you decide for yourself.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Quite an emotional day. Saw the finished, bound copy of the PhD dissertation of a woman who works here. It was absolutely gorgeous, as these things are. I stood at her desk, talking to her and absent mindedly picked it up to feel it and turn the pages, as I think these things-- education, intellect, ambition, achievement-- are soooo sexy. Took her 6 years to produce the damn thing.

I was utterly dumbfounded to see she had dedicated it to me.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

When was your first time?




JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

I have been asked, dogged, for my recipe for meatloaf. Here's the guilty secret: I don't have one. But I made it last night and tried to stay fully present and not go into the cooking zone, so as to remember what I put into it and how I make it.

Meatloaf, comfort food of the kings. My read on meatloaf is a soft, seamless texture that holds shape and has flavor, snaps of flavor. So I get 2 lbs of ground sirloin and put in in the mixing bowl. This is a superstition of sorts, a Bellemaison superstition, and it's important to me: maybe it's the secret to the meatloaf that is Boeuf de Bellemaison? I use one bowl; it's a one bowl deal. I slide the ground sirloin up the side of said bowl, crack in two eggs and beat them with a fork into a unified force; I then add non-fat milk, a fair amount, and continue beating until the mixture has absorbed itself and you now do not have just milk or just egg. I slide the meat back down into the bowl and this said pretty yellow liquid should just about cover the 2 lbs of ground sirloin. Told you this was precise. I then slide the meat back up and began to add the spices. I start with salt and pepper. Start with pepper actually because I like the smell. Currently, I am using Costco's ground your own, as it's quite nice and I like the way the grinder operates. I am using their sea salt grinder, too, same reason. I then grind in some of their dried garlic, which the jury is still out on and give it a good smell. It should be nice and full, but not fragrant. That's coming up.

I then get out the celery salt, thyme and dehydrated onion. Typically, I do not cook with anything but fresh, but for meatloaf I use the dehydrates because I like the texture I get with them. The fresh doesn't get it fine enough for me and adds a little moisture that I need to suck up with a few more bread crumbs, which soak up my flavor that I have just meticulously constructed. I know you see where this is going. But I lay in the celery salt, thyme and dehydrated onion, mix it in the liquid only and then smell deeply. NOW it should be quite fragrant. If it smells overpowering in one direction or another, drop back and reformulate in small amounts. But you're on a thin edge here and you have to go slow to get back. But when you're back,you'll know right away. It smells really good. Finally, I finish with Progresso Italian Bread Crumbs. I have tried everything and nothing gives me the texture without screwing up the flavor like the store bought bread crumbs. If it will give the result I want, I am willing to take short cuts. You use enough bread crumbs to let the whole thing absorb the milk and be shapable, but not two tablespoons more. If you are generous with the bread crumbs, they will jump right in, drink the milk and the meatloaf will be dry. Not only that, they will take all the flavor as they suck up the moisture. They are greedy, but necessary, those little bread crumbs.
You mix the whole thing gently with a fork, until a soft/firm consistency is achieved.

I divide it in two, pat it with a fork into a sprayed meatloaf pan, into little oblong mounds. I create a slope in case there might be an obscure gram of fat anywhere that needs to run off to the bottom of the pan. Then, here is the really hart part. If you thought dehydrated garlic and onion were humbling, hear this: ketchup is the next ingredient. True! I carefully lather the top in ketchup, avoiding the sides because the excess will run down. After that odious but necessary chore is done, I generously sprinkle finely grated parmesan everywhere. Yeah, this is the really good part. That ketchup makes tang but the parmesan gives it such a nice flavor which creates a superb edge. With the thyme and the celery, it's alchemy. You now know everything except the PIN. And you don't really need that now that you know how to make meatloaf.

I bake it 350 degrees for about an hour and a half; the top will brown up slowly, but nicely and then bring it out to sit for 10 minutes. I go with fall/winter squash, orange or gold on the side and baked potatoes, too. There are people that eat here sometimes that demand coleslaw, too. I go with the salty, non-sweet, really crunchy kind. Medium shred cabbage, finely grated onion, Best Foods about 2-3 tablespoons, 1-2 tablespoons lemon juice and salt and pepper like crazy. Let it sit for 6 hours.

They like this meal around here and so my monarchy remains intact. This is just one of the guilty pleasures that are relished behind closed doors at Bellemaison.

Today I am making Orangette's banana/sour cream cake with coconut frosting. Let the homefires roar!


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Went to see my mother's cousin yesterday. Her only child died unexpectedly of a massive heart attack in August. He was 59. Her husband died three years ago at the age of 86. Now she's officially an orphan. I don't know what to say to her even though I love to talk to her. She told me again how my cousin Kenny died while carrying the saddle down to the meadow to get the horse ready for his daughter to ride. She spoke with a slight trace of bitterness that her granddaughter still has both horses and now she takes care of them herself.

She talked about our grandmother, Annie, and the story that Grandma always told about when she was born. She was named for Grandma. She also talked about how the kids made fun of her name when she went to school and the funny retort her father came up with, laughing and laughing at the memory. I said he sounds fun. She quickly replied He was a LOT of fun, her eyes sparkling bright.

Her little apartment is lovely with her water colors and acrylics and she maintains the perfect eye of an artist, commenting about the proportion, shape, colors of signs and windows as we shopped NorthTown Mall for something to wear to her only child's funeral. She's 86 and can calc ulate a 40% discount on a $65 blouse.

She asked some fairly pointed questions about the ownership and transitional affairs of the family business that made her lawyer and accountant scramble for answers and reappear a little uncomfortable. Her crystal-clear, china blue eyes darted over at me, giving me the signal to close in for the details. Not much of anything gets by this one.

She told me she watches the squirrels prepare for winter, furiously moving the acorns from spot to spot in the flower beds outside. She has lovely windows in her apartment and the reds and golds of the season form a beautifully woven tapestry of a world in change.

I don't know what to say to her because I think she is brave, so much braver than me. When I start to think about Kenny dropping dead in the pasture and think about what she thought when she got the call, I cry, cry, cry, cry. The tears come so quickly and so powerfully, it scares me. I am not as brave as she is. Not at all. I choke them off, hard, and swallow, hard. And listen, my lips forming a tight, thin line. I listen to her talk to me.

So we're now we're learning from each other, Anna and me. I can't imagine what it is that I am supposed to show her, but I am trying to understand. I know she has much to teach to me. Soon it will snow.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

It's favorites day again.

Everyonce is a while at Bellemaison, the Chow Nation and I sit down and take a look at what's working in our life and what's working really well in our life. Take for instance;


favorite thing you put on your body: black work out socks. I love black work out socks. No matter how you slice it they look pretty much fresh. You can always wear them two times for any kind of a work out. The white socks rarely make to the second wearing and are needy and demand attention. No short cuts with white socks. Black socks are my friends.

favorite thing you put in your body: how about PF Chang's Orange Chicken and Lucky 8's? Unexplicably, The 'Kan EWA has just scored a PF Chang's . Hard to believe I can walk down the street from my office and have lettuce wraps any time I want. Any time I can get in. Reservations are a week out! in downtwon Spokane! You gotta love it. And you had to have been there. Chang's in The 'Kan. wOw.

favorite smell of October: the last of the 'Evelyn' roses that I cut each morning and take to my desk.

favorite things I've read lately: New Yorker piece on high end handbags. actually. riveting.

favorite thing I've watched lately: The De-freaking-parted! whoa. Scorcese scores way big. The AMPAS All Stars make it not just four of a kind, but four aces. And it's set in Southie to boot.

favorite thing I'm looking forward to: Billy Elliott! Mary Poppins! The West End!

favorite thing I'm listening to: Patsy Cline's Greatest Hits. you shut up.

favorite thing I like to think about: how I will have all my books at hand in my new library. Now I am just sorry I didn't have more children so they could move out and I could nationalize their bedrooms. heh.

favorite thing I have no regrets about: my children's education.

favorite moment of the day: putting the Chows to bed and watching then gobble them up the bones on their pillows. magic.


oh. and YOU. I love you! You are my *absolute* favorite .


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

My friend Julie writes that her cousin participated in a barn raising out and about Lancaster county, Pennsylvania, the site of the heinous school house shooting last week. A 100-year old barn that her cousin played in as a child caught some sparks from backyard burn and burnt to the ground. She sends fascinating pictures from her cousin's personal photo book that are well worth a look. She tells me that the only English (I read that as non-Amish) present are her cousin and his dad. The Amish are people that I admire deeply because they just live their life. They don't evangelize, they don't lecture, they don't judge. And they walk their talk. I pray for their healing and for the souls of their lost children. May they rest in peace.



JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The weekend's here. I've got this wedding to plan. Things haven't been firmed up yet but I think ToadGirl will do the flowers, the ambience and the accessories. Thanksgiving seems to be the date. This is gonna be quite an occasion. I'd like the groom to do the poetry and the vows. And I will want to keep to rights. what? I AM hosting. This IS Bellemaison. The bride, between her dress and her lingerie, is going to be quite busy. I wonder if Pix will do a shower. I'd love to nip off to 'zona right now.

I've started the guest list. Obviously, parts of it are easy. Other parts, not so easy. You should feel free to state your case here and I will take it under advisement. Of course, this means the bride and groom will want to argue the merits of some of their lesser decisions as to 'friends'. Both are such lovely, generous people. Some of their friends....ix-nay. Relax kids, it's a joke. But step up and speak up.

No, even though this is a very busy weekend, I am not at all daunted about hosting this wedding at Bellemaison on Thanksgiving Day. All the pieces will go together nicely in the next few weeks, I believe. No, what's lingering on the top mental post-it note is the menu. What to serve? What to serve? So let's talk about it. But please, not in a chaotic, non-linear manner. This is a MENU we about to discuss, not an excited chance meeting of old friends.

This is a time when you should be specific and you should come with recipes. Let's start with the entrees. What should we have? And Randolph? NO. We will not be talking about what we will be drinking. If you so desire, once my trust officer calls that the ticket is in, I will let you set up the bar AND bartend.

'Cause that's the kinda gal I am.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The call came from the UK the other day, "Do you have Scotland?"

Well, heck yes, I have Scotland. Had just left the UK, Starbucks issued the damn thing, and so I went to eBay where I could have bought a car for the same price I paid for my Starbucks Scotland mug. Ah, the Starbucks collection.

One of my favorites, really. And you'll point out to me that I say that about them all and while that's true, I do that say that about them all, I don't say it at the same time. At the moment I say it, it really is my favorite collection.

My first international acquisition was the Tokyo mug. Tiffeny Milbrett was playing in Japan and used to go around the corner from her apartment to Starbucks for tea because it was a comforting bit of home, Tiff hailing from Portland,Oregon. I don't remember how she remembered I collected Starbucks mug but she made the catch, as the athletes say, and schlepped it back and presented it to me on the sidelines one Saturday afternoon. I was speechless with thrill and joy. I shoulda had her autograph it, come to think of it. I never worried about Tiff much after that because she told me she bought two; put the other one on eBay for some walking around money. She's little, but that one has a kick. She now plays in Sweden. She will always bleed royal purple.

One of my favorite groupings in the Starbucks mug collection, now numbered at roughly 400, is the Denver collection. Yees, we have triple Denver. I picked up the first one at the Denver airport, when reloading for somewhere or another. Not a remarkable mug, but Denver just the same and an important piece commemorating the neighborhood crossroads if you fly United. Was glad to have Denver.

A year or so later, a client from Denver brought me Denver when in the office to conspire over his business affairs. I was so delighted and assured him that Double Denver was harbinger of good multiples to come. He was delighted too. Who knew? Finally, shortly after that, and this is the bad part, somebody gave me another Denver. I just don't rememer who! Because by this time, people were bringing me mugs from literally all over the world. I separated the collection between those that I acquired and those that were gifts so I could remember these poignant stories but several years ago, I had a particularly self-possessed employee who insisted on curating the Starbucks mug collection to her own liking. Forgetting that they were MINE and my pleasure, she had her own ideas on their presentation and let's just say, she's a person that will always be alone for really good reasons. Obviously, because she hasn't a clue about presentation.

So a few of the details are lost; and to the collection afflicted such as me, that's a messy detail better thought about another day. We plan to move the office soon and at that time, I will personally relocate and reposition Skagway, Honolulu, West LA, Jerusalem, United Arab Emirates and Austin to name a very, very few and reacquaint myself with the most wonderful things to play with, these coffee cups, and with the most wonderful memories of darling, darling people who liked it that I loved it.

JBelle
Bellemaison, where Blogger won't let us post pictures no more
The 'Kan EWA

Well just in time. The weather has changed and the mornings are cold enough now that I don't roll out of bed for a hill climb on my mountain bike as easily as I did in July. Forbes Magazine must have known that my fitness regime might be suffering from a tiny ambition problem so they were good enough to run a piece on fall's most fattening goods. The link is problematic, too, undoubtedly due to the firewalls we run here at Bellemaison, so I'm linking to Slashfood, who notes the laundry list of caloric roads to hell. I actually felt pretty good about it all, because I don't eat any of the foods on the list, except for turkey stuffing, which we refer to here as turkey dressing. Dressing, we call it.

We call it dressing and make it in a big dutch oven on top of the stove, bake it in buttered pan and bring it out as just one more carb alternative when we already have baked rolls and bread, mashed potatoes, fixed yams and provided about a dozen snacks for the TV for the pre-dinner line up on Thanksgiving Day. The Bellemaison Turkey Dressing is made with butter, celery, onion, sage, dried bread, milk, salt and pepper. No apples. No damn sausage. No giblets, no gizzards, no neck meats! Nothing that can't be clearly identified as one of the aforementioned. We're purists here and stick to the basic fundamentals of Thanksgiving: good food, fresh food, lots of food, salt, fat and sugar. Give thanks for 'em.

The only other thing that gives me pause on the list are the mention of those wings. We have been known to order out for wings from Northern Lights, a local microbrewery, as they are exceptional. We go with ranch dressing and really appreciate that they hand cut the carrots and celery to order, which are exceptionally fresh and appealing. But if Forbes magazine says wings are not part of a bright financial future, well then, they're ghandi.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Where do you get collection affliction?

I think it's hard wired into your DNA and there's nothing you can do except monitor your own behavior and continually update your collection, of course. Of course! One of the real benefits of Collection Affliction is an overall abiding affection for museums, because of course, they house....collections. You know it. So museums it is for me. I have to say I like 'em all, regardless of size, location or curation. I LOVE museums. For instance, I love the Museum of the Rockies on Round Butte Road outside of Ronan, Montana. Killer farming equipment collection. Stunning, in fact. Then there's the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts. Freaking phenomenal building housing martime and whaling artifacts and antiques. Splendid.

The Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County with the dinosauer exhibit is my first recollection of a museum. I loves it still. Deep in my heart. I love the face jars at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the Elgin Marbles at the British Museum in London. In Boston, the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum is an exquisite afternoon (this woman like me, had serious collection affliction) and the Maryhill Museum on the Columbia River Gorge is an absolute do not miss. Blue Boy's there. The High Museum in Atlanta for folk art and the Warhols at the Hirschborn in the D of C are two sterling museum experiences. The Art Institute of Chicago for the pointillist oils is,well, barely describable it's so magnificent. The Philadelphia Museum of Art is where the foremost collection of Pennsylvania Dutch folk art is held. It, too, is magnificent.

The University of British Columbia's Museum of Anthropology has the world's best collection of totems and dug out canoes. Unbelieveable these things are. And they let you walk among their storage racks. I have a very soft spot in my heart for the American Museum of Natural History in New York and the planetarium there and the massive hall off the front door as well as the Museum of the City of New York down the street on Central Park West. The Bishop Museum in Honolulu has many of the Hawai'ian Royal Family possessions with the feathers still intact and absolutely fascinating pen and ink drawings of religious ceremonies the natives observed.

The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum's collection of eye glasses and hair haunts me still although I saw it fully 15 years ago. Musee d'Orsay in Paris is a rehabbed train station and is brilliant with light, the Louvre in Paris held one of my favorite all time exhibits, the Hermes handbag exhibit; one must not neglect the Galleria dell'Accadamia in Florence of course for Davide, The Uffizi in Florence for so many incredible, beautiful things including the da Vinci exhibit and Botticelli, oh and my favorite, the Duke and Duchess of Urbino. The Vatican Museum in Rome has a marvelous collection of maps and one of my very favorite museums, in Florence again, the Museo de Storia della Scienza has a exquisite collection of world globes and some of Gallileo's telescopes.

Probably the museum that I am most fascinated with currently is in a little tiny Tuscan hill town, Volterra. Volterra sits high on a hill, as it's an Etruscan city. The Museo Guarnacci has the most incredible collection of Etruscan cinerary urns which is extraordinarily curated. Lotta adjectives and adverbs there but it's true. This is a place where time stands dead still. The museum itself is an old villa; it not only holds scores and scores and scores of the urns the Etruscans used for cremation-- alabaster, terra cotta, carved stone, you name it-- but they show them in their natural habitat in the Tuscan hillside. You experience what it was like for the archeologists to discover them. It's jaw dropping. Gives you perfect insight in the cultural and artistic heritage the Italians received from the indigeneous people, the Etruscans. You see where their exquisite design sense comes from. If I could go to only one museum in the world, I'd go here.

The one museum that's escaped me is Museo Archeologico Nazaional in Naples. It's here that the artifacts from Pompeii reside. I have always wanted to go there but literally can't find a travel agent to book me because...Naples is too dangerous. But I am going at New Year's. Yup. Gonna rent a car and drive down there because those collections have been together for too long without me. The Museum of the City of London is good as is the Museum of the City of Paris. Viking museums, too. I'd really like to see those... And American folk art museums, the world does not ever have too many....

(And Greenwich, outside of London; you take the boat up the Thames and get off in Greenwich and walk to the museum on time. FAScinating!)

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

It's fall. The frost is on the pumpkin. I see the local Safeways have finally caught up with me, after five years, and are stocking white pumpkins, my favorite. Selling them for 8 bucks apiece! What is this? London? Anyway, the Chows told me this morning that I do not spend enough time with them and that I work too much. I told them, with great contrition, that I see the error of my ways and to demonstrate how sorry I really am, will fix their favorite lunch. Satisfied that I was set straight, they invited their best friend, Cliffie, for lunch and instructed me to begin preparing grilled cheese sandwiches, as they are quite hungry today, now that the frost is on the pumpkin.

I went to one of my favorite food porn sites, Slashfood, and found quite a dissertation on one of life's most simple but most hedonistic pleasures. Grilled cheese sandwiches: butterfat, fat fat, carbohydrates, salt. Does it get better? except for a nice big broken hunk of chocolate with nuts in it? and of course, an ice cold beer? I even like the summer soltice cheese sandwich, that made with thick slices of stone ground bread slathered with butter and pats of nice yellow cheese, cut in half, wrapped in wax paper and washed down with ice cold lemonade up on the trail. A tasty little brownie completes the round and gets you back to town with your well being high.

Today, I am going to tuck thin, thin slices of black forrest ham between the pieces of cheese, probably a swiss and a mild yellow, sandwich these between pieces of nice, sliced sourdough bread and grill them slowly til perfectly crisp but not, never, soggy with grease. I'll provide a little homemade french dressing on the side for dipping and some nice assorted greens and sliced red tomatoes to soak up more of the dressing. Although the Chows hate that sort of thing, reminding me that they are not, nor have even been, vegetarians.

Thus the grand tradition of expression here at Bellemaison is intact. Happy New Year to all.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

I hate surprises. It's true. I love to give Christmas presents but I do not like to get Christmas presents. I do not like any sudden moves. Especially in traffic. I don't like windfalls. I coulda been planning. Just don't surprise me. Those closest to me know that and speak quietly but firmly when they approach me from the rear.

So guess what happened to me on a Monday morning?

I got North Dakota. true, true, true. North Dakota! Hang on; I need to break for a moment for the Happy Dance. okay, I'm back. I'm just so darn happy about this! North Dakota came in the US Mail, out of the blue, a complete surprise, just for me. I loved it. My friend who surprised me is a courageous person and I think, I know, he rocks! Nort DAAkota. mine. quarters. remember? I've been looking for North Dakota....

There was another thing on my desk, besides the morning mail, that I was slightly irritated with because I didn't put the thing on my desk and my desk should not be a holding pen for others to actualize surprises. So I opened the bag with more than a certain impatience; surely the cretan who surprised me with this bag should know better? know quite better? ? ?

surely?

Know what was in the bag? a fire engine red, silver and gold OCC cap, get this:::: autographed by Paul Sr., Paul Jr. and Mikey! TRUE STORY. An absolutely incredible surprise, just for me. And I loved it. IIIIIIIII loved it.

Am I growing? Am I changing? maybe. sure nice to think about. What's really nice to think about are my friends who are brave and rise above my best protestations. Is the sweetest surprise in all of life to find that you are loved?

I think so.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Happened to overhear a fascinating conversation in the Little Nell the other night. Four people were talking about the desert monstrosity foisted upon their little community by the same man who has desired to make my hometown a company town. He's never fully succeeded in his drive for self-proclaimed monarchy but remains a highly controversial figure in Coeur d'Alene, in no small part because of the ratio of his excesses to his contributions. He is a man who has the means to make a difference, but chooses only to make token contributions to the well being of the people. As he owns the hometown newspaper there, he also is unfailingly lauded for these benvolent sips and snacks in headline news. He is so last century.

These people I was listening to at Montagna's gave me great amusement as they righteously assailed this man's devastation of their ecological, visual and psycho/social well being. They, of course, are residents, for at least the time they don't spend at their houses in Aspen, of the Palm Dessert; the 32, 000 sq ft house that Our Boy is building is an assault on their lifestyle and their life in the modest little community known as Palm Springs. The pain of it all is so great, they will stay in Aspen longer than is typical, even if the season is past, because they just dread going back to to their homes in California only to have to gaze at this heinous dwelling that has so gauched up the neighborhood. Damn the North Idaho Trailer Trash.

I always marvel at the House of Widsor when in the UK ; it's their homes that amaze and cause me to pause: Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle, Sandringham, Holyroodhouse, St James Palace, Kensington Palace, and my particular favorite, Balmoral. Just why do they need all these places and what kind of life do they live that these places serve them? My North Idaho parochial outlook doesn't appreciate big and many homes; it's not lost on me that even people in my family don't share this outlook and that many think that a big home and multiple homes are an indicator of one's success and achievement in life. I believe they are a false positive of such. But I digress. And the House of Windor never deacquisitions; they've kept every house they ever built. Real royal familes do this.


Back to Our Boy, the hometown one, who never did get the final permits required in building his latest, he says final, temple, where presumably he will worship the gods of American Estate Law who are tended by the Virgins of Undeveloped Real Property. Seems now that it's finally time to get those pesky plans signed around by the city fathers and such, the people, his neighbors, are exercising their American right to expression. They do not like him nor his damn house. And they got their own religious rites to observe. They just don't think they can do this in the shadow of this atrocious monument, pagan to the California desert community lifestyle. Poor Duane. He just can't get the respect he so openly craves.

From this seat in the stadium, I think he could be forgiven for his past errors and omissions and live in the hearts of the people of the Great State of North Idaho forever with a few strokes of the pen. But he'd have to forget about situating Lola for widowhood in an effort to dominate her life even after he leaves it; further, he'd have to abandon his guilt about his dismally poor fiduciary watch over his family's empire. Free of these, he'd need to pick one house and live there for the rest of his life. Not buy another boat. Set aside whatever money he wishes his children and grandchildren to have. Then make a plan.

First, he should form a non-profit foundation and beg blue chip philanthropists like Bill Gates and Warren Buffett to act as directors in the foundation's developing years. He needs someone to model the behavior and show him the way. He should listen to them and take their advice. He should not have his wife, his employees nor his business cronies remotely involved. The foundation should serve, in perpetuity, the well-being of the people of North Idaho. Then the Hag can formulate and articulate the change he wishes to be and to see in people's lives.

I personally would like to see him buy all the lakefront property from the Jewett House to Tubbs Hill in our hometown. Of course, the beach would be open to all people again, and The Burl and Beverly and Brad Foundation would serve the people in additional, unique ways, with one foot in the future and one eye toward the past. There are some architectually significant homes in this particular real estate acquisition and upon the advice of seasoned philanthropists on his board, The Hag could find purpose for these homes and plug them into the mission statement of his foundation. For instance, one house could serve as the office of an outstanding Coeur d'Alene non-profit, another a cultural center of a specific sort, say a children's art gallery, dedicated solely to children's art. Another yet could be a joint venture with the Shriners, devoted to physical rehab of a cutting-edge, world class nature. Because he'd own all the land and houses down East Lakeshore, The Hag could at last build a cunning and extraordinary botanical garden that would stretch in and around the homes and down the blocks, Tubbs Hill to the Jewett House. I think he could even get East Lakeshore vacated for this project because it would be unlike anything ever imagined and would serves the hearts and minds of North Idaho always. He could open up those gated patches of grass that have fascinated Coeur d'Alene children for generations now and make places for people to celebrate weddings, birthdays and anniversaries with the souls and the spirits of the nearby Coeur d'Alenes as witness.

I do hope in my lifetime that I am sitting in Aspen or in Scottsdale but mostly in Sandpoint or in Genessee and overhear people saying, That Hagadone! Have you seen his East Lakeshore project? People always said he's amount to no good. That he was a spoiled rich kid whose specialty was tantrums but they were dead wrong. He really was a special man whose influence and experience were worldwide, but whose heart and soul never were anywhere but across the street from Lake Coeur d'Alene....


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA