The Feast of the Immaculate Conception was on Friday. This is in celebration of the day Mary got the word that she had been chosen to be the Mother. Since my own mother died 10 years ago, I think about Mary a lot. She was on the one stumbling block of Catholicism that I could never come to terms with; Mary as an icon of adoration made no sense to me until, until, my own mother died. Then I was finally ready to understand. Ah, the epiphanies I experience if I just let myself be open to pain. So I have thought about Mary a lot in the last ten years, talked to her a lot, begged her for mercy on behalf of my children and in general, joined forces with the Sweet Virgin Mary in advocacy of my children and their needs, trials and tribulations. She is my solace, my comfort, my assurance. And, she talks back. She pops into my head and into my heart with her soft voice, mostly telling me not to worry. She knows me. On the other hand, haven't heard a thing from my mother since the day she left, August 1996. I know Mom is in a really good place and is laughing and singing. I know the next time I see her that's how I will find her.

So Mary was chosen to be the Mother. Young girl, old husband. What a mess. I liked the part about her not questioning, at least not in her out loud voice. She was destined to be a mother! Absorbing all the inputs, taking a quick inventory of available resources, then quietly moving into an action plan to care for her family. This is our Girl.

I think somehow on some plain, I was chosen for motherhood, too. It happened to me and was upon me before I literally knew what was afoot; I never questioned it. I never planned it. I never formed selection criteria for the fathers. I moved into it with no misgiving. It was only after my children came through another phase of their maturation that I realized how bad I was at it but amazingly, I was going to get another shot at getting it right. And so they stay right with me today, these exquisite creatures, these children of mine. How did I get so lucky to get them? Why me?

They have shaped my life and made me the person I am. Would I give the time and money that I do to charitable causes if it weren't for my children? I hope so. But I don't know. Through them, I saw and learned about all kinds of other kids and mothers who were working off a different set of inputs and available resources. I knew immediately that I had to be more and give more to everyone if I was going to be the best possible mother for Them, my own children.

I would not have the career I have and the life it brings me if it weren't for my children. I was their sole support when then were just little kids. If they got changed into dry clothes, had a sandwich, were read a story, lived in a house with lights and heat or received affirmation or experienced joy in any given day, it came from me. The responsibility from being the whole universe to my darling children made me who I am today and easily lets me understand that I and I alone am responsible for my own happiness and my own well-being. That understanding has brought me great rewards in business and in life, and if it weren't for being a mother, I might still be trying to figure that one out.

The one thing I learn over and over from being a mother is that it's not about me. It couldn't be less about me than it is. And I am so grateful for that. As my children played on all kinds of teams and became involved in all kinds of activities, I began to see women on similar paths as me, working hard to provide a good life for their families and to understand the best long term goals. It was always fascinating for me to watch and observe the conversations over breakfast, on the sidelines, as the work of a project endured and listen to different mothers who were happy, and unhappy, with the course of their children's lives or their husband's careers or their own marriages. It was the women who were not afraid to let their children fail, let their husband co-parent, it was the women who were completely willing to give themselves up to their family and their marriage and the rollers of joy and pain who were the happiest. And they were not happy at the hand of slavish devotion; they were happy because they were part of a symbiotic experience where the sum of the parts was greater than the whole. Their families were emotionally powerful. They lived in love and not in fear.

So when you are a mother and doing your best work, it's not about you. It's never about you. And then, at some point, it becomes completely about you. Ah, the evolution of adoration.

So I think about Mary; I am deeply grateful to her. I have learned so much. And much of the time now, it's about me. Odd. But I do not deserve any of this credit. The credit goes to my children. They are the ones who chose to persevere; they are the ones who chose to walk through life in a respectful, loving manner. They are the ones who honor me. I just happened to be here because I was chosen, like Mary.

Me, Lord? It's me?


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Eleanor Rigby's newphew, Raymond, wrote quite a poem over at his place. He's Snug's dad.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

From The Scottsdale ShelT

(Your Kentucky Derby Winner name!)

My friend Shell had this going at Pixie Lair and I LOVED it. Sylvie Ruth wanted me to post her names but Dorothy took her down and said today, definitely today, it's MY turn. Back off! Sylvie!

So here we go.

1. YOUR REAL NAME: Dorothy or Red Dorothy

2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (first three letters of your name, plus izzle) Dorizzle

3. YOUR "FLY Guy/Girl" NAME: (first initial of first name, first three of your last) DSchmi

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (fav color and fav animal) Red Dog!

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, town where you were born) Lynn Priest River

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 3 letters of mom's maiden name) Schmidotim

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (second favorite color, favorite drink) Red Dirty Water

8. IRAQI NAME: (2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, any letter of your middle name, 2nd letter of your moms maiden name, 3rd letter of you dads middle name, 1st letter of a siblings first name, last letter of your moms middle name): Ohniwse

9. STRIPPER NAME: (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne) Rotten Fish

10.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother & father's middle name. ) Timberlake Lawrence


By any name, the weekend is lovely, isn't it?


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

I first knew something was up when he came to me in my dreams.

It was late spring when he showed up in a beautiful vignette, low lit in ambers and cherry reds and browns, in slightly slow motion with the sound muted. We were sitting across from each other in a social setting of sorts. It was not clear to me if we were in someone’s home or in an upscale lounge, but it was Ralph Lauren all the way, as my one-time confidant sat in a velvet wingback chair in a jacket, but with no tie. I was similarly dressed for an evening out as were those around us. We laughed and chatted as you would at a social encounter and we engaged with the people around us, similarly involved. At a point then, I got up. It was not clear to me if I was leaving or if I was only excusing myself momentarily to say hello to someone. But I did get up and move away and as I passed the right side of his chair, I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, bordering his hairline.

Instantly I was filled with a sublime overwhelming jolt that rattled me from the most fundamental to the most sophisticated of my senses. I woke up abruptly to the pitch black of the soft night air and found myself sitting straight up in bed, thoroughly startled but not cold. The details of the dream played back in my mind with crystal clarity. I blinked in the darkness about me, trying to grasp what had just happened but I could not understand. I had never experienced this feeling, which I can only describe as peaceful electrocution. I had not seen or talked to this man for over a year. How could this man and this experience, the jolt be related? But there was no mistaking the sensual and cosmic moment of the dream.

We had known each other through confidences shared, this warrior of the heart’s truest wants and needs. He was a rock star and a warrior and as much as one who was thoroughly experienced with sex, drugs and rock and roll could be, a priest. He was a port in the storm when I was dangerously adrift. But we hadn’t seen each other for a long time and it was a surprise to run into him in my dream.

I lay back down and instantly went to sleep, unusual for me. I wanted so much to get this dream back but it wouldn’t come. I woke up puzzled, disturbed, agitated. That extraordinary physical experience of peace had long passed and I was at a complete loss to understand. All I could get back was the memory of the electric moment of the kiss. I searched my heart and my senses and couldn’t find myself responding to this man in a sexual or romantic manner. By the time I went to work, I was positive this dream wasn’t about him. As I stood in line at Starbucks, I remembered the kiss and I wondered if it was about foreheads. I watched a very sexy guy make my coffee and studied his forehead with great scrutiny, thanks to my ever- present Oakleys. I got nothing. Was feeling no love from this guy’s forehead. Then later after I signed for UPS, I watched that guy’s broad, tanned forehead and his great blond hairline and drew another blank. Where the hell had I been last night?

Now emboldened by utter failure, I watched all the foreheads that came my way, in complete abandon and rebellion. Of course, my hapless victims could never be certain I was starring mercilessly at them because of the Oakleys. It’s all about the Oakleys. But I was and I did. Stare. For a whole week. Nothing. Absolutely nothing surfaced. Then I started having the dream again. Only this time it was someone else in the chair. And although there was the same kiss, it did not have the same effect. And then there were women in the chair. All told, I had the dream about six more times. Everything exactly the same, except for the person who was sitting across from me and for the absent thrill of the sublime peace that came with the kiss.

It was at the end of the summer that I heard that the rock and roll warrior whom I dreamed about had been seriously ill with a dire infection and had been in the hospital. Apparently, he went hallucinatory in the throes of bacterial devastation. I was quite concerned to hear of his trauma only until I heard when it all came down.

Exactly when I had my dream.

He was fighting for his life in a hospital bed but appeared to me in my sleep well dressed, happy, relaxed. He was telling me something and whatever it was, I received an exquisite gift of The Kiss of Peace. So the dream was about him and it was about something very real. It’s interesting to me that I literally retreated to my sunglasses in an effort to obscure the light, to keep from seeing what really happened. I even dreamed the same dream over and over to tell myself that it was about him and that there was something real going on. But I wasn’t buying it and I wouldn’t take my own clues.

The rock and roll warrior made a full recovery and now is in good health. I still wonder whether he was leaving this life and if or why he changed his course. And until just today I did not know what he was really saying to me. As well, only now do I re-remember, over and over, that the sound was muted. Only now do I finally understand the dream of The Kiss of Peace.

Got word that The High Priest and Warrior of Rock and Roll will retire and leave town this fall. Of course, now I know exactly where I am. Another good bye. A very real good bye. Again. But it's not the goodbye the peril of his tryst in the hospital would indicate. It's a much deeper and broader goodbye and he's completely ready. This is his time. And he has great and abiding peace.

As for me, when it's time to say goodbye to this one, I will leave the Oakleys in my handbag, only wanting to know just this: will the last person to leave my heart Please turn out the lights and leave the key?


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

So we find ourselves in a pretty weird place.

Instead of making our list and checking it twice, gonna find out who's naughty and who's nice, The Chows and I are reconfirming hotel reservations and theatre ticket purchases as we are not going to spend Christmas here at Bellemaison. Told you it was a weird thing that's going on. We'll fly from here to London, shake off the jet lag and see Billy Elliott and Mary Poppins in the West End and then hop down to The Eternal City, where we have tickets for midnight mass at Vaticano. The Home Office. San Pietro himself. We're pretty excited but at the same time confused. Good thing we have the new kids next door.

Last year, Mac, Ella, Sunny and Bobby moved in. We love those guys! Ella can talk about 350 words a minute. Mac is a real action man: jumping, hopping, swinging, moving. Sunny is my friend who waves and waves, leans out of her car seat in the mini van and waves--I'm 300 yards away and this merry Sunshine still waves at me every chance she gets. The Incredible Hulk could be driving my car and you wouldn't know because the windows are tinted very dark and this little blond confection waves like crazy, because she knows it's me. Her twin brother, Bobby, just grins and stays close to Ella; never takes his eyes or his smile off you. Just grins. Widely. We*love*these*kids.

So. We changed out our 'Tara' Christmas decorations outside. Totally went against the grain with the new concept, too. Wholly committed to the New Way and the New Age here at Bellemaison as we gave all the former outside lights, bows, wreaths, candles, trees and miscellany away. We have a whole new deal going here. With those other neighbors, we went with stated elegance appropriate to the architecture of the house. It was Williamsburg meets Philadelphia meets Greenville and did I mention we have salmon real close as we are NORTH of the Mason-Dixon Line? look. People would stop me in the store and tell me how much they loved my Christmas decorations. So much, I stopped going to the store. Now they have something new to adjudicate because starting here and starting now, we are CandyLand at Bellemaison.

Yup. We took the pink fright lights from Halloween and held them back this year and put them up on all the front eaves this weekend. We purchased 8 foot lighted Nutcrackers from Costco in September (wince) (mea culpa). They flank the drive-in garage doors. We have candy canes and peppermints lining the entire driveway. We have gumdrops across the entire face of the porch. The windows are framed in peppermints with blue outlines. We have glisteny icicles hanging off all the windows sills. We have the same pepermints and candy canes ringing the front door. Colored twinkle lights blanket the lavendar hedge. We have a big wreath with lit peppermints hung on the street chimney at the bottom of the driveway with a big fluffy red and white striped bow.

The one thing that perplexes us still is the lollipops we need across the flower bed lining the front porch. We need 5 foot tall lollipops that we can plant in a merry inspection line. Is there some other way besides 24 inch styrofoam circles wrapped in clear cellophane? I am having trouble locating the styrofoam; it either needs to surface or I need to come up with a new idea.

So Advent is upon us. The anticipation has arrived. We wait in hope and faith.

It IS the most wonderful time of the year, isn't it?

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

People have been calling and writing in for these recipes; to tell the truth, I'm happy to sit at the keyboard because the damned papparazzi really are driving me crazy. I do not have a fur coat big enough to hide from them.

Wolfgang Puck's Honey/Maple Brine

1 gallon water
1/2 ounce ground cloves
1/2 ounce ground ginger
4 ounces crackd black peppercorns
12 bay leaves
1 pound kosher salt
24 ounces honey
24 ounces maple syrup

In a large stockpot, bring the water, cloves, ginger, black peppercorns, bay leaves and salt to a boil. Lower to a simmer and stir in the honey and maple syrup until well blended. Turn off heat and allow to cool to room temperature.

Rinse the turkey inside and out with cold tap water. Reserve the neck and specialty meats for pan gravy. Set the turkey in the brine, making sure that the turkey is fully immersed in the brine. Place a weight on top of the turkey to make sure it is always covered with brine. Marinate for at least 4 hours to overnight, depending on the weight of the turkey, in the refrigerator.


This one is just killer:
Pacific Northwest Cranberry Chutney

24 ounces apricot preserves
3/4 cup raspberry vinegar
or
3/4 cup white distilled vinegar plus 1 1/2 tsp raspberry preserves
a pinch of salt
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/4 cup Grand Marnier
2 bags fresh cranberries, nasties discarded
1/2 cup finely chopped crystallized ginger
1 1/4 cups dried tart cherries

In a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the apricot preserves, raspberry vinegar or vinegar and preserves, salt, cloves, and Grand Marnier. Stir to mix, and place over medium-high heat. Bring the mixture to a boil, and continue to cook. It will bubble aggressively, and you should stir regularly to keep it from scorching--about 10-15 minutes, or until thickened slightly. Reduce the heat to medium, add the cranberries, and cook until they are soft but not popped. (They are ready when you can hear one or two of them pop; that's a good indicator that most of them must be getting pretty soft.) Add the ginger and cherries, stir well and remove from heat. Cool completely before serving. The chutney will thicken considerably as it cools.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Got a lovely Thanksgiving card from Biz. Handmade, too. Bizzie says Thanksgiving is her very favorite of holidays; come to think of it, this is the one national holiday that most Americans observe, despite their ethnicity or faith tradition.

I like Thanksgiving, too. It's a stubborn holiday--Wall Street nor Madison Avenue has never been able to wrest control of it as they have Christmas. After 400 years, it remains about food, family and friends. Football, too. As a point of reference please note that the Detroit Lions hosted the first Thanksgiving football game; in 1934, the Chicago Bears accepted the invitation to play in the Motor City and gave thanks by beating the Lions 19-16.

We will have our traditional small, quiet Thanksgiving here at Bellemaison. We'll get in some nice walks with the Chows and see as many movies as we possibly can. In the meantime, the menu has firmed up, although absent one green vegetable.

Thanksgiving 2006
Bellemaison

Joanna's Hot Rolls with butter
Maple Syrup/Honey Brined Oven Roasted Turkey
Mashed Potatoes and Gravy
Sage and Celery Dressing
Sweet Potato Stuffed Apples
Cranberry Chutney

Salted Caramel Ice Cream
Apple Pie
Pumpkin Something OrOther

Angie Marani will be here and she tells me we are having 3 Cheese Pumpkin Enchiladas on Wednesday night with an apple and gouda tart laced with tawney caramel sauce. I say bring on the food, family, friends and fun. I've got some thanks to be giving.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

From time to time, we issue special endorsements here at Bellemaison. And all our endorsements are special because we just don't do them too often.

Not that we aren't willing to let the facts speak for themselves; we are. But we want you to know what we are especially thinking, because from time to time, something makes a deep-down-there, wow-I-didn't-know-I still-had-THAT-there kind of connection.

And so it is with a.ho.

First knew him and his phenomenal hair at that Athens of early childhood ed, Cataldo Catholic School. It's hard to say where exactly that hair of his comes from because his gene pool is rich with swimming curly hair, much of it having fallen from the tree, so to speak. So we don't really know. All we know is that a.ho comes by this all time great blond, curly hair of his honestly. Quite honestly.

And as a matter of fact, he got his hair same place he got his intellectual stamina and bandwidth. But a.ho is still remarkable because he literally has dozens of cousins with a similar gene pool. Heck, he's got brothers and sisters that are near clones.

And even though they are wonderful, and wonderful they are these delicious sibs of his--make no mistake, they aren't the same. They aren't a.ho. Only a.ho is a.ho and that's what makes him so special. The exactly unique stuff that's only him. Who can say what is it? I sure can't. I do know courage, honesty and faith are a piece of it.

So it happens that Our Boy is having his viva next week, in conjunction with wrapping up his studies at University of Oxford where he's just completed his stint as a Rhodes Scholar. He is appropriately nervous and anticipatory at the same time. This is a defining moment in his life and in the life of any person who wonders about the world and the patterns and paths of the people here.

So as a.ho rounds third base with the ball rocketing in from right field, give a cheer for Anthony. You don't have to know him to applaud his tenacity, his skill, his ambition. Say a prayer, make a thought, sing a tiny song for our hometown guy who goes toe to toe with the best minds in the world and from this seat in the stadium is safe by a mile, with a grand slam.

Love you. Take it to 'em.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Damn Papparazzi!

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

JBelle the Enigma This crap again. Not only do I have to dodge the papparazzi now I got cyber stalkers! This was all over the internet after our vacation in Cape Cod last Easter. What's the fascination that everybody needs a piece?

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

I'm sad. I'm sad, sad, sad. I've got friends with a marriage in trouble and I have to come to grips with how it is when you can't fix what somehow has jumped the tracks. I can't fix it; I'd give just about anything to do just that. I've cried, I' ve paced, I've remembered, recalled; connected the dots on so many things that were innocently random before.

My friends may not make it back from their tryst deep in the jungle of marital confusion and temptation; or they may. No one knows yet. No one knows. I do know this , over and over: you have got to want it and once you get it, you have got to have the grace to accept it. As it is.

I myself have gone through the pain of betrayal and separation in a marriage. I have gone through children in ICU and last rites; I have gone through parents who slowly lose their mind and whose diapers need changing. I've had it. Days where everywhere you looked, even the garden of blooming roses, everything was black. BLACK. black.

It was during these times that I learned the value of taking care of myself. It's a keen irony that when someone or something in your life needs and demands you the most, you must take the most vigilant of measures to save a part of yourself from it all, to regenerate that renewal for the next day, the next time trial, the next winner take all, death by fire. It's during these times that you must take the best care with yourself.

I personally believe in God, with a capital G. But I don't think you have to be a practicing protestant, Christian or Buddhist to acknowledge a greater being, an elevated universal consciousness. Of course, you can be spiritual without being religious and it's there that you can go in solace when the day's frames are filled in solid black. When I am doing my best work and taking the kindest of care with all, even myself, here's what I do:

I slip off by myself and quiet myself in the surroundings. I then remember that I am in the presence of God, of god, and I become grateful. I am so grateful today for the cold, gray of this morning. It means the flowers and trees that I love so much are slipping into rest, getting the deep stores of precious water they need for a new spring, a new summer of sunshine and proliferation. It's this time that I can watch the owners of my garden, the birds, squirrels, mice, and others, furiously prepare for the snow ahead. Their industrious labor gives me great affection for them and their life in their universe, my garden. I am grateful for the golden yellow warmth of the fire and the smell of buttered toast in the kitchen. The cold noses of the dogs and the brightly colored knit caps and jackets of the kids passing by on their way to play down the street. Their faint cries of glee and laughter rise, then evaporate. It's a beautiful, beautiful cold gray morning. And I am grateful to sit at my window and watch.

I ask my Holy Spirit to help me, mentor me, coach me. To slip off the silken cords that tie my mind and my heart so as to discover what waits for me there. And then I listen. Where did I experience the divine? in whose face did I see God today? I had an email from my friend Wendy this morning with information that will be quite helpful to another person I know who struggles with basic worth issues. The information is technical in a certain aspect and I was so grateful for the wording and context, the presentation, the professional expertise. Wendy is generous and deeply flowing. I see God in her always, a luminous work in progress. I saw God in Peet the Chow this morning. He came in for a bull body hug, as he does quite often. He needs more, wants more, gets more than the other dogs and feels no shame at his capacity to love and be loved. In that funny little faces shines the light of God. Saw God in the work product of my youngest child this morning; he is traveling solo a bold path and he is brave. God is in him; closely. And so my God, the divine, is all around me, everywhere in my life. Mysteriously showing his face in non-mysterious places.

As I think about the day just past and the beautiful faces, sights, things, smells and thoughts, I cannot help but see the other things too: the missed opportunities, sawed off possitibilites, blocked intersections. I see places where I failed to see, accept or show love. Because love, LOVE, is all there is. And as Wendy, Peet, Jon and God reach out to me in love, I want to turn to the next and love, be part of this rounddance of heart.

I didn't reach out to certain of my friends yesterday; I am afraid. I am not strong enough to hear more of their pain. I am not worthy of them, for they each are mighty in my eyes. I have nothing of value to offer even though they suffer keenly. At another turn, I rebuffed yet another compliment yesterday, too shy to openly acknowledge a moment between two adults. And that's a pattern with me. I've seen this before. I tourniquet my own growth and fullness. I need to go back, find a way to redo that moment and be on the lookout for the moment again, and work to get it right. I need to find courage, to find value in my life to give to my friends who could use it. As lowly as I am, I have got to have something for them. I need to change these turns, detours, into thru-ways, thru-ways to fullness, ridden through corridors of the divine.

And so I know that I have to get back in the game now. I have got to get back out there with love, being love. This day is going to be a good day, no matter what happens and this day is a time for me to explore and experience more fully, confident that my God the divine is all around and that love can prevail.

~much, much love and thanks to a.ho

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Ministry. Kind of a chic thing among latter day Catholics. I do not know, being a Convert Come Lately, exactly how it rose from the galleries, this fashionable topic of ministry but I wonder if it started to come into vogue after so many deeply spiritual people walked away from their religious vows and looked to find life among us plebians. maybe?

At any rate, it's quite a topic. Minstry to the homeless, ministry to the poor, ministry to the disenfranchised. You have your ministry, you is set! Your ministry is the ecclesiastical equivalent of that 3 bedroom cabin with new dock on Lake Coeur d'Alene. Everybody wants one. Or at least wants to talk about where they'd get one and how they'd go there.

That's not to say I haven't noticed real, true ministry in my life; I am blessed by people who quietly exercise a particular devotion of sorts that might not ever be featured at the parish on a lenten program, but hold a ministry nevertheless. These people touch my heart and humble me; they do no marketing, they solicit no funds, they do not trumpet the plight of their attentions. But they tend to their attentions nevertheless, with quiet devotion and care. They lift spirits and spark hope, one heart at a time, and quietly keep moving, always on the look out for wallflowers and stragglers.

My friend Robbie, she of the Halloween card, comes first to my mind. Robbie has sent me a birthday card every year since I have known her--about 15 of them now. This may not seem like a significant thing, but it is. I know that Robbie will always be a loving presence in my life and will be an unconditional, non-judgmental wellspring of friendship. She ministers to me with love and cards. She sends my daughter birthday cards; the Pup loves it. She sends my homesick son handmade Halloween cards; it's the thing in his week that boosts him to the weekend, into the arms of his friends. Robbie sends hundreds and hundreds of cards a year. She sends anniversary cards, Mother's Day cards, cards here and there. Nothing too fancy or gratuitous; tight, simple, one or two lines of encouragement and light. That's Robbie. So many people have said to me "I got a card from Robbie; it was so nice!" This girl lives her life, walks her talk and does what she can. And doesn't verbalize it to death. She ministers to all that she knows on ordinary yet tricky days that can be laden with emotional sandtraps.

When I think about people walking their talk, I think of my friends Tim and Sam. Recently, I was advocating for a two-time convicted felon that I have come to know in the last year. He is having trouble finding a job, critical for his on-going reentry into the community and for his successful rehabilitation. Tim and Sam own and operate a famous restaurant here in The 'Kan and so I turned to them with my guy's plight: nobody wants to hire a convicted felon. Tim offered to interview him for a dishwashing position, saying that he would give him the same chance as anybody. He quickly followed up with the assertion that he would not grant special status; that any employee must follow the mandates of all employees: be reliable, work hard and bring your best. He says that he has hired many convicted felons over the years and that some have worked out, some have not. But says he, you gotta give 'em a chance. What an incredibly touching ministry this man and his wife have, a deeply beautiful faith and spirit with which they wraps themselves and their life. You won't find them on a list of area's Top 10 Philanthropists but how could you count their contribution as anything less than all conference? All American?

My friend Sherrie hires felons, too. Her business silk screens t-shirts and her niche among felons is the work-release program. If they can find a job, they can live in a work release facility, a far cry from a prison, and thus are jumpstarted into community reentry. Sherrie works closely with the prison and with parole officers, spending many extra hours, but not receiving any additional compensation. She provides employment for people for whom employment might be the critical redeeming factor in their sad lives. Sherrie's employees are regulars at AA and rehab. She runs a tight ship; noone gets a free pass there, either. But she gives those who need it a chance, a real chance--without judgment, without discount. The irony is you will never see Sherrie's company on a list of the area's top employers. The chamber of commerce has yet to honor her as an outstanding employer for her contributions to the people of the area. And that's just fine with Sherrie. She doesn't need that; she does need to know that she tried and that her efforts mattered in at least one life. This is a ministry.

And so I look to my friends with love and adoration for all that they are and have been to so many. They live each day as an opportunity; love all, serve all. It's real. They do it. There is beauty, there is love all around me. I live deep in the grace and light of my friends.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

"Almighty God; We make our earnest prayer that Thou wilt keep the United States in Thy holy protection; that Thou wilt incline the hearts of the citizens to cultivate a spirit of subordination and obedience to government; and entertain a brotherly affection and love for one another and for their fellow citizens of the United States at large. And finally that Thou wilt most graciously be pleased to dispose us all to do justice, to love mercy, and to demean ourselves with that charity, humility, and pacific temper of mind which were the characteristics of the Divine Author of our blessed religion, and without a humble imitation of whose example in these things we can never hope to be a happy nation. Grant our supplication, we beseech Thee, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen." --George Washington


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

One more long weekend and Election 2006 will be one for the books. It's been interesting, if annoying, and I don't understand why it's been interesting. The Chows and I don't pay too much attention to political issues except for the light rail, of which we are four-square in favor. But we've talked about this election much and from everything we read, we don't believe that very much change is afoot, either on the federal level or on the state level. Whatever each party hopes to gain, there is likely to be corresponding loss. So what is the hysterical chaos that's in the air in an off-year election?

Locally, is it because the housing market is in the tank? All the developers, builders, designers, financial institutions smarting about their numbers and uneasy about their future? They should be. They have not made just a hog in the last several years but a razorback and the technical correction their market is now experiencing can't make for a cheery Christmas and Happy New Year. Happens with each market that experiences dizzying gains--except of course, petroleum and health care. Those two industries are allowed to reap outrageous profits at the hands of the consumer and skip merrily on their way with no accountability. But their day is coming. Has to.

Is it the sharp contrasts in candidates? Here in the county, we have a seasoned pol running for reelection who is the sort of man who sees no conflict of interest as his three sons hold jobs with the municipality he seeks to represent. again. Everyone here is disgusted with this man yet he likely will be reelected; his opponent is a political and intellectual lightweight but a really nice person. Is the kinetic energy around this race born in the details of the incumbent being ethically vacant and the challenger being functionally vacant?

My personal outrage might lay in the efforts of the local utility, publically held, quietly campaigning in key places against an initiative that would mandate energy conservation. Unbelieveable. This is a no-brainer yet I have been lobbied on several occasions to vote no for conservation because it will have a bad impact on the company, one of the area's largest employers.

And of course, it's a known fact that I never have forgiven the voters of Eastern Washington for letting loose of Representative Tom Foley, the 57th Speaker of the House of Representatives. After they voted him out, many folks thought that the 5th district would retain the Speaker position just the same and that George Nethercutt, a Ginrich republican, would be the new speaker. I still hold that grudge and it's been 12 years. Newt Ginrich of course, that beacon of virtuous principle, succeeded Foley as speaker but later fled in disgrace as an ethical and moral train wreck. So Tom Foley became the first sitting speaker since the Civil War to taste reelection defeat, fed by the hands of my neighbors and friends here in Eastern Washington. Mr. Nethercutt challenged Foley primarily on the basis of term limits, righteously proclaiming he would self-limit his service to three terms. He, of course, broke that promise, rerunning not once but twice after those three terms and the voters here were SHOCKED, shocked! I tell you. Fortunately, after five terms his greedy ambition led him to a Senate race against Maria Cantwell, who soundly beat him.

So we sit here now with a Congresswoman who is perky and cute, newly married, holding some pretty stiff religious values. She herself committed a minor ethical violation, using the membership data base of a local group to which I belong to send follow up emails after she spoke at lunch this fall. And this is politics in the New Age, when the off year election can be genuinely frantic for no real reason, where the people running ought to secure a copy of the rulebook and give it a good read, where self-preservation and self-aggrandizement are the order of the day. It's now dark on election day and I am not referring to the November gloom.

The Chows and I have exercised our rights and privileges as citizens and mailed our absentee ballots. We will observe Election Day this Tuesday by remembering the many good and honorable who have served by the vote of the people, starting with Washington and Jefferson, through Lincoln and TR and with a shoutout to our personal non-American favorites Sadat, Ghandi, Churchill and Blair. We will give each other a good bump in the name of freedom and take our carefully preserved Tom Foley yard sign to our front yard, where we will plant it as we solemnly recall the words of Alexis de Toqueville : The surface of American society is covered with a layer of democratic paint, but from time to time one can see the old aristocratic colours breaking through.

Especially on the second Tuesday in November. Power to the people.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

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

Well, bollocks.

PM Tony Blair is really leaving. He bid the Labour Party goodbye this week with panache and class, something we Americans, some of us, ever crave in leadership. He owned his part of our friendship but acknowledged his own neighborhood by saying, "It's hard sometimes to be America's strongest ally. Europe can be a political headache." Detailing the myriad of challenges we face, he believes terrorism will take at least a generation to contain, Blair sums up by saying, "And the truth is that nothing we strive for...can be solved without America, without Europe." A brilliant man, graced with humility and strength but grounded in the here and now. He doesn't kid himself. That's why he's leaving.

The thing about Tony Blair is this: he speaks straight from the heart, speaks the truth as he knows it and let's the chips fall where they may. And I wouldn't be truthful if I didn't admit that one of Blair's most appealing qualities is that he's such a contrast to our own intellect-challenged and communicative disorder-proned President. The cerebral elegance this man easily employs is more than a tad seductive but as you examine his arguments, you realize he has a vision and a determination that looks different but feels much like Churchill: "The British people today are reluctant global citizens; I want them to be confident ones.". He makes a strong argument for the big picture of British change in the new millenium. These days sovereignty is textured and laced with collaboration and partnership, according to Blair. Hmmm.

And so it goes. Nuts.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

We're waiting for our friend Tom to get his call; first of the week, he hadn't eaten in a week and had been refusing water for four days. It started in his colon, moved to his liver, spread to his lungs, then his brain. He's had chemo, radiation, surgery.

He himself has saved so many lives in his line of work that we didn't take his cancer seriously, even as each stage brought new, more ominous information. With all the good that he did for so many people, there's no way he wouldn't beat this. But science is science; there was no way to beat this and so he will die early. Our funny, tough Boy Scout has done his last good deed.

We first knew him when he was a leader in the Scout troop the Christ Child joined. The Christ had gotten his first batch of new merit badges and at the meeting the following week, Tom stopped this little kid of mine and said, hey! where are those new merit badges? The Boy said, well, you know, my mom has been real busy and just didn't have time....Tom cut him off at the socks and said, THOSE AREN'T YOUR MAMA'S MERIT BADGES AND THAT ISN'T YOUR MAMA'S UNIFORM! As the Christ Child put it at his Eagle Court of Honor four years later, "...that was the year I learned to sew." And that's a true story. It was the first of many adventures and encounters in Scouts, with Tom, that helped our youngest child understand that we are eachl responsibile for our own well-being. How could we know that this delicious, wonderful man would donate generously to our little boy's psyche and his spirit? We couldn't know, we didn't know and even when it was all done and that little boy had grown up and moved away to go to school, we were astounded at the kismet of Tom in our lives. How did that happen? How did we all get so lucky as to know and love Tom Deilke?

And so he goes early, leaving us behind to clean up. Fortunately, he taught us how so we know what to do. But it's lonely here today as the bright light of sunshine peeks through the dull, gray afternoon horizon; it's still.

We wait.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Said goodbye to my friend Kitsy yesterday. Pretty much choked and snuffled it out, but it was definitely a goodbye. She, in her sunny Irish way, responded with a beautiful, fully-present-in-the-moment, eloquent toast to days past and days future. People and places and things and times change, they come and go, but this this one I will miss. I will miss Kitsy. Here's some of the things I will always remember:

Kitsy organizing her employees to each throw in 2 hours of vacation for their co-worker, who already exhausted her paid sick and vacation time in care of her cancer-ridden partner.

Kitsy knowing the words to any Beatles' song ever written.

Kitsy with love beyond love, compassion for ever, for her former abusive boss, who ended up homeless.

Kitsy in deep abiding pride at her childrens' college degrees.

Kitsy driving her housekeepers around to Social Security, garage sales, anywhere they needed to be, so they didn't have to walk or take the bus.

Kitsy working the night shift so she could personally greet the guests when they came in.

Kitsy and her swear jar. It was always full to the brim.

Kitsy with handsful of thank you notes from children of guests.

Kitsy and the Christmas parties she used to throw for her employees; she'd call me up to scam free stuff for them.

Kitsy treating the people in my office with honor and respect and being universally loved and acclaimed here.

Kitsy and hard times; she never once gave into despair.

Kitsy when she got to go to Ireland with her family.

for Mary Kristine

Give us, Lord, a bit o sun,

A bit o work and a bit o fun,

Give us in all the struggle and sputter,

Our daily bread and a bit o butter.

Give us health our keep to make

And a bit to spare for other's sake.

Give us, too, a bit of song

And a tale and a book to help us along.

Give us, Lord, a chance to be

Our goodly best, brave, wise and free,

Our goodly best for ourselves and others

Till all men learn to live as brothers.

--Old Irish Prayer

I'll remember you; you remember me.

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

Well, okay, The Christ Child is leaving. Yes, I know. Here's all the things I am gonna get done once he's gone: get his room straightened up again, reclaim my car, give his clothes to the housekeeper's kids, put his truck in storage, put his cell phone number on inactive status, read, read, read, reread all my favorites on the UK, plan Christmas, finish my new library, store my handbags on his bed, walk the Chows to Manito and back once a day, see how low I can get the grocery bill here, go back to mass daily. there.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Judy Fernandez was at work; she was 27 years old. She was from Parlin, New Jersey which means she came in on the PATH train to her job with Cantor Fitzgerald at the World Trade Center Tower 1, 107th floor. It was a beautiful, beautiful late summer day in New York and she had absolutely no way to knowing that when she climbed out of the train that morning that she would never, ever go back to Parlin again.

Judy was one of 2, 996 heroes that were murdered that day; everyday heroes who were at work, making a living, taking care of business. It is the cruelest of all fates that she had plenty of time to await the Angel of Death; plenty of time to know that something was dreadfully, fatally wrong; plenty of time to hear the screams and anguish of her co-workers and to watch some of them jump. We'll never know how or when she died; they never found her. She was vaporized off the face of this earth.

She had a family in New Jersey; they gave her a wonderful Sweet 16 party. They lived with her in a wonderful neighborhood where the kids surfaced far and wide after Judy died to console her parents, recalling the golden childhood they all had together. She was a benefits specialist; can't know what kind of education she had. But do know it must have been a source of enormous pride to her close-knit Fillipino family to watch their little girl go to the city and work for The Man every morning. It all happens that fast. They are your sun, your moon, your stars and your whole understanding of the universe. And then they get the call. I pray for Judy and her mother and father now, in the tradition of our faith. A prayer of St. Joseph, the patron saint of families, in hopes that we will all be together again soon:


Lord have mercy on us all.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Christ, hear us.
Christ, graciously hear us.
God, the Father of Heaven,
Have mercy on us.
God the Son, Redeemer of the world,
Have mercy on us.
God the Holy Ghost,
Have mercy on us.
Holy Trinity, one God,
Have mercy on us.
Holy Mary,
Pray for us.
Holy Joseph,
Pray for us.
Noble Son of the House of David,
Pray for us.
Light of the Patriarchs,
Pray for us.
Husband of the Mother of God,
Pray for us.
Chaste Guardian of the Virgin,
Pray for us.
Foster-father of the Son of God,
Pray for us.
Sedulous Defender of Christ,
Pray for us.
Head of the Holy Family,
Pray for us.
Joseph most just,
Pray for us.
Joseph most chaste,
Pray for us.
Joseph most prudent,
Pray for us.
Joseph most valiant,
Pray for us.
Joseph most obedient,
Pray for us.
Joseph most faithful,
Pray for us.
Mirror of patience,
Pray for us.
Lover of poverty,
Pray for us.
Model of all who labor,
Pray for us.
Glory of family life,
Pray for us.
Protector of Virgins,
Pray for us.
Pillar of families,
Pray for us.
Consolation of the afflicted,
Pray for us.
Hope of the sick,
Pray for us.
Patron of the dying,
Pray for us.
Terror of the demons,
Pray for us.
Protector of the holy Church,
Pray for us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us.
He made him master of his house,
and ruler of all his possesions. O God, You were pleased to choose Saint Joseph as the husband of Mary and the guardian of your Son. Grant that, as we venerate him as our protector on earth, we may deserve to have him as our intercessor in heaven. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.



JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Full moon last night. Even though it's still summer, that harvest moon gives it away: change is around the corner. This had to be the fastest summer of my life; I ran the entire way.

I really, really like living in The 'Kan. I love adventure and I love travel and it's the best day of the week when I can find out something new and learn a whole lot more. And therein lies the conundrum of each and every day as I pull the soft, smooth sheets away and slip out of bed to survey the morning sky, panoramic in my bedroom window. That horizon bids me ever onward and succumbing to the call of the Sirens, much as Odysseus, I find to my dismay that when I come home to The 'Kan, the roses have bloomed and gone.

I planted the roses and made a garden in memory of my mother, in honor of my friends, in hopes for my children. I lined the paths of the garden with the most used of bricks and filled them with the tiny rainbow pebbles of the Mission Valley. Along the way, I culled and collected birdhouses and benches and feeders and fountains and my most favorite of rocks from everywhere and poked and placed them along the path, for respite and reflection. It's a wonderful garden, built by me.

It's been alone much of the summer and as a result, my eye is clouded and corroded and weary. I sit in my office and watch the planes fly east to Chicago and south to Denver. The little ones head straight for Seattle. The American flag waves languidly off a crane of the big project down the street and the sky sits a pale gray, still in the September summer. I can't see and understand how the gray of the morning air makes me feel and so I know again, that the benches in my garden have sat too long in the summer sun without me.

I need a mast made of the finest hardwood and the strongest of rope; to lash me, to hold me, to protect me from the seductive call of the Sirens, ever singing a beautiful, mysterious melody of odyssey. I will plant this mast deep in my garden in the cool shade among the tall ferns and in the thickest of the mosses, and hold dear to its ropes that bind me--and keep me near the roses, who bloom fragrant and spicy each and every day of the year, just for me.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

And so it's Labor Day, again. A summer of mighty memories, yet it's the small moments that stack up as the most valuable: floating the north fork of the CdA, coffee in the morning sun, riding the Trail of the CdAs when the cottonwoods are blooming, Sandpoint on a Saturday afternoon, listening to the still of those hot, hot August nights. Came home to a note from a dear one who says he's pondering the meaning of life; I've been trying to figure out the meaning of life for 15 years but I don't think I'm any closer to understanding. But one thing I do notice, increasingly, is that life gets more beautiful with each day. I have always lived right here and I do not know when I have enjoyed the blue sky and the pine trees more. The waters of the rivers and lakes are deep and clear. But Pat Flammia died. My childhood gets farther and farther away as the exquisite landscape around me comes into finer and finer focus....

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA