Los Angeles, California
Yes, there's been lots of fun this summer. But it hasn't all been fun. There have been a couple of breaks in the force: the situation with my mom, of course; the freakin' economy and stock market (at this rate, we may never be able to retire. I mean, who knows?); and, last but not least . . . the renter.
Billy and I own a rental property, which was the first home we bought the year after we were married. We kept this house as a rental, in spite of the fact that Billy did not want to do this. I did. So, when we moved away after purchasing our second home, we put the house on the market with the understanding that if it sold, it sold. If it did not sell, we would rent it. Billy set the price a bit higher than was recommended, and it was a soft market (ha! We now know what soft markets really are, eh?), so I was pretty much assured that we would have it as an income property. And, being in business for ourselves, it made sense to do this. Diversification for retirement purposes, I loftily thought. And, in retrospect, it has been a very smart thing. Until this year, when the renter who has lived there for over a decade conned us on his rent (check is in the mail . . . check is lost in the mail . . . someone cashed check that was lost . . . bank will make good on check in 45 to 60 days . . .). Now I, with my impeccable bulls^#* detector, did not believe any of this. But Billy and our property manager went with the half-full glass theory and waited this out. At the point where he owed two full months of rent, we proceeded with eviction.
This is where owning a rental property turned into a worst-case scenario. He fought the eviction, then filed bankruptcy just before our court date. By the time we actually got him out, he owed us a lot. And, let me say (in case I sound as if I am lacking in compassion), this guy was always a nightmare. He fought us over maintaining the yard and lawn, his ex-wife got a restraining order against him for emotional cruelty, he harassed our gardener, and, last but not least, he virtually destroyed the house. So, since mid-July, we have been in the process of setting it straight. This involves: bringing in our contractor to do painting; much of Billy's free weekend time to do repairs; a lot of cold, hard cash; and requisite amounts of regret, anger, and fatigue.
So, on Monday, after we ran around in close to triple digit heat all day buying a dishwasher, a garbage disposal, a hose, a broom, and a ton of bedding soil at Lowe's -- which, incidentally, was a welcome change from the many trips to Home Depot we have made over the last month (carpeting, toilets, plumbing fixtures), we ran a couple more errands then took ourselves out to happy hour at Kate Mantilini's. We are not usually happy hour people, though I suppose we could be, if the timing worked out a little better. But on Mondays, this can work. We each had a pretty good-sized martini, and split a roasted artichoke, some oxymoronic jumbo shrimp, a small order of ribs, and a Caesar salad. The ribs came with a ramekin of barbecue sauce, which we did not use. When the waitress cleared, she tipped the plate, and the sauce fell off the plate, hitting the floor in a manner which caused it to arc up in a spray that more or less covered me in red spots like instantaneous chicken pox. I was wearing a strappy little dress with my shoulders exposed (red spots), just a little bit of make-up (more red spots), and my hair half pulled up into a ponytail (and again, some more red spots). It was all over my dress from my lap up. And all over my arms. I was still finding barbecue sauce on me when I got ready for bed that night. Of course the server was mortified, but we pretty much laughed about it (did I mention BIG martinis?) and reassured her that accidents happen . . . but so does dry cleaning. The manager gave me a card to bring back with my dry cleaning bill. I look forward to another martini when we come back. And an artichoke, and maybe some shrimp. Not so much with the ribs, though. Think this is the cosmos way of telling me I should be a vegetarian? Nah.
And, by the way, with the debacle at the rental property, do I regret that we kept the house as a rental? Not for one nanosecond. There is little that can be done to a house that can't be repaired, and in the long run solid investments always make sense. Especially in an uncertain world of flying barbecue sauce. My only word of caution would be to screen prospective renters carefully. Oh yeah, and on that other front, don't forget to duck. "Spotty" thanks you for reading her blog!
August 20, 2011
August 8, 2011
Two Bowls of Cereal
August 5, 2011
That was a bit of a long respite, but trust me, I was not lounging around on a chaise complaining about the summer heat a la Daisy Buchanan. We was busy. After house guests over the 4th of July, we scurried around, got our best outfits together and hied (again, with the hying!) ourselves down to Rancho Valencia for Jenna and Todd's wedding.
Jenna is a previous pilates partner, and daughter of Bonnie who is my current partner and frister extraordinaire. Bonnie is the go-to person amongst all her friends. Need a tree-trimmer, as we did recently? Call Bonnie. Contractor? Ditto, Bonnie. Planning a wedding? No one, I repeat, no one will do it better than Bonnie. It was fantabulous, and we had the proverbial time of our lives, including dancing our legs off -- even Billy!
After the wedding weekend, I had a multiple of salsa events including a salsa birthday party for Christina Haggarty, who is half of my favorite teaching duo. I also hosted Las Chicas, the frister trio, at my house for a day-in-the-country (tongue firmly in cheek) pool day. Then, we attended an anniversary party with music provided by a Beatles cover band. Again, with the dancing. The following morning we left for Glenbrook.
Now, Glenbrook is one of my favorite places. It is nestled at the east end, on the Nevada side, of Lake Tahoe. I would love Glenbrook no matter why we were there, but what made this visit so special was that we were going to see Sandra and John. And Sandra is doing GREAT! So, more about Glenbrook. Glenbrook is one of those idyllic places where the kids can still run free all day. It is private and enclosed. People live there year round, or like Sandra and John, have summer/weekend homes there. It's out of the hubbub of the South Shore, quiet, contained, and stunningly beautiful. While studying Spanish at ISSI (see previous post entitled Paella and Caesar, available here . . . . . . la la la la la) three years ago, I stayed in one of the guest rooms in the guest house on Sandra and John's property there. Sandra and I drove to South Lake Tahoe Community College each morning, arriving on campus just before 8:00 and hurrying to our class. Each day when we returned around 4:00, we would arrive at Glenbrook and hook around on the road that leads to their home. When we would first see the lake, I would feel myself sigh and relax. It's one of those places.
But, what does all this have to do with two bowls of cereal, you might very well ask. Well, last summer, when we were at Glenbrook, Sandra and John's son and his family were there. We were all staying in the main house together, and each morning I noticed that their daughter-in-law, Tracy, would prep breakfast for the kids, then quietly pour herself two bowls of cereal. She would pour milk into one of the bowls and proceed to eat from it. But before she finished it, she would pour milk into the second bowl, and switch to eating from that one. What was up? Turns out that she doesn't like soggy cereal, and this is what she has figured out to make sure all the cereal she eats stays crisp. I like this method of problem solving. No muss, no fuss.
Recently, I poured milk over my daily mix which is comprised of two cereals with something extra added on the weekends, usually La Brea Bakery granola, but sometimes cinnamon graham crackers from Trader Joe's. I run my bowl of cereal all over the house. It sits next to the computer while I am working. It travels with me to the bedroom, keeping me company while I make the bed. It even accompanies me to my bathroom dressing table where I apply make-up. Cereal for me in the morning? A soggy, movable feast. And I like it like that.
Which brings me to: Graham Cracker Mush. I know that, strictly speaking, it is time for a recipe. But with all this running around, plus a recent onslaught of humidity here in LA whilst our air conditioning struggled with a bout of ennui, I'm frankly too tired and hot to even think about recipes and cooking.
However . . .
I deem Graham Cracker Mush to be a perfectly legitimate dish, it having once been written up in Gourmet magazine (I also have a clipped recipe from the selfsame Gourmet, for Frito Nachos, which originated at the lunch counter of the now-defunct Woolworth's which was located on the plaza in Santa Fe, NM. This dish actually served in a butterflied Fritos bag. Yep. You should fully expect that I will get back to that sometime in a later post!) Both recipes came from the old Gourmet, not the last incarnation which would have demanded that you could provide documentation as to where the graham flour was grown and milled, and further, that you had been introduced to the cow before it was milked (milk being one-half of the ingredients in Graham Cracker Mush.
Graham Cracker Mush was one of those Tracy-style methods of problem solving. Ostensibly, it started with dipping graham crackers into milk. Sometime after, it was determined that, for some, the dipped soaked-in-milk part was better than the still-crisp part that you, by necessity, were holding. If you threw the whole graham cracker into the glass, you would need something like a fork to pull it out. And drippiness would probably be an issue. So, someone (not my grandmother, though she was the one who introduced me to this) figured out that the best way to do this was to throw the grahams into a bowl and douse them with milk. The way my grandmother did this was by breaking the crackers into, say, nickel and quarter-sized pieces. But in the Gourmet article (was it the wondrous Laurie Colwin who wrote it? Probably not, but it was in her era), they tried buying a box of graham cracker crumbs and cutting right to the chase with that. I believe it was decided that it worked better with the formerly-whole, but now sharded crackers. My adapted version entails breaking the crackers and sprinkling them on top of my mix of shredded wheat and Fiber One cereals. In truth, I like it even better than my other weekend add-on of granola. And, I never do both. That would be gilding the breakfast lily, or so my grandmother might have said. And speaking of that, did I mention that there is also always half a banana, diced, a handful of blueberries, and one of the following added to the bowl: strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, or a half of a white peach, peeled and cut up (my favorite)?
So there you have it: Graham Cracker Mush. A worthy, and frankly, time-saving recipe for these hot August mornings. And should you happen to have some Oreos in the house . . . ok, best not to go there. You're only asking for trouble, with the liability of dragging me down with you. So happy August to you! Stay cool, and thanks for reading my blog.
That was a bit of a long respite, but trust me, I was not lounging around on a chaise complaining about the summer heat a la Daisy Buchanan. We was busy. After house guests over the 4th of July, we scurried around, got our best outfits together and hied (again, with the hying!) ourselves down to Rancho Valencia for Jenna and Todd's wedding.
Jenna is a previous pilates partner, and daughter of Bonnie who is my current partner and frister extraordinaire. Bonnie is the go-to person amongst all her friends. Need a tree-trimmer, as we did recently? Call Bonnie. Contractor? Ditto, Bonnie. Planning a wedding? No one, I repeat, no one will do it better than Bonnie. It was fantabulous, and we had the proverbial time of our lives, including dancing our legs off -- even Billy!
After the wedding weekend, I had a multiple of salsa events including a salsa birthday party for Christina Haggarty, who is half of my favorite teaching duo. I also hosted Las Chicas, the frister trio, at my house for a day-in-the-country (tongue firmly in cheek) pool day. Then, we attended an anniversary party with music provided by a Beatles cover band. Again, with the dancing. The following morning we left for Glenbrook.
Now, Glenbrook is one of my favorite places. It is nestled at the east end, on the Nevada side, of Lake Tahoe. I would love Glenbrook no matter why we were there, but what made this visit so special was that we were going to see Sandra and John. And Sandra is doing GREAT! So, more about Glenbrook. Glenbrook is one of those idyllic places where the kids can still run free all day. It is private and enclosed. People live there year round, or like Sandra and John, have summer/weekend homes there. It's out of the hubbub of the South Shore, quiet, contained, and stunningly beautiful. While studying Spanish at ISSI (see previous post entitled Paella and Caesar, available here . . . . . . la la la la la) three years ago, I stayed in one of the guest rooms in the guest house on Sandra and John's property there. Sandra and I drove to South Lake Tahoe Community College each morning, arriving on campus just before 8:00 and hurrying to our class. Each day when we returned around 4:00, we would arrive at Glenbrook and hook around on the road that leads to their home. When we would first see the lake, I would feel myself sigh and relax. It's one of those places.
But, what does all this have to do with two bowls of cereal, you might very well ask. Well, last summer, when we were at Glenbrook, Sandra and John's son and his family were there. We were all staying in the main house together, and each morning I noticed that their daughter-in-law, Tracy, would prep breakfast for the kids, then quietly pour herself two bowls of cereal. She would pour milk into one of the bowls and proceed to eat from it. But before she finished it, she would pour milk into the second bowl, and switch to eating from that one. What was up? Turns out that she doesn't like soggy cereal, and this is what she has figured out to make sure all the cereal she eats stays crisp. I like this method of problem solving. No muss, no fuss.
Recently, I poured milk over my daily mix which is comprised of two cereals with something extra added on the weekends, usually La Brea Bakery granola, but sometimes cinnamon graham crackers from Trader Joe's. I run my bowl of cereal all over the house. It sits next to the computer while I am working. It travels with me to the bedroom, keeping me company while I make the bed. It even accompanies me to my bathroom dressing table where I apply make-up. Cereal for me in the morning? A soggy, movable feast. And I like it like that.
Which brings me to: Graham Cracker Mush. I know that, strictly speaking, it is time for a recipe. But with all this running around, plus a recent onslaught of humidity here in LA whilst our air conditioning struggled with a bout of ennui, I'm frankly too tired and hot to even think about recipes and cooking.
However . . .
I deem Graham Cracker Mush to be a perfectly legitimate dish, it having once been written up in Gourmet magazine (I also have a clipped recipe from the selfsame Gourmet, for Frito Nachos, which originated at the lunch counter of the now-defunct Woolworth's which was located on the plaza in Santa Fe, NM. This dish actually served in a butterflied Fritos bag. Yep. You should fully expect that I will get back to that sometime in a later post!) Both recipes came from the old Gourmet, not the last incarnation which would have demanded that you could provide documentation as to where the graham flour was grown and milled, and further, that you had been introduced to the cow before it was milked (milk being one-half of the ingredients in Graham Cracker Mush.
Graham Cracker Mush was one of those Tracy-style methods of problem solving. Ostensibly, it started with dipping graham crackers into milk. Sometime after, it was determined that, for some, the dipped soaked-in-milk part was better than the still-crisp part that you, by necessity, were holding. If you threw the whole graham cracker into the glass, you would need something like a fork to pull it out. And drippiness would probably be an issue. So, someone (not my grandmother, though she was the one who introduced me to this) figured out that the best way to do this was to throw the grahams into a bowl and douse them with milk. The way my grandmother did this was by breaking the crackers into, say, nickel and quarter-sized pieces. But in the Gourmet article (was it the wondrous Laurie Colwin who wrote it? Probably not, but it was in her era), they tried buying a box of graham cracker crumbs and cutting right to the chase with that. I believe it was decided that it worked better with the formerly-whole, but now sharded crackers. My adapted version entails breaking the crackers and sprinkling them on top of my mix of shredded wheat and Fiber One cereals. In truth, I like it even better than my other weekend add-on of granola. And, I never do both. That would be gilding the breakfast lily, or so my grandmother might have said. And speaking of that, did I mention that there is also always half a banana, diced, a handful of blueberries, and one of the following added to the bowl: strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, or a half of a white peach, peeled and cut up (my favorite)?
So there you have it: Graham Cracker Mush. A worthy, and frankly, time-saving recipe for these hot August mornings. And should you happen to have some Oreos in the house . . . ok, best not to go there. You're only asking for trouble, with the liability of dragging me down with you. So happy August to you! Stay cool, and thanks for reading my blog.
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About Me
- Bronte Healy
- California, United States
- Once, I came up with this brilliant idea (well, I thought so, anyway) that the key to happiness was to concentrate on three things -- to choose three interests, then focus and funnel your energy into that trio. I was an English major in college and have always written in some shape or form. So, my first choice was writing. I've always kept journals, and have also written plays, novels, poetry, and shopping lists. I do have a day job. It deals with numbers (assets and finances). Go figure. I went to college at a California University. I live in California, Los Angeles, but not downtown. No children, and sadly, between dogs at the moment (dog person, not a cat person). Enough info? I was going for just enough to not be a cypher, yet not enough to entice a stalker. And, I started my blog after being dragged, kicking and screaming, to do so. Blogs! Read about ME here, right? But I have been advised that this is a way to write regularly, and to put your writing OUT THERE. So, here goes. My name is Bronte Healy. Thanks for reading my blog.