It's Just So Hard

Yes, yes, I'm lame.  I'm so... mediocre, you know?  But this is why. Mediocrity is a hard balance to keep up.  (NOTE: not so much his link, which will be boring unless you're a TwitterHead™, but his words)

Texas

What can I say? He was the single most stubborn dog I've ever known, and I can't believe that after 17 years, 15 of which I had the pleasure of knowing him, he's gone. Let's go to the highlights:

• Driving down a small road in Waco, TX and seeing a small, flea-infested Dachshund walking next to a cornfield. "Let's stop!" I said to Mark. "Umm, if he's there on the way back, we'll pick him up." Two hours later we were driving to Austin with an emaciated Texas in the car with us. We bought him a spiked leather collar at a pet store there, and had to remove a spike and make a new hold to fit it on his tiny neck. He wore that same collar until the day he died.
• He was a well-traveled dog. Countless trips to NY and Utah by plane, as well as numerous road trips to LA, the Sierras, and Northern Cali and two cross country adventures by car.
• He suffered from, in no specific order: epilepsy; lupus; broken hip; herniated disc; heartworm. He had also been shot at before I found him - the surgeon removed a bb that had healed under his skin. Lastly, he was run over *in front of me* as I walked across Guerrero Street to Dolores Park. The cab dragged him halfway up the hill, where Texas suddenly tumbled out, looking stunned.
• He loved to run on sand. When he was on sand, his back felt better and he turned into the dog he might have been, had he not been entirely neglected his first two years. He may have needed to be carried down the stairs at Fort Funston, but once he was on the sand, you couldn't help but laugh and smile at his energy.
  
• He was mocked by most of the men I know, and he couldn't care less.
  
• Surprisingly, he was the "swimmer" of our two dogs. After being tossed in the Yuba River on a camping trip, he made a slow but stately dog-paddle to the shore. Unlike Trout, who forgot to use her back legs and sank like a stone.
• Speaking of camping - the bear trip. In the Sierras, me, Guy, and a 4 month old B, plus the two dogs, in our tent. Texas is in his favorite place - sleeping on the back of my knees - when a bear appears outside, Trout starts barking like mad, and Texas just shivers in place. After banging pots and yelling at him, the bear leaves and I think, why are my feet wet? Oh, Texas... so frightened of the bear, he peed all over my sleeping bag. [sigh]
• Until his last year, when he was so frail, he *dominated* Trout and the house. The food was *his* food and he decided when Trout could eat it. He got to sleep in the bed when Trout got the floor. When he started sleeping on the floor, *he* took the nicer bed, going as far as to growl at Trout and tunnel his way under her to make her move.
• Last week, when I thought he was laying there dying, I brought him some short ribs. I haven't seen him get up so fast in a very long time. He licked the bowl clean.

I really didn't think I'd miss him this hard. He was so old and obviously so uncomfortable, but when we took him to the vet in the Fall she said that there really wasn't anything *wrong* with him. He was old - that is what old looks like. He hated the vet, and knew from the second you crossed the threshold that no good would come of *that* place. So I absolutely could not bring him there for the end.

The End. As Guy said, he went out on his terms. He must have wanted to live, because he had so many moments where he could have, and in some should have, died. To the end he followed the sun, wobbled to the next sunny spot and lay down. I think, when even that activity became too much for him, when that last pleasure was being taken from him, he decided that maybe it was time to go.

Many people didn't "get" Texas. But I (and eventually Guy) did, and that's really all that matters. Ribs for my Ooocher.

Cookbooks

This past "holiday break" (a misnomer: I was home with both my children, so it was more like "holiday work camp") I decided to do smaller home improvement projects. Organize the closets, and organize the pantry. Anyone who has been to my house knows the love I have for my pantry. It, along with the basement, were the two biggest selling points when we bought our house. Yes, you may have thought it was the spectacular local elementary school or the variety of trash strewn across our neighbor's lawn - but it was the pantry and the basement. Oh, yeah - and the cheap price.

The pantry falls into complete disrepair every 2-3 months - and I'm OK with that. We use it a lot, it's a living space. However, my assortment "recipes I've cut out of the New York Times and shoved above the cookbooks" was becoming a sentient being of it's own and was threatening to leave, so I decided to get down to business. But as I organized and cleaned, instead of basking in the warming glow of satisfaction, I was falling into melancholy.

The Gourmet cookbook Rob and Susie gave me for my birthday years ago. The How to Eat cookbook Guy's mom gave me years ago, where you can find the Lamb and Veggie stew I used to make every winter for Stew Night, inviting all my foodie friends over for a night of steaming bowls of goodness, wine, and conversation. The Dean and Deluca cookbook... who gave me that one? Rob again, I think. The port-marinated salmon I've made for Rob and Susie many times. The chicken pot pie and mac and cheese Scott's been a regular consumer of. In my book of saved recipes, the Asian Wilted Greens Susie whipped up at one party. I cleaned under my bottle of truffle oil and I remembered the time SAE added "just a little more" truffle oil to her dish - and it instantly became inedible. And the Jamie Oliver and River Cafe Cookbooks we all loved to death - Thai Mussles, Roasted Hot Pepper Caprese, Crunchy Asian Salad, Sea Bass and Salsa Verde...

Sigh.

I realized, as I cleaned my pantry, that it was filled with the memories of cooking with friends - and I don't really do that anymore. I cook *for* friends, but my friends who love to cook, really love to explore and teach and create, live in Boston and Seattle and Ireland now. It's been years since I had one of those Saturdays where we created some extravagant and ridiculously difficult meal, just for ourselves.

So I called a few of my peeps and told them I missed cooking with them. And I do. I mean, I have B and U to cook with, but somehow, it's not the same.

So happy 2009, and here is to being closer together someday and cooking up a storm!