In August, I bought tickets to see Steve Martin in Spokane, at the Fox. Silly me, I thought it was an evening of Steve Martin the comedian – wild and crazy – or some variation thereof. A few hours before we (Paula, Doug, and I) leave for the show, I check online and find out that it’s actually an evening of bluegrass and banjo, and joining Steve Martin on stage is The Steep Canyon Rangers. He’s on tour to promote the release of his first bluegrass album, The Crow: New Songs for the Five-String Banjo (Rounder Records). The album was released in May 2009, and reached #1 on the Billboard Bluegrass Album chart where it stayed for 12 weeks. But it’s still banjo music.

I was a bit disappointed. I send my brother an IM to let him know just in case he was looking forward to a night of Funky Tut and Cruel Shoes. He already knew. And Paula heard Martin interviewed on NPR. And…we’re still going.  Banjos. Seriously? Banjos? I’m not sure I can do it. I throw a bottle of aspirin in my purse.

It’s a lovely theater. Our seats are dead center stage and very, very high up. Paula leans over to me, motions to the ceiling and says, “Watch your head.” Austin and Laura Storm come walking up the aisle and end up sitting next to us. Laura knows it’s a night of banjos, too. How did I miss this important fact? I say to Paula, “Do you think all these people know it’s banjo music?” She laughed and reminded me about the NPR interview. I look around at the crowd and wonder if they are a sampling of an NPR audience.

Well…shut my mouth! It was a fantastic evening of great music. The Steep Canyon Rangers , from Asheville, North Carolina, are very, very talented musicians. In addition to Steve Martin on the banjo, the Rangers are: Woody Platt (guitar and lead vocals), Graham Sharp (banjo, harmony vocals), Mike Guggino (mandolin and harmony vocals), Charles R. Humphrey III (bass and harmony vocals) and Nicky Sanders (fiddle and harmony vocals).

I’ll admit it. I was totally surprised by how much I enjoyed the music. The instruments and vocals blended flawlessly. The performers wore beautiful suits – no overalls, and not a jug, saw, or washboard was played. Steve Martin managed to weave his comedy throughout the performance. We laughed and clapped for eighty minutes. And, after three curtain calls, Steve graced us with King Tut. Born in Arizona, moved to Babylonia, King Tut. He was buried in his jammies.

Unfortunately, the tour is over. If you didn’t get the chance to see Steve Martin in concert…you missed a great evening of entertainment. You can check out his website here. And thanks to lala, you can listen to the album on that little gadget below. The album is good, but the live performance was priceless. I’m happy to report I lived through a night of banjo and bluegrass music, and I’d do it again if Steve Martin or The Steep Canyon Rangers were on stage.

I wasn’t raised in a traditional Greek family, with two Greek-speaking parents; nevertheless, my Mom and her family made it their quest to infuse us with a love for all things Greek. My Dad graciously allowed it to happen, although, over the years, he’s made every attempt to stick a Scottish label on us, but not much sticks to Greece (pun intended). Somehow, I managed to make it through thirty years of life before I realized my “Greek” family originated from Italians. So four generations ago, the grandparents of my grandparents left Italy and made their lives in Greece. And so, I willingly embrace all things Italian.

My Mom did a good job of incorporating American food in to our lives. I’m pretty sure she did it so my Dad wouldn’t starve. And though he loves her cooking, he doesn’t fully appreciate the more colorful aspects of Greek cuisine. Thankfully, I inherited my Mom’s palette and have no food fears. Well, except for lima beans, and badly cooked okra. Oh…and liver.

At an early age, I learned to eat first and then ask, “What is that?” When a plate was set in front of me, regardless of the smell, texture, or look of an item, I was required to take a bite. This small obedience was, as I look back over my life, one of the best gifts my Mom gave me. If not for that little rule, I would have missed out on so many wonderful and exciting flavors from many different cuisines.

When I was eighteen, my family, in different variations, spent the summer in Greece. We lived many days on the beaches of Glyfada, Tolo, and Vouliagmeni, only coming out of the sea for a few hours to eat a delicious lunch. We ate fresh fish, village salads, crispy potatoes, slabs of cheese, lemony horta, and loaves of fresh bread. With wet hair and wet bathing suits, sand between our toes, and sunburned skin, we took pleasure in eating the simple but scrumptious food. Bread was for dipping, lemons for squeezing, fingers for licking, and forks were, well, forks were optional.

The other night I saw an episode of FoodTV’s Chopped: When Chefs Collide (Episode 3.1). In the appetizer round, the chefs were tasked with creating an appetizer out of Manila clams, kumquats, and croissants. The Greek chef, Peter Giannakas, Chef and Restaurateur of Ovelia Psistaria Bar, New York, NY., was eliminated in the first round. He created a dish that, according to the judges, was difficult to eat. They also commented about the flavors of his dish; however, since they were too afraid to get their hands messy, I question whether or not they actually tasted the dish. As the chef was eliminated, he said to the judges, “Don’t be afraid to eat.” I laughed so hard I nearly cried. My Mom would be proud of him.

Thanks to her, and the generations of Greeks who came before me, I am not afraid to taste – even if it means getting messy or trying new flavor combinations. I believe my love for cooking is in the genes, seasoned by my Mom, and whipped in to shape by hours of practice. For that I am thankful and, Lord willing, I will have many more years to eat like a Greek.

For about a year now I’ve been working with a friend in his San Diego based company – in my spare time. I’ve enjoyed learning about a different industry and wearing a different hat. Basically, I work in media services (aka Marketing). With the help of Rachel Hoffman at Orangepeal Design, we’ve changed the “look” of EAB and still managed to keep the boss happy.

I’d just finished reading a book by Steve Krug entitled, Don’t Make Me Think: A Common Sense Approach to Web Usability (New Riders Press, 2005, Berkeley), when the boss said it was time to give the website a fresh look. Actually, I’d wanted to get my hands on the website from day one, but I was patient. Hey…I was. The idea was to create a website with minimal words that still manages to communicate the essence of our business in a professional and fresh way.

While the website was under revision, I had the opportunity to sell my first car – a Land Rover Freelander. It turns out the experience was extremely  beneficial. I got a chance to understand the whole process from start to finish.  And, as a result, I saw the website with new eyes.

My first client, my niece Amanda, loves her new car. The loan officer at the financial institution was so shocked by the low price, he thought the car was salvaged. Far from it. She paid slightly over wholesale and it’s a beauty.

If you’re looking for a pre-owned car in excellent condition, give ExecutiveAB a try. We’ll ship the car, free of charge, right to your front door. Use my marketing/ad code: LucyZoe on the Quote Form, on the website…and you’ll get a discount.

Meanwhile, I’m in my slippers, watching TV, working on Phase Two and the next email campaign, and resting my feet on the coffee table. Life is good.

As I carried the tree in the house, Kaitlyn stood inside the back door and said, “T’mon Judy…you tan do it.” I had to set down the tree because I was laughing so hard. I cleared a path of furniture to the tree’s designated resting place and then carried the tree through the house. A few of the frozen needles fell off and left a path on the floor, which Kaitlyn insisted I sweep up right away. She helped by pointing them out to me.

Down in the basement we found some Christmas decorations and a few boxes of lights. I plugged in the string of lights to test them which caused Kaitlyn to “oooooh and aaaaaah.” I draped them on the tree and then connected the star. Needless to say, the effect inspired four or five verses of “Oh my goodness, Judy. It’s so bewtiful.”

It was getting a bit late so we decided to leave the rest of the decorations until morning. Caressa and I easily convinced Kaitlyn to get in bed by stringing the last box of lights over the window trim in her bedroom. From his crib, Jeremy’s eyes twinkled and a great big smile broke out on his face.

I’m so thankful to be sharing Christmas with Caressa and the kids. It’s a blessing I never expected. My heart is happy and I feel like Buddy the Elf does about Christmas. I like smiling. Smiling is my favorite thing. I serve a gracious God who always manages to add a little something special to the story of my life.

The first time I cooked a turkey it was less than tasty. The breast meat was dry, the gravy was flavorless, and the little white pop-up thingy failed to work. Needless to say, I had to find a way to make it work and brining has served my turkeys well for the past ten years. I am a convert. The only thing I change is what goes in to the brining solution. This year, instead of making my own, I bought a lovely jar filled with herbs and aromatics and I added salt and sugar to the brining solution. And…I couldn’t do it without my trusty thermometer. Remember: thigh meat should reach 170F.

Sour Cream Yeast Rolls

My nephew, Eric, requests these rolls. They’re ridiculously easy to make and there is rarely any leftovers. So in the spirit of Thanksgiving…I’m sharing the recipe with you. I also call these “Naked Lady” rolls because men seem to love them. I’m just sayin’. I found this recipe in a cook book called Treasured Recipes: Food Editors’ Favorites. It was contributed by Betty Straughan of The News Review, Roseburg, OR.)

1 package (2.5 tsp) active dry yeast

1/4 cup warm water

2 cups sour cream

2 Tbl granulated sugar

1/4 tsp baking soda

5.5 cups Bisquick

1 Tbl fresh dill (minced

1/2 cups parmesan cheese (shredded)

Soften the yeast in water. Let stand while combining sour cream, sugar, and baking soda in a large bowl. Add 2 cups Bisquick, then yeast mixture. Mix well. Stir in 3 more cups Bisquick. Turn dough onto board dusted with 1/2 cup Bisquick. Knead to form a smooth ball.

Shape dough in to small rounds the size of a walnut. Place close together in a buttered 9x13x2-inch pan. Let rise until doubled in bulk. Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese and dill.

Preheat oven to 375F. Bake rolls 15 minutes, or until done.

Note: Rolls can be made ahead of time and frozen. When ready to serve, thaw rolls and reheat in oven at 200F.

All around the house there are reminders of God’s goodness. Toys arrived from everywhere and now spill out of cupboards, get stuffed between the cushions of the couch, hide out in the valleys of kitchen bowls, and get arranged neatly in the remote control basket.

“Is that a baby cow?” she asks. Then in a slightly worried voice, “Where’s the mommy cow?” I pull the mommy cow out from under a cushion. Big smile. “Oh! There’s the mommy.” All is right with the world.

In another corner of the house, a little fellow with chubby cheeks drools on his bib and looks for his next bottle of milk. He smiles easily and rarely cries – unless of course you take too long fixing his milk or changing his diaper. There are three of us tall enough to reach the counter. He doesn’t wait long.

We’re a happy bunch. Finding joy in the small things. A basket of blessings. Giving thanks.

Blogging doesn’t happen in real life the way it does in my head. I had every intention of posting these last week, but life got in the way.

Paula, Amanda, Chelsea and I went for a short shopping trip to Seattle the weekend before last. We stopped at the Cle Elum bakery and found this little restaurant next door. Who knew? I never get around to that side of the building. It’s a cute little restaurant with sandwiches and soup, and more. The first of many stops for food and beverages. (Click on the pictures to make them larger)

Late Saturday night, we decided to visit Rachel and Michael Saville’s church in Bellevue for church on Sunday. And what a sweet surprise. Madeline Jane was baptized and we joined the Crapuchette family for the occasion. God is so gracious.

Chelsea is always trying to get me to wear long, dangling earrings. And yet, I still resist. Look how pretty she is with the sweet, little, pearl studs.

A stroll though the Public Market at Pike street. The place was packed with huge bouquets of flowers. So Beautiful. And there were people…lots of people.

We stopped at Ivar’s for lunch. Tossing the fries is cheating. You have to be brave enough to let the birds eat the fries right our of your fingers. I shared quite a few french fries with this guy.

And the Jones girls. Paula, Chelsea and Amanda. Paula must have chowder.

And finally, a stop at the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. A sour green apple covered in caramel and peanuts. Not chocolate. Look at those babies sitting in the window. It’s a beautiful thing.

Over the river and through the woods to home. Home Sweet Home.

I walked by the little, orange square more times than I care to admit. After three days, I finally picked it up off the tile floor and balanced it on the end of my finger to inspect it. There, looking back at me with huge brown eyes, was Dora the Explorer. The little, orange square was a perfectly folded band-aid that had fallen off the finger of my new roommate, Kaitlyn.

Like Dora, Kaitlyn has big, brown eyes and short, brown hair. She’s two. She’s spicy. She’s potty-trained. She’s got chubby cheeks with a mysterious dimple on the right one that comes and goes whenever it pleases. In less than a week, Kaitlyn has managed to wrap me, Judy, around her little band-aid covered finger.

Kaitlyn’s brother, Jeremiah, is equally cute but 95% less spicy. He’s two months old and in the “eat, sleep, and poop” stage of his life – not quite sure if he wants to smile yet. But I’m growing on him and it’s only a matter of time.

The stork didn’t bring them. Their Mom, Caressa, is a beautiful, young woman with her whole life ahead of her, and a not-so-lovely life behind her. Sometimes a girl just needs a break, and a hand, and a soft place to fall.

But before the three of them walked in my door, there was Olivia. Grandma Olivia. She moved here several weeks ago to get a fresh start – find a new life. Step right up. I serve a gracious God who is all about changing lives.

So the five of us are finding our way together, with a lot of help from the unbelievably kind and generous folks in the church. They went above and beyond, supplying cribs, strollers, car seats, clothes, toys, diapers, milk, and more. I’m thankful. So very thankful.

Tonight when I came in the back door I heard Kaityln’s footsteps coming down the hallway. As she entered the kitchen, she broke in to a big smile, lifted her arms to me, and said, “Judy’s home.” It doesn’t get much better than that. I am a happy girl.

So I talked myself in to singing with Mark LaMoreaux’s band. He asked. What’s a girl to do? It’s been quite awhile and I’m feeling a little rusty, but I enjoyed the practice last Tuesday night.

This time, we only have three opportunities to practice. Mr. LaMoreaux is a pro and doesn’t sweat the same stuff I do. Either that or he doesn’t notice it. Or our standards are very different. If it were up to me, all we’d do is practice. Standing in front of people brings an element I’m not comfortable with. I forget to sing loud enough for anyone to hear. If I don’t, Mr L will crank up the volume and then you can hear me in Texas. So whatever I’ve got by Wednesday night, our last night of practice, is all I’m gonna give.

Friday night we’ve got a gig at a local pub. We’ll play some rock, some blues, something that sorta resembles jazz, and some stuff I have no idea what category it fits in. I’ll wear black and try to disappear in to the corner. This is proof that I have lost my mind.