I’ll admit it. I am a fan of most things Ramsey. But too many strange things happened in Hell’s Kitchen this year and it’s left me feeling cold.

If you dig cooking competitions on TV, you should watch Bravo’s Top Chef, where cooking skills are a necessity and it’s not about finding the best entertainer. The contestants’ cooking skills are tested under tough circumstances, and if they don’t know their food…well, their time on the show is short and they’re told to pack their knives and go home. The contestants are often thrown together to work in teams, and the trick is to be a team player and to capture the spotlight. Never underestimate the ego of a chef.

There are three other similar shows: The Next Iron Chef, The Next Food Network Star, and Hell’s Kitchen. Michael Symon was chosen from eight contestants to be the next Iron Chef and the challenges were brutal. It’s not a regular show on the FoodTV Network for good reason: only few hold the title of Iron Chef. The competition is fierce and the reward is culinary immortality. Okay, so that’s a little extreme, but you get my point. I was hoping Chef Symon would win for his mad skills, but I also think he’s kinda hot. And well, hot does count for something.

In the Next Food Network Star, not only are culinary skills challenged, but also teaching skills and stage presence. You must have that certain *something* that finds its way through the camera lens and out to the viewer. And the reward is your own show on the Food Network. You don’t get a restaurant, but you do rub shoulders with some of the best in the game.

And then there’s Hell’s Kitchen. And at the center of it all is the enigmatic Gordon Ramsey. There’s no doubt the man knows his way around the kitchen, but it’s difficult for anyone else to be in there with him. There’s only room for Ramsey’s ego. As difficult as it is to be around him, I’d work in his kitchen any day. He can yell at me for hours and in the end I’d walk away with culinary skills and restaurant knowledge to rival the best. So on the show you fill a kitchen with a bunch of colorful, over-eager wannabe restaurateurs battling against each other to be the senior chef at one of Ramsey’s new restaurants. And then, if that’s not enough, you toss in one giant cup of Ramsey and stir. The winner of each challenge is not always clear, and often, it simply comes down to the whim of Ramsey. Frustrating…but it is his show and his restaurant.

This seasons’ competitors were not fun to watch. Highly annoying is more like it. Their culinary skills were weak and they didn’t play well with others. I was waiting for a hero to emerge, but alas, there was none. If he wants us to watch next season, he’s gonna have to pick better contestants or the show will continue to lose credibility.

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.

To my surprise, the paint I had purchased three years ago was no longer available in its original form. Well, I wasn’t totally surprised - just not quite ready for plan “b.” Thankfully, I brought the can with me and the oh-so helpful guy with the orange apron mixed me up a huge 5-gallon bucket. He heaved the bucket into the orange cart and we were on our way.

As we made out way to parking lot, after leaving my left cornea as payment for the giant bucket of paint, I realized there was no way I could lift the bucket out of the orange cart. My Mom’s been working out at the gym, but she wasn’t going to be much help. I told my Mom I was going to ask someone for help.

In a breathy voice I said, “Wow. You made that look so easy. Thank you, Sir. Thank you very much.” He chuckled, smiled and then walked back to his giant truck.

The unsuspecting man was rearranging the stuff in his truck so he could unload his orange cart. The guy looked pretty big, so I didn’t think he’d have any difficulty with my 5-gallon bucket. I said, “Excuse me, Sir? Would it be possible for you to help me move this bucket in to my car?” He looked at his cart, looked at the parking lot, and walked over to help.

As the guy got closer his body got bigger. He was tall as a sequoia and just as wide. He was a freakin’ Paul Bunyan. Even before he lifted the bucket from the basket I was in love. He put his hands on the bucket like it was a teacup and without using his arm or back muscles - or making any heaving sounds - he lifted the bucket in to the back of my car. In a breathy voice I said, “Wow. You made that look so easy. Thank you, Sir. Thank you very much.” He chuckled, smiled and then walked back to his giant truck. I had to fight the urge to run after him and throw my arms around his legs and beg him to come to my house and fix things and paint in high places. My Mom was with me…so I edited my thoughts.

When I went to lift the bucket out of the car, I tried to use the same lifting method he did and the bucket wouldn’t budge. I finally gave up and used the stupid handle and walked the bucket in to the house. It’s official. I want one of those in my house. And I’m not talking about the bucket.

Toby and Jenny Sumpter, and their little people, are leaving South Carolina, and coming home to Moscow, where Toby will be pastoring our sister church, Trinity Reformed Church.

You’ve got to read Toby’s blog post, over at Having Two Legs, on the Lord’s Supper. Simply brilliant. If you’re feeling like all the pieces of your life are coming apart…you won’t want to miss this. It’s a perfect reminder of the importance of the Lord’s Supper.

“When you’re sixteen years old, will you still let me hug you?” I asked sweet, little Mac when he was small enough to sit in my lap. He said yes as if there wasn’t a doubt in his mind. But I still wondered. It seems like only yesterday.

Now, he’s driving a truck and stands about nine inches taller than me. So much has changed. But one thing has stayed the same. Mac still hugs me, hangs out with me, and lets me love him.

I’ve enjoyed watching Mac grow in to a man. His love for God flows naturally in to every aspect of his life. He’s a team player, a leader, a brilliant student, a natural athlete, a fierce competitor, and a protector of those weaker than him. And, he loves my cooking.

I’m thankful for a part in the story of Mac - a part close enough to know the fierce gladiator has a huge heart and a passion for life.

Next year he’ll be a junior in High School, a co-captain of the varsity basketball team, and I’m thinking he’ll be 6′4″ by the time he graduates. I’ll have to stand on the bottom step to kiss his face, but I’ll enjoy looking up at him.

Happy Birthday, Mac! You’re a good man and I have so much respect and love for you. I’m soooooo looking forward to the next few chapters of your life.

Only one person R.S.V.P.’d to my painting party. God Bless Patricia! She flew out from Santa Rosa, CA., to vacation in sunny Potlatch. And what a vacation she’s having.

Oh…and my Mom came by to visit. She provided a ladder, packing materials, and entertainment while we worked.

Anyway, Pat climbs the ladder and paints the high places, and she paints the ceiling, and the walls. What, you may ask, am I doing? Well, she has the roller and I’m using a brush on the moulding. And my house has an abundance of moulding. Small moulding at the top, big moulding on the bottom, and medium-sized moulding on the windows and doors. I’m just sayin’…I’m working, too. I’m not convinced this is how you spell moulding, but Pat says it is and I want to keep her happy.

We’re using an oil-based paint on the walls, because they’re lathe and plaster stuck together with seven layers of wallpaper. If you take down the wallpaper you have to deal with crumbling plaster. And, water based paint make the wallpaper saggy. It just so happens that the oil-based paint is odor free. It’s my water-based, trim, paint that’s smelly. But it looks beautiful…so I’m a happy girl.

It turns out the biggest room we’re painting is the hallway (shown above). It has the most wall space - four full walls and seven (7) eight (8) - if you count the closet - doors. With moulding. And may I just say that doors are not my friends. Needless to say, I foolishly left them for last. I should have knocked them out first and just gotten it over with. That’s why you can still see the ugly, green doors the previous owners left me. You think that’s bad? You should have seen the green wall paper. And for the record, I prefer satin trim paint rather than super, duper, glossy paint shining on the door.

Two rooms down…two to go. Pat’s leaving on Sunday and I’ll have plenty left to do after she’s gone, but we’re getting the difficult part done now. For instance, the walls and ceilings all need color. Thankfully, I have a few friends who have volunteered to help me. But that’s for another day. Right now, Pat and I are having too much fun.

This painting project is supported by many small cans of Mountain Dew (Pat’s beverage of choice) and large glasses of 1/2 iced tea, 1/2 lemonade (mine).

I’ve been getting adjustments at the chiropractor, and as a result, it’s got me thinking about pain. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not the adjustments that cause the pain.

Before I moved here, I was regularly getting adjustments to correct a problem with the bones in my neck. Long story short, when I was a teenager, a benign tumor was removed from between my ribs, and the surgeon who sewed me up, well, he must have missed a few anatomy classes. I’ve got stronger back muscles on one side, which eventually caused the other neck and back muscles to fight to gain balance. Why can’t they all just get along?

Anyway, after I moved here, I just stopped getting adjusted. And the pain came back. But for some reason, I learned to live with it. I’ve gotten familiar with pinched nerves. I’ve learned to move and sleep differently to avoid neck grief. Relieving the pain wasn’t a priority.

Why is it that we can ignore pain and become accustomed to it? And then, when it goes away, we seem to forget that the pain ever existed? I’m going to have to do a little research and get to the bottom of this. I’m fascinated. And for the record, I’m thankful for my new chiropractor and all the pain relief he’s bringing.

P.S. That’s not my neck x-ray. Just pretend.

We started out a little later than originally planned but made it just in time to join up with these Vietnam vets on their hogs. When I was younger, the line of rough-looking bikers would have generated a bit of fear. Now, I know it’s a favorite pastime for doctors, lawyers, ex-FBI agents, and even professors. Amanda says, “Hey. I saw a few girls.” I responded, “You weren’t counting pony tails were you?”

I was listening to a stupid book and Amanda was listening to music on her iPod. I took my ear buds out at looked at her. I asked, “Is that your music I hear over my book?” I was tempted to say something about how loud music would damage her ear drums. But it sounded a bit parental in my head. The bugs were dying on the windshield, but it didn’t stop us from enjoying the view. I can’t remember the name of the dam but it was beautiful.

We finally climbed out of the car and stretched our legs in Leavenworth. It’s a cute little Bavarian village. We grabbed a bite at McDonalds and enjoyed a short walk around the streets.

The streets were all torn up. We found a little poster that showed all the changes being planned. The streets will soon be made of cobblestone. Some of the shops were closed, and many of the restaurants were closed during the construction.

Once we made it to Everett, the journey on Interstate 5 north to Bellingham was such a pleasure. After winding our way through the mountains on two-way streets and then getting stuck behind slow drivers, the freeway was a beautiful thing. I kept saying, “I wonder what the speed limit is here.”

We called Craig and he met us at a little Italian restaurant in Fairhaven. After eating delicious pizza, we boxed up the leftovers and headed for Craig’s house. His house is surrounded by trees and bushes and sits across the street from Chuckanut Bay. It’s peaceful and quiet and a lovely place to relax.

The view from the kitchen window makes washing dishes a pleasure. He’s got a big ol’ kitchen with tons of cupboard space. There’s artwork all over the kitchen counters. I was convinced I’d break something. It seems a little impractical but the pieces are really beautiful. Craig loves glass. Really breakable glass.

Amanda and I shared the upstairs bedroom. I let her use the attached bathroom and I took over the downstairs bathroom. It was somewhat strange brushing my teeth amongst pieces of artwork, but I enjoyed every minute.

There’s a Joan Irving piece on the shelf in the shower. It seemed odd putting my shampoo next to it.

We visited downtown Bellingham with a first stop at the farmer’s market. Then we took a drive out to La Conner, home of the Tulip Festival. It’s a sweet little town with fun shops and nice restaurants.

We walked down to the water and looked at all the boats. I spied an Italian pottery shop. Craig found every single art gallery. There’s a little shop called “Go Outside” with an odd shop owner. He reminded me of Bob Newhart. He’d be a great character in a story. Craig started to get a little pensive, so we stopped for a bite to eat at a little brewery.

We dropped Craig off at his house and found our way to Bellis Fair mall to get some shopping in while he was eating dinner with the governor. I’m not kidding.

Much later, when we were tired and hungry, we met Craig in Fairhaven at On Rice for Thai food. He told us about his dinner while we enjoyed our curry.

The next day we headed for Canada. No wait at the border. We stopped in Richmond for an early lunch at an Asian mall. At one end of the mall is a Maserati store. Are you kidding me? I had to get a picture. I would have stuffed the car in my beautiful backpack, but I wouldn’t have been able to carry it. :) The main attraction in the mall - Dim Sum.

Clearly authentic Chinese food. We were the only non-Asiancustomers in the restaurant. They kept looking at our table to figure out what we were eating. They probably expected to find hamburgers. Silly people.

Next stop, Ikea. We passed the “showroom” and went straight to the marketplace. Candles, candles, and more candles. I found some great jars with wire lids for my kitchen.

And off to Grandville. The public market on Grandville Island is a cooks dream. I stocked up on two different grades of maple syrup, herbs, flavored sea salt, and spices. My favorite deli counter supplied great cheese and tasty salami and soprassata. I also managed to get a few pounds of tasty bacon.

From the bakery, we bought a loaf of challah bread for making french toast. Amanda got a chocolate brownie bar and I had orange shortbread cookie. Yummy.

I should have taken pictures of the market, but I completely forgot. Besides, my hands were full of bags.

We ended the night with dinner at restaurant just north of the U.S. border. Mathew and Sarah, Craig’s friends, were meeting us for dinner. They got stuck at the border crossing for two hours. We waited. And snacked on edamame. The most odd appetizer I’ve ever seen on a menu. I’m guessing it’s fashionable to eat soy beans. I found it quite bizarre.

On our last day, we made a quick stop at Trader Joe’s for Mom’s butter then we went to a sweet, little Mediterranean store. Lots of Greek supplies. I found my Mom’s red dye for Easter eggs and some #2 pastitio noodles.

We packed up our stuff and headed home. We took a different route through Seattle. Traffic was light and the journey was about two hours shorter.

We were well rested, anxiety free, and ready for the long drive home. Why is it always faster on the journey home?

I finished listening to my stupid book and enjoyed the scenery and the speed. Surprisingly, Amanda never slept in the car. She was a great travel partner.

The drive through Snoquamie Pass is beautiful. It’s especially pleasant without the snow. It’s over there…on the mountain. If you look real closely you can see it.

We made a quick stop in Cle Elum to visit a few shops, including Glondo’s. He makes his own pepperoni and salami. How’s a girl supposed to pass that up?

Amanda took over the driving as we left Cle Elum. Who’s afraid of driving stick shift? Not Amanda.

I managed to snooze for quite a few miles, only waking up when my neck snapped forward. I woke to beautiful views and started taking pictures through the sun roof. There were far too many bugs dead on the windows.

Once you cross under the trestle bridge, the scenery gets a little boring. I’m pretty sure I snoozed a bit more.

But this bridge also means you’re halfway home. It also means fewer gas stations and bathrooms.

So close to home.

And finally we’re back in Idaho.

Home Sweet Home!

Amanda called shotgun.

You’ve gotta love a road trip that requires a passport. Amanda and I are taking off tomorrow for Bellingham, Washington. No, we don’t need passports for Washington. We will; however, need them for Canada. Vancouver, B.C., baby. My good friend, Craig, is letting us hang out with him at his fabulous house. I’ve talked him in to a mini-trip to Grandville Island Public Market in Vancouver. I’m taking my camera because Mr. LaMoreaux has inspired me with all those Paris photos.

Amanda and I could both use a change of scenery and eight hours of drive time should sufficiently meet the need. Though spring has barely sprung, Stevens Pass is open and the weather looks like it will grant us a lovely little adventure across Washington. We’ll stop in Leavenworth just long enough for a cute attack.

My niece, Amanda, minus her look-alike (it’ll be strange without you Chelsea), is bringing DVDs for a little entertainment (I don’t know who she thinks she’s kidding. She’ll be asleep before we hit Spokane.) And…must needs be we both bring our laptops. She’ll want to stop for coffee several times, which as a result, will require several stops at gas stations, to buy gas, or not.

I’ve got an iPod filled with books and music, though I’m sure “the ban” is still in effect. I’m not allowed to listen to music on my iPod when others are around because, well, I find the need to sing. Loudly. Okay, and I dance, too. Yes, even when I’m driving. Hello! You can take the girl outta Rialto, but you can’t take Rialto out of the girl.

After a couple of days in Bellingham we’re coming home. We’re returning through Seattle and down through Snoqualmie Pass with a quick stop at the Glondo’s Sausage & Italian Market in Cle Elum. I’m bringing the cooler to make sure the soprassata. salami, and sausage, isn’t visited by Uncle Sal Monella.

Yes, Dad. I’ll drive safely. And Mom, I’ll bring back butter from Trader Joe’s. And Paula, I’ll bring back candles from Ikea. Let me know if I’ve forgotten anything.

I’m just sayin’. David Archuleta is cute in a Mouseketeer kinda way. But the kid is not ready for prime time. I will admit if the competition was based on *only* the performances Tuesday, little David stepped up to the mic and even managed to growl in one song. He sang his heart out and he wanted it badly.

I wanted Syesha Mercado to be in the final two, and I was very disappointed when she was eliminated. Her performance tonight, with Seal, was pretty hot. And speaking of hot, somebody’s been feeding Seal and he’s looking all grown up. Heidi’s a very lucky woman.

Now Mr. Cook, *sigh*, he’s is a triple threat. He’s got a great voice, he knows how to work the mic and stage, and he’s got that “something” that all great performers have.

Back on March 12th, I picked Cook to win, and he just kept getting better and better each week. I would have liked to see him pick different songs for the final performance, but he still sang like a rock star.

Tonight, David Cook sang Sharp Dressed Man with ZZ Top, and played his Les Paul guitar, and he was fantastic. The guy *is* a rock star AND now he’s the 2008 American Idol champion.

Hey Chris, I wish you could have been here to share the finale, but Paris is quite the excuse.