Cincinnati evening

At the Lion King.

One reason I miss my home...

Our bird is back to nest outside the bathroom window.

The beginning...

Highly recommended.

More bloom!

Daffodils

Look!

Cincinnati is in bloom!

Home sweet home... sort of!

We're on our way home, so to speak. I mean, we're going to the home we still own in Cincinnati. It's strange to think about being there, and although I'm excited to see my lovely house, it won't the same. My mom (who is the consummate mom) lent me her suitcase and packed it with three towels.

Three towels. I can't believe it. I have to pack towels to go to my own house.

That's, of course, because most of our stuff is here. A shell of that sweet house remains in Cincinnati -- some glasses, a few bottles of wine in the wine cabinet, some of our older pots hanging from the pot rack, etc.


I briefly thought how great it would be to cook a huge, fancy dinner on my powerful Viking stove. But I realized we have no food in the fridge and most of my spices are here.

Yes, I'll be glad to be visiting gool ol' Herbert Avenue, our first home, but it surely won't be the same.

My new favorite store...

This is definitely my new favorite store and I would've been tempted to stock up on tees, pop, purses and fudge, but I instead bought something for my pal Gina. Shhhhh. Don't tell her.

Some of the wonderful novelties included Detroit Gospel T-shirts, jars of Sanders hot fudge, original Motown records, purses made out of car seat belts, and glass bottles of Faygo pop. (I had the most intense craving for Faygo red pop the other day. How weird.)

For those of you who don't know, Faygo is a Detroit original. It's also 100 years old. Faygo Beverages was started by a coupla brothers in 1907 and became one of the nation's top independent bottlers, according to the Detroit Almanac. It was a leader in the tasty red pop category. Naturally!

Sanders is a legendary Detroit ice cream shop.

When I was a kid, I didn't know there was any fudge other than Sanders hot fudge. My mom and I spent many a Saturday or Sunday afternoon in between shopping trips at Sanders, spooning heaps of chocolate chip ice cream covered in gooey hot fudge from shiny silver bowls.

Sanders is even older than Faygo, having been founded in 1875 with its first store on storied Woodward Ave. (The Detroit News is doing a terrific series on the historic avenue.) Sanders is known for its cream puffs and ice cream sodas.

From the Web site:
It was in 1876 that Fred Sanders served his first Ice Cream Soda. The popular drink at that time was the Sweet Cream Soda, but one summer evening, with his store packed with thirsty customers, he discovered that all his sweet cream had soured. He then quickly decided to substitute ice cream for the sweet cream and his customers were delighted with the new drink.


Walking into this store was like walking down memory lane -- only the lane is now considered retro and lit by a snazzy chandelier.

Mornin'

Anemones by the Window by Matisse

My friend Amanda sent this poem to me. I thought it should be shared.

Welcome Morning
by Anne Sexton
There is joy
in all:
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning,
in the chapel of eggs I cook
each morning,
in the outcry from the kettle
that heats my coffee
each morning,
in the spoon and the chair
that cry 'hello there, Anne'
each morning,
in the godhead of the table
that I set my silver, plate, cup upon
each morning.
All this is God,
right here in my pea-green house
each morning
and I mean, though often forget,
to give thanks,
to faint down by the kitchen table
to a prayer of rejoicing
as the holy birds at the kitchen window
peck into their marriage of seeds.
So, while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter in the morning,
lest it go unspoken.
The joy that isn't shared, I've heard,
dies young.

Yummmmm!

Looks like the house thing fell through. Long story. But life ain't so bad. Dad made dinner tonight -- pasta with his famous homemade spicy, chunky, meaty spaghetti sauce. (Patrick had two helpings.) Mmmmmmm.

Not to be outdone, my mum made brownies for dessert. What's better than warm brownies, a cup of milk, the paper and family?

Let's just say that it was a tough week, but I feel lucky to be here.

Hugs and kisses to Cincinnati, but...

Truce to Korte and all of Cincinnati. I have too much love for those seven hills to knock the lovely Queen City.

But I have to add just one more thing: does Johnny Bench have a penguin named after him?

I think not.

From the Detroit Zoo...
And the Winner is . . . Pudge!
ROYAL OAK, Mich., August 16, 2006 – The people have spoken and the Detroit Zoo’s penguin chick has a name.

With 12,000 votes cast in the Zoo’s online Name the Penguin Chick poll, Pudge won by a landslide with 4,334 votes. Rico was a distant second with 2,634 votes, followed closely by Izzo with 2,522 votes. Scooter was the favorite of 1,863 voters, while Fritz came in last with 647 votes.

Forty-three people submitted the name Pudge and a drawing was held to select the contest winner, Monica Delise of Sterling Heights. Delise and three guests will receive an up-close-and-personal “Mingle with the Macaronis,” which includes the opportunity to interact with Pudge and the Zoo’s 62 other penguins in their chilly habitat, hand-feed the birds, and receive a behind-the-scenes tour of the keeper area and incubation/nursery area.



Go Pudge!

Scenes from the People Mover

Yeah, Korte, I'm talkin t'you!

You're right.

Okay, so it's true that we don't have the Reds, a team that hasn't made the playoffs since 1995.


We just have the Tigers. Yes, they're a valid contender for the World Series again this year. Yes, they were a phenomenal story as last year's underdog. But it's true that we do not have cheerleaders teeny-bopping around Tiger Stadium

And no we don't have good ol' junior, who played an awesome 2 months out of the last six years he's been with the team. We just have beloved Mayor Casey and Pudge, possibly the best catcher in baseball ever.



And no, we can't claim such magnificent lyricists as the 98 degrees boys. We can only say we are the home of the legendary Motown sound, and soulful crooners like Marvin, Stevie, Diana, Smokey and a few others. (Do we need to mention last names?)



It is true that we don't have the mighty Ohio River in our backyard. (Can you swim in that, by the way?) We just have a couple of lakes nearby. And who really needs all this freshwater shoreline?



No, we don't have runny chili that prides itself in having a mystery ingredient. (Is it cinnamon? Persimmon? MSG?) We just claim to be home of the original coney dog, a mountain of beefy chili on a juicy dog that's topped with a healthy heaping of mustard and onions for flavah. See my previous post. I don't want to rehash.

But let's not fight. We all know that Cincinnati has it goin' on. You got that healthy political atmosphere that has people clamoring to come downtown and has businesses itching to locate there. Right? By the way, how's that Nordstram's?

Okay, okay. Stop it. I love Cincinnati. You all know that. I miss it, too.


But come and taste a little Detroit and you'll see what I mean. The Detroit Institute of Arts and the phenomenal Detroit Film Theater are world class. The Symphony is terrific. The sports teams are plentiful. We have Mexican tortilla soup, Mediterranean beef shawarma, Polish pierogi, fancy French pastries, Japanese sushi, oysters on the half shell, and stuffed grape leaves. And heck, we've got the People Mover.

It may be a little colder and the tulips might be three weeks late, but you just might get hooked like I did.

XOXO

Discovering the D, vol. 1 chapter 2

Back to Eastern Market (as I said, I'd return to this), I was amazed at the vastness during our super-quick trip this weekend. It's billed as the "largest open-air wholesale-retail market in the United States." (Cited from the Detroit Almanac.) Eastern Market has been at its site since 1891. (Before that it was a city graveyard.)

I can't wait until the third Sunday in May, when the market holds its annual Flower Day and when families apparently bring strollers, red wagons, carts, anything to haul their flats of flowers back to the car.

One of my few memories about Eastern Market from childhood was a trip there with my dad. We saw a blind man winding his way through the masses and then later singing haunting, raspy blues on a corner there. It left a great impression on me. In high school, I actually won a writing contest for a story about that blind man who sang the blues at Eastern Market.

That was 15 or more years ago.

Now, this is weird because I just googled this topic on the off chance I could find something on the aforementioned blind man. Believe it or not, I found several references, including some stories about a blind man who used to sing the blues at Eastern Market and later got plucked from obscurity.

Here's something from the Metro Times:
The legend of Robert Bradley is one that’s told often – whispered by music journalists for the past four or five years in music and pop culture mags such as this one. Bradley’s ascendance has become a minor myth. It goes something like this: It seems that Bradley, a street musician – and a blind one that sang the blues, to boot – was performing in Detroit’s Eastern Market as he had done for years when his sweet soulful strumming and singing drifted into the studio of local rock veterans Chris and Andrew Nehra. They invited Bradley up to the studio, formed a musical bond and became Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise, a full-fledged blues-rock band signed to RCA Records.

Robert Bradley has toured with the likes of the Dave Matthews Band and others.

Not sure how or when he ascended or if this is the same person, but how strange, huh? Wonder if it's the same person I wrote about all those years earlier. I love when such memories come full circle.

Anyway, I can't wait to return to the market. I'm sure there are so many memories to recall and new ones to make.

Spring is springing. Happy and yet sad...

These lovely tulips were on display at Eastern Market this weekend. While it was bitter cold as we walked around the market, it was really starting to make me feel like spring is here.

But alas, tulips also make me think of our house, which I dearly miss and yet hope is near selling.

At this point of the year in Cincinnati, I'm guessing the tulips would be blooming. I imagine the daffodils would already be gone.


I planted a row of red tulips around the front yard and several rows of yellow tulips in the back. Oh, and I had a line of red and pink ones around the little pond.

After the tulips will come the irises (yellow on the side and deep purple in the back), the fragrant white lilacs, leafy fern and dozens of green hostas. Later in the season, bunches of giant pink and magenta peonies will dot the front garden. And finally, as summer wears on, an eruption of yellow tiger lilies will brighten the backyard.

Oh, how I love those tiger lilies. Whenever I looked through the back glass doors and saw the line of yellow lilies, I always did a double-take because it appeared as if a great splash of sunlight cascaded across our yard alone -- even on the dreariest days.

I was surprised to learn how much I loved gardening. When we first bought our house, I thought, "How in the world am I going to keep these poor things alive?" But I soon began spending hours digging in the dirt, sometimes with rocks embedded in my knees and scratches from the the rose bush running up and down my arms. No matter, though, I just loved to be outside with my little basket of garden tools.

And of course, I practically lived at Home Depot in the floral section.

(I used to devise ways to purchase hundreds of dollars of flowers a season without having Patrick notice. That took some creative financing -- like taking $40 out of the ATM for "necessities" like "groceries" and combining that with a $60 debit card purchase at Home Depot, which included other "important purchases" like "refuse bags" and "paint.")

Sure, the ATM card isn't as bruised as of late. I haven't had to jump through fiscal hoops to feed my flower habit. And we're not paying two mortgages, so that's a plus. But I have to confess that I really miss our little garden. My hands seem empty. And I feel like I'm missing crucial time breathing the fresh air and fussing with the dirt.

R2-D2, Where are you?

"I'm on the corner of Broadway and Grand River, Threep. I got to pick me up some mail."

May the force be with Detroit.

(Perhaps the force will be with you, too.)

Top o' the mornin' to ya...

Patrick and I had a very cool Celtic-themed day yesterday.

The clip above is Natalie MacMaster. We saw her last night playing with the Detroit Symphony. I had no idea it was going to be such a rip-roarin' concert. (The clip above is not at the symphony, of course, but it was one of the best I could find on YouTube.) The concert was incredible. The lady not only could tear it up with the fiddle, but she did some fantastic Irish dancing (and I saw her on YouTube doing the moon walk.) Oh yeah, and she's seven months pregnant.

I declared to Patrick that he should blatantly disregard anything I said about having our kids take the piano.

Harp? Hah! Drums? A drag! Bagpipe? Bore.

I want them fiddlin' up a storm. (I generally change my mind on this anytime I witness incredible talent.)

As I blogged earlier, we started the day at the DIA. That was terrific, and I can't wait to participate in more such lectures. After that, we popped by Eastern Market. (Cincinnatians, think Findlay Market, but bigger and spread over a few blocks. Eastern Market deserves its own post later.)

After perusing the pansies, ogling at oranges, meandering by meat counters and passing by the the fresh popcorn stand, we ate at the famed Russell Street Cafe. It doesn't look like much, but yum! I had some corned beef hash with green onions, two eggs over medium and the best raisin toast -- no, the best toast or bread, period! -- I have ever eaten. (It was a buttery inch of warm bread, lined with swirls of raspberry or plum or raisin jelly.)


After a break at home, the night began with the Natalie MacMaster concert. (As I said, loved it. Bought the CD. Best concert I've seen for $10. If you recall, we bought a bunch of symphony tickets for $10 each as part of a special deal for new symphony-goers.) And we punctuated the evening with a stop by an off-the-beaten-path Irish restaurant/pub called Baile Corcaigh in Detroit's historic Corktown neighborhood.

The setting made you feel like you were in a true Irish pub -- dark oak, stone fireplace, Gothic stained glass windows. (I felt very much like I could actually be in Ireland, which was nice since I never made it there during the vast European tour in college. Something about high tide and not being able to take the ferry from Le Havre, if I recall. Bummer.) We'll have to return to Baile Corcaigh because we were salivating over the menu: chicken pot pie, beef stew, and -- according to a review -- rosemary and garlic lamb chops.


I had a glass of Hill of Content pinot by an Irish vintner who lives in Australia, according to the bartender. Patrick had an O'hara's Irish red.

So Happy St. Patrick's Day, y'all. Luck o' the Irish to us and ours and you and yours.

About town...

At the symphony.

Impression of light

Inside DIA courtyard.

Morning learning

We're here at the DIA this morning learnin' about 19th century European art. Just heard about Romanticism. Onto Realism.

Damn you, Duke!

I am just really glad that Duke once did me a big favor because the Blue Devils sure wronged me tonight in the brackets.

See, I once applied for a PR or marketing job at Duke. This was almost right out of college, and I was vastly unqualified for the job. Duke must've known because I got no consideration. But shortly after that, my daddio and I took a whirlwind road trip to upstate New York and Pennsylvania so I could apply for two reporting jobs. (This is another story, but that was so much fun and a terrific once-in-a-lifetime dad-daughter trip for me.)

Anyway, my dad and I both got a really good vibe from the upstate New York paper, The Citizen. (A bit of trivia: The Citizen. is perhaps the only newspaper in the nation to have a period in its name.) Our good feelings were right-on because that remains one of the scrappiest papers I have ever seen. Shortly after, I took the job as a county reporter, running a bureau out of my wee apartment in the lovely Seneca Falls, NY (home of the women's rights movement).

It was there that I met Patrick, a news editor who I originally thought was some bum-sports reporter who always wore shorts and baseball hats to work. We became fast friends, shared a kiss one night and ten years later got married -- in upstate New York, of course.



Soooooo, Duke, you thought you got one over on me, but in the end, I turned out to be the big winner.

Take that!



(But Duke, I'm still ticked at you for that rotten loss tonight.)

So much to read...

Photo from Modelmedia.com

I was so engrossed by Gina's story on local Cincy bloggers that I almost forgot to read some of my own Detroit media today.

Well, luckily I checked my e-mail and found this gem: MetroMode online magazine.

I don't remember signing up for this weekly newsletter, but I'm so glad I did.

I also love receiving tidbits from the Detroit Wine Organization. I get periodic e-mails from the organization, the most recent of which included info on a cool new book club on wine-related topics. First stop: Vinotecca. (We were there earlier this month.)

There are also many great Detroit and Michigan bloggers, who I'm just uncovering. www.michiganisamazing.com is a cool one on all things Michigan. This one on the forgotten buildings of Detroit is interesting and sad. Also sad.

One of my faves is detroitblog. You'll see a theme here. I like photo blogs.

Anyway, check 'em out.

Good day!

70 degrees and sunny and we may have sold our house!

Do irreconcilable eggplant differences override a cococut connection?

I am in another quandary today. Patrick and I went back to the scrumptious, mouth-watering yummy Annam Vietnamese restaurant yesterday. We had the same thing as last time -- chicken curry for me and a beef and tomato rice dish for him. (As I said in my earlier post, it was a comfortable sort of weekend.)

The chicken curry dish is made with sweet potatoes and roasted eggplant. I said to Patrick that I just can't imagine anything better than roasted eggplant. I mean, really. It's delicious!

Well, he responded that he hates eggplant. The word "yuck" may have entered into the conversation. I'm not sure, though, because I pretty much stopped listening to him at that point.

Can a person get a divorce over irreconcilable eggplant differences? It should certainly be allowed. I would check with an attorney, but he redeemed himself by finishing every last spoonful of the refreshingly sweet coconut ice cream we ordered for dessert. Lucky thing that we share a cocount connection!

Late night stop...

The gleaming lights of Donutville U.S.A.





Many old men apparently hang out and play Pac Man at midnight at Donutville.

I left the cashier a dollar tip after we bought a half-dozen doughnuts, and Patrick asked if it's customary to leave the doughnut lady tips for a take-out order. I was like, "Well, the poor lady is serving doughnuts to a bunch or old men playing Pac Man and smoking up a storm at midnight. She deserves it."





And Clarky, a sucker for anything raspberry, deserved a taste of Donutville, too.

Tasty treats!

A raspberry cosmo for him and an extra dirty martini for me.

Comfortable weekend, ambitious wine, funny memories...

Patrick and I had a comfortable weekend, returning to our recent favorites haunts -- Slow's and Atlas Global Bistro. I had the blackened catfish at Slow's and, I must say, my lips were aflame.

But my wine choice was anything but comfortable. I ventured out and had a Chateau Gauthier Medoc Bordeaux (2003). I'll go on a limb and say it had flavors of black cherry, boysenberry and vanilla overtones. Bottom line -- it was tast-eeee!

At Atlas, I was in a quandary. Do I go with the familiar Mas Borras Pinot Noir or the Dry Creek Meritage? Oh, the Pinot was yummy but I again strayed from the comfortable and went with the Meritage. Bevmo.com said it has "has black cherries, plums, and hints of dried herbs, picking up notes of coffee and chocolate." I don't know about all that but it was a joy to sip and swirl.

Must've been fate that I picked the Meritage. Wikipedia said it's a wine made in the Bordeaux style. I guess I had France on my mind yesterday.

I had a brief brush with fame when I was in the Bordeaux region of France some years ago. My best pal from college, Ame, and I briefly spoke with Harry Connick Jr. He was at a concert there and we snagged some tickets from a French scalper, I think. (How we managed to buy legitimate tickets to see Harry Connick Jr. in Bordeaux from a French scalper, I'll never know.) Anyway, we waited with a bunch of groupies outside the back door of the concert venue until he arrived. My pal Ame finally got a chance to talk with him as he walked around to sign autographs. She tried her best to come up with something clever. (And let me tell you, she's clever.)

But all she could muster was: "Harry, did-did-did you miss Thanksgiving? We-we-we missed Thanksgiving."

That's it. That was our moment with Harry in Bordeaux.

:-)

Happy Thursday from my brother.

To be or not to be...

Uh oh. In an attempt to find out how many people share my first and last name after reading Gina's post, I learned nobody has my name -- not even me.

I knew it was uncommon, but this is downright bizarre.

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 0 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

If you had a flavor, what would it be?

Colbert's got his own Ben and Jerry's flavor. From the press release:

Stephen Colbert is donating his proceeds from the sale of AMERICONE DREAM to charity through The Stephen Colbert AmeriCone Dream Fund. The Fund will support charities of concern to Stephen such as food and medical assistance for disadvantaged children, helping veterans and their families, and environmental causes. Said Colbert, “I will save the world.”

If I had a flavor -- Detroit Dynamo -- it would be Godiva chocolate ice-cream with dark chocolate chips and Chianti-flavored raspberry swirls. It would be served on a pizzelle and drizzled with a Rioja reduction. Yes, people, Detroit is that cool!

My charities would certainly include no-kill animal shelters. I would also contribute to my favorite union -- UCAP. (UCAP stands for United Cats Against Phoebe, which has recently increased its membership by 100 percent from 2 cats to 4, including the addition of my parents' 2 cats. But as with most unions, UCAP desperately seeks more members and could use the additional funding. I love you, Phoebe, but I grew up in a union household and have got to support the cats.)

Patrick's Mouthfulla Murph would be potato-flavored ice cream in a reused plastic cup. He said his charity would be the UBPA (United Brotherhood for Pale Ale).

Wining and Dining...

Last night, we ventured out to the very hip Royal Oak to try Vinotecca, a trendy wine bar with a drop-down wooden ceiling that makes you feel like you're in a beautifully renovated barn in California wine country. (At least, that's how I felt.)

I was so glad Patrick discovered this place because it gave me a chance to explore some lovely wines that I'm sure I never would've discovered on my own.

The first was a River's Edge Pinot Noir, which I could only describe as a fruit bomb. I really loved this wine, with its explosion of (hmm. let me think...) raspberry, cherries and strawberry. If it hadn't been the last glass from the last bottle, I would've sipped this lovely wine -- from a vineyard along the the Umpqua River in Oregon -- all night. But alas, I had to choose another.

The next Pinot was a Casa de la Cruz from the Sonoma Coast. It, too, had a smooth black cherry flavor but was considerably less the fruit bomb than the River's Edge. I liked this one, too, but not as much. I also had a taste of an Albert Bichot premier cru Burgundy (smooth strawberry with light tannins) and a Palacios Remondo Rioja. The latter had some black licorice (Patrick's suggestion) and spice. I really enjoyed this Spanish beauty.





We had a nice time dreaming about where we might go on vacation. A trip to satisfy us both would be California, we think, where we could visit hipster L.A. and wine-drenched Napa Valley. Then we could cruise to San Diego for some good ol' fashioned baseball under the sun, topped off with hot dogs and beer.





Mmmm.