I am so close to resolving my window shade problem.
For several months, I battled Hunter Douglas and Home Depot for replacement of defective shades.
Four of the five shades fell apart and could not be repaired.
I paid a workman to take them down and bought temporary paper shades to cover my windows and protect my furniture and hardwood floors from the blazing sun.
So, instead of custom shades from Hunter Douglas in my living room, I had paper shades. Really sad!
I buy small containers of black beans from a local Cuban restaurant.
They are good but expensive. Plus, the restaurant is far away, adding the feeling of a pilgrimage to buy them.
I could eat one container in one sitting, but I stretch the beans by adding them to burritos, salads, or rice. Sometimes, I do eat them plain. They are so good.
Yesterday I decided I would break the cycle and cook my own black beans from scratch.
Dried organic black turtle beans sell for $3.99 a pound at my grocer, less than the cost of one small container of cooked beans.
I approach this with trepidation.
I have not had good luck cooking black beans. Probably too much liquid or too little attention to the beans as they cooked resulting in mushy, flavorless beans.
To begin this rustic cooking journey, I measured one cup of dried beans and soaked them overnight in the refrigerator.
This morning I rinsed them and tossed any questionable beans.
While the beans drained in a colander, I toasted cumin, smoked Spanish paprika and a few chili flakes for less than a minute. The smell was incredible.
Then I added the beans and water, bringing them to a boil.
Now they are simmering with the lid halfway over the pot, a compromise to covering or not covering the pot.
One of Portland’s leaders in the hyper-local movement, Ned Ludd officially announced its closure in September. “Bittersweet to say goodbye to the last 13 years of wood fired fun, farm driven fare and all the culinary adventures this little space on MLK brought me,” owner and chef Jason French wrote in an Instagram post. “I’m the man I want to be, the husband and father I’ve imagined since my youth and the chef I’ve dreamed of since 1986.”
I was sad to learn that another unique and Portland restaurant had closed. Locally sourced food, an involved owner and chef, Ned Ludd had a presence and a story as well as excellent food beautifully served.
Today is the first day of a three-day weekend for most Americans.
On Monday, July 4th we celebrate Independence Day.
The day will begin with a neighborhood parade. It is sweet in the way that hometown parades often are. There are no flashy floats or celebrities, just local groups. You always see someone you know.
I walked in it one year along with members from my church. It was fun. The parade route was not very long but long enough that my feet started to hurt, thanks to my fashionable shoes. Ah vanity!
At the end of the parade, folks gather with kids in tow for ice cream, music, face painting, and best of all, a pie eating contest!
In the evening, we gather at the park for a concert and a laser light show.
But today is Saturday.
Chores and my little dog Riley are calling.
She needs a walk.
My house needs dusting, my garden needs watering and weeding.
I need to cook some vegetables and a pot of black-eyed peas.
I will sign off now and get busy so that I will have time to enjoy my weekend.
She is not a friend, a neighbor, not even an acquaintance.
Her number is not in my phone.
I don’t know what she looks like, who her children are, if any.
She is a random person in my life from years ago.
I had one encounter with her.
I don’t remember where it was.
I remember the day.*
I remember her talking to me.
I did not answer. I may have nodded. I’m not sure.
My head hurt.
I felt weightless. There was nothing tying me to earth.
Her words came from a distance.
You have tough times ahead. You must take care of yourself.
Over the years I have often remembered her words.
Unsolicited, barely acknowledged,
Granting permission to rest a bit,
To give up being in charge, in control, always needing a plan.
She reached out to a stranger in pain, in shock.
I am grateful.
~Lori
*The day I learned my Husband had a year left to live. In writing this post I wondered what made me think of Linda. Then I realized, tomorrow is his birthday.