A Bargain At Any Price.

I used to work in a kitchen supply store in Honolulu where all the employees received a 45% discount. Unheard of! I applied for the job immediately after overhearing an Executive Chef employee discussing his perks over coffee with a party far less interested in what he was saying than I was. I hung on every word. That was Mark Rosa. He ended up as my co-worker and became a good friend to Fabio and me.

Executive Chef was my first job as Mrs. Cuseo. Those were the days, my friend. Fabio and I had an airy and affordable 2 bedroom apartment with a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. We could see Diamond Head and Waikiki. Oh! Those were the days. I thought they'd never end. Fabio was doing well, making pots of money while busied myself making pots of pots. We still had thousands in savings from our wedding. Our unborn children were not in need of braces just yet.

I never really brought home a paycheck. Occasionally, Fabio would ask me to treat my gainful employment with more of an eye toward bringing home actual money and less like a bartering post in the wild wild west. Look Fabio! I worked 35 hours this week and only see how it translates!. We have a a brand new pizzelle maker! Not only that,take a look at this pot rack and 10 inch frittata pan! Fabio knew that I couldn't help myself. He also knew that we may as well grab what we could - while the grabbing was good. He knew all about my agenda. I wasn't exactly covert. Everyone knew what I was up to.

My kitchen, due to my dogged efforts, continues to function like a babied hot-rod. I won't say 'souped-up' because that would be too precious. Okay, I will give Fabio credit for the stellar remodel- he did that without any assistance from me, but I STOCKED our showroom. In my defense, I arrived at my marriage with a tidy little purse and zero (you heard me-zero!)debt.

The funny thing is, at that point in my life- I enjoyed cooking but I was hardly practiced. I only started cooking in earnest 3 years prior to my wedding when I took a job as a live- in nanny for the Liu Family in Honolulu. The parents, Rosemary, Robin and I had a blast cooking. We took turns. We collaborated. We ate! We ate well. If we weren't eating, we were plotting our next meal. We did not lack focus.

The Lius subscribed to Food and Wine, Gourmet and Bon Appetit.
Every month, all three of us would read them cover to cover,and make a plan and then get to work. We were really into it. We had all kinds of lists. Our cupboards were jammed but we always needed something. It was always something that I had never heard of. All these new ingredients that I was introduced at this time have since become staples in my kitchen to this day. All three of us would grocery shop. We were like little Italian housewives, making our way to daily market. Fresh, fresh, fresh.

Robin worked next door to Chinatown- so that was his department. We could always count on him to show up with a bouquet of wild cilantro or a stump of ginger when we could really use them.

That left Foodland, Safeway, Times, Dai'ai, and the two health food stores, Down To Earth and Ko'kua Market. We made frequent stops at everyone of these stores. We bought only the best. Their dime. It wasn't cheap. We all learned a lot.

Quite a few of my very favorite recipes come from those meals. There is an eggplant /red pepper/ chickenpea stew that I serve over rice, I have an oft used recipe for mustard chicken that calls for panko. I was well versed in panko WAY before panko was cool.




We slaved over flat out failures too.


I came to the conclusion early on that the secret to impressive results is to,first, read a recipe from start to finish to determine if it is worth the effort. If so, the next step is to gather every single ingredient that is called for into a central location. Absolutely take attendance. The biggest secret of all is to follow the instructions.I am talking about cooking times, oven temperatures and ratios. You should definitely mess around with ingredients and flavors. Occasionally, I will run into completely unnecessary and sometimes disorganized steps- but usually- especially in baking- you will fail miserably if you try to put a personal spin on time tested classics.

When I met the man of my dreams, I moved out of the generously equipped Liu kitchen. That kitchen was stocked with time saving appliances that were in continual heavy rotation. The ingredients that I became accustom to working with had spoiled me for ill suited substitutes (they left a bad taste in my mouth). I moved into my bachelor boyfriend's house. It was handsomely furnished. The living room,dining room and bedrooms were fully appointed. Art on the walls. Books on the shelves. The whole place looked lovely. Now let's see the kitchen.

That kitchen was such a cliche. Fabio swore that the slow cooker saw some action, but I bet him that his drawer full of take out menus saw even more. Fabio had one cast iron skillet(and I found THAT with his camping gear- far, far away from the kitchen). He did put one short cord appliance to daily use, good old 8 cup Mr. Coffee. What a man. His refridgerator was stocked with the obligatory imported beer, cold cuts and bread.

The way I saw it, I really had no choice, as a brand new bride, but to sell my services in exchange for shiny things like a KitchenAid Stand Mixer and a complete set of Henckel's knives. Please understand and admit that you would do the same. This was a 45% discount. This could not be denied. I had applied for the job with a fully disclosed (at least to my husband) agenda. I was doing this for our family! I worked at Executive Chef until 2 months before I gave birth to my first son. Our kitchen was applianced and gadgetized to the gills by the time that I bowed out of the work force to bring up baby.

A cruel life lesson was learned due to my all encompassing need to take fast and full advantage of what had all the outward appearences of being the deal of a life time. This little bounty of mine had the hallmarks of being too good to be true. It was. It was too good to be true. We didn't stay in Hawaii. We moved to Providence, Rhode Island. Whoa. The price of Paradise! I'd say the average cost of major kitchen appliances,pot racks, and hell! even dish towels- on the mainland is about 35% to 50%less than you would pay in Hawaii. Please don't talk to me about the cost of shipping. We were robbed!

But , honestly, I would certainly not enjoy cooking and baking nearly as much as I do right now had I shown restraint. I never would have purchased half of these well worn gizmos that I have come to look upon as outright neccessities. Everything that I "just had to have" has afforded and continues to afford affords me luxurious shortcuts without sacrificing quality. I was an excellent salesclerk, by the way.

I loved my job. Sometimes I didn't do my job. Sweet old ladies would come in looking for that colorfully packaged garlic odor removing piece of stainless steel. It was $7.99 before tax. This was in 1998! I would pull them aside and explain in hushed tones that a stainless steel spoon, or even a faucet, was just as effective in eliminating the smell. I didn't tell everyone. I would let the rude, the arrogant and show offs with obvious means plunk down the dough on the useless gadget. Oh! The power! (Be wicked,wicked nice to your sales clerk every single time, because you never know.)

We sit down as a family every night and we eat dinner at the table. We eat well thought out, well balanced meals. We do this because I charged ahead in a mad panic and mistakenly and repeatly went over budget outfitting the heart of my home. All Clad for every hook! Knock -Off's need not apply! I made all these purchases over 10 years ago. I swear, my heart still skips a beat everytime I enter my kitchen. I know that I can create. I know where my tools are.

I paid close attention to detail. I cannot use my weird gadgets enough. I look for ways to re-invent the zester. It would have been a shame if I had purchased all of these items (at seemingly rock bottom prices) only to take advantage of a "deal". If saving money had been my only motivating factor than this whole debaucle would be a bust. Sure, I would have stacks of helpful tools at the ready and on display but what for?

I love that my kitchen starts everyday with clean counters and fresh pans and I love that at some point during each day my kitchen looks completely overwrought. I love my working kitchen. There is nothing in my kitchen that isn't used on a regular basis save the turkey baster. I have read every instruction manual I own. I have studied them. I also study my library of cookbooks daily. I look at mealtime as a chance to make something interesting and tasty. It is part thrills and spills.

Real Quick: An Update.

I found the Javanese Peanut Pasta recipe. The one on the index card. Interestingly enough, it was right where it should be. I just didn't see it.



I am sure that some of you think that I am nuts to have all of this faith. If you think that everything is just a weird coincidence that is okay.

I'm okay. You're okay.

I never believed in ghosts or spirits milling about in the shadows until two years ago. I never felt one until two years ago. My mother's presence in my life alarms me. I enjoy her company, but it can get a little spooky. I shouldn't say that- because it is nothing crazy, but it is constant.

Household Saint.

She is an everyday saint. Nothing flashy. Saint Sensible. My mother died on June 21, 2008. I talk to her all the time. She is, without a doubt, my guiding force. I can actually feel my mother propelling me forward. I feel her tight British fist jammed into the small of my back, to tell you the truth. She is insisting on good behavior. Fine mom. I'll be good. It is actually a relief.

About two years ago, I asked her to help me give up drinking. I stopped completely the day I asked HER for help. That very same day. I was done. It isn't just that I've stopped- it is that I have stopped being annoyed that I should stop. I totally dig the absence of alcohol. I've never been happier. Seriously.

That, of course, was her big miracle. I was a hopeless mess. The whole situation (that spanned decades) baffled even me. I hated its pull, but I would cave time and time again. I still can't figure out why I did it. Nobody wants to be a full blown alcoholic. That's a stupid way to live. Oh, and apparently it made me miserable.

After that dramatic turn of events, I couldn't think of anything else to ask my mother to help me with,I seemed set for awhile. Our chats became breezy and pretty one sided. I did all of the talking, as usual. Still, I was confident that I had her ear.

So last week, I gave my mother a vague little assignment. She seems to have taken it very seriously. Over and over again, she keeps them coming. I have been laughing all week. I mean really. It is one buried treasure after another.

Earlier in the week I said out loud: Mom. I need to find things. I know that I have stuff in disorganized piles and I know that I have specific things that I want to give-or show- to specific people. I just can't remember what or who. I need to find that stuff. Can you help a daughter out?

FIFTEEN MINUTES later-I found this little package of papers that I knew would be important to my sister Christine. I had found them in my parent's basement awhile ago and now here they were in mine. I had been meaning to send it to her for (gulp) almost a year.In fact, when I first got it together I had written to my sister to let her know that I "had a fabulous package on the way." I kept finding stuff to include with it and I worked on that thing with due diligence (that is for you, Jo.) for three or four days and then I put it aside to finish later and yes, I forgot about it. Tomorrow never comes.

About two hours after finding that, I felt strangely compelled to vacuum the top of the refrigerator. I don't do that often. I stood on a stool to access the workload and I laughed out loud. On top of the refrigerator -tucked in the back and totally hidden from view-was the brand new cherry red ceramic lasagna pan that I had forgotten to bring to my sister Margaret's Yankee Swap last Christmas. The timing couldn't be better. I am meeting Margaret for lunch next week.

But wait. There's more. Last weekend we went to Connecticut to a party at Fabio's cousin's house. His whole family was there. I was telling a few people about these two hilarious photos from our wedding. I was saying that I would love to scan them and send them to them if I could ever find them again. I described both of them in detail.I had no idea where those pictures were. I hadn't seen them since we lived in Hawaii. We haven't lived in Hawaii for nine years! Yikes. Time flies when you freeze all Winter.

I figured that they must be in the basement. I do have a system.I totally have a system. I swear I have a system. Every time I find a random photograph floating around the house I march it downstairs and put it with all the thousands and thousands of other photographs that I have (neatly, in bins) awaiting my attention. I'll get there. My upstairs is singing. It is as neat as a pin.

Well, yesterday I was looking for the recipe for Javanese Peanut Pasta. I have this raggedy old cookbook that I haven't looked at in years. I had handwritten all of the entries. I copied most of them on to index cards for my recipe box but I keep it for reference - just in case.

I could not find that pasta recipe and I know I have on an index card. I have used it many, many times.Then I remembered that I still had the master copy. I got my old black and white dog eared composition note book down from the high shelf and I think you know where I'm going with this. Picture #1 was being used as a book mark for -get this- Mom's No Knead Bread. I swear to God. On my mother.

I'm not finished. Today, I was trying to get all my journals in order. I have dutifully kept a daily journal since I was in 5th grade. My teacher, Miss Mogayzel, bless her heart, made us keep a daily journal as a year long class assignment. I loved doing it so much that I never stopped. I am talking every single day. Mine are nothing like mother's. I remember eagerly flipping her daily ledger to February 7th in 1977, anxious to read her take on my big day. It said, "Youngest is now ten. Wild party." My entries are a little more involved.

Right before I visited Athens,Georgia last month I re-read my entire seven year chronicles.I lived there from 1985 until 1992. Those pages provided me with endless conversation starters.I kept a day by day, and at times tedious account of well, pretty much everything I did. It is nuts. People think that I have this stellar memory when really, all I do is refer to my notes.

Let me stay on task here. I was organizing my journals. I am trying to put them in some kind of order. I am missing a few (which scares me a little!).I have 83, that I can find. Anyway, out of journal #4 fell photograph #2. I am just not kidding. It keeps happening. Really. MOST of my photographs are in the basement. I don't see too many floaters upstairs these days.

I have one more if you can stand it. This has all happened THIS week- so stay tuned. Eureka is loose on Lucille Street. OK, Last one. In Hawaii, we had this absolutely wonderful self portrait that Fabio's daughter Rachel had drawn when she was about 8. We had it hanging up. It brought me joy every single time I looked at it. I thought what a confident little girl. It was so neatly drawn. She is waving and smiling and it really looks just like Rachel! She had written ME in big letters at the top. I LOVED it! I totally missed it and thought about it enough to always be on the look out for it. Whenever I came across some ancient unattended box of papers I would get a wave of hope but it was never in that box. I knew it was somewhere.

Two days ago,I was getting ready to fetch the boys from school. Before I left, I thought I would grab a coffee table book to use as a hard surface for my crossword puzzle. I usually have a 15 minute wait. I looked at my bookshelf and picked an old book of photography called, "The Family of Man". My parents had given it to me for Christmas one year. Our friends, Jean and Zohmah Charlot are in it. They were photographed by only Edward Weston.

It was a wicked easy crossword and I finished it quickly. I actually hate that kind of puzzle. They don't make me feel smart they make me feel like the guy who built it thinks I'm dumb. Owen was taking forever. I started thumbing through the book. It is a really great book- you should look for it. I hadn't looked at it since we moved to the mainland,obviously, because if I had, I certainly would have seen Rachel's carefully preserved self-portrait.

Mother dear, you are plainly attending to my needs both great and small. Be an angel- I'd like to win the powerball next please. I promise to take the altruistic high road with at least 30% of the prize money. I swear to God. Go ask.

Big Man On Campus: A Storied Career.

Last week, I took my father back to his old school. For over 30 years, Dr. Owen T.P. McGowan was The Director of Library Services at Bridgewater State College in Bridgewater,Massachusetts. It was so much fun watching him take in all the changes. He retired about 20 years ago, I think. I guess I could use a fact checker.


We went into his old office. The current tenant had gone home for the day so my dad had a seat. How I remember THAT scene! I spent plenty of teenage Summers working at B-H20. One entire Summer I shoved metal strips down one book binder after another. It made the book buzz if it was trying to leave without a proper send off. My thumbs ached through September that year. When I think of my dad I usually picture him at his desk. It was good to see the old man back where he belonged,if briefly. He actually giggled as he took up his old post.







Here he is shaking hands with Kevin Manning. My father hired Kevin 23 years ago. Kevin's uncle was my pediatrician in Fall River (for the record).




I loved watching the retired librarian look around. He was having a blast.





So many different memories tend to assault you when you visit a place that you haven't been back to in years.I spent so many Summers on the Bridgewater campus! And then poof. I never saw the place again, until the other day. We had been separated for more than 20 years! When I was a kid,I was ALWAYS at The Clement C. Maxwell Library! The last time I laid eyes on that book lined building I was probably 19 years old. All or nothing, apparently.


I was flooded with memories. This one crept to the top. I reminded my dad too. He laughed about it now, but as I recall he was a little put off at the time. It cracked me up then, and it cracks me up now.

In 1981, my dad was in charge of booking all of Clement C. Maxwell Library's guest speakers for these theme nights at the college. I loved those nights. He usually secured authors (duh!). Occasionally, he would land a bold name. Seamus Heany stayed at our house!


Oooh, but David McCord has got to be the cutest poet who has ever spoken at Bridgewater. I loved that guy.
"Every time I climb a tree, I scrape a leg or skin a knee and then the ants! They get all over me. Every time I climb a tree."

I have every one of Mr. McCord's books signed "To Robin" "My dear Robin" "Good to see you again, Robin."

Not every author was so accomodating. My dad enjoyed the quest however. Long before email,one way to submit a request might be to hand write it, affix postage and push it through the U.S. Mail. Huh? What a lost art. I haven't gotten a real letter in years. It is so old fashioned and charming and...hang on,incapable of being deleted with the touch of a button. A hand written query has got some good old fashioned legs.

My dad wrote a little note to John Updike asking him to consider speaking at Bridgewater. It was close to Easter and the theme was Rabbits. About a week later, my father received a plain white envelope with no return address that was delivered to his office. Inside was a hand scrawled note, "Sorry. No Can Do. JU."

My father hadn't the foggiest. He brought the missive home. It was my sister,Mary,who finally pieced it all together. "Private Eyes" was the Number One song in the nation at the time. I can't go for that.

The Best Behaving Boy in the House.

Look at him! That is our Eddie. He's not a dog. He's a doll. It is such a cruel blow from nature that he will not see me into old age. I read a quote somewhere that said, "Dogs lives are so short. Their only fault really." Oh, I've met a few little yappy dogs whose kind always seem to find themselves in Hollywood's handbags. That is not the kind of dog I am talking about. Get a cat. I like big, kind eyed dogs. Eddie. Eddie is all that.

When we finally purchased our own home I set my sights on getting a dog. My husband, Fabio was less than enthusiastic. Would I feed a dog? Would I walk a dog? Yes and yes and furthermore- Pa-lah-ease. What was I? Twelve? I had owned dogs before Fabio arrived in my orbit.

I wanted to get a dog when the boys were still little. Owen was three and Enzo was 18 months old. I needed to start looking. I wasn't planning to bring home the first dog I saw (unless he or she was perfect). I had a list of pre-requisites a mile long.
I did not want to get stuck with a dog who was -well-not Eddie just for the sake of having a dog. I took my time. I mean really took my time. Owen was almost six when we spotted Eddie.

The boys and I had been going down to the Providence Animal League (PAL) about three or four times a month for almost two years. We kept coming up Pit Bulls. Sorry. No can do. Too risky. Yeah, yeah, I have met some really swell Pit Bulls but they can't come in my house and I don't let my children near them.

We had all but given up our dream of finding the perfect dog. We took a break. A few months later the boys and I went to The Providence Children's Museum. Owen remembered just how close the pound was to the museum and suggested that we have another look. On our way home we made yet another of what I had begun to refer to as "Pit (Bull) stops". We entered, I was cautiously pessimistic. Owen, Enzo, and I walked straight past the cats (we had one of those) and opened the door that led to the outside cages. All three of us never failed to start upon entering. It was always so doggone loud.

After we adjusted to all the singing of those poor caged birds we began to make our rounds. The first one looked sick and kind of mangy. Sorry little guy I have the kids now-maybe some young altruistic twentysomething can help you out because you are so cute. Yes you are. Yes you are. The next one was a Pit Bull, oh and another Pit Bull followed by a Pit Bull. Pit Bull. Pit Bull. Pit Bull. Floyd. OMG. Beautiful Floyd. Floyd? That's what his paperwork said. Floyd looked at me with the sweetest brown eyes. Were they locking up deer now? No. Floyd was a dog. His eyes pleaded with me like no dog eyes I had ever seen.




I fell madly in love. We all did, Floyd included. It was instantaneous. Just like that. Floyd was our dog. We had to do something about his name but we were not going to go home without him. I grabbed his paperwork and brought it to the front desk. Before they had me fill anything out or money was exchanged they ushered us into a room for a private meet and greet. Floyd was brought in , he walked directly to me, where he sat and offered his paw. That did it, obviously. He could have ended his interview right then. That dog had the job. The kids loved him. I loved him. He was perfect. I mean just PERFECT. OMG. What a score. He is one in a million.

I must be the luckiest gal on earth because I had another dog just like him when I lived in Athens, Georgia.





I swear Eddie is my Elroy come back to me. They are practically the same dog. Dog owners have openly envied me for years. My dogs are always a little better behaved, a little better looking and usually way more loyal than most. I don't know how I get so lucky. I had Elroy for seven years and Eddie has been with us for six. Elroy was a German Shepherd/Collie/ St. Bernard mix with the best and brightest temperament. I miss that boy daily.





Then came Maude. Eddie is a German Shepherd /Labrador Retriever. When we first met Floyd I asked the kids to think of a better name. Owen and Enzo really liked three of the shopguys down at the corner bodega. Their names were Tony, Vinnie and Eddie. I must admit I was sort of pushing for "Tony" or "Vinnie" because I thought it would be a riot to name our dog something over the top Italian. Our neighborhood is predominately Italian with the exception of me- the Irish infiltrator. Maybe having little Vinnie or Tony along side Fabio, Owen Angelo, and Enzo seemed a little too contrived even for Enzo.

Floyd was found on the mean streets of Pawtucket, RI He never really responded to Floyd (and we tried twice). He was always obedient and never ignored anyone but it was so obvious that this boy had not been named "Floyd" for a long time. During our private meet and greet Enzo stood across the room and called "Eddie!" . He said that he had just been testing that name first. Floyd's head shot around like he had heard a ghost. He went straight to Enzo. Nuts. To this day Eddie responds to the sound of his name like a bolt of lightening. He came to us fully trained.

I did catch him lapping milk from the boys cereal bowls after they had gone to school (and failed to bring their dishes to the sink). He is still a dog after all. He just gives me more of an incentive to clear the table in a timely manner. Good old Eddie.




Eddie had passed the interview process with flying colors. We walked our new dog to the front desk and asked where we should sign.I thought that it would be a quick transaction. I would give them $90.00 and they would give me the dog. I had purchased one of their leashes. Not so fast. I had to laugh when the receptionist brightly told me that a "complimentary" neuter was included in the $90.00 fee. How is that complimentary? What now? As amused as I was by all of the slip talk, it still meant that we were not walking out with our dog.

I had placed all of my money on the table and only received a promissory note in return. Of course we felt a bit cheated and it was a bummer of a car ride home. Poor Eddie, did he think that these nice people who had visited with him earlier-and seemed to love him so- had spearheaded this painful procedure? What a bunch of jerks we had turned out to be.

Fabio didn't even know that we were on the hunt for a dog. He may have had some vague memory of me mentioning my desire for the perfect family dog a few years back. By that time I had gotten completely blase about my quest for the Holy Grail because that dog was not out there. I was not expecting to find Mr. Perfect. I had so many requirements. He had to be from the pound.He had to be a dog, not a puppy. He had to be somewhat trained. I wanted a medium sized dog with some German Shepherd in him. I shouldn't keep saying "he" because a bitch with all of these traits would have been just fine. Eddie possessed and still possesses all of these attributes. As icing on the cake he also possesses dashing good looks. He is perfect- except for the 8 weeks a year during which he sheds. We call him "Sheddie" and he walks around in a constant state of contrition. What a love.


We arrived home, dog owners on paper. We just lacked the tangible evidence. I heard Fabio's truck pull up at around 5:30 PM. I was planning to wait to announce the new arrival. I thought it would be better to have Eddie sitting there, as a visual aid, if you will. I was quite certain that if Fabio was looking at Eddie when he heard the news he would not be able to resist him. Fabio would thank me over and over. My husband had a soul after all.

The boys were ready to burst and could not contain themselves. I don't know why it didn't occur to me that a five year old and a three year old might not be privy to the same restraint that I so readily employed. Fabio hadn't even put down his lunch pail before he was pelted with a litany of our current events.

"WE BOUGHT A DOG!"

"HIS NAME WAS FLOYD BUT WE CHANGED IT TO EDDIE!"

"MOM PAID NINETY DOLLARS!"

"WE CAN'T GET HIM UNTIL TOMORROW!"

"HE'S KIND OF BIG!"

"I LOVE HIM!"

"I LOVE HIM TOO!"





"MOM.DID.WHAT? LUCY!"

"Oh hi dear. You're home. How was your day?"

"LUCY!"



"I swear. I swear. I swear. You are going to love him. Trust me. He is perfect. He is medium sized and I swear to God and all His Heaven.THIS.DOG.IS.PERFECT."

"Where is he?"

"Getting neutered when he should be getting cloned."

"How long did you spend with him?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes and you are sure that he is perfect."

"POSITIVELY POSITIVE"

Eddie wasn't some rash heat of the moment 'we must have a dog now' acquisition. I had been actively looking for HIM for years- and to this day (over 6 years later) I cannot believe that I found him .

The funniest word I have ever heard someone use to describe my husband is "mellow". I spent our one night as dogless dog owners listening to Fabio change his mind over and over. He would allow a little excitement to creep in. He would shake his head in a good natured resigned to the situation kind of way. He would laugh and say, "This Eddie better be perfect."

Then he would go into the bathroom. I always braced myself when he would enter that room and shut the door. That is where he thinks. This time he wasn't really thinking, it seemed that he was in there collecting his worse case scenarios. He always emerged from the bathroom apprehensive and a little annoyed with me for making what he deemed to be a hasty decision.

I had explained my side to him as pointedly as I could. Over and over I told my husband that Eddie was not a decision made in haste. Eddie was more of a very well thought out executive decision. A master plan. Eddie was paramount to the well being of all of us. Fabio would totally understand when he met Eddie. I was sure of it.

Fabio tortured me all night. He wouldn't intentionally wake me up but his heavy sighs and "HE. BETTER. BE. PERFECT." was uttered more than once through the course of the night. When we woke up the next morning (as if any of us got any sleep) Fabio had already gone off to work. He had left a note for us on the kitchen table. It had one word. "PERFECT" it was underlined three times. He also drew his signature heart so I knew his mind was open. He'd see. I was absolutely confident. Perfect. Exactly. What a perfect word to describe Eddie.




The boys and I prepared for Eddie's arrival. We went out and bought a big bag of dog food and a dog bed. I already had two really cute dog dishes that I had purchased years ago for just such an occasion. Amazingly enough I knew exactly where they were. That was obviously a sign.


We put his new bed in the boys room, not that he ever uses it.






We were told by the people at the pound that "Floyd(!)" would be ready by noon. We took a chance and arrived at 11:50 AM. He was ready to come home! He was so happy to see us. The lady who handed him over to us told me how glad she was that he had found a home. He had been there for almost ninety days and was on the short list for you know what. How horribly close we had come to being ships in the night. Eddie must have known. He had pleaded with me with such intensity when we first met. He looked desperate and vulnerable- yet strong and able. Eddie should be a character actor.



Whew! What a save. I cannot believe that in the short time we had taken a break from our active search for a suitable family dog that Eddie had arrived at The Providence Animal League. Not only had Eddie arrived, he was passed over ...FOR MONTHS? Eddie? How could anyone pass by his cage- look into his soulful eyes- and not be moved to request his immediate dismissal? It took me- what? half a minute? No kidding. I took one look at that face and said, "Oh Yeah. This is our boy."


We brought him home and introduced him to our cat, Elroy (who was named for you know who.) Our cat barely gave him the time of day. Our cat was far more interested in our fish, Ranger.




They never really got a long- Eddie and Elroy, the cat. They tolerated each other but it wasn't an epic friendship. Poor Elroy got hit by a car and died a few years ago. Rest in Peace little Elroy.




DUMDAHDUMDUMDUM. QUITTING TIME! Don't think that I wasn't looking at the clock. Fabio was making his way home through the streets of Providence. He was anxiously awaiting his introduction to to the world's most perfect dog. (There had been a bit of a build up.)

When Fabio walked in Eddie began to bark. We had never heard his bark before. He has an awfully loud bark. He barked at Fabio for quite a while. The hair on his back stood at attention. He alternated between a deep and menacing growl and a riot of barking as Fabio inched in further..

My husband was completely unimpressed. I barely heard his, "YOU CALL THIS PERFECT?" oven the din of Eddie. The boys and I got Eddie to calm down only to watch him become strange, sullen and skittish in Fabio's presence. What the? Come on Eddie, give us a smile. Honestly, Eddie. Where did you go?

"This is Mr. Perfect?"

"I swear, Fabio, he is." I looked sternly at Eddie who returned my stare with his sweetest, most loving expression. Fabio saw him. It took months for Eddie to really acknowledge Fabio as an ally. Despite the chilly reception the man of the house worked doggedly to get into Eddie's good graces. Fabio was keenly aware of how loving Eddie was to his wife and children. He wanted some.

We think the pet lamb may have been abused by a man when he was a pup. He was so fearful of men for months. All men. He would continually cuddle up with the women and children all the while keeping a marked distance from the men folk.

Poor Eddie. I had a vision in my head of his old life. He had been living in a third floor walk up with a mean, fat, unhealthy man whose wife had just left him. She probably took up with another barfly. Eddie was her dog. This guy didn't even like Eddie. He didn't like dogs at all. The only attention that he ever gave poor Eddie was to call him over and then hit him with his shoe. He trained him. OMG did he train him. We reaped all the benefits of Eddie's miserable youth. His manners are impeccable. I will give you a few examples if I may.

Recently Eddie had been nursing a sore foot for a couple of days. He was refusing to put his foot down. I could see that it was getting better, otherwise it would be off to the vet for dear Eddie. Eddie does not like to go to the vet. We were waiting and seeing. Early in the morning on the final day of his limp he was still being stubborn. Nature called and he stumbled downstairs and outside. He pooped and went straight back to his bed of pain.

Later on that morning I went into the kitchen to prepare the boys their breakfast. I noticed that Eddie's bowls were still untouched and had been for a couple of days. He had seemed weak. I made the boys some french toast and brought Eddie his breakfast in bed. I put the bowls in front of him and went to fold laundry in my room. I heard him crunching away and then I heard him lap water for awhile. A few minutes later I could see Eddie hobbling toward me. I said, "Eddie!" That boy came over to me and kissed me on the cheek and turned around and went back to bed. Honest to dog. I may have cried. I had never seen anything sweeter.

He won't make a mess either (except during shedding season). On the Sunday morning after we got Eddie- Fabio, the boys and I ran around doing errands. It was a gorgeous day. Fabio had been working a lot and it was rare when the four of us got together for hours at a time. I am ashamed to admit this- I had totally forgotten that we had a dog when Fabio suggested a Sunday drive to Connecticut via back roads. Eddie must have slipped the boys mind too. They knew that Sunday drives inevitably culminated with dinner out. They were all for this turn of events.

I am quite sure that none of us willfully dismissed Eddie in favor of crossing state lines. Of course not. It is just that he was such a new arrival- and he was so calm and quiet (apart from the terrible noises that escaped his screwed up face whenever Fabio appeared on the scene.)For the better part of most days Eddie just blended into the dynamic of the household.He was ever present looking gorgeous and good but he was quiet.

What started as a quick trip to Benny's to buy bike helmets and batting gloves turned into an all day excursion. If I had remembered true love waiting at home I could have turned that car around - no questions asked. We had a great day touring the back alleys of Connecticut and Rhode Island. We took a hike and we had a leisurely dinner. As we neared home I reminded the boys that Owen had school the next day and that it would be straight to bed when we got home. I emphasized the fact that it was already past their bed time.

That is when it hit me. EDDIE! When I said "EDDIE!" out loud the entire carload of us shrieked- even Fabio , who was still being iced out by the mutt. He looked at me and said, "We fail as dog owners." and stepped up the gas a little.

My visions of Eddie's old life haunted me. I was sure that he thought we had abandoned him. It was awful. I remembered making a point to go around a turn off every single light in the house. That poor dog was alone with a cat who didn't care for him at all. He was in a new place and it was dark. What had we done? The love!

Fabio pulled into the driveway and I dove for his keys as soon as he took them out of the ignition. I ran up to the front door and fumbled in the dark cursing away at the sheer callousness of our actions. I finally got the damn door open- it seemed to take forever. It actually took a lot longer than usual because I had refused to calm down. By the time I had finally unlocked the door Fabio had already retrieved a sleeping Enzo from his car seat and had joined Owen behind me on the steps. I was a wreck. We burst into the house all of us screaming "EDDIE!" at the top of our lungs. This time having absolutely no regard for Enzo who awoke with a start.

Eddie usually responds to the sound of his name like an Olympic athlete responds to the sound of gunfire. Nothing. He was staying put. Owen said, "I think he is dead." I didn't think he was dead but I thought that he might be mad at us and I didn't blame him. We tried again (sorry Enzo). I heard a faint whimper coming from upstairs. It was followed by a very low and very short bark (probably intended for Fabio). I turned on the hall light and started up the stairs. I could see him. He was in the bathroom, perched over Elroy's litter box taking a dump. Stop it!
We must have arrived home mid poop because that is about the only thing that can keep Mr. Perfect from racing toward the sound of his name. Eddie.

Eddie knows every command in the book. Sit. Shake. Go. Come. Eddie goes to his room when you say, "Eddie go to your room." It is Fabio's favorite party trick. When we have people over for dinner Eddie will inevitably linger a little too long at the table. Our guests sometimes become uncomfortable with his plaintiff stares. Fabio will say, "Eddie, go to your room." Eddie will look at him with his big brown eyes fixed in a pained expression and walk out of the room. We can hear him make his way up the stairs and land with a thud on his bed that is directly above the kitchen table. Everyone is always so impressed. Fabio tries to act all cool but there is no masking his obvious pride. At least ONE of his sons obeys orders.

Eddie is right here next to me as I sit extolling his virtues. It is finally getting hot outside and he is shedding like no dog I have ever seen. I am pretty sure Elroy was never THIS bad. There is the possibility that I just didn't notice it given my very rustic living arrangements when El and I were a team. Back then I had no children and I hardly ever cooked. Hair could fly under the radar unscrutinized much more easily.

Eddie has huge tufts of hair hanging on by a thread They are ready to fall on my freshly vacuumed floor. If there was a way to just become a vacuum cleaner during this trying time of year I would. Poor Eddie, I don't allow him to be pet inside during shedding season. I know my rule is ignored- the boys leave evidence. There is no one more apologetic than Eddie. He has a look that he reserves for this time of year. That look is the look of GUILT. It is unmistakable. He only gives it in May and June.


It is hilarious. I feel badly for him but I have no time to comfort him due to incessant use of the vacuum cleaner. If I don't vacuum two- sometimes three- times a day we would all choke. It is unimaginable unless you live here. Fabio and the boys don't even realize it because I am so on top of it. I just go up and down the stairs with the bloody vacuum all day long. They think I have OCD but they just don't know. Why would I only have OCD for one month a year anyway? It is crazy. Hair is flying everywhere. It reminds me of tumbleweeds on the prairie. Eddie is well aware that he is the culprit. His guilty look is priceless. The minute he sees the vacuum his expression turns to, "Oh no- here we go. I am sorry. I am sorry."
I wish that I could pet him. I do bring him outside and brush him. I feed him extra salmon. None of those Vermont home remedies are working. I vacuum, all day long.

He really is worth the six to eight weeks of fur flying hell. He and Fabio have become tight.

Fabio is in love with him and thanks me DAILY. No kidding- I mean really- Fabio thanks me all the time. I think he thanks me every time he SEES Eddie. It is hard not to. Eddie is a pleasure to see. I am always happy to see Eddie. Steady Eddie. We call him "The Best Behaving Boy in the House". Mr. Perfect.

I keep trying to end my little story about Eddie but I can't seem to stop. I am going to end here. I could go on.

Gung Hee Fatt Choi

My parents adopted my sister Margaret from Hong Kong a few years before I was born. We had a children's book by Leo Politi called, "Moy Moy" It was about a little girl in Hong Kong who was celebrating Chinese New Year with her brothers. Moy Moy became Margaret's pet name. In the book a lot of people say, "Ni Hao Ma, Moy Moy" I naturally thought that meant "Happy New Year, Moy Moy". I loved that book. It was full of gorgeous, colorful paper dragons and parades. I read it over and over again. I practiced saying "Ni Hao Ma". I felt exotic.














When I was 29 years old and living in Hawaii I had a job at a kitchen supply store. On Chinese New Year, I was at the front registers with Trina Ishikaro. Great girl. I started saying goodbye to the customers with , "Ni Hao Ma!" Sometimes they would already be walking toward the door when I would remember. I would shout, "NI HAO MA!" as they made their exit.

Finally, Trina said, "Lucy, first of all that last lady was Japanese and second, why do you keep asking people how they are in Chinese as they are leaving?" Great. I was yelling "HOW ARE YOU!" in Chinese to Japanese people as they walked away from me. How ugly can one American get?

This Chinese New Year was much more reverent, very serious. My 87 year old father is staying with us this month. He spends a month at a time with all of his New England based kids and the rest of the year in India. Chinese New Year fell on Sunday this year so we were able to eat breakfast together. We talked about Chinese New Year throughout the meal. I told everyone my "HOW ARE YOU!" story (for the 50th time because I like that story). We found an old National Geographic dedicated to Chinese New Year. Chinese New Year was definitely the hot topic of the day.

Later on that day, I went to Sam's Club for a big shopping trip. It was time for dinner when I got home. I got everyone(except for that 87 year old) to help me bring everything into the kitchen: but that is it. I like to put things away myself. I have a system. I got everything into the cupboards except for the tampons (sorry.it's no story without them.) I had bought a big box and separated them. Half to go in the downstairs bathroom and half to go upstairs. They were in discreet brown paper lunch sacks on the counter.

I set the table (it was also St. Valentine's Day) and started to prepare dinner. When I turned around I saw that my father had neatly placed one tampon at the top of everyone's place setting. He must have thought that they were either chopsticks or Chinese cracker's that we were going to pop after dinner. It was the funniest thing that I have ever seen in my life. I didn't know what to do. I collected them of course (can you imagine the boy's reactions?!) and I didn't say a word but I am sure that he noted their absence.