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Cheaper by the Dozen

Beautiful, aren't they? There's something about farm fresh eggs that almost makes me want to quit my day job and become a lady farmer. Almost. For now I will settle for my son's occasional post as head keeper of a friend's menagerie, which happens to include ten chickens. Fortunately for me, these chickens are prolific producers, so when our friends go on vacation, we are the happy recipients of many  beautiful eggs. At first we revel in the most scrumptious omelets and scrambled concoctions. By day four or five, however, I admit to often having egg overload. Not this time. As soon as these eggs started appearing, I began thinking about Ramos Gin Fizzes because when made the old fashioned way, they contain an egg white. If you're like me, this news would normally bring a halt to my experimentation. But my new stock of farm fresh eggs gave me reason to carry on because they came from chickens that I have watched cluck and roost, and that makes all the differen...
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State of Mind, State of Body

Many years ago I competed in triathlons, and one race always sticks out in my mind. Actually, it's one moment from one race. I was on the bike leg, which for me was always my strongest. As I was riding along and happily gaining ground on all the folks who were stronger swimmers, another woman came up alongside and said, "Hey, nice bike." We chatted for half a minute about the finer points of Cannondale bikes, and then she sped off. When I looked down at her calf muscle and saw the permanent pen markings that indicated her age, I read five zero, fifteen years my senior! Humbled? Yes. Impressed? Very much so. I have long been drawn to older, fit folks. If you've been a longtime reader of my blog, you might remember when I wrote about George Garside and the Auckland Cycle Touring Association . This was a group of incredibly fit 60, 70, and 80 year old men I was privileged to ride with once, and the experience definitely left its mark. These men took their fitness serio...
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'Tis the gift to be simple

I am not sure what it is about the Sunday New York Times. Perhaps it's just the leisurely tone that tends to describe the last day of the week. Perhaps it's because the Sunday edition gives my mind and eyes a rest from the often depressing daily news. Whatever the reason, Sunday's paper often gives me inspiration. Anne Patchett is my muse today. She has long been a favorite author, so when I saw her name below an editorial titled, "My Year of No Shopping", I delved in. This topic has been on my mind a lot this holiday season because of my kids. When I asked them a month ago about Christmas ideas, their lists were scant. I didn't think much about it until decorating our tree last weekend and realized how little would go under its limbs this year. I'm okay with this. I am happy that many younger generations seem genuinely interested in our planet's health and welfare and our need to stop over-indulging. Anne Patchett's essay  is a reminder that us o...
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