Elaine Ambrose

For most of my adult life – a vast and glorious amount of time – I have started the day by reading the newspaper and sipping coffee, with cream. I read and mumble about the news and then scan the obituaries, grateful that I’ve been given another day to seize. In all the stories, nothing incenses me more than reports about incompetent and abusive parents who shouldn’t be allowed to breed.

From my kitchen table where I read the paper, I can see the wreath on the front door. Last month, a robin began to build a nest in the wreath. I watched as she repeatedly brought twigs and leaves to create a perfectly secure home, and soon she was perched over four brilliant-blue eggs. And there she sat through storms, wind, rain, and heat to protect her offspring. She would fly away briefly, probably to eat, but then return. Any pregnant female can relate to that urgent need to eat, and during my two pregnancies I personally am responsible for the success of the chocolate chip industry.

The baby birds began to hatch this week, so every morning I enjoy a personal nature show as Mama Robin flies in and coughs up food into the squawking beaks. They would die without her. She’ll push them to the edge of the nest in a few weeks and show them how to fly, and then they’ll be on their own, as it should be. Then I’ll have to go back to grumbling over the newspaper.

It’s a sad indictment on humanity that birds and animals are often better parents than some people. Mother Nature doesn’t come with detailed manuals or instructional videos, but somehow they know what to do. OK, you’ll have the occasional sow that will eat her baby piglets or the male lion that kills male cubs that aren’t his, but for the most part, the parents protect their young at all costs. Think Mother Bear. I may be a bit punitive about this but I advocate sterilizing any parent who abuses a child. And if they kill a child, they don’t deserve the right to live. Rehabilitation, my ass.

So, it’s back to the newspaper and another cup of coffee. I hope Mama Robin returns next year with another brood. I’ll have the bird poop cleaned off the door by then.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2008 Fraser Snake River Valley Cabernet Sauvignon from Fraser Vineyard, right here in Boise, Idaho. It’s around $24 at A New Vintage Wine Shop and a little more at A Grape Escape. I enjoy the velvety feel and the rich taste – the perfect choice for some afternoon bird watching.

The adults at our recent Father’s Day BBQ will cancel each other’s votes in the next presidential election. Yet we were all able to come together and eschew politics to chew on the best ribs in the whole world. And no one was offended, criticized, or shot – and that’s always a goal at my dinner parties.

My 85-year-old mother still is irritated that Barry Goldwater lost the 1964 presidential election to Lyndon Johnson who subsequently destroyed the country with his socialist programs. But she gobbled up the ribs and laughed along with her granddaughter, an Obama fan. Another family member has marched in liberal parades yet happily dined with two gun-toting police officers. By the end of the feast, nine racks of ribs were gone and 16 people were happy with life and at peace with the universe. It’s too bad people in the Middle East don’t eat pork because these ribs could save a lot of unnecessary warfare.

I believe that Studley and I make the best ribs ever. The secret is in my rub and steaming technique and in his Texas-style sauce. Here’s our recipe that is guaranteed to delight taste buds of all ages and pacify any political pomposity:

(Photo: Granddaughter #3 enjoying World Peace Ribs)

World Peace BBQ Ribs

Place a few racks of pork baby back ribs on a rack over a broiler pan.

Create a rub of grated lemon rind, grated fresh ginger, and lots of pressed fresh garlic. Pat the paste on the ribs. (Save the lemons for iced tea or water.)

Pour boiling water into the bottom of the pan and cover with a tent of tin foil. Bake for an hour at 350 degrees. Open a bottle of wine and test for flavor. Test again.

For the sauce, Studley starts with a bottle of hickory-smoked BBQ sauce and one flat beer in a sauce pan. (To make beer flat, leave a bottle open for several hours or heat it 20 seconds in the microwave.) Add two cubes of butter (yes, he is a true Southerner), and some Montreal Steak Seasoning and some garlic salt. Simmer for about 40 minutes. (This sauce would make horse manure tasty.) While it simmers, share some beer and/or wine with your spouse. Then throw the steamed ribs on the BBQ, slather with plenty of sauce, and wait about 10 minutes for the magic to happen. Share more beer and wine with guests.

Serve with salads, fruit, veggies, rolls and more butter, and lots of paper towels. These ribs pair nicely with cold Miller Lite Beer and several bottles of bold Cabernet. End the meal with some pie and brownies. Then sit around, rub your full bellies, and offer toasts to world peace.

Our Father’s Day BBQ ended with hugs, laughter, and promises to get together soon. And we share exciting hope for the future because two of the women are pregnant. The world will be a better place this fall with the arrival of a baby girl and a baby boy. My hope is that these children will grow up in a more civilized society where people can share good food instead of bullets. Close to the time they are born, I’ll go to the voting booth and vote for the candidates who most fervently believe in the Preamble to the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all (women and) men are created equal, and they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” Hear, hear!

Today’s blog is fueled by an exquisite bottle of 2007 Sol Rouge “The Keep” red wine from Sonoma, California. It was a gift from my daughter, and I must say that she has exquisite taste!

Warning: I may call upon my friends for money to get me out of jail next week. That’s because my overconfident use of the freedom of speech often gets me into trouble. I predict that at the July 4th parade there will be some punks (young and old) who don’t stand up, don’t remove their hats, and don’t place their hands over their hearts when the flag goes past. That’s when I’ll admonish them to show respect or don’t come to the party, and then a fight could start and I’ll be hauled off to jail.

I was raised by parents and teachers who shared a love of country and a reverence for the flag of the United States. I realize that’s not taught much anymore, and that’s too bad. Too many people have fought and died for that flag, and I’m not ashamed to get teary eyed when the band plays “Stars and Stripes” as the flag waves in the breeze. Yes, one of the many advantages of getting older is that I don’t need to be politically correct about anything, and I can declare that I truly do love this country. And when the music starts, I will sing out loud that I’m proud to be an American.

So, we’ll go to the parade, and we’ll raise and lower the flag at the cabin, and we’ll enjoy barbecue and beer because we’re free to do so. Then we’ll raise a glass of exquisite wine and toast the brave patriots who finished the final documents on the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776. Happy July 4th!

To celebrate our nation’s independence, we’re having a fabulous bottle of 2009 Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa Valley. This rich wine is so good we might organize our own parade. If I’m still in jail, I hope someone smuggles in a glass for me.

My middle-aged friends no longer need to worry that their daughters will bring home some itinerant carnival workers who want to camp in the yard and plant marijuana in the flower beds or that their sons will grow old in the basement playing video games with their illiterate buddies. No, somehow we survived the great unknown between “You can’t tell me what to do!” and “Thanks, Mom, I love you!” After decades of raising children and preparing them for the realities of the world, most women are jubilant when their young adults are without a criminal record, gainfully employed, and off of the family nickel or teat. For us, the empty nest is a positive experience because our children are doing fine on their own.

“My son got a job and has a new apartment!” Cheers and toasts.

“My daughter is starting her own business and already has a few clients.” More cheers and clinking of glasses.

“My children pooled some of the money they earned and bought me a present!” Loud clapping and more drink orders.

“I’ve turned the empty bedroom into a wine bar and writing studio!” Total adulation and drinks for the entire bar!

Of course, we’d like to assume that the success of our children is due to our superior parenting skills, but we’re also wise enough to know that a tremendous amount of luck, blessings, and other nurturing adults were involved to help Junior and Sis become productive adults. And we’ve shared countless tears with good mothers struggling with their children’s drug addictions, chronic unemployment, or abusive partners. We’re also keenly aware that the dismal job market makes it difficult for our eager offspring to find good employment. That’s why it’s so exhilarating to celebrate when our young adult sons and daughters become self-sufficient.

The rites of passage continue to evolve, and I try to anticipate the next opportunity that tugs at my heart, or bewilders my brain, or makes me load my gun. Midlife brings those complex days when I rock a grandchild to sleep, exercise with my grown daughter, share a beer with my son-in-law, really listen as my son describes his tough job, take a sad friend to lunch, feel my daughter-in-law’s pregnant belly, send a steamy text to my sweetheart, write a sassy short story, and then go help my ailing mother at the assisted living facility. Really, I can’t imagine life any other way.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2008 Blacksmith Merlot from Columbia Valley. This nice wine is another winner from Walla Walla, Washington, and it sells at the Garden Valley Market for only $13. Cheap but tasty!

Once upon a time, there lived a fun grandmother called Tutu who enjoyed spending time with her darlin’ grandchildren. One day she bought a new children’s book called The Ant and the Grasshopper. She remembered this Aesop’s Fable from her childhood and knew the moral of the story: those who work and save will survive; those who are lazy will starve and freeze to death.

She read the new book to her grandchildren and almost threw up her soup when she got to the end. In the latest edition, the ant works all summer to store food while the lazy, able-bodied grasshopper plays the fiddle, but when winter comes the grasshopper moves in with the ant and shares the abundance of the ant’s labor. Tutu was sad that misguided political correctness was interfering with the original message of the story. She also noted that the book was published by Simon & Schuster, a huge corporation with more than 2 billion dollars in annual revenues. Why didn’t such a big and successful company give away the books for free? Maybe their readers didn’t want to work to earn money to buy the books. Didn’t S&S have an obligation to share and redistribute the products of their hard work?

Tutu then took her grandkids to see the new movie, The Lorax. They all enjoyed the music and animation, but the story had been altered from the original message of Dr. Seuss. The movie implied that all corporations were greedy and that the boss only wanted to destroy the planet and keep the profits. The boss’s own mother left him when he ran out of money, and she said she liked the other son better. Great message for the kids! Tutu knew that some corporations are bad, but not all. She was grateful that her jobs had provided a nice income and opportunities. She also wondered why Universal Studios, a multi-billion-dollar corporation, charged a fortune for tickets to see the movie. Why was it so expensive? After all, Tutu could have purchased a nice pair of shoes and a bottle of wine for what it cost to buy popcorn, drinks and tickets. Those evil, capitalistic movie theatres!

Tutu decided she would turn such events into teachable moments and tell her grandkids why it’s good to be industrious and self-sufficient. She also decided to continue helping handicapped and elderly grasshoppers, but no lazy, able-bodied grasshoppers could share the wine in her pantry. She had earned the right to make that decision. The End.

Today’s blog was fueled by a bottle of Menopause Merlot from Bitner Vineyards. The yummy flavors of loganberry and blueberry will make you forget all about those irritating, fiddling grasshoppers. It’s about $26 a bottle. Check www.bitnervineyards.com for locations.