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Green Globe Trekker: Mexico’s Hope

Today on Green Globe Trekker: JP worries about Mexico’s recovery from narco-trafficking violence.

Last year in the Yucatan Peninsula

Last week, I had the rare opportunity to dig a little deeper into someone’s Spit List—the controversial Thanksgiving game of nominating someone you so detest you’d spit at them on a red carpet.  This year, Chef stopped dinner conversation cold with his choice: Recreational Drug Users.  As he explained, their choice is tearing apart his home country of Mexico.  Little did I know at the time that an assignment from Condé Nast Traveler would take me South of the Border to check out the affects of narco-trafficking violence on tourism—for contract reasons, you’ll have to read the full story in the March issue of the magazine.  But here’s what I can say: there’s a spirit of optimism afoot that things will improve in Mexico—but I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.

The last time I wrote about Mexico for Condé Nast Traveler was November 2004, and I commented on an excitement about the country shrugging off decades of authoritarian rule and looking forward to enjoying true democracy.  In the intervening years, Mexico has become the notorious site of drug cartel warfare.  Experts like University of Miami’s Bruce Bagley told me that was a direct result of the “success” of the American-backed war on drugs in Colombia that has just shifted the drug trafficking up through Mexico.  He believes that Mexico’s 71 years of one-party rule has left a young democracy’s institutions vulnerable—the courts, the police, and the military are cracking from corruption due to the incredible amounts of profits made from drug trafficking.

Where’s that optimism I mentioned?  Many people I spoke with told me a version of, “It’s safe here for tourists.  Drug traffickers don’t want to hurt North Americans.  They are the source of their profits, after all.  They’re the ones who buy their drugs.”  Yikes.  A forceful crack down on trafficking won’t ever stop the problem—there’s just too much money to be made.  Instead, we need to focus our resources on targeting the cause—Chef’s “spitees.”

The other hopeful note Mexicans sounded was that elections are coming in two years.  The likelihood is that the country will shift back to the PRI party—the same one in charge for 71 years—who will make a quiet deal with the drug cartels, and the violence will go away.  Unfortunately, that doesn’t sound like progress to me, but to many in Mexico it seems like the safer choice.

Bottom line, America’s “war on drugs” is a costly, failing effort that is ripping apart a country so dear to my heart.  After all, Mexico has given me so many gifts—and not just the seven or so nativity scenes that are part of my Christmas decorations.  The country blessed me with Chef, and as I’ve said before, I love being the Tex to his Mex.

Let’s put an end to the spitting, and to the drug war.

Check out StopTheDrugWar.org for more.

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Kitchen Knightmares: Sour Cream Dream Coffee Cake

Today on Kitchen Knightmares: Using sour cream mixed with sugar and cinnamon, Jon Paul whips Chef into a frenzy.

Grandma Tommie comes for a visit

It’s hard to say when it happened exactly.  But at some point, Chef fell madly in love; some might say addicted, even.  In return, I began withholding—knowing that just a taste every so often would make him want it more.  Of course, I’m talking about my Grandma Tommie’s Sour Cream Coffee Cake, just one in my treasure trove of East Texas recipes that make an appearance on special occasions.  Honestly, I’m not at all sure that the Sour Cream Coffee Cake is one of my grandmother’s favorites—I don’t really remember her making it.  But the recipe was given to me in a bundle from my sister Paige years ago, and well, it just makes a better story here in Yankee land.

Like I said, I don’t pull out the white trash stops too often.  And in the early years of my relationship with Chef, an intimidating true foodie, I kept them hidden.  So I’m sure the Sour Cream specialty first debuted at a long ago Thanksgiving when our house was filled with visitors, and I knew just what to make to keep the hordes happy in the morning.  From the first bite of moist goodness of sugar, sour cream, eggs, flour, with layers of pecans covered in cinnamon, and of course, more sugar, Chef was hooked.

For no real reason, and despite the ease of the cake, I insist on making it only one time a year—the Sunday before Thanksgiving.  Over time, I’ve steadily resisted to making modern changes.  Grandma Tommie wouldn’t have known what to make of the Vegan Organic Sugar I used last year, and I wasn’t convinced it made the cake any better.  A few years back, to spice things up, I shelled out a fortune to an antique dealer in Fairhope, Alabama and carted home a turn-of-the-century copper bundt pan as a special gift for Chef.  He could have cared less—it’s all about the cake, stupid.  [note: Chef never verbalized this, just my own imagination a riff on Bill Clinton’s winning campaign mantra]

This year, for one of the first times, there are no guests in our house.  But I’m still whipping up the oh-so-thick batter.  Because if I held out any longer, Chef might go looking elsewhere.

Grandma Tommie’s Sour Cream Coffee Cake

For the batter:

1 cup soft butter

2 cups sugar

2 eggs

1 cup sour cream

2 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

¼ teaspoon salt

1 ½ teaspoon vanilla extract

Topping:

1 cup ground pecans

2 tablespoons sugar

1 tablespoon cinnamon

The very thick batter

Preheat over to 325 degrees.  Beat butter and sugar well.  Add eggs, beating after each one.  Add sour cream and vanilla.  Add dry ingredients and beat well.  This will make a very heavy batter.  Grease a bundt pan.  Mix topping ingredients together.  Pour, more likely, spoon less than half of the batter into pan.  Sprinkle with half of the topping mix.  Add remaining batter and then remaining topping.  Bake for 45 minutes at 325 degrees or until toothpick inserted comes out clean.  Cool briefly and invert on to a cake plate.

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Green Globe Trekker: iPho Vietnam—Motorbikes & Golden Cock

Today on Alphabet City: Jon Paul relives memories of Vietnam through his traveling outfits.  Filmed on location: Saigon, Hanoi and Halong Bay.

The days after returning from vacation, I find myself wearing some of the same items I had packed for the trip.  The American Apparel v-neck yellow t-shirt may be freshly laundered, but it transports me back to sunrise over Vietnam’s Halong Bay.  Despite a much needed washing, that short sleeve Lucky Jeans western shirt still has faint whiffs of noodles and mysterious herbs from a Saigon pho shop.  Paired with a cup of coffee made with beans transported from Vietnam (“it’s a country, not a war” was my favorite slogan), I ease myself back into life at home with Frida and Chef.  Alas, no stunning breakfast buffet from Hanoi’s Sofitel Metropole restored to its colonial grandeur.  Not even a welcoming smile from Trung or Tuan, our guides from trusted gay-friendly tour operator Purple Dragon.

Here then, favorite memories—and outfits—from our recent Southeast Asia voyage.  If you spot me this week, you can tell by my clothes my feelings and dreams.

Halong Bay, Vietnam.  An overnight trip on a private boat through some of the most spectacular scenery I have ever experienced—truly.  This was a last minute addition to our itinerary thanks to the strong recommendation of our Purple Dragon guides Trung and Tuan—the latter moved last minute heaven and earth to make it happen for us.  Photographs from this collection of 2000 rock formations appear in everything from guide books to the movie Indochine—seeing them up close and personal is indescribable.  Reason enough alone to make your way to Vietnam as soon as possible.  Did I mention there was spectacular fresh seafood and karaoke onboard at night?  Outfit: yellow v-neck t-shirt pops in pictures; Parke and Ronen swimming shorts less risqué than Speedo for early morning swim.


Pho & Banh Mi.  Let’s face it, when write about food and travel with (a) Chef, eating is pretty much the centerpiece of a journey.  And boy did Vietnam deliver.  The traditional dish Pho—a traditional noodle soup, often with chicken or beef—differs in flavor and spices from Saigon to Hanoi—so we tried them all, and loved them all.  Don’t miss Pho 2000 in Saigon made famous by a Bill Clinton visit or Hanoi’s Mai Anh near Metropole.  Our guide Trung had a lot of rules about when we could eat Banh Mi (pretty much only in the morning), but ultimately took pity on us and let us buy a couple at Saigon’s Nhu Lan (run by an “old lesbian couple” he told us) and eat with our Pho.  Outfit: red American Apparel v-neck or H&M white t-shirt.

Motorbikes & Golden Cock(s). Every trip, Chef and I latch onto something that we comment upon endlessly.  Summer in Scandinavia, it was the never setting sun.  In Vietnam, it was the motorbikes.  No one walks here, everyone is on a scooter, ignoring any semblance of traffic regulation or laws of gravity—the amount that can be balanced and carried on one was awe-inspiring.  Crossing the street seemed life threatening, but we followed the advice of our guide Trung, “Keep moving, don’t stop, don’t run”—sage advice applicable to many situations really.  All those motorbikes just made the men seem sexier driving up to Hanoi’s gay hot spot Golden Cock—a bar that wouldn’t be out of place in New York’s East Village.  Outfit: Penguin graphic TV t-shirt.


Old Quarter, Hanoi.  This warren of streets, each featuring a specialized vendor—from locksmiths to shoes to fresh meat (frog legs)—was endlessly fascinating and mesmerizing.  Also the perfect spot for Chef to pick-up a Vietnam communist-inspired cap.  For me, an addictive Vietnamese coffee got me amped up for the chaos.  Outfit: Lucky Brand short sleeve Western shirt.

Sofitel Metropole, Hanoi.  One of those classic grand dame Southeast Asia hotels on par in colonial splendor and history with Grand Raffles in Siem Reap and Raffles Singapore—the latter Chef and I were asked to leave the lobby because we were not dressed appropriately in shorts.  Never mind that I was trying to give them a copy of Alphabet City that features the hotel in a scene of getting locked out on the Presidential Suite’s balcony.  It was one of those “my how the might have fallen” moments.  Sofitel has done a meticulous job of restoring the Metropole—the dark hard wood floors made me feel like Catherine Deneuve in Indochine.  Chef had a thing for the outfit worn by the lobby attendant—the hat in particular.  Outfit: linen plaid short sleeve from Penguin, paired with floppy hat from Saigon’s Chinatown market.


Coffee & Bia with Purple Dragon Guides.  Although it’s totally possible to navigate through Vietnam independently, Chef and I had limited time—and we wanted an insight into the developing gay scene in this burgeoning country.  Gay (and gay friendly) tour operator Purple Dragon was the perfect solution.  Trung in Saigon and Tuan in Hanoi were welcoming, willing to share details of life and struggles as gay men in Vietnam, flexible in our itinerary, chose outstanding restaurants and food stalls, and were the perfect companions for breaks over coffee and beer.  I became addicted to the Vietnamese strong coffee sweetened with condensed milk (yum), while Chef became enamored by Bia Hoi—a draft beer made in small batches delivered that day to the establishment.  When Trung found out how much we missed and adore Frida, he brought his own puppy Boy to see us off at the airport.  Outfit: H&M green t-shirt and striped sailor top.


Chef.  My lifetime traveling companion never ceases to amaze me with his enthusiastic embrace of all things travel.  There’s not a jaded, complaining bone in this boy’s body who literally eats up all travel experiences.  From the Asian menu in Japan Airlines business class (special thanks to Platinum American Express’ 2-4-1 deals) to the mysterious sausages somewhere on the road from Halong Bay, Chef dives right in with a smile.  Ten years of traveling together, and he still makes me laugh and smile and try new things.  We’re constantly amazed at other couples traveling together—sniping at each other, frowning.  Sure, travel these days is far from glamorous and can be a bitch—but no matter how tired I am—one look at Chef’s smile is all it takes for me to see the wonders of the world through his eyes.

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Tex and the City: Romantic Fall

Today on Tex and the City: JP picks his favorite Fall happenings, while Chef prepares for a Nor’easter.

in a colorful fall scarf. photo by Jamie Beck

By the time of our ninth date, it was fairly obvious that Chef and I had radically different approaches to seasonal transitions.  We met in late summer, and so by mid-September Chef was already breaking out hat, gloves, and down jackets for a stroll around Central Park to see the changing leaves.

“Aren’t you a little over dressed for a romantic walk?” I asked, wearing a light sweater and cute new scarf.

“Romantic?  There’s nothing romantic about this weather.  You never know when a snowstorm might hit.”

“I take it you’re not a fan of fall, then.  That’s too bad, it’s my favorite season.”

“If you ask me, fall is just a harbinger of impending doom.  Six months of Nor’easters and no sun.”

So dramatic.  That’s my boy.  Not that I lack a flare for the dramatic.  I suppose my love of Fall is rooted in too many Woody Allen movies as a kid—they were like love letters to the Big Apple.  And then When Harry Met Sally came along I was mesmerized by  the image of Meg Ryan walking through Central Park while the golden leaves fell around her.

When I first moved to Alphabet City, I was overwhelmed by the energy with which New Yorkers attack the Fall season.  It’s as if right after Labor Day, summering finally ends, and they are allowed to unleash every bit of pent up ambition in a flurry of activity that concludes before Thanksgiving.  I always feel like if I don’t pay attention, and plan, then I’m going to miss something important—especially theatre offerings.  I’ve learned to really sit down and study both New York and Time Out magazines’ Fall Previews, and then triangulate it with the New York Times Arts & Leisure Fall guide.

For those of you traveling to NYC this romantic fall, or those of you living here that need a little help, here’s what’s on my radar screen that Tex and the City will most likely be writing about this Fall.

That is, when I’m not strolling the city with Chef—I’ll be the one with the colorful scarf, he’ll be Nanook of the North.

My ticket tip: register with www.theatermania.com and have access to discount codes for purchasing tickets; otherwise go to www.telecharge.com

Mrs. Warren’s Profession.  Cherry Jones—one of the most powerful actresses of our time—stars as a brothel-owner in this George Bernard Shaw play about mother-daughter dynamics.  The daughter will be played by Sally Hawkins, making her Broadway debut.  www.roundabouttheatre.org

La Bete.  Patsy from AbFab on Broadway in a revival of a famous flop?  Count me in!  Joanna Lumley stars with David Hyde Pierce and Mark Rylance (Tony award Boeing Boeing), directed by God of Carnage’s Matthew Warchus.  www.labetetheplay.com

Without You.  Anthony Rapp writes the book and lyrics based upon his book Without You: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and the Musical Rent.  Hey, Alphabet City as a musical?  I’m considering it.  So it’s a must to check out this show part of the New York Musical Theater Festival that gave us hits like Next to Normal and my inspiring fave [title of show]www.nymf.org

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown.  Tickets already purchased, thank you very much, for this musical adaptation of the Almodovar movie.  Come on, starring Patti Lupone, Laura Benanti, Sheri Rene Scott and Brian Stokes Mitchell?!  There’s no decision here.  www.lct.org

Driving Miss Daisy.  Vanessa Redgrave and James Earl Jones.  Enough said.  www.daisyonbroadway.com

The Pee-Wee Herman Show.  Paul Reubens is back and as goofy as ever.  And thank God, because he still influences my everyday dialogue.  “Why don’t you marry it?”  www.pewee.com/broadway

Elling.  Although my love for this actor can’t get me to watch him in True Blood, Denis O’Hare will make me run screaming to the theater to see him paired with Brendan Fraser.  They’re two men released from a mental institution living together.  Add in the quirky fabulous Jennifer Coolidge, and I’m not sure how this can go wrong.  www.ellingonbroadway.com

Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark.  Say what you will, but I live with a guy obsessed with super heroes.  And I’m obsessed with director Julie Taymor.  Let’s hope the most expensive production in Broadway history is either spectacularly terrific or outrageously tragic.  I’d hate for them to have spent a fortune to crank out this year’s mediocrity (sorry, Addams Family).  www.spidermanonbroadway.com

Other Desert Cities.  A new work by writer Jon Robin Baitz—whom I used to read magazine articles about while in Texas and fantasize I would have his life one day.  Story is about a novelist who returns home after six years and announces she’s working on a memoir about a controversial time in the family’s history.  Hmm, sound familiar?  www.lct.org

Out of Town Tryouts—Leap of Faith.  It often takes one for me to travel to LA.  But in case we need to escape an freak early snowfall, I’d consider a trip to Hollywood in October to see this musical.  Stars one of my Broadway boyfriends Raúl Esparza and eye-brow-licious Brooke Shields.  Based on the Steve Martin movie.  www.centertheatregroup.org

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ABCity Inception

Today on Alphabet City: In Chicago, Jon Paul celebrates 10 years with Chef with a possibly illegal act of Inception inspired by Erma Bombeck.

Chef at the spot we first met at World Financial Center

It’s hard to put into words all of the things that I have come to love about my partner Chef over the past 10 years.  But on the dawn of our anniversary last Thursday, before I even poured my first cup of coffee, my morning surly disposition turned sunny just recounting some of his lovable quirks.

I love that when I am trying to get his attention when he walks around with his earphones in he’s not listening to the latest Lady Gaga but to a news podcast in French.

I love that after years of complaining about his snoring that he never complains about his Darth Vader breathing machine that travels around the globe.

I love that he puts up with my ribbing whenever he jumps onto the latest Whole Foods endorsed diet fad including becoming a vegan for a week.

I love that despite telling me he was never a “dog person” he has become one of the most doting puppy fathers imaginable.

I love that he is so supportive of my writing that he never batted an eye when I wanted to share with the world the most intimate details of our meeting.

Self-portrait 10 years later

It’s one of the greatest joys of the Alphabet City Book Tour to have him along at some of the events.  So when our 10th Anniversary coincided with the Chicago stop on the tour, unlike many partners who might have complained, he signed up enthusiastically for a trip to the Windy City.  Truthfully, a few weeks before the event, we recreated our famous (to us) first date—a meeting at the World Financial Center, stroll up the river on the West Side, and dinner at Pastis.  Pretty much the only thing that had changed in a decade was us—our backs were killing us and our feet hurt.

We’ve always had a soft spot for the Second City.  It was our first trip together a couple of months after we started dating.  I remember being in my cave like bedroom at the Alphabet City apartment telling him I’d like to buy him a plane ticket to accompany me on a business trip to Chicago—and nervously admitting to him for the first time that I had this butterfly feeling in my stomach that I was in love.  Tears welled up in his eyes, and he gave me a huge hug, and said, “Me too!”  We’ve never looked back.

Ten years later, we stayed in one of Chicago’s newest and most buzzed about establishments, Kimpton’s Hotel Palomar.  Traveling to various Kimpton Hotels over the course of the book tour (honestly, their sponsorship is golden, please give them your business) I love seeing how different the hotels are in each market, and how consistent they are.  And not just in the service or the amenities (the 6am coffee in the lobby is a god send for a coffee addict).  It’s the fellow guests that I love.  At the sleek and modern Hotel Palomar Chicago, Chef and I showed up at guest wine hour.  Sometimes I set up a little display of books and encourage guests to attend my one-hour book event later at the hotel.  While I was feeling shy this particular evening, Chef was not.  His Whole Foods Demo Specialist training kicked in and the next thing I knew he was scattering the lobby area with book displays and talking to a couple encouraging them to come to the reading.  I rolled my eyes—why was Chef ignoring the cute boys at the back of the room in favor of this straight couple?  I could see the woman nod her head and smile politely at Chef when he walked away.

Visiting Kimpton couple!

We headed upstairs to the gorgeous reception room overlooking Chicago’s bustling State Street.  As I welcomed several area friends to the reception, the visiting couple from downstairs showed up.  They looked a little hesitant, somewhat shell shocked, but I walked them over to the bar for a glass of wine and found out they were visiting on vacation from Philadelphia.  Chef smiled at me and pulled me aside.

“See, you never know, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m a little worried they don’t know what they’re in for.  I am reading the chapter about our first date—it’s a little racy.”

“It’ll just be part of their experience.”

The couple found a spot on the couch, and laughed along with my friends at all the right places.  Chef was the only person in the room who looked embarrassed when I read from the chapter about our Internet hook-up.  First in line to buy a book?  The couple, of course.

“I’m buying it for my boss.  He recently came out.  I think he’ll really enjoy it,” the woman smiled as she posed for a picture with me.

And that’s what I love about Kimpton.  Their guests—no matter their background—are smack dab my target audience.  Thanks Kimpton for sharing them with me.

Back in our suite, Chef and I were recounting how lucky we are to have such wonderful friends who turned out for the party.  I stared at a small bookshelf that had various novels all covered in brown butcher paper.

“Don’t you think this is odd how they wrapped the books?” I asked.

“Maybe it’s a design thing.  They’re probably fake,” Chef said.

The site of Inception

I pulled one off the shelf, opened to the title page and did a comic double take.

“You’re not going to believe this.  It’s Erma Bombeck’s If Life Is a Bowl of Cherries What Am I Doing in the Pits?

The famous humor columnist’s book makes a cameo appearance in Alphabet City in the episode where my mother comes to visit.  I read that excerpt at practically every book tour stop.  Chef perked up.

“Oooh, it’s like a scene in Inception.  Maybe this is a dream and someone put it there.”

Another thing I love about Chef—his application of fictional plot lines to real life scenarios.  At least he was positing something Star Wars related.

“That’s fun.  I like that idea.  Why don’t we pull a reverse Inception?” I laughed.

I carefully tore off the butcher paper around Erma’s book, and wrapped it around a copy of Alphabet City—they are the exact same size.  Inside my memoir, I scrawled a note to the next Hotel Palomar Chicago Room 1004 occupant brave enough to look inside the book on the shelf saying they could keep the book, and to email me when they found it.  After all, Kimpton guests are my target market.

I crawled under the covers and snuggled with Chef, glad that ten years later, I have such a wonderful partner in crime.

At Chicago's Purple Pig

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Seven Year Itch

Today on Alphabet City: Jon Paul realizes Frida has reached middle age, and that Chef may have got bitten by the seven-year itch.

Our little one soon after her birth

Our little goose turns 7 today, which effectively means that our incurably cute Bichon Frise Frida has reached middle age.  Chef and I have begun noticing the telltale signs of aging (early dementia?) that runs in our family—restless sleeping, irritability around children.  Then there are the mysterious new habits like randomly removing kibble from the bowl and leaving uneaten bits on carpets and stairways throughout the house.

It’s funny to think back now that exactly this time 7 years ago I had forged Chef’s name on the breeder’s adoption application and was plying him with wine to lessen the impact of the news that we were starting a family (Alphabet City’s Episode 15 And Baby Makes Three).  At the time, Chef claimed he wasn’t a dog person thanks a particularly unfortunate childhood experience with the family Weimaraner.

Chef and Frida on the ferry to Fire Island

Soon enough though Frida Carlota Xochtil Amarilla Buchmeyer-Chavez (her full Mexican birthright name) had charmed the pants off Chef, and those two have been in love ever since.

Sure, I’m still Alpha Dad—the one she relies on for food and walks and treats.  But Frida has a special bond with her Papa Chef.  His legs are the ones she curls up inside at night.  I’m the one she forces out of bed in the morning so she can snuggle next to him.  She’ll sit with him and watch World Cup matches no matter the time of day, no complaints.  Both of them share a love of True Blood, Smallville and Dexter.  They’re easy companions, through and through—like Father and Daughter.

The family in Provincetown

Meanwhile, I have classic Working Mother Syndrome.  I arrange the childcare, and interview the au pairs/dog walkers (all of ours have a painting background which we’re sure is a good influence on Frida).  I take her to the allergy specialist and dole out the meds.  I feel guilty when traveling, and get punished and ignored for a day upon my return.

In the early years, Frida traveled with me.  She was a regular on the West Coast prancing through the lobby of the L’Ermitage Beverly Hills and exploring the grounds of Montage Laguna Beach.  She took in the Cherry Blossoms in the nation’s capital and ran the corridors of Kimpton’s Hotel Monaco.  She lounged poolside in Puerto Vallarta.  She even went to New Orleans for Susan’s birthday and enjoyed beignets at Café du Monde.

At Montage Laguna Beach

Cherry blossoms in DC

Lounging in Puerto Vallarta

Beignets in New Orleans

The mad pumpkin

But middle age has brought on a bout of persnicketiness.  The girl likes a set schedule.  Up at 6am to look out the front window.  6:30am return to bed to push Papa (me) out of the way.  7am visit Papa downstairs and lay on couch.  7:30am back patio to chase stray cats.  8am check on Papa at his computer.  8:30am stretch and whine for walk.  8:45am walk.  9:00am Papa departs.  Any switch in schedule is cause for much concern, pitiful looks, cries and opportunities for lap sitting.  Except Friday, that day, she somehow knows is Papa-Often-Works-From-Home-Day when anything goes.

This week is National Take Your Dog to Work Week.  And so, Frida is right here in my lap, looking at me with her big saucer eyes—sensing that I am writing something about her, no doubt.

Lately, Chef has mentioned the possibility of getting Frida a sister.  He must have the seven-year itch.  I don’t know.  Maybe I’ve got my hands full with this one—especially as she moves into her twilight years.  I start to get nervous remembering the searing pain when my last little goose Winnie passed away.  And I hug Frida a little too close.

Then she winks, doles out a round of wet kisses, and I smile, knowing Chef and I have raised quite the little charmer.  Happy Birthday, goose.

Two proud papas

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