Where in heck did Sami go?

So, my good friends John and Elizabeth asked me recently, hey, where did you go? Which reminded me, sadly, that I had all but abandoned my online diary here.

Yeah, that's me, trying to be cute with a stuffed Chihuahua!

Truth is, my new job as pets editor over at The Orange County Register has me muzzle-deep in all things animal.

My day now revolves around posting pet items, fun and not so fun, events and adoption opportunities, to my new blog, Pet Tales.

When I’m not thinking of clever headlines, say for ponderous pachyderms and pedicures, I’m playing forum host to pet conversations at OC Pets, a section dedicated to conversations about our furred and feathered friends.

Here’s an example of today:

• Write an update story on Noah, a Weimaraner shot through the face and left for dead
• Call back two readers who want to donate funds to Noah’s medical bills
• Oh the irony: Spend an hour chatting with friendly guy about the old-fashioned (and cheap) form of pet euthanasia: a bullet through the head
• Submit photo assignments for various pet-related events here in Orange County
• Rewrite a boring story about dogs sniffing out cell phones in Arizona prisons. It now goes something like this: Hey, Katy, go find the remote control, why don’t ya?
• Remind folks that there are homeless pets out there seeking new homes
• Answer a friend’s question about puppies and chewies
• Edit the weekly pets column written by a peer
• Relink a colleague’s story about a cross-walk assistant named Shadow … a cat
• Post some cute photos of dog and her kittens (yes, that’s right, kittens)
• Oh, and then there’s the pachyderm who got waylaid by grinders.

The goal with my new job is to create an audience that visits me, oh, 150,000 times a month. Excuse me while I go throw up quietly in the ladies room. That’s a LOT of clicks, in case you didn’t know. For many of us in the blog world, that’s nearly impossible without a sturdy following of core readers. We’ve had our share of success here at The Register with our bloggers on real estate, food and shopping.

I can only hope that somebody’s clicking every day. I spend a lot of time going back and forth at Twitter, Digg, Pligg, Facebook, you name it, I’m posting my stuff somewhere.

What about life outside the newsroom?

Vacation plans recently have stalled. I was due to hike into the  Grand Canyon this holiday weekend. The Havasupai Tribe opted to close the reservation at their magnificent falls until June 6 to offset any threat of swine flu. Argh.

Instead I stayed home and puttered in the garden and spent a lot of quality time with my own critters.

Noir, my  newest addition, will be a year old in July. She’s turned into quite a character and is the most affectionate cat I’ve ever had. Knowing that she came from an albeit short life on the streets, I’m still impressed with her desire to cuddle and share space on the couch with her canine pals.

Katy remains big and solemn. On a recent trek on nearby trails, I stupidly wasn’t paying attention and realized about five minutes too late that the hot sand was literally burning her feet. We backtracked fast, but she walked funny for a week.

New to my flock of furry friends is a feral mama cat. I met her pregnant and now she’s got a litter tucked away under a neighbor’s house. Mama visits daily and still resists the dogs (who can blame her). Hopefully I can get her fixed after she’s done with the kittens … and yes, maybe I can find them, too, and get them adopted out.

Sometime in June I have to take a mandatory furlough week, with no pay, to help the company limp through another quarter of dismal earnings. I’m doing my part! On top of that I need to burn a week of REAL vacation because it’s piling up and they’re not going to give me anymore until I use some … sigh.

Maybe I’ll venture home to ol’ Virginny. Another option on my plate is to head to Maui in August to help a friend celebrate her birthday. Wanna bet which direction I go?

Although with four weeks of vacation banked, and a week of furlough on the agenda, there’s nothing saying I can’t do both!

She’s back!

That would be SamiGo iMac, my darling gem of a desktop computer that keeps me in touch with the world.

24-inch iMac

A few weeks ago she experienced a horrible medical catastrophe. For reasons unknown, she blew her hard drive, then in the next breath, her power supply.

I evac’d her to the closest Apple store (lucky me, I have several to choose from), where they rushed her to triage for emergency surgery. The procedure to replace her brain was complex and took forever. I rushed her home and plugged her in and … nothing.

I could have chewed glass or nails, I was so frustrated. Back to the hospital she went for further observation. A week later she was back with a new power supply installed. Thanks to an extended warranty I wisely bought, all the complex surgery cost me zero, zip, nada. Whew …

The best part of getting a fully restored and almost completely rebuilt computer was hooking her up to her lifeline, Time Machine.

For all of you non-Mac owners, listen up. This application is mind blowing, and now I speak with authority.

With iMac plugged in and idle, looking like a factory-ordered imposter, I took a deep breath and opened Time Machine. I asked it to restore my computer to Feb. 9. I got a progress bar and in about 50 minutes, my computer rebooted … and went back in time.

Gone was the impersonal, blank slate of a new hard drive. In its place was MY desktop, MY stuff, all of it. I hadn’t lost a drop of data, and it all sat there, waiting for me.

Hallelujah, praise Apple. I bow to the altar of the program writers who gave life to Time Machine.

Now all I have to do is convince the kitten, Noir, that this giant, shiny screen with a “mouse” on the move is not hers. It’s MINE!

Woe is Mac

Blog entries here have hit a major speed bump. My darling iMac of 10 months is sick, very sick.

Luckily I bought health insurance for iMac, so she’s in triage now and due for surgery when a critical, electrifying organ is delivered, probably from the hinterland of China.

So, video of the historic house move, my photos from working with Oscar, critter updates and Pantry Diving entries all will wait until her recovery is complete. I revived iMac Jr. from suspended animation, but time in cold storage has reduced her to a chilly relic of the B.I. (before Intel) era.

In the meantime I’ll try and get reacquainted with Jack Bauer, whom I’ve held hostage in my DVR. Fingers are crossed this altar to my TV devotion doesn’t fail me this week.

That’s SO cool!

So, the day has arrived, almost.

The jumbo house is hogging the pavement.

At dawn tomorrow, the church parsonage house across the street from my own abode moves once again, its third relocation.

The move was supposed to happen LAST summer, somewhere around July 4. But complications arose at the destination site, mostly I believe, the addition of a basement, which took time for permits, construction, etc.

So, today, I gathered up my things for the short drive to work, and came to an abrupt halt on my driveway.

THERE’S A HOUSE IN MY STREET!

It was a jaw-dropping moment. The house is large to begin with, but hoisted onto lift gear, it rose from the street like something out of a cartoon.

She moved with barely a sound, or so it seemed.

I was expecting to wake up (reluctantly) at the crack o’ sunshine tomorrow and watch the house move from its former foundation to the street, then down into Old Towne toward its new home. Not so. Those sneaky house movers got the massive building onto pavement … and I didn’t even hear it! But for the sound of large machines and the general chaos of construction, I was oblivious to the monumental moment. Darn.

I quickly threw my things into the car and snatched up my point-and-shoot and jogged out to capture the scene. Now, ain’t that something?

If you want to read more about the house and the plans for it by the new owners, check out the story we wrote at The Register here.

The neighbors on Pine Street have been waiting for the big day. We had plans to get out our lawn chairs and watch the show. But it seems the best part of the show might be over. Tomorrow, I still want to see it leave our block. What an interesting moment that will be. From Pine Street the house will move west through our Old Towne Plaza. I suspect the folks of Orange will line the streets to watch the old lady move … again.

I had visions of the wicked witch, squashed somewhere underneath.

Mountain quest

I’m happy to report that I can still ski. Whew.

It had been 10 years or more since I strapped waxed sticks onto storm-trooper boots and hurtled down a snow-covered slope. That’s quite shameful, considering I live less than two hours from mountains topped in frozen precipitation, some of the only water that falls here regularly.

As close as I would ever get to the members-only LDS temple.

My good friend Marla once again folded me into her family travel plans after discovering a cheap flight to Salt Lake City a few months ago. Across the newsroom she hollered at me, “Hey, wanna go skiing in Utah?” I didn’t hesitate and a few seconds later I had spent $160 and had a winter vacation planned. She makes it so easy!

Our strategy was to stay with her gracious brother, Paul, so we could visit family and save money. I was all for that. Just a few months ago, we used Paul’s lovely house in Pleasant Grove, Utah, for a pit stop en route to Yellowstone.

First stop, Salt Lake City

Forever the tour guide, Marla scheduled a day of sightseeing in SLC, where she could show me bits of Mormon history scattered around the city. We got lucky and had incredibly good weather for a February day. The sky was blue and the temperatures crept up toward 45 degrees. It was just warm enough for us thin-skinned, lowland beach dwellers.

Grandmother Margaret tagged along as we tackled Temple Square, home to the famous Mormon Temple and Tabernacle Choir auditorium. I admit a curious fascination to the Church of Latter Day Saints. Their lifestyle and devotion are uniquely disparate from most of us “gentiles” in our everyday lives.

More for the great sky than the dude pointing.

During our visit at the square, we saw brides scattered everywhere, posing for portraits in the chilly wind that swept the grounds. At the temple door, a large group gathered around a new husband and wife. My Catholic upbringing reared its arrogant head. If you can see MY church, why can’t I see yours? We walked on.

Enough snow for everyone

Our next stop on this tidy, four-day vacation was Paul’s house. It was bedlam, to be sure. With six children ranging in age from 8 months to 13 years, what else can you expect? The adults took positions in the kitchen while the mayhem ensued throughout the house.

Fortunately for the 40-plus crew, there was plenty of snow left outside to encourage the rugrats into their thermals and out the front door.

Sandy catches a ride up the tube lift.

Our destination on Day Three in Utah was somewhat unusual. We were heading to the mountains … to go tubing. Now, this is something I’ve done on rivers and at water parks. Never on snow. But my interest was piqued and I had some new snow gear to break in, so why not?

The inner tubes also gave the younger children a chance to do something fun on the mountain. They weren’t so thrilled with tugging their giant tubes across the snow, but we convinced them the trip down was worth the effort. Halfway through our four-hour pass, they were spinning and doing trains with the older kids.

And my ski gear worked just fine.

Where art thou, Robert?

About 30 minutes from Paul is Sundance Resort. I had visions of Robert Redford’s perfect blue eyes as Marla drove her brother’s 4×4 Isuzu Trooper into the canyon. A sign at the entrance told us the road required chains or four-wheel drive. Paul, driving ahead of us, stopped his mini van and told us he wasn’t going to risk defying the sign. So home he and the family went.

I ski solo and make it down my first run unscathed.

We soldiered on and arrived unscathed at the lodge. The kids had a ski lesson scheduled, so they hurried to rent gear and report to their instructors. I ventured cautiously to the rental station. I had left my old skis at home. This is a good thing. I bought a short pair at Salvation Army years ago ($15), and had them adjusted for my ski boots. Another old pair of skis, my trusty Olins, were too long for my shaky legs. So rental gear was in order.

The ski bums in the shop were cool and set me up in a thoroughly modern gear. I grabbed a map and briefly asked about easy runs, and off I went to catch a lift. My solitary ride up the slope reminded me of my good friend, Elizabeth, whose family is primarily responsible for my ski experiences. Her oh-so generous parents, Bart and the late Janice, hauled my butt on many a family vacation with their kids.

Elizabeth and I would ski together, but she would encourage us to ride the lifts separately so we could meet new people. Even though I was solo in the mountain this day, I did have a few friendly chats with skiers next to me on the ride … and thought about my childhood.

Easy run, my ass

The ski bum told me Summit run would be a good place to start. I trusted him … dammit.

The minute I slid off the ski lift, I knew I was in for some trouble heading downhill. The cute blonde had told me, don’t go right, whatever you do. I remembered those words and headed left … into a blizzard.

Near whiteout conditions as I head for a run.

The wind was blowing so hard, the snow in the air and on the ground all got together and had a party on my face. My goggles were useless, my mouth pelted with icy bits of wrath. I forged ahead, pulling my reluctant legs toward the recommended “leftward” slope.

He didn’t tell me about the cliff

About 50 feet off the lift, a trail opened up, flat and mostly obliterated by the whiteout conditions. I was thankful it was a straightaway shot, until I noticed that the mountain disappeared to my right. It took my frozen brain cells a few seconds to wake up and realize … there was no net, no fence, no nothing. Just me, the trail, the cliff … and the wind.

I crowded the left side of the trail and prayed no other skier came whizzing by to knock me to oblivion below. About 200 feet in, the trail opened. I took a deep, icy breath and unclenched stiff hands from their death grip on my ski poles.

I couldn’t see a thing. It was a perfect whiteout. My mind went to all the stories I’ve read over the years of lost skiers and death on Mount Everest. Though I wasn’t close to any of those scenarios, I understood a whole lot better the scary conditions of a blizzard.

Sandy and Sam ride the lift for another great run.

I stepped carefully through amazing drifts of powder. The snow rose to my knees but it was light and my skis plowed through the mass easily. I waited a few minutes for my heart to stop thundering and soon heard a ski party coming up behind me. Perfect! I would follow them like a motorist trailing a big-rig on a foggy freeway.

The rest of the run was choppy and mostly difficult. My body wasn’t ready to remember the rhythm I needed to slalom down a hill. So, I made it down like a true novice … side stepping, snowplowing and stopping whenever I felt the panic well up. I gave myself a pat on the back when I reached the bunny slope where the kids were taking their lessons.

Smooth sailing

About six runs into the day, my legs and body remembered. After two-plus hours of coaxing muscle and bone to shift here and lift there, my subconscious brain took over and it was suddenly … easier.

Sandy joined me after her class and we stayed on the slopes, making run after run together. Her instructor told me over lunch that the little ones have it easy. Their typically tiny bodies aren’t hefty enough to mix speed into the equation, so they can shoot straight down average slopes without fear of liftoff. If only I were so lucky!

Sandy hams it up during our 10-minute ride up the lift.

Sandy asked why I turned my skis so often on the slopes. I laughed and explained that if my generous bulk were to go straight down, I would die a sudden death courtesy of a tree or the post of the ski lift, my body splattered at 60 mph. No, thank you.

By the end of the day, the winds were back up and we were skiing the beginners slope in that all-too familiar whiteout. This time, however, it didn’t matter much. We were at one with the slope, friends with all its curves, bumps and dips. We sailed down blind as snow bats and laughed all the way.

Exhilarated by the ride, we aimed for the lift immediately. Sandy, the clever 10-year-old that she is, sped for the chair, her mission clear. Over the whip of the wind I heard the plaintive wail of her mother, “SAAAAA-NDYYYYY.”

I should have followed the child and ignored the woman. Our ski extravaganza officially met its end. Urk.

The trip was over; our journey home easy and quick. As we flew in over the mountains of Southern California, I spied an amazing thing: snow … lots of snow. In the words of our aging terminator governor, I said to myself, “I’ll be back.”

Fun with animals

Call me crazy, but I’ve been taking my POS point-and-shoot camera to bed with me. It seems the animals enjoy playtime when the day winds down … or they crowd me to the point I’m tempted to sleep on the couch. Who needs a $1,000 Sealy mattress anyway??

Here, Noir kitten goes paw to paw with a sleeping Shelby.

The bed is awfully crowded with a ratio of five animals to one human. Unfair!

As Sable explores the room for leftover cat treat crumbs, she gets a reminder that kitten lurks!

Super weekend

Even though I worked on Super Bowl Sunday, I had a great day. With a potluck planned for the newsroom gang, I had a busy morning preparing my vegetarian chili … and got a kick out of watching Katy and the cat, Noir, get to know each other.

Rather than wax on about it, I figured it was a story best told in photos.

Cooking in the morning: All the chili fixins, ready to go in the pot.

Good kitty: she gobbles up pancake atop a can o’ beans. Love her!

Noir actually licked the bowl where the roasted tomatoes once were.

The cans undone and soon to be washed out and recycled.

Chili’s almost ready. I made two pots, mostly so I would have leftovers.

Noir settles in next to Katy after exploring the cabinet (see open door).

Katy came to work on Super Bowl Sunday. (and I need to tidy up my desk!)

Rather than sleep on her favorite quilt, Katy opts to sleep under my desk.

Noir’s half asleep and fails to realize she’s snuggled up to her nemisis, Mayo.

This photo really shows me how much the kitten (left) has grown.

Mayo realizes he has company and it ain’t his favorite (human).

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz

Smile for the camera, Noir!

She’s so close I can’t see straight!

Geez, no flash, mom!

Pantry diving

**Updated! I made it through Week One with broccoli stir fry. See the very end of this post for more.

So, in the spirit of a true recession buster, I figured there was plenty of money to be saved … thanks to my overstuffed and often overlooked pantry.

How about yours?

Not mine but close enough!

Once or twice a week I venture out to my favorite grocery haunts: Trader Joe’s and Fresh & Easy. The same scenario generally plays out when I get home … there’s not enough room in the cupboards for the new food.

This got me thinking about my 2009 resolution to spend wisely and save more. I dare say there is likely hundreds of dollars worth of food just sitting in my cabinets, waiting and aging while I continue to buy new goods, then consume half.

My latest endeavor is to eat from the pantry as many times a week as possible. I’m thinking at least four times a week is fair. I’ve given myself up to $5 daily (yipee) for fresh vegetables and protein. Since I don’t eat any land-dwelling creatures, that leaves me a generous amount for a daily dose of green stuff (and tofu is cheap).

Trust me, I have enough food at home to feed a family of four for days and days.

I gathered up a bunch of fresh vegetables and fruit over at Food 4 Less on my way home. I spent $23 (gasp!) on broccoli, tomatoes, cauliflower, cabbage, onions, carrots, peppers, herbs and various fruit. Talk about a bargain. I won’t go back for more until all of it is eaten. And another goal: don’t let any of it rot!

So far, so good. Here’s a quick rundown on the first week, so far:

Roasted tomato basil soup

(inspired by recent Ina Garten show on Food TV)

Roasted tomato basil soup

This recipe was simple and turned out delicious. It reminded me that roasted tomatoes are always better, and a perfect foil for several dishes (pasta, pizza sauce, antipasti, sandwiches, you name it). I’ve fed off this soup for several days. It was perfect for lunch with cheese toast I threw together from items scavenged from the frige.

Pantry items used: large can of crushed tomatoes and a quart of vegetable stock.

New items used: fresh tomatoes, carrots, onions and basil.

Note: How often do we buy cheese and let it languish in the refrigerator? Too often, I say. I made a point to NOT buy any new cheese until the aging varieties at home are all gone.

Grilled halibut with roasted cauliflower, onions and garlic

I love just about any vegetable roasted with caramelized centers and crunchy edges. The giant cauliflower head was cheap ($1.79) and ditto for the brown onions (2 pounds for 69 cents). A quick visit to Fresh & Easy produced a package of two halibut steaks on sale (two days before sale date), for $4.

Roasted cauliflower and onions with grilled halibut steak. (This is actually the plate of leftovers)

I broke down the cauliflower, rough chopped the onion, added four cloves of garlic and tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper. After roasting at 400 degrees for 30 minutes, I turned off the oven and sprinkled the vegetables with Trader Joe’s goat-milk gouda cheese and more black pepper. Then I shoved the pan back into the oven so the cheese could melt.

On my grill pan I cooked the halibut steaks with salt & pepper and a touch of oil mixed with butter. At the end, I chopped some Italian parsley and squeezed a lemon (free from a co-worker). The dish was fabulous. I had to stop myself from eating all of the cauliflower. The meal stretched into two.

Pantry item used: old but still good cheese (and I still spent barely $7 on a meal that fed me twice).

Note: because I’m single, everything usually stretches to more than one meal … sigh.

Cheese & shrimp quesadilla served with spicy refried beans

I was hungry and impatient, so the broccoli and cabbage would wait another day. After a quick scan of cans in the pantry and goods in the frige, my eyes settled on a sad plastic sleeve of tortillas. I studied them closely for any sign of blue spots and upon deeming them worthy, set up ingredients for a quick quesadilla.

I had several cans of beans in the cupboard and opted for vegetarian refried beans with green chilis. I also found a small can of Mexican salsa, something I usually keep for cobbling enchiladas, tacos or a pot of chili. From the freezer I dug out some lonely precooked shrimp.

(I prefer to use either fresh shrimp or raw frozen shrimp, but in the interest of pantry diving, I went with what I had.)

Cheese and shrimp quesadilla with refried beans (my lunch, the day after I had it for dinner)

After a quick thaw in some hot water, I chopped the shrimp into manageable pieces, then got the stove going. As you can imagine, the quesadilla took no time. I chopped a fresh tomato and some green onions, threw them onto the first tortilla, now heating on a large nonstick frying pan. Then went the shrimp, followed by the cheese and the top tortilla.

In a microwaveable bowl (remember, I’m REALLY hungry by now), I mixed the can of beans with some cheese and the salsa, then nuked for 3 minutes, stirred.

The tortillas were the bigger version, so when all was said and done, again I had what amounted to two meals. I used my pizza cutter to divvy up the quesadilla and stashed half for lunch the next day.

Pantry items used: Just about everything, save the fresh tomatoes and green onions.

Broccoli stir fry with brown rice

Broccoli and rice says stir fry to me.

I followed through and made it to Night Four of Pantry Diving. This time, I tackled two out of three stalks of broccoli, saving one for a lunch dish (steamed broccoli with tuna salad).

What I really, really wanted was broccoli tempura, but my good senses overruled my craving. Tempura can be messy, it’s fattening, and I was too hungry to spend more time wrestling with my id. So, I modified the fry and went with stir vs. deep.

This was almost too easy … and super fast. I chopped half an onion, halved some mini portobello mushrooms that were close to a slimy end, and split up the broccoli spears. The longest part of the stalks went to the dogs, who waited eagerly by my side.

Katy chews her stalk

Note: Anytime I start chopping vegetables, the dogs show up. They know the sound of knife hitting cutting board, and they get a lot of rough ends, which saves the food from the compost pile. Sister and I basically restrict them from onions and the otherwise noxious vegetables that can wreak havoc on their system. Their favorites, however, include carrots, cabbage, broccoli and sweet potato skins.

Dinner, a la pantry.

To flavor my stir fry, I used some vegetable stock, a splash of soy sauce, 1/8 cup of rice-wine vinegar and a little bit of teriyaki marinade (I like the sweetness in it). From the pantry I yanked down a tired sleeve of precooked brown rice. I knew it wouldn’t be the best rice, but it would be done in 90 seconds. I flavored and softened it a bit with some of that teriyaki marinade and some of the vinegar (not bad but still a  tad chewy).

I had the leftovers again for lunch. It was filling; broccoli really does the job. But sometime soon I’ll have to hunt down some tempura.

Next up: grilled cabbage with vegetarian sausage.

Long time coming

I’ve been away from this blog except for random bits. It’s been a hectic few months and time has slipped by too quickly.

The work days are jam packed and home is full of needy animals. I don’t mind spending time away from the computer. There’s enough of that happening at work after all.

But life has been good and full. Noir kitty, my newest addition, is gradually inserting herself more and more into the mini zoo of dogs and the old man, Mayo cat. She was spayed this past week, which is a milestone. She’s lasted a month in the house, and now I’ve got vet bills to prove she’s a family member.

The dogs still aren’t sure what to make of this new one. She’s feisty and rightly scared of the giant four-legged beasts who stare at her through the gate that guards her lair. Slowly she is coming out of her shell and daring to venture past her safe surroundings. Mostly, we hear her at night, exploring the house while the dogs slumber.

Katy, so far, has accepted the reality that she will share me with another creature. She is careful and guarded around Noir, perhaps a tad fearful  of those sharp claws reaching out from under the bed and sinking into her long legs. I’m still waiting for the day when one of the dogs gets too close and earns the mark of cat on their nose. Yeeeow.

Noir’s favorite toy, feathers on a string.

Love her big claw; it says “mine.”

Noir has discovered she likes the dogs’ water bowl.

Whoops, she fell in, then hopped out!

The day of her spay surgery, poor baby.

Everything’s better with flamingo head on the side.

A shot of her war wound.

But she’ll play anyway, even groggy and sore.

Exploring the kitchen means sunshine and baskets.

Noir on TV

A little bit of Noir, as she gets more comfortable living with us, especially the giant dog: