At Long Last Spring

I saw a nuthatch this morning, zigzagging up and down the chestnut tree in the side yard.

My husband heard it first amidst the other bird calls that now wake us in the morning. We were on our way to breakfast out, and I took the nuthatch sighting to be both a sign of approaching warmth (although we have seen them in winter) and good luck.

Once we got to the restaurant, it was winter again. Both of our favorite Sunday breakfast spots are along the water, one near the harbor, the other farther north. We choose the northernmost restaurant today. While we eat omelets and drank coffee, we can watch all manner of wildlife saunter up and down the shoreline. Today we watched an iceboat make circles on the bay, each time venturing out a bit farther as if testing the safety of the ice.

But along the river where the eagles and cormorants play, there are holes in the ice and signs the river is opening up again.

It was high spring in Paris when I took the photo above taken just north of the Quai Branly. The sunspots and the haze enhance the photo for me.

The Benchmarks of Spring; Remembering Jim

There are certain benchmarks by which we measure the seasons and for me, the song of birds and crickets and cicadas are reliable harbingers of change.

Not totally reliable, of course, but good enough. I know I can generally expect the plaintive coos of the mourning dove and the hoarse rat-a-tat-tat of the downy woodpecker about the same time the flashy Northern Cardinal takes up residence in the cedar grove outside my bedroom window. That would be about 5:30 a.m. the last week of February or the 1st week of March.

The finches began singing soon after, but the true mark of approaching spring are the red-winged blackbirds. Arrick! Arrick! Their reedy call is usually heard first in the drainage ditches near the shopping mall or in the marshy areas along Riderman Road that winds its way around the south side of town.

Once the red-wings arrive, can the spring chorus of peepers and bull frogs be far behind? I think not. It rises at night from the old slough and from the river and if it is warm enough, I keep the bedroom window open so it lulls me to sleep, like the crickets do in August.

Spring will begin and my heart will be lighter, but not until we say goodbye to Jim, who left us this week without warning. A sunnier man and a kinder person I've never met; Jim made everyone feel special. The best way to remember him is to be positive. I have mourned many people in my life, many who were losses to the greater community. Jim's death is a loss to the universe.

Simple Red Pepper Sandwiches with Boursin

Everyone I know is a bit out of sorts today, and this morning's snowfall did not help. We are tired of cold and gray and wind and wet. It is hard to believe that a year ago we were just a few days away from 62-degree weather.

Knowing I had another serving of last night's soup to eat cheered me today. But tonight, I wanted more, a sandwich perhaps.

What to eat? Leaving my husband on his own, I toasted buttered whole-grain bread while I roasted a small red pepper (my love for roasted red peppers has been well documented here). When the toast was done, I smeared it with Boursin cheese and topped it with my deep red peppers. Awfully tasty for a thrown-together meal. I garnished it with some sweet pickles made by my friend Denise.

My soup was even better the second time around, but I think it needs more salt.

Tell me, if you are coping with a protracted and miserable winter, what are you doing to cheer yourself? I have been keeping potted tulips on my desk at work and wearing summery colognes.

Rich Chicken Soup with Roasted Asparagus, Mushrooms and Shallots

I dreamed of my father last night. In the dream he was strong and whole - and living happily in the south of France.

Perhaps he is.

People who have heard me relating my vivid dreams often ask me, "What did you eat before you went to bed?" and of course, I tell them nothing, because late-night snacks are not part of of my diet.

But a good supper - and we tend to eat fashionably later - is essential. I am often hungriest at night, when I let my guard down and hunker down in our cozy snuggery with books and magazines and DVDs and a remote control at hand.

Last night, after our wonderful roasted chicken, I made a rich golden stock from the carcass. All day I imagined how it would be, simmering away on the stove, filled with the vegetables of late winter into spring.

Shallots and mushrooms I had on hand; asparagus I found at the supermarket (not local, of course, and I apologize for that, but just this once...).

I sautéed the shallots and mushrooms while I roasted the asparagus, just enough to impart that delicate flavor roasting provides.

Added together, the vegetables gave the soup a sweet and dark and bosky flavor, like a forest in spring. I paired it with a slice of whole grain bread from a rustic loaf from the bakery.

Chicken Soup with Roasted Asparagus, Mushrooms and Shallots

10-12 stalks of asparagus
3-4 medium shallots, peeled and sliced
1/2 to 3/4 cup fresh mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
3-5 cups homemade chicken stock
1 cup chicken, dark and white meat, cubed
grated pepper and fleur de sel to taste
pinch of your favorite herbs

Wash the asparagus, breaking off the tough bottoms of the stalks. Coat with a tablespoon or less of olive oil and roast until the stalks just begin to turn brown at the edges. Set aside to cool.

Meanwhile, slice shallots and mushrooms. Place in a deep sauce pan and sauté in a tablespoon of olive oil until the shallots and mushrooms begin to turn golden brown. Remove from pan and set aside.

Empty chicken stock into saucepan (I like to chill it first so I can remove the congealed fat). Bring to a boil, then lower heat and allow to simmer, adding more water if necessary. Lower the heat and add the vegetables and the cubed chicken. Check the soup and season to suit your tastes. Allow to simmer about 5 minutes longer on low heat.

I kept the seasonings simple because I wanted the flavors to remain true. But I'd recommend a pinch of parsley flakes. Next time I'll add a bay leaf to the soup while it simmers.

Poulet Provencal (Roasted Chicken with Tomatoes and Olives) for Easter Dinner

They say it is spring, although you would not know it here in Wisconsin. I may hear cardinals and mourning doves in the morning, but what I see is snow and more snow, although patches of brownish-green grass have finally begun to show through here and there.

Easter began blustery with flurries and I had no idea what we'd eat for dinner. We are both still recovering from longish bouts with the flu and worse yet, suffering from acute cases of cabin fever.

Searching for a new way to make grilled tomatoes, I stumbled upon this wonderful recipe at Epicurious. Then I noticed it was from the March Gourmet, which for some reason I have two issues of - a good thing, because I can never get enough of this fabulous variation on chicken from the South of France. The recipe calls for all my favorites: tomatoes, garlic, onion, olives, herbes de Provence and fennel seeds. Did I mention chicken?

I added some potatoes to the vegetable mix to please my husband, and I stuffed a quartered lemon inside for additional moisture. These two ideas came from the readers comments on the Epicurious site.

This was possibly the best Easter meal I have ever made. I knew I did not want ham this year, and by happy coincidence, I'd picked up the chicken yesterday.

March was a trying month for me, with several big projects and an auto accident to cope with (I'm fine and my car is fixed already). But a good meal, some scented candles and bouquet of daffodils cheer me today.

Better days lie ahead. I am planning three trips, one for work and two for pleasure. Soon I'll be able to walk outside and enjoy warmer temperatures. Maybe.

Historic Photos of Paris

On this chilly Wisconsin night, it does not take much effort to mentally transport myself to Paris on a spring afternoon.

All I need is a photograph to fire my imagination. I am easily seduced by a shadow on the grass, a hint of breeze, a warm sun and children in a park.

This particular park is Le Jardin des Plantes and it looks familiar to me. No surprise, because I have spent a fair amount of time in that area. The photograph that transports me is a simple portrait of street life in 1935, of mothers, perhaps nannies, and a boy with a ball and a blond girl in a pastel dress and a baby buggy.

In 10 years which of them will have escaped harm and which will have not? For Le Jardin des Plantes is near that sad little school on Rue Buffon that broke my heart on a spring day 70-years later.

The simple black-and-white photograph of an ordinary spring day caught me. It makes me wonder about the exact tint of the sky, the time of day, the weight of the air, the sound from off camera. Who are these people and where did they go after they left this little square of time?

If you like to be intrigued by photos and if you love Paris, you will want Rebecca Schall’s Historic Photos of Paris on your coffee table.

The book is filled with many photos that were unfamiliar to me. Some were blurred. All suggested a story. The great flood of 1910. The man with the push cart. The little girl with the pigeons. The women defiantly pedaling a velo-taxi during the Occupation. Josephine Baker. Marlon Brando arriving at Orly. Adoph Hitler and his thugs. The liberation of Paris.

Here is Paris, warts and all. The text makes no effort to romanticize, to sugar coat. The photos, many from the Roger Viollet Agency, show a cross section of Paris life and people and icons. Paris at work and Paris at play. Paris at war and Paris at peace.

The book is the perfect accompaniment to my growing collection of Eugene Atget. I love the Paris of this book.

I was asked by the book’s publisher (Turner Publishing Co.), to do a review, and was provided with a review copy. I have been asked to review books or videos before, but have not done so.

But Paris has my heart. She always will. I made an exception.

Through a Window...Je Regard

Last week, I was the flu-ridden one; now it is my husband's turn.

So much for my plans for a nice little weekend meal of filet mignon, mushrooms and shrimp and pepper kebabs.

I'll freeze the meat and cobble something together with the rest.

C'est la vie.

Toni of Daily Bread Journal, one of my favorites and a frequent visitor in my kitchen, has tagged me to reveal five more random facts.

I will tell you this: I will never tire of Paris. Neither will you, in all likelihood, or we would never have crossed paths, although there are far better places to go for information on the City of Light.

Paris is of course different things to different people. No two Parises are the same.

One of the Parises my husband and I viewed was from the window of our little 7th arroundissement apartment. When our feet were tired, we poured another glass of Provencal wine and sat at the little table in front of the window to watch the passing parade of Parisians and others.

The large office building across the street - so close you could touch it! - was an English company, we thought, which employed French as well as English workers. The Land Rover, we speculated, belonged to the head honcho, surely a Brit.

I was most intrigued with a woman who worked long into the night one night, probably on some report due at the end of the week. My husband liked watching the workers who took bicycles or motorcycles to work. As soon as we returned home, he vowed to take his own bicycle to work, which he did every sunny day for the rest of the summer.

Watching people is essential if you are to experience a Paris of your own. Sometimes, it is enough.

"Je regard," I have learned to say in shops where I can find nothing to buy - or nothing I can afford to buy.

Looking is enough, I have learned, and it saves you a great deal of money, which can be set aside for trips to Paris.

This winter has been a long and rough one. The snowfall and bitter cold were bad enough, but then everyone I know has been stricken with this dreadful flu. So I took myself to the local department store this weekend to look. Just look. There was no need to buy anything. I saw a few things in pretty pastels or bright colors that inspired me and made me feel better.

"Je regard," I said to myself, stashing my leftover ones into a jar earmarked for travel.

There must be five things about me buried in the text above.

What have you looked at lately?