My dear husband is a talented and patient contractor who is much loved by his (mostly female) clients. A few weeks ago, a dear friend was visiting from out of town and after a few days pulled me aside to confide that he thought something was going on with my husband as he was constantly walking outside and talking to women on the phone. It's true, he does. In the mornings, sitting at the breakfast table, we talk about our upcoming day and John usually says something like, "oh, I'm going to Marsha's and then by Mrs. Owens, and then to Broughton St." They even give him little gifts--a nice bottle of wine, a jar of honey, or cookies. They meet for coffee or lunch, they even text. It's all fine with me (he's a trustworthy and loyal man ) except for one thing--the cobbler's children have no shoes. Pretty much the only time he embarks upon home improvement projects at our home is just before the holidays, when he knows that we will have a house full of guests. That's why I'm confused, things just aren't adding up. Last weekend, I bought a new chandelier which he promptly rewired and hung, as well as moved two others, and the weekend before, painted our daughter's room. Now, that is suspicious behavior.
I've been down and out with a nasty cold this week and dreaming of all the food that I would make were I able to drag myself out of bed. Chicken noodle soup is the obvious, but there's spaghetti with meatballs, squash casserole, miso soup and deviled eggs. The concept of comfort food is fascinating really--that there are certain things that we eat when we are feeling under the weather. For me, comfort foods may or may not be a dish from childhood and are not necessarily my favorite foods, but I suppose there is some sort of deep emotional attachment. Chicken noodle soup as a child came out of a Campbell's can; now, it's the real deal and I crave it but only make it when someone doesn't feel well. When pregnant, the only craving I experienced was for my mother's chicken casserole. I'm not sure that it ever had another name or where the recipe came from, but I make it from a stained recipe card that I copied the summer I moved into my first apartment. I don't think that I had eaten that casserole for 15 years, but wanted it then, by golly, and have made it fairly often in the eight years since my pregnancy. By the way, when I emerged from the bed yesterday, I made deviled eggs, but I only managed to eat two before my husband wolfed down the entire plate.
Why is it that all the well meaning and more experienced mothers give out more advice about babies and children than one could possibly want or need, but they seem to omit one of the most pertinent and relevant facts of life? Mommies do not get sick, it just cannot happen, it's pretty much equivalent, to let's say, the sun falling out of the sky. I can vaguely recall the days that nasty colds meant popping cold medication that, according to the box, made you drowsy and warned against operating heavy machinery; thus giving an absolutely perfect excuse for snuggling up and napping in bed all day. Now it's "I know Daddy said to let you sleep, but I can't find my tights" or as I'm making dinner, nose like Rudolph's and hacking away, my husband remarks "you seem to be feeling better, will you be able to take Sydney to school in the morning?" Sure, no problem. "Oh Mommie! You're taking me to school today--I'm so glad that you are well." Do you people who live in this house with me have eyes or ears? How about someone whipping up some homemade chicken noodle soup, just the way I like it with a little garlic and saffron?
My husband just spent the weekend painting a perfectly lovely, carefully decorated, but chartreuse, room a shade of pink called "Cat's Meow". The house was a disaster as all my daughter's furniture and stuff was in the middle of the living room. Sydney loved it--more new hiding places for hide and seek. Some background is needed to truly understand the anguish of all this. Just this weekend, one of my oldest friends made the comment that I should consider therapy for my aversion to electronics out in plain sight. I spend days or even weeks selecting paint colors and not due to indecision. Choosing a paint color involves thought, trips to the paint store to select swatches, putting up the swatches in the appropriate room and "viewing" the different shades in the changing light and then doing this all over to find that perfect swatch. My best friend knows that when she asks my advice on a paint color, that she needs to ask weeks before she actually needs it, and that I will be moving into her house for a day or so to select that perfect shade of whatever. Pink is not my favorite color. I really shouldn't say this because it does, well, date me and my daughter thinks that today is my thirty-second birthday, but I grew up in the era of Gloria Steinem. My daughter has a gender neutral name for heavens sakes! Princesses, tiaras and pink just are not my thing and I was surprised that my daughter so shamelessly embraced the Disney princesses in all their glittery, pastel glory. How could my very own daughter be such a self described "girly girl"? It has taken some time, but Sydney now has the pink room that she has wanted for years, the decor police are (temporarily) in the closet and I am struggling with the urge to close the door, but I think it's okay, because Gloria did marry, after all.
The possibility of snow makes front page news here in Savannah. According to the newspaper this morning, it has been 14 years since Savannah has seen snow. My daughter has never seen snow and is utterly convinced that she will this evening. If I were back in North Carolina, or even Atlanta, everyone would be rushing out to the grocery and liquor stores for supplies, just in case we were "snowed in". One of the many great things about the south, and Savannah in particular, is that pretty much any event, and certainly the possibility for snow, is an excuse for a party. It's 9:00 am, and 42 degrees (what does that tell you) and I'm thinking about who to invite and what to serve. I'm leaning towards pizza, but my favorite version topped with arugula, prosciutto, and an egg is an impossibility as I could not procure fresh eggs given that the farmer's market is closed for the winter. Perhaps Jaques Pepin's fabulous beef braised in red wine and chocolate mousse for dessert. . .now all we need is the snow.
I just can't stop thinking about the tiara--probably since my daughter is leaving it the car just in case she needs it, and I'm wondering just how common tiara wearing is these days. A few years ago, when my niece, Patricia, was about my daughter's age, she wore a tiara for her school picture. Fortunately, her daddy drove her to school that morning and it didn't occur to him that the tiara might be a problem so she got away with it and we still have that second grade picture to prove it. The only time that I can recall wearing a tiara was on my birthday two years ago. My daughter, good southern girl that she is, loves a tea party, and we went to The Whimsical Tea Cup for tea. I was promptly offered the birthday tiara and from the look on Sydney's face, I certainly could not decline. It was my birthday after all, and I never had worn a tiara, so I did. Perhaps it was the tiara, but I just didn't feel like being "meanie mommy" that day, so when Sydney, who has an enormous appetite, asked how many thing she could eat, I just said that she could eat what she wanted. Thank heavens that Sydney has her dad's good metabolism and height, because that girl can polish off some dessert! I reluctantly gave up the tiara just about the time that Sydney started to look a little green around the gills, and to this day, am sorry that I had to give it up. My birthday is right around the corner, perhaps I can get away with a tiara. . .just for the day.
Very likely due to the fact that we have both have fanatical, never miss a game, yelling at the TV sports loving fathers and brothers, my husband and I are not much for watching sports. This year we made an exception, as John is a New Orleans boy, and watched the Super Bowl (after chowing down on that fried chicken). We were pretty much guilted into it by John's mother, who after 40 years of complaining about his Dad's sports tendencies, has become the self proclaimed High Priestess of Saints football and world's greatest fan. We got an email this morning saying that she is currently dressing only in black and gold and has a donned a black hat and gold wig. At least it was a good game, and I must say I was a little surprised to see that football players still wear decent uniforms and look, well, the way professional athletes should. I first saw signs of the demise in basketball with those long baggy shorts, then baseball players traded in those cute knickers for long baggy pants, even swimmers stopped wearing Speedos and wear some kind of full body thing. What's the world coming to and thank heavens for football players who still know how to dress!
Since one of our friends was given the boot by his wife (deservedly), my husband decided to take over Sunday night cooking. He has been cooking for about 5 years now and has become quite good at it. What began as a genuine attempt to be more helpful around the house, has developed into a weekly adventure for him in that he has come to the realization that the chef writes the menu. Thanks to the South Beach Diet, I rarely make pasta. John decided that it really could be fun to pull out the hand cranked pasta machine that Mom had given us years ago and went on a four year pasta binge. On a given Sunday you could walk into my kitchen and see hand cut pasta draped over the top of my cabinet doors or little raviolis drying on the counter and John proclaiming that this was the best yet-- that he'd finally rolled it thin enough. Of course there have been some not so great Sunday meals, too. Like the time that one of the standard poodles helped himself to the pasta, or after three trips to the grocery, dinner didn't make it to the table until after 8:00 (our daughter goes to bed at 7:30), and of course, the time that Louis, the crazy poodle, snatched a rib eye off the counter and raced around the yard taunting us with it. My dear husband is now on a quest for perfect fried chicken. The chicken last week was perfectly acceptable southern fried chicken, it could have used a little more salt, he just forgot to make any side dishes. This week, John is more confident about the chicken, he has the basics down, just needs some tweaking so he goes to the master of complicated, Thomas Keller of the famed French Laundry, for his recipe. As this one requires a twelve hour brine, he started last night making the brine, cutting up the chickens, etc. I' sure that the chicken will be delicious and I'm impressed that he would even attempt a Thomas Keller recipe, but it's just too bad that my grandmother isn't around to teach him to make fried chicken because I seriously doubt that even Thomas Keller's could be better.
In Savannah, you know spring is right around the corner when Russo's announces on their marquee "For those in the know, it's shad and shad roe". Before coming to Savannah, I had not experienced the delicacy known as shad. Way back when, shad was an important food source in the United States and was fished in the spring as the fish leave the Atlantic to spawn in freshwater streams. These days, shad is fished primarily for the roe (which is delicious, I admit). Of course I don't fish, (do Southern Girls fish?) but I understand that one of the reasons that shad is not commercially available is that it the boniest fish known to mankind--it has 3000 bones to be exact. Try to fillet that. According to the folks at Russo, it's a dying art but, fortunately, alive and well at their fish market. My weekly farm box arrived yesterday and contained a bag of shiitake mushrooms and my cook's brain immediately went "ding, ding, ding--Elizabeth's shad recipe" the one without the roe and with those yummy shiitake mushrooms and leeks. Heavenly, and a reminder that spring is almost here.
I have the distinct privilege of being the mother of a beautiful seven year old daughter. Living with her, watching her grow up and experience the world has been a fascinating journey. I'm still amazed by what she teaches me. My daughter has a friend who is a "one upper" anything you can do I can do better. We have had many conversations about not taking things personally, ignoring it, etc., but to no avail. The friend had a birthday recently and received new ballet gear--leg warmers, sweater--all the big girl stuff. My daughter complained for two days that the friend would be insufferable at the next ballet class and I suspected that she was correct. The big day arrived, my daughter dressed for ballet (leg warmers and sweater, of course), I put her hair in the requisite bun, she complained a bit more about her friend and disappeared into her room. A few minutes later, she returned, ready to go and wearing a tiara. Given that jewelry was not allowed in ballet class and I seriously doubted tiaras were, I expressed this thought. My daughter shrugged and said "I know, I'm just wearing it in the car". Problem solved, life is good, tiara trumps the "one up" anytime. Moral of the story, brilliant life lesson learned from a seven year old--when life gets tough, skip the brownie from Back In The Day Bakery or the glass of wine and wear a tiara!
It's that time again--our beautiful city is hosting the annual Savannah Book Festival, a world-class literary event bringing popular and critically acclaimed authors to historic Savannah, Georgia. The festival kicks off on Friday, 2/5 with keynote speaker Vince Flynn. Throughout the day on Saturday, there are free events in Telfair Square that are open to the public. On Saturday evening, Kate Campbell, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Caroline Herring and Claire Holley are performing a Eudora Welty Tribute concert at 8:00 pm. Julia Reed will be at the Jepson Center for the Arts on Sunday giving her much anticipated brunch talk. Sounds like a great weekend!
It's cold and rainy and we are coming off the coldest winter that I have experienced in 12 years of living in Savannah. It's true, I've had enough of winter and am longing for spring. I'm dreaming of trips to the Farmer's Market in Forsyth Park with my daughter, gorgeous summer tomatoes, beautiful salad greens, shell beans and fresh eggs. Then a quick stop on my way home at Russo's for just caught, still alive soft shell crabs. Unfortunately, we are still a few months out, but help has arrived in the way of Cha Bella's new Farm Boxes! Our first box arrived on Thursday (they deliver right to your door) and definitely exceeded my expectations--beautiful baby greens and carrots, butternut squash, broccoli, fresh herbs, strawberries and freshly baked bread--all locally grown and organic. Just seeing my daughter so excited about veggies makes it worthwhile and the butternut squash soup on a cold day is just icing on the cake. Check out Cha Bella's website for more information about this fantastic restaurant and their Farm Box program.
www.cha-bella.com
Fed To End MBS Purchase Program
There was major economic news on many fronts this week, with mixed results for mortgage markets. The Fed statement essentially followed the expected script, demand was strong for the Treasury auctions, and much of the economic data released during the week was stronger than expected. The net effect was a small increase in mortgage rates during the week.
As expected, the Fed made no change in the fed funds rate on Wednesday. The biggest surprise was that the Fed's Hoenig dissented from the decision, as he believes that economic conditions have improved enough that the Fed should begin to tighten policy. The Fed's outlook for the economy was slightly more positive than in the prior statement. The statement repeated that the mortgage-backed security (MBS) purchase program will be concluded by the end of March. Some investors were disappointed that the Fed didn't show more support for a possible expansion of the MBS purchase program, and mortgage rates rose after the news.
There is a wide range of expectations in the investment community about the impact of the end of the MBS purchase program on mortgage rates. The Fed has been purchasing roughly 75% of new MBS issuance, and a decline in demand from one source normally leads to higher yields to attract other buyers. One argument, however, is that the end of the program has been expected for quite a while, so mortgage rates already reflect the news, and there could be little reaction over coming months. Other analysts predict an increase in mortgage rates of as much as one percent.
I get a lot of questions about the outlook for the foreclosure market and when things are going to get better. The delinquency data for last month is very telling. Note that serious delinquency is over 90 days late.
Fannie Mae reported yesterday that the rate of serious delinquencies - at least 90 days behind - for conventional loans in its single-family guarantee business increased to 5.29% in November, up from 4.98% in October - and up from 2.13% in November 2008.
Compliments of Michael Caputo