Broad Swath

My appetite for political news is insatiable. I want to be paying attention; to feel the tremor that brings you down when all the others failed; to witness that moment when your reputation syncs with the man you are.  I'm following you.

Are you a writer who needs an idea for a novel?  Here's one.  It might not be enough to carry a whole book, but it could provide the framework, or a fundamental facet of the plot.  Maybe it's the spark you need to finish something you've already started.  Last week I posted an exquisite poem about a blog being like a time machine.  In Blogger you can write a post and then set it to publish on a future date.  (Maybe that feature is for intense bloggers who need a vacation.)  Here comes the pitch.  Are you sitting down?  I am. It could be a thriller - a blogger is murdered, or disappears in some mysterious way, but their posts keep appearing after they're gone.  With each new post more clues are revealed about the killer, or secrets belonging to a gigantic agrichemical company, or to that asshole of a president.  Shortly after a post appears, readers flood law enforcement with tips and theories.  Was the blogger killed by ...

I've written something I think is quite funny. It won't appear for months; December 31st to be exact. Why did I pick that date? If I posted it now it would surely be funny, but not super funny. Why do funny when you can do super-duper-funny? Trust me, it's funny. That or I'm lost when judging my own work. (Which is it?) Have a seat in my time machine by making a note on your calendar or set a reminder in your phone. Let's have a super slow party.

Good tomatoes are coming.  And sweet corn.  It won't be long now... Far and away the most common summer meal in my family was what Dad called "AGR Dinner."  It was a simple one: grilled steak, corn on the cob, and sliced tomatoes with salt and pepper; maybe some Wishbone dressing.  What it lacked in complexity was made up for with quality ingredients; it was timed with the arrival of those first good tomatoes from the garden, or farm stand.   You could say that the history of this meal began about 7,000 years ago in central Mexico when a grass, teosinte, began evolving into maize.  It makes more sense to start in Durand, Illinois in 1942.  In the summer of that year you could have found my dad holding the reins of two horses pulling him and a one-row cultivator through a field of corn.  Maybe it's the Fourth of July, and the corn is knee high.  George is 16, and in a few weeks he will leave the farm for his first year at the Universit...

Today is our silver wedding anniversary.  (Happy anniversary my love.) Twenty-five years ago Martha and I were married at Faith, Hope, and Charity catholic church.  The ceremony was followed by a reception at the Glen View Club where we were entertained by, and some of us danced to, Las Toallitas - a band from Chicago Martha and I had selected.  Doesn't every wedding need a band wearing fezzes with a woman banging on a rack of automobile brake drums?  That was the last O'Brien wedding with music chosen by the wedding couple. We had wanted Brave Combo, a polka band from Texas that we had seen a couple times in St. Louis, but they weren't going to be anywhere near Chicago.  When we asked for a recommendation they said Las Toallitas had opened for them recently and were fabulous.  In our defense we did our research, and went to a show to check them out.  Martha's brother Joe came with us.  He gave them a thumbs up.  That was perhaps a...

I am rereading Brown Dog , by Jim Harrison.  It is the collected novellas that feature the character of the same name, or B.D.  I don't often reread something.  I haven't read anything else quite like it.  It causes frequent bursts of uncontrolled laughter.  It's often a kind of startled laugh, and I think that's due to some recognition, or a kernel of fear, that there is a bit of B.D. in me. The New York Time's Sunday Book Review described B. D. this way: If Brown Dog qualifies as civilized, it’s only a part-time vocation. He is an “anti-magnet for money”; lust flares in his loins every 15 minutes; four days without a drink seems his best record. He plans to fast before going into “battle” (i.e., chucking fireworks at an ex-girlfriend), but a couple of hours later, he gets “distracted by a pail of fresh smelt” and “two cases of beer.” Running from the police, B. D. asks to stop for breakfast. He prefers to sleep outdoors because houses are too wa...

When I was a kid my mother would sometimes wash my hair at the kitchen sink.  I think the idea was, "This kid's hair is filthy and we don't have time for a bath."  You know how at a salon there's that sink with the head rest and you're tilted backwards and it's comfortable if not downright relaxing?  This wasn't like that.  I would stand on the red step stool, bent forward with my head way down.  Mom would scrub away and then use the pull out sprayer to rinse out the shampoo.  One time, with my voice reverberating down in the sink, I asked her, "Am I going to be bald like Dad?"  The question must have caught her off guard.  Her reply was something like,  "Well, Dad grew up on a farm, and... you wash your hair a lot more often."  She was a smart lady, but we all have our moments.  What mother would be prepared to say yes?  She redeemed herself somewhat by adding, "And you brush your teeth more, so you're less likely to...

     This is about something that makes me feel better.  I find myself needing to feel better lately because I'm not yet prepared to run for office, become a climate scientist, open an opioid treatment center, or take down the NRA.  I really love composting.  It's something I can do right now, every day.  It makes me feel good.  Maybe composting makes you feel better too, or could if you did.      I have been composting for over twenty years and have arrived at what is for me the perfect ratio of labor to return.  There are two piles: the one that I'm adding to, and the one that's been sitting there breaking down for about a year.  Our stainless steel compost bucket makes it's journey from the kitchen out to the younger pile almost every day.  In the spring I process the old pile, start a new one, and stop adding to what is now the new old pile.  Now about that joy...      Let'...

I'm ready to say goodbye to apples for a while by this time of year.  This is often my farewell recipe.  It's kind of a "goodbye winter, hello spring" dessert. Apple-Rhubarb Crisp Ingredients Topping 3/4 cups all purpose flour (or GF flour mix) 3/4 cup packed brown sugar 3/4 cup rolled oats 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 1/4 teaspoon ground cloves 6 tablespoons butter; room temperature 1/2 cup chopped walnuts, some portion finely chopped is good Filling 2 large or 3 medium size apples, cored, peeled, and cut into 1/2-inch pieces. Granny Smith will do.  Just about any baking apple should be fine. 3 cups rhubarb cut into 1/2-inch pieces 3 tablespoons sugar 2 teaspoons all purpose flour (or GF flour mix, or better yet tapioca flour) 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract Vanilla ice cream   Method Get your apples and rhubarb prepped, then preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Topping  Mix the first five ingredients in a medium bowl.  ...

Thanks to Martha's sister Liz and her husband Rich we own a copy of Pot on the Fire , by John and Matt Lewis Thorne.  There's lots to like about this book of food essays and recipes.   It's chapters cover the disarmingly simple ("Perfect Rice," and "Quintessential Toast") to the more complex ("Sticks-to-the-Pot").  Moreover, it is a book that has shown me how to be enthusiastic and rigorous about cooking without being pretentious.  It has helped me answer, "Where am I in this whole food/cooking thing?" I probably have a rotating list of things I call my "favorite lunches," but I think this is the first one I consciously named that.  I don't think the authors intended this to be a lunch recipe, but if you have 20 to 30 minutes to prepare it, and access to a kitchen, it makes a great one.  With simplifications by me: Variation: white rice, dandelion greens, feta, walnuts. Rice with Spinach, Goat Cheese and Walnut...

      I love my dad to death, something I need to be careful about because he turns 93 today.  I don't tell him that I love him often enough.  He's getting a kick out of this blog, and I'm getting a kick out of him getting a kick out of this blog.       Dad really loved his wife Marilyn.  They had one of those storybook romances that seem to have been more common among our Greatest Generation than the ones that followed.  WWII interrupted Dad's college years, he served in the Navy, and when he returned there was Marilyn in chemistry class almost like she was waiting for him.   They married, started a family, he built a career in agricultural journalism and advertising, she made a home, they raised their kids together, and they loved each other completely every day until Mom died about two years ago.       Dad loved Mom so much that birthdays, anniversaries, and holid...

     Go to Costa Rica for the wildlife, or maybe the beaches.  Don't go for the food, or the culture, or the shopping. Go so that you can stand in one place and within the span of about thirty minutes see three species of monkey, scarlet macaws, parrots, lizards, and a woolly opossum. I can't promise that you will have that experience, but we did. Photo by Martha O'Brien      A little over a year ago my family started planning a spring break trip. We don't usually make a big deal out of it but this time we considered Mexico - we hadn't traveled there before, it was likely our last spring break with our daughter Lily, and both our kids were studying Spanish.  We then realized that Martha's sister Liz and her husband Rich were thinking about traveling to that part of the planet in the same time frame and we started collaborating.  We ended up enthusiastically bound for the Osa peninsula of Costa Rica. Monkey scat on the...