A friend of mine just got back from a year long sabbatical. Actually, it was a year of traveling across this country. What a grand adventure!

She has one daughter, now 20 and away at college. A year ago she realized a deep sense of something missing in her life. Like me, she had gone right through college to grad school to career, getting married, raising a child. Each step preordained, natural, a progression. Still, she had this itch.

She traveled back and forth across this country twice. Along the way she’d stop at innumerable points of interest. And along with her on this journey was a Pez dispenser. She’d been given this treasure from a friend at a party a bunch of us threw her prior to her departure. The friend had grown up with Mary, and it was to remind her of her earlier years (lest she become lost). It was nothing more than a prop, yet Pez ended up being featured in all her pictures from her travels. Mary and Pez in Wisconsin at a cheese shop. Mary and Pez in Wyoming standing mighty close to a buffalo. Mary and Pez in Florida on the beach.

One of the things she realized along the way was this nugget. She had come to think of raising her daughter as something akin to flying a kite, whose string Mary had been holding since birth, guiding that kite through the winds, keeping it aloft. With that daughter now away at college, Mary discovered the truth was as much the opposite. It was the daughter who had, in large measure, been the pivot point, the anchor in Mary’s life.

Of course, children can be a great alibi. ‘I didn’t accomplish what I set out to do, but then,’ pointing to my child, I can say with great affection and total sincerity, ‘I was concerned with larger affairs. I was peopling the earth.’

There’s something more you should know about Mary. At that party which kicked this whole journey off, I met her entire family. There, I learned that her family kidded her about always asking why. A curious child was Mary. She’d look for the meaning in everything. “She’d look for the deeper meaning in a sneeze!” was declared by her sister.

Mary’s advice: should you set out on your adventure, be cautiously exuberant. You’ve got to be exuberant to even brave such an adventure, and cautious because you never know who’s going to be returning. Mary reconnected with parts of herself she had lost touch with through the years, such as spontaneity and the sheer exuberance of life. They were as intrinsic to her being as anything that had been in the forefront since career and family.

Lastly, you’re going to need a prop to take along. It matter not what you choose. What matters is that it will force you to strike up conversations with people along the way, if for no other reason that to get them to take your picture.

Mary’s now back. She’s changing careers. She’s living in the now. She’s full of life. And while we who know her are all happy for her, we’re also a bit jealous. At least, I am.

I walked outside this morning just as the sun was lighting up the east. The sky above was a striking robin’s egg blue, but as the natural is want to do, the pale blue wasn’t pale, wasn’t surface. There was a translucence that harkened to something more.

It occurred to me, as I looked up and went through these thoughts, that it was the first time I had timed this moment perfectly - for it wasn’t long before that sky was white-washed, paler, less vivid. Nor was it long since the inky black stillness of space was holding the twinkling of stars. Then I thought about being in the moment. I vowed to wake up and notice a few more things, for the first time, from whatever was around me, during the rest of my day.

But first, the care and feeding of the girls.

* * * * *

As I set out on today’s adventure, I looked all around. Ever notice how painted-on colors are flat? How the inanimate is somehow duller that the animated? The black of a metal light pole, say, to the depth held within the coat of feathers of a black bird. Or the green of the plastic newspaper bins affixed to mailboxes around here to the iconic living green of, say, the shoots of daffodils and paperwhites poking up out of just thawing ground.

* * * * *

“If only we could pull out our brain and use only our eyes.” (Pablo Picasso)

* * * * *

Rain, rain mixed with snow, rain. Today finally gave way to sunshine, which helped me to notice how the sun side-lighting the empty tree branches turned their brown bark into a glowing amber. How the sun passing through the dogwood animated its orange-red twigs. How a red barn casts a blue shadow. How even the reflected light of the sun within my dark garage seemed somehow to glow.

* * * * *

In “Two Tramps in Mud Time,” Robert Frost has a line describing an April moment when air and sky has that certain feeling, but suddenly a cloud crosses the path of sun and a bitter little wind takes you back to March. Today there was the promise of warmth upon setting out, but there was the rebuff as well.

* * * * *

Can something as formless as sunlight, which in itself cannot be seen, in some small way reveal something beyond the form it illuminates?

On this walk I took, the life around me seemed more animated. The birds were louder, their numbers seemingly increased, their joy in being increased in measure by the feeling of that long awaited sun and the energy it suffused into their little lives.

That same light colored my walk today. Its shimmer, its essence, its celestial lightness is the color of this day as I walk the same route as yesterday, yet see as if for the first time.

OK, this may seem a bit far fetched for this site, but what the heck. Be one with all you do! Friday’s post on the Bible forbidding the eating of chameleons got me started today. Then, a line wouldn’t get itself out of my head.

As Cervantes wrote in Dox Quixote, “Hunger is the best sauce.”

One of the most notable differences between home-cooked meals and those served in restaurants can be found in the flavor of the sauces. While some cooks are comfortable adding a little of this and a splash of that, recreating a sauce sampled on the town is a challenge for many. For those who need a little boost of kitchen confidence, here are a few tricks from behind the hot line to stir up some culinary creativity.

• Reduce sauces to increase flavor. To reduce a sauce, simply cook it over a low heat in order to evaporate water from the pan. As the sauce simmers, the volume decreases but its intense meaty flavor will remain, certain to complement your dish.

• Deglaze your pan to capture the richest flavors. After sautéing aromatic vegetables or searing meats, begin the sauce by adding wine, juice, or stock to the sauté pan. This releases the sweet browned bits of food from the pan and into the sauce.

• Spike up the flavor. Acid ingredients such as wine, vinegar, and citrus juices are used to bring out full flavors that may be otherwise hidden in a heavy sauce. A touch should bring a flat sauce to life, but the heavy-handed will suffer from too much tang.

• Adjust salt just before serving. Masked by water, fiber, and other naturally occurring flavors, salt tends to hide within many basic ingredients. As a sauce reduces and its flavor becomes more intense, so does its salt content. Rather than adding salt while starting a sauce, sprinkle it in at the end to make sure you don’t end up with an unpalatable disaster.

• Use fresh ingredients. From meat to stock, from vegetables to wine, use only products that look, smell, and taste good on their own. While fine wines may be overkill in a sauce, make sure your cheaper alternative is drinkable before committing it to the pot.

• Thicken sauces as naturally as possible. If there’s enough protein in your stock, reduction alone may give your sauce the body it needs, but at times you’ll need to look elsewhere. Avoid using cornstarch where possible, as it creates an undesirable sheen and feel. Try vegetable purees instead. Flour slurries or roux are the next best option.

• Allow your sauce time to grow. Make your sauce in advance and hold for a few hours under refrigeration prior to serving, allowing flavors to meld together and bloom. Sharp acids often calm down and aromatics and spices intensify, leaving you with a complex, flavorful sauce just like you’ve tasted in restaurants.

• Finish sauces with delicate flavors just before serving. Toss in a little pat of butter, a hint of truffle oil, or a handful of fresh herbs just before your reheated sauce is ready to plate, giving it one last kiss of personality as it heads to the dining room.

And to wrap up, who better than the man who unboiled an egg, Herve This (pronounced ‘Tiss’), the father of molecular gastronomy:

Pepper should be added to a stock only eight minutes before it is taken off the heat. The explanation, Hervé has discovered, is that further cooking means the more desirable, spicy aromatic molecules volatilise and are replaced by bitter tannins.

(None of which advice would make a chameleon worth a bite.)

First the set up, then the reveal.

If you’ve read the seven steps, you have come across what for me was a startling fact. Humans are 99.99% nothing. It is the space between particles in the atoms that make up our cells. If you want more proof watch The Space Between Atoms.

If that doesn’t give you pause, what will?

Which brings me to the reveal. Think you know everything? Of course not. But what if everything you think you know is wrong?

On occasional Fridays we’re going to examine this proposition. Starting right now. Ready?

Why Do Chameleons Change Color?

Not to match the background, if that’s what you’re thinking. Try again…

‘Because they can?’

No snark here, folks.

Chameleons never, in a million years, change color to match the background environment they are in. It’s a complete myth. Utter fabrication. Totally untrue.

Chameleons change color when frightened, or picked up, or when they trump another chameleon in a fight. When a member of the opposite sex steps into view. They sometimes even change color due to fluctuations in light or temperature. In other words, they change color as a result of different emotional states.

Next time you’re out and about and the opportunity presents itself, you’d better know something more about this little creature. Since there’s a symetry to three, three it shall be.

One: Chameleons can remain completely motionless for several hours at a time. Could you do that? Because of this and the fact that ancient folks never saw them eat (they really don’t eat very much at all), chameleons were thought for centuries to live on air. I think you can be assured that isn’t true at all.

Two: The word chameleon is Greek for ground lion. The smallest species is only an inch long (Brookesia minima); the largest grows to over two feet long (Chaemaeleo parsonnii). The common chameleon has been bequeathed with something that sounds like an Italian Opera title - Chamaeleo chamaeleon.

Three: The Bible forbids the eating of chameleons. I don’t know why, nor why anyone would consider one a treat.

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(Note to self:  Enough with the daily posts; from now on, Monday-Wednesday-Friday.)

Today I ought to head outdoors and scythe the perennial grasses to the ground before the new green growth gets in the way. As long as I am in the beds, I should shear the shrub twigs that the deer somehow managed to ignore. Then to the garage and back with a rake to spruce things up, then to the compost pile with leaf litter and grass.

While in the garage I should push the snow blower out and run it ‘til empty. Then move the mower front and center, fill it with gas, and put the snow blower in its summer back place. On second thought, I ought put the mower in the trunk and head to the dealer, and get that damn self adjusting right wheel bolted in place.

While in the garage I should pick up the heavy pruner and bow saw, and head out to the back where tree branches are dangling. After a winter of wind and snow, while in the back, I should definitely pick up all the fallen twigs and branches and put them in the pile for later hauling to the brush dump. Then there’s the mucking out of the pond feature, and I really ought to drain the black water and refill, after I haul out the hoses from the garage. And I really shouldn’t delay in hauling out the patio furniture, which will entail backing the car out of the garage.

I ought to finish taking in the Christmas lights on the shrubs out front, which got buried under snow and locked in ice. I should put them away in their rightful container, and while I’m in the basement, I should flush the drain tiles of their accumulated sludge. First, though, I must take a trip to the hardware store and purchase 100′ of clean hose, which I’ve been meaning to do since last fall.

If I’m to be in the basement, after visiting the hardware store, I ought first check to see whether a replacement air filter is on hand, which I think won’t be found, as the replacement replaced the previous just last fall. And while I’m at it, and before I depart, it would be wise to take stock of our store of water softening salt. It also occurs to me that new leather work gloves should be located, as the current ones were found lacking when hacking and hauling the rose bush last fall. And I ought to find a new pruner to replace the one dropped last fall.

While I’m out and about I should look for a new rim, which I promised my daughter I’d replace along with the net for shooting hoops this summer. I should also hunt for a new mailbox, to replace the falling apart one held together with wire since winter (and I could only figure wire to hold it together since caulk and or glue and -20 degrees are akin to oil and water).

I ought to purchase more twine and re-hang the honeysuckle vine that’s come down, and I should go to the rental place and rent an aerator and loosen the ground (But if I shouldn’t get around to renting and aerating, I should at least purchase two 5000 sq. ft. bags of spring fertilizer, then march the spreader back and forth across the lawn - I should at least do that.)

Seeing as how its late afternoon and there’s dinner yet to prepare, I should stop at the grocery store so I’d really best get going. Specially since its our first meal together as a family in quite a while, and I ought to return the overdue books to the library before I pick up my daughter at softball practice, and you know she hates grocery shopping when there’s a night’s worth of homework looming and explaining suchness at that moment isn’t likely to bear any fruit, whatsoever.

And I ought to be OK with that, too.