S'more Fun

What would a stay at the Hotel Decent be without a barbecue?

Being English, the Duke of Douglas Avenue

doesn't realize us Americans eat our corn on the cob horizontally.
TJ, Abi, Loni, Dan and Andrea wait patiently for Grumpy to finish cooking the steaks

"Are you sure putting my picture on your blog is going to get me that modelling job?"

After four and a half hours, Andrea is delighted to finally get something to eat...

"It's only lemonade - honest."

"Who wants to learn how to knit a S'more?"

Night Owls

Grumpy introduces Dan to a great American tradition. Can't see what the fuss is about myself. Their chicken wings are nothing special!

I Left My Heart in Ravinia

Last night we took our young guests to Ravinia to listen to Tony Bennett. They had heard of him because he'd once made an appearance on The Simpsons. It was a wonderful concert, and Grumpy and I were especially thrilled to see that there was another celebrity in the audience-Mickey Rooney! I've never been so star struck in my life as I have been since moving here. Apparently, Bennett had played Ravinia on Friday night too, flown to Ted Kennedy's funeral, then back again for the second concert. Not bad for an 83-year-old!

Real men may eat quiche, but they don't have to like it.

"Here, spit it out into your napkin like I'm doing," says Andrea.

Much better than a diamond. This one flashes in the dark!

This is the 26th year Bennett has sung at Ravinia. Guess he must have left just a little bit of his heart here too....

Flour Power

This afternoon was my photo shoot for the Glancer. The one that's going to launch my career as the face on the Food Network floor. Fortunately they didn't need to see the finished product, so I set about taking out a few things before the photographer arrived. I had also seen a previous version, where someone was photographed wearing their coat in their kitchen with a perfectly clean bowl stuck on the countertop in front of them.
There were two ways I could go with this. Pop some gingham curtains up at the window, put on an apron and make a big batch of scones that would be smelt half way up the street or....
What I actually did was throw half a bag of flour all over the counter, the rest all over my face. The photographer arrived late in the day because she had to finish school first. Honest. She's an intern studying digital photography at college. She looked about 12, and a little surprised to walk in to all this mess.
In the end she got a good selection of photos, one of which will appear in their October issue. Much as I would like to be a model in a magazine, when you look like I do, it's something that just isn't likely to happen. But clowning around with a face full of flour? I'm a perfect dish.

Fundue

Last night we joined friends at the Melting Pot fondue restaurant....

Not the Iron Chef, more the Rusty Chef.
Back, back damn calories...

Two for the pot.

Dressing Up

When Dan told Abi to treat herself to a new dress, I don't think this is what he meant!

Playing A Round

You'd think summer would be a good time to visit Chicago. It's normally so hot and sunny! Unfortunately Abi and Dan's visit seems to have co-incided with monsoon season, so we've had to be creative. Today we tried out the new glow mini golf in Fox Valley Mall. To Abi it was like getting an alcoholic to play cards in a bar, but she survived.

Unfortunately I don't have video proof, but I'm proud to say I got not one but FOUR holes in one. In case you didn't get that..that's ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. Don't think I'm quite ready for the Solheim Cup next time, but if they ever play a mini golf version, I'll be there!

Pasta Masta

Dan's first attempt at knitting doesn't quite work out...

Next Guests Please

The paparazzi are everywhere these days! Just what you need when you arrive after a seven hour flight! Abi and Dan arrive at O'Hare.

Shalom-A-Palooza

Welcome to our first Shalom-A-Palooza!

Dick models CBS's new kippah

Everyone wants to see what makes CBS so great.

A little nosh while you enjoy the art of our member Barbara Lipkin.

Our little diva Dagney from Holy Neuteronomy! signs autographs for friends....

"Come on kids. We need to get those membership forms out asap!"

"Hmm. Do you think she'll notice if I pinch one of those cookies?"

"It may be a magic show, but if you're not going to saw me in half, I'm not joining in!"

Rabbi Rudolph amazes the crowd with his basket weaving skills.

While Grumpy fails in his attempt to start up the CBS Line Dancing Team.

However, he does make Laura and Zoe Steele happy. They won the door prize of a DVD player!

A big thanks to everyone who helped out and joined us for this special day in the CBS calendar.

Culinary Fool

When I wrote the entry 'Julie and Julia and Hilary', I was obviously hoping someone would pick up my blog and turn me into a movie star. As it turns out, I'm more likely to turn into a short dumpy British version of Julia Child than blogger Julie Powell. Yesterday I had an email from my friends at The Glancer magazine. They asked if I had a favourite recipe to share for their October issue. I just had to supply the recipe, write about it and send them a photo.
Regular blog readers will know about my culinary skills all too well. You only have to look back at my attempts to make pancakes or frost cookies for that.
"Never mind," I thought. "I'll make a batch of scones and just photograph the best one."
Scones were one of the first things we were taught back in domestic science classes in England in the 1960s, so I thought it shouldn't be too hard. Plus they're English, so American readers won't expect too much knowing what they think of British cuisine.
But nothing is simple, is it? This morning I received an over enthusiastic message to say they were going to send round a photographer to take pictures of me at work in my kitchen! I'm going to look the Muppets' Swedish Chef compared with the other contributors. But thanks to Jett, at least my kitchen looks good......

Costco-A-Palooza

This weekend is the first event we've had to organize in our new roles as VPs at Congregation Beth Shalom. It's our open house weekend, this year re branded as Shalom-A-Palooza. (Every event around here is a Palooza. Absolutely no idea what it means, but sounds kind of exciting).
Fortunately we have so many volunteers who are more than capable, I've actually had to do very little apart from co-ordinate. Grumpy has had to do nothing at all, apart from drive me to Costco 200 times to get the refreshments.
Costco is the other woman in our marriage. I'm sure Grumpy loves her more than me (not surprising when you read how I trash him in the Press). He would willingly spend every weekend with her, price comparing her treasures, fondling her chicken breasts.
Even though he's a shopaholic and has never walked into a store he doesn't like, there's something about Costco that's extra special. The fact everything is allegedly a bargain. That you can buy 500 toilet rolls at a time in one pack. That you never know if you're going to come away with a CD or an entire digital piano.
So please, no one bother to thank Grumpy for all his efforts for this event. To him it's a labour of love.

Omnia: Final Act

I was thrilled when the head of the Omnia theater and development project asked me to be a speaker last night. It was pretty important stuff. After a campaign lasting several years, the City Council were finally going to make a decision as to whether the plans had any chance of success.
The Omnia issue has caused great controversy in the local area which I won't go into here. If you want a factual account you'll have to visit their website www.omniaarts.org. What do I know about straight news reporting?
Anyhow, there were three reasons I wanted to speak.
1. I really am a true believer in the arts and I want a real theater in Naperville.
2. Although I have no right to vote in this country, I appreciate I can still have a voice.
3. I couldn't resist the temptation to be that person at the end of the movie whose motivational speech has the crowd on their feet as he completely sways public opinion.
I could see it all. As I walked up to approach the nine jurors, sorry councilmen, I would hear the audience bristle with excitement. "Oo, it's that woman from the paper. She's great. Plus she has an English accent so whatever she says is bound to be intelligent."
As I started to speak, the eyes of the hard edged councilmen would glaze over with tears. By the end of my talk they'd be on their feet applauding rapturously, all in slow motion, of course. The ball would fall through the hoop as the place erupted, balloons and streamers would fall from the ceiling, fireworks would go off, a marching band would come on and Ty Pennington would have the theater built within the week. Hoorah!
Of course it wasn't quite like that. I did get my three minutes, which the council appeared to listen to. Not sure if the audience was awake because I had to address the council with my back to them. There were plenty of other more informed speakers than me (although none with such a nice accent, I have to say). Oh, and the plan was thrown out, so no theater this time round. As they say, it's not over til the fat lady speaks....

Hitting the Deck

I was on my best behaviour last night when I picked up my new friend Sue to show her the delights of downtown Naperville. Sue and her family are currently at the same apartment block we started out in. It was so strange going back to show another English newcomer around town. Finally a chance for the self appointed Ambassador of Naperville to get to work.
I had it all planned. A stroll along the Riverwalk, a wander downtown, then dinner at our favourite restaurant. I'd even smartened up a little. Have to put on a good show for these fussy Brits, don't you know? Fortunately a recent thunderstorm had passed, and the sun was beginning to peep out from behind the clouds.
"This is gret," said Sue as we left. Note: to any of you Americans who have trouble understanding my accent, Sue is from Newcastle in the north of England. If I need subtitles, she needs an interpreter!
"Tell ya wot. We yuv foond ah hoose ta rent. We ya soo exzyted. Cooman ave a loook," she said.
The house was close to downtown and indeed very cute, although I had to laugh when I saw she had found the only house in Naperville with an upwardly sloping driveway. Still, ice and snow is a novelty when you have come from Dubai, so I'll let her find that one out for herself.
"Coom rahnd the buck," Sue beckoned as she left out of the car.
We walked around the yard, which was indeed impressive. The house was typically American, with its sidings and wooden deck. (Yes, I know it's ordinary to you, but we're English).
Things were going gret, sorry, great. We were getting on really well. I was the upper class hostess in my new home town.
Then it happened.
"Oo, beya cairful there," Sue warned. "Thea decks a bit slipp..."
THWACK.
I was on the floor for the second time this week.
"I can't go to the hospital again," I wailed.
Sue looked at me like I'd gone insane. When she realized where I'd gone, that was.
She was really concerned for my welfare, at least I imagine she would have been if she could have stopped laughing.
"I'll be ok," I said. "I'll just sit here on this slippery, wet deck for a minute to catch my breath."
We did get to the restaurant eventually. I had mud on my elbow and my backside looked as if I'd been trampled on by a herd of buffalo. Not quite as sophisticated as I would have liked.
Oh, and don't worry about my welfare. I'm fine as long as I don't sit down.

They're the Tops!

I could write at length about last night's Cole Porter evening at Ravinia. But if a picture is worth a thousand words, heaven knows how much a video is worth!

Here's Victoria Clark and one of my favorite actors, David Hyde Pierce. Enjoy.

Ever Decreasing Circles: The Power of the Blog

Lucy, Holly and Sue beginning their American Dream on my front porch

Click on the title to read today's Naperville Sun column. It's all about what happened when one of my blog fans moved here on the strength of what she'd read from her home in Dubai.Not only is she now in this country, but this article well and truly puts her in the blog she's been following from the other side of the world for so long!

700th Posting: National Health Scare

What a lovely evening. Had super time at the Loaves and Fishes fundraiser. Beautiful weather and lovely sangria. Topping the evening off with a light meal at Timpanos, right in the heart of wonderful downtown Naperville. Aahhh. Urh. Actually come to think of it, I'm feeling a little odd. My stomach's churning, feeling lightheaded. Uh oh. I recognize this feeling. I'm going to faint.
"Are you going?" says Grumpy nonchalantly. He's quite used to this scenario. Little prone to fainting I am, particularly on a warm day when I've used sangria to cool myself off.
"I need to lie down," I hiss. "Right now." I gracefully slide under the table as Grumpy rushes to pop a folded up napkin under my head. Like a night in a cheap hotel.
The restaurant is so clean you could eat off the floor. I know, because I'm looking at the floor really close up now. Might just doze for a little while. I'll be fine. My snooze is woken by the familiar phrase: "Shall I call for an ambulance?"
"Oh no," I say, although no words seem to come out. "I'm fine. I'll come round in a minute and might stop for an ice cream on the way home."
But within seconds, there is is. The red flashing lights. A man in a uniform leers down at me.
"How old are you?" he's asking. (I'm asked this question a gazillion times during the following two hours. Not once did someone have the respect to say 'really? You look so young." but I gave out my birth date so many times I'm sure I'll be due a good crop of cards next year.
"What's the name of the president?"
"What?" I'm lying on the floor and they want to play Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?
I'm able to tell them, but somehow it doesn't sound right in an English accent.
Suddenly I'm heading out of the door on a gurney. Despite my hope that we'd be able to escape without paying the check, Grumpy is no where to be seen so he's probably arguing about some aspect of it to the manager.
We're in the ambulance now. I've wires coming out of me, a drip on my arm and an oxygen mask on my face. The ambulanceman is asking me rude questions about how much I've had to drink but its difficult to snap back with a mask over your face. Probably why they put it there.
Now we're going full pelt through the ER at Edward Hospital. It's just like ER on TV except really posh with hardly anyone there. I'm pushed into a cubicle where nurses and a doctor come in.
"I'd like to see George Clooney," I say in my head. "If you're thinking of sending me House don't bother, he's really an English comedian you know. Terrible doctor, although a pretty mean pianist."
A barrage of tests begins. I start shaking as if I'm on one of those vibrating beds in a cheap motel. I'm assured this is purely adrenalin kicking in after my adventure, but to be honest I'm not that excited.
The nurses decide to use my arms for target practise and a handsome young man (I'm not that out of it) comes to monitor my heart.
"My initials are actually EKG," he laughs, administering the EKG.
"No!" I laugh, mentally taking out my notebook. "What's your name?"
"Eric Kurt and my surname begins with G," he says mysteriously. Terrified of lawsuits these medics.
Grumpy appears, completely unfazed by my predicament because he's so thrilled he could park right by the front door.
I'm feeling so much better now. I could just leap off the bed and run home. But I've so many wires and leads everywhere I'm like Pinocchio before he had his strings cut.
"Push, push," laughs Grumpy recalling an earlier time he saw me in a similar situation.
"Actually, I think my waters may have broken," I confessed. "Although it could be the IV leaking from when they moved me onto here."
Eventually all the tests come back. Dr Denzil Washington tells me all is fine, although I do suffer from discombobliatory woozyfaction, or something like that anyway. Fancy word for dehydration making me fall over. But I have the answer. Next time I'll take my drink laying down.

Julie and Julia and Hilary

I loved the new Meryl Streep movie Julie and Julia because it's about two of my favourite subjects - food and blogging! I thought the idea about writing a blog with an end in sight (Julie wrote about making all the recipes in Julia Child's cookbook in exactly a year) was an interesting notion. I did the same thing myself in my previous blog - Around The World In 31 Days. This one seems to have developed a life of it's own and I just can't stop.
The view point that keeps echoing in my head though, is something Julie's husband said to her. That writing a blog is narcissistic.
Unfortunately that's true. Although I like to think my blog acts as an ambassador for Naperville and makes people laugh, when it comes down to it, I'm in control and it's pretty much all about me.
The good thing is I don't come round to your house and whack you over the head with it. It's entirely up to you if you want to read it. I expect most bloggers dream of being picked up like Julie Powell was and having their blog turned into a book or a movie. We all think we have something to say and that our readers fall on our every word. We believe blogging is the lazy way to be chosen by an agent, and that that means we don't have to spend years sending in manuscripts to be rejected or worse, ignored.
I could go on to write a humorous piece about who would play Grumpy and me in the movie but I won't. Even I'm not that narcissistic.

Debbie Does Drury

When I was a little girl, Debbie Reynolds was one of my favourite actresses. She was always so pretty and perky and funny. So when I heard she was making her annual visit to Drury Lane, Oakbrook, I couldn't resist.
Drury Lane is a most extraordinary theatre. It's decked in red and white livery, with huge crystal chandeliers. It exemplifies 80s chic, which is a bit of a shame since it's now 2009. Attending a 1.30 p.m. Sunday matinee made the whole thing even stranger. We may not have quite been the youngest members of the audience, but we were only two of a select handful without white or pale blue hair.
Debbie is now 77. She may no longer be able to dance down flights of stairs and her voice is a couple of octaves lower, but she's still an old school Hollywood star. You have to be a real diva to get away with wearing a red sequined pant suit, blonde wig and false eyelashes on a Sunday afternoon, and not look like a drag queen. She sang at times in front of a screen showing clips from her old classics, like the Unsinkable Molly Brown and Singin' In The Rain. There again was little Debbie, cute as a button flirting with Donald O'Connor and Gene Kelly. In front of her, grown up Debbie, looking like her own grandmother.
As well as the music, there were the impressions and jokes, not out of a place in a 1960s TV special. At least I think that's the last time I saw an impression of Zsa Zsa Gabor in an ostrich feather robe. There were a few amusing stories, but mostly famous names dropped so easily they could have been held by arthritic fingers covered in butter. Yes, Debbie has finally reached the age where she no longer needs the stories. Just rattling off a list of names like James Stewart, Jimmy Cagney, Grace Kelly and Judy Garland is enough to give her rapturous applause.
Debbie still tours regularly and this year celebrates 62 years in showbiz. Why does she still do it? I doubt it's for the money. Is it for the fans? She says she thinks of them all as friends and says they've stuck with her longer than any of her husbands. But I think it's because Debbie refuses to be forgotten. Like any diva, she's nothing without the applause. And even if nowadays it comes from women in white pants with walkers and men sporting bad wigs, as she leaves the stage, she can still hear the sweet sound of success ringing in her ears.

She Can Do It

Some of us may feel we've had a bit of hard time lately, but as they say, there's always someone worse off than you are. Not sure there is someone much worse off that the subject of Naperville Women today, but if she can keep her spirits up I'm sure we all can.
Click on the blue title to read my column from today's Naperville Sun.

Home Sweet Home

"Why are you going to Naperville?" asked the customs official after a mere two hour wait at O'Hare airport once we'd left the plane. To avoid arrest or deportation, we had to simply answer that we live there, but here is one of the real reasons.
Only in Naperville can you return from a week away to find the garden looks better than when you left it. The neighbours have been watering and tending our hanging baskets with more care than I've ever given them.
Perhaps we should have answered: "Why wouldn't you go to Naperville?"

My Boyfriend's Back...

This week in London I've been sitting shiva, a kind of week long wake that Jews hold following a death. Much like the Irish version but without the ham. It's been wonderful meeting up with old friends and family members I haven't seen for years. Not to mention the realization that many of my facebook buddies are actually real people!
One person I particularly wanted to see again was my first boyfriend who I hadn't seen in almost 30 years. The room was so crowded he and his wife slipped in quite easily before the evening prayers began. We had a lovely chat and he was about to leave when he was caught by my mother.
Mum is 85, but still has the mental capabilities of someone half her age.
"I know you," she said loudly. "Who are you? You look familiar."
The room fell silent. I realized quite a few people had actually left. Those who remained looked up, excited to discover who the mystery stranger was. The mystery stranger giggled nervously.
"You know who this is, " I prompted Mum. I told her his name. That sort of helped, but not enough to remind her exactly his role in our lives.
"I once repaired an old watch of yours," said Boyfriend No. 1.
Great. Now Mum'll think he was some sort of jeweller. He was always tinkering about fixing something or another.
I swear the entire room moved a little closer to hear what was going on.
"And I gave Hilary driving lessons."
The penny finally dropped with a thud on the floor.
"Ohh," said my mother. "I remember. Hilary never bought any of her boyfriends home, but I do remember you. Actually I do remember another one. He was called..."
"Makes you sound like a real trollop," whispered an old friend sitting next to me. "How many men did you have?"
It was a real "and here's what you could have had" moment. On one side of the room sat my final boyfriend; the son-in-law mum ended up with, in front of her the first one; the one who was quiet as a mouse and would even have been able to fix things about the house. (I've always had an eclectic taste in men). It wasn't that she actually really liked Boyfriend No. 1 when we were dating, but if she'd have known who I would eventually marry, I'm sure she'd have driven No.1 and I up the aisle in a racing car.