Easy Cherry Turnovers

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It shouldn’t be this easy.

Cherries

These organic Rainier cherries aren’t quite red enough for sale, but they taste amazing. Shame to let them go to waste.

It’s cherry season in Central Washington State and for me, based here, time to come up with new recipes for the nearly limitless supplies of fresh-picked fruit. Last year, I made Easy Cherry Cobbler for One and Cherry Chutney. These Easy Cherry Turnovers are my first successful experiment this season.

Ingredients:

  • 2 cups cherries, pitted and cut into halves or quarters. I (obviously) use fresh cherries; today I used Rainiers that had been left on the tree because they weren’t quite red enough for market. (This is the second year this grower has left behind his excellent organic cherries and allowed me to pick them. I filled two 2-1/2 gallon buckets, shared some with friends, and still have at least 10 pounds left.) Although you can use frozen cherries, if you’re going to do that, you may as well buy Sara Lee frozen turnovers and skip this recipe completely.
  • 1 teaspoon cinnamon.
  • Puff PastryPie crust dough, phyllo dough, or puff pastry sheets. A purist would make pie crust from scratch. I’m living in an RV with limited kitchen facilities, so that’s not really an option for me. Besides, I make really crappy pie crust from scratch. Someone with slightly less ambition might use frozen phyllo dough to make a flaky base for the turnovers. I’m not that ambitious. Instead, I used frozen Pepperidge Farm Puff Pastry Sheets.
  • 2 tablespoons milk. This is optional, to brush the tops of the turnovers.
  • 1/4 cup brown sugar. This is also optional, to sprinkle on top of the turnovers.

Instructions:

  1. Preheat oven to 350°F.
  2. Combine the cherries with cinnamon and stir well to coat. If the cherries aren’t sweet — mine were very sweet — you could add some sugar, but I’d recommend not doing that. Don’t we have enough added sugar in our diets?
  3. If necessary, roll dough to 1/8 to 1/4 inch thickness and cut into squares about 4 inches on each side. This is really easy with the Pepperidge Farm Puff Pastry Sheets I used; I just defrosted them, unfolded them, and cut them into quarters. Result: 8 squares.
  4. Cherries in PastrySpoon about 1/4 cup cherries into the middle of a pastry square. Then fold diagonally and seal by pinching two open sides. It’s important to get a good seal if you want the cherries and their juices to stay inside the turnover. Repeat for remaining squares and cherries.
  5. If desired, brush with milk and sprinkle with brown sugar.
  6. On Pie PanPlace turnovers on a lightly greased cookie sheet. (Again, with my limited kitchen facilities, all I had was a pizza pan, which would not fit all eight, so I had to make them in batches.)
  7. Bake for about 45 minutes. Your time will vary. I have a tiny RV oven and the temperature might not be accurate. It’s important to start checking them after about 30 minutes. The tops should be browned when done but be careful not to bake them so long that the bottoms burn.
  8. Cool for at least 15 minutes before eating.

Cherry TurnoversYields: 8 turnovers.

I’m here by myself, so I really don’t need 8 turnovers. I’ll freeze the extras and pull them out for breakfasts over the next few weeks.

If you do give this recipe a try, please share your comments about it here. I’m also very interested in any variations you come up with. I bet it would work nicely with pears or apples if the fruit was cut up small enough to cook.

How the Hacking of My Brother’s Twitter Account Saved Me an Hour-Long Wait in the Hot Sun

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A tale of poor memory, computer hacking, and kitchen renovation.

The other day, I wrote a typically long and drawn out blog post that was eventually about riding my motorcycle for the first time in years. Somewhere near the end, I bragged:

But what really surprised me is the way my hands and feet seemed to go into auto-pilot mode. My right hand and foot automatically moved to the brake lever and pedal to apply just the right amount of pressure for braking. My left hand and foot automatically moved to the clutch lever and gearshift to change gears smoothly. Balance comes naturally, even in the gravel parking lot at the RV park.

Muscle memory, pure and simple. Unfortunately, today proved that my other memory isn’t nearly as good.

My friend Pete picked me up at my temporary home in Wenatchee Heights and drove me to Quincy where my motorcycle was still parked. I needed to get it up to the orchard near where I’m living.

I’d ridden the bike from Quincy to Wenatchee and Chelan on Sunday, putting about 155 miles on it after filling the fuel tank. I honestly couldn’t remember how many miles I could go on a tank of gas, but had vague memories of a low fuel light and figured that would warn me when it was time to fill up.

Those vague memories were not quite right. Maybe the low fuel light is on my Ducati, but it certainly isn’t on my Yamaha. I’d just come through Wenatchee and was on my way up Squilchuck Road when the engine started running rough. I was almost to a stop sign when the engine died. I coasted to the curb and popped the fuel tank. I rocked the bike back and forth. I didn’t see a drop of fuel in there.

The trip odometer read 191 miles.

Crap.

I called AAA. I’m a member, primarily for the hotel discounts, which definitely pay for the membership each year. I connected with the Arizona office; they transferred me to the Washington office. I admitted my stupidity to the guy who took my call. I spent five minutes helping him figure out where I was — evidently, the names of the two streets on the street sign right over my head wasn’t enough for him. Then I answered multiple questions about my motorcycle: did it have a windscreen, saddlebags, sidecar; what color was it; what was its engine size? (All this info just to bring me a gallon of gas?) After all that, he promised that someone would come within an hour. If someone didn’t come by then, I should call back.

I thanked him and hung up. The last time I’d requested service, it had taken 90 minutes.

It was sunny and hot. I was in a brand new subdivision and there were no mature trees. There was a telephone pole, though, and I stood in its shade — or at least tried to. I had, of course, already stripped off my denim jacket and helmet.

To pass the time, I fired up the Twitter app on my phone and tweeted:

Duh. My motorcycle only goes 190 miles on a tank of gas. Waiting for AAA.

Hey, if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?

I scrolled through the tweets in my timeline and was shocked to see one from my brother, @chefnorb, who never tweets:

Im tooo laaaaazy to go to work today!! I WANT TO BE LIKE HER: http://tinyurl.com/[redacted]

I didn’t have to click the link to realize what had happened. I tweeted:

@chefnorb I suspect you’ve been hacked.

Of course, if he had been hacked, he’d never see the tweet. He really never uses Twitter. So since I had all that time on my hands, I shifted position to stay in the ever-shifting shade of the telephone pole and called his cell phone.

“I think your Twitter account was hacked,” I told him.

“Yeah?” he replied.

“Did you tweet something today?” I asked.

“No.”

“It’s definitely hacked.” I read him the tweet.

“Sounds like something I might say. I am feeling pretty lazy today.” He went on to tell me about the kitchen renovation at his house that was almost done after two months of hard work. He told me his wife was out of town on business and that he had to dust drywall remains out of the whole house and clean all the sawdust out of the backyard.

I told him I was still in Washington and that I’d just moved for my last contract. I told him about picking up my motorcycle and how I’d run out of gas. I told him I was waiting for AAA.

“How about the reserve tank?” he asked.

Crap. I’d forgotten all about that.

Motorcycles usually have a reserve tank setting. You twist the fuel control knob and it pulls fuel from lower down in the tank. It’s designed for situations just like mine — riding until out of gas. There’s always a quart or so left in reserve. At 50 mpg, that quart can get you pretty far.

Sure, I remembered how to ride the damn bike. I’d just forgotten everything else about it.

I was anxious to try it and didn’t want to waste any time (or gas) once I’d started the engine. So I thanked him, hung up, stowed my jacket (it was really hot), and put on my helmet. I twisted the fuel setting knob and started up. It ran like a charm. I made a U-turn and headed back into town.

It wasn’t until after I topped off the tank that I called AAA to cancel the call.

And it wasn’t until I got back to my RV that I tweeted:

Double-duh. My motorcycle has a reserve tank. Cancelled that AAA call.

Another Moving Day

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It is, after all, a mobile mansion.

Yesterday, I repositioned my fifth wheel RV, the “mobile mansion,” from an RV park at the Colockum Ridge Golf Course in Quincy, WA to a residential construction site high on a hill on the east side of Squilchuck Valley. The site is across the street from an 86-acre orchard I’m responsible for drying with my helicopter after it rains for the next few weeks.

The Move

Moving an RV you’ve been living in for two months isn’t as easy as just hooking up and rolling out. The first step is to put away all the loose objects you’ve been living with for that time — loose objects will get tossed around in transit. I had to stow my desktop computer in its box to protect it, clear my desk and table and kitchen countertops, stow shelf items — the list goes on and on. Even the small tabletop lamp beside my La-Z-Boy rocker needed to be stowed.

Of course, since I was putting things away, I felt compelled to dust and vacuum. The benefit is that when I arrive at my new parking spot, my home will be clean.

Then comes strapping down the items that can’t be stowed: my swing-arm mounted 36-inch HDTV, the La-Z-Boy, and Alex the Bird’s cage. The RV comes with straps for all of these things. (Alex’s cage sits where the second La-Z-Boy would be.)

Outside, I needed to take down my windsock and its 14-foot pole. (I had to use pipe wrenches to get the three pipe segments separated.) Stow the bird feeder and grill. Take down the outside sun shades, hose them off, and hang them to dry — then stow them when dry. Roll up the awning. Dump the gray and black water. Wash and stow the sewer hose. Disconnect the water and power and stow the hoses and cables.

Use the remote to slide in the RV’s four slides, raise the stabilizer legs, and lower the landing gear. Back the pickup into position — by myself, mind you — and raise the landing gear to drop the hitch on top of the ball. (Yes, this is a fifth wheel trailer, but we put a gooseneck adapter on it since we already had a gooseneck hitch in the bed of the pickup.) Fasten the pin, chains, and power cord.

RV CheckI use an app on my iPad to list and check off the things I need to do. It’s called RV Checklist and although its not as slick looking as a typical iOS app, it does give me the ability to create and use custom checklists. The benefit: I can include items like “Take down windsock” and “Secure bird cage,” which are not likely to appear on any standard check list. I can also remove items I don’t need, such as “Disconnect satellite dish” and “Hook up towed vehicle.”

On the Road

My RigOnce the trailer was hooked up and the chocks were collected and stowed, I loaded my potted tomato plant and Alex the Bird into the truck and headed out.

Driving a 3/4 ton pickup with a 34-foot fifth wheel trailer behind it isn’t something to be taken lightly. Every turn needs to be considered. Every downhill slope needs to be approached with care. And driving in city traffic can really pump up stress levels.

My drive wasn’t long — only about 50 miles. The first 35 miles was two-lane state highway with little traffic, 60 miles per hour speed limit, and passing lanes every 5 to 10 miles. Easy going. The next 5 or so miles, however, was city driving through East Wenatchee, over the Columbia River, and into Wenatchee. This is tense stuff for me because, with my load, driving defensively is not much of an option. I have to keep to my lane and hope no one around me drives like a jerk. Then the final 10 or so miles was up windy canyon roads. Yesterday was a special challenge — a detour onto a narrower, windier road. Fortunately, traffic wasn’t an issue.

After two turns, I climbed up the last road to my destination. The pavement turned to fine gravel. A quarter mile later, was the circle of a former cul-de-sac, now with a narrow dirt road leading farther up the side of the valley. My parking spot was a sharp right turn down a steep dirt hill. Since I’d be backing into it, I pulled up into the far side of the cul-de-sac and got out to set my cones.

Parking

I have a trick I use to back up the RV by myself. I have four small orange traffic cones. I set them out as guides to where I want to park the RV. I can clearly see them in my side view mirrors. All I have to do is line up the side of the RV with the cones and I can get it into position.

Of course, this site required quite a lengthy roll back. As a result, I had to set the cones out once, back almost all the way to the last one, and then get out of the truck and set the cones again. The last little bit was particularly challenging, since I’d be positioning the RV between the edge of a cliff and the home under construction. I managed to get it in place without too much difficulty — this surprised me because, by that point, I was completely exhausted. I’d been on the move all day and it was about 6:30 PM.

Before disconnecting, I needed to make sure the RV was level. After consulting the level right inside the RV’s door, I decided that three leveling blocks would do the job. I positioned them and rolled the RV back on top of them. Although I probably could have been a bit more level with just two blocks, this was good enough. Besides, I knew from experience that if it rained, the blocks would sink a bit into the ground beneath them. That would likely make me perfectly level.

Then lower the landing gear, disconnect the hitch and its chains/cable, and pull the truck out. Raise the landing gear to level the RV. Slide out the slides. Good to go. I’d pull out the things I needed as I needed them over the next few days.

Later, after a shower to wash away the day’s dirt and sweat, I ran a power cord to the 110 volt outlet on the homesite’s electric box. This power connection is a far cry from the 50 amp power supply at the campground. I know I won’t be able to run certain appliances at the same time — for example, the microwave and air conditioner. But at least I won’t have to rely on the RV’s solar panel or run the generator for power.

My Campsite

I stayed here last year for the first time. Back then, the only sign of construction was a building foundation and the concrete pouring forms that had been used to make it. This year, there’s a small, two story vacation home framed out and roofed. The siding should go on this week; the windows, which have been delivered, will go up soon, too. Then construction will stop for the season. The owner of the property is paying for construction as it is completed and he says he’s out of money.

A time-lapse movie I shot last year from this spot.

My parking spot is literally on the edge of a cliff — the ground drops off about 10 feet past my door. The views out the side and back window are spectacular. Across the valley are scattered pine trees, granite rock outcroppings, and orchards. Sunrise is amazing; golden light creeping down the hillside. And back toward Wenatchee, I can see the Columbia River and Rocky Reach Dam, which are all lit up at night.

Helicopter in OrchardMy helicopter is parked down in the orchard. I tried to park it near my campsite, but I couldn’t find a piece of ground level enough to make me comfortable leaving it there. I might try moving it again later today — I really don’t like it being out of sight. Wish I could get my hands on a Bobcat for a few hours to level out a piece of this hilly homesite.

I wonder what will happen next year. Will the house be done? Will the owner tell me that there’s no room for an RV in his side yard? Will I be parked down in the orchard beside my helicopter and the scummy pond, hauling fresh water and running a generator every day? I hope not. But I won’t worry about that now. I’ll just enjoy this year’s hillside campsite.

Today, I’ll hook up the water connection and set up the gray water to drain away from the RV. (I’ve already switched to biodegradable soaps to minimize impact.) Then I’ll head down to Wenatchee and do some shopping.

I’m glad I’m up here. Although this location is lonely and remote at night, there’s activity during the day on the house construction nearby and on the orchard. And I can’t imagine a more pleasant place to park.

Back in the Saddle Yet Again

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Reawakening my motorcycling skills.

This week, I jumped back into a hobby that had once been an integral part of my life: motorcycling.

A Little History

Years ago, when I was in my 20s, I came up with a personal list of skills I wanted to acquire during my lifetime. Although they didn’t have any particular order, the one I went after first was learning to ride a motorcycle.

I was 29 when I bought my first motorcycle. It was a 1978 400cc Honda Hawk — what we might call a “standard” bike with an upright seating position. It was black with red trim, and despite being 11 years old, it only had 941 miles on it. Its previous owner, also a woman, had died of cancer 9 years before and her husband had been unable to part with it. A motorcycle dealer, he’d kept it in mint condition and I was the lucky person to buy it. I don’t remember what it cost, but I do remember that it was a good deal. Wish I could find a photo of it.

Because I understood the importance of safety and I didn’t know anyone who rode, I signed up for a Motorcycle Safety Foundation course (highly recommended). Mike, who was not yet my husband, also signed up. His idea was that after taking the course, we’d both go riding on my motorcycle. I made it quite clear that my motorcycle was mine and if he wanted to ride, he needed to get his own. So he bought a very functional but tired looking BMW Boxer.

We met other motorcyclists at the safety course and it wasn’t long before we were riding weekly with a group. They were, as you might expect, mostly male and all right around our age or a bit younger. Women, when they came along, were usually passengers. The bikes were mostly sport bikes — crotch rockets, as some people call them — and the group rode fast on twisty roads, mostly in Harriman State Park north of our New Jersey home. It was challenging to build the skills to keep up with them.

1992 Yamaha Seca IIWe went to Americade with the group one year and that’s where I got a chance to test ride what would be my next motorcycle: a 600 cc Yamaha Seca II. The Honda was a nice bike and it had helped me build and refine basic skills, but I was ready for something more sporty. Almost a year passed before I took the plunge in 1992. Right next door to the Yamaha dealer in Paramus, NJ was a BMW car dealer that just happened to have the previous year’s model BMW K65S (I think), still new, in an electric blue color. Mike bought it. A few days later, we rolled up to an upstate New York campground on a pair of brand new bikes, shocking the hell out of the members of our riding club that were also on the trip.

We did a lot of riding in those days. One of my favorite vacations was the trip we took from the New York metro area down through Washington DC and onto Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge parkway. It was a motorcycle camping trip and folks in the campgrounds we stayed at couldn’t believe how much gear we were able to pack on those bikes. We came all the way down the Blue Ridge Parkway to Tennessee, with a great ride through Deal’s Gap, then headed over to the coast and came up the barrier islands, following the wake of a hurricane that had battered Hatteras. Mike didn’t tell his mom that we were doing the trip on motorcycles — she thought we were driving. During one call to her while on the trip, I heard him assure her that I was doing just as much of the driving as he was.

Time went on. We did another camping trip with the club, this time up to New York’s Finger Lakes area. Riding through farmland at speeds I don’t want to admit, I found the top end of the Yamaha’s power curve. I instantly fell out of love with the bike.

1996 Ducati 900 SS/CRIt wasn’t long before I bought my next bike, a 1996 Ducati 900 SS/CR. Now here was a bike with testosterone. I recall trying to find the top end one day on a piece of long, straight desert road. I got to 130 mph when I decided that I didn’t really need to find the top end. Needless to say, I had no trouble keeping up with the group.

Things change. We moved to Arizona where the riding wasn’t quite as good. We got horses, which were more interesting to ride. Later, I learned to fly helicopters — another one of the skills I had on my list. I bought my first helicopter. Which do you think is more fun to take out for a spin? The motorcycles gathered dust in my hangar.

Fast Forward to Today

I’m up in Washington State for the fourth summer in a row, working a series of cherry drying contracts. With me are my helicopter, Mike’s pickup, and my very large fifth wheel trailer, the “mobile mansion.” The pickup is my only means of ground transportation.

Last year, I almost bought a Honda scooter. This year, I looked at them again and realized that a 30 MPH top speed would not be much use for serious transportation. I even looked at motorcycles with the thought of getting a dual purpose bike I could take off-road a bit. But when a reality check reminded me that I’d be turning 50 this year, I decided against such a purchase.

I wished I had one of the motorcycles I already owned, which were languishing in my hangar 1,200 miles away.

I called Dave, who runs a motorcycle shop in Wickenburg. I asked him if he knew of a company that could ship one of my bikes up to me. He not only knew a company that could do it, but they could do it for about half of what I thought it would cost. I told him to fetch the Yamaha from my hangar, do what he needed to to get it running, and ship it out to me.

The Yamaha ArrivesIt arrived on Thursday, on a specially designed dolly in a 18-wheeler filled with motorcycles. I took possession about half a mile down the road from my temporary home, at a closed-down weigh station. I’d asked Mike to put on the Givi hard luggage I’d bought for it; the helmet and my old denim riding jacket were stowed inside. Once I remembered how to start it — I knew there was a primer switch somewhere but couldn’t remember where at first — I was good to go.

That first half mile ride was the first time I’d been on a motorcycle in over two years.

Motor Skills Return

Yesterday, after a long, hot day of doing helicopter rides at a local winery, I climbed on, put on my helmet, and rode the 5-1/2 miles into Quincy for dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant. I admit I was nervous at first — what if I screwed up and killed myself? The speed limit on the road between my RV and town has a 60 mph speed limit. It didn’t take me long to get it up to speed, though.

But what really surprised me is the way my hands and feet seemed to go into auto-pilot mode. My right hand and foot automatically moved to the brake lever and pedal to apply just the right amount of pressure for braking. My left hand and foot automatically moved to the clutch lever and gearshift to change gears smoothly. Balance comes naturally, even in the gravel parking lot at the RV park.

I’d been hoping that the skills would return. I’m thrilled that they have, but admit I’m very surprised that they have returned so quickly. I guess that’s what experience is all about.

Back in the Saddle

Today I’m planning my first big ride — a 70-mile trek from Quincy to Chelan, WA. I’m toying with the idea of mounting my GoPro for the ride — I’ll be riding along the beautiful Columbia River most of the way — but don’t need even more video footage I can’t really use. So I’ll likely just take it easy and enjoy the ride.

It’ll sure be nice making the trip in something other than a 3/4 ton pickup.

Murdoch Drags the Wall Street Journal Down to His Level

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Such a sad, sad sight to see.

Defending News Corp against criticism of its illegal phone hacking and police bribing activities, Rupert Murdoch’s Wall Street Journal published an opinion piece that included this classic line:

Do our media brethren really want to invite Congress and prosecutors to regulate how journalists gather the news?

I am deeply offended by this piece on several levels.

  • Murdoch has built a fortune with yellow journalism. By buying up and controlling so many media outlets, he has brought journalism standards down worldwide. Not convinced? Roger Ebert explains the impact Murdoch had on the Chicago Sun-Times during his ownership.
  • Murdoch has insulted the intelligence of half the American public and conned the other half with his so-called “fair and balanced” news network, Fox News. The network not only promotes tasteless and sensationalist news stories, but it clearly promotes Murdoch’s conservative viewpoint, often with misstatements, half truths, and quotes taken out of context.
  • In the opinion piece from which the above quote was taken, Murdoch seems to suggest that his company’s news gathering techniques are protected under the First Amendment. In other words free speech allows journalists to collect news by whatever means are available to them. The legality of their actions simply doesn’t matter. Of course, Murdoch is also free to define “news” any way he sees fit.

In my opinion, there is no single news organization that has done more harm to America than Fox News. It oozes hate and mistrust, it pits Americans against each other and their elected political leaders. It makes news out of scandal — except this one, of course — and ignores or misrepresents the real issues that Americans need to know about.

Murdoch is responsible for this.

Fortunately, those Americans who haven’t been sucked into the half-truths spewed by FOX News have other sources of information: NPR, PBS, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal. Well, scratch that last one.

The above-referenced opinion piece is the first example — at least the first I’ve seen — of where the Wall Street Journal is being used as a Murdoch disinformation tool. Not only has the Journal’s business reporting suffered, but it’s now becoming Fox-ified.

In the Journal piece, the unnamed author says this about its competing media outlets:

The Schadenfreude is so thick you can’t cut it with a chainsaw.

Why shouldn’t it be? News Corp has done more damage to the news industry than any other organization. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m enjoying the schadenfreude, too.

Want another point of view on this Journal opinion piece? Read what Felix Salmon says on Reuters.