Mexican Cobb Salad with Chipotle Dressing

Why do I keep posting Mexican recipes?
Peruvian food is what I love most.
I recommend Peruvian food!
However, this salad is so good that when I made it last night,
my husband, home from a long hot day of carpentry work,
kept saying, "Wow, this is great. This food is perfect."
Nothing fancy, you just have to have a lot of ingredients on hand.

Dressing:
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 c. finely chopped cilantro
1 tsp. dried marjoram, or oregano if you don't have marjoram
1 lime, juiced
2 T. white wine vinegar
1 or 2 chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, drained, seeded, finely chopped
1 tsp. kosher salt

 Whisk together all ingredients, set aside

For salad:
1 large head romaine lettuce, shredded
1/2 head iceberg lettuce, shredded
4 cups shredded cooked chicken (I use a rotisserie chicken)
1 small red onion, finely chopped
1 15-oz can black beans, drained and rinsed
1 avocado, peeled and sliced
2 or 3 plum tomatoes, quartered
1 cup cooked corn (I used two ears of fresh corn, cooked them for 4 min.- husks on- in microwave, husked them, rinsed them under cool water, and zipped them off the cob with a sharp knife).
1 lime, cut into wedges
optional: 2 T. snipped fresh chives

Arrange lettuce on a large platter.
In a large bowl, combine chicken, onion, and 1/4 cup of the chipotle dressing
Toss to coat.
Arrange chicken mixture, black beans, avocado, tomatoes and corn in rows on top of the lettuce.
Sprinkle with chives if you have them (I skipped this step).
Drizzle with remaining dressing.
Serve with lime wedges.

Serves 6-8
To make ahead: Prepare salad as directed, but toss avocado with 1 T. lime juice.
Reserve dressing till ready to serve.
Cover salad, chill for up to 4 hours.
When ready to serve, drizzle salad with dressing.

Oh so yummy. Would have been even better if I'd had avocado on hand.

Inheritance

 Grandpa John Thane Daggett's oldest and youngest sons,

and his two youngest great-grandsons.

Left to right: Jim, Malachi, Thane, John

Family reunion.
For some people, these words bring on a case of hives.
For this particular gathering, the elder generation grew up close-knit,
cousins in the small town of Windom, Minnesota.
Their parents were the off-spring of Grant and Anna Daggett.
Grant and Anna produced eleven children.
All but one from that generation are now gone.
But their stories remain.

 Deb and her baby girl, me with my baby boy.

Every family has difficult stories, ones that they do not love to tell.
The tales that are told and told again
are the ones that bring laughter and healing.
Some of my favorite stories aren't really stories,
they are simply the slightly off-kilter remarks that my Grandma Edna threw out.
Everyone knew, for instance, that Aunt Vera had a terrible time being married to Uncle Jake.
So somebody asked, "How did Vera cope with Jake?"
"Oh honey," my Grandma replied lightly. "Sometimes Vera would just take off
like a big bird."

 Too cold outside to do much on the lake.

 Six Daggett women (four of them by marriage), still getting along after all these years.

 Aaron (Marv's great-grandson) plays with Malachi (John's great-grandson).

 Epic Frisbee shot.

Left to right: Tim, Doug, Nate, Caleb Erpelding, Isaac

 Nate and Isaac on Grindstone Lake.

Just behind them, this lake is 150 feet deep.

  Julia, my Dad, Malachi and Anna Kate

 Tim at fire pit duty.

 My dad is the short one at six feet.

The Amazon tribal people had a hard time believing that all his brothers were taller than he.

Jed casts on a gray day.

Despite the cold weather,

we had a wonderful day together.

My aunt and uncle are gifted at hospitality.

It turns out we didn't need a sparkly blue sky to have a great time,

tell new stories,

retell some old ones.

My sister said to me last week,

"I realize my family's currency.

We trade in stories."

Here, a few pithy gems from the previous generation.

May their memory never die.

Grandpa John, when something didn't work: "That's a bad patent."

Marvin: "That'll help some."

Wayne and Marvin, sitting in the high bleachers at a ball game, overheard two drunks near them: "Do you think they can see us from here?" (A surprisingly useful saying).

Marvin, quoting a favorite teacher: "I'm tired, I'm ornery, and I don't want none of your whammy."

Great-Grandma Anna, hosting the pastor during the Depression (the boys hunted pheasants off-season, times were desperate): "Please pass the pheasant...chicken...rooster...hen!"

That's all for now, but if I collect more quotable quotes, I'll add them later.
Here's to the next generation, and an inheritance of words.

Sleepless

 The top sheet goes on, aloft like a sail.

I keep meeting babies who know how to sleep through the night.
These babies are little, much littler than Malachi.
Their mothers lay them down in their cribs at about seven p.m.,
and they conk right out.
I am in awe of this.

 Playing peek-a-boo with his big sister, as mommy tries to make the bed.

Last night was extra rough.
The baby was up his usual two or three times,
but when I changed his diaper at about one a.m., something went wrong,
and the sheets, blanket, his onesie and my pajamas all got wet.
I staggered around trying to clean things up just enough to get us to morning.
He was up a few more times, crying, which always means a new tooth.
I got up at about six, had my blessed cup of coffee, and then one more,
while Daddy slept next to Malachi.
By then the baby was sleeping peacefully.
Nights can be tough,
but mornings are beautiful.

For over two decades, Saturday has been the day for fresh sheets.
This week, it's Wednesday.
I love a made bed.

I also love a white bed.
When Malachi started co-sleeping
(which hadn't been the plan when he was born),
I was thankful for all my pillows.
I need a pillow to edge the bed,
one against my back,
at least one for my head.

This is my Grandma Lois's headboard.
When my cousin Sara saw it here for the first time,
she said in her gentle voice,
"Oh! Grandma's headboard!"
Then we looked at each other and we both began to cry.
The bed reminds me of my grandparents' habit of reading
a chapter of the Bible together every night,
and then praying for all their children and grandchildren.

Oh a clean bed at last.
The quilt is from a precious friend.
It's not only beautiful,
it's incredibly useful to have a throw blanket for naptime.

More peek-a-boo.

Someday I will be allowed to sleep through the night.
I've had four other babies,
and I'm not too worked up about it.
They all grow up,
and when that happens,
I always wish I had been more present during the blurred days of their infancy.
These hours with this last baby of mine,
I am soaking them up.
I am thankful for each one.

Mercy

 Picking raspberries

 It was a perfect morning for berrying.

 Four boxes for a pie.

I've been to two concerts this year,

which is about right for someone with a baby to think about.

The first one was by Ben Kyle, a local musician.

He decided to have small concerts in the living rooms of friends,

with audiences of fewer than 50 people.

A grand idea.

One of the songs I listen to most from his cd is called "Mercy."

This week I noticed an old note in my Bible, written at the top of Hebrews Chapter 4.

It read, "Mercy: God's tender regard for the misery of man, consequent of sin."

It seems sometimes that misery rules the day.

Sometimes my own misery makes me long for the cloak of mercy.

At other times, the misery of those I love

is so painful to watch,

I beg for mercy,

for God to stop the suffering.

Mercy isn't something to be begged.

God's mercy is His tender regard,

it's upon us all the time.

A covering, 

a cloud,

as present as the air we breathe.

Listen to Ben's song here.