Mmmmm... I Like Bad Coffee


I like the weak, mild, cheap coffee that the real coffee drinkers snub and scorn. I like Nescafe with cream and sugar. I like the stuff at the bagel shop across from Starbucks. Oh, and one more thing: It has to be decaffeinated. If it's leaded, it makes my heart race and I get anxious, nameless dread seeps into the recesses of my comfort zone. Yes, every few months I like to have a warm cup of lightly sweetened, slightly creamy, bad, unleaded coffee.

I like bad beer too. Don't waste fruity, dark ales and hopped-up lagers on me. Spare me the bold beers, the malt beers, the bitter beers, and hold off on the esters and wood aged brews. All of those beers, that the true fans of beer savor and extoll, leave me feeling just the way Bill the Cat looks... disarrayed, gagged and disheveled. The "good" stuff is wasted on my unrefined palate. On a hot day, in the company of friends, while grilling, or when enjoying salsa and chips, I'll take a cold can of Tecate, a chilled O'Douls, or a Mexican Coke, the Real Thing, for that matter.

In Fortuna, last month, when we were celebrating the Equinox at Eel River Brewing Company, I asked the waitress to please suggest a beer for someone who thought non-alcoholic beer was good enough. She looked at me and with confidence and the air of a doctor prescribing the right pill, she said, "Oh, you need a Clim@x."
Yes, well, who's going to argue with the doctor, or with a good waitress?
OKay. It was perfect. So, if a Clim@x could be considered a "good" beer, then count me in. I do like a good Clim@x.


Did you have to eat everything on your plate when you were a kid? I did not. My mom liked me try things, which was fine, but she never force fed me. She never made me stare at a plate of something that made me gag and tear just thinking of it on my tongue. I did have have the occasional run-ins with some know-it-all adults that insisted my "immature taste buds" would benefit from swallowing spoonfuls of overcooked green beans, and fatty hunks of undercooked beef. Like Scarlett O'Hara, only with less of an appetite, I made my own solemn vow. Defiantly, and with true conviction I raised my fist and pledged: "As God is my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over I'll never eat anything yucky again. No, nor any of my folks. If I have to lie, cheat or spit into a napkin, as God is my witness I'll never eat yucky food again!"


I honor my pledge as best I can. I have sampled a great variety of foods, strange, good, bad, weird, tasty, memorable and forgettable. I appreciate vegan, raw, vegetarian and I like tofu, but it does not like me. I have had backyard chicken and wild turkey, and raw urchin that I plucked from the sea myself. And I always eat with gratitude, because food is a blessing, but I still adamantly insist that, given a choice, I will not eat yucky food and nor will any of my folk, which means I will not force my children to eat food they do not like. One taste is all I ask, and then another taste 6 months later. Tastes change, attitudes change, but I never believed those changes had anything to do with "maturity." Intuitively, I believed that adults had dead taste buds, and that it was children who knew bitter from sweet. In nature bitter = poison and is best avoided, so I presumed that children's taste was merely a biological imperative for survival. I also believe that garden fresh veggies, fruits and whole grains, lean proteins, beans and rice could make up a healthy diet that children will eat, and that eventually we can all find our way to balanced and varied diets...


But mostly I was really, really convinced that every overzealous adult that force fed me and smugly ridiculed me and my "lack of good taste" was wrong in their presumption that children are 'unsophisticated and need training.' I hated overcooked, limp, colorless veggies then, and I hate them now. Fatty, rare beef still gags me. I do not like lima beans or radishes. Too many onions is too many, thank you. My point is, I knew as a child what tasted bad to me and I know what I like now, as a mature, sophisticated adult. If I were force fed a plate full of mushrooms with bell peppers and liver, I would not like it any more than a healthy kid would. If I were really hungry, and I have been really hungry, I know that food becomes vital, and the want of food supersedes taste and emotion... otherwise, I will not eat, or ask anyone to eat, yucky food.


Do you know what is really fun? It is fun to discover that your intuitive convictions have scientific merit, in other words: I was like, totally right! Our children, clever, beautiful beings, have 10,000 alert, active taste buds. Adults have only 3,000 taste buds. We adults don't like things more or better than children because of maturity and enlightenment. We aren't detecting subtle flavors and appreciating sophisticated dishes... we are missing flavors. We are desensitized and tasteless. Adults are the ones who cannot appreciate that some things are bitter or over spiced, or simply too much. Adults who smoke have an even greater loss of taste. I have always wondered about Anthony Bourdain's sometimes questionable dining preferences... No matter. So long as we are eating to sustain ourselves, to celebrate and commune, then I will strive to serve healthful food, varied food, good food, and I will be respectful of your tastes and my own.



Geoff and I, with William, Alex, Max and Maria, went out to celebrate our anniversary at a favorite restaurant. We hadn't been there in 5 years. The green salad with goat cheese, strawberries and almonds was my favorite dish, but my favorite part of the evening was being with my husband and children, talking, laughing, sharing, walking, browsing... it was delicious!

Maíz, Leña, Agua y Memorias


I should have learned to speak Spanish. I wish I were fluent. My mother insisted it would benefit me. My tias and tios implored me to learn Spanish, and mocked me too. I absorbed enough to ache for more. I learned enough to know that I am missing entire stories and insights. I understand enough to feel a profound connection to phrases and concepts, to emotions and spiritual convictions that I am powerless to explain en español or English.

I believe I am as much a part of Mexico and my family, the piedras del campo, as I am a part of my own children, my life in a suburban home with suburban experiences, but I do not know it.. I have always wanted to write about Mexico, El Valle, about border crossings and crossing cultural borders, about tortillas de harina, Seris, Opata, iglesia, and being an outsider here and there. I never have, not significantly, because I was afraid of messing it up, getting it wrong, missing important details, overstating insignificant bits. My story might be false memory and lies. My story might not ring true, or it could be too true.

I used to dream of knowing enough Spanish to glean the truth, the whole story, and I knew my abuelo was the source I needed to visit for those stories, for the genealogy, the adventures and history of a family and region, for a time rich in intrigue and improbable truths. I used to dream of writing all of it down and knowing the stories so well, that no one could doubt that I belonged too. No border or barriers, no lack of knowledge or cultural missteps would deny me access to that elusive feeling of belonging.


When I was a very little girl I was taken to El Valle de Tacupeto, 2 or 3 times. I don't know. I remember eating oranges and my first recollection of the smell of a cut orange is standing at La Mesita, with my Mom, waiting to board a small plane. I was there for my 5th birthday and received a harmonica. What happened to my harmonica? My brother Bill was a baby, we went to church, there was a wedding and a death. The river was flooding the dirt roads that cold winter. It seems like the river has always been flooding the roads.

I went 3 more times when I was a bit older... 11, 12, then 14 years old. By this time my parents were divorced, and I was traveling with my abuelo, then my tia Magali, then my tio Elias took us. Those first times were by bus. From Tijuana we traveled through the night for 12 hours to Hermosillo. It was hard to wake-up for the check-stops. I was always fearful of the bus leaving without us. We would be alone in the Sonoran desert, which wasn't really any less familiar than that bus. In Hermosillo we would wait to board another bus. The first bus was like a tired, old Greyhound. The next bus was like a tired, old, dangerous school bus. Not yellow and swept, but blue and red and yellow, dusty, crowded. We sat on fruit crates in the back. Were there live chickens on the bus? Is that my memory or something lingering from an old movie? I think there were live chickens. There were twine wrapped boxes, which served as luggage and there were stops in the middle of nowhere, so we could pee in the bushes. There were hours of narrow dirt roads, and river crossings. The entire journey was at least 20 hours long. One trip finished in the bed of a large truck, when the bus came to one river it could not cross.

On our last visit to El Valle we drove to Nogales, Arizona, crossed and continued to Hermosillo. No more bus rides. No more Sonoran summers and Sonoran heat. We went in November. Where is the bridge, the one over the river? Is it Rebeico? Is that where we cross, where the bridge is like a passage back in time and memory?


The new roads cut the travel time down to 16 hours. It's such a luxury traveling in our own car. This long ride is one that my abuelo made by horseback. There were no roads then. There were Yaqui to hide from. On this trip to El Valle we faced nothing more daunting than cattle in the road.


My grandfather was a musician and he travelled with a band, playing from pueblo to pueblo. Music for dances. Music in the placitas, for weddings and festivals. His father had traveled too and came home with a Bible. My bisbuelo Gabriel gave his land for the church. The church that shares the backyard of my grandparent's home today. And when my abuelo Ismael gave up being a musician, he came home to herd cattle, to milk vacas and to plant the mule-plowed fields. I remember shelling peanuts for planting, eating watermelon from the field, washing potatoes, picking chiles. I remember chewing on stringy, sweet cuts of sugar cane and watching my grandmother grind corn for tortillas.


When I see cows, I see vacas and I hear a guitarra. I see the nata scooped from the top of a pail of fresh milk... fresh, sweet cream. I can taste the cheese my abuela makes. The white rounds of cheese, the salty cheese crumbled over a bowl of beans. When I see vacas I think of my abuelo walking to the family ranch, El Ojo de Agua, early in the morning, returning with a pail of milk for our breakfast. It's a song, words I cannot speak, but the tune is in my soul.


We ride through many towns to reach home. Bacanora, the town, not the drink... though they are synonymous. Sahuaripa. And Arivechi. We get closer and closer. We see the Cerro Cabezón.


After Bamori comes El Valle de Tacupeto, and abuela and abuelo. There will be hugs and kisses and welcome. It is a comfort to find a familiar door and familiar faces, the same walls and trees, the sound of coros coming from the church, the certainty of a place that comes to me in my dreams.


November 2003. Alex in his abuelo's embrace. Home in Mexico, where we will cook by fire, and sleep on burlap cots. Where the doors are unlocked and every neighbor is familia or at least knows who I am related to... hija de... nieta de... sobrina de... Everyone knows the relations and connections. Home in Tacupeto.


They were married for 70 years. They have 8 children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. I have never said it, but I feel a kind of pride and specialness, because I am the first grandchild. It doesn't matter, not really, but when I was a child it gave me tremendous pleasure to think of it. I held to a secret belief, unfounded by anything but my romantic imagination, that being first entitled me to something good, to a promise and security. Maybe someday I too would have a rancho and vacas, grind, corn, keep chickens, make tortillas. The clouded line between beliefs and knowledge can be untested, and now that I think on the truth, and not my childhood fantasies, I am amused and saddened. I am not sure why.


Catre. I wasn't sure I was saying this right... catre... cot. We slept on them for weeks at a time when we were children, spending summers in Tacupeto. My brothers and I each had a burlap cot to sleep on in the open patio. I remember we would pull thin sheets over our bodies, then turn on our flashlights to see what might be crawling across the ceiling. Think of the suspense and squeals as we lit a creepy crawly scene of overhead cockroaches, mosquitos, scorpions and beetles. We'd scream and pull our sheets over our heads! I do not miss the anxiety, the fear of something falling in the dark night, but I miss catres. I miss sleeping on the porch, hearing burros bray and abuelo snore. I miss waking in the morning to the music of crowing gallos, more donkeys, cows calling to be milked, and the beautiful rhythm of my abuela's hands making tortillas. There is more love, beauty and will, in the sound of my abuela's hands clapping masa for her wonderful tortillas, than in any symphony.


Her tortillas were never rolled out, but were formed between her soft, capable hands. My grandfather kept an ample wood supply available for cooking and baking, for heating water. And my abuela kept the fires burning so she could feed us tortillas, beans, enchiladas, gallina pinta, pozole, atole, empanadas. Food is more plentiful now, than it was in those summers when my brothers and I sustained ourselves with tortillas, beans, beans and tortillas, and either watermelon, or chiles or potatoes... whatever was being harvested at the time. And leche and leche con Nesquik. Markets and pantries are not what we are accustomed to here.


It is a strange gift to know hunger, or at least to know longing for something more. Now, when I cannot decide what to eat or what to buy, I can appreciate how ridiculous my quandary really is.

The summer that my tio Memo was growing chiles, chiles was all we heard about, saw or ate... besides the usual staples, and chiles were everywhere. We even tried our hands at picking chiles, a job whose appeal was lost very quickly. My cousin, RosaMaria and I were passing the hot, humid afternoon together, looking for places to be, for diversions. Times like these often found us down at the river, wading, or up to La Mesita just for the stroll, but on this particular day we were hungry. Having had fried chiles, roasted chiles, chiles con huevos, chiles con frijoles and every other kind of chile dish, we thought, "Why not raw? Crudos."

It was a good question, but not a good idea to execute. These chiles, mild, almost sweet when cooked, proved to be so painfully, fiercely hot when we bit into them, that we were overcome with the pain. It began on the tongue, a burning, like embers. Then we quickly realized that the sensation was moving to our throats, to our noses and up to our cheeks, so that our heads were blazing with cactus pricks, with fiery torture. Water only spread the fuel. We ran to the little store, and we stared at each another in painful sympathy when we came up to the shut doors... shut for siesta meant no chicle to cool our torment. I wonder if we told anyone. Our agony would have been a great amusement for everyone else.


My abuelos have a home in town. It is made of adobe, like all (most) buildings, and it has a walled yard. In this picture Geoff is walking toward the river, away from my tia Armida's home and towards my abuelo's home. This is the way RosaMaria and I travelled back and forth between our houses. With summer rain, the road can become a river itself, emptying out down the way, passed Ma' Juana and Pa' Chico's little house... where their little house once stood.


My great-grandparents, the ones that raised my abuela when she was orphaned as a baby, lived in a small adobe facing the church. I used to sit with Ma' Juana, in her cool, thick walled home. With a gourd she would draw cold water from a clay pot and serve it to me in a tin cup. The room where she cooked was dark from smoke, from years of fire cooking. In the corner was dry corn, and stalks of cane. I remember when she butchered a hog and was in the yard mixing soap. Soap that smelled of pork rinds and felt as greasy... eeew! I was so enchanted with her. She was small, her hair was long and still mostly black. She slept on a cot too, and had no more than 2 or 3 chairs, a small table. I promised her the moon and the stars. I wanted to bring her a prism, so she could have rainbows dancing on her bare walls. Pa' Chico was almost as small, but no less strong. He walked to his rancho too, every morning and it was further than Ojo de Agua.


In the walled garden of my abuelo's home is an orno, a clay oven, flowers, trees, and the pila where abuela used to wash clothes. I washed clothes there too. One side was filled with water and the other side had the lava rock that was there to beat the clothes upon, and water drained into the garden from the little hole at the end. Everything was hung in the sun and brought in before the monsoonal rains in the afternoon. My great-grandmother's soap was famous for getting clothes very clean, but with hunks of pork in it, one had to guard it from hungry dogs. It was poisonous of course. I like bacon, but I can honestly say I was never tempted to sample the soap.

When I was 11 years old, and my abuela did all of the washing, I loved to be by her side and watch her bale water over the sudsy clothes. It smelled good near the lemon tree, and felt cool with the water splashing. She washed and hung all of our garments and they dried quickly in the sun. They came very clean with her vigorous scrubbing on the worn stone of the pila. How many times had my dresses and p@nties been dashed and wrung by hand?

My abuelo brought us home on the 2 same busses we had ridden to El Valle, and we arrived in Tijuana so early in the morning that the sun was only beginning to show. We each had our own duffel to carry from the bus to the street, where we would await a ride from my tio. It took both hands to manage my duffel and besides this heavy load, I was really not all together awake. That may account for the fact that it took me a moment to realize that my p@nties were around my ankles, having slipped down. I hauled them up in a flash. I was confused and embarrassed, the bus terminal was mostly empty and I consoled myself that no one witnessed. And I resumed the task of dragging my bag, trying to keep up with my brothers and abuelo, and my undergarments slipped again. I caught them between my knees, shimmied them up, and shuffled carefully, keeping my legs locked together. Mine was a slow, awkward and mortifying gait, that I could not properly explain to anyone. It seems that 5 weeks of thrashing my underwe@r clean on a stone made of lava had completely undone the elastic in them.


Returning to El Valle with my own children, my husband, was one of the best times of my life. I happily found that very little had changed... some of the few changes were sad, like not being able to sit with Ma' Juana and Pa' Chico, or to chat with my tia Ventura... she and I liked to read Reader's Digest en español together. And it would have been a great privilege to visit Maria del Guero... she was one of the oldest woman I think I ever met and she sewed my clothes on a pedal machine. Her patterns for my dresses, skirts and blouses were in her head, she measured me with her fingers. I was keenly aware of the blessing that I could return to this place and still find both of my grandparents... still healthy, still smiling and eager to shower us with their prayers and affection.


I looked on this visit as a tremendous gift, for myself and for the boys. It was their second time in El Valle, and I loved that they were so receptive and enthused about all of the things and sights, the people and experiences that I held dear. We did and saw and treasured as much as we could.


We explored and hiked. We filled our pockets with flint and other pretty stones, crystals and pottery shards. Bits of our past.


We used to hike to this place, to swim. Oh my. The water was just as muddy and uncertain, but it was so hot and the walk home so far we drank this water too. It was delicious. I love how thinking about an event or place can lead to more curiosity. As much as I remember, I am aware of how little I know. How far is this place and how do I spell the name of it?


We sat together. We remembered other days, other nights, other faces and their laughter. I remembered how wonderful it is to sit together... just talking, just sharing each other's company.


I just got a call... everyone is back from Tacupeto, abuelo's funeral. There are many more memories I plan to write about, many more pictures I want to share, but right now I am going to my tia's house, where my abuela is.

Help! I've Been Tagged!

I like and respect Julie so I am going to do my level best to finish this mini survey. The whole truth is I like questionnaires and surveys and filling out forms. That is just a quirky bit of truth about me. Give me a good pen and a quiet corner and I will get into a meditative trance filling in bubbles, answering tough questions and recalling addresses of yore. It's fun that she asked me to play along. These are the categories I am asked to respond to, and then I am supposed to ask 6 more friends to play along. Do you like these blog games? Would you like to play with us? Please do.

What was I doing ten years ago-1998?
First, I would like to thank Julie for posting the year, because for a moment I was anxious, thinking, "What's 'ten years ago?'" Good grief.
10 years ago Geoff got a sabbatical from work and we were in Hawaii for 4 weeks. Sweet, huh? I was 7 months, then 8 months pregnant with Max. People were looking at me like I might burst forth a baby on the spot, especially on the plane ride home! We celebrated Alex's 4th birthday there, and spent every day looking for land we could share with Mom and Corm, a place to build our dream homes. I gotta get a scanner... these are all pre-digital memories! I remember mangoes were in season, and I was having one for breakfast every morning... such luxury!

5 6 things on my to-do list for today:
1. Avoidance
2. Procrastination
3. Read another BIONICLE comic
4. Mail a check to Aunt Becky
5. Plan Alex's 14th birthday celebration
6. Work on a chicken coop


Things that I would do if I was a billionaire:
1. Reduce my wealth by half by contributing heavily to charity.
2. Reduce the remainder by half by contributing heavily to family and friends.
3. Reduce the remainder by half by setting my husband up in his own business.
4. Buy a house. Make it a home. Play, play, bake and quilt and read, take pictures, post to my blog, feed chickens, nurture children, flirt with my husband, garden, and thank God for blessings... just like always.
5. Give it all to my husband, who knows better how to manage money.

Places I have lived:
Los Angeles, California
Ramona, California
Esquintla, Guatemala
Richfield, Minnesota
and some 20 other places...

Snacks I like
I'm glad there isn't a cap on this category, although I should put a cap on my consumption. Just saying.
1. Popcorn. Definitely popcorn. Light oil, stove popped. No butter. A sprinkle of Parmesan cheese and a dash of Lawry's season salt.
2. Celery and hummus. Mmmmyummy


6( I have to aim higher, because most people clam-up) Lots of people I want to know more about:
Ruth M
Delia L
Helen VV
Nancy VV
Holly VV
Anne L
Cyrus K
Karen S
Cristina T
Marica V
Alison G
Gretchen KG
Hans G
Bill G
Geoff
Tarie
Janece
Pam L
Dallas S
Em
Jennifer W
Susana M
and You

Our outdoor table is getting primed and painted, and fitted with some additional boards. My mind overflows with bright ideas that, while lacking in engineering integrity, are sometimes really quite clever. Like turning an old and cheap table in to a compact and mobile chicken coop. The modifications are coming along. We really must pick up the pace though, because the chicas are no longer little palm puffs, tiny and shy. The chicas are springing from their cage, sprouting flight feathers and pert tail feathers. They have become taller, gangly explorers that want to spread out, scratch the earth and spread their wings. Geoff has agreed to help me with some more technical aspects of my endeavor. He wants to protect our investment!

Breakfast With Maria


While I sort through my thoughts and give some attention to things on my desk, I thought some of you might like to join Maria for breakfast.
She put aside her rock painting to make room for oatmeal, toast and turkey sausage.


Maria takes her oatmeal with a healthy shake of cinnamon and lots of plump raisins. She asked for the blue bowl, and the blue cup. She notices these things.
She also noticed the point at which her toast resembled a little boat.


Other mornings Maria likes to have bananas and strawberries, or granola and yogurt. She likes it when I make hencakes too.


We declared this one of the best hencakes ever. Janece, you asked for a hencake lesson and I have to say, all I do is pour and drip batter. Some hens come out purtier than others!


Today we are going to have smoothies with Cyrus and Candace. First we will run a few errands, load the dishwasher, and stuff. There's that word again. It's useful when one does not want to fully disclose all of their plans... tee hee.


Goodness! The day is calling, the sun is shining, we have places to go and stuff!

Update: Here's the Stuff...!

We Are Inside, The Landlord is Outside
Twice a year GaryBob, a name composed of 2 different landlord names, likes to pull up weeds, trim trees, spray insecticides and knock stuff around. I come to dread this day, as he has pulled out my flowers, shattered my potting table, broken my vases and garden pots. He is not a mean person. He is not cruel. He is reckless in a dorky kind of get the job done kind of way. Already today, the blackberries have succumbed to his method.

I cannot go on hating him and cursing the whole tenant/landlord relationship. All of the anguish and suffering is locked up in my head, because I don't have the confidence and daring to confront him and to say out loud all of the ways he infuriates me. I feel angry and hurt by what he does, sad about how it makes me feel and really frustrated that I have not addressed him on each occasion of his offenses.


This morning I had a learning moment, an epiphany of self realization and enlightenment: I rarely, if ever, speak up on my own behalf. Haha... it does not escape my notice that I am still not addressing the individuals that I am actually mad at. I never want to hurt someone's feelings, appear petty or insensitive. I never want to create conflict or make waves. But I am realizing that the net result of sparing other people pain or conflict is that I endure it all for myself. I subject myself to sadness, aggravations, anger and a black hole of a knot in the pit of my stomach. This is no favor to me, and it is no favor to the one I presume to spare. What I don't release is bottled inside and festering. GaryBob and a few other unsuspecting folks have me so furious and disgusted, so darn mad and hurt, and as they go along their merry way, I am left with the belly ache, and a powerful dislike, disrespect and stink-eye for them.


There is a point at which I am not a victim, but a bitter martyr, disingenuous, and depleted of self-worth and dignity. I think of the people I am mad at and I realize that there was a beginning when what they did upset me, but as long as I cannot address the issue there will not be an end. They are free to repeat the offense and I am free to replay it in my head over and over again, so that I victimize myself. Aggh... enlightenment can be so hard on the eyes! I don't like seeing this in myself, let alone saying it out loud.

Hmmmm... now what?

Geoff re-injured his knee, the right one, the one with the torn meniscus. This is so sad. He really should get a break from exercise related injuries. He wants to be out there playing, getting healthy, staying healthy. I feel so bad for him. He can hardly walk.

If you should happen to come to our place and we invite you to dinner, sit carefully. I don't know what we've done to deserve it, but our sturdy, rustic, heavy duty solid wood chairs are crap. We started with 8 and I think we are down to 5. They just get loose, come undone, fall apart. One chair cut my leg and Max's with an exposed screw. This morning another chair popped a railing and left an exposed screw that punctured William's back. I want to burn them.

So, gee. I seem to have a list of aggravations and frustrations. Eh. It's good to purge now, then in a year when we are living in our own home and savoring the beauty of the day and our fine lives, we can look back and rejoice over how far we've come. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.


Maria is driving her car. Her baby and her driving hat are in place and she is turning corners, seatbelt fastened. Did you notice her haircut? Oh, these dear rites of passage. She cried after I committed the first snip and she sobbed, "I not want a haircut!" It's not up for debate. The deed is done, and we all think she looks pretty with her healthy, fresh do.


Her steering wheel is very big. She purses her lips and makes a motoring hum. When I sit behind her she fastens my seatbelt too.

The house needs cleaning, and we are expecting Hans and Gretchen for dinner. Obviously, Geoff cannot help and I am too cranky and moody to feel motivated, yet. I suppose when the work outside is done, I will breath easier. GaryBob just finished washing the whole yard with a "mild oil to kill black stuff." And I said nothing, because having an epiphany and doing something about it are not the same thing.

Chickenblog Counts Down

Thank you again for voting in the photography contest. It was real close. I'm such a loser. It was fun and a nice opportunity to discover new blogs and photographers. I have to say, Dallas easily remains one of my favorite photographers and you should visit her blog for regular views of her observations of nature.


"Count down?" you ask.
Yes, I am counting days and such.

3 days until the feed store by the boy's testing site receives a new shipment of chicks. Cute, harmless, life affirming, gratifying, fun and therapeutic chicks. Baby hens. Chooks. Sigh.


8 posts until my eleventy-eleventh post to Chickenblog. Thought: Wouldn't bringing home 2 chicks be an awesome way to celebrate 1,111 posts?


24 days until Chickenblog celebrates its 6 year blogiversary! Gee it seems like just yesterday we were celebrating the 5 year blogiversary. That was when Tarie and Janece were drawing winners, but before Calamity Kim brought my blog out of obscurity. Now a whole year has rolled by and some things are much the same and some things are very, very changed. I do have a lot more friends in the blogosphere, many of whom you find over there in the blogroll.


I used to make hencakes all the time and post their cuteness every now and then. Every hencake is an original, ladled out with artful flair and loving care. All hencakes and other chicken references can be found in the archives under the Chicas label. Labels is a rather recent feature of the blog that Geoff added for me. The labels are a very helpful device for organizing 1,103 different posts.


My most recent Chickenblog improvement is a feeder thingy. Uh. Yeah, well I haven't actually fully grasped the concept, but I changed some settings in my blog that will enable savvy bloggers to add me to their feed. Is that right? Well, no, not me. I will not be in anyone's feed. Chickenblog is available to be added to... How did Katie put it? Here's what she told me: "Anyhow, publishing a blog feed allows people to use an aggregated reader to view any updates to blogs they subscribe to. This is great because I don't have to visit 100+ blogs a day to see if they were updated!" Thank you Katie! You are a very good person to know.

One more count down: Only 2 days left for the boys to be tied to desks, filling in little bubbles with number 2 pencils. The state testing should wrap up by end of mañana. Wouldn't bringing home 2 fluffy little chicks be the most wonderful way to celebrate the end of grueling test taking?

Alors Français


Frais, de croissants chauds. Bon?

I feel so foux da fa fa fa!

Merci a Sara, and Trader Joe's.

Buttermilk Biscuits in a Blue Dress


Maria couldn't wait for me to hem her new dress. She twirled and whirled the whole day, so I feel successful. When we sat in the shade of the oak trees, at the Renaissance Faire, I pinned and basted the gatherings on the four rows that make up the skirt. I love having handwork available when I am having a quiet moment. New patterns, like new recipes can be a bit tricky and slow, but now that I have finished this dress, I am anxious to try another variation. Of course... something like Meg's blouse. She's Sew Liberated!


The biscuit recipe was a new one, and I substituted butter for the shortening. Needless to say, with all of that butter, they came out very tasty. The best part though was sharing the hand mixing part with Maria and then rolling and cutting together too. She was up for the whole process! With the last bit of dough she spent another half hour rolling, cutting and dusting everything with flour.


I will have to thoroughly shake-out her dress before I finish the hem. I wouldn't want to wash it before hemming it, even though the edge is pinked. Over the years I have periodically sewn a few garments. It's not always easy to rationalize sewing clothes over buying them, when it goes as slowly as it does for me. Still, it's nice to know how to sew clothes and to have the option to make the styles I like.

I know the boys would love it if I dedicated myself to outfitting the family in Renaissance fashions. Throughout the day we were offering suggestions for our family guild. How about a Biscuit Guild?

We Should Start A Guild


At the market these peppers called my name.
In crisp peppery voices they said, "Psst. Natalie, come here. Check us out. Wouldn't we smell marvelous roasting on your stove-top? Take us home. Make chile rellenos. I promised a friend the recipe, and I think it would be a great one for documenting.


Making chile rellenos is quite an undertaking, and one I haven't tackled in almost a year. The beauty of these fresh Anaheim peppers, the saturated tones of the bells is inspiring.

The light box has its own home on the new school desk, which makes it extra convenient for a quick photo session. It's also comes in very handy for the latest family obsession... producing our own stop-motion animations. Alex, William and Max are thrilled with the new set-up and software. Years ago they mastered the Lego program. It's good they have a chance to reacquaint themselves with this process and art. Look for our YouTube links soon!


The changes we are making to the schoolroom and the garage/sewing room are coming along nicely. The latest ambition is to finish a hanging screen that will keep cats and children inside, while allowing fresh air to enter through the open garage door. Geoff set up a power strip, so the sewing machine is plugged in. I bought a 3rd table, because Alex and Max were drawn to the cleared space and wanted to work on their robotic and mechanical inventions. I like having their company. The room is taking on a creative vibe.


I have never, ever had a cutting table. A cutting table is an awesome tool. Maria and I spent an evening cutting a pattern for pants and a dress. She pinned her bunny drawing and thoughtfully measured and cut her handmade pattern, while I pinned and cut the pieces for her new wardrobe.


Yesterday we ran away and joined the Faire, and we would have stayed forever, living in a canvas tent and wearing tunics, boots, fairy wings and Irish skirts, but we do not have a guild. We really must form our own guild. Cooking, inventing, artists with interests in science and farming, handwork, singing weird songs and relaxing in the shade... we'll make our family crest and heraldry soon.


Max tried archery, which is a favorite activity of his. He is quite skilled with a bow and arrow.


In spite of the 98 degree temperatures we did and saw a lot. Geoff documented some of the elaborate battles and other faire activities. He has a new hobby too. Our guild will include stop motion and slow motion photography. More about our day at the faire later. It's time to open books and sharpen pencils.

Sweet Decadence


We have the great fortune of living in a strawberry growing area, and when they are in season the strawberries are delicious, abundant and cheap. This year I have been waiting and waiting and waiting for that last part... cheap. Could it possibly be the R Word? Our government is determined to shield us from glaring truths, but we know better: These abundant, delicious strawberries are a luxury.


And every sensible mother knows luxuries are best served with chocolate. It's like a law or something. I'm pretty sure.


We let Joe run around on the lawn and we opened up Maria's recently refreshed sandbox, so she could make castles and pies. We spread a blanket on the ground. William worked in a school book and I did some sketches for a new quilt.


Max climbed around and chatted... Alex too.


And when the little chocolate cups that Alex baked were cool, we scooped big spoonfuls of strawberries into them. Our Spring picnic. Our afternoon tea. Our elegant gathering


Be real! We ate off paper plates.


Someone forgot the napkins. We did remember to wash hose off her hands.


The air was aglow with the soft afternoon light and birds sang merrily in the branches. We spoke of finer things and savored our pleasing refreshment.


Yeah, right.

Green, Green. Fresh and Green


Lily of the valley has more blossoms. Tiny white bells chiming fragrant notes of Spring.


Today I will continue to be guided by the list, and I will accomplish as much as I can while accepting, as so many of you noted, that there will always be more to add to life's lists. My lily, and gardening friends, are tempting me to try and make a bit of a garden outside. All past attempts have been foiled by a clumsy thoughtless dorky... by our landlord. He has unleashed untold damages on my gardening attempts that make me very sad and angry. Hope Springs Eternal?


Hopes and dreams, the stuff that keeps us moving forward.


Besides wanting to dig around in a garden, I think I will reconfigure the kitchen. A clean kitchen, purged and organized, smelling of cut limes and hot corn tortillas, is comforting and good.

Easter Monday


Tasty, tasty Easter grapes.
We spent the morning with Izzy and Nick, Holly and Rich. My Mommy is staying with us, after her stay in Pasadena helping her sister and mom, so she came too. Holly and Rich are exceptional hosts. I am having yet another giggle at my own expense... thinking of what a full house they had with neighbors, friends and family over for brunch and an egg hunt. I have to remind myself that we make it a crowd when we arrive with 7 people!


Earlier, the children went in to our backyard to wish Joe, the rabbit, a Happy Easter and that's when they found their baskets. Baskets with Legos and a little chocolate bunny and the traditional pack of underwear. Such a thoughtful E. Bunny. Maria's basket had "Goodnight Gorilla."


For a few years I have been aware of how shy and elusive Nick can be when I come around with my camera, so I was pleased to catch him unaware. He was enjoying a quiet moment during the party.


I heard Rich telling friends about Izzy's passion for chocolate. I think her appetite was well satisfied, and you can see she is still enjoying a last smack of chocolate goodness.


Speaking of goodness, this carrot cake came out pretty good. Max thinks I need to work on my carrot decorations... true, but I thought they were pretty convincing. The best part is that we have food dye that is derived from real life edible plants and not petroleum junk. Thank you Seelect. Many years ago I fell in love with a carrot cake, Janice's carrot cake. Oh, it was so yummy and good. To compensate for not decorating for Easter, for not holding my arms wide open to welcome Spring in to our house, I got it in to my head to bake The Carrot Cake. Janice kindly shared the recipe and we agreed it is slightly rich. (rich = full of fat and sugar) So, I got cocky. (cocky = I can adapt the recipe and make it healthier) Being cocky in the kitchen, with a dish intended to be shared at an Easter brunch, is very risky. No one wants a dry, tasteless cake... a too healthy cake, during a holiday extravaganza, may not be too satisfying.

I only modified 2 parts, and next time I am going to take it a step further and reduce the oil to just 1 cup. The results were very well received, and the real test was that I liked it a lot. I am sure it isn't a recipe that falls under the heading of Health Food, but it is delicious.

Janice and Natalie's Carrot Cake

3 cups grated carrots
2 cups sugar
1.5 1.25 cups of oil
4 eggs

Stir these ingredients together. And I am thinking that next time I my go to 1 cup of oil and maybe add more carrot or even some zucchini.

2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup of walnuts
1/2 cup of oatmeal (I like the old fashioned kind)

Sift the dry ingredients together and then mix in the nuts. The oatmeal was something I added. I love oatmeal. Next time I will probably make it a full cup, especially if I increase the carrots. Start adding the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir 'em up. I did this by hand, since I did not want to over-mix the batter.

Choose a favorite cake pan, and I lightly oiled mine, and bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit. A cook time would be helpful, I know, but I don't have one. Expect it to take more than half an hour... it will smell good and an inserted knife will come out clean... you'll know when it's done.

Frosting
I am not capable of following directions. Something in me must resist. So even though Janice gave me her perfectly tasty recipe, by the time I was ready to frost the cake, I just made it up.

1 stick of butter
8 oz of cream cheese + a healthy scoop of some leftover whipped cream cheese we had leftover from breakfast
a largish, perhaps 2, teaspoons of vanilla
powdered sugar... more than you want to admit, less than a box... I did not make it very sweet.

I whipped all of this together, and set some aside to turn orange and then frost the cool cake. The carrots looked even less like carrots until I topped them with celery greens!

Well, that was our Easter. Enjoying a beautiful day, laughing with family, making new friends. We came home for a quiet evening and we watched Live From Lincoln Center, "Madama Butterfly." Now it is Easter Monday, a warm day with a blue sky and errands to run and chores to complete. How was your Easter?

Everyday Life 30 :: 27


He's no groundhog. He didn't have a shadow. And seeing him amidst all of this clover, one might assume it is Spring!
It's not very well focused, but he was darting and flitting before I could adjust the lens, and even if the image is not very good, the memory it evokes is.


Our first 2 Pizza Nights were well underway, before Geoff could get home. He never got to contribute his own unique recipe. Last night was different! He was home soon enough to help chop tomatoes and zucchinis, to set out the cheese and put a fresh cloth on the table. Max got some advice about his latest Lego creation, which he hope to make fly. Geoff was home in time to show me that it really is possible to roll out a thin crust pizza. And I had to zip-it when I began objecting to Swedish meatballs on the pizza... and by the time Geoff and Maria were popping marshmallows on top, I knew better than to say anything at all! And I thought I was the Weird one. Two nights of experience gathering perfect ingredients and mastering the dough is nothing compared with natural pizza intuition. I bow before greatness.

Everyday Life 30 :: 24
Wordless Wednesday

Everyday Life 30 :: 13
Our Pizzeria is Open!

Technically this post is more accurately a reflection of things that do not happen Everyday. We do not make pizza or coffee Everyday. And I certainly do not meticulously rip-out quilting that is too wonky... more on this in a moment.


With dough from Trader Joe's, a great deal of enthusiasm, and some naivete, we launched our home pizzeria enterprise. Don't expect a public debut for a time. We still have some kinks to work out. Ah, but we had fun. Lots and lots of fun.

First, I created a playlist on iTunes, so we could set a Euro-Italian-Slow Food-Mood. Think... "O Mio Babbino Caro," "Buono Sera," Tino Rossi, Louis Prima, Vivaldi. With our pizza tunes playing we rolled up our sleeves, washed our hands, and began slicing and dicing. Everyone made their own creation. Well, Geoff came too late to make his own and Maria was still too drowsy from her late nap.


Alex's pizza was a deep dish pie with cheese, sauce, pepperoni and pineapples all layered between the divided dough. He added a face to the top. It was deeply delicious.


William's pizza was more traditional. I must commend his patience with the stretch and retract dough, which is hard to work with. I did call Anne at this point... they know pizza at her house, and I got some helpful suggestions and some new ideas and news about UU events in Florida... ooops! Back to the kitchen! LOL... So, William's pizza had basil and sauce, extra garlic, spicy Italian chicken sausage, cheese and pepperoni. It came out scrumptious! Trader Joe's crust might take some time for us to learn to work with, but the flavor and texture are worth it.


Max wanted an altogether unique pizza experience and he achieved this with his pepperoni surprise, stuffed crust pizza. He kept laying stuff on, then rolling and pounding the edges to hide all the saucy-cheesy-pepperoni goodness. It came out round and perfect, just like he worked for, and it tasted just to his liking. Another good cook.


My pizza came out of the oven first, and it sustained and inspired us. We kept sampling it as we cooked the rest. Mmmm it was good. It was a plain crust smothered in chopped garlic, tomatoes, zucchini, basil, onions, crushed peppers, and a little cheese... really just a small handful... oh, I really should write this one down. Oh, the wine was tasty too.


Slowly rousing from her evening nap, Maria took her veggie pizza in her tent, her castle, her personal space. Sweet are the luxuries of youth.


Behold: I make the worst coffee ever. I threw out the first pot and tried again, and the second was only half as bad as the first batch, but certainly not worth drinking. Blech. I do not make coffee everyday, or even once a month. At this rate I may never make it again.


I have not gone into any details about this... I have not disclosed the absolutely awesome nature of my Christmas present, but you may be able to guess what I am trying to learn how to master from this picture.

Wordless Wednesday
Everyday Life... 30 Days :: 3

Wordless Wednesday

Sweet Diversions
I don't know what possessed me to call friends over, but I have no regrets. We finally made time and squeezed in our annual gingerbread decorating party. It's our family tradition, having friends over and we bequeath them a kit and we offer them hot glue for assembly and food for their appetites, and, in recent years, we slip "Elf" in the player. And then it's sweet creativity and sugary abandon for the rest of the evening!


Alex worked on an Ikea house, so he could, at long last, try skipping the hot glue, and go all icing. He had great success with this, though we did have to modify the very thick icing.


I whipped-up a little hot glue and graham cracker creation just for Maria to decorate. Why hot glue? It's fast and it holds, and we never eat our houses. That's how we do it.


Our friends, Adam, Anne and Jacob, voted to go with an all icing construction too. Patiently they waited out the 15 minute drying time... alas, in the end, the icing was less than effective, so we came in with a last minute hot glue fix on the roof. It's like retrofitting, which is something Californians are quite accustomed to.


Mitchell and William worked together as a dream team... I think they could enter a Food Network Challenge!


Without debate or conflict, they quietly set to making a very thoughtfully decorated gingerbread masterpiece.


Maria scored points for patience and novice skill. She even endured the dreaded sticky fingers! And then she discovered they were sweet and sticky fingers... hmmm, not bad!


She really loved this decorating business.


Max was disappointed that Mom was too lazy to let him mix 4 different colored icings this year. I won't apologize: I didn't have my partner and fellow clean-up man, Geoff, this time, so I meant to keep it simple... simpler... somewhat.


Mitchell could not believe that we never eat our houses and my boys could not comprehend wanting to eat the houses. They do look good enough to eat, but it's just not part of our tradition.


The *L* Team: Jacob, Anne and Adam. Their house is going to smell so good and gingery!


Our house smells good and gingery too.


Maria was so happy this morning when she got to show her daddy her house.


I found another old post about our gingerbread traditions, from 2003,, but I need to unlock all the pictures... that might not happen too soon, but I'll try. (Update: I fixed the photo links. Good grief that was hard.) Now, I am off to make tamales!

Update part 2, with a part 3 in the works:

Max wanted to see the photos of gingerbreads past, so we went searching. No digital before 2003. We covered 2004, in this link. I didn't take pictures last year... shocking! So, that leaves 2005: We were in the Treehouse and... well, here are the photos...

























Oh my goodness... such wonderful memories.

Winter Break! Winter Break!
With a mischievous wink, Max woke up and said, "It's time to get ready for school." Not! Ah, sweet respite. Precious furlough. Dear liberty. Treasured time for loafing, lounging, and luxuriating in festive frivolity!


Last week our days were quite full, and while I hardly want to recall all of it, I can say we baked, studied, experimented, sewed, wrapped, mailed, cleaned, prepared, repaired and played. Consequently, the house got very messy, but we made some recovery progress on that front... sigh.


Alex and Max have delved in to the realm of styling product. They used more mousse in one session than I've used in 4 years... they were going for hold and form. I realized what they needed was gel, not frothy, lofty foam. They also needed their Dad. Back in the day, Geoff knew styling product, color, spikes, fast-hold... He coaxed Max's hair into an obedient, high-rise Mohawk. At school Max was greeted by a collective "Cool!" from his classmates and teacher.



At school we enjoyed the annual Holiday Pageant, where cultures and holidays of the world are celebrated in song and dance, followed by class parties with lots and lots of food and merry making. Alex conceived an idea for a seasonal brownie, and I admit I was skeptical. I remembered that Alicia Paulson, of "Posie Gets Cozy" had been experimenting on just such a concept, so we consulted her. As busy as she is, we got a prompt reply. She still hadn't found a successful recipe and results, but Alex was undeterred. We should send her Alex's recipe, because it was a huge success! Surprisingly, not too sweet, easy on the peppermint and a good brownie... not too dry, not too gooey and sufficient dark chocolate for a hint of sophistication. Mercy, but my boy can bake!


The boys looked so handsome, dressed with extra care for the pageant.


This reminds me, we should try to set ourselves down for a holiday portrait. We haven't done that since 2004.


My favorite Christmas cards are the ones that arrive with a family picture and a newsy letter. I love those. Send me some, won't you, please?


Sewing, shopping, wrapping, packing and shipping. Repeat.

Maria hopes that every gift is hers and now that she is catching on that these gifts are being sent away, she wants to help with the wrapping. Yep.... some kind of help is the kind of help we all can do without. I try to giver her jobs or distract her, but she knows when she isn't being fairly promoted and recognized for her sweet skills and when she gets really mad she runs away with my tape!


Somehow, we make progress, and we have special moments, like having Geoff home last night. And today we'll get more done. It's all good.

Happy Birthday Holly! She's the Queen of the holidays! I wonder what they are doing today.... hmmmm, must be time to look busy, make calls, more sewing, shopping, wrapping, packing and shipping, playing, loafing and laughing!

Back to The Cutting Board
We bake during the holidays and we decorate too, but there is one family tradition we have not visited in 7 years, not since we discovered Max is sensitive to artificial dyes and additives. It's a tough allergy to cope with, since the stuff is everywhere. I am always looking out for options and opportunities. Last year we found candy canes with natural food dyes, and one year we even found undyed cotton candy at Disneyland... that was amazing. It's not that candies and sweets are a necessity, but when you are deprived of them they become 100 times more enticing, and there are even regular "healthy" foods that add dyes, so suck.


Ahh the Mother of Invention... where there is a need to feed, a mom finds a way. Don't gag. We actually iced our cookies with broccoli. Yup. Broccoli in a blender, with milk and confectioners sugar, and a drop of vanilla. Weird, I know, but it looked good and tasted good, and I think if we were icing Christmas tree cookies it would have been really cool looking, because of the broccoli-pine needle bits!


And best of all Max got to enjoy and eat the classic Christmas cookies seen in so many family photo albums from Christmases long ago. We made the icing thin enough to paint on the cookies, which is a really, really fun way to decorate them.


From strawberries we made pink icing, and they didn't need vanilla, because the natural strawberry flavor was so yummy.


Purple icing? Blueberries make beautiful, delicious purple icing. A few years ago I found a company that makes a few sugar sprinkles in natural purple and orange... we've rationed these expensive treats until now. Maria was a little heavy-handed in her method. Art can be so subjective!


You can hear me laughing, right? This was just busting me up.


We had so much fun. We made such a mess. We had so much fun.





Hey, I just heard from Jennifer and she did some pondering and head shaking, and when she finally came out of her shock, she decided she really could use a digital camera. Isn't that great? She doesn't have a digital camera. Jennifer this little camera is going to change your life!

And Laurie? Laurie, get ready for some fun in the kitchen! Honestly we all love the apple tool and the other goodies are all favorites too, so I think your family is going to have a great time. You know, in about 3 or 4 days you should buy a huge bag of apples, wash them and be ready to play.

Do you Hear What I Hear?
Sometimes I wish I blogged with audio. Geoff says it's possible, but I'll excuse him from making it a reality. Anyways... sometimes, like today, you just have to know that I am laughing. Laughing out loud. LOL. Even when I am despairing about life's trial and tribulations, it's likely I am laughing.

Would you like a delicious cookie recipe? This is Anne Z.'s Aunt Rosella's Ginger Cookies recipe, which is over 100 years old. My friend Belinda shared it with me.

Ginger Cookies
Combine: 3/4 cup of butter, 1 cup of sugar, 1 egg and 5 tablespoons of molasses

In a separate bowl sift together: 2 cups of flour, 1.5 teaspoon of salt, 2 teaspoons of baking soda, 1 teaspoon ginger, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, 1/2 teaspoon cloves

Add the dry ingredients to the wet and mix. Make teaspoon full balls of dough and roll in sugar, place on cookie sheet, then press down with a sugared glass bottom.

Bake at 325 degrees F for 9 to 10 minutes.

Do you read any mention of refrigerating the dough? Or rolling it and cutting out dear little gingerbread men? No. The answer is no, and if I ever was in the habit of following recipes I could have spared us this tragedy:


What you are seeing is cut dough that has been baked, melded together into a lava flow of ginger goodness, and then in a last ditch act of desperation cut again.

What the heck was I thinking?!



We like this one best, because it has a little Picasso heart cut-out. And by now, we were all laughing out loud. And sampling... mmmm ginger cookies are tasty. So, throw out my vision of us gathered around a clean kitchen, carols playing, candlelight flickering on the mantle, and us piping snow white icing on the gingerbread family. No cute buttons and bow ties. No curly locks and dear ginger grins.


The cookies are all gone. We had to eat hide the evidence of my fantasy gone wrong.

Un Remédio



Alex missed school today, and I'm not saying salsa is the cure for what ails him... the salsa just gives the albóndigas an extra kick. That Wikipedia link is a Stub and could use a lot more information, but I'm too busy cooking! Albóndigas is a meatball soup, which can be as varied as any soup. I make mine with ground turkey, plenty of cilantro, garlic, harina de maíz and this and that. Hopefully a bowl or two will clear Alex's congestion and relieve his sore throat. Missing school is tough enough, but we don't want him too sick to enjoy the 3 day weekend coming up!


The salsa is not a pico de gallo or fresh salsa. I'll cook the tomatoes and jalapeño, then toss them in the blender with cilantro, some salt and pepper. It's an excellent choice with corn chips or to add to recipes that want spiciness.

I will make corn tortillas to eat with the soup and then dinner will be complete. The soup has a garden of vegetables, so I won't hassle with a salad tonight. Why do other people's salads always taste better? I always enjoy a salad made by anyone else, more than one I make. And when Geoff makes a sandwich and sits down next to me, mmmm, his sandwich is always way tasty! Thanksgiving dinner is a whole other mystery... no matter how good a Thanksgiving dinner I get at another person's home, I will still have to prepare an entire feast in my own home. November cannot finish without a turkey roasting in my oven and all the trimmings and leftovers to enjoy.

What are you eating? What chases away your colds? What makes your Thanksgiving complete? Need more kitchen talk? Go over to Anne's place. She's always got something cooking!

Post Dinner Update
The boys were too hungry to wait for tortillas, so I broke open a bag of Trader Joe's whole grain-poppy seed corn chips and we served up big bowls of piping hot soup. Maria was the only abstainer; she was happy eating avocado on the chips. The rest of us inhaled zucchini, carrots, celery, green onions and savory-garlic enfused turkey meat-balls. Geoff may get to sample a small bowl for breakfast, if there's any left.

Me: William, can you unload the dishwasher?
William: Can Alex help?
Me: Well, ya, but there's not much to unload and I get to fill it up again.
William: Want me to load the dishwasher?
Me, grinning: I love you!

Falling into Fall


6 cooks and no recipe... we are a little off our game, but we are willing to try, try, try again. Max kept saying, "More lemon. Definitely more lemon." While Maria stood on the step chanting, "Suga' pease! Suga' pease!" Alex believes we could have gone with more cinnamon and less lemon. I wish we had let it bake a bit longer.


We happily recalled that come January it will be our 10th anniversary... that is our 10th apple peeler-corer-slicer anniversary. It was a birthday gift for Geoff, procured by Jola, when I was too overcome with morning sickness to leave the house. She added a huge bag of apples, so we could bake our first pie, but slicing apples, and munching them on the spot, proved so much fun we never had enough left for even a turnover.


Alex was in charge of the crust, which we agree came out perfect. He used his birthday crust cutter to cover this crust with birds. Then we brought the two pies to share with everyone at Deanne and James' house. Holly, Izzy, Nick and Rich were already there when we arrived, and the whole evening was spent enjoying good company and good food. And wine. My goodness...


Oh, and thinking up names for the baby coming in February. James and Deanne are expecting! I get so tickled every time I think of this!