Sisker's Lair

Romancin'

2012-02-13T14:26:00.002-06:00

We had a program at our library this past Saturday morning with 9 authors of romance fiction. As one of our authors wrote back to me, "a good time was had by all." Each of our guests talked a little about her work, then we had 30 minutes before the library closed for the audience of 40 to ask questions one-to-one and buy books. After the doors locked, we had a salad luncheon. Any time women go back for seconds on salad... you know it was good!

But one of the best things to come from this was a comment by a non-romance reader. The program made her want to try a romance!

Can a convert be far away?

The rudest cities

2012-02-07T16:28:00.003-06:00

Two Sundays back CBS Sunday Morning gave the list of the top ten rudest cities in America according to Travel+Leisure magazine: NYC, Miami, DC, LA, Boston, DFW, Atlanta, Phoenix, Baltimore, and Orlando.

Well, was I surprised! Dallas? Rude? I could easily believe it of all the other cities, but Dallas?

Granted, there've been a few times I've looked askance at my fellow citizens, usually on the roadway. But to place so high on the list? To place at all?

So I tried to look objectively at the list. Seven of the ten are on the east coast, one on the west. Dallas and Phoenix sort of in the middle.

I think I came up with the answer, not to Dallas' perceived rudeness but for 8 of the others: sleep deprivation. On the coasts, in the Eastern and Pacific Time Zones, you can't go to bed until after the news and it doesn't start until 11! Then if you have to get your Leno or Conan fix, it's even later! Then up early for work or school, and the population is sleep-deprived.

In the midsection of America, our news is on at 10. We get an hour's extra sleep whether we need it or not.

A girlfriend has suggested that it's the crowding in the cities (and tourism?) which causes the rudeness factor. I'll stick to sleep.

Amaryllis

2012-01-29T13:39:00.002-06:00

The week before Christmas, I wandered into a Calloway Nursery and found a bushel basket of half-price paperwhite narcissus and amaryllis bulbs. I picked out a dozen of the former and set them up as forced bulbs for myself, my daughters-in-law and a friend. They have all bloomed beautifully and been planted in everyone's respective yards.

Alas, in the amaryllis basket was but one which I believed had sufficient good roots to be worth the $3.49. I bought it, planted it, nurtured it as I have the many in the past, and this week we've been rewarded handsomely with two bloom stalks and 8 blooms.

It just brightens up a winter's day!

Sam, the escape artist

2012-01-27T15:57:00.003-06:00

Given cat Sammy's proclivity for jumping into the neighbor's animal trap, it was thought best by all to put a collar on Sam. Trap the cat, see the collar, know he belonged to someone, release him. Easy, peasy. Or, easier said than done.

The problem is Sam. In less than two weeks, he's lost two collars and managed this morning to drop a new, different one in the driveway. It was a breakaway collar (well, they all are) that's for cats because cats climb and cats fall and a dog-type collar would hang said cat.

I picked up this newest collar and headed for Sam's neck. Sam must believe in the adage of 'fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice (or three times in this instance), shame on me.' Sam is having nothing to do with me.

Until I can collar him again, I can only hope that his blue eyes will get him out of the trap.

Starman, a review

2012-01-20T15:10:00.003-06:00

One of my favorite sites for romance reviews and general information about ebooks, ereaders, how-tos, and what's going on in the publishing world is Dear Author. On Fridays, they post a film review and today the review is mine of STARMAN, the 1984 Jeff Bridges movie.

It would appear from the comments, that I'm not the only one who remembers this film fondly.

Go read and enjoy!

What the armadillo left me

2012-01-14T14:37:00.004-06:00

Since armadillos not only like to dig holes in pretty lawns while they search for grubs, but also destroy flower beds in the hunt for bulbs and my flower beds were a mess before I caught up with my own personal armadillo last fall, I overcompensated when it came time to buy daffodils, tulips, and hyacinths.

This morning, with the sun shining and the temps in the 50s, I got to rue that decision.

Normally, I wouldn't have bought daffies or hyacinths since they come back year to year. But I didn't trust that to happen, so armed with 45 hyacinths, 100 tulips, and 40 daffodils, I started digging my own holes.

I've never held to the theory that they have to be planted WAY deep. Two or three inches has served me well and digging any deeper in our black clay soil requires more strength than I have or have had. I made my plan and put foot to shovel and found...

... bulbs. Several inches high in fact, nestled under piles of large sycamore leaves from our neighbors' down the street. I shall save my ire and think of them as a protective layer against the cold. I had to hunt around my previous hyacinths and indeed find a few new places, to plant the 45.

I ran into similar circumstances with the daffodils because I always go back to the same holes to dig. Go figure. However, there weren't any signs of budding tulips and really, not that many daffies.

My armadillo had a thing for tulips, would take a daffodil if hungry, and snubbed the hyacinths. Lucky me?

Getting my feline "child" from behind bars

2012-01-12T15:45:00.004-06:00

Sammy cat is my special blue-eyed baby, the only blue-eyed cat in the neighborhood that I know of. He's gentle and sweet and would rather love than eat, but preferably do both at the same time. He also proved himself to be a glutton and stupid on Tuesday night.

Upon occasion, he is late for breakfast on the patio at 6 in the morning, so while I wasn't happy with his absence Wednesday morning, who doesn't want to sleep in sometimes? But when he didn't show for lunch, I feared he could be injured somewhere or be pinned down by another cat. Sam is, after all, lover more than fighter.

I go calling for him throughout the neighborhood and happen to see my new neighbor across the street. Had he, by chance, seen a yellow cat? Yes, he had. He'd trapped one the night before and it was already at the pound.

My heart bumped along furiously and my stomach knotted. It took me three hours to connect with the animal control officer. We met at the pound. There were a dozen or more dogs and about 6 cats in cages. Sam was so upset by the barking that his pupils almost eclipsed his blue irises. His cage-mate was patiently sitting it out. Sam was scared witless.

I was reminded of old Westerns where the righteous rancher stands with the Sheriff and looks into the jail cell. Then he says, "Yep, that's my boy. What's he done now?"

As the officer pulled Sam out and put him into my carrier, I was grateful I'd seen my new neighbor. I wouldn't have thought of Sam wondering away from home in that direction and being trapped until it would have been too late and he would have been put down. All because of a can of cat food. I feed Sam three times a day, but some smells must be irresistible.

I hope he's learned his lesson and taken wandering across the street off his agenda. I know that next time he's late for breakfast, I'm going on an immediate hunt.

An old dog and a new technology

2012-01-10T20:11:00.003-06:00

My daughter-in-law Mary had shared a wonderful recipe with me for baked shrimp scampi. I wanted to make it but had left the recipe at home. I texted her from the grocery store parking lot: Any unusual ingredients or would I most likely have everything on hand?

Instead of a phone call or a "nothing unusual" text in return, I got an SMS with a photo of the recipe! What a clever idea! Mary says she now photographs all her recipes and therefore has them with her at the store.

Now why didn't I think of that? Don't know, but this old dog now has her iPhone at the ready.

Girls' Day Out!

2012-01-09T16:37:00.003-06:00

I love girls' day out. I don't think we realize how much we tailor our conversations to men until we're just together by ourselves. Take this last Saturday, for example.

My friend Sue has a birthday this week. Being so close after Christmas, I thought we might DO something rather than wrap something. We've done this before, going to a book lecture and luncheon (Jeanne Ray's Eat Cake at the Dallas Museum of Art) or a cooking class. Fun things that someone has to make the effort to plan. This time, it was me. For my birthday in August, my friend Cindy took me to the Genghis Khan exhibit in Irving. Different and fun and--get this!--educational!

For this celebration, I asked Sue if she'd like to go again to the DMA, this time to the showing of Jean-Paul Gaultier's fashions. Sounded like a good idea to her. What if we invited our "daughters" I asked.

I put daughters in quotes because between us we only have one by-blood daughter. The other three are daughters-in-law and I don't want to confuse anyone who happens to have kept up with the blog and knows, or thought they knew, I only had sons. I haven't been hiding any females. All the daughters know each other through Easter times at Sue's house. They all live in the same area. What a wonderful excuse to get out and about on a Saturday morning!

We met up at the Museum, toured the exhibit (eye opening would be an apt description and I really appreciated knowing how many hours some of the ensembles took to complete), then settled into lunch. As one of the girls is beautifully pregnant, talk centered on birth stories. Nurseries. Husbands. Current labor and delivery as compared to the old days when they were born.

We laughed and talked and laughed some more. As I think on it, I now know why our waiter may have at times been scarce: he heard what we were talking about and any man with any sense didn't want near the table! I don't know if they would have been bored or horrified.

We were neither and our girls' day out was over too soon.

A new year, a new calendar

2012-01-01T09:54:00.004-06:00

Calendars are a big deal around here. We have them stationed at various points about the house. There are the kitchen calendars, plural. One is a date book kind of thing which is opened to the current week and in which I keep everything: appointments, recipes to try immediately, notes on when the cats get flea treatments, etc. The other one hangs on the wall and is both color- and theme- coordinated. In other words, it'll have a lot of Tuscan colors to match the walls and will feature cats or... cats.

Upstairs in my study are two month to month calendars, one of them most likely a freebie. This year's is from the World Wildlife Fund although I didn't monetarily support them, but must be on someone's "she might" list. The other is of sunrises and sunsets and color-coordinates with the walls. I bought it at Walmart.

The final calendar in my study fills a bulletin board and sees The Big Picture of trips and schedules.

So, today is calendar swap day. And I'd best get to it. 'Tis a new year.

Have a good one. May it be blessed.

The doll bed moves in!

2011-12-26T10:57:00.003-06:00

There's nothing quite like Christmas morning with children. Especially GRANDchildren. Emily and Jack were delighted with what Santa brought them--a Calico Critter dollhouse and a John Deere outdoor riding tractor. They waited very patiently for the rest of the family to arrive before opening their gifts.

The last item opened was the doll bed. I'd wrapped it without a name and Emily had shown great curiosity about it when it first arrived on Christmas Eve. It had, however, been shoved to the back of her mind with the advent of all the other goodies.

She was quite pleased with it but didn't "move in" until later in the day. After we went home, her parents moved it up to her room and her dolls moved in. Her mother reports that after lights out, Emily and Jack were up playing with it!

Yeah!

The most used letters

2011-12-21T21:47:00.003-06:00

Occasionally I run across a listing of the most-used letters in English. All I have to do is look at my laptop's keyboard to know the top ones.

My laptop and I are old friends (sometimes we quarrel) and I've worn off the following letters: E and A are practically gone. S and T are in terrible shape. D and N are followed closely by O and C. That surprises me a bit. L and F are showing wear. The SHIFT key is graying. I and T have tiny smudges smearing them.

And I know it's 4 days until Christmas. This should be a Christmas message. Or at the very least, a complaint about the winter solstice.

Just think: after tomorrow, the days start getting longer again.

And I wish everyone the Christmas of their dreams.

The doll bed is finished!

2011-12-15T15:53:00.003-06:00

Complete with mattress pad, sheet set, three pillows and reversible comforter. All times two.

Whew!

Now... how am I going to wrap it?

WARNING: This carton was VIDEO TAPED

2011-12-07T22:05:00.004-06:00

There it was, a big orange sticker on my package: "WARNING: This carton was VIDEO TAPED during packing to record contents!"

Have you ever seen such?

This was a Brahmin purse which I had purchased in July and began carrying in October. It was/is a beauty. They have gorgeous bags. But... it began to wear on the corners. Now, after a year, maybe. After a month? I don't think so.

They guarantee for a year if your bag is registered and I had done so. I filled out the paperwork, insured it and mailed it. Two weeks later it appears back on my doorstep in beautiful newer-than-new condition with the big orange sticker.

Who is not to be trusted? The packing people? Me?

Is this a sign of things to come?

I'm very glad to have my purse back. It was like coming home and I'd only had it a month.

But I do worry about orange stickers.

Caution advised

2011-12-03T17:45:00.002-06:00

It's been raining and rainy so I haven't set the trap the last couple of nights, just turned the camera on. Besides, I haven't seen a raccoon or possum for about a week. Could they be gone? Frightened by the mere sight of my well-baited trap?

Probably not. Especially since I was just reviewing the last three nights' photos and found something I've not seen before. There, business end toward the camera where it cannot possibly be missed, is the tail of a skunk. Raised.

Perhaps he was merely leaving his opinion of the whole set-up. I hadn't set the trap. Was he complaining? Warning me that I might have a very nasty surprise one morning?

I am warned.

The book ornament

2011-11-30T14:32:00.003-06:00

I belong to a romance reader's club and our December meeting is a potluck supper, a movie or games, and a gift exchange. We put a price limit on it of $12 or so. I found '12 Days of Booklovers Christmas' kitchen towels and thought all I needed was to add a book-themed tree ornament.

Well, good luck is all I can say.

I've looked at Canton Trade Days, every department store I've been in, Walmart, grocery stores, World Market, Target. I've seen an impressive array of ornaments and actually, one book ornament at a mall kiosk. However, it alone was outside the price range so I left empty-handed.

So I've bought an angel instead. In her hand is a heart, and I guess that's close enough for those of us who love to read.

Splitting the turkey

2011-11-26T16:18:00.004-06:00

Turkey Two Ways was my answer to the turkey doldrums this year.

I saw this in the Williams-Sonoma catalog, all pretty turkey slices just looking good enough to eat right off the page. Curiosity got the better of me and I searched for the recipe online. I think maybe they didn't have the nerve to print it in the catalog because, well, it was strange.

Strange to me that is. But, I'm a convert now.

1. Buy a fresh turkey. I've never bought fresh before, mainly because I didn't think I could find them here, but my fav Big Box had them and I scooped one up earlier this week.

After the ease of prep, ie, not having to fight with frozen innards, I will buy fresh from now on.

2. Separate said turkey into breast, legs, thighs, wings and backbone.

3. Brine the breast and legs and thighs. Make stock from the wings and backbone.
Easy. I've brined our turkeys for years. Only way to go for wonderfully juicy meat.

4. Now here is where it gets strange. To me, that is. Take the dark pieces, put in a pot similar to a Dutch oven, COVER with canola oil, put the lid on, and bake for 4 hours at 300.

Say what? This method is called a confit. After an hour, the aroma made me want to dive right in. It was cooked in about 3 hours. Falling off the bone cooked. Set it on top of the stove.

5. Roast the breast at 375 the usual way. Took about 2 hours.

6. Back to the legs and thighs. Put them on a broiler pan and broil about 10 minutes, turn once, until crispy.

7. Carve and serve.

Absolutely wonderful.

Thanksgivings a world away

2011-11-24T19:29:00.003-06:00

We've had a wonderful Thanksgiving Day, celebrating with our older son and his family and our younger son's mother-in-law while younger son and wife are celebrating their 5th anniversary in Costa Rica. But did that mean we were just a little table of seven, unconnected from the world?

Of course not! Enter FaceTime.

First, just as we were having dessert, the iPad rang and it was Mary's mom and dad and brother in London. Not just a talk, but a visit! Seeing each other over wifi--for free! (All things being relative. The wifi access is gained by a monthly subscription, but oh the things you can do with it!)

Then, later, near dinner time, came the call from the vacationers in Costa Rica. Sitting in their hotel lobby, ordering dinner, telling us about the beach and what all they hadn't been doing.

Sitting in my kitchen and talking to the world!

Fish food: An adventure not for the faint of heart

2011-11-23T16:02:00.003-06:00

Sweet potato peelings not having the desired effect in my effort to entrance a raccoon (or possum for that matter since I found one on my film), I decided to try fish food.

I've never had fish, not even the gold variety one might win at a fair booth. Never had the desire to have my cats circle a fish bowl or tank and constantly lick their chops, thereby upsetting not only the fish, but me. So, opening the fish food was a revelation, and a bad one at that. Sheesh! It smelled like fish!

I shook a few flakes onto some grapes--might as well appeal to all tastes-- and set up the trap.

My cats instantly--INSTANTLY!--went on point. Now, we're talking about half a teaspoon of fishy bait here. But they started circling. I said bad things to them and tried to scare them away.

Thirty minutes later, Sammy was in the trap and, from the photos, Duchess (don't forget that name) had circled him and sat on top of the trap in support of his plight. I let him out.

Checked an hour later. Socks was having an absolute conniption in the trap. This is the little cat who had successfully stolen the slice of deli turkey last week. The lure of fish food must have made her careless. She was clinging to the trap and I had to tump her out.

Back to the couch I go. Last night was the Dancing with the Stars finale and the cats were ruining my rhythm.

Next commercial. Duchess. Obviously someone is a slow learner because by now there's no food in the trap because it's been turned over and dispersed by Socks. Duchess patiently allows me to release her. And she performs this same trick a hour later.

So the upshot is I have 111 photos on the trophy cam, four of them after I let Duchess out the second time and none of them with a raccoon.

Dare I try the pork ribs tonight? How much sleep do I want?

And, Happy Thanksgiving!

What's new at the trapping venture

2011-11-21T16:21:00.004-06:00

No one opted for the sweet potato peelings. Or, for that matter, for the pumpkin innards I tried next. I purchased the goldfish food today that my neighbor had also suggested. At $1.23, I figured, 'why not?'

But it's raining and the idea of trapping an animal and keeping him in the rain all night does not appeal to me. Even a raccoon.

And especially since I have new bait, guaranteed to catch something, probably my cats. Pork ribs. That was my first successful bait in 1996 for trapping a raccoon who'd been making a nuisance of himself for a year! He was so clever he could get into the trap and get the bone without setting the trap off. Then, when I dangled it from the top with string, he pulled the string up and nibbled and left the bone in-my-face on top. Finally, I managed to tie it top and bottom and got him. Good thing, too, as I was out of ribs.

So, I'm reluctant to try it and then have to spend the evening sorting out the cats. But I have an added incentive: last night's photos showed a new-to-the-backyard visitor: a possum.

Now, he was interested in the pumpkin, and at least Sammy wasn't sitting in the entry... but still, he didn't go in.

The doll bed and the raccoon, although not together

2011-11-17T22:21:00.002-06:00

Update on the doll bed project: My neighbor has loaned me her Dremel with its various attachments. So far, I've blasted far enough through a steel wire brush to feel guilty so I've bought a replacement and I've totally demolished three not-as-tough brushes. Totally. GONE. Down to the nubbins. The upside is, I think a little steel wool and I'll have it clear enough to stain. We're not going to tote up the hours.

On to the great raccoon hunt.

Tired of not getting my quarry on grapes, I upped my game to include a slice (a slice--mind you!) of deli turkey. The trophy cam was in place so I could see what had transgressed and it was a sorry sight indeed.

First of all, the outdoor cats paid no attention to the extra-good aroma emanating from the trap. They were more involved with their standard cat food dinner, so I think, this is good. I can't smell it; they can't smell it. The raccoon is better than all of us and I'll have the little varmint in the morning.

I am sooo naive.

An hour into this adventure last night, the turkey is gone and the trap is not sprung. But, I have photos, right? I'll look after choir practice.

Home from choir, I traipse outside to get the SD card and there, in the trap, are two of my fav cats, Sammy and Countess. Two. Huddled together. There was not any turkey left in the trap from the raid by the (as yet) mystery animal. I spring S and C from the confines and collect the SD card. 39 photos on it in an hour where they should be half a dozen, max.

A careful reading of the card shows the turkey thief to be Socks, a lightweight in the cat division. I put the card back.

Before going to bed, I find Duchess, wily old female cat, in, you guessed it, the trap. By now, I've had it with them. There is only grapes and apples for bait. What was she thinking?

This morning, there are 44 more photos to review. What ever has gone on in the night?

Lots of traffic by my animals, the neighbors' and a raccoon. Except he couldn't get into the alluring trap of grapes and apples because Sammy had chosen to sit in the trap's entry. IN THE ENTRY. Was he protecting the raccoon from a countryside-fate?

Tonight, there are grapes and sweet potato peelings in the trap because my neighbor said she thought the raccoon would like them. We will, actually, see.

Doesn't anyone eat breakfast at home any more?

2011-11-13T17:29:00.004-06:00

Saturday morning we're headed to Dallas to help grandson Jack celebrate his 3rd birthday. In reality, we're support staff, the oldest people at the party. Rocks amid the chaos of toddlers, so to speak.

Therefore, we decide to take our time and arrive fashionably late, about an hour would do. So what are grandparents to do except treat themselves to breakfast out?

I love breakfast, period. I particularly like it in a restaurant. The eggs are better, the bacon crisper, the biscuits there, because I don't make biscuits for breakfast. In general, I have better coffee at home, but since I'd had two cups already, I was prepared to sacrifice.

We arrive at an old family watering hole at 8:45 AM. Wouldn't you think most people would have had breakfast by then? Ah, but no. There was not one--not one!--parking place. Cars and trucks were emptying of couples who looked an awful lot like us and they were streaming into the door. But no parking spot! And because of the configuration of the building, the highway, and the neighborhood, there wasn't anything for it, but to move on.

Next stop, a popular dining establishment located in the parking lot of a mall. We parked. Ten minute wait. We didn't really believe them given the size of the crowd waiting and it was now after nine. Much more piddling around and fashionably late was going to look like no-shows.

I was getting hungry. My two cups of coffee and a banana were wearing off and then--there it was!--a sign for a Waffle House!

YESSS!!!

We got the last booth. We were out in fewer than 20 minutes. We were 15 minutes early for fashionably late.

But, doesn't anyone in the Metroplex eat Saturday breakfast at home?

Seeing what I'm missing with my new toy

2011-11-09T15:48:00.003-06:00

Just to get you up-to-date on the doll bed before I start the fun with my latest gadget, days 3 and 4 have had to do with hand sanding. I'm using aluminum oxide paper which is like sanding with not-so-finely ground black pepper, and I've taken the ridges off at least two of my fingers. I'll go over the bed with some finer paper and steel wool and then that baby is getting painted!

But back to my new toy: a Bushnell trophy camera! Tired of knowing the wildlife was about, but not being able to readily trap it (although I do have a fairly good track (trap?) record), I thought this would make a good addition to my arsenal. So to speak.

I didn't buy a very expensive one, I'm not hunting deer for the meat locker after all, but it does do amazing things: takes video or still, color photos with enough light, it's infra-red and motion detecting. With the current SD card and resolution, it'll take over 4000 shots! What fun would that be? I look at it every morning.

First of all, I set it up in the small house we use for storage. I know there is a cat who lodges there and enters through displaced floor boards. Come to find out, she has lots of company during the evening hours: over a three night period, there were two other cats--one of which is my neighbor's--one or two raccoons and a possum! A possum! Haven't seen one in ages and there it is, rooting around the floor boards.

That fun being over, I set it up outside the patio where I know raccoons have trod, especially since I came nose to nose with one last week when I opened the back door to feed the outside cats. Rocky Raccoon was either going up or down the pillar, but went up with the advent of me. Eventually I caught him eating the cats' breakfast and I chased him from the yard.

But I knew he'd been back (dirty water is a giveaway) and so I set the trap and the camera.

Night one, he sniffed around it. Night two, I mis-set it and he wandered in and ate the grapes. It's all on digital film, but tonight is night three and I've done a much better job of setting the trap.

I hope tomorrow morning to see Rocky R in person behind bars and then be able to view him later!

The doll bed, Day 2

2011-11-03T11:08:00.003-05:00

Alas, not any better than day 1.

The weather was turning cool, uh, cold and the northern sky was dark blue, ie, a Texas blue norther, except it didn't get that cold. At least not until tonight when they're seriously talking frost.

Therefore, I thought I'd best take advantage of the last warmish temps to complete the stripping of the doll bed.

So naive.

I'm now on my third can of stripper. And my last I might add. I got so disgusted--and "burned" off the left thumb of my neoprene gloves--that after I gritted my teeth and thoroughly washed my red/raw hands in soap and water (who says Lamaze training doesn't last a lifetime?), I turned the power hose on the doll bed. Some paint actually came off.

Now I'm going to sand. And sand. And if that doesn't work to my satisfaction, I'll completely give up on the idea of staining it and go back to painting.

So I take (almost) all the old paint off only to repaint? Looks like it.

The doll bed, Day 1

2011-10-31T16:29:00.002-05:00

Lesson: One is never too old to be naive. Or unrealistic, whichever fits.

So, a month ago while we're working on projects for the library bazaar, we're at a friend's barn and workshop indulging in her husband's drills and looking for screws and sanding like the little bazaar elves we are. I happen to look up and there, atop a metal file cabinet which came with the barn, is what looks to be a bunk bed built for a doll. I tell the owner if she ever wishes to dispose of it, call me first. And, being the friend that she is, she says it came with the place, she doesn't want it, knock myself out.

Truer words were never spoken.

I'm thinking, aha! Christmas present for Emily, 4 1/2 year-old granddaughter who's into dolls and all things pink. I'll just strip this down, paint it to match her room, make fresh bedding for it, and voila! Christmas gift.

Naive. Or unrealistic.

Looking at the wallpaper which covered the bed's foundation, I'm guessing this was made in the 60s. Having worked on it for a while, I'm thinking it was home made. And the paint? Oh, the paint was glued on.

Realizing that the wonderful weather we're having isn't going to last forever and stripping paint is really an outdoor task, I determined today was the day. I bought neoprene gloves and found that stripper is now available spray on. Perfect for small projects. I bought a can. Guaranteed to remove three coats of latex, stain, and all matter in between.

Tsk, tsk. Did I really believe that?

I set up shop outside, cut a garbage bag to catch the drips, put on the gloves, and started spraying. In the meantime, I read the directions where they hinted that a plastic scraper would come in handy. Never mind that, I had grade 3 steel wool saved from a long-ago project. Never dispose of (de)construction items.

About 45 minutes later I realized two things: I needed more stripper and a plastic scraper would come in handy. As well as a little brush for getting into the lovely turns on the spindles of the bed.

Three hours and a trip to Walmart later, I'm in possession of an extra pair of gloves, two more packages of steel wool, a scraper, a brush, and the last two cans of stripper on the shelf. I'm also calling it a day.

The paint is simply not coming off the bottom inside rails of the bed. My glove fingers are sticking (stuck) to one another. I'm tired of sitting in the damp grass. While I may actually spray more stripper on the little, no-fuss-how-much-time-can-this-take project, I'm going to sandpaper it first.

Just as soon as I have a conversation with my generous friend.

Across 60 years--a double!

2011-10-28T17:31:00.003-05:00

So we're at my in-laws' house this afternoon, having lunch and viewing photos with visiting relatives. Lots of fun and jokes and good food. (Gotta' have the food.) Going through old albums, many of which I hadn't even seen in the nearly 40 years I've been in the family and writing names on the back of the photos and in some cases, my mother-in-law and her sister just trying to remember who those people were!

And there's this black and white photo of my husband, not quite a year old, sitting on a blanket and looking into the camera, his face scrunched against the sun, and I think, "What's Jack doing there?" Jack is our nearly three years old grandson. And there, on my husband's face in 1950--is Jack!

Until that moment, we'd thought Jack resembled the "other side." But now, there's no denying it: across 60 years, a double has emerged!

The joys? of a new purse

2011-10-24T15:59:00.003-05:00

If part of the joy of the arrival of autumn is switching to a new purse, then part of the non-joy is getting used to it.

My summer purses are snap or zipper-closed affairs with easy access to my keys. The latest one had two end pockets with elastic at the top where I could stash a nail file and a lipstick, pens, shopping list, etc without ever opening the bag. I could dig while driving and still keep my eyes on the road.

My new winter purse, a glorious Brahmin concoction of dark brown, has one large pocket on the back but bulging items will not be welcome there. It closes with a flap and twisty lock, like a door, which means I have to open it to get to my secured keys. It's roomy, or I wouldn't have bought it, and it has space for the iPad, a device which changed my purse-buying habits forever. Or until it's smaller. But that's called an iPhone.

So I now have to balance the newest member of my wardrobe on a counter in order to open and not have it threaten to spill. This is a circumstance I did not see happening in the glory hour of finding it in the Brahmin store. I was so delighted to find a purse with ample room, glorious pedigree, single handle able to be carted over-shoulder, and ON SALE! that I didn't really figure all the what-ifs.

I will learn. Really, I can. Still.

NOW it's autumn

2011-10-19T16:13:00.003-05:00

I judge the advent of autumn in many ways:

The calendar, which is usually unreliable since it can still be in the 90s for weeks.

The turning of the leaves, except this year it's been so dry we're just happy to see trees still having leaves, no matter the color.

The urge to put away all white slacks and sandals. (But I did that the week after Labor Day so it hardly counts. Some Southern traditions are ingrained.)

Turning off the a/c and opening the windows is a hint. Turning off the ceiling fans, which I did today, is closer to confirmation.

Eyeing my closet and moving tank tops and crop pants out, three-quarter sleeve garments in.

Realizing I have to put on real shoes or risk very cold toes. Happened this morning. Had to scramble for loafers, so this afternoon I packed away my sandals.

But the one sure way to know it's autumn for me: the changing of the purse. Good-bye woven bag with bright orange trim, hello dark brown leather.

There's a nip in the air!

One photo, one thousand words

2011-10-15T12:20:00.002-05:00

Report from the front yard

2011-10-14T11:58:00.003-05:00

Today was the first day since, oh... April?, I've really wanted to work in the yard. It's been hot, it's been dry, we've been gone, I've been otherwise occupied... I got a million reasons (excuses?) why.

But today, and tomorrow, promise wonderful work-in-the-yard weather. I chose to start in the front flower beds.

First off, I notice the armadillo, absent for a few days, is back. Really, really back. Ten inch deep holes back. This is not encouraging and it looks like I shall have to go on the armadillo hunt again. The trap is still on the front porch and I'll lock and load tonight. This could be like getting out the flyswatter: the armadillo, just like the fly, will disappear.

That would have the same results, I guess.

I transplanted the sorry-looking Gerber daisies into the area around the sorry-looking gingko tree. I tried to remove the redbuds and weeds by their roots, not that that will discourage them.

I realized that if you want a lesson in resilience, you just need to look at pecan and hackberry trees. Rarely can I get them up by their nut or root. I cut them off as far down into the ground as I can, but they come back. And come back, etc. Ad infinitum. It's a battle I have been losing for 30 years.

OTOH, I had a very pleasant and unexpected surprise in the side yard. There were two green-cased pecans. This is how pecans often drop, attached by twos. Maybe it makes the fall less scary. Anyhow, they were GREEN. All I've seen are dried up pecans. So I rolled the case off and stepped on them. They were filled with nutmeat!

I may have pecans this year! Real, genuine, grow-my-own pecans! Amidst this drought--pecans!

Or perhaps I sacrificed the only two survivors.

All cookied out

2011-10-09T15:45:00.003-05:00

I put off updating my system software until I think I absolutely have to. And the longer I put it off, the more there is to download and update. But with the new iOS5 debuting this week, and as the proud owner of Mac iOS devices, I thought I'd best get with the program and get my computer in shape.

I made my nest: book to read, portable phone, iPhone, iPad, water and coffee. I was set for a two hour download session. As my prediction skills leave a lot to be desired, I was pleased to find it only took 30 minutes from "Yes, I agree to everything in the contract" to restart and seeing my laptop's happy screen again.

Then I went exploring. Safari looked a little different, so I went over to the Apple to site to find out what was new. One might think this would have been a good thing to do before downloading 5.1, but I didn't.

Among other goodies available to me--not all are since I'm not a Lion user and can't be on the present laptop--I was intrigued by the privacy factor.

In Preferences, there was now more control over who could leave cookies on my computer and follow me around. Well, whoever had been doing that in the first place?

Come to find out, EVERYONE! There were nearly 2000 of the little cookie/follow-you sites and a lovely button which said I could remove all of them. Plus a warning that removing them might make the site not react the way I was used to. So I started scrolling.

I recognized about half of the sites. Perhaps I'd visited the others accidentally or they were really in disguise. All I know is, if I didn't think they were necessary for my cyber well-being, I hit the remove button.

By the time it was over, I was down to 70 nosey sites. That's probably too many and I may well ditch the rest if things run well.

I mean, enough is enough!

How to make lovely dried arrangements for your autumn decorating

2011-10-06T18:34:00.002-05:00

Start in April or May with lovely baskets bursting with flowers.

Place on the front porch and given them plant food and water.

Maybe not everyday, but once it gets hot, then water everyday.

And sometimes in the evenings when it reaches 100+ degrees for oh, say, 60 or more days.

Watch the weaker flat out die.

Watch the stronger struggle and halfway die until...

It's the fall! And on your front porch where once your had million bells and Gerber daisies, you now have brown plants.

In other words, beautiful autumn arrangements which you paid for in the spring.

Now, wasn't that easy?

The State Fair of Texas

2011-10-02T19:35:00.004-05:00

It seems the State Fair of Texas is ingrained in my being. As a child, the school system would have Fair Day and Daddy would take off work and we'd go as a family. We took our children and then stopped going for a while. We have recently revived the practice because we have season ticket to the Dallas Summer Musicals and the concluding show is during the Fair.

So we go early the day of the musical and hit the high spots: the Texas Wine Garden, the automobile show, and the Creative Arts building. And most years we'd see the bread baking contest and I'd think: My breads look as good as those.

So this year, I decided to put my yeast where my mouth has been and enter. Alas, the contest wasn't on the same day as the musical, so we'll just have to make two trips, but I was going to participate no matter. I enlisted my husband to help carry and we circled the day in red, so to speak.

You could enter five categories. So I did. No sense in being shy about this. Yeast loaf, white; Yeast loaf, other; Yeast coffeecake; Quick coffeecake; Gingerbread. I pulled out those recipes near and dear to me and made a plan.

The first obstacle was how to carry them. We rigged a box to hold both the gingerbread and the yeast coffeecake. A large shopping bag with handles was enlisted for the three loaves. I printed the recipes, filled in the forms, attached my $2/per to it and went to bed.

The State Fair grounds are one hour and 15 minutes from us in good traffic. Sunday mornings at 7:15, which is when we left, they are virtually vacant. We were not the first people in the parking lot ($15), but we were close. Not having our musical tickets to double as admission, we forked out the senior rate. ($12/per) The baking sign-in started at 9 and we were 8th in line.

Here is where I learned some valuable lessons. Everyone else had a little red wagon in which to carry their baked goods. Presentation may not be everything, but it may be a plus on the subconscious level and I didn't have any. Contestants were putting their entries on glass and in baskets. Mine were on paper plates provided by the judges. You are supposed to pick up your baked goods afterward, so you can get your fancy plates back, but I ask you: Do you want back a baked good which has been sliced and diced and breathed on by multiple people? Do you, as one person in line suggested, intend to freeze it for the holidays?

Yeech! NO! (After it was all over, I went to one of the ladies in charge and donated my entries. Besides, the spouse had thrown away the box and the bag and I couldn't carry anything home.) Lesson number whatever.

Judging takes forever, probably because there were 12 categories and well over 100 entries. Finally, with judging starting at 10:30, we were being given the good news after one. And... drum roll here... I won a ribbon!

Third place in yeast bread, loaf, white. A difficult category I was told. I am pleased. This is the buttermilk bread which I usually make for the Library's Pumpkin Patch Bazaar which this year is next Saturday. And now, I can add "State Fair winner" to the tag!

Would I have liked to have placed in all the categories? You bet! But then, there's always next year.

Fighting a two-front war

2011-09-30T16:51:00.003-05:00

To cut to the chase: Kay 0, Armadillo 1. Or, if you count nights of freedom and lawn-digging, since the rampage continues, the armadillo is 4.

My fruit offering has been rebuffed, so I'm upping the ante. I bought night crawlers at Walmart. Then the question arises, how to keep them from crawling away? Goodness knows, I'm not going to let them loose so they can crawl out of the trap! The internet to the rescue: nylon stockings! It just so happens that I keep a supply of mismatched knee-his.

As to the two-front war in the subject line: Tuesday morning who do I see dining on the back patio with the outdoor cats? A raccoon. Young and not very afraid of me, even though I did manage to make him skedaddle.

It's now a two-trap war.

Going on a grub worm hunt

2011-09-26T15:34:00.003-05:00

Grub worms are the bane of any lawn. Around my lawn--and in my flowerbeds--they're ubiquitous. All I usually have to do to find one is dig a hole for a new plant.

Since this isn't the season for sprucing up my high-temperature-devasted flowerbeds, why would I be hunting for grub worms?

The answer is simple: we have an armadillo and it is time he went away. I'm going trapping and I need bait.

I first noticed a disturbance in my front flowerbeds about two-three weeks ago. There were holes and they weren't cat-potty holes. An armadillo was after my tulip and daffodil bulbs and if the number of holes are any indication, I will not have any bulbs left from last spring to enhance my next spring. I usually replant the tulips anyway, but I have (had?) so many daffodils. Hundreds. Really.

Obviously, I needed to do something about Mr. Armadillo, so I used my late neighbor's old wives' tale cure-all: blood meal. I sprinkled it liberally around the area and all seemed to be well until it wore off and there were holes again. More blood meal and this time it wasn't a week before there were more holes. Someone must have developed an immunity to it. Except now, instead of merely being in the flowerbeds, he'd branched out to the front lawn. It looked like a divot-pocked golf green. (Except the 60+ days of over 100 degrees have pretty well taken care of most green in our lawn, no matter the sprinkler system.)

I concluded that he'd eaten all my bulbs and was now after the grubs. Not that we mind him getting the grubs. It would have been nice for him to start there instead of the easy pickings of the flowerbeds. It would have been nicer had he covered up his holes. Good golfers repair their divots.

Despite my spouse's sympathy ("He's hungry and thirsty."), something has to be done. Perhaps he thinks all this grub-hunting is aeration?

So I went to dig grubs in the back yard where the armadillo, I think, cannot get in.

There weren't any that I could find. Instead I stumbled upon some bulbs and I hate to admit it, but that's what I've baited the trap with. My good bulbs.

He'd better be hungry and he'd better be there tonight!

Clothes Make the Man

2011-09-23T18:16:00.005-05:00

In high school, short stories abounded. I think in 9th grade it was de rigueur. Of the stories I remember were Guy du Maupassant's The Necklace and Clothes Make the Man. For x-number of years, I have attributed the latter to Guy also but have never found it.

So today the librarian and I are discussing books and stories as I'm labeling our older/rarer books for the used book sale with prices more in line with their value than a dollar per hardback. And I tell her of my quest. And she has the nerve to google it and voila! there it is: a short story by Henri Duvernois.

Right title, wrong author.

So in this short story, a gang of thieves is about their thieving, but one of them has to dress as a policeman. Pretty soon, he's acting as a policeman because he's getting the respect due a policeman.

Clothes have, indeed, made the man.

Dress the part. Act the part. Should be easy to remember. And to think I learned that at 14.

"Sticking it" at Starbucks

2011-09-17T15:08:00.003-05:00

I've wondered this for a while, whenever I'm at the Starbucks sweetener/cream/napkin counter: how do you choose a stirstick? You know, the slim pieces of unknown-variety wood all stacked together, end-up, in a metal container? Do you rifle through them? Choose one that's already "standing" up? Pick an outside edge hoping no one else has touched there?

And if you fumble and touch two or three, do you leave them there with your fingerprints on them?

I'm more inclined to take the one reaching for me, that's been lifted out of place by the disturbance of its fellow sticks.

You?

Be careful what you ask for

2011-09-12T17:17:00.002-05:00

Two weeks ago, when we were one day away from tying the record for days over 100 and two days away from breaking it, in typical Texas fashion, we cooled down. Way down. Along with half the populace fond of breaking records (no matter their dubiousness), I kvetched why couldn't we just stay hot two more days. We had come so far...

Then we have 10 days of absolutely beautiful cool weather. Still dry, which is awful, but cool. So cool we're sleeping with the windows open. We got spoiled in a heartbeat.

Guess what?

It's supposed to be 100 today. Maybe tomorrow too.

Well, bring it on! Let's get this over with and go back to cool weather.

Now, if only talking about something would make it so... rain? Please?

Is it brittle yet?

2011-09-04T15:24:00.002-05:00

This isn't so much of a personal challenge (can I make brittle?) as a quest (how many different brittles can I make?)

But that's like starting in the middle of the story and it may get the reader's interest, but will it hold it?

Back to the beginning:
Last fall or winter, like MONTHS ago, I'm at my sister-in-law's and we're looking at a calendar cookbook she's just bought. Most of it is holiday and therefore I've seen it and seen it, but then there was this recipe for pistachio brittle. Now, that was different. Neither of us had heard of such. I got a copy of the recipe, told her I'd make it, and we'd find out if it was as good and different as it sounded.

It called for raw pistachios. How hard could that be? As it turns out, it was 8 months hard.

I fell in love with raw pistachios when my surrogate grandfather (had a whole surrogate family since the real ones lived far away), anyway, when my surrogate grandfather presented us (late '50s? early '60s?) with a mesh bag of this exotic-to-us nut called pistachio. We had to break them in two and there were skins and you'd get your fingers red eating them. Then, when pistachios really caught on there was, in the early '70s, the Watergate Cake, a cake made with pistachio pudding. It was green. And a Watergate Salad. And a Watergate scandal, but that's history.

It had been a while since I'd done anything with pistachios, so I set out to buy some. Roasted and salted pistachios were everywhere. Raw... no. Even at my favorite grocery store which stocks nuts in canisters, there was a sign that the nut was not about and they were sorry for any inconvenience. And so it went. For months. I finally caught a manager in the aisle and he said the shipment had been contaminated but the new crop was on its way. And, sure enough, the next week it arrived. At about $14/pound.

(Now the question could be raised that I didn't look elsewhere. True. Nor search on line. True. But if there were so many nuts available to roast and salt, why weren't there any raw ones? In other words, this tale maybe could have been shorter.)

I grabbed a cup's worth of raw pistachios and hunted up the recipe. Found it called for 2 cups. Well, piddle. I'd just cut it in half.

And I'm glad I did since stirring up that much brittle would have been a momentous job. Pouring it out onto two cookie sheets might have been beyond me for safety's sake. Half the recipe was enough anyway to know it was delicious and then whatever is better than delicious.

So, if it was good with pistachios, how would it be with almonds? Pecans? Hmmm...

A friend mentioned she'd made a walnut brittle and she gave the recipe. Well, it was different. No water. It was good, but I liked the texture of the first better. This sent me to Shirley Corriher's book on cooking and the section on candy in particular. Of course, she has a recipe for almond macadamia brittle. Just the idea takes your breath away, doesn't it? It contains water.

So now I'm on a quest. I'm going to make brittle for the library's annual Pumpkin Patch Bazaar. But what kind? Why not all? To that end, I'll need to experiment more. I've bought a new candy thermometer. It's huge. No more squinting to see that magic 300 degree mark. Not that I need that. At 300 is where it turns brown. According to my spouse's grandmother's peanut brittle recipe (no water), you toss everything together, heat it till it's brown, then add baking soda and pour. Not a thermometer in sight.

While my sister-in-law thought the pistachio brittle was excellent, the brittle connoisseur at this house has declared both of my so-far efforts very, very good. When am I making more?

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

2011-08-31T14:53:00.002-05:00

On August 10, I blogged under Serendipity about finding this book at a Goodwill store. It had been recommended to me by a dining companion aboard ship this last May. Well, now I've read it and all I've go to say is:

Where have I been?

With such an unusual title one would think I'd have at least noted it somewhere. After all, it's not hard to forget. Weeks on the NYTimes bestseller list and I see where it's being made into a movie. The NYT site shows Kate Winslet as the main character, although imdb.com doesn't. But then, it doesn't list a movie for her for 2013 either. Hmmm.

Suffice it to say, it was a charming book and I can't wait to pass it on to someone else and share the joy.

Embroidery thread debacle

2011-08-28T15:42:00.005-05:00

I learned to embroider when I was five years old. Scattered through my mother's kitchen drawers were towels and aprons done in a decidedly childish, 3-strand embroidery. We bought Aunt Martha's hot transfer patterns at the dime store and Mother would cut up old sheets and my sister and I would decorate them. Some lasted quite a long time.

So did the thread.

I don't know when my current "collection" started, but I'd wager some of it is close to 25 years old, dating to the December I made felt kit Christmas stockings for the four of us. Although the kits have become harder to find (make that near impossible), I've made 4 more: daughters-in-law and grandchildren. Each kit had more thread than needed.

So did each cross-stitch kit. Not to mention the threads I purposely bought for the vintage-esque Victorian quilt I fashioned for a friend. Or the tie quilts I've made for myself. Or the kitchen towels I embroidered just for the fun of it.

So, in need of a project, I've decided to make a new Christmas tree skirt. Our current one dates to our first Christmas and is made of felt and rickrack, glue and sequins. To say it is shabby is an understatement. It's a good thing it so quickly becomes covered with presents. I have a pattern for a machine-applique 12 days of Christmas tree skirt which I actually did make once in a sewing class and then donated to a silent auction. I believe it fetched over $200 which, given the labor involved, was a steal for the buyer.

But now I'd like to hand applique and embroider the details. I've cut out the pieces from scraps and a few new quilting fat quarters. I started gathering all the necessities, thread and needles and small scissors. A friend has given me an applique lap board which I'm not sure I'll be able to use, but I'll try. All I needed was to select my embroidery threads.

Two (or so) hours later, I had over 100 colors of thread spread out on my cutting board. Some of the shades were so close, I had to wait until the next morning to be able to determine the differences. Gazing over the threads was a review of my last quarter-century's work.

I was appalled.

It was obvious they couldn't go back into the zippie bags and get all crushed together again. Off I went to Walmart to get a tackle box. I found one I liked which would take up a minimum of space and had slide out drawers. It looked like it would hold about 60 separate colors and I thought I'd just squeeze a few in together.

It quickly became evident that that wasn't going to work. If I was going to arrange and organize, I might as well do it right. Tackle box number two was fetched.

120 colors and dividers later, I am pristine in the embroidery thread dept. I have trays of yellows, oranges, browns, blues, greens, blue-greens, reds, and pinks. I only need one more thing: black.

I have a skein, but you never know...

Happy birthday to Matt!

2011-08-24T13:31:00.003-05:00

Today son #1 is 34. Where does the time go? And how technology changes.

Once he left the nest where we celebrated with swimming parties and basketball parties and overnights, we'd call and sing "happy birthday" to him. Then came the era of texting and since we didn't want to disturb him at work with our off-key singing, I'd text the song to him.

But today... today we did FaceTime. How wonderful to see him in his robe in his kitchen with the kids around and eating breakfast. It's Emily's first day of pre-kindergarten (Where does the time really go? Wasn't she just born last year?) and everyone was excited.

So we wished him 'happy birthday' and we sang.

Off-key. Lucky man... not only did he hear us, he could see us!

Happy birthday, Matt!

The best birthday ever

2011-08-21T20:02:00.002-05:00

Or at least, that I can remember!

I became the big 6-0 this weekend. There's not any sense denying the passage of time, although I could probably pass for 55.

On my "big" birthdays, I like to do a little extra celebrating. At 30, I threw my own bridge party. At 40, the spouse took me to Fossil Rim Wildlife Center in Glen Rose Texas for a weekend in a high-class tent and a pseudo-safari. At 50, we had about 35 people at a restaurant for a Mexican buffet, then back to the newly remodeled kitchen for birthday pie. At 55, I did a hands-on cooking class with friends and relatives. What fun! Hard to top, but I've done it.

This year, we packed up kids, in-laws, grandkids, and headed to the JW Marriott resort in San Antonio. It's a something for everyone place, so the guys could golf, the kids swim. There was a spa and delicious food and great service. Saturday night we dined at La Fogata, my favorite Mexican restaurant in all the world, and listened to a mariachi band.

I became 60 in style.

Wax paper

2011-08-15T16:18:00.003-05:00

I grew up in a wax paper household. Mother seemed to use it for a myriad of things, foremost lining cake pans. I doubt she had ever heard of parchment paper.

My kitchen has both and I use parchment when a recipe calls for it. The differences in the products have often been lost on me, but can be found here. However interesting that is, the Reynolds site disputes the cake pan lining no-no, so I'm still safe as that's about all I use it for. As I don't make many layer cakes, a roll can last me a very long time.

How long, you might ask.

I came to the end of the wax paper roll yesterday. The box was coming apart, but the cutter-edge was still sharp. It was an old box though because there was a green Walmart sticker on it with the price of 54 cents.

Now, it's been a few years since Walmart, or anyone, has put price stickers on things. This box did have a UPC code. So today, I went to buy another box because one obviously doesn't know when one may need it, and besides, it should last me a decade.

Or maybe not. For starters, there's less of it in the new box, 75 sq. ft vs. the previous 100 sq. ft. As to the price, 54 cents doesn't cut it any more; it was $1.33. That's almost 2.5 times as much for 25% less, or .0054/sq ft vs. the new rate of .0177/sq ft.

Looks like I'll just have to gauge my usage.

39 and counting

2011-08-11T22:04:00.004-05:00

Tomorrow we will be married 39 years. 39. Where does the time go?

So I got to thinking about what, besides the "selections" of china, silverware, and crystal, we still have that we had when we moved into our first apartment.

Two pieces of Club Aluminum. Harvest gold. I may have switched to other cookings pots (on my second set of Calphalon), but I keep the two big, 8 and 12 quart, pots for making jelly.

Steak knives. A gift from the best man's family. Bone handled. Bought at Neiman Marcus. Just as beautiful and sharp as the day we opened the gift.

Four grapefruit spoons, a gift from a good friend's parents. How little we thought of the gift then. How much we use them now.

A cache pot. Really. Think big white vessel we keep an ivy perched in. It developed a crack along the way. Who hasn't?

Hanging lamp from an uncle. It has orange flowers on it, tiny. We've had it rewired twice, no, three times. Love it.

My little gray plastic tool box which keeps the picture hanging materials now. At one time, it held all our tools.

Avocado green folding chairs. Acquired, along with a card table, with S&H Green Stamps. The table tore up long ago.

A crab/shrimp/corn on the cob cooking pot. It's decorated with all sorts of colorful creatures. We used it for years and now it sits on a shelf, but I'm not discarding it.

Avocado green Rival crock pot. Doesn't hold diddley compared to the new ones, but I still have it until it is needed elsewhere. I occasionally see it at antique stores for $5.

Various church cookbooks.

The hassock. It belonged to my parents and we have photos of me when I was two pulling the cat around by his tail as he lazes on top. He was definitely a good and patient cat. John. Mother had it recovered for us and gave it to us as a footstool cum coffee table. And it still is, 39 years later.

Oh--and we still have each other!

Serendipity

2011-08-10T15:26:00.003-05:00

I don't know how we even got on the topic but at dinner one night aboard Oceania Marina, our Mediterranean cruise ship in May, we began talking about books. Our tablemates that night included two widows, cousins, one Canadian, the other British. They cruised all the time, had their favorite restaurant onboard (where we were), and were having a fine time.

The one seated next to me said I simply had to read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Because it was about the island of Guernsey during WWII and they were both British (sort of), I assumed it was an English novel. While I never thought to come upon it, I politely took out my iPhone and typed in the title.

So today, I have an appointment for my annual physical. This is not exactly one of the joys of being a woman, but it is what it is and it gets done. At my stage, and with the busyness of the doctor, it averages about every 15 months, and indeed my 2012 appointment is in November. But that's neither here nor there. Today, I had a 9:30 appointment, the doctor was still in surgery, and I was asked to come back at 11:30.

I took myself off to Goodwill. I usually find something amongst everyone else's castoffs and today was no different. Guess what I found in the book pile? Oh, yeah. I even pulled my phone out to make sure I had the right book. It's a 2009 Random House book and for $2, it's now in my TBR stack.

And it looks like a good read.

The birthday goodies continue

2011-08-08T16:08:00.003-05:00

And from Soft Surroundings, a favorite clothing site for me: $20 off a $75 purchase, good in the store or the outlet. Of course, what I've an eye on is under $70, so I'll have to scout around for a little something extra. Clever folks. Coupon expires Aug. 31.

An email from Starbucks saying there's a coupon coming for any drink/size I want. Don't know the expiration since the coupon hasn't shown up, but it's usually into the next month. That one is as good as cashed.

And from Chamberlains, a half price entree with the purchase of entree. Alas, it expires on my birthday and I don't think I'll have time to cash it.

My Kind of Month!

2011-08-03T16:03:00.002-05:00

It's my birthday month and time for all those businesses which I support and allow to have my email address to pay up! In other words, I have birthday coupons!

So far:

Chico's: $10 off. What can I say? It's spent already!

DSW: $5 off. No minimum purchase. Expires 8/31. I sense a shoe trip coming on.

Papa Murphy's pizza: free cookie dough with pizza purchase. Expires 8/31. Definitely doable.

Landry's restaurant empire: $25 has been added to my membership card. Expires: 9/15. Very generous, especially considering I have to drive a minimum of 40 miles to find a restaurant in the group.

Chamberlains's Restaurants in Dallas: This is an anniversary offer (August is a BIG month for me). Free creme brulee with dinner purchase. Alas, expires on the anniversary and I don't think we'll make it in.

Surely, there are more to come?

The '1' in the temperature

2011-08-01T16:15:00.002-05:00

In North Texas we have now had a month of 100+ degree days. There doesn't seem to be any end in sight. The last time I remember it being like this was the record-breaking summer of 1980. The main difference now is that I don't have two toddlers to contend with--and so far, my air conditioning is working, unlike then. For a week.

But upon careful thought--and air conditioning working--I've decided that if there's to be a '1' as the first digit in my outdoor temperature, I'd rather it be followed by two digits than a single one. Below 19, I don't do so good.

See my soapbox? I'm a-climbin' on it!

2011-07-26T16:31:00.003-05:00

Rant:

Why is it that a host/hostess at a restaurant thinks a woman, reasonably well-dressed and by herself, wants to sit in the bar for lunch?

It happened again today at a Mexican restaurant. I walk in at 12:35 and know what I want, a chicken fajita salad. I'd had one there two weeks ago and it was good and just the right amount so I was back for a repeat performance. And the host turns to his left and escorts me to the bar! The empty bar!

Now the dining room is basically empty. With the exception of the waitstaff who are all in black, I'm the best dressed person there! I'm not in jeans or cut-offs. I'm not trailing toddlers or kids with cell phone games. It's just me!

Two weeks ago, I'd said I'd rather sit elsewhere. Today, I got a bit miffed.

"Why," I asked him, "do all hosts think a woman by herself wants to sit in the bar?" I'm afraid my voice escalated a bit.

He took a step back and had no answer but to ask where I DID want to sit.

I looked at the 80% empty dining room. Anywhere else, I told him.

Pick a table, he said.

So I did.

The initial service was a bit slow and I contemplated that he'd warned the waitstaff off the bitch at my table. But one showed up, I ordered, was served promptly, and I left a generous tip. I was gone by 1:00 PM.

This is not an isolated experience. So if you're reading this and you're a host/hostess at a restaurant, feel free to comment and tell me why this continues to happen.

In the meantime, I'm going back in a couple weeks. Let's see if he remembers.

Rant over.

Passages

2011-07-25T16:46:00.003-05:00

We spent this hot three-day-weekend in Oklahoma City. One would wonder about our sanity of trading hot--home--for hotter--there, but there was method in our madness.

Several months ago I read in the Wall Street Journal about an exhibit that would be at the Oklahoma City Museum of Art this summer called Passages. It was a multimedia presentation on the history of the Bible, from early Jewish Torahs and traditions through the modern Bible renditions. There were 30,000 artifacts. Formally, it is known as The Green Collection for the Hobby Lobby-founder family which amassed it and will be the core of an international, non-sectarian museum of the Bible.

Armed with an iPod for commentary, we began our tour at 10 AM on Sunday morning. Three hours later, we found we were skimming because there was just so much! An ideal visit, as I've recommended to a friend who wants to go, is to eat an early lunch at the excellent Museum Cafe, then be prepared to spend 4-5 hours.

Torahs, a piece of the Dead Sea Scroll, ancient texts, Bibles in English predating the King James, a first edition King James, animatronic displays, the opportunity to try your hand at copying texts with real ink and a quill... I don't know where to stop except to say if you've an opportunity to see Passages, you'd be remiss in not doing so.

I'm not sure where the exhibit travels next. If memory serves correctly--and sometimes it does--I think the exhibit goes to New York next. Those lucky people.

Why July 16 sticks in my mind, of The Story of Snowball

2011-07-16T12:50:00.003-05:00

Today's date kept rattling around in my brain this morning until I remembered why: July 16, 1960, I think, my mother got a call from the train depot in Dallas. Basically, it was "Lady, come get your stinkin' cat!" and it wasn't just a figure of speech.

My mother and my dad's sister Pauline had tried to one-up each other two weeks previously when we were in Pennsylvania for one of Daddy's high school reunions. Mother, a great cat lover, had admired a long-haired black tom cat with a white spot on his chest. He was semi-wild, a barn cat, disposable I'm sure to my aunt. If you can catch him, Mother had challenged, send him to me.

One cat crated on the train. I still remember the pink "straw" in the bottom of the crate. We installed him in the one-car garage with the gravel/dirt floor and left the screen door open to the house so he could get to know our two brother kittens, born April 4, that year. It took a couple of weeks before Mother felt comfortable letting him into the house. By that time they'd all made friends through the door. Snowball--my color-blind dad's joke and the only reason he said we could keep him (what were we going to do otherwise but I don't think that was brought up)--was more than half-grown and took the kittens under his paternal (snipped out of him immediately btw) paw and would regularly give them a good washing.

Snowball soon took his barn ways to running the neighborhood. He regularly spent the night in the dog house next door, back in the corner so the dog could bar the door from the wind and cold. He ate at every house on the block. He had landed in the lap of cat-luxury and he was smart enough to know it.

He died my senior year in high school. I can't remember why. But I'll never forget Snowball.

Mint Jelly

2011-07-15T17:24:00.003-05:00

I've never made mint jelly, but this year I have a preponderance of mint and no plums, my usual fruit of choice to "jelly-up" for the library's annual fall sale. Therefore, I searched the internet and found a recipe at food.com I thought I could do and started in.

The recipe would only make 4 half-pints (who could possibly want more?) but would take 1 1/2 cups of packed mint leaves. That's a lot, let me tell you. I steeped them and drained them per the recipe. Had to buy green food coloring, for while I would have been quite happy to make a clear jelly, the resulting mint-infusion was somewhere between yellow and dirty-green. A few drops of food coloring fixed that.

I had bought a new Ball product, Flex-Batch Pectin, the low/no sugar variety since I prefer a jelly spread rather than a stiff jelly. I caught myself from starting the process just as I realized that the recipe I was using called for the real pectin.

Oops! A quick reading of the pectin instructions showed I had the proper amount of that. I reduced the sugar to 3 cups from 4 and began. It was setting up before I had it out of the pan!

I got the 4 jars but there is not a strong mint taste. How is mint jelly supposed to taste? I suppose I thought it would taste as minty as toothpaste, or at least as good as my kitchen smelled.

Next up? Wine jelly.

So what do you say to that?

2011-07-12T16:07:00.004-05:00

I am far too often caught at a loss for words. Perhaps being a writer and used to editing has been the cause of this. However, editing aside, in this latest episode, I still haven't thought of a proper biting response although a friend of mine did.

I'm at Walmart, selecting green bananas. I like to buy them green, let them ripen at home. I've no interest in making a steady supply of banana bread from overly ripe fruit. In fact, since I've been using the Debbie Meyer Green Bags, I've only lost one or two bananas to overripeness. A good track record indeed.

So I have my green bananas in my cart. Approaching me--and I knew he was headed for me the instant I saw him--is an older man, stooped, wizened, in need of a shave. He has a few groceries in hand and comes for me like a heat-seeking missile. I did know, didn't I, he asked, that green bananas contain water?

I suppose the implication is that green bananas weigh more, therefore cost more, and how foolish could I be?

Well, I didn't know what to say. He obviously expected an answer. Finally, after a five second lapse in which I should have thought of something pithy, I just said, "I don't care."

That ended it and he moved on, but my friend suggested that should it happen again, I tell him that were I his age, I wouldn't buy green bananas either, on the off-chance that I wouldn't live to see them ripen.

The fisher among us

2011-07-04T11:42:00.002-05:00

Having survived the grandest grandkids--and they, us--I can report that we accomplished most of the items on our list with the exception of two: we didn't walk to the park, or even go for that matter, and we didn't dig our own worms.

Which is the subject of this post: fishing, in general and Jack, in particular.

My mother-in-law loves to fish and is quite good at it, as was her father, and my brother-in-law Scott. Son Matt has the gift. The rest of us fall in the okay-category and I'm probably worse than that, but Saturday morning we found this next generation's champion, two-and-a-half-year-old Jack.

It's as if the fish were lining up to get a bite of the worm on his cane pole. Before granddad could get Emily's hook baited with a worm, Jack and I had let one get away and landed two catfish! We were in catch-and-release mode, so the fish were fairly safe, even if they did garner a sore throat from hook removal. By the time Emily had her pole in the water, Jack had brought in three perch!

Emily finally landed her own perch with granddad's help and we found ourselves out of store-bought worms. Jack, finding this enterprise to be too easy and declaring himself hungry (one should always eat ALL of one's breakfast before going on a fishing expedition and I didn't have the sense God gave most grandmothers to pack snacks), we gathered our poles and went back to the truck.

But we've found our fisherman.

We must remember this: We volunteered

2011-06-30T10:00:00.003-05:00

We're playing host to the grandest grandchildren for two days, starting tomorrow at noon when we meet them and their mother for lunch. We'll give them back on Sunday at noon.

So, for 48 hours, we'll be on our toes. We've had our planning hats on and so far have come up with:

riding the riding lawnmower
fishing with cane poles
digging the worms to use with the cane poles
going to Walmart to buy night crawlers if the above doesn't turn out so well
riding the riding lawnmower even though the lawn is already mowed
swimming at a friend's pool
seeing Cars 2 (Do we, as grandparents, need to see Cars 1 first? Perhaps I can just read a synopsis at imdb.com)
watercolors and new crayons are bought
clearance aisle at Walmart
walking to the park
playing Barbie
the riding lawnmower may need more gas

I'll report in when we recover.

Dana and Kay do the Med(iterranean) now online

2011-06-22T14:55:00.004-05:00

The four-part series I did on our May trip to the Mediterranean is now online.

From home to Athens via London:
Part 1

Athens to Ephesus to the Greek isles:
Part 2

Italy from Sicily to Tuscany via the Amalfi Coast:
Part 3

Monte Carlo, Provence, Barcelona and home:
Part 4

Our only problem is deciding where to go next, but since we seem to do a big trip only once every three years, we have plenty of time to decide.

Losing the gas war

2011-06-18T17:07:00.002-05:00

Went to Walmart today and decided to fill up my gas tank first. I only needed 8 gallons, but the price had fallen to $3.45/gal and there was no one at my favorite pump.

Came out of Walmart 20 minutes later and the price was $3.34. It had fallen all right--and I hadn't caught it!

Timing is everything and this morning, I didn't have it.

Let's see... what could I have done with that extra 88 cents in my pocket?

Have I been playing or Am I disorganized?

2011-06-16T10:28:00.004-05:00

I've always thought of myself as an organized person. I've made to-do lists for years, sometimes starting the night before with the next day's list. There's the Call list, the Go list, the House list. So why, since returning from our cruise, have I not gotten anything done?

I made a big list and set it by my computer. It's still here.

What I've accomplished:
Paid bills, put up dill pickles, kept the grandkids overnight.

Downloaded 500 photos from the camera, put nearly 200 of them on a flash drive, and took them to Walmart to be printed. They look great.

Judged the Orange Rose contest via attachments. I should have done this before we left. There were four entries. It took over an hour each. There was a deadline.

Gave a talk at the local Rotary Club yesterday noon about publishing. Had to think about it and write it first.

Took my car into the dealership for what I thought was something minor except there was also something major wrong with it. So major that they floated me a rental car for 24 hours. Said rental car needed someone to get out and push it up the hill. It was crapola, and I drive a four-year-old Chevy Trailblazer, which isn't exactly luxury class. However, to be fair, the repairs were done that day and the rental and I only had to pull over and look up the instructions once.

Wrote the article for the North Texas eNews about the trip. Took DAYS to do it. Decided on the photos to accompany the four parts. Uploaded part one to the site, then the photos wouldn't do right and it's been two days deciding with the editor what to do about it. This afternoon, I hope, if nothing else comes up, I'll finish.

What I haven't accomplished:
Deciding whether or not to make an online album.

Making a collector's box of the trip to match the two from Australia except I can't find a box even remotely similar to what I have. When I found something that "would do", I bought the wrong color.

Written the two short stores for Woman's World that I thought up on the trip. They're good ideas, but when I ran them by the spouse, he frowned at one and shrugged at the other. We'll see.

Queried Texas Co-op Power Magazine with two ideas.

Did I mention my sister was coming? That Father's Day is Sunday and I'm getting another batch of canning cucumbers on Friday?

When I figure out where my time has gone, I'll let you know.

The Topsy-Turvy Tomato, 2011 version

2011-06-06T11:25:00.003-05:00

This year, I got smart(er) and planted my Topsy-Turvy with a cherry tomato. The results are in, and though they look much (MUCH!) bigger and more impressive hanging on the vine than they do in the kitchen, you can see that success is closer at hand. I cannot, alas, say the same thing about the two varieties (Roma and something else) I planted in their veggie grow bags. They are just sorta'... there.

Was it something I said?

2011-06-02T15:41:00.006-05:00

For Mother's Day, I received a gift certificate from Nordstrom's, and what better item to apply it to than my favorite perfume, Bulgari Omni Amethyste. So imagine my surprise when they didn't have it.

This did not bode well. The tester was in the drawer. No no no no, I thought. I'd only found this fragrance in late 2008 after being sent home with a sample from Nordstrom's along with Bulgari Pour Femme. Surely, they couldn't be getting rid of Amethyste (their spelling, not mine). Was I a perfume Jonah, having already put my beloved Quelques Violettes off the shelf, was another to follow?

No, I was assured, the fragrance was still there, just in a different form, as a "charm". Smaller and it didn't appear to sit upright, although I must admit I didn't examine it too closely. I was miffed; I took myself off to Neiman Marcus.

Where I bought the last bottle.

(FWIW, there weren't any packages at Dillard's either.)

I will have to ration my supply until Bulgari puts it back in the big bottles, although from the link above, you can see that it's still available from the source.

Whew!

Dropping off the radar

2011-05-28T13:54:00.003-05:00

That would seem to be what I've done for two weeks: dropped off the radar. Instead, we've been on a two-week adventure to the Mediterranean aboard a cruise ship of the Oceania Line, the Marina.

First, we stopped in London to visit our in-laws, then on to Athens, skimming the upper rim of the Mediterranean, then landing in Barcelona on Thursday.

This was a trip sponsored by a favorite winery, Robert Biale of Napa, and included wine tastings, three outings to vineyards, three sumptuous meals at said wineries, and more to do on ship. I'll be posting a TravelQuest on the North Texas e-News and will put the links here as they appear.

In the meantime, there's laundry and bills and groceries to gather, photos to download...

I need a vacation.

Cherry-picking

2011-05-09T10:14:00.003-05:00

Did you know you can actually watch cherries ripen? Yep, it's a fact, borne out by the way I can circle my small tree, plucking off 1/2-inch tart cherries and when I get back to where I started, I find more ready to pick! They must have ripened as I circled!

It is a bit disconcerting to think I've picked all ripe ones within reach and then get to the other side of the tree and look back over to where I've been--and there are more ripe ones! I think they're hiding under small leaves. Whatever.

I picked a quart of these babies this morning. A QUART! I've already picked a quart and there are more out there! I might have enough for a batch of cherry jelly this summer rather than waiting 2 or 3 years for them to accumulate in the freezer.

On the other hand, the thing that really does concern me is that these are ripening 3-4 weeks earlier than normal. I usually pick Memorial Day weekend, not Mother's Day. I wonder if this means anything for the fruit harvest around here.

My poor plum tree bloomed its 25-year-old heart out and then the wind and cool temps got hold of it and there are very few plums. Well, to be honest, I've only seen one.

But it's going to be a beauty!

Happy Mother's Day

2011-05-08T17:46:00.003-05:00

And why isn't it Mothers' Day? Or is it? Hmmm.

Spent last evening and today in the new home of son Matt and his family. The guys got up earlier than everyone (but me!) and went to the grocery for breakfast items and fresh bouquets. (Said they only saw other men there--buying flowers, etc.) Then they cooked breakfast. Yum! Dined on the patio with two hungry grandchildren, then cleaned up so the men could go back to the old house and finish bringing items over which wouldn't fit in the moving van. Took 4 or 5 trips. They did yard work and I played hide and seek and watched a princess fashion show after we colored and pasted. Did laundry.

Full, wonderful day.

Happy Mother's--or is it Mothers'--Day to us all!

Recycle Please

2011-05-06T16:55:00.002-05:00

If everyone receives as many unwanted credit card solicitations as we do, there's a forest dying every day. It's ridiculous. You'd think eventually the computer program in place for said credit card companies would realize that the return from this address is zero and they'd just write us off and save a tree. Or three.

Alas, it hasn't happened yet and probably will not. I hear you can get off these lists if you call a certain number and give them everything but the model number of your kitchen sink. No thank you. That's what the shredder is for.

I usually tear these unwanted envelopes open and toss the innocuous material in the trash and the pages with names and numbers into the shredder box. Then, when I'm particularly bored or the box overfloweth, I shred.

This is what I did yesterday afternoon. And did. And did. I overheated the shredder three times. (Obviously, someone needs to do this more often. Volunteers?) There's a certain sameness to it because we get the same solicitations over and over. Some even put bar codes on the return envelopes. Oh, please. Shred.

Then on the back of one company's main envelopes there's a little logo that says Recycle Please. This, I can do.

Shred!

An Oscar update

2011-05-05T10:18:00.001-05:00

His Majesty Oscar snuck out of his bathtub lair one time too many and has now been captured and, I'm hoping, the hole covered up.

Just when you think a cat can no longer surprise you

2011-05-04T21:24:00.004-05:00

Son Matt and his family moved into a new (to them) home today. In order to keep some semblance of peace, cats Oscar and Issy were sequestered in the children's bathroom.

Mary made it cozy for them with familiar items and their litter box in the bathtub. She put their bed in the bottom of the linen closet and closed the door.

Alas, the hole to service the bathtub faucets, small though it is, was left uncovered and Oscar, not the sharpest pencil in the box, decided to explore.

Before they knew what had happened, Oscar's plaintive moans were heard downstairs in the breakfast area, which is directly under the bathroom. What was he howling about?

How about being stuck in the inner area which surrounds a circa-1969 tub?

Panic ensued. Exactly where was he? Could he not get out? Would a hole have to be cut from the adjoining closet? How many days would it take before he started to smell? Would curiosity really kill the cat?

I suggested tempting the little rascal with canned tuna or chicken. None to be had in the just-moved pantry. All they had on hand was bacon and a dish of that, placed just outside the entrance, had no effect.

But Oscar has a weakness: popcorn. Fresh popped corn was laid down and a paw snuck out to snag a piece. Therefore, he could turn around and he could get out.

The sympathy level dropped to about 10% and hit rock bottom a couple hours later when his tail was spotted going back into its newest hidey-hole.

Oh, Oscar, I don't envy you when they finally catch you outside the tub!

Hitting a snag in the travel trivia game

2011-05-01T17:48:00.002-05:00

To update from the last post: I made it over 120K points once. There was nothing on the other side but a thanks for playing. Hmmm... I wonder how those in the top ten make it past 250K. Does something magic happen if you make it to 125K, for instance?

OTOH, I've totally bombed out and not made it past the second 45K layer twice. TWICE! Not even note taking has saved me.

But I'm not giving up. I haven't used my 20 chances yet, although I'm probably close.

Onward and hopefully--upward!

A travel game

2011-04-25T14:00:00.002-05:00

Sorry to say I'm indulging myself in a travel game on TravelSmith in their Taste for Travel Giveaway where the winner wins a European culinary cruise for two on a riverboat. If it were as simple as visiting the site once a day and clicking 'enter', I'd be okay. But it's not. It's a game with many parts.

Part One has you clicking to remove six dish covers in order to find three meals which match. Three tries per day and so far, I'm not winning any gift certificates. But playing earns one an extra entry. Or maybe it's three.

Liking on FaceBook will get an extra and probably linking above will also if I could figure out how to tell them about my blog. Then, maybe I'd garner another reader?

But the real hook is the Travel Trivia geography game. A map of either the US or Europe is on screen and a place name is listed with a stop watch. Fifteen seconds to find the place, like Washington, DC. Click! Then a plane arrives from the previous answer and calculates how far off you are from the real place. It starts easy and I have been as close as 10 miles. Or as far away as the other side of the country with no points proffered at all!

You go up levels and so far I've made it to the fifth, but have yet to attain the magic 120,000 mark to see what's on the other side. I did get to 116,000. As we know, close only counts in horseshoes and items which make big bangs. As you are unceremoniously dumped out of the game, you get to see the top ten players. Someone neared 500,000 points so there must be lots of levels.

However, even as you're being offered the option to play again, you're told you can only play twenty times. I'll have to pace myself.

My only saving grace is that some of the answers are repeated. I'll consider it an exercise in memory and stubbornness.

The Power of a Quarter

2011-04-23T15:12:00.004-05:00

Three years ago my mah-jongg group started accessing ourselves a quarter every time we lost a game with the intent to donate the proceeds to charity. We had no idea how much we could raise or what good we could do with it. Read what we did do here in yesterday's North Texas e-News.

I wish I'd thought of that!

2011-04-18T11:38:00.004-05:00

We will shortly be taking a cruise. It will necessitate flying which means small bottles and sample sizes of cosmetics, along with twice as many shoes and clothes as we'll wear. I need to keep in mind that there is a washer and dryer available.

Although I have samples of perfume, I like to take my favorite scent with me. Currently it's Bulgari Amethyst. (That's BULG-ar-i rather than Bul-GAR-i because I stopped and asked the guy at the Bulgari boutique door once.) So I strolled into Nordstrom's to beg samples.

The sales clerk had a much better idea. Really, it was. About the size of a baby carrot, it was a travel perfume holder. You filled it with your own! Squirt, squirt, squirt! They've had them for years! Very popular item for $5.

And it was lots of fun to fill this morning, too!

Now, why couldn't I have thought of something like that?

The Baking Blues

2011-04-16T07:10:00.005-05:00

Today is our library's annual spring bazaar. It's a four-fold event: used books, beautiful potted plants, garden items, and a bake sale.

For the first time in a while, the bazaar is being held before Easter. This has expanded our crafts into things for children like yard bunny stakes and eggs. It has also expanded our baking.

I like to make yeast breads so I dug up international bread recipes: hot cross buns, Russian Easter bread, Brazilian. The hot cross buns were going well, the Brazilian bread made with pineapple and Brazil Nuts rather exceeded my expectations in size (next time I'll divide the dough in thirds), and the Russian should have been so easy.

Alas, no. For starters, the recipe is so old coffee was still sold in one-pound cans. And while I had smaller cans, they all have inside rims, so I reverted to 9-inch loaf pans which proved too big.

Then I hit too many buttons on the oven and cut the oven off. Didn't mean to. Didn't discover it until I checked on the three loaves of bread at the 25 minute mark and noted they'd risen nicely but weren't exactly baking. So I took a deep breath and turned the oven on. They eventually baked up, but by then, I'd started a second batch.

I didn't have any more almonds, so I switched to pecans. Calling the second batch "southern" Russian Easter bread. Kept the oven on. Since I didn't have coffee cans, the loaves are a bit rough around the edges, not smooth like the first slow-risen batch.

But the crowning touch was dropping the instant read thermometer in the water-milk-butter mix warming to 120-130. I pulled it out, washed it, opened it, dried it, got the battery straightened out and then the two little wires which connect top to bottom came out. I may be down one good thermometer if I can't figure out where said wires go.

On the up side, I cut open a loaf from the first batch to share this morning and to make sure it was edible. Even on slow rise, it's just fine.

The way of it

2011-04-08T14:44:00.002-05:00

It's taken four years, but granddaughter Emily who will be 4 next week, has broken the code to her granddaddy's heart. And credit card.

Said granddad kept Emily and Jack this morning while their mom had an appointment. A grand time was had by all, I gather, and they eventually went out to lunch. Then Emily and her pigeon--uh, granddad--went shopping at the NorthPark Disney Store without mom's supervision.

Although warned via text from me to be careful in all non-approved parental purchases, my spouse texted back that he had learned one could never have too many shoes.

He also now knows the term "jelly shoes", an item NOT on mom's shopping list.

But then, isn't that what Granddaddys are for?

Pick a stick

2011-04-07T17:06:00.003-05:00

As I stood at Starbucks the other day, I contemplated the stirrer holder before I picked one out to mix my cream and sweetener into my coffee.

(Aside: At home I mix from the bottom up like my dad taught me: cream and sugar in first, then coffee. It gives it a much better flavor. Or maybe I'm just used to it.)

Still, looking at the stirrer collection, I wondered how other customers picked one out. Granted, you'll use the end that's still in the container, but do you touch them all before making your choice?

I tend to pick one that's by itself, or slightly disturbed, sticking up a bit.

Just wondering.

The view from the nursery

2011-04-02T13:47:00.003-05:00

It was only after I had nearly decapitated (and nearly was close enough) the Sweet 100 tomato baby that was destined for the Topsy-Turvy (what's one more year of dismal 'mater production?) and torn in half the basil plant as I was releasing it from the bondage of its 4-inch growth pot, that I realized what all the noise had been the last two afternoons as I journeyed home from the garden nurseries.

It was my plants, those poor creatures captured in the back of the vehicle, crying. Sobbing, really. Knowing that their fate was sealed, that at least one of them wouldn't be living up to its full potential. And, in my garden, maybe very few.

As it is, the remainder, those that are currently ensconced in new homes or hanging from new hooks (whew! they're saying, she didn't touch us!), are probably thinking that if one or two of them had to give their life, it was just as well it was the vegetables.

I've got news for them. I'm going after more...

The 18-wheeler and the post office

2011-03-30T20:03:00.004-05:00

Our post office sits on one of the two state highways which intersect in our downtown. Several years ago, in an attempt to clear congestion, the street curb was painted red and large letters of "mail drop only" (or so) were painted. For a while, no one parked in front and ran up the stairs and in to check their box. Then people got sloppy and the red faded and now everyone thinks they're special and the parking in front has run rampant. Most people don't block the mail drop boxes which was the purpose of the red in the first place.

But today, fortunately, the street in front was empty. So it was that an 18-wheeler came roaring up, blinking to go right. The driver scooted its length into place and stopped just shy of the drop boxes. The driver door swung open and the driver emerged. He bounced down, came around the front of his truck, and dropped one letter into the box.

It struck me as funny. I followed in the line of cars behind him as we drove north, he eventually pulled over at a convenience store, parking on the shoulder, and I watched in my rearview mirror as he bounced down and went in for his snack.

I bet he's an interesting fellow.

How to make a closet clean-out more palatable

2011-03-24T15:51:00.002-05:00

Once I buy something--clothes, kitchen utensils, furniture--I want to keep it forever, or at least until it wears out to my satisfaction. The exception to the rule is clothes that, no matter whether too large (rare) or too small (alas, not so rare), no longer fit. They go.

But I have found a way to make closet clean-out a little easier on my hold-it-forever soul: consignment.

Our local second hand shop has recently moved and changed some of its policies. Major change: consignment of really, really nice things. I actually have some of those, and as they were no longer fulfilling their roles in my wardrobe, I took them in. True, there were only four of them, two skirts, a dress, and a blouse, but we found a price and I consigned them with the understanding that after 30 days, they belonged to the store, do with as you will.

I popped in today to see how it was going in general and was handed $25! Not that that covers a multitude of my shopping sins, but it was very nice. That was my 50% for the sale of three of the items.

The dress still lingers, but there's time yet. It's only been a week.

Why that's Duchess the cat on my Facebook page

2011-03-20T17:04:00.005-05:00

Last night's supermoon was gorgeous and hot pink, then orange, then ecru, then... moon-y. I tried for some photos but there wasn't enough light to always set the focus so the camera refused to cooperate. Then if enough light did leak in, by the time the automatic shutter speed for night-pictures went off, the moon had moved. Not that I could see if move, or you could see it move, but the camera knew what was what and it blurred.

So I just watched as it set apricot-colored this morning.

Then, tired of moving my capri pants one pair at a time from the other closet, I changed the winter and spring/summer wardrobes. This guarantees cold weather before Easter so consider yourself warned.

THEN, I decided to join Facebook. Supposedly, it's easy. Let me count the ways it might not be:

1. My profile photo. I held the iPhone up and took a today-pic of myself. Several times. Found one that didn't make me look too pale and ten years older than I am and emailed it to myself. Instant gratification. Uploaded it. Facebook turned it sideways. Yes, that's right, I was on my side. And I couldn't seem to get it any better. I finally figured out that maybe the parameters weren't right, so I loaded it into iPhoto, changed the shape and gave it another go. It worked! Five minutes later, the sideways one reappeared. That is why I deleted the sideways ones and put Duchess the cat up. She is the alpha female in the backyard. I am the alpha female in the house. It's fitting.

2. I made a password like you have to. Then when I went to check back in, it wouldn't work. Three times. Which is all the tries they give you before the message to re-do it comes up. And the two emails. And the code. And the warnings. So I made a new one. We'll see how long this works. I saved the emails.

So, welcome to Facebook?

Shine on, Supermoon

2011-03-19T15:38:00.004-05:00

Tonight's the night of the supermoon, when our God-given satellite is at perigee, or closer to the earth in its elliptical orbit than usual. First time in 18 years and since there's nothing on TV and the local movie house is similarly devoid (although I could see Rango), we'll be setting up shop in the golf course parking lot and watching, camera on tripod, remote in hand.

The moon will look bigger and be brighter. The bigger part is being played down, as "only" 15% bigger. Now, if I were only 15% bigger, I'd be bigger than I was with either pregnancy.

'Nuf said. That's bigger.

Pulling memories from your pocket

2011-03-17T10:21:00.004-05:00

For the second time this month, I grabbed my winter coat off the coat tree downstairs and hauled it up to its closet. Once before I'd thought that I wouldn't need it again and I'd been, obviously, wrong. This time, with the first day of spring on Sunday, I'm more optimistic that it'll stay put.

That being the case, I thought I'd better clean out the pockets. Not that I expected to find any money there--and I didn't--but I did find the detritus of our entertainment, three movie ticket stubs.

My coat pocket is a favorite place to stuff the stub as I hunt the theater. "Number 15, down the hall," the ticket taker may say, but I've got to find the ladies' room and number 15 and wait for my spouse to get a drink. Into the pocket goes the stub.

The yield from my pockets were three very different movies: from Thanksgiving with the family in Austin, Tangled. The girls went while the boys golfed. Tangled is a good movie and I was as rapt as my grandchildren. A lovely afternoon.

Next stub was True Grit, which we saw locally. Excellent retelling of the John Wayne classic. Better than it. Way better, because we'd just watched The Duke a few nights before in his Oscar winning role.

Finally, Little Fockers, again local, in early January. It was an okay movie and for the senior rate of $3, I couldn't complain.

Sometimes it's just as well to pull memories as money from your pocket.

Catomic clocks

2011-03-13T08:36:00.002-05:00

From the Wikipedia entry on Atomic Clocks:

Since the beginning of development in the 1950s, atomic clocks have been based on the hyperfine (microwave) transitions in hydrogen-1, caesium-133, and rubidium-87.

Or so they say. Personally (purrsonally?) I don't think so. I think somebody had a cat.

The transition to Daylight Savings Time, the old "spring forward" is hard on us all. An hour less sleep, never mind that we "get it back" in the fall, is exacerbated by having another hour to wait until the sun comes up. Oh, we rejoice after a few hours when the sun sets later, but it makes for a hard day and into the week. There are studies to prove it and I'll find them maybe and add them to the post, or maybe not. Because that's not the observation here.

This post concerns DST and my cats.

Pyewacket cat is most assertive in his pursuit of being well-fed. One might say he's aggressive if he can see the bottom of his bowl. Just one square inch is enough to send him into kitty overdrive. So I was amazed this morning when my alarm went off and he didn't immediately pounce to my side and begin the routine of up-up-up-you-lazy-person-feed-me! No, he stayed on the floor. It's wasn't time for breakfast. It was an hour too early. What was I doing getting up?

His brother Tuxedo wasn't concerned either. The outdoor cats, being an extremely opportunistic bunch, are willing to eat when I'm willing to feed them. Still, Duchess was stayed abed in her box. She was getting her full 20 hours of sleep.

I've no doubt their kitty stomachs will quickly adjust to DST. Which just goes to the point of this post: The scientists who started messing with the idea of atomic clocks based them not on Cesium etc., but on the most reliable of time keepers, a cat's stomach.

I didn't see it, I didn't ask for it, but I got it

2011-03-12T10:20:00.003-06:00

Ten or fifteen years ago, I decided that coloring my hair was a waste of time and money and besides that, the chemicals burned my scalp. So I "went" gray, a color my hair had been aspiring to since I was 21. It was a "gift" from my mother, who also was prematurely gray. She fought the good fight throughout her 30s and 40s. I can remember her using gold hairspray. Really. I don't even know if they still make the stuff. Finally, she too gave up and went the most glorious white.

I am not there yet. I still have faint streaks of color, albeit not any name on a Miss Clairol box. But it's me. One might say I look my age.

Obviously I do to a young clerk at a Jack in the Box.

Needing the facilities and thinking a cold drink would be a refreshing break from Goodwill hunting, I popped in mid-afternoon yesterday. I scanned the list and chose a Diet Coke. Small. He rang it up. $1.72. I handed him two dollars and received a handful of quarters in exchange. Thinking he had missed what I'd given him (although if it were a five there would have been bills), I opened my hand for him to take back the extra, something like you do in a foreign country when trying to pay for something, not understanding the coinage, and are just hoping the seller is semi-honest.

"Oh," he smiled at me, "I gave you the senior discount."

I didn't have the nerve to look back to the board and see exactly how old he thought I was.

Barney's Version

2011-03-07T15:27:00.003-06:00

The weather was too bad on Saturday, cold and windy and where is spring?, to do anything outside, so we took ourselves off for a little shopping in the Big City, or at least its suburbs. Shopping accomplished, it was too early for dinner (because if you go to the trouble of driving an hour to shop, you're not coming home to leftovers), so we decided on a movie.

Movie prices vary greatly by locale. Where we live, they're $5 after 6PM, $3 before and always $3 for "senior" citizens and children under 12. Since we qualify (former, not latter), it had better be a very good movie to pay more than that. Last one which qualified: The King's Speech.

So we chose a movie which we didn't think would make it to our local neighborhood, Barney's Version. We hadn't heard of it, read only the barest description of it on my iPad as we're tooling down the toll road, and decided what-the-heck. It was at our favorite indie theatre and restaurants abounded in the area.

I usually know quite a bit about a movie before we go. I read the reviews, see the ads. But this one was off the radar. I really expected we'd be the only ones in the theatre, but it was probably 3/4 full. Mostly people who looked like us and had decided it was too cold to work or play outside.

It's refreshing to have no preconceived notions about a movie. I don't know that I'd want to do it all the time, and I don't think I could give a "go see it!" to everyone I know, but I'm glad we went.

Texas Co-op Power Magazine and me

2011-03-01T15:13:00.002-06:00

The March issue of the Texas Co-op Power Magazine has my article on catfish buffets. It's the back page if you have a physical copy and it's here, if you read online!

I had so much fun researching this article and then writing it, so to finally see it in print------WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

The little turtle that could... not

2011-02-27T14:33:00.004-06:00

Does it look so unsurmountable? See the little turtle on the edge of the water, wanting to get to the top of whatever that thing is? How long before frustration sets in and he gives up?

Because when you see the bigger picture, it is daunting.

Maybe he's lucky he's so little and doesn't know he'll never make it to the top. That ignorance is not only bliss, but most of the time we wouldn't accomplish what we do if we really knew the odds.

Maybe he was just resting and couldn't find the side of this indoor pond inside NorthPark Mall in Dallas.

Or, maybe he just wanted his picture taken.

Thank you, Hernando

2011-02-24T09:24:00.003-06:00

Of course, that might not really be his name.

But I digress.

Seven years ago we had the opportunity to switch from dial-up to DSL. There wasn't any hesitation on my part and I jumped on the modem/router bandwagon and never looked back. But seven years is two or three lifetimes in the tech world, and my equipment was beginning to show its age. While the router was stable, the modem, supplied by the phone company and paid for by me, had decided to wink out on occasion and need to be rebooted. Maybe it would be a week or two between incidences and then maybe it would opt to nap all afternoon.

Obviously, something needed to be done to upgrade the reliability of Internet access in this house. Reluctantly, and with all foot-dragging possible, I called the phone company tech line. George (maybe not his real name either) was appalled that such equipment was still viable and hastened to send me (free, he said) a new one piece modem-router. Sure 'nuf, it arrived on schedule. But it was near the weekend and one of my friends had had an awful time setting hers up... and more foot-dragging on my part ensued.

Finally, on Monday, with all my excuses played out and nothing pressing on the agenda, I called tech support and gave them my sad tale: old equipment unreliable and I KNEW NOTHING about setting it up.

(In my defense, I had read and even printed the online manual of how-to. Oh, puh-lease. It was an August 2007 edition, and so technical, I was out of my depth by page 3 or 4.)

Lucky, lucky me--I had reached Hernando! He was patient and detail-oriented. We had problems, some on his end ("the system isn't reading the new equipment" and my favorite, "we have a bad connection, I'll call you back"--we did have a bad connection. Was I not talking to the phone company?) and some problems on mine:

H: "You need to pull the phone line from the back of the modem now."

Me: "Okay." Pull. Pull. Break: the wire comes out of the plastic thingee and no amount of fingernails are going to unclasp it. "Just a sec while I get the needle nose pliers."

(Thank goodness they work because by this time, the old system is totally disengaged and I will be big time outta luck, until they can ship me a new unit.)

It took 90 minutes. An ordinary citizen couldn't set this up. It had to be configured. And re-configured. Twice.

Then he did some sort of magic and took over my computer and finished the job. I would not let him go until I'd entered my brand new password into all the other gadgets we have which run on wireless.

And when customer service called yesterday to see if I was pleased, I praised Hernando. Or whatever his name really is.

Why I was at Willow Bend in the first place

2011-02-17T17:05:00.003-06:00

Technically, that's The Shops at Willow Bend. Something I know but tend to abbreviate. So, why was I there Tuesday? Surely not just for observing old friends in the food court.

No, got the iPhone 4. I've had an original since Sept 2007. I've loved it and dragged it everywhere, but as the new technologies and upgrades have come out, they've also come with this caveat: not for the original iPhone. So, I haven't even bothered to sync my baby for over a year! It was, alas, a phone. Emailed only if I had to; LOVED it to text; never on the web; a quickie camera whose output I could wifi myself. I hadn't even updated its few apps.

Poor thing. And now it's relegated to the iPhone 4's box.

Once again, the shiny new toy has put the other one away, no matter its length and durability of service.

I think there's a lesson for us all in there.

Two women sit down in a mall...

2011-02-16T14:04:00.003-06:00

Sounds like the opening to a bad joke, yes?

But yesterday I was at Willowbend Mall in Plano. It's a lovely place, pleasing to the eye, but I don't know that it's ever caught on with the public like its too-close kin, Stonebriar in Frisco. Still, I like it and I was there for the Apple Store, my "home" store.

After my purchase (next post), I decided to try the new seafood place. I had to walk through the food court, which itself seems to always have some new fast food there. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see two women sitting companionably on a bench.

They were older than me, which I suppose isn't saying much the older I get, but it does narrow the field a bit, and they weren't eating. Indeed their bench was built for two and was placed so they faced the main aisle. They were turned a bit toward each other. Old friends, I thought, waiting for a third, or to get up and finish their shopping.

Went to lunch. It was good and interesting. I asked to see a dinner menu, found it concentrated which is probably a good thing. What they do, they will do well. Thirty, forty minutes later, I'm back in the food court and heading to my car.

And the two older ladies are still there! Still talking! They haven't moved an inch!

How delightful to sit and be so interested in someone else's ideas/problems/observations and to have them that interested in yours.

I wonder how long they stayed.

Hardiest of the foolhardy

2011-02-13T13:57:00.003-06:00

After our second round of snow, ice, and record-setting low temps, we are inching back into the 70s, which is a bit warm for February but I haven't heard any complaints from man or beast.

However, looking upon my flower beds I find that the bulbs have endured the snow and ice quite well. The daffodils are up over an inch in the old beds. The hyacinths are new and already breaking ground.

Alas, there are a few foolhardy tulips trying the same. Tsk, tsk. They won't fare as well if (when?) we have another round of it. They'll be making me work to cover them with newspaper and weight it down with brick, only to hope they don't get their little tulip noses freezer burned.

Welcome to Texas, I'll say. May your bulb be well fed enough to try again next year.

Savvy kitty

2011-02-09T10:08:00.003-06:00

The weather is once again giving us a layer of ice and more snow than we want. (At this stage of February, any snow is too much snow.) The bright side of things--and that's saying a lot since we're to have record low temps--is that this is to last two days and not last week's four. Hope springs eternal in the house-bound breast.

I'm doing laundry and working on a freelance project, considering starting my way through the tax receipts. I've put out more bird seed and will have to do it again, I can tell. The outside kitties have been given food in a spot which won't get wet.

So I put the towels from the washer into the dryer. It vents into a sheltered corner of the patio which should be blocked by house and garbage cans from the worst of the wind. As if from thin air, the alpha female cat Duchess appears and takes her place under the hot air from the vent.

It may be a small brain, but it's dedicated. In this case, to keeping warm.

It's like a holiday!

2011-02-06T14:33:00.003-06:00

Cabin fever isn't pretty under any circumstances, but to those of us not used to being weather-bound-to-the-house for 4 days in a row, it's just pure misery. Even if there were things we could and better yet, should, be doing, we weren't. Or, at least, I wasn't. In retrospect, this place could be in a lot better shape if I'd stopped grumbling as I looked out at the snow/ice and concentrated on the inside instead.

But I didn't. It's a mess. That's all there is to it.

Yesterday however was a different story. The sun appeared and the temps rose and the streets cleared as if swept. It was time to leave the house and where better to go than Walmart.

It wasn't a singular idea. My first hint should have been the difficulty in finding a parking spot not still in snow-clutches. I drove around a bit, found something suitably close to a cart repository, and went in. There I found several hundred of my nearest and dearest friends, half of whom were already in line.

It would appear that the entire town had come down with the same solution to cabin fever: shop.

Not like it wasn't needed. Our cupboard was getting a bit bare itself. Scurvy could set in with the lack of fresh fruits and veggies. I pondered that there would have already been a run on such, but the stockers in the produce department were busy filling the bins. As were those at bread and eggs. Cheese was a bit thin and there was no house brand unsalted butter (makes one wonder, yes?), but I grabbed the last bag of the catfood I had a coupon for and bravely headed to the check-out.

All of the counters were open. I don't think I'd ever seen that. The lines snaked into each other, but by some miracle everyone knew which one they were in. More importantly, they knew which one their neighbor was in. There was actual camaraderie. We were all in the same boat and we were sailing together. I talked to people I knew and people I didn't. Twenty five minutes passed at a reasonable pace.

As I went out, I smiled at those coming in. Just a little smile. A knowing smile. A I'm-gone-you're-in-line smile.

Taking the blame

2011-02-04T09:48:00.003-06:00

So a couple weeks ago, already tired of the Super Bowl hype and hypers on the media, I complained to an email friend in Connecticut that I wished it would snow!

Cue the old proverb: Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

Now, I totally and completely believe that God hears us all the time, that our prayers are answered for the good of us, and that sometimes the answer is no.

But how was I to know that He'd take me seriously this one time?

You see, this morning, on top of the crunchy ice, we have about 3 inches of snow here. At least the main roads are cleared out and you'll just be driving on/through snow, but the side streets--oh no!

But the Super Bowl hype is quieted down, like political ads the day after elections. We've been 24/7 weather around here.

I mean, I wasn't really serious, Lord. Not really. Just a little bit. Enough's enough?

Are you listening?

The ice days continue

2011-02-03T10:14:00.003-06:00

This is the third day of ice. While schools are still closed, the roads are fairly clear and I will venture out today. For the last two I've stuck to sweats and no make-up and it is time to move on!

Yesterday I chipped nearly one-inch thick ice off the patio to make a path from the back steps to the gate in order to get the trash out this morning. (Also, I just wanted to get outside and do something and this I could do sitting down. Hammer, hammer, hammer, ice crack! Pitch the pieces into the flower bed. Next section.) I also baked a batch of cinnamon rolls from a really strange recipe which proofed the yeast first. I don't normally do that; I convert all proof-first recipes into the yeast-in-with-the-flour kind, except this recipe wasn't going to do that. Then there were a lot of spices in the dough, scads of ginger and cinnamon, and that was fine, but they were just... different. Doubt I'll make them again but they did keep me occupied through the three rolling blackouts we had.

Never had rolling blackouts before and the entire town wasn't subject to it, as I have friends who never lost their electricity in 15 minute increments. Today, we seem fine. I hope.

As to Tuesday's six loaves of yeast bread... so worth the trouble. SO GOOD.

There was a reason I stopped baking that recipe...

2011-02-01T13:45:00.003-06:00

...and now I know what it is.

With ice and snow on the ground, with the sun shining and the wind howling, with the temp at 22 and set to go lower, not higher over the next three days, it seemed like a good idea to bake bread.

I have several standard bread recipes which I'm quite good at baking. I'm also not afraid to try something new, but since most bread recipes of the white/wheat variety are the same and we certainly didn't need cinnamon rolls (although that may be on tomorrow's agenda--see the above paragraph), I decided to go for quantity.

Years--YEARS--ago, I had made a recipe which produced 6 loaves of bread. Six. I knew it took a bag of flour and assorted other staples I was bound to have on hand, and so I went hunting for it. Found it, with appropriate notes on flour cup variances and size of loaf pan, and the date: October 1977. Wow. I was a new mother. Wasn't I an adventurous soul.

But I hadn't had a Kitchenaid do-it-all mixer then. Surely this would be easier. But as I poured in the 8 cups of liquid and the half bag of flour, as the machine started making little grindy noises (it's at least 25 years old, it's allowed), as I remembered I hadn't put in any sugar (add, add, add), I also realized that this slurry of dough was going to have to come out of the bowl and onto the countertop.

I put on my kitchen-expendable gloves I use for messy things and plunged in, adding flour and lifting and pushing the dough around.

Then the phone rang. I was tempted not to answer it, but if it were my husband, he'd wonder why I wasn't and what was wrong, so I pulled off one of the dough-filled gloves with my teeth, and answered. My mother-in-law. Told her what I was up to, answered the question (called her back with more details later), and got back to the mess.

The phone rang.

Now I can go days without the phone ringing at home. DAYS. But I answered, the information from a friend made me glad I did, and I finally got back to packing probably a bag and a half of flour into these 6 loaves.

I dug out the stew pot, put the mess in the oven with the oven light on, and cleaned it all up. Less than an hour later, it is threatening to overflow the pot and I stop it before the dough, now sticky but more compliant, spills over into the oven.

Longer story short, there are now three 1-1/2 lb loaves baking and three 2-pound loaves rising.

This stuff had better be good, but I now know why I abandoned this recipe in favor of the three-loaf buttermilk bread which is standard here. I could have made it twice and been eating it now.

The WABAC Machine

2011-01-30T13:03:00.002-06:00

Does anyone else remember Mr. Peabody and the WABAC Machine from Rocky and Bullwinkle? Briefly, it was time travel with a dog and his boy. I delighted in it when I was a kid and I still love the concept. Cue Quantum Leap.

So last night, we got to go on our own personal, but not so distant in time nor life-changing, experience of having dinner with dear friends. They were neighbors, moved, we kept up with them, we visited, we went our separate ways with growing children and ailing parents. Every Christmas card would include the line: THIS year let's get together for dinner. Then, the next year, I'd write the same thing and so would she.

Well, enough of that. It had been at least 10 years since we'd really visited. After all, these were the people we had brunch with once at a hotel, looked up from our talking, and lunch was being served! We ordered.

However, the last time we'd visited was at a wedding two (three?) years ago and you know how much catching-up can go on there. Not much. So, I called, we picked a date, and last night we had dinner halfway (or so) between our homes.

Rick's Chophouse in McKinney is a much awarded (and justly so) place to dine. We spent two hours there, walked around a bit, then settled into their vintage 1971 Caddie for our second time travel experience of the evening, tooling around in a big sturdy car. There were definite differences: no shoulder harness and no metal frames around the door windows, and so much room!

So next Christmas card I write, I want it to say: "Know we just saw you in October, but what do you have planned for January?"

No longer a second class citizen

2011-01-26T15:12:00.003-06:00

I have an original iPhone. It is so far behind the tech-iPhone curve that I no longer bother to update it. It functions as a phone and a text-originator just fine and anyway, why should I buy a new phone when our area is not 3G? So, stubbornly, I've held on and watched everyone else have the fantastic new toy which I wouldn't be able to use to its fullest anyway.

Then today friend Cindy calls and says the magic word (words?): "3G." Her friend at work had pointed it out to her and she had her Kindle in hand and it was showing 3G. Quickly, I flipped my iPad to cellular connect and there it was: 3G.

Now I have a dilemma. Well, not really. Next time I get within hailing distance of an Apple store... or get the urge online... or go out to the AT&T place...

I think I'll join the 3G iPhone 4 world.

HEEHEEHEE.

Barbie goes home

2011-01-24T15:26:00.003-06:00

Much as I enjoyed the Barbie experience with the three-(almost four)-year-old granddaughter, I can't say I was sorry to see Barbie move on out of the living room. Indeed, since she's been cleaned up, so to speak, she will soon be moving to the public library for a little exhibition, kitchen, convertible and all.

Our Saturday morning trip to the Big Box to get a little something for younger brother Jack was an exercise in decision making. First question: once we secured Jack a little something, could she have something? I assured her she could. We hit the clearance aisle for Jack and after picking out three packages of small cars, I was informed that that "was enough." On to the Barbie/Disney princess aisles. It took several passes before we settled on a Snow White tiara and a Snow White ballerina Barbie, a masterpiece of cross-promotion if there ever was one. She wanted one more item--Jack had three packages--but I informed her that we were on a budget and her two equalled his three. She didn't quibble, but did manage to score each of them a bath scrubby with an animal affixed.

But my question is, how can a little granddaughter, no bigger than a minute, manage to set a household on its ear in less than 24 hours? I can only think of one room which didn't get some "droppings". Her hair clips were even in our bathroom and we have yet to find Barbie's other red shoe.

Barbie takes over...

2011-01-22T08:50:00.004-06:00

... the living room, kitchen, study... you name it, no room has been safe from the Barbie invasion.

First of all, they all gathered for lunch:

Then two of my "more experienced" Barbies went for a drive.

No telling where they'll go next!

As an aside, I wasn't able, even with really savvy help, to get the stove to work. But then, my current Barbie fan and I didn't need to rotisserie a turkey in order to have a good time.

Setting up housekeeping for Barbie

2011-01-20T16:44:00.007-06:00

Our granddaughter Emily is coming to spend the night with us. Her granddaddy wanted to know what we were going to do. Very simple, I told him, we're going to play Barbie!

Barbie was a very big (and new) item when I was a little girl. I had several Barbies and Kens. Looking into the boxes I have left, I have three Barbies and two Kens. They're in good, if loved, condition and have original clothes. I wish I still had the wardrobes which my sister and I hand-sewed, but either those things were tossed or my sister has them.

However, Barbie needs now, and needed then, all sorts of accompanying items. At my house she had an apartment which lined one wall of my sister's bedroom. The rooms were divided by pieces of paneling and the floors were a strip of linoleum from the house's new addition. My mother made beds from cigar boxes and we bought a kitchen and a car.

Barbie had it all--and I still have a lot of it.

So to celebrate Emily's visit, I dug it all out and cleaned it up. The beds are gone, but the kitchen is still in remarkable condition for something approaching 50 years old. There are dishes for the dishwasher, groceries for the refrigerator and staples for the pantry. I'm going to let Emily arrange all that.

Here's a look at the kitchen:

And a closer look at the oven. See the turkey? It's on a rotisserie. I replaced the batteries, but it won't turn although the flashlight bulb which makes the elements glow is lighting, so I know current is getting through. I'm going to work on it.

Finally, no self-respecting girl would be without a convertible and here's Barbie's, complete with personalized plate.

Once I get Barbie and Ken in shipshape, I'll post more photos.

New Year's Resolutions

2011-01-16T13:22:00.003-06:00

One week into the New Year, I realized that I was already a failure with my resolution to pay attention and remember the names of waitstaff and store clerks who helped me. Not that I'd had a lot of exposure to any in the first week, but of those I had, I couldn't remember a one. It was like I'd never made the resolution at all.

So I girded my mental loins and started to try harder and I'm doing a better job. I find that answering "I'm X and I'll be your server tonight" with "Thank you, X" helps imprints X on my mind. This info is crucial when X disappears and you need your check or water or a clean fork.

So, mind repositioned, I'll check back in a couple of weeks and let you know how I'm doing. It would, after all, be nice to make it past a month with a resolution.