tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58036547084610846652024-02-07T16:41:21.375-08:00Deep DomesticityYOU CAN MAKE THE PLACE YOU ARE NOW YOUR PARADISE.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.comBlogger144125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-42340291092618532182011-12-08T11:51:00.000-08:002011-12-08T11:54:15.246-08:00Frosty Morning<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bgPQ39hK6K5qEdu3ft7Foljpf4f7xpKgIV_QWhSGYK0FKJ8RJbG3B9gyGtcUHSp0kaxrb7pC154DKEP66nn9Jqh2EdH7CAvLpU8kggz3Mzk0cw20KiUwwT6XS9-xBRQD5qDnmFkbIrQ/s1600/CIMG1137.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bgPQ39hK6K5qEdu3ft7Foljpf4f7xpKgIV_QWhSGYK0FKJ8RJbG3B9gyGtcUHSp0kaxrb7pC154DKEP66nn9Jqh2EdH7CAvLpU8kggz3Mzk0cw20KiUwwT6XS9-xBRQD5qDnmFkbIrQ/s320/CIMG1137.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683848200763161442" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdN4ZSjvBZztz7GxEUsboPr99knOuU8rJY0oBnYIc4bNYy0FZfHLaw1yHj4j94I8AR3bHymVp8kKtmv7kcGQJ8B_PMT3NihzZMI-1O-7mQvS1e3Ii96H_O656nq5sPQ5GTSv09BjEWOKE/s1600/CIMG1139.JPG"><img style="display: block; 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margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOICb1PC9Qp7H2UIUZytetX8NAzu9U7gegJymqplmeC2NSu9CcEQv_SRs4AlLhgoPRPvA1OsPKSUMlcN7sUXokKETyT1m3gLUc1jS9oYiqTB1lWFyXfl8RHUvpn7Ovmax36am2iomdQo/s320/CIMG1142.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683847910135573378" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf-qpYeSveMPWyJ_0_SCbgFpl47ZGSicN_cOhOl2CW19Vh_e7OEW4n68F7tfDc9eqsnUzR5vKAB2jscLqoTti7N7Y69-6MvSYU-myrtN-FBnZ-Jl6CWTfktGGAD3GhcERmMPtl2Iy8FGU/s1600/CIMG1143.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf-qpYeSveMPWyJ_0_SCbgFpl47ZGSicN_cOhOl2CW19Vh_e7OEW4n68F7tfDc9eqsnUzR5vKAB2jscLqoTti7N7Y69-6MvSYU-myrtN-FBnZ-Jl6CWTfktGGAD3GhcERmMPtl2Iy8FGU/s320/CIMG1143.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683847828857531714" border="0" /></a>Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-40694133794396845912011-11-21T19:13:00.000-08:002011-11-21T19:33:04.914-08:00Thanksgiving Preparations<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWwaEzEi8C5KyBwsQD085QWHmIh0nRtWbpH-Ced8vUHK_CTk38a7KsNTuqJuXt3tLAwhIff26uZm_LucbnkQSemBhKCMuYjK7QxWcGs2AXvvJ9N40J6NBDowhM1PvdhBSZD9JBTkkg8bk/s1600/CIMG1067.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWwaEzEi8C5KyBwsQD085QWHmIh0nRtWbpH-Ced8vUHK_CTk38a7KsNTuqJuXt3tLAwhIff26uZm_LucbnkQSemBhKCMuYjK7QxWcGs2AXvvJ9N40J6NBDowhM1PvdhBSZD9JBTkkg8bk/s320/CIMG1067.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677656831448884354" border="0" /></a><br />This feeling has been building over the years and finally I recognize it for what it is: pure, unadulterated love for Thanksgiving. I just love it. I love planning out the meal, keeping in tried-and-true family traditions (coleslaw with shrimp? yup, it's an Arnold thing; apple pie? absolutely something from my side of the family), tweaking others (sweet potato pie instead of pumpkin), and adding something new (this year, parmesan-roasted butternut squash, and a toasted nut pie). I actually feel giddy as I spread out the books, old recipe cards, and dog-eared Gourmet magazines (sniff!).<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjor6ZNVJU6l_B_hL6Fj1FunCpNmfo7EhFViPW0UoV97g70716EizUKYN2bCWJ5KK61uA5Lzy6wYnE5HznSp-wA3_Ghz187HE8M2kOHujLG-AFYthtwd_SuTdMWhWPm8fqVWyB8nyq8tM/s1600/CIMG1068.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjor6ZNVJU6l_B_hL6Fj1FunCpNmfo7EhFViPW0UoV97g70716EizUKYN2bCWJ5KK61uA5Lzy6wYnE5HznSp-wA3_Ghz187HE8M2kOHujLG-AFYthtwd_SuTdMWhWPm8fqVWyB8nyq8tM/s320/CIMG1068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677656922087024658" border="0" /></a><br />I teach my last classes tomorrow before oral exams next week, which means at 10:10 tomorrow morning I can start preparations. It'll be three days of cooking but oh what fun when it all comes together!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;">The menu:<br /><br />Turkey (of course), butchered today and will be picked up tomorrow<br />Stuffing<br />Gravy<br />Mashed potatoes (nothing fancy, just lots of butter per the family request)<br />Sweet potato rolls<br />Cranberry relish with ginger<br />Coleslaw with shrimp<br />Carrots with shallots, sage, and thyme<br />Parmesan-roasted butternut squash<br />2 apple pies*<br />2 sweet potato pies*<br />1 toasted nut tart<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><span>*No, I'm not insane to make 5 desserts. We're having dinner at 1:00 to accommodate the grannies; friends are coming later for "second dessert" (closely related to second breakfast and elevensies, both widely celebrated by hobbits--my secret geekiness coming through there).</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div></div></div>Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-86079756201592970672011-11-20T08:55:00.000-08:002011-11-20T09:18:46.101-08:00Nostalgia, aka Pumpkin MuffinsThis morning I baked my first batch of pumpkin-something of the season. Usually it's pumpkin bread but today I was starving so I made it quicker-baking-muffins instead. There's nothing particularly revolutionary about my muffins: good doses of ginger, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg; chopped walnuts; whole wheat pastry flour. If I didn't have a dried fruit hater in the family, I would probably add dried cranberries. Or bits of crystallized ginger (but that is for when the short people either get a little more adventurous in their palates, or move out). Sometimes to get the older one to eat pumpkin anything, I add in chocolate chips. <span style="font-style: italic;">Not</span> my idea of a good muffin.<br /><br />There is crunchy, partially melted snow on the ground, gray sky above (which I have discovered is really conducive to me feeling creative--nothing like blue sky to bring my brain to a halt), a stack of grading to be done, a final exam and final exam study guide to write, Christmas presents to knit, and a Thanksgiving dinner to plan out. Despite all of the above, or maybe because of it, I took refuge in homey pumpkin muffins this morning and found myself remembering all the pumpkin bread I baked while we were in Inner Mongolia.<a href="http://arnoldsinchina.blogspot.com/2007/11/on-produce-in-general-and-vegetable.html"></a> Although actually, it wasn't pumpkin but <a href="http://arnoldsinchina.blogspot.com/2007/11/on-produce-in-general-and-vegetable.html">sweet potatoes</a>, roasted on the open streets in front of our apartment. I had these giant sweet potatoes, a cross between our yams and sweet potatoes here, fresh walnuts, farm eggs. After a day of ice skating there was nothing better to come home to than a thick slice of this bread, a cup of hot cocoa or tea.<br /><br />I don't particularly miss a lot of things about our 7 months in China, although looking back through my old blog I do feel nostalgia for my 6 and 8 year old kids, for the good food, the forced coziness of our little apartment, the concentrated family time--a raft to cling to when all else felt so bewilderingly foreign.<br /><br />I guess this is what pumpkin bread means to me now (or the latest incarnation, pumpkin muffins): nostalgia in a little wrapper, warmth and spice and love and family.<br /><br /><img src="file:///C:/Users/Member/AppData/Local/Temp/moz-screenshot-1.png" alt="" /><img src="file:///C:/Users/Member/AppData/Local/Temp/moz-screenshot-2.png" alt="" />Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-59959715833764594612011-11-19T13:37:00.001-08:002011-11-19T13:40:49.335-08:00Snowy Saturday<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiybJij7qpNyRpWRcAk3NCc1mhm0tqUxOcB4u6ZzwiTiWdf8PgpqVrV91wOv4m4VcTJs-aohnpj398peaxT_mYFuzjjlHTXQhPWUpSrA2eZTMZBvQzn_znzWUxSKgxm-h0WSmf_m_rbLys/s1600/CIMG1058.JPG"><img style="display: block; 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margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTkfyQque3iw2-aR66e09bkazBbt3-m_fohNQAuqo-T8Kz2vSb5oFws6SrcLtBMVKXLOFnoHKLvMnsWed9H_6DezJv3V4a6jFFxNShNE3eHn58IfGwCF0jY2ge7_AzrCjLvybNYhTZwE/s320/CIMG1064.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676824662174025970" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6vY6Pw3F7v-JQhgd2z8aMCiKbdRbtEuGEn3rjBpAySxDVtbIW4cDkYKxqqj3u50Oey6omccjK0VCxDwC7zCIN-GS5A9Rfbxp3HSwSmjWjehq4sKMm4h63XtzRfBX9DfgmzZgbjeIOt-4/s1600/CIMG1065.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6vY6Pw3F7v-JQhgd2z8aMCiKbdRbtEuGEn3rjBpAySxDVtbIW4cDkYKxqqj3u50Oey6omccjK0VCxDwC7zCIN-GS5A9Rfbxp3HSwSmjWjehq4sKMm4h63XtzRfBX9DfgmzZgbjeIOt-4/s320/CIMG1065.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676824582370383410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6V0voYzvmvjfIVnjEIytT1pcWjLpZa3YfDbcTqKJNkxoo8lmeWY6TzRDnUcrPoM_Pkw1Z9P0bCBG_11Oflv9LKWR9uRi3qS0tLDbm9t2rlNsbrmrer3PpW-Nba-IAL1Jj5aUSYNaZfRQ/s1600/CIMG1066.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6V0voYzvmvjfIVnjEIytT1pcWjLpZa3YfDbcTqKJNkxoo8lmeWY6TzRDnUcrPoM_Pkw1Z9P0bCBG_11Oflv9LKWR9uRi3qS0tLDbm9t2rlNsbrmrer3PpW-Nba-IAL1Jj5aUSYNaZfRQ/s320/CIMG1066.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676824506703398274" border="0" /></a>Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-29334066664240416382011-11-16T13:16:00.001-08:002011-11-16T13:47:32.300-08:00Falling Leaves and Dropping Feathers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjaa73LKtQzBZ_hyphenhyphengDoXX-keRggKbajLdQTIoaQJqS9_IwYnGhTAa4cmSPMk9GwB0Xjwo7uwpceeFMsKNFRzDUXt7eh_L71zeOeOv-LzZGpYGl56Fy3bfmWEv_7LG16vlX746C2lfbo_k/s1600/CIMG1057.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjaa73LKtQzBZ_hyphenhyphengDoXX-keRggKbajLdQTIoaQJqS9_IwYnGhTAa4cmSPMk9GwB0Xjwo7uwpceeFMsKNFRzDUXt7eh_L71zeOeOv-LzZGpYGl56Fy3bfmWEv_7LG16vlX746C2lfbo_k/s320/CIMG1057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675712273336223010" border="0" /></a><br />Leave it to Henrietta to get me writing. I've felt pretty much uninterested in anything the past month that doesn't involve my fuzzy pajamas, my wool comforter, and a mystery novel. Not that its been particularly cold of late, far from it. We're practically the Bahamas compared to what's been going on on the East Coast so I really can't complain about anything.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZKcJR-6aNhrq7UHIvhA06L6CAF7RiSpsMCoHyn4_MWTt2z8Cun7on5-W5QKg0mIRPQpEUqVYyXsOQvuivdedGYf7hasUV3CSv9gFNskR9w7RlRGr1-SEI6AQROup4sL4748bWoBy3Rc/s1600/CIMG1053.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZKcJR-6aNhrq7UHIvhA06L6CAF7RiSpsMCoHyn4_MWTt2z8Cun7on5-W5QKg0mIRPQpEUqVYyXsOQvuivdedGYf7hasUV3CSv9gFNskR9w7RlRGr1-SEI6AQROup4sL4748bWoBy3Rc/s320/CIMG1053.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675713295616330706" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I couldn't get a good shot of her from behind where the skin shows through. Pathetic, no?<br /></span></div><br />For the past week or so I've noticed Henrietta's feathers dropping off. We've owned chickens for about 18 months now and until now I've never witnessed molting. Boy, though, when it happens you definitely know it. Today I went out to look for eggs and was absolutely stunned by how pathetic she looks right now. We're talking bare skin. Bare chicken skin with "chicken bumps" instead of goose bumps. Just<span style="font-style: italic;"> looking</span> at her makes me cold. I've got enough feathers out in the yard that I should probably think about stuffing them into a blanket for her.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl2Tyg26Hxtxy9qp_059D4mi1imgXS2nfU2hJ8Vcy7Scms3nri5GA-i5wTnphWfiAKDRzTi2D5_xFlk6EPcgy6aZG0wIQu13mSasJU5t2h0uE3cPquQzTD2K47FTQHfCazaoQ80ut1Q_k/s1600/CIMG1056.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl2Tyg26Hxtxy9qp_059D4mi1imgXS2nfU2hJ8Vcy7Scms3nri5GA-i5wTnphWfiAKDRzTi2D5_xFlk6EPcgy6aZG0wIQu13mSasJU5t2h0uE3cPquQzTD2K47FTQHfCazaoQ80ut1Q_k/s320/CIMG1056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675712810964473058" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Feathers and leaves<br /></span></div><br />Musing on Henrietta's poor exposed skin while out on my walk this afternoon I made the not-so-remarkable connection between dropping feathers and falling leaves. Today is really cold for here--mid 30s--and it has looked like snow all morning. (In fact, as I sit here I see the first half-hearted attempts at snowflakes are starting to fall). Anyway, leaves are all over the ground, sometimes as a mirror image of the tree from which they fell, as if they all came down at once. Which, mostly likely, is what happened. Walking through the neighborhoods and then down to the river, I try to keep from tripping because all I want to do is look up: up at the slate-colored sky, up at the geese flying overhead, up at the leaves drifting down to the ground. I think about trees giving up their leaves to go dormant over the winter, ready to bud out again when the days get longer and the air becomes warmer. According to rumor (again, having never witnessed a chicken molting before), Henrietta's feathers will come back more resplendent than ever. If she survives freezing her butt off, that is.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4LWR7xt5-qnFJPYK2z-Hk0XhmaFMWT1M1-3X5L7wisyvV8pOvNiEAP6tacC3LImZLdymPmx9-0AJtSSbIJwy0w_3heDPu0AlbTgRiSUqeU4W8gnwEOdp_cW9ZN82izsX9oKa6m7vteOg/s1600/CIMG1055.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4LWR7xt5-qnFJPYK2z-Hk0XhmaFMWT1M1-3X5L7wisyvV8pOvNiEAP6tacC3LImZLdymPmx9-0AJtSSbIJwy0w_3heDPu0AlbTgRiSUqeU4W8gnwEOdp_cW9ZN82izsX9oKa6m7vteOg/s320/CIMG1055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675712603020998930" border="0" /></a><br />Maybe the urge to dig in, hibernate, sleep, eat, pare away all the extras, is my own sloughing off of leaves or feathers. Simplify. Get out in the weather every day (or go crazy--hmm, thinking of those ladies in igloos who run out naked in the middle of winter), create some loving meals, cuddle with family, get the work done that needs to be done, but none of the extra stuff that seems to come with warmer weather and longer days. This time of hibernation and regeneration makes all the busy times of spring, summer, and fall possible. I'm storing up energy to sprout new leaves or feathers. Some may say this smacks a little too much of winter blues but I'm willing to argue that embracing the cold, stripped-down-bare-chicken-skin-of-life one season out of the year is what provides perspective and balance to the rest of the year.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-23650130995984308962011-10-10T17:22:00.000-07:002011-10-10T17:29:27.008-07:00Dinner Part 2Pure laziness (and a desire to not put those jeans back on, <span style="font-style: italic;">thank you very much)</span> has driven me to make pasta from scratch tonight. I thought I was getting away with an easy dinner (after all that rhapsodizing about making dinner for the family, routine, etc. etc.) tonight by using a jar of TJs pasta sauce and some hamburger. Only to find that there is nary a twig of dry pasta to be found in my lovely built-in pantry circa 1948. The dilemma: switch out of sweatpants for a quick grocery run, or make it at home. I know, there is a certain perverseness in the whole situation--who thinks making pasta from scratch is easier than running to the store? Me, if it means trying to look presentable and having to drive at "rush" hour.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-19149904984244300642011-10-09T17:32:00.000-07:002011-10-09T17:55:46.867-07:00Dinner?Three weeks into the teaching quarter, my first head-cold of the season well underway, a house mostly moved into, the homework struggle with the oldest at an uneasy détente, and finally a dip into lower temperatures and a spot of rain here and there... And what do I have to write about? My dinner for tonight.<br /><br />I know, what I'm making for dinner tonight is not earth-shattering news for anyone. However, for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, I feel at home with my dinner routine tonight. I have a nasty cough and still a sore throat but I took comfort and, dare I say, <span style="font-style: italic;">pleasure,</span> in pulling out my big 6-quart dutch oven this afternoon. White beans simmer in broth, onions, and garlic, flecked with rosemary and a bobbing parmesan rind. Carrots and kale from the market wait to go in towards the end; the chicken andouille sausage is browned and drained, also waiting for the beans to become tender enough to add. I'm not trying to be poetic, I'm just so glad to have a little return to routine.<br /><br />I love making meals for my family. However, spending time in the kitchen has just not been part of my life lately. My husband has happily shouldered a lot of the meal preparation in the past few weeks as I have tried to adjust to teaching two classes a day, four days a week. I've spent an awful lot of time napping and grading and prepping the next day's class. I like the napping part, don't get me wrong. Frankly, I don't mind the grading or the prepping either. But I have really missed being in the kitchen, especially in my new kitchen that, instead of being galley-style, is square with lots of cupboards, lots of counter space, lots of room. I have half-heartedly baked cookies, assembled salads, and thrown together countless crisps during the whole move-in process. Making dinner as part of the usual rhythm of the day, however, has been conspicuously absent of late.<br /><br />It's the meditation of chopping onions and garlic, sweeping aside the paper skins, arranging the carrots for later, and the smells of the herbs and spices, the gentle simmer of soup in my bright red pot--this is what has been missing from my life since before I left for Alaska in June. Adjusting to my homemaker life has always been a slow process upon my return from Alaska but this year it has taken that much longer due to the move and the new teaching load.<br /><br />I've missed it a lot, to state the obvious.<br /><br />I'm still not baking bread. I have had to make peace with buying loaves of bread at the store. I hate buying bread. But I can't do everything right now. I'd like to think I'm Superwoman but, well, we all know that kind of thinking leads to lunchtime martinis. Just kidding. I'm not baking cookies all the time, or knitting dishcloths, or practicing my banjo--wait, this is all starting to sound like the last post... clearly I need to address these holes in my life, too. One step at a time, though, starting with my White Bean and Kale soup.<br /><br />The class prep can happen later.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-1511343231766560122011-10-03T12:44:00.000-07:002011-10-03T13:29:31.281-07:00A Return to the Blogosphere...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZI58KHuVNH2Fu3O2CU3bku9hkSWMRDwBHJxnMc1ZL2WuTHLRKchq6fEoOMu7OlfehdlmUz-2qUMjJif__s8A_2eieujH5pI83o3rGcvBWsytZrT4x5-9YrQzXFP4-xaBPf6svzWZ6g8/s1600/CIMG1002.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZI58KHuVNH2Fu3O2CU3bku9hkSWMRDwBHJxnMc1ZL2WuTHLRKchq6fEoOMu7OlfehdlmUz-2qUMjJif__s8A_2eieujH5pI83o3rGcvBWsytZrT4x5-9YrQzXFP4-xaBPf6svzWZ6g8/s320/CIMG1002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659365414594988866" border="0" /></a><br />after a long break in which:<br /><br />--I survived a season in Naknek while only marginally breaking the bank;<br />--my paycheck went immediately into a down payment on a house (see below);<br />--the chickens survived the massacre (part 2) and 5 skunks met their maker;<br />--Dave bought a new house;<br />--Dave sold our house;<br />--we moved from one house to the other;<br />--the new house got a new paint job on the inside; new windows everywhere; new fences outside, including a new chicken area; a bedroom was built out of the shop in the basement (in one week); etc. etc. etc.;<br />--the kids started back to school;<br />--Dave and I started back to school;<br />--numerous crisps, pies, cobblers, and cookies were made to keep spirits up during all of the above.<br /><br />When I first came back from Alaska I tried to write about how incredibly hard it is to transition from that world into this one. This is as far as I got:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;">I've come back home to a flurry of activity--new house bought, old house sold, and all the appointments, paper signing, planning, and stress that goes with such a momentous change--and still I am plagued by the shock of transition from Alaska life to home life. All of this activity swirls around me but I move in slow-motion, trying to re-order all the gears in my brain and body, adjusting to life <span style="font-weight: bold;">here</span>, rather than life <span><span style="font-weight: bold;">there</span>.</span><br /></div><br />Actually <span style="font-style: italic;">experiencing</span> the transition only closely rivaled the difficulty of <span style="font-style: italic;">writing</span> about the transition, so that post never made it out of my head. And then all of that internal gymnastics gave way to the blur of moving from one house to another. I didn't even know when I went to Alaska that we'd be moving when I got back. Dave put the bid down on our new house while I was there; I signed reams of mortgage papers in between loading 40-foot containers with 1000 lb. boxes of salmon. Dave sold our existing house to a nice young couple; I signed more papers via fax and internet. I only really finally saw the house the day after coming back home: in a fog of exhaustion and discombobulation I wandered through the new house, trying to sound enthusiastic but only barely able to process the whole enormity of the situation.<br /><br />We moved.<br /><br />I won't go into all the details because it's all over now and I don't particularly want to remember much of it. It's not fun moving. Need I say more?<br /><br />However, now we are in the house, it is almost completely moved into (the boxes in the corner of the family room in the basement are just going to have to wait for a rainy day), we all love it and remarkably I feel like I'm where I meant to be until retirement, at the earliest. It's a lovely neighborhood, quiet and full of sweet neighbors. The kids have lots of friends in the area, it's not much farther away from their schools, and it has just enough more room than the old house to make the looming prospect of two teenagers seem bearable.<br /><br />I haven't wanted to write, play the banjo, bake (other than in survival mode when moving), knit, or do anything other than clean, unpack, clean some more, and keep food flowing. I'm happy to say that I finally want to embark on all those activities which make me feel good. 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unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]-->The balancing act has been a difficult one to attain until now, three weeks into the quarter. I think I'll even get the banjo out this week and try to tune it again.<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><br /></p>Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-69085486576782885352011-07-24T19:39:00.000-07:002011-07-24T19:46:37.180-07:00Still Stuck in Alaska...Chicken Massacre Part 2No fish to speak of for days, still stuck here in this weirdly aborted season, at the mercy of Those In Charge who are quite reasonably trying to salvage what they can of the season. It hit hard and fast, we ran 24 hours for one week and then it dropped off dramatically. The tsunami in Japan? Global warming? The fish forgot where to go? Anything is possible.<br /><br />And in the meantime, I am still here, twiddling my thumbs, spending too much money out on the town because of the sheer dreariness of life here in camp, and then I call home today to find out that while the family was out of town, something small broke in to the coop, killed Bunny (my favorite) and injured (the extent of which is still unknown) Ruby and Silvia. Apparently nothing is going to get to Gabby or Henrietta, the veterans. I feel completely removed from the whole situation. Had to talk Grace down, who cried and cried and wondered how she could ever be a veterinarian if she always cried when animals got hurt. I assured her that that wouldn't always be the case. Gave her a laundry list of things to do to help her feel like she's doing something for the remaining girls.<br /><br />It's a weird summer, no doubt about it. I'll be very glad when it's over.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-292034643898853472011-06-21T01:35:00.000-07:002011-06-21T01:41:20.284-07:00Sore Feet and Late-Night PostingSecond day of work. Twelve hours that started at 6:30 a.m. and ended at 6:15 p.m. All in all a fairly short day. But very packed.<br /><br />We got in 50,000 lbs of salmon which is just a little drop in the bucket but a great way to work out kinks in all the steps of receiving, processing, packaging, and sending out of salmon. Since I'm in shipping, I'm at the tail end of all this. My kinks today?<br /><br />--training one new tally girl--she's the one at the end of the case-up line (boxing up of frozen fish into 1000 lb. boxes) who is responsible for creating the bar code labels that represent finished product;<br /><br />--two export containers (40 foot freezers) when I needed one export and one domestic; one of the export containers stopped working, had to have the refrigeration guys, then the reefer techs from City Dock look at it, got it working again but still one export two many;<br /><br />--tried to get the boss to let me swap out one export for a domestic but it's early in the season and he's not interested in spending the swap-out fee (note: I didn't order the two containers, just saying);<br /><br />--driver who runs the truck company that picks up and delivers containers decided to give me a freebie and did the swap-out anyway; this is good for me because then I could put finished boxes of fish in the right container, but it also means I owe him (this is a world of scratching other people's backs to get your own scratched down the line);<br /><br />--the domestic container from above proved to be faulty (i.e. not cooling down at all), which was discovered after loading 8 finished boxes into it (a big no-no, always important to test out the containers before putting in product--another learning curve at the beginning of the season for the forklift drivers); reefer techs back again from City Dock determine it's a bad container, needs to be swapped (this time free of charge) because it's raining and they are all heading out to Dillingham (a short airplane ride away); I don't care what the reasons, just happy to get in a good container;<br /><br />--I unload the above container while my second-in-command-in-training Mike and my one veteren forklift driver Alex watch countless prospective shipping people "show off" their forklifting skills--we get three out of four positions filled and I get a new container delivered;<br /><br />--it rains all day, hard--I work outside mostly;<br /><br />--oh, and because I started my day at 6:30, and breakfast is from 7-8, I missed the meal and had to wait until 12:50 to cram in lunch before the galley closed at 1:00; ate left-over pizza, the first of many horrid meals to come;<br /><br />--looked all over camp trying to find a second chair for my office, the one left over from last year being the one nobody wants since it is missing a wheel; finally found one buried in a "secret" office that in the past 7 years of working here I never even knew existed; now two people can sit in the office at once, what a concept since there are two shipping supervisors.<br /><br />Now it is about midnight here. I managed to stay awake until 8:45 after having showered, eaten Mexican food (Monday is "Mexican" night--an interesting concept since all the cooks are indeed Mexican but the food is "El Paso" canned beans and fajita-type meat, frozen bean burritos, lightly colored reddish rice), knitted a little on my sock, read a little of my book (East of Eden), and slowly drank one beer while nibbling on Marionberry-flavored Australian licorice (yes, weird, it's what is though). Woke up to the sounds of my bathroom-mate showering at 11:30. Discovered my feet ache from running around on cement for 12 hours straight. Can't get back to sleep, so I'm writing this.<br /><br />I don't know how many posts I'll get written on this before we move to 24-hour processing and I'll be too damned tired to do much more than shower and fall into bed for a whopping 4-5 hours of sleep. It's fun to try, though. The contrast between this life here and life at home is so great, it helps to write about it a little. The funny thing is that I have slipped into life here again so easily, having known many of the supervisors for 7 or more years. Our time is concentrated every summer into 5-6 weeks of salmon processing and over that time we get to really know each other. Even though we only see each other for this short period of time, we are close. It's like a second family. This helps when we all become sleep-deprived, sick, and permanently cold, because we are still responsible for processing and shipping out millions of pounds of salmon while running crews of disgruntled, equally cold, sick and tired employees.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-29047115306892945102011-06-14T17:42:00.001-07:002011-06-14T18:17:42.431-07:00Righting the ShipThe usual tumult that occurs at this time of year has lived up to expectations. I am half-way through the birthday parties. When the kids were little, having their birthdays on the same day was convenient--grandparents could come from afar, combined friends, parents, kids, we all had a big barbeque and celebrated my two sweet kids. Now they are 10 and 12. They have their own friends and mostly definitely do not want old fogey parents crashing their parties.<br /><br />So Grace had her sleep-over yesterday with 3 other girls, preceded by a park/pool party with an additional two girls. They giggled and acted crazy and were sweet and incomprehensible. Grace chose Russian tea cakes for her "birthday cake," probably not a big winner with the guests who would understandably expect real cake, but it's what she has wanted since Christmas. She chose baked potatoes and spinach salad for dinner. Dave tried to balance it out with ice cream bars and popcorn after dinner. I think it was a successful night.<br /><br />Samuel's party is tomorrow. I have to admit to feeling a little apprehensive about this one. I mean, one gigantic, size 10 shoe, almost-as-tall-as-me, and just as surly as if he was a teenager, 12-year old boy is already a lot to deal with. Tomorrow I will have six of them. All of them sweet kids in twos and threes. And all good friends, so I know they will get along just fine. I am more worried about me, my sanity as the house reverberates with their rambunctious, not-so-small shenanigans. I think, though, that their desire to stay away from parents will be as strong as my desire to not participate in their party, so all should be good. Really, I shouldn't be worrying.<br />Samuel has requested the 28" pepperoni pizza from a local pizzeria and an ice cream cake--most emphatically <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> homemade, because homemade is now not very popular with him. Potato chips and pop. Grace had her chips and pop, too. It's a nod to their birthdays, a chance to eat and drink all those things mom thinks are horrible. And of course, the kids expect that kind of food. It's a redux of the Richard Scarry book I read the kids <span style="font-style: italic;">ad nauseum</span> when they were little: "This is <span style="font-style: italic;">party</span> food Huckle! I asked for oranges, not orange soda!"<br /><br />The birthdays are one part of the equation, of course. Another is the end of the quarter. My final is written and printed up, looking so lovely with its blanks and perfectly smooth pages. After tomorrow morning, these finals will be marked up with the agonized, half-recalled rememberings of my poor tired students. But at least I'll be in the home stretch. Just need to grade them, plug in the final scores and give them their quarter grades. Before Sunday...<br /><br />The final part of my tumultuous June is of course my annual trip up to Alaska. I've already written about this a lot, no point in flogging a dead horse, but regardless of that, departure is imminent and preparations are being made, at least in my head. All the lists are clogging up my poor head, actually, making it very hard to attend to the birthdays and the French class with my full and undivided attention. Among all the stuff banging around in my noggin':<br /><br />--Which books to bring? I already picked up a lot of mystery novels at the used book store, although I've also already read two of them. Hmmm, so I am culling books from shelves that I haven't visited in a long time. Among the books I've settled on: "East of Eden" by Steinbeck (just reading the opening chapter makes me want to crawl into the book) and "L'Assomoir" by Zola. With those two big books and my remaining mysteries, I think I'll be set.<br /><br />--What to knit? I haven't knit anything more interesting than dishcloths in months. I've been in a sort of knitting desert, actually. Today I went to the yarn store and found some really lovely sock yarn that makes crazy striping (therefore not boring). Socks are the perfect thing to knit on the plane. The needles aren't so big as to excite the TSA agents and the bag of yarn is small enough to stash in my carry-on and to sit on my lap. I started my first sock this afternoon. Having to focus on remembering how to start a sock (it's been a while) and then watching the color change as I made round after round reminded me of why it is a good thing to knit. I relaxed, my mind wandered, I finally fell asleep and had a much needed nap.<br /><br />--What to bring? To bring the computer or not. I haven't decided on that one. I like the idea of being in email contact, but then again, the internet connection up there is horribly weak at its best. And somehow, being sleep-deprived makes me very uninterested in what's happening in the "outside" world. I bought a real, lined, paper journal yesterday, the beginnings of a novel banging around my head and making me think this might be the time to start plunking down ideas. The same sleep-deprivation that keeps me from being interested in the outside world makes for some very interesting revelations or observations about life there. It's a kernel of a possibility, probably nothing, but maybe I'll go old-fashioned and leave the computer at home. I have a phone in my office anyway, right?<br /><br />--How many vegetables can I cram into my stomach before I head up north? I'm trying my best tonight, this night between baked potatoes and gigantic pizza. We're having a kale salad and a ravioli dish with cilantro pesto. And some sweet peas a friend so generously brought over, and heck, maybe even a spinach/lettuce salad to really celebrate the beginning of vegetable season and the end of my time with it for 6 weeks.<br /><br />Maybe another post or two between now and Sunday, and then this blog will take a little vacation until I come home.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-3012858592498251492011-06-12T18:37:00.000-07:002011-06-12T18:40:37.346-07:00Something New in My Vegetable World<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmqqIod4fB11C_bm2j7-Wj47FYM8dU54D2N535OZSZMPfQBJKYacK3udL4-usIMS3OB8YDojO3YCp4gjlERqJMl-Klrn6DT4hnuL0hPqglhgSc_L1fJjgvSmv1GdBX8ZaLWVYgXo6tTI/s1600/CIMG0591.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmqqIod4fB11C_bm2j7-Wj47FYM8dU54D2N535OZSZMPfQBJKYacK3udL4-usIMS3OB8YDojO3YCp4gjlERqJMl-Klrn6DT4hnuL0hPqglhgSc_L1fJjgvSmv1GdBX8ZaLWVYgXo6tTI/s320/CIMG0591.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617512875583393586" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Garlic scapes--long, curly, green with a bulbous head. Sauteed in olive oil, seasoned with a little salt and pepper. My new obsession.<br /><br />Too bad they only stick around the markets for the month of June.<br /></span></div>Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-58955054548922577492011-06-08T11:43:00.000-07:002011-06-08T12:07:50.301-07:00Rainy Day... AgainI have been steadily plowing my way through writing the final exam for my French class. Steadily, but slowly. Today is easier than it was earlier in the week, as it is yet again raining and cool. Nothing like the sharp contrast between warm, sunny days, when all you want to do is be outside, letting the sun and the warmth soak into your skin, and rainy, cool days, when I come home from class, put on wool socks and a sweatshirt and brew up a strong cup of coffee for a day of indoor work. Even chores like cleaning the coop (which has been postponed due to rain) or weeding or hanging up laundry (the latter of which is actually one of my most favorite things to do, not really a chore) are enjoyable if the weather cooperates. Writing a final exam? Not exactly enjoyable, whatever the weather, but certainly easier to stomach when it's gloomy outside. The inside is just that much more cozy; the blanket on my lap accompanies me from desk to recliner to kitchen table; another cup of coffee brews.<br /><br />However, the weather aside, I am still resisting getting the dang exam written in one fell swoop (as they say of knocking off dragons or giants). In fact, I hate to admit it but I am already raiding my summer Alaska reading pile, which means I will have to make another trip to the used bookstore soon.<br /><br />In my ridiculously long career as a student, I developed a pavlovian response to the end of the quarter or semester that persists even now that I am the teacher. I run for the mystery section and thoroughly inhale as many novels as I can. But they have to be of a certain kind. I can't stand the gore, the twisted psychological stuff, the violence, the clinical breaking down of how the bullet entered x, y, or z. Rather, I am a fan of Agatha Christie, Margery Allingham, Ngaio Marsh, historical mysteries set in the Middle Ages, and generally anything that provides twists and turns and clever dialogue without making me think too hard about the fact that I'm reading about someone being killed. It's the search, the puzzle, the atmosphere that I like.<br /><br />To that end, over my lunch break of left-over-yet-again enchiladas, I started another book off my Alaska pile: "The Veiled One" by Ruth Rendell. This is exciting for me because I haven't actually read that much Rendell. So far, though, it looks promising. Which means that I can go back to the bookstore and clean off the shelf where many of her books currently reside.<br /><br />Here is the first paragraph of the book. I don't normally want to share the silly reading I'm doing, but you have to think about the comforting lunch, the rain falling outside, the exam about one quarter finished, classical music on the radio, kids at school. All come together to make a most wonderful experience.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The woman was lying dead on the floor when he came in. She was already dead and covered up from head to toe but Wexford only knew that afterwards, not at the time. He looked back and realized the chances he had missed but it was useless doing that--he hadn't known and that was all. He had been preoccupied, thinking of an assortment of things: his wife's birthday present that was in the bag he carried, modern architecture, yesterday's gale which had blown down his garden fence, this car park that he was entering from the descending lift.<br /><br /></span>And thus begins the tug of war this afternoon: write a little of the exam, read a little of the book. Maybe get to the store so I can feed the kids this afternoon<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>. </span></span></span>Maybe get that laundry into the dryer (since it is raining, right?). Maybe make some cookies because what goes better with writing an exam, reading a mystery novel, and a rainy afternoon?Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-69134013683251453152011-06-03T10:37:00.000-07:002011-06-03T10:45:38.777-07:00Farmer's Market<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyCp6A3NGUQ7rVySxuUBKAbT28zrjCX_dqucKXff2vnSQdYlQPhomJSzcaZeDc1hdgFnkIRw-YrGQsQ-xf1zhMzCe18iDlH85GUoYTFrmaQYSSbX1fkRSR-XDIb41CQcFfwbQNK5G0sc/s1600/CIMG0588.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyCp6A3NGUQ7rVySxuUBKAbT28zrjCX_dqucKXff2vnSQdYlQPhomJSzcaZeDc1hdgFnkIRw-YrGQsQ-xf1zhMzCe18iDlH85GUoYTFrmaQYSSbX1fkRSR-XDIb41CQcFfwbQNK5G0sc/s320/CIMG0588.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614050336396885826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">There is much more market behind me and to the sides--I'm shy with the camera and didn't want to freak anyone out with my picture-taking.<br /><br /></span></div>A gigantic panic attack broadsided me this morning when, in a phone conversation with a friend, I realized that I am leaving for Alaska two weeks from this coming Sunday.<br /><br />The remedy for a panic attack? Hop on the bike and head out to the 2011 Opening Day of our Farmer's Market. Came home with potted chives and mint (the chickens decimated my mint this year), fresh garlic, mustard greens, itty bitty salad onions, cilantro (to make cilantro pesto!), and sugar snap peas. Asparagus and strawberries abounded, but as I have both at home right now, and Dave is gone and the kids don't like asparagus that much... I had to pass.<br /><br />Now I've got to work on breathing to take the edge off of the omnipresent panic, saute up some mustard greens and asparagus, and start tackling the gigantic "to-do" list.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-28661568815116235342011-05-29T15:25:00.001-07:002011-05-29T15:26:44.077-07:00I'll Just Have Dessert for Dinner<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_FBtyJmsXGldpqUeMUhSE76W_8jVHvtFHUKk1REd9L_3Q4FISTOuK8G3QbielP2Dwe6gOIxKBLQm5dakXQLYwhJ3WvIyHzM1PqGvDe4PO_V4arNNpMs2EBNjbpHeOtJKm7sm8G4iHlvk/s1600/CIMG0583.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_FBtyJmsXGldpqUeMUhSE76W_8jVHvtFHUKk1REd9L_3Q4FISTOuK8G3QbielP2Dwe6gOIxKBLQm5dakXQLYwhJ3WvIyHzM1PqGvDe4PO_V4arNNpMs2EBNjbpHeOtJKm7sm8G4iHlvk/s320/CIMG0583.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612268004746280802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Rustic Rhubarb Tarts and an Apple Pie</span><br /></div>Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-91785544922188226992011-05-29T12:18:00.000-07:002011-05-29T12:24:35.816-07:00And a Sunday River Visit, Too<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIbjqHIYpMqhpiZLYR3rDNewPK0XmtXQFoebH74gOiDFYGW4n9mfu9h-wiyM-Y7KOs432vS8JRcN2cBbw8968rMCdvHUZFBDZFcuB9LpUfxmTyqFFC9AiWzIzyhLX-tBS08zPasnMKu0/s1600/CIMG0570.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIbjqHIYpMqhpiZLYR3rDNewPK0XmtXQFoebH74gOiDFYGW4n9mfu9h-wiyM-Y7KOs432vS8JRcN2cBbw8968rMCdvHUZFBDZFcuB9LpUfxmTyqFFC9AiWzIzyhLX-tBS08zPasnMKu0/s320/CIMG0570.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612220922311669394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggqkwwuuXXMe5XX4TtTaoUbKFD2Yw-43isN_FhGQLPc7WMLWxg2O7cEFbWJ0kM-i1F3z92YqEcfjbfSLRyqNYQrvPqLgICkpupujNsNrbthDffRpeRtQKP1hv-Aa66hDyVKZLdBPn8YV0/s1600/CIMG0564.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggqkwwuuXXMe5XX4TtTaoUbKFD2Yw-43isN_FhGQLPc7WMLWxg2O7cEFbWJ0kM-i1F3z92YqEcfjbfSLRyqNYQrvPqLgICkpupujNsNrbthDffRpeRtQKP1hv-Aa66hDyVKZLdBPn8YV0/s320/CIMG0564.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612220688931918386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1w8zvay-totsWYGal4_5Y0EWFZu3hQQ5yfbd8NkS08KW9QeUd7EBEE-vz1S9HGEqoubcgMrax69njg_kN30IAjXxi19kaXTaJurQCNBCV0EoAMcfUciRH81SnwqDz-I_xu7aHpe8SwhM/s1600/CIMG0569.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1w8zvay-totsWYGal4_5Y0EWFZu3hQQ5yfbd8NkS08KW9QeUd7EBEE-vz1S9HGEqoubcgMrax69njg_kN30IAjXxi19kaXTaJurQCNBCV0EoAMcfUciRH81SnwqDz-I_xu7aHpe8SwhM/s320/CIMG0569.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612220504221522994" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYwoMlHpeVN4T-g8sZPe_y54hIVBQWnI0HlpWsv0yBtDM9twm-dQdOOKevConcKrQDxYDY3ZLTLM3oCgZJQRUseTLaYuHsjqtcV0QO__JE5nwoRQD5QsfxP0hkhcfnPahHfuHJXUJw2E/s1600/CIMG0566.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYwoMlHpeVN4T-g8sZPe_y54hIVBQWnI0HlpWsv0yBtDM9twm-dQdOOKevConcKrQDxYDY3ZLTLM3oCgZJQRUseTLaYuHsjqtcV0QO__JE5nwoRQD5QsfxP0hkhcfnPahHfuHJXUJw2E/s320/CIMG0566.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612220288710880306" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr3VlSufxOahvvRF4RcCJRuyTNMRY20rb1ZLm1ZPYV8c7uqnL2w8a7cpxvxrEcs7OLxprxiaJAFNXL3-wR3ibY7naobMVHh5NzuL2ELift259qiV50q-JPTrGJ14Ttuw8LUhXLnZuLDwE/s1600/CIMG0577.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr3VlSufxOahvvRF4RcCJRuyTNMRY20rb1ZLm1ZPYV8c7uqnL2w8a7cpxvxrEcs7OLxprxiaJAFNXL3-wR3ibY7naobMVHh5NzuL2ELift259qiV50q-JPTrGJ14Ttuw8LUhXLnZuLDwE/s320/CIMG0577.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612220036664478274" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig19hCnewjQaD-dET3pJYqQNihbppRySYFo5DEvLGHpTZR3uxxKBXfqrQibpC5cexUf0dxi_gFdoZqPozVVao3DWYRK5Xc_FpHy9KPhKb4le3ojMFXyRUSTavvxhOYl7Aq4VYrBFir8po/s1600/CIMG0581.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig19hCnewjQaD-dET3pJYqQNihbppRySYFo5DEvLGHpTZR3uxxKBXfqrQibpC5cexUf0dxi_gFdoZqPozVVao3DWYRK5Xc_FpHy9KPhKb4le3ojMFXyRUSTavvxhOYl7Aq4VYrBFir8po/s320/CIMG0581.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612219912514610418" border="0" /></a>Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-39242251297990056822011-05-28T14:57:00.000-07:002011-05-28T15:09:42.802-07:00Saturday Walk Along a Swollen River<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHaNgxjAWqEl_y1Kqb5kdElOTuXUfWtwLMvmSJz0ppK78M0-nWRfe6l0S6vMHsyxPjobt0qOBVOSmrxJWm8MLg3N3gQ2d7CtKVVhUShXJsouEKzy1kDfR7eo92y2G7YThP1MLAh4tqiz4/s1600/CIMG0547.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHaNgxjAWqEl_y1Kqb5kdElOTuXUfWtwLMvmSJz0ppK78M0-nWRfe6l0S6vMHsyxPjobt0qOBVOSmrxJWm8MLg3N3gQ2d7CtKVVhUShXJsouEKzy1kDfR7eo92y2G7YThP1MLAh4tqiz4/s320/CIMG0547.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611890653061331010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The park north of our house. There is a cement retaining wall that separates the swimming area of the river from a sidewalk and the benches. It's completely under water now.<br /><br /></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcVE65duWs4YOmxLBByV9KWIdky_K-r4fWDNPJv14wOm-bp181jaQAbFPRCK9nyuVoYFu6DOpGLtwqkdybbAJ7_JVOsmpV6Xs3qMH1y8i72NfcJumCDH_meog5C3GQ5cScaosGj2X-86o/s1600/CIMG0548.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcVE65duWs4YOmxLBByV9KWIdky_K-r4fWDNPJv14wOm-bp181jaQAbFPRCK9nyuVoYFu6DOpGLtwqkdybbAJ7_JVOsmpV6Xs3qMH1y8i72NfcJumCDH_meog5C3GQ5cScaosGj2X-86o/s320/CIMG0548.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611892101775053778" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEnWh9MGjsV5nYJ_KBE1bAGF-yMv3hIiDaw2mhLFkAdkqgiZP95nD4gylFcg-zLf6Q4iQKnDDXsBC-Rgh8-kFmm6sHWXACxU2CLU5CA7k3fTlRg9s0c_QptHM__SV-lPsc4PBEWBgk7A/s1600/CIMG0550.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEnWh9MGjsV5nYJ_KBE1bAGF-yMv3hIiDaw2mhLFkAdkqgiZP95nD4gylFcg-zLf6Q4iQKnDDXsBC-Rgh8-kFmm6sHWXACxU2CLU5CA7k3fTlRg9s0c_QptHM__SV-lPsc4PBEWBgk7A/s320/CIMG0550.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611890436525691442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The water in the foreground in the picture above, and seen below, is completely covering the walking path. Some tufts of trees are visible in the middle, with the river and the top of the island in the background on the photo above.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8OCy1sQVXOrH-c2o7Qw1tTjduk3tKutlEffzWvVIPMCEEDAJSVc9ys-PlM5kdSx_63tSB1o5fvYU4rrrJ1LBpFVr_-UKCAorOfLLGmtV_Dc4PFy6CC3uGUoz6lUi8V1Kvt5zr_xEXw8/s1600/CIMG0549.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8OCy1sQVXOrH-c2o7Qw1tTjduk3tKutlEffzWvVIPMCEEDAJSVc9ys-PlM5kdSx_63tSB1o5fvYU4rrrJ1LBpFVr_-UKCAorOfLLGmtV_Dc4PFy6CC3uGUoz6lUi8V1Kvt5zr_xEXw8/s320/CIMG0549.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611890271809919618" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">We expected to see fish in the water, too, but only ducks and seagulls on the path. The bike path is on the right of the picture.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk-k9u8n6LrzFBLsvDazQIb1Tfc5oMgCNXGpxaj1wKI26pXUGK88UdlK7eOKsXzgG4iBaz4nAXSSt-zMN_5r7LI9YoUKiyaGYxTe5lnE93XG_QBzcpMCgGcedG1Ium-kygKTNWCk3Lh5g/s1600/CIMG0554.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk-k9u8n6LrzFBLsvDazQIb1Tfc5oMgCNXGpxaj1wKI26pXUGK88UdlK7eOKsXzgG4iBaz4nAXSSt-zMN_5r7LI9YoUKiyaGYxTe5lnE93XG_QBzcpMCgGcedG1Ium-kygKTNWCk3Lh5g/s320/CIMG0554.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611890114985694290" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A coyote across the river on the island. There was a small group of deer moving along the island behind him but he had eyes only for the swiftly moving water and us, on the other side of it.<br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR_jL973mg1QWJhNCsiwaZDGsjf76LhIgEa5kKgXnNRX4hew0uJNK6AN1B_muPI3Y4h-KpYEEyd4y_bJ58nyemOVEghhh5QuEFyw9UA7Ql7n6nRtiJJ-JsWinhYtG5jZmT21p9IO47Amg/s1600/CIMG0548.JPG"><br /></a>Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-38010521707846224402011-05-27T20:59:00.000-07:002011-05-27T21:07:01.029-07:00For All That He's a Pre-teen...he's still my baby.<br /><br />A text message conversation with him, while he was at a friend's baseball game:<br /><br />S: Spent all yor money mom... hot dog, corn nuts (tooth fell out), sno cone, seeds, and a bottle of water. Luv u<br /><br />Me: Good boy! I love you too. Are you having fun? How's L's team doing?<br /><br />S: There loseing by 1... Im having fun...<br /><br />Me: It's losing, the e drops out with the suffix. Big kisses, glad you're having fun. Xoxo<br /><br />S: Who cares mom, loseing losing same thing<br /><br />Me: The Harvard application committee will care and so do I.<br /><br />S: Ok wot ever... Luv u lots lol jk idk I luvz u mom xoxoxo<br /><br />Me: U r fun E<br /><br />S: Ur not good a thes im beter I hav pratice<br /><br />Me: Freak.<br /><br />S: I no id is 1<br /><br />Me: Shut up and watch the game, goober.<br /><br />S: L lost<br /><br />Me: Big bummer. Sorry for him. Coming to get jammies? And a good night kiss?<br /><br />S: And brush my teeth ok see u soonKitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-73406846093422993522011-05-25T17:30:00.000-07:002011-05-25T18:17:50.352-07:00Coyotes in CitiesOn my way to the college this morning I narrowly missed hitting an already-dead coyote on the on-ramp. This particular ramp is close to an expanse of land that ties into the Yakima River Delta, a wild-ish area dense with trees, sagebrush, tall grasses, marshy parts with cat-o-nine-tails, and populated by otters, beavers, pelicans, herons, ducks, deer, all manner of birds, mice, marmots, ticks [shudder], and millions of other little critters. It's an amazing area, full of life, incredible smells, textures, sounds, all nestled between two freeways and poised at the confluence of the Yakima and Columbia rivers.<br /><br />It's also a perfect example of the modern collision of cities and the "wild". Racing to school, thinking about the rushed morning rituals of showering, making breakfasts and lunches, squeezing in a little time to drink coffee over the paper, I glanced over and saw this beautiful, very dead coyote, and felt a huge thump down in my chest. Coyotes are generally vilified around here--where aren't they, anymore?--but they are still sentient beings with the same basic needs as us humans. Why the coyote was on the freeway is anybody's guess but it's to be expected. Nowadays there are constantly stories in the news about black bears, brown bears, snakes, wolves, deer--you can fill in the blank with any number of wild animals--coming into backyards and creating havoc. The stories mostly end badly for the animal. Heck, even here a cow can constitute a "threat."<br /><br />A story ran in the local paper last week about an 8 month old bull-calf who escaped his confines and then, when chased by many different people in the middle of some businesses, was shot. Honestly, a calf? He was scared and running wild and confronted with modern life--cars, people, sidewalks, glass. How could he <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>not</span> to react and become aggressive, anything to get back to the safety of his field?<br /><br />Ever since seeing that beautiful shaggy-coated coyote, dead on the freeway, I've been assailed by (or maybe just more open to seeing) these kinds of contradictions. Modern society and nature. It's an old saw, beaten to death in any number of books, both pro- and anti-nature, or pro- and anti-progress. We want our parks but don't want the rattlesnakes, squeezed out of their habitat, to show up in our playgrounds. We want our river front homes but not the really loud, messy seagulls who congregate there. We want to look at Bambi but we don't want Bambi eating our non-native, expensive, and carefully-cultivated plants.<br /><br />This is not a touchy-feely anti-hunting, tree-hugging sort of post, here. I'm all for hunting for food. I wish more people did it and really <span style="font-style: italic;">knew</span> where that meat they eat comes from. Or that more people tried to grow their own food and realized that there are plenty of critters out there who also want to eat, maybe even your plants.<br /><br />No, this is about the inherent contradiction that we live with every day in our modern society. We want great big houses and vast expanses of beautifully tended lawns. We want our nature tame and somewhere else. Maybe in a zoo or something. But not in our backyards. We don't even know how to live anymore in balance with nature. Much better to kill off the scary spider than recognize the good it does in keeping down the insect population. Much better to kill off the brown bear or moose that accidentally stumbles into your yard, when you live smack dab in the middle of a place where you wouldn't even survive without the modern wonders of cargo planes and barges bringing necessary items into the "wild" so you can pretend to be some kind of modern pioneer.<br /><br />I live in an area that wouldn't even work without the dams that line the Columbia from one end to the other. Without irrigation we wouldn't have agribusiness pumping money into our community. I'm grateful for that, truly; I love where I live. But how can I reconcile the loss of nature at the expense of progress? How can I even try? I don't want to go back to beating laundry on the rocks and growing corn just to keep my chickens going. I do, however, want to figure out how to live a balanced life where wild animals (and a bull-calf) are not seen as the enemy.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-16370214292126522122011-05-23T13:49:00.000-07:002011-05-23T14:10:26.714-07:00Corraling the Girls<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNkNcJmKApDBqkYwt7lKQKlaiPDA6h3hBN28iwZ9nM0d3qzoKQLW2CkqiPiM6De4N9O_Nl7a8GgVI6xE0-uwYDRTV5vGUI54X9V6Ad_xUk6sjx2N2srynAauo8ai5Maj0r1ngBD25uxfs/s1600/CIMG0542.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNkNcJmKApDBqkYwt7lKQKlaiPDA6h3hBN28iwZ9nM0d3qzoKQLW2CkqiPiM6De4N9O_Nl7a8GgVI6xE0-uwYDRTV5vGUI54X9V6Ad_xUk6sjx2N2srynAauo8ai5Maj0r1ngBD25uxfs/s320/CIMG0542.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610021568326340082" border="0" /></a><br />We have finally reached a compromise in the on-going chicken war. Okay, "war" might be exaggerating the situation a little, but sometimes it has felt like a constant siege of free-ranging, free-pooping chickens on the one hand and the irritated complaints of 3/4s of my household who like running in the yard barefoot or more strangely, stepping out onto the deck without going on land-mine watch.<br /><br />I've been siding with the chickens. I like watching them out the back window as I do dishes or sit at the table with my coffee. I like how big and orange my eggs are, I like how healthy and happy the girls seem to be, free to run around, flip in the dirt, or doze in little spots of shade. And isn't chicken poop excellent fertilizer? Yes. However, as it keeps trying to move into summer here I'm finding that maybe there might be a grain of sanity in wanting to be able to sit out on the deck without tiptoeing around poop or having to kick chickens away from my lunch.<br /><br />Like the good married couple we are, my husband and I finally reached a compromise which should satisfy all involved (well, maybe not the chickens, whose freedom has been severely curtailed, but oh well). And like all of our projects, it's a little funky, our solution. <span style="font-style: italic;">Better Homes & Gardens</span> is certainly not going to be knocking on my door anytime soon to do a spread on us. It works, though, and I should finally be able to get some flowers in planters and herbs in the raised bed without fear of them being demolished by the girls.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUMUYNqSSFiHup1UrNjFTeycDVmBq6hYUn6MGvV0O8ndBJK2uD3vyuDIJLMBL5kBkXPFbwABXWRXejqS86ql-epMbfia73UuUA7V6QbcQbkaFUm-vT1SRjwMPe9PKnQfniwRfUfd8t4U/s1600/CIMG0543.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUMUYNqSSFiHup1UrNjFTeycDVmBq6hYUn6MGvV0O8ndBJK2uD3vyuDIJLMBL5kBkXPFbwABXWRXejqS86ql-epMbfia73UuUA7V6QbcQbkaFUm-vT1SRjwMPe9PKnQfniwRfUfd8t4U/s320/CIMG0543.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610021718986597330" border="0" /></a>Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-53646526169702517682011-05-21T11:08:00.000-07:002011-05-21T11:11:01.295-07:00Spiders<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5a8SquVc1WoRTHUpr_1Hj1Dm3EZ2rga46YeDm1EyyoFbIlxt8lNItoigJsqG5Sa3v4MtV4Pq4TggeiRmBiotHC3fNl79AmNxAIy3JgbMpS4uxv4CuUVqERJJwW0nV10vnhAVlofMXhuM/s1600/CIMG0539.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5a8SquVc1WoRTHUpr_1Hj1Dm3EZ2rga46YeDm1EyyoFbIlxt8lNItoigJsqG5Sa3v4MtV4Pq4TggeiRmBiotHC3fNl79AmNxAIy3JgbMpS4uxv4CuUVqERJJwW0nV10vnhAVlofMXhuM/s320/CIMG0539.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609233219884170034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Millions of little spiders about to be relocated as we work on keeping the chickens off the deck.<br /></span></div>Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-51881998308833015392011-05-19T09:22:00.000-07:002011-05-19T09:27:08.314-07:00Countdown 2011Nah, not for May 21.<br /><br />However, June 19 is now just one month away. I have one month left in which to cram in:<br /><br />--the last weeks of French 123, including a final exam on June 15;<br />--a baseball tournament in which the games appear (based on the first scheduled one) to be happening at the unreasonably late hour of 7:30 on a school night;<br />--nine days of Dave being gone for AP History grading, conveniently scheduled to coincide with the aforementioned baseball tournament;<br />--two kids' birthdays;<br />--as much sun, good food, and "leisure" as possible.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-55967656269477514422011-05-18T14:47:00.001-07:002011-05-18T15:04:45.464-07:00Calming the Monkeys<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.honoluluzoo.org/images/monkey_swinging.gif"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 453px; height: 351px;" src="http://www.honoluluzoo.org/images/monkey_swinging.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />It's one of those days where I really don't have an overwhelming amount of work to do--just the regular chores--but I am still feeling oppressed by the chattering, cavorting, disruptive monkeys banging around in my head. My thoughts keep jumping from one worry to another, from one chore or task still undone to another, and they stop only long enough for me to get a vague sense of an unidentifiable emotion. So I have all this noise in my head, my emotions are being tugged back and forth from one extreme to the other, and I can't seem to slow it down right now.<br /><br />What I'd like to do is put all of the monkeys aside and curl up with a good book or with my banjo. Neither is going to happen.<br /><br />Instead, I need to once again remind myself to breathe. This influx of oxygen seems to quiet the monkeys a bit. Maybe if I just keep remembering to focus on one breath at a time, the monkeys will go somewhere else and I'll be able to concentrate fully on the remaining tasks of the day.<br /><br />Maybe?<br /><img src="file:///C:/Users/Member/AppData/Local/Temp/moz-screenshot.png" alt="" />Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-29787993062573779502011-05-16T18:44:00.000-07:002011-05-16T18:45:35.818-07:00"Down in the Willow Gardens"Gah, the act of filming <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_B1e4PysLZ0">oneself playing the banjo</a> is truly a humbling experience.Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803654708461084665.post-63950367921596979732011-05-16T12:46:00.000-07:002011-05-16T12:50:08.483-07:00Spring? Really?I refuse to complain about our spring.<br /><br />Just want to say that by now I'd be juggling sunblock and sun hats and struggling to keep the grass from drying out too quickly between waterings.<br /><br />So, instead of complaining, I will just share my menu for the day:<br /><br />Garlicky Lentils and Greens Soup<br />Rye Soda Bread<br />Salad<br />Peanut Butter-Chocolate Chip cookies<br /><br />Because, of course, rainy, stormy, hailing, thundering, windy, cold weather in mid-<span style="font-style: italic;">May</span> calls for wintery food, no?Kitchen Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02669552993125531402noreply@blogger.com0