I got it in my head today that I needed to make a pound cake. So I pulled out a couple cookbooks and spent a couple hours trying to choose one. Of course, me being me, I couldn't just pick a recipe and run with it. No, that might be too straightforward, too results-guaranteed. So I picked two to combine - one a chocolate pound cake with chocolate glaze and the other a buttermilk almond variety. The result is in the oven as I type this. If it works, I'll post the recipe. It smells delicious so I've got some high hopes that it will one fantastic cake.
Yesterday was my last day of work. I am now officially either 1) on maternity leave or 2) unemployed, depending upon how you look at these things. I am planning a three month period of not formally working, but things being what they are these days one never knows so I'm putting together a plan of action to be executed over those three months to keep as many options as possible wide open. I'm looking to send cards and e-mails to keep in touch with contacts, finishing a book proposal, possibly applying for that job at the University (haven't quite decided on that one yet), and writing a business plan for my latest Big Idea. None of this may stick, of course, but at least I'll give myself some comfort knowing that I'm keeping active in pursuit of my goals.
I'm reading Madeline Albrights autobiography Madame Secretary and am finding it - and her - really amazing. I'm about half way through and am utterly astonished at her accomplishments, good humor, perserverance and all around capabilities. Not only am I getting a better understanding of world events that shaped the end of the last century, but I am in awe of her as a woman and a person. Even if you don't necessarily agree with her politics (let alone those of the administration she served) I heartily recommend her book. Truly amazing.
Today I did what women since time immemorial have done when faced with the realization that they are rapidly losing control of their lives.
I made fudge.
Seriously, is there anything more soothing than stirring melting chocolate smooth and blending in creamy condensed milk to create an entirely new confection? I'm tempted to make a metaphor relating to the creation of a child - an utterly different creature yet retaining characteristics of its parents - but I won't. It's enough that I was able to drown my angst in the mechanics of the process and now I will be rewarded with after dinner chocolates. I have made the fancy-pants kind of fudge requiring candy thermometers, corn syrup, and dip-into-capital chocolate and, as good as they are, they lack that kind of Wow! Look What I Made wonder that comes from making candy in under 15 minutes that's the backbone of producing fudge as a response to chaos. Plus, it helped me feel better about crapping out on last night's dinner. Absolution of guilt through chocolate - more fattening than confession, but more satisfying, too.
The current chaos level of my household derives from the three days of snow emergency inflicted upon most of the east coast. Tomorrow will be the third consecutive day that preschool is closed and we are all going a little bit nuts here. It's mostly ice and sleet outside, so burning off steam outside is not a possibility and we've run through my box of rainy day crafts. And funny how the Boy Wonder doesn't feel that organizing his race cars by color is an entertaining activity. Luckily we've avoided the tyranny of the television and have managed to stick to our guns regarding one video per day.
Add to this that I have three days left on my contract and am gamely trying to wrap up the actual work while producing a project summary for the files. Plus, the local paper happened to run a want ad for the University that more or less screamed, "Marsha - apply for this - we want you!" so I'm trying to weigh whether or not I want a real job. I haven't had one in almost three years and self-employment has a lot to recommend it. There are definite advantages to standard employment, though, and I'm trying to gauge how ready I am (if at all) to re-enter that world. Of course, this is all useless worry. It's entirely likely that they will have zero interest in me and so my thinking and rethinking will be for naught but in the meantime I'm putting lots of thought into my resume and application forms (since it's a state position there are - count 'em! - seven separate forms, most of which are repetitive in some way).
Then there is the matter of the continuing state of my pregnancy. The baby is not "late" yet, and I really need a couple more days to complete some work and house stuff, but I am so over this. I read somewhere that the first time one is pregnant you feel like you invented the process and every subsequent pregnancy becomes less and less magical. This has been true for me but I am assured that the joy of bringing your baby home never diminishes and it is this that I am focused on. I want to meet my daughter, bring her home and start our lives together. I've got a lot to teach her - like how to make fudge, for instance.
I made fudge.
Seriously, is there anything more soothing than stirring melting chocolate smooth and blending in creamy condensed milk to create an entirely new confection? I'm tempted to make a metaphor relating to the creation of a child - an utterly different creature yet retaining characteristics of its parents - but I won't. It's enough that I was able to drown my angst in the mechanics of the process and now I will be rewarded with after dinner chocolates. I have made the fancy-pants kind of fudge requiring candy thermometers, corn syrup, and dip-into-capital chocolate and, as good as they are, they lack that kind of Wow! Look What I Made wonder that comes from making candy in under 15 minutes that's the backbone of producing fudge as a response to chaos. Plus, it helped me feel better about crapping out on last night's dinner. Absolution of guilt through chocolate - more fattening than confession, but more satisfying, too.
The current chaos level of my household derives from the three days of snow emergency inflicted upon most of the east coast. Tomorrow will be the third consecutive day that preschool is closed and we are all going a little bit nuts here. It's mostly ice and sleet outside, so burning off steam outside is not a possibility and we've run through my box of rainy day crafts. And funny how the Boy Wonder doesn't feel that organizing his race cars by color is an entertaining activity. Luckily we've avoided the tyranny of the television and have managed to stick to our guns regarding one video per day.
Add to this that I have three days left on my contract and am gamely trying to wrap up the actual work while producing a project summary for the files. Plus, the local paper happened to run a want ad for the University that more or less screamed, "Marsha - apply for this - we want you!" so I'm trying to weigh whether or not I want a real job. I haven't had one in almost three years and self-employment has a lot to recommend it. There are definite advantages to standard employment, though, and I'm trying to gauge how ready I am (if at all) to re-enter that world. Of course, this is all useless worry. It's entirely likely that they will have zero interest in me and so my thinking and rethinking will be for naught but in the meantime I'm putting lots of thought into my resume and application forms (since it's a state position there are - count 'em! - seven separate forms, most of which are repetitive in some way).
Then there is the matter of the continuing state of my pregnancy. The baby is not "late" yet, and I really need a couple more days to complete some work and house stuff, but I am so over this. I read somewhere that the first time one is pregnant you feel like you invented the process and every subsequent pregnancy becomes less and less magical. This has been true for me but I am assured that the joy of bringing your baby home never diminishes and it is this that I am focused on. I want to meet my daughter, bring her home and start our lives together. I've got a lot to teach her - like how to make fudge, for instance.
I just got off the phone with my husband, asking him to pick up one of those rotisseri chicken meals on the way home. I'm feeling quite out of it today and figured that, since he had to be out and about anyway (UVA is one of the only schools or offices open during the current ice storm) he may as well procure some dinner. Otherwise it's soup and biscuits (that he'll have to make himself). Luckily, one of our local markets has a chicken dinner package that includes a couple sides and some bread. Dinner is served.
We're much better off than most during this storm, but things are still pretty darn cold and icy here. Preschool was closed today and will be again tomorrow and I'm reminded of how blessed I am that I work at home and have some level of flexibility to roll with these punches. The house is getting pretty cold, though, since I don't really have many skills in the fire-building department and our heat pump is broken. Crappy timing, but there you have it. My husband the former Boy Scout is the official "Combustion Event Engineer" in the household and, although I was a Camp Fire Girl for many years we never actually got around to making campfires (although I got a nifty bead for making a nightgown). To cope I've left the Boy in his footie pajamas and am making batch after batch of muffins just to keep the oven on. brrrrr!
We're much better off than most during this storm, but things are still pretty darn cold and icy here. Preschool was closed today and will be again tomorrow and I'm reminded of how blessed I am that I work at home and have some level of flexibility to roll with these punches. The house is getting pretty cold, though, since I don't really have many skills in the fire-building department and our heat pump is broken. Crappy timing, but there you have it. My husband the former Boy Scout is the official "Combustion Event Engineer" in the household and, although I was a Camp Fire Girl for many years we never actually got around to making campfires (although I got a nifty bead for making a nightgown). To cope I've left the Boy in his footie pajamas and am making batch after batch of muffins just to keep the oven on. brrrrr!
Many thanks to Rayne, who pointed out that my comments weren't working. I've replaced them now with a new source so things should be put to rights, comments-wise.
My de-acquisition mode continues to gain momentum. I've been gathering bag after bag of items to give away, donate or sell and cannot believe 1) how much stuff I'm finding that either never should have moved with us or I'd forgotten about entirely or 2) how much stuff is still left. It's like taking water from the ocean a cup at a time. How on earth did we manage to collect so much? Well, a couple words come to mind (luck and privilege, for starters) but I think my overall tendancy toward saving for "what if?" may have put us over the edge. A lot of what we're getting rid of now is from the "baby boy" category and, since I will deliver any day now the girl who will be our last child, I feel we can release the boy stuff we saved from when our first was new. Now, don't get excited - I'm not talking about the blue rompers or whatever. I have no problem putting a baby girl in blue, but I'd rather not put her in the snap-tee that has snakes and snails on it, you know? I'm a modern woman, but that only takes me so far.
I'm also getting rid of (finally!) bridesmaid's dresses that (surprise!) I never wore after the weddings. Actually, the most expensive of these dresses (nearly $500) was worn the last time I ever saw or spoke to the bride (she didn't like that I had bought her present off the registry and cut off our friendship- strange how you can think you're so close to someone and then they sock you, eh?) so I have zero emotional attachment to it. Most of the maternity clothes - out. Mismatched towels from college days - out. Pots and pans saved in case we ever go camping (yeah, right) - out. Videos that haven't been watched in years - out. It's all going in the hopes that the universe will lead it to others who need it more than I (or at least have more storage space).
There's some stuff I'm simply not ready to get rid of. My softball trophies, for instance. It's not that they're important in the day-to-day sense (since I rarely think of them, let alone open the box to look at them) but they represent something in my girlhood that proved critical to becoming the woman I am today: the ability to compete, to win without guilt and lose without shame, learning teamwork and leadership as well as how to follow. So they're staying - at least for now. My LPs are staying, too: Adam Ant, Duran Duran, OMD, and all the rest. I can't get rid of them just yet - more nostalgia for the girl I was.
I wonder what moves an item from the "keep forever" to the "get rid of it now" column. Is there a specific moment in time, do you think, when something switches from indespensible to indefensible? Or is it a more gradual thing, taking place over time as we grow and change ourselves? Why is my Thompson Twins drumstick (caught while in the front row of a concert at Shea's Performing Arts Center, 1986) still so important to me while a letter of recommendation from a judge on the Third Circuit Court of Appeals (where I was a co-op in 1990) or even the wedding cards we received from people I genuinely love are so easy to toss? Clearly, logic has no place in the purging process. Good thing, I guess, or I'd still have the bubble skirt I wore to my junior year homecoming dance. Man, I loved that thing.
My de-acquisition mode continues to gain momentum. I've been gathering bag after bag of items to give away, donate or sell and cannot believe 1) how much stuff I'm finding that either never should have moved with us or I'd forgotten about entirely or 2) how much stuff is still left. It's like taking water from the ocean a cup at a time. How on earth did we manage to collect so much? Well, a couple words come to mind (luck and privilege, for starters) but I think my overall tendancy toward saving for "what if?" may have put us over the edge. A lot of what we're getting rid of now is from the "baby boy" category and, since I will deliver any day now the girl who will be our last child, I feel we can release the boy stuff we saved from when our first was new. Now, don't get excited - I'm not talking about the blue rompers or whatever. I have no problem putting a baby girl in blue, but I'd rather not put her in the snap-tee that has snakes and snails on it, you know? I'm a modern woman, but that only takes me so far.
I'm also getting rid of (finally!) bridesmaid's dresses that (surprise!) I never wore after the weddings. Actually, the most expensive of these dresses (nearly $500) was worn the last time I ever saw or spoke to the bride (she didn't like that I had bought her present off the registry and cut off our friendship- strange how you can think you're so close to someone and then they sock you, eh?) so I have zero emotional attachment to it. Most of the maternity clothes - out. Mismatched towels from college days - out. Pots and pans saved in case we ever go camping (yeah, right) - out. Videos that haven't been watched in years - out. It's all going in the hopes that the universe will lead it to others who need it more than I (or at least have more storage space).
There's some stuff I'm simply not ready to get rid of. My softball trophies, for instance. It's not that they're important in the day-to-day sense (since I rarely think of them, let alone open the box to look at them) but they represent something in my girlhood that proved critical to becoming the woman I am today: the ability to compete, to win without guilt and lose without shame, learning teamwork and leadership as well as how to follow. So they're staying - at least for now. My LPs are staying, too: Adam Ant, Duran Duran, OMD, and all the rest. I can't get rid of them just yet - more nostalgia for the girl I was.
I wonder what moves an item from the "keep forever" to the "get rid of it now" column. Is there a specific moment in time, do you think, when something switches from indespensible to indefensible? Or is it a more gradual thing, taking place over time as we grow and change ourselves? Why is my Thompson Twins drumstick (caught while in the front row of a concert at Shea's Performing Arts Center, 1986) still so important to me while a letter of recommendation from a judge on the Third Circuit Court of Appeals (where I was a co-op in 1990) or even the wedding cards we received from people I genuinely love are so easy to toss? Clearly, logic has no place in the purging process. Good thing, I guess, or I'd still have the bubble skirt I wore to my junior year homecoming dance. Man, I loved that thing.
I've got so many things on my to-do list(s) and am so unlikely to get to to the end of any of them that I'm feeling rather demoralized today. My lists are color coded: blue entries are work, green are household, red are personal, black are appointments and errands. Then I usually have an auxiliary list for things that I need to research but haven't made it to the main list: stuff like pricing carpet cleaning services (which would eventually have a black entry) or looking into a certain business topic (which would hopefully prompt some blue entries). These are then attached to a running "acquisition list" of stuff I need or want to buy - which are further subdivided into groceries, household items, capital goods, clothing/personal and gifts. I've never really been a Filoxfax kind of girl and this simple system usually helps keep me on top of things. Lately I've been hankering to add one of those calendars with a line item in every day for each member of a household. Using it with my lists, I think I'd be one organized woman.
That's the theory anyway. More and more my system is falling down on the job, as it were. In the last week I've almost missed a doctor appointment, run out of bulk yeast, made a special trip (horrors!) to the post office, forgot to put the last load of wash into the dryer (requiring a re-wash upon its discovery five days later), bought a twelve roll pack of paper towels only to discover that I had already done this but hadn't eliminated the purchase from the list (I am now the proud owner of 26! rolls of paper towels),...you get the picture. And now. And now I've done the unthinkable. Hot Water Bath - the premier canning blog - has run out of canning jar lids. You know, the flat piece of the two-part dome lid. I had a burst of energy today and decided to make some mango jam after encountering a good price on organic mangoes. But somehow, the complete and utter absence of jar lids failed to make its way onto the acquisition list, where it would have been included on the errands portion of the to-do list. I feel as though I've let the side down. Surely I must have realized when making the grapefruit marmalade last week that I'd used the last of them. Right...right? So now a two hour activity will be stretched over two days and will require a special trip out just to finish.
Clearly I need to evaluate my system. Either it can no longer accommodate my increasingly complex life (I wish I were saying this with tongue in cheek, alas I am not) or I have let things spin dangerously out of control. To run out of jar lids: now that's a wake-up call.
My (belated) New Year's Resolution: to regain control of the organizational requirements of my life and household. Buckle up, folks, it's going to be quite a ride. With God as my witness I'll never run out of jar lids (or anything else) again.
That's the theory anyway. More and more my system is falling down on the job, as it were. In the last week I've almost missed a doctor appointment, run out of bulk yeast, made a special trip (horrors!) to the post office, forgot to put the last load of wash into the dryer (requiring a re-wash upon its discovery five days later), bought a twelve roll pack of paper towels only to discover that I had already done this but hadn't eliminated the purchase from the list (I am now the proud owner of 26! rolls of paper towels),...you get the picture. And now. And now I've done the unthinkable. Hot Water Bath - the premier canning blog - has run out of canning jar lids. You know, the flat piece of the two-part dome lid. I had a burst of energy today and decided to make some mango jam after encountering a good price on organic mangoes. But somehow, the complete and utter absence of jar lids failed to make its way onto the acquisition list, where it would have been included on the errands portion of the to-do list. I feel as though I've let the side down. Surely I must have realized when making the grapefruit marmalade last week that I'd used the last of them. Right...right? So now a two hour activity will be stretched over two days and will require a special trip out just to finish.
Clearly I need to evaluate my system. Either it can no longer accommodate my increasingly complex life (I wish I were saying this with tongue in cheek, alas I am not) or I have let things spin dangerously out of control. To run out of jar lids: now that's a wake-up call.
My (belated) New Year's Resolution: to regain control of the organizational requirements of my life and household. Buckle up, folks, it's going to be quite a ride. With God as my witness I'll never run out of jar lids (or anything else) again.
Today I have the pleasure of having met a major client deadline. I have the further pleasure of wallowing in a small amount of schadenfreude since one of my fellow consultants - the one who was giving me so much trouble - did not make his deadline and, in fact, the work that he did complete will cause time and money spent on revision down the road. I am not proud of gloating, but there you have it. I tried to help him, but he knew best and wasn't prepared to listen even though I've been on the project for a full year longer than he. In fact, his absolute refusal to utilize standard processes and documentation - even though we are working in a "regulated environment" - will probably ultimately result in more work for me so I guess I owe him a debt of gratitude for being so hard headed.
In other news, hardcore nesting continues with plans to straighten out the canning cupboard this evening. I simply cannot live another day with the spicy brussels sprouts placed willy nilly around all the other veggies. And why, please tell, did I think it was a good idea NOT to put labels on the strawberry sauce? No child of mine will enter a home where the strawberry sauce isn't properly labeled. Well, never mind because all will be put to rights tonight. Last night I tackled the linen closet - all the twin sheets are now together, as are the double and queen size. Beach towels have their own little nook and extra blankets are folded neatly by the door for easy access.
Sadly for the rest of the family, this domestic zeal does not translate into yummy meals. Last night I made something my mother called "Texas Hash", which consists of ground beef, rice, tomato sauce, onion and peppers. Definitely not glamourous, although I supposed it's healthy enough with a veg or something. "Or something" - see how far gone I am? I'm sure my cooking mojo will return someday (soon, I hope), but for now I'm just interested in fast and minimal dish requirements. In fact, my husband just called to see what he can pick up on the way home and I asked for some Raspberry Ice Crystal Lite. I'm secretly hoping that he's inspired while he's there to get some lunchmeat or something. Or a one of those pre-cooked chickens. Or maybe even a can of chow-mein. Hey - if all else fails we've got peanut butter and some saltines. Yum...sounds like dinner to me.
In other news, hardcore nesting continues with plans to straighten out the canning cupboard this evening. I simply cannot live another day with the spicy brussels sprouts placed willy nilly around all the other veggies. And why, please tell, did I think it was a good idea NOT to put labels on the strawberry sauce? No child of mine will enter a home where the strawberry sauce isn't properly labeled. Well, never mind because all will be put to rights tonight. Last night I tackled the linen closet - all the twin sheets are now together, as are the double and queen size. Beach towels have their own little nook and extra blankets are folded neatly by the door for easy access.
Sadly for the rest of the family, this domestic zeal does not translate into yummy meals. Last night I made something my mother called "Texas Hash", which consists of ground beef, rice, tomato sauce, onion and peppers. Definitely not glamourous, although I supposed it's healthy enough with a veg or something. "Or something" - see how far gone I am? I'm sure my cooking mojo will return someday (soon, I hope), but for now I'm just interested in fast and minimal dish requirements. In fact, my husband just called to see what he can pick up on the way home and I asked for some Raspberry Ice Crystal Lite. I'm secretly hoping that he's inspired while he's there to get some lunchmeat or something. Or a one of those pre-cooked chickens. Or maybe even a can of chow-mein. Hey - if all else fails we've got peanut butter and some saltines. Yum...sounds like dinner to me.
Today's mail brought a veritable avalanche of gardening catalogs - does this mean that spring is on its way? To look outside, one might even think that spring is already here. The sky is a clear, crisp blue and there is not a trace of snow or ice anywhere. Take a step outside, though, and winter reminds of its presence with a grip of cold, stark, arctic air. Still, the catalogs must be an omen of something so I took a few minutes to think about what I might want to plant and/or can this year.
Since last year was just so awful for gardening I'm going to cut my expenditures by about two-thirds and spend more of the budget that is left on, well, dirt. My husband has agreed to built several 4 X 8 raised beds for placement next to the back pario that will have to be filled and I've already been sheet composting on the one bed that the house's previous owners established. I'm going to attempt to stick to three kinds of tomatoes (Sungolds), a paste (most likely Amish Paste) and another variety for slicing. I also want to do several common kitchen herbs (rosemary, a basil or two, a mint or two, cilantro and maybe even some lavender if I'm feeling ambitious), tomatillos, a hot pepper or two, radishes, mesclun, and maybe, just maybe a squash or two. Oh, and the sunflowers requested by the Boy Wonder. My long term gardening hopes are a lot more involved than this, but until I'm able to organize an effective deer/rabbit/squirrel deterrant system I'm going to have to be a little more restrained.
Since the garden area will be fairly compact I'm hoping to get away with a relatively shortish (4 feet) chicken wire fence (sunk into the ground about half a foot and angled out from the base) combined with alternating pepper/soap and garlic/egg sprays. We'll see how this works.
If all goes well, I'll be able to can salsa and tomatoes from home grown produce. For the rest I'll have to visit farm stands. I've opened my last jar of cherry sauce and, although I have lots of strawberry sauce left from last summer's failed jam, I will probably make more come June. I'll also need to do more dilly beans and eggplant relish, not to mention blueberry sauce and jam and raspberry jam. I've been curious about pie fillings, too, even though I don't make much in the way of pie. Then there are pickles of various kinds to consider as well.
And nothing on this list takes into account the pressure canner I'm hoping to buy. It would be great to be able to do spaghetti sauce, chili, soups, or plain veggies like green beans.
For now, though, I'll have to content myself with my newly arrived catalogs and some dreams.
Since last year was just so awful for gardening I'm going to cut my expenditures by about two-thirds and spend more of the budget that is left on, well, dirt. My husband has agreed to built several 4 X 8 raised beds for placement next to the back pario that will have to be filled and I've already been sheet composting on the one bed that the house's previous owners established. I'm going to attempt to stick to three kinds of tomatoes (Sungolds), a paste (most likely Amish Paste) and another variety for slicing. I also want to do several common kitchen herbs (rosemary, a basil or two, a mint or two, cilantro and maybe even some lavender if I'm feeling ambitious), tomatillos, a hot pepper or two, radishes, mesclun, and maybe, just maybe a squash or two. Oh, and the sunflowers requested by the Boy Wonder. My long term gardening hopes are a lot more involved than this, but until I'm able to organize an effective deer/rabbit/squirrel deterrant system I'm going to have to be a little more restrained.
Since the garden area will be fairly compact I'm hoping to get away with a relatively shortish (4 feet) chicken wire fence (sunk into the ground about half a foot and angled out from the base) combined with alternating pepper/soap and garlic/egg sprays. We'll see how this works.
If all goes well, I'll be able to can salsa and tomatoes from home grown produce. For the rest I'll have to visit farm stands. I've opened my last jar of cherry sauce and, although I have lots of strawberry sauce left from last summer's failed jam, I will probably make more come June. I'll also need to do more dilly beans and eggplant relish, not to mention blueberry sauce and jam and raspberry jam. I've been curious about pie fillings, too, even though I don't make much in the way of pie. Then there are pickles of various kinds to consider as well.
And nothing on this list takes into account the pressure canner I'm hoping to buy. It would be great to be able to do spaghetti sauce, chili, soups, or plain veggies like green beans.
For now, though, I'll have to content myself with my newly arrived catalogs and some dreams.
It's another one of those "hot bunk" nights. We have borrowed this term from the military services - basically, it means the situation wherein two (or more) personnel share a single bed. One works while the other sleeps and when shift change rolls around, they reserse positions. Essentially, the bed is always "hot" as in, the sheets are never cool. More and more this is how we operate around here and the husband openly wondered the other day why we invested in a queen size bed at all, when clearly a twin would have covered the ground for us. Tonight, he came to bed well after midnight and I arrived downstairs around 2:30 to see that he had been working on taxes. I'll probably head back up around six to sleep for a few as he's getting up to prepare for his 8 a.m. departure. Damned insomnia. The least our systems could do would be to let us be awake every now again on the same schedule.
Tonight I'm thinking that my awakeness is connected to a rather difficult day at work of which I'm having trouble letting go. I participated in a very tense, unsatisfactory conference call with two other contractors on the project I'm trying very hard to wrap up. One of them is completely on board, gets what I'm saying and, since she is on site at the client's offices, is totally invested in being on time and on budget. The other keeps blocking progress, trying to upsell the client on some sexy new "solution" for handling the work for which we've been engaged. The thing is, this sexiness comes at a cost - both in terms of money and time - and, frankly, isn't really necessary for any other reason than to enrich the man proposing the work. You know, I'm fine with that angle, really - its common for consultants to try and upsell client and we all know the drill. But his insistence on testing all kinds of coding and scripts and whatnot is keeping all of us from achieving RIGHT NOW AT THE MOMENT what we're all trying to do. Plus I have the added dread that he could single handedly unravel what I've spent the last 14 months accomplishing at a time when I'm no longer around to fix the damage or stop him from inflicting it in the first place. So he continues navel gazing and is refusing just to get down to business and handle the work at, well, hand. Very frustrating.
So frustrating, in fact, that making cookies with my toddler was a downright serene activitity, flour clouds, spilled vanilla and all. We had such a good time and he so enjoyed eating "his" cookies that we're going to try making a cake this weekend. The new baby has been thoughtful enough to procure "real," child-sized baking gear for her big brother to take the sting out of her arrival. It's all little stuff, but the pans - there's a round cake tin, a loaf pan, a cookie sheet and a pie plate - can go in the oven and the set came with a short recipe book with quantities suited to the diminutive size of the equipment. He may not always enjoy the idea of spending time with me in the kitchen or be interested in the process of cooking but, while he is, I want to make the space as welcoming as possible.
Who knows? Maybe he'll be my canning partner this year. Hmm...I'll have to make him a little apron. Jam making can get awfully messy.
Tonight I'm thinking that my awakeness is connected to a rather difficult day at work of which I'm having trouble letting go. I participated in a very tense, unsatisfactory conference call with two other contractors on the project I'm trying very hard to wrap up. One of them is completely on board, gets what I'm saying and, since she is on site at the client's offices, is totally invested in being on time and on budget. The other keeps blocking progress, trying to upsell the client on some sexy new "solution" for handling the work for which we've been engaged. The thing is, this sexiness comes at a cost - both in terms of money and time - and, frankly, isn't really necessary for any other reason than to enrich the man proposing the work. You know, I'm fine with that angle, really - its common for consultants to try and upsell client and we all know the drill. But his insistence on testing all kinds of coding and scripts and whatnot is keeping all of us from achieving RIGHT NOW AT THE MOMENT what we're all trying to do. Plus I have the added dread that he could single handedly unravel what I've spent the last 14 months accomplishing at a time when I'm no longer around to fix the damage or stop him from inflicting it in the first place. So he continues navel gazing and is refusing just to get down to business and handle the work at, well, hand. Very frustrating.
So frustrating, in fact, that making cookies with my toddler was a downright serene activitity, flour clouds, spilled vanilla and all. We had such a good time and he so enjoyed eating "his" cookies that we're going to try making a cake this weekend. The new baby has been thoughtful enough to procure "real," child-sized baking gear for her big brother to take the sting out of her arrival. It's all little stuff, but the pans - there's a round cake tin, a loaf pan, a cookie sheet and a pie plate - can go in the oven and the set came with a short recipe book with quantities suited to the diminutive size of the equipment. He may not always enjoy the idea of spending time with me in the kitchen or be interested in the process of cooking but, while he is, I want to make the space as welcoming as possible.
Who knows? Maybe he'll be my canning partner this year. Hmm...I'll have to make him a little apron. Jam making can get awfully messy.
My husband is TAing a course in tissue engineering this semester to a group consisting primarily of undergrads and yesterday was the first day of class. Over dinner I asked him how it went and, in the course of his telling, I realized that I was hearing a lot of first names typically associated with women - Karen, Kristen, Lisa, etc. I asked him how many women are in the class and said he didn't know, but there were "a lot." He pointed out, though, that there were always a number of women - approaching 50% in most cases - in his biomedical engineering masters-level classes, so he wasn't at all shocked to find a similar number among his students. I found this both surprising and pleasing.
Allow me to explain. He and I both spent our bachelors and masters years at Drexel University in Philadelphia, a school with a good regional reputation for (among other things) providing a solid education in engingeering and the hard sciences. Historically, the ratio of male to female undergraduate students was some crazy thing like 4:1. Lately that ratio has been leveling out (many of my college girlfriends are engineers), but there is still this holdover that somehow there may be only 2 or 3 women in a freshman design class of 30 students.
So I wondered how it came to pass that there were so many women involved with and achieving in biomedical engineering with all its byzantine subsets and arcane research areas. At then it hit me - this field is really quite new and does not have the "male club" pedigree of other engineering fields like mechanical, electrical or chemical that have been around, in some form or another, since the industrial revolution. Those fields came about and were shaped in a time when most women didn't have a prayer of going to college, let alone developing a long-term career path (of course, we all know of exceptions) and so when women began to push their boundaries into engineering they found a hidebound system of education, apprenticeship and hierarchy that wasn't terribly welcoming to them.
Biomedical engineering, though, only really started evolving into a discrete field in the early 80s (around the time that many of my husband's students were born). It hasn't had nearly the time to develop the same boys' club tradition and so, perhaps, has proven to be an attractive option for young women interested in flexing their science, math and logic skills in an engineering field. I mean, why bang your head against the wall trying to be heard as a, say, mechanical engineer, when the biomedical field is wide open?
This is just my pet theory, of course, and it is one that deserves more scrutiny.
Allow me to explain. He and I both spent our bachelors and masters years at Drexel University in Philadelphia, a school with a good regional reputation for (among other things) providing a solid education in engingeering and the hard sciences. Historically, the ratio of male to female undergraduate students was some crazy thing like 4:1. Lately that ratio has been leveling out (many of my college girlfriends are engineers), but there is still this holdover that somehow there may be only 2 or 3 women in a freshman design class of 30 students.
So I wondered how it came to pass that there were so many women involved with and achieving in biomedical engineering with all its byzantine subsets and arcane research areas. At then it hit me - this field is really quite new and does not have the "male club" pedigree of other engineering fields like mechanical, electrical or chemical that have been around, in some form or another, since the industrial revolution. Those fields came about and were shaped in a time when most women didn't have a prayer of going to college, let alone developing a long-term career path (of course, we all know of exceptions) and so when women began to push their boundaries into engineering they found a hidebound system of education, apprenticeship and hierarchy that wasn't terribly welcoming to them.
Biomedical engineering, though, only really started evolving into a discrete field in the early 80s (around the time that many of my husband's students were born). It hasn't had nearly the time to develop the same boys' club tradition and so, perhaps, has proven to be an attractive option for young women interested in flexing their science, math and logic skills in an engineering field. I mean, why bang your head against the wall trying to be heard as a, say, mechanical engineer, when the biomedical field is wide open?
This is just my pet theory, of course, and it is one that deserves more scrutiny.
This is one of our deer friends. This fellow came for dinner in the back yard and merely looked up when he heard the door open. Just after the pic was taken (hesitate to use the word "shot") he gave the deer equivilent of a shrug and resumed his meal. He and his family are clearly more interested in our foliage than us - much to the enduring detriment to our garden. Another planting season is coming, though, and he'd better be ready for a much more aggressive game on my part than last year. I will have vegetables, damn it. I will.
I had two amusing interactions today with adults younger than myself. I find myself in an interesting position these days having recently turned 35 and coming to understand that while am not "old" I am really no longer a "young woman," either. My young cousins see me as impossibly grown up what with having a mortgage and all, while my older aunts and uncles don't quite understand how I came to have kid(s) of my own. Sort of between the kids table and the grown-ups table, you know?
Anyway, I went to buy a new CD-RW today at a well known national office supplies store. The young woman checking me out asked me when my due date was and, upon hearing that it's so close, was astonished that "they're making you go out and buy this stuff!" Who's making me go out? My boss, of course! I sort of giggled and responded that I am the boss and that I was just trying to make efficient use of the day. Her eyes got wide and she responded, "Cool! It would be great to be in charge of something for once." I told her that she could be, if she really wanted to and got lucky as well. She smiled as I left. Is it very egotistical for me to hope that I gave her something to think about?
The other episode followed shortly thereafter when I stopped by the bank to sign some papers. The young rep serving me looked to be about 24 or so - certainly not long out of college. As I was reading the fine print, the baby did an in utero gymnastics move. I scacely noticed but I looked up to ask a question and saw him regarding me with the same horror that one might reserve for, say, the first Alien movie. "What's the matter," I asked. "Your stomach! It moved!"
It only took me a minute to reassure him that it's all perfectly normal and, actually, quite nice. Babies aren't static creatures - they move and squirm even before they're born, I told him. "Wow," he said, "I had no idea. It doesn't hurt?" I had to fight a kind of maternal instinct to invite him to put a hand on my belly to feel the next kick, as I do with my son. Luckily, common sense prevailed and I refrained.
I'd like to think that these exchanges will remain in the memories of those who participated with me. I recognize it's possible, though, that the universe arranged these for me as a reminder that my life - as mundane and workaday as it seems to me most of the time - is really quite good and full of mystery and surprise. I'd do well to remember that more often.
We did not get as much done over the weekend as we should have. Yesterday seemed very strange - none of us here in the house were really in the best of moods and, while we didn't exactly clash, we weren't really clicking with each other either. So a lot of our energy went toward just sort of being around each other rather than working together all in the same direction, you know? I'm hoping that we can get back on track tonight. We'll see what happens. I fear that my scattered and distracted mood is driving this little breakdown - my husband, God love him, is a saint but I know that he is wearying of the vicissitudes of my pregnancy (probably as much or more than I am), plus the new semester starts this week and he is mentally gearing up for a significant amount of work since he is also TAing. Add in one toddler who is suddenly realizing as the nursery takes shape that something very odd is going on here and you've got one keyed up household.
I did manage to put two more casseroles in the freezer against the post-partum crazies. One was a pheasant and wild rice dish (made with chicken, since I did not have any pheasant handy) originally made for my by the mother of my college friend and roommate Lindsay. Lindsay and I are only in sporadic touch these days but I keep a psychic connection to her and our shared past by making this tasty, creamy concoction. The other item placed into the freezer was the much-lauded Bigos.
I promised a recipe and am happy to supply it (I've been told that every Polish family has their own, heirloom recipe which it is loathe to share - since I am not Polish but merely married to a man of Polish ancestry I do not consider myself bound by this tradition). There's one thing you must understand: Bigos looks awful. I mean, really awful. But it's delicious and, if you're lucky, your friends and family will refuse to eat it on the basis of its looks and then you won't have to share. With that out of the way, here goes: Dice and cook up about a pound of bacon (yes, you heard me). When it starts to give up its fat, throw in two diced onions and about half a pound of dice mushrooms (regular button mushrooms are fine). Cook this all up unti the bacon is nicely done, the onions are translucent and the mushrooms have given off some liquid. Add about a pound of previously cooked roast beef, in about a half inch dice. Let this warm up and stew a bit. Next, add about a pound of kielbasa or uncured polish sausage (if you can get it, the real kind is nicer, but supermarket brands will do), again diced up. Allow this to warm and stew a bit. Basically, you want a bit of time in between adding the meats and other ingredients to allow them to both impart and absorb flavors. Next, pour in a cup of a nice, hearty, non-sweet red wine and cook down over medium heat. Once the wine has cooked down a bit and blended with the meat and mushroom juices, add three cups shredded cabbage and a large can of sauerkraut. Mix well with the meats and cook until you can no longer really tell the difference between the fresh cabbage and the kraut. You can eat it that same day, but it really tastes better the next day after reheating.
That's it. Some people add a diced apple, others throw in tomatoes. You can do so if you like. The recipe is really forgiving - if you have more roast and less bacon, fine. If you have venison to put in, fine. Like more onions, fine. Whatever. The only constants as far as I can see are the bacon, saurkraut, cabbage and sausage. It's very filling, very warming and is just the thing to eat in front of a fire. Even better to throw some hot into a thermos and have it outside by a fire. For just a few minutes, you'll forget that you're cold.
I did manage to put two more casseroles in the freezer against the post-partum crazies. One was a pheasant and wild rice dish (made with chicken, since I did not have any pheasant handy) originally made for my by the mother of my college friend and roommate Lindsay. Lindsay and I are only in sporadic touch these days but I keep a psychic connection to her and our shared past by making this tasty, creamy concoction. The other item placed into the freezer was the much-lauded Bigos.
I promised a recipe and am happy to supply it (I've been told that every Polish family has their own, heirloom recipe which it is loathe to share - since I am not Polish but merely married to a man of Polish ancestry I do not consider myself bound by this tradition). There's one thing you must understand: Bigos looks awful. I mean, really awful. But it's delicious and, if you're lucky, your friends and family will refuse to eat it on the basis of its looks and then you won't have to share. With that out of the way, here goes: Dice and cook up about a pound of bacon (yes, you heard me). When it starts to give up its fat, throw in two diced onions and about half a pound of dice mushrooms (regular button mushrooms are fine). Cook this all up unti the bacon is nicely done, the onions are translucent and the mushrooms have given off some liquid. Add about a pound of previously cooked roast beef, in about a half inch dice. Let this warm up and stew a bit. Next, add about a pound of kielbasa or uncured polish sausage (if you can get it, the real kind is nicer, but supermarket brands will do), again diced up. Allow this to warm and stew a bit. Basically, you want a bit of time in between adding the meats and other ingredients to allow them to both impart and absorb flavors. Next, pour in a cup of a nice, hearty, non-sweet red wine and cook down over medium heat. Once the wine has cooked down a bit and blended with the meat and mushroom juices, add three cups shredded cabbage and a large can of sauerkraut. Mix well with the meats and cook until you can no longer really tell the difference between the fresh cabbage and the kraut. You can eat it that same day, but it really tastes better the next day after reheating.
That's it. Some people add a diced apple, others throw in tomatoes. You can do so if you like. The recipe is really forgiving - if you have more roast and less bacon, fine. If you have venison to put in, fine. Like more onions, fine. Whatever. The only constants as far as I can see are the bacon, saurkraut, cabbage and sausage. It's very filling, very warming and is just the thing to eat in front of a fire. Even better to throw some hot into a thermos and have it outside by a fire. For just a few minutes, you'll forget that you're cold.
The mac and cheese was a hit, as I predicted it would be. In preparing the cheese for the sauce I noticed that I had bits of several kinds so I put them in along with my usual sharp cheddar, so it was a cheddar/pepper jack/parmesan/brie sauce spiced up with some Grey Poupon and adobo. Not conventional perhaps, but delicious and very much in keeping with my current, "oh, what the heck" state of mind. The Boy Wonder tried a couple noodles (I used rotini) and preferred to eat plain pasta instead so he got lots of approval for trying something new.
Dinner tonight is a little less thrown together. I've got a roast in the oven and have just added some carrots to cook along with it. We're also having spoon bread and homemade applesauce. The leftover roast will go into tomorrow's Bigos while the leftover spoonbread will become tomorrow's breakfast, with stewed apples and thick cut bacon. As evidenced by this menu, it's either very cold outside or I'm getting nesty again. Actually, both are true.
I'm also quite a bit calmer after this fiasco of a week. My husband sent me out to go the library and have a manicure (he knows where I seek peace!) and told me not to come back until I was nice and serene. Who am I to argue with such wisdom. The only fly in the ointment was that today's viewing at Happy Nails was a movie featuring (in the 25 minutes I was there) two gun battles, a large explosion, and two men being shot in the head, execution-style. No one else seemed fazed by this, so maybe I'm just being oversensitive. Seems to me, though, that this is not the kind of entertainment such an establishment ought to be offering.
My friend Mike once had a manicure on the "mens' floor" of a swanky Philadelphia spa as part of a bridal party (the groomsmen and bridesmaids all took part in this outing, which was followed by lunch). Anyway, he said that sitting in the polished wood and brass room getting his nails done and watching the last quarter of a big Eagles game was sort of like how he always imagined heaven would be. Fair enough - and proves my point that the right viewing at the right time can complement the whole indulgence business. The wrong viewing can be just too bizarre. And, today, Happy Nails was nothing short of bizarre.
Dinner tonight is a little less thrown together. I've got a roast in the oven and have just added some carrots to cook along with it. We're also having spoon bread and homemade applesauce. The leftover roast will go into tomorrow's Bigos while the leftover spoonbread will become tomorrow's breakfast, with stewed apples and thick cut bacon. As evidenced by this menu, it's either very cold outside or I'm getting nesty again. Actually, both are true.
I'm also quite a bit calmer after this fiasco of a week. My husband sent me out to go the library and have a manicure (he knows where I seek peace!) and told me not to come back until I was nice and serene. Who am I to argue with such wisdom. The only fly in the ointment was that today's viewing at Happy Nails was a movie featuring (in the 25 minutes I was there) two gun battles, a large explosion, and two men being shot in the head, execution-style. No one else seemed fazed by this, so maybe I'm just being oversensitive. Seems to me, though, that this is not the kind of entertainment such an establishment ought to be offering.
My friend Mike once had a manicure on the "mens' floor" of a swanky Philadelphia spa as part of a bridal party (the groomsmen and bridesmaids all took part in this outing, which was followed by lunch). Anyway, he said that sitting in the polished wood and brass room getting his nails done and watching the last quarter of a big Eagles game was sort of like how he always imagined heaven would be. Fair enough - and proves my point that the right viewing at the right time can complement the whole indulgence business. The wrong viewing can be just too bizarre. And, today, Happy Nails was nothing short of bizarre.
The grad school problem very well might be solved. I am exhausted by all this drama, but somehow feel invincible. In the immortal words of Cake: She uses a machete to cut through red tape. That's me, the girl in the Short Skirt, Long Jacket. Except that I usually wear jeans and ratty sweater. Other than that, though...
It's snowing lightly here in Charlottesville and that can only mean two things: crazy drivers and that it's time for a nice, hearty dinner. The driving I've complained about before, so let's skip right to the dinner part. What do you think? Stew? A roast with homemade mashed potatoes? Oohh...I know! Homemade mac and cheese - the kind with the nice, bubbly crust on top. Yep, that's it! A winner every time.
Since I'm just sitting here waiting for UPS to make it through the snow to deliver my (client's) laptop from it's short vacation back to HQ, I will tell you a story. So we've been talking with our three year old about babies and such, hoping to prepare him for our new family member. He usually asks a couple questions about how little she'll be or if she can play with his duplos and such before he wanders off in search of something more interesting to do. Last night, though, he became quite upset when the subject came up. He asked how the baby would be coming and I told him that I would go to the hospital and that Daddy and the doctor would help me have the baby and then we'd come home. WELL. He started to cry, saying that he didn't want the doctor to hurt me. "I don't want the doctor to cut your tummy and make you hurt!" he wailed over and over. In the investigation into this fear, we discovered that one of his classmates has a new baby brother who was delivered via C-section and he gleaned just enough information to be scared for me. It took us a while to calm him down and answer his questions, but he eventually seemed satisfied that Mama, Daddy and the doctor would all work together and Mama will be very happy to have the baby with such good people taking care of her. Poor sweetie - the world is so scary when you're three. Can you imagine? He carried around the thought of me being hurt all by himself.
It's snowing lightly here in Charlottesville and that can only mean two things: crazy drivers and that it's time for a nice, hearty dinner. The driving I've complained about before, so let's skip right to the dinner part. What do you think? Stew? A roast with homemade mashed potatoes? Oohh...I know! Homemade mac and cheese - the kind with the nice, bubbly crust on top. Yep, that's it! A winner every time.
Since I'm just sitting here waiting for UPS to make it through the snow to deliver my (client's) laptop from it's short vacation back to HQ, I will tell you a story. So we've been talking with our three year old about babies and such, hoping to prepare him for our new family member. He usually asks a couple questions about how little she'll be or if she can play with his duplos and such before he wanders off in search of something more interesting to do. Last night, though, he became quite upset when the subject came up. He asked how the baby would be coming and I told him that I would go to the hospital and that Daddy and the doctor would help me have the baby and then we'd come home. WELL. He started to cry, saying that he didn't want the doctor to hurt me. "I don't want the doctor to cut your tummy and make you hurt!" he wailed over and over. In the investigation into this fear, we discovered that one of his classmates has a new baby brother who was delivered via C-section and he gleaned just enough information to be scared for me. It took us a while to calm him down and answer his questions, but he eventually seemed satisfied that Mama, Daddy and the doctor would all work together and Mama will be very happy to have the baby with such good people taking care of her. Poor sweetie - the world is so scary when you're three. Can you imagine? He carried around the thought of me being hurt all by himself.
Just a quick update to say: the "Charlie Foxtrot" documented below has apparently been (mostly) solved. It took just another three hours of discussion/being on hold with tech support in a three-way call with one of the administrative assistants at the client's headquarters, whose patience and ability to take a Zen-like approach to the whole mess made it possible for me to make it through the day without bursting into tears.
Tomorrow, I'm going to try and fix one of the other big problems in my life - my grad school's inability to clear me for graduation based on the fact that my "student number" has already been retired from the "system" when it's required for diploma generation. So, issue me another number and link it to my transcript? Too easy - so you know it can't be done for whatever reason. Restore the number? Nope, can't do that either. JUST ISSUE ME MY GD DIPLOMA! Sure...what's your student number?
Tomorrow, I'm going to try and fix one of the other big problems in my life - my grad school's inability to clear me for graduation based on the fact that my "student number" has already been retired from the "system" when it's required for diploma generation. So, issue me another number and link it to my transcript? Too easy - so you know it can't be done for whatever reason. Restore the number? Nope, can't do that either. JUST ISSUE ME MY GD DIPLOMA! Sure...what's your student number?
Everything I've touched the last two days has turned into a major "Charlie Foxtrot" (as my dear, sainted Grandfather would say). Just one example: One of my clients has issued me a brand-new, whizbang laptop on which to work. Fine. I discovered yesterday that some of the software required for the project was not installed so I called up the support line to make arrangements to send the laptop back to have the software installed and then sent back to me. I also needed to have one piece of software registered, so I was going to ask them to handle that, as well, since they kept onsite all of the documentation. Simple plan, except for the fact that the IM group has absolutely no record of me, this laptop or how I got an e-mail address on the company's system. Basically, they sent me a piece of equipment worth many thousands of dollars and made no record of it at all. Because there is no paper trail for this machine, I cannot get software installed or registered. "So, let's create a paper trail right now," I suggested, reading the number off the inventory control tag on the bottom of the computer. No, can't do that, in case the original paperwork shows up - can't have duplicates. So now I'm just waiting while various people check their desks for the paperwork corresponding to me and the equipment. Until it's found, no alterations will be made. Who configured the machine in the first place? We'll have to check the documentation, once it's located. I also suggested that they check their UPS shipping logs to see who sent a package to Virginia recently, since that might prompt some recollection of who actually worked on it, but was told that they don't keep track of who ships what where.
This is just one of a series of nightmares, professional and personal, that have filled my days recently.
To cope, I've taken out my cross-stitch box. I made a couple nice cross-stitched bibs for my son when he was born and I thought I'd make a couple more now for the baby. There's something deeply therapeutic about needlepoint that helps to erase the stresses of the day. Plus, now that cooking is becoming more and more difficult as it's harder to be on my feet at the stove, it satisfies my need to do something domestic and nurturing.
To take my mind off of the computer problem I went out yesterday to buy a new diaper pail and changing pad. While I was in the babystuffstore I also picked up some infant tylenol, gas drops (when did they start costing $12.99 for such a little bottle? I guess they know that many parents would sell plasma to pay for anything that promised to ease their babe's discomforts - not to mention lesson the agonized yelling that accompanies said discomforts), freezer bags for milk and other little sundry items. I have to admit that I'm starting to enjoy these preparatory activities. It's very agreeable to spend an hour or two organizing for this little person and making the environment just right, particularly when I seem to be running into roadblocks everywhere else.
This is just one of a series of nightmares, professional and personal, that have filled my days recently.
To cope, I've taken out my cross-stitch box. I made a couple nice cross-stitched bibs for my son when he was born and I thought I'd make a couple more now for the baby. There's something deeply therapeutic about needlepoint that helps to erase the stresses of the day. Plus, now that cooking is becoming more and more difficult as it's harder to be on my feet at the stove, it satisfies my need to do something domestic and nurturing.
To take my mind off of the computer problem I went out yesterday to buy a new diaper pail and changing pad. While I was in the babystuffstore I also picked up some infant tylenol, gas drops (when did they start costing $12.99 for such a little bottle? I guess they know that many parents would sell plasma to pay for anything that promised to ease their babe's discomforts - not to mention lesson the agonized yelling that accompanies said discomforts), freezer bags for milk and other little sundry items. I have to admit that I'm starting to enjoy these preparatory activities. It's very agreeable to spend an hour or two organizing for this little person and making the environment just right, particularly when I seem to be running into roadblocks everywhere else.
Dealing with all kinds of guilt here at Hot Water Bath. Last night's dinner was underwhelming, so say the least, and the Boy Wonder didn't get nearly enough mommy time. Plus, I didn't get all the work done that I need to and the house is a wreck. In short, nothing is being accomplished to the degree that I need/want it to be accomplished. Today I'm going to have to be a much better multi-tasker to keep everything from tipping even further over the edge. So far this morning I've unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher and finished taking the lights off the Christmas tree - all while on hold with a client's help desk! I was never so glad to be on hold.
Keeping in the spirit of taking control of my existance, I've placed a container of hash mix in the fridge to thaw. That, with the addition of some diced spuds, will be dinner along with steamed broccoli and maybe some fried okra if I'm feeling ambitious. The hash mix came about after a failed experiment in making salisbury steaks - a disaster is many ways - but I didn't want to waste the meat. I discovered that, while the recipe didn't actually result in anything resembling salisbury steak, it did make a mighty tasty hash. I'm glad I froze the remainder since I really, really need to do some shopping but finding it in the freezer will buy me another day.
This weekend is Bigos weekend. I'm making a huge batch, some of which will be eaten and some of which will be frozen for baby time. Bigos is most often translated as "hunter's stew" and it is truly a wonderful thing, keeping generations of people warm and full through long Polish winters. My half-Polish husband came from a non-cooking family, so he had never heard of it before a friend of ours, a cold-war era emigre, made it for us. He wouldn't share the recipe (grrr) so I had to suss out my own. Because I do share my recipes, I'll be posting it here for your enjoyment.
Keeping in the spirit of taking control of my existance, I've placed a container of hash mix in the fridge to thaw. That, with the addition of some diced spuds, will be dinner along with steamed broccoli and maybe some fried okra if I'm feeling ambitious. The hash mix came about after a failed experiment in making salisbury steaks - a disaster is many ways - but I didn't want to waste the meat. I discovered that, while the recipe didn't actually result in anything resembling salisbury steak, it did make a mighty tasty hash. I'm glad I froze the remainder since I really, really need to do some shopping but finding it in the freezer will buy me another day.
This weekend is Bigos weekend. I'm making a huge batch, some of which will be eaten and some of which will be frozen for baby time. Bigos is most often translated as "hunter's stew" and it is truly a wonderful thing, keeping generations of people warm and full through long Polish winters. My half-Polish husband came from a non-cooking family, so he had never heard of it before a friend of ours, a cold-war era emigre, made it for us. He wouldn't share the recipe (grrr) so I had to suss out my own. Because I do share my recipes, I'll be posting it here for your enjoyment.
Every year since my first "real" job (at age 19) I've convinced myself that the ramp up after the winter holidays would be slow and steady. No need to rush...everything's fine...let's just get back in the groove here. And, every year I've been wrong. Slammed again. I'm not sure what it says about me that I've not learned my lesson after all these years, but it can't be good.
Dinner tonight is a wilted lettuce salad and leftover penne with beets followed by a dessert of 3-4 hours back at the computer.
Delicious!
Dinner tonight is a wilted lettuce salad and leftover penne with beets followed by a dessert of 3-4 hours back at the computer.
Delicious!
Like Smallhands, we are in the midst (actually, "throes" might be a more appropriate word) of a cleaning and home repair frenzy of the kind where things get exponentially worse before they start to get better. All the Christmas doodads are in their color coded bins and the garlands and bows are down from the front porches. I have only the lights to take off the tree and get the tree down and into its huge-o-rama box. While I've been working on this, my dear, dear husband has been painting the bathrooms and preparing to lay down new flooring (he says it's "nesting by proxy"). In the middle of all of this we've got the Boy Wonder learning to find places for all of the wonderful gifts he received ("No, honey, I think your new Eagles football would be better off in the outside toys basket than in the laundry baskets."). In short, it's a mess.
Still, I have the warm glow of accomplishment. Yesterday I froze the equivilant of three pizzas' worth of crust and canned several half-pints of grapefruit marmalade (I'm already planning a nice Christening cake using the marmalade - yum!). I used a standard marmalade recipe you can find anywhere by googling for one: grapefruits, sugar, water, juice of one lemon. Not sexy, but another lesson in how the most common ingredients can produce the most wonderful stuff with just a little care. On the other hand, I am super proud of my pizza dough recipe and thought that I'd share it here. With this, you can have a pizza in the oven within 30 minutes, if necessary, and out ready to eat in another 15. That competes with most delivery places and no one risks life and limb in the process of driving it to you. If for no other reason try:
- a teaspoon or so of room temperature yeast in a largish bowl
- add half a teaspoon of sugar and
- a cup and a half of water and blend
- allow the mixture to stand for a few minutes - it should start to foam a bit as the yeast activates
- Begin adding flour about half a cup at a time, stirring with each addition. I've used unbleached white flour, wheat flour, rye flour, chickpea flour and combinations of all of these (you know, what's left at the bottom of the bin) with great success. Just put it all in and stir. How much you'll need will depend on the flour, how much water you used and how dense you like your dough.
- When you can no longer stir the flour mixture easily, add another cup or so of flour and turn the whole mess onto a clean counter and begin to knead. Back and forth, back and forth, until the flour is mixed in. It should be pretty non-sticky by now and you can either roll it out or pat it into the pan or, if you like a more dense crust, knead in yet more flour. At this point, you can also let the dough rest a bit - say 10 minutes or so - to develop more of that nice, chewy pizza-esque character, but it's not strictly necessary.
- Once it's rolled out and on your pan, cover with your toppings of choice and pop into a really hot oven (450-500 degrees or so) for 12-15 minutes. If you put cheese on top, it should be browned a bit and bubbly.
- There you have it. Pizza at home quickly, easily and, more or less, cheaply. And, as you may have gathered, the dough freezes really well, too. So if you have extra, pop it in the freezer for those days when everyone's clammering for something quick but no one really wants to go out. Seems like those days are all I've got, lately!
Still, I have the warm glow of accomplishment. Yesterday I froze the equivilant of three pizzas' worth of crust and canned several half-pints of grapefruit marmalade (I'm already planning a nice Christening cake using the marmalade - yum!). I used a standard marmalade recipe you can find anywhere by googling for one: grapefruits, sugar, water, juice of one lemon. Not sexy, but another lesson in how the most common ingredients can produce the most wonderful stuff with just a little care. On the other hand, I am super proud of my pizza dough recipe and thought that I'd share it here. With this, you can have a pizza in the oven within 30 minutes, if necessary, and out ready to eat in another 15. That competes with most delivery places and no one risks life and limb in the process of driving it to you. If for no other reason try:
- a teaspoon or so of room temperature yeast in a largish bowl
- add half a teaspoon of sugar and
- a cup and a half of water and blend
- allow the mixture to stand for a few minutes - it should start to foam a bit as the yeast activates
- Begin adding flour about half a cup at a time, stirring with each addition. I've used unbleached white flour, wheat flour, rye flour, chickpea flour and combinations of all of these (you know, what's left at the bottom of the bin) with great success. Just put it all in and stir. How much you'll need will depend on the flour, how much water you used and how dense you like your dough.
- When you can no longer stir the flour mixture easily, add another cup or so of flour and turn the whole mess onto a clean counter and begin to knead. Back and forth, back and forth, until the flour is mixed in. It should be pretty non-sticky by now and you can either roll it out or pat it into the pan or, if you like a more dense crust, knead in yet more flour. At this point, you can also let the dough rest a bit - say 10 minutes or so - to develop more of that nice, chewy pizza-esque character, but it's not strictly necessary.
- Once it's rolled out and on your pan, cover with your toppings of choice and pop into a really hot oven (450-500 degrees or so) for 12-15 minutes. If you put cheese on top, it should be browned a bit and bubbly.
- There you have it. Pizza at home quickly, easily and, more or less, cheaply. And, as you may have gathered, the dough freezes really well, too. So if you have extra, pop it in the freezer for those days when everyone's clammering for something quick but no one really wants to go out. Seems like those days are all I've got, lately!
In addition to making the grapefruit marmalade (it's all made, just not packed or processed yet) I am spending a good part of the day taking down Christmas decorations. We bought several of those green and red bins so hopefully I can get rid of the down-at-heel copier paper boxes and really organize everything. If all goes well, next Thanksgiving we won't be spend nearly as much time finding holiday stuff because it'll all be in color coded bins and all packed together. We'll see.
The act of packing leads me to consider anew the amount of stuff I have. I'm pretty good about letting things go - I'm not really a packrat or anything, but there always seems to be some level of clutter that's hard to eliminate. Sure, some people advocate selling all your excess stuff on Ebay, but there's always the temptation that you'll turn around and buy someone else's stuff. We live in too rural of an area to have an effective yard sale (although we had great luck with them in Philadelphia) and I'm not sure I'd have the time to spend on one anyway. I'm even wary of mass donation to Goodwill and the like since I took some maternity clothes over to a location near my grandmother's apartment and saw the back room so crammed that it would take years for my stuff to reach the selling floor (in fact, the attendant told me that most donations are donated in turn from Goodwill to other groups or destroyed for their scrap value and that the volunteers had the first pass on anything that was kept). I ended up taking the clothes to the nearest womens' shelter. (At least I think I did - shelters are secretive places by design and necessity. The woman who returned my call was unwilling or unable to confirm that the clothes were going anywhere but the trunk of her car.)
So when I heard about the Freecycle movement my ears pricked right up. You mean I can just give all my stuff away to anyone who needs or wants it? I don't have to mess with listing, selling, or even throwing away things that still have a useful life but are no longer appropriate for mine? Awesome!
Charlottesville does not yet have an official Freecycle group and, in keeping with my nitpicky attitude toward stuff and it's disposal, I have a few issues with the concept. At the moment at least, it seems that Freecycle groups are organized solely through Yahoo groups. I understand the convenience of doing so, but the system seems also to leave out a significant part of the population who would find participation in this type of alternative economy useful and/or necessary for reasons beyond cleaning out the garage. I'm not sure what the answer is - or if I should just be patient while the movement matures and becomes larger and, hopefully, more inclusive. In the meantime, I'm definitely going to keep my eye on it.
The act of packing leads me to consider anew the amount of stuff I have. I'm pretty good about letting things go - I'm not really a packrat or anything, but there always seems to be some level of clutter that's hard to eliminate. Sure, some people advocate selling all your excess stuff on Ebay, but there's always the temptation that you'll turn around and buy someone else's stuff. We live in too rural of an area to have an effective yard sale (although we had great luck with them in Philadelphia) and I'm not sure I'd have the time to spend on one anyway. I'm even wary of mass donation to Goodwill and the like since I took some maternity clothes over to a location near my grandmother's apartment and saw the back room so crammed that it would take years for my stuff to reach the selling floor (in fact, the attendant told me that most donations are donated in turn from Goodwill to other groups or destroyed for their scrap value and that the volunteers had the first pass on anything that was kept). I ended up taking the clothes to the nearest womens' shelter. (At least I think I did - shelters are secretive places by design and necessity. The woman who returned my call was unwilling or unable to confirm that the clothes were going anywhere but the trunk of her car.)
So when I heard about the Freecycle movement my ears pricked right up. You mean I can just give all my stuff away to anyone who needs or wants it? I don't have to mess with listing, selling, or even throwing away things that still have a useful life but are no longer appropriate for mine? Awesome!
Charlottesville does not yet have an official Freecycle group and, in keeping with my nitpicky attitude toward stuff and it's disposal, I have a few issues with the concept. At the moment at least, it seems that Freecycle groups are organized solely through Yahoo groups. I understand the convenience of doing so, but the system seems also to leave out a significant part of the population who would find participation in this type of alternative economy useful and/or necessary for reasons beyond cleaning out the garage. I'm not sure what the answer is - or if I should just be patient while the movement matures and becomes larger and, hopefully, more inclusive. In the meantime, I'm definitely going to keep my eye on it.
We've returned from our trip and I am suffering all the usual disruptions that come from being simultaneously glad to be home, in mourning for the end of vacation and overwhelmed at the amount of laundry that seems to have developed along the way. The boy is tucked into bed after exhibiting a level of overstimulation not often seen in one so young and we've gone through the mail enjoying the arrival of the gardening catalogs. It's official: Christmas is over and spring is on the way.
The trip back to Philadelphia, although certainly fun, was disrupting in ways other than purely logistical. Professionally the week led to some promising leads for additional work when I'm ready to start again after the baby is born, a period I have not yet let myself think about. Although disorienting, this is a good thing. From a personal perspective, the results were mixed. We discovered that two friends have decided to end their marriage (I never realized that one could experience grief when friends separate), a family member is on financial thin ice after an unexpected illness and the costs associated with required treatments coupled with an unconscionable raise in her rent (perpetrated by another relative, no less), a second family member is orchestrating what can only be described as a willful dismanteling of her family through emotional and mental abuse of her adult children, and another couple we love is facing the closure of their workplace just after they committed to taking on the live in care of their aging parents. I am confused and saddened about all of these developments and am trying desparately to remember that I have no power to fix these situations so I must just try to be supportive and offer whatever assistance I can and be as sensitive as possible.
So all of this has left me somewhat discombobulated. Because I am a world-class worrier and our current orange alert has me already incredibly jumpy and jerky (the entire time my sister-in-law was out picking up a pizza, I was convinced that she was in mortal danger), I was ill prepared to absorb and process all of the woe we found among our nearest and dearest. I can only hope that the concentration of so much sadness into the end of one year means that this new year will be free and clear for all. Fingers crossed and knock wood.
This weekend I will try to exorcise some of my nervous energy by making a batch of grapefruit marmalade. I have some grapefruits given to me during November's Florida trip and the only other required ingredients are sugar and water. My grapefruits are of the pink variety, so I bet the finished product turns out really pretty. Don't we all need some more pretty in our lives?
The trip back to Philadelphia, although certainly fun, was disrupting in ways other than purely logistical. Professionally the week led to some promising leads for additional work when I'm ready to start again after the baby is born, a period I have not yet let myself think about. Although disorienting, this is a good thing. From a personal perspective, the results were mixed. We discovered that two friends have decided to end their marriage (I never realized that one could experience grief when friends separate), a family member is on financial thin ice after an unexpected illness and the costs associated with required treatments coupled with an unconscionable raise in her rent (perpetrated by another relative, no less), a second family member is orchestrating what can only be described as a willful dismanteling of her family through emotional and mental abuse of her adult children, and another couple we love is facing the closure of their workplace just after they committed to taking on the live in care of their aging parents. I am confused and saddened about all of these developments and am trying desparately to remember that I have no power to fix these situations so I must just try to be supportive and offer whatever assistance I can and be as sensitive as possible.
So all of this has left me somewhat discombobulated. Because I am a world-class worrier and our current orange alert has me already incredibly jumpy and jerky (the entire time my sister-in-law was out picking up a pizza, I was convinced that she was in mortal danger), I was ill prepared to absorb and process all of the woe we found among our nearest and dearest. I can only hope that the concentration of so much sadness into the end of one year means that this new year will be free and clear for all. Fingers crossed and knock wood.
This weekend I will try to exorcise some of my nervous energy by making a batch of grapefruit marmalade. I have some grapefruits given to me during November's Florida trip and the only other required ingredients are sugar and water. My grapefruits are of the pink variety, so I bet the finished product turns out really pretty. Don't we all need some more pretty in our lives?
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