We have a problem with horizontality around here and have for some time. To wit:



and



The primary symptom is that any given horizontal surface is almost continually covered in an intractable coating of junk consisting of paper, small toys, errant earrings, nuts, bolts, grass seeds (true!), and goodness knows what else. We have it bad in our house and as much as I'd like to blame the 200+ year old domicile's lack of storage I know that the truth lies elsewhere. Namely, with me.

I feel kind of out of my league in this online spring cleaning program I'm following - some of these women really rock the housekeeping thing, whereas I'm kind of the kid in the basement with a dime store guitar singing Jukebox Hero into a floor lamp "microphone" while they're selling out Madison Square Garden (precisely what the song is about, diluting my point somewhat). I am the Cherry Cherry to their Neil Diamond. In keeping with my lack of skill I'm not spring cleaning rooms, turning my attention instead to neglected bits of square footage. Mine are small accomplishments, but they're come upon honestly.

Last night I completely denuded the living room tables, dusted and oiled them. Yes I did! I know homekeeping experts are mixed in their opinions of oiling wood furniture and I (not an expert) come down on the side of pro. The oil smells nice and some of my tables are older than I (remnants from a time when furniture was still make by hands rather than machines and wasn't intended for replacement every 10 years) and have survived oiling all this time so I have no hesitation. A bit of lemon oil and an old cloth diaper go a long way to putting things right.





The oil was just the beginning. All that stuff on the tables? Put away.. Well, mostly. Some of the papers ended up on my desk, which requires a horizontality treatment of its own which is unlikely to happen today. The broken play necklace has been glued, the wallet-size photos put into my new wallet, the flyers about the pre-school rummage sale put into my purse for when we venture out, the library books gathered and placed into two of the coffee table cubbies, etc., etc., etc.. Away.

I will sum up my quietude of late with seven words: Brainiac's doctor has ordered a chest x-ray.

She is merely being cautious in light of his history and none of us is particularly worried but the directive is indicative of the general state of affairs around here. Between what looks like a mild (but still) secondary infection for him, an on-pins-and-needles situation for me and the general schedule-busting mayhem that comes with spring break we're all a bit spent. As I type this it's nearly a quarter to nine at night - the first night in three that I've been awake to see this time tick-tock past. That I'm still up and energetic enough to start a load of laundry and cruise the blogs a bit, I'd say that things are looking up.

None of this is to say that I haven't managed the odd burst of household productivity. The children's au pair turned 25 years old on Monday night and we celebrated with this:



O.K., you know, that doesn't look so hot all big and blown up on my screen like that. Trust me when I tell you that it was really quite yummy. Yummy makes up for a number of aesthetic issues, yes?



The essential idea came from Clotilde Dusoulier's Chocolate and Zucchini cookbook, after the blog of the same name. Because I can never leave anything alone I made some changes to the core recipe, gilded the lily a bit and ended up with what seemed like the very essence of indulgence.

Instead of Clotilde's pate sable I used a regular old American-style pie crust - I had no time for a learning curve and knew my recipe to be perfectly acceptable. Over the crust which had been baked at 400 degrees for 15 minutes, I poured a caramel of dark brown sugar (the original recipe called for light brown sugar). This was allowed to set for several hours.

Over top the caramel is a bittersweet ganache made with heavy cream and nine ounces of dar-ar-ar-ar-ark chocolate. After that set I topped the whole thing with sweetened whipped cream. The original recipe doesn't call for such tarting (ha!) up, but I don't need heavy cream just sitting about the house begging to take a swim in my coffee.

You can see from the pictures that this tart/pie was strictly amateur hour. Unlike the wildly talented Clotilde I will not be offered a book deal on the basis of my capacity for turning out delicious and beautiful confections. It was wonderful to eat, though, smooth and creamy and just sweet enough between the caramel and whipped cream. The very dark chocolate added a deep note that kept the whole thing from being too cloying. Best of all, the celebrating recipient loved it as I hoped that she would.