The Barefoot Kitchen Witch

Camp Song

We went camping Friday night - just the one night is enough while Julia is three.  She...well, she's Julia.  She wants to be carried.  I don't want to carry her.  So she will stand there.  And I'll say "fine, stay there" and start to walk away.  And she'll holler out "MOMMY!!!!" and I'll turn back to her and say "well then come on!" and she will move her left foot forward half an inch, then the right, then the left, all the while looking at me like "Okay, Mom, you want me to walk?  THIS is how I'm going to do it!"

It's fun. 

But anyway, apart from that aspect of it, things went pretty well.  Alex had a blast.  His favorite part?

Going fishing...

and catching bullfrogs.  Meet Jeremiah.

You can see a few more of the camping pictures on my flickr site.

The best part, of course, is all the camp songs.  The singing together.  Bill brought Julia's pink ukelele and pretty much kept all the wild animals far away from us while we were at our site.  And on the ride home, Alex and Julia took turns playing tunes and singing the words to the classics at the top of their lungs:

Our Little Visitor Yesterday Morning

What Matters - the short version

I realize yesterday's post kind of spiraled out of control a bit.  I had a lot to say and I just kind of threw it all in there and hit the "puree" button.

But to me it is all connected.  I guess it's about getting to this point in my life where I feel like I'm stripping away the stuff that is of no use to me and taking the opportunity - while I have it - to do what is meaningful to me.

I think I know myself pretty well by now.  I can spot the bullshit, and I can choose not to step in it. 

And I could spend my days regretting what I didn't take a chance on twenty or so years ago.  But I was a different person back then, and clearly the timing wasn't right.  I feel that it is now. 

I want to find a way to make enough money so that I can quit my job.  I'm starting with this store on CafePress because it seems to be the best way to do the parts that I enjoy - all the creative stuff - and let someone else deal with the customer service part.  I need a break from that.  I just do. 

And that - that is what matters to me at this stage of the game.

Anyway, I hope you'll come over and visit the store from time to time and look around and tell me what you think.  The link is up there on the left, just below my email address.

I've got a lot of images I want to work with - so much to do!  And it's so much more...challenging, fun, rewarding...to work on all of that than it is to sit at my desk at my "real" job and bang my head against the computer monitor all day long. 

Change is good.

What Matters

Today I was told - in a "you can't handle the truth" sort of way - that I don't know what matters.  This was in the midst of an argument, disagreement, unpleasant conversation - call it what you will.  It went back and forth a couple times.  I know what matters.  No, you don't.  Yes, I do.

No resolution to something like that. 

But how can there be?  The same things matter to many people, but our lists are not identical.  These things that matter are not listed in the exact same order for each of us.  And there may be things on my list that aren't on yours.

So what was the point of that?  I think it was to try to put me in my place or something. 
Some way to end my side of things.  Because what do I know?  It's not like I'm an adult, or have worked for more than half my life, or gone away and lived in other states, or done dumb things and had to fix them, or am a wife or a mother...oh, wait - actually, I am an adult, I have worked for way more than half my life, I've lived in other places, I've done dumb things, I've had to fix them, I'm a wife, and I'm a mother. 

I think maybe I have some inkling of what matters.

So please don't try to insist otherwise. 

Because actually, I've done a lot of thinking about what matters.  What matters to me. 
What do I fight for, fight against, or fight not to react to?  How much of me am I willing to set aside in order to keep the peace, or make someone else happy, or make something easier for someone else?

Some of those are no-brainers.  My children - I would fight for them - to the death.  Of course.  I have set aside some of myself, especially when they were infants and so very dependant on me.  That's part of the deal.  You choose to bring them into the world, then you have an obligation to put them first.  I do things to keep the peace here, or to make the kids happy, or make things a bit easier for them sometimes. 

But I've been learning - and I say it that way because it is a class I still attend - I've been learning that I also have to feel the same way about myself.  I have to fight for me, too.  I have to sometimes choose not to set myself aside.  I have to consciously put me first, do things to make me happy, do things to make my own way easier.  It's not easy.  It's hard to retrain yourself.  But...I'm learning that I need to.

And what about that stuff I said - what do I fight against?  What do I fight to not react to?  (Okay, yes, that's weirdly phrased - sorry.)  I'm trying not to get sucked into old patterns, old toxic patterns that swirl around me in a familiar way.  They beckon - they say come on, it's so much easier to just drop it and play along.  Again.  And again.  But I'm not so gullible any more.  And I'm tired of old patterns.  I am sad about it, too, because there are other patterns, woven in, that are not so unpleasant, that represent the good parts of it all...but I know I can always hang on to those memories.  I don't have to keep getting sucked into the vortex.

I don't want to fight against stuff.  At least, not the same old never-changing stuff.  I'm tired of it.  It never seems to end.  Fine.  I am leaving the field.  I don't want to play any more.  I don't need to.  It won't help you, it won't help me. 

In fact, the only one who can help me is me.  The only one who can help you is you.  So let's just focus on what we can fix, and step away from what we can't.

Serenity.  Courage.  Wisdom.

My sister-in-law, Diane, passed away at the end of April this year.  Her husband is one of my husband's older brothers.  I think I've mentioned before, there is a large age difference between Bill and his two older brothers. 

She was 53.  She had cancer.  For the second time.  Long before I knew Bill or his family, she fought - and beat - breast cancer.  She had two young children and she didn't have time to die - she had kids to raise. 

This time, it was in her bones.  She didn't know it was cancer at first - she thought it was a recurring back problem and that she needed to go see a chiropractor.  But that didn't fix it.  And so 4 years ago, when my son was just over a year old, she found out that she had another battle to fight.  Her kids were older, but still.  She had plenty of reasons to live. 

So she fought.  Hard.  And her numbers went up and down, and treatment after treatment was tried, different drugs, different therapies, different everything.  She was tired, she was ill, she was weak, she was uncomfortable...but she was alive.

She had good periods, and bad.  And eventually fewer good periods.  She couldn't come up to visit when she wanted to - she had to be careful of catching colds with her immune system so beat up, so she couldn't fly.  And she couldn't sit in the same position comfortably for a thousand mile drive. 

A couple years ago, two years ago right about now, actually, Bill's brother called to tell us the cancer had gone to her liver, and the doctors were only giving her about another month.  A few days later we were all on a plane - Bill and I and the two kids.  It was, shall we say, an adventure traveling on a plane with a one year old and a three year old.  But we booked a nonstop flight and that helped.  While we were there, we cooked and the kids were cute and entertaining, and we just...we were there.  For about a week.  Diane's dark hair was very short - growing back from all the chemo.  She looked yellowish.  But she hung out with everyone as much as she could, and she enjoyed, I think, our visit. 

And she didn't die a month later.  Or a month after that.  I sort of felt like a big fraud for taking a week off during our busy season, but really, that's what the doctors had said.  But they don't know everything, apparently.

But this time, it was different.  The cancer had spread to her brain.  Apparently she'd been behaving strangely, and so they took a look...and that's what they found.  And that was that.  It was strange.  Dead end.  Pardon the pun.  Though Diane would have appreciated it.  But no one would operate - she was too weak.  And there was really nothing else that could be done.  Again - her body was worn out from all the fighting.

We were told she had about two weeks left. 

So Diane decided she wanted to go home.  Hospice was called in, a bed was set up in what had been the dining room, so she could look out on the lanai and the pool and the canal beyond.  The breezes - when there were any - could blow in, and when she felt up to it, she could hang out with family out at one of the poolside tables. 

Family and friends started to arrive.  She wanted to be surrounded by family and friends, love and laughter. 

Bill had a tough week, work-wise.  So many obligations that week, and with Diane's previous fake-out, wasn't there the possibility...? 

We do what we have to do, what we can do.  We can look back and think maybe we would have done it differently, but at the time, we don't have the whole picture to contemplate. So I said, at first, let's all go at the end of the week.  She wants to see the kids - they'd cheer and distract everyone, and we can all go together.

And then I changed my mind.  My gut said - Go.  My gut is more reliable than I used to give it credit for.  I have learned.  So I booked a flight for myself.  I flew down early early on a Monday, and flew back home the following morning.  Whirlwind tour.  But my gut was insistant.

I don't love to fly.  I like to go places, so I fly if that's how I have to get there.  And so I flew.  The flight down was uneventful and on time.  My brother-in-law and my niece met me at the airport and we went to pick up some food for that night's barbecue.  Lots of people coming - lots of people to feed.

I was not expecting Diane to look as she did.  I don't know what I was expecting, but I had nothing in my mind except how she looked the last time we were there.  So I was expecting little or no hair, poor skin color, weakness...but it was all rather vague in my mind. 

She was in the bedroom when I arrived, and came out, supported by a friend.  She saw me and her eyes brightened and she gave me a huge smile and we hugged for a long time.  She was so thin.  So...gaunt.  Diane had never been skinny in the time I'd known her.  She'd had a kind of round face...but the only thing round about her at this point was her stomach, swollen from all the fluid build-up. 

She reminded me, kind of, of a baby bird.  But a baby bird with really great hair.  I know this sounds inane, but her hair was dark and wavy in a sort of 1940's movie star sort of way.  Strangely, she looked kind of stunning.  And she was there.  Diane looked out from those dark eyes and her smile was her smile.  Her voice was her voice...She was in there.  She moved slowly, she tired easily, but she was there.

And soon there were friends and family members - those who could get there or who had already been staying there since she came home - gathered around the house and outside...food cooking, appetizery things to pick at.  People talking, laughing, drinking wine or beer or whatever.  A gathering.

And Diane sat out there on the lanai with everyone, and talked and laughed, and rubbed aloe on her grown-up son's sunburnt arms.  While she had been fighting cancer over these past few years, he had been back and forth to Iraq, a Loadmaster in the Air Guard.  He survived, and is home for good now, hopefully.  Her boy, home, safe. 

Her daughter has grown up a lot in the past several years, too.  I watched her discussing meds with the visiting nurse earlier that day, and she was on top of everything.  It was she, the daughter, who insisted that, besides family and friends, there needed to be flowers.  So there were.  Big clusters of them in tall glass vases.

As the night went on, and the sky grew darker, Diane became tired and was helped back to bed.  I watched from outside as my brother in law sat with her, his head down at times, holding her hand.  One by one, people went home or to bed.  Plans were made for those of us who needed to fly out the next day...

I sat with Diane for a bit in the dark.  She was sleeping.  I had brought a mess of pictures of the kids and told her Bill and all of us would be back down in a few days.  Her eyes had widened.  She thought Bill was coming the next day. 

While I sat there, in the dark, and watched her sleep, I finally cried.  I hadn't yet.  It hadn't hit me.  Diane's sister saw me and came over and hugged me. 

My brother in law drove me to the airport very early the next morning.  I made sure he had my cell phone number...just in case. 

The first leg of the flight home was fine, but the second leg was turbulent and did I mention I really don't LOVE to fly?  That's sort of code for, I am terrified of the plane plummeting from the sky and of being awake and aware of every second of my own terror as I hurtle toward a fiery or watery death (depending on what I'm flying over when we go down.)  I think it's partly a control thing, too.  Some other person is driving.  I don't do well in the back seat.  I need to see where we're going.

So we landed; I had managed not to vomit or lose my mind or cry or scream hysterically or otherwise behave like a nut job.  Then, still in my wild panic attack, I couldn't find my car in the parking garage and wandered like a mentally ill homeless chick around and around the levels, clicking the little button on my key in an attempt to get my car to stand up and wave and call "Over here, you ninny!"  Finally, I found the car.  I got in and hugged the steering wheel and was actually shaking.  I also hadn't eaten much, so my blood sugar level was probably in the negative numbers.

Anyway, I got home.  Finally.  And I called work and said I'd be in around 2:00 for a few hours.  And then I turned my cell phone back on.  And there was a message.  From my brother in law.  And he said the nurse had been there that morning and not to schedule a flight back down because Diane might not last more than another day or so. 

I just bawled.  I dropped down to the floor in my kitchen alone and sobbed.  It all was there, barely under the surface, and this message opened the floodgates.  I didn't want to hear that, I wanted Bill to get there in time, I wanted her to get to see the kids, why didn't I bring the kids with me, why didn't I go sooner, why why why?  It spiraled into other spheres - more and more things bottled up, old patterns I spoke of somewhat cryptically earlier in this post, painful relationships, someone I love who believes she is in control but just isn't, and it terrifies me that it's going to kill her, and my panic attack on the plane, and thank God and my gut that I just decided to GO when I did, and it's not fair, it's not fair... and all of it, all of it, all of it - out of my hands.  I can't cure Diane.  I can't change a person's behavior, and I can't fly the damn plane.  All of it spilled out in ugly sobs.

And then I called my sister and she listened to me and said all the right things - as she usually does - and I calmed down.

Bill flew down on Thursday that week.  He wanted to go for his brother, for his niece and nephew...not solely to see Diane.  His flight was due to land around ten at night.  I was waiting up, watching something, when Bob called.  It was a little after 8:30.  Diane had passed away at 8:25.

I'm stopping that story there.  It don't feel like going on about the rest of it.  But I had to write about it because I am changed as a result of the whole experience. 

It was funny, in a way, that I was told today that I don't know what matters.  Because I've spent an awful lot of time in these past several months thinking precisely about what matters.  What matters to me.  And about life.  And how precious each moment is, and how foolish it is to waste it, or destroy it.  On the one hand, one woman who fought like a tiger for every extra minute she could get.  And on the other, a woman who at times seems to be throwing so much of it away.  And me, there, angry about both situations.  And sad.  And aware that how I live and what I do with my time here is up to me.  I don't want to waste it.  I don't want to waste me.  I don't want to get to the end of my road - whenever it jumps up in my face - and realize that I had wasted too much of my time, or too much of myself. 

And so.  Some things.  I hate my job.  Or, rather, it is a very bad fit.  I'm good at it - well, no, I used to be good at it.  But I'm fried.  I'm just worn out.  I am drained.  And there is nothing fulfilling in it.  I make a nice paycheck.  But I feel like I'm dying inside every day there. 

I need to get out.  I know this.  I need to do something creative that engages my mind and makes me feel alive and awake and excited to face the challenges.  I also need to work for me.  I can't do corporate any more.  I can't.  I know that sounds selfish, maybe, or overly dramatic, or whatever.  Sure you can, just go to work and do your job.  Zillions of people do it every day.  Back during the depression we were happy to have any kind of work.  And so on.  You have to do what's best for your family.  You know, with the mortgage and all that other stuff.

But is it best for my family if I'm miserable and crabby and tense and angry so much?  I don't really think it is.  I don't think it's good for my kids to see me hating my job.  And you know what?  I can't fake it any more.  I can't just suck it up and slap a smile on my face.  I don't have a very convincing fake smile.  I can't even pretend any more anyway.  The only time I can kind of manage it is when I am dropping my kids off at daycare and they don't want me to go to work, and I tell them, sometimes we do things because we have to do them, not because we want to.  And I want to throw up.  Because I don't want them to believe me.  I want them to pursue things that are challenging and fulfilling and sure, difficult and sure they'll second guess themselves, but I want them to go after what they want in life, and not just do what they are told they should do. 

That make any sense?

My dad is retired, but he was self-employed as a photographer and while he wasn't a millionaire or even close, he usually seemed to be happy about his work.  Maybe not every single second.  Maybe not every single aspect of it.  But for the most part, it was a good fit.

I have a pair of shoes that fit me perfectly.  I've replaced the heels because I wore them down.  Now the sole is peeling off the left one and my big toe is finally pushing a hole through the leather on the right one.  But I still wear them.  Because they fit me.  I don't get blisters and my toes don't feel cramped in there.  They fit. 

That's what I'm looking for.  A better fit.

A friend of mine at work has a friend who takes a lot of pictures and started selling them here and there.  She had a booth at a small art fair a few weeks ago, and we went to it, just so I could see her work.  And she's really good.  We talked a bit, and it was funny how similar some of her pictures are to some of mine.  We live in the same part of the country, we see the same flowers, the same skies, some of the same scenes.  She did pretty well - sold some pictures and had orders placed for others. 

It was another gigantic kick in the pants for me.

Oh, yeah, and I forgot this one.  On June 6th I bought the local paper.  Maybe it was a Wednesday and I got it for the food section.  I don't remember.  But I looked at my horoscope.  And here's what it said:

"If you still aren't doing what you love for money, the risk to your well-being is becoming much too important to ignore."

Really.  That's what it says.  I know for sure because I cut it out and it's taped to my laptop, right there where I can see it.  I don't read my horoscope every day - but once in a while I'll look.  And this was just too on the money to ignore.

So there's all of that.  And what's that got to do with anything? 

Well, I'm giving it a shot.  And to get started, I've opened a little shop on CafePress.  I'm still getting things organized, still wiping the dust off the shelves and deciding how to merchandise everything...heh heh.  But anyway.  That's what I'm doing. 

Because I need to do something that is me.  I need a better fit. I've had enough of blisters on my heels.  I need - ha ha - I need to fly my own damn plane. 

Okay, enough of the goofy analogies.  It's getting late, I'm tired, and my left pinkie is going numb. 

Diane, you were a big sister to me.  And you are a big part of the reason I decided to do something ELSE instead of deciding to just sit around and continue to be miserable at a job I don't like.  So thank you for this very necessary push in a new direction.  And if I fall flat on my face, I'll blame you.  Just kidding.

 

   

 

Southwick's Wild Animal Farm

Last week (okay, I know I'm supposed to recap more of July, but forgive me, I'm skipping around anyway) we brought the kids to Southwick's Wild Animal Farm - Alex has called it "The New Zoo" for some time now, because it is (or, rather, was) the NEW zoo as opposed to the OLD ZOO.  It was Tuesday.  I was heading off to work and they were heading off to have all the fun.  So at the last minute, I called in to say I was taking a mental health day, and that was that.

The best part of Southwick's is their deer forest.  You buy dried corn and bring it in with you, and the deer are all out and about and many of them come up to you to mooch food.

Julia adopted this one.  This deer was apparently the greeter - it met us at the gate and escorted us into the forest to meet all the other deer.  Julia fell in love, and walked like this, her hand on the deer's back, for quite a while.  After we'd fed deer for a while...

Julia started walking away with her buddy...

When asked where she was going, Julia replied "I'm bringing her back to her mom!"

Julia dropped her new friend off right about here, and that was that.

Later on we went into the farm animal pen...it's mostly an assortment of goats.  There were a couple of llamas in a separate pen, and a rabbit in a hutch...but the goats were the ones ready and waiting for food when we got there.

There was a little barn at one end of the pen, and more goats hanging out in the shade inside.

Julia headed straigh in to join them...

 

But wait...

Hey little guy, why are you all alone?

You wait right here...

HEY!  He can't find his mom and dad!

Once we reassurred her that the goat's parents were around somewhere and that he was okay, she went into the barn to greet all the other goats and make sure they all knew where their moms and dads were.

She's very sweet like that.

Alex, meanwhile, was thrilled to see the rhinos...

And he was so impressed, he directed me to take one more picture to remember them by...

(keep in mind he's a five-year-old boy)

Stir-Fried Fish with Ginger

Bill made a fabulous dinner on Friday - all Asian dishes.  We used to cook a lot of Asian dishes when we were first together. 

(Interruption:  Bill and Alex are fishing this morning off the rocks and Bill just called to tell me Alex caught the first scup - a keeper - about 12 inches long.  GO ALEX!  Bill caught one too.  They're going to fish for another half hour or so and then go swimming and then come home.  Yay!  Fresh fish for dinner!)

Okay, back to the program.  Anyway - a lot of our big marathon cooking sessions kind of petered out once we started having kids.  Not as much time and also we couldn't really bombard them lots of the spicy Thai curries and other hot foods we like.  But now - now they try things if they're a little spicy...and also, since the kids are 5 and 3, they don't need the same kind of hands-on attention they did when they were babies.

So here's one of the dishes Bill made the other night.  It's from the book Hot Sour Salty Sweet, by the fabulous writing/photography team of Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid.  They travel all over the world with their sons, immersing themselves in every culture out there, photographing and writing about the food and the people.  Their books are always huge, gorgeous, and incredible.  I want to be them.

Anyway - here's this recipe for "Stir Fried Fish with Ginger."  It was so good I had it for lunch the next day - cold, straight out of the fridge.  Serve it over some rice to soak up the liquid - it's fabulous.  The ginger loses some of its fiery, peppery personality during the cooking, mellowing out a bit, but still providing plenty of flavor.  Bill used Tilapia when he made it - the book recommends "catfish or snapper or any other firm-fleshed fish."  Here goes:

Stir-Fried Fish with Ginger (traey cha k'nye - Cambodia)

1 pound fish fillets

1/2 pound fresh ginger, preferably young ginger

3 tablespoons vegetable or peanut oil

1/2 cup minced shallots

4 scallions, trimmed, smashed flat with the side of a cleaver, sliced lengthwise in half, and then cut into 2-inch lengths

2 tablespoons Thai fish sauce

2 teaspoons sugar

1 teaspoon salt, or to taste

1 tablespoon fresh lime juice

Slice the fish fillets into strips about 2 inches long and less than 1/2 inch thick.  Peel the ginger, then cut into fine matchstick-length julienne (this is most easily done by cutting thin slices, then stacking these to cut them into matchsticks).  You should have about 2 cups loosely packed.

Heat a wok over medium-high heat.  Add the oil and, when it is hot, add the ginger.  When the ginger is starting to turn golden, after about 3 minutes, toss in the shallots.  Stir-fry until the ginger is golden brown, 2 to 4 minutes.  Toss in the scallions, reserving a few shreds for garnish, and stir-fry briefly, pressing the scallions against the hot wok to sear them.  Add the sliced fish and stir-fry gently for 1 minute, using your spatula to separate the slices and to expose them all to the hot wok.  Add the fish sauce, sugar, and salt, stir gently, and cook for 3 minutes, or until the fish is just cooked through.  Add the lime juice, taste and adjust the seasonings if you wish, and turn out onto a platter.  Garnish with the reserved scallion shreds and serve hot.

Serves 4 as part of a rice meal.

Try it!  

July 7th

My husband's eldest brother, R, and his wife, N, were here for the first week in July.  They were here from Seattle - their first week was spent in CT seeing N's father and siblings and their families, and then they came to stay with us for the second week.  It was a great week - I wish I hadn't had to work through most of it.

Anyway, toward the end of their stay, the older of their two sons flew up from DC to visit for a couple of days, too.  We don't get to see him too often, so that was a treat.  On their last night at our house, we went out to eat at a Japanese steak house/sushi bar near our house.  We've had sushi there multiple times, and a few months ago we brought Alex and Julia and sat at one of their grills to watch the chef perform and cook for us.  Alex ate a fortune in raw tuna...Julia was kind of scared of the fire.

So we went there, the seven of us, and I actually brought my camera.  I never used to bring my camera to restaurants - I always felt self-conscious and, well, weird, at the thought of photographing my meal.  But in the past year or so, I've decided I don't care if I am being weird, so I sometimes bring the camera. 

It was pretty dark inside, and I didn't want to use a flash, so bear with the grainy quality and the blur....

This is, of course, Alex, goofy with anticipation.

And Julia, enjoying some soup.  That thing that looks like a snakeskin dangling down in front of her bowl WAS a decorative paper orange wrapped around her straw until she destroyed it.

Ooooh, fire!  That's a little sliced onion volcano and slices of zucchini to the right.  This is Julia's least favorite part.  Never mind the show - just cook me my dinner!  Actually, before we even got to this part of the evening, she had to go to the bathroom about 4 times, just so she could hide.  She ended up sitting on Bill's lap for this part, mainly so I could take a picture.  I shouldn't have cut the flame off at the top like I did...but oh well. 

Action shot.  All the grilling vegetables (zucchini and onion) are being shoved around and chopped and cooked at high heat and blinding speed.

Alex watches the show.  He's seen it all before.  It's all very well and good, but I'd really like another side of tuna now, please.

Meanwhile Julia wields her chopsticks like a little pro.

After dinner we brought the few leftovers home and Bill and his brother and the kids (big and small) played whiffle ball in the back yard.

Gotta go cook breakfast for my kids now.  Back later with more of July.... 

Two Cucumber Recipes

I don't know about you, but we've got a bumper crop of cucumbers.  Fortunately we all like them.  And fortunately we have two tried-and-true recipes to trot out when we feel like showing off.  Actually - I can't lay claim to either of these.  Bill's the one who found them and who usually makes them.

The first is from a The Book of Curries & Indian Foods published by HP Books.  Bill had picked up a copy before we met, when he was getting into cooking all kinds of Asian cuisines. 

Here's the recipe:

"Cucumber and Chiles"

8 ounces cucumber

salt to taste

2 green chiles, seeded, finely sliced

1 small fresh red chile, seeded, finely chopped

2 tablespoons white wine vinegar

1 teaspoon superfine sugar.

(my notes: today we had neither variety of chile pepper - Bill picked a green cayenne from the garden and we used a dried thai bird chile for the red.  Also, I just used regular old granulated sugar.  May take a tiny bit longer to dissolve, but not THAT much longer than the superfine.)

Here's what you do:

1.  Very thinly slice cucumber.  Place in a colander and sprinkle with salt.  Drain 30 minutes, then rinse thoroughly under cold running water.  Pat dry with paper towels and arrange on a serving plate.

2.  Sprinkle chiles over cucumber.  Put vinegar and sugar in a small bowl and mix well.  Sprinkle over cucumber, then cover and refrigerate 30 minutes.  Serve cold.

Simple, huh?  We leave the peppers off for the kids - they're okay with some spice, but not this much.

And here's what it looks like:

Next up we have "Chilled Cucumber Soup," from my falling-apart copy of The Good Housekeeping Illustrated Cookbook.  Mine was published in 1980.  A Christmas gift from my Mom one year.  She wrote, on the inside cover: "Christmas 1987  For Jayne - I hope this book brings you as much pleasure as I think it will.  I hope, too, that in years to come favorite pages will have as many drips on them as mine do.  With love, Mom"

Well, the book has been so well-used that the entire picture section falls out.  The spine is broken in numerous places, and there are lots and lots of drips on the pages.  Thanks, Mom.  You thought right.

Anyway - Bill found this recipe a year or two ago, when, again, we had a surplus of cucumbers and he was looking for something different to do with them.  It's kind of like a vichyssoise.  Here goes:

"Chilled Cucumber Soup"

1/4 cup butter or margarine

4 cups chopped, peeled cucumbers

1 cup chopped green onions

1/4 cups all-purpose flour

4 cups chicken broth

salt and pepper

1/2 cup half-and-half

cucumber slices for garnish

1.  In 12-inch skillet over medium-high heat, in butter, cook cucumbers and onions.  Blend flour well into the pan juices.

2.  Gradually add broth, stirring; cook until mixture thickens and begins to boil.  Add salt and pepper to taste.

3.  Cover; simmer over low heat 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.  Refrigerate until chilled. 

4.  In covered blender container at medium speed, blend some of the mixture until smooth.

5.  Strain blended mixture through sieve into bowl; discard seeds.  Repeat with rest of mixture. 

6.  Stir in half-and-half.  Pour into chilled individual bowls; garnish with cucumber slices.

(my notes: instead of running this through a food processer or blender in batches, Bill used an immersion blender, which got the whole batch done in one shot.  He also used a pot instead of a skillet - something you might want to plan on doing if you're going to use the immersion blender.  Less splatter.)

(Speaking of splatter and soup...memory from my childhood...we used to have the washer and dryer in the kitchen, and we'd sit on them while my mother made dinner.  One day she had made pea soup, and she was running it in batches through the food processer because immersion blenders hadn't been invented yet, or if they had, we didn't have one...and all of a sudden, the lid of the food processer flew off and pea soup shot straight up into the air like a geyser.  It was all over the ceiling, cupboards, washer, dryer, counter, and us.  (I'd been sitting on the dryer next to the counter where the food processer was.)  Apparently a bone from the ham hock had broken off in the pot, and she hadn't seen it.  The bone jammed the blade that somehow forced the green soup up and out.  It's a very fond memory - still makes us laugh to this day.)

Anyway - back to the soup...oh - one other fancy-schmancy suggestion - instead of blending the half-n-half in BEFORE you serve the soup...ladle the soup into your chilled bowls, and then drizzle some of the cream onto the soup and swirl it with a knife or spoon.  Then garnish with the cucumers.  Ooooh.  Aaaah.  Very pretty.  Like a cold, green cappucino.  Sort of.

And here's the result:

The cucumbers used for garnish in that photo were actually from a batch of the cucumber and chile recipe above. 

The soup is creamy and comforting - even without the cream - and it's particularly yummy, we discovered, when you have some warm rosemary and garlic focaccia handy to dunk in the soup.  Gluttony doesn't begin to describe our behavior in this situation...

Anyway, I hope one or both of these recipes comes in handy if you've got a surplus of cucumbers this year.  Enjoy!

 

I don't even know what to call this post.

Julia woke up at around 3:00 this morning to go to the potty.  I got her back to bed and had just begun to drift back to sleep when she started calling for me frantically.  I got out of bed and went to her room and asked what was wrong.  She said the bee was stinging her.

She's had several dreams either of Alex pinching her or of a bee (or bees) stinging her.  I'm not sure why.  I mean, sure, her big brother might pinch her, and sure, a bee might sting her.  But every night, almost?  What's that all about?  I'm thinking either she's maybe getting her hair caught on something and when it tugs against her head it feels - to her sleeping mind - like a pinch or a sting.  Or, the ghost that used to inhabit the home of a coworker of mine has moved into my neighborhood.  That ghost used to pinch or hit the youngest daughter in her crib.  Who knows.

All I know is, I'm really really tired right now.  I brought Julia into bed with us, and she dozed off.  Tried to bring her back to her own bed - nope.  Not gonna work.  "The bee will sting me!"  Julia, there are NO BEES IN YOUR BED!  Of course, I hesitate to say stuff like that because if I do, for sure there will come a day when a bee will sting Julia in her crib, and my mom cred will drop like concrete in a river.

So, Julia ended up staying in bed with us until around 6 this morning.  That meant that she, my husband, and the cat all slept soundly and I perched on the edge of the bed, shivering (there was a breeze) and awake for most of the early morning.  I thought about just getting up and writing or something, but I was stubbornly clinging to the idea that since it was still dark outside, I should get to sleep.

I had weird dreams.  I remember this one in particular:

I was somewhere - (really sets the scene, huh?) probably with my family somewhere - and the phone rang.  Now...I don't want to talk about my job, really, but it's kind of relevant so I'll dance around the details to the best of my ability.  Part of my job is to handle after-hours emergency calls.  I have my work cell phone for that.  I cover these calls every other week.  Over time, I have grown to hate the sound of that phone with a passion.  And a dread.  And resentment.  I'm so tired of it intruding on my personal time.  My stomach knots up and my mood darkens instantly when I hear that thing ring.

So - in my dream, I took the call and told the woman on the other end that I would check into the situation and get back to her.  And then when I got off the phone (in the dream) I realized that she hadn't called me on my work phone - she'd called me on my own personal cell.  How did she get my cell number???  When people call the after-hours number, they're not calling specifically to talk to ME - it could be someone else.  It's just - that's the number to call.  And here she was, this rather snooty sounding woman, calling me on my own cell phone.  On my own time.  And I was pissed.  Forget dealing with her "emergency" (oh, and a good portion of the time, people don't really know what "emergency" means in terms of this job that I do.  I get unnecessary calls aplenty.) Anyway, I had to find out how she got my number.  And then - like it is in dreams - there she was.  We were in some big covered space, like a really big tent you'd see at a fair, where they'd put the tables and chairs if it was raining out.  But this space was empty.  Just her and me.  And she wouldn't tell me.  Wouldn't tell me where she got my phone number.  And she looked all smug and "if you don't know I'm not going to tell you" about it too.  And in the dream, her slightly pursed, clamped-shut mouth began to move forward from her face (okay, I'm not describing this well) - her face sort of elongated - she took on a more rodent-like appearance.  With her short gray hair and wrinkles.  And the smug mean look in her eyes.

And that was the dream.  I never got an answer from her - the scene shifted, the channel changed, and that part of things was gone.

Of course, it doesn't take a genius to figure that one out.  The whole "intrusion on my personal time" thing.  I resent it.  I'm tired of it.  It's not worth it to me any more.

So much going on in my head lately.  I'm not surprised that I had this dream.

I just wish I didn't have to be clinging to the edge of my bed and shivering while I had it. 

Although, maybe, maybe that's apropo as well.

I'll talk to you later.  Gotta go to work soon.

Yesterday's post

You're right - there wasn't one.  I had typed in this long garden update post, with pictures from the garden, a couple of basic recipes - and at the very end, suddenly I couldn't upload the picture of the eggplant in the garden...and I tried again and again...and then finally figured FINE, I'll just save what I've got as a draft and try again later.  Nope.  Couldn't do that either.  (Of course now that I think about it, I could have saved the whole thing as a word document...but it didn't occur to me yesterday.)  So anyway - yesterday's post?  Gone.

So here's the shortened version:

Our gardens are a tangle of greens - leaves and vines and tendrils and thorns.  It always looks crazy and unkempt at this point - but it's the best time as well, because everything is producing.

We've got cucumbers and zucchini aplenty - good thing the kids like them.  And we've got tomatoes ripening - actually, Bill found some red ones yesterday - they're small, a bit bigger than cherry tomatoes - I can't think of the name at the moment (I'm hurrying because I have to leave for work soon) but anyway - two ripe little tomatoes yesterday afternoon.  I cut one into two for the kids to share, and cut the other for Bill and I.  There is nothing better - NOTHING better - than a warm tomato, just picked.  Unless it is a tomato sandwich made from a warm, freshly picked tomato - on white bread with mayo, salt and pepper.  Don't go gussying it up with other stuff - no, if you're going to have a tomato sandwich, then be pure about it.

Anyway.  We've also got tons of basil, which I will cut back soon and run through the food processer with some olive oil and pack in small containers to freeze.  I also do something like that with the tomatoes - I've probably mentioned it before...you slice the tomatoes in half, or smaller if you've got different sized tomatoes working together.  You put everything - cut sides up - in a baking pan and pour a generous amount of olive oil over all them.  I sprinkle some salt and pepper on too.  You can sprinkle herbs on too, but I don't because I like to be able to do that later, depending on what I'm making.  But I jump ahead.  You put the pan of tomatoes (or, if it's August and you're drowning in tomatoes, many pans) in an oven set around 300-325 and bake for at least an hour.  You're looking for the tomatoes to give up a lot of water and to shrivel and shrink in the process.  They will cook gently in the warm oil, and at the end they will be sweet and heavenly.  It's up to you how long you cook them.  You don't want them to burn, of course, but a little brown or black is okay. 

After you've taken them out, let them cool and then scrape the whole mixture into a container, cover, and stick them in the freezer.  You can use them later for sauces, pasta dishes, pizza - whatever and however.  The point is - it's the best thing in the world to have a taste of summer produce in the middle of January.

Gotta go - talk to you later!