All stuffed with fluff

The story goes like this:

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Susan, who hated to run. All her life, she was last in every race. One time, in intermediate school, she was second-to-last, and it was a proud moment. She was also last on every hike, the one saying, "How much longer to the top?" for most of the journey. When she entered the mission field, her first companion tried to drag her out running at 6:30 every morning, but the most she could ever manage was about 1/4 of a mile. Kicking and screaming at that. For several decades, Susan shunned any form of running, preferring any other kind of exercise, like biking, swimming, or walking. Even mountain climbing, which was pretty much her downfall. Get it? Downfall? Chortle chortle.

Fast forward to now. 

She is me. 

Lately, I have been doing a slow jog while my walking companions do a fast walk. It is easier on my leg somehow. And, because I have been without a walking buddy quite often, I got this harebrained idea to start running. I've been out maybe five or six times now, gradually increasing my distance. Today, I racked up a whole 2.48 miles. How do I know, you ask? This cool web site, mapmyrun, lets me calculate my every step. The only thing is, I do not feel like a runner. When I see my friends out running, they look all elegant in their running clothes and their ipods and their long runners' legs galloping along like they're hardly touching the road. Me, I feel like Winnie the Pooh, who has tired of his stoutness exercises and has decided to try jogging only it's more like gallumphing or lumbering and he can hardly lift one leg off the ground in time to get the other one in front of him and he's huffing and puffing so hard that he thinks he might pass out before he can drag his big old bum home to his honey pot. 

That's what I feel like when I'm running.

And today, I was about halfway through my groundbreaking run and passing my driveway when I realized that my right shoe had not been in shadow the whole time, but was a different shoe from the one on my left foot.

Now, you can see how I might have made that mistake.

Right?

Not exactly gluten-free

My new favourite toy.

For about twenty years, I have been unhappy with my wheat grinder. It was reliable, but fell sadly short in the fineness of the grind. All my baked goods were somewhat coarse in texture, which made me unhappy. New wheat grinders of good quality are expensive, so I was resigned to making do with my existing grinder till I died.
And then, happy day, one of the buying groups to which I belong got a great deal on these Blendtec grinders.
I am in Heaven.
It is fast and furious.
The flour is of commercial quality.
I may yet accomplish my goal of using all my wheat before I die.
And lest you laugh, you should see my wheat buckets.

I picked up an old issue of Backwoods Home Magazine at the library and I found an article with a master whole wheat recipe that could be used for bread, pizza crust and cinnamon rolls.
I was inspired.

On Thursday, the missionaries came to dinner.
We had two kinds of pizza for dinner and cinnamon rolls for dessert.

Pepperoni and olives.

Prosciutto and pineapple, which I make on purpose because Jeff will not touch any pizza that has pineapple on it. He calls it sissy pizza. All the more for me, I call it!

Cinnamon rolls, which were pleasantly, not overpoweringly, sweet and very delicious with some hastily concocted brown sugar/cream cheese frosting.

The missionaries approved.

So, if you dare, here is the recipe.

Basic Whole Wheat Bread 

2 Tbs + 3/4 tsp yeast

4 c hot water

1/2 c honey or molasses

1 Tbs salt

1/4 c olive oil

Stir together and let stand for 5 mins.

1 c oatmeal

1/2 c cornmeal

1/3 c wheat germ

1/3 c ground flaxseed

Stir into liquid and let stand 5 mins.

I didn't have wheat germ, so I ignored that one.

Work 9 or 10 cups of wheat flour into the dough mixture.

I substituted 3 c bread flour for 3 c of the wheat flour, because I was too chicken to go with 100% wheat this first time.

Knead the dough till it is pliable but not sticky.

I actually kneaded by hand for the first time in years. I've gotten lazy with my bread machine.

Cover and let rise until doubled in size. Refer to your own favourite recipes for baking temperatures and times.

I got a small loaf of bread, two large pizza crusts, and a small batch of cinnamon rolls out of this batch of dough. I think next time I will skip the bread and make more cinnamon rolls.
By the way, the article was called Whole Wheat for the Whole Week.
I don't think so!

The first time I tried organic wheat bread, I thought I was chewing on roofing material. Robin Williams.

Livin' in the loony bin

My mother is getting to be quite forgetful.

I took her to Fred Meyer a few days before my birthday. Every time I stopped to look at something, she wanted to buy it for me.

Finally, I said lovingly, "Mum, if you do that one more time I'm not going to bring you again."

Then, I tried on a pair of New Balance walking shoes. My feet felt like they had come home.

"Tell you what Mum, why don't you buy these for my birthday?"

She was very happy. It was a win/win situation. She got to buy me something and I got new shoes that I loved.

Every day since my birthday it has gone like this.

Mum: I need to get you something for your birthday.

Me: You did get me something, these nice walking shoes. I love them. Besides, my birthday was two weeks ago.

Mum: Oh. Well, I mean something nice.

Me: (silent, high-pitched scream) Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

Every.

Day.

Did I mention my Mum is getting to be quite forgetful?

Did I tell you about my birthday shoes?

A friend told me that dementia is contagious.

He may be right.

Honouring those who honour the dead

Gibbs Cemetery this morning.

Sunday flowers

Memorial Day "pause for thought"

Another Memorial Day

Freedom Is Not Free 

Kelly Strong 
I watched the flag pass by one day. It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
and then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.

I heard the sound of TAPS one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That TAPS had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free 

Now, go find a Memorial Day service near you.