Beautiful vagabonds

Jeff and I have been bird lovers for a long time. We spend a small fortune on black oil sunflower seed and Nijer thistle seed every winter to feed our small friends. It's getting to the point that we feed them all summer long too. Mum and I bought two nice sunflower seed feeders for Jeff for Father's day. A little early, but he needed them now, not in two weeks. We were soon rewarded with some resident chickadees, who have been infrequent visitors until now. I love their song and their friendly habits.The photos aren't very spiffy, I haven't managed to get close enough to the birds. I need to spend some more time waiting patiently, but it won't be this week.

The nicest surprise has been the hummingbirds that are rewarding my planting efforts with some quality time at the coral bells and other flowers in my garden. Here is a cute little guy at the bleeding heart  that spent a long time in the side yard yesterday. 

This hummingbird was sitting on some honeysuckle vines which I passed as I was walking to church last night. They look like a completely different bird when sitting and fluffing their feathers out.

There has also been a hummingbird visitor with a ruby throat that shines iridescently in the sun, on those rare days that we have actually seen the sun.

The ubiquitous blue jays love the sunflower seed too. They are so common here that I almost don't like them, because they have a habit of burying most of their food in my garden, so I have to contend with little nut trees and stray sunflower plants. But my Mum comments on them all the time as if they were a rare species, so I have to remind myself that not everyone gets to see blue jays in their back yard. Or on their mimosa stumps!

And, of course, the voracious goldfinches that cost us so much in thistle seed. But they are so adorable that we don't even flinch as we raid our wallets any more.

Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird. Harper Lee, in one of the best books of all time.

A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song. Chinese proverb.

I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven. Emily Dickinson.

I once had a sparrow alight on my shoulder for a moment, while I was hoeing in a village garden, and I felt that I was more distinguished by that circumstance than I should have been by any epaulet I could have worn. Henry David Thoreau.

And on that note, I will say "Amen".

Chocolate dysfunction

There seems to be no end to my propensity for chocolate accumulation.

About a year ago I posted this about my chocolate stash. And when I searched the blog for "chocolate", it came up with 36 posts. I believe that my obsession is becoming....serious. 

The stash has waxed and waned in the intervening months. Right now, it is at an all-time high. I moved it from the spare room to under my bed a few weeks ago, to interfere with pilfering. 

Here is the inviting, intoxicating, international inventory.

Which adds up to about 25 lbs, in case you were wondering:

5 bags of assorted M&M's

3 bags of dark Dove

3 bags of Cadbury mini-eggs

2 bags and one bar of Scharffenberger

3 bars of Bloomsberry & Co from New Zealand

1 bar of Whittaker's macadamia chocolate from New Zealand

9 bars of assorted Toblerone

1 bag of Lindt truffles

5 assorted Lindt bars

3 bags of Assorted Godiva

1 bag of Almond Joy pieces

1 box + 1 bar of Tropical Source dairy-free dark, which I bought for Josh and after eating the first box I think he's sick of it.

6 little Lindt gold bunnies. The sad remnant of a big purchase. I ADORE them.

1 bag Ghirardelli

2 bags of dark covered pomegranate bits

Several random remnants of bags of mini-sized bars

Did you notice how little Hershey's was in that list?

The hoard is now safely ensconced in three shoeboxes under my bed.
And where did I get such lovely shoeboxes, you ask?
Well, that is another story, of another dysfunction, for another time.

Bethany said she doesn't know how I can sleep with all that chocolate under my bed.

Sunday blossoms

I keep posting these because I think the colours are so glorious and Julie deserves a wider audience than just our congregation.

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.