Thursday, September 22, 2011

How to be a good mole, or, minding the gap

Rules for surviving the Underground:
1. Never look your fellow traveler in the eye. Look at his knees, check out her funky shoes, read the back page of her newspaper, or focus intently on the station map above his head. If you happen to inadvertently catch his eye, quickly slide your eyes to the left or right and pretend you were casually glancing at the person next to him.


2. Put your walking shoes on. The English are hardy souls who love to run up and down massive flights of stairs. Most stations don't have escalators. Even when there are escalators, the commuters employ a dainty, tripping little step as they dash past you. Stand on the right, please.



3. Accepted activities whilst on the train are: listening to music on a headset (don't hum or bounce to the beat) ; texting on your smartphone (no talking); reading the free evening paper (no laughing aloud); and snoozing (no leaning on the guy next to you).



4. Carry an underground map with you at all times. Use phrases like "Jubilee Line" and "Euston Station" frequently so that people will think you're an old hand at this tube thing.
5. Carry a pocketful of change for the buskers. Some of the best music you will ever hear will be at the entrances to the tube. This guy, from Trinidad, was playing a steel drum that had twenty-nine tones, three octaves worth. He was supremely talented and I wish we had listened longer.


6. Buy a day pass. It will save you lots of money. Riding the train is an expensive proposition. I don't know how Londoners can afford it.
7. Above all, mind the gap. 

Friday, September 16, 2011

Thanks for the memories


I don't remember the last time I had fresh peaches and blueberries in my kitchen at the same time. 
Thank you, weird weather patterns.
Today, I made a double batch of peach and blueberry muffins.
They are but a sweet reminiscence.


Grandchildren devoured them, hot from the oven...


...and whimpered with regret when I informed them that the remainder were going to friends.


But after we delivered them we stopped and played at a park and they forgave me.
And, because I love you, I am sharing the recipe.
I think you should make some.
Right now.
Because they will make you happy.

The recipe is from the Taste of Home cookbook.
With a few alterations.
I love Taste of Home, its recipes rarely fail me.

Berry Cream Muffins

2 c flour
Scant cup of sugar (you know, just tip a bit out!)
1/2 tsp BP
1/2 tsp B. Soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 c fruit (raspberries, like the recipe says, or blueberries and peaches, only I'm sure I added more like 2 c)
2 eggs
1 c sour cream (I didn't say they were low-fat!)
1/2 c vegetable oil (I subbed part of it with olive oil)
1/2 tsp vanilla

Throw the dry ingredients in a bowl and stir. Mix in the wet ingredients and then the fruit. Bake in lined or greased muffin cups for 18-22 minutes at 350 degrees. Help, somebody tell me where the degree key is!
Makes about a dozen muffins, depending on your pan size.

Dang, I think I'll make another batch tomorrow for the road.

Also looming on my mind this week were a gazillion pounds of Italian prunes which I picked for free over the mountain. If I was going to be here when they ripen I would dry them and perhaps bottle some. But, alas, I am not, so I have been giving them away to anyone I could sucker into saying Yes.
I still have a 5-gallon bucketful.
Any takers?
Anyone?


And now, if you will excuse me, I will go work on my British slang.
Crikey, gimme a cuppa.
Eh, wotch out that lorry doesn't knock you on yer bum on the way to the loo.
Eee, I was right chuffed when that bloke gave me a buttie.
Don't forget yer brolly and wellies.

Oh dear, hope I haven't offended my two dear English readers!
Next time you hear from me, it will be from Merry Old England.
Cheerio!

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Eating on my mind

As usual.

So here's the annual peach shortcake.
I tried to cook it in a solar oven but I've got some refining of the process to do.
Actually, I think I need a different pan.
Go here for the recipe, if you feel inclined towards yumminess.


Remember the tomato cages I proudly built?
They're paying off in spades.
It took me a couple of weeks to figure out that these were supposed to be yellow!
Hillbillies.
Jeff says they're very sweet and juicy.
I wouldn't know.
I don't eat tomatoes.


The first red tomatoes harvested a couple of weeks ago.


And now I'm slow-roasting about a pan a day for the freezer.
Actually, I put it in the oven before I go to bed and wake up to the smell of pasta sauce in the morning.


Which goes very nicely with some home-made bread, full of flax seed and other goodies.


And the obligatory chocolate for dessert.
I found this gorgeous bar at Grocery Outlet, my source of all things delicious.


Are you hungry yet?

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Ten years


Oh, thus be it ever, when free men shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land
Praise the Pow'r that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust!"
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Hummingbirds, flagpoles, and bumblebees

Go back with me, if you will, to the summer of 1980.

I know, most of you were barely alive, but humour an old lady, will ya?

Jeff and I were newly married and living in a non-air-conditioned, upstairs apartment in Orange County, California. Bethany was born nine months and six days past our wedding day, so yes, I was pregnant. 
And miserable. 
Nauseous, tired, and hot
I got a little job sewing drill team uniforms for a high school team and, on the days I managed to crawl out of bed, I sewed and listened to the radio. Ironically, this song was very popular that year. It played over and over until I imagined its only purpose was to drive me irrevocably mad.


Even now, when I hear the song, it causes faint waves of nausea to wash over my body.

And what does that have to do with the price of vanilla pods in Madagascar, you may ask?
Well, it has been in the upper 90's all week and it just doesn't seem to be worth the bother of putting in the A/C. 
It is, after all, the middle of September. 
We manage quite nicely most of the day. We close the windows mid-morning and start the fans. It gets a bit steamy around dinnertime and then cools down in the evening, so we open all the windows and listen to the crickets chirping as we fall asleep. But I have taken to wandering around in my dreaded muumuu and sporting a minimal amount of supportive clothing, if you get my drift. Which has nothing to do with the steaminess at dinnertime, so hush your mouth! 
It kinda reminds of those blissfully miserable days of our first years together. 

Josh came over to spend the night last night. We spent most of the the evening watering our new cypress hedge and all of the flowerpots and vegetables. Joshie loves to water things. By the time we finished it was cooling down so we sat on the deck and I said to Josh, If we sit quietly maybe we'll see some bees and butterflies and even a hummingbird.
He thought that sounded pretty neat, so we sat and watched the bees and butterflies and it wasn't two minutes later that a hummingbird darted into view. 
We were pleased.
Josh thought I was awesome.
I think.

I took this photo this morning when I heard the distinctive "click click" of the hummingbird. I didn't really have time to do anything but grab my camera and zoom, so the focus is terrible, but it's proof positive of the visit.


I've purposefully planted my flowerbeds with perennials and annuals that attract hummingbirds and I've been tickled with how often they visit. Almost any time I sit on the deck for a few minutes I am enchanted by a visit from one of the endearing little birds. The last verse of this poem  sums up my feelings.

Diminutive, defiant darter -
tiny heart in pounding pace;
we savor every fleeting glance
- a streak of heaven's fragile grace.

After Josh had bathed and eaten his bedtime snack and read his books for "22 minutes" (a compromise he wheedled out of me when I told him he had twenty minutes) I tucked him in and said, Josh, do you hear the crickets? His window at home is always closed tightly at night so I knew it would be unusual for him to be able to hear them.
He listened for a few seconds and said, Nana, how do you know about crickets?

Ah, glasshoppah, I am all-knowing!

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I've been playing with my new camera. I love the natural light photos I've been taking but I haven't quite figured out the inside settings.
Witness these of my lovely Josh.


There's nothing as sweet as a sleeping child.
For breakfast, he ate a whole juicy peach, a large bowl of cinnamon oatmeal and two maple-flavoured sausages.


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In other breaking news, Jeff installed our new flagpole this week. 
Made in the USA.
Guaranteed to never bend in the wind.
Just like us.
It will fly at half mast tomorrow and we will be thinking of those who died ten years ago.
And of our Charlie.


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I tried out the close-up mode on the camera this afternoon. That is what gave me the most grief on the old camera so I was thrilled with the results.
The flowers were blowing in the light breeze and I was my usually jumpy self, so I'm way impressed by the clarity of these shots. They are only lightly edited.


Cropped.


Another gratifying feature is the accuracy of the red end of the colour spectrum. My Hot Cocoa rose has always defied the camera lens, but it only took a little brightness and shadow tuning to get this picture, which is very true to the actual dusky-red shade.


Then I had some fun with the bumble bees.




Thanks for reading.
Did I ever mention how happy you make me?

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Martha Stewart, how I have missed thee!

My first free issue arrived today. 
I earned a bunch of theoretical points at Recycle Bank, the website that theoretically encourages you to recycle more. Considering that they encouraged me to get this magazine for which I would never pay, the fossil fuels for transporting the magazine to my door and the amount of glossy paper to be recycled, I'm not sure how well they're actually doing. 
My excuse is that I'm getting the magazine as a gift for Bethany. I had it mailed to me so that I could peruse its wonders before I pass it on.

Martha has a very cunning tip for stacking teacups. Instead of stacking the saucers together in one pile and then stacking the cups in several precarious piles, she stacks them as sets. 

Teacup
Saucer
Teacup
Saucer
Teacup
Saucer

Get my drift?
I thought that was pretty clever, should I ever have teacups and saucers to stack.
Which I don't.
And then I saw the list of prices.

http://www.ampersandshops.com/browse.cfm/jl-couquet-hemisphere-gold-stripe-tea-cup/4,5783.html

Hemisphere Gold Striped teacups: $118 each.
Saucers: $102 each.
Yes, that is real gold.
They're probably not even dishwasher safe.

Only Martha would think that those prices are anything but hilarious!

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Come on in, the water's fine!

Well, okay, so I lied.

I adore the Oregon coast, but the water is usually too frigid to dip one's toes.
And the sneaker waves can kill.
Not to mention the logs that sometimes roll in the surf.
And kill.
And it's usually windy and/or foggy and cold.
But sometimes, ah, sometimes, the sun rules the sky and then it is bliss.


Truth be told, the best thing to do on Oregon beaches is not go in the water.
Which leaves walking, running, building sandcastles, collecting rocks and shells and driftwood, clamming, and photography.
Something for everyone.


On Friday, friend Karen and I went to spend the weekend at her beach house. Our husbands were running in the Hood to Coast relay, a huge annual event of which we steer clear. We visited the local art co-op and spent the rest of the night ensconced with our laptops, watching movies on Netflix.

I am newly addicted to Doc Martin, a BritCom set in Cornwall. I watched about dozen of them on Friday and Sunday and finished the series since I've been home.

Note to Karen: I've repented and have hereby quit pirating your Netflix account.
But not, I am ashamed to say, before I finished!

I've been thinking in a broad Cornish brogue since Friday.

On Saturday we started driving up the coast to pick up our spouses in Seaside.
We stopped in Bay City, just north of Tillamook, of Tillamook cheese fame, in my eternal search for the best clam chowder.

It was here....


...that I found Nirvana.


I was going to buy some of that fresh tuna, but it had all been pre-ordered.
Curse those pre-ordering people!

Karen enjoyed her boring salad. The lettuce was crisp with a nice poppyseed dressing and fresh shrimp.


We licked the platters clean.


But the chowder ruled the day, as we all agreed on the way back home when we treated our hubbies to dinner at the same restaurant.
Three hours later.


We waited for the van just south of Seaside and waved to all the vans that were heading home full of sweaty, tired runners. This is typical of the warped sense of humour of the teams.


There was a pirate van, flying the skull and crossbones from the back and "Free candy for boobies" written on the window, but I missed the shot.
Sorry, Pirate!

Finally, our boys showed up.


We drove back to the beach house.
The scenery en route was so-so.


This is the view from the house.
Meh.


I'm so lucky to have generous friends that even act as if they like me.

In other news:
I bought a new camera. I think I love it. Nikon Coolpix S9100 with an 18X zoom and HD movie recording.
We leave for England in less than three weeks. Help! So much to do.
I think we had summer last week. Hope no one missed it!
My tomatoes are starting to ripen.
Jon and Jenny are buying a house. So excited for them.
Annie survived Hurricane Irene.

I'm sure there is more to tell, but I'm tired and must go to bed.
'Nighty night.