Let the record show …

sopleased

 

Scrap heap in the bedroom?  Handled, biotches!

NEXT!!

No worries, you know those person-size Rubbermaid tubs that are a hoot to fill and then can’t be lifted except by committee?  We have a selection of those from the move … lurking … blaming … shaming …

Just kidding, I’m not losing sleep over it, but I don’t want our sons to have to deal with see what we leave behind in thirty years or so.  Starting early and staying dedicated to the task strikes me as a wise plan.

And there’s always every kind of sorting to be done.  Since taking a semi-sabbatical from Facebook recently, I’ve spent hours dumping folders full of junk, document files that were spilling their guts, emails by the thousands, including my FB stash back to 2011, and a lot of things I apparently saved in the middle of the night after “wine tastings.”  I’ve consigned so much drama to the irretrievable past I’m feeling light-headed and may float away.  Sounds all right …

TGIF, kiddos — enjoy!

Dragging out a couple more boxes after breakfast.

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Coming to you from beautiful downtown Lawrence …

Sunny sky, high clouds, shadows like spring, a little green in the trees.  Somebody’s running a weed-eater.  Maddie’s sleeping, Kim’s writing, TV’s murmuring, I’m observing.  Below my window, the intersection of 8th and Rhode Island is a shifting collage of cars, bicycles, walkers and joggers, fire trucks and ambulances, gaggles of people who clearly have no clue but are just as happy as if they had good sense, couples, families, lone souls, old bushy-bearded guys who sit on the wall for a while, plastic grocery bags hanging on their walkers, dredging up resolve to make it on home.  Sometimes nobody, nothing, for a whole minute.  And then parents and babies, big kids and buses, and so many dogs.  Students going back and forth to Mass Street or the Hill, and after dusk, revelers.  Yummy little word.  Revelers.  Revel.  Revelry.

rev·el·ry
ˈrevəlrē/
noun
noun: revelry; plural noun: revelries
1. lively and noisy festivities, especially when these involve drinking a large amount of alcohol

“sounds of revelry issued into the night”

Sounds right.  The energy flowing from Mt. Oread infuses everything here with youth and hormones so that even the commonplace has a zingy undertone.  It’s a beautiful place to be, this town, and lately I’m seriously thinking about beautiful places.  More tomorrow …

bg-home-culture-2

MASS STREET IN FULL REVEL

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2014 in Review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,500 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

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Grown Up Game Day Cheesy Beer Dip

The Kansas Jayhawks will be playing basketball in about twenty minutes over on the hill and here on HD, so we’re in Snack Mode.  Here’s a variation on the usual white-guy queso, and I’m sure you can think of all kinds of ways to personalize it.  Enjoy!

 

Beer Cheese Dip

 

“There are certain times when we are totally okay with indulging in ridiculously yummy foods that we know are probably less than great for our health. Sitting around and watching the big game with friends and family is one of those times when we’re just happy to be around loved ones and we like to soak it all in. (Much like the piece of bread when we dunk it into this dip!)

This beer cheese dip is sinfully delicious and we’re not sorry! Use your favorite beer—keeping in mind that lighter draughts will produce a lighter dip and vice versa—and cheese, gradually melt and blend it all together and you’re golden. You do need to plan out the rest of your party prep, since this dip is best made right before serving, but it’s really easy and packs a flavorful punch, sure to be everyone’s favorite!”

 

Beer Cheese Dip
Yield: 2-2 1/2 cups

Ingredients

1 cup ale or lager (or your choice beer; light and crisp will result in a lighter sauce, etc.)
1 cup cheddar cheese, grated
2/3 cup milk
1/2 cup pepper jack cheese (optional)
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon dry mustard
kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
tortilla chips, for serving
Directions

Melt butter in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat and add in flour. Stir roux for 2-3 minutes, or until smooth and pasty and flour has had a chance to cook (but not burn).
Whisking continuously, gradually whisk in milk until smooth. Then pour in beer and stir until fully incorporated.
Raise heat to medium-high and let mixture simmer lightly. Stir in Worcestershire sauce and dry mustard and season with salt and pepper.
Continuing to stir, let cook for about 4 minutes, or until sauce thickens.
1/3 cup at a time, add in grated cheese and stir until (almost) fully melted. Then add another handful. Continue with remaining cheese.
Once mixture is smooth and thick, taste and adjust seasoning, if necessary.
Transfer to serving bowl and serve immediately with tortilla chips, crackers, or slices of toasted baguette.

Recipe adapted from Williams Sonoma

http://12tomatoes.com/2015/01/grown-up-game-day-cheesy-beer-dip.html

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Holy cow, it’s HumpDay again! Already!!

How does this happen??

6-25-humpday

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The Monday (anti)rant …

There is no rant in me today, because the sun is shining and the doors are open and life is good.  I could find something to bitch about if I wanted to, but I haven’t found the want to.  I hope you don’t want to either, because look at this tiny green beast that reminds me of my little dog.  If you happen to have either one, you know exactly what I mean!

tinyfrogFrame

 

 

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Sweet, sweet tapioca …

Are there dishes from your childhood you’d give your right earlobe to duplicate?  (Don’t fear it, Stephen Colbert’s doing okay without his.)  I finally came across my mom’s potato pancakes when we moved here — miraculously, they’re made every morning by the nice folks at The Roost, just up the street — who knew?

Still looking for a few things, most of them cooked up by one of my vimmens … the collection of interesting females who shaped my concept of personhood, for good and ill.  My grandmothers, my mom, my aunts … they’re a warm honey-pot in my heart, part perfume, part tears, part crazy, part food.  Like peach cobbler.  I have my grandma’s recipe, but not her homegrown peaches that I helped pick and blanch and slice.  So there’s that, but it’s fixable, except for the grandma part.

Still-warm lemon-meringue pie that’s at least four inches high, baked from scratch with my mom’s recipe.  Actually, somebody I know might have that recipe …

My Aunt Bette’s meatloaf.  That one could probably be solved, too.  The list gets really long, though, once I open the Food Memories file folder — might have to leave the rest of the salivating and crying for another day.  Meanwhile, here’s a thing I’ve looked for and tried to whip together and just happened across today because that’s how the universe works sometimes … the clone of my mom’s tapioca pudding, which, trust me on this, is equally incredible warm or cold.  But I like it warm.

Tapioca

tapioca pudding recipe

Notes from 12 Tomatoes, where I found the recipe:

“A dessert that’s a favorite among many is tapioca pudding. It’s similar to other sweet puddings like rice pudding to a degree, however there’s something unique to the taste of tapioca. What exactly is tapioca, though? It’s a starch harvested from the cassava plant.

Far too many tapioca pudding recipes call for an instant mix or come in the ‘instant’ variety. So much of the creamy, delicious flavor is lost this way. Instead, our recipe calls for small, pearl tapioca. This wonderful, sweet dessert is a great way to end a meal, or even as a night-cap before you head off to bed. Some tapioca requires soaking overnight. If that is the case, soak overnight and reduce the milk to 2 1/2 cups.”

 

Sweet Tapioca

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I don’t remember dancing …

Did we dance on Tuesday?  I don’t think we danced on Tuesday …

It isn’t an insignificant omission, is the thing.  Because life really IS a dance and if we let the silliness fall off our cracker even once, we could be setting ourselves up for a lifetime of resting bitch face.  Yeah, see, we meant to have fun but we forgot.  And then our faces got bored with smiling and now we feel powerless to, you know, like, fix any of that.

Seriously.  Okay, the rules have changed then — we’ll just dance ANY old day and preferably EVERY day, and even if we happen to forget once in a while, RBF won’t have time to set in!  It’s important, and I’m thinking this could be a breakthrough.  Register your opinion in comments!

 

beautiful story

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Still slightly displaced …

… but here’s a Thursday Throwback while we wait — my Great-Grandma Cummings holding little me.  That, of course, was my I-am-so-done face, which may or may not resurface from time to time.  I love my GG’s wonderful outfit and her sweet face.  And after seeing this photo a kazillion times, I all-at-once get who she reminds me of — Mrs. Doubtfire!  I love that.  I love it so much.   

pinkframeGCme 

 

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Devils on Horseback

From the brilliantly clever people at The Crepes of Wrath … Bacon-Wrapped Dates!  With surprises!!

 

bacon-wrapped dates

No wonder these little beauties are known as “Devils on Horseback” — they pack a powerful, naughty punch with spiced poached pears, crispy bacon, and sweet, chewy dates. Recipe here.

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A story for the new year …

Dandelion_wine

 

 

Μaybe old people were never children, like we claim with Mrs. Bentley, but, big or little, some of them were standing around at Appomattox the summer of 1865. They got Indian vision and can sight back further than you and me will ever sight ahead.”

“That sounds swell, Doug; what does it mean?”

Douglas went on writing. “It means you and me ain’t got half the chance to be far-travelers they have. If we’re lucky we’ll hit forty, forty-five, fifty. That’s just a jog around the block to them. It’s when you hit ninety, ninety-five, a hundred, that you’re far-traveling like heck.”

The flashlight went out.

They lay there in the moonlight.

“Tom,” whispered Douglas, “I got to travel all those ways. See what I can see. But most of all I got to visit Colonel Freeghleigh once, twice, three times a week. He’s better than all the other machines. He talks, you listen. And the more he talks he gets you to peering around and noticing things. He tells you you’re riding on a very special train, by gosh, and sure enough it’s true. He’s been down the track, and knows. And now here we come, you and me, along the same track, but further on, and so much looking and snuffling and handling things to do, you need old Colonel Freeleigh to shove and say look alive so you remember every second! Every darn thing there is to remember! So when kids come around when you’re real old, you can do for them what the colonel once did for you. That’s the way it is, Tom, I got to spend a lot of time visiting him and listening so I can go far-traveling with him as often as he can.”

Tom was silent a moment. Then he looked over at Douglas there in the dark.
“Far-traveling, you make that up?”

“Maybe yes and maybe no.”

“Far-traveling,” whispered Tom.

“Only one thing I’m sure of,” said Douglas, closing his eyes, “it sure sounds lonely.”

(Ray Bradbury, “Dandelion Wine”, 1946)

… grateful to my friend Angela Petraline for sharing

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Ranting about thankfulness on HumpDay …

Didn’t feel like losing it over anything on Monday, so you got a break.  Love it while you can because that’s over in 4 … 3 … 2 …

So Monday was okay, as I recall.  Tuesday afternoon we’re tootling along Hwy 10 when the tootle goes away.

Kim sits, hands on wheel, just long enough to assess how and why and mutter “F*ckin’ embarrassing” before he starts walking.  Li’l Truck inhaled the last of the fumes about a quarter of a mile short of an exit, beyond which there is rumored (according to the sign) to be a service station, but just before Kim gets to the exit ramp somebody in a big black truck pulls over, picks him up, and drives away.

Which, after the shortest, most obscure Monday Rant you are likely ever to hear from me, brings us to Thankfulness Tuesday.  Because yes, there was a service station just beyond the exit ramp.  WAS.  Extinct and crusty.  Enter Ric, driving back to KC after the cold burial of a much-loved friend.  Spots my husband strolling along the highway, hunkered against the chill, a heavy coat, stocking cap pulled over most of his face, imposing enough man that you’d notice, and of course pulls right over.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ric.  Ric isn’t a big guy, but he sticks in your mind that way.  He repairs heavy equipment and does pipeline work, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t afraid of much, but his kind heart is a lot bigger than all that.  He insists on driving back down the 4-lane to get the Madster and me, carts us all back the other way to where the service station really IS, then west one more time where he uses his new truck to shield Kim from Highway Harm while he pours gas in the tank.  And yeah, then follows us back to the same service station so he knows for sure we made it, and tells Kim to give that piece of green to somebody who’s looking for it.

But wait, there’s more.  Kim’s a good mechanic, knows a lot about a lot.  For instance, he’s known since he bought the truck that it needs a new sending unit for the gas gauge, and probably a new fuel pump while you have the tank dropped, but since he doesn’t have a place to do his own work anymore and hasn’t loved the estimates he’s gotten, he’s just gradually developed a little system.  The system failed yesterday.  But only so we could start getting acquainted with Ric, and so he could offer to replace the unit for parts at his cost, plus labor.  Helps him, lets my husband win.  Think it’s gonna happen.

Also it’s HumpDay AND New Year’s Eve.  Do with that what you will, kids.

2015Frame

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We wish you a Merry Day-After-Christmas …

My blog just texted me that it was lonely.  (And it spelled out each word because it’s, you know, my blog.)  I feel awful — less than 24 hours after the kindest, splooshiest day of the year I wander off and forget the ones who mean the most.

But I’m back with a vengeance, launching bizarrely-benign torpedo-thoughts … configured sort of like my old paper airplanes … into what’s shaping up to be 2015.  For my Faithful Facebook Friends, today’s post will be an instant rerun.  Whatevs — can’t get there today, hope you didn’t have to work either!!  (And sorry, because I know some who did.)

Blessed

I Share

 

 

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Christmas Eve 2014

 

ChristmasEveFrameKeep it sweet, share the love.

 

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Winter Solstice

WinterWelcomeCoffee

Ready for snowy days, fireplaces, and nesting.  

 

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