Archive for August, 2007

Not to Mention Blueberry Pancakes in December.

Friday, August 31st, 2007

You know the best part about freezing fresh blueberries?

Frozen blueberry marbles on fiestaware

The sound of them rolling around on the plate like little blue marbles. Try it.

Tony Hawk.

Thursday, August 30th, 2007

Anyone needing a reminder of how important it is to do what you love?

Just a little Thursday inspiration.

Hello Stranger.

Thursday, August 30th, 2007

How’s it going Internets? I know, I know. I’ve been rather distant. I’m sorry if it’s hurt your feelings. I swear it’s me, not you.

No really. I don’t know where the time has gone. I didn’t mean to not post for so long. Certainly I didn’t mean to not post something of interest, I guess I’ve just been bored with myself. I promise in the month of September to do better. You have my word.

In the meantime, I’ve come up with something else for my birthday list. Isn’t it fun to create a list of things you’ll never get? Or certainly not all in one day. Unless I’m really lucky. Am I?
I guess we’ll all have to wait and see.

p.s. Not a very exciting link, I know. But check this out.
And this. I’ve got some serious crafting I need to get out of my system.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Monday, August 27th, 2007

When I was little and living in a small town, our neighbors to the left, just before the train tracks, were a family with two kids in high school. I was pretty young when we lived in this house so my memories are few. These are the few things I remember about them:
They kept rabbits. I liked this.
The father always seemed cranky and unfriendly. I did not like this.
The mother wore a back brace that looked to me like a giant set of earmuffs. This confused me.
They had one of those knit toilet paper cozies made to look like a woman with a poofy skirt. I don’t even know where to begin with that one. I probably had to ask my mom what it was.

On the other side of us was an older woman who lived alone. We were invited over once or twice and I remember that the inside of her house looked just like our house except that it was decorated with old lady things. We didn’t have old lady things in our house. We weren’t supposed to play in her yard, out of respect, I suppose, but we did anyway. It was on the way to a short cut to the neighborhood behind us. (This short cut was used by a never-ending stream of Incredible Hulks in a recurring nightmare I had as a child, but that’s a whole other story.)

Later on in life, where Neil and I lived most recently, our neighbors were even more diverse. Lots of artists and musicians, and one man who made his living by walking on stilts. One house in particular stands out from the rest. An apartment building that was full of addicts of one kind or another, more often than not, attracting the attention of our local police department. There’s nothing like lying awake at night listening to the sound of a swat team descending on the house next door. Especially when you’re home alone. And really really hoping no one sees you watching from your bathroom window.

And now that we’re in the burbs things have mellowed a bit. Our neighbors are a bit older. Less crack addict and more lawn addict. Less stilt walking and more dog walking. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a knit toilet paper cozy on this street somewhere.

And even though some of them drive me crazy (with the barking, barking, barking dogs that wake, wake, wake the baby), I have never been so touched as when we came home with Dash and there was a meal on our front porch from one neighbor. Others showed up with baby clothes and apologized for not coming sooner. Meanwhile we’d only just gotten home from the hospital and had just moved in to the house a few months before.

Good things, neighbors are.

hibiscus in the west end

Of Goats and Monks

Friday, August 24th, 2007

Yesterday, after picking up Neil in the park and hanging out with Kristie and Ren while they worked on the new Maple’s location, we all walked down to this new bookstore in town to catch the book signing for
Year of the Goat with bale of hay

Rabelais was the perfect spot for Margaret’s book to make its debut.
Surrounded by cookbooks, friends, fans of goats, fans of slow cooking, wine, goat cheese (and actual goat, which I did not try), you really can’t go wrong.

Only one live goat was in attendance. He was happily munching hay and posing for pictures out in front of the shop.
Year of the Goat

I’m really kicking myself for this one, but probably it was the wine. Yeah, it was the wine that distracted me and kept me from getting THE photo of the night. A group of monks walked by the shop, through the crowd around the goat, on their way to who-knows-where. There’s no shortage of good restaurants in the neighborhood, so maybe it was just supper time for monks. Anyway, it was kind of a blessing on the event and the book, I think. If anyone managed to get a shot of them, let me know.

And because it’s so hard to post and not share Dash with you, here is his reaction to the goat.

Dash likes goats

I think he likes him.

UPDATE: oops. i think the goat was a she.