Archive | October, 2008

Lucy In The Bible

20 Oct

Grandma was over one day painting rocks with my daughter, Annaliese.  Being the spiritual person my mother is, she painted a Bible reference on her rock. 

Not to be outdone, Annaliese was inspired and began painting with a zeal reserved for the apostles. When she finished, her grandma held her rock and asked which Bible verse she’d chosen.

Annaliese became very serious and with much deliberation slowly said, “I–Love–Lucy!”

I did mention her father is a minister, didn’t I?

Obviously we’ve excelled as parents and spiritual mentors.

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Fresh Baked Bread – Sally Lunn

19 Oct

This is NOT an original recipe, but it’s oh so good.

Bread is my weakness and chocolate, and salty chips, and nachos…okay, so I have several weaknesses, but there’s nothing like a homemade loaf of bread.

Here’s your ingredient list:

1/2 c. lukewarm milk

1/2 c. lukewarm water

1 pack active dry yeast

1/3 c. sugar

1/2 c. plus 2 tbls butter

1 tsp. salt

3 large eggs

3 1/2 – 4 c. all-purpose flour

This is a great cookbook.

I got it right off the cookbook shelf in my aunt’s kitchen.  Thank you aunt Pat!  It has several recipes that I just love including Sally Lunn Bread.

 

I’ve found that buying good flour is key to making great bread, cakes, and cookies.  The flour is an important ingredient, so don’t buy the bargain brand for baking.

I can’t believe I just said that!  I’m all for a bargin, but not when it comes to flour…I’ve learned my lesson.

I’m condensing the directions just slightly.  In a small bowl, pour milk & water; add yeast & 1 tsp. sugar.  Let stand for 10min. or till foamy.

I LOVE the smell ofyeast rising!  It makes me feel all warm & fuzzy inside.

In large bowl, beat butter and sugar till light and fluffly. (This takes a little while.  Don’t skimp on beating.  Now’s the time to get out your frustration…beat, Beat, BEAT!)  Add one egg at a time and beat.  (Trust me, it’s cheaper than therapy.)  Add salt.

TIP: Get a Kitchen Aid mixer!  I don’t have one, but sure wish I did, especially when making bread. Add flour and yeast mixture alternately.  Using a wooden spoon, beat (yes, by hand) until the dough is smooth and elastic.

Set dough in buttered bowl and let rise for an hour in a warm spot. I warm the oven, turn it off, and then put the dough inside to rise.  It should double in size.

Beat dough down with wooden spoon and stir for 2 minutes.  Transfer into a buttered bundt pan, recover and let rise for another hour.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Baste top of loaf with butter.  Bake for 40 minutes.

Doesn’t that look yummy already?

My daughter came in and just stood smelling the dough.  She’s like me, loves a good loaf of bread.

Okay, here’s the baked product.

See how high it rose? Isn’t that fabulous?  Nice and light and sweet. This is definitely a sweet bread. Spread a little butter and it’s heaven.  Great for breakfast the next day too!

Cooking Confessions

17 Oct

With the holidays approaching, I am reminded of my early days of cooking.  When I first married I did not own a cookbook and I really had NO desire to cook.  Now, I like to eat and always have, so this presented a slight problem.  Luckily for me, my husband was a bachelor for quite some time and knew how to cook.

As he slowly introduced me to the wondrous world of cooking, I had a few ambitious moments that I will now confess.

1.  I did not touch raw meat.  Yuck!  I used lots of utensils to lift meat out of the packaging and into a pot, pan, or whatever device I was using for cooking.  Pathetic, I realize. 

2.  Overzealous as usual, I invited my family over to my shoebox size apartment for Thanksgiving dinner.  I cooked!  My aunt reminded me to make pumpkin pie no less than 492 times in the week prior to Thanksgiving. 

Upon entering my shoebox, she immediately went in search of the pie.  “Where’s the pumpkin pie you promised?”  She questioned. 

Insulted I redirected her attention to the pies lining the windowsill about 5 inches from her bottom. 

“No, where’s the PUMPKIN PIE?”  She repeated. 

Annoyed now, I grabbed it and placed the pie in her hand.  She laughed and laughed in astonishment.  I was so upset.  My pie looked picture perfect; the crust slightly browned.  Between gasps for air, she managed to spit out, “I’ve never seen a pumpkin pie with a lid on it!” 

Yes, I used a pie crust top on my first pumpkin pie.  I’ve learned my lesson.

3.  My mother-in-law is known for her pumpkin bread.  It’s wonderful and a little cream cheese makes it a fall masterpiece.  I’m not an artist, so I shouldn’t have tried to reproduce greatness, but I did.  I made 12 individual sized loaves of pumpkin bread, handing them out to friends and family.  Feeling quite proud of myself, I gloated over my domestic progress.  All gloating ended when my pastor’s wife complimented me on my tasty bread.  “Don’t worry about the cloves,” she said, “we just spit them out.”

“Oh, No!  They didn’t melt?” 

Why I thought whole, rock-hard cloves would melt inside batter is beyond me.  Now I only stock my pantry with ground cloves.

Am I alone, or do you ladies and gentlemen (perhaps) have a few cooking confessions of your own?

Proof of the Fit-Flop

17 Oct

For all of you who doubt me, here is the “fit-flop” link.  I wasn’t joking!

http://www.thefitflop.com/

Fit-Flops

16 Oct

Last night I dreamed that I was riding a bicycle in a triathlon. I awoke so excited! What a breakthrough!

This means that since I’ve begun exercising in my subconscious, it’s only a matter of time before my innate desire for athletics permeates my conscience.

Things are looking up!

I’ll have to check my calves and see if they’re subconsciously tightening.  While I’m talking fitness…Have you heard of the “Fit-Flop?”  I hadn’t until yesterday when a woman walking her black lab stopped me and asked to see my flip-flops.

Imagine my surprise. 

After all I wasn’t wearing my fancy, canary yellow flip-flops. I was wearing my generic rubber, pink Speedo flip-flops. Now these aren’t as grungy as the foam flat flip-flops (the kind that are about as thick as a slice of cheese), but they’re not in the sandal category either (not like my canary yellow flip-flops).  They are, however, quite sporty and after all the exercise I’ve getting in my sleep, it was appropriate I wear them yesterday.

When somebody asks to see my shoes, of course I oblige them.  I lifted up my pants leg (jeans are always too long on me and I despise hemming) and wished I didn’t have dirt between my toes already. It was still too early in the day for toe dirt.

Disappointedly this dog walker says, “Oh, they’re only Speedos.”

Suddenly I’m flashed back to middle school when I wore fake Keds…the kind you bought in the grocery store for a few bucks.  Such sadness.

Anyway, she goes on to say, “I thought they were FIT-FLOPS”. Now she’s talking my language.

It seems these fit-flops provide extra exercise while performing normal activities such as walking through the grocery store.  I have to own a pair!  Maybe two.  Why with a triathlon workout by night and fit-flops by day, I’ll be twenty pounds thinner and in a bikini before the snow flies.

I wonder if I can get a bikini this time of the year?

Have a Happy Thursday!

-The FringeGirl

Wordless Wednesday

15 Oct

I’m going to give wordless Wednesday’s a try.  No words!  Just one picture.  You can leave me some words and let me know what you think about the picture.  Not sure how good I’ll be at this “no words” thing, but here goes…

IN FLIGHT

IN FLIGHT

Questioning Reality

14 Oct

I’m posting twice today because I didn’t get to use enough words in my last post due to the fact that I used so many cute, pumpkiny (ya, it’s great new word) pictures.  You realize if I don’t use my words on you, my husband is the recipient.  You keep my marriage happy and for that I am forever indebted.

So, I am questioning reality this morning.  Did you ever have a dream so tangible you could swear it was reality?

Last night I picked up a book and decided to finally get started on it.  I flipped it over to read the back cover and the first words were, “Enter an adrenaline-laced epic where dreams and reality collide.”

I excitedly blurted, “That’s it!  That’s exactly what happened to me.”

Looking around the empty room, I remembered I was alone and felt a little silly for my outburst.

My dream the other night was reality.  I’m still confused by it.  (Don’t say anything!)  My dream did collide with reality.

I was lying in bed almost asleep, but not quite, when I started dreaming.  I knew I was dreaming folks, but I was asleep enough to be seeing this dream in my mind and yet, I reacted physically in this dream.  Yes, mind gets freakier each day.  So, to recap, I was sorta asleep, knew I was dreaming, and physically participated in this dream. 

In my dream I was in the bathroom and had opened the cabinet above the toilet.  For some reason I bent down and when I came up, I cracked my head on the cabinet door.  Interestingly I actually started sitting up in my semi-sleep and then jumped when I hit the (imaginary) cabinet door.  I swear I had a bump on my head!

The funny thing is that I actually did bang my head on the cabinet door earlier that day.  I do it all the time!  I have a permanent groove in my forehead.

I forgot my point.  Maybe I’ll go take a nap and dream of someone ironing clothes for me…it could actually be me doing it and not even realizing I’m participating in my dream.  It’s a lack of sleep.  I’m scaring myself.

Oh, the book I never started is “Black, The Birth of Evil” by Ted Dekker.  Book One, the Circle Trilogy.

What are you reading?

Pumpkin Patch

14 Oct

Usually my posts are just words…lots of words.  If it’s your lucky day, I throw in a picture and give your eyes a break.  Well, not today.  Today I will tell my story with pictures…okay, and just a few words.  I can’t help myself.

I love pumpkins!  Although the pumpkin fields were only slightly less crowded than the apple orchards, we managed to pick a few great specimens (of pumpkins).

Finally, she’s happy.  She’s got a pumpkin!

Even freckles found an acceptable pumpkin.

Everyone was happy, except maybe my husband.  He started the day with a back-ache and you see that giant, lumpy bag?  Ya, he had to carry it all the way back to the car.  We couldn’t carry any of those pumpkins because they charge by the bag.  You carry extra, you pay extra.

These pumpkins were given a steady diet of miracle grow!  Don’t try it on your kids.

It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s a great pumpkin Charlie Brown!

I love pumpkins!  I may even make pumpkin pie from scratch.  I have a funny story about pumpkin pie, but I think I’ll save it.  I may need to take a day this week for cooking confessions…I have a few.

No Apples In The Big Apple

13 Oct

City people invaded Long Island’s apple orchards like a swarm of angry bees descending on a field of clover.  The buzz of car engines should have given us a clear indication of the future; however, we optimistically hoped there would be enough fruit to go around.

“There must be an accident ahead.”  My husband said as we sat nearly idle, creeping along at a snail’s pace.

Cars lined the horizon, turning our twenty minute drive into an hour and a half of bumper to bumper city traffic.  No accident.  No apples.  No shortage of people.

the apple orchard

the apple orchard

Finally we made it to the farm.  The kids poured out of the car hardly able to contain their excitement.  Forced to park a mile away from the entrance, the kids half-ran, half-skipped down the side of the rode.  Their anticipation fueled by delays.

My family has been accustomed to picking apples in Maine’s orchards.  Rows of tall trees stretch out for acres, apples begging to be plucked from the branches.  Crowds are reserved for the deer population and bags are still free.  You only pay for the apples you pick, less a few tasty samples.

In New York free is a foreign word used only in other states.

Feeling robbed, cheated, and ripped-off, I purchased a flimsy apple basket for $4 (our only option) and headed for the trees.  The kids, running head, darted up and down aisles dogging other pickers.  The mission:  seek, target, and destroy.  Well, not destroy so much as devour the last apple hanging.

Glancing from tree to tree, I wandered in bewilderment.  I’d never seen apple trees that resembled small landscaped bushes.  Many were only waist high.  Since I saw no fruit, I ignorantly asked “Are you sure these are apple trees?”

“Dwarfs,” my husband replied. 

“Fast growing and rapidly producing,” he continued.

Certainly no need for apple ladders, pole pickers, or a pair of strong shoulders to perch on in this orchard.  Also no need for this $4 basket!

Finally my son yelled out in delight, “I found one!”

We all ran in his direction, accelerating as we saw others running from the opposite side of the aisle.  I approached just in time to see my little boy’s eyes droop; the gleam fade from his sparkling blue eyes.

Apparently we weren’t the first to spot this red gem.  Two bites were stolen from the still dangling apple.  We retreated in defeat vowing to go “North” next fall where apples still grown on trees, picking is an adventure, and bags are free.

one grumpy child

one grumpy child

she really wanted apples

she really wanted apples

my son doesn't like me taking endless photos of him, but he was just as sad

my son doesn't like me taking endless photos of him, but he was just as sad

Butt Roots

12 Oct

It was during our lazy, washed out Saturday that I may have altered the course of my son’s future.  I wish I could say it was through a word of my own wisdom, a portion of Scripture, or a great piece of advice I’d clung to since childhood.  Unfortunately, I cannot.

It was rather through a rash outpouring of words so ridiculous I thought surely not even an eight year-old could mistake my fable for truth.  Concerned as any responsible mother would be, I chided my cross-eyed children for being “couch potatoes”.

“What’s a couch potato?”  …such a simple question.

The mere fact that a scrambled half-witted response flew from lips without reserve frightens me.  The waters are so murky in the depths of my mind.

“A couch potato is someone who’s sat around watching TV for so long that roots start to grow from his bottom and they wrap themselves around the couch.  The only cure is surgery.”

A more stupid explanation I doubt exists; however, my son epitomizes gullible.

His concern over “butt roots” (as we now refer to them) increased throughout the day.  He became fearful reading would have the same planting effect.

Like a good mother I assured him butt roots were linked to excessive visual stimulation (for example, watching too much television).

I’m still amazed by how little TV he’s watched since.  If only my twisted brain could have conjured such nonsense years earlier.

My only fear is a call from his teacher asking me to explain butt roots.  Surely I’ll have to come up with a more scientific answer than I gave my son.

 

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