This & That

The Cabin

You'll be glad to know that the toilets made it to the cabin in one piece this past weekend.  It was a really quick trip up there....we weren't even there 24 hours.  But then we were stepping around linoleum-layers, and the extended family of the guy working with the tile and other things.  We were in the way.  So we high-tailed it out of there fairly early on Saturday.   The really glad tidings are that the plumber is scheduled to come on Monday, so Lord willing and the creek don't rise, the next time I set foot in the place, the outhouse should be a distant memory.  The fire has burned itself out and didn't make it over our mountain, so the view is still there and still beautiful.  I took these photos before the sun came over the mountain on Saturday morning.  If we'd had more time, I would have liked to have walked the property a bit to see if I could have found some more fallish thing to see, but that will have to wait.  The drive through the canyons up and back was really gorgeous.  I wanted to stop around every corner and take pictures.  I kept saying, "Isn't that pretty??" to the Littles in the car with me.  Finally, Preemie Boy turned to me and said, "For the 50th time, Mom, yes!"  Gorgeous bright aspen leaves.  And spending a little time with the SGB, poking yogurt in his mouth for breakfast did, indeed, soothe my abraded psyche.

Peach Pie #2

So after the toilet/antelope debacle, I was feeling like I needed a little pick-me-up.  I had some ripe peaches on the counter (courtesy of DH....I think I've told you about his fruit drop and run policy *eyeroll) so I decided to make a different peach pie.  This is the easiest of the three peach pie recipes we like and the great thing about it is that it's so versatile.  You can use just about any cut up fruit in it with good results.  When I served it up last night, my DD asked is there was whipped cream in it.  I said yes and she closed her eyes and said, "Whipped cream is just about the best thing ever invented...." 

Creamy Peach Pie

1 baked 9-10" pie shell
1 large package instant vanilla pudding
1 1/2 cups milk
1 1/2 cups cream
Cut up fruit (I used 2 1/2 peaches, which I cut quite small.  I've also used bananas and raspberries for this pie with good results)

In a large mixing bowl, combine pudding mix, milk and cream.  Beat together until very smooth and thick....about 5 minutes.  If you have a stand mixer that you can mix this in, you can walk away and dice your peaches while this is mixing.  Fold in desired cut up fruit.  Pour into baked pie shell and chill.  That's it....you're done.  Now all you have to do is wait for it to chill up nicely and then try not to eat it all in one sitting.

Me, and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, Pt. 3

This installment.....antelope shoulders.  You'll remember that the figurative "We" was supposed to take the front antelope shoulders in to Scarrows to be made into sausage.  Grumbling, but dutiful wife that I am, I had Preemie Boy help me after school.  The first order of business was to find a tarp to go in the back of my Suburban so as not to get......stuff....on my car.  Apparently DH had absconded with all the tarps except one we found outside crammed under the rose bushes by the garage where it had been "drying" (???).  It was covered with birch leaves, but time was of the essence here, and figuring they would at least hose off the meat before they processed it, we shook it off the best we could and put it in the car where we started stacking the front shoulders.  We had also been told to take two of the hind quarters as well.  Now when you take wild game to the processing place, you have to include the hunting tag or permit with the animal to prove that you took it legally and didn't poach it.  DH told me he'd put the tags in the bags with the backstraps.  The backstraps are like the filet mignon of an animal and are bagged separately from the shoulders.  What I didn't realize was that DH had, indeed put the tags....in the bags....with the backstraps.....like stuck in with the raw meat so they were, um, soggy.  So I'm trying to hurry because it's going to take me 45 minutes to drive out there and I'm trying to get there before they close and I'm pawing through bags of meat trying to locate soggy tags. 

You remember the tale of the psychotic dog and what happens to my language when I get frustrated?  Yeah, well it was that kind of a language day as I was trying to extract the tags from the backstraps and get to Scarrows.  Finally I got on the road and proceeded to follow the directions my DH had given me which were, "Go north on that main road out of Jerome and you'll see it on the left side of the road."  Jerome is across the Snake River Canyon from us.  Scenic stop but I was in a hurry.  The kids had youth group that night and I needed to get them where they needed to be.   So I get to Jerome and go north and I'm driving and driving and driving and finally I come to a dead end.  Uh-oh.  I turn around and start back in the opposite direction and about halfway back to town see a sprawl of buildings I originally took for a dairy complex.  I pull in thinking maybe I can ask for directions....I'm not too proud, when I see racks with meat hooks and deduce that this must be the place, although how anyone would know that driving down the road is beyond me because they don't have a sign.  What was supposed to take an hour, took nearly two.   Where is Bill Engvall when you need him? And keep in mind that this happened in addition to the toilet adventure.

So there it was....my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.  Thank goodness there aren't many of them and it's a good thing that I love this man in spite of his hobby and what it occasionally requires me to do.  He does have the math gene and all.  Yeah, love you, hon.  That's why I'm putting the most attractive picture of you I have on my blog.  And now I'm going to go wash my hands......again.

Me, and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, Pt. 2

In all honesty, while I'm whining at you with abandon, I am in actuality at this precise moment in time up at the cabin, where I'm hoping some time with the SGB, his mommy and my newly-27 year old DS will soothe my psyche.  Ain't technology grand?

To resume my story, I geared myself up for what was sure to be the kind of adventure I knew I didn't want.  First off, I had to drive DH's pick-up to, um, pick up the toilets.  Getting it out of the garage is tricky, because there's about an inch and a half clearance on either side of the mirrors.  So I snail my way out of the garage without a mishap (yay, me) and proceed to Home Depot.  I grab a cart and walk straight to the lighting section to grab a the couple of things we're missing there.  Fourteen helpful guys in little orange vests accost me a various intervals wanting, no needing to help me find what I require. "Great", I'm thinking.  "Piece of cake."  Then I say, "I need 3 white toilets".  Just like the scarecrow in Wizard of Oz, they start pointing in different directions.  So I go with the majority and start walking. 

And I notice something really strange.  People start disappearing.  And the theme song from The Good, The Bad and Ugly starts playing in the background.  And a vulture starts circling overhead just as I start down the toilet aisle.  And I realize that there's not an orange vest for six aisles on either side of me.  I'm in the Forbidden Zone.  I start hiking back so I can find an orange vest.  It's been so long since I've seen one that I latch onto the first one I come across.  "I need 3 white toilets!!"  I yell at him.  He apparently is not the Toilet Man because he's frantically looking around for someone.....anyone else to come along so he doesn't have to deal with the female who wants 3 white toilets. But no luck.  At the risk of sending me to Lowe's for 3 white toilets he drags his knuckles and an orange big, flat cart behind me back to the Forbidden Zone where he sighs, groans and muscles the toilets onto the cart, then obediently follows me to the check out line, where he drops the cart and runs in the opposite direction.  "Let someone know if you need help with that!", he yells (I'm not kidding!) over his shoulder as I am left to maneuver my light fixture cart and three white toilets on a rolling flatbed through the checkout, where a little, 60-ish woman with frizzy white hair, drawn-on eyebrows and, I'm totally not kidding about any of this....lime green sparkley fingernails rings me up.  I'm waiting for either the Munchkins or Clint Eastwood to make an appearance at this point.  What takes the cake?  She's the one who helps me muscle the toilets into the back of the pick up.  "I may be old, but I'm strong", she cackles as the flying monkeys begin to gather overhead.

So phase one is done.  I have my toilets.  They're even in the back of the pick up and I even got the pick up back in the garage without taking off either mirror.   Tomorrow.....antelope shoulders. 

Me, and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, Pt. 1

I will preface this by saying that this post will involve whining and complaining and will require two or three days to tell in its entirety so that you can appropriately sympathize with me.  So be warned.

We have established that my DH hunts. Perhaps not the most PC activity these days, but nevertheless, it's a legal pastime that has evolved generationally through his family as far back as we can trace the genealogy.  OK....this Southern California suburbanite has made adjustments....many of them to accommodate his chosen hobby.  I mean, if it wasn't this, it would be fantasy football or golf or skiing or NASCAR, but it's not.  It's hunting.

This requires that he occasionally spend periods of time away from the family....sometimes several days at a stretch.  The longest he's ever been gone have been several 3 week sheep hunts in Canada.  We try to compromise.  He got several sheep hunts.  I got a kitchen remodel.  It's worked for us, and admittedly it was much more difficult for me when I had all my kids at home.  Now it's not quite as hard....well, except for the whole math homework thing, but I digress.

So DH left for his longest stretch this fall.  He'll be gone 10 days in the wilderness. And he will love every minute of it even if he doesn't bring home any DDT's (Dirty Dead Things for the uninitiated).  He was late getting away.  It's always like that during hunting season.  He leaves for a few days, he comes home but he's behind at work, so he's frantically running around trying to get caught up so he can go again.  And the cycle continues.  So I get a phone call about an hour after he leaves.  He says, "Honey, (I'm always suspicious when he starts conversations out with an initial kiss-up.  I know I'm going to hate what he says next.) I got thinking about those antelope front shoulders.  I think it would be best if we took them to Scarrows and had them made into sausage....and we'd probably better do it tomorrow."  Note the use of the plural pronoun "we".  Now, since he's on his way to Wyoming...the exact opposite direction from the yucky Scarrows place, I'm wondering who the "we" is.  The royal "we"?  And then the other shoe drops.  "Bryce can load them into the back of the Suburban and you can haul them over there after school tomorrow."  Ah, yes, it's the figurative "we" where he's there with me in spirit, but I'm the one really doing the work.  And I know Scarrows.  This is not like walking into the local grocery store butcher shop.  This is like walking into....well it's not the grocery store butcher shop. 

I'm not pleased.  I did not shoot the beasties.  I did not want the beasties.  Yet somehow I've become the beastie-hauler.  I did not have this in my schedule for the day.  I was looking forward to long afternoons scrapping while the kids were in school.  But noooooooo.  Grumbling, I hang up. An hour later, he calls back.  "Honey, (2 kiss-ups in the space of 2 hours...this can't be good) I just got off the phone with Tom."  Tom is our cabin builder.  "I told him you were coming up this weekend and he has a list of things he wants you to bring up." We're short a couple of light fixtures, a doorknob and so far I'm doing OK.  But...there's more.  Tom wants me to bring 3 toilets.  Now, I'm a reasonable person.  I really am.  But I've been writing out checks for this place for over a year now.  Can somebody please tell me why, if I'm writing out checks to builders and plumbers, why one of them cannot possibly buy three white toilets?  Why the girl has to walk into Home Depot (and you know how I feel about that place)  and purchase 3 white toilets with nary a man in sight?

All this is the set-up for the day I had.  I'm going to leave you with this picture....because I need a happy thought and this picture makes me happy.  It's fall and it's my favorite season of the year.....and I have to haul toilets.
Tomorrow, the drama unfolds.

Peach Pie #1

Fresh peaches are something that are really looked forward to in this house.  My entire family will eat cut up fresh peaches and make appropriate appreciative noises while they do.  We like them in or on homemade ice cream, in shakes, and in cobbler or pie. We have 3 peach pie recipes that we eat at our house and we like them all for different reasons.  But if we knew we'd never get another peach pie ever in our lives, this is the one we'd make.  It is my mother's recipe.  My mom is an awesome cook and she tried her best to teach me the basics.  I'm going to share this family heirloom recipe with you, hoping you'll give it a try on one of these early fall days.  It's yummy. :)

Mom's Peach Pie
An unbaked 9-10" pie crust
4-5 peaches, peeled & sliced
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup flour
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
Topping:
1/2 cup cold butter
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 cup flour
In a mixing bowl, combine peaches, sugar, flour and nutmeg.  Pour inot unbaked pie shell.  Mix together topping ingredients until crumbly.  Sprinkle over peaches.  Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 375 degrees and bake 30 minutes longer, until peaches are tender. You may need to lay a piece of aluminum foil on top of the pie later in the baking to prevent it from getting too brown.  It is awesome served warm with vanilla ice cream.

What Can You Do With 5?

I learned when I went to New Zealand earlier this year that while I find it difficult to scrap away from home, where I don't have my entire room of supplies available to me, it is possible to create layouts with a limited number of supplies.  I chose an arbitrary number of 5, other than my cardstock and whatever I choose to journal with, whether it's a pen or a computer font.  I posted this challenge on the website this week. 
I find that often I am a "less is more" scrapper.  This will occasionally make me feel guilty because I have a fairly hefty amount of supplies, but I think I can get past that.

The Number 27

It seems like such an innocuous thing, this number.  Not too big, not too small....unless it happens to the the age of your eldest child.  Then it becomes a number that's almost too big to comprehend.  This is my eldest boy.  The one that started it all.  And he turns 27 today.   As with all my kidlets, I remember vividly every moment of labor and would gladly tell anyone who asks about it, cold turkey natural as it was. (Never did that again....)
I don't want to whine about my age....I really don't.  It's not like I can do anything about it anyway, so I'm trying to face it head on.  But there's something about the stress of watching your children get older....that makes you wonder, "How...the....HECK....did that happen?"

Happy Birthday, sweetie....it was all worth it.  

Kids in the Kitchen

This week's email from San Diego Boy was entitled, "Baked Beans and Tater Tots Aren't Too Bad Together".  That got me thinking about kids in the kitchen.  Each of my boys has had kitchen experience, but I don't think I ever gave them free reign in there.  With the exception of Preemie Boy, who I'm not done with yet, they have all left my home able to read and understand recipes...not for souffle mind you, but for basic stuff.  Some have taken to it more than others.  In college, a couple of them have participated in dinner groups where they had to take turns with others making dinner once every couple of weeks.  On those days, I can usually count on a phone call asking me for this or that recipe.  When the boys were on their church missions, I usually sent them out with one of these tongue-in-cheek books to help them out. 
My DD, on the other hand, has spent this summer compiling a recipe book of her own.   She's taken a turn cooking once a week and then types up her recipes on my laptop and files them in the book.  She can make several things (usually in the cookie/snack category) totally by herself and enjoys it.  This weekend it was these Pretzel Hugs. (Scroll down a little)  Got the recipe off the Becky Higgins blog and made them with Rolos instead of Hugs.  They are pretty tasty and really easy for kids to do.
Back to San Diego Boy.  For lunch this week, he said he layered baked beans, tater tots and cheese...and that it didn't taste too bad.  I have a copy of the Man, Can, Plan book for him for Christmas.  Maybe he needs it now instead.

Covetousness

cov·et·ous  

(kŭv'ĭ-təs)  adj.   Excessively and culpably desirous of the possessions of another. See Synonyms at jealous. Marked by extreme desire to acquire or possess: covetous of learning. Eagerly desirous Here I am...on a Sunday, yet, admitting that I am totally breaking one of the Ten Commandments.  I am covetous.  I want one of these or even one of these.  I have pantry envy.  Have you noticed this trend in newer homes?  Where just off the kitchen there is something like a walk-in closet with shelving and kitchen storage?   We remodeled our kitchen 3 years ago and one of the things I lost in my quest to have a bigger fridge was the cupboard that I designated as sort of pantry storage.  Since we were working with existing walls, I wasn't able to acquire a pantry room.  Now, I do have a storage room off the garage that has nice little lines of tomato soup cans and boxes of mac and cheese, but that room is slowly being encroached upon by my DH's hunting gear.  He's oozing into the space.  Last year it was hanging wet waders over the door, this year he's taken over a shelf and storing his camping food there.  Not to mention the free-standing gun safe in the middle of the room.  Yeah, it's just a matter of time before it becomes hunting room, part deux. Know what else I'd really like to be able to do?  I'd really love not to be scared to paint my walls.  I am president of the I Have White Walls club.  When we remodeled the kitchen, I thought I was going really wild when I picked a paint shade called "Nutmeg Dust" that's a sort of dirty cream color.  There are several reasons I'm paint phobic.  #1--I'm scared it will look totally ugly. #2--I do not have the home dec gene. #3--Re-decorating or changing something in my home gives me hives....see reason #1. #4--As a caveat to reason #3, I hate having things torn apart and in an uproar. #5--I'd be totally on my own in the tearing apart, organizing, putting back, moving, re-arranging aspect part. So here I sit in my house with the dark mauve living room carpet and white walls. I just want to be able to walk out of my house and return to it looking totally amazing and updated...without having to go through the angst to get it that way.