Sometimes fur flies

Sometimes you feel like a cuddle...
Sometimes you don't...

Hi Ho, Hi Ho

Belle's expression captures my mood this morning. One could say she's my emotional doppleganger.

And thus ends the pity party. I'm moving forward and it's going to be great!

Sorry about the whining, folks, but it's all over now.

Wanted: This state of mind always

Cocktails and appetizers take on a decadent quality in a garden at sunset with a cheery fire during the last hours of one's charmed vacation. This is my parents' garden overlooking the bay from the Oakland hills. This is the garden which is being turned into Mom's Slice of Provence. This is the home of lizards, spiders, skunks, deer, birds, butterflies and possibly a puma, which keep Katie dancing on her toes, ears perked up and tail swishing. This is why Mr Hands and I smell like a campfire this morning. This is where we dined on poached salmon, roasted corn, fresh fresh fresh green beans and a wild rice pilaf. This is where we drug ourselves away, reluctantly and sleepily, to go home across the bay at midnight. This is the picture that captures the mood of my summer, the mood I wish dearly to hold on to when I return to the hustle and bustle of that other state of being called work.

Here's to that happening.
Cheers,
Shane Marie

Things I discovered today

In the Garden

This one is cheating a bit, because I found this guy in my potted geranium a few weeks ago and a friend helped me figure out the macro feature on my camera so I could take his/her picture. But, it's sort of relevant, because he/she may now be one of the following two visitors:
A flitterby on my lantana. Actually, this is perhaps a moth?
Butterfly on my lantana. She's come around before, but I've never been swift or acrobatic enough to catch her with my camera.
A lizard moved into my rock garden! Above is his sunroom... below is his den:*

In My Kitchen
Tucked away in the towel-and-bread-tie drawer is the wishbone from Thanksgiving's turkey. Well, so that's where you've been all these eight and a half months! I knew I kept you safely tucked away for... for what, actually? I guess so I could find you today.

In My Life
I'm barely looking forward to starting work on Monday. I'll be happy to see the students and my colleagues, but the parents and paperwork can fester in a damp smelly leech field. I feel pretty hostile about it, actually. I should probably examine that at some point, but I only have 65.5 hours left of vacation and I'd rather not.

*Why is the butterfly "she," the lizard "he," and, really strangely, the caterpillar is he/she?? Why can't the English language have a neuter third person singular pronoun? And in other grammatical beefs, can you see the punctuation snafu on this plant identification tag?

Lavender Shortbread

On a previous birthday, several years ago, my mom gave me a precious gift. She asked family and friends to contribute their favorite recipes, and she collected them in a book for me. It's an incredible source of family lore and history, as many recipes are annotated with stories and information about the cooks who loved them and the situations under which these dishes were brought to life. It's also fun to think about how the recipes suit the person who gave them. Sometimes this is obvious, and sometimes it is surprising.

One of my mom's recipes included in my collection is for Lavender Shortbread. My mom plans to turn her garden into a slice of Provence by planting masses of lavender, interrupted only by occasional bursts of sage. So this is a recipe perfectly matched with her. Before this recipe, I never even dreamed of cooking with lavender. Since, I've learned the hard way to be careful with putting lavender in food--it's very easy for your meal to taste like a bar of soap. I'm not much of a shortbread fan, I have to say. But there's something about the simplicity and novelty of this recipe that I love. And, of course, it's in my Book.

This year for my birthday, she gave me a rock garden. She found rock garden plants and felt they had a perfect spot in my garden. She's spontaneous like this, and thoughtful. I admit, I was doubtful at first, but she was right (hey, I can say it now!) Among the darling little succulents with names like Fox Ears and Jelly Bean Bear were two different varieties of Elephant Plant. Anyone could mistake a ' for '' (feet for inches) and as a result I own two plants grown around African villages to keep pachyderms out. Sometimes, says the information tag, the elephants manage to break through. So if anyone is having elephant problems, let me know. I have just the plant!

We also spent a day together at the Legion of Honor and the De Young to view the Quilts of Gee's Bend, Cheech Marin's Chicano Visions, and Monet in Normandy exhibits. My favorite is the Chicano Visions. It's an astonishing collection, put together incredibly thoughtfully. My emotional responses ran the whole gamut, which is what you want in an art exhibit. My mom knows how to give the kind of birthday treasure that make my life wider and better. Thank you, Mom!

Lavender Shortbread
1 cup flour
2 tablespoons white rice flour or cornstarch
1 tablespoon dried lavender flowers (English or French, preferably)
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1/4 cup sugar, plus sugar for decorating
1/2 teaspoon lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla

Adjust a rack in the lower third of oven; preheat to 325. Combine the flours, lavender and salt in a bowl; mix with a fork to blend. Mix the butter with 1/4 cup sugar until well blended, then add flavorings and then dry ingredients. Mix until just incorporated. Press with fingertips into a 9 inch quiche pan and score eight or twelve wedges with the tines of a fork. Dip the tines in water often to prevent sticking. Sprinkle with sugar. Bake until shortbread appears set when lightly touched, about 25 minutes. Cool for 10 mins, then cut into wedges. When completely cool, lift wedges out of pan with a metal spatula.

This shortbread is best served with other things than snacked on unaccompanied. It's terrific with fresh berries and whipped cream.

Dear Bob, Happy Day 40!

It's Cheese Day, it's Milk Day, it's Dairy Day!
I know your favorite ice cream is spumoni, but I haven't figured out how to make that yet. Until I do, here are photos of the strawberry ice cream I made, which we just polished off. Mr Time on Her Hands says it reminds him of the peach ice cream you made when he was a kid. Peach...strawberry...it's all just fruity to him! But I was flattered and took it to mean I did something right.

In the ice cream maker...

In the bowl.

Here's to smooth sailing for the rest of the 60 days!
Love you,
Shane Marie

***************

Strwaberry Ice Cream, recipe minorly adapted from the indespensible Silver Palate Cookbook, by Julee Rosso and Sheila Alukins

• 1-1/3 cups milk
• 2-2/3 cups heavy cream
• 1/2 vanilla bean, split
• 8 egg yolks
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 1 pint fresh strawberries

1. Combine milk and heavy cream in a large, heavy saucepan. Add vanilla bean and bring almost to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 5 minutes.
2. Whisk the egg yolks together with the sugar until all sugar is dissolved, and the mixture is smooth and pale yellow.
3. Remove milk mixture from heat, remove vanilla bean, and whisk a bit of the hot milk thoroughly into the eggs. Stir well, then whisk the egg mixture back into the milk.
4. Return the saucepan to the stove and cook over low heat, whisking constantly, just until the custard thickens; do not let it boil. (As Alton Brown says, it should coat the back of a spoon.) Cool to room-temperature-ish, then chill in the refrigerator for several hours.
5. Meanwhile, rinse and dry the strawberries, then crush them. You could add sugar to the strawberries if you wish; if you do, let them stand 30 minutes.
6. Combine strawberries with the chilled custard. Transfer to the ice cream maker and freeze according to manufacture's instructions.

Makes 1-1/2 quarts.

My photos make the ice cream look sort of yellowish, but it is really not!

Beach, Birthday, Brew & Bouncing Dog

Yesterday, being my birthday, meant Mr. Time taking a vacation day and me determining the itinerary. The day was perfect! Here are the highlights:

Worthy Cause Decreases Pseudo-Clutter

I'm doing some purging in our house. When I'm feeling this way (swamped by the massive amounts of stuff that invades and suffocates my life), I never do the obvious: the mail that gets piled haphazardly in the entry, the dishes lying on the kitchen counters, the random papers and items that seem to get deposited on the dining room table every time one of us enters the house (what is this stuff, and why do we feel the need to keep the receipt from the morning's coffee, then drop it on the table? Is it lonely? Does it need coffee receipt friends? There's enough there to start a fraternity of receipts, why do we have to bring more in?). Do I focus on the piles of clothes that need sorting, washing, ironing? NO!

I go after the books, which makes my husband very upset. He lectures me like I'm erasing all the learning of human civilization if I go near the bookshelf with a paper sack. And I can see his point: these are books, the equivalent of intellectual gold! They are a tangible display of our education, our interests, our beliefs, our personal growth.

But, hear me out. We have duplicates, people, from when we merged our collections together! (These, by the way, were the last thing we held onto as "single" people. We merged finances and debt before we merged book collections. But that's a whole different story.) And between the two of us (both English majors) we have a dozen short story anthologies ... ok, I just counted and it was 13!... all from our college days (many moons ago) and many of which have overlapping stories. I checked because Mr. Time was giving me that look and I needed some data to support my position.

This all may have something to do with a flyer I picked up at my local independent book store, announcing "A Book Drive for Women Behind Bars." I have never been behind bars, and hope never to be behind bars, but if I were ever to find myself behind bars, I hope I get some books. Thus, this is officially a Worthy Cause. Now, only to choose which of the 13 short story anthologies ...

Poor Simon! He's on the wrong side of every door!

Ever seen a cat scowl?

This is definitely a look calculated to deliver maximum guilt.

"You are powerless to resist my handsomeness...you will cave to my wishes!"

This is quintessential Simon...

if cute and adorable don't work, resort to being bad.

Even better if they can be combined.

Sunflower Gang on Trial: Innocent or Guilty?

If it please the court, I will now present the case against the Notorious Sunflower Gang, and show that these vegetations are criminally negligent, having not bothered to thrive, and are beyond rehabilitation. In fact, they have failed to show any intention of becoming productive members of this Garden Society, or even in fact, any remorse for their crimes against aesthetics. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it is your duty to weigh the evidence set before you and do what justice demands--condemn them to the green waste!

Firstly, these wretched things have criminally associated with all manner of garden snacker, for which they should be punished. I present Exhibit A (those with delicate sensibilities may wish to avert your eyes):

Shocking!


















And I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to consider that several credible witnesses will testify that these sunflowers were seen on numerous occasions in the possession of wilted flowers and shabby foliage! Do you deny it, Sunflower Gang? How can you, when I present Exhibit B:





More shocking!


And yet, in light of new evidence, I am prepared to offer a plea bargain: A stay of execution,

on the condition that you make good on these promises, these fresh starts and seemingly potential blooms. Sunflower Gang, we'll be watching you closely.

Swish-swish and hubba-hubba

Last night we went downtown with friends for dinner and a stroll.

First, dinner at Shabuway, a hotpot place:

I didn't capture the enormous amounts of steam bathing us all in the dim little restaurant. We all have dewy complexions this morning!

Then this stopped us in our tracks:

This, ladies and gentlemen, is fabric hanging on display in the window of a quilting shop. Next to it (I wish I had included it in the photo) is a flyer for children's quilting lessons. Really, you can't make this stuff up! I might have taken up quilting in my youth, if only... sigh.

Princess Bellerina in the garden

Belle hasn't gotten much press time around here, a pretty serious oversight on my part. Belle just kind of does her thing without fanfare. And she's scarce when the photo shoots begin. For instance, the moment captured in this picture is a pause before she scrambled over the fence to visit the neighborhood via the fence-top highway system. She returns later, coy and flirty, whiskers covered in cobwebs and debris.

"Don't you wish you knew where I've been?" she teases with her tail.

Weekend Detour

A man drives along a highway one weekend day, glad for the chance to take this route on a non-work day, glad there is no traffic. An audio book plays on the CD deck, and he and his wife are enjoying the story, if not the narrator's voice. They are quiet because they are listening and because they are relaxed and enjoying the drive. He's startled when his wife breaks the silence by remarking, "Dogs!"

"What?" He's not sure he heard her right.

"Dogs!" she insists. "Get off the highway."

"Are you serious?" But she's looking at him in a way that means she is, and he indulges her, merging right across the lanes of highway, taking the exit. He looks at her as if to say, "Now where?" She gives a small little shrug, an apologetic grin, and gestures vaguely with her arm.

It's the wrong way; the road veers over the highway, not down the frontage road. They're on a road heading perpendicularly away from the highway and they meet several "no U turn" intersections. "I'm trying to get back to the 101," he says, but they both know figuring out how to get to the frontage road is more baffling than they anticipated.

Eventually they get going back toward the highway on the perpendicular road. "We should just get on the highway and keep going," she's cranky, but he says, "Oh, here!" They make a few guesses and end up on the frontage road. She sits up and cranes her neck, keeping her eyes out.

"Not dogs!" she laughs at herself. "Goats!" And they are. A little herd, walking in a single file line through the wetland marsh. "What can I say? We were traveling freeway speed and I don't have my glasses!" offered as explanation for the mis-recognition, and because he's looking at her with an expression that clearly means are-you-kidding-me-you-thought-these-are-dogs.

She's still laughing when she tells him to pull over, grabs her camera and starts to get out of the car. He glances over at her inappropriate shoes--he is sometimes the practical one--but she's down the trail before he can decide what to say.

He can see her from the car until she leaves the trail and enters tall scrubby brush, then she's visible again crossing a narrow slough on a thin gangway, pausing to snap photos.


On the other side, she's where the goats are. They look startled to see her, warily looking up but still grazing.

By the time she returns and hops back in the car, she's missed a chapter of the audio book. She begins flipping through the images on her camera, telling him about the goat at the salt lick who was the first to get upset at her presence and trot off in annoyance.


The rest followed right away, but a young one got distracted then had to run to catch up, protesting noisily about being left behind.


She had been curious about the fence surrounding their area, and admits she touched it, describing a tiny prickle of electricity in her fingertips that shot up to her elbow. Then she leans over, and kisses his cheeks. "We can go now."

Simon mourns the loss of his favorite plant/snack/hideout.

We've all been busy this weekend

Simon and Katie discuss pathing and planting bed options. (Pretend the rocks and concrete aren't there, because they aren't anymore!)

Our yard has been in various stages of overhaul since we moved in, but this weekend we worked ourselves into puddles and now have a clean slate: no random ground covers, dodgy concrete stepping stones, or odd landscape "features" from the previous owner; just a (relatively) level area awaiting our creative whims. However, suddenly we are suffering from indecisiveness and sticker shock and have no idea what to do with our clean canvas.

Hopefully Katie and Simon can work it out.

P.S. I love how they both hold their tails up in the same way.

Mr Time channels his inner panda, and also rearranges the birch canopy.

Katie contemplates moving some dirt.

Precious Package

The adoption paperwork gets sent off--may its journey be speedy and unhindered!

I'm a little rusty on my "teacher voice." I need to get it back in form as opening day is (alas) right around the corner. I decided to practice on my garden:



"Hey, slug! Where are you supposed to be right now? I need to see your hall pass, mister."

"Miss Sunflower, just because the other sunflowers are looking ratty and desperate doesn't mean you have to look like that, too. Part of growing up means making choices for yourself. You don't want to look like trash, do you?"

"One tomato, this season's crop is woefully underwhelming. You're going to have to make a better effort if you expect to pass my garden this year."

"Heirloom zucchini, I know you made a late start, moving to the neighborhood late as you did. I'm trying to help you out, but you've just got to catch up!"

"Mint, if you continue to bolt, despite my warnings, I'll have to call your parents in for a conference."

"Zinnias, I understand that you don't like Katie nibbling on your leaves, but nobody likes a tattle-tale."

"Geraniums, we've been over the dress code a million times. You HAVE to wear flowers in the garden."

"Hydrangea, snails are not allowed on campus. Do not, under any circumstances, bring them in the future. Is that absolutely clear?"

"Lavender, I have moved your pot several times during the course of the season, and you just aren't succeeding anywhere! I'm running out of different places to set you. The next time I need to move you because you're not behaving, you'll go to the principal's office."

My Irish Eyes Are Smiling

A Dublin visit is definitely in my future! What a flattering analysis of my character, doncha think?

You Belong in Dublin

Friendly and down to earth, you want to enjoy Europe without snobbery or pretensions.You're the perfect person to go wild on a pub crawl... or enjoy a quiet bike ride through the old part of town.

What European City Do You Belong In?

Thanks to the charming "Tea and Margaritas in My Garden" for leading me to this Blogthing.

Simon: Cardboard Junkie

Simon never met a box he didn't like...to eat!

When I was a kid, one of my favorite books was "My Cat Likes to Hide in Boxes." I loved that line, which was repeated following a description of what other cats like to do. Cats from France like to sing and dance, but my cat likes to hide in boxes." It's important to get the cadence right when you say it, too:

but/my cat/likes to/hide/in/boxes

and one must properly emphasize the words "my" and "boxes." That's the way mom read it, and we always chanted the refrain together, each time getting more emphatic until I was practically shrieking by the last page.

So I think it's very appropriate that all these years later I have a cat who likes to eat boxes. Actually, he likes to chew on just about anything, but cardboard makes his little cat brain go all euphoric.