I was in the mood for apple pie Saturday, and nothing else was going to satisfy me, so I baked one using the Old World Dutch Apple Pie recipe I found in the cookbook that came with my food processor. I only used Granny Smith apples (they called for mixing up apple types), because that’s all I had, but I pretty much followed the rest of the recipe exactly, and . . . WOW. My usual pie is pretty decent, if I do say so myself, but this one is out of this world. It’s got the crumbly top, made with butter, flour, brown sugar, rolled oats, and walnuts, and the filling is unbelievable: I mixed eggs, sour cream, sugar, and vanilla and poured that over the apples and then topped it with the crumblies and baked it.
I seriously think this pie may be the most delicious thing I’ve ever baked. It’s amazing. The crust is buttery and flaky, the filling is firm and sweet/tart, and the topping is slightly crunchy and caramelized. It is just unbelievable, and I had to make sure to invite people over to help get rid of it so I wouldn’t spend the rest of the weekend doing nothing but reading and eating pie. SO GOOD.
Speaking of reading, I’m working my way through Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture, and I can’t say enough good things about it. It’s pleasantly readable and oh-so-interesting, and I’m learning a lot, I think. It’s much like Barbara Ehrenreich’s books (of which I am a fan), but less judgey. It’s facts and flow and things to think about, and I highly recommend it. I’m not quite sure what I’m going to DO with the information and ideas I’m gathering, but at this point I want to put a complete hold on purchasing anything but food. I want to save up money to buy things of the highest quality—things made locally or regionally by craftsmen and artists and artisans—that will last forever.
For now, though, I will content myself with my knitting and making fewer trips to Target. Baby steps, man. Baby steps.
I’m taking sluggish, drowsy steps right now. The Boy got food poisoning at his camp and couldn’t get a hold of his dad in the middle of the night (WHY DO PEOPLE NOT KEEP THEIR PHONES BY THEIR BEDS?), so I had to fetch the poor puking kid at the crack of dawn Saturday after listening to him puke via cell phone in the wee hours of the morning. Talk about heartbreaking. The culprit was some chicken he had with his dad before leaving Friday night—I’m sure of it, because he brought me the leftovers, and when I opened the fridge Saturday morning, it REEKED. Gross. But The Boy was fine after some water, toast, and apple slices. He took a nice nap on the couch (I joined him), and I win the prize for Best Parent. C feels like the Worst Dad in the World because The Boy couldn’t reach him and left so many pathetic messages, and . . . frankly, he should. When he’s the parent on duty, he has to be reachable 24/7, whether the kid’s with him or not. Lesson learned. But thank God the situation wasn’t serious.
And then I spent Saturday night visiting with a friend I usually only see about once a year, so I didn’t get to bed until almost 5am. I am so not a night owl, and am so very out of synch. I can’t wait to go to bed tonight (after I’ve had some pie, of course). I bet I won’t even make it till dark.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Off to College
I just sent my boy off to college. He's got an enormous duffle bag filled with clothes, sports equipment, toiletries, a pillow, sheets, and blanket, a book and book light, his iPod, and an over-the-door mini-basketball and hoop set. For his dorm room.
He's going to a referee camp over the weekend, where he will play games, brush up on skills, and then test to get re-certified to ref for 2010.
He'll be home Sunday, for which I'm grateful. I know he's only going into 7th grade, but this whole "stuff for the dorms" business has me on high alert for flying time. Sunrise, sunset. :-)
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A Very MLE Kind of Day
So the Jupiter thing is pretty cool. Imagine being that amateur astronomer who found something so major--how exciting! But as I listened to the story about this dark spot, I couldn't help think about this, from MLE's A Swiftly Tilting Planet:
Remember that? To ward off the Ecthroi and their spreading darkness? Yikes. That's stuck with me for a long time. So I looked for a picture of Jupiter's newest feature, and found this:
The light spots are actually the dark thing, and I was relieved to see such a relatively small mass, rather than the ever-growing malignant cloak I saw in my mind's eye (I do have my drama queen moments).
And THEN my friend K sent me a link to an article about Sangeeta Bhatia. K saw Bhatia on NOVA the other evening and was terribly impressed with the biomedical engineer who's using "computer-chip technology to craft tiny livers." The woman is a scientist, teacher, mother, and mentor, and I love her.
I grew to love her even more when I read the interview and she said this, in answer to a question about what normally happens to liver cells when they're forced to live outside the body:
Does that remind you of MLE in any way? Think of A Wind in the Door, and those pesky litte farandolae--the one we got to know was called Sporos--who would "deepen" and so were screwing up Charles Wallace's mitochondria and cells and were killing him?
Sometimes MLE astounds me.
"At Tara in this fateful hour,
I place all Heaven with its power,
And the sun with its brightness,
And the snow with its whiteness,
And the fire with all the strength it hath,
And the lightning with its rapid wrath,
And the winds with their swiftness along their path,
And the sea with its deepness,
And the rocks with their steepness,
And the Earth with its starkness —
All these I place
By God's almighty help and grace
Between myself and the powers of darkness."
Remember that? To ward off the Ecthroi and their spreading darkness? Yikes. That's stuck with me for a long time. So I looked for a picture of Jupiter's newest feature, and found this:
The light spots are actually the dark thing, and I was relieved to see such a relatively small mass, rather than the ever-growing malignant cloak I saw in my mind's eye (I do have my drama queen moments).
And THEN my friend K sent me a link to an article about Sangeeta Bhatia. K saw Bhatia on NOVA the other evening and was terribly impressed with the biomedical engineer who's using "computer-chip technology to craft tiny livers." The woman is a scientist, teacher, mother, and mentor, and I love her.
I grew to love her even more when I read the interview and she said this, in answer to a question about what normally happens to liver cells when they're forced to live outside the body:
"Normally, when you take liver cells out of the body and you put them on a dish, they lose all their functions. They're not "happy" in that environment, because you've taken them out of the body, where they've gotten lots of signals that keep them happy. So the goal of my Ph.D. was to think about how to surround them with neighbors that would make them happier—to sort of give them a better community—and to figure out how that needed to be organized so that they would function best."
Does that remind you of MLE in any way? Think of A Wind in the Door, and those pesky litte farandolae--the one we got to know was called Sporos--who would "deepen" and so were screwing up Charles Wallace's mitochondria and cells and were killing him?
Sometimes MLE astounds me.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Perfect Weekend
I am truly easy to please. My perfect weekend? Friday night P came over for pizza, MST3K's Zombie Nightmare (with Adam West!), and Phase 10 with The Boy and me. We listened to the radio cursed one another for playing Skip cards and winning hands, and acted generally goofy and had a great time. C and I used to play Phase 10 with our friends all the time before and just after we got married, and I think that if Bjork or Morrisey had come on the radio Friday night I would have been crushed under the weight of some great time warp, but thankfully I was spared.
Saturday I got groceries early, so I nearly had the whole store to myself, and a lovely bagger boy helped me load the groceries into my car. The Boy unloaded them. I felt like The Rich must feel on a regular basis, and thought briefly of my recurring rich and loving-but-not-clingy husband daydream.
I did a bit of housework, lazed, knitted, watched the eminently unsatisfying remake of Yours, Mine, and Ours with The Boy, got my hair cut and colored (so far overdue that I was starting to want to wear a ski hat in July), and then took The Boy and my nephew to my parents' for general porch sitting and playing in their huge yard.
Yesterday I took The Boy and another kid to a birthday party (they are starting to turn thirteen: The Year of the Bar and Bat Mitzvahs starts in a few weeks), and repaid myself for the drive to the wretched suburb with a trip to Half-Price Books, which just happened to be in the strip mall adjacent to the party's mini-golf course. I didn't find a SINGLE book I was looking for--I have Charlaine Harris Mania now, and would like to read her other series, and I was hoping against hope that someone would have read and discarded the newest Maisie Dobbs, which I've listened to but want to read/own because I have all the others. I was looking for a few other things too, but I couldn't find a single one. So I bought a copy of Cloud Atlas for a dollar, and then cleaned up in the DVDs. I got the first season of King of the Hill, the first season of Veronica Mars, the second season of Angel, and The Scorpion King (I love The Rock--sue me).
Add those scores to the fact that I picked up Gillian Flynn's new book, Dark Places, at the library, and it's great so far (Libby, the main character, is mean, nasty, bitter, and refreshingly unashamed to be so), AND the fact that I finished the back of the sweater I'm knitting, and it was just a really great weekend. The perfect mix of work, play, and lazy. Hooray!
I've never come this far on such an involved knitting project--I'm so proud!
Look! I've had that stitch holder for years, and never used it before last night!
Saturday I got groceries early, so I nearly had the whole store to myself, and a lovely bagger boy helped me load the groceries into my car. The Boy unloaded them. I felt like The Rich must feel on a regular basis, and thought briefly of my recurring rich and loving-but-not-clingy husband daydream.
I did a bit of housework, lazed, knitted, watched the eminently unsatisfying remake of Yours, Mine, and Ours with The Boy, got my hair cut and colored (so far overdue that I was starting to want to wear a ski hat in July), and then took The Boy and my nephew to my parents' for general porch sitting and playing in their huge yard.
Yesterday I took The Boy and another kid to a birthday party (they are starting to turn thirteen: The Year of the Bar and Bat Mitzvahs starts in a few weeks), and repaid myself for the drive to the wretched suburb with a trip to Half-Price Books, which just happened to be in the strip mall adjacent to the party's mini-golf course. I didn't find a SINGLE book I was looking for--I have Charlaine Harris Mania now, and would like to read her other series, and I was hoping against hope that someone would have read and discarded the newest Maisie Dobbs, which I've listened to but want to read/own because I have all the others. I was looking for a few other things too, but I couldn't find a single one. So I bought a copy of Cloud Atlas for a dollar, and then cleaned up in the DVDs. I got the first season of King of the Hill, the first season of Veronica Mars, the second season of Angel, and The Scorpion King (I love The Rock--sue me).
Add those scores to the fact that I picked up Gillian Flynn's new book, Dark Places, at the library, and it's great so far (Libby, the main character, is mean, nasty, bitter, and refreshingly unashamed to be so), AND the fact that I finished the back of the sweater I'm knitting, and it was just a really great weekend. The perfect mix of work, play, and lazy. Hooray!
I've never come this far on such an involved knitting project--I'm so proud!
Look! I've had that stitch holder for years, and never used it before last night!
Friday, July 17, 2009
I Have Problems
Okay, there are many people who have more problems than I do, like the fella I'm about to tell you about, but as you will see, I do indeed have issues.
You may recall that a while ago I mentioned a co-worker who insists that moon and June do not rhyme. I may not have mentioned at that time that said co-worker also collects (and talks to) Beanie Babies, wears bow ties with sandals, socks, and shorts (all at the same time), has a baby face, sings like an angel, and is a grandfather in his 60s. He's a very nice man--the kind who would never hurt a fly--but he's also the kind of person whose whimsical nature seems a little put-on to me, and there are few things that drive me crazier than forced whimsy.
So he bugs me, which makes me feel bad because I know he's really a good person.
Anyway, he stopped to chit chat this morning, and happened to mention that the university's ILL Department was able to find a book for him that he hadn't been able to track down anywhere, no matter how hard he tried. He was so grateful when he went in to pick up the book that he hung around to give praise to the librarian, who then--to humor him and maybe get him to quit embarrassing her, I bet--asked about the subject of the book. He told her the book was about Denny Dennis, known in the 40s as "The English Bing Crosby." "Oh," sniffed the librarian, "Didn't he abuse his kids?"
At this point in the story, my co-worker stopped to take a deep breath. He had tears in his eyes. He leaned over mile file cabinet to hide his face in his hands. When he was strong enough, he said, with shaking voice, "That woman is an asshole. Bing Crosby did not abuse his children. I know the truth."
Well. Oh, dear. What to do with this crying man child? I said, "You know, I have a grudge against that library--they won't give me a job!" We sort of commiserated there a bit, and then MY PHONE RANG, so he wandered away. THANK GOD!
So then I quickly jumped online to see just how hard this book would be to find. BECAUSE I CARE, for some reason. I don't care about the British Bing, but I had to know what was giving the crazy co-worker so much trouble. Turns out it's out of print, but readily available if you have a bit of cash. Why do I care? I suppose because I have a Master's Degree, dammit, and must use it whenever the situation presents itself.
I have problems.
You may recall that a while ago I mentioned a co-worker who insists that moon and June do not rhyme. I may not have mentioned at that time that said co-worker also collects (and talks to) Beanie Babies, wears bow ties with sandals, socks, and shorts (all at the same time), has a baby face, sings like an angel, and is a grandfather in his 60s. He's a very nice man--the kind who would never hurt a fly--but he's also the kind of person whose whimsical nature seems a little put-on to me, and there are few things that drive me crazier than forced whimsy.
So he bugs me, which makes me feel bad because I know he's really a good person.
Anyway, he stopped to chit chat this morning, and happened to mention that the university's ILL Department was able to find a book for him that he hadn't been able to track down anywhere, no matter how hard he tried. He was so grateful when he went in to pick up the book that he hung around to give praise to the librarian, who then--to humor him and maybe get him to quit embarrassing her, I bet--asked about the subject of the book. He told her the book was about Denny Dennis, known in the 40s as "The English Bing Crosby." "Oh," sniffed the librarian, "Didn't he abuse his kids?"
At this point in the story, my co-worker stopped to take a deep breath. He had tears in his eyes. He leaned over mile file cabinet to hide his face in his hands. When he was strong enough, he said, with shaking voice, "That woman is an asshole. Bing Crosby did not abuse his children. I know the truth."
Well. Oh, dear. What to do with this crying man child? I said, "You know, I have a grudge against that library--they won't give me a job!" We sort of commiserated there a bit, and then MY PHONE RANG, so he wandered away. THANK GOD!
So then I quickly jumped online to see just how hard this book would be to find. BECAUSE I CARE, for some reason. I don't care about the British Bing, but I had to know what was giving the crazy co-worker so much trouble. Turns out it's out of print, but readily available if you have a bit of cash. Why do I care? I suppose because I have a Master's Degree, dammit, and must use it whenever the situation presents itself.
I have problems.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Potterific
The Boy and I saw the Half Blood Prince movie today (I am dork enough to have scheduled a vacation day from work for it), and while there are a few problems/issues, I think it's the best one since Prisoner of Azkaban. We'll see it again at the drive-in with my mom this weekend, and I may see it once more on my own.
My GOD are those kids cute!
I seriously heart Luna.
My GOD are those kids cute!
I seriously heart Luna.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The Hypocrisy of Disco
I picked up The Hypocrisy of Disco thanks to Badger, and I have to agree with her overall assessment. I almost didn't bother, because I was afraid the book would be too much like The Glass Castle, which put me off memoirs for a long time, but Clane Hayward never offers up any sort Poor Me feelings the way Jeannette Walls did.
Hayward is completely matter of fact about her childhood, even though there was a lot of sadness involved. She often didn't have enough food. She was regularly filthy. She realized once later, when an uncle's girlfriend was washing her hair, that no one had touched her lovingly or tenderly in a very long time--that's the saddest thing for me right there. My parents were super-young when they got married, and spent a lot of time living as super-young people in the late 60s and early 70s did (there are plenty of snapshots to prove it), but my sister and I always knew we were loved. Yes, there was plenty of alcohol and more than a few illicit substances involved in their Harley driving, Big Brother & the Holding Co. lives, but my parents held our hands, held us while we slept, kissed our sweaty heads, and made us bathe. Sure there was macrame and wheat germ and whiskey in my tea when I was sick, but I had a home and parents who loved me and took care of me when I was sick.
Did I sometimes wish we were more normal? Sure. I wanted to be "straight" as much as Hayward did--but reading this book makes me realize how close to straight we actually were. It's a good book, and sometimes a fun book, and I feel enormous respect for Hayward.
And now I want to go hug my kid and call my parents.
Hayward is completely matter of fact about her childhood, even though there was a lot of sadness involved. She often didn't have enough food. She was regularly filthy. She realized once later, when an uncle's girlfriend was washing her hair, that no one had touched her lovingly or tenderly in a very long time--that's the saddest thing for me right there. My parents were super-young when they got married, and spent a lot of time living as super-young people in the late 60s and early 70s did (there are plenty of snapshots to prove it), but my sister and I always knew we were loved. Yes, there was plenty of alcohol and more than a few illicit substances involved in their Harley driving, Big Brother & the Holding Co. lives, but my parents held our hands, held us while we slept, kissed our sweaty heads, and made us bathe. Sure there was macrame and wheat germ and whiskey in my tea when I was sick, but I had a home and parents who loved me and took care of me when I was sick.
Did I sometimes wish we were more normal? Sure. I wanted to be "straight" as much as Hayward did--but reading this book makes me realize how close to straight we actually were. It's a good book, and sometimes a fun book, and I feel enormous respect for Hayward.
And now I want to go hug my kid and call my parents.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Pin a Rose on My Nose
Guess what I just did? I pre-ordered a book for my dad . . . FOR CHRISTMAS! Which means that I also just created the annual Christmas Spreadsheet, including a list of people to whom I'd like to give gifts, ideas for those gifts, purchase (or knit) date, and amount of money spent/pending so I can keep a sort of budget.
Line my eyes and call me pretty! (And then enjoy this picture of a lemony good Christmas tree from a few Phipps' exhibits ago.)
Line my eyes and call me pretty! (And then enjoy this picture of a lemony good Christmas tree from a few Phipps' exhibits ago.)
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Does it Still Count?
C and I just wished one another a happy 14th wedding anniversary. We figure that since neither one of us regrets the marriage (who can regret years of happiness, plus the extra special bonus gift of The Boy), we might as well acknowledge the day happily. True, we aren't married anymore, but sometimes I think we like each other more than many married couples do. Hmm . . . maybe he'll even buy me something shiny for our 20th? He *does* like shopping, and he has great taste.
I have been doing very little lately, which is okay by me. I'm working on a delightful summer cold, I think, and tearing through Sookie Stackhouse novels. I think I'm on the 5th, and I have the 6th ready in my bag in case I finish while I'm away from home. I'm also listening to the newest Maisie Dobbs book, Among the Mad. I'll buy the novel once it's out in paperback, because I like the series very much, but it's making for a good listen--an excellent knitting companion.
I am working on a sweater for my mom. I abandoned the socks I started for The Boy, because I am incapable of dealing with those tiny freaking sticks and the wretched string--it takes too long, and I guess I'm much too impatient. Maybe someday. The sweater is going well, though. Here's a pic of the back. I have about three more inches of stockinette to go before I move along to arms.
I had to figure out how to do a provisional cast-on for the hem, which I think looks great. I found the pattern on the Mason-Dixon Knitting site. I have their first book, and I love it, and this pattern seems pretty lovable so far--it's called The Perfect Sweater, and if it works out, it could be my new best friend. We'll see. I promised The Boy I'd make him a Harry Potter-style scarf in his school colors next.
Speaking of The Boy, he's at a soccer camp at his school every morning this week. The school is just about three miles from our house, in a very nice neighborhood. There is another very nice neighborhood between ours and the school's. I have been letting The Boy leave camp, walk into the middle neighborhood for lunch, library, browsing at the store that sells video games, etc. He calls to keep in touch, but he pretty much has free reign. I'm comfortable with it, and glad he feels comfortable doing it--he's going to be in 7th grade, after all, so he's not a little kid anymore.
Do you know, though, that there's only one other kid in his grade who's allowed to join him? One kid was allowed to go on a school trip to the rain forests in Costa Rica for two weeks, but he's not allowed to spend an unsupervised afternoon roaming his own neighborhood. I just don't get it.
I have been doing very little lately, which is okay by me. I'm working on a delightful summer cold, I think, and tearing through Sookie Stackhouse novels. I think I'm on the 5th, and I have the 6th ready in my bag in case I finish while I'm away from home. I'm also listening to the newest Maisie Dobbs book, Among the Mad. I'll buy the novel once it's out in paperback, because I like the series very much, but it's making for a good listen--an excellent knitting companion.
I am working on a sweater for my mom. I abandoned the socks I started for The Boy, because I am incapable of dealing with those tiny freaking sticks and the wretched string--it takes too long, and I guess I'm much too impatient. Maybe someday. The sweater is going well, though. Here's a pic of the back. I have about three more inches of stockinette to go before I move along to arms.
I had to figure out how to do a provisional cast-on for the hem, which I think looks great. I found the pattern on the Mason-Dixon Knitting site. I have their first book, and I love it, and this pattern seems pretty lovable so far--it's called The Perfect Sweater, and if it works out, it could be my new best friend. We'll see. I promised The Boy I'd make him a Harry Potter-style scarf in his school colors next.
Speaking of The Boy, he's at a soccer camp at his school every morning this week. The school is just about three miles from our house, in a very nice neighborhood. There is another very nice neighborhood between ours and the school's. I have been letting The Boy leave camp, walk into the middle neighborhood for lunch, library, browsing at the store that sells video games, etc. He calls to keep in touch, but he pretty much has free reign. I'm comfortable with it, and glad he feels comfortable doing it--he's going to be in 7th grade, after all, so he's not a little kid anymore.
Do you know, though, that there's only one other kid in his grade who's allowed to join him? One kid was allowed to go on a school trip to the rain forests in Costa Rica for two weeks, but he's not allowed to spend an unsupervised afternoon roaming his own neighborhood. I just don't get it.
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