Today is my mom’s birthday: Happy Birthday Mom! Hope you have a peaceful day today.
Bathing Suits, Baby Chicks, and Moe Trouble
I found a bathing suit that I like! This is actually astonishing news—it hasn’t happened in a very long time. A couple of weeks ago I ordered two Speedo one-piece suits on eBay, and waited very impatiently for them to come. Well, I liked them just fine until I put them on, and then I hated them. It was not pretty, let me tell you. They were the right size, but the wrong cut: they highlighted my fat back. My jowly back. Ugh, ugh and double ugh. So then I went to Lands End‘s online swimsuit store and made myself a virtual model, which was actually kind of fun. And she tried on bathing suits for me, even spinning around so I could see them from all sides. The one I ordered looked good on her, and I love it on me; it’s flattering! I’m so vain. Here’s a picture of the suit (and of course it looks just like that on me):
And in other news: Mama bantam chicken has hatched another clutch of eggs. Seven this time, all shades of silver and charcoal again. One of the chicks seems a little “off”—-I wouldn’t be surprised if that one doesn’t make it. Her hatch from earlier this summer is still running around the yard—they all made it, all eight of them! Unfortunately, they’re half hens, half roosters. Anybody need some very handsome, tiny blue roosters? They crow on the front porch in the mornings, and sound like little wind-up toys!
The girls and I are having the most wonderful breakfast: wild blueberries that they picked Sunday with DH up on Max Patch, over which we have poured organic jersey cream—oh, oh, oh….
Had a great time in Asheville last night with M*. Mostly we grocery-shopped, but we did find time to go see a movie: De-lovely. I enjoyed it, though it was a little depressing. That’s the trouble with biographies: you know how they’re going to end!
Moe woke me up at 5:30 this morning, knocking bowls off the kitchen counter. Yesterday at 2:30am he woke me up making a tremendous racket trying to get through the kitchen window. And the day before that….well, you get the picture. Moe, your days are numbered.
Fun
Fun day yesterday. ED had requested no party, but said she wouldn’t mind if a few people just dropped by casually, so of course I told everybody who asked about her birthday to please just “drop by”. Even though it wasn’t officially a party, I think the giant cake and the gargantuan pot of gumbo looked a little suspicious; however ED said this morning that she forgives me. Actually, we all had a blast. Towards the end of the night DH pulled out the homemade wine (last year’s peach and cherry), and we had a little pre-beach party and discussion group; it became segregated by gender, with the guys discussing fishing tackle and boats, and the gals discussing desserts (Key Lime Pie was mentioned) and cocktails.
Tonight M* and I are going to Asheville; I have a big wedding cake coming up this weekend, so I need to shop for that, and M* has a new car that Iwe need to go for a ride in, and I’m sure that there’s a movie we need to see!
13 Years Ago Today
Today is Ed’s birthday! She was born thirteen years ago in a little cabin on a mountaintop in West Virginia. How can it have been thirteen years ago? Happy birthday Ed!
YD was up at the crack of dawn wrapping presents and getting ready. I baked a lemon cake yesterday and today I will fill it with a mixture of lime curd and whipped cream, and will frost it with lemon buttercream. DH killed a meat chicken (one of the big old ones) and I cleaned it and it’s cooking in a pot, later to be transformed into chicken and sausage gumbo. Several friends will be stopping by today at different times to have cake and gumbo.
ED is such a tall, graceful, strong girl; she’s quite composed and self-assured. She is just about to take my previously unchallenged place as second tallest person in the family (I’ve got at least a couple more months to enjoy it, though!).
I love you, ED.
Drink More Chocolate
Found this silly thing while cruising Poppy Mom’s place:
| Doctor Unheimlich has diagnosed me with Rosie’s Disease |
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| Cause: | a significant alignment of the stars |
| Symptoms: | excessive sores, vague aversion to bright light, mauve skin, sudden smell of brimstone |
| Cure: | drink more chocolate |
Don’t know about the disease, but the cure sounds fine!
Blossom and Ginger
The girls and I rode my mare, Blossom, yesterday for the first time in forever. For my birthday back in June I got a new saddle (ED got one, too) from EBay. Yesterday was the first time we’ve used either of them. The flies and gnats are so bad in the summer that it’s not much fun to mess around with the horses—-they just want to be up on the mountain in the woods all day. Blossom, who is usually Queen Brat, was very well behaved, and a lot of fun to play with. She’s a Morgan; used to be registered, before the guy I bought her from had her. I don’t have any way to know, but I suspect some or all Lippitt breeding. She’s a solid, compact little bay(some would even go so far as to say short and fat); nice cresty Morgan neck; nice, straight, long Old-Type Morgan face. Very nice trot with a fair bit of action. I love her, that fat little thing (she’s only 14 hands). I rode her yesterday in shorts (me, not her) and today my legs are solid black and blue bruises from the pinching saddle.
The girls have a horse, too. They saved up money last summer with the understanding that we would match funds; we thought we would have a couple of years at least, but they were ready to buy a horse by about this time last year! So, from a neighbor, we bought a yearling Morgan filly. She’s what I call a “mountain Morgan”—comes from gaited stock, though I’ve met her daddy. He’s registered, and built a lot like Blossom. He’s very nice—I almost bought him instead of Blossom. Ginger, the girls’ horse, is a chestnut. She’s built much finer than Blossom, and will probably be taller. She doesn’t seem to be gaited (thank goodness), but has a lovely, floaty trot. Her head is fine and slightly dished like an Arabian’s. I don’t hold that against her, though. She may end up having as much personality and intelligence as Bloss, heaven help us.
It looks like I may have a job at the Inn, cooking breakfast while S* is in India from October through December, and filling in for R* two weeks next month. Yay! Money! Before Christmas!
Biscuits and Baked French Toast
I’m really enjoying cooking breakfast at the Inn. It’s quiet (at least for the first two hours), not terribly difficult, and fairly profitable. This morning I made:
Baked French Toast
I started out by cubing yesterday’s leftover biscuits (recipe to follow); maybe a dozen-ish? Put them in a greased casserole-type oven-proof baking dish that must be about 9 inches square. Sprinkled the biscuit cubes with a bit of nutmeg and a couple handfuls of dried blueberries. Then in a bowl I mixed a half dozen eggs with maybe two or three cups of half and half and some heavy cream and a little brown sugar. Poured that over the biscuits, felt it needed more moisture, so I dribbled more heavy cream over it, and let it soak overnight. Then this morning I made a streusal type thing by mixing a stick or so of very soft butter with a half cup of flour and maybe three quarters of a cup of brown sugar so that it was almost a batter consistancy, and spread that over the stuff in the baking dish. I baked it for an hour at 375° or 400°, until it was pretty nice and brown on top. I often make these things for the Inn, and I never follow a recipe (can you tell?)—sometimes I use leftover bread, last week I used R*’s leftover Irish Soda Bread with pecans and no blueberries. It’s easy to make and people love it.
OK, here’s an excellent biscuit recipe:
Biscuits
Measure 3 cups of self rising flour into a bowl. The very best is King Arthur’s—it is unbleached and uses aluminum-free baking powder. Next, on the course holes of a grater, grate in 1 stick of very cold butter. The butter can even be frozen, which might not be a bad idea if you’re working in a very hot kitchen. Using your fingers, work the butter into the flour; be quick so the butter stays cold. You’re mostly just trying to disperse the butter evenly throughout the flour; it’s good to leave it in fairly good size pieces so that your biscuits will be flaky. Then pour in 1 cup of very cold milk or buttermilk, mix rapidly, turn out onto the counter and knead briefly and lightly until the dough looks fairly smooth; roll it out to about 3/4 of an inch thick, and cut out biscuits with a water glass. Don’t twist the glass! Just straight down and up; if you twist, your biscuits aren’t going to rise because you will have pinched the edges shut. Place them on an ungreased baking sheet and bake in a hot oven (450°) for about ten minutes, or until the tops are lightly browned. My friend J* over in Tennessee says her grandmother taught her that a real lady never lets her biscuits get brown at all—(pure white=virginal?)—but fortunately I’m from Georgia, not Tennessee; and not much of a lady anyway.
A Pet Peeve
You know what drives me crazy? People driving really, really slowly on my road and not pulling over to let me go by! I live 10-ish miles from town on a very curvy road. I have to drive to work on that road. Usually I’m running a bit late when I drive to work on that road ( which I know is nobody’s fault but my own). And lately it seems like I’m always getting stuck behind a) sightseeing tourists or b) good old boys in pickups. Yesterday on my way home from work I was behind a big shiny blue pickup truck with a buzz-cut-wearing gent who insisted on slowing down to 5 mph on the curves. Down from his breakneck speed of 20 mph on the straightaways. But the worst of it is when people like that won’t pull over in one of the many turn-offs and let me go by! That’s the thing—if you don’t feel safe going any faster, then I wholeheartedly support you in going slowly (and carefully). But pull over and let me get where I’m going, dammit! Grouch grouch grouch.
Breakfast went well this morning, and I didn’t scald a single person. Got paid, which always helps my attitude! Unlike a few years ago, breakfast cooks now get tips. Yippee! Last week’s breakfast recipients, none of whom I spilled coffee (or any other beverage) on, left me a whopper. Yay people! I’m feeling considerably less panicky about money. It’s still tight, but I think we’re going to be fine. DH is working hard and getting his 7 or 8 hours in every day, and he and I are both going to work Saturday, too.
Started another gallon jar of cucumber pickles yesterday. The first one is in the outside refrigerator. I did add more cukes to it, and also a small handful of dill seed. It smells great!
I think there’s going to be a market today. The girls and I are going to go down and buy seafood and hang out with all our farmer buddies and dream of the day when we, too, can be real farmers. Sad, huh?