As done as we’re going to get!
I had grander plans for this room, as I always do, but we kind of blew our stash on fixing the the actual problems (unlevel floors, water damage, rotted wood, rotten doors, ad nauseum) and it didn’t leave much left over for gussying up. So I bought some curtains and some pillows and a toy box, brought in furniture from other parts of the house, and arranged it to the best of my ability.
The one long wall is hilariously blank, because the bookshelves are nowhere near done and I just don’t feel like hanging art just yet. We’re kind of waiting on something. A big vague something. So the place is still echoey and that rug makes it look like the set of a high school play, but I don’t care. The green carpet is gone! Gone gone gone! The leaks are fixed and the floor is fresh and clean and there’s a place to sit and play a board game or read a book. I moved our displaced junk out of the rest of the house’s living areas and back to its rightful spot (or at least the attic) and now we can finally get back to living again.
Phew.
Homemade Auntie Anne’s pretzels
So I picked up this book at the library the other week, on a whim: “Even More Top Secret Recipes: More Amazing Kitchen Clones of America’s Favorite Brand-Name Foods.” I got it to show Iain the KFC recipe mentioned on the cover, but when I opened it up the second recipe on the lineup was Auntie Anne’s pretzels.
I never had an Auntie Anne’s until I was in college, visiting the Rosstown Mall in Pittsburgh with my boyfriend. It was an instant conversion. They’re good. They’re loaded with butter and they taste like Mall, but in a very good way.
So, anyway, I like them. They have happy memories for me (that boyfriend? That was Iain). So I dug out all my ingredients after dinner and put my little apron on and started making them. Respect for copyright prevents me from duplicating the recipe here, but it was pretty simple. The only thing was, the dough? Was crazy sticky. I mean it was ridiculous. I was stuck to the dough which was stuck to the counter and it was like a dwarf version of some horror-flick blob monster was eating my hands.
I finally scraped it all off and into what was supposed to be a lightly oiled bowl but in actuality was more like an oil bath for a bobbing lump of sticky dough. It rose sufficiently after 45 minutes sitting inside a cold oven, and I tried to roll it out into the requisite three-foot ropes only it started sticking to everything again, and the dough stretched out when I picked it up, and the water bath pretty much disintegrated what vague pretzel shape might have been eked out by my clumsy hands. I have had some prett-tay rotten luck in the breadmaking arena of late, so this looked to be just one more perverse notch to carve in my … uh, mixed metaphor of a breadpost.
So, I baked it. Er, them. Eight pretzels, seven of which were gross lumpy shapes. Took them out, brushed ‘em with melted butter, and ate one piping hot. And you know what? It was good! It actually tasted as close to an Auntie Anne’s as I think I could get. They came out looking like ass, to be blunt, but they taste wonderful. I am totally going to make them again.
The last pretzels I made (from the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook) were much prettier, and Iain likes them better, but they weren’t coated in butter, now were they. So how could they measure up?
Nearly halfway there
We laid down a whole bunch of this click-floor stuff last week but then had to pause it for a weekend trip. We still have about six boxes’ worth left to do, but man. Once the momentum builds on this part the rest is just sledding downhill.
I’m still trying to decide on some sort of color scheme — thinking royal blue with yellow-green accents, but I’m not married to it — and figuring out what to do about curtains. As in, where to get them, where to put them, what they should look like. And what to do about those 15-light doors: Roman blinds? Some sort of panel-curtain set up? Not sure. Suggestions welcome on all fronts.
And somewhere down the line I’d like to reupholster this pair of chairs we inherited:
… but I’m not sure what fabric to use. I’m thinking some sort of floral or wallpaper print, large-scale and without an obvious repeat, because I love this so much, but the fabric is a titch too crazy. But then I think maybe I ought to stick to a solid color, something with a little more staying power. I don’t know.
Anyway. It kills me how long this project is taking. Iain knew it would but I naively thought we could knock it all out quickly, 1-2-3. It’ll be weeks yet before we can put it all together, since we have to take turns working on it on the weekends or do what we can after the kids are in bed and before we collapse, asleep, where we stand. But oh, the end will be worth it. It’s such a great room, and to fix the problems and redecorate it intelligently will make it so much more pleasant to hang out in.
True Up
True Up is my new favorite blog. It’s the beautiful brainchild of Kim of Dioramarama. What it is, is: All Fabric, All The Time.
Girl knows her fabric, and her giddy joy at fabric of all kinds is very nearly palpable. You could practically slice through her joy with a good Olfa rotary cutter, all the way through the computer, it’s that strong. And that makes the blog not only entertaining and interesting but informative, too. Hell on the wallet, though — makes you want EVERYTHING.
Hand-knit cowl
I finally finished this hand-knit cowl neckwarmer for my sister that I started ages ago, after seeing this flickr photo. I used Lambs Pride Bulky in ‘seafoam’, purchased at Spinster Yarns and Fibers on Harford Road. If I had it to do over again, I’d cast on probably a third fewer stitches (and make someone else do the modeling).
Now all’s that’s left is to mail it off to Ohio before the weather officially turns.
Spring wardrobe sewing: Wants and ideas
A.k.a. “If I could go shopping, this is what I’d buy, but I can’t, so I’ll dream about sewing it instead, but really, in the end, we all know I’ll end up wearing the same ratty Old Navy t-shirts I did last summer.”
In fact, two of those are sewing pattern images (the green coat: built by wendy; the other one a japanese sewing book [got to find the link]); the rest are from the gap, j.crew and old navy.
I have a few pretty versatile blouse patterns; that and a bolt of bleached muslin would get me most of the way to those white shirts. The pants pattern in Sew U would get me the bermudas and capris; and my own good sense and a ruler would get me the tote bag.
There’s no help for the yellow Chucks, though. Those I’m just going to have to shell out for.
One of those annoying meta posts
Was reading Reader’s Digest today. On page 154, there’s a story about cleaning up your online presence for present and potential employers’ benefit — for example, taking down that photo of you totally wasted on Cinco De Mayo, or whatever, so that you do not come across as a complete inhibition-lacking tippler to people who may want to offer you gainful employment.
They make a good point.
If you are my age or younger, a great deal of your socializing and network-maintaining is done online. The internet, and one’s presence thereon, is something that comes naturally to us and that brings us a lot of enjoyment.
Many people of a certain generation will not understand this, the drive to keep on social-networking, to post public photos of yourself looking stupid. To them, it’s airing dirty laundry, it’s embarrassing, and it’s improper. I get that, too. I’m closing in on 30 and while that is, by most accounts, Spring Chicken territory, I have also felt the first confused breezes of being surpassed by the next generation and of no longer being the Youth that the Youth Culture is talking about. I have yet to fully grasp how the hell one uses Facebook, for example. It makes no sense to me and I suspect it never will.
But blogging is also, as noted previously in my five-year-anniversary post, one of my favorite and longest-standing hobbies. I like sharing what I’ve cooked or sewn or thought about. Sometimes those things are not appropriate for a business setting. Sometimes those things include copious low-class language. But — and here’s the thing — I believe it’s OK to have hobbies that don’t adhere to the dress code.
This line is a line I continue to walk. It’s difficult; I believe the best bloggers — the best writers — are those people who bare it all, who dig deep and offer up all sorts of honesties and truths. Those are the best people to read, and they are the people I always go back to. I don’t feel comfortable in doing that, in being embarrassingly honest. I admire those who can but I tell you right now that I don’t have the balls. I don’t regret that, either; I know I share enough as it is, and I also know that I end up sharing more than I consciously realize.
But look where it’s gotten me. Scores of new friends and acquaintances, a lucrative blog advertising deal (oh wait), the chance to catch up with the girl who used to give me a ride to high school in tenth grade, the opportunity to flex my creative muscles (even if I find them weak and flabby, it’s good exercise). I wouldn’t keep doing it if I didn’t get tangible, positive results.
All this to say: Yes, we know. This generation does get it. We put a lot out there. But we get a lot back, too.
Though maybe it wouldn’t hurt if we hid the camera, put down the beer and tucked in our shirt.
Crockpot challenge: Recycling!
Re-using? Reducing? All of the above!
We roasted a chicken for dinner last night. Delish. Then, I googled “roast chicken leftovers crockpot” (for Sunday night is Challenge Night, as you know). I set to work. I dumped the carcass in the crock pot with about 5 or 6 cups of water and some garlic and oregano for a good time. I set it to low and let it simmer overnight.
This morning, I chopped some celery, carrots and onion. Then I pulled out the chicken carcass and separated the meat from the bones and then ran the rast of the liquid through my colander into a bowl, because for some reason I don’t own a sieve. I have a feeling you’re not supposed to do it this way, but that’s how I roll. Experimentally.
Then I tossed the meat and strained broth and vegetables back into the crock pot for, oh, all day long. We went to the zoo and got some books at Daedalus and came home. I added two bags of Success Rice or Minute Rice or whatever that stuff is and waited 10 minutes to cook and then ladled it out to my loving family. Iain dumped salt on the top of his, cormac picked out the carrots, and Owen point-blank refused to touch it.
It was a little low on flavor, I concede. But it was edible, no doubt. And will be so again for lunch tomorrow.
And because the theme of the month is lists, I’ll give you one.
Books we bought today:
Vintage-sheet quilt
Just a little something I’m putting together for our new queen sized bed for spring. The top will be about, oh, 85”x95”, made of alternating rows of 4.5” rectangles and 7” rectangles, all different lengths. I think there are 5 different vintage sheets involved and two or three different bits of calico. You might remember some of the prints from maternity-wear shirts I sewed last year.
I bought 100% cotton batting in a light loft for the inside and haven’t decided how I’m going to piece the back (or from what). I also haven’t decided whether I am going to do a white border on the top. Nor have I decided how I’m going to quilt it — I’ll do it by machine, but should I channel quilt it? On the diagonal? Wiggly lines? I don’t think I could do free-motion on my machine, but that would be cool.
I drew inspiration from the patchwork throw in Amy Butler’s In Stitches; from the summer throw quilt in Last Minute Patchwork and Quilted Gifts, and from the easy lap quilt in Bend The Rules Sewing, as well as the patchwork quilt from Machine Made Patchworks. I made the rectangle widths in two uniform sizes but varied the lengths as whim dictated. I cut so many rectangles that I might have enough left over for a baby quilt that I might sell on etsy, along with a vintage-sheet grocery sack. (My etsy shop is like a million years in the making. Taking forever. Probably worthy of its own post.)
The sheets I’ve been saving for a year or more, and I had the idea for this quilt last summer but obviously have not had the time to get going on it. Quilting Month seemed like the perfect opportunity.
I love to strip-quilt like this, throwing things together and seeing what I like. Fussy quilting and intricate blocks drive me bonkers with the tedious and the boring and the detailed; I’d rather have a finished quilt on the bed than 500 teeny triangles in a pile on the floor, you know?
Crockpot Challenge: South of the Border
Sunday night is Challenge Night! On the menu: Burrito Casserole. Ole!
Picture a lasagna, reimagined Mexican style, with tortillas for noodles and refried beans for ricotta. It isn’t as gross as it sounds, but I believe my intestinal tract would give me a stern talking to if I tried it for a second time.
- 1 1/2 pounds lean ground beef
- 1 can (16 ounces) refried beans
- 1 medium onion, chopped
- 1 red or green bell pepper, chopped
- 1 envelope burrito or taco seasoning mix
- 1 jalapeno pepper, minced, or use 1 can chopped mild green chiles
- 1 1/2 to 2 cups salsa
- 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
- 6 to 8 corn tortillas, cut in strips
It feels … counterintuitive to put something so lacking in liquid into a crockpot and then walk away, but that’s what I did. The result was expectedly rather mushy, though with plenty of appealing burrito flavor. Being the colossal wuss that I am, I included a mere fraction of the onion called for and none of the jalapenos. Nonetheless, the meal continues to speak to me, and I cannot wholly blame it on my ongoing medical condition; some of the fault lies squarely in my stupid decision to cook Mexican. Everyone knows what burritos will do to a body.
What you might not realize is that Burrito Casserole is an A-1 way to throw your preschooler into a tailspin of rebellion. It began the moment he caught a glimpse of his (beautifully plated yet) monochromatic meal. Seconds after being placed into his seat, a fork was brandished and several cc’s of ground beef suddenly sailed through the air, landing with a thwack several feet away. Disciplinary time-out was established out of earshot, so that his father and I could confess to one another that the meal that sat in front of us may very well have deserved a small, puddle-jumping flight such as Owen’s portion received. Nothing so fancy as a first-class ticket, or even coach, but definitely a little Cessna headed to the bin.
There was bound to be a downer in Crockpot Challenge. Perhaps it was the Mexican flavorings; perhaps it was that I attempted to cook a meal that didn’t involve an entire stick of butter or block of cream cheese. Nevertheless, a lesson has been learned, and at the very least I have saved myself six long minutes of transcribing the recipe by hand onto a 4x6” index card, to be hoarded for the day several months in the future when I might wish to repeat myself.
For that, at least, we can all be grateful. And by we all, I mean me.
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