Meeting Places

I'm fairly certain that every house has one of those spots that just somehow becomes 'the spot."  There's never a formal meeting where the heads of household discuss 'the spot,' but nonetheless, 'the spot' is born.  In my house, that spot is the kitchen island.

It's the spot we leave things we don't have a clue where to put because it's the domain of Blue and you happen to be Pink.  It's where you linger over morning tea, reading the newspaper comics and advice columns or its the spot to find the Saturday crossword you both work on until you finish it or give up.   It's the spot where you leave items that you want Pink to pick up on the next grocery run if you happen to be Blue.

Two days ago, an empty package of AAA batteries showed up in the spot.  I dutifully added it to my grocery list.  But now, it's been replaced with a full package of AAA batteries.   Pink is plenty confused, let me tell you.

Occasionally, but not too often, the spot finds notes, which are always exciting.  As good as getting 'real' email instead of junk from stores who happen to have you on an email list.

Hi Mo:
Did you have a good snooze?
I'm off for a visit with Wil.
I will be loving you this much
And this much too!
Bruce

Gotta love a spot like that!

I'd been to my weekly trainer session at the gym yesterday and she kicked my butt (figuratively, of course) so hard that, well, my butt muscles are refusing to do anything today but offer reasons for not getting out of the comfy chair in front of the tv where naps are pretty much inevitable.  Stairs are nigh impossible.  I think Simone proved a point about me needing to get into the gym more often.

Hope this note finds you all exceedingly well and enjoying fine weather, getting out and about and enjoying yourself.   My advice today is .. join a gym .. don't piss off your trainer.  And leave funny notes in your 'spot.'

A little bit dirty

Today I did what you'd do when you're a good daughter of a man who's invested decades bringing forth cereal grains from rich, loamy Alberta soils  ... I worked on my farmer tan.  T-shirt, floppy hat, gloves and full length pants.

Unlike my father's marathon seeding sessions, not all of this actually made it into the soil today.  About two thirds of it found its way into dirt; I'm happy with the progress.  I didn't kill myself (or Bruce) doing it and I still had enough creativity left to come inside to make a barbeque sauce/marinade for the ribs we're tossing on the grill for supper tonight.

Did you notice the red flowers in the top picture turned pink in the second?  Magic and wizardry, I hear you saying.  Nay, it's because I had a tray of pink out back that I decided to trade for the reds.  My pots from last year ended up being tucked into different spots in the garden .. these two adorn the bench near the front door.

I thought I'd repaint or touch them up, but I decided that another year to accumulate 'character' would be in order.  Tucking them into that dreary grey rock wall should bring color to even the rainiest of days.  Alternately, they could provide an attractive salad dispenser for the deer who live in the woods across the street.

This fuschia by the front door is an annual I planted last year that gasped a breath or two and didn't bloom. I thought it was pretty much a goner.  I moved the pot when the plant itself was just a wee nubbin, thinking I'd replace it this spring.  Turns out that it had other designs.

Is there anything happier than sunshine and daisies?  How about honey hued daisies?  I'm so looking forward to watching these pots fill out over the summer. Hope you are too because I'm sure you'll be seeing them again.   :)

I need no elaborate excuse to sneak in another picture of my lemon yellow door ... so here you go.  I'm humming A Daisy a Day right now ... and it fits nicely with paying homage to my father.

Hope your spring planting goes as nicely as mine is coming along.  Enjoy!

Rattling pots and pans

I'm not a great cook; I can admit it and be comfortable with that assessment. When I was much younger, I was passionate about food in the way that you can be when you first discover you're good at something and you're encouraged.  It's too bad that at fifteen, I hadn't been exposed to a more eclectic variety of foods and had a family that didn't insist on beef and potatoes for almost every meal.

My passion really involved the pastry and dessert portion of the menu.  I made good pies, I made tasty treats, but I didn't have a 'feel' for cooking .. I didn't really experiment  beyond the recipes in the treasured volumes of Three Hills ladies tea and coffee circles.  I'm sure they were IODE efforts or some such group, but I don't recall more about them, other than my grandmother's name was attached to more than one recipe. And those were the ones I used. Now SHE was a great cook.   I also don't really remember cookbooks in our home, other than those or the yearly ones from the Blue Flame Kitchen which were supplied for free by the rural gas company. I think Mom also had a tattered old Mennonite or Hutterite cookbook that she treasured and I wasn't allowed to touch for fear of it falling totally apart.

I have tons of cookbooks today .. and sometimes I wonder why.  I peruse them looking for recipes that are somewhat reminiscent of what I want to do, or have ingredients I want to use, but I rarely follow a recipe.  I make substitutions all the time.  I use recipes as 'somewhat of a general guideline.' This has led to spectacular failures and inspired genius.

I know I've mentioned my friend Cécile who is a very interesting cook as well as an interesting person.  She has three things that make her an interesting cook, in my opinion.  Hailing from Holland and being vegetarian by preference but not insistence; she's turned me onto preparations and vegetables that I would not have otherwise come across my table.  Also, she owns (and uses) a Gordon Ramsay cookbook.

Lately, we've been using quinoa in our meals as a substitution for starches of other sorts.  One of the reasons is because I'm trying to watch how much wheat I consume, a second is because quinoa works fantastically in salads and a third is this, a gift from Cécile ...

There's one I want to try with lavender and cherry quinoa.  I'll let you know how it goes once we have cherries on sale again.

In the meantime, here's a recipe I made last night ... I pretty much just made it up as I went along.

Warm Pork Quinoa Salad (serves 3)

• 3/4 C quinoa cooked in 1½ cups of water and set aside to cool.
• 3 center cut pork chops, sliced thin and sauteed
• Handful (generous) of pecans, toasted in a fry pan with a tsp of plantation sugar
• 3 cups fresh Romaine lettuce (could use spinach) chopped
• Alfalfa sprouts to taste.  They're good for you. Shush.
• 2 Spring onions, bias-sliced
• 3 small peaches, peeled and a sliced

Dressing

• 1 tbsp sesame oil
• 1 tbsp merlot vinegar
• 1 tsp plantation sugar (or to taste)
• ½ tsp fresh lime juice

Whisk dressing and drizzle over the rest of the ingredients; toss and serve.  

And here's a wee picture of  Green Potatoes ...

Scoop the innards out of a cooled baked potato. While you're making the filling, put the skins under the broiler, brushed on the inside with a bit of butter. Take out when they're brown. Salt and pepper to taste.

I mashed the potato with a bit of butter and cream, but then added half an avocado  ¼ cup cream cheese, bacon bits and 2 spring onions.  Before putting them back into the oven, I heated the potatoes for 2 minutes in the microwave, then sprinkled cheddar cheese over the top before putting them back into a 400° F oven to finish re-heating.

Poor Bruce, I've bastardized his mashed potatoes more often than he'd like, I'm sure .. but then again, sometimes we get results this good. He approved heartily.  Green potatoes .. who'd have thought??

You're not who I thought you were

Three years ago, I began an affair.  I can confess it now, although the outcome doesn't make for a happy ending.

I first met the object of my affection in a nursery, surrounded by visions almost equally as lovely.  Off in a corner, spreading arms dressed in startling pink.  Deep pink.  Blushing pink. Lovelier than a rose and smelling enticingly like heaven.

Oh, to be sure .. there were detractors when I first spoke of my infatuation; "Beautiful, but too clingy and prone to jealous rages where even your house siding and roof tiles will be torn to shreds if you're not careful."  I listened .. but I wasn't afraid.  And I've been careful .. but still loving and nurturing, waiting for this day.

Bruce discovered the treachery first.  And I am heartbroken.  Crushed.  Here's what he showed me:

It's purple!   And white!.  Oh, still nice, but ... not what could have - should have  - been.  Not what I special ordered from the Green Thumb catalogue, waiting weeks for its arrival.   I feel like I've had a changeling these past three years. I am like a parent, bereft. I am wondering if there is an Elven Illuminati whose purpose is to swap my beloved pink wisteria with this mundane purple and white thing.

The wisteria vines growing around the pergola are crazy interesting.  I did that. With Mother Nature's help of course.  It make me sad to think of how often I tucked in wayward vines.

This is what I ordered ...

The French playwright, Francois Sagan has said "You should celebrate the end of a love affair as they celebrate death in New Orleans, with songs, laughter, dancing and a lot of wine."


I think I need to have several glasses of wine and think about this.