FundyNutter

I’ve made special little Valentine’s day gifts this year for my girls. The finished versions are sweet little doll crib pillows. I spent a fun day and a half with my needle and thread. The embroidery pattern was a freebie from the wonderful artist Gretchen at her blog boulieblog.wordpress.com. She has a few other wonderful freebies just waiting to be used as well as links to her work on etsy et al.

The best part was I had perfectly matching fabric for the ruffle and back of the pillows. My wonderful Krista gave me an envelope of random fabric a few years ago. These peices started as fat quarters and were half gone so I must have used some of it elsewhere. But there was just enough left and the colors couldn’t have been a better match. When I get myself together enough I’ll snap a picture of the finished product and share that too.

Today Norah (4) said: “How do you like my Money Back Guarantee?” And gestured lavishly to her miniature table laden with food toys and a computer keyboard.

I asked what she meant by Money Back Guarantee and she said: “You know, it’s when you give money back to people who really need it!”

Then Norah invited us all to her tea party and her sister Lucy (2.5) said “Dat would be fabwouwess! And weewy kewah!” (that would be fabulous! and really cool!)

I’ve inherited my Grandma’s recipe box.  It’s a great colection, some more thatn 40 years old, some still written on napkins, and some in a shorthand language even grandma would be hard pressed to decifer. Some are just a list of ingredients with curious titles like “Husbands Delight” attached to them.

I thought I’d scour the batch for the best of the bunch–the best being the most culturally incomprehesible, of course.  I wonder if my grandma ever made these choice bits, but…could be.

What we have here is my suggestion for your next holiday dinner party. Lay the table, put out all five hundred forks and light up your scentless 12 inch tapers in the middle. This is a feast with actual courses. In fact, you might see if Jeeves would come out of retirement and serve for you. That extra touch of class would be worth it.

First course: The Soup

Jellied Borscht.  (Yumm-o!)

1 cup shoe string beets (reserve liquid)

3 pk unlflavored gelatin

1 cube beef boulian

2 c red cabbage

Chives, lime juice, salt, 1/2 cup sour cream, parsley

Add water to beet liquid, 2 cups, heat. add gelatin, boullion-cook add remaining ingredients. Pour into 9 x 13 dish, mix sour cream and parsley, fold in. set firm. serve on lettuce.

Second Course: Main Dish

Chinese Beef Tonge Pot Roast

3 lb beef tongue

1/4 cup soy sacue

1 T sherry

1 clove garlic, minced

2 t sugar

1 t salt

1/4 t dried tarragon, crushed

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

6 medium potatoes, pared and halved

2 T cornstarch

2 t minced gren onion.

Do you really want to knw what you do with all of that? Well…if you insist.

In pressure saucepan, combine tongue and water. Cook at 15 pounds pressure for 30 minutes.  Drain and peel tongue.  Combine the stuff that tastes good and pour it on the peeled tongue.  Marinate 1/2 hour, turning once.  In large saucepan combine tongue, marinade and 2 & 3/4 cups water.  Cover and simmer 1 hour and 40 minutes.  Add potatoes. Simmer 15 minutes more.  Remove tongue and potatoes, add the rest of the stuff.  Cook and stir till bubbly.  Serve gravy and half of the tongue sliced and the potatoes.  (I assume you freeze the rest of the tongue so you can use it for disciplining your children.  “One more saucy word out of you and I’ll serve tongue for lunch!!”)

on the side serve: Pickled Green Beans

1 lb green beans, rinsed in water

1 c distilled white vinegar

1 T salt

2 bay leaves

1/2 t crushed dried red hot chilles

2 t each of fenneel seed and mustard seed

pull strings and all that rot from the beans.  In a ten inch frying pan bring two quarts of water to a boil.  Cook beans till bright green but still crisp (about three minutes.) Drain and immerse at once in cold water to arrest cooking.  Drain again.  Lay two pint jars on their sides. Lay half the beans, parallel in each jar. trim ends to fit jars. Set jars upright.

Add the other stuff together and get it real hot.  Pour it into the jars, you know how , with a funnel or what have you.  Put the lids on them and listen for the happy popping sound that says they are good to go. Chill overnight or up to a month.

So you have your tongue, potatoes and greens, but you still need something to drink. And by that I mean, to get down jellied borscht, pickled greens and tongue, you probably need liquid fortification of the very fortifying sort.  Which would explain all of the drinks recipes in the old box of grandma’s.  Here’s two I recommend for this festive event:

GALIANO

4 cups sugar

4 cups water

heat and mix, let cool

1/5 100 proof vodka

2 t vanilla

5 t anise (liquid)

4 drops yellow food coloring

ready in about a week, when the liquid clings to the glass.

and something for the ladies…

Open House Punch

One fifth Southern Comfort

3 quarts 7 up

6 oz fresh lemon juice

one 6 oz can frozen orange juice

one 6 oz can frozen lemonade

chill everything. Mix in punchbowl. Drink until you don’t realize you have to peel a tongue

Finally we’ve come to desesrt. You’ve been waiting I know. And you’ve earned it.

Oregon Whear Growers Leauge: Oregon hazelnut Prune Cake

It’s got a bunch of stuff in it, such as sugar, buttermilk, prunes and all that rot, what.  So then you mix it up like a cake and frost it with chocolate. Or you forget everything I’ve posted so far (except the drinks and the frosting) order a couple dozen pizzas and call it good.

But, you know, Pizza isn’t very festive, so I offer you as a final option, this fine recipe called “Christmas Beef”

20 # beef.  (upper round of beef with bone removed, tied)

Rub thoroughly with 4 oz of salt petre. (anyone else want to burst into song when they hear Salt Petre?) Be generous with the salt petre (Salt Petre!!–oh come on, its Abbigail Adams, circa 1776, you know you want to join in the song) and do not use less than 20# of beef.

Let Lie for 24 hours.

Rub thoroughly with the following mixture: 2 cups salt, 2 T cloves, 1 c brown sugar, 1 t mace, 2 T black Pepper

Place in deep pan (crock or enamel) in cool place, cover lightly.  Turn everyday for three weeks.  To cook: rinse beef well with water. Place beef in roaster with 1 c bacon drippings on top and 1 cup cold water in the pan.  Cover and bake four hours at 350 degrees. To be eaten cold, thinly sliced, while singing educational and patriotic show tunes.

They offer a fine dessert of Ritz torte to accompany this (because who needs vegatbles when you have salt petre?)

Beat three egg whites until foamy. Gradually add 1/2 t baking powder and 1 cup sugar. Beat until stiff. Fold in 14 ritz crakers, crumbled pea size and 3/4 cup chopped nuts.  Bake in a 9 x 12″ pan and 350 degrees for 30 minutes. coll top with whipped cream and marischino cherries. Cut into squares and serve.

Salud!

This was a week for Daniel, if ever their was one.  He would love to live on a piece of property somewhere beautiful so people could gather around us and our fire with their instruments and Jam and the little women can keep the ice cream coming.

It’s a charming dream except for the part where I dread company. My stress escalates to the point of physical manifestation and has me moaning on the coach drowning in aspirin.

I didn’t think of this past week as his anniversary present, and yet, this was how our week went.

Tuesday: our friends Seth and Charity and their three sons came over for dinner.

Wednesday: we had evangelism training at a nearbye church where an old friend made tentative plans with Daniel for a big to-to.

Thursday:our friends Matt and Angela and their two kids came over for an ice cream date

Friday: anniversary dinner out (Little Italy’s downtown with a lovely walk to Ice Cream Renaissance)

Saturday: Norah’s fourth birthday party with seven little girl guests and a handful of their mommies.

When I added up the sheer volume of ice cream consumed and that we had two friends get together’s in one week, (plus a kiddie party!) I realized why I spent so much of Saturday evening curled up in a ball on the sofa nursing my stressed out self.

We have been married seven years today.  And we are getting more alike, burnishing each other through constant contact, reflecting each others more glowing qualities.

The planning, cleaning and anticiaption of events was hard on me, but I was surprised at how much pleasure I got out of just being together with our friends and their families.

I’ve developed a little lactose intolerance in the last seven years, so I could have done with a wee bit less icecream, but all in all, I’m glad we had such a Daniel-ish week.

I hope next time we can have the fire and the jam session too.

Sadly, I didn’t win a years worth of free baby food and a picture of my story illustrated by the “Where’s Baby’s Belly Button?” lady.  I would have donated the baby food to a shelter and put the illustration up in the front room.

Our Sleep Ritual

Our second daughter, Lucy turned two today. It has been so long since she fell asleep in our arms–almost like she has been two for a very long time, our active toddling, growing girl.

She had a birthday party today. She played and jumped and danced. In honor of the day, she would not nap. Practicing the independence she will develop in the coming year.

And so she was exhausted tonight. Her head, resting on her daddy’s arm as they sat together, watching the tournament. He said, “Lucy can watch this with me, we’re buddies.” And she looked up at him, stars in her eyes, and said, “Daddy is my buddy.”

When I returned to the scene, she was sound asleep, on daddy’s lap. So different, this night from most.

She likes to rest her head on my shoulder, most nights. And we dance. Maybe it is not the most original way to go to sleep.

Her big sister has stories in the next room. It is a holdover from the days when she nursed at bed time, Lucy clinging to me. Every night we dance.

She is wrapped in a blanket, in my arms. She sings all the words to first song, or tries to. Then she pulls on the blanket. She likes it over her head, safe and dark and warm. Much like when she nursed.

I can’t help myself but kiss her soft warm hair before I cover her head and we sway together, a tired two-step. Her grip relaxes some, around my neck. She starts to feel soft and heavy in my arms. Not quite asleep, she pulls the blanket away, just a bit and says, “I want go in my bed.”

I lay her gently in her bed and cover her again with the blanket.

Every night we dance.

Today she turned two. And she fell asleep on her daddy’s lap. So much like her newborn days, a small warm little person. But at the same time, we didn’t get to dance tonight, which feels so much like the not-so-distant future.

It was Fathers Day yesterday. So we girls made a picture of a necktie on a card with a silly poem and gave it to Daniel with his breakfast.

Daniel and I, pathetically called our own dads and left messages for them.  No construction paper or glue involved.  Poor dads.

My Dad deserves at least a gluey construction paper necktie.  He is a really great dad. (And so is my Father-in-law but that is a post for another day.)

My dad does the Dad-provider thing exceedingly well. In the first, and traditional sense, he is an exceedingly hard worker.  He does more at work than any of his co-workers. At a time in his life when he could expect a nice ergonomic chair in front of a computer screen he does his best to lead by example at work. He does everything there, from locking up at night, to taking in the freight. He has his time at the desk of course, doing work he is very good at.  But he serves others at work. He provides them (and us) an example of the kind of man that God wants us to be.

When he’s not washing his coworkers feet (so to speak) he is hammering away at the house (his or mine.)
He does the grocery shopping for my mom, saving her the effort and lots of money with his crazy couponing ways.  And like all dad’s ought to be, he’s a great hand at the grill.

I was going to go on and on about how funny and entertaining he is too.  It is a special gift of his, the gift of the storyteller. And good humor and being able to make people comfortable cannot be under rated.  But on considering his character carefully, I think I want to leave this the way it is.  That he makes us laugh is obvious.  But that he serves others in humility, putting the needs of his boss, his business and the team before himself, that is spiritual gift and above everything else that could be known about him.

Thank you, Dad.

I’ve been thinking about bratty kids lately.

Some kids are bratty by nature. Some kids have to learn it. I watch one little feller chew at his mom all day long, demanding, coercing, yelling, fit throwing, generally acting like a 2 year old, even though he is almost 6. I watch him do this and I watch her give him the things his words are asking for, but not what his heart is asking for.  He wants to know where his boundries are. He wants to know that his mom is bigger and stronger than he is. Her actions tell him she is not bigger or stronger and that she has no boundries. Her actions tell him he had better look out for himself.

Now, I don’t think this boy wants his mom to be a brute force–that’s not what I mean by bigger and stronger. I think He wants to know that she is bigger than him–that she can’t be pushed around by him, or by the things that scare him.  He nags at her all day, and everytime she gives him what he asks for, he doesn’t get what he wants. In the meantime he is becoming an atrocious brat.

Words words words. He uses his words, so he gets what he is asking for. As though not hitting to get your own way is enough.  As though physical manipulation is the only wrong kind.  Every now and again, when his mom says “just a minute” or “not just yet” he does get physical, because his kind of behaviour escalates easily. It is a chain of brattiness, link by link by link.

I was at the library today. I got to visit with some engaging mommies and one very nice nanny.  When the room had cleared a little, it was just the nanny, her charge, myself and my two girls.  Norah was in the puppet theater. She is almost four. The little boy with the nanny is almost three. He and Lucy (just turned two) joined Norah behind the curtain.

Norah said, ” Ugh. You guys, just leave me alone in here!” Eyes rolling, voice nagging.

The nanny, whose charge is only three, so not in the same verbal world as Norah said, “Shall we have them respect her, since she used her words?”

I said no. I said “I know she didn’t push or hit, but that’s not really her style.  She is a verbal girl, she knows how to use nice words nicely, and needs to do it.”

I don’t want to reward pushy, bratty behavior.

When I didn’t tell the other kids to get out from the theater, they all played in it for a few minutes. Then Norah went to do something else. Then the other two moved on as well.

The library is a social mine field, for the kids and the moms. I thought the nanny (Janeane, if you were wondering)  was very polite to ask me if I wanted to intercede in the puppet theater incident.  I have great hopes for her charge, he seems to be in good hands.

I only wish that the little boy I talked about earlier had a good nanny to teach him how to be polite.

In a great pathetic irony, while my daughters and I sat eating angel food cake and Daniel talked to his mommy on the phone, my mom was cleaning her house from top to bottom.  On Mothers Day.

We spent the Saturday before together. We went to a brunch at her church, the Great Grandma, Grandma, Mommy (me) and little girl.  They served us sweet, sticky cheese blintzes and all of the coffee we could drink. It’s a tradition for us now.   Since Norah was a small baby, four of us have gone.  Usually the littlest baby–so Lucy has gone twice now. But this year the big girl got to go again.  I don’t know that she appreciated the opportunity to sit still while big people talked. And talked. And talked. But when the grade school girl got up and sang a song she wrote with her mommy, Norah turned to me and said, “Oh mommy, this is very good music.”

We stayed at my parent’s house after the brunch for a nice long visit.  That’s why Mom had to spend yesterday cleaning. She is hosting Bunco tonight. After having the three year old and two year old at her house all day.  You can picture the house, perhaps.

But poor mom. Tackling the mess on Mother’s day.

No woman really grows up hoping God calls her to spend her life  cleaning.  There are as many dreams as people of course, but it seems to me everyone wants to influence people. To move people through their art or music. To  heal people with medicine or help. To teach people in schools, at church or at home. To be a part of the cutting edge in their industry, discovering something new, fixing something that doesn’t work.  Saying something that has never been said.

With so many options, so many possibilities, I feel incredibly blessed to be a part of my family.  God’s design for my mom was to nurture. Can you imagine being raised by someone uniquely designed to nurture?

It’s not just that she was good at it, though she was. I remember her stopping her vaccuum cleaner to hold me when I was small, just because I needed a quick snuggle.  You know the way kids are. Mom is occupied by something loud, so the child needs it to stop.  And she has a laugh for everything funny and a way of laughing at overwrought pathos that puts your childish misery in perspective. I think that perspective is what bouys me up through life. I have so many friends with no perspective, for whom every distraction and set back is an impassable mountain range. But I know, if you laugh at it, that mountain range just floats away like a mist.

Of course, laughing at every hardship drives me nuts, I crave being taken seriously. But I know the real truth, the value of perspective.

Yes, she was a stay at home mommy.  But when circumstances called her back to work, God let her keep nurturing. Keep offering people perspective, keep giving people her time so they would know they are valuable.

Right now she works in a Jr High. With Junior Highers. A saint. She feeds them. It never occurred to her to show up for work, punch her time card, and get out of there. She sees those kids in her line as people who need  a reason to laugh, a reason to smile and someone to help them get a long with each other. She nurtures kids in the lunch line.  That is who she is.

I don’t know why my brother and I got picked to be raised by someone uniquely designed to nurture. But I am so very grateful.

My kids play birthday party. At the tender ages of three and two a birthday party is the height of the world’s excitement.  All in one event there are presents, cake, singing, dancing, and throwing things (confetti.) Yesterday in the backyard, while I hand trimmed our lengthy fence line, they pranced around throwing long grass in the air singing the birthday song and shouting “Happing Birthday!” They alternated names in the song, one birthday for everybody they have ever met.

Papa is one of their favorite people in the whole world.  Yesterday I told Norah a joke and she said, “Oh mommy, you are funny just like my Papa and my Daddy.”

Even though I’ve been birthday shopping and planning who is driving where at what time I failed to mention until just now that it was Papa’s birthday today. And that we are going to a birthday party. For Papa.  If it had been a birthday party for Donald Duck at Disneyland with the whole cast of Superwhy in attendance and all of their friends and family there the smiles couldn’t have been any bigger.  A birthday party! For Papa!

Mom-you might want to put on and extra roast–Norah decided she would invite all of her friends to the party and said Grandma Beverly could get on and airplane and fly to the party too.  Papa Jim must be working.

Well Dad, you’ve made their day today.  They are on cloud nine.  I only hope your birthday makes you half as happy as it makes them.  Love you.

We’re all fixed up with an auto loan interest rate of 4.8 percent. The charming little credit union in downtown Camas went ga ga over my girls. They gave them candy and crayons and paper while we signed things.  The day was sunny and pretty and happy.  It was Daniel’s day off. Of course, we had plans for the day so things were crazy at his work. He had to go in in the morning. He got home in time for our appointment (phew). We even enjoyed the drive out of town.

That happy relaxing banking experience made me want to celebrate in the sunshine of the afternoon. I wanted a nice walk around the charming little town.  I wanted ice cream. We meandered through the down town until we came to a local burger joint. It had been advertising fresh strawberry milkshakes. Perfecto! I couldn’t have asked for better. So on in we went.  I saw the big sign covered with photos of lucious strawberries inside of smoothies, on top of shortcake, mixed with lemonade, and, as I was hoping, in a lovely milkshake.

And on the sign? The prices.  Four dollars a milkshake. That meant $8 to feed the two of us milkshakes that we would have to share with the kids.  My heart sunk down to my feet, but I have no shame, so we walked right out again.  Kitty corner from the local shop was Dairy Queen. We hied over there to enjoy a lesser product but save money.

Do you hear that drrrm drrrm music they used in Lost a lot last night? Do you get that sense of forboding you got last night when Jack was turning off the beeping fire alarm? You should.

We got small ice cream cones for the kids. A dip cone for me. And what does Daniel do? God love him, he ordered a milk shake and brought our total back up to eight dollars.  Eight dollars! There is nothing cheap about eight dollar ice cream. We could have had two nice tubs of ice cream from the gorcery store and be eating it right now while I type and he drives to work, for eight dollars. Extravagance the enemy, like the smoke monster in the woods, kept jumping out and gettin’ me yesterday.  Daniel was feeling spendy I guess. He got his milkshake. He got me new floor mats for the van. Do you have any idea how unreasonably expensive floor mats are? I threw a fit about the floor mats. Then i apologized. I pointed out the eight dollar disappointment but didn’t lay the blame directly on his lap.  I was very annoyed, but I didn’t want to ruin the nice afternoon.

By way of making up, Daniel drove us around Prune Hill to see the storied luxury homes of the old Clark County Prune Farmers. The views from the hill across the river and into the Columbia River Gorge were worth every cent of gas. The homes were laughably just like my mom and dad’s neighborhood.  A hodge podge of  modest homes form the seventies and eighties surrounded by MacMansions built last weekend. The modest homes with amazing views were just what the author of The Millionaire Next Door would expect to see.

Despite the beautiful drive, our high end (okay, I am exaggerating a little) celebration at Dairy Queen took the wind out of my cheep dinner sails.  But I did my best and here it is:

Lentil Soup:

lentils–30 cents

carrot, quarter cup of peas, half an onion, fresh garlic, sprinkle of spices…I used mesquite spice mix, and garlic salt–about 50 cents

Garnish:

fresh cilantro and queso seco–about 20 cents

Fruit Salad:

apple, banana, orange, squirt of lemon juice, sprinkle of cinnamon–about 50 cents

subtotal:

$1.50

we only ate half of the soup, so soup price reduced to: 40 cents

total for dinner we ate:

$1.10

divided by four people:

approximately 27 cents per person.

It was all really delicious, but lentils seem to absorb spice like crazy and end up a little bland. As much as I would like to fix them once a week to save big money I feel like I can’t.  They seem like something it would be very easy to get tired of.

I can’t help but notice how privileged I am, I can choose to eat this meal or spend more money based on my current opinion of the food.

Tonight though, the lentil soup leftovers is going to be surprise burger filling with a little cheddar cheese.

And that is another funny thing. I have some beautiful pork chops (less than two dollars a pound, you can be sure) defrosted in the fridge. I didn’t fix it last night because I wanted to celebrate our big savings with an ultra cheap dinner. I shouldn’t fix them tonight. We have a church talent show and a handy meal that is quick to eat, like surprise burgers would make more sense.  The chops are nice and fresh, so they can keep one more day.  But boy, they look good. And here we are, eating lentils day after day, like the chops weren’t calling our name.

But since we mentioned lost…where did Claire go?!  And will her current disappearance and eventual discovery finally reveal the secret that she is Jack’s sister?