Blogging on the Powwow

We all have memories or scenes from our childhood that bring us a rush of pleasure, right? Remembering our mothers in the kitchen, fathers reading bedtime stories, grandparents waving as we drove in the long camp drive. It's really the simple, every day activities that when remembered today seem magical and draw us back to the days of yesteryear.  For me, it's seeing butter set out in the sun to soften. My mother would place a stick or two of Blue Bonnet margarine in the huge picture window in our living room or maybe on the window sill over our kitchen sink -- to soften for baking. This was always a welcome sign. It represented the relaxed pace of the weekend, the pleasure of baked goods, the warmth of our home, and spending time in the kitchen with my mother while she baked.  I don't bake nearly as often as my mother did when I was a child, but when I do, it gives me great pleasure to set a stick of butter in the sunlight or another warm place in preparation for bakin...

Well, it happened. I think there is a chance that I now might like swimming . After weeks of cursing, choking on water, having near-panic attacks in water over my head, dealing with goggles that fill with water, and crashing into lane dividers, I heard myself say it yesterday.  I really wish that I had gone swimming today. I could go back to the gym, I guess. I'm really sorry that I didn't swim today.  I saw myself standing on the edge of the vortex, looking deep, deep inside. I know that feeling. The wish that I could run just another mile, maybe sneak in an extra run later in the day or on a "rest day." Maybe planning a way to run an additional long run. In truth, I don't think that I really like  swimming. I just love setting, meeting, and exceeding fitness goals. I started swimming 5 weeks ago tomorrow. I hated it. I cursed at the end of every lap. Neil said that I was going to get a reputation if I didn't watch myself! (You know how worried Neil is ...

It started happening when I was 15 or so. About every month or two, where ever  I happened to be, people would mistake me as an employee and ask me questions. Grocery store: "Where can I find the olives?" Department store: "Where can I find children's socks?" Hospital: "Where is the Cardiology Department?" Library: "Where is the book return?" Restaurant: "Where's the bathroom?" At first I think that I was annoyed by this and probably threw some less-than-polite teenage attitude at my fellow shoppers. When I realized this was a common problem, I just started saying, "I'm sorry, but I don't work here." Sometimes people are apologetic. Sometimes people are angry with me for looking like  an employee -- as if I was actively seeking to deceive them. My favorite example of this happened in the Saco Reny's about 7-8 years ago. I was making May Day baskets for all of my neighbors. I was short on time and ...

Anyone who follows my blog or my Facebook page, knows that I can grow flowers. I am a dedicated gardener. I prune my roses daily. I water my petunias daily. I dug up all of my dahlias last fall and I'm ready to put them in again come April or May. But, herbs are a different matter. Since 1996 I have been trying to grow basil. Every year I kill it. And, it isn't just limited to basil. Oh, no. I do not discriminate between herbs. I have also killed rosemary, thyme, and parsley -- just to name a few. I have tried to grow them from seed. I have bought beautiful, fully leafed-out plants. I have killed them, too. I cannot keep any of them alive. Here is this year's attempt - rosemary and thyme, sitting in the sun of our back porch. Tonight I moved them to the front porch to catch the morning sun before I am up. Fingers crossed that something will be different this year!

As my readers likely know, last fall I planted 450 bulbs . I lovingly covered them with mulch and then spread chicken coop wire over the flower beds to protect the bulbs from the skunks and squirrels. And, what do I have this spring?  I have 3 large flower beds that are sprouting... nothing. That's right. NOTHING . None of the beds where I planted bulbs are showing any signs that they even know what a bulb is. Meanwhile, in the "old" garden beds... granted, "old" is a relative term since this is only our fifth spring in our home ...bulbs are popping up everywhere.  See the merry little bulbs poking their sprouts out - Hello, Emily! We're here! Do not despair!!  Along the foundation of our house - forgotten bulbs let me know that they  have not forgotten, even if I have! Could anything look more cheerful?  Oh, 450 new bulbs from Reny's... where are you and when will you poke through? I am more than waiting. I am pining !

I am finally getting to the point with my cooking that I can use parts of previous recipes to try and figure out what might go well together. It's very rewarding! Tonight I made a white pizza with Brussels sprouts and red onion. I based this on two recipes (white pizza with artichokes, rosemary, and olives-- Real Simple, April 2013 edition, link not available yet ; broccoli rabe with pecorino tart ) and came up with the following: 1/2 gluten-free pizza dough, Gillian's , rolled out 50g reduced fat, 4-Italian cheese blend 30g grated parm 20g grated pecorino  1 oz goat cheese, crumbled 1/4 red onion 4-6 sliced green onions (greens only) roasted Brussels sprouts, 4 cups? fresh/dried rosemary, as desired Lightly drizzle with olive oil infused with hot red pepper Gillian's pizza says to cook at 375 for 18-20 minutes. I roasted the Brussels sprouts (at a higher temp, of course) in olive oil with salt & pepper, while I prepared the pizza; then...

This story is actually rooted in the problems that our neighbor, Richard , is having with a squirrel infestation in his attic. Richard, a naturalist of sorts, has tried everything to keep the squirrels out of his attic -- ammonia, red pepper powder, blasting a radio in the corner where the squirrels enter his house, running a vacuum cleaner near their entrance, and on and on. His efforts have not been rewarded. In fact, I think that I saw his resident squirrel giving me "the bird" as I yelled at him while he wiggled his way into Richard's attic the other day. I knew that things must have reached a crisis point when I arrived home this week and heard the radio playing and saw red pepper smeared all over the outside of Richard's house. What a bloody mess, no? Actually just red pepper powder.  We began to wonder about our house. Fast forward to last night. It was late. Neil and I both returned from separate trips to Maine around 11:30pm and I still had not u...