tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81760460136036350162024-03-14T02:29:42.605-07:00Between You, Me and The FencepostBetween you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-73964888002522832792010-02-24T08:36:00.001-08:002010-02-24T11:04:59.291-08:00Who Wants to be a Step Mother?<p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S4VVnQUPT6I/AAAAAAAAAZM/4B7DXYy1EuY/s1600-h/Olympics%20Feb%202010%20053%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympics Feb 2010 053" border="0" alt="Olympics Feb 2010 053" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S4VVngS7-wI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/2bgSv6FTWYA/Olympics%20Feb%202010%20053_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="428" height="291" /></a> </p> <p>When I became a stepmother people said things like: “about time (step children) they get a real mother”  “You will be a mother to (step children)“</p> <p>When I expressed my ambivalence I was told to “get over it and be a mother”. </p> <p>When I stopped counselling, threw out my step parenting books and pulled my hair in frustration, I was told: “good thing you aren’t seeing that counsellor anymore . . . stop whining and go be a mother . . .” (how hard can it be?)</p> <p>The thing is: counselling helped – a lot. The counsellor gave me kind insight. I didn’t feel so alone. But I had reached the end of my rope. I had to walk away, rebel. I was tired of being the only one in the family taking precious free time to do the emotional care giving, fixing and talking about a situation that seemed hopeless and with no end in sight.</p> <p>When the step children walked through the door I was supposed to feel the love that a mother feels when meeting her own child. To smell their heads and welcome them in my all loving mother arms. Instead I was resentful that I was taking care of someone else's’ children. Angry at my husband who left the burden of parenting his children on my shoulders. I was bewildered and lost. How did this happen and why did I want to run away? Why couldn’t I just be the mother?    </p> <p>Then I had the epiphany: Parents are not replaceable. No matter how horrible they may be. There is no such thing as a *step parent. If children have a parent that’s who the parent is. Families are not game boards with replaceable pieces. Out goes one parent bring in the new parent and kazam! The family is together again. If the original parent is missing get over it.</p> <p>I was supposed to replace somebody. I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. Be the mother.</p> <p>Try telling that to the children in the middle.</p> <p>There is great loss in a step family. The loss of a child's own two parent family. The loss of a parent when he or she moves out. Loss and sadness that is expected to be magically repaired when the new family is glued together and shoved in a home. The door better be closed quick and locked up tight: because the loss will come spilling out and won’t be suppressed. First the crack and then the break and so follows the river of the step family and there is very little one can do to shore up the water and put it back on it’s rightful path to family togetherness with Donna Reid at the centre.</p> <p>Great loss + New marriages + New siblings = One Big Happy Stepfamily.</p> <p>Who says? Who’s rules am I trying to follow anyway? Who are “they”?</p> <p>So here I sit. I screw up. The wicked is inserted (by me) in front of the ‘step’ more often than I want.  However I am Slowly falling in love . . .  and finding my way in this family following a complicated maze with walls that were built with their loss and hurt and the path that shows itself with kind words and patience. </p> <p>Noah, our four year old, gave me a stack of pictures he had drawn that brought me a little further along in our family maze.  </p> <p>Noah had drawn pictures of all six of us. Picture after picture of his family. He pointed at each figure and named us all over and over again. </p> <p>Together and beautifully imperfect with lopsided smiles, big oval heads and sticks for arms and legs. His family. Our family. The step family</p> <p> </p> <p>*<font size="1">That being said. I am not here to dishonour the word “step” in front of: parent/mother/father. I am called the step (mother). That is the accepted language and context.   </font></p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-10421409608353947162010-02-07T18:24:00.001-08:002010-02-08T05:36:23.487-08:00Olympic Fever<p>The Olympic torch relay passed through Abbotsford today and we wanted to see the flame passing through our neighbourhood so we got dressed in our warm coats, packed the camera, and off we went. The moment we started walking towards the torch relay route I felt a little frisson of excitement. A part of history was passing by our town this evening and I couldn’t wait to see the Olympic flame.</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291sIRnvCI/AAAAAAAAAXg/YA3lqCdLtpg/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20039%5B5%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 039" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 039" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291so1qDFI/AAAAAAAAAXk/dRCf872sxqk/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20039_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="630" height="434" /></a> </p> <p>Waiting for the relay . .  L to R Sister, My love, Stepson, Grandma, Grandpa, wee Markus in the carrier and Noah in the yellow shirt.</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291tFoAWtI/AAAAAAAAAXo/U_aLczdYTfs/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20044%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 044" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 044" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291tpCOSiI/AAAAAAAAAXs/kC3eW19wZhw/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20044_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="625" height="428" /></a> </p> <p></p> <p>. . . . patiently hanging out in the drizzle</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291t0QUIUI/AAAAAAAAAXw/MzFs0ngA4AQ/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20060%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 060" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 060" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291uTvD6rI/AAAAAAAAAX0/snBYwQ-Z_xE/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20060_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="409" height="596" /></a> </p> <p>Next Runner waiting  . . .</p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291u37Cm7I/AAAAAAAAAX4/yXuy9WC_mUg/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20061%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 061" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 061" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291vWDQXuI/AAAAAAAAAX8/uQ7JGoqh6aQ/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20061_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="551" height="377" /></a> </p> <p>Posing for pictures with Great Grandma . . . </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291voRj54I/AAAAAAAAAYA/JFT4Pr-6KMM/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20079%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 079" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 079" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291v5fljEI/AAAAAAAAAYE/qf0RiwhbzM8/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20079_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="363" height="534" /></a> </p> <p></p> <p></p> <p>. . .  Waiting</p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291wWQ9aqI/AAAAAAAAAYI/jfiRLQika_k/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20081%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 081" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 081" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291wt4T76I/AAAAAAAAAYM/tWaOWbjsIdA/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20081_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="562" height="382" /></a> </p> <p>Here it comes ! </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291xITnRII/AAAAAAAAAYQ/ujF7kDqrgKY/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20082%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 082" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 082" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291xlwF6OI/AAAAAAAAAYU/9AwIESgEUgU/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20082_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="576" height="391" /></a> </p> <p>Passing the Flame</p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291x8IXDYI/AAAAAAAAAYY/9QmyBAkupYY/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20083%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 083" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 083" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291yUkc38I/AAAAAAAAAYc/mxW9k37UFTY/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20083_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="585" height="400" /></a> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291y8ygkwI/AAAAAAAAAYg/pKlsjoWa8Fg/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20084%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 084" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 084" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291zfPIcCI/AAAAAAAAAYo/UPVirqGCa7k/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20084_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="593" height="405" /></a> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S291zv1YvmI/AAAAAAAAAYs/6fIonakTKgU/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20085%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 085" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 085" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S2910JVB24I/AAAAAAAAAYw/XgRv6zjzIrk/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20085_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="600" height="410" /></a> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S2910RWWltI/AAAAAAAAAY0/u91KZmdORaM/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20086%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 086" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 086" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S29107O-wII/AAAAAAAAAY4/7wUIaH_Jcyc/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20086_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="608" height="416" /></a> </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S2911PNtBcI/AAAAAAAAAY8/ap_1_mO25IQ/s1600-h/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20087%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 087" border="0" alt="Olympic Flame Feb 7 2010 087" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S2911iTeRWI/AAAAAAAAAZA/uR5bY4z4QG4/Olympic%20Flame%20Feb%207%202010%20087_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="619" height="423" /></a> </p> <p>I love the High Five!  The Joy on that woman's face is wonderful and oh so contagious. The Olympics are here how exciting is that? </p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-80341617187814134632010-01-18T08:27:00.001-08:002010-01-18T08:27:49.454-08:00Dinner Table Cel Phone Etiquette<p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL69V-XKI/AAAAAAAAAWg/hh3TCnlMZQY/s1600-h/Dec0120090543.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Dec 01 2009 054" border="0" alt="Dec 01 2009 054" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL7VptuuI/AAAAAAAAAWk/N7VoGIGCpGM/Dec012009054_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="344" height="234" /></a> Mmmmm foccacia dipped in balsamic and olive oil . . ., and no mom, that is not my phone ringing . . . I turned it off . . . </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL7uiL4bI/AAAAAAAAAWo/CcSGtxm1FQQ/s1600-h/Dec0120090584.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Dec 01 2009 058" border="0" alt="Dec 01 2009 058" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL8KKFHcI/AAAAAAAAAWs/4u53Au7Fo64/Dec012009058_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="343" height="236" /></a>  . . . turning phone onto vibrate . . . </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL84z-JfI/AAAAAAAAAWw/P0W_kaILXFQ/s1600-h/Dec0120090604.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Dec 01 2009 060" border="0" alt="Dec 01 2009 060" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL9T5jb7I/AAAAAAAAAW0/2B3gZyKSeqI/Dec012009060_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="341" height="234" /></a></p> <p>Put your phone away before we get into trouble.</p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL96q9s2I/AAAAAAAAAW4/FgRT0lCJzn0/s1600-h/Dec0120090614.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Dec 01 2009 061" border="0" alt="Dec 01 2009 061" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL-YmcBuI/AAAAAAAAAW8/kgVSBjhXisI/Dec012009061_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="342" height="236" /></a>Trouble, Shmouble, Mom, Don’t you think my new ring tone is the coolest?</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL-1vTVgI/AAAAAAAAAXA/v5JWAnUSpU0/s1600-h/Dec0120090624.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Dec 01 2009 062" border="0" alt="Dec 01 2009 062" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL_XSMfQI/AAAAAAAAAXE/IoCnhAK05tY/Dec012009062_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="346" height="238" /></a> Hmmm . . . gotta call the guys.</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SL_pNokUI/AAAAAAAAAXI/kMVe7Cgxgcw/s1600-h/Dec0120090633.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Dec 01 2009 063" border="0" alt="Dec 01 2009 063" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SMAMsdSbI/AAAAAAAAAXM/xENOd0qxiUY/Dec012009063_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="354" height="241" /></a> Hey dudes! We’re Having dinner with the parents – so, where’s the party tonight?</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SMAZNmETI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/C8DrqVkTuTY/s1600-h/Dec0120090644.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Dec 01 2009 064" border="0" alt="Dec 01 2009 064" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1SMBI0ajmI/AAAAAAAAAXU/7KR0vkC7r2Y/Dec012009064_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="363" height="250" /></a></p> We can sneak out by ten – mom is usually crashed by then . . . Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-74377427610527774792010-01-17T13:19:00.001-08:002010-01-17T13:19:46.572-08:00Sappy Sunday Morning<p>I woke up this morning . . . happy, warm and cozily tucked in with two guys: one big and the other small, and I thought to myself, I love my life. I wanted to stay in bed for most of the morning and that’s just what we did. </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1N-6AVcHSI/AAAAAAAAAWI/wK3ZxuZutPQ/s1600-h/January%2016%20099%5B5%5D.jpg"><img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px" title="January 16 099" border="0" alt="January 16 099" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1N-6eQuSjI/AAAAAAAAAWM/DBSZaJu377U/January%2016%20099_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="446" height="308" /></a></p> <p>I cooked up a breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, toast topped with cheese and tomatoes, and a strawberry or two on the side. We added lots of Baileys to our coffees, tucked back into bed, and ate up our breakfast while watching a movie.  </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1N-62ZE8II/AAAAAAAAAWQ/2NnRpDowGIU/s1600-h/January%2016%20101%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px" title="January 16 101" border="0" alt="January 16 101" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1N-7XMne0I/AAAAAAAAAWU/AFlanC-pgso/January%2016%20101_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="452" height="311" /></a> </p> <p></p> <p>I know, it’s sappy. But there is nothing better then Sunday morning in bed with food, my love and my sweet smelling child to make me feel, for a moment, that all is right in the world. </p> <p>Eventually we got out of bed. The rambunctious child was insisting we get up and play with him. My love got up to watch football, small child found a pile of toys to throw about, I poked around in the fridge and found the apple pie I baked Friday night. The perfect dessert to munch on while blogging.</p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1N-7wRCh_I/AAAAAAAAAWY/p1z0W8PbjH4/s1600-h/January%2016%20105%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px" title="January 16 105" border="0" alt="January 16 105" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S1N-8XPbbsI/AAAAAAAAAWc/TsWpuJI5zxE/January%2016%20105_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="453" height="310" /></a> </p> <p>mmmmmm apple pie held up in the perfect light by my ‘Eat Clean’ cookbook. All low fat, whole grain healthy food. No pie recipes. The cookbook encourages the use of organic produce and I used organic apples for the pie. . .  I’m happy to report that cookbook wasn’t a complete waste of money after all. </p> <p>Have a sappy, happy Sunday.</p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-18698813038526568602010-01-14T08:51:00.001-08:002010-01-14T08:51:15.611-08:00What a happy marriage looks like on a bad day<p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S09LgAhziaI/AAAAAAAAAWA/mZHGwtNB-qQ/s1600-h/Vancouver%202008%20fall%20013%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px" title="Vancouver 2008 fall 013" border="0" alt="Vancouver 2008 fall 013" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S09LgolB-4I/AAAAAAAAAWE/QcGemM-XUrk/Vancouver%202008%20fall%20013_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="387" height="294" /></a>  </p> <p>Here is a recent conversation I had with the love of my life: </p> <p>My sweetie: “I have to run some errands be back in a while”</p> <p>Me:“Hey, can you stop by the grocery store and pick up a few things?”</p> <p>The love of my life: “Sure, give me the list”</p> <p>My loving man runs his errands, goes to the store for me and comes home. He gives me a beautiful smelling bunch of flowers and greets me with a kiss. I go through the grocery bags. I notice he has picked up some extra items that were not on my list.</p> <p>Me, in a high pitched fishwife sounding voice: “Premium plus crackers? Why didn’t you buy the whole wheat? I told you to buy russet potatoes THESE are not russet potatoes. . .  soup? What did you buy soup for? We don’t need soup. I make soup all the time. Canned soup is the most sodium filled gross, tasteless, unhealthy stuff what’s wrong with you?”</p> <p>Annoyed sweetie: “I like canned soup for lunch every once in a while what is your problem?” </p> <p>Me,Crazy bitch: “Nothing! I just don’t know why you can’t stick to my list and   . . .“ </p> <p>I know I’m being unreasonable at this point but I can’t give it up. I was irritated earlier for a number of reasons and now the whole crappy day was coming to an end right then. </p> <p><em>Bad day = blame husband</em></p> <p>Later, as I’m baking chocolate chip cookies (butter, sugar and more butter with a touch of chocolate chips) I continue to fume to myself as I eat a freshly baked cookie (butter, sugar, butter . . )  I can’t believe that man could bring junk food into the house; he can’t even follow a simple grocery list. It’s his fault my jeans a too tight.</p> <p>The next day, I serve my small child evil, unhealthy, not wholesome homemade chicken noodle soup, but canned soup – and he eats it like candy. My sweet child slurps the soup up like it’s the most delicious thing he has ever tasted. He never eats my homemade soup like that. (Little turncoat.) On the bright side, opening a can of soup and warming it up was so EASY. </p> <p>Oh no,</p> <p>It’s a slippery slope. Next I will be serving frozen entrees and stop cooking from scratch completely. That can’t be good. Doesn’t that mean I’m a bad mother because I don’t always serve homemade, perfect food with a smile on my face and a frilly apron? No, I’m not crazy, it’s my bad, bad, husband. </p> <p>When I was a single parent I would scoff at all those ungrateful wives. They should be so lucky to have someone else to even ATTEMPT to empty the dishwasher, cook a meal or pick up some groceries. </p> <p><em>Bad day = ungrateful wife</em></p> <p>Bad days happen and there was mine. How’s your week going?</p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-7396025400897867382010-01-08T09:04:00.001-08:002010-01-08T09:04:19.186-08:00How I keep my New Years Resolutions<p>It’s Friday my favourite day of the week. One week into my new years resolutions and I’m doing great. Here’s my resolutions and why I’m doing so well: </p> <p align="center"><strong>1) Lose weight</strong></p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S0dliXdCjyI/AAAAAAAAAVo/jIUUisn8PcU/s1600-h/scaleDM_468x4813.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="scaleDM_468x481" border="0" alt="scaleDM_468x481" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S0dli-Sw1nI/AAAAAAAAAVs/ghz0F--ZNU8/scaleDM_468x481_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="276" height="283" /></a> </p> <p>I will start with the easiest one to keep. Lose weight until I’m supermodel thin. I know, it’s crazy and unrealistic, BUT it makes me feel better when I am eating chocolate cake because I KNOW that trying to achieve supermodel skinniness is a foolish endeavour and can only be accomplished with a muzzle and good diet drugs like cocaine or crystal meth. I don’t own a muzzle, the good drugs are illegal and in the end . . . I’m left with this really nice piece of cake. Look, it’s twisted logic but whatever it takes so I can eat chocolate cake while surfing the net for good celebrity gossip, guilt free, works in my world. </p> <p align="center"><strong>2) Work out more</strong></p> <p>I get my workouts in so I don’t even notice them. I workout with the occasional walk/cardio in my routine and some weight training. My walks from one end of the vast Costco parking lot from my car to the entrance and back again while pushing a heavy Costco cart with a broken wheel is my cardio. When the cart is full of *groceries I get points (in my book) for weight training. If I shopped at Costco more I would be in the best shape ever but there is only so much shopping a girl can do in a week which brings me to my next resolution.</p> <p><em>*The crispy fries I buy at the concession are necessary energy for that walk.</em></p> <p align="center"><strong>3) Spend Less Money</strong></p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S0dljc8UZHI/AAAAAAAAAVw/8lG4BRiZJME/s1600-h/money3.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="money" border="0" alt="money" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S0dljqrpdMI/AAAAAAAAAV0/4nlvM8Ra9wk/money_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="269" height="281" /></a> </p> <p>I’m the mom. That means I spend 90% of our disposable income. I do all the shopping. I buy all the food, clothing, cleaning supplies, medication, car repairs, house repairs, wants and needs of the whole family. I have started to delegate all that spending. I give the occasional list to my hubby when he walks out the door. Now that my son drives he gets a list and some cash also. Online shopping is another wonderful way to delegate all that spending. I have accounts already set up so I’m not even pulling out my credit card. Context is everything. (or is it denial?) As long as I’m not spending or I am one step removed from actually touching cash or credit cards I am spending less. Next item:</p> <p align="center"><strong>4) Be a nicer person</strong></p> <p>I am a nice person. About 10 days out of the month I am very pleasant and <em>nice</em>. The rest of the month is divided up just so: I have about 7 days of  bitchy p.m.s.  and the other 14 days? I am a mother and stepmother of two teenagers  ‘nough said. </p> <p align="center"><strong>5) Be a ‘Better’ Parent</strong></p> <p>An acquaintance with grown kids once said to me, while we were lamenting how difficult it can be to raise kids: “in the end, you’re either paying for bail or tuition.” He had a point. Yes, my delusions of being in control of my children and their lives ended pretty quick the day my precious toddler screamed “NO” and had a full out tantrum in the middle of a public place full of old ladies tut tutting and on another lovely day *when the police showed up at my door to speak to my teenage son. That was the day I threw up my hands in surrender and started drinking more, which in the end, made me a much calmer, kinder parent. </p> <p><em>*police incident was resolved with no jail time</em></p> <p align="center"><strong>6) Drink less</strong></p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S0dlkBspxTI/AAAAAAAAAV4/7v5uxQWFeX4/s1600-h/Newyear20100614.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="New year 2010 061" border="0" alt="New year 2010 061" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/S0dlkvthZuI/AAAAAAAAAV8/SDGS03o4fZY/Newyear2010061_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="326" height="225" /></a> </p> <p>See # 5</p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-29217286553560290692009-12-25T09:44:00.001-08:002009-12-25T13:59:55.555-08:00Why I love Christmas<p>Santa, Santa and one more Santa: I love the magic of Santa. To re live a time through our small children who still believe that magical Santa is real and reindeer do fly is one of the best parts of Christmas. Reminds me not to take everything so seriously all the time!</p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzT6BjEbKgI/AAAAAAAAAUw/B_TWzneyvLA/s1600-h/Breakfast%20With%20Santa%20Dec.%202009%20027%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Breakfast With Santa Dec. 2009 027" border="0" alt="Breakfast With Santa Dec. 2009 027" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzT6B1DNXJI/AAAAAAAAAU0/eiXOMtg016c/Breakfast%20With%20Santa%20Dec.%202009%20027_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="270" height="392" /></a></p> <p align="center"><font size="1"><em>Breakfast with Santa at Newlands Golf and Country Club</em></font></p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzT6CRVI6II/AAAAAAAAAU4/TDpK63S0uh0/s1600-h/Christmas%202009%20021%5B5%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Christmas 2009 021" border="0" alt="Christmas 2009 021" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzT6C9nMSoI/AAAAAAAAAU8/N2K0FsWrSP8/Christmas%202009%20021_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="277" height="397" /></a></p> <p align="center"><font size="1"><em>Christmas Eve Santa at Aunties’ house</em></font></p> <p>We visited two more Santas. One at the mall and Santa even made it to pre-school. Noah questioned the many Santas and he decided the Santa at the mall was the REAL Santa and would be the one delivering presents. </p> <p>The Christmas tree:</p> <p>I love Christmas trees. There is no right way to decorate a Christmas tree. Construction paper garlands made my little hands, popcorn cranberry strung up from top to bottom or crystal Tiffany's ornaments. Every tree is perfect in it’s dressed up glory for the season. </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzT6DLSoD6I/AAAAAAAAAVA/5eU4kKsATsQ/s1600-h/021%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="021" border="0" alt="021" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzT6DiOAz_I/AAAAAAAAAVE/AObNcJNoGLI/021_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="284" height="372" /></a></p> <p align="center"><em><font size="1">The Christmas tree at Cousin Leas’ home in Vernon</font></em></p> <p>There was a time when there were no presents under my tree or hidden in the closet but when I sat by my Christmas tree, while my little son was sleeping, my worries seemed to disappear. The soft lights hid the stains on the worn carpet. The fresh pine smell mingled with fresh baked cookies reminded me to be thankful for my safe, warm home. My pretty angel sat on the prized spot at the top of the tree looking over us and singing:    </p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzT6Dxht8UI/AAAAAAAAAVI/1hUxJeQRvY4/s1600-h/Dec%2001%202009%20014%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Dec 01 2009 014" border="0" alt="Dec 01 2009 014" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzT6EV9HtJI/AAAAAAAAAVM/wRgQE8cv2mo/Dec%2001%202009%20014_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="273" height="396" /></a><font size="1">Dressed up in Christmas tree lights and garland while decorating the Christmas tree</font></p> <p align="left"><font size="2">“And on Earth Peace among men . . .” (Luke 2:14) and I was at peace because Christmas was never, in the end, about the shopping and ‘stuff’ it was and is a time to be thankful and feel blessed for everything I had, however little, so I went to bed to the tunes of angels singing and the magic and the blessings that is Christmas. </font></p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-62558436336828759592009-12-22T07:27:00.001-08:002009-12-22T07:27:39.994-08:00The Most Dreaded Question<p>There’s  a question people ask in polite, small talk conversation. It’s just an innocuous conversation starter. There really is only so much one can say about the weather when cornered at a party, drink in hand, with nowhere to go. The inevitable question always comes up. When I am confronted with THE question, as a stay at home mom, I am left sputtering, deer in headlights, with nothing to say, when someone asks me THE dreaded question: “what do you DO for a living”? </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzDlYtZmWrI/AAAAAAAAAUY/aCT01U87v00/s1600-h/bill_the_cat%5B3%5D.gif"><img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px" title="bill_the_cat" border="0" alt="bill_the_cat" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzDlZFFezQI/AAAAAAAAAUc/KNBtJg4EqAo/bill_the_cat_thumb%5B1%5D.gif?imgmax=800" width="270" height="213" /></a> </p> <p>Sure, I’m being spazzy and giving this question more weight than it deserves. I could easily say: “I’m a stay at home mom” then segue into a charming and funny story of the <a href="http://whitepicketfencepost.blogspot.com/2009_08_01_archive.html" target="_blank">escapades of my small child</a> or shock them with a good one of my teenage son ( the one about my darling son being on his third car in six months because he has written off his first two ) . But, oh no, I stammer and cough, frantically searching for something interesting to say because now I’m stuck on what do I DO for a living.</p> <p>Can’t you ask me if I’ve read anything good lately? Food, Politics, religion, Micheal Jackson, Brangelina . . . . Bring it on let’s talk but please, please, PLEASE don’t ask me what I DO for a living.</p> <p>I can tell you what I’ve done in the past but the list is too long and how do I begin and where do I end? Textile factory worker, waitress, short order cook, receptionist, personal assistant, retail, if it has a pink collar I’ve done it. I’ve been fired, (3 times) laid off (once) quit (once or twice). That’s another blog post . . . but here’s my point: Don’t ask me what I DO because I’m a stay at home mom and I don’t have a paid career of any kind. I’m not on Maternity leave from anything but my sanity (at times) and I can’t tell you what I did (paid work) in my former (work) life because I’ve been somebody's full time mom – with some paid jobs in between -  since I was 19.</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzDlZskEylI/AAAAAAAAAUg/AbZHCbceKHY/s1600-h/stay%20at%20home%20dad%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px" title="stay at home dad" border="0" alt="stay at home dad" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzDlZ3UT2kI/AAAAAAAAAUk/IldBK3zFA3g/stay%20at%20home%20dad_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="297" height="297" /></a> </p> <p>I know you don’t know I’m imploding when you ask me. It’s just an innocent question to start a conversation but understand that when you ask you bring up all my insecurities of my life spent less time doing paid work than not. The question of DOING something for a paycheque is a polite conversation starter, a nice appy dipped in lemon aioli, I know. You don’t mean to hammer me over the head with that question. It’s not like you will say something like: “You better have a job to tell me about or I will walk away and not like you anymore” </p> <p><em> . . . or you might one can never tell.</em></p> <p>I was at a party the other night. A nice, civilised cocktail party. There was delicious food, drink and lot’s of grown ups talking about interesting things, which I have to say, got a lot more interesting when the Tequila came out. Anyway, Here’s what I did when I was asked ‘The question’ by this lovely woman: I sputtered ( as usual), fumbling for words. I started quoting the above list of my pink collar jobs while gulping down my martini, stuffing the shrimp cocktail in my mouth so she (the interrogator) couldn’t understand what I was saying. Then I started a fake coughing and choking fit; I made a motion for “water” frantically pointing away to the kitchen while spitting shrimp onto her pretty dress like some sort of raving lunatic as I walked/ran away – bullet avoided.</p> <p>For future reference, if you see me at a social gathering please keep to the weather, celebrity gossip and baby poop because that’s all my fragile mama ego can handle right now. Thank you.</p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzDlaXAApBI/AAAAAAAAAUo/FYiIEwgRQnY/s1600-h/mom%20brain%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px" title="mom brain" border="0" alt="mom brain" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SzDla4SA3tI/AAAAAAAAAUs/4O0aiRBhInU/mom%20brain_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="299" height="315" /></a></p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-10352296648431986042009-12-19T08:32:00.001-08:002009-12-19T08:32:11.482-08:00The case against having children<p>I picked up the latest (January) issue of ‘O’ magazine so I had something to read while I was at Mcdonalds. My little one plays in the play place and I get a moments peace while reading my magazine and sipping my hot coffee.</p> <p>There was an interview in this issue of ‘O’ with Elizabeth Gilbert author of ‘Eat Love, Pray’. I enjoyed her book and was looking forward to reading what she had to say about her life since ‘Eat Love Pray’ and also about her new book, ‘Commitment’. </p> <p>Elizabeth talks ‘frankly’ about not wanting children and how she reached that decision. She says she wasn’t made out for ‘momming’. She would’ve made a great dad – a good provider . . . funny . . . go on trips with them . .  etc. . . “I have a really good mom; I know what she put into it. I didn’t think I had the support to both have that and continue on this path that was really important to me . .” </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sy0AAidWMiI/AAAAAAAAAUA/D9VdBeTdjjc/s1600-h/EAtlovepray3.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="EAt love pray" border="0" alt="EAt love pray" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sy0ABPktEKI/AAAAAAAAAUE/F9tt98pXsB4/EAtlovepray_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="312" height="328" /></a> </p> <p>I can relate to the sentiment. A family takes a lot of work and to be a good parent one needs a lot of support. A realistic take on why she doesn’t want children. I’m all over it. No whining, no looking back. No “what ifs”. Choose an option and do not waiver, wonder and whine. She’s my kind of woman. But. I should’ve stopped reading. She should’ve stopped talking.</p> <p>Gilbert also talks about a story that was pivotal for her. The story is about her grandmothers’ “Huge” sacrifice for her seven children ‘ . . a life of constant  struggle and deprivation . . . and that beautiful mind, that beautiful intellect, that exquisite sense of curiosity and exploration was gone . . “ </p> <p><em>Nothing left but a shell of a woman because one has given birth. </em></p> <p>As Gilbert was travelling for ‘Eat, Pray Love’ Gilbert says she could feel the weight of her Swedish farmwife ancestors from beyond the grave that were like: . . “Go! Go to Naples! Eat more pizza! . . .Do it! Swim in the Indian Ocean . . . Go beat the drum.” </p> <p>Reading that raised my mama hackles. Really? Beat the drum? The intellect that just goes? How lovely. She compares modern motherhood with the Swedish farmwives of yesteryear where birth control didn’t exist and slaving from dawn to dusk was not just the norm for women but for men also.</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sy0ABqkzaUI/AAAAAAAAAUI/9h2sFXIbPsU/s1600-h/housewife5.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="housewife" border="0" alt="housewife" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sy0AB0N8ipI/AAAAAAAAAUM/9QgRAe7_JyI/housewife_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" width="280" height="338" /></a> </p> <p>I should’ve put that magazine down right then and there but I soldiered on. I am a mother after all and I’m used to sacrifice, hard work and mind numbing, childish gibberish . . . so I continued to read and here is the best part: Liz has a charming anecdote of her trip to Mexico when she was 20. While she was in Mexico, she met an American couple in their 60’s who said to her: “Oh, it’s so great that you’re travelling now,before you have kids,because you won’t be able to then.” . . . Gilbert continues to say: . . .  “I know this is a thing that people do; they go traveling for a year and then they hitch their leash to the wall and put their face into a feed bag and that’s the end of it . . .”</p> <p>Motherhood: A leash to the wall, head in the feed bag . . . never to read another book again . . . never to see another foreign sunset . . .</p> <p>Thank you Elizabeth Gilbert. Nice to know the stereotype of the sacrificing, drab housedress wearing mother is alive and well. It amazes me that feminism has brought women so far, but according to Elizabeth Gilbert, the mother is left somewhere in the back room washing laundry in an old wooden bucket with a baby hanging off her boob and her husband lounging in the kitchen, demanding: “what’s for dinner?” </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sy0ACAdydzI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/rNciPorxEuU/s1600-h/honeymooners3.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="honeymooners" border="0" alt="honeymooners" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sy0ACiwG_rI/AAAAAAAAAUU/RAZWFcH9fpI/honeymooners_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="346" height="236" /></a></p> <p>(still) Such a long way,(to go) baby . . . .</p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-42155553947437649452009-12-17T17:57:00.001-08:002009-12-18T08:12:23.167-08:00Another day in the life . . .<p> </p> <p>The other day I slaved over a delicious vegetarian dish. Lentils, cheese, veggies . .  this stuff was good. mmmmm . . . . . Here’s the thing with granola muncher cooking: it’s a lot of prep and work. First, cook the lentils. Chop up veggies, fry them up, grate the cheese . . . toast and grind cumin seeds and put all ingredients into a separate cooking dish  .  cover with foil . . . add boiling water into crock pot so the dish is in a bath . . . lid does not fit onto slow cooker because said dish is too big . . . find lid to fit the crock pot allow to simmer for a few hours . . .  THEN feed to finicky child(ren).</p> <p>Finicky child: ewwww this is too chewy what’s all the crunchy stuff?</p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SyrhlJP3M4I/AAAAAAAAATw/_LNyT1LnioQ/s1600-h/Dec%2001%202009%20037%5B5%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Dec 01 2009 037" border="0" alt="Dec 01 2009 037" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SyrhlWf2BYI/AAAAAAAAAT0/O-UH391pcCo/Dec%2001%202009%20037_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="444" height="307" /></a> </p> <p>Me: It’s toasted almonds in this delicious lentil casserole that I spent most of the morning to make . . . </p> <p>Finicky child: Gross. Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich on white?</p> <p>Me: Make your own sandwich I cooked dinner if you don’t like it too bad . . . </p> <p>Finicky child ( after rolling eyes, stomping feet and moaning, groaning and more whining) pleeeease can you make me a grilled cheese?</p> <p>Me: No.  </p> <p>The lentil casserole was delicious by the way.</p> <p>Next evening I get home late, throw some breakfast sausages, onions, carrots and potatoes in a pan, dump olive oil, salt and pepper all over it, bake @ 400 degrees for about 40 minutes or so. </p> <p>Finicky Child: mmmmm this is the best . . .  not crunchy and mmmm the potatos taste like french fries mmmmm this is sooo good . . . as said child collapes into food bliss . . . </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Syrhl44k23I/AAAAAAAAATo/PX9JZNB1bzc/s1600-h/Dec%2001%202009%20041%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Dec 01 2009 041" border="0" alt="Dec 01 2009 041" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SyrhmLjDUoI/AAAAAAAAATs/mmKmxmf4p4Q/Dec%2001%202009%20041_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="360" height="529" /></a> </p> <p align="center">. . . . I have no words . . . . Ungrateful buggers . . . .</p> <p align="center">And, yes, isn’t my new nephew adorable? </p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-57848524730169556042009-10-12T20:15:00.001-07:002009-10-18T11:02:44.247-07:00Thanksgiving Day<p>Getting dressed for game day. Iron man is wearing dads’ barbeque apron.</p> <p><em>I took pictures all day of my little sous chef cutting mushrooms for the stuffing, mashing sweet potatos . . . however it’s getting late and my patience is wearing thin so here’s the pie.</em></p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwtOyEvEI/AAAAAAAAARU/3dBsHlGU5Lg/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20024%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 024" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="462" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 024" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwth0ye2I/AAAAAAAAARY/qAaNS30w9VI/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20024_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="318" border="0" /></a> </p> <p></p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwuHZ9NZI/AAAAAAAAARc/Ey4NVEiHO2I/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20025%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 025" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: block; border-left-width: 0px; float: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; border-right-width: 0px" height="307" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 025" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwuswtFaI/AAAAAAAAARg/wwsdxyjuEkw/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20025_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="448" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">Dumping in the pumpkin puree.</p> <p align="left"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwuzwec6I/AAAAAAAAARk/bjg0aOWk1OI/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20026%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 026" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="312" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 026" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwvRpRlsI/AAAAAAAAARo/o8k2cacqoAM/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20026_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="458" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">Where’s the pumpkin?</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwv7z-djI/AAAAAAAAARs/_5JaRNi4AzU/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20028%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 028" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="320" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 028" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwwTs6yOI/AAAAAAAAARw/Ojo2btAkawQ/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20028_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="471" border="0" /></a> </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwwuPy3LI/AAAAAAAAAR0/XyBemdQ0Gfo/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20029%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 029" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="327" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 029" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwxHZ125I/AAAAAAAAAR4/LctABZGztbI/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20029_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="477" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">Adding the cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwxvvVErI/AAAAAAAAAR8/PSI-WoDL7Vk/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20032%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 032" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="336" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 032" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwx1HTyZI/AAAAAAAAASA/GWfPmuQwPGI/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20032_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="490" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">. . . Sugar</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwyS9kvnI/AAAAAAAAASE/WH93dDPvLPY/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20031%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 031" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="340" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 031" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwy3XJ8xI/AAAAAAAAASM/TNTNgQJhEFA/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20031_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="500" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">. . . Eggs</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwzWyUxrI/AAAAAAAAASQ/NEQdTwMHhN0/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20033%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 033" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="346" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 033" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPwz-zUmQI/AAAAAAAAASU/VE9b4PIWU-E/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20033_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="509" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">. . . more sugar but must taste it first . . .</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPw0cVIg3I/AAAAAAAAASY/WHVnB4EFl4c/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20034%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 034" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="353" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 034" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPw02ar1BI/AAAAAAAAASc/AvXBKPkRl28/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20034_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="515" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">add some heavy cream and . . . mix it up . . .</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPw1NfdA3I/AAAAAAAAASg/sNY_jpCzqtA/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20035%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 035" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="362" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 035" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPw1laK0jI/AAAAAAAAASk/JejN1djk4ec/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20035_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="529" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">Voila ! Two delicious pumpkin pies ready for the oven. </p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPw2LJWR3I/AAAAAAAAASo/XTq0od-xTNo/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20037%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 037" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="367" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 037" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPw2jUDX5I/AAAAAAAAASs/g2jACbMIFX4/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20037_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="540" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center"></p> <p align="center"></p> <p align="center">Thanks for cleaning up sweetie . . . </p> <p align="left">We baked some <a href="http://steamykitchen.com/168-no-knead-bread-revisited.html">no knead bread.</a> The bread was wonderful ! Crispy crust, moist and chewy on the inside. Make this bread. It is the easiest recipe I’ve ever made. </p> <p align="left">Just before going into the hot oven</p> <p align="left"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SttYPWu3MJI/AAAAAAAAATI/Q7fK0IJPVdU/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20038%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 038" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="327" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 038" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SttYPpYy2TI/AAAAAAAAATM/ZNHjFQi11Ak/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20038_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="476" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="left">Fresh out of the oven and cooling down.</p> <p align="left"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SttYQRf1DDI/AAAAAAAAATQ/d1TvU1_Kp5E/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20039%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 039" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="320" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 039" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SttYQ1Ali-I/AAAAAAAAATU/R5FeDfp-6Fc/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20039_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="470" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="left">We roasted chestnuts, peeled them up and put them into the brussell sprouts with a bit of bacon and sherry. (Nigella Lawsons’ “Feast”)</p> <p align="left">Garlic mashed potatoes. My husbands’ specialty.</p> <p align="left">Sweet potatoes with marshmallows. ( my homage to the American feast) </p> <p align="left">Couldn’t do without some stuffing. The only thing I made from a box. (oh, the horrors!)</p> <p align="left">Brined and roasted the turkey. It was so moist on the inside and wonderfully crispy on the outside thanks to the basting with maple syrup and butter. mmmmmm.</p> <p align="left">and of course, just a little wine.</p> <p align="left"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPw3DLxHII/AAAAAAAAASw/83qypX9a3Sw/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20065%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 065" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="295" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 065" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPw3rO3CuI/AAAAAAAAAS0/1RGUv4YkFws/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20065_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="433" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="left"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPw37wyzRI/AAAAAAAAAS4/83YCK_jHoCw/s1600-h/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20066%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="thanksgiving #2 09 066" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="305" alt="thanksgiving #2 09 066" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StPw4eVKk1I/AAAAAAAAAS8/aF4_3pZLpMw/thanksgiving%20%232%2009%20066_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="445" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">Everybody getting ready for the feast. </p> <p align="left">We talked about what we were all thankful for. My list was long and varied. But for today what I am thankful for is a family to celebrate this thanksgiving holiday with. There was a time when I was so lonely. The holidays always intensified that feeling. I am so thankful to be surrounded by family and to be able to cook a wonderful meal. Put love and thought into what I am making and then serve to people I love. That’s joy. </p> <p align="left">The only thing missing was a fellow foodie. If anyone said mmmm that is really good . . I would go on and on about my cooking methods and recipes. My enthusiastic explanations would fall on deaf ears and my poor listeners’ eyes would glaze over. </p> <p align="left">Don’t you want to know how I made that no knead bread? What about the chestnuts. Let me tell you about roasting those chestnuts. What about the turkey? Do you think next time I should add more star anise into the brine? Can you taste the orangey flavour? The gravy . . . add the liver next time? This is so much fun let’s talk about it. Please?</p> <p align="left">Happy Thanksgiving. </p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-38051945459785344932009-10-10T09:43:00.001-07:002009-10-10T09:47:40.159-07:00Thanksgiving Countdown<p>I have to be confess: I’m not the most playful mama. I don’t like going to the park and playing ‘tag’ with my wee one. Noah watches too much t.v. so I can do something other than coloring, painting or going back to the park for what seems like, the 100th time, on any given day.</p><p>Here’s what I do like to do. I turn Noah into a Sous chef in my kitchen and we start to cook. Since Thanksgiving is in one more day and the family is coming over we get to party in the kitchen. </p><p>The prep started Friday. We baked pumpkins for a pie. First step. Cut the pumpkins in half and dig out the seeds: </p><p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5YRmvf3I/AAAAAAAAAPE/uV1M2jG5xR8/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20047%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 047" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="436" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 047" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5YqcZRUI/AAAAAAAAAPI/F9T21t5veP4/Thanksgiving%202009%20047_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="297" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;">Why stand on the chair when the counter is so much fun?</span></p><p>Place pumpkins onto baking dish with about 1/2 inch of water and bake in 425 F degree oven until fork tender.</p><p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5ZJLy18I/AAAAAAAAAPM/8kJuWSziWpE/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20022%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 022" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="254" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 022" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5ZrdodHI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/F-G18cWVNoY/Thanksgiving%202009%20022_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="373" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;">Just before going in</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#15222b;"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5aEt3dzI/AAAAAAAAAPU/wqRUT2gRh8Q/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20045%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 045" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="254" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 045" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5aZ9VtII/AAAAAAAAAPY/UdENo1Qc-Pg/Thanksgiving%202009%20045_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="373" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:78%;"> Dig out the lovely soft cooked pumpkin</span></p><p align="left"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5ayeqY-I/AAAAAAAAAPc/Ott31qrJTIk/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20046%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 046" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="266" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 046" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5bDOeNmI/AAAAAAAAAPg/_c7j-v5fU90/Thanksgiving%202009%20046_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="387" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">pumpkin puree</span></p><p align="left">Nothing this lovely ever comes out of a can. I can’t wait to turn this puree into a pie!</p><p align="left">Next on prep day: Cranberry sauce. </p><p align="left">First: pour cranberries onto a pot.</p><p align="left"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5bndVHEI/AAAAAAAAAPk/HFP2T0-D--k/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20023%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 023" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="387" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 023" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5b8G11SI/AAAAAAAAAPo/GP5yzwZ5Ax0/Thanksgiving%202009%20023_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="267" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5cc2jvnI/AAAAAAAAAPs/QgfhCkkVClI/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20025%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 025" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="302" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 025" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5c--lWUI/AAAAAAAAAPw/-GlIyAOV2gc/Thanksgiving%202009%20025_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="440" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="center">Add zest of one orange</p><p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5dc3sdcI/AAAAAAAAAP0/TKRa7-FbV8g/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20028%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 028" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="307" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 028" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5do6OVNI/AAAAAAAAAP4/JKz1f6wWfHo/Thanksgiving%202009%20028_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="447" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="center">Also juice of one orange . . .</p><p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5eMN3yNI/AAAAAAAAAP8/zLY8bKCI3ro/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20030%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 030" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="297" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 030" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5ekjh7FI/AAAAAAAAAQA/rCsQtEXwSnY/Thanksgiving%202009%20030_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="437" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="center">Sugar, a touch of Grand Marnier to taste . . . with a dash of water . . .</p><p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5fOGJnVI/AAAAAAAAAQE/7ryQ2bKXkMs/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20031%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 031" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="303" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 031" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5fakPbUI/AAAAAAAAAQI/vbNyJXZH9C8/Thanksgiving%202009%20031_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="446" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Cook on medium low heat until most of the liquid has reduced, the cranberries have popped (isn’t that such a festive noise?) and the cranberry mixtures has turned into . . .</p><p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5gCcZYsI/AAAAAAAAAQM/23kltLbyJT4/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20044%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 044" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="301" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 044" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5gfKEEDI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/-qfo5F66sSk/Thanksgiving%202009%20044_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="443" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Thick, gorgeous sauce that is finger lickin’ good! </p><p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5g2OHTQI/AAAAAAAAAQU/hzF7yFqQqAQ/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20041%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 041" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="306" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 041" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5haRzl2I/AAAAAAAAAQY/QIdKYpxNqZQ/Thanksgiving%202009%20041_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="450" border="0" /></a> </p><p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5h_wiSbI/AAAAAAAAAQc/j78CkB4U79w/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20039%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 039" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="316" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 039" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5idhs0gI/AAAAAAAAAQg/CKacDw2Paww/Thanksgiving%202009%20039_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="459" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="center">Yum – O!</p><p align="center">Last, but not least. The Turkey. The Brine. The Love.</p><p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5i95EtuI/AAAAAAAAAQk/xMlGoTsS-pE/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20032%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 032" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="321" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 032" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5jEQA22I/AAAAAAAAAQo/Jimpm6hSPww/Thanksgiving%202009%20032_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="472" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="center">Assembled ingredients for the brine. This Brine recipe is from Nigella Lawsons’ “Feast” </p><p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5jiFmb0I/AAAAAAAAAQs/oPYBw0s1qPU/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20033%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 033" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="324" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 033" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5j1R_FMI/AAAAAAAAAQw/ZqsWVCkt1jc/Thanksgiving%202009%20033_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="477" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center">Dissolve salt and sugar in the water.</p><p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5kP1a-gI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/xSZK67sYgeY/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20034%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 034" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="341" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 034" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5ksSZW9I/AAAAAAAAAQ4/xu5SSs95CVc/Thanksgiving%202009%20034_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="497" border="0" /></a> </p><p>After adding the rest of the ingredients really get your hands in there and mix, mix, mix. </p><p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5lNSR8yI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/9APLntrAa-o/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20036%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 036" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="341" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 036" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5lR7xylI/AAAAAAAAARA/-oxpwSBfMoI/Thanksgiving%202009%20036_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="502" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Ignore the camera strap in the picture . . . Noah had to put some orange, onion and herb pieces on the turkey for a ‘blanket’.</p><p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5lzUXx3I/AAAAAAAAARE/jffmRoxMnPY/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20037%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 037" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="343" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 037" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5mf2RLyI/AAAAAAAAARI/EUX31jyjt6g/Thanksgiving%202009%20037_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="505" border="0" /></a> </p><p></p><p></p><p>He kept squidging, touching and adding pieces on top while saying “ooooooo love, love mummy, love . .” The extra ice was to displace some of the water so the turkey would be submerged and also as an extra precaution to keep the turkey icy cold while bathing in the brine. </p><p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5m92qEGI/AAAAAAAAARM/vG3Txg0iuhE/s1600-h/Thanksgiving%202009%20035%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="Thanksgiving 2009 035" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; WIDTH: 461px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; HEIGHT: 339px" height="352" alt="Thanksgiving 2009 035" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/StC5nEuneeI/AAAAAAAAARQ/64kDtDnFajM/Thanksgiving%202009%20035_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="514" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Blankets on, Job well done. Until Tomorrow.</p><p>Noah insisted on dragging the heavy cooler outside. “I’m strong mummy let me do it!” When daddy was done work he dragged the cooler out from it’s hiding place under the barbeque cover and had to show daddy “the love”. He was pretty proud of all the work we did and it entertained the both of us for most of the afternoon. We had such a good time. We were productive and had such a good time making a huge mess in the kitchen. </p><p>Here’s the <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/nigella-lawson/spiced-and-super-juicy-roast-turkey-recipe/index.html" target="_blank">link</a> to Nigellas’ turkey brine recipe. It’s on the Food Network website. </p><p>More cooking tomorrow!</p>Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-29264348151289027172009-10-02T05:50:00.001-07:002009-10-02T05:50:09.938-07:00How to Say “Thank you”<p><font size="2"></font></p> <p align="left"><font size="2">I stayed for a few days with a dear friend of mine a while back and when I got home I sat on my bed and started sobbing. I didn’t realise how stressed I had been and her home was a haven for four days. I was moved by her love and generosity during my visit. Her love and quiet home was just the thing I needed. A simple ‘thank you’ didn’t seem right. I wanted to thank her again and again. On the flight home I was reading Elizabeth Gilberts’ book, ‘Eat Pray Love’, and when I came upon this quote, I e-mailed it to my friend when I got home: </font></p> <p align="left"><em>“. . . in the end, though, maybe we must give up trying to pay back the people in the world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it’s wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.”  <font size="1">Elizabeth Gilbert “Eat, Pray, Love: . . .”</font></em></p> <p align="left"><font size="2">So. Thank you again. Here’s to all of you that sustain my life and make my world a less lonely place to be:  </font></p> <p align="left">Say thank you<em> . . . . “forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.” </em></p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsX2_wk8_kI/AAAAAAAAAO8/6fif6__fYvU/s1600-h/Likely%202009%20014%5B5%5D.jpg"><img title="Likely 2009 014" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="333" alt="Likely 2009 014" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsX3AVl_8bI/AAAAAAAAAPA/-Wp2TYTypSw/Likely%202009%20014_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="481" border="0" /></a> <font size="1">Whisky Jack (Likely, B.C.  Summer 2009)</font></p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-5787667721238091382009-10-01T15:05:00.001-07:002009-10-01T17:54:26.798-07:00How to make Homemade Ravioli with a really good butternut squash filling and smothered in a creamy sauce.<p>In my shopping frenzy at the farmers market the other day I bought the nicest squash. I decided to make homemade ravioli. I had never made ravioli before and I thought: how hard can it be? The question I should’ve asked is: How long will this take?</p><p>First, I quartered my squash, covered it in olive oil, salt,pepper and put it in the oven for baby and me . . wait, that’s not right . . . It’s hormonal my brain takes all sorts of turns in odd directions when I’m not looking. So. I put it in the oven at about 375F for 45 minutes or so. I wasn’t paying much attention to the time as I was trying to whip up the ravioli dough.</p><p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUndAR_WtI/AAAAAAAAANk/oAssEB-c890/s1600-h/Sept20090135.jpg"><img title="Sept 2009 013" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: block; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; FLOAT: none; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="293" alt="Sept 2009 013" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUndgBslzI/AAAAAAAAANo/cVUAhHe7etI/Sept2009013_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" width="423" border="0" /></a></p><p>Butternut squash before going into oven.</p><p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUndxcRm9I/AAAAAAAAANs/_6h-xiylyjs/s1600-h/Sept20090164.jpg"><img title="Sept 2009 016" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: block; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; FLOAT: none; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="298" alt="Sept 2009 016" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUneZfMWBI/AAAAAAAAANw/s_SZKvYHv98/Sept2009016_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="434" border="0" /></a></p><p>Some flour, a few eggs salt and pepper into my mixer. Recipe said to mix until dough forms a ball. (I googled home made ravioli and have since lost the paper I printed it out on so – go google, get the recipe and leave me alone)</p><p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUne1Fq9RI/AAAAAAAAAN0/PsvyHEennKA/s1600-h/Sept20090184.jpg"><img title="Sept 2009 018" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="307" alt="Sept 2009 018" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnfbhnNoI/AAAAAAAAAN4/WbPsAuiGNok/Sept2009018_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="447" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Here is the ball of dough after adding a bit more egg and olive oil. I kneaded the dough for about 10 minutes and let the dough rest for about an hour or so. (recipe said 30 minutes) Then started rolling. The rolling took forever.</p><p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnfvXMdcI/AAAAAAAAAN8/eNQiRdSA6do/s1600-h/RavioliSept31090013.jpg"><img title="Ravioli Sept3109 001" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="307" alt="Ravioli Sept3109 001" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUngPl9I4I/AAAAAAAAAOA/k1NXZETlH3k/RavioliSept3109001_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="452" border="0" /></a>Pasta dough is not the most forgiving sort. I wished for a pasta maker attachment for my Kitchen Aid mixer or at least a heavy marble rolling pin. So I rolled and rolled and rolled. Until my arms hurt my head hurt and my feet hurt. </p><p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUngeY2TII/AAAAAAAAAOE/WN_l6VafeC4/s1600-h/RavioliSept31090033.jpg"><img title="Ravioli Sept3109 003" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="312" alt="Ravioli Sept3109 003" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUng1JSLBI/AAAAAAAAAOI/REHAOy1xRkQ/RavioliSept3109003_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="459" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Here’s the recipe for the filling: 1 Squash, 1 Cup full fat ricotta, 1/4 tsp or so nutmeg,cinnamon, salt and pepper to taste. Whiz it up in your food processer, done. I put the filling into a piping bag. It was easier to get onto the dough and looked much prettier. Yes?</p><p>(I got the filling recipe from The Food Networks’ <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/butternut-squash-tortellini-with-brown-butter-sauce-recipe/index.html" target="_blank">Giada De Laurentiis</a> of “Everyday Italian”)</p><p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnhpezP5I/AAAAAAAAAOM/MByVVLJXb34/s1600-h/RavioliSept31090054.jpg"><img title="Ravioli Sept3109 005" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="317" alt="Ravioli Sept3109 005" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUniHi6R-I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/QMKQyL9uraU/RavioliSept3109005_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="463" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Look at my lovely row of pretty filling. The recipe called for an egg wash between the filling to act as the glue for the top layer. I tried it once but it turned the dough into a goopy mess and I couldn’t re use the dough when making more. I didn’t use the egg wash for the next batch and the ravioli still turned out great and stayed together without the egg wash.</p><p> </p><p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnijc7vGI/AAAAAAAAAOU/KQxsIbtirxE/s1600-h/RavioliSept31090134.jpg"><img title="Ravioli Sept3109 013" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="325" alt="Ravioli Sept3109 013" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnjZcfq4I/AAAAAAAAAOY/oxNOPzYqE20/RavioliSept3109013_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="473" border="0" /></a> </p><p>All done (all that work for a few ravioli?)</p><p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnj_ORDzI/AAAAAAAAAOc/6S-F0JIXpvA/s1600-h/RavioliSept31090064.jpg"><img title="Ravioli Sept3109 006" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="330" alt="Ravioli Sept3109 006" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnkYkK1UI/AAAAAAAAAOg/s3AokdyHQOk/RavioliSept3109006_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="481" border="0" /></a> </p><p>It was getting late and I was too lazy to make a sauce and I didn’t want to wait for water to boil so I fried some ravioli up in butter and olive oil . . . </p><p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnk4W4AHI/AAAAAAAAAOk/QvVJoSqmQGo/s1600-h/RavioliSept31090075.jpg"><img title="Ravioli Sept3109 007" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="339" alt="Ravioli Sept3109 007" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnlpCeeEI/AAAAAAAAAOo/v7JO2pnJH_Y/RavioliSept3109007_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" width="490" border="0" /></a> </p><p>. . . . Sprinkled with freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese and some olive oil . . oh so delicious and worth the hours of rolling out dough . . </p><p> </p><p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnl6bDmsI/AAAAAAAAAOs/0cIva6XGjKE/s1600-h/RavioliSept31090194.jpg"><img title="Ravioli Sept3109 019" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="342" alt="Ravioli Sept3109 019" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnmSvfsvI/AAAAAAAAAOw/rBsZARVG1dk/RavioliSept3109019_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="498" border="0" /></a> </p><p>The Next Night:</p><p>Here’s the sauce I made. I had cooked up some bacon earlier so rather than cleaning the pan I put it aside to use the leftover pork fat and crispy drippings for my creamy sauce. Mmmmmm. </p><p>I deglazed the pan with about 1/2 cup of white wine. Let the wine reduce for a bit, added some heavy cream, let it reduce and bubble away then I added the parmesan cheese a little bit of grated nutmeg, salt and pepper mix, mix and voila! The creamiest most amazing sauce in the world.</p><p>I fried up some greens in a bit of Olive oil and garlic, boiled up the ravioli . . . added ravioli to the sauce . . Here it is all plated up and ready to go. It was sooooo good. The greens were perfect with the richness of the ravioli and cream sauce. Mmmmmm delicious delicious.</p><p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnm2n8Z-I/AAAAAAAAAO0/-JwXeP-JVGE/s1600-h/RavioliSept31090695.jpg"><img title="Ravioli Sept3109 069" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="345" alt="Ravioli Sept3109 069" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsUnnhdOXSI/AAAAAAAAAO4/_ClY676CDk4/RavioliSept3109069_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" width="500" border="0" /></a></p><p> </p><p>Dig in. Doesn’t that look good?</p>Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-65981833280453105912009-09-29T10:13:00.001-07:002009-09-29T12:39:09.487-07:00The happy produce buzz first thing in the morning . . .<p> </p><p>I shopped for my produce at my local farmers market <a href="http://www.tourismabbotsford.ca/index.php?page_id=121" target="_blank">‘Howard Wong Farms’</a> yesterday. ‘Wongs’ is a bit of a drive out and there have been other produce markets that have sprouted up all over town and much closer to home but I do the drive and go to Wongs. The lettuce is the crispiest and the basil is always sweet and fresh.</p><p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsJAS0vWw3I/AAAAAAAAANU/oLhdjV6hFhg/s1600-h/Sept%202009%20019%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="Sept 2009 019" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="262" alt="Sept 2009 019" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsJATbwsq9I/AAAAAAAAANY/sUuYFj9aZ0s/Sept%202009%20019_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="381" border="0" /></a> </p><p>It’s fall so that means stacks of fresh picked apples of every variety. I walked up to the piles of apples, where a woman was filling her bag, and I asked her which apples were her favourite. We chatted about our favourite apple varieties and she told me all those apples made her want to start baking . . . apple pies, crisps . . . oh, to make the house smell of apples and cinnamon. </p><p>You know that juicy, sugary, caramelly, appley bit that always leaks from the crust of the apple pie and when you bite into that slice the perfect mixture of apple, crust and the candied bit that sticks to your teeth? Elixir of the gods.</p><p>Back to my shopping.</p><p>I started to fill my cart. A lovely butternut squash: homemade ravioli filled with squash or a big pot of soup. Pie pumkins: Pies for thanksgiving just around the corner and lots of ornamental gourds to throw haphazardly around my house in an attempt to decorate for the fall season. </p><p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsJAT9-kXhI/AAAAAAAAANc/RTCwRi9EqKI/s1600-h/Sept%202009%20022%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Sept 2009 022" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="263" alt="Sept 2009 022" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SsJAUZHdYTI/AAAAAAAAANg/tDuSEL4NMSg/Sept%202009%20022_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="387" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Next, I walked into the large market and the intoxicating smell of fresh produce and herbs hit my senses. It was hard to stop this crazy and immediate impulse to throw myself onto the fragrant greens, earthy potatoes, sweet peppers and scoop it all up, inhale –and possibly nuzzle.</p><p>I contained myself. I was picking out some fresh dill when the same woman I chatted with earlier, walked by me and whispered, “ I just want to buy everything” I smiled, nodded and said . . . </p><p>“Me too.”</p>Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-70535528828218087902009-09-16T09:35:00.001-07:002009-09-16T09:44:06.384-07:00Why Bargain Hunting is Old News<p>The economy was the big news a while back and it was all everyone was talking about. People stopped shopping. We all hid in our living rooms huddled around our televisions eating baked beans and wondering: is our job next on the chopping block? You know it’s getting bad when Anna Wintour has to travel to the Macys in Queens to promote ‘<a href="http://www.fashionsnightout.com/" target="_blank">fashions night out’</a>. (is she allowed to leave the big island?) I have to admit I was worried. I asked my husband daily if it looked like his work would be slowing down. . . “honey, do we need to tighten our belts?” (yet?) </p><p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SrETw1eMFXI/AAAAAAAAANE/fItmVKx1aFI/s1600-h/annawintour5.jpg"><img title="anna-wintour-" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: block; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; FLOAT: none; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="356" alt="anna-wintour-" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SrETxFXS1cI/AAAAAAAAANI/7ibY6EuNVxs/annawintour_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" width="237" border="0" /></a></p><p>A weekly news magazine, Macleans, came in the mail, and I read the most interesting interview with <a href="http://www2.macleans.ca/2009/08/13/macleans-interview-john-wright/" target="_blank">Pollster John Wright</a>. Among other juicy tidbits he talks about the economy. Wright says: “<em>Concern about the economy rose from 30 per cent to over 60 per cent at the end of December, stayed fairly high in January and February, but then dropped significantly in March. What interrupted it</em> (talk of the economy) <em>was talk about swine flu.. .”</em> Then there was the second interruption: <em>“Michael Jackson’s death. I don’t want to sound cavalier, but when there was a lack of media focus on the stock market and the fallout from financial institutions, confidence rose significantly.”</em></p><p>Ahhh . . . relief. As long as the media isn’t constantly commenting on how bad the economy is we’re better off. Listen up everyone: Stop watching the news. It’s not worth it. Entertainment value only. </p><p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SrETxqpdUlI/AAAAAAAAANM/2dRjRqn4Hwg/s1600-h/elvisportrait23.jpg"><img title="elvis-portrait2" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; DISPLAY: block; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; FLOAT: none; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" height="291" alt="elvis-portrait2" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SrETyBrJ_xI/AAAAAAAAANQ/B4ptEdPP04g/elvisportrait2_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="223" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Now, imagine If they found Elvis hanging out in some bar in Alberta. That would make some serious headlines and the economy would make a complete recovery. We could go shopping again ( and pay full price) ! Hurray! Champagne for everyone ! </p>Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-83130598552763693932009-09-14T11:26:00.001-07:002009-09-14T11:42:48.117-07:00The Perfect Storm<p><br />I was out and about the other day and hungry so I go to Wendys' drive thru to get a salad, a big cup of Coke Zero and a side of fries. I pay the woman, collect my food, and I pull over in the parking lot. I unbuckle Noah out of his car seat and we settle in to eat our snack. I take my salad and large fries out of the bag and I realize I have no fork and knife.<br /></p><p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sq6K5OLKBwI/AAAAAAAAAM0/UI4i-Yw6e-c/s1600-h/002%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="002" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="276" alt="002" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sq6K5rnGJII/AAAAAAAAAM4/AUDlCBvQvGw/002_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="401" border="0" /></a> </p><p>I consider eating my salad with my fingers but the napkins are also missing so I decide to go back and get some utensils and napkins. I pull out of the parking spot to go back to the Wendys drive thru window to get a fork/knife set. Just as I'm pulling out,looking behind me for cars, and steering so I have no free hand(s). . . . My dear sweet Noah, reaches for the big, full cup of coke and spills it. The full, heavy cup, slippery with condensation, the cup with the lid that barely snaps on, slips out of his little hands and falls, upside down, straight into my purse. No big splash, no mess on the van floor, because my purse caught the whole huge cup of coke. My purse was open just so. My purse and Noahs' 'sleight' of hand. A perfect storm. </p><p></p><p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sq6K6EJmj2I/AAAAAAAAAM8/f6OKvdacoj8/s1600-h/003%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="003" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="264" alt="003" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sq6K6v8UCII/AAAAAAAAANA/XW8MdjZKLUk/003_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="388" border="0" /></a></p>Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-35211658190768517622009-09-13T18:02:00.001-07:002009-09-13T18:02:05.643-07:00Lions and Tigers oh My !<p>Aaron was moving the furniture around so the carpets could be cleaned the other day. He went into Noah’s room and started to move some of the furniture into the hallway. Noah was on top of everything and following daddy's every move. </p> <p>Noahs’ bed is on a metal frame so once Aaron got the mattress and box spring off the frame, leaving the floor exposed, I head Noah exclaim in complete seriousness: “Daddy, there are NO tigers under the bed ! ” </p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sq2WC2YU0jI/AAAAAAAAAMs/CEatIi8kLUs/s1600-h/0154.jpg"><img title="015" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: block; border-left-width: 0px; float: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; border-right-width: 0px" height="356" alt="015" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sq2WDHKmG1I/AAAAAAAAAMw/41SP6WhyF7M/015_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="283" border="0" /></a><font size="1">Noah dressed as a tiger for Halloween October 2008</font></p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-63116752590816162612009-09-10T14:24:00.001-07:002009-09-10T14:24:01.439-07:00Who’s got Excalibur now?<p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SqlubcTMOPI/AAAAAAAAAMg/PehPmwV801I/s1600-h/OBAMA%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="OBAMA" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="249" alt="OBAMA" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SqlubqHDutI/AAAAAAAAAMk/fd1cnGEBQno/OBAMA_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="327" border="0" /></a> </p> <p>I’m in love with Americas’ new president. I know, I know. Who isn’t? Many Americans are wearing the t-shirts and ball caps. When I first saw Barack on Oprah years ago. I wondered: who is this guy with the weird name? . . . .  those Americans will never vote for a black President. Then history happened, a miracle. This well spoken, intelligent, African American man became President.</p> <p>I still reserved my judgement. Once the swearing in celebrations were over and the last of the confetti was swept up I wondered, would this ‘politician’ follow through? While reading my morning paper today I was converted. Obama gave a speech Yesterday that blew me away: John Whitesides writes in ‘The Province’ Newspaper of Obamas speech:</p> <p>‘Obama said: “The time for bickering is over”. and called for quick action on comprehensive health care overhaul that would dramatically transform the U.S. health system and health market. Obama issued a sharp rebuke to critics of his healthcare drive, accusing them of substituting scare tactics for honest debate. “I will not waste time with those who have made the calculation that it’s better politics to kill this plan than improve it”. ‘</p> <p>Obama was <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/09/09/joe-wilson-apologizes-for_n_281541.html" target="_blank">heckled</a> last night during his speech. Obama has been criticised and called a socialist but he won’t back down. Until a bill that makes healthcare accessible to every American, crosses the finish line, Obama will not give up. If that’s not inspiring I don’t know what is.</p> <p>It is right and true that healthcare reform happens in America. Obama will not be intimidated my big insurance/big pharma or political conservatives. “The time for bickering IS over”. Wow, o.k. where do I sign up?</p> <p>“ . . .  Arthur had obtained a magical sword from The Lady Of The Lake. This sword was called 'Excalibur" and with this weapon he vanquished many foes.”</p> <p><img title="lancelot" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="446" alt="lancelot" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SqlucJpzBFI/AAAAAAAAAMo/NxNCjIYll_c/lancelot_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="302" border="0" /></p> <p>Maybe Camelot hasn’t come to an <a href="http://telling-secrets.blogspot.com/2009/08/end-of-camelot.html" target="_blank">untimely end</a> after all. </p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-88204662346257408972009-08-27T10:48:00.001-07:002009-08-27T18:11:01.910-07:00The Number one Reason Married People are Celibate.<p>Children. Yes. Kids. Your lovely offspring. Those darling sweet children. From the moment they are born until they leave the house sex and children don’t mix. </p><p>Here’s my story and I’m sticking to it. </p><p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpbG9bLkW5I/AAAAAAAAAMI/jvO2GIPbKt4/s1600-h/013%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="013" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="234" alt="013" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpbG9qEmFWI/AAAAAAAAAMM/5ytgEMrZviU/013_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="307" border="0" /></a> </p><p>I had the worst pms this month. Sore boobs, itchiness/moodiness/scratchiness (the scratch is referring to a mood not a skin scratch) don’t talk to me unless you tell me I look like a supermodel. Eventually, my period ended and I felt like a normal human being again. A really horny one. I was feeling so smug. I’m married. I don’t have to be a (reasonably) celibate single person anymore. Sex shouldn’t be a problem. The months of dry spells are over. Yahoo. I get to seduce my husband. How much fun is that? </p><p>Add two 17 year old teenagers and a four year old child to the seduction equation and my plans to get it on with my hubby turned into a late night food fest with a wide awake child between us.</p><p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpbG-egC_0I/AAAAAAAAAMQ/aWS7d5PQKyM/s1600-h/019%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="019" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="313" alt="019" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpbG-v5VfoI/AAAAAAAAAMU/eeoW8Y5LICQ/019_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="219" border="0" /></a> </p><p>I woke up the other day ready to go. I told Aaron I couldn’t wait to see him tonight. I told him I would keep Noah up all day so he’d go to bed early and we could get it on. Yay! I had visions of lube and chandeliers (don’t ask) dancing in my head for most of the day. </p><p>Noah was up to his usual shenanigans but I was fine ‘cause I was getting some and nothing was going to ruin my day. As the day neared the end so did my patience with Noah’s mischievous, dumping flour all over the floor, drawing on my walls, busyness . . . The last straw was, as I was cooking dinner and distracted for a moment, Noah had gone into the bathroom (usually locked from the outside but in may haste to pee and get back to my hot skillet I neglected to lock the bathroom door behind me on my way out) and taken my nail polish remover. He dumped the bottle of nail polish remover on my couch. My beautiful purple couch. The smell of nail polish remover got me into the living room and there it was . . . nail polish remover spilled all over my couch. </p><p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpbG_C0X_tI/AAAAAAAAAMY/rPtUuwnew1U/s1600-h/luukas%20004%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="luukas 004" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: block; FLOAT: none; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="239" alt="luukas 004" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpbG_pzKWaI/AAAAAAAAAMc/NwcN9nPjl3I/luukas%20004_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="314" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Now, you could say. “hey, it’s only an ugly couch who cares . . . it’s only stuff” and be all zen about it. It’s only stuff right? The thing is, I was zen all day: the crayon all over my walls, (I can buy a mr clean eraser it’s ok) orange felt all over the carpet,(it’s a cheap carpet one day I will have a nice one) flour dumped on the floor, ( I own a vacuum cleaner no big deal) the tantrum in the paint store, (I’m in public I can’t scream just yet) grabbing at candies in the store, whining, screaming wanting and screaming again. (that’s o.k. I’m getting some tonight keep smiling) I was at the point where, when I saw large spill of nail polish remover on my couch, I lost it completely. The kind of critical mass upset that only happens once a year. Month. Week. you get the idea. </p><p>I calmed down eventually. I went to the basement to sit with Aaron and watch t.v. while Noah jumped around us. I sat and twitched and gnawed on my nails. I was still reverberating from my upset.</p><p>Eventually, at about 7:30, I got Noah to bed and my horny mood was gone completely. I was pissy, stressed and annoyed. It didn’t help that I couldn’t get the couch cover back on. I had washed the cover and I think it had shrunk and it had a large horrible, crusty, white mark on it that I was hoping to hide behind a cushion . For future reference nail polish remover does not wash out. </p><p>After a good battle with the couch cover, I lit some candles, poured myself a drink, and sat on the couch with my hubby in hopes of salvaging the mood from the morning. We were having a lovely time and getting ready to move into the bedroom when Luukas got home. He sat in the living room and started talking to us about his evening. We politely listened. Noah was sleeping. We had some time to listen to Luukas’ story. My patient, happy smile was on and I had lube and chandeliers dancing in my head again.</p><p>Then Luukas' friend Lenea arrived. She got to the door, knocked, and Luukas YELLED out “COME IN”! I cringed, and said “shhhh you’re going to wake Noah up”. Noah usually sleeps through anything but the house had been pretty quiet and the sudden noise . . . woke him up. </p><p>Noah came out of the bedroom screaming and crying . . . ”mommy!” . . . There was no putting him right back to bed. He was up and miserable. Usually a pat on the back and a snuggle and Noah goes right back to sleep but not this night. By the time I got Noah calmed down he was wide awake and UP. Aaron started to forage around in the fridge for food. Aaron, Noah and I got into bed, ate, watched a bit of t.v. and eventually we all fell asleep.</p><p>So, instead of great sex we ate and chomped while watching a rerun of Seinfeld. No sex. Just food. Noah was sitting between us happily eating with mama and daddy. See? Food instead of sex. This is why I’m not a size 6. It’s not for lack of exercise or not enough veggies. It’s emotional. Rather than great sex we eat and stuff our mouths so we don’t have to think about what we are missing out on. As a matter of fact I’m going to go in the kitchen right now and have another piece of toast with my coffee. With a nice thick slice of cheese. Yum.</p><p><span style="font-size:78%;">(thank you Holly for the inspiration you are truly my muse)</span></p>Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-62429300551790536902009-08-24T15:30:00.001-07:002009-08-25T08:40:20.809-07:00Fig Galette<p>I was at my parents place last night and my dad took me on a tour of the garden. I had a bucket with me to pick all the fruit that had ripened. </p> <p></p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpQFvM_h8XI/AAAAAAAAAJA/Xd2P4yjji1c/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20028%5B1%5D.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 028" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="246" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 028" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMURcVFqsI/AAAAAAAAAJE/Rie-d2UmO6Q/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20028_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="357" border="0" /></a><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 025" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="246" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 025" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUQW4dNhI/AAAAAAAAAJI/NpDHnu72VAs/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20025.jpg?imgmax=800" width="361" border="0" /> </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMURt0a_HI/AAAAAAAAAJM/_djiOt1w2a0/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20027.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 027" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="255" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 027" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUSBhVLtI/AAAAAAAAAJc/WLBAVa-8OBA/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20027_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="374" border="0" /></a></p> <p>They also have a huge fig tree so I picked a few. Figs. When’s the last time you’ve had a fresh fig? </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUSinxgBI/AAAAAAAAAJg/Xrm5DrUsNV0/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20045.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 045" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="252" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 045" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUS9dxW8I/AAAAAAAAAJo/wWD_TeDG9_8/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20045_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="370" border="0" /></a></p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUTbXX8AI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/niE3bBhDdLQ/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20046.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 046" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="267" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 046" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUT-ouXyI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/TlLPoklGVPw/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20046_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="392" border="0" /></a> </p> <p>Yum. They are the juiciest, richest, most delicious fruit. I usually see them artfully arranged on a cheese platter or sliced and served with a nice, tart yoghurt. I have a recipe in one of my Williams Sonoma cookbooks for a Fig Galette so I picked a bunch of figs and started baking.</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUUQoTiEI/AAAAAAAAAKA/wzQJQD6MvP4/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20005.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 005" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="261" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 005" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUUjeLpBI/AAAAAAAAAKI/-GKO2obuKkM/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20005_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="383" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUVNA444I/AAAAAAAAAKM/_luXJfE80bE/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20010.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 010" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="269" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 010" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUVcvtQsI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/8tiqclqP42E/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20010_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="395" border="0" /></a> Cut my figs up in quarters </p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUVx2A1II/AAAAAAAAAKc/pNrrInOV-aI/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20011.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 011" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="270" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 011" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUWUNnPSI/AAAAAAAAAKg/Hv-NR8rcfVQ/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20011_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="396" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">Added the brown sugar and lemon zest</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUWnyZmWI/AAAAAAAAAKs/RNq0QWtiysk/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20012.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 012" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="278" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 012" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUXJyLFCI/AAAAAAAAAK0/XsdeX_IWd_M/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20012_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="409" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">Put mixture onto my rolled out pastry dough</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUXu-DfpI/AAAAAAAAALE/0Ps_QeFzVyk/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20014.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 014" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="282" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 014" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUYRKul_I/AAAAAAAAALI/QUa89XKMvaI/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20014_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="414" border="0" /></a> </p> <p align="center">Brushed the dough with heavy cream and added chopped almonds</p> <p align="center">Bake for 40 minutes @ 400 degrees F</p> <p align="center">and</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUYz3zOFI/AAAAAAAAALY/fRFt2idhCao/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20015.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 015" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="288" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 015" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUZY8QXxI/AAAAAAAAALc/DhfEwa7Bp34/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20015_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="423" border="0" /></a> </p> <p></p> <p></p> <p align="center">Voila Fig Galette!</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUZzZlUdI/AAAAAAAAALk/nfGKId3tCwo/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20018.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 018" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="291" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 018" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUaBC_QsI/AAAAAAAAALs/7JBcFQZWRUM/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20018_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="427" border="0" /></a></p> <p align="center">Brought Fig Galette to parents place and we had a lovely treat with coffee mmmm . . . . </p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUahtPnyI/AAAAAAAAALw/7dyNT15tMDE/s1600-h/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20021.jpg"><img title="Summer 09 Fig Galette 021" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="293" alt="Summer 09 Fig Galette 021" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SpMUbMwUWzI/AAAAAAAAAL0/9orvzlnFHz4/Summer%2009%20Fig%20Galette%20021_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="431" border="0" /></a> </p> <p></p> <p>Here’s the recipe from my Williams-Sonoma Dessert cookbook: </p> <p>FIRST. Before I begin. I want to give you a brief disclaimer. I don’t give you a recipe for pastry. Use whatever has worked for you in the past or just go buy some premade. I hate pastry. It’s a moody, hormonal bitch that never turns out when I really want it to and on days when I’m not really paying attention it turns out picture perfect. I have tried versions made in my food processer, by hand, with butter, without butter, half butter and half vegetable shortening. Egg no egg the options are endless and I think I’ve tried just about all of them. It’s a hassle. It’s annoying. So go buy some and save yourself the headache. For the record, I did make this pastry from scratch. It was a sticky, falling apart mess. My four year old has learned some new curse words thanks to this mornings’ pastry debacle. </p> <p>Back to the Galette: </p> <p>1 1/4 lb (625 Grams) Ripe fresh figs, stemmed and quartered lengthwise </p> <p>1/3 cup (2 1/2 oz 21 grams) firmly packed sugar</p> <p>1 1/2 tsp finely grated lemon zest</p> <p>1 tsp Vanilla extract</p> <p>2 tblsp heavy cream</p> <p>1/4 cup sliced (flaked ) almonds</p> <p>Roll out pastry about 13 inches round. Trim off ragged edges. ( I didn’t cut my ragged edges off my pastry dough because it would’ve been too small so I got ragged edges with my @#$%%% pastry) </p> <p>Use dough scraper or icing spatula to loosen pastry if it sticks.</p> <p>Toss together the figs, brown sugar, zest, and vanilla until all ingredients are evenly distributed.</p> <p>Put dough onto baking sheet and arrange the figs in a pile in the center of the dough, leaving a 2 inch border uncovered. Fold the dough up and over the filling, pleating loosely all around the circle and leaving the galette open in the center. Brush the pleated dough with the cream. Sprinkle almonds on top of the dough and press them lightly to help them stick.</p> <p>Bake until the crust is golden and the figs are tender when pierced with a tip of a knife, about 40 minutes. Let cool in a rack. Serve warm or at room temperature. </p> <p><em>My notes: The sugar escapes the galette and makes a burnt sticky mess that is hard to clean so cover the baking sheet with parchment paper or aluminum foil then put the galette on it and bake. </em></p> <p><em>After galette comes out of the oven I used two large flippers to ease the galette off the baking sheet and onto my cooling rack. I put a plate underneath it to catch to juice that leaked out. </em></p> <p><em>After it cools:</em></p> <p><em>Make a mass of whip cream and serve.</em></p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-92230285447721464162009-08-19T10:31:00.001-07:002009-08-19T10:31:53.636-07:00How (when) I turned into my Mother<p> </p> <p>He did it. My son. He rolled his eyes at me. He sighed. The long suffering sigh of a child that has to endure another lecture from his mother. The switch goes off. There is an off switch right by his ears. The cute mole? It’s not a mole it’s an off switch so when I start talking all he hears is the Charlie Brown teacher voice: wahwahwahwahwahwawawa…..</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sow3AbUiTcI/AAAAAAAAAGk/yoCUTRyLPWU/s1600-h/Calvin-and-hobbs%5B2%5D.jpg"><img title="Calvin-and-hobbs" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="172" alt="Calvin-and-hobbs" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sow3A_AgsuI/AAAAAAAAAGo/PIFJCVGX7u8/Calvin-and-hobbs_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" border="0" /></a> </p> <p>Oh help, where’s the my magic transmogrifier so I can turn back into Anita the perfect Mother that doesn’t nag? I support, I love but NEVER nag. </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sow3BI9ZcFI/AAAAAAAAAGs/q69bQUiQu8M/s1600-h/trans2%5B2%5D.gif"><img title="trans2" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="188" alt="trans2" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sow3BjJ4PFI/AAAAAAAAAGw/CbBKd55Rq4k/trans2_thumb.gif?imgmax=800" width="197" border="0" /></a>  </p> <p>I can’t help it I will blow up. I have to say something when I know he hasn’t remembered his course starts on the 29th and he needs to take time off work . . . or his insurance comes out on the 22d. . . . does he have the money? </p> <p>BECAUSE I’M YOUR MOTHER AND I KNOW WHAT’S BEST ! !</p> <p>Wait. My mother called. She asked me if I’m taking the vitamins she bought for me. I rolled my eyes. </p> <p>Help.</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sow3B6FQgPI/AAAAAAAAAG0/rIEskpvu6MI/s1600-h/transmogrifier%5B2%5D.gif"><img title="transmogrifier" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-bottom: 0px" height="188" alt="transmogrifier" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/Sow3CLJAWOI/AAAAAAAAAG4/i_0gCEqWoPc/transmogrifier_thumb.gif?imgmax=800" width="191" border="0" /></a></p> Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-13310754609148087212009-08-17T07:59:00.001-07:002009-08-17T11:27:08.977-07:00Back to School Tips<p>I was watching Breakfast television this morning and they had a brief segment on ‘mom blogs’. The host was so perky so early in the morning. She says: “lots of stuff for moms . . . back to school tips . . .”</p><p>Back to school tips?</p><p><img src="http://inlinethumb61.webshots.com/12476/1011395170000736652S425x425Q85.jpg" /> </p><p><span style="font-size:78%;">Martinsally webshots</span></p><p>What’s hard about back to school? Go get some school supplies a couple of sweaters for the cold weather and off they go. But for those of you that need a list here you go: </p><p>Here are my Tips: </p><p>1) Getting up in the morning is hard after a lazy summer. If your child is having a hard time getting up in the early morning dump a small glass of ice water on their head. Not only will that wake said child up but will also wet their heads so they can comb their messy bed head hair out. </p><p>2) Getting dressed. I never put clothes away. They are either in the dirty laundry hamper, piled in the laundry basket or in the dryer. The frantic search for clothing in the morning is a good way for your children to get some exercise. Running up and down the basement stairs to the laundry room is good for their young hearts. And while they’re down there they can clean the cat litter and bring dinner up from the freezer. </p><p>3) Signing of day planners and permission slips. I taught my son to forge my signature as soon as he learned to spell. Please. They will do it anyway so you might as well teach them and save you the hassle.</p><p><img src="http://inlinethumb10.webshots.com/26377/1011395150000736652S425x425Q85.jpg" /> </p><p><span style="font-size:78%;">martinsally webshots</span></p><p>4) Homework: Set a routine, you pour yourself a glass of wine and sit at the kitchen table with your laptop or desk and pc wherever your computer is. Make sure your child is close by and get him/her to open the school books while you surf the internet for the latest celebrity gossip. If you are asked a question you can quickly google it and be a good smart, know it all parent. (who remembers how to divide fractions anyway?)</p><p>5) Bedtime. By the time you are finished your bottle of wine and have had your fill of celebrity gossip and trashy t.v. you will want to pass out and go to bed. Your child will eventually get to bed on his own. Really.</p>Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-82753339751439998342009-08-14T09:48:00.001-07:002009-08-14T10:18:21.839-07:00spaghetti sauce and sex<p></p><p style="text-align: left;">My most wonderful and loving husband made spaghetti sauce the other night. It was for a camping potluck dinner.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SoWVZsmiLtI/AAAAAAAAAFk/gz7ymupr9Q0/s1600-h/070%5B2%5D.jpg"><img title="070" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="184" alt="070" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SoWVaE1682I/AAAAAAAAAFo/XPv91STrQns/070_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" border="0" /></a> </p><p>It was a nice sauce. Compliments all around. It’s the next night that it really got good. </p><p>I was out having a couple of drinks with some friends. I got back and my sweetie was re heating the sauce and adding cheese. Not any old cheese my friends, it was plastic cheese. It’s what we call Kraft cheese slices. We are sure it can’t be real cheese but it’s really good. My sexy husband was re heating the sauce and noodles while adding cheese. I had had one too many drinks and all I wanted to do was slurp up some of that pasta. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SoWVa21azAI/AAAAAAAAAFs/lNMsTzjQGYc/s1600-h/anitarron%5B2%5D.jpg"><img title="anitarron" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="184" alt="anitarron" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SoWVbePKwQI/AAAAAAAAAFw/CyuCqBsGQUU/anitarron_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" border="0" /></a></p><p>I’d get to my hubby later. </p><p>I couldn’t wait for a plate so I asked him for a bite straight from the pot. The most delicious, savoury cheesy goodness melted in my mouth. It’s sitting on the stove now waiting for the fridge. I have gone back for seconds and thirds. The meaty thick sauce with the added cheesy goodness. I love my husband. </p><p>Give me another bite. Please. A Big forkful. Yum. My butt dimples thank you. The ultimate buzz worthy snack. </p><p>I may get through camping this week after all.</p><p></p>Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176046013603635016.post-82548630226637191132009-08-13T06:52:00.001-07:002009-08-14T10:19:58.243-07:00Splashes and Puddles<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SoQbcEH5PLI/AAAAAAAAAEk/M7j_JQ9dYrc/s1600-h/Camping+Summer+2009+019.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369446824689614002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 361px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SoQbcEH5PLI/AAAAAAAAAEk/M7j_JQ9dYrc/s400/Camping+Summer+2009+019.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><p>I wake up in the cold grey dawn other morning. How it could be so cold in August baffles me. I didn’t want to get out of my cozy bed but I had to pee. Badly. I peek out the camper window and see a small line of shivering half clad women waiting in line to use the outhouse.</p><p>You would think they would just pee in the woods. Heck, cop a squat and pee. What’s the big deal? Go pee and get over it.</p><p>Here’s the thing. There is no lady like way to squat and pee. There I am. My butt is hanging in the wind, my pants down around my ankles and I am shivering, usually half asleep (because I will only do this in the middle of the night when I am too chicken to make my way to the outhouse that is on other end of the camp ground, in bear country, in the middle of nowhere) and I am peeing. Nice image.</p><p>Even if I had a nice ass and didn’t mind it hanging about for every bear to check out it’s the splash and puddle that’s truly awful. Unless the ground has magically turned into an absorbent sponge towel I get the splash and puddle. My thong clad feet get splashed, and I am floating in a lovely pee puddle between my feet. I get up and step away from said puddle while pulling up my pants in one stumbling drunken move and make my way back to the camper with wet feet and a cold ass.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SoQamY6BBOI/AAAAAAAAAEc/uKJIcG5E3_o/s1600-h/Camping%20Summer%202009%20017%5B2%5D.jpg"><img title="Camping Summer 2009 017" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; DISPLAY: inline; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; WIDTH: 319px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; HEIGHT: 174px" height="164" alt="Camping Summer 2009 017" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/__nFb5nAkJTY/SoQam-Dp3II/AAAAAAAAAEg/XmvWQkGyXr0/Camping%20Summer%202009%20017_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" border="0" /></a></p><p>I promise the porcelain throne gods that I will kiss my toilet in appreciation when I get home. Some get off planes and kiss the ground. Me, when I get home from the deep woods, I kiss the toilet that flushes and keeps my feet dry.</p><p><span style="font-size:78%;">*all pictures were taken while hanging out in the middle of nowhere, bear country, summer 2009</span></p>Between you, me and the Fenceposthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04341743784442273974noreply@blogger.com5