A Seussian Mess

I've been having disturbing thoughts lately.

As in, what if I die and my mother comes and sees how messy my house is?

What if I set my oven mitts on fire again and we have to call for help.
What will the firefighters think?

The paramedics?

Someone once said "a clean house is the sign of a misspent life."
I'd like to invite her over and give her a big hug.

But my house is too messy for company...

Still Life

The pictures say it all.

One Local Summer Finale

I prematurely signed off on OLS last week. Turns out there was one more week left. We haven't showcased a breakfast yet, so this weekend we had a local brunch extraordinaire.

The meal included arugula frittata, roasted potatoes and a mixture of blackberries and blueberries. All local, all fantastic. We even washed it all down with local milk.

OLS has been great fun and we hope to continue our local meals through the fall and winter.

A Walk in the Woods

Sunday afternoon Michael, Melissa and I went for a walk through a local forest preserve, Brown's Woods. We hadn't been there since early this spring and thought a nice hike on its 2 miles of trails would be relaxing.

We noticed that many of the paths seemed unused, with grasses growing into the pathway. It seemed a little odd, but, oh well.




We sprayed ourselves liberally with bug spray and took off for a little stroll through nature.





I get easily creeped out in the woods. It must be some primordial instinct kicking in. When I get deep in the woods, I can't help but think of all those Grimm's fairy tales and begin to relive my ancient Germanic relatives' terror of the Black Forest. After all, the big bad wolf could be just around the corner...

or I could get totally lost, like Hansel and Gretel.

My heart starts to beat a little faster and a thin film of sweat forms on my upper lip...

There's not much comfort in knowing I'm not the only one who suffers from hylophobia.

So, while I can appreciate the beauty and peacefulness of the forest, I just can't enter a large stand of trees alone or as the only adult. I'm a little freaked out just writing this...

So, with Michael along to protect me (think the brave woodsman), I was able to enjoy the walk.

Mostly.

That is, until the mosquitoes found us. We sprayed ourselves heavily a second time, but about a mile in, the spray wasn't much of a deterrent anymore. We practically ran the last mile, swatting and swishing all the way.

Not exactly the relaxing walk we were hoping for, but we did learn a couple of things. First, we now know why the paths looked somewhat untraveled. And two, see that curled leaf above? I'd never really noticed this before, but I guess it's quite common. Inside the leaf was fraas (bug poop) and debris. Michael knew what these were, but he's not home now to ask.



There seem to be a myriad of insects that cause the leaves to curl this way, but I'm betting its most likely the leaf curling aphid.

Autumn is Falling

It's just the end of August, but already signs of fall abound. This has to have been one of the coolest summers on record for central Iowa, with only about 10 days of truly hot, humid, miserable weather.

Last weekend we took the window air conditioners out. We hadn't used them in weeks and I didn't want to keep blocking the cross ventilation. Now, cool breezes waft throughout the downstairs unfettered.

I was startled to notice the first leaves changing color. The mornings are cool and crisp, making my 2 mile walk a joy.

Some of these pictures are a little blurry. Melissa is learning how to use the macro lense. These were taken on Monday, when I made her go on a mile walk with me through the neighborhood.

I found out later that afternoon that she had a fever. No wonder she told me she didn't feel well. Bad mommy moment of the week.

Fall is my favorite time of year. Since I've gained weight over the past 4 years or so, I've aquired quite a wardrobe of flannel shirts. I like to hide in them.

Most of the shirts were my dad's. I managed to rescue them from the purge after he died four years ago. Wearing them gives me comfort and makes me feel close to him.

I've been wrestling with my emotional desire to flee the neighborhood after the events of the past couple of weeks. It would be financially foolish and perhaps not even possible.

I find that if I focus on the beauty around me, I find a measure of peace.

And there is so much beauty just waiting to be noticed.

Harvest Weekend

These are the first two ripe butternut squash from our garden. I bake them, scoop out the innards and puree them in the food processor. The squash is then ready to use in any recipe calling for pumpkin. These two squash yielded 3 cups of puree.

I got tired of freezing sauce and our tomatoes just won't stop! We canned 11 quarts and 10 pints.

We froze 44 quarts of sweet corn, too.

Not pictured are the half bushel of peaches and 4 pints of blackberries we canned.

This makes me happy

Roll out the Barrel

Our latest foray into self-sufficiency involved making our own root beer. I'm actually not sure that it should be considered self-sufficiency, since we bought root beer extract for the process, but it sure was fun and homemade.


Here's Sarah stirring the pot.

Melissa stirring.
Michael siphoned the concoction into the bottles.

Sarah capping the bottles.

Both girls love the homemade flavor, so we'll be making another batch this weekend. I want to try other flavors, but am going to search for recipes that don't require extracts, at least for gingerale.

Nagging Worries

Several incidents in my neighborhood over the last few weeks have made me question the wisdom of our move to the area. I'm sure I'm overreacting in the emotional rush of yesterday afternoon's events, but I've never lived somewhere that caused me to have worries and fears about my surroundings within conscious reach at all times.

The first event was tragic for a family that rents a house down the street from us. Their young adult son was gunned down at a suburban nightclub one night in June. While this didn't happen in the neighborhood, there were rumors that the murder was gang related and there was talk, that admittedly reached my ears as gossip, of retribution. Things have calmed down and the murderers were arrested, but worries of gang violence on my street have seeped in around the edges of my consciousness.

The second incident happened just two weeks ago when I saw a kid methodically breaking windows out of an empty house with his basketball. I called to Michael and he went out after the boy, who of course, took off running. I went out to the small group of adults congregating in front of the vandalized house only to discover the young boy's mother - he's 13 - had already dialed 911. She said she's called the police multiple times, hoping they will arrest her son, over whom she has no control. She doesn't know what to do and is worried that if he isn't stopped now by authorities and given some help that his criminal behavior will continue to escalate.

We went back home and also dialed 911. It was at least 30 minutes - probably more - after the boy's mother called and another 20 minutes before the police came to our door. And you know what? They came to our house first; not to the house that first dialed 911.

Apparently, they know the family and were in no hurry to answer their call.

I obviously don't know all the details of the situation, and the cop we talked to was likely right that the kid probably hadn't had the best of parenting. But he said the police don't believe arresting the kid is the right answer. It's the parents' responsibility.

I agreed with him, but told him that the mother is at the end of her rope and doesn't know what else to do. The boy already attends an alternative school and has a social worker. He promised to try to give her a list of resources for further help.

I find myself worried that this kid, who knows we called the police, will seek some kind of revenge. He's 13 now, breaking windows and shooting off bottle bombs in the street; what will he do when he's 15?

And finally, yesterday, when Michael, Stephen and I took Wally on his morning walk, we were attacked by a Rottweiler. Or rather, Wally was attacked. Seemingly out of nowhere, the Rottweiler dashed out from a backyard and went straight for our dog. I screamed "she's biting Wally" and was headed that way intending to hit it with my water bottle when Michael kicked the dog hard enough that it ran back into its yard.

We looked Wally over and he seemed fine, so after knocking on the owner's door and telling them their dog was loose, we went on home.

It wasn't until late in the afternoon that we noticed Wally was bleeding from a puncture wound high up on his side. Michael cleaned the wound and treated it with antibiotic ointment, then walked back over to let the people know our dog had been bitten.

Their reaction was one of nonchalance; I mean, they said they were sorry and they wouldn't put the dog out again, but we were concerned enough to call Animal Control. The officer looked at Wally's wound and took down all the pertinent information and said the Rottweiler would be quarantined for 10 days, as a precaution against rabies, and the owners would be warned and informed about properly securing their dog.

After a visit to the vet this morning, which included a shot of antibiotic and one of anti-inflammatory for pain and a 10-day prescription of antibiotics for Wally, I was relieved to know that he would be okay, but found myself quite shaken. The doctor shaved the area of the bite wound and now I can see how horrible it really is.

What if Michael hadn't been with me? I usually walk Wally alone on this 2 mile route. I think the Rottweiler would likely have killed him and could have turned on me. What if there had been a child involved?

Michael called Animal Control today to find out whether they had secured the dog, only to discover that the owners are, in the control officer's words "obviously hiding" it. I am afraid now to ever walk past that house, though we plan to continue checking to see when, or if, the dog returns.

I realize this kind of incident could have happened anywhere, but since we have moved to this neighborhood, the number of dogs running lose has been frightening. A different dog ran up and tried to bite Wally last fall on a walk with Michael. Eighteen months ago, two German Shepards killed my daughter's rabbit.

As I said earlier, I'm sure I am reacting out of emotion and irrationality right now.

But I hate this feeling of being a little worried and a little scared all the time.

Stick Figures

I had no idea walking sticks could be green! Melissa spotted this guy on our garage door last week and we all trooped out to see it.

We once kept a brown walking stick for a pet several years ago, but nobody wanted to capture this beauty. He's amazing, isn't he?

One Local Summer Week 12

Wow, it's hard to believe this is the last week of OLS. It really hasn't been difficult to create 12 local meals and, in truth, most of our meals have been largely local the entire summer. I hope there will be another challenge to take us through the fall and winter!

This week's meal included tomatoes straight from the garden, kale pie and homemade squash buns topped with homemade jam.

The kale pie was sort of like a quiche, made by sauteing onion, then adding the prepared kale and garlic. This was added to a mixture of eggs, sour cream, salt and pepper. The pie was topped with a mixture of fresh bread crumbs and parmesan. All major ingredients in the dish were local - and it was fabulous!

The squash buns represent the first time I've ever radically adjusted a bread recipe. I couldn't find my favorite squash bun recipe, so I took one from the internet and modified it; fortunately, the buns turned out great! The flours and squash were both local.


Dessert was homemade vanilla pudding, made using local milk, eggs and butter, topped with fresh local raspberries. Divine.

I think I'm falling in love again...

with my crockpot.

I'm relatively new to crock pot cooking, having taken it up just this summer.
I got my first crockpot two years ago shortly after moving into this old house. When we first moved in, we were undergoing a major remodeling project and had no kitchen for 3 months.

Our only water source, for a time, was the bathtub upstairs. We bought a fancy grill with a burner, thinking we could do most of our cooking outdoors. But simply making pasta was an ordeal, involving filling the pot upstairs, traipsing down through the house and all the construction, out to the grill and putting the pot on to boil. Once the pasta was cooked, we then had to carry it back to the upstairs tub to drain it and bring it back downstairs to add the sauce.

Needless to say, we ate a lot of carry-out and did our darndest to appreciate microwaved meals, but when you're used to making almost all your food from scratch, these options don't hold much appeal.

You know you're in trouble when your kids don't even want to order pizza - again.

So, one day, I asked Michael to buy me a crock pot. Now, I'm not a kitchen gadget type of person; my mom still can't get over the fact that I don't have an electric can opener. But for some reason that I can't remember, he and the girls were going to KMart that day and I knew they'd be able to find a cheap one there.

And find a cheap one they did.

I had in mind one of the sleek brushed stainless models that would fit in oh, so well, with my kitchen appliances, once I had a kitchen, that is. But Michael is never one to pass up a bargain, and came home with this beauty.

It looks like it's right out of the 1970s.

After exclaiming about how ugly what a good deal the darn thing was, I gave it a try. We had a couple of less-than-satisfying crock pot meals and I relegated the crock to a position of obscurity in the basement.

I knew I wasn't the "type" of person who would use a crock pot.

Then, earlier this summer, when I was up to my elbows in fruits to jam or tomatoes to can or some such, I remembered the crock. I also happened to have some cuts of pork left in the freezer from a half hog we bought 2 years ago that I really needed to use. Hmm, maybe I could make a mexican chicken soup or chili verde while keeping the stove free for preserving.

I don't have a lot of experience cooking with meat; we've mostly eaten vegetarian for the bulk of our married life. I'm fine with adding small bits of meat to a sauce or soup for flavor, but cooking a pork roast? Scary.

I was afraid to mess around with a crock pot recipe, for fear of the meal not "turning out." But I found that the key to making crock pot meals we love is to find a recipe on-line (to learn the basics of crock pottery) and then to modify it as I would on the stovetop.

Wah, lah! Success.

Since these early experiments, I've probably used my pot about 3 times each month. Doesn't sound like a lot, but for someone who never thought she'd own, let alone, use a crock pot, it's a good start.

Who knows, maybe there's an electric can opener in my future...

Nah.

One Local Summer Week 11

This meal was courteous of my dh and it was fantastic! One the menu was potato, tomato, mozarella casserole, fresh green and wax beans, and garlic bread.

Everything was local in this meal except the seasonings; the potatoes, tomatoes and beans all were from our own garden.

I know we had dessert - we always do - but I can't find the photo and don't remember what it was!

Milestones

Zachary is upstairs at his computer, no doubt playing WOW.

I can't help but work the countdown in my mind. Only two more evenings after this and he'll be gone.

He's going to Iowa State, which is a mere 45 minutes from home, but damn, I'm going to miss him.

The past week has been busy with shopping trips and list-making, doctor's appointments and planning. He spent the summer working full-time, often more, so we've already had a transition, of sorts, to his being gone.

But on Tuesday, we'll load up his stuff and help him move into the dorm. Then we'll say goodbye.

I can't help but remember Stephen's first day of first grade. He had just gotten on the bus and I had taken Zach and Sarah around to play in the backyard. I started to cry and Zachary came over to me, all of 4 years old, and said, "Don't worry, Mommy, I'll take care of you."

I've always tended to think of the boys as "the boys," so although Stephen has been in college for two years already, Zachary's leaving marks another milestone in my life.

The boys will be gone now.

As a mother, this is a success story. My two oldest children are embarking on their life journeys as adults. I am so proud of their successes and the people they have become. I know we will stay close, even as our physical distance apart increases.

But, oh, how I will miss them. An entire era of my life is now over.

And I wouldn't change a minute of it.

As time passes, ever more quickly it seems, and the leave-taking of all my children grows nearer, I will continue to treasure them and our relationships.

But along with the excitement and pride I feel for Zachary, I will miss him so much.

Change is never easy, it seems.

I will hold my memories close and embrace the new ones yet to form.

But tonight, I will gather the memories around me and cry.

Just a little bit.

Mudman

Whatever made me think I could have white bathroom towels?

Love Notes, An Evolution

My family life has been full of love notes.

It started before Michael and I were married, with me adding little "I love you!" notes to his lunches, which I lovingly packed.

This continued into our newlywed years, with the occasional notes to one another. Though, as I remember our 3 years before children, there wasn't much need to write each other notes as time together was plentiful and generally uninterrupted.

Then came children, 4 in all, and I started to get sweet "I love you, Mommy" notes and drawings on a fairly regular basis. Sometimes, after one of the kids finished in the shower, I would go in and leave a love note or goofy picture in the fog on the mirror.

One weekend, when my youngest was 7-months-old, my mom and oldest sister came and stayed with the kids overnight so Michael and I could have a little time to ourselves. In preparation, I left each of the older kids notes telling them how much I would miss them. I put on lots of lipstick and kissed each note so they would each have a kiss from me whenever they needed one while I was away.

When the school year started, I would give each child a personalized card, wishing them a great year and telling them how proud I was of who they each were and that I would miss them. I also included little notes and funny drawings in their lunch bags every day.

In time, the cards I received became more elaborate, including poems acclaiming their love for me.

It was heady stuff.

When we made the transition from Hills Bros. pre-ground coffee in a can to Columbian Supremo beans, Michael's frequent business trips made my mornings a little more difficult. He has always been the first up and the one to make the morning coffee. I'm much slower in the mornings and grinding the coffee beans is a chore that could almost bring me to tears.

Michael would pre-grind a week's worth of coffee for me and put each day's grounds into individual baggies, along with sweet notes such as "Set to brew and I love you!" and "I miss you, enjoy your brew."

The love notes have continued to evolve as the kids, and Michael and I, have aged. I sometimes still get cards from the boys, but usually they just tell me how they feel about me in person. I rarely receive poems that start with "My mom is the best..." anymore.

These days, the girls still give me cards for special occasions, but it's pretty rare to find a card for no reason waiting for me on my pillow.

Now we drink Fair Trade Sumatran Dark Roast, from beans, of course, and both boys will be in college this fall. Sarah starts her sophomore year of high school and Melissa is often busy in her own pursuits.

Michael still travels, and with Zachary leaving, Sarah will have to learn how to make coffee, as mornings are still a trial for me. Everyone these days makes their own lunches.

I don't want to give the wrong impression; I still get notes in the mornings. It's just that their nature has changed.

Now I find notes such as "Wally tinkled and ate" and "Dog no poop!" Or "Lester had his eye drops" and "Remember to make my appointment!"

My family life and my marriage have evolved over time. It's not that we don't still express our love for each other, it's just that things have changed.

Just as the first throes of love start with infatuation and urgency, small children seem so full of their love for their parents that it almost burbles out of their pores.

As love matures in a marriage, the appreciation for each other becomes more intense, the love less urgent but somehow deeper and more comfortable.

So, too, does the child's love for the parents mature. As their world widens, their appreciation for mom grows, but the urgent need for expression diminishes. Instead of proclaiming "I love my Mommy!" they are more likely to seek advice, share their lives over coffee at Starbucks, and laugh over those old family "inside" jokes.

Sometimes I miss those sweet cards-for-no-reason and the chubby little fingers that drew them. But I love who my kids have become and really, except for maybe one day, I wouldn't turn back time.

Though some baggies of pre-ground coffee sure would be nice...