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Fresh
That last post is way past its expiration date and is beginning to smell. I am feeling the need to replace it with something fresh, but I like to use photos (or at least drawings) in my posts and I don’t have any.
Okay, in the interest of full disclosure, I do have some newish photos, but they are still on my camera and I don’t feel like uploading them right now. So there.
Just for fun, I will be posting some old photos that have absolutely nothing to do with what I am talking about. But, since I am not talking about anything of importance or even general interest, feel free to use them to make up your own story.
First topic up for discussion: School Uniforms
What’s that you say? Homeschools don’t have school uniforms? Au contraire mon frere… if you believe that, you haven’t been around our studio table lately. Or at all, really. Because thinking back, the whole I-only-wear-one-thing-but-in-different-colors started long, long ago. Remember this?
Anyway, a post-Christmas trip the the Hanna Anderson outlet, followed by a post-post-Christmas trip has yielded my girl a total of six dresses. Four are long sleeved, two are short. Five are striped and one has polka dots. Wearing anything else is out of the question – that would be a violation of the dress code.
Nicknames
GW stands for Girl Wonder, which is not my daughter’s real name. My husband and I have chosen to keep her true identity a secret, lest some evil villain whisk her away to his volcanic lair and try to feed her to a tank of genetically altered goldfish. Which would be bad.
When I started this blog, I called her Abby, which is not her real name either. After awhile, I started to slip up and call her Abby in real life. That was weird so she became Girl Wonder. And then I shortened it to GW because I am lazy.
Well, I am most consistent at being inconsistent, so let’s change it up again, shall we? Henceforth and forever, or until I get bored of it, GW shall be known herein by a name of her own choosing: Newt.
Um, no.
Try this:
I, of course, will remain Heidi because goldfish, genetically altered or no, do not concern me.
The Weather
We have had no real snow to speak of this year. Perhaps, Oregon is repenting of last year’s uncharacteristic crankiness. I can’t say that I mind… I have just come through some of the most stressful months I can remember. We are all fine now, but the unblogable ugliness was just. so. hard. to deal with for awhile. I have come to refer to November and December as my “winter of discontent”. So now I say: bring on the spring! Yesterday I bought some primroses for a container on my front walk. They look so bright and cheery; I daresay it may be several weeks before I begin neglecting them and they die.
Survival Skills Yesterday the artist formerly known as GW Newt sported a jauntily perched coon-skin hat all day long. “Can a coon-skin hat really be jauntily perched?” you ask. Why yes, of course.
There was much discussion about whether the tail should hang down the back or over the side. Apparently, Newt preferred the look of tail-in-back, but felt tail-on-the-side to be more comfortable. The tail happily wagged back and forth through morning scripture reading, a spelling test, composer and artist study, science, and history and shopping for new jeans. For me.
Newt and her coon-skin cap practiced survival skills at Ross Dress for Less (like Marshalls, Dillions, or TJ Maxx for the uninitiated). Her crafty resourcefulness kept us both alive and laughing through the perils of dingy dressing rooms, smelly public restrooms, and a pile of 15 pairs of rejected jeans. In the end, we made it back to civilization (and a Jamba Juice) with our kill: two great pairs of jeans, a cute skirt, and some sassy new shoes. All for me. For less.
I hope they don’t violate the dress-code…
Goodbye, 2009
2009 was a hard year.
2009 was a good year.
We have no choice but to take the bad with the good, but we can choose what to remember.
I wonder what surprises 2010 will hold?
A Copy of Our Actual Christmas Letter
Dear Family and Friends,
I did not want to write a Christmas letter this year. I felt like I was too busy shuttling my “unsocialized” homeschooler to Girl Scouts, swim lessons, homeschool co-op, History Girls’ Club, and Activity Day Girls. Just the other day, when the printer jammed again, and your addresses were trapped in its bowels, I told *W, “That’s it! No Christmas cards this year!”
I was very emphatic.
He didn’t seem to care.
However, everyday when I get the mail, I find more fun news about what all of you are up to. I decided I didn’t want to risk getting booted off your card list. So, I promised GW a dollar to write our letter.
My instructions were simple:
1. Start with “Dear Family and Friends”
2. Tell something interesting about yourself, me, and Daddy.
Here is her letter:
Dear Family and Friends,
We, and by we I mean my mom and me, we have been baking treats today. And some of my mother’s and mine relatives have just been over here.
This year I have been to the zoo with my baby cousin and my cousin and my aunt and uncle. It was fun; I got some ice cream, too.
And I bought a wii with my own money that I saved up.
Some things about my mom are she mostly likes going on the computer or reading a book.
My dad is funny.
I have a dog named Shasta. She is lazy. She likes to lay on my bed all day.
The end. Now where’s my dollar?
Know, what people? I think I got ripped off.
I guess I forgot to tell her to wish you all a Merry Christmas and to share our love for the Savior, but perhaps that was implied?
Oh, well, if you want something done right…
From our family to yours, we hope you have a very Merry Christmas full of joy and the spirit of Christ whose birth we celebrate this time of year.
Please don’t kick us off your card list.
Love,
The Heidi Family
*Obviously, names have been changed to protect the paranoid.
Do I get bonus points for using the word “bowels” in my Christmas Letter?
What’s in your letter this year?
Merry and Bright
This photo was actually taken weeks ago as we made our pilgrimage out into the domesticated wilds of Oregon to hunt down our tree. I now sit in the glow of its soft light, too lazy content to stir and find my camera. Not to take a picture, but to upload the many, many photos of merry-making trapped on my card. Ah, well… tomorrow is another day.
P.S. To the anonymous gift giver that left a surprise on our doorstep Friday evening:
Thank you.
In which the turkey was ruined. Twice.
I have cooked Thanksgiving dinner for my family and the occasional friend nearly every year for the last 14 years. There have been only four exceptions: two fun years when we were vacationing over the holiday and two depressing years where I decided that a restaurant might be a nice change. For the record, it was not.
In addition to the 10 Thanksgiving turkeys, I have frequently prepared a Christmas turkey. Over the years, I have honed my technique, from oven roasting to smoking on the grill. Without exception, they have all turned out beautifully. For a woman still in my early thirties I have impressive turkey credentials.
I tell you these things, not to boast, but to prove that I am no turkey rookie; I am experienced.
Which is why yesterday’s disaster is so funny.
This turkey’s story did not begin on Tuesday, but that is the day it came into my life. That is the day when it was lovingly placed into my arms by our local butcher. It was just as I had imagined when I ordered it: Ten to twelve pounds. Natural, no additives. Fresh, not frozen.
I brought the bird home and placed it on its own specially cleared shelf in my refrigerator. Then I got busy preparing a brine. I use a concoction of my own invention (salt, apple-cider, whole allspice, whole peppercorns) placed in a cooler lined with a large browning bag. After immersing the bird in its lovely bath, I tied the bag closed and filled the cooler with ice. Before closing the lid, I taped a thermometer to the interior cooler wall, thus enabling me to monitor the temperature and keep the nasties at bay. No one is getting salmonella on my watch. That’s a promise.
The next day and a half were quiet for the turkey, but busy for me. My lovely assistant, nine year old GW, and I busily prepped all of the recipes in my repertoire and created a lovely edible centerpiece – more on that to come. Meanwhile, my other lovely assistant – my husband, cleaned and prepared the grill.
Finally the big day came. I lifted the turkey from the brine and gently patted it dry. Tenderly, I massaged a mixture of melted butter and olive oil into its skin. Parsley, fresh from my garden and a specially prepared poultry spice rub were then liberally applied. It was ready for the grill.
I decided on three hours of smoking with an occasional spritz of apple cider to caramelize the skin. Then I turned up the heat and watched for the meat thermometer to reach exactly 178°. I pulled it out, knowing that the temperature would climb to a safe 180° while the turkey rested.
After resting for 15 minutes, the bird was transferred to its place of glory. Our family gathered around and gave thanks. A hush fell over the room and my husband took up his carving knife.
Reverently, he made the first cut for our daughter – white meat, please. Only…it wasn’t exactly white. It was a sort of translucent pink color. And a bit…jiggly.
The whole family stared first at that bit of meat and then at each other.
Raw.
The turkey is still raw.
Everything else is ready. We’re starving. And the turkey is raw.
This has never happened before.
I shouldn’t be happening now. The thermometer said 178°!
Raw?
What do we do?
I was the first to recover my senses and I instructed my husband to slice off a few small portions. Those would go in the microwave for a few minutes to finish the cooking process. The rest of the turkey was returned to the grill.
We began our meal as I kept an ear out for the microwave ding. Once the turkey was deemed to be fit for human consumption, I passed the plate around. There was enough for each of us to have one small slice, but there were so many side dishes that a small slice really was plenty. And even with the microwaving, the turkey was juicy and flavorful.
We quickly forgot about the meal’s rocky start and settled in to enjoy ourselves. GW had the idea that we go around the table and each person share something he or she is grateful for starting with the letters of the alphabet.
She started with A – apples.
I was next. B – books
And so on…
My husband got T. He did not say turkey. We had forgotten all about it.
I wasn’t until two hours later when I was contemplating all of these…
…that I remembered. I asked my husband, “Honey, where’s the turkey?”
Crap.
And that is the story of how I managed to both under-cook and utterly burn the turkey. In the same year.
All that work, down the drain.
But I didn’t really mind. After all those years of great turkeys, I think I was due for an epic fail.
Besides, I don’t even like turkey all that much.
Not Perfect Can Still Be Pretty Good
That’s the lesson GW’s birthday taught us.
The cupcakes were ugly.
GW opted for a movie and a sleepover instead of a party, but her friend had to cancel on the sleepover.
The movie was still on; we were all so excited to see Where the Wild Things Are, but, sadly, it was terrible. Odd, depressing, a bit scary, and really not much fun.
Blah. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, huh?
I will admit that there were a few tearful moments today.
However, we made this our mantra: Not perfect can still be pretty good.
After the movie, we went to the art store and GW picked out a new book on how to draw dogs. Then we strolled over to Red Robin. Who can resist an ice-cream sundae brought to the table by a pack of singing servers? We enjoyed spending the evening as a family, talking and laughing together.
Now GW is snuggled up in bed. Instead of a friend, she is having a sleepover with our little dog, Shasta – who usually sleeps in a kennel.
Not perfect, but still pretty good.
Just like the cupcakes, which when decorated, didn’t look half-bad.
What I Did on My Summer Vacation: Gone Fishin’
GW’s girl scout troop introduced us to a great fishing pond. We had such a wonderful time, we made W take us back the next week.
Alright, you caught it. Now what are you going to do with it?
Could I get a close-up of that?
Okaaay…moving on.
This was our second trip:
Guess who caught the BIG one? That’s right! In your face! Ahem. I mean…that would be me.
Here’s what GW preferred to catch.
You know that girl I used to have? The shy one? She’s gone now. The new girl is brimming with confidence. Her newt catching skills earned her the admiration of three young amphibian lovers. The other girls were in awe of GW’s quick hands. She was the only one able to snatch newts right from the pond. The girls called themselves the Newt Club. Initiates had to got to kiss a newt! Each one GW caught was well loved before being returned to the pond.
Our fishy friends were not so lucky. They were, however, delicious.
What I Did on My Summer Vacation: Washington Park Zoo
My sister and her family came to visit for a weekend in July. We got wild at the zoo.
Tip for my sister: If you have a bit of a bird phobia, don’t accept a cup of nectar to feed them. Even if your adorable little sister insists. Hee hee hee.
What I Did on My Summer Vacation
There is a slight chill in the air.
The morning light has taken on that early fall golden hue.
The rains have returned.
Yes, it seems that fall is on the way in. Goodbye summer.
Fall has always been my favorite time of year, but I’m even happier than usual to see it arrive this year. This has been a busy summer, a hard summer and I am ready for the change. I’m thrilled by the return to home and hearth that naturally occurs this time of year.
This evening, I finally got around to uploading the hundreds of photos that were languishing on my camera’s memory card, and it struck me: Even with all of the difficulty the last months have brought, there have been so many pockets of joy. We’ve spent time together as a family having wonderful adventures that I just never got around to sharing. Since this little blog o’ mine is a family journal of sorts, I feel a need to remedy this.
All this week, I’ll be sharing with you some of those adventures, starting with this one, natural tide pools on the Oregon coast:
What adventures did you have this summer?
How to Turn a Chore Into an Adventure
We got up early, both to beat the heat and to heighten the sense of adventure. Everything seems more exciting if you have to get up early for it.
It’s a fact.
Though, I think someone forgot to inform my girl. When I woke her at 6:00, GW cracked one bleary eye and said, “humnazzzzzz”. Then rolled herself up in her comforter and turned her back to me.
I replied with a whispered, “We’ll stop for donuts” and then had to run to keep up with my eager child.
Everything seems more exciting if donuts are involved.
We arrived at the farm just a bit after seven, fingers still sticky from our sweet morning treat, and the hunt began. We were looking for rows of green in a sea of yellow.
“Look Mom, over there!”
Betty, the farmer’s wife, told me that a leaky irrigation pipe had rendered these few rows too muddy to harvest. The beans were ours for the picking. Betty told me to just rip up the whole plant and stuff it in a lawn bag. I could pull the beans off at home.
GW and I set to work, pulling plants from the dirt while keeping a weather eye out for snakes. When she got tired, she climbed into the back of the car and started picking beans from the vine.
Four lawn bags later, we headed home, choosing a new way for fun. When we came to a river with no bridge, I asked GW to scout around for a fairy we could ask for help.
One came, but not the kind she was expecting.
Safely on the other side, we continued our journey pausing only to race a train down the road.
It won.
But we did too.
We arrived home satisfied in the knowledge that an ordinary Thursday had been transformed into an adventure.
Up next? The dishes!
Once upon a time there was a Heidi…
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