foodstuffs...almost

I haven't posted about food since...when? The year aughty-aught? It certainly seems like it.

I've had a trying few days. I've been trying to get over myself and my doubts and gripes. I've been trying to deal with a certain five-year-old who has been especially clingy lately. Anyhow...

There was some food-making going on last month. I'm not quite ready yet to post about all of it (see above: I'm tired), but here are a couple of sneak peeks:



And, a close-up?



(The recipe called for all semi-sweet chocolate, but I couldn't possibly make it without some dark chocolate.)



What could I possibly have made with this ball of dough?

when harry met kinsey

I've been so restless lately, dreaming about finishing up obligations that haven't really started so I can move on to more dreamy endeavors.

I am yearning for warmer days when I only need a windbreaker at most. I miss my sandals and being able to walk around without three layers of clothes and at least one pair of socks in the condo. I want to be able to spend seven hours outside without freezing into a human popsicle.

And, I can't stand when I do this: wish away the days. I'm not doing it on purpose. I'm trying to remind myself to savor each moment of each day, but I'm just sucking at that lately.

I have been doing a lot of reading, though. There are about a million billion zillion books I want to get to, but at times like these, I fall back on the familiar. I have made it through "F" in the Kinsey Millhone series and I think that's about as far as I'm going to get for now. I have a lot of required reading that I'm also doing and I need to pick that up even more. So, for the next five months or so, I'll be sticking to a required reading list. Ah, well.

Sometimes I'll be traipsing around here on the interweb and I'll see that others sometimes resolve to or wish to read more. There are moments when I'm so overwhelmed that I almost (almost) wish to read less. I have read about eight of my own books in the last month. This afternoon, Pic and I read for about an hour-and-a-half.

Among other books, we read I Miss You, Stinky Face written by Lisa McCourt and illustrated by Cyd Moore, which I love. I love the imagination on both the part of the child and on the part of the mamma. And, I love the illustrations. Lots of love here. I'd really like to know why "Stinky Face," though. Hmmm.

Pic is also very into Smelly Socks written by Robert Munsch and illustrated by Michael Martchenko. This is not one of my favorites, but I'm really trying to be very hands off when it comes to what Pic chooses to read. The pictures are nice and bright, but I'm just not that into the story. I do so very much love Munsch's The Paper Bag Princess, though. (And, I like Martchenko's illustrations there more.) I'm definitely not one of the many, many fans of Love You Forever. The mom creeping across the bedroom floor freaks me out more than I can convey. I glanced at a few of the amazon reviews (too many to even begin making a dent there) and some people were upset that others didn't like it, saying that we dissenters were reading the book too literally and that it's just a representation of unconditional love on the mother's part. However, it's presented as literal...there she is creeping across the floor. And, that image brings to mind The Yellow Wallpaper, which, I've admitted before, is the scariest thing I've ever read. (Do I have a nice set of my very own issues? Why, yes, I do. I'm glad the so many love Love You Forever, but I'll continue to steer clear of it.)

So, as I said, I'm attempting to just let Pic find her own when it comes to reading material, although I will let her know when I really don't like a book or character (hello, Dora the Explorer, I'm looking at you). I'll read those books once, if asked, and then move on.

Anyhow, Cardo's new thrift shop scavenger hunt entails finding all of the available Harry Potter movies on DVD. He only has the first two, I believe. In the meantime (in between time), he's renting the others from Netflix. Last night, we watched Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Actually, it was more like he watched it and I tried not to. I have a hard time not pointing out where the movies diverge from the books (just ask Cardo...I'm sure it's his favorite part of watching the movies with me). I think he's finally, finally convinced that he wants to hear the books in full. I have no idea how long the wait is for the libraries' copies of the Jim Dale audio versions and I'm thinking these are items we just might end up buying new (gasp!). Actually, we can probably find some decent used ones online somewhere.

(If you haven't read/viewed the Harry Potters and you plan to, you might want to skip below in case I give something away that you didn't want to know beforehand. In other words, there might be spoilers forthcoming.)

Last night, though, I just couldn't get over how subdued some of the parts of the movies were. The beginning of Order of the Phoenix, for example, with the dementor attack. I thought everything would be much more frantic. And, Mrs Figg was way more laid back than she ever is when I read the books. And, when Ron drinks the poison in Slughorn's office? I would have been freaking the crap out if Poke had just been poisoned. (It may be that I'm just a tad overly dramatic, no?)

We made it partway through Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince before Cardo declared he was heading off to bed. We might watch the rest this evening. Give me about five more months and I'll sit down and read the books again. (I thought I might do that this month, but I opted for Kinsey instead.)

okay, one more

* What is with the "man room"/"man cave" thing? I remember seeing the idea on that Tim Allen show forever ago, kind of a joke. However, watching interweb-provided episodes of House Hunters, I heard so many men proclaim, "This could be my man room." I kind of kept waiting for them to pound their chests and drag female partners out by their hair. (Okay, not really.) Seriously, though, the idea of having a "man room" leads to the idea that a home is no place for a man. The house is the female's domain, right (which also implies that there is a female, but I only heard the phrase used when there was a male-female couple involved)? The powers that be forbid that "the man of the house" have any real connection to the house. It seems that the idea that a man's house is his castle has been forgotten or tossed aside. Where do men belong now? Apparently in basements with mini-fridges full of beer. Other than that? At work? Earning the money to keep his little woman and her domestic haven?

I'm finished with this now. (I'm pretty sure.)

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And, yes, I'm still up and, yes, thoughts like these plague me in the quiet hours.

on real estate

Okay, so as I said, I've been watching a wee bit of House Hunters on this here interweb. A few reflections:

* I wonder if real estate agents love or hate all of these shows. People suddenly sound so learned (perhaps), coming into houses and drooling over the crown molding, stainless steel appliances, open floorplans, hardwood floors throughout, the separate tubs and showers in the master baths, ecc, ecc, ecc. Do the agents, enjoy hearing all of these keywords bandied about, or do they feel the way doctors must feel now that sites like WebMD exist?

* Am I the only one who doesn't really care about stainless steel appliances? I'm sure not. I do like the idea of many other seemingly in options: open floorplan, hard floors (not wood, but sustainable bamboo, if you please, although we'll have to do plenty of research...unless the home already comes with well-kept hardwood flooring), gas range. What else? These are the only keywords I keep hearing that I might be spouting off also.

* Why do the real estate agents on the show keep asking people, "So, are you ready to sign your life away?" They make the whole adventure sound like an ominous end of something, instead of a fantastic beginning.

* Why do the real estate agents insist on showing these people houses that are so much above their price ranges (scusi, I mean "price points")? I'm guessing it has something to do with commission.

* I can't get over watching people buying houses that are 2000-square-feet and hesitating because the houses just feel too small. I haven't seen any overly large families on the show.

* I saw one family moving from a house with four bedrooms and six full-baths and two half-baths. All I could think was, "Wow, everyone I know could have designated bathrooms." I'd hate, hate, hate to clean that place.

* I also can't get over watching people buy their first houses with budgets of several hundred thousands of dollars.

(Those last two points are my own deal. I just can't imagine having to keep a huge house and the people featured on this show, at least the episodes that I have access to, must make so much more money than I do.)

* And, the whole concept of first houses? I once told my dad that I only want to buy one house ever. He seemed skeptical that that would happen. I go back and forth on this. We can't afford to buy anything in our dream neighborhood, but I kind of loathe the idea of buying a house and then later selling it and having to buy a new one. I like the idea of buying only one home ever. We'd rather travel than buy and sell houses. So many of the real estate agents keep focusing on keeping the resale value in mind. One just mentioned something about keeping future buyers in mind, but why? When I buy a house, I want to keep our desires in mind. (Perhaps I'm just incredibly selfish.)

* I can't imagine buying a new house and all new furniture at the same time.

* Rooms without windows depress me, even if there are skylights in those rooms.

* Watching these shows, somehow, leads me to appreciate the condo we live in right now. There might be things I'd like to change, but I've really enjoyed living here.

self-medicating

I thought I was just about over being sick, but, alas, no. I woke up this morning to a pounding head and a windpipe that felt like it was contemplating shutting up altogether. So, I shot off a somewhat coherent (I hope) text and went back to sleep until well after morning was over. Pic, who seems to be fully recovered, hibernated with me most of the day. I'm feeling a bit better now (I just knocked wood) and I hope to be back to myself domani. (Cardo, however, has sunk under the weather now, also.)

To help speed my recovery, I've relied on the following:

* reading

* preliminary research

* note-taking

* dreaming (both waking and sleeping)

* chocolate

* hot tea, hot tea, hot tea (repeat another several times)

* vitamin c

hibernating

Pic and I have been under the weather (such a strange phrase*) for the past few days. Actually, she's only been sick since yesterday. We know things aren't going well when she actually tells us she's sick. Usually, she denies it vehemently.

She spent most of yesterday asleep, which was nice. She was very clingy, as if she thought I was about to head off on some six-month trip without her. I spent a lot of time laying on our bed while she slept. At one point, when she finally fell into a deep sleep, I snuck out to come to the office and watch episodes of House Hunters on hulu. (I've always been a bit obsessed with real estate stuff, so this age of shows like House Hunters and Flip That House is sometimes fabulous for me.) Less than an hour later, though, Pic emerged from my bedroom, wailing. She insisted that, even while she was cuddling with Cardo, I be very, very near. We all spent the night in the living room on the pull-out bed.

Today, Pic and I spent a good long time sleeping. She sounds so much better and I feel better also. Now, I'm looking forward to finishing up some reading, taking a nice hot shower, and finishing my kitchen clean-up.

Tomorrow will be dedicated to getting back to paycheck-earning (kind of; okay, not really) business. Ah.

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* According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the phrase originated in the US in 1827, first recorded in The Austin Papers and, according to kidshealth.org, might have something to do with sailing.

dream a little dream

It's funny to me how our family daydreaming shifts, and how my own daydreaming shifts.

So many years ago, I dreamt of Pic reaching school age and us dropping her off in her little classroom. Cardo and I do most of our dreaming together and I remember autumn days, walking through little neighborhoods, imagining Pic coming home from school with art projects, tales of new friends and reports of new favorite books.

I imagined visiting Pic's classroom: a low-ceilinged room with a row of windows and painted cinderblock walls. The bulletin boards would be covered in maps and pictures and written projects. There would be bookshelves full of well-loved, dog-eared books near the reading rug. Tiny desks would be stuffed with crayons, papers and pencils. A big cabinet would sit off to the side, and it would be full of paint pots, glue, safety scissors and construction paper. Cubbies would hold lunch boxes and thermoses, gloves and hats.

When we contemplated neighborhoods we might want to one day move to, we wondered whether the schools were any good (although, honestly, we never thought too much about that).

These visions no longer reflect what we want, though. Less than six months ago, we decided we weren't sending Pic off to school. It's taken a bit for us to grow into this decision, but I'm more comfortable with and excited about the decision every day.

Most of our ideas about what we want in a home remain, without the niggling concern about where nice, close schools are.

Now, instead, we daydream about a library in our home -- a room full of natural light and built-in bookcases. I'd like a space on one wall to display Pic's work (and, perhaps, my own). We dream of a warm hearth around which we can spend cozy evenings, reading, playing board games or watching movies together. Plenty more little dreams fill this imaginary space.

It's both scary and exciting to think about the options we have in deciding where our lives are going. Scary because I (let myself) become overwhelmed when I have too many options, when there seems to be a gaping maw of space in front of me rather than a clearly defined path.

In the meantime, we'll continue to walk down familiar local paths while our thoughts soar.