Looks at Books

courtesy of Amazon.com

photo courtesy of Amazon.com

This week's favorite: Aimee Bender's the Particular Sadness of Lemon cake.

It's about a girl who can taste the emotions of the people who have made the food she eats.  It's  a terrible experience, but she follows it along, and makes peace with it eventually.  Her family is of course, disjointed and disaffected and do not believe what she is saying.

I loved the writing.  And needless to say, I was entranced by the story.  You might want to find this one.  It's very popular.

Summer Corn

Do me a favor.


Go to Johnson's farm. They have turned it into the kind of circus that will hurt your stomach, but you'll live.


In fact, I'd be surprised, if by the end of the day, you have not taken over.


Buy some corn, a couple of ears. Okay, maybe you have corn in the yard, maybe you don't eat it anyway.


Boil it for 6 minutes. If the stove is in the same shape as the truck, build a fire outside and boil it for 6 minutes.


Cut it off the cob. This goes against all reason, but since the braces went on, and even when they came off, I have done this, and the corn falls to the plate in little sections.

 I used to call them books of corn.


Eat them that way (use a fork). No butter, no salt, no anything else.


That's the way I'd do it.

A Little Night Music

Nory was not sleeping at all.  The air was cool but damp, and it was difficult to acchieve the right combination of warm and tired.

She was thinking about an ex of hers who was living in Cape Cod one winter.  He came down to get her and brought her back to a knotty pine house barely furnished but for a grand piano and a couch in the living room.

He had a bed, of course, and they would listen to the radio at night, falling asleep.  The radio had no knobs so they had to put a dime between the prongs to turn the dials. 

When she got there, she found a jazz station that played wonderful soft nightime music from the thirties.  Together, falling asleep they heard big bands play slow numbers and Billie sing the sad blues.

When Nory went home for a while, Kenneth called her to say he could not find the station anywhere.

It is as if it only plays when you are here by me, he said.

What happened to clock radios? Nory thought just before drifting into slumber.

Two great books

Both these books are wonderful!  I would love to write like either one.  The Contssa's New Machine is a twisted little fairy tale, but plausible story, beautifully written by Carey Wallace.                                        

How Did You Get This Number is stories and observations by Sloane Crosley who just kills me, you will love the way she thinks.  Also by Sloane is I Was Told There'd Be Cake. A similar book with different stories.   Happy Reading!   

                                                                                                                                             

Breakfast of Champions

In which we find out that all new recipes need a trial run or three.
 At the farmer's market last week I found a free sample of peach- nectarine cobbler and the recipe printed nicely on heavy weight cardstock.  The cobbler was delicious if a bit too sweet so I took the recipe and bought a basket of nectarines, nice name, that.

No one really knows what nectar tastes like but the nectar you get in cans, surely must not be a food of the gods, should  it?

So yesterday I decided that I would make this dessert, even though I was a bit short of  the actual ingredients.

 This I have called Che Sera Cooking, which is kind of make do and usually does, but with caveats.  For more of this style see: oatmeal cookies.
Okay, so, it was supposed to be made with peaches and nectarines, but having way too many nectarines, I decided to go with them.  They tell you to use the largest pyrex pan and I was melting the butter in it so I would not have to wash another pot, and I notice there is only one cup of flour in the recipe.  That spelled disaster right there, so I pulled it out of the oven and transferred the half melted butter to the next size down, oblong baker.  I was talking on the phone to my sister while this dangerous exchange was going on, and holding the phone with my shoulder and giving her a blow by blow account of the proceedings.

Then, you are supposed to use whole milk, but I had buttermilk which needed to be used,  so I use that. With buttermilk, you should use baking SODA not Powder because of the acid thing, but I used  it anyway.  I used the full 1 T of Powder even though that seems to be a ludicrously large amount given the low ratio of flour.

Also, it's supposed to cook at 375 degrees but on my oven 375 is actually 400 but I forget and it cooks at, what, 350?

And it still is incredibly tasty.

I started this blog to write short stories, and there are some early on if you want to go back there, but now I am writing hair complaints and recipes, and I suppose that could get me more readers,which would be great, but it's not the glorious prose I had planned.  Please, feel free to send people to the recipe and the blog.

Here's the recipe:

Melt one stick (1/2 C of unsalted butter) in the smaller of the two pyrex rectangles, about 8x11.
Take two nectarines and two peaches and peel if you want, but I did not.
Slice thinly (not too thin) and put in a pot with 1/2C sugar and 1T lemon juice and boil lightly about 4 min  the fruit will be wilted and the juices will start to thicken.

Mix in a bowl: 1cup flour (it says one, but I think it might need more), 1/2 tsp salt, and 1T baking powder, and another 1/2to3/4C sugar and whisk to mix.

Add 1 cup of whole milk and stir to make a batter.  Really, use the milk.

Pour the batter into the butter in the pan, spread around (I did not quite do that right) and then add the fruit mixture on top, try to blob it all over instead of just in the center like I did, and put it into a 375 degree oven for 40-45 minutes until golden brown on top. put a cookie sheet underneath in case it boils over.  I don't know if it will rise more with the real milk.

There you go.  Foolproof, wouldn't you say?

The Farmer

I have a friend whom I have known for most of my life.
He has of late become a recluse, a rower, a musician, a hoarder, living in ever mounting levels of squalor and deshabille.

He is the smartest, most self reliant person I have ever met.
He is also quite manipulating.
And
He is barking mad.

It's a conundrum.

Tees

I have a pile of t shirts on the floor of my craft room.  I was supposed to be making skirts or something else useful out of them.

The fact is, I'm procrastinating.  The first skirt, though I wore it several times, was not quite right, with the picture showing right at crotch level. 

 I should have cut it out, and made it into a pocket or something, but I did not want to cut it into so many bits, and it was still to be proved that my sewing machine would work on t shirt fabric.

I did not realize, until I took that photo, quite what a mess my studio has turned into.

Everywhere are piles of things to be sold on the internet.  Maybe it's just under that one table that things have gone completely wrong.  I know a lot of people who live in piles of junk.

I am the one who organizes their stuff and makes them give up a lot of it to recycle, or donate or trash if they have to.  How is it that I have come to this junction?

I blame it on the people who are not buying the stuff I need to get out of here.

I could blame myself for not cleaning up.  I am something of a neatnik, but lately, I need to find things that have sold, that are found at the bottom of that pile.  Actually, they are in a box, or were until recently.

Fantasy being preferable to admitting slobbery, I'm going with that.

Banking Blues

I got an email saying there was something wrong with my bank log on.  I called the bank and they said it was a spam, but since I could not log on online, they looked into it. 

"You responded to a spam in March, they said, so we disconnected your online log on".

What?  I've been getting bills, and paying them.  I check to see what I've bought that costs so much, and I don't see anything fraudluent going on.  There was a lot of who's on first with various Indian and non Indian persons. I could not decipher the names of any of them.

What they never made clear was how I could tell if the "spam" was really pork or something they sent me.

Now my card is cancelled.  No more fraudulent purchases from me.  I have to go back to March and see if there is anything odd there.  Another headache courtesy of the 21st century.

Ben Franklin didn't have to put up with this crap.

Concert Disaster

Last night we went to a concert of the orchestra.  Our neighbor gave us free tickets, as she was playing that night as a percussionist, her actual job.

The guests were Condoleeza Rice and Aretha Franklin.  I don't know who would make such a connection between the two, but someone did.

Miss Rice, Condie came the shouts from around us, was elegant and played the most simple part of the most simple piano concerto that exists.  She did not play as a professional, and might rather have played in someone's living room, but backed as she was by a major orchestra, performed competently, and made no big fuss.  She had a large contingent of strident fans in the audience.

Miss Franklin sailed onto the stage as an ocean liner, her giant silver satin dress and coat breaking the non- existant waves before her.  She looked as beautiful as she ever could. She was easy and made jokes for the crowd.  She moves with grace, and large sweeping arm gestures.

Behind us were some women who were students and singers classically trained.  They were excited to see the concert, and said so.  There was plenty of time before the concert, and surrounding us were  a lot of people, maybe 100 or so, all sitting on blankets on the lawn.  It was almost cool,and no insects annoyed us.  People  were  serving picnic dinners that ranged in complexity from full course meals, to wine, to water and a large bag of cherries.  Everyone was excited but relaxed.

It was an unfortunate choice, but Aretha, instead of simply hiring back up singers, brought with her, a piano player, a synthesizer guy, and two women dressed in black and dangerously wielding tambourines.  It seemed that there was also an electric bass and a guitar who were not part of the orchestra.  There were still a good lot of the orchestra on stage, but against their will, the orchestra had to put up with sometimes playing with a CD in the background that added all the funky bits and backup singers.

What was left of the orchestra were stuck on the stage not playing for the better part of an hour.

I ask you; you get a world class orchestra to play behind you, and you make them sit still while you play a CD of the Blues Brothers ?  Why not let them leave the stage?  Why pretend?  I will tell you, the orchestra members were really peeved.  They are not old fuddy duddies, they like Aretha, the crowd loved Aretha, but that music switch was a major mistake.

And then... she tried to sing opera.  Yes SHE DID!  Oh baby, it was not good at all.  Her voice is strong but failing in the slightest way, and several times she dropped her voice by an octave, just to get on with it.

By the end, we all felt badly for her.  She was making those ear splitting sounds mostly related to Patti LaBelle, but not in key, and we were in misery.  People in the audience were howling like dogs.  I only hope that she did not hear them.

One of the women behind us crawled to speak into my ear, "I am classically trained, and this is not good!"
No, I replied.  It is not good.  The lawn crowd was dashing for the exits.  The singer behind me left even though she needed to use a cane to do so, and she split so fast I did not even see it.

Then Aretha invited one of the Isley Brothers onstage.  He was in his mid to late sixties, wearing a white suit.  It was hard to tell if he came from backstage or the audience, and he was either not a fan of Streisand, or just did not know "They way we were", or could not get a note in.  It was an odd choice, but we felt like she had a connection to this man in the past.  People cheered wildly, ignoring the quality of the singing.
  It was out of respect mostly.

THEN she announced that she would sing the National Anthem and we all stood up.  And instead, she sang Our Country 'tis of Thee, and we all sat back down.

We waited by the stage entrance for our neighbor who was driving.  The Orchestra members rushed out, clutching their instruments to their chests, lips tight, ears ringing.

We did the breakdown in the car, describing what we heard, and what she heard at the back of the stage behind the percussion instruments.  By the end of the ride we were laughing a lot, enjoying the night, and the company.

We had a really good time. 

I write like.....

I went to http://iwritelike.com/ and put in two different blog posts.
Evidently, I write like Margaret Atwood, and David Foster Wallace, high praise indeed!

It's some kind of computer so it doesn't know I actually write like Erma Bombeck.  You may not know her as she has shrugged off this mortal coil, but she was hilarious!  She wrote about her home and life as many of us do, but things go awry in her life, as they do in mine.

Anyway, I'll take that misplaced praise any day.  Please, pass it on, I need more readers, but I love my two faithfuls!

I must mention that it rained last night, and I finally had a great night's sleep with the windows open!! (party horns sound in the background)  How about you?

Dog days

I don't know why they call it the dog days. As far as I know, dogs don't like it any better than we do but since their "sanitary facilitiy" is outdoors they gotta go and drag their humans with them.

I suppose that picking up your dog's  stuff is better than leaving it in the park for others to step in, and having at least once stepped in it, I gotta say the whole world is better off not having to wipe anything off their shoes.

It's a good thing dogs don't chew gum, but if they did, they'd probably swallow it.  Humans think it's okay to stick under furniture or spit out on the ground where... yes, it gets on your shoes.  Particularly when it's hot like this.

One time when I lived in the city I had to change a headlight.  I took the car ( white honda civic) to a parking lot where I could sit on the curb to perform this operation.  I was wearing my red Italian jumper and white faux ostrich cowboy boots.  (Shut up! it was adorable!)

When I went to pull my legs out from under the car, they did not come???  How does that work?  My legs were stuck, yes, stuck in gum.  For no known reason I did not at that point take off the boots.  That would have been sensible, but I thought I would just put a napkin from the glove compartment on the gas pedal and it would be okay.

It was not as okay as I would have liked. I drive a stick, so as I drove the thin crappy napkin form a fast food chain stuck to all three pedals, tearing to bits.
The more I drove, the messier it became, and when I opened the window the pieces of napkin swirled around my head like I was a post modern snow globe. I flailed my arms wildly, trying to see the city traffic around me.

Sometimes my life is a situation comedy.  I tell these stories to people and they think I it's hyperbole.  My nephew said about one story: Aunt Meg, that is not a story, that's a movie.

And so although my dreams of stardom went unfulfilled, at least my life is cinematic.

I don't know what became of the dog story.  It was an interesting premise, but not having a dog shortened it up a good deal.

Have a good day, won't you?  And please, pick up after yourself, and the dog.

Thank you.

Caleb Hawley

I went to a free outdoor concert last night.  It was a young man singer, songwriter who came to our town at the behest of the local musical impresario and harmonica artist, Bob Beech. nice guy, that Bob.

Anyway, he was sort of James Taylor meets Paul Simon. 

He was adorable, infectious, energetic, had a wonderful singing voice and presence.

It was quite enjoyable even though I chose to sit on a tree root, which was dicey.

Look him up. listen to his songs: calebhawley.com.

Hair

I haven't washed my hair in several days, despite the heat.
It feels like it might crawl off my head.
And still it looks quite gorgeous,
though I've just jumped out of bed.

I don't photograph well, so, no pic.

Unhealthful Eating

I am fighting the dreaded GERD, reflux, that is. Evidently my whole family has some version of it, and I have had to give up seltzer. What the heck next, I ask. No coffee, no tea, no fruit juices, all herbals are suspect, no mint in the no tea.... I gotta say, there's got to be a positive way to say this, and I'm really trying.

 How 'bout: I can drink all the water I want! Woooooooo!

Yeah, I thought as much.
In other words, if it keeps the phegm out of my throat and brings back my singing voice, then I've got to be all for it.

Here's a laugh.. remember all those fruits and leafy greens and whole grain whatsis we are supposed to be eating? They told me not to. I don't know what to replace them with as french fries, chips, guacamole, anything with a tomato or onion in it or vinegar or dairy food is also out of the question. It's a trial and error thing.

I went to Barnes and Noble but they only had one book which, after telling you what not to eat, told you to eat everything they told you not to.  Yes, I concur.

Let me know if you have a good idea.  I see Jello in my future.

What to wear?

Okay troops, Sorry about that last entry, it was on my mind, but sometimes, I should just keep it to myself.
This one is more all inclusive.

I have to go to a christening.
I have to find something to wear.  You can make the call
They are not necessarily in that order.  You will be able to identify and assess the outfits named.
1. Blue flowered April Cornell dress, white shoes.  It's one piece, but it gaps at the bust, makes my ass look gigantic, and maybe it's a little out of date or frumpy?

2. Black gaucho pants with a lively flower print,  (so cute) a sleeveless black knit top (gaps at the armpits) and black shoes.  2 pieces, the waist of the pants is 3" high and elastic.  I had to take some of the elastic out so I would not lose a kidney, they were bothering me there.  And the top is almost fine,which means not quite fine, and at least one sister will make a remark.

3. Linen pants, silk top, silk cardigan, all shades of beige.  This is my possible favorite?  But the pants have gotten quite thin, I don't know if you can see through them, the silk under top has really long armpits and my bra shows, so I have to keep the sweater on.
It's 95 degrees. None of that is going to look crisp for more than 6 minutes.  I am not a beige person but I thought it would be elegant?  I don't know who I'm trying to kid.

4. The black and white nylon knit dress.  Makes my rear look huge, and I have to suck in my gut the whole time.  The V neck is too low and I have to pin it shut.  The place where it is now pinned is good but shows maybe too much cleavage, so...

You be the judge.  Don't hold back, just tell me.  Okay, I gotta add pictures, but not with me in them, that just does not work.  P.S. Keep in mind, that the dummy is a size 4-6 and I am a very short waisted busty size 12, and that while I can see things may need more pressing, this it.

Thanking you in advance.  I know you'll do the right thing.

Traffic of the Dead

I was driving to the thrift store today when I was thrown off by constuction.  I had to go out to a major artery and make a left turn on a busy street where there was no light, and constant traffic was not stopping to let you in.

Anyway, there were 2 cars in front of me and a school bus in front of them. What is the holdup? I wondered.
It was a humongous funeral.  I know this is a touchy subject, so bear with me.  It was a long line of cars with those little flags on the fronts and placards in the window.  My view was though the gas station pumps to the left of me.  If there were a building there, there would have been nothing to see at all.

Who died?  Could have been a policeman?  That happens a lot lately in Philadelphia.  But then people die every day.  I knew it was not George Steinbrenner. He does not live anywhere near here.

 I often think that when I die, no one will attend.  Possibly one of my sisters,  but that's it.  There was no funeral for Mom, nobody was up for that. But that's my family.

A lot of the time when someone you know dies, or even when it's a relative of someone you know, you feel obligated to go to the funeral.  Not always, but you know which ones you just have to attend.  If you are powerful, well loved, or knew a lot of people, your funeral will be well attended, and like the funeral I saw this morning, tie up traffic for blocks.

Traffic is funny.  People get all bent out of shape if you are not going fast enough, or forget a turn signal (which is dangerous, and rude at the same time), but everyone stops and gives the right of way for a funeral.

It's as if you rate higher on the respect scale dead, than you did alive.  What's that about?

Where is the New Yorker when you need them?

I just went back and read the first year of this blog, and I have to say I was amused for several hours

Try it: just go to the end, or like February of 2005 and start there.  See if you don't have some fun.

Heat Wave

It's been so hot out, it was difficult to move.  For the first couple of days we acutally camped outside in relative luxury.  We put up my craft tent that the hub and I made to go to craft shows.  The bad thing: it is not waterproof.  The good thing: shade, beautiful shade.

Being unwilling to move, we sat there, getting up only to hose down once in a while and reading magazines and books.  This week's favorite has been Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Dawn of the Dreadfuls by Steve Hockensmith.  This is not the original sendup of Jane Austen's famous novel, but a prequel to it, and written by a different author.  I am told that the original is more violent and has more acutal Austen to it, but this was light reading (yes, I do heavy lifting but light reading) and pretty hilarious if you can get past the putrefying people.

Thanks a lot, Shakespeare

No one has ever asked me; let me compare thee to a Summer Day.

Learning Curve

Today I have been trying to learn something, anything that will help me with technical stuff online.
First, I found the New York Photography School site: http://digital-photography-school.com/learning-exposure-in-digital-photography which is complex but eventually I hope to make it work for me.

Next, I was directed from Etsy to another store site whose name I have not entirely mastered,, it's like Matsui, or something, that has a store AND a blog stuck right to it, and other bells and whistles.  Only thing is: I could not see any of the stores.  Maybe it's a closed system like a paramecium or something?

Next, I hooked up to tweetup? possibly, these things just swirl past my vision and create imaginary waste o' space in my brain.  I feel like I now have the brain power of a cat, or a pancake or any other inanimate object.  Anyway, after hours of trying to figure the RSS feed, (yes, I am that much of a dweeb), I hooked that up so that my twitter will lead you to my blog.

I am not that sure about twitter.  Evidently, the way to self promote on twitter, (and that, more than anything seems to be what it is about) is to connect to as many people as possible and have them connect back to you.  Right now, I have like 14 connections, and dumped a load of people/companies I was following, because they were not all that amusing, and they took up space that the people's posts that were interesting formerly occupied.

I guess it's not about what I want to read, it's about who I want to read me, and that's where the moral dilemma kicks in.

I would like my vintage shop to be a success and then maybe move on to a photography shop, but do I have to have giveaways, and tutorials?  It's just possible I do.

My best online friend is spreading herself very thin these days, joining other craft groups and making things for her blog and 5 others, and going to work AND having a life.  I asked her one time, how is it that you are able to produce so much?  Her answer was simple; she does not have a television.

I know there's nothing on, but mostly I like to read while I'm watching bad television, and therefore do not make a load of stuff because I am lazy.  I guess that's what it comes down to in the end. If I had paid more attention at school I would have a career that I was laid off from and collecting a large slice of unemployment, thank you President Obama, instead of blogging my life away and trying to sell used stuff online.