Category: NaBloPoMo

unearthed

My post of last night, with my flourishing root vegetables, reminded me of a painting I did in an art class a number of years ago. (I think that number may be greater than 10.) I can’t remember what the class was, as I had many classes with the same teacher over several years. For this particular assignment, though, we were to paint something in response to a poem my teacher read to the class. The poem was one by her husband, a poet, and involved memories of his mother and potatoes. (Sadly, I don’t have a copy of the poem, nor do I remember the title.)

Here is what my brain cooked up:

The Potato Madonna

The painting is somewhat modelled after Medieval or Renaissance Madonnas. It wasn’t quite finished, as I’d originally imagined a more ornamental/ornate background. It’s been sitting in my basement for quite a few years, and has curved in the dampness. This was before I started stretching my own canvas, and would just buy whatever cheap canvas or canvas boards. Cheap canvas boards really don’t last well. On the other hand, I think the wrinkling and the warping rather suit the subject matter. As does the musty basement smell…

mug shots

This shifty-looking character was discovered at a Massachusetts farm stand this September, trying to pass itself off as an ordinary eggplant. It was taken in for questioning regarding the brutal dicing of a carrot, the decapitation of several fiddleheads, and the deflowering of a cauliflower. It was eventually implicated in the death of sweet potato, and was convicted of yamslaughter. While the tubers all demanded that the eggplant should fry, it was instead given a life sentence in the cooler.

It’s after 11:00 p.m., and I needed something to post for my daily posting commitment. I’m trying to focus on work and I need to get to bed so that I can be productive tomorrow. Naturally I did what most people would do: found photos of ridiculous vegetables in my photo library.

Seriously, though, who does this guy remind you of? I do see a bit of Nixon in the top photo, but the profile reminds me of a cartoon character that I can’t quite place.

a bushel and a peck

One of the pick-your-own farms we frequent announced that they’d be open this weekend for apple-picking. Typically the picking season wraps up at the end of October, but this year (in spite of the freakishly early snowstorms) the hard frosts have been taking their time. The result is an extended apple season.

I knew I’d be tired after my travel day yesterday, but the weather was gorgeous today and I thought a day out in the fresh air would be good for all of us. Phoebe, however, really didn’t want to go. She had in mind to spend the day at home doing art projects. I think it’s great that Phoebe can get so involved in doing art projects, and I don’t want to discourage her. But I really, really wanted to go pick apples! It was a last, totally unanticipated, opportunity.

John was pretty worn out from his week of single-parenting, so he was happy to stay home with Phoebe. However, Theo did want to go, so off the two of us went.

It was a ridiculously beautiful afternoon. It was sunny with temps in the low 60s. Not even a hint of chill in the air. We got to the farm around 3 in the afternoon, and the light was turning golden.

While many of the trees had long ago finished dropping apples, there were several varieties that were still going strong. Among them, Empire apples, which is possibly my favorite variety. They are tart and crisp when freshly picked, make a very smooth buttery-textured apple sauce, yet keep firm enough when cooked to work in apple crisp. Empires are a cross between McIntosh and Red Delicious, neither of which I actually particularly like. I find that McIntoshes get pretty mealy, and unless very freshly picked, I don’t like them for anything beyond making apple sauce. (They also tend to get too mushy when cooked for apple crisp.) And Red Delicious? What can I say. Possibly my least favorite apple variety. Ubiquitous in school cafeterias and sorry hotel buffets, they are often mealy and sickly sweet without a hint of tartness, and with a bitterness to the skin that makes me gag. They are useless for cooking because they are too firm, plus they don’t taste good. It is a complete mystery to me how these two lackluster parents could have produced such outstanding offspring.

Wow, who knew I had so much to say about an apple variety?

In any case, it was remarkable how many apples were left on many of the trees. (In fact, I remarked on it frequently. I must have said “Wow, I can’t believe how many apples are left on the trees!” about 30 times.) Theo and I had a great time wandering and easily filled up our 2 half-bushel bags. (Actually, Theo picked maybe 5 apples. But he also didn’t interfere with my picking progress, so that’s productive in my book.) Then we headed to the playground for some sunset playtime.

And now I have a bushel of apples. I think my work may be cut out for me.

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…and that’s when I realized I’d forgotten my pants.

You know that dream that you sometimes have where you show up for a job interview, and you’ve spent a lot of time rehearsing the answers to the standard questions about how you like to solve problems and you’re a go-getter and a team-player and how your biggest weaknesses are really strengths and how at your last job you invented a miracle flavor of gum that not only cured bad breath and herpes but brought about peace in the Middle East, and you’ve paid lots of attention to make sure your hair is just right and that you don’t have any spinach stuck in your teeth and then they call you into the office and you look down and you realize that you forgot to wear pants?

You know what yesterday was? My blog’s birthday. This blog is 5 years old now.

And one day.

Not only did I neglect to bake my blog a cake yesterday, I also completely failed to prepare a post. Here I’d been shopping around for weeks for the right pants for my blog to wear on its big day, and then what with life’s distractions, I just forgot. I mean, I guess I got my blog a flower yesterday, but given all we’ve been through together, it still feels a little cheap. Sadly, I did remember shortly after posting last night, but I was tired. I went to bed. My poor blog probably felt all mopey last night, thinking I’d forgotten. Thinking I didn’t care. Going over all the times that it had been there for me, tirelessly putting up with my whining and crankiness and embarrassing dorkiness and occasional neglect. My blog probably was thinking about packing up and moving in with some other blogger, one who would buy it a full dozen flowers and bottles of wine and write it love poetry.

Wait, was this a birthday I missed, or an anniversary? (Clearly the relationship I have with my blog is complex.)

So, um, happy belated birthday/anniversary, dear blog. I bought you a card, but it must have gotten lost in the mail.

oil and water

They say that oil and water don’t mix. If two people just don’t get along, someone might just say “they are just like oil and water.” Which would you rather be? Probably water, right? Water gives life. Water is clean. I mean, who really wants to be oil? It’s all greasy and oily. On the other hand, when you pour oil and water together, which one ends up on top? Yeah, you think about that.

But here’s something else to ponder: if you pour oil and water into a glass, they separate. But who would want to pour oil and water into a glass? Really, what kind of recipe is that? Who comes up with these things? You’d be far more likely to try to mix oil and vinegar. Why isn’t the expression about that? Because of salad dressing, I’m telling you. People really want that oil and vinegar to mix, so they shake it up. They make them mix. If you said “those guys are just like oil and vinegar,” people would be all like “Huh? They taste good on mixed greens? That doesn’t make any sense.” That’s what I’m saying.

You know what else? If you put oil and water into a bowl with a package of brownie mix and 2 eggs, they do mix. Then you bake them together in a greased 9 x 13 inch pan at 350 degrees for 30 to 35 minutes until a toothpick stuck in the middle comes out clean. So if you ever meet a couple of people who just can’t get along, that’s what you need to do. Bake some brownies with them. Or stick a toothpick into them.


If you put oil and water into a rice cooker with some rice, then they do end up kinda mixing. But only after the rice is cooked.

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This post was brought to you by Tiredness™ and a 2-year-old photo chosen arbitrarily from my photo library. For the record, I have not been eating any brownies. I did, however, bake some cookies. And some squash. But not together. Because you know what else doesn’t mix? Cookies and squash.

great so far

Things are going well so far. My mother got to go home from the hospital today, a day later than originally hoped for, but not too much of a setback. She is in good spirits, and happy to be home. She has read all your nice comments on my earlier post, and was very touched. Thank you all for your thoughts!

It’s been a long and fairly busy day, so I’m going to consider getting ready for bed. (Maybe tomorrow I’ll have something of substance to say.)


This photo doesn’t have much to do with anything. It’s my mother’s ginger grater. It’s a great thing to grate things. (Actually, I’ve never used it. I just wanted to say that.) (Also, I took the photo on my last trip out here, back in January. Maybe tomorrow I’ll take some photos so I can post something new in case I have nothing of substance to say.)

here I come

It was a long day today, and I am pretty well wiped out. I need to get packing and go to bed, as I fly out to California in the morning.

I was born in California, and even though I’ve now lived far longer in New England than I ever lived in California, it always feels a like going home when I visit. (It certainly doesn’t hurt that my sister and then my mother moved back there, either.)

The Golden Gate Bridge is one of my personal icons, a symbol of a place and a time of my life. (Funny to realize that it was the first bridge I ever crossed, as I was born in San Francisco, but lived in Sausalito.) I remember crossing the bridge many times as a kid and teenager, and always being a little thrilled by it.

When I go out to visit these days, it’s rare that I cross that bridge. As my mother and sister live in the East Bay now, the Bay Bridge is the one we most often take. But I always seek out the Golden Gate Bridge from afar when I can, even if it’s just a glimpse from the airplane.


This is a painting of mine from back in the days when I took painting classes. It’s based on a dream I had when I was 4 years old. In the dream, my mother and sister and I were fish, and swam across the San Francisco Bay from Sausalito. It was a rather complex and very bizarre dream, involving Coit tower and an improbable system of elevators. Somehow I remembered many details of the dream up through my mid-20s when I painted this. The memories are much fainter now.

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This post was brought to you by nostalgia, a glass of red wine, and mental exhaustion after a day of doing laundry and nagging children to pick up their toys.

P.S. I just noticed that all the links from my happy song post were broken. I fixed them. Didn’t I say I need to be packing?

Waste not, want not

Earlier today, I was drafting up some emails to remind subjects of their appointments tomorrow for an experiment I’m running. I started by forwarding the info emails I sent each them last week, detailing the time and place of the appointment, along with some minor updates. I changed the subject line to begin “Reminder:..” rather than “Fwd:…” As I started to delete the “Fwd,” and got to the d, I caught myself thinking: “But I’m going to be using a d in ‘Reminder.’ I shouldn’t waste it!”

Clearly, I have internalized the whole reduce-reuse-recycle message.

Also, I don’t think I got quite enough sleep last night.

I did manage to get a nice sleep on Saturday night, when I was home alone, and slept in till 8 (which really felt like 9). Admittedly, that doesn’t sound very late compared to my former life’s schedule, but it was glorious. I felt so well-rested. Unfortunately, circumstances were such that I made up for getting 8+ hours of sleep on Saturday night by getting only about 4 hours last night. I was up too late, then both kids were up at different times in the night. By morning, the whole family was in the same bed. Much like dogs, small children can take up a remarkably large amount of space on a mattress. Even a king-sized one. I had to struggle to keep on the bed. Then Theo didn’t get the memo about the time change, and was all done sleeping by 6.

You could say that I was not exactly at peak mental performance today. (Not that I can remember being at peak mental performance.) While I did get some work done, it felt like much of the day was wasted. What I needed was a nap, or at least some quiet time to focus. But that wasn’t going to happen, as we are having some work done in our attic. (Our insulation is a mess up there. Lots of heat has been getting wasted.) (Also, we need a new roof. Not that it’s all that relevant here, but it sure is a pain.)

So, yeah. Not sure what my point is. Look, here’s a completely unrelated photo!


I like this photo, and it’s been sitting around for weeks. I didn’t want to let it go to waste.