Category: photos

Stick a fork in me, I’m done.


You were probably expecting this to be a potato. I’m out of potatoes. But the reflection of the forks on the spoon caught my attention this morning as I was about to have breakfast.

Okay, looks like this makes my 30th post for November. SaYoNaRa, NaBloPoMo.

Oddly enough, I didn’t have much trouble with the daily posting this month. And it’s been a crazy month, what with the trip to California, trip to New York for Thanksgiving, and working up a study to submit to submit a paper to a conference. That deadline is today, by the way. Remarkably, the paper is almost done. And then I’ve got to barrel forward with the next phase of the study.

Thanks for all the supportive comments on my last post. You may not be surprised to learn that Phoebe was totally fine when I picked her up after school. And when I later tried to get her to explain to me what it was she was getting at in the morning, she just said “I just didn’t get a very good night’s sleep.” So I may never know what she meant with the gesturing or miming or what have you. The miming meaning remains a mystery.

potato prints

This morning, I decided to do an art project with the kids. Specifically, we made potato prints. (I’ll let you guess what inspired me to do this particular project…) We’re at my in-laws’, and I didn’t want to risk getting paint on the furniture (or walls), so we worked out in the backyard. It was a beautiful day to be outside, but a bit windy for a project involving paper. Phoebe’s tendency to collect piles of rocks came in handy, providng us a ready supply of paperweights.

I can’t remember when I last made potato prints. I’m not sure I have done this as an adult, even. It was a lot of fun. (It would have been more fun if not for the wind.) And I did like the way the prints came out. I loved the way the thick paint made veiny patterns on the prints. (We used some washable Crayola paints that John picked up at the grocery store.)

See the slideshow, below, for more photos from this morning, and this morning’s results. I put even more photos up on Flickr.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

houseplants

I don’t know about you, but I can’t keep a houseplant alive to save my life. Happily, I have never had the need to, nor can I envision those scenarios. (Well, actually I can envision them. My imagination likes to come up with all sorts of improbable scenarios. Like one in which my very life is tied to the life of a spider plant. Or maybe a ficus. Like some sort of living, leafy voodoo doll. A bug climbs on a leaf, I feel my skin crawl. I get weird cravings for plant food. I forget to water it too long, and suddenly I don’t even have the strength to reach the watering can…I imagine I’d last 2 weeks, tops.)

Seriously, though, we have no houseplants. I have killed many houseplants over the years. I like plants. Don’t get me wrong. I just seem to be unable to consistently remember their existence for a long enough period of time to keep them alive. Pets I could handle, because they would typically make their needs known. Well, not itemizing their needs. But they would make it known that they had needs. By making noise, or looking at me with sad faces, or chewing on things, or getting smelly. Or piddling on the floor. Houseplants are just too quiet and too immobile. They just sit there in a pot. They might drop a leaf here and there, especially when they’ve gone a few weeks without water, but beyond that they don’t intrude. And then before you know it, you happen to glance over at the shriveled corpse of the thing.

Surprisingly, I’ve had some success in my life with gardening. Not that the plants are any noisier, but somehow the greater needs of a garden are easier for me to remember than the occasional needs of a potted plant. I wouldn’t call myself a gardener, by any stretch, but the handful of times I’ve gardened, I’ve kept the plants alive long enough to get some sort of rewards.

I also seem to have a remarkably green thumb when it comes to growing vegetables. Not vegetables that I’ve planted, but those vegetables that I have purchased with the intention of using them as food. But then they grow into plants. In the house.

That makes them houseplants, right?


We kept this sweet potato around for several months, and it was the healthiest looking plant this household has seen in years. It stayed on the kitchen windowsill for several weeks. (Eventually, though, we released it to the wild.)


This is our current project. This rutabaga sprouted while I was in California.

How about you? Have you the thumbs of green? Or are you a plant-killer like me?

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.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

a long short day

I’m home now, after a fairly long day of travel squeezed into a short day. (What with the crossing of time zones, my day is only 21 hours.)

My choice of window seat was once again rewarding. (I’ve long been taken by the patchwork pattern made by agricultural fields as seen from above. Today the ones I passed over were snowy. This particular quilt of fields is tucked into a valley among striking mountain ridges.) I was doing work on the plane, and found the views to be somewhat distracting. I kept grabbing for my camera. Luckily, flying away from the sun meant that it got dark a couple of hours into the flight.

interleaf

Late this morning, I went for a stroll with my mother in the gardens of her apartment complex. The sun was hitting this flower just right to make its leafy interloper glow. (I do wish I’d done a better job with the focus. I may try to go back again tomorrow at the same time of day, but I doubt I could find the light just so again.)

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.

—-
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.

Window or aisle?

I love getting a window seat when I fly. Sure, you get trapped in, and you have to interrupt the people sitting next to you whenever you need to get up to use the loo. The way I see it, though, the aisle seat is more convenient for getting up, but you also end up having to move out of the way when the rest of the row needs to get up. And you get your feet and elbows bumped when the beverage carts get rolled through.

I don’t think anyone will argue with me that the middle seat is the worst. There’s all that awkwardness with the armrests. I mean, which one is yours? Are both of them? When I get stuck in the middle, I always feel like I need to make myself smaller.

But when you have a window seat, you get a wall to lean against, and oftentimes, some great views. I’m not sure where I took these photos. Well, I know where I was. I was sitting in the plane, up in the air. But I’m not sure what part of the country the plane was flying over. Possibly Nevada.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

How about you? Which seat do you pick?

—
I’m here at my sister’s house, and falling asleep on the couch. I don’t think I’m making much sense. But I liked these photos. And I wanted to post something before 9 pm, since my blog still thinks it’s on the East Coast.