The ultimate post

By that I mean "final," rather than "utmost."

Happy last day of NaBloPoMo! I can't believe I made it the whole month. Some mornings I would wake up panicked because I couldn't remember whether or not I'd posted the day before. I had some near misses, but always made it under the wire.

I've learned a lot about myself through this. I both blogged AND baked more this month, in spite of some craziness at work. And I had a lot more fun than when I used to sit around at home and watch TV on my laptop. I enjoyed blogging my recipes so much that I've been considering making a seperate blog just for recipes, but I don' t know that I'm at that point yet. Hey, you, the few people who actually read this: What do you think? Do you read the recipes? Like them? Use them?

I didn't post many photos on the blog before this month, either. I personally think they add a lot of appeal. Plus it's gotten me back into uploading my photography instead of just letting it sit around forever on my Compact Flash card.

All in all, I think I'm going to blog a LOT more now that I've proved to myself that I can. Don't expect daily updates though. I'm thinking mroe like three or four times a week.
As for you who found me through NaBloPoMo (anyone other than PeetSwea out there?), I hope you come back from time to time. I'm going to miss the camaraderie of knowing there are thousands of others, all blogging and reading everyone else's blogs every day.

For those wanting to know about the show: my mother and aunt have been in charge of the high school theater department at the small private school my brother attends for the last four and a half years. They do two shows each year -- a straight play in the fall and a musical in the spring. This year, they're putting on a Christmas-themed play. The first half is Uh-Oh, Here Comes Christmas, based on stories by the author of All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. The second half is holiday excerpts from Little Women.
The photos were taken backstage as everyone was changing into their period garb for the second half.

My mom and my aunt are still nervous about it. It's VERY different from the shows they've done before. In Uh-Oh, the characters TELL the stories mostly alone on a mostly empty stage, so it's very dependent on how much an individual actor can engage the audience. Can I just say that my brother has turned out to be excellent at this? I know I brag on him way too much, but his funny faces KILL (in the funny, rather than terrible way). Carly, who plays Alex's "wife" in one scene, is great, as well.

.

.

Carly going from chic dog-loving wife into German beggar child.
Apparently the transformation is extremely painful.

Preparation

Wait, is this my now?

It's just barely possible that I could be about to have my own Jordin Sparks moment. Just don't blow it, moron.

Maybe photos from play practice later? We'll see.

A book about ghosts haunts my dreams

Last night, I dreamed that I met a handsome boy, and something I did so endeared me to him that he kissed me within minutes.

I laughed and said, "You just met me!" and I don't remember what he said then, but he laughed too.

As we walked away, my step bounced and his hand brushed mine. I smiled because we were headed the same direction.

Favorite List

My head hates me today. Does anybody know a good cure for when it feels like someone is driving forks into your head right above each eyebrow?
On a cheerier note, I'm pretending today like people actually care what I think about stuff. You know, stuff like music and movies and television. And other things too.

Here's a list of the stuff I've liked best lately:

Best Christmas album ever: Christmas Portrait, The Carpenters
I'm not joking about how good this is.1) Go buy it. 2) Stick it in your CD player or upload it to computer/ipod. 3) Listen on repeat for the next 20-odd days. 4) Throw in some John Denver for old-times sake.

Best movie: Dan in Real Life
Steve Carrell awkward moments + mid-life romance + touching fatherhood storyline = way cuter than I could have imagined. Great representation of big family get togethers.

Best surprise addiction: Kid Nation
This show turned out to be WAY better than I thought it could possibly be. The kids are great characters that always surprise with how bratty/thoughtful they can be and how quick they can switch from one to the other. Watch the full season so far at cbs.com.

Best teen audio book: A Countess Below Stairs, Eva Ibbotson
Very narrow category, I know, and this YA book by the author of Which Witch? and Dial-A-Ghost deserves better. Ibbotson is more James Mitchner, less J.K. Rowling in a good way when she describes the backgrounds of each delightfully-quirky character and his or her family as she introduces them into the tightly-knit plot of this period romantic comedy. I liked the audio, even though I worried at first that I wouldn't like the narrator, who has a thick British accent and sounds like she's going on 60. But then she started doing the accents – Russian, cockney, etc. -- and I couldn't help calling my cousin “Anushka,” the same way the narrator reads the voice of Anna's handsome cousin Serge.

Best article of clothing: Sada by Naturalizer, Red Patent Leather
The comfiest/snazziest shoes ever. They go with jeans, dress pants, everything. Heck, they go with life.

A first

Probably not even worth watching, but it's my first video post! These Christmas lights suddenly appeared in the neighborhood over the weekend. We turned onto the street coming home this evening and were wowed at how many people had hung lights today, now that Thanksgiving is over and it's allowed. In one neighbor's yard, in front of lit up bushes is still -- no joke -- a very large, very orange pumpkin.

Loooong weekend

It's not even December and there are already secrets popping up all over the place. Maybe it's because we're going out of town for a week before Christmas, so our shopping season is significantly shortened? But this is promising to be one stressful Christmas already.

More later.

Giving thanks for Canon + Mac

Thanksgiving successes:
The table, including centerpieces and place cards/napkins
Homemade biscuits, which were good even though they were made a day ahead and warmed in the oven right before lunch.

Just finished cheering on Arkansas to a victory over LSU. This season has been crazy.
Dad: There's nothing like college football.

Heading out to see the zoo lights with the fam.

An excerpt from my life:

Martha at the ready

A Thanksgiving eve haiku

Turkey is thawing
linens, washed and rolled
wait in their basket.

It's not your fault, but I can't help blaming you.

Me (letting Sarah take a Peanut M&M, but not too happy about it): I'm trying very hard to be nice right now.
JDubs: That makes you sound both good and bad.
Me (growling): I know.

Sorry for the bad mood, including the Gladware throwing and snarls. It's Tuesday. What do you expect from me?

Taking notes at a council meeting

Because cupcake icing isn't something you screw around with

Me: I have achieved a level of brilliance previously unknown to mankind.


Behold, the beauty of the invention.


Sarah: I'm totally doing that tomorrow.

What I did today:

Sat on the floor for hours and hours, probably seriously injuring my back as I watched TV and put togheter these graduation announcements for my sister.


OK, really they're for my mom, who asked me to make them. Gosh, I am just too nice a daughter.

I'm also gearing up for Thanksgiving at our house later this week, which for me means gathering together everything I'll need to make our table look like a page out of Midwest Living.
Somewhere along the line, like when I was still in elementary school, I volunteered to make the place cards, and the tradition has evolved from folding sheets of construction paper, hand writing the names with marker and slapping on a turkey sticker to metallic calligraphy to computer printing, to elaborate table settings that this year will involve brand new linen napkins, brown and white ribbon and silver-colored metal letters.

And I think I volunteered to make biscuits from scratch.

Suddenly, I've become Martha Stewart. Don't know how that happened.

I have night meetings Monday through Wednesday this week, so see ya on the other side. Expect short posts.

Halftime update

Happy halftime! We're up 7-3 over Michigan, and I'm huddled on the loveseat on the upstairs landing, almost as bundled up as I was when I went to last week's game. Man, it is COLD in here!
It's gotta be colder and more miserable in MI, though. The family was down at the school at play practice, so all alone I watched the Bucks slip and slide all over that Ann Arbor field and screamed "CONVERT!" as though they could hear me through our TV.

In spite of a pair of wool socks, my toes are still frozen. I'm also wearing the scarlet and grey-striped scarf I paid a ridiculous amount for at the 'shoe last week.

It's helping. A little.

Friday night flashback

I am 17, and I have stayed late at one of my best friend's houses after a party we had. We are sitting in the kitchen on bar stools eating strawberry cheesecake, just talking about school and her parents, who don't get along. I look around the half-finished kitchen, where she does all the cooking for her father and sister, and I wonder if she tells anyone else these things about her parents -- about her mother, who is never home, and her father, who sleeps in the basement when her mother actually is.
Only her dad is home tonight, and he is sleeping all alone in their big, double bed.
In the kitchen are waiting, and the fact that we are waiting is palpable. My feet skim the tiled floor as they dangle from the bar stool.
"Come on," she says, when a sufficient amount of time has passed.
"We're going to the lake."
We tiptoe upstairs to her room, where she fishes around in a drawer full of two-piece swim suits, all of which are much too small for me. I pick the biggest one and turn around to put it on. Then I wrap a towel around me. She squeezes her small body into the sliding door closet, where she puts on her own suit. Once it's on, though, she drapes the towel casually over her shoulder.
We walk on bare feet over the pebbles and twigs that have fallen on her driveway, across the street to an inky spot shielded from the streetlight by a pine tree.
She strips quickly and, carrying her suit and towel, runs as lithely and free as Godiva to the edge of the lake, where she smoothly dives into the water.
I hesitate -- just a moment. A moment.
The tight-fitting top and bikni bottoms dangle from my fingers. My feet flash palely in the moonlight. I can feel the grimace wiped from my face as the water swallows me whole.

Braggin' on the bro.

This is Alex. He is 17 years old, and he is one cool cat.


Because he has the highest known metabolism in the entire world, he can eat large quantities of cereal from a hotel ice bucket and still maintain washboard abs and something bordering on a six pack.


He consumes large quantities of other foods, like crackers, too. But mostly cereal. Especially during cross country season.



In addition to eating, he likes sports -- well, OK, only cross country and college football. But that is enough. He ran a race in 18:19, his fastest time ever, at districts and nearly qualified for regionals.

That's him on the far left.

He's really really smart. He learned the periodic table in the third grade, and he likes to think up new inventions that should work, even though he can't build them himself. He will probably be some kind of engineering consultant when he grows up. This shirt sums him up perfectly, which is why I bought it for his birthday.


But he will probably be a writer, as well. Language was never his strong suit until he started reading fantasy novels -- really good ones by the man who wrote Gladiator, not lame ones.
Then he started writing. And he wrote and wrote and wrote. And now he writes better fiction than most people in my college classes did.

When he was younger, he was somewhat lacking is social skills. He was also incredibly stubborn. Through prayer more than anything, I would bet, he has matured into a kind-hearted, funny guy.

With friends having a picnic. Photo by Dan Starkey.

He's cute, too, so all the girls like him. Probably also because he acts.

As Friedrich in The Sound of Music.

And he can sing.

He has two big sisters who love him to death, even though one is far far away. He and I both miss her a lot.

Me with the little bro at the cross country awards banquet where he was given a trophy for best time on the team.

I'm so glad that I get to live with you, Alex. You are the best brother ever, and I mean that.

An investigative reporter?

Something I discovered yesterday through very thorough searching: A public figure on one of my beats may be in the closet.

Though whether or not the public figure is actually in the closet may not turn out to matter, pretty soon.

Stay tuned for more juicy details ... or not, depending.

In closing, I leave you with a haiku about a remarkable evening in New Albany.

Shuttle busing to
the front door is not the same
as valet parking

A Municipal Mad Lib

For kicks, I made a mad lib out of a piece of an article I wrote tonight for publication on Wednesday. Unfortunately, this isn't nearly as fun as it is on a long car ride. Though experimenting with this, I did get better results using slightly gross words -- you know, the kinds your friends would suggest when you were in the fifth grade? Go on, I triple dog dare you!

First pick out the following. The sillier the better, and no peeking at the mad lib! :
1. Person in room
2. A ridiculous club
3. Second person in room
4. Place
5. Things (plural)
6. Adjective 1
7. Verb 1-- ending in "-ing"
8. Thing
9. Time
10. Adjective 2
11. Present tense verb
12. Body part
13. Thing





Ready?

Now fill in:

(1.______) may try for (2.______) seat

By Lmarie and (your name)

(3.__________) is considering stepping down from a seat on the (4._________) (2.__________), and soon-to-be former council member (1._________) may step up to take his/her place.
"I have some (5.________) going on in 2008, some personal and (6.________) activities that may create some conflicts." said (3.________), who was appointed to the (2.________) just a few years ago.
Following the club meeting Monday, (3.________) e-mailed officials to ask how to resign from the appointment.
(1.________) said that if (3.________) is really (7._________), he'd definitely try for the (8.________).
"Should there be a (8. _______) available, certainly I will express my interest," (1._____) said Monday. The one-term council member withdrew from his/her re-election bid at the beginning of (9._______).
(1._________) mentioned even then that he/she was still interested in less (10.________) involvement, and specifically mentioned the club as a place he thought he might (11. _______) well.
That interest caught the (12. ________) of (3. _________), who was already thinking of leaving.
"My stepping down would kind of create a (13. ______), but if (1. ______) were interested in the position, I think s/he'd be a great (8. ________)," (3. ________) said.

Mysterious disappearances

I don't know if you remember when I complained about my missing whale pants. Probably not, because most of you probably didn't read my blog then.

Anyway, I lost weight back in the spring, and as I was looking for before and after photos, I found a pic of myself wearing this pair of whale pajama pants. That photo (taken in June 2006) was one of the last times I remembered having the pants. I posted the pic and pled for any information relating to their whereabouts.

Don't bother to go look for the post, because I took it down a long time ago out of shame. I'll post one of the photos, though.

That's me on the right, wearing my whale pants. And I mean WHALE pants. I was just that fat.

Recently, I'd given up on the whale pants completely. I figured I must have left them somewhere, and nobody had bothered to return them. I missed them. They're a nice, soft knit that's perfect in both summer and winter. And they've got multi colored whales on them. What could be better?

The whale pants were just one missing item of clothing, though. I also couldn't find my bright blue intramural soccer team shirt, which I loved. Last seen: Summer 2005. And both my pairs of workout shorts disappeared sometime in Summer 2007.

I'm not that great at keeping my room clean. I throw clothes everywhere until I get so sick of living in a pig sty that I spend hours cleaning everything at once. Last week, my room was getting to that "I can't stand it anymore" point that means I either have to clean or sleep in my sister's empty room for awhile until my own is clean enough for me to handle.
In the middle of the super-messyness of the room, piles of clothes were towering so high they were about to topple, my dresser drawers were dangling precariously open and I couldn't walk for fear of stepping on something breakable buried under the debris on the floor.

Finally, my bottom dresser drawer just fell out. And when I went to put it back in, I saw ... what is that? ... clothes? stuffed behind my bottom drawer?

I pulled out my soccer shirt, one of the missing pairs of athletic shorts and ...

MY WHALE PANTS!

So exciting! The clothes must have fallen out the back of overstuffed drawers (which explains why everything went missing during the summer, when my drawers are overflowing with my huge T-shirt collection). They were all a little musty smelling, so I washed them when I did laundry yesterday.

And today, I'm sitting here typing this post, happily reunited with my whale pants.

Comfort food

A voicemail someone left me last night (not at all verbatim):

"Hey, I was just driving down Route 28, and I was remembering the time I ran over your foot at a stoplight. Do you remember that? And I was thinking about it, and I thought I would call and share that memory with you and either laugh about it or apologize, depending on your reaction."

That message totally made my day.


But actually, today was pretty great on its own. I spent most of the gray, rainy day in flannel pajama pants, watching online TV and cleaning my room. I got a lot of laundry done, too which is always nice.

Another exchange that actually took place this morning:

Mom: Are you coming to church?
Me: No, I'm going to stay home and clean my room ... Do laundry. I'm out of clean underwear.
Mom: Cleaning your room is good. Well, I'm going to go tell your dad your not going to church because you don't have any clean underwear.
Me: OK. Go ahead.
Mom: You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.
Me: No really, I believe you.

And I just asked her, and in between burst of giggles, she said she really DID tell him that.
Not that I ever doubted she would.


Speaking of mothers, mine has a killer lasagne recipe. It was clipped from some unknown magazine in the somewhat distant past, and is a total winner because:
1. it has been my favorite dinner since I was cognizant enough to realize its existence. Seriously, this lasagne was my birthday dinner every year I was allowed an option until I left for college.
2. it's a cinch to make. The problem with most lasagnes is that they require you to pre-cook the noodles. No need, here. The noodles should be perfectly al dente when you take this dish from the oven.

Mom and I tagged-teamed the lasagne assembly this afternoon in preparation for a dinner visit from my dad's sister and her husband. In accordance with our commitment to watch our waistlines, Mom bought low-fat ricotta, part skim mozzarella and turkey sausage at the grocery.

It still turned out just as great as it always does, even with the sausage, which I can pretty much live without. This dish can go meatless without seeming any less hearty, especially if you make up for it by using regular ricotta.

And the best part of this whole thing, I just realized, is that there will be leftover lasagne to each for lunch tomorrow. Because it's one of those dishes that is actually better the second day. Yessss.


One-Step Lasange
(clipped from a Better Homes and Gardens? about 2o-something years ago?)

1 1/2 cups water (more like 2 cups, Mom says, for moist lasagne. Or add a little more sauce)
2 jars (15 .5 oz each) spaghetti sauce
1 box (16 oz.) lasagne noodles
1 container (15 oz.) ricotta cheese
8 oz. mozzarella cheese, thinly sliced
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
12 oz. ground Italian turkey sausage (brown it in a skillet before you start)

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
2. Combine the water and spaghetti sauce in a bowl. Cover the bottom of a 13x9x2 baking dish with about 1 1/2 cups of the sauce mixture. (This is when you add the sausage to the sauce, if you're using it.)
3. Arrange a layer of uncooked lasagne noodles, slightly overlapping, on top of the sauce. Spread half the ricotta and half the mozzarella over the noodles. Sprinkle with about 2 T. Parmesan. Add another layer of sauce and repeat with another layer of noodles, the remaining ricotta and mozzarella and 2 T Parmesan. Top with a layer of noodles. Pour remaining sauce over the top, spreading evenly to cover the edges of the noodles. Sprinkle with remaining Parmesan.
Cover tightly with heavy-duty foil and set on a jelly-roll pan.
4. Bake for 1 hour or until knife goes easily through pasta (actually, it usually takes about 1 1/2 hours, I think). Let stand, covered, on rack for 10 minutes before wolfing down large squares of lasagne.

A disappointing 10 and 1

We had tickets to the Ohio State - Illinois game today. I drove my cousin and his girlfriend and my brother (they're all juniors in high school) down to the game.

In spite of the sad, sad state of the Buckeye defense, the day was actually quite fun. One set of the tickets was in the south stands, right next to the band, and the other set was D deck on the 40 yard line. Both excellent seats for very different reasons. Sitting next to the band was actually pretty amazing. And I got a new lens for my camera, which I absolutely love!


Well, if we can just beat Michigan next weekend, at least we'll be Big Ten champs.

Pear-flavored memories

I've missed pears. I didn't realize how much I missed their gently sweet taste until yesterday, when my father offered me a slice of one of the Bartletts that had been sitting in our kitchen ripening for the past few days.
It was soft, mild and just beautiful, if a taste can be called beautiful. They tasted like childhood. Like the duet of light and dark browns that were so popular in the 1980s, the colors of our kitchen in Woodbridge, Va. I can remember how smoothly the pears gave way before my baby teeth.
I haven't eaten a lot of pears in my life, or I wouldn't remember them so vividly, I don't think. An apple is just an apple. I eat them almost every day. But a pear is something special.
The magazines I've gotten this fall have featured pear recipes. Since we had three sitting in our kitchen still, I decided to whip up this particularly delicious looking one.



The muffins taste very much like gingerbread, but the pear and the chocolate make them really special. Annoyingly, though they just would not stay together as I tried to take them out of the muffin tin. I probably should have done a better job spraying and flouring the cups. If I make them again, I might cave and use paper muffin cups, though that would make them less pretty, maybe.

Then again, who really cares when they taste this good?


Ginger Pear Muffins
from Better Homes and Gardens

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. ground ginger
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
2/3 cup mild flavor molasses
1/4 cup butter, melted
1/4 cup packed brown sugar
1 egg
1/2 cup boiling water
2 small pears, cut in 6 wedges each (I used one large pear cut in 12, but they were really big for the muffins)
3 oz. dark chocolate broken in small pieces (I used semi-sweet chocolate chips)
Raw sugar for decoration

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Coat the muffin cups with non-stick cooking spray and flour. (Or use paper muffin cups, like I probably should have.)
2. In a large bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, ginger, cinnamon, baking soda and salt. In a second bowl, whisk together molasses, butter, brown sugar, and egg. Pour into flour mixture and stir until combined. Whisk in boiling water (I think this is so it makes the batter easier to pour). Add 1 pear wedge to each muffin, pressing lightly.
3. Bake 15 to 18 minutes or until toothpick inserted into center comes out clean. Sprinkle with raw sugar. Add the chocolate pieces on the tops of the muffins. Cool in pan on rack 10 minutes. Use a table knife to smooth the melted chocolate. Remove from cups and cool completely on a wire rack.

"Yes, I promise from my heart, you will get another chance."

You cannot make someone love you.

This is one of those timeless truths that one finds oneself coming back to over and over in life. But it's one of the hardest things to remember if you've been broken up with.
And the worst, the absolute worst thing about it is that you were the one broken up with. The anger-fueled determination to make yourself better, to make that person sorry they broke up with you, defeats its own purpose entirely.
If your ex is a human being and not evil incarnate, they will actually want to see you like this. He or she will think it means you are moving on.
"If I get thinner, prettier, more responsible, then he'll be sorry."
But he won't. Not than any of these things are bad, but they won't make him love you.
Instead, he'll think, "Look how well she's doing, how viciously happy she is. She is fine. She is healing. She is letting go." And that is the exact opposite of what you are going for.

In your saner moments, you know that. When I'm thinking straight, I know that I am better off now. I know he was right to do it. When I'm not angry, I can rationally tell you these things:
That he didn't love me. He wanted to, but he didn't.
That I didn't see him. I loved the man I thought he was, but I don't think that man was ever really there. I saw what I wanted to see, not who he was. He needs someone who can see him.
That there will be someone better for both of us.

When I am lonely for him, when I think I still love him, I remind myself that I didn't see him. That it wasn't him that I loved. Not him. An idea, not reality. When I am angry, I remind myself that it's OK to want to do better, to be better -- but I should do it for its own sake, because it won't make him want me back. It won't make him love me.

And both the anger and the love I have to let go, which is not really an easy thing to do.

I had a friend who hurt me so deeply that I thought we would never be friends again. Forgiveness took forever. I thought for the longest time that I'd forgiven him, but whenever anyone asked what had happened between us, and I'd tell the story, I'd be angry all over again. I hadn't let go, hadn't forgiven. I just forgot about my anger most of the time.
Then I realized that if telling the story made me angry, I shouldn't talk about it any more. And I shouldn't think about the past, either, shouldn't dwell on "what he did to me." Whenever I thought about it, I took a deep breath and made the decision to let go. He would never be able to understand how his actions hurt me, I realized, and me holding a grudge wouldn't help him understand. I came to see more and more how it was partly my own fault. Again and again, whenever it came up in my thoughts, I let go.
I still have to let it go. We are both different people now. He is not the boy who hurt me and I'm not the girl he hurt. We talk, he and I, sometimes. But we don't talk about the past. We talk about now and about where we're each headed.

Forgiveness is continuous, and it only gets slightly easier as time marches on. It is letting go and letting go and letting go, for infinity.
He and I, our relationship, will be like that, I think. I will have to forgive it over and over. I cannot force my eyes to see or his heart to bend. Forgive it. Let it go. God will provide for us both.

Must be breaking some kind of commandment.

This is possibly the sexiest bag I have ever lusted after. I want it. I need it, oh baby, oh baby.
Or I can dream of commissioning one on my own, since cha cha does that. I shouldn't even think about it, but I am. Maybe I can sell something old I have to make enough money to buy it instead? Dream on ... Anyone want an old laptop with a dead battery that won't turn on for about 12 hours after it's unplugged from the wall and a useless printer without ink? Cause I can help you out. For real.

Or maybe I should just get a part-time job as a waitress or something to make a little spending money. Because really, that's what I'm going to have to do if I move out, anyway.

Speaking of moving out, I'm trying to talk to this girl about being her roommate. I found her ad on facebook, so now we're arranging a meet in person. I guess we'll see if she's a psycho -- not that you can tell that kind of thing on a first meeting anyway.

Rambling, sorry, because its so late and my brain is so friend from election coverage. I will be worthless tomorrow.

3 a.m.

Tired of seeing,
my eyes drip closed, they form
dream puddles and pools.

Retro-artsy-chic?

Pass me that wide headband, J-dubs.

My legs at work after an extremely harrowing deadline day, during which my pretty mac laptop ate One Whole Story And Notes For The Same. Little laptop made it up to me by taking this photo.

Election day

Have you voted? Because I haven't.

No, I really intend(ed) to, but I have this thing called work ... I left the house at 6:15 a.m. and I've still got tons to do. Plus I don't even know where my voter registration card is.

Oh well. I've been covering these elections since the dawn of time. That should be enough for you people! Gosh.

But don't follow my bad example! Voting is important, just ask Teter.

Monday haiku

Car battery dead,
I find that I'm running on
Stress and loneliness.


in my car outside Panera before a school board meeting ...

Pizza party

Ever since I ate homemade pizza at my cousin's house about two years ago, I've been wanting to host a pizza-making party.
I finally got the party together this weekend, just in time a late celebration of my birthday. I invited some of the high school kids over, because I knew they would think it was fun.

I won Ticket to Ride for the second time ever. Maybe the kids let me win because it was my party?

By random chance, my same cousin and his wife were up, too, to see him get sworn in as an official Ohio lawyer! Exciting for them, and what better way to celebrate than a movie (after consideration, I choose the indie film, "Everything is Illuminated" starring Elijah Wood) and homemade pizza?
The movie was funny and touching, and the pizza turned out really good, too.
But the biggest hit was the cookie cupcakes (see below). :)

It was my first time making pizza at home, and we used a recipe my dad got about 26 years ago from a little old Italian lady. He'd had her pizza crust about 2 years before, and he thought about it so often that one day it was just too much for him -- he HAD to have the pizza. So he called her up and got such instructions as "Mix one package of yeast with warmer than lukewarm water in the drinking glass I always use" and "One handful of salt" (the latter was so nebulous that his first attempt at the pizza crust was so salty it was totally inedible).

The pizza recipe, as transcribed by my father on the back of an envelope, which still holds a letter from his sister written 26 years ago.

Here's my best stab at passing it along:

Pizza-obsessed Dad's pizza crust

1. Take a 5 lb. bag of flour, and put half of it or a little more in your biggest pot.
2. Add a small handful (a couple teaspoons) of salt.
3. Mix 1 pkg. yeast in the bottom of a glass with warmer than lukewarm water (about 12 oz.) and let sit about 5 minutes.
4. Pour yeast and water in flour mixture with another glass of water (another 12 oz.) and mix with spoon until doughy and sticky.
* At this point, I also added about 1 1/2 T. honey because one pizza dough recipe I found that claimed it made the best pizza crust ever included 2 T. honey. I actually liked the taste this gave the dough.
5. Put on floured board and knead for about 8 minutes, until stretchy. It helps if you coat your hands with oil first. I found this out the hard way ...
6. Coat the inside of the pot with olive oil. Put dough back in pot and coat with oil.
7. Cover and put in a warm place (such as a warm oven) for about 1 1/2 hours until it doubles in size.
From there, you can roll out the dough however you like. Place it on an oiled cookie sheet with toppings to bake.

The Old Italian Lady topped her pizzas with the following:
1 big fat can of crushed tomatoes in puree (28 oz.)
1 small can tomato sauce mix (8 oz)
salt, pepper, garlic powder, oregano
mushrooms, pepperoni
Shake on romano or parmesan to cover top.
Bake @ 425 degrees F 10-15 minutes. Lift pizza with spatula to see if the bottom is golden.
When it is, sprinkle the top with 12 oz mozzarella and continue baking until the cheese is melted.
Cut with scissors.

Mmmm...

Lazy Saturday

A baby shower I went to this afternoon made me happy, but a little bit jealous, too. My best friend from 6th grade is happily married and expecting her first child. She has a house and two dogs and (now) tons and tons of very cute baby gear, including this, which is just one of the gifts my mom and I brought. Jealous because unlike most unmarried people I know, I want children pretty desperately. All in good time, I guess. It's hard to be patient, but you cant force those kind of things. ;)
I took photos as I baked cookie cupcakes today, in hopes of posting them along with the recipe, but my macbook isn't recognizing the camera for some reason. Hopefully I'll find a way, but for now, it's no good.
As compensation, I'm including the latest edition of the web comic Basic Instructions, which, unlike most comics, actually makes me laugh out loud on a regular basis. Enjoy!

Recipe secrets, Vol. 1

In case you haven't noticed (or haven't met me in person), I'm kind of known for my baking. I say that with as much humility as possible, honestly. It probably has more to do with the fact that I give out my baking rather than the quality of the baking itself.
The fact that it gets eaten up pretty quickly most of the time does feel like an enormous compliment, though.
The first time I can really remember baking on my own was in the winter of my eighth grade year, on a Friday afternoon when everyone else from my class had stuck around to see the boy's basketball game.
I'm not really into basketball. Or sports, really, except for college football. That's typical for women who live around here, I guess. So I went home that Friday, except then I realized that all the other girls were getting in quality facetime with the boys basketball team as I sat around alone at home.
So I did the wise thing: I got up off the couch and started baking -- naturally I chose my mom's signature chocolate chip cookies. And when I finished, I packed up every single one into a couple gallon ziplock bags and carted them over to the basketball game.
I got there just as the game was ending. It was perfect timing, really. The boys, who I'd only sort of been friends with before, ate up the cookies and (at least I felt this way) our friendship was cemented. They got my cookies many times in the years to come. Especially one of them, who I ended up "dating" the next year. We're still friends to this day.
My family's cookies are probably a little different from most homeade chocolate chips you've eaten. They look like the photos or drawings you'll see of cookies, rather than the ones you so often eat in reality. They're a flat-ish and round, and when baked correctly, will be just the right combination of chewy and crunchy.
We get asked pretty frequently which recipe we use. Truthfully, we say that we use the traditional recipe on the back of the Tollhouse chocolate chip package, but there's more to it than that.
Here's the recipe in all it's glory:

Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookies
The key to a perfect cookie is using high-quality ingredients. Real butter and vanilla extract are essential. Though it may seem strange, melting the butter helps dissolve the sugar and makes for a more consistent cookie. We use less sugar than the Tollhouse recipe most of the time because we like the flavor and texture better. Also, it cuts down on the calories slightly.
We use an airbake cookie sheet when we bake. There's really no subsitute there, either. Airbake is the way to go for chocolate chip cookies because it helps them cook evenly; the bottoms won't burn before they're cooked through to the center.

2 sticks (1/2 lb) salted butter
2/3 c. packed brown sugar
2/3 c. white sugar
1 Tablespoon pure vanilla extract (at least)
2 eggs
2 1/4 c. flour
1 t. salt
1 t. baking soda
1 pkg. (2 c.) Nestle Tollhouse semi-sweet chocolate chips

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees F.
1. Combine flour, salt and baking soda in a separate bowl.
2. Melt the butter, in the microwave or over a stove, making sure not to burn it. This step helps the sugar dissolve. Beat butter and sugar until creamy.
3. Add vanilla to taste, but we like to use at least 1 T.
4. Beat in eggs one at a time until the mixture seems pretty light.
5. Gradually add flour mixture until combined.
6. Mix in chocolate chips.
7. Drop by rounded tablespoon onto ungreased airbake baking sheet(s) and bake for 9-11 minutes or until golden brown.

Depending on how large you like your cookies, makes between 4 and 6 doz.

Use your first batch as a test. If the cookies aren't as flat as you'd like, maybe add some milk to thin out the dough. If they're too runny, add a little flour. I'm not the exact baker who measures everything within an inch of it's life, so my cookies have some variation from batch to batch. They always get eaten, anyway.


Other ideas: Add white chocolate chips and macadamia nuts instead of chocolate chips. They're also good with mint chocolate chips, if you can find them. And my little sister loves them absolutely chipless, as well.

This recipe also works well baked in a shallow brownie pan for cookie bars. Or for cookies easier to send in a care package, line a muffin tin with cupcake liners and divide the dough evenly among the cups. Then they'll stack nicely and won't crumble in the mail. These are especially good with buttercream frosting (see above!)

Halloween goodness

Dressed as the boss for Halloween. Sweeeeeeeeeet.




Too bad everyone asked me if I was a character from The Office. No. No, I am not. Do you see this nametag? Who on The Office is named "Joe"?

Even more people thought on first glance that I was a new guy. Emphasis on guy. Three cheers for sportsbras!