lady cordelia

a day in the life of December

I love Christmas.  And I love it so much.  I put up the tree real early.   I am not shy about putting the tree up early. I do not like cutting down more trees than need be.  So.  We have a fake.  Looks real.  Miss the pine smell.  Saved a tree.  That's how I roll.

Shopped for vintage ornaments that were cheap.
Found a few and also some vintage cookie cutters. 
I was super excited.
BUT THEN, I was sad because once again, at the antique store and no vintage muffin pans.  I've waited so long.  Searched high and low.  None to be found. 

Ho hum.  Went to the local thrift and as I drove there I thought: it will happen when it's time. 

As I arrived at local thrift the owner was pulling stuff out of a box and in his HANDS had a vintage muffin tin. Yes.  True.  Swear.  It was kinda super rusty.  So I used it as art.  Still on the lookout for the Ovenex ones.  You know, like Heidi Swanson has in her latest cookbook. I wanna have baking gear like Heidi Swanson. Sure I do.

I like old kitcheny things.  I like vintage ornaments.  I like artistic photos.  Though, this one may be taking it too far.

Now you know a little more about me.   And that's my dog on the right.  He's oversized.

And now I have to go spend some time with my children who, it sounds like,  are inviting the chickens in the house for crackers.

 

an artistic messy blur of a weekend.

Good Morning!  Up and at'em! 

I get in these creative flows that have really no foresight or organization. A blur of yarn and material, cleaning products (natural of course), recipes and food surround me.  In other words, I want to clean, cook, knit and sew.  And two children to take care of in the midst of it.  (Yes, in the midst of it, I make myself take them to the park.  I don't really want to, per se, but I do it anyway.)

First, let me talk to you about the Big Lace Scarf.  I call it a Big Lace Pain in the A**.  I love, love, love the pattern.  But.  You can not..let me rephrase that..I can not successfully pull out rows on this thing when I make a mistake.  All the yarn overs and SK2P's and all that stuff...come on!  How in the hell can one make sense of a pulled out row?  You can't.  Or, rather I can't.  And so I have to start All. Over. Again. when I make a mistake.  But I'm determined.  I will finish the Big Lace A** in time to give it for a Christmas gift.  I will.  I will.  I will.

So, there was that mayhem this weekend.  The trying ever-so-hard not to hang myself from the rafters when, for the 9th time, I am pulling out about 30 rows.  I'm sure it isn't healthy for me, The Big Lace Scarf... but it beats chain smoking or binge drinking or abusive relationships so I'm feeling pretty ok about it as far as obsessions go.

Then, I decided I wanted to make some sock elephants for a non-profit that saves Asian elephants (I will tell you more about the organization in a later post.).  I put about 7 hours into sock elephants. One turned out hella ugly.  The other just a little bit worse than that.  I emailed photos of my sock elephants to the head of the organization who I had been emailing back and forth with.  I had been trying to figure out how to help her and so came up with the sock elephant idea.  I have not heard from her since.  I can feel her thinking to herself: How can I tell this nice lady that those sock elephants are really scary.

My mom asked me this weekend:  Why do you take on so much?  Sock elephants?  Now?  It's right before Christmas! Don't you have enough projects going on?

DUH Mom!  Just trying to save an elephant or two!  K???????????

Then, I realized mid weekend I needed to clean The Brads studio.  WOAH!  This is not a simple or easy task.  He is a photographer and does all his own matting and framing.  Which means there is a LOT of paper waste that needs to be recycled.  AND, he does not pick any of it up.  So, I left all 800 lbs. of the recycling up at the top of the stairs for him so he can't really get into the studio unless he removes it.  Smart, right? 

Then I did a deeper clean on my sewing/craft/whatever room. Pretty no?  Not perfect, but certainly ready for the finishing of older daughters quilt.  (Oh, and for making more sock elephants! Much to the annoyance of the head of the elephant organization.) K.  Still with me?  Come on!  Keep up, would you?  I then had an impromptu dinner with some friends (The Brad was gone all weekend for work, by the way.) And I tacked this recipe  WHICH rocks.  Though it came out a little dry.  Still, I fully impressed my dinner guests! Wow.  Can you imagine if I would have showed them my sock elephants?  Right.  It would have ruined everything.  Which is why I did not.  And I why I will not show them to you. Ever.  I know you say you would not laugh.  But you would.  And then my feelings would be hurt.   I'm ever so sensitive like that.

posting late to weekending with A.

 

heritage.

What a wonderful Thanksgiving.
After the  meal, my aunt bestowed on me a handful of treasures.
She knew of my beginnings in baking (and by and large cooking) and understood my new-found passion. A fine baker and cook herself, she learned a lot about being in the kitchen from my grandmother (her mother in law) and has always treasured the recipes that were passed to her.  But, until I piped up earlier this year about my new-found passions, she thought those recipes may only slip away with time. 

My Aunt honored and stunned me last night with a beautiful scrapbook she made comprised of recipes from my grandmother and great-grandmother.  This one, handwritten by my great-grandmother over 100 years ago. Now, it is here, in my hands and in my heart.

Also, several cookbooks used by my great-grandmother. This is a page from one of them.  Funny stuff.  No? (Look at the antidote for arsenic.)

My grandmother was not always a healthy woman, but she was a wonderful cook and baker and one of the sweetest ladies you could want to know.  She passed away when I was a young girl but I remember her cozied up in her rocking chair, crocheting away.

My Aunt also gave me a small stack of photos- many of myself as a baby, ones I had never seen.

I love knowing that when I do the dishes, or cook a meal, or bake fresh goodies, or knit something, or garden, that I am right in line with my grandmother, and her mother, and her mother.  And, as I look through the recipes and the photos of my grandmother, I can't help but wonder if my heritage is a living entity.  The very one that called me out of the blue in the last few years to the baking tins and knitting needles.  

My Aunt recognized me as the torch carrier.  Wow.  It's something no one would have ever guessed.  (Myself most strongly included.) But here I am with my two little girls, in this fast-paced technological world and I can't help but see an old generational recipe for molasses cookies as a lifeboat in the blur.  Something of substance, something to soothe us and bring us back down to what is really essential.  It's hard to explain, but I know many of you understand.  It's a wonderful thing. 

see me and my mama on upper right & my maternal grandmother knitting (or crocheting) in her favorite chair.

 

 

 

weekending into the holidays

Went upstairs to the room
where sewing machine lives.
I hardly go there
cause
I hardly sew.
The girls go up to this fantastic room sometimes when The Brad is working.  They mess it up real bad. 
And jump on the pink camo mini-trampoline (that will never ever make its way downstairs.)
They make it hella messy. 
Cause a bunch of pens and paper and dress-up clothes and other toys are up there too.
Every few months, I clean it up.
Then, after all that, I'm usually too tired to sew.

But.  It's time to make presents.  So, I cleaned it halfway and used the rest of my energy to start a twin size quilt for oldest daughter.

All thrifted material that I have collected over the last while.  Cool, no?  You betcha.  Way.  Cool.

Someday I would like to construct quilts that are a little more, shall we say, tidy.
But, I would probobly have to use pins and measuring tape and stuff like that.
Oh well.

But, anyway.
I love this room.
And I like to sew.
And I like to re-use material.
So I think I'll be getting better at this.
And in the meatime.
Things still turn out cute.
Even though.
My sqaures
don't match up.
Hey.
You know what?
They're pretty close.

 weekending with my pal amanda.

::joy moments::

this moment with amanda & joy pockets with monica.

 

My Joy Pockets for this week:

truly enjoying the bright eyes, words, stories, questions and all around innocence of my 3-year-old

listening to my 5-year-old read, watching her run around in general glee, imagining a world in which she was president.

[somewhat] keeping up with the garden
(even though it's not as pretty or as fun as in Spring and Summer)

knitting, knitting, knitting and getting better at it all the time
(I tell myself)

baking, baking, baking, and getting more confident and quicker
(I tell myself)

this soup which had The Brad telling me I was "soup queen"

looking at the sewing machine and pondering

hanging out at my 5-year-olds tiny adorable public elementary school and helping all the brilliant, sweet children with Harvest Day festivities

feeling happy that despite the education budget cuts, there seems to be plenty of arts, crafts & music classes at her school! 

Have a fantastic weekend.

XO

things involving yarn and carbs.

Stop with the breakfast options already.  Right?  Come on.  This is fresh homemade granola and homemade strawberry compote THAT I froze and took out months later. With yogurt.  Greek style.  Come on.   But- you know all about this stuff.   I won't link to the recipes.  I just thought the pic was pretty.  Not even 6 months ago I could barely crack an egg.  Look at me now, ma!  Right?  Right.

Yeasted Bread.  Tassahara Bread Book.  Made it a million times.  (Or, maybe 10 times, or 15.  Close enough.) Check it out:  Tablespoons & Teaspoons.  Different.  K?  I have a dough ball just like the one you see above in my trash right now cause I thought I was way too cool to look at the recipe today.  If you like salt a lot, the one in the trash was the loaf for you.  (What a waste of 7 cups of flour.  And 4 tablespoons of salt)

Now.  Check this out.  Bag of already made granny squares at local thrift.  FULL ON BAG.  (Just sampling the amount in the pic.)  Now I can totally make the gran blanket I've been dreaming of without having to learn to make the squares!!!!  NOW you are jealous.  No?  But wait, it gets better.  $6.  Yes!!!  (Sigh. Blowing on fingernails and shining on shirt.)

And, on the serious side a little- a hurricane hat for a friends son who is undergoing 2 years of chemo for leukemia.  He will most likely push it into a lifetime of remission with this treatment.  But, it's been immensely hard for the family, as you can imagine.  He is a senior in college and still going to school because he wants to graduate with his friends.   

 I want to link with Yarn Along today, so I have to mention a book:
See it in my sidebar.  It's a bio of a famous Rolling Stone writer/editor.   Pretty cool read, actually.
My dad got it for me cause he knew the dude.  And, well, my dad's name is listed in the index.  He's even quoted in the book!   Kind of....you know....FULLY RAD!  My dad is just very cool.  He's going to be 80 next year.  That does not stop him from being super rock n'roll. 

bradana's french toast

The Brad made this for "breaking-the-fast" this morning. 

A good breakfast made by a rather immodest chef.  It's hard to enjoy anything when someone is standing over you saying: Take that bite, where it's really caramelized...ok?  Good, no?  Amazing, yes?  Right?  Good?  Yes. Killer, right?

Luckily it was quite good or I would have slapped him across the kitchen.

He said:  Put it on your blog.  Right?  Yeaah.  Call it "Bradana's French Toast." (Brad + Bananas = Bradana's.) Cute name. But not really. But sort of.  Might have been cuter had I been left alone to eat it.

So, heeere you go.  And in all honesty, it was REALLY good.  It's just, when you make it, don't hover over the person you made it for, practically sitting in their lap, telling them what bite to take.  

Bradana's French Toast.

1 banana sliced thin
1 Tablespoon Butt-hair.  (Ooops.  Meant Butter.  We call it butt-hair sometimes. As in, "Would you please pass the butt-hair?"  We tell the kids never to say such things in public.  (And: they would never.)   We also call dollars "doll-hairs" sometimes.   As in:  "Excuse me, but how many doll-hairs is that pound of butt-hair?" We are an extremely mature family. 
Let's get on with the ingredients.
2 duck eggs.  Ok.  Chicken eggs will do too.  I guessssss.
3 Tbsp. Half and Half
Dash of Cinnamon
Dash of Vanilla
Dash of Nutmeg
4 pieces whole grain bread
A few dashes of sugar

Take the eggs, spices, 1/2 and 1/2 & mix 'em  in bowl.
Sliced Bananas: Fry 'em on medium-high heat until browned, maybe a minute.
Toast: Dip it in egg concoction
Arrange bananas in the pan so that the toast will cover them in the next step.
Slap your dipped toast on the bananas
after a minute or so, flip the toast banana side up.
Sprinkle a little sugar on the banana side
Flip again for a few seconds to caramelize the sugar.
(Depending on the size of your pan, you may need to do a few rounds.  We have a cast iron the size of Texas. Seriously.  I'm not even kidding.)

Add maple syrup, fruit compote or whatever you see fit. 

Eat.

music, night-driving and persimmons & toast

Last Thursday I drove to LA, spent the night with one of my dearest friends who I've known for almost 20 years, then headed out to the studio of another wonderful old friend.  That friend is recording three new songs of mine.  I am very exicted to share the songs with you.  However, it's not time yet. Dang!!!!

In the span of about 8 hours I sang three vocal tracks, with background vocals, and did two acoustic guitar tracks.  Then I had to drive back.  In the dark.  In the rain. All the way home.  Three different freeways and several highways.  Didn't like that part.  I'm a night-time driving wimp.  I called The Brad a few times on the road, almost in tears cause I didn't know to stay on the 118 when it turned into the 23. Or something like that.  Whatever. I'm not too good with directions. When I got home he said: Really, honey? You got lost?  How many times have you done that drive? Really? And then he said Awwwwwww.  And patted my back like I was three.  I punched him a little. 

Sometimes men who are good with directions can really make you feel stupid. 

Sang my butt off though, in the studio.  I can do that.  So: na-na-na-na-na (say that like a three year old.)

So.  Excited.  I am.  About.  The new songs.  

K.

Also:

Toast with butter and fresh persimmons mushed all over it.  
If you think that seems weird, you and The Brad would get along great.
If not, you can sit by me at the breakfast table and we can share.
Wanna?

weekending with Amanda.

 

baked oatmeal and also, why I dumped starbucks.

It's hard to believe sometimes that I've really only been interesed in cooking for less than a year.  Maybe even just 6 months!  I love that the interest grabbed me because if it hadn't I would never have made Baked Oatmeal.  And then The Brad would have never tried to make it better than me (he says he didn't "try to make it better than you, Cory." But, he did. We know he did.)  And anyway, he made it better than me.  After about five days of eating it every morning, I am now a little tired of it.  But only for a short while. 
Cold Weather + Baked Oatmeal= it's really quite obvious, duh!  Just make some.  It's good!

 
What else.  Cause I know you were getting a little tired of my intensity.  I had a deep week as you saw.  But I'm also lighthearted and funny.  A lot of times I am. You know it's true.  Cut me some slack.  Just trying to make the earth a better place.  Which reminds me.  I wanted to talk to you about something I care about a little bit.  Coffee.

K.  Did you know Starbucks does not recycle?  I mean, if the Starbucks near you does, please tell me so I can consider at least a partial non-boycott.  If I'm missing something, please.  Let me in on it.  Because, really, I'm sorry.  I never use to be "political" like this.  Is this political?  Nah.  I'm a truly concerned citizen.  Full difference.
But back to the story.  Really?  Starbucks? Allllllllllllllll those paper and plastic cups?  Really?  All of them?  Allllllllll the cardboard cup holders?  Really?  All of them?  I learned this today as I took my kids there when the car was getting an oil change.  I said to the barista: Where's the recycling?  She said: We don't have one.  I said: WTF.  She said:  But we do a lot of other things for the planet.  I said: WTF.

And that was pretty much it.  I took the cups home to recycle.  

I never used to be like this.  People.  Really.  I hope you still love me.  Because I don't see it getting any milder from here.   I came home and said to The Brad: Did you know Starbucks doesn't recycle?  
And he said: Ehhhh Boeeey.  Are we not going to Starbucks anymore? 

What else...well, we went on a drive yesterday because I wanted to see some cows.  Just.  You know.  Bonding and stuff.  They were a little far away for total intimate bonding.  I just sent good vibes.  I can send very big vibes, you know.  Good ones.  And big ones.  It's just another one of my hidden talents.   Like making Baked Oatmeal.  Even though The Brad makes it better than me.  So.  Folks.  I'm not sure what else to share with you.  I didn't see this post going this way.  But, you know. I go with the flow. 

 

making a world through dreams

Here were my weekend thoughts:

When I wake up in the middle of the night I get worried sometimes about my visions.  They are too grand, too scary, too risky.  When I wake up in the morning I say: Lemme at 'em.  And that is the difference between night and morning for me.  Suffice to say, I am a morning person.

A few weeks ago I started to get a little tired of cleaning out the chicken/duck coop.  Just a little.  I wasn't loving it.  I was just doing it.  And that was in itself fine.  There was no way I was "over" it.  Oh no no.  Don't go that far.  But then, you know, last week happened, and it shifted my mental vortex back to where is was before about 6 months ago, only about 100 times stronger.  You know, the "sustainable living" place I have in my mind.  The one that sees the bigger picture and asks: what I can I do to better the planet?  The one that sees more farm-to-table.  More work.  More gratitude.

I was very happy this morning.  My dad came into town for a few hours without my mom (who is away for the week.)  We went to the local farmers market and I bought meat there for the first time.  Remember how I told you I will never ever buy commercial meat again even if it is organic?  You betcha gurrrrl (or boooeeey.)  I'm living it baby!  I got a whole chicken and some ground beef.  Local small farm raised, truly free-range, and harvested on the same local small farm (i.e. not shipped out to some disgusting ol' slaughterhouse.) Our plan is to eat this high quality of meat just a few times a week, smaller portions, one night of fish and 4 nights of vegetarian.  I may eat vegetarian more than that. The Brad may eat meat more than that.  But we are starting here.

We also ordered a turkey from the same small local farm as well because we have Thanksgiving with our extended family and at that table, turkey is a must-have.  I mentioned to a few people that I thought it might be nice to take the girls to the farm to meet the turkeys before one ends up on their dinner plate.  I think they- the folks I mentioned this thought to- found me clinically insane.  But, this is how I roll now.  Breaking it down so that it's real.  Being part of the process and not, as I was, blindly consuming in a way that I felt for me was very disconnected to my heart values.

I ask myself: How can you eat an animal that you have no connection to?  I think to myself, if it is farmed locally, I may not have come into contact with the live animal, but I have come into direct contact with the farmer.  And that means so very much.  I asked the chicken farmer this morning about her turkeys and she said, oh yes, I saw them this morning, cruising around and gobbling away. (Heritage turkeys are so so beautiful by the way, truly magnificent.)  Why not take the girls on a trip to the farm.   Let them see how beautiful the turkeys are and take a moment to truly give thanks.

The Brad and I speak of rasing our own meat chickens someday (and turkeys?).  Have to be honest, I don't think I could do the harvesting, but maybe we could find a local farm to harvest for us. 

I am asking myself if I can't take it that far, the raising of my own meat, should I be eating it at all?

It's not a consideration for everyone.  But, it's where I find myself.  Connecting deeper into the process of food to table.  What do I believe in? What can I learn from it?  What am I afraid of?  I stop and sit with the fear and I look at it from all sides. I hold it up like a ball and spin it in my hands.  (It is not holding me if I am holding it.)

What I am most afraid of, I decide, is walking blindly through the world.

So.  I grab a paper and pencil and begin to design what I think a perfect 1 acre farm would look like.

 

(pic found here.)