Celine Needs To Eat More

If being furloughed is a precursor to my retirement next year I am going to be in a boatload of trouble.  No, not a boatload – a shipload.  I am going to be in a shipload of trouble.  I am going to be in a sinking shipload of trouble.  I’m just not used to having all this time on my hands and I don’t quite know what to do with myself.  Sure, sleeping nine or 10 hours a night uses up some of the time, and chasing fur balls with a dustmop is fun for about … actually it’s not fun at all.  Reading in the middle of the afternoon, or watching Love It Or List It at 10 in the morning, or doing laundry on a weekday just doesn't have the same feeling of cunning triumph when I am pretty sure I am going to be able to do that the next day and the next and the next and the next.

What’s a furloughed girl to do?  Turns out I bake.  Yep.  Bake and bake and bake – banana bread, cinnamon rolls, sandwich bread, rice pudding – and then I eat and eat and eat…………………….and eat some more.

Before the weightiness of this furlough pushes me down into the oceanic depths though, I’m going to share a recipe in the hopes I will have company.  I got this from Abby and it’s awesome.  It’s very moist and very flavorful.  I followed the recipe exactly the first time I made it but if Congress doesn’t send me back to work soon I’m going to try it again with a little coconut added.  

Abby says it doesn’t taste nearly as good after about three days, however I cannot attest to that because mine didn’t last that long.  I also only let it cool for approximately one minute (not hour) before serving –– if hacking off a piece and shoving it into my mouth counts as serving.  And I don’t have a photo either because………….well, you figure it out.

 See you at the bottom!

Low-Fat Banana Bread

4 large ripe bananas

2 large eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 ¾ cups all-purpose flour

½ cup sugar

2 teaspoons baking powder

¾ teaspoon baking soda

¼ teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

2 ounces fat-free cream cheese, cut into 4 pieces and chilled

1.  Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees.  Bake bananas on rimmed baking sheet until skins are completely black, about 20 minutes.  (Do not turn off oven).  Cool bananas completely, peel, and mash with potato masher until smooth.  Measure 1 ½ cups mashed bananas and discard any excess.

2.  Grease a 9 x 5 inch loaf pan.  Whisk eggs and vanilla in small bowl.  With electric mixer on medium low speed, mix flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in large bowl until combined.**  Add oil and cream cheese, one piece at a time, and mix until only pea-sized pieces of cream cheese remain, about 1 minute.  Slowly mix in egg mixture, then add mashed bananas and beat until incorporated, about 30 seconds.

3.  Scrape batter into prepared pan and bake until golden brown and toothpick inserted into center comes out with a few crumbs attached.   50 to 60 minutes.  Cool for 10 minutes, then turn onto wire rack and let cool at least one hour.  Serve.  (Bread can be stored at room temperature for up to three days).

**Use a deep bowl if you have it.  It’s a little dry and chunks may fly out of the bowl with the mixer. 

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Celine Needs To Eat More

♫ To Morrow ♪

Yesterday I made a valiant attempt to write a blog post.  As a matter of fact, yesterday morning as I walked into the kitchen I said to Dean, “Today I am going to blog.  I’m going to write a blog post.  Today.  I’m doing it.  No matter what.” 

It’s been a long time since I’ve been here in blogland and yesterday I fully intended to sit my butt down at the computer and write.  I’m so sorry.  I know all of you have been crazy with worry wondering what could possibly have kept me from writing succinctly about vital events.  Telling you about what's been keeping me away from here was absolutely on my list of things to do.  And since the government has so thoughtfully given me all this time off, I finally had time to do just that.  But first I had to make coffee.  And then I had to eat breakfast because stringing together a coherent sentence takes energy. 

I don’t know how it is for you all, but it’s nearly impossible for me to write when the house is dirty.  It’s just too distracting.  Who can blog with dog fur covering the keyboard?  Unfortunately, Angus

No wonder Dean never hears me.  Angus took his ear!

hasn’t been taking me seriously when I hold his furry head in my hands, stare into his eyes and state emphatically, It … is … winter … now. Stop … shedding!  So of course I had to clean the floors.  And you know how fur flies everywhere when you try to corral it into one gigantic dust bunny before vacuuming it up, right?  So you understand why I also had to dust the furniture before I could sit down at a computer and write.  But finally, at long last, I was ready to blog.  As I walked toward the computer I was mentally running through all the things I was going to write about but along the way my eye caught the list of errands that had been on the wipe-off board for days.    

I realized I had only a small window of time between the nearly melted 18 inches of tree destroying snow

One of ten broken branch dropoff areas

and when the predicted three days of rain would begin so I felt compelled to get that list winnowed down. 

Driving around town and crawling into and out of a car expended a lot of energy and trying to write when my belly is gurgling and grumbling is even more distracting than the constant sneezing from dog fur flying into my nose when I type.  Consequently, I was forced to take the time to eat something in order to replenish my creative gray matter.  Even though by the time I licked the last bit of butter and sugar from my fingers it was mid-afternoon, I still had plenty of time and I was absolutely determined to write a blog post.  The house was clean, the errands were done, my belly was full – there was nothing else that could possibly keep me from my mission.  All I needed was a cup of tea.  But as I warmed the water and began contemplating what to write, I looked over and saw Dean had commandeered the computer.  Of course, being the kind and considerate wife that I am, I could not ask him to leave and let me sit at the computer.  And anyway.  I knew he wouldn't be long.  So I drank my tea and waited patiently.  For the whole rest of the afternoon.  I couldn’t even grab it while he was cooking dinner because he had his recipe pulled up on it.   

As you can see, I tried to blog.  I really did.  It's not my fault I was thwarted.

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♫ To Morrow ♪

Rats, Bats and Beans

Remember what it felt like to lie in bed, listening to birds singing, feeling the sun warming your body as you stretched and yawned and slowly wakened to a day free of obligation?  Do you miss those days?  I miss them.  But Abby’s new blog has reminded me of them.   I’m using it as therapy.  When I’m feeling wound tight I stare at a NavyBean, take a slow deep breath and remember them.

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Rats, Bats and Beans

Dog Paddling

Our friends, Larry and Heidi, invited us to spend Memorial weekend with them camping two nights and canoeing 20 or (depending on who was reading the map) 30 miles on the Platte River.  It’s been at least three years since we have canoed and even longer since we’ve camped so we were out of practice, but we thought, why not.  Just because the last time we went on a camping and canoeing trip with these friends it was cold and rainy and we didn’t see the sun until the last day didn’t mean the weather would be bad this time.  And just because we tore a gash in the side of our canoe when we hit a limestone wall as we were frantically paddling through boulder strewn rapids on the Smith River with these friends didn’t mean we couldn’t have a leisurely float with them this time.  So I said, let’s check the weather forecast every day until we leave and if the prediction is warm and dry with no wind … let’s do it!  And while we’re at it, since Larry and Heidi have also invited another couple we‘ve never met, Bob and Laura, let’s test our friendship by bringing a 75 pound “puppy” along for his first experience floating in a canoe and sleeping in a tent.

We all met at a pre-arranged spot, strapped our gear into the canoes, coaxed, sweet-talked, bribed and then shoved Angus into our canoe and pushed off.  Unfortunately, by that time it was late in the day, the wind had come up, and we were not only paddling into a head wind, we were being buffeted by cross winds.  Angus was constantly moving but it was from excitement, not nervousness.    Every time he saw a bird he would jump up, poised to leap, the canoe would sway from side to side and I would tense, waiting for the inevitable.  Let me tell you.  There are LOTS of birds flying around a river.  When he wasn’t jumping up and whining at a bird or walking from one side of the canoe to the other, he was stepping over the cross bars to get to the back where Dean was sitting.   When he got bored with Dean he’d move back over the cross bars to the front of the canoe right behind me.   Just as I would be paddling like crazy to try and keep us going forward as the wind was trying to push us backwards, Angus would lay his head on my shoulder and expect me to pet him.   When the bird population dropped enough that he felt he could ignore them for a moment, he would lean up against the side of the canoe, causing it to list, stick his head over the side and nonchalantly lap up river water.  

 The wind rippled the water and made paddling difficult but Angus’ bird-watching and river drinking made it nerve-wracking.   I know it probably wasn’t fair for me to blame Angus for every tilt and sway of the canoe but I did.  Especially since I had no idea what was going on behind me.  Each time the boat leaned I gripped the side, and as I waited for the water to take us, I yelled.  “Sit!  Lay down!  Sit! Get away from the side!  Please!  Lay down, Angus!  Sit! What’s he doing now?  Is he sitting?  Sit Angus!  Is he lying down?  What’s going on?    Where is he?  Angus!  Sit!  Sit Angus!  Chew on your bone.  Chew on your stick.  Is he sitting?  What are you doing?  What’s he doing?  Oh, no, there’s another bird.  Angus!  Stay!  Staaaaaaaay ………….. staaaaaay ….. staaay …. stay! ….. Angus!  Stay!  Sit!  Sit, Angus!”

That was day one.   A four-mile, hour-long canoe ride that felt like a lifetime.  We almost backed out after that.  We fully intended to walk the five or so miles back to our car and admit defeat but Larry and Heidi and Laura and Bob talked us into staying.  Maybe listening to frantic yelling while they watched a wobbly canoe was good entertainment, or maybe they wanted to test their rescue skills if Angus did dump us into the river, or … maybe there were beers riding on exactly how and when the likely event of our dunking would occur.   Later, as we were all relaxing and visiting at our campsite, I wondered how much beer it would take to make a 75 pound dog lethargic.  Would it only take a little since he would be in a canoe being gently rocked to sleep?    Or would it take a lot because of all the stimulation from birds and wildlife?  Joking.  I was just joking.  Really.  I wouldn’t give him any.  That would be dog abuse.  But just out of curiosity, how much beer would a 75 pound dog have to drink in order to become mellow and sleepy? 

First night's campsite

We started out early on day two hoping to beat the wind.   The water was calm and Dean and I were much more relaxed as we glided along quietly with only the whisper of our paddles through the water.   Now and then I’d hear a muffled word softly spoken from one of the other canoes, or the quiet crunch of a stick being chewed behind me.  Angus even actually lay down in the boat or rested his head on the side intermittently for almost 45 seconds at a time – until he saw a bird or heard the slap of a beaver tail or the crack of elk hooves clambering over rocks.   All at once he would jump up, the canoe would rock and the tranquility would be shattered by staccato bursts of our frantic dog commands.

Day two had been so much more relaxing and enjoyable that we all decided to sleep in and have a leisurely pancake breakfast before we set off on the last morning’s paddle, which I welcomed because I hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the first night Angus slept in our tent.  He had started at our feet.  Then he moved to my side, then Dean’s side, then between us, then right on top of my legs and once I woke up and looked straight into a big black nose.   

Second night's campsite

As it turned out, we needed that extra sleep because day three was Day One Déjà vu with the addition of a goose; a goose that stubbornly chose to float and honk just ahead of our canoe.  When we paddled faster to try and scare it into flying away, the goose paddled a little faster maintaining the same distance ahead of us.  Angus was so tense with excitement he nearly vibrated.  He whined and cried and barked but the goose just kept floating and honking.  I yelled at Angus.  Dean yelled at Angus.  I yelled at the goose.  Nobody listened.  “This is it,” I thought.  “This is it.  So close to the end and he’s going to launch himself after that goose and dump us.”   

He didn’t.  But that was only because Dean decided to beach the canoe for a bit, wait for the others to catch up, and give that taunting feathered fowl time to get ahead of us.  Otherwise, I’m convinced instead of enjoying one last beer on the bank with our friends, I would have been drinking river water as I floated down the river clutching my life jacket in terror, wishing I’d given Angus a beer for breakfast.

Not as much fun as a river.

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Dog Paddling

Hanging Drapes

The other day Dean needed to work late and since our other car is still sitting patiently out front of the mechanic’s shop (that would be over six weeks now – not that I’m counting) I had gone home and then come back later with our “boy” to pick him up.  We'd started back toward home when I heard a loud rustling in the back of the car.  I checked the rear view mirror and Angus had apparently decided his “dad” was too far away from him and had attempted to crawl into the back seat.  He didn’t make it. 

So there we were.   Angus was draped over the seat back, half in front, half in back.  I was driving 60 mph and Dean was up on his knees facing toward the back of the car, leaning as far as he could over the back of his seat grabbing onto whatever parts of Angus he could reach and trying to pull the rest of him into the back seat.  When that didn't work he tried to push the front half back into the cargo area.  That didn't work either.  And of course before he tried either I made him “take some pictures!” which he attempted, but all he took were videos of sideways car windows and lopsided car ceilings and spinning blurs of black fur.  (I had to take the photos you’re looking at once we’d finally stopped). 

It turns out pushing or pulling even half of a 72 pound dog over a seat back isn’t as easy as you might think.  About halfway through the trip Dean finally just gave up.  Since we needed to stop for dog food on the way home and our office is at one end of town and the dog food is at the other end, it meant Angus spent about 20 minutes dangling over the seat back.  He didn’t seem to mind.  There was no struggling or whining or frantic scraping at the seat back with sharp toenails.  Every time I glanced at the rear view mirror he was patiently hanging over the seat back, looking at us with big brown eyes, until we eventually were able to once again join his front legs to his back.

I’ve been feeling like Angus a lot over the past year – like I’m hanging half in and half out.  Half of my life and furniture are in the future – Sheridan.  And half of my life and furniture are in the present – Casper.  I don't know if  you've noticed but I’ve been struggling to adjust to retirement and moving and a new life in a new place while living in the limbo in between.  Sometimes there has even been some whining.  But I think maybe what I need to do is be more like Angus.  I need to wait patiently until both halves come together ... and just hang.

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Hanging Drapes

Sometimes Words Are Better

Picture this.  I link my arm with Dean’s and he leans into me.  He is weak and unsteady.  His eyes are barely focusing as I lead him, shuffling, to the truck where Jorge and Abby are waiting.  I help him as he slowly lowers himself into the front passenger seat and then join Abby in the back.  Jorge eases the truck into traffic.  Dean is curled into himself, arms cradling his head.  With every small bump he moans.   We have at least three hours of moaning ahead of us, if not more.  I see Jorge look over at Dean with a deeply furrowed brow and his already tense shoulders stiffen a little bit more.   Abby and I look at each other with worry.  Jorge drives slowly to avoid any jostling and resulting moaning but some bumps are unavoidable and the highway has lots of tight curves.   I don’t think Dean even realizes he is making those sounds.  After a while Abby tells Jorge to drive fast and just get us there.  That was our last day in Ecuador.

But the day before our last day in Ecuador was great.  Other than the fact that I never seem to believe Abby when she says I need to bring something warm to wear.  It’s Ecuador.  Who needs warm clothes?  We all did.  Because we visited Cajas National Park which is somewhere between 10,000 and 14,000 feet high and it’s cold.  It’s bone-chilling cold.  It’s what the heck was I thinking by not bringing anything warm to wear cold.  It’s I don’t care if I look stupid wearing this sweater on my head cold. 

 But it’s also very beautiful.  

Before we left for Ecuador I printed maps of the trails within the park thinking we’d do some hiking.  But hiking is not as enjoyable when your teeth are chattering.   And it’s hard to keep your balance on a trail when your arms are wrapped around your body like you are in a perpetual self-hug.  

But if I am ever in this park again and I have listened to Abby and brought something to keep the rain off as well as my winter boots and ski pants and multiple layers of sweaters and a real coat and ear bands and scarves and mittens and hand warmers and wool socks and it’s not snowing or raining … I’m going hiking. 

After our mini-hike we took our frozen bodies to a restaurant for lunch not far from the park

 

where the first thing they bring you is a warm alcoholic drink so you can stop shivering long enough to hold a menu.  

But I was so frozen that trying to warm my body with one small drink was like trying to melt a glacier with a blow torch. I don’t think I warmed up until about 11 p.m. that night.  Just about the time Dean was throwing off the covers before he ran to worship his own porcelain god after he came down with what we now think was the Norovirus I “shared” with him. 

You don’t want to picture that.  But for more pictures of the park and our trip you can go here.

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Sometimes Words Are Better

Surprise! -- Update

And it was 25 MILES from town, not hours -- although this last six hours have felt like 25.◦

Surprise! -- Update

Surprise!!

Dean's just left to meet the tow truck driver who is bringing our Subaru back to town and dropping it at our trusty mechanic's business.  We were about 20 miles outside of Casper this morning on our way to a weekend in Sheridan when our 14-year old Subaru decided it had other plans for us and used its only means of communication to inform us of this by blowing its head gasket.  As we were parked along the exit to "Girls, Girls, Girls!" we called every tow truck I Googled only to find it would be a two-hour wait at the minimum.  So we begged a ride back from Leslie's very generous father-in-law who dropped everything to drive out, pick us up and bring us back home where we waited for the tow truck driver to call and say he was nearing town. 

While we were waiting we needed something to do other than pace so we did a little furniture rearranging downstairs.  Remember back here when I accidentally discovered where the kitties had "stored" all their toys?  They've been missing again for months.  Every now and then I've pulled out the dresser to see if they've all collected underneath once again but nary a one ever appeared.  I had come to the conclusion that Angus had eaten them all.  He does have colorful poop on occasion after all.

I was wrong. 

 

 

Well ... Dean just walked in.  I now know we were 25 hours from town because the tow truck driver told him.  And once he's unloaded our nine year old Honda with the stuff he moved from the Subaru that should be in Sheridan right now taking us to a fundraiser at the brewery where we planned to drink beer and listen to music ... we will be drinking a "free" soda and listening to car dealers. 

At least somebody is having fun today.

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Surprise!!