Arrggh! I Be Needin' Food!

There has been a lot happening in our neck of the woods in the past few weeks, not the least of which was Christmas and all that it involves.  There was a harrowing ride to and from the airport as well as ...

cookie frosting ...

figuring out how to transform the transformer ...

cooking ... (for recipe go here)

gift opening ...

relaxing ...

and of course, the expected eating and eating and eating, and, well, more eating.  

As I “forced” myself to eat more and more cookies and breads and candies and wine and trifle and pie and the occasional token carrot, my body did what it had to do to accommodate the cornucopia of foodstuffs I was sending down my gullet.  It (specifically, my belly) stretched to make room.   After weeks of this endless eating I’ve begun to worry I will be forced to shop for larger clothes and the only thing I hate more than shopping is … well, there’s nothing I hate more than shopping.  So I’ve  taken drastic measures.  I tied my wrists to a chair.  I tied my wrists to the arms of a chair and yelled “stop!”  Sort of.  Actually, I whispered it to myself.  In my head.  This morning.  I tied my wrists to the arms of a chair and whispered “stop!” right after I opened my desk drawer and ate some of the candy I’d stored up “in case of emergency.”

Non-stop eating was important but it wasn't the only activity keeping us busy.   We also participated in the popular sport of winter driving.   Abby & Jorge flew from the tropics of Ecuador and landed in a blizzard just before the airport was closed.  Our normally four-hour trip to the airport turned into a six hour drive over ice and snow.  And the usual four-hour trip home took over seven, not counting an unexpected overnight stay in Cheyenne because the interstate closed partway home.  

I took my job as navigator very seriously on this drive and kept Dean alert to all driving hazards by ceaselessly reminding him to “go slow…take your time…don’t rush…slow is good…let the idiots pass…they’ll end up in the ditch just like the other 11 cars we’ve already seen…”  We all really wanted to be home but it was probably a good thing the interstate closed because staying in Cheyenne also gave Abby’s tongue time to heal in preparation for the next day when she got to listen to me “help” Dean again.

Even with the heater blasting in the car, Jorge spent most of the time on the ride home like this:  

But it only took a few days for him to transform  – like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis – and take off the coat he had been wearing inside the house.

After that, the possibilities were endless.  Before we knew it he was out in the cold and snow shredding and sledding with the best of them. 

If you want to see videos of the action you can go here.

Of course all that “skiing” and sledding worked up an appetite which resulted in, yes, even more eating. 

The expansion of my belly over the past month or so has been a bit disheartening.  It’s hard to ignore a protruding belly, which means I’ve been spending more time thinking about why it’s become larger and flabbier which reminds me of cookies, and cakes and pies and cheese and pretty much all kinds of food (except vegetables) which makes me hungry, which causes me to reach for those cookies and candies and cheese, which is why I finally had to tie my wrists to a chair. 

Gosh, I hope all this talk about food hasn’t ruined your well-intentioned “eat healthy” New Year’s resolution and sent you running to the kitchen where you are now squirting chocolate sauce into your mouth.   If you are slumped in the corner, chocolate dribbling down your chin, don’t despair, because you too can utilize my wrist-tying-food-limiting technique.  But before you do, here’s a tip:  using ribbon to tie your wrists is the most comfortable.  However, if you are out of ribbon, a plastic grocery bag twisted into a rope will substitute nicely.   And if you prefer something more secure, I just happen to know where you can get a fine pair of handcuffs.  

Wait a minute.  You didn’t REALLY think I tied both my wrists to the arms of a chair did you?  Of course I didn’t do that.  It was only one wrist.  It’s pretty much impossible to tie both wrists to separate chair arms without any kind of help.  And if I asked for help, that would mean I was admitting I had a problem.  And I don’t.  Just because I have perfected the “one-armed-sneak-food-and-eat-undetected” technique is not an indicator that I need a food intervention.  Although it does mean I’m dragging a chair behind me everywhere I go … which is causing some issues with the walls … and it’s scaring the cats …

I need a smaller chair.

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Arrggh! I Be Needin' Food!

Hey, Hey, Hey! Who Wants To Play?

Because this is the season for giving and for sharing, I want to give you something.   I want to give you the opportunity to share in my experience of packing on the pounds.  I know the big push now is for everybody to be healthy and fit.  We’re told to regularly exercise ― more than just the part of our bodies we use to text, push remote controls or type at a keyboard.  We’re told to eat lots of green weeds (I said eat, not smoke) and we’re told to drink a lot (I assume they mean water).  I’ve pretty much decided that if I feel guilty eating, drinking or doing something, it’s probably not healthy and I shouldn’t be eating, drinking, or doing it.

But this is the season of giving and sharing … FOOD!  It should not be the season of food guilt.  I have enough to feel guilty about without feeling guilty that Dean’s going to find out I quickly ate a piece of pumpkin pie while he was brushing his teeth after breakfast.  It’s stressful too because it’s so hard to scoop out a half gallon of whipped cream without him hearing the clinking sound the spoon makes against the bowl.

So I say we all dig our heels in.  We rise up.  We make a stand.  Let’s join the protestors from around the world.  But instead of occupying London, or Wall Street, or Edinburgh or wherever, let’s allow food to occupy our bellies.  Yeah, man.  Let’s do it.  I say this ― from Thanksgiving through New Year’s we all fill our bellies.  Fill ‘em full.  Fill ‘em with fudge and toffee and cookies and trifle and wine and eggnog.  And let’s do it without hanging our heads in shame.  Let’s do it without guilt.  Who’s with me?  Shout it out!   Occupy the Belly!

My membership in Occupy the Belly! has already paid off.  When I was standing in the tree lot this morning, big fluffy flakes of snow falling all around me, my added layer of adipose tissue helped keep me warm as I watched Dean hoist this year’s Christmas tree up onto his shoulder and carry it over to the Subaru.  And I’m pretty sure, when he had to take off his gloves to tie it onto the roof, his fingers were a lot warmer than they would have been if he hadn’t also joined the movement.

In order to help with your transition into Occupy the Belly!, I would like to give you a recipe.  Don’t let the word “cranberry” scare you.  They don’t count as healthy when they’re in combination with fat and sugar.  And with the addition of the cream cheese frosting there is no doubt this sweet roll recipe meets the standards of an Occupy the Belly! food item.

I don’t normally frost my cinnamon rolls because, well, I feel even more guilty eating one if it’s slathered in frosting.   So, when I was compelled to eat one of these rolls (I had to be sure I wanted to serve them Christmas morning, after all), out of habit, I ate it without frosting.  However, I think the frosting will be complementary to the tartness of the cranberries so I recommend serving them frosted.  Also, the recipe doesn’t call for nuts, but I am genetically programmed to add nuts, cinnamon and raisins to pretty much everything I bake.  I added sliced almonds to these rolls but I think pecans or walnuts would be a better choice if you want to add nuts.  Don’t ask how I managed to refrain from adding raisins.  I’m still trying to figure it out myself.

Without further ado, women ― pull out those fat pants, and men― feel free to unbutton your pants (but please, for the sake of all of us and our appetites, wear a long, long shirt).  Are you ready?  Let’s Occupy the Belly! and bake!

Cranberry Sweet Rolls^*

¾ cup sugar

½ cup water

2 cups fresh or frozen cranberries

1 teaspoon grated orange peel

Dough:

2 packages (1/4 ounce each) active dry yeast

½ cup warm water (110 to 115 degrees)

½ cup plus 2 tablespoons butter, softened, divided

½ cup milk

2 eggs

½ cup sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

½ teaspoon ground nutmeg

4 ½ to 5 cups all-purpose flour

Cream Cheese Frosting:

1 cup confectioners’ sugar

½ of a 3-ounce package cream cheese, softened

¼ cup butter, softened

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon milk

In a saucepan, bring sugar and water to a boil.  Add cranberries; return to a boil.  Boil, uncovered, for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.  Remove from the heat.  Stir in orange peel; cover and refrigerate.

In a large mixing bowl, dissolve yeast in warm water.  Add ½ cup butter, milk, eggs, sugar, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg and 3 cups flour; beat until smooth.  Stir in enough remaining flour to form a soft dough.

Turn onto a floured surface; knead until smooth and elastic, about 6 to 8 minutes.  Place in a greased bowl; turning once to grease top.  Cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1 hour.

Punch dough down.  Turn onto a lightly floured surface; roll into a 20 by 10-inch rectangle.  Melt the remaining butter; brush over dough.  Spread with cranberry filling to within 1 inch of edges.  Roll up jelly-roll style, starting with a long side; pinch seam to seal.  Cut into 15 slices.  Place cut side down in a greased 13 by 9-inch baking pan.  Cover and let rise until doubled, about 30 minutes.

Bake at 375 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes.  Cool for 5 minutes before removing from pan to a wire rack.  In a small mixing bowl, combine frosting ingredients; beat until smooth.  Spread over warm rolls.  Store in the refrigerator.

^*Taste of Home’s Baking Book via our newspaper

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Hey, Hey, Hey! Who Wants To Play?

If Wishes Were Hammocks ... I Would Be Swinging

My “tour group” all agreed to share photos with each other once we got back home from our trip to Ecuador. I’ve been looking at mine, trying to get them ready to upload to everybody. I’ve been sorting out the bad ones, the blurry ones, and the ones I suspect have an insect somewhere in the photo but it’s so camouflaged I can’t find it. It has only been two weeks since we left Ecuador and it seems so far away now. Two weeks ago the crepe paper wrinkles in my skin were filled out -- more like seersucker -- and I didn’t leave a trail of skin flakes whenever I moved.  Two weeks ago I woke up to the weaver birds making their nests in the tree just outside our cabin.  I still didn't get to sleep in because they began their "singing" at 6:00 a.m., but at least it wasn't an alarm clock.  Two weeks ago I didn't want the trip to end, which is not the norm for me.  Normally, on day three or four of a trip I’m ready to go home. But this time … I wish I was still there. I wish I was lying on a hammock, sweating, after a walk in the rain forest.

I wish I was eating plantain chips and drinking Club beer at a restaurant on the beach.

I wish I walking on the beach (even though I didn't get to see any of the cool creatures in the tidal pools because I lived in the beauty salon and when I wasn't in the beauty salon I couldn't walk on the beach because my toenails had been painted for the wedding.)

I wish I was so far away from my normal routine that I had no choice but to relax and unwind and absorb. And I wish I was still with all my tour group buddies, hanging out, laughing, visiting, teasing, and reconnecting.

Since I’m not there, I am now going to relive my trip through multiple blog posts. I’m going to ramble on and on and on and reminisce and long for past events. However, one thing I will not do (right now anyway) is talk about the wedding – other than to say this. I have seen a few (far too few so far) wedding photos and I have seen smiles. I have no memory of smiles until I was at the reception but there are actual post-wedding/pre-reception photos with real smiles. I promise to show you those smiles later. And I will tell wedding stories. Happy ones. But for now I’ll begin with “Adventures in Manta”. Otherwise known as “How I Spent the Few Moments I Was Not in the Beauty Salon.” So settle in. Pour a glass of wine (or whiskey). Put your feet up. Place the laptop in your lap and get comfortable.  And if you're brave and choose not to click that little “X” up in the right hand corner of your screen, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Dean’s sisters and husbands (Debbie & Bill, Dianna & Dave) and my sister (Shelly) wanted to attend Abby’s wedding and stay after for a vacation in Ecuador but they weren’t quite sure how to go about making the arrangements. Dean stepped forward and said, “Ask my wife. She’s an obsessive-compulsive, crazy, controlling woman. She’ll help you.” And that’s how I became a tour director.  Jonathan and Christie (Gen-Yers) planned to attend the wedding and, bless their souls, decided to travel to the Amazon with us.  Maybe they thought hanging out with people born before computers, who think a text is something written on paper, and who could barely operate the brand new cameras they had purchased for the trip, would provide them with stories they could laugh about with their friends for years to come.  

Making all the arrangements for the trip involved alot of communication with hotels, hostels, the lodge and airlines.  No question was too small for me and every time I had a question I fired off an e-mail. I have a feeling there was alot of cringing going on when my name popped up in the official Contact Us "In Box”. Dean should have warned "the group" that I am a compulsive, addicted e-mailer. E-mails are like food to me. I need to send them and I need to get them. And more than that, if I ask a question, I need a response. And I need it quickly. Honestly, doesn't everybody check their e-mail 50 times/day?  If I don’t get a quick response I am sometimes forced to send a follow-up “did you get my e-mail?” message. And of course, each time I received a response from the hotel, the airline, the lodge, the hostel, I felt obligated to share that with my group.

After lots of planning and approximately 639 e-mails, we all met at the Houston airport.

Together we flew to Ecuador ...

and arrived at the Guayaquil airport at 11:30 p.m. When we finally arrived at our hostel and drug our travel-worn bodies in through the front door at nearly 12:30 a.m., our only thought was to crawl into bed  ... until we discovered the outdoor patio on the roof and beer in the office for $1.25/bottle.

After barely closing our eyes we woke up the next morning, loaded into a van ...

and were driven to Manta.

Abby had told me ahead of time she was going to meet us at the hostel and ride along with us. It was supposed to be a secret. But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I started by just telling one person, “Don’t tell Leslie, but Abby’s coming.” Then I whispered to somebody else, “don’t tell Leslie, but Abby’s coming” and somebody else….until I’d pretty much told them all. So when Abby walked in to the hostel that morning as we were waiting for the van, expecting excited exclamations, what she got was ten people sitting quietly waiting for Leslie to jump up and scream in surprise. Which she did. Because at least I didn’t tell her. But one person jumping up, alone, in excitement, wasn’t quite what Abby was expecting. In my defense…….well, there is no defense.

Once we arrived in Manta, Shelly, Leslie, Abby and I spent most of our time sitting in a chair in the beauty salon.

I wish I was exaggerating but I think the total time was about seven or eight hours over two days. We were there so long the chairs had permanent impressions of our butts on them when we left. Not only were the beauticians at this salon very, very, very, very slow, they didn’t like it when Shelly tried to change their plan once they’d decided how they wanted to do her hair. In mid-hairdo Shelly asked her beautician if she would bring down a bit of hair on the side of her face. The girl looked at her and said, “No.” Shelly asked again thinking maybe she hadn’t used the correct sign language. “No!” And that was that.

When I wasn't getting manicured, pedicured, and hairdo’d I was on the beach with everybody else, eating.  At one restaurant Ryan tried to break the language barrier to find out the secret recipe of the green salsa that was served everywhere. He made a valiant effort using creative body language but all he managed to do was entertain the waitress.

When I wasn't eating, I was drinking.

And when I wasn’t on the beach eating or in the hotel drinking or in the beauty salon, I was at a wedding which I will tell you happy stories about another day.  

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If Wishes Were Hammocks ... I Would Be Swinging

Firsts and Lasts

This morning was the first Trial Run of the “our 28-year old baby moves to Ecuador” experience we are pretending not to think about. Abby’s third and last field season in her PhD program will officially end on Thursday and on Friday morning she will be heading back to Lincoln for her last semester. She is excited for all the firsts she will experience in her life after nine years of college but my mental countdown of lasts is beginning...and “life with a daughter living thousands of miles away in a new country with language, customs and experiences completely foreign to us” will be beginning before we are ready.

Before Leslie and Ryan moved back here, whenever they left to go back to Colorado, our floor would be littered with toys and reminders of their visit. Dean and I coped with the emptiness by distracting ourselves with shopping. Then we’d come home with purchases we didn’t really need, I’d cry as I picked up all the toys, and we’d mope around for the rest of the day. It was very sad.
Abby's visits have involved alot of cooking and baking so we could send her back on Sunday afternoons with a cooler of food. This also involved alot of us eating the cooking and baking we were doing in order to fill her cooler. Instead of shopping to distract ourselves when she's gone, I see a continuation of cooking and baking. That would be okay except for the resulting eating. My time at the gym has been replaced by working on the BFD and I have begun to fear a larger me in my future. It would be very, very sad…and ugly. It's just a darned good thing Leslie and Ryan live in the same town or we'd be fat and poor.

This final summer weekend we were all so busy with an Emerson and Myra sleepover,



a backyard swimming party, playing with kids,


and the all important activity of shopping at the mall, we didn't have time to do much cooking, which meant Abby left from her last summer weekend home with no cooler of food. We tried to make up for it by going out to breakfast this morning before she hit the highway. I knew I was going to have to change my ways soon or I would be attending my first weight watchers meeting so I resolved this morning that this past weekend was the last of eating way too much and I would only eat an apple for lunch. Some lasts are good. However, our restaurant of choice for breakfast is known for its home baked breads. Not only did I request a "cinnamon roll to take with me, please" but when I was asked if I “would like the butter sauce with it” I said, “sure, why not?” Guess which one I ate for lunch?




Even though I know most of these firsts and lasts would happen whether Abby was moving to Ecuador or Kansas, it doesn’t make me any less sad or make me miss her any less. But I also know many of these firsts and lasts will be exciting and offer all kinds of adventures…being an entomologist living in a country filled with tropical insects—how cool is that?...or Dean and I taking our first trip to Ecuador. Can you see us...skinny woman with reddish hair and skin so white it reflects light and a bearded bald guy wearing sandals with socks. Do you think we'll stick out?

If the cinnamon roll looked tasty (and I can guarantee you it was!) and made you hungry, here are a couple of recipes for a couple of the things I’ve made for Abby over the summer.



Flour Tortillas


7 cups flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons salt
2/3 cup shortening
2 1/2 cups water

I made these for our recent camping trip. It takes about 1 1/2 hours to make one batch of approximately 24 medium-size tortillas. I never seem to be able to get a nice perfect circle but they’re tasty and oh, so much easier to make now that I have a functioning gas stove. Pre-kitchen remodeling I used to try and make them on our ancient 2-burner electric stovetop. Now and then the tortillas would seem to stop cooking so I’d turn up the heat of the burner. When it still didn’t seem to be heating I’d turn it up higher. Even then the skillet still wouldn't be hot so I would lift up the skillet and bang it down on the burner, which would would kick the burner back on. However, by then I would have forgotten I’d cranked the temperature way up and the tortilla would burn. I would say some words I shouldn’t know, throw out the tortilla, turn the heat down, start again, cook a few, the burner would quit working , and again I would turn up the heat, bang the burner, burn the tortilla …

• Blend dry ingredients and shortening together until shortening is incorporated into the flour.
  


• Slowly add water to the dry mixture to form the dough.
  


• Knead dough for several minutes until well mixed.
  
  
  
  
  
• Shape dough into small balls and roll out flat.
  
  
  
  
  
• Cook tortillas on a seasoned and heated cast iron skillet on the top of the stove until there are small bubbles on the top. Then flip the tortilla and cook on the other side.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Pita Pocket Bread
  
  
  6 cups flour
  2 tsp. salt
  2 tablespoons sugar
  1 tablespoon yeast
  2 cups warm water
  
  
  
• Preheat oven and a heavy cast iron pan on the bottom rack to 500 degrees.
  
  
• Mix ingredients together to form a soft dough.
  
  
• Let dough rest 10 minutes on a floured surface.
  
  
• Shape dough into small balls and roll out to about 1/4 inch thick.
  
  
• Let rise another 10-15 minutes.
  
  
• Place pitas on the heavy pan and cook until the pita bubbles up. Bubbles will inflate so the whole top is raised. Turn pita over and cook until bottom side is done.
  
  
• Cool pitas before use or freeze while they are still warm to keep them soft.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I think/hope they were good. I don’t know. Abby took a bunch and Leslie took the rest.

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Firsts and Lasts

Summer Fun

My dad, also known as "Grandpa", "Great-Papa" or "Other Papa", came for a long weekend visit on Thursday. While he was here, instead of slaving outside on the BFD in the heat, sweating alot, and wearing attractive plastic glasses that steam up while generating itchy sawdust that sticks to our sweaty bodies, we felt obligated to go to a baseball game, spend a day on the mountain listening to music, and visit with family. It was torture but we were stoic and didn't complain.

In preparation of my dad's visit, in between work on the BFD, I slipped in a bit (a very tiny bit) of house cleaning last week . The vacuum and I became reacquainted after a long separation, however my friendship with the dust rag is still strained. When Leslie and Ryan came over one night and the girls discovered they could draw really cool pictures on the furniture, Leslie took pity on me and dusted. Later it occurred to me that her act of kindness may have had more to do with preventing the resulting cleanup of dust-covered daughters but I was grateful just the same. When my house is filthy I sometimes leave the vacuum out in the middle of the room so it looks like I'm in the middle of a cleaning frenzy. Because I learned at work recently that spiderwebs stop bleeding, if anyone notices the many spiderwebs decorating our house, I will now also be able to legitimately point out that they are there for medicinal purposes.

Friday night Dean, Dad and I went to the baseball game. The only thing more perfect than sitting outside on a summer evening in front-row seats halfway down the first baseline watching baseball and drinking a beer would be having your team win. Ours did, which only happens when the moon is full, the stars align and my father is still awake at 10:00 p.m., another rarely seen event.



Saturday morning, before we headed up to the mountain for the yearly bluegrass/country music festival, Leslie dropped the kids by for breakfast while she and Ryan searched the garage sales for all items vintage for her shop. Pierce, who is the size of a baby bird but eats like a Sumo wrestler, put his sisters to shame by eating his weight in pancakes. At one point he saw a new platter of pancakes heading to the table whereupon he ditched his fork, quickly grabbed the last three bites of pancake, stuffed them in his mouth, and cheeks bulging, made it known he wanted more.

After breakfast Leslie and Ryan collected their plump son, and the rest of us slathered on sunscreen, grabbed our hats, blankets, cooler, and newly purchased just-like-everybody-else's-camp-chairs-with-a-cup-holder and headed up the mountain. We parked, loaded our gear and shuttled down to the music.



Once at the festival we made short work of preparing our place on the ground and hauling out the food. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for making a macaroni salad at 10:00 p.m. the night before until I looked over at the people to our left and saw they had a small table with appetizers, wine glasses and were uncorking white wine. All they were missing was a tablecloth and finger bowls. We didn't let it bother us though. Well, not much.

We ate



listened to music







made and flew kites



danced





soaked up the sun



enjoyed each other's company



relaxed





and had great fun.

Sunday we filled the day with visiting, eating pizza, searching for raspberries, climbing trees and guessing what time Dad/Grandpa/Great-Papa/Other Papa would get up to leave the next morning.













Monday morning Dad/Grandpa/Great-Papa/Other Papa left for home earlier than a sane person would even consider getting up and a short 9 1/2 hours later was home in time for a late breakfast. He did not stay awake until 10:00 p.m. that night.

Once the weekend was over it was back to the BFD and I am happy to report that the south side of the deck is FINISHED!

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Summer Fun