Monthly Archives: January 2011

Though it was uncomfortably cold outside last night when we were doing some work on the shelving unit in the basement, we were having a tropical heat wave of our own in our garage and it felt glorious! While Ted measured, leveled, sawed, drilled, and clamped, I helped by parking myself squarely in front of the torpedo heater (like a weenie) and roasting myself toasty warm (like a different kind of weenie). This keeps my whining and complaining at bay, which is certainly more helpful than my teeth chattering in Ted’s ear while he’s agonizing over reaching a ridiculously accurate digital level of 0.0. After a year building some pretty killer sets during my internship at BoarsHead, I’ve proven that I’m fully capable of doing much more than merely handing the man tools and assisting in lifting shelves onto the metal arms, but let’s be honest, if I can still be supportive, reasonably helpful and not remove my rear end from the toasty goodness of a kerosene powered mega-heater in the dead of winter, I’ve got it good.

The warmth from the heater warmed me in more ways than one because oddly, it was somehow the same temperature and feel of soaking in the hot tub that we used to have on the deck back home on cold Texas nights. To all of you non-Texans snickering out there, you can cut it out because, yes, it does in fact get cold at night in Texas. We had the spa at our old house in San Antonio back when I was a baby and when we moved to Boerne, it came with us. It was calmly situated directly beneath a canopy of trees with a clear view of the black, star-filled Texas hill country sky to the right. The moon would shine through the trees above casting shadows on the deck and billions of bright stars would glisten intensely if you just changed your positioning a little to face the house. The only sounds on hot tub nights were the spa jets swirling, crickets chirping, owls hooting, and the occasional bird’s lullaby – no horns or car engines – but maybe a little lilt of county music would drift by if the neighbor’s radio was on in the barn. Your body, up to your neck, was cocooned in bubbling, hot, relaxing water while your head was left out in the cold, and that somehow created a perfectly comfortable contrast. I’d stay in until my finger pads were wrinkled and ripe as a prune – possibly because the absolute worst thing was the biting temperature shock into the brisk, chilly night air when you got out before you had a chance to snuggle into the towel and dive into the house.

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I loved that hot tub. When my sister would come home to visit we’d always spend at least one evening soaking in the spa with mom and dad and a travel mug of ice water nearby in case it got too steamy. If I had friends over during high school, we’d pile into the spa – six at once until the boiling 108 degree water (yeah it was a touch hot that day) was overflowing. One time Few, one of our inquisitive outdoor orange-tabby cats, leaped up onto the spa like he usually did to settle down for an evening cat nap, only this time we were in it. He was unpleasantly surprised to land in water instead of on a warm cover – poor guy. We fished him out and wrapped him in a towel, but he was pissed nonetheless. Then one day I went outside and it was gone. I’m sure there’s more to it than that, but as a teen I remember feeling utterly offended that my beloved hot tub had simply vanished without my input. For all I know someone did mention it to me, or maybe it was so old that it was too expensive to maintain anymore, or maybe it was on its last legs. I don’t actually know to this day what happened to it or where it went, but on cold nights I still kind of really miss it. When we eventually purchase a house, a hot tub definitely tops my list of must-haves…right up there with a vegetable garden, wrap around porch, and bowling alley in the basement.

Our weatherlady tells us tomorrow will be “bitterly cold.” I believe “bitterly cold” and “snow” are two of my least favorite weather descriptions ever. I much prefer “blistering hot” and “rainy” to the alternative. But I was given no say in this, or the mountains of snow falling right now and blanketing Cincinnati, so instead I’ll protest and stay inside. I have plenty to do to keep me occupied today.

P.S. The swinging metal arm piece of the shelving units we put in last night can resemble many things, I have a learned. Among the most interesting of the options are an alligator snapping his jaws shut and a see saw (or a teeter totter, if you prefer).

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This got me thinking – when was the last time you played on a see saw? Seriously. Think about it. How old were you? See saws used to be staples on any respectable playground when I was a kid, but I don’t see them all that often anymore. I’ve slid down slides, swung on swings, and dashed through a woodscape playground game of tag quite recently (teaching theatre camps over the summer), but the last time I was on a teeter totter was probably when I was 11. You’re never too old for a see saw. With this in mind, I am making it my mission to find and play on a see saw this year simply because it is a fun thing to do. I challenge you all to do the same. Those of you with young children or grandchildren have a distinct advantage because you will look far less foolish and people won’t wonder who the childless 25-year-old creeper hogging the see saw is.

So I went out on a bit of a limb for dinner last night. We feasted on artichoke, lamb with Greek mint yogurt, roasted baby potatoes, cranberry wine, and a slice of cherry pie.  The potatoes and cherry pie aren’t a culinary stretch by any means seeing as a well-trained donkey could probably make them, and for me, a steamed artichoke wasn’t a stretch either. I used to devour eat them regularly – leaves, heart, stem and all. Ted did not partake in the eating of the artichoke, which is totally okay because I didn’t have to (nor did I really intend to) share the goodness. He asked what the green spiky thing was, scrunched up his nose, and then proceeded to make up some little rhyming jingle about how green spiny things are for me and not him. I tell the man daily that I have no idea why he doesn’t do commercial jingles for a living. He comes up with the dumbest, funniest jingles, alternate names and slogans for companies (that was a Friend Olympics, if you caught it!). It’s a true talent.

Anyhow, I’ve never cooked lamb before, and to be honest I don’t know of many 24-year-old’s who cook lamb for dinner just to cook lamb for dinner. In my book, lamb is for Christmas, Easter, a Mother’s Day Sunday Brunch at the Menger Hotel, or, you know, for fancy people (“Charles! Fetch the lamb with the plum wine and mint reduction sauce and whipped champagne potatoes, please! Just a little something I whipped up between organizing my case of diamonds and stiletto shopping for Fluffykins. Cigar, anyone?”) But I think for my first time cooking lamb, it turned out pretty great – flavorful, juicy, and tender – and the yogurt mint sauce was weird on its own, but complimented the lamb really well. I’ll stamp it a success.

We’re experiencing another day of cold, wet, gloomy rain. But I’m happy with it because at least it’s warm enough to rain instead of snow for once. From the snippets I’ve heard on the TV and radio, the nasty weather should set in again tomorrow. I’m not sure if they mean snow or ice, but either way I’ll be tucked away inside our warm and cozy 56 degree house dreaming about all the awesome things we can enjoy now that we’ve busted open our new Cincinnati Entertainment coupon book (thanks mom & dad!). I can tell this book and I are going to be good friends already. There’s coupons for Kroger, Culver’s, ice cream, laser tag, bowling, the roller arena, movies, mini-golf, themed hotel suites, the symphony and pops orchestras, hockey games, Cincinnati Shakespeare, shopping and so much more. Most are buy one get one free, which works out just excellently when there are two people! Some are four admissions for the price of two, which just means we need visitors. HINT. And for those of you who have been following along, the guest room upstairs is the warmest room in the house, we’ve finally cleaned up all the carpet stains, I’m hanging some wall art, and there’s even a TV in there – so now there’s no excuse for a lack of visitors.

The dishwasher repair dude just stopped by and fixed the the hunk-o’-junk with a new part in like 0.8 seconds. If you remember the old tenants and their mini-beasts took home the Stroke of Genius award for clogging it with plastic candy wrappers. It’ll be so nice to not have to wash and dry 25 pieces of silverware by hand anymore – that’s a time suck if I’ve ever experienced one. I’m also going to be planting my little indoor herb garden of basil, cilantro, dill, and parsley today. I figure if the seeds take and flourish, this is a wise investment considering I use fresh herbs in all my cooking so I buy herbs nearly every time I go to the grocery store anyway. In about 3 weeks or so I should see some sproutlings. However, I can’t seem to find mint seeds and spring is coming. Spring & summer=mojitos and mojitos=fresh mint. And what else would I use to garnish the lemon lavender cupcakes that I’m anxious to make?  You can see my dilemma.

Do you ever wonder how it’s possible to spend $95 a week at the grocery store? I never walk into a grocery store without my carefully thought out and extensively planned list, if I can help it, because I simply cannot be trusted. Without a precise list of the exact items I came for, I come out with spinach, a chocolate doughnut and garlic paste – random crap you can’t put together a proper or remotely edible meal with. Since I plan each week’s meals on Monday morning and have the chance to scour the cabinets and fridge to see what we’re out of and what we already have in stock before I hit up Kroger, I always have a pretty clear indication of exactly what I need to buy so we don’t waste money on things we don’t need that week or things we already have enough of. I comb through the Sunday paper for coupons to clip too, but usually the coupons are for name brand products or processed foods we don’t eat much of. Sounds like an A+ plan for healthy eating and penny-pinching, right? I like to think so too but I’m always a little shocked when my total reaches the $90+ range.

Since I have the luxury of time to make all our meals fresh and from scratch right now while I’m job hunting, I do. I know that most people don’t have time to do this, so we’re very fortunate to be able to enjoy this. On nearly every grocery trip I stock up on fresh leans meats, fruits, vegetables and dairy. I’d say a good 85% or so of the cart is fresh items while 15% is canned, boxed or processed things. Plus, most of the things I make require lots of ingredients for nutrition and flavor, not just 3 or 4 easy ingredients. Between opting for healthier, fresh foods and a variety of ingredients, I can see how a trip to the store can be pricey. But why is the healthy stuff so much more expensive than the unhealthy junk? I don’t understand the logic behind it. There are phenomenal campaigns going on all across America to fight obesity in children, reduce the risk of type 2 diabetes in adults, encourage physical activity, promote healthy eating, and encourage people to help the farmer’s stay employed by buying more produce. I think any grocery store would claim to be on board with supporting and encouraging the health of their community, but their prices seem to say otherwise.

What’s on sale when you go shopping? Reduced-fat milk, whole wheat pasta, broccoli, 94% lean ground beef, and apples? No. It’s the white bread, cookies, chips, sodas, 10% juice “juice drinks”, and candy that’s on sale. I often wonder if I filled a cart with healthy food (fresh produce, chicken and fish, lean beef, rice, and dairy products) and filled another cart with less healthy things (soda, boxed meals, processed meats, fried and frozen dinners, etc.) how extreme of a price difference there would be in the outcome of this experiment, or how much more I could get for $100 if I bought the cart full of processed things. I truly believe that many people out there hear those campaigns. They want to eat healthier, eat fresher, and control their health and weight a little better for any number of reasons. But how discouraging is it when you find you simply can’t afford to fill up on healthy foods, but what you can afford is the stuff all these campaigns tell you to stay away from? I sometimes wonder how much money Ted and I could be saving (knowing it would come with the sacrifice of poor health and bulging waistlines) if I only shopped differently.

It’s pretty sad when so many people have to choose between their health and well-being and affordable food. I’ll step off my soap box, but before I do so, just imagine how nice of a change it would be if the expensive stuff was the junk food and fast food joints, and the affordable stuff was the fresh foods? People would buy what they could afford – fresh, healthy foods – and save the pricey junk food for special treats instead of subsisting on it on a day-to-day basis. Can you imagine how much healthier and happier everyone would be if only this were true? Farmers would have plenty of business, the rate of illness and disease would be drastically decreased, and because people are eating right, their bodies would be working properly, thus boosting their moods and brain power. People would be happier and healthier. With this post, I don’t care about the facts or statistics on health, or farming or obesity. I don’t care about the reasons why food is priced the way it is or why or how it could or couldn’t be changed. All I’m saying is in my dream world, things would be different.

Yesterday I learned a very important lesson. If you should, by chance, happen to make a giant mess of your oven whilst baking an extremely juicy cherry pie that spills over onto the oven’s hot coils despite the drip pan you put under it to avoid such a calamity, then smolders, fills your kitchen with a smokey smell, and burns sugary liquid all over the bottom of the oven that you have to spend 30 minutes scrubbing before returning the pie that you ripped out of it in a fit of panic back into the oven to commence baking (um, this is by chance only. I certainly don’t know this from experience), your understanding husband will take you out to a free Olive Garden (YUM – salad heaven!) dinner using two years worth of Olive Garden gift cards and then to the ritzy Dollar Saver second-run movie theatre to see Megaminds. Good to know. I’ll have to file this away in my brain for future reference. If you screw up badly enough, you’ll get an awesome date night instead. Perfect! I hope you have learned something from this.

P.S. – I’m know, I know. You’re worried about the pie. I did my best to salvage it. Ted apparently likes the smell of burnt fruit because he walked in the door and said it smelled great. Men. We’ll be digging into it tonight during the game, so I’ll let you know. By the way, I think it’s only fair to mention this particular recipe received nothing but 5-star ratings and the reviewers raved about how easy and fool-proof it was. HA! I’m no expert but I have baked my share of far more complicated pies and have never had this problem before – idiot proof my ass…it better be delicious.

Our house is falling apart and I don’t like it.

A repairman arrived 22 minutes late this morning. Now the entire house wreaks like nasty cigarette and he wore his dirty work boots, traipsing dirt and snow all over the house I just cleaned. Ted even showed him that we don’t wear shoes in the house – and as soon as Ted left for work he put his shoes right back on. Our rugs are now totally, visibly filthy and I have to wash our nice bath mat and towels set that I just washed again because he’s using them to set all his greasy tools on. I am none to thrilled about this as I now have to do laundry, vacuum, clean up even more stains, and deodorize the stink. I literally just did all of this two days ago! And I am even less thrilled that I wasted two whole bottles of miracle cleaner yesterday on upstairs guest bedroom stains that reappeared 10x darker overnight thanks to leaks in the roof and floor. WHY.

This. Is. Not. Normal.

Because merely thinking about the leaks and all the work that this dude just made for me today makes me fuming mad, I’m going to focus on something else, like making stew in the slow cooker. In the meantime, if you love to travel, read this article:

The 41 Places to Go in 2011

Today, it snows. The sky is pouring down huge, fluffy flakes at a rapidly accumulating rate (again). Everything is white and peaceful. This means I get to spend this Tuesday wallowing in my pansyness and stay home all day hunkered down in the comfortable warmth of my sweats because the mere thought of driving in this crap still sends waves of panic through my body. This also means I get to dream about all the cute sundresses I want to buy when the miracle of summer (read: leaving the house with less than 13 and 1/2 layers on) finally rolls around. I’m thinking of the day I’ll get to leave our windows open to welcome in the summer breeze during the day, and all the knee-grazing and bare-armed, adorably-patterned or plainly simple frocks I’d like to slip on to run around town in. I’m dreaming of adventurous weekend getaways to cities or towns we’ve never explored before with their mild weather, glowing sunsets, and gushing warm winds that smell of wildflowers. I’m imagining lounging outside on our Adirondack chairs on the side porch, listening to the radio and sipping a beer (or a cool mojito with fresh mint from our herb garden) before cooking dinner over the open flame of our firepit and heading to the drive-in theatre to catch a flick down the road in Amelia. I’m thinking of long walks around the neighborhood at dusk, playing lawn games in our backyard, and bike riding through the Bass Island trail stopping only for a dish of ice cream along the way.

Yes, this is my favorite part of the morning. The part where I snuggle up on the sofa with an English muffin, yogurt and clementine, catch up on the blogs I read, and dream of whatever I dream of that day – finding the perfect job, fun places to vacation to, the things on my daily to-do list, or summer. It is peaceful and quiet and the time is my own for a brief half hour before I stand up to stretch the lazies out and get started on my tasks which keep me surprisingly more busy than I imagined.

We have a lot to keep us occupied over the next few weeks. Now that Ted’s new saw has arrived we want to build sawhorses, build and install additional shelves for the kitchen cabinets, and build the wall-hanging shelving unit for the basement. After that we’ll need to organize the basement and garage accordingly, and finally get our kitchen (and all the bakeware, cookware, and utensils still laying homeless on the floor) arranged with the new kitchen furniture. Now that we’ve lived here a few months and are more settled in terms of knowing what to expect, we need to figure out a budget based on our anticipated monthly expenses. We’re still waiting on the dishwasher to be repaired or replaced, that monstrous leak & stain in the hallway to be fixed, and once we order it, the protective glass top for the kitchen island to arrive. Obviously we have a lot to do, but we have nights and weekends and at our own leisurely pace, we’ll get it done when we can get it done. I’m still looking for jobs and Ted is still busy with his job (he’s in a lull right now, but will be working mostly every weekend on shows come February) and of course we love just relaxing and spending time together, and those things are top priority.

Today, in addition to organizing my desk and more of the same old same old, I am also doing what two carpet cleaning companies could not do – scrubbing the stains out of the carpet. I’ve mentioned before that the family of mini-beasts who lived here before us did a real work of art on the carpets. I seriously have no idea what they thought they were accomplishing by pouring tar, koolaide, bleach and whatnot on their carpets, but they look awful. Luckily only half the house is carpeted, though from what I understand some of the hardwood floors had to be refinished after they moved out as well. Anyhow, in hindsight we should have made the landlord replace the carpeting before we moved in, but that’s neither here nor there at this point. He did send out two different carpet cleaners to try to get the stains out, but the stains just reappeared again after they left. At least we know the carpets are clean even if they are still stained. I happen to have this miracle-in-a-bottle carpet cleaning stuff called Mystical. I don’t know, nor do I care, what the ingredients are (probably stardust, fairy powder and arsenic), but whatever it is, this stuff works. With a few squirts of this stuff and a little arm work, I’ve managed remove, or at least significantly diminish a fair share of the stains on the downstairs carpet. I’m attacking the upstairs office and guest room next. So, why did these carpet cleaners get paid if I’m able to do a better job than the professionals? And furthermore, why don’t they use this stuff? Hmmm. Something else to think about on this snowy Tuesday. I’ll ponder that when I’m on break from pondering about summer.