Lookin' sharp!

Dull knives are so maddening.

They LOOK as though they might cut or peel something but really all they do is mash or scrape.

Have you ever smooshed a tomato, instead of slicing it?

Sawed on a raw chicken breast until it finally separated, but not in even strips?

I'd petition every likely male who dared venture near the kitchen to sharpen my knives, because I didn't think it was something I could do without completely wrecking my whole set.  You can imagine how few likely males wandered through my kitchen...I'd worn out the one who lives here on this task and he could no longer be classified as "likely". 

So, a few weeks ago, I took my cheapest, most awful paring knife and practiced.  If I wrecked it, no great loss! At first, I could only really get one side sharp.  It was a start, though.  I didn't test it on the hair of my forearm, like guys do. (That's a cool trick, if you're a guy, and certainly shows everyone how brilliant you are with a steel! But on chicks, it's just....weird.)  I used tomatoes.  If you can cleanly slice through a tomato with no real pressure, your knife is nicely sharp.  My knife needed pressure still, so it wasn't quite right.

Every way I tried to work the other side of the knife felt awkward and dangerous.  You all know I'm a klutz; the fact that I still have the ends of all my fingers and no scarring on my wrists and arms is a near miracle, really.  But I kept working on it, every time I needed to use that crummy little knife.  And one day, something clicked.  I GOT it!  The knife was SHARP, now, and I grabbed another one...one of the good ones.  Zoop, zoop, zoop, zoop....repeat on the other side...and IT was sharp, too! 

Yes, I just stopped and sharpened all the knives I could. 

I would imagine it was the same feeling an ice skater gets when they land a triple lutz!  YES!

Now, every time I grab a knife to use, I check the edge and if I'm slicing delicate things like tomatoes or bread, I'll give it a quick zoop-ing.  You can't believe how this tiny little skill has made such a huge difference in the tools I use daily!  I feel so....competent and independant!

I think it's one of those things that every girl should learn how to do before leaving home. 

Tackling the big issues...

I've been avoiding this topic for years. 



It's not pretty.



It's a problem that 6 out of 10 people face every summer.  EVERY summer!
And it's non-gender related....it's across the board; men and women, old and young, urban and rural. 


Zucchini.
*shudder*

A seemingly perfect vegetable, because it grows easily, has a gazillion uses, requires little care to produce...
Every spring, gardeners (and those who would never term themselves as such) plant at LEAST 5 hills, having some sort of winter amnesia about this little plant.  They seem to think that THIS is the year only one plant will make it, getting all nostalgic about zucchini bread like Grandma used to make, and that one hill is pointless, really. 

One hill of zucchini can feed a decent sized village in Mexico for approximately 3 months, non-stop. 
No kidding.
We ALL know this!

We are ALL in denial, in May, when planting our gardens!

We are ALL in despair, in late July/early August, when the harvest starts.

At first, it's sweet and happy.

"Oh, LOOK! A little bitty zucchini!  At last...something to harvest!"

And we bear it into the kitchen, chop it up in tiny little pieces, hide it in a green salad and feel quite proud of ourselves.

A couple weeks later, it's a desperate, crazy situation, not unlike dealing with the plant from Little Shop of Horrors, except in reverse.  Instead of demanding that you "Feed me, Seymour!", the plant grows to gargantuan proportions (even IF you stop watering the darn thing) and shoves its green fruits in your hands, pockets, anywhere there's an opening.  It's feeding you. Viciously.  Not just one plant, mind you...you planted something like 15 of them. (Three seeds to a hill, just like the seed packet says...moron...)

And THAT'S why you don't leave your car unlocked in Jordan, Montana from the first of August until a real heavy frost.  I was zucchini bombed when I was a single, starving young woman living on raman noodles and powdered milk.  I found an unmarked brown grocery bag on the front seat of my car one morning when I was leaving for work.  I was thrilled!  Free food!  After eating three of the 57 or so zucchini in the bag, I was cursing whomever may have left them. 

Because...and here's the funny thing...no one can bring themselves to throw away zucchini.  The vegetable has some strange power that controls your mind and won't allow you to dispose of them in any other way besides eating them.  It's true.  If you tell a stunned gardener or zucchini bomb reciepient to just pitch the dang green thing, they'll recoil and say something like "But I CAN'T!  I need to make something with it!"

True story.

That's why I've decided to do The Twelve Days of Zucchini, starting August 1st.  For twelve days, I'll post a new (to me) recipe for the obnoxious ingredient; something that may or may not be helpful, but it will at least ensure that you don't feel alone while drowning in your self-inflicted sea of zucchini!  (Take heart, brothers and sisters...we're all in the same boat, so to speak!)

For those of you who DIDN'T plant any, I urge you to lock all your doors and don't make eye contact with any garden-y type people who approach you with bulging coats and bags, and a sickly, frantic look on their faces...

Meringue Miracle...in which the Farmer's Wife finds the perfect recipe and saves the world. Or something like that.

I'm going to just say it.

Meringue is a very strange and wonderful substance that I want to just stick my face into and eat until it's gone.  It's like eating clouds, isn't it? 

It's big hair, for pie.

I never have much luck making the stuff....it's always shrink-y, or water-y or just plain ugly.  And there's NEVER enough of it in a recipe to make that mile high poof that one sees in Southern Living magazines. I've tried doubling, to get the effect, and there's no such thing....one really can't double meringue recipes with any success.  Heck, one really can't make ONE meringue recipe with any success, often times!

BUT....I've found THE perfect recipe for meringue.  It's brilliant.  It's astoundingly simple.  It's stunningly foolproof. (I would know...being the fool who tested it and found success.) 

And I'm going to share it with you! 

I tested it on key lime pie...(Hi, Patricia!)
BEHOLD....

*Actual, unretouched photos

It's a little weird, compared to your conventional meringues, but I think that's why it worked for me.  If you already have a great recipe and make lovely confections with it, don't mess around with this.  But if, like me, you have had flops instead of fluffs, this will make you look good. 

Miracle Meringue

1/2 cup cool water
2 T. white sugar
1 T. corn starch

Mix these ingredients in a small saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until mixture is thick and clear. (It won't be crystal clear, but it will lose the cloudy corn starchy look.) Remove from heat and set aside.

In a large glass or metal mixing bowl, beat
3 egg whites (handily left over from the pie recipe)
1/4 tsp. cream of tartar
1 pinch salt (couple shakes from the shaker, I think)
Beat until the mixture is foamy.

Mix in
1/2 tsp vanilla extract and gradually add 6 T. white sugar, beating constantly until soft peaks form.

Add the corn starch mixture to the egg mixture, gradually, beating until stiff.

Spread over the top of a WARM pie, all the way to the edges of the crust to seal it.  (There will be PLENTY!  I promise.  You'll even be a little overwhelmed at the amount at first, then giddy that your meringue is so big!) 

Brown in a 450 degree oven. 

Have your camera ready when it comes out, because you'll have such a case of Pie Love that you won't be able to restrain yourself....you'll have to show everyone.  (Sort of like those crazy *ahem* people who show pictures of their flowers to anyone who will stand still long enough...)

Easing into evening...

There's a golden hour that happens about twice a week in our house....when everyone is quiet and busy and content.  It's usually as I'm preparing supper, puttering in the kitchen with music in the background, a glass of wine on the counter as I chop ingredients.  The kids usually wind up at the table with epic novels or masterpieces that they work on and chatter about, coloring and creating.  The light is soft, and sometimes I light candles, just because it seems right.  Sometimes we dance.  We talk about mermaids and pirates and carrots and falafel.  The kitchen starts smelling like pasta and garlic, and we start thinking about how long it will be before Daddy gets home and how wonderful the ravioli will be. We sing. 

Industrious little souls, NOT FIGHTING.  (This is big.)

This is a pirate story.  It says, "These are the good pirates and the captain gives orders and they do them."

I know.  I had to have the translation, too.

Maggie is writing a book that will actually be published, about mermaids.  This is her Christmas present from Don and Shelly and Baby Ison, and she's working hard on it.  It's worrisome that there isn't a marker for skin color.  AND....this is being disregarded completely....there's only supposed to be 20 words per page.  There's no way to tell a really good story with 20 words per page. Trust me. 

She IS her mother's child....

Our playlist at the moment.

Cheryl Wheeler is our latest favorite, followed very closely by Mary Chapin Carpenter.

(Susie K. R....I'm indebted to you for introducing me to Cheryl Wheeler!  When Goodbye Wifes and Daughters is written as a screenplay, I'm gonna say I knew that song back when...)

(And we all know it will be a screenplay.)

(And if you need a beleagered miner's wife extra...call me.)

Twillabie, suitably subdued for the occasion....

There's something so soothing about chopping vegetables for a salad.  Especially with a cabernet sauvignon to accompany the task.

The salad consists of (because foodies read this): spinach, onions, celery, green chili peppers, dried cranberries, glazed walnuts and feta cheese, with a sesame dressing.

The chili peppers surprise everyone, in a good way. 

I love salads that make you stop and say, "What was THAT?"

This is in my kitchen window...

I read it as the serenity of the evening settles in and the gifts of two dear friends bless me.

Celestia's angel and the card from Denise that reads:

"A multitude of small delights constitutes happiness."

Indeed.

Pie Love

I have it bad.

It runs in the family, though. 
My little brother used to ask for a cherry pie for his birthday, instead of cake.
My dad will work for pie...literally! When he does a little job for my grandma that she appreciates, she bakes him a pie for his efforts.
My Gramps was the most amazing pie eater...he'd take forever, though, because he'd have teeny-tiny slice after teeny-tiny slice.  The rest of us would just have a regular piece and be done, but Gramps would sliver a pie to death, eventually consuming twice what the rest of us could.

If you bring up the topic of pie, in conversation, the mood immediately gets warm with memories and bright with stories.  Not all of the stories are GOOD, mind you, but nearly everyone has a pie story...either making it or consuming it.  And everyone has a favorite!

I've been reading a book called American Pie: Slices of Life (and Pie) from America's Back Roads  by Pascale Le Draoulec. (If that isn't the most French name you've ever encountered! Both her parents are French, but she was born and raised in America.)

She writes about driving through 24 of the United States, Montana included, seeking out pies with character and characters who love pies!

I think I've found MY purpose in life, by reading it....

AND, as though the book wouldn't be entertaining enough on its own, she includes recipes.

Yes. I DID hug the book.

And remembered why I buy books, instead of borrowing them from the library.

I NEED to own this book.

If you have pie love, you probably need to own this book, too.

So, predictably, after reading for two days about pies, I had to make one.

I had apples, so yesterday morning, I made an apple pie.

Now, apple pies are a commitment.  The peeling and slicing of the apples takes quite a while, especially when there's an apple bandit on the loose, who comes snitching every chance he gets.  And it's a two crust pie, of course, which means you have to get BOTH crusts right.  I don't know about you, but if I get ONE crust to the pan, in one piece, more or less, I consider it victory.  Two crusts stymy me every time.

But it turned out alright!

Do you think pie making...really, truly good pie making....can only be done by people with happy hearts?

I think a resentful, angry heart would ruin a pie.  They are labors of love, really.  As I was peeling and rolling and crimping, I thought of the people I wished I could share pie and coffee with when it was done. (Or tea, Alice with a little a!)  Andrea Boccelli was singing arias in the background and it was as close to a perfect atmosphere as could be.  And my heart was very happy.  It was the first pie that looked decent, I think, that I've ever turned out.

Then there's the crust treats.

My mom always sprinkled the leftover crust with cinnamon sugar and popped them in the oven with the pie.  They cooked MUCH faster, so while we were waiting, drooling, for the pie to be done, we had cinnamon pastry to snack on.  Pour some coffee and tear in!

Angus helped.

His dough had been handled quite a little before I got it on the cookie sheet.

 But he didn't put down the alien creature toy to do it...

 And no piece was too small...

 His finished product, which no one got to share...and for which we were grateful for small favors in not having to.

I want to bake another pie, today, because it's all cold and rainy....maybe two.  I need to work on my crusts.  But I don't think I'd better, until the apple is gone.  Which won't take long, because it's what we had for breakfast, with ice cream!

What's your favorite pie?

(One guy, in the book, said "There's only two kinds of pie I love: warm and cold.")

Do you have pie love?

Fit to be tied

Fitted sheets give me FITS!

Is there anyone out there who can actually fold them neatly to where they behave just like the flat sheets? 
I've tried everything....all corners tucked together nicely, sides folded in to make more of a square, put it together and whatta you got? STILL a wad of 500 thread count Egyptian cotton!!

They poof.  They are contrarily fat on one side and thin on the other causing the pile o'sheets to lean and the well-behaved flat sheets to plummet to the closet floor. 

And getting them on a mattress is nothing short of aerobic.  Three corners usually go on without incident.  Before I attempt to tackle the fourth corner, I take a deep breath with my hands on my waist, and pray that the sheet will not see me coming, magically slipping over that last corner of the mattress.

It always tries to sproing.  And once it shows such insolence and disrespect, one of the other corners notices and tries to slip off the mattress, too.  I usually end up all red-faced, huffing and puffing and then pummel the pillows as I encase them, in the pretext of fluffing them.

So here's my solution.  (Patent lawyers and those dear souls married to them, take notice. We'll make nickels on this idea...)

Why can't we have flat sheets with drawstring corners?

When we fold them, they'll be flat.  When we lay them on the bed, they'll be flat.  We pull the string....voila! sheets that stay put AND that are adjustable!

And that's how I spend my time; thinking of things like that. 
(My other invention is self-vacuuming floors....mesh under the carpet and you hit a switch...vroooooom! The dirt gets sucked the OTHER way, into a vent system and out.  Of course, we'd have to be sure the cats were out of the room when we hit the switch....) 

Handy Housekeeping Hints From the Hopeless Housewife!

*Warning! If you are easily shocked or my mother-in-law, you'll want to lay down as you read this, or pour yourself a stiff drink.  All others may proceed with caution and a notepad.

1. If you leave a bamboo kitchen spoon on the edge of a pan of frying meat for more than 5 minutes while answering the phone, it may begin to smoke.  Another 2 minutes and you'll probably have flames. 

2. Just because the washer CAN hold 12 pair of adult Wranglers, doesn't mean it SHOULD.

3. Those weird looking hairless Chinese dogs may be worth all the cash, in the long run, as a family pet.

4. If you mention anything about weird looking hairless Chinese dogs to a couple of preschoolers, you may end up with the do-it-yourself American version.

5. Don't assume a basket of laundry consists of clothes.  It may, in fact, be a basket of old school papers, cache of half-eaten crackers, or a portable Fairy-World under a deceptive layer of dirty clothes. 

6. At least one child in the house will keep a mental rolodex of every piece of art or weed they've ever gifted you with and the minute you throw away ONE of these precious tokens of their affection, they will want it to show Daddy.  And they won't take the excuse that you can't find it right now. (Which is TECHNICALLY true...)

7. Goldfish don't eat cheerios.

8. Taken from an ACTUAL, reputable cookbook: If you don't have one whole egg, you can substitute 2 egg whites, 2 egg yolks, or 1/3 cup egg substitute.  (Seriously.  If you don't have one, whole egg, do you really think you'll have 2 whites or 2 yolks laying around in your fridge?)

9. Baking soda and vinegar in your sink drain will do absolutely NOTHING for a clog, but it WILL keep the kids entertained for 10 minutes while you locate the Liquid Drano.

10. You can't make anything with 1/4 cup of Bisquick, so just go ahead and use it up, even if it extends your current recipe a little.  Because if you keep putting that box back in the cupboard, you'll never get more. (You can see the vicious circle brewing here, can't you?)

True Confession #269..or something like that

I make really ugly pies.

Some of you can attest to this, from personal experience/trauma.

It's not that I can't make pies; I can. It's just that they look like they've been made by a seeing impaired person with no dexterity. 

My home-ec teacher in high school, Mrs. Bray, rolled her eyes (Yeah, you alumni are grinning...you got the eye roll too, at one time!) and said, "Mary Dutton! You make the ugliest pies I've EVER seen!" That was my Senior year, after she'd seen 4 years of my sorry little attempts at them. And that woman had seen some ugly pies in her day! You know she had...

My mother makes lovely, Betty Crocker picture perfect pies. Her pastry is flaky, rolled out to the perfect thinness and her scalloped edges are a work of art. I used to watch her whip those pies out with no more apparent effort than making, say, pancakes. At branding time, she'd produce at least 3-4 pies and they were so pretty I hated to cut into them.

Pie crusts are the wickedest, most vexing creations in the kitchen! Whoever started the phrase, "easy as pie" had obviously not spent a lot of time making crusts.  I'm assuming that person's job was the filling, because filling is glamorous AND a snap! Crusts can cause the most patient of cooks to wail, gnash teeth and hyperventilate. They have a way of looking stable on the rolling cloth and disintegrating into a mass of 1/2 inch pieces on the way to the pie plate.  You can't re-roll, because whatever adhesive quality was there during the first go-round has absolutely dissipated during the collapse, and you're better off starting with new dough. If you even have the desire to go on, that is...

I've used Pillsbury crusts. I'm not proud of it. But when I need certain qualities, such as uniformity and relative pie-ishness to look at, they work. Here's the thing about Pillsbury piecrusts: just because they are already made for you, doesn't mean you can pull them out of the fridge and slap them into the pan with no preparation! No. If you read the fine print, you'll notice they need time to soften up; precious time that cannot be gained with a microwave. That's also in the fine print, but should be in bold, red print.

Tomorrow is a big pie day in America! In honor of this, I dug around and found the cheater pie crust recipe (relies on chemical process for flakiness...something about the egg and the vinegar together; don't dwell on it. I don't.) and made two pies. One pumpkin and one Georgia peach streusel. They are acceptable, but not photographable.

The GOOD thing is that I ALSO have plenty of heavy whipping cream to turn into real clouds for disguising any and all pie-flaws. If Mrs. Bray were to show up, she'd just be so gosh-darned thrilled I wasn't using Cool Whip that she might not notice the ugly pie underneath....

Happy Thanksgiving, and I hope you have some really pretty pies to work over!

SAHM I am

I've been rolling this post around in my head for a couple of days, unsure of how to approach it. I don't want to start a rumble or cause misunderstanding or create feelings of defensiveness with my few faithful readers. So here's the deal. Just read it, with some graciousness, please. And for heaven's sake, comment! Even if you don't agree. Even if you think I'm off the deep end. (Especially if you think I'm off the deep end, because then I'll know I need counselling!)

I just finished the book by Dr. Laura Schlessinger (No! Wait! Just hear me out!) titled In Praise of Stay at Home Moms. It was pretty straightforward, and really kicked me in the butt, as far as my recent attitude is concerned. In the big, wide world beyond my door, stay-at-home-moms apparently aren't getting a lot of respect or accolades for what they do. It would appear they are rather looked down on, I guess, by some people. I've never really encountered this attitude, in this area, mostly because there are a LOT of SAHMs...we call them ranchwives. With kids. Everyone stays home. Where are we going to go?!

I decided I can maybe clear up some myths or common misconceptions about SAHMs. (Or really muddy the water. It's such a touchy subject!)

SAHM Myths:

1. SAHM doesn't stand for Sits Around Home Munching....in fact, we usually don't get a whole lot of food until the kids are napping. Then we eat the cold stuff on our plate from when everyone else had lunch.

2. I may be way off base, here, but most of the SAHMs I know don't watch Oprah or any soap operas at all. Mostly, if there's something on the t.v., it's got a furry mascot singing an alphabet song. If I get to see the evening news two times in one week, it's a big deal!

3. SAHMs don't wear pajamas until noon. 10:00 a.m. is our cut off time. That's when UPS, Schwans, mail, etc. deliveries occur and we're trying not to perpetuate the stereotype. The exception is when everyone in the house is sick (SAHM included) and every respectable outfit we own is covered in yucky, unidentifiable spots.

4. Not all SAHMs are born housekeepers or great cooks. Some are, (Traci) and they are the envy of many. The rest of us just try to keep it sanitary and stock Hamburger Helper and Duncan Hines mixes in case of surprise dinner guests. One of the funniest comments I heard, from a SAHM offering to take care of another friend's children, was "They have had their tetanus shots, right?"

5. Most SAHMs feel incredibly guilty buying things. ANYTHING! We don't endorse a check to put in the bank, so we can't justify spending $10 on a Rubbermaid tote on sale, to store toys in or nail polish, or a breve, or new underwear. (And I'm not talking Victoria's Secret $48 panties, here! I'm standing in Walmart, for pete's sake, trying to decide if $5.99 is too much to pay for a package of 10 generic cotton undergarments.) (I lost a few readers, there, I know....)

6. Sometimes, as a SAHM, I worry that my brain is starting to atrophy and that I'm out of touch with the rest of the world. As a result, I work very hard to read intelligent books, try to stretch myself by trying new things (like Hawaiian Meatloaf...perhaps a bit TOO new), getting together with other positive people every chance I get. My bookclub keeps me saner. My husband, bless his heart, keeps me sane-ish. My dog doesn't care, and that's a comfort.

All in all, it's a good life. It's not glamorous, by any means, but I have job security, for another 16-18 years. The benefits outweigh the drawbacks, for me. I can't imagine missing all the moments that I've been a part of, staying here in my trailer with my kids. I've held them longer, eaten more cookies after naps, rescued more kittens, sang dumber songs, found more ways to entertain during the winter than I thought was possible, unplanted more tomatos/petunias/beans than I would've, cried more, laughed more, made more mud castles than I ever would've if I had chosen another path.

I know not everyone has the luxury of this choice, and I'm so, so grateful that we live on a ranch where we are all able to work together, all generations. I lost a lot of perspective, the last couple of weeks, and after reading that book, I've regained a little enthusiasm for my job. So, if I've seemed a bit sour and ungrateful, I apologize, really. It's a pretty good gig.

Strange Summer Salads, Part I

In the spirit of spring, and because I like making strange (to other people) salads, I thought I'd post a salad recipe occasionally. I won't post a salad recipe that I haven't tried....we've found, through bookclub, that's just a disaster. Always try it before you share it.

This is one of my FAVORITE salads, and it's really not all that strange. But I'm making it today, and it seemed like a good one to start with. (Lure you in, then pull the switcheroo...)

Spinach Salad with Strawberries

(Lisa Waterman, this one's for you! You don't even have to disguise the spinach. Just dress it up.)

In a large salad bowl, toss about 5 cups of fresh spinach (or 1 boughten bag) with 1 pint of sliced strawberries.

Dressing:

1/2 c. sugar (yes, 1/2 cup)

2 T. sesame seeds

1 T. poppy seeds

1 1/2 tsp onion, minced

1/4 tsp. worcestershire sauce

1/4 tsp. paprika

1/2 c. salad oil (such as canola)

1/4 c. vinegar

Put all dressing ingredients in a blender and mix well.

Toss with the spinach and strawberries.

Optional topping, after dressing the salad, are bits of bacon and sliced,toasted almonds. It really is gilding the lily, but if you REALLY want to impress, that's the way to do it.

Bon Appetite!

Quotidian

Once again, I find myself dovetailing a post of the Fontologist. We live hundreds of miles apart, have no communication, save the computer and notecards loaded with seeds, (not yarrow) and yet seem to have VERY similar, eerily similar thought processes. And once again, she beat me to the punch on a topic that I've been struggling with. (I HATE to be the follower-upper! It's so...secondary. Kind of like the drum after a joke. Badda-BUM!)

This month, for bookclub, we read The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and Woman's Work. The word "quotidian" according to Webster's means "occurring every day; belonging to every day; commonplace, ordinary" . Well, THAT sounds applicable to my life! Here's a quote from the book that sums it up pretty well:

Our daily tasks, whether we perceive them as drudgery or essential, life-supporting work, do not define who we are as women or as human beings. But they have a considerable spiritual import, and their significance for Christian theology, the way they come together in the fabric of faith, is not often appreciated. But it is the daily tasks, daily acts of love and worship that serve to remind us that the religion is not strictly an intellectual pursuit, and these days it is easy to lose sight of that as, like our society itself, churches are becoming more politicized and polarized. Christian faith is a way of life, not an impregnable fortress made up of ideas; not a philosophy; not a grocery list of beliefs.

Being a stay at home mom, just getting out of bed to face another peas-in-the-fish-bowl moment or mop-the-floor-for-the-4th-time-today thing can be daunting and less than inspiring. A book that challenges me to think of these things as worship, sort of irritated me, at first. Like my cousin Beth said at bookclub, "It's something you need to hear at least once a year, even though you don't want to hear it at all." Drats.

AND I recalled a felt banner that hung in the sanctuary of the little church I grew up in, that gently reminded us to "Bloom where you are planted." Those cheery little homespun platitudes, that are almost ALWAYS right, nag at me, and as I look around, I think to myself, "Well, I'm planted in some dirt, that's for sure. And water from the toilet. A little sunshine and voila! I have all the ingredients to bloom." But sometimes even the humor of the situation doesn't help.

Nearly all of my friends are in the same boat. Do I matter, anymore, except to get the food on and the underwear washed? (Yes, it's that time, AGAIN in my home...) Am I just a mommy-blob? Will I ever know the words to songs NOT recorded by Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber? Am I making a difference? Am I still interesting/funny/pretty/smart? Will I ever be, again?

The truth is, (and this is hard to admit) it's not about me.
Dang.

And IF I'd just get over myself, I'd be a lot happier and probably bloom.
Really.

I've been reading The Message version of the Bible, just for a shake-up, and this morning, I got a pretty good shaking.

Psalm 143:7-10 says:

Hurry with your answer, God!
I'm nearly at the end of my rope.
Don't turn away; don't ignore me!
That would be certain death.
If you wake me each morning with the sound of your loving voice,
I'll go to sleep each night trusting in you.
Point out the road I must travel;
I'm all ears, all eyes before you.
Save me from my enemies, God-
you're my only hope!
Teach me how to please you,
because you're my God.
Lead me by your blessed Spirit
into cleared and level pastureland.

Dang.

Not exactly the look I was going for...

Well, I was going to post my pictures and write about this evil spring storm that's blowing through, but I got a CF error message on my camera. The camera was quite insistant that I change the card, and even though I took it out and put it back in several times ( mistakenly thinking I could trick the camera), it still won't work. It's a pretty smart camera. I'm not getting anything by the EOS, I can tell you that.

So, I decided I'd try to find an image for "blizzard", and lo and behold, this is what I got! I'm 82 miles from the nearest DQ, mind you, so sitting here typing, looking at the picture is almost painful. Angus would say, "Hice cream? ummm...OKAY!", which means, "I'd like somma that, and it doesn't matter what you think, I already okayed it!"

Wayland, Vern and I spent all afternoon yesterday bringing cows in closer to the barns and shelter, and sorting the ones we thought might calve to keep in the pens by the barn. It's that time of year when they ALL look 6 hours away from dropping their calf, so our "In" pen was markedly larger than the "Bye" pen. And one of the "In" cows did, indeed, calve about 20 minutes after sorting. The cows hate all this nonsense, but there's not much cover on the prairie, and with the 3-6 inches of predicted snow, there's 30-40 mph wind! (In one of the pictures on the stubborn camera, you can see the snow blowing completely sideways. ) That's no good for wet baby calves.

Maggie and I fed the bum calf in the barn. Well, not exactly a bum, since her mother is laying there, too. But the cow is so sick she can't feed the calf, so it's been getting bottle fed. It was so much fun to share that experience with my daughter, since that was my favorite thing when I was a kid. When we got done, I asked her what she thought about it and she offhandedly said, "It was alright. But I REALLY like feeding bum lambs better." AND when queried as to her preference of cows, instead of black Angus, she chose purple cows. I'm afraid her ranching career may be a shaky proposition, and we should look into other vocations when the time comes to choose.

And today, the cows are calving with all their might. Wayland and I have talked about how they seem to be more likely to calve when the barometric pressure drops, and there's weather. It appears to be true, to the grief of ranchers everywhere.

I'm going to get busy, here, washing everything I can, because I don't think we'll have power much longer. I'm completely astounded it has stayed on this long!

(And despite being completely technologically impaired, I do know what to do with the CF card, I just don't have the means to fix it right now. I'm just saying that so I won't have a whole lot of helpful tech comments on the fridge door. Just tell me what's going on in your igloo, today.)

"We buy and sell junk!"

I just committed to being a stop on the Cohagen Community Garage Sale, to be held in May, and the more I think about it, the funnier it is! I am ALL about garage sales...some of my best junk has come from garage sales. And community garage sales seem more efficient, make sense and have a sort of party feel to them. Like everybody got together on the same day for coffee and a clothes and Tupperware swap. Nice!

The funny part is, that unlike block-type garage sales, our garages are something like 15 miles apart from each other! So the Tour de Stuff will encompass about 60 miles, round trip. AND, get this: our customers will have to drive a minimum of 23 miles to get to the first stop! You have to really want to get some $.25 paperbacks and score big on gently used clothing!

The other funny thing, to me, is how the idea of garage sales brings out the entrepreneur in me. The minute I signed on, I started looking around my kitchen, trying to evaluate how attached I really am to that pot that is right at this minute full of macaroni, or trying to remember what sorts of sale-able things I have stored under the house. Could I make things to sell? Yeah! That's it! I'll make garden art and when people walk around looking at the yard, as they WILL do, they may buy some! And I can sell the kittens! Or throw them in bags, when the customers aren't looking. By the time they find them, they'll be so far in the tour that they won't have gas enough to turn back and return them....AND if they just leave them at the next garage, we all win.

THEN my mind goes to the yard, and my heart sinks. Do you realize how much work I have to do between now and then to make the place worthy to set up 3 card tables and a clothes rack? Maybe we can get the pergola done, get all the pots full of blooming annuals, have complimentary lemonade and ice tea with brownies on the deck...first, we have to stain the deck.... Can you rent mature trees for the weekend?

And we don't get much company here, so by the time all is said and done, I'll be thanking them as they try to get in their cars with my junk, the whites of their eyes rolling, stuffing dollar bills through the crack in the window...just so they can get away from that crazy farm wife and her kids. Only 8 more miles until the next sale stop!

Can't you see it?

Sadly, by the time the Tour de Stuff gets here, I will have probably only managed to price about 1 card table's worth of stuff, the deck will be unstained (except for the perpetual red Koolaid stains), nothing will be blooming, the customers will be politely looking at the kid's toys scattered around the yard and trying to figure out how to get out of eating the brownies offered by grubby little hands that cause the Koolaid stains on the deck. We will probably have to brand calves that day, so we will all be frazzled and I'll end up paying everyone $3.00/car to go to my mother-in-law's for some truly classy items, in a sanitary environment, where the tulips are in bloom.

And there you have it. Third Friday and Saturday in May. We buy and sell junk.

Don't wear white...

So, I've been doing laundry this week, embarrassed into it by my husband's commando comment on his blog. And as I chuff the clothes in the washer and haul them to the kitchen table to fold, I've noticed we really don't have a lot of whites. (Besides the much whined about underwear...)

Here's a tip, if you come to visit the Farmer's Wife: Don't wear white. It will come here white...glowing, fresh and crisp...and it will leave here a little, um, mottled or pinkish or tannish.

Here's the reason: If my kids like you, they will swarm you, and whatever unknown substances that are attached to them will transfer to you. AND we may have to hop on the four wheeler for an impromptu bovine relocation assignment. Whatever is on the four wheeler will transfer to you, as well as whatever flies up from the wheels. AND when we get home, we'll dutifully squirt the white article of clothing with Spray and Wash, and launder it, but because of rust in the water, it will acquire a different sort of finish. That tannish thing I was talking about.

It occurred to me that you could probably place the location of someone's home in Garfield County by the color of thier"whites"....I'm thinking within 10 miles, at least. At Big Dry School, there was a lot of coal in the water, so the whites were gray. There are places the water comes out of the faucet a delicate shade of orange, and those whites are yellowish. Here at my house, you can't see the rust, because we were told it's "ionic", but it will turn things tan OR, my personal favorite, mottled. (Resembles the giraffe print on my handbag. Nice, huh?)

This has been a public service announcement. (My posts are dramatically shortened when the kids wake up and Wayland comes back from the barn...)

Putting out pairs...

Brand new baby by the barn...I love the corrugated tin in the background!

This is one of the heifers and her calf that we hauled this morning. After they calve, they spend a little time in the "maternity ward" until the calf is strong and we know he's nursing well. Then they get hauled in the horsetrailer to a nursery pasture.
This baby is soaking up the sunshine, in the corral, next to the water tank. Those black baby calves are like little solar panels! The red tag tells that this is one of Linda's calves; Vern's cousin that we lease pasture from. I was laying on my stomach, in the alley, taking this picture...I think Vern thought I'd lost it. Again.

While Wayland hauled pairs with the trailer, I got to feed the old cows, who aren't calving yet. This is the feed pickup, with a cake feeder mounted right behind the cab, and hydraulic bale handler. And about 200 lbs of gumbo mud clinging to the frame. I love it because it's an automatic transmission, and MUCH easier to back up and load those round bales.

Little known fact #264: I'm TERRIBLE at backing up with mirror. Attach a horse trailer, and it'll take me 20 minutes. Don't tell Vern.

Two of the pairs Wayland hauled to the Jacobson place, checking out thier new digs. Montana in March is SO dismal and cold! But in about 10 days, it'll start greening up a little. And by the end of April, the green will take your breath away.

Have I mentioned that I love cows?

And I love living on a ranch in Eastern Montana.

And I hope you look at these images with generosity of heart, because to me they are beautiful and honest.

When you start feeling abused...

...make yourself some Paula Deen Gooey Butter Cake and a big ole pot of Sumatra french roast coffee with a generous dollop of heavy whipping cream, and listen to a Beth Moore lesson. It'll pull you right out of those doldrums! And don't give me any whining about calories. You are feeding your SOUL, my dear...calories simply have nothing to do with medicine. (It's true! Go ahead and Google "gooey butter cake and medicine" and see what you come up with.)

Because my friend Traci is feeling sorry for herself, and I believe she has the recipe, but I'm not altogether positive, here it is. Do NOT skimp on the cream cheese or the sugar, sweetie! (Don't you think cream cheese has medicinal properties? It's bound to....I always feel better after ingesting some. Even just reading a recipe with cream cheese brightens my day.)

Gooey Butter Cake

Mix together: 1 box yellow cake mix

1 egg

1/2 c melted butter. (Use REAL buttah, darling; no margarine!)

Press mixture in bottom of a lightly greased 9 x 13 pan.

With electric mixer, beat 1 8 oz package cream cheese until smooth;

add 2 eggs and 1 teaspoon REAL vanilla, and mix.

Dump in 2 cups powdered sugar and blend.

Reduce speed of mixer and add 1/2 c melted butter; mix well.

Pour filling onto cake mixture and spread evenly.

Bake at 350 degrees for 40-50 minutes...until it smells done, and the middle acts fairly set up.

(If you put a toothpick in it, it will come out a little gooey. That's perfect!)

Cool until you can't take it anymore, then cut yourself a goodly portion and put it in a bowl.

Now, spoon some cherry or blueberry pie filling over it, and add gen-u-ine whipped cream. Don't skimp on the whipped cream! You should still have some left from the coffee, but if you don't, whup up some more.

If you feel the least bit abused, after a bowl of this, the coffee and Beth Moore, you probably need professional help. I've done my best, and so has Paula Deen.

Too much!

Alright, the kids went with their dad to go feeding AND visit the grandparents and I'm ignoring the dishes and laundry. The house is totally quiet, with the exception of that noisy betta fish in the corner....all day long: burble, bubble, slosh!

So I wanted to blog, of course! And all day yesterday, I wrote them in my head. I was eloquent, descriptive, witty, clever....all those things. Today, with no one hanging on me, I can't seem to form a paragraph! But I have a bunch of random thoughts, so I'll toss those out and see what we come up with.

1. I have about 600 packets of seeds, marked in my catalogs and I can't seem to narrow down enough to order any. There's no possible way to plant that many flowers and vegetables without a staff of 6 Mexicans to help tend them!

2. We may have a problem. My daughter says she's from Texas. And when pressed: Cohagen, Texas. Perhaps I took the Red Raider thing too far...

3. Maggie ALSO has a list of seeds to order for HER garden. She likes exotic things, like ruffled kale and kaleidescope carrots. So we have to till up another acre for her crops. And she'll eat them, too, which is the exciting part!

4. I have to figure out where to put an antique upright piano in an already crowded trailer house. And how to prevent young Beethoven from playing it, less than tunefully, all the time. Perhaps it's time to build on.

5. #703 had a bull calf yesterday morning....let the games begin!

6. I have a list of about 10 possible choices for my bookclub selection next month, and I need to narrow that down to 1. Would you all be willing to vote on a poll, to help me choose? I have menus to go with them, if that would influence choice.

7. Guess what we found in the heat vent, yesterday? (No, it wasn't the other 85 socks...) A bigfoot truck, two crayons and a bunch of ponytail holders. And this was because we were stopping Angus from putting the cat down there.

8. I had one of the blog lurkers call yesterday to see if I was alright! I guess the Cohagen Chronicles ARE read by more than my husband and sister-in-law. So, for those faithful readers who didn't get any Chronicles for a week, I apologize...and I miss you, too. I live for the comments. (And that's a sad little commentary on my life, right there!)

I guess that's about it for this morning. Now I'm going to ease back into the kitchen and do dishes. And throw some clothes in the washer. I like to let them get down to their LAST pair of underwear before I get in a hurry. That way the whole laundry process is applauded and given the weight it deserves. You've never seen a more grateful man than one who is staring at an empty underwear drawer, then Voila! boxers appear before his very eyes! (Maybe that falls under the category of too much information. Well, now you have something on the Farmer....)

How CAN he explain....?

I LOVE this ad! My husband will read this post and snort...I've long since ceased being a "sensitive young wife". These days it's more like, "toughened old ball-and-chain".

He's thanking his lucky stars that the heifers are starting to calve, because even though he's going to have to get up every 3 hours to check them, he'll have the luxury of sleeping in the 5th wheel camper with no children or little wifee to pester. Oh sure, it's a hardship, but he can take his laptop and watch movies with guns, car chases, naughty words and manly themes.

I used to get to go check heifers, too, back before kids, and oddly enough, I really enjoyed it. There's just something about being out in the starry spring nights that really is sort of fun. Even though I checked each cow twice, worried I'd miss something, it was good to be part of the calving. And for some reason, I always felt less abused checking heifers than I ever did getting up to feed a baby...still don't understand that.

My job now is to have a big, hot breakfast ready for the returning calver. And there is nothing nicer to find, at the end of a long night in the barn, than pancakes, eggs and bacon, or sausage gravy and biscuits, and hot, strong coffee! It's wretched to sit down to a bowl of Cheerios and Sanka.

I've been promised the opportunity to return to the barn when the kids get older, and I'm hanging on to that. When the old cows start calving, I do get involved a lot more, because, well, they can't keep me away.

I guess that's the latest, from Cohagen! It's been so long since I posted, I probably lost all my readers...except my sister-in-law and Wayland, poor souls. The kids and I are still battling sinus infections and strep, so there's not a lot going on here, except medicine and movies. Even the dog is looking for a reason to go to the barn!

Mrs. McSweeney

I don't remember where I found this image. In my pictures it's titled "Mrs. McSweeney". Don't you love that name?!!

Anyway, I'm going to have a Mrs. McSweeney kind of day. I have laundry as tall as the four-year old, in each room, and an impressive organism growing, once again, in my refrigerator. I'm one of those people who gets all distracted by making Valentines and reading books my son has pulled off the shelf.

I'm going to close up the computer, after finishing this blog, and not revisit the Cohagen Chronicles for at least 12 hours. It's probably going to kill me. I love reading other people's lives! They are so interesting, compared to my dreary existance!

Just call me Mrs. McSweeney....

Doesn't she sound like the type who would lean over the fence, while hanging up laundry, and get the latest chit-chat from her neighbor, Mrs. O'Malley? And probably a good potroast tip, too.