A Good Year for Sunflowers OR Stop Men from Peeing on the Floor

OK. So I'm working VERY diligently on the Mercantile Resource page, where readers can go for all sorts of information - everything from why Fair Trade is a good thing to options for menstrual products. One of my favorite categories is "Who Can You Trust." As I was making my list of magazines I like a lot I went to Good Magazine and stumbled upon this article:

Tricking People into Doing the Right Thing
Hey! I thought. I would LOVE to trick people into doing the right thing (or, at least, what I consider is the right thing). I did not find much useful information, but should you ever need to stop men from peeing on the floor, here is what you need to know:

"Authorities at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam have etched the image of a black housefly into each urinal. It seems that men usually do not pay much attention to where they aim, which can create a bit of a mess. But if you give them a target, they can’t help but try to hit it. Similar designs have been implemented in urinals around the world, including mini soccer goals, bulls-eyes, and urine video games (seriously). Do they work? Since the bugs were etched into the airport urinals, spillage has decreased by 80 percent."


In other non-urinary news, it has been a dismal year for tomatoes (at least in the Milkweed garden) but an EXCELLENT year for sunflowers. These two, right in my tomato bed (did not have the heart to pull them up) are at least 15 feet tall. Yowsa!

PS That's the back of the Mercantile in the background. More tomorrow, I promise!

Ready, Set, Wait!

The Mercantile online store is open for buisiness! Yay! Hooray!

Here's a YouTube link that we put in our first newsletter expressing how we really feel: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xos2MnVxe-c

There is still so much to do. There were, of course, errors in the newsletter (ack!). Be we've learned good lessons, and are adding fabulous merchandise every day. I'm working on a press release. It is scary but fun. I don't know how artists do it - here is my heart and soul - love it or stomp on it, as you will.

today was DR land Clean Day. We're having our annual Open House September 13th, and are getting ready. Things are looking pretty good around here!

I keep mooching books from Bookmooch even though I have about 20 minutes to read each night (before I fall asleep and dream of Mercantile products and descriptions). The stack is getting higher and higher, and even falls over occasionally. What fun! (the book part, not the falling over part).

That's all for now. Gotta go do math and figure out percentages of markup. Some things about running a business are much more fun than others. Percentages? Guess what category THAT falls under? Here's a hint: I flunked algebra twice in high school, and later went to art school.

The Crux of the Biscuit is the Apostrophe

My (only) brother loved Frank Zappa. When we were in high school, we'd be sitting at the dinner table and he would look at me with a crazy grin and announce "I'm moving to Montana soon..." to which I'd reply "...gonna be a dental floss tycoon." We'd giggle, my father would look at us like we were speaking SerboCroation, and my mother would tell us to finish our vegetables.

This morning NPR did a story on Alexander Calder and a new exhibit of his jewelry. They finished with a piece by Frank Zappa, who apparently had been influenced by Calder, and compared his music to a Calder mobile.

My brother died a year ago July 12th. He was 47. He has three bright, beautiful daughters and a wife who adored him. He worked as a painter - of faux finishes (amazing marble work) and murals and when those weren't available, of houses, inside and out. On July 3rd he woke up with a headache, but went to the painting job anyway. He called my sister-in-law and asked her to bring some ibuprophin when she brought their 15-year old daughter to help with the painting. The two of them arrived at the same time as the ambulance; Jess on the ground where he had fallen, head first, off a ladder. When the Coos Bay Hospital realized that his situation was more serious than they could handle, he was flown via small jet to a trauma center in Portland. The short story is that for the first week the doctors told us that there was a very good chance he would wake up and recover. He might never walk again, but he would be back. We would have years of therapy, but he would wake up. I waited here in Missouri, thinking that the family had plenty of help now, but would need me more in the weeks ahead when Jess came home and learned to walk and talk again. Haley, his fabulous sister-in-law called me every evening to keep me updated. We were all terrified but continued to believe that he'd open his eyes and recognize one of us. On July 11th Haley called and said that the doctors had changed their minds, that things were indeed dire, that I needed to get there immediately. I booked a plane, and left at 6:00 the next morning.

Even though he was surrounded by loving friends and family 24 hours a day, prayed over, talked to, and tended to by the best doctors available, he was no longer there in his body. He never breathed again on his own, and on July 11th his heart stopped. A pacemaker was inserted so that his family could get back to the hospital to say 'good-bye.' The machines were turned off July 12th. When Haley called to tell me I had gotten no further than the Kansas City airport. Trying to find a private place to take that phone call was impossible. Like in a bad movie, I collapsed in a chair while fellow passengers tried not to stare. With tears and snot running down my face, I listened as Haley kindly and lovingly recounted the events. And then I got on the plane and continued on my way to Portland. I was welcomed with love and big hugs and compassion by my sister-in-law and nieces, whom I hadn't seen in years. They are truly amazing.

My relationship with Jess was tenuous, at best. Raised by crazy parents who tried but who were not up to the task, we both learned to survive, but not to consider each other allies. Family dynamics continued, and years went by where he did not speak to me. We were working on repairing the damage again, in fits and starts, through misunderstanding after misunderstanding, when he died. My mistake was in assuming we'd have years and years to patch together our differences, and that we'd grow old and gray together. We weren't that fortunate.

This morning, while writing copy for one of the books we carry in the Mercantile, The Heron Dance Book of Love and Gratitude, I found this:

Always say what you feel, and do what you think is good and right.

If I knew that today would be the last time I'd see you, I would hug you tight and pray the Lord be the keeper of your soul. If I knew that this would be the last time you pass through this door, I'd embrace you, kiss you, and call you back for more.

If I knew that this would be the last time I would hear your voice,

I'd take hold of each word to be able to hear it over and over again.

If I knew this is the last time I'd see you, I'd tell you I love you,

and would not just assume foolishly you know it already.

~Gabriel Garcia Marquez

I Scream You Scream for Homemade Ice Cream!

Oh. My. God.

You have not lived until you've made your own vanilla bean ice cream (and then eaten it). Oh, sure, you've been to Paris, you've driven on the Autobahn, you've trekked in Nepal, touched the tip of Patagonia, partied with Madonna...but never had your own vanilla bean ice cream? My dear, you simply MUST!

Here is the recipe. It is, of course, "just a custard base" as our friend Annie says. But having never done it myself, I had to read and research and compare a zillion recipes. I am very pleased with how this came out.

Vanilla Ice Cream
(fills a 2-quart maker 2/3 full)

2 cups milk
2 vanilla pods, sliced down the middle (you can probably get away with just one)
8 egg yolks (save the whites for a Pavlova - more on this tomorrow!)
8 oz granulated sugar (weigh it!)
2 cups double/heavy cream

1. Pour the milk into a large saucepan and bring the pan slowly up to boiling point.
2. Place the vanilla pod into it and leave to infuse for about 20 minutes.
3. In a bowl, beat and mix together the egg yolks and sugar until thick.
4. Carefully remove the vanilla pod from the pan of milk and scrape out the seeds into the milk.
5. Pour the milk into the mixture of egg yolks and sugar while stirring.
6. Pour the mixture back into the pan and heat gently, stirring until the custard thickens - DO NOT BRING TO THE BOIL OR IT WILL PROBABLY CURDLE.
7. When you can see a film form over the back of your spoon it's time to remove the saucepan from the heat.
8. Leave to cool. (I got impatient, and so put the bowl in an ice bath - a larger bowl filled with ice cubes and water)
9. When the custard base is cold stir in the cream.
10. Transfer the whole mixture into an ice cream maker and freeze according to the manufacturer's instructions.

I used two bags of ice cubes and 2 cups of rock salt.

We served this with Berry Apple Crisp. Absolutely divine. I look forward to the day when the Mercantile is finished and we have our own ice maker. That way all power to make the ice will come from the sun and wind, and the water will be rainwater. Delish!

And another thing: birds have been so happy in the Mercantile. Three robins fledged from a nest in the "kitchen" earlier this spring, and right now we have two house wren nests way up in the eaves. Yesterday Tom, Thomas and Kurt pointed out a swallow building a fabulous mud and grass nest on top of one of the electrical boxes in the dining room. Fortunately we have lots of time before Kurt needs to wire that box - the babies should be hatched and fledged by then!






Kurt kept saying "zoom in, zoom in!" but I wanted to show some sort of context. What was REALLY cool was how the pair would fly in (the building is still open on all sides) and make a couple of circuits of the room. They have the most beautiful coloring!

Blueberries

When you woke up this morning, desperately curious to know what 10-lbs of blueberries actually looks like, did you ever think you would find the answer to your dreams right here? Sigh. Life is pretty darned grand, eh?

So check this out:

The box measures about 12" x 10". On today's menu:

For breakfast Homemade Granola with fresh blueberries

and

Blueberry Crisp with Homemade Vanilla Bean Ice Cream

Tomorrow: Blueberry Lime Jam and Blueberries in Gin Syrup. Recipes posted early next week.

Following My Nose

Reading lots of blogs, today I popped into Keri Smith's Wish Jar. She talked about being invited to Foo Camp, and of course I got curious and followed links. This led to a speech on the value of hackers given by Tim O'Reilly. I didn't get very far into the speech because he began it with this poem by Rilke. It is mesmerizing. I have to read it a lot more. But I wanted to park it here so I could find it again. "What we choose to fight is so tiny..."


The Man Watching
by Rainer Maria Rilke

I can tell by the way the trees beat, after
so many dull days, on my worried windowpanes
that a storm is coming,
and I hear the far-off fields say things
I can't bear without a friend,
I can't love without a sister

The storm, the shifter of shapes, drives on
across the woods and across time,
and the world looks as if it had no age:
the landscape like a line in the psalm book,
is seriousness and weight and eternity.

What we choose to fight is so tiny!
What fights us is so great!
If only we would let ourselves be dominated
as things do by some immense storm,
we would become strong too, and not need names.

When we win it's with small things,
and the triumph itself makes us small.
What is extraordinary and eternal
does not want to be bent by us.
I mean the Angel who appeared
to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:
when the wrestler's sinews
grew long like metal strings,
he felt them under his fingers
like chords of deep music.

Whoever was beaten by this Angel
(who often simply declined the fight)
went away proud and strengthened
and great from that harsh hand,
that kneaded him as if to change his shape.
Winning does not tempt that man.
This is how he grows:
by being defeated, decisively,
by constantly greater beings.

Birthday redux

Well, I managed to extend my birthday for two weeks, which is quite a lovely idea. Amy baked the most beautiful and incredibly delicious coconut cake (with not one but 2 cans of coconut milk)

Amy and the oh-so-divine cocolicious birthday cake

and then we had a 70's dance party. During the real 70's I hated disco, since it was SO not cool (all that polyester) but it is so much fun to dance to. Kurt spent all day downloading my long list of songs which ran from Car Wash to Super Freak to everyone's favorite singalong, I Will Survive. No BeeGees, though, and no Abba. A girl has to maintain her standards.

Tom Cowan, ready to get down and boogie

It is also bittersweet. Songs like It's Raining Men remind me of all my friends who are gone, an entire generation of gay men wiped out. Sigh.

Here are a few pix from the bash at the still-to-be-named New Pond (or "Bay of Ralph") on July 4th:

(L-R) Tereza, fashion maven Tamar, & Alyson snapping pix

Toby, Kurt, Meadow & the Bagwan Shri Nathan

"I'll give you a buck if you throw this thing..."

And here are a couple from dinner at Jason's, overlooking Red Earth Farms land...

Jason, Noah & Sonya

I'm writing this after coming home from Papa Bear's Karaoke Birthday party. It was so fun, and funny. My throat is sore but it was so worth it! Night!