The Secret Life of Baloo

Kurt and I run a "don't ask, don't tell" household - as long as Baloo is back in time for dinner we don't pry. Every once in awhile, though, I get a clue that there is much more to Baloo's life than I am aware of. For example, today I received this (from Liat) via email:

Sledding on Vista de la Moo, March 2008

Had I known he liked sledding we could have gotten him one of his own for Christmas. Thank goodness Thomas is willing to share his.

In other matters, I apologize for the lack of posts. One week ago tonight I was remembering (vividly) lines from Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion:

Michele: Ewwww...remember when we had Mexican food and I threw up...?

Romy: I hate throwing up.

Michele: (Gasping in delight at the synchronicity of their friendship) Me too!

Let's just leave it at that, and say that I'm feeling much better now, thank you!

And now that I'm fully recovered, I've been experimenting with new recipes. I made BREAD (yeah for me and my KitchenAid mixer!) and it was really good. Yesterday I made a cake that had bananas, chocolate chips, and walnuts. I think it was called Monkey Cake but the name has somehow morphed into Monkey Brain Cake, which is really quite catchy - I'm sure with a name like Monkey Brains we'll sell zillions of them at the Mercantile. Today I made Thomas Keller's version of Nutter Butter cookies. They look AND taste like the Savannah Girl Scout Cookies. They are pretty amazing.

OK. This is boring even ME, so I'm signing off for tonight. Ah, Saturday night in Rutledge, Missouri. Kinda makes you wish you were here, eh?

Simple Pleasures for Simple Minds

Last month Kurt and got to spend a week in New York. Yep, bright lights, big city. More on the real reason for the trip (the Milkweed Mercantile was the recipient of an Eileen Fisher Grant for Women Entrepreneurs) in future posts. Right now I'd like to share what was REALLY exciting about the trip, at least for me.

Tender Buttons.





















This tiny little shop in the Upper West Side absolutley oozes with charm. See those buttons along the wall in the photo above? Those are all little boxes (4x2x8") stacked and filled with the buttons that are affixed to the outside. It is an amazing experience to walk in and realize the limitlessness of the world of buttons. So I went shopping, supposedly for future hand-made Mercantile projects. Right.


exhibits a and b

teeny, tiny bags

When I walked out, all I had to show for my efforts (and payment) were two little teeny bags tucked into a very small bag (see exhibits a and b).

You'd think they'd at least give you a GREAT BIG bag so that you felt like you'd received some return on your investment.

But oh, what buttons! Mice-and-cheese buttons, mother of pearl buttons, hand-carved wood buttons, very cool buttons...

Years ago I attended the International Quilt Festival in Houston, where I had the pleasure of hearing Elinor Peace Bailey speak. She was marvelous, and what I liked best was what she had to say about fabric. Quilters are often consumed with enormous guilt about their "quilt stash." This is an undisclosed quantity, usually large, of fabric. Purchased in quilt stores, quilt festivals, and anywhere else imaginable, stashes continually grow. One never knows when might need that particular fabric. Green and blue dots? Hmmmm, that might come in handy some day, I better buy two yards. And so it piles up, and up, and up.

But Elinor put my mind at rest. She understood. She said that whenever one takes a pile of fabric out, and touches it, and thinks about it, and plays with it for awhile, one is using the fabric. That is the key. You do not have to cut it up and sew it into something to use it. Touching it is enough. Quilters are kinesthetic - we touch things. It's a visceral thing. I suspect it is the same with buttons.

Come over sometime, and I'll let you play with mine!

A Cupcake is a Thing of Beauty, and a Joy for 3 minutes...

John Keats wrote:

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases;

it will neverPass into nothingness;

but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

I believe he was speaking of my cupcakes:

Carrot Cake Cupcakes, topped with cream cheese icing and candied ginger

Yes - beauty, sweet, health, quiet breathing (or is that panting and drooling?) - that about covers it!

Tonight is tri-community (Dancing Rabbit, Sandhill Farm & Red Earth Farms) potluck. And while traditionally a potluck means that one brings a dish that would be enough to feed one's family (i.e. the number of people in your party who will be eating at the potluck), when one brings dessert there absolutely MUST be enough to go around. Granted, there are a few non-sugar and non-wheat eaters in our midst, but if you want to avoid a kid-riot (and I do, at all costs) you bring extra.


The Recipe

CARROT CAKE
Vegan
From The New Farm Vegetarian Cookbook

Preheat oven to 350

1 cup salad oil
1 c. white sugar
1 c. brown sugar
1 ½ - 2 c. water or soymilk

4 c. unbleached white flour
2 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 ½ tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp allspice

3 c. grated carrots
1 c. chopped nuts (pecans or walnuts)
½ c. raisins

Blend oil and sugar, add water and beat. Sift the flour with remaining dry ingredients and add to sugar mixture. Add carrots and nuts and mix well. Bake in a 9x13” pan at 350 for 35-40 minutes.

For cupcakes: grease cupcake tins. Bake for about 12 minutes.

FROSTING
1 container Tofutti PLAIN Better Than Cream Cheese
½ cube soy margarine
3 c. sifted powdered sugar
1 tsp vanilla

Beat together with whisk attachment. Add more sugar if it is too wet, soy milk if it is too stiff.


That's it for tonight. I've been thinking a lot about sustainable business, and how to have a store where selling things really is not the bottom line, and am working myself into a tizzy. So I made cupcakes. With lots of frosting. And lots of leftovers.

My Kind of Dog

Choosing A Dog

by William Stafford



"It's love," they say. You touch

the right one and a whole half of the universe

wakes up, a new half.



Some people never find

that half, or they neglect it or trade it

for money or success and it dies.



The faces of big dogs tell, over the years,

that size is a burden: you enjoy it for awhile

but then maintenance gets to you.



When I get old I think I'll keep, not a little

dog, but a serious dog,

for the casual, drop-in criminal —



My kind of dog, unimpressed by

dress or manner, just knowing

what's really there by the smell.



Your good dogs, some things that they hear

they don't really want you to know —

it's too grim or ethereal.



And sometimes when they look in the fire

they see time going on and someone alone,

but they don't say anything.

Today conspired to be a Baloo post.

First, Liat forwarded some other-worldly photos of Baloo on the the icy pond (Retreiver on the rocks?). Then Tereza forwarded a poem (not this one, but a fabulous poem that I will share in the days to come), another reminder of just how much I am coming to love poetry. I subscribe daily to The Writer's Almanac, which I adore. I've found some marvelous poems, plus I learn a lot of odd facts about writers. I recommend it highly!

The Ice Walker Feels No Fear

OMG. I am in the possession of the single greatest invention ever in human history. The Salk vaccine, the wheel, the espresso machine - all pale in comparision to (drumroll please):

Still life with Boots

STABILicers Lite "Studded Snow Tires for your Feet" (or, if you prefer it en Francais: "Des Pneus Cloutes pour vos pieds"). These delightful inventions are simply steel cleats imbedded into stretchy rubber things that fit over one's shoes.

Oh, la la! Mes pieds are so, so HAPPY! And so are my wrists, my elbows, my butt, my head, AND my husband, who no longer has to listen to me sob inconsolably every time I slip and fall on the ice. Because with my new studs I feel no fear. I walk on ice, and I sneer at it. I call it names, and it remains powerless to toss me onto my tush.

The weather, she is a devil lately - first it rained (flood watch levels of torrential downpour) and then it froze, and THEN it snowed. Hooeeeee. It is a lot for this Californian to take in. But fortunately, it is warm and cozy in our straw bale cottage. We sit by the roaring fire, dozing dog at our feet, belligerent cat racing around like the ball of energy that he is, and Kurt reads aloud from our current favorite book Endangered Pleasures: In Defense of Naps, Bacon, Martinis, Profanity, and Other Indulgences by Barbara Holland.

(Don't try to "look inside" - I stole this photo from Amazon. But don't tell them, ok?)

In the preface (just to set the stage for you), she begins:

Subtly, in little ways, joy has been leaking out of our lives...Americans in particular have always been wary of pleasure. When we ponder the great question of life, how shall we spend our days on earth, enjoying ourselves as much as possible is not a respectable answert to come up with. "The pursuit of happiness" isn't expected to mean fun. Indeed, many of our ancestors came over here specifically to escape from all that post-Cromwellian singing and dancing, drinking and wenching, ruffles and ribbons and bows. They hated fun.

Other ancestors came over because they could make more money here than back home, which is perfectly reasonable but not very merry."

And with that, we're off! In the next few days I'll share bits of the sections on, oh, I don't know, coffee, and naps, and bare feet, and books, and.....

Right now, I'm going to go cook breakfast for dinner - it's been a busy day!

Ms. Crabby-Pants is History!

And thank goodness and good riddance! Whew!

I'll update more tomorrow. But the black cloud of who-knows-what has passed, and it will be a much more pleasant experience to read this blog.

Additionally, I am trying to figure out FeedBlitz so that you NEVER HAVE TO MISS A BLOG ENTRY AGAIN! Oh, I hear sighs of relief from, oh, one or two households!

Talk to you tomorrow.

Just Another Day in Paradise

"Nothing will ever be attempted if all possible objections must first be overcome."
Samuel Johnson


My mother always said "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."

I find the words of Dorothy Parker a bit more to my mood today "if you can't say anything nice, come sit next to me."

Ah, what a day. Being in community is the most difficult thing I've ever done. I often consider packing up my (considerable) bags and heading for the hills, or at least Bainbridge Island. But then the latest DR group photo flashes up on my screen saver and I remember all of the people I do like. And my dog wags his tail,

and the cat plops into my lap,

and friends drop by, and all the good stuff falls into place. Sigh.