Celebrating the power of procrastination
We liked the name ‘Milo’ from our previous searches, so ‘Haswell’ became ‘Milo’ today.
He had no problem taking the reins of jumping into the front seat. Uhhhh, no.
But he’s fitting in nicely. Lots of energy and seems happy with our backyard and likes to do errands.
An added bonus to assisting others…
I helped the owner of an over-the-fence rental locate her property’s water shut-off valve. Maybe this is a side hustle I need to explore.
Milo the One-Eyed Dog…an update. No sooner had the vet cleared him for adoption than he was snapped up by someone else. Hey, as long as he’s cared for in a loving home, that’s good with us.
We met Milo yesterday.
He’s a true survivor.
A sweetheart transfer [not an official term ;->] from Maui, within a week’s time, he had his eye removed [optic nerve had failed], he was neutered, and he withstood and actually just shrugged off an injury from a vicious attack from another dog at the facility.
He needs to be at the shelter for another post-surgical week, but how can a life like this not burrow its way into one’s heart?
Milo the One-Eyed Dog…
Seems like he needs a good family of dog lovers…dog-obsessors, even.
I have no idea where I could find anyone like that, assuming I avoid looking in the mirror.
Photos from Heartland Humane Society
Yep, when in doubt, it’s biscuits.
Well, that and the suggestion from my wife that, ‘gee, with all this fruit around, I think biscuits would be perfect.’.
And so, with the Beatles’ ‘Penny Lane’ playing in the background, two versions are in the oven, with the aroma of the parmesan cheese-colby cheese-chive-Trader Joe’s 21 Seasoning Salute version [a not-so user-friendly label] filling the kitchen.
Starter recipe: Sky High Wheat Biscuits from Bert Greene’s The Grains Cookbook. I can send it to you.]
As always, I can’t help but stray from the exact instructions, but I’ve used this recipe for over a decade. [Instead of 1 cup cake flour : 1 cup wheat ratio, I went with 1.5 cups all-purpose and a half cup of wheat flour.]
The other version, what one might call ‘plain’—I added an egg and some vanilla and a little extra sugar. So yes, feel free to call them ‘shortcakes’–the accompanying strawberries won’t argue with you.
As I was hand-blending the frozen butter chunks [an upper-body workout hack.], my mind drifted to my semi-recent high school reunion.
And I pondered some of the questions I would like to have posed to the folks.
No, nothing about the staged–I’m dating myself here–Godfather-themed ‘abduction’ of a favorite teacher. And nothing about the senior boys’ version of ‘Alley Top’ during intermission at a Friday dance.
Instead, I would want to know what they’ve been cooking. And when they started cooking.
After all, when many of us parted at graduation, few of had any baking, sautéing, or barbecuing skills.
So, my questions:
What are your specialties?
What events pushed you into the kitchen? A lonely Saturday night during or soon after college? Forsaken by a spouse for a weekend? Expectations of kids? Having Thanksgiving hosting duties dumped in your lap? Or how about the age-old ‘just because’?
My first ‘real’ cooking experience took place sophomore year in high school.We were supposed to contribute to a culinary celebration in French class and I teamed up with my lifelong friend. He proposed [and made] stuffed French rolls. [I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t have the heart to tell him.]
I went with chocolate eclairs and son of a gun if I didn’t whip out the Joy of Cooking and successfully crank out the cream puffs shell recipe [page 646] and follow up with some variation of a chocolate icing. [Would have been fitting to try to make Fudge Cockaigne as a further nod to the French theme, but I was probably still dumbfounded that the cream puffs recipe worked for me.]
I would love to hear of your first successful experience in the kitchen. Chime in down below. Thanks for reading.
Bonus photo: [Seems my ‘craftsy’ wife needs an alternative leaf press.]
Yep, once he/she arrives, there will probably be umpteen ‘I should be writing’ opps.
We lost Boo over a year ago and I usually need more healing time, but as the years progress, I realize I can’t be dawdling on this. I want a dog’s spirit, loyalty, and companionship in the house. Not to mention the entertainment value.
Note: My wife is actually spending more time on the local shelters’ websites than I am. Perhaps, just perhaps, it’s harder to live with a dogless me. 😉
I was going to launch a mini-rant against technology this afternoon [Safari and WordPress weren’t playing nicely], but I redirected toward wholesomeness. And comfort. And calories.
After all, frustrated writers don’t rant; they bake.
In my case, blueberry muffins. A new recipe. A simple one, since I just wanted something straightforward so we could squeeze in a little afternoon coffee. Never mind that the temps outside are in the high 90’s. When the need for ‘fresh-baked’ arises, I spring to action. [Well, not exactly ‘spring’. That would imply flexibility…agility…youth.]
Breaking news from the kitchen–[Hey, if CNN can do this 24/7, so can I.]…They’re halfway done and they’ve already earned the ‘They smell goood’ pronouncement from my wife and they look like they’ll turn out ‘normal’—a relative term in my kitchen.
What constitutes ‘normal’?
These muffins [here’s the recipe] will form fit to the muffin tin. That’s about it. Anything less than that, I add the word ‘mutant’ to the title.
Today, three of these little hummers are traditional, I’ve added a sweet ginger jam to two of them, and one of them has nary a blueberry. [Yes, a blatantly forced rhyme.] I populated it with ’60% cocoa’ chocolate chips. My wife…ever so subtle. When muffin fixins emerge, you can bet she’ll saunter by and plop some usable form of chocolate onto the counter.
Impressions
