yes, i do remember this. when i thought about it, i couldn’t believe that it actually was true and not a dream. but it wasn’t. I am thinking of a photo of Cindy, wearing a plaid shirt and a cowboy hat. and it was Daytona; she was 4 or 5 years old, and she was sitting on, from what i remember, a brown and white cow, on the beach in Daytona. So maybe there was a cow too?
I don’t have a sense of humor anymore. I used to. What happened to it?
in light of that, I think “this” is worth posting (for whatever reason).
“This” is what i saw paddle by my bedroom window the other day.
kind of weird, right? and maybe i shouldn’t never draw my shades? In any case, I think he came by again the other day, without the clown outfit, and I recognized him. Something about the eyes? Could that be possible?
Anyway, when I saw him paddle by, I ran out of the house, ran down “Fleet Street” to get ahead of him, and took the photos.
“I have to take some pictures,” I said. (duh)
“I don’t usually like having my picture taken,” he said. “I don’t have facebook or anything.”
“What are you doing paddling around dressed up like a clown?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m just paddling around.”
And then he was gone…
I’d rather die than waste food.
Martha told me she ate something at the very back of her refrigerator.
And then got really sick.
Mom, her daughter said, “if you had thought about it, you would have realized that we had that for Christmas dinner.”
I’m the same way (good thing i have a cast-iron stomach). Was it all that talk when I was a little kid about eating everything on your plate because of the starving kids in China?
In any event, I am a master of reusing leftovers.
So it was with great delight that i found this recipe.
A hoarder of scraps. I like that.
This recipe does not interest me. It sounds like a quiche with citrus rather than cheese. But the lady who bakes it, she’s a soul-sister.
And i did try this recipe.
I had milk that went sour way before it was supposed to, and rather than throw it out, I had to figure out a way to use it.
Only one problem. How do you convert grams to cups?
I could not figure it out, nor could I buy a measuring cup with grams – none to be found. However, my measuring cup has cups and ml. So, let’s just switch grams to ml, I thought.
But not so easy a conversion. You need to account for each ingredient’s mass.
Conversions. mass. sounds a bit religious.
After some careful rearranging, this is what i came up with.
it would be 219.5 ml butter
254.7 ml sugar
194.7 ml sour milk
118.6 ml self raising flour (I used regular and put in .75 tsp. baking powder and a pinch of salt)
juice from one lemon
i ignored what she said about adding baking powder since “self raising flour has baking powder in it” someone told me once upon a time) (good idea / bad idea, who knows?)
and i put in maybe another 1/2 cup of flour or so because, when all was said and done, it looked so runny, i thought I just had to, though I might add, i didn’t want to go overboard. The final batter still looked much more runny than i’m used to cake batter looking.
So who knows how to make it again? But, to continue…
180 degrees c = 350 degrees F
i put it in an 8 inch square pan.
Basically, I cooked it about the same as suggested, i think i did more like 40 minutes because knife put in the center came out clean.
Sounds like a pretty good cake, esp. with tea. I liked this line best:
this is one of aimee’s favorites
and this is one my favorites
Anxiety attacks that wake me up in the night. I was wondering why, and see from my journals that it must have to do with the time of year.
This past week I’ve awakened gasping for breath. don’t remember the dreams, but did remember one. It was the old repeat: going to a class where I was going to take a test, and being totally unprepared.
Last year, same time frame.
i got on the bike and took off to get home on my bike, out of the park down the steps and onto a very dark bike path. realizing it was a long way home. and dark, and then i got a flat tire. i stopped by a house, and the good news is that i recognized the boy who lived there, realized i did not have my phone or the keys, and that if i called dad or nic from the boy’s house phone, i didn’t remember their numbers. of course i could ask for a ride home, i realized when i woke up, but i didn’t have the keys.
Realizing that the anxiety must be about the deadlines for the extra work i get during the holidays… certainly a good thing to have the work, but it comes with the pressure.
For interesting, outside of me news, I read about terry gross (NYT) and what she does to prepare for an interview. It’s worth remembering, I think…
“She clarifies her thoughts first thing in the morning in the shower. That’s when she asks herself: What do I care about? What in all of this research is meaningful? It’s important to be away from her notes when she does this. She emerges from the shower with her ‘‘major destination points.’’ Then she goes to her office and refers back to her notes — sheafs of facts; dog-eared, marked-up books — for the details. Then she does the interview.”
and this is such a cool statement about how it feels to be interviewed by her:
‘‘Having the conversation’’ — that’s what’s compelling about the wish. It’s a wish not for recognition but for an experience. It’s a wish for Gross to locate your genius, even if that genius has not yet been expressed. It’s a wish to be seen as in a wish to be understood.”
i love this! taking a project down to the least common denominators!
and she says: “A FRIEND IN ALABAMA SENT ME THIS:”
Medicare Part G
You’re a sick senior citizen and the government says there is no nursing-home care available for you. So what do you do?
Our plan gives anyone 65 years, or older, a gun (G) and 4 bullets.
You are allowed to shoot four Politicians.
Of course, this means you’ll be sent to prison, where you will receive three meals a day, a roof over your head, central heating and air conditioning and all the health care you need.
Need new teeth? No problem. Need glasses? That’s great. Need a new hip, knees, kidney, lungs or heart? They’re all covered.
As an added bonus, your kids can come and visit you at least as often as they do now.
And who will be paying for all of this? The same government that just told you they can’t afford for you to go into a home.
And, you can get rid of 4 useless politicians while you’re at it.
Plus, because you are a prisoner, you don’t have to pay any income taxes anymore.
Is this a great country or what?
I have spent the last week in Stinson Beach, a favorite with my son’s family. He lives right over the mountain, and many Mill Valley families whose children go to school with my grandchildren are here as well.
It’s the typical local getaway — the place not too far away next to the ocean….
I think I’ve walked the length of the beach just about every day, and at the north end, on the other side of the “spit,” is Bolinas, really just a stone’s throw away.
A row of houses built out over the water on piers is quite picturesque. Behind them are cliffs with homes perched here and there.
“I’ve never been to Bolinas,” my son said.
“Oh no,” I said. “We were always taking drives when you were a kid. We must have been there.”
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“The joke is, people living in Bolinas keep taking the signs down so that people can’t find it,” he said.
Since we could see where it was in relationship to where we were, it would be pretty easy to locate, even without signs.
“So, let’s go see,” I said.
Sure enough, there were no signs. And it did not feel familiar.