I think I’ve demonstrated well over the last 10+ years that I’m not a great baker! Sometimes I get lucky and sometimes I end up with burnt offerings. What is consistent is that I always celebrate or deflate with a cup of tea.
Last December, I was helping host a Ladies’ card-making night at the church, and my contribution (against the committee’s better judgment) was to provide refreshments. What a perfect opportunity to showcase some goodies! If I got lucky, that was…
So I baked brownies and decorated them with little white snowflake sprinkles…and then I forgot most of them at home. I also baked shortbread cookies, which I decorated with edible glitter, pink and purple meringue “unicorn poop” kisses, snowy meringue rings, and best of all (because it actually worked), blueberry scones with an Earl Grey glaze.
A glaze is simply a mixture of icing sugar and a liquid of choice thickened to the desired consistency to provide a thin, sweet layer over your confectionary. Sometimes butter, margarine, honey or corn syrup is added to make it thicker or glossier. Vanilla is often added for flavour, but other juices, syrups, extracts or, as in this case, flavoured tea or coffee may also be used. The glaze can be applied thickly or thinly, almost like a syrup, and will dry to varying degrees of stiffness, but harden completely. It’s perfect for things like pound cake, hot cross buns, doughnuts, and scones…when you want to add a little sweetness.
Earl Grey tea is a blend of black tea and oil of bergamot, which is an unmistakable, highly floral aromatic. The oil is extracted from the rind of the citrus fruit grown on bergamot orange trees.
The recipe I had, which I can’t find now, suggested steeping 1-2 bags of Earl Grey tea in a 1/4 cup of boiling water for 5-8 minutes and allowing it to cool before combining with the icing sugar. I also added purple food colouring. It was really simple to make while sounding complicated!
Earl Grey pairs well with bright flavours like lemon or blueberry so this glaze added sweetness and a floral hint to these ordinary blueberry scones. They also looked pretty on the plate!
Tea parties aren’t just for little girls with imaginary friends!
Dear Diary – We did indeed have freezing rain and no small amount. Thursday evening, the power started flickering around 11 p.m. I know this because I was still practicing Italian on an app when the light flipped on and off. A generator at a neighbouring pharmaceutical company thrummed into action, while the t.v. in my bedroom (that I never use) clicked as it powered up,and the microwave beeped. It was the beeping microwave that caused Hubby to stumble from his room to let me know the power was kicking on and off.
Worrying for Eldest Son who has had to brave long nights in bad storms to clear trees off power lines, I tiptoed down the stairs in the dark to get my cell phone. I still have great night vision so I have made the trip in the dark many times before. His crew was not “on call” this time unless things got bad.
They never got that bad.
The power sorted itself out and stayed on.
The drive to school in the morning was better than I expected. I didn’t get to drift around any corners.
All day Friday and well into Saturday, the world outside was covered in crystals ,which sparkled in the sun. Every window, a scene of captivating gemstones. The ostentatious wealth of Versailles was no rival for this glorious natural display in my own backyard and I wasted spent a lot of time just taking it all in. I even dusted off my camera to attempt to capture the scenery, but it was impossible.
Dostoyevsky is famous for saying that beauty can change the world. Only God can change the world, but if you want to know what God is up to, look for beauty: beauty in the ordinary as well as the more baroque beauty of the ornate and ornamental.
Leonard Sweet, Nudge
Dear Diary – The older I get, the less interest I have in becoming embroiled in drama. Also, I seem to have less patience. Afterall, most of the people I deal with now are adults. And by time you become an adult, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that we can all play nicely in the same sandbox.
I know there are people in this world who will never play nicely in the sandbox. They prefer to be King of the Castle. While others are more interested in just blissfully eating the sand. I have high expectations of myself and consequently set high standards for others. It’s just that….that sometimes I want to scream “come on!!” and get everyone on the same page.
Dear Diary – Hubby and I reluctantly joined a “marriage course” at the church. We certainly haven’t arrived in a place of marital bliss. It’s just that, historically, whenever we’ve tried to talk about our relationship, we ended at war with each other. No gloves on, and no winners. Just battered and broken.
After 26 years together, you would think we’d have it all figured out. But our relationship, just like our characters, continue to be refined. Like rocks in a rock tumbler. Our “edges” aren’t as sharp as they used to be and we can bounce off each other more easily without causing mortal wounds. We’re in a good place. We can talk about the deep and hard things when they come up, and we’ve learned to laugh through some of the other stuff. Occasionally steam builds up and we have it out, but with a lesser sense of “I have to win at all cost”. We check in with each other often because we want to stay connected. Neither of us wants to end up really good roommates in our later years.
Our pastor assured me that this course was not going to lead to blows. Yet it nearly did on question #1.
Which is why I headed to Session #2 with a knot in my stomach.
It was awkward. Trying to reflect thoughts and talk feelings. Especially with an engineer who is more comfortable talking airplane parts than childhood memories. But the struggle to articulate, at least, was a struggle together.
Will this bring us “closer” in the end? I have no idea. But it is reassuring to know that we still remain committed to making it work. I still assert, the first 15 years were the hardest. 😉
Dear Diary – It’s been awhile since I’ve done much baking. So Saturday I pulled out my bowls and measuring utensils and I made a batch of Za’atar pitas. I made the Za’atar back in September. It’s a mixture of spices: cumin, sumac, sesame seeds, oregano, thyme, marjoram, salt and pepper.
They were so good, I made a second batch to take as my contribution to the marriage course meal. But I made them bite-size. Nothing came home!
Dear Diary – Somehow I got roped into helping alter a pair of pants for an old lady. Her compliment that I had “an angelic face” and her surprise that I was no longer in my 20s came much later.
I am not a seamstress but I know how to hem pants. Or at least I have successful hemmed my own pants for years, and not with staples! Usually the measurements are taken while the person is wearing the article of clothing, but this was not to be. So I was going on a hasty body measurement and a prayer. I should mention, I am a giant next to this lady and her hem has to go up almost 4″.
I did my best with the first pair of pants, but since I was also adding an elastic, anything amiss would go unnoticed. I wouldn’t be so lucky with the second pair of dress pants.
Eventually I had to stop procrastinating and get it done so I measured and marked 35 times before cutting. I played with embroidery stitches on my machine. I had a plan. But then my machine developed a mind of its own. It would perfectly sew the embroidery stitch I wanted on my scrap fabric, but not the pants. I had the right thread. I had the correct needle. I changed NO buttons, and yet the machine hypothetically stuck it’s tongue out at me every time I slipped the cuff under the foot.
I was soon ready to stick my foot somewhere!
Eventually, after a lot of coaxing, exasperated sighs and gentle sobbing, the machine compromised and mostly did the right stitch. I have one pant leg done.
I have no idea if it’s the correct height.
I will never do this again.
Procrastination, lack of motivation Procrastination, a game I like to play! (to the tune of Alouette)
Dear Diary – I stumbled across an article in the Toronto Star about Super Pigs in Canada. Turns out it wasn’t about Angus’ alter-ego.
Apparently some brain-child in the 1980’s thought cross-breeding pigs and wild boars would be a good idea, and now feral “super pigs” have established themselves across the country and are wreaking havoc with crops, wildlife, and wetlands. Pigs are known as a “mixing vessel”, easily transferring viruses between animals and humans.
Like we need more plagues.
The giant beast is described as “’intelligent,’ elusive’ and can survive cold climates by tunnelling under snow”. Smart enough to know when they’re being hunted, they can easily become nocturnal, making it harder to hunt. They can also easily disappear in the vast wetlands and forests in the country. On average they weigh 75 to 250 pounds and measure 3 to 3 1/2 feet long.
Meeting a jumbo predator pig on a walk in the woods is one super scary thought!
Dear Diary – Not another snowstorm!?!
Dear Winter – I’m breaking up with you. I think it’s time we start seeing other seasons.
Dear Diary – We made the mistake of going to the Mall Saturday afternoon. The word “zoo” was fitting in some ways. The parking lot was quite full; cars circled like vultures hoping for a spot. Heaven help anyone who even considered swooping in to steal it. Cars crowded the entrances/exits to the lot from the main road and car horns punctuated like angry geese.
The tension in the air was palpable.
Inside, teenage girls in crop tops meandered in small herds like sheep, each one grasping bubble tea. They blocked entrances and aisles as they huddled around displays discussing the latest gossip. Shopping was a social event. A few shoppers reminded me of bison, as they bullied their way through the crowds, bumping and banging anyone in their path. While still others vacant-eyed with red, rosy cheeks and stooped shoulders from heavy winter clothing, and hands laden with coloured bags. They scanned shelves in desperation for one. more. gift before loping down the hallway, like injured rhinos.
We headed to the shoe department, where a weary grandfather nodded and grimaced like a hyena at his granddaughter as she fawned over little pink sequined shoes. Obviously the hordes were getting to him. Or he was tired of entertaining his granddaughter while Mom or Grandma shopped somewhere else.
Youngest Son needed winter boots. He’d outgrown his during Covid shutdowns, and since he had no need to go out (or even get dressed every day), we didn’t notice.
Youngest Son does not enjoy shopping, or crowds, or trying on boots. His feet are also a common size, so his options were limited. We found a pair. Then he tailed me like a baby duckling to the check out line at the back of the store, while Hubby went to look at winter jackets.
I should have known better.
It was the last Saturday before Christmas Eve day. The line was at least 30 people deep, some with carts piled high. Most only had a couple of items clutched to their chests. The only thing they all had in common were glazed eyes, like koala bears that have sampled too many eucalyptus leaves. We slowly shuffled forward like penguins in a line as the minutes ticked by. Slowly. Though dressed in a Fall jacket I soon too started to overheat.
Eventually Hubby came looking for us. He had been waiting “awhile” and thought maybe we miscommunicated where to meet. He texted me…but I forgot my cell phone at home.
After we purchased the boots, Youngest Son and I went to Indigo while Hubby ventured to the far end of the Mall to look at coats. Brave soul!
I purchased one of Hubby’s gifts when I purchased Youngest Son’s birthday present online. But I couldn’t find the gift. In the house. Anywhere. Online it said it was delivered with Youngest Son’s gift, but I had no recollection whether it had or not. The packaging box was still in the office but it was empty. I checked the bin where I hide gifts…for this very reason! I lose them. I didn’t really want to purchase another one because a) it’s not something you need two of, and b) I knew as soon as I did, I would find it.
I left the store empty-handed. It might have been in there, but my claustrophobia kicked in. Instead, Youngest Son tailed me as I slowly walked up and down the hallway waiting for Hubby. I desperately wanted to look at women’s clothing, but I couldn’t shake my duckling.
Once Hubby returned, after what seemed an eternity, I begged for one minute to pop into a store. My duckling followed me…closely followed by Hubby. I don’t know if you’ve ever shopped with 2 men who would rather be anywhere else, but it is not relaxing. I can flit through a store like a hummingbird when I’m short on time or I’m looking for something specific. Either they do or don’t have something that catches my eye. But with these two in tow, I was in and out of there like a hummingbird high on sugar syrup!
We made it to the car, although the guys had to wait for me. The number of predators circling the lot had doubled. So had the level of impatience. I was amazed we escaped in one piece. I was also thankful we had gone when we did, as hundreds of cars with Iranian flags and effigies, filled the main street in a peaceful protest. It was a good reminder that I live in a city of many cultures, and that we are blessed here in Canada in so many ways. We have much for which to be thankful as we gather with family and friends this season.
Dear Diary – I baked a beautiful pumpkin swiss roll for a Christmas party, which I did not attend.
My guys used the joke, “what’s brown and sticky?” Normally the answer would be: “A stick”. Their answer was “Mom’s log”. To which Hubby added, “and it has a nice swirl”.
After much discussion, I decided last minute that I didn’t want to risk getting Covid. I let the organizers know that I wasn’t coming BUT I would still deliver my dessert (and gift for the game) when I delivered Youngest Son at his party at the church. We were taking a chance there too, but after years of isolation, he needed to be there.
The plate (and my gift from the game) was returned on Sunday and it was empty. I guess it was good! 🙂
Now I have to make a chocolate one for Hubby’s birthday. He was born on Christmas Eve…so double the shopping. Just not this close to Christmas!
Dear Diary – Since Hubby is home all week on vacation, he’s been picking up Youngest Son after class. Yesterday I didn’t go with him because I was making our cranberry sauce (and measuring out the ingredients for the spicy cranberry sauce). I went ahead and made Kraft Dinner for lunch. Hubby surprised me by bringing home Wendy’s fries. Youngest Son piled both in a bowl. His reasoning? They both get topped with ketchup!
Dear Diary – I gave Hubby a deadline: clear the dining room table by 9 a.m. Friday morning. It’s covered in boxes and piles of paper and binders left from the months he worked at home. Post-Covid, his office also moved locations so he has less space for his stuff, which is why it’s still living here. But I need my dining table for Christmas dinner.
So far, he has emptied many binders but most of the paper has to be shredded. We have a shredder, also in the dining room, but it can only handle 1 sheet of paper at a time…and it overheats after about 20. Then it won’t work for an hour. We have enough paper to last all next year. Our home is small, our possessions meager, and at this point, I’m not sure the deadline will be met, but on the plus side, our kids will inherit a lifetime supply of paper clips.
Dear Diary – Hubby took his car to the dealership to get some work done this morning. He texted that the mechanics saw the mouse in his air filter. The mouse moved in during the months and months that Hubby was working from home during Covid. It left evidence of his presence last Spring in shredded napkins on the floor, a gnawed granola bar in the glove box, and poop in the coffee holder. With no new evidence we had assumed he moved out when summer temperatures soared.
I asked him if it was alive. He replied that “apparently there was some yelling in the shop”. Did that mean they got it? He didn’t know. I told him to find out. I might recoil if I encountered a snake, but with a mouse, I scream and flail like an inflatable windsock guy before I run away. I’m so thankful it never ran under my feet when I was driving. I have driven with spiders in the car, even stopping at a stop sign once and evacuating the car, much to the surprise of the driver behind me. I shudder to think what would happen with a mouse.
Apparently the mouse is now living in the car bay at the dealership. It ran away. The mechanics found a huge nest, as well as a dead mouse in the air filter. Perhaps there’d been a game of thrones scenario under the hood and dead mouse was a trophy? We’ll never know. The car’s been sprayed with mouse repellent, but I plan to continue avoiding Hubby’s car as much as possible. One can never be too careful!
The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.
Unknown
Dear Diary – This week has been all about food! With Christmas counting down and an edited baking wish list, I baked sour dough muffins with craisins soaked in rum. My father birthed the sour dough starter during the pandemic and he continues to supply bread, muffins and pancakes from it. He shared some with me a few months ago and I have kept it alive despite not using it as regularly as I should or feeding it properly. Between my last bake and this week, it has doubled in size inside the fridge. I’ve nicknamed it Frankenstein.
I baked more shortbread cookies…because we are all the others. Low on time, I opted not to decorate them. I used sprinkles instead. As they cooled, I remembered…I still have earl grey glaze in the fridge.
I made Salvation doughnuts yesterday, something I remember making with my Mom and grandparents, and something I have done with my kids. This recipe was used by Salvation Army volunteers in abandoned buildings near the front lines during World War I. They hoped to improve the morale of the soldiers far from home. In less than ideal conditions, helmets were sometimes used to hold the oil for frying. I used my Mom’s deep fryer instead.
I had to wait until Hubby got home. I couldn’t get the bottle of oil open. The lid just spun and spun. He tried that too…until he noticed…it just popped off.
Some would say love is the key. I say…it’s this:
Nana’s thimble!
Dear Diary – Christmas is only 3 sleeps away, and I hear Santa has the Blues.
I often hear devoted bakers say cheesy things like “the secret ingredient is love”.
“With enough butter, anything is good,” said Julia Child, and I agree.
Especially when I’m the baker.
Certainly there is joy in making something for someone special, and a real sense of accomplishment when they enjoy it (and it turns out right – that’s when I really experience joy). Baking can also have a real zen effect on some individuals and help them cope with stress or mental illness. The rest of us end up breaking down and sobbing on the floor like a toddler, with brown paste on our faces and flour on our clothes. So why do I do it? I have yet to answer that question.
With Christmas morning alarmingly close, and the foreknowledge that there will be more bodies in my house than my house can comfortably accommodate (but we’re family right?), I’m editing my baking “wish list” and focusing on the items that I most want to provide (and a few that Eldest Son requested…most of his favs are non-bake so much, much easier). That included chocolate babka.
I first attempted this sweet, braided bread or cake last year. It originated in the Jewish communities of Poland and Ukraine. It literally translates as “grandmother” in Polish. Made with yeast and enriched with loads of butter, it is truly a labour of love. Or at least serious “like” because making it is a commitment! It takes 2 days.
Is it worth it? Yes. Yes it is!
Step one was making the actual dough and I used my mixer and dough hook. Normally, I opt for kneading by hand, but this time a dough hook is my best friend. Why? Because the dough is super sticky. Once it’s on your hands, it will require intense scrubbing, the kind your grandma invoked when she washed your face after dinner, leaving your skin burning and red.
Judging how long to mix the dough required some intuition, something that long been established is not my strong suit. The recipe simply said “until the comes away from the bowl” about 10 minutes. Having made bread in the past, I know what that looks like, but Hubby challenged my abilities, creating doubt. He’s not the bad guy, however, There is such much butter that the dough never really “comes away”. In fact, when you scrape the sides of your mixer bowl, the dough just kind of smears like…well butter. Eventually I made the call. I oiled it, wrapped it in plastic wrap and tucked it in the fridge for the night.
Sunday afternoon, I hesitatingly pulled it out. As it started to warm up, I set about making the filling.
The first task was chopping my bittersweet chocolate…8 ounces of it! Again, this recipe said to chop it medium fine, which led to a family discussion about what constituted medium. I knew it was going inside the dough, so I wanted it to be at least as small as my fingernail. But I wasn’t the one chopping, so we compromised and I moved on the second task: The Chocolate Mixture.
The filling is a mixture of sugar, cocoa, cinnamon and more butter. I decided to use my hand mixer because my stand mixer bowl was in a pile by the sink waiting to be washed, the edge cemented in in yellow dough. Within seconds, I was enveloped in a brown cocoa cloud. On the plus side, my hair now smelled like cinnamon, but my lungs were complaining. Even though the butter had been sitting on the counter for more than 24 hours, it was still firm. Using my creativity, I carefully draped a hand towel around 3/4 of the bowl and prayed that the towel wouldn’t mix with the beaters, and that the butter would mix with everything else.
Rolling out the dough went smoothly and I started to feel optimistic once again. It’s also a great upper body workout.
Sure my rectangle wasn’t quite a perfect rectangle, but it was close. This wasn’t baseball. It was more like horseshoes or handgrenades.
Now for the fun part – spreading my chocolate mixture on my dough. It proved to be both a difficult and messy task because the dough was super soft. It was kind of like trying to spreading diaper cream on a squirming toddler. Funny I should mention toddler, as the chocolate mixture was firm yet sticky, and brown like poo. I started having flashbacks, and not good ones.
I sprinkled my questionable medium blocks of chocolate, rolled that dough and stuck it in the freezer. Unlike last year, they looked like squat and rotund, but it was too late.
I preheated my oven. I lined with loaf pans with silicone mats…because I was too lazy to carefully cut parchment paper to fit.
And after 15 minutes, I sliced my beautiful babies in two and twisted them together. Hubby helped me shovemanhandle slide the maimed loaves in the pans and I tucked them into the oven to become soft, flaky deliciousness.
I should have read the instructions more carefully. Something that should be posted in large red letters in my kitchen. Once the loaves were baked (Yes Hubby, I was sure), I pulled them out to cool on the rack. Mistake! They started to fall apart. They’re supposed to cool in the pan for awhile before poking them and pouring over a sugar syrup. Instead I poked and syruped on the rack, with a cookie sheet underneath for drips. I can learn from my mistakes!
As soon as they were cool and before the wolves descended, I wrapped my babkas and they are now sleeping with the fish sticks. The kitchen is a disaster. There’s flour, chocolate, cocoa and cinnamon on every surface, and I may never remove the cement from my mixing bowls. My cookie sheet is covered in a pool of sugar and I have to bake more shortbread cookies because they’re all gone.
But I can proudly display my striped babka turds on the dining table, assuming all of Hubby’s boxes are removed, at Boxing Day brunch. I’m sure it tastes better than it looks!
Dear Diary – If you want something done, ask a busy woman!
Friday evening was a ladies’ card-making event at the church and I had overcommitted to baking. Why? Because it was an excuse to bake pretty things…that I wouldn’t be responsible to eat on my own! Eldest Son was also coming for the weekend to celebrate Youngest Son’s 17th birthday, so I was responsible for cleaning and making a birthday cake too. I had made every effort to do things ahead, but as always, the time frittered away and Hour 0 was fast approaching!
So what do I do?
I go furniture shopping. (I should mention I also went Christmas shopping at Home Depot before breakfast!)
In my defence, I have patiently waited years to be able to replace our ugly, stained burlap sack couch, which I hated when we purchased it over 21 years ago. It was the only couch that Hubby and I could both: a) afford and b) agree on. It moved in the day we moved into our starter home…which evidently has become our only home! Life is full of disappointments!
I took a friend with me to keep me focused and mostly to help with the measuring tape. I found 2 at a local Leon’s that I wanted to test in person and both could be delivered well before Christmas. I was very excited by this prospect because I’m hosting this year. One was not on the showroom despite what the website said. The other looked cheap and was as hard as a rock. BUT I fould 2 others that I liked. After a great deal of hemming and hawing, I texted Hubby photos and we headed back to the house to measure. Something I should have done before I left the house the second time.
By this point, the lunch hour was fast approaching and my blood sugar was dropping, as well as my resolve to spend so much money without Hubby’s input. It’s not that I need his approval. It’s just that I don’t want to be blamed when it all falls apart! This couch is likely going to live with us for a long, long time, and I need it to be both hardy and able to cup my supple (and spreading) buttocks. The only sighed groan I should hear for the next 20 years should be uttered from my lips, not the couch!
I opted to grab refreshment at Tim’s and get what I needed from the Bulk Barn before returning to Leon’s. I stocked up on over a dozen spices. I bought edible glitter for shortbread cookies. And I successfully by-passed all the bins with chocolate and candy!
After measuring, sitting and discussing with my friend, I chose a couch!
It’s not available until February…at the earliest.
Rather than invoking Buyer’s Regret, I raced home to finish preparing for the crafting event. There will be other sales.
And I needed to lecture speak to my child about an email I got from a teacher.
I glittered my shortbread cookies and packed fancy dishes and the crockpot for mulled cider. I decorated chocolate brownies, only five of which would make it because I forgot the rest at home.
I glazed blueberry scones, three times because it wasn’t thick enough the first two.
And, because I wasn’t busy enough, I made unicorn poop in between piles of dishes and dinner. I literally sat for 5 minutes while I horked down a meatball and some rice before I raced out the door, already late.
My feet were thankful that Main Street in the village was closed because it meant I wasn’t on them. But they were the only part of me. I don’t know my way around the village. I got caught in the closure last year too, and to make it more stressful, the detour I found last year, was also closed, making me even later.
But the event went well, and ran very late. It was after 11 before I got home. Hubby was already in bed, but my boys were up and I was happy to sag into my burlap couch and groan. I think my feet groaned too.
Dear Diary – I saw my rheumatologist this week and he’s taking away my “happy pills” as I call them, a week early. They make me happy because I can be active. I’m not hobbling like a lamb on it’s new legs and I have more energy than when I was in high school. At least before Eldest Son was born and I got no sleep! I knew going in that it would be short-term and it’s still my hope that they will have knocked down the inflammation enough that I won’t have to take something more serious. I ended up suffering with the Death Flu twice with the last one. In the meantime, I’m being careful. I make every trip up and down the stairs count. And I only dance to the really good songs!
Dear Diary – The local train station set up a drive-thru light display in one of its parking lots this week. They did it for Halloween too. It looks pretty cheesy but I know for small children, it will be a place of magic.
It was 1990-something when one house in our small town decorated with lots of lights. Eldest Son was smitten! Every time we went out, particuarly in the evening, he would ask to “go circus”. It wasn’t quite a Clark Griswald special, but considering most folks only did a single string around the porch or a small tree in the yard, it was pretty spectacular. He cried when the “circus left town”.
Dear Diary – We’ve been invited to a Christmas party and I really want to go. But I don’t want to catch Covid and lose Christmas. I already lost Thanksgiving and have yet to taste turkey in 2022. What to do?
Dear Diary – Once upon a time I considered becoming a fashion designer. I also considered becoming a teacher for the blind (inspired by Little House on the Prairie), a firefighter (inspired by my Dad), a model (but I’m too short), an archaeologist (until my Mom told me I’d have to give oral presentations), or a lawyer (inspired by power suits)! I didn’t pursue any of those.
Over the last couple of weeks, I have wrestled and sighed over a denim tote bag for a friend, made with the legs of her outgrown jeans. She outgrew them in a good way and I’m kinda jealous. Yesterday I sewed the final seam and I’m very pleased. Will I do it again? I’m not sure. I was probably wise not to pursue design!
Dear Diary – Yesterday was a miserable day; it was dark, damp, and drizzly. Eldest Son was off work early and invited me to play Destiny. It’s an online adventure game and I suck at it. It’s why he wanted to play together, so he could show me how to find loot and how to level up. But he had a work meeting so our adventuring was cut short.
I continued to play after he left and had just started off on my quest when a ship arrived and I saw one person fighting a horde along. Even though I suck, I thought it would be rude to abandon this person who was quickly being overwhelmed. So I stayed and we fought the horde together.
There are a number of reasons why I play video games; it’s not just to waste time. Gaming is more than just about the game; it’s also about community.
Eldest Son has talked about the awesome sense of community in the Destiny realm and I was delighted to experience it first hand. When I died, someone else resurrected me. When I stood there, looking lost, he (or she) tried to catch my attention, and then led me to a loot box and some other resources. They beckoned me to join them on their quest, and sent an invite to be friends so we could play another time.
It reminds me of a story Eldest Son passed on. I shared it in 2021, but here it is again:
A mom wrote that her 15 year old son has been hanging out with his friends a lot online during the quarantine. One evening, the friend and 5 of his friends were “hanging out” and they invited a solo player to join their “crew”. This gamer was much younger and had been spending a lot of time alone. In fact, it was the eve of his 11th birthday. So they threw him a virtual birthday party. They took him on quests, shared their loot, helped him win battles he couldn’t do on his own, and stayed with him until after midnight so they could sing him “Happy Birthday”. This random pack of guys could imagine the disappointment and heartache of this kid alone on his 11th birthday because of quarantine, and I’m sure this is now a birthday he will never forget!
I frequently play another online team-based (one that just went a huge overhaul and many of us are unhappy, not only with the changes to the game, but the obvious money-grabbing of the gaming company). But the culture there has developed a reputation for being toxic. I’ve seen that with players obsessed with eliminations or earning Play of the Game instead of working as a team on the objective. Or players obviously snubbing other players in favour of their friends or because they’re annoyed about something. I hate begging for healing from a healer standing right beside me, and they ignore me. If you’re not going to heal, don’t play a healer. I’ve had enemy players on other teams make it their mission to wipe me out over and over because they’re mad that I eliminated them. And I’ve heard some pretty foul language and racial slurs on my headset. Which is why I don’t always use them. (Except when I play with Eldest Son because he’s kind).
All this to say that while I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m not “into” the gamescape yet, it was really nice to enter into the spirit of the gaming community and leave with warm fuzzies. I will persevere and who knows? I might just get better.
If Destiny 2 is the next generation of Destiny games… does that make it Destiny’s Child?
Dear Diary – I had to laugh! After all the complaints about feeling old as I struggled with technology, which included an epilogue as I lost over an hour’s worth of writing to you last week, dear diary (and my coffee warmer refused to change settings for me), I had to help someone not much older than me log into a website. Probably, if she hadn’t been talking at the same time, she would have heard me say “dot ca” more than once and she wouldn’t have typed “dot com”. But there were questions after that too, and I felt less dumb! I appreciated the reminder that struggling with something new, just because it’s electronic, doesn’t make me stupid. It just makes me new!
I eventually found that photo I mentioned too…the one I think of whenever one of my kids is tempted to roll his eyes or risk life and limb and actually comment on my “inabilities” based on age:
He was so proud of himself because he got dressed all by himself. He wasn’t stupid…it was new! 🙂
Dear Diary – I will be making a third trip to the store to find sweat pants that fit my friend. If I strike out again, I’m going to wrap the legs around her neck!
Dear Diary – I will never be a city gal. Every now and then Hubby likes to make fun of me for my “hickisms”, as he calls it. The most recent one being the word “titch”. It means a dash, a bit, a smidgen, a hair. I don’t think it’s that odd, and usually I’m aware I’m saying it and I’m doing it to have fun. I grew up in a small town in a farming community, and like most small towns, there are colloquialisms unique to the area.
The ironic thing is that he also grew up in a small farming community, before and after he immigrated to Canada at the age of 6. In fact, his village is so small that if you blink twice, you’ll miss it. There’s a large Catholic church, a pizzeria, a gas station, a bank, and not much else! There used to be a fire station but it burned down.
To top it off, it has “creek” in its name! I grew up in a town with a river running through it, and a waterfall, and over a dozen churches. I have never seen the official creek by his childhood home, unless it was the trickle of water that ran through some woods on a barely paved road kind of in the middle of nowhere.
I’m not knocking his “hometown”, I just don’t think the kettle ought to be calling the pot orange (because orange is the new black)!
While you were busy throwing stones, you left your closet open and your skeletons fell out.
Unknown
Dear Diary – No wonder it’s on sale…
Dear Diary – It was the colour that caught my eye. Bright pink and white. Right beside the sink.
When Hubby and I had covid, Youngest Son did everything he could to avoid the upper floor, where we were sequestered in our rooms. That included brushing his teeth at the kitchen sink. I’ve been trying to break him of the habit ever since. Toothbrushes do not belong in the kitchen.
“Sweetie,” I asked. “What colour is this?”
“Pink,” he replied, with a confused look on his face.
I waited.
He stared blankly at me.
We stared at each other. “And what colour is your toothbrush?
“Purple,” he said with a wrinkled furrow.
Yes, my son was using MY toothbrush. Gross!
I would share almost anything with him. I would give up my life for him. But that toothbrush is sacred. I’m going to need a new one!
Dear Diary – The rose waited too long to bloom.
Dear Diary – Sometimes I wonder why I bother baking…and then I remember that I like to eat baking. Sometimes I enjoy the process too. Especially baking bread. I love the calming, tactile experience of making bread from scratch. It brings back happy childhood memories.The aroma encompasses warmly like a hug, and in a house full of men, warm hugs are preferable to smothering farts any day!
I baked bread recently, adding cinnamon, craisins and chopped pecans. But it sat on the counter, uneaten by those I wanted to impress to bless, and grew hard. What to do? Toss my efforts? Waste those pecans? Nope! I made French Toast, and I gotta say, Mmm…
My bread may have been wasted on the guys, but it was not wasted on me!
Dear Diary – Saturday evening marked the monthly “walk of shame” as I tried on several outfits so I would be “decent” leading worship on the platform Sunday morning. The most recent medication I’m trying out has been pretty effective in reducing pain and swelling, and has increased my energy levels to a height I have not seen since I was a teenager. I’m still only enjoying long walks to the fridge, but the house is tidier, I’m more organized and creative, and I’m actually looking forward to the possibility that I’ll be hosting for the holidays (first time!) in my tiny home. So though I was warned the medication would make me fat cause weight gain and puffiness, I’m trying to embrace the changes with grace and just get on with living. Active and round is preferable to inactive and round.
While slightly discouraged but not in despair over the clothing situation, I desperately wanted to embrace my high heels again. It’s been well over a year since they have ventured farther than the closet…only to be held in my hand as I sit on the edge of the bed and sigh. I have mourned high heels, as ridiculous as that may seem, mostly because of how I feel in them. I feel empowered, sexy, tall. I know I should pass them on to a good home where they can live the life they deserve, but I keep hoping that that life will be with me.
I’m slowly accepting that my high-heeled boots will be the first to depart. It’s not just the heel that’s the problem. It’s bending my ankle so I can even slide them on. But with the current healing, I was hoping I could take them for one more parade on the catwalk before I was forced to sell them to cover the cost of heavy, ugly, flat and sensible “old lady” orthopaedic shoes for the remainder of my years.
I didn’t have my rose-coloured glasses on. I knew my black stilettos pushed boundaries when I was still spry. Instead, I tried on my rose-coloured leather Miz Moo boots, only to find that while I can stand in them, I can’t really walk in them. Which is exactly what you’re supposed to do on a cat-walk.
Then I starting trying on other footware: my leopard heels, my velvety red heels, my Italian beige heels, my black and white Jeanne Becker heels, even my blush kitten heels. It was the same story. I apologized to my $10 LouisVuitton heels. I never got to take them anywhere. I apologized to my sassy green boots; they are covered in dust.
I blame covid for stealing my final years.
By the time I was done, my room was a mess of sparkles and clasps and heels. I needed to change from my light-weight sleep shirt to a summer nightie (and not a sexy one lest I give Hubby the wrong impression. “Walk of Shame night” is not the night!) because I had overexerted myself!
I cannot say “this too shall pass”. Heels may well be a part of who I was rather than who I am now. But, like the growing list of health concerns, the joys of the raging inferno of my dying youth, and the regrets of what might have been had I not been so lazy, I need to face this change with grace.
My mother always used to say ‘the older you get, the better you get. Unless you’re a banana!
Last week, my friend and I witnessed a woman on her cell phone driving the in-store motorized cart off the premises. It was the slowest moving getaway.
Later as I waited in the car for my friend, I noticed an average looking guy with a wad of cash in his hand approaching people asking for money. He said he was homeless and needed to get a hotel room. Well, he made the mistake of approaching a well-dressed lady getting into a white SUV. She told him to “take a hike” and got in her car. So…the guy pushed her shopping cart behind her SUV and walked away.
When she stopped playing with her phone and started to back out, using a rear camera I’m guessing, she spotted the cart. She got out and like a true drunken sailor, screamed assaults at that man. I mean, she made a hardened biker look like a saint! She was hopping mad!
When she finished her tirade, she jerked the cart into the spot next to her, backed out and on her way by the man, she unleashed another tirade from the driver’s window.
As she was launching into her second tirade, not completely unjustified I might add as her vehicle could have been damaged by the cart parked behind it, I noticed that she had just vacated the parking spot reserved for parents of small children. AND, she left her grocery cart parked in the handicapped space.
When we finally left Walmart, a store employee was streaking across the parking lot, presumably to find the stolen motorized cart…
These are the People of Walmart, where we save money, shop smart…only at Wal-Mart!
Dear Diary – This week has been Eat, Sleep and Sew, in preparation for a craft sale on Saturday. I’m really nervous about it and very thankful to have my parents to help with setting up and keeping me company. It’s not like I can abandon my “booth” every time I need to pee, and since set up starts at 8 a.m., you know I’ll need to caffeinate!
But I also worried about being around people. Sure, that covid thing, but it’s also that I’m an introvert and I don’t really like people. For the most part, lockdown was great for me! I was happy playing indoors by myself. If I saw the mailman once a week through the window, well that was enough social interaction. Of course, I was also blessed with my guys so I wasn’t ever truly alone. With the return to school and work, I am alone but so far, have found ways to keep myself busy. Now I’m going to have to spend 7 hours being pleasant to strangers… in the hopes that they buy my crap merchandise. I had such high hopes for my Etsy store because I prefer to play a fun and outgoing person in a virtual world!
Plus I need the cash for my fabric addiction.
But, since I store my wares in a box in the closet and not virtually, I gotta find some way to peddle sell my merch. Wish me luck!
Dear Diary – We broke into the second 12th of my 4.5 kg Toblerone bar last weekend. On Day 6…
…Hubby added it to his coffee. He said it was good, but the unmelted nuts at the bottom were alittle strange.
Oatmeal pancakes with Toblerone and a little maple syrup. It was really good and the silky milk chocolate of the Toblerone bar melted into a decadent pool while the sweet caramel nougat and crispy nuts added texture and richness.
Life is uncertain…eat dessert first.
Ernestine Ulmer
Dear Diary – Dad shared some of his sourdough started and I made my first batch of Cinnamon Raisin Sourdough Muffins using his recipe. Except that in true fashion, I screwed it up! I’ve had more than my fair share of baking disasters, and this was one of those times that I had to let intuition try to save the day.
This time it did!
I fed part of my starter the night before and left it in the lit oven overnight. It bubbled up magically. I followed the recipe perfectly until I realized I wasn’t supposed to dump the entire bowl of starter into my mix. Now I had at least 1 cup too much liquid…and nothing to return to my starter.
I added more flour and whispered a prayer.
The muffins were so moist they stuck to the paper, but they tasted pretty good.
I hesitated getting some starter because once you start, you can’t stop. Every other week you have to feed it and bake it or it dies. Now I’m stuck in a ruthless cycle and Hubby has informed me…he didn’t really like the muffins.
The bread it bakes is succulent and firm…it’s tang for days.
Charles Boyle, Brooklyn 99
Speaking of baking, gamemakers Ravensberger has come out with the official Great British Baking Show card game. It’s being marketed as a “fast-paced, family-friendly game” for 2-4 players, 10+ years old. It’s a race to be Star Baker! What will they come up with next?
If you can’t control your peanut butter, you can’t control your life.
BIll Watterson
Eldest Son introduced me to the videos (and recipes) of B. Dylan Hollis. He’s a social media star who began his “career” just having a little fun posting humourous, monologue-driven cooking vidoes on Tik-Tok. What made him stand out from all the rest is that:
a) he is not a chef or a cook, but rather a jazz musician
b) he uses only vintage recipes.
On Good Friday, Eldest Son and his girlfriend followed Dylan’s recipe and made peanut butter bread – the 1932 version!
This Great Depression recipe is a simple recipe that doesn’t use any eggs or butter. Butter was a prized staple and needed to prepare dinner, not to be used on something as frivilous as dessert. In the city especially, dairy and fresh produce were extremely coveted. However, peanut butter was often a pantry staple because of its long shelf life. It provided the fat needed in baked goods, as well as flavour.
“I tell you, a door hinge could make this recipe”
B. Dylan Hollis
This peanut butter bread looked like a dense loaf, but it was surprisingly light with a subtle peanut butter flavour. It was delicious warmed with butter and honey and paired with hot tea, for an indulgent bedtime snack.
Dylan also tried a 1945 recipe, which used less milk but more salt, sugar and peanut butter. The cooking time was almost cut in half, but that’s because the temperature was much higher. And instead of mixing it all together, this recipe required hands on work, as in working the peanut butter into the flour mixture with your hands.
A week later, back in my kitchen, Eldest Son and I attemped peanut butter bread using Dylan’s recipe (after all of his failed experiments…6 to be exact). His recipe employed a slighty different method to incorporate all the ingredients. He also used less baking powder (to reduce the bitter flavour from too much), and added a room-temperature egg and sweetened applesauce. He noted that this recipe doesn’t work with natural or organic peanut butter because they don’t contain emulsifiers.
I let Eldest Son do most of the work…
But, since the peanut butter had to be mixed in using fingertips much like scones, just like with every jack-o-lantern we ever carved together, I had to get involved because Eldest Son didn’t want to get all sticky. Come to think of it, Youngest Son was the same way. No guts – no glory! Or in October, no jack-o-lantern!
I explained that we had to shag the dough, which led to all kinds of sensual sounds and slightly naughty jokes…
I couldn’t help myself…
We didn’t have any plain sweetened applesauce, so we used unsweetened pear applesauce, and we added chocolate chips. Dylan advised avoiding vanilla extract or spices like cinnamon because they tend to steal some of the peanut butter flavour. And quite frankly, when you’re baking peanut butter bread, you want to taste peanut butter!
We’ve become very spoiled in terms of sweetness. Dylan says this recipe created more of a “dessert bread” than the 1932 recipe. In 1932, the bread was meant to be buttered or jammed, and could be included as part of the meal rather than a sweet at the end. I’d have to agree. The texture of his bread was more cake-like than the 1932 version, and a little heavier and more “roasty”. Of course, the addition of chocolate chips also made it more “dessert-like”.
But who’s complaining?
Both recipes were easy and didn’t require unusual ingredients. I hate reading recipes that require something exotic and expensive, especially when I have to buy a jar, for like 1/4 tsp. And honestly, both loaves tasted great with a cup of tea.
I’m posting the link to the tik tok video on youtube below, for your amusement…or to get the recipes. It’s about 15 minutes, and not as quirky as some of his other videos, but if you’re looking for some inspiration, why not look to the past? Not everything new is “golden”.
I shouldn’t think even millionaires could eat anything nicer than new bread and real butter and honey for tea.
I know, I know…scones are the quintessential tea time treat. But if you think about it, cake is often the third course in a traditional British afternoon tea, after savoury finger sandwiches, and scones. So it isn’t unrealistic to serve cake with tea. I mean, who doesn’t like cake any time of the day?
An upside down cake is baked “upside-down” in a single pan, with the toppings arranged on the bottom so that it can be removed from the pan by flipping it over to display the fruit. As the fruit cooks with sugar, it’s juices becomes a syrup which glazes and caramelizes the top. In this recipe, the first step is to make a basic caramel to drizzle on the bottom of the pan before arranging the pears. Thinly slicing the pears was probably the hardest part of the entire recipe.
Upside-down cakes were once referred to as skillet cakes because they were made in cast iron skillets on the stovetops. The most commonly baked upside down cake is pineapple, garnished with marashino cherries.
This Caramelized Pear Upside Down Cake was sweet but the tartness of the pear and the warmth from the cinnamon and ginger provided relief from the sweetness. It was a denser cake, like a coffee cake, so it paired beautifully with a cup of black tea.
The more you weigh, the harder you are to kidnap. Stay safe. Eat cake.
Life is like chocolate…sometimes you gotta deal with nuts!
I recently baked some Date, Almond & Yogurt Bread and I tossed in some walnuts and chocolate chips too. Why not? It was sweet and crunchy, but a little heavy, but just right with a cup of tea.
But let’s not talk about the calories.
You may be nuts, and sometimes be I’m in the mood for something “Nutty”. Two of my all-time favourite “nutty” teas are no longer available: Teavana’s Caramel Almond Almaretto and Coco-Caramel Sea Salt. So I’ve been on the hunt for replacements.
If you’re feeling nutty, here are a few options to consider:
Forever Nuts by David’s Tea is a strong contender. This fruit infusion from Germany is caffeine-free. It contains dried apple, almond slices, cinnamon bark, beetroot and roasted almond flavouring. The beetroot gives it a lovely and tempting rosy colour, similar to beloved almond almaretto. It is has both sweetness and a lovely fruity tang, with just a hint of almond in every cup. No extra calories!
David’s Tea Caramel Shortbread is also a strong contender. It’s an herbal tea blend composed of apples, raisins, elderberries, willow bark, almonds, hazelnuts, sour cherries, raspberries, and sweetened with stevia extract and brown sugar. It may not be as satisfying as real shortbread cookies, but it still had the sweet buttery caramel smoothness. It’s also a tempting rosy colour and satisfies like a dessert.
If you like walnuts, try David’s Carrot Cupcake tea. It smells like carrot cake and cream cheese icing, but tastes like cinnamon-apple pie, with just a hint of walnut. This American caffeine-free rooibos tea contains carrots, cocoa shells, cinnamon, apple, ginger, licorice root, and natural whipped cream and apple flavour. It’s also kosher.
Or if you like peanuts, try David’s Peanut Butter Cup tea. It’s inspired by the sweet, rich (and might I add), deeply satisfying confection! It’s important not to skimp when filling your infuser or you’ll risk a weak flavour. I made that mistake the first time. It is a blend of apple, cocoa bits, almonds, chocolate chips, and safflower. That’s right, no peanuts. The colour is a pale yellow with a lovely roasted peanut flavour.
So whether you like nuts, or you are nuts, just know…I’m nuts about you!
jennsmidlifecrisis 