Sara + h

questioning

I've been questioning whether to continue blogging.  You may have noticed that I'm rarely around this corner of the Internets anymore.  It's not that I have nothing to say.  I have plenty to say.  Or ideas of things to say.  I have quite engaging conversations in my head.  I am, however, lacking in the motivation and follow through arena (a perennial issue with me).  There seems to be something about that Typepad "Compose New Post: Sara + h" screen that stops me cold every time I resolve (or try to, anyway) to glue my ass to a chair and type.  Perhaps a stronger glue?  I've no notion of what that would be but obviously a stronger glue than my weak will is necessary.

Flickr is the exception.  At the beginning of the year I resolved to take a picture everyday of 2008.  I've thus far been successful.  Less so in selecting and adding pictures to my 366 set but damn if I haven't taken a picture every stinking day.  Usually multiple pictures.  And on those days when only a single picture has been taken, still, the shutter was opened and something was recorded.  Even if I haven't liked the results, it's been done.  The exercise has been as much about willpower and perseverance as it has about becoming a more practiced photographer.  More so, even.  Words come more easily over there too.   It appears to be a less intimidating canvas for me to fill.

So, I'm questioning and, as yet, undecided.  At some point I'll come to a decision and do what I'm going to do.  I'm not there yet though.  I'll let you (if there are any yous still with me) know when I do.

inspired toast

Let's forget for a moment that I never write anymore.  That I've barely knit a stitch or sewed a seam since before the holidays.  That I rarely leave comments for others and rarer still, respond to my own.  That it was over a week ago that Alison wrote that mine was a blog that made her day and I've yet to thank her or record my own list of happy making blogs.  Let's just let all that go, shall we?

Instead, let's think about toast.  French toast.  Do the mere words not make your stomach growl and the corners of your mouth go up a tick?  No?  Well, if that's the case, just look at the pretty pictures.  The rest of us will think about French toast while you're doing that.

I made French toast for dinner last night and for those who are interested, here's how.  Before I divulge my French toast secrets let me just say that this is a by-the-seat-of-your-pants sort of recipe.  I have few exact measurements to provide you with, and those that I do have are hardly written in stone and can be taken with a grain of salt.  I assure you that your French toast will be tasty, exact measurements or no.  It's difficult to screw-up French toast.

You will need:

-5-6 large eggs
-2 cups of milk or 1/2 & 1/2 or some combination of the two (that would be something like 500 ml for the rest of the world)
-grated zest and juice of one orange
-1 tsp/5 ml vanilla extract
-a healthy amount of freshly grated nutmeg
-a pinch of salt (to bring out the sweetness, as my Grammy would say)

and, lastly, if you have any

-a healthy gulg [or two] of Grand Marnier/Cognac/rum/or booze of your choosing

Preheat your oven to something in the neighborhood of 350°F/175°C and while it's warming, place all the ingredients in a bowl and whisk until well combined.

Brioche, challah, or any slightly sweet and/or egg-y bread works well for this.  If you don't mind your French toast having a bit of chew to it, a crusty baguette will work too.  In a pinch, you can use a good quality store bought sandwich bread.  Any loaf that you can slice yourself is a better option though.

Cut the bread into 3/4 inch/2 cm thick slices.  In a 9"x 13" baking dish, arrange the slices so that they're overlapping and fill the dish.  Last night I used about 10 slices or 3/4 of a loaf of bread and I cut each slice in half to make everything fit together nicely.  Once everything is situated in the dish, pour the egg mixture over the bread.  All of it.  Yes, there's a lot but let everything sit for 5 to 10 minutes and the bread will soak all the goodness up (think bread pudding minus the sugar).  You may want to move the dish around a bit or gently flip the bread slices over to make sure that everything is evenly sodden.

Cover the baking dish with aluminum foil (or, if you're out of aluminum foil like I was last night, a cookie sheet) then place in the oven and bake for 45 minutes to an hour or until the custard is set, removing the foil for the last 5 to 10 minutes of baking. 

No frying pans.  No spatulas.  Easy as, well, French toast (which, if you ask me, is considerably easier than pie).

Serve with butter, maple syrup, and orange confit if you've got any.  ...Enjoy...  And know that the absolute best thing about French toast for dinner is the leftovers for breakfast the next morning.

366 :: week three

15 ⁄ January

morning + coffee + cookie + me

16 ⁄ January

the face

17 ⁄ January

pot

18 ⁄ January

19 ⁄ January

20 ⁄ January

dregs

21⁄ January

halved

what's the frequency, kenneth?

This new year and I are not in sync.  Despite the resumption of school for Lola & Astrid and the return to routine that comes with it, I'm feeling at loose ends.  I've been wandering through my days with little purpose other than to do the things that absolutely must be done and to take at least one picture.  That's it.  Slightly unfulfilling, to say the least.  Also boring and somewhat crazy making.

Excuse me while I find my bearings.  I know they're around her somewhere.

366 :: week two

8 ⁄ January

9 ⁄ January

sleeves 2nd

10 ⁄ January

bedroom floor

11 ⁄ January

yarn, with a twist

12 ⁄ January

electra

13 ⁄ January


winter playground

14 ⁄ January


toy chest

366 :: week one

1 ⁄ January

little mama

2 ⁄ January

last summer's strawberries

3 ⁄ January

unshaven

4  ⁄ January

bumerang

5 ⁄ January

locked

6 ⁄ January

how could persephone not eat them?

7 ⁄ January

framed

five days in

Five days into the new year and I'm forcing myself to break free of the inertia of neglecting my small corner of the internets.  Life has rolled by.  Topographically speaking, there were some peaks, a number of valleys, and a few broad expanses of even terrain.  You know.  Life.  I'm not certain if I'll take the time to recount any of it or if I'll just leave it all in the past and focus on the present and the year (minus 5 days) ahead.  A clean slate does have it's appeal.

My slate isn't completely blank though.  I've committed myself to a few things in 2008, if only in my head (the mental chalkboard).  The list is short.   My hope is that brevity = focus and focus = success.  Seems plausible, doesn't it?

::A clean desk::

::A picture a day::

::Stretching::

Simple, right?  Nothing complicated.  Wish me luck.  The power of positive thinking and all that.

glitter

I've nothing of any real interest to report today but I'm trying to get back into the swing of posting.  So, here's a picture for you.  The girls watched The Wizard of Oz yesterday afternoon.  A bit of dress-up followed.  Of course.  Can't forget those ruby slippers, can we?

in a nutshell

I fell off the posting wagon for awhile there, didn't I?  For those of you who keep up with me on Flickr most of this will be old news.  For those of you who don't, here's the last two weeks in a nutshell.

Sunday before this last, I finished my Feather and Fan scarf.  I flew through the first ball of yarn in a day and a half.  The second ball took significantly longer.  The mindlessness of the pattern went from "pleasant" to "chore" pretty quickly.  I was relieved to be done with it when I was.  Even so, it turned out nicely.  Don't you think?

Last Tuesday, Dan left for Mexico for four days.  The trip was work related and fully half of his time away was spent getting there and back, so I wasn't jealous.  And he returned baring gifts; jewelry and some very fine tequila.  Yep.  He's a keeper.

While Dan was away, my Mom came to visit.  She not only helped us cope with Papa's absence, she kept us one or two clicks above simply surviving the experience and she left us with cookies.  She's also a keeper...even though she can be a bit of a nag sometimes.

Before Dan left, Lola developed a cough.  No fever.  No other symptoms.  Just a cough.  A really wretched cough, but one that didn't prevent her from going or wanting to go to school.  After seven days though, I decided a visit to the doctor was in order.  I was right, too.  Yes.  She has pneumonia.  Again.  She's had a case annually since she was two, which is alarming in and of itself, but twice in ten months?  The child has the crappiest lung Chi ever.  Excuse me while I go have a shot of tequila.  Not really...but the thought had crossed my mind.

under her pillow

I'm a firm believer that the phenomenon whereby a child treads on his or her parent's very last nerve and then follows that up with a heart achingly sweet act of some sort is a survival tactic honed by thousands of years of evolution.  Historically, the children that employed this strategy lived.  Those that didn't had their heads knocked off their blocks by their parents.

Lola, smart little cookie that she is, is a mistress, a veritable virtuoso, of this tactic.  Last week she was spitting at me (Umm, hello!  I did not sign up for being spat upon when I became pregnant and furthermore, if I had, I wouldn't have agreed to put up with it for at least another six years.  At least.), this week she's writing letters to the Tooth Fairy.  I guess she can live.

When asked why she was writing to the Tooth Fairy, Lola responded with the unintentionally droll, "I have a few questions."  When I inquired as to what those questions might be she quickly rattled off a dozen.  When her letter was opened (...by the Tooth Fairy, of course, a role that in this house is played by Papa) however, it was clear that her hand must've gotten a cramp while she was composing because she'd only included two:  1. What's your name? -and- 2. What do you do with all the teeth?  She wrapped the whole thing up by saying that she'd lost six teeth, a fact the Tooth Fairy could've chosen to dispute since he's only received four.  Lola has, as yet, refused to turn over the last two saying [with sincerity] that she needs more time with them.  The nearly six years they were in her head apparently weren't long enough.

This morning, when I walked in the girls' room and turned on their light at 6:21 a.m., Lola roused herself in an uncharacteristically speedy fashion.  Upon rolling over and literally peeling herself off the mattress, she quickly lifted her pillow to find the Tooth Fairy's response which, I might add, would not have been there had the Tooth Fairy's apprentice (me) not awakened the Tooth Fairy at 11 o'clock last night to confirm that he had performed his duties.  It's good that the Tooth Fairy works unseen and unheard because his response to my query was very unfairylike.  Something along the lines of "fuuuuuck" was muttered from beneath his pillow.  That Tooth Fairy is such a character.

Once roused, he spent a surprisingly long time thinking about what to say and how his responses should be delivered.  After taking a pass on a letter written on leaves, both because he couldn't find a pen that would actually write on a leaf and for fear that Lola would recognize his handwriting, Dan opted for a computer generated note in a teeny tiny eye-straino-vision font size (those fairy computers are small).  It said:

dear lola, my name is a secret that only the fairy queen knows.  all gifts from children make fairy magic stronger.  thank you for your letter.

Just about makes you want to cry, doesn't it?  The big irony here is that we do everything in our power to dispel the myths of Santa Claus ("Santa Claus is a story that some people choose to believe and some people don't..."  I should add here that Lola has chosen to believe.), the Easter Bunny, and the like.  I'm not quite sure how, but the Tooth Fairy is different.  He just is.  As Dan said when he came to bed, "There may not be a Santa Claus but in this house the Tooth Fairy lives, dammit."