It’s like a food nerd thing, I think

At the ripe old age of fourteen, my youngest finally had her tonsils out last Thursday. She’s doing fine, and having a nice recovery, with the aid of narcotics and chocolate ice cream. I’m doing fine as well, even though I’m not a terribly good nurse, and I am spending far more time in the house than I usually do. In fact, I have been out for exactly 3 hours since we got home on Thursday, and most of those hours I was running. It’s the only thing I can’t ask someone else to go out and do for me.

The homeboundedness means that I’m catching up on a few things. Reading the latest draft of my friend’s manuscript, soon to be a huge YA bestseller. The final 2 Harry Potter movies, also. Watched part 1 today, saving part 2 for tomorrow. I read the book in the two days after it came out, which was … hold on, Googling… 2007?? Good God, wow. Although, now I feel much better that I remember absolutely nothing. And the movie is surprising, too.

I also have a goal of cleaning out the freezer. That’s not going as well, but today I pulled out the gallon bag stuffed with chicken carcasses. I know it doesn’t sound exciting, but I’m sort of a food nerd. I’m not a foodie, because I don’t even know what that means, and I’m sure it also involves wine, which I don’t like, except to cook with, of course. Anyway, I ran out of chicken stock this week, and was forced into using the very cloudy stuff I made out of the turkey carcasses last Thanksgiving… came to a bad boil, and they’re right, if it boils, it gets cloudy and yucky. Or it’s because I didn’t get all the bits of stuffing out of the insides. (See, no way I’m a foodie.) Although they did put all the Julia Child episodes on Amazon Prime, and that’s super fun.

With the stock situation at emergency levels, and my recent discovery of this salon article here, I changed up my methods, and roasted the chicken bones first. I’ve never done it this way, and I’m never doing it any other way from now on. I may not have roasted them a long time–as is the case with most projects, I did not start until evening, even though I could have begun at noon–so perhaps it’s not as brown as it could have been, but nonetheless, I was impressed with the results.

Not at all cloudy this time, as I was quite alert during the first hour to make sure nothing actually boiled. This was made from a total of 3 chicken carcasses, one after roasting originally, and the other two from cutting up whole chickens. (Secret to cutting up whole chickens–a super-sharp knife and instructional Gordon Ramsay video on YouTube.) All chicken bones go into the bag after eating them. I’m sure that’s restaurant standards, but I kind of figure after my son’s eaten off the thigh bone and then it’s been roasted for an hour at 400 and then simmered for 3 hours, I’m fairly sure it’s safe enough. At any rate, this is the best tasting batch I’ve made. 6 quarts of free delicious chicken stock. And room to put them in the freezer. (Those aren’t legitimate canned jars, they’re just storing in there. No pressure canner.)

Tragically, it is never going to get the least bit cold this winter, so whenever the temps dip below forty, we have to make soup quickly and eat it as fast as we can. (Fifties this week. It’s crazy. One would think you couldn’t get enough running time in Columbus, Ohio to train for a half the first of May, but not this year. This year, there are no excuses.)

So here’s the next cooking trick. After reading the aforementioned article, I learned a new word: Remouillage. It means Re-wetting– in French of course. Essentially after you drain the stock off your pot of bones, you cover them up with water and start all over again. It makes a weak stock, but I’m fairly certain it’ll taste a million times better than the stuff in the Campbell’s chicken soup can. I have a picture of the pot, but it looks really gross. She says you can also reduce it into a demiglace which would be nice. I might try that instead.

The only trouble is, remember that whole deal where I started this whole process at 6 pm rather than at noon? Now the remouillage is supposed to simmer for 3 more hours. This would be fine if I lived in Oregon. I do not.

But alas, simmer it must. So besides the stock, Harry, and me finally washing a couple loads of towels, we are also catching up on some old seasons of The Office my daughter somehow missed, thanks to oldest brother’s Hulu+ account. The current episode is “Injury.” One of the entertaining bits about this catch-up is that Michelle continuously calls out to me: “What is wrong with Michael?”

I’m not sure why she misses that being the whole theme of the show. Perhaps it’s the drugs.

How about if I take the pictures instead?

In Tina Fey’s book, she says that she loves photo shoots. Beyond the free coffee bar, and the make-up artist and hairstylists, apparently Tina’s photographers are always saying things like, “Perfect!” “Beautiful!” “Amazing.”

Here’s what my photographer says:
“Stick your chin forward a little because otherwise it looks like you have no chin, which makes you look fat. Unless you want to look fat. Do you want to look fat?”

My awesome photographer, who ironically hates to have his picture taken. I'm not yet sure how he likes being written about.

I’m sure this question was rhetorical, and also he started laughing, but I said “NO!” just in case. And I admit, he was not paid nearly as highly as Tina’s photographers likely are. In fact, all Joe got from this particular gig was a paid ticket into the Franklin Park Conservatory, which was where he chose to take the pictures of me. (I know that sounds cheap, but it’s $8.50 more than I paid him for the cover photos on Nobody’s Hero.)

This afternoon was an attempt to produce one photo of me that I’m willing to put on the back of paperback copy of previously mentioned novel. Joe took pictures for an hour and a half, in practically every different greenhouse, Himalayan Mountains, Tropical Rainforest, the Desert. The desert was the most fun, due to all of the cacti you can poke with your fingers to see how sharp the needles are, even though I’m sure this is against the rules, but we did not read the pamphlet very closely, so maybe it’s okay. (I did make sure there were no little kids watching when I tested how cold the waterfalls were in the Rainforest. I really don’t want to be a bad influence.) We’re not even totally sure we were allowed to be taking pictures here without a permit– not for commercial reasons at least. So we tried to be inconspicuous, which I don’t think is something I do well.

The whole thing would have been a great way to spend an afternoon– the conservatory is wonderful, especially in the winter because it feels like summer, and off the top of my head, I can think of no one I’d rather break rules with than Joe Biederman. Except for the horrible horrible experience of having my picture taken. This is torture. I can think of nothing more capable of creating severe anxiety than having a camera pointed at my face. From a very close distance. (I kept my chin out.)

The truth is, I’m not very photogenic. My middle son will often say to me, wow you look really good today– I’ll take your picture. Click. Then: “Oh. Ew. Sorry, Mom.”

So that’s the knowledge I’m starting with here. And the first fifty or so shots did not help. I will say that after a couple hundred and figuring out how to get my eyes to to stay open while I’m smiling–it’s tricky– we may have two that are good enough. At one point, I asked how many gigs were on his SD card, and he said, don’t worry, a lot. And I brought an extra. And an extra battery.

It would make a good cereal bowl.

It seems I wasn’t the only one concerned.

The most fascinating thing I learned this afternoon was not about plants or biospheres, but that the photographer does not like having his picture taken. At all. So of course I made him switch with me and took his picture with his camera–though those shots are probably deleted by now. Good thing I had my cell phone.

On the way out of the conservatory, we did find the appropriate payment, should I ever write a best selling novel. Only $5,100, so right now I can’t even pay the sales tax.

But one day, Joe. One day.

Slip Sliding Away

If you hear that title as a song in your ears, it probably gives away how old I am–or maybe how old you are? That’s the line my mom used to sing in the car when the wheels would start to spin on the ice. Tonight, as you’ve probably guessed, was my first night to hit the brakes and find that nothing was actually happening, if you were defining “nothing’ as “oh, shit, I’m about to slide off the road and into the side of that building.”

My 16 year old son is not home yet, and I’m thinking of calling him to say please be careful–except for a few things. I’ll list them in the nonsensical way my sister would:
A) He drives more carefully than me most of the time,
and 2) Doesn’t that just sound stupid–do I want to be a ‘duh” mom?
And Finally) I’d probably call while he was driving and him being on the phone with me would completely defeat the point of saying be careful on the ice… while you’re talking to me on the cell phone.

It’s a lose lose situation. (Note: I just now heard his car door and the dogs went running for the front door. Appears that he didn’t need me on this one.)

Speaking of running, I’ve mostly decided to shoot for running a half marathon on May 5 this year– the Cap-City Half it’s called, here in beautiful, scenic, and, best of all, super-flat Columbus, Ohio. Barring injuries or potential flu, I have just enough time to work up to it. My kids think this is totally bad-ass, so it’ll be well worth it. (If you have to run 13.1 miles so your teenagers think you’re cool, you do it, that’s my policy.)

When I say mostly, I mean that I have not yet ponied up the money for the registration. Cash= commitment. So I’ll let you know when I’m committed.

Unbelievable

My daughter complained that I hadn’t blogged since October, which I totally agree is unforgivable. (Side note, I’m watching the Golden Globes Red Carpet thing, and the dude just told Madonna she looked beautiful, and Madonna said: Really, do you really think so? He said, yes, you do, you look beautiful, and then she said thank you. Which frankly I think is quite tragic and sad. Also, I didn’t know it was Madonna until they put her name up on the screen. Before I saw that, I thought oh, she’s insecure. Then I thought, how much fame and fortune do you need to fill that need? End side note.)

Back to my daughter’s complaining. I kept trying to come up with things to write about, and was drawing a blank. And Christmas was coming and my oldest came home on leave from the Navy to hang out for two whole weeks which was really just awesome… And frankly Madonna was not helping with material.

But it’s the end of my birthday weekend, where I’m currently celebrating all my years of experience at being 20 years old (I saw that on a T-shirt) and to kick off the year and the anniversary of my 29th birthday, I decided to do a free weekend for Nobody’s Hero. (If you’re unfamiliar with this book, click that tab up top of this page.) At any rate, the unbelievable part is that I broke the top 100 in the free Kindle store. In fact, I just broke the top 50.

I have no idea what will be the end result of this, but I’m interested to find out. What it has proved to me is that being near the top feeds on itself. Once you crack that, you then get more exposure and keep climbing up. I don’t know what that means either, but I am generally just rambling.

This free deal will be on till midnight, and no, I don’t know if that’s midnight Eastern or midnight Pacific. On the other hand, the book doesn’t actually cost much more than nothing when it’s not free. Seriously, not as much as a small fries at McDonalds. And probably better for you.

(Last note: Just saw Morgan Freeman on the Red Carpet. He did not need to be reassured that he looked truly handsome.)

Romance Reviews Year End Splash Party

The Romance Reviews website is one stop shopping for all info about romance novels of all kinds– And this November is the Year End Party– with lots of prizes to win. So head on over there and read some reviews, play some games, win some books– and read read read! (And yes, yours truly is a featured author. )

Sick Sick Sick

First cold of the season. I’m not enjoying it. So far I’ve consumed 17 Popsicles, 13 cups of tea, most made by my daughter, one bowl of ch

I jumped through hoops for this

icken soup– I really don’t like chicken soup– and a half a box of Sudafed, which necessitated a trip to the pharmacy, handing over my driver’s license and signing and dating an official looking form. I asked if I could have two boxes, because of the hassle of this procedure, anticipating that I or one of the kids might get sick again in the future. Answer from pharmacy tech: No.

Sigh. I don’t know if that’s a national thing or just a state law restricting my access to Sudafed, but those meth dealers really piss me off when I’m sick.

Having some good news though– A) new book cover: check it out on the Nobody’s Hero page up there, top left. I love it.

And 2) really good sales lately. Got a blog post on bargain ebooks which made for lots more sales, woohoo. Next month I get to be a part of The Romance Reviews big November event. I’m looking forward to that. Lots of prizes– winning books, especially, so check it out.

Between getting the kids settled back into school and into the new routines–and did i mention I’ve had a really horrible cold for freaking 7 days now? OK, I did mention that, but did I also mention that it was sort of starting for an entire week before that? It’s so beautiful outside, and I’ve run about a mile in the last two weeks. So by the time I work back up to three miles, I’ll have missed the entire fall.

Okay, enough whining. Hoping that life settles down enough to get Iced Out published by Thanksgiving. I’m still saying that out loud in public so I can’t pretend it’s not a real deadline.

Airman Danny is blogging

So my oldest boy, in an apparent attempt to get his relatives to quit asking him the same damn questions over and over, started his own blog. (This is absolutely the same kid I couldn’t force to write five sentences for homework in elementary school, but we don’t really need to get into that now.)

He’s funny. I think. You can judge for yourself. Since he’s in the Navy but working on airplanes, his blog is called:  Life on the sea or well almost…

That links to his first post, complete with funny story about drunken sailors and necessary warning about judging his grammar.

Is there a dog sleeping on my stove???

All I’m trying to figure out lately is why there is always dog hair on my stove. I clean it up one meal, it’s back for the next. But the dogs are far too large to get on top of the stove, and I would think at least the tea kettle would get knocked over even if they tried. But nothing is out of place, except the dog hair, which is sadly not on the dog, but where I cook my food. Yuck.

I can’t even begin to describe how much hair these two monsters are trying to shed, and I can’t say that I blame them after umpteen days of 95 degrees plus. And I guess it’s all the fans blowing all that shedded hair around that’s flying it up to the top of my stove, where it seems magnetically attracted to the surface.

And no, I’m not going to complain about summer, because that means by default I wish for winter, and it cannot be hot enough (or hairy enough) for me to ever wish for that.

I just need some sort of dog-hair repellent stove top for the duration. If Amazon has one, I’d really appreciate the link.

Graduated, again

I don’t want to go on and on about this, but as of June 3, 2011, my oldest boy is an Airman Recruit in the United States Navy. Handsome huh?

Sam on Left, Me, then Danny, and Michelle

This happy photo arrived only after a miserable 2 months with nothing but letters–although somehow when cut off from all communications devices, even 19 year old boys decide to write their moms a stack of letters. Better yet, the Navy made him learn to write legibly. And keep his room clean, and do homework. But I digress…

We’re at the graduation, which was quite impressive, and viewed from bleachers which were only impressive in the hardness of the material they were constructed from. At the end, all the sailors are released over a loudspeaker liberty call, so every parent, grandparent, sister, brother, kid, of 710 new Sailors start crowding down the aisles of the bleachers. I had a seat in the middle of the row, so I’m realizing I will be one of the last ones down there, and I’m mid-despair at the realization that the floor is going to be swarming with people… and if I even find my son, I won’t get a moment alone with him, and all I want to do is get to him now–

When my beloved sister-in-law hollers (she has 3 kids too, she can holler)– “What the heck are you doing, waiting for us? Run those bleachers, girl!”

I looked down and the bleachers in front of me were empty, a clear path to the floor. So I ran those bleachers,  like in High school, except 20 some years later. Got down to the floor almost first, and spotted my son in a sea of white uniforms just as he disappeared behind another group of sailors.

Choices limited, I yelled: “Danny!”
And I heard back the sweetest sound of my whole life: “MOM!!!”

Then, beyond all my wildest expectations–from a son who asked why I was crying when I dropped him at the recruiter’s office on April 5, because It’s only two months, Mom.

This boy, that kid, grabbed me in the biggest hug he’d given me since I picked him up from his first day of Kindergarten.

And I decided in that moment, as I tried not to get mascara on his white uniform, that the next four years would be worth that excited yelp of my name and that one amazing hug.

The not-so-cheap Indoor Herb Garden

Salvaged Cabinet, Discount store lights.

But is it a bargain? I’m not sure.

Here’s what I was trying to do– keep 2 pots of grocery store basil and Italian parsley alive through the winter.

Here’s the problem: Ohio. The sky throughout most of the winter looks like, well, an old sweatsock that’s been through the washer a thousand times or more. No bleach, either. In other words, gray. And it started this week. I walked the dogs in the sunshine on Tuesday and I think that’ll be the last time until May.

Meanwhile about the herbs. In my never ending quest to at least eat well if not in moderation, I’m dying for a lack of basil and oregano and what have you… and while you can buy a bunch of flat leaf parsley or cilantro for 75 cents in the produce section, your only option for basil is those plastic packages of about .25 ounces worth for $1.99. You’re better off buying a potted plant for $2.50–you get more and it’ll keep longer. Even if it dies in a couple weeks for lack of sunshine.

I didn’t want it to die. So I start looking at the fluorescent light over my sink and wondering if that’s really gonna do it, especially since one of the starters isn’t operating, so it’s only one bulb worth, and it’s about five feet above the leaves. Which according to my interweb research is about 4.5 feet too far away.

Interestingly, they also say on the web that you can use LED lights to grow plants now. Which I liked the sound of, mostly because I cannot for the life of me spell fluorescent correctly on the first try ever. LED, just like it sounds. Nice. And oddly, I’d just visited this new discount store which had strips of 9 led lights for $7.99. They’re light–held up by two tiny screws, and they interconnect, too, end to end, just like Christmas lights. So I bought 4 of them.  I also popped the diffuser plastic thingy off of them, which was dimming my light a little. I hit up the ReStore–Habitat for Humanity’s resale shop which is like a treasure hunt. This cabinet (see picture above) came from there, turned on it’s side it was the perfect size. I took the door off, which was a shame because it had really nice self-closing hinges, something I wish my own cabinets had. Anyway, installed the lights, repotted the basil, which was severely rootbound, split the parsley, we’ll see how that holds up, and planted some rosemary seeds, another herb you can’t buy fresh. You see my fancy tuperware lid saucers for the plastic pots–those are lids that had the tupperware chewed up by Storm…

Tupperware Lover

Yep, she loves her some plastic. This picture was taken at about 11:00 pm after she’s worn out from a day of chasing squirrels, chasing Hershey, and chasing the cats. Normally she won’t stop moving long enough to get a picture. But at least she left me the lids to use as plant saucers. And I’m sure my cousin will realize I’m also using one of her hand-thrown pottery dishes as a parsley saucer. I’m not sure how she’ll feel about it. Maybe she’ll notice I put it up front for high visibility.

Was this economical? I suppose compared to buying an aerogarden . And even after buying, those things are dirtless systems, which means lots of liquid nutrients to purchase as well. But I suspect plants like dirt better. Not that they’ve said so, but it’s the growing medium they seem to choose in the wild. But I did spend $25 on the cabinet, $32 on the lights (never need replacing, do you hear me convincing myself?) and a buck and a half on potting soil. Your minimal aerogarden costs $60, and is the size of a coffee maker. I feel like I have room to expand, so that’s worth something. I would bet I can squeeze more pots in here as the mood hits.

Will they live? That’s a tough one. I’m only known for successfully keeping children alive, not so much plants. I will say that the basil doesn’t look too happy after having been repotted. Maybe by tomorrow.

I’ll keep you posted.