All Through the Night

Everything is fine this morning. Bud woke up excited to look at his "instrument dinosaurs" sketchbook with us and is now running around the house with Sis in his glowing pajamas. When he accidentally touched his stapled head to my chest, he momentarily paused. I asked if he was okay and he said, "it feels like a real head."

Good enough.

First Check

We're supposed to check on Bud every 2-3 hours tonight, to make sure he is asleep and not unconscious. He's sleeping just fine right now, despite being partially roused by our poking at him.

It's going to be a long night, very reminiscent of those early ones, except this time we're waking him up!

Thanks to all of you who have called and sent email. I appreciate your thinking of us.

Update Quickly

Bud's home with one staple in the back of his head. It hurt, he said, a lot, but he was very brave. So was Mama. Me? Not as much. But Sis and I had our postponed picnic on the living room floor, called all the grandparents, and watched Imagination Movers while they were gone.

We go tomorrow for a follow-up with the pediatrician and his tetanus booster, just in case (he's due in a month anyway). And then he'll get the staple out in a week.

No swimming until then, and only minimal hairwetting. But otherwise, we just need to watch him for the next 72 hours--until Friday noonish--to see if there are any complications.

Keep your fingers crossed.

Otherwise, we've been processing some of our 13 lbs of strawberries that we picked this morning before the park and the fall--4 jars of freezer jam using Ball Freezer Pectin plus one fresh strawberry pie (recipes eventually). Mama and Bud are continuing the drawings of "instrument dinosaurs" a la "Little Einsteins" that they started at the ER (think "bongo-saurus" with drums for a tummy, etc.) And, with everything else, we haven't even yet ventured downstairs to see the now completely finished basement!

All in good time. For now, we are eating strawberries and counting our blessings.

Bud Fell Down and Broke His Crown

Yes, we had an accident on the playground about two hours ago. And now Bud is at the hospital, after a visit to the pediatrician, along with Mama to get a few staples to close the gash in the back of his head where he hit a stepped crossing bridge. Thing is, I was standing right there when it happened, encouraging him, saying he was doing great and wouldn't fall.

Please keep us in your thoughts--the fall was awful and the hospital will be scary.

And all I can think about is poor Natasha Richardson.

Adventures in Cooking Our CSA Share: Garlic Scapes

Check out this great article on garlic scapes with lots of recipes, from the NYTimes's Melissa Clark. Can't wait to try the double garlic soup, the reinvented garlic bread, and the white bean and garlic scapes dip.

The Cowgirl and the Little Drummer Boy

We had a great day at Old Sturbridge Village this weekend, taking in their special Music and Art activities.

For music, we watched visitors learn 19th-century country dances accompanied by a fiddle and flute and then enjoyed hearing an introduction to antique instruments (that is until the musician blew a conch shell and scared Bud to death). But our favorite was the fife and drum display. Bud sat absolutely mesmerized by the skill of the drummer and the discussions about the music by the fife player. And then he convinced Mama to buy him his own regimental drum. He wanted to wear it just like the drummer and then wandered around the village counting 1-2-3 and playing his own beats. And I noticed something: every single man, particularly the older ones, would look at Bud making his music, loudly, and would smile a knowing, happy, even envious smile. The women would either offer pitying or sympathetic looks. Or, maybe it was "are you out of your mind?" Since then, at home, Bud has recreated the presentation dozens of times: I give the little talk (i.e. "the next song is an old English drinking song used by the miltia to call the soldiers together) and then he counts and starts to play; sometimes, I accompany him on the recorder (because I can't play the fife that Mama also bought, for her birthday, which you blow across like a flute). He also calls the drum his "fifing drum," not realizing that the presentation was of a fife and drum.

Sis got something, too: two oxen, which she correctly identified much to the delight of the shop clerk. But then, we'd just heard the drivers give a short presentation on the Village's oxen and Sis remembers everything. She even had us yoke them together at home with pipecleaners and popsicle sticks! In fact, Sis was playing with her oxen when an older couple approached us to interact with the kids. And then, addressing me, wondered if I was the grandma or mom. WHAT?? But after they left, Mama clarified--they thought I was the grandmother because they probably thought she was the mom. Just one more example of strangers recognizing that we have a relationship and being totally unable to identify it. Now, if you saw us, would you really think "oh, they're mother and daughter" (or, well, more often, son. Yes, it happens. Almost everytime the four of us are together on weekends. Seriously), instead of "oh, they're a lesbian couple." Come on, people.

Then there were the arts and craft: we made marbled paper. The kids got to choose the colored paint (washable mixed with water to the consistency of watercolor) which the volunteers would then drip into a tray of dense liquid (some kind of wallpaper paste/solvent added to water--I bet you could use water and will let you know). Then they swirled it with a comb and dipped the piece of heavy paper on the surface of the water, rubbing out the bubbles. It took almost 24 hours to dry but made these great colored papers.

Otherwise, I had a few proud mommy moments: both kids knew how to work the water well in the kids' hands-on area (you pour the bucket into the front part of the well, not directly into the carrying bucket!) and they knew to use a "toe toaster" by placing it on the floor and spinning it with your toe--Sis even placed bread in it first! Can you tell they've been on too many historic house tours already? And we're just getting started--I can't wait until we "graduate" to Deerfield or Plimoth Plantation or Colonial Williamsburg! Yep, I'm a fun "grandma."

I Miss You

Oh, dear babysitter, I miss you. The kiddos were asking for you this morning, wanting to tell you about the drum Buddy got at Old Sturbridge Village this weekend, about the aquarium he and Sis have built, and Sis wants to play Imagination Movers with you (which one are you?).

I miss those 6 hours a week that you are here. I haven't been to PT. I had to rope friends in to watch the kids for a doctor's appointment (no big deal; followup ultrasound, seems ok), then drag the kids to the dentist to get my new nightguard for grinding my teeth. And I haven't been to the museum at all. I'm behind on blogs, email, phone calls, cards, and presents. And the house, oh, the house, it's as messy as it's been in, well, maybe ever, both clutter and dirt.

Okay, so, I'm usually behind on most of that, but I feel more behind now.

I hadn't quite realized how much I deeply, deeply appreciate your time here each week.

And I still have two weeks before you get back. I hope you're having fun. We miss you. Wish you were here!

Three Cheers for Mama Teacher

Happy Birthday!

Happy Anniversary!

Happy Solstice!

Happy Father's Day!

To Pop

To Gong

To Goo

To Uncle Soccer

To Lambeth

To Uncle W

To both Mr. Ks

We love you!

First There is a Mountain

First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.
The caterpillar sheds his skin to find a butterfly within.
Caterpillar sheds his skin to find a butterfly within.

Donovan, "There is a Mountain"

Kenny Loggins, with his daughter Hana, has a new recording (and video) of "There is a Mountain." I've seen it before every episode of the Imagination Movers for the last several days and the tune, and the image of Hana as a "butterfly princess," as my kids have dubbed her, has stuck in my head.

But I didn't understand the lyrics. There's a mountain. There's not a mountain. What is this? Things aren't what they seem? We create obstacles or barriers and then overcome them so they aren't barriers anymore? Is this a kid's song?

I played the video snippet for Mama, who immediately googled it. It's not Kenny Loggins, but Donovan, of whom I am woefully ignorant (she wasn't, completely). And apparently he was an adherent of Buddhism.

The song apparently references a Zen parable, as one commentor at a lyric site described:

before one begins Zen practice, mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers, as one is progressing through Zen, mountains are no longer mountains and rivers are no longer rivers , then, when one has mastered the practice, mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers.

Another notes:

First, in our ordinary natural way of thinking, we look at a mountain and we see it as a mountain. Then, as we learn about Buddhist concepts, we realize that the "mountain" is a signifier created by people, but in reality, philosophically, the Universe is one, it is not made up of separate things, but OUR PERCEPTION makes it appear that way. Then, once we have absorbed these startling ideas, we can, paradoxically, go back to the normal way of viewing things, and see that "there is a mountain" there. While realizing that you can look at it the other way.

See, Buddhism really does seem everywhere to me these days. Even on the Disney Channel!

Okay, so that's not your traditional Buddhist teacher, but I take information and inspiration where I find it. I've had attachment, and particularly unattachment, on the brain this week and think I grasp some of what the song is saying, this being unattachment not just to physical things but to ideas and perceptions.

But, really, maybe I should find a book or something.

Like a mountain.

Let the Sun Shine In

It wasn't supposed to be pretty outside today, but after, what, 18 straight days of rain, including 2 1/2 inches just yesterday, and temperatures in the low 60s, today was an amazing change with sunshine, blue skies, and higher temperatures.

So, this morning, we headed to "our" farm for our box, where we also purchased two pretty plants, sonset lantanas which my Aunt J had growing at her beach house (perhaps in slightly different colors). And, while we looked for deer on the way, we didn't see any.

By the afternoon, it was gorgeous outside and we decided to picnic and play. We planted our new garden greenery, the lantanas by the wall, the herbs in pots, all of which Sis watered from the rain-filled kiddie pool. The kids got these paratrooper toys when they went with me to the dentist on Wednesday and have had a blast throwing them into the air and watching them float down. Today they made the paratroopers a lake and stream to play in while I constructed a fairy house that they could also inhabit.

It was a beautiful day and we ended it fortified against the rest of the forecasted rainy days to come.

The Other Woman

My maternal grandfather was not my maternal grandmother's first husband, nor the father of her first child. A similar thing happened to Mama's grandparents. And to our minister. Blended families, stepchildren, orphans, widows, divorcees. Families are linked in love through many kinds of relationships. If something happened to me, I'd want Mama to find someone. Thanks toMotherlode for sharing one such story with readers, "My Husband's Other Wife."

Adventures in Cooking Our CSA Share: Lunch, Dinner ,and NPR

Right now, Mama is sauteeing garlic scapes with curly kale and kohlrabi while I listen to NPR's Morning Edition's series, "Farm Fresh Food Finds" on squash flowers, or "nature's ravioli." While I'm not expecting squash flowers in our CSA box, we will get collards, another featured veggie on the series, which explores farmer's markets, their seasonal offerings, and recipes for such.

Not that Mama needs recipes. The saute she whipped up, which she cooked with olive oil and kosher salt, and finished with pepper and lemon juice, was superb. I liked the kohlrabi cooked better than I liked it raw and sliced into my lunchtime salad. And lemon was a nice change from all the garlic (so was the red wine vinegar I splashed into the soups).

I can't wait for tomorrow: Hakurei turnips, radishes, lettuce, escarole, cucumbers, garlic scapes, collard greens, kale, kohlrabi, Asian stir fry mix, and baby spinach. (Funny side note: the email announcing the produce actually described the collard greens, as if they were strange. Just shows where I grew up, I guess. I needed to google Hakurei and escarole, not collards!).

Scary Stories

Do you read Jodi Picoult's novels?

I don't, but my friends do and highly recommend them, repeatedly. I have shied away without any good reasons except wariness of books that are everywhere--not just bookstores, but grocery stores, convenience stores, drug stores, and airports (it took me more than 4 years to read DaVinci Code, finally goaded by guilt after a maternal brouhaha. It was okay. Yes, I can be a book snob, about other people's books; my twinkie books are good! It's a holdover from being an academic, straight A student snob).

Having read both an article and a blog post about the author and her novels, I now know I was right to stay away from her books. Describing the books, Gina Bellafante writes:

IN THE NOVELS of Jodi Picoult, terrible things happen to children of middle-class parentage: they become terminally ill, or are maimed, gunned down, killed in accidents, molested, abducted, bullied, traumatized, stirred to violence. The assault on any individual family is typically mounted from angles multiple and unforeseen.

But, I am not one of those people, such as Motherlode author Lisa Belkin, who needs such reading as part of their ritual of worry. Writes Belkin,

But the act of worry is almost a talisman now, a ritual that reminds me how fragile the moment, and how much to savor the now. Notice that all my worries are about my children. I’ve come to understand that that’s what parenting is — seeing the dangers of the world with newly sensitive eyes, pretending you can protect them, and giving thanks for all the things that don’t go wrong.

Does that mean I don't worry about my kids? No, of course not. I'm just not looking for new things to worry about, like clerical sexual abuse, murder, terminal illnesses, just some of the topics of her novels. And I don't have a cathartic release reading (or watching, because, as Bellafante notes, these novels often become tv movies or series episodes) such books. I don't really feel lucky that it's not us or prepared for the possibility of it being us. And so that leaves little impetus for reading Picoult's books, or any in the genre of endangered-child novels (Bellafante traces the emergence of the genre to the 1980s, when, because of various news events from the McMartin preschool case to the Adam Walsh kidnapping, society became--and continues to be--obsessed with worrying about the fate of its children even in seemingly safe environments.). Picoult herself sees her novels almost as community service, noting "Maybe the average reader is not facing the daily challenges of a mom whose child is dying of cancer, for example, but she probably had an argument with her teenager that morning about something inconsequential that left her feeling frustrated and certain there’s no middle ground between them." Picoult hopes her books provide that middle ground. For now, I try to find that middle ground without scaring or worrying myself to death by reading such novels. Which is probably why I usually just read cookbooks!

Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down

It's raining again here in Connecticut, with more rain forecasted for the next 10 days, after 4 weeks of rain every Friday and more! Our house, stale and damp, is a wreck with toys and relocated basement detritus as we move from room to room playing aquarium and zoo (versions where the kids are animals/marine life or where they build places for animals/marine life with blocks), Imagination Movers (this is either a highly scripted reenactment of particular episodes or a musical free-for-all), campers, restaurant, picnic, vet, etc. etc.

Today, while playing restaurant, Sis came across her Sesame Street Yummy Cookies: Baking with Kids cookbook, so they pretended to bake every recipe in the book. And then they decided they wanted real cookies. Short on ingredients, we decided upon thumbprint cookies with jelly insides. They helped mix the very soft dough, imprint the dough balls, and fill them with apricot and raspberry jams, then played while they baked.

Success! Immediately, they chose the biggest cookies to give to our basement contractor downstairs, who enjoyed the warm cookies even though one was so soft that it broke off in his hand and fell in his paint! Then they started in on their trays, the apricot for Sis and the raspberry for Bud.

And Bud ate only the filling. And Sis ate only the "crust." But neither wanted the other's leftovers, so I nibbled at them. Yummy! It's a very tender cookie with a fine crumb. I'm thinking they would be great with Nutella (once they can try that. Soon, soon, I hope) or even lemon curd--think that would bake okay? Of course, orange marmalade would be my first choice.

So, it occurs to me, despite the triumph of these cookies, that I need to stock my baker's pantry better so we have more versatility when it comes to cookie baking. My guess is that we've just baked down my stores without my replenishing them. Some things to always keep on hand:

• old-fashioned oats
• a jar of jelly, any flavor
• chips, chocolate and other flavors (butterscotch, milk, white, one day PB)
• nut butter (use sunflower seed butter for nut allergies)
• dried fruit (raisins, craisins, apricots)
• cocoa
• one box cake mix and a jar of frosting (also, can have a brownie mix box)
• sprinkles, jimmies, colored sugars, and other decorations
• cupcake papers
• I'll add a can of pumpkin here, too, as Sis wants to try the book's Magical Pumpkin Cookies next.

Plus the usual staples:

• butter
• sugar (white, powdered, and brown)
• flour
• baking soda
• baking powder
• eggs
• milk
• butter/shortening (I usually only use butter)
• salt
• extracts (vanilla, almond)
• spices (cinnamon, nutmeg)
• cooking spray

I think I'd better go shopping soon, to get ready for the next 10 days of rain.

-=-=-=-=-

Thumbprint Cookies

1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened

1/2 cup powdered sugar

2 tablespoons packed light brown sugar

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 egg

2 cups flour

1/4 cup jam, any flavor

Preheat oven to 300F.

Cream the butter with the sugars and salt for 2 minutes until light and fluffy. Add the egg and beat until blended.

Add the flour, 1/2 cup at a time, beating well after each addition.

*The directions say to chill the dough in a disk-shape for an hour in the fridge but it's not necessary.

Shape the dough into 1" balls. Place the balls 1" apart on an ungreased cookie sheet.

Gently press the center of each ball with your thumb. FIll the depression with a heaping 1/4 teaspoon jam (or to your liking--clean up any extra jam that gets on the cookie sheet to avoid burning).

Bake for 25-27 minutes or until the tops of the cookies are light golden brown. Cool for 1 minute and then transfer to wire racks to cool completely.

Sesame Street's Yummy Cookies: Baking with Kids

Big Night

Real quick, 'cos it's later than I wanted to be up: tonight I drove into town (but not THE town) all by myself which I had never done before, met up with a friend from grad school, had dinner, navigated traffic on the way home, and got home, all without getting lost (or nervously sick to my stomach). I've very proud of myself, just for the technical feat alone.

Plus, it was great to see my friend and talk shop and school for a night.

Patience Is As Patience Does, or Lessons in Kindness

It has been an interesting week for life lessons for me.

On Monday, I had what I would say was one of my biggest public tantrums. And it happened at a place called Friendly's. Mommy Goose and I were there with the kids, having gone to a great workshop at an art museum. And the service was awful. No two ways about it. We'd stop the waitress to ask for various things and she'd just say "soon" or "I'm not ignoring you," until it got to the point that she would turn her head all the way around as she passed our table. I had to ask her twice to please take our ice cream orders, having already been at lunch an hour, which is about 45 minutes longer than preschoolers need. She did take the order. And nothing happened. Mommy Goose timed it. At 10 minutes, with kids growing increasingly restless and moms growing increasingly concerned about a meltdown, I followed her to the front to ask where our ice cream was. "It's coming." It didn't. 10 more minutes found me standing in the kitchen in full view of the dining room telling the waitress I would wait for my ice cream right there in the middle of everything. The manager, standing not 10 feet from where I was talking and gesticulating (talking, not yelling), ignored me completely. So I called him over and told him how unimpressed I was--first, there were no wraps, then no chocolate ice cream, and then it took 20 minutes for our ice cream to arrive (actually, it took 23, because there were a few minutes after my tirade). THEN THEY GOT IT WRONG!!!! Bud didn't get strawberry sauce and had only 2 M&Ms on his candy sundae. Sis's "cone head" cone was on Bud's sundae. We made it work but the kids were disappointed and exhausted. We'd been in Friendly's for one hour and 45 minutes by the time we got out.

I was pissed.

But I didn't rant again because we had gotten what we had waited for, sort of. The waitress was subdued, the manager had disappeared. I tipped her because I imagine the fault is not entirely hers (the manager just seemed like a slimy weasel. And I can just imagine he's incompetent.). There were no apologies, no free dessert, no comped anything. We won't be going back. To that Friendly's. Or to any Friendly's. It's not and doesn't make me so.

Then, to cap it all off, Sis's purple balloon floated away from her in the parking lot, reducing her to tears, and almost me too. But after the experience we'd had, I just couldn't go in and ask for another balloon. Embarrassed and ashamed at myself? Sure. Just ready to put it behind us? Of course. So I told her we'd get her a balloon from our supermarket and loaded her in the car.

Just then, a woman approached us. With a purple balloon in hand. And gave it to Sis, saying as I gratefully thanked her that she would do it for any child because it just makes kids so sad to lose a balloon. I think she was behind us, leaving the restaurant, when Sis lost hers and so went back inside to get another. I don't know if she'd seen the deterioration of me and our meal.

And it was the perfect lesson in graciousness and kindness in the face of disappointment and less-than-perfect. I mulled it over all the long way home. Because, you see, I rarely lose my cool the way I had (though, of course, it could've been much worse--I didn't call anyone names or yell, just stated what we needed. Now.). I'm usually quite patient and forgiving. (Though, awful service in restaurants sometimes really, really bothers me). But something about the absurdity of lunch and the coup de grace of the ice cream got to me. Even as I realized how spoiled that made me and the children seem. Because of course, there are bigger things to worry about. And usually I'm not flustered by having to wait. But come on, 20 minutes for ice cream?! Part of me still feels taken advantage of and disrespected. Especially because I had paid for the privilege.

Even though it really is the only reason we got our ice cream (and by then, I'd wished I'd ordered some!), I'm still sorry I got up and made a scene, even if Mommy Goose tells me that only the staff and the table next to me (also waiting for ice cream) probably noticed. I don't like scenes. I want to be the balloon lady.

And so I had another chance today. Because, you see, the guys who mow our lawn cut down all of our sunflower plants. Probably accidentally, just from sheer not paying attention because the plants were tall and obviously circled in stones to indicate they were special. And now they've been completely cut down to the quick. "It's so sad," Bud said. Sis begged to get more. And even though the mower guys were still in the area when I realized what had happened, I didn't follow them and throw a fit, make a scene. What is, is. (I guess unlike the ice cream, there was nothing I could do to bring back our sunflowers to life.) I hope that means I've regained some of my equilibrium. Or maybe, like Momma Zen, I have given up on patience only to find it.

But one of the strands running through my mind, and the thought that still follows me, is about attachment, in the Buddhist sense of the word, i.e. that suffering is caused by attachment. I had wondered, in reading many of Momma Zen's posts, how you could be a parent and not be attached--it seems the very definition of parenting to be attached (in fact, that's what a whole parenting philosophy is called). Okay, so I'm not attached to ice cream, but I am attached to my public personae of good parent (threatened by the possibility of a meltdown about ice cream) and calm, rational person, as well as the happiness of my own kids, all of which were challenged by Friendly's service. Then, I was attached to those sunflowers because I remember the day we bought them from one of the school teachers, how excited we were to plant them, how I had looked forward to watching them grow. And now I have to let that all go. Similarly, a week or so ago, Albus our cat broke one of my glass doo-dads, a big, heavy Texas dish given to me by my mom that I liked to keep things in. He knocked it off the dresser and it hit part of the radiator and shattered. Mama cleaned it up and said we could get another. Just like Sis had asked for more sunflowers. But I don't need another glass Texas dish. Or even sunflowers. I need to feel the feelings I have, of sadness and loss (even in these minor cases. Yes, I'm aware that everything I've mentioned seems so . . . small . . . in the grand, universal realm of things), and to get through them. Having a new dish or flowers or getting back to my rational self doesn't erase or undo what happened. I just have to not be so vested in those things. Which then means, I guess, that I don't need replacements to make me feel better (though, I like having rational me back, though I am more aware of the tenuous state of my temper some days). I just need to let it pass. And I think that must be what Momma Zen meant when she wrote about attachment:

It simply means that when the ebb and sway of life carries us along, we can let go because we see all of it in a different way. . . . Non-attachment is the nature of life itself: it keeps going. Non-attachment allows us to love one another and life as it is regardless of whether we like it right now or not.

But even just beginning to understand that, I'm still not unattached.

Because if I were, I would have let it all go and not be rehashing it on this blog. Just like the story in Zen Shorts, our children's book with Buddhist stories. One day an old priest and a young priest came to a swollen river where a woman couldn't cross. The old priest picked her up and, though he carried her all the way across, she abused and harrassed him. He put her down on the other side and kept going. Hours later, the young priest turned to the old priest and asked how he could stand to be abused by that rude woman. The old priest replied, "I put her down hours ago. You're the one still carrying her around."

Explain It To Me

Because I just don't understand: President Obama says he wants health insurance for all Americans.

But he has stopped short in extending health insurance to the gay and lesbian partners of federal employees, only offering some job benefits in a presidential memorandum.

Does that mean we aren't quite Americans?

Adventures in Cooking Our CSA Share: Escarole and Struggles

Well, we are really behind in our veggie box this week. Probably for two reasons: we weren't here for the weekend and we didn't go grocery shopping to pick up ingredients to complement last week's produce. So I find myself staring at a greens-filled fridge not sure what to do. I'm going to give away some lettuce again, having already given away the hakurei (Mama Teacher, they were turnips!!!), bok choi and lettuce to the grandparents, and we're going to try to push through the rest, hoping it doesn't go bad before we can cook it.

That leaves

• curly kale--gonna just stir fry it
• a dozen eggs--hmm, what's a quintessential egg dish? an omelet?
• lettuce--this is the easy one but easiet to forget too
• kohlrabi--hmmm. stir fry? or eat raw with dip? I can try again next week.
• garlic scapes--I had thought about making hummus (no tahini, though; and the pesto has 1/2 cup of oil!) but will probably add them to the omelet. This will be in the next box, too.
• escarole--I made a soup tonight and will make another soup tomorrow night (see below). Again, we get more escarole this week.

That's a lot of veggies for 1-2 days!

So, some things I've learned about our CSA box:

• I'm not really good at identifying vegetables. Which you don't have to do at the grocery store because there are signs with the prices. I almost put lettuce in my soup today and ate the escarole straight up, which would not have been good.
• I don't really know which veggies will go bad first. I realize that the key to cooking our CSA share is using the most perishable produce first. But I don't know what that is. And I can't find a list online. Though, I'm learning. It's a steep learning curve, and expensive too.
• I don't know how to prep most of these vegetables: can you eat the stem? can you eat the leaves? I don't have to put them in my dishwasher, right? (this harkens back to a story about Southern women so stressed about gritty greens that they put them on the top rack of their dishwasher and run it through rinse. Now, for the life of me, I can't recall what book that's in).
• Every recipe starts with olive oil and garlic.
• Cooking new-to-me produce every night is rather stress producing, even if the recipes are simple.
• But I've liked almost everything.

-=-=-=-=-=

Escarole and Bean Soup

1/4 lb White beans
5 c vegetable or chicken broth
2 Tablespoons olive oil
2 Tablespoons minced garlic
1 onion, diced
2 c chopped escarole
Salt and pepper -- to taste
croutons, optional

SOAK THE BEANS OVERNIGHT IN WATER. Drain. Place beans in a pot, add broth, cover and cook over medium heat until beans are soft, about 30 minutes. (or use canned white beans if there isn't time to soak and cook...) Meanwhile, place another pot on the stove, add oil, place over medium heat, add garlic and onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 7 minutes, or until onions soften. Add the escarole and continue to cook until wilted, another 10 minutes. Add the beans and broth to the pot with the escarole. Add salt and pepper as desired, cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Serve hot, with the addition of croutons if desired. serves 8

from our CSA people

-=-=-=-=-=

Garlic Escarole Soup with Rice

1 tablespoon olive oil

3 medium onions, thinly sliced

4 garlic cloves, minced

8 cups stock

1 teaspoon salt, or to taste

1 medium head escarole, washed and roughly chopped (about 5 cups)

1/2 cup Arborio rice (I just used pre-cooked white rice, as I had it on hand)

grated Parmesan cheese to taste

Heat oil in large soup pot over medium-high heat. Add onions and cook uncovered for 15-20 minutes, until caramelized. Reduce heat to low, add garlic, and cook for another 5 minutes.

Add stock and bring to a boil. Add the salt and rice and cook for 5 minutes.

Add escarole. Simmer, covered, for about 10 minutes, until rice and escarole are tender. Season to taste with salt. Serve with Parmesan cheese. (We didn't have cheese and so served it with a bit of lemon juice).

Johnna Albi and Catherine Walthers, Greens Glorious Greens! (adapted--they had chicken stock and shredded chicken, too)

Basement Update

The tile is one the floor but awaiting its grout. The walls are primed but awaiting their coats of paint. There will soon be new stairs and a bannister (on the botttom), new doors to storage and mechanical things, a new cat door in the door at the kitchen, and all the other last bits. He says he'll be done by Friday. Which is still amazingly fast, just two full weeks.

But then the hard part begins, getting everything back to "normal." Well, no, wait, I don't want normal. I want better. So there are books, furniture, toys, and so many things to relocate, things to toss, things to reorganize. The fun part, right? Actually, I'm really looking forward to it. To the house working. But I think it will take awhile (and some money, which we don't want to shell out right away, so some items will be catch as catch can--i.e., if we put a tv down there for dance and performance purposes, it will be our old tv on our old tv stand) probably a lot longer than actually renovating the basement. Gommie, we promise to have space for your aerobed in the new "library" by the time you're here in a month (or, maybe even a futon in the basement, if you want to try that!).