Domesticity

So, I go through these phases from time to time where I get all domestic. I'm not even sure what brings them on, and eventually they tend to go away. But I've been on one since about April. It all started while I was checking out some of my old links and ran across a recipe for "No-Knead" bread on the Vegan Feast Kitchen blog. Now, I love bread. Especially homemade bread. But I hate kneading. So this was right up my alley. Of course, being me, I decided to modify the recipe the first time I tried it. It came out fine, but not great. For my second attempt, I thought I'd follow the exact recipe, and this is what I ended up with. Very yummy.



My next attempt, I added some whole wheat flour. Still good, but not quite as pretty.



For my fourth attempt (not pictured due to tragedy), I tried a slightly different recipe with a secret ingredient. Ok, it's not so secret. It's beer. This loaf turned out the best, but there were some technical issues. The recipes suggested baking it on parchment paper. So I did as directed. BAD idea. We had to hack off the bottom crust to eat it. But it was still yummylicious.

But then it got hot. And having the oven on at 450 for any length of time just lost its charm. So I moved on to ice cream. (I can actually partially blame this on the library. I had been considering buying an ice cream maker, but hadn't actually done it. Until the day I was browsing the library and ran across the homemade ice cream book.) Darling hubbie thought plum would be a good first flavor, and there just happened to be a recipe for that.



Yes, it really is that shade of pink. And it is unbelievable! Over the weekend, I made Super Lemon ice cream. Also very good. Sorry, no picture. It's just the palest yellow.

And once we eat the rather large collection of ice cream in our freezer, I'll be making more (thank you Kroger for the sale on Ben & Jerry's).

I have also started sewing again, but that can be a subject for another day.

Irony in Action

So, I was driving in a pretty nice area of Lawrenceville today and saw this marvelous sign. One of those small ones on the metal posts that you stick in the ground. It was obviously hand made. The background was some sort of white board, with lettering on it. But let me describe the letters. They were black, and appeared to be stenciled. And I say appeared, because I'm not sure how you can stencil something and make it look so bad. The letters' edges were all blurry and drippy. And, of course, the letters in each word weren't exactly what you would call lined up.

Here's the irony. The sign said "We write professional business plans" with a phone number. Well, I don't really have any intention of starting my own business soon, but if I ever do, they will not be writing my plan. Your sign looks like an 8-year-old did it with a can of spray paint. Who's going to write the plan? Your goldfish? No thank you.

On an only vaguely related note (that being signs), I do have a favorite sign that I see (far too often) in my neighborhood. And these people at least put up the cash to get them professionally printed. The sign is for "Who's the Daddy? DNA testing." Cracks me up every time I see it.

Why I love Georgia, part 4

Anyone who works in Georgia knows that the child welfare system is seriously messed up. Words can't even describe it. But now we're hearing that, in at least one major county, there appear to be quotas on how many children can be removed from their homes and placed in foster care. Exceed your quota, and your job could be at risk. The state's former Child Advocate has come forward in the local paper (after the death of a toddler who was left in her biological home), talking about the unbelievable mismanagement of the very system that is supposed to keep our children safe.

It's only the tip of the iceberg, folks.

Too Many Books, continued

I went to the library today and am happy to report that I took back a bunch of paperbacks that I'm just not going to read any time soon, and I only checked out 8 items. The two items I had on hold (one a DVD), 3 other movies, a book on CD for in the car, and two non-fiction books. I probably would have ended up with far more, but I had to park illegally due to some random festival in downtown Stone Mountain today. I figure that I'm at the library often enough to count as an unofficial library staff member as far as parking goes:)

My cat is a bigger freak than your cat, Part III

I suppose that technically this is a continuation of Part I, but oh well.

Thrasher will, apparently, drink chocolate soy milk if he is thirsty enough. Enough said.

Too Many Books?

Does anyone know if there is a 12-step program for libraries? More specifically, library use? Because I think I might need one of those. Now, in all fairness to me, being addicted to books is probably a lot better for me than being addicted to a lot of other things. Alcohol, gambling, chocolate (really, I'm NOT addicted), collecting troll dolls, etc. But I do seem to have a serious problem.

I needed to go to the library yesterday to pick up some items on hold for me. Three items, to be precise, and only two of them were books (the other being a "Learn Chinese in Your Car" CD set). My original plan was to go to the library, approach front desk, return the items that needed returned, pick up the items being held, and leave. And I had every intention of doing just that. I often have every intention of just picking up items on hold and leaving. It never happens. Never. I mean, maybe once, but probably never.

Shortly before I left for the library, I decided I'd let myself look at the new book shelf and then pick up my held items. Nothing else. How much damage can I do in the new book section?

A lot.

Now, everyone should keep in mind that I have hundreds of books at home that I own, any number of which haven't been read. I also have this shelf known as the "read me and get rid of me shelf," mostly made up of books people have loaned to me or from the paperback exchange at the library (another REALLY bad thing for my little problem). And I still had four other books checked out. But I'm a mature, fairly rational person. I can handle the new book section.

Um, not so much. Seven books later (not including those on hold for me), I'm starting to doubt the realism of my plan. Now, I did manage to find two books on the shelf that are on my To-Be-Read list (another issue in itself). One of which I could not believe was on the shelf (The World Without Us). At this point, I literally have to drag myself away from the new book shelf without looking at everything there.

But as I'm walking out, I go by the books on tape. And I remember talking to one of the foster parents that I visit that I really should have picked up a book on tape the last time I was at the library since I can spend 15 hours or more a week in my car, driving all over the place. So I grab a book on tape. And then I go to the desk and check everything out, including my three items on hold. Luckily for me, I had put my stuff to return in a bag, so I have some way to carry all of this stuff out of the library. And yes, not being able to sanely carry all of my books out of the library is a frequent, common problem with me.

So I sit here now with 14 books checked out (not including those paperbacks mentioned before), one book on tape, one Learn Chinese CD set, and a movie. And not nearly enough hours in my days.

Why I love Georgia, part 3

Every year, I get the thrill of taking my car to a service station or stand-alone "Emissions Inspection Station" to get my emissions tested (so I then get the joy or renewing my registration and paying annual tax on my ten-year-old car). I don't have any problem with doing the test. The air here sucks. I'll do what I can to not contribute more to the problem. Anyway, I drive in and they connect fancy computer equipment up to various parts of my car. And the computer does it's magic and talks to the computer in my car and figures out how much nasty stuff my car is spewing into the air. And then I hand over $25 and get my certificate, printed on form-feed paper by a dot matrix printer! Where on earth do they even find paper for these things any more? It just doesn't make sense to me. A fancy computerized system to do the test, and they can't even manage a cheap ink jet? I have no doubt there is some big warehouse in central Georgia or somewhere just full to the brim with the planet's last boxes of form-feed paper.