Book Edition -- The Grass Harp

I finished The Grass Harp by Truman Capote a few months ago. It was a unique little story with some beautifully descriptive passages. Here was one of my favorites:

Wind surprised, pealed the leaves, parted night clouds; showers of starlight were let loose: our candle, as though intimidated by the incandescence of the opening, star-stabbed sky, toppled, and we could see, unwrapped above us, a late wayaway wintery moon: it was like a slice of snow, near and far creatures called to it, hunched moon-eyed frogs, a claw-voiced wildcat. Catherine hauled out the rose scrapquilt, insisting Dolly wrap it around herself; then she tucked her arms around me and scratched my head until I let it relax on her bosom -- You cold? she said, and I wiggled closer: she was good and warm as the old kitchen.

Ahh, don't you just want to curl up and witness that night sky?

The story itself mostly took place in a tree house, which might explain why I enjoyed it. I spent a good deal of my younger years in the trees. The home in which I lived from about the age of 5 until 10 had a fantastic tree house wedged between 3 huge trees in our backyard. The fort had a ledge around 2 of its sides, 2 windows, and a trap door. We played for hours in that fort [except for the period of time when an opossum was decomposing underneath the bottom level], and I have lots of funny memories from my time spent there. Maybe someday I'll make a list of some of them. If I wasn't in the tree house, you might have found me climbing up another tree in our yard and swinging out of it on the rope swing. It was a pretty great back yard.

Back to the book -- it included a few other short stories I could have done without. They left me with a disturbed and unresolved feeling and sort of tainted my experience with The Grass Harp. Overall, however, if you are seeking some lovely language and a transport back to your childhood, you might find it in this quirky tale.

Food Edition -- Puree of Carrot Soup

I love my garden. I don't have a particularly green thumb, and most of the productivity I see is more of a happy accident than the result of any knowledge or skill. This being said, I felt pleased as punch a few weeks ago when Jeremy set out to clean out the garden and discovered a bounty of wintering carrots. He summoned the kids and put them to work gathering two garbage sacks worth of the orange veggie.

The next order of business was to decide what to do with so many carrots arriving all at once. I decided I had to make a batch of carrot soup. Once I got scrubbing and peeling and chopping [and scrubbing and peeling and chopping], I figured I might as well double the batch while I was at it. Doubling soon turned to tripling and finally quadrupling. Since my biggest deterrent in ever making this strangely addicting soup is the preparation part, I thought I could make the base and then put the extra batches in the freezer.

Let me just say that I struggle with sticking to repetitive actions [like chopping vegetables or packaging candy for The Peppermint Place]. I get bored and weary and irritable pretty quickly. But my desire for self-sufficiency and for a taste of this, my favorite soup, overcame my hatred of menial tasks, and I persevered. A few hours and several semi-permanently orange-stained fingernails later, I had 12 cups of finely chopped carrots ready to simmer. The first batch declared by Morgan to be "de-wicious," now I anticipate savoring this satisfying concoction a few more times before the next season of carrots arrives.

Puree of Carrot Soup

2 Tbsp. butter
3 c. finely chopped carrots
1 qt. chicken broth [I'm a fan of Better Than Bouillon from Costco in lieu of bouillon cubes]
2/3 c. chopped onion
2 Tbsp. uncooked rice
1/2 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. pepper
1/2 c. light cream, evaporated milk, or half-and-half

Melt butter in large saucepan. Add onions and cook until soft. Add carrots, chicken broth, rice and seasonings. Simmer, uncovered, for 30 minutes. Puree soup in blender. Return to saucepan and add cream. Heat just to boiling. Makes 5 cups. [Recipe courtesy of my friend, Meri Ann.]

Whatever It Takes

So Morgan got into the tub of lotion [again] while I was in the middle of teaching a piano lesson the other day. I could sense something was afoot, so I went to find her. Upon discovery, she calmly spread a glob of lotion over her arms and said, "This will protect me from sin." I'm curious what we're teaching over here to make her feel the need for such protection, but I guess I'm glad she's prepared. Better sooner than later!

[Maybe I should add that her comment made me laugh out loud, after which she asked, "Are you happy now?" This question is her latest clever effort to get out of trouble. Or perhaps I should take it as a message that I need to smile more.]

Just Dance

I am not a dancer. As a little girl I thought I wanted to be a ballerina when I grew up. I remember doing ballerina leaps all through the house. [Evidently I also wore my tutu without reservation. I wonder where Morgan gets that from?] That ended as I became more self-conscious and realized I really didn't have great coordination. However, I find there is a time and place to bust a move. One of my friends teaches a free Zumba class on Saturday mornings, and I take my two left feet pretty regularly. It gets me moving and I laugh a lot, both of which are good things. I've discovered an additional benefit to my Zumba experience: my friend uses all sorts of fun music for her routines, which helps narrow the gap in my vast pop culture divide. Sure, I listen to the radio, but I have a fairly stunted repertoire when it comes to such things. Anyway, my latest favorite is one she uses for the cool down. It's a mash-up, which I didn't even know existed before. You should take a listen, just for fun. . .

Are We Really There?

The last month or so has provided me with several moments to reflect and pause in wonder that my life has progressed to its current point. It started with my little Caleb turning 12. Actually, he has never been little. Nine pounds at birth, and growing like a weed ever since -- he had his 12-year-old checkup yesterday and measured 5 feet 5 inches [97th percentile] and 112 pounds [75th percentile]. Yikes! Somehow, when I see him every day, his transformation from this . . .

. . . to this . . .

. . . seems like not such a big deal. But, really, when did it become possible for me to be the mother of a 12-year-old? Such a strange feeling. However, if I must be there already, I feel so privileged to be the mother of this 12-year-old. Caleb is a treasure. He is kind, conscientious, and tries to live with integrity. He has some fears, but he is working hard to be more responsible, to set goals and reach them, and to improve his talents. He has a strong moral compass and faith in God. One of the significant milestones of this birthday was that Caleb received the Aaronic Priesthood. Caleb is one who feels things deeply and has for some time recognized how the Holy Ghost communicates with him, and Jeremy ordaining him to the Priesthood was a tender moment for all of us.

Caleb had a friend party, which I should probably document, especially because I forgot to pull out the camera. Shame on me. The boys came over and ate dinner. We decided to do sloppy joes since pizza is way overdone at parties. Then Jeremy took them to the bowling alley. They played a game of bowling and still had a ton of time to "kill," so they played some laser tag. I'm not sure who had more fun, the boys or Jeremy. Afterward, they came back to our house, had root beer floats, and played the Wii for awhile until they were ready to end.

One more note. . . You might not be able to tell from the picture, but Caleb requested a Wii remote cake this year. I tried to convince him that he's old enough now to just get a regular cake, but he wanted one last hurrah. [We'll see if it's really the last. I'm kind of a sucker.] It didn't turn out fantastic, but you could tell what it was meant to be.

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I had another awe - some reflection when I realized I have celebrated Jeremy's birthday with him for 15 years now. Yep, we have now been together for THAT long. This is us way back then posing in front of the BY Academy [since restored and repurposed as the Provo City Library].

I thought back to how we celebrated his birthday 15 years ago and remembered we went to The Roof restaurant at the top of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. He requested this as his gift from his parents. I wish I could remember what I gave him. Probably not much of anything, since I was a poor student. After dinner, we wandered around Temple Square and had a conversation that brought us a little closer to making the decision to get married. We actually got engaged just about a month later. And look where we are now. I count my blessings every day that I have Jeremy as a companion and friend. He is my best gift.

St. Patty's Party Pooper

I was just wondering since when had St. Patrick's Day evolved from a day you just tried to find a clean, green article of clothing to a day full of magic and featuring mischievous imaginary men? Perhaps I should be more prepared [and enthusiastic] after my high school years as a fighting Irish. But I'm pretty sure all I gained there, in addition to a little luck from kissing the Blarney Stone, was how to draw a passable shamrock.

Perusing Facebook posts has given me a bit of an inferiority complex. It all started when I saw a friend's post saying she had finished making Lucky Charm treats. The day progressed with reports of bigger and more elaborate celebrations. Leprechaun traps, gift-bearing little green men, green meals, a "dinner at the end of the rainbow," various pranks. [I have to admit I was impressed by one friend who said the leprechauns stacked up all the dining room chairs in the hall, toilet papered, and put the vacuum on the table and a chair in the sink. That's dedication.] It doesn't help that apparently our next door neighbor's house is the most magical on the block. As a result, Aiden in particular expects letters from his own personal leprechaun, tricks of all sorts in the house, and footprints from leprechauns dancing in the garden at midnight. I just can't keep up with these Joneses.

I did manage to cast a spell upon the milk at breakfast [put a couple of drops of food coloring in the bottom of the bowl and cover with cereal -- when you pour the milk and mix it up, voila! it's green] and put green sprinkles on the toast. But then I forgot to wear green and made a very un-green dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. Nary a Lucky Charms treat nor rainbow cupcake in sight. Aiden asked why we weren't having green food. My response: "Eat your spinach salad, son!" Who needs all those simple carbs, anyway?

So to make myself feel better after my run-in with Facebook peer pressure, I decided I needed to tally the things I did do yesterday rather than focus on my glaring neglect of this vastly important holiday. I washed three loads of laundry and folded one! I got my kids off to school, welcomed them home, completed homework, made them practice the piano, and got them to bed! I played balloon toss and otherwise [mostly] entertained/fed/clothed a 3-year-old! I made my bed! I prepared a very well-balanced and rather delicious dinner! I baked a batch of wheat bread! I washed lots of dishes! I know there's more but it's too late to think anymore! [I had to exclaim all of these sentences because I feel to celebrate each accomplishment and also because it seems like a very Facebookish thing to do.] So there you have it. Hope you had a happy St. Patrick's Day. And hope it was just as magical as you felt inclined to make it.