Due to the cost of Parsnips

Have I mentioned how much I enjoy my work community?  I enjoy my job itself, but it's really the environment that makes it that much better.  It began in the winter three years ago when a coworker and I decided to start a ladies' soup group.  It has grown since thing to include the occasional man or student and is rarely soup.  The four women who teach in the department (coincidentally only on MWF) take turns on MWF to cook for the others.  When the fare is vegetarian we extend the offer to our chair of the department.  How can that hurt?  The cooking is fantastic.  We get to try new things and share favorite recipes.  We get to bring foods that our own families are tired of or never really liked in the first place. 
There's something wonderful about joining together with coworkers over a home cooked meal in the middle of the day that makes you feel like a part of another family.  For that, I am very blessed.
For the most part we try very hard to keep shop talk away from the table.  So the conversations take many turns.  Often we talk about food.  Today was no exception as the topics of buying locally grown beef and vegetables came up.  I think I made a deal to swap some ground beef with one of the other ladies, her's is too lean for her taste and mine too fatty. 
We talked about canning.  Last summer my man bought me a bushel of tomatoes locally grown (and beautiful) for ten dollars a bushel.  I said "I couldn't grow them for that."  And I heard my dad saying those exact words. 
It might be winter of 2011, and it might be very cold outside.  And we might just see that huge snowstorm they keep promising.  But inside is the memory of summer and warm days ahead.  And tomatoes.  Big beautiful juicy tomatoes.  On toast with a little mayo.  Someday soon.

Where did January go?

December came and went.  It was a great month.  Holiday parties and gatherings.  We hosted our first (hope to be annual) cookie exchange party.  Our friend Clare made the most amazing cherry macaroon cookies that I desperately want to make myself but considering the damage the first batch did to my waist line, I've held off.  I'm not sure how much longer I can wait.
But that is not to say that the oven has not been put to good use.  For the cookie swap I had Clare bake up some peppermint chocolate biscotti from a recipe in a magazine.  They were so tasty I made a second batch a few weeks later.  You see the recipe calls for crushed up peppermint candies.  And what better way to use up all of those boxes of candy canes you can find for pennies at the stores these days. 
And then came the bread.  My man is a lover of bread.  He's made so much bread in the last two months that I can't possibly really blame the cookies for the spike in the waistline.
So for a nice gift a few weeks ago I ordered him a book that promised artisan breads in only five minutes a day.  It is fantastic and so easy.  And now the breadline is expanding (like my waistline.)  I think he plans on working through every recipe in the book.  Where he'd get an idea like that is just beyond me.
Okay, it's not so inconceivable considering I've been going on about my favorite book for months.  You see, back in October I ordered a book on canning.  As I drooled over each page I realized it had to make it on my thirty in my thirties list to make the entire book. 
I've made some good progress and post pictures to facebook every time.  And after much encouragement, I've come back to my blog to share with you some of my culinary canning concoctions. 
I do hope that you will enjoy reading, looking at, and possibly drooling over them as much as I enjoy making them.
This week has seen some spicy carrot pickles, cumin and paprika turnip pickles, and grapefruit marmalade.  Stay tuned for more details and photos (and taste testing results!)

Slowing down

November was a blur.  An exciting blur.  A fascinating blur.  A blur filled with family and friends and fun.  But a blur nonetheless.  In less than a month I'll be celebrating another birthday.  I don't think I'm getting older.  In fact I'd like to believe I'm just getting more seasoned.  But after the last two weeks of fighting off this cold/flu/whatever it is I think my body is trying to tell me that I am in fact getting older. 
It's interesting how the mind and body can be so separate but so completely connected.  I was just speaking with a good friend saying sometimes you have to follow your heart over your head.  I still agree that it's sound advice but sometimes, when your body tells you to slow down, you might just want to listen. 
But December is the most beautiful month filled with all the wonders of the holiday season.  So I guess I'll rest in January.

Guilt

There have been times in my life where I have rightfully earned the title "Drama Queen."  Then I grew up a little.  I stopped running away and found that when things settled down a little life was pretty darn good.  Of course, I'm with a man who doesn't encourage drama and when he does we sit down and talk it out together.
So it's all good.  Until the stars got misaligned this week and the drama began again.  One of my best friends introduced me to his girlfriend who I quickly adored only to have him break up with her shortly thereafter.  Another good friend asked to borrow money because of some poor financial planning.  I was reminded that I need to make Thanksgiving plans for a sibling even though it's not my responsibility.  My mother reminded me of how I neglected my bf's cat while we were first dating and now that he's sick I should feel guilty about it.
Guilty.  That is the feeling of the week.  I wondered if we impose feelings of guilt on our selves or do we let others?  And if we do it to ourselves, how do we stop?  Is there any benefit to it?  If others do it, how do we stop?  Should we feel guilty for allowing them to make us feel guilty? 

It's all too real

I love sleep.  I remember as a kid I used to sleep all the time.  I think sometimes that perhaps my dreams are just so much more intriguing that real life and that's why I enjoy sleeping so much.  Actually, I also just love that snuggly feeling of being curled up in a blanket and warm.  I wish I could be sleeping right now.
But as far back as I can remember I've always been able to remember most of my dreams or at least parts of them.  One time I had this recurring dream that after I shared it with my brother, he told me a long kept family secret that explained the dream.  (I don't know you that well to share that secret publicly--sorry.) 
I've always had odd sleeping patterns.  My brother got married when I was 14 and we stayed in a hotel.  I got out of my bed, walked all the way down the hall before I woke up and started knocking on a stranger's door thinking it was my parents.  When I studied abroad I would wake up and walk towards the door to answer it.  A classmate sat me back in the bed and told me to go back to sleep.  I've been accused of sitting straight up in bed and being frightened.  People tell me everything is okay, and I go back to bed.  They tell me these things, but I don't always remember them in the morning.   But those are the incidences I remember because I was sharing a room.
Some years back I worked as a Residential Coordinator and had both a pager and a cell phone.  The job was rather stressful and at times I would wake up in the middle of the night because I had a dream that was so real.  I would dream that their was a third device that I had somehow lost.  I would wake up in a panic and start looking for this device.  I never could find it because it didn't exist.  It would take me several minutes to bring myself back to reality. 
After I quit that job and went back to school, I thought those dreams were gone.  Then one time I was traveling home for the summer, and I stayed in a hotel room.  I dreamt that my room was being burglarized while I was sleeping.  I woke up and couldn't move.  My body was frozen so that the criminals didn't know that I was awake.  Again it took me several minutes before realizing they weren't real.  My dream had been so real down to the details of the room I was staying in. 
I will most likely never be free of these dreams.  But lately they have taken on a new life.  They are full of bugs.  And I'm terrified of these bugs.  They are crawling out of my pillow.  Sometimes they are snakes but mostly bugs. 
The odd thing is that I'm not usually scared of bugs.  My house is pretty empty of bugs other than the occasional spider or the ants that I took care of months ago.  I never know why the bugs are there.  I don't know what makes me dream those dreams.  But I do know that I wake up terrified of them.  I believe they are in my pillow.  I jump out of bed.  Sometimes I have to turn the light on and stare at my pillow for several minutes before I'm sure it was all a dream.
Luckily, I have a man that tells me it's all okay and that I should go back to bed.  But I'm too curious a person to just let it go.  It's just going to keep bugging me.

The Tortured Artist

It will be Thursday again soon.  It's the day that I get to stay home and do fun stuff.  Except, it's rarely that fun.  It often involves catching up on laundry or dishes, or even worse, grading exams.  I did run away this last Thursday and traveled with my mother and brother to Lake Placid for the day.  We used to travel there every year for my dad's birthday.  I've made sure we keep that tradition. 
I don't have to stay home to have fun on those days.  Sometimes exceptions are necessary, like spending family time to see the leaves changing colors in a town that is familiar and comfortable but still exciting.  But if I did happen to stay home, then I can imagine lots of fantastic craft projects that would be a great way to use my time.  Here's my journey.
You see for years I've lived in apartments, shared spaces with other people, and always dreamed of having my own craft room.  Every time you move and want to start a project you accumulate more stuff.  You loose track of that awesome fabric or yarn you were going to make something with.  Over the years I must have purchased twenty glue guns alone.  You never feel like you can do a proper job because you never have the right tools or the right space.
That was all about to change when I bought my house last year.  It was three bedrooms, correction, two bedrooms and a craft room.  Yes, I would have my craft room.  In fact, it was the first room I painted.  And then it started to go down hill.  The heater in my bedroom broke, and the other bedroom was half painted (for several months.)  So my bed was "temporarily" placed in the craft room.  Then when I moved out of that room, it was used for storage.  We bought a table for the room, that eventually made it up there.  The bins of supplies collected over years remained in the basement. 
But recently, yes recently, I found a dresser that I re-purposed for the room quite fantastically if I do say so myself.  I rearranged the table and an extra desk.  I sorted boxes of goods.  I purchased bins for the closet for more materials.  I've moved several bins upstairs and sorted two of them.  And actually, I started a project while sitting at my craft table. 
It's finally coming together.  Now if only I can find the time to use it.

77

My dad.
He was easy.  He loved very few things in life but what he loved, he truly loved.  He was a farmer.  He grew up with two brother and two sisters on a family farm.  When he married my mom, rather late in life (28!) he was able to purchase one of the family farms and moved a very small half mile away from his family.  My grandfather passed away young, so I never met him.  But my dad made sure I knew who he was.  I think he would have been an awesome grandfather.  My grandmother used to let me spend the weekends with her.  We'd cook, nap, crochet, and play games.
I think that's where my dad got his game playing skills from.  She was competitive.  I used to spend hours sitting on my dad's bed playing cards with him.  When we were younger we'd play Monopoly.  I remember the day I finally won.  But we didn't stop playing we just learned new games (and kept Monopoly for those rainy days and holidays.)
My dad was a hard worker.  He loved his job.  He knew more about cows and farming than anyone I've ever met.  He had a passion about it.  He was sad the day he had to retire from farming.  It broke his heart.  But his family stood by and helped him through it.
Family.  More than farming this was the word to describe my dad.  He loved his family more than anything.  I'd like to believe I was his favorite, but I know he loved each one of us.
There are days that he is heavily on my mind.  We used to go grocery shopping together.  Or we would garden together.  We cooked often.  We made bread.  We used to build things.  Or we'd go visit my uncle and talk about farming and growing chickens.
He was a wise and generous man and is greatly missed.

My favorite photo of us is in my office.  I took it to the printer and scanned it and this is what I got.  It is a photo of my dad and I on his last birthday we celebrated together.  I love this picture because of the smile on his face.  All I can say is "love."