Y’all, I am making yogurt from goat milk. I am so excited by the goat milk. The goat in question is so cute. So cute. That’s her on the left, having her chin scratched. She lives in paradise, which is only a short bus ride away from me.
Also, my cup overfloweth with cow’s milk, as I only finished about half of last week’s half gallon and this week’s is waiting for me to pick up. I’ve made a half-assed (lots of halves in this paragraph) version of cottage cheese where the milk just sits out on the counter overnight and then I salt it, but it tasted about like you’d expect for the amount of effort put in. So this time, I’ll try a recipe. My thermometer is one battery short – and there’s only one battery in the damn thing – so I will have to find a battery to fit it before I start. And some cheese cloth. I seem to be out.
Look! It’s a post without a list! You’re welcome.
Aiming for once a week for the rest of the summer is do-able, don’t you think? I mean, I’m hardly working. And then perhaps I could also do things like clean up my blogroll, which is sadly out of date, and maybe log my lunch everyday. Really, I have no excuse.
It’s been a hard couple of years, y’all. But I think I am feeling better. Time. I’ve taken two years of it and now I am calling you, though not in the morning.
Here are things:
- it is hot as fuck here, again, and there has been no rain and the plum tree has lost about 1/3 of it’s leaves. Jim Waive saw fit to remind me that I like to freak out about the weather in July.
- I am gearing up for (yet another!) embryo transfer, avec steroids and lovenox, which is said not as if you planned on marrying an ox, but as if you started to sing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and then changed your mind and wanted to talk about vans and oxes.
- there is Neighborhood Dramaz. Really. More than one drama. One neighbor is concerned that my cats mistake her front flower bed for a litter box. Oops. Not much to be done but apologize and give her some eggs. Production has improved slightly since my last post, btw. Other neighbor, previously featured on Caved as a Serious Cat Person, is very upset that another neighbor has vicious sounding big dogs that are not supposed to be at his house but for some reason keep coming back. Written out, it sounds so silly, but she is truly distraught. To the point of sounding irrational. And the offending neighbors do nothing, which is the shame of it, I think. Starrhill is pretty tight; there are really only a few of us in the place and this is how we usually handle shit: if you’re upsetting somebody, go talk to that somebody, hold your damn hand out and try to make some compromise. I fear it has gone on too long for that at this point. And that the actual owner of the dogs seems to be the sort that thinks she doesn’t need to hold her hand out.
- LB and I are splitting a share from Appalachia Star farm again this summer and it’s pretty great. The tomatoes are about to come rolling in and I am very excited. In other food news, I have pots of herbs that I am actually using for the first time in years. It’s like being born again. Sort of. Being home to make a lunch is like being born again.
- I had another miscarriage awhile back – whee. This one didn’t hurt, which was nice. The sliver lining is that it put me up to the magic number of three miscarriage, which makes my insurance company willing to pay for the Big Giant Pannel of Autoimmune tests. I do love a good visit to my lab people.
- my old neighbor, who should just move back to Starrhill, solving all the Neighborhood Dramaz, loaned me the book about running everybody read like 2 years ago, and which I also happened to give my dad but never read myself, and for about 5 minutes I was all “I could run!” And then I laughed at myself. Because the part of the book about eating beans and tortillas is really much more up my alley than running.
- one of the search terms I just saw in my stats is tiny tits. Hahahahahahaha! Sorry, wrong blog.
I have been thoroughly enjoying Twitter and Instagram. We can blame that for my lack of blogging, but didn’t everybody have that particular crisis like 4 years ago? Only my laziness to blame, as per usual.
Oh, camp… I can’t even remember what day it is….
Oh, yeah, day 8. Teaching. Um, well. That’s what I do. For work, that is. And also because I generally love it – the money’s not good enough to make anyone stick around; you have to love it at least a little bit. Or, if you’re me, you also stick around because you have no other marketable skills. My kids are two, and don’t yet read (although they are great a picking their noses), so blogs mean very little to them.
Shall we play catch up? We shall.
Day 7. I don’t think I have a favorite for any meal – weird, considering I also had no guilty pleasures. Wow, do I love food blogs, though. And, yes, I would totally write one if I had enough motivation to do anything at all. Note my tumblr, which is all about lunch and hasn’t been updated in forever, and the last post wasn’t even my lunch. Maybe I should get back on that… or you could! You, too, could half-ass-ed-ly fulfill your food blogger fantasies and log your lunch!
Day 6. I never try new things because I hate new things. For real.
Day 5. Ummm…. I don’t know what I like best to do on my birthday. (See why I need to be kicked out of camp – can’t answer the damn questions.) Usually, LB and I have a party of sorts, because our birthdays are so close together.
Day 4. Being an adult surprises the shit out of me daily. What is this leaky pipe and why do I have to deal with it? Where did these bills come from? And who are all these damn cats and to whom do they belong?! I think the world of blogging has taught me about generosity. How to have it and how to be on the receiving end of it. Thanks for that lesson, Cali. For real.
Look! It’s summer camp!
Day Three. Guilty Pleasures.
- Popcorn in bed with a book.
Come on y’all. Log your lunch. Or your cocktails, as the case may be. Tumblr misses us.
Or, “I don’t need to take the little pips out, do I?”
Oh, come on. You know you’ve missed live blogging with The Food Crafters.
9 pm. Maths. Math is hard. LB is cutting citrus for infused vodka and Elsie is commiserating about mL and numbers of limes, slicing and doing maths while the rest of us sit on our collective ass and talk about a new fabric store. Vodka is filtering, so as to see like higher quality, a la SJ.
9:17 pm. Cho-girl begins lavender salt. Smoked paprika is the shit this season, you know. So we’ll be doing that next. And macha which is good on eggs. Vodka still flitering. T of Tuesday Fame is packaging some cleaning shit for us. Terra Scrub if you must know. You must know.
9:25 pm. Pic of sliced citrus as we wait for vodka to filter. Again.
9:35 pm. Lavender salt done. Vodka update: first bottle, 3rd pass through the filter.
Live blogging is hard. I’m passing this shit on.
9:40 pm. Where is the shamwow? Cleaning utensils-salt flavoring change.
9:45 pm. Kermit crab status-mass murder and painting.
T of Tuesday Fame: “did you calculate for the displacement of the citrus?”
SHG: “fuck no.”
9:50 pm. New salt is smoked paprika and moving on to matcha which smells like green tea ice cream.
9:55 pm. Smells like a tea house.
10:00 pm. Four cycles of filtering the vodka is our max. around here, pouring it in with the first citrus mix, grapefruit.
10:05 pm. V-Bottle two, pass one. S-done for now, we will be drying citrus and doing that later.
It’s mini-vacation time here in Starrhill – no school till Monday! Whee!
So far today, not in this order: plotted killing schemes with LB; written dirty emails; fed cats; saw a very hot, brand new Porsche outside my window; fed and watered chickens; got up; got dressed; made turkey broth; went to Reid’s for sour cream for cupcakes, thereby breaking my vow to not buy things on Buy Nothing Day (*sigh* crap); read the comics.
Now I’m going to make cupcakes and listen to Al Green.
OMFG. WordPress has fucked me again with the pictures. Anyway. There are cupcakes. Yay!
Or, Sunday To Do:
Oh, fuck it. Let’s make a list.
- laundry the first (Oh, laundry, how do I love you?)
- start sponge for bread (Got late start, so there really is no time for the no-knead stuff – it’s back to my old bread bff, Tassajara. I do love you though, Mark Bittman, I really do.)
- mop the kitchen (Blah. Mopping, I dislike you as much as I love laundry.)
- work self into a snit over current events/sexism/state of the yard.
- eat something (Note to self: recent bad habit of 2 cups of coffee before breakfast = not good.)
- anticipate visit from the kids from the Valley (!)
- mirate very clean stove and oven, don’t think about how long cleaning said stove and oven took, don’t notice spots that will never be really clean because the fucker is at least 60 years old if not 70.
- laundry the second (*sigh* laundry….*sigh*)
- get sidetracked talking to LB
Ok, so the real fun is over on my lunch blog. Really, y’all. If you’re not logging your lunch, you’re missing out. Highlights include serious panda bento boxes, repetitive but delicious beans on toast, food fights between prominent London lawyers and peanut butter crackers stolen from small children. Ok, just kidding on that last one. And the one before that. But really. Go log your lunch.
I love a telephone survey. For real.
So this poor kid has my phone number – the last land line in non-Christendom – pop up on his list of people to call. God love the child, he didn’t know what he was in for. His calls for tonight were to ask questions about where people buy food. Lord.
Highlights from him: “Can you spell that for me?” “Do you consider that a food store?” “I understand.” (When clearly he didn’t but wanted me to shut the fuck up about how low prices aren’t necessarily a good value when it comes to food.)
Highlights from me: “Nope.” “They don’t carry that.” “Well, if by ‘selection’ you mean excessive fake choices, then I’d give them a 9.”
And then the “demographic information”…. Heh. Yes, I am of Hispanic Origin (thanks for asking!). And my “household income” is the lowest you have on your scale. And I’m white, which you like to call Caucasian, which is ok with me. And I’ve moved into the next age bracket, so I am no longer what you might call youthful.
“Thank you and I hope you have a nice evening.” You, too, kid. You, too.
See, I’m home now – ah, home *sigh* – but I didn’t get a chance to follow up with pictures from LI. Pictures! Let’s see if I can get wp to play nice.
Well, I can’t figure out how to caption anything, so I’ll give you a down and dirty narrative to read to yourself as you watch the slideshow.
When I went up north, we went clamming, and by we I mean that the gf clammed and I sat on the beach in the sun. She *loves* clamming! She got a lot of clams and put them in a bucket. Then we took them home and ate them with lemon and horseradish. The end.