So, the Elder Child comes home last night and is stoked about Pi Day (today - March 14, or 3.14 - get it? GET IT?!?) and says his math class has decided they will celebrate Pi Day with pies.
"Fabulous!" says I, along with, "What kind of pies is your teacher bringing in?"
Insert cricket sounds.
Well, apparently, it's a volunteer thing. As in, the kids have volunteered to let their parents get pies for them to bring in for Pi Day. Easy enough - I have to go to the store, anyway.
HOWEVER, this child adores pumpkin pie, and, according to a recent Buzzfeed post, the peak time for pumpkin pie recipes is guess when? Not March. But, hope springs eternal, so off we go to the big Safeway and guess what? No fresh pumpkin pie in the bakery. Off to the frozen foods! Surely, Sara Lee or Marie Callender have frozen pumpkin pies, even in March!
Alas, no.
I brought Elder Child with me, and as I turned to tell him he'd probably have to go with one of the apple pies readily available back at the bakery, he looked at me with his blue eyes and a part of me whispered, "He was so excited about Pi Day, to the point of explaining to his younger sibs how it works, and he even volunteered to get a pie to participate. Admittedly, you're now committed to this, also, but check out that enthusiasm!"
So, off to the refrigerated section - pie crust selected. Down to the canned vegetable aisle, where canned pumpkin could not be found because that's too obvious. Off to the baking aisle, where it was nestled comfortably with its Thanksgiving companions, evaporated milk and marshmallows.
Home we went, oven turned on, pie crust unrolled, ingredients combined, and, just over an hour later - the house smelling like that time between Thanksgiving and Christmas when you're ready to forgive the year for all its ills - pumpkin pie.
Enjoy your Pi Day, little man, and thank you.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Saturday, January 28, 2012
My dogs
I love dogs. I especially love my dogs. I tried to have a cat companion, but he took one look at my father and it was all over for us. So, I stayed with dogs. And, soon, I have to face the Tough Decision with one of them.
This won't be the first time. That was in October 2010, and not a day goes by that I don't think of his final moments at the vet. And I saw that as my ultimate springboard into adulthood. Not getting married, buying property, having sustainable employment, or giving birth. No. Those were important, no doubt, but taking that little dog in for his final vet visit was the most grown-up thing I've ever done. And soon, possibly before the end of the year, I'll have to do it again.
We got our first dog as a fifth anniversary present. He was a four-pound pug puppy and we adored him immediately. And he was an awful puppy. He hated riding in cars, preferring the destination to the journey every time. When we brought home our first child, he greeted us at the top of the stairs to the basement, tail wagging furiously, and said, "Hello! I love you!" to the baby with the enthusiasm only a dog can show.
That baby was followed by a second dog, and then a second baby. The first dog once again showed his joy at having another baby (and Cheerios source) in the house. A third dog, this time a rescue, was added, along with a move, and the Elder Dog bore it well. He was my constant companion, accepting the changes to his life with ease (even though we used to joke that he was placing personal ads for child-free homes on Cragslist all the time).
We added one more baby to his life, and his effervescence was obvious. He loves babies. He loves people. He doesn't care when other dogs see him - he only sees the people they're with. Only now, he can't see too well. He can't hear any more, and he has arthritis. He has a tough time getting down the stairs, and he takes glucosamine for his joints. But lately . . .
But lately, it's gotten harder. And I'm going to have to call the vet again. And I'm going to fulfill the promise I made when we got him on a painfully gorgeous September morning almost 13 years ago - I was here almost at the start, and I will be there at the end.
This won't be the first time. That was in October 2010, and not a day goes by that I don't think of his final moments at the vet. And I saw that as my ultimate springboard into adulthood. Not getting married, buying property, having sustainable employment, or giving birth. No. Those were important, no doubt, but taking that little dog in for his final vet visit was the most grown-up thing I've ever done. And soon, possibly before the end of the year, I'll have to do it again.
We got our first dog as a fifth anniversary present. He was a four-pound pug puppy and we adored him immediately. And he was an awful puppy. He hated riding in cars, preferring the destination to the journey every time. When we brought home our first child, he greeted us at the top of the stairs to the basement, tail wagging furiously, and said, "Hello! I love you!" to the baby with the enthusiasm only a dog can show.
That baby was followed by a second dog, and then a second baby. The first dog once again showed his joy at having another baby (and Cheerios source) in the house. A third dog, this time a rescue, was added, along with a move, and the Elder Dog bore it well. He was my constant companion, accepting the changes to his life with ease (even though we used to joke that he was placing personal ads for child-free homes on Cragslist all the time).
We added one more baby to his life, and his effervescence was obvious. He loves babies. He loves people. He doesn't care when other dogs see him - he only sees the people they're with. Only now, he can't see too well. He can't hear any more, and he has arthritis. He has a tough time getting down the stairs, and he takes glucosamine for his joints. But lately . . .
But lately, it's gotten harder. And I'm going to have to call the vet again. And I'm going to fulfill the promise I made when we got him on a painfully gorgeous September morning almost 13 years ago - I was here almost at the start, and I will be there at the end.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Thanksgiving Traditions
So, I have spent the last many several hours indulging in sparkling wine (not Champagne, because there's some kind of regional French scuffle over calling it that) and baking apple pies. Why? Because this year, like many other years, our Thanksgiving is coming to us in a box, courtesy the good people at Giant Food (or, whatever they're called now that they've been bought out several times over since I graduated from high school in the mid-80s). But, I digress. So, while the box contains a de rigueur pumpkin pie (as required), I have chosen to make something else.
Two something elses, actually, but quite close in nature. One is a cranberry-apple-pecan-raisin pie, and the second is an apple-cranberry pie. Identical, yes? NO!!! According to someone not all that close to me (but in this house, regardless), the crust is the difference. As in: I DID NOT MAKE THE CRUSTS!!! I allowed Pillsbury to do that for me, because, honestly, those folks have been doing it for how many years, and they pretty much have it down to a science. Me, I get frustrated and start adding too much water and the the next thing you know, we go from flaky pie crust to quiche in about five minutes.
Anyways, they are cooling off in my kitchen, and I'm happy about them. Next up - the sides. We all know turkey is the main Big Deal, yes? No. It's not. It's the sides. You can have the exotic, Martha Stewart-inspired rosemary-garlic mashed potatoes, but, heavens-to-Betsy, you had BETTER have those yeast rolls sitting right alongside them if you know what's good for you. And you do. The turkey, for the most part, is just window dressing. Oh, and the dressing (or, actually, STUFFING) is a pretty big deal, too. Giant, once again, is providing that, but I did pick up some Pillsbury (AGAIN!!!) packages because they were on sale at Safeway. Is that some kind of conflict? Main big meal from Giant, extras from Safeway? Who cares.
So, to keep the peace (which, thanks to the stoic efforts of many people this week), I am placing the pumpkin pie alongside my Epicurious apple-toasted-pecan-golden raisin-fresh cranberry pie. And my macaroni and cheese. Because my Grandma Helen would want it that way.
Two something elses, actually, but quite close in nature. One is a cranberry-apple-pecan-raisin pie, and the second is an apple-cranberry pie. Identical, yes? NO!!! According to someone not all that close to me (but in this house, regardless), the crust is the difference. As in: I DID NOT MAKE THE CRUSTS!!! I allowed Pillsbury to do that for me, because, honestly, those folks have been doing it for how many years, and they pretty much have it down to a science. Me, I get frustrated and start adding too much water and the the next thing you know, we go from flaky pie crust to quiche in about five minutes.
Anyways, they are cooling off in my kitchen, and I'm happy about them. Next up - the sides. We all know turkey is the main Big Deal, yes? No. It's not. It's the sides. You can have the exotic, Martha Stewart-inspired rosemary-garlic mashed potatoes, but, heavens-to-Betsy, you had BETTER have those yeast rolls sitting right alongside them if you know what's good for you. And you do. The turkey, for the most part, is just window dressing. Oh, and the dressing (or, actually, STUFFING) is a pretty big deal, too. Giant, once again, is providing that, but I did pick up some Pillsbury (AGAIN!!!) packages because they were on sale at Safeway. Is that some kind of conflict? Main big meal from Giant, extras from Safeway? Who cares.
So, to keep the peace (which, thanks to the stoic efforts of many people this week), I am placing the pumpkin pie alongside my Epicurious apple-toasted-pecan-golden raisin-fresh cranberry pie. And my macaroni and cheese. Because my Grandma Helen would want it that way.
Monday, November 21, 2011
120 hours to go and an FYC song
I'm starting to think I really don't have the energy or talent to pull this off. What started out as a way to blow off steam has worn me out. Throw work and just the day-to-day stuff in there, and while my mini-bar in the basement may look like a 20-something's dream, I'm better off with my daily McSweeney's reads and wishing I had 1% of that cleverness.
That written, I will say that the song playing in my local Safeway tonight certainly sets the theme for this week - "She Drives Me Crazy."
Oaky, so, this was fun, but you should get back to yer regularly scheduled blogs that probably do more than this (and that's a Roxy Music reference for you).
Tuesday morning edit: As a few people pointed out last night, it's good to use this on an occasional basis. Watch this space - our Safeway plays a lot of good music.
That written, I will say that the song playing in my local Safeway tonight certainly sets the theme for this week - "She Drives Me Crazy."
Oaky, so, this was fun, but you should get back to yer regularly scheduled blogs that probably do more than this (and that's a Roxy Music reference for you).
Tuesday morning edit: As a few people pointed out last night, it's good to use this on an occasional basis. Watch this space - our Safeway plays a lot of good music.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
144 Hours to go and three margaritas later
So, it's day two of this, and I've been getting busy with the bucket o'frozen margaritas in the freezer. I had a hellacious trip to Target and some severe irritation outside a Safeway, but I keep thinking of the mantra from one of my favorite movies, "Grosse Pointe Blank" - "I am at home with the me."
And that makes me think of popular culture. And how so many movies have set a precedent with stuff in my life. For example, I woke up this morning and realized I now have a blog and a gmail account. In the space of about ten minutes last night, I went from 43 to 27. Whoa. But I digress. I woke up thinking about "Sixteen Candles" and one of the best post-party scenes. Ever. You know it - Farmer Ted wakes up under Jake Ryan's coffee table. I was Farmer Ted. Next, I had a "Say Anything" epiphany of, "Every year, I throw this party, and every year, no one helps me clean up." As in, (from "The Incredibles"): "What did (I) do?!?"
This has to be short, because I think my BIL is getting tired of me doing this while we're Skyping, and I need to get another 'rita. If you can think of other John Hughes movies, or ones by Cameron Crowe, lemme know. And I think I'll be back to edit this. I can't feel my feet.
And that makes me think of popular culture. And how so many movies have set a precedent with stuff in my life. For example, I woke up this morning and realized I now have a blog and a gmail account. In the space of about ten minutes last night, I went from 43 to 27. Whoa. But I digress. I woke up thinking about "Sixteen Candles" and one of the best post-party scenes. Ever. You know it - Farmer Ted wakes up under Jake Ryan's coffee table. I was Farmer Ted. Next, I had a "Say Anything" epiphany of, "Every year, I throw this party, and every year, no one helps me clean up." As in, (from "The Incredibles"): "What did (I) do?!?"
This has to be short, because I think my BIL is getting tired of me doing this while we're Skyping, and I need to get another 'rita. If you can think of other John Hughes movies, or ones by Cameron Crowe, lemme know. And I think I'll be back to edit this. I can't feel my feet.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
168 Hours
I have 168 hours, three cases of beer (well, minus several bottles by now), 30 bottles of wine, and some hard liquor (thanks to some efforts by a dear friend) to get to next Saturday morning. Why, you may ask? Because it's the beginning of the high holies of holidays for the end of the calendar year - Thanksgiving.
Halloween doesn't count, because it's largely regarded as one of the highest of the children's holidays, so we start with Thanksgiving. A day to overindulge in turkey and all its accoutrements, and, in this house, a certain cloud of doom by visiting relative(s). So, what have I and The Husband done to counter this? Invest heavily in the offerings proffered by Safeway, Total Beverage, and our local ABC store (Alcohol Beverage Control for those of you beyond the Commonweal' of Virginia). What will this get me (beyond a fairly sizable hangover and some blurry memories)? Some measure of control.
I really don't know what I'm doing, besides giving in to what is the hope of every angst-riddled English major who hoped they'd be a Major Writer by now, but this is my first effort, and right now, my goal is to get to next Saturday, November 26, at about 11:00 in the a.m. Please bear with me. Oh, and if you have any drink recipes for tequila, rum, and vodka, please send them along.
Okay. Or, as I frequently type in texts to The Husband, Oaky.
Halloween doesn't count, because it's largely regarded as one of the highest of the children's holidays, so we start with Thanksgiving. A day to overindulge in turkey and all its accoutrements, and, in this house, a certain cloud of doom by visiting relative(s). So, what have I and The Husband done to counter this? Invest heavily in the offerings proffered by Safeway, Total Beverage, and our local ABC store (Alcohol Beverage Control for those of you beyond the Commonweal' of Virginia). What will this get me (beyond a fairly sizable hangover and some blurry memories)? Some measure of control.
I really don't know what I'm doing, besides giving in to what is the hope of every angst-riddled English major who hoped they'd be a Major Writer by now, but this is my first effort, and right now, my goal is to get to next Saturday, November 26, at about 11:00 in the a.m. Please bear with me. Oh, and if you have any drink recipes for tequila, rum, and vodka, please send them along.
Okay. Or, as I frequently type in texts to The Husband, Oaky.
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