High Gear

First things first.  Nabisco owns Oreos.  Secondly, that last post about killed me because I pasted it into Blogger from Word. I know Microsoft and Google don't play well in the sandbox, but seriously? It was a nightmare. Anyone know how to import posts? I can't always write in an open web browser.

Ok anyway, I'm doing it. I'm kicking this blog into high gear. A week or so ago Dustan sat me down and gave me a good kick in the teeth about how I'm not applying myself creatively in any way and I, in turn, went on whining about how I'm not going to be another woman trying to make a home-based internet business by covering bobby pins with Scotch tape and trying to sell them on Etsy. After all, I can't make a quilt or a scarf or a pair of earrings like some of my friends can. What was it he suggested I do? He said I should paint stuff for people, like the stuff I've done for our apartment. And that's when my brain disintegrated and kinda fell out of my ear like salt. Because the thought of painting something for myself gives me energy, but the thought of painting something for someone else, who may or may not buy it, who may walk right past it at a craft fair, makes me want to take a nap and suck my thumb (and set my little craft booth on fire) all at the same time.

I got a job working at a sweet company. Rishi Tea. They distribute loose leaf organic teas to a whole bunch of coffee shops, grocery stores, cafes, etc. Anyway, it used to be a small tea company in Milwaukee, and now it's a huge tea company in Milwaukee. I do officey-stuff at Rishi but all you really need to know is that every day I drink something like this

out of something like thisSo anyway, I have a job that is usually part time, but for the next bit or so, I'll be working a lot more than I thought. So the big blog ambition I have that was based on a lot more free time has been slightly dampened. But I'm still serious about blogging more. Dustan's pep talk lit a fire under me about blogging for no other reason than disicpline. Period. Comments and readership are cool, sponsored advertisements and flashing banners that make you money are great, sitting at home eating sushi and drinking Rishi Tea because you make money just by turning your computer on is even better - but that's really not the endgame. I honestly just want to see myself sitting before a blank white box, smoke coming out one ear as I try to get a sentence the way I want it. It's been a long time. And what better place to do that than on a blog, where friends can elbow you in the ribs when you quit posting.

I'm gonna try and give this blog a little structure to keep myself on track (Chris Farley). And I'm not sure how it's gonna work. I might hate it and scrap it and go back to Facebook to stay. Tell Dustan to go sell birdhouses at a craft fair.

Here are my features.

Monday.

At the start of the week I'll post a great recipe that is changing my life in the kitchen. These seem to be coming in at a much better rate than when I first started cooking, and I'm happy about it. But this can't be a cooking blog. I'm not VeganYumYum and I'm not Honest Fare and I don't come up with anything on my own. I just imitate. Sometimes the result is a nice surprise on our kitchen table, so I'll talk about it. Plus, a good food blog has to be a downright amazing photography blog. You know I'm right! My little Sony Cybershot just can't live up to the pressure.  (Winter salad by Gabi, Cupcakes by VeganYumYum)

Tuesday.

This is the day I'll publish a photo that I love. It will give me a chance to write about the people in my life.  And celebrities, the people in both our lives.  And pretty much any other thing imaginable. 

Wednesday.

Since we've moved to Wisconsin, the before and after projects haven't stopped. I mean, you just don't know. I've painted beds, dressers, desks, tables, chairs, walls, filing cabinets, mirrors, baseboards, doors, windows, pictures, picture frames, bookshelves and a hall tree. I've spackled, sanded, mixed, remixed, polyed, distressed, caulked and scrubbed. This will be my chance to take one of my little DIY projects and show it off. But, this can't be a design blog. There are cool things to look at in my apartment, but you have to go other places to find the coolest stuff, because I've just copied them best I can, and drooled over the stuff I couldn't.  Like, the following.





Thursday.

I don't know. I'm going back and forth on this one. I might just do a journal entry. Write about the nuances of my day, just to keep everyone on the edge of their seats. "Today I woke up and made Dustan a fried egg. I walked to Sanders Paint, four doors down to the left, and bought three quarts - red, blue and green. The sky was a big cotton ball, making it impossible to judge the time by looking outside. It's been grey like this for what seems like weeks, and when the sun does come out, we will all throw our windows open and dance in the street with beads and braids like it's our own Wisconsin Mardi Gras, in honor of the sunshine."

Or I thought about featuring a product. One that I buy regularly, and enjoy the process of buying; one that I love to use so much I tell other people they're nuts if they don't use it too. I think this could be interesting because there's so much superficiality and negativity connected to the words 'marketing,' 'product placement,' 'consumerism,' and 'advertisement.' But the truth is, there are some products all of us would love to stand on our chairs and endorse. This would be my chance to talk about my new hand creme from Anthropologie that Dust got me for Valentine's Day. Or the 4-story brick feed n' seed store where we go to buy Trail's dogfood from Mark, and always come home with free puppy treats. Or eggs. I'd love to talk about eggs. The word, the shape, the many ways to eat them, their mystery.

Friday.

I'm gonna talk about memories of the Appalachian Trail on Fridays. I know, I know. I dedicated a whole blog to it already. But really? It's an open, breathing memory. So many pictures left unpublished, so many stories left untold, so many piping hot cups of coffee to drink while typing them up.  Of course, if this gets stale, I'll talk about the other Trail in my life. She shows me around this great city every day and I love her. Her newest nickname is for early rising, when the bathroom light and steam from the shower cut through the sleepy haze of early-morning darkness. She yawns - making a sound that's almost language - stretches like a geriatric, and then clicks down the hallway, toenails on wood. That's when we call her Morning Star.

I Have Made A Decision

Why did I even create this space? I definitely had a lot of passion for it at one point. I think that passion was coupled with the fact that I was no longer blogging in a public library, wearing sweaty hiking pants that smelled like death. Tales From the Dairy Air was my back-to-real-life blog, in which I’d show off recipes (because I actually have a kitchen), and post pictures of my colorful painting projects (because my possessions are no longer reduced to what you can fit in a backpack). Even though I’m not looking over my shoulder to see how much time I have ‘til that diner down the street closes, leaving me cheeseburgerless and coffeeless, I still have trouble blogging regularly. The problem is our internet connection sucks. It just does. And beggars can’t be choosers, because we just mooch wireless off the bar downstairs. So I’ve gotten to a place where I barely even read my email any more. It’s so, so lame.

But the internet is just like soda. If you go cold turkey, you realize how much you don’t need it. Hey, you don’t even like it. Your relationship to the Internet is one more thing cluttering your life. It throws off your chi, it pulls you to a screen when you should be laughing and holding hands with real people and running through fields of wildflowers in Colorado. Until your bars pop back up, and there you are with a freshly launched browser, ready to take you anywhere you want to go. You can even find pictures of those wildflower fields! And now I’m flipping through the mental rolodex of Things I Meant to Google.

Home remedies for my dogs dry skin
Ray LaMontagne, images
Health food stores, Racine, WI
Recipes breakfast muffin bran
Where did the pilgrims first settle
Was 9/11 a conspiracy

And suddenly, what did I ever do without the internet? Not unlike that first fizzy Pepsi at the movie theatre with buttered popcorn. Unfortunately, I’ve only made it through half of my emails (and a whole wikipedia entry on Alicia Keys) until I realize that my connection just died again. And this ol’ blog takes the bottom rung.

But no more. I’m renewing my vows to this blog this day. Because I want to get more serious about the discipline of making some sort of creative deadline. The work situation I have right now allows me to be home a few days a week, and rather than drumming up another DIY project, I’m going to give some legitimate time towards the effort of making myself plug away at something creative - daily. In college I got so used to reading for a grade and writing for a grade that I’ve just about forgotten what it’s like to do it on your own initiative. (That’s my roundabout way of admitting that all I’ve done to stimulate my brain in the last 5 years is paint furniture and reread all my Nancy Drew hardbacks).

To kick off my rededication, I think I’m coming up with a plan. Yes, I’m going to come up with a plan. I’m going to attempt to make this blog a bit more regular, straight up predictable – maybe even boring. At this point, boring isn’t worse than coming here and finding the same post that was here nineteen days ago.

I’m not posting this here to make lofty promises to all nine of my readers. I’m really just telling myself, in front of all nine of you. My plan is to feature something every day of the week. It’s nothing ground-breaking for a blog or anything, but it will help keep me on some sort of track. And then I’ll be writing all the time. And then I’ll get nine million readers. And then an executive from Nabisco will find my blog and offer me money to eat Oreos all day long! It’s gonna be great. (See, here’s where I need the internet. Does Nabisco make Oreos? Or is it Keebler. Maybe Kraft? Doesn’t Kraft own Nabisco? But I’m not online, so who can ever know. And my question is – before the Internet, where did we find the answers to those kind of questions?). Anyway, there went that sponsorship. If you have any suggestions for features, I’d love to hear them. I'll keep what I have in mind up my sleeve, until I launch it. I'll start...this Monday.

*Rach - I had to delete this original post, reformat it and post again because I could not get the size of the font to obey me. Thanks for your initial comments though. You should write a cookbook.

Street Fight

I shouldn't have been up so late, and furthermore, shouldn't have been staring out my window like the persnickety lady with nothing better to do. But I was guilty on both counts, and so I saw the street fight. It wasn't the same as others. There was no pomp, no trash-talking, no chanting circle. Instead a few people were huddled around a car. At first I thought the car had rolled back on a guy. Then I saw that a man was beating this other guy on the ground, jerking him up to hit his head on the underside of the car, then punching him, then banging his head against the tire. When at last the few people around had started to pull this guy up off the ground, the man stepped back and screamed at the guy on the ground. Then he hauled off and kicked him in the face. So swift, like he was on a movie where he lost his job and then comes home and kicks over a trashcan for dramatic effect. A final blow. I watched the guy’s face split open and my blood ran cold.

Do you know how many people I’ve seen shot, stabbed, hanged and massacred on television? Nothing compares to real life. If you’ve ever witnessed an act of violence, you know. I thought about my husband sleeping in the bed. I thought of my freshly washed dishes. I scurried to the bedroom and burrowed down deep. He doesn’t snore. In fact, he looks so serene I want to pluck out one of his eyelashes. Instead I press his calves with my cold feet. I want to say You will never believe the fight that I just saw! It would only punish both of us at this hour. I make myself think instead of Scarlett O’Hara and Ashley and those big dresses. I see Margaret Mitchell hunched, scribbling furiously, churning out a saga so big, so vast, just words on paper. I want to go into another world altogether and forget that balding bastard who’s just beat a young drunk guy for whatever reason, and then stood, cool as a cucumber. I know he is about to go home to some family and put those same hands on sleeping bodies. Men have done this for ages I know, but tonight, the thought is too much for me. I shudder out loud and tell myself Rhett Butler.

Stuff People Make, Part 2

Ok, while I'm on the topic of making stuff, I couldn't resist sharing the awesomeness that is: The LiteBrite. Do you know this experience, coveted by all in the 80's? Do you remember the mind-numbing method of poking trillions of lights into black paper with a satisfying pop? You can imagine the Moment I had in that thrift store when I saw this puppy staring back at me for $3.50. Dustan's mom was with me, visiting at the time. I may or may not have pushed her down on the way to recapturing part of my childhood.


Even had the original box!

Moving on to a creative feat almost as impressive as the stove...I've had this picture in my recipe book for quite some time. We decided to attempt an ice cream cake bombe like this for Dustan's big 30th birthday this past December.

The trick to making one of these things is super simple. Pretend you're 7 years old and your mom just gave you the keys to the car and told you to go get groceries. We came home with a gallon of cookies n' cream ice cream, a half gallon of chocolate ice cream, brownie mix, a pack of Double Stuf Oreos, and two containers of Magic Shell. (Ahhh, Magic Shell. I could pour you over a twig and eat it).

Then you freeze the whole conglomeration. And then...

you party it up.




I also had a birthday in December! This was the absolute worst french toast I've ever had, even if Brahma did get up early to make it, cut it into heart shapes and dust it with powdered sugar. The best part was coming home after work and going downstairs and across the street to Asiana. Reeeeally good Korean food that cancelled out the french toast.

Trail made something this holiday season too. A new friend! Her name is Karma, she's a blue heeler and she is a spastic, frenzied wad of destruction on a leash. She kinda knows the system now, and when our door is open, she runs in and grabs a stuffed animal out of Trail's toy basket and then hops on Trail's bed and stares at her with an open-mouthed perma grin like What?

I guess that about sums up the making of stuff. And as completely messed up as this sounds, I feel like Christmas is finally here. What I mean is - I started working a job that was supposed to last a week at the beginning of December. But that week stretched into another week, and the next thing I know, I'm still working. It was, of course, a huge and timely blessing to have consistent work during this moving transition and the holiday season - but it definitely cramped my Christmas style. I like to have those interminable baking days. The kind that require multiple packages of almond bark and vanilla extract and peppermint sticks. I like to buy my gifts painfully slow. I look at them. I make Dustan look at them. And then I wrap them even slower than I bought them. I position them all nicely around our tree and they sit there for weeks, until I pack them up and drive them to Virginia. This year Christmas totally snuck up on me and there I was on Christmas Eve, painting and re-painting those two. freaking. dots.

We literally piled all our goodies into the car at 4am and drove straight thru the night. I took first shift, blinking back sleep in the middle of construction in Chicago, with salt-covered headlamps in the middle of an ice storm, and then -poof- we had landed in a pile of unwrapped presents on the east coast. Don't get me wrong, it was a total blast and sooo great to be with our families. But now that I'm back and settled in, and a foot of snow is in the forecast and our crock pot is bubbling with yummy goodness - I feel like saying Merry Christmas!

We're keeping our tree up til it's standing naked in a pile of needles.

Stuff People Make With Their Hands

I have a friend who used to date this guy and, well, she doesn't date him any more. When it was all finally over, she told me one of the things about him was that he didn't do anything with his hands. And it bothered her more than she knew. I thought it made perfect sense. I never knew I valued this in someone, but I totally do, and life would be totally not as good if I hadn't been surrounded by people who get their hands dirty. One of my grandfathers was a carpenter, the other was a coal miner. I grew up around farmers and a dad who cleaned fish in January. Lots of people are creative, lots of people have good ideas, but few are the people who stand in the cold or get a stiff back or endure scrape after scrape to the knuckle or overlook the blisters to produce something.

Behold 2 of the many snow sculptures that were chiseled out in downtown Racine this December. These people are serious about their dwarves and pigs in sacks and roses and sailors kissing women - in spite of the Wisconsin wind chill.


Here's what I contributed with my own two hands, thanks to the Balkcom family recipes I inherited when I got married. Buckeyes. Seriously worth the 1/8 pound-gained-per-every-bite ratio. (I CANNOT blog without my hyphenated phrases!)

Here's another creation people. My mom has been taking a pottery class at Southwest VA Community College, and I am so proud of her. After her first few classes I asked what did she think? How did it go? She reported several things. One was that the professor should have introduced everyone in the class. Another is that he should have told the class more about himself. Another was that there was a lady who wore so much pink! and didn't I think all that pink was over? And finally there was a girl my age with a mouth so filthy no one wanted to talk to her. (Gah.) Yes, but how about the pottery mom? Oh, she centered her first bowl on her own. Which was actually hugely reportable news because centering is hard to master! Whatevs.

Mom made me this to hang on my door.


And she threw Dustan this little bowl. I really love the glaze.


And here's one of the three pillows my Sis made me for my birthday! She found the felt birds at a lady's Etsy shop who lives in New Zealand. I am obsessed with this pillow.

And just to wrap things up, here is the end result of Dustan's stove project. After Olivia got hers, we decided to make one for our niece Amryn. I throw the "we" pronoun in only because I toiled over the paint and poly job. The real glory is Dustan's.











It might have been Amryn's Christmas present, but that little pink glossy door alongside the gold, and the way the smooth wooden knobs turn from high to low? Alllll for me. Dustan will you make me one?

*Crickets*

Please bear with the silence. I am currently working. I know, I know - it's unlike me to have a job. I'm riding to and from Milwaukee with Brahma every day, so that's nice. But I also have to get up before 6:00am to make life sane. That might sound like a contradictory statement. Wait - yup, it is.

I'm temping at an home health agency called IndependenceFirst. It's an amazing zillion-dollar facility and really fun to see disabled and able people working side-by-side. I hung out with a service dog the other day. He was the bigger, smarter, calmer version of Trail and his name was Magic. I'm not saying she's not the cutest ol' Baba ever, cause she is.



Or that she doesn't have killer flexibility, cause she does.


Or that I can't take her places, cause this girl loves herself a car ride.



This is us on the way to deliver the finished (but unpainted) stove!




I hope to get pics of the truly finished version from Dana after she paints it for Olivia. The good news is that I asked Dustan to build me a hovercraft so I can get to to work faster and push my wake-up time to 8. He says yes. It'll be done by Christmas Eve.