No One Else But Me

Google "yourfirstname believes" and post the interesting ones.

Kat believes she's ready for them all
Kat believes that if every soldier got the same food and the same pay, the war would end
Kat believes her own house in Jasper has a ghost
Kat believes strongly in the power and confidence of outward and inward image
Kat believes that no matter what you're dealing with, there is infinite solution
Kat believes her mom is going to have another baby
Kat believes it is important to "collaborate with the various groups to help build a network of information and support for those who need it
Kat believes that Fitness and High Level Wellness is accessible to all
Kat believes every woman has the right to prosperity, love and a damn fine handbag

oh... my... goodness.

Turned the corner of the deck, in my garden digging. Am just cutting and turning the sod, right now. It's beautiful and black, but so very clay-ish. Sphagnum moss. It needs sphagnum moss. Weeded the flower bed AGAIN. I'm more than a little scared by what's growing there, and how fast. I need to get the soil amended and mulch put down STAT. The ground is lovely and warm, though the temps went down to freezing last night. It's good to have a southern exposure with no shade a'tall, at this time of year.

Zzzzzzz?

Zzzz


zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

My new favorite blog:

http://keywestproperties.blogspot.com

A girl can dream, you know. I am going crazy trying to find my home design 3-D software. Where IS IT? Why is it HIDING? I saw it right before I LEFT. Doesn't it know that I really, really, really need to design my Key West dream house TODAY?

While I was away on my "Spring break," Spring seems to have sprung in my part of the world. The snow, which had been ever-present since before Thanksgiving, has melted. Daytime temperatures have been in the high forties or fifties, which for us Midwesterners is no-coat weather. Nighttime temperatures aren't cold enough to frost. The ground thawed and was saturated with rain, rain, and more rain. And...



My garden is coming to life. You'll excuse the poor look of the soil, I got ripped off by my landscaper and will amend it when I can... you'll also excuse the no-moisture cracks in it because it had rained just the night before. But look! Plants are coming up!



And bunnies are nibbling them, of course. We'll see how that pans out, this summer. Also, my old nemeses the mourning doves have returned from their winter retreat. One can hardly go outside for a minute without hearing one, or walk down the street without startling one. Last summer, I thought that if my house had a name, it would have to be Dove Cottage because of all the doves and because the house itself is small and gray. But, every house in this neighborhood is small and gray, and they all have the doves. Alas.



Yesterday I took me to the garden center and bought four big planters and four big bags of dirt. I was wise to stop, because more wouldn't have fit in my car. I put the planters on my back deck, filled them up, and planted sweet peas in two of them. I am told that sweet peas don't mind a wee bit of frost, and that this is the time to plant them. I do hope so. When they begin to take hold, I'll put cone-shaped wire frames in the planters and train them up and over those. I do hope they'll be lovely. You remember my one solitary sweet pea from last summer?



And Pudding seems to have thrived in my absence. Good kitty.

Candy protests, "that picture is not making me want to go there." Being from Florida, she of course knows that it's a picture taken from a causeway between two of the Florida Keys--U.S. Highway 1. She wants to know if I can get a palm tree in.

I live to serve, Candy.



That was the most overcast of the days I was there. Most of the time, it was sunny, slightly breezy, and comfortably warm. Coming from the long, frigid Midwestern winter, the sunshine was like a lovely tonic on my nerves. It feels so free and light and wonderful to go outside without a coat... you know?



I did lots of the things one is supposed to do on Key West. I visited the butterfly conservatory







I visited Hemingway's house, and made nice to his polydactyl cats







I walked up and down Duval Street (and had my palm read!)





I chased chickens



I soaked up the good life under lighted trees at night, and in sleepy bars in the afternoon (and yes, I had a beer at Sloppy Joe's, though I could hardly call that bar "sleepy"), I walked and sat on the beach, I waded in the Gulf of Mexico (or is it still the Atlantic ocean, on Key West?), I ate lots of wonderful seafood and succulent fruit, I sunburned my nose, I ate key lime pie... in short, it was great. I'm in love with Key West. The next time I find myself playing the "If I had a billion dollars..." game, a house in Key West--maybe one of the quiet, dignified ones across Front Street from the Truman complex--is going to be on my wish list.

You are my Pudding
My only Pudding
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don't take
My Pudding away

And: a message from the doctor's office, asking me to call them back when I can. How exciting, it must be about my chest x-ray. Anyone want a flutter on whether or not I had walking pneumonia in Key West? I had to run to make my connection in Detroit this afternoon, and had something very much like an asthma attack when I got to the plane. Couldn't get much air in and out for several breaths, unless I was coughing it.

House fine. Pudding fine and loving me to bits. Life is good.

Productive cough and, oh joy, possibly a sinus infection already. Starting to feel tired.

Off to Florida.

Used the inhaler before bellydance tonight. It tasted nasty, but it did prevent that tight, have-to-cough-it-out feeling in my chest. I still coughed a little, but it was open and productive. I was reading about asthma on Wikipedia... I understand why athletes want to be diagnosed with asthma so that they get prescription bronchodilators. One just gets a lot more air in and out.

This was the last of the first set of classes. We did a two-minute choreographed piece, and played with veils some more. It was good. Looking forward to the next set.

There is no joy in Snowville, mighty Winter won't strike out.



Le sigh, le yearn, le ennui. It is still snow, snow, snow here. I should start some of these in pots indoors, though, so they bloom before July.

Woke up with postnasal drip and consequentially grotty throat, got worried about getting sick AGAIN, and made appointment with doctor. Went to doctor at 2. Doctor ordered a chest x-ray and an Albuterol inhaler (!!!), and if I'm not better by the time I get back from vacation, I'm going to be given an asthma test.

Nobody in my family has asthma.

Boo. All of you people who are having Spring, and green growing things, and butterflies and flowers. All of you. There are several and you know who you are. Boo on you.

Last night's snow is about half-melted. We're getting more on Friday.

Boooooooooooooooooooo.

Like so many people my age, my parents lived out their early years in the stultifying culinary atmosphere of the 1950s, and went away to college at just the time that pizza and Mexican restaurants were beginning to happen. As a result, they're suckers for ethnic restaurants and my own childhood involved lots of them: Greek, Indian, Russian, Korean, German, as well as Chinese and Mexican and the not-exotic-at-all Italian. Funnily enough, the only category of food that I can't contemplate eating are the organ meats that my parents were raised on--liver and onions, anyone, or cold tongue, or perhaps a fried brain sandwich? Eugh. No thanks.



The hallmark of my own generation, I suppose, is that we feel motivated to replicate these ethnic dishes in our own kitchens. Now, my parents weren't free of that. When my mother was pregnant with me she took a Chinese cooking course, and stir-fry was a semiweekly dinner while I was growing up. In summer 2000, when I was home from college for a few weeks, we ordered a huge box of bulk spices and dals, and had a field day with a Madhur Jaffrey book. I know all about making panir, and popping mustard seeds in hot ghee.



My parents aren't as susceptible to novelty items as I am, though. Maybe it's because they were raised by Depression-Era parents and I was raised by Boomer parents. If I see a grocery item in a funny color, I must have it! If I hear about a new kind of cheese, I must taste it! These are impulses my parents are capable of squashing. Alas, not I. Thus, I own a rainbow of colored rices from Super Target: black, red, and this green "bamboo rice."



It tastes just like any other rice, perhaps slightly aromatic. It does have a very lovely color, both dry and cooked, and harmonized nicely with the green snap peas and white mushrooms. The original plan for this stir-fry had been to have white squid for protein, but the squid... well... they were left over from my meze party, and let's say that thawed squid doesn't keep in the fridge for a week, and leave it at that. I used shrimp instead, so the stir-fry was tri-color instead of bi-color. I also used an experimental garlic sauce of hot water, corn starch, and five cloves of garlic pressed. With no soy sauce, one has to season this, also.



Result: three perfectly acceptable lunches. Mission accomplished.

I ain't got the time
And if my daddy thinks I'm fine
Just try to make me go to rehab
And I won't go go go

Boo. Will somebody dance the twist with me to Rehab?

The mah jong party yesterday was lovely. I brought the game and some snacks, and the four of us met at the place with the squarest table (and it was very, very square.) The hostess of the square table entertained us with her collection of llamas (stuffed llamas--llama wall hangings--llama dish towels) and we played some rounds of mah jong. Excellent.



The wall, built up, before dealing.



In the process of dealing.



One of my hands, before play started.



Play in progress.



Play still progressing; the discard pile accumulating.



The end of another hand that I almost won; you see kongs of green and white dragons, two chows, and that lone nine-character. So close, I tell you, so close.

When we had played a few hands, Our Lady of the Llamas treated us to a dinner of recipes from The Pioneer Woman Cooks: the best lasagna. Ever., olive cheese bread, some salad for relief from the calorificity of it all, and these crazy apple dumplings. Yes, they are too dangerous to exist.



And the lucky turtle snacked on nori maki crackers. Altogether a lovely afternoon/evening that will have to be repeated as soon as I get a proper wooden card table.

Downloaded from iTunes:

Give Me One Reason by Tracy Chapman
Rehab by Amy Winehouse (ZOMG WHY HAVEN'T I HEARD THIS BEFORE TODAY??? Sparroweye, why didn't I ever listen to this before today?)

The World Market here is closing, and everything in the store is on clearance. Hmm. Though I'd altogether rather have it in town than not, it isn't a place I go often, so I was more pleased than not to have such a consumer opportunity put in front of me.



Especially when I found the display of blue-and-white Chinese-style porcelain. Aha! Here is something I really appreciate.



I am a veteran with much experience in the trenches of consumer warfare. Dear readers: if you see something so pretty and perfect and cheap, and there are no budgetary reasons to restrain yourself, my advice is buy it right then and there, without hesitation. You'll regret it if you don't.



I haven't the foggiest idea where I'll store all of this (though using it is no problem--hello more parties!), but it was so lovely. All eight sauce dishes are different. Isn't that wonderful?



Small platters. Just precisely what I wanted for the meze party. Just precisely what I want always. I adore dishes.



A very happy shopping experience, and very apropos. There will be mah jong this afternoon, and if I'm a sensible Kat, I'll take pictures.



Here's hoping.