Habitat Gym

hammerarmmodI want to open a gym. I’ll call it the Habitat gym. But instead of rowing machines, treadmills and weights, my gym will have shovels, hammers and hoes. Members will get fit by growing food for the local food bank, or by building low-cost housing or community amenities.

Trainers will match the job to the member—Want to work on your cardiovascular fitness? You’ll fetch tools and materials for the work crews, running back and forth from shed to building site or garden. Keen on weight training? You’ll be mixing cement or turning soil. Just want some gentle stretching and strengthening? You can weed or paint.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could capture all the human energy wasted every year at the gym and funnel it into meaningful projects that help others? Not only would people stay fit, they might be more likely to stick with their exercise regime if they know that what they are doing is meaningful and not just drudgery, if at the end of a year long gym membership, they count their success not just in pounds shed or muscle mass gained, but also in people fed and housed. If all that energy expended at the gym were harnessed for good, think what we could accomplish!

Organising the Tools

DSC_0008 smAs my husband’s new shop takes shape, I am gradually moving my gardening things into their new home in the old shop. Yesterday, my daughter and I arranged the large hand tools, each with its own spot on the wall of the shed. She even drew each tool on the wall in its designated spot, so that they would always be put away in the right places. It is the first time I have ever had my tools neatly arranged, so they aren’t snarled in a hopeless tangle of rake tines whenever I need something. Of course, it only works if the tools are put away. Now, where did that sword go?…

Not Yo Mamma’s Mac and Cheese

DSC_0005 copyGrowing up, I remember macaroni and cheese as something that was bright orange and came out of a box. Of course, I loved it. But as an adult, I have a hard time serving that sort of stuff to my family.

So, I started making mac and cheese using Joy of Cooking’s Baked Macaroni recipe, but there’s not much in it—it’s good, but not terribly interesting or nutritious. I began tinkering, and came up with Not Yo Mamma’s Mac and Cheese. My kids, of course, point out that it is their mamma’s mac and cheese, but the name stuck anyway.

This recipe makes a generous meal for our family of four, with lots of leftovers for lunch the next day.

500 g package elbow macaroni

2 large carrots, diced

1 ½ cups fresh or frozen peas (thawed if frozen)

1 ½ cups fresh or frozen corn (thawed if frozen)

1 onion, diced

2 stalks celery, diced

¼ cup chopped fresh parsley

1 ½ cups grated cheese (pick your favourite)

3 eggs

1 cup milk

bread crumbs

butter

salt and pepper to taste

Cook the macaroni. While macaroni is boiling, boil the carrots until just tender. Sauté the onion and celery in olive oil or butter until the onion is translucent. Add vegetables and cook just a few minutes longer, until everything is warm through. Mix in the parsley, and salt and pepper to taste.

Scald the milk, and beat in the eggs.

In a well-buttered casserole dish, layer macaroni, vegetables, and cheese, ending with a layer of cheese. Pour the egg mixture over the top. Sprinkle generously with bread crumbs and dot with butter. Bake at 190°C (375°F) for 30 minutes, until the egg is firm in the centre.

 

Stormy Weather

For the record, peri-menopause sucks. You know, for the first year of it, you think you’re just going mad, and wonder when’s a good time to call a psychiatrist. Then you figure out you’re just hormonal, and you can start to laugh it off. But the problem is that it keeps changing the rules without consulting you. Just when you think you’ve got the whole thing under control, it finds some new way to torture you. After eight years of it, I thought I had it pretty well sussed, but I’ve had some doozy hormonal storms lately. My goal is always to appear normal during them, but it’s not always possible with these super-storms. Here’s a little reflection on my day today…

 

 

Rage.

Pure,

White,

All-consuming.

I force myself to polite distance.

I do not look into

Anyone’s eyes.

I speak in short words.

I eat little,

Taking small bites,

Chewing slowly.

 

I am afraid

The rage will burst out

If I open my mouth.

If I allow myself to feel

Anything.

 

I scream

All day

Behind closed lips.

Only the straight jacket

Of iron will

Forcing me to smile

And speak softly

To the children.

 

I wait,

Knowing the rage is not mine

Knowing it will burn off

In a hot flash

Or dissipate

While I have my back turned.

Leaving me wasted,

Fragile,

Supported only by the taught nerves

It left behind.

Sushi

sushiclipThe boys in the family don’t care for sushi, so it’s not often I get to eat it. But now and again when my daughter and I are out, we’ll take advantage of the opportunity to eat sushi without them.

Facing another Friday dinner of cheese sandwiches between band practices, I decided it was time for a sushi splurge—vege tempura today, a rather different take on vegetarian sushi from the ubiquitous avocado and carrot filled ones. Sort of a cross between sushi and fish and chips. Not bad, actually, and a nice change from cheese sandwiches.

 

No One Cooks in a Novel

No one cooks in novel.

This isn’t strictly true, but in general, no one cooks, uses the toilet (except for in middle grade novels of a certain type…), washes the dishes, brushes their teeth, or cleans the house. These are ordinary, everyday activities—who wants to read about them?

__________________

Toby crept into the bathroom shortly after midnight. The house was dark and silent. But, wait, there was a dark form ahead of him. He flicked on the light. A bloodcurdling scream rent the air as he saw his sister on the toilet.

__________________

Carla was chopping onions…again. She didn’t even know what she was going to cook, yet, but she knew it would have onions. Chopping them gave her time to think, to plan. But she wasn’t planning dinner. When her husband came home from work and stepped up behind her to give her his standard peck on the top of the head greeting, she turned and plunged her knife into his chest.

__________________

Still waking up, Jason washed his face, then grabbed his toothbrush. He flicked open the toothpaste and squeezed, but what came out of the tube was not minty paste. Instead, it was foul and dark, and melted the toothbrush when it touched it.

__________________

OK, maybe it’s good our day-to-day lives aren’t worthy of a novel. Remember that the next time you think life is too boring.

Dining Room Bustle

Meet me in the dining room for a game of ping pong.

Meet me in the dining room for a game of ping pong.

Our house is small, and most rooms do double duty. None more so than the dining room. The dining room table serves as a place to eat, of course, but it is also a desk for homework, an art table, a staging area for bread on baking days, a games table, and, with the addition of a ‘net’, a ping pong table.

With the only floor strong enough, the dining room also holds the piano, so serves as the music room. It is also the main entrance to the house, a cloak room, and a hallway between the bathroom and the rest of the house.

So much bustle for such a small room!

Salad Junkie

salad greens2 smLots of parents fret about their teenagers’ eating habits. Given the freedom and a little pocket money, most teens make bad food choices. I can’t judge—I was one of those teens once, splurging on chocolate and Coca-Cola every chance I got. My son is no different, though his vices tend toward the salty side—chips and cheesy breads.

But I don’t worry. He thinks I’ll reprimand him for the empty chip bag that comes home in his lunchbox (he didn’t get them from home…), but I know that his real weakness is salad.

Yep, salad. With a homemade vinaigrette, and plenty of dark, nutty lettuces and spinach. Maybe some nasturtium flowers for colour and a little zing…

He eyes the salad bowl after everyone has had seconds, waiting to see if his sister will fight him for what’s left. She often does, and I would, too, except that my parental instinct is to let them gorge on salad. Rarely is there anything left when the table is cleared.

How did it happen, this salad craving? I have no idea, except that our salads aren’t iceberg lettuce and an anaemic slice of greenhouse tomato. They have flavour and colour. The kids know the names of all the varieties of lettuce I plant, and they enjoy the range of “extras” we add, like nasturtium, salad burnet, and parsley.

“I like that drunk lady,” my son said one day after polishing off the salad greens, “It’s so…succulent.” He was referring to Drunken Woman Fringed Head—one of our reliable year-round lettuces (but that won’t stop me from using the quote as blackmail someday). How can a kid not like lettuce with a name like that?

So, let them have a few chips and some chocolate. I know that they’ll come home and stuff themselves with salad. That’s serious junk food!

Renovation reminiscing

DSC_0002 sm

Stripping the old…

I love my kitchen, but it wasn’t always so. When we moved into our house, the kitchen was appalling. What little cabinetry was there was obviously taken from some other kitchen—it didn’t particularly fit the space, and had clearly been cobbled together. In the spaces between cabinets, crude wooden shelves had been tacked up. A tiny sink and an ancient electric range (with a bare wire inside that regularly electrocuted mice) completed the kitchen’s amenities. The kitchen had obviously been built as a lean-to many years ago. Later, the roof had been lifted somewhat to improve the space. Still, that part of the house is well over 100 years old, and little real repair work had ever been done to it. The floor had dangerously soft patches, where you felt that the only thing between you and the ground was a 50 year-old sheet of linoleum. The walls behind the cabinets were largely unlined, and in the winter, cold wind poured through the cracks, chilling everything in the cabinets. The previous owners had weather stripped the cabinet doors in an unsuccessful attempt to reduce the freezing gales whipping across the kitchen floor. Mice scampered in and out through myriad holes in the floor and walls.

Something drastic had to be done.

Enjoying the new.

Enjoying the new.

We set up the toaster and an electric hot plate in the living room and completely gutted the kitchen. Two weeks of hard work, and the room had a new floor, new walls, new cabinetry, a big double sink, and (the big splurge) a beautiful 5-burner gas range. The hideous, unusable space had been transformed. We use the kitchen so heavily that, five years on, we can begin to see wear and tear on things, but I still love the space. It was worth every blister to create it!

Blood, Sweat and Tears

DSC_0005 copyWell…OK, mostly blood today. You know how, every once it a while you’re doing something and think, “Man, this is really dumb. I could get seriously hurt,” but you keep doing it anyway? Yep. That was me, preparing pumpkins for stuffed pumpkins. Some of them had relatively thin flesh, and I could quickly saw a neat hole in the top. Others were thicker, and the knife had a tendency to bind in the flesh. Next thing I knew, I was plunging the knife into my thumb instead of the pumpkin. Serves me right. Not like I didn’t know it could (probably would) happen.

As I grabbed a tea towel and wrapped it around the thumb, I was reminded of another slip of the knife many years ago. I was working at a food booth at the PA Renaissance Faire, and was slicing onions for onion rings. The onion slipped, and my knife sliced deep into my finger. I reached for a towel and wrapped it around my finger, then started toward the first aide tent. Unfortunately, I fainted half way there (two c-sections and a lot of injuries later, and I’m not so queasy about blood). By good fortune, the cutest guy at the Faire found me, picked me up and carried me the rest of the way to the first aide tent. Later, he sang a humorous, impromptu song about the incident, but alas, I never spoke to him again.

I was more fortunate today. Though I didn’t faint, the cutest guy in the house fetched me a bandage and finished cooking dinner for me.