Transportation Meditations: Part 2, Bikes.

I have a limited experience with bicycles, but I appreciate their image.
Unfortunaetely, I've never been very serious or steady with them.
A bike has coasted into my life every 10 years or so, leaving knees skinned, muscles worn, tears.

I have an early memory of visiting my father, his wife Carla, and her children in Starke. Probably there were Tyler cousins around too. I was being carried around on the handle bars of someone's bike, when one of my (surely bare) feet strayed into the danger zone of the bicycle's spokes. A flip. A flop. A dusty end. Wailing ensued.

Later on my own bike, on the dead-end street near my grandma's, I would ride around with the gang of neighborhood kids. Us girls all toted our baby dolls in pink and purple baskets attached to our pink and purple bikes. Kristy had a Cabbage Patch Kid that I envied, a reminder of my (relative) poverty (no Cabbage Patch Kids, no summer camps, no labels). Jamie had a Kimberly Cheerleader doll who was massive, long-legged, short-skirted, with long, flowing locks of blonde.
I had an ugly plastic baby named Suzy (I named them all Suzy for a while) who would really pee. I would feed her a bottle of water, and she would immediately soak her diaper. Her eyes would close when you lay her down and open when held upright. My unsteady bike wheels weaving through patches of dirt.
Suzy skidding across the dead-end street with a strangely satisfying thud rattle thud rattle. Her plastic nose whittled down by the gravely road, her dress- tattered.

I had a Salvation Army $20 bike briefly when I was a student at UF. I wasn't bravehearted enough to ride it around town, but I happily rode it up and down campus paths until it was stolen by a Grateful Dead dreadlocked kid (I'm fairly certain of this). My memories of this bike and this time are mostly of being extremely sweaty in the hot Florida sunshine, the aroma of Hare Krishna food, and the color yellow.

Current day. I found a bright, day glo orange/pink beach cruiser in my mother-in-law's barn, destined for a landfill. I had dreams of transforming her into something more serious, respectable, useful. I painted her a deep wine color, I fixed up her bungling wheels, I moved her with us here in Takoma Park. And here my dreams met reality. The bike has no gears, no brakes. I'm terrified riding her in the street. I can't get up even a smallish hill, and here there are many hills smallish and large-ish. Pulling Noah along behind me in his little bike trailer is a Herculian feat. And Hercules, I ain't.

I haven't given up on the whole bicycle experience. I just haven't found the right bike for my current situation. Takoma Park is pretty bike friendly, there are bike lanes, people are zipping by on snazzy bikes right outside the coffee shop window as I type this.

My husband bikes to work daily. I'm so proud of him. He does it because he wants to get around without a car, without depending on oil, without polluting the environment, because it's a great workout, because he enjoys it, and because he likes to challenge himself.

I fantasize about Michael, Noah, and I coasting along together (as a biking family) through quaint little villages, breeze across our brows, stopping in a shady, quiet, spot for a picnic.
  





   

Wildness, Freshness, and other Culinary Adventures

I'm reading and adventuring, so that you don't have to. You can just read about my experiments and then decide whether you want to embark on similar ventures. It's a service I'm offering you. Really. It's kind of like Fear Factor. Dare me! I'll try it! I have no fear.
Unlike Fear Factor, however, I haven't been drinking rancid meat cocktails or diving into piranah invested waters. Instead, I've been trying out new stuff in the kitchen. Culinary adventures.
Here's an update of sorts:

Since I started making my own yogurt, I've been looking for something to do with all of the leftover WHEY. Homeade yogurt is a bit runnier than store-bought, so I like to strain my runny yogurt, which results in the awesomest, thick, rich, Greek-style yogurt. You can make your own Greek-style yogurt or even yogurt cheese by just plopping it in a strainer lined with coffee filters. A bowl underneath catches all the whey as it drips out. The longer you leave it straining, the thicker the yogurt gets until- VOILA- you have CHEESE! 

Anyways, I think it's a shame to just toss the remaining whey puddle. So I checked out a few books on Lacto-fermentation. That's where you use whey to ferment food- change it radically- and wonderfully.

Just think of all you love that relies on fermentation: WINE, BEER, CHEESE, BREAD!!!! But I wasn't familiar with Lacto-fermentation, so I decided to get me some edumacationz on the subject. If you're interested, check these books out (or don't, because I already did it for you, remember!):

Nourishing Traditions by Sally Fallon. This book really opened my eyes. It's partially a very thorough textbook on nutrition, at times delving into biology. It's also a cookbook, with simple recipes on making your own mayonnaise and salad dressing, to more advanced stuff like pickling (with WHEY!). In the picture above, you can see jars of my own Lacto-fermented cukes and carrots. I'd like to report that they are as delicious as they look. But that'd be a bald-faced lie. Sadly, these were not what I'd hoped for. But I'll totally try, try again. The subtitle of Fallon's book is, The Cookbook that Challenges Politically Correct Nutrition and the Diet Dictocrats. So it's partially a critique of low-fat, low-carb, vegetarian, and vegan diet know-it-alls. But honestly, I found Sally's tone to be a bit preachy and dictocratic herself. It bugs me when people speak with such aggressive certitude. But, le sigh, we all have our flaws, ironies, contradictions... With that said, I'll probably still invest in a gently used copy of this book because it is so chock full of information. And she quotes the Little House books! I will have to do a seperate post on my undying love for all things Laura Ingalls Wilder. Love you, Half-pint! Blowing you kisses, Michael Landon!

Wild Fermentation by Sandor Ellix Katz was right up my alley! Katz, an HIV/AIDS survivor who lives in a commune in the woods, began healing himself by incorporating wildness (in the form of live-culture food) into his body. From his website he explains what is so wild about fermentation, "Wild fermentation is a way of incorporating the wild into your body, becoming one with the natural world. Wild foods, microbial cultures included, possess a great, unmediated life force, which can help us adapt to shifting conditions and lower our susceptibility to disease. These microorganisms are everywhere, and the techniques for fermenting with them are simple and flexible." There are recipes for saurkraut, kimchi, miso, tempeh, and plenty o' brews. A common theme between Wild Fermentation and Nourishing Traditions, is the connection to the past that we can rediscover through food by using these 'primitive' techniques. Nothing much more old-school than the slow-food movement.  

Canning and Preserving with Ashley English. Beautiful book! I mean it. If you like looking at fantastically ripe, gorgeous, seasonal vegetables and fruit, this book could very well be your new porn. She seperates the book by seasons and encourages you to can and preserve according to what is currently in season in your area. She explains and illustrates canning techniques thoroughly for the newbie. She has basic recipes for pickling and such, but she goes way beyond with recipes for exotic chutneys, marmalades, and sauces. Lip-smacking! She also has a great blog, another book on keeping chickens, and one about tending bees coming out soon too. In other words, I want to be Ashley when I grow up. Don't be misled, Ashley doesn't do Lacto-fermentation.

For Mother's Day, it snowed here in Syracuse. All. Day. Long. But on the bright side, my dear husband gifted me two wonderful books. Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day by Zoe Francois and Jeff Hertzberg, which I've previously mentioned on this here blog. And Home Cheese Making by Ricki Carroll (this is the Bible for cheese makers!). Needless to say, I'll be busy in the kitchen.       

 

On the road again, U-haul, and a Birthday

We stuffed the car with birthday presents and luggage and zoomed off to explore the DC area, and to wrap our minds around yet another
Big Daunting Move.
Moving is usually rather traumatic for me.
A snip snipping of ties, a fare thee well to new friends, favorite restaurants, local libraries and parks, a tree we planted, a front porch, a hammock, ghosts of our younger selves that we leave behind.
For a year or so after we moved to NY from CA, Michael and I would cringe and shudder every time we saw a U-haul- I would actually feel nauseous- our moving experience was that awful. We broke down in the hot summer desert...us, our baby, two cats, and all our worldy possessions melting beside the road. This was in the middle of nowhere with no cell phone coverage. We hitched a ride with a kindly trucker. Instead of U-haul repairing our blown tire, they sent another U-haul over a day later. Poor Michael had to unpack the first one and repack in crazy Tetris Master style in 100 degree + stifling heat. Meanwhile, the cats are a'yowling and Noah's a'crying and we're all stuck in a flea-bitten motel room watching the weather channel. And we were traveling with the grief of Michael's father's death, which had just occurred two months prior.
Yep, U-haul evokes a deep nasty sorrow.
Anyhooo- this move is different. Michael has a sweet absent-minded professor job lined up. We're looking forward to living in a more diverse urban area so close to DC, and all the opportunity that brings. We will be situated between my family and friends in FL, and Michael's family in NY. It seems like a good fit for us.
But it's still a leap into the unknown. And I have to summon my strength to surrender control, to let go.
Who knows what paths we'll travel, who we'll meet and befriend, what we'll learn, and how we'll grow?
In fact, we are all transient in life, just passing through.

Oh yeah, so we had Noah's 4th birthday On the Road, and he really loved being stuck in the car with his mom and dad and nana. He really did. He chatted and chatted and sang and laughed and found pleasure in the smallest of things; the hotel elevator, a bridge we drove over, spotted cows in a field, sun peeking through the murky clouds. So lucky he's here to remind us of the important things in life.
Here Noah stands with the awesome Marble Run he constructed in our hotel room. He holds up his fingers and says, "I'm 4 now!"

I Sewed an Apron...all by myself...but with help from many.

I made this apron.

You may want to put on some sunglasses and earmuffs

because the apron is really pretty

BRIGHT and LOUD!

(And not the most flattering.)

But I like 'er.

I must give credit where credit is due:

Aunt Beth bestowed upon me an

awesome sewing machine

(which I had no idea how to even thread),

Michael presented to me a Sewing class

(so that I could learn which way was up and not injure myself),

the thrift store so wonderfully had a half off sale

and I purchased a strange and bold large scarf/small sheet for 25 cents,

and my friend, and fellow Sewer Seamstress (that's with a capital "S") 

Patti, loaned me the apron pattern.

Voila!

Now, when I am fooling around in the kitchen making Apple Crisp (as pictured above) or whatnot,

I won't get the apple or crisp all over myself.

Next sewing project? Maybe some pajama bottoms for Noah and Michael?

Any suggestions? Tips?

No Snowshoe Rentals Today

When we arrived at  the Beaver Lake Nature Center today, we were greeted by a sign that read,
"No Snowshoe Rentals Today- not enough snow."
Well, excuse me, I beg to differ. But apparently, they only rent snowshoes when there's 10 inches or so
(Oh, silly us! We Floridians learn something new about this wonderland daily).
Still, Michael, Noah, and I made the best of a cold winter's afternoon by hiking the trails.
We were extremely bundled and waddled along as best we could.
The sun was bright.
The snow was a-sparklin'.
The tall tall trees creaked like a front porch rocking chair when the wind swept through.

I was looking for animal tracks, but mostly found cross-country ski lines cutting across the landscape.

But some creature ambled through here.

And some delicate beast intersected itself perhaps?

My husband left me a love letter in the snow.

These graceful ladies have learned to be flexible under the snow's burden.

Some wear wooly coats of crunchy moss and twig. 

We take a short respite.

There's Beaver Lake- frozen- behind me.

Noah and Michael are looking tired and cold.

Time to head home for hot cocoa and a nap.

Snowshoe next time?

 

Reality of Change and Pressing Pause on the Fantasy.

Now the initial excitement over Michael getting a job and our upcoming move has started to wear off a bit, and the Reality of the MOVE is setting in. I'm still thrilled to be relocating to the DC area, but moving is always challenging.
Challenges to face:
1) Find a home (preferably one that has a yard so that I can have a garden...and maybe 3 chickens...and a beehive). We are probably going to be renting for the first year...possibly a yardless apartment...but we are hopeful that we can rent a house.
We want to live super close to Montgomery College, where Michael will be teaching. We fantasize about Michael being able to walk or bike to class. Seriously, Michael on a bike, head in the wind, not driving (saving $ on gas, no car insurance, no polluting), getting a workout in the process, is hot stuff. Hubba hubba.
Since we have that particular fantasy, we are limited to a small geographic area surrounding the college...so our home/apartment options are indeed limited.
I would really love to have eggs laying around in the backyard, hiding under leaves of spinach and cabbage like sweet yolky Easter presents. And I'd love to harvest my own honey, hear the hum of industrious bees as they pollinate my hollyhocks and phlox. But alas, my beehive and chicken fantasies may have to be compromised for some time.   
2) Find another Co-op for Noah. This is a ginormous challenge! I've been so fortunate here in Syracuse to find an awesome co-op...not so sure it can be replaced. Noah and I are both going to miss the friendships we've luckily stumbled upon through co-op. Plus, even though co-op is not a 'preschool', Noah has been learning so much from the good Miss Lewis, and the good Miss Sarah. And he learns so much from the other kids too- like sword-fighting and new and interesting fart noises. And how to share. And how to accept differences. And how to listen. And how to put on and zip up his own coat. In Syracuse, this is a huge milestone that kids must meet before they are admitted to Kindergarten...otherwise those poor teachers would spend all day just getting kids bundled and unbundled.
3) Tying up all the loose ends around here. Can't leave my mother-in-law swinging in the wind. We have to make sure that we leave our current home in such fantastic condition that people will be lining up to purchase it! Packing. Cleaning. Repairing.
And I have to go through all of the STUFF we've accumulated over the past couple of years...the stuff piling up in the basement...laying around in the attic...bulging out of the shed....littering the yard. What to keep, what to yard-sell, what to freecycle?

Where to begin?  
 
So, while I am delighted for a new beginning in a place which promises opportunity, I am slightly overwhelmed (or maybe just over-caffeinated) by all the details to attend to...and the sacrifices that must be made.

Grateful

Over Thanksgiving break,

I was grateful for this little munchkin...

...and this delicious Mediterranean Frittata prepared by my loving husband...

...this sculpture outside of the Science Museum that occupied Noah

long enough for me to admire...

...this tree, its layers,

the process of shedding and renewal...

...and I was also grateful for this good-natured old cat...

...who allows Noah to dress her up in fancy hats...

The Weekend...

We visited the farmer's market.

Brought back Brussel Sprouts on a stick.

I didn't realize they grow that way.

I always assumed they sprouted up like little lettuces out of the ground.

Nothing hotter than a man who loves his vegetables.

We also raked the leaves that had filled our yard.

Yellow. Brown. Crunchy.

Some leaves were still falling.

Like this one that floated gracefully until it came to rest on Noah's sweet head.

Noah jumped in every single pile. Buried himself completely. Popped out again.

His happiness is boundless.

And so contagious.

Sunday evening.

The non-Jack-o-Lantern Pumpkins beg and plead to be used for something

other than decorations for the front porch.

I bathe them. Chop them. Roast them.

They will be transformed into Pumpkin Butter.

Homeade Pumpkin Butter will be a fine Christmas gift for someone.

Big Butt Bomb

The following (harrowing) cautionary tale serves to illustrate why the LeBlanc's need to live in a home with at least TWO BATHROOMS:
Late last night as I was getting out of the shower, tired, cranky, ready to curl up in bed with Margaret Atwood's new book...my beloved husband, Michael, wandered in the bathroom and dropped the Big Butt Bomb on me. I'll see if I can recall the precise wording here:
Michael: Ha Ha, Hey Dona, I just remembered the first time I saw you naked. I was shocked by how big your butt is.
Madona (covering herself with extra-large towel): What?! Are you trying to be mean?! What!?
Michael(quickly back-pedaling): No, no, I just remembered that I wasn't prepared for you to have such a big ol' ghetto booty. I don't know why I couldn't tell with your clothes on.
Mad: I don't know why either. It's not 'ghetto!'
Mike: You call it 'ghetto', why can't I?
Mad(gritting teeth): Because.
Mike: I was glad when I saw how big it was. It just meant I was getting more bang for my buck!
Mad: Umm..you didn't pay any bucks...

At this point in the story, Michael leaves the bathroom so that his marriage doesn't...er...get flushed.
Gentlemen, please, take my advice, don't use the words 'big' and 'butt' in the same sentence when referring to your lady. It doesn't matter if you like big butts (who doesn't?). It doesn't matter if your lady refers to her own butt as ghetto (which must be politically incorrect). And it certainly doesn't matter if it's the Gosh Honest Truth!
Fortunately, not only do I have a big butt, I also have a big heart...and I forgive my darling dear for his infraction (he'll pay somehow).
The LeBlancs need two bathrooms for privacy issues, obviously. But also because the current loo has been overtaken by squirty pirates and squeaky ducks.

Noah and Michael can share, and I will have my own lady room with undisturbed bubble baths, long luxurious lotion slathering, and fresh, sweet-smelling air to breathe. I can dream.
If you want to donate any monies to the Build Madona a Queenly Throne Room Fund...please do so right away. ; )