A few years ago I realized I was completely over taking recyclable bottles, cans, and papers from their pile on our kitchen counter to our bin outside. I only have one life to live and I don't want to spend it moving other people's trash from Point A to Point B. There was never supposed to be a pile anyway. In my domestic fantasy everyone would walk each recyclable to the outdoor bin as soon they were finished using them. There would be no counter top layover. This almost never happened and so one day I proclaimed, "I'm not buying anything in a bottle or can ever again!"
Multiple meltdowns followed my decree and then Enzo came up with a plan to keep soda flowing into our home while keeping the mess under control. Enzo proposed an indoor recycling bin. I agreed to this under one condition; the recycling was now Enzo's responsibility.
This was the very first real, regular chore any of our children had ever had and I felt that because he had been the mastermind behind this plan, Enzo would take real pride in this task. It turns out chores are chores no matter who dreams them up and they are always on the very bottom of a child's priority list.
Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is the eve of the best day of the week in Chatham Village. Tuesday is the day The Village People bring their trash bags and recycling bins out to the curb to be magically hauled away by a team of miracle workers at some point during the day on Wednesday.
Last Tuesday I gently reminded Enzo of the arrival of the sacred day and he assured me he would bring the bins out front, "later". True to his word he managed to get them out front today, a week "later". This became a two bin, stuffed to the brink of explosion, ordeal, because despite my best efforts, eight people make a LOT of waste. The bins were so full when he dragged them out front that Enzo stood looking over the indoor bin this afternoon and asked, "What should I do? This bin is full but there is no place to put the stuff".
I fought my know-it-all/helicopter urge and responded with, "Do you have any ideas?"
"We could leave it here and just throw the recyclables in the trash can until tomorrow when the big bins are empty again".
At this point it became difficult for me to breathe. The room spun around my head and I think my heart might have stopped. What was he saying? Was he insane? Had he even tried to imagine the outcome of choosing this path? Wasn't he even a little bit afraid that Greta Thunberg would somehow find out about his diabolical plan and come flying in here, braids a swingin', ready to thunder punch his scrawny ass right into our compost pile?
I'm pleased with myself. I managed to keep my mouth shut. I figured it was best to let him do things his way and learn from the natural consequences of his actions. But mark my words, this is between him and Greta. I'm not taking any punches for him. He is very nearly a man now. He can fight his own fights and sort his trash as he pleases. I can't protect him forever.
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
Monday, September 23, 2019
Elana's Apple Cake
1 cup flour
1 cup sugar
3 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
sprinkle of salt
cut up apple chunks in bottom of baking pan
350 degrees
This is all my pink index card says because this recipe was given to me in the best way a recipe can be exchanged, sitting in my house, telling stories with loved ones. My sister in law had come home to visit tiny and quaint little Chatham from fancy and exciting LA, where, despite the raging cleanse trend, some of the residents still consume solid foods. This apple cake is something Elana makes in her LA apartment because it is inexpensive, delicious, and easy.
I recently became the proud owner of three, large, reusable shopping bags full of apples because my children and I think playing farm laborer is a fun activity and apple picking is high on our list of favorite farm chores. After forking over a rather large sum of money to pay for our Sunday entertainment Ariel sighed, "Well, I guess the only way we can throw away thirty pounds of apples is if we buy them fifty pounds at a time".
Another activity I've come to enjoy after sharing a home with Ariel for twenty-one years is becoming very offended when he points out any of my many, obvious flaws. I then like to vow to prove him completely wrong as if the flaw never actually existed and certainly will never rear its ugly head in the future. So in this case, I've been on an apple using mission because how dare he insinuate that I ever waste so much as a drop of food especially where over priced fruits picked primarily for sport are concerned?!?!
On the first day I baked a three foot tall, double crusted apple pie. Later in the week I prepared a heart shaped apple crisp (which prompted a heated debate on the difference between a crisp and a crumble). Every lunch box that has left this house for school has had an apple lovingly tucked inside and most meals and snacks involve apple slices, maybe with peanut butter, maybe with cheese, maybe solo, doesn't matter.
This morning I proudly looked at my dwindling supply of apples and designated eight of them to represent each member of our family in something I would bake today because my sister Alyssa told me it was important that I bake something on the equinox. Baking today didn't really seem like a great idea to me because three days ago I took all of Basil's shorts out of his dresser due to the cool, autumnal weather we'd been having. This, of course, brought on an immediate heat wave and I've done nothing but sweat ever since. Sweating doesn't really inspire me to bake but Alyssa said it was important so I decided to find that apple cake recipe Elana recited to me the last time she was in town. Somehow the months had passed without me ever making the cake. Today seemed like as good a day as any. My only other plans for the day involved rigging a clothes line on my fence but as soon as I had that thought the sky turned dark with rain storm clouds. Apple cake quickly became priority number one.
I took my eight apples to the table, having decided to peel them, and began dicing them into a buttered baking dish. Basil grabbed a ninth apple and stabbed it with a peeler a few times before pretending it was a mallet made especially for smashing into the dining room table. His apple eventually exploded all over the place and he picked up one, really small speck of apple off of the cutting board and threw it in the baking dish (or "glass basket ball hoop" as he called it). I wondered what his speck of apple would do to the symbolic integrity of my representational apple family and briefly considered an eight week miscarriage I once had. Then I decided to sprinkle cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger over my diced up apple family (and speck) because who's ever even heard of an apple recipe that didn't have cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger in it? I mixed up all of the other ingredients that weren't apples because that seemed like a reasonable thing to do. I spread the batter this created over the apples with a vague memory of thinking this recipe sounded like cobbler when Elana told me about it, (which at the time prompted a heated debate about the difference between a cobbler, a cake, a crisp, and a crumble).
My metaphoric family didn't look quite tucked in enough with the one cup and one cup mixture so I mixed up a second batter and smeared it all over the dish as well. I'm much braver about cooking this year than I used to be. Since my mother gave my children a small flock of chickens I can use all of my mistakes as chicken feed and I no longer share my husband's fear of food waste, even though he has tried at least once to convince me that "chicken feed" is not the same as "not wasting".
Content that my "family" looked comfortable, I slipped my baking dish into the oven and crossed my fingers. Every once in a while I checked on the dish figuring that it required the same "or until golden brown" time everything else I've ever baked has. I don't know how many minutes it took to reach that desired color but I can say it was long enough to nurse Basil to sleep, watch a bit of Victoria Season Three on Amazon Prime, squirt some of that nasty cheese like stuff in a can on some crackers for Dorothy and Israel, call Ariel and tell him one of those, "Israel was so funny but in such a bad way that it was all I could do not to laugh in front of him" stories that he is so fond of, and get a very sad call from a very sad Alyssa sharing with me news of the man she took care of poetically passing away at noon on the equinox.
Here I am; on the equinox, with my children, waiting for a rain storm and for my husband to come home so we can cut into the most attractive (and only) Equinox Cake I've ever baked. I'm feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for my apple family and my actual family and these moments we still have to share together. OH!!! And for whipped cream, which I'm just remembering right at this moment that I made yesterday afternoon and still have lots left over to put on the cake because this is not LA and we can be as plump as we please in Chatham. I am grateful to be overweight in a small town with a big family and I think that is what Mabon might be all about.
1 cup sugar
3 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
sprinkle of salt
cut up apple chunks in bottom of baking pan
350 degrees
This is all my pink index card says because this recipe was given to me in the best way a recipe can be exchanged, sitting in my house, telling stories with loved ones. My sister in law had come home to visit tiny and quaint little Chatham from fancy and exciting LA, where, despite the raging cleanse trend, some of the residents still consume solid foods. This apple cake is something Elana makes in her LA apartment because it is inexpensive, delicious, and easy.
I recently became the proud owner of three, large, reusable shopping bags full of apples because my children and I think playing farm laborer is a fun activity and apple picking is high on our list of favorite farm chores. After forking over a rather large sum of money to pay for our Sunday entertainment Ariel sighed, "Well, I guess the only way we can throw away thirty pounds of apples is if we buy them fifty pounds at a time".
Another activity I've come to enjoy after sharing a home with Ariel for twenty-one years is becoming very offended when he points out any of my many, obvious flaws. I then like to vow to prove him completely wrong as if the flaw never actually existed and certainly will never rear its ugly head in the future. So in this case, I've been on an apple using mission because how dare he insinuate that I ever waste so much as a drop of food especially where over priced fruits picked primarily for sport are concerned?!?!
On the first day I baked a three foot tall, double crusted apple pie. Later in the week I prepared a heart shaped apple crisp (which prompted a heated debate on the difference between a crisp and a crumble). Every lunch box that has left this house for school has had an apple lovingly tucked inside and most meals and snacks involve apple slices, maybe with peanut butter, maybe with cheese, maybe solo, doesn't matter.
This morning I proudly looked at my dwindling supply of apples and designated eight of them to represent each member of our family in something I would bake today because my sister Alyssa told me it was important that I bake something on the equinox. Baking today didn't really seem like a great idea to me because three days ago I took all of Basil's shorts out of his dresser due to the cool, autumnal weather we'd been having. This, of course, brought on an immediate heat wave and I've done nothing but sweat ever since. Sweating doesn't really inspire me to bake but Alyssa said it was important so I decided to find that apple cake recipe Elana recited to me the last time she was in town. Somehow the months had passed without me ever making the cake. Today seemed like as good a day as any. My only other plans for the day involved rigging a clothes line on my fence but as soon as I had that thought the sky turned dark with rain storm clouds. Apple cake quickly became priority number one.
I took my eight apples to the table, having decided to peel them, and began dicing them into a buttered baking dish. Basil grabbed a ninth apple and stabbed it with a peeler a few times before pretending it was a mallet made especially for smashing into the dining room table. His apple eventually exploded all over the place and he picked up one, really small speck of apple off of the cutting board and threw it in the baking dish (or "glass basket ball hoop" as he called it). I wondered what his speck of apple would do to the symbolic integrity of my representational apple family and briefly considered an eight week miscarriage I once had. Then I decided to sprinkle cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger over my diced up apple family (and speck) because who's ever even heard of an apple recipe that didn't have cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger in it? I mixed up all of the other ingredients that weren't apples because that seemed like a reasonable thing to do. I spread the batter this created over the apples with a vague memory of thinking this recipe sounded like cobbler when Elana told me about it, (which at the time prompted a heated debate about the difference between a cobbler, a cake, a crisp, and a crumble).
My metaphoric family didn't look quite tucked in enough with the one cup and one cup mixture so I mixed up a second batter and smeared it all over the dish as well. I'm much braver about cooking this year than I used to be. Since my mother gave my children a small flock of chickens I can use all of my mistakes as chicken feed and I no longer share my husband's fear of food waste, even though he has tried at least once to convince me that "chicken feed" is not the same as "not wasting".
Content that my "family" looked comfortable, I slipped my baking dish into the oven and crossed my fingers. Every once in a while I checked on the dish figuring that it required the same "or until golden brown" time everything else I've ever baked has. I don't know how many minutes it took to reach that desired color but I can say it was long enough to nurse Basil to sleep, watch a bit of Victoria Season Three on Amazon Prime, squirt some of that nasty cheese like stuff in a can on some crackers for Dorothy and Israel, call Ariel and tell him one of those, "Israel was so funny but in such a bad way that it was all I could do not to laugh in front of him" stories that he is so fond of, and get a very sad call from a very sad Alyssa sharing with me news of the man she took care of poetically passing away at noon on the equinox.
Here I am; on the equinox, with my children, waiting for a rain storm and for my husband to come home so we can cut into the most attractive (and only) Equinox Cake I've ever baked. I'm feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for my apple family and my actual family and these moments we still have to share together. OH!!! And for whipped cream, which I'm just remembering right at this moment that I made yesterday afternoon and still have lots left over to put on the cake because this is not LA and we can be as plump as we please in Chatham. I am grateful to be overweight in a small town with a big family and I think that is what Mabon might be all about.
Thursday, September 19, 2019
The Haduken Brothers' Oatmeal Cookies
* 1 cup whole wheat flour
* 1 cup unbleached all purpose flour
* 4 tsps baking powder
* 2/3 cup unsweetened apple sauce
* 1 Tbs olive oil
* 1 1/3 cup brown sugar
* 2 eggs (laid by your own pet chicken, if possible)
* 2 tsps vanilla
* 1 cup old fashioned oats
* As many chocolate chips as you can get in the mixing bowl before Mom yells, "Ahhh, God! Stop! STOP! That is more than enough!"
1) Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a largeish stainless steel bowl (so that Mom doesn't freak out about you possibly breaking her pretty pink ceramic bowls) add ingredients one at a time, mixing merrily all the while. Try to get as little of the mixture as possible all over the counter tops, yourself, and/or your brother.
2) Line baking sheets with parchment paper. Mom used to think parchment paper was a wasteful environmental assault but after she used it once and learned that everything is better with parchment paper she never baked cookies without it again and focused on other ways she could maintain a dainty carbon footprint.
3) Use a spoon to drop the dough onto the sheet. Do not lick the spoon until all of the dough you will be baking has been transferred to the baking sheet. Dough drops should be placed an inch or two apart on the sheet to prevent the dough from forming into one, giant, cookie; which, honestly, isn't the worst thing that could happen in the world, so don't worry too much about it.
4) Have Mom put the sheet in the oven even though you really want to be the boss of the oven. Bake cookies for about 15 minutes, until lightly browned.
5) Cool on wire racks. Store in clear glass cookie jar. A big, old pickle jar works well for this. If you store the cookies in an opaque container nobody will remember they exist and Mom will find them molding weeks later. She'll have to compost all of them. In a clear container they will be eaten so quickly that you might get to bake a second batch later the very same day as you baked the first batch!
6) Eat at a table or running around the yard. Mom has better things to do than spend her life vacuuming up cookie crumbs off of all of the carpets in the house so keep the cookies in these two areas ONLY.
The Haduken Brothers are five year old, Israel and two year old, Basil. They love baking (or Making, as Basil calls it) lots of yummy treats to eat themselves and to share with family, friends, and their cats. They are more likely to eat whole grains when they prepare them themselves and mix lots of chocolate into the recipes.
* 1 cup unbleached all purpose flour
* 4 tsps baking powder
* 2/3 cup unsweetened apple sauce
* 1 Tbs olive oil
* 1 1/3 cup brown sugar
* 2 eggs (laid by your own pet chicken, if possible)
* 2 tsps vanilla
* 1 cup old fashioned oats
* As many chocolate chips as you can get in the mixing bowl before Mom yells, "Ahhh, God! Stop! STOP! That is more than enough!"
1) Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a largeish stainless steel bowl (so that Mom doesn't freak out about you possibly breaking her pretty pink ceramic bowls) add ingredients one at a time, mixing merrily all the while. Try to get as little of the mixture as possible all over the counter tops, yourself, and/or your brother.
2) Line baking sheets with parchment paper. Mom used to think parchment paper was a wasteful environmental assault but after she used it once and learned that everything is better with parchment paper she never baked cookies without it again and focused on other ways she could maintain a dainty carbon footprint.
3) Use a spoon to drop the dough onto the sheet. Do not lick the spoon until all of the dough you will be baking has been transferred to the baking sheet. Dough drops should be placed an inch or two apart on the sheet to prevent the dough from forming into one, giant, cookie; which, honestly, isn't the worst thing that could happen in the world, so don't worry too much about it.
4) Have Mom put the sheet in the oven even though you really want to be the boss of the oven. Bake cookies for about 15 minutes, until lightly browned.
5) Cool on wire racks. Store in clear glass cookie jar. A big, old pickle jar works well for this. If you store the cookies in an opaque container nobody will remember they exist and Mom will find them molding weeks later. She'll have to compost all of them. In a clear container they will be eaten so quickly that you might get to bake a second batch later the very same day as you baked the first batch!
6) Eat at a table or running around the yard. Mom has better things to do than spend her life vacuuming up cookie crumbs off of all of the carpets in the house so keep the cookies in these two areas ONLY.
The Haduken Brothers are five year old, Israel and two year old, Basil. They love baking (or Making, as Basil calls it) lots of yummy treats to eat themselves and to share with family, friends, and their cats. They are more likely to eat whole grains when they prepare them themselves and mix lots of chocolate into the recipes.
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