The Molasses Cookie Caper

Cooking in a tiny kitchen? Your grandson wants molasses cookies? Take it from me: hie yourself to the nearest bakery and buy a dozen. One night recently I offered Jacob gingerbread for dessert. He, who is not an adventuresome eater, declined, but then he waxed eloquent about the brown cookies I used to make where the tops cracked. Molasses cookies, nothing but gingerbread in cookie form. So of course, I immediately put the ingredients on my shopping list.

I decided today, Saturday, I would make the dough, and Jacob could help me roll the little balls to bake them tomorrow. The dough needs to sit in the fridge for a day. So being efficient, I got everything together and got out my super-duper new kitchen tool that does everything. Only problem is that I never know what attachment to use.

My first mistake: I sifted all the dry ingredients together and apparently had a brain lapse. Having baked thousands of cookies in my long life, I know better—but I put the sugar into the dry ingredients instead of beating it with the eggs. Okay, I figured I could overcome that.

I turned to beating the eggs, butter, and molasses. The super-duper tool did nothing. No juice. I discovered I had no power to my hot plate or toaster oven either. In such a situation, I have to call Jordan to please go behind the cottage and fix the circuit breaker—an area not accessible to me. Meanwhile I plugged the mixer in by the sink—close quarters. The first attachment I tried did a marvelous job of beating eggs and absolutely nothing with three sticks of soft butter. It just clogged up. So I got out the whisk.

Whoa, Nellie! It worked—and threw globs of egg and butter all over the kitchen. On the walls, the floor, my shirt, and the little bit of carpet by the bedroom door right next to the kitchen. Cleaning the floor is not easy from my Rollator walker but I did it.  The carpet stumped me, but I used my usual cleaning method—pointed out the globs to Sophie.

I made myself slow down, breathe deeply, and calmly do things in an orderly manner. Eventually I had cookie dough in the fridge and a clean kitchen. But I wasn’t through. I made an overnight salad—no, it’s not Jell-O; it’s romaine and avocado and olive oil, garlic, lemon juice, and Parmesan. Sounds improbable but it is superb. Hint: the recipe is in Gourmet on a Hot Plate.

Got that in the fridge and turned to boning the chicken breasts I poached earlier in the day. Got that done and ate my supper, relaxed and happy because tomorrow night’s family dinner is in the bag. I’m a plan-ahead person, and I love having dinner almost made the night before. Tomorrow, I’ll turn the diced chicken into a chicken/green chili casserole, sauté some asparagus and sugar snap peas, and unwrap that salad, give it a toss, and there’s dinner.

When I cook, I clean by stages, so the kitchen is clean tonight. And I’m tired. But it was a good day.

Last night, when I got in bed, Sophie jumped up on the bed and settled herself next to me as though that was the spot where she belongs. I loved on her, and we visited for a bit. She is a loving dog but not a cuddly one—she’ll sit for hours if you’ll pet her, rub her ears, stroke her face, but she rarely feels the need to have her whole body next to mine. So that was a treat. Maybe she’ll come back tonight.

Sweet dreams, y’all.

The blessedness of rain

Rain was predicted for the early morning hours today, but I woke to dry sidewalks, a lovely breeze tossing the trees about, and gloomy skies that could easily hold rain. By ten o’clock, there was a bit of thunder rumble and some sprinkles on the back-yard walk. But most blessed was that unmistakable, wonderful smell of rain. And the weatherman predicated a high of 88. A gift from the gods as we head into August.

It proved to be an illusion. It apparently rained all around us but not on us. And my indoor/outdoor thermometer said 97 at four o’clock. Nonetheless, Jordan and I did sit on the patio for a bit with wine, until I thought I was getting bitten. No see‘ums. For tonight, the weatherman predicts a 60% chance of rain between midnight and four in the morning. If it comes, I’ll sleep through it. But I pray to wake to wet sidewalks.

Proof that my boys are fishermen: here are Jacob with his fish, and Uncle Colin with his. They threw the fish back, of course, to catch another day. But both were pretty proud of themselves and their catch.

Megan likes to joke that the planning-ahead gene missed her but landed squarely on Jordan. Like me, Jordan plans ahead. For large parties, we put serving dishes out days ahead with notes in them about what goes in each. That once led Christian, when they were newly married, to tell her, “You and your mother have a screw loose.” We don’t think so. For trips, we begin packing a week or more ahead. Megan starts to think about it the night before her family has a five o’clock in the morning flight.

Now, Jordan and I are thinking ahead to our Great Lakes cruise. We leave August 23, but tonight she started going through my closet, pulling out and setting aside clothes I might take. Anticipation is part of the fun of a trip. But I did email Megan about our early packing—she’ll have a good laugh.

Saw an interesting clip on Facebook today about the conversations black parents have with their children to prepare them to survive in a world where white supremacy reigns. It’s about what to do when the police pull you over—not IF they pull you over but WHEN, because it’s inevitable. And then the zinger of a line: it will be your fault, because you’re black. Bingo!  How many times have my kids said to me, “Mom, if there’s an accident when you’re drivinf, it will be your fault, because you’re old.” Won’t matter if I’m innocent—I’m old. Struck me that there’s a problem common to the elderly and to people of color. It’s the instant assumptions people make about us before they know us. My insight for the day.

And on that note, good night, sweet dreams.

Taking baby steps

Sunroom awash

Wet books

My neighbor mopping the sunroom

Pleased to report progress today. The restoration company has taken up the wood floor and half the tile floor underneath it. The tile floor is really difficult and stubborn. About three this afternoon I asked if they would like to quit at four and they said yes—result was I got a nice nap. Tomorrow they will take up the other half of the floor and take out the ceiling—they tell me the latter won’t take long. Meanwhile they have put up all their de-humidifying equipment, which makes an awful roar. It won’t bother me tonight because I can take my hearing aids out.

But I worry about my daughter-in-law who is sensitive to noise when she sleeps. Colin and his family and their friends-eight people total counting children—are due any minute (it’s ten o’clock) to spend the night on their way back from skiing in Colorado. There’s precious little room at the inn, but it will work out.

The restoration people have also taken away cartons and cartons of wet books and have more to come get tomorrow. They were sending a driver this afternoon—which would have cut right into the time I had carved out for a nap, so I asked them to wait until tomorrow. Also my Oriental rug guy picked up the wet rugs. Tomorrow I hope to put the house back in some semblance of order, including washing all the towels used in the cleanup.

Both last night and tonight we ended these dreary, frustrating days on a happy note. Last night we had brinner (breakfast for dinner) with our neighborhood group to celebrate Jordan’s birthday and that of Jay, later in the month—a warm, wonderful gathering. Tonight, Jordan and Christian hosted a happy hour at the Wine Haus down the street—lovely space, good wine, lots of hugs from Jordan’s friends. Afterward some of the same group from last night went next door to a Lebanese/Italian restaurant. I could hear much better and enjoyed the fellowship. Brought home enough spaghetti for at least two meals.

Mom was right—God works in mysterious ways. Since all that work has to be done back there anyway, Jordan is using the opportunity to paint the walls a warmer color than the stark white there now and to take out a couple of shelves so she can put stackable washer and dryer in.

Jacob and his parents went to the Apple store today, and he is busy sending his first emails. Such fun to watch his excitement. Yes, life goes on and we will get over this hail-induced hiccup.

Pity Party Over

           This morning I woke depressed and scared. The MRI test that I was so sure would show nothing or at least something minor came back with a lot of words like stenosis, degenerative (okay, I’m 77—what wouldn’t be degenerative?), and bulging disk. I was sure my active life as I knew it was over, I was afraid to walk around the house, had to make myself make the bed and fix tea. In fact, when Jordan called I was near tears. All my children called, and Colin gave me sensible advice—take time to process this in your mind. What I knew was that I was in charge of whatever I make of the rest of my life.

So tonight I’m in a much better frame of mind. I won’t claim to have done much today—folded some laundry, emptied the dishwasher, fixed a sandwich for lunch and reheated the bbq my neighbors brought for supper (so good!). Did some work at my desk, found I didn’t have to cling to the furniture to walk from room to room. In short, it’s going to be okay, though I will heed Colin’s advice—don’t try big things when I’m home alone—and neighbor Jay’s words, “baby steps.” Will I ever cook big Sunday night dinners again? I hope so.

One of Colin’s pieces of wisdom (he really is a rock) is that we should start to think now of the future, so if, God forbid, something happens we don’t make decisions in haste. How did I raise such a smart kid? And how did I raise four such caring kids? I said I’d be lost without them, and Colin said, “We all would be lost without each other.” He reminded me that I’ve been a role model for them all these years, and now, that I seem to be turning a corner into old age, I continue to do that, to show them how to do it gracefully..

I won’t pretend I got a lot of work done today—lots of emails, read a really positive review of my forthcoming Murder at Peacock Mansion, began to register on new sites, and read a book for review, took a nap. It was neither the long day nor the bad day that I anticipated.

And now to read a bit and go to bed early to see what tomorrow brings. Nice to know that I can move myself out of depression and into optimism.