Who Dis

This photograph was in Grandma Benson's collection.
No one has been able to identify the woman, girl, person.
There is something sad about that.

Whitecaps in February

Here's what I'm trying for supper:

Idea lifted off Facebook or somewhere.


Made this one last week; the marinade is splendid and going into my recipe collection.
I used lemon juice instead of lime, and plain yogurt instead of Greek, whatever that is:


Whole Roasted Cauliflower

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

1 head cauliflower

1½ cups plain Greek yogurt

1 lime, zested and juiced

2 tablespoons chile powder

1 tablespoon cumin

1 tablespoon garlic powder

1 teaspoon curry powder

2 teaspoons kosher salt

1 teaspoon black pepper

Directions

1. Preheat the oven to 400° and lightly grease a small baking sheet with vegetable oil. Set aside.

2. Trim the base of the cauliflower to remove any green leaves and the woody stem.

3. In a medium bowl, combine the yogurt with the lime zest and juice, chile powder, cumin, garlic powder, curry powder, salt and pepper.

4. Dunk the cauliflower into the bowl and use a brush or your hands to smear the marinade evenly over its surface. (Excess marinade can be stored in the refrigerator in an airtight container for up to three days and used with meat, fish or other veggies.)

5. Place the cauliflower on the prepared baking sheet and roast until the surface is dry and lightly browned, 30 to 40 minutes. The marinade will make a crust on the surface of the cauliflower.

6. Let the cauliflower cool for 10 minutes before cutting it into wedges and serving alongside a big green salad.

As a matter of fact, I think I'll make some of this marinade right now, or a variation of it, and drizzle it over the potatoes.

Kathy's Home Decor

It's a skirt that I love, but cannot wear because it looks like shit on me.
So it's been either in the closet or the sewing kit for years.

I threw it over a curtain rod so I can enjoy looking at it.

Our Friend Monte

As he looked in his teens, when we met.

His friends and family are together at Rosebud Hall this afternoon to mark Monte's passing on the 27th of January.

I am doing it at home in a different way:

• dressed in my favourite clothes.
• put on scented oils and pretty jewellery.
• lit a candle.
• set a glass of water on the kitchen window ledge.
• smudged the house with sage.
• sang the song that came to me.
• wished Monte well.
• thanked him for the laughs, and there were many.
• lifted a glass of red wine.

Monte was a neighbour, so he and Scott grew up scallawags together.

Losing a friend to death is ...
We just have to help ourselves get by.

Things on Things

Things on the piano

I've been coming over to Everett's about once a week to spend an evening with him watching Doctor Who. He gets up early in the morning and heads off to work before eight, and I usually sit here with his laptop and catch up on my favourite blogs, and my own.

Things on kitchen shelf

After he leaves for work, I do the dishes. The countertop is completely covered with them and I have sometimes eaten supper the night before here, and breakfast in the morning, so I figure the least I can do is wash some dishes. I can do the kid a favour by helping out.

Things on the TV

Last night he tells me he doesn't like it when he comes home and finds the dishes washed, and I shouldn't do it anymore. I must look at him askance, because he goes on to explain: he hates doing dishes and doesn't do them till he has no choice, but knows he must discipline himself to keep on top of the task, and when someone else has done the chore, he does not have the opportunity to practise self-discipline. As a matter of fact, he looks at the dishes throughout the week and allows himself not to do them, because "Mom will, next time she's here." And he thinks this is probably not good for him.

Where did I get this kid?

This morning as he was leaving I mentioned being unable to laze around the house because work beckons early; it's our new production day, since the paper now comes out Mondays.

"Good," he said. "You won't have time to do the dishes then."

Married to Javier Bardem

On the way to town in the morning, we pick up Scott's brother Bruce and before we drive out of the yard they notice a calfster is in the wrong pen. So out they go to put it right. 

It was 29-below at 8:30 a.m.
I watched from the cab of the half-ton.
Tucked deep into my parka was I.

     

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,*

Dream:

I was married to Javier Bardem.

OMG.

Hugging and kissing Javier Bardem was heaven.

:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.

Cookies for Benny

When you have a day off after the weekend, you have caught up on your laundry and dishes and can either armwrestle yourself into baking bread, as perhaps you ought, or do what you want.

I did what I wanted, and made a batch of cookies.
Last week, on my birthday in fact, an old friend died. His roommate and good friend likes these cookies, as I recall, which is what spurred me on to making them: and so some went into a plastic strawberries container before being sealed into a bag to be taken over to the house.

Out here, there is no place to recycle these plastics. So I stack and store them for throwing away lightbulbs (they keep the glass from breaking, slicing the garbage bag, cutting someone) and other sundry uses that come up. Not many. Now: protector of cookies.

And then I did more of what I wanted.
A few pictures in frames got added to the wall of "family" collection.

Honestly, I can spend all day just picking things up and moving them around.
It's very satisfying.
Like bringing order to controlled chaos.

Fairweather Walker, admittedly

The dogs set out bravely with me.

I head south, toward the sunshine.

Getting past the trees. There's an icy wind.

Wiser to turn around and stay close to shelter.

Finally February

We followed these two deer down the road a ways before turning into Faye & Rick's driveway.

It was another stellar meal by Rick & Faye, who barbecue all winter.
It was topped off by tequila liqueur.
They returned from Mexico a week ago.

Collecting Happy

Birthday card from my sister Joan, who is blogging at CollectingHappy.

Boy, age 21

Everett in his kitchen, bundling up to walk to work.

The Wind she blew the Snow about

And that's when you want to stay indoors where it's warm and comfortable and watch the snowbanks form on the other side of your window.

We are eating the most fabulous cabbage dish. And the easiest. I am in love.

•
Classic Stewed Cabbage
1/4 cup butter
2 onions, chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 medium head cabbage, cut into squares
1 (14.5 ounce) can stewed tomatoes, with liquid
salt and pepper to taste
Directions
1. Melt butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add onion, celery, and garlic and saute for 3 to 5 minutes, or until translucent. Stir in cabbage, reduce heat to low, and simmer for 15 minutes.
2. Pour in tomatoes and season with salt and pepper to taste. Cover pan and cook over medium heat for 30 to 40 minutes, or until cabbage is tender.

Tonight we had this in the fridge for leftovers, so I added a cup of water, a large tin of diced tomatoes, and half a cup of brown rice and let it simmer covered till the rice was cooked.
Mm Mm Mm.

Lovin' Winter

Some people, when they come in the door after a hard day's work, crack open a beer and sit on the couch in front of the TV with their laptop on.

Some wash and dry dishes while starting supper.

Which do you think I am?

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One of these years I'm going to get ahead of the game, as upon occasion I do, and have the breakfast dishes done before leaving in the morning, and supper prepared in advance so it only needs to be warmed up.

But it won't be today.

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Yesterday I walked as far as the end of the driveway and turned back. It was friggin' cold out there, and windy. Over the weekend I watched snowbanks form around the yard. Pretty things. So pretty I took pictures—through the window.

Friends are returning from Mexico, and friends are flying off to warmer climes, and I feel no envy whatsoever. Winter is nearly over and I don't want to miss a moment of it.

Last Day Age 54

We stopped at the store to pick up a cake before leaving town after work on Friday. Emil was coming out for the weekend and was disappointed that he wouldn't be here Monday for birthday cake, assuming we'd be having one. We wouldn't have bothered, but for Emil's sake I bought a chocolate cheesecake and insisted we start celebrating my birthday early. So we had some last night and will have some again today, before he goes back to his home in town.

Friday was a mild day but for the wind, and I figured flowers would make it safely between building and vehicle, so grabbed a bright bouquet on my way to the frozen deli section. I didn't need cheering up, but they really do make me smile and feel good each time I walk past them on the kitchen table. It's the big yellow ones that do it.

Flin Flon

I lived and worked in and near Flin Flon in the '80s.

Emil

V

Emil likes to lie on a bed in the evening and relax.

Another week’s work well done.

Morning at Everett's

Since Tuesdays are a long day at the office, when we are often there till 7 o'clock (when the digital files get sent to the press; the paper comes out today), I have been coming over to Everett's to spend the night. He made cheese tortilla wraps for supper last night and had bought Dad's goodie rings to nibble on while watching Doctor Who. We generally take in two episodes; I have an entire season, or more, to catch up on.

Everett gets exasperated with me. I don't like the cybermen, the daleks, or any threatening space creature. I prefer, he says, shows with no conflict. I should watch Teletubbies, he says, rolling his eyes.

Kid's got me pegged.

I was enjoying the Downton Abbey period drama series until they introduced violence and rape to the storyline. It turned my stomach. I don't watch TV to have my stomach turned. I  watch it for entertainment, relaxation. I don't want to get my adrenalin pumping, thanks very much. It's fine in its everyday state, there when it's needed, not artificially stimulated by a little square box in my living room.

That said, I love it when the evildoers get what's coming to them. And that only happens on TV.

Evening at Home ~ north of driveway ~ looking south ~

Mr Doodle

Ducky Doodle, age 7

Poor little sweetness now spends his weekdays alone in the house, snoozing.
So he makes sure to get his snuggling quota in the evenings, when he is never far from a lap, wherever one may be.

I know someone will ask, so here it is: deer-faced chihuahua.

Wind Damage

Those wicked winds last week tore a good chunk of the house wrap off. Apparently it's of little concern*, as Scott found other things to do on the weekend rather than tack it back up. He even seriously considered driving to Humboldt to do some sales shopping and, had I agreed to go along, would've.

It was the last thing I felt like doing with a day off. I baked bread instead. Got the dishes done. Had a nice relaxing bath. Running around when I don't have to, even to please someone looking for a companion, seems unwise to me. All I wanted to do was stay home.

An old beau once translated this philosophy from French to English: "I like to please others, but not at my own displeasure." These are still words to live by, more than 30 years later. Maybe they allow me to be selfish or self-serving. I hope not. Maybe they remind me to respect and care for my own needs as much as those of others. I think so.

My sales shopping consisted of flipping through a Sears catalogue, circling the things I wanted to buy, underlining the order numbers, sizes and colours, and then throwing the catalogue onto a pile of recyclable papers in the porch. I don't need any of that stuff and won't be making any phone call to order it.

I do covet a good pair of pull-on walking boots though, and have my eye on a pair of Blundstones. I have shared this information with my spouse, who did not give me a Christmas present and feels sheepish—as well he should. My birthday is coming up so he can kill two birds with one stone, if he wishes. And if not, I shall buy them for myself. I'll be 55. Fifty-friggin-five! Still alive! Let's jive! I can't drive ... 55!

* As is often the case, there is method to Scott's madness. The torn house wrap is wrecked and has to be replaced with new.

Weekend Life

Two animals have been butchered and Scott divides up the packages of beef for private buyers.

It's 5:30 through a southwest window when I come inside.