dreaming in bloglish

I’m not fluent in any language other than English — though I can stumble painfully along in the particular dialect of Indirectese that my inlaws speak — but I’ve always heard it said that when you start dreaming in another language, you know you own it.

Last night I was in the midst of a dream in which bizarre things were being perpetrated around and upon me, and I thought, “I am so going to blog this.” And, still fully dreaming, began to reflect on precisely the angle I would take in the telling.

Please tell me you do this too, and it’s just a sign of stretching into a new sphere of fluency… right? And not an indication of, oh, say, addiction… because I hear tell alcoholics dream about drinking, too.

a spot of fall cleaning

A couple weeks ago Becky over at Suburban Matron, whom I read religiously — and frankly far, far more often than I attend church — did a post about loose ends. You know, how you post about something, and then it just kind of goes away, and your readers sometimes wonder: What ever happened to… with…?

Yeah, I’ve got a few of those untidied spots here at Fraught. Mostly because I have lots of untidied and unfinished things in my life in general, due to life in general interfering with completion of tasks and such. But here’s the rundown, in reverse chronological order cos that’s how I roll:

1. I did indeed fulfill my personal Challenge via Kate at BookNook, and went to bed every night by 10 for that whole week. Or at least 10:05. It was pretty great. Since then… oh, not so much. I’ve made it a few times, but they have been more than outweighed by the 10:30 and 11:00s, and yikes, I think I saw 11:30 at least once too. On the upside, I actually won Kate’s giveaway on her blog from that challenge and scored some groovy bath salts. Not that I’ve had time for a bath or anything, but it’s always good to have bath salts on hand. Just in case.

(And fyi, Kate swears that her drawing was not rigged, even though the cynical-minded might remember she had only recently herself won a Fabulous Prize in Fraught’s First-Ever Giveaway.)

2. I still haven’t made Richard’s Blueberry Scones. But I have every intention of doing so. And I do have about 35 pounds of blueberries in the freezer.

3. Yes, my road rash healed up quite nicely. As in, I don’t have any noticeable scarring, which is pretty remarkable really. It was my first time using Tegaderm, and I will never treat asphalt abrasion with anything else again. The stuff ROCKS. It ain’t cheap, but it is worth every penny.

4. We went ahead and called for several bids on the screen porch project, with an eye to moving quickly and enjoying fall evenings out there, overlooking as it does a streetful of deciduous trees. And then one evening, Kira was sloshing about in the main-floor tub and I heard a rather ominous noise, and then I heard a tremulous, “Mo-o-m-mmy?” and walked in to see that when she used the circa 1959 tiled-in soap dish to raise herself out of the water, she had pulled it plus about a dozen more rotted tiles clean off the wall and kerplunk into the tub.

Happily none of them crashed down onto her toes, and she was only startled, and muy puzzled, not hurt. But the immediate result was pretty clear: tile situation trumps groovy porch. I spent way too much time and energy contemplating, researching, and expensing options from a plug-in tub surround re-do (“A New Look For Your Bathroom In A Single Day!!”) to a complete reno of the bathroom (“cha-ching cha-ching cha-CHING!!”), which is a project I have little love for.

And I suppose the truth is I could probably rustle up some love for it if I could have the cashflow for it AND the porch AND the complete transformation of the upstairs bath that I really, REALLY fantasize about. But in the scheme of things, give me a $300 patch job and I can live with the pink tub, grey tile, vinyl floor and crappy vanity for another half-decade. Or more, because I am good at that kind of blind eye. And ultimately we decided to go with that: a simple and inexpensive patching of the existing tile.

All of which means the porch is still on the table, figuratively speaking. Though not in time for autumn color appreciation. Dogwood blossoms, perhaps.

5. Although I don’t know if it qualifies as a loose end, Megan did eventually come to a place where she would generally tidy her room when requested to do so.

And more than that, I know that I write most often about the challenges of her intensity, so I want to say that over the last months the vast majority of the time she has been overwhelmingly wonderful.

She is an incredible soul, tender and sweet and astonishingly complex, and there are so many times when I am overtaken with delight as I marvel at her tenderness and loving nature. Though it’s clear that she and I will never be free of a certain power dynamic, I am learning that she has a depth of sweetness that I hadn’t guessed at. It is a joy in my life, as is she.

Now. Is there anything I’ve forgotten, anything in my life you’ve been wondering about, anything at all? Just let me know. I’ll be happy to catch you up.

It’s The Buzz Giveaway!!

Okay, you have Becky, the lovely Suburban Matron, to thank for this, my first-ever Blog Giveaway.

In conjunction with my last post I am hosting an exciting Giveaway opportunity!  Click here to go to the post, and see my reply to Becky’s comment.

Woohoo!!  Just think — YOU could win!  In fact, your odds are fantastic… leave your comment on the original post, please.

what to do with yellow squash

I met Beth last summer, at a going-away party for mutual friends.   I’d known of her for years, since she’s been a journalist with our local newspaper just about as long as I’ve lived here which is, heavens to Murgatroyd, going on a couple decades.  I’d always stopped short of actually introducing myself, since jeez, she’s an awesome writer and like practically a celebrity.

But at that party, we got to chatting and it turned out we graduated from high school the same year, practically shouting distance from one another, and she visits my tiny hometown regularly on her trips back.  And we had some other stuff in common too and it was an evening-long conversation that begat a book group, among other things.

Now she’s off to Hah-vahd.  Girl landed herself, well deserved, one a them prestigious Nieman Fellowships for Journalism.  So she’s packing up the fam and heading to Cambridge for a year.  Happily, she’s begun a blog, so we won’t have to live without her wonderful facility with the written word while she’s on leave from her regular journalism duties.

Selfishly, I want to host more dinner parties where she and her husband are at the table, so I am crossing my fingers in real honest prayerful hope that she’ll actually return after that year.  It seems likely but, as they say, nothing is certain in the world, and the future of print journalism may find itself sharp on the cutting blade of that old saw.

Anyhoo, in the packing-up part, Beth finds herself contending with an eat-down of pantry-plus proportion.  You can read her post on that process, and I’m going to remember here to thank her for reintroducing me to Mark Bittman, the New York Times’ “The Minimalist” food writer.  I can’t wait to try some of his Simple Salad recipes!

In her post is a plea for what to do with a quantity of yellow squash, and I promised I’d share my best recipes for putting paid to the overabundance that is, inevitably, summer squash. Both recipes will work with zucchini as well, or a combination.

Yellow Squash with Sausage

4-5 medium yellow squash, sliced in 1/4-inch rounds
1 pack smoked sausage such as kielbasa, sliced in rounds
1 onion, sliced vertically very thin
2 T olive oil (approximate)
1/2 t or so cajun seasoning

Saute onion and sausage in large skillet with small swirl of oil until onion is translucent.  Add squash and rest of oil.  Turn to high heat to sort of carmelize the squash, stirring frequently.  Add cajun seasoning.  Lower heat slightly; cover for a few minutes to thoroughly cook squash if necessary, or simply continue to saute until nicely carmelized/brown.

Can be served over rice for a complete meal.

_______________________________________________________

Now, if your squash is so sizeably mature as to resemble a fungo bat, it may not lend itself pleasantly to sauteing.  Try this instead:

Squash Cake

3 eggs
1.5 c sugar
1/2 c oil (canola or somesuch)
1/2 c applesauce
2 c flour
2.5 t baking powder
2 t baking soda
2 t cinnamon (feel free to add pie spice, nutmeg, cloves, etc)
3/4 t salt
2 c yellow squash (pureed or just shredded; squeeze it out a bit)
1 t vanilla

In large bowl, beat eggs w/sugar.  Add oil and beat.  Sift dry ingredients and beat into creamed mixture.  Stir in squash and vanilla and mix well.  Batter will be quite liquid.  Turn into a greased/floured bundt pan.  Bake at 350 degrees for about 55 minutes. My oven is off one direction or another, so it’s worth checking it at 50 minutes or so.

the photographer’s wife

… doesn’t go camera-less. Especially when she’s an artist herself.

This is just one of some very cool photos taken by Missy (of Guadalajara Year there on my links) on a recent solo trip to Oaxaca.

They will soon be returning stateside, and I fervently hope she plans to continue blogging, because they are moving away from us, permanently this time (SO sad), and on to the next adventure in their lives, and I want to stay updated.

A new blog title might be in order, of course, so I was thinking maybe she could run a contest. With a framed photo for a prize, maybe.

I’ll be stuffing the ballot box.

fraught for now

As you may know, last month I flirted, and tramp that I am, even slept with, the notion that I was going to shutter up here at Fraught. But it hasn’t come to pass; my bloggy burnout seems to have faded, and I find myself wanting to reconnect with my known readers here.

So. Thanks for sticking around. I don’t promise prolific postings, but in between the busy that is summer, I’ll have something to say here and there. I might even get around to changing that header image up there to something properly seasonal.

What about the ‘hood? Well, I’ve come to think that there’s not much that needs to be said about other people, really. (Not that I spent much time there before, but just a dab’ll do. Word up.)

And if I happen to want to say it anyway? Let’s just say I won’t be saying it here.

‘Nuff said. See you soon.

hey y’all

It’s becoming hard to ignore: I have bloggy burnout. Or something.

Because there’ve been a number of things that I’ve had every intention of blogging about — a rant about insurance “providers,” a family outing and the woman with her doggy jogger, the seasons of friendship, the chagrin/delight that was my early-morning ride with my lovely friend Sarah… all post-worthy, and there are numerous paragraphs either actually written down or running around in my head on all of them.

And no urge, at least not at any actionable level, to put in the time and effort necessary for public consumption of same.

And in truth, there’s a larger piece in play, which is that I’ve realized there’s a price to pay for blogging in this fishbowl of a neighborhood I live in. And over the last months, this blog has, sadly, has brought a not-insubstantial amount of negative energy into my life. That, in turn, has diminished my enthusiasm for investing time putting myself into words. And led me to wonder: Where from here?

It may be that I take a longer, deeper break. It may be that I close the doors here at Fraught with the intention to re-open them in an anonymous location. With all search capabilities disabled. It may be that I turn to another venue altogether for writing. Or that I put energy into other things for a good while.

I honestly haven’t even thought through the options thoroughly yet.

But I just wanted to let y’all know. Because I appreciate that you take the time to read, even if you don’t comment, and I didn’t want to leave you wondering if I’d maybe fallen off my bike and broken both elbows, rendering me incapable of posting.

Love and smooches,
Amy

spring break ‘09

Hey y’all. I’m going to be taking some time off. Yes, I may pop in once in a while, but look for pickins to be slim to none here for a bit. It probably won’t be long, but I’m not sure I know that right now.

In no particular order:

1) It’s the start of garden season, and since Garden Plot Fraught underwent some fairly serious annexation over the winter, this is a far more intensive project than in years past. I have got some major bed-building and soil-amending and conceptualizing and just plain dirt-diggin’ to attend to.

2) There are a lot of miles calling my name in the coming gorgeous spring days, and at least until semester’s end I cannot justify increased time riding and running without giving up something. Because there’s that pesky 24-hours-in-a-day thing curtailing my life.

And most pressingly perhaps, 3) It’s time for some of that movement toward being a better person that I reference in my About section. And this time around it’s pretty clear that that means time journaling and writing down stupid ugly sometimes painful crap that’s in my head, stupid thoughts I’m having and stupid things I’ve done and my feelings about the above and general ugliness I don’t much like to look at. And while I know there are those who throw all their angst onto the public blotter of a blog, that’s not going to happen here at Fraught, partially because I know that it will take the tides of seclusion and privacy to get me where I need to go but mostly because that’s just not how I roll.

And if I’m blogging, I’m not journaling. Period. Because blogging is a heck of a lot more fun, and when I’m done with a post not only am I sort of all writ out for a while, but it’s such a different kind of writing, I can’t for the life of me seem to switch gears very well. Maybe I just need a new clutch or something. I’ll be sure to get that looked at.

So, now. Don’t go way far away. I hope to be back soon.

Protected: I’m takin’ names

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Me, I, or whoever

(Note: It’s Wednesday, Carnival Day — Kate’s blog carnival. This week’s topic was “Friends.” I got kind of caught up this morning with my response, below, to some fallout from an earlier post, but it’s technically about friends, so she linked to me anyhow. Thanks Kate! Stop back next Wednesday, and I’ll try to be on-topic again.)

I tend to believe that blogs, or at least this one, should be about cutting it close to the edge on occasion. I’m hardly setting out to offend people on a regular basis, but I don’t mind putting something out there that might not sit well with every last person who ends up reading me.

However.

When it comes down to whether or not I’m being mean-spirited, I will take a stand and say this: I may well be mean-spirited on occasion. But you, out there reading, can be pretty well certain that it will never be about someone I’ve described as a friend. And if you have interpreted something I wrote about such an individual in that way, well, I hope you will take the time to read it again and see if you can find another way to think about it, because I surely did not mean it that way.

Word on the neighborhood street would suggest that I need to clarify that my reason for indicating the occupations of my three friends in last week’s “Not I” post was to draw attention to their intelligence and education in saying that they, along with Mr. Obama and many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, MANY other well-educated and bright, smart, articulate people, make the same grammatical error.

And not — NOT — to point a belittling finger at those three girlfriends. Who maybe now SHOULD walk into a bar together, with me, and let me buy them all a round of drinks, or two, for defending me to others who thought that they were the butt of some snide pettiness on my part. (Fortunately, they themselves know me better.)

Should I have chosen to simply say “three of my very own intelligent, articulate, well-educated friends” to make the point? In retrospect, my, it certainly would’ve been prudent. However, this is my blog, and I write it because I enjoy writing. And I will allow as how my enamoration with the bar-joke line was such that it blinded me to the potential for it to be misread, for those inclined to see things in that way, as personally directed pettiness.

So. Since apparently some of y’all took that post way, WAY too seriously — nope, I don’t really feel THAT strongly about grammar — entirely overlooking what I believed was recognizable as a tongue-in-cheek tone, it’s time to say thanks for the reminder that I should watch how, exactly, I write what I mean to say. Lest it be misinterpreted.

And for those who have something to say about what I write here, I’d love to point out that there is a handy “comment” option down there at the bottom. I encourage an open forum, even an anonymous one.

Protected: not I

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Thursday thanks

You know, I’ve noticed that when I write about how crappy I feel, people really make a point of taking the time to say something nice, and/or offer advice. Sometimes they call, sometimes they email, sometimes they comment — but overall there’s a flow of feel-good that I never would have imagined.

Of course, as nice as that is, I’d take NOT feeling crappy over all the well wishes. Just seems I haven’t had that choice lately.

It’s late enough now that I’m not going to tell the story from today about taking a bath with Kira because I had the sore-all-over thing going and a steamy hot soak just sounded so good. Suffice it to say that bathing with a two-and-a-half-year-old didn’t exactly soothe my aching bod. But it did feed my soul, and my giggle bank.

I will however tell the story about being intrigued with one reader’s suggestion to “buy and use a netti pot religiously.” I’d seen netti (also neti) pots in like some of the freebie mags that end up in my cart at the co-op, but I’ll confess I lumped them in with, I don’t know, ayurvedic medicine maybe, which, while it may well be exactly what works for you, isn’t my deal. So I’d given a big nyet on the netti pot fad.

But since I don’t have this reader pegged as the crystal-totin’ type — not that there’s anything wrong with that — I got online after reading his comment and saw that in fact there is a reasonable faction of folks out there, spread across the medical-provider spectrum, who stand behind sinus irrigation.

Well. My sinuses were clearly in need of SOMETHING. However, about the last thing I felt like doing this morning, save for perhaps scrubbing the catbox, was heading out in search of a netti pot. After viewing a couple of YouTube productions, it occurred to me that I could probably fashion one out of something around the house, optimally something with a preexisting sort of spoutish device… yes.

So I cast about in the closets and crannies for an item filling the above description, and suffice it to say that desperation is the mother of innovation, and Kira’s really past the sippy-cup phase anyway.

Sorry. But, you know, my sinuses really DO feel better. And after the second ablution, this afternoon, the gunk coming out afterward no longer bore any resemblance to split-pea soup, so I’m thinking that’s all to the good.

We’ll have to wait on the religious aspect of it, which I think means doing it regularly as opposed to, like, on random religious holidays that we might or might not celebrate here at Casa Fraught. But I’m going to give it a try, because if it can make a difference in my health going forward, that, my friends, is beyond priceless.

Heck, I might even invest in an actual netti pot.

where’s that chicken recipe anyway?

One of my more popular posts by hit count is the one titled A Little Break, not because it’s any great masterpiece of literature or commentary but because it is home to the recipe for Rave-Worthy Moroccan Chicken. Which apparently has its own little fan club and is, I will blushingly add, being served at not one but two New Year’s Eve dinners this week that I know of.

I’m writing here not to encourage you to try it if you haven’t (though you should), but to point out that there is now a handy-dandy search feature over there on the right. You can search for “chicken” or for “adult fun” or for whatever you’d like. If you search for “naked breasts” you will not get a chicken recipe, nor will you see a post on adult fun. But you might get something. You never know.

Just a little something to make life easier. Because we’re all about the love here at Fraught.

the changing o’ the header image

Yes, it’s true: I just get bored of the same old one. I used to change my voicemail greeting seasonally too, back when I had time to think about those sorts of things.

I’m a little behind here, but I love these fall colors and I wasn’t ready to careen from purple-drenched late-summer hues straight into a winter theme.

So’s you know, I cadge all my header photos from the MPM’s forays into our yard with the camera. Our jpeg files show a pretty clear breakdown: I take the vast majority of the people pictures, and he’s got almost exclusive domain over the landscape/skyscape/nature shots.

Hmm…. what does that say about us? And anyone else wanna fess up? Who drives your digital?

And for the bloggity peeps out there: if you have a custom header, how did you choose it?

fall vacation

I’m going to take a few days to enjoy the beautiful weather (with and without my family), work on some halloween costumes, and take at least a stab or two at the Sisyphean undertaking we know around here as household maintenance.

Don’t go far away.  Given the addictive nature of this blogging beast, I may fall off the wagon sooner than I intend, but look for postings to be light for a bit.

Drop me a comment and let me know how you’re spending your week.  Cheers!!