· My own huge library
· A cabin in a remote spot
· A ’69 Mustang convertible
· Travel to Europe
· Tennis courts
· Cooking lessons
· Trans Siberian Orchestra concert
· Build something cool for all the schools I have attended
· Travel to Japan
· Write a book
· Dancing lessons
· Have my own garden and orchard
· Paint more
· Decorate my house inside and out
· Have a house with a old-fashioned wrap-around porch
· Have a house with a balcony off my bedroom
· Own season tickets to the Seattle Mariners
· Watch a World Series
· Grow even more houseplants
· Build Riley Rabbit an even nicer cage than the one he has
· Assist various relatives, friends, and worthwhile charities
· Buy Meagan her own DQ Blizzard machine
· Take a really long raft trip
· Travel to cool places to go skiing
· Decorate even more for Christmas
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
That's the way the cookie crumbles.
Sunday I spent the afternoon baking cookies and other “edibles” with three friends. Edible might be an exaggeration, but I am getting ahead of myself. With a few supplies, my roommate and I headed over to the host’s house to meet the other two ladies we were baking with. Minutes after arrival, I had to drive back to our apartment to grab a few more things. Originally we brought cookie pans, bread pans, Halloween sprinkles, and a hand mixer. I had to go get a mixing bowl, rolling pin, chocolate chips, measuring cups, measuring spoons, and cooking spray. It might have been easier to cook at our place from the get go, but the company was worth the hassle.
Returning to the party, I found the other girls getting into the swing of things without the measuring utensils. I learned that we were also making the cookies and bread healthy by substituting things like apple sauce and yogurt in place of butter, eggs, and frosting. Hmmm. To make matters more interesting, we were baking in a propane oven. Far from an expert cook, I have never baked in anything but an electric oven, yet I suspected that using a different type might impact baking time and temperature. Apparently, I am an old fuddy duddy for believing in timers or worrying about things like temperature because after stuffing the oven with whatever variety of items where currently ready, we just pulled cookies and bread whenever it looked done.
Frosting went on everything from the sugar cookies to the oatmeal-pumpkin cookies and bread. Colors were made and mixed with abandon while sprinkles were added generously. The frosted cookies dripped, which did not entirely make up for the fact that the baked goods themselves were hard as rocks. We had a good time with the runny stuff, but I am not sure if it will ever dry.
When we brought the finished product to the family (or future family) of all the cooks (except me) only one person was brave enough to try a cookie. After a raucous crunch and some brave chewing, she tossed the remainder of the cookie. My roommate and I had thought about sending a care package to a friend in Oregon who has the reputation for eating just about anything. We each revised that plan independently when we learned that the head chef had skipped the baking soda in all recipes. It is an unwritten law that you should not gift people with food you refuse to eat yourself.
From start to finish, a good time was had by all, but I am not sure what we are going to do with our “edibles.”
Returning to the party, I found the other girls getting into the swing of things without the measuring utensils. I learned that we were also making the cookies and bread healthy by substituting things like apple sauce and yogurt in place of butter, eggs, and frosting. Hmmm. To make matters more interesting, we were baking in a propane oven. Far from an expert cook, I have never baked in anything but an electric oven, yet I suspected that using a different type might impact baking time and temperature. Apparently, I am an old fuddy duddy for believing in timers or worrying about things like temperature because after stuffing the oven with whatever variety of items where currently ready, we just pulled cookies and bread whenever it looked done.
Frosting went on everything from the sugar cookies to the oatmeal-pumpkin cookies and bread. Colors were made and mixed with abandon while sprinkles were added generously. The frosted cookies dripped, which did not entirely make up for the fact that the baked goods themselves were hard as rocks. We had a good time with the runny stuff, but I am not sure if it will ever dry.
When we brought the finished product to the family (or future family) of all the cooks (except me) only one person was brave enough to try a cookie. After a raucous crunch and some brave chewing, she tossed the remainder of the cookie. My roommate and I had thought about sending a care package to a friend in Oregon who has the reputation for eating just about anything. We each revised that plan independently when we learned that the head chef had skipped the baking soda in all recipes. It is an unwritten law that you should not gift people with food you refuse to eat yourself.
From start to finish, a good time was had by all, but I am not sure what we are going to do with our “edibles.”
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Mad as a Wet Hen
I own an adorable dwarf bunny named Riley Rabbit. He has long, soft, white fur and deep chocolate-brown eyes with black eye-liner style eyelashes around them. I have loved bunnies ever since my mom read my first pat the bunny book to me and I wore out the fur. I had never been allowed to own a bunny and therefore Riley was a college graduation gift from my brother and his girlfriend who saw the little white fluff-ball that was baby Riley rabbit and instantly thought of me. I named the tiny fur ball Riley because it went well with Rabbit and also because it was the name of the pub where my college friends and I celebrated our graduation party and I found out about him. Graduation from college is usually seen as the fulfillment of some childhood dream, but not usually the forbidden pet kind.
During first few weeks of ownership, I solicited advice from many current and former rabbit owners and enthusiasts as I attempted to raise my new pet the best way possible. Most advice was corroborated by books, magazines, and websites. However, one person told me I needed to bathe my bunny on a regular basis and recommended some special shampoos. I thought this advice was somewhat odd, but since Riley has long hair and he was s
tarting to smell a little I did not worry too much about the soundness of the suggestion. Baby Riley also had issues with getting his chest fur tangled with his food so when he had a green streak down his chest from eating dandelion greens, I decided to give him a bath. As per instructions, I made sure the water in the tub was warm, not hot, and that there was just enough I could get him wet and wash him, but not drown him.
Riley did not appreciate my attempts on his behalf. He squirmed and wiggled and tried to hop out of the tub. I was just finishing rinsing him when he eluded my grasp and made a dash for freedom. Unfortunately, he happened to aim straight up the neck of my t-shirt where he quickly scooted around to my back and took up residence by hooking his claws into my bra straps. (As I have gotten to know his quirky little habits better I am more and more convinced he knew what he was doing.) I now looked like Quasimodo with a very wet, very angry hump. As Riley was strategically and firmly attached where I could not reach him, I called for help. My dad came to offer me aid, but took one look at my predicament and left laughing fit to kill. I finally had to retreat to the bathroom and strip in order to solve my problem and Riley obviously found a solution to his because he has never had to take another bath.
Mad wet hens are nothing compared to peeved soggy bunnies.
During first few weeks of ownership, I solicited advice from many current and former rabbit owners and enthusiasts as I attempted to raise my new pet the best way possible. Most advice was corroborated by books, magazines, and websites. However, one person told me I needed to bathe my bunny on a regular basis and recommended some special shampoos. I thought this advice was somewhat odd, but since Riley has long hair and he was s
tarting to smell a little I did not worry too much about the soundness of the suggestion. Baby Riley also had issues with getting his chest fur tangled with his food so when he had a green streak down his chest from eating dandelion greens, I decided to give him a bath. As per instructions, I made sure the water in the tub was warm, not hot, and that there was just enough I could get him wet and wash him, but not drown him.Riley did not appreciate my attempts on his behalf. He squirmed and wiggled and tried to hop out of the tub. I was just finishing rinsing him when he eluded my grasp and made a dash for freedom. Unfortunately, he happened to aim straight up the neck of my t-shirt where he quickly scooted around to my back and took up residence by hooking his claws into my bra straps. (As I have gotten to know his quirky little habits better I am more and more convinced he knew what he was doing.) I now looked like Quasimodo with a very wet, very angry hump. As Riley was strategically and firmly attached where I could not reach him, I called for help. My dad came to offer me aid, but took one look at my predicament and left laughing fit to kill. I finally had to retreat to the bathroom and strip in order to solve my problem and Riley obviously found a solution to his because he has never had to take another bath.
Mad wet hens are nothing compared to peeved soggy bunnies.
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