No you inside

"No, you inside!" Demands my toddler as I ask him kindly to come inside. I am cold, his baby brother is cranky and hungry, and I cringe each time he runs into the grass where dog poo tends to hide.

And then, once I drag him in, kicking and screaming, I nearly kick myself. Foster his love of the outdoors, you idiot, I scream to myself, inside my brain. (Does anyone else yell at themselves in their head?)

I end up reminiscing about my own childhood, a big reason why I moved back near home once I had kids. I loved the outdoors and hated being inside, I mean, inside is soooo boooring! I didn't own a gaming console and we only had a few tv channels. Outside was where it was at! I recall twilight as the time you enjoyed like the seconds before the alarm clock or last bite of ice cream, savoring the last seconds before you had to go inside.

As a child, I rode bikes, hiked, climbed trees, built forts. I played "war" and ran through the sprinklers, built snow tunnels, collected mistletoe, and collected wild edibles. I practiced the bow and arrow and atl atl, used power tools to carve designs into wood and rocks, and watched the meteor showers atop huge granite boulders. I made sled jumps and mud pies and rope swings. It was awesome. Oh, and I did all this unsupervised, just "within yelling distance", you know, before cell phones.

It seems we have lost this love of the outdoors, and this trust in our children or the world to let them play "in screaming distance" from us, untethered, unstructured, full of curiosity. In fact, one of my younger relatives actually asked me, "what do you do outside? It's so boring!" For which I about had a heart attack over. I wanted to cry. I wanted to grab her and most every other kid and transport them back in time to my time and show them what child hood is all about.

So when my son begs to come inside, I hesitate and give him just a few more minutes, letting him savor the simple joy of outdoors.

just keep smilin'

Have you ever been inspired by someone you have never met?

I am not talking about some famous leader, mover and shaker such as Gandhi or MLK Jr (although they are awesome!) No, I am talking about someone in a sense, just as inspiring, but not famous. I am talking about my half sister in law.

I have never met her (or her husband, my half brother, for that matter) and only know her from one email correspondence and photos her husband has shared via social media. Sadly, I will never get to meet her because she passed away last month after a battle with ALS.

I don't want to say she lost her battle, even though she has passed on, because she fought that battle like a superhero, down to her last moments. In every photo, she is smiling. I mean sure, who frowns in photos? But hello, if I had ALS, I am not so sure I would be smiling. But even through a photo over the internet, you could feel peace, joy, strength, a certain glow about her that said that she was a winner, a superhero, a bright light with a dark disease. Even after she lost her ability to walk, and probably talk and care for herself, she kept smiling and kept living. She had drinks with friends, dipped her toes in the ocean, enjoyed a sunny day while off-roading. She didn't let ALS win.
A woman I do not know but look up to, has inspired me. I hope I can somehow find her joy inside myself, not just in dark times but in good times too. She taught me strength and that life is, simply, awesome.

Sloppy joe pockets

I had a food blog for organic, healthy recipes..well...this certainly does not belong there!

Late night TV beckoned to me, a commercial was using pre packaged refrigerated biscuit dough tins to make sloppy joe pockets. Think hillbilly empanadas.

Who wants the hillbilly empanadas recipe? Here it is. I did my own version not the tv one.

Get 8 biscuits, flaky, buttery, whatever floats your boat. Brown a lb of hamburger and half a diced onion and an equal amount of diced green bell pepper.

Drain excess oil.

Add 1 tea garlic powder
A squeeze of mustard (tablespoon?) I used the spicy grainy deli stuff
2-3 tea brown sugar
Teeny pinch chili powder
Splash Worcestershire
Salt and pepper to taste
About a cup of ketchup...till it looks like sloppy joes!
Half to a cup of water- you are gonna simmer the liquids and spices with the beef mixture for about 10-15 min.

Let cool.

Grab your biscuits and smoosh them out into circles about 6" across. You could use a rolling pin I suppose but I got down and dirty and just used my hands.

Spoon in filling so it fills about half the circle but with an edge about 1/4" around. Not too high of filling! Or it will ooze out and you lose out on eating it!

Add a pinch of sharp cheddar on top.

Flop the other half side of the biscuit atop the meat part and seal with a fork to crimp it. Sprinkle a bit more cheese atop the biscuit.

Oven is at 375 right? Go!

Cook on a greased or parchment papered baking sheet 9-12 min till gold on top. I loooove parchment paper!

Let cool a bit and enjoy.

india, land of contrasts

Wouldn't it be cool if this was a travelogue of India? Yeah it isn't as I have never been to India. This post is all informative and nerdy, facts behind the many contrasts of India.

Home to a billion, give or take, manythink of India as sari clad call center women and engineer men in turbans, speaking Hindi and going to Hindu temples. But it is more than that. Over a decade ago, in college, I worked in an anthropology lab, archiving things. I found a magazine that mentioned a tribe in India and while I knew India was more than Hindus and Hindi, i hadn't a clue they had tribes and rare languages. Being the curious nerd I still am, I googled the tribe and learned India had tons of tribes, cultures, languagesmmmwho knew?!?! I embarked on a reseaech trail which ended up warping into an independent study mini thesis on Indian immigrants and their experiences in America. But the whole tribal thing kind of hid in the background. Some tribes are very "tribal" and others are woven into regular society, barely indistinguishable.

Now for some facts. Sure, a lot of Indians speak Hindi and to some extent, English. There are 22 official languages of India and each state is free to choose its own official language whether it is one of the 22 or not. 22, think of that. Sure, America being a melting pot has tons of languages but everything is kind of...English. in India you can hear two completely different languages while standing in line or whatever. You can see many different alphabets written on signs. You could easily end up somewhere, near home, where you do not understand a single written ir spoken word. Sure, about 40% of Indians understand some Hindi but...13 million speak Assamese, 83 million speak Bengali, 1.4 speak Bodo ,a language I never knew of; the population of New Hampshire or Estonia. Even more astonishing is the Bhojpuri language with 33 million speakers, that is the population of Morocco...but have you heard of Bhojpuri? A new language was discovered in just 2008' Koro. Granted there are only about 2,000 speakers but isn't it interesting that we just discovered a language? Researchers believe there are between 415 and 780 languages in India; some have their very own culture associated with them; many are among the tribes of India which make up about 8% of the population.

Religions in India are numerous as well, 80% are Hindu but 13% are Muslim, so that is over 100 million! Less in number are Jainism and Bahai, and tribal religions like Santhal.

So just think...India, too, is a melting pot.

remodel

I remodeled our small half bath...okay it is still being finished but I painted the white walls a teal...the color of twilight. I hung a picture I had painted. My mom found a small table for me which I antiqued and decoupaged. Everything needs finishing touches but I am happy with the results; my bathroom feels like a fancy hotel! (See the picture and more text below...)

To paint the walls I used a roller that was not quite rid of paint thinner so it went on spotty...not on purpose until I realized I liked the effect.

The table was covered in torn silver paper and then I made a cool stencil design. More accidents ensued and my acrylic paints adhered to the stencil and ripped up paper and got all gummy, but it added a near aged look. Then I made a blackbird stencil and smashed the ink pad I I the table, stencil in between. Yup, more accidents, as ink doesn't adhere to shiny paper so I carefully applied mod lodge to the ink to set it and then sponged some gray paint over it to try and replicate the stamp texture.

I am linking up at... http://www.prowessandpearls.blogspot.com/2013/10/doing-you-well-wednesday-37-and-some-co.html?m=1

frozen foreigner

Never before had I seen cords dangling from windows, attached to cars like tentacles, keeping cars from freezing. Never before had my breath formed ice in my scarf. Never before had I been to a place where people actually freeze to death.

In college, I spent a frozen month with my long distance boyfriend in an infamously dangerous neighborhood where I guess even locals fear to tread. I never felt unsafe; graffiti was hard to find and I never saw gang bangers...but then I'm used to how they dress in 80 degree weather....can you sag your two layers of pants? How easy is it to flash gang signs in thick mittens?

Really, I only feared freezing to death. Seriously, who decided a place that is -40c/-40f (counting windchill) in winter should be a great place to live? The village idiot? Walking to the subway at night meant your legs tingled with cold; it was rumored that you should not stay out exposed longer than 30 minutes or you risked hypothermia. Fully dressed. Ice went tinkle tinkle like glass, it was so cold. Rivers froze over- a novelty for a girl from the desert where rivers evaporated. People shopped underground, it was so cold a virtual gopher world. Everything was gray above and below ground, gray and cold.

I feared the laundry room, afraid some former Soviet Republic immigrant might yell at me in a strange language, for doing laundry during his time. I feared that my 4 years of French would fail me. when jhuh swee pehteet (je suis petite, I am small) becomes schweepeetee, does may day (m'aide, help) become mee way or something?

I feared bad gas. I was vegetarian at the time, on a major budget, and lactose intolerant. I basically ate nothing but bread, falafel, baba ghanoush, ramen, and cabbage for a month straight...but perhaps I kept myself a little warmer, farting the days away.

I feared depression because as mentioned, everything was gray, dull, cold and seemed to dampen the mood.

I never feared the neighborhood or its people. Even the subway prostitute was friendly.

I hope someday to return to Quebec, to see it in a livelier month. I recently google-mapped areas I am sure I had tread, I moved the little street view guy here and there around the NDG 'hood and beyond, and nothing looked the least familiar, covered in summery leaves and sunshine. Even my memories are kind of fuzzy, dreamlike. I don't even have a single photo from my month there, and I am that stereotypical tourist snapping a thousand photos. The only vivid memories are emotions and oddly, smells. The smell of dishwater, cabbage, diesel fuel, and snow mix together and say, Quebec. The feeling of poverty, loneliness, just eeking a surviving in a subterranean frozen world.

The great craft disaster

Ever done a craft and you did everything wrong an arse backwards? If so you will appreciate my efforts. I am super happy about my recent art and yet super bummed.

I took a class in book arts over a decade ago; my favorite art class ever because it united many loves of mine- books, mixed media, art... There are endless possibilities in book arts and it is addictive.

Word to the wise : if you suck at doing things at precise times in precise order with precise results, book arts will be hell. It was for me. Yes I loved and hated the class because it was wrought with mistakes. I can't even cook anything that isn't slow-cooker because halfway through, I remember I forgot three ingredients. Book arts is not forgiving like the crockpot. Book arts means crooked covers and warped pages, and sliced open appendages ever time I use the knife (I should not be allowed near sharp objects).

So one day I got this grand idea, to make a book for my son. I am a do it now or never type of person when it comes to inspiration so I just went at it and worked into the night writing and painting the pages.

I did not research any "how to" and didn't even think to think about how I made books in the past.

I then kind of forgot my book because I had another son shortly after. I slowly accumulated book supplies and got back to work.

Disaster continued.

wrinkles and glue stains oh poo

I ended up having to glue my folded pages together (a no-no), and has to use 99/cent crappy paints. I sewed the binding and lost track and thus a very a,b,a,b precise patterned binding ended p in clumps. I made book cloth and the glue was too clumpy and wet and bled through and the fabric wrinkled. I tried re-setting the paper and cloth and it wrinkled even more no matter what I did.

I have yet to glue the fabric to a board and the book to make a book cover, another potential disaster awaits.

I at least know all my mistakes. I hope to make another identical book with less mistakes, but who knows.

I cannot stitck

super cute! esxcept for errant paint