Come fry with me!

Yankee that I am, I don't have much experience in the world of frying things. This is sad. Pakora curry is my homeboy. Donuts haunt my dreams. But mine has been a world of "dinner" as baking, or steaming, or more often than I'm proud of, microwaving.

To the rescue is this month's BHG (which, can we just talk about Michelle Obama + healthy picnic foods for a second? Holy crapballs this is my dream.) Their corn and bean fritter recipe did not disappoint, even after the week and a half of anticipation that brewed while I was working and traveling and unable to create crispy magic in my own kitchen.

Oh here it is!

I added to this some southwest chipotle seasoning... and just a modest pile of shreddy cheese... and hello, we have dinner.

Charles tested, Laura approved. I should add that Charles: a) added his beloved sour cream, b) did not detect the beans prior to my disclosure of their existence in this dish (score 1 for veggie protein not ruining an experience), and c) inadvertently renamed this "corn pancakes." Why not.

But while we're at it, what else could we fry? Can we take the idea of part vegetable, part bean, part cornbread masterpiece on a trip around the farmers market? Can we instead grate zucchini, or onion, or something even stranger? Of COURSE we can. Pick your poison:

Happy frying! I'll see you at the cardiovascular center.

If it sounds too good to be true, you're going to need to change your t-shirt.

I'm a simple lady. I like to eat and drink and sit and walk. And my two favorite things are probably dogs and milkshakes. So imagine my thrill, my hope, my exhilaration, when I learned via coupon that one of these things could soon be a regular part of my life (no thanks to Charles' refusal to let a beautiful puppy bring us joy) because Edy's has invented a single-serving, at-home "Shake" that requires just adding milk and stirring! Scooping ice cream? Forget about it! Cleaning your blender? Eff that!

Hope for a better tomorrow.

I really did believe that this would increase my summer fun by, like, 400%. And then I used my coupon and the truth came out.

Never mind that these "shakes" are stored in the freezer, hence they are frozen. The directions said to add milk and stir, so gosh darnit, that's what I did. Nothing more, nothing less. And three seconds later, physics had the last laugh and my kitchen was covered in dairy.

I wish it could be that simple.

 Cleverly on the part of Edy's, my coupon was good for a discount on the purchase of 3 milk grenades, so I was afforded an opportunity for learning and growth. "This time will be different!", I thought. "I'm going to take responsibility for my role in yesterday's chocolately monsoon and leave the cup on the counter to thaw out a bit before I go human-Kitchenaid on its ass."

10 minutes rolled by and I optimistically skipped back into the kitchen and stepped right up to a nice cup of cookies and cream soup. Good one, shake. I added the milk and put it back in the freezer. And checked on it. And checked on it again. And when it was really cold, still not frozen, I grumbled with it back to the couch. And were it not intoxicatingly delicious despite its liquidity I would've sworn off this effort altogether.

By the time I figured out the perfect counter-thaw time (3 minutes), I was down to my last shake (and my last nerve) and it was vanilla and it was bland. Our verdict: While I appreciate Edy's appreciation of how much it sucks to clean a blender, I've had enough of their lies (see below). If you're still not convinced, at least wear a poncho. Learn from my mistakes.

Still half true.

 

Getting settled?

Aaand we live here now.

Moving is hard. Facing visual reminders of your hypocrisy in the form of boxes of pretty useless stuff after vowing to never earn a spot on Hoarders is hard. Maintaining diplomacy and kindness when asserting where the TV should go so that it doesn't become the centerpiece of the room and scream WE LOVE TV when you walk in the door... hypothetically... is hard.

But...

We live here now!

Living with Charles is easy. Being with someone who's helpful and kind, and who's interested in creating and maintaining comfort, is easy. Visits from friends, announced or not, that end up on the back patio at best and with tours of the place at least, are easy.

So thank you. We are very thankful for our dear friends. Please come here everyday. Seriously. It's cool.

That being said, the reality of working has meant that what I thought would be a whirlwind of cleaning and sorting and painting and placing has actually been more like... sitting. Drinking. Watching Hoarders.

There are some mini-improvements to speak of. Twinkly lights. Two hanging baskets that Charles found reminiscent of blueberries (and therefore obviously destined to be ours). Our names are on the mailbox. Is the living room free of boxes? Are we certain of what furniture we'll have and where it will go? Nono. But we're getting there.

Blueberry!

So stay tuned. It's not that the to-do list doesn't exist (it does). It's that I'd rather have you over and give you and some ice cream - I mean just you - my undivided attention.

The final countdown!

T minus 2 days till The Next 13 And A Half Months. The mood is fantastic if a little overwhelmed.

Our thoughts (and conversations) have been occupied with attempts to plan what pieces of furniture and which boxes and which activities of daily living will be moved over to the house on days 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5 before the subletter arrives. In other words, we're trying to gain control. Control of how much stuff we have, and of the fact that we're moving in somewhere new, and that we'll have a whole house to ourselves (well, not to ourselves - all our stuff has to go in it, too.) It's becoming clear, though, that these plans have little to do with what will actually take place, but moreso speak to the fact that moving freakin sucks and we're (I'm) a little nervous.

I'm sure however, that with Ari's help and with a case of beer, we will get it done and probably still be in a relationship by the time we live together.

Oh. One more task that's striking fear in my heart - assembling our giant wardrobes. That's right, people, no closets. But with several cheap furniture assembly successes in my past (I have a PhD in Little Right-Angled Screwdrivers from the University of Target.) and vicarious self efficacy raising narratives such as this one, we're venturing on into the world of Giant. Wardrobes. That'll just have to do.

So I'm keeping my eye on the prize. The prize being windowboxes.

And for good measure, some moving tips. (Mmm, Unclutterer.)

Also - and stop me if this isn't totally fate - but while on a treadmill for the first time since April, and despairing over how we would move our giant wardrobes around if we didn't like their positioning, I looked up to see THIS (!) on the television screen:

I think we all know I've spent $19.99 in far worse ways. And if anyone needs to move any compact cars with their bare hands anytime soon, I'd be happy to go half in. Just let me know.

Getting Told What's Up.

Oh, naive optimism.

"I got these seeds! I have this windowbox! If I put the seeds in the windowbox, I'll have herbs! That's how it worked with the seedlings on the counter in first grade, right? Fantastic."

I'm learning the hard way that it's not that simple. Why? Because I was just living my life, minding my own business, when I awoke to find THIS MASSACRE:

What is happening in this picture, you ask? See that dirt on the ground? See the craters in what was once fairly level soil? That would be a bird, or squirrel, or something (guesses welcome) disrespectfully rummaging through my window box and eating the seeds. Imagine my shock! (I suppose you don't have to, I'm having a wear-my-emotions-on-my-sleeve day.) (Those are rare for me, I know.)

So anyway, shocked. But what a teachable moment (for me, not the bird/squirrel. They've already proven pretty clever.) How to avoid this? How to remedy it? Should I put out birdseed for them to eat instead, or will that just make them even more likely to scatter my belongings/shatter my dreams?

One lesson I learned immediately is to include little markers when growing things from seed. I really thought I'd remember what I planted & where, but that obviously hasn't happened. I suppose we'll just see what (if anything) sprouts and guess from there. Noted. And hopefully they'll look as cool as these:

Here are some other ideas I've scavenged like an angry bird or squirrel:

To answer the question of "Should I put out birdseed?" it seems like a resounding, "No. Are you ridiculous."

It actually doesn't say that anywhere on that page, but it does hint at the fact that birds are attracted to birdseed. This was sadly pretty groundbreaking to me.

Another fun fact gleaned from this page: people apparently don't like pigeons. This is news to someone from the burbs. I thought they were kind of funny. Guess not.

And to answer the question of "How do I prevent this life-ruiner from striking again, given that I'm not into scarecrows?", we have some helpful hints here.

To summarize:

1. Instill Terror: apparently scarecrows really are a thing. I was only kidding. Not going to happen. Also saw a suggestion to hang metal things that make noise. This suggestion must be for people who are greater horror film enthusiasts than I. Pass.
2. Don't be a fool, wrap your garden: there's something called "bird netting". It's... what it sounds like. Stake the bed, put net on top, evade disaster.
3. Make a Giant Mess: water before planting instead of after. Makes the seeds muddier/harder to find. Sneaky. Genius. Sneaky genius.

So now we know. And will approach our next seed-sowing with some tools in our toolbox.

In with a whole lot of items.

 

Do you like what we've done with the place?

Phase 1 of moving is (mostly) done. Miraculously, we fit Charles' things into the second bedroom. Now we'll be ready to take them two houses down for the Real house on the 15th. It is still sinking in that this is happening. I think when he arrives "home" (to my apartment) for the first time, it could be really strange. Not in a bad way. Just strange.

This. Is. Real.

*UPDATE: It was not strange. It was lovely. He arrived in his grown-up car wearing his grown-up work clothes. We ate dinner and drank wine on the balcony. This will be good.

Out with the old.

We're gearing up for the new place. We get our keys on the 15th. Finding subletters, however, required a little flexibility on when we would move about. Charles found someone who would rather not move in at a totally random time (What? All the cool kids rearrange their lives to move into places on the 15th.) and that leaves us a hefty two weeks of packing it in to my current apartment, which is already, you guessed it, full of my crap.

Charles has the truck reserved for Monday. I'm tentatively curious (read: super negative. Don't tell him.) about how we're going to fit another bedroom set into the place. Get ready for some pictures that evoke Hoarders and feature me doing the laugh-cry in the background.

In preparation for The Next 13 And A Half Months, I'm spending today getting rid of some crap. Specifically, underwhelming books, underwhelming clothes, busted electronics, and a wealth of VHS tapes bestowed upon me by my VERY GENEROUS FRIENDS. No, I have not owned a VHS player since living here. No, it did not stop me from bringing in 3 bags of tapes. Of things (er, no offense, Anna) that no one should really spend time watching. (You Got Served, anyone? How about a nice Titanic viewing? Don't forget the second tape. Actually probably just watch the second tape.)

As a recovering packrat of strong packrat lineage, I sought help from organizing blogs (these exist! Many of them!), magazines and wise friends. Most sources will tell you, if you don't use it or wear it, get rid of it. This was tough to internalize but I think I got the hang of it. Goodbye, Burlodge shirt. Goodbye, ragstock accident of a skirt. Goodbye, hoopdie candleholders and extra rolling pin.

Diana was helpful with the books. She said that keeping books from our days in Women's Studies that build up high-level theory with giant words is NOT the same thing as being a socially just person. Or any kind of person. Except a packrat. THAT was a liberating moment. (Not that they're all going, of course. But many are. Dear Sisters, you made the cut. Breaking the Bowls, thank you for your service. I bet, had I actually read you, you would've been really groundbreaking.)

And finally, in addition to the practical suggestions, I enjoyed the following quirkier thoughts from Unclutterer.


"When sorting — even if you aren’t having much difficulty — keep the following three things in mind to help you speed through the process:

1. Don’t touch it. Avoid touching items you anticipate are going to be difficult for you to sort. Instead, ask a friend, family member, or professional organizer to hold these objects up for you. When we touch objects, we form stronger emotional connections with these objects. You’re more likely to be reasonable and make rational decisions about objects if you don’t touch them.
2. Post your goal. Draw a picture, write it down, or find an old photograph of the space when it was uncluttered and organized and post it where you can see it while you work. You can’t talk yourself into keeping objects you don’t need when you have a constant reminder of your goal staring you in the face.
3. Be happy. Play upbeat music, listen to an audiobook with a positive message, have a friend with a good attitude keep you company, or do whatever you need to do to stay happy during the process. When you’re in a good mood, your stress levels decrease and you’re more creative, able to come up with alternatives, and be more hopeful about the future. Happiness is a terrific friend during the uncluttering process."

Yeah, just ask your professional organizer to hold it up for you. But no really, that's a sweet blog and I'm sure I'll consult it often during the move.

The next time you hear from me, I'll be adjusting to my new life without Billy Blanks' Tae-Bo Ultimate Abs. Hope it's bearable.

Go plant that seed, man. Plant it with your finger.

Summers in Michigan are rivaled by few things in my book. Spending time on patios, or more accurately, apartment balconies, has brought much joy and peace to my life as friends and I navigated college, then grad school, then the shock that we were adults. Or more accurately, no longer in grad school. How wonderful it would be, I’ve thought, to take (better. more consistent.) note of the many elements that make our “patio living” what it is.


WHAT IF WE HAD A MAGAZINE?!

Anyone know how to make a magazine?

No?

A blog it is.


The hug-like breezes and lilac bushes and lost out-of-towners asking to be pointed toward Zingerman’s lay the foundation, but friends and I build upon these Ann Arbor givens. We eat. We get drunk. And a lot of the time, we do these things with more creativity than would really be required. How wonderful, instead of keeping this amateur homemaking magic to myself, to share it and showcase it, and hopefully strengthen my cooking or gardening muscles along the way. Not making any promises here. But I would welcome a reason to expand on my current culinary repertoire of … bread and cheese.

Last summer, I thought I might produce such a collection. I made lists. I ate and drank a lot. (Research.) And totally did not go to a free class at the library branch about blogging, only to find out that only old ladies go to classes like that because everyone in our generation already knows basic computer skills but really it was ok because I was unemployed at the time and that was like the only social contact I had that day. Totally did not do that. But alas, I lost steam. I needed to find an apartment and move and work and then the summer was over. But hark! Not ONLY have my dear friends Michelle and Diana set wonderful examples by sharing their writing. Not ONLY do I have a continued, if not heightened, interest in eating and drinking and DIY decorating. Not ONLY does Better Homes and Gardens still “do it” for me after all our years together. But this summer, unlike all summers before, I will be moving into a new (to us) (rental) home with my man (we’ll call him Charles). Excited is an understatement. And with that, I have a new fire under my ass to be a kickass (say “ass” again.) cook and bartender and container gardener and DJ and all around patio ninja.

So here we are! After a cold winter and a series of cruel jokes posing as spring, summer is just about here. And so is Patio Living, a journey in eating, drinking, sitting, growing, and jamming, all on patios.  Or porches. Or apartment balconies or whatever you’ve got.

As a first endeavor, I’ve ripped last year’s dead herbs out of the windowbox. I have planted new seeds. Basil. Cilantro. Chives and oregano, and thyme.  (I regret to report, Josh, that your confidence about them lasting through the winter was unwarranted. I admire your optimism.)

Let’s do this.
McDrew