In the Headlights

RR sends us this bit of wisdom:

Do you want someone who will eat whatever is put in front of him and never say it's not quite as good as his mother made?

Then buy a dog.

Do you want someone who is willing, no, happy to go out at any hour, wherever you want and as long as you want?

Then buy a dog.

Do you want someone who will never touch the remote, isn't interested in football, and will sit next to you and watch romantic movies?

Then buy a dog.

Do you want someone who is content to get up on the bed and warm your feet, and whom you can push off if he snores?

Then buy a dog.

Looking for someone who never criticizes what you do, doesn't care if you are pretty or ugly, fat or thin, young or old, who acts as if every word you say is worth listening to, and who loves you unconditionally, in perpetuity?

Then buy a dog.

On the other hand, if you want someone who never comes when you call, who ignores you totally when you call unless you are holding food, leaves hair all over the place, walks all over you, runs around all night and only comes home to eat and sleep, and acts as if his entire existence is only to ensure his happiness...

Then buy a cat.

[thanks, R]

The Cake

It's a good thing mothers give us some slack.

When I decided to make my Mom's 80th birthday cake, I decided to do everything I could to make it look perfect. 

Looks like perfection wasn't in the cards.

  I made the layers a couple of days ahead of time and froze them so that the buttercreme icing wouldn't melt.  I crumb coated them and chilled them again.  I kept chilling the icing and then rewhipping it to keep it cold and workable (note, when you chill the icing, rewhip it real good or it may have lumps...pretty much the opposite of the effect you were looking for.)

The hard part, for me, was plastering it on smoothly.  I started with the 14-inch bottom layer and coated it good before adding the middle layer, then the top layer.  But when I tried to get  a smooth effect it was analagous to the Heisenberg uncertainty principle---it would be smooth in one place, but a ridge would pop up next to it.  I couldn't have all aspects doing what you wanted at the same time.

I finally gave up shoving the frosting around, and my sister-in-law and I decorated it with the marzipan.  (Everyone wound up thinking the oranges were tomatoes. "What perfect little tomatoes" they cried.   Why they'd think I'd decorate a cake with three types of fruit and tomatoes--(I know, I know, tomatoes are fruit, but still...) escapes me.)

After dinner, we lit candles (they were tokens...we put ten on the cake), and dimmed the lights and carried in the cake, singing to Mom and to my sister's mother-in-law, whose actual birthday it was that day.

They loved the cake, and said it was beautiful (that may have been the champagne talking) but whether it was beautiful or not, everyone agreed it was delicious.

And don't forget to dim the lights.

And just for being a sport and reading all the way through this, here's the recipe for the buttercreme.

The Tough Get Going

The 27th annual National Veterans Wheelchair Games was held in Milwaukee last week.

I heard about it on NPR, and it reminded me of a fine film about wheelchair rugby: Murderball.

The NPR story talked about the fact that a lot of newer, younger disabled Vets are joining the games, adding new energy to the competition.

This is, of course, good news and bad news.  The bad news is that there are more disabled Vets to participate.  It may reflect the fact that more are being wounded, or that more who in the past would have died of their wounds are being saved and now, the important thing is to get them back into society to lead normal lives.

The good news is that perhaps participation in sports lets them, and others, realize that they are normal, healthy men and women who retain a strong competitive streak, and have a way to channel it.

That was the take-home message of Murderball, as well.  The wheelchair athletes in that documentary are every bit as athletic and competitive as any on two legs...as mean and  vicious sometimes, too.  But the example of these physically and mentally tough (and normal) people can serve as an example and a lifeline to those struggling to cope with a new disability, whether acquired through war, or through a gunshot wound or a motor vehicle accident, or disease.

[Image from Paralyzed Veterans of America]

Love Hurts

I have a tendency to replay one song over and over in the car if I want to learn the lyrics.  For no reason other than singing along with the CD in the car...and, of course, sharing them with you.

I've been playing The All-Time Greatest Hits of Roy Orbison, and the song I've been replaying is Love Hurts.  This song was released by Orbison in 1961, with Running Scared, another dynamite cut, on the flip.

The lyrics to Love Hurts:

Love hurts,
Love scars,
Love wounds,
And mars

Any heart
Not tough
Or strong
Enough

To take a lot of pain,
To take a lot of pain,
Love is like a cloud,
Holds a lot of rain.

Love hurts, Ooooooh, love hurts.

I'm young,
I know,
But even so,
I know a thing, or two,
That I learned from you,

I really learned a lot,
Really learned a lot,
Love is like a flame
Burns you when it's hot.

Love hurts, Oooooh, love hurts.

Some fools dream of happiness,
Blissfulness, togetherness,
Some fools fool themselves I guess,
But they're not fooling me.

I know it isn't true,
Know it isn't true,
Love is just a lie,
Meant to make you blue.

Love hurts, Oooooh, love hurts.

I couldn't find a free link to Orbison's version, but You Tube has a version by Nazareth.  There's also one there by Keith Richards and Norah Jones, which I'll spare you.

I thought the version I was listening to had a variation in the middle...I'd swear he says "love is like a stove, burns you when it's hot", but all the written lyrics I find say "flame".

Anyway, it's a bleak view of love, yet one that pretty much all of us have experienced.

It makes you wonder what the advantage to love is, this craving for the excitement of love so many of us feel.  It isn't procreation, for a strong sex drive would assure that.  And why, when it goes bad does it have to hurt so much?

Natalie Angier, in Woman:  An Intimate Geography tells us that passionate love is unsustainable, physiologically, over the long haul.  That's probably true.  It would burn us out, and besides, nothing would ever get done.

It's been suggested that love raises us above the animals, but who is to say what animals feel?  Some mate for life and obviously grieve, and we've all seen pictures  of an animal obviously mooning over a love object (usually of another species), like a moose in love with a cow, for which I can't seem to find an illustration, or a cat with a gerbil.

Besides, I'm not sure I agree that love is such a lofty emotion.  And as much as I love the feeling of being in love, I also love the feeling of freedom not being in love brings.

Just something to wrap your brain, or maybe your heart, around.

[Image via Bloggle]

Older AND Wiser

L.C. sent us this suggestion, mentioning that she has been lording it over her siblings since she read about this study.

A Norwegian study looking at 240,000 teenagers (from military conscript records for males in the 18-19 year old range)  found that firstborns are 2.3 I.Q. points smarter, at 103.2, than their next-eldest siblings, who average 101.2, which is higher than third-borns, who come in at 100.  Studies support this relative dummying-down in female children as well.

Since I thought the average I.Q. was 100, I'd like to know where they find the children who score below 100 to pull the average down ("Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, the men are good looking, and the children are above average.").

   There has been some speculation that this I.Q. bump comes about because parents shower their first children with so much attention.  This does not seem to be the case, however.  Only children, those whom you would think get the most attention, don't score as highly as a firstborn with siblings. I'd expect only children to get even more attention from parents than a first child with subsequent siblings.   And a second child who becomes eldest on the death of an older sibling scores higher than the average second child, but not as high as those born into that lofty position.

I wonder if being the first or only child confers the advantages of parental attention, but that subsequent siblings help hone the intelligence and keep the first child challenged in ways an only child can only dream of.  I've read that those with the most profound impact on us are our siblings.

One thing not taken into consideration is the possibility of a physiologic cause.  I've been reading a lot of Natalie Angier lately, so I have to consider that possibility.  I wonder if the age of a mother's eggs could have an impact on intelligence.  After all, it's a rather subtle difference.  Mothers of families with multiple children obviously have their youngest eggs with the first child, and the ova get subsequently older with each child.  Maybe parents with a single child tend to decide to have that child at a slightly advanced age over those having several.  I wonder if there is a difference in the I.Q. of a firstborn who is born when his mother is 20, and that of a firstborn whose mother is 35 at the time of birth.

Or maybe the father's age has an effect. 

Who knows?  But it sure is interesting speculating.

No matter what, I get to remain the eldest sibling.

[Image from TIME magazine.  That story is not related to this one.]

The Law of Unintended Consequences

I think I've mentioned that we had a drought in North Florida recently.  Many of you will have read about the wildfires in Florida and Georgia.

The upshot of all that and my neglect of my lawn is that it wound up resembling a giant, sandy anthill.  Giant ants, red ants, black ants.  Very little grass, lots of sand, lots of weeds.  Not so pretty.

A friend had just gotten his yard landscaped, and was singing the praises of his new, improved property.  In a moment of profound weakness, I told him he could give my name to his landscaper, who came by the next day to give me an estimate.

He painted quite the vision, a yard of lush grass, punctuated by hardy but beautiful flowerbeds.  In other words, low maintenance and beautiful.  It would, of course, involve a sprinkler system.

So we agreed, and the work began.  He's had some other jobs, but I told him I wasn't in a hurry. 

He installed an extra pump so the system would not affect my water pressure.  Installing the system has been hard even to watch.  My yard is full of roots, and they've been digging trenches all over the yard, like giant demented moles, piling roots by the side of the drive.

But it's been progressing.

Anyway, Friday, my family came into town.  We had dinner at my folks', and when I got home, I did what I usually do---went straight to the computer to check the blog, read my email, and do all the stuff that people who live alone and have a computer tend to do.

  Couldn't get on the internet.  Couldn't get my email.  The little "ready" light on the modem kept blinking.  I rebooted the computer several times, as well as unplugging the router and DSL modem for ten or fifteen minutes at a time, to no avail.  I wound up unplugging everything, to give the equipment plenty of time to contemplate the error of its ways, and retired.

Saturday morning, I started getting ready for Mom's birthday party that afternoon.  Fortunately, I had pre-blogged for Saturday.  But first thing, over coffee, I replugged my computer, the router and the modem and confidently clicked on the internet icon.  Nothing.  The "ready" light calmly blinked at me.  At that point, I had a revelation and tried to phone my cell phone from the land line.  No dial tone.  No ringing.  The phone was out to lunch.

I then navigated the complex calling system for the new AT&T, and finally got a live representative on the phone.  He had me remove the filters, unplug everything, replug everything.  No luck.  He scheduled me for a service call between 8 AM and noon the following day (Sunday).

OK, said I.  I figured I have my cell phone if I need a phone, and I had preblogged for Saturday, so if he fixed it the next morning, I could do a quick post and return to my houseguests.  Meanwhile, I concentrated on the party, and had everything finished (with the invaluable help of my brother and sister-in-law) just as Mom arrived  with more family. 

The next day, everyone went to breakfast, but I stayed home to read the Sunday paper and wait for the repair man. 8 AM, 9 AM, 10 AM, 11 AM, noon.  No doorbell rang.  My cell phone remained quiet.

After about 1230, I went back through the daunting phone drill to AT&T, using my cell again, and finally got a representative who said "Oh, no, that was cancelled.  The note said everything had resolved and we cancelled the service call."  I had a stroke, of course, but what I heard over and over was "Sorry, there's nothing we can do, we'll send somebody out tomorrow."

Not good.  I told them I have to work, that no one will be here, but got the same refrain over and over.

One thing we did to was find the telephone box on the side of the house and plug in a corded phone.  No dial tone.  That means the problem is not inside the house, in spite of the fact that the representatives kept telling me there was no interruption up to the house.  No matter.  I have no phone and no DSL line.  I still need to have something repaired.  I wondered, fleetingly, if the visit had been "cancelled" because I have repair insurance, and there was no money to be made.  Cynical, I know.

Meanwhile, one zone of the sprinkler system kept coming on, instead of the sequential watering that was supposed to take place, and when it was on, I had almost no water pressure in the house.  This morning, I showered with a dribble coming out of the shower head. 

So I have no phone, no computer, and precious little water pressure, and an uncharacteristically defeatist attitude about the chances of getting all this repaired any time soon.

And I fear that the root cause of all this was my desire to have a green(er) lawn and something pretty to look at when I open the window.

Be careful what you wish for.

[Image via All Posters]

Blank Screen

This is my (retrospective) post for June 24.  It's the first day I've missed since I started blogging in August 2005. 

You might think the reason is that I was tied up with guests and Mom's 80th birthday, but it transcended that.

Hopefully, it will be another two years before it happens again.

[Image via AVS Forum]

Marzipan Fruit

I decided to decorate Mom's birthday cake with marzipan fruit, which I made ahead of time.  Marzipan is a confection made of almond paste and sugar, which can be molded into any shape you'd like, and colored with food coloring.  You can buy the almond paste and make it into marzipan, or you can do what I did and buy a couple of bars of premade marzipan.

I decided on fruit, thinking it would be much simpler than making, say, flowers, or animals.  I bought some fondant tools from Michael's Arts and Crafts, to help shape the fruit, which came out, basically, round.

I made cherries, which came out dark, oranges, which look like orange cherries, blackberries which are hard to distinguish from cherries, and plums, which look like oval cherries or blackberries. Guess I need to go back to art class.

Actually, it was fun to do.  It reminded me of my childhood when we used to make marzipan fruit (or pigs, or cats or potatoes) for Christmas.  This always worked out well for me, as I love marzipan, but my sister hates it.  And so Saturday, as so many years ago, she'll just have to pick hers off and give them to me.

I know they came out pretty dark, but the icing will be a light brown, so hopefully they'll stand out.

We'll see.

Celebrate!

For starters, it's the first day of Summer, if that floats your boat.

So far this year, we had months of drought, now it's getting hot, but we're getting some rain pretty much every day.

But that's not what we're celebrating here.

Mom has a big birthday this weekend.  She's turning 80, but don't let her know I told you.  We're having a family get-together, at my house on Saturday.  My sister, brother-in-law Adrian and their two kids are arriving in town tonight, and A's mother and brother are arriving Saturday to help us party.  Saturday morning, my brother and his wife are flying in;  they'll be staying with me.   Party TIME!

But I digress.  In the meantime, I think the shopping is done.  Mom wanted a barbecue, so I'll make teriyaki beef skewers, and grill some vegetables.  I've made some baked beans (great northerns, cooked in a slow cooker then baked with smoked bacon), and Saturday I'll make some baked rice to go with it.  I also have a some pork tenderloins that I plan to marinate in garlic, soy sauce, orange juice and  rosemary.  The recipes should take care of a number of future posts.

Last but not least, I thought Mom would prefer a home-baked cake, no matter how it turns out, to a bakery one.  So I plan a yellow cake with chocolate buttercreme frosting (or is it icing?), decorated with marzipan fruit.  I made the fruit a few days ago, and colored it with food coloring.  They came out pretty dark...I think I should have diluted the coloring with water.  But I think it will work against the background of the tan frosting.  My late husband and I took a cake decorating course with some friends years ago, at Michael's arts and crafts store, so hopefully I will remember enought to make this cake presentable.

I decided to make a three tiered cake, and used three round Wilton cake pans, in 14-inch, 12-inch and 10-inch sizes.  I bought boxed cake mix (so sue me)--three boxes of buttercake, and baked the layers tonight.  Since I wanted the layers to be of an even thickness, I had to put a proportionate amount of cake batter in each pan, and that depended on the area of the pan.

Since the area of a circle is πr²  the areas are proportional to the r², so the batter should be divided in a ratio of 100:144:196.  To make it simple, I rounded it to 2:3:4.  I used two boxes of mix for the 10 and 14-inch pans, putting two scoops of batter into the larger pan for every scoop I put into the smaller.  That is, the small pan got 2/3 of a box of mix, the larger one got 1 1/3 box.  The 12-inch pan got a whole box of its own.  After baking, all appear to be roughly the same thickness.

They're cooling now, I'll refrigerate them overnight and crumb-coat them tomorrow (when this will be posted), and finish the decoration on Saturday morning.

I'll post pictures after it's done.  I don't plan to overdo the candles, just a few tokens to denote the birthday nature of the celebration.

[Image from screensavers.com]

Nashville

I've been disappointed by just about every Robert Altman film I ever saw, with the exception of McCabe and Mrs. Miller, but I think I should get points for persistence.

Yesterday, I tried again with Nashville.

A number of interlacing vignettes played out until the characters all came together for a violent finale the purpose of which I couldn't grasp.

One theme is the campaign of Hal Phillip Walker, candidate for the Replacement Party.  His bespeakered van drives around Nashville questioning and commenting on the status quo in Washington.  His campaign weaves in and out of the other story lines, ultimately pulling the plot strings together at the end.  I have to admit that if her were real, I'd probably vote for him.

The characters include  country stars and wannabes who perform songs the actors themselves wrote, some very good, some not so much, but pretty well reflecting the country style of the time.  The movie was made in 1975, and the mega star, Barbara Jean (played by Ronee Blakley) was probably based on Loretta Lynn.

Adding a level of fascination to the movie was the style of the time.  The clothing, cars, hairstyles and makeup were great...of course, that's what they were like when the movie was filmed.  I guess they looked normal to me in the seventies, but look like caricatures now.

Anyway, my beef with the movie is that none of the vignettes grabbed me.   They were listless little plots that I found unfathomable.  (Of course, the less fathomable I found them, the less attention I paid...an advantage...or maybe a disadvantage...of having Netflix.)  So I didn't care much about the characters:   who slept with whom, or whether Barbara Jean's health issues were real or drug related, or even if Lily Tomlin's married character Linnea would be seduced by Tom's persistent attentions.

Bottom line:  I couldn't make myself care about any of the characters, or, for that matter, the plot (such as it was).  I have no regrets about watching it, though, mainly because it carried me back thirty years, not quite through a time capsule, but for all that, evocative of the time.

[Image via IMP awards]