When Is A Bucket Like A Dinner Bell?

We keep two stainless steel covered buckets in a corner on the kitchen counter.

The one on the left is for chicken scraps, the one on the right is for the compost pile.

The chicken bucket gets all kinds of good things thrown in it. Vegetable peelings, leftovers past their prime, stale bread, plate scrapings, popcorn hulls, and such. This gets taken out to the poultry yard and dumped on the ground every day.

When the chickens see someone come out the back door carrying this bucket, they know treats are on the way, and they drop everything and come running.

Watch out! Here they come, and they are on a mission. Lots of goodies are about to be available.

Everyone is eager to see what surprises the bucket holds for them today.

"I know she said this bread came out with the consistency of a brick, but I think it tastes pretty good!"

Why Women Like to Eat Out

Yesterday I decided to make a quiche for dinner. (This choice had something to do with the fact that our dozen hens have been in over-drive and each are currently laying what seems like about two eggs a day.)

I haven't made a quiche for a while and decided to try out a new recipe.

We wanted to eat about 5:30 so I started preparations in plenty of time (I thought) at 4:15. I don't know what time I actually put the quiche in the oven, but I do know it seemed like it took a long time to get the crust ready. (And this despite the fact that I didn't even have to make the crust from scratch but rather used one of my pre-made pie crust balls from the freezer.)

The recipe called for pre-baking the crust so I did that while frying up some bacon and crumbling it, sauteing onions in the bacon drippings, and mixing up the egg, milk and cheese for the filling.

As I was ready to slide the quiche into the oven, I checked the recipe and was surprised to see it took 50 minutes to bake. Hmmm. Well, I should have read the instructions more carefully . . . guess it has been a long time since I've made a quiche.

Okay, into the oven to bake until knife inserted in center comes out clean. Tested after 50 minutes and it wasn't anywhere near done. Set timer for another 8 minutes. Nope, still not done. I ended up baking the darn thing for 25 minutes longer than the specified 50 minutes before I dared call it done.

Then it needed to sit for 10 minutes before cutting.

Bottom line, husband was very patient, I was not. I diddled with that darn dish from 4:15 until we were sitting down to eat at 6:25. By that time, it wouldn't have tasted good to me if . . . if . . . if Martha Stewart had come by and prepared it herself. (Well, that's probably not true. Have you ever noticed that by the time you get through with all the cooking, sauteing, chopping, mixing, handling and preparing of food, you're sick of it, and it has absolutely no flavor or appeal to you? Happens to me all the time. Talk about being tired of your own cooking. A mediocre meal prepared by SOMEONE ELSE would taste ten times better!)

The dinner was not a failure. I guess. Husband said it was really good and ate two big slices. I grumped and grumbled most of the way through the meal.

Even though I may have used up four of our lovely, fresh eggs by choosing to make the dinner I did last night, I don't think I'll be making a quiche again anytime soon. But I may try to wangle a night out at our favorite mom and pop restaurant in the near future.

Take a Moment to Think

This morning a good blog friend posted the following saying she had received it via e-mail with instructions to pass it on to five women. She said she was passing it on in her blog because it's a message worth broadcasting. And I am doing the same. Reading it brought stinging tears to my eyes and a wake-up thunk to my head.

It is in memory of Erma Bombeck who lost her fight with cancer and kidney disease in 1996. Most of you are probably not old enough to remember who she was. Successful humorist, columnist, and journalist, she wrote many books primarily dealing with being a homemaker, wife and mother. Her popularity reached its peak in the 1960s but she remained a household name for years after that.

IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER - by Erma Bombeck
(written after she found out she was dying)

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have sat on the lawn with my grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, 'Later. Now go get washed up for dinner.' There would have been more 'I love you's.' More 'I'm sorry's.'

But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute, look at it and really see it . . . live it and never give it back. STOP SWEATING THE SMALL STUFF!!!

Don't worry about who doesn't like you, who has more, or who's doing what. Instead, let's cherish the relationships we have with those who do love us.

It's A Comfort

What is a "comfort food?" It's been described as anything simple that makes you feel good when you eat it. Often it's something that we remember being served in our childhood, perhaps when we weren't feeling too perky and someone took the time to give us the extra attention and care we needed to feel better.

Many times a comfort food tends to be bland and rather colorless. Mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, or sugar/cinnamon sprinkled on white bread toast. Hot buttered noodles. Tapioca pudding. But it could also be something like a popsicle when you have a sore throat.

I have two foods that are my comfort foods. The first is actually more of a "comfort memory" I guess you'd have to say as I no longer eat it in the same way I did as a child.

When my mom and I were living with her parents during World War II because my dad was overseas, my aunt and her son also lived there because Uncle Win was serving in the Navy. My mom left for work early each morning so it was my aunt who made my breakfast on weekdays. On any morning that Aunt Sally would ask Jeff and me what we wanted for breakfast, we would chorus in unison, "Dookey Eggs!"

My dear aunt would then dutifully soft boil an egg for each of us, whack off the top, set the bottom upright in an egg cup alongside a plate with buttered toast that she had cut into four or five one-inch strips. We dunked (is that where the name "dookey" came from? . . . I truly don't know!) these toast strips into the soft yolk of the egg until either the toast or the yolk was gone, and then we would eat the rest of the egg by digging it out of the shell with our spoons. Such warm memories I have of my cousin and me sitting at Grandma and Grandpa's kitchen table while my aunt prepared our special "Dookey Eggs!"

My other comfort food developed around the time I was an early teenager. And that is potato chips.

My mom and dad both worked outside the home so until my brother and I were of a certain age, my grandma was at our house to feed us lunch at noon time when we came home from school which was in the next block from where we lived, and still there in the afternoon when we came home from school. But along about the time I, the oldest, turned 12 or 13, it was decided that my brother and I could stay at home alone after school until Mom or Dad got home a couple of hours later.

My favorite thing to do was to get home, change out of my "good clothes," get a bowl of potato chips, a big glass of orange juice, and curl up on the couch with my current reading book. Comfort, security, happiness.

Even now, close to fifty-five years later (omigawd!), if I'm feeling stressed or anxious or worried or just wanting to get cozy and hunker down for a needed rest and escape into a good book, I crave potato chips. Not your typical comfort food (nor very healthy), but that's what does it for me.

So! What's YOUR comfort food? Come on, spill the beans. It can't be as sinful as a big, ol' bag of salty, greasy potato chips!

Twelve in One Blow

A while back (sometime back . . . I'm a little slow) someone asked me how I make my pie crust. Infrequently is the answer.

I've mentioned several times that I love pies. They are my all-time favorite dessert and I love baking them. I used to bake pies for an income. BUT . . . I don't like making pie crusts. Kinda like laying the foundation for a beautiful house. Not much fun, but necessary.

So every once in a while, usually when there's something interesting to watch on TV or I have a really good audio tape to listen to, I gather together all my ingredients and stand at the kitchen counter for an hour or so and make up a bunch of balls of pie crust to freeze. Then anytime I want to bake a pie, I just have to pull one or two balls out of the freezer in time to defrost at room temp (or overnight in the refrig) and the fun part of pie making can begin.

For shortening, I use half butter and half lard, one pound of each.

Cut each pound into six (sorta) equal parts.

Measure four level cups of flour into a large bowl. Add 2 teaspoons of salt and mix in with a fork.

Then plop in two cubes of butter and two cubes of lard.

Cut in the butter and lard with a pastry blender until the shortening is thoroughly and evenly incorporated with the flour.

Next, using the fork I blend approximately one cup of very cold water into the mixture. I fill a cup measure nearly to the one cup mark and then add an ice cube to make sure the water stays cold.

Add the ice water slowly mixing it into the flour mixture with the fork. In the above picture, I'm just adding the very last of the water. (If you need more than the one cup of water, go ahead and use it but don't add any more than you need to get the flour mixture to just hold together. Too much water will make a tough crust.)

Here the dough has had enough water added and is ready to be worked a little bit with my hands to bring it all together in one big lump in the bottom of the bowl.

Take a knife and cut the lump of dough into four (sorta) equal parts.

Taking one section at a time, use your hands to form it into a roundish, flatish ball. This portion will be one pie crust. I wrap each individual portion in waxed paper.

Repeating the above process two more times will use up your pound of butter and pound of lard cubes and yield twelve balls of pie crust. Enough for twelve single crust pies or six double crust pies. Or a combination thereof. (Did I do the math right? I've always been extremely mathematically challenged.)

I then pack the balls of crust in freezer bags, label and date them and store in the freezer.

When I finished making my latest batch of pie crusts, I left two balls in the refrigerator overnight and in the morning I made this peach pie which merrily burbled all over my oven floor. Somebody remind me to clean that out before I light the oven again!

A Wonderful Fluff-Off Day

Just a quick post to share with you a little of the fun day I got to spend today with my daughter, Chicken Mama, and the little peanut she nannies for each week.

They had several errands to do and invited me along. We went to the grocery store, the library, two other stops in town and then up to the farm so Chicken Mama could pick up her week's supply of dairy products.

At the library we checked out about seventy books (give or take a few). When we stopped back at my house, the peanut asked that I put all the books on the couch and she sorted them into two piles. She said, "These are for before bed, these we can read now."

She politely asked if she could please play with eggs in the basket on the shelf behind her in the pictures. (The eggs are made of wood so no fear!) She is truly the most articulate two-year old I have ever known.

And, yes, that is a cast she has on her left leg. She fell off the platform of a little plastic slide in a playroom (thankfully not while under Chicken Mama's care) and hit the floor just wrong.

Oh, gosh. Maybe I shouldn't have asked her to smile for this last picture.