Death By Gretchen's Burritos

This is going to be a short post. But I just want it on record, in case someone finds me sprawled out on my kitchen floor, dead.

It will be a sad and solemn scene. I will be laying there on my back, all dead and my limbs splayed across the linoleum that I have always hated. My head will be about where those purple paint drops that I have not been able to remove since we moved in are. The dishwasher door will be gaping open. There will be a storage container lid near me on the left side of my stiff, cold corpse just beyond my curling, gnarled fingers. On the other side of my body you will find a used, plastic container with remnants of a great leftover meal clinging to the sides. My lips will be parted slightly with my front teeth touching, frozen on the last word they spoke: it. As in, "I knew it!"

Question the hub. Question him hard.  Make absolutely certain he did not do it on purpose just to be rid of me.

I hear you all saying, "What?"

Well, here it is.

I make larger meals than we can eat every night so that the hub can take leftovers for lunch. He likes this arrangement a lot. In fact, last Thursday he actually texted me when he ate it. "Yum. Gretchen burritos for lunch." That is what he said.

Well, he worked from home on Friday and then was home through the weekend. This morning, a Monday, he got out a new container of fresh leftovers from the fridge (chicken pot pi - from pi day which we celebrated on Saturday with the whole family) for lunch and put it into his back pack. At the same time, he removed the empty, but unwashed, sealed container from Thursday's lunch and put it on the counter.

When I open it to put it in the dishwasher I will die. The fumes that are trapped in there are noxious. It is beginning to bulge a little. Just want you to know. I love you all.

Goodbye, cruel world.

Growing Carrots from DIY Seed Tape

I have tried and failed at times with growing carrots. Little seeds are tough to get a good start in really cloddy clay soil like we have had at times in our gardens.

One thing that worked was sprinkling a lot of seed on my patch where I wanted carrots and then covering the area with wet burlap bags. The bags kept the seeds damp and dark until they sprouted. Once they began to grow, you carefully pull the burlap back and leave the carrot seedlings to grow. Once up a few inches tall thin them to the desired space apart.

Planting carrots is easier for me now, because I put in raised beds a few years ago with the square foot gardening 'soil' in them. I get nice smooth planting surfaces now. So I adopted a method that doesn't use tons of seeds.  It works quite well.

I took a class by the local university Extension office about how to get kids interested in gardening. They taught us to use paper towels as a base for seeds for square foot gardens. It was awesome.

With carrots I went with toilet paper squares, but it is the same concept.

First, roll out a strip of toilet paper the length you need for where you are planting. I used three foot strips for the edges of my deep bed.

Using regular school glue - water soluble - put dots on your tp squares an inch in from each corner. Then I followed with a row halfway between the dots and all along the middle so that my dots were about 2 1/2 inches apart and staggered. I harvest my carrots quite small. If you raise big carrots, leave out the middle row.

Then while the glue is wet, carefully put a carrot seed into each glue dot. Let the glue dry and you have a seed tape.

To plant, smooth out an area the size of your tape in the garden, depressing it just a little. Put the seed tape in the depression and cover with an eighth to a quarter inch of soil. Keep well watered. Carrots are slow sprouters, so be patient. And keep them moist. Did I mention that? It is really important not to let them dry out.

Sourdough Garlic Croutons from an old loaf of bread

 I had a loaf of sourdough bread that needed to be used, and soon. Here's a recipe for croutons that are really tasty, easy and make that loaf taste fresh again.

I will share the recipe for the bread at some point for those of you who like to bake EVERY week. Sourdough is a lifetime commitment.

Here is the leftover bread ready to be made into something fresh again.

Here is what I did with it. It was maybe better than the bread itself!

Cut the bread into 3/4 inch cubes. I sliced it lengthwise down through the top in slices. Then I sliced horizontally in slices lengthwise and finally cut it into "slices" which made cubes.

The cubed bread.

 Then, put the cubes into a large plastic bag or bowl. Throw away the tiny crumbs (or put them in the bird feeder).

In a small bowl, combine 4 tablespoons olive oil, 1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning, 1 teaspoon dried thyme leaves, 1 tablespoon garlic powder, 1 teaspoon onion powder, and 1 tablespoon prepared mustard. Mix well and drizzle over the bread cubes shaking to get on as many as possible. Continue to gently shake and roll the bread crumbs around for a couple of minutes until well distributed around the cubes.

Pour the cubes out onto a large cookie sheet. Put into a cold oven and then turn it on to 425 degrees. Bake until just starting to brown. Mine took about fifteen minutes. Shake the pan or stir the croutons and put them back in the oven for a few more minutes to get a golden brown on most sides. Remove from the oven and cool on the pan. Use on salad or make a stuffing to go with chicken with them.

Here are the finished croutons - about 5 cups from a smallish loaf of bread. Not bad.

DIY Sourdough Garlic Croutons

Dressing/Stuffing for Chicken 

To make dressing you need 2 1/2 cups of croutons. Slightly crush them so about half are broken up.

Bring one cup of chicken bouillon to a boil. Add 2 tablespoons butter, 1/4 cup of chopped onion, and 1/4 cup chopped celery. Then add 1 teaspoon poultry seasoning spice. When onions are translucent, remove the soup base from heat. Put the croutons in with the sauce and stir well. Then cover with a lid. Let sit 10 minutes.

Fluff with a fork and serve.

I Love My Local Grocery Store - Mint S'mores

It is strange to think that I actually enjoy grocery shopping. Once I get out and do it.

I still hate going out and I put off all my trips into one big fandango, but the grocery store is awesome. I usually save it for last. Last the best and all that. I know that sounds weird. 

I have been shopping there for over 13 years now and have learned some names. The guy who runs the front desk at the store used to be a checker and he liked to sing happy songs while he checked. It was awesome. We talked while he rang me up and he has tropical fish and a son named Damian who also used to check at the store. When I go in I can ask him about them and he is always almost honored that I remember and that I ask. He fills me in. His last few new fish have disappeared. One of the other fish is obviously a cannibal but he hasn't figured out who yet. And, yes, I know the man's name.

Then there is the sweet little checker I try to find if she is there. She always seems so cheerful. Last time I went through her line she came around to help me uncart my groceries. I asked her how she was doing and she gave me a half-hearted okay. When I said she wasn't very convincing, she burst into tears and, while she didn't go into details, she shared some of what was happening in her life and I got to give her a hug.

Then there is the young man who started as a checker about four years ago. He was good looking and happy when I went through his line. So I tried to set him up with my daughter. I know, I am soo weird. He and my daughter thought so too. I gave him my daughter's number and the next time I saw him I asked if he had called. "No. Someone threw the paper away when they cleared off the register".

"That is really too bad. Here it is again." This time I tucked the paper into his suit coat pocket. He was dressed up for the storewide Halloween party and was stationed right by the front doors handing out treats. He could not escape. I really was having too much fun making him uncomfortable. Three times I gave him her number.

He is obviously one of those people who looks at what could go wrong instead of what could go right. Because he never called. I mean, who wouldn't want a crazy mother-in-law like me?

That young man is in charge of the dairy section now and I am pretty sure he runs to the back where they stock the milk just to hide when he sees me. It makes me chuckle. I really am evil. I still call him by name every chance I get and ask how things are in his hometown. He gave me far too much information. I love to see him squirm. He truly missed out though. The daughter is fabulous. (more about her below). And she has been married for over a year and a half. But don't tell him. It is just too fun to rattle his chain.

Back to why I love the store. I shop the pop aisle often enough that the Pepsi stocker always pulls out a special coupon for my husband's Mt. Dew addiction when he is there and sees me. It pays to be friendly. These are the really good coupons - like the ones he gives his mother.

They don't ask my name at the pharmacy - they just go get my phoned-in prescription and bring it to the window - and then the pharmacist asks how my daughter is doing. (yep, that daughter) She worked as a technician there for a summer and is now a pharmacist herself.

So, anyway, yesterday I decided I wanted to get a treat as a thank-you gift for people who were helping me with a church meeting that night. I went to the candy aisle and stood there pondering. "What cute little saying could I put with that candy? Would the ladies like those?"

I was a little perplexed. One of the young men walked by in his store apron and asked if I was doing okay. "Yeah," I replied.

He walked by again five minutes later and I was still standing there pondering.

"Are you finding everything you need?"

"I am doing this thing and I have helpers and I want to give them something good as a thank you."

"Oh, that's easy. Mints are always good," he said pointing to the bags of mint patties.

My head churned out a "just mint to thank you" message in my head and it was instantly decided. Love that boy nice young man!

Then, as an afterthought he added, "And they make the best s'mores."

Skeptical me: "REALLY?"

"Oh, yeah. The dark chocolate and the mint and the marshmallow. Ohhhh! So much better than plain and even better than the ones people are making with peanut butter cups."

I nodded like I knew people were making s'mores with peanut butter cups. Who knew?

So, loaded to the top with 10 bags of mint patties and a gallon of milk, I headed to the check stand. The kid nice, young man who had helped me had relocated to right in front of the line I was heading through.

"He made me do it!" I stammered to the checker, while pointing at the lad. "He is the one who made me look like a junk-food addict." He seemed proud.

Well, I got home and slapped a Just Mint to Thank You label on those bags and was ready to go.

But something kept nagging at me. Mint s'mores. It just kept running through my brain and making my mouth water. And, I had time, so I went back to the store and picked up graham crackers and marshmallows, lots of marshmallows. I do have a tendency toward compulsive.

We had these tonight for dessert to check it out.

Everyone thought they were good. I was surprised.

A single gift

The pile of gifts

 So, to make s'mores without a fire or grill here is what you do.

Put graham crackers tightly together on a baking dish. I was making four full size s'mores so I used four crackers. Then lay marshmallows across the top of the graham crackers - about two and a half marshmallows per cracker.

Put the dish in the oven at 350 degrees for about five minutes until the marshmallows get soft and start to plump up. Then switch the oven to high broil and give them about a minute more. Watch them closely and pull them out when they start to lightly brown on top.

Ready for the oven

 Once they are a little toasty, pull them out of the oven and turn off the heat. Quickly lay 14 unwrapped mint patties over the marshmallows. Place the pan back in the oven to melt the patties ever so slightly - less than a minute.

Melty and toasty

 Then put crackers on top and squish just enough to make them stick together.  Let me know what you think about them and I will let the kid at the store know. Unless you don't like them. Then I will keep it to myself. He is a nice kid. Wouldn't want to hurt his feelings. We're, like, old friends.

Gooey, Melty Mint S'mores

DIY Wire and Bead Nest Necklaces

Well, I am ready for spring and it has felt like it for the past few weeks here. Warm days with every other day getting rain. It has been wonderful.

I planted tomatoes, peppers, and onions and they are in the kitchen window sprouting. At least, I hope they are. Spring really can't be too far off.

Well, here is a craft that you can do that also celebrates a symbol of the season - a nest with eggs. I taught my 10 and 11 year-old girls from church how to do these for Mother's Day last year. They are very simple. The girls wove in the number of bead 'eggs' that their mothers had kids. It was a fun activity and their mothers loved them.

Materials:

 

Light weight, flexible wire (20 gauge is what I used)
Egg shaped beads with holes big enough for your wire to go through (my beads were about twice the size of seed beads -1/4 inch or so)
Either leatherette stringing or a necklace chain 

There are a variety of wires to choose from.

These are beads and wire I used today.

 How to: 

 

Take the end of your wire and roll it loosely around the end of a finger. Take it off and twist the coil on one end like you are opening a lid. This will tighten the wires into a bottom for the nest. Roll and twist more wire around the nest until you like how full it is. Bend and shape and experiment.

Close the bottom of the coil by twisting it.

Cut off your wire leaving about 8 inches to work with while you 'sew' your eggs into the nest.
slide a bead down the wire and into the nest. Poke the wire through the bottom or side of the nest and pull the wire tight, adjusting the bead to fit into the nest as you do so.

Bring the wire around the edge of the nest and put on another bead. Stitch it into the nest as before. Continue until your nest is as full as you would like it to be.

Stitching in the eggs into the wire nest.

Finish the necklace by tucking the wire in and out several times and giving it a kink so that it will not loosen. Be careful to tuck the stray wire ends into the nest so that they don't poke a neck.

Pull out a wire on the back and thread leatherette cord or a necklace chain through.

Now wasn't that easy?

My finished necklace with my four eggs.

Oh, Never Mind. I Took Care of It.

From my front yard - the horses are Cha Cha and Charlie.

Sunday Sermon 2

I have been thinking a lot this past month about my rural upbringing. We prayed for snow, or rain, or sun, or warmth on a daily basis. The fields were everyone's livelihood. Even if you didn't own an acre, or a cow, the local weather affected your own livelihood. If the farmers didn't have healthy, heavy cattle to sell from eating good winter hay, you closed your store. If the potatoes froze, families moved away and there were fewer kids to teach as a teacher. If the drought caused the deer to die, there would be no guiding money and no extra taxes to collect.

The valley where I grew up.

The farmers all over the Western United States called for people to fast and pray for rain at the beginning of February this year. The reservoirs we rely on for irrigation were drained to the bottom last year. Usually they stay half full. We drink from those reservoirs in the major cities along the Wasatch Front. The situation was dire. And the winter to this point had been dismal for water. Many of the snowpacks were at 20 percent of normal - and that was following the rough year before.

Well, people prayed. It was like being in my hometown again, listening to the fervent prayers for moisture.

The Lord heard our prayers. February brought our water storage in snowpack up remarkably. We had rain and snow in the mountains a lot, and that is unusual, and as March begins, it just keeps coming. We still have a way to go to get our numbers up enough to take us out of the extended drought, but no one can miss the miracle of February 2014.

Or can they? I am reminded of a story from my Dad. He probably told it to me when I was a little lazy in my faith or work ethic, but it stuck. It was a simple story:

There was a young man whose roof needed just a bit of fixing. He carefully climbed up the ladder and climbed warily onto the two-story roof. After a few minutes he got confident enough to wander the roof without too much fear. He quickly finished his patches at the very top of the roof and took a step toward the ladder below.

That is when it happened. He slipped. As he fell closer and closer to the edge of the roof, he tried to grab something, anything, that would prevent his falling. Finally, in desperation, he cried out, "Lord, please save me!"

Almost in that split second (and he really had no time but a split second before he would have fallen into the abyss), his back pants pocket caught on a protruding nail and stopped his descent.

"Oh, never mind, Lord. I took care of it", he said as he reached for the ladder.


We have truly experienced the hand of God in the last month. But in the prayers at church last week I heard no mention of the rain.

If God had a temper, I think he'd tip the ladder to the ground and leave us stranded up there on the roof.

And the story carries an added significance that is easy to miss. The thing that saved him was a nail.

Whether it is rain or atonement we need, let us be aware from whence the blessing comes. And it isn't our back pocket.

I Figured Out the BEST Wrinkle Cream Ever

The Infomercial

Do you know how much money is spent annually on trying to look or stay young? Well, the Global Industry Analysts (a market research group) says it is $80,000,000,000 per year. 80 billion! They expect that by 2015 that will climb to $114 billion.

But, really, you can now send me your cold, hard-earned cash, because I figured it out a few years back. It is the wrinkle cream that will keep us all looking as smooth and baby-faced as any little kid in the world. It has been tested as safe for thousands, if not millions, of years. It has been used over and over in every culture and time. It has even been safely tested on animals. It is actually one of those things that is tied into our very biological makeup. It is automatic. It cannot be escaped. It just happens. And yet, somehow, it has eluded us until I figured it out.

I am just that smart. It took me to figure it out. I am a science prodigy.

I think I will name it The B2 Elixir of Youth. I will charge you all one thousand dollars a month for the secret - direct deposited monthly to my secret Swiss account will be fine. And $1000 is a bargain compared to a skin-care product called Peau Magnifique that costs $1,500 for a 28-day supply. And that sounds French. Who trusts the French? You want my good ole B2 Elixir of Youth!

So how to get your own supply, you ask? Well, it is simple, really.

Just spit and rub. Yup.

Have you ever seen a wrinkle-faced cat? A slobbery, bubble-faced baby with wrinkles? And little kids don't have wrinkles either, obviously, because their mothers are constantly going, "Hey, kid. Come here. You got a little something right there. Let me get that for you." Followed, of course, by a lick to a thumb and a cleaning of the cheek.

It is only after the kids get old enough to start thinking that type of motherly protection is gross that they begin to age. But then they start kissing - really make-out and slimy and saliva-y kissing and that keeps it at bay for another 10 or 15 years.

After that, everyone keeps their spit to themselves, in their mouth and off their face, and the wrinkles begin in earnest.

Saliva. Sputum. Spit. That is the wrinkle secret.

You are welcome.

E-mail me for my account number to send your direct deposits to. I appreciate it. 

The brass spittoon we got as a wedding gift. It has remained empty all these years. Had I only known then what I know now, I would still have the skin of a teenager.