Household Happiness: Etched Butter Dish

 I've had this glass butter dish for nearly 15 years.  It came from my grandmother's home.  One day, as a surprise, she boxed up  some old bowls that she knew I admired and sent them my way.   When I opened that box in my apartment in Nebraska, I found this butter dish among the treasures.  It's small but lovely and makes an appearance on my table for holiday meals and other special occasions.

It reminds me of my grandmother, of course.  And it also reminds me of a story my family tells about bread getting to the table a bit late in the supper, after the eating had begun.  My parents were in college and my mother had brought her boyfriend to meet her family for the first time.  Everyone was on their best behavior until the realization that the rolls had been left in the oven.  My grandmother rushed to bring the rolls to the table and when my father asked for a roll, my grandfather picked one up and made a pass down the table.  As my grandmother and mother looked on in horror, my dad caught the roll.  The eating resumed and my dad's ability to roll with the punches was noted.

I have memories of many suppers at my grandmother's home and those memories are of a laughing family, often engaged in loud political discussions.  Across generations, in places far and wide, this butter dish has been present. 

Oh, the stories it could tell.

Food Friday: Italian Salad Dressing

The recent spell of warm(ish) weather has me thinking about spring and summer cooking.  And to me, that means salads, lots and lots of salads.  There is lettuce in my garden and should any survive the bunnies, I'll be serving that at my table soon enough.  In the meantime, there's always the fresh greens at my local market to satisfy my cravings.

I make homemade dressings because they taste amazing, are easy to create, and are generally much less expensive than the bottled kind.  In the past, I've posted my recipe for blue cheese dressing and I highly recommend that y'all stir up a batch of that.   I also recommend this basic Italian dressing:

2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon dried basil
1/4 teaspoon onion salt
1 tablespoon sugar
4 ounces white wine vinegar
8 ounces olive oil

Mix well at least one hour before you intend to dress the salad in order to allow the flavors to mingle.  You'll need to mix it again before you put it on your salad as the oil and vinegar will separate (but you knew that, right?).  The yellow color in this batch is a bit unsettling (the olive oil was a bit golden), but the taste is still great.  The dressing will keep in the fridge for at least two weeks, though I expect you'll have eaten it well before that date.

The recipe is easily adjusted:  substitute balsamic or red wine vinegar for the white wine vinegar to suit your tastes (or the contents of your pantry).  If you like basil more than oregano, swap the amounts.  If you don't have onion salt on hand, use regular salt and finely mince some shallots or a mild onion.

I use a salad dressing cruet to make most of the oil based dressings in my cookbook.  My mom gave it to me years ago.  Though a quick Amazon search revealed plenty of cruets on the market, a jar with a secure lid will also do the trick.

Happy eating!

Meanwhile, Here at Smuggler House

The other day, JT had a friend over to play.  At one point, I overheard them planning out the game of the hour, plotting to be smugglers. Later on, curious to see what he knew, I asked JT about smuggling.   But my questions quickly yielded to his and I found myself explaining the economics of smuggling.  Namely, that a smuggler typically deals in restricted or rare goods and extracts profits from the price of the goods as well as the risk that the smuggler undertakes when he delivers the forbidden goods to the buyer.  Note to the folks: see, I do use my education.

He found this all rather interesting and began to plan a smugglers game for the afternoon.  His play is often a merger of his 10 year-old imagination and what he understands of the real-world, and this game was no different. There are a load of pirates, Vikings, Romans, and assorted other dangerous dude living in his playroom and he devised a game involving these folks.  Guns were to be the smugglers' product of choice.

The next thing I knew, he'd come downstairs to ask more questions.  He wanted a real-world smuggling game.  So I said the guns would have to come from a weak state; a place where the goods were available but where the government's ability to enforce the rules is limited.  Some calculations followed and then he announced that Russia would be source of the guns.  But to whom should the bad guy smugglers sell?  A place where guns were desirable and perhaps rare.  A place with another weak or perhaps corrupt government; one that might let his smuggler dudes trade in their illicit goods with less risk of being caught.  Pakistan, he decided.  He returned upstairs to set up the game.

Secretary Clinton, if you're reading, the boy's services are available.  My advice is to get him on our side now, while he's still amenable to our message.

Tulip Tuesday

When I lived in Nashville, the first signs of spring could be seen in February as the daffodils emerged from their winter nap.  By the end of the month, brave yellow daffodils could be seen all over town.  I loved this seasonal transition and even though I've lived in a colder climate for more than 15 years, I still keep an eye out for daffodils in February.

My open eyes don't receive their reward until March, and we're still several weeks away from actual flowers.  But this week, in the aftermath of a thaw in winter's grip, I've seen the tips of flower bulbs peeking out all over my garden.  They are a most welcome sight.  For the next few weeks, I'll be snapping a picture of this flower bed every Tuesday.  Daffodils will come first and then I'll have tulips.  Soon enough, other parts of the garden will be looking green and hopeful.

I can't wait!

Messy

Later this week, as Spring Break wraps up, JT will head off for a few days time with my ex.  That will require some persuasion on my part ---- he no longer seeks the time with her and those 5 days on his calendar look like eternity to him.  Whereas he would once go to her house with no complaint, he's now concluded that her life is not his and he doesn't want to go there for more than a day or two.  And so I must prepare him for the time away from his home; time he increasingly resents.

I understand that resentment, though I never share my feelings with him.  That wouldn't be fair to JT; his plate is already quite full on that front.  So I patiently remind him that he loves her and will be happy to see her everyday.  He listens but he's mostly unwilling to accept that claim, not when seeing her means not seeing me.  I brace myself for the day he refuses to go.

I know he doesn't express these feelings to her.  He's told me point blank that she wouldn't listen and doesn't care.  I'm in no position to assert otherwise.  But I'm tired of this being my burden; I'm tired of having to clean up a mess I didn't make.  I dearly wish that help was forthcoming.  I know that it isn't.

Greedy, Greedy, Greedy

JT and I are very happy to see the early signs of spring around here.  Today, the high cleared the 50 degree mark and we were practically giddy with excitement.  He had baseball practice in the lovely sun and while I wouldn't say he worked up a sweat, it was clear that the hours outside got him thinking about summer.  He climbed in the car after practice greedy for more summer-like activities and begged me to take him to the nearby Sonic Drive-In so that we could eat outside, one of his favorite summer activities.

I laughed and pointed out that many truly warm days would surely follow; days where it would actually be plenty warm enough to eat outside...and before I could even finish that sentence, he looked so crest-fallen.  So we ate our Saturday supper outside at Sonic.  It is Spring Break, after all.

Real Life Conversation with JT: Healthcare Policy Edition

The backstory: In keeping with his Sassafras Family origins, JT is prone to talking back to the television.  The other morning, he was watching a game show and talking back to the telly.

TV:  Blah, blah, blah, medicine for depression, blah, blah, blah....side effects may include bleeding.

JT:  A depression medicine with a side effect of bleeding?  I think that unexplained bleeding would make me even more depressed.  Fools.

Wisdom like this might be very useful in the on-going healthcare debate in Washington D.C. I will notify Congress at once.

Keeper

JT lost a bet and was forced to choose: would he vacuum the living room or clean a toilet?  I figured him for the vacuum job, since he's pretty well-schooled in that art.

But I'll be damned if the kid didn't opt to clean the toilet.  And he followed all my precise cleaning instructions, with nary a complaint.  Impressive, really.  It's only fair to admit that I was already quite charmed by the boy.  But this?  Skill (and willingness!) to clean? Internet, I've got a keeper here. 

 Get your own.

Making My House a Home

Most mornings in the winter, Tiger stakes out napping ground on the radiator in the dining room, keeping me company while I get work done in the early morning quiet.  This locale affords him a view of the front yard as the sun rises, my company at the table just a few steps away, and the warmth of the radiator.  

His presence each morning is the sort of quiet companionship that makes my morning complete.  I love Tiger and Lucy more than I can possibly express.  They make my little family feel complete.  But I love them best for the reminder that a little relaxation in the windowsill is a very good thing.

Forbidden Fruit

We had a cold and very snowy February.  For almost half of the month, there was so much snow in the backyard that I couldn't easily get to the compost heap, let alone the apple trees that stand in a line at the back of the yard. 

I don't worry about that; there aren't many garden chores in this season.  All living things require rest to face the demands of the growing season and a dormant winter provides that rest.  But I have grown accustomed to frequent winter walks through my quiet backyard for the opportunity to daydream about the things I will plant in the spring.

My garden stockpile from the fall is nearly exhausted.  The local market's store of fall apples is considerably shrunken.  All of this is more bearable come March, when the cold dark days begin to yield to days with temperatures in the 40s, then the 50s, and soon enough day after day in the 60s.  When that happens, these trees will come alive, with tiny green buds and the prospect of apples and pears. 

But at the moment, with cold snow on the ground, it seems so unlikely that I will have buds of prospective fruit in this garden.  So I remind myself that there is a season for every growing thing.  And a patient gardener will eventually be rewarded.