Saddest Valentine's Day Ever

My father's wife† sent me a very special Valentine.




"How nice," you may be thinking right about now.

Step back, funk soul brother;$ it *came* that way.

She sent me an EMPTY CHOCOLATE BOX.‡

For the record, my father and the Wicked Stepmother recently went on a two-week Hawaiian cruise.

I had dinner with Dad upon their return, and he told me Peach got me a present, but she drank it before she got home.

Yeah, she thinks she's as funny as I think I am.§


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Henceforth to be knows as The Wicked Stepmother. You'll understand here in a second.

ETA: $FOOTNOTE (dollared): Now I can't get that song out of my head. I earwormed myself.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And when the Brothers Grimm write about my life, you'll be my witnesses.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Apparently it runs in the family... and we're not even blood. For those of you scoring at home, there was actually a bag of Godiva Gems waiting in the back seat of the car. Y'know... don't cry for me, Valentina.

Fireworks!

Actually, I'm irritated in an old geezer you-kids-get-off-my-lawn way about blown-up-in-my-backyard fireworks right now.†

Huh. I've already digressed and I haven't even started talking yet.‡

There are three great things I saw this weekend that I wish to share, plus a bonus of two happy things that happened:

1. I landed home Saturday afternoon and flipped on the TiVi.§ There was a baseball game right in front of me, which I was just about to turn off, when I noticed the player up to bat was Angel Pagan.¶ I wish I could have kids so I could name one of them Angel Pagan.
2. Driving to Jerusalem Restaurant for a very patriotic Third of July dinner, I passed the giant convent/Catholic convalescence home in the 'hood. There was a Barbie-pink scooter waiting at the giant gate to make a left onto 29th. "Wish I had a camera," I thought. "This would be a great blog bit." Then the scooter pulled in behind me and it was a bearded guy in aviator sunglasses and that made it all the better.
3. On the same drive, I was at a red light and across from me were two of the whitest, yuppiest, Chanel sunglass-wearing, designer polo shirt-clad 30-something dinks# ever seen, playing a vuvuzela and waving a South African flag out of the sunroof on their BMW. I'm not saying they *couldn't* be South African, but if they are, they're on the wrong side of the popular political tracks and maybe shouldn't be displaying the equivalent of one of us wearing a loin cloth and a feathered headdress and doing the Tomahawk Chop out of the windows of our BMWs.

Then I got to Jerusalem and the ever-so-adorable chicklet who took my order asked what my shirt meant.

"Rock-paper-scissors... lizard-spock," I replied to a peal of delighted laughter.

Then she cooed and exclaimed over my emergency wallet.††

It was a good day.

And that was a totally elegant segue into a package% from my not-so-secret-pal Jo.‡‡ Because my emergency wallet looks like this:




And Jo, not knowing a thing about my emergency wallet,§§ sent me this soap:




Which was an adjunct to that month's subject prize, the washcloth¶¶:




And came with a bonus soap dish:




And totally bath-related pirate cupcake set##:




So thank you, Jo, both for your patience and for the lovely gifts.

Give me another two months and I should be caught up.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): But real fireworks, performed by professionals, are one of my favourite things.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): That may be a record. Lyda's going to be so proud when she sees.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): As one does.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I took Spanish, so I know it's pronounced "ON-hell pa-GONE," but he'll always be Angel Pagan to me. Plus? If you Google "Angel Pagan" (even without the quotation marks), you don't get a single religious reference for pages.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And I mean both in terms of "Jebus Cats, what a couple of dinks" and "Double Income No Kids."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The wallet that goes in my pocket in which I keep my driver's license, debit card and a small chunk of cash to hold me over when I leave my purse somewhere three times out of ten. Usually home, mind you, but one should have the necessities with one. If that one has juvenile onset Alzheimer's like this one does.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'm smooth like peanut butter. Note how I not only tied it all together with the Cute as Hell theme, I managed to not let on that this package arrived two months ago and I'm just getting to it now.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Who just revealed herself to me per the terms of our year-long swap agreement, in which I was totally wishy-washy and said, "Oh, let's be secret for six months, then not-secret for six months." I am fair, if indecisive.

§§FOOTNOTE (sssupposedly): I think.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two heads better than one): Which was hard to photograph adequately, but does, indeed, have a black skull motif rampant on a black background.

##FOOTNOTE (that's the symbol for shock): Why? Where do you eat your cupcakes?

Excuse #9

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

Because I don't think I can go any further without a brownie, thanks to Sarah.

What I Did on My Easter Vacation

My first few hours in San Antonio looked like this.†




There was apparently an accident on the *mgvflrgl* Loop that had the left lane closed. Or two lanes, if you believe the big red X's over the two left lanes on the *mgvflrgl* Loop, which I did, so I crept along in the second-from-right lane until I'd passed that point on the *mgvflrgl* Loop that was supposed to contain the accident.

I believe the Texas DOT and the local radio stations like to play pranks on unwitting tourists.

Anyway, things got better.

For instance, I passed this church...




...which apparently meets in a storage unit. Or possibly a decorative rock sales yard.

Once I got to Wimberley, I checked my email to see if there were further instructions on the evening's activities.

"Meet us at Ike's!" the instructions cheerfully instructed. "We should be there around 9:00! Or possibly 10:00! Or maybe 8:30!"

As it was about 6:00 and my last meal was the latte I had at Caribou Coffee in the A Terminal of DIA, I decided to find something to eat.

The nice woman who runs the Mountain View Lodge suggested Juan Henry's.

Since I'd seen Juan Henry's in my Google search of "best restaurants wimberley texas," it seemed like a good bet.

"Also, there's Juan Enrique's. I read about them too," I said in my head. "I bet they're related. That's kinda clever. Probably owned by the same family or something."

I drove past Juan Enrique's on my way to Juan Henry's. Five miles into the trip, when the road had narrowed to one lane and the pavement was spotty at best, I decided to start over.

After making the whole loop again, I decided Juan Enrique's was just going to have to do and I pulled in.

Just inside the door? A sign that said, "Welcome to Juan Henry's."

When I ordered a margarita, the waitress said, "You're a club member, right?"

"Um, nooooo..." worried that it might be a country club or something... or like those places in Utah where you have to pay a membership fee and bring your own bottle.

"Oops. Well, I just made you a member. I'll bring the application right out."

So I filled out the application and am now a proud Juan Henry's Club member. And I have the card to prove it.‡




I arrived at Ike's about 9:00, worried that I was going to be way early.




Minutes later, I got a text saying, "Forget Ike's - come to the cabins and bring booze!"

We stayed up very late drinking and talking. The next day was the wedding day, so I opted to tourist around a bit.

The reason I picked the Mountain View Lodge out of the host of options available to me was that it had a walking trail that boasted a genuine allosaurus track. Like I'm going to pass that up.

I flipped through the plastic-bound trail guide in my room, but all it had was names of flowers - no pictures. So I deemed it too bulky to mess with and struck out on the trail.

First, there was yucca.




Then I went downhill for a bit...




...then uphill.




Then uphill again.




In my heart of hearts, I will always be sure I went uphill way more than I went downhill, despite ending in the same place I began.

But there were flowers along the way.

Star flowers...




...bell flowers...




...pink flowers...




...Indian paintbrush.§




There were dangerous yucca obstacle courses...




...but I made it.

Without ever seeing the dinosaur track. Turns out I should've taken the bulky trail guide with me.

I decided to head to the center of Wimberley to find postcards for the nephews and grab some lunch.

And take pictures of the bluebonnets. Because that's what you do in April in Texas.







So, funny story: I was unpacking my suitcase when I got there Friday and realised that I'd brought both pantyhose and thong sandles. I deliberately did not bring a razor.

I'd shaved my legs Thursday morning, which would be fine with the nylon illusion of smoothness pantyhose offers, but was completely unacceptable for complete bareleggedness and two days' stubble. In my travels Friday night, I stopped to get some Nair.

I took a little nap Saturday afternoon, carefully calculating just how much time I'd need to get to the wedding in a time and fashion that wouldn't cause the bride a stroke. When the alarm went off, I shuffled into the bathroom, stripped and began applying Nair to my legs.

After the requisite time to dissolve hair, I turned on the water to warm it up. I pulled the shower starter and found the shower head pointed straight to the back wall. I reached up, tilted it down and... it broke off in my hand.

I turned off the water to quell the deluge and sat on the edge of the tub to assess my situation.

I was naked and covered in sulphurous Nair now clotted with dissolved hair bits. I was running the ragged edge of acceptable timing to get ready. Even if I could find a way to get decent and get to the motel office, I wasn't going to have time to switch rooms or have the shower head repaired.

So I performed all ablutions in contortion under the bathtub faucet, occasionally hopping out to let the globs of Nair/hair go down the drain.

I was sticky.

The wedding, however, was lovely enough that it couldn't be tainted even by my slightly over-conditioned hair and strong soap smell.

The altar


The tables and centerpieces



The traditional nuptial salt lick


The traditional raising of the ladder by underaged groomsmen¶


Dave and Kara's son Jasper# in a rare still moment


I don't know this kid or his parents, he just made the picture better


See? Picture without some random kid - not as compelling


Assorted groomsmen at the ready


Kids are doubly cute when they have a job to take seriously


Maisy (Dave and Kara's daughter) is case in point


Some free spirits can use a little guidance


You don't have to be a kid to look cute on the job. This is Jenny, Dave's and Lisa's sister, Matron of Honour


Lisa, the bride


Maisy ate nine or twelve clementines before the dinner was even set up


Ruben (Jenny and Jeremy's son) seemed suspicious of the salt lick.


Kara found the coolest thing for Lisa for a wedding gift.





If I ever get married, you know what to do.

The cake topper was pretty cool.




And I can't stress the joy of lighted things enough. If you have an outdoor night wedding, please consider a wide assortment of things that can light up.††




Sunday, I returned to San Antonio with the intention of having a nice lunch on the Riverwalk and finding postcards to send to the nephews, but was mostly thwarted by the NCAA Women's Final Four.




They had a floating pep rally. Cheerleaders and marching bands on rafts. Awesome.

Too many people forced me to abandon the Riverwalk in disgust, so I had lunch at the airport.

That was my trip to San Antonio. Three weeks ago.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That would be the windshield of a Ford Focus. I may be spoiled by the trademarked whiptastic handling of the Mini Cooper, but my honest assessment is that a Ford Focus handles like a shopping cart with a sticky wheel.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Though I don't for the life of me know what privileges or responsibilities that bestows on me.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The only flower I know the actual name of.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Dozens of adults looked on, never doing more than say, "I wonder what they're doing." Fortunately, they couldn't figure out how to lock the extension, so it wasn't long enough for whatever they were planning on using it for.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): A quick lesson on why I was in San Antonio: Dave and I have been friends since freshman year in high school. Lisa and Jenny are his sisters, whom I've known since Lisa was 13 or so and Jenny was 9 or 10. Kara is Dave's wife, Jeremy is Jenny's husband. Kara and Dave have two kids, Jasper and Maisy. Jenny and Jeremy have one son, Ruben. Or possibly Reuben. And we were all gathered to see Lisa marry Edmundo, despite the fact it looks like I was there to take pictures of plants and make fun of churches.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Particularly if you're going to have stoned people at your event, because it's something stoned people and straight people can both enjoy equally.

Lookie!

I'm all featured and stuff.† Garden Planters-dot-com likes my tomatoes almost as much as I do.

Though I'm pretty sure it was the cucumber-as-John-Holmes reference that drew them in.‡

[SUMMARY: Gardeners are a saucy bunch.]

Meanwhile, a kitcen appliance tragedy§ has stalled my cupcake quest: the dough hook of my Kitchen Aid mixer is somehow jammed on the thing.¶ It won't push up, so I can't get the little knobby thing to travel the little groovy thing to take the dough hook off.

I was in full panic mode last night.

Having accepted a lost day of baking,# I'm a little more zen today.

[SUMMARY: All things are relative. Zen doubly so.††]

Do they have mixer repairmen?‡‡


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Apparently, I'm influential.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The Google tracks of the wily gardener... it's all part of the circle of life.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I was distraught, in any case. Most of the world remained largely untouched by this turn of events. I believe Guy suggested, to my frantic Facebook post, "bigger hammer."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The spring moves fine, I soaked the thing in hot water and ammonia, there's nothing visible wrong with it. It just won't budge.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And more than once contemplated whether cupcakes can be made either with a dough hook or in the fancy new food processor.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Apologies to Douglas Adams.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): And do they look like Gustavo Dudamel?

Do Your Civic Duty

VOTE!

Oh, not for any of those windbags, liars or foot-in-mouth experts on capitol hill. I'm baking an oodle† of cupcakes some time in the next week and I'm interested in the general public's‡ temperature on the final flavour slot.

1st cupcake recipe - Buttermilk cake with Spiced Vanilla frosting§
2nd cupcake recipe - Red Wine Chocolate cake with Mascarpone frosting
3rd cupcake recipe - Um... I'm leaning toward one of the following:

• Cardamom & Orange cake with Lemongrass frosting


• Cranberry cake with Dulce de Leche Pecan frosting


• Carrot Cake cake with classic Cream Cheese frosting


• Hummingbird¶ cake with Marmalade frosting

Cast your vote off to the right% there, leave a comment... you may just influence what I bake, and isn't that what you've always dreamed of?#


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): The proper term for a group of cupcakes. Y'know... like a pride of lions, a pod of whales, an unkindness of ravens... an oodle of cupcakes.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And you guys too!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Like this:




As an aside to the footnote (supply lines are getting thinner and harder to maintain), when I searched my blog for "cake," it told me there were no posts that matched the query "cake." My blog is a lying whore.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): For those of you who aren't Southern, the cupcake book says hummingbird cake is a "classic recipe from the American South," and its ingredients include cinnamon, mashed bananas, orange zest, shredded carrot, crushed pineaple and flaked coconut.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): NOT a political statement.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): When you wish upon a blog, makes no difference who you snog... lalala... hum if you don't know the words.

As another aside (I can hear you rolling your eyes), I wanted to add musical notes to that, but the latest version of Word no longer has musical notes. I don't know what I'm going to do when I want to sing to you now.

Wherefore Art Thou, Cuisinart?

Herefore art I!†

UPDATE: In response to my‡ inquiry, Williams-Sonoma contacted me yesterday to let me know the food processor of my dreams§ is now available for mail order.

As it will not be in stores for at least a week, and then only in limited quantities, I shelled out the extra $30 to have it delivered to my doorstep.

[SUMMARY: Obsession can be an expensive thing.]

It will be home tomorrow.

You're welcome.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I think I'm funny.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): ...somewhat stressy, breathe-in-a-bag-style...

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Though not the one where I save the world by teaching Vladmir Putin to dance.

How My Garden Grows†

I sense you are dying to know how my garden is doing.

[SUMMARY: Psychic!]

It's very kind of you to ask.

Cat for Scale really enjoys gardening with me.

EnjoyED gardening with me.

A couple of days ago, he discovered he could walk through the slats on the deck railing and cross the rooflet to the neighbour's deck.

[SUMMARY: Wait... what happened to the garden? Hey! This isn't a summary!]

Oh, the first couple of times, he walked over, sniffed around and came right back, no problem. Last night, he discovered he could walk through the slat's on the neighbour's deck railing and cross the rooflet to *their* neighbour's deck.

This led to a very funny incident‡ in which I was screaming§ "Quill! Kitty! Come here!" at the top of my lungs, then bolting out the front door to ring the neighbour's neighbour's doorbell like a demented Avon lady.

When nobody answered, I dashed home, grabbed the treat jar and went outside shaking it viciously and yelling,§ "Kitty treat! Do you want a kitty treat?"@

"Meow?" I heard. I pressed my anxious little face against the trellis separating me from my pet.

"Quill? QUILL??!?"§

"Meow?" And there he was, bumping my ankle with a look I swore said, "Why are you yelling? I'm right here. Did somebody mention kitty treats?"

So I tossed a couple of treats inside and closed the door as far as I could.¶

Because I can no longer trust him to do this:




He's going to have to wait for me to install some sort of screen to keep him home safe before he can garden with me again.

[SUMMARY: The wild beast stalked the veldt.]

Anyway, back at the garden...

cucumber buds, cucumber tendrils twining on their own leaves, baby Brandywine,
fat little jalapeno, white cucumber, baby Beefsteak, banana peppers, Lemon Drops





...a beautiful baby Slicemaster cucumber:




...and a lush, spiny, fully-grown# and harvested white cucumber.




I took a whole bunch of pictures on June 20. Then I didn't do much with them, so I took a whole new batch on August 12, thinking, "Wouldn't it be cool to do the before and after?"††

[SUMMARY: Cool is in the eye of the beholder.]

My Hammacher-Schlemmer‡‡ Upside-Down Tomato Gardens:

left planter: cilantro, white cukes, Big Rainbow tomatoes
right planter: purple basil, sweet basil, dill, banana peppers,
Beefsteak tomatoes, Lemon Drop tomatoes and Besser Cherry tomatoes



My Topsy-Turvy Upside Down Tomato Planters:

left to right: Brandywine tomatoes, Anaheim peppers, tomatillos, jalapenos, Slicemaster cukes




I sowed the cilantro June 19, so here's June 20:




...and August 12.




In the last two weeks, the tomatoes, tomatillos and herbs have doubled in size and are positively fecund.

The bees are having a field day.

There is a Slicemaster cucumber that would make John Holmes blush. It hangs, heavy and obscene, at the very bottom of the vine, where it sways lasciviously in the slightest breeze.^

There are little white spiders on one side of the cilantro and ladybugs on the other and I wonder if there'll ever be a caged death match somewhere in the middle of the crop.

[SUMMARY: Gardens make you thoughtful.]

Most important, I *finally* got a ripe tomato,§§ one of the little, round Bessers finally got as red as I figured it was going to.

Funny story: eBeth had the Besser plant labeled as an Anna Russian. I Googled all the varieties of tomatoes she started for us% and found the Anna Russian is a medium-sized, pink, heart-shaped tomato.

Imagine my surprise to get a fire engine red globe the size of a 25-cent gumball. So I took it to book club last night to ask eBeth what it might actually be, since it didn't appear to be medium-sized, pink OR heart-shaped.

Once she said it was a Besser, I rinsed it off in Jeanne's sink and popped it in my mouth. The... I... *slurp*... FLAVOUR... burst!... *grrrgle*

"Oh... that's good," I said.

"I don't believe any of us have ever heard you say that," said Annie.

I was mildly embarrassed, thinking, "Man, am I so negative nobody's ever heard me say I like anything? Or maybe it's just a vegetable thing?"

"...having never been privy to your bedroom," Annie finished.

I blushed.¶¶

"...and your eyes kinda rolled back..."

"...and you moaned..."

I *really* like fresh garden tomatoes.

Just for posterity, the houseplants are also doing well.






[SUMMARY: Show off!]

Happy to help.

p.s. -- Chickens!##


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I probably shouldn't admit this in a public forum, where people who might want to hire me may find this out, but I've always thought of it as "Marin, Marin, quite contrarin, how does your garden grow?" I was five when that started and it just stuck. For the record, it's also "Eat, drink and be Marin."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Really funny if you're a cat. Maybe not so funny if you're a frantic cat keeper.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): At a cat I'm pretty sure is stone deaf.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): In the same tone, volume and timbre used by Swedish thrash metal frontmen. Or Animal, the muppet.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): What with the hose hooked to the kitchen faucet. It sounds ghetto, but it was either that or let my father perpetrate acts of plumbing on my house.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I was expecting miniature cucumbers -- like the gherkins in the grocery store. These are like lemons.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): In all honesty, I took new pictures because the old ones were so outdated, then the before & after inspiration hit me and I decided to pretend it was my intention all along.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): After buying these, I love Hammacher Schlemmer... truly, madly, deeply. Best customer service I've ever had from someone who wasn't going to get a tip. I'm going to buy a third planter for next year's garden.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): I may be projecting... something.

§§FOOTNOTE (here's where the worm turned): The whole reason I started gardening. I don't know what those things in the grocery store are -- perhaps some breed of bouncy ball -- but they aren't tomatoes.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): As one does.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (red cheeks): Doesn't happen that often. Let's not get used to it.

##FOOTNOTE (chicken scratch): Because a day without chickens is like a pig without a lick.