Next Chapter in a Life

Halloween during our year of living next door to Grandmother and Granddad was memorable. Grandmother sewed, with minimal assistance from Mother and myself, a costume for me. When asked who I wanted to be, I answered immediately, “Laura Ingalls!” I had read most of the Little House books to Mother by then. The costume we chose consisted of a dress, a smock, and a floppy white hat. The colour scheme was red and white, with touches of beige and dots of brown. The red was the kind one associates with country living: a “practical” hue that will not show fading readily by not being brilliant to start. Originally, Mother had intended to sew the costume, but after studying the pattern, she realised that it was much too complex for her to complete in the forty-eight hours between buying the materials and Halloween. One thing she did do, however, was carve our pumpkins. Her husband bought a woodworker's awl and gave her a small woodworking saw from his shop with which she maimed the squashes. The jack o'lanterns were placed on our rarely-used front stoop and the tea-lights within were lit with long fireplace matches. We set off, then, into town, to find me some treats. When we arrived at the first house, I stood at the road's edge, at the end of the concrete walk leading to the front door of the modest residence. The resident opened her door, took one look at me standing in the twilight, and exclaimed, “Laura Ingalls Wilder!” That moment made my night almost before it had even begun. Mother was happy to see how happy it made me. She never failed to express pleasure at my happiness. She obviously wanted me to have a happy childhood. I never had a doubt that Mother loved me, even when she was cross. Not that she was often angry, at least not with me. She would, at times, become enraged at her husband, whose deep green eyes would stare at her uncomprehendingly from beneath the sometimes wild mane of blonde curls that cascaded down his strong, lithe back when not neatly braided. He never fought; he would take hold of her from behind and hold her arms to her sides in a firm embrace. She struggled. Then, after having spent all her physical strength, the anger would pass, and she would wilt. I learned that anger can flare up suddenly and violently, yet die a quiet death that, for her, often led to deep slumber. Her sleep was lengthened, and presumably deepened, by the more sedative medications. Her anger seemed to spring from the same well as the Voice that so often immobilised her with self-loathing and hopelessness. She never spoke to me of the Voice, but I remember times when it was clear she was losing an oft-repeated conversation in her head: her shoulders sagged, her head bowed, and her eyes were hollow, defeated. It was at those times when I wanted to comfort her. She, who had given me life, and who had, at times, I'm sure, wondered whether she'd made the right decision to go through with it - with me - was fighting an internal battle I could not fathom. Not at that age, anyway. It was only later when I'd realise that she needed me in her life as much as I needed her.

After the Beginning

I don't know how long they courted before he learned of Mother's medication, but even after finding out, the man who became her husband was not deterred. He was convinced that he could bring forth enough loving passion from her to make the medications either irrelevant or unnecessary. He was wrong. He'd only seen her once, briefly, unmedicated, after she'd decided to stop taking her meds and did so for a few weeks, long enough for the half-life of the drug to wear off. It was a turbulent time, with her mood swings (and “swings” is putting it rather mildly) frequently bringing her to within an inch of her life, so to speak.

After that, he reminded her, often unnecessarily, to take her meds, even going through the trouble of buying her a pill box labeled with days of the week and times of day, labelled AM and PM. I think it irritated her. It's probably part of what led to the demise of their relationship. She hated feeling trapped as a prisoner-housewife. I think she longed to return to a more urban and urbane life. When we moved away from Butt-fuck Nowhere, we moved away from the rural life that had been driving Mother, as she put it, “batshit.” Although she enjoyed playing Bridge with the other women at the Woman's Club, she needed a greater reason to exist; she needed a purpose, goals to work toward, something with which to define herself outside of being a homemaker, since she did not feel like she was much of one, especially when comparing herself with her mother-in-law, who had grown up in the 1950's, eaten middle-American food, and managed not only to make it through college, but to graduate and work up to owning her own business. Mother wanted to make things other than just a single home for a single family, even if it was her own home for her own family. There had to be something greater to make her life meaningful, even if on it would still be on a very small, globally speaking, scale.

She scoured the paltry employment section in the local paper. The economy had entered a downturn, so there was not much building happening. Therefore, no construction management needed. She played Bridge online against other people from all over the world. I think that playing Bridge helped her maintain her sanity because, especially with the weekly games at the Bridge Club and at the Woman's Club, she was, at least, able to interact with others, even if only in a very limited fashion. All of them were retirees who were at least twice her age. She was not only the only non-retiree, but also the only non-Caucasian member of the Woman's Club, save one. Another Asian woman befriended Mother and invited her for games at her home. Unfortunately, most of the game days and evenings were couples' events. Because her husband did not play Bridge, Mother did not feel comfortable accepting. She missed out on those social events. Her husband was a bit of a loner, so he didn't introduce us to others, individuals or families, either. He was like an island unto himself, not even part of an archipelago. Lone.

For family and neighbours, we had Grandmother and Granddad, Great-grandmother, and Great-Grandmother's husband, a man she'd met later in life. This second husband would eventually outlive her.

I liked having Mum at home because she enjoyed baking, and would bake the bread we ate. She'd developed a sourdough starter, keeping a “mother” from which she'd scoop a bit of poolish for each loaf. She only baked pies and cakes for special occasions. She did bake cookies regularly, though, which was fun because I helped her measure, mix, form, sometimes by rolling, and place the cookie batter onto the baking sheets. She would put the cookie sheets into the oven and take them out herself. She wielded the spatula, moving the freshly baked cookies to the cooling racks. I remember eating a lot of homemade cookies. We also had pies that Grandmother would bake and invite us over to eat with her, though of course, she, herself, would refrain from eating the butter- or shortening-saturated crust.

There was something indescribably delicious about being a child in the countryside. It was only after we left behind our Holstein-patterned cat and her tuxedo brother that I realised what had made it Home. I missed our cats, but I did not miss taking allergy pills in order to interact with them. I missed playing in the snow, but not the ensuing pain that followed the numbness. All these things I associated with Home (with the capital H), and when we left, we left those things behind. Mother would have to either find another or make a new Home for us.

Without realizing it immediately, I would come to understand that I missed listening to the wind in the corn fields, feeling the coolness of the wood after walking through a sun-filled meadow, and the fish-peppered ponds, where Granddad would hold a fishing derby for the kids from their church every summer.

Before Mother's accident, we drove up from Virginia and I'd participated in one of Granddad's fishing derbies, though “participating” is an inaccurate description. Sans fishing pole, I was observing the older children without too much interest, playing and exploring on my own more than interacting with the god-fearing, who all appeared to follow blindly, of not happily, the myth perpetuated by their parents. Mother never lied to me and therefore never taught me a religion. She showed me the world as it was, without the sugarcoat of fantasy or the supernatural.

I missed random encounters with wildlife. Once, when I was about two or three, the family (Great-grandma, Grandmother, Granddad, Stepdad, Mother, and myself) were sitting outside on the patio in the early evening with glasses of iced tea when I came across a fawn who had been hidden under a bush by his mother. When I reached out to pet him, he said “Bahhh,” reared, ran forward, and butted me in the belly with his nonexistent antlers, knocking me back onto my bum to the great laughter of everyone else. The fawn ran off.

Experimental Ice Cream Number Three

I've made a couple of experimental ice creams already, and they all came out, so I'm trying another, based on a conversation that I'd had with Liz in which she mentioned such a combination and it intrigued me:

Clementine-Cardamom Ice Cream

1 ½ c.	heavy cream
6 to 9	clementines, zest and juice, separated (~1 ½ c. juice, 2 T. zest)
1 c.	granulated sugar
1 t	vanilla extract
4	black cardamom pods, seeds only

Bring cream, sugar, and cardamom to a boil. Stir in juice and remove from heat. Cool to room temperature.

Strain mixture through cheesecloth into chilling bowl and allow to chill for several hours or overnight.

Put into ice cream maker and allow to churn until ice cream reaches desired consistency. Remove paddle, cover, and freeze until ready to serve.

At this moment, I'm allowing the mixture to cool on the balcony to room temperature before placing it into the fridge to chill.  I hadn't realized that Kat had eaten the remaining coconut milk-lime ice cream that I'd made last week until I opened the freezer to take something else out and noticed that the freezer bowl was uncovered (I usually keep it covered with plastic wrap).  That ice cream was quite pungent:

Coconut Milk-Lime Ice Cream

7 oz.	Unsweetened Coconut milk
2/3 c.	Heavy Cream
5	limes - juice and zest about ¾ c. juice and 1 ½ T zest
1 c.	granulated sugar
1 t	vanilla extract

Mix & heat in heavy-bottomed pan until simmering. Simmer for 5 minutes, then remove from heat.

Allow to cool to room temperature before putting in fridge to chill thoroughly.

Churn in ice cream machine until it reaches desired consistency.  Cover and keep in freezer until ready to serve.

The basics of making ice cream (churned frozen desserts in general?) seems to be pretty straightforward:  combine and cook custard, cool, churn, then freeze.

I've been thinking about making something along the lines of either rosemary or basil ice cream, to have an herby flavor.  The cardamom appears to combine well with fruit, as well:

Meyer Lemon Curd-Cardamom Ice Cream with Coconut Milk

4	jumbo egg yolks (or 6 yolks if using large eggs)
1 c.	fresh lemon curd, chilled
½ c.	granulated white sugar (adjust to sweetness of lemon curd)
4 c.	heavy cream
1 c.	unsweetened coconut milk
1 t	vanilla extract
5	black cardamom pods
2 T	fresh Meyer lemon juice from half of one lemon

1. Beat egg yolks with sugar and vanilla extract.
2. Heat cream, coconut milk, and seeds scraped from cardamom pods in large saucepan to almost boiling. Remove from heat until cool, then bring back to simmer for about 5 minutes, until it coats the back of a wooden spoon.
3. Add lemon curd, and mix in thoroughly.
4. Allow custard mixture to cool, covered, overnight in the refrigerator (do not put in freezer).
5. Assemble ice cream maker. Wrap bowl in a couple layers of towels. Allow machine to churn until desired consistency is reached.  Remove paddle and freeze until serving.

So these are pretty rich recipes (with the possible exception of this morning's recipe, which does not contain any eggs, but still includes heavy cream).  I'm considering making a frozen dessert that will not use cream or eggs, something more like a sorbet, perhaps.  I'll post it if it works out.

Peanut Butter Shortbread

I made this recipe in the mid-afternoon.

Ingredients

1 c.	dried peanut butter (powdered - I bought mine online)
1 c.	whole wheat flour
½ c.	a-p flour
½ c.	granulated sugar
1 c.	vegetable shortening, chilled
6 oz.	semisweet chocolate chips
1 T	agave syrup
	nonstick spray

Directions

Preheat oven to 375ⷪF.

Thoroughly mix peanut butter powder, flours, and sugar.

Cut shortening into dry ingredients well. Press into baking pan.

Bake min. 20 minutes until shortbread begins to brown on top.

Remove from oven. While still warm, cut into serving size cookies.

Cool completely in pan.

Place chocolate chips in microwavable bowl and spray with cooking spray. Stir to coat.

Melt chocolate in microwave, cooking 10 seconds at a time and stirring in between until chocolate becomes liquid. Stir in agave syrup.

Drizzle over shortbread.

Allow chocolate to cool.

Remove shortbread from baking pan with spatula or dull knife.

Store in dry, airtight container, between sheets of waxed paper.

Meyer Lemon Curd Ice Cream with Cardamom

I made the custard earlier this week, then churned it into ice cream with my *new* (used) KRUPS ice cream maker that I found at Goodwill.  It came out really, really rich and tastes really, really delicious (if I do say so myself!):

Meyer Lemon Curd-Cardamom Ice Cream with Coconut Milk

4	jumbo egg yolks (or 6 from large eggs)
1 c.	fresh lemon curd, chilled
½ c.	granulated white sugar (adjust to sweetness of lemon curd)
4 c.	heavy cream
1 c.	unsweetened coconut milk
1 t	vanilla extract
5	black cardamom pods
2 T	fresh Meyer lemon juice from half of one lemon

1. Beat egg yolks with sugar and vanilla extract.
2. Heat cream, coconut milk, and seeds scraped from cardamom pods in large saucepan to almost boiling. Remove from heat until cool, then bring back to simmer for about 5 minutes, until it coats the back of a wooden spoon.
3. Add lemon curd, and mix in thoroughly.
4. Allow custard mixture to cool, covered, overnight in the refrigerator (do not put in freezer).
5. Assemble ice cream maker by attaching lid to bowl and inserting paddle. Wrap bowl in a couple layers of towels. Plug in ice cream maker and start running.
6. Pour in only enough custard to fill the bowl about two-thirds full; otherwise, it may overflow as it churns. There will be enough custard to make at least two full batches of ice cream, or one full quart, probably.

Beginning

[Draft #10 so far]

For as long as I could remember, Mother has been medicated. She was medicated prior to and during her pregnancy. She'd been through a series of medications, and each one brought personality changes that sometimes made the underlying illness seem like it'd be more acceptable than the person she became.

The first drug turned her into a eunuch. Though the medication probably helped at the start, it made the relationship between her and her husband difficult, therefore prompting her to try something else.

The next one zombified her. She wasn't awake most of the time. It made our bedtime routine difficult, for she would fall asleep while I read to her. I loved reading, and would continue until her husband came to take her to their bedroom down the hall. He would say goodnight before closing the door behind him, with her cradled in his arms.

At the time, we lived in a two-story farmhouse. The kitchen and bath were located at the rear of the “shotgun” house.  An added screened-in porch next to the kitchen contained canning supplies on waxed wooden shelves. We canned tomatoes, mostly, but also other vegetation as they came in: okra, green and wax beans, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries. I remember being sent into the shrubs to pick berries, for I was small enough to fit underneath. I could pick without becoming covered in tiny and not-so-tiny scratches from the thorny branches. Mother would make jelly. She didn't like seeds, so she always made jelly. I remember the colours on the cheesecloth as she strained the different berries. In the Autumn, her fingertips were often pinkish-purple.

My stepfather was a garlic aficionado, so we had a significant garlic patch, something like three rows of about thirty feet each. Nearly a hundred lineal feet of garlic! A clove was planted every four inches. That's a lot of garlic. I was not a garlic lover. I learned to tolerate garlic. We grew cabbages, broccoli, white potatoes and orange yams, red beets, kale (before it became fashionable), okra, and, oh, did I mention garlic?

In the wintertime, the canning process moved on to meat, for we did not have a separate freezer to help preserve game. Venison was packed into quart-sized Ball jars, the lids held on with rings, and then the jars were canned, both cooking the meat and sealing the jar. Sometimes Mother would feel creative an insert something with the meat to flavour it: whole cloves of garlic much of the time, but also thyme, oregano, rosemary. When canned, the venison becomes the texture of well-done roast beef. We were kind of a meat-and-potatoes family, eating a lot of dishes learned from Grandmother, which she, in turn, learned during her school days before she met Granddad in college. Though the food was of a different nature, and, some would say quality, from what Mother had grown up with, she learned the new cuisine well enough to create her own version of it, often with improvements to taste, texture, and appearance. Improvising, she added touches of more pungent flavour to the bland diet of the Midwest, although one thing she did learn to appreciate was the art of pie-making, which Grandmother excelled at. To the annual pie dance, held in the cleaned-up barn of a neighbour, Mother prepared a single-crust tapioca-pumpkin pie, whereas Daddy baked a classical apple pie with apples from our own trees. Grandmother prepared a blueberry pie. I helped Mother prepare the filling for our pumpkin pie, and watched it bake the morning before the dance, at which few people danced and more people stood around talking and eating.

It always seemed strange to me that while she would go through the trouble of making pie crusts from scratch, Grandmother rarely ate her own. Now, when I think about it, I guess she must have been watching her waistline, which was probably close to what it was when she was quite young, for although she definitely had a woman's figure, she was quite slender. Mother, on the other hand, used to buy pre-made frozen pie crusts from the supermarket for pies and quiches. She enjoyed making savouries, and I liked the way she filled them until the crust was absolutely brimming with vegetables and cheese before pouring in just enough custard to hold it all together. I especially liked her spinach quiche with feta and the broccoli quiche with cheddar.

Mother took her meds religiously every morning. It was just about the only thing she did religiously, being an atheist. Her husband was an atheist, as well. His parents were both devout christians. One of their children, their younger daughter, was killed in a plane crash. Freak accidents cause some people to completely lose faith in a benevolent deity, but it only deepened their conviction that there was some Higher Purpose for which their daughter had been “called home.” I don't know how they felt about having an atheist for a daughter-in-law, much less their own son, but they treated me well enough. Grandmother would take me to church with her occasionally, and Mother and her husband did not seem to mind. I think they enjoyed sleeping in those Sunday mornings.

We lived next door to Mother's parents-in-law, on a farm adjacent to their own. We were in the rolling hills of central Pennsylvania, where there is no easy access to either Philadelphia or Pittsburgh. The way my mother put it, we lived in the middle of “Butt-fuck Nowhere.” The claim to fame of the nearest city was that it was the founding place for Little League Baseball. Neither Mother nor her husband were sports fans. Just another form of religion, as far as they were concerned.

It wasn't until after she changed meds again that things went badly for Mother and her husband. She was finally on a regimen that allowed her to think straight. I think it was seeing things as they really were that prompted her to seek, in vain, nontrivial employment. When they'd met, Mother was a project manager for a construction company, with projects in northern Virginia, the District of Columbia, and Maryland. She was earning a good salary that had allowed us to live in Alexandria, Virginia. After they married, Mother continued the work. She really liked, if not loved, working in the construction industry. She loved putting things together, making them work, and then presenting them to gleeful clients. Stepfather found work as a furniture maker and subcontractor for different firms, including Mum's. He built the cabinets in his shop, then drove them down to install into the homes of the company's clients.

After her accident, Mother did not return to work. She needed time to recover, and ended up leaving her job. I don't know if she ever tried to contact her old company. We were contacted by one of her better friends from college, as well as one of her professors, who wished her well, though I suspect they were really just bidding her farewell.

New Project... Well, Not Exactly NEW, But Another Stab At It...

So I joined a new Meetup group.  It was initially named 2 Pages, but has since changed to 5 Pages, allowing participants to read more than that each week.  Essentially, it's a group of writers getting together to read a few pages of a piece on which they're currently working for comments and  (hopefully) helpful criticism.  I've been for the past couple weeks, and there were three of us who were there both weeks.  There's the organizer, Kevin, who is an amateur writer who intends to submit fiction for publication but has yet to do so. There's also Zoe, who is an Italian-born immigrant working on her second novel.  Her first novel is written, but she wants to have a second book ready to go because, she told us, publishers like to know that a writer will have more than one book to publish.  When I mentioned this to Peter, he surmised that new authors typically don't sell very many copies of their first book, but, after developing a following, their subsequent books sell much better.  He used the example of the Harry Potter books.  JK Rowling sold very few (relatively speaking) of the first run of The Sorcerer's Stone, and it wasn't until she developed a following through word of mouth that her subsequent books experienced their phenomenal sales, leading to greater sales for the earlier books, as well.

Yes, so my "new" project, or at least a project that I've been kicking around in my head for about the last decade, looks like fiction.  Fiction, yes, or more accurately, reality-inspired fiction.  I'm injecting a bit more phantasy than I would allow myself if I were to aim for a memoir.  When Peter read the first few pages, he commented that it looks like the names of the innocent have been changed, but the guilty characters all remain, notably my sister, though that might change in future drafts.  I've already changed the name of her husband, so it's not unlikely that I'll end up changing the character who is loosely based on her, as well. Giving the characters based on them their own names rather than stealing their names from existing people would aid in allowing me to create and not merely report.  Peter also said that upon first reading, he couldn't tell who the author was, since I had sent it to him as an email attachment without appropriation.  His comment actually pleased me, because it meant that the voice I was using came across as genuine.

One thing I've noticed about the Meetup group so far, and remember, I've only been twice, is that the writers who come either have a strong command of the English language, including proper grammar, or they really don't.  It looks like the vast majority of people who aspire to the "writing life" are woefully inadequate at the basics of English grammar.  Am I'm being just way too judgmental and picky?   The refrain that irks me to no end is "Well, you understood what I meant, right?  That's the point!"  And my answer is, "No!  The point is that I don't know what you mean because you're not expressing it clearly!  You shouldn't expect your readers to make leaps and bounds to understand you!"  Language is meant to convey meaning, and one does not do that by failing to understand how to use language...

I know perfectly well that I'm not the paragon of grammar, but I aspire to be a good grammarian, nonetheless.  It appears that some people don't even try...  One woman used an adjective where an adverb was required, and to me, it is either sloppy writing or a sign of an uneducated writer.  That's just how such writing comes across to me.  I won't apologize for judging her writing on such minutiae because I make the effort to avoid such mistakes, and I expect no less from others who expect me to respect them and their writing.

Okay, so what was originally intended to be merely a report of my activities has turned into a rant.  I shan't apologize it.  But what I will include is a recipe for cashew-coconut cookies that I made the other day:

Coconut-Cashew Cookies

1 c	coconut powder (this I bought at the Indian grocery)
1 c	cashew meal (I took some roasted cashews and chopped them in my processor)
¼ c	egg whites, scant
½ t	vanilla extract (be liberal)
1/8 t	salt
¼ c	coconut oil

Mix coconut powder and cashew meal throughly, mashing all lumps to create a consistent texture.

Blend wet ingredients, then pour into dry ingredients and incorporate thoroughly. The mixture will be thick. Allow mixture to stand for ten minutes to allow the moisture to distribute more evenly.  

Scoop by liberal quarter-cup measures onto a baking sheet lined with either a silicone mat or parchment paper.

Bake at 325°F for 20-25 minutes until they start to brown on top.

This recipe will produce about 6 large cookies.

I may start putting some of my "novel" here in serial form, at least to try to elicit comments and constructive criticism.  Right now, however, I'm still feeling a tad less than confident.  I'd love to hear any words of encouragement anyone may have to offer.  I could surely use it.

Jury Duty - "We thank you for your service"

Yesterday morning, earlier than is really decent, I was awakened at the insistence of my alarm clock-radio, and stumbled to the bathroom, where I performed my regular morning ablutions quickly.  I decided to wear my glasses - I'd be spending a lot of time looking at my computer - and dress lightly, for I was expecting a warm, if not hot, sunny San Diego Spring day.  I had planned to walk to the transit center to catch the bus, but realized after I'd already crossed the street and was halfway down the block that I'd left my phone at home, so I walked back to fetch it.  By that time, I'd used up my walking time, and so I drove the mile.  The Miramar College Transit Center is a big bus stop, with no trolleys, trains, or planes passing through.  I parked at the nearby shopping center because I didn't know if the transit center's parking structure charged a fee, and I wasn't in the mood to feed The Machine any more than necessary.  I actually saw a bus pull in and subsequently leave before I reached it, so I waited for the next one, which wasn't terribly long in coming.

The bus moved surprisingly quickly down the freeway once it reached it, and soon the bus was coming into the Downtown area.  The bus stop was only a couple blocks from the courthouse, so I walked the rest of the way.  Someone else on the bus had asked how far the courthouse was, and the driver answered, so I knew which way to go and how far it'd be.

When I arrived, there were already a few people standing on the front plaza.  The front door was open, and a guard stood outside.  He directed me to the building on the next block for reporting for jury duty.  It wasn't quite light out when I entered the Hall of Justice (god - and therefore, nobody - knows why it's called what is a misnomer at best) and went through the metal detector, for which I removed my belt and phone from my person before passing through.  I collected my things at the other end and walked to the Jury Lounge, where there were rows and rows of chairs separated by a central aisle.  I looked around and saw the tables Peter'd told me about, and the row of chairs against the wall, which had a few electrical outlets.  I sat at a table which already had one person at it.  The woman turned out to be an employee of the parent company that owns Jack-in-the-Box.  For almost the entire morning, only the two of us sat there as the room filled with people.

A welcoming announcement was made, during which jurors were thanked for answering the call to their duty as citizens.  Then we waited.  I worked on a piece I've been writing for the past several days.  People around me drank coffee, chatted, and read, mostly.  I had expected, but didn't hear, anyone talking on their phone.  Luckily, there's wifi in the building, so I logged in and surfed for a bit before settling down to the task of writing and editing. my piece.   Since it's around 5 pages or so, it took me a while to reread it, editing it as I went along.  I fleshed out some portions of it, then realized that other, later parts of it needed to be rehashed because of the additional information already given in the added portion.

The first group of jurors was called.  It was a long list, but I was not on it.  Those people filed out.   A young-looking man joined us at our table just before lunchtime.  He told us about his past service, a case on which he'd served, and what he thought of the verdict.  It was an interesting case because one of the defendants was McDonald's (the corporation), as well as the franchisee.  The McDonald's defense team hired a private detective who followed one of the witnesses after the initial hearing was held, and the case turned out to be fraud, essentially a Nobody trying to exact a lot of money from a large corporation. That trial lasted seven days, I think he said.  We lamented the use of their child in their fraud attempt.  What kind of lesson does that teach the child?  When you want/need money, come up with some story and sue someone.  Nice parenting, guys.

We were sent out for a two hour lunch break.

I walked around the Downtown area, not venturing very far from the courthouse and Hall of Justice, but far enough to get some sun.  I managed to get a new transit ID card, which cost $7, and had it registered in case I should lose it so that I can be issued a new one to replace it without losing any balance I already had on it.  I walked past the location of the hat shop where I'd bought my first hat in San Diego, HatWorks, located just to the east of Horton Plaza.  The entire building looked like it was being gutted & refurbished.  The hat shop was gone.  I wondered if it'll reopen after the construction.

When I returned to the Jury Lounge, the other seats at the table had been taken by others, so I sat in an aisle seat in one of the rows toward the rear of the room.  At about four o'clock, most of us thought we'd be done for the day, but then another list of jurors was read out, and I was on this one.  We went, en masse, to Department 46, a courtroom where a hearing was already underway.  We waited outside and chatted among ourselves.  We were called in a specific seating order into the courtroom, and were referred to by our juror number.  I was juror number 25.  There were thirty potential jurors.

It was a criminal case.  The defendant was a youngish-looking man.  The prosecutor looked not much older.  The judge had a neatly trimmed beard, and the defense attorney had long, dark, curly hair.  We each stood and gave basic information about ourselves, including our names, the number and identities of the people in our households, and whether we believed we could be just and fair.  Of course, nobody recused themselves at that point, although two courthouse employees were in the pool.  They were both preemptorily dismissed during that stage of the hearing.  I was preemptorily dismissed, as well, which was just fine with me.  I said something that made the defense attorney realize that I was already leaning against her client, who was, or had intended to be, a customer at the "gentleman's club," located in Kearny Mesa which I'd passed many times while riding the bus to and from Pacific Beach during my early days in San Diego.  I don't know anything more about the case, but my impression is that the guy came into the bar, started acting either drunken and/or became belligerent, and was told to leave, which he refused to do.  The ensuing mêlée caused the police to become involved, and this trial was the next step in the relationship between the defendant and the criminal justice system.

I was able to catch an express bus back to Mira Mesa, and had forgotten that I'd driven to the transit center.  I boarded another bus at the transit center, intending to just take it the few stops home when I realized, soon after boarding, that I'd my car there!  I got off at the next stop and walked to my car, which sat, unmolested, in the parking lot.

I drove to pick up my CSA share and then came home.  We got strawberries this week.  I think I might visit the supermarket to see about blueberries.  The blueberry-strawberry tart I'd made with the last box of strawberries, in which I also used a box and a half of fresh blueberries, was well-received.

For dinner, I prepared:

Carrot Soup with Parsley and Orange

1 small bunch carrots, sliced (about a pound)
1 medium-sized orange (I used one of the bloods from our share)
1 small bunch parsley
3 tsp. vegetable soup base concentrate (I use "Better Than Bouillon")
7 c water
a few cranks of nutmeg (from my nutmeg shaver)
4-5 stalks fresh chives, chopped
1 T unsalted butter

Melt the butter in a large soup pot (this is a one pot meal) and add carrots, sautéing them lightly until they become fragrant.  Add chopped chives, and stir to combine.  Cook for a few more minutes.  Add water, soup base concentrate, nutmeg, and orange zest.  Bring to a boil, then lower temperature to simmering, and simmer for thirty minutes.

Check the carrots to make sure they're softened, then use a wand blender to blend the soup, in the pot, until mostly smooth.  A few lumps are acceptable.  Add parsley, then scoop the soup into bowls.

Serve with a dollop of creme fraîche.

Yum.

I'm also considering making an apple tart, since we got more apples in our share this week, as well, and there are enough of them to bake into either a pie or tart.  Pie might just be easier, though it'll depend on what kind of crust I feel like making...

Back from SF

We returned from San Francisco Friday night, and went to La Jolla Shores for a morning dive on Saturday.  Of course, in order to do this, we had to:
1.  get my car to carry our dive gear (Peter's car is too small to carry all of my gear in addition to his);
2.  drive up to his place to pick up our gear;
3. pack up all the gear and pack it into the back of my car;
4.  return to my place, since there was no way we were getting up early enough to get ourselves set up and leave his house ready to be shown to potential buyers;
5.  eat dinner; and
6.  get a modicum of sleep.

We managed to get it all done, though we did rise later than desired and did not eat anything (though we did have two cups of black tea) before heading to the Shores for a morning dive.  It was not the most technically perfect dive on my part, but the visibility was good and the surf practically nonexistent.  We separated for the evening (I attended Barbara's Bunch with Kat in the evening and played games until almost 10:30, when I thought it appropriate enough to say goodnight).

This afternoon, Peter came to our flat with our gear (which he'd rinsed last night after coming home), ready for a mid-afternoon dip in the ocean.  Kat walked with us from the flagpole to the far end of the concrete walk and back.  Virginia Hatter was nowhere to be seen, so Peter texted her, telling her we'd baked - each of us - in preparation for the picnic potluck.  But it was not to be, so Peter and I prepared and made our dive starting near Vallecitos Point, swimming to the South Wall and exploring a little around its crags and shelves.  Found a family of lobster hiding underneath a canyon edge, but the bright lights from Peter's camera strobes caused them to retreat into their crevice.

By the time we'd returned to our flat, it was getting dark.  Peter headed home in his truck, and I walked up with Kat to our flat to organize laundry and for me to collect gear to take back to Peter's for rinsing.  Since it was dark by the time I arrived at Peter's, we've decided to postpone rinsing the gear until the morning, as it's much easier to do with natural light than in the cold dark night.  The only thing is that we'll need to do this early, since I'm attending a Meetup at ten in the morning.

That means it's time for bed, doesn't it?

Yes, it does.

GDC This Week

Tomorrow afternoon, Peter and I will be flying up to San Francisco for this year's Game Developers' Conference at the Moscone Center.  Once again, I will have the luxury of traipsing through the city district between Nob Hill, Chinatown, the Ferry Building, and I-80.   I may venture out of this region, depending on how 1.  adventurous I feel;  and a.  how much I feel like walking...

I'll have access to the district's branch of my gym, where I will sweat it out as much as I choose.  This will be a great relief, for I've been laid up this past week with a cold that I'd caught from Peter last weekend.  It'll feel good to return to a regular exercise regimen, even if it'll be adjusted to accommodate what will likely be slightly different equipment.

As part of his work, Peter will, once again, be making press announcements and giving interviews during the week.  I might luck into a day pass with which I may peruse the various vendors' installations, where I will see what kind of swag is on offer.  Last year, one vendor gave away large (say, around 16-20" diameter) purple latex spheres with handles.  They were essentially the same as what I remember as "Hippity-Hops" as a child.  Although they're cute, they're not exactly packable as given, and I didn't see an easy way to compress or deflate one without permanently damaging it.  Also, I'm using a smaller suitcase this year, as well.  Peter'd purchased two small carryon-sized suitcases.  Both can fit into the boot of his car, meaning we can take his car to the airport and leave it for the week while we're away.  Last year, we'd taken a taxi because he was departing for London directly from GDC while I was returning to San Diego.  This year, we'll be returning together. [insert smiley face]

Tonight, we will dine on beef and mushroom pies that he'd made last night, with some rosemary roasted potatoes, accompanied by a nice Tempranillo which we'd first tried during our December trip to England.

Enough for now.

New Zealand Spinach Flan; And I Baked Blueberry-White Chocolate Chip Cookies!

This came out very light in texture and pleasant to the eye.

This past Saturday, Kat and I attended a Backyard Crop Swap, where we gave away citrus and took with us some greens, including New Zealand spinach, a milder-tasting leaf than regular spinach.  We also received a large-leafed green that is tart to the taste, and is used sparingly to flavour other things.  I don't remember the name of it, but I added a couple leaves to the spinach and onion:

New Zealand Spinach Flan

about four to six ounces of New Zealand spinach leaves, washed and dried
several green onions
about 8 cubic inches of sharp cheddar (measure and cut before shredding), shredded
4 jumbo eggs
about 1/2 cup pasteurized egg whites
about 1/2-3/4 cup of buttermilk
1 teaspoon olive oil

Preheat oven to 350º F.

Heat oil in large pan or wok (larger surface area is better).  Add spinach leaves and green onion and sauté over medium heat.  Keep cooking on medium heat until most of the water evaporates from the leaves.  This will take a while, depending on how wide your pan is.

Take out a glass 8x14" baking pan with about 2" high sides.  Butter the bottom and sides of the pan liberally.  When spinach and onions are almost completely dry, spread them on the bottom of the pan.  Cover with shredded cheese.

Beat the eggs and egg whites.  Add buttermilk and continue beating.  Season with nutmeg, ground white pepper, celery seeds, and a pinch of salt.  Pour over everything, making sure you coat the top surfaces of all of the cheese.

Bake for about 45 minutes.  The top will be a nice golden color with spots of brown.  Cool for several minutes before cutting into squares for serving.

The flan came out really well.  I also baked a batch of blueberry-white chocolate chip cookies, mixing dried ginger into the batter to give it a hint of flavour.  The original recipe calls for adding chopped crystallized ginger, but I didn't have any in the place.  When I'd made them before, with the crystallized ginger, the cookies are really quite delicious.

Later in the afternoon, I followed Alton Brown's recipe for Seedy Crisps (the recipe is on the Food Network site) and they came out well, too.  This morning, I concocted a batch of hummus to go with the crackers, since the crackers have sesame seeds as well as poppy seeds.  I wish I had an eggplant to make more baba ganoush, but I don't, so I'll just look for a recipe for butternut squash, since I still have two aging butternut squashes on the kitchen counter, looking forlorn in the company of the pumpkin we'd received as part of our share in either October or November.  Good thing winter squashes keep so well!

I just joined a Meetup that is called 2 Pages.  Members meet weekly to read their writing out loud, and receive criticism and encouragement from the rest of the group.  It sounds like a good way to keep my writing practice up, especially fiction writing, since my writing on here is definitely in the non-fiction category.

In other news, I've managed to pick up Peter's cold, which consists mainly of a sore throat and raspy coughing.  I feel a little tired, but otherwise all right.  I hope it passes quickly because I want to get back to the gym.

I phoned the Department of Rehabilitation and my appointment to meet with a counselor is not scheduled until the second week of April.  I guess they must have quite a backlog there, since I think I gave them pretty open availability.  They chose the late morning of the 9th.  Until then, I'll just keep doing what I've been doing, which amounts to some writing, some reading, cooking, baking, and thinking about what the next step may be.  I think at this point, I'm able to rule out becoming a pastry chef, but not only because I was warned away from becoming a pastry chef by a younger single mother at a Meetup who'd gone to school to become a pastry chef and is now unemployed.

Like I told a friend, I think I might enjoy baking too much to turn it into a business.

Blood Orange Scones

I just made these this afternoon to go with my afternoon hot beverage.  They're really quite nice.

Ingredients:

1	blood orange
2	clementines
1	tangerine
3 c.	a-p flour
½ - 1 t	salt
1 T	baking powder
1 c.	brown sugar
¼ lb.	butter
18 oz.	ricotta cheese
2 t.	vanilla extract
1 t.	almond extract
¼ c.	beaten egg white (from carton)

Directions:

Zest and juice all fruit. Should have just shy of one cup of juice.  Set aside.

Combine flour, salt, and baking powder. Set aside.

Preheat oven to 350º F. Line baking two baking sheets with silicone liners or parchment.

Start beating the butter in a stand mixer until it softens a bit. Add ricotta and continue to blend until it reaches a fairly consistent consistency (I know, I know...).

Add sugar and continue beating until the sugar is incorporated. Add extracts and egg white, keeping the mixer going to fully incorporate everything.

Blend in zest and juices. Scrape bowl.

Add flour mixture in a few additions. There may be some left-over flour mixture. Mix in as much of the dry ingredients as possible (with a silicone spatula).  It will be a very dry batter.

Drop by heaping soupspoonfuls onto lined baking sheets. Bake 10 minutes, then swap pans, switching their orientation 180º. Bake an additional 12-13 minutes, or until they start to brown.

Cool completely on cooling racks and store in a paper bag at room temperature.

I had originally intended to bake cookies this afternoon, since our cookie jar is empty, but made these yummy scones instead.  Since the scones are being kept in a paper sack, there is still the empty cookie jar to contend with...

Hmmm... Maybe I'll actually look up a cookie recipe!  But of course, I'll improvise, as I often do...

This Week's CSA Share Included Strawberries, Collards, Kale, Beets, and Carrots

I've cooked the Collards into a soup using Better Than Bouillon for flavour, though there are also "bubble" onions (they resemble green onions but are much more bulbous, thus, the name) and several cloves of garlic that I sliced and sautéed in grapeseed oil prior to adding the thinly-sliced greens.  I boiled them, then brought out the wand blender.  I blended only some of it, for I thought it might be nice to have some strips of the greens in the soup.

I really only made the soup for tonight, because the last soup I'd made (leek, potato, and cauliflower) ended up growing after being left out for a day after it was made.  It's really too bad, because it was a very nice, creamy, tasty soup.  I can make it again sometime, when the price of leeks is again palatable.

The carrots will likely be turned into a cream soup (or at least a blended soup), and the beets will taste really good roasted.  We've gotten into the habit of roasting beets and fennel when we get them in our share.  Roasting is a simple and delicious way to serve a lot of veggies.  Might even roast a few of the carrots, too.

I asked Kat if I should cook the strawberries (we received two dry pints), or whether she thinks we can just eat them without turning them into something.  She suggested strawberry-lemon curd ice cream, but since Liz and Chris still have plenty of their portion of the lemon curd ice cream we'd made last week, it's unlikely that we'll be making ice cream again soon enough to use these strawberries.  I'm considering making lemon curd tarts topped with strawberries.  That might work.  I'll let you know if I decide on that option.

Peter made a puff pastry the other evening.  He intends to make pasties, not unlike filled croissants, I imagine.  The exciting part will be learning what he will use to fill them.  We bought a few pastries from the Vietnamese market in Little Saigon this weekend and froze most of them (we ate one of each kind, chicken and pork).  It was a pleasant drive up and visit with My Tran, the organizer for the Meetup (Asian Foodies).  Peter reiterated that he likes My Tran because she's so straightforward.  I agreed, saying that I like how practical and therefore straightforward she is.  Something she and her father, who came with her, ate but we did not try, were fertilized eggs.  I don't know whether they were duck eggs or chicken eggs.  Peter said that the embryos were developed enough to be recognizable as animals as opposed to the more sterile-looking ova.  He wondered if My Tran ate it on purpose because she knew he'd be watching her eat it.  I hadn't noticed, so obviously it was something that meant something to him, even if it didn't disgust him outright...

Moist Meyer Lemon Cake with Coconut Powder

I made this tonight:

Ingredients:

1 1/2 c	coconut powder
1 1/4 c	a-p flour
1/2 t	salt
1 t	baking soda
about 3/4 c	Meyer lemon juice, from 2-3 lemons
	zest from one large Meyer lemon
1 c	butter-flavored Crisco (veg. shortening)
1	jumbo egg
1/4 c	egg white (Pasteurized)
1 c	sugar (granulated white)
1/2 t	ground (dried) ginger
1 t	vanilla extract
1 t	almond extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Sift together a-p flour, baking soda, salt, and ginger.

Place shortening into the bowl of a stand mixer and start beating it until it softens and starts to form a layer on the interior of the bowl.  Add sugar steadily, allowing it to mix into the shortening, creating a moist sandy mixture.  Scrape the bowl, then continue mixing on medium speed while adding whole egg and additional egg white.  Scrape the bowl again, then let the mixer mix while adding the coconut powder in two additions.  Scrape the bowl again, then add lemon zest and juice, and both extracts.  Allow the batter to mix for a while to incorporate more moisture into the coconut powder. Scrape the bowl again, then add the dry ingredients all at once, mixing the batter on medium (I had my KitchenAid on 4) until it becomes fluffy and light.  Pour into a nonstick 9" square pan and smooth top.  

Bake until a toothpick comes out clean but you can still hear the cake sizzling when you take it out. Allow cake to cool on a rack for ten minutes, then use s silicone spatula to ease the sides of the cake from the pan.  

Cut into 16 squares, and serve either warm or at room temperature, with ice cream or mildly sweetened whipped heavy cream.  This cake has a fine crumb and tastes deliciously lemony.  Enjoy!

PS.  If you want to experience a total lemon-overload, top the cake with fresh lemon curd!

Dive!

This evening, I will take the bus (964) to Fuddrucker's for games with SDBG.  I will beg other attendees for a lift home, as my car is parked on the street.  If I take it to Fudd's, it's not unlikely that I'll not find another parking space for the night that will be anywhere too close to home.

The carpark at my condo is being repaved.  Not re-tarred, but actually repaved.  The asphalt is being dug up and the soil underneath will be fortified before fresh concrete is poured and asphalt laid on top to form the finish surface.  At least that's the way they'll do it if they're going to do it properly, but I have my doubts as to whether the new paving job will be done well...

Anyway, that's the residential news from my neck of the woods.  Something that I look forward to doing tomorrow is diving at La Jolla Shores in the morning.  I packed (most of) our dive gear in the back of my car and it's ready to go.  The only things I could not find were Peter's gloves and hood.  He'll look for them before coming over to spend the night.  The other thing I didn't pack was his camera setup, as it's kind of a "thing" in itself and requires him to set it up to make sure it's ready to go.  Who knows, though?  He might not take the camera, depending on conditions, though he's much more gung-ho about diving than I am and will happily wade into surf that would discourage me if not wiping me out before I get beyond it.  I remember one dive in which I lost my mask the first time getting in, and ended up borrowing a mask from another dive buddy, Jackie, to make the dive.  I've lost my share of gear to the ocean, for sure, if not to lightfingered divers on boats I've been on...

I've been diving once this year (last week!), and Peter's not been diving since before Thanksgiving. We're looking forward to a boat dive near the end of this month.  It'll be a day trip departing from Long Beach (I think) to a couple/few oil rigs, upon which there is abundant sea life, including scallops, some of which I'm hoping to harvest and taste.  First, though, I'll need to find myself a new dive knife, as mine was lost from its sleeve on my drysuit when I had my neck seal replaced last year...

I need to replace my dive knife and my backup light (I lost mine on a boat about a month after buying it, which was a great disappointment).  I will look online.  I'll write about the dive if anything worth noting occurs.