Fasten Your Seat Belts

If this whole architecture thing doesn't work out and I find myself in need of a career to fall back on, I could quite possibly go into the chauffeuring business. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm a bad driver. Oh pshaw! While that may or may not be true, I successfully managed to haul around my mother, my two aunts and two of my cousins in a ginormous Escalade all weekend without any sort of incidents. I even parked the shiny red exhaust chuffin' beast numerous times. Go me.

My mom and her sisters are a hoot. No, really they are. All of us females on my mom's side of the family are very much alike in our humor, outlook, and opinions. You can bet yer buttons it's gonna be an entertaining time when my mom and her sisters get together.

So, my mom's youngest sister had the great idea to do a Summer Road Trip. She persuaded her two daughters, my mother and my other aunt to truck on down to Nashville for a weekend visit.

I inherited my directional disability from my mom's side of the family and sadly nearly all of us are afflicted with this lack of navigational skill (except Bethany). Five women, five cell phones, four maps, two GPS systems and they STILL had trouble getting from Erie to Nashville. *shrug* It's the burden of my people.

Once they arrived and got settled in to their hotel, I gave them explicit directions to my place and amazingly enough they showed up only three hours later! No, I'm kidding of course. It only took them two hours. Ha! Kidding again...I just amuse myself. No, seriously, they had little to no difficulty navigating their way from their hotel to my house. I gave them the grand tour and then we spent a good chunk of time talking and being amused by my cats.

Once my cats became bored with us (which actually takes longer than you might think), I took my family to The Station Inn. The Station Inn is a very ... um ... authentic, live bluegrass venue. It's old, it boasts a rich bluegrass history, it's smoke free, and just a really down-to-earth, fun atmosphere. I like it. And my family seemed to like it as well. It was an interesting culture contrast for my 20 year old cousin who goes to school in LA.

After hauling their sleepy butts back to the hotel, I hauled my own sleepy butt (in the giant automobile) back to my house with plans to pick the gang up at 9-ish in the morning for some plantation fun. That's right, plantation fun!

Okay, so maybe plantations aren't really that exciting...but the Belle Meade Plantation is a neat old place to wander around. We were on the first tour of the morning and it was painfully evident that our tour guide was recovering from a Friday night hangover. As in, "okay, any questions in this room? no? okay, on we go!" We're walking...we're walking...

After being hustled by the hungover tour guide, we climbed back into the tank and drove downtown to the Frist Art Museum. The main exhibit there right now is called Color as Field: American Painting 1950-1975. This is awesome because the collection includes Mark Rothko who is one of my favorite artists.

I love art museums. But I realize that not everyone does, so I try not to push my art enthusiasm on people. And I know...yes, know, my mother does not particularly like art museums. I swear she has told me this before, but last weekend she assured me, "I do too like art museums!" So while my cousins and I strolled leisurely through the maze of color, my alleged art-luvin' mama zipped through the galleries like it was some kind of Olympic event claiming, "I only stop and look if I see something I like". She's a funny lil' thing.

We ate lunch at the museum cafe which was very tasty. Actually, I find this to be true of most museum cafes - the fare they offer tends to be good, interesting, and inexpensive. Yay for museum cafes!

After some quality time spent napping, reading and lounging by the pool at the hotel, we went downtown to walk around Broadway and stopped in at Roberts Western World to wet our whistle and listen to a bit of music.

Then we loaded back into the beast and went uptown to West End and Centennial Park where they were having a big band dance. Centennial park is sort of a miniature-sized Central Park, and is really such a nice urban green space. Here's the three sisters in front of the pond:



We wrapped up the road trip visit with dinner at Rumba. I dropped them off at their hotel, left them with their gigantic vehicle, some Google directions, and bid them a fond farewell. I like having visitors - it's fun to show off my town to an appreciative audience. So, if you're lookin' for a road trip destination, look no further! Just give me a call.

A Dozen Fleas, Please

In case you were wondering (and I'm certain you were wondering), I have been on the professional garage sale circuit since I was about 4 years old. It's true, the thrill of the quest for second-hand treasures runs in my blood. In general, I prefer second-hand to brand new. I don't know, there's just something about acquiring an item that already has a history. It's poetic somehow to embrace a thing from the past rather than having Crate & Barrel ship you the same damn thing everyone else already has. And, ya know, now that everyone is jumping on the sustainable wagon, re-usable stuff is a good thing. Uh-huh.

I don't know what all your childhood consisted of, but sizeable chunks of my childhood summers were spent mapping out weekend garage sale plans; circling the ads in the newspaper that sounded enticing. Going to the weekly flea market at the Peninsula Drive-In (which sadly, no longer exists). Spending an afternoon at an estate auction. Yep, I am no stranger to second-hand junk...er, stuff.

So, on Saturday I coerced Daniel to go with me to the Nashville Flea Market which is held at the fairgrounds every 4th weekend of the month. I'm ashamed to say that even though I've been living here for two and half years now, I have never been to the Nashville Flea Market. In fact, I haven't been to ANY flea market in a loooooong time. It's sad really.

Flea markets are hot, dusty affairs, and the Nashville Flea market was no exception. It was a very typical and satisfying flea market experience (btw, anyone know why they are called "flea" markets?). You had your local produce vendors and greenhouse vendors. You had your antique dealers and your brand-new sock dealers (why? why does EVERY flea market have booths of socks?). There were the junk dealers and food vendors. A veritable Portobello Road...well, sans the Calypso dancers.

I am particularly partial to the antique-y junk dealers. I like old bowls. Mmm hmm...old bowls...and pretty old plates. I also have a peculiar fondness for old hardware. Old hardware, you say? Yeah, you know, like old glass doorknobs or carved cabinet handles or brass drawer pulls or iron hinges. Call me crazy, but that's some good junk...er, stuff.

You just never know what you're gonna find at a flea market. Well, okay, you KNOW you're gonna find socks...but beyond that, you could stumble across anything. Like a large rusty mermaid statue...or an old Nazi sword...or a box full of 8-track recordings of Neil Diamond...or lovely old crystal chandeliers...or milk glass salt and pepper shakers...or a piece of Christmas Village (score!). Old shaving razors and teacups and postcards of places you've never seen. Stained cookbooks and petite candy dishes and political buttons of politicians you've never heard of. Clip-on rhinestone earrings and comic books and paintings of anonymous countrysides.

And, of course, socks...lots and lots of socks.

P.S. If I had been on the ball, I would've taken my camera and snapped a few fun photos of the flea market. Alas, I am rarely, if ever, "on the ball". Often I am running alongside the ball or tripping over the ball, but not actually ON the ball. Thus, no photos for your enjoyment. My sincere apologies.

Neurotic, Party of One...

Daniel has been married before.

This annoys me. Why does this annoy me, you ask? Because I’m a neurotic crazy person. Duh.

Honestly, I’m not even entirely sure why it annoys me. I have dated guys before who had been married in previous lives and it never bothered me. In fact, I really couldn’t have cared less. Let’s be realistic, by the time a person gets to 32, the odds of stumbling across someone with whom you’re compatible, and either, A.) isn’t married or B.) hasn’t ever been married, are rather slim.

And it’s not like Daniel’s previous role as a husband is a fact he’s tried to hide from me. It doesn’t make me sad or jealous or angry…just…annoyed. Irrationally so? Yes of course, but that’s not the issue.

The issue, ladies and gentlemen, is that my boyfriend had a big ole traditional churchy wedding with groomsmen and flower arrangements and tuxedos and the walking down the aisle bit…and all the hoopla associated with weddings, without me. And dammit, it’s annoying.

But here’s the really stupid thing: I’m not even envious of the actual wedding. Nope. In fact I hate weddings. Don’t ever want one. Never have. Also, never been a big fan of marriage in general. Single women usually have much more interesting lives than married women, don't they? Heh. So, seriously, what’s the deal? Why does this annoy me?

Unless a person is like 16 years old, there’s bound to be some relationship history attached to a person. It’s inevitable, right? Hell, I have my own history. Granted, it doesn’t include something as monumentally important as marriage, but still. Hmm…maybe that’s my beef – the enormous weight of it. A wedding and the marriage that goes with it is a BIG FUCKING DEAL. A major, life-altering experience and he went ahead and made a decision like that without consulting me first.

So what if he didn’t even know me back then!
So what if I lived 3 states away!
So what if I wasn’t even driving yet!

He’s had that experience. Been there. Done that. And I haven’t.

And, yes, there are things that I've done that he hasn't, but nothing so incredibly important...nothing so weighty...nothing so once-in-a-lifetime.

Maybe I should go to Vegas for a weekend and get married and divorced with some sad sap just so I can say, “Ha! See? I’ve been there and done that too. So there!” Meh. Maybe not.

Got Blueberries?

Are blueberries taking over your life?

Are they cluttering up your countertops and crouching in your freezer?

Do you feel like you're about to turn into Violet Beauregard if you eat one more fresh blueberry?

We sprinkle blueberries on oatmeal, we puree them into smoothies, we mix them up with cantaloupe, we pop them like M&M's...and still there are blueberries to contend with.

So, last night after a dinner of fresh corn on the cob and fried green tomatoes (gotta use the produce!), I made Blueberry Boy Bait. It's kind of like a blueberry coffee cake and a good way to use up some of those blueberries.



Here's what you'll need:

2 C. flour (yep. just your everyday all-purpose flour)
1 1/2 C. white sugar
2/3 C. butter (unsalted, if you please)
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
2 egg yolks (separating eggs can be tricky, proceed with caution)
1 C. milk (I used organic 2% - not sure if that makes any difference whatsoever)
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla
2 egg whites
1 to 2 C. fresh blueberries (depends on how fond you are of blueberries - or how many you want to get rid of)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a springform pan (I think the one I used was a 9 inch). Note: The original recipe says to use a 9x13 baking dish, so if you prefer that look, then go ahead and use a 9x13 if you must. Just make sure you cut down on the baking time.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour and sugar. Cut in the butter using a pastry blender or a couple of knives until you've got a bowl of pea-sized crumbles. Measure out 3/4 cup of the mixture and set aside (you'll use this later for the topping).

Stir the baking powder and salt into the remaining mixture, then mix in the egg yolk, milk and vanilla beating on low speed for 3 minutes.

In a large glass or metal bowl, whip the egg whites until stiff peaks begin to form and then gently fold those suckers into the batter. Spread the batter evenly into the prepared pan and sprinkle the blueberries on top. Then sprinkle the reserved topping mixture over the blueberries. Note: I added a pinch of cinnamon and a little bit of brown sugar to this mixture before sprinkling on top of the blueberries.

Bake for 50 to 60 minutes until cake springs back when lightly touched in the middle. Note: My cake did not "spring back". In fact, it was kinda jiggly, but the edges were nice and brown after about 62 minutes, so I took it out. Turns out the jiggliness was due to the massive amounts of blueberries I used on the top of the cake. The cake was done perfectly and once the blueberries cooled a bit, it was fine and dandy.

Crushed Under the Weight of Blueberries

Last night we picked up our 7th weekly box of farm fresh produce. Daniel said, “So what week are we on now? The 900th?”. Clearly he was being facetious – his memory hasn’t completely vaporized with his advanced age. But, seriously, since becoming part of the CSA program at a local farm it often feels like our lives are being run by produce.

We are handed a butt-load of fruits and vegetables every week by the kindly John and Judy of Doe Run Farm. This week our box contained things such as sweet corn, tomatoes, green tomatoes, poblano peppers, beets, red potatoes, eggplant, lettuce, blueberries, blackberries…and thankfully, for the first time this summer, NO SQUASH.

For the past 7 weeks our refrigerator and countertops have been full of every imaginable type of produce – cabbages and onions and cucmbers…squashes and strawberries and peas…broccoli and asparagus and beans. We have bags and bags of shredded zucchini in the freezer along with one enormous bag full of blueberries. We spend our days trying to come up with creative ways to use our overabundant produce supply and we spend our nights cooking or freezing the produce. It’s always there and it always has to be dealt with.

We are not farm folk, dammit! We do not spend our weekends putting up stores in the pantry. We do not delight in the making of preserves. We do not own a root cellar! We are busy people who don’t have the time or inclination to cook every night!

Yes, it’s healthy. Yes, it’s nice to have fresh produce while supporting community agriculture. But, damn! It gets to be exhausting and tedious having this constant obligation to use all of our healthy, local, organic produce.

Clearly, one share in the farm is just too much produce for only two people. IF we ever decide to participate in a CSA again, we’ll have to find more people to go in on it with us. Any takers? Only seven more weeks to go! After that I think we’ll go back to relying on Whole Foods, and regulate our produce consumption to a more manageable volume.