Rock Polisher

We've been spending a lot of time at Whidbey lately looking at rocks and I remembered that my dad used to have a rock polisher.  I think rock polishing must have been a thing that people did, back when they didn't have the internet or other distractions.

You could always spy a bowl of polished rocks on any given bookshelf in our house.  They would show up in the houseplants, and on our fridge with magnets glued to their bellies.  One time I sold them at our school's annual cake-walk rummage and bake sale fundraiser.  I'm not sure why I sold rocks, and not cake...

Sometimes I would crawl under the dresser or coffee table and sort through them.  They were smooth and domesticated-- remarkably different from the seaweed covered lumps we would dig out of the sand at Whidbey-- and you could see every single line shining through and staring back at you, like little eyeballs.  

Anyway, I was reminded of this poem by Chris Forhan.  It is one of my favorites; 

Please enjoy!

  

Rock Polisher

Your father bought it, brought it

to the basement utility closet, waited

while a test pebble tumbled in it.

One week: he’d willed it to brilliance.

The grit kit’s yours now, the silicon

carbide pack. Split it, have at it.

Jasper, agate, amethyst crystal,

it’ll churn to a luster. Listen

to small rocks grind the big one down.

Stones in the driveway, pry them up, why not,

they’ll fit, glass knobs on your mother’s

bathroom cabinet, your baseball

and mitt, polish them, polish that

zero-win Peewee League season.

The thing your sister said and then

took back, you still have it, polish it,

polish the snowless Christmas

when all you’d hoped for was snow.

It’s way past lights out now, you’re crouched

above the barrel, feeding it

your school shoes, your haircut

in eighth grade—flat bangs

to the bridge of your nose—the moment

that girl on the track team touched

your wrist, then kept her fingers there,

the way you loved dumbly

and do. If the sun’s up, it’s nothing,

you’re polishing, you’re pouring in

the ocean rolling rocks into cobbles

too slowly, and the sky, it was

Mozart’s, was Christ’s sky,

no matter, dismantle it, drop it

into the tumbler, and you too, get in there

with your Dad and your Mom and the cat,

one by one, the whole family,

and God’s mercy, perfect at last.

sailor talk

Umm, so here is something new that I'm not sure how to deal with:   It began a few days ago, and when I first noticed it, I thought for sure, for absolute sure, that I was just hearing things.
But then I heard it again yesterday.  And today, as Violet and I sat facing each other during lunch, she put down her sandwich-half, looked right into my eyes, and said it clear as day:   f*ck.
And then she said it some more;
f*ck, f*ck, f*ck..... like A tiny sailor; or a little choochoo train, chugging along, but instead of chug it's f*ck.
Then, she smiled and watched to see what I would do.

Ok, first of all--  let's all agree that the thought (and I promise you, the sight and sound) of sweet V saying this word is, well, one of those rare and remarkable funny occurrences that the world gives you once in a while, wrapped in a beautiful little satin bow.  But now, that we are done with it being funny, what am I supposed to do about this?
And, backup, how did she even learn this?  I don't swear much-- and neither does Tyler-- where did it come from?  And she obviously already knows that there is something a little different about this word, (why else would she look at me in that special what is mom going to do way?) so where did she learn the social tabooness of it?

So far I have ignored it, thinking it will probably just get boring and go away if I don't respond (not a permanent solution, but a good temporary one).  I responded too much to the cuteness of "lellow" (instead of "yellow"), and now it is a permanent addition to her vocabulary.  I also responded too negatively when she started to experiment with chewing her fingernails, and when it got worse and worse, so much that they were bloody little wicks, I finally decided to ignore it, and then just a few days later it went a way.....

But what do I do about this on a larger more longterm scale?
Do I continue to ignore it and hope that it doesn't surface at some inappropriate moment?  Do I sit her down the next time it comes up and tell her that some words hurt peoples' feelings and that we shouldn't say them?
Do I tell her that it's only appropriate to say this word when she stubs her toe?
Is this something that I even need to be worry about?  
Hmm...  this is an interesting one.  It's kind of my mommy-challenge for the week; like the crossword that you get in the back of a magazine.

Tuesday Reflection

I have been feeling lately like the flavor of our life is slightly changing.  Like when you put a drip of honey in your peppermint tea, and suddenly it's something new.  And then you add a little lemon to change it even more.

I was with Violet at Gasworks park yesterday, and she kept asking me, rather politely, if I would please just go sit down over there.  I was in a listening mood, so I did what I was told.  Then I watched as she wandered just about twenty feet away, and sat down by herself, and picked her nose.
And I got this shock to the heart;
she is getting so grown
and knows, suddenly,
that picking her nose is fine, as long as mom is too far away to see or to scold or to hand her a tissue.

Oh God, help me now.

The funny thing about life with a three year old, or at least my life with my 3 year old, is that it is this constant game of reasoning, or often, outwitting.  If I think of Violet as having the combined brain of myself and Tyler, it's no real wonder that she not only can often predict exactly what I am going to say or do, but can also often figure out ways to outsmart me.
And as I sat there watching her from across the grass, I thought to myself for just this moment I want to just take it in; you, sitting there on the top of a grassy hill, in the sun and polkadots, watching boats, picking your nose.  Because tomorrow you will be older, and you will discover so many many things that are far more fun and dirty (and troubling to me, as your mother).  And this is beautiful.    

3 year olds can be so very trying; so very naughty at times, making the lovely moments seem even more fleeting and precious than they already are.
I see now why everyone always tells me to savor these years.  I feel like I have and do, but now I am beginning to see how right they are; this probably won't last forever.  My morning won't always get to begin with Violet, running down the hallway pleased as pie, holding in each fist a pair of socks-- one for me and one for Tyler, because she can't stand to see our poor naked cold little toes on the kitchen floor.  

And I probably won't always get to see a parade every afternoon.

Here is one for you:

Dilly Bread

Well, it's June, or as we in Seattle like to call it Juneuary.  I don't know why, but every year in Seattle May is absolutely glorious, and then June comes in like a jerk with rain storms.  But we aren't letting it get us down (really, we are trying very hard)...

The fun thing about having a three year old is that you are constantly challenged to make the best of things, even when the thing is Juneuary.  Today we made Dilly Bread (another recipe from my new Good Cheer cookbook!).  I don't make bread very often.  We live next to a fantastic bakery, and it always just seems like making it from scratch takes more effort and time than it's worth.

...But, turns out, baking bread is the perfect activity to do with a 3 year old on a rainy day.  The thing about making bread (at least Dilly Bread) is that it's not actually very hard.  There are no frantic cooking moments with hot oil or spatula flipping; it's kind of a slow sluggy gentle activity that can be broken into a few different steps, all of which your little one can help you with.  Violet helped me measure out and mix all of the ingredients in the morning which took about 30 minutes-- an appropriate amount of time for a small child--  then we were able to take a break and left the blob to rise on its own while we went to the gym.  

When we got home in the afternoon it had done its growing work, and had doubled in size (which completely blew Violet's mind, and kind of blew my mind too).  Then, another fun activity-- punching it back down to its original size, a good quick activity before Violet's nap time.

When she woke up a couple hours later, it was time to bake it.  So we popped it in the oven.  Then, the most exciting part of all, we got to eat it with dinner.  And it was good!    

Hooray Dilly Bread!     

Dilly Bread 

1 package yeast, dissolved in 1/4 cup warm water 

1 cup cottage cheese 

2 Tbsp sugar 

1 Tbsp minced onion 

1 Tbsp butter, softened  

1 tsp salt 

1 tsp ground dill 

1/4 tsp baking soda 

1 egg, beaten 

2 1/2 cups flour 

1) Blend cottage cheese until smooth.  (I did this in the cuisinart; Violet got to push the buttons which was a huge thrill for her.  Watching her, I realized that the last time I had really used the cuisinart was during my baby-food making days; and that yanked at my heart a bit; but I degress...)    

2) Transfer creamed cottage cheese into a large bowl and mix with sugar, minced onion, butter, salt, dill, baking soda, and egg.  

3) Add in yeast mixture.  

4) Gradually add flour, and kneed until combined.  

5) Place dough in a greased bowl and let rise until at least doubled in bulk 

6) Punch down and let rise again.  

7) Bake in a greased casserole dish or coffee can in oven at 350 for 40-50 minutes.  

Roasted Garlic Tomato Bisque

My favorite thrift store in the whole world is Good Cheer on Whidbey Island.  When I was a teenager, we would come up to the cabin all summer, and I would buy my entire fall wardrobe at Good Cheer and be overly proud about it.  I'm pretty sure I said a total of about twenty words all through high school, and every single one probably was in some way boasting about this wonderful thrift store 900 miles away floating in the middle of the Puget Sound.  





Well we still find treasures there.  Skirts, cooking spoons, beach sweaters, old bracelets, games... When I was pregnant with Violet, I did puzzles around the clock, and most of them came from Good Cheer.
It is a wonderful store.

Well, what do you know-- My favorite store has recently published their own cookbook (which we very quickly and enthusiastically purchased)!  It's The Good Cheer 50th Anniversary Cookbook.  Oh my goodness, what a crazy wonderful mix of recipes and photos.  The book kind of embodies the thrift store itself; very funky and old-school with all of these odd but lovable photos of food that look like they were taken about forty years ago.  About a third of the recipes are just photocopies of old hand-written rambling directions for how to make bread, soup, relish sauce, etc..--maybe originally written on napkins by someone's great grandma.  It's really very endearing, and I love it to pieces.

Also, all of the recipes I have tried from this book so far have been fantastic!  Maybe also like a thrift store, a lot of these recipes are kind of oldies but goodies.  Right after we bought it, Tyler and I were reading through the book while sitting in the ferry line, and decided that most of the recipes reminded us of a very country or down on the farm style of cooking with a Northwest twang.  Many of the recipes use very local ingredients like shellfish and berries and tons of veggies-- yummmm!

Anyway, I wanted to share one of the recipes with you.  It is for Roasted Garlic Tomato Bisque.  Apparently a bisque is different from a soup in that it is exceptionally creamy and smooth, and often uses wine as an ingredient in a very French way.  I'm sure there are other qualifications or hurdles a soup must cross before it wins the honorary title of Bisque... I think some people would say that it has to have seafood in it (so maybe this recipe, coming from Whidbey Island, once had seafood in it as well as tomatoes and garlic and cream?)  Who knows.  It does contain a good amount of dill, and paired with the richness of the cream and wine, I do think you could add some fish or clams to it, and it would be delightful.

It is a very very good soup.  I mean Bisque.
And Violet couldn't get enough of it.  It is very rich;  take yourself into creamy oblivion and serve it with a good grilled cheese (that is of course what we did :)

Roasted Garlic Tomato Bisque




8-10 Roma tomatoes, sliced
1 large yellow onion, sliced
about 10 cloves of garlic, peeled
3 cloves garlic, chopped fine
1/4 cup olive oil
1/3 cup butter
3/4 cup dry white wine
3/4 teaspoon dill
1/2 cup chopped parsley
1 tablespoon brown sugar
salt and pepper to taste
pinch of cayenne pepper
15 oz. can diced tomatoes
1 cube of chicken bouillon (I left this out, and didn't miss it)
1/4 cup flour
1 cup whipping cream
1 quart chicken broth


1) Preheat oven to 375

2) Arrange sliced tomatoes, onions, and whole garlic cloves on sheet pan.  (If you have a kitchen elf, she or he can help you with this).

3) Season with salt, pepper, and olive oil

4) Roast 30-40 minutes, turning half way through

5) Transfer to a large soup pot, over med-hi heat.

6) Add butter, white wine, dill parsley, 3 more cloves of garlic chopped fine, brown sugar, kosher salt, pepper, cayenne pepper, 15 oz can diced tomatoes, and chicken bouillon (if using).  Saute a few minutes.

7) Sprinkle with flour and cook while stirring, 3-4 minutes.

8) Add cream and chicken broth, simmer until thickened, about 15 minutes.

9) Use a hand blender and blend until smooth (or you can use a regular blender, transferring the soup in batches.

A Rainy Picnic and Chihuly

What a wonderful birthday I had!  A lovely breakfast with my two favorite people, then Zumba class, and then a fabulously fun[ny] picnic at Martha's beach under a tarp in the come-and-go rain with more of my favorite people.  I would have turned 30 years ago if I had known it would be this much fun!  :)

  

Blue Hawaiians :) 

To top it all off, we ended the day with a trip to the new Chihuly Glass museum at the Seattle Center.

In one word, it was amazing.  

In many words, it was like absolutely nothing I had ever experienced before.  You wander through these dark rooms, never really knowing what surprise is going to be around the next corner.  

Glass sculptures hang from the ceilings, or stand seemingly free form, as if they were growing up through the floor, spurned by light and color.  

There were moments in the exhibit where I felt as though I was staring at the inside of a jellyfish; as though I were inside of its tiny heart (do jellyfish have hearts?) watching it move and grow from the inside out.

There were other moments where it felt as though Tyler and I were these tiny pill bugs wandering through a garden, staring up at sprouting orchids and grass tufts and seed pods.

Other times I kind of got the impression that I was staring at this enlarged and frozen-in-time picture of what happens when you close your eyes tightly, with these happy and busy jolts of color streaming through the darkness in little wooden
rowboats.  

What an inspiration Chihuly is.  Did you know he studied architecture?  Did you know his mother was a gardener?  Well, I didn't.  But I love learning little tidbits about the lives of great artists--  you begin to see how the collision of so many far and reaching facets of life can all collide together in the brain to produce something so unimaginably beautiful and creative.  

And there is something about the glass that is particularly inspiring.  I think it's the way each instillation is made up of so very many little pieces.  And each little piece, you know, has been made separately using the lick of gravity and fire and motion.  Somehow, every little piece fits together.  

Well, folks will think what they will (there has been a lot of curmudgeonly uproar about the price tag of this new museum), but from where I stand, this exhibit was well worth every penny that was spent on it.  Not every city can claim a world-renound artist like Chihuly;  He has used the inspiration of our home, the Pacific Northwest and Puget Sound to create these works of beauty that have touched the lives of people across the globe.  From Jerusalem to Venice to San Francisco-- people have flocked to see his work.  And when you stand in the Glass Garden at night with the light from the space needle shining down like a giant birthday candle (appropriate :)--  it's  a bit hard to believe that it doesn't belong there.