The Birthday Boy

I come from a family that CELEBRATES birthdays. Your birthday is your day and you should have things just as you want them for your birthday. My husband's birthday is the second of January but because of various circumstances beyond our control, we have been celebrating for almost 2 weeks now.

December 31st -- let him open present, only the one but it was an XBOX 360 Elite which he has been melding with ever since.

January 1st -- made him breakfast in bed, went to see his aunt & uncle and exchange Christmas and receive birthday gifts, pick up his very special order birthday cake (marzipan), went to the Museum of History and Industry, to Ivar's Salmon House for lunch and to the Sci Fi Museum (whoopee).

January 2nd -- went shopping for XBOX 360 games, an extra controller and to the hobby store so he could spend a gift card on 2 box cars for his train set and a collector's edition model of the Starship Enterprise.

January 3rd -- he played XBOX for several hours.

January 4th -- had his mom, step-dad and half-siblings over for the remaining cake and ice cream and to open the gifts from them.

January 5th -- more XBOX.

January 6th -- dinner at The Keg so he could have his free birthday prime rib.

And the celebration continues this Friday night when we go to the Red Robin for his free birthday burger. Now some may find this all to be excessive but remember, my husband is a twin and his birthday falls right on the heels of Christmas. I figure he deserves to have his birthday celebrated with style for a change.

Plus for the next six months he is only four years younger than me instead of five.

Princess Hair and a Party Dress

I think inside every woman is the little girl that was. There are times when I am 7 years old, times when I am 11 and times when I am 15. This morning I was up and showered early because today is the court's Christmas Party. (I know from a technical standpoint party should not be capitalized in my previous sentence but trust me on this one, it has to be.) Actually, it isn't really a Christmas Party because we cannot have a Christmas Party. For budgetary and political correctness reasons, it is an Employee Recognition Event but really it is a Christmas Party.

Well, since it is PARTY DAY, I took extra time with my hair to do it in what I secretly refer to myself as my Princess Hair. This involves plenty of smoothing hair product, a hairdryer, hot rollers, hairspray and my secret weapon for the Princess Hair, two tiny hair clips with silver stars affixed to them. After a certain amount of spitting and swearing (not really, Mom), I managed to subdue my superfine, unruly, burnet hair into two neat rolls pinned in place with the stars and a cascade of curls below. (At least that is how I tell myself it looks when I get done.)

Also since it is PARTY DAY there must be a Party Dress. When I was 7 my ideal Party Dress was anything with a full circle skirt, a ribbon tie at the waist and puffed or sheer sleeves. In my heart of hearts, that is still what a Party Dress should look like. However, at 37, I seriously doubt I could successfully carry something like that off so instead, I have a black dress with a blue design that my husband thinks looks like eyes and I think look like peacock feathers. It is a good cut for my figure (which at best could be described as Rubenesque). So now, with my Princess Hair and my Party Dress, I am ready to face the day.

My boss just warned me that if it starts to snow, the party will be cancelled.

A Sourdough Thanksgiving

I just finished putting a double batch of sourdough in the oven to raise. In two hours, I will make it into rolls and let it raise for two more hours and then I will bake them into the MOST delicious sourdough rolls for Thanksgiving dinner.

I have been fascinated with sourdough starter since I was a child. My mother had both Herman cake and Amish Friendship bread starter fermenting on the counter and in the fridge as I was growing up. I was always very interested in the end result of those starters but since I've grown up, my obsession has been with sourdough.

I think it began with one of the Laura Ingalls Wilder books (By the Shores of Silver Lake, I believe) when Laura describes to a guest how to make sourdough starter and bread. From that time to this, I have hankered after having my own starter.

Recently, King Arthur Flour had a deal where if you bought their stoneware crock you would get the starter to put in it for free. I had almost bought the crock and starter several times before but it was a bit dear so I had resisted. Well, if they were going to offer me such a deal, I was bound and determined to take advantage of it. I tried to order it a few days later and the website said it was not available. Undeterred (a deal is a deal after all), I called the company directly and they said that they had pulled it from the website because the overwhelming response they had to the offer had caused them to run out. They kindly took a back order for me and in late summer my crock and starter arrived.

I carefully followed the directions and then left everything sitting on the counter to "proof". My husband wandered out into the kitchen a little later and picked up the directions and perused them. Then he called out to me and said "Honey, it says you have to feed the sourdough." and I replied "Yes." and then there was a long pause and a slightly worried voice call out "WHAT do you FEED it? Small villages? The cat?" Needless to say, I cracked up and then went to explain the wonders of sourdough to my husband.

Since that time I have used the starter to make quick breads (zucchini and banana), waffles, a tomato based sourdough bread, a sourdough bread with instant yeast and traditional sourdough bread. They have all been really delicious with an extra gold star for the waffles and the traditional sourdough bread. So go out and get yourself some starter or make some from scratch. I recommend the sourdough starter from King Arthur. They can trace its provenance from the 1700's. As far as I know you only feed it flour and water but you may want to watch out for the cat when the starter is out fermenting on the counter.

The Minds of the Jurors

Today, I had to bailiff. When I first started working for the court, I loved getting to bailiff. Now, not so much. Banging the gavel is not the thrill it once was. Also, listening to arguments has lost its charm. Today, I listened to arguments on the finer points of contract, dependency and criminal law. After the criminal cases, I usually want to take my brain out and wash it. Today was no exception. In listening to the two attorneys try and make their case for what was in the minds of the jurors was enough to make you want to smack your head against a wall repeatedly. Unfortunately, they frown on you doing that while court is in session around here for some reason.

John Denver & Friends

"Friends, I will remember you, think of you, pray for you and when another day is through, I'll still remember you."


I've been thinking about my friends a lot lately. My father once told me that I had the gift of friendship. He told me that he admired how well I kept track of my friends and it inspired him to be better about doing the same. It is one of the nicest things my dad has ever said to me which is really saying something because he says a lot of nice things. I hope that I live up to those kind words.


I will say, I have a lot of close friends and a lot of other friends too. At my wedding shower, someone commented when I introduced everyone that I also said something about each of them and they all fell into some group or other. I had friends from my current job, friends from my former job (like the group pictured), friends from church, friends from book group, friends from Curves, friends that are family and so on and so forth.


Now what, may you ask, does John Denver have to do with all this? I am a huge fan of John Denver's music. I know this will leave me open to ridicule but so be it. A lot of his songs have to do with friendship including the lyrics that begin this post. In Poems, Prayers and Promises and This Old Guitar and several other of his songs he sings about the importance of his friends in his life. I really relate to that.


One of the most difficult things that has ever happened to me is damage to a long standing friendship. I don't lose friends. I have drifted apart from friends due to distance or changing interests but I don't lose them. In fact, I have often gone to great lengths to maintain friendships and to keep communication flowing with a friend even when we disagree. I am loud and opinionated and so I do disagree with my friends on occasion but I don't end friendships over foolish things like that. For the first time since I was a child, I had what I believe to be a nearly irreparable break with a friend this past year. A few people really close to me know about it but I haven't generally talked about it. It has been painful.


I won't describe or go into detail here about what happened. The bottom line is I wouldn't give in to something a friend wanted me to do for her and, instead of respecting my decision, she whined, complained and let loose a steady stream emotional blackmail and abuse that has continued for months. It has grieved me as much as if this person had died. It is now to the point that even if she does eventually apologize and we move back into friendship, I will not trust her again and our friendship has been forever changed. (She is not in the picture above by the way. )


Yet with all that, I still think of her as "friend" and so:


"Friends, I will remember you, think of you, pray for you and when another day is through, I'll still remember you."

So Much Water

Is there anything worse in the entire world then stepping unexpectedly onto sopping wet carpet in stocking feet? If there is, I don't want to know. This morning after feeding the fish, I decided to run into the spare room and check email before getting ready for work. I stepped into the doorway of the room and the carpet went "squish". I took another step "squish" and two more "squish, squish" and the water soaked through my socks. I turned and RAN for the telephone and used the intercom to call the landlords (aka my parents) to come down to the apartment immediately and help me trace the source of so much water.

Fortunately, it turned out to be a leaky hose leading the to hot water heater and not the heater itself or a burst pipe or some other awful and expensive problem. The hose was spraying water and appeared to have done so for several hours but nothing was terribly damaged. It did make me a tad late for work. I ran the steam cleaner to pick up the excess water. By the time I stopped, I had filled and emptied the tank five times. It was extremely fortuitous that I had stepped into the spare room at all this morning as we would have had a disastrous mess by this evening if I hadn't! As it is, the spare room carpet will likely smell like a wet yak has moved in there for a week or two. Thank heaven for small mercies.

Breakfast and Books

My favorite breakfast these days is peanut butter and honey oatmeal. Get yourself some Quaker quick oats. Bring about 3 cups of water to a boil and add just under a cup of oatmeal and a pinch of salt. Don't let it boil over! Boil gently for about 2 minutes. Pour into strainer and strain off excess water and nudge the oatmeal into a bowl. Stir in a generous tablespoon of smooth peanut butter and top with a generous serving of honey. Then EAT IT!

My book group is reading Love Over Scotland by Alexander McCall Smith for our December meeting. I listened to it and then went back and listened to the first book in the series 44 Scotland Street and the second book in the series Espresso Tales. I have read several of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series also by Smith but I really prefer the Scotland Street series. It was originally written as a serial for The Scotsman in Edinburgh and owes a big debt to Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City. It follows the various residents that live at 44 Scotland Street and their friends and neighbors. It has wonderful characters including, Matthew (the art gallery owner), Pat (his employee and now girlfriend formerly of Scotland Street), Angus (the portrait painter), Cyril (his dog), Big Lou (owner of the coffee bar), Domenica (anthropologist and Scotland Street resident), Bertie (a precocious 6 year old) and Irene & Stewart (his parents, also all of Scotland Street) and a cast of many others. The stories tend to be slow moving but not slow. I am especially taken with Pat and Bertie for their sweetness and innocence. Anyway, I recommend the series if you are wanting a light and easy read.