Birth Days

Yesterday was Katie's 15th birthday. She had about 6 friends over for dinner and to spend the night. I was busy cooking, and baking all day. We served the girls tremendous amounts of ribs, potato salad, and spinach strawberry salad and cake. The cooking and baking and cleaning up from cooking and baking took the whole day. I loved doing it, but I forgot to do something else, something I always do on my kids birthdays.

At the end of the day, as Steve and I were getting ready for bed, he called Katie out of her room. He enveloped her in a big "Daddy" hug and kissed the top of her head.

"I remember the day you were born, Punkin," he said. "I remember almost every single detail of that day. The day you were born was one of the best days of my life."

That was when I remembered what I forgot. Every year on my kids birthdays I tell them about the day they were born. I grabbed Katie's hands, at 10:00pm right there in our upstairs hallway and began her story.

"The night before you were born, Aunt Nisey and I went to Claim Jumper. We split an I'd'eclair. When we got home I couldn't sleep. I made Aunt Nisey get up with me and play Horse."

"And Aunt Nisey won even thought you cheated," Katie broke in.

"That's right, and when I woke up, very early the next morning I told Daddy my water broke, and he thought I was kidding." I was trying to hurry because I knew she was eager to get back to her girlfriends so they could start their movie marathon. I tried to fast-forward to the important parts.

Each of my children have a birth day story. "I was painting your Nursery" begins Alex's. The day of David's birth came after weeks of false labor, so I was making a sandwich for Alex to take to school in case I was not really in labor. I was with my sweet mother-in-law when I realized I was in labor with Annie. We were at my doctor's office, but instead of going straight to the hospital, I insisted on going home first. I wanted to eat and wait for Steve to get home. I worked on a blanked I was making for my niece while I breathed through contractions.

The kids have heard these stories many times. They could tell the stories as well as I can. Three of them are old enough to roll their eyes at my sentimentality. I continue to tell them though, because I can. Because I am here and I can. They don't understand how important their history is, or maybe they do. Maybe they are just following kid code by acting annoyed. Maybe they secretly love hearing it. Maybe they love hearing the story in which they are the star, the story about the day that, without them, would have been just like any other day. No-one can tell me about the day I was born. My kid's history goes much farther back back than mine does. My history goes back only as far as I can remember. My kids history goes back farther than they can remember, it goes back as far as I can remember. If I keep telling them, about the day they were born, about how much they were wanted, these memories will become their own.

Cooking Chili on a Cold March Day

I know lots of people make chili. Many make it from scratch. Here is how and why I make chili.
I always decide to make chili when I see the leftover odd cut pork chops for sale at Fresh and Easy. I can get a large package for very little and I feel pleasantly frugal. I then look for the least expensive beef I can find. Sometimes it is poorly cut roast, or stew meat. This time I use cube steak. The long slow cooking will break it down and this notoriously tough meat and make it melt-in-your-mouth-tender. I picture my crowded disheveled pantry. Do I have dry beans? Any kind will do, although I prefer an even mix of red beans and kidney beans. In the produce aisle, I pick the chiles. Slightly hot pasillas, mild but flavorful anaheims, and sometimes jalapenos for extra heat, but not this time. I do buy bell peppers. I always have onions and garlic, and I usually have canned tomatoes. I am not as picky about the tomatoes for chili as I am for my red sauce, (spaghetti sauce to you non-Italians) so I can use the Hunt's or Del Monte that Steve occasionally buys. I remember that I have plenty of chili powder and cumin.
After church, I start the chili. I measure out 3/4 of a cup of red beans and 3/4 of a cup of kidney beans. I rinse them and put them in a pot of water to boil. Then, every single time, I look in the pot and decide there are not enough beans. Every time, I measure out another 1/2 a cup of each kind of beans and add them to the pot. I don't know why I don't start with a 1 and 1/4 cups of each kind of bean, but I don't.
While the beans are coming up to a boil, I prepare the meat to be browned. The pork takes longer to prepare because there are all sorts of bones and fat that must be trimmed away. Both meats are cut in to large chunks and browned in small batches. If you try to brown them in large batches, as I did today with the beef, it steams instead of browning, and turns an unappealing grey.
I multi-task when I make chili. The beans are trying to boil, and I am keeping an eye on the many batches of meat I must brown. Now the peppers and onions must be chopped. Peppers are hard on knives. I start by sharpening my cleaverish knife. I split the peppers in half long ways and de-seed them. I touch my finger to the inside of the pasilla and taste it to judge the heat. Perfect; pleasantly painful. I then cut the peppers into strips and stack them. I love how the colors mix; the blackish green pasilla, the acidy yellow green of the anaheim, and the true kelly green of the bell pepper. When they are stacked, they become the most beautiful shade, there colors blending and become one glorious green. I chop. I start with a rough chop, then remember how someone I didn't like told me not to chop things so fine, so then I chop the peppers finer, and finer still. until the largest piece is about the size of a peanut. I have to re-sharpen the knife before I am finished. I feel a kinship with the women, all of them, who didn't have the option of canned food, who made everything from scratch. I feel like I am doing something for my family. I feel like the very act of chopping these peppers infuses them with love that will go into my family's body, like light, and heal them from psycic and physical ills. If someone eats my food, they carry my love with them in their cells. I peel the onion, thankful for my contact lenses that keep them from burning my eyes. Still, I can tell this is a strong one. Fumes go up my nose and make me cough. It is a healthy onion, tightly wrapped in in many layers of brown skin, and gleaming white once it is peeled. I only put in one onion, because no matter how strong it is raw, onion turns sweet when you cook it, and I do not want sweet chili. I once ruined an entire batch of red sauce by adding too much onion.
The juggling is almost done. The meat is browned and waiting in an old square pan to be added back. The peppers are sauteing in pan the meat was browned in, picking up the flavors. I give the peppers a good head start before I add the onion. I decide against garlic, since I know I will be adding garlic powder. As the peppers and onions cook, I add the thing that makes it chili; the chili powder. First I add a lot, then I add more. I add cumin, garlic powder and season salt, knowing the salt will help break down the vegetables and cause them to release their juices. When everything is a shiny gritty brownish red, I add the meat back in, along with a little water to loosen everything off the bottom of the pot. All of this has taken about 30 minutes which means the beans have another 30 minutes to simmer before they can be added. That is more than enough time to clean up, and adjust seasoning levels.
The chili now sits on the stove, simmering for several hours, melding all the flavors. The house will be filled with the smell all afternoon. Between dancing and singing Veggie Tales songs with Annie, reading "The Country Girls" and relaxing, I will make corn muffins and honey butter. When Steve and David come in from their afternoon of paint ball, it is the first thing they will smell. When Katie and Alex wake from their respective naps, they will smell it. They both know that asking if someone can eat over is just a formality, because they the answer will be, "Yes, of course! There's enough food for an army."
I cook like this because this is how my Nana cooked. I cook like this because this is how my Aunt Liz cooks.
This is how I make chili, and this is why I cook.

Hello

Life is interesting. Thankfully, it is good interesting, but it is interesting. Having kids ranging in age from 18 to 6 is interesting. Katie was mean and horrible enough to tell me that she is turning 15 in three months. There was no good that could come from that information. I think I am going to forbid it. Yes, that's it. I forbid her turning 15. Will she still watch Ugly Betty with me when she turns 15. Will she still borrow my make-up and ask my advice on outfits for dances? 

Now, onto the economy. Wouldn't I be stimulating the economy if I hired someone to do my laundry? I would be being patriotic, right? Now, if I only had the money to pays someone, and someone were desperate enough to do the most thankless job in the world. No, I guess I have to do it myself. I don't see another way, sadly.

In the mountains

I am in the mountain town of Idyllwild right now with my immediate family. It was an impetuous decision. I had a lovely three day Valentine's Day extravaganza. On Friday before Valentines Steve and I made a "Bistro meal" of French onion soup, Steak au Poirve and Potatoes au Gratin. On Saturday, Valentines day, we went to a friend's house and had a delicious four course seafood meal. There was also great company, witty interesting conversation, and much warmth and love. On Sunday, we made barbecued ribs, fried potatoes and green beans. We had Steve's parents over and ate on the good china. Poppie gave me advice on how to make my book more appealing to men in his age range. I am thinking, maybe not. My mother-in-law, Nonnie is very understanding about having a writer for a daughter-in-law. She dropped in on me the other day, and I was deep in a tangle in the story. I could barely form sentences because I was so pre-occupied. She was gracious and understanding. 

We are getting tons of rain in Temecula. I am loving it. It is making me think differently and making me a homebody. It's driving the dogs crazy though. 

I am very hopeful that I will be able to go visit Prettyface in Georgia around the end of March. 

My computer was hanging on by a thread, and then the tread broke. Luckily, right before it gave up the the ghost, I emailed all my writing to myself. Had I not, I would have lost 3 years of writing, and three partially written novels. 

I used Steve's computer for a while, but that didn't work out all that well. So I got a Mac. Happy, Happy me! I really need to get a book published to justify this purchase. 

Luckily, no-one has been sick for a while. Things are kind of good right now, I hesitate to say. My house is a mess, but I am working hard writing. 

I am on Facebook now. If you Facebook, come see me, and see pics.

Waiting on the locusts

One short week after Annie's 6 day flu, Steve is having a severe allergic reaction to an antibiotic. I am trying like crazy to be the working mom I need to be with out embittering my children. I am trying to do it all on about 6 hours of sleep a night, only sometimes remembering to take my vitamins.

If my family could manage to quit getting fevers, this would all be much easier.

David and I are driving out to the coast tomorrow so he can spend the night with his cousin. Even though my cousin, the mother, offered to meet us half-way, I would rather have the time with him. He has a half-day tomorrow, so we will have from 12 noon until 3:00 together. that is more time that we have had together alone for months. I am looking forward to it.

Today was Writer's Group day. I did not actually write, but I got great notes from three outstanding writers. I got good notes about my over-use of adverbs, and telling what I have already shown. Tomorrow is Help-in-Library day and Bible-Study day. Very little writing will get done tomorrow, but Friday will be a writing day again.
I am grumpy as I get used to my new schedule.
I am excited to finish a piece, finally!