The process was interesting. And fun.

A few months ago I decided that I had too much…stuff, in my house. The stuff that could be chucked, was chucked. The stuff that could be given away or donated, went those routes. And the leftover stuff that could be used to make something new…became a quilt. Rather, it started out as a quilt. Kind of. I know nothing about quilting. I just took my stash of colorful fabric, cut it into 5-inch squares, and sewed the pieces together. And got lost. The quilt, the thing, the, whatever it was I was putting together, eventually became – what else? – a bag. It was either that or another apron.

Until I made this thing we were shoving Mimi’s toys into paper bags or just into the corner of the living room at the end of the day as an attempt to reclaim the place as ours in the evenings after we’d put the little monster to sleep. This bag, which measures about 21 inches wide, 15 inches tall, 13 inches deep, holds just about all of her toys. And a bit more. I mean, she likes to crawl in there herself every now and then. She’s a busy kid.

This weekend is Labor Day weekend in the U.S. We’re supposed to be taking it easy but I’ll be working around the clock on a few projects. I will likely feel like a duck with only one leg.

Have a good weekend.

I used to think that people who owned dogs were absolutely nuts. They talked about their dogs like they were people, bragged about them, looked down on other people’s dogs. Then Nunuk came into our lives and we kind of became crazy dog people ourselves. Of course our dog is the most beautiful of all dogs. Of course he’s the smartest with the biggest heart. Of course he’s the best behaved.

Actually, he’s not the best behaved. No dog is. But Nunuk, in particular, is animal aggressive. In and out of shelters for a good part of his life, he’s never been socialized with other dogs. He wigs out when he sees them and instead of considering starting a friendship with them, he thinks he’s at the start of a big meal. However, around people, he’s the nicest. We often joke that if a thief broke into our house, he’d play with the robber. But around dogs, squirrels and cats…fuggedaboutit. That’s just how he is.

At first he was just too much to handle. Or so I thought. Then Paz, who loves dogs and is incapable of seeing any dog in a negative light, taught me a lot about how these animals think, feel and react under varying circumstances. Although she’s never met Nunuk in person, her instincts and understanding about him were always spot on. On days when he had just dragged me down the street after a cat and I thought I couldn’t take his antics any longer, I’d tell her about my frustration and she’d offer advice or some kind of anecdote from her own experiences that helped me better deal with him.

Sadly, Paz lost her two very special dogs, Menina and Cadeau in the past year. I never met them, but I am certain they directly contributed to Paz’s helping me with Nunuk. I know it may sound silly especially to those of you who don’t have pets or think we pet owners are a nutty bunch. But when she told me of Cadeau’s passing, and subsequently Menina’s, I cried. In the end, our beloved pets are members of the family. We feed them, play with them, teach them, and worry about them about as much as we do the human members of our family. So when they’re gone, naturally, we mourn their absence.

Paz asked me to design some cookies to honor Menina and Cadeau’s memories. I warned her that they would be whimsical and mischievous in style. Not surprisingly, she told me to go for it.

These are just a few of the entire set I made, which will all soon be posted on my Flickr portfolio.

Figs. From a fig thief.

It was a cool, sunny, breezy August afternoon. So cool and so nearly crisp that it felt more like a fine Autumn day than the last week of August. Mimi and I sat on the swing on the front deck for a few moments until she begged to be set free to crawl on the lawn. Once I liberated her, I noticed the neighbor’s fig tree was covered with luscious, ripe fruit. Dark, plump figs that were waiting to be picked.

Waiting to be picked by me.

No neighbors in sight. Just me. Mimi. And the figs.

I plucked six in less than a minute.

Ran into the house with my load and dropped them off on the kitchen counter.

The husband asked: “Where’s the baby?”

Oh. The baby. I ran back outside.

Mimi was crawling rapidly toward the pavement. The though of scraped knees gnawed at me. I picked her up and casually walked back toward the front door. Looking around occasionally to see if anyone had noticed that Mimi’s mother had stolen from the neighbors.

No one in sight.

Would you have done any differently?

Some interesting fig facts:

The fig tree is the symbol of abundance, of fertility, of sweetness. Birds love figs. You can cover your fig tree with netting to fend off the birds. But probably not me. Fig trees thrive in temperate climates. Temperate = hot and sunny. Norway = no fig trees.

Do you know where the term “going postal” originates? According to Wikipedia, it was born in the previous century:

“The term derives from a series of incidents from 1983 onward in which United States Postal Service (USPS) workers shot and killed managers, fellow workers, and members of the police or general public. Between 1986 and 1997, more than 40 people were killed in at least 20 incidents of workplace rage.”

I’ve never liked the term because almost all of the postal workers I’ve met are good people. Sure, we all have our bad days, but the term has hurt USPS employees overall. That bugs me. Why should everyone take the rap for the bad choices and actions of a few within the same organization?

So here’s what I propose: we retire the term “going postal” and use a new one, “going Slater.” You know, after that naughty Jetblue airline attendant Steven Slater, the one who cussed out a passenger over the intercom, grabbed a few beers from the service cart and slid out the emergency chute before being apprehended by authorities. I hear he’s now being considered as a show host for a reality TV program that follows employees who quit their jobs in loud ‘n ugly ways. Hey, look at it this way: no one got killed in the incident. They just had their travel plans changed. It could have been worse.

…you know, went to Heaven. The first time I saw these brownies was on Patricia’s blog, when we were going through a heatwave that could best be described as flattening. The mercury bumped over 100 degrees for nearly seven days in a row, and worse, it was humid! Southern California is almost never humid. Hot, yes. But humid? Only along the coast, and it’s bearable there because of the ocean breezes. So I bookmarked Patricia’s post and begged the weather fairies to bring me cooler temps so that I could make these brownies.

Well, my pleas for milder weather were answered. Actually, a good chunk of July has been really pleasant here in Southern California; cool and overcast in the mornings, sunny and breezy in the afternoons, and very cool again in the evenings. I’m wearing sweaters at night! Perfect conditions for churning out a batch of seriously rich-n-tasty brownies. A bite into these and yo. Fuggedaboutit.

I gave this batch minus half of one square to my neighbors. If I didn’t,  I’d never get rid of the baby weight. And Thank Goodness for great neighbors. They still exist!

I first saw this recipe on Patricia’s blog, which she in turn found at Chuck’s blog. The original recipe is from Alice Medrich’s Bittersweet: Recipes and Tales from a Life in Chocolate, which, by the way, is one badass chocolate book.

Best cocoa brownies

10 tablespoons (140g/1 ¼ sticks) unsalted butter
1 ¼ (250g) cups sugar
¾ cup + 2 tablespoons (80g) unsweetened cocoa powder (natural or Dutch-process)
¼ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 cold large eggs
½ cup (70g) all-purpose flour
2/3 cup (74g) walnut or pecan pieces (optional)

Directions:
1. Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 160°C/325°F. Line the bottom and sides of a 20cm (8in) square baking pan with foil, leaving an overhang on two opposite sides. Butter the foil.

2. In a medium heatproof bowl, add the butter and set on top of a large sauce pan with barely simmering water. Melt the butter, then add sugar and salt, and stir until well combined. Next add the cocoa powder and stir until mixture is smooth and hot enough that you want to remove your finger fairly quickly after dipping it in to test. Remove the bowl from the pan and set aside briefly until the mixture is only warm, not hot.

3. Stir in the vanilla. Add the eggs one at a time, stirring vigorously after each one. When the batter looks thick, shiny, and well blended, add the flour and stir until you cannot see it any longer, then beat vigorously for 40 strokes with the wooden spoon or a rubber spatula. Stir in the nuts, if using. Spread evenly in the lined pan.

4. Bake until a toothpick plunged into the center emerges slightly moist with batter, 20 to 25 minutes. Let cool completely on a rack.

5. Lift up the ends of the parchment or foil liner, and transfer the brownies to a cutting board. Cut into 16 or 25 squares.

Everyone has their own little procrastination thing. You know, when you’ve got a nice big pile of work to finish or some errand you have to do before the day’s end but you just, don’t, wanna, do, it, now. Mine: font-staring. If it were a sport I’d train for it.

A few days ago I was about to start the very hyped The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society when a client rudely interrupted my afternoon demanding  changes to something I had written. While confirming the requested changes, my eyes flitted between my computer screen and the book right next to my laptop. I wondered: is the script on the front cover a font or hand-crafted calligraphy?

First I looked inside the book for clues. On the inside flap, I discovered that the jacket cover was designed by Roberto de Vicq de Cumptich. And I thought Pfeiffer was a tough name to spell on the phone. Roberto has a most amazing site (though a bit heavy on the Flash, I think), but I didn’t find anything on The Guernsey book there. Drats.

I proceeded to do a search for “font on cover of Guernsey Literary Potato peel society” but didn’t find anything. Drats.

I looked at the time on my laptop: one hour to finish my real work or I’d be in trouble. Drats.

Fonts and calligraphy fascinate me because they set a tone for the message they communicate. In the case of the script on the Guernsey Literary cover, I instantly thought the story must have something to do with a very personal written correspondence; I mean, why else use that beautiful script on an envelope with canceled postage stamps? Sure enough, it’s a story told through a collection of letters. (After two days I’m only on page 30 but it’s quite good. I’m so happy when a book lives up to its favorable reviews).

I never found the script but in the process I did find a few fonts that were a tad similar, and one that bears no resemblance but packs a ton of personality into each letter. It’s called Albemarle Swash and I downloaded the free version. It might work for things like groovy invitations and announcements. But not for a Stephen Wright joke. (please click on the photo to see a larger version)

About the cookie: my first design in a while…simple sugar cookie with a base layer of white royal icing. Letter m and dots were hand-piped onto the base layer. All recipes for icing and cookies can be found on my Recipes page; please click on the tab at the top of this blog page. cheers, mari

In my previous Ruby Tuesday post, I featured a shot of a pair of vintage red gas pumps that were no longer in use. The station looked like it had been abandoned. A few days later, I passed by the same place – it’s on Green Street in the heart of Pasadena – and noticed people sitting at tables in front and also in line at the little station window. A most unexpected transformation!

On my way home from the gym, I remembered to stop and take a picture. Only problem is that the joint wasn’t yet open for business. And worse – seriously worse – I had my camera on a very high ASA setting, which is why it’s so bright and noisy. I’ll try again to get a better picture at some other time, and hopefully when people are there.

Ruby Tuesday is a weekly photo event. To find out more, please visit the Work of the Poet.

cheers, mari

In the late 1700s and early 1800s, gothic romances were the rage. Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, written before her masterpieces Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility, is a kind of humorous, sweet little satire of that genre that tells the story of Catherine Morland, a young, innocent tomboyish country girl with a passion for novels, particularly gothic romances. One day, out of the blue it seems, wealthy family friends the Allens pluck her out of her life of obscurity and plunge her into the more glamorous life of balls and social gatherings in Bath. There she meets the handsome and kind Henry Tilney at (what else?) a ball, as well as the naughty, gold-digging Isabella Thorpe and her rough-mannered dandy of a brother John.

Catherine’s adventure really begins when the Tilneys – Henry, his sweet and demure sister Eleanor and their father – decide to leave Bath for the mysterious Northanger Abbey. Dark, gloomy and remote, it’s the perfect setting for a gothic romance reader like Catherine. Believing that there are dangerous secrets at Northanger Abbey, Catherine lets her imagination run wild and allows her curiosity surrounding the death of Henry’s mother go a tad too far. Later on, a simple misunderstanding prompts Henry’s father to send Catherine on the 75-mile journey home alone (alone!) and threatens her chances at happiness with Henry. I’m not going to completely spoil this one for you; but like all Austen stories, this one has a happy ending. Oh, come now. Don’t be too surprised.

I was intrigued to find out that Northanger Abbey was actually written before Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice and that it was published posthumously. Although it’s filled with Austen’s special wit, charm and clever observations of class differences, I sometimes had the feeling that Austen – with her references to gothic works such as The Mysteries of Udolpho and The Italian by Ann Radcliffe - wasn’t entirely sure whether this story should be an all-out parody of gothic romances, or the coming-of-age story of a naive, imaginative girl who learns the difference between reality and fantasy. Nevertheless, it is a very Austen novel, and I’m glad I read it. Now I can also say I have read all of Austen’s completed works. Yay.

This is my first post and first completed task for the challenge Everything Austen II, a literary event created by Stephanie’s Written Word. All of my posts for this challenge are under the category Everything Austen II.

Next: Some Austen-inspired cookies. Oh. Yes. Yes!

Mimi was only two months old when my mother sent me this little gizmo, the babycook by Beaba. I guess she wanted me to be ready when it was time to start feeding the little monster “real foods.” This machine is really small (11″ x 5 1/2″ x 8″ high; 2 lbs. 3 oz). When I first pulled it out of the box I thought it was a toy!

Since we started feeding Mimi vegetables and fruits, I’ve been steaming and pureeing everything from sweet potatoes, apples, carrots, peas. This time I tried butternut squash.

It’s pretty easy to use. I diced the squash, dumped it into the pitcher’s inner basket, poured water into the chamber on the left side and set it to steam. About ten minutes later, the squash was done.

Once the goodies were steamed, I emptied that inner basket into the main cup which has a blade at the bottom. Pretty nifty, I think. I replaced the lid, snapped it back into the main stand and started the puree process.

Halfway through the pureeing (is that even a word?), I noticed some of the squash wasn’t getting mixed. I scraped the sides the down with the fancy-looking spatula.

It was a bit too thick and pasty, so I added some of the cooking water to the mixture.

And pureed again.

That did the trick. I usually make a large batch of whatever I have on hand – apples, pears, carrots, sweet potatoes, peas, prunes – and store it in a plastic container in the fridge. Lucky us, Mimi doesn’t mind eating cold food, so we don’t always reheat everything before feeding her.

Only one way to know if it turned out well: get the official taster in the chair.

Success!