thin line

So, I know there's a line somewhere between "eco-chic" and "cheap and tacky," and I aim to find it.

This is what you get when you realize you have 5 minutes to wrap a sizable wedding shower gift, you have no wrapping paper or tape or ribbons (unless you want to go climb into the garage attic), and you spy scattered possibilities: a pile of newspapers waiting to be recycled, your glue stick and some an old sheet from the thrift store. The flowers out of the garden are an attempt to nudge toward "chic" and away from "tacky."  'Cause fresh flowers can't be tacky.

The piece you can't see is that the card is custom-made, too--out of the same old sheet.  God bless the person who figured out that you can run cardstock through your sewing machine and use it to attach fabric.  So easy, and so stylish.

At least one person at the shower said it was "so Anthropologie."  I think that's good.

You decide.

[As a side note, while hanging clothes on my line today, I gave a little prayer of thanks that I live in my, um, diverse and disadvantaged neighborhood.  Hanging clotheslines violates no CC&R's.  Neither does planting your front yard in vegetables.  I love this place.  Except for the children's party across the street that has been playing Mexican Chipmunks music all afternoon.  I didn't know the Chipmunks sang in Spanish.  But boy, do they.  They cover all kinds of music you might have liked before this afternoon, if you lived on my street.]

fun with tangelos

Since I want to eat more locally, and since citrus fruit seems to, um, grow on trees around here...  

I raided a bucket full of very tangy tangelos (they just didn't get sweet this year) from a family tree this week, and have been playing with ways to use and preserve them.  I got a swell, stylish new juice squeezer, and have been freezing little bits of tangelo juice for cooking.  I tried making sorbet, too, mixing tangelo juice with a bunch of sugar and rolling it around in my ice cream ball.  It was yummy.

And, I decided to try making marmalade.  For kicks, I'll give you my instructions:

tangelo pineapple marmalade

ingredients:

14 tangelos, raided from a family tree

1 overripe pineapple that's been sitting on your counter all week

2 big limes, reclaimed from the curb after they rolled downhill from the neighbor's tree

about 4 cups of water

5 cups of sugar

On 7 of the tangelos, use a peeler to remove the outer layer of the peel. Chop it up into little bits and put it in a big pot.

Peel what's left of all 14 tangelos, and cut the fruity parts into little pieces. Attempt to remove all the seeds. Put the fruit and all the juice you can catch into the big pot with the peel bits.

Cut up the pineapple, salvaging all the bits that aren't too gross and brown; cut the useable parts up into bits. Add them to the pot, too.

Peel and chop up the limes, and add them as well.

Pour the 4 cups of water over the top--really, just add enough to barely cover all that fruit. Put it on the stove and bring it to a boil for about 10 minutes. Turn the heat off, leave it covered, and let it sit overnight.

Then, wake up sick the next day.  Get out of bed, contemplate what it would take to finish making marmalade, and decide to just put the whole thing in the fridge.  Some marmalade recipes call for letting the fruit sit for 24 hours or more; decide you want to be one of those.

On the third day, add the sugar to your pot, mix it in, and bring it to a boil.  Continue to heat, stirring regularly, until it does that magic turn-t0-jelly thing.
Put it in sterilized jars with and process in boiling water bath for 10 minutes, according to the instructions of someone who knows much more than I do about this stuff.

Then, set it on your counter and admire the warm, orangey color.
My recipe made enough for the six jars I had empty, plus a two-cup plastic container that went straight into the fridge.  

on the homefront

As soon as got the unavoidable news of Matt's deployment, he stopped going to school (since he was going to have to leave before mid-term, anyhow) and launched into house projects that have been waiting.  And now things are really starting to look good.  I'm just sad that he's not here to enjoy them...

I'm quite excited about the kitchen, which now has totally-finished concrete counters by Matt, and a backsplash, too.  Once I get some light switch covers and trim pieces...well...it's gonna be crazy.  Matt's dad is milled the window trim as we speak.  (Aren't the cabinets he made of reclaimed wood beautiful?)

My happy at-home eco-creation this week, though, is a clothesline out back.  It occurred to me that, while a solar energy system on our roof would be very cool, using solar energy to dry clothes on line in the meantime would be a nice step.

I'm stoked about my simple design.  It sits in these brackets, so it can also come down if we want to use the space for something else.
And, finally, my happy report of the week: some plants that mysteriously appeared on the ledge on the side of the house.  I haven't figured out who put them there, and enjoying the mystery.

dust

I love Ash Wednesday.  It seems so gloriously simple and honest--confession and grace.  Humility, and a reminder that we're all made of dust, and we'll go back to the dust.  

And this Lent, Matt and I have agreed to take on a practice we hope will help shape us in good ways: we're giving up eating in restaurants and taking up cooking for ourselves (and, hopefully, others!)  We even make our first several-day meal plan.  

I don't think I've ever gone more than about 4 days in San Diego without having at least one bean and cheese burrito from a drive-thru.  I also can't remember the last time we cooked more than 2 meals at home in a week.  This could be big.

If we also live into our hope of eating more locally, it'll also mean we can make use of all that deer meat in our fridge...and the chard in our yard.

Here's hoping...

eating seasonally

My quest to eat more locally, and to eat what it in season, seems hardly fair when you live in San Diego: I made fresh pasta sauce out of tomatoes and basil I picked from my garden this weekend.  Yum.

My tomatoes are not nearly as bountiful or gigantic as during the summer months, but one should never complain about fresh tomatoes from the garden in December.  I give thanks also for kind people at the church, who shared both persimmons and tomatoes with me last week!
Winter sun, compressed into juicy orbs.  

the dangers of corn

While I've been concerned for a while about the state of our food and farm economy, and particularly troubled about the way our system encourages over-raising of corn, which provides an excess of useable grain, requires intensive chemical inputs, feeds the coffers of agri-business as the expense of small growers, destroys the fertility of our land, and does all of this by using government subsidies, today the dangers of corn seem to have come to new immediacy.

Apparently, an Iowa family has been injured and lost their home in an avalanche of corn, from a nearby storage bin.  Mounds of corn are dangerous is so many ways.

For more on mounds of corn, check out the new documentary, King Corn (see below). 

buying less, doing more good

I'm feeling called to use this year's Advent season as a time to challenge consumerism.

Not just to be a grinch, but because we need to remember that things are and are not good for: when they add beauty to the world, sustain life and build what I'd call God's kin-dom, things can be very good. More often, though, they distract me.

So, this year, I'm gonna try to give better gifts. I love to make things, so that's going up at the top of my list: things I can enjoy creating that others will find useful. (Using recycled materials would be even better, though I also have no problem with simply using up the containers of materials I've been accumulating and storing away...) I'm also keen on thinking of gifts that might help build relationships with other people--finding ways to give the gift of time together, and good things to do in that time. And, of course, giving "alternative Christmas" gifts--donations to worthy causes--in honor of people.

I think it's gonna be fun.

Wanna join me?

I was delighted by the Advent Conspiracy website (thanks for the tip-off, Er). I can jump on that bandwagon. Or, better, find my own solar- or human-energy powered vehicle to ride along that route. ;)

Buy less. Worship more. Give more. All that.

the little things

Today was a frustrating work day. Miscommunication, impatience and not honoring each other threatened to destroy far too much.

Then, the little things saved the day.

See, the toilet paper dispenser in the bathroom I share with the finance office (I know, I know: I'm spoiled. A private bathroom at work...) has this toilet paper dispenser that will never give you more than one square at a time. The roll gets jammed, and then you have to reach your hand up into the narrow area on the edge and get your thumb to inch the roll around so you can get more paper. It's annoying, but never so annoying that I stop to do anything about.

But, today, our head custodian, Paula, turned the rolls around so the flap comes into the middle of the holder and the rolls can spin freely. Life is good. Bathroom breaks have never been better.

And, then, at Vespers, a man whose spirit is still heavy with grief for his wife joyously told me that he's already saved 45 pounds of greenhouse gas since his solar energy system became operational yesterday.

And, another man shared the story of his visit to a dying friend: watching a television commercial that advertised coffee drinks, the friend lamented that he'd never again share one. Undaunted, the visiting friend immediately decided that this visit was not at all a visit to share last moments, but one in which to share cappuccinos. And they did.

Plus, the olive tree just outside our sanctuary window captured the most amazing light show during the organ postlude at Vespers. As if the God's grace had the cues all lined up to end the day.

on color and things i find beautiful

I found someone near me who has chickens--17 wonderful, varied chickens in her backyard on the canyon. And, she sells their eggs. They are a beautiful collection of wondrous colors. (As are the chickens themselves. They looked very happy.)

I'm glad to have a local source of well-raised eggs. If you're in the area, and would like to know where to get some, let me know. I'd be happy to connect you!
And, this morning, I'm pondering how long it will be before I change my profile picture. My house doesn't look so much like that any more. It's more colorful now.
I don't know if it's the new color of the house or the growth in the garden, but it seems like many more people are stopping to tell us they like our garden these days. A family came by a few weeks ago, and asked after the too-dry-for-sweet-corn ears of corn then standing in my yard. I shared some corn, and they came back that evening with fresh tamales!

Last night, the littlest member of what shall henceforth be known as the Garden Club (that is, the kids who live next door who are keen on helping in our garden) was helping me pick grape tomatoes so I could take some to book club. After finding five or six in the midst of what's become an overgrown region of sprawling tomatoes, leafy rhubarb, out-of-control strawberry plants and more bermuda grass than I'd like, I was ready to give up. Little D, though, kept going--finding so many they wouldn't all fit in my bowl. With a mischievous 3-year-old smile, he'd lift up his arm and say, "Another one!" There were plenty for snacking in the garden AND for taking to book club.

compost is like grace

This morning, Matt decided we should rent a little trailer and take all the junk--like the old window trim that we tore off--that's lying around the house to the landfill. I persuaded him that, as long as we've got a trailer and are going to the landfill, we might as well get some fresh compost for the garden.

We've picked up free compost from the landfill before, but the availability of a trailer opened up a new possibility for us: they could use a big machine to load the compost for us.

Scale is difficult at the landfill. Huge piles of trash. Little bitty people.

Turns out it costs $4 to have them load you up with compost. But it's WAY worth it.

The biggest scooper truck I've seen comes over to help us. (There's probably a better word for this piece of machinery, but "backhoe" is the closest approximation I have and this is WAY bigger than any backhoe I've seen.) The very large man in the very large truck looks at our receipt and starts loading. Just before he dumps the beautiful, smelly compost in, though, he beckons Matt over to his cab. (Well, like, over to 10 feet under his cab.)

"Is this for your garden?"

When Matt nods yes, he backs up, dumps the compost back where it came from, and takes off. Turns out, we get the top shelf compost this time. "Food compost," he called it. The best they have. He came back with his scooper less than half full.

We'd been having this discussion about volume. Our receipt indicated that we could receive 1 cubic yard. I realize that cubic yards are a lot bigger than cubic feet (like, 27 times bigger, by my math), but it didn't seem like a lot. I told this to Matt. He told me a cubic yard is big.

So the nice big man in the nice big truck dumps his partially-filled load of the good stuff in our trailer. Suddenly, it looks bigger.

Now, as darkness falls over City Heights, it looks huge.

Here's the pile that's left in the driveway, after I spread a layer liberally around the garden. (Gardening liberally is a specialty of mine...)
I think we have enough.

Our windows are all open (on account of it being really-hot-for-San-Diego today). It smells like compost around here. Pretty cool that this all comes from our trash...

eating some very local food

Yesterday and today, I've been enjoying fruit from the yard. Marian came over, and we ate figs, with goat cheese. (Don't worry: I don't have goats in the yard. I got that at the store.) Delicious. I'm liking learning to eat figs well.

We made 'em into a little pizza, too. A splendid combination of savory and sweet. The rosemary from the yard set it off perfectly.

(We made a tomato and basil pizza, too, but didn't take a picture. It was good, but nothin' like figs and goat cheese. Marian told me: "They can't all be figs and goat cheese." I should just be delighted that it was fresh and tasty.)
Tonight, I had my first corn from the garden. My favorite summertime meal: a blt and fresh corn. Good stuff.

and off again

So many things seem blog-worthy, and then I let them slip by...so here I find myself checking last things and packing for my week away in warm ol' Redlands CA for our Annual Conference meeting. Church meetings in smoggy, hot inland CA. And, yet: I look forward to them. I get to room with dear friends, and share time with folks I don't see often enough. So I stayed up a bit longer than I meant to, making a pie to share.

I've been into making and baking lately. Since my dear husband's parents' apricot tree came into fruit, coincidental with the height of my Eat Local resolve, I've been working apricots into every meal, and experimenting in preservation. So, tonight, it was a batch of apricot salsa and an apricot pie that I thought I might be able to bring to offer to our gathering. Turns out that apricots make a pretty mean salsa... (And are good with carrots, salmon, ice cream, pie, bread, and more.)

Since our last batch of kitchen cabinets came to hang in our house, it's been fun putting things where they might *actually belong* in the kitchen. And then getting used to them. (I am amazed how even bizarre locations for cooking supplies, when they become habit, can seem "right." You'd think I'd adjust more quickly to the new locations. Maybe that's a part of my extra motivation for cooking these days--to re-set my habits in reaching for the right cupboard. It occurs to me that there's likely a good metaphor here somewhere, but I'm not quite ready to make reaching for the olive oil into a spiritual practice...)

Preparing for trips always brings me a mix of excitement, anxiety and pressure (to pack the right things and remember the little stuff. Who am I kidding: to remember the big stuff. I'll not forget to Women's Retreat where I forgot to put my suitcase in the car, but remembered the odd supplies for activities...)

In addition, Conference brings added excitement and anxiety: will the church (my church, and the folks I'm closest to in it) find vision and hope in its gathering? Will we make decisions that will be beautiful? We get to do all those rites of passage: ordination, retirement, memorial service. All of which make me wonder what the church will be like when I get to the latter two.

I hope we'll find ways to move forward boldly, hanging onto the good stuff that gives us life.

Certainly, though, we'll get to share apricots.

locavores

I read Barbara Kingsolver's new book this weekend.

I've loved her writing for years now--ever since "Pigs in Heaven" back in High School. I've also loved the variety in her novels.

This one was different. "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" is non-fiction, and collaborative, with her husband and daughter. And, it was about gardening and eating locally.

Now I'm contemplating how I can better become a "locavore." (I dig that it has a cool name.)

It's not a new idea--but as her voice is added, it seems more possible. The amount of oil resources we use to ship food around the world is staggering and depressing. And, lest we need to continue to wage immoral wars in countries with significant oil resources...I decided this Memorial Day weekend is as good a time as any to try more diligently to be a locavore.

I planted more things in the yard--corn and eggplants and melons and squash and lettuce, and started searching out more local options for eggs and meat and things. We ate our first zucchini of the season last night, and our first tomato is growing in girth (even if it's still strikingly green).

I admit that SoCal is not a bad place to choose to eat locally--the climate's pretty exciting. (And I won't have to give up bananas entirely.) Now I just have to figure out how to find out where the food in that delightfully cheap produce market on the corner comes from...

(At least parts of Mexico count as "local," right?)

blooming

I noticed my first iris bloom of the season today. It's stunning, if I do say so myself. Plus, our California poppies are starting to bloom, so that orange makes the iris's purple even more beautiful.

We starting putting our old chunks of concrete back in the ground, as stepping stones, this afternoon. Our garden is starting to look more, well, garden-y. (The gnome helps.) I love the things that are growing.

I keep trying to look at my yard with an outsider's eyes, but never really succeed. I have the same problem with our house.

Probably, to someone passing by, both still look pretty ragged. But I see all this progress that we've made. Even some of the bits that seem to look messier than when we started--like our lack of trim on windows and doorways, or the bits of missing siding where we re-plumbed the kitchen sink--are signs to me of progress we're making. Making this house our home is a long, messy process. And I'm proud of our ragged attempts at progress. (My messy garden is SO much better than the concrete that was there!)

Which seems like an apt image for lent; certainly, for Ash Wednesday. To get to Easter, first we cover ourselves with messy ashes. This probably makes us look a lot worse off than we seemed on Mardi Gras, but the ashes mark a pretty important and big step.

I only participated in morning-time Ash Wednesday worship once or twice, so I'm not sure how I feel about wearing my ashes around town all day, announcing to the world that I need repentance.

But I'm definitely going to try to get more details from anyone who looks ragged or messy. They might just need congratulations for making it a good, long way toward being whole.

sort-of like walking on water

When Matt and I were back in Nebraska this week, celebrating Christmas, we went canoeing on Mom and Dad's lake. (Dad steered and egged on.) We thought it was less frozen than it really was. (Thin layers of melted water on top of ice can be deceiving.) There's a lesson in this somewhere, but I'm on vacation and I haven't figured it out yet.

















It sure was pretty, though, watching the sunset colors reflect off the narrow channel the canoe cut through the ice...


In other news, Grand Island, Nebraska now, apparently, has a Starbucks. (We didn't visit.) And Wal-Mart's litter can be found even in out-of-town cornfields. There's a commentary in this somewhere, and I think you can figure it out yourself.












Now, we're leaving the ice and canoes behind for some pineapples and tropical breezes...

all (well, many) things made new

One of my highlights of last week:
Watching as the planer in Matt's dad's garage took 80 years of paint and gunk off a piece wood that had been baseboard in our new house--and revealed the beautiful grain of wood underneath.

80 years ago, folks were cutting down some nice trees to build the houses in City Heights. I'm not celebrating that some fine, old-growth trees were felled to build our house, but... It's exciting to me to get to reclaim some of that wood--tired though it may have seemed--and uncover its beauty.

Good stuff.