Spoiler Free, Hunger Games Swag

I'm not in the business of spoiling books for other readers, especially not for a finale as highly anticipated as Mockingjay. After reading The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins, I found this lovely fan-recorded version of the song known as Rue's Lullaby which is introduced in the first book and another, also fan-recorded, song known as The Hanging Tree which is mentioned in the third book.

The lyrics to the song, as written in The Hunger Games are:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your eyes
And when they open, the sun will rise

Here it’s safe, and here it’s warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet–
–and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far away
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay
And when again it’s morning, they’ll wash away

Here it’s safe, and here it’s warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet–
– and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.

Here is the place where I love you.

The lyrics to this song, as written in Mockingjay, are:

Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Where they strung up a man
They say murdered three
Strange things did happen here
No Stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight
In the hanging tree

Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Where the dead man called out
For his love to flee
Strange things did happen here
No Stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight
In the hanging tree

Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Where I told you to run
So we'd both be free
Strange things did happen here
No Stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight
In the hanging tree

Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Wear a necklace of rope
Side by side with me
Strange things did happen here
No Stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight
In the hanging tree

In Review: The Hunger Games

On August 24th I dashed to my local Borders (no I didn't go to an independently owned shop, I'm a horrible person) between classes and snatched myself up a copy of Suzanne Collins' newly released Mockingjay.

In the first book of the series, we're introduced to Panem, a country that takes up present day United States. There are twelve districts of Panem and they exist to support the Capitol. A thirteenth district is mentioned, but was allegedly destroyed years prior. The districts provide food, textiles, and fuel respective of each district's natural resources and products. The districts also provide the Capitol with tributes, a boy and girl from each whom the Capitol chooses, for the annual Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games is a televised event in which the two tributes from each district fight to the death in arenas with various obstacles. The Capitol maintains the games as a twisted way to remind the districts of its authority. In the games, it's every man or woman, or more often every child, for themselves. The story of the Hunger Games trilogy begins when the main character and our narrator, sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen volunteers to take her younger sister, Prim's place as the female tribute from District 12. Katniss' life changes forever as she is propelled into a role first as a tragic contender in the games to an unexpected victor who enrages the Capitol. Throughout the trilogy, Katniss becomes an icon likened to today's celebrities. She is known nationally as the girl on fire, the girl who ignited the Hunger Games and eventually Panem's mockingjay, a bird viewed as a symbol of rebellion.

The trilogy chronicles Katniss' fight to keep her loved ones alive and the rebellion's fight to overthrow the Capitol and end the Hunger Games.

There were some parts that were almost too easily anticipated. Also, one of the characters, Peeta, is the son of a baker; I had a hard time overlooking this name choice. There was a great deal of detail that often threatened to slacken the pace of the books. One of Katniss' biggest personal challenges is a love interest conflict between two young men, Peeta and Gale, which was far too similar to the Twilight series for my taste. I was bouncing around the internet earlier looking for information on the supposed film that is to be produced based on the books and stumbled across a "Team Peeta or Teem Gale?" fan-made image; we are NOT going there with "teams." Nu uh. But that's really not a criticism of the book, so I digress.

In the books' defense, there was a constant intrigue that kept me reading and reading until it was over. I really couldn't put it down. Despite the anticipation in some places, still others took me by surprise and (especially at the end of most chapters) there were major hooks that propelled me forward. I had a hard time not skipping ahead from the top left of a page to the bottom of the next. The amount of detail is commendable, even if it was a little tedious in places. To Collins' credit, she did a glowing job of presenting the Katniss-Peeta-Gale triangle by effectively developing each character, giving them reasons to exist apart from their love interest, and providing valid explanations for their actions towards each other and their decisions.

The Hunger Games trilogy offers beauty, at times wit, others despair, there's sadness, there's also joy, and overall it is a fulfilling experience. I would highly recommend this series to anyone, male or female, teens to adults.

May the odds be ever in your favor.

Signed,

RF

A childhood through plants

My creative writing class today began with the following prompt: list fifteen plants from your childhood; why are they memorable?

Call me crazy, but I enjoyed this exercise.

1. Elephant ear hosta. I'm not sure if that's the technical name for them, but they're big and leafy and Momma used to plant a zillion of them in her "river garden" i.e. the garden I so christened as we spent a weekend one spring many suns ago adjusting the landscaping in our front yard and the result was a winding sort of garden that resembles a river.

2. Black eyed susan. In the back corner of my Godmother's backyard, which happens to border my own, there is a huge chunk of garden devoted solely to these cheerful yellow flowers with their black eyes. To be fair, there's brown ones too. Those are called brown eyed susans.

3. Marigolds. When I was a little tyke in Girl Scouts, my troop decorated terra-cotta pots for Mother's Day and planted marigolds in them. Mine died within a week. I was interested to learn not many years later in Spanish class that marigolds are associated with death in the Mexican culture, they make wreaths of the pungent orange things and decorate ofrendas for dia de los muertos i.e. altars to deceased family members for their holiday the Day of the Dead, which is around the same time as Halloween but an entirely different concept.

4. Mums. These are my Mum's (pun intended) favorite flowering bush and another candidate in the river garden. She buys them by the cartload in the late Summer/early Fall. The whites, yellows, and ruddy orange-reds remind me of harvest time.

5. Blackberry bush. These used to grow in abundance in the woods behind my old house outside Seattle. There was a little path we'd take through those woods to get to the shore. Along the way there and back, we'd collect stains on our hands and faces from eating the blackberries. Momma always said she'd make a pie with those berries, but they never made it home to occupy a pie in the first place.

6. Raspberry bush. My maternal grandfather, Grandpa L, loves his gardening. He especially loves his raspberry bushes, which grow in huge clumps behind his garage. I used to take great care in sneaking out there to munch on the berries when we'd come around for a visit (shh, don't tell him that).

7. Bradford pear tree. This flowering beauty used to stand in our front yard, right in front of my bedroom window. Every spring, the dainty pink and white blossoms would almost completely obscure my view of the street. They also added a light perfume to the air in late spring. I was standing in my room during a particularly strong thunderstorm one late afternoon. There was a massive crack, like a gunshot, and nearly half the tree fell over into the yard. We weren't able to salvage the old thing and it was subsequently cut down. The new cherry tree we replaced it with still looks scrawny in comparison all these years later.

8. Easter lily. My church sponsors Easter lilies each year. We always purchased two of them- one in memory of Aunt D and the other in memory of Grandma P.

9. Poinsettia. I'm not sure if this one counts because my memory is actually of an obviously fake-looking poinsettia bush we drag out every year at Christmas to add that "touch" to the house without poisoning our plant munching cats. Goofballs.

10. Peonies. These were my first plant, if you can have one, and they grew outside my window for many years. The pair have since been relegated to a plot in the backyard, which they've taken to nicely.

11. Frasier fir tree. Every year, my folks and Tapeworm and me sell Christmas trees. These puppies are my favorite to sell because A) they're beautiful and B) they have nice soft needles which are kind on the hands of tree lot workers.

12. Black hills spruce tree. And this one is my least favorite tree to sell at the lot. While these bad boys are a lovely deep shade of green, much darker than Frasiers, BHPs have unforgiving spiky needles that scratch, scrape, prod, and poke whoever is unfortunate enough to have need to move one. Snarl.

13. Fuzzy lamb's ear. Another plant I'm in serious doubt regarding the technical name for. No matter, these little plants have a misty grey-green color and are silky smooth. True to the name, they're fuzzy and I like cuddling these little guys. Don't judge me. They also grow like fertilized kudzu and as such there's quite a population of this plant in Momma's corner garden.

14. Azalea. I helped pick one of these dark red plants out once when Momma was in a landscaping kick. The thing died within six months. I always felt like this was my fault. RIP Azalea bush.

15. Catnip. A.k.a. kitty crack. My feisty felines love this stuff. I grow it in excess, which isn't difficult because it spreads like crazy.

The old blue house at the end of the lane

At the end of one sleepy lane in upstate New York sits an old blue house that's been there for nearly fifty years. I know it well. My Grandfather helped build it.

That dear old house has been the destination for countless road trips over the years. As a Navy brat, I grew up with what I like to call multiple-home disorder- i.e. I identify with more than one place as my "home." I've called the Midwest my first home most of my life, but the title gets stuck to wherever my folks and Tapeworm are. My second home has always been the blue house. It's my constant.

At the airport recently, waiting to board for my flight to the blue house, I got to thinking about how over the years there's been a change in the number of faces waving goodbye at the end of each visit.

Spring of 2010 was the last time the whole clan would bid us farewell. As we backed out of the driveway, the front patio was crowded with: my Grandma P and Grandpa E, my Uncle T, and my Aunt D (she lived with her husband and son in a different house in the same town, but I'm pretty sure she came by that morning to say goodbye). Grandma P was in an advancing stage of Huntington's Disease, but she was still standing and waving with the rest of them. I remember that last round of hugs.

That fall, we lost my dear Aunt D to cancer and there was one less beautiful face assembled to say goodbye as we left the week after the funeral.

It wasn't long after that our own numbers driving up to NY dwindled. Over the next few years, it became more and more common for just Momma to drive up with Tapeworm and I. The Trio.

My Junior year of high school, we lost my lovely Grandma P. That was also the last time my dad joined us at all on our two, some years three, trips to the blue house. My parents went through a messy divorce early last year, somehow finalizing what we had been losing over the years.

This past Summer, we (the Trio) planned a Summer vacation to the blue house. It was the weekend of the 4th of July, and also the weekend after my Grandpa E's 76th birthday.

We received the heartbreaking news six hours away from New York that our beloved Grandpa E had passed away the night before in his sleep. We were devastated.

I remember every minute of that car ride, from the moment the cellphone rang, to the moment we pulled into the driveway of the old blue house. I already knew something was different. The fresnel lamp wasn't lit, the one that is a replica of those used in lighthouses, the one that my Grandpa E had lit for years in the front window, welcoming us to the blue house when we arrived late into the night when the house had gone to sleep.

And the American flag on its pole was at full staff, as if the thirty year Command Master Chief that had lived under its banner for so many years was sleeping comfortably in his room upstairs. As if he was going to wakeup a few hours later and sip his coffee and look out that front window at the flag.

At first light, the flag was changed to half staff. The old blue house was in mourning again.

It's been almost two months since that week and I've been thinking about the blue house again and again. Everywhere I go it seems, I'm reminded of something that reminds me of one time or another in the backyard or the family room or the dining room or the garage of the blue house. Snowball fights. Christmas mornings. Early morning waffles. Storm watching. It's all there, in my heart, in the old blue house at the end of the lane.

To blog or not to blog?

I realize that's the second botched Shakespeare reference I've made in almost as many blog posts. Or, at least it was when I drafted this. Sorry Willy, please don't hate me. Literature mangling aside, the quote does lend itself well to the question I've asked myself since deciding to start this blog: why?

I've always been a fan of writing, and I'm the sort of person who wears her heart on her sleeve, so why haven't I ever blogged "sucessfully" before? I.e. why have at least four previous blog attempts gone by the wayside under my various pseudonyms, none of them ever more than a background and title or in the case of one, one little post, before they each were deleted? Well, here are my top 5 reasons of why I never blogged before now.

Reason # 1: Bloggers in Pop Culture

I suspect neither of the following commercial and film conversations have helped my view on blogging:

Thanks Twix, though you are a scrumptious candy bar, you have made bloggers, particularly female ones, out to be complete idiots incapable of realizing that when a guy asks her back to his apartment five seconds into their first conversation his sudden "chew it over" moment and subsequent (lame) excuse is really a flimsy facade for "please have sex with me."

[[[[[[[Excerpt from the transcript of Made of Honor (2008)]]]]]]]

Tom: Oh, God. Hide me.

Hannah: What?

Tom: It's my dad's patient coordinator...

Yeah, don't look, don't look. Don't look.

No, no. She's obsessed with me.

Yeah, she's created a website called AllThingsTom.org.

Hannah: The psycho blogger?

Tom: Yes.

Okay, come on.

Dance with me. Watch yourself.

Hannah: I think she's cute.

Tom: Oh, stop it.

I'm serious. Just keep going. Here just-

Hide me…

Her last blog was a two-page description of my face.

Blogger: Hi, Tom.

Tom: Oh, hi.

Blogger: Did you see the new blog?

Tom: Uh, no, we haven’t.

Blogger: Who’s this?

Tom: This? Well, this is my… girlfriend.

Blogger: Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?

Tom: Because I don’t know you.

Hannah: Look, we have a really really open relationship.

Tom: Really? You know, I wanted to talk to you about that, princess.

Blogger: Princess…?

Tom: (to Hannah) I-I-I don’t wanna be with anybody but you.

Hannah: I don’t know if I’m really quite ready to make that commitment. You know my rules

(to Blogger) We’re a bit of an emotional retard.

Tom: Yeah.

Blogger: I think I need to start a new blog now.

Hannah: (after Blogger has left) That is so scary.

[[[[[[]]]]]]]

I apologize for having no video clip to illustrate this, there wasn’t one to be found on youtube. (le gasp)

This is the second media source that immediately came to my mind that makes female bloggers (pattern? I wouldn't know, I nixed my communications major a year ago...) out to be complete idiots. The blogger in Made of Honor is of the desperate and pathetic variety of idiots. It doesn't help my feeling for this clip that the woman is literally wearing the exact dress I wore in a play my Senior year of high school.

Reason #2: That word!

I hate the words blog, blogger, and blogging. I really do. The word, stripped of its connotations and denotations still makes me cringe. Some words do that for me. Blog and it’s derivatives are some of them. You may consider this a flimsy reason for not blogging before. Alone it's not enough of one. In addition to my already formed stigma against blogging, it was another hair that broke the camel's back.

Reason # 3: People in glass houses shouldn't throw things, I wouldn't live in one in the first place.

My writing is often times a reflection of who I am. I put pieces of myself into it, like horcruxes only I don't kill people or split my soul to do it. If you haven't read Harry Potter, ignore that reference. As such, I've never been one to want the whole world to see inside me. While I do wear my heart on my sleeve, there's a difference between that and what inspires my writing--the writing often comes from much deeper down.

Reason #4: Themeless and therefore pointless?

My life has no particular theme, my sense of humor isn’t always one that draws a ton of laughs, I’m lazy and impatient in one messy bunch, and I lose focus fairly easily on things. In short, I never thought a blog of mine would be very interesting, nor did I think I would I be willing (or have the attention span) to keep it up.

Reason #5: I sat and tried to think of one. One flitted by but I forgot it before I had time to jot it down. I went back and adjusted some of the previous ones and still couldn't think of a number five. So that's only four reasons. Which leads me to...

"You know Thomas Edison tried and failed nearly two-thousand times to develop the carbonized cotton-thread filament for the incandescent light bulb. When asked about it, he said 'I didn't fail, I found two-thousand ways how not to make a light bulb.' But he only needed to find one way to make it work."

-National Treasure, 2004

What was the one way I found that changed my mind about blogging? It was actually a memory, a memory of something a very dear woman once told me.

It’s funny, how one can be reminded randomly of something most would consider minute or not worth remembering, particularly from one's childhood. I find that especially true if the memories involve a loved one who is no longer with us. I suppose we hang on to even the shreds of memories with them because that’s all we have left.

My Aunt D and I once talked about diaries. I said something to the effect that while I admired Anne Frank's diary, I don't have the patience to write one myself. All of my attempts usually ended with me tearing out the few entries and pitching them. Most usually ended with my selecting a pretty journal, buying it, bringing it home, then setting it aside to collect dust. I have a box of empty journals and notebooks solely from this habit to prove my point. Sound familiar? Well, my Aunt suggested that I start typing my daily diary entries. Mind you this was back in the day when blogging and any other form of social interaction/broadcasting via the internet was strictly limited to e-mail. But her suggestion was to type my diary and save the entries in a folder on the computer. The only problem with this was my family had a public computer which sat in my parent's room. The issue was twofold. One, it lacked the privacy I preferred when storing my entries and I didn't feel like keeping a floppy disk (yes, floppy disks were around). The second issue was timing, I was a night owl (still am, time check? It's 1:11 AM) and my parents weren't. At least not both of them. There was only a limited time during the day which I could even use the computer. So the suggestion, while highly appreciated, didn't come to fruition.

Side note: Pictured is my Aunt D with me around 2 years old. I suspect our diary conversation came a little later in life; this is the only picture I have with just her and me in it. Momma and I were going through some old family albums at my Gpa's recently and came across it. It brought tears to my eyes how happy we both look.

Anyways, at least ten years down the road now, I can't help but think that blogging is the more modern version of what my dear aunt was talking about: a place to write out whatever it is I want to write about, without hand writing it. Blogging seems to take that one step further by giving you the concept of a literary third wall. Instead of just talking to myself or "my dear diary," I can envision readers whom I am talking to. It's not as strange for me to involve the potential readers (however many) as it is for me to involve an inanimate diary in an animate activity, such as cooking.

What got my gears rolling was that post I made about the Strawberry Cream Pie. That was actually my first blog post I'd made in a long time and I made it originally for a friend of mine to feature it as a guest entry on her blog. By the time I'd finished it, I located this blog I'd made months prior and revamped it. The rest is history. Literally. It's in the archives.

Verdict: to blog! I just want a new word for it. Oh well.

Signed,

RF

To do: save the world

I know I said I wouldn't write a list, but I lied. I'm writing one anyways. I can't help it. I'm a compulsive list taker.

This is my list (as of now) of things I plan to include in my branching out/ reinventing the way I live process as I explained in my first post. If you're not bored to tears with that can of paint analogy, think of each bullet as a can. If you are, promptly erase that last sentence from your short term memory and move on.

1. Keep working on martial arts. I've been training in the Isshin-Ryu style for a year this August. It's a form of karate. I love it. It challenges me. It gives me something completely new to learn. It's something I can't learn from wikipedia or books, though books help round out the history knowledge. It's something I will never be "done" achieving because it's a life long discipline but with the same hat it's something I will have with me forever. It's something I can't fully explain how it has changed me.

The water goddess of Isshin-Ryu also known as the Mizugami. There's some debate apparently about the name Mizugami, some call her Megami and claim the former is incorrect. My Sensei, whom I have the utmost respect for, calls her the Mizugami. That's enough for me, people can debate all they want. She's painted on our dojo wall and quite frankly, I think she's kick ass.

2. Train up to run a mile, nonstop. When I get there, run two. And so on.

3. Write a novel. In the mean time, just write. Write write write write. I love to write.

4. Write a blog post at least once a week, minimum of 100 words or about in length. This idea is manifold, one being it's a way to keep the blog up and moving, it's also a way to develop my writing (practice makes perfect, right?), it's a creative outlet, it's an excellent reflection tool, it's fun. The word limit is because I know it might get difficult once I'm back in the swing of things with my classes to take the time to write for pleasure. I'm going to do it anyways. Thank you Lakota for this idea.

5. Creative cooking! Try new recipes. Try old ones. Experiment.

6. Get thrifty! Be on the look out for old clothes and accessories. Try repurposing some things most would never wear again.

7. Break out those water colors again. One of my favorite sections of my art class in high school was water color painting. I still find myself, especially if I'm driving at dawn or dusk, staring at the horizon and thinking about how I'd mix my water colors to get the right colors and the right contrast and depth in a painting.

8. Container gardening. I've already started a small container garden complete with two pepper plants and a cilantro plant. I have plans to incorporate other veggies and herbs but for now my goal is to keep what I have alive. This should be interesting as I've never been successful with keeping plants alive. I bought a cute yellow mum and stuck it in a fun red pot to brighten up my dorm a few years ago. Suffice it to say, a month later the pot was in a box, empty, on its way back to home base where it has sat ever since on the back porch. There's a first time for everything!

Here's my little garden now. I bought them already partially grown as it's too late in the season to start from seed. That will be next year's endeavor, with close advising from Momma and the internet. I have a pepper bud on each plant and my cilantro has already grown a good 1/2 inch!

9. Archery. Tapeworm recently came to me and said he wanted to take up archery as a routine activity. I couldn't agree more. We're both experienced with archery from years of Boy Scouting and Venturing. I learned a little from Girl Scouts, as well. I will say that this sport is surprisingly expensive to get into, given that you pretty much need just a bow and a set of arrows. I suppose one could even shoot off arrows in your back yard, depending on its size and as long as you live in a place that doesn't specifically prohibit it. Then you'd need a target. I live in an unincorporated part of the county and as such, we have no city ordinances to obey. Yay freedom! But jeepers, bows are expensive! This will be a sport that will take some time to work up to.

10. Learn to shoot (better). I've been shooting guns for a fair number of years now. At this point I own one and reload the ammo. I love target shooting. My favorite thing is to go to a steel plates range. The targets are set up similarly to the creepy fuzzy critters that are lined up in rows at various amusement parks and arcades, where people throw balls at them to knock them down? Think that only there's steel circles instead of fuzzy critters, one row instead of three or four, you're at a much further distance from the target, and there's a gun involved. It's great fun. I'm content with indoor ranges though, too.

11. Take up biking again. Tapeworm and I usually bike quite a bit in late fall before it gets too icy and early spring before it gets too hot. There's a trail nearby that follows a river and it's lovely, except in the dead of summer (now) when the air is saturated with moisture and bugs. As fall is approaching, I will be taking this up again.

12. Go camping more. I haven't really gotten the chance to camp much in recent years. This makes me sad as I used to be an avid camper. I have all the gear still for this. Just need to actually go!

13. Photography. I love being creative with photography. I joined a photography club my Senior year of high school. I loved it so much, my parents got me a Nikon D40x that year for Christmas. I freaking love that camera. She's sitting with me right now.

14. Take a road trip. Take two. And so on. Go anywhere. A few hours or a lot of hours. Just because. Alone or with a friend. With two friends, maybe. Spend some money along the way or don't. Just go, see what I find. Take the camera along.

15. Read all the books I've been meaning to (some are re-reads) but haven't. They've piled up. Some include:

-To Kill a Mocking Bird

-I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

-The Lovely Bones

-Screwtape Letters

-The Great Divorce

-The Chronicles of Narnia

-Alice in Wonderland

-Till We Have Faces

-The Shack

-Abarat

16. Listen to the sermon more closely on Sundays. If it helps, take notes. Crack that bible more during the week. Read up some things that are "spiritually stimulating."

17. Do things that affirm to myself that I'm beautiful. Remove such words as: calories, fat, too fat, pudgy (and the like), heavy, weight, diet, etc. from my daily vocabulary, or at least in reference to me. Go through my wardrobe and take out everything that I don't wear anymore because it's too small. I've been the same size for about two years now. Put the items that I still like and I might wear again someday in a box. Donate the rest. With the remaining items, play around with different combinations. Make some new, funky outfits! Do a "glamour shot" photo shoot either alone or with friends. Strike some funny poses. Experiment with fun eye make up. Find a new perfume to try. "Dress up," i.e. wear something besides a t-shirt and jeans, a minimum of three days out of the week- be bold! Try new hairstyles. Say "you look pretty today" to yourself instead of "ew, my hair looks gross."

That's all for now. There will be more in the future.

An apple (dumpling) a day

Okay, so most doctors wouldn't prescribe an apple dumpling a day. But that's because they've probably never had one of these puppies that I made tonight care of The Pioneer Woman. Communists.

I've made two of the Pioneer Woman's recipes before, a modified version of her Raspberry Cream Pie and her Pineapple Chicken Quesadillas with my friend Lakota (that post can be found on her blog here). Wow that's a lot of links! Anywho, I've become a huge fan of Ree's recipes (that rhymes, ha ha, ahem) namely because they are delicious and also because she makes them virtually idiot proof by using step-by-step directions complete with pictures. I'm not completely hopeless with cooking but I wouldn't mind learning some new things, either, so thus I love her website and thus the other night, after I walked stinking and sweaty out of my dojo, I went to the grocery and got the ingredients for Ree's Apple Dumplings.

Hm, I was just thinking about why it is I haven't cooked that much in the past. I even wrote a really long little tirade that somehow branched into my view on feminism. But I deleted it. In short: I think I've avoided the stereotypical idea that women are expected to be the cooks and I'm not your stereotypical woman. However, I have decided that I can both be bad ass and cook. So that sums that up, moving on.

Pardon the darkness of the pics. I was cooking by night. My kitchen lighting isn't superb. I had my camera set to no flash. I have no excuse. Sorry.

I assembled the hit list: Sugar, vanilla, Pillsbury crescent rolls, cinnamon, a Granny Smith apple, butter, andddddd (wait for it)... Mt. Dew! Seriously, just hang on.

I cored and skinned the apple. Chop chop, slice slice.

I have never buttered a pan this way. I always just use cooking spray, but Ree showed how she just takes the end of the stick of butter and "colors in the pan" with it like a marker. Neato!

Ahh, the crescent rolls. Stingy college student note: I almost bought the store brand because they were almost a dollar cheaper. But then I remembered Ree was particular about them being from Pillsbury and I was worried the store brand wouldn't have these awesome perforations. I know, I suck. I spent a whole dollar more for perforation assurance.

Then I wrapped each of my apple wedges into the crescent triangles like little blankets! Aww, aren't they cute? My little sleeping apples.

Next the bundled up apples got placed into the buttered dish. Sidenote, Ree's recipe called for twice the ingredients I used and she might have mentioned how, for her full recipe, it will ruin your life to use anything other than a 9x13" pan. It kinda ruined my life that I used a smaller one (incidentally the same size she used) for mine, but more on that in a bit. I decided on a half batch simply because I forgot to buy two packs of crescent rolls. I said oh sh*t and moved on.

For reasons beyond my ability to understand, I didn't snap shots of the next few steps. I will explain without the use of pictures, apologies. Next I melted my butter in a sauce pan and very loosely stirred in the sugar. Ree says to not stir it in completely. I added this yummy vanilla to the mix next. I would like to point out that this is in fact Mexican vanilla. Oh ho! I've used it for years. I got it in (take a guess) Mexico around 7 years ago. It came in this huge water bottle sized container. And it's lasted me this long. Okay, I'll go ahead and point out the elephant in the room: yes I've been using the same store of vanilla for 7 years. Somehow, I haven't managed to kill anyone off or send them to hospital.

The granular mixture was then poured over the sleeping apples. This is when that Mt. Dew came in. I poured a small amount (around 3oz) down the sides and up the center of the rows. The recipe told me so! Don't worry, it will be fine.

The last thing before sticking them in the oven was to add the cinnamon! I may have put more than was called for, but I absolutely love cinnamon so I was quite generous with it. Doesn't this look amazing?

Into the oven you go! Wow, I sound like the hag from the Grimm's Hansel and Gretel. Ha ha, into the oven my little sleeping apples!

Timer set. Now the waiting begins!

I wish it was that fast. Approximately 30 minutes after the DELICIOUS scent of this goodness began wafting through my house and teasing my taste buds, this beauty emerged piping hot and oh so crispy and juicy! This is where that whole life ruining thing comes in however. My life would have been ruined at this point but it was spared. Despite carefully cutting the recipe's measurements in two, I still had too much excess moisture in my pan. If I had left it, the dumplings would have been super soggy and especially by time any re-heating rolled around, the leftovers would probably have been ruined. So, in short, don't ruin your life- drain those puppies! You can save the excess juice. I didn't. I fail. But Ree says it's a perfect additive to dumplings and vanilla ice cream!

...speaking of, precisely 9 minutes after the dumplings emerged from the oven, my Momma and brother (I'll call him Tapeworm, I hope this is self explanatory) descended upon the kitchen. Momma fished some vanilla ice cream out of the freezer and here she is preparing the bowls for the amazingness that is to come!

*pause for a moment of blissful silence*

Sorry, I zoned out as I thought about that delicious dumpling. It was... I don't know if there's a word in the English language to fully describe it. I won't attempt it. You get the idea. After finishing mine, I asked the question "would it make me a complete fatty to eat another?" Having received no affirming responses, I helped myself to a second. I will wait for tomorrow for another as there are plans to cook with Lakota. She would probably not be too happy with me if I ate all of the dumplings after promising her a few. I'm a good friend. *pats self on back*

Ta da! Dumplings made! Another benefit of this recipe? My house now smells amazing and I haven't lit a single candle. There's nothing like the smells of freshly baked heaven.

Sigh. I'd eat one of those things every day for the rest of my life and it would never get old. My waist line, however, would surely explode. I guess that old saying really only meant one plain apple a day. But why didn't they say so? I feel as if there should have been a disclaimer.

A deeba deeba deeb, that's all folks!

Signed,

RF

The un-replaced toilet paper role

What will become of you, the poor soul who, after relieving yourself, goes for the padded white roll located conveniently near your throne, only to discover a very thin sheet of tissue separating you from the coarse brown tube of emptiness? Who will be your voice when you're sitting uncomfortably in the bathroom, debating the options.

Do you yell and hope a fellow housemate will hear? Do you further hope he or she will take pity and come to your rescue?

Perhaps that would be too awkward or the only person around is your roommate's boyfriend or you're not even in your own home or that of a close friend's. Perhaps you're at a friend of the family's party. You just ducked in for a quick freshen up.

If you're at home, and you're still unrelieved (which is unfortunate given what you set out to do in that room in the first place), do you attempt to separate the brown cardboard and use that? Do you eye a bath towel, with plans to bleach it or pitch it after? Do you consider replacing your clothing as loosely as possible and go in search of toilet paper yourself? Do you weigh the chances of getting caught with your pants down as you streak (pardon the pun) to the next closest bathroom? What if that bathroom is also void of tp? What if your whole household is dry of the comfort your bottom craves?

You're beginning to get that even more uncomfortable tingling feeling. You know where. You're cold. And probably feel disgusting. Your cellphone is buzzing in the next room. It occurs to you that maybe you could text someone an SOS, but if only you could reach the phone! Again, the problem of being caught in the nude arises.

Maybe you're in a bathroom that also has a shower. Do you remove the rest of your clothing and just rinse your whole body off? What if you're not? What if you have someplace to be in ten minutes and you've already dressed?

With another pitiful attempt to search under the sink, as you crane your body around the side of the vanity and over the side of the door (they never swing in your favor), you know it's impossible that a roll could have materialized in--no, wait! At last, sweet relief! You missed the back corner on your side of the cabinet. There, behind the spare economy bottle of shampoo, tucked in its dark little nook, your spool of heavenly plushness awaits. You have to half-stand to reach it, but reach it you do. Your fingers paw at the line where the tissue flap is adhered to the roll. You shred it a bit, and through a combination of impatience and utter bliss you retrieve far too much tp. You don't care, you've just been delivered.

Finally, your business is complete. You can flush the toilet and replace your clothing in comfort. You give your hands an extra long washing and you replace the empty roll with the new one. The savior.

Then you think back on who else has been home that day. Who was the last to use the bathroom? Who took the last of the precious tissue, leaving only that tiny flap, and walked away, dooming you to your moments of agony? Who?

I wish you all the best in tracking down the foul felonious fellow. If only those scoundrels could be tried for crimes against humanity and punished accordingly? What if they could be made to stack boxes of Charmin, Scott, Bounty, or the store's brand of toilet paper in the freezing cold and wearing wet pants? What if?

Alas, my friend, we don't live in such a world. All us survivors can do is take extra caution that regardless of whether we're taking a quick potty break at the mall or we're taking care of our morning business at home, we double check that roll- is there adequate tp for your toiletting needs? If not, is there a stash nearby? In the house somewhere? At your neighbors? Once you have done so and have completed your business, also be sure to do your part for society (or your household at large) and check the remaining tp roll. Is it appropriately supplied for the next patron? If it's looking on the low side, can you locate a new roll and place on the counter or the tank, providing back-up?

Whether you're a culprit or a victim or both, one final thing. For the love of God. When replacing the toilet paper, follow these steps EXACTLY:

1. Retrieve old, empty roll from the holder.

2. Throw empty roll in garbage.

3. Take new roll, put on holder.

See, not that difficult. Three easy steps.

Do your part, don't contribute to the un-replaced toilet paper role pandemic. You may even thank yourself some day.

Signed,

RF

College student by day, closet cook by night

In spirit of my new "take life by the reins" (or whatever) attitude, I made a spur of the moment decision the other day to make a pie. Stay tuned for the story and the pie making itself. If you just want to hear about the delicious pie (it was delicious) then just scroll your happy self down a bit. For those who are left, here I go.

This post is actually a recycled post I wrote to feature as a guest writer on a friend of mine's blog. At the time my own blog was naked and shivering in the nether lands of the web and I didn't feel like retrieving it. I've since reconciled myself to the idea of blogging and thus my blog is nice and toasty on my bookmark bar.

Yes, cooking was one of those "cans of paint" I've been admiring (see my previous, and first, post). It's actually something I've done sporadically, without a whole lot of thought, for a while and I have to say I feel that I can hold my own with most recipes.

About a month or so now, said friend (the one with the blog?), we'll call her Lakota, introduced me to the website of a woman known as the Pioneer Woman. Her real name is Ree Drummond and her full story can be found on her site. Do me a favor, take that link really quickly...bookmark the site and tag as "awesome site I will get addicted to"...then return here. PW.com is chalk full of recipes and gardening happenings and all sorts of other goodies and it will take positively hours, nay days to get through it all. Okay weeks. Don't even get me started on her real life love story. Oh. my. It's going to be a book, apparently. She also has a cookbook out. It can be found at Barnes and Noble and most other retail book stores. I just like B&N. This post should only take you a few more minutes to read. Then you can go sell your soul.

(time for said link following, bookmarking, and redirecting, possibly more link following to explore the cookbook dets, and then another redirect)

Back? Okey dokes. So Lakota and I were at our favorite coffee shop down by the river the other day. Pie day, coincidentally. She had been raving about this Raspberry Cream Pie that Ree had on her blog, which L tried and well, it was apparently amazing because she still hasn't shut up about it (I say this in an endearing sort of way). During the course of our discussion, one of us suggested that other berries could be subbed into the recipe in place of the raspberry-ness. An avid strawberry goer myself, I was at the market getting the items I didn't already have before I knew what was happening.

The rest of this post is my adventure with my modified version of the Pioneer Woman's recipe, though I can hardly call it "my version" as I think most people who can differentiate a fork from a cooking pot can figure the adjustment out. Anywho, here we go:

Enter the guests of honor: sugar, strawberries, heavy whipping cream, butter, vanilla pudding, strawberry yogurt*, Oreos, AND of course, Ree’s website tuned to the Raspberry Cream Pie recipe.

*I happened to only have white chocolate strawberry yogurt in my fridge. I was concerned for all of five seconds before realizing, what’s wrong with more chocolate? So there you go.

The first part of the recipe called for precisely 25 oreos. As this was said to be very crucial, I followed the recipe exactly. Here’s the first one.

Now two.

...and three. Oh you get the point.

Here's the 25 count mark!

Ahem.

Here we go, everyone present and accounted for.

I smooshed them all in a ziploc bag. PW suggests a food processor, but mine bit the dust eons ago. I also don’t know where my rolling pin is, as PW suggested alternatively. A can o’ green beans sufficed. Smash smash smash. PW's Oreos were blended very nicely while mine came out chunkier due to my method. I feel the taste was the same, so no harm done.

To the already gloriuos mixture, I poured the melted butter. This created a substance so heavenly that I could have sat down right then with a spoon and a marathon of America’s Next Top Model and be content as a cucumber. Alas, I did not.

BAD camera focus! I even dragged out my SLR cause my point and shoot decided to hate me. This wasn’t one of my SLR’s best shots, but we’ll chalk that up to operator error and digress. This is the glorious concoction. Isn’t it glorious?

While the crust was baking, I was anxious to continue (plus I had someplace to be in approx 1.5 hours time so I was in a bit of a hurry to keep things moving along). So I began smashing my strawberries.

Ladies and gents, this isn’t as easy with strawberries as it is with raspberries, I discovered. Future reference: this is another time a food processor would be handy in this recipe. I suggest a super low setting, however, as you don’t want to puree your fruit. If you’re food processor-less like me, I suggest strawberries that are almost too ripe for consumption. Your wrist will thank me someday.

One hazard of going it my route is flyaway fruit. My three legged dog, however, didn’t mind this. Like most dogs, he’s a garbage pail. So fork away!

Next I mixed the white chocolate strawberry yogurt and the instant vanilla pudding together. Again, this flavor yogurt was a fluke. I’d suggest the logical route of going with just plain strawberry yogurt as a sub for the raspberry variety called for in Ree’s recipe.

The pie crust finished baking at some point around here. Ree is clear to wait until the crust has completely cooled before continuing with the rest of the recipe. Again, I was in a hurry, and I hate to wait anyways. So I popped this puppy in the freezer. Yes, I cheated. NOTE: I waited about 5 minutes first so the pan wasn’t just out of the oven hot AND I put a hotpad underneath to protect my freezer shelf. I am not responsible for any freezer damage caused by this pursuit in any of my readers (I say this as if tons of people are reading this. Oh when will I ever stop dreaming? Never!). I’m just saying what I did.

My cats disapproved of this shenanigan. Note the second cat’s tail towards the right. Goofballs.

Next I added in the heavy whipping cream and whipped the crap out of the mixture. I pride myself in being a thrifty college student so when I was at the grocery picking up the cream and the Oreos I didn’t have, I was inclined to purchase the $1.29 regular whipping cream instead of the $1.99 heavy whipping cream. I did however opt for the “fancy” version as I was intent on sticking to the PW recipe as much as possible. This of course was nixed when I discovered the yogurt situation once I returned home. Oh well. This part at least was right.

I added the sugar to the berries that I had forgotten to do pre-mushing, waited five minutes of the fifteen suggested to let the berries soak in the sugar, and plopped them into the cream mix. Plop... This. Smells. Amazing. By the way. And tastes good too. I had to get a new spatula for the next step as I licked the first one clean.

Now nicely cool, I retrieved my pie crust and dolloped the cream filling stuff on top. I don’t have a spiffy pie plate like Ree does, so I couldn’t make the crust climb the sides of the pie as nicely as hers. Oh well. I smoothed the mixture out evenly and made sure it was nice and flat.

I retrieved another oreo and sacrificed it to the green beans can. I would like to add a disclaimer that approximately 29 oreos were indeed harmed during the making of this treat (I confiscated more than the prescribed one, for quality control reasons you understand).

In plenty of time to go fight hunger, I topped off this delicious pie with that last Oreo’s crumbles. Magnifique!

Before dashing out the door, I left this note to my fellow house dwellers. There would most likely have been no pie left had I not written such a note. I should add that I wasn't fighting hunger at all. That would have been a good way to spend my evening. No, I had a Disney movie date with a friend, Belle I shall call her (that is intentional and a complete coincidence here).

The complete pie went to the freezer, where it literally chilled for a few hours. After returning to my sleeping household, I slipped it into the fridge where it hung out until the following evening when it was enjoyed by my very happy family. They appreciate my spontaneous pie making endeavors.

Thus I made my world (and my family's, for that matter) a little brighter with this rather easy to make cream pie. Props to Ree Drummond the Pioneer Woman for the inspiration and for just being awesome.

Signed,

RF the closet cook