Beauty and the ear of the beholder

What is beautiful?  Can we assign it any one, solitary definition?  Whoever said beauty is in the eye of the beholder was really on to something.  Oddly enough from time to time, I find myself taking pause at certain sounds that I personally find absolutely beautiful.  These are my top five favorite sounds. 

5.  Laughter - Genuine, joyous laughter.  It's the stuff that I find I can't help but laugh along with.  The baby giggling in the check-out line at Target.  My angel Grandpa's deep belly laugh.  The room on family game night when someone gets creative with the apples to apples cards (e.g. Hiroshima for loud, Helen Keller for touch-feely... I know, we're horrible people...).

4.  Fire in a wood stove - If I close my eyes and imagine the sound of the fire crackling and popping in the wood stove at the family fort, I almost feel as if I'm there surrounded by my family watching a movie.  The sound makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.

3.  An empty church - The time or two I've had the opportunity to sit in the empty, dark sanctuary of my church I've found myself in complete awe of the sound: silence.  Silence is beautiful anywhere, I suppose, but I think there's something about silence in the sanctuary of a house of God that is absolutely captivating.

2.  A cat's purr - I'm going to be more specific and say my cat's purr.  Chelsea is a cranky old coot that I've had for fifteen years this May.  She's a broad boned, part Mane Coon with gorgeous blue eyes, massive paws, and a sassy disposition.  She is the queen and all creation bows before her.  Or else.  I love her, teeth and all, to pieces.  The sound of her purr is particularly beautiful to me as it is not only rare, it's a deeper, more gravely sound than my other cat who pretty much purrs 24/7.  Chel isn't all barbs, she has a soft side.  Somewhere.  It comes out when she's curled up on the foot of my bed, basking in the warmth of the heater.  That's when she'll start purring.  And I could listen to it all night.

1.  Rain - I have always adored the sound of rain on my window in the mornings.  Even without throwing back the curtains, I love to lay in bed and listen to the rain.  If I'm feeling particularly energetic I might hop out of bed to crack the window and hear the rain more audibly.  Divine.

So there you have it.  Happy weekend!

RF

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.

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