Play Ball!

I feel I would have absolutely no claim to the title of this blog if I didn't actually support our baseball team--The Dash. And so last night, this was rectified. Brian and I met with Sarah (Brian's mentor) at the ballpark to enjoy fellowship over simulated cheese, loud music, and baseball. Our team was playing the Myrtle Beach Pelicans.
Because Monday night's game had been rained out, last night's was a doubleheader. The evening was off to a good start:

Look, if you don't bring knitting to sporting events, you're really missing out. As Sarah explained, it is the perfect pairing of mindless activities. And my yarn stash isn't going to knit itself you know.
Sarah decked us out in Dash attire:

She caught that Dash t-shirt for me from the t-shirt cannon, and bought us our very own dash hats. I'm quite fond of our Dash hats.
Now at some point I became worried that Brian was overexerting himself by sitting in his chair, and I really didn't want him to faint for want of nourishment, so we remedied that with this nice wholesome snack:

I always say that if your cheese isn't of a runny, fluorescent composition, it's not fit for consumption.
I did my part by devouring an entire bag of cotton candy on my own:

The Dash lost the first game 6 to 3, but won the second game 4 to 0. The best part was that Krispy Kreme (born and glazed in Winston Salem since 1937) announced that if The Dash made 9 or more hits in last night's game, and if you mentioned this when ordering donuts, you could buy a dozen donuts for $4. I patiently waited for that 9th hit, which occurred around 10:30, then was content to call it a night. I have yet to follow up on my Krispy Kreme errand, but will keep you posted if I'm brave enough to buy a whole dozen of them (I feel it would be insulting to Jane if I did not).
All in all it was a great night, and I concur with my husband's analysis that minor league baseball is more fun to watch than major league. It was also great practice for when Brian's parents join us in just a few days...we'll be dashing it up again with them too!

Happy Dooda Day!

That is to say, "Happy Mothers Day!" In my case, Dooda is a synonym for mother, because I call my mom Dooda (which means worm). So, imagine my delight when, three weeks before Mother's Day, I came across a sewing pattern for a small stuffed worm! Of course, I had to make and send her one. But then Brian came up with the brilliant idea of holding the worm hostage, so that Mom would have to come visit us in order to claim her worm. Torn between wanting to send her a worm, and wanting to have a hostage worm, I decided to make two. So Dooda, you must read to the end of this post to understand the package you received.
The pattern called for wool felt, and I didn't have any on hand. I had plenty of other fabrics, but there's something about a woolly worm that just feels right, so I made my wool fabric myself. I took some yarn from my stash, and knit it into a swatch:

Then I tossed it into a stockpot of boiling water:

I let it boil for over an hour as the smell permeated the apartment. Yummmmm....wet dog. Now, this technique for felting failed miserably. There wasn't the slightest indication of any felting at all in trying this method. Instead, I had to use the washing machine strategy. I soaped up the swatch, and tossed it into a pile of laundry that was destined for a hot and violent cycle. This was a far more successful enterprise:

 Next, I cut my pattern pieces:

And there were enough scraps to serve as worm guts! (By worm guts, I mean filling.)
Here's how they turned out:

Our male specimen was dispatched last week, and arrived at Dooda's residence Wednesday afternoon with instructions that the package in which he was contained was NOT to be opened until today. However, we have retained the female. She now spends most of her days gazing out of the window forlornly, longing for the day when she will reunite with her counterpart.

So for the sake of everyone involved, Dooda, please come and get your other worm.

A "garden among the flames..."

The first word that came to my mind the day we arrived in NC was "infernal." The heat was overwhelming to me (and to be fair, August is one of the hottest months of the year here). Yet in less than a year, I'm already growing accustomed to it. It is true that I complain of the hot weather when it interferes with my baking, but on the whole, I'm really surprised by how quickly we are adjusting to this climate.
Now, because we arrived in August (well after spring) I initially only experienced the brutality of the heat, and missed witnessing what the added warmth does for plant growth here during the vernal months. So, this is our first spring season in Winston...and you know how they say "Virginia is for lovers"? They missed the mark by one state northward. North Carolina is for lovers--it's just not as easy to say. Springtime North Carolina is teeming with so much natural beauty that it seems to me the ideal backdrop for a wedding. And on that note, we will be attending the wedding of our friend and choir director, Christin, tomorrow, in the mountain town of Banner Elk. One of the choir members, Laurie, is arranging all of the flowers for the wedding, and I was lucky enough to get to tag along and learn from her expertise (under the pretext of serving as an extra pair of hands). As such, I spent yesterday morning, and the better part of today in...

Narnia Laurie's yard, which is home to 88 rose bushes, several of which are furnishing many of tomorrow's blooms. Other flower sources include the yard of Christin's parents, which contains a rose bush that her grandfather used to pick roses from to hand to ladies at church. How beautiful is that? I learned from Laurie that it's a very southern thing to use flowers from the gardens of friends and family for your wedding, and seeing/smelling the sorts of flowers that grow here, and the abundance with which they grow, I can see why! Here is some of the raw material (all picked by Laurie...none of it was from a florist!):

The peonies and the English roses smelled absolutely enchanting. I can't remember, but I think there were over 20 pails of flowers and foliage.  Yesterday, we conditioned the flowers, and today we did the arranging. First was Christin's bouquet (and since she doesn't know about this blog, I can safely share pictures without ruining any surprises for her):

Next, we worked on centerpieces. We started out with these:

(How gorgeous are these nests?) And filled them with greenery and florals:

I will take pictures of the final products at the wedding tomorrow, including a couple of other really cool designs that Laurie is probably working on right now, as I type. She was so fun to hang out with, and I was really grateful for the fellowship and community I got to share with her today.
I found the whole procedure of the arranging to be very spiritual. It wasn't just because I was surrounded by the beauty of creation; that was certainly part of it, but it was in how organically and prayerfully I had to approach the task. No two baskets were shaped identically, and each arrangement was unique, so it really did feel like an instance of Providence when (every time, without fail) I was able to find the perfect shape, size, and colour of flower for every gap and void in every arrangement.
Laurie made sure to send me home with a HUGE armful of roses with which to grace our dining room table as well:

All of this made me long for a grassy knoll of my own in NC on which to grow all manner of brilliant thing. Sigh. Sometimes it's hard to not fall in love with the dash.

An Invaluable Secret

Do you hate it when your food is fresh? Yeah, I didn't think so. The only person I know of who might possibly complain about the freshness of food is Oscar the Grouch. And for the most part, I like my food to be as fresh as possible too...but when it comes to eggs, we know what fresh means there: the impossibility of peeling them. My mom told me of an apocryphal she'd-be-a-good-wife test that used to take place in Egypt back in the day...give the lady in question a freshly laid egg. If, after boiling, she could successfully peel it, she was worth marrying.
Now, I've heard it said that if you leave your eggs in the fridge for 5 days, that should make them easy to peel. That simply hasn't worked for the eggs I buy. Observe les oueffes:

Believe it or not, these organic beauties are from Costco! Does anyone know if Costco in Canada sell organic eggs now too? My ability to re-reside there depends on the answer to that question...but I digress.
So I'm not sure if these eggs are just ultra fresh, or if being organic has anything to do with it, but I simply cannot peel them cleanly for the life of me (thank God my engagement to Brian wasn't based on that!) Even leaving them for a week doesn't change things. But today, my world was changed. I learned the trick to peeling ultra fresh eggs. Are you ready? Boil your eggs as you usually do, to your liking. I like to put mine in a pot, cover with water, bring to a boil, turn off heat, and leave them on the burner for 12-13 minutes (this is for hard boiled). Now, once they are cooked, place them immediately in an ice water bath for 1 minute (I did this for 2). You already knew that, right? But here's the part I didn't know about: as the eggs are resting in the ice bath, bring the pot of water back to a simmer. When the minute is up, return the eggs to the simmering water for 10 seconds. What this does is expand the shell (without further cooking the eggs, since it's only 10 seconds). I tried it, and it worked pretty well! I hope this makes your kitchen eggsperiences more enjoyable :)

One UFO down, 13 more to go

Everytime I start a craft project, I think of twelve more I want to make. And sometimes I don't even have the self control to wait until I'm finished before starting another one. This is why I currently have an embarrassing number of UFOs (unfinished objects) on the go (and even more in queue). Discovering this book:

is not helping my condition. This book alone contains 10 projects that have piqued my interest. I'm trying to ignore it. How do I ignore a book whose determination to control me is greater than my own determination to resist? I would gladly welcome your advice!
Thus, since my victories in this aspect of my life are few and far between, I feel they must be flaunted. Recently upgraded from UFO status to FO status is this funny looking critter:

It's a turtle with a removable shell. I'd love to tell you more about it, but I can hear my angry needles tearing apart the house, looking for me, wanting to know why I'm not sewing/knitting. Sigh. Perhaps one day I'll have the courage to leave them.

The Staff of Life

Yes, I'm talking about bread. This past Sunday at St. Tim's, the Communion hymn was "I Am The Bread Of Life,"--definitely one of my favourite (Western) hymns of all time. I think this is largely in part because we used to sing it often during my childhood in Port Elgin. But I also found myself wondering if my love of this hymn is subconsciously linked to my love of bread. As some of you know, I started dabbling in artisan bread making just before we left Toronto. The dabbling did anything but quench my curiosity; that obsession got packed along with the rest of our belongings and moved to Winston with us.
In my endeavours to tame the domestic wilderness, I did a great deal of research on what type of mixer would be best suited for bread making. Oh! Did you hear that? That was the sound of my husband clicking the "x" on his internet browser...he has heard enough on that topic, poor man.
Now, I'll try not to monopolize your whole day with my entire mixer dissertation, but suffice it to say:
1) higher wattage does not mean a more powerful mixer (I learned this the hard way)
2) even the big "pro" Kitchenaids might choke on your stiffest bagel dough.
I started out with a "highest wattage possible" mentality. After suffering severe disillusionment from an 800 watt mixer that overheated and seized in the middle of a batch of pita, and after subsequently trying to do without a mixer altogether (which resulted in crumbly buns and bagels), I finally bought a Bosch Compact. Friends, I'd like you to meet Jeeves:

At only 400 watts, I wasn't expecting much. Boy was I surprised. He made such light work of some of my stiffest bagel dough without even breaking a sweat. By the time he was finished, I said to him, "Jeeves, you are a wonder!" And that is how he acquired the name Jeeves. Here's one of the fruits of Jeeves's labour:

I didn't think we'd be eating Montreal bagels in Winston Salem, NC, but there it is! Coupled with scallion cream cheese (which I made by chopping scallions and stirring them into cream cheese), smoked salmon, and capers, you're looking at the peak of decadence.
It wasn't enough to master the bagel though. I could not rest until I made the perfect sourdough. Now, I'm not there yet, but I'm getting closer with every batch. It's been a long and arduous road that began with me trying to make my own sourdough starter from scratch with flour and pineapple juice. It got moldy, I got impatient, and it got tossed. Then I bought a dried starter that I tried to revive to no avail...but three's a charm: my third foray into the world of sourdough involved buying a live culture that has San Franciscan ancestry (the best strains of sourdough come from San Francisco). After only a couple of days of feeding, it was good and ready to go! Say hello to Winston:

Winston is breeding so vigorously that I have had to give several cultures away already. The first friend to take a Winston spawn informed me that she was naming hers "Salem." I was pleased. Another friend in queue for a Winston spawn will be naming hers "The Dash." Again, I am pleased. Here's my most recent loaf of sourdough:

 Of course, now that I am getting close to perfecting my sourdough, temperatures have jumped to the thirties here (which I believe translates to eighties in American speak). I'll have to make a whole lot of sourdough waffles instead!