Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Schemes, Sprockets, Swirlaholics and Buddy-Taping

I have not been a particularly frequent blogger of late. I’m hustling to keep up with daily life (for instance, running home from an errand to squeeze in time for a run one day), which has been good, but packed. And in my spare time, I have been scheming. It has not left a great deal of time for blogging or reading blogs. Right now, I'd rather read than post. But at present, crazy will continue, with concerts and field trips and kindergarten tie-dying. Oh my.My schemes have mostly involved road-tripping in the region. We just got back from Hood River (scheming to go there: successful), where, at quiet moments, I pored over maps of the region, thinking of where else we might go that was near Hood River. I am hoping to pack the kids into the car once school ends and hit the road (Stumpy has this thing called “work”). Lassen, Redwoods, Newberry Volcanic Monument, Crater Lake, Bend, various locations in the Blue Mountains or near the Wallowa Wilderness (like Joseph, OR) have all been bruited about… I sit with the map and tot up mileage and time estimates, and think about whether or not the kids would like it. I have to say, it’s a deeply satisfying form of daydreaming, because even if the pay-off isn’t this year, as often as not, an obscure bit of geographical knowledge will come in handy some day (the picture is of the Chalk Pyramids, which was an obscure bit of geographical knowledge applied to the betterment of a road trip. The same detour also netted us a trip to Oakley, KS’s Dairy King, where, eavesdropping shamelessly, we learned the rough rule of thumb for determining when winter wheat is ready to harvest. Which I’ve muddled up.).

Curly, since our jaunt to Hood River, has schemes of her own. First, she would like to move to Hood River, where we would own a farm with chickens (for eggs), sheeps (for cheese-making), goats (more cheese), water buffalo (for true bufala mozzarella), and horses (to ride). Of course, we would have orchards full of stone fruit, to boot. The horse part she has suddenly, and thoroughly, focussed on because my friend let Curly and my boy ride her horse. My boy had a great time. He wants to go back and do it again. I have to confess, I would like to, as well; my friend has an incredibly sweet-tempered horse, who is a real pleasure to ride. But Curly? Curly was in heaven. She wants to know exactly when we are going back. On the way home from Hood River she suggested that rather than hit the road and wander about, we simply head to Hood River and hang out with River (the horse) and his owners.
Scheming runs in the family, it seems.

And another thing that runs in the family? High pain tolerance. Curly jammed her finger at school yesterday badly enough that the doctor, without x-rays, couldn’t tell if it was broken or not. When did Curly tell me about her injury? At bedtime, when she told me her finger was “a little sore.” Uh, yeah, it would be, when it looks like a dead sausage, sweetpea. That doesn’t usually feel good. She'll be buddy-taped for a couple of weeks.

Apparently I can’t let my daughter be the only one with an injured left hand, so, when my son’s bike popped a sprocket (and the chain, and got all messed up), I managed, while fixing it, to squash my hand so that little numb lightning bolts go shooting through it right before the pain does. Fun.
I finally decided that playing hockey with an alternately numb - shooting pains hand would maybe not be brilliant (it's rec hockey, not the Stanley Cup), even though I think my hand will be fine in a day or two. I hate missing hockey. Grr. In regular life, I am not allowed to trip someone because I am in a bad mood, and the fact that I can, in hockey, is immensely cheering (and, okay, requires spending some time thinking over the error of my ways in the penalty box, but the time is so worth the crime).

If we hadn’t finished it last night, I would have had some raspberry swirl ice cream to console myself with about missing hockey (while eating with my right hand). The kids have become swirl-a-holics. Next up is a raspberry swirl with lemon ice cream. There's already been a caramel swirl and a fudge-caramel ripple, and a raspberry swirl (with vanilla ice cream) and a tiramisu gelato, all swirled with a mocha ripple. And we still want to work on the tiramisu gelato recipe, because summer is closer than it might seem from the weather in Seattle.

My plan to lose weight to better fit into the leopard print unitard of doom? Well... it’s stretchy.

3 comments:

homebody at heart said...

Sounds like a pretty good time was had by all to me. As for my own weight loss goals? Derailed by strawberry season. I buy them from the little stands next to the fields where they are picked in the morning and eat them covered in heavy cream whipped with a little cream cheese added for body.

Yes indeed, there is a special place in heaven for the inventor of spandex.

cook eat FRET said...

i think i need for you to adopt me? is that too much to ask?

Meg said...

Homebody- it's hard to have strawberries without cream. I like to make them into gelato. Which I then top with a little whipped cream. Regardless, as tasty as they are by themselves, I always seem to embellish.
I'm not sure that the leopard print unitard becomes less scary due to the spandex (and yes, props to the inventor), but it's nice to know that it will fit.

Claudia- duck fat fries, home-made pasta and your banana bread? Yeah, I think we could squeeze you in. Although I don't pay tuitions for anyone over 30.