Recycled Food Porn

Last week, I made an egg batter to dredge some fish for baking. I had leftover batter, so I diluted it with milk, added a bit of flour, and made crepes. I filled them with whatever I had on hand. It was a revelation.

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News Flash!!!!!! You can stuff anything into a crepe and it's a party! Leftovers, veggies, cheese, beans...anything! The crepe above is a mixture of greens and beans, fajita seasoned beef strips and cheese. YUMMY! It's the best way ever to use leftovers with savoir-faire! Bon appetite!

Buy Nothing Fail: Thrift Store Wardrobe

It happens every year. About two weeks before I return to my teaching job each year, I realize I'm going to have to shape up my wardrobe and persona and reconform to societal standards. My ever-patient husband, who does the majority of the wash, apologized a week or two ago because he hadn't done it in awhile. My response? "So what. It's summer." And that's exactly how I feel. Add to that the goat-barn perspiration, the pervasive eau-de-cow, the grimy shorts and ruined undergarments, and I was forced...FORCED, I TELL YOU! to think about returning to a supposedly civilized environment in a week or two. Sans sandals and shorts, blue-jean free . So I'm in the process of trimming, clipping, grooming and clothing myself these last two weeks, to get myself in good (enough) show-pony shape.

So, how best to do it? I am not a fashionista. There's news! I could care less about styles or trends. I'm all about function and comfort, and minimizing certain unflattering aspects of my burgeoning middle-aged body. I have no problem wearing last year's styles if they're comfortable and durable. Some clothes have lasted decades! I applaud them! They're old friends! The answer? Kamikaze thrift store shopping! I have always been a hit and run shopper, but I decided to limit myself to thrift stores as a way of greening my yearly need. It makes total sense, in my circumstances.

There are two items I will not compromise on however, one being undergarments and the other being sensible shoes. Second hand undergarments...well, yuck if you get my drift. And shoes? Have a go-around with plantar fasciitis, and you'll understand my decision. So, after my whirlwind tops and bottoms spree today (I spent a quarter of what I usually spend, and got better names and more booty), I will only need a few more items to be ship-shape. The Hubs even scored a pair of swim trunks and a couple of Hawaiian shirts for our mini-vacation next week. The heck with fashion; no one cares once you're a "certain age" anyway (which is SO liberating!). I'm good to go. But forgive me, Crunchy, for I have spent...again. I DID circumnavigate the majority of my yearly Bon Ton debt, however, if there is any absolution to be won in compromise.

I think I did allright.

Of Cabbages and Kings

I just stopped following a blog because of a sentence that bothered me: "New Age, Buddhist or other Cult philosophies will *NOT* be welcome here."

When did Buddhism (which began in 580 BCE!) become a cult? And why are some people so intolerant of others? How can we be so culturally ignorant? As an artist, teacher and lover of diversity in all things, I truly have problems with this sort of thinking. While it may be prudent to warn off the poor Buddhists and New-Agey spiritual seekers from potential shunning and dogmatic aggression, I find it difficult to understand the real reasons behind such divisiveness.

But I digress. Please forgive my rant; today's post was just supposed to be about composting, little boys and the wheel of life, not exclusionism and cultural ignorance. My bad.

http://www.jabberwocky.com/carroll/walrus.html

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On a lighter note, I'm happy to report that my grandsons, who I assumed would be new to the magic of composting, are way ahead of me. I handed the 10 year old the trowel, and opened the bottom chute, and his comment was "Yup, it turns into dirt. Hey, you have worms!" Then, pointing to the planter beside it: "May I eat that tomato?" My daughter is doing a good job with them. The little guy just carried the soup jars to the truck so we could go see Miss Vicky at The Caring Place. He likes Miss Vicky. They met Earl today, too. They were very curious about his life, and very grateful for their own lives and circumstances when we returned home. Good boys.

P.S.: Check out the following blog (Frugal and Urban's timely post today!) for some helpful meditation techniques based upon Buddhist principles: http://frugalurban.wordpress.com/2009/08/11/taking-refuge-in-the-moment/

Composter Denouement

Cue Scooby-Doo time warp music and cartoon/psychedelic graphics; step back to early spring, 2009. Driving down an unknown road between Allentown and Quakertown to meet an unknown person at a previously unknown site. It was a dark and rainy night...

Actually, it was a cold and cheerful morning and I was buying a still-in-the box, never used composter from a woman who worked at an upscale Bucks County restaurant. I had been using a garbage can that I had drilled several hundred holes into, but it didn't make compost; it made swamp mud. I needed help. Craigslist to the rescue! I felt out of place, meeting her in the entryway of the 18th century pub in my work shirt and jeans, but her ad never mentioned a dress code. Much to my relief, we completed our transaction in the parking lot and the composter was mine.

I have been dumping my considerable vegetable and gardening scraps into the black box all summer, where they have been dutifully decomposing. I throw the occasional lost worm in there as well, and hope for the best. Like magic, the pile goes from tall to short, with no effort on my part but an occasional grimace and turn with a short pitchfork. I have decided that today, with the help of my two soon-to-be greener (and dirtier!) grandsons, the compost bin will divulge her secrets and offer her jewels up to my water-logged city garden. I will introduce my grandsons to the mysteries of life and death, and the inevitable wheel we're all riding. Let the games begin!

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Hot Glass

This is how I look when I'm "in the zone". I have to tell you, the camera flash came as a complete surprise to me even though I asked Aubrey, Kathy's granddaughter (a budding bead-maker!) to take it! I was right there in the hot glass and forgot all about my request. I was describing "the zone" to El, a writer friend of mine recently, in reference to writing, and she observed that it is true for all art. Art takes us somewhere immediate and powerful. It's a beautiful thing. Her blog, Synthetic Culture, is posted at the right. I've been giving some impromptu lampworking lessons at the farm. One of my very favorite things to do is to recycle pretty bottle glass into even prettier beads. That's what I'm doing here, with a slice of brown glass. Later, I add them to jewelry I make, now as a fundraiser for the farm. I had some success with the horsehair bracelets (another kind of recycling altogether.) I'll post a picture of them soon. Next week, on Tuesday and Wednesday, I'll be offline for awhile, as I'll be dipping my toes in the Atlantic to make sure it's still there. I make the pilgrimage to the Jersey Shore once a year, just to check up on it. This year, El will be my partner in crime while Peter holds down the fort.