A Day to Myself.

R is out of town for a few days, so guess what that means? Girly time ... with myself!

Hello, my name is Carolyn and I'm an introvert.

There, I said it.

R and I had gone to some friends' (T's blog is here) house last weekend. We were sitting around talking about, well what else..ourselves, and T mentioned that his wife had said "Oh good! She's an extrovert for me and you're an introvert for R." Immediately, my palms got sweaty and I started to tremble. Extrovert, extrovert... oh lord, does that mean I have to talk to people? After smelling salt was waved under my nose, I woke up to declare that R was more of an extrovert and to please not give me a debutante ball into extroversion society because I'll be expected to reenact a scene from the Crucible where they pretend to see birds and my part is one of the girls that screams and cries and, really, I am just not prepared nor do I have the lines memorized even though it's mostly screaming nor do I like to have people's eyes on me and no one will clap and everyone will laugh even though it's a drama and not a comedy, so please.. please!

[silence]

Anyway, by the end of the discussion, it was decided that T and I were functioning introverts. I like to write, I observe and absorb, I don't mind giving up the spotlight, I can interact with people despite my sometimes clumsy conversation, and maybe when I get comfortable with you, just maybe, you'll mistake me for one of those extroverts.

So I took myself to a museum in the next town over. They were having a "Cabin Fever Reliever", complete with three speakers and they're normal museumy stuff. The presentations were of the historical trails that went through NW Arkansas: Trail of Tears, Butterfield Stagecoach Route, and a Civil War Troup. It was nice. So were the free cookies and cider.

I skipped the Civil War talk to look around the museum with no one else around (Introvert Alert!!). I wanted to shoot everything. Everything. But was worried I'd do a repeat of my trip to San Juan Capistrano, in which I took about 300 photos of various chairs and pottery. So I made an effort to include myself in photos, if only to make it more interesting to look back on.

My parents are recovering non-self-includers. Now, every time they come back from a trip, they like to point out to me where they are in each photo.

Hang on though, I'm not saying I don't enjoy interesting pictures from a trip without people I know in them. But that's the key word: Interesting. I mean, look at this: I could never do this.

Could you? You probably could, huh. Well, I can't. So I might as well throw me in the scenery mix. What has it got to hurt? (I heard that.)

After gazing at my future dining room table, I turned the corner to a dress-up area and squeezed into a 12-year old's hat....

...looked at old 3-D photos.

And then I saw it. An entire area devoted to cleanliness in the olden days, which included a replica of an outhouse, of course.

So I tried it out. What you don't see is the lady standing behind the camera pretending not to watch me set the self-timer and run into the outhouse. Apparently this is the face I make when someone walks in unannounced and stands there staring at me. I mean, hello lady, I'm having a private moment with me and my 1905 Sears catalogue and you are breaking my concentration.

In the end, I outran her to the real deal outside, after which I took a tour of a small cabin and barn.

After a quick stop at a thrift store, I drove home, changed into pajamas, fixed myself a nice cocktail as well as a plate of cheese and crackers (Do you see any green on that plate? I was getting wild and crazy last night, people), and plopped down to my netflix account.

A good, quiet, introverted day.

Brothers

I enjoy watching R and his brother's relationship.

They look up to each other

and appreciate their (dis)similarities.

They are each other's sounding boards.

They enjoy each other's company.

When they don't, they yell loudly, then quickly get over it...

and spend $20 worth of tokens on a

Star Wars arcade game to make up.

I like that.

...And the curtain rose....

For me, sitting in front of a closed curtain gives as much pleasure as watching the actual production.

I get giddy waiting for the moment when it opens up and I can dive into another's world unabashedly.

Crocks

We had a couple days off from school this past week due to weather, so I ice skated my way to some antique stores. I always try to have a game plan before entering these fun-filled edifices. If not, I'll wander aimlessly and you'll find me in the corner many days later overdosing on other people's memories. It's not good.

One of the items on my list was a crock. My co-worker gave me a recipe for biscuits and gravy, but she suggested I use leftover bacon grease.

Whaaat?



You see, it's these little things that I just never think of. This is just one more way to extend the food I eat. Another similar idea is the sourdough starter for bread. I'll be trying that someday soon once I get some courage. I don't know why it intimidates me so. But absolutely no yeast needed. Kneaded is needed. But not yeast, and the starter just grows and grows and grows. A new deliciously informative blog I found has already helped at least prepare my mind for this feat. Here's her post on sourdough.

So, anyway, I found two crocks and immediately strained the grease into one of them through a cheesecloth.



And there she be. I know, I know.. you're wondering why I just don't wash my hair for a day and use that grease. That wouldn't taste good on biscuits, silly.



My other crock I used on the side of the stove, where I store utensils and other frequently used ingredients. Remember, we live in a teeny apartment, so any space is crucial. Above is how it was before...



And here's the after. The new crock just freed up an entire drawer in the kitchen. Sweet!

Oh, and guess what else I bought? A pressure cooker/canner. A co-worker owns 100 acres and has offered to set up a garden this summer.

I. AM. STOKED.

Bath Soap

I've been on a mission for the past year now: to learn new skills and find out what I can make I on my own. It makes me feel connected to the past when I do this. Connected in a way that antique stores and period-piece movies can't quite capture.

Besides, if Netflix's movie suggestions for me continue to be Historical Drama featuring a Strong Female Lead, then I better act the part.

If I could be any super hero, it would be a farm woman wearing a floured apron, who kills bad people by spraying paralyzing liquid on them from a well-pump. I guess there'd have to be a well-pump every 10 feet in order for that to work. Unless I invent a portable well that I carry on my back, then flip the pump over my shoulder like a machine gun and pump... pump... pump.. ("just wait right there, bad person, I'm almost ready") pump... pump..

But I'm not.

I do have their forearms though.

So my next task was making bath soap. I felt comfortable with bread and dry washing detergent, so why not bath soap?

Oh, I remember. LYE. The scary powder that can burn you in a millisecond as soon as water hits it.

I was scared. But I donned those blue gloves over my farm forearms anyway and let it rip. Hey, what did I have to lose? Except for maybe some skin burnt off? Big deal.

I didn't realize how relatively easy soap making is. Time consuming, but simple. You basically heat up oils and cool the lye until they are the same temperature. Then mix! Are you surprised? I was.

The recipe I used were from these posts on Down To Earth. Ah, love that woman. Her calm writing has helped me through all my bread drama, so I knew I'd be in good hands.

You spend an hour or so mixing and waiting, as well as hoping that "a ventilated area" really means a dorm room with a barely working stove fan.

Neither of my batches came out correctly and I'll tell you why. On the first batch, I was pretty lazy with the measurements. In cooking I sometimes just throw things in the pan (especially when it comes to adding oil). But with soap you need to be on the money.

And I wasn't. So the oil to lye ratio was off and the soap dried extremely fast. Too fast for me to cut it, even. Instead I had to break it apart.

On the second batch, the timing of the temperature was wrong. Because I knew from the previous experience that lye cools relatively slowly, I put the oils on the backburner. Literally. To the point that when I realized the lye was getting close to the right temperature, I cranked that burner with the oils up high. They heated up too fast and too high and could never cool down to the same temp as the lye.

Before the lye got too cool, I combined them and the mixture never acheived "trace." You'll hear that word thrown around a lot. It's just the point in mixing where you can see little ripples on the mixture...and they stay on top of the mixture.

Anyway, so this batch hasn't completely hardened yet. And it has been two months. I'm just scooping it out in balls and using it in that manner.

Here are the two batches. The first is the browner-looking soap and the second is the cream-colored one. I added peppermint fragrance to the second one which is a nice shot of 'wake up!!' in the morning. Can you see how smooth and hard the first batch is and how the second looks like you could mush it with your finger?

I'm sure I'll get better each time and I can't wait to try out different recipes.

Forearm Farm - signing off.

It's official!

I'm moving my blog. 

You can find me at http://cuethebanjo.com

See you there!

Black and White Play

Another interesting outing we had in Dallas was attending a black and white play, done in a 40s type style. The director (and main character) has made this his signature style.

Can you believe this? I was extremely impressed.

Thank you R for getting me interested in plays. Yes, you heard that right.. R did.

I used to require a song & dance to keep my attention, but R's not too crazy about those broadway shows (although he will sit politely through one). He does like plays, however, so I've been mixing them in to appease his taste. And now I'm really enjoying them too.

At intermission, you could fill out who you think committed the murder, throw it into box, and hope to win a prize.

The director played a bumbly, rambling detective who shows up in all of his plays.

At the end, his wife brought out the forms to pick a winner... and the burst of red was such a nice surprise against the backdrop and other characters.

But the weird part was seeing them after the show. You'd think that after the lighting was taken away, the characters would look completely superficial.
 
It was like walking out to a row of dead people. And so I of course had to get a photo with them.

This is the tannest I'll ever look. Let's all savor it.

Thank you.

Black & White Play

Another fun thing we did in Dallas was attend a black and white play, done in a 40s type style. The director (and main character) has made this his signature style.

Can you believe this? I was extremely impressed. 

Thank you R for getting me interested in plays. Yes, you heard that right.. R did.

I used to require a song & dance to keep my attention, but R's not too crazy about those broadway shows (although he will sit politely through one). He does like plays, however, so I've been mixing them in to appease his taste. And now I'm really enjoying them too.

At intermission, you could fill out who you think committed the murder, throw it into box, and hope to win a prize.

The director played a bumbly, rambling detective who shows up in all of his plays. 

At the end, his wife brought out the forms to pick a winner... and the burst of red was such a nice surprise against the backdrop and other characters.

But the weird part was seeing them after the show. You'd think that after the lighting was taken away, the characters would look completely superficial. 


It was like walking out to a row of dead people. And so I of course had to get a photo with them. 


This is the tannest I'll ever look. Let's all savor it.


Thank you.

NYE in Dallas

S and I have a lot to talk about during our next ESL tutoring session, oh yes we do. You see, we meet twice a week to review english grammar, conversational skills, etc. She was born in Korea, and has lived here for about 4 years, but just wanted freshening up. Her English is fabulous and I'm really hoping she doesn't notice how little help she needs, because I'd like to befriend her.

During some sessions we just talk (while I become the English Nazi and point out improvements). I normally ask her what she did over the weekend and one time she mentioned a trip to dallas which included a spa. It is a korean style spa and would be a good experience for you, she said.

Well, who would pass up a spa opportunity? Not I.

So last minute, R & I decided we might as well go check it out. I'd never been to Dallas, and it's not a bad drive.

Oh, poor unsuspecting Carolyn. She really should've asked S more questions. Instead, she be-bopped her way up the stairs, paid the $18 for a 24 hour period, parted ways with her husband into the women's spa area, and then stopped dead in her tracks.

I literally thought I had just joined the broadway show Hair.

Except I was only the make-up artist. And who do you think would be more embarrassed? The entire cast walking around naked, or the lonely make-up artist fully clothed?

So I quickly turned around and side-shuffled my way to the assigned locker, all the while boring my eyes into the wood floor. Wow, was this real or laminate? If this is laminate, could've fooled me. Maybe we'll have this type put in if we move out of the dorm room should I just walk out and ask the manager?... an internal conversation that went on for a good five minutes before I faced my fears.

Because you see, you are given no towels. And in order to obtain one you have to walk what feels like a city block and enter the spa, ahem, naked. And on each side of this gauntlet, there are girls chit-chatting, laughing hysterically, and I swore I saw someone crocheting.

What made matters worse, I started thinking of my friend K's experience in Moracco. While studying in Spain, some girls in the school scheduled a trip to Moracco for a weekend. I signed up, then backed out last minute due to insufficient funds. At least that's what the ATM told me. But really I think it was God sparing me from what K ended up having to endure. You see, they went to a typical bathhouse, where clothes were left at the door and everyone was brought in for a "scrubbing session." Are you picturing people going off to their own little rooms for this? Oh no, you stood in middle of the semi-circle of girls and got scrubbed down in front of them. Talk about being left raw. Physically and emotionally.

So here I was... Hands strategically placed, I made a run for it, prayed I wouldn't slip (God, could you imagine that? Wait, don't.) and took the appropriate shower before getting into the spas (After reading a sign that said "If you are disturbed that a patron has not taken a shower with soap and has entered the spa, please tell an attendant...", I made sure every other flippin person there saw me with soap in hand. No way was I going to hold a nude conversation with an attendant regarding the cleanliness of my bits and pieces..  because you know my luck. Oh, the horror of just thinking about it.)

After I loosened up a bit and realized that absolutely no one gave two rats whether I was there or not, I started to feel (drum roll) relaxed!

 

You're given a guide on how to use the pools: stay ten minutes in the hottest pool, then dip into the cold one. Sit in the steam room for ten mintues, then back to the cold pool, etc etc, and by golly it worked.

 

After you've had enough spa time, you are given a "uniform": pink for girls, gray for boys to meet in the communal area with the men.

 

Men. Men? Oh my goodness... R!!!!! I had forgotten about him.

He had no expression on his face when I walked out to the lobby. I asked how it went while patting his hand.  He said he was thankful the locker key came with a wristband, for multiple reasons.

He did look relaxed though.

So for the next 90 minutes, we wandered in and out of various saunas. Some were more popular than others. At one point, we both almost fell asleep in one.

I can't tell you how our bodies just caved in on itself. Wonderful.

We were absolute zombies. Just shuffling to and fro... from the spa to the saunas to what I like to call the Hall of Chairs. Limp noodles, we were.

And then.. then we found them. A magical place, full of lazy boy chairs situated in front of a movie screen. This was where we would end the night. Kiwi and Carrot drinks that look like our normal NYE spirited beverages, but had none of the regrets.

It. was. delightful.

Would you believe it if I said we're game to go back again? Because we would... broadway productions and all.

NYE in Dallas

S and I have a lot to talk about during our next ESL tutoring session, oh yes we do. You see, we meet twice a week to review english grammar, conversational skills, etc. She was born in Korea, and has lived here for about 4 years, but just wanted freshening up. Her English is fabulous and I'm really hoping she doesn't notice how little help she needs, because I'd like to befriend her.

During some sessions we just talk (while I become the English Nazi and point out improvements). I normally ask her what she did over the weekend and one time she mentioned a trip to dallas which included a spa. It is a korean style spa and would be a good experience for you, she said.

Well, who would pass up a spa opportunity? Not I.

So last minute, R & I decided we might as well go check it out. I'd never been to Dallas, and it's not a bad drive.

Oh, poor unsuspecting Carolyn. She really should've asked S more questions. Instead, she be-bopped her way up the stairs, paid the $18 for a 24 hour period, parted ways with her husband into the women's spa area, and then stopped dead in her tracks.

I literally thought I had just joined the broadway show Hair.

Except I was only the make-up artist. And who do you think would be more embarrassed? The entire cast walking around naked, or the lonely make-up artist fully clothed?

So I quickly turned around and side-shuffled my way to the assigned locker, all the while boring my eyes into the wood floor. Wow, was this real or laminate? If this is laminate, could've fooled me. Maybe we'll have this type put in if we move out of the dorm room should I just walk out and ask the manager?... an internal conversation that went on for a good five minutes before I faced my fears.

Because you see, you are given no towels. And in order to obtain one you have to walk what feels like a city block and enter the spa, ahem, naked. And on each side of this gauntlet, there are girls chit-chatting, laughing hysterically, and I swore I saw someone crocheting.

What made matters worse, I started thinking of my friend K's experience in Moracco. While studying in Spain, some girls in the school scheduled a trip to Moracco for a weekend. I signed up, then backed out last minute due to insufficient funds. At least that's what the ATM told me. But really I think it was God sparing me from what K ended up having to endure. You see, they went to a typical bathhouse, where clothes were left at the door and everyone was brought in for a "scrubbing session." Are you picturing people going off to their own little rooms for this? Oh no, you stood in middle of the semi-circle of girls and got scrubbed down in front of them. Talk about being left raw. Physically and emotionally.

So here I was... Hands strategically placed, I made a run for it, prayed I wouldn't slip (God, could you imagine that? Wait, don't.) and took the appropriate shower before getting into the spas (After reading a sign that said "If you are disturbed that a patron has not taken a shower with soap and has entered the spa, please tell an attendant...", I made sure every other flippin person there saw me with soap in hand. No way was I going to hold a nude conversation with an attendant regarding the cleanliness of my bits and pieces..  because you know my luck. Oh, the horror of just thinking about it.)

After I loosened up a bit and realized that absolutely no one gave two rats whether I was there or not, I started to feel (drum roll) relaxed!

You're given a guide on how to use the pools: stay ten minutes in the hottest pool, then dip into the cold one. Sit in the steam room for ten mintues, then back to the cold pool, etc etc, and by golly it worked.

After you've had enough spa time, you are given a "uniform": pink for girls, gray for boys to meet in the communal area with the men.

Men. Men? Oh my goodness... R!!!!! I had forgotten about him.

He had no expression on his face when I walked out to the lobby. I asked how it went while patting his hand.  He said he was thankful the locker key came with a wristband, for multiple reasons.

He did look relaxed though.

So for the next 90 minutes, we wandered in and out of various saunas. Some were more popular than others. At one point, we both almost fell asleep in one.

I can't tell you how our bodies just caved in on itself. Wonderful.

We were absolute zombies. Just shuffling to and fro... from the spa to the saunas to what I like to call the Hall of Chairs. Limp noodles, we were.

And then.. then we found them. A magical place, full of lazy boy chairs situated in front of a movie screen. This was where we would end the night. Kiwi and Carrot drinks that look like our normal NYE spirited beverages, but had none of the regrets.

It. was. delightful.

Would you believe it if I said we're game to go back again? Because we would... broadway productions and all.

Resolutions

I'm copying Ashley and listing my goals for this year as well. Already, I've broken one of them today when we got lost a couple hours ago, but am now hyper-sensitive to it.

1. Quit cussing. Especially when lost. Although a nice F-bomb really does make you feel better every once in while.

2. Do one round of Power 90. I have a good 1.75 hours before having to pick up R from work. Why can't I squeeze this in?

3. By eliminating those almost 2 hours of free time, it will help me spend LESS TIME ON THE INTERNET. Because we watch TV on it, email through it, write my blog with it, ugh... too much time. Setting a reading goal every month will help as well. I can't decide to set the goal by number of pages or number of books.

4. No Coke. And by coke, I mean all of those sweet carbonated beverages. Growing up, we never drank it, why am I addicted to it now? R gave it up for all of last year and spent the past two days getting refill after refill in celebration. My mouth was watering. It sucked.

Side Note: Is 'sucked' considered a cuss word? If not, I may add it anyway. Along with 'crap'.

5. Use a wider vocabulary: That's crap -> That's rubbish.  This sucks -> This vexes me.

6. Spending an hour each morning praying and reading the One Year Bible. All I have to do is get up an hour earlier.

Resolutions

I'm copying Ashley and listing my goals for this year as well. Already, I've broken one of them today when we got lost a couple hours ago, but am now hyper-sensitive to it.

1. Quit cussing. Especially when lost. Although a nice F-bomb really does make you feel better every once in while.

2. Do one round of Power 90. I have a good 1.75 hours before having to pick up R from work. Why can't I squeeze this in?

3. By eliminating those almost 2 hours of free time, it will help me spend LESS TIME ON THE INTERNET. Because we watch TV on it, email through it, write my blog with it, ugh... too much time. Setting a reading goal every month will help as well. I can't decide to set the goal by number of pages or number of books.

4. No Coke. And by coke, I mean all of those sweet carbonated beverages. Growing up, we never drank it, why am I addicted to it now? R gave it up for all of last year and spent the past two days getting refill after refill in celebration. My mouth was watering. It sucked.

Side Note: Is 'sucked' considered a cuss word? If not, I may add it anyway. Along with 'crap'.

5. Use a wider vocabulary: That's crap -> That's rubbish.  This sucks -> This vexes me.

6. Spending an hour each morning praying and reading the One Year Bible. All I have to do is get up an hour earlier.

Prunes, Prunes the Wonderful Fruit

... the more you eat, the more you poop. 

I'll have you know, I debated about finishing the verse 

and ended up taking the mature route.

My mother-in-law knows me well. 

Look at my welcome home gift on the bed when I arrived at their house.

Hope you have a very cleansing New Year!

Prunes, Prunes the Wonderful Fruit

... the more you eat, the more you poop. 

I'll have you know, I debated about finishing the verse 

and ended up taking the mature route.

My mother-in-law knows me well. 

Look at my welcome home gift on the bed when I arrived at their house.

Hope you have a very cleansing New Year!