Counting Sheep

Man, all it takes is one good trip and I'm feeling the urge to write. It also could be because I now also want to eat, smell, and basically live again.. after a two month bout of morning sickness. Yeah, I'd have to say that affected my wanting to do anything but lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling. 

Alas, I am on the up-and-up and decided that we deserved a trip to celebrate. Really it was for R's 30th birthday coming up in April, but he let me share in the celebration. 

We'd been planning to go backpacking in Israel last week, from Nazareth to the Sea of Galilee and R especially was excited. This was his destination of choice... not necessarily mine, but I don't argue if someone wants to go somewhere. Please just take me along, I could care less where it is. So after 5 months of planning, everything broke loose in that area of the world and we slowly came to the decision to change our plans.

And by slowly, I mean that R had escalated his justification of our trip to this, "Oh settle down, Carrie. If the Palestinian Rebels were to take us, just fight until they kill you."

[silence]

So England it was, and we changed our tickets literally the day before takeoff. This went against every control-freak, planning cell in my body, but I was consoled with the thought that London was perhaps the easiest European city to fly to with many options, and possibly the cheapest. It was a good bet, last minute.

We already had our backpacking gear ready, so we decided to hike The Cotswolds Trail for a few days, followed by Bath and then London.

Oh, The Cotswolds.... If there's one word to describe this area, it would be: Sheep.

And more sheep. And more sheep.

At one point R started to count a herd.

And got to 9 before falling asleep in the field.

We met up in the next town to continue our walk. Stay tuned for country lanes and thatched roofs. I could live there.

Tub o' Spuds

I was offered to split a 50lb bag of potatoes with a co-worker, not really knowing what 25 lbs of spuds really looked like. Let's see, I said to myself... an average bowling ball weighs about 12 lbs, so put two of them together and there you go Carolyn! You can for sure handle two of those and get a 300 in the yummy meal league.

The potatoes were loaded by C into my car during the lunch hour. So when I plopped down into it at the end of the day, I wondered why exactly my body immediately tilted to the right.

Then I looked over at the passenger seat.

It was Attack of a Thousand Killer Spuds. And I was about to commit the fatal flaw of every female in a horror flick: sitting and screaming until they devoured me. Apparently I'll have to eat my way out of this to survive.

Bring it on.



I took out 13 of them there taters to make twice-baked potatoes. Most of them to be frozen.

This is not for the faint of heart...



...or for people with OCD.

But if you can handle the war against killer potato innards, then forge ahead. You won't be sorry.

Who could be with bacon, sour cream, and cheese. Pretty sure that's the basis of happiness.

After all was prepped, I took one last glance at those little guys before their journey to the baked heaven.



3 pans of twice-baked potatoes and later, 3 more pans of french fries.

I'm sure I made a dent in the tub, right?

Right?



 

Gulp.

Thrifting

I always love to point out how much I hate to shop.  And I do... for new things. Give me access to pre-used, bargain deals, then my mouth salivates at the thought of going store hopping. It's to the point where I can't even stand being in regular stores, because I think, "Oh I'm sure I can find a better deal on this." or "Who would pay that much for this?!"

In effect, I've become a snob. A reverse snob, I guess.



There's a thrift store trifecta that I hit every time I'm in the neighboring town. Even if it's for a quick run-through due to limited time, I cannot not stop. They all help satisfy my different needs, so the steering wheel literally takes on a life of its own and plops me right in front of the door. It can't be helped.

First stop, Goodwill.

Here I get clothes, books, bric-a-brac, and occasionally a piece of furniture.

It was at this place that I landed on a pile of discarded Eddie Bauer sweaters. If you know me or R, then you know of our love affair with EB (or Ed, as he likes us to call him.)



Then onto the Salvation Army.

Here you can find a great piece of furniture and bric-a-brac. The clothes are still too pricey (can you believe me!?), and the kitchen ware is slim.

Okay, I'm not a complete imbecile.. where I refuse to buy anything new. It's just become a knee-jerk reaction to question the need to pay such inflated prices. I mean, yes, I will buy new and unused underwear. (However, I did buy and wear a vintage 1940s swimsuit for a summer. Discuss.)

A hairbrush? New. (This has especially been cemented in my head after working in an elementary school where those insects whose name rhymes with 'mice' tend to congregate. Shudder.)

If I were to jump out of a plane, then yeah, I'd pay extra to make sure the parachute was new and in working order.

See? I'm not demented.



The last stop on the holy trinity trail is just a generic THRIFT STORE (per the sign). I found this puppy while getting lost one day.

It feeds my do-it-yourself projects, my kitchen ware, knitting, and occasional piece of clothing.



It was there that I bought these bushel baskets. R thought it was a great idea, since we have an orchard not growing anywhere near us. (He never appreciates my purchases).



And who could forget the great book buy of 2010: a Gardening Encyclopedia set. The cashier rang up each book at 25 cents when I thought they'd be a dollar. Will I read them? Probably not. But I saved almost $14 people.

And I love how they look in our eames style TV stand. We found that curbside in our old KC neighborhood and I made R carry it three blocks home. You know, instead of me running ahead to get the car. I was afraid it would be snatched.

Yes, I am that person. A dumpster-diver.

There, I said it. I'm a dumpster-diver and I love it. During my sister's annual neighborhood large-item pickup day, she and her husband would grab a six-pack, sit in their screened porch, and make fun of my fellow divers.

They don't understand.



Then what about the Shack's mini, almost microscopic wine (and champagne?) cellar. With my $4 wine rack and $2 carafes. I bought the carafes back when we lived in KC and they were next to 12 mini wineglasses of the same decor. Those glasses still haunt me to this day. Why I didn't buy them, I'll never know.

I think I didn't want everything to be mitchy-matchy. I still get queasy about mitchy-matchy, but in this case I would've come to love the matching set eventually.

Note Klimt's and my mutual friend, Judith, gazing longingly for a glass.



And then my 'Medicinal Plant's' poster. At the checkout line, a lady said that she was this close to buying it.

Half of the fun is the competition. There are not several of these in the store, with more in the back storage room. It's a one and done deal. Who knows when you'd see it again, if ever. So you have to grab fast if you like it, because others are just as quick.

For the record, I have no idea which plants these are, as they are all written in the latin names.  I know one day I'll see something outside that looks similar and then end up with poison ivy on my tongue.



But when you live in a Shack with limited storage, you have to be creative. So when I found this 60s (maybe earlier?) laundry basket, I immediately thought where it could go.

In front of our kitchen window, where I am desperately trying to revive my grandma's plant. Remember? I said I'd baby this one forever here. Turns out I'm a liar. It's hanging on by a thread. Sorry Mary Margaret. I'm trying.

It also holds the cute set of vintage mixing bowls, one of which holds our compost goodies.



You need storage, Carolyn? Then voila! That little guy opens up to find all of my awkwardly sized bottles. These have been stashed randomly in the kitchen, bedroom, and who knows where else.. so it pleases me to have them all in one place.

The Shack's wallpaper & white linoleum, on the other hand does not please me. Oh well. I'm blessed to have a roof over my head.

Happy Thrifting everyone!

Wrapping Up

From here on out, it will be current or semi-current updates. But this is what we get for me taking a small sabbatical.

Hands down, my favorite part of christmas this year was playing student in Miss E's class. If this girl doesn't do something where a crowd of eyes are staring at her, then there's no hope for any of us. She's a natural performer.

Setting up shop in front of the fireplace

Reviewing the class rules: 1) Be quiet while teacher is talking. 2) Raise your hand if you have a question. 3) Tell the teacher if you need to use the bathroom. 4) No interruptin'

I thought she added the accent on #4 for my benefit since I'm further south than she is. And when I did in fact interrupt, at least she didn't try to please the Arkansas in me by saying "Oh C, you're a mess." You remember my disdain for that phrase... here.

K had #2 down pat, and R needed a tutor for this subject apparently.

My other favorite parts of the day? Here's just a few:

Helping prep the food with mom in our aprons.

Gut laughs during our White Elephant party with the cousins, aunts, & uncles.

And last but certainly not least, passing around the sick baby doll and giving him shots in the rear.

 

What have I been up to?

Nothing much, honestly. Reading on gardening and picking out seeds, harboring a second bout with back pain that is slowly getting better, and riding the waves of enjoyment and loss as we watched our rabbits (finally) have a small litter and then lose them.

But other than that, nothing much.

So let's go over the last part of December, which was jam packed with warmth; from friends, family, and indeed the sun.

R had a rough couple of months; working long hours and generally stressing out. So we booked a quick trip to Florida to rest up.



I found a little place that got good reviews and was decidedly within our budget. Ever since sleeping in a hut steps from the ocean with no a/c or hot water, I can't bring myself to spend money on a room. The hut (click here) had to be my favorite beach side experience.

This cutie of a building was juxtaposed right next to some towering ones which I'm sure charged double ours, and I smiled at our good luck. Plus, we had a tiny bar & grill located on the first floor. Isn't that all you need?

I apparently couldn't spend money on a taxi either, because I forced R to bus it from the airport. $3.50 vs $50? Um, we're hanging with the locals, R. Somehow we made it the entire way without spending a dime, as the driver felt sorry for both us and a couple from Amsterdam for not knowing what we were doing.



We were only there for a couple days, so each morning we rushed downstairs to fall back asleep under the rising sun.



And then we'd wake up to take long walks along the deserted beach. Note to self: only travel during the week. What uncrowded bliss!



After our jaunt, we'd plop back down onto our chairs for a pina colada, or other rest-inducing drink.



I'd look over occasionally and find R testing out his US Army survival manual that he chose to bring along, by trying to light stuff on fire through his glasses.



I would periodically sit on the hammocks to remind myself to never stay where there is a bar & grill so nearby again.



Or we'd go body surfing for a couple hours. I was the judge this time around.



We'd see guys running around with a football, and R would have gaze longingly at them. He stood nearby like how all young kids do when they want to play, but don't want to ask. Politely, with hands behind the back.

Alas, he was never asked.

After our beachside retreat ended, I called up my cousin that lives in the area. She picked us up and promptly took us to a 5-star quality dinner... in their backyard! I have never, never had such thick and well-prepared steak before, in restaurants or at home. It was delightful, and B served us up some official drinks along the way.



I mean, has anyone ever used that measuring cup before? I didn't even know what it was.. maybe to hold whole eggs for an English dinner?

No, it actually has a use, and by golly she used it. I was impressed.



After they put their son to bed, we headed outside to the hot tub for loud laughs and fun conversation, and even an occasional push into the pool.

And yes, they provided us with robes! Where are we?? This is a long cry from the hut, my friends.



Thus ended a great few day escape for the two of us. If I could put that trip into a bottle, I would. It'd sell, I'm sure of it.

Point Taken

After walking away to heat up some cinnamon rolls, I came back to the game and asked N if he went already.

"Yes," he said.



 

Got the hint, N.

And the winner is...

What happens when you mix two girls, one of which is due soon, and two dueling chicken restaurants in Pittsburg, KS?  Honestly?Mostly heartburn. But at least there's laughter along the way.

My friend, J, and I met up at Fort Scott, KS to enjoy one last get together before baby H is born. We were coming from opposite directions so this little town seemed a good midway point. I found a hotel right smack in the middle of downtown, in which all streets were bricked.

You know that made me happy.

We pulled up to our hotel, waved at the owner and hopped out.

Move it, J. I know you've just driven a couple hours and need to relax, but we've got some eating to do... and Momma Carolyn is hungry.

Here was the plan:

 

 

VS

 

 

This is not for the faint of heart, my friends. You need to train diligently for this type of assault. No sit-ups, no portioning, and definitely no dieting. Eat grease, nap, and conveniently forget where you put the scale.

I've been in training for this night it seems since the day I was born.



But first, we had to check out the barracks.

And this was our first test. Could we walk in to a multitude of patterns on the bed and the wall without losing focus? J held up well. I, on the other hand, had to sit down and put my head between my legs for a second.

Luckily I only wear solids, otherwise J would've lost me in there.



We didn't waste any time, but headed to our first destination: Chicken Mary's.

Before I get into our analysis of each restaurant, can I point out that J only has two months to go before she's due (not to mention the fact that she's wearing horizontal stripes!)? Don't make me cuss, J.

She looks like me after Thanksgiving dinner. So I was more than happy to shove fried chicken in her mouth.

I don't have as many photos of Chicken Mary's as I do Chicken Annie's, so I'll give you a brief description. We walked in and me, being a bundle of nerves, walked up to the check out lady and asked her seat us. She pointed us to the right person who graciously led us to a corner table. The room was busy and it felt cozy. Country decor, candle on the table.

The waitress, whose name we did not write down (oh yes, folks, we took notes) advised us to *not* drink the tap water. She looked horrified at our suggestion that we could.

J loved the potato salad, stating "It has a dill taste." This is of course after she took a nibble and rolled it around in her mouth like a Top Chef judge. I could only taste potato.  The applesauce was sweeter than Motts, which we later found out had cherry mixed in.

We loved the thigh, to which we agreed, that once you go thigh you just can't go back. The fried skin on all pieces were perfect: crunchy & greasy, or, how we justified it, "juicy."

Then it was off to Chicken Annie's.



We walked there from Chicken Mary's as they are literally side by side, and appreciated the brief reprieve from grease. I spotted a windmill and it instantly got a plus sign in my book.

We entered into a more open floorplan, which made it seem less busy. I had no confusion as to who was the hostess. She took us to a corner table as well, however this one was not yet ready and the cooks in the kitchen yelled at someone to come clean it. Open floorplan, remember.

I guess Annie would've yelled from the kitchen too. Authenticity? check.



Our waitress, Carly, instantly sat down with us to discuss the menu.

She said to J, and I quote "You can drink it. I like the water, but I'm weird." Chicken Mary's - no water. Chicken Annie's - yes water.

We're getting somewhere.

We devoured our meal and discussed:

J thought the potato salad was greasier, with more of saur kraut taste. I could only taste potato. The applesauce was plain. The chicken skins were not extra crispy and the white meat surprisingly ended up being juicer than the dark.



By the looks of my hands, it appears that I was slowly turning into a chicken myself.



Let's take a look at a few more comparisons:

• CM - no stuffed chicken in lobby. CA - chicken proudly displayed.


• CM - smaller butter, but no trans fat. CA - HUGE, but with hydrogenated oil.


• CM - no arcade corner/living room. CA - yes, in which we both dilly-dallied.


• CM - total $12.45  CA - total $9.39 (however, I did buy a lottery ticket at CA and won a dollar, so make that $8.39)


• CM - only lettering on sign. CA - lettering and a chicken that spoke.

The verdict?

Chicken Mary's won on the actual chicken dish. Chicken Annies? Ambiance & Creativity. Who can beat looking eye to eye with the animal you just enjoyed.

Did you think we ended there, though?



Heck no! We took our wild and crazy selves, back to our 20-toned room for some dessert. Chocolate on graham crackers, cheeze whiz style.

J asked if I could make her one. Little did she know that my chocolate to cracker ratio is about 300 to 1.

She didn't touch it.



Afterwards, we watched TV and knitted for a couple hours. Looks like I was trying to knit a spider web of sorts.

But it didn't take long before we fell asleep into a grease-induced coma.



The next morning we hopped on a guided tour of Fort Scott.

We were the only ones on it.

The announcer said that if we had any questions, to feel free and ask him. I did several times and he never answered. Ah, I felt right at home, Fort Scott. Or shall I call you Scott from now on?



The town has got some real beauties of architecture. I was so engrossed with it that I didn't realize how stupid it was to not have a lid on my steaming coffee. Several third-degree burns later, I was still enjoying the views.

It was a quick trip; we only stayed a night and left before noon the next day. But like every time I hang out with J, it's never the amount of time, but the quality. I so enjoy her! Can't wait to make these trips a trio with baby H.

Making Make-Up

Before I write about the Battle of the Bulge, otherwise known as a throwdown between two restaurants undertaken by a friend and me, I thought I'd take a moment and talk about some make-up I made.

The recipe called for:

• 1 ounce beeswax


• 4.5 ounces jojoba oil


• 4-5 tsp mineral mica

When looking for the color of mica to use, I was a bit overwhelmed. I'm looking to eventually make a foundation to wear daily as opposed to the schlack I currently use. What's in that stuff anyway? And why do I love it so? Because I do.

First, you melt the beeswax.

I was home alone that day, and so pulled out a Native-American sushi dish to keep me company. There's a grocery store in town that sells the most random things. They were also selling canisters with old photos of cowboys cooking alongside a chuck wagon. Yes, I bought all of them. I don't know what it is about them, but I have a tendency to buy old photos in whatever capacity they're presented to me. They're just... timeless. This guy was breathing when it was originally taken. And I like having those moments of life surrounding me, even though they're long gone.

But in this case, I bought them because I have a thing for those chiefs. Is this what they call "prairie fever"?

Watch the beeswax melt until they look like a pair of eyes. This bee apparently had a lazy eye from the looks of the melting.

Can I ask a question? Who, in their right mind, would want a photo of themselves on a serving dish 100 years from now. How embarrassing. Do I need to stipulate that in a will or something? "In case of mass-marketing of my face, please use image attached."

Because you know this is the photo they'd choose.

Can you imagine serving a nice chicken piccata on this lovely creature? I know it would help with many people's diets, that's for sure.

Okay, back to the make-up. Pour in the jojoba oil.

It will cause the beeswax to seize up a bit, so just continue stirring until it's all nicely melted again.

And, lastly, dump in the mica. I'd recommend keeping it on the heat until pouring into the tubes, because the beeswax does solidify quickly.

I've made quite a few tube of chapstick (which can also be used as blush) and what I'm currently calling "bronzer". I'm not yet ready to use it only as a foundation. My umbilical cord to thick, plastered war paint has not been severed. One day, though, I will break free. To know that only three ingredients are on my face at any given time sounds really lovely.

We're off to picnic amongst hoop dresses and war uniforms today. Hope the weather holds out.

Until next time!