Assortment

Sneak Peek - Sundays at Assortment

 

As you know, Sunday posts happen rarely, if ever, here at Assortment.  That's all going to change in just two short days!  Come this Sunday, there will be a new addition here called:

Funnies on Sunday! 

Funnies on Sunday! will feature a comic strip created entirely by our very own ten-year-old boy. 

And here, just for you, is a special sneak peek:

 

 

 

 

  

Our comic artist boy has found that artistic inspiration can come at anytime, anywhere, from any one.  Here, in his own words, is the story of his inspiration for this strip:

My brothers and I were roller-blading with our neighbor.  I whizzed by her on the street, and said, "Look!  No hands!" 

She said, "You should write a comic strip about that, where somebody crashes on their bike and then gets their roller-blades on and says 'Look! No hands!', to make himself feel better."

And so, that evening, I started working on the comic strip.

[Notice on the top panel where it says along the side, "Published by Star Comix (just kidding)."]

 

Until Sunday,

 

The Ten-Year-Old Boy

 

 

Settling {6}

:: In the schoolroom ::

:: One ladder ::

 

 

:: One ladder and one roll of drop cloth ::

 

 

 

:: One ladder, one roll of drop cloth, and one paint tray ::

 

 

:: One ladder, one roll of drop cloth, one paint tray, and one roller ::

 

:: One ladder, one roll of drop cloth, one paint tray, one roller, and one glug of white paint ::

:: One ladder, one roll of drop cloth, one paint tray, one roller, a glug of white paint, and one happy Mama to see the baby blue walls disappear ::

Also?

 

:: One Mama wondering...Should I tear up the stained carpet and do this to the floor? :: 

 

 

The Homemade Kind

 

 

I admit I got a little nostalgic when I walked down the bread aisle during my first trip through a Wyoming grocery store, and found the very same brand of bread I remember eating on and off during my childhood.  I say on and off, because during the off times, we made our own bread.  Oh, but I do have clear memories of the on times, when I would eat Standish Farms Honey Whole Grain bread, toasted and spread with butter, then sprinkled with crunchy cinnamon sugar. 

Not that I would now think any store-bought bread is necessarily good.  But, you know how it doesn't always have to taste good, or be good for you, as long as the memories of it are good?  That alone can make you want some, toasted, with butter melted into every dip, and cinnamon sugar sprinkled on top, some 20 years later. 

But the boys weren't so sure.  They weren't at all anxious to eat that bread. They weren't engulfed by my fog of nostalgia.  To them, Standish Farms Honey Whole Grain is store-bought bread, and they were wantin' the real stuff. 

The homemade kind.  The kind they've grown up eating.  The kind that is sure to, one day, put them into their own fog of wistful rememberances.

And, honestly?  I couldn't wait to get the kitchen pulled together enough to start baking it again. 

 

The homemade kind.  For my guys.

And, for you?  The recipe:

 

 

Honey Wheat Bread

 

First, you'll want to prep your yeast.  In a bowl, measure 3 cups warm water (I use a water temperature that I can stand to put my hand in, but just barely), sprinkle into the water 1 1/2 tablespoons of active dry yeast.  Stir lightly with a fork; set aside.  In a few minutes the yeast will have activated and become a foamy layer on top of the water.  

You'll begin making the dough by creating what is called a sponge. In the mixing bowl of a Kitchenaid, measure 1/3 cup oil (I use canola), 1/2 cup honey, 4 cups of whole wheat flour, and your activated yeast water.  Fit the mixer with the paddle attachment, and stir until combined.  The sponge will be the consistency of thick pancake batter.  Turn off the machine, and leave the sponge to rise until double in size.  It will take about an hour, (but if you're in the middle of teaching school, just leave it until recess!) 

When the sponge has risen, turn the machine on so the paddle can go around the bowl a couple times to deflate the sponge.  Turn off and remove the paddle attachment.  To the bowl, add 5-6 cups of all-purpose, unbleached flour (you'll have to experiment a bit with the flour amounts.  I would begin by adding 5 cups at the beginning, then 1/4 cup at a time until the dough is the right consistency), and 1 1/2 tablespoons of salt.  Attach the dough hook to the mixer, and let the machine knead the dough (on low speed) for 5-10 minutes.  You'll know that you've added enough flour when the dough pulls cleanly away from the sides of the bowl during kneading.  A dough with enough flour won't be sticky, but will be soft and pliable, and feel like a baby's bum.

Lightly butter your hands, and turn the dough out onto your countertop or breadboard. You shouldn't need to use flour, here, at all.  Bring the edges of the dough together all around, pressing it toward the center, then turn the dough over.  You should have formed a nice, round ball.  With a sharp slicing knife, cut the dough in half with long, even strokes.  Take one of the halves, form it into a round ball by bringing the edges in, pressing them toward the center, and turning it over, just as above.  Now, with the palms of your hands, flatten the dough out into a rectangular shape that is the same length as your bread pan.  Beginning at one of the long edges, roll the dough up from one side to the other, to form a loaf.  Tuck the ends under, if needed.  Make pretty gash marks across the top with a sharp knife, and place the loaf in a greased 4"x8" loaf pan.  Repeat with the second half of the dough. 

Leave the dough to rise in the loaf pans for about 1 1/2 hours, or until it has risen and formed a nice crown above the tops of the pans.  Bake the bread in a preheated 350F oven, for 35 minutes.  Remove from the oven and let it cool in the pans for about 5 minutes, then remove it from the pans and cool completely on a wire rack.  Butter the tops, if you wish. 

For a Honey White version, use all white flour.  Or, if you'd like, you could experiment with adding nuts, seeds, oats, etc. 

Yield: 2 loaves & lots of happy faces!

 

 

 

A Village-Town Celebrates Summer

I should stop and explain. 

Explain about where we live.  I don't want any of you to lose your enjoyment of following along on this blog because you're dealing with debilitating confusion.  Can't have that, so I'll explain it in a way that will show the big picture and settle your minds about just where, exactly, we live.  Without telling you where we live. 

Are you confused?  

Uh, let me explain. 

We live in a teeny, tiny town.  A village-town, really, somewhere in the mountains of Wyoming.  It qualifies as a village-town because it has a population of several hundred, if you count pets.  There's a post office, a gas station, one restaurant, one saloon, one church, and one art gallery.  But, if you want to do your grocery shopping, buy socks, or sprinklers and garden hose, you have to drive 20 miles to the nearest small town.  That's where we went to see this parade and this Indian Relay Race. 

Now, if you need Costco, Michaels, Lowes, or a mall, you'll have to drive one hour and forty-five minutes to the closest small city to find one.  On the other hand, if you're looking for up-scale shopping (Anthropologie, I miss you!), fine dining, and the latest in cultural experiences, you can find that in the nearest big city, which is 6 hours away.

So, in short you have:

Village-town

Small town

Small city

Big city

Got it?  Good.

Let's talk about our village-town.  We love our village-town!  Come on and see the village-town summer celebration that happened last weekend...

The celebration, which was actually four days long, began with a cow-pie contest in rancher So-and-So's pasture.  No joke. 

The next day there was a pancake breakfast at the old log community hall.

Then, there was a parade, which is where we joined in.  Well, we didn't actually join in.  Uh, let's see now, that's not exactly true, either.

Oh, just read on.

 

 

This is somebody's boy.  And they are sure proud of him.

 

  

This was somebody's boy, once, too.  And I'm sure they were proud of him.

 

This is somebody's girl, and she's proud of herself.

 

But this boy?  This is our boy, and he's the one we're proud of!  He carried the Grand Marshall banner with such strength of hand and smile of face.  Such throwing of candy, such steady of pace.

Our boy!

 

These are the Grand Marshalls, Paul and Betty.  They were each married to their first mates for 50+ years, then they were left alone in this world.  Until they met each other.  Now they wear matching gold wedding bands, and were seen holding hands at the picnic in the park later that afternoon.

Paul and Betty are our neighbors.

 

Shriners, western style. 

They aren't our neighbors.

At least I don't think so.

 

 

A clown, jester-style.

He's somebody's neighbor. 

 

  

Here's somebody's grandma.  I think she should be my grandma.

 

Or maybe this one.  Maybe she would be my grandma.

I already have a grandma, but I need more than I can handle.

 

 

Speaking of grandmas, after the parade was over, most of the town headed to the park for the afternoon picnic and celebrations, but I pedalled over to the community hall to see all the quilts made by the grandmas in the Quilting Club.

 

 

They were amazing!   The grandmas and the quilts.

 

 

For the love of yo-yo's!  I wanted to meet the one who made this one.  I wanted to know her personally.

 

 

This quilt was designed by a woman in my girlhood town!  I felt like I knew her personally.

 

  

There was simply no choosing of a favorite.  

I couldn't decide which I liked best, the grandpa or the quilt. 

 

 

 

Later, in the park:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

Soft, green grass under a shady tree, BBQ beef sandwiches, live music by a local rancher and his boys, dancing, balloons, duck races, face painting, cream pie contest, horseshoe tournament, volleyball tournament, petting zoo, river wading.

 

After a while, I realized my cheeks hurt from smiling.

 

 

 

Today, I Love...

 

:: Setting sun over the western mountains ::

 

:: Summer's bounty, rolled up for winter ::

:: Evening walks with my love along the east gravel road ::

 

 

 

That's Why

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who wanted a tea set. Oh, she'd wanted one for so long, she had.  She wanted a real one that was her very own; one that had lots of dishes; one that had dainty cups she could drink from while lifting her pinky, just so, in the air. 

Come her birthday, she got what she'd hoped for - a lovely tea set that had lots of dishes - even knives, forks, and spoons!  It's cups, which were curiously shaped more like mugs, could hold a good swallow of tea.

Her very own tea set! 

And she imagined her dishes were pretty - pretty, with flowers in soft girlie colors.  She had to imagine it because, in real life, her lovely tea set wasn't decorated this way.

Her tea set was decorated with funny brown mushrooms.

Brown mushrooms!

A girl's very own tea set decorated with funny brown mushrooms?

 

Why?

Why brown mushrooms? 

Why? 

 

Oh, what was she to do, this little girl, whose heart had no answers to the brown mushroom questions? 

Well, she was to love her brown mushroom tea set, that's what.  Love it anyway.  Love it as if it were covered with bouquets of pretty flowers in soft, girlie colors.  She was to serve tea parties, lunches, and dinners on these miniature dishes of hers, and imagine that they were just as pretty as they were in her mind.

Then, when she'd grown past the tea party age, she was to let the younger cousins and kids have tea parties with it.  Because she would be busy with school, a career, marriage, and she wouldn't have time for even a thought of the brown mushroom tea set for so many years.

But then, one day, this young woman, who'd once been that girl, would open a box that had been tucked away.  Inside she'd find the brown mushroom tea set from so long ago.  And in that moment, she would know.  Without a shadow of doubt in her mind, she'd know. 

 

She would know why.

 

Why the brown mushrooms.  Why the cups, that were shaped more like mugs, were big enough to hold a good swallow of tea...

 

 

It was all because that little girl was now a Mama of boys. 

All boys.

Only boys.

Three of them.

 

And they would need a brown mushroom tea set.  

 

They would need to drink their tea out of cups that were shaped more like mugs.

 

 

And the Mama would now understand.

She would never have these photos, here, if that little girl long ago had opened a tea set decorated with bouquets of flowers in soft, girlie colors.

 

 

 

That's why.

 

 

Oh, that brown mushroom tea set!

It's the prettiest one she's ever seen.

 

 

Any Way Chocolate

Did you know that there are many, many ways to eat, or drink, chocolate? 

It's true.

 

 

First, there's the Tip-the-Hot-Chocolate-Til-It's-Almost-Spilling-and-Eat-the-Whipped-Cream-First, method.

 

 

Definitely the preferred method, here.  It's a little messy, but why be concerned about messy?  This guy's never worried a lick about messy before, so why in the world would he start now?  It's just not logical.

 

 

The next method is actually a problem.  It's the What-Do-You-Do-If-the-Whipped-Cream-is-Already-a-Problem? problem.

 

 

You eat it with a spoon, of course.  It keeps the mess to a minimum, which is what this boy is all about.  Minimum mess makes life so much easier on the mind and greatly enhances creativity.  Just ask him.

 

 

Now, you could jump the tracks, and come at your chocolate from a whole different direction. Why go with the flow when you can go against it?  Especially if you have the darkest eyes and the most freckles in the family.  This, in itself, is fair warning that you probably won't be having hot chocolate when you could be having chocolate milk.  

 

How about icy cold, in a tall glass, held with two hands?  Ah, yes.  It's all about the experience. Cool sweetness sliding down your throat.  You're in your own world.  Nothing else matters.  Not breakfast, not your dirty shirt, not your messy hair, not your two-days-unbrushed teeth.  Nothing.

 

 

And, whoever you are, the effects of this wondrous, luscious drink will soon be evident in your body.

 

 

Your eyes might cross.

 

 

Your eyes might bug.

 

 But, you'll be happy. 

So, SO, happy!

 

 

 

 

Truckin'

 

It seems that a trucker that we know and love was going to be delivering a load less than 2 hours away from us! 

After a flurry of packing pillows, clothes, blankets (everything except the toothbrushes!), we were in the van pedaling north.  A semi truck with a grandpa in it was waiting for the boys and I to squeeze in sardine-style for a night and a morning with him.

We couldn't wait!

 

 

 

 

 

After a night with five in a semi sleeper, coffee was indeed in order. 

 

Coffee and some freshening up.  Good thing I had the camera and he didn't.  I was up, but I certainly wasn't fresh.  Consider yourself privileged that you're not seeing that! 

 

And we're off! 

 

With some sleepers still sleeping sardine-style.

They weren't interested in coffee or shaving. 

Coffee and shaving?  Oh, my!  These guys will be doing those very things tomorrow! 

It just hit me!  Wham!  Like that. 

Does anyone have smelling salts?  There's a desperate need for them in Wyoming.

 

 

  

On board, we have a load of trees for a local nursery.

 

 

We all worked very hard.  By the time we were done, their backs hurt and I had an ache in my fore finger. Ahem.

 

Ah, to take a zillion photos of so many of the plants and flowers I've known and loved all my life!   

Hello, again!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

Like long lost friends, we reaffirmed our heart connections, the plants and I. 

I think I'm home. 

 

 

 

 

Settling {5}

 

The time was 5:20ish a.m., I had just rolled over in bed, still wrapped in early-morning sleepiness, when into my fuzzy thoughts came the sound of bawling cows. 

Bawling COWS? 

I snapped awake, listened at the open window, and there it was, sure enough, the bawling of cows.  I hopped to, threw on some clothes, did some sort of half-hearted thing with my hair, grabbed my camera, and headed out the door. 

 

The herd had gone through town, down main street, and over the bridge, which is where I caught up with them.

 

Here, they headed them off the highway and down a road that would take them west of town.

 

That cowboy is keeping them from continuing on down the highway.

 

This one's keeping them from going down someone's driveway.  The cowboys know that one cow or another will try to check out every side road they pass.

 

The speed limit here is 55.  I don't think they'll have to worry about that.

Settling {4}

 

You haven't seen a race until you've seen an Indian Relay Race.  This wild event got the crowd to its feet at the beginning of the rodeo. Young Indian braves ride bareback once around the race track, then dismount and switch to a fresh horse right in front of the grandstand, then tear around the track once again, before coming in for one last re-mount on another fresh horse, which takes him screaming around the final lap to the finish line.  As a fan, it is simply impossible to stay seated through the entire race.

 

 

Speaking of excitement, Feathers On My Head, here, didn't know what kind of excitement he was in for, but he was soon to find out. 

 

Oh, wait, uh, Yellow Team is having some trouble at the starting line.

 

 

Yellow Team Horse doesn't want to stand at the starting line.  He was made to run, for pity's sake!

 

 

You show, 'em, Yellow Team Horse!

 

 

Calm down.  Everyone just calm down!

 

  

And, they're off!  Were they ready?  Well, ready or not, here they go!

 

  

Now, let's keep our eyes on Feathers On My Head riding the Palomino horse with pink paint.  He's looking good.

 

 

Uh, not looking so good.

 

  

Not looking good at all!

 

 

Hold on, Feathers On My Head!

 

 

Whoa!  Feathers On My Head, HOLD ON!!

 

 

Regaining.

 

 

Gettin' a hold.

 

 

About there.

 

 

The man in the blue shirt is clapping.  That helps.

 

 

Alright, Feathers On My Head!  (Don't look now, but the woman in the white cowboy hat loves you!)

 

 

You're on!  Your people are so proud!  Just look at their faces!  Actually, don't look at their faces, you just concentrate on staying on your horse.

 

 

GO, Feathers On My Head, GO!!

 

____________________________________

Update:  Feathers on My Head didn't win the race, but he would have won the Best Entertainment/Wow the Crowd Award, if there was one.

There should have been.