Oh Look--Bonus Holiday Content!

Cameron & Beth

Aiden, Devin & Staci, Linden
 and a photobomb by John Shane

John Shane,Jordan & Elise, Lane

 

Snow for Christmas!

Who Me?

Oh no, there goes Tokyo,
GO GO Godzilla!

Comfort & Joy

 

One of my favorite things to do “in Dark December” is to sit in the quiet with only the Christmas lights on, my hands wrapped around the warmth of my favorite cup. Granted, “only the Christmas lights” is enough illumination to comfortably perform surgery if one was so inclined, but at least the lumens are festive in nature. 

The Holidays are a season overflowing with memory... Christmases of Childhood Past—both my childhood and the fleeting childhoods of my boys...memories of favorite gifts, of love and laughter.

Oh Christmas Tree 2021

Millie is such a Good Girl

 

 

 

This year, Christmas Present is a season of anticipation...Grandchildren—4, so far— bring the magic and wonder back to Christmas--along with the challenge of overcoming curiosity, mixed with gravity. Which is a nice way of saying I really need to tie my tree to the wall. Sume Christmas tree tradition is one that includes excess lighting—15 stands of lights and counting-- and fishing line reinforcement. In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that any Christmas Tree experience I’ve had that ended in disaster always had more to do with my tree succumbing to the laws of gravity more than it had to do with childish curiosity— or a happily wagging tail, in the case of the grand dog.

As I write this, it is snowing lightly, a soft dusting of white that adds to the ambience and makes me think that a cup hot chocolate—with a cap of whipped cream and sprinkles—sounds like a fine idea right about now. A longstanding father/son tradition in the Sume Family is a quick zzzsst of whipped cream, from can directly to mouth. I know my sons are continuing this tradition, so our family ornament this year is a cup of coco...

My wish for you this season is that you find comfort in your memories, and joy in the anticipation of memories yet to come. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Traditions, a New Generation

 Christmas is a time of traditions, some old, some new, and this year-some come 'round again. When my children were little, my mom started buying wooden Brio train sets for her three grandsons. Every year, for Christmas and birthdays, she would purchase more track, or bridges, or battery powered engines. All during the year the boys would head to Grandma and Grandpa's, drag out the blue Rubbermaid tub, and set up lavish railroads; tracks and tunnels sprawling across the living room floor. Grandchildren and grandparents shared the adventure. It was hard to know who enjoyed it more.

But time flies. Eventually, the boys packed the tracks up in the blue Rubbermaid tub for what turned out to be the last time and moved on to other interests: sports and motorcycles, video games and girls. But Grandma held onto the tub, knowing that-- if you're patient, and lucky--sometimes things come around again.

John Shane contemplates the best box car line-up.

My mom is gone now, my children grown-becoming fathers themselves---that girl thing having worked itself out admirably. When my grandchildren visit Nana Sugar's, we dust off the old blue Rubbermaid tub and sort out the pieces. Dads and uncles turn into little boys again, and we all---young and not so young--turn the pieces of the track, this way, and that way, figuring out the best path around the room.

Oh no, there goes Toyko...here comes Lane!

My Amazon cart is full of presents for Christmases Yet to Come: suspension bridges, curves and elevation blocks, straight tracks and small couplers; an old tradition, come 'round again. 

Please excuse the anti scratch tape on the furniture
We have some Very Bad Catz

The completed track with bonus siding

A Lifetime Supply of Christmas

 Q: What has 17 actors, five settings, three writers and one plot?

A: 642 Hallmark Christmas movies.

I have a dirty little secret—one that, even as I admit to, I will vehemently over-excuse/deny. “Hi, I’m Sue, and I watch Hallmark Christmas Movies.” 

Not that I really watch them, of course, I just have them on in the background. Truly. Because some of them are so stupid that I find myself yelling at the TV: “Your son is a FULL GROWN MAN—back off, dude! He’ll figure it out!”

Like all good addicts in denial, I have a good friend (Hi Eileen!) who shares my tolerance—enabling is such a judgey word-- for such drivel.  One afternoon she unexpectedly found herself at home and we exchanged the following texts:

“I am watching Christmas shows! Novel idea!

Huh! What are they about?

“This one is about Christmas! And a gorgeous house! And potential love! And good hair!”

Do they drink a lot of hot chocolate? Do they have any festive treats? Community Holiday Events? Does anyone own a Christmas tree farm? Have amnesia? Time travel into Christmas Past? Discover a lost treasure/card/package/photo?

“Yes, yes, yes, no, no, no but there is an old friend from high school. He's very friendly, cute, helpful, musical --helps with the community school program.”

Of course he does! Old high school boyfriends are kryptonite. Or cat nip--can't remember the difference.

“Me thinks a little of both.”

Lol--such a heady cocktail!

"I'm hooked."

It's the addiction that dare not speak its name.

“Except us…This little girl is soo cute! This is a new (to me) movie. It's okay.

Which one? The kitten one?

"No the fireman one."

Oohh—they need to make a fireman AND kitten one! And the kittens should be Magic Kittens!

And so it goes. But if you want to watch something that is light and light hearted, celebratory and almost nobody ever dies… and if they have died in the past-- every one remembers them but only ever cries happy tears. Hallmark movies are silly and sappy and SAFE.

As addictions go, they are pretty benign. Embarrassing, but benign.

When You Don’t Know What to Say:

 A loving reminder to those who would comfort the grieving

Please don’t say “At least _________.” 

Please don’t look on the bright side of things, or try to find the silver lining for someone’s grief. While your heart is absolutely in the right place and your intentions are good—you are essentially denying their grief, trying to limit it; trying to push it down in to a manageable size. Don’t do that.

Grief is huge. And it’s going to be huge for quite a while, probably for much longer than you’re going to be comfortable with. And you have to let it. You have to sit next to a grieving someone you care about and just let it BE.

I know it’s hard. But you can do this. They need you to be able to do this. So hug them. Listen to them. Let them cry. Let them not cry, whatever. Tell stories, share memories, say the name of their loved one. This grief thing is going to take a while. It just does.

I'll say it again, the best advice I can give you is to go ahead and let them GRIEVE. Let it in. Weep. Mourn. Let them find comfort in Ritual, even if they need to invent one for themselves. Don’t shut off your feelings and don’t try to "make it better" and shut down theirs. 

Grieving takes time. Lots of it. Everyone is different-- don’t tell anyone that they need to “move on.” That’s probably just your blissful ignorance talking---you don’t know the hard truth that they know. They ARE moving through grief; tears and pain and sadness are a part of that process. 

Want something concrete to do? Stay hydrated. Seriously—when all else fails, go drink a glass of water.  Bring them water. Grief is dehydrating. It’s one tiny thing you can DO to make things better. 

And if it’s not “better”? Well, at least it didn’t make things worse. 

Some days, that is victory enough.

Let's Talk Turkey, Shall We?

 

You may have seen those reminders making their way around the internet the last two weeks or so; handy little charts that tell you that if your turkey is “X” pounds you need to get it out of the freezer and into the fridge “Y” number of days ahead of time so that it can sufficiently defrost before The Big Day. I never have to worry about all that X/Y math/science stuff, because I buy a fresh turkey and just keep it in the fridge to begin with, as our forefathers intended.

...Except for that one year when my house fridge was too crowded for a 20 lb. turkey and I had to use the small former-dorm-room-now-turned-garage-fridge...

A twenty-pound turkey will pretty much max out the capacity of a small former-dorm-room-now-turned-garage-fridge—and by “max-out” I mean I had to remove all the interior shelves and stand the bird on his, or her, tail. It took a bit of wiggling and finessing but I managed to get the fresh, never frozen fowl into the mini fridge. I was all set for Thanksgiving morning, no need to cross reference the weight of the turkey with the days on the calendar. Easy peasy.

On Thanksgiving morning, I went out to the garage to get my fresh bird to begin the day’s preparations only to find a frosty 20 lb. bird in its place. I am told that the sight of me dragging a frozen turkey into the house has left an indelible mark in the memory of all those who witnessed it—well, that and the colorful language. 

Needless to say, dinner was a bit later that Thanksgiving. Fortunately, my good friend Betty had a helpful tip about tightly wrapping the (thawed) bird in foil and then setting your oven to “Cremate.” This technique cuts the 5 to 6-hour cooking time down to a more acceptable three hours. And if you distract your friends and family with emergency appetizers, preferably something very rich and filling ---

—I used a block of cream cheese, softened in the microwave on a plate. Pour on a small jar of cocktail sauce, top with small shrimp, and serve with a boatload of crackers. Serve with a few rounds cranberry martinis—they won’t mind too much that Thanksgiving Day Dinner has become Thanksgiving Night Dinner.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Tale of Two Trees

 Remember that time a couple of years ago I needed to plant a tree to shade my deck? Remember how pleased I was with the Very Large Tree I acquired for a Very Small Price? Remember how the nursery had to load it into the pickup with a forklift—a forklift!-- and I still didn’t consider the size of the hole I’d have to dig to accommodate it, nor the distance I’d have to drag the Very Large Tree to the Very Deep Hole? Remember?

Well, I’ve never forgotten it. Which is why I now buy trees in little gallon pots; very cute, very manageable, very little digging, no dragging.

Gallon pots are kind of small, though, so I planted my trees—short term—in larger, cylindrical pots until I can properly plant them—or--more accurately—first figure out where it is I want to plant them. Because sometimes, the sale is just too good to pass up. Besides, these very lovely Cypress trees—“Goldcrest”-- only grow to 10ft high. I can just leave them in these tall pots! No digging required! I’m a genius!

Fast forward a couple of years and I happen to pull the tag from the tall pot and read it. Yes, it’s a Cypress, yes, it’s a “Goldcrest”—but it turns out that it’s the type of Cypress Goldcrest that grows 10m high. M as in meters, not feet.

When I was in elementary school, the word on the street was that-- sooner or later-- the US of A would be adopting the metric system like the rest of the world, and we Third Graders had better learn it now so we’d be prepared. Turns out, the adoption of the metric system has turned out to be a much “later” thing than I was led to believe. Which is good—because I can’t say I’m that clear on just what’s what with metric. That being said—even I know that 10m > 10ft. 10m is much closer to 33ft than 10ft.  Note to future self: Take reading glasses to nursery, don’t just squint at the tag.

Time to dig a hole...

Alaska FAQ

 The following is a list of FAQ --frequently asked questions—I am asked about Alaska.

Q: Did you catch any fish?

A: Why does everybody ask that? No, but then again I did not go fishing. I was thinking I might want to try trout fishing, since according to everything I’ve been told, it’s more like “catching” than “fishing” but the lake was frozen over by the time I arrived.

Q: Did you go ice fishing?

A: No. While the lake was frozen over and the fishing shacks were clustered on the shore, apparently the ice wasn’t thick enough yet to deploy them. Which was kind of disappointing, I really think I’d like ice fishing. For at least 45 minutes. Long enough to check out the tiny fishing shacks and make re-decorating suggestions. “Perhaps the recliner, cocked at an angle to the big screen TV, would work better on the left side of the hole...”

Q: Did you see any Polar Bears?

A: No. I can only assume it’s because the ice wasn’t solid enough for them to deploy their fishing shacks either.

Q: Did you see Santa?

A: Yes! He asked about you. Not to violate Christmas HIPAA but he indicated you might want to work on a few upgrades to your behavior.

Santa! I know him!

Q: Did you see any Moose?

A: Yes! I saw a total of three, at different times/locations. THEY ARE HUGE. This is not hyperbole. They are oddly built, as though the prototype was drawn by a gift child who still struggled with proportions. While giraffes have super long necks to balance out their long legs, moose look like the (inverted) Corgis of the deer family. The first moose I saw had a coat so beautiful that I really want to pet it, to see if it would be a silky soft as it looked. I felt an awkward kinship with all the (foolish) Packwood tourist trying to move up close to an elk. I did not actually feel the Moose-- as I’m neither stupid nor suicidal--but oh boy, I WANTED to.

Q: Did you buy more donuts? And a follow up, what is the name of the business?

A: Yes--a dozen more. Because it’s Alaska and it’s important for survival reasons to stock up-- Jason’s Donuts is closed on Mondays and is often sold out by 10 a.m. on the days they are open. For example: They open at 8 a.m. on Sundays. We arrived in the parking lot at 8:03 a.m. One person was already leaving with donuts. Inside I counted nine more orders ahead of us. I mentally strung razor wire around the tray of bacon maple bars, and though unkind things about anyone in front of me who pointed in their direction. I spent $30 on a dozen assorted donuts and I’d do it again. Donuts pair well with caffeine and sunrises--and Alaska has a LOT of sky. It’s just math.

Sky Math

Jason's Donuts has now moved to an actual storefront location but how cool is this photo??

Alaska is Huge and Possibly Not

 I recently returned from Alaska and because I often refuse to believe that Time Management is an actual Thing, please accept this travelogue in place of your regularly scheduled content.

3:36 p.m. Arrived. Safe and sound. Flew Alaska Airlines because I figured they would know the way. Also thought they might be the only airline flying into Fairbanks. They did, and they aren’t. There. Saved you a google search. You’re welcome.

3:53 p.m. Have located baggage, secured my suitcase, and found my guide, all of that is less than 20 minutes. This is due more to the size of the airport—tiny—than to the efficacy of my actions.

4:00 p.m. No polar bears or moose in sight. It is still daylight. I feel I have been misled. There is some snow on the ground but it’s what I would call a “skiff.” I’m wondering if Alaska is mostly made up of hyperbole. The sun is shining and it’s 46*. I don’t know if this is due to the afore mentioned hyperbole, climate change, or if Mother Nature is simply trying to lull me into a false sense of security. I keep my parka on, just in case.

4:05 p.m. Still daylight. Just sayin’.

6:06 p.m. There. The sun (finally) set. I know, I watched it to make certain. They seem to have an abnormally amount of sky here, but I don’t see any mountains. We are having dinner at a Thai restaurant, in Alaska. As one does. There seems to also be a large number of Thai restaurants here. The curry at this restaurant—Lemongrass Thai-- is amazing. It does not have salmon in it.

3:00 a.m. Out searching for the Northern Lights. They remain elusive.

8:30 a.m. We have secured the Best Donuts in the World and are headed east to watch the sunrise. There is time to stop and secure caffeine as well, because the sunrise happens at a very civilized hour.

9:08 a.m. Sunrise. Frozen Tundra. Caffeine. A bacon covered maple bar the size of your daily allotment of calories. Snow is in the forecast, as is a trip to the North Pole. Still no moose or bear sightings but I am assured that I will see Santa, so I will reserve judgement as to the veracity of the Alaskan tales I have been told. 

Like the Biblical Thomas, I will be the judge of that with my own two eyes.

Santa's Address

The North Pole

Santa

The City that Now Hits the Snooze Button, Part 2

  New York is quieter, but still a city of contrasts. Some places—for example Jackson Heights, in Queens, near Elmhurst Hospital and the epicenter of the initial Covid outbreak in the spring of 2020—are carefully following the recommendations around social distancing protocols.

Little Italy—at least during the Feast of San Gennaro—didn’t seem to be aware that anything germy had been happening in the last 18 months. 

 

Streets and sidewalks were jammed with people—most of them not wearing masks; it was only inside bars and restaurants that Covid protocols were being observed. I’m neither Italian, nor Catholic, so I can only assume Mr. Gennaro was the patron saint of headstrong revelers and protects his followers accordingly.

Then again, if you live with a Ferris Wheel outside your bedroom window, it might be harder to keep protocols in perspective...

 

While in NYC, I had the opportunity to pat a lion, and see the “real” Winnie the Pooh; The New York Public Library’s “Treasures” exhibition puts over 250 rare objects from its collection on display, including the real Pooh and pals, a draft of the Declaration of Independence-- complete with cross-outs in Thomas Jefferson’s handwriting. Tickets are free, but you have to reserve them on-line and your visit has a timed entry. The treasures are well worth waiting your turn at the glass.

 

There was no line to pat the Lions.

The City that Now Hits the Snooze Button

 Recently, I returned from a trip to New York. Pre Covid, I would go twice a year to help my friend Philip (Hi Philip!) make the world a prettier place. We would work hard, play hard—and when I returned home it would take me a week to catch up on my sleep.

 

New York has been hard hit by the pandemic, and the changes are evident at street level. Blocks have been closed off during daylight hours so that families can have room to walk and play. Since people are hanging out outside more, neighborhood groups are beautifying the medians. Kids have chalked hopscotch grids on the sidewalk. It’s pretty cool.

 

The subways are much less crowded, most riders wear masks and social distance as much as is possible. While I was there, the City implemented a $50 fine to anyone not properly masked while in the system. But even before that, I observed that probably 97% of subway commuters complied with the requirement. Sidewalks are less crowded, but even so, more people are wearing masks than not. Having experienced Covid Hell in the early days, New Yorkers are clearly motivated to prevent a reoccurrence. 

It was rather disconcerting to be in the vicinity of the Empire State Building and not have the streets choked with tour buses and the sidewalks not teeming with people. Sidewalks and some street parking areas have now become alfresco cafes—most complete with seasonal plants and decorations. Some are super impressive to behold.

 

Most New Yorkers I observed had downloaded an official app that had both their ID and vaccine card on it. One manager came over to our table and offered to help me complete the process so I wouldn’t have to dig in my purse every time. Restaurants and bars are required to ask for proof of vaccination before allowing you inside seating—on pain of a $1,000 fine for the first violation, with escalating penalties and other enforcement actions for repeat offenders. 

New York ain’t playin’.

Shed Saga 4: Or Why I Had Kids in the First Place

 

I have spent the summer obsessed with my two cute little-- ON SALE!!—sheds. I have sweated, literally and metaphorically—all the details of shed building. I have relied on the brains and brawn of my Sweetie to the point he has mused aloud about the (future) wisdom of only dating women who live in condos.

 I have been blessed with neighbors who loan tools—look Ma! It’s a pneumatic nail gun! 

I have a generous friend who invented a jig to –with only moderate risk to life and limb—roof my ridiculously steep roof. And then he roofed it.

 I have utilized every tool at my disposal and have purchased new tools when needed. Look Ma! It’s a staple hammer!

Then I remembered that I had one long term investment that I hadn’t yet called on: my children. Look Ma! I’m a mom! I’ll get the kids to do it!

Just kidding. I only had my kids because I wanted someone to unload the dishwasher who wasn’t me.

 When my boys were small, they were convinced this is why I gave them life—to listen to them sigh and complain for twenty minutes doing something I could have done in three. (I know because I’ve timed myself. The sighing, not the unloading.)

I sent a text to my Best Beloveds, asking for anytime they could spare. Beth and Cameron came and helped frame, sheet, and stand the walls for Shed One and later, built the floor for Shed Two. Jordan and Devin came one fine Saturday in early September and quickly assembled Shed Two from all the parts I had pre-painted (in an ill-conceived effort to keep up with My Own Personal Jones’) and that Mark had pre-assembled. In about four hours—including lunch-- we went from floor to full shed. All that remained was the roofing.

And the trim. 

And the two coats of paint that the shed warranty requires. 

I’m left wondering why I didn’t have more kids...I’m guessing it was the price of shoes.

Beware of New Neighbors, Shed Edition

 

My neighborhood has been going through some changes lately. Besides the slow but steady addition of two cute little garden shed—on sale! From Costco! —other properties around me are seeing upgrades as well.

Take, for example, the house next door. My new neighbors—I’ll call them Dene and Gloria-- purchased a well-loved but neglected older home and have diligently set about repairing and updating it. They’ve made improvements to the structural integrity of the house. They have updated the bathroom and have plans for a kitchen re-do. They’ve cleared out dead trees and cut back brush. Gloria has plans for new landscaping.

Dene and Gloria themselves are lovely people—friendly, personable. Gloria and I talk plants-- a lot. Dene has brushed-hogged all of the blackberry tangles along the fence line and has generously cleared out mine as well. In early spring, Mark and I had planned to spend one weekend stacking up tree limbs and burning them—with a properly approved burn permit of course. Dene volunteered his tractor to the effort and did in ten minutes what would have taken us two days to accomplish! Our neighborhood is lucky to have them. Or so it would seem.

Dene and Gloria are exactly the kind of neighbor that will kill you. Seriously. You have to get up extra early in the morning to out “good neighbor” them. They have a work ethic that just won’t quit and I swear—keeping up with My Personal Jones is going to be the death of me.

My roof--small. Size doesn't matter,
Pitch matters.

While I’ve been busy this summer, chipping away at building my cute little sheds, they’ve been re-doing an entire house. During the August heat wave, I was forced to spend a week OUTSIDE, every day, priming all the parts and pieces of my shed because the neighbors seemed oblivious to the seriousness of climate change, and insisted on doing a complete new roof. Of course, there was no way I could seek the shelter of my lovely, cool, air-conditioned house with them out there under the blazing sun. I set up an electric fan under the shed of my cherry tree, painted in the small respite it offered, keeping one eye on the nonsense going on next door. Didn’t they realize it was AUGUST??

The Nabes roof...so yes, it's bigger.

Every day I would hope that they would decide to knock off their labors by the afternoon, but I would hope in vain. For at least three of the sweltering days, they worked until dusk. I used ice faster than my ice-maker could make it. 

Thankfully, both the heat wave and the roof build came to an end, and I was able to return once again to the civilized environs of the in-doors.

But I still need you to keep me in your thoughts. Last weekend I recklessly took My Personal Jones’ a plate of cream-cheese ripple brownies. I’m afraid to see what they might do in return... 

Provoking My Personal Jones

If You Build It, Shed Saga Continues, part 2

 In March, I bought two cute little shed kits, on sale, from Costco. Constructing them would be fun! 

In June, my sheds still hadn’t arrived but the heat had. Constructing sheds in record breaking heat seemed like a lot less fun than it had in March. In fact, it seemed like work—something I try to avoid.

In July, the sheds finally arrived. Mark and I stopped hiking on weekends and started shed construction. I found it was a lot harder to convince Mark to stop and photograph a particularly striking arrangement of 2x4’s than it had been to get him to pause his relentless quest for elevation gained and photograph a particularly striking arrangement of flora.

Shed construction moved in stages, some slower than others. We hit a snag early on when we discovered that the kits were missing one sheet of 4x8 plywood at the proper thickness for flooring and instead had on extra sheet of the thinner, roofing thickness. Being a slavedriver/problem solver, Mark suggested we just borrow the proper sheet of plywood from the other kit until we could go to the hardware store to replace it, so that weekend’s work continued, unabated. (Note: the fine people at the shed company promptly sent a check to cover the cost of replacement.)

Look at all that room for activities! And STUFF!!

Little by little, weekend by weekend, we chipped away at the project. I developed a new appreciation for those that labored to build the pyramids. 

Eventually, we started to gain momentum. Shed One reached roofing, trim, and painting stage when in August, Mark was suddenly dispatched to California to oversee safety concerns for a railroad bridge replacement on the Dixie Fire.

Fortunately, my childhood friend Robin came over and engineered a clever system for roofing the shed. While the roof wasn’t large, it was steep—probably 45*. 

Robin, roofing. So glad we hit it off in Kindergarten!

Roofing achieved, I then set my sights on tasks I could accomplish on Shed Two until Mark returned...

Next week: Why it’s Dangerous to Live Next Door to Neighbors with a Strong Work Ethic. 

If You Build It...

Way back in the middle of March, Costco had a sale on cute little garden sheds. I happened to be in need of a cute garden shed, so I bought two. Because reasons. One of the reasons being “little” wasn’t enough space. But I figured “cute” and “sale” made up for it. Oh, sure—the sheds come as a “shed kit,” and not an actual shed, but they provide instructions, and all the reviewers –well, maybe not “all”, but many of the reviewers—said that the instructions were easy to follow, and the sheds are so cute! And on sale!

I knew from previous experience that Costco shed sell out rapidly, so I stayed up until midnight, refreshing my browser until the sale went live. As I said, I bought two. By 8:00 pm on the actual day of the sale I checked back at Costco, and yup, I was right. All the sheds were sold out. I congratulated myself of my foresight and perseverance and marked my calendar for 4 to 6 weeks, in anticipation of my sheds’ arrival. 

Now, I don’t know if you remember way back in March, but that was right around the time lumber prices started to go crazy—like sell your kidney to buy a 2x4 crazy. I started getting emails from the shed company telling me that the arrival date of my shed would be more like 6 to 8 weeks...then maybe June...possibly later in June, but definitely by the first week of July.

Just for fun, I checked the current price of sheds, Yup, they had doubled in price. I congratulated myself on my investment. And I had purchased two—so double the investment! So what if it’s taking a little longer than I anticipated?

Then June arrived and the weather went crazy—like record-setting, melt the glacier in three days, 110* degrees, fry all the trees crazy. Suddenly, shed construction in the middle of summer seemed like a terrible idea. And the sheds hadn’t even shipped yet...

Next week the shed saga continues.  

Mark's "How to Sneak Zucchini into Cornbread" Recipe

 

2 Jiffy corn bread mixes

3 cups shredded zucchini

1 stick butter, melted

1 cup Parmesan cheese

1 can drained corn

3 Tbsp Better than Bouillon chicken stock thinned with water to equal 2/3rd cup

2 eggs

2/3 cup of honey.

Mix all ingredients and pour into pan. Bake at 350° for 45 mins (possibly more) check with toothpick.

 

Try not to gloat that you just got rid of three cups of zucchini.

1001 Zucchini

 What do you do with 1,001 zucchinis? The following is a partial list of the strategies I, personally, have employed.

1) Zucchini bread

2) Zucchini cookies.

3) You can slice it.

4) You can dice it.

5) You can fry it in a pan

6) You can hide it in your flan.

7) You can use it for filler in almost any recipe.

8) You can bring zucchinis to work and guilt your co-workers into taking them.

9) Play ding-dong-ditch with your neighbors.

10) Hit up your Facebook friends, friends of friends, acquaintances, and anybody that hasn’t already had the good sense to block you and offer them zucchini.

11) Deliver said zucchini to anyone who didn’t outright say they hate zucchini—even if they aren’t home. (See number nine above.) 

12) Poke them thru any car window carelessly left 4-6” open. Honestly, people have only themselves to blame. It’s zucchini season after all! An open car window is the same a leaving a sign on your car, saying “Please deposit zucchini here.”

13) Post pictures of amazing food that your sweetie has made for you that include zucchini.

 

Yummmmm...See # 19 for ingredients list

14) Rave on and on about how GOOD, and NUTRITIOUS, and LOW CARB, GLUTEN FREE, FREE RANGE and CRUELTY FREE zucchinis are.

15) Daydream about an early frost.

16) Think about the random woman in a hair salon in Portland who claimed she pulled her zucchini plants up already. Imagine being that bold.

17) Decide she was probably a liar.

18) Buy a noodler on Amazon.

Zucchini "Noodles"

19) Did I already mention that we turned our giant zucchini into noodles and served them with butter sautéed garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, green onion, smoked salmon, shrimp, salt & pepper? Add a dollop of sour cream before serving, stir it in and top with halved cherry tomatoes---we might have an over-abundance of tomatoes as well—I promise you won’t even notice the lack of noodley carbs.

20) Write about zucchini and hope somebody reads this and mounts a midnight raid on your zucchini patch... `

Pretty is as Pretty Does

 It’s 5:00, on a Tuesday afternoon in August, and I am in the trunk of my car in the parking lot of Costco, wearing a black sundress with white polka dots. Just to be clear—I am the one wearing the sundress, not the car-- or the parking lot. I am very, very pretty.

I can explain. I am in the trunk because my keys are locked in the front seat of my car. Along with my cell phone and credit cards. And the iced coffee that precipitated this whole kerfuffle; coffee that was purchased to avoid just this kind of scenario: I tend to overbook myself; I’ve been up since 4:30 a.m., and I’m pretty (!) sure I’m going to need the caffeine to make my brain function properly. I have an open trunk, a cartload of Costco goodness, and am climbing into the trunk to see if I can reach thru the 6”x 12” armrest opening and unlatch the backseat. If I can do that, I can crawl through, unlock the car from the INSIDE and no one would be the wiser that—in an attempt not to spill my iced coffee—I instead dropped my keys into the seat next to the coffee. There’s also the part where I pushed the lock button instead of the unlock button—twice—but it takes too long to fully explain. You wouldn’t be reading about how pretty I am; you would instead be making a mental note to lock your car as you read how much zucchini I’ve inadvertently grown. Hopefully, your mental note would also include the caveat to avoid locking your keys in your car. Especially with your cell phone. Because it is very, very difficult to discretely summon assistance without it.

Did I mention I was wearing a sundress? Because I am. Decorum requires that I climb all the way into the trunk and curl my legs inside because-- dress reasons. As I am lying curled up in the back of my trunk in a busy parking lot it occurs to me that the only thing that could make this ridiculous story even better is if some well-meaning passers-by shut the lid of my trunk. I begin to giggle. I also note that I should probably vacuum my trunk more often.

Eventually, I accept the reality that my arm is too short to reach the seat latch and I’m going to have to exit the trunk-- as though it were a perfectly normal place to exit a vehicle-- and ask the kind people at Costco to Google “locksmiths near me,” and call said locksmith.

I do, they do. One hour and $154 later I am reunited with my coffee. I was right—I really, really needed it.