This weekend Licorice and I had our birthdays. That's how I knew she was meant to be my dog, you know---the rescue had assigned her a birthdate, I guess, and it's the day after mine. She is now maybe-six (really, they're just guessing on her age) and I am now forty-none-of-your-damn-business-but-trust-me-I-feel-old. Or 41, if you insist. Otto and I ran away for the weekend and left the dog at the kennel. Because we're both so much older and more mature, now, this morning Licorice proceeded to prance around our bed a full hour before the alarm was set to go off, and later this morning---after...
It was not actually my intention to wander away for most of a week, leaving you considering whether or not I had managed to get through that treatment planning meeting without vomiting. Whoops. Sorry! I suck. In my defense, now that the Great Zucchini Invasion of 2012 is winding down, it's gone all Attack of the Yummy Tomatoes 'round these parts. And although we all know I've been a little weird about my garden pretty much forever, the whole ZOMG-there-is-so-much-I-cannot-control-right-now-and-it-makes-my-tender-pink-middle-feel-uncomfy thing means that I am committed to my stupid garden in...
It's depressing me to have that last post be on top of the page, here. Instead let's all admire the latest arrival at Casa Mir: I've been trying to grow melons in my garden for years, and this year---the year my garden surely should be dead of neglect---is of course the year that they took. We've had a lot of rain, you see. (Also: irony.) I have trellised the sugar baby vines and dutifully constructed pantyhose slings for my budding fruits, and although my reading told me all about how fruits should reach at least eight pounds and sound hollow and blah blah blah, this morning this melon had...
When we last left off, poor Licorice was trying to adjust to being used as a chew toy by Zoey. Truly, the dogs had very nearly reached an amicable understanding---and here by "amicable" we mean that Zoey learned to knock it off whenever Licorice snarled at her---so of course we packed everything up and moved on to the in-laws. Zoey is now a distant memory, so far as Licorice is concerned. (She's in for a rude awakening next week when we head back to my parents' house. Ha!) The good news is that here at Nearly Nickless' house there is no exuberant puppy trying to eat Licorice's head. The bad...
So the first day we were here, Zoey peed ALL THE TIME. Talk to her nicely? Pee. Speak to her sternly? Pee. Ignore her? PEE! And along with the incessant piddling, we had her leaping atop Licorice at every possible opportunity, and Licorice spending a lot of time making adorable little cranky-snarly sounds to try to tell Zoey to back off. The second day, I guess my dad found a little cork and Zoey stopped peeing everywhere. She only spent half the day pouncing all over Licorice, and much time was spent with both dogs lazing in front of the stove, roasting their tender underbellies. Eventually...
Sometimes I sit down to write something and I feel like such a colossal douche I consider just skipping the blog entry and ridiculing myself internally, instead. But then I realize that's no fun at all, and I share it all with you. YOU ARE WELCOME. Here at Casa Mir I am fraught with THE BUSY, because time is running out, school vacation and The Big Trek North are almost upon us, and there are a million things I have not done, cannot do, must accomplish, blah blah blahbbity blahhhhhh and all of it is unimportant, I mean mostly, and yet it's eating up my head space. I'm forever exhorting my...
I had noble intentions of putting together a deeply meaningful---but also hilarious, natch---post for your enjoyment, yesterday, but my day was derailed by a multitude of more pressing matters. True, probably the least of my worries was the subcontractor who is out on the deck painting (did I mention that we replaced our siding while redoing the deck? because we did, because why not spend every last penny all at once!) and BLARING country music all freakin' day long. Part of me feels like: Hey, this is my house, and not only that, this is my OFFICE, and I am trying to work, and therefore I...
What I really, really want to do right now is go on a long and indignant rant about a particular teacher at the middle school. BUT I AM A GROWN UP. So I merely complained about it on Facebook, instead, and here I am going to talk about oatmeal. As adults do. See how MATURE and RESTRAINED I am? Don't be envious, it took me YEARS to become this refined. Instead I am going to tell you about how this week Hippie School had a Medieval Festival, and we parents were treated to various delights including a swordplay tournament, dance demonstrations, and various other medieval things. And of course,...
I got you some rivets! All kinds! Because... you know... rivets... riveting...? Oh, nevermind. The soup was delicious. And I made naan! Recipes after the jump, if you care. If you don't care, enjoy your rivets. I Googled them just for you. Crock Pot Moong Dal Soup That I Half Stole, Half Invented Rinse 3 cups moong dal (the little yellow lentils) and soak then in hot water for half an hour. Rinse again, then put them in the crock pot with a bay leaf, 32 oz. (one box) vegetable stock, and a cup of water. Cook on high for an hour, skimming off any foam. Add: one 14 oz. can fire-roasted...
