Step One: Grow Your Own Mint

There have been a few requests from friends and blog readers (hello, texpat!), so I'll let you guys in on my mojito recipe.



The Best Pitcher of Mojitos You'll Ever Wrap Your Lips Around

You'll need:
A huge, preferably 1 gallon pitcher
3/4 cup Turbinado sugar
2 large limes
Two large handfuls of very fresh mint leaves
4 ounces of Don Q Cristal Rum
2 liters of club soda

Step one: Grow your own mint. It's easy and it's crazy rewarding. After your mint is grown, harvest about enough to fill a small colander. Let it soak in a sink full of cool water, and then remove the leaves from the stems. Set aside.

Step two: Dump the sugar in the bottom of your pitcher. Grate the zest of one lime into the pitcher, and then juice both limes in there, too. Dump your fresh mint into the pitcher. Muddle the mint in with the sugar and lime juice with a large wooden spoon or, if you are so inclined, a muddler. The leaves should turn very dark and saturated. Add the rum and stir until the sugar is mostly dissolved.

Step three: Once the sugar is dissolved, pour in the club soda. Be sure to pour slowly. You want to preserve as much fizz as possible, and because of the carbonation, you won't be able to stir the mixture.

Step four: Fill an enormous glass with fresh, clear ice. Pour a mojito. Relax, instantly.

There's Always Something

You know what the problem is with buying a home you see a lot of potential in? There's always some improvement that you want to make.

Right now we're trying to decide what we'll to with the practically blank slate we've made in the back yard. We've been working hard on the front yard, and that is paying off, but now we've got to deal with the back.

And then we want to paint the brick.

After that, we'll probably finish putting up the privacy fence.

And I'm not even going to talk about the kitchen and the bathroom.

One thing after another.

I'm hoping that, maybe someday, we'll get to live in a finished house with nothing left to do.

Drinking it in

While I was visiting my family a couple of weekends ago, one of my sisters remarked that I hit the bottle a lot.

"Every time I see you post on Facebook, it's always about drinking mojitos."

Can she blame me? Mojitos are delish and it's fucking hot outside. (And we've got to do something with all this mint growing in our front yard!)

In fact, it got insanely hot in Dallas insanely early. Average temps for North Texas are inching up on 102 degrees F.

And if the heat doesn't have you reaching for a bottle and ice, the swarms of bugs will.

I have to water my garden every day or risk all of my plants turning into crispy critters. I don't mind watering when I get home, I just have to make sure that I'm holding a glass of something cold and boozy. But then, while I'm in the middle of gardner's nirvana, the mosquitos strike. I swear to Jeebus, my legs look like a Jackson Pollock.

Now, the weather will sometimes drive you to drink. It's how the Russians invented vodka, right?

But, the weather getting in the way of getting your drink on? That's fucked up.

Yes, I said it. Weather, don't you get between me and a cold one. Ever.

After two-plus weeks with no rain, it looks like we're going to have thunderstorms for the next THREE FUCKING DAYS.

If that means that I can't get on a patio and booze it up with my drinking buddies, then me and Weather, well, we're going to have words.

Also, I finished a knitted item. It turned out much to tiny for my huge noggin, so I gave it to my uber-cute sis-in-law. She definitely pulls it off.



(Pattern is Felicity, yarn is Bernat Softee Chunky)

Race to The Finish

My boss went on vacation this week. When he's out, I'm the boss.

Trust me, this is less fun than it sounds.

When I'm in charge, it's like pitching with no backstop -- when there's a wild pitch, you're going to have to run after it yourself.

So, I've been trying to let this week fly by, and it has just been CRAWLING. And I've been so busy trying to publish work, edit stuff, and manage crises. I did find out, though, that I'm wildly efficient when under pressure. It's like being one of those mothers that lifts a car to save their baby -- It doesn't matter how it gets done, I just get it done.

That's the long way around my excuse for not posting here lately. Also, I haven't taken ANY PICTURES lately. At least not fun, non-work-related pictures. I plan on remedying that this weekend.

In just a few moments I'm going to cash in a few comp hours and head down to Houston to hang with my family. Just my luck that the Scottish branch on our family tree will be well represented (HI DAVE AND DOROTHY!!!). I'm bringing a lot of knitting with me, but only stuff I can work on and chat with family at the same time.

In any case, everyone, have a great weekend! Grill some tofu! Have some mojitos! Hang out with family and recharge your batteries!

When Mondays Turn Into Sundays

Dave and I were talking about it, and we still can't figure out why America hasn't moved to a four-day work week. It'd be like having a three-day weekend every week.

Sunday is usually the day we run errands, mostly because Saturday is spent sleeping in and recovering from Friday. This weekend, However, we partied quite a bit on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Oy.

Friday, after work, we met some buds at Rusty Taco. The veggie taco is good, and the guac is so-so. The beer is pretty cheap, though. It's summer in Texas, and we're getting triple-digit temps pretty regularly now. So, the cold beer helps with the hot sun, but man, Rusty Taco needs to put some fans out for the peeps!

House of England, keeping it real...

From there we went to one of Dave's old watering holes back when he was the Mayor of Greenville Avenue, and long before foursquare started doling out mayorships to any old drunk.

When we walked in, Dave knew at least half the joint, including the bartender, which served us some lukewarm beers. Otherwise, it was a great place to hang out. 

Dave with an old friend from high school.

And after that, we crossed the street to get to the Libertine, which is one of my favorite bars, mostly because of the beer selection, but also because they have some great bar food. I ran into the sister of a knitting friend, and Dave ran into some old bar buddies (of course). From there, we made our way back home. 

Saturday was kind of a blur. Dave suggested we take a long walk in the afternoon heat to "sweat out the toxins." I brought a water bottle with me on the hour-and-a-half trek, which is probably the only thing that kept me from tossing my cookies while jogging down a hill.

Later, we went to a friends' house in North Richland Hills, which is ridiculously far away from us, and yet can be considered in the same vicinity. It's like north Fort Worth. Everyone there had at least two children, one of which had one on the way (Congrats, Rob!). Dave and I, childless as we are, enjoyed several beers and the gracious hospitality of friends. I whipped up a pitcher of mojitos, drank several beers, and was done in by 9 p.m.

The next day, I was beginning to feel the two-day binge twinge.

I did have to do a lot of grocery shopping to do. Thank god for Target and Newflower Farmer's Market.

As soon as I got home, I made ANOTHER pitcher of mojitos!

Sunday night I made Chicago deep dish pizza and waxed nostalgic about our trip to the Windy City (which, I learned, is named as such because of politics, not actual wind [Thanks, Maiden!])



I also made a thin-crust pizza with grilled Calabaza squash and green peppers, onions, and queso fresco. I highly recommend it!

After that, I slipped into a food coma for the night.

We've been watching The Pacific all weekend, and I really love it. It's like getting your history credit and watching a good war flick at the same time.

And today, well, let's not talk about today, shall we? Let's just look at another cool picture from Friday night:

Time Off

I am lucky to have a relatively flexible employer. It lets me get some time off in when I need it.

Boy, did I need some time off. Dave also kept telling me that I needed to take him to Chicago for his birthday, so that he could be in Wrigley Field on his 38th.

So, we went, and we watched the Cubs lose on his birthday and then the next day.

We also went to visit some pretty amazing people. Namely, The Maiden Metallurgist and berg with fries. They are just as fun and easy-going as they seem.

There are lots of pictures from our little trip. So many that I'm having a difficult time deciding which to share here. Instead, I'll leave you with one of my favorite things I ate while in Chicago (and I ate a lot): A CB&J at the Hopleaf Bar, which is a cashew butter and fig jam sandwich with melted manchego cheese between slices of toasted sourdough. It was served with bleu cheese mac and some crazy crispy chips. I washed it down with a couple of Atomium Premier Grand Cru. Delish!

Sifting

When Dave takes time off work, he usually does it for one or two weeks. During opening week of the baseball season, he took off the entire week. I was jealous.

Now, since we're going on a little vacay to Chicago to see the Cubs and these fine folks, Dave took off TWO ENTIRE WEEKS.

Two. Weeks.

Can you tell that I'm a little jealous? OK, maybe more than a little.

Because, you know, up up right now, getting ready for work (and blogging) and Dave is asleep. And do you know what he has on the agenda today? Going through boxes of baseball cards and stuff from high school and college that was stowed at his parents' house. That's something you can do drunk, which means it's not really a chore, right?

Also, the contents of these boxes is kind of shocking. There was a toy wookie in one. In another, there were notebooks labeled for college courses. Only the first two pages had any writing in them. Do you realize how much that bugs a nerd like me? A lot, let me tell you. (Also, now that I just used "a lot" I am reminded of this, shared via The Maiden.) And Dave had two entry-level guitars stashed in his parents' attic. They need to be restrung, though.

There was also old yearbooks and stolen street signs, the usual ephemera. And then, the motherlode: Old Beverly Cleary books. No. Not kidding.

Dave did, though, find his diploma from Texas A&M, which reminded me that I need to get mine framed...

Oh, and did I mention that we're going to go on a little vacation? And did I also mention that I think it's completely unfair that Dave got a head start?

The Payoff of Frustration

If you're a crafter, you probably have dealt with project frustration.

You pick the project, the pattern, the yarn, whatever. You say to yourself, "This is going to be SO EASY." No big deal, right? You've got skills.

Well, what often looks easy, when it's your first attempt, doesn't usually work out right.

I have been wanting to make one of these cute boxy bags to stow my knitting in while I'm out and about. I use plastic baggies, and they don't have a particularly long life span. They're OK for storing the yarn and pattern together, but not so much for being crammed in a purse or tote bag.

Well, I got started with the tutorial, which was OK, but not very explicit. Like, it doesn't say which end to place the zipper, or whether or not you're to do a 1/4 inch seam, stuff like that.

So, after much swearing, I gave up.

Then I had lunch, a cup of coffee, and made this:







I'm off to make a few more! Maybe I'll put handles on those...

Critical Update

1) Baby possum came back tonight, only it showed it had far more nefarious plans in mind. The sinister little bugger was in our chicken coop when we went out to close it. I re-homed the little sucker down the next block. SIYONARA.

2) I am probably way to excited to be visiting these people. That makes me feel a little silly, but hey, they're really awesome!

3) Dave lost his ID while jogging. A neighbor found it. Considering that we would have a pretty hard time flying out to Chicago if he didn't have his ID, I'm calling it a miracle.

Cranky and Judgmental

First, it annoys me when people misspell "judgmental." There's only one "e" in that word, people.

Obviously, I'm being very judgmental. I'm also very cranky. I am usually this way when I'm on my cycle. And by the way, I hate that euphemism, too. It makes my reproductive organs sound like a dishwasher or something.

In other news, there was a baby possum in our backyard just minutes ago. Dave heard Hornsby barking like Tom Jones was in town and we took our handy-dandy rechargeable spotlight to the backyard to go investigate.

Lo and behold, a baby possum had his little tail all wrapped up on the chain-link fence. He was growling and hissing as loud as his little baby possum body would let him. I told Dave to take the dogs outside and bring me a broom.

Now, if I were my parents, I would have just taken the dogs inside, got a trap, baited it with catfood, and waited until the next morning. That's often the case with large possums, but babies? Babies are easy. You just get them to climb onto the end of a broom and you move 'em to a safe spot. If you've got a pushbroom, you can probably get them up on a tree limb and safe from predators. If not, a neighbor's home is your best bet.

Weird thing to happen on a Wednesday night, no?

Oh, and we had our first 90+ F day in Dallas today. We turned on the A/C. Thank God for refrigerated air!

If It Makes You Happy

So, I've been on a kick.

It's a music kick.

Specifically, it's the music I used to listen to in high school and junior high. Sheryl Crow. Sarah McLachlan. Nirvana. Lots of Tori Amos. Alanis Morissette. Lenny Kravitz. Live.

And I started to think, "My God. How embarrassing! These are all mainstream acts! What would people say?"

And really, I should only be concerned about what my elitest husband will say. He'll likely turn his nose up at what I've been jamming lately.

But, for me, I'll keep jamming because it makes me feel good to sing along and remember what it felt like to have so few cares.

And isn't that what music is supposed to do?

May Showers

A few days ago, someone asked me how my new job was going. I've been at my current workplace for about six months, so I have a hard time believing that it could still be considered a "new" job. In any case, I usually tell the truth: It's completely different from my last job.

And different is good. I'm writing, and I'm doing photography, which is awesome. I'm editing, too, which is excellent stuff. I guess you could say that different is a happy place.

The only thing is that I park pretty far away from my office building, and the commute to work can be a bitch. On the way in, I saw the prop cars they're using for a TV series filmed in Dallas called "The Good Guys." I also got stuck behind production vans and was late to work.



Do you see the fake cop car? It's the one with black fenders.

It started to rain just before I was about to leave the office. I had two umbrellas and managed to leave both in the car. I managed to get quite damp between the office front door and my car. But when I got home, I was treated to this:



It was one of the biggest rainbows I've ever seen. If I were on Flag Pole Hill, I bet I could have seen it from end to end on the horizon.

The storm and the setting sun left the sky a weird orange color. Weird, but beautiful.



A good end to the day.

Pseudonyms

I work in the garden a lot when the weather's like this. Sometimes I'll spend all day digging in the dirt. It's not a chore when the high is 82 F and It's nothing but clear skies.

I'm beginning to think that the work i'm putting in is starting to show, too.



So, our mailman has nicknames for us. I love the fact that he delivers our mail, so he knows who lives here, and yet he has nicknames for us. Dave is Mr. Baseball. Kind of self-explanatory, right?

Me? I'm Mrs. Green. Because of my garden. Which, might I add, is fully organic.



Cute, right?



So, we're all out enjoying the beautiful weather, either gardening with a cold one or watching a ball game.



Hope you're enjoying spring, too!



The chickens are!

Two-Day Respite

I love to hate weekends.

Two days of rest. Just enough to fuck with your circadian rythym. And yet, if we only had one more day then maybe things would get done.

But the rest, the respite in what is the middle of my publishing cycle, is always welcome. It's often used to recharge your batteries. To relax.

I'm sure I've said this before, but I tend to overcommit myself on the weekends. I plan on doing things at a break-neck pace, but the truth is, I like to take my time.

Long story short, I didn't end up re-caulking the shower. I did, however, almost finish something I've been working on for a month:



After several glasses of wine, I finally have a garden border!



(Just kidding, Mom! I didn't drink all of that. Only, like, half?)



No, seriously, my sister and Dave were both a HUGE help. Lots of Pellegrino bottles in there, too. And Ommegang beer.

We often wonder what the "Reuse" part of "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" looks like. Here you go.







Also, the chicken coop is still cute.




And so are the chickens...



And Hornsby, too.

Here's to weekends...

Plans for the weekend

1) Feign an effort to go to the 9 a.m. yoga class tomorrow morning.
2) Sew a handbag (I might make one for a giveaway, which I've never done before (!) so stay tuned)
3) Knit
4) Re-caulk the shower
5) Weedeat the alley, get rid of the poison ivy without contracting it.
6) Play with my camera

I think that about does it.

I may or may not shop for chickens, too.

RIP, Gloria Steinem

We had a pretty rough winter this year. It was hard on us and the rest of the household. The heater was always on, and the snow kept falling. And we were always worried about something.

About three or four months ago, one of our chickens, Gloria Steinem, was slow to come out of the coop. She looked as if she'd lost some weight and she had some runny bowel movements. We brought her inside, gave her some antibiotics and plenty of warm food, and let her have the run of the bathroom for about three weeks. She definitely improved, so when it was warm enough, she went back outside.

Everything seemed OK for a few weeks. She was hard at work finding her place in the pecking order. She ran around the backyard with the rest of the flock and had lots of grapes.

However, she never really put the weight back on.

We did a preventative course of antibiotics with the rest of the flock to make sure that no one was infected or re-infected. Everyone else seemed fine.

Then, on Friday, Gloria couldn't stand. Dave and I worried that she didn't recover fully from her winter illness. We brought her inside, gave her a warm towel, some water, some lettuce and some cat food (they love cat food for some reason), and we went to bed.

The next morning she was still with us, but when we got done with some Saturday morning chores, and I went to check on her, she was dead. Her body was cold. She was gone.

I cried so hard, harder than I thought I ever would for the loss of a chicken. It was something for which I was completely unprepared. But it really affected me. I lost a snake about four years ago, and that was hard. During the winter, as Gloria spent time inside, we got to know her.

I didn't always like her, though. We got her from a former friend that couldn't keep her. She came with a sister and a buddy, Audrey Hepburn and Effa Manley, respectively. All three of them have attitude problems, and they picked on the three chickens we already had raised. She did win second place in her breed in the State Fair of Texas year before last, though, so she had that going for her.

But just because she was pushy, didn't mean that she couldn't be sweet. She was always the first to run up to me during treat time. And she loved eating from my hand. She was a good chicken.

And I miss her.

A Time For Looking Back

I can't believe how much weight I gained since last year.

How do I know it's been a year since I piled on 12 pounds?

Well, a year from last Tuesday I was laid off from my job at The Dallas Morning News.

Interestingly, several of the people who were laid off at the same time held a party or get-together. Maybe it was media networking. Who cares. I didn't go, and for a damn good reason:

I don't want to hear other people's misanthropic crap stories.

I want to remember my time at The News as good. I got a job there right out of college with no major newspaper internship. That doesn't often happen. But it did for me.

Not only that, but I was working with some of the smartest people in the business. The Editorial Department at The Dallas Morning News is second to none. They are about so much more than the editorials you see in the second-to-last page in the A section every day. They work hard to generate ideas and make a difference.

Now, I haven't agreed with all of their ideas or the way they've been implemented (like, can we chill out on the number of blogs already?), but when they decide to get behind something, to do something right, they almost always succeed.

When Keven Ann Willey took over the Editorial Department, that was probably the best thing to happen for them and the voice of the newspaper. The department became more about doing and less about talking.

First it was recorded votes in the Legislature. They ended up Pulitzer finalists in 2008 for that effort (the Pulitzer jury did not award a prize for editorial writing that year. It was also the year that Willey was a jurist).

Now, The News' Editorial Board has won a Pulitzer. And I have to say, it's for a lot better cause than recorded votes (although that's pretty cool, too). The folks over there have done some excellent work, some real and tenacious journalism, about the systemic poverty that exists in much of southern Dallas, and how the city has ignored the problem for much too long.

Congratulations to them. I couldn't be more thrilled.

Good Deeds Gone Wrong

I'm a big fan of old ladies.

They've got experience. They've lived. They're comfortable in their own skin.

Maybe I'm too much of a fan.

Last night I was driving home from a late meeting and I saw an older woman that lives one block down from us lying near the sidewalk in front of her home.

Any time I see an older woman on the ground, I think about my granny, and how she had osteoporosis and broke her hip, then got a blood infection, and then was wheelchair-bound, and then died from complications due to lung cancer.

So, I stopped. Well, technically, I backed up after I stopped, and I asked her if she was OK.

She then PROCEEDS TO STAND UP AND TELL ME SHE WAS WEEDING HER FRONT LAWN. IN. THE. DARK.

This would be clue No. 1 for most people. For me? Not so much.

So, she walks over to my car, and says all sorts of "Bless you, Jesus, thank you." And then she starts asking for my information.

All I wanted was to make sure she didn't break a hip, and now she's acting like I'm captive in one of those secret prisons.

So, then she asks if I have a husband.

"Yes."

"Can he push a lawnmower?"

"Uh... he has back problems."

"Oh, well, can I have your phone number?"

"Uhhhh... here's my card. You can call me if there's an emergency."

"What house do you live in?"

"Well, I need to get to dinner."

And I drove off. I immediately began to regret giving her my card. Dave said it was a stupid idea, regardless of whether she was the grandmotherly, lonely, break-her-hip, I've-fallen-and-I-can't-get-up type. He said I should be more discreet.

And folks, he's right.

She called me while I was at work today. I was on deadline with a million things up in the air. I told her I didn't have time.

"YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T HAVE THE TIME TO TELL ME YOUR HOUSE NUMBER???"

"Uh, yes, and I'm sorry, but I do have to go."

And I hung up.

And so, my good karma streak ends.

One more good deed

Last Friday, after I had parked in one of the lots downtown, I pulled down the driver-side vanity mirror to put on my mascara and noticed that a grey Mustang still had its lights on.

I craned my neck to see if anyone was still in the car, but I couldn't tell. I finished putting on my face and went to check on the car.

Luck would have it that the car still had dealer temporary plates. I called the dealership, described the car and left the VIN number with them. I asked them to call the car's owner and tell them that they left their lights on.

I know what it's like to leave your lights on and end up heading to a dead car at the end of the day. It sucks. It's like the universe took away the one thing you wanted at the end of the day: To blast away all the shit with some Garbage/Avett Brothers/Lenny Kravitz or whatever your tastes are that day. And then there's the tow truck or the wait for a friend to come by and give you a jump.

When I left the office, the grey mustang was already gone. Good for them.

Good Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

It's a chilly and wet morning here in Dallas, a true sign of spring. The birds are chirping and puddles are everywhere, and the thought of gardens and late sunsets is stuck in my craw.

With spring comes renewal. I am much more in tune with the idea of turning over new leaves in spring rather than on Jan. 1. There just seems to be more energy and motivation to do what you want to do, to capitalize on intentions.

So, I'm striving to be a better person in a more general sense. To pay it forward. It seems like, every day presents an opportunity to give, to be a little less selfish, to attend to more spiritual needs. Sometimes that opportunity falls from a car right in front of you.

Like on Tuesday.

I was leaving a work meeting at around 7 p.m., and I was in the Park Cities. If you know anything about this very posh area surrounded by Dallas, and yet unincorporated, it is that there are many people who are image-conscious and perhaps more than a little self-absorbed. Money is rarely an object in those parts.

I was walking to my car and saw an older man and a women getting into theirs. The man had set his jacket on top of the car while he was stowing other things. They were dressed as if they might have attended a funeral that had just concluded a few blocks down.

They took off a bit before me, and just after they turned to head down a busy street, I noticed that the man didn't retrieve his jacket from the top of his car. as they went farther down the street, the jacket slowly slipped from the top of the sedan to the trunk, and then floated off.

I immediately drove toward the jacket, hoping I could get to it before the fast-moving tires of any one of the myriad Mercedes and Lexus SUVs on that street could. A woman in a Land Rover got to it before I could, but when I drove up to it, it didn't appear to be any worse off. So I plucked it from the roadway and hoped that the couple hadn't gotten too far out in front of me.

I spotted them at the intersection of McFarlin Boulevard and Preston Road. Preston is a pretty significant thoroughfare in the Park Cities. Other cars were whizzing by, but by the luck of a protected left turn, I kept them in view.

I must've seemed like a crazy person, honking my horn, windows rolled down and bright headlights flashing. None of this, though, got the attention of the older couple in the car in front of me. And my heart nearly broke as they accelerated through a yellow light at Preston and Mockingbird Lane, turning right into Highland Park Village, almost assuredly lost.

I had come this far, though, and I wasn't giving up.

So when the light finally turned green, I followed suit.

I drove up and down the crowded lots of Highland Park Village, unable to find their car so that I could return the lost jacket. No luck.

Frustrated, I was just about to leave when I saw the pair, walking toward a restaurant.

I pulled up quickly, cutting off a Maserati driven by an expertly coiffed woman in enormous sunglasses. I shouted, "Sir! Ma'am! Excuse me! Excuse me please!"

They turned their heads in every direction, wondering if it was them someone was shouting at. Finally they spotted me.

"Sir! You dropped this back on McFarlin. I wanted to make sure it got back to you."

The wife, who appeared to be Korean and in her late 50s, fired off a quick smack to her hulking husband's arm.

"He left it on top of car, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did. I was able to get it though. I tried to signal to you both back on Preston, but I don't think you saw me."

They both thanked me profusely, shaking my hand and saying "Bless you! You're so kind!"

It was a small gesture to chase them down, but in all, I felt so much better for doing that. I was happy that the man got his jacket back, and that he wouldn't spend hours later that day retracing his steps and wondering where he dropped it. His wife wouldn't lay into him with anything more painful than the playful prod she gave him earlier.

And now I wait for the next opportunity to make someone's day a little better.