What The Easter Bunny Brought

When I was a kid, our dentist was shyster.  He drilled away most of our molars, filling them with lead amalgam, forced us to endure expensive fluoride treatments (and to this day I detest fake grape flavor in any form), and emptied my father's wallet of much money.  One dad Dad said, "Enough!"  We changed dentists and mysteriously stopped having cavities.  (Yeah, and thanks to Dr. M I've got a mouth full of crowns and implants  because eventually all those molars fell apart, leaving nothing but fillings.)

Because we had such bad teeth, the Easter Bunny used to bring us other stuff; like records and books.  I liked that better anyway.  (Once I got a Beatle Album. I still have it and it's in good condition!)

Easter Baskets kind of fell by the wayside when I was in my late teens.  That changed when I got married.  Mr. Ivy was used to doing Easter Baskets and by God we were going to have them!  But now it wasn't my teeth that was the issue, it was weight.  DON'T GET ME ANY CANDY! I'd holler.  He gave me candy anyway.  But I have trained him to tone it way down.

This year he got herring, sardines, anchovies, mixed nuts, a bag of pistachios, a can of Underwood chicken spread, and a genuine Russell Stover peanut butter "egg."  Meanwhile, my basket contained three packages (or ready-to-eat) Indian lunches:  Rajma Masala, Pav Bhaji, and Alu Muttar (ooooh!  Yum, yum, yum), a jar of extra hot Chinese mustard, a small bag of Virginia peanuts and a tiny box (4 pieces) of Russell Stover (private reserve) chocolates.

Do you think the Easter bunny went all the way to India for my lunches?

How about you?  What was in your Easter Basket?

A refreshing side dish . . .

Years ago, Waldorf Salad was a staple at our holiday dinners.  It was made by a former family member and it was really nice.  But since she's no longer a part of my family, I've had to do without.

Until this week.

My mother-in-Law presented me with a fruit basket. Now I'm not much of a fruit fan, but I also hate to waste good food.  So I gave away the oranges and wondered what I should do with the apples, grapes, and pears.

Pears are a no brainer.  We often eat them sliced with our dinner.  We're fond of Empire apples, but not Red Delicious, and guess what kind of apples came in the basket?

So I thought--why not make a Waldorf Salad?

I got on the Internet, found a recipe and within about 15 minutes had whipped up something delish for our dinner.  (Lucky I had all the ingredients on hand, eh?)

I've still got four more apples, but no more grapes (and they're not cheap this time of year).  Aha!  You can substitute raisins for grapes.

Guess what I'm making this week?

What's your favorite fruit recipe?

Happy Easter!

Rain On The Roof

Why does it always seem to rain during daylight hours and ruin perfectly good days?  Days that should be filled with baseball games, picnics, boating, gardening, and other enjoyable stuff.

Okay, the flowers/crops need the rain.  I get that.  But the days are gloomy and depressing.
On the other hand, I love to fall asleep at night with the sound of rain on the roof.  It's kind of magical.  It lulls you off to dreamland in a peaceful way.

Mind you, I'm not opposed to an occasional night-time thunderstorm, either.  I love to watch the sky flash with lightning.  I'm not so keen on the wind that accompanies said storms.  I fear toppled trees that take power lines with them.  (Our little post office was hit with a tree during a storm just the other day.  Took out a HUGE portion of the roof--right where the customers stand to have their letters and packages weighed.  Scary!)

A recent weather report said we had a 60% chance of rain overnight.  Oh goody, I thought--another night of rain on the roof.  Unfortunately, the weather man, with this "predicting dartboard" was wrong again.  Come on, with all the supposed improvements in weather prognostication, you'd think they could get it right at least 50% of the time.  I know, I've crabbed about this in the past in respect to snowstorms, but they're apparently no better at predicting summer weather, either.

In the meantime, I do have a number of thunderstorm CDs.  I can play any one of them any time I please (which is just about every night), so I never have to be without some form of soothing, night-time rain.  But I prefer the real thing.

How about you?

Sucidal Worms

April showers bring May flowers -- and they also bring out the worms.

It rained A LOT yesterday, and sure enough, this morning the driveway was full of suicidal worms.  When the drive was wet, they probably thought it was a fine idea to wiggle out there and warm up, but now that the sun is out and the drive is drying -- so are they.  And the dim bulbs (well, to be fair -- they have no real brains) just lie there and die.

I was coming back from taking the trash can to the curb and saw a BIG, FAT, GOOSHY worm near the garage and, I don't know what came over me, but I felt sorry for it.  So I did something I never thought I'd do.  I donned a gardening glove, picked it up, and placed it back in the dirt.  Hey, worms are good for the garden, right?  Nature's engineers and all that.

All I can say about the experience is ICK -- major ICK.  But, hopefully s/he'll survive and reproduce and my garden will flourish, right?

If not, there're a lot of robins around looking for lunch.

Ain't nothing like the real thing, baby

Once upon a time, I read a story about a little girl from the city, who visited her country relatives in Vermont.  These relatives made maple syrup.  She was left alone with the boiling sap and at a crucial moment, did something (for some reason, I thought she put in a little pitcher of cream), and saved the whole batch.  She wasn’t just some dumb city girl anymore—she had saved the day.

That’s about as close to making maple syrup as I’ve ever been.  But I can’t say the same of my friend Janet.  Every year, she and her husband tap the sugar maples on their property on the shore of some frozen lake way up in Michigan, and then boil the sap for what seems like a million years (I think she said it was two weeks—but that can seem like a million years when you have to keep stoking the fire) and eventually—TA DA!  Maple syrup.

I think she said (some reporter I’d make, eh?) that she had to accumulate between 50-70 gallons of sap to make two gallons of syrup.  No wonder the stuff is as expensive as French perfume and sold by the ounce!

As it happens, I am the happy recipient of a jar of Janet's 2011 maple syrup production!
Confession time:  I have NEVER had real maple syrup before.  I know, I know—how sheltered can one woman be?  I’ve only had the fake stuff…and truth be told, don’t like it much.  I have had maple candy, which costs the moon and is so sweet you can only take tiny bites.  So it was with much anticipation that I planned Sunday’s breakfast.  Ahh, lovely Mennonite bacon, extra crisp homemade waffles, and Janet’s maple syrup.

Let me tell you, that fake crap ain’t passing my lips from this day forward.  The homemade stuff was divine, and Hubby said it was better than a lot of Vermont maple syrup he’s purchased over the years--and in fact, the BEST he's ever tasted.  We’re already planning on a repeat of Sunday’s breakfast.  In fact, many repeats – at least until Janet’s maple syrup is gone.

I saw a story posted on AOL saying that Maple Syrup is in hot demand because there have been several bad seasons for collecting sap. Prices are as high as $100 a gallon for the pure stuff.  Which makes Janet's gift all that more valuable, and thoughtful.

Hmmm…now to figure out how to stay on Janet’s syrup distribution list.

Do you eat the real stuff or the imitation syrup?

Back to Winter?

Ugh.  Snow.

That was my first reaction when I looked out the window this morning.  It's not a lot of snow, hardly more than a trace.  But there's something very depressing about seeing snow covering your snowdrops, crocuses and around your daffodils.

The other day we had April showers.  Yeah, and they promise May flowers.  So April snow only brings...slippery roads, sidewalks, and COLD!

I don't know about you, but I'm ready for spring.  I'm ready for flowers and open windows and fresh breezes.  I'm ready to have the sliding glass doors open all day so the cats and come and go into the enclosed porch when they want. I'm ready to hear the wind chimes playing a tune.  I'm ready for sunny skies and planting my potatoes and tomatoes.

I'm ready for summer.

Unfortunately, the calendar isn't.

Dreaming of Cupcakes

Trying to eat healthy is hard, especially when all you can think about is fattening food.

Lately I've been dreaming about cupcakes.  Beautiful cupcakes.



Okay, four cupcakes is too many.

How about just one?



Wouldn't just love to eat that?  (And with a cup of tea?)

Like a Raging Rhino

I don't always sleep well.  In fact, sometimes I lie awake for HOURS and HOURS on end.  This week has been pretty good.  No staring at the ceiling ... at least too much.

But the other night, something woke me up.  A sound.  I wasn't sure what it was.  I waited.  Nothing.  So I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

Then I heard it again.  It sounded like ... a horse, galloping.  It stopped.  I waited.  Nothing.  So I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

Then I heard it AGAIN.  Okay, sometimes my cat George (who has the feline equivalent of OCD) will have one of his "twitchy" moments, and will run around like a racehorse.  I looked down at the bottom of the bed, and sure enough he was gone.

I got up, and (our cat) Katie was sitting in the hall looking at the ceiling.  I looked at the ceiling.  And heard it again.  Like thundering hoofs.  On the roof.

I went into the guest room and there was George, sitting on the bed, looking at the skylight.  He started purring the minute I walked in, self-satisfied, as though saying, "Ha!  It's not me."

Then we heard it again. A sound like galloping overhead.  Again and again we heard it it.  And eventually we saw it:  A rogue squirrel.  It jumped over the skylight and stopped, its fluffy tail (not a good ruse to hide its rodent-ness) hanging over the skylight.

That's it?  A squirrel.  Running the Squirrel 500 on my roof at 4:52 a.m.!!!

Good grief.

Spring Cleaning!

Saturday, I decided to clean my office.  Mostly, that meant going through my closet to make room for the stuff that's been sitting on my floor for months on end.

I found all kinds of wonderful and not-so-wonderful stuff. 

I found lost jewelry.  I found many tubes of chapstick and gluestick.  I vacuumed.  I dusted.  I spent about five hours just working on this one room . . . and it's still not where I want it to be.  Mostly, it's my desk that's still a mess.  (Although I still have yet another pile of papers to go through and file/toss.)

There's a lot to be said for living a tidy life.  Now if I could just do it on a regular basis.

Have you started your spring cleaning yet?

Well what do you know -- I'm CHEAP!

I've never lived in Scotland.  I've visited there four times (and have come to the conclusion it's the most beautiful place on Earth), and when it comes to finances, there's no doubt I'm a Scot.  (Hey, my paternal grandmother was born in Levin, so I come by it honestly.)

It's difficult to actually come right out and say I'M CHEAP, so I try to couch it by saying "I'm thrifty" (or if I want to sound REALLY noble, frugal).  That said, you can't skimp on certain things in life, like useful appliances (dishwashers and laser printers immediately come to mind), and fresh fruits and veggies will always taste and be better for you than canned.

But when it comes to decor, well, I'm a skinflint.  A big part of that comes from me hounding garage (tag) and estate sales for the past 12 years.  See, I used to be a vendor at a gift/craft/antiques co-op.  My specialty was "smalls."  Stuff that doesn't cost an arm and a leg, both for me and my customers.

So it really bugs me when fru-fru New York City based magazines deign to share with their readers the secret to finding "real" bargains.  Come on, can you even buy a bagel in NYC for less than five bucks?  Then don't tell me an old lamp I can get for under $5 at a garage sale is a steal at some fancy boutique for just under $200.

Yes, I know that prices are a LOT higher in a large metropolitan area.  So why don't these so-called experts hit smaller cities/rural areas looking for real bargains for their readers?

I've decorated a good deal of my home in garage sale finds.  I bought a pine corner cabinet for $100; solid cherry end tables for $70; I've got a beautiful (still in the box from Blenheim Palace, England) reproduction Victorian tile tray for $3.  Most of my bone china tea cup collection was purchased for less than $5 per specimen.

I've decorated the stairway down to my basement pub (complete with brass rails) with square plates.  I refuse to pay more than $1 each (and have paid as little as 5 cents for some of them).  Just last summer I bought a brass floor lamp with a nice shade for only $6.
My point: don't believe these magazines.  Especially ones that tell you you can find bargains at flea markets.  Forget them!  I haven't seen a bargain at a flea market in over ten years.  (Probably because all those editors of decorating magazines are willing to spend so much more than an item is worth.)

I gave up on Country Living and their ilk simply because the average reader doesn't have a million dollars to sink into decorating her house.  They ought to change the names of these magazines and aim for their true audience:  Country Living for the Stinking Rich, or Cottage Living in only 50,000 square feet!

Meanwhile, garage sale season is only a week or so away.  What treasures will I find this year?

Picture(s) of the Day: My Bathroom

A few years ago we were really tired of our bathroom, but who can afford a $40,000 gut job like they do on HGTV. Sarah Richardson thinks nothing of spending that much on a total makeover--right down to the studs.

Obviously we don't have Sarah's budget. So, we did it all for about $2,000 (yeah, YIKES--much more than we'd planned on spending) and have been quite happy with the results.




We bought the dresser at an antique arcade (the same one where I had a booth for 12 years).  It was small, so we had to special order the sink.  (That was a lot more than a regular sink, I might add.)  The jar was $1.50 at a yard sale and I fill it with Yardley soap from the dollar store.  We did real beadboard instead of paneling, which was expensive, too.  And after we yanked out the old double sinks and awful Formica (in dark brown) cabinets, we had to have the floor under it done.  (You can't match tile that's 40 years old it turns out.) Those are two of our cats watching the wall drip.  (They're easily entertained.)  I got the Starfish at Joanne's in their bargain bin.  I think it's cute.  (I actually got three and now all three hang there.)

I saw that color brown paint in a bathroom redo in an issue of MidWest magazine.  We're not afraid of color and against the white beadboard, it looks nice.  The prints (on the right) I had for years, but they had crummy frames, so I bit the bullet and bought new frames at Joanne's with sale coupons.


And here's what it looks like over our tub (we have a separate walk-in shower, so there's no fear of it getting ruined.



Mr. Ivy was nervous when I told him I wanted to hang an old sideboard mirror in the shower, but it turned out nice.  So we now have a kind of Victorian bathroom room in a contemporary ranch house.  Oh well, we like it.

Have you remodeled your bathroom?

Happy St. Paddy's Day

To celebrate the day, Mr. Ivy and I always make Irish Soda Bread.  Maybe you'd like to make it, too.  This is the recipe we always use.

Irish Soda Bread
4 cups all-purpose flour
¼ cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
1½ cups buttermilk
¼ cup corn or canola oil
2 teaspoons caraway seeds
1 cup golden raisons
1 tablespoon milk

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Foil-line a baking sheet, lightly grease.

In a large bowl, stir the flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, and salt together.  In a separate bowl, beat the eggs, buttermilk, and oil together.  Make a well in the center of the flour mixture and pour in the buttermilk mixture.  Add the caraway seeds and raisins.  Stir until a soft dough forms.

With floured hands, shape the dough into a large ball on a lightly floured board or waxed paper.  With a sharp knife, make an X across the top of the dough.  Place the dough on the prepared baking sheet.  Brush the top with milk.  Bake in the center of the oven until golden brown (30 to 40 minutes).

Serve warm with butter.

Picture of the Day: My Guest Room

Oh dear, another day with nothing to say.  Okay, here's a picture the north end of my Guest Room.  I had a lot of fun collecting everything you see here, and most of it came from yard sales.  (I got the chair and dresser from an antique shop.)





The mirror was a $5 splurge from Salvation Army.  I stripped layers of paint and voila!  A lovely oak frame was underneath.  The bowl and ewer cost me $4 at a yard sale in Oswego. The colonial pictures were $5 at Goodwill and the other two (on the right) were $2 each at a yard sale.  The EXTREMELY heavy waste basket is from the 1950s and I got that at an estate sale for 50 cents.  We saw the same wallpaper at a darling B&B we stayed in in Vermont and were lucky to find it in a discount bin at Sherwin Williams.  The other frames (on the wall and dresser) are counted cross stitch that I did.

What's your guest room look like?  Do you have treasures from yard sales in it?

If it's Friday--it must mean fish!

During lent, we always have fish for dinner on Fridays.  Now this isn't a bad thing unless you're going to be evil and have a delicious fish fry.  Fried fish, french fries, and something green to (pretend) to balance everything out.

We usually have fish on Fridays anyway, so lent isn't a big deal.  And we're usually good.  Broiled cod with a mixture of mayo and dill weed is nice.  Or recently we saw a recipe on the Internet (I think on the Rochester TV station) where they wrapped cod in Prosciutto.  (The prosciutto gets nice and crispy under the broiler for a minute or two.)  Sometimes Mr. Ivy will make scallops, too.

But mostly I want my fish fried.  And I want it to be haddock.  A nice, thick fillet.  Fried with beer batter. (Add a martini to that and you've got heaven on a place mat.)