Tag Archive | right tool for the job

Bagel Molds

Jul10

Bagel molds: another ‘right tool for the job.’ Bagels can be daunting to bake. I’ve tried once before, with these very molds, but used a recipe that skipped the boiling water bath step, and they were like bland round bread. For these bagels, my second attempt, I used an actual King Arthur bagel recipe, though I took a different shortcut and ended up with dough that was way too wet and also over-mixed. Still, not bad. Less daunting each time. Learning courage and perseverance in the kitchen.

They’re a little cakey in texture, not quite chewy enough, but … good enough. I’m grateful for letting go of perfectionism in the kitchen, and in the rest of my life, and allowing good enough to suffice. Spread with cream cheese, decorated with thinly sliced red onion, olive rounds, and some fresh rosemary leaves, I got almost the taste I was looking for after a conversation about bagels over the weekend sparked a craving.

The Colonel taught me to like bagels with cream cheese, lox, and capers, and I learned on my own to like the red onion as well. But I forgot to order lox from my personal shopper this week, so I made do with olives. And there’s no point in buying capers, I use a couple of tablespoons and then they sit in the fridge for too long and end up in the compost. The plan for the next batch of bagels includes lox, and a cream cheese and olive spread. And of course, red onions. As I was adding the pictures to this post, I noticed a new option on WordPress, to “Generate with AI” so I tried it out. I described the image I wanted: toasted bagel with cream cheese, lox, red onion, and capers.

This is the result of the AI bagel image request: kind of creepy, kind of hilarious.

Above, this morning’s breakfast on the patio, ‘a scone with raspberries on top and a cup of coffee.’ Below, the AI version of that: better than the bagel picture! Indulge me. I’m experimenting with technology, as if a high quality camera in a phone that fits in my pocket isn’t enough.

AI didn’t do too badly with ‘fried squash blossoms stuffed with Brie,’ which is what I enjoyed for an evening snack, but I’ll leave my own photo uncontested on this one. I did try one more, ‘dog licking my face,’ but the result was too creepy to share. I’m grateful for all the dainty little kisses Wren has given me today, for the variety of good food I’ve prepared, for having energy to clean up most of the kitchen afterward, for getting to teach a new cohort the first session of the mindfulness foundations course, for practicing awareness of afflictive thoughts and emotions during the day and doing my best to transform them into a more healthy attitude, for noticing and savoring moments of joy and connection, and above all for waking up alive with another summer day ahead of me.

Right Tools for the Job: Garden Gate Edition

Apr30

The tiny blueberry bush arrived from Territorial Seeds yesterday. It was bare rootball in a plastic sleeve, and it needs to harden off a few days to acclimate to sun and temperatures before I can plant it in its prepared container, so I put it in a clean clay pot and tamped in its special soil around the edges. I’ll keep it moving in and outside til after the next cold snap later this week, at least. Look at those tiny white bell flowers! I’ve never seen a blueberry plant before, so I was delightfully surprised by the flowers. And tiny germinal blueberries, too! But after its portrait, I snipped off all the flowers and budding berries, as recommended, in order to encourage strong root growth its first year.

I’m grateful for the gorgeous trees blossoming sequentially through this past month, and thrilled to see the crabapple so lush with flowers and buds.

I’m grateful for the right tools for the job, and for these great hinges from Lee Valley. I made a couple of small mistakes, but got the worst-sagging half of the gate hung this afternoon. I’m grateful for a socket set, a wood-bit set, a yardstick, a Makita screwgun, and the little string level I bought almost thirty years ago and used a lot while building my house. It was my ingenious trick to keep the drill bit level as I drilled through the juniper gateposts for the hinge bolts. It set perfectly on top of the bit shank with the rounded legs and I held it steady as I drilled: the bubble shimmied like a belly dancer but stayed between the lines, and when the bit was in deep enough I set the level aside.

I’m grateful for my father teaching me a thing or two about tools when I was a child. I am always grateful for this whenever I open my tool box, but especially so when I undertake a project that uses more than a hammer, wrench, or screwdriver. I’m grateful he taught me his cardinal rule of ‘the right tool for the job,’ and how to measure, and so much more, and I’m grateful that I can remember him with love and gratitude when I think of him in his workshop in the basement, where I would often sit and watch and help and learn.

Taking Rest

Mar18

Baking bread used to be a special occasion; now it’s become a weekly routine, and one that I remain exceptionally grateful for. Proof that when you do something often enough it becomes a habit. I’ve settled on a ratio of three-quarters regular flour (King Arthur) and one-quarter hearty flour, in this week’s loaf the Rouge de Bordeaux, described as a “19th Century bread flour” in the class of ‘hard red winter wheats.’ Now we both know.

I’m grateful for the little wonder tomato in the sunroom, whose vines are putting on new green growth, new flowers, and new fruits. I used one in lunch the day the bread baked, slicing the heel and one slice while it was still warm, and slicing one small tomato still warm from the sun. I wanted to savor the tomato, so it got its own piece of bread with simply mayo and a sprinkle of salt; the heel I spread with fromage fort. What a simple, quick lunch, and so delicious.

A lot more things than simple, delicious lunches have been happening here over the past week. I’m working extra hours for a couple of months creating lesson plans for a new course I’m halfway through teaching. I’m so grateful for the students who are so enthusiastically participating in this offering. We’re all learning a lot, and enjoying the journey. And at the end of most days, I’m exhausted, so I go to bed without opening the computer again. I’m grateful for the inquiries from faithful readers who are concerned about me. So far, nothing to worry about; just taking rest as needed.

I’m also grateful that the friend who had a heart attack last week is recuperating at home now, with enormous gratitude of his own at his miraculous survival. “You just never know,” he told me today. Indeed. And what a potent reminder this incident was. Death or near-death always jolts us into a heightened awareness for awhile. I’m aware of all the stuff I’d like to get rid of before I die, and all the things I’d like to accomplish, and the loose ends of end-of-life paperwork I have yet to tie up; I’m more keenly aware of the love I haven’t expressed, the amends unmade, the kindness I get to show to anyone, anywhere, anytime. And so much more. I bump up against a little edge of anxiety about it sometimes.

Fish, fish paste, and mirepoix mixed in the bowl before adding eggs and breadcrumbs.

But then I walk the little dog and the big cat up the driveway or through the woods, listen to the house finches warble in the treetops, watch the little green sprouts grow in the garden, gaze up at the bright stars on a clear night, and everything feels all right: in this moment, all is well. This “ever changing present moment,” as someone mentioned in Telesangha this morning. Letting go of what I can’t control, and making the best of what I can. And that includes the ritual of lunch. Another healthy habit that used to be hit or miss for me, and now is an anchor in my day. Today I made pan-fried fishcakes, with some wild-caught cod I had in the freezer. I learned a new word, mirepoix, which is a mix of sautéed vegetables used in a sauce. In this case, the mirepoix of finely diced onion, carrot, and celery was added to finely chopped fish and a fish paste made by blitzing some of the diced fish with heavy cream in the food processor.

Eggs and breadcrumbs are added, and the mixture formed into patties, then dredged in flour, egg, and more breadcrumbs before getting fried. I had enough egg beaten to cover eight small circular patties, which had to chill for at least twenty minutes before frying. I let them chill away all afternoon, and used some of the mixture that was left to shape a custom fishcake for my sandwich, and fried that right away.

Mayo, mustard, fish cake, lettuce, and another precious tomato made for another simple, special lunch.

Taking a break from the computer and the kitchen, I spent another outside unit sanding and oiling the handle of a garden hoe I had decided would be the right tool for a particular job of spring cleanup. I was grateful to find a file I hadn’t used in twenty years right where I had left it; and grateful I had ordered axe oil last summer and knew where that was. And even though I couldn’t find my set of three smaller files, I did find the spare fine one, so I was able to get a reasonable edge on the rusted blade. I’m grateful I made it through this precious day that will never come again without sleeping away some of its fleeting hours.

Right Tools for the Job

Nov9

It’s only taken a year and a half, and finally these two can stand at the door at the same time in the morning waiting to be let out.

And it only took me three more birdstrikes today to finally hang my last-resort bird deterrent over the east window. I thought I had solved it with the plant stand blocking the center of the window, and the prayer flags across the top. But this morning two birds hit almost simultaneously, a male and a female junco. He flew off, but she fell. I’m grateful she wasn’t killed, but she was knocked out. I picked her up and put her in a small box for about ten minutes, then opened the box to the sun. About twenty minutes after that, she had left the box and was warming herself perched on a rock on the patio table, a tiny spot of blood at the base of her beak. A few minutes later she had flown away.

Okay, I thought, it’s time to pull out those icicle lights and obscure my view, but if it will save even one more bird it’s worth it. But I didn’t do it right then, I got sidetracked. A few hours later, as the temperature dropped, another junco smacked into the window. I jumped up, grabbed the lights, hammer, some nails, and the stepladder, and set to it. I was grateful to have the right tools for the job, especially the lights, which I bought last winter but couldn’t find the right place to hang–because I didn’t want to obscure my view, and after long consideration I had realized there was really no other appropriate space.

So I strung them outside, in hopes that they’ll be sufficient indication of a no-fly zone. Based on advice from friends and research, these meet four out of five criteria, and I’m optimistic. This has been an anomalous past month for bird strikes, and I still think there’s something strange going on with the juncos.

Meanwhile, in the standard gratitude categories, Wren and food, I made spice sticky buns tonight for special guests coming for coffee tomorrow morning, and others for tea on Saturday afternoon. The new cinnamon still hasn’t arrived, so I used old cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves again, and added Craisins. I’m really optimistic about this batch, even though I forgot to add an egg to the dough. They’ve been rising nicely in the pan this evening, and I’m leaving it overnight in the cold mudroom, anticipating they’ll be perfect in time to bake in the morning. I’m grateful for the right tools for this job, too: a silicone rolling mat, an old-style wooden rolling pin, and a reliable 9×13 pyrex baking dish.

One Pound Tomato

Sep9

One of the butternut squash vines grew through the fence and twined in with a tomatillo, each supporting the other.

The first tomato seedling to be planted this spring is producing the most amazing fruit. I finally plucked this Brandywine this evening because its splits were getting too big; it weighed in at one pound 2.5 ounces. I’m grateful for this hefty tomato, which makes me think of my father, whose ideal tomato would give at least one perfect half-inch slice to fill a sandwich. I’m grateful to have inherited my father’s passion for growing tomatoes, and grateful whenever I can bring tender thoughts of him to mind.

I’m grateful for curiosity and a sense of humor, both of which provided a healthy perspective on this sight this morning, and this evening. I left the gnawed tomato on the vine to see if the critter came back, which clearly it did, but I didn’t catch it in the act. Still, better it keeps wrecking one fruit than I pick that and it attacks another.

Grateful to discover another ‘new way’: to warm Stellar’s pill-delivery cheese to make it pliable enough to wrap his meds, and cool the troubled wrist at the same time. He gets four sets of pills a day and two injections. It seems completely random how he cycles through good spells and bad spells, which he’s in right now: I’ve picked him up three or four times today from stumbles, as he walks like a drunken sailor. Just a few days ago he was doing so well, and nothing really has changed. Eventually will come a point of diminishing returns for him, and I may have to discern when that is. Every pet person’s nightmare.

Speaking of nightmares, I had a doozie this morning, after waking at 5 to let him out, and forcing myself to sleep for a couple of more hours. Somewhere in that last hour, oh I don’t even wanna describe it, but in short, he was dying in my arms as people passed around us in the busy lobby of the place we lived, one in a hundred offering some simple comfort or help like a single paper towel–though I kept asking for someone to help me get him back to our apartment. I finally realized it was a dream and I could wake up and leave it behind. I’m grateful for the capacity to recognize a dream and leave it when it’s ugly.

Grateful to have the right tools for the job.

Obstacles in Stride

Sep7

Morning smoke haze, the new normal in the gathering storm. Visually beautiful in its own way. One obstacle to joy can be an overarching awareness of the planet’s dire state; and yet, to me, that makes experiencing joy in all the tenuous elements of being alive all the more urgent.

An unforeseen obstacle on the path this morning threw me for a few seconds: wait, where’s the path? Did I get off the trail? No, just a down dead piñon tree. With equanimity, I stepped around it, knowing I’ll return and remove it when I have the right tools for the job, gloves and a rope. And maybe wait a bit til my hand is better. No hurry! Sometimes simply avoiding an obstacle for awhile is the wise choice.

I’m grateful for our long, leisurely walk this morning, a holiday stroll. Stellar is feeling good these days, which inspires him to bark for me in the morning and bounce on his front legs, eager for his walk; and makes him move faster, a bit too fast. His back feet trip over each other more when he’s feeling good, but he has strength to correct and doesn’t stumble as much as when he moves slower, when he’s weaker, and falls down. Fingers crossed for a long streak of this mobility and his obvious joy in his morning walks.

After a self-satisfied shelving of the first preserved jars, I turned my attention to today’s major obstacle, the plugged drain that is causing kitchen sink water to burble up from the sunroom pond drain. I was optimistic. I’d borrowed a drain snake, and started to work after morning coffee. I had the right tool for the job, which I’m always grateful for having, and a spirit of joyful effort.

Three hours later, I had seemingly cleared the clog, dismantled and thoroughly cleaned out all the pieces of undersink pipe, perhaps irrevocably kinked the snake, and managed one load of dishes, before the pond gurgled full again and I surrendered to whatever tomorrow brings: effective enzyme action, or a call to the plumber. I went on with the day, detouring around the obstacle after giving it my best shot, practicing patience, and grateful that it isn’t worse: the toilet and bathroom sink still drain, and the shower flows straight outside. Fresh water, for which I’m always grateful, still runs from the faucets, I’ve got a bucket to wash dishes in, and a yarden right outside the front door that will welcome the dishwater.

I served up a leftover burrito with chopped tomato and the last half of avocado, ate a late lunch outside on the patio, took Stellar for another stroll, and enjoyed the rest of my Labor Day holiday. I’m grateful for the mindfulness skills and practice that have enabled me to take obstacles in stride, with patience and equanimity, knowing these are not big deals in the grand scheme of things. Trees in the trail, clogs in the drain, smoke in the sky, and even Stellar’s lameness are all simply transient conditions, while gratitude, contentment, compassion and calm are states I can cultivate and come to depend upon.

Late in his full day of adventures, naps, dreams, and watchdog duties, Stellar’s stand resembled a half-sit, but that doesn’t dampen his lust for life as he sniffs the wind currents. I aspire to live like this dog, so completely present in each moment.