my summer education part 1

reading non-fiction this summer. if it's been published in the last five years. why? i want to look smart. no! i'm trying to stay (become?) current, okay?

i just finished my first summer read. the art of eating in by cathy erway.
sum up: young girl living in manhattan swears off eating in restaurants for two years and learns about cooking and eating and sustainability and local foodie cults and where food comes from.
a classic hippy read.
moral of the story: if people without God can be respectful of the earth's resources and conscientious-er of what goes in their mouths, why can't i?
the concept stems from what i've been reading in luke.  

If you love only those who love you, why should you get credit for that? 

Even sinners love those who love them!  

And if you do good only to those who do good to you, why should you get credit? 

Even sinners do that much! 

And if you lend money only to those who can repay you, why should you get credit? 

Even sinners will lend to other sinners for a full return.

exactly. follow? i'll elucidate: if "sinners" can treat God's green and blue earth with honor, why am his children not the example? others do it to save the earth, thwart global warming, or pay homage to their mother-god the earth. can't i do it because i personally know the one who spun the globe into orbit in the first place?
ah stewardship. every popsicle stick, broccoli stem, and steering column came from something in the dirt. it cost something something. and one can't go shoving the cells back into their original form to make it all better by some twisted reverse reincarnation. when it's spent, it has to be tossed somewhere. there are no cosmic disappearing bins o' trash to hold our discarded stuff. so we best take care the first time around.
grace angle: i will refrain from going berkeley on everyone. but i am going to eat and use things with the knowledge that it's by God's grace that it's given. and not take more than i need.
that's the sort of minimalism i can get into.

green things that are not reused, recyclable or reduced

so extremely excited about what i purchased at the farmer's market this morning. the small one (in her owl pouch) and i got there at 8 am. it was cloudy. in the upper 50s. i do not take this for granted. it was a lovely rare morning. the like will be far and few between in the coming months. as in, only when i leave redding proper. 

i've really enjoyed the astonishing number of days that are overcast here. especially after a few days of 90s. it also makes me dread the future. like, when is the summer coming? why won't it come? it's messing with my mind.

from a very kind lady (who helped my rid by bag of a half a dozen very plump and active earwigs) i snatched four of the first apricots i've seen this season. at various other booths i gleaned a couple very squishy and perfect peaches, some free range eggs hatched in some adorable ladies backyard (some are greenish. very cool.), thin leeks with gorgeous blue-green stalks, frizzle-haired drunken lady lettuce (really? yes.) and a silvery something tomato plant that's supposed to be good for the upside-down growing thing i got from a dear friend for my birthday. the tomato plants leaves are delicate and light-colored. i've never seen anything like it. 

eating two of those unconventionally hued eggs microwave soft-boiled with a dash of kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, i can taste the appeal. the romance of home grown and local fare. (i should've put some minced leek in this. dangit!)

but then i sensed the fear. without deliberation certain thoughts popped into my head. what did that lady do to the chickens? are these eggs okay? i mean , they came from a stranger at the market.  

heartily i rebuke such thoughts. because there are a bunch of money-grubbing strangers in charge of eggs at the winco. why is it easier to assume sinister motives to the local private farmer than a corporation? what's wrong with me? again. rebuke!

sidenote: they're from an americana hen. i found a cute video about these guys on flickr. they are like all the chickens you've ever seen in those hokey/i mean antique paintings.

in other news today, i've started taking liquid vitamin and other nasties supplements. this furthers my quest towards caffeine independency. fm patients are given the no-no on caffeine yet are some of the most fatigue-stricken folks. so not fair. 

i've tried this stuff before and it seemed to help the energy level. all in my mind? we will see. it tastes like the worst medicine ever, but strangely less gagging then the vanilla flavored powdered form that goes in your juice. it doesn't really dissolve and... i'll spare the details. assume a tragic method of wrecking juice.

free tip: eat protein with fat soluble vitamins or you will be a sad puppy. take it from a vitamin a and b poisoned veteran. blech.

anyway, this round, i'll take a shot of it and wash it down with juice. even if the juice has aloe vera in it. that doesn't have much of a taste anyway, and i'm used to what little it has.

and that donkey is the raddest thing ever. see his little aloe plant pack? he's a hard working little ass.

dyhyst?

now that i have a kid. i think about what would happen if i died. okay, i've thought about that before i had a kid, but not in the following a context. what would i be leaving her? aside from the legacy of faith, do i have my stuff together? essential papers are in files. yes. but some papers aren't. and there are boxes of photos, projects, gear, books, and clothing.
i thought this as i looked around my apartment.

a word about the apartment. 

'tis small. six hundred odd square feet small. and while that technically is enough for a family of three, it is not so much for a family of three with one member who sews, crafts and cooks as much as i and as much outdoor performance gear as we.
the baker's rack in the kitchen/dining room/living room/family room is filled with supplies. the small one sleeps out in the living room. there's a closet full of backpacking gear and yarn. bookcases full of books (though i've given away countless novels and periodicals and have yet to crack open a few boxes at the parents' attic/storage unit), and laundry.
where does one put clothing? or anything for that matter when you don't have a room for a dresser? we own one recliner and a salvaged couch besides our bed and crib. everything else is borrowed. yet we still haven't enough room for stuff. at least not the way i'd like it. as in. invisible.

my dream, within a dream.
this situation is difficult for minimalists. us.
i read books on lofts, flip through ikea catalogs, and peruse magazines on simplification of space and there is only one solution: spend money to acquire appropriate storage and organization.
for ages i've avoided this because the idea of spending money to keep in check things you have spent money on is ridiculous to me. did you know more stuff costs more than less stuff costs? why not get rid of more stuff? but like i mentioned. so little is ours. and so little is overwhelming me.
is it time to invest in some serious storage solutioning?
i want empty space. barren floors. clean walls. and a puppy.
okay, the last one is off subject. (but if you're curious, one of these.)

all neatly packed.
i hate boxes. and bins. and rubbermaid thingies. i'm so over looking at them. but what's the alternative? because i also hate moving dressers and shelving. as in, emptying them out and watching others heft them from one abode to the new. keeping everything taped up and stacked is simple.
always in my mind is the prospect of moving again. we've done it enough. we know what makes it most efficient: give back what you've borrowed and sell what you salvaged. move the mattresses, gear, culinary must-haves, and craft bins. and i guess the clothes.
maybe it's time to shun that mind set. we don't have plans to go anywhere. so why am i living like a nomad? cause it's stressing me out.

dye fail and heat

the amaranth family

it wasn't an effort to be green, hippy or resourceful. i just wanted to be creative. that, and the white packages were cheaper.
enter beets and a onesie. 
i'm awful at following directions--by choice, mind you--and this was no exception. though because there were so many steps i skipped, i'm not sure which was the critical impetus to failure. you see a representation of the end product. i had--and this is probably obvious--wanted to turn the thing a pinkish hue. it worked on youtube.
beets are from the amaranth family. incidentally, amaranth flour is a fabulous high-lysine (an essential fatty acid lacking in most grains) grain with zero gluten for my celiac friends. so if the dinosaurs in jurassic park ate it, maybe they could reproduce? (that was for my movie buff friends.) can can boil or roast the tap root and eat it savory or sweet style. if you like a mild flavor of soil in your meal, you will especially appreciate these. the ancient romans thought it was a great laxative (it has three times the fiber as wheat). don't eat too many because its abundant oxalite equals kidney stones.
i did end up being resourceful afterall. i ate the beets with cottage cheese for breakfast, and the greens wilted and paired nicely with the freshly caught bass i fried in a smattering of bacon grease. take that, Fail!

last of the sleeves

it was in the 70s and then 90s this week (currently 97 to be exact). the wind was cool and now it's not ("feels like 92"). i've embraced the beginning of a long summer. questions currently filling my brain are:

1. are those flea bites or heat rash?
2. is an $80 cotton car seat cover (why do they insist on poly-fleece fuzzy lining?) worth it or can i make a linen one for less?
3. could i sell said linen covers?
4. will my heirloom "russian purple" tomato plant die in the heat?
5. can our jeep's a/c last another year? what's that burning smell when it's on?

here, the small one waits for her capuccino during the last day of long-sleeves. she's a customer service nazi, just like her mama.