Can't Cook, Never Could

She's not much of a cook, never has been. A couple of years ago she complained to me that she'd bought a package of refrigerated cookie dough. "All I had to do was slice and bake. But, I couldn't even do that! I ruined the whole batch."

It's not a matter of intelligence, she's smart as a whip and master's-prepared in her field of expertise, where she excels. Cooking is just not her thing, never has been.

Shortly after the birth of her first child this year she lamented, "How I would love to be able to cook for him. You know organic fruits and vegetables and such. I know I won't have any control over his eating habits once he's school-age, but I'd sure like to give him a good start when he's a baby. I've been looking into buying one of those baby-food cooking appliances. The machine steam-cooks and purees the food for you. Do you think I'd be able to do it?"

"Certainly," I encouraged her, "give it a try!"

But by the time he'd turned six months old, and it was time to introduce solid food, she'd resigned herself to buying organic processed and pre-cooked baby food. It gave me a pang, because I knew how much she'd wanted to do this herself, but with her busy work schedule  and the strains of adjusting to a newborn...

So once a week, usually on Saturday morning, I cook for a now almost eight-month-old. Cooking is just such a simple thing for me to do. I barely have to think about it. I deliver the food on Sunday evening and have a opportunity to feed him the food, I leave the rest of it in freezer containers for her to use throughout the week.

He's a pretty good eater, but makes the most unbelievable faces whenever he tastes something new. I'd insert a photo here, certain to bring a smile to your face, but she doesn't want his pictures posted on the internet. Too bad, because he's a cute kid, web-viral material, but I guess that's probably exactly why she doesn't want him exposed in such manner.

He still requires his food to be pretty well mashed to pulp, although I don't strain it. I seem to have the most trouble pureeing the brown rice sufficiently, so I usually mix it with something else to help get it to a smooth enough texture.

I buy organic when possible. In the case of chicken I buy from "American Humane Certified" poultry producers, who use antibiotic-free feed and, of course by federal law, use no hormones in the raising of their birds. I had a friend whose parents, when they retired from the workforce, started an apple orchard. They claim that it's "darn near impossible" to be completely organic when it comes to apples. I found a nearby orchard that does not "spray" their fruit. And there is an organic farm that sells produce at the local Stephenson county farmer's market. They grow a lot of "heirloom" vegetables. I buy from them when I can. HyVee (in Iowa) has a nice selection of fresh and frozen organic fruits and vegetables, so they're my 'go-to' store for most items.

Food items baby loves: bananas, blueberries, applesauce, peaches, pears, basically any baby-appropriate fruit. Also, sweet potatoes.

Food items baby likes: green beans, peas, carrots, squash, chicken, turkey, oatmeal and brown rice, (when it's properly pureed.)

I'm hoping to try cooking with potatoes, spinach and maybe even kale soon.

So far Mom and Dad report that he shows no signs of allergies (knock, knock.)

Here are some photos (all but one taken with my new IPhone 6+). Other photos are lost on my old IPhone which sits on the bottom of the lake (it happens when one fails to save to the "Cloud" in on a timely schedule):

Stuff I bought at Hy Vee

Triple  washing of unsprayed apples

"unsprayed" apples aren't as pretty as sprayed apples- they sometimes have little bug holes ;)

I pare around the worm holes ;)

cut apples cooked in water

cooked apples fork mashed

Applesauce!! Thanks to mini processor.

This...

…becomes this.

More stuff from Hy Vee (Fresh organic veggie photos lost to phone in lake :(

My mini processor has a neat spout for adding liquids :)

I use either a smoothy maker or a mini processor when pureeing - brown rice, for example requires the use of both to insure a smooth consistency.

I can trace the farm from which my poultry comes - this package is from Appleton, Wisconsin.

I stew the chicken in organic broth and vegetables….

…then strain off the veggies and puree the chicken with the remaining  broth.

Because such matters are important to the mother,  I use only glass or new BPA-free containers for storage.

The ReWiring of My Hardwired Mind

We decided to take the boat out for a run yesterday. It won't be long before she'll have to be pulled out of the water and stored for the winter. As we walked toward our slip I could hear the voice of a young child. Clear, well-articulated words, "Dad, I think I need another worm." Hmm, most kids are back in school...

As we neared I could see the child's thick, waist-length, cascading soft curls of blond hair. The kid looked to be about four years old and sat upon a child-sized folding chair directly in front of our boat. "Better move your chair," said the child's grandfather. "No, it's alright. There's plenty of room. We can get by just fine," said my husband.

We had a bit of work to do before we took the boat out, cleaning the boat in general, lubing the snaps and zippers, so we set to task as the grandfather, father and child continued fishing from the dock.

"Catch anything yet?" my husband asks.

"Yeah, quite a bit actually, some bluegill, crappies and bass."

"Good for you. I don't think I've caught a single fish this summer. Basically my fishing license is my annual donation to the DNR."

"Who knows, today could be your lucky day."

As we worked I listened to the child. A child’s voice is like music to me.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I have some water? I'm thirsty."

"Okay, but you better watch your line. Looks like you have a nibble."

"Oh darn, the fish ate my worm again."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I need another worm."

"Okay, give me a second."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"How many have you caught?"

"How many fish? Well, I have six in the bucket and I had to release at least six because they were too small to keep. So let’s see, six plus six equals--"

"I guess I won then."

"You won?"

"Yes, Dad, I won."

"You won what? What did you win?"

"I won the fishing, um, the fishing…"

"You won the fishing contest?"

"Yes, Dad. I guess I won the fishing contest today."

"Well, I'm not sure about that, Buddy"

"Cute kid," I whisper to my husband as we work through our tasks. My husband mutters quietly near my ear, "Why the heck don't they have a life preserver on that kid, running around the pier?" That's my husband, "Mr. Safety."

The child is wearing spotlessly clean, but dark and drab colored clothing. A charcoal gray teeshirt over black knit shorts, dark gray socks with a blue batman emblem, the tops of which peek out of ankle-high black Converse-style sneakers. The kid does have a bright yellow and red kid-sized tackle box, which exactly matches, in color, the pint-sized folding chair.

"Hey, Buddy, we might be fished out here. What do you say we take our boat out to find some more fish?"

"Oh no, Dad, please no."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm tired, Dad."

"Good, then you can sleep on the boat."

"Daad, puh-leeze. I just don't want to. I'm sooo tired, Dad."

"Just for a little while, Buddy? Come on."

"Nooo, oh Dad, please can we just not go on the boat?"

"Alright, Buddy. Quit whining, we'll go home."

"Yay! You are the best dad, Dad!"

They pack up quickly as we begin to cast off. "Good-bye! Hey Buddy, say good-bye to the nice people. Good luck with the fish!" calls out Buddy's dad.

When we are out in the bay and the family is driving off in their car, my husband says, "So, do you think Buddy was a girl or a boy?"

I pause, because until this moment I thought that Buddy was just about the cutest little tomboy I'd ever seen. It never occurred to me that she was anything but a girl. But now as I sit here thinking about a newer generation of forward-thinking parents where defining gender in kids isn't quite as stringent; like those parents I read about from Toronto who refused to disclose the gender of their new baby until the kid was school age, to allow the child the freedom to determine which characteristics to adopt without prejudice to gender, or something like that.

"I don't know-- that hair. You rarely see a girl with hair that long, let alone a little boy. It was at least to Buddy's waist."

"But, the clothing the kid was wearing was all boyish."

"Yeah but, when Buddy started whining about the boat, didn't Buddy whine like a girl?"

"Yeah, maybe so. I'm leaning towards Buddy being a girl. Sure was a cute kid, almost too pretty a face to be a boy."

What the heck kind of hard-wiring has been done to my brain to make it so difficult to see beyond a kid’s hairstyle, or clothing choices, or softly symmetrical facial features, or a personal style of interacting with a parent, that I feel a need to identify it in some way as either male or female? I vow to work on rewiring my thought processes about genders.

***

"Hey, let's anchor here in the East bay near the new manmade reef. Maybe you'll catch enough fish to beat Buddy in the contest."

"Ha-ha."

We drop anchor and I read a book, while my husband tries to catch a fish. First he catches a bluegill. “I think I’ll try a bigger hook and some of that bait that Red recommended."  My husband fiddles around tying on a new hook and attaching the bait. Not even a minute after dropping his line he catches a 14 inch bass, "Take a picture," he says.

I pull my IPhone out of my pocket. I keep it in an Otterbox Defender case, but the rubbery silicone outer part recently developed a tear that caused it to flap about, so I removed it, leaving it incased in only the hard, slick polycarbonate inner shell. You know, that rubbery outer shell has some grip to it. It keeps it from sliding off of countertops and auto dashboards and such. I plan to buy a new case for it, just as soon as I can find one for a good price. The old cases should be coming down in price with the new IPhone 6's coming out soon. My hand is slick from the snap/zipper lubricant I used on the boat covers and I drop my phone. I watch helplessly as it bounces and cascades effortlessly across two different surfaces of my newly cleaned boat and plops into the lake, sinking out of sight and to the bottom.

"What was that?" asks my husband, still admiring up his catch, "Another big fish jumping near the side of the boat?"

"No, something else. Hey, hon, how deep is the water here?”

“Only about 16 feet or so with the reef. Why?”

“Um, when did you say the new IPhone 6's were going to be available?"

***

For the next month or more I will rewire my brain to live without a phone as I am determined to wait out the 6. There is nothing I dislike more than buying an electronic product only to have it outdated in the next month.

Right now I can still receive and send text messages on my IPad. And I can still check my phone for voicemail, that is if I could only remember what my "passcode" is for voicemail. I only retrieve voicemail directly from my phone where a passcode is not necessary. 

*** 

Newer! Bigger! Faster! Coming Soon!!

Yes, but is it waterproof and can it float?

Scenes from My Backyard, Part Three

My mind has been whirling like an Amish butter churner, non-stop that is. At least I think that's how the Amish work...

Anyway I've a dozen or more half-written, un-posted blogs on my Evernote-- here are some titles:

German Words and Phrases

Turn of the Screw

Boys of summer

A Day of Firsts

Don't Quote Me...

Bowling Blues

Now You're Cooking with Gas

Embracing the Future

But, tonight I will forget working on finishing any of those and go with my gut. I'll write the words just as they hit my brain, because I just happened to look out of my kitchen window… And what do you think I saw? I mean I can't even believe it, but here it is: I look out my window to see a young girl, high school age, lay her golf bag down on the ground and curl up in a fetal position next to it. I swear to the heavenly Lord! So, I exclaim to my husband who is, pretty much rightfully, sipping a cocktail at 6:15 p.m., "Look! There is a kid lying prone on the ground!"

Now, my husband is pretty responsible and will not imbibe unless he's certain his immediate attention is not going to be needed in the next few hours. So, he looks kind of tentatively at me and says, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Honey, look there is a kid laying down on the golf course! There are usually teachers or coaches. Oh my God, where are the coaches!?!"

He glances up. "You mean that golf bag?"

"Look next to the bag, behind it!"

"I'm sorry I just see a bag."

"Yeah, well look again, because that bag is getting up now and staggering to a standing position."

"Oh yeah. Looks like a girl. Must be the high school team."

We have a golf course outside and can see pretty much the entire fifth hole from the tee down the valley to the green on the back end of our home. This time of year the local schools use the course, during the week and in the late afternoon and early evening, for practice and for competition. It's an enjoyable and refreshing break from the plethora of senior citizens we're accustomed to watching.

Anyway, I have this quirk whereby I uncannily notice people and animals in need of help. It's often a point of discourse for my husband and I as I will point out mammalians that I notice happen to be in need and my husband will try to dissuade me from getting involved.

Like just a month ago when driving down a country road I saw a calf wandering the side of the road, well outside of her fenced in area.

"Stop! Wait! Didn't you see that calf?! Back up the car! Back up the car!"

It is only my shrieking that has even caused him to slow the car to about 30 miles an hour.

"Yes, now that I mention it, I see the calf. But, what do you expect me to do? Corral it?!"

"Well, I would like you to, at least, back up the car and help me find and inform someone from the farmhouse that they've a calf loose."

"Seriously?"

"Do you know the value of a farm animal?! Do you realize how much of a financial loss it would be to a family farm to lose this animal?"

In this case I guilt him into helping me. Usually I'm alone and will take it upon myself to offer assistance.

I don't know why I'm usually the only one around who notices when help is needed, but well here are a few examples from just the past month...

A kid wavering on his attempt to get going up a steep hill on his bike. His parents are 50 yards ahead and don't seem to notice that he's stuck,-- "Hey, do you need a push to get going?" "Sure, that would help me. Thank you, ma'am."

An ninety-plus year old man in one of those grocery store handicap motorized carts trying to lift a way-too-heavy case of water into the too-small basket. I look around to see a half-dozen shoppers. Why don't they see what I see? I offer him my assistance.

A couple times this month I've spotted someone leaving the local gas station with hands full of hot coffee, donuts, soft drinks, sandwiches-- "Can I get the door for you?" "Thanks, yes."

I offer my arm and walk an old lady, older than me (and there are not too many of those left, you know), to carry her purchases to her car over a wet-from-rain, newly blacktopped parking lot...

Why just last week I saw a couple, from my backyard, who were walking the golf course with pushcarts as a sudden storm dumped sheets of water and at just about the same time the lightning began to crash down-- "Hon, we have to get the minivan and load their carts and clubs and take them back to the clubhouse!! Quick! Get the keys. I'll go tell them! Meet us on the cart path!"  He always rolls his eyes, but he knows that I'm right.

So, I tell him tonight that we must at least ask the young lady if she is okay. I run to get two cold containers of bottled water. I take them out on the deck as she walks onto the green. She looks up at me and I call out, "Are you okay? Would you like some cold water? I saw you lying on the ground!"

"YES! Oh, please!" she exclaims, "Thank you so much!"

"How many of you are there?"

"There are three of us."

"Here are two bottles, I'll go get another." I get another bottle for the young folks.

She looks at me as I hand the last bottle of water to her. "Thank you. You just saved my life."

And that's why I react when I see someone who needs a hand, even if it's just an overly dramatic teenage girl.

A couple of summers ago my husband and I were on the deck, sitting outside reading. I happen to glance up just as a man collapsed mid swing, I mean one moment he was swinging his golf club, and the next moment he was flat on his back on the ground. I was certain he'd had a heart attack. I grabbed my husband's arm, "Look! Did you see that? That guy just keeled over! Maybe we should call 911 or at least run down and see if he needs help," but as I was saying this, that logical part of my brain was noticing that his golf partners didn't seem to be exactly rushing to his aid. I sat back and watched. A few seconds later he hops to his feet, hits the ball and the foursome continued advancing their way up to the green. When they reached our house the guy who fell began to wave and call out to us, "Hey buddieesh, come join ussh on the golf courshe," as he waved a half-empty bottle of tequila in the air. We laughed and waved them on.

I can't help everyone.