Patriot Goose

It’s the last day in November, which means the end of another NaBloPoMo. I may not have posted well, but I have posted often. Thanks to you and all your comments, it hasn’t been a total chore, but I’ll admit, NaBlo kicked my ass more this year then the last. We’ll see what happens next year, but I’m not entirely sure that I’ll try for the three-peat in ‘09. Insert resolution to keep blogging here.

Mike and I have simple tastes to begin with, but we’ve been making a conscious effort this past year to live even further below our means. Right now, our big focus is reigning in wasteful spending. As nerds, we were already mostly immune to the whole phenomenon of “keeping up with the Jonses”. Mike has always been frugal. As for me, combine a hatred of crowds and my general agoraphobia, and I don’t have much problem staying out of stores and in the confines of our budget.

Except when it comes to yarn. I knew I had a small problem — we like to joke that I will work for yarn*, or that I’ve programmed the coordinates for all the yarn stores in the state into Mike’s GPSr — but it was really just a joke, right? That delusion died on the day we started tracking our expenses: that little column in the spreadsheet labeled yarn had a big number at the bottom of it. Just to be sure, I went into my Ravelry stash, and totaled up all of my yarn. Just how much did I really have?

Eleven miles of yarn. Eleven miles. And that’s just what I’ve cataloged; there are still a few additional shameful purchases lurking the corners of my craft room that aren’t in that total. Why did I have so many balls of sock yarn when I’d only knitted three whole socks? Generally, I’m a fan of moderation, but serious problems call for serious measures: that was the day I put myself on a yarn diet for the rest of the year

I’m proud to report that I lasted a whole six weeks; I knew I was tempting fate by hanging out at the yarn store all day. Oh well. A journey of a thousand steps and all that. Now if the rest of you knitters would just stop tempting me with all of your gorgeous projects…

*but, really, I will work for yarn

Hello. This is a communique from REBEL UNDERGROUND BLOG! We have taken over your normally scheduled blog post for a critical message from our IMPERIOUS LEADER!
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Actually it’s just Mike subbing in for Vicki. I finally get to play with her new laptop. Wooooo!

Onwards to the topic. Why is Mike just so darn cool?

5. Crazy navigation skills. Nobody can hike 3 miles through the woods and find a camouflaged box like Mike.

4. Master gardening powers. Have you seen the tomatoes? How about the 15ft tall sunflowers?

3. Bitchin’ computer knowledge. I can fix any computer with my magic hands. Now MOVE!

2. Fantastic kitty powers. Yes, I KNOW what they are thinking. It’s actually pretty scary.

1. He’s a Viking in the sack.

We now return you to your normally scheduled blogging. Feel free to comment on why you agree that MIKE IS SO GREAT!

Pumpkin and pecan pies, respectively.

As anticipated, the pumpkin did not go over as well as the pecan, but that just means there more leftovers for me. I made The Pioneer Woman’s pecan pie instead of my usual recipe, and it is OMG so good that I am probably going to forsake that other pie in the future. Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends, at home and abroad.

I tried to run the dishwasher, but instead somehow I flooded the entire kitchen, and half of the basement (including the laundry room and all of the clean laundry). Awesome.

…is not about making or buying the pie crust, but what do you put in it? As usual, I’m responsible for two pies for Thanksgiving this year; one has to be pecan (unless I want to be disinherited). Pumpkin, sadly, is not an option, since there will be anti-pumpkin family members present. The second choice is traditionally Dutch apple. Maybe peach this year? I do have 50lbs of peaches that aren’t eating themselves…

Since this seems to be a favourite topic: what’s your favourite kind?

My grandmother made the world’s best pie crust; each one was always that perfect, holy grail combination of tender and flaky, melt-in-your-mouth delicious. As good as the fillings were — creamy banana, puckery lemon with fluffy meringue, tart strawberry rhubarb — it’s that crust that sticks in my sense memory. Grandma learned how to make pie from her mother, my great-grandmother, who in old farm-wife tradition, spent every Sunday making seven pies for the coming week. I inherited her best cookbook: a wonderfully battered volume published by a prairie flour company. The pie section is the most well-worn part of the whole book, pages stained and crusted, the margins filled with her notes.

Now I’m in charge of making the pies for family gatherings. It would be so much easier to just go to the store and buy one of those ready made crusts, one of those strange tubes with the dough inside. Even my grandmother, her hands not nimble enough for pastry making any more, does that now. It’s not like anybody besides me cares, or would even notice. But I can’t do it. Work may be piling up around my ears, and I might be up baking until midnight. I might be so tired and cranky that I’ll throw the floury rolling pin across the kitchen (there’s a dent in the wall testifying to the likelihood of this). It just feels right to me, adding my own marks to that old cookbook, and it’s worth any stress or time.

That being said, you might want to stay out of rolling pin range, just for the next few days…

Why yes, it is cold enough for me. Now stop asking that question, or I’ll touch you with my unnaturally icy hands.

p.s. Any sort of humor based around the idea that Canada is cold is automatically doomed to fail if the party making the joke is from Wisconsin.