Rhubarb Pie

Not much to miss, really.

Friends, I think I'm done.  I don't have much to say in the realm of personal blogging. I do still write at On the Public Record, but it isn't personal. This was fun, and I'll miss you.  If I have big announcements or start to write somewhere new, I'll tell you for sure.  Otherwise, the place to find me is megan_archives at the Yahoo.com.  As always, I hope to see you out in the real world.  I love friends and guests; you have a place to stay in Sacramento.  Please keep in touch.  

Squash plant on the left.

Fixt!  I switched out the emitters.  On inspection, it appears to be installer error; looks like some careless person grabbed a few of the wrong emitters.  Thankfully, I had more of the right ones.  Does your porch look empty without your box of irrigation supplies?

Next project, electricity!  This ugly-ass fixture has got to go.  One flips the breaker first, though (carefully brushing the black widows out of the fuse box first)?  I've spent so much more time with irrigation systems.

 

Drip emitters, my ass.

This is not what they taught me about drip systems in grad school.  I can't believe something has gone wrong inside three intricate plastic pieces worth forty cents each.  Where's the quality control?! Well, they're easily replaced.  Good to know I've got plenty of head, though.

So, what do you guys do without irrigation systems to think about?  You must get bored without the daily suspense about which part will get kicked over by drunks on the sidewalk.  What could occupy your mind when you aren't thinking about whether that last sprinkler will reach to the squash plant on the end?  Are you lonely without the constant presence of something to fix?  Do your evenings loom long without your sprinkler system to keep you company?  It sounds so empty, empty and dry.

I tell myself that every day.

My bees are coming today!  My sister's friend is bringing me bees.  In exchange, I'm giving him a piece of pie.  This is a very good deal for me, but in fairness, it is a very good pie.  I made it up.  I was thinking of lemon-rhubarb, and found a filling for honey-lemon-rhubarb.  But when I'd made the fruit-y filling, it didn't look like enough.  I like a heaping pie, you know.  So I thought some more, and what I thought was, what if I put something under the honey-lemon-rhubarb topping.  Kinda like a cheesecake, and from there, lemony ricotta was inevitable.  Poured the fruity filling over that, and was grateful that I didn't have to make a top crust.  It came out pretty tasty.  This is the type of creativity that wins pie contests*, and brings me bees.  The barn will no longer sit empty.

*It is also the sort of creativity that loses pie contests, since apparently the people weren't impressed by the sweet corn-flavored custard pie.  Whatever, savages.  Sweet corn is a dessert flavor in Asia, as you might know if you weren't so ignorantly wedded to pecan or chocolate.  Sometimes Art gets ahead of its audience, and you just have to tell yourself that amazingness is more reward than winning some stupid contest could ever be.

ADDED 5/5:

Got another one.

This one was unusually tame, displaying no fear of me.  He came close enough to ask permission.  Nevertheless, this isn't a posed shot.  If you're quiet and gentle, they'll soon return to their natural ways, even though they know you're there.

Just checking.

In the movies, when they show the girl singing along in the car or dancing around her room, is that to establish:

A.  She is a regular girl like all of us, because everyone dances around at home.
B.  She is especially energetic and effervescent. 
C.  Other _______________________________.

Show your work.

What I'm doing this weekend.

Well, the tomato plants I ordered from a local school are here, so I'm planting tomatoes.  I've been fretting about my garden for weeks.  I got it turned over and the cages dug in weeks ago, so I've been waiting, which is pretty much killing me.  But it has been so cold.  The days are in the sixties, which is just barely enough if you're running or in the full sun.  If the daytime temperatures are only in the sixties, I don't see how the soil temp can be in the seventies, which is what the tomato plants want.  It'd make sense to wait, but the other gardeners in the community garden have their tomatoes in, and I suffer from envy.  Comparisons only ever make the situation worse, and how much more true that is when you're comparing yourself to people who've already got tomato plants in.  I could probably wait a couple more weeks even, and will for the eggplants and cucumbers.  But my tomato starts are here, so I'll plant them.  I love the smell of tomato plant leaves as much as I love anything.

[UPDATE:  Why do all my trips to the garden have to involve near-handfuls of black widows?  I swear, I've seen at least one on my last four trips. 

Got the tomato plants in.  Twelve plants, just to keep me in tomatoes.  It won't be enough.  I'll still have to supplement with tomatoes from market.  My dad puts in 60 plants for a family of four.]

Then I'll head over to the gym.  There's a powerlifting competition today that I'm not in, which I am just fine with.  I'll probably end up plateloading, probably for deadlifting.  That's the hardest, because the bar is on the ground, so you're moving all those plates from a kneeling position.  And it is a lot of plates.  The big guys can deadlift hundreds of pounds, and those hundreds of pounds have to get on the bar somehow.  Last time I loaded for deadlift with Perfect Mike on the other end of the bar.  Perfect Mike is not just strong like an animal and a fantastic spotter.  Perfect Mike is also fast and accurate when he loads the bar, so we got compliments on how fast we worked.  It is true.  We got a lot of lifters through the meet fast.  I liked that when I look over at Mike, we are very often mirrored, reaching for a plate at the same time, or clamping down in unison.  After that I'll be tired, so the evening will be mellow.

Tomorrow, I don't know.  Market, of course.  A party for friends of mine whose apartment burnt down.  Man, I just purged my house so ruthlessly.  I put everything I hadn't used recently out on the curb, so I don't have back-up stuff to give to people.  I was thinking of picking out lamps for them, because people need lamps.  Actually, I need lamps, and I saw some adorable ones that don't match my house.  But I wanted to get them anyway and this would be a good reason.  Except that maybe they should be able to pick their own lamps.  I should get them a gift card, right?  Normally I'd say those aren't personal thoughtful gifts.  But this might be the time when they just want to be able to pick out the stuff they' need.

I should hang up lights on my porch, because I came up with an elaborate plan for lights and lanterns on my porch.  But that sounds like work.  I can't do work until the days warm up and I don't have to spend all my energy battling the cold.

Maybe Pub Quiz after, if dw and Jean-Michel want to go.  I haven't been to Pub Quiz since we won the third place prize, porn.  Once we'd won that, I felt like I'd completed all my goals and my life was satisfied.  But now I'm remembering that it was fun just to go to Pub Quiz, without trying to win porn.  It isn't always about the prize, you know, even when the prize is porn.  Sometimes the journey is the prize.  It is good to be reminded of that.

Makes perfect sense.

I understand the world so much better when I read Scott's explanations.

ADDED LATER:  This dude is also talking perfect sense, about compromise and health care.  I should have known he'd be great, because he's on Jay Smooth's site.

I have not felt the love of a curvy mug.

I'm sorry your favorite mug got broken.  That's no good.  I'm excited the internet is bringing you options for new mugs.  The internet is pretty amazing that way.

These are my two house mugs.  I have others, but I use these two.  The mexican one on the left is my longest favoritest mug.  That was the mug that convinced me to paint my house in such bright colors.  I figured that if all those colors could play together happily on a mug, they could get along on the walls of my house.

The other mug is a recent present.  Normally I don't like art with pictures of people in it.  I don't know those people, so why would I give them a place in my house?  I would have to think about them and figure out their story, which is too much trouble for a not-real person.  But she is so damn cute, and she even has the haircut I had when it was given to me.  Ali and I talked about making that skirt, so I could match her in all ways.  Anyway, I make tea or coffee for other people, but I never give it to them in these mugs.  I hoard these mugs for myself.

Just like the sparrows.

The season has started, with the return of the picture takers. Every year these beautiful and elusive creatures flock to the native flora in front of my house to take pictures.  I consulted online references, carefully selecting my plants to draw them in and furnish them with nectar.

Ali and I have sat in our blind a few feet away, waiting with the patience of ornithologists or duck hunters or something, hoping to catch a glimpse of our wild neighbors as they come in to take pictures, skittish and fearful, but drawn powerfully to bright colors.  Something inside them, something in their very nature must answer the call of orange and green.  Sometimes we refer to our blind as "the porch", and sometimes we call the long wait "drinking." But I don't mean to confuse you with technical jargon.  After one of us has been home all day, we'll compare sightings.  "I scored a backtrack, walked all the way back across the street to look again."   "Oh, I only bagged a family.  Those are too easy --kids always stop to look."

Ali's far away, in Korea, writing fantastic posts.  She'll be back one day.  Darling Sherry, can you come visit in the spring one time?  My other flowers will be bigger then, so we're likely to see more of the local fauna.  I would coach you in "drinking" "on the porch."  It takes fortitude and self-mastery, but I think you'd be a natural.