Photo Journal, no. 17 | On Sunday, My Kitchen to Salem Street, and Back

1-2. Traumatized by attempting to file taxes, I calm my nerves by making iced tea.
3. Chicken broth fat.
4. Seedlings in pyrex.
5. Bathroom ash tray.
6. I make Wolfman pose for dorky photos.
7. Red tea latte.
8. Aria's flower display matches my outfit.
9. Aria's bunnies, not actually taxidermied, I presume.
10. Journal.
11. Lunchbox Chaos Vaughn, good dog.
12. Wolfman, laughing while reading Fangoria.
13. Finished! Yum!
14. Somebody at the Vault's been taking notes while Wolfman speaks.
15-17. The Cigar Vault.
18. Rage Against Stephenie Meyer.  (She's the worst; more on that later.)

Scintilla, no. 10 | On a Particular Pet Peeve

My Happy Obsessions

Drivers of the World: back up off the crosswalk—what is wrong with you?

Oh, but let me properly introduce myself.  I am Michelle, perpetual and life-long pedestrian.  Not only do I walk, a lot, but I love walking.  Walking is my preferred mode of transportation.  I saw in passing recently somebody describe archery like yoga—the focus of mind over matter, the precise intent of muscular memory.  Though I spend a good fifteen minutes of every single day in a downward facing dog position, I still think of walking as my personal yoga.  I could walk for hours, for days, for miles upon miles, and never get tired.  Just give me a good hat and a good pair of shoes.

Now, that being said: drivers are the bane of a pedestrian’s existence.  Fact.  In my travels-by-foot, daily I encounter some thoughtless driver to make me roll my eyes, or, on occasion, to force me to shout and exhibit rude hand gestures.  It is as if as soon as a person gains control of a motor vehicle, that person’s common sense (to say nothing of one’s very humanity) becomes obsolete. 

Dear Drivers of the World: you are not in that much of a hurry.  I know you think you are; I know you think the things you have to do are so damn important.  They're not.   (Medical emergencies excepted, but what are the chances that every horrible driver I have the displeasure to meet is in the midst of a medical emergency?)  Keep your eyes open.  Keep your hands free.  Hang up your phone.  What are you even talking about?  Who are you talking to?  Why do you feel the incessant need to fill up your life with meaningless chatter?  Be quiet.  Watch the road.  Pay damn attention.  Don’t run me over.

Drivers of the World: just because I walk, does not mean I need to be pitied.  I find myself remembering a disastrous date, in which I walked to the chosen restaurant because it was only few blocks from my house, a maybe 10 minute walk considering traffic, with sidewalks.  And, at the end of our meal, when this date realized I had walked, he seemed mortified for me.  His face fell with a sort of pity.  And, because I was not a great dater, I became embarrassed and apologetic and let him drive me home.  It wasn’t until a few weeks later that the thought occurred to me, hey, why is driving three blocks better than walking?  Fact: it’s not.  Driving every damn place is just silliness, not to mention it’s totally environmentally and economically irresponsible.  Do you know what it costs me to walk to where I need to go?  Nothing.  Do you know what it costs the planet for me to walk where I need to go?  Nothing.  Unless I step on a bug.

Drivers of the World: Do you know what a crosswalk is?  Stop forcing me to either walk into traffic or walk behind you, between your car and another car, risking some freak accident wherein a fender bender causes me to be smushed to death between so many tons of steel. 

What I’m trying to say is this: if I woke up tomorrow in a world where every car became Christine overnight and a secret trained militia took out every single vehicle in America, I would be pleased as punch.   And, yes, the twenty minute drive to my grandma’s house does become something like a two hour walk.  And that is what horses are for.   And if you want to talk to me about the impracticality of horse travel because horses poop, I am going to point you to that manicured lawn by the way and say, “Garden.”  Lawns are major pet peeve #2.

Scintilla, no. 9 | 23 Things You'll Never Hear Me Say

1. "Have you heard the new Decemberists song?"
2. "Cats are so adorable."
3. "I'm thinking about going back to school."
4. "I don't really have any girl friends; girls are just so petty and jealous--all my friends are guys."
5. "Harem pants are so tacky."
6. "I don't really read books."
7. "Ugh! Rainy days are so depressing!"
8. "I'm thinking about hitting up Urban Outfitters later today."
9. "No offense, but that girl was totally asking for it."
10. "Have you heard the new Death Cab song?"
11. "I won't date a guy unless he drives a certain kind of car."
12. "My career is really important to me."
13. "Lady Gaga is an inspiration."
14. "Perfect tanning weather!"
15. "Ryan Gosling is so dreamy."
16. "I'm trying a new diet."
17. "Slut alert."
18. "The Beatles are my all time favorite band."
19. I don't really get the appeal of guys with long hair."
20. "Steve Jobs is an inspiration."
21. "God, sometimes I hate being married."
22. "No offense, but I just don't think gay people should be allowed to get married."
23. "Leggings are not pants."

Scintilla Project

Photo Journal, no. 16 | Notes on a Rainy Saturday

1. Wet sandals.
2-3. The view from the back deck.
4. Wolfman loves using the octopus whisk.
5. Somebody's been napping.
6. The bedroom.
7-9. A gift from Wolfman.
10. Casualty by kitten.
11. Clothes hanging to dry in the bathroom.
12. The view from the front porch.

Domesticity Log, no. 5 | Ranger Cookies

Ingredients:

• 1/2 cup butter
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup brown sugar (packed)
• 1 egg
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup oats
• 1 cup cereal* 
• 1/2 cup shredded coconut

* Note on cereal: I keep a tupperware container in my cabinet for the crumbs and broken bits at the bottom of boxes of cereal.  For this particular batch of cookies, I think I used a combination of golden grahams, grape nuts, and some sort of wheat flake.

Instructions:

1. Heat oven to 375 degrees.  Mix thoroughly butter, sugars, egg, & vanilla.  Stir in remaining ingredients.
2. Drop dough by rounded teaspoonfuls 2 inches apart onto ungreased baking sheet.  Bake 10 minutes.  Immediately remove from baking sheet.

Recipe via my beloved Betty Crocker's Cookbook, published in 1976.  '76 is also the year this book was given to my grandma, on her 29th birthday, from her mother.  And, when I turned 25 and moved in with the boyfriend that, within a few short months, would become my husband, my grandma passed it along to me.  

If we're judging strictly in terms of the quality of recipes, this book is perhaps not the best.  Lots of recipes call for cans of soup, for instance, or, like this very cookie recipe, call for vegetable shortening instead of butter.  But, it's good for basics; I often use the recipes herein as a starting off point for greater, improvisational kitchen adventures.  Also, the aesthetic of this book is so fantastic. So much use of the color orange!  And each section is divided by wonderfully dated photos (see the cookie divider below).  Also, my grandma personalized this cookbook in numerous ways--from adding notes, to pages of recipes, to the crewel embroidery pattern she used below as a pretty divider.  I have plans to reinforce all the pages, and perhaps add some personalization of my own for when I one day pass this along to our future daughter, Calamity Jane Vaughn.

Domesticity Log, no. 4 | Chickpeas in Spicy Tomato Gravy

Ingredients:

• 2 garlic cloves, chopped
• 1 jalapeno, chopped
• One 2-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and chopped
• 1/4 cup vegetable oil
• 1 bunch green onions, chopped + sprinkling of dehydrated onion (eyeball it).  Or, 3 onions, chopped.
• 2 tablespoons ground cumin
• 1 tablespoon ground coriander
• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 1 1/2 cups canned diced tomatoes
• 2 cups dried chickpeas (soaked overnight)
• 2 cups water
• 2 tablespoons cilantro leaves

Instructions:

1. In a food processor, combine garlic, jalapeno, & ginger.  Process to a paste.
2. When chopping green onions, separate the green from white.
3. In a large skillet, heat the oil.  Add the white stems of the chopped onions & dehydrated onions and cook over moderately high heat until sizzling, about 3 minutes.  Reduce the heat to medium and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are browned, about 7 minutes.
4. Add the garlic paste and cook, stirring, until fragrant, about 2 minutes.
5. Add the cumin, coriander, and cayenne and cook, stirring for 1 minute.  Add the tomatoes and simmer over moderate heat until thickened, about 6 minutes.
6. Add the chickpeas and water and simmer until the chickpeas are flavored with the gravy, about 8 minutes.
7. Season the chickpeas with salt, garnish with cilantro and green onion.
8. Serve with Greek yogurt & naan.

Recipe adapted via Food & Wine's Chef Recipes Made Easy.  Every year my grandpa orders me a Food & Wine recipe book for Christmas.  I have about five now, this one being the most recent (2011).  Below, you can see how I changed up the recipe.  My effort was to make this not so incredibly spicy, though even with my alterations (I used 1 jalapeno instead of 2, for instance), this still about burnt my tongue and lips off.  But, still a very tasty dish.  And cooking it is a delight--all those spices hitting the skillet make the entire kitchen bloom with that exotic scent.  It's lovely. 

Also, a note on onions: I don't like them.  I hate getting a mouthful of onion, which is always somehow crunchy and slimy at the same time.  So, I use scallions and dehydrated onions exclusively to get around the weird texture thing.

Scintilla, no. 8 | Sitting on Porches on Rainy Days

I asked Wolfman this morning what he thought my most simple pleasures are, and he answered, "honey, shade," and then a specific carnal act which I probably should not repeat here.  He was right on all counts, of course.  He knows me so well, knows how I thrill to see honey glistening over the foam of the red tea lattes he always mixes for me at the coffee shop, knows that if I can't find any shade, I will make my own whether it be with a parasol or large hat, or, in moments of desperation, book or paper.  And, then, of course, he knows me, as Shakespeare would say. 

The fact is, most of my pleasures are what I would consider simple.  I am made happiest by the same things that make most of us happiest, man, woman, child, or dog.  Tasty things, a loving touch, something cool on a hot day.  I find pleasure in burying seeds in black dirt.  I am pleased beyond measure when Wolfman nods and groans a positive affirmation over some meal I've cooked.  I love the feel of a skirt that twirls, swishing about my legs, and I love finding a good linoleum upon which to twirl (the floor of the break room in our building where I wait while heating water for tea is perfect). 

And while I am not, as Shirley Manson sings, only happy when it rains, I am extremely happy when it rains.  Two days this week we've woken to the sound of rain and thunder outside our open bedroom windows, and I can not ever describe the feeling that illicits in me; I am just not that good.  But, God, how happy I am.  And oh, God; is that you?  In Albuquerque, where horizons reign rather than trees, my mother would take me outside in the dusk to watch storms so far away, lightening miles and miles and miles from us, and we would both share a quiet furor.  And if I move to the other side of the country again, away from North Carolina, I will always remember its summer storms, and sitting on my grandmother's back porch, pressing my feet to the cold concrete and watching the rain fall in a curtain, being misted when the wind blows, listening to the cacophony of her many windchimes, the porch ceiling just covered in them.  I love sitting on porches on rainy days, more even than honey. 

And what are Wolfman's simple pleasures?  Ginger, fixing broken things, and a specific carnal act which I probably should not repeat here.

The Scintilla Project