Soup For You!

Oh, how I wanted to come back here with an interesting, thoughtful, fun-fact-filled post! But I never wrote one. Nevertheless, February is almost gone and I'll be darned if I'm going to leave another month-long gap in the archives. So, I present this as a noteworthy event: I have made a pot of soup from a recipe found in a magazine! Why is that a big deal? Well...
Close family members know of my secret compulsion: I spend a significant amount of time reading cookbooks and collecting recipes. It's only embarassing because I rarely, if ever, actually cook. So this is a red-letter morning, here! I saw a recipe in the newspaper yesterday, and today, I made it! It came out yummy, and I can already think of three ways to tweak the recipe to make it  even better. (The challenge will be following through.)
But this is enough for today! It's a minor domestic miracle, I tell ya.

There Is No Mechanical Chicken

As children, my brother and sister and I often were assured by my father (a master of deadpan delivery) that a mechanical chicken lived in the attic. The mechanical chicken was the explanation for any unusual noises we heard. It was the reason we could not play in the attic. Can't disturb the mechanical chicken.

(Oddly enough, there was no prohibition on our playing in the basement or the garage, both of which were filled with dangerous tools and household chemicals. Hm.)

Of course, we knew he was kidding. At least, we were pretty sure. Regardless, it was enough to keep me out of the attic for next forty-odd years.

But finally, a couple of months ago we decided to have the attic insulated, get some flooring put in, and install a nice sturdy pull-down ladder. It's still an unfinished space, but now we can store all kinds of stuff in it we can't bear to part with, but don't want underfoot. On top of that, we're setting the thermostate four degrees lower at night, and we're still warm.

On the downside, it was confirmed that no, there is not now, and probably never was, a mechanical chicken.

However, there were a couple of interesting things I never knew were there, sitting patiently in the dark for half a century or more. First, this 18" by 39" pastel painting, here taken out of its ornate (and utterly filthy) gilt frame:

It's in great shape for something that was done on cardboard. Signed "Phillips." A family member? A friend? The visible pencil lines on the ice suggest an amateur effort. Sadly, we'll likely never know who the artist was, as anyone who might be able to tell us is gone.



Then, there was this perfectly lovely kerosene lamp, which is back on the main floor of the house now. (Well, on a table, not on the floor as you see here.)



I imagine it might have been used regularly long ago, when my grandparents first moved into this house around 1924. Electrical outlets were fewer and much farther between than today's code requires.

And now, the attic once again holds old furniture and stuff for others to find...but no chickens.

Delicious Pest Control

Looking for ways to discourage ants from excavating an apartment complex throughout the backyard brickwork, I came across numerous claims that ground cinnamon would send them packing. This seemed too good to be true, but easy enough to try, and darn if it hasn't worked like a charm! Didn't cost any more than a can of pesticide; I used about six ounces on 144 square feet of brick, just sprinkling it on and brushing it into the spaces between, as you can see there. I didn't worry about Miss Fi strolling about and lying on it. And, it smelled delicious outside that afternoon. That was almost three months ago. This week there was a small troop of them at work in the garage, carrying off the cat food night after night. I sprinkled a few tablespoons of cinnamon on the outside of the garage, at the point they were coming in, and...that was it, they didn't come back. Poof! So, let me offer up my anecdotal testimony of the efficacy of this particular home remedy.

I Have One Question

It's the twenty-first century, right? (That wasn't the question. That was rhetorical.) I look around at my house full o' wonders. Over there is the clothes-washing machine...there the clothes-drying machine...but why am I still flattening my clean clothing by hand with a heavy piece of hot metal? Where is my clothes-ironing machine? That was the question. Now I'll just go ahead and answer it. I hate the smell of perc and don't want to dry-clean my clothes anyway: too expensive, too toxic, the list goes on. And clothing steamers, while they might be nice for the occasional delicate knit item, are time-consuming, humidifying, and just can't put a crisp crease in your duds. We wear a lot of cotton, and there's no getting around it. So whereas washing and drying have come a long way from when I was a kid helping my mom put wet clothes through the wringer in the basement sink and then hanging them out to dry on clotheslines held up with long bamboo poles (where they would often fall off into the dirt or get caught in the rain,) I'm ironing things exactly the same way she taught me, with a device that looks, feels, and works exactly the same way. And it takes just as long to complete the task now as it did then. The only difference? Now I'm listening to an iPod while I do it.

Thanks, Martha!

A nifty tip from Ms. Stewart that doesn't involve first growing trees to make your own paper:

de-pollenize your lilies to prevent allergy attacks and stained tablecloths!

It takes point-oh-one seconds to gently swipe off the little bulbs of pollen on the ends of the lily stamens with a pinch of your fingers. Volia!

So easy. (Now, is there any way to make the daylilies last longer...?)

A Productive Day

Got Fiona's vaccination boosters this morning, weeded the front yard and driveway, planted two more relocated sedum, visited Garden World with Ken to look at the stones he'd found. (Going to go ahead with Joe's stone as it is prettier, but some of the ones at GW weren't bad at all...) Picked up two more pieces of luggage on sale at Kohl's, along with a market umbrella in tan canvas (a mere $35) which I took home immediately and installed on the 'patio'. Ken planted his veggies, I did the laundry, we booked a kayaking trip for June 6th in Ketchikan, and he went off to play softball. I wired a cheap little copper and glass candle-lantern to the good ol' rusty pole in the backyard. Can't wait 'till it gets dark and I can fire up the tealight inside it...