Still waiting for spring...

But these babies help to distract me from the snow blanketing my backyard. Love the little sweeties. I used to get them in my Easter basket. {Now I buy the big bag and parcel them out over a few weeks.} What is your favorite springtime treat?

Family Tradition

Every family has a few traditions that just can't be broken. It doesn't matter if these traditions are good or bad but to break them would cause the ancestors to turn in their graves. My family tradition - nobody can do anything by himself. (I say himself for two reasons: first, I only have brothers and second, this only applies to the males of the extended family.) I first remember this when going and helping my Grandpa work on his farm. My dad I think has the worst case "lonleywhileworkingitis". Unfortunately, all of his boys are gone so he now needs my mom to hold his hand where ever he goes. A close runner up however is my oldest brother, Shane.

During college I helped Shane as "Chief Monkey Boy" for his apartment complex. These apartments were built in 1920's and needed a lot of repair. We taught ourselves plumbing, carpet laying, drywall, tile and all sorts of other jobs that needed to be done. A couple of weeks ago he offered to pay my way home to help him replace a water heater. (Shane has his doctorate in education. I think no plumbing project was undertaken with more education and less experience.) The water heater is in the "dungeon". Katie won't go down there because she says it is not appropriate for people with good imaginations.

Here is the view from the top of the stairs. What you see is the old coal furnace and boiler that heated the water for radiant heating throughout the complex.

The view of the furnace and boiler from the bottom.

A trap door in the alley allows you to bring stuff into the dungeon.

This is the trap door view from the dungeoun

You might ask yourself how we lowered the water heater down the trap door. Here is the excavator with the old water heater.

In driving the excavator off the trailer I had a near death experience. It tipped and rocked to the point I let go of the controls and grabbed the bars so I didn't get bucked off. Fortunately, I did pack an extra set of underwear.

The finished project with all of the pipe soldered.

It even worked at the end which is always a plus, although it did require two trips to the part store as all good projects do.

Explosions and other effective coping mechanisms

Last week found me brewing up a storm on the inside. You know, the kind of situation where the little things keep adding up until you're ready to blow your stack? Taken singly, I could handle the little things, but I was just soooo caught up in the Greek tragedy of my life right now {insert hefty dose of sarcasm} that the end of my rope was dangling above me. Because, hello, could the world not stop in its course and take note when I am sad because my patient died and we have to move to a cold, wet place and the sun doesn't shine there and I'm going to need a sunlamp and antidepressants just to function and I have to leave my dear friends behind and I am grumpy about packing our life into little cardboard boxes and we have to find a renter for our house and then we have to leave said nice big house to move back into apartment dwelling and I can't find an effing JOB?!? Ahem...

As I was approaching deep-fry meltdown status, basted with a thick layer of self-pity and garnished with narcissistic sprinkles, my friend Becca entered the scene. Becca is an excellent listener, and she had her tender ears of friendship on that afternoon while I accentuated the negative. I stood in her sunny living room while her two middle boys played in the kitchen. Her empathetic eyes engaged, she took in my trembling lower lip and vesuvial mindset and gave me a hug just in time for a sonic boom to erupt from her kitchen. Cue: chorus of terrified shrieks from Becca's three-year old son and a series of gasping sobs emanating from the six-year-old as his science project volcano exploded in their faces. Not a scheduled, controlled eruption, mind you. Exploded.

We two ladyfolk peeked around the corner to find the entire kitchen liberally drenched with vinegar, the side of the project volcano blown away, and two traumatized boys displaying their tonsils with gutteral wails. As the six-year-old began his sobbing mantra of "Mom, I'm sorry, I'm sorry momididntmeantoimreallysorryauuuuughh!", Becca gently reassured her offspring and steered them into dry, non-vinegar-scented clothing. The cherry on top? Hearing all the commotion, the one-year-old came toddling at top speed to assess the damage. He took in his brothers' orchestrated distress, shot one look up at his mom, grabbed her legs, and promptly joined his screams to the mix.

And what did I do? I took my impending breakdown out of earshot and...laughed. Bellylaughed until my abs protested. Laughed so hard that the tears that had been threatening all day finally breached the dam and flowed free. Laughed until my ridiculous perspective was turned inside out and upside down. Because it was just that awesome.

Okay, so maybe my heart is a shriveled little piece of tin for laughing at those boys, but dangit, I am going to buy them some ice cream. They lent me perspective. A little boy and his science project showed me that it could always get worse. Life could just up and explode in my face. Besides, it is good to be reminded that somebody else usually has it comparatively harder than me, particularly if they have just had their nostrils forcibly irrigated with vinegar.

Editorial note: I called back later that afternoon to inquire about the boys' mental health status. You know, a post-traumatic stress disorder assessment of sorts.
Me: So, did you ever figure out what happened with the volcano?
Becca: No, but Max {the six-year-old} grabbed his blankie and a belt buckle he really likes and has been curled up and rocking himself on the couch.

Don't hate on me when I confess that I have been breaking into random laughter every time I mentally replay the situation. And isn't laughter truly the best medicine?
Thanks, Becca.

Chinese Hors d'œuvre

When living in Seattle I was taken to dim sum for lunch. What is dim sum both of you ask? As the title of this post would suggest, it is like chinese hors d'oeuvres. The staff push little carts around and ask if you would like various items. Since the Seattle experience I have been craving this little lunch fare and wanting to have Katie experience it for herself.

Dim Sum in Portland, Oregon ~ by Katie

When first coming to Denver we read all of the online reviews of various restaurants and tried one out. To all who try this same experience the name has changed in Denver. It is actually "dim SUCK".

Sesame Balls ~ by Katie

Fast forward to last week. While in Portland we ventured out to Wong's King Seafood for dim sum. We get there and find out two very important qualifiers of good ethnic food. We are the only white people in the place and the waiting line (after we sit down fortunately) seems like it goes around the block. Overall this place would definately be "dim YUM".

Note: The difficulty in dim sum is knowing what you are eating. Not because of the food but because of the language barrier. Katie's solution was to say "yes" to everything at the beginning. I would caution others to take this same approach as it came very close to having us eat chicken feet. The tuna cake was also this way. Tasted pretty good once we realized the staff had said "tuna" and not "turtle". I was having a hard time eating turtle.

Tuna cake ~ by Katie

Homer moment (Part Doh)

Another recipe from the files. It is easy to make but beware it can cause rude comments during a chest x-ray.

Praline Yams
2 - 40oz cans Sweet potatoes
2/3 cup milk
5 egg yolks
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper

Topping
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup corn syrup
1 cup chopped pecans

Mix yams, milk, egg yolks, salt and pepper together until smooth. Place in 9x13 greased baking dish.

Heat brown sugar, butter and corn syrup in microwave. Mix in pecans and spread over yams.

Bake at 350 for ~40 minutes or until toothpick in yams comes out clean.

Northwest Roundup

Hubby Love and I are having adventures in Portland, Oregon these past few days. In July, we are slated to begin a lengthy work/school commitment here, and it seemed like a good plan to get acquainted with our impending stomping grounds. On the agenda: tackling the joint ventures of apartment hunting, job interviewing, and generally sussing out what this city and all its neighborhoods have to offer.

My sister Kirsten also happened to be in Portland this weekend, so we swooped her away for an afternoon. The girl is an adventurous co-ed on alternative {read: public service and trail construction} spring break, and it was fun to catch up. Sister #2 is a busy girl. A chemistry-majoring, spare-time-volunteering, getting-ready-to-graduate girl. She is sassy. She is phunny with a capital P. She is wise {because she knows that I am the alpha sis and could still thump her if needed}. And she got the curly hair out of us sisters.

Katie & Kirsten, Spring Break Oregon, March 2009 ~ by Bart

As we drove west to the coast, we stopped to check out a fish hatchery. Bart discovered a generous fish munchie dispenser, and we all engaged in fattening these northwestern denizens of the deep.

Bart and Katie, Oregon fish hatchery, March 2009 ~ by Kirsten

Katie & Kirsten, Oregon fish hatchery, March 2009 ~ by Bart

Is anyone else itching to grab a rod and reel? These big-mouthed babies were beautifully active.

Oregon Fish Hatchery, March 2009 ~ by Bart & Katie

Cannon Beach was lovely. Sand, surf, beautiful light, and visual intrigues. Because he is a first-class, Grade-A, blue ribbon, board-certified boy, Bart was searching for a stick with which to poke this pile of unidentified sea vegetation. {Because Boy Code dictates that is what one MUST DO upon encountering the unknown.} When no stick presented itself, he took a cool photo instead.

Kelp tangle, Cannon Beach, March 2009 ~ by Bart

Cannon Beach, March 2009 ~ by Bart

I don't know about you dear readers {all two of you}, but when packing to visit the maritime climate of the Pacific Northwest, I didn't think to include my deep-freeze Arctic gear. My mistake.

This was the view driving back inland after visiting the coastline.

Returning to Portland via Hwy 26, March 2009 ~ by Katie

It was a full, rich day of traipsing out to the coast and meandering across the {very cold} beach. Fish viewing, snow dodging, and trying to keep warm rounded out the adventure. Lucky for me, my beau is a toasty young man.

Bart & Katie, Oregon Fish Hatchery, March 2009 ~ by Kirsten

A Little Story

So. The past few weeks have been eating my lunch. I've chosen to neglect the blog in favor of activities like sleep. Laundry. Job. You know, those thousand and one things that keep life running. But now that I'm rested up a bit, I have a story to tell you...

I was a senior in high school when my little sister was born. Sister number 3 is a precocious little nugget of blonde brains and beauty. A bookworm, a fiercely loyal friend, and a girl's girl through and through. If she wasn't already my sister, I would steal her and inaugurate her into the family. Little Miss Karli used to help me fold laundry, and she would invariably make a comment when we got to the lacy underpinnings. 

"Minna," she would say {for that is what I am called by my closest lady-relatives}, "Minna, I like your broths." 

And any of you who know the tender little funnies that small ones generate will know exactly why I did not have the heart to tell her that it was actually called "a bra". And why the terminology has persisted as a private family joke. 

So...with the family joke in mind, let's fast-forward a few years to my little hacienda on a dark spring night.  

It had been another day of working late. Another day of giving emotionally challenging care. A perfect day to drag myself home to my ever-loving beau, worn-out and ready to crawl into bed. What a welcome sensation then, to have my little olfactory sensors greeted at the door with the warm scent of turkey soup. Turkey soup that I did not have to make.  I sat down to a steaming bowl of thick handcrafted noodles, tender shreds of Sunday-dinner bird, fresh-cut veggies, and {get this, folks...} homemade turkey broth. Through the warm tendrils of steam, I looked at my one true love and he wiggled his eyebrows. 

"The Broth Fairy has been busy," he said.  

I chuckled. Busy indeed.

After slurping up my honey's delicious handiwork, I turned to finishing the details for our job-hunting trip. Feeding the kitty? Check. Packing The Interview Suit? Check. Remembering my lacy underpinnings? Check-check.  As I opened up my lingerie drawer to pack the unmentionables, I found an unexpected surprise. 

Something new.

Something lacy.

Something on stupendous sale from my favorite "broth" shop. 

And as I let out a gasp and a giggle, my one true love came and wrapped his arms around me, whispering in my ear, "I told you the Broth Fairy has been busy." 

Sit down, Santa. 

Take a hike, Tooth Fairy.

I'll take the Broth Fairy any day. 

Cookin' Caribbean

I don't cook that often. Mainly because the kitchen is destroyed afterward and it never taste as good as the other food that gets done in this house. Katie had late nights for several nights in a row so I cooked last week. Some friends picked up a cookbook for us on their babymoon (last trip before your life gets overtaken by aliens) in the Caribbean. Everything in the cookbook has tons of fresh fruit so planning ahead is a must (mango, kiwi and fresh pineapple are not a part of our food storage). The kitchen was usable at the end and we didn't get food poisoning. Overall a successful adventure.

Guadelupe chicken ~ By Katie

Homer moment

My biochemistry professor (who had a lot of subcutaneous tissue) when teaching about lipids would exclaim "Homer moment". This was usually when talking about prime rib, ice cream or other things that have the potential to cause a heart attack. I unfortunately live for Homer moments and the following recipes have been requested at recent parties.

WARNING: These may cause you to yell "DOH!"

Buttery Corn Bread
2/3 cup butter
1 cup sugar
3 eggs
1 2/3 cup milk
1 tsp salt
2 1/3 cup flour
1 cup corn meal
4 1/2 tsp baking powder
Cream the butter and sugar. Combine eggs and milk in small bowl. Combine dry ingredients in small bowl. Add milk to butter mixture alternately with flour. (note: I usually do not do this because I am lazy. I just mix everything together in one bowl.) Bake in greased 13x9x2 pan at 400 degrees for 22-27 minutes.

Buttermilk Syrup (So good cardboard would be edible)

1 cube butter
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/2 teaspoon soda
1 teaspoon vanilla

Melt butter, add buttermilk and gradually stir in sugar. Heat over medium heat, stirring occasionally until mixture comes to boil. Remove from heat and add soda and vanilla. (Syrup will foam up when you stir in the soda and vanilla, so use a large-sized saucepan.)

Shoop, shoop

Today I feel beaten up and tired. My back aches. My knee throbs. My legs want to secede from the union. You know what? You shouldn't even begin to feel sorry for me...I kinda like it this way.

Bart skiing Vail, March 2009 ~ by Katie

We're back from my conference, but tomorrow is our day off. There is only one thing to be done with a joint snow day...we are driving up the hill for another little taste of the love. Hubby Love has ripped up the slopes over the past few days. The man skis like a bat out of hades.

Katie skiing Vail, March 2009 ~ by Bart

I even managed to squeeze a little recreation time in between conference sessions. Three cheers for generously scheduled continuing education!