Guess what we did last night?

K-K-K-Katy

When I was twelve, I went to Detroit with my Nana. This trip was memorable for so many reasons, not the least of which was because it was my first time so far away from home without my parents. It was also my debut with pierced ears, pantyhose and high heels. We stayed at the RenCen with Auntie Joan (who was actually my mother's cousin) and Joan's daughter Virginia. And, most memorable of all, it was the first (and last) time I recall meeting my great-grandfather, Amos Earle Carle.

His health was poor, so our visit at his home wasn't long, but while we were there, he sang "K-K-K-Katy" to me. I had heard it before, over the phone, but hearing him sing it to me in person was so different. I can't remember why, but I happened to have a tape deck and recorded him. I still have the tape, tucked away in a box somewhere.

K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy,
You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore;
When the m-m-m-moon shines,
Over the cowshed,
I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.

It's an old World War I tune, written and composed by Geoffrey O'Hara. I'd never actually heard the entire song until tonight, when I googled it. Buddy Clark recorded this version in the 1930s:



Unfortunately, I also have a rather squicky memory of my middle school gym teacher Mr. Watson singing this song to me just a few years later. The same one who would look down the girls's shirts when we did our push-ups. Ewwww.

Trippin'

Jim and Jimmy flew down to Austin, TX, last Thursday to visit with Jim's brother Jared and take in Austin City Limits.

I decided Audrey and I needed to do something fun, too--especially since they were going to be gone during my birthday--so we dropped the boys off at Seatac Airport and drove up to Anacortes. From there we took the ferry to Orcas Island, where my sister Dorothy lives. I had a great birthday: walking in the rain (which, believe it or not, I miss after five years in sunny central Washington), watching Audrey play on the beach, roller skating at the local school gymnasium, and eating the most delicious lunch ever, dungeness quesadillas at Chimayo in Eastsound.


Audrey had two firsts during the trip: riding a ferry and roller skating. Don't ask me what I was thinking, going roller skating for the first time in 20+ years to celebrate my 41st birthday. All I can do is marvel at the miracle that I didn't wipe out once--oh, and that Audrey was ready to stick a fork in it after two trips around the rink.

Salsa

Finally, finally I got to can something I grew myself!

The growing season here in Kittitas Valley was unusually short this year, but we still managed to get a few more tomatoes than we could eat from our plot in the community garden. I decided to put up some salsa so we could enjoy their sunny flavor during winter.

Tomatoes are one of those fruits (and yes, a tomato is a fruit) with a borderline acid content that makes it necessary to pressure can them for safe consumption unless you add acid, such as lemon juice or vinegar, to the fruit before putting it in the jars and processing. I found an excellent booklet about canning salsa on WSU's website that explains the necessary proportions of tomatoes to acid to prevent botulism.

I used their Tomato/Green Chile Salsa recipe on page 11--with a few substitutions for seasoning and herbs. Instead of six cups of green chilis, I used a single jalapeño pepper (seeds and membrane removed). I also used a combination of lime and lemon juice in place of the vinegar, and added 1/4 cup minced garlic and a half a bunch of cilantro, finely chopped.

Fourth time lucky

I've heard it said, "Third time's the charm" or "Third time lucky"--which is, apparently, an old Scottish proverb. However, I also remember from high school English that William Shakespeare always wrote his plays with misfortunes in threes, and used the rule of three extensively throughout his works (remember "Friends, Romans, countrymen..."? the three witches in MacBeth? and multiple uses of threes in Love's Labor Lost?--which, incidentally, has a title of three words that all start with L!)

But I digress... this post actually has nothing to do with Shakespeare, although it does have everything to do with bad luck coming in threes.

Back at the end of March, we bought a new (to us) minivan. It's a '93 Plymouth Voyager, but in spite of the age, it had been impeccably maintained and had a lot of nice extras. We checked it out carefully and everything seemed to be in great shape. We drove our new ride on our road trip to Zion National Park in April, and more than 2,100 miles later, it seemed to be running strong.

Then, over the Memorial Day weekend, we went for a Costco run to Yakima. Just over the crest of Manastash Ridge, barely ten miles into the trip, the transmission dropped. Fortunately, this particular model of minivan has a "limp home" mode. So, while the van wouldn't go above second gear, we were able to drive back to the 'burg (albeit at 35 mph with the hazard lights on) and a few days later, roll into the shop.

Shortly after Jim got back from Atlanta in mid-June, the van finished in the shop. They had replaced the transmission (we opted for a slightly less expensive refurbed option, which came with a warranty). We drove it for a few weeks, just around town, and everything seemed fine.

Then, at the beginning of August, I decided to take the van down to Yakima for another trip to Costco. I had Audrey with me, but Jim and Jimmy had gone down to Sunnyside to meet Jim's brother and pick up his Mariner's tickets. I hadn't even gotten two miles out of town when I noticed the van was running rough, sounding wrong, and wasn't shifting gears smoothly when I accelerated. I got off at the nearest exit, then pulled over to the side of the road. I called Jim to tell him what was going on, and let him know I was turning around and going home. But when I tried to restart the van, it seemed to be dead, so I called my sister-in-law to come pick us up.

After loading Audrey's car seat into Anna's van, I realized I had left my purse in my van and went back to get it. I noticed that the rear windows, which have automatic controls, were open and so I turned the key in the ignition to close them. To my surprise, the engine turned over and started. I told Anna I was going to try and drive the van home, so she kept Audrey in her van and followed me. My van died six times on the way home--pretty much every time I came to a complete stop--once, it was as I braked coming into an intersection. But I did make it home, and the next day, we limped the van into the shop (it died only three times on that trip).

A couple weeks later, the mechanics said they had fixed the problem and Jim went to pick the van up on his lunch break. When it died on his way home, he turned around and took it back.

About three weeks ago, we got the van back from the shop again, and decided to go on another Costco run to test out the tranny. We got all the way to Yakima, made several stops for various errands, but before we actually got to Costco, we started to have the old, by this time familiar, problem with shifting gears and running rough, although it wasn't continually, and we were able to drive home at normal freeway speeds. The next day the van was back to the shop. Again.

Finally, yesterday at lunch, Jim picked it up. The mechanics had replaced the transmission control module (a computer that tells the transmission to shift gears, for those of us who are mechanically disinclined) and Jim was optimistic we were finally at the end of our transmission odyssey.

Of course, we had to drive it to Costco last night for a test run. Not just because that has become the litmus test for the drivability of this particular vehicle, but also because my last set of contacts popped out in the shower yesterday morning, and I needed to pick up replacements. I'm pleased to say the trip was completely without incident, and on the drive home we realized we had actually forgotten to keep listening for any variations in the gears shifting.

The morals of this story? The Bard will be vindicated. Beware of trips to Costco. If at first you don't succeed, you'll need to try at least three more times.

Oh, and always, always spring for the few extra bucks for a warranty when you get major car repairs; we haven't had to pay for those last three visits to the shop.

Consider yourself warned

As Audrey was climbing up into her booster seat to eat lunch today, she announced, "Watch out! Here comes Audrey!"

Her father's remark was, "Now that's a life statement."

Considering the source, he couldn't be more right.

Yum

Go ahead and laugh; I would. Oatmeal is not one of those things you'd expect to inspire rave reviews, much less instant oatmeal. A couple weeks ago I bought a box of Oat Fit to put in my 72-hour kit. I had a few packets left over, so they've been sitting in my pantry.

Usually my standard breakfast is a slice of my homemade bread with some organic peanut butter and a glass of low-fat milk. Quick, but plenty of energy. I've been too busy to bake lately so I've been eating cereal for breakfast for a while. Yesterday morning I finished off the last of my only box of Grape Nuts. So when I got home from a walk in the rain this morning, and glanced around for something to warm me up, the oatmeal caught my eye.

While it was still cooking in the microwave, my mouth started to water because it smelled so good. What's truly amazing, is it tastes even better than it smells.

Did I mention it's sugar free? And no, I'm not getting paid for this post. It really tastes that good.

Three

More pictures here for those doting grandmas so far away...

Quilt top done

Tonight after Audrey's in bed, I'll pin the top to the batting and backing. Since I'm tying the quilt instead of hand or machine quilting, and have cut the back slightly larger so I can fold it over to be self-binding, the assembly should go pretty quick!

Take me out to the ballgame

Back when Jim and I were dating and our relationship turned serious, I watched carefully for signs of sports obsession. I had gone out with a few guys who were rabid football or basketball fans, and it was a trait I disliked. Intensely. I asked some very pointed questions but as far as I could tell, he had little interest in professional sports, so I married him (not just because of that; he also makes the best brownies I've ever tasted).

Fast forward to seven years later, when I caught Jim watching a Mariners game on TV. I didn't worry too much, until it happened multiple times in one week, and then in overhearing him talk on the phone with his brother John about a recent game, I realized he knew the names of all the players. When I confronted him, he confessed he had played baseball in junior high and even managed his high school team when he didn't make the cut.

Rather than feeling betrayed by this latent love of baseball (which he had so successfully hidden from me during not just the critical courtship period, but the ensuing years as well) I tried to be open-minded. I tested the waters to see if it was something we could do together. I watched the next game with him, and found I actually enjoyed it.

We started following the Mariners on TV and going to a couple games a year, back when we still lived in Bellevue. We even took Jimmy once when he was very little, but we hadn't been to another game since we moved over the mountains.

Until last Saturday. Jim's brother John had tickets to some sweet seats (27 rows back behind the Mariners' dugout), but couldn't make the game due to other commitments, so he gave them to us.

When Jim asked Jimmy what his favorite thing was about going to the game, he said, "Everything." Pressed for specifics, he named (in this order) kettle corn, cotton candy and red vines. Asked the same question, Audrey--to my surprise--said, "Baseball."