A Valentine Fake-u.

(Not to be confused with a haiku, which it ain't.)

Kisses, cuddles, koochy-koo

Will read about them

But not get them, boo-hoo.

Just to show there are no hard feelings for those of you who DO get all of the above, along with chocolates, flowers and dinner out, I have decided to throw an impromptu giveaway.  And I have no idea what I'm giving away, but it will be something nice.  Or interesting. 

To be entered, write your own fake-u on a Valentine's Day theme in the comment section.  Cut off for entry will be midnight tonight.  Winner will be chosen and announced tomorrow.

Have fun - and don't make me cry.... :)

Some recipes should come with warnings.

I have found a LOT of good recipes through my blogging friends.  There are some that are my go-to recipes, which is especially helpful for GF cooking.  Then there are recipes that I should never - ever - have even tried (darn you, Nancy).

I hate to admit it, but this recipe is so good, that I have had fleeting fantasies of cranberry-hoarding.  I mean hoarding as in taking everything out of my freezer and packing it solid with bags of the red berries.  A couple of deep breathes usually get me out of trouble.

The missing portion was shipped to my parents.  Minus one
"small" slice to make sure it was safe.  Honest.

Crustless Cranberry Pie
Gluten-Free Version
Adapted from Nancy's Adaptation of the Original
(got it?)

1 Cup Gluten Free Flour (I use GF Mama's Almond flour blend)
1 teaspoon guar gum
1 Cup white sugar (I use less)
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 Cups cranberry, fresh or frozen
1/2 Cup dried currants
1/2 Cup butter, melted and cooled
2 eggs, beaten
Zest from one orange
1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Grease a 9 inch pie pan.

Combine flour, sugar, guar gum, and salt.  Stir in the zest and add cranberries and currants, tossing to coat.  Stir in butter, eggs and vanilla.  Frozen cranberries will make the batter very stiff.  Spread batter into prepared pan.

Bake for 40 minutes, or until browned around the edges and lightly browned on the top.  Serve warm (or cold, or room temperature; on a plate, in your hand, out of the pan; standing, sitting).

I cannot tell you how well this keeps because I have to give it away almost as soon as it cools.  This pie should come with the following warning:  "Baker Beware - You Won't Want to Share!" Or "If It Passes Those Lips, It Will Stick on Those Hips!"  Consider yourself on high alert.

Monday Musings. Running It Up the Flagpole Edition.

Musing my way through the pea-soup fog recently, inching my way home, I was thinking about Erma Bombeck, Ann Landers, Dear Abby, and the rest of the grand old girls of sage advice.  That got me thinking - hey!  I am big on handing out advice, asked for or not!  Just ask my two younger sisters.  I am, indeed, a bossy-pants, albeit those pants are a little looser now.  Not the bossy part, I am tight with my bossy-ness.

Along this line of thought, I noodled around an idea to run a regular/weekly (ish) post offering my humble services as patcher of fences, mender of hearts, a virtual shoulder to whine on.  And...it became "Dear Aunt Sweezie".  If there is a dilemma in your life that begs to be addressed, a burning question that needs answering, send an email to DearAuntSweezie@gmail.com.  I will do my best to answer all requests/questions within reason (and don't ask me why there is air;  Bill Cosby already covered that).  

What do you say?  Are you willing to indulge me?  Enable me?  Go along for the ride?  If nothing else, it can help us laugh our way through winter!  And let's see if I can keep up with my multiple personalities~.

Is it Farch yet?

While I'm not exactly whining, I am getting a leeeetle tired of winter.  Ever so.  Leeetle.  The novelty of having to spend twenty minutes putting on layers to walk the dogs in the morning has worn thin.  The chickens, having had spent way too many hours in close contact with their incessantly, chattering African relatives, have a glassy look to their eyes.  Things are breaking down, freezing, sticking.  Everyone's got cabin fever.

The upside of this winter seems to be a lack of rodent activity (not counting the squirrels, who are in a PIA class of their own).  I am hoping that they were all frozen out, died a horrible death, and those that survived went looking for a kinder, gentler place to pillage.  It is gradually getting lighter, the days are longer, so I have unplugged one of my multiple timers.  A little less cha-ching! on the monthly electric bill.  I am finally getting more than four eggs a day.  This means, in a month or three, the chickens will once again be earning most of their keep.

The 2013 Garden Plan has been started.  Slightly.  Ever so slightly.  I got the notebook out and sharpened my pencil.  Which involved finding my pencil sharpener.  Which was buried in the craft/knitting closet.  It's a wonder I can find clean socks.  Actually, I am knitting some clean socks.

Speaking of knitting, I realized this morning that I have six projects in some level of started-ness.  I have one and one-quarter socks knitted.  One quarter (or less) of a cotton cardigan on the needles.  One cotton hand towel cast on.  I've got my 32nd hexi-puff on the needles for my beekeeper quilt.  Only 400 more to go!  I have started yet another cabled ear warmer.  I discovered I did not finish the other iPod sweater I started.  And I have the needles, yarn and pattern all ready for a very lovely lacy cowl that I want very badly to make NOW.  Oy.

Another fun thing to do while you're waiting for Farch, is to go through the Murray McMurray catalog.  And make two lists:  the Wish List, where you list all 500 of the various breeds of chicken, ducks, goose, and turkey youngsters that you wish you could order.  Please notice there was no mention of Guinea fowl.  Then you sigh deeply and forlornly and make out the very much shorter practical list.  Okay.  Maybe practical is not the correct word.  How about 'realistic'?  Unrealistically necessary list?  Whatever.  It's the list that you've talked yourself into believing that you MUST have.  So far, after much stops, starts, erasures and additions, I am looking at four black Silkies, two Aracaunas, two Marans, two Blue Laced Red Wyandottes (how could you NOT order these?), and a partridge.  Kidding on the partridge.  This list also means that there are some of the existing group that will have to go.  I have most of my Barnevelders listed on craigslist, although it is a little early for the seasonal chicken frenzy.

Since the weather forecast for tomorrow involves a range of a few inches of snow to a few feet (I believe this is called "covering your ass bases"), I made a quick trip to the feed mill so I wouldn't be caught without chicken feed.  The mere thought makes my blood run cold - as cold as their glassy little eyes....

How are you all faring on your way to Farch?  Any tips to keep the rest of us sane?

Kul-cha, and other goings-on.

I live in a very interesting area of upstate NY - right on the border of Massachusetts/Berkshires, and not far from Vermont.  This, quite frankly, is its saving grace.  While you can still reach The City in about two and a half hours, you don't have to drive all that far to find some top-notch museums, music, arts, theater and almost any other branch off the cultural tree you can think of.   I happen to be a fan of local theater, although sometimes it can make you squirm.  Especially the musicals - think nails on a chalkboard.

As marvelous as all the kul-cha is around here, it is the natural beauty of the various mountain ranges (you folks out west would refer to them as 'hills'), forests, lakes, rivers, parks, and wildlife that surround me that really makes me love it.  It is beautiful here - even when it's 9 degrees.  Not AS beautiful, but beautiful nonetheless.

So it is extra wonderful when you can combine the two:

Sylvie in front of the Clark Museum's back entrance.

Looking from the back entrance towards the hiking trails.



Lovely Winter landscape.

 The Clark Art Museum is located in Williamstown, MA.  It is a gem.  During the winter, admission is free and they have wonderful programs throughout the spring, summer and fall that mix art, music and families.  They recently created two hiking trails throughout their extensive property and Sylvie and I took the one with steps.  It was a good workout, the views were wonderful and it was fun to have someone non-furry to hike with :).

Living in this area, you are liable to run into all kinds of people.  A case in point:  Sunday morning, we went to the local firehouse breakfast to surprise a couple of mutual friends.  You do NOT go to the breakfast for the food.  When asked if there was whole wheat toast, our 'server' answered, "There is whole WHITE toast."  However, the people watching is great fun.  A lone fellow, Sunday paper in hand, came in towards the end of our stay, and sat at the far end of our table.  He had a grey complexion, grey hair and beard (both scraggly), a knit cap clamped on his head, and many layers of what looked like thermal undies, topped with fleece.  Sylvie noticed he was reading the Sunday NYT, so asked if she could read the headlines on the sections he had read and put aside.  That simple question launched him into a 20 minute monologue about his son at RPI (and the amount of the tuition - hefty), his wife who has a highly paid job at Columbia (they live in The City and have a weekend home here), his four-year-old daughter (he has three kids, each 14 years apart), his retirement (the amount he gets every month PLUS the additional LARGE amount he gets for having a minor), ad nauseum.  We finally had to start putting on our jackets and edging away - before we became snarky. 

We had a lovely lunch at a Thai restaurant, where I discovered an Indian restaurant had moved in next to it -- I L.O.V.E. Indian food!  I will have to go, even if it means creating great angst in my heart because I can't eat the naan. 

With all this good food, good kul-cha and boon companionship, it's no wonder I am still giddy!

Monday Musings.

This morning had a bittersweet start to the day on the LLF, as Bernice, Scrappy and I stood at the front windows and waved (and woofed) goodbye to our friend, Sylvie.  She had spent the weekend with us and it was FUN!  I think Bernice is particularly blue about her departure, as she is very fond of Sylvie, who lavishes attention on her.

On my way up and over the mountain this morning, I was musing about nourishment.  Not the big bowl of comfort food that we all covet this time of year, but that elusive nourishment for your soul; your spirit.  There are many ingredients that can combine to bring yourself soul-nourishment:  music, art, books, poetry, family, friends, a vast night sky; six hours of uninterrupted knitting.  For me, at this age and time, I find that good female friends are the ones that fill me with comfort and a sense of well-being.

This was not always the case.  From childhood through my 30s and into my 40s, all of my best friends were men.  I did not cotton much to women's groups - probably a holdover from my gawd-awful high school days.  And, because I moved almost constantly - every two years - I didn't hold onto friendships with either sex.  My oldest friend was from my Cleveland days and he was a gem.  We stayed in touch through letters (handwritten ones - remember those?) for years, right up until he passed away a few years ago.  Keeping friendships alive and growing is a real art and takes work.  My parents still have friends from their school days.  They are much better at it than I am.  But do not lament for me!  (You were all getting ready to, weren't you?)  Since I have moved to upstate NY, I have found wonderful friends (not forgetting my oldest friend, Els - who is actually much younger! - who saw me through dark days in a foreign country and is permanently woven into the fabric of my life.)  And all of them are women.

Last night, Sylvie and I went to a birthday party thrown every year by two sisters with birthdays a day apart.  This is a special party - by invitation only, a large group of women who have known each other, sometimes for years, who come together for food, drink and celebration.  Most bring a soup, salad or appetizer to share, and there were some amazing desserts - none of which were gluten-free, dammit.  Or whoopee.  It depends on your view.  As part of the birthday celebration, everyone was invited to share something creative with the group.  My first reaction upon hearing this (I was invited with Sylvie, who is part and parcel of the group), was, "Oh, no.  Not one of those women-things."  Well, shut-my-mouth.  I sat in a circle while one after the other of these amazingly fun and talented women read poetry, shared photographs, sang original compositions, and, in one case, unwrapped in front of our astonished eyes the most exquisite piece of handmade ceramics that engendered a full-group - "oooooooh!"  I had to be torn away.  Although, in retrospect, Sylvie's timing was perfect - I was saved the angst of those delectable desserts.  The sheer enormity of the talent, humor and kindness in this group of friends was enough to leave me speechless.  And that is saying something.

I woke up this morning feeling like I had been transported to a spa, where my spirit had been boosted, cares washed away.  What a wonderful feeling.  I'm sure I'll get over it..... : ^ )

p.s.  Next Musings will include a little announcement. 

What am I? Chopped liver?

Some of you remember that I have a llama.  She has noticed that the camera has been pointed in every direction but hers. 

Is that your camera pointed at me? (Nose close-up
for Jane.)



About bloody time!



Do I stick my nose in your food?  Back off, girlfriend...

Much better.

Apria is a far cry from my boy, Hoosier.  She's bigger, crankier, and much more camel-like.  Some of it may have to do with the fact that she's mostly blind.  Some of it may have to do with the fact that she's middle-aged (just ask me how I know this to be true).  Some of it may have to do with the fact that she's just spitting distance from her nasty-camel relatives in the gene pool.  This spring, I have to have her hooves trimmed.  HAVE to.  I may need to call the zoo and have them send out the guy with the rhino tranquilizer dart gun.  At least my shearer had vision of foresight and sheared her closely enough that we can squeeze another year in between shearings. 

While I'm not happy that the woman with whom I dealt on the llama-trade lied like a rug and took full advantage of my naive-ness, I guess Apria could have ended up in a worse place.  At least she is well-fed, she got the ten-pound matted fur coat trimmed off and we pretty much don't mess with her.  She's got her two sheep to look after, shelter and goat t.v.  What more can you ask for?