Varoom!

I love to drive.

Subaru as seen in the wild, resting...

And my little red Subaru Forester who answers to the name of Bullet loves to be driven.

She is a mightily coordinated youngster who clings to twisting wet roads like a cougar, so she and I enjoy going places together, like on mountain roads in the rain and snow. (Yes, I did steal (belted radial) that image from the old GoodYear Tire commercial; your remembrance of that gives away your old age, so don't tell anyone...)

Anyway, I steer and Bullet boogies.

Snowy country road with Blue Ridge in the distance

This week we've been up and down 321 to Boone a half a dozen times. That's up and down, counted as one time. Bullet and I have actually traversed Highway 321 a total of twelve times since last Monday.

You see, my daughter broke her ankle two weeks ago, sledding in the perpetual snow storm that has blessed, plagued, and annoyed the Blue Ridge for nigh on ever since the Autumn leaves fell.

Well, after sitting in her dismal, cramped apartment caring for herself for five days, my youngest called for the best and most lovable rescue/care taker she knows. Dearest Mama.

"Can you please come get me?" she asked. My ears perked up like a happy Rat Terrier's. "But of course," I said.

Tugging on my comfy brown knitted boots, I hopped in Bullet and varoomed right up the mountain.

Now if you know me at all, you're aware that I suffer from the malady known to middle agers as the Empty Nest Syndrome. It goes through several stages. I am in Stage Four, the "Wondering Who the Heck I Am Now That There's No One Home to Nurture" stage. So if any of my kids or grandkids needs a little love, I'm there for them like lightening on a telephone pole in the middle of a lake in a thunderstorm on an August afternoon in Central Florida. That's fast, my friend.

Back to my kid. She has been my prisoner/victim until this last Monday when at last she was able to get a cast on her ankle.
The appointment was at 3:30; all went well. I got her home and snuggled into her apartment, her clothes in the wash, bed made and everything unpacked. Bullet and I at last arrived back to our home by 7:15 pm. I felt like Supermama, and Supermama was pooped! Bill cooked. I slept like a log. 

(Picture of adorable daughter in bright green cast should have gone here, but alas, we didn't get one!)

Then yesterday morning I got a phone call before I was out of bed. It was my daughter. In pain. The cast was pressing against the outside of her poor widdle foot.

Zoom zoom! Up 321, back down to Taylorsville, where the good doctor cut the cast away from her tortured toes, back up to Boone and down 321 to home. Whew!

(Don't worry. I'm mercifully sparing you the details; you don't want to know "why Taylorsville?".)

I think I've had enough of the mountain drive for one week.

I have other things to do today, like writing and drawing. I don't want to go back up the mountain tomorrow, either; or the rest of the week.

But I do love the mountain drive. Listening to Bach, with the bass turned up so that it vibrates the steering wheel beneath my fingertips.

I look out upon those deep blue mountains and can see so far around the earth that I almost sneak up on myself from the back!

I can tell where it's foggy and where it's raining and where the sun shines bright. I see Grandfather Mountain and Hawksbill and Table Rock. I see the storm front that is headed this way, floating just above the soft yellow sunset, tinged in greens and blues and pinks.

As for Bullet, she just hums along with me. She loves the setting sun, too. The cold crisp air, the scent of the pavement.

And of course our dear friend, Johann. (You know. Bach.)

Belgian Waffles with Cornmeal and Ground Walnuts

Pure, natural ingredients make for healthy and delicious meals.

Deber's Rule #1:

Use only natural ingredients. Whenever possible, use organic.

Deber's Rule #2

Measuring is meant to be a guideline, not a law. After all, cooking is an art, not rocket science or brain surgery...

but never over do baking soda or salt.

How many eggs can one eat before one has had one too many eggs?
In my opinion, exactly one dozen. Two each morning for six mornings in a row. Actually, I usually mix up my breakfast a little more than that, but try to keep it high protein and lower carb, so it will last until lunch.

This morning, Bill and I, having had enough of grown-up breakfasts, decided Belgium Waffles and bacon would be a nice change for today. The wonderful mixture of crispy and sweet with crunchy and salty just says "Sunday is Special". (That sounds a little too much like an old Shake N' Bake commercial, but you know what I mean.)

Since I'm trying to make my breads less glutenous right now, as well as higher in protein and fiber, I fiddled around with my usual basic waffle recipe and came up with this healthy, delicious new one.

Belgian Waffles with Cornmeal and Ground Walnuts
deber klein     Feb. 7, 2009

1/3 cup ground walnuts (I ground them in the coffee grinder - they will clump from the natural oils, so you may need to do two grindings. Measure them after ground.)
2 T corn grits, uncooked (If you don't have grits, you can substitute with corn meal.)
2T corn meal
2 T ground flaxseed
Unbleached flour – add enough to the above ingredients to make between 1 ¾ to 2 cups total flour mixture. (So you’ll be using maybe 1 ¼ cup of flour.)
1 t baking soda
1 t baking powder
1 T brown sugar
Blend above ingredients well. Then add:

2 eggs
5 T melted, salted butter
2 cups buttermilk OR 2 T cider vinegar added to milk to make 2 cups

Blend (don't beat) until everything is wet and well blended. Some small lumps are okay.

Cook in a waffle iron (brushed with butter or sprayed with Pam) for 3 minutes or until it stops steaming.

Serve with any (or all) of the following:
Berries, whipped cream, powdered sugar, preserves, honey, butter and Maple Syrup.
Oh, and I dare not forget the coffee and some nice, crispy bacon.

Any leftover waffles can be put in the freezer and later popped into the toaster to be enjoyed on those mornings when you find you don't have time to cook.

Snowy Days are for the Birds!

Meet Monsieur Starling, imported to America from Europe, I believe.

He was happy to pose for me yesterday as I waited in the car for Bill to run into Walmart. I sat there, camera ready, hoping for sparrows. Not being a shy guy, Mr. Starling decided to let me photograph him first. It's easy to understand why he's so proud, what with those colorful feathers gleeming in the sunlight, and markings like reversed ermine, fit for a king.

Bill and I were on the hunt for empty bird's nests, which I will be using in a notecard series, available later this week. We got some beautiful material.

The photo above was taken by my husband.

He had to climb a mountain of snow which had been piled around this little parking lot tree. I watched as he teetered precariously on the dirty wet stuff to get this photograph just for me.

I wanted to get as many nests as possible from the inside...that is until we found this one.

It was close to the road, so we pulled into a loading dock area for easy acceess, which turned out not to be easy at all, thanks to a 10 foot wall. But my husband trapsed up a hill and down the street to get this image. He came back triumphant, the hunter with his game.

Upon closer inspection, however, we realized that this nest appears to be full of bones. We tried to convince ourselves that that was just leaves and debris frosted frosted in snow, but no. When I enlarged the picture on my computer this morning, it does look like a cluster of dry white bones.

Needless to say, this particular nest won't be going in my Empty Nest Cards. I know it looks cool, but we empty nesters need happy images of empty nests. Images that remind us that empty nests are truely a thing of beauty, full of opportunities for the future.

Did you know that birds often reuse their nests?

Sometimes twice in a season. And they may come back again, year after year. Little birdie mommies and daddys passing their home along to their offspring. And so it may go until the nest wears out. (That is why I don't collect nests, save for the one that comes out of a little shoe box to adorn my Christmas tree every year.) 

So, the empty nest is not a thing to be mourned, but is actually the harbinger of a happy future. A future which may even include grandchildren. Grandchildren who go home after the spoiling is done one day, and return another day for more of the same.

Unfinished knitting, mayhaps?

One more nest to share before I go, my friend. I especially loved this sturdy little nest. This couple found a bit of string to use in their home, but I have a second theory. The knitting was abandoned when the eggs hatched a little earlier than expected.

Well, that's it, folks. Yesterday's adventure. The best thing about it wasn't the lovely photos of bird's nests. It was the fun time Bill and I had together, just driving around, looking for them.

Have a good day. And keep your eyes open. Remember, you pass by things every day that are sitting there, waiting for someone to notice them. 

Delight in life's little details. It's good for the spirit.

Tulips, Tulips, Twolips!

Tulips.

Tulips.

Twolips.

How many ways do I love thee, O' Tulip!

Your ever changing grace pleasures me.

You are more beguiling,

and more wonderful

with each passing day.

How shall I repay you for this

sweet and gentle joy,

pretty, dancing Tulip?

I shall paint you

in a dozen different ways.

Bad poetry? Perhaps...Okay, yes. I don't claim to be a poet. But the beauty of a vase filled to overflowing with bright orange tulips, sunlight dancing through their leaves and petals making patterns of light and shadows  there, challenges me to honor them even in prose.

At least once a year I purchase a bundle of tulips. Not only do I enjoy the graceful shape of a new bunch of unopened tulips, but they have a wonderful way of changing as the days go on. Once open, they flaunt their fluffy stamens and pistils like princesses in diamond tiaras, gangly teenagers that they seem to be.

These stages of development provide the daily changes in the life of a vase of tulips, and as a result, many opportunities for painting them.

The other day I made a series of photos from a basic setup in afternoon light. Layla obviously wanted to help by getting in the picture, adding interest and life to my photo shoot.

I think I shall paint tulips today.

Happy Elf and Cat's Afire!

As you certainly know, it tends to get a little crazy between the end of October and January first. In addition to the usual holiday shopping, I have kept busy making paper for wedding invitations, jewelry for my daughters, and marbled paper for no good reason whatsoever.

Now that things are starting to wind down, I find myself needing to write, and wanting to tell you just a little about our Christmas vacation this year. But I still don't have much time, so I'd better hurry.

On Christmas day, I realized my family life could easily make up a series logic puzzles. You know the ones that say things like "Harry had three events to attend over the holiday season. His friends were named John, Sally, and Pete. They lived in Dover, Dallas and Denver. The parties were on Saturday, Monday and Wednesday...you get the drift. So, briefly, I'd like to tell you my Christmas day puzzle:

Deborah has five daughters. Some came home for Christmas, one lived in town and one could not leave home. They all gave their men presents. Three were hand made gifts. Which husband slept on the Ab Lounger throughout dinner, which one cried when he saw his handmade gift, which daughter was pregnant, and which one caught the cat's tail on fire?

I'll have to make that into a bunch of puzzles on day, if I can find out how to do it so it would work! In the meantime, let me assure you that the cat is fine. One person suggested we rename him "Singe", but the cat didn't find that suggestion humorous or attractive in any way.

Meanwhile, I just wanted to say hello and post a couple of photos of our first white Christmas here in Hickory. (No, it didn't snow on Christmas; it rained. However, we had snow on the ground, so we figure that counts!)

Happy Holidays! And a Blessed New Year!

deber
Oh, yeah. The cat's fine. His fur is so thick it hardly singed the top. He was just mad we made him get off the table.

Halloween Thelma Style

I've got to make this quick, because it is already Halloween, and I was just talking to my oldest daughter about how my mother loved to celebrate Halloween. She said, "Mom, you should blog about that." Well, I'm running out of time, and I don't want to wait a year to share this with you!

My mom was a pretty funny character. She had this thing about Halloween. We five kids were allowed to Trick or Treat until we got to be teenagers. Once the word "teen" came after the number in our age, we were doomed to become the greeters and official candy-disher-outers to all the lucky little kids who came to our door.

Well, I say "lucky", but actually that was only if one was under the appropriate 13 years of age, or if one was short enough to easily pass for being 12 and under.

You must understand my mom's point of view; there were lots of kids in our predominantly Catholic neighborhood, and candy was expensive. Older kids had the advantage of speed over little treaters, and as far as my mother was concerned, she wasn't going to run out of candy for the little ones just because teenagers were beating them to the door. That wasn't right.

The original Halloween of Trick the Teenager fame was a holiday of extreme delight for my dear mom. The first teenagers to darken our doorway on that memorable night were clearly older than 12. As a matter of fact, Mama suspected that the vampire, Frankenstein and ghost were at least 16 years of age. And as I said, that was against the rules. In our house, anyway.

So the tall, lanky ghouls held out their bags and said in deep, crackling voices, "Trick or Treat!" Mama excused herself, and came back with her hands behind her back. She could not disguise her obvious delight as she swept her arms forward and dropped something heavy into each bag. Whatever it was, it hit the bottom of the bags like a lump of coal. Heavier than apples, but lighter than lead.

The ghouls, looking bewildered, peered into their bags. What the heck was that, anyway? Thanking Mama properly because they were yet young gentlemen, they quickly exited our yard.

Mama shut the door and had to sit down, she was laughing so hard. She was infinitely satisfied with her cleverness.

Now you're wondering what it was that gave my mom such delight to drop into those bags.Well, the night before, she had served the family Southern drop biscuits. I don't know if you've ever had such biscuits before, but I can assure you that after 30 or 40 minutes, drop biscuits are hard as rocks. Let alone, a day or two. Our dog wouldn't even eat them.


So began Mama's tradition of always baking a few extra drop biscuits the night before Halloween.

I just thought you'd enjoy it. And by the way, if you were one of the ghoulish recipients of my mother's Halloween prank, the answer is yes. It was my mom, and it was you...you don't think anybody else's mom gave out those things, do you?

Trick or Treat, ya'll!

It's Five O'Clock! Do You Know Where Your Camera Is?

This is a beautiful Autumn! I am in love with Autumn, too. Have I ever told you that? If not, then perhaps you will enjoy reading my post from my art blog, "Little Pink Spaceship Gazette" on http://www.deberklein.com. You'll find out how I love this colorful and mysterious season. You might even get a good laugh out of it.  It was later published in Fine Art Views, Clint Watson's art blog, and remains one of my favorites.

Posted below it are this year's photographic gleanings.

by deber klein on 11/7/2008 9:26:22 AM

"Mower in the Midst" or "Mowing Over the Speed Limit" It's Autumn and the fall colors are truely awesome this year. Three days ago as I headed toward the grocery store, I noticed a tree so red that I about ran off the road looking at it. Actually, I'm a safe driver (a very good driver, Rain Man!).  But it was tall tree, a little awkward in it's shape. It stood alone by the busy roadside flaunting it's vibrant red leaves much like old ladies who swagger about with those feathered red hats atop their heads. I was instantly inspired. I must paint that tree! But where was my handy dandy brand new fancy Canon camera, my friend? At home on the kitchen counter. Of course. And the afternoon light was changing so fast that I couldn't go back and grab it in time. I would have to wait for another late afternoon, hoping the rain or wind wouldn't come and knock off all the leaves before another opportunity arose. Thank goodness yesterday, only two days later, was a perfect fall day. So I grabbed my camera around 2:00 PM and headed out for my annual autumn photo fest. The tree would still be there in all its glory. It was a little early, so I saved my special red tree for last. I always do that anyway, save the best for last. Driving all over the neighborhood, I photographed other red trees and yellow trees, families walking hand in hand with their kids at the park or walking their best friends on leashes. Oh. And that one wildman mowing the park lawn at an obscene speed, dust flying up behind him obscuring everything in its wake. Nothing at all. Hmmm... At last I swung Bullet toward the grocery store. (Bullet is my trusty little red Subaru.) As I came around the corner where the tree had been or where I thought the tree had been, there was nothing.  Nothing at all. Hmmm... It was just a little strip of land between an old neighborhood and the main road, so I turned onto that road thinking that the leaves must have fallen or I'd mistaken the location and may miss the moment again. Well I missed the moment all right. I stopped and asked a man about the tree and he said, "That ol' red tree? The one 'at wuz right over there? They cut it down yesterday." I was like, "No they did not! Not yesterday? Were they crazy? It was gorgeous! They should have at least waited...'till the leaves fell off." I mean, just between you and me, I wouldn't have been able to do it to a tree who had such zest for life. It's like having your dog put down 'cause he's getting old and his eyes are a little hazy, but he's still running around playing tug of war with the cat. Then seeing the man's expression, I realized he figured he knew who the real crazy was, so I did my usual explanation of being an artist and blaa, blaa, blaaa. I mean, I like trees but I don't hug them, you know. He just turned his back on me and went into the house shaking his head. It was just a tree. It was a red tree, though. And now it's gone. All this is just to say that those of us who go around taking hundreds and thousands of photos of charming but insignificant things for the purpose of possibly wanting to paint them some day must realize our secondary roll in all this. When we take a photo, whether it is of a crooked old tree or a 150 year old dilapidated broken down two room shack with no doors on it, or some big wild fella' mowing the lawn at fifty miles an hour with the sun behind his back making his head glow like that of an angel's, we are recording a moment. A moment that will never be again. I often go through my photos, finding something wonderful in it's antiquity and charm that no longer exists. I pass by places and remember when the light was amazing and the shadows were long and mysterious and I missed it. Why? Well, maybe I was too busy to turn my car around or too shy to ask if I may take a picture. Maybe I was slow on the draw. Or maybe...I didn't have my camera with me at the time. So, my advice to you, my friend, and to moi self? Never leave home without your camera. Never! Unless you have one of those photographic memories that only liars and other fishermen have. As for me, I am getting a purse big enough to hold not just my wallet, but my camera as well. In the camera case of course, since I have been known to be little reckless. Me and that mower dude. And next time I see a rickety old tree showing off just for my eyes and mine alone, I'll do it the honor of recording its unique beauty. Right then and there. For eternity.

It's Fall and I'm Still Falling In Love!

 I'm always and eternally falling in love with Fall! Here is my annual sampling of one of the best wonders of  good ol' Planet Earth.

Just a pile of dry leaves...or a small fall pleasure? I especially love the sound they make as I walk among them, but alas, you'll have to take my word for that.

This big old show-off is one of those trees that deserves an annual photograph, just like the ones they give little kids in school. The squirrels seem to like it, too.

What would any fall photo series be without a picture of this classic Autumn show-off pretending to be a Karate Dude. But fear not, dear friend. It's just my Bill, and he's just your average, ordinary brilliant business executive, enjoying cooking out on the back deck with his best friend, Moi. (You should see the pics I didn't put in.)

The creek that runs through my yard is babbling this week; probably about how refreshing life is when you're a little creek sporting a carpet of mossy rocks and yellow leaves on this nice fall day.

My magnificent "Champney's Pink Cluster" rose, now climbing at least 12' high above "Lady Banks'" tall canes, can only be enjoyed through the close-up flower taking lens of my newest camera, my Nikon something-or-other, which is very handy-dandy, indeed. I just wish she'd bow down and let me get a little whiff of her wonderful fragrant perfume.

How sweet is the color of this Japanese Maple with the sun at her back.

Below: My favorite geranium loves to sip from the spattering fountain when I'm not looking. Like me, she thrives in the Autumn weather.

What do you do when you plant a species rambler on a cute little arching metal arbor in your front yard? Well once you realize that that nice yellow rose gets to be 20' or more high, you prop the dang thing up until your dear gardener hubbie can build some sort of "arbor" for it to creep out on, to shade the parking area in your yard. This is what I call making the best of a situation...not a bad situation, but an unexpected one.
  

This is how the taller mountains looked two weekends ago. Yes, honey, that's snow and I love the stuff! Especially when it creeps up on me unexpectedly...

Who Needs Peace and Quiet, Anyway?

I crawled out of bed this morning at 9:04. Bill had been up just long enough to brew some coffee, so he brought me my first cup, as is his tradition. Then he disappeared, as is his tradition. I remembered him saying last night that the leaves are all in color out back, so I hobbled out in bare feet to the back deck with my coffee in hand to enjoy the beautiful Autumn leaves. That's why I live in North Carolina. So I can enjoy the change of the seasons. Right?

The two dogs followed me outside. They also wanted to sniff the fresh fall air and survey the back yard.

I crossed the deck to the table, barely (tip of toes) avoiding stepping full footal in a wet little plop of rained on doggie poop which evidently had gone undetected from a couple of days back. Great. Rinsing my toes off in a handy puddle of rain water, I thought, "Whew! At least I didn't step right on it! That would surely have distroyed my moment of peace and quiet." Nevertheless, I was headed back inside to bathe my five stinky little piggies in some of my sister's handmade soap when suddenly there was a terrible commotion.

The two dogs had cornered a poor little squirrel. Probably the one who's shadow had been dancing across the wall yesterday when I grabbed my camera only to find she'd already departed. Now she was running this way when one dog would grab her. Then she'd escape and go that way, and the other dog would nab her. I shouted frantically at the dogs as they and their prey skitterd hither and tither. I ran around flailing my arms wildly. "No, dogs! Bad! Bad!"

"We hunters," they proudly barked. "Squirrels bad!"

The door to my bedroom remained agape, and I realized the squirrel was eyeing it as a means of escape. She was headed that way, but the dogs were on the job. Still I screamed, "Stop! No! Stop! Bad dogs!"

Finally I got the dogs in and the door closed. The poor squirrel just lay there, breathing heavily. She was injured, but I couldn't tell how badly. At least no blood was evident. I thought I'd give her a moment to recover.

That's when the cat walked up. As is his habit, he wanted in so he could eat breakfast. Then he saw the squirrel and thought, "Oh! Breakfast Delivered!" He wouldn't go in, so I had to capture him, slamming the door behind him as I tossed him inside.

Then I let the dogs out front and the second of our three cats came in. Though Layla can jump the fence, she can't get onto the back deck because of a gate. Whew! Only one cat to go.

But alas, peace was not yet in my grasp. Somehow, clever and relentless Bo managed to escape the fence. He was determined to get that squirrel, yet. Both dogs ran barking to the back gate. Discovering it locked, they just ran amuck about the yard for a while, chosing to bark at neighbors and the mailman instead of the victim still recovering on the back porch.

Thank goodness that the one cat left outside was Little Kitty, who has FHDS...Feline Hunting Deficit Syndrome. I'm not too worried.

But an hour and a half later, I'm still concerned about the squirrel, because she hasn't gotten up and scampered off. What am I to do with her, poor thing? I'm thinking it would have been more merciful to let the dogs just do her in. It would have been swift, and thus more humane than letting her die out there, suffering for hours.

As I write, Bill just found Little Kitty locked accidently in my studio overnight. My hero. (That's what you get for sneaking in my studio and hiding, as is your tradition, you little...)

I'm going for more coffee. Maybe I'll get dressed, too, and hang out with my husband for a while...and check on the squirrel again and again and again. I should take her to the vet. Dang. Dangdangdang!

Well, I must away, my fellow squirrel lovers. (And to you squirrel haters? I know you're out there, and I don't even want to hear it.)

Autumn Blessings to all,

Deber

Squirrel update: Bill assisted the squirrel off the porch where she fell into an empty pool. (Again, My Hero.) Bill thought she'd broken her leg and was headed down there to check, but she was gone when he got down there. So I think Bo bruised her leg when he had her in his mouth but not so badly that she couldn't scale the walls of the pool. All I can do is sigh and shake my head. What a way to start the day.

Also, our friendly mailman caught Bad Bo and put his hiney back in the fence. He loves Bo. Thanks Mr. Mailman. You're my other hero of the day.

At last. Peace and Quiet. I shall enjoy!

I'm Still Here

Just a little note to let you know that I am still alive. Not that there is any reason I wouldn't be...that I am aware of, anyway. But I have been very busy with moving one of my daughters, keeping one to four of my grandkids, depending on the day, and getting the shutters designed and made on the front of my little house, plus buying fabric and unwrapping things from my dad's house. And visiting with my sister, Nancy, and her hubbie, Pete. This is the fate of a woman who came from a large family and then wanted her own large family. They grow up but they don't go away, and to further complicate things, they multiply. Thank God. I love it.

Updates: The weather is getting cooler, so my "old roses" which bloom once are actually getting ready for a fall bloom, and I can't wait to see them. Most of them are newly planted, but my noisette, Champney's Pink Cluster, has bloomed all summer. Alas, I can't get close enough to her to enjoy the sweet odor because she crept up through the middle of a very tall Lady Banks. She's happy, though.

The roadside rustled rose is doing alright. I am still watching and waiting. There still appear to be two different types of leaves on her. She's just a little shy while in recovery. Next year I hope to see her show off a bit.

Gotta go throw dinner together. Bill's probably coming down the street as we speak.

See you soon.

deber