All I Want is to be Home

Well, these posted backwards, despite my best efforts, but here goes nothing.

We're finally home -- back in the Upper Midwest, Ophelia and I are. We are SO happy. It's cooler. It's lush. I walk out my back door and I see a Bluff in the distance. This is all pretty awesome.

Since we got to NC, our goal was to get back. We're here now; we're home. And we're lovin' it.

Finally, after a week, the kitchen is set up, and Ophelia was ready to roll. Her first project were these cookies, also known as cookies to die for. They are seriously that good. Like "take the last cookie and I'll hunt you down" good.

Apparently the recipe is from a book called Beat This but I got it from my cousin Dan. I ate three of them. Don't judge me.

What do you think of our new kitchen digs? Ophelia loves that she has a little counter all to herself. She's made friends with the recipe box, so no fighting there for attention. They work well together.

We're still adjusting, but hey, we're here! Looking forward to more baking in this space!

M&O Productions

Kick, Push, Coast...

In honor of moving, my blue girl and I have been listening to some Lupe Fiasco. Ok, so we have no idea what that has to do with moving. We just find him pretty awesome. We love us some "Kick, Push" and that's exactly what we're doin' -- Kick, Push, and Coastin' our way outta here!

So, we're on the move again. Ophelia is glad I kept her box -- she feels snug as a bug in there, see pic. No, that beefy hand is not mine, although it really could be, at the rate I've been taping and lifting boxes these days. Nope, that's V., the infamous Dad who has come to drive the truck back to WI. He's also the reason I didn't get an "Ophelia moving action shot" -- and I quote -- "what the heck are you doing? Taking pictures of your mixer? Dumbest thing I ever heard. Go pack a box." I told him I was telling Ophelia's minions he said that. Let him know what's up the next time you see him.

So, complete with a "Fragile" sticker (we big girls always are :) ), Ophelia and I are ready for the next adventure in our lives. So long, NC -- it's been real, and it's been fun, but not real fun. Wisconsin holds a lot more snow, cakes, and pies for both of us.

Much love, and more as we move!

M. and O.

We Be Jammin'

Anyone who knows me knows that I really hate summer for the most part. Put a big white girl in the heat and humidity, and boy does she get crabby and out of sorts. Walk outside, and within 20 minutes, I am a lobster. SPF 75 doesn't cut it for me. There is also nothing like trickles of sweat running down my body (in places when I was thin I couldn't even imagine existed) to make a big girl just love the summer. Yes I just said that out loud. Just tryin' to keep it real. Yes I just said that, too. Ok, I'll stop now. I promise.

However, summer does bring with it things that this big girl loves, too. Funnel cakes, for example, and mini donuts, corn on the cob, fried things on a stick (only in MN would we deep fat fry a Snickers bar), pork burgers, sno-cones, homemade ice cream, fairs and town celebrations (ask me about the Polka festival sometime -- yes, I polka. Don't knock it. It's a gift that comes in handy when you're drunk and at weddings. Trust me.), cool night walks, and most importantly, the fresh fruit. For the most part, I really don't like to eat fruit. But summer fruit and I have a special, special relationship. Oh, the berries, the sweet, juicy strawberries. The tiny, soft, lovely raspberries. The ripe, luscious peaches. Oh my. As my friend D. would say, somewhere there is a bottle of Tequila involved and she's likely screaming "inappropriate" at me. Ok, maybe at M. Maybe at both of us. It's worth it, my sweet, sweet berries...

Anyway, I got sidetracked for a second. I'm back. It was hot today, and my neighbors moved out really early this morning. Perhaps I'm delusional. Back to my point -- the berries. Earlier this summer, stubborn as I am, I managed to track down the last of the strawberry crop in a 3 state area (my research skillz are the bomb -- for berries, not for my dissertation). They were, hands down, the sweetest berries I think I've ever had. Minnesota berries are the best, I don't care what anyone else says. I made 28 jars of jam from those strawberries. I will never be the same.

I didn't get a picture of those, but I did catch the jamming bug. Bob Marley would be proud. So, after all my company left today and I cleaned up my kitchen, I decided, at 10 pm, to make some jam. No one ever claimed I was smart or logical, least of all me.

If you look closely at the pictures, yes, I cheated. I bought Driscoll's berries from the store. This was my trial run. If I like the jam, I'll go buy local berries. I found a couple of places to go for berries -- perhaps here or maybe here -- we'll see what happens. But, the test run was tonight. I'll give you the low-down on it in the next couple of days.

Ophelia oversaw the project, as you can see from the picture. She disapproved of my mashing methods, but otherwise I think she thought we did ok. I also think she didn't like me singing country to her, though I thought the Dixie Chicks were appropriate for jam-making. She's an alternative kinda girl, I think. Poor Ophelia.

As you can see, the fruit didn't yield much jam, but that's ok. Ophelia says to stay tuned for a peach pie soon -- Eckert's are in season, so a trip will be coming soon! If you want some jam, drop a line!