Tipsy

As I may have written before, I don’t really drink; I’m not a teetotaler, nor an addict – I just choose not to drink because my body doesn’t handle alcohol very well anymore. There are occasions, though, when I don’t care, and damn the consequences.

The reason why we toasted with a glass of excellent champagne today is that our son just came home from the last oral exam of his high school graduation. Grades will be announced shortly, and he’ll know whether they will call for a re-examination or not, so the fat lady hasn’t sung just yet. However, this one was the last of six, and it’s fair to say the past few weeks have been a doozy.

Those who regularly read this blog are probably aware the boy is dyslexic as well as diagnosed with ADD; school has not been easy for him, nor for all other concerned parties. Some of his teachers – the majority in fact, were kind and supportive, as you would expect from people entrusted with your child’s education. Others, not so much. Since they are little more than a waste of space to me, I won’t bother talking about them.

The wonderful, knowledgeable and dedicated ones have been a treasure to know and to work with. They managed to turn around a miserable, frustrated child who had just about given up to ever be able to learn how to read and write, and make him like school, develop skills and become a confident human being.

Being a parent of a special needs child is challenging, and exhausting, but also really rewarding if things work out. I’m so proud of my son. So proud!

For anyone who has a dyslexic child, I encourage you to empower them, find help, get them educational therapy and teach them strategies suited for their special brains. Do not listen to the knuckleheads who tell you all your child needs is a bit of discipline and tough love – they are wrong, and should not be allowed around any kids, let alone those who are special. So, find them tutoring, find them a studying method that works for them, encourage them to believe in themselves. Ensure that their teachers take into account their being different. They can get there, I promise. Educate yourself, do not be afraid to address their needs, talk to your kids‘ teachers. Ask the therapist to explain to the teachers how they can best support them. Take the time to try and understand how their minds work. They are probably among the smartest people you know. You just need to catch up.

Yes, I am emotional today, but that’s not down to the champagne, I assure you. The past weeks have been nerve-wracking, to say the least. And even if there should be a re-exam in the lad’s future, it’s probably safe to say the worst is over. Today he gets to celebrate, and today he has reason to be proud of himself.

I’ve submitted a book translation this morning, so I guess I get to be little proud, too. Also I managed to get an appointment for my first Covid vaccination for tomorrow, which is really great. Not looking forward to how my body might react to it – I’ve heard this and that, and some people are out for the count for a few days. I’m making a pot of chicken soup in case I should feel sick. It’s always a treat, in sickness and in health ;-).

My daughter’s strawberry hat is coming along nicely, and since it is a bit too complex to knit when watching a movie, I’ve been working on my cute little nephew’s custom socks, check it out:

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As the calendar tells us, it’s asparagus season, a fact not so much corroborated by a look out the window, necessarily. I swear I can not remember ever having worn this many scarves and coats this late in spring. But since asparagus grows even as early as March, it’s probably not bothered by the chill as much as are we.

Anyway, last weekend, I made a pasta dish with green asparagus and lemon butter, a combination I can highly recommend.

Pasta Primavera My Way

1 bundle green asparagus

3 green onions

1 lemon

handful of basil leaves

50 g butter

Parmesan shavings to taste

100 g linguine per person

First, wash and clean asparagus and green onions, and cut diagonally. Roughly chop basil. Boil pasta. In a non-stick pan, melt the butter. Add salt and a pinch of sugar as well as lemon juice to taste. Throw in the vegetables and sweat for a few minutes – they should be, like your pasta, al dente. Combine all your ingredients in a bowl. If you feel it needs it, you can add a slosh of good quality olive oil. Toss with Parmesan shavings.

If you happen to have a leftover egg as I did, by all means, add that ;-). It’s not necessary for the dish to be great, though.

So, wish me luck with my jab tomorrow, and thank you for reading!

So Fluffy

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My history with pancakes starts at IHoP, moves on to Aunt Jemima’s pancake mix, makes a stop at Wince’s house in Silicon Valley, and finally graduates in my own kitchen. What you can see above is my latest batter concoction, which uses unsweetened shredded coconut in addition to flour. I’ve used almond flour before, which was nice too, if expensive.

One thing you have to know about me is that I get motion sickness, on planes, ships, sometimes even in cars. For long flights, I’m always on Dramamine or else I _will_ throw up. This was no different when I first visited the States in the early Nineties. One side-effect of the drug (in addition to feeling ZONKED!) is that I need lots and lots of food after I land, or else. So, having touched down in Boston, IHoP seemed like an adequate place to take care of that. Needless to say, the fluffy, buttery, syrup-drenched goodness of American pancakes found its way from my plate straight into my heart.

As a Young Adult, I did not cook much. Making pancakes seemed so far out of my league that I bought an honest to God pancake batter mix before flying home, and had anybody I knew who went stateside bring back a package if they could fit it in their luggage, because then you couldn’t find it here in Europe. Today, this seems ridiculous, but my mid twenties self did not think so ;-).

The first time I witnessed someone making pancakes from scratch was at my girl A’s then-boyfriend’s house some ten years later. And you know what? Those were quite good. Not saying better than at a good diner, but I took notes, and have been making pancakes ever since. There is just no decent diner culture where I live, so you need to make do…

My children don’t know any of this. They think my pancakes are the best in the world (which is sweet), and I try and live up to their expectations. Sometimes the plain version my daughter loves gets a bit boring, though, and I add fruit. Classic blueberries, but I’ve also done sliced bananas, sliced apples, raspberries and even tried strawberries but decided those were better as a topping.

I found the addition of shredded coconut was a good one. It adds a bit of texture and chewability that I’d urge you to try. Just substitute parts of the flour, maybe like a third. The ultimate ratio depends on lots of things, like how many eggs, what kind of flour you use, whether you use buttermilk or regular milk – generally, I use 500 ml buttermilk and three eggs for 4 ppl, add a generous slosh of maple syrup and a pinch of salt, whisk, and then add the dry ingredients until I like the texture. Batter should be viscous, gooey but not too thin. Finally, I whisk in 1 P baking powder, and then let the frying begin!

A week has passed, which I spent mostly out at the cottage, working, working, working, and walking, walking, walking, by the lake, in the forest, in the meadows. Home schooling may be challenging, but it certainly has its perks. If you’re lucky enough to be able to work remotely, it can literally be done wherever.

We had a bit of a Covid scare, again – a girl in my daughter’s class got infected, poor thing – and of course everyone was asked to stay home for a while to avoid spreading anything the girl might have given to the other kids, on the one day they were actually at school last week. We were spared, thank goodness, but it was an uncomfortable 48 hours. On a happier note, my husband got his first vaccination, which is awesome. One down.

Wishing you a speedy vaccination – which seems an odd thing to say, and I’m sure it will read even stranger a few years down the line. For now, I’m sure everyone who dropped by can relate.

Have a good week, everybody, and thank you for reading!

Poncho’s Done

There’s actually not that much to tell, really, but for those who asked, I will try and describe my process. I won’t be able to specify any numbers, for I honestly did not count even once! I began with a chain of as many as I needed to be able to comfortably slip over my head once joined, in light heather grey; I wanted that to be the primary color.

Then I went on to increase at a rate that resembled my comfortable greige sweater in width. In the beginning, this meant increasing every round. I alternated the granny pattern (3 DC in one stitch, two stitched not worked, then again 3 DC in one stitch) and rounds of HDC, increasing (i.e. 2 HDC every 3 or 5 stitches) all the while. As you can see, the piece is not all that flowy or loose – I know that some like that, but I wanted it sort of snug but still comfortable, a bit as if it were a sweater, or cowl – and that took some trial and error.

Once I had reached the chest I stopped with the constant increasing and the rest of the poncho was done in Granny rounds, with occasional HDC rounds in navy blue to sort of reign in the color sequence. I found that the width was perfect when I alternated 2 regular Granny stitches with 3 DC and one that consisted of 2 DC. The HDC rounds did all the increasing needed.

The length was easy to do because I simply stopped when I’d reached my waistband, knowing it would get a little longer when washed.

The border was a mix of input by the hive mind of my besties. M, la chefesse de la mode, suggested a wide stripe of one solid color, and I went with the turquoise because I love that yarn so much. The question of the pompoms was decided after I’d done picots and pompoms side by side, to see which I liked better; I was worried the pompoms would look too playful for my ancient self. But after giving it a go, I found that it looked nice when I made them in the same color, and not too many.

This I can actually tell you in numbers because I needed to space them out evenly: *9 SC, and then a two-faced bobble stitch*, all the way around.

The pattern for the bobbles works like this: chain 3, 3 DC in base stitch, holding back the last stitch, so you have 4 loops on your hook, YO and pull through all 4 in one go. Then chain 3 and work 3 DC in the stitch in which you crocheted all 4 loops together, again holding back the last stitch so you have 4 loops on your hook. YO and pull through all four, then slip stitch into the base – bobble made. Important point if you attempt this: Since they look so much better from the back, turn your crochet project inside out (or crochet from the back if it’s a flat one like a blanket) and work from the ‚wrong‘ side. I swear, it’s prettier that way.

So that was the Poncho Story. It was a fun process, and I enjoyed working with the pastels that are actually not really my color palette. I’m not even sure I can pull off the look – maybe a little better once my melanin deprivation starts to fade with the sunshine. But I’ve worn that thing every day since having washed it on Friday, and I’m really pleased with the way it looks.

My next project is a knit hat, despite the sudden heat (we’re at almost 29 °C which confuses the heck out of my system, resulting in a stupid headache). My daughter wants a strawberry hat, much like the one I made for a little boy for Christmas last year:

Nothing about this project really sits right with me at this point in time – the colors are not what I’d want to use in the spring, she wants two pompoms instead of one, and I honestly find the 5 sock needles very cumbersome because I have like 38 stitches on each, so I have to pay attention not to drop any, all the damn time. Also the green stitches may look strewn in but are anything but! – it’s a nightmare in terms of watching what you’re doing compared to crochet … But it’s a labor of love. And it is going to be pretty. Also I totally enjoy it when she asks for specific things. We all love giving our kids what they ask for, don’t we?

So, yesterday was Mother’s Day. I hope you had a good one and spent it with your loved ones. My two kids were really sweet and tried to make my day a lovely day, made breakfast in the morning, gave me a heart shaped macaroon, played cards and went for a walk with me … they were cute. Check out my gift:

It’s my wooden handled hairbrush, adorned with a pretty wood burned design; I had been wondering where that brush had got to and had to use my daughter’s all week ;-)). Turns out the kids weren’t playing Mario Kart but were doing crafts every night in my son’s room behind closed doors.

So that was my post of today. No recipes this time, but a series of blurry shots I took when we changed sheets and had some, um, help:

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Hope that gave you a giggle. Have a good week, and thank you for reading!

A Dog Post 2.0

Two years ago today, I went to bed with a heavy heart. First thing in the morning, I was to go pick up a dog I had seen only once before, take him away from his family including three other dog friends, and bring him into a completely different environment than he was used to: Big city, no yard but parks and streets, a family he didn’t know, and an old lady of a cat who had not really met any dogs before. To say I was freaking out would be putting it mildly.

As you can guess, it’ll be the two-year anniversary of one of the most life-changing days of my life: the day Charlie moved in. I remember not really allowing myself to be believe it was real, until we walked him to the car, strapped him in and drove away from his old home. And still, I was expecting him to cry, and he didn’t. Instead, he fell asleep on my son, napping all the way to Berlin, and after arriving, took a happy walk with me at the little park around the corner. Up in the apartment, he checked out his new digs and promptly fell back asleep again next to me on the couch.

At the time, I didn’t realize how many hours per day Dachshunds really sleep (up to 17!), and I was all sorts of worried he might be in shock, pining for his old home, people and dog friends, and want to go back home.

The things I didn’t know then were many, but my intentions were good, and I was willing to learn. All in all, everything went so much better than I would have expected, and Charlie seemed really happy with us. Not once did I have the impression he was missing something. To the contrary, he seemed to latch onto me almost instantaneously, following me around the house wherever I went (including bathroom), sleeping next to me burrowed under the same blanket, sharing my desk chair (talk about dynamic sitting!) …

Charlie came to live with us when he was 9 months old. He was not a puppy anymore, and had just hit puberty. The previous owners had already used him to make babies at 6 or 7 months old; the reason they had to give him away was a genetic incompatibility with one of the other female dogs (not the one whose 5 puppies he fathered), and they were nervous lest an unwanted pregnancy should happen. He had only been with that family for 6 months before moving in with us. You could say that he had a bit of a first year!

I made an appointment with a dog trainer right away, who taught me many useful things in the handful of sessions we did. The rest was flying by the seat of my pants, faith, and most of all, unconditional love.

The last one came easily. I’d grown up with a Dachshund when I was little, who was very much my mom’s dog; I missed him when I moved out, but there was never a question of me taking him with me, or wanting one of my own – it just didn’t seem practical. I was young, had classes and a student job, and later on work, and went out a a lot at night. So, no dog, but soon enough, cats. They were wonderful, and even though I always loved dogs, actually owning one, taking the responsibility seemed way out of my league. Cats, I could handle.

Then I had my son. I learned I could be a mom, that I wasn’t bad at it at all, and that it made me unexpectedly happy – suddenly, responsibility didn’t seem so scary anymore.

But it was only much later, when we went to see our family in California, fall of 2018, that the dog idea was born. We went out the night before my daughter turned 10, our folks took time off from work to do stuff and travel around a bit with us, their youngest and my daughter got on like a house on fire, and we enjoyed two great weeks with them.

Also, they have a dog, who was kind enough to let me pet him, a lot. One night, we were sprawled on the couch, dog in my lap, talking about what I don’t remember. I was stroking his silky fur, apparently looking blissed out or something, because suddenly my husband burst out: Alright, alright, alright!

So I can actually pinpoint when it was that I actually let myself think about the possibility of getting a dog. Not a Border Collie like our family’s in California, because I don’t have that kind of yard, and I’m not a runner or cycler, and those breeds need their daily workout. Something smaller, maybe. My husband said, maybe a Beagle? Very cute dogs. Maybe a Jack Russell Terrier. Maybe a mutt from the shelter. Maybe, maybe, maybe …

A few months later, I was looking for something on ebay Classified ads, and completely out of the blue typed in: Dachshund. And lo and behold, in the listings, there was a picture of Charlie. I was mesmerized. The kids were like: But … but we have a cat. This was true. My husband said: But … but you don’t have time for a dog! Or did I? I slept on it, then wrote to the lady and asked for details, told her who we were, and that I’d very much like to meet Charlie if possible.

She called me back right away, and we talked for a good while. Then she said she already had a few offers, and she’d get back to us. It was a weird couple of weeks in limbo, not knowing what was what. After a number of messages to and fro, I said: Listen. We’re spending our Easter holidays close to where you are. We’d be willing to come see you. Please let us know whether you want to meet, or else let us know if you’ve decided for someone else. We just need to know.

In the end, they came to see us at the cottage. Charlie seemed to like us, the dad was crying a tear or two at the thought of letting him go, but evidently we made a good impression, because the same evening she called and said they were willing to let us have him.

There he is, in my lap, and I touched him as carefully as if he was made of glass … and still, I didn’t let myself believe it was real, even though by that time, I’d realized I wanted it to be, so much – until the day that was tomorrow two years ago.

I do not have a single regret. It was the best decision ever. I’m deeply in love with Charlie, as are my husband and kids, and we cherish every single day with him. He makes me laugh, he makes me go outside and walk every day, and without wanting to sound dramatic, I can honestly say that I feel complete now. Who knew it took a small, bow-legged, big-hearted fellow with a long snoot to accomplish that?

My kids say he has my nose ;-). Isn’t it true that dogs and their owners often have a great resemblance?

Thank you everyone who has been part of that journey, and thank you, kind readers, for taking a walk down memory lane with me tonight.

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Have a good week!