Hilary

recipes

Recipe Friday

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Can it please be fall already? Officially, that first day of autumn was September 22nd of this year.  We are in the midst of the fall season and yet, the thermometer is steadily hanging out around the mid to upper 80s. 

This just won’t do! I don’t have any lightweight clothes in fall colors! I gleefully packed up my shorts, tank tops, short sleeve shirts and flirty dresses.  I have chunky sweaters and fall colored cords and thick heeled leather boots to wear while I go pick pumpkins and apples and drink #SCM.

I tried to bend the weather to my will, foolishly thinking that if I’m dressed for fall, fall will come.  However the fine sheen of sweat that covered me from head to foot handily dispensed with whatever cute fashion forward look I had going. 

This time last year, I was in a boot, but it was hardly the boot I wanted to be wearing. I physically couldn’t tackle the fall list of fun things to do, so you know I’ve been looking forward to this fall and being all about it.  I want to sit outside and feel a chill on my cheeks. I want to eat pumpkin flavored everything and hide the fact that the top button on my pants is open with a big sweater and a cozy vest. I want to get that tingle that comes when you inhale the sharp scent of the season and it invades your nose so thoroughly that all you can do is sigh with contentment. 

C’mon, fall!  Fall already!

Here’s to cooler temps! Happy Friday, y’all!

Meatloaf and Mashed Potato Cupcakes 
recipe found here.

Ingredients

Meatloaf
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 cup finely chopped onion
½ cup finely chopped carrot
1 teaspoon dried oregano
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup ketchup, divided
1½ pounds ground beef, extra lean (raw)
1 cup bread crumbs
2 tablespoons prepared mustard
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 large eggs
Cooking spray    
Mashed Potatoes
4 cups cubed peeled Yukon gold potato (about 2 pounds)
¼ cup 2% reduced-fat milk
¼ cup low-fat sour cream
3 tablespoons butter
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Garnish
3 tablespoons chopped chives
4 pieces of bacon cooked and them chopped

Directions

Preheat oven to 350°. Heat the olive oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add chopped onion, chopped carrot, dried oregano, and minced garlic; sauté 2 minutes. Cool. Combine onion mixture, 1/2 cup ketchup, and the remaining ingredients except cooking spray in a large bowl. Spoon the meat mixture into 12 muffin cups coated with cooking spray. Top each with 2 teaspoons ketchup. Bake at 350° for 25 minutes or until a thermometer registers 160°. Let stand for 5 minutes. While the meatloaf is cooking, make the mashed potatoes. Place potato in a saucepan; cover with water. Bring to a boil; cover, reduce heat, and simmer 10 minutes or until tender. Drain. Put potatoes into a ricer for best results. Return potato to pan. Add milk and remaining ingredients; stir with a spoon to desired consistency.  If they are not creamy enough for you, add up to 1/4 cup more milk – although they need to be stiff enough to pipe on top. Put the potatoes into a pastry bag with a wide star tip and pipe the mashed potatoes on top of the meatloaf.  Sprinkle with bacon crumbles and chopped chives.
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IN: recipes ON: October 4, 2013 TAGS: , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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Chicken Out

I am all over the place. I purposefully left the house to go work at the library so that I wouldn’t be distracted and yet, I still haven’t gotten anything done.  I mean, nothing that’s truly measureable.

I have answered emails. I’ve edited photos. I’ve made notes on this book on photographic lighting I’m trying to read, but it is SO boring. I need to get my hands on some lights and manipulate them.  Trying to do it through book work is just not getting it done.  I’ve got appointments set up from here to next Tuesday. I’m trying to build a website and then because I have no idea what the difference is between CSS, HTML and re-directing subdomains to main host servers.  I’m kind of making things up as I go along on the hosting sites that I use since they boast how user friendly they are.  Just don’t ask me how to do something twice. I reached out to someone who does website design, but hell if I know if I’m being taken for a ride. I just want to say, “Look, take this piece here and put it with that piece there like this!” I’m a tactile person. I want to reach into the computer and manipulate the pages so they do what I want.  I’m actually considering getting some index cards to represent each page and doing a little interactive skit with this designer so that they get what I’m talking about.  I don’t have the technical language to explain it.  It’s embarrassing. I sound like English is not at all my first language. There’s a lot of “uhhhh” and “wait, what did you call that?” going on.  Thankfully, the designer is patient (or there are major dolla, dolla, bills y’all that are to be had when this is all said and done). 

Anyway, I’m at the library, trying to put projects together. I’ve been marinating on a few ideas and there are never enough hours in the day to get things done.  I finally got around to taking some photos of Viv the other — first time in a long time, I know. 

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The good news was that I remembered how to use the camera.  The bad news was I only had about 20 minutes to get a few snaps off before we had to move onto the next thing — dinner, homework, bath, hair, bed. 

The phrase “Running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off,” keeps popping up in my brain.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a chicken without a head — I mean, still feathered and in one piece, like on a farm, just minus the head.  I thought you were supposed to wring a chickens’ neck.  I guess you could hack the head off with a swift blow of a hatchet like you’re Ned Stark or something.  My mom used to tell me this story of how she could remember watching her grandmother pluck a chicken for dinner.  I was like, “Okay, how old are you, really?”  My mother and her great-grandmother’s chicken skills actually came in handy several months ago when I mistakenly purchased some kosher chicken for a recipe.

Let me back this up by saying, all I wanted when I went grocery shopping was a whole chicken, cut up in pieces. I wanted to fry up some chicken for the Hubs, do a real Southern inspired meal.  I wanted a whole chicken, preferably one that I didn’t have to separate myself.  In the refrigerator case at the store, you’ve got your Purdue brand, your Nature’s Promise, your Giant Food and so on.  The whole chickens are either a) whole or b) in pieces but only 6 pieces.  I’m not math wizard, but I’m pretty sure with a chicken, you get 2 wings, 2 thighs, 2 breasts, and 2 legs.  2+2+2+2 is 4, right? Right.  Something was missing — usually the thighs — from the 6-packs.  Well, dang it! I wanted a whole chicken. This was getting ridiculous. I continue to cruise the aisle and I see this brand that I have never seen before — Empire Kosher. I’m not knocking them, I’m just giving you a head’s up.  Empire, thank heavens, has a whole chicken cut into 8 pieces.  All 8 pieces!  So I toss it in the cart, get the rest of my accoutrements and am on my merry way.

Comes time for dinner. . . .
I open the Empire Kosher package, take the pieces out and start to rinse them off.  The first piece has a string like thing on it that I try to brush off while running it under some water.  Nothing falls to the wayside.  So, I turn off the faucet, pat the piece dry and try to pinch whatever is off the skin of the chicken.  I pinch it, tug it and I shit you not,

a whole freakin’ feather comes out!!
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I know!  I know what you’re saying, “But Hilary with One L! You’re dealing with a chicken! Chickens have feathers!”  Yes, they do, but all chickens that I’ve ever dealt with heretofore have been devoid of feathers. All of them.  Naked.  Naked chickens.  Feathery chickens? I can’t abide that. 

So, after I placed the chicken back in the sink, I called my mom and gave her the rundown on what had transpired.  Her response?

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Suffice it to say, there wasn’t much I could do put pluck the chicken pieces and get on with my life.  Mom instructed me on the easiest and best way to de-feather the chicken.  Which is what I did, because that’s how I roll.  But, I will tell you that I didn’t eat any of that chicken when I served it up for dinner.  Truly, there wasn’t anything wrong with it, but me and that chicken has been a little to intimate for me to just tie a napkin ’round my neck and throw down.  Freakin’ feathers.  Blerg!

*sigh* now I’m hungry. . .

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IN: ON: October 1, 2013 TAGS: , , , BY: Hilary
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October Photo Challenge

Guess what? Including this month, five more months of challenges and I’ll have done it for a whole year! I’m not breaking my arm patting myself on the back — not yet anyway — but I’m kind of excited.  I’m thinking about what I’m going to do with these images.

Maybe I’ll make a calendar.

Maybe I’ll print out my favorites and hang them in the house.

Maybe I’ll make a coffee-table book called “Hilary Snaps” and fill it with 365 images of photo challenges.

Maybe I’ll do absolutely nothing except revel in the fact that I set a goal and completed it.  I’ll make t-shirt for that.

Whatever the case may be, I’m excited and I really want to get people to participate.  My hashtag (#hilarywithonel) is really being used — I’m claiming some real estate out in the social media megaverse!

For those of you unfamiliar with the Photo A Day Challenge, I’ve provided you with a list of prompts or suggestions for each day of the month.  On the designated day, you snap a photo of the suggestion or a photo of your interpretation of the suggestion and post it to Instagram.  You can add a caption to your photo, as well as the hashtag #hilarywithonel so we can keep up with you.  If you input #hilarywithonel in the Instagram search box, you’ll be able to see what others have already posted.

These monthly challenges are part of my greater year long challenge to take one photo a day.  You can follow my progress here: f/365

Don’t beat yourself up if you miss a day. It’s just a fun way to be creative.  No penalties for missed days, and no prize for hitting all the days – well, satisfaction is a prize in and of itself right?

Snap on, my friends, snap on. 

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IN: ON: September 30, 2013 TAGS: , , , , , BY: Hilary
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Sick Day

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I never know what to do with the kids when they’re home sick from school.  This is especially true when their illness miraculously vanishes with the dawning of a new day. 

Yesterday, Co had to be catapulted out of the bed after repeated attempts to rouse her with just my soothing voice proved futile.  When she finally staggered into consciouness, she kept saying that her stomach hurt.  I figured that since she didn’t want to get up in the first place, an achy tummy was just another arrow in her quiver of morning complaints.  I brushed it off, motivated her to get washed and dressed and to meet us downstairs.  She and her sisters at a hearty breakfast and did a passable job of clearing their places before running around the house like half-sized superheroes, the living room throw blankets rucked up about their shoulders.  I guess the tummy ache disappeared when the threat of crime rears its head.  I guessed wrong, though. When I summoned them to the car, the tummy ache was back. 

In any event, they were jettisoned out of the car and off to school.  I went about my routine with Viv, until I got “the call” at about 1:30.  Could I come and get Co from school, please? She’s saying her tummy and her head hurt. And she’s got a fever. Cue the mommy guilt.  I boogied on over to the school, scooped up the girls and came home.  We were precariously low on apple juice and didn’t have any children’s aceteaminophen on hand. A trip out with one under the weather, one out of sorts for having to come home early and one just being on year old was highly off-putting.  Thankfully, my dad was kind enough to brave the Kroger for supplies and drop them off.  We managed the rest of the day with Co swaddled and resting on the sofa, Viv trying to kiss her, and Mo peppering the house with post-it note Sick Tips such as “Washing Hands = R.I.P. to Germs”!

Co was on the mend, having rallied after a dose of juice, crackers and some medicine. She and Mo passed the afternoon being elementary cartographers, coloring landscaped named “Mo-land” and “Co-ville”.  As the sun set, we all went upstairs to start the bedtime routine.  I got caught up pulling out my fall fashions and packing away my summer duds, while the girls amused themselves.  After a prolonged absence of “She’s touching me!”, “She’s in my stuff!”, and “She won’t let me have XYZ!”, I got curious and went to have a look at what was going on.

My three little biscuits were having a MIchael Jackson dance party in Co’s room.  Viv was perched on the bed, wiggling and giggling in time to the music. Mo was doing her best approximation of the Thriller dance even though the song on the dial was “Shake Your Body Down to the Ground”, and Co was shaking down and popping up in time with the lyrics.

Wait . . .did you get sent home from school today?

Talk about a speedy recovery.  Evidently,  I’m Florence Nightingale and I didn’t even know it. And yet, the achy tummy re-surfaced just as I was turning out lights and tucking in blankets.  I find that in order to get to the bottom of things, you’ve got to provide some options as to how the tummy feels, otherwise you’ll just get “achy” and between you and me, I don’t know what to do about that.

Does it hurt like you have to go poop? No.
Does it hurt like you have a bruise? No.
Does it hurt like when you go on a Grover Coaster? No.
Does it hurt like you’re hungry? Yes! I’m hungry.

Of course.

So, back to the kitchen for crackers and a cup of water (I’m keeping it real austere in here), before sending her back up to bed with promises with a tuck-in.

Fast forward to this morning and your girl Co is bright-eyed, asking, “So, what are we going to do today?”Good questions, kiddo.  Fever’s gone, tummy’s full, and I’ve got you and your sister looking me dead in the face like I’m Julie from the Love Boat (if you don’t know, look it up).

And now, it’s almost lunchtime (I know what to do about that), and then. . .maybe we’ll fire up the Michael Jackson.

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IN: ON: September 18, 2013 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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recipes

Just Writing

Yesterday, I was lamenting the fact that I don’t have time to write.  There’s always something to be done, somewhere to be, just a variety of minutiae that must be attended to.

There’s always another book in the Outland Series that I need to keep reading. Good Lord, this woman wrote like  twelve 1600+ page books!  And I Can’t.Stop.Reading.Them.

I need to, though. I mean, I’m not going to get any of my own words on the page if I’m busy gobbling up whatever it is Diana Gabaldon is putting down.  The books, the chores, the phone calls and emails to return — certainly, I could just toss it all over my shoulder and say, “Too bad! I’m going to take 30 minutes (or whatever) and just write.”

Yeah. I can’t seem to deprogram myself to do that.

I put V down for a nap and spread out my reams of papers, notebooks, and calendars.

Then I got on Pinterest.
And Tumblr.

In my defense (truly!), I was looking for a recipe for dinner tonight.  I made some White Bean and Sausage Soup with Collards, but I know the big girls aren’t going to eat that.  I needed a plan B, so I took to ol’ reliable — Pinterest.  The next thing I know, I’m clicking on outfits that I like, crafts I’ll never make and shoes I can’t afford. Then I stuck up on my tumblr so I can look at them again later.  Gah! They got me again!

Then I got hungry. So, I had to get something to eat. Who’s got two thumbs and can’t work on an empty stomach? This gal!

Lunch break, which was promptly consumed leaving me totally unsatisfied.  I pretty much the eat same thing for lunch every day.  Mixed field greens with tomatoes, onions, and grilled chicken.  If I’m feeling exceedingly peckish — which I usualy am — I have some crackers or pita chips on the side.  And, seeing as it is fall (yay!),  means my love affair with pumpkin is in full swing, I have traded in my Garlic Expressions salad dressing for this!

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Seeing as how I had to break up with the Pumpkin Spice K cups (so sad, so sad) and as how I can’t be all up in Starbucks for my #PSL fix. . .

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I went with some salad dressing.  Hey, it helps the greens go down in a most delightful way.  Plus,  and I’m almost embarassed to admit this, my first #PSL of the season was not that great.  I know, I know! I was pretty choked up about it, too.  Last Saturday was the 14th, right? On the radio, the DJ said, seeing as how the 13th is unlucky, the 14th should be lucky.  Taking it one step further, he challenged his listeners to treat themselves to something and thereby make it their lucky day. Well, who am I to argue with the DJ? The girls and I were already on our way to the mall.  We had a great time shopping. They amused themselves while I tried on shoes:

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They brought their own allowance and I let them run amok in the Sweet Shoppe candy store.  So, despite my purchases, turns out it was quite a lucky day for me), I had one more thing that I felt would make the whole day just complete. A #PSL.

We waited in this ridiculously long line, but the girls were troupers.  I wheeled the stroller through the throngs of people and out the door.  The mall is an outdoor mall and the weather was crisp as the sun shined overhead and throughout.  We passed a large fountain in one of the accoutred areas and I fished out some change for the girls to toss into wishes.  I should have wished for a better tasting coffee, but at the time, who knew?

In any event, because I’m dramatic like that, I waited until we were all back and buckled in the car before I pulled out the green coffee stopper and took my first sip.  That one was good.  The next one was, too.  But subsequent sips after that? Eh, not so much.  When we got home, I made the mistake of popping the lid off the cup to peer inside. Blerg! I won’t even tell you what it looked like so that you can continue to enjoy your #PSLs.  Suffice it to say, me and #PSL are taking a break.  Or as they say on FaceBook, “It’s Complicated.”  And no. . .#SCM has nothing to do with it.  Well, not entirely.

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In any event, it looks like I’ve written a little bit.  V, my sweet biscuit, never did fall asleep.  She’s been talking to herself and banging (what I hope is ) her hands against the crib.  Guess I’m being summoned, and for that, I’m pretty sure I can put all that minutiae I was talking about to the back burner.

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IN: recipes ON: September 17, 2013 TAGS: , , , , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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Swim, Swam, Swum

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I got in the pool for the first time in 8 weeks today. The minute I was submerged, I just relaxed.  I heard myself sigh underwater and felt my muscles go slack as they were bouyed up.  The water was cold and the pool had recently been cleaned.  When I opened my eyes, through my goggles,  I could see the lane ahead stretching out ahead of me, urging me to it’s depths. 

In the water, I am weightless.  I am unfettered. Everything slides away except my focus to breathe, kick, and stroke.  I am thinking when I begin, but a shift occurs when the brain and the long muscles of my body undergo a changing of the guard.

I  was so excited.  I just sunk, literally and figuratively, into the water and felt it embrace me, envelope me, a chilly reunion to be sure.  I just felt so good as I began my warm up.  When that was done, I readjusted my goggles, giddily pushing off from the wall.

I felt strong.

I felt my shoulders and my arms working in harmony.  I felt my legs moving, churning in synchronicity.  In my minds eye,  I could see the tendons extending and flexing. I could see the muscles tighten and relax, feel them swell with energy.  Everything was working as it should.

I felt strong.

With each lap completed, I felt like I could do anything. I saw myself cutting through the water, the rotator cuff of my shoulder, vigorous and hard.  My hands sliced through that surface, pulled down  down towards my thighs as I propelled myself forward, forward, forward.  I pushed my face further into the water, breaking waves over my head, adding to my speed.  Faint, but present, was my instructor’s voice in my head reminding me to cup my hands just slightly, to kick with my whole leg, to breathe every third stroke, a subtle soundtrack that centered my focus.  The unity with which my body was moving, I felt like I could have chopped down a forest, busted down a brick wall, lifted a car off of a trapped child.  I could do some amazing feat of strength because I . . .because I could. 

I could.
I felt strong.

After 8 weeks of recuperating and taking it slow, I got the clearance to swim.  Three weeks ago, my doc said I could any type of physical activity except swim (wound healing). 

“I know you want to swim, but let’s wait on that. You can start running again!”

But I don’t want to run!  I mean, running is great exercise, but I don’t want to.  I’m afraid. I’m afraid of falling. I’m afraid of tearing something, ripping something, undoing all of this hard work.  When I’m in the water, submerged in that chlorinated embrace, everything is strong, nothing is broken, nothing is lacerated or shattered or less than. 

I just — I can do anything.

My lungs were burning for oxygen, my nose was burning from some inhaled chlorine. Sure, I scuffed up my pedicure trying to navigate a flip turn, but I don’t care. My eyes were raccoon ringed from the pressure of my goggles and my hair is in need of a deep condition, but I don’t care.

I was moving through the water, cutting down the lane like the prow of a ship. I felt strong. I haven’t felt that way in a while.

When I came out, I was tired.  I was hungry. I was cold and wet.   I  pushed myself, pushed my muscles and relied on their memory to keep me from sinking down, down, down.  I was glad of that. 

I felt strong.

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IN: ON: September 4, 2013 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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