FORK
Get your mind out of the gutter!

Daily Prompt – Fork Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
Get your mind out of the gutter!

Daily Prompt – Fork Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
Daily Prompt: Legacy –Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
I’m a quilter not a baker. I hate to bake. I’m not good at it and my failures over the years are legion. Most kids bring homemade cookies or cupcakes to school to share. Mine brought bags of potato chips.
But, for some reason my carrot cake gets rave reviews. My son requests it every year for his birthday. Why? I’m convinced it’s because it is the most difficult, expensive, frustrating, anxiety-producing, time-consuming cake in the world. It’s true … paybacks are hell, but I can’t remember what I did to that child to demand such retribution.

So, I started by assembling all the tools and ingredients I needed and told myself to remain calm, stay organized, take my time and clean up as I go.

Things deteriorated almost immediately. My printer ran out of ink so I was working from the recipe on my Kindle that kept shutting down then sliding out of my hands because of the oil, eggs and buttermilk on my fingers. I panic very easily when I’m baking.

OK – I get that it’s three layer cake because it’s so dense. But I don’t understand why I have to oil and flour each pan and still cut out parchment paper to cover the bottoms and then oil and flour the parchment paper.

Thank heaven for food processors or I’d still be grating carrots, chopping walnuts and shredding coconut.

Ta da! I finally got everything into one bowl and it smells and tastes like … carrot cake!

Looking good, right? I’m so proud of myself.

But, I don’t understand “Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean”. After 30 minutes the toothpick looked clean, but I wasn’t completely sure. So, I baked for another 3 minutes and then did the toothpick thing again and still wasn’t sure. After the third toothpick, I noticed the cakes’ edges looked really brown so I removed the pans from the oven and the anxiety kicked in — under-baked, over-baked who knows? It’s kind of like a new recipe that say, “Adjust seasonings to taste.” But if you don’t know what it’s supposed to taste like….?


And then the cleanup … seems like I used every surface, utensil, bowl and appliance in my kitchen. There was so much flour in the air that I had an asthma attack and had to stop to use my inhaler twice.

You think I was kidding about the flour in the air and on every surface? I laid my spatula down and when I picked it up, there was its silhouette. After the kitchen counters were washed, the bowls, utensils and appliances cleaned I still had to mop the floor and wipe down the cabinets. I turned the A/C on to clear the air. What a production! We won’t even talk about the icing.

Happy Birthday, Matt.
When the birthday boy tasted his cake I learned the good news and the bad news … the good news was that it was absolutely delicious; the bad news is that I’m going to have to do it again next year.
Daily Prompt: Contrast -Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
I’m a Florida girl. I never saw snow until I was 21 and moved north with my husband to attend Ohio State University. I did not know what cold truly was. I almost died.
It wasn’t too bad until after the holidays. We had a white Christmas and it was magical. But then we had January … and February… and March. Ugly grey slush, ugly grey skies, ugly grey trees. The contrast to my Florida winters was stark and depressing … no sunshine, no green, no blue. Just a black and white world. I was homesick, cold and miserable.
Then I had an opportunity to fly home to Miami Beach. Oh, joy! In the ancient days of my youth planes did not conveniently coast to a stop at a terminal building. Stairs were rolled out to the plane doors and passengers disembarked onto the tarmac.
When I stepped through the plane door I stepped into a technicolor world. The only thing missing was the Munchkins.

Daily Prompt – LEAP – Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
I was talking to a friend about some unexpected changes in my life. Fears, unrealized expectations, unfulfilled dreams, anxiety about the future — things that keep one awake at night.
After several glasses of Chianti she gave me some sage advice. “You’re standing on the edge of a precipice and you know you have to jump. Don’t be afraid. Just raise your arms, close your eyes and float down.”
I love the imagery of that leap of faith but I also remember Wile E. Coyote.

My five requirements to survive on a deserted island:


So, the Princess and I survived our first two camping adventures without hurting each other. I always try mightily to back my Casita travel trailer into our camp site but I echo Blanche DuBois (A Streetcar Named Desire), “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers,” when I fail miserably. My job is to sweat and cuss and try and try again to back the camper in the right direction. Yes, I know you have to turn the wheel in the opposite direction from where you want the trailer to go. The Princess’ job is to stand around looking adorable with an an imploring look & pleading smile while nearby campers rush to volunteer to back the trailer in for us. I guess it takes a village. Whatever.

This time we’re heading to St. George Island State Park in the Florida panhandle. We’ll camp on the beach and explore Apalachicola and other coastal towns. We’ll eat lots of seafood — shrimp, oysters, mullet, etc. It’s going to be cold (30’s-40’s at night) so walks on the beach may mean bundling up in several layers. Picture two female Pillsbury dough boys and pray we don’t trip. “We’ve fallen and we can’t get up.”
I’ve prepared and frozen two meals, chili one night and chicken cacciatore for another night. I plan to store them in the freezer compartment to help keep the refrigerator cold, then use my slow cooker to defrost and heat up our dinner when we’re ready. I’m buying steaks & Idaho potatoes for our first night. Since we don’t have a very good track record with grilling on an outdoor fire, I’ll buy New York strips instead of rib eyes just in case our dreams go up in smoke (again). The Princess is responsible for cocktails and appetizers for the trip and local restaurants and bars will fill in the gaps.
I live in southwest Florida and the Princess lives in central Florida so we coordinate our departure times and meet at the confluence of I-75 and the Florida Turnpike in Wildwood. Her husband transfers her luggage (matching pieces of course) to my car and off we go.
I’ll let you know when we get there.
Daily Prompt: Roaring Laughter – What was the last thing that gave you a real, authentic, tearful, hearty belly laugh? Why was it so funny?
I am re-posting the blog I did about the last time I had a fall-on-the-ground, laughing till I hurt moment. Next week I will be camping with The Princess and expect to have many more such moments to report.
https://wanderwomanblog.com/2015/03/26/the-princess-and-the-pee/


Dusty is a 20-year old calico cat. She’s mean, obnoxious and her meowing sounds like the screams of an old lady in pain. I’m scared to death of her. She’s blind, can’t hear very well and is crippled with arthritis. She loves me. I can only feed her small amounts at a time or she vomits. When I hear those retching sounds I run to carry her outside but seldom make it in time. Then it’s my turn to retch.
Dusty and I have a morning ritual that I have come to enjoy. She wakes me with an old lady scream between 4:30 – 5:30 a.m. I stumble into the kitchen and prepare her plate of food that I set out on the lanai where her litter box is kept. This accomplishes three things – she eats, she poops and I can check the weather.
I then bumble around making coffee and cleaning up the kitchen until she comes back inside and limps down the hallway to stand next to my bed. I arrange her quilt on top of my bedding and gingerly (she is not de-clawed and I have the scars to prove it) pick her up by the scruff of her neck and place her on her very own hand-made quilt. Until a few months ago I have never allowed an animal in my bed. (Well … I mean … you know). She settles down for a little nap because she’s only had 14 hours of sleep.

I plump up my pillows, carefully crawl in bed next to Dusty with my coffee, my iPhone and my computer and we settle down for an hour or so of pleasant social media mindlessness. But, God forbid I move. There’s that old lady scream again — mine.