Apple, Cranberry, Pear and Fig Pie with Crunchy Almond Topping (And Some Instant Gratification Knitting)

I know there's been this whole "fruit-for-dessert" thing here for several posts (mixed in with real life drama). I really don't have any explanation for this fruit obsession other than to say, it's what I've wanted. The Husband mentioned that it might be nice to throw in a chocolate dessert--then added, You'll have an apple pie for Thanksgiving. . . you always do. And just who does he imagine will be baking said pie? I mean, I'm not one to complain about my baking tasks. In fact rarely do I complain of being shackled to the kitchen. (Shackled might be too strong.) But the time of year being what it is: dark and more dark, sometimes my mood sways to things outside of the kitchen domain. I am sure I could handle juggling my cookie cravings next (oh there will be cookies) a chocolate dessert AND an apple pie all before Thursday. I know I can. My kitchen is my sanctuary. It has helped me cope during all of this "stuff" we've had to manage through. And are still managing through. 

When I'd settled on the next fruit dessert I wanted to try, I pulled out from my disaster-zone-baking-storage-cabinet an old ten-inch springform pan covered in stains, fingerprints and streaks of burned residue. It was my mother's. Leftover from her kitchen. It's funny to remember her this way--this baking way--so close to Thanksgiving. Her last years were not spent in the kitchen. At least not as much as she'd have liked. It would be hard to tell when exactly this pan was last used. I called my sister and told her what I'd found. Memories were shared.Then I got to baking my dessert.

One Week Later (Moving On . . . Counting Blessings)

A week ago yesterday was the accident. We are slowly moving on. I am desperate for my concentration to return. For normalcy. But that may take awhile. Last night was the first full night of sleep I'd had in a week. 

Not only am I grateful to have my husband alive, I am grateful for the kindness of all who left notes and hugs. I may not have responded to each one, but please know, I read all comments. I shared every single word with Dr. Thyme who I know felt better for having read them. I know or have met a few of you--this made your note even more special. Thank you again.

Little things have struck me numb. Like finally doing the laundry Tuesday. I pulled the clothes out of the basket to sort them out and heard little "pings" of stuff hitting the floor. I looked at what I had in my pile and there was the pair of pants he'd been wearing the day of the accident. Inside the cuffs were bits of glass. Tiny bits of glass. The same glass that shattered and flew into his hair.

The Phone Call. The Hospital. The Accident.

"I'm okay." Those were the first words I heard. But even before I heard my husband's voice, I heard semi-trucks and cars passing by in the background, I heard wind. I heard the voice of a man I knew to be my husband but who I also knew was quite the opposite of okay. 

I said I'd meet him at the hospital. I said I loved him. I said all of the things a wife says to her husband when they've been hurt. I tried to be very calm. I felt my chest heave up and down. I bit my lip to keep from crying. I was slow and careful. I wanted him to not worry about me driving.

Then I remember very little about getting in the car and leaving. I remember this: Emergency lights and an approaching slow down of traffic. It was already dark outside. The lights were incredibly bright. Glaring. I began to shake. I knew instinctively this was where my husband was standing. This was my husband's accident. He's standing somewhere in the middle of all this. . . waiting for an ambulance, already in the ambulance?, being given directions, being given tests, answering questions. Everything began to move in slow motion. 

Vegan Apple Pandowdy (The Vintage Un-Pie)

I had little time, lots of apples (still) and a craving for something in pastry crust. Isn't this how most amazing desserts happen? Couple things struck me about the name "pandowdy" when I first stumbled across it. First thing was where in the heck did this name come from? Well actually I didn't spend much time thinking about this--I craved dessert, not a dissertation. But in the off chance you're curious about the origin of the old pandowdy, I "discuss" more fully below. But not in length, 'kay? Second thing was a southern declaration I'd heard first after moving to Missouri when I was in high school: Boy Howdy! Strange little thing to remember. It seems to fit nicely with "pandowdy". 

Vegan Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies (My Favorite New Running App . . .which means more cookies for me!)

I wouldn't recommend anyone try baking these cookies while watching a presidential debate. Things got a little crazy--I had two trays of these going at once, setting the oven timer to remind me to switch the cookies sheets front-to-back, bottom-to-top--all while making dinner to boot. It was sheer madness in my kitchen. (Interspersed with bouts of screaming at the television.) However, these cookies suffered not. In fact, I'd say the chaos cookery I had going on may have enhanced the yum factor. Why so much at once? Well, for the husband, of course! Dr. Thyme requested something pumpkin be made to take to work the next day as there was to be a "pumpkin" food theme. Typically, I'd jump at the chance to bake cupcakes. But I've been on a cookie tear lately. And pumpkin ranks as high up there as chocolate for me. 

"So For My Next Act, I'll Limit Women's Rights"

Really? So went the general direction of the narrative from one side during last night's debate. So much so, I lost sleep over it. Did I just step off of 2012 and step into the 1950s? Pre Roe v. Wade days were dark for women. Very dark. I remember the first "talk" I had with my mother on the subject of my responsibilities and rights as a woman. And it went something like this: Be careful. Be vigilant. And above all else, do not EVER walk into this house unmarried and pregnant. Period. And the story of her being left in an orphanage followed. One may assume given this history lesson, I might have different thoughts on the matter of birth control. One would be wrong to make such an assumption. And my mother would have been the first to tell you why.

Spinach Artichoke Rigatoni: No Cheese, No Problem (And. . . More Fall Hikes)

We've been having a swell time playing catch up with our outdoor activities. (And I've been playing catch up with blogging--as evidenced by my "oopsie" in somehow hitting the "publish" button prior to adding my verbiage to this post! Hey, it's Monday. . . I'm almost fifty, etc.)

 So we spent the better part of the weekend "outside". It was gorgeous here. When we got home yesterday afternoon, I wanted a really homey, yummy pasta dish. Lucky for me, the Pioneer Woman posted her lovely spinach artichoke pasta dish--complete with gobs of cheese and real milk. It looked divine and I HAD to have some. NOW. 

Apple Butter in The Slow Cooker (And Cowboy Boots on My Feet)

Out of our element and/or out of our minds, we managed to somehow drive nearly an hour away for apples on Sunday. This was not a planned trip. What started out as a plea to DH to accompany me to the "country store" for deer corn and a salt lick (if you have to ask, you probably don't need to know), ended up as a diversion of the crazy kind. *I can't lift the salt lick--it weighs like fifty pounds--just an fyi. 

Oatmeal Raisin Breakfast Cookies (The Yellow Wallpaper and My DIY Madwoman in the Attic Moment)

I try to never drag dear husband along to the grocery store. There are several reasons for this. First and foremost would be the "impulse issues" we both have when it comes to things like chocolate glazed donuts (in the bag!) and "instant breakfast food stuff". Sunday found us both at the store to pick up a few necessities. (After our walk/hike.) Not even two aisles into the place and he stops cold in front of the Hostess display. (We both are recovering Entenmann's Chocolate Glazed doughnut addicts.) Being a little spent from the morning activity, we had no business going anywhere near food. But yet, here we were. And like a true enabler, I said the unthinkable: Well, if you must. And sort of started down the rest of the aisle when again he'd stopped, only this time, he has a box of NEW Oatmeal Raisin Cookie Breakfast Bars in his hand and says, I had these on the plane last month, they weren't that bad. Really? What pray tell might said "cookies" be made of, I ask. (You can see where this is going.) The look on his face when he turned the box on its side to read the list of nearly thirty ingredients (some undecipherable to me) was priceless. 

Crispy Jalapeno Rice Balls Over Spicy Three-Bean Chili (Sew. Bake. Dr. Who. Hike. Repeat.)

These little jewels made our little bowl of chili a great big winner in our hearts. I had very little in the reserve tank for cooking earlier last week. Just recently getting my strength back. (Even canceled guitar again as I did not want to risk exposing myself to "little people germs" just yet--and there are a lot of little people traipsing in and out of my lesson place, trust me). When the inclination for food finally found me--I headed right back in the kitchen (starving) and did what most normal recovering women might do: reach for the frying pan. This chili wasn't going down with the traditional food stuff (corn bread). I was thinking really spicy, crunchy. I had picked a boat load of jalapeno peppers that morning in the garden. (Still picking them. The only tried and true, drought-resistant veggie apparently.) Quite honestly these rice balls demand another meal pairing. They were that good. And simple. I'll forgo the usual recipe at the bottom of the post here and jump to the way these came about. Oh, and for chili--just use your favorite recipe. It matters not, just know that the crunch factor combined with a little bit of heat and the yummy must-have guacamole and viola. Dinner.

Vegan Lemon Cornmeal Pound Cake (This is How 102 Feels, Almost Fifty and . . . On Going Gray)

Well, I suppose I should start with this lovely cake. This insufferable summer has caused my cake cravings to be put on hold. (Of course now we are in the middle of Hurricane Isaac weather--so far I've personally measured a rainfall amount of an inch and a half. Much needed rain.) I was worried about my sweet tooth issue. Nights would pass and not a single crumb of dessert could be found. I jumped in with a few batches of chocolate chip cookies--keeping the dough in the freezer for an occasional nibble, but other than that, nothing. I was confounded by this. My thoughts tended toward the "dark" side. (Or the hormonal.) Where had my sweet tooth gone?

I'm a woman, I live in Missouri and I vote. . . Akin

I've let two days pass. Thank god I live in a country where freedom of speech is granted, but never to be taken for granted.

I was appalled to open the paper and read yesterday's headline in the Post-Dispatch regarding the "legitimate rape" comment. No, let me restate that, I was trembling mad. I re-read the piece twice just to be sure I hadn't missed any detail. 

What I cannot come to grips with is this: Republicans can't seem to release themselves from wanting to legislate a woman's body. 

Get out of our bodies.

I make no apologies for being a woman. A strong woman. A woman who was always told by her mother to stand up for her rights. Don't ever be afraid. Don't ever allow intimidation influence your opinions. Stand tall.

 I was a kid who aspired to be an attorney. In grade school, I took pen to paper to write a letter to President Gerald Ford expressing said hopes and--received a letter back! The local paper ran a column about my letter. 

The world I was entering was slowly reckoning with the fact that women were no longer relegated to being second class citizens--submissive "types". My generation would have more choices than any female generation prior.

I don't need to elaborate or dredge up my own personal scars, or explain why I had such a visceral reaction to this unseemly comment. I simply need to vote. And I will. And because we live in a democracy and because other great women before me fought for this right, I will absolutely take the only action I can in the face of this insult. 

As of my writing, an apology has been issued. 

Apology not accepted.