Heirloom

I am the oldest of many grand-daughters. (If I were a clever blogger, I would have counted how many.) Most of them are married and mothering, and perhaps that is why they have mastered the recipe.

Grandma's Buns.

When we are all together, there is always plenty to do in the kitchen so that the buns and the pie-making (oops! did i just expose another genetic anomaly?) are best left to the others. This weekend, however, I had a surprising amount of free time with guests coming for Sunday dinner. Yeast was on sale. Flour was on sale. Oats were on sale. Even butter was on sale. It was a sure sign. On my last packet of yeast, I think I got it right.


On to the brussel sprouts.

Camoflauge

Last night I was surfing with all my gear (see previous post). As I was walking out to the water, someone told me I looked like a seal. (I've decided to not overanalyze that.) So I'm out in the water, and there is quite a lull. Out of nowhere, about 3 feet in front of me, pops up this little black spotted seal, much like the one in this picture. I just smiled, waited, and hoped there wasn't a shark nearby. After about a 5 minute stare-down, my little seal friend went on his way. I spotted him soon after, hanging out with another seal. I thought to myself, "Good. He finally found his buddy." Lo and behold, guess who came back to say hello? Couldn't shake him. It's official: I'm sharkbait.

Cat Vomit

There are plenty of great waves in Northern California. The dilemma has been deciding if I like surfing enough to endure a lengthy state of cold and discomfort after only 45 minutes in the water.
So when a coworker offered to pay me $100 if I'd feed her cats and clean up, among other things, their vomit, I knew exactly how I was going to spend the money.

Yes, I do like surfing in Northern California.