A Mouse in the Pantry

A Spot of Tea for Thirty

Had the pleasure this last Friday evening to contribute some edibles to a worthy group of ladies celebrating local small business's in downtown Santa Rosa.  Collaborating local vineyards, shops and food purveyors, Cherylyn McCalligan, owner of the downtown landmark Hotel La Rose, skittered among downtown hot spots with thirty of her closest friends and business associates, tasting, sipping and trying on local wares.  So involved were these ladies in their evenings adventure, that before stopping into Tea Pot (where they dined on my rustic Tomato and Blue Cheese Tarts, Carrot Ginger Soup, Mini Tea Sandwiches and Espresso brownies), they took to a local lingerie shop for personalized bra fittings and champagne.  I am sure they were nothing but tickled once they meandered down to dinner and shopping at Tea Pot's eclectic children's and Woman's boutique.  Nothing quite like being frisked together, while drinking champagne, to get a room of woman giggling!

Many thanks to Tea Pot's owner Natalie Wilkey for including myself and fellow mom baker  Rachel Harika of The Velvet Crumb in the evening's events.

A nod to the ripper

I can't believe it is almost Halloween and I haven't dropped so much as a hint here.

We have grown our own pumpkins, by accident (not pictured), we have crafted one costume and borrowed another ( a llama and a hedgehog, thank you), and we are thankful for this lovely fall week which will hopefully land us with a dry Halloween Saturday night (am I jinxing us?).

My question for this momentous evening is how many folks will be thinking swine flu instead of pixie stix?  Think about it fear mongers, if ever there was a day to expose your child to absolutely everything out there, it's Halloween.

My kids will be out  welcoming in whatever bug we haven't already tried on for size (but being as careful as possible of course) - will yours?  And would you consider a hand sanitation center by your front door (creepy)?

I can't wait to see what evasive measures are awaiting us all as we dose ourselves to the max on manufactured sugar treats.

Ha! How spooky is that.

The Dead People

On the subject of buying cars my mom always said: "Shop the gazette in tiburon, wealthy people are always getting rid of good cars for cheap."

Sage advice from a woman who had five children, all commuting from the far reaches of West Marin.

She also, at the helm of many Marin County non-profits, was beneficiary to donations - some practical - some not, from one family relation or another.  We certainly weren't suffering as a family, but we knew a good deal when we saw one.  Often these "things" came our way for sorting before being shipped off to a boys home, a homeless shelter, a needy family.  Some items didn't really make for good donations.  Some items, like monogrammed wine glasses, ended up in the mix at our house of many, often being referred to by there new names "The Dead People's wine glasses" or "The Dead People's giant globe wine bar".  They became part of our family - but always looked a little high end and stuffy for our woodsy-hippie clan.  We didn't as kids know who they came from exactly, but we sure put things to good use. (I know, this is getting a little sick).

Today, as I drove my own secondhand car up the winding mountain sides of picturesque Napa, on route to fulfill my biggest kitchen remodel need, I thought about telling my son, "Buy kitchen appliances in Napa, there are lots of good deals to be found."  This was of course as I headed through mansion lined streets looking for this lovely woman who had recently remodeled her own kitchen in a Mediterranean style and didn't like the color of her oven.  The oven I speak of is a six burner, very well maintained, dual function Wolf range.  It's black.  Her kitchen is cream colored.  It was a problem. 

And now it's my problem.  My beautiful, picking it up Saturday, loving it already, glad to rescue it from her garage and get the awful beast off her hands, problem.

I didn't end up explaining these social intricacies to my son.  He doesn't need my issues.  I am however considering telling anyone who comes over that I scored this one  from the Dead People.

A Very Happy Day

One year ago this week I was in shock. 

I sat in front of the clear plastic enclosure, protecting my newborn daughter from harm, from the outside world, and indeed from me.  I learned again how to wash my hands, scrub to my elbows, blow kisses through the air. Something we don't expect when expecting a baby.

I got to know this new little creature through tubes and sensor wires and tape and gauze.  An I.V. went in before my own eyes, needles puncturing delicate skin, nurses working quickly to pump medications, serums, life into her tiny body.  I sat with hope that this little one was o.k., would be o.k., will be o.k.?

I didn't have a one year plan then.  I'm not sure I believed in a one week plan.  I was just hoping we'd make it through that day.

One year ago  they made me leave the hospital, bags packed, flowers and balloons tied to a cart, shipped downstairs to the lobby, like all the other mothers.  But, as eyes looked at us in confusion we realized that our baby carrier was absent.  We had the balloons, and the bags and the best wishes, and no baby.  She was upstairs.  She would be upstairs for awhile.

One year ago our lives changed forever.  There would be no more second chances at a perfect birth.  There would be no more babies.  Two preemies in six years was more than anyone should endure.  We would make sure that was the last.

But in all that mess, one year ago an infinite bundle of smiles, and giggles, and dirty finger nails, and laughing, screaming, crawling, darting, bouncing, rolling girl was born and we had no idea how miraculous she would be.  How "normal" should would be. How amazing she has become.  And, here, one year later, every pain, every tear, every scare, every scream seems very much worth it. How could it not be. She is ours and we are hers, and we love her.

Happy Birthday Dolly.

Cluck Cluck, Gobble Gobble

With new home steadily steaming along towards perfection, it didn't take long for me to find new ways to accentuate our mini urban homestead.  Why not bring in livestock, honestly?

Three young cluckers are currently taking residence in our garage, awaiting the palace of their dreams amidst garden beds and an old apple tree.  The hen house is a few weeks from fruition, but nothing motivates like necessity - and this will soon be necessary!

So, without further adu, I am pleased to introduce Jumpy-Deuce, Nugget and Cacciatore, future egg layers, feathered friends, major annoyance to the dear old dog, and potentially dinner!

On Re-Entry

I am
thrilled
worried
nervous
overwhelmed
calming
excited
tired
doubting
ready
unfinished
in love
angry
insecure
fat
thinner
and,
waiting

In love with Julia

I am lighter than air.  Have just arrived home to finish shoveling massive heap of Sonoma Compost (10 cubic yards, thank you very much), and am doing my work with a little extra bounce under foot.  I was lucky enough to be treated to an afternoon sans children and of course found my way to the local theater to catch Julie/Julia, what may be my favorite movie of the year, and maybe of all time.  And if you we're there, you know that our snuck in bottle of local Que Syrah red, was the perfect drink to sip in the presence of the great one.

I laughed louder than my neighbors thought appropriate (maybe the wine?).  I cried, when no one else was.  I fell in love.  This movie was absolute genius and the perfect tribute to a woman who we all owe so much.  Three cheers for Julia Child.

And as I sat sobbing in the theater I realized that so much about Julia's life was like mine in ways unconnected to cooking.  Yes, yes, Amy Adam's's character Julie, also makes this obvious point in the film, the many crossed life paths, but I found myself struck by the internal struggle of this larger than life woman. 

She was at the hands of her husbands career.  That was how it was.  He worked.  His job moved them from place to place, and despite her deep, unbreakable love for him, sometimes his job made her life feel, if nothing else, a little lack-luster.

That was fifty years ago, and yet, here I have been these past three months re-creating a life around a coast guard career. Moving when they say. Following my love's love.

Julia Child persevered.  She created endlessly.  She lived for life's joys and she is an ever timely reminder that I, little Mouse in the Pantry, must make a life happen, even if it is in a constant state of transition. 

Now, I need to go shovel some wood chips, and maybe even make a pie - for Julia.

Never Plumb on Sundays (and other life lessons)

I woke up last week to find a small puddle at the front of our property.  It was just a tad bit of water gathering by the city's water meter.  I wondered at first if I had accidentally turned on the irrigation.  If, however, you have seen my front lawn, you know it's unlikely the irrigation was left on for any substantial amount of time.

My neighbor came over to look at it with me.  We did what you do with neighbors, stare and confirm.  Shaking of heads.  Lots of nodding.  "Yup, you got a leak"  he said resolutely.   I felt like I was in an episode of Home Improvement.

After confirming that the leak was on my side of the the meter (of course), I called a plumber.  It was going to be expensive.  Really, really expensive.  Of course it was, because this house, this charming little house, has some very expensive habits.  I told the plumber I had to think about it.

Meanwhile as the water trickled out, I called some friends.  Many friends.  Lots of "can-do" guy friends with experience being handy.  They all called the plumber names I shouldn't use in this blog, and then said I should do it myself.   They said it was just a "patch".

"Really?" I said.  I was doubting my plumbing skills, but if so many of them thought I could do this, well, yes sir I was going to try.

So this brings us to 8 a.m. on this last Sunday morning.  Baby tucked into stroller with the best view of the show,  Six year old directing the process, already with mud up his shins, I took my handy shovel and began to dig.  I had to find out how far down this pipe the water was coming from.  Turns out I didn't have to go far.

It was basic really, and I wondered why I wasn't a plumber.  Big metal meter attaches to smaller metal pipe heading towards my house.  Smaller metal pipe has plastic coupling connecting to cheap PVC piping, that actually lead to my house.  And here is where the problem was.  As I scraped out roots and rocks and thick adobe clay mud, I found my trickle coming from the underside of the pipe, right where that PVC met the meter's metal. 

It didn't look good.  There was a lot of corrosion.  This was not what all those handy guys were talking about.  I touched the coupling to feel the leak.  The leak grew bigger.

My oldest brother had arrived by now.  Charlie is awesome.  He is a can-doer (when he is in the mood), and definitely a team player.  If his sister was muddy (and I was), well he was going to get muddy too.

"No problem Mel" he said.  Gosh he sounded like those other guys.  Maybe I was missing something?

""Just a patch, we can get it at the hardware store!"

So the hardware store is where we went, looking like a gang of rag-tag hillbillies, covered in mud, kids with dirt on them and a brother who hasn't shaved this month. It was a scene.

We bought glues, and primers, and couplings and scrappers and ...  Well, though this blog is long, let me cut to the chase - It was really bad after that. 

"I think we have a problem" said my fury faced brother shaking from exhaustion and dripping wet. there was water pouring into the street. This was not a trickle anymore.

"Oh shit" I thought.  "It's Sunday.  It's Sunday and I have to call a plumber. Oh dear God" I kept muttering to myself as I spun circles in the yard watching my trickle which was now more of a gush.  A wise Italian told me not to call a plumber on a Sunday. Now what? There was water everywhere.  This was bigger than a plumber - I could tell.

There was nothing else to do, I had to call the city.

In minutes they were here, trying to fix what had broke. Letting me play dumb - because I am, and then realizing that in fact - there was a problem.  As they wrenched and pulled on their end of things, the entire meter, and the city's pipes, broke loose in a one loud snap.  If I thought it was wet before, now it was flooding.

"oh shit" said the nice man from the city.  Now they had a problem too.

I can say that the City of Petaluma's Water Resource employees are some of the most skilled and calm gentlemen I have ever observed.  Working completely blind, with water, silt and mud flying towards them, they wrenched and twisted and capped the gushing water.  With not so much as a flinch, they plunged their hands into the deep slick, working with purpose. I swear (and it's not because my dear hubs has been gone for 7 weeks), these guys must have women who love them.  (there Soccer Mom, I almost talked about the big "S" in my blog!).

And the "patch"?  Done and Done! Thank God.

If nothing else, owning a home is very exciting.

"Evening Neighbor"

Did I mention we bought a house?  I'm pretty sure that's been obvious, but in case you missed it, WE BOUGHT A HOUSE!!!!

This was a huge step for the Mouse In The Pantry crew, and it's taken quite the support team to get our new pantry up and running.  Well, it's almost running! It is perhaps, in truth, somewhat functional right now.  But, it is ours.

Making things complicated is something we SoCo mice seem to excel at.  So, in order to bring stress levels to a full boil this summer, I decided it best to ship off the dear mousy husband just weeks prior to closing, packing, and moving said pantry shelves.  Never mind the two kids, dog and goldfish who needed my attention, I can do it all, let's move. HA!

But, we're in, with many thanks to many friends and family.  Mouse in the pantry will hopefully be back in gear.

Currently I am without a kitchen.  Well, I suppose that depends actually on your definition of a "kitchen". Let's not be picky eh?

The Merriam-Webster dictionary lists a kitchen as:

1.	a room or place equipped for cooking.

2.	culinary department; cuisine

3.	the staff or equipment of a kitchen.

I think what I have actually falls into all three of those definitions.  It does however lack any counter tops (but the dining room table works), one wall (who needs walls?), and a dishwasher (I should train the six year old). things are looking up!  Cookies any day now.

Despite primitive accommodations, we feel just on the other end of all the hullabaloo and are officially settling in. We're also getting to know our neighbors (which is  a  blog in itself).

So, look for more tales coming soon from Mouse in the Pantry's own version of extreme home make-over single mom style.

* and a belated box of cookies for Liz Anderson! (I haven't forgot).

Four If By Sea

*This post was originally written on June 2nd, 2009.  It is late in arriving for many reasons - we'll talk about that later.*

"And it feels so great to finally dive into the water; maybe you splash around and flail for awhile, but at least your in.  Then you start doing whatever stroke you can remember how to do, and you get this scared feeling inside you - of how hard it is and how far there is to go - but still you're in, and you're afloat, and you're moving." - Anne Lamott

Today was a hard day. 

It was a day we have been waiting for, for a long time.  Today a job, a duty, a calling, sailed away with one of our loved ones.  A trip full of adventure, three months at sea, tropical locales, new friends, exciting opportunities, all of that began today.

And today, a young boy with tears and anger welling in his eyes, learned first hand that life isn't always fair, or easy, or fun. Defeat washing over his face as his daddy sailed away, he looked into my eyes and said, "I'm having a hard day".  It was 7a.m.. 

With all the pain and angst built into this day, there was familiarity.  We've done this before - it was hard then too - but we did it.  I did it. Today was an experience through others eyes as much as my own.

"I'm Melissa.  I'm from Connecticut.  I'm not going to cry!" She said, shaking in her pink sweater in the early morning fog that had wrapped around Alameda and the boat sailing West with her new husband inside.

"It's okay if you cry." I said, my arm around this stranger, my hand on my son's head.  "Everyone cries".  Everyone was crying.

I remembered this place.  Well, not this place exactly.  A place where I stood and watched and cried.  I was young.  I was new.  I didn't want to cry, I didn't think you we're supposed to. I was supposed to be proud and strong and "ready to serve".  That was a lot to carry though; I married him, not this job. 

Melissa cried.

In a deep exhaustion we climbed back into our cars.  My sleepy children in the backseat, my son still with tears rolling quietly down his cheeks, my daughter with fat pink toes, cooing out the back window as we drove away from the pier.

"This sucks.  This is too much.  I'm sunk." I thought as I drove away. My world was certainly about to change drastically. I have two children now and the game has changed.  There would be very little cooking.  There would be very little sanity.  There would be no more writing, blogging, journaling.  These two sweet, innocent, darlings would require me to let that go.  I needed to let that go.  I was scared of it all.

"Let's go to the store!" I cheerfully pleaded with my son.  He seemed ok with this idea, if uninterested.  We window shopped from isle, to isle, to isle in the local IKEA.  We made up dreams for new rooms.  We planned for decorations we couldn't afford.  We got inspired by the lack of emotional heaviness you find in t.v. armoires and curtains.

He picked up a bigger than himself piece of rolled rug and lugged it from one stack to the next, comparing.  I watched him, pleased to see the distraction from our hard day.  I watched the other happy people.  I thought about our coming weeks alone.  I thought about letting go of writing, and plans and having a life. 

And then, out of nowhere, like a spirit, Anne Lamott was in front of me.  We were looking at rugs together.  Anne Lamott - The author.

If you don't know her work - I'm sorry.  If you haven't read her funny, real, painful and truthful approach to life, then you can't fully understand what happened today.  But, if you have even the slightest idea of who she is, and why I like her work, and how she could be one of the most influential writers today (ok, for me), than you are probably as flabbergasted as I am. And how on earth did we ended up shopping for rugs together in IKEA?  Anne Lamott.  Anne Lamott. 

"Hello Anne, I'm Meloni.  I'm a huge fan. Your book saved me when my husband's job took him away for a long time once." I said like the over-eager fan that I am. 

Anne is a bit of an agoraphobic.  Probably too many years of living her life publically in her writing. She seemed a little shocked by my straight forward approach.  I however was hoping deep inside that she might decide to become my best friend.

"you owe me then!" she said with a smile. 

She was right.  I do.