An August day

Otherwise known as The Day That I Carried My Camera Everywhere And Took Far Too Many Pictures.

It was more work than I expected, too, trying to keep track of everyone and hit the high points of their day. (Not “high points” as in rah-rah-yay, but “high points” as in it was a listable and photographicable moment.) (And there’s two new words for you, you’re welcome.)

You’ll notice that many of the pictures are taken in the kitchen, on the porch, etc, and not in the orchard picking the pears (off the dying tree) or at the chicken coop dumping the compost over the fence or in the garden digging potatoes because I would’ve made myself crazy-insane following the kids around while they did the chores. For most of what goes on around here, I station myself in the kitchen and monitor the flow of people in and out the doors as they go about executing their tasks. (It sounds almost gory when I say it that way, “executing their tasks.” I like that.)

I still missed bunches of stuff, like the kids waking up in the yard and riding their bikes and me on the phone and doing paperwork and giving orders, but this is entirely too long as is. And probably way too dull, as well. You’ll all be sobbing with boredom by the time you reach the end. I’m sorry.

On the other hand (I just can’t seem to stuff it with the preambles, can I?), this is the Ordinary that makes up my days. It’s my life as is, no bells and whistles, profound thoughts, or glamor included. And that’s gotta be worth something, I think. (At least I tell myself that, since it’s what I do all the freaking day long.)

Part One: The Pictures

Not in any particular order

Part Two: The Words

Also not in any particular order (and not necessarily to correspond with the pictures)

*Waking up in the yard where they had spent the night (just the older two) and then putting away all the bedding

*Finding matching shoes in the back hall (always a struggle)

*Hanging laundry

*A six mile round-trip bike ride to the post office for stamps, and also exercise—just the older two kids

*An imaginative game of the most engrossing variety that went on for hours.

*Checking the pears (and eating one!)

*Emptying the compost (many times over)

*Playing typing games on the computer

*Dish washing (and accidental glass breaking—lately we’ve had far too many of these—I better make a run to the thrift store or we’ll soon be eating off the floor)

*A drive to a local orchard for two bushels of Summer Rambo apples and a half bushel mix of Ginger Golds and Gala.

*Tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes—roasted tomato sauce (it’s my fav, make it) and stewed.

*Quiet reading time (he’s plowing through Little Men, his choice)

*Eating: oatmeal and canned peaches, leftover buttermilk donuts from a failed cake donut experiment (the picture is from the night before), peas, leftover mac and cheese, apples and peanut butter, pb&j sandwiches, the last drops of flat root beer, one fluffernutter graham cracker sandwich shared four ways, coffee, both hot and iced, green beans, corn, baked potatoes, apple crisp, vanilla ice cream, milk, etc (it takes a lot to fill our tanks)

*Major freak out thoughts about the three bushels of peaches and four bushels of nectarines that are due to hit my kitchen on Saturday

*Computer time, oh happy computer time

*Rest time (why does she have a toothbrush in her mouth?)

*A rest time treat of one stale and chewy candy cane, divided four ways

*Vacuuming up the little bits of styrofoam he mashed into the floor

*Mowing the lawn

*Intense negotiations revolving around the aforementioned lawn mowing

*digging potatoes for supper

*Wine, yes

*Setting the table

*Tomato picking (and picking and picking)

*Play dough creations proudly presented to the weary mater pickers

*Zonking out, finally


I’ve taken pictures in preparation for a post about my standard apple crisp recipe on three separate occasions, so it’s ironic that this time, the third time, the time when I finally get around to posting it, the pictures are so bad. It’s because the kids were taking them, the lighting was weird because the shades were drawn against the blinding sun, and I was getting sick of snapping pictures of every little thing that happened.

Plus, my hands were all gunked up with buttery crumbs so I couldn’t exactly wield a camera very well. (Some of the pixs are mine and I have no excuse except sloppiness. Oh well.)

But about the crisp. I dig all sorts of cobblers and crisps, but when it’s time for supper and I have fruit on the counter and don’t know what to do with it, I invariably resort to this recipe. It’s quick—just oats, brown sugar, flour, cinnamon, and butter, all rubbed together till crumbly—but it delivers all the oatmeal crunch and buttery-cinnamon lip-smacking flavor you could wish for.

We topped our apple crisp with a little vanilla ice cream left over from the weekend’s root beer floats, but usually we simply drown it in cold milk and then eat till we bloat.

Basic Fruit Crisp

This makes enough topping for four cups of chopped fruit. When doubling the recipe I don’t fully double the butter, using only 14 tablespoons instead of the called for 16, or thereabouts.

Also, I like to sneak more fruit into the pan, maybe five ample cups instead of four.

I used Gala apples for this crisp and they were delicious.

1 cup rolled oats

½ cup brown sugar, packed

½ cup flour

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 stick butter

4-5 cups prepared fruit (apples, peaches, nectarines, berries, etc)

Put the fruit into a greased 8×8-inch pan.

Dump the remaining ingredients into a bowl and rub them together with your fingers until incorporated and crumbly. Sprinkle the crumbs over the fruit.

Bake the crisp at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes, or until the fruit is bubbling and soft and the crumbs are a crunchy golden brown.

Serve warm, with ice cream or milk.

This same time, years previous: drilling for sauce, barley and beans with sausage and red wine, peach and/or nectarine tart, thoughts on breastfeeding

One Comment

  • Karen

    I need shoe shelving like that!

    We also break an inordinate number of glasses at our house.

    I thought that in the picture of your child holding the broken glass I also saw blood on his fingers?….until….

    …I saw in the next pic that the same child is wearing red fingernail polish?

    I would come have a glass of funky llama with you.


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