I am in a stupor. Brain shot and not a thought in my head. But my friend is watching my kids so I’m forcing my fingers to peck at the keyboard, willing the words to come out of my esophagus, or my belly, or my kneecaps, wherever they happen to be because it sure doesn’t feel like there’s anything up there above my eyeballs right now.

This is what happens when I spend extended periods of time—as in 1 hour and 33 minutes—wandering through stores by myself. I shut down and walk around in a daze, mouth dry, eyes glazed, hair frizzed out to China. It’s like a mental hibernation.

I really do detest shopping.

It’s not like I even did much of anything. Just tried on a handful of shirts, picked up some discount candles and a water bottle, dropped off clothes at the thrift store (when the kids weren’t in the car because if they’d see what I’m getting rid of, they’d freak), returned a pair of flip-flops and bought two more, plus two pairs (sets?) of nail clippers since we lose them with alarming frequency—

Are your eyes glazing over now? All boring stuff, I told you.

Now I’m at Panera, guzzling a coffee in the off-chance that my brain cells might start to jump. I really want to optimize these next couple hours before I have to go hit up Martin’s for the 80 pounds of frozen vegetables I ordered. (Way to preempt the garden season, Jennifer. Fill the freezer with vegetables so you don’t have any room for homegrown ones.)

Maybe I’ve been getting too much sleep? Is that why I’m dragging? Perhaps if I stay up extra late tonight watching a movie and eating popcorn and drinking strawberry daiquiris, I’ll feel more energized tomorrow. It’s worth a shot, I suppose. Any good movies to recommend? I’m leaning towards Paper Moon.

Anyway, I have a recipe for you.

It was on Sunday afternoon that I first ate these oatmeal toffee bars. We were at church for the last Bible quizzing match of the season (not counting the final match that’s being held in Ohio this weekend—my kids have never been to Ohio and they keep calling it Oregon or Hawaii), and I was in charge of helping to set out the food. There were a bunch of younger kids running around the fellowship hall while the Bible quizzing was wrapping up, and when they saw us getting out paper cups and pitchers of ice, they crowded around the table.

“Scram! Not yet! We’ll call you when it’s time!” I joined the other moms in shooing the kids away.

And then I reached into one of the Tupperware containers and snitched a bar. The kids hadn’t moved very far off, so I walked into the kitchen, my arms dangling casually by my side, a bar cradled in the palm of one hand. I yanked a couple paper towels out of the dispenser, buried the bar down in them so no kid would see and point a finger, and hunkered down to eat my forbidden treat. I’m such a good role model.

The bar was as good as it looked. I ate at least one more before we left the church, but not until everyone went through the line. I wouldn’t want to take more than my fair share, of course.

Oatmeal Toffee Bars
This is adapted from friend Shannon’s recipe. When she was a little girl, she made these bars for 4H—they won her lots of prizes.

I baked these for 20 minutes, and they were on the soft side. The ones that Shannon brought to church had been baked the full 25 minutes and were more crispy. With her bars, I liked how the crunchy bottom matched the crunchy toffee topping, so I recommend the longer oven time.

Also, I’m thinking some coconut added to the oatmeal bottom might be nice. 

1 cup butter
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup white sugar
2 egg yolks
1 cup flour
1 cup rolled oats
6 ounces chocolate chips
Heath Bar chips or smashed toffee

Cream together the butter and sugars. Beat in the yolks. Stir in the flour and rolled oats. Press the mixture into a 9 x 13 pan and bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes.

Remove from the oven and sprinkle with the chocolate chips. Once they’ve softened, spread them out with a knife. Sprinkle with the toffee. Cut and remove from the pan while still warm (the cooler they get, the harder they are to remove from the pan).

This same time, years previous: big businesses read little blogs, caramelized onions, sour cherry crumb pie, egg and ham casserole, playing Martha, nutty therapy

I felt kind of puttsy this morning. The kids were up earlier than usual, so we whizzed through their studies and then there was nothing to do. I didn’t know what to cook, nor did I want to get into a big project. So I wandered listlessly around the downstairs, obsessively checking email and all the time feeling guilty for not being incredibly productive on such a gorgeous day.

And then I remembered a video I had watched a few days ago. It’s about how to prepare all your vegetables for the week in just a few hours. Mostly, it involves roasting all sorts of veggies and washing a variety of lettuces. There’s nothing earth-shattering about the idea (and one oven-load of vegetables doesn’t make enough to last us a week), but it was rather inspiring in a gentle sort of take-it-or-leave-it way.

So, with nothing better to do, I set about peeling a bunch of carrots and potatoes, both sweet and white. I chopped them roughly, drizzled them with olive oil, sprinkled them with coarse salt, and then popped them into a 400 degree oven.

That little burst of productivity was like a shot of adrenaline. While the veggies roasted, I loaded three-fourths of my chillens into the car and zipped over to the greenhouse where I bought two six-packs of lettuce.

I have lots of lettuce coming up in the garden, and the spinach is just beginning to sprout, but with this 75 degree weather we’ve been having, I’m starting to crave salad something fierce. The greenhouse lettuces were about 6 inches high—a lot higher than the pinky fingernail-sized leaves of my lettuces—which means that now my salad craving is just that much closer to being satisfied.

I also bought a six-pack of tomatoes. Yes, I know it’s March and that our frost date is still two months out. However, it’s easy to cover a half dozen tomato plants should the frost decide to nip, and I’m squirreling away gallon milk jugs, holey bed sheets, and tablecloths for this express purpose. I think we’ll be okay.

Back home again, the veggies were starting to burn. Which isn’t really a problem when it comes to roasted vegetables—a bit of black is a bit of yummy, I think. I stirred them, put them back in the oven to roast a bit longer, and told my son to pull them out of the oven when the timer binged. Then I headed back outside to plant the lettuce and tomatoes, dig thistles, and transplant a bunch of strawberries.

We ate the potatoes and carrots for lunch with scrambled eggs (turns out, the kids aren’t too keen on roasted carrots, silly critters), and I stuffed the roasted sweet potatoes into a half gallon jar for later. Maybe to eat with black beans and sour cream?

Roasted Vegetables

olive oil
salt
black pepper, optional
herbs, fresh or dried, optional
roast-able vegetables, such as potatoes, carrots, turnips, beets, asparagus, cauliflower, broccoli, green beans, onions, squash, etc.

Prep the vegetables (wash, peel, roughly chop, etc). Toss with olive oil and sprinkle with seasonings, if desired.

Spread the vegetables in a single layer in large, sided baking sheets, using a different pan for each kind of vegetable (unless you want to mix, which is fine, too). Roast at 400 degrees until the vegetables are fork-tender and caramelized around the edges.

Eat immediately or refrigerate for later. Suggested uses: in quiches, lentil stew, fried rice, lasagna, spaghetti sauce, Alfredo sauce, enchiladas, quinoa salads, grilled cheese sandwiches, etc.

This same time, years previous: getaway, a fast update, a bad day

My father turns 60 this month so we (my brothers and I, plus our families, of course) gathered at my parents’ place in West Virginia for a work weekend—our birthday present to him.

We’ve done this before. It’s kind of our standard birthday gift. But it’s a fun one. He and Mom make the rounds between my house and my brothers’, helping out with whatever needs helping out with, so it’s nice to turn the tables and return the favor.

This time around, we fixed, scrubbed, tilled, mended, built, weeded, dug, hauled, mulched.

At the end of the day, there was a tour to admire the completed work.

A lot got accomplished, but our work pace was leisurely. There were lots of breaks for visits, hikes, playing, and long lazy meals. In fact, it didn’t feel like we were working all that much.

Or maybe that was just my feeling.

I mostly wandered around with my camera, taking pictures of everyone else doing all the work, though I did spend some time in the raspberry canes. I even have the scratched-up ankles to show for it.

(Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there.)

Other activities included:

Also, I managed to almost burn the house down with some waffles.

Sunday brunch was my responsibility, so I made waffles, since that’s what I do on Sundays. Apparently, the three waffle irons were too much for the house’s electrical system and halfway through the meal, the table erupted with shouts of “Fire!” and “Flip the breaker!” and “Where’s the extinguisher!” I had no idea what was going on, except that I could no longer cook my waffles since all the power was suddenly shut off. So while the rest of the family jumped about and flapped their arms, I blew out all the votive candles and shooed the stunned children out onto the porch .

And then I grabbed my camera and took a picture of the deserted table. Deserted by everybody except for one happy, waffle-eating person—the boy who cried fire. Was that a smooth move, or what?

Once the situation was under control, the evacuees were called back in and we resumed our waffle feasting, though with one less waffle maker and with the other two plugged into outlets that weren’t connected to the bad circuit.

And just so you know, burning electrical cords smell like a rotting animal, not like scorched chemicals like you (or I, at least) would expect.

As for the birthday celebrating, it wasn’t a fancy-schmancy affair. We didn’t even have a birthday cake.

Instead, my mom let the kids stick some candles in Saturday’s breakfast sweet rolls, and we burst into rousing renditions of Happy Birthday whenever the mood struck.

And then we drove home through a warm spring rain to our little piece of world that is now a bright Irish green.

The end.

This same time, years previous: our house lately, oatmeal pancakes