This week my sister-in-law had a baby on her back porch, my big girl hit the double digits, and I learned to make breadsticks.

Actually, I learned to make breadsticks last week, but it was such an exciting experience that the good feeling leaked over into this week.

I love birth stories for their intensity, rawness, awesomeness, and comedy. Because, yes, some births are downright funny, and if my brother and sister-in-law will excuse me for saying so, this one was pretty hilarious. I mean, the mutt dog that my sister-in-law hasn’t ever really liked (and that’s putting it nicely) was present for more of the labor than the midwife who made it three minutes pre-delivery.

The evening of the birth, Mom and Dad came over with the soon-to-be new big sister. The rest of us were in the middle of watching Holes which we had to pause repeatedly while answering phone calls and get the latest updates. At 8:46 we stopped the movie to take bets on when the baby would be born. My baby said giddily, “In one minute!” I was right behind him with an optimistic guess of 10:30. Fifteen minutes later we stopped the video for the ringing phone yet again: the baby was here! My kids jumped and hollered and the new big sister glowed, giggled, and clapped her hands. Back Porch Baby (for that’s her new nickname, you realize) missed being decade twins with my girl by just three short hours.

The next day was filled up to the brim with cocoa puffs, free slurpies at Seven-Eleven (did you know they give them out on 7/11? I didn’t!), swimming lessons in the morning, and another visit to the pool in the afternoon, the making of a red velvet cake, apocalyptic skies and wild winds, subs and fruit and chips (hooray for simple birthday suppers!), and a pile of presents. The evening ended with a reading of all of Miss Beccaboo’s birthday interviews. (Each year on their birthday, I ask each kid the same 15 questions and then we read them aloud, along with the answers from the previous interviews. It’s a hoot to see the similarities and differences over the years and to see up close how they’ve grown and matured.)

among some of the gifts: headband and scarf from NYC,
and an altered dress-up dress

they even smiled at us!

cake-with-obscene-amounts-of-red food coloring and two kinds of frosting (this and this)

The birthday fun isn’t over yet. Five girlfriends are coming on Friday night to help her whoop it up real good for her first-ever birthday party. (It’s her first, not because she didn’t want a party before, but because I do not allow birthday parties until the age of ten. From age ten and on, special birthdays happen every several years, though I’m not sure what that’s going to mean exactly. I’m open to suggestions.)

And now for the breadsticks!

These little buggers made me inordinately happy. They are soft and tender and chewy and buttery and sublime, and I pretty much fell head over heels in love with them right away.

Those adjectives I mentioned? I know they’re cliche and way too much over-used (that was redundant), but they are truetruetrue.

There’s really not much more to say. But that might be okay, because once you make them your mouth will be full (like my little boy’s was when he stuffed an entire stick into his mouth) and you won’t want to talk anyway because you’ll be so busy chewing and moaning, your eyes rolled back in your head and everything.

One more thing before I shut up and kick you into the kitchen: these things are easy to make, dangerously easy. Prepare to be stunned by their simplicity.

Soft and Chewy Breadsticks
Adapted from Sarah of Clover Lane

This recipe is as straightforward as a recipe can get, so there is lots of room to ham it up if you so wish. You could add some whole wheat to the dough, dust the buttered pan with some semolina flour or cornmeal, or sprinkle some chopped fresh herbs, salt, or fancier cheeses over the finished breadsticks. But each time I make them, I am so wowed by their awesomeness that I can never bring myself to do something different.

The first time I made these I served them with roasted tomato and garlic sauce for dipping, but turns out my family didn’t dig that concept. They preferred to eat the bread as is—and so did I. The second time around I served the breadsticks (a double batch) with a giant salad and everyone was very, very happy. And very, very full.

2 ½ teaspoons yeast
1 cup warm water
3 tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon salt
3 cups bread flour
1/4 cup oil
4 tablespoons butter, melted
½ teaspoon garlic salt
½ cup dry Parmesan cheese (not fresh)

Dissolve the yeast in the water. In a large bowl, stir together the flour, salt, and brown sugar. Add the yeast and water and oil. Stir till combined and then knead till soft and pliable. Flour the bowl and return the dough to it. Cover with a towel and let rise for an hour.

Butter a large cookie sheet/baking pan (one with sides is best). Roll out the dough so that it fills the pan. Using a pizza cutter (or a knife), cut the dough in half lengthwise once and then crosswise about 11 times—you’re aiming for about 24 sticks. Cover the dough with a towel and let rise for 30-60 minutes.

Bake the breadsticks in a 375 degree oven for about 12 minutes. Combine the melted butter and garlic salt, and pour it over the hot bread. Sprinkle liberally with Parmesan cheese.

Serve warm with a bowl of soup and/or a green salad.

Or pull these out of the oven at bedtime for a special snack. (And in that case you might want to omit the garlic salt and Parmesan and sprinkle the breadsticks with some cinnamon-sugar! Just an idea…)

This same time, years previous: vanilla buttercream frosting, roasted cherry vanilla ice cream with dark chocolate, strawberry cake

We have a great garden this year, and compared to last year, in which it did not rain for weeks and weeks and everything shriveled up and died and I completely and totally gave up, it is a SUPER great garden. The potatoes are delicious, the tomatoes are prolific, the raspberries are booming, the basil is zooming, the corn is blooming, and the zucchini is looming—

…or rather, it WAS looming large and lush until it suddenly all keeled over. So we got exactly one week of zucchini. Bummer.

And I’m getting ready to do my THIRD very large planting of green beans because the first two decided to cop out on me.

And my onions are rotting in the ground.

So maybe it’s not such a hotsy-totsy garden after all? Or maybe it’s the gardener who isn’t so hotsy-totsy? But I thought zucchini, green beans, and onions were no-brainer crops! I rely on my no-brainer crops! I need my no-brainer crops!

In any case, the one week of zucchini yielded enough green clubs for me to play with for quite some time. I turned out a batch of blueberry zucchini bread (and have an idea for a couple more I’d like to try), a zucchini strata, a zucchini pasta salad (or I will—it’s on today’s lunch menu), and my favorite standby zucchini dish, which I was stunned to see has never made it onto the blog.

When it comes down to it, this simple, delicious, most favorite zucchini recipe of mine is not actually a recipe. It’s one of those more-of-a-formula-than-a-recipe deals, and you probably make it all the time already and therefore I’m offending you by telling you something this basic, but on the off-chance that you don’t know about it, this recipe/formula is for you, baby.

Except that I’ve taken something so basic and plain and turned it into two recipes so now it looks all complicated and fussy. It’s not! The components are mostly the same each time—onions and garlic, zucchini (of course), tomatoes (fresh or canned), cheese (feta or Parmesan), and fresh herbs—but sometimes I make it into a side dish, and other times it’s more of a soup or sauce, perfect for serving over brown rice or with some crusty bread, so I kind of had to write it as two recipes.

So without further ado, here it is, written up both ways just for you! Because you’re the bees knees and I love you to pieces! XOXO

(Excuse the outburst of affection. It just came over me. I blame it on all the Beautiful that’s happening outside my window right now—the twittering birds, flirty breeze, blue-blue skies, and dew-drenched grass.) (I’m trying really hard not to think about the three bushels of apples that will soon waltz through my kitchen on their way to becoming sauce.)

Zucchini Skillet with Tomatoes and Feta

Small zucchinis are always better than big ones. I aim to pick mine when they’re about 8 inches long.

And all of these measurements are guesstimates. Just chop, dump, and pour your way to the end, however you best see fit.

4 cups sliced zucchini
½ cup thinly sliced onion
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
olive oil, a generous drizzle
1 cup of fresh tomato, sliced (Roma or cherry are best)
1/4 cup feta cheese
S & P

Heat the oil in a skillet and add the zucchini and onion. Toss them around so they get coated with the oil, add some S & P, and then let them cook without stirring so they get a little brown on them. Once they’ve started browning, add the garlic and stir occasionally until the vegetables are tender (but not mushy). Remove the skillet from the heat and stir in the tomatoes till they’re heated through (don’t cook them—you’re going for a fresh tomato taste). Sprinkle with the feta, more S & P, if needed, and serve immediately.

Zucchini with Sausage, Tomatoes, and Oregano

1 cup chopped onion
4-6 ounces loose sausage, any kind
olive oil, a generous drizzle
4-6 cups sliced zucchini
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 quart tomatoes
1/4 cup fresh oregano, chopped (or 1 teaspoon dried)
S & P
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan

Brown the onion and sausage in a skillet and then transfer to a bowl, leaving the drippings behind in the skillet.

Put the zucchini in the still-hot skillet (add some olive oil if necessary), toss to coat with the fat. Let the zucchini sit for a little so it gets good and brown before stirring. When the zucchini is almost done (tender, but still firm), add the garlic and oregano and saute for another minute. Add sausage and onions and the tomatoes and bring to a simmer. Season with salt and pepper.

Serve over brown rice or noodles and garnish with the Parmesan.

This same time, years previous: simple creamy potato salad, French potato salad, tempero, vanilla pudding, apricot pandowdy

Recently, I visited a friend and came home feeling entirely dissatisfied with my house/yard/general existence. (Note: my feelings of inadequacy had nothing to do with the my friend at all. She and her family are some of the sweetest, most authentic, loveliest, hardest working people ever. So to be clear, she did nothing wrong. This is not about her. It is about me.)

Most days, my cup feels half full when it comes to material possessions, so this was a bit odd. Sure, I sometimes have pangs of jealousy, and sometimes I get inspired to better my lot in life, but more often than not, I just think, “Wow, that’s beautiful,” or “They’re such neat people,” and then move on.

But his time, for whatever reason, I was suddenly excruciatingly aware of how tired and shabby my house is.

*There’s a violent hole in the leather sofa’s middle cushion.
*Various lampshades have been stapled, broken, smooshed, and scribbled upon.
*There’s the alarm clock that has to be flipped upside down in order to keep the alarm set.
*Dead house plants adorn cluttered, dusty shelves.
*The flower gardens look more like weedy patches of wildflowers than actual cultivated beds.
*Window screens are broken and bent.
*The dining room table has a broken leg and must not be bumped or leaned upon lest it go crashing to the floor.
*My bedroom has a bad case of the piles.
*The upstairs toilet is missing a lid.
*One easy chair lists to the side, the other screams every time someone sits in it, and the rocker walks.
*Rugs are faded and stained, and one of the kitchen tiles is broken.

And that’s the short list.

I read something recently in which the mother was describing their hot little home by the railroad tracks. Some of the doors are missing their knobs, she said, and extension cords for the fans are all over the place. As I read that, I mentally tsk-tsked and rolled my eyes, but now I realize she was describing my house, too, down to the missing doorknobs and extension cords trip-traps (yes, really). It made me depressed.

If I had some self-righteous high ideals to back up my style of shabby chic (which is shabby, minus the chic), it’d be a lot easier to cope with the state of things. Because then I could have glorified reasons for the faded and worn-out furniture—“we wear things out because we don’t want to add to the landfill,” or “we live simply so others can simply live.” Whatever.

Or, I could play the classic If I Just Had More Money song on my itsy-bitsy woe-is-me violin. Which is mighty tempting, I must admit.

But both of those arguments are hogwash. The truth is, I don’t have it in me to fuss over my house all day long. I don’t want to weed my flower beds to perfection or go buy fabric to fix the sofa. (I just want them to magically look perfect/be fixed.) When it comes down to it, I pretty much hate shopping and rearranging and matching. It’s much easier to throw a blanket over the hole in the sofa and then sit down on it with a bowl of popcorn and a good book.

So if I’m (mostly) okay with my holey sofa and non-lidded toilet (it flushes quite nicely) and squawking chairs, then why all the jealousy? I’m not really sure (and don’t want to spend the time thinking logically about this anymore). What I do know is that I’m not going to let myself wallow. Either I grab the bull by the horns and fix things up (those plants only have minutes left in his house), or I can decide to focus on all I do have and smile real big. In either case, the choice is mine and I WILL OWN IT.

I feel so much better now. Thank you.

A post-post disclaimer:
a. What feels trashy to me would probably feel (and be!) luxurious to the vast majority of the world.
b. I am fully aware that I’m a hard worker, that my house is cozy, and that we are wonderfully fortunate to live the way we do.
c. There is so much more to life than nice sofas. It’s the togetherness and kindness that actually count. (So what to do when we can’t stand being around each other and no one acts very kind? But excuse me, I digress. That’s a whole other post…)
d. Even beautiful people feel ugly, skinny people fat, and hardworking people lazy. These are feelings and feelings aren’t always rational. I’m just being honest here.

This same time, years previous: quotes for writers (and how I do it), baked oatmeal (the kind my family likes)