There have been repeated requests from the Last Track Fan Club (hi Kathy!) for pictures of the painted floor in Preston’s room, so here they are.

Preston started by doing a LOT of prep work. He scrubbed everything, and washed it down and went over every square inch with a wire brush and a putty knife in order to get all the old carpet pad and glue off the floor. He also puttied all the cracks and the holes from where the concrete nails had pulled away the concrete when when the carpet tacks were pried out. This prep process took about a week worth of evenings.

Then he primered over the whole floor with Killz (which we hear is the good stuff).

Once the primer was dry, he used blue masking tape to mark out his pattern. This part was very complicated because Preston is an engineer and he had to do all sorts of complicated trigonometry and calculus and other scary math things in order to get his triangles set up *just so*. Then he painted the not-triangle parts deep blue, the same color as his windowsill and door trim. Then he used a roller to apply two coats of polyurethane over the whole floor.

And then I forgot to take a picture of the final product until after our makeshift bed was already set up in there, so you’ll have to kind of extrapolate, but it looks pretty cool, if you ask me. It’s been finished for about 2 weeks now, and it seems to be holding up really well. There are a couple spots where he wasn’t able to get all the carpet glue off the concrete, and those spots have been wearing a little more obviously, but other than that it looks great. Altogether, I think it took about two weeks worth of evenings and a couple weekend days. And that even includes the
time to do trigonometry.

“Big Hips” (featured there on the cover), is my first published piece of creative writing. If you would like to order a copy of the magazine (which is really pretty good, even without my essay), I get a Friends and Family deal. The cover price is $7; I can order them for $3. Let me know if any of y’all want one.

That’s right, it’s another gardening week here at the ol’ homestead. I got tons of stuff planted, and also created my first little mini-greenhouse.

Isn’t it cute?! The bed is approx 4′ by 6′ and the peak of the cover is about 3′ tall. That’s a single pane window on the left side of the picture (south-facing), and the plastic on the opposite side can be rolled up out of the way for access. The garden bed itself was already here when we moved in, the window came from Craigslist for free, the wood came from salvaged pallets, and the plastic was leftover from painting. So the only thing about the project that cost me any money was the dirt…around $8 for the amount in this bed. We had various screws and nails around, though if I had needed to buy those they might have added a few more dollars to the project. I can’t wait to get some tomatoes and peppers going.

I also took several pictures of the plantings so far, mostly to help me remember where I planted things. I put them behind a link because they aren’t that interesting unless you want to keep track of what I’m planting in my garden. Read more…

While I was hanging out in Seattle for a day last week, I decided to have another go at a very nice restaurant and further my research on food that makes me feel really good. (You can read about my initial epiphany here.) I’ve eaten brunch at Crave before, on Seattle’s Capitol Hill, so I knew that they were pretty good, and they use all free-range, humanely-treated meat products. It’s a popular place, but I managed to get there just after the lunch rush. There were a few people finishing up when I got there, and I had the place to myself by the time my food arrived.

I ordered the cheese sampler, which came with three kinds of cheeses, some almonds, pears, strawberries, and pureed apricots drizzled with chocolate sauce. And some bread of course. Just like the last time, I left the restaurant on a happy food buzz. The food was simple, but perfect. It was created by people who could see and interact with the customers, and who didn’t seem to mind their jobs.

Inspired by this experience, I decided to cook a really nice meal for The Girls, as a thank you for letting me crash at their house all the time when I’m in Seattle. I think that simplicity is the key for me at this stage. While I’m okay with this being my hobby for a while, as I learn to combine ingredients and stuff, I don’t want it to be completely time consuming. I did a little searching around for gourmet recipes with few ingredients, and I found Ravioles a la Creme, with Sauteed Spinach with Pine Nuts and Cheese Curls, and Baked Pears with Vanilla Cream Sauce. I served the pasta on top of the spinach and drizzled the white sauce over the top. While we ate the pasta, the pears cooked away in the oven.

Alas, something went not quite right with the pears.They were still okay, but the cream didn’t set up the way it was supposed to and it ended up being more of a Baked Pears in Butter Slurry sort of a desert. I’m learning that I need to generally cut in half the amount of butter called for in most recipes. But they were still better than edible, and the pasta/spinach entree was fabulous. I think it took me about 30 minutes to make it, even in someone else’s kitchen, and I ate leftovers for about three days (it’s very filling!). The leftovers were really good too. I used Gruyere cheese instead of Comte, since I couldn’t find that at the store. Let me know if you decide to try it.

Just a quick note to let y’all know that my mom and sister and I have started a new blog. We each take a photo once a week and post it simultaneously over at The Daileys, Weekly. We hope you enjoy it.

I spent the weekend with a kick-ass group of women outdoor educators learning how to teach rock climbing skills, as well as what to do in scenarios where the teaching isn’t going that well (like how to do belay escapes and top-rope rescue scenarios). There were nearly 20 of us, and we spent three days climbing, brushing up on our knot skills, learning a ton of stuff, camping, and rapelling. As well as telling jokes and eating dinner on the beach and playing frisbee in the parking lot (see pic above).

The weekend was paid for by PassagesNW, as a way to keep their field staff all on the same page with climbing protocols in the field. All the camping and food was provided, all we had to do was show up and play. I’ll be heading out to a Field Staff Retreat with the same organization in about 10 days, and I’m really looking forward to spending more time with this group of pretty radical women.

The trip started with everyone piling in the vans. Jenny, the lead instructor and van driver hopped in the seat and started preparing for the drive. She’s a cute little blonde climber girl. If you don’t know the type I mean, check out the picture above. She’s the blonde one. “Everyone put on your seatbelts,” she says sweetly. I’m sitting in the passenger seat, so I see the brief look of annoyance that crosses her face when everyone continues chatting and ignores the message. Still very sweetly, but a little louder, she says, “You all know what the seatbelt bunny says, right?!” A few people roll their eyes, and a couple people say, “What does the seatbelt bunny say?”

She turns around to face the rest of the van, “BUCKLE THE FUCK UP!” After everyone finished dying of laughter, we all put our seatbelts on and start the journey. This ability to be really hardcore while still making everyone laugh and getting along was the vibe of the rest of the trip. Three days later, on the ride home, Kate calls from the back of the van, “Jenny, you totally rock my face off!” That pretty much sums it up.

While the house is on hold waiting for the bedroom floor to be done, I’ve been entertaining myself in the yard. It’s running out of time to get my garden started, so I’ve been hard at work.

At the local building salvage place, I got a raging deal on cedar 2×8’s (about 60 linear feet for $35). The wood is totally beautiful.

I finished up nailing the beds together yesterday. Then today I layered cardboard over the bottom (it just so happens that we have a lot of cardboard laying around these days).

and then I got a truckbed of dirt from a local garden supply place. Actually, to be more specific, it’s well-aged horse manure mixed with mushroom compost. Smells kinda strong, but it’s good stuff.

There were two pre-existing raised beds in the yard from the previous tenants. I used up the compost pile that was left behind in filling one of those beds a few days ago and planted my lettuce in it. Today I saw the first little lettuce seedlings coming up. Hurray!

Also, while I was messing around in the yard, I got around to putting up the driftwood sculpture so that Surfer Dude Magoo can get in and out the living room window more easily.

Y’all might have noticed that I haven’t posted much lately. That’s because our living room still looks like this

Yep, that’s the bed still in the middle of the living room. That’s because we are still working on painting the floor in Preston’s room. Once that’s done we can move the bed into his room, move all the desks and dressers from my room into the living room, and paint the floor in my room. So it’s going to be a couple of weeks before the living room is really livable. And it’s hard to sit and write a blog entry when everything is so chaotic. But I do have my distractions. And just in case you were looking for some distractions yourself. Here are pictures of all the flowers currently blooming in our yard.

I’m on San Juan Island this weekend, specifically in the town of Friday Harbor. My work paid for me to drive up and do a couple science shows at the local fair today. I decided to stay an extra night and check the place out, since it’s not too likely that I’ll get back here any time soon.

I’m staying at the Wayfarer’s Rest Hostel, which totally rocks. It’s $25 for a dorm bed. My room has six beds, bunk-style (with these cool bunks supported with driftwood pillars). Linens are provided, but you bring your own towel for the shower. There are two other rooms with a similiar set-up. I could have paid $40 for a private room, but it turned out that I had the room to myself last night anyway. Each room has a shared bathroom. Then there are two full kitchens with microwave, oven, etc, and a couple of sitting areas. Also, there are cute chickens that live in a groovy henhouse in the back yard. Definitely worth it, especially when you consider that the local campgrounds all charge $20/night.

I stopped at the little internet cafe down the street earlier today, but it’s one of those places that hasn’t figured out that wireless internet is just a marketing ploy for whatever else you’re trying to sell, not a commodity that is worth money in itself. They weren’t trying to sell anything else, and they wanted to charge me $4 for 30 minutes of wireless access. So I just moseyed on down the street a mile or less to the public library where they have free wireless and you don’t even have to buy a coffee, let alone pay cash.

While at the library, I did some internet searches for places to eat in Friday Harbor and decided that since I got paid to come up here and all, I deserved a good meal. Like, a really good one. I went to a place downtown called 120 Nichols (oddly enough, that’s its address as well). Their menu was posted online and it sounded really good. It said reservations recommended, so I made one for the earliest time possible and spent the intervening time browsing around in the little local yarn store. The yarn was pretty much your basic stuff, but I loved listening to the two women and one man sitting at the back table, gossiping about everyone in town while they worked on their knitting. Does every local yarn store have this group of people? Every one that I’ve been in has the same basic grouping. (The man said, “Well, she started the class by saying ‘Okay, ladies…’ and I tell you what I got right in her face and said, ‘Excuuuuuse me, okay who??’ You know it’s not that I mind it so much, it’s just that women have made such a big deal about changing the way we use male gender words that they should have to do the same thing.”)

And finally it was time for dinner. There was no one else at the place when I showed up, and I was a little worried. But the place was beautiful. The walls are light blue with white trim all round, including a really tall baseboard. The windows and doors all have really wide trim also. The floors are old hardwood. All the tables were nicely set in the converted living room. Pocket doors with frosted glass windows seperated the dining area from the really big kitchen area. John met me at the door, let me pick my seat, and explained that he would be waiter and cook tonight. It was soon clear that he was the owner, chef, and sole staff person. Again, I was a little worried. I can’t even keep track of one meal long enough to get it all right. Imagine if you were trying to wait on a dining area full of different orders, cook all of those orders, and refill everyone’s water all at once. Fortunately, I was still the only one in there.

I ordered the Grilled Hearts of Romaine salad and the Pork Tenderloin as an entree. As soon as I saw the salad, my spirits lifted. It was Presented. You know, in that way that chefs do it in the fancy cooking magazines (I know because I see them on the covers as I am looking for a magazine that I’m actually interested in looking at). The grilled hearts of Romaine were topped with really thin slices of Gala apples, then some Roquefort cheese crumbles, and then all of it topped with a few pieces of shaved proschiutto. You can not appreciate how miraculous this salad was. Also, there was some sort of dressing that he makes himself, and I have no idea what was in it. Anyway, words do not express.

I was in Happy Food Land already when the Pork Tenderloin arrived. It was sliced, and topped with apples, rhubarb, some sort of onion, with a side of the richest tenderest gold potatoes you ever did put in your mouth. Over it all was a Cabernet sauce that did not make me want to gag, which is what wine sauces usually do. It was terrifically fantastic, and the pork was perfectly tender, no chewy-ness to it at all, like how it always is when I try to cook it.

I thought about asking John to marry me, even though his hair was kinda greasy. I could have finished the Tenderloin, but it was at the point where my enjoyment of it was diminishing because I wasn’t as hungry any more, so I decided to save some for leftovers (since the fabulous hostel has a fridge where I can keep it). John came back and let me know that whenever he’s working on his own, he offers complimentary creme brulee for desserts, and I bit my tongue to keep from offering him inappropriate sexual favors. I just nodded my head in response to his offer, and he brought me a fabulous creme brulee with, on the side, three rasberries drizzled in a bit of melty vanilla ice cream and topped with a sprig of mint. I ate the raspberries first. And then the creme brulee and then the bit of ice cream and I even ate the sprig of mint because it was That Good. And then I died and went to heaven because it felt like that was the only possible thing that would make the meal any better.

A little later, walking down the street with my little box of mouth-watering tenderloin to have later, I thought about how good I felt. I don’t usually feel that good after I eat. Especially when I eat out, I usually eat too much, and I feel too full and really sleepy afterwards. But I ate a whole lot at this dinner, certainly more than was strictly necessary, and I never felt bad. And even when I don’t overeat, the food I usually eat just makes me feel okay. Like normal at best. Like curling up and waiting for the cramps to pass at worst, and that happens more often than I think it should. And I realized that it’s silly to eat in such a way that makes you feel bad.

Obviously, I can’t afford to eat at fancy grilled lettuce restaurants every night, so I need to figure out how to make this experience happen without it costing Preston and I a hundred dollars a day. We already spend a lot of money on food, but not that much. So I’ve been thinking about what it was that made that meal so spectacular, and I have a few ideas.

1) Local and organic. I don’t know what the percentage of local and/or organic food was in that meal, but the owner advertises that he makes it a point to use local and organic ingredients whenever possible.

2) Prepared by someone who cared about my experience. From the presentation to the repeated requests for feedback, John really wanted me to enjoy the meal. This is different from the standard cheaper restaurant where the cook and the waiter both earn their salary whether you like your meal or not, and neither of them sees the direct connection between your enjoyment and their job security. Also, the cook rarely interacts with the actual people at the table, and so just spits out one plate of food after another (some more literally than others). In this case, the cook and waiter were the same person, and if I didn’t like the meal he would lose his restaurant as well as his house (he lived upstairs). And also, there was this sense that he wanted to own a restaurant because he wanted to make good food for people, not just because he needed a job.

3) My intention. I went into the meal with the attitude that I was treating myself to something special. I didn’t read while I was eating (although I did knit in between courses), and I didn’t rush through each bite trying to get done and on to the next thing on the agenda. I truly enjoyed the mixture of flavors, and appreciated how the ingredients combined and recombined to make this really rich experience. I mean, there are an almost infinite variety of porportions that can be made between romaine, cheese, apple, and proschuitto on each forkful, so each bite deserved attention.

4) Talent. He was just a darn good chef. He combined ingredients in just the right way and cooked the tenderloin just the right length of time and did whatever he did to the potatoes just exactly the way the potatoes wanted to have done to them.

So, to start at the bottom and work up, and have a bit of work to do before I can create this fabulous culinary experience on a regular basis. Cooking has never been one of my fortes. I just need to find some good recipes and learn to make them. I suspect this is just a matter of practice. Numbers 2 and 3 go together when I am both the cook and the customer. I need to prepare food as if I cared what went into my body, and I need to eat that food as if it mattered how it tasted (and smelled and felt and everything else too). And probably the easiest one is to use local and organic ingredients whenever I can. We just moved to within an easy bike-ride of the local Co-op. I intend to shop there as much as possible.

And also maybe I can stop eating food that doesn’t make me feel good.

We got everything moved. We are very tired. We have many boxes in our living room. And also our bed. I mean it’s in the living room, not that there are boxes in it.