Last Hoorah

The last week in Seattle has seen some of the most bipolar weather of the summer. We went from record-setting heat Monday to cloudy, thunder storms and downpours by Friday.

Holy Hot Car, Batman

Holy Hot Car, Batman

It was a good reminder that summer is nearing a close. As if the Back to School commercials weren’t enough!! While Summer puts on its final show of heat, warmth and garden harvest, I have been reminded of the end of summer campout I would go with my friend and we had a diet of cereal and S’mores for the entire weekend.

Yes Please

Yes Please

S’more Muddie Buddies

S’mores are, to me, the quintessential definition of a summer evening and over the last few weeks my Pinterest has been nothing but recipes and ideas. The great thing? S’mores is no longer just for campfires. There are so many versions and varieties to this perfect flavor combo the possibilities are endless.

S'more Krispie Bars

S’more Krispie Bars

S’more Krispie Bars

Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Plaid even got in the spirit and I came home to the Kitchen Aid whirring and he was making s’more cookies. For real!! As far as I can tell, he substituted some of the flour in a basic chocolate chip cookie recipe with crushed graham crackers and then added those cute tiny marshmallows along with chocolate chips. I wish I took pictures, but I ate the cookies too fast.

One Slice for you... the rest for me

One Slice for you… the rest for me

Cheesecake? No… S’more cheesecake!

I am now determined to do a progressive bake-through of all the s’more-based ideas. Care to join me?

Happy Birthday, to me!

Happy Birthday, to me!

S’more Birthday Cake

 

Please excuse me while I go into a diabetic coma! YUM!!!!

-Jenn

Et tu, Ikea??

I got the email Wednesday. I didn’t even read it – the title told me everything I needed to know, everything I had been waiting to hear since this time in 2013. Magic and hope and promise and excitement were coming soon to a mailbox near me:

The new Ikea catalog was on its way.

I want to be clear: I don’t live in an Ikea showroom, but oh, there were times in my post-college but pre-career days that I sure wanted to, and it’s still set as my mental place to check first when I suddenly find I need – oh, I don’t know, anything really. A table, a lamp, an occasional chair, meatballs, plant pots, reindeer-shaped cake pans – all the life-or-death essentials, I guess.

Realistically, my eccentric old house, and oftentimes my eccentric old tastes, demand that I have little to do with stark lines, bold graphics, and slick plastic-and-pressboard accoutrement. Still…maybe it’s a visit from the Ghosts of Apartments past, but when the Big Book from the Mecha of Melamine arrives, it’s my version of Christmas.

It arrived on Thursday, and because I am an absolute masochist, I decided it was going to stay firmly shut until Saturday – a reward, I thought, for surviving a heck of a week. I cleared the coffee table of all lesser materials – begone, remotes! be banished, magazine! away, snobby art book that no one will ever use except as a coaster! – and put the catalog dead center, so that I couldn’t possibly not see it, couldn’t possibly forget that it was here! In my house! Just waiting!

Let’s gloss over how I found it the next morning in the kitchen, because despite a near-15-year acquaintance, my roommate did not automatically understand that this was not mere mail, it was Major Ceremony.

Let’s also gloss over how I love the new style-centered room designs they’ve used in the catalog, how they’ve nailed the perfectly yellow-embued green hues and green-rich turquoises AGAIN this year, and how seeing the catalog items I already own gives me a warm little thrill – hello, little Leirvik bed! Lovely to see you again, Ribba frames!

Let’s instead cut directly to the moment when Ikea, those glorious Swedish bastards, RIPPED MY HEART OUT AND SPAT ON IT.

You saw it, right? I mean…right there on page 229, bold as brass, like it just was no big deal at all.

A Hemnes linen cabinet…full of shoes.

FULL OF SHOES.

Maybe you don’t understand the problem here.

It’s a linen cabinet. It’s meant to hold linens. Towels, sheets, maybe the odd seagrass basket that takes up too much room to be of any use but looks decorative as hell.

as. it. is. meant. to. be.

I love this cabinet. I loved it in yellow, I love it in the current red, I’ll probably love it if it comes in puce, and I am still not sure what color that is. I have ogled analogs to this cabinet in competitor’s stores, antique malls, and garage sales for years now. This cabinet, in some form – even homage – has always been destined for my home.

But not for linens. Oh no. I don’t need a linen cabinet. I need a shoe-and-purse hutch. With glass doors. To display shoes and purses. Obviously.

How clever it was going to be! How novel! How unique! What a charming repurposing of a pretty-but-ultimately-utilitarian piece of furniture!

Damn those Swedes*. They really do think of everything.

* = it’s ok. my mom’s half Swedish. I’m allowed.

Take and Bake

Sometimes I just feel like getting crafty. I want to go to Michael’s with an idea in my mind and see what happens.

Enter the Sharpie Mug. Again the interwebs are full of ideas and suggestions and How Tos and Not Tos. So much so it became a bit overwhelming. So I took the most common suggestions and just went for it.

I collected stencils and stickers and Oil-Paint Sharpie Pens all from Michael’s and then a dozen or so mugs from the dollar store. The most common suggestion found was to use cheap mugs. The cheaper the mug, the weaker the glaze. The weaker the glaze, the more easily the paint can bond to the mug and prevent wearing when you wash the mug. Same goes for Oil-based paints. This was suggested over regular sharpies or sharpie paint pens.

Supplies and Prep

Supplies and Prep

This was such an easy project, once I got over the creative-freeze that came with a blank mug. The options are endless. I found that looking at too many photos of what others had done only limited me because I just wanted to copy all these great mugs. But I found the best results when I just let go and made what I wanted to make.

Monograms - they are my weakness

Monograms – they are my weakness

This is also a great project to do with kids, for family, or for mass gifting. The pens aren’t entirely cheap, but they will last for a long time. I bought reusable stencils and materials, so those will have a permanent home in my craft-belt. And the mugs? $1, people. Can you even by a soda for that price anymore?

The possibilities are endless...

The possibilities are endless…

So here’s what I did:

Gather the supplies, troops and a creative playlist.
Paint, stencil and freehand to your heart’s desire.
Let dry for at least 12 hours, but I waited until the next day before baking.
Bake in a heated oven to 350 for 25 minutes and then let completely cool in the oven after you’ve turned it off.

So close....

So close….

Enjoy the fruits of your labor. Or in some cases, give them away because you made 12 and don’t need quite that many…

if you try this, please let us know how it went for you. My cups are being hand-washed for the time being, but all my research leads me to test out their top-shelf dishwasher safe status. Report back!

-Jenn

Humble Harvest Brag

Jenn may have sacrificed all of her carrot seedlings on the altar of Wily Damn Dogs. Clearly, I suffered from no such catastrophe:

so. many. carrots.

so. many. carrots.

Because we are educated, classy, and lady-like, we exalted in my homegrown success in the most dignified way possible, and thought we should share the genteel joy:

txt

It’s ok, I can’t hear the sounds of PG-13-language-disapproval over all the awesome fresh-carrot crunching.

Garden Weather

grow up!

grow up!

The weather in Seattle has been A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. Also read: hot, sticky, hot, sweaty, sunny and otherwise meant for shorts and mai tai drinks. Certainly not working.

Garden Paradise

Garden Paradise

The sunshine has done wonders for my garden and it is growing like gangbusters! Everyday I am able to harvest a few little special somethings.

Lemon & Cute Cucumbers!

Since Gunnar Rabbit ate most of all the lettuce, I haven’t tried to replant any of that and have just let my little piece of dirt do its own thing.

Which means I have six foot tall tomato plants and ever creeping lemon cucumbers.

So special!

So special!

I’m working on something special for Shannon, at her request, and I hope to have it available to you soon. Hint: it’s for nerd gardeners like us!! But I think it will be a great tool for our future plans and plantings.

So Pretty!!

So Pretty!!

In the meantime, while trying to stay cool and out of the sun, I’ve been working on  few loose end Pin-jects (pinterest projects?? No?) and hope to have a few up and ready in a few days.

A REAL ROMA!!

A REAL ROMA!!

Something about summer weather just makes me want to drink and chill out… and watch my garden grow.

-jenn

on a roll

You guys, I am ready for tomatoes.

No, I mean it. I started plants indoors in February. I nurtured them carefully, hardened them slowly, and shook my fists at the sky when 3 of them got taken out by freak May hailstorms. I selected only the snobbiest, most pompous-yet-charming varieties, and when I started finding little baby fruits on my Bloody Butchers and San Marzanos last month, I literally called half the people I know to crow about it.

The tiny baby fruits of a month ago are fat and sassy and gloriously striped and whimsically shaped and all together just heirloom as fuck.

Was that the first fbomb we’ve dropped here? Sorry, but I don’t care. Tomatoes are serious business. THESE tomatoes are serious business.

heirloom

as

bomb!

I’m sure you see the other unifying feature of these tomatoes: they’re green. THEY ARE STILL GREEN. Here I am, absolutely perishing for the taste of garden-fresh perfectly sun-ripened tomatoes, and instead, I have a mini-farm chock full o’ things that are only barely edible if breaded and fried.

NOT COOL. I have done my time in the waiting room, and I am ready to see Doctor Tomato already. Not to mention, everything else in my garden is going gangbusters – I’m crawling in carrots, overwhelmed by onions, and let’s not even talk about the lettuce.

Yet here I remain, a few tomatoes short of a salad.

I cracked this week, and dove face first into the only cure I know: a $9 jar of spaghetti sauce.

Let me say this again: A NINE DOLLAR JAR OF SPAGHETTI SAUCE. Jar. Jarred sauce. for $9. That is ALMOST TEN DOLLARS.

This is why we can’t have nice things, or more accurately, why I flinch every time I open a bank statement. Because I budget and I plan and I scrimp and I save, and then I go $9-jar-of-spaghetti-sauce crazy. But you know what? Doesn’t matter. Tastes like tomatoes and sunshine. This is summer in a jar, and the closest I can get to tomato happiness until the lazy green jerks in my garden get their sunburn on.

To assuage my guilt over the sauce, I made garden meatballs, so that I had SOME fruits of my labors to chew on. What’s a garden meatball, you ask?

Well. It’s a meatball. With things from your garden. HELLO.

These aren’t pretty – as evidenced by the total lack of pictures! – but they’re yummy, and they’re flexible, and actually ridiculously healthy, especially if you, like me, eat your meatballs and sauce entirely sans-spaghetti.

What you need is:

20 oz of ground turkey – fat, lean, whatever. Sub non-turkey if you want. Use more or less if you prefer; 20oz is just how Jennie-O likes to pack her birds

1 egg, beaten

10 Tokyo White heirloom bunching onions, whites and tops OR 1 probably-too-small-to-pick-but-too-impatient-to-wait Walla Walla onion (or one small-ish standard issue grocery store onion) – minced as fine as you can manage. Go on, feel like you’re a chef!

1 grated Chantenay Red Core carrot (or about 1/2 cup grated grocery store carrot)

about 1T minced-up carrot tops (or about 1T fresh parsley, or 1/2t dried parsley)

about 1T each fresh oregano and thyme (or 1T dried oregano, and skip the thyme, because dried thyme feels like twigs. Unless you like eating twigs.)

Liberal sprinklings of garlic powder, salt, and pepper

Preheat your oven to 350, and put the spaghetti sauce of your choice – $10 craziness or otherwise – in a large pan over low heat. Add all the herbs and vegetables to the meat, and stir-and-squish with a fork until well distributed. Pour over the eggs, and smash it all together with your hands, like you are some kind of deranged sculptor whose chosen medium is meat. Roll 2″-ish balls and bake on a cookie sheet for 20-25 minutes. You don’t need to worry about how well-done the meat is; they just need to be cooked well enough to hold their shape. Don’t worry if white goo escapes – it’s normal. Plop meatballs hot into the sauce – with or without the white goo, which may be egg but may also be magical meatparts, and honestly, I think I am better off if I don’t ask. Cook at a slow simmer for at least 30 minutes, and up to an hour. Stir occasionally – very occasionally, say every 10 minutes or so. Bask in your warm, rustic summer-scented kitchen for the intervals between stirring.

Serve over noodles, or better still, straight up in a bowl, with a side of spoon. Either way, best eaten in the sun on the back deck, while you gaze down magnanimously on the abundant green tomatoes you TOTALLY don’t need.

For now, anyway.

four-legged farming

It’s probably not surprising that right now, my favorite rabbit holes for inspiration are garden-related. I’m particularly, if mockingly, fond of the myriad delights the internet has to offer any time you do a quick search of “pet-friendly gardens.”

While I’m grateful for the lists of non-toxic plants this produces, it tickles me most of all to see the great lengths people go to when trying to design landscapes that will appeal to their furrier family members.

Maybe I’m a minimalist, and maybe my poor pets are woefully underpampered, but, honestly…it doesn’t seem that complicated to me. My three step plan for creating an irresistible dog oasis goes pretty much like this:

First, build some raised beds. We are trying out the ever-popular Square Foot Gardening concept this year, so 4×4 squares installed close to the house were the order of the day.

boxes

Feeling uncrafty, power-tool-pathetic, and all around lazy? These were no-tools-required kits from Home Depot for about $25 each. Small price to pay for a whole lot of easy, I say!

Next, add dirt to your newly built beds. Pretend the dog in the background is just hanging around, and not at all furtively watching your every move. If you do happen to make eye contact with the dog, you make sure and express, in word, gesture, and telepathy-suggestive brow-furrowing, that these? These newly-minted freshly-dirted garden beds? Are for VEGETABLES, not DOGS.

justadd

Notice I am saying nothing about digging down, or removing the grass. Because I didn’t. Because lazy. I did throw down some pretty spiffy weed cloth, which I plan on yanking out before next year’s planting. Because, if I haven’t mentioned, lazy.

Finally, turn your back. A second or two should do it.

garden

INSTANT DOG-FRIENDLY GARDEN, FOLKS. INSTANT. No lavish landscaping, palatial dog houses, or fancy fountains required.

Actually, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that for most of us, the trick is building a pet UN-friendly garden, at least if you want said garden to produce anything other than muddy footprints. I could tell you some stories about fishing Jasmine out of the zucchini bed, and how I finally gave up and accepted that the dog just Does Not Approve Of Courgettes. However, my trials and tribulations in the land of canine trespassers and trampling have NOTHING on the excitement Jenn has had this year, so I’ll leave it to her to share all the tips, tricks, and tragedies there.

smarty no-pants

I’m pretty sure my dog reads our blog. I realize it sounds like crazy talk, but hear me out: ever since I mocked Finny’s pillow fetish yesterday, he’s developed a whole new way of showing the couch who’s boss.

ALLTHEPILLOW

Yeah, that’s Finnegan…with ALL THE PILLOWS. All of them at once. A cumulative 9 throw pillows (and 2 blankets!) dragged from various seats around the room, piled up, and defiantly nested upon.

I think it’s cute that I still even pretend this is actually MY house.

#tbt, dog edition

A few hours ago, Jenn was skittering around our workplace with a wild-eyed, shell-shocked look in her eyes that I well and truly recognized – that, I thought to myself, is the face of someone who REALLY JUST CAN’T EVEN.

So I asked if maybe she wanted me to take on her scheduled post for this week.  I want to say that she said yes, and thanked me for my thoughtfulness, and honestly she probably did, but in my recollection, it came out more like a slow headnod which dislodged one pristine tear of relief.

My memory is such a drama queen.

Anyway, with my encouragement, Jenn invoked her Bathroom Pass – aka, The Sovereign Right To Just Be Wound Up And Functionally Incapacitated.  You may recall that I had to do the same back in April.  Over bathroom redesign.  Hence Bathroom Pass, because here in the Whimsyverse, we don’t let little things like total nervous breakdowns get in the way of cleverness, no sir.

I’m not telling this story so that I can be a smug git who stands back and polishes my Badge Of Awesome Friendship And CoBlogging.  No, I’m telling this story so that I can come clean about what a profoundly self-serving jerk I am.

Because we’re having our dog days.  And it’s Thursday, and even though I am probably too old to even know how those newfangled hashtags work, oh, I am ALL OVER this Throwback Thursday thing.

So what I’m saying is – yeah, I basically gave Jenn the day off as a thinly veiled excuse to post pictures of one of my dogs.  What can I say – that’s just the kind of friend I am.

First, though, the actual #tbt portion of these proceedings:

 

bebefinner

This is the first picture I ever took of Finnegan, on the day I brought him home.  He’d had an exhausting day – first day away from his siblings, first car ride, first puke in a car, first pet store visit, first encounter with cats, and hey, also, first time he’d been left in the care of someone whose entire understanding of puppies to date was compiled from books, the internet, and crying through movies about dogs.

He had a right to crash out.  Bonus, it meant he was finally still long enough to catch him on camera, and really, how precious did was he, all fuzzy puppy-flop on his fuzzy puppy bed?

Proud puppy parent that I was, naturally, I uploaded and emailed that photo to everyone I had ever met.  The first response I got back?

“OMG PUPPY PEEN!”

Yeah.  Oops.  So fine, I just accidentally puppy-flashed everyone ever.  No big, right?  I’ll be more careful where I point the camera next time, and besides, he’s a puppy, he’ll grow some dignity soon enough, right?

finngrin

Finny, at about a year old.  Look at that smile!  Look at those ears!  Look at the full version of the photo!

 

fullfinny

Dude.  Seriously.  There go all the family albums.  Because let me tell you, some dogs that are food motivated, other dogs that are praise-driven, and some dogs that will do anything for a good cuddle.  Finny is only invested in three things:  his profound yet destructive love of couches, his utter loathing of throw pillows being on couches, and making sure that his junk remains on permanent display while he sleeps like a total weirdo.

 

bellycollage

My other dog, Jasmine, takes lovely, elegant photos and awes everyone she meets with her quiet grace and calm demeanor.  She is also the one who, left unattended, eats door frames and digs holes in walls.  Even when carefully monitored, she still sheds approximately enough long, floaty white dog hair to build a whole extra jumbo-sized dog per week.  You would think, then, that if either dog were the big stumbling block between me and a permanently-guest-ready home, it would be her.

 

AU CONTRAIRE.  Finnegan is a working dog, and let me tell you, he has this job covered.  The show doesn’t wrap up when guests are expected, and it sure as heck doesn’t go on hiatus when visitors are present.  It doesn’t even stop when he’s just out of surgery, wearing an inflatable cone for 3 straight months – no, sir, that just became the ultimate doggie neck pillow!

bellypostop

 

HE EVEN TAKES THE ACT OUTSIDE.

 

bellyplay

 

And let’s be clear:  I’m willing to write him a pass on that first puppy picture – clearly he was asleep, and that flash was an accident.  But don’t tell me this is the face of someone who doesn’t know EXACTLY what he’s doing:

 

finnjunk

 

This month, I’m working on making him a throw pillow of his very, very own – the most appropriate throw pillow there ever could be for a house with a couch-dog, I say.  But honestly, looking at these photos, maybe the first sewing project I should tackle is making this dude a pair of boxers.