Eggshells, eggplant, a concert

Great news for all my gardening readers: eggshells again save the day. Not only are they great in compost but also they have saved my Mexican Midget heirloom tomato from blossom-end rot. That Mexican Midget seems an awfully un-PC name is a different story but for now, if you too have watched with dismay many a beautiful heirloom tom blacken from the flower end up, go stick some crushes eggshells in the dirt around the plant stem. I was not scientific or neat about this at all; I literally crumpled eggshells with my fingers, used a dinner spoon to scoop up divets around the base and shoved the shells in. 

Eggplant. I do love eggplant but sometimes tire of baba ghanoush and involtini. Last night, inspired by nothing more than the desire for something different, I heated my trusty Lodge and added some grapeseed oil, minced garlic and ginger, hot chiles, fish sauce, ponzu, Thai chili sauce, brown sugar an the gorgeous melanzane T picked up at the farmers market for me on Sunday. 

The skillet was so hot that the eggplant cooked quickly and were lacquered in the reduced sauce. It looked like ebony caramel. I served it over sushi rice and dressed it with chives. Bellissima!

I desperately needed to do something with the summer squash and fill languishing in the fridge, so tossed them with freshly shelled peas in a hot saute pan and afterwards added feta and mint. Tom loathes dill so loathed this dish, but I found it pretty and pleasing.

I woke up tired this morning, probably because I heard Jack tiptoeing downstairs at 5am. I chose to think it was Nutmeg but knew better. I found my dear son eating a can of room temp black beans ("I made them myself, Mom!") and working on the computer. Uh, no. To bed, sir! 

Busy day, my energy really waned around 4, but I rallied and for good reason: T and I are at Wolf Trap, a lovely outdoor concert venue, waiting to hear John Fogerty play.  

What's nicer than a gourmet picnic al fresco, on a beautiful night in the middle of the week, with the spouse you don't see enough of in grown-up contexts?

Cheers to eggshells, eggplant, trying new things, CCR and making time! 

In defense of Mondays. Momdays too.

Y'all might remember that for my 2014 birthday, Tom and the boys gave me a fabulous chaise lounge for the back yard. I love it so much, and it was made even more luxurious this year by the gift of a lumbar pillow for Mother's Day. 

Right now, I'm spread out on it, legs in the sunshine, head conveniently in line with a dogwood branch that's blocking the rays aimed directly at my eyes. I'm writing. Or at least, I mean to be writing. I'm distracted, happily, by the various concerts being performed around me.

The birds are chirping and chattering and singing and bullying. A blue jay the size of a chicken is in the bird feeder, while a scarlet cardinal sits below and catches all the jay drops from his greedy beak. Robins, sparrows and so many other types of birds I can't identify swoop around, waiting for a moment of entry.

 When the jay takes leave -why does he?- the smaller birds hurry in to eat before the playground bully comes barreling back. All the while they sing their musical tunes. Surely they are enjoying this day as much as I am. And the "Supreme Mix" bird seed I splurge on to keep them coming. 

A squirrel is sneaking carefully down the sugar maple's trunk. One eye is fixed on me, and I'm pretty sure the other is focused on the jay. He finally makes his way to the ground and casually camouflages himself by a planter to eat seeds the cardinal's not found. 

It's Wild Kingdom over there. With music.

The kids had a wonderful day at camp and are now having a ball with a beloved babysitter, K, who is now more family than anything. She's making them pasta and drawing with color pastels and building Pokedexes out of old Amazon boxes. And I am out here, guilt free, on a beautiful Monday afternoon.

It took a while to get to the guilt-free part. To the "yes, it's quite OK to have a little afternoon help even after a day of camp" part. It took the advice of counselors, the support of friends, the hearty encouragement of my husband. It took an acceptance of the energy and needs my spirited boys truly have as well as the needs and limitations I have as an at-home mom who recharges in quiet solitude. The latter are no less important than the former. Believing that took a while too.

Many dread Mondays. Workers have job-reentry anxiety, children may wish for the relaxed, no-homework weekends to linger a day more. But since my kids were old enough to be in school, I have come to love and rely on Monday. Momday.

Many are busy. I always exercise and often run more than a few errands. But they are productive, I listen to NPR without interruption, I eat an unhurried lunch, and I settle. I relish not being on. K has come on Mondays for years now, a tradition that helps the rejuvenation I've just started gathering back to stick and stay. So after I pick the kids up and hand out snacks and look at art and hear all about their full days, I pass the torch to K for a bit. I am lucky to be able to do this, and I am even luckier that she and the kids are as delighted as I am to take the baton from me.

Sometimes, when she's tucked them in, and I've tucked them in, we'll sit on the deck and have a glass of wine and talk. K is only ten years younger than me and so it's easy to be friends despite the maternal'ish love I feel for her too. She's a teacher, a really good one, and I have learned from her and the way she relates to and guides children. 

As the evening starts to consider heading home for the night, we hug, I'll thank her and we'll say goodbye until next week. I'll turn to my fridge and my pots and my stove, I'll think about when Tom might arrive home and what he might enjoy eating. I'll appreciate the Momday I just enjoyed and all that made its quiet serenity that much more special.

Farmers market, class, sleepover, class, hike, dinner

My Canning 101 class originally scheduled for yesterday morning was moved, because of that insane deluge, to today. It was such a terrific, energetic group of people, and I couldn't have enjoyed myself more. Thanks to all who came! Peach-apricot-almond jam, y'all!

Just before that, T and I made our way to the Bethesda Farmers Market because I was in dire need of some feta and an ash boulé from Stonyman Cheese. Both are off-the-hook good, and off-the-hook expensive. I urged T to go peruse other stalls while I settled up. Gah.

Anyway, we also came across the most vivid eggplant and okra, tomatoes and favas. One thing was prettier than the next and it's probably best I had to get to my class. I left T with a list and now look forward to cooking with all this gorgeousness this week.

We also came across some artisanal tonic and grenadine and, wholly convinced by the perfect packaging, bought a bottle of each. As the clock struck 6 tonight, I made myself a Jack Rose with the grenadine. Che bella!

a Jack Rose- totally appealing, yes?

Meanwhile, Oliver returned from his terrifically fun sleepover, and Jack was just arriving at Old Rag with Tom's dad. They were planning to hike up the front and down the back, an 11-mile trek, in preparation for an awesome hiking trip out west later this summer.

Oliver invited us to play Hangman with him which, because he is an early reader, is hysterically limited. "A water," for example. Or, not surprisingly, "Poop." "Jack, Mom, Dad" was a clean one while "A poop water" and "A poop in water" were a bit more scatalogical and mysterious.

Then my writing group met, and Jack came home, and Ol and I planted herbs, and the boys went to bed, and T and I grilled a pizza and dined al fresco, and now we are calling it rest time. Deservedly so.

It is a remarkable gift to have children and then, when possible, to part with them for spells of time. Everyone had fun and was rejuvenated during our brief stint away from each other.

And, our cucumbers are going gangbusters!!