Life's a Stitch

The trouble with making fresh pasta is you to make pavlova. Never fails. C sees the extra egg whites and asks if he's getting Pavlova. The opposing scenario occurrs when we start with Pavlova and have a load of extra egg yolks, then we had to make creme brulee. Lovely problems to have.

With a new house our yearly influx of summer guests has started. I love living in Beautiful British Columbia. We had a fraction of visitors when we lived in Nebraska oh so many years ago. Go figure. Even if people aren't coming here with the purpose of staying with us, it's the departure point of many Alaskan cruises, and it's easy to fit in a visit on either end. Keep that in mind if you're coming this way. It's an easy public transit ride from our house to the port or airport.

Back to the two P's – pasta and pavlova. Last week we had a houseful, including two surprise arrivals, SIL KC and prodigal son, Bryant. M's high school friend joined the fray and M gave us a lesson in homemade pasta, using my free KitchenAid mixer and eBay pasta set. 

Notice the drying rack, so fancy and stainless to match the appliances? It's my old laundry drying rack, perfect for the job.  Then came the Pavlova.

This weekend Blogless Marsha is here and we put the kitchen to the test with foodlab's New York style pizza crust, from their post "Three Doughs You Should Know."

One of them was made with fresh pesto from our decktop basil crop.

I feel this post is turning Lifesastitch into a food blog, so to anchor it back to its original purpose, here is Marsha knitting her beautiful Metronome shawl.

Tonight we'll have a P&P dinner – pasta and, you guessed it, pavlova.

 

 

 

 

My turn for some painting. Finally. We've settled enough into our house, having located all the boxes of art supplies, that I've gotten back into more frequent painting.  In our house design, we created a den-sized "studio," just for me, a complete luxury that lets me close the door on the mess task oriented clutter that accompanies creativity. In my ongoing attempt to diverge from my hyper-realistic painting style, I took a course in loose and lively irises. When I got home from the class I scrubbed out a good portion of the very dark background and re-did it. Who says you can't correct watercolours? 

The second was a wee little painting of the lily pads at our vacation hangout in Washington. It was a 75th birthday gift for a friend who also spends a good deal of time there.

I'm so appreciative for that little space for art to call my own.

As promised in my last post, here is the recipe for M's wonderful outside art activity that kept both kids and grown-ups occupied.

Soap resist painting:

Supplies (all obtained at a rural Dollar General):

1. Foam board, the surface for your painting: The instructions called for watercolour paper, but as this was primarily a children's activity we opted for a lower cost base. C experimented using a rock. As I remember from our camping years, there's always someone in the group who wants to do it differently. That's what creativity is all about.
2. A plastic drop sheet
3. Acrylic paints (matte) and brushes
4. Thick dish washing liquid in squirt bottles, not the cheaper thin kind
5. Black spray paint
6. Water hose with spray nozzle

Instructions:

1. Paint the board completely with random colours and let dry.

2. Place painting on drop sheet and using the squirt bottles stream the soap onto the painting in whatever pattern you choose, making sure you don't cover it completely with soap. The soap acts as a resist and wherever you apply it will remain colourful, everything else will be covered with black spray paint.

3. Spray completely with black spray paint. Let dry completely.

 

4. Using hose with the nozzle, spray off the entire painting.

 

Voila!

Look at our happy campers and their clever crafts instructor:

Many years ago we were a camp family. C was the Executive Director of a non-profit summer camp, I was the relief cook, E at age 4 took her first out trip and came back happy for the experience of putting her bare foot in her boot already occupied by a giant banana slug. M took her first steps in the dining hall, and well, B got his beginnings at camp, so to speak. 

The camp life has stuck with us, and our place by the lake in WA is known as Camp Heatherbrook, with Uncle Chuck as director and me as the cook. Both E and B worked many years at the camp they attended as kids, both in cabins as volunteer leaders, then she as the camp nurse, and B, the skateboard instructor. When we have large camplike get togethers the daughters do a great job leading a craft project for the kids. Remember the egg on canvas painting two Easter's ago? More on the project in the next post.

We had an opportunity for family camp while attending C's 50th high school reunion. Yes you read that correctly, 50th high school reunion! I remember friends' parents going to their 40 and 50th and thinking they must be so old. But here we are at that stage and it doesn't seem all that bad. People had a difficult time remembering C, as way back when, he had hair on his head and none on his chin. Some people recognized him as looking like his father in his younger years.

Auntie E did a fine job of organizing the sleeping arrangements, well stocked kitchen and adult area, "the room of illumination," a bar set up in the library.

The kitchen was so well stocked we renamed the experience Fat Camp, not for the traditional purpose of weight reduction, but quite the opposite. Advance trips to Costco yielded giant bags of Boom Chicka Pop, as tall as some of the grandkids, 2 for $5. There were endless kettle chips, soft Aussie style licorice, cookies and frozen yogurt. And lots of red wine, scotch for those who partake and rum. Surprisingly I lost almost a pound probably due to the walks around their rural "blocks" in farm country, which came out to an even five miles.

Uncle G was an excellent walking partner, muffin baker, groundskeeper (keeping the grass mowed, a huge proposition on their property), the yard fogged for bugs, and running a shuttle service for those who absolutely needed things from town. We Canadians appreciated Fleet Farm, their version of Canadian Tire with a farming twist plus a clothing department.

 There was even an out-trip to a friend's lake spot.

More fun in the water.  Those kids are growing so quickly – Grandsons Rye, 6 and Parker, almost 3, with some of the cousins:

Rye even got to spend some time with his Dad and cousins fishing on the Mississippi.

The little ones appreciated the acres of freedom combined with butterfly nets that caught frogs, lightening bugs, minnows and  moths.

Free range kids:

 

One evening Rye and I were sitting together, a rare event given his level of activity. He looked out over the fields and exclaimed "Oh my goodness!" "What," I asked. He replied wholeheartedly "It is SO beautiful." Here's his Rye's eye view:

Nest post: Mari's cool camp art project. 

Or in this case stuff out, stuff in. First some background: when the kids were small we moved from a 2300 sq ft house to one that was 1800. Adjusting to the smaller space we adhered to a strict rule that if something new came into the home, something of equal bulk had to be disposed of. This worked well until ten years later when we moved to a 3200 sq ft house, a quarter of which was unfinished and served as a storage area. The stuff in, stuff out rule went out the window, or  more specifically, into the storage area. Our stuff, our kids' as well as their friends'. As we were moving we discovered boxes belonging to five additional people. 

Technically our new house is the same square footage as the previous one, however, the bottom level is a rentable suite, so we're downsizing again. We did a fair job of paring down, but now have to bring in a few replacement items without the worry of enforcing the "rule." First was a dining room set, the old crumbling chairs set into the free pile, and the table given away. Being over budget on our renovation, we watched Craig's List, our requirements being eight chairs with lumbar support and an extendable table. Mission accomplished. We found a vintage teak Danish Modern set with eight chairs. It is however, missing a leaf, but if we need the extra table room we'll use a similar sized board and cover it all with a tablecloth.

My next project will be to re-cover the seats:

The other item belonged to stuff out without the intention of replacement. I was the proud owner of a pro series KitchenAid mixer in cobalt blue. It was considered kitchen art, pretty to look at, but hardly used as it was so tall it was difficult to move out from under the upper cupboards, plus I'm not much of a baked goods person. I happily gave it to my daughter and her keen-to-cook husband. 

In a twist of fate I found myself the owner of a brand new, smaller series KitchenAid mixer in Cocoa Silver, that matches my new kitchen perfectly. It wasn't just fate, it was an example of excellent customer service. We selected a builder's package of appliances and the refrigerator is backordered until August. Without asking, the company offered us a loaner fridge, a partial cash refund for the inconvenience, which paid for the dining set, and the gift of the mixer. Time to expand my baking repertoire.

Truth be told, we still have lots of boxes to unpack yielding stuff that needs getting rid of. It's overwhelming, but we're plugging away slowly but surely.

 

You don't get those in retirement because technically, every day is a day off. But we found ourselves engulfed in long days of unpacking and organizing, many looonnng days in a row. It was time for a badly needed day off. 

We started with a walk, the short way to the beach, the steep way. Our neighbourhood has beautiful gardens and the roses were in full bloom.

Our expectations were as low as the tide, preferring to walk the beach when the water is deep and the waves rough. Avoiding the beach at low tide is a mistake. There were lots of shells, pretty patterns in the sand and interesting bird activity. We gained a new perspective away from the train tracks and sidewalk. 

On the seawall was a landscaper with a sense of humour, displaying his stuffy with a pink cowgirl hat after parking his trailer. I'll include a photo lest your imagination wander to darker regions.

Totem Park was gleaming in the sunshine.

"The City of White Rock, White Rock RCMP Detachment and Semiahmoo First Nation have had a long-standing relationship based on mutual respect. In fact, in 1999, two totem poles were raised on East Beach, at Totem Park as a sign of working towards reconciliation, understanding and mutual respect, and a shared responsibility for maintaining relationships."

Hearing the squwalking of birds we watched a crow taunting two bald eagles in a tall tree. Better still, was the circumscribed halo around the sun. If you look carefully in area where there's a gap in the branches near the top right of the tree, you can see the eagles.

About a mile and a half down the beach we turned upward and over, heading back to the house, when we ran into our daughter's mother-in-law, who lives nearby. We've been meaning to call them, but have been mired in the mayhem of moving. It was fun to show her the house on a beautiful afternoon. Couldn't have planned it any better.

The first time C lost his wedding ring, it wasn't a big deal. It was six months after the fact and we had bought the cheapest gold band possible, anticipating a time when we could find something he really wanted. It took him 20 years. On that special anniversary, we agreed no gifts. He surprised me with one of those sets of Matryoshka-like boxes in a box, each one diminishing in size. In the last one was a wedding ring. For him. Sweet man, he knew it bugged me that it took 19.5 years to replace the first one. This one was (was is the key word) a double eagle design in yellow gold, carved by a Squamish band artist.

Two decades later, the second time C lost his wedding ring, it was more painful for both of us. It started out as a real treasure hunt for me, a combination of geocaching and mushrooming on one of my favourite lakeside trails.

Back up a day. Having lunch with friends we noticed C "wearing" his ring on his pinkie. You see, it had become bent out of shape carrying boxes during our move. Two of us mentioned "you're going to lose that ring." Was it prophesy or, as an former coworker used to say, tempting the devil? Because sure enough, when we arrived home the next day, he noticed the absence of gold on his hand. 

He was sure it happened while I was geocaching and he went ahead to raid a patch of wood ear mushrooms we had noticed along the trail.

While searching he stepped in a soft patch of muck from an underground spring, and while extending his hand for balance, it, too, became sucked up to his elbow by mud. That's where, he figured, he lost the ring. When he went back to look, he triggered a mini mudslide, inadvertently committing his gold deeper into the earth.

While checking our "lost" ad on Craig's List I noticed a posting for The Ring Finders – Metal Detecting Service. How cool is that? Right up my geocaching, mushrooming aka treasure hunting alley. On the phone with Bill, he explained that the ground is constantly shifting, and the sooner you search, the higher the success rate. That meant that the ring could be deeper yet into the mire. So when we met with him and his wife, Laura, it was almost three weeks after the fact. We signed the contract, specifying the reward we'd offer if the ring was found. 

We asked the usual newbie metal detecting question:

What was your most interesting find?

A load (or would that be lode) of silver, in the form of bars, that a guy had buried in the forest many years prior, the spot marked with a piece of concrete. Turns out his second wife buried a pet possum in the woods and noticed an odd piece of concrete on the ground and placed it to mark the grave. Oopsie, she was unaware of the intent rock's original position. 

Bill told us of a very common scenario, the ring chucked in anger. Laura confirmed, you would not believe how many of those calls they get. He does his best to re-enact the scene for an accurate search, giving the person a fake ring to throw in anger, just as they did the first time, and scanning the area where it lands.

We gave it our best efforts, C digging shovels full of heavy wet claylike soil, Bill scanning the ground, me cheering them on. They checked the lake where C washed the mud from his hands, to no avail.

That ring is truly recommitted to the earth. So we gave Bill a contribution for his effort and accepted that it was a lost cause. Insult to injury: I burnt the mushrooms while dehydrating them. Many lessons learned that day.

 

 

 

We did it, 621 days after moving out of the house in the rain forest, and after 352 days of demolition and reconstruction, we've received our official occupancy permit. The only stipulation is the requirement for a front door peephole or security camera. I appreciate the intent, but when did that become building code?

The sky is so big from the upper level family room and deck, it takes my breath away: 

My second favourite room:

Look carefully – we found a home for my Scottie collection, visible from both inside and out. The parade will continue across the three windowsills on that level: 

The interior rock and cedar wall mirrors the outside of the house, both Chuck's design.

Although we have a lot of work ahead of us unpacking and organizing, it feels wonderful (I'll let you know if that gets tempered after the final bills are in), but we're most grateful that we had the opportunity to land in the town of our dreams. We're taking reservations for visitors.

 

 

Renovations require decisions based on tiny samples. Think little squares of counter tops, paint chips and rectangles of flooring. In our case it all worked out…except for the main floor powder room. The one most used by visitors. I was expecting a black background with random sparkly bits, but there were random miscommunications in this project, this one more notable than others.

It looks to me like black and grey speckled rock with hints of rust, splattered by a passing seagull. Quite appropriate, though, for a beach community. My daughter told me it didn’t look too bad in general, but the white splotches looked like toothpaste spit. Lovely.

Where we really did well countertop wise, is in our walk-out basement suite. Despite discouragement from our builder, we reused the houses’s original kitchen cabinets along with its blue pearl granite counters. The island is on casters for the option of instantly changing the kitchen layout.

Those counters successfully survived removal, multiple relocations including a stint outside in the dead of winter, and recutting. Reusing them cost less than installing Formica. Wish there had been enough for the powder room.

Personalities come through with the pressure of a move. C’s full of dread and terror accompanied by my optimism. For awhile, anyway. The morning started with dropping him off at storage to get things organized for the movers.

Can you imagine, this was the third time in twenty months that we’ve hired movers. First from the rain forest to our new community in White Rock, then moving our stuff into storage in time for our renovation. Now, eleven months later, back into the house.

I was feeling fine until the movers called in late and I realized Mr. C was without his phone. That’s when my panic set in, compounded by an army of last minute house workers taking up space that the movers required.

This story follows the formula for a screenplay. The set up and conflict part anyway. We’ll see how the resolution goes. You’ve read the set up. Now for the conflict: Although we had permission to move our household goods in, we are not permitted to stay in our almost totally renovated home. You see, based on a small gutter/drainage issue over two 18” side entry overhangs, and one misfitting glass deck panel, our house failed final inspection.

We weren’t going to let that set us back move-in wise, considering daughter M and KC came to help us from Calgary. All our stuff is in the house, hardly any of it unpacked, and as far as living there, we're on hold.

Here are the latest before and after pictures.

Can't believe it's the same house. I'm anxious to have it all done. I bet you are, too. And for those who are in the betting pool, April is now out, May and beyond are still possibilities. Dennis L, you still have a chance for June!