Happy Halloween

Aaron and I usually participate in the holiday by going to some sort of dress up party. Last year we went as Margo and Richie Tenenbaum. The year before that we went as Annie Hall and Woody Allen. We went to a Halloween party last weekend. It was fun. Can you guess what our costume is?

We're Two Eggs, Sunny-Side Up.

We couldn't find any yellow hats, so I had to sew our little bonnets out of the only yellow thing we could find: car shammies from Family Dollar. No one ever gets our costumes, so we decided to go as something simple. No one got it.

Elf insisted on trying it on:

He's such a ham. Mmm...ham and eggs.

Violet went as God:

It was awesome.

The party was a little West Virginian. Late into the night two large pots of something called "soup beans" were brought out and distributed. After not getting much in terms of an explanation, a recipe, or a real description of what "soup beans" might be (the most descriptive reply to our inquiries was: "Oh, y'know, they're soup beans...with a ham bone.") we decided to try them for ourselves. They tasted like beans and tallow, which I'm pretty sure is what they consisted of.

But it was fun, and we didn't get too scrambled.

The Wedding Singer

We finally locked things down with the band for our wedding. It feels so good as we get more and more things accomplished for the Big Day. Planning a whole wedding, after having 2/3 of your finances chopped away and picking up and moving 600 miles away from the location is a little stressful. But when pretty large items, like The Band, get ticked off the list, it makes you feel like things are coming together.

Aaron and I knew that we wanted something a little non-traditional for the music. We couldn't picture anyone from either of our families (and I have a like 6-sided family with more than uncomfortable gaps in-between) being up for sickly-sweet father/daughter, mother/son, now switch! dances, so we thought the best option would be having entertainment, rather than potentially humiliating moments. We decided to get a real band with their own music, so people can enjoy watching without feeling like they have to get out on the floor and do the Chicken Dance (or worse, the Dollar Dance....is that just a U.P. thing?).

That is all good in theory, but how do you find the band? Well, you have an awesome friend who works the door at the Lizard Lounge and visit her at work. We went in one night and Melvern Taylor was playing. It was one of those things where we were just going to pick Meghan up and go somewhere else, but we got stuck because we were watching this incredibly fun and talented band. About a week later, we realized that they, though unconventional, would be the perfect addition to our humble Wedding Vision, and it's only just now been squared away. What a relief. I was so worried we'd have to go through a million tapes of a million mediocre wedding bands, trying to find one that wouldn't be hideous. Now it's us and Melvern Taylor. And a ukulele. That's right. I bet you can't wait.

Coq au Vin, My Way

Recently, Violet brought a guest here, Rowland, who made us the most amazing dish. It was warm, and hardy, delicious, and decadent. It felt like medicinal food, able to cure any ailment, physical, mental, imagined. And so, after coming into some grocery money for splurging on food beyond beans and flour for bread, I thought now--the weather so perfectly crisp and a bottle of Chardonnay on hand that I wasn't particularly interested in drinking--might be a good time to try my hand at the dish, sans any real recipe.

Coq au Vin (Blanc and Bastardized)

2 chicken thigh-and-leg portions, bone-in, legs and thighs separated

a couple of chicken breast tenders

a bunch of carrots (6 or so), sliced thick

3-4 celery stocks, sliced thick

2 potatoes, cut into thick hunks (I left the skins on because I think it adds flavor, but if this was truly French, I think I'd have to do that thing where I not only peel the potatoes, but also shape them into perfect ovals)

2 onions, waywardly chopped

3 cloves garlic, chopped

a handful of coarsely chopped parsley

a tablespoon or two of corn starch

1 bottle White Wine (cheaper the better)

water

a glug of chicken stock to get things started

s & p

Dredge the chicken parts in flour that is generously salted and peppered, brown parts in 1 tbsp olive oil in pan over high heat until browned on all sides. Remove to a big stock pot, use drippings in pan to saute onions and garlic and cook until translucent. Remove to stock pot. Pour a little wine (1/2 cup or so) in pan to deglaze; scrape, and pour whatever you get into stock pot. Add carrots, celery, potatoes, s & p, and bottle of wine. Cook on high until boiling, lower heat, add some water and chicken stock (until covering the veg) and cook, covered, on low, until veg are soft. At some point, add the corn starch to a small bit of the liquid, and then add the mix to the pot. Add parsley before removing from heat, reserve some for garnish. Remove chicken from the bone (optional).

What I would do differently next time:
I would make it just a little less soupy by using a touch more wine and less water... in attempt to make a light sauce rather than a broth. But soupy is good. Trust me. Even though I didn't know what I was doing, and my inspiration for this classic French recipe came from a West Virginian cabinet maker, it was a complete success.

Autumn

Fall has finally arrived on my road. Driving anywhere is like taking a foliage tour, because you're either in the woods or looking out at rolling mountains covered in sprays of red, orange, and gold. You go to the grocery store and look out at this amazing view. (A lot of the big stores are built on the top of mountains...which were once mines, gutted and refilled, with the top sliced off flat, perfect for a Target, a Giant Eagle, or a soccer field.) I think that for the first time I'm realizing that I've moved to a very beautiful place.

I love days that start like this: laying in bed in the morning with a low-lit lamp on, tea, reading Jane Eyre, Elf sleeping on his bed near my bed, listening to the rain and the leaves fall outside.

Welcome to Autumn.

A Day with an Elf

This is Elf. He's a Border Collie. He loves chasing things, herding things, cuddling, sneaking onto the couch, smiling, trying a little taste of the kitchen garbage when we're not looking, having his belly rubbed, watching cats on YouTube, using his claws like fingers, pumpkin, singing along to the volunteer fire dept. siren and Aaron's guitar, acting willful yet obedient, and discretely letting us know who is boss. And us.

a man and his dog

He hates his face touched, going outside at night, not being let on the bed, sleeping in the bathroom, when you pull the leash to get him out of the way of cars, when you step over him to get around him, crunchy things, and bananas.

We're doing our best to spoil him rotten.

PBS weekend

Aaron and I decided to take our first trip up to Pittsburgh last weekend. It was totally as glamorous as it sounds. We took in a museum, went out for lunch, and went to Trader Joes to stock up on our favorite things (and then felt guilty for spending money and only bought 1/2 of what we wanted).

Pittsburgh is actually a really beautiful, hilly city with charming old houses and a lot of local color. The number of colleges made it feel a little like Boston. The number of Delicatessens made future trips look very promising.

First, we went to the Andy Warhol Museum. He was born and raised in Pittsburgh. It was a good museum, but I would say they kind of just have a lot of the leftovers, not really the good, good stuff (maybe there is no such thing?). I wouldn't call myself a fan of Warhol, but I did see the PBS American Masters special and it gave me a new appreciation for what he was trying to do by uniting consumer culture and art. So, because of the show, I thought we'd check it out.

Here's us in the Pillow Room:

Next, we went to Essie's Original Hot Dog Shop, or as the locals call it, The Dirty O. This is another PBS-influenced decision. I've watched Rick Sebak's documentaries on the best hot dogs and sandwiches across the U.S. more times than I should admit (whenever they come on I just can't turn the channel). In his A Hot Dog Program, he featured The Dirty O and so we had to go.

It was like a heart attack in a bun. Afterwards, we limped back into the car and went to TJs. After doing this to ourselves, shopping wasn't nearly as fun. Next time we'll shop then eat.

In which I decide that, this time, I'll really do something about it...again

Those of you who know me well know that I suffer from insomnia. I used to think that insomnia was just a joke disorder, an excuse for poor sleeping habits and odd sleep schedules. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that it exists, and I do actually have it.
I don't stay up late, usually. If I'm not in bed by midnight, something special is happening. Something special or something shitty, anyway (special = fun time with awesome people. Shitty = homework, sick, etc). If I had my druthers, I would be in bed by 9 o'clock with a good book and asleep by 10, with automatic lights that turn off at 10:01. And now that I am living in the middle of nowhere with nothing around, and Aaron is busy with homework ( = shitty) I've been doing that lately and it's awesome. I can't recommend it enough.

However, I don't have the kind of insomnia that prevents me from falling asleep. It's the staying asleep that's the problem. I'll fall asleep, and then wake up at 3am. This happens regularly, 1-7 times per week, and this will happen whether I go to bed at 10pm or 1am. There is always a dilemma: do I stay in bed with my eyes wide open, going insane, or do I get up and just face the fact that I won't be sleeping? Both suck.
But lately I've been getting up because for some reason it sometimes helps me fall back to sleep at say 6am (a cool 45 minutes to an hour before I usually have to get up for work). That, or else I won't let myself get out of bed until I hear birds chirping. I don't know why, but that just seems like a good marker for activeness in the waking-world. (side note: because I live in a hollow, the sun rises really late, at around 7am, even in mid-summer.)

The other day I realized for the first time that this has been happening all my life. Out of the blue I remembered asking other kids growing up if, in the middle of the night, they'd suddenly realize that their eyes were open and not know how long they'd been awake. There are specific memories from my early childhood that I have of forcing myself to try to fall sleep/pretend for hours that I can remember vividly. I remember feeling agony, hopelessness, and desperation, much like I do now when I can't sleep.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to blog about what I do when make the leap and decide to get out of bed.

1) I usually spend the majority of the time on surfing the web. Luckily, I know a lot of websites where you can waste a lot of time looking at dumb things. I'll post later about my favorites.

2) I usually drink herbal tea. Right now I'm drinking red tea my mom sent me from Kenya.

3) Sometimes I'll try to read, but usually I'm so tired my eyes hurt.

4) I watch movies Aaron wouldn't want to watch if he were awake. This includes such classics as Ella Enchanted (lent to me by Aaron's adviser, oddly enough), The Shirley Temple collection (Bright Eyes is my fav), Little Women, various Christmas movies, and yes, Meghan, Anne of Green Gables helps, too.

5) I might resort to baking. Not often. Usually I won't have the energy. After this I am tempted to make some pumpkin bread, though. mmm...

6) Books on tape. I love The Velveteen Rabbit read by Meryl Streep.

7) If I'm really desperate for sleep, I'll take a pill to knock me out. But I don't like doing that in the middle of the night because it'll still be working by the time I have to wake up.

apple picking blues

I'll have to share this picture from last year because it doesn't look like I'll be picking any apples this year. For a second I thought that I was being quaint and New England. That maybe pick-your-own in a yuppie/crunchy/Arlington, MA thing to do while wearing your Merrell shoes and pushing your kid in a $500 stroller. However, I did research and there are orchards here, but just no apples.

It seems that this part of the country had a late frost in the spring which killed all of the apples. usually we go every year, pick way too many, and keep them until they go bad. Aaron doesn't even like to eat "raw" apples. But there is something about going to an orchard, getting a cup of apple cider and an apple cider donut, then spending the afternoon finding the prettiest apples that sort of ushers in the fall for me. It just seems so weird that before we'd have to drive for 45 minutes to get out of the city enough to find a place to pick apples, and now we're living in the country and there aren't any.

Autumn is my favorite season besides (early and mid) winter. I love that the temperature finally gets colder, that I can wear real clothes and outfits again (it seems that in the summer time I am constantly just piecing together garments that are light enough to keep me cool, I don't really have "summer clothes" that look any good so I usually go around looking like that homeless lady with the huge dreadlock in Harvard Square, I swear she and I were wearing the same outfit in mid-July). I am a scarf person. I'll take any opportunity to throw one on and usually wear one from September to May if I can.

Also, there isn't any question that Autumn has the best food, by far. Pumpkin flavored everything. You can start making soup again (thank god). Comfort foods start making their way back into your dinners because fall is cozy. Chicken pot pie, people. Sam Adams Oktoberfest.

However, it's been too hot here to think of any of that. I tried wearing a scarf and nearly had a heat stroke. No way am I making soup in this humidity unless someone is dying. It better start turning soon.

holler and swaller

I guess I know I'm busy when I can't get a post about my weekend out until Thursday and even then it's a shotty job. I took some pictures, but the effort to post them is too much.

Here is an idea of my weekend: On Friday evening, Aaron and I went to something called a Buckwheat Festival. Buckwheat seems to be a major food source here. They make these buckwheat cakes, that taste a lot like the most plain pancake ever to grace your plate. We ate some in the city hall of a small town and listened to Appalachian music. The band had at least 7 members and one of them played the washboard.

My dog wasn't feeling that well, he had a tummy ache because I'm pretty sure he took a taste of a dead toad in the driveway, so I stayed up all night with him because I thought it might be serious. But it wasn't. So I got no sleep and we went looking at houses from 9am to 4pm and that was pretty much my Saturday. We didn't really find anything. We told our friend that we'd go see his band play. They were playing in this insane roadhouse-type bar on the side of a desolate road. First, the band: it was a 70's cover band and the singer was around 5 feet tall and did all kinds of wild moves like Robert Plant (who, I found out later, is his major inspiration in life). It was so funny. He made everyone all riled up and dancy. All of these really old biker guys were out on the dance floor living it up. They had the moves. I would have taken pictures, but I noticed that most of them had knives strapped to their belts and there were heads of more than one kind of animal on the walls (Michigan people, this won't phase you).

On Sunday my landlady had a bbq and Ruby Jean and Bobby from a local band called the Weedhawks came and played music around the campfire. Ruby plays the fiddle. We're in the middle of the woods, with a campfire and fireflies and mountains all around, and they're playing this old-time music. Again, I felt very Appalachian.