Raggedy Grace

We had our first snowfall of the year yesterday, and this is Zane's first snow ever. He licks it up very fast, as if someone is going to snatch it away from him any second. Here is in a rare moment of repose last evening.

You know the Raggedy Ann in the pictures from yesterday? She was such a good sport about that. Well, I was going to give her to a little girl I know, but Will wants to teach her to fly. And he calls her Raggedy Grace. So I guess that's that.

I've got a major deadline tomorrow, so wish me inspiration and sheer doggedness. I need to stop editing myself before I've put a single word on the page, and I must not be so distractible. I'm going to put my laptop computer in the sunroom, where our wireless doesn't work, so I can't Google anything, check on Facebook, Sitemeter, or anything. It's house arrest for me today.

I promise to write about my project sometime soon.

Due to Popular Demand, Photos and Even More Description of the Toilet

Oh, all RIGHT. And this is totally the last post about the toilet. Here it is, in use and solo. The tank is much smaller than the 1935 tank we had, so now we have room for towering bottles of body lotion on the top. Very sleek, no? This morning we asked
Will if he flushed it and he said, "Yes, three times!!" I'm not sure he gets it. The button on the left is for pee and the one on the right is for poop and pee, or just poop if that's your style. To spell it all out to you, geez.

Another nifty way to save water (I read somewhere that the word "nifty" is in use again, just as I was about to discard it) is to put an empty plastic bottle in your tank. How elegant is that!

I obviously have no clue how to do layout. My first blog pictures, and they are of a toilet. I'm going to cry.

We Are Now the Proud Owners of--

A Toto Dual Flush toilet!

What? You know not of what I speak? Please. Let me introduce you. It has two buttons on the lid, one for a small amount of water and one for a larger amount. They're used all over the world. It should save us lots of water over the years, although the toilet cost us a little bundle, and the installation took a while, so installation probably costs more than the toilet. "Tricky" was the word Rick the plumber used. So we said farewell to our old toilet, which Rick said was dated September 11, 1935. That helps us date our house back to exactly . . . 1935!

Rick is still up there, cleaning up, I need to leave in a few minutes to get Will and Jack for swimming, so I'm gettin' a little antsy. We cannot sit on this wonder for six hours. Should I post again on how it works? If there is any demand out there, I'd be glad too. Or that may be Too Much Information.

Media, PA. It's the place to be.

Every time I go to Media in the evening anymore, it is buzzing! It's the social hub of the county. Now there is a new restaurant of a higher caliber than anything else in the town. It's called Azie, and it's very sleek and sophisticated. John and I went on Saturday, and got a table by the front door. While I wouldn't normally choose that table, it was fun for our first visit, because we got to see the constant stream of diners, of all ages, who came by.

By the time we left, at 8:30, the bar was filled and a line was forming. They opened on October 24 to very good reviews, and we weren't disappointed either. Our waitress was a little overly enthusiastic and peppy, but once we were well into our bottle of Sauvignon Blanc she seemed kind of adorable. We shared an order of Spicy Yellowtail Sushi and a Sashimi Salad. Then John got Pan-Seared Diver Scallops and I got the Yakitori Bowl. Everything was delicious, especially the Sashimi Salad. Its vinaigrette was delicate and floral, and the crab, tuna and (one other fish) was velvety and fresh. For dessert I got green tea ice cream, which was a bit gummy, not gummy-old but just like it had too much carrageenan in it. John got a "Fruits Tart" made with a creme anglaise and fresh peaches, mangoes, blackberries, blueberries? He's not remembering it all. I blame that Sauvignon Blanc.

It's not a small restaurant by any means, but each dining room seems intimate. There's a warmly lit upstairs that we could see looking up to a balcony. We'll ask for that next time. And there's another first floor dining room that is busy and Manhattan-ish in some way I can't define.

Before dinner we browsed at Earth and State, and also at Local Home + Gifts. Earth and State (my ampersand doesn't work) has all fairly traded crafts, and Local Home + Gifts is a very hip store (for Media) with the most amazing scented fir candles burning. We were the only people in the store who weren't gay males. If you want to pay more than 20 dollars for a glorious-smelling candle, or if you are looking to pick up a smashingly groomed 30-something gay male with dreamy eyes, this is the place.

Eat your heart out, Main Line and West Chester.

Shoveling a Path to the Clothesline

We're taking a big step here. We're trying not to use our clothes dryer.

We're hanging clothes either on the beautiful clothesline that John and my father in law installed right after Thanksgiving, or on a drying rack in basement. I ordered an extra large wooden drying rack that should be in any day, and I just got some eucalyptus lavender fabric softener. Three sets of solid one-piece wooden clothespins are also on their way, along with a clothespin bag. It's a strange time of year to inaugurate an outdoor clothesline, but we really must give Mervin, my father in law, a job when he comes so he doesn't hog my computer playing solitaire. Also, when I saw the clothesline with cedar posts advertised by the Verm*nt Cl*thesline C*mpany, I simply had to have it. Mervin copied the design from their picture on the web, and bought the cedar locally.

So we're a tiny bit more green. I read that a family will save 100 dollars a year not using the dryer, and a blogger somewhere says she saves 60 dollars a month. I guess it depends on your electricity costs, the size of your family and how you define dirty clothes. Some people apparently just wash everything after one wearing, and even wash bath towels after one day! These are not people who line-dry. When you have to actually hang everything up clothespin by clothespin or hanger by hanger or rack by rack, you begin to set more reasonable standards. My boys just throw everything in the hamper because it's easier, and then I cull. (Of course, a little retraining is in order too.)

Hanging laundry outside, when it isn't too cold, is pleasant, even meditative. Our back yard is very private, which helps. I'm not sure how people around here feel about seeing laundry, not that I care. I do hide certain garments behind big towels, and wonder what that says about me. I guess I do care. Oh, speaking of towels, they end up scratchy, but you can fluff them up in the dryer for 5 minutes if you must. My tactic is to use fabric softener, snap the towels before hanging, and then see if anyone complains about them being scratchy. No complaints yet . . . .

Here is something the poet and memoirist Kathleen Norris wrote about hanging laundry. She lives in North Dakota, where the winters are long and severe. I love this image.

During the unspeakably brutal winter of 1996-1997, with nearly thirty inches of snow on the ground by Thanksgiving, I had had enough by the time the spring blizzards came--another three feet of snow and high winds on the eighth of April--that I set out one morning, ablaze with the warmth of an angry determination, to shovel a path to the clothesline in order to hang something colorful there. As I began to handle the wet clothes, my hands quickly reddened, stung with cold, but it seemed worth doing nonetheless, simply to break the hold of winter on my spirit--and to disrupt the monotony of the white moonscape that our backyard had become. And even though the clothes freeze-dried stiffly and had to be thawed in the house, they had the sky-scent of summer on them. And it helped.

Kathleen Norris, The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy, and Women's Work, p.34

High Birthday Season in the Dream Kitchen

Jack turned eight, EIGHT! on the 23rd, and Will turns six, SIX! tomorrow. How did this happen so fast? I made Jack and the inlaws Spice Layer Cake with prunes simmered in brandy, out of my Mom's Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook. It was scarfed down by all except Will, who doesn't like any annoying things like fruits or nuts in his cake. Since Will's birthday is on a school day, I made banana chocolate chip muffins for him to share with his classmates. He doesn't find chocolate chips annoying.

This year we are outsourcing their joint party for the first time ever. With last year's Captain Underpants party, I felt that I was just yelling all the time and no one did anything I said. So this year it's at a local gymnastics center, with a "Survival Island," trampolines, foam pit, and climbing wall. We'll bring our own food, which is the way I prefer it. I must say, it's a relief to have a bunch of boys romping around NOT in our house. We don't have a finished basement or any indoor place appropriate for such a party. And they just won't agree to settle for a dainty afternoon tea.

Random Quote of the Day
At the dinner table today we talked about how sometimes we act our age and sometimes we don't. Will said he would act Daddy's age and he yelled in anguish, "I hate this car insurance!!! And see how my butt's sticking out!!"

Next: The Greening of the Laundry

Thanksgiving, the Latest Iteration

I'm taking a break after making the Cranberry Sauce and Herbed Stuffing. Next? The brine. Then we, meaning I, pick up the fresh turkey and start the brining. Later this evening? The Spiced Pumpkin Pie and the Orleans Sweet-Potato Pecan Pie.

Tomorrow morning? Stage 1 of the gravy-making. Tablecloth-ironing and silver polishing will ensue. This stuff gets delegated to my mother in law or anyone else who will do it and is old enough. John will put the leaves in the table and be the brinemaster. The boys will play and run around. Zane will look endlessly for tasty bits on the floor. Kato the cat will torture Zane by sitting six feet beyond the pet gate and looking pleased with himself. Finally I'll be making the gravy at the very end and ordering everyone the heck out of the kitchen. We'll eat the meal in no time flat, but cleanup will take two hours.

My brother isn't coming, but he wanted to. His girlfriend wasn't granted custody of her children for this holiday and she's sad, and she thinks she would be more sad spending the holiday with us than if they spent it alone, at the Shore.

My Dad will be here, eating way more than he should and watching everyone else do the work. He has again broken up with his lady friend who I love so much. Since she moved to Seattle, it makes sense, but he didn't have to do it so harshly. It must be hard, after being married for decades in an "old-school" marriage, to negotiate the difficult terrain of courtship, or dating, or romance, whatever you call it--with someone who has grown children and who has seen enough in her two marriages to know she doesn't want another husband.

Jack has a tooth, an upper incisor, that is crooked and sticking out. Right behind it you can see the new tooth shoving the front one out. I want to pull this tooth out so bad. So bad.

Happy Thanksgiving to the world, in all its brokenness and incompleteness.

Drunken Noodles Detected in Delaware County

I'm pleased to say that, yes, we can now find those big wide Thai noodles, with a spicy sauce, just about one mile from out house. On Macdade boulevard, right across the street from Macdade Nails and a defunct Halloween superstore, is Buppha Thai, with its pristine lavender and white dining room.

I took the boys there Tuesday when John was at class, thinking, how great can it be, it's on Macdade. It was lovely, though, and I wished he had been there to discover it with us. I got Drunken Noodles with Scallops, and the boys got dumplings and spring rolls. They weren't called spring rolls but that's pretty much what they were. Jack and Will thought it was great. Jack brought an A-Z Mystery to read and then he wanted to sit on my lap. He's a little big for that, but I let him anyway. Will demolished his spring rolls and made a big mess with shreds of food on the floor. I tipped well to make up for it.We were the only people in the dining room, but a couple people came in for take-out, at least.

There's an overpriced Thai restaurant on Baltimore Pike and a nice one in Media, but this is really close. Three cheers for Buppha Thai, a spot of hope on a tawdry, faded commercial strip. If you live near here, please patronize this oasis at 500 Macdade Blvd. If you don't, then think good thoughts about it . . . .

Castration Anxiety in the House

Last week I signed a form agreeing to have Zane, our new dog, neutered. The form used not the bland term "neutering," but rather, "castration." Gulp. There he was, sitting next to me at the vets, panting happily and waiting for more dogs or the vet's fat marmalade cat to saunter in to play with him and admire him. Such a happy, trusting pup. I am the one who feeds him, introduces him to the neighbor dogs, brushes him, talks to him in a tone of voice that irritates my husband, and gives him belly rubs. And now I've consented to have his balls cut off.

Jack asks me why can't Zane be a daddy almost every day. "We could just give the puppies to a breeder," he routinely suggests when I say there are too many unwanted puppies in the world. I minimized his impending surgery and said he would still be he same happy dog (perhaps not on the fateful day itself, Oct. 8, his half birthday). We went on:

J: Well, you're neutered, right?

L: I had my tubes tied after Will was born. I'm not neutered! It's different. Zane is a boy, anyway. He's having his testicles cut off. It sounds bad but it isn't. Sometimes men have vasectomies but that's nothing like having testicles cut off. Centuries ago there used to be castrati who had this done. I don't know why. So they could sing with a really high voice, I guess.

J: I can scream really super high. Want to hear me?

L: No.

J: OK. What's your point?

L: I don't know. I'm just going on and on about castration for no reason.

J: Yeah.

Happy Birthday, Christopher Zero

My church hosts a luncheon once a month for the local college students, and we went yesterday. My conribution was Spiced Sweet Potato Cake with Brown Sugar Icing (I doubled the spices and added a cup of toasted pecans). Will insisted on bringing candles, as it was Christopher Zero's birthday. Christopher Zero is one of his imaginary friends, you see. He used to be Jack's as well, but I think Jack, who is almost eight, wanted to distance himself from such a childish thing. So I brought a candle for Will's piece of cake, asked for a match from the hosts, and he got to blow it out. One of the students asked where Christopher lives, and Will said eastern Ukraine. Turns out it's an eastern Ukraine on another planet, and that also Christopher was with us in some special sense as well. He can "transport" himself at will. That kid has answer for everything.

Oh, by the way, Will is in kindergarten now. Lilian wondered if I was going to write about that. Since he's in the same Montessori classroom for the third year, it's not a momentous transition. First grade is the big transition for my boys, because that's when they start at the public school. We do, however, have Will take the bus in the afternoon, which he loves. That's his special kindergarten privilege. It gives me a little more time to work and it stops right where I wait for Jack. One of the other neighbor moms was a little shocked that he takes it, since it's a 45-minute ride . . . . I will do anything to avoid the school's gridlock at pickup time.

And Jack? He seems to really like second grade. We don't hear very much about it, actually. He won't tell us anything at all about the girls. I guess it's all pretty old hat after last year, sort of the elementary school equivalent of Sophomore Slump. Now that I think about it, we are all in school. Kindergarten, second grade, Master's in Technology Management, Master's in Fine Arts, and Puppy Kindergarten. All right, the cat is not in school. Maybe we can say that now that there's a dog in the house, the cat attends The School of Hard Knocks.

Welcome to the Sourdough Lifestyle

It all started innocently enough on a summer's evening in July. My neighbor Hazel knocked on our back door just as I was taking a short break from our Sunday night family movie ritual. She thrust a plastic container on me, and said "Here's some sourdough starter. It's from the 17th century. Don't use bleached flour. You just add three cups of flour to it at night, then in the morning put one cup back in the fridge, add 2 cups of water, and__"

"Wait!," I said, "Let me get a pen!"

I hastily scrawled her recipe somewhere, the proverbial back of the envelope, and made the bread the next day. It was delicious. It is great for sandwiches and makes wonderful toast. And no crumbs! I've made it many times since, although more on the weekends now than on school days, when the bread machine is more convenient.

Hazel did not encumber her recipe with any extra verbiage, so I've added some basic instructions. I also added a little more salt. Here you go. If you live near me and want some starter, give me a holler. I can make some for ya.
__________________________________________

Good Neighbor Sourdough Bread

The night before:

1 cup sourdough starter
3 cups nonbleached flour (I get 10-lb. bags of King Arthur's from our local warehouse store)

Before you go to bed, mix starter and flour in a large bowl. Put a damp dish towel, wax paper, or plastic wrap over the top. Set out on your counter.

In the morning, take out one cup of this bubbly sponge and save in the refrigerator; it will last three weeks, according to Hazel.

To the sponge, add:

3 more cups of flour (I've used up to 100% whole wheat)
2 cups water
2 tablespoons sugar (honey also works)
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
3 tablespoons vegetable oil

Mix it together with a large wooden spoon. When it's a big blob of dough, turn onto lightly floured surface. Knead for ten minutes.

Turn dough into lightly oiled large bowl, covered. Let rise for a while (1 1/2 hrs. or 2 hrs., depending on your time frame) until it has doubled in size or until you're tired of waiting for it. Punch down.

Punch down again after it's risen again, and put in one large loaf pan or two small ones. Let it rise enough that it crests a little over the top of the pan, and bake in a 375 degree oven for 40 minutes. (I use convection at 350.)

Notes:

The more whole wheat flour you use, the more dense the bread will be
.
To share starter, just add the flour the night before, just like you're going to make bread, and then just split up the sponge the next morning in one-cup portions to plastic containers or bags. Be sure to also distribute the recipe! And do save a cup for yourself.

Welcome to the sourdough lifestyle. May the Sponge be with you.

Raising Zane

There's nothing more boring in a blog than reading about why someone hasn't been posting. It took one email from one of my loyal fans for me to finally get AROUND to this poor abandoned blog. Instead of blathering about how I've been in some kind of fog for a few months, and probably a little depressed and menopausal, I'll just start writing. . . .

_____________________________

Poop. Pee. Teething. It's all happening again in our household. My youngest goes off to kindergarten and I get this urge to get the collie I've always wanted. Coincidence? I think not.

Anyhow, now we have a collie pup. Jack loves him. I love him. John and Will are slightly less enthused. His name is Zane and he is just lovely, a five-month-old sable and white. He is my buddy during the day, quiet mellow, and understanding. He's a great copyeditor and writing coach, but his familiarity with the Chicago Manual of Style leaves a little to be desired. So that, and trying to eat bacon frying in the pan, are his weak points.

Dog lovers, if anyone is reading this, comment away. Dog haters, not so much.

Transported

Here I am, dear readers, at Goucher College for the first residency of my MFA program. We eat and breathe writing. I am making new friends right and left, being mentored by talented and committed journalists, essayists, and storytellers. I'm exhilarated, sometimes tired, and almost always glad I'm doing this.

One exercise we had to do yesterday was to find snippets of dialogue, which we will combine for a group reading near the end of next week. Here is my small contribution, from a conversation I was party to last night at dinner:

Woman: So what do you do?
Man: I’m in insurance.
Woman: Oooh! I used to be on the insurance law beat! I love insurance!
Man: (pause) Are you okay?

Here is a quote I found in today's workshop materials that made me think, "YES!":

The divide is not between the servants and the served, betwen the leisured and the workers, but between those who are interested in the world and its multiplicity of forms and forces, and those who merely subsist, worrying or yawning . . . . The world is full of light and life, and the true crime is not to be interested in it.

from Elementals: Stories of Fire and Ice, by A. S. Byatt

While I'm writing snippets, here is an email from Will I got today:

i love a lot and
i mean it we
love you
mommy come back in 2 weeks
yeah and i mean it 123

This is what my time here is like, collecting treasures small and large. I'll try to share more with you as I go.

An American Vacation

Vermont is so very Vermont, and I wouldn't want it any other way. We stayed at a family resort there for a week, which smelled just like the Vermont inn I stayed at as a child. Fresh air and lake water, with a topnote of woodsmoke.

Jack and Will had a camp program every day until early afternoon, while John and I spent time together, hiking, talking, eating delicious grown-up food, kayaking, bicycling. Every afternoon we spent time with the boys, trampolining, riding the zip line, trying archery, or swimming. Early evenings we'd drop them off again, and then we'd attend cocktail hour, all fresh and ready for another relaxing evening of adult conversation and great food. Then a walk down by the lake before picking up the boys. Again. And again. For a week.

We were so relaxed and happy and in a completely different zone from everyday life. Re-entry is not easy. It's to-do lists and washing dishes and "I'm bored. What can I do?" and me saying, "I told you three times to wash your hands for dinner . . . Do you want your computer time taken away?" But still there's a happy vacation glow inside us, despite the heaps of laundry and piles of mail.

It was not without a cloud. We stopped by at West Point to visit the graves of my grandparents (my family is military, but that stopped with my generation). We saw that my grandfather Marvin (1929-1974, Colonel, US Army, West Point Class of 1925, WW II, Korea) and my grandmother Margaret have two new neighbors just to the right of them, Andrew Ryan Houghton and Phillip Neel. They were young men who had been killed in Iraq. Phillip's grave sprouted new pale green grass and a temporary gravestone. Phillip's gravestone slopes too much to accumulate anything like the pile of tokens left on Andrew's solid marble one. Smooth polished stones, one saying "Thank you," commemorative coins, and river pebbles line the top of Andrew's stone. Jack and Will added small stones to Andrew's grave, and balanced small pebbles on Phillip's. Said Jack, "I'm so sad."

After winding along Stony Lonesome Road to leave West Point, we went to Storm King Art Center nearby, where John and I had taken my Dad shortly after my mother had died. I was seven months pregnant with Jack at the time. We marveled that this time we had two boys with us, running up and down the hills with us looking at the huge sculptures. One of our favorites is a tilted, elongated cube with a similar shape hanging on it along one edge. The whole structure is about 25 feet high, and the hanging part seems so precarious; you just can't see how on earth it doesn't fall. Will and I stood under it for the picture John wanted. Jack didn't want to stand under the looming rusted metal, and said "I just want to go home."

So we're here, ready for tomorrow's bike parades, the town water fight, and a day off from work for John. My father (Lieutenant Colonel, US Army, West Point Class of 1950, Viet Nam) will come and we'll go out to eat. Then the sun will set on America and fireworks will go off in the night.

Bowl of Cherries

Jennifer has come and gone. The discussion and reading went very well, with a well-informed and inquisitive audience each evening. Jennifer taught Jack and Will how to play "Speed" and Jack taught her a new card trick. We all ate cherries fresh from the farm and spit the seeds out. Now Jennifer is on her train. And I'm tired.

Next adventure? Vermont. Tomorrow. To celebrate John's and my tenth wedding anniversary. . . .Talk to you in July, dear readers.

Brain, Child Editor Jennifer is Coming Next Week!

I couldn't think of a more ingenious title than that, so I thought I'd throw in a exclamation mark just for the fun of it. Exclamation marks have no calories or fat! And they're free!

No, really, if you are in the Philadelphia area, please do attend the following events:

"An Evening with Jennifer Niesslein." Jennifer is a founding co-editor of Brain, Child, and writer of the newly published book Practically Perfect in Every Way: My Misadventures Through the World of Self-Help--and Back. We'll chat about her book, the magazine, her next project, motherhood, who knows.

It's at 7:30 on Wed., June 20, at Makin' Music, 5561 Pennell Rd., Media, PA. This event is sponsored by the Delaware County chapter of Mothers & More. Copies of the books are available at both events.

Also Jennifer will do a reading at Borders in Springfield at 7:00 PM, Thurs., June 21. The address is 1001 Baltimore Pike, Springfield, PA.

Brain, Child is a refreshing read, sharp and incisive and always relevant. And I'm about 2/3 of the way through the book. She maintains a delicate balance between hope and skepticism that I find engaging. You just want to sit down and have a cup of tea with her . . . no, make that an $8.00 cocktail.

Lofty Thoughts

The boys are sitting quietly in the kitchen, reading and drawing.

Will: You know what my destiny is? Dunkin' Donuts.

Jack: Oh. . . . Well, my destiny is to save people from cancer.

Every Girl Remembers Her First Meme

As you've noticed, I haven't been blogging much. Ever since I got the MFA acceptance letter, I've been hoarding my thoughts for some future time when I will be forced to turn in reams of manuscript about . . . something.

Anyway, in trying to catch up with blog reading, I see I've been tagged for two memes, which is a shocking coincidence, since I thought everyone had forgotten about me. So shucks, SugarMama and Anjali, I can't refuse.

First, Anjali's is easy, just five things about me. You know, things.

1. I have been legally blind in my right eye since birth. For me, the biggest E on the vision chart is blurry. But I know it's always an E. You'd think they'd change the letter occasionally.

2. I am an Army brat, and attended ten different schools, not counting college. Public, private religious, private secular, schools for army kids, been there. I've received grade averages ranging from straight A (6th) to C/D (4th and 5th).

3. I was mugged in 1985. Even after the guy whopped me one on the side of my hard head, we played tug of war with my purse because I refused to give it to him. Then my neighbors came out with baseball bats and he ran away.

4. In eighth grade I had a very short male piano teacher who had body odor and wore pink shirts and lederhosen. We lived in Germany, but still.

5. In tenth grade, I was new, as usual, and two girls in my class asked me "Who are you writing your paper on?" and I said, "Sylvia Plath. She killed herself." So they said, "Ewww!" One of the shortest literary discussions, ever.

Thoughts While Mulching

Jack helped me mulch for a while Saturday and Sunday, and we had lots of opportunity for conversation.

L: Jack, some day you'll be stronger than me.
J: And taller!
L: And I'll say "Jack, could you lift this for me?" "Jack could you please open this for me?"
J: And I'll say yes, because I could never say no to that!

I'm going to hold him to that one.

A few minutes later:
J: Mommy, you know what Luke said?
L: What?
J: He said that Joe said that he learned on the Discovery Channel that the ocean isn't made of water, it's made of horseshoe crab blood.
L: Really. Does Joe believe that?
J: Yes.
L: Do you and Luke believe that?
J: No.
L: Do you know what I think happened? I think he misheard, or heard part of an explanation and didn't hear the rest, or something.
J: I think their blood is blue, so maybe that's how he got confused.

I now wish I had said, "Tell Joe that the horseshoe crab's blood contains a unique clotting agent that the pharmaceutical industry uses to test intravenous drugs for bacteria. No IV drug reaches your hospital pharmacy without its horseshoe crab test. So if you or someone you love has ever been hospitalized, you owe a lot to the horseshoe crab." Since the internet hasn't been installed in my brain quite yet, I didn't say that. But I had no idea horseshoe crab blood was so valuable. Thank you, University of Delaware Sea Grant College Program.

A Big Pizza Pie

Tonight we celebrated John's return from a business trip to San Francisco. Well, actually to San Leandro, but they did go in to San Francisco once. Or Berkeley anyway, good enough. As I was saying, tonight the boys picked a special drink from Mollie Katzen's Pretend Soup. It was delicious! And Mommy and Daddy each spiked their own with a jigger of rum, even better. Here is the recipe. I changed the name from the earnest "Homemade Lemon-Lime Soda Pop Recipe," multiplied Mollie Katzen's amounts by four, and included the rum option for grownups:

Fizzy Citrus Cooler

1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup fresh lime juice
1 1/2 cups apple juice concentrate (thawed), a whole can
ice cubes
1 quart seltzer or soda water

Mix in a pitcher. Adults may each add a jigger of rum to their glass if it isn't against their religion. Cheers!

We also had pizza, which we have every Friday. I have used the following pizza dough recipe since the early nineties. This makes a big hearty pizza that covers a whole big pizza stone. Or split it in half to make two small pizzas.

Lauren's TGIF Pizza Dough

Scant two tablespoons yeast
1 1/4 cups water
3 cups flour
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons salt

Special equipment: Mixer with dough hook, pizza stone. Or knead with your hands and cook it on a cookie sheet. Whatever.

Warm 1 1/4 cups water in a microwave for 30 seconds, until lukewarm. Sprinkle yeast over top, mix gently until it all gets wet, and let proof for 4 or 5 minutes until foamy.

While you're waiting, put the flour, olive oil, and salt in the mixer. When the yeast and water are ready, add them after you've mixed them a little. Turn the mixer on the lowest speed. In a couple of minutes, add more flour slowly if the dough isn't pulling away from the sides of the bowl. You may need to add up to 1/4 cup; do not fear. When it's looking truly doughlike, take it out and knead it a little yourself until it feels elastic, resilient and smooth. (If your mixer starts to smoke or you smell something burning, stop the thing, for gosh sakes.) When you press your finger it, the dough should puff back up a little.

Put a little bit of olive oil in a large bowl and roll the dough around in it. Cover the dough with a wet dishtowel and let sit for two or three hours.

After two or three hours, punch down the dough and roll it out on a pizza stone or whatever you have. I brush it with a thin layer of olive oil, minced garlic, and sometimes pepper if I'm feeling feisty. Then put a bunch of stuff on it, but don't overload it with a lot of wet veggies and sauce because it will be soggy. Going the simple, tasteful route usually pays off. If I do this as one pizza, I bake it at 475 for 16 mins. on the center rack. Watch it carefully through your oven window the first time. Prepare to have to turn off your smoke alarm if you use pepperoni, or if your oven happens to be crusty and filthy.

Remember, pizza dough is very forgiving, don't fret too much about it. Everyone likes pizza, and they'll especially like yours.